#the way you can see echoes of Logan's trauma in how he raised his own children | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

batskulldrag · 5 years ago

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Phoenix by Fallout Boy

Here’s chapter Two

Trigger warnings for abuse, this story has a lot of abuse mentions in it.

Chapter Two: Let It Burn by RED

The trio watched in stunned silence as Payton argued with the receptionist over something and stormed past her. Just to look at him or be near him made their collective blood run cold. Something came off him, something untrustworthy. This was a man who could bend and break people, and he used to practice on them.

He moved past them without so much as a glance in their direction. Good. And stormed directly towards a single room. A doctor took everyone by surprise and blocked his path.

The doctor in question was a tiny morsel of a person with bright red hair and glasses that framed their face. That this of anyone would stand up to the literal worst was amazing.

“I’m sorry, but no one in allowed in this room right now.” The doctor said, all five feet of them standing confidently.

“I’ll have you know that my son is in that room! And you have no right to forbid me to see him!” Payton seethed.

“Your son,” The doctor spat the words back at him. “Has been sedated and is now sleeping. And I have every right to keep you from charging in there and waking him up!”

“I could sue you for malpractice as easy as I could snap my fingers!”

“Oh, on what grounds?” They mocked in return.

“Operating on a minor without parental consent! And denying access to the legal guardian.”

“We did no such thing. And all I asked was that you don’t charge in there and wake up a child who had just been through considerable trauma.”

“Do you have any idea who I am in this city?” He hissed.

“I don’t care if you’re Jesus, you stay out here until the doctor decides that our patient is ok to have visitors.”

“Let me through or I will have no choice but to report your insubordination to an actual doctor!” Many people looked over at him as he yelled.

“You think you can get up in my face ‘cause I’m TINY?!” The doctor snapped right back at him, not moving an inch. “Because if I call security right now only one of us is getting thrown out for causing a disturbance! I’ll let you guess who!”

“You- you should be arrested for impersonating a doctor!” He fumbled the insult as he backed down.

Roman walked up to the doctor as if he were in a western.

“Is this guy giving you trouble?”

“No, I took care of him.” The doctor said smugly.

“It seems like you’re suddenly everywhere, Roman.” Payton sneered.

“And it seems you weren’t home when I pulled your son from a burning building.”

“Well if you were so conveniently there, I think that would make you a suspect.”

A tired, disgruntled police officer came between them. Roman knew them.

“So, you’re the kid’s dad?” The cop, Officer Joan asked.

“I am, and it was my house that’s been burnt to ashes.” He rubbed his temples. “I feel like the world is testing me.”

“Where were you at the time of the fire?” Joan didn’t care about his problems.

“I was meeting with my campaign manager from ten o clock until twenty minutes ago, when I was called and told that my son was in the hospital.”

“Can they verify that?”

“Am I a suspect in this? Why would I destroy my own home, or endanger my son?”

“I have to ask everybody these questions, I asked crazy twin guy the same things.” Joan rolled their eyes, pointing backwards at Roman. “Do you have any enemies?”

“Yes, and more keep coming out of the woodwork.” He shot a glare at Roman. “I’m a very successful prosecuting attorney, I’ve put plenty of criminals in prison and angered even more defense lawyers. I’m also running for mayor, on the platform of clearing the city of immorality, which gives my opponents a motive. And my brother and his friends have started a smear campaign against me. Which I suppose makes them suspect, especially when you consider who was at the scene of the crime first.”

“Crazy twin guy has an alibi that can be verified by about two hundred people. Save your bullshit for your day job.” Joan made a few notes. “If you don’t mind, I’d like for you to accompany me to the station so I can ask you a few more questions.”

“About what? You can’t honestly believe I started that fire!”

“No, this is about a few things we found odd about your house layout and son’s condition.”

“I beg your pardon!” He said through gritted teeth.

“That’s what you say to a judge, not a cop. You gonna come quietly or do I need to put the cuffs on you?”

“What has Virgil been saying!? I demand to speak to him immediately!”

“He’s been passed out for the past hour. And he was barely conscious when he got here.” The doctor chimed in. “He hasn’t said anything. Why? What were you expecting him to say?”

“I invoke my right to speak to my accuser.” Payton hissed, rapidly losing control of the entire situation.

“Me bitch.” Joan said, pulling out handcuffs. “Let’s talk in the car.”

“Payton Foster, I’m arresting under suspicion of domestic abuse, child endangerment, disturbing the peace and arson.” Joan slapped the cuffs on. “You have the right to remain silent…”

The sound of Joan reciting the Miranda bill faded as the two walked down the hallway and outside.

“Doctor,” Patton asked timidly raising a hand. “Can you point me to the bathroom? I think I need to throw up.”

“Right down that way.” They pointed.

Patton darted off and only just made it to the toilet before everything came out. Had Payton really… could he? Sure, supposedly anyone could but, how could they?

# # #

So many memories of Payton just walking out and leaving him or their mother with the baby. Because he knew they weren’t going to leave a newborn to fend for himself. He never once thought to test of Payton would still walk out if he refused. But part of him always knew the answer.

A tornado of his brother’s cruelty hit him upside the head with a tree.

“Another ‘D’?” The taunting voice of his sibling echoed through. “Why do you even try? You should just quit school and see if someone will hire you as a janitor.”

“If only we still had a class system so that people of your skill level could still find work.”

“The only good thing about you being gay is that you won’t be able to have kids to raise to be gay.”

“Your retard called, he realized he was too good for you after all.”

“Patton does that retard know you were held back. That you literally couldn’t keep up with things the rest of us find easy?”

“If you ask me, the retard’s parents had the right ideas.”

And the ever present “What are you going to do cry about it?”

And a lifetime later, alone in a bathroom stall Patton cried about it. After some time, he felt a hand on his shoulder. He didn’t need to turn around or say anything to know that it was Logan. Wordlessly he slid his own hand on to his husband’s and squeezed it as if it were the only thing tethering him to reality.

“Child protective services just came in.” Logan said trying to mimic a soothing tone. “They’re going to be looking for next of kin, I think we should talk to them.”

“Is this my fault?” The words came out barely audible.

“No. It’s not.”

“Maybe, but I didn’t help. I may have made things worse.”

“Patton,” Logan stooped down to his level. “It doesn’t make sense to dwell on that. We’re here and we can’t change anything. The important thing is that Virgil is safe tonight, and his father may end up losing custody of him.”

“To who? What if it’s someone worse?”

“That’s why we’re talking to CPS right now. Come on.”

Patton pulled himself together and joined Logan back in the land of the standing. He stopped to splash some water in his face so it wouldn’t look like he had been crying and the pair went out together.

The social worker was a short man who was composed mainly of muscle. He looked like he could punch a hole in the wall, granted the hole wouldn’t be very close to the ceiling, but still. Patton couldn’t say anything about what this guy would do, but he was certain that this one could tackle somebody to the ground. But he had a kind face, and Patton could read him from across the room. He looked so sad as he listened to the doctor tell him about the case. And just a bit angry.

“Boy am I glad he’s not mad at us.” Patton whispered to Logan as they got closer.

Cobra Bubbles sighed and rubbed his face with both hands as if he were trying to wash the information off. They stopped in front of him and he looked them over.

“I’m Patton Foster.” Patton held his hand out uncomfortably while trying to pull his hoodie down over his sleep shorts. “I normally wear pants I swear.”

It wasn’t until this moment that he realized that he was criminally underdressed for any kind of interview. He wished hell would go ahead and eat him as he stood there in just his cat hoodie, with no shirt, and Blue’s Clues shorts (normally made for women, but he got an extra-large pair) that were just barely longer than his boxers, which he just realized were inside out. He looked at his feet to escape eye contact and saw that he was wearing one shoe and one sandal. Never mind hell eating him, he was already there.

Logan didn’t look any better, sure he was wearing longer pants but they were white with unicorn print. And you could totally see his underwear through them. He had tried to cover that by dawning a long coat, but that just made him look like a school shooter. And the coat was unbuttoned anyway. Patton dared a glance at Logan’s feet and saw that he had his unicorn slippers on instead of shoes. But the worst part, oh the worst part was that Logan wore a powder blue t-shirt that had “Paw-ton” written in block letters across the chest with a big old heart. It was Patton’s shirt, and now everyone knew it was his shirt. And they knew what it implied, Logan wearing Patton’s shirt.

Their eyes met in a glance of mutual horror as Logan pulled his coat closed with inhuman speed. They shared the same hope that maybe no one saw. Patton quickly sniffed the air, he couldn’t smell anything coming off them, maybe they were in the clear, at least in that instance.

“It’s one in the morning.” The social worked cracked a smile. “I didn’t think you’d look presentable just now.” He shook Patton’s hand. “I’m Thomas.”

“Oh, ok.” Patton retracted his other hand and kept trying to pull his hoodie down. “I’m Virgil’s uncle. Payton is my older brother.”

“Why are you both down here? We haven’t even started calling the next of kin yet.”

“Our friend broke his arm getting Virgil out of the fire. He called us to get him.”

“Hi.” Roman waved his cast.

“Hi.” Thomas nodded.

“I’m Logan Berry,” Logan stepped up. “I’m Patton’s husband.”

“So, I take it that you two are ok with taking care of Virgil?” Thomas said, shaking Logan’s hand. “At least until we hunt down his mother.”

“She immigrated to Italy after Virgil was born.” Patton stared at the floor. “I-if she wants custody of him, I won’t keep him from her. But I don’t know if she does.”

“Poor kid.” Thomas looked back to the room. “Well, his mom still has parental rights, so we need to talk to her. But if she left the country and left her baby behind, I’ve got a pretty good guess on how that’s gonna go.”

“Then it comes back to us.” Logan finished the idea. “And we’d be glad to take him.”

“Yeah, and we’re all teachers. So, we’re great with kids.” Patton added.

“It’s nice to finally hear some good news.” Thomas sighed. “Virgil’s not allowed any visitors tonight, so you can go. Come back in the morning and we’ll get everything sorted.”

“Ok, I’ll be back in the morning.” Patton agreed. “I’ll be here with pants on.”

His attempt at a joke seemed to fall flat, but Thomas gave him a good-natured smile. Patton and Logan backed away awkwardly before turning around and walking like normal people. Roman joined them and they all got into the car in silence. As soon as the doors were closed, Roman broke the silence by laughing.

“What’s so funny?” Logan asked tonelessly from the front seat.

“You two and the social worker.” He choked. “And dressed like that!”

“We came down here at one A.M to get you from the emergency room.” Logan protested. “We were in a hurry!”

“It would have been weird if we were dressed!” Patton added. “This actually proves that we’d be good parents, because our priorities are in order! When you get called from the emergency room you throw clothes on in the dark and come down!”

“Must have been a good night if you didn’t have clothes on when I called.” Roman snickered.

“FALSEHOOD!!!!!!!” Logan screeched, his entire body turning red.

“I meant to say shoes! You throw shoes on in the dark! Because you already have clothes on!” Patton fumbled an explanation.

“So, Logan has a shirt with your name on it because he belongs to you?” Roman teased.

“You noticed?” Patton whimpered, turning red as well. “Do you think the social worker noticed too?”

“Ok. No one is allowed to talk until the sun is up.” Logan ordered.

When the sun did come up, and it came up rather soon especially for a Saturday, the three had other things to talk about anyway.

“Ok, Patton and I are in one room, and you occupy one room.” Logan began.

“I knew that SIRI.” Roman sighed. “What are you getting at?”

“Well, there’s still Remus’s old room, Virgil can stay in there.”

“We turned that room into a storage closet after Remus went to grad school.” Roman groaned. “I suppose I’ll start moving boxes.”

“I believe that I’ll be doing most of the moving today, given your injury.”

“I can still move things!” Roman protested.

“No.”

“Can I help arrange the stuff in the attic? That just requires me to slid stuff across the floor.”

“I will allow that. And we may find something in storage that we can use.”

“Kill two birds with one stone.” Roman nodded.

“That’s cruel and has nothing to do with-… oh. Right, a metaphor.”

# # #

Patton walked timidly into the hospital whishing he had stayed behind to get the room ready and sent Logan to deal with the paperwork. But as the legal next of kin, he had to be the one to sign everything. He wondered if he might get to meet Virgil while he was there. But what if Virgil didn’t like him?

“I see you’re alone this morning.” Thomas startled him. “But at least you remembered your pants.”

“Logan and Roman are getting the house ready.” Patton said quickly. Why did he feel so guilty, he hadn’t done anything? “They’re clearing out a room and all that stuff.”

“You seem to be adapting to all this pretty well.” Thomas smiled warmly.

“I guess, but we haven’t done any of the actual parenting.”

“What, are you worried about what you’ll do if he comes out as straight?” Thomas joked. “You won’t have time to mess up, you’ll have me breathing down your necks.”

Patton smiled back, temporarily relieved. At least this guy was friendly, he couldn’t handle a jaded, world weary social worker.

“Let’s go over the paperwork and the background checks and afterwards we’ll see if the doctors will let him have visitors.” Thomas offered.

Patton nodded and followed him to administration.

# # #

Logan finished organizing the attic and walked down the stairs only to meet Roman in the middle, dragging up a large wooden object. He used one hand and his elbow to grip it. Tell Roman he can’t do one thing and that’s all he wants to do.

“What is that?” Logan pointed stunned. “And I told you not to lift things!”

“A portion of my own bed from when I was in my teens. I got it from my parents’ attic. Now move, this thing is heavy.” Roman disregarded him.

Logan ran up the stairs, propped the emptied room’s door open and ran down to help Roman with the rest of the bed frame. After three trips, and a good deal of swearing they got all of it into the room. It was then that the truth about this bed came out.

“Roman, this is the skeleton of a futon isn’t it?” Logan asked, ready to face palm.

“Remus set my actual bed on fire! This was all they could do! And he set this one on fire as well!”

“So. There’s no mattress either?” Logan completed the face palm.

“No.” Roman looked at the ground.

“Ok, this will have to do until we get him a proper bed, and we will get him a proper bed.” Logan sighed. “Let’s just put it together, where are the instructions?”

“In the past, no one has seen them in over a decade.” Roman answered hesitantly. “But I helped put it together, I should be able to manage it.”

# # #

Logan felt a migraine setting in and Roman had exhausted his vocabulary of insults from screaming at the futon. An hour had passed, Patton would be home any minute to see what a pair of failures they were. He was at his breaking point.

“Of course!” Roman yelled triumphantly. “We can google futons like this one and use their instructions.”

“Why didn’t we think of that an hour ago?” Logan said in a strained whisper.

After that putting it together only took twenty minutes. This only added to their fury.

“Ok,” Logan sighed. “I’m going to go scream into a pillow, then we’re going to get a mattress for this monstrosity.”

“I’ve been thinking about that. We could get a normal mattress and put it on this, so then it’ll just be a normal bed.”

“Roman, you’re a genius.”

“Wow, you are out of it.”

# # #

The paperwork took longer than Patton had thought it would, and the background check took forever. Which was especially annoying because he didn’t have any criminal record. But all that was finally over, he was now prolonging the inevitable as one of the doctors explained everything that was wrong with Virgil.

“So, Virgil is a good deal underweight and he currently has strep throat. And according to his records, he’s been sick a lot both this year and last year. And there were more than a few injuries. We haven’t had anyone analyze him yet, but we suspect that he has severe anxiety.”

“Ok.” Patton nodded.

I hate my brother.

“He has a few burns from last night, mostly on the palms of his hands and the bottom of his feet. He inhaled a good deal of smoke, but there doesn’t seem to be any damage to his lungs. He also got a few scrapes and bruises from falling off the landing, and he broke his foot when he hit the ground.”

“Poor baby.” Patton exclaimed automatically.

“And the last thing is,” The doctor sighed. “He has a few older bruises on his back, torso, arms and legs. They all seem to very in age.”

Payton if you don’t go to hell, I will petition all the saints to send you there!

“Is-is that why you suspected Payton of… of hurting him?”

“Yes.” They sighed as if the weight of the world was on top of them. “One of the bruises is in the perfect shape of a belt buckle. There’s no explanation for that.”

Patton felt his heart racing, and everything turned red. All he could think of was the innocent little baby that he and his mother had taken care of because Payton wasn’t going to. It didn’t look like they were living in a kind universe, but he really hoped it was a just one.

# # #

Roman and Logan pulled into the driveway with a mattress strapped to the roof and an old dresser shoved into the back. The dresser had belonged to Remus, and for some reason he spray-painted it black, but that was ok. They could paint over that. At least it didn’t have any bodily fluids on it. Hopefully.

Roman jumped out and ran to open the door, only to trip on a medium sized box someone had left there. There was a note on the obstruction.

Crazy twin guy, dude’s going to jail for a while. Cleaned my closet out last month and was too lazy to get rid of this stuff. It’s your problem now. -Joan.

“We have a benefactor Logan!” Roman said happily. “Officer Joan has given us some old clothes and a message of encouragement.”

“What encouragement?” Logan asked, untying one of the ropes.

“Dude’s going to jail for a while.” Roman recited as if it were Shakespeare.

“That is good news.” Logan smiled. “Should we bring up the mattress first or the dresser?”

“Mattress, it should be easier. And there is not a doubt in my mind that my brother put his penis on that dresser at some point.”

“Sometimes I really feel like Remus needs to be sedated and institutionalized.”

They both pulled down the mattress and hauled it inside.

“I can’t believe we’re supposed to be identical twins. That means we have one hundred percent the same DNA! How does that make sense?”

“Only one of you got brain damage.” Logan shrugged. “Besides, Patton’s brother turned out to be a narcissist, do you know how rare that is?”

They fought the mattress up the stairs.

“Sure, but it’s not like everyone in Florida is one, just Payton. Seems pretty rare to me.”

With that they threw the mattress onto the frame.

“There.” Logan said proudly, “A bed and Payton’s old desk, now all we need to do is haul up that dresser.”

“Let’s just get that over with.” Roman sighed.

The two drudged down the stairs and found one of their neighbors standing in the driveway. This one was a particularly annoying middle-aged woman. Single and childless, yet somehow a self-proclaimed expert on both relationships and child rearing. Logan turned right back around and went back inside when he saw her. Roman reluctantly went up to talk to her, it was the only way to make her leave.

“Can I help you?” He asked flatly, hoping he couldn’t.

“What are you three doing? I heard you leave at one in the morning last night, and now you’re going back and forth bringing furniture into the house. Are you getting another roommate?”

“Yes.” A satisfactory lie of omission.

“Where’s Patton? I saw him leave this morning, and he’s not back yet.”

“He has a day job.”

“But he’s not there, I already checked.”

Roman rolled his eyes. Why couldn’t this one be a sweet old lady? Or I nice couple? Or a cute single guy, gay of course?

“I don’t know then.” None of her business anyway.

“You know what I think,”

You forgot to ask if I cared.

“I think it has something to do with his brother, you know the one who’s running for mayor, his house burned down last night. It was all over the news.”

“If you don’t mind Logan and I still have a lot of work to do.”

“Is it true what he said? You know about his and Patton’s mother?”

“No, it is a blatant lie Patton already submitted proof of that.” Roman swung the trunk open and dragged the dresser to the door one handed. “Good day.”

# # #

Patton bit his lip as he listened to the phone ring on the other end.

“Hello Patton,” Logan answered in his usual manor. “Is something the matter?”

“No, I just need some advice.” Patton sighed.

“Well, what is it?”

“Virgil’s awake, the doctors are taking care of him now. And I get to meet him when they’re done. But should I wait and introduce us all at once or do it one at a time?”

He was answered by a brief silence, then Roman.

“Hey Patton,” Roman said quickly. “Logan and I are just dealing with nothing going on right now.”

“Logan! Did you just punch me!?” Roman suddenly yelled. “You just did it again, you friggin book germ! Why are you signaling me to shut- oh.”

“Roman?” Patton asked, now very suspicious.

“Never mind all that. What do you need to know?”

“Well, I’m gonna meet Virgil, but I don’t know if I should have us all meet him at once or do in in little bits.”

“Ok, you’re already there, so I think you should just meet him as you. But you should definitely tell him that we exist.”

“Ok.” Patton smiled for no one’s benefit. “What’s going on with you two?”

“Nothing, good luck with the kid. Bye.”

With that Roman hung up on him.

“Ok, love you, bye.” Patton said to the dead phone.

Patton returned the phone to his pocket and took a deep breath to steel himself. He glanced down at the stuffed bear he had bought from the gift shop, it had a little hive that said ‘Bee Well’ across it. That was the perfect dad joke to break the ice, and a cute animal to boot. He could do this.

He looked through the window and saw several doctors and Thomas talking to a teenage boy. Patton paused. He didn’t recognize him. The baby face had been replaced with Payton’s jawline and Virgil had no baby fat left. In fact, he had almost no body fat at all. That can’t be good. In place of his little blond tufts of hair was long black hair, well long in the front any way. His bangs swept over his face like a curtain. The only things that were the same were his eyes. The same amazing violet eyes. Worry was reflected in them now, but they were still beautiful.

Right now, he was biting his lip and pulling his knees to his chest. Thomas said something and he started chewing on the bandages that covered his hands rather than his lip, the news was out now. Thomas sat down next to him and said something else, at that Virgil put his head on his knees and covered his head with his arms. With his messed-up hands, he fruitlessly pulled at his hair. Thomas talked to him for a minute more then walked to the door to let Patton in.

Never mind. I can’t do this. Patton walked in quietly.

Virgil didn’t look up.

I can’t do this!

“Virgil,” Thomas said trying to sound upbeat. “This is your uncle, Patton. And he’s going to be taking care of you for a while.”

Virgil shuddered, and though he was trying to hide it he was visibly shaking.

Ok, natural greeting. Neutral.

“Hey kiddo.” Patton said softly.

WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!!!

“I know this is a lot to take in, and that you’ve been having a rough time.” Patton paused, where was he going with this? “So, uh… I’m not gonna press you to do anything you’re not comfortable with. And… I would like you to come stay with me, but you don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“I mean.” Virgil finally spoke, his voice was strained. “I don’t wanna live on the street, and that’s kind of the only other option.”

Patton walked up to the bed. He knew what to do, it was as if his instincts kicked in.

“Can I sit down?” He asked. Pointing to a spot besides Virgil.

“Do whatever you want.” Virgil mumbled into his blanket.

Patton sat next to him and gingerly placed a hand on the younger man’s shoulder. Virgil flinched. He flinched and made a kind of whimpering sound in his throat. Patton felt a rage burn inside his chest. He feared that if he tried to talk, he would breath fire.

“It’s ok,” He soothed. No fire, good. “I’m not gonna hurt you.”

“Isn’t that the bare minimum?”

“I said we’d take baby steps. Nothing you’re not comfortable with.”

