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a-small-batch-of-dragons · 3 years

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Hallucination

Prompts: i love your fics insanity and real or not real!! can i request another fic where a side is struggling to tell what's real and what's a hallucination? can be in the same like universe (carrying on with one of the stories) or a completely different universe/person, idm - anon

*crashes into ur asks*

Hey if you’re still taking requests could you do just Janus comforting someone on the verge of a meltdown? Like lots of soft words and caring Janus? He’s my comfort character and I love him - anon

Thanks for the prompt!

Read on Ao3 Part 1 (ish)

Warnings: talk of hallucinations, uncertainty

Pairings: focus on creativitwins, intrulogical, dukeceit, background LAMP, DLAMP, DLAMPR, can be platonic or romantic, you decide

Word Count: 3864

Sometimes Thomas watches things and it isn’t Remus’s fault.

Sometimes Thomas decides to watch something late at night, when it’s dark outside, even though Virgil tells him it’s a bad idea, and it isn’t Remus’s fault.

Sometimes when Virgil has gone to his room and he’s fine, but Thomas’s mind can’t stop playing it over and over and over and over, he starts to expand on it and it isn’t Remus’s fault.

He can’t remember the name of the video. Something to do with being stuck on a misty island in the middle of nowhere with a monster and villagers that wait to sacrifice tourists to the monster to sate its hunger. Something about a daring rescue or an escape plan doomed to fail.

Something like…

“Do not go outside. Do not turn on the lights. Don’t make sounds.” The old man draws the curtains sharply across the window. “And whatever you do, do not look out the window.”

It’s late now. Patton’s asleep. Virgil’s in his room, probably asleep. The rest of them are still awake in the Imagination. It’s slumber party night for the twins, having created a big sprawling mansion in the Imagination for them to run around in. Logan is here, Janus is here, Roman is here.

Villagers?

They’re talking about what Thomas watched.

Logan straightens his legs out. “It’s not a bad practice, staying quiet.”

Janus rolls his eyes. “Come on, what is this, some haunted island?”

“You saw the people in the video.” Logan rests his weight on his elbows. “Something was amiss.”

“The only thing amiss was how awfully boring you lot are being.” Janus sighs and stands, stretching. “Well, I think a night of entertainment sounds wonderful.”

“The old man said to be quiet,” Roman points out. Wait, is the old man real?

“Do you know how prone to flights of fancy old people are?” Janus smiles. “Incredibly.”

“Hmm.”

“Oh don’t start that.” Janus rolls his eyes and his gaze lands on Remus. A smirk crawls across his face. “Well,” he drawls, sauntering across the room, “someone’s being awfully quiet.”

Remus just shrugs. Janus crouches down.

“What do you think about this monster,” he asks, tapping his fingers on his chin, “about the thing that sneaks around this island, peering into windows, through the keyholes of locked doors?”

“Janus,” Logan warns.

“What? I just want to hear what our other little scientist thinks about this.” He raises his eyebrows when Remus won’t hold his gaze. “No? Nothing? Need more data? Well, I’m sure you could ask around if you wanted to.”

“We’re not supposed to leave,” he says softly.

“I know you’re a goody-two-shoes, Remus, but you’ll never get anything done that way.”

“Leave him alone, Janus,” Roman says with a wink, “he’s just mad at how pathetic the monster design was.”

Long limbs. Dark eyes. Moved like shadow.

“And the Boy Scout, coming to the rescue.” Janus rolls his eyes as he stands. “Aren’t you tired of being so boring?”

Roman holds his hands up. “Hey, I’m all for exploring!”

Janus sighs. “Ever the dashing prince, are we?”

“Ask nicely and I may sweep you off your feet too.”

The banter continues. Logan just sighs and pulls out a journal, the pen emerging from god-knows-where as he writes. Remus swallows and glances toward the window.

In. Out. In. Out.

Roman and Janus are still tossing barbs and jests back and forth. Remus cannot help but notice how loud they are being.

The old man said to be quiet.

Logan looks up when he begins to crouch down and shuffle behind the bed.

“What are you doing?”

“Changing.” He gives a half-hearted smile. “Texture spoons ran out.”

He nods and goes back to his writing. Remus glances at the nightstand. Only 8:00. The conversation gets progressively louder. Logan joins in eventually, rolling his eyes at Roman’s increasingly elaborate proposals to bring in jukeboxes, disco lights, and speakers.

“Let’s think about this logically. If the ghosts or whatever the hell the monster is sensitive to sound, why not pump everything to like, 300 decibels and blast their eardrums out?”

“Or it could be that they just hear things like we hear things,” Logan remarks.

“Mm.”

“Why do I have to be quiet?” Roman spreads his arms. “I should not have to deal with that!”

“Actually, you know what,” Janus says gleefully, “I agree. We shouldn’t have to be quiet. If this place doesn’t have adequate monster protection, that’s on them.”

This place…didn’t they make it safe? Roman said they made it safe. Is it not safe anymore? Are the shadows—is the monster here?

“Always the entitlement,” Logan sighs, seemingly resigning himself to the voice of reason as he settles his journal to the side, “assuming that everyone should cater to your needs.”

“Oh come on, Logan. You have to admit that having a hotel that isn’t secure makes little to no sense.”

Hotel? Isn’t this still the mansion?

The low buzz of an LED sign comes from outside. Remus blinks. Has…has that always been there?

“Not respecting the rules of wherever you choose to go makes little to no sense.”

“That’s gotta hold up in court though.” Roman glances at Janus. “You get me?”

“Yes, Your Honor,” Janus says, drawing himself up like a lawyer, “I would like to sue on the grounds that my intestines were devoured horrifically by a terrifying, savage beast that the hotel owners neglected to inform me of. How am I standing here, you ask, if my intestines have been devoured? Simple. Spite.”

Roman’s off, cackling to his heart’s content. Logan bites back his own smile.

“And how, may I ask, is this not the fault of yourself?”

“May I say, Your Honor, that victim-blaming is not cute—“

“Here here,” comes Roman’s voice.

“—and also, the information about aforementioned monster came from someone who was not an employee of the hotel,” Janus finishes grandly, “therefore they can suck my—“

Logan hits his hand against the nightstand, still fighting down laughter. “Defendant is charged with contempt of court.”

“Do not pass go,” Roman chortles as Janus swoons dramatically, “do not collect 200 dollars.”

“Remus,” Janus cries out, “avenge me!”

Remus does not respond. He is too busy trying to figure out when the mansion became the hotel.

“Remus,” Janus cries again, crawling dramatically across the floor, “save me from this indignity.”

“No, thank you,” he mumbles instead.

Janus huffs, pushing himself off the floor. “Then by all means, please tell us your ingenious solution to this monster problem that we find ourselves in.”

Remus looks up, his face carefully blank except for a small smile. “I’m going to hide underneath the sheets,” he says in a soft, small voice, “because everybody knows monsters can’t get you when you’re under your sheets.”

“That is adorable,” Roman chuckles.

Janus’s eyebrows raise slowly until another fiendish smirk crawls across his face. “Are you scared?”

“Yes.”

“Aww,” he coos, “hiding under the sheets to get away from the monsters, how adorable.”

Remus doesn’t respond.

“If only the others could see you now,” Janus crows, “they’d know how intimidating you really are.”

Logan takes his glasses off, polishing them with the handkerchief from his pocket. “As if you’re any better, crying over a torn seam in your cape.”

“That bastard took two weeks to get right!”

Remus ignores them once more, glancing at the clock. 9:45. An acceptable time to try and go to sleep. He moves slowly and quietly as he tries to get into the bed. The monster could be here. The banter continues behind him as he pulls the sheets tight around him.

He does not see Logan glance over. He does not see that Logan frowns and glances at the clock, thinking perhaps Remus is more tired than he appeared, but…still. He does not see Logan look back at the others still talking, they’re probably not going to go to sleep for a long while.

He does not see Logan look over at him as Janus leaves the room, claiming he’s going to go find somewhere more fun to sleep. He does not see Logan frown, looking to see Remus still on his side, huddled under the sheets. He does not see when Logan starts to count.

One, two, three, four.

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven.

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight.

He does not see Logan beckon Roman closer.

He does not see Roman frown as he comes closer, sighing at the notebook in Logan’s hands.

“Logan, why the hell can’t you take a break for…” he trails off when he sees Logan’s face. “What?”

“Perhaps I like to keep myself occupied,” Logan says smoothly, even as he nods insistently to the notebook, “even in times where the circumstances might be less than ideal.”

Roman raises an eyebrow. Subtle, Logan.

“You are chronically incapable of taking a break, aren’t you?”

“Perhaps.”

“Do you know any words other than ‘perhaps?’”

“Perhaps.”

Roman hides a smirk as squints at the text.

I think Remus is actually afraid. Don’t tease. - L

Remus does hear Roman exhale sharply. He does not see him glance up at the bed before he looks back at Logan and nods.

“Well,” he sighs, stretching and yawning exaggeratedly, “on that note, it’s probably a good idea to try and sleep.”

Logan snorts. “And here I thought you were supposed to be an actor.”

He swats at him halfheartedly as he starts getting ready to go to sleep. What that means is just a matter of snapping his fingers to change out of the prince costume. He packs his other clothes away and crosses the room, keeping his footsteps loud but not too loud.

Now that he’s paying attention, he can see how scared poor Remus is. He’s frozen under the sheets, barely moving. As Logan starts talking quietly to himself, he sets his bag down next to Remus’s and sighs, moving around to make a bit more noise.

Remus still doesn’t move.

When he’s made all the noise he can reasonably make, he walks a little closer to the bed and reaches to fix the curtains, unable to stop the soft noise when his shadow falls over the bed.

“Hey, Re,” he whispers, leaning down and brushing the sheet a little further from his face, “it’s just me, it’s just Roman. Can you open your eyes for me?”

It takes him a moment but his eyes do open. He smiles down at him and cups his face for a moment.

“Hey, there, Re,” he murmurs, “can I come join you?”

He barely nods.

“Thank you.” He frowns when he doesn’t move over. “You gonna let me in?”

He can tell by the way his eyes glass over that’s not a good idea unless he can convince him otherwise.

“Come on,” he whispers again, “scoot to the other side for me.” He nudges his shoulder gently. “Logan misses you.”

Loren doesn’t let his mumuring falter but he does reach across the small space between their beds to lightly pat the side closest to him.

Remus moves, as skittish as the new dragon pups, clutching the blanket tightly to his chest, his pillow gripped in his other hand. Roman swiftly takes the warm spot he’s vacated, wincing in sympathy as he shivers on the cold sheets.

“Thank you,” he sighs, making a show of getting comfortable before reaching out for him, smacking his lips together in sleep, “now come here.”

At his quickly stifled questioning noise, he drops the act and opens his arm wide.

“It’s okay, Re,” he whispers, far too quiet for Logan to hear, “I’m not gonna hurt you, it’s okay.”

He stares at him a moment longer before he realizes that shit, he’s not going to be able to move on his own right now.

“Can I come get you, Re?” Roman smiles when he gives him another one of those jerky nods. “Thank you, I’m gonna pull you over to me, okay?”

He takes him into his arms slowly and carefully, wrapping him up in the sheets until just the very tops of their heads poke out. He relaxes just enough so that he can maneuver him to where he likes, but he’s far from the sleepy pile he expected.

“Hey,” he whispers, tucking his hair behind his ear, “you want to stay here with me, Re?”

He blinks sluggishly. Roman bites back a curse and leans down to rub his nose against his.

“Hey, hey, Re, you just focus on me, okay? Stay with me here—“ he tightens his grip— “right here…I’ve got you.”

He frowns when he makes a small little noise that sounds like it could be his name.

“Yeah, Re? You calling for me?”

He opens his mouth but no sound comes out. He kisses Remus’s forehead.

“Nonverbal,” he whispers, “or just scared? Or both?”

A moment passes.

“Both it is then.” Roman tucks his head under his chin. “Why don’t you go ahead and close your eyes, Re, I’m right here.”

They stay there, wrapped in the blankets, Remus warm and snug up against Roman’s chest. He plays with his hair, one of his legs slung over his to hold him close, working to lull him out of his frozen state. After a while, Logan stands from the other side of the room and pats Roman’s shoulder.

“Your turn, Roman.”

Roman rolls over. “Huh?”

Logan nods his head toward the bathroom. “Shower.”

Roman sighs dramatically and presses another kiss to Remus’s forehead, leaving his brother dazed, blinking up at Logan. Logan watches Roman leave before he turns his gaze downwards. Remus tries to pretend the shiver that goes through him at the way Logan softens his gaze is just the cold.

“Remus,” he calls softly, voice barely louder than a whisper, “Remus, may I join you?”

A pause.

“Tap the bed twice if yes, once if no.”

A pause, then Remus hesitantly reaches out to make two little taps.

“Thank you.”

He slides smoothly into the bed, reaching out to carefully slip an arm under his and pull him off of the sweat-soaked sheets—when did that happen?—and into his arms. Remus moves pliantly, tucking his chin into the space left between his chin and the pillow.

“Hey,” he whispers, gentling his voice as he tucks his head closer to Remus’s, “hey.”

Logan is warm. Is Logan—Logan said it made sense to be quiet. Logan knows. Logan understands. Logan always understands.

“What’s the matter,” Logan calls gently, “can I help?”

Remus swallows. “Monster.”

“Are you afraid of the monster, Remus?”

Remus nods. “Black eyes. Shadow. Kill you and Roman and Janus and then go find Patton and Virgil and Thomas. Bad.”

“The monster isn’t real, Remus,” Logan says softly, running his hand through his hair, “it doesn’t exist.”

Remus shakes his head. “We’re in the hotel on the island. It’s real. Roman left and the monster will kill him.”

“Roman is just in the bathroom,” Logan corrects, moving his head to indicate the running water sound, “he’s alright. We’re not in a hotel, we’re in the mansion you two created.”

“But the LED sign is buzzing outside.”

“Would you like to look and see?”

“No!” Remus wraps his arms tightly around Logan’s waist. “We’re not supposed to look out the window, the old man said not to.”

“The old man isn’t here,” Logan says patiently, “I’m here. I have you. I’ll keep you safe.”

“He said—he—he’s not real?”

“No, Remus, he’s not real.” Logan gives him a gentle squeeze. “This is real. This is real, Remus, I’ve got you.”

“You’re real.”

“I am.”

“You said it’s safe to look out the window?”

“It is.” Logan squeezes again. “Would you like me to show you?”

Remus nods. Logan leans up and pulls back the curtain, peeking outside. There’s no bright red light from the hotel LED sign. Just soft moonlight.

“There’s no sign, Remus,” he murmurs, “you’re not in a hotel.”

Oh.

“The scar,” he blurts, his hand flying to his chest, “from the stab, what if it’s already got us?”

“I don’t have a scar,” Logan says, lying back down and taking Remus’s hand, “here…feel.”

Logan presses his palm to his bare chest, pulling his shirt out of the way so Remus can see. There’s no scar.

“You don’t have one either…may I?”

When he presses his palms against Remus’s chest, there’s no scar.

“We’re…not there?”

“No, Remus, we’re not there,” Logan says gently, “we’re here, in the mansion, safe, there’s no monster.”

The water stops. A moment later and Roman emerges, tossing a towel over his shoulder. He sees the two of them in the bed and pouts.

“You stole my spot!”

“I had Remus to comfort,” Logan says smoothly, waving him over, “though you are welcome to help.”

Roman ruffles Remus’s hair. Remus leans into it.

“Ro, are you real?”

“Yes, of course, I’m real, Re, what…” Roman trails off and his eyes go wide. “Oh, Re, did we—did I push you into hallucination territory? I’m so sorry, yes, we’re real, we’re here, we’re in our mansion, we’re safe, Re.”

“Safe?”

“Yeah, Re,” Roman murmurs, getting in to cuddle his brother properly, “we’re safe.”

“Real?”

“This is real.”

Remus buries his nose in his brother’s real neck and holds him close. Logan stays by his side, stroking his hair and murmuring that Remus is here, they’re real, they’re safe.

After a moment, Remus takes a deep breath and pulls apart.

“You know the rules, Ro-Bro.”

Roman grimaces, his head dropping to rest against Remus’s sternum for a moment before he nods. Logan looks back and forth between the two of them.

“What are the rules?”

“When Remus gets pushed into hallucination territory,” Roman says softly, “he sleeps alone.”

Logan frowns. “But surely it would help to have us reassure you and help ground you?”

“Wouldn’t help for the intrusive thoughts and hallucinations to include you too.”

Logan winces. “I suppose not, but—“

“Lolo we’ve tried,” Remus mumbles, “we—this works. It sucks and I hate it and so does Ro but this is what works.”

“I trust you,” Logan says, squeezing Remus’s hand, “and I trust you to know what works for you.”

“We’re just overprotective.”

“I’ll say.”

Roman gives him one last hug before standing and pulling Logan to his feet. “You know we’ll come as soon as you call.”

Remus nods. “I know.”

The room feels empty when they leave.

The night passes.

During the witching hour, he startles awake.

The sheets are soaked in sweat directly under him. His eyes are wide. His breathing is too controlled.

The monster is not here but the shadows are.

Somewhere in this house, he knows, something is here. He can hear the voice in the movement of the curtains, hear the step in the way the floorboard settles. Hands never meet his tender flesh, a mouth never bites his fragile throat, but something is here.

Step. Step. Step.

The fear clouds his eyes as it drips into his ears. The light flickers. Something brushes a knuckle up and over his cheek. Something pauses outside his doorway.

Through the depths of the fear filling his ears, something knocks.

The chill rips its fingers out of his mouth and smears them over his throat. Something knocks again. There’s something outside. There’s something outside.

“Sweetie,” he calls as he opens the door, “Sweetie?”

Janus steps inside.

“You’re awake,” he says, shutting the door and sitting on the edge of the bed, “it’s quite late.”

“I know,” Remus says as he sits up, wary, “sorry.”

Janus hums, reaching out to idly brush his hair off his forehead. The chill curls and lingers around his fingers, the shadows diving to hide in the lea of him, greedily drinking the fear from Remus. Janus goes to pull his hand away only to notice the prickles on Remus’s skin.

“Are you cold, my dear?” He frowns and lightly dusts his forearm with his fingertips. “You look it.”

Remus shakes his head. Janus raises an eyebrow, pressing his thumb hard against his arm to reveal a white imprint. It takes long seconds for the chill to let blood color the flesh again.

“Let’s not lie,” he murmurs, his gaze flicking back up to catch Remus’s, “shall we, sweetie?”

Janus reaches up to trace the air around the curve of his cheek, one finger lightly tracing his jaw. The electrifying tingle clenches his hands in the sheet. He tilts his head and hums softly.

“What’s keeping you awake, sweetie?”

The chill snarls, refusing to let go of his throat.

“You can speak,” he encourages, lightly knuckling the underside of his chin, “it’s alright.”

“I’m sorry.” He shakes his head a little.

“None of that, now, you’ve done nothing wrong.” He closes his hand around his. “To be afraid is nothing to be ashamed of, sweetie, you know that.”

The shadows move slowly, wary of him, eager to taste his fear. The chill huddles around it, icing it in place, refusing to let him breathe without reaching its fingers into the pit of his throat.

“Oh, my dear,” Janus murmurs, running his fingers along the side of Remus’s neck, “can I do anything for you?”

He shakes his head quickly. Too quickly.

“Sweetie…”

“You’ll be annoyed.”

“I’m concerned,” Janus corrects gently, “that’s all.”

Remus risks a glance at the shadows.

“And you know, Remus,” he continues, lifting his hand to press a chaste kiss to its back, “taking care of you is never annoying.”

A different type of fear tingles along his fingers as they brush the curve of his jaw. This one reaches deep, deep along his fingers, up his arm, down to the curve of his shoulder, wriggling in between the cold knots to pulse against him. The shadows bloom in the corners of the room, shying away from the light flickering over his face, his shirt, his hand.

Through the mouthful of fear, his tongue wets his lips. “You’ll find it stupid.”

“Never, sweetie.”

“The dark,” blurts shamefully from his mouth, “I’m afraid of the dark.”

“The dark, sweetie? Is this about…”

“I got pushed into hallucination territory earlier.”

Janus makes a noise of sympathy, murmuring an apology for teasing earlier.

“I can’t see anything but the shadows,” Remus whispers, squeezing his eyes shut, “and the noises, and how empty it is because I know it’s not empty.”

“And what helps this go away,” he asks, still cupping his hand, “what makes the shadows leave my sweetie alone?”

“S-stay? Please, with—with me?” Remus’s breath starts to catch again. “Don’t—don’t let them hurt me.”

“Oh, sweetie, of course,” Janus murmurs, “of course I’ll stay.”

The poor thing chokes out a sob. Janus reaches forward to lie him back down when his hand brushes the edge of the sheet. He frowns. Picking the sheet up between two fingers, he winces. He can feel his fingertips rubbing together, it’s barely warm enough.

Remus’s breath still hasn’t caught when he returns with a thick quilt, spreading it over him to banish the last of the chill.

“Hush now,” he soothes, smoothing the corners of the quilt, “hush, sweetie, it’s over, you did so well, shh…”

Janus climbs into bed, pulling the shaking Remus to his chest, his arms wrapping tightly, tightly around the poor thing as he cradles Remus protectively.

