#I know how admired Valerie is I was so anxious about this

[ghostgothgeek]

Exposed.

Holiday truce 2019 gift for @pigte! I tried to incorporate all three of your topics in some form, I hope you enjoy it and have a great holiday!! :) 

Rating: T for swearing, mild gore

--

Vlad Masters was having a rough day, to say the least. He spilled coffee all over his favorite dress shirt, Maddie had blatantly ignored him at the grocery store, another one of his clone experiments had failed, Maddie (the cat) threw up on his lap, he had to fight off Daniel for a short period of time...and now…

Now he was getting beaten and bruised and, for lack of better terms, having his ass handed to him by the Red Huntress, the ghost hunter hellbent on revenge. He had been grooming her to go after Daniel as Phantom, not himself as Plasmius! Using a man’s own weapons on him was some sort of cruel joke this terrible day had been playing on him. Especially when said huntress is a fourteen year old girl who didn’t have ghost powers. Now that just hurt a man’s ego. 

“Come back here, ghost scum.” Valerie growled, kicking off her hoverboard and following hot on Plasmius’s trail. 

Valerie Gray, on the other hand, was having a great day. She had a run in with Phantom, where, much to her dismay, they agreed to a temporary truce. She had caught two ghosts already, she got an A on her Spanish test (she would know what Paulina was really saying about her now), and she was already maiming Vlad Plasmius, third most annoying ghost on her list (one and two are Phantom). 

Plasimus took a glance over his shoulder to see the teenager rapidly catching up to him. He grimaced and went invisible, keeping on his path.

Valerie pressed a button on her wrist cuff, activating a new screen inside her helmet. “Time to take this baby for a test drive.” She smirked as her thermal imaging sensors went on. She easily spotted a very cold entity flying just in front of her where the ghost she was chasing just was. “Pfft. Amateurs.” She snorted and held out her gun, aiming directly for Plasmius’s back, and fired, hitting him directly. She smiled in satisfaction.

“Ahh!” His invisibility flickered in and out as he grabbed his searing shoulder. “What the-” It felt like something was digging into his skin. His eyes widened as he saw the teen once again coming full speed at him, a look of pure rage and vengeance on her face. He quickly took off again, flying lower to the ground. “I didn’t buy her that!” 

Plasmius quickly landed behind a tree and transformed back to human. He rolled his shoulders back a couple of times, still feeling the burn from her gun underneath his suit. No matter, he was decent enough to make it home from here. 

As he called for a car, Valerie swooped down to look for Plasmius. She growled when there was no sign of him, although she did see Mayor Masters getting into his car. “Stupid ghosts,” she muttered as she started typing things into one of her gadgets. “Good thing that blast didn’t just burn you.” She looked at the GPS in her helmet and smiled when something popped up on the radar. “Yes! Mrs. Fenton’s ghost tracking system worked!” 

Valerie took a small moment to celebrate and reminded herself to thank Mrs. Fenton for letting her test some new inventions. Danny had been reluctant to let her talk about ghosts with his mother, but Valerie had eventually worn her friend down. 

She took off, following the little dot on her screen. “Weird, it looks like the ghost is trailing Mayor Masters’ car…oh no, he’s after the mayor!” She had followed the car back to the mayor’s mansion, surveilling the outside once she saw he was safely inside his home. 

Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, she double checked her radar to see that the ghost was indeed here at the mayor’s mansion. “What are you up to…” She pushed a button dismantling her hoverboard and storing it back in her boots and looked around for an open window. For the mayor’s safety. She quietly climbed in and scoped the place out. “Mr. Masters?” She whisper-yelled and started checking out rooms in the mansion. 

Why did the mayor’s mansion suddenly have an eerie feeling to it? She had been here dozens of times, but for some reason, today the atmosphere was more sinister. She had only been in a few rooms of the large estate before. Perhaps it was because she was charting unknown territory. She slowed her breathing down so she could be quieter, and continued tip-toeing down a seemingly never ending hallway. 

She had heard some faint beeping coming from nearby. Glancing in one of the rooms, she saw a picture frame with an otherworldly glow behind it. Bingo. 