“Yeah?” Virgil looked up at him, his eyes red with tears.

“Of course.” Patton smiled reassuringly and ran a hand through his nephew’s hair.

Virgil closed his eyes and sighed almost euphorically at the contact. Patton bit back bile at the thought that this poor, innocent kid was so completely starved for affection that he would all but melt for the first person to show him basic human kindness. If Payton didn’t go to hell…

Virgil slid his head down and rested it on Patton’s shoulder. He had stopped shaking and was just at rest. Patton wished he had brought a camera, but he knew he’d remember this moment even without pictures. This one was going in the vault.

#logicality #parental moxiety #parental anological #platonic lamp #sanders side fic #sanders sides

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delimeful · 5 years ago

Text

the shapes in the silence (3)

warnings: violence, mild injury, panic

Chapter 3

The trip passed in a haze, Virgil’s head spinning from trying to figure out what to do, and also a mild case of hyperventilation he was desperately trying to muffle. He was trapped between a rock and a hard place, and no matter what he chose, it would definitely end badly.

Too soon, they were in front of the portal to the Imagination in Roman’s hall, and the creative side turned to face them.

“Patton, from here I will take the dragon alone,” Roman said, cutting off all protest. “The tides of the Mindscape have been turbulent lately, and I do not want you to come to harm. I promise to keep this tiny beast safe and sound.”

Patton frowned, but eventually nodded at Roman’s stubborn stance. He turned Virgil to face him, eyes suspiciously wet. “Okay, be safe little guy. I hope I’ll see you again soon.”

Virgil couldn’t help but agree with the thought as Roman wrapped his hands around him, tucking him carefully against his chest. His head throbbed slightly, and he couldn’t focus enough to protest as the creative side stepped through to the Imagination.

The first half hour of the trip was fairly uneventful, spent wandering among the shifting landscapes where Roman most frequently encountered dragons. Virgil even got to see what residents of the Imagination normally looked like before things took a turn for the worse.

Roman frowned, studying the trees around them carefully. Virgil could feel his hackles raise, the sense of them getting closer to his position. He growled low in his throat, beyond caring about what Roman would think. He would die either way, at least Roman would make it quick.

Maybe not once he figured out who Virgil really was, though.

As though summoned by his thoughts, he spotted the first shadowy figure darting through the trees with a multitude of spindly legs. He snarled out a warning, and Roman turned to face the shadow just in time. His face contorted with shock and then fury, but his grip on Virgil remained steady as he drew his sword and attacked.

Two more approached, one after the other, and once Roman finished besting them, he let out a heavy breath, and set the dragon on the ground in the middle of their clearing. Virgil blinked at the careful motion. Had he… not figured it out?

“Don’t worry, dragonling. I’ll keep you from harm.”

Roman turned away as more approached, and Virgil felt his jaw drop slightly. He… he had no idea. He really was a clueless moron. Did he even know-

“Come out, Anxiety, you foul villain, and face me yourself!” Roman shouted, blade clashing against the dark hide of a beast with hundreds of eyes. “I know these monsters follow in your wake!”

Virgil shrank back slightly. Oh. He did know. He just couldn’t connect the dots.

Virgil watched carefully as the prince destroyed specter after specter before they could get close, a strange feeling in the back of his throat.

He was… really protecting him, able to slash through shades that would take Virgil ages and probably a panic attack or two to defeat. It was weird, even if he knew that it wasn’t really him Roman thought he was defending.

A flash of movement in the corner of his eye caught his attention and he spotted a deep shadow creeping up in Roman’s blind spot. It probably wasn’t strong enough to do any real damage, Roman didn’t show a shred of fear while fighting, but... what if it did? The thought was enough to make him panic, and he lunged for the shadow, screeching out a warning.

He was faster in this form, but even so, he was tiny. There was only so much damage he could do. The shadow jerked back as he latched onto it, teeth sinking into the ephemeral flesh. He managed to rake his hind claws across the creatures chest once, twice, and then he was flung off, hitting the ground and rolling.

He groaned from the sensation of something twisting in his back leg, but hurriedly pulled himself up anyways. It would be on him soon, and he twisted as something approached, teeth bared-

Roman. He was reaching out in concern, the shadow already banished, and even as he drew back Virgil closed his mouth with a clack, his ears lifting in relief. The prince stared at him with an odd expression for a moment, before a branch snapped behind him and Virgil croaked an unneeded warning. With barely a pause, he was off again, fighting like he was born for it. It was like watching a choreographed dance.

Moments later, there was a slight pause in the endless attackers, and Roman whirled around, scooping up Virgil with a startled squawk, and booking it. The prince muttered literature-based obscenities under his breath as he hurried back to the closest portal, diving through and closing it after him.

“Are you injured?” Roman asked, before carefully checking him over. Virgil held himself very still, not flinching away even when pressure was applied to the injured leg.

Once reassured that Virgil was unharmed, the prince sighed in relief, leaning against the wall with his free arm. Virgil leaned over to check that the idiot didn’t have head trauma from throwing himself around like that.

“I am quite alright, little dragon,” Roman assured him, before his brow creased. “But a certain emo is about to not be.”

By the time Virgil processed that Roman was talking about him, but not this him, they were halfway down Virgil’s hall, and he panicked.

He let out a shaky warble and clawed his way up Roman’s shoulders as though to repeat the move he’d done with Patton before, ignoring the twinge of pain from his bad leg. Roman was swift enough to catch him, lifting him off carefully with a surprising amount of concern.

“Easy, easy, Puff the Jumpy Dragon! What are you doing?”

Virgil cast a glance at his door in the shadows at the end of the hall. He couldn’t let them try to barge in and find it empty. When he looked back at Roman, he found that the prince was following his gaze consideringly. His heart stuttered.

“Are you… frightened of Anxiety?” he asked, gaze weirdly soft.

Virgil sent thanks to whoever was looking out for him by making Princey jump to the completely wrong conclusion.

As though to test his theory, Roman took a step forwards, and Virgil immediately resumed his struggling. Yes, look at me, I’m terrified, don’t take me near the big bad Anxiety.

Roman nodded firmly. “Very well. I will confront him at a later hour then, don’t you worry.” His stomach twisted at the thought, but that was a problem for later Virgil. Roman turned back to the stairs. “For now, I’m sure Patton will be simply ecstatic to see you again.”

Virgil drooped at the thought. That’s right. He was still trapped here, whether or not they made the connection to his actual self.

Roman glanced at him with that strange look in his eyes again, and carried him downstairs, where Patton and Logan were waiting. Patton sat up straight at the sight of him, grin nearly blinding. “You guys are back!”

Roman returned the smile in full force. “We are indeed!”

“Does this mean that our unexpected visitor is staying, then?” Logan asked, carefully slotting a bookmark into his novel.

Roman adjusted his grip on Virgil for a second, thinking. “Our journey was interrupted by most foul specters, so I did not have time to search everywhere, but…”

He set Virgil down on Patton’s lap. “For now, I think it would be best to keep him here.”

Patton cheered softly, hand hovering over Virgil’s head. On instinct, he butted his face against the fingers, and then froze. Patton simply smiled and carefully pet him, like one would a cat. He felt shame well up in him; how could he be taking advantage of their ignorance for a few measly touches? He was practically deceiving them at this point.

He pulled away slightly, leaning down to gnaw at the band again.

Roman cleared his throat, drawing the attention of all three in the room. He was looking at Virgil again, and his heart rate somehow rose further. “I’ve been meaning to ask, what is that device on his leg?”

“Ah, that would be my doing,” Logan said, perking up. “The band is a simple tracker, so that we can be rest assured that it will not run off without us knowing.”

“A tracker?” Patton echoed, confused and a little worried.

Virgil leaned away from the cuff, worried now that they’d be angry at him for trying to get it off so obviously. Roman frowned.

“While I understand you had good intentions, I believe I should clarify that dragons are not simple animals. They normally are vicious and cunning creatures, but,” Roman shot a curious look down at the dragon in question, “in this case, I believe this one is smart without the cruelty.”

Virgil stared, eyes wide. Logan leaned forward, interested. “Are you saying it- he is cognizant?”

“Indeed, I am,” Roman confirmed. “He was a great help in warning me of enemies while in the Imagination, and he shows a range of emotions and understanding similar to us. As such, I don’t believe he would prefer to be... collared like a simple animal.”

Virgil felt a surge of joy and disbelief. The last person he would have expected was giving him a chance to get out of this mess.

Patton peered down at him with concerned eyes. “Aw, kiddo, is that true?”

Virgil paused for a second, thinking. He couldn’t respond with a nod- that was too human and Roman was more perceptive than Virgil had given him credit for. He couldn’t act too different from what the creative side would expect from a dragon. Which was hard, seeing as he had only his own instincts to go off of. On the other hand, there was no way he would pass up the opportunity he had been offered to get this thing off.

In the end, he settled for biting at the cuff again, and then lifting it up towards Patton with a displeased whine. Patton turned to Logan, distressed, and the logical side raised a hand to stall the question before it was asked.

“Before you ask me to remove it, I would like to point out that it’s possible that he could become lost in the Mindscape. We know little to nothing about how well creatures from the Imagination will function here, since Roman did not conjure him directly. If that scenario came to pass, I imagine we would want to know where he had gone for his own safety.”

Patton hesitated, and Virgil narrowed his eyes at Logan. He was so close! It was his damn job to worry about everything that could go wrong, so why was Logan suddenly so concerned with it? He wouldn’t get lost in the Mindscape, he lived here!

A muffled laugh from Patton interrupted him, and he paused, realizing that he had been making angry chittering sounds as he not-so-mentally ranted at Logan. He’d gotten carried away. It was lucky that he could only ‘speak’ in a strange mix of growls and clicks in this form, or else the jig really would have been up.

“I think he’s made his stance clear on the matter,” Roman said, badly concealing his amusement. Patton was still giggling, trying to smooth down the raised scales along Virgil’s back, and he let himself settle, melting slightly under the touch. Pathetic.

“I… see,” Logan said, awkwardly. “In that case… maybe a compromise? I can adjust the function so that the tracker doesn’t activate unless a concerning amount of time has passed since we last saw him?”

“That… might work,” Roman said, turning to look at Virgil inquisitively. “What say you, Toothful?”

Virgil absentmindedly kneaded the blanket on Patton’s legs as he considered. He really just wanted this thing off him, but if he said no, would they leave the tracker on him permanently? Monitor his every move? That was one of the worst possible outcomes. If he agreed to the compromise, he just might be able to get the tracker off when he was back to normal, and then it was just a matter of never going out of his room in the wrong form ever again.

“Please, kiddo?” Patton asked, giving him an imploring look. “I don’t want you to go missing because I wanted you to stay with us!”

Even if he couldn’t get the tracker off right away… It wouldn’t be that awful, to spend more time with them. Curl up and sleep in the comforting presence of others… Even if he didn’t deserve it, he couldn’t deny the appeal of spending time with the other Sides without all the distrust.

Mind made up, he carefully climbed out of Patton’s lap, making his way over to the arm of the couch and then leaping the short distance between it and Logan’s armchair. He concealed a wince as his injury protested the movement. Once he was stable, he held the leg with the band out to Logan, careful to keep his eyes averted.

“I take it you would prefer the adjustment?” Logan asked, and he chirruped lowly at him, pushing his leg out further. “Very well.”

He reached his hand up and delicately held Virgil’s clawed paw between two fingers, leaning in to fiddle with the cuff with his other hand. He couldn’t help but shift a bit nervously, but he reminded himself that they didn’t know who he was. They weren’t going to hurt him unprovoked unless they found out. He had to stop acting so… well, anxious.

“There,” Logan said, returning to his normal straight-backed posture. “Now, the tracker will only activate after five days have passed without contact with one of us.”

Five days. He’d make it work.

He trilled lowly in thanks, and then sat there on the armrest, studying the three of them as they launched into conversation, apparently picking a movie. It was… different, when it was just the three of them. Not as tense. He felt a pang of guilt again, this time for the stress he put on everyone. He was trying his hardest to make sure everything ran smoothly, but in the end, he was Anxiety. It only made sense that they were more comfortable without him.

Like this, though… They were happy, even though he was here. Maybe it wouldn’t be awful to spend more time in this form. Maybe.

#sanders sides #ts virgil #ts roman #ts patton #ts logan #tiny dragon virgil #my writing #tsits #the shapes in the silence #chapter 3 #writing

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mothmansfriend · 5 years ago

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when i’m sad oh god i’m sad pt. 1

link to pt. 2

follows a very similar timeline to @tearxofink‘s fic Rules for a Functioning Alcoholic but will prob have differences (such as no established relationships) and takes place in @illogicallyinclined‘s hockey au after the mention of Remus possibly having undiagnosed bipolar disorder

update: i think its important to acknowledge roughly where this takes place in the big timeline bc D doesn’t really drink past freshman yr in this AU because of self preservation and trauma, alcoholism was more an issue before then in high school (when remus and d were Rowdy Boys) but the stress of Logan’s concussion lead to some heavy drinking that was caught quickly by Virgil because Remus Cannot Keep Secrets.

summary: Remus has undiagnosed Bipolar Disorder and is dealing with a severe depressive episode in the aftermath of realizing that binge drinking with D wasn’t just his own search to Feel Something, but was also D’s relapse into alcoholism. Remus comes to the realization of lost time during manic episodes and refuses help.

tw: graphic descriptions of a depressive episode, self harm (burning), suicidal thoughts, and suicidal intent (but not attempt). unhealthy coping mechanisms, alcohol abuse, mentioned alcoholism, undiagnosed mental illness, miscommunications on shared trauma, ask to tag if i missed any.

Remus doesn’t think he’s ever felt happy in his life.

But that can’t be true. He’s sure it wasn't even two months ago he swore he’d never felt sad before in his life and he knows that one wasn’t true either.

Though, right now the younger Prince twin couldn’t even be certain he feels sad right now. He can identify some feelings, like dizziness (he stumbles through the lobby doors, it’s too bright out its giving him a headache that better not be a hangover), guilt (“Do you even think about anyone but yourself?” No, Virgil, you know Remus better than that. “You know how hard getting sober was the first time, D suddenly taking you out to the bar during the week didn’t raise any flags?” It didn’t, Remus is too self absorbed), and most importantly something he can’t quite label that came in through his lungs smoother than the cheap cigarettes he hates (but uses as an excuse to turn himself into a human ashtray) and settled deep inside him just under a month ago (weeks before D suggested goiung to the club on w Tuesday evening for the first time in almost a year) and it's getting heavier and heavier every day. Possibly, relief was felt when he was greeted by a totally empty apartment instead of a holier-than-thou brother trying to enforce ‘responsibility’ and his first real friend whom he recently enabled in a relapse.

The normally obnoxious and loud man silently rides the elevator to their floor, tripping over his own feet as he exits not even offering a head bop to the cheesy elevator music. He enters the apartment and slams the door harder than necessary but can’t bring himself to feel bad. There's no elegance or emotion to closing his door, landing on his bed full clothed after barely kicking off his shoes and grabbing the controller to turn on Netflix and select the first Saw movie.

It’s halfway through the second movie when he hears someone return home and make what is probably lunch before leaving again. He takes a moment to wonder if his professors or classmates notice his absence or if they’re just thankful for it. He’s sober and he feels the burns on his ankles and arms throb in time with his black eye. God he wishes he wasn’t, but pissed off his last more-than-a-little-sketchy friend and he doesn’t have the energy to find the stash he knows D hid in the apartment somewhere.

Just as Saw II ends and the third begins, he opens his window and lights up a cigarette with a lighter he knows he stole from someone. The smoke coats his throat and the terrible burning taste of nicotine sticks to the roof of his mouth, the headrush barely makes it worth it. Remus considers maybe he needs something stronger, Virgil seems like the type to secretly smoke weed. Wandering minds think about the movie he just watched and the classic needle pit, he certainly isn’t afraid of needles. He slams his head into the glass of his window and takes another drag. The reality of that thought would be a bigger issue than many things he’s done, it’s not often that he rejects things his brain throws at him. He stares out the window and a group of students pass and he sees the exact moment they smell his shitty cigarettes as they look around and glare when they see him. He realizes how often people look at him like that and it feels like the first time that it bothers him. He puts the cigarette out in his lower calf and holds it there until the darkened skin and burning pain is all he can think about

The fifth movie ends marking around 10 hours of blankly staring at the screen. He’s only wearing boxers and the ratty t-shirt he’s been wearing for days. Both roommates are home. The group chat is going off Remus briefly saw a few messages, a reminder about practice Thursday morning, Patton looking for baking suggestions, Virgil asked if anyone heard from Remus because they didn’t finish their discussion.

Remus mutes the chat for the first time and when his phone falls off the bed, doesn't bother reaching for it.

The eighth movie ends. It’s been darkout for awhile, though he isn’t sure quite how long. Remus really feels as if his body has melted and merged with the bed. He hopes he’s dying. He eats stale chips he had hidden in his nightstand and can’t even get out of bed to smoke half a cigarette and put it out on his exposed thigh.

He falls asleep after silencing his brain as best as he can right now.

The next time he wakes up the sun is either setting or rising. He doesn’t really care. The hockey player doesn’t really know if he's stayed still this long, almost ever. If he thinks about it though he is pretty sure he did this last spring. He’s also pretty sure no one noticed last time either. Sleeping seemed to have helped a little and he figured he could probably make a trip to the bathroom and maybe the kitchen if he’s lucky, he noticed that pizza box under his bed is smelling pretty terrible. It’s been four days since he was home spoke to anyone, and no one has checked in on him. He hasn’t left his room since his return, the gatorade bottle of piss is evidence of such. And miraculously, he actually manages to throw out the pizza, steal a ziplock bag full of Roman’s cereal, and use the bathroom. While washing his hands he stares at the shower and decides it’s waited four days, it can wait one more. Just before heading back to his room, Remus swipes the mickey of vodka he saw behind the flour.

He watched the sun rise through his half open blinds and doesn’t remember the last time he saw the sun rise. Remus had yet to touch the vodka, mostly because it hit the floor hours ago and he’s pretty sure he can deal for a few more hours. Today marks day five in a world without Remus Prince opening his fucking mouth to say some dumb shit that probably hurt someone and he didnt even notice. Remus can’t bring himself to care. He can’t stop thinking about how no one has asked about him since. He read the groupchat, Remus knows he’s a nosey bitch, no one has asked about him since a halfhearted response from Roman implying he hadn’t been gone long enough to worry. This sparks a kind of exhausted anger and Remus feels no amount of guilt for stealing his brothers vodka. The smoke weighing him down from inside lulls him back into the bone deep fatigue with no release.

It’s night again, likely early in the morning. Remus’s head is a deep echoing cave of different ways he could die if he just got out of bed. He’s been thinking about the hunting knife he swiped at someone’s house party months ago, for a few hours maybe. He’s had many thoughts like this before, about how fragile human skin is, about how fun it could be to slice open, how warm his own blood would be as it flowed out and he could reach in and feel his final breath.

God, does he want that. His hand reaches out and grabs his chest pulling on any skin he can grip onto as tight as he could. He’s never been good at anything, he knows he has never been a good person, he can’t stop circling around what Roman could possibly mean that Remus hasn’t been gone for long enough to worry when he’s so sure he’s never been gone more than three days. His phone though, if he goes back far enough in his phone, he thinks Roman is right. Google Maps places him in places he doesn’t recognize in cities he’s never been to. His chest seizing up in a way he’s only seen on others.

He’s always been able to hold onto even if his parents didn’t love him, even if no one ever liked him or missed him, that Remus Prince was never fake, he never played nice, he never pretended to be someone he wasn’t he never hid his feelings about anything. If anyone asked him, he’d tell them and it’s their fault if it hurt their feelings. But, how can that be true now? Who is he on these days he doesn’t remember.

Forgetting where he was or getting distracted midway through a task or conversation were always normal for him, the ADHD if he had to guess; but the realization it wasn’t minutes or even hours that he forgot upsets him in a way he didn’t think he could recognize. Remus thinks that this might be the closest he would ever get to understanding how so many people fear him. and he does not like it at all.

The knife is so close. He lights a cigarette. No one else is awake yet. No one has realized he’s even at home. How long would it take to find him? Days? Weeks? How long is he usually gone? Would the smell be what finally pulled someone into to check on him? He puts the cigarette out on his leg. He knows the knife is in the bottom drawer of his desk under old notebooks and packs of pens dumped loosely inside. It’s less than five feet away. He wants it.

He sits up, swings his legs numbly off the side of the bed and stands up. It feels like the hardest thing he’s ever had to do. In a mere three steps forward he sits down on the ground behind his desk chair to wretch open the drawer and sees just how messy it is. His phone goes off and he pulls it by the wire to check, a reminder for practice at 6am. He shoots Coach an apology text for missing practice for the first time in his hockey career and throws his phone back towards the bed. His body feels so heavy as he shoves a hand roughly into the drawer to search for the knife, frustration when he can’t immediately find it leads to him slamming his head into the wooden desk leg before letting it fall onto the chair cushion as his hand wiggles around for a few moments, each second filling him with aimless anger. The drawer slams shut and he flops onto the floor.

He can’t even find the energy to kill himself. Pathetic. He glares at the desk from his place on the cool floor until the fatigue brings him back to sleep.

#sanders sides #remus sanders #bipolar disorder #self harm #suicidal thoughts #angst #hockey au #university au #link to the other fic is fixed #notes on timeline added

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runaway-horses · 5 years ago

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Wait For Me (I’m Coming) Part 1/2

Word Count: 5,363

A/N: Wowie this fic took so long. I was up till about 1am finishing it then putting the finishing touches on it, I y’all enjoy! This is going to be part of a bigger ‘verse, and once I recover from writing this I’ll be outlining the details of the AU. (The title is from Hadestown Wait For Me, it’s an amazing song please listen to it while reading this) Onto the story!

Warnings: (Buckle up oof) Kidnapping, torture, fear of death, blood, whipping, minor character death, a needle is mentioned exactly once, it sounds like a lot but none of it is super graphic, angst with a happy ending, hurt/comfort. Heavy on the hurt but also heavy on the comfort. Please let me know if there’s anything I need to add/remove.

Tags: @pippippippin, @a-cure-for-sentience, @stormcrawler75, @princeyssash, @quoth-the-sparrow, @theresneverenoughfandoms, @queer-guineapig (I’m so sorry if I missed anyone, please let me know if you want to be added/removed!)