“Come here, my sweet,” he whispers, “come here, now, shh, shh, you’re alright now, sweetie, shh, shh…”

His cries soften, gentled into mewls against his chest as he warms him against his skin. The poor thing is still clenched tighter than a fist. He croons, taking his wrist in his hand and pulling him flush against him.

“It’s alright, sweetie, you did so well, it’s gone now, you did it, there you are, here you are, right here, sweetie.”

The poor thing whines.

“Oh, sweet one, shh, shh, shh, my dear, you’re alright…” He makes a noise of sympathy when he doesn’t stop. “What’s the matter, sweetie, tell me, say it, come now…”

He brings his hand up to stroke gently under Remus’s chin.

“Say it, sweetie, tell me what’s troubling you so, let me help, I’m right here, I’m right here.”

“The shadows,” he whimpers, “the shadows, I can—I can hear them, they—they’re everywhere—I—they’re looking at me, they’re touching me, I can—I can feel them—I—“

“I’ve got you, sweetie,” Janus murmurs, pressing a kiss to Remus’s cheek, “I’m right here, nothing can touch you, here—“

He pulls the blankets up and over their heads, creating a little bubble of intimacy in the dark room.

“I’m here, sweetie, it’s just me, I won’t hurt you, you know I won’t. Shh, shh, hush now, sweetie, it’s alright.”

They stay like that for a little longer, Remus sobbing out the rest of the fear as Janus hushes him softly, pulls him close, soothes away the last of the tremors with gentle hands and tender words.

After a while, Remus pulls away.

“…thanks, Jan.”

“I promised,” Janus murmurs, “I promised that I’d do it when you need me to.”

“I know.” Remus sniffles. “I just…wish you didn’t have to.”

“Don’t ever feel bad about needing something,” Janus chides softly, chucking him lightly under the chin, “especially not when you really need it.”

“Already sent Lolo and Ro away for hallucinations, you—“

“They’re fine, sweetie, a little worried, but they came and told me what was happening.” Janus kisses his forehead again. “They’re not angry, they don’t begrudge you needing things, and they’ll be here for you. They always are.”

“I know.”

Exhaustion begins to seep into his eyes. He blinks sluggishly.

“This is real, right?”

Janus gives him a squeeze. “It’s real.”

“Can I sleep now?”

“Oh, of course, sweetie,” he murmurs, leaning back up to rest his head on the pillow next to Remus, “you go right ahead. I’ll be right here. I’ll keep the shadows away.”

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heyitssmiller · 3 years

Text

Clandestine: Chapter Fourteen

We’re here. The final chapter. Y’all. I’m gonna cry.

@lumosinlove thanks for these characters!!

@donttouchmycarrots thanks for being my partner in crime during this whole mess of a story <3

And thank you, lovely readers!! For sticking with me for this crazy rollercoaster of a story, for encouraging me when I felt like quitting, and for always being so, so wonderful. I appreciate y’all more than I can say.

CW: prison, food, anxiety

Clandestine Masterlist

The drive back was silent, punctuated sharply by the two empty seats in the van. It was something they should’ve seen coming, but yet were completely blindsided by. Sirius had been on their side for so long now, it seemed odd to picture him anywhere else. It was like he’d been there for years already, fitting in seamlessly and making friends fast, filling a gap that hadn’t been obvious before but felt like a chasm now. He belonged in Gryffindor with them. And Regulus, while more reserved and distant than his brother, didn’t seem to deserve the fate he’d found. The main motive that kickstarted this whole mission had been him – all for him – and he still couldn’t avoid being dragged down with the Snakes.

Remus was on the phone with a contact from the FBI – he had been since they’d taken Sirius away – trying his hardest to find any loopholes he could. He was… actually strangely calm. Methodically tackling one idea after the next, his analytic brain working overtime. Logan could understand, though. Being productive was helpful. It was when things settled down and got quiet, when all you could do was sit there and wait…

That was when things got tough.

His leg bounced up and down in anticipation the closer they got to the cabin, his one-track mind stuck on one thing and one thing only – getting a blond safe-cracker into his arms again. Not having Leo with them had been like missing a limb, making everything feel out of balance. And even thought he was safe, he was still too far away. Logan couldn’t stand it.

Finn reached over and placed a hand on Logan’s with a knowing smile. He was ready to be home, too.

Gravel crunching under their tires only fueled the eagerness. There were lights still on in the cabin, a warm, inviting pull. The front door was open before the cars had pulled to a complete stop, revealing Leo and Hope and Lyall. Julian was presumably asleep, given the hour. Logan’s seatbelt was thrown off and the door closest to him was yanked open, Finn hot on his heels.

Leo bounded down the steps of the porch and flung himself at the two of them, finding every inch of space between them and filling it, a soft sound escaping from his lips as he held on tight in a one-armed grip. Logan and Finn both stumbled back a few steps at the impact but quickly returned the embrace, Logan’s face buried in the junction between neck and shoulder and Finn’s forehead pressed against the blond’s. They seemed to take their next breaths in tandem, slow and steady, as they leaned into each other. Time slowed, everything in the periphery faded, and the world, previously off-kilter, evened out in equilibrium.

Finn suddenly realized he felt the coarse, scratchy texture of Leo’s sling pressed up against him and pulled back a little. “Careful, baby.”

That made Leo pull back. “Why?” He glanced over them nervously. “Are you hurt?”

Logan sighed long-sufferingly and cupped Leo’s face in his hands, looking him in the eyes with a fond expression that belied his exasperation. “No, but you are,” he moved his hands to smush Leo’s cheeks, causing Finn to laugh, “so take it easy.”

Leo smiled – a real one this time, not one of the fake ones he’d given them before they left – and relaxed. After a quick kiss from Logan he asked, “So it went well? Mission’s done?”

Logan and Finn both froze at that. Finn looked over to Remus, who was still on the phone (like he had been for the past hour at least) and frowned.

“Not quite.”

“We can talk inside,” Leo said, looking worried again. “there’s lots of food for y’all.”

He wasn’t wrong. Food covered pretty much every open surface of the countertops, ranging from pancakes to grilled cheese to the cinnamon swirl muffins Leo brought to their first briefing all those months ago. Finn smiled at the memories and instantly snagged one on their way to the kitchen table. His eyes landed on Talker, who was explaining something to Hope as she took a look at his leg. Nat, Kasey, and Alex were piled onto one couch, looking tired and each with a grilled cheese sandwich in hand. He could see Remus on the porch every once in a while when he passed by a window as he paced, phone pressed to his ear.

It didn’t bode well.

Logan sat down with a plate of pancakes drenched in syrup and started telling the story, voice a quiet murmur and only interrupted when he shoveled food into his mouth. Finn wondered how none of them had really seen this coming. In hindsight, it made sense that there would need to be a trial – after all, Sirius and his brother weren’t innocent. Finn wasn’t sure what happened next, though. Criminal trials and sentencing weren’t part of the job for them. He hoped they could get the brothers out of this mess, though. If anyone could find a way to do it, it would be Remus.

At least the Snakes were done for. The information on the flash drives was enough to lock them away for a very, very long time.

He took a bite of his muffin, no longer really hungry, and listened to Logan talk.

***

Remus sat down on the porch swing, tired and stressed and not at all ready to quit. He listened to Alice, his only contact in the FBI, rattle off some statistics that he couldn’t even begin to understand. And he wasn’t trying to be rude – that really wasn’t his intent – but he needed to act quickly about this. So he grimaced and cut her off. “Can we get them placed in another prison? Or even in solitary until we can figure something out? If the Snakes can get to them…”

Well. Remus didn’t think they’d show much mercy to the two people mainly responsible for putting them in jail.

Alice sighed, the sound of her rummaging around in her desk filtering through the phone. “We can try. Since they did help you guys, we should be able to swing it. If something jeopardizes their lives, it shouldn’t be too difficult.”

Remus’ heart twisted – a deep, chronic ache under his ribcage that refused to let up. “Do it fast. I’m going to start reaching out to lawyers.”

“Lupin, it’s four in the morning.”

“I know.” He ran a hand through his hair with a frustrated huff. “Thanks for all the help, Alice.”

He hung up, then braced his forearms on his knees, hands gripping his hair, and breathed.

If there was one thing Remus Lupin was good at, it was planning. It was his job, and a big part of the reason he’d switched from field work in the first place. He relied on structure to get through his days, needed the stability in order to function.

There was none of that.

This was being adrift at sea, constantly assaulted by the waves and the current without rescue in sight.

And Remus had no idea what to do.

His phone pinged, catching his attention. A text from Alice flashed across the screen.

I’ve got a friend who’s a lawyer, and she’s a damn good one. I know you’ll want to do your research on her yourself, but I can vouch for her too. Here’s her contact if you want to reach out.

The contact number and email were listed under the name Dorcas Meadowes.

***

Dorcas Meadowes was, to put it simply, awe-inspiring.

Black curls, a dark complexion, and a serious, no-funny-business expression on her face. Her office was neat and organized, a few pictures around the place of her and a blonde girl with a wide grin and freckles. There was a small pride flag on her desk. Without a word, she motioned for Remus to sit, cool and composed and ready to get to work.

That was all it took for Remus to instantly respect her.

“So I’ve heard some of the story from Alice, but I’ll need you to start at the very beginning. Don’t leave out any details, tell me everything.”

Remus did, settling into the chair and getting comfy. It was a long story, after all. When he was done he looked back up at Dorcas, whose face was expressionless except for a single, raised eyebrow.

“That’s…” she trailed off with a low whistle.

“Yeah.”

“Well, the good news is that, if we’ve got enough evidence to back your story up, we can reduce his sentence by a lot, maybe even get him released.”

Remus sagged back into the chair, relief taking over and wiping out the tension radiating through his muscles. “Great.”

He’d known, logically, that they’d be able to reduce his sentence. With all the work he put into taking the Snakes down, there was no way they’d give him a full sentence. But getting him out of there for good…

Remus had never wanted anything so much in his life.

Dorcas leaned forward, powering her laptop on. “We’ll go visit him in the next few days and tell him what’s going on, but first we need a plan. Here’s what I’m thinking…”

***

Sirius hated this.

He was bored, he was tired, and – more than anything – he was lonely.

In Gryffindor, he’d become so accustomed to always having at least someone with him at all times. It was usually Remus, but he’d also grown close to most of the team. And it was nice at the time – god, did he miss it. But it was painful now. He’d witnessed what his life could be like, happy and surrounded by friends and possibly in love, and now he was back to the way his life used to be. Alone and on the wrong side of the law.

He hadn’t seen Reg since they’d been escorted into isolation for their own safety. Which don’t get him wrong – he was grateful for it. Knowing Riddle, they wouldn’t have survived the night if they were all being held together. But it was too quiet now.

The door to his cell rattled and Sirius looked up sharply. A guard was standing there, unlocking his door and opening it.

“Come with me,” the guard said, sounding bored as he opened the door further and held out a pair of handcuffs. Sirius looked at him hesitantly, not moving an inch. The guard rolled his eyes. “You have visitors.”

Sirius perked up at that, the only thought running through his head being Remus. He knew him well enough to know that he wasn’t going to take this sitting down. He’d be fighting to get Sirius free, no doubt about it. He wasn’t sure who else would be visiting him, anyways – if someone was here, it was sure to be Remus.

So Sirius got up and held his wrists out to be cuffed, then watched as the officer pointed down the hall.

“This way.”

It took all the self-control Sirius had to not run, to slowly put one foot in front of the other until he finally reached his destination. The guard moved around him to open the door and then Sirius was moving again.

He spotted caramel curls as soon as the door opened to the visitation room and felt his shoulders sag with relief. “Remus.”

Worried brown eyes followed him as he crossed the room quickly to sit in front of him, separated by a thick wall of glass. The movies weren’t lying, apparently. But it was so good to see him that Sirius didn’t care.

Remus looked tired. Unfortunately, that didn’t surprise Sirius at all. He knew the tendency to overwork all too well at this point. More than anything, it made Sirius want to get out of there, to wrap him up in his arms and let him take a nap there, to make sure he was taking care of himself. He settled for giving him a stern look instead.

“You need to get some sleep.”

Sirius expected a sharp, witty retort. Some sass, a comeback of some kind. Instead, Remus did the unthinkable and just smiled. “I missed you.”

Sirius sighed, softening at the gentle admission. He’d missed Remus too, of course. More than he could really put into words, and it had barely been a day. The smell of his shampoo, the quiet, reassuring presence of him by Sirius’ side, those eyes that just seemed to see right through him and know even the things Sirius tried to keep hidden. He found he didn’t mind it too much - not when it was Remus.

“I missed you,” he echoed in agreement, refusing to look away until someone cleared their throat loudly. Sirius looked over to a woman sitting next to Remus, looking unimpressed. Sirius hadn’t even known she was there, as wrapped up in Remus as he was.

Remus, to Sirius’ endless delight, blushed. He wasn’t sure he’d ever seen Remus blush before. It was cuter than it had any right to be. “Um, Sirius this is Dorcas. She’ll be representing you in court.”

Right.

He had to go on trial.

Dorcas took over from there. “We think, with the evidence we have, that we can get the charges reduced, maybe dropped if we’re lucky. If you can think of any evidence we don’t know about, we can use that to strengthen your case, too.”

Sirius nodded, relieved. That sounded better than he thought he’d get, to be honest. “What about Reg?” he asked, looking between the two.

Dorcas was very hard to read, Sirius realized. And Remus looked confident… until he looked over at the lawyer. Then his expression flickered.

And Sirius’ heart sank.

“That’s a bit trickier,” Dorcas stated slowly, treading carefully. “The thing is, he never tried to get out. He stayed with the Snakes. And I know it’s not easy to get out of situations like that,” she rushed to continue when she saw the look on Sirius’ face, “but the fact still stands. And he didn’t do as much to help take the Snakes down, not like you did. We can probably reduce his sentence, but he’ll be in prison longer than you. I don’t think we can fix that.”

Sirius felt himself being torn in two different directions. He wanted to be free, to be able to live his life again. Maybe make a home in Gryffindor (or maybe move in permanently with a certain spy), get a job as a consultant. He’d make sure the poor houseplant in Remus’ apartment survived, the poor thing, and he’d keep Remus’ favorite tea stocked in the cupboard. He’d be able to relax for – well, the first time in a very long time.

But his brother.

He was the main reason Sirius got out in the first place. The reason he ended up in Gryffindor, this entire mission was for him. To get him out, to make sure he was safe.

What was the point, if he was stuck in jail while Sirius got to walk free?

He could practically hear his brother telling him how stupid he was being in that dry voice of his, but he pushed the thought away. He’d made up his mind, and it was practically impossible to sway him when that happened.

Sweet, caramel eyes might test him, though.

Sirius looked up at Remus guiltily, dreading the response he was going to get. But yet again, Remus took him by surprise and smiled sadly.

“I understand.”

Those words hit Sirius like a freight train. He sucked in a deep breath, eyes stinging and throat getting tight. “I’m sorry.”

Remus just shook his head. “Don’t be.”

Sirius loved him.

Remus glanced over at a confused Dorcas. “He can’t leave his brother. Whatever sentence Reg gets, Sirius wants to do the same.”

She was silent for a long time, looking back and forth between the two of them. Then she sighed, seeming resolute. “Well then we’d better get those charges as low as we can.”

***

Four Weeks Later

Leo found Remus in the courthouse hallway during the trial recess before they were supposed to reconvene for the sentencing, looking seconds away from pacing from one side of the building to the other. The past few weeks had been hard on all of them. Between coming to terms with everything that had happened in the recent months, to trying to figure out the evidence they needed to bring forward to try and get the charges dropped against both Sirius and Regulus, to the strange feeling in the Agency brought forth by Sirius’ absence, it had been weird for all of them. Remus had been hit the hardest by all of it, though – and understandably so. That didn’t make it any easier to watch, though.

He’d been running himself to the bone the past four weeks, going above and beyond to make sure everything was in order for the trial. He looked ready to drop, if Leo was being honest.

But he understood. If it were Logan or Finn in Sirius’ place… well. He’d already figured out just how far he’d go for them.

He put a hand on Remus’ arm, trying to be as calming as possible. “You’re going to be ok,” he said carefully, choosing his words meticulously. He didn’t want to be cold, but he didn’t want to get Remus’ hopes up only for them to be dashed.

Carmel eyes met his own, and Leo sighed at the stress he saw there. He looked tired – so tired.

“What do you need?” Leo asked quietly, hoping for some sort of guidance on how to help him, how to get that look off of his face.

Remus just laughed under his breath, a sad sound. “There’s a lot of things I need.” He shuffled on his feet, gathering his sleeves in his hands. “But a hug would be a good start.”

Not hesitating, Leo gathered him into a hug, the stretch pulling at the scar tissue in his shoulder that was finally free of a sling. Remus was tense and still for a while, then relaxed into it. Leo wished he could do more, wished he could make any sort of difference in this situation. But everything was so far out of their control now; the only thing left to do was wait.

“Whatever happens, we’re here for both of you. You’re not alone in this.”

Remus stepped away with a fake attempt at a smile. “Yeah.”

There was a visual cue that neither of them seemed to catch and people started filtering back into the courtroom, making Remus’ face grow paler and more pinched. Leo stuck by his side as they walked back inside, trying to ignore the soft sound Remus made when he saw Sirius again – all the way in the front, in a jumpsuit that looked too big for him, hair longer and eyes a little duller than they remembered, fidgeting with something in his cuffed hands. Regulus was next to him, head down and avoiding everyone’s eyes. Leo just stuck to Remus’ side as they squeezed into the row of chairs with the rest of the Agency, making sure Remus was right in the middle, surrounded by so many of the people who cared about him most. Finn and Logan sat down next to him with grim smiles.

Leo reached over to tangle his fingers with Finn’s, feeling him squeeze back gently. The bruises were completely gone from his face, and he was walking limp-free now. He dropped his head onto Logan’s shoulder, having to angle his shoulders down to rest somewhat comfortably against the shorter man.

Leo would never get over the height difference.

“I’m taking a nap when we get home. This is so stressful, oh my god.” Finn sighed, making Leo smile.

Home.

That was still somewhat new for the three of them. After a few days back in their separate apartments in Gryffindor, they’d realized how incredibly codependent they’d become during their mission. Leo would find himself staring up at the ceiling most nights, worrying about the other two, until he’d get a phone call from one of them and they’d end up driving to each other and collapsing in bed together, squished together just like those hotel rooms they’d shared. And it had gotten to the point where there wasn’t any point living in different apartments when they ended up together most nights anyways, so Leo and Logan had packed up their things and moved in with Finn. He had the largest bed, anyways.

So yeah. They lived together now. And Leo was ridiculously pleased about it.

They were taking that vacation in a few weeks, too – the one Finn had first brought up in the back of a getaway car, tears in his eyes and blood on his hands. Somewhere warm, just like he’d promised. He’d get to watch Logan tan and Finn turn red like a lobster, only to go straight back to pale. They’d get some time to relax and not stress about work – just themselves and the vast expanse of beach and water in front of them.

Leo couldn’t wait.

“We’ll take that nap together.” Logan answered Finn quietly, turning his head to meet Leo’s eyes as he pressed an affectionate kiss to Finn’s head. Leo smiled at him, the sense of one chapter ending and the next beginning washing over him.

Whatever came their way, they’d be ok. They’d proven that already.

The crowd hushed as the judge sat back down, face impassive.

“We have reviewed the evidence and testaments brought forward in defense of Sirius and Regulus Black.” He started, looking down at the two in question critically as everyone in the courtroom seemed to hold their breath.

“It still doesn’t change the fact that they committed crimes while with the organization,” the judge stated firmly, then continued, “Regulus and Sirius Black are hereby sentenced to one year in prison.”

The gavel slammed.

Remus sat there in quiet disbelief.

They’d done… everything. They’d worked so hard for the past month in attempts to let Sirius and Regulus’ sentences reduced – and that was technically a reduced sentence – but it was still more than any of them had been expecting.

A year.

They hadn’t done enough.

Remus almost missed all the movement around him, too busy staring at the back of the seat directly in his line of vision, but his gaze snapped up when an achingly familiar voice called his name.

Sirius slowed to a stop as he passed Remus on his way out, eyes wide and frantic. Desperate. It broke Remus’ heart, more than it already was. “Wait for me?” He asked intently, like his sole focus was on Remus and his answer. He shoved his open palms out, revealing what he’d been fidgeting with during the entire trial. Remus looked down to find an origami flower, conveying all of Sirius’ hopes for the future within the delicate folds.

Remus wished more than anything that he could reach for him; to pull him in tight, hold him close, and refuse to let the guards take him away. He also had the half-formed plans of a jail break already in mind, even though he knew Sirius would never agree to it. It was then that his eyes locked with the gray ones he’d come to know better than his own and he knew – he knew that he’d wait, however long it took.

Remus loved him.

It wasn’t a grand revelation, it wasn’t sudden. In all honesty Remus had probably felt that way for a long time now, the truth prodding at the back of his head, nagging at his subconscious. He loved Sirius, plain and simple. Simple except for the fact that one of them was going to jail for a year. And yet, no matter how complicated it got, no matter how much time went by, it was the easiest decision Remus had ever made.