Valerie scanned her surroundings before entering the room and glanced up at the painting of the mayor. She rolled her eyes. The mayor was nice and all, but after losing everything on Phantom’s accord several months ago, she was realizing how insignificant most superfluous things, such as a twelve-foot tall headshot of yourself, were. Men and their egos.

She tried lifting the painting unsuccessfully. It was worth a shot. She double checked her surroundings for a button or a switch, and started playing around in the dark with items until she found the switch beneath the fireplace mantel across the room. She quickly maneuvered her way into a lab. “What’s this?” 

It looked similar to the chemistry labs at school; there were all sorts of glass beakers filled with miscellaneous liquids, notebooks laying askew, and she recognized a Bunsen burner. She walked over to a chalkboard with formulas written all over it. She had never been a mayor before, but she was pretty certain a mayor didn’t need all of this. This looked vaguely like the Fentons lab, though she had only seen it in brief one time, but this lab was more...creepy.

Valerie quietly looked around at all the machinery, looking for any sign of Plasmius or Mr. Masters. Could he be held hostage in his own home? None of this was adding up.

Alert, she jumped at a small thump behind her. She stiffened, turned, and had her gun pointed and ready to fire at whatever the source was. “What the…” She lowered her weapon and removed her helmet, carefully approaching the...whatever that was.

It looked vaguely human, but she was certain it was most definitely not human. 

“H-hello.” She jumped back when the...thing…spoke. It was somewhat shaped like a human; it had limbs, eyes (though one of them was slowly dripping down its face) and a mouth, obviously. The rest of it was glowy green goo. It looked like a person had been half melted in a nuclear power plant mixed with Frankenstein’s monster that had gotten run over by a truck, exploded, and then was put back together to resemble a human. Definitely some nightmarish hybrid that could have only been cooked up by an insane scientist. 

“Uh, hi?” She looked at the thing suspiciously, quickly glancing around to see if there were any other current threats. Heart pounding in her chest, she took a deep breath and tried to steady her voice. She needed answers. “What...what are you?” She raised an eyebrow, keeping her gun at standby just in case. 

The creature pointed to a computer screen behind her. Keeping an eye on the monster, she glanced at the screen. 

Clone Experiment #360: Failed

Notes: Less ectoplasm; need to strengthen ghost powers; human aspects making progress

She looked back at the thing. “You’re a clone? Of what?” Valerie searched for a mouse beside the computer and...was that a picture of Mrs. Fenton?! She grimaced and clicked on the computer, showing a new screen.

Clone Experiment #361: In Progress

Notes: Still developing, but most promising; switched genders and adding another human’s DNA helped stabilize; shows most sign of life; need more Phantom DNA

Valerie’s eyes widened. “You’re a clone of Phantom?!” She raised the gun back up at the monstrosity. It nodded and took a step closer. “Stop or I’ll shoot!” 

“P-please…” 

She tilted her head in surprise. The thing wanted her to shoot it? 

“Please shoot. End pain.” She stared into its somewhat familiar eyes and she saw suffering and despair as it moved one of its eyeballs back into place. 

“You...you can feel all of that?” She looked at the deformities once again and cringed when it nodded. “Who did this to you?” She demanded. 

“Master,” raising a goopy limb, it pointed to a painting of the mayor on the wall similar to the one she came in through. Odd. It paused before pleading again, “P-please...shoot. End me.” 

Valerie gulped and weighed her options. The thing was kind of a ghost, which she is set to destroy, but it still seemed vaguely human. It clearly had a soul, a tortured one at that, which meant she was ending a life and she didn’t think she could live with that. However, the thing was clearly suffering and she would be giving it a mercy kill. “I...c-can’t.” It started advancing towards her so she raised her gun again, arm shaking. “Don’t come any closer! Please!” 

“Can’t do more experiments. End pain.” It continued to move towards her. “Please.” She looked at its pleading eyes before shutting hers, turning her head away, and pulling the trigger. She flinched when she felt warm goo hit the side of her face, hearing it splatter all over the wall behind her as well. She opened her eyes and looked at the glowing ectoplasm splattered across the lab. She was still trembling. 