Next Chapter >>

~~~

Roman dropped the map he had been studying and pressed his fingers to his forehead with a groan. The letters and colors on the page were swimming before his eyes, and he pressed harder in an attempt to stave off the headache forming behind his eyes.

He looked up when he heard his tent flap swish open, announcing the arrival of a new person. Virgil was standing in the doorway one hand loosely positioned near his sword.

“Virgil,” Roman greeted.

Virgil relaxed after being acknowledged and entered the tent fully.

“We combed the forest, no sign of anyone, sir.”

Virgil’s news wasn’t unexpected, but Roman’s heart ached anyway. He nodded and sighed tiredly.

“Thank you, captain. Get some rest, we’ll continue on in the morning.” He said, hoping his exhaustion wasn’t evident in his voice.

Virgil gave a short nod of affirmation before approaching the makeshift desk. Upon closer inspection, Virgil himself looked exhausted. Of course he was, Roman scolded himself. This ordeal had been draining on everyone involved, but Virgil was perhaps the most affected by the trauma of it all. Virgil leaned forward and squinted at the map that had been giving Roman a headache just moments before.

They had been combing the forests surrounding their kingdom for days, and every day that they came up without a lead added to the weight on Roman’s heart. Virgil knew how disheartened Roman was becoming and tried his best to keep the troops in line to ease some of his stress. He might’ve thought he was being subtle, but Roman saw it. He was filled with a sudden rush of affection for his best friend, and had to fight back tears that threatened to spill over.

He broke the silence by clearing his throat. “Patton returned about a half-hour ago. I believe he is waiting in his tent, if you’d like to see him.

Roman pretended not to notice the blush that graced Virgil’s cheekbones, and he chuckled at the soft punch to his shoulder from Virgil. But Virgil’s face quickly turned serious again.

“Promise me you’ll get some rest, Ro. You won’t do anyone any good asleep at your desk, or sick from sleep deprivation.” Virgil’s voice was stern and reminded Roman of Patton. Perhaps the fatherly figure was rubbing off on him.

“I will, Virgil.” He said. Hoped his voice sounded reassuring.

Virgil nodded once and turned to leave. He hesitated with his hand on the flap and looked over his shoulder one last time.

“And Ro?” Roman glanced up at him. “We’re going to find him. We won’t stop until we bring Logan home.”

This time, Roman couldn’t stop the tears that welled in his eyes.

“I know, Virgil. I know.”

~~~

When Logan woke up, the first thing he was aware of was darkness.

He was disoriented for a moment, wondering when it had gotten so dark in his room, before his memories flooded back to him.

The blindfold, being grabbed, the needle in his neck-

He jerked and tried to move his arms, but they were securely fastened behind his back with rope. He could already feel the ache in his shoulders from the awkward position.

Unfortunately, his movement alerted whoever was in the room with him of his consciousness.

“Good, you’re awake,” He heard a voice growl. Logan tried to focus on where the voice was coming from, but it seemed to echo.

He was laying on a cold floor, and there was a blindfold over his eyes and a gag in his mouth. He tried to quelch the rising panic in his chest.

Deep breath, Logan.

He heard footsteps approaching him and tensed up in response. There was a rough hand grabbing him suddenly and yanking him up by his hair, pulling him onto his knees. Logan fought the instinct to cry out at the pain, refusing to give them the satisfaction.

“Logan Clarke, the court astrologer. A pleasure to find myself in your presence.” A cold, metallic voice to Logan’s left drawled. He couldn’t help the shiver as ice slid down his spine and froze in his veins. There was something about that voice...something familiar…

Logan gasped.

“Yes, Clarke,” The voice chuckled darkly. “We’re going to have such fun together.”

~~~

Virgil stepped out into the night, letting Roman’s tent flap swish shut behind him. The evening air was cool and carried a faint hint of orange blossoms, Spring announcing herself sooner than usual.

(Logan’s favorite time of year, but Virgil tries not to dwell on it.)

He slowly makes his way through the hastily constructed camp and, after quickly pulling off his armor and depositing it at his tent, keeps walking towards his destination. Patton’s flap is open — of course it is — and he is bent over his sheath, working oil into the leather. He looks up when he hears Virgil approaching, and the smile that graces his face lifts Virgil’s exhaustion momentarily.

Patton’s lips are warm when he presses a gentle kiss against them and Virgil can’t help but smile.

“Hello beautiful,” Patton greets, and Virgil can feel his cheeks heating up for the second time that night.

“Hey Pat,” He murmurs back. He brings a hand up to touch Patton’s cheek and allows himself a moment to admire this man.

Their relationship had gotten off to a rocky start — Virgil thought Patton was in love with Duchess Emmaline, and Patton had taken Virgil’s standoffish behavior as distaste — but they had gotten there.

(Roman will forever take credit for how it happened, and Virgil would like nothing more than to wipe that smug smirk off his best friend’s face whenever he sees the two together.)

Patton tugs on his arm and Virgil takes the hint, unbuckling his own sword, and sitting down next to him. He sat stiffly for a moment until Patton wrapped an arm around him and pulled him against his side. The warm weight of Patton’s arm coaxed Virgil into a relaxed slump against Patton.

“I’m worried, Pat.”

“I know you are, sweetheart,” Patton murmured into the top of Virgil’s head.

“I’m scared for Logan, and I’m worried for Roman.”

Virgil’s voice cracked, but Patton was kind enough not to comment on it.

“Logan’s strong, Virgil, and we are going to find him. He’ll be home before you know it, and Roman isn’t going to let our astrologer out of his sight ever again.” Here he paused to hold Virgil a little tighter. “We’re going to be fine.”

Patton’s voice held no room for doubt. He spoke with such assurance that Virgil couldn’t help but feel comforted. He snuggled a little deeper and let out a sigh. Patton was right.

He had to be.

~~~

Stupid.

Logan was so stupid. How had he not connected the information? Dietrich was the most obvious culprit behind his kidnapping. Logan's position wasn't hard to fill, but taking him away from Roman's court would undermine the stability of the entire court structure.

Logan took a deep breath in through his nose and tried to calm his heartbeat as he heard the echoing thump of footsteps approaching his body. Rough hands pulled him up off the floor and dragged him across the cold stone to a hard chair. He was pushed down into the chair and tried not to wince when the position jostled his arms painfully. The blindfold that he was wearing was ripped off and he squinted at the dim light in the room, his eyes sensitive.

When his vision cleared, he saw a large man standing in front of him with a wicked scowl. Logan tried to look unaffected, even as his heart jumped in his chest at the glint of metal on the man’s belt. A hand tangled in his hair and yanked his head back, forcing him to make eye contact with the man.

“Listen here, Clarke. I know your type, I know who you think you are. You think you’re better than all of us with your star charts, and your prissy robes, and your stupid little glasses. But I can tell you that all scholars are men, and all men bleed.”

The flickering candlelight caught on the edge of his blade, and Logan let out a terror-filled breath.

“I think this will humble you a bit, Master Clarke.”

~~~

The cool Spring air brushed teasingly against Roman’s face as he moved through the forest, his horse moving at a brisk trot. He didn’t dare moving faster through the dark forest, where there were tripping hazards everywhere hidden in the twisted roots of the trees.

His mind was momentarily drawn to a memory of another time he had been on horseback

Logan’s arms around his waist as they two of them galloped through open land, Logan’s breath warm against his neck, feeling Logan’s laughter where he was pressed up against him. The pretty blush on Logan’s cheeks when Roman bowed to him and asked him for a dance, the two of them twirling through high grass, carefree and happy. Logan’s laugh, clear and loud as he threw his head back in mirth.

Roman shakes off the ghost of Logan’s arms around him and blinks away his tears. Losing himself in past memories won’t help him find Logan now. He raises a hand in signal to Virgil, and half the men separate from the group to turn left through the forest while Roman’s group moves forward, towards the mountains.

He doesn’t want memories of love, he wants the real thing.

And he’s going to find him.

~~~

Logan swims to consciousness and immediately wishes he hadn’t. He is made painfully aware of the aches in pains of his body, his left eye swollen shut and each breath brings a sharp pain in his side. He suspects a broken rib, and even if he can’t see them, he knows he’s covered in bruises. The metallic taste of blood is strong in his mouth.

Through the haze of pain, Logan has a faint sense of pride. He’s held up pretty well through everything, steadfastly remaining silent, and at times insolent.

(That had earned him the dull ache of pain on his thigh, where he can feel dried blood stuck to his skin.)

A part of him wonders why he holds out.

He doesn’t know how long he’s been here, time doesn't exist except in the spaces between visits from his captors and the blissful release from consciousness that comes after. The constant pain and isolation has made his brain fuzzy, and he often feels his coherency dripping away from him, like trying to hold water in cupped hands. It’s frightening, almost more-so than being held here by people who wish him harm.

In this moment, surrounded by darkness around and darkness within, he wants Roman more than ever.

He has tried to keep the Prince as far away from his thoughts as possible, and though he tells himself it’s because he doesn’t want to let anything slip to Dietrich or his cronies, it’s also an act of self-defense. If Logan lets his mind wander to soft touches and kind words, he doesn’t know if he will survive.

He is still trying to pull his disobedient mind away from thoughts of Roman when the thud of a door snaps him fully back into his situation. Logan swallows down the bitter taste of fear as his blindfold is pulled off, not even wincing as it catches on his hair and yanks it hard from the roots.

(Why they keep the blindfold on is a mystery to him. It’s not as if there’s any information to glean from the four dank walls of his cell. He thinks they’re playing a mind game with him, hoping the sensory deprivation might make him break sooner.

He’s afraid to admit that they might be right.)

The person who stands before him seems angry- angrier than he thinks he’s seen any of them before. The person opens their mouth as if to speak, but instead they just walk behind Logan and attaches a chain to the ones keep his wrists together. He’s yanked up to his feet and his shoulders scream at the movement. He’s prodded forward and he takes a moment as his vision blurs and he sways dangerously. He’s barely given a moment to recover before he’s shoved hard between his shoulder blades and he stumbles forward.

Logan is pushed through the door to his cell and down a winding passage way. It’s just as dark out here as it is in his cell, and momentarily Logan wonders how his guard even knows where they’re going.

He’s steered through a doorway that opens into a larger room. There are chains hanging from the ceiling and the pit of dread in Logan’s stomach feels akin to how he imagines it would if the bottom of his stomach had suddenly fallen out. His feet freeze in their tracks without thought, and the person shoves him forward.

Logan needs to flee. He needs to run, he knows he does. This is his chance- might be the only one he has. But his brain, his damned brain, can’t grasp onto anything that’s not the ice cold fear in his veins. Besides, where would he go? He’s in no condition to run, and is surely outnumbered.

He’s still caught in the tornado of his thoughts when he’s dragged forward and his arms are pulled up, one wrist connected to the chain suspended from the ceiling. There’s a moment where his two wrists are separated for the first time since his arrival, and he knows he should struggle- rip his hand away, kick at the person, try to free his other wrist, and run.

But he doesn’t do any of those things. Doesn’t even struggle, just lets himself be secured to the cold, unforgiving metal, even as he screams at himself to do something, anything.

The person steps back and Logan has never felt more exposed despite being fully dressed. He hears footsteps behind him, but just drops his head and keeps his eyes shut. There’s two torches on the wall and even that sparse light his making his eyes ache. More footsteps, these coming closer. Logan doesn’t move, doesn’t even twitch, but then there a sickening crack in the room that makes his hair stand on end. A chill passes through him and he lets out a pathetic sound.

“Please don’t,” He whispers, voice hoarse from disuse.

There a dark chuckle and Logan hears the sound of the whip trailing through his torturer’s hand.

“You know what to say to end it all, Clarke.”

Logan keeps his mouth resolutely shut even as a tremor wracks his body.

“Okay then, this’ll be more fun for me anyway.”

The pain that rips across Logan’s back tears an inhuman scream from his mouth and he swears he can taste blood.

“Scream all you like, no one’s coming for you.”

For the first time in his life, Logan prays.

~~~

Roman’s chest tightens and he shifts, uneasy. He feels antsy and filled to the brim with bad energy. They had stopped for the night, despite Roman’s desire to push forward. Virgil had pulled him aside with a kind, but firm denial.

“Roman,” he had started, voice low. “The men are exhausted, and so are you. We’ve lost the light- it’s time to stop for the night.”

Roman had pushed back the anger at the suggestion he stop- it had been seventeen days, Logan was nowhere near being found, he didn’t deserve to rest while his beloved was out there, alone and in danger-

But he knew that Virgil meant well. (And Virgil was probably getting considerably more sleep than Roman, perhaps his ideas and thinking were more watertight than Roman’s own sleep deprived hypotheses.)

So he had agreed to stop for the night, but as he was untacking his horse he was gripped with the feeling that something was wrong. Or more wrong than it had been.

He had tried to shake it off as he went through the motions of setting up his tent and his pallet, but the feeling only intensified. Finally, he gives in and goes to Virgil’s tent, fully dressed and sword in hand.

“Virgil,” He whispers, russling the tent flap. After a moment, Virgil poked his head out, looking fully awake.

“Roman? What’s going on, why are you dressed?”

“Something’s wrong, Virgil. I know it is. I’m going to press forward and check in that pass that we skipped earlier.”

Virgil frowned and ducked past the flap to stand outside with Roman.

“Princey, you can’t be serious. That'd be the height of stupidity, it’s dangerous, I mean, where’s your self-preservation?” Virgil had that look in his eyes that he got when he was exasperated, or worried. (Virgil was versatile in that he was able to be pissed off at you and protective at the same time. It’s admirable when it’s not aimed at Roman.)

“Virgil…” Roman starts, his voice trailing off as tears sprang to his eyes. He doesn’t know what to say. It’s been too long. He’s so tired, and he is so, so, scared. But he doesn’t know how to put his feelings into words. Instead, he lets tears drip down his face as he squares his shoulders and looks at Virgil. Virgil’s eyes have softened, and Roman knows that he knows.

“I’ll wake up my men and meet you there,” He says, giving Roman’s arm a squeeze before ducking back into his tent. Roman lets out a shaky breath and drags a hand through his hair. He owes Virgil at least a month off after all of this. (Patton too, of course.)

But first, they have to find Logan.

So Roman strides through tents towards where he knows his horse is and in minutes, he’s moving through the darkness of the forest with one person in mind.

~~~

Logan is jerked to awareness and he doesn’t even realize the muttering that he’s hearing is his own.

“Please, God, someone-anyone, just make it stop.”

A scream falls from his lips in a tired way, as if his body is trying to expel the pain vocally but is too tired to do it properly.

“Not quite ready to sing, little birdy?” The voice is cruel and mocking and Logan has never hated another human being more. “That’s ok, I’m a very patient person.”

Bile rises in Logan’s throat, burning his throat and he coughs, blood dribbling out. He pushes the weak and crumbling mental walls he’s built around his mind, steeling himself as best he can.

But then he hears the sickening sound of the leather whistling through the air as the person gives it a test swing; and Logan breaks.

“Stop!”

Time seems to freeze, and Logan can practically hear the malicious smile that spreads across his torturer’s face. Each breath hurts as Logan gasps and his chest heaves deeply, dread turning the air to lead.

“Do you have something you’d like to say, Clarke?”

Yes. Curse you, you bastard. Curse you and your family for generations to come.

Logan licks his lips before speaking, the words spilling from him, desperate. Anything, anything to make it stop. “There’s discord, among the western noblemen. There’s been talk of a revolution, Roman’s been keeping it under wraps to keep support away from them.”

Fingers, wrapping in his hair tightly. “Keep talking.” Their breath is rancid where it washes across his face and Logan struggles not to gag.

“The King is old and growing ill, he’s not as healthy as we have people believe. The Prince may be rising to King sooner.” Fear clogs his throat as the fingers tighten infinitesimally in his hair, prompting him to speak further.

“The royal coffers run low, food is scarce, and the Prince is attempting to restructure the court system which means it’s unstable at the moment. Suspicion is everywhere.” Logan is running out of words, for the first time in his life, he doesn’t know what to say. A loud crack rings through the room as their hand connects with Logan’s face.

“These are breadcrumbs, Clarke. You think this isn’t information we didn’t already know, or couldn’t glean ourselves? I should kill you now for your insolence.”

Fear is a heavy thing, dark. It sinks into your lungs, fills your veins and heart with black tar. It is visceral, and terrifying. If they’re lucky, most people go their entire life without feeling this type of fear. Logan has experienced this type of fear twice before in his life, first as a child when his home burned down around him and he got trapped in the wreckage, the smoke filling his lungs and settling in next to the fear. The second time was as a teenager, when Virgil was enlisted in the King’s Guard, and then disappeared for seven months.

Logan Clarke did not believe he was afraid of dying. But in this moment, with the danger so near and terrifyingly real, he realizes he is.

Logan Clarke also did not believe he was a traitor.

But he finds that secrets spill from his lips without his intention, damn preservational instincts loosening his lips and baring secrets of the Kingdom of Allura to this person to share with whomever they desire. When the last of the words are wrung from him, he feels like a sponge that’s had all the water squeezed out of it.

Silence rings through the room (blasted silence- Logan’s thinks he’s had enough of it to last a lifetime.)

(If a world of only silence existed for him, however, that meant he wouldn’t die at the hands of this madman, then he knows he would take it in a heartbeat.)

“Thank you, Clarke, I do believe Dietrich will find this most...enlightening.”

Logan’s heart has migrated to his throat, and he has never felt more defeated. His eyes are steadfastly trained on the floor as the person speaks, a slight haze overtaking his mind.

“-I do believe it’ll just be better if I kill you now.”

Panic is fear, just a little to the left. Panic claws at Logan’s insides, a wild thing that is trying to free itself from his insides.

“No, wait, wait!” His voice does not sound his own and he thrashes in his bonds, twisting away from the person.

“Oh calm down, maybe it won’t even hurt. I wouldn’t know, I’ve never died. Think of it like a scientific adventure.”

The person tightens Logan’s chains, pulling his arms up and together and forcing him to look at them.

“I want you to look at me, and know that this is the last face you’ll see before you die.”

The person grips Logan’s jaw tight enough to bruise and brings his face right in front of them. They lick their lips and smile, wickedly, the panic has seized Logan’s chest and he wonders if dying will hurt when-

“Get your hands off him!”

Roman’s voice is loud and drenched in anger. The person lets go of Logan’s face and Logan falls, arms jerking against the chains. He drops his head down, too tired to hold it up. He wonders if he has, in fact, died, and his mind has offered up the voice of the one person he wants to see most in the world as some sort of penance for the suffering he’s endured in the last few days.

There’s noise, somewhere in front of him. Consciousness fades in and out, a haze. (He’s scared to look up, scared to lift his eyes and see blank space instead of Roman. So he lets his eyes slip shut and the sound fade away from him.)

But then.

Then gentle hands cup his face, the smell of orange and smoke fills his nostrils, and he presses into the familiar touch.

“My love? Logan, dearest, can you hear me?”

Relief washes over Logan, so strong that he loses his breath and his eyes fill with tears, spilling down his face and over Roman’s hands. His touch is real, it must be. He could never imagine a touch this gentle, words so soft, not in a lifetime.

“Logan?” The gentle murmur again, a panicked undertone barely hidden in those two syllables.

Logan nods as best he can, sucking in a gasp.

“Oh, dearest, I’m here. I’m here, love.” Roman’s hands are warm and he gently thumbs away Logan’s tears. Logan can feel his arms going numb and his shoulders are burning fiercely as he stands, suspended. He makes a sound that could be mistaken for a whimper by someone less proud than Logan as he tries to relieve the pressure on them. Roman must notice his squirming because he runs a soothing hand through his hair.

“I’ll get you down Logan, I promise.” Roman steps away from his body, leaving Logan alone. The fear returns immediately and Logan’s eyes fly open, a strangled sound coming from his throat. His vision is fuzzy but he makes out the outline of Roman in front of him.

“Shh Logan, I’m right here, dearheart.” Roman’s touch is back, a grounding presence on his skin. “I’m going to try to get your wrists out of these shackles, ok?” Roman waits for his nod of affirmation before walking around Logan to get a better look at this shackles. There’s a sudden rain of curse words behind Logan as Roman lays eyes on his flayed back.

“Oh Logan…” Roman’s voice trails off into choked silence and his despair is palpable. Logan doesn’t know what he sees, but he knows it’s quite bad, if the pain is any indication. The pain on Logan’s back is like fire, he knows. He is pushing the pain into a box, under a table, in a dark corner of his mind, because he cannot miss this, this moment with Roman. Roman is water, and Logan has been stranded in the desert for days. Fingers wrap around his wrist and Logan focuses in on that sensation. There’s some clicking as muttering as Roman fiddles with the mechanism before he swears and steps away, fingers uncurling. Logan hears him shuffling around behind him, but can’t see anything.

He hears a click and the metal around his wrist loosens, Roman’s hand gently holding his as he eases it out of the shackle. He lets out a sympathetic hiss at the sight of Logan’s chafed skin. He repeats this with the other wrist and Logan collapses like a marionette with its strings cut. Roman swears and kneels in front of him, easing him up onto his heels.

Logan is able to look right into Roman’s eyes -oh, how he’s missed those beautiful eyes- and the guilt comes rushing back. “R-ro,” He manages, and it feels like he’s been gargling glass. “I told them, I told them so much. I’m so sorry, I didn’t-I couldn’t stop myself.” Roman’s eyes are concerned as he runs a gentle hand through Logan’s hair.

“Shh, love, it’s okay. Oh dearheart, I’m not mad or upset, you’ve been through so much, I don’t care about anything you might have told them.”

“But-”

“No, no ‘but’s. There’s nothing you could say that would make me angry at you, just more upset at those bastards for harming you.”