Well. If love made people crazy, Remus was certifiably insane.

He smiled a little tearfully at Sirius and nodded fiercely, picking up the paper flower delicately.

“You know I will.”

#lumosinlove #sweater weather #coast to coast #coops #sirius black #remus lupin #o'knutzy #finn o'hara #logan tremblay #leo knut #clandestine #cw: food #cw: prison #cw: anxiety

127 notes · View notes

aftgficlibrary · 3 years

Note

Are there any AUs where renison or lailalverez is the main pairing?

there are quite a few but here you go -maz

renison:

Before All I Heard Was Silence by moonqueerdom (T | 7,430 | 1/1)

Allison's eyes widened and her face burned immediately, spreading to her neck and the tips of her ears. "Oh my gosh, Renee," she lowered her face and covered it with her hands.

Renee chuckled. "She is beautiful when she blushes, ok noted."

"Oh my gosh, Walker, stop that," Allison's voice was too wobbly and high-pitched even for her own ears, and there was a grin threatening to pop on her lips.

About to disappear in the afterlife, Allison Reynolds meets Renee Walker, who was ready to change her life even after death.

Last Café by uberimmortal (M | 4,802 | 1/1)

Like every weekend for the past year, Renee finds herself on a Saturday morning in front of the Last Cafe. She takes a deep breath, key still in her hand, shivering from the autumn breeze as she tries to muster up some energy to open the door. The sun is just beginning to poke over the horizon, lighting up the city in a blue haze, not close enough to this side of the earth to provide any real warmth. One by one street lamps flicker until they turn off completely.

The Gracekeepers by wishbonetea (M | 112,116 | 20/20)

The sea has flooded the earth. Allison lives on a circus boat, floating between the scattered islands that remain and trading dazzling and death-defying feats for food from the islanders. Renee lives alone in a lighthouse in the middle of the ocean, with only the birds and fish for company. As penance for her past, she works as a gracekeeper, tending the graves of those who die at sea. A storm brings them together, but under clear skies they must part. When one of the Foxes goes missing, Renee joins to help. It’s meant to be a temporary escape, but Allison might be a reason to stay.

⁂

An AU of Kirsty Logan's The Gracekeepers.

she's got lips like wine not sugar by IzzyAguecheek (Not Rated | 8,561 | 1/1)

The coffee shop was mostly empty the first time Allison came in. It was too early for most people, specially on a Sunday, when most people didn’t have work and therefore didn’t need to stop by to grab a coffee to wake up. Allison, however, didn’t strike Renee as the type of girl to drink coffee before a shift at some boring company. She looked more like someone who had stayed up all night and now was trying to fight off a hangover with caffeine.

Dan was late, per usual, so Renee and Andrew were the only employees working. Andrew took one look at the car parked outside, right in front of the window, and firmly turned his back on the girl sitting at the corner booth.

“You take that one”, he decided.

(or: Renee works at a coffee shop, and, when Allison becomes a regular there, she is absolutely in love. It's just a Renison Coffee Shop AU.)

counting my blessings by quensty (T | 10,354 | 1/1)

The last letter is from Wymack.

Allison, it says. Forest Falls, California, has been having problems with a robber. Dan and Matt are too far, and Neil and Andrew are already working a job in Nevada. Get on it. -DW

“Motherfucker,” Allison says.

Real Gravity by loose_canon (T | 1,723 | 1/1)

RECORDED 04:08, PILGRIMAGE YEAR 1584 DAY 29

[begin message]

Hey, Mom. You’re probably watching this and thinking about how much you want to kick my ass right now. Well, my butt, because you don’t say words like “ass,” much less think them. Anyway, I know you’re mad at me. I’m the ungrateful daughter who hijacked an emergency pod and zipped off into space in the middle of the eclipse service like a dumbass—sorry, dumbbutt—with another girl because I just had to go and open myself to the spirit of lesbianism. I’m not gonna lie, I’m mad just like you are. Part of me wants to just say that the spirit is a good fucking time and be on my way. But I need you need to know that I’m losing something, too.

A sci-fi one shot: Allison leaves a final message for her mother after she and Renee escape the generation ship they grew up on.

On Dragon's Wings (Under the Blue) by tinystreetlamp (T | 8,417 | 3/3)

For hundreds of years the six kingdoms coexisted in peace due to a magical contract that prevents violence between them. Ever since Allison's brother Jean was kidnapped by Riko she has wanted to lead her armies to war against the Island of Night, but the contract prevents her from doing so. When crown prince Nathaniel arrives and asks for sanctuary, Allison sees her chance to unite four of the kingdoms against Riko and rain down her vengeance upon him.

(How to seduce a pirate: drag her underwater unexpectedly)

/Graphic Depictions of Violence

vengeance and death by cthulu_sun (M | 2,446 | 1/1)

legend says you have wax-dipped wings and golden fingernails and knives made of the blood you have spilled. legend says you are not merciful.

in which renee is a tired guardian angel, finds the foxes, and falls in love.

a hundred jewels on throats by ghvsts (T | 3,226 | 1/1)

"have you seen the goddess from the seafoam," they whisper, "she is more beautiful than anything."

(in which seth is ares, renee is persephone, and allison has had enough)

fabrication of a grand scheme by cloudghost (T | 13,787 | 1/1)

Renee was silent for a while. Then, finally, she said, “I want to try going outside.”

“I thought you were scared.”

She hummed her assent. “That doesn’t mean I shouldn’t do it.”

Since that was basically the philosophy Allison lived by, she nodded. Renee turned back around and met Allison’s gaze. In that moment, Renee looked unbreakable and unshakeable, like nothing that ended up in her way could ever stop her for long. Allison shivered.

Love You a Latte by ceilingfan5 (G | 8,465 | 1/1)

Allison's favorite barista is adorable Renee, so when she gets the news that she has to go on a terrible family vacation and bring an "appropriate plus-one", she decides to finally get herself uninvited from the rest of those events for all eternity. She and Renee go together, pretending to be a very much in love couple, stir shit up, and leave a lot closer than they ever expected. (Obviously they fall in love.) Allison may say "I decided love was fake a long time ago and it’d take a miracle to change my mind now,” but if anyone can be a miracle worker, it's Renee.

say you'll never harden to the world by orphan_account (T | 10,300 | 1/1)

Of course it’s when the knife finally doesn’t feel awkward in her hand anymore that Allison shows up.

Instead of the relaxed way she usually holds her wings, they’re pulled taut behind her back. Her arms are crossed in front of her chest and there’s a decidedly not pleased look on her face.

“Hey,” Natalie says, not interrupting the sequence of stabbing moves she’s been practicing. She has no time for the way seeing Allison makes her feel.

Safe – a joke. Not alone – Allison might not even be real. Cared about – impossible.

Those kinds of emotions aren’t meant for someone like her in the first place, and she’s not going to indulge them.

give me shelter or show me heart by hondayota (Not Rated | 4,720 | 3/3)

Renee had always thought of hope as a feeling, something she scraped out of her insides when she had nothing else to hold onto, but over the past months, hope had ceased to be a feeling and had become synonymous with Allison Reynolds.

the renison zombie au no one asked for

renee and allison are hella gay even when there's zombies

laila/alvarez:

It's Called Fashion Hunty. Look it up. by theKristastrophe (T | 15,440 | 8/8)

Sara works for a company that she doesn't hate but doesn't love either. So she sits at the bar with her two other best friends and tries to get through the work week.

When a fresh lawyer stumbles into thier weekly Rant Club, Sara knows she's in for a wild ride.

Featuring gratious eyerolling, snark, and everyone's favorite Foxes.

Buckle up kiddies. It's time to Sashay, Sashay, Sashay...

Come Close by tinystreetlamp (T | 10,932 | 1/1)

Sometime around 200 BC in Ancient Greece, in a world where the greek gods are real, Laila is a warrior from Sparta. During her first visit to Athens she meets not only Jeremy of Troy but also falls head over heels in love with Sara, a daughter of Apollo and local poet. But Sara is cursed, and soon the three cross the Mediterranean on a quest to break the curse and save Sara.

Sara means Sun by tinystreetlamp (M | 27,739 | 8/8)

Five years ago, ships with black and red sails appeared on the horizon and wiped out all of the royal family - except one. The Raven King conquered Coralia and is doing everything he can to stay in power. Jeremy of Troia, the rightful heir to his kingdom, has been in hiding for the past five years, but he found something worth fighting for.

Laila, an Elven Warrior and Jeremy's best friend, will do anything to protect him. Meeting a cute stranger isn't going to change that.

/Graphic Depictions of Violence, Major Character Death

21 notes · View notes

lewyn-martell · 2 years

Note

I'm the Ken & Shiv anon from last time...

I'm still in awe at the way E3 played out??

I was initially shocked that they were willing to do that to each other, but then Shiv did tell Tom that taking the fall for Logan was a good idea; and when Tom told her he was probably going to jail, she reacted nothing like she did at the end of season 2.

She likes her executive position at Waystar Royco, and judging from the almost friendly banter she had with Nate, she likes it better than politics.

And Ken likes being in the spotlight (Ewan's judgement of him was very accurate), and he genuinely sees the late-night-show styled roasts as playful jokes (since they don't hit him where it hurts and instead treat him as a generic "rich white man who wants to kill his dad") to the point that people around him are uncomfortable to watch the "roasts".

I was more surprised that Ken casted the first stone, mostly because I sort of knew Shiv had it in her to gut her brother. I also knew Ken is a very vindictive person, down to what he told Rava about the divorce lawyerings & bringing the team to her house in S3E1 / what he did to those girls after Angela rejected his VC offer & told him off / what he did to Logan after Logan tried to scapegoat him, but I didn't think what Shiv did warranted something like this: she rejected his offer, yes, but so did everyone else.

Somehow Ken perceived it as such an insult that he was willing to do this, and their conversation at the beginning??? "I think I'm right--I am right" followed by his half-assed apology, and then responds to Shiv's proposal for a truce with "Look at this. It's you now," and ends the convo with "I'm sorry for you, Siobhan"... Like, just because she refuses to kill Logan with him??

With Ken IGNORING HIS LAWYER'S ADVICE to storm in WR to play a certain Nirvana song to sabotage Shiv's speech and the late-night show thing, I've 2 observations:

1) I'm starting to see who he interrupts & treats as disposable and who he doesn't, the latter being family / useful friends / WR related people / women he's infatuated with at the moment.

2) Ken seems to like new-age tech much more than traditional media, especially the ones with a liberal view and are therefore antagonistic toward him & his family. He apparently saw Shiv as a through-and-through liberal and thought that she's somehow abandoned her ideals by defending Logan??

This line of thought clears up a few things: 1) he agreed with what Shiv said in Argestes and liked the idea enough to actually execute it, thus the "I'm the real you", 2) he sees Shiv as someone willingly taking Logan's side and someone who KNOWS the scale of the crimes and Logan's culpability (again, projecting much?), 3) he's feeling vengeful because he thinks that she's a hypocrite & she has no reason to be on Logan's side when she could be on his side.

And oh boy, Shiv just had to spell it out for him just EXACTLY why she didn't want to be on his side in her open letter. I don't know why Ken thought it was a good idea to do this to her when Shiv obliterated him in S1E2 when he asked her "what do you have against me" when she wouldn't back him for the CEO position.

Now the whole world knows why, and any potential liberal goodwill toward him is tainted by Shiv's words.

In a way, Shiv is Ken's foil and Ken loves her for who she is (and who he couldn't be) and Shiv hates him for who he is (and who she is not).

(also, I actually have multiple comparisons to draw between Rava & Shiv and how Ken treats them, but I think that's just me going off the deep end)

Hello hello great to see you again. As someone who is also in complete AWE of how the episode played out, I'm more than happy to try and get my thoughts in order to touch base with you.

I want to start by saying how much I adored the war-like aspects of the episode, with high tension surrounding the "battles", invasion of territory, tactical moves and strategy in general, I mean... Everything. Shiv is glowing with the opportunity (like you said, I also agree she enjoys it more than politics. This has always been framed by Logan as the the fight of their lives, after all), Kendall is still high in his histrionic meretricious manic phase and has Shiv as the central enemy (after dad, who is looming over them all), so not only I was ready for it, I was expecting it to hurt even more. We sure as hell know Kendall is vindictive and we also know Shiv can go low low to match it (god, I love them).

And yeah, about what you said that "it's not like what Shiv did warranted for it" like I know right?? But none of these kids' reactions are proportionally right and what we would expect more well adjusted human beings to act like. Shiv only said no, but it hurt him so much he not only said what he said that night, but he also channelled his other hurt feelings about his image that had nothing to do with her into fucking up his lawyer's whole strategy to go bomb his little sis' big day. (Yes, I definitely agree that the rich white man with daddy issues doesn't hit where it hurts the most, but I also think it still bothers him. He wants to be the hero of the people and he's trying to project the image of "any press is good press because they're talking about me" for his friends, but I couldn't help but see that it got to him, with how he was reacting in that party scene when he turned on the tv. I mean, he immediately thought he should go on the show and that sounded an awful lot like he wanted to defend himself. He even felt the need, maybe out of nervousness, to feel the "temperature" of the writer's circle right before it to see if they would lay it hard on him and tried to protect himself by going all "hurt me!!" to make people think he's not getting affected.)

Oh, I absolutely adored (and was tortured by) the fact that these kids just can't get in the same wavelenght (i.e. Shiv proposing truce and trying to reach common ground and Kendall answering with conflict). Shiv is at a supposed dawn of her time and both doesn't want to give it up and can't have the perspective Kendall has about her proposal (since he was in this position before) and Ken just doesn't give it to her because being real is a sin in this family. I think this disconnect and pattern of awful communication is a big part of Kendall rejecting all possibility of collaborating with Shiv on some level (like, any sane person who knew their sister was almost caving would try and leave the page open to try again. Armed with the right words and right time she could be his and he definitely needs it. But not Kendall, though. These people are egocentric and delusional), but also, yknow, the ever present vibe of permanent conflict between these kids and that he felt betrayed by her, specifically, saying no to this.

And it does intrigue me, how Kendall was so sure he would be able to get her on his side. What I imagine, and these are only half-formed thoughts, is that the liberalism of it (yknow, what you said about him possibly thinking she is a hypocrite betraying her so-called values that he "shares") for him and between them is only the surface of the tip of the iceberg. Because let's be honest how much does Kendall (and Shiv for that matter) care about it? Everything on the show points to "not much" being the answer, but there is a gray area of him (them) caring at least a little bit but not knowing how to care for it and, more importantly, doing it for the wrong reasons. Logan's conservatism is bad for business, Kendall is doing his sacred plan and he wants his ascension to be clean and up to the times (although it is true that he might think he genuinely cares to lie to himself about his true reasons for doing his move and as a crutch to help him keep saying he is doing the right thing). I can only see the view of this "betrayal" he felt that we're hypothesizing be about soiling their potential "climb towards the new age" and how, even though he saw some of the same drive in her, she is still under dad.

And it's actually great of you to mention the dinosaur cull line in Argestes because I immediately thought "where is my parallel gifset of Shiv saying that and Kendall saying back in season 1 about 'the dinosaur doing one last roar before the meteor wipes him out' in reference to Logan"?? He might have been dad's little bitch at that point, but I believe this moment, among various others, made him see his old self in her and thus we get to this ongoing shared identity struggle and "I'm the real you" "Sure, and I'm the real you" "Do you even care or it's all just ego?" "It"s you this time" and his certainty he could persuade her. And the pettiness and rancour comes out of her betraying the ideal that past Kendall would have, in his head, jumped to get a hold of (even though he completely ignores it took him a lifetime of unfulfilled number one boy feelings, years being jerked around the world with no reward, and the right self-excuse of being concerned about Logan's health before he decided to rebel).

I'm with you that it was naïve of him to not expect her to come against him full force after what he did. Kendall always thinks he can take far more than he can actually swallow or just doesn't think things through (another thing in common with Shiv hsbahahsbsha) and then the consequences of his actions come falling down on him. It remains to be seen how effective Shiv's letter will be with how the episode ended, but I think it's safe to say it's somewhat of a major hit for him, even though not quite as much as the FBI knocking on Waystar's door (lmao that was so funny).

Let me finish this by saying that while I'm completely on board with them destroying each other and doing some angry self-recognition through the other and continuing their clown on clown violence and mind games.... I keep wondering ever since I saw that trailer of Roman saying "I hear you tried to killed dad again, fatty. Do you have a fetish for nearly killing dad yadda yadda" who he is talking to. The editing of course says that it's Kendall and honestly it might very well be and it's what I'm thinking it will be. But there is a tiny tiny part of me that thinks it could be Shiv, especially when I think "who, between them, makes more sense for Roman to call fatty??". But this is more wishful thinking than an actual theory I'm behind (especially because it's not like Roman's insults have actual meaning). While it would be incredible to see a team up, what we are getting already makes me plenty happy.

#succession #kendall roy #shiv roy #kendall roy x shiv roy #kendall x shiv #kenshiv #messages #long post #i'm sorry for taking my sweet time with this but it was a lot to unpack #and i hope you can talk to me about the shiv/rava parallels. you can dm me if you want

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queenbirbs · 3 years

Text

in plain sight | Ch. 3 | Ethan x MC

Book/Pairing: Open Heart / Ethan Ramsey x female MC

Word count: 4.4k

Rating: T

Category: AU series

Warnings: language, some violence, alcohol mention

Start at the beginning or continue on

Read on AO3

Wednesday, January 14, 4:53 p.m.

For the umpteenth time that evening, Sloane wonders what a former hotel employee is doing working on a fishing boat. She can’t judge, though -- she worked plenty of odd jobs to get by before landing the network gig. It was no matter how J. Horner came to be hauling in thousands of pounds of mackerel, because the real mystery was the person themselves. There were six people in the greater Boston area with the same first initial and surname. Of the ones who had their jobs listed, one was a professor, another a funeral home assistant, and the last a retired Marine. None of them had the Edenbrook listed as a previous workplace.

So, she isn’t sure who exactly she’s meeting.

Ramsey had been less than thrilled when she told him about the location. And the timing. And the subject. As if she were somehow unaware that it wasn’t her best idea. It’s not the first time it’s happened and, as dimly-lit as the harbor is, it’s still not the worst place she’s ever been for a story. She told him just as much during their ride back downtown to her car. If it weren’t for the meeting he needed to attend with his boss, she’s sure he would have insisted on tagging along.

Above the dark slab of the water, the sky is a canvas of blue and purple, smeared here and there with deep red. Logan is bustling across the harbor; jetliners rocket off into the sunset, climbing steadily until they melt into the cloud cover. Down the pier, people are packing up their coolers and tackle boxes. They move in a slow shuffle to their cars, loudly bitching about being cold and getting skunked. From the comfort of her own car, Sloane watches them go. Other than the music she’s kept on low, the only other entertainment is fielding questions from Sienna. Her friend’s latest suggestion is for her to ask Ramsey on a coffee date. The thought of sitting across from him at some kitschy cafe and discussing gory case details over lattes is laughable.

It also just makes her wish she would have grabbed a coffee before this. She’s back to scanning the dark row of buildings when her phone rattles in the cupholder.

Bryce: yooo did you know about Farrugia’s aide?

Sloane frowns and sends back a question mark.

Bryce: they just arrested him

Bryce: like dragging him out in handcuffs from his apartment right now

Heat flares up through her cheeks at the texts. Her fingers fly across the screen to respond with who made the arrest?? Locals or feds?

Bryce: looks like feds

Bryce: weren’t you trying to get an interview with him?

Yeah but no dice, she sends back. I got shot down by his lawyer every time

Bryce: well looks like there was a reason for that I guess

As she’s switching between their conversation and the browser to google for more information, an email notification from [email protected] drops down onto the screen. She reads the first line; her fingers clench so hard around the phone that the case creaks in protest. Swallowing back a shout of frustration, she sends a thank you to Bryce for the information.

Bryce: sorry your boy didn’t come through ☹️

Bryce: I’d offer to tell him off but he’d probably throw me in some secret prison under the old state house

At the mention of Ramsey, she grits her teeth and turns the engine over. She makes her way into downtown, passing by the floating tourist trap that is the Boston Tea Party Museum before she feels composed enough to try calling.

“Finished with your interview already?” he asks as soon as he picks up, forgoing any greeting.

Well, two can play at that game.

“What was Perry arrested for?” she demands to know.

“For being a suspect in the murder of Senator Ed Fa--”

“Really? Now? Right now? You want to be cute now?”

The laugh feels sour in her mouth; Ramsey heaves out a sigh. Sloane wishes she knew where he was just so she could go punch him. “What evidence do you have? Why didn’t you inform me you were going to make an arrest?”

She tries to keep the whine out of her voice. This isn’t about some gossip she missed out on -- it’s her work, her story. And she wouldn’t be wasting time out on the docks chasing deadends if he understood the concept of sharing.

“Unless you’ve changed careers in the past three hours since we’ve seen each other,” he starts in that smarmy tone of his, “I don’t believe I report to you.”

She’s this close to hanging up the phone. Her finger is hovering over the button on the steering wheel. Somehow, he must be able to sense it because he clears his throat and tries again.