“What was that noise?” Valerie barely made out a voice that sounded similar to Plasmius’s. Shit. No time to process the murder she just committed. She forgot why she was there in the first place: to protect the mayor and catch a ghost. She quickly found a spot to hide while she charged up her weapons, preparing for battle and hostage negotiation. 

“...incompetent children and their lack of discipline.” She heard him muttering as he flew into view. “What?! What happened here?!” He flew over towards where Valerie had been standing before, looking at all the gunk covering his equipment. He pressed a button and a hidden wall suddenly came into view. 

Valerie gulped. More experiments. Just like the one she just destroyed. Some looking more like Phantom, some looking more like goo in a jar. One seemed to resemble a little girl, “Dani Phantom #361” written below the tank she was floating in. There were at least eight clones there, some hanging from chains. She could hear some of them whimpering. 

Plasmius scanned the wall and saw the empty spot. “Hmm...must have been more unstable than I thought. It appears #360 combusted and broke free of its bonds.” He typed a few things into the computer. “Now to get this painful contraption off of me!” Plasmius transformed back to his human half, his hand clawing at the silver device embedded in his shoulder. Masters stood where Plasmius once was. He grabbed some forceps and starting prying at the tracking device, not stopping or even wincing as blood oozed out around it. He set the forceps down and wrapped his fingers around the device. With a brief glow of his fingers, the device was zapped off his shoulder. 

Valerie could smell the burnt circuits along with the stench of the clone ectoplasm in the room. She could feel her stomach churning, but she was strong. She held her breath as she watched Vlad Masters glance at his watch.

“Oh fudge! I’ve got to meet Ed at seven for D&D!” He slapped a piece of gauze on his wound and looked for some medical tape, continuing to mutter to himself. “Last week I was late from Spectra’s book club running long, and if I’m late again I’ll miss Harriet’s spinach puffs! Better fly there.” After tending to his wound, two dark rings surrounded the man and flash of light filled the room, Masters becoming Plasmius once again.

Valerie’s eyes widened and she covered her mouth to mute her gasp. She couldn’t believe what she just saw. Plasmius/Masters quickly flew off. She blinked rapidly as she gathered her thoughts, making sure what she just saw is what she think she just saw. The mayor was trying to clone Phantom? Is that how he had ghost powers himself? The mayor was a ghost?! And not just any ghost, a ghost who had harmed her and who she had been hunting for months on end, despite Vlad Masters’s insistence to focus on Phantom instead of Plasmius. Of course. 

And Phantom. Phantom had tried talking to her when they formed their temporary truce earlier this morning, ironically setting aside their differences over the man whose house she was standing in; the man who wasn’t really a man at all. Phantom’s warning about Mayor Masters echoed in her head.

“You can’t trust him, he’s not who you think he is.”

He was right. She didn’t completely trust Phantom’s word, of course, but considering the new information she unraveled over the past ten minutes, Phantom…was telling the truth? Maybe she had to reevaluate her stance on Phantom.

No. Just because he isn’t as malevolent doesn’t mean he wouldn’t destroy her if he had the choice. He’s still a ghost. Just like Vlad. 

Vlad Masters. 

Valerie felt so stupid. Here she was, top ten in her class, and she didn’t make the connection between Vlad Plasmius and Vlad Masters. They talked similarly, behaved similarly for the most part, tended to show up one after the other...they even had the same first name for crying out loud! She should have just ignored her grudge and listened to Phantom. He never hurt her like Plasmius did, after all. No, Danny Phantom was pretty civil towards her, she supposed. 

Wait.

Phantom.

Danny Phantom. 

Danny Fenton.

“Oh shit.”

[enigma-im]

Twelfth day of Christmas...

Trope: Mutual pining Relationship: Robot x Human Word count: 6,589

The bell chimes from the door. Without missing a beat I continue welding the derby car in front of me. It doesn't take a genius to realize who is here at such a ridiculous hour. Tenna just has to wait till I'm finished fixing up Bruce's dumpster car. Sparks fly off the dented pieces of metal, splashing around in wonderous fireworks. If the sight wasn't a norm I'd almost consider its beauty. As I lower the flame to judge my work I see Tenna sitting on the couch across from me. I try not to look at him, knowing the second he has my attention I'm done for. I can kiss getting this done before tomorrow morning goodbye.