Logan wants to object, to explain everything he said and why really, Roman should be concerned, but Roman is here. He’s here and running his fingers through his hair in that way he always did, and whatever has been keeping him going throughout all of this cuts out. He pitches forward into Roman’s arms, and his last thought before he falls unconscious is that the nightmare has finally ended.

~~~

Roman is momentarily filled with panic when Logan falls forward into his arms, but after a moment he realizes that he isn’t dead, just unconscious. He adjusts him so he’s laying in his lap without putting any pressure on his back and his heart squeezes at the sight of the bright red gashes.

When he had stumbled across the crevice in the mountain hours earlier, he had almost continued past it. Only a faint glow that resembled torchlight had him investigating the cave, and deep inside he had found a group of men, all sitting around a fire, clearly intoxicated. Only the drunken exclamation of one of the men- “That son of a bitch Clarke down there.” had Roman pulling out his sword and cornering the men, demanding an explanation. It was only once Roman had entered the cave system that it occurred to him that he should have left one of the men alive to lead him through the twisting rock. So Roman had wandered through the cavern by himself, praying that he didn’t get lost as he searched for Logan.

He had been close to giving up when his eyes caught the flicker of a torch down a cave and he followed it right to a scene straight out of his nightmares.

Logan, strung up by his arms like an animal, fear written in every line of his body, and a knife in a person’s hand, aimed straight at his beloved’s throat-

“Get your hands off him!”

They drop Logan’s head and turn to Roman, confusion and anger on their face. Roman doesn’t even think, just jumps the person, sword out. They’re talented, and if this were any other situation Roman may have met his match. But he’s fueled by a blinding cocktail of rage and fear and love, and the person is a limp body on the floor in minutes. Roman stands over them for a moment and his pulled back to the present by a slight whimper behind him. He discards his sword with a clatter and rushes to Logan, kneeling before him and cupping his face.

“My love?” Roman keeps his voice soft and his touches softer as he talks to Logan and takes stock of his injuries. When he stands to free his wrists, Logan makes a noise in the back of his throat that Roman quickly decides he never wants to hear again.

The anger washes over him again at the sight of Logan’s mangled back, and again when Logan’s eyes gaze into his own -The spark in his eyes has been snuffed out and his gaze is distant- and Logan apologizes for giving up information to the people who tortured it out of him.

Roman is still running his fingers through Logan’s hair now, and he wonders how he’ll get Logan out of here without hurting him more. His horse is tied outside the cave and he hopes that Virgil saw it and waited outside the cave for Roman’s return, but he doesn’t know how he could carry Logan out of here.

With a whispered apology to Logan, he shifts him around and lifts him up, one arm under his knees and the other cradling Logan to him as best he can without touching his back. Logan doesn’t even stir.

Satisfied that his grip is secure, Roman ducks out of the room, leaving behind his sword and a body.

The journey out is difficult with the added weight of Logan in his arms (although it can barely be considered weight, Logan feels feather light in his arms and Roman can feel his ribs pressing prominently against his hand.) There’s a moment where Roman’s foot catches on a loose stone and he slips, almost falling backwards. He steadies at the last moment, but the experience has him holding Logan tighter and moving with more care.

Finally, finally, he finds himself back in the large cave where he had encountered the men. The fire has burned down to embers, and Roman is glad that Logan isn’t awake to see the bodies strewn about. He pushes past the bodies and walks straight towards the small opening in the rock that he had entered earlier.

The night is clear and the air tastes sweet after the dirty, stale air of the caves. Roman breathes deeply and sinks down against the rocky side of the mountain. He sets Logan securely against him and presses a kiss to his dirty hair, finally able to breathe again with Logan in his arms.

Next Chapter >>

#love athena #athena rambles #logince #hurt/comfort #royal au #tw torture #tw blood #tw whipping #tw minor character death #tw death #no beta #angst with a happy ending

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perspective-series · 5 years ago

Text

Switched Perspective (22)

By: @arc852 and @hiddendreamer67

Warnings: Mentions of Past Trauma, arguing, self-deprecation, fear, and guilt

(Check the reblog for the links to the previous chapters and the prequel!)

This is a sequel to A Third Perspective! Read that first or you will be confused!

Patton woke up slowly, blinking his eyes awake. The first thing he saw when was the ceiling but when he looked off to the side, he let out a long sigh.

He was still human-sized.

And Roman and Logan, who were still asleep on the pillow next to him, were still borrower sized. It looked like Logan was wrong after all.

He turned his gaze back to the ceiling, deciding to not wake the others up yet. His eyebrows pinched together as he thought about Virgil. Virgil was his best friend and he had always been a timid borrower at best. Extremely cautious, maybe a bit sassy but never too much with Patton. He was a kind soul though.

But as a human...Virgil was dangerous to their once fellow borrowers. Sure, he could understand his anger but what he didn’t understand was his want for revenge. And Patton even thought they had finally gotten through to Virgil! But...apparently not. He glanced over at Logan.

Poor Lo...Patton knew even Virgil wouldn’t kill someone, no matter how angry he was, but at Logan’s size and current state of mind...there was almost no doubt that Logan must have fully believed Virgil’s threats. And that was not okay. Nothing Virgil had done was okay but at this point, Patton was unsure of how to make everything better.

All Patton knew was today was not going to be fun.

Slowly, Roman began to join the waking world next. He groaned, feeling the pain of his injuries return full force now that he was conscious. Roman looked around, frowning when he saw he was still small. Well, it had been worth a shot. Although if that meant Logan and Virgil really did have to become friends...maybe Roman should get used to this size.

“Up and at ‘em, Micro-Microsoft.” Roman shook Logan’s shoulder gently. “We’re still small.”

Logan groaned into the pillow, the reaction likely a mixture of hearing he had to wake up and he was still a few inches tall.

Patton turned over when he heard Roman’s voice, looking at him with a sad smile. “Morning, Ro. Morning, Lo.”

“Morning.” Both borrowers returned the greeting with an almost deadpan expression.

“So...I guess going to bed wasn’t the answer,” Patton said, biting his lip.

“I suppose not.” Logan sighed, sitting up.

“Perhaps we should regroup and refuel,” Roman suggested, trying to lighten the mood a little.

“I think that’s a good idea. Come on, we’ll go get Thomas and have some breakfast.” Patton didn’t mention Virgil, of course, knowing he was currently a sore subject. He offered his hand to them.

“Why Thomas?” Logan raised an eyebrow, helping Roman climb on as they both looked worse for wear.

“Because he’s our friend?” Roman raised an eyebrow of his own.

“...oh, right,” Logan said. “I had forgotten that is a friend thing to do.”

Patton chuckled a bit and then carefully got out of bed, heading out and to where he knew Thomas’ apartment was at. Patton was just about to knock on the door when it opened. His eyes widened when he saw Virgil.

Virgil stared back with equally wide eyes. He had decided to leave back to Logan’s apartment before they got there, knowing they would probably come here and eat with Thomas. But it looked like he was a little too late. “Uhh…” He was at a loss for what to say.

“What are you doing in Thomas’ apartment?” Roman asked, his tone a bit snippy. He felt the way Logan tensed up next to him.

“I...he offered to let me sleep on his couch,” Virgil answered quietly, only briefly glancing at Roman before turning away.

“Well, that was um, nice of him.” Patton tried but he felt awkward. “Where is Thomas?”

Virgil shrugged, taking a few steps back to allow Patton to enter. “Probably still in his room.”

“I’m right here, actually.” Thomas’ voice came from behind Virgil, having snuck up on them. He leaned around Virgil, smiling at the trio. “Do you guys want to join us for breakfast?”

Virgil jumped slightly but quickly composed himself. Patton blinked and then smiled. “Yeah! That sounds great!”

“Awesome, come on in!” Thomas waved them all into the kitchen. “Ah...I haven’t really gone grocery shopping in a while, but I’m sure I can scrounge up some eggs.”

“That is satisfactory.” Logan murmured quietly.

“I’m sure whatever you make will be wonderful, Thomas.” Roman praised.

“Are you aware of how many times he has set off the smoke alarm?” Logan reminded him.

Virgil watched, not moving, as everyone headed into the kitchen. He wanted to follow them but...once again, he probably wasn’t welcome. He glanced back towards the front door, wondering if he should stick with his original plan and go back to Logan’s apartment while the rest of them ate. Just to give them a little peace before they were forced to talk to him again.

Seeming to sense his guest’s hesitation, Thomas called over his shoulder. “Virgil, you coming?”

Virgil met Thomas’ eyes before sighing and walking over to the kitchen. Patton was already at the table with Roman and Logan on top. He avoided eye contact with all of them as he went over to the corner and leaned against the counter.

Patton looked at Virgil for a moment and then sighed as he looked away. Things were so tense, how did they even begin to fix this?

“You know, you don’t have to keep inviting him, Thomas.” Roman reminded him, feeling the tension as well.

“Okay, let’s lay some ground rules.” Thomas said, frowning at Roman as he pulled out the eggs. “My apartment is a safe zone. There will be no threats, no insults, and no shaming. Sound good?”

“And here I thought my apartment was supposed to be a safe zone.” Logan pointed out. “And yet, look what occurred.”

“Logan, what did I just say?” Thomas sighed, cracking some eggs into a pan.

Virgil closed his eyes tight to stop any tears from falling before he pushed himself off the counter. “Maybe I should just go.” Virgil muttered, already walking towards the living room.

Patton bit his lip. “Virgil, wait.” Virgil froze, waiting for Patton to continue. “I…” Patton didn’t know what to say and after another few beats of silence, Virgil sighed.

“Right.” He mumbled, before continuing.

Thomas pushed the eggs around in the pan a bit, contemplative. The only sound in the kitchen being the eggs frying. “So...do we want to talk about the scroll?”

“No,” Logan answered immediately.

“What about it? It isn’t like it’s actually helped us at all.” Virgil muttered, having paused for another second when Thomas said that.

“Well, I think it’s important,” Patton spoke up. “Maybe if we look at it again, it will give us another way to fix everything?” Patton suggested but Virgil scoffed.

“Yeah, I highly doubt that.” He should just leave already.

“The scroll is our best bet,” Roman argued. “We just have to keep doing as it says.”

“It’s a scroll, it’s not like the message is going to change!” Logan threw his arms up in exasperation. “And there is no doubt in my mind that it requests an impossible outcome.”

Virgil growled. “We all get it, Logan! I’m a monster! This is all my fault!” Virgil yelled before realizing he was letting his anger get the best of him again. He let out a deep sigh. “I’ll be in Logan’s apartment, in case you wanted to continue this whole avoiding me thing.” Virgil turned around and started walking out of the kitchen.

“STOP!” There was a loud voice suddenly echoing through the apartment. Everyone froze, heads snapping to look in the direction of the front door as it suddenly burst off its hinges, lying on the living room floor.

Two girls stood each leaning on one side of the doorway, arms crossed and looking smug. Both girls were adorned with long flowing robes and pointy hats to match. The girl on the right wore a robe that was a beautiful ombre of violet to teal, with her hat sharing a similar hue. The girl on the left had a more brash pattern, her robe split down the middle with half being a bright red and the other a dark blue. Her hat was split in the same fashion but with the sides of the colors swapped. From both hats, several charms hung, a series of symbols whose meanings were not immediately transparent.

“Betcha didn’t see that one coming.” The girl in red and blue smirked.

#gt #Giant/tiny #thomas sanders #sanders sides #infinitesimal!sides #au #borrowers #virgil sanders #switched!virgil #roman sanders #switched!roman #logan sanders #switched!logan #patton sanders #switched!patton #platonic #lamp #switched perspective #part 22

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shattcrs · 5 years ago

Photo

WHO: Julio Richter ( @rictorscales )

WHAT: Julio decides to come see Shatterstar after they haven’t seen each other for two weeks. They talk about what happened at the park, and something amazing happens.

WORD COUNT: 9,333

TRIGGERS: depression, slavery ( past only ), trauma

JULIO: Tell me whose ribs you want to crawl around in. Tell me who you want to fuck you up. Jess’s words had been echoing in Rictor’s mind ever since she said them, but not because the answer eluded him. The question stuck with him because he knew the answer. And maybe --- maybe he always had. Rictor thought back to being sixteen, to going wherever Star needed him to go and being whoever Star needed him to be. He thought about that fire that burned in his gut when Star spoke to someone else in a voice that was a little too soft or touched them in a way that was too familiar. Jealousy, he’d realized when Star called Jon his brother and the feeling faded. I’ve seen the way you look at him, Tabby had said, and maybe that was when he really should’ve known. Tabby had always known him better than anyone.

Tell me who you want to fuck you up, Jess had said, and Rictor’s mind had answered the question immediately and without doubt. The words were echoed with every beat of his heart, over and over and over. Him, him, him, only ever him. How had he missed it until now?

There were complications, of course. There were always complications where Julio Richter was concerned. Natural disasters rarely occurred without leaving damage in their wake, and he’d caused one hell of an earthquake when he’d walked through that portal and left Star alone in the dirt. He’d probably caused a thousand more with his resulting crisis, and he’d definitely cause a few more before this was over, but… Maybe this story could have something resembling a happy ending. Maybe Rictor didn’t come to his realization too late, maybe there was still time to fix things.

He’d sent a text. A brief courtesy, a i’m coming over. let’s talk? that he’d known Star would respond to because Shatterstar was the most dependable thing in Rictor’s life, the only ground that had never once trembled beneath his feet. He changed his shirt three times, going through Logan’s closet in its entirety before deciding plaid wasn’t for him, then changing his mind and changing it back again. Rictor had never felt like this before… or maybe he had. Maybe he’d always felt like this with Shatterstar. Maybe he’d just never realized it until now.

Finally, he’d settled on a shirt he’d worn a thousand times before, fingers twisting in the hem like a security blanket as he stood outside the XFI building. He had a key in his hand, and he debated the idea of using it versus the idea of knocking, stared at the wooden barrier with narrowed eyes. “This is stupid,” he muttered to himself. “You’re being stupid. Open the fucking door, Julio, you ass.” His hands remained glued to his sides despite the pep talk.

He’d almost worked up the courage to lift the key when the door opened on its own, and Ric’s eyes widened. Familiar red hair greeted him, and for a moment, he was silent. For a moment, all he could do was stare. His heart was racing in his chest, and Ric wondered how he’d never seen it for what it was before. Finally, after realizing the silence had stretched on a beat too long, Rictor cleared his throat. “Uh,” he said, rubbing at the back of his neck. “I didn’t know if I should knock or just come in. I mean, I’ve got my key, but… I don’t know. Hi. Hey, Star. Hi.” Great speech, Ric. You’re nailing this.

STAR: This was the longest Shatterstar has ever gone without seeing his best friend. It wasn’t like they spent every minute together, but so many of their routines involved each other being part of it. After the sun would come up, Star would make pancakes for both of them. It’s one of the few recipes that he genuinely knew how to make without any flaws in the final product. He only ever did this for Julio, having them kitchen to themselves before anyone else was awake. The redhead always loved the silence in the building, only able to hear the sound of fans in the distance being used during the summer, and just the able to focus on the sound of Rictor’s tired voice. They were cherished moments before they went their spectate ways for the day or had to do some work together. After what happened in the park? Star realized quick how much of his life was centered around Julio being there, from movie nights down to just the small things.

They haven’t seen each other for over two weeks, which is longer than Julio said, but Shatterstar expected this. He still doesn’t know what to do with his broken heart, especially when all the love he feels for Julio is still there aching to be returned. He might have ruined everything between them by admitting his feelings while knowing that Julio has only dated women. Although they have been talking recently a little in the group chat they have for the team — which gives him some hope. Could they fix things?

There was some hope after receiving the text message that Julio was coming over to talk. When should he expect him to arrive? Star was suddenly nervous, but did he really have any reason to be? This was his the man he’s in love with, but Julio is also his best friend.

Shatterstar was home alone with Noodle, deciding to sit out the case everyone was working on today. Jamie said someone needed to stick around to make sure the puppy doesn’t eat another pair of his boots. Which was fine by the Mutant since they meant more time with his pet. He changed into a pair of his short shorts and a white crop top while sitting around watching some reruns of The Office. Noodle lost interest, falling asleep in her owner’s lap. He had a package coming today, and forgot to check to see if it arrived yet. He stands up, carefully holding the puppy in his arms who wakes up as she realizes they’re moving across the room toward the door.

His free hand opens the door, the wind from outside blowing his red hair into his face. It grew longer since they’ve seen each other — now a little over seven inches past his shoulders now. Shatterstar wasn’t really interested in putting it up in a ponytail ever again, not unless it was required for a mission. He doesn’t even look for the mail because Julio was standing on the other side of the door. He was speechless, feeling like his heart could best right out of his chest. Star still thinks that Julio is the most beautiful person in this universe. He doesn’t know what to expect from this conversation.

“You can come in, this will always be your home too even if you moved out.” Shatterstar frowns for a moment, and looks away to disguise that to search for the mail. The package is on the ground by the door, so he kneels down to grab the large bag, which is full of new outfits for Noodle. He tosses it inside on the floor for now, turning his attention back to his best friend with a smile again. Star was overwhelmed with emotion because it was hitting him all at once how much he missed the other Mutant. “Hello, Julio. I must confess that I have missed you very much. This is my dog, Noodle. We are very happy that you could come by to visit. Come in!” He turns around to step aside so Rictor could get comfortable, and once the door was closed behind them the puppy was set down to run around the rooms again. Star moves to the living room — turning off the television and sitting on the couch. His eyes looking over at his best friend hoping that he would join him.

JULIO: It took a moment for his eyes to catch up to his mind. His heart was beating so quickly that he couldn’t focus on anything but the pounding in his chest, couldn’t concentrate on anything but drawing the next breath of air into his lungs. For a moment, the world outside of his eyes locked onto Shatterstar’s didn’t exist at all.

And then the moment ended, and Rictor looked away. More specifically, he looked down. Star often wore very little when relaxing at home, Ric knew. For a while, when they were with X-Force, Ric wondered if the other mutant owned a shirt. It had never really bothered him before but, today, his face felt hot and his throat went dry, and fuck, how had he never realized this before? His palms were sweaty and his chest ached, and this was what it felt like, wasn’t it? This was what it was supposed to feel like.

Ric closed his eyes for a moment, trying to center himself with the feeling of the earth beneath his feet, the feel of its ever-present vibrations climbing up through the soles of his shoes and settling into his bones. No matter what he’d realized about himself, Shatterstar was still Shatterstar. This was still his best friend in the world, the one who’d held his hand when he recalled how he’d felt on that roof, the one he’d taught how to read a clock when they were teenagers, the one who’d jumped in front of danger for him no matter how many times Ric begged him not to. Even when nothing else in the world made sense, Shatterstar always did. Rictor might not know who he was anymore, but he still knew Shatterstar. He knew Shatterstar even when he knew no one else.

It was how he knew that, right now, Shatterstar was struggling just as much as he was. Not for the same reasons, of course. For someone who’d been raised in an oppressive battle dome, Shatterstar had always seemed so much more certain about who he was than Rictor ever had. There were days where Ric looked into the mirror to find a stranger staring back, days when that therapist’s words echoed in his mind over and over and over again like a mantra he couldn’t escape. Don’t you think you deserve a name? Don’t you think you deserve a name? Don’t you think you deserve a name? Some days, the answer to that question was a vague shrug. Others, it was a firm no, playing on repeat every time the question arose.

(There was only one person who’d ever made him feel like the answer was yes, only one person who could call him Julio without anger burning in his chest. And maybe that should have told him who he was a long time ago. Maybe the secret to knowing Julio Richter had always been knowing Shatterstar.)

“So, uh, this is Noodle,” Rictor said, mostly to break the silence. He didn’t reach a hand out to pet the dog, didn’t know if it would be welcome or not. Perhaps he’d given up the privilege of reaching towards Star when he’d walked away from him through that portal. It didn’t seem fair to assume otherwise. “She’s cute. I mean, she is in the pictures, too. Just… I don’t know. It’s different in person.” Wasn’t everything? His heart didn’t beat this hard when he was messaging Star in a group chat, didn’t threaten to burst through his ribcage when he was teasing Jon and soaking up every shred of attention Star threw his way in the process. But now? Rictor felt like his heart was bursting at the seams, like there was an earthquake in his chest and he couldn’t control it. Shatterstar must have heard the way his heart was pounding, right? It felt like the loudest thing in the world, like a boombox pounding so loudly you could feel it shaking your bones.

He shifted when Star spoke, shrugging a shoulder. “Home’s more complicated than that.” His home wasn’t the crappy building Jamie had moved them all into, the one whose roof he’d let his toes hang off of for hours as he’d worked up the courage to take that step. It wasn’t the ranch he’d grown up on in Mexico, either. Rictor’s home had always been with Shatterstar. He understood that now, better than he ever had before.

The real issue came with saying it. Talking wasn’t Rictor’s strong suit. (Rictor wasn’t sure he had a strong suit.)

“I missed you, too, Star,” Ric admitted, following his friend passed the familiar threshold and into the building. Everything looked the same, and nothing was. The whole world had changed, and no one bothered to tell the foyer. There was something funny about that. Rictor trailed along behind Shatterstar as he made his way to the living room, settled beside him on the couch, and shut his eyes for a moment. He let himself feel the familiar vibrations that made Star who he was, let himself take comfort in the heartbeat he knew better than his own. “I’m sorry I ditched you before,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry I stayed away as long as I did. I’m not good at this. You know that, right? I’ve never been…” He trailed off, shaking his head. He’d never been particularly good at being a person. Maybe he’d never been meant to be one at all. The Richter family was known for their weapons, after all. “You deserved better than that. You still do.”