“It was a recent development. Baz got access to his phone records after we received a tip from a fellow staffer. Perry’s texts show him talking about getting revenge. Apparently, Perry’s brother suffered third degree burns from a house fire back in 2004. He’s had fourteen surgeries since then for skin grafts. Then-mayor Farrugia had cut the department’s budget and left them spread thin, so it took firefighters over thirty minutes to respond because they were already on a call. From what we can piece together, it looks like Perry was the one who tipped off the press to Farrugia’s mistress.”

Sloane takes the next left and merges onto the Pike, only to find it at a complete standstill. As she’s beginning to regret driving and not taking the T, that swift wave of anger at Ramsey’s reticence ebbs away, replaced with curiosity. It should piss her off with how easily he’s able to draw her back in, just like that -- but it doesn’t. It’s pretty obvious why, but she doesn’t want to acknowledge it yet.

“Ratting out your boss isn’t the same thing as pushing him off a roof. Did you get him to talk, or did he lawyer up?”

An amused snort sounds through the car speakers.

“I’m not sure that kid knows how to say anything other than ‘I want my lawyer.’ But at least he complied. I’m on my way now to observe the interrogation.”

“Wait, you didn’t make the arrest?” she asks.

“No, Baz and another agent brought him into custody. Special Agent Hirata, our criminal psychologist, is going to take a crack at him first before Turner arrives. Like you said, though, it’s quite a leap to go from public shaming to murder. I’m still inclined to believe that Farrugia and the other string of murders are related. If they are, then I’m not sure why Perry would bother with killing hotel employees. Either way, my SAC has more than hinted that we need something concrete to continue pursuing the case. But you never answered my question: how did the interview go?”

As far as conversation segues go, it’s pretty terrible. Sloane pushes aside the idea to point it out and offer a few tips. Jumping off the interstate at the next available exit, she notices that the car behind her has the same idea. As intimidating as Boston’s streets are, she’ll take them over the nauseating chorus of horns in standstill traffic.

“Well,” she drags out the word, “after waiting for forty-five minutes, they finally sent me an email that they weren’t able to leave work. Something about being kept over because the third shift didn’t show up.”

“You don’t believe them.” It’s not so much of a question as it is an assumption based on the annoyance coloring her words.

“No, not really. But then again, I don’t know a thing about them, so who knows.”

Maybe the Dodge Ram behind her is trying to get to Mission Hill, too. Having made all the same turns she did to bypass the bigger intersections, the truck has stuck with her for the last three miles. It would normally be something she would brush off -- but the way they race to keep up with her has her second-guessing.

“Hey, can you run a license plate for me?”

The sudden question interrupts Ramsey and his round-about complaints about her clandestine meetings with people she barely knows.

“I’m not your personal Google, you know.” There’s a pause, and then: “Alright, let’s have them.”

“Massachusetts tag reading Papa Tango Alpha seven one two.”

The tell-tale clacking of a keyboard sounds on the other end. She blinks away the spots in her vision from the high-beams searing into her retinas. In the rearview, the Dodge blows through a red light to stay behind her.

“Car belongs to a Nigel Platt of Platt and Sons Plumbing. Home address is listed in Medford,” he reads off. “Do you know him?”

“Unfortunately yes,” she grumbles.

Bypassing the police headquarters, she makes the next right onto a side street. If he wants to overtake her and run her off the road, then at least the cars here are parked and not full of innocent people. The only way to keep him from such a stunt is to stop, though. Spotting the gas station up ahead, she brakes hard and swings into the lot. The Dodge speeds in and screeches to a stop, blocking her car in and laying on the horn.

“What’s going on?” Ramsey demands to know, alarmed at the noises coming over the line.

“I’m about to have a chat.”

Sloane throws open her door and gets out, ignoring Ramsey’s loud disagreement. Country music blares from the truck; trash clutters the dash and passenger side. Platt trips over his own running board and stumbles onto the pavement. Several beer cans come spilling out with him.

“Goddamn right you finally pulled over!”

“Mr. Platt, hello,” she greets, standing her ground when he lurches to a stop in front of her. Spittle flies from his mouth as he barks out a laugh.

“Oh, yeah, here you go again with that bullshit.” Platt shoves a thick finger in her face and shakes it. This close, she can smell the sour stench of alcohol on him. “It’s time you showed me some respect.”

“Then I would ask the same of you,” she counters as she crosses her arms.

Customers inside the gas station are craning their necks to see what all the fuss is about. Above the lottery sign plastered to the window, the attendant peeks her head up to keep an eye on them. Ramsey is still talking -- ordering her to get back in her car and lock the doors, probably, but she doesn’t have the time to placate him right now.

“I’m not the one making up garbage about innocent, hard-working people. You ran that bullshit about my company and it ran me into the ground! All ‘cause people these days’ll believe anything you say on the internet!”

The bullshit in question was the story she partnered with the Globe on in September. His company was found guilty of reusing lead pipes in new, low-income housing in Southie. He claimed innocence and accused the supplier of being at fault -- as if someone with thirty years of plumbing experience wouldn’t know the difference between lead and steel. Sloane’s investigation uncovered that he paid hush money to the supplier. Both were currently being sued by the state for criminal negligence and violating consumer protection laws.

“I wouldn’t call lead poisoning ‘bullshit,’ Mr. Platt.”

Down by his side, his hands tighten into fists. Sloane tilts her chin up to meet his bloodshot eyes. “I wonder what would happen if the city tested all the other water lines you’ve installed over the years.”

He roars out something unintelligible and shoves her against the car. The edge of her door digs into her back as she stumbles; he grabs hold of her shoulder and shakes her like a ragdoll.

“Hey!” someone shouts. “Get your fuckin’ hands offa her!”

Platt turns his head to the noise. Sloane uses the momentary distraction to yank free and slams her elbow into his stomach. His growled threats are lost under wracking coughs. Grabbing him by both shoulders, she shoves off her car and drives her knee up between his legs. His ruddy face pales as he collapses to his knees and gags.

From a gas pump nearby, a man comes jogging over to check on her. The door chime sounds and then the attendant is there, bat in hand.

“I called the cops,” she tells Sloane. “They should be here soon.”

“Wish I’d brought my gun,” Platt hisses through clenched teeth, now reduced to rocking back and forth on the pavement. “I’d show you, you bitch.”

Sloane pays him no mind. Not when there’s the screech of tires and the roar of an engine as a familiar black SUV careens into the lot.

Ramsey strides over to her, barely glancing at Platt at her feet. His gaze darts across her, sparking with a different kind of anger when it lands on her exposed shoulder. At Sloane’s reassurances, the bystander returns to his car and the attendant back to her counter. The customers inside the store continue to stare, holding their chips and six packs. Resisting the urge to cover the bruise that must be forming, she reaches out and guides Ramsey back a few feet to give herself the illusion of privacy.

“What the hell happened?”

“I reported on some shady, backroom deals he--”

“I don’t care about that. I meant this stunt -- you being reckless and pulling over like you did and letting him--”

“What, you’d rather me drive all the way home so he knows where I live?” she scoffs. “I knew what I was doing. I chose a well-lit location where I knew there would be at least one person and a working phone. I’ve been a woman for twenty-seven years now, Ramsey. I think I know how to behave when some crazy guy is following me.”

“Fine.” Though he’s conceding to her point, she can tell there’s something else. “Then why didn’t you stay in the damn car?”

“Because the drunk bastard probably would’ve slashed my tires and getting towed across town is a nightmare.”

Although her explanation is laden with sarcasm, it’s as close to the truth as she’s willing to get. She certainly can’t tell him that she’s hotheaded and prone to making rash decisions -- if he figures that out, then he’ll probably second-guess her being on the case.

Ramsey rests his fingers against his brow and then glides them down to pinch the bridge of his nose. All the air in his chest empties out when he sighs. The fire in his gaze cools by a few degrees. Whatever he’s about to say is interrupted by two police cruisers pulling up. From there, the next half-hour is spent giving her statement and doubling down on her refusal to press charges. Besides, because Platt is an absolute moron, he tries driving off -- which ends with him getting booked for a DUI and hauled to jail anyway.

After pulling out of the gas station, it takes Sloane three blocks before she notices the black SUV keeping pace behind her. She considers calling and assuring him that she can make it home fine. Her apartment isn’t much farther, anyway. The look on his face when he crossed the parking lot to get to her, though, makes her abandon the idea of teasing him.

She whips into the only available space outside her building, which leaves him to idle in the middle of the street with his hazards flashing. Crossing in front of the SUV, Sloane leans her crossed arms on the open window and grins.

“Not exactly living up to the covert part of your job, huh?”

The unimpressed look on his face is ruined by the quick eye-roll she catches.

“If anyone harrasses me about being here, I’ll flash my badge at them.”

“Oh, no, I was talking about earlier. See, I’m pretty good at connecting the dots. That you happened to be on this side of town when I called you to run a plate and showed up before the cops? That’s pretty suspicious behavior.”

His eyes widen a fraction, but that’s the most she gets out of him. So she digs a little deeper. “I wonder what kept you that you weren’t able to make the first crucial arrest in the case.”

“If I recall, you called to yell at me about not giving you classified information on said arrest.”

“Avoidance is a lame tactic.”

“Ah.” Conceding to her words with a nod of his head, a smug grin spreads across his face. “But it’s the only one I have.”

Having made a career out of interviewing people for a living, Sloane knows when she’s getting stonewalled. When he doesn’t opt to say any more, she moves on.

“Fine, then. You get to keep your sexy, mysterious agent persona for another day. What I really wanted to know is what time you plan on going to the Edenbrook’s charity gala.”

Ramsey hikes an eyebrow up at the query, then sighs.

“Baz.”

“He texted me about it while we were playing Clue at Keller’s. Said your boss managed to secure your team invites under the guise of the feds paying their respects. They must’ve started planning this before he was scraped off that car. Doesn’t it feel a little too soon for them to be throwing a ‘sorry you jumped off our building, so here’s a fundraiser in your name for a charity you only donated to to secure the poor vote’?”

“I don’t think that would fit on a banner.”

The dry tone of his delivery makes her laugh, the sound echoing across the empty street. She’s glad she kept her eyes on him, because she gets to watch him brighten at the sound.

“Being media, I’ve got my own invitation. If you want, we could go together.”

It’s impossible to miss the way his jaw tightens.

“I’m flattered, but no.” After a long moment, he glances away. His expression falls into a concerned frown. “I don’t mean to sound like I don’t want…. What I did tonight, that’s not me. I’ve never done something like that before.”

“Like what?” Sloane asks, curious.

“Ignored a direct order to return to the office. Instead, I went to the harbor to make sure you were safe.”

Despite the cold, her cheeks warm at the admission. She tilts her head and assesses the man before her. His fingers tighten and release along the steering wheel under his hands. Ramsey appears to be amazed that he told her as much, given the guilty look on his face. It really isn’t fair that he’s so good-looking and dedicated, yet so emotionally-stunted.

“You’re a-- at, you’re at risk,” he stumbles to correct himself. “You need to exercise more caution, and that certainly includes your… late-night rendezvous.”

“I’m going to do us both a favor and look past the overbearing, macho-man act.” She props up a hand to stop his protest. “It’s nice of you to be worried, but if I played it safe at the first sign of danger, then I wouldn’t be in this field. I feel like that’s something you can understand.”

Though his expression suggests he’d rather not, he hums an agreement. “Is that why you joined the FBI?” she asks. “For the danger?”

“That’s not how I would describe stacks of disposition reports.”

She rolls her eyes. “You know what I mean.”

“You really want to profile me?” he asks in that haughty tone of his. “Here, in the middle of the street.”

“Oh, come on,” she teases. “I don’t have the access you do. It would take me at least a day or two to dig up what you can in thirty seconds with your super secret database. Besides, you already know everything there is to know about me.”

He lifts an eyebrow at the obvious challenge in her voice.

“Born in Baltimore, you were raised by your grandparents, both of whom were Ukrainian immigrants that fled when the Soviet Union fell. One younger brother in Atlanta. You graduated summa cum laude from Boston University. Your first car was a 1999 Ford Escort--”

“Alright, now you’re just showing off,” she cuts him off. “Really, why the FBI?”

Hesitation draws up his features once more. For a moment, Sloane thinks she’ll have to pry the information out of him, when he wets his lips to speak.

“Everyone throws a curtain over their lives, to try and smooth out all the rough edges and hide what’s beneath. I happen to enjoy figuring out what’s underneath that veil, so to speak. Some agents are in it for the glory, the prestige -- I’m not one of them. Energy I could use socializing or pandering to the higher-ups, I put towards my cases. That’s who I’m here for: the victims.”

He shifts his gaze from the steering wheel and back to her. She can practically see the haughty twinkle return to his eyes when he asks, “How was that?”

“Decent, I suppose,” she says with a shrug.

“How about a little quid pro quo, then? Tell me something I won’t find in some ‘super secret database.’”

Sloane bites at her lip, suddenly hesitant to express the one consistent thought that’s plagued her since their first meeting. Sure, there are a hundred good reasons why she should keep the thought to herself -- most of those being that he’s the only source she has to getting information on Farrugia. But she’s always liked being blunt. There are a hundred ways to dance around it, but she’s found those take too much time.

“I would like to kiss you sometime.”

The streetlights make his blue eyes spark in the dark interior of his car. He glances down to her lips and then back up to meet her gaze. The shiver that prickles along her spine has nothing to do with the cold evening.

“There’s no time like the present,” he says, gravelled with desire.

She leans a little closer; he grips her hand and squeezes once, then twice. If his kiss is as potent as his eyes, then she’s done for. It’s too bad, then, that she doesn’t get to test her theory -- not when the sudden buzz of a subwoofer snaps them both to attention. They separate to watch a red sedan cut around them and then accelerate up the street, its door panels rattling from the bass. When Sloane turns back to him, his attention has unfortunately strayed elsewhere.

“You should get inside. You’re cold,” Ramsey murmurs with concern and some amount of surprise, as if he had also forgotten the temperature in lieu of other thoughts. He rubs at her chilled skin and frowns some more. “Does your living room face the street?”

Confusion floods her; she tilts her head as she tries to suss out his motive.

“It does, yeah.”

“Then blink your lights when you get inside.”

“Platt is on his way to being booked right now.”

His level expression doesn’t change at her defense. “And if I don’t?” she teases. “Are you going to sit out here all night?”

“I won’t have to as long as you do as I ask. I do have an interrogation to get to.”

“You’re a stubborn son of a bitch, Agent Ramsey -- you know that, right?”

That familiar smirk of his spreads across his face as he shrugs.

“I’ve been called worse things. And you should--” he hesitates for a moment, then tries again: “You can call me Ethan.”

“Okay then, Ethan. But we aren’t finished with this… conversation, just so you know.”

“I look forward to continuing it another time,” he says, his smirk still firmly in place.

With that, Sloane bids him goodnight before crossing back over to her building. Once inside her apartment, she flips the light switch a few times and then moves over to the window. It’s too dark to see inside his SUV, but she waves to him anyway. His hazard lights blink off and he pulls away, his tail lights disappearing down the street.

Moving through her living room, Sloane drops her bag onto the sofa and wanders into the kitchen. She doesn’t notice the object on the bar until she sets the jar of olives down beside it. For a moment, she stares, as if waiting for the book to explain its presence. It was a gift from a Ukrainian journalist she met, slept with, and then dated while working abroad. Gently lifting the cover, the knot of apprehension tightens to panic. The post-it note from Amalia wishing her well on her return to the states is crumpled. Below the title is a new note, scribbled across the yellowed page:

If you don’t want to play with the big boys, get off the field slut

The knife is in her hand before she registers reaching for it. She shoves off the counter and rounds the corner into the hallway. Light spills across the open doorways of her bathroom and bedroom. She slaps on the switches in both rooms, yanking the shower curtain and closet doors aside, knife at the ready. Paranoia eating away at her common sense, she drops to the floor and searches under the bed, too -- where only a thin coating of dust is visible within the six inches of space.

Making her way back to the living room, Sloane checks the peephole before edging the door open. Her brief inspection of the casing and lock shows nothing amiss. She secures the deadbolt and slides the chain home before crossing the room. Her books and papers are exactly how she left them, spread across her coffee table and couch. Tucked between a stack of artwork against the far wall is her evidence board. After inspecting it for missing notes or photos, she drags in a breath -- what feels like her first since reading the note. The tight clutch of panic begins to release, replaced with a hot rush of anger.

“Son of a bitch,” she hisses. “You think you can steal my stuff and break into my home and write your stupid little notes, huh? Think again, asshole.”

The knife shakes as she slides it back into the block. She pushes aside the desire to call Ethan -- he’ll turn her apartment into a crime scene and insist on police protection, not to mention pull her off the case. The proof that she’s close to something is sitting right there on her counter, though. She can’t back down now.

Taglist: @writinghereandthere @choiceskatie @maurine07 @lsvdw-blog @togetherwearerapture @openheartfanfics

Author's notes and what-have-yous:

Had myself a little back-and-forth on whether or not Platt would have the old "green plate" that MA phased out in 1987, but then he would only have the one rear tag, which would make figuring out his tag number near-impossible during the scene. Yes, I do overthink things when writing, thanks.

#ethan ramsey x mc #ethan x mc #open heart #open heart fanfiction #Kaila writes things #f: in plain sight

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lovelylogans · 3 years

Text

honey, you’re familiar (like my mirror)

see other chapters, notes, and warnings here!

chapter five: obligate mutualism

obligate mutualism: a type of mutualism in which the species involved are in close proximity and interdependent with one another in a way that one cannot survive without the other.

REMY

Emile appears in Nice, squealing and jumping up and down.

“Hey!” Remy says warmly, hugging him; Emile’s joy is so infectious that Remy can feel Emile’s smile stretching across his own face. “What’s got you so happy?”

“They let him off!” Emile says exuberantly. “Rem, they let Remus off! Jay proved that they don’t have anything on him so Remus is free to go!”

“Oh my God, that’s amazing!” Remy says, then, “wait, what was Remus under arrest for?”

“Oh, murder,” Emile says, waving that off, “but Jay proved that Remus was just joking when he was threatening him, so Remus got off! Oh my goodness, he’s out! He can finish his latest book! He can stay with Roman! Yay!”

“Yay,” Remy cheers weakly, wondering what the hell kind of cluster his boyfriend has birthed.

ROMAN

Roman drops a substantial amount of money on champagne on their drive home.

Remus rolls his eyes, but he’s grinning a little bit, so Roman assumes that he’s happy about it. Or maybe he’s plotting how to ruin Roman’s possessions with champagne. One of the two.

Roman opens the door, balancing the champagne bottles in his arms, feeling a lot like he’s forgotten something. He drops his keys into the bowl on the entry table.

“Hey, Roman! Ooh, champagne—on a Tuesday? What, did you land a role with Guillermo del Toro?”

“God, I wish,” Roman says wistfully, then, oh shit I forgot to tell Sasha.

Sasha blinks a couple times before she stands up.

“Um, hey, sweetie,” she says. “Who’s your friend?”

Remus snorts loudly at the fake endearment.

“Um, Sasha,” Roman says, shutting the door behind him. “This is my twin brother, Remus.”

Sasha gawks at Remus. “I didn’t know you had a brother!”

Remus socks him in the shoulder so hard that Roman nearly drops the heavy glass champagne bottle. “You bitch, you said you’d tell her!”

“I forgot?” Roman says weakly.

“I have no idea how you put up with him,” Remus tells Sasha. “Is the convenience of a beard worth hearing him sing Disney in the shower?”

Sasha, looking a little startled that Remus knows the full truth of the deal Roman and her made, rebuts with, “

“Where have you been before this, anyway?” Sasha says.

“Oh, jail,” Remus says brightly.

“Oh, okay,” Sasha says, and, with a level of casualness that frankly stuns Roman, moves on to, “So, I’ve had a gripe with one of your books for forever.”

“Oh?”

“I didn’t know you read his books,” Roman says, mystified.

“Yeah, I started back when I was doing that slasher pic a year and a half ago, you remember that?” Sasha says. “Helped me pick up on the internal life of a stalking victim. Anyways, the first book I read of yours—”

“Behind the Bushes, I’m guessing,” Remus says.

“Yeah!” Sasha says. “I super love that you subverted the expectations and the victim was the one that slaughtered the stalker, but I do think you could have carried through a threat she was considering through the book.”

“Which threat is that?” Remus says. “I write a lot of threats.”

“She should have castrated him,” Sasha says. “Duh.”

Remus looks at Sasha how an inventor might lovingly look at a device that finally works.

Roman groans, because he should have expected this outcome, and feared it.

“Oh, no,” Roman says. “You’re going to be friends.”

Sasha and Remus give him identical grins full of mischief.

LOGAN

Virgil appears sitting on the counter. Logan isn’t even fazed by the surprise of seeing him, although his heart rate does pick up a little.

Over the past few days, this is the way it’s been, between them; Logan suddenly finding himself looking over Virgil’s shoulder at his dinner when he’d meant to be looking at data charts, Virgil finding himself with handfuls of flowers in the face of the barren landscape of the Antarctic.

Even when he isn’t actively visiting, Logan still feels that pull, his mind turning to Virgil at the oddest times of day. He tastes coffee when he should be drinking tea. He finds himself idly doodling South African native flora during dinner. He thinks Virgil might like this when he tries to read a novel during his relaxation times and wonders how best to explain the minutiae of his science to another scientist.