I try my damndest to ignore him, just finishing off the line before I can bother thinking about him. It's a hard task as I already feel anxious with him watching me. His stare picks at me till I'm honestly fighting the urge to look up. It's like he has some gravity to him that I'm drawn to.

"Damn it," I sigh. I turn off the torch and slam it on the hood of the Junker. I snap my helmet covered eye to him, seeing that infuriating smirk on his skull-like face. He has to know what that does to me. Tenna is an annoying little tick that has no business getting under my skin the way he does. His constant presence and never-ending teasing will be my undoing one day.

But damn if I don't love him for it.

Slamming my helmet up I glare at him," Have any idea what time it is?"

"10:34pm exactly," he spreads his arms wide on the couch headrest," is that a problem?"

Scoffing at his know-it-all look I toss the helmet on top of the car with the welding torch. I walk over to my workbench, picking up a used rag to wipe my face. Glancing over at Tenna I catch him staring, his legs spreading wide in an 'I'm powerful' pose. I roll my eyes as my heart flutters. How dare he.

"What do you need this time, Tenna," I ask, cutting to the chase.

"Haven't seen you in nearly a week and all you've got to say is 'you know what time it is' and 'what do you need this time'," he mocks my voice," can't I just come to see my favorite mechanic?"

I look deadpan to him," I've known you for nearly two years, not once have you just come to visit me. So I'll ask one more time, what do you need?"

He drops the act quickly, his shoulders sagging as he leans forward," Ricky Bower accidentally knocked me on my ass last week, and ever since I've been losing feeling to my hands." he raises his palms upwards, clenching his hand into fists. "It's strange and I'd greatly appreciate your help," he attempts to be kind as he asks. Knowing I can't ever say no to this idiot I motion him over to the bench.

Tenna hops up with a pep in his step. I watch him snatch the roller chair from beside the car, bringing it over before plopping down. Holding my hands out he sets his gently over them. I take the moment to feel his lightly warmed metal and leathery palms. His body has fascinated me for as long as I've known him. Having great knowledge in most things that deal with metal and wires I have never really understood how someone can make life like him. He is amazing.

Shaking out of my exploration I trace my fingers over his palm, looking up to him. "Feel that," I ask.

"Nope," he pops the P. I pinch at his fingers, digging my nail into the springy synthetic.

"That?"

"Why all the testing? I told you I can't feel a thing," he snaps. I grind my teeth at his tone, tempted to drop the task. I don't need him charging in here and demanding a fix. Scoffing I give into my petty ire and push his hands away.

"Alright, Mr. Know-it-all, fix your damn self," I hop out of my chair, ready to abscond to my office to pout like a lovesick teen. Before I can make it a step he snatches my wrist, tugging me back.

"Fine, fine," he sighs," I'm sorry. Will you please ignore my pitiful outbursts, I'm just a tad frustrated not being able to feel anything." his gaze drops to where he Is holding me, rubbing his thumb across my skin. He huffs.

I snatch my hand out of his," Fine, but one more and I'm kicking ya out."

"Wouldn't expect anything less," he smirks.

I grab his hand again, trailing my hands to his forearm where I open a panel. The underside of his arm pops off easily. Having replaced this very piece long before it no longer stays connected. I set it off to the side. I expertly look over his wires and parts. It all looks to be working fine, I dig my fingers in to investigate deeper.

"So what did Ricky do again," I ask, filling the silence as I work. I feel him shrug as his arm jostles in my hands.

"That dumb son of a bitch was wobbling on his way out the bar. Being the kind soul I am-" I roll my eyes,"-I walked him home. As he nearly caves his head in on the street I grab him, trading places with him as the dumb son of a bitch to cave his head in on the street." I snort at the image. The all graceful Tenna falling headfirst into the pavement like a drunkard. The scene replays in my mind as I snap my eyes up to him.

"So it's your head, not your arm," I bark as I grab the panel and click it back to place. Standing, I snatch his head and tug it towards me. He hovers close to my bosom but I'm far too distracted with tearing off the cranium plating to care.