STAR: The two of them have been through a lot over the years, always standing by each other’s side no matter what hardship comes their way. Shatterstar never expected someone to take him under their wing after his arrival to Earth. He remembers being fifteen years old and surrounded by so much that was unknown. There was so much green around him that Star didn’t know that trees could be so beautiful. He saw them on the television programs back on Mojoworld, but that wasn’t the same as getting to actually see it. So when Shatterstar was fifteen years old surrounded by these tall trees and flowers poking out of the grass? He felt an emotion for the first time in his life. It wasn’t something that the redhead understood at the time, but the feeling was happiness. He never experienced it before like this, nothing expected out of him except being able to enjoy nature. Star just stood there admiring it before continuing on his journey.

His quest to find the X-Men ended with finding a different group of Mutants first. X-Force took him in the day Shatterstar turned sixteen. This is when his life changed again — meeting a boy who would become his very best friend. His life became better just by Julio being in it.

Here they are standing in front of each other, after spending over two weeks apart. Seeing the other Mutant again was like remembering how to breathe. Shatterstar never cared about romantic or sexual attraction, didn’t understand it for so long until one day realizing that he has felt both of those things, but for only one man. Julio Richter was the only person Star has ever felt attracted to in every sense of the word. He loves this man so much, but doesn’t really know what to do with these feelings.

Shatterstar looks at the puppy, so content in the his arms while they’re looking at each other. “This is Noodle. She followed me home one night, and I couldn’t let her stay out in the streets by herself. I don’t know how I convinced Jamie to allow me to keep her, but long as I’m the one taking Noodle on walks and feeding her he doesn’t mind having her living with the team.” Star says happily, such a sign of joy in his words because it was always so easy to talk with Rictor. Once they moved inside of the building, it amuses him by seeing how quick the small dog was to run away — perhaps it was to find some toys to bring back to the two Mutants so they could play together. It was unsure, but Star admires the energy such a little creature has. This was their home, but the truth? Shatterstar feels like anywhere they end up would be home if Julio was there with him.

“I know that such statements are complicated. I never knew what behaving a home felt like until I met you. Remember when we would share rooms together? Sometimes there was only one bed, but it never bothered us. We just wanted to be together. I would wake up early to work out while you would sleep in. We could do that anywhere, I just didn’t want us to be apart.” Shatterstar didn’t realize it at the time, but looking back on it? Those kind of moments are the ones that made him fall in love with his best friend that much more.

They were sitting together on the couch, and Star wonders if Julio can hear how quick his heart was beating while they’re sitting so close. His hand pushes some of his hair behind an ear, not taking his eyes off of the other Mutant. “I missed you more, Julio. It’s alright if you needed more time to think about my confession. I will admit that despite us spending those two weeks apart, those feelings of mine are still here. I hope that is alright with you if you wish to spend time together again.” Shatterstar admits, reaching out to grab Julio’s hand — hoping this was okay. “I know you are not the best at talking about how you feel, but you can tell me anything. I will always be here for you, Julio. Do not worry about me, I promise that I was okay. I just spend some time with the trees before walking home that night.” His hand squeezing at the other one that he was holding. “You’re here now.”

JULIO: Even before his powers developed, Rictor had always found comfort in nature. There was something relaxing about being out among the trees, something comforting about dirt beneath his feet and wind in his hair. He didn’t know how the genetics of mutation worked. He didn’t know if, maybe, the part of him that would one day make the ground tremble had always been inside of him and only came out when he was a teenager, didn’t know if his body had always known it belonged to the Earth or if his powers shaped based on the love he carried for her. He didn’t think it made a difference. The important thing, he thought, was that that love had always been within him. He had always loved the Earth, even before he understood her.

He was beginning to realize it was the same with Shatterstar.

When he’d looked back on his feelings for Shatterstar after his conversations with people like Tabby and Jess, he realized that he couldn’t pinpoint any kind of change surrounding them. The feelings he had for his best friend, the ones he’d mistaken for platonic affection, they’d been there all along. Rictor hadn’t recognized them, hadn’t understood them, but they were still there. They’d been there since he was sixteen, since he joined X-Force and met the strange boy with the red hair and the sword, the one who hung off every word Cable said and flipped through the channels on the television so quickly that Rictor was tempted to quake the remote apart to stop it. There was no one moment that shifted his feelings. His feelings were always there. He had always been who he was, even when he didn’t know it. There was something comforting in that. It was like the breeze ruffling his hair, like the dirt beneath his feet. It was there. It was always there.

“Hi Noodle,” Rictor said, smiling at the dog. His voice was thick, and he didn’t know why. His emotions had never been something he understood easily. That was part of what bonded him to Star in the beginning, part of what made him latch onto the other boy so readily. Rictor was bad with feelings but, back then, Star had been worse. Star had needed Rictor to point him in the right direction, to explain the way things were meant to be. Things had shifted now. That certainty Star had when he spoke, that raw honesty in his voice with his confession in the park, Rictor didn’t know if he’d ever had that before. His emotions had always been a whirlwind of things he didn’t understand, a mixture so convoluted that he often only knew how to express it through anger. Rictor couldn’t remember a time he’d been completely certain about how he felt.

Until now. It took some exploring, took a lot of conversations with a lot of people, but Rictor knew how he felt now. He knew how he’d felt since he was sixteen, knew he’d been lying to himself for the better part of a decade now, understood that every single woman he’d climbed into bed with had been a desperate attempt to convince himself that he was who the world told him he was supposed to be. Jon’s words repeated in his head. There wasn’t something wrong with me. Terry’s words followed them. You’re exactly the way you should be. There was nothing wrong with the way Rictor felt about Shatterstar. There never had been.

There might, however, have been something wrong with the way he’d gone about it. Leaving Star alone in that park after his confession, abandoning him when he was emotionally vulnerable, that had been a dick move, even by Rictor’s standards. Star deserved better than that, had always deserved better than that. (He deserved better than Rictor too. Rictor reminded himself of that a thousand times on his way over, repeated it over and over until it stuck. Star deserved better, and if he chose to pursue better, Ric would be okay with that. He would make himself okay with that.)

Rictor looked down at his hands as Star spoke, smiling faintly at the memories. “I used to think you were nuts,” he offered, “waking up at the crack of dawn like that. I always kind of liked it, though. You were consistent. Nothing else ever was.” He’d been able to count on Star back then, better than anyone. He and Tabby bickered constantly, Terry always felt a mite too close to the X-Men to be long for their team, Sam was a leader too good to be stuck with the rejects, Bobby was a frickin’ billionaire who probably only ever hung out with them because Sam was there… Everyone on the team had seemed on a different level than Rictor except for Star. Star was the weird kid who didn’t know how clocks worked, the guy who got every metaphor wrong, the one who needed Rictor in a way no one else ever had. It had been selfish, the way Ric clung to that. It had been greedy, the way he made sure to love the only person he was sure would never leave him.

He clung to Star because Star was his safe space, the most constant thing he had outside the ground beneath his feet. And Shatterstar’s confession had been an earthquake that knocked him off balance, but it wasn’t a bad thing. He understood that now.

Those feelings of mine are still here. I hope that is alright with you. Ric’s heart was pounding now, beating so fast he thought the ground might shake with the force of it, but it didn’t. Everything stood still, just as it had when Shatterstar said the words in the park. There was no quaking, no trembling. There was, for perhaps the first time in Rictor’s life, peace. Like a meadow in the springtime, with new things blooming beneath the dirt.

“That’s okay with me,” he said quietly. “It’s --- It’s more than okay, actually.” Rictor closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. “There was… You know, there was this researcher in Germany, who devoted his whole life to studying trees? I used to read his stuff when I was a kid. When my dad would take me to…” He trailed off, shaking his head. He didn’t want to recall his father dragging him along to arms deals, the way Rictor would sneak out of sight to sit in the dirt with a book and wait for it all to be over. “His stuff was always my favorite. He did a lot of study into what they felt, and nobody else ever really did that. Nobody else really thought about it. They feel fear, pain.” He looked down to where their hands were clasped together, throat tight as the next word came out in barely a whisper. “Love.” He shut his eyes again, heart still pounding. Could Star feel the pulse racing in his wrist? Did he know what Rictor was thinking? “I’ve been thinking a lot about… who I am. I keep waiting for somebody else to tell me, keep waiting for someone to give me the answer like when I was a kid, but I don’t think that’s happening. I think maybe I’ve known the answer for a long time now, and I just… Didn’t want to hear it. I know I don’t have to tell you how stubborn I am. You know me better than anybody, Star, and you always have. You know me better than I know me.”

Absently, Rictor rubbed his thumb against Star’s hand, taking a deep, uncertain breath. “I dated a lot of girls, you know? I had moments with just about everybody on our old teams, I told myself I loved them, but I never felt the way I was supposed to feel. The way I’d felt with other people.” He paused, swallowing before opening his eyes and bringing them up to meet Star’s. “The way I feel with you. It took me… I mean, I didn’t understand it. I still don’t know if I understand it. And I’m not --- It’s not fair for me to ask you to help me understand it, it’s not fair for me to do what I did in that park and come to you with this now, but I don’t… I’m not really sure what else to do. I love you, Star. I’m pretty sure I always have.”

STAR: There was nobody else that would capture Shatterstar’s attention in the same way that Julio has since they were teenagers. He has always been convinced that his best friend was better than anyone else who came into his life after that. It wasn’t difficult for Star to make connections with other Mutants or anyone for that matter — discovering rather quickly over his life that he has an outgoing personality. He radiates charisma, seeking to make more friends with anyone who wished to listen to his stories. Shatterstar wasn’t always easy to have a conversation with since he could get easily confused by the culture surrounding Earth, and gets his idioms mixed up. Although, somehow this didn’t seem to matter to most as they would seek out friendship with the redhead anyway. No matter how many of these bonds were created, none of them would be a greater friend than Julio is to him. He was a constant for him, always there to help him through difficult situations or just introduce him to concepts that have been missed out on — such as when Star was taught him how to read clocks.

Of course there was aspects to the aftermath of his confession that were unfortunate, but Shatterstar didn’t want to put Julio in such an awkward position by sticking by his side. He knows that they needed that time away from each other so the feelings could be thought about. He doesn’t think badly of his best friend for needing to take a step back, and hopes that Julio isn’t upset with himself over what happened — in his own eyes, the Mutant thinks of the other as a good man still. His heart still racing at the thought of him, but having him so close? Makes his heart want to burst through his chest and give itself to Julio properly because there could never be someone else that makes him feel so strongly.

“I feel like most thought of me that way, but I might have been taking my work out routines too far. Remember how I used to set aside three separate times during the day for my fitness? I was a little obsessed, but then I discovered so much else about this world that also deserved my attention.” Shatterstar still goes to the gym, but not nearly as often as the younger version of himself used to do. “I’m glad you liked having me around even if I annoyed you with my clicks of the remote. We were lucky Cable reprogrammed our television to stop my use of the devise that turned the channel.” Shatterstar laughs, a soft sound filling the room as he found some humor in the memory looking back on it — remembering Julio being so annoyed with him back then, but it was a fond memory now looking back on it. “We have come a long way together.” He was proud of their journey, not wanting it to have ever gone another way.

There was still some uncertainty about what this conversation was really about, feeling as if Julio has a point behind reflecting on their time growing up together. His hand wasn’t pushed away, which Star was going to take as a good thing, making a soft smile appear on his face while his eyes turned from looking at their hands, and back to that handsome face. What does it mean? It’s more than okay, actually.

His palm squeezes gently at the one intertwined with his own, listening with each word. Shatterstar believes in that, thinking it would be foolish of anyone to be against believing trees and plants didn’t have feelings of their own. All of the living beings on this planet do in their own way, just expressing it differently. Star does think that is quite fascinating — knowing plant life class capable of feeling love, and hoping that he doesn’t ever bring them pain. “If you ask me society should try understanding nature more. The trees and wildlife has been here long before we were born, and often get taken for granted. I do hope any trees I’ve come across only feel good emotions when I’m involved. Nature is quite beautiful. We didn’t have anything like it on Mojoworld.” Shatterstar goes silent for a moment while listening to what Julio says next, not thinking that he came here to talk about trees, but doesn’t mind if that ever was the point. Any conversation with this man makes him happy — just getting to hear his favorite voice again. “I don’t think anyone can tell you how to feel. They can help you in finding your own answer, but ultimately has to be your own voice. I know you better than anyone else, Julio. We have been friends for the longest time, and while you may be stubborn, yes, that is not all you are. I have seen you show compassion too, a whole range of emotions, and whole not everyone sees them — I have. You are extraordinary, and I will also cherish any new part of yourself that has been discovered if that’s what you’re hinting at. I have learned once that we all grow over time. You have always supported me, and I will always do that for you as well.” He smiles reassuringly, taking a deep breath while thinking about what could possibly be coming.

His heart continues to race.

Shatterstar feels like the world stopped turning after hearing those words. He didn’t expect this, a whirlwind of happy emotions beginning to fill his heart. Perhaps Rictor knew this since he gave his hand another squeeze before speaking up. “Y—You love me? I love you too, Julio. I mean it with all of my heart that I believe I have always felt this way about you, ever since we were those teenagers getting into all sorts of trouble. This will be new for both of us. I know you have never been with a man, but I have never been with anyone. We could take it at our own pace, learning how to do this together. I just want to be with you if you would be comfortable to be my boyfriend.” Shatterstar is blushing now, feeling vulnerable in the best of ways.

Does Star choose to be bold?

The Mutant leans in to close the distance between them, pressing their lips together for his very first kiss. Which Shatterstar feels lucky that it was with someone he loves, and who loves him in return. This was a truly surprising turn of events, but kissing Julio ignited a flame in him. Nothing ever felt so right than this right here, his free hand lifting to cup the other Mutant’s cheek for a moment before pulling back for some air knowing his cheeks were a darker shade of red now. “I hope that was okay —“ It felt like his life was finally more complete, and hopes Julio felt the same way.

JULIO: What is so wrong with you, Rictor’s uncle had asked him once, that you are utterly incapable of committing to anything for more than an instant? It had felt unbelievably harsh at the time, and Rictor knew it hadn’t truly come from a place of love. Gonzalo had been one of the most committed to the Richter family business, second only to Rictor’s father in the intensity of his obsession. We’re making a name for ourselves, Julio, he’d snapped, angry and bitter in a way Rictor had seen in the mirror far too many times. Why don’t you want to be a part of this? And Rictor hadn’t had an answer for him. He hadn’t known what it was about him that he found it impossible to commit, but it hadn’t ended with his family’s business. It followed him, everywhere he went.

It was why he’d had such a hard time with teams in the past, why he’d left X-Force for Mexico and left Mexico for X-Force in an endless pattern of inability to stick to one or the other. It was why his time with the New Mutants was so short, why he bounced from team to team for most of his teenage years without ever sticking to anything. It was why he climbed up on the roof of X-Factor Investigations with every intention of shrugging the commitment of his own life. It was also why he pushed people away with everything he had, why he used bitter sarcasm like a vibe blast designed to distance himself from anyone who might want to get in close. Rictor wasn’t the type to commit, and he wasn’t the type to make friends, and Shatterstar was both.

It had always amazed him, how easily Star got people to like him. Ric joked more than once that Star could befriend the pigeons in the park if he tried hard enough, and he knew that was something he would never be capable of. Star was an easy person to like. He was charming, he was bright-eyed, he was charismatic. Rictor was an acquired taste. More than once, he knew, people had put up with him only because he and Shatterstar often came as a package deal. You suffered one to have the other. Perhaps he should have been bothered by that, but he never was. It was understandable, after all --- Rictor would suffer his own company to enjoy Shatterstar’s, too.

“You were committed,” he said quietly. “I always liked that.” Star had always balanced Rictor’s worst qualities with complementary opposites. Rictor couldn’t commit to anything, and Star committed to everything. Rictor couldn’t make his own family like him, and Star could befriend strangers on the street. Rictor scarcely wanted to live some days, and Star viewed the world with a bright joy that should have been impossible given his history. An optimist and a pessimist, they were. “I was probably a little too dramatic about that, anyways,” he admitted with a quiet huff, remembering the ordeal. “I shouldn’t have threatened to kill you over a remote control, probably.” It hadn’t been a real threat, of course. Rictor was just… kind of an ass, even back then. (Especially back then, maybe.) “We have, haven’t we?” His voice was quiet, and he didn’t say what he was thinking. He didn’t say that he’d never expected to make it this long, didn’t say that there was no part of him that had ever anticipated living past twenty. He thought Star might understand it, anyways. Even an optimist could have seen the unlikelihood of their survival.

Maybe, in the end, all of that made this moment inevitable. There was that old cliche, wasn’t there, about opposites attracting? That which we lack attracts us, someone once said, and it was true. Rictor had been drawn to Shatterstar from the beginning, and maybe Star had been drawn to him too. Maybe this was always going to happen. Wasn’t it pretty to think so?

Rictor laughed, a quiet breath of air when Shatterstar spoke. Anyone else, he thought, might have questioned his ramblings, but not Star. Star would listen to Ric talk about trees for hours and stay intrigued all the while, would let Rictor go on and on and on for as long as he needed to. He’d let him talk circles around a point before getting to it, let him ramble in metaphors and mutter in excuses. He’d never once asked Rictor for more than he could give, never once expected him to break away parts of himself. There weren’t many people he could say that about. “They were here before us,” he agreed. “It’s their world, not ours. And most people don’t even… I mean, they don’t even try to get it.” He paused, quiet for a moment. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly, “that you didn’t have trees on Mojoworld. You deserved trees. You deserved trees and plants and animals and bugs and ---” And love. Star had deserved so much love. Rictor knew he wasn’t the right person to give it to him, knew that Star deserved someone better, but god, he wanted to give it all he had. He wanted to try to love something without quaking it to pieces, wanted to try committing to something without running away. He wanted to be better. Shatterstar made him want to get better.

His throat tightened as Star spoke, as the best man he’d ever known said a multitude of kind things about him that he’d done nothing to deserve. Rictor broke Star’s heart, he did that. And still, Star was here. He was always here. He loved Rictor even on the days when it felt like there was no Rictor to love, loved him when he disappeared into his mattress and didn’t move for hours and hours. “I’m pretty sure you’re the only one who thinks that,” he said quietly. “I’m… Thank you. For thinking that. Thanks for believing in me.” I’ll try to deserve it.

When Star repeated the words, disbelief clouding his tone, Rictor let out a nervous, watery laugh. “Yeah,” he said quickly, lest Star get the wrong idea. “Yeah, I do. I really fucking do.” The world was standing still, and it was a good thing. He could breathe again, for what felt like the first time since he’d walked through that portal and left Star behind in the park. He could breathe again, for what was maybe the first time ever. He nodded quickly, his heart racing in his chest, face feeling warm. “I’m definitely comfortable with that. If it’s --- If you want me.”

And then they were kissing, and the world felt right. There was no nagging discomfort clouding the back of his mind. There was no quiet unease gnawing at his gut. There was no impatience begging the moment to end. There was only Shatterstar, and his lips on Rictor’s. There was only a world that made sense for the first time in his entire life.

When it ended, he wasn’t relieved the way he always had been with the women he’d dated. He wasn’t dreading the next moment of intimacy, wasn’t craving distance. Instead, there was something more akin to disappointment in his chest, but it was outweighed by the euphoria of the moment. “That was definitely okay,” he said quietly. “Actually, that was --- That was kind of perfect.”

STAR: When did Shatterstar learn to be so charismatic? It wasn’t as if holding a conversation ever mattered growing up on Mojoworld. All that mattered was having the ability to speak at all to carry out a battle cry. He wonders sometimes how different his life would have been if anyone had taught him how to process emotions as a child. It wouldn’t have made for exciting fights in the arena if Star was putting his feelings into it. They couldn’t risk him providing them with bad ratings — no, that just wouldn’t do. Although maybe deep down there was always the ache for wanting to connect with others. Shatterstar never got to form relationships of any kind before, so coming to Earth was an opportunity to be who he should have always been. Star never had friends before — so maybe this is all the reasoning behind wanting to befriend everyone that he meets. Which doesn’t always work, but the redhead does have the ability to make it happen most of the time. He could probably hold a conversation with just about anyone, which is sweet, but not if your friends are trying to pull you away from conversing with a stranger.

Star wouldn’t want to trade this life for anything, being able to feel everything has made his life worth living. He could express when he was happy, upset, or angry. This wasn’t always the case, and Julio has a lot to do with making sure Shatterstar was able to express how he felt. There was many sides to his personality, and this is when Star realized he doesn’t have to be that violent warrior all of the time. He was allowed to be more than that — create a whole life for himself. His first decision has always been to keep his best friend close after they started getting close. Star has met many people since coming to Earth when he was fifteen, and none of them had been quite as amazing as Julio is.