“Hey, Logan,” Virgil says, and Logan feels that thrill in his stomach again.

“Hello, Virgil,” he says, after making a show of turning on his Bluetooth, for the benefit of the other scientists in the lab. “How have you been today?”

“Pretty okay,” Virgil says. “My mom said she was gonna see if she could find any of the other sensates down here that my grandma knew, so I might be able to hear more about her cluster.”

“Excellent!” Logan says. “Be sure to ask if they’re connected to the Archipelago?”

“You and that Neolithic Google,” Virgil says with a lopsided smile. “But, yeah. I’m being careful about it; I know not every sensate’s a great person to connect to. Ergo mom as a mediary.”

“A wise plan,” Logan says. “It does seem like a disadvantage that all that’s needed for a lifetime of connection is a singular instance of eye contact.”

“Maybe I should invest in a really good pair of blocking glasses,” Virgil teases, and he reaches over. Logan hadn’t even noticed they’d been slipping down the bridge of his nose.

Virgil gently nudges Logan’s glasses back into place, his finger resting on Logan’s nose, and Logan’s mouth goes abruptly dry.

This might be the first time one of us has touched the other.

Logan tries to swallow, coughs a little bit, and says, “It could potentially be a wise investment, yes. I’d—um. I’d have to do more research into what exactly would suffice to block eye contact.”

“Yeah,” Virgil rasps, and he clears his throat, too. “Yeah, that’s probably, uh. That’s probably a good thing to ask Emile about.”

“Yeah,” Logan says, and he fruitlessly tries to refocus his attention on his research. He’s much too aware of Virgil’s eyes on him.

JANUS

Janus turns the phone over and over in his hands.

One last job, two more jobs, three more jobs…

He remembers getting arrested for the first time. He remembers the lawyer who got Janus out of it, pro bono, and managed to keep it off his record by the skin of his teeth.

He thinks about representing Remus in the courtroom; he thinks about the state of his accounts; he thinks about how the threat of jail that Remus would have faced was what spooked him into pursuing a law degree in the first place.

He thinks about Remus and Roman, side-by-side in the courtroom; he thinks about Roman declaring that he doesn’t care if Remus killed him or not.

Roman is an idiot. An idealistic, loyal, altruistic idiot.

Janus is many things. He is not an idiot.

Key, scowling, sits across from him at the restaurant. Sriracha aioli, fried cod. Janus has been here a thousand times before.

He proffers the little box; Key takes it.

“This is my last job,” Janus says.

Key snorts. “I’ve heard that before.”

Janus hands him the burner phone, too.

“Oh shit,” Key says. “For real?”

“For real,” Janus reaffirms.

“Shit,” Key mutters, sitting back against the booth. They stay quiet. A waitress drops off their meal. They stay quiet for a bit longer.

“Don’t suppose I can lure you back with money,” Key tries to joke.

“No,” Janus says.

Key heaves a sigh. “All right. Well.”

He moves for his wallet, and Janus shakes his head.

“I’ve got lunch,” he says. “I can appreciate that I’m leaving you in the lurch for a computer guy.”

Key snorts and shakes his head disbelievingly. “Yeah. Somethin’ like that.”

Janus chews the inside of his lip. “If you ever need a lawyer…”

“Yeah,” Key says. He stands. “Yeah.”

Key leaves. Janus stays.

He’s been here a thousand times before. And yet.

PATTON

There’s a hint of spice in his mouth, and Patton rolls over in his bed to see Janus.

“I keep showing up when I should be sleeping, I think,” Patton muses, before he reaches out and takes one of the chips that Janus is neglecting.

Janus snorts. “Roman was stealing those the last time I was here. Perhaps you all keep showing up to eat my food.”

Patton smiles, dipping the chip in the sauce. “Maybe,” he says.

Janus exhales loudly, before he says, “I have a brother too.”

“Oh?” Patton asks, intrigued, and for a moment they’re in Patton’s bed, Patton lying down with his head propped up on his arm, Janus sitting uncomfortably at the corner.

“Unlike Remus, mine did it. Does it,” Janus amends.

Patton frowns. “That’s tough.”

“I did too, until,” Janus checks his watch. “Three minutes ago.”

Patton’s eyebrows lift in surprise, but that’s the only sign he shows.

“It’s the reason I became a lawyer,” Janus says.

“Oh,” Patton says because that—that clicks. He doesn’t know Janus very well—he will, surely, but he doesn’t yet—but taking on the good-quality job of lawyer for self-protective reasons makes a lot of sense. Janus kind of seems like the type of person to not really want to rely on other people.

“So, I don’t,” Janus says, and he sighs again. “I’ve been chasing down just one more job for years and years, and now…”

“Now, you’re done, and you don’t really know what to do with yourself?” Patton asks sympathetically.

Janus nods and he drinks some of his Ribena. The fizz of blackcurrant condensation pops in Patton’s mouth.

“Can I offer some advice?” Patton says. “You can do whatever you want with it.”

Janus scoffs a little, but he gestures for Patton to go ahead.

Patton takes another chip. “There are a lot of other people who need a lawyer’s help to stay out of jail. Not just sets of brothers.”

He dips the chip, takes a bite, and is back in bed right as a thoughtful look dawns on Janus’s face.

REMUS

Roman’s fake girlfriend is delightful.

They spend almost the entirety of dinner talking about their favorite horror movies—Sasha is quite the aspiring scream queen in her career, so it makes sense that she’s studied the greats—to a point where Roman puts his hands over his ears and went “I can’t hear you, lalalalalalaLALALALALALALA—”

Truly excellent. Especially when Roman had screeched at the top of his lungs when Sasha had gone into an in-depth side tangent about the verity of the special effects of slitting throats in movies.

And now—

“Ooh, that was good!” Remus says eagerly, pointing at the Sasha in the little screen as she gets stabbed.

“Right?!” Sasha says, and they ooh! in unison as the movie gets increasingly bloodier.

“I hate you both,” Roman grouches from where he’s slouched between them, one hand covering his eyes.

Sasha ruffles his hair. “Go ahead and break up with me, then, I’m sure the press will get us both booked like crazy.”

Roman grumbles to himself, and Remus grins at Sasha over Roman’s head.

“If any of my shit gets adapted into movies, I’m absolutely gonna make sure you get cast into a leading role.”

Sasha grins back. “You’re the best fake brother-in-law I could ask for.”

⁂

Sasha is flopped out on the couch, asleep, as the credits of the movie roll in the background.

“Where is your nearest sharpie,” Remus asks, and Roman rolls his eyes, pulling Remus to his feet.

“Leave her alone, Freak-a Kahlo. I’ve got a spot set up for you to sleep.”

“But,” Remus whines, images of lewd drawings dancing in his head, but he allows Roman to pull him away anyway.

Roman has got a little cot set up for him in his room; it’s like they’re ten again, on a trip to see their abuela, except Remus can’t tackle him and wrestle him to the ground for the honor of sleeping on the bed.

Well, he could, but considering Roman posted Remus’s bail, he figures that roman could be allowed to sleep in his own bed.

All the same, it does give Remus a strange sense of deja vu of their (admittedly rare) family vacations; Roman brushes his teeth and does his extensive skincare routine in the bathroom first, then he cajoles Remus into handling his hygiene, please, they’re living together in the same room, eating soap didn’t exactly work to make Remus smell like a spring rose. To which Remus would usually rebut good, he doesn’t want to smell like a spring rose, he wants to smell like sewage, to which Roman goes ugh, how are we twins, how did two people so catastrophically different come out of the same womb, at the same time, to which Remus says it’s payback for stealing my dick in utero, to which Roman says that doesn’t even make any sense, it’s not like I have two, to which Remus says—

It’s a whole familiar argument, anyway. But Remus does at least dunk his head into Roman’s bathtub to get his hair sopping wet and swish around some mouthwash.

They’re both tucked into their blankets, and Remus is staring at the ceiling, wondering at the best ways to ruin Roman’s fancy linens. He thinks Roman’s fallen asleep until his voice pipes up.

“I’m glad you’re not rotting in jail.”

Remus ugly-snorts. “Yeah, I guess I am too.”

“Thanks to our weird psychic lawyer, anyway.”

“And your fuck-off big actor money,” Remus reminds him, rolling over to face him. The room is so dark that he can barely see the outline of Roman’s face.

“Yeah, honestly, bribing the cops was going to be my next plan if you didn’t show up,” Roman says sleepily.

Remus grins at Roman in the dark. “I’ve been a fantastic influence on you.”

“Incorrect,” Roman grumbles.

“You’ll be watching slashers with Sasha and me in no time.”

“Ugh, I hope not,” Roman says.

“They’re inspiring!”

“Yeah, to you, Mr. Big Horror Novelist.”

“You know what else is big—”

“Ew! Ew ew ew, I know I set it up, but ew. No.”

“...This—”

“Remus, I’m kicking you out, I swear to God.”

“No, you’re not,” Remus sing-songs, “You were gonna bribe the cops, I’m holding this over your head forever.”

“I didn’t actually bribe the cops.”

“Yeah, but you were gonna,” Remus says. “Funnily enough, that seemed like the biggest case the cops had against me, too. That I was gonna.”

“I know you’re a horror writer, but I hope you don’t write about Miguel,” Roman says. “Might look a bit too If I Did It to the public.”

“Course not,” Remus says, his eyes slipping shut.

“Good.”

“I’m going to be writing a book about murdering the cops.”

“Oh, much better,” Roman sighs.

VIRGIL

Virgil spits out his toothpaste into the sink and looks up into the mirror to see Logan in his reflection, his glasses off, a toothbrush in hand.

“Fancy meeting you here,” Virgil quips.

The Logan in his reflection smiles at him awkwardly around his toothbrush, blushes, then redirects his attention to finishing off brushing his teeth as quickly and thoroughly as possible. Virgil uses that time to wash his face; Logan follows not long after. Virgil gets a whiff of the facewash Logan is using; it smells rather nice, something floral.

They do their respective routines in companionable quiet; Logan, waking up for the day, and Virgil, about to go to sleep.

“What’s on your agenda for the day?” Virgil asks, moisturizing his face.

“Research, research, and more research,” Logan says dryly, rubbing sunscreen onto his face. Their hands move in unison; moving in small circles on each cheek, up to the forehead, down the nose, the chin, down the neck. Mirror images, if not for their distinct physical differences.

“Probably should’ve guessed that,” Virgil says, rubbing the excess moisturizer into his forearms.

“Oh, you missed—”

And suddenly, Logan is not just in his mirror, but in his bathroom, reaching out a hand to smooth some more moisturizer into his skin.

“Right here,” Logan says softly, his fingers gentle on Virgil’s cheekbone. Virgil barely even breathes as Logan smooths away the smear of moisturizer.

“There,” Logan murmurs, but he’s still cradling Virgil’s face.

“Thanks,” Virgil rasps.

Logan smiles at him, just a little. “You missed right there when we first met, too.”

“Did I really?” Virgil asks. He can barely focus on anything else except the cool smoothness of Logan’s hand.

“Mhm,” Logan says. “There I was, thinking I was going crazy, and there was this African man planting a jacaranda tree into the tile, with a smear of sunscreen on his face…”

“And I had this note-taking Pole talking to me about preferring if I were a hallucination,” Virgil says. “Telling me you’d ignore me if you saw me again.”

“And then I immediately started questioning you,” Logan says, smiling. “And…”

He trails off. His hand is still on Virgil’s face. Virgil is standing so stock-still he could probably turn into a scarecrow, if only for the virtue of keeping Logan’s hand on him.

“And then I kept feeling this pull,” Logan continues quietly, looking Virgil in the eyes. He isn’t wearing his glasses; there is nothing between Virgil and those bright blue, captivating eyes. “This pull to come to you.”

“Me too,” Virgil says softly.

Logan licks his lips. He says, softly, “I do wonder why it is us, that keep feeling this pull to each other.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes,” Logan affirms quietly. “Maybe there’s that call to those similar that we theorized about, that day. Maybe that’s what fuels this connection. Whenever I learned something new, I flashed to you. Always to you. I’m not sure if we’ll ever find out why. Perhaps there’s a level of…”

A level of what, Virgil doesn’t know, because he leans in and kisses Logan.

Logan freezes, and, with anyone else, Virgil would panic and pull back, thinking he’d been presumptuous, but he abruptly feels a thrill in his stomach and a yes in hid mind that may as well be in Logan’s voice, and Virgil’s shoulders relax at the presence of it, of that pull between them finally being eased.

Virgil wraps his arms around Logan’s waist, and Logan’s arms twine around Virgil’s neck, and they kiss, continents and oceans apart, able to taste the minty toothpaste on each other’s breath.

#my fic #my fanfic

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sidespart · 4 years

Note

fir the fake fic title asks thing :D : Chasing Dreams (And Horrid Screams)

Urban Fantasy/ Lawyer AU Platonic Creativitwins, background-ish analogical (maaaaybe dukeceit and royality??), morally ambiguous Janus

Roman and Remus are a couple of private (dream) investigators. They were both born with the ability to enter other peoples dreams as well as some individual powers which they’re now (poorly) trying to monetise.

Roman can interpret dreams. This isn’t really popular with clients because unless you have A Destiny or some god has decided you’re the mouthpiece for their prophesies, most people’s dreams are pretty boring. It’s hard to convince people to pay top dollar to be told that their dream where they show up to school having not studied for a test means that they’re stressed about school.

Remus is much more popular - he can remove peoples nightmares, storing them in his own subconscious. Unfortunately for him not many people want to use his secondary power - altering and releasing those nightmares back into new hosts.

Enter Janus - a big shot prosecutor with cash to burn. He wants to hire them to send a months worth of the most awful nightmares Remus can come up with to this upstart public defence attorney Janus is going up against. Janus reassures them that hes absolutely NOT worried about loosing to this Patton guy (who is dumb and new and totally didn't catch Janus completely off guard by convincing his client to enter a Not Guilty plea at the initial hearing, even though the guy had given the police a full confession beforehand), but it never hurts to get a little insurance by throwing the other guy off his game right?

Roman is pretty conflicted about this - they set up this company to help people but this sounds sketchy at best and straight up obstruction of justice at worst. Also Janus gives him the creeps. Who wears gloves ALL the time?? Remus is 100% not conflicted about this for the following reasons:

They are both currently sleeping in their (tiny) office which they’re in danger of loosing if they don’t get some money together for the rent soon.

Janus has also promised to pay expenses. That’s so much burger king.

Remus NEVER gets a chance to express himself creatively through unleashing horrifying nightmares and Roman should support him.

Janus is absolutely genuinely convinced that Patton's client (Virgil something?) is guilty. They are, if anything, SUPPORTING the cause of justice by making sure a bad guy doesn’t get away on a technicality or some shit.

Literally all they would be doing is making it so Patton is tired and unfocused during the trial - they wouldn't actually be tampering with evidence or anything illegal.

Janus has different coloured eyes and a scar on his face and Remus thinks that is very sexy of him.

So Remus goes off with Janus. Roman hangs back for a few days until boredom/curiosity/guilt compels him to do a little investigating of his own. Very quickly he realises that yeah Patton? Patton has A Destiny. Even though Roman can’t interpret his dreams right now (since they’ve all been altered by Remus) he can still feel that energy coming off the guy in waves. And as for his client Virgil?

Virgil is something else. Every dream, heck, every day dream that guy has is loaded with meaning, containing predictions and prophecies for himself and the world around him. Unfortunately for Virgil there’s no way for him to interpret the confusing, sometimes painful visions he gets himself - no wonder the guy was confused enough to sign a false confession.

And yeah, Roman is pretty convinced that confession is false. Because an awful lot of Virgil’s prophetic visions of the future concern a guy named Logan Sanders.

The same Logan Sanders whose disappearance and assumed murder Vigil is currently standing trial for.

Roman is going to need to make like a real private investigator to find Logan, or at least some admissible, non dream related evidence to help Patton clear this guys name before the trial is over...and it doesn’t help that neither Janus or Remus is returning his calls.

For the fake fic titles asks (please do NOT send me anymore to do for now

#Roman Sanders #Remus Sanders #janus sanders #creativitwins #sanders sides #sidespart replies #sidespart writes #fake fic meme #sashootkahoot

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princesssarcastia · 4 years

Text

in any other world (aka four ways veronica mars’ life could have ended up)

because i CANNOT get these ideas out of my head, goddammit. whatever god gave me the plot bunny gene needs to take it back now. anyway welcome to my veronica mars kick, 2020 edition. it’s another long one, boys, and readmores are for suckers.

1. just remember me when we used to be friends

them telling other people stories about each other (gia and whats-his-face wait another four weeks to kill carrie; logan is a thousand miles away with the best alibi in the world. a movie!canon au

Cobb’s paranoia holds out an extra five weeks, and Logan is already on deployment when he and Gia sneak into Carrie Bishop’s home and electrocute her in her bathtub. A troubled, drugged up starlet’s death is ruled a particularly gruesome suicide, and word doesn’t reach Logan until well after it happens.

Something about it doesn’t sit right with him, no matter that he predicted she’d end up here; something about it itches in the back of his mind, makes him want to reach for a phone he didn’t take with him when he shipped out and pull up a number he hasn’t dialed in nearly ten years.

But that’s ridiculous. He writes it off as nostalgic product of a reunion he didn’t even go to, that he’s sure she didn’t, either, and gets back to work. He’ll go brood and break down about Carrie when he’s off duty later, and let one of his squad-mates put a hand on his shoulder, and then move on.

He lets go of, Veronica, I need your help, and ignores the bone-deep certainty that she’d drop everything for that, after years and continents spanned and blood shed.

—

Meeting The Piznarskis is a surreal glimpse into a normal upbringing; the kind no one Veronica knew growing up ever got. They’re kind, maternal and paternal people who unreservedly love their son and live simple lives.

And they seem to really like Veronica, which is good. Piz keeps giving her beaming looks whenever his parents turn away, and her heart crawls deeper inside her in shame because all this clearly means so much more to him than it does to her.

She is keeping polite-society smiles on her face and using her tame, Normal Veronica anecdotes to entertain them instead of really opening up. Is this how everyone is with their in-laws?

These people will never know me, she thinks distantly as Mrs. Piznarski lays a hand on her arm and smiles as she inquires after her years at Stanford, and it is a comfort because she doesn’t want them to. Doesn’t want to see their normal bubble pierced by the mud smeared all over her real history.

She starts keeping her polite-society smile on face in the apartment with Piz, too.

He doesn’t seem to notice.

—

She catches the tail end of Bonnie DeVille’s funeral on Hollywood Access at her favorite deli. The volume is cranked up, probably so the guy at the counter can hear it over the crush of customers during lunch hour. Which means that Veronica catches every unfortunate second of their coverage, vaguely familiar faces in the crowd drawing her attention back again and again.

Mentally giving up as a way to pass the time, Veronica compares faces to ten year old memories.

Dick, Gia Goodman, Luke Holderman...some vaguely familiar schmuck...

She doesn’t even realize who she’s looking for until the correspondent mentions that DeVille’s last boyfriend, Logan Echolls, son of the late Aaron Echolls, is not in attendance because his current tour of duty with the Navy started just days before her death.

God, Logan. Veronica bites back any kind of expression at the thought of Logan learning that his girlfriend committed suicide while high off her mind. Even the media circus at the funeral is a bitterly familiar echo of what happened when Lynn died.

The thought of him lingers all the way to the front of the line and her brisk walk back to the office, until she finds her hands hovering over keys, debating whether she should look him up. Then one of the partners walks briskly past and she jerks back to reality, where she’s working through the rest of her lunch to keep the edge on the other new hires.

But the impulse lingers, long enough that she resigns herself to ignoring it until a new obsession seizes that confined part of herself she shut away that first year at Stanford.

—

Veronica refuses to go back to Neptune for the reunion, but after Truman-Mann jumps at the chance to hire her, she splurges on two round-trip tickets to New York for Wallace and Mac, figuring meeting up was the whole reason they were so gung-ho about it in the first place.

She really doesn’t make it out to California very often, let alone Neptune. After her disastrous freshman year at Hearst, Veronica jumped at every chance to step further away from the crash-and-burn-site. The only reason she didn’t lose them is because Mac understood that impulse, and Wallace is a better man than everyone she’s ever met.

But god, skype and Facebook and phone calls don’t measure up to the real thing. Veronica throws her arms around them right there in the airport and fights the inexplicable urge to tear up.

Something between nostalgia and longing wells in her chest as they sit shoulder to shoulder with her in the back of a cab, chatting about their lives in Neptune. She crushes it ruthlessly and fires back with tame, hollowed out stories from work and Piz, and smiles all the way through.

Her father was so proud when she told him. My daughter, the big shot New York lawyer. Veronica smiled all the way through that, too, and had an extra glass of wine that night where she derided her own inability to put two and two together.

Fortune 500 companies. Frivolous lawsuits. Disappear before they ever make it to a courtroom.

She knew exactly what she was doing, going into corporate law. The smart thing, right thing, the thing that paid her student loans and kept her out of the oh-so-tempting mud surrounding criminal law. She knew it would be contracts and smug rich people and ruthless competition.

But that didn’t stop her growing guilt—no, not guilt, shame—as she helped further grind the little guy into the dirt. As she poked holes in probably-legitimate sexual harassment suits and helped companies with more money than they needed break contracts with smaller service industries and...