"Very grabby today," he chuckles. I toss the panel to the bench and dig through the countless wires to reach where the small dent on the back of his head is. The protective layer that sits on the back of his head is pressing too hard on his processor. The wires are detached and loose. I scoff, pleased but annoyed at finding the issue. What an idiot for going a week without coming in.

I try to take a step away from him to grab my wire welding set but I'm held in place. Confused, I look to the hands holding my hips. Tenna looks up, quickly letting go and sliding back with the chair.

"Sorry," he coughs," you kept bumping me and I-uhh- yep." I stare for a moment, squinting at his strange behavior before I run off to my office.

I fix up his head, pleased as can be as I shut the panel back. Plopping down onto my chair I hold my palms out again. I gesture him forward. He drops his hand unceremoniously onto mine.

"Have you always been this warm," he asks, pressing his palm against mine.

"Does it feel different," I ask worried I screwed something up. I'm no genius in the ways of advanced robotics. He doesn't answer, trailing his hands over my wrist. Growing curious he abandons my hands and cups my cheeks. His fingers pet over my nose and under my eye. Smoothing down my eyebrows as I tense.

"What are you doing," I slowly recoil from his touch though it feels so welcoming. His thumbs grace the corners of my eyes as he smiles sweetly to himself.

"I can feel the crow's feet, ya fixed me again, doc," he jokes. I slap his hands away, insulted at the insinuation that I have crow's feet. He laughs, letting me walk away in a huff.

Tenna

I left her place later than I intended, leaving her asleep on the couch. Heading out of her scrap yard I make my way down the road towards my home. Passing many closing bars and dark alleys. I manage to get out of the dumpster fire that is downtown to get to my humble abode out of the city. It's not a far walk, a decent enough journey to a sweet little place in a sweet little neighborhood.

I trot up the steps, the door unlocking at my proximity. Stepping into the living room I find Ricky asleep on the couch similar to Valerie. Quietly I make my way to my room, flipping the light on to look at the large messy room. I step over the clutter of junk, passing by my vanity. Stopping for a moment I admire the dent on the back of my head, wincing at it.

"Didn't have to hit so hard," I grunt.

Quickly completing my nighttime rituals I plug myself in and power down for the night.

The next morning I sit in the kitchen, reading on my tablet as Ricky steps in. He's a half-dressed, sloppy man, sorting through the fridge.

"How did last night go," he asks. I sigh, dropping the tablet to the table.

"Pretty good actually. She fixed me up quickly, got to even hold her for that bit, and we talked afterward. You know Gilbert stiffed her the forty he owed her for fixing up his Camry," I answer. He grunts in answer, chugging milk like the slob he is. I grimace at the white trickle going down his neck. With a satisfied gasp, he wipes his face.

"Did you actually get anywhere this time or did you play annoying best friend again," he asks.

"No," I cross my arms," I didn't plan to do anything anyways."

Ricky snorts," wimp."

"Hey," I bark," I'm not a wimp. I'm just a good guy trying not to ruin a good thing going for me."

"yea," he shrugs," a wimp."

I pout, grumbling under my breath as I try to think of something clever to say. Ricky just snorts again, heading towards the cupboards for a snack.

"Just go for it, you beating around the bush just leaves time for her to find someone better. She puts up with your stupid injuries that you cause just as an excuse to see her. Nut up and make a move," he suggests. I can't help but chuckle at the pun. It trails off as I grovel in self-pity some more.

"It's not that easy, Rick," I sneer," she can barely stand me, and asking for more than what we have would be me just ruining something good. If all I can get is once a week with her then I'll take it. She doesn't need some idiot pulling her back anyway."

Ricky glares at me but shakes it off as the argument goes in circles. I adore Valerie, ever since she first fixed me up. She's so snarky and kind, I couldn't help but adore her. But, I'm nothing special and I know she finds me tolerable at best. I sigh, slacking in the chair.

Valerie

Bruce stops by sometime this week to grab his Junker car for the derby this weekend. With the bit of money he gives me I have enough to splurge on some necessities for the shop. I spend my day off cleaning up and ordering pieces online. Though I'm one for always working I enjoy getting to calm it all down every Tuesday. No customers to argue with, pieces of shit cars to try to fix up. Just alone with some loud music.