“I was quite committed. I felt like working out was the most important part of the day. I still view it as being important, but not something I have to do for five hours of each day.” Shatterstar remembers doing over a thousand push ups before Rictor even woke up, able to do them with just a few of his fingers. He doesn’t mean to show off, but maybe fitness filled the void he didn’t know existed. While Star learned more about himself, he realizes there was so many other activities that could help fill his time too. He liked the way they sort of balanced each other out — like two puzzle pieces fitting together perfectly. “I didn’t understand at the time that the sound of a remote clicking could be considered irritating. You know I didn’t quite understand how anyone’s emotions worked at the time, so you were right to find that frustrating. I just wanted to watch everything all at once. I’m glad they’ve made remotes silent since we were younger. I can flip much as I want and not make a sound.” Which makes a smile appear on Shatterstar’s face like that was a solution to any future problems with it. “I continue to enjoy our journey through life together. I like that we play off of each other’s fighting styles so well, nobody else understands my techniques the same way you do. It has only ever been you.”

Shatterstar means it, thinking the fact they know the other in such a deep level is extraordinary.

There was a habit of talking a lot, sometimes it took Star some time getting to a point if there even was one. The best part of their friendship was just letting each other talk for hours if they needed to about anything. It was important since Shatterstar never once felt judged by Julio for saying what was on his mind — in return he always listened with interest for every word his best friend says to him. He always looks forward to seeing him after a long day or in the morning when Rictor wales up. This must be love, since nobody else made his heart beat faster then they walk in the room smiling at him like that. “It is not right that others don’t try to understand. I may never completely get it, but I try my best. I’m sure you are aware. You don’t need to apologize, but thank you. When I first came to Earth I ended up in this field with flowers and many trees. It was overwhelming because I’ve never seen anything so breathtaking before. I find that it’s more enjoyable to get out and enjoy nature than stay indoors all the time. Mojoworld didn’t have much except for doing what pleases Mojo. I’m not so much fan of bugs, but it is nice to have the opportunity to avoid them. I’m just happy not to be missing out on any of it anymore.” Shatterstar smiles at that, not sure if anyone deserves these things, something so simple, but you don’t know how much you would miss it until it’s gone.

“Maybe we can go on that road trip sometime and go visit the Grand Canyon. I would very much enjoy that trip.” Would they be able to get the time off? Would Jamie just be happy to be understanding one less Mojoworlder for a few weeks? He thinks the trip sounds fun, and if Julio was still interested in the idea that they should go. It would be just the two of them, no worries except what the road ahead has prepared for them. Everything has been so serious lately, and they deserve some fun too, don’t they?

Shatterstar feels like his heart was ready to fly right out of his chest with how quick it was beating. After what happened in the park the love felt for Julio never left, still making a home in his chest refusing to leave. Star is glad for not letting go. This was the best surprise, so unexpected, and maybe this is why Rictor took much longer than expected to come see him again.

He loves him too.

It was easy to get emotional, feeling the happiest that the redhead has ever been. “I love you very much, Julio. This is the best moment of my life having you love me too.” The smile on his face doesn’t go anywhere, having a feeling that this was going to be an expression shown quite often from now on. This would be new for both of them, but nothing feels more right than being able to call Rictor his. “Of course I want you. My feelings have not changed. It is official now. You’re my boyfriend. Does this mean I can hold your hand all the time? I would like to be able to hold your hand.” Shatterstar has never done this before, but there was nobody else that he would want to date.

There was some nerves since Star has never kissed someone before, but if that felt perfect for Rictor then that was enough to keep Star smiling about it. They were kind of perfect for each other weren’t they? Maybe they were destined to meet, be part of the other’s life ever since they were born, or maybe in all universes find their way to the other Mutant. “It was more then perfect. I could get used to doing that. I must confess that was my first kiss, and I’m glad that it was with you.” Star leans in again to kiss his boyfriend again, but wanting this one to last longer than the previous kiss. He loves this man, and can’t get enough of him now that they’re together.

JULIO: Was there a world, Rictor wondered, where they were different? Was there a universe out there somewhere in the vastness of the multiverse where their lives were peaceful, where they were better off? Maybe there was a place where Shatterstar had been raised by his biological parents, where he never stepped foot on Mojoworld at all. Maybe there was a universe where Rictor’s father didn’t die with a slug in his chest, where the world didn’t shake and groan with his grief. A place where Shatterstar found the X-Men instead of X-Force, a place where Cameron Hodge didn’t pick Rictor apart and break him into pieces. A place where Shatterstar learned from an early age how to express his emotions and talk about them, a place where Rictor had emotions that were more than just empty or sad. There was a multitude of possibilities, Rictor knew. There were worlds where they were better off. There had to be.

But were they still like this?

In those worlds where Shatterstar never stepped foot on Mojoworld, in the ones where Rictor never left Mexico, did they find one another all the same? In the universes where Star was an X-Man, where Rictor never suffered Hodge, did they still watch movies once a week and share a bowl of popcorn? Was it selfish, Rictor wondered, to be glad for all the things Star had suffered in order to bring them together on Cable’s team, in order to give them the bond that helped shape him into the man he was now? Was it still selfish if he was glad for his own suffering, too? There must have been worlds where they were happy. There had to be. But this was the world where Shatterstar woke him up at four in the goddamn morning doing pushups next to his bed. This was the world where they had movie nights and stakeouts. This was the world where Star was his best friend. And that made it the best world Ric could imagine.

“You know,” Ric said, a little quieter now, “I used to be kind of jealous of you. I mean, you didn’t --- You didn’t know what was going on half the time, but you were… You’ve always had this way about you, dude. You make everything look so easy. You can be committed to waking up at the ass crack of dawn and working out for five hours a day like it’s nothing. You can make people like you without trying. You’ve got all this --- all this shit that’s happened to you, all this awful fucking shit, and you still know how to be happy. And I’m glad for that, I am, because you deserve to be happy, but I was still jealous. I was never good at any of that. I’m still not. I don’t know how to commit to shit. I sure as hell don’t know how to make people like me. And I can’t…” I can’t be happy. He knew the statement wasn’t entirely true, but there were days when it felt like it was. Rictor had been happy before, even without realizing it. He’d had moments with the X-Force where he was on top of the goddamn world. He’d had movie nights with Star where he laughed so much tears stung his eyes. He’d loved and been loved by people who always deserved better, and he still wound up on the roof of X-Factor looking for an out. “I’m really lucky you decided to be my best friend,” he said suddenly. “I think about that a lot.” Star could’ve had his pick, on X-Force, of who to follow him around. Sam never would’ve told him no. Terry would’ve loved it. Tabby always found him hilarious. Any of them would’ve been happy to let Star hang around them, but it was Ric he chose to latch on to. Ric, who was an ass even back then, who shook the world apart at the slightest irritation, who never made excuses for the shit he did because he never cared enough to try it. He’d lucked out. He still didn’t know how. “Me, too,” he said quietly, Star’s words echoing in his ears. It has only ever been you. What had he ever done to deserve that?

Ric smiled faintly as Shatterstar spoke, nodding along with it. “I always liked it,” he admitted quietly, eyes darting over to the window. “Nature, I mean. It’s… I didn’t like the quiet much, you know? Growing up, nothing was ever quiet. So many people around all the time, always yelling and fighting and talking over each other. I get uncomfortable when it’s quiet. But nature’s never quiet. It’s peaceful, but it’s loud. If you listen close enough, you can hear it. The birds, the bugs, the dirt… It’s never quiet.” Star was never quiet, either. He was always a flurry of conversation, always a rambling speech about something only Ric could pick up on. Even in fights, there was nothing silent about him. There were battle cries, there was the metal clanging of swords, there were feet against the ground. Rictor had always hated the quiet, and Shatterstar had always found ways to fill it without trying. He was good at that, good at giving Ric exactly what he needed. And right now…

Right now, all Rictor needed was this. All he wanted was the two of them on a ratty couch he’d found in a dumpster and dragged back to XFI without a word. “A road trip would be fun,” he agreed. “There’s a lot of this country I haven’t seen.” He’d never had the time, moving from one superhero team to another since he was a teenager. As a mutant, your life became about surviving. Just once, Ric wanted to see what it was like to make his about living. And this… This was what living felt like.

Living, he decided, was Shatterstar’s hand in his. It was those words that had stopped the world in its tracks kicking it off into motion again, it was the way things felt right when their lips met, it was the way he thought he must have been holding his breath his entire goddamn life because breathing never felt quite like this before. He let out a quiet, breathless laugh at Shatterstar’s question, nodding his head empathetically. “I’m definitely your boyfriend now, dude. You can hold my hand as much as you want.”

Ric was grinning when they pulled away from the kiss, happier than he’d been in a long time. And you couldn’t hang your happiness on other people, you couldn’t live for someone else and not for yourself, you couldn’t stop feeling all the awful things you felt just because someone you loved loved you back, but god, it made it easier. It made it all okay, even if only for a moment. “I could definitely get used to it, too,” Ric agreed. “Wanna take a shot at getting used to it now?” And he leaned in and pressed their lips together again. Star was right --- it was more than perfect.

#CONVO // JULIO #010 // JULIO #ᴡʜɪᴄʜ ʟɪᴍʙ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ᴘʀᴇғᴇʀ ᴛᴏ ʟᴏsᴇ ᴛʜɪs ᴛɪᴍᴇ? [ MUSE ]#ɪ ɴᴇᴇᴅ ᴀɴ ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ ᴀɴᴄʜᴏʀ ᴀɴᴅ ɪᴛ ᴄᴀɴ ᴏɴʟʏ ʙᴇ ʏᴏᴜ. [ JULIO RICHTER ]#depression mention //#trauma mention //

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cromwxll · 5 years ago

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“NEVER TRUST A PRETTY SMILE LACED WITH POISON.”

⌠ 𝑮𝑨𝑽𝑰𝑵 𝑳𝑬𝑨𝑻𝑯𝑬𝑹𝑾𝑶𝑶𝑫, 𝟐𝟏, 𝑪𝑰𝑺𝑴𝑨𝑳𝑬, 𝑯𝑬/𝑯𝑰𝑴 ⌡ welcome back to gallagher academy, 𝑹𝑯𝒀𝑺 𝑪𝑹𝑶𝑴𝑾𝑬𝑳𝑳! according to their records, they’re a 𝑭𝑰𝑹𝑺𝑻 year, specializing in 𝑳𝑰𝑵𝑮𝑼𝑰𝑺𝑻𝑰𝑪𝑺, 𝑪𝑼𝑳𝑻𝑼𝑹𝑬, & 𝑨𝑺𝑺𝑰𝑴𝑰𝑳𝑨𝑻𝑰𝑶𝑵 + 𝑻𝑯𝑹𝑬𝑨𝑻 𝑬𝑳𝑰𝑴𝑰𝑵𝑨𝑻𝑰𝑶𝑵; and they 𝑫𝑰𝑫 go to a spy prep high school. when i see them walking around in the halls, i usually see a flash of ( 𝑨𝑳𝑬𝑿𝑨𝑵𝑫𝑬𝑹 𝑴𝑪𝑸𝑼𝑬𝑬𝑵 𝑬𝑵𝑮𝑹𝑨𝑽𝑬𝑫 𝑹𝑰𝑵𝑮𝑺, 𝑫𝑰𝑨𝑴𝑶𝑵𝑫 𝑪𝑼𝑭𝑭𝑳𝑰𝑵𝑲𝑺 𝑶𝑵 𝑭𝑰𝑵𝑬 𝑻𝑨𝑰𝑳𝑶𝑹𝑰𝑵𝑮, and 𝑺𝑰𝑳𝑽𝑬𝑹-𝑻𝑶𝑵𝑮𝑼𝑬𝑫 𝑳𝑰𝑬𝑺 ). when it’s the 𝑺𝑪𝑶𝑹𝑷𝑰𝑶’s birthday on 𝟏𝟎/𝟑𝟎/𝟏𝟗𝟗𝟖, they always request their 𝑻𝑶𝑵𝑲𝑶𝑻𝑺𝑼 𝑹𝑨𝑴𝑬𝑵 from the school’s chefs. looks like they’re well on their way to graduation.

* / CHARACTER INFLUENCES: LOGAN ECHOLLS ( Veronica Mars ) + GINA LINETTI ( Brooklyn 99 ) + BLAIR WALDORF ( Gossip Girl ) + VARYS “THE SPIDER” ( Game of Thrones ) + OLIVIA POPE ( Scandal ) + LUCIFER MORNINGSTAR ( Lucifer ) + NUCKY THOMPSON ( Boardwalk Empire )

* / VINE REFERENCES: x x x

* / PERSONAL ANTHEM: BEEF FLOMIX - Flo Milli

Hi all, I’m Bri and this is my mess of a child RHYS. Feel free to like this post or hmu on discord if you want to plot :)

TW: Abuse, depressive thoughts, substance abuse, sex. Read with caution.

* / GENERAL INFORMATION

FULL NAME: Rhysand Salvatore Cromwell.

KNOWN AS: Rhys.

AGE: Twenty-one.

DATE OF BIRTH: October 30, 1998.

PLACE OF BIRTH: Manhattan, New York.

GENDER: Cisgender male.

PRONOUNS: He/him.

SEXUAL ORIENTATION: Bisexual.

RELIGION: Agnostic.

* / PHYSICAL & MENTAL CHARACTERISTICS

HEIGHT: 5'11 ( the last inch escapes him ).

WEIGHT: 168 lbs.

HAIR COLOUR: Black.

EYE COLOUR: Black.

TATTOOS: Gavin’s tattoos.

PIERCINGS: None ( you can see ).

BODY TYPE: Athletic.

PHYSICAL HEALTH: Peak.

NOTABLE PHYSICAL CHARACTERISTICS: Signature smirk, dark eyes, curly hair.

FACE CLAIM: Gavin Leatherwood.

VOICE CLAIM: Gavin Leatherwood’s speaking voice.

CLOSET / STYLE: Chuck Bass.

ILLNESSES / CONDITIONS: Dyslexic ( kept secret ).

ADDICTIONS: Making people cry.

VICES: Wrath, pride.

* / BACKGROUND, OCCUPATION & EDUCATION

BIRTHPLACE: Manhattan, New York.

RAISED: UES Manhattan, New York.

CURRENT RESIDENCE: Gallagher Academy.

SPOKEN LANGUAGES: English, German, learning Japanese.

EDUCATION LEVEL: HS diploma from spy academy.

FINANCIAL STATUS: Upper class / Wealthy.

* / FAMILIAL BACKGROUND

FATHER: Salvatore Cromwell.

MOTHER: Natalia Cromwell ( née ? ).

SIBLINGS: None.

BIRTH ORDER: Only child.

RELATIONSHIP WITH FAMILY: Tense/Estranged.

PATERNAL GRANDPARENTS: Francis Cromwell + Constance Cromwell ( née Delgado ).

MATERNAL GRANDPARENTS: n/a.

SIGNIFICANT OTHER: None/Rose Park ( deceased ).

* / PERSONALITY

POSITIVE: Intelligent, charming, loyal, and dedicated.

NEGATIVE: Impulsive, cynical, arrogant, and wrathful.

ZODIAC: Scorpio.

MBTI TYPE: ENTJ.

MORAL ALIGNMENT: Chaotic neutral.

HOGWARTS HOUSE: Slytherin

AESTHETIC: Bubble baths, whiskey-filled crystal tumblers, penthouse parties, hate fucking until dawn, scarred knuckles, YSL cologne, secret hiding spots, guilt-ridden hues, broken promises, sly smirks with hidden intentions, uncontrollable impulsion, designer scarves, wrathful masochism, rolling blunts in town cars, full passports, lost boy syndrome, knives on tongues, hallowed out chest.

* / BIO: There was no option for Rhys on the night of his birth, he was destined for GREATNESS. Born to Salvatore Cromwell, a high ranking official in the Directorate of Operations of the CIA, and his wife Natalia on a chilly October night ─ the night before Halloween as a matter of fact ─ both saw his arrival as the best thing to happen to their seemingly perfect family. In a sense. And so he had to be the best.

He went to the best schools, only associated with the best families, the best parties and clothes and girlfriends, they were only the best of the best. Growing up, he didn’t recognize the pressure put on him was insurmountable. The lifestyle he lived didn’t expose him to those who had other options and chose their own path. He grew up with kids whose lives were planned out the second they were born. Just like him. Rhys assumed they were all the same. All their mothers were knocking back martinis with the egg white omelet they had for breakfast every morning, didn’t they? And when their dad came home after months of being away and says he was passed up for promotion again, he grabbed their arm so tight that sometimes it felt like it was gonna snap, right? His mother’s tears were normal. Getting hit with a belt any time he scored lower than expected on tests were normal. So why didn’t it feel normal?

Rhys’ home life was the one element he couldn’t control. But his social life he could. At school, he was a legend. With a family name like Cromwell, notorious to have spawned politicians and businessmen and entrepreneurs over the past couple of centuries, all great in their own right, Rhys was known. And he liked it. He had the perfect life at the spy school his father enrolled him in. With a group of friends as close-knit as they could be in a world driven by infamy and lies and a girlfriend he loved more than life itself, Rhys couldn’t imagine anything better. Until it wasn’t.

Rhys loved his girlfriend Rose Park. He knew he did because he treated her the way his father should’ve treated his mother. Their relationship wasn’t perfect, no relationship was, but they always found their way back to one another. For Rhys, she was a shining beacon of light and love and hope that one day, life would be better. That was until he found polaroids of Rose kissing their mutual best friend, Josephine. He was stunned. For a week he avoided her and their friends like the plague. What he felt wasn’t anger or rage, he didn’t turn spiteful, he was just...heartbroken. In the end, all he wanted was Rose’s happiness. While he hoped this was a need for sexual exploration, he knew that if Rose wanted to be with someone else that he would still support her. Because he loved her. And living a life with her in it as his friend was better than one without her at all. He was going to tell her this.

Until she was murdered.

Her death happening because her personal bodyguard, Josephine’s father, left her unprotected to tend to Jo’s sickness, sent him into a spiraling downfall. When his mother left a few weeks later, it only added to his growing pain. Nothing made sense. Not how his mother could just leave, no note, no anything. Not how his father barely flinched when he noticed all of her stuff gone. Not how the world seemed to keep on spinning even though Rose was gone. And especially, not how Josephine got to keep on with her life like nothing had changed. The pain he felt only escalated day by day, echoed on by the empty townhouse he returned to every day and the quiet dinners spent with housekeepers while his dad was away. He needed an outlet. And a target along with it.

His senior year, Rhys directed the anger he felt on the girl who took everything from him. Every spiteful word thrown at her, the influence he inspired on the rest of the student body to do the same, it all helped the throbbing ache that constantly permeated his body. When school was over for the day, he turned to recreational forms of comfort that went beyond his usual party favors. How he was able to graduate top of the class is still something that escapes him to this day. But his father knew of his antics and decided that his son would not go to college and only drown further in his sorrows.

In the CIA it’s called “The Lakehouse”. A remote hideout meant to kick into shape covert specialists by training them in all things brutality. Rhys was only there for two years, off the record, where he excelled in weapons and hand-to-hand combat while his pain was to be used as a driving force. There, his father finally sculpted him into the “perfect” son he always wanted: ruthless, cunning, heartless. It was here that Rhys realized that his father never cared about a family, but rather a legacy. Rhys was his breathing legacy, and he’d continue to be so once enrolled at Gallagher.

Waiting for admittance to Gallagher over the summer left him curious. His skills were now more finely honed, so he actively began to seek out his mother’s whereabouts. He quickly realized that it would be difficult, as the name he knew her by was not real. Her social security, passport, ID, even family photos, were all fake. Part of him wasn’t shocked, as marrying someone who was a complete fraud just for appearance's sake sounds like some his father would do, but in the end, it only left him with more questions. Who was she? Where did she go? Why did she leave?

Rhys hopes to find these answers now that he’s attending one of the top spy universities in the world. Surely, they’ll be able to help him find answers. Otherwise, he’ll take them for himself if he has to. On the plus side, if things ever turn out worse than he imagined and the pain returns tenfold, at least he has little Josephine here with him to keep him company. Two years later, she’s just as small, just as fragile. And Rhys always did enjoy breaking things.

* / PERSONALITY: He’s the stereotypical pretty boy with a side of trauma. Cocky. Sweet talker. Renowned partier. Excels in everything he puts his mind to, for what he’d like to think is for himself, but deep down it’s for the recognition and approval from his father. Though his father tried to mold him into something unfeeling, like a brutal machine, it’s just not in his nature. Rhys feels. A lot. That’s why he’s still hurting over the death of a girl he loved over three years ago. Maybe it’s because it was the only healthy relationship he had in his life, and one of the only events he’s held no control over. A stickler for how he likes things, he’s very particular about who he interacts with. At Gallagher, he will be no different. He’s the best, and he needs to be surrounded by only the best.

* / WANTED RELATIONSHIPS: His bros, competition at the school, someone he trusts enough to tell about locating his mom ( only it won’t be immediate but a relationship that builds up to it ), and the usual ( party friends, lovers, etc...)

#gallagher:intro #so #this got long #my bad peeps

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milomeepit · 6 years ago

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21 Sanders Street Chapter Nine: Food (and) Fights

//Amazing art by the wonderful @divinedrabbles can be found here!

First | Previous | Next

Story Warnings: Death, violence, crime, police, strained marriage, non graphic mention of torture, cursing, mental trauma, stabbing, gang, pregnancy

Chapter Warnings: food, arguments,

Rating: Young Adult

Ships: Endgame Logicality and Prinxiety

After Virgil Diaz went undercover, nothing was quite the same at the station. Sure, the squad still went to coffee at the cafe down the street, Logan still fussed over his wife, Roman still risked life and limb to get an adventure. Patton still made cookies on Fridays. But nothing was the same. Not really. The thing, though, was when Virgil came back. That’s when it all changed.

Thanks for paying for me, you absolute sweetie. You’ve got a heart of gold.” Celine cooed, patting Roman’s shoulder as he pulled money from his wallet.

“Oh, no,” He laughed as he handed the cash over to the street vendor. “You’re paying me back for this.”

“Whaaaat?” Celine said, her voice laced with mock offence as she picked up the plastic container of food and bottle of soda from the counter. “No way! You owe me from last time!”

“Do not. I shouted us for coffee on Friday.” Roman countered. “Remember?”

“And I payed you back with my precious time helping you trim your demon dog’s nails.”

“That doesn’t count!”

Celine plucked Roman’s wallet from his hands, practically skipping down the sidewalk towards the hot dog stand on the corner. “Sure it does! And besides, you love me too much to be mad at me for not paying you back.”

“I’m trying to help you not make mistakes I’ve made,” Roman rolled his eyes as he followed her, shoving his hands in his pockets. “It’s called sharing knowledge and experience.”

“Come off of it- ew, watch that puddle, I don’t think that’s water-” Celine dodged around the murky brown splash on the pavement. “You mooch off of people, like constantly. It’s totally a different thing.”

Roman shook his head. He looked around the street as Celine ordered his food, his gaze combing over the familiar graffiti-splashed scenery. People hurried past, footsteps and traffic a dull roar that echoed across the concrete streets. He turned back to Celine as she returned from the hot dog stand, proudly holding out a dog almost overflowing with toppings.

“… You’re temporarily forgiven,” Roman took the food and his wallet, rolling his eyes again.

Celine punched a fist into the air triumphantly. “Hah! See? Told you that you love me too much.”

“Oh, whatever.” Roman bumped his hip against hers lightly. “Let’s get back before Optimus Crime calls and complains about us being out for too long.”

“It’s our lunch break!” Celine shrugged. “Besides, he’d hardly get mad at me!” She fluffed her hair, her red lips curving into a self-satisfied smirk.

“Whatever, just start walking, you dope,” He laughed and started striding back up the street towards the precinct.

“Hey!” She squawked, trotting after him. “Don’t ditch me, you asshat!”

“Then keep up, Goldilocks!” Roman called over his shoulder with a cheeky grin, deliberately speeding up a little as she huffed along behind him.

By the time they got back up to the office a half hour later, Celine was scowling at him. “I’m in heels!” She whined. “How could you do that to me?”

“Not my fault you didn’t wear appropriate footwear,” Roman shrugged.

“Oh, like you’re one to talk. Dress shoes aren’t any good for an emergency. I would’ve thought you learned your lesson after you hurt your ankle.” She scoffed, setting down her food on her desk and kicking off her shoes.

“Honestly, neither of you are great at picking out practical footwear for day to day work,” Patton chimed in with a giggle.

Roman glanced over and raised a hand in greeting to Patton and Virgil, who were huddled together over Patton’s desk, going over the paperwork and procedures that would be necessary for Virgil to return to work. It had been a couple of weeks since they’d sprung Virgil from the motel, and there were piles of forms to be signed and evaluations to be completed.

He’d be back soon, though. The thought made Roman smile.

“Nobody asked you, Patton,” Celine spun around in her chair to face Patton’s desk as she sipped her soda. “Why don’t you mind your own business?”

“Sorry, I didn’t realise you had such a singular claim on my friend,” Patton’s smile was brittle as he looked up, staring at Celine.