All that keeps her going in the disgustingly large paycheck she gets every two weeks and the fact that she does corporate law for filthy rich companies, not defense law for filthy rich people.

(Though that doesn’t stop her from waking up gasping, one night, after dreaming she’s back in that courtroom, with Aaron Echolls’ goddamn face smiling smugly at her as she tears Logan’s and her father’s and her own testimony to pieces, as she gets him out of Lily’s murder and his attempt on her life. Piz rolls over in his sleep, breathing quietly, and she slips out of bed. )

She and Piz treat them to dinner that night, and she enjoys it once she gets over the childish jealousy that she has to share these two people she adores with Piz, who she also adores, dammit.

Their apartment has an office/guest bedroom and a separate living room, so when they get back near midnight (we’re way too old to be out this late, Wallace joke-groans, and Piz laughs back) Wallace heads to bed, and Piz does, too, after she waves him off from helping her set up the couch for Mac.

They share a look, and Veronica lets a smile pull her face wide as they have the same thought. The sheets and pillow get piled up in a chair as Veronica quietly retrieves two beers from the fridge and plops down on the sofa next to Mac.

“Cheers,” Mac says, clinking her bottle against Veronica’s, and they both take long pulls.

Veronica sighs more heavily than she means to and lets some unknown tension flow out with the air. After a long, comfortable silence, Mac nudges her with her knee.

“How are you, really?” Mac asks pointedly. Veronica lets her head fall against the back of the couch and grumbles. No, she didn’t miss the glances Mac and Wallace kept sharing all night when they thought she wasn’t looking, but when Wallace went to bed she thought they’d somehow agreed not to pry.

Now she realizes they just decided to be nice and not tag-team her, which is somehow worse.

“I met Piz’s parents a few weeks ago,” Veronica says, still looking at the ceiling, but even as she says it she knows it’s not the right place to start. A symptom, not the disease.

Mac hums at her, listening but not interrupting, so Veronica takes the chance to start again. Her head lolls to the side to examine Mac, really pin her with her stare.

“Did you ever imagine you’d end up working at Kane Software?” Veronica asks.

Mac catches her stare and raises her eyebrows, clearly recognizing it for what it is, and pauses to really thing about it. “You mean, when I was scamming 09ers that deserved it for their money and helping you crack cases like a budding hacktivist?” She says with a wry look. “No. But I knew I was going to do something with computers, and terrible reputation of their founding family aside, Kane Software is a pretty good place to do that.”

Now it’s Veronica’s turn to hum noncommittally.

“I never had your sense of justice, though,” Mac continues. “I just enjoyed getting swept up playing Q to your Bond.”

Silence falls again as Veronica mulls over what to say next. She’s avoided putting her finger on this feeling for months and months, because new, normal, successful Veronica Mars is not supposed to...to...

To miss sticking her hands in the mud.

“Sometimes I look in the mirror and I don’t recognize myself,” she says finally, forcing herself to keep meeting Mac’s eyes. To get a second opinion.

“Yeah,” Mac agrees. “I looked up the kinds of cases Truman-Mann takes when you told me you got the job.” ‘Looked up’ for Mac doesn’t mean ‘googling;’ Veronica grimaces lightly at the implication. “It was, uh, surprising.”

Veronica turns away when her eyes start to burn with that now-familiar shame, taking another long drink. “Well, it pays the bills. Keeps me out of trouble.” Another drink. “They tell me if I keep up the good work, I can make junior partner in four years. Three, even, if I snuff the competition.”

Mac nudges her again and Veronica starts to fiddle with the label on her beer. “My dad hasn’t worried about me in four years,” she admits softly. “He’s proud of me, Mac. Proud that I got out, proud that I don’t ruin people’s lives anymore.”

“Hey,” she says gently, “You didn’t ruin peoples lives.” Veronica lets her incredulous face speak for her. “Well, no one who didn’t deserve it,” she amends.

“I ruined his life,” she says sharply. “I got you and Wallace in trouble, I lost—” she bites that off. “I wasn’t happy. I saw dark corners everywhere. That’s not a healthy way to live, Mac.”

“No,” she agrees. “But was that because of your cases, or was it leftover from the long string of traumatizing bullshit in high school?”

Veronica takes another drink. Getting a psychology degree at Stanford was a fun exploration of all the ways the previous four years of her life were fucked to hell, and fucked her to hell. And she did seriously work on her trust issues, though she stopped short of going to therapy, because that was never gonna happen.

Mac goes in for the kill. “Are you happy now?”

Veronica, hyper-aware of Piz in their shared bedroom scant feet away, doesn’t reply, and Mac lets her. But they both know what the answer is.

—

She passes the bar exam with flying colors; a 320 that makes her father beam with pride once she takes the time to explain the scoring rubric to him. Piz kisses her cheek and brings her flowers when he gets off work.

It takes more effort than she’s willing to admit to ignore the fact that she scored so much higher in criminal law than contract law and civil procedure.

—

It takes her three more months to gather the courage to break things off with Piz. He’s smart enough to notice that she waited until their shared lease was up, and that leads to a fight more vicious than any they’ve ever had; a final nail the coffin of their relationship.

Apparently she’s cold-hearted, mercenary; unwilling to open up and share her inner life with him. Unable to commit to anyone.

But if I did that, you never would have loved me, Veronica almost says, biting it back at the very last second because the last thing she needs to release that knowledge for circulation.

She methodically packs up her clothes, the scant few knick-nacks and numerous pictures spread around in a facsimile of personal touches. Her new apartment was lined up before she even spoke to Piz, who later scathingly rejects her careful offer to pay for half of next month’s rent while he looks for a place.

In the end, it take three days to dismantle their year-and-a-half-long relationship completely. He’ll certainly get all their mutual acquaintances in the aftermath, who were always more his friends than hers, leaving her with no one but the service people at her regular take out places and a handful of Columbia friends in the city to talk to.

But as she unloads her things into her new space, all the emotion she can dredge up is a faint relief, and fainter satisfaction at having her own space for the first time in her life. That’s it.

Cold-hearted.

She pours herself a shot of tequila and knocks it back, in the interest of dislodging any hint of feeling she might be repressing unconsciously. Fiddles with her phone and considers texting Mac, or Wallace, or her Dad, to let them know—because she’d done this, new address and all, without mentioning a word to them. She’d even changed her paper subscriptions, but didn’t say a word to the three most important people in her life.

God, at this rate Piz will probably mention it to Wallace before she does.

All another shot gets her is her hands hovering over a keyboard again, still resisting the urge to look Logan up, to investigate he new life in some morbidly curious impulse.

Kids these days call it Facebook stalking, but back in her day it was just plain old stalking.

And she doesn’t do that anymore. Right?

—

Veronica channels her excess energy and time in a post-Piz existence into her work, and it earns her a “keep up the good work” from Gayle Buckley. A nice word from one of the two female senior partners at their firm makes her all warm and fuzzy for the rest of the day.

But that dissipates as she remembers exactly what got her that compliment; playing asshole intimidating lawyer muscle for another “frivolous” sexual harassment suit at a fortune 500 company.

This time, she’s sure the company man did it, but that doesn’t matter in the face of all his money and scary lawyers. The woman quietly folds for literal hundreds of thousands of dollars less than she should be entitled to.

That earns her another night in, drinking more wine than she really should be on a work night.

Are you happy now? Mac asks in her head, and Veronica takes another drink.

—

She exchanges nods with the man at the corner store as she lines bottles on the counter; they’re familiar to each other at this point. It’s late, even for a hard-working New York Lawyer in her late twenties, but she polished off everything two nights ago and somehow can’t face going to sleep sober.

It’s not until she settles back into her couch with her second drink of the night that ice rushes down her spine in spiraling shivers. Veronica freezes with the glass halfway to her mouth.

The blood rushes out of her face in a way that makes her feel cold. An exhausted cold, a mix of expressions she remembers on her Dad and her Mom’s faces growing up.

Her hands shake as she sets it down with a decisive clink on the coffee table.

I will not turn into my mother, Veronica thinks, still reeling with realization. Not even for Normal.

It’s close to 1:30 here, so everyone in Neptune will be sound asleep; she can’t stomach waking them up for this. And there’s no one in the city Veronica is comfortable calling up at this hour.

Faintly, she recalls hands hovering over a keyboard, and her chest aches even more.

If this were a movie, she’d probably go pour out her glass, and the bottles she bought tonight; make some kind of vow. Sign up for meetings.

Instead, she gets up and collapses into bed as-is, barely remembering to set the alarm on her phone before she does.

—

After that she tentatively reaches out to people from Stanford and Colombia, desperate for connections to ground her and soothe the gaps she only now realizes she’s been filling with alcohol.

Just a few Facebook messages at first, but nearly all of them reach back. Veronica has a weak moment of tearing up and rereading some of the replies in her inbox after a particularly hard day at Truman-Mann.

In another few weeks, she and a few people from Colombia have mutually coaxed one another into a standing lunch date, risking that relentless workplace competition for a chance at real human connection with people who won’t throw a fit if they have to run out of the restaurant unexpectedly.

She orders water with the meal and laughs for real at least twice.

—

Her last straw is a predictable one. That final push, the leg stuck out to trip her so she faceplants back into the mud, like she wasn’t two seconds from deep diving into it on purpose.

I need your help, Veronica, one of her friends from Stanford says. And that, as they say, was that.

—

Lilly laughs in Veronica’s ear as she picks her way through the crowd, for the first time in a long time.

Fleet week. In New York, not San Francisco, but she laughs back all the same.

His posture is different. Clearly, there’s something to be said for military training. But it’s not that he’s standing taller, or with more confidence; despite the presence to him, he seems...lighter, like all that weight on his shoulder finally got shucked off.

It takes him a few minutes to sense her gaze, and she savors them, watching Logan Echolls in the wild. Satisfying her inner stalker.

Their eyes meet across the crowd, and his face melts into that boyish grin she remembers, softened with age and warm, just for her. She smiles back, delighted, and waves.

Yeah, she looked up him. Eventually.

2. bloody knuckles, longing for home

logan, veronica, and weevil gather like fate after aaron echolls gets off for lilly’s murder; and decide to do something about it. and then flee neptune, because the perfect murder doesn’t exist.

Veronica lets herself into Logan’s room at the Grand with the key she swiped from Duncan before he fled the country. Steam pools out from the cracked bathroom door, so she drops her back on the couch and heads for it, making no effort to conceal her presence.

His head is bowed between his shoulders, arms tense as he leans against the vanity. He breathes out sharply, almost a laugh, and doesn’t move.

“Chlamydia, huh,” he says roughly.

“Immunity, huh,” she fires back, but her heart isn’t in it.

“You know he’s staying here?” He asks, still not looking at her, but tension pools in his bare back. Condensation starts to run in rivulets down the mirror. “He cornered me outside the elevators, earlier. Threatened to cut me off. No more mister nice father.”

Her fingers delicately trace one of the myriad scars that cuts across his spine, and then another, and another, and Logan lets her. She maps out sins of the father visited on the son, and makes a decision.

Aaron Echolls will get his justice in his own way.

“Room 619,” she says, and his head rises.

Their eyes meet in the mirror.

—

Mac does extensive research on the Cayman Islands, just for fun, since Cassidy mentioned his father holds some of his assets there.

Veronica and Weevil go out for a drink.

Logan flirts with the woman on the night shift at the Neptune Grand’s front desk.

Veronica and Weevil and Logan go out for a drink.

Keith and his daughter spend the days between the end of finals and graduation decidedly not talking about it, but he thinks she’s taking it as well as she can. Almost surprisingly well. Veronica finds the tickets to New York he has stashed away.

Veronica and Weevil and Logan and Wallace go out for a drink. It becomes a regular thing, grabbing beers or tequila or whatever they can get their hands on and sitting on a darkening beach every other night or so. Sometimes the hush of their voices run underneath the waves. Sometimes silence rings out.

Deputy Leo intercepts a mother and two boys who come into the station to make a witness report, but they can’t seem to find what they’re looking for in a book of the usual suspects.

Wallace forgets a pen in the coffee cup on the desk outside Clarence Wiedman’s office, when he goes to visit his mother at work.

Dick and Logan plan a blowout bash to celebrate graduation at the Grand.

Cliff McCormick brushes up on inheritance law in addition to juggling six other cases.

Logan books a plane to the east coast for after graduation.

—

After the graduation ceremony is over, half their graduating class descends on the Grand, filling the lobby and conference space rented out. Some of them even make their way to the penthouse, Logan throwing open his door with a flourish.

But something about it just doesn’t feel right. So Logan, Veronica, Wallace, and Weevil grab drinks and head out the front door, letting everyone see them leave for the beach. Dick loudly complains to anyone who will listen about how Logan has been doing this every night for two weeks, like he’s got a standing appointment to hang out with narks and gangbangers.

Veronica calls her father and leaves a voicemail, letting him know she’s staying out on the beach with her friends for a while longer, in case he makes it back before she does.

Mac stays in the lobby with Cassidy the whole time. Kendall Casablancas exits the hotel a little after midnight.

Weevil and Wallace stay out on the beach all night; the Xterra, which they all took together, sharing space for the last time, does not once move.

When housekeeping make their way through the hotel the next morning, there is a do not disturb sign on room 619. It stays there all day, and night, and day, and night, and day again, and night again, until they start to pass it by automatically.

Veronica and her father leave for New York. Logan boards a plane.

—

When the news breaks about Aaron Echolls’ death, neither of them are in Neptune. Logan arranges for a private service in absentia, and sends Cliff McCormick as his representative to the will reading, which the executor of Aaron’s estate takes with more grace than Trina.

His assets are divided evenly between his two children, in addition to the existing trusts tied to age.

Cliff makes a brief stop at a coffee shop on his way back to his office, and says a few words to that computer geek friend of Veronica’s he catches sight of. He forgets some of his notes on her table when he leaves.

—

Keith Mars comes back to Neptune alone. The investigation into Aaron Echolls’ death stutters, stalls, stops. Eventually, a harassed medical examiner admits it’s possible he could have maybe committed suicide.

—

Halfway across the world, a sweet and mischievous little girl named Lilly grows up with a kind, doting father, and an Aunt and Uncle whom she adores, whenever they’re in the country to see her.

Twice every year, her father and Aunt Veronica and Uncle Logan share a toast, even if only by skype. Once on her Aunt Lilly’s birthday, and once on some day in late may.

3. all things grow

veronica mars, special agent with the fbi and logan lester, english professor, love each other well with the strength of decades, and still impress the hell out of everyone who meets them. the one where veronica went straight to stanford after the whole cassidy debacle, and never quite lost the knack of investigating but with some distance from the neptune cesspool, learned to do it without ruining lives, her life.

Everyone knows Professor Lester is a jackass—with tenure, so he can’t be reprimanded for it. But everyone also knows Professor Lester has the best analytical mind in the English department, and all the brightest stars in the Lit program come out of his courses. He’s not bad to look at, either; the planes of his face are so sharp you just might cut yourself on them, and his eyes are always glittering like he knows something you don’t. And he really doesn’t dress like a forty-year-old college professor, which doesn’t hurt.

Only the simultaneously lucky and unfortunate bastards who load their schedules up with him, or worse yet, get him as their advisor, ever see those planes soften.

His office is tastefully decorated, for those few English majors who know enough about interior decoration to say so. It’s also surprisingly devoid of books to belong to a man who seemingly memorized every text he’s ever taught. Pulling quotes and passages out of thin air is a particular talent of his.

There’s only one personal touch in the whole room, beyond the probably-expensive furniture: a picture of himself and a blonde woman holding a pit bull, on a beach so clean it can’t be in New York. In it, her eyes glitter the exact way Professor Lester’s usually do, but his have melted into something infinitely more tender.

Very rarely, at the end of the afternoon or occasional evening class, the particularly observant students notice a blonde woman in a black pantsuit slip into the back, legs extended, ankles and arms crossed. She never says anything. Just follows Professor Lester’s sharp movements at the front of the room.

None of them are trained to notice the outline of her holster, or the way her gaze actually darts around the room, tracking movement and exits, though it always comes back to rest on Logan.

—

Special Agent Mars is always fun at the Agency’s mixers and dinner parties and fundraisers. Seeing her out of the sleek suit some of her coworkers suspect she was born in is all the more jarring for her ease in formalwear. A real chameleon, they murmur, as she flips a switch and becomes more of a tittering socialite than a federal agent.

But the real fun is when she drags her partner with her. Neither of them wears rings, but then, many agents don’t, so whether they’re married or not is up for debate. He’s her standing date for every function, though, so in the end it doesn’t matter.

Veronica Mars has a rapier wit. Paired with her degrees in psychology and law and penchant for cataloguing every detail about a person at a glance, it’s safe to say she’s been verbally skinning people up one side and down the other since Quantico.

When her husband opens his mouth, it’s clear he shares her talent for sparring with words.

And watching them talk to each other is like following a tennis match—or perhaps boxing; trading barbs like endearments.

The best times is when some stuffy higher up with more ego than sense tries to glad-hand one of the most promising agents of the decade, and leaves the conversation head three sizes smaller and feeling vaguely emasculated.

—

Veronica learned the hard way in high school not to put too much of herself into her cases; learned to save some for her father, and for Logan, and for her. But every so often one just stick in her craw and she can’t help sinking her teeth into it.

Her partner is too good to blink when her edges are sharper than usual, but Veronica can tell he notices.

And the man they’re tracking sure as hell does, too. There’s something magnetic about Special Agent Veronica Mars on your trail, and this asshole is responding to it. Leaving her...gifts. Messages at crime scenes.

Verr-onicaaaaaaa, an old demon slithers in one ear and out the other.

When she starts to respond in kind, her supervisor removes her from the case and puts her on unpaid leave. It’s in New York, though, and Veronica knows herself. Knows who she is when she looks in the mirror.

Logan kisses the tip of her nose and thanks her for scheduling her crazy after his semester is finished. They pack together, trading soft looks and touches as they maneuver seamlessly around each other. Veronica calls Keith.

She silences the voice that sounds like teenage Veronica hissing that she’s running away from the fight. That’s not her anymore. And she’s not alone in this; if she didn’t trust her partner she wouldn’t have made it six months in the agency. If she didn’t trust Logan, she would have died at seventeen.

Their visits to Neptune are rarer than her father would like, but just enough to soothe that part of them both that comes from here, that lives in every McMansion and dark alley and seedy bar and raging club and deserted beach.

Neptune is in their blood. Veronica wouldn’t wish this place on her worst enemy; but they are akin, she and it.

While Logan pulls his board and wetsuit out of storage and practically moves onto the beach, she does the usual tour. Eli’s shop is doing well, and Valentina is adorable in her little oil stained overalls as she helps her father. Wallace still eats lunch at their table, after all these years, and she smiles reflexively back at him like she did the first day they met. Mac is still selling her soul to the devil for more money than god, running their software development with an iron fist.

Cliff quirks an eyebrow at her, and drops hints about cases he needs help with like other men his age drop little candies into children’s hands. She rolls her eyes, but glances over the files anyway, and spends a couple nights taking pictures and video and surprising him with it in court.

It feels...nice. Nostalgic, but not addictive. Just some legal favors for an old friend who never failed to scratch her back when she scratched his.

Her forced leave isn’t up yet, and her partner says they’ve hit a frustrating but not definitive dead end back home, so she considers driving to San Diego to drop in on Leo with a pizza, for old time’s sake.

Then the man she was tracking in New York finally shows his face in Neptune. He followed Veronica back here, to her home.

Oh, if that isn’t the worst, and last, mistake he ever makes.

Her friends, her family, closes ranks. The town closes like a lobster trap for people stupid enough to come after Veronica Mars on her home turf. By the time her partner and replacement make it out to the west coast, he’s beaten and bloody and wrapped up in evidence like a Christmas tree in Sheriff Lamb’s lockup.

The Sheriff takes the credit for the arrest; there is no mention of old biker buddies of Eli’s, or information passed along from Cliff and Wallace, or systems infiltrated by Mac. Of tasers and favors.

Veronica is cool as a cucumber when they call to tell her about it, while she’s out to lunch with an old friend. Her partner is suspicious, but there’s no evidence. And frankly, he’s not sure even Veronica Mars could have collared this guy without the resources of the Bureau behind her.

Deputy Sacks shakes his head in disbelief that people are still falling for that after all this time.

They go back to New York. Life goes on.

—

Neither of them went to the ten year reunion, still too fresh off the horrors of high school.

But they do go to the twenty year reunion, and win the shit out of it. Not that they care, beyond vague petty satisfaction at the faces of those few people who do. They leave early, have dinner with Keith, drinks with Wallace and Mac, and fly back to New York the next morning.

Some infinitesimal weight neither of them realized still existed was off their shoulders by the time they touch down in their home of fifteen years.

4. ten stoplights bleeding out

the one where keith mars dies in that plane crash, and veronica mars takes over mars investigations; veronica mars never escapes the insidious pull of neptune; and after ten plus years of money shots and favors, has perfected handing down her own particular brand of justice—and revenge. logan still joins the navy, but always finds his way back to her.

it’s a story Eli’s heard a thousand times before, living in this town. a story he’s lived himself, once or twice, though ever since he met Jade he’s done his upmost to keep his nose clean—to be that better version of himself she somehow managed to see in him.

the cops have it all wrong, lazy, corrupt, blaming it on the first brown kid they lay eyes on, planted evidence, ruined lives, etc.

there’s nothing he can do for them.

there’s nothing he can do for them. But V always did love referrals.