I sweep the garage floor, startled at the bot standing by the front door. Jumping nearly out of my skin I pause the music and catch my breath. Tenna laughs at me as I hold my hand to my chest.

"If I wasn't mistaken I think I scared ya," he teases.

"Yea," I shout," not shit." Tenna gives me a moment to ease my racing heart before continuing his teasing.

"You humans are just so jumpy. Scared of your own shadow," he snickers.

I scoff, setting the broom aside," cause you're any better? I remember vividly you whimpering over me replacing the pistons on your back."

"Hey," he barks, pointing to me," being in pain and getting scared are two different things and I wasn't whimpering. If I was, it was because you don't have a gentle bone in your body."

I wave him off," excuses, excuses. What do you want anyway?"

Shoving his hands in his pockets he walks further into the shop," was just passing by and figured you could be of help in fixing the dent on the back of my head. You see, the ladies don't find the battle wound charming."

I snort," battle wound? Falling onto concrete sounds extremely heroic."

"Saving poor old men from cracking their skull on the sidewalk sounds pretty damn heroic," he defends himself. I smile, waving him over to the workbench.

"I'd recommend stopping with the 'heroics' though. You're in here nearly every week with some 'battle scars'," I scold halfheartedly. He sits down at the bench as I circle him to check out the dented metal on his head. Grabbing him and tilting him forward I see what I can do.

"Not my fault I'm such a good person," he grumbles. I snort, shaking my head.

I try just removing the dent the old fashion way, pulling it back into place. With that not working I remove the piece and try to hammer it back. That just makes it look worse. As all else fails I set out to make a new piece. I sort through some scrap I have mashed together in a milk crate. Jabbing myself on different bits of loose metal I find a sheet perfect enough to mold.

All the while I'm working I can feel Tenna's gaze on me. It makes me fumble with my work as I feel pressured by his attention. I want to seem smart and capable around him but he has a tendency to leave me flustered. I bite my cheek and try to think of something else while I cut the sheet of metal.

With the piece made I head back over, ready to try and perfect it. I stand behind him, tilting his head back down.

"Anything new lately," I ask him to fill the silence. He shrugs.

"I've been trying this new drink for bots, it's supposed to keep the inners all clean and oiled," he answers.

"Yea, how's it taste," I ask, knowing how picky he can be.

"Like shit. It's like they make us taste everything but won't put the effort into making things we can eat good," he huffs," it's almost insulting." I hum in answer. I lose track of the conversation for a bit as I walk off to smooth the edges so it can click into place.

"So Christmas is next week," I shout from across the shop.

"Yea, and?"

"What do you me 'yea, and', are you not doing anything," I ask.

He shrugs," what is there to do? Ricky is heading off to his parents then and I'm left alone till he comes back."

I nod in understanding. Ricky is Tenna's only friend. Though I have no room to talk, Tenna is my only friend. I fiddle with the piece in my hand as I ponder asking him to spend his holiday here. Surely that's a stupid question, why would he want to spend his day with me?

"Besides, it's a family holiday. As you know I lack in that department," he tries to joke. I swallow a comforting comment.

Walking around him again I set the piece, admiring the handiwork. I turn to the workbench for some spray paint to keep the color scheme. Though I've replaced most of his parts with scarp I do try to keep it presentable. I shake the can as I fight back the urge to invite him. It's a waste invitation, he wouldn't want to. I sigh.

"Tenna," I start, he hums," do you want to spend Christmas here with me?"

He straightens at the question, asking defensively," Why?"

"What do you mean why," I bite back.

"What do you mean 'what do you mean'? Why are you inviting me to your human celebration," he barks. I scoff, spraying the back of his head quickly.

"You're going to be alone and I thought it would be a nice thing for me to do," I answer.

"Oh, how giving of you. Don't put yourself out just for me," he folds his arms. I toss the can onto the desk, circling to his front.

"What is your problem, I'm just being nice," I sneer.

He glares up at me," I don't want the charity. I imagine you have better people to spend this time with."