Celine glared at him. “You know people just tolerate you, right?” Her tone was sickly sweet as she flicked her hair over her shoulder.

Uh oh. Roman exchanged a look with Virgil, who looked kind of stunned at the icy exchange.

“And you know you’re really not pretty enough to be this sour and stupid, right?” Patton mimicked her tone, tilting his head to the side.

Celine stood up, stalking over to Patton’s desk and leaning over it til she was practically nose-to-nose with him. “You’re calling me stupid? You couldn’t pour water out of a boot if the instructions were on the heel, you walnut.” She spat.

“I swear to god, you were born with a silver spoon in your mouth and a stick up your ass!” Patton snapped, standing up straight to loom over her.

Celine gasped, recoiling a little before scowling and ripping the top off of her soda bottle. Roman watched in horrified awe as the neon pink liquid flew upwards, splashing all over Patton in slow motion.

Patton gaped, blinking owlishly as soda ran in rivulets down his face, soaking into his shirt in large purplish patches. He reached up and wiped his glasses with his thumb, stunned. Virgil looked between Patton and Celine, his eyes wide, then looked back to Roman, who shrugged helplessly.

The office was deafeningly silent as their coworkers stared at the scene, all frozen in the middle of their tasks. The stillness rather reminded Roman of a crystal ball; calm and clear, yet fragile.

The crystal-silence was shattered as Logan’s door flew open. “What on earth is going on out here?!” He exclaimed, eyes combing over the scene before him.

Officers and detectives alike rapidly scrambled to look busy to escape Logan’s impending wrath as he approached his friends. A wise decision, Roman mused to himself.

“What did you do?” Logan’s head snapped to look at him.

“Woah, woah!” Roman held up his hands defensively. “I didn’t do anything! It was all-”

“It was me.” Patton spoke up, plastering on a sheepish smile. “I bumped into Celine, and she dropped her soda. It kinda… blew up.” He gestured to himself. “Sorry about the mess, Lo!”

Celine dropped back down into her chair and smiled sweetly. “Yeah. Just an accident, that’s all, sweetheart.” She agreed, nodding her head.

Logan sighed. “Come on, Patton. I have some spare clothes in my locker, you can borrow a shirt.”

“Aw, thanks, Lo!” Patton giggled.

Logan shook his head, smiling fondly. “Let’s go, you disaster.”

Patton beamed as he trotted after Logan, disappearing into the elevator. “You’re the best!”

There were several seconds of awkward silence before Virgil spoke up. “What the fuck just happened?” He hissed to Roman under his breath.

Roman ran a hand through his hair and shrugged. “A regular skirmish between opposing factions of the office?”

“No, fuck off. Why did Patton… lie?” The word clearly left a bad taste in Virgil’s mouth, as he blanched. “To Logan, no less?”

Roman’s smile felt forced as he responded quietly. “Well, you know. Patton and Celine both hate Logan being upset, and if they started pointing fingers at each other, it’d be, you know… ugly.”

Virgil stared at him in disbelief. “You’re telling me they’re just covering up all their fights?”

“Just the big ones. Around Logan.”

“Because Pat’s scared of upsetting him? And Celine is a sneaky shit talking bitch?”

“Hey, now that’s hardly-!”

Virgil held up a hand to silence him. “It’s fine, Princey. I know how to even the playing field a little,” He almost purred with a faint smirk.

Before Roman could protest, Virgil was already at Celine’s desk, head tilted to the side in mock innocence. “Heyyy, Abaddon. Whatcha eatin’?”

Celine glanced up, raising an eyebrow slightly. “Oh, hi, Virgil. Roman bought me some ramen, so…” She poked at the noodles with the plastic spork. “I got the seafood one.”

“Isn’t that stuff, like, crazy messy?” Virgil crossed his arms, leaning against her desk.

“Unlike some people-” Celine tossed an amused look over her shoulder at Roman. “I actually know how to eat like a civilised human being.”

Roman made an offended noise. “I can, too, eat civilised! How dare you!”

“You have ketchup smeared on your cheek and coffee stains all over your desk-” Celine huffed, then turned back to Virgil. “Anyway, what’s it to you? Looking for lunch recommendations?”

“Oh… not exactly.” Virgil bent over, leaning close to the plastic container and studying it. “Call it curiosity.”

“About what?”

Quick as a flash, Virgil’s hand shot out from his pocket, grabbing the edge of the container and throwing it over Celine, who shrieked as though she’d been stabbed.

“Virgil!” Roman screeched, diving over and grabbing Virgil by the arm. “What the hell are you doing?!”

Virgil leaned in close to Celine’s face, expression deadpan. “Don’t mess with a Diaz or our friends. You’re just gonna regret it.”

Roman pulled on Virgil’s arm, guiding him away from Celine as she spluttered incoherently, shaking noodles from her hair. “Let’s not have you and Celine murder each other, hm?” Roman said, his voice a little high pitched, pulling Virgil down the hallway towards the break room.

Virgil grinned, glancing over his shoulder and laughing at the small cluster of people around Celine, offering her napkins and helping rescue paperwork from spilled broth. “I have no regrets, Princey. My only wish is that the liquid melted her like the Wicked Witch of the West.” He held up his free hand, making a sizzling noise as he wiggled his fingers.

Roman groaned, shoving him into the break room. “Wait here. And don’t touch anything!” He wagged his finger, slamming the door shut behind him.

Virgil snorted as he dropped back to sit on the couch. “Sure, sure, whatever,” He muttered, looking around the room.

It hadn’t changed much. There was a new calendar on the wall, the days marked off with the attached container of animal paw print markers that Patton kept supplied. The same clunky fridge sat in the corner like a grumpy guardian. The air conditioner hummed with the same faint wheeze it had had since Roman and Patton had started a food fight and gunked it up with macaroni; a cheesy death rattle.

He picked at loose threads on the couch’s arm, peering out through the window of the break room into the office. Celine had already stormed off in a huff, and Patton was hanging back as Roman and Logan bickered back and forth about the puddles of food splashed across the floor. A lot of things were the same, he mused as he leaned back, closing his eyes and settling into a more relaxed position. Should make it easy to fill out all that damned paperwork if everything worked roughly the same. It was probably fine. They wouldn’t have changed that much, right?

Oh, what a fool he was.

The thick stack of papers Logan dumped next to him made him jump. “Jesus fuck, Lo, did you print out the Oxford Dictionary or something?” Virgil yelped, jerking upright and staring wide-eyed at the pile.

“Nope. I’m not letting you step foot near your desk til you read through and sign all of this.” Logan shook his head resolutely.

“Looooo!” Virgil whined. “Come on! Do I really have to? This seems so pointless!”

“You know, refusal to comply with regulations and the like really just delays your return to work? You know that, right?”

Virgil side-eyed the pile of papers. “… Do you at least have a pen?”

“If you didn’t bring your own pen, I’m not letting you drag me down with you.”

“Glad to see you haven’t changed from 10th Grade Biology at all.”

Logan cracked a smile. “Just got older and wiser, Virgil.”

“Older, maybe,” Virgil teased, propping his chin up in his hands and looking up at him.

He rolled his eyes, plucking a pen from his pocket and tossing it at Virgil. “Here. I want that back when you’re done.”

Virgil uncapped the pen, settling back down and placing the pile of papers in his lap. “Sure thing, chief.”

Logan paused halfway out the door and turned back. “… Virgil?”

“Yeah?” Virgil didn’t look up from the papers.

“It’s good to see you back.”

Virgil looked up to see his face suddenly soft, eyes shiny behind chunky frames. “… Thanks, Lo. I missed you too.”

21 Sanders Street Taglist (let me know if you want to be added or removed! :o):

@pattson @royallyanxious @thesocialbookwormishere@wisepuma23@redisawerewolf @lacrimosathedark @demonvirgil@lucifer-in-my-head@2queer2deer @crayonthegreat @rose-gold-roman@my-happy-little-bean@thats-kat-with-a-k @ultimate-queen-of-fandoms2@davidthetraveler@just-a-random-word @wolfishhel @romanussy@moxieties @the-no-name-system @everythings-comin-up-aces@awkwardcaitlin @pr0bablypr0crstinating@generalfandomfabulousness@nyamafriend @the-average-loner @livsig@theresneverenoughfandoms@daughterofsomnus

#virgil sanders #logan sanders #roman sanders #patton sanders #21ss #milo writes #fanfiction #sanders sides #food

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francesderwent · 7 years ago

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“In Need of a Generic Father Figure” A Veronica Mars Everybody Lives/Nobody Dies Meet-Cute LV AU Week Day 7 Canon-typical language, but otherwise general audiences On AO3 Inspired by this post and that one scene in Charlie Don’t Surf.

______________________________________________________________

It was supposed to be a kind of housewarming-slash-homecoming party, the kind of event that was totally low key in its formulation and planning stage but got completely out of hand once things got rolling. All their friends from the old neighborhood were coming over, and it was supposed to be all nostalgic idiocy born from the eternal familiarity of each having been present for one another’s particular flavor of shitty childhood. There were no delusions about the depth of this bond, and so they weren’t expecting it to be a great party, not the best night of anyone’s life by any means, but it was the sort of gathering you could predict, could depend on. Low-pressure, low stakes, low key.

So, precisely the kind of event which would have a giant wrench thrown into it if you were to add in an unknown factor, say, a perfect stranger to man the grill.

“But he wouldn’t be a stranger,” Dick is insisting. “He’d be a dad.”

Logan gapes at him. “Whose dad?”

Dick shrugs, ineloquently.

“So by dad, you just mean some unknown-as-yet male person who has at one point fathered a child?”

“Sure.”

“So, some unknown person’s father, standing on the corner of our property, making hamburgers.”

“Grilling hamburgers, that’s essential.” Dick looks up from his computer and gives Logan a look like he’s disappointed in him for missing an obvious point. “And it’s not just some random sperm donor, dude, he has to be fatherly and shit. I put it in the ad.”

“Ah yes, the ad,” Logan says. “The Craigslist ad, which you put up online without consulting or telling me. I read the ad. And yet here I stand, questioning the entire premise behind it.” But Dick has returned to his computer, presumably to scroll through his emailed responses. Logan pinches the bridge of his nose. “Alright, the court recognizes that grilled hamburgers are better than any alternative. But why do we need someone else to come grill? You and I are fair-to-average at setting things on fire already.”

“We don’t have a grill.”

“No, but we both have trust funds that kicked in some time ago. You may remember them. They’re how we afforded the house…”

Dick huffs. “So we just buy a grill?” Logan gives him the raised eyebrows and jazz hands: duh. Dick bangs on the space bar. “Just buy one, from the depths of our rich boy pockets, without working for it or anything.”

Logan stares. “Are you having some kind of break?”

“It’s stupid to spend money if we could just borrow one.”

“Okaaaay,” Logan says. “So why aren’t you advertising for a grill we can borrow?”

“Because!”

“Because what, Dick?”

“Your dad is supposed to teach you how to grill!” Dick bites out.

They stare at each other for a long beat, then Dick tears his eyes away and starts clattering angrily on his keyboard. Logan sighs, then gingerly sits next to him on the sofa.

“You know,” he says, careful to keep his tone conversational, “if you wanted to sign up for one of those programs for kids with deadbeat dads where they hang out with well-adjusted adult men and learn life skills, I would have happily signed up with you, but we really should have done that when we were younger.”

Dick throws an elbow into his ribs half-heartedly. “Shut up.”

“I’m not saying, like, when we were twelve,” Logan goes on, warming to the topic, “because we mostly hadn’t figured out our dads were deadbeat by then. But definitely before we finished college and joined the workforce. I’m thinking like nineteen or twenty would have been the ideal age. Our father figures could have taught us to consume alcohol, in addition to teaching us to grill.”

“We were already pretty good at drinking alcohol by then,” Dick reminds him.

“Then they could have given us a strict talking-to about underage drinking,” Logan says. “It’s far too late for that now, and we’ve missed our chance.”

“Missed our chance…” Dick echoes.

Logan looks at him sideways.

Dick catches his eye and actually sniffs a little. “I know it’s stupid. You don’t have to tell me it’s stupid.”

Logan shifts uncomfortably. “It’s not stupid, man. I just wish we knew of some actual father figure we could get to sub in for you, rather than resorting to Craigslist dads.”

“It’s not just for me, dude,” Dick insists. “I know you care about this shit, too.”

Logan cracks a smile despite himself. “If some guy with a beer gut shows up and grills me a hamburger and calls me ‘sport’, that’s not going to make the old man any less of an abusive asshole.”

“I know, but we can make some nicer memories can’t we? Some nice dad-memories?”

For a second, Logan allows himself to enter into the delusion, but almost immediately becomes sidetracked on the mental image of Gregory Peck from To Kill a Mockingbird standing in their backyard, holding a light beer and grinning affably. That would be one thing – but he can’t imagine that any fathers like that actually exist in the world. No, this dad was probably going to be more or less a deadbeat himself, or else how would he have time to babysit a bunch of profligate twenty-somethings? At best, it would be some old guy whose kids were too grown-up and busy to talk to him anymore, a dad whose desperate neediness for attention and affirmation matches Dick’s. But then again, Dick will inevitably be drunk for the entire party – he wouldn’t notice if the dad was an escaped convict in black and white stripes with a literal ball and chain on his ankle. What harm could it do? He sighs, asks in a wry tone, “Are you going to ask for proof of paternity, or is this person going to be a fake dad on top of being random?”

Dick lights up. “That’s a great idea, I’ll edit that in!” He resumes typing at a frenzied pace; Logan watches bemusedly.

Still. It’s one weird thing on one day. It won’t make any difference one way or another, in the long run.

Nobody’s life was ever changed because a stranger made them a hamburger.

-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-

After that, Logan tries to extricate himself from the whole dad-audition process, but Dick is, as usual, both oblivious and incorrigible. Logan very quickly comes to dread the phrases “hey, listen to this” and “what about this”, since both are sure signs that he’s about to be read a joke resumé with phrases like “excels at offering positive reinforcement”, or shown a headshot of a guy in a sweater vest. So when he gets home from work and the first thing he hears is “Logan, dude, this is the one”, his first response is to groan and flop face first onto the sofa. They found the sofa at the side of the road the second week in the house and it is therefore a little worn out, so the decision to be dramatic hurts.

“Asshole,” Dick tells him absently, wandering in from the next room holding his laptop. “Listen: father for twenty-plus years, expert level jokes and manly affection, bonus secret-family-recipe hot sauce.”

“The hot sauce is a nice touch,” Logan admits, rolling over onto his back and kicking his feet up onto the sofa arm. “All of the other applicants have really fixated on the ‘dad’ part of ‘grill dad’.”

Dick nods so enthusedly it looks painful. “I know, right? And get this, there’s an attached letter from his kid,” he says. “Dear advertiser, I can confirm that the applicant has been my father for my entire life, and I can honestly say that he has excelled at the position. You would be lucky to have him at your party, where he would strike just the right balance between embarrassing and fun, call all of you by the wrong names and then substitute “son” or “honey”, and repeatedly tell you he’s proud of you. His hamburgers are to die for, and he brings his own fire extinguisher in case anything should go wrong. He has my unreserved recommendation. Also, if this is some kind of dad kidnapping scheme, I will hunt you down and kill you. Cordially, V. Mars.” Dick looks up expectantly; Logan fights a smile.

“They wrote a letter of recommendation for their dad?”

“Uh huh.”

“Hmm,” Logan says neutrally, then says, “Mr. Mars,” trying it out, hitting the ‘r’s and dragging out the ‘s’.

“Keith Mars,” Dick adds helpfully, and turns the computer so Logan can see the attached photo. Keith Mars is bald, just slightly on the portly side, staring adoringly down at the tiny pigtailed child with whom he is dancing, her feet on his – V. Mars is a girl, apparently. Dick tabs to the next picture: Keith Mars standing next to a grill holding a hot dog over the head of a plaintive-looking pitbull while a gap-toothed, elementary-school-aged V. Mars laughs in the background with a blue-haired friend. In the third picture Keith is older, wearing a suit and grinning widely, hugging someone in graduation regalia, her face obscured by her cap. “He looks cool, right?” Dick prompts eagerly.

“Yeah,” Logan says, tearing his eyes away from the graduation photo. Neither he nor Dick had had any relatives attend their college graduation, and he’d seen plenty of family reunions at the baccalaureate celebration that seemed more stiff and awkward than anything else, but Keith looks like he just might burst with pride. “Yeah, he seems nice.”

“Like a real dad, right?” Dick persists.

Logan snorts. “As if I have any experience with which to judge that quality.”

Dick offers a fist bump and Logan complies. “Trauma twins!” Dick says, sing-song. Logan rolls his eyes. “But he seems legit?” Dick says, returning to the salient point. “This is okay?”

Logan stands and claps his roommate on the shoulder. “Sure, man. If you say this is the one, I think you’re probably right.”

Dick beams at him. “I’ll tell him he got the gig!”

“Cool,” Logan says drily. “I can’t wait to meet him.”

-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-

Since Dick thinks it would be acceptable to simply explain the dad-for-hire situation when their guests show up, Logan finds himself calling each invitee one by one the day before the party and beginning with the statement, “So you know how Dick has a tenuous relationship with reality?” Lilly laughs for a full minute and a half, and Duncan, no matter how many times Logan runs through the concept, just doesn’t seem to get it, but everyone else just thinks it’s sad.

“Oh my god, our lives suck,” Gia says, sounding as if she just realized it. “Does no one in our group have a functioning father figure?”

“Carrie’s dad was okay,” Logan offers. “But he moved out of state a few years back.”

“And he never knew how to grill!” Dick yells through his bedroom door.

“And he never knew how to grill,” Logan repeats.

“Yeah, well,” Gia says skeptically, “I’m bringing extra booze for when this weird-ass idea causes someone to have an emotional breakdown.”

“Appreciated.”

And when the day arrives, booze is the one thing they do seem to have enough of.

“Why did we say we were going to supply ingredients?” Logan wonders aloud as he methodically opens and shuts every cupboard in their kitchen. “You forgot to buy onions, we don’t own any spices, I don’t even think we have salt and pepper –”

“Logan. Man! Relax.” As anticipated, Dick is already halfway to trashed, and far from caring if their hamburgers are seasoned.

“This was your idea,” Logan says, accusing sliding into sardonic. “You’re the one who wanted to make some new dad-memories, and now because you were overly confident in a Craigslist ad, our new dad is already going to be disappointed in us.”

“Dude, holy shit –” Dick bursts out laughing and can’t continue his thought. Logan turns around to glare at him in exasperation. “What if –” Dick stammers, chortling, “what if he says the thing? ‘I’m not mad I’m just disappointed?’ How absolutely sick would that be?” He’s wheezing now, and Logan can’t think of anything to do except stare at him. “Just like a real dad!” Dick howls.

Logan stands, frozen, for a beat longer, and then abandons his search for the probably-nonexistent spice cabinet to reach for the scotch instead. “Gia was right,” he says flatly. “This is going to end in tears.” He pulls a little too sharply on the tab of the wax seal and it snaps off with the seal still in place. He looks at it in consternation, and it is at this point that the doorbell rings. Dick makes no sign of moving from his position, giggling slumped over the kitchen table, so Logan jogs to the front hallway, only to discover that Dick has placed all the beer they bought in front of the door, barricading it closed. He’s kicking six packs out of the way and trying to open the scotch bottle with his teeth when he finally manages to wrench open the door and is greeted by the genial but not-quite-non-threatening face of Keith Mars.

For a moment the desire to say something dismissive rises up, as if this was still high school and he was still incapable of engaging with an adult on mutually respectful terms, but Logan takes a deep breath and forces it down. “Mr. Mars,” he says.

Keith sticks out a hand. “Richard?”

Logan snorts, but accepts the handshake. “Richard is inside. I’m the roommate, Logan.”

Keith’s eyes drop to the scotch bottle still in Logan’s hand. “I hate it when that happens,” he says mildly.

Logan makes a non-committal noise. “We probably have a wine opener somewhere that should do the trick.”

“We don’t!” Dick yells from the kitchen. “I told the chicks to bring one!”

“That would be Richard,” Logan tells Keith wryly. Keith raises his eyebrows, but then reaches into his jacket pocket and offers Logan a multi-tool. “Thanks,” Logan says uncomfortably, looking down to flip through utensils instead of making eye contact. “Can I offer you anything?”

“Nope,” says Keith cheerfully, “just point me to the backyard and I’ll get the grill fired up.”

“Get the grill fired up!” Dick’s voice repeats, maniacally.

“He’s fine,” says Logan, unconvinced himself. “The backyard’s through this way.”

“No!” Dick stumbles into the hallway and spreads his arms wide, probably so as best to show off the tshirt he bought specifically for the occasion which reads “you’re all up in my grill”, a decided improvement over the grill-themed shirt Logan had to initially talk him down from, which had a meat-related innuendo on it. “I will show you to the backyard, sir!”

Keith offers a hand. “Keith Mars.”

“Awesome, dude.” Dick shakes his hand, which is apparently hilarious because he cracks himself up again. “Welcome to the party!”

Keith glances at Logan, who shrugs. “I’m just happy to be included,” Keith says, sounding, against all odds, like he means it.

“Dope,” Dick responds. “Follow me, mon capitan, I will show you to your grill kingdom!”

“Please stop mixing your metaphors,” Logan tells him, but Keith waves him off and allows Dick to sling an arm around his shoulder and lead him towards the screen door to the backyard.

“Dude, seriously, your application was whack,” Dick says. “I was like, whoa, this guy is like a serious dad!” Logan is watching them go, wondering if he’s responsible for making Keith feel safe and if he should therefore follow, when there’s a voice at shoulder-level behind him.

“So that’s the Craigslist guy?”

He turns, smoothly accepts the proffered casserole dish. “Craigslist dad, actually, or you’re missing the whole point.”

Carrie stands on her toes to look over his shoulder at where Keith is patiently observing Dick’s wild gesticulating at all the ingredients they bought. “Huh,” she says. “I guess he does kind of look like a dad.”

“I should hope so, we took the casting call very seriously.”

Carrie rolls her eyes. “That’s a fruit salad,” she informs him, indicating the dish he’s holding. “I’ve just gotta grab my guitar out of my car and then I can help set up or whatever.”

“You brought your guitar?” Logan repeats. “Are we gonna sit in a circle and sing campfire songs? What the hell kind of barbecue do you think this is?”

“A nice wholesome one, of course. You were kind enough to invite Susan and her kid, and you specifically got a random dad to come grill you food.” After a pause and seemingly despite herself, Carrie asks, “You really couldn’t have just bought a grill yourselves?”

Logan sighs. “Actually, the grill is ours. Keith had one but it wouldn’t fit in his car, so Dick went straight out and got the most expensive one there was.”

“Don’t all serious dads own pickup trucks?”

“That’s exactly what I said.”

“And now you have your own grill.”

“We even managed to work it ourselves; we made marshmallows over it last night.”

Carrie makes a face. “I can’t believe you guys are living together. You’ll both starve to death or suffocate under dirty laundry within a month.”

“Nah,” says Logan, dismissive, “we can live on marshmallows for at least two months, and we can just buy new clothes and burn our dirty laundry on the grill.”

“That,” Carrie tells him calmly, “is disgusting.”

“People who bring acoustic guitars to house parties shouldn’t throw stones,” Logan counters.

She laughs and flips him off. “When’s everyone else getting here?”

He indicates careless ignorance with a wave of the hand. “Hopefully soon. I think we need to set up a watch rotation to make sure Dick doesn’t start crying on the grill dad.”

Carrie snorts, tosses him her keys; he manages to switch the fruit salad to one hand and snag them in the hand holding the scotch. “In that case, you go grab my guitar out of the trunk. What did you say the guy’s name is?”