“You need to go see the Sheriff,” Eli tells the kid, still hoping that one day the nickname will catch on just so he can see her expression. His face crumples in heated confusion, because he just spent twenty minutes laying out how “Sheriff” Lamb was an asshole, but Eli smirks and jerks his head toward his car. (Car, not bike)

They climb in, and drive to one of the last places in town holding out hope against gentrification—the 09ers he went to high school with would’ve called it seedy.

He still has a key to her offices after that stint working as her secretary for a few months when she was in college—though it’s not the same key. Veronica Mars is too paranoid to keep the same locks for too long. Never does catch her changing them out, just reaches in his pocket some days to fiddle with his key ring and fights a smile when his fingers find unfamiliar teeth.

But today, her doors are open. They chime as Eli guides the kid inside, and gestures toward the old couch still sitting against the wall.

The receptionist’s desk is empty again. He wonders vaguely what the last one did to earn the brush off. She never manages to find what she’s looking for in an employee (either herself or her father, Eli’s never figured out which, but either option makes him want to clasp her shoulder).

He raps his knuckles on her office gently and pushes it open without waiting for an answer.

She looks up sharply, her resting face before she registers his presence that special kind of pinched that means Logan had damn well better be at the end of his current tour of duty.

“Weevil,” she lets out a little breath and some of her tension. “Long time no see, huh?”

“Yeah, we missed you at dinner last week.”

She shrugs. “Life of a PI; there’s always another stake-out to ruin your night life.”

“Uh-huh, sure,” he drawls, raising his eyebrows at her. After a decade and a half of knowing Veronica Mars, he’s more than familiar with her self-destructive tendencies.

He’s vaguely grateful she’s pulling back from him before she unsheaths her paranoid claws and scratches everyone in reach, even friends like him; but mostly, it puts an ache in his chest that makes him want to hug Jade close and kiss Valentina on the forehead.

“Whatever, vato. Just because you’re a successful businessman now doesn’t mean the rest of us don’t fight to keep the lights on.” Her lips twist wryly.

And now he feels sort of bad, because she never charges his referrals full price for her services. But favors are part of her gig, the way she tells it—keeps her in information and the occasional backup.

“Speaking of,” he starts, and she leans back in her chair and throws her feet up on the desk in a self-satisfied manner, one after the other, “I’ve got a Sheriff Lamb special in the waiting room for you.”

“Let me guess,” she drawls, “rich ‘victim’,” she pairs it with air-quotes, “planted evidence, and a timeline that makes no goddamn sense?”

“Got it in one,” he says tiredly, suddenly exhausted with the never-ending Neptune narrative.

“Send him in,” she says immediately, pulling her legs back and flipping through the one of the endless files that populate her life.

He hesitates at the door; once he hands off the kid, it becomes a case, and Veronica will tune out everything else that matters. And Eli owes it to her to ask, to give a shit.

“When’s he back?” He asks softly.

Veronica’s hands slow, tension pouring back into her frame. “Four more weeks,” she answers, clearly unwilling to further the conversation anymore.

“Yeah, well, make sure you remember to drag his ass to dinner with us then. Valentina misses his stupid impressions.”

She rolls her eyes, and he shakes his head and leans out of the doorway to gesture to the kid, and that’s that. Veronica Mars is on the case, and somewhere across Neptune, a familiar shiver just went down Don Lamb’s spine.

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wazafam · 3 years

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While he claims to not be a serial killer, Saw villain Jigsaw is one of the most effective murderers in horror, though there have been a few victims that have escaped his grasp. Of course, were one to ask John Kramer himself, back when he was alive, anyway, he would've insisted that what he did wasn't murder. Instead, John used the Jigsaw identity to help wayward and damaged people reform, learning to have a new appreciation for life by making a sacrifice of blood and flesh to survive.

In reality, Jigsaw's twisted methods are impossible to condone. His games are nothing more than a sick vigilante taking punishment into his own hands. John may have been a decent man once upon a time, but the loss of his unborn son and the dissolution of his marriage, coupled with the terminal cancer eating away at him, eventually sapped every last bit of true humanity from his heart. No decent person could do what he does to people and not go mad.

Related: Is Jigsaw In Spiral? Saw Villain Future Explained

For the Saw fans, though, there's no reason to hate John, as in fiction, the normal bounds of morality don't necessarily apply. Many of the people Jigsaw targets are far from sympathetic characters, and watching them get theirs can be a form of catharsis. Sometimes though, the players of Jigsaw's games have survived to tell the tale. Here are all of the survivors of Jigsaw's games.

Amanda Young (Shawnee Smith) was the first known survivor of a Jigsaw trap, in her case the infamous reverse bear trap. To free herself, she had to kill a man and retrieve the key to the device on her face from inside his stomach. As traumatic as it was, Amanda then kicked her drug addiction and ended up joining John as his first confirmed apprentice, designed to help Jigsaw's work continue despite John's failing health. Sadly, she lost her way and began designing inescapable traps. John tested her again, and she failed, dying in the process.

Not everyone who gets mixed up in Jigsaw's games is a particular target of his wrath. In some cases, they're just those close to the main test subject, such as the wife and daughter of Dr. Lawrence Gordon (Cary Elwes). Dr. Gordon, of course, famously survived his test in the first Saw movie by sawing off his own foot. Meanwhile, his wife Alison and daughter Diana survived their own captivity at the hands of Zep, a man forced into working for Jigsaw. Lawrence would go on to survive and become another Jigsaw apprentice, as revealed in Saw 7.

Jeff Ridenhour is a very minor character in Saw lore, but still a memorable one. In Jeff's case, he didn't necessarily deserve to survive his Jigsaw test, but was saved by Detectives David Tapp (Danny Glover) and Steven Sing (Ken Leung). Doing so led to dire consequences for the cops, though – so perhaps the tradeoff wasn't exactly fair.

Related: Saw 2's Venus Fly Trap Mask Was The First Hint At Dr. Gordon Twist

Daniel Matthews was tested much less due to his own petty crimes, and more because he was the son of Eric Matthews (Donnie Wahlberg), an explosively violent cop who was Saw 2's primary Jigsaw target. Eric survived being placed in a group of people who had been wrongly convicted of crimes thanks to his father, but was then placed inside a safe to be used as leverage for Eric's test. Daniel survived, but Eric didn't come out intact.

Corbett Denlon and Judge Halden are two minor Saw 3 characters who were pulled into Jigsaw's games with Jeff Denlon in Saw 3. Halden was the man who gave the drunk driver that killed Jeff's son a light sentence. To save Halden, Jeff had to burn cherished mementos connected to his son. Halden later died trying to help Jeff save his son's killer from a trap. Corbett, Jeff's young daughter, was "saved" by Jigsaw apprentice Mark Hoffman after Jeff failed his test.

Easily the most dangerous and sadistic of Jigsaw's apprentices, Detective Mark Hoffman (Costas Mandylor) ended up working for John Kramer after faking a Jigsaw murder in order to kill the man who had taken his sister's life. Seeing Hoffman's potential, but not appreciating being ripped off, John offered him a chance to join the cause. Hoffman continued the games long after John's death but got tested for the first time himself via his own reverse bear trap thanks to John's widow, Jill. Hoffman survived and killed Jill, but later lost for good against Dr. Gordon.

FBI Agent Peter Strahm (Scott Patterson), along with his partner Lindsey Perez, investigated the Jigsaw case, and both ultimately died as a result, but not before escaping at least one of Jigsaw's traps. Strahm instantly suspected Hoffman was in on things, and that didn't change following his own escape from a Jigsaw trap that involved an improvised pen tracheotomy to avoid drowning in a box locked on his head. Still, his dogged pursuit of the truth cost him dearly, as he was later crushed to death by the encroaching walls of a room, while Hoffman smugly escaped the area.

Related: Why Saw Has The Greatest Horror Movie Twist Ending Of All Time

Strahm's partner Agent Perez survived a nasty Jigsaw trap involving an exploding puppet sending shrapnel into her face thanks to the efforts of Strahm himself. The FBI faked her death in order to try and get one over on John's still unidentified Jigsaw accomplice, although Perez eventually resurfaced, only to get stabbed to death by Hoffman when his crimes were revealed.

Art Blank (Justin Louis) was one of the featured Jigsaw test subjects in Saw 4, and was chosen due to his profession. Art was a lawyer, and one with a habit of defending clients who were guilty as sin and helping them escape justice. Art had been John's friend and business partner, but after a falling out, was forced to kill another man in order to survive a trap. He was then forced to help Jigsaw set up another game, only to later be shot by cop Daniel Rigg. Morgan was a related survivor, the wife of an abusive husband and father that Art had gotten off. She had to kill her husband to live and to set herself free in more ways than one.

Brit Stevenson (Julie Benz) was one of the main test subjects in Saw 5, a corrupt corporate executive who hired an arsonist to burn down an apartment building so that she could buy the property it sat on, not realizing people were inside at the time. None of the victims in Saw 5 were without sin, but Brit and Mallick Scott, the arsonist, managed to survive multiple traps on their way to victory and rescue by the FBI.

Tara and Brent Abbott were a quite innocent mother and son who got roped into Jigsaw's Saw 6 game, which revolved around heartless insurance executive William Easton. Easton denied their husband/father live-saving care, and after Easton survived his own tests, his fate was left up to them. Tara couldn't bring herself to kill Easton, but Brent did it, instead, in a rage over his father's death.

Related: Why The Most Disturbing Saw Trap Isn't Actually The Needle Pit

The corrupt exec William Easton (Peter Outerbridge) survived his own tests, although not without having to make agonizing decisions along the way, including which of his also mostly corrupt employees he would save. Easton's company had also denied John Kramer potentially life-saving treatment, thus his posthumous vendetta. William opted to save his secretary, Addy, as well as other subordinates, Shelby and Emily. He was also able to save his sister Pamela by completing his game, but couldn't survive the vengeful Abbots.

Bobby Dagen (Sean Patrick Flanery) became a successful self-help guru on the back of surviving a Jigsaw trap and then writing a book about it, or at least that's his claim. None of it is true, leading him to become the main test subject of Saw 7. Bobby has to watch his wife get roasted alive in a giant oven, although he does manage to escape with his own life. Joan is a very brief character in the franchise, a Jigsaw survivor whose story Bobby uses as inspiration for his lies.

In Saw 7, Bobby Dagen chaired a support group of Jigsaw survivors, although unlike him, their stories were real. Mallick Scott survived alongside Brit Stevenson in Saw 5, losing most of his blood in the process. Simone chopped off her own arm to survive a "pound of flesh" trap in Saw 6. Brad and Ryan had to choose between killing each other, or the girlfriend who had been cheating on them both, and they chose her. Sidney had to send her abusive boyfriend into lawnmower blades. Addy and Emily from Easton's company, were also group members, as were Dr. Lawrence Gordon, and Tara Abbott.

Logan Nelson (Matt Passmore) was an Army veteran and battlefield medic who was tested after his return to civilian life saw him mess up an X-ray and accidentally delay the diagnosis of John's cancer. Logan's trap went wrong, though, and since it was John's fault, he took pity on Logan and freed him. Grateful, Logan became an apprentice and conducted the games seen in 2017's Jigsaw.

Spiral: From the Book of Saw recently continued Jigsaw's legacy, albeit with a new killer and 100 percent less John Kramer. The only test survivor in Spiral is lead protagonist Zeke Banks (Chris Rock), seemingly the one honest cop in a corrupt department full of liars and killers. Granted, he clearly wasn't intended to die, as new killer William Schenk wanted them to join forces and clean up the city. Zeke is able to free himself from a handcuff trap similar to the one in the first Saw movie and ends up getting cut up by glass trying to save his old corrupt partner. Zeke lives, but his former police chief father isn't so lucky.

More: Spiral 2: What To Expect

Saw: Every Character Who Survived A Jigsaw Trap (And What Came Next) from https://ift.tt/3tUCVkh

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omgjasminesimone · 4 years

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Juvenile Delinquents Part 5

Logan x MC

Previous Part: Part 4

Word Count: 3,800

LA rarely gets thunder and lightning. Logan watches the bright flashes through the thin curtains of his new studio apartment, blinking sleepily. It’s 3 AM, but he can’t sleep. He’s had trouble sleeping lately. Ever since he found out about Ellie’s pregnancy.

The pregnancy has changed both their lives in many ways. Ellie’s dad kicked her out of the house when she told him. That was the final straw for Detective Wheeler. Kaneko had told Logan she couldn’t stay in the loft with him, insisting the garage was no place for a pregnant woman, or a child.

That’s when Logan realized Kaneko didn’t care about him. That he had simply been using him, and was done with him now. Logan is still in the crew, for now. But he’s not going to be in a gang forever. He wants to prove to Ellie that he’s father material, now that they find themselves in this situation.

Looking back, he definitely should have been the one taking care of birth control. It’s not like Ellie was exhibiting responsible behavior, so why would he think she was capable of taking her birth control regularly and properly? But he can’t go back and change it. And truthfully, he probably wouldn’t change it even if he could.

He rests his hand on her baby bump. She just started showing a few weeks ago. The physical proof made the pregnancy more real to him, and it’s led to many fights between them. Ellie’s due in July, and her plan is to place their baby for adoption and then go off to college like nothing happened. Logan, on the other hand, wants to get married, wants to raise their baby together. There’s no happy middle ground.

Ellie stirs a little when the thunder rumbles loudly, but she doesn’t wake. She burrows deeper into his shoulder, letting out a happy little sigh as his fingers run through her hair. He presses a light kiss to her forehead, and pulls her closer. “I love you.” He whispers to her, and their baby. And finally, he manages to drift off to sleep.

...

“My dad wants to meet you. Officially.” Ellie tells him over breakfast in the Spring. She’s 5 months pregnant now, and she’s too big to hide her pregnancy under a baggy sweatshirt when she goes to Mar Vista Prep. He suspects the bullying she faces as an unwed pregnant teen at the snooty high school is worse than she lets on, but she doesn’t open up to him about it.

Logan quirks a brow. “You guys are talking again?”

Ellie swallows the cereal in her mouth before replying. “He sent me a text message. Asked what we plan to do with the baby. He thinks adoption is a great idea.”

Logan’s hand clenches on the spoon. This again. “Not all kids get adopted. Some get stuck in the foster care system.”

“Older kids get stuck in foster care. Not babies. They’re in high demand. I’ve been looking into some profiles from prospective parents.” Ellie continues.

“Why are you looking into prospective parents when our kid has a biological parent willing to raise them? Go to college if that’s what you want. I’ll raise the baby. I’m not going to abandon our kid.” Logan insists.

Ellie lets out a frustrated sigh, rubbing her temples. “We’ve been over this.”

“Yeah, and we’ve never come to an agreement.” Logan fires back.

“I want to give this child the best start. A family with resources who will make sure he or she is well cared for.” They don’t know the gender. Ellie doesn’t want to find out, she doesn’t want to do anything that makes the baby feel more real. She doesn’t want to think about potential names, or decorating a nursery. She just wants to put this whole thing behind them.

“How could the best start not be being with their father who loves them?!” Logan argues, raising his voice now.

Ellie stands from the table, her chair scraping behind her as she moves so quickly. “I’m not having this fight with you again. I’m placing the baby for adoption. Maybe my dad can make you realize this is the right decision when we go over there for lunch.”

Logan’s eyes narrow as she storms off to the couch. “Unlikely.” He mutters under his breath.

...

Detective Wheeler can barely look at either of them. When he looks at Ellie, the disappointment in his eyes is almost palpable. When he looks at Logan, his eyes express his desire to strangle the teenager for knocking up his precious baby girl. Logan even noticed him reach toward his gun when he first opened the door, before Detective Wheeler was able to mentally talk himself down and invite the expectant pair inside.

“So, what can you tell me about the prospective parents?” Detective Wheeler asks once they’ve eaten. He made Ellie’s favorite, but since she’s been pregnant a lot of her favorite foods have repulsed her. She ended up just eating some bread.

“Well, me and Logan haven’t agreed on the best parents yet.” Ellie replies.

“I don’t agree this baby should be adopted at all.” Logan interjects, and both Ellie and Detective Wheeler glare at him.

“You can’t possibly think you two are in any position to raise a child. With no education? With no real jobs? Do you know how expensive it is to raise a child?” Detective Wheeler counters.

“I don’t care how expensive it is. I’ll get the money.” Logan insists.

Detective Wheeler scoffs. “What, from being in a gang? What happens when you get locked up? I’m not raising this baby for you, and Ellie is going to school, getting her life back on track.”

Logan clenches his jaw, trying to keep himself from saying anything disrespectful to his child’s only grandparent.

“Logan hasn’t gotten on board yet, but he will.” Ellie insists to her father, cutting Logan a look that tells him she thinks he has no choice. “Besides, I think it’s partly because he’s refused to look through the prospective parents’ information with me. So I actually thought that was something we could all do today.” Ellie adds.

“I don’t want to.” Logan immediately replies.

“That’s too bad. You helped make this baby, and now you need to be part of the adoption process.” Detective Wheeler insists.

“I have rights. I want my kid.” Logan fires back.

“You’re not married. If Ellie doesn’t put you on the birth certificate, you have no rights.” Detective Wheeler argues, very smugly in Logan’s opinion.

“Then I’ll get a DNA test to establish paternity. And I’ll go through the courts if I have to.” Logan retorts.

Detective Wheeler laughs this time. “Yeah, good luck with that. I’m sure a reasonable judge would turn the kid over to you, a juvenile delinquent in a gang with no family support, over whatever loving family Ellie chooses to give your child a good life.”

Logan glares, hating when people underestimate and look down on him. “Fuck you.” He spits out.

“Logan, just stop!” Ellie yells, getting between the two men so their confrontation will cease.

“I don’t have to listen to this or be here.” Logan decides, standing from the kitchen table.

Detective Wheeler pulls his gun, cocking it and aiming at Logan. “Like hell you’re leaving.”

“Daddy, stop!” Ellie cries, moving to stand in front of Logan. Logan gently pushes her away, staring Detective Wheeler and his gun down.

“Sit your ass on the couch. We’re all going to look at prospective parents.” Detective Wheeler orders. Logan glares for several tense moments, before reluctantly complying.

Detective Wheeler sits in his arm chair, gun still pointed at Logan. He gestures to his laptop on the coffee table. “Go ahead sweetie. Why don’t you cast the materials to the TV?” Detective Wheeler says to Ellie, his sweet tone quite a contrast to the way he’s got a gun pointed at her boyfriend.

Knowing this is likely the only way she’ll ever get Logan to look at the prospective parents, and she does want his input because it’s his baby too, Ellie pulls up the families she’s interested in.

“Okay.” Ellie clears her throat, she’s nervous. “First, I really like Chet and Frank. They’ve been married for 3 years. Chet is a lawyer. And Frank is a doctor. This would be their first baby. They almost adopted a baby before, but the birth mother changed her mind after giving birth.” Ellie flips through photos of the loving couple. They look happy, and their house looks nice. One of the pictures shows the two men playing tennis. They’re obviously rich. “I think they’re my favorite.” Ellie admits.

She flips to the next couple. “This is Dominick and Tanya. They’ve been married for ten years. They have a daughter who’s 9, and since then they’ve been trying to have another baby, but they haven’t been able to get pregnant.” Ellie explains. This couple looks nice too. Many of the pictures include their daughter, and she seems happy and well adjusted.

“And then the third person I’m seriously considering is Raya. She’s single, but she really wants a baby and she can’t biologically have children. She’s a elementary school teacher, which shows she’s good with kids.” Ellie gives the last spiel. Raya looks nice too. She looks sad in a lot of her pictures though. Logan wonders if a baby will actually make her happy, or if she just thinks it will.

Detective Wheeler nods. “What are your thoughts Logan?”

“Does it matter? Doesn’t seem like you guys really care what I think.” Logan retorts moodily.

Ellie sighs, turning to him and taking his hand. “Logan, please. I do care. I love you. This baby was conceived with love, but we can’t raise a baby. I know you think you can, but you’re not going to be able to give this baby the life one of these couples will provide. Even if I didn’t go to college, and we got married, it still wouldn’t be the life they deserve. Don’t you wish your mother had placed you for adoption instead of foster care? Don’t you think adopted parents would have been a better situation for you? We can’t be selfish. Please, please support me in this.” Ellie begs.

Logan sighs, raising his hand to wipe a tear from her face. “Please don’t cry.” He pleads, resting his forehead against her’s.

Detective Wheeler finally lowers his gun. “I feel like you guys need to discuss this between just yourselves back home. But my vote? Dominick and Tanya.” Detective Wheeler reveals.

...

Logan hesitates before ringing the doorbell. Ellie hip bumps him. “Are you nervous?” She asks.

“A little.” Logan admits.

Ellie grips his t-shirt, pulling him down into a sweet kiss. “Don’t be. I’m sure Chet and Frank are a lot more nervous to meet us.” She insists. “Oh! The baby just kicked. I think they like the energy here.” Ellie announces.