"Oh yea, cause I'm drowning in friends right now. Got a family halfway across the country and no money to get to them. I'm spending this time of year alone and you of all people should know that," I shake my head, holding up my hand before he can speak," know what, never mind. Didn't know having to spend Christmas with me would be such a hassle."

His shoulders drop as he begins to stand," I didn't mean it like that, Val-"

I stop him," No, it's my fault. Should have known better. It's my bad." I turn on my heels and make my way to my office, Tenna trailing after me.

"Valerie, I didn't mean it that way. I was-," I interrupt him again.

"Fucking aye, Tenna, I get it," I snap," I fixed your stupid head, you can leave now."

Tenna tries to get in another word before I slam the door in his face. I stomp to the desk, collapsing in my chair as Tenna tries to knock on the door. His words are muffled but constant. I ignore him either way, stewing in my hurt feelings like a petulant child. Damn robots.

Tenna

I reluctantly leave her place, feeling like utter shit as I do. I hardly meant for it to come out like that but I couldn't help but get defensive. She wanted to spend her special holiday with me? Surely that had to be pity. I never want her pity, that alone stings more than anything.

I walk home, feeling the cold air more than before. Heading into my home I go straight for my room to stew in my ignorance for a little longer. Falling onto my bed I groan as I recall the conversation. How can I be such a fool? Rolling onto my side I rub at the new plate sitting on the back of my head. She always fixes me right up. Not once has she said no. I smile to myself before the image of the door slamming in my face came back. I groan again.

A while later I come out of my room to speak with Ricky, finishing with my moping for the time being. I find the slobby man lounged on the couch watching tv. Falling into the chair across from him I let out an exaggerated sigh. Ricky pretends to not notice so I do it again. With a roll of his eyes, he mutes the tv, turning to me with a fake smile.

"Hello, how may I help you," he says with great theatrics. I rest my cheek on my palm.

"Valerie's mad at me," I answer. Ricky tosses the remote down the couch, clenching his jaw.

"Yea? What did you do," he asks. I don't bother pretending I did no wrong.

"She asked to if I wanted to spend Christmas with her and I got all in my emotions about it," I grumble. Ricky scoffs, looking at me bemused.

"Your girl asks you to spend a holiday with her and you got pissy," he sits up, throwing his feet onto the floor," are you dense? Your girl asks you to spend time with her outside this stupid arrangement you two have and you don't immediately say yes and jump for joy?"

Well, when you say it like that I feel like more of an asshole. I lean forward and groan into my hands. I'm truly a fool.

"I couldn't help it. It felt like she was doing it because she felt bad and I couldn't handle her feeling like she had to do that," I clarify. Ricky barks out a humorless laugh, reaching over for a pillow and tossing it at me.

"You fucking idiot," he barks," what does it matter if she felt bad for you? If a girl wants you to spend time with her then the answer should always be yes!"

"I'm aware of that now," I shove the pillow aside," you know I suffer from lack of filter from brain to mouth."

He snickers," as do all men."

"so what should I do?"

Ricky stands from the couch," go back and apologies then kiss her like the lovesick fool you are."

"Be serious, please," I fall back against the chair. Ricky walks past, heading to the kitchen.

"I am. You keep beating around the bush and you need to be direct. Tell her how you feel- or better yet, show her how you feel- and then you two can get down to fucking like rabbits in her garage," he answers, shouting as he rounds into the kitchen. I stumble on my retort as I think about having my way with her in her shop. Her sweaty body against mine as I listen to her sweet cries of pleasure. I nearly short circuit at the thought, drooling if I could.

Ricky comes back in, hitting me on the head," Stop that, I don't wanna see if a robot can get a boner."

I shoo his hand away," shut up. That's a stupid plan."

He falls to the couch with his bowl of mixed snacks," compare to your year-long plan of injuring yourself I'd say it's fucking genius." I chuff, looking towards to tv in thought. They aren't stupid plans, they've worked every time. Even when she's been mad at me I've managed to get back in there to apologize with a well-placed missing wire. I snap my head to Ricky.

"There's an idea," I smirk," she has never said no so far." Ricky looks from the tv back to me, gawking before sneering.