“Keith Mars.”

“Got it. Do not leave me out there by myself for more than a minute.”

“Of course not! In fact, I wouldn’t dream of getting in your car and driving far, far away from here.”

She elbows past him, laughing, and jogs through the house to make a dramatic exit out the back door, where she is greeted by Dick’s incoherent shouts. Logan sighs, then picks his way back through the six-packs to the kitchen to put everything down, finally open the scotch, and knock back half a drink. When he gets back out to the driveway Casey Gant is there with his newest arm-candy girlfriend, and Logan finds himself cajoled into giving a house tour so he can explain to her why he and Dick decided on this house, how all the guests know each other, and that, no, Casey wasn’t lying about the Craigslist situation. By the time Logan manages to extricate himself, everyone has arrived and is milling around the backyard. Carrie waves to him from a picnic blanket in the middle of the lawn, where she is in fact playing guitar for Susan and her adolescent daughter. He likes Susan and the kid fine, but the three of them seem to be working on a warble-y song from the latest Disney princess sensation, so he hides a grimace, waves back, and looks elsewhere. There’s a few people clustered around the grill, listening to Keith tell some story which is apparently fascinating; Logan gives them a wide berth and joins Lilly and Gia instead, who are standing off to the side eyeing the whole scene skeptically.

“Don’t you ladies want to take advantage of this unique opportunity to interact with a genuine, human parent?” he asks.

“Nope,” says Gia, at the same time as Lilly says “Not even a little.”

Logan snorts. “Well, cheers to that, I suppose.”

“Yes, cheers!” Lilly says. “To dealing with our issues in therapy, rather than projecting all of our buried hopes onto a stranger with a novelty apron who could never live up to our ideals anyway.”

“Like motherfucking adults,” Logan echoes solemnly. They clink glasses.

Gia looks contemplative. “It’s not so much that he’s a random stranger,” she says. “I even kind of trust that he’s for real, you know?”

“I know,” Lilly retorts, pausing to take a big gulp of her drink. “That’s the worst part. Dick introduced me to him when I got here, and he was immediately more interested in my life and my job than my parents have ever been.”

“Yeah, but like, actually interested,” Gia adds, “like he thought I was worth his time and couldn’t wait to hear more about me.”

“How dare he,” Logan says mildly.

Gia elbows him in the ribs. “I don’t see you over there talking to him.”

Logan shrugs. “If I met him on the street maybe I’d be able to trust that he’s the real deal, but the fact that he answered the ad just seems fundamentally suspicious.”

“Yeah, but you guys aren’t paying him, are you?” says Lilly.

“Just in beer.”

“He’s probably just lonely,” Gia suggests.

“I thought the same thing,” says Logan. “But if he’s such a good father, then wouldn’t his own kid want to see him? So why would he need us?”

Lilly pats him on the shoulder. “Logan, you’ve honed your trust issues and pessimism into quite an art.”

He huffs, irritable despite himself. “I’m just saying, don’t anyone go writing him into their will just yet.” Gia looks at him little worriedly, and he attempts a reassuring smile. “I need another drink, can I get either of you anything?” They both wave him off, and he makes for the deck where all the refreshments are, but in his haste to get away, forgets to avoid the grill group and accidentally makes eye contact with Dick. Dick, of course, begins frantically waving him over, and though Logan lifts a hand in acknowledgement and tries to stay course, this only means that Dick starts yelling his name. Logan silently swears to himself that he will not enter the fatherland without a drink in hand, so yells back that he’ll be right there and prays that they’ll be out of something on the drinks and appetizers table so he’ll have to go inside to get it, if not drive to the store. Tragically, Carrie is already there, refilling chip bowls, and when he offers to help she just gives him an unsympathetic look.

“Go get it over with, before Dick convinces everyone to start chanting your name,” she says.

Logan sighs, grabs the beer with the highest alcohol content he can find, and skips down the stairs. “Logan!’ Dick crows. “Logan’s here, guys!”

“I live here,” Logan reminds him. The obvious statement is greeted by polite laughs from the Keith fan-club and drunken giggling from Dick.

“Get this, Logan!” he says, childlike excitement radiating off him in waves. “We didn’t even need salt and pepper, Keith brought his own burger rub!”

Logan looks obligingly at Keith, who nods. “Secret family recipe.”

“I thought the secret was the hot sauce?” Logan says.

“I’ve got that, too.”

Logan raises his eyebrows. “Everything’s a secret with you, Mr. Mars. And here I thought we were just on the verge of opening up to each other.”

Keith laughs good-naturedly. “I’m an open book, Logan.”

Logan is mentally scrolling through options for sarcastic replies which aren’t overly combative when suddenly he feels very, uncomfortably cold, from the back of his neck down, and can do nothing but gasp stupidly. For a moment he thinks Dick has poured ice down his back, but Dick is standing on the other side of the grill from him, looking genuinely surprised albeit delighted. Logan cranes his neck and turns in a circle, but can’t see what’s been spilled on him, though it’s entirely clear who’s to blame. “Duncan,” Logan says, flat and edging toward a growl.

Duncan has the nerve to roll his eyes. “Come on, man, it’s not my fault.”

Logan gestures to where Duncan has clearly dropped his solo cup and half a plate of appetizers on the lawn. “And how do you figure that?”

Duncan shrugs. “You know how hard it is to hold a drink and a plate of stuff at the same time.”

“Hmm, then maybe you should go inside and eat at the table – or better yet, maybe the family down the block can loan us their high chair.”

Duncan scowls at him. “Do you have to be like this, Logan, seriously? It’s just a shirt. And it’s your freaking house, you can just go in and change.”

Logan flicks his eyes over at Keith, who thankfully doesn’t appear inclined to use his fake fatherly authority to intervene and is pretending to look intently at something across the way. Logan fakes a laugh and says as evenly as he can manage, “And it was your freaking drink, so you could have just apologized.” Keith abandons his examination of the next-door-neighbor’s maple tree to give Logan a side-eyed smile, and for a moment, Logan feels a vague sense of satisfaction, before he remembers that he doesn’t care about Keith’s approval. He makes a wry face back.

“Logan,” Keith says mildly, “keep an eye on the grill? I need to grab something I left in the kitchen.”

“No problem, Mr. Mars,” Logan answers, saluting sloppily. Keith nods at him, and then pats Duncan on the shoulder as he passes; Logan interprets the move as condescending and is pleased again, and again annoyed at himself for being pleased. As a pathetic attempt at distracting himself, he pulls his arms into what was previously his favorite gray v-neck and puts it back on backwards so he can look at the stain, and then is horrified all over again. “Duncan, what the fuck were you drinking?” he demands.

Now, finally, Duncan has the grace to look ashamed, or at least defensive. “Mike’s,” he mutters.

“Mike’s lemonade is not this color.”

“It was Mike’s hard black cherry lemonade, alright!”

There are various titters from the group; Logan snorts inadvertently and lifts up the shirt to sniff the purple-y stain, which smells more like sugar than anything else. He knows he should stop pushing, but can’t quite restrain a “Dude, really?”, which turns the titters into full-fledged barks of laughter.

Duncan snaps. “Why do you have to be such a –”

“Donut!”

Duncan freezes at the sound of Lilly’s voice.

“Quit being a drip!” she yells. “Or go home!”

For a second, Duncan turns his glare back on Logan with full force, and Logan almost thinks he’s going to spit in his face or something, but then he just kicks at his dropped solo cup and slinks off toward the front yard.

“Wo-o-ow,” says Dick, with barely contained glee. “This really is the best party ever.”

Logan rolls his eyes, grabs the spatula hanging off the grill, and starts idly pushing burgers around to have something to do. “You’re happy with your Craigslist investment?” he asks Dick.

“Absolutely, dude!”

“And the weirdness of the concept still hasn’t dawned on you?” Casey adds, snickering.

“How could it be weird? Keith is awesome, and he’s the perfect addition to the party, just like the application said.”

“Of course he is.”

Logan jumps, almost drops a burger on the ground, and then turns to find that Duncan’s place in the circle has been filled. She’s on the shorter side, with blonde hair falling down her back in waves, a leather jacket slung over one shoulder, and a completely unreadable expression on her face – and based on the looks she’s getting from the others, no one else has the faintest idea who she is either. “Uh –” Logan says.

“Keith Mars is still here, right?” she asks, voice somewhere between businesslike and belligerent.

“Well –”

“He just went inside,” Dick says, helpfully. “He’ll be back out in a minute.”

Logan groans. “Dick, remind me never to commit any crimes you’d have to be interrogated about.”

Dick shrugs, the whole movement exaggerated by drunkenness. “Look at her, man, what’s she gonna do?”

Logan looks at her, less sure that he should be unintimidated than Dick seems to be; she gives him an unimpressed once-over, but then cracks a smile seemingly despite herself. “So was it some combination of getting dressed in the dark and a wet tshirt competition, or is this a bold fashion choice?”

Logan glances down at his backwards v-neck and the damp, purple circle on his chest. “Bold fashion choice,” he answers, looking up to raise his eyebrows at her.

“I wouldn’t have been able to picture it,” she says, looking him up and down again, “but now that I see it, I guess it works. In fact, you should only wear this. Like, ever.”

Logan grins awkwardly, unsure whether she’s mocking him or flirting with him, and still unsure what he, as a homeowner, is supposed to do about strangers in his backyard, even if they are exceptionally cute.

“So, this is weird,” Dick offers.

“Hey, honey!” Logan turns; Keith is coming down the steps of the deck with burger buns and cheese in hand, beaming at the interloper.

“And it just got weirder,” Casey announces.

“Yup,” echoes his date. “More drinks?”

“You bet.” They wander off arm in arm; Casey salutes Logan with his beer can.

“What are you doing here, sweetheart?” Keith says, dumping his armful of food onto the picnic table so he can hug the blonde girl.

She shrugs, looking considerably more relaxed now that he’s appeared. “I’m an only child, dad, you didn’t honestly expect me to let you adopt a whole party without at least coming over to check up on you. I’ve never had to share before.”

Keith laughs. “Of course, why didn’t I think of that. Why wouldn’t my grown adult daughter show up at an honest Craigslist gig to make sure she wasn’t losing her spot as my favorite child?”

“I dunno,” Dick says suspiciously, “I think she might also be here to flirt with Logan.”

“You two have met?” Keith turns a surprised look on Logan, who does his best innocent blink and tries not to broadcast that a few seconds ago he was considering using Duncan’s spill as an excuse to take his shirt off in front of this girl.

“Only just now,” Keith’s daughter assures him.

Logan nods. “You’re V. Mars?”

“Veronica,” she answers. She offers her hand to shake.

“Don’t take this personally,” Logan says, “but I wouldn’t. I’m honestly kind of covered in Mike’s hard black cherry lemonade.”

“That exists?” she says.

“There’s no limit to the abominations which crawl this earth,” he replies, straight-faced. She laughs.

“See what I mean,” Dick says to Keith. Keith looks at him blankly; Dick belches, shoots Logan a complicated and incomprehensible hand gesture, and wanders off after Casey, leaving Logan alone with the two Marses. He looks back and forth between them, trying not to stare, and wondering if it would be weird to ask what kind of degree Veronica just graduated with based on the picture Keith sent.

“So!” Veronica says, into the strained silence. “You’ve been treating my dad well?”

“He’s getting all of the standard grill-dad benefits,” Logan answers. “We didn’t want to have the agency all over us, or god forbid, the unions.”

Veronica smiles in acknowledgment, but her eyes flick to her dad with something like nervousness.

“Do you two need a minute?” Logan offers.

“No!” says Keith, confidently calm. “Everything’s all fine, here. Son, can you start putting cheese on hamburger buns? Veronica, honey, help him?”

Veronica rolls her eyes, but bumps Logan out of the way with her hip so she can grab the cheese. “So, daaad,” she says, sing-song.

“Veronica,” he says, warningly.

She actually pouts. “Come on, dad,” she says, the words coming quicker now. “It’s pretty clear Logan doesn’t care about you being his fake father for the day; his entire body flinched when you called him son.”

Logan hands her a hamburger bun he removed from the block of them in the bag, says mildly, “I thought I managed to reserve my flinch to only seventy percent of my body.”

“Nope!” Veronica gives him an apologetic smile, and then turns back to Keith. “Dad, please.”

Keith glances at Logan, back at her, and sighs. “Make it quick, Veronica.”

She drops the package of cheese and reaches into her bag to retrieve a giant camera. “So-o-o,” she says, lowering her voice, “you know that guy I’ve been on all week for a completely unrelated…work thing?”

Keith rolls his eyes. “Yes.”

“Well, he just walked through the front door of your guy’s house.”

“No, he didn’t,” Keith says drily. She tabs through a few photos on the display, shows him one. Keith looks at her. “That can’t be good.”

She lets out a huff of breath. “No, I didn’t think so either.”

“I can see both exits from here, honey, and I haven’t turned my back once.”

“From here?” Logan repeats.

They ignore him. “If I didn’t notice him going in, it was because I wasn’t looking for people entering,” Keith continues, reassuringly. “Nobody could have gotten away, so they must all just be inside. We’ll wait it out, it’ll be fine.”

Logan is just about to give up and leave them to it so he can find another drink, and maybe even change his shirt, but that, of course, is when the air is filled with the sound of breaking glass.

Some kind of instinct takes over and he dives in between the sound and Veronica, dragging her to the ground with him despite her incoherent noise of protest. He looks up in time to see a flailing person hit the ground below the next-door-neighbor’s maple tree, surrounded by the debris from the shattered second-story window.

“That’s yours!” Veronica gasps, but Keith has already produced a gun from somewhere under his novelty apron and is pointing it at where the fallen man has gotten unsteadily to his feet.

“Police!” Keith shouts. “Don’t move!”

There’s a stunned pause, Logan takes in the faces of gaping astonishment on his friends, and then the man takes off running in the opposite direction. Keith lets out a brief curse and rips off his apron. “He’s running,” he announces to thin air, and Logan hears a siren start up down the street, so apparently he really is police. Keith throws the apron at Veronica. “Don’t let the hamburgers burn,” he orders, and then he climbs on the picnic table, vaults clumsily over the neighbor’s fence, and takes off after the runner.

“You’re going to strain your back,” Veronica yells after him, almost petulant. She elbows Logan in the ribs and he rolls off her, not sure whether she’s about to join in the chase herself or whether she’s just going to lay into him for tackling her. She gets up, checks her camera and is apparently convinced that its not broken, but still looks dissatisfied about something. She peeks into the grill, lifts a single burger with the forgotten spatula. “They’re not going to burn,” she says, disdainfully.

“Dude.” Dick jogs over so he can give Logan a hand up off the ground. “Dude,” Dick repeats, “is it just me or was our grill-dad packing heat?”

Logan pats his arm. “Not only was he packing heat, but he was almost definitely using us to surveille the house next door.”

Dick looks flabbergasted. “Shit, man. Even my fake dad didn’t really want to spend time with me.”

“I’m sure he’ll be back, once they’ve collared the guy,” Veronica offers. As if inspired, she removes the first burger patty from the grill, puts it on one of their prepared buns, and hands it to him.

Dick looks at it suspiciously, takes a bite, and then nods, but adds accusingly, “Whatever, man. I’m going to need therapy from this.” He shoots a finger gun at Logan. “So, you do whatever you’re doing here, I’m gonna go apologize to Susan for exposing her child to all this violence.”

“That’s really mature and responsible of you, Dick,” Logan says, surprised.

“Duh,” says Dick. “It’s up to us to break the cycle.” And with that, he heads back towards the rest of the party, who are all staring at Veronica with no small amount of apprehension. She doesn’t seem to notice, but absently picks up Keith’s apron and puts it on, and starts assembling burgers.

Logan can’t help but ask, “You’re not going to follow them?”

“Nope,” she says, shortly, “not my case.”

“Do you need to go after…your guy?”

“No, I’ve got the pictures I needed.”

“Then I’m sure Keith would appreciate the backup…?”

She lets out a short laugh, and Logan sees with dawning comprehension that she’s worried. “He needs it,” she answers, “but he wouldn’t appreciate it. I don’t have the clearance.”

“You’re not his partner?”

She turns to look at him like he’s an idiot. “No-o-o,” she says. “I’m his daughter.”

Logan grins, lifts his hands in surrender. “Sorry, I wasn’t sure how deep the undercover scheme went.” She snorts, flips her hair over her shoulder, and turns back to the grill. “That one on the right is getting a little overdone,” he says, pointing.

“No it’s not.” She swats his hand away, and then moves the offending burger closer to the coals, Logan suspects just to be contrary.

“So you’re not a cop?” he tries again. She shoots him an exasperated glance over her shoulder, he grins, says, “If you’re not a cop, why were you surveilling the house too?”

She huffs a sigh, puts the spatula down with a clatter, and reaches for her bag where it had fallen on the ground. “Here,” she says, and tosses something at him. He catches it, turns it around, opens it.

“You’re a private detective?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Not a cop?”

“I’m going to throw a hamburger at you.”

Logan laughs. “So, what, you didn’t want to follow in your father’s footsteps?”

“I did, he didn’t,” Veronica says casually, returning her focus to the grill. “He wanted me to aim higher. I got accepted to Quantico, and was sent home after three weeks because of my issue with authority.” She shrugs, spins the spatula like a baton. “Turns out, I’m more suited for private eye work than I am for either the feds or the boys in blue anyway.”

“Huh.”

“What?”

Logan shrugs, thinking that she was already exceptionally cute, but she just became the most fascinating person on the planet. “I don’t know.”

She removes the last burger from the grill and spins to look at him, hands on her hips. He feels a goofy grin spreading over his face, and she rolls her eyes at him. “What, Logan?”

“You should only wear this.”

She looks down at Keith’s apron, which reads in big, bold letters, “NEVER TRUST A SKINNY CHEF”. She snorts. “If you haven’t figured out yet that you shouldn’t trust me, no amount of written reminders are going to do the trick.”

Logan ducks his head, rubs the back of his neck. “So I’m trusting, sue me.”

“Ah!” She taps her chin with one finger, mock-contemplative. “Is that how you ended up advertising for a strange dad to on-site cater your barbecue?”

“That wasn’t my idea.” Veronica raises her eyebrows, Logan adds, “I actually feel a lot better about your dad now.”

“You feel a lot better about him now that you know he deceived you?”

“Well, yeah,” Logan admits. “He seemed way too normal to be the kind of person who responds to Craigslist ads, so there definitely had to be a catch.” She raises her eyebrows at him, he adds lamely, “So it’s nice that the catch was he’s mainly here to catch bad guys.”

As if on cue, Veronica’s cell phone buzzes; she picks up on the first ring. “Dad?” The worry smooths away from her face at his response, and she mouths a quick apology to Logan before retreating into the corner of the yard to debrief. The last thing he hears her say is “I can’t believe you jumped over that fence, are you trying to kill me?”

Logan walks over to where Dick and Gia are relating the main event to Duncan, who has reemerged and is trying very hard to appear as if he doesn’t regret missing out. “Then Keith magically pulled a gun out of nowhere,” Dick says, miming in slow motion, “and yelled get on the ground or I’ll shoot!”

“He didn’t exactly yell that,” Gia puts in. “I’m pretty sure he basically just said ‘police’.”

Dick ignores her, too invested in the story. “But the guy just books it, and so Keith literally vaulted over the fence and chased after him, yelling and firing at him –”

“No,” Gia says.

Duncan rolls his eyes. “This is what you get for inviting strangers into your home,” he says derisively.

“Trained professionals to arrest the criminal who apparently lived next door to us anyway?” Logan pipes up.

“Professional or not,” Gia says, upbeat, “as soon as shit started to go down, Logan shielded the cop’s daughter with his body, which was pretty cool.”

“Aww,” says Lilly, coming up to put an arm around her brother’s shoulders. “And you were out in the car, sulking because everyone laughed at your drink choice!”

Reminded, Logan glances down at his shirt, which he’d mostly forgotten in all the excitement; it is now starting to stick to his skin uncomfortably. What the hell, Keith won’t be back for twenty minutes at least; he can definitely get some mileage out of this. He takes the shirt off. The girls wolf-whistle, Duncan groans.

“You know,” Lilly suggests slyly, “there are definitely easier ways than Craigslist to incorporate a new father figure into your life.”

“What?” says Dick, immediately intrigued. “Is there a more specific service?”

“Is there?” Logan repeats, alarmed.

Lilly starts laughing. “You’re both idiots,” Duncan tells them, with significantly more affection now that his knowing something they don’t has reestablished him in a position of authority.

Gia appears to be about ready to take pity on them, but is interrupted by Veronica’s return. “They got the guy,” she announces. “Dad is driving him to the station. Logan, he says he’s leaving you in charge until he gets back, not Richard.”

Dick flips her off; Logan replies, “I’m touched that he’s ceding authority to me in my own home.”

Veronica performs an elaborate double take, gestures at the house. “This is yours?”

“As far as the eye can see, or at least until where I imagine the police tape will be going up.”

“It’s my house, too,” Dick puts in.

Veronica ignores him. “I took you for an out-of-towner,” she tells Logan.

The fact that she thought of this means she’s not uninterested in the possibility of seeing him again. “Nope, local boy, though and through.”

Veronica eyes him thoughtfully. “And why are you half naked?”

He realizes he doesn’t actually have a good reason. “I was really starting to smell?”

She pretends to consider this. “I guess I’ll take it,” she finally says. Lilly starts cackling.

Logan tries not to preen. “Veronica, this is everybody; everybody, Veronica.” Veronica waves awkwardly.

“Are you going to stick around until your dad gets back?” Gia asks, faux-innocent.

Veronica looks sidelong at Logan. “Stay,” he says, hearing it come out somehow as if he were laying his heart on the line. He adds, more casually, “You can scold him for his fence-jumping.”

She considers him. “Do you have anything other than Mike’s hard black cherry lemonade?”

He cracks a smile. “I think I can scare something up.”

“The good stuff is all inside,” Lilly lies, straight-faced, then elbows Duncan, who says with faux-enthusiasm, “Oh yeah, and while you’re in there, maybe Logan could put a shirt on.”

“Like, if one jumps out at him,” Gia puts in. “Not every color works on Logan.”

“Yeah,” says Lilly. “He went through a whole orange phase. It was bad.”

Veronica looks bewilderedly around the circle, then back up at Logan. “I guess I could stay awhile,” she says, a smile pulling at her mouth.

“Don’t forget to grab hamburgers before you go in,” Dick says, serious. “That’s literally the whole point.”

“Right,” says Logan, not taking his eyes off Veronica. “Thank goodness for those hamburgers.”

-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-

Yahoo answers post from user MeCasablancasIsTooCasablancas:

So a few years ago I met this really cool dad, super great, very wise, lot to offer as a father figure. I put a lot of effort into getting to know him and he’s always been totally chill. My roommate, on the other hand, barely wanted to talk to the dad, from day one. Only problem is, now that’s changed and we’re in competition, and I was wondering, how do I make sure that my prior claim to the dad is respected? My roommate didn’t even want a dad, but now just because he’s marrying the guy’s daughter everyone’s telling me father-in-law trumps the fact that I clearly called dibs? This can’t be right.

Also, the wedding is in two months, and even though there’s no way they go through with it, just in case please go to Craigslist and look for my post seeking a new roommate. If it helps, we have a grill.

#LV AU week #veronica mars #cate fic #vm #this fic brought to you by general insanity and my conveniently timed spring break #aaaaaaaand that's it for now folks!!#I promise I am working on the teachers AU #it's just very difficult to write a teacher AU #without including lots of stuff about students #which takes up space and time

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