Logan places a hand to her belly, feeling their child give another kick. He drops to his knees, pressing a kiss to her belly. “I’m only entertaining the idea of this for you.” He murmurs softly against her skin.

Ellie runs a hand through his hair. “This is the right thing Logan. You’ll see.” Ellie insists. She waits for him to get back to his feet. “Ready?” He nods, so she rings the doorbell.

Moments later, Chet and Frank open the door, arms wrapped around each other. “Hi! It’s so nice to meet you guys in person!” Chet greets, hugging them both. “And ooh look at your belly? Do you mind if we touch?” He asks.

Ellie laughs, stepping forward. “Have at it.” She offers.

Chet and Frank both place their hands. Frank lets out a gasp. “I felt a kick!” Tears well in his eyes, and he and Chet exchange a quick kiss.

“I think the baby likes you.” Ellie insists, gripping Logan’s hand since he looks a little uncomfortable. This is harder than he thought it would be. Logan still wants his baby. But Ellie begged him to join her for her Skype meeting with the couple, and then for an in person meeting a month later a their home in Santa Monica.

“Well, come in, come in!” Chet exclaims, ushering them into the beautiful home.

“Wow, this is really nice.” Ellie notes.

“Do you want to see the nursery? We set it up...you know...before.” Frank finishes sadly. Logan can see how much it must have hurt the couple to have the birth mother change her mind at the last possible moment.

“We’d love to.” Ellie answers, squeezing Logan’s hand again. He’s been wanting to get some basic baby stuff for the studio, just in case. Ellie refuses to even entertain that.

Ellie gasps at the nursery, a cheery room painted candy apple green. “This is so cute! Look at that giant teddy bear! It’s a room fit for a little prince or princess!” Ellie wanders the room, touching random things.

Logan looks around too. The walls are painted with the alphabet, and numbers, and there are countless children’s books around. They’re clearly well prepared for a baby, they clearly really wanted the child they set this nursery up for.

They tour the entire house before setting up in the living room. Chet and Frank hold hands while sitting in two side by side armchairs, while Logan wraps an arm around Ellie on the couch.

“Do you guys have any questions for us? Any concerns you would need addressed before feeling comfortable deciding on us to be the parents of your birth child?” Chet asks.

“I have a concern.” Logan admits. “Kids can be mean. How would you handle it if someone bullies the kid because you guys are gay?” Logan asks.

“That’s a fair question. Kids can be cruel.” Frank acknowledges. “I guess the way I see it, kids will find a reason to bully you, no matter what. But I think the important thing is how the child is taught to respond to bullies. I would want the child to educate the bully. Maybe they don’t understand anything different than the family that’s a mother, and a father, and 2.5 kids. But the world is becoming more accepting. Twenty years ago, you’d never see a gay couple on TV. So, I feel like that gives the child some reference point to give the bullies. It’s not so....weird anymore...for lack of a better word. I don’t know, I feel like I’m rambling. Does that answer your question?” Frank concludes.

Logan offers a reassuring smile. “It does. Thanks.”

The couples spend another hour talking, Ellie and Logan getting out all their questions, Frank and Chet patiently answering each one.

“Logan, Ellie let us know that you’ve been resistant to this whole adoption process. And we get it. Nobody wants to give up their child. But....after today....do you think you could at least consider us as parents?” Chet asks.

“You know, coming in here, I thought I was going to leave here just as resistant as I came in. But honestly, I think you guys would be amazing parents. So I’m definitely more open to it than I was before.” Logan answers.

Ellie smiles at him, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

After exchanging goodbyes and a car ride home spent largely in contemplative silence, Ellie rounds on Logan as soon as they get back to their studio apartment. “So? What do you honestly think?” Ellie asks.

“I love you Ellie.” He rests a hand on her very pregnant belly. “And I love this baby. And I want the best for both of you. I....I think you’re right. Chet and Frank can give this baby the kind of life that I was super envious of when I was a kid. I mean, they have a pool! That they’d promised us they’d fence off as soon as the kid is walking.”

Ellie laughs, resting her head on his chest. “They’re very prepared.”

“They are. So...I’m ready to commit to the adoption.” Logan concludes.

Ellie turns her head to look up at him, tears in her eyes. “Really Logan? You don’t think you’ll change your mind once you see the baby?”

He leans down to press a lingering kiss to her lips, tangling his fingers in her hair. “I know it’s going to be hard, especially after holding our baby, but I want what’s best for them. And that’s not us right now.”

“Thank you. I love you so much.” Ellie breathes out, relief evident in her tone.

“I love you more troublemaker.”

....

“AAHHH! Ellie screams, sweat pouring down her face as she struggles through labor. She collapses back against Logan’s chest, crying. “I can’t. I can’t.” She’s been at this for hours.

“You can mama. You’re so close.” The doctor insists from between Ellie’s legs.

Logan wipes her forehead with a cloth, kissing the back of her ear. “You’re doing amazing Ellie.” He praises.

“This hurts so much. And after all this we’re not even going home with a baby. It’s like I’m going through all this pain for nothing.” Ellie complains.

“It’s not for nothing. You’re bringing our child into the world. You have to keep pushing.” Logan comforts.

Ellie squeezes his hand as she pushes again, letting out another scream.

2 long hours later, Ellie brings their daughter into the world. The baby has a good set of lungs on her, letting out a loud cry as the nurse whisks her away to be cleaned up.

Logan turns Ellie’s head so he can place a lingering kiss on her lips, pulling away a moment later to kiss her forehead. “You were incredible trouble.” He compliments.

She smiles weakly at him, looking completely exhausted from her long labor. She perks up when they bring the baby back in.

“Do you want to hold her?” The nurse asks. With adoptions, sometimes the birth parents don’t want to hold the baby, but Ellie nods eagerly, so the baby girl is placed in her arms.

Ellie lets out a sob. “She’s so beautiful. Look at that full head of hair!” The baby opens her blurry eyes, looking like she’s trying to focus on her mother.

Logan raises a finger to stroke his daughter’s soft cheek. “She looks just like you.” Logan insists.

“She has your eyes.” Ellie replies. She turns towards him. “Do you want to hold her?”

Logan nods, unable to find the words. Ellie carefully passes their daughter over. The baby blinks at him, and tears well in Logan’s eyes. “Hi. You are so loved.” He says softly, pressing a kiss to the baby’s forehead.

Tears are falling steadily down Ellie’s face too. “This is going to be so hard. I love her more than I’ve ever loved anything, and Chet and Frank are still in the waiting room.” Ellie informs him.

Logan sighs, cradling his daughter. “She deserves the life they can give her, and you’re leaving for Langston in a month. You’ve been dreaming about Langston forever Ellie. You worked so hard for this.” He reminds her, even though he really wants to lean in to her indecision and convince her to let them keep their baby. But he knows although that would make him happy, Ellie and his daughter would be giving up a lot for his happiness. Plus, Chet and Frank don’t deserve to have the rug ripped out from underneath them, again. “Let’s get them in here, so they can meet their daughter.” Logan manages to force himself to say.

Chet and Frank cry when they hold the baby, their love for her really coming through. It makes Logan feel better about their decision, knowing how much their daughter is going to be loved, but leaving that hospital without his daughter is the hardest thing he’s ever had to do.

Ellie is sobbing as he wheels her out to his car. And once he gets her home, she stays in bed for a week, in a state of what is most likely postpartum depression.

Logan is patient as Ellie deals with her grief, while shoving down his own. Ellie needs him right now.

Eventually, Ellie starts to come out of it. She starts looking into what classes she wants to take at Langston. And eventually, she buys train tickets to get out to the East Coast. She thinks the long train ride across the country will be a good time to reflect on the past year.

...

Logan parks his car in the parking lot of the Amtrak station. He sighs, not feeling at all ready for this. Ellie reaches over to squeeze his hand. “It’s going to be okay. I’ll be back home for Christmas, and we can Skype all the time.” She insists.

He interlaces their fingers, staring down at their joined hands. “I want to believe that, but there’s going to be a time difference. And you’re going to be busy with school. And I might be leaving LA once I leave Kaneko’s crew, so who knows if I’ll be here for Christmas.”

“Then I’ll go where you are. I love you Logan. Distance isn’t going to change that.”

He wants to believe that so badly. But long distance is hard. And who’s to say she’s not going to meet some trust fund baby with a bright future at Langston? The kind of guy with a bright future, and no criminal record. Who’s to say she’s not going to want to move on from a guy that will always remind her of the child she had to give up, because he wasn’t in a position to take care of them?

He doesn’t say any of that though. He’ll just let her pretend everything is going to be fine if that’s what she needs to get on that train and follow her dreams.

“I love you too.” Logan replies, leaning forward to kiss her. After a few moments, he forces himself to pull away. “I’ll wait with you until your train gets here.” Logan offers, moving to get her luggage from the trunk.

She grips his hand as they walk over, and she takes a seat in his lap when he sits down on a bench on the platform.

They don’t talk much as they wait, both lost in their own thoughts. They do exchange several heated kisses though, both clearly wanting to communicate the depths of their feelings.

Ellie starts crying when the train pulls up. Logan wipes away her tears before engulfing her in a hug. “I love you.” He vows again before letting her go.

“I love you too. See you at Christmas, wherever you are.” Ellie promises.

She turns and waves before she gets on the train, and once everyone has boarded it pulls out of the station.

Logan stays rooted to the platform several minutes after she’s left. He’s knocked out of his stunned state by a text message.

Kaneko: Where are you? I need your help down at the Pavilion.

Logan replies. ‘on my way’, pocketing his phone and making his way out to his car.

A/N: The End! Thanks to the anon that pushed me to finish this up.

Taglist: @choicesarehard @brightpinkpeppercorn @regina-and-happiness @drakexnadira @flyawayboo @fairydustandsarcasm @alesana45 @maxwellsquidsuit @god-save-the-keen @mrsmckenziesworld @paisleylovergirl @iplaydrake @sinclaire-made-me-sin @choicesgremlin @lovehugsandcandy @desireepow-1986 @blades-of-light-and-shadow @justdani14 @emceesynonymroll @emichelle @badchoicesposts @client-327 @riverrune @liamzigmichael4ever @princessstellaris @mskaneko @anxious-arliah @zaffrenotes @iam-ankita @ohsnapitzlovehacker

#logan x mc #logan rod #ride or die #choices fanfiction #logan rod x mc #adoption

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heroes-fading · 5 years

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Why Veronica Mars Won’t Have a Season 5

My introduction to Veronica Mars came in the midst of my father’s death. I watched episodes in hospital waiting rooms before it happened, and holed up in my room afterwards. I found a lot of comfort in the strength that the characters provided. The scene of Logan at his mother’s funeral - maniac and trying to find the humor in it - is exactly what I felt at my father’s. I, like Logan, made jokes and tried shrugging it off. I was certain that this was some sort of cosmic joke, and I was on the receiving end. Veronica’s personality shaped most of who I was in high school - my dad passed away two weeks before I started. Her snark, intelligence, and resilience inspired me so much then. I found a wonderful community with fans of the show, and to this day as a semi-adult I love and adore so many people I met through the show.

When the movie was announced, I was ecstatic. I remember rushing to a bathroom stall at my high school so I could eloquently keyboard-smash about it with my friends, donating to the Kickstarter, wearing my t-shirt, going to the theater with my friend to watch it and livestreaming it the night of its release with my online friends. In a sea of horrible feelings and helplessness, Veronica Mars helped me feel empowered and supported.

That’s partly why all of this stings so badly and feels so much like a betrayal.

Logan Echolls fits into a lot of tropes I’ve grown to hate as a self-identified feminist who has zero time for bad boys. Men who “atone for their sins” to get with a leading heroine are ones I often find boring - so often they’re executed poorly and their past mistakes would be absolutely unforgivable in a real context. Chuck Bass, Damon Salvatore, Spike, et. all are characters I’m tired of seeing in fiction. Logan Echolls organized a bum fight, took out Veronica’s headlights, burned down a community pool, made a series of racist comments to Weevil, and generally had moments of being the absolute worst. But for some weird reason, I have a massive soft spot for Logan and he’s become one of my favorite fictional characters.

Maybe it’s because we’ve seen him go through much, change so much over the course of the show. Maybe it’s because the show actually held him accountable (as well as Veronica) so the redemption didn’t feel cheap or unearned. Or maybe it’s because I’m just a weak heterosexual hypnotized by Jason Dohring’s abs and my feminism only goes so far as who I think is hot. I hope it’s not the last one, but I’m sure some would argue it is! The point is -- healthy, going-to-therapy Logan feels earned after the deaths of his parents, his abusive dad killing his girlfriend, numerous beatings, and too many near death experiences to count. Logan went from being an obligatory psychotic jackass to a fairly well-adjusted boyfriend in a way that made narrative sense.

His offscreen death right after getting married to the love of his life? Not so much.

The thing that stings about Veronica Mars’ final episode is not just Logan’s death - it’s what it means for the show going forward, especially its titular character. What made Veronica lovable was not her toughness as Logan’s final voicemail details. As season 3 Logan reminds us, Veronica isn’t invincible and she isn’t always right. What made her such a compelling character was what was underneath that toughness, and the people around her that highlighted that warmth buried underneath layers of trauma. In other words, what made her a marshmallow. Burnt on the outside, but gooey on the inside, as Wallace describes her in the pilot.

When we meet Veronica in the pilot, she’s been through a litany of traumas: her best friend’s death, a breakup, sexual assault and drugging, social ostracization, her mother’s addiction and swift exit from her life, a swift drop in socioeconomic status, and routine humiliation at the hands of her peers. But in spite of all of that, she’s still the girl that cuts Wallace down from the flag because it’s the right thing to do. She’s still the girl that worries about her father, has sympathy for Logan after his mother’s death despite all of his cruelty, defends and comforts Meg Manning after she endures the same bullying Veronica did, cares (often, initially unwillingly) about the people whose cases she takes, and bakes cookies for her friend after his basketball game just because. Even as recently as the books, Veronica bakes a cake for her terrible, abandoning mother on her birthday in spite of her replacing her and Keith with another family. She looks after her half-brother Hunter, even if he’s a painful reminder of her mother’s foibles. Veronica isn’t nearly as tough as she pretends to be, and that’s a good thing. That’s what makes her interesting and stops her from being like every other cynical hardboiled detective trope.

The people around Veronica - who support her, evolve with her, and serve as contrasts to her - are what help make her story so compelling. People who can tell her when she’s wrong (Logan, Keith, Weevil, et. all), who remind her of her soft side (Keith, Wallace, Mac, Logan), who can stop her from turning into a noir stereotype and cement her as Veronica Mars. People aren’t tuning in just to see Veronica snark at random side characters. Her personal journey in moving past her trauma and her relationships with other characters are what really makes the character who she is.

Her journey, from the pilot episode to the movie, is realizing that she can’t just shove down and run away from her trauma. Over the course of her show, we see her form bonds with people in spite of her attempts not to - Wallace, Mac, Logan, and a variety of others. They help her, support her, and challenge her in ways that only serve to make her story more interesting. In the movie, we see Veronica realize she can’t keep running and she doesn’t want a cushy life as a New York lawyer with a boyfriend who doesn’t understand why she cares so much about what happens in her hometown. Neptune, as corrupt and corroded as it is, is her hometown.

That’s why it’s such a spectacular slap in the face for the end of season 4 to offer the exact opposite. Veronica loses her husband (after finally evolving from the Veronica in the pilot who swore she was never getting married because she was so cynical about relationships) immediately after marriage. She leaves behind Keith, Wallace, and everyone else to chase unknown cases with unknown people in unknown places. As Rob has said, he saw this as the only way for Veronica to continue to be interesting - roaming the world solo as if she’s Sherlock Holmes.

This is not character progression. This is not driving the plot forward. This is regressing to a character to a point even before the pilot episode - a hardened Veronica who pretends she doesn’t care, who uses her trauma as an armour, and keeps people away from her. It undermines the central message of the movie - that Neptune is her home and in spite of her problems, she’s willing to fight for it. By killing Logan, Rob wanted to kill Veronica’s ties to Neptune. This isn’t an evolution - it’s a devolution.

Rob Thomas has offered this option before - a Veronica exit vehicle sans everyone else, including only Kristen Bell snarking at a camera - in the form of the last-ditch FBI pilot. It was not well received by fans nor networks, and unsurprisingly not picked up or seen anywhere other than a reposting on YouTube. I think if he sincerely expects any other result from a similar future attempt, he’s lying to himself.

If Rob Thomas wanted the male character-centric P.I. noir he initially planned on writing rather than Veronica Mars, he should have written that rather than allowed it to take over the Veronica Mars universe. Writing a woman with the same elements of toxic masculinity as male characters (a complete disregard for their own feelings, ripping themselves away from personal connections, framing “toughness” as superior and emotional development as a waste of time) is not feminism - it’s just lazy. “Strong female characters” don’t have to be made strong by undergoing trauma after trauma and shutting down until they’re a shadow of their former selves. Their male counterparts aren’t expected to have to deal with rape, death, ostracization, and every other possible form of trauma - women sure as hell shouldn’t.

Furthermore, the way that Rob Thomas has framed his fanbase is shameful. Veronica Mars fans aren’t just deranged fangirls too obsessed with Jason Dohring’s abs to care about the health of the story. This isn’t “not what we wanted, but what we needed” - we’re not an audience too stupid to know what’s good for us. We’re an intelligent audience when we’re giving the showrunners money, but when we’re disagreeing with the writing choices we’re just too invested in romance to “get it”. Predictably, these fans (who make up most of Veronica Mars’ fanbase that the showrunners claim to adore so much) are women. For decades, women have been stereotyped as media-consumers that only care about romance and thus can’t care about depth as if the two are mutually exclusive. This stereotype is incredibly sexist, especially given what this fanbase in particular has done for this franchise, and the continued insistence that these fans just don’t know what’s good for them or the show is incredibly condescending and transparent.

This fanbase poured $6 million dollars into a Kickstarter for a money, maintained energy for a revival and actively lobbied streaming services and networks for a continuation, and kept the fandom twelve years after the finale episode of its original incarnation aired. As much as some may resent how fan energy encouraged writers to see Logan evolve, or Logan and Veronica to sort out their issues, or anything else - these were choices the writers made and stood by for years. A sudden U-Turn in storytelling to go from “the fans were right, this dynamic is wonderful and we’re going to base our advertising around it!” to “well, it was never supposed to be about that” is a kick to the teeth to a fanbase that (literally!) gave so much.

It’s not as if this is the first time the fanbase has been disappointed by a writing decision. Speaking for myself, I was heavily disappointed by the way sexual assault was handled on the original incarnation of the show. Veronica’s rape was handled by at first not framing it as a sexual assault at all in “A Trip to the Dentist” - Duncan Kane (her ex-boyfriend/potential half-brother at some point in time) having sex with her while she was unconcious was framed as just “feelings and nature taking over” because he was under the influence. In season 3, the writers decided that framing women protesting sexual assault on campus as deranged feminists who sexually assault men by inserting them with Easter eggs was a good choice. That Easter egg part was played for laughs by the show, writers, and leading cast member.

Even the inclusion of Dick Casablancas for laughs - whose GHB was intended for his girlfriend and ended up in Veronica’s cup - doesn’t feel right. Ryan Hansen’s charm explains a lot of it, but the show seems to place a lot more blame on Madison for Veronica’s rape despite the fact she narrowly escaped the same fate at Dick’s hands. I was disappointed then, and I’m still disappointed with it now - far away from any romantic concerns of the show.

And my biggest problem with the ending of season 4 isn’t just that Logan is dead. I’m incredibly crushed and disappointed to see all of that character development be met with an offscreen car-bomb, but it doesn’t bode well for Veronica’s characterization and ultimate arc either. I fell in love with Veronica’s character first, and I don’t even recognize her anymore.

If the movie was a thank you to the marshmallows (both the fans and Veronica’s inner softness), the ending of the show was a middle finger to both. If the lesson from the series and the film is that you fight for things because they’re worth it and not because they come easily (whether they be relationships or towns), then the lesson from the revival is that the best thing to do is leave and take your bags. So much of the narrative was set up around Veronica accepting who she was and where she’s from - and the revival’s Veronica has finally been traumatized so much she’s packing her bags and giving up. That’s not toughness. That’s not strength. That’s certainly not saving the show or the character.

That’s selling a grim story because you think it’s edgy. That’s trying to be subversive and failing, too focused on shock value to care about the characters. There’s a reason shows like Game of Thrones, Dexter, and How I Met Your Mother got such backlash -- they just don’t make narrative sense and the endings are far from satisfying. Making the fans happy isn’t a mark of bad storytelling, especially when the survival of your franchise has been so contingent on it. Sometimes, they actually do know what they’re talking about! And if you want a season five, maybe don’t alienate your fans to a point they don’t recognize the show anymore. Rob mentioned, “...I will have made a really bad bet if, en masse, the fans turn on the show. That would certainly be a tough lesson to learn.” -- I think he accomplished that!

I wish the Veronica Mars that got me through the toughest parts of my life was still around. But I’d rather say goodbye to her forever than be faced with a cheap imitation.

#veronica mars #veronica mars spoilers #vm spoilers #logan echolls #logan x veronica #veronica mars season 4 #tv: veronica mars

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