"No," he points at me," don't chase that thought. For the love of God, just talk to her. You are making this harder than it has to be."

I rest my elbow on my knees," no, no. it will work. Just need your help trying to break something easily fixable and-"

"NO," he jumps up, slamming his bowl on the table," I'm not going to keep helping you hurt yourself just so you can go see her. I'm fucking done with this childish game. You need to get your shit together and talk to her like a damn adult."

I stare at him for a moment, caving quickly," but Ricky, just be a bro one more time. I promise I'll try to make some headway but for right now I just need to get her to talk with me and sh-"

"Tenna," he shouts," I can't keep doing this! I'm fucking done." he storms out the room. I shout after him, trying to plead before he slams his door. Huffing I fall back into the chair, looking to the space in thought. Well, that didn't work.

Valerie

I stew for the week, growing angrier as Christmas nears. The one time I try to reach out to him as more than his mechanic he shuts me down. How could I even hope for a second that he would see me more than that? Under the feeling of rage I have the weak sensation of disappointment and pain.

Wanting an actual friendship wasn't asking for much, right? It's not like I confessed my feeling, laying myself bare for him to judge and reject. It was a simple invitation for us both not to spend this time of year alone. I scoff, slamming my tools round harder than needed.

"Don't fucking need him anyway," I grumble," far too busy to spend Christmas with him." it's a lie but it does make me feel better. I can use the free time sorting through that horrendous filing cabinet. Yea, that's a good way to spend my day off.

I power through the week working on odd jobs, secretly holding out for Tenna to walk through the door. He never does though, staying away the whole week while I continue to stew. I don't miss him, no, far from it. It's just quiet around here, that's all. I sigh at the lie.

Christmas eve leaves me cold and alone. I try to work, keeping with the minor distractions till I'm just left numb. Some self-pampering is needed. I make myself a hot chocolate, sitting on my couch, and playing Christmas music throughout the shop. I mumble along to the overly repeated songs as I sip my drink, chewing on some marshmallows.

"Merry Christmas to me," I groan.

Nearly asleep I jolt awake at a pounding at my door. The cold leftover bit of cocoa spills on my blanket as my muddled brain tries to sort out what's happening. The pounding sounds again from the front entrance, followed by some shouting. Scared, I grab a tall wrench off the workbench as I head to the door. The second the entrance is inches open does the person on the other side barge in.

A sloppy-looking man charges in, carrying a tarp behind him. I scowl at the guy, barely noticing the heap of metal strewn across the blue tarp.

"Excuse me, what are you doing," I snap. The man lets go of the tarp with a heavy grunt.

"Help him," he glares down at the heap on the tarp. I finally take a moment to look, gasping at the sight.

"Tenna," I drop to my knees, grabbing at him. He is laid wrecked on the ground, not moving. The lights in his eyes are dim but still there. It's a minimal relief but the black scorch marks up his arms aren't.

"What happened, who are you, why is he-," I try to ask.

"He fucking shocked himself with a socket, and I'm Ricky. Now fix him so I can kick his ass when he's alright," the man growls. I nearly recoil at his volume but I can't look away from Tenna. Focusing, I grab at his arms, tearing off the panel to see the damage done. There are plenty of popped fuses, the wires leaving black marks where they meet. I reach in to find the most damage, throwing my hand back as the metal burns my fingers. I press my hand to his chest, wincing at the heat.

"He's overheating," I say as I jump up. I run over to my office, grabbing plyers and a screwdriver.

"Yea, what does that mean," Ricky asks, panicked. I shoo him aside, falling to my knees besides Tenna. Reaching for his torso again I slide his shirt up to his chest and begin to pry the plate off. Using the screwdriver I manage it easily. Looking at his bare inners I use the plyer to dig in the tiny hole near his artificial heart. I press the button deep down in there, turning him off. The light dims from his eyes as his body shuts down. The barely-there glow of his pupils is a faint relief.

"What are you doing," Ricky shouts," why did you turn him off, is he dead?"

I scoff," he isn't dead, or he better not be. I shut off most of his main functions so he can cool off while I fix the wires that he popped. He is technically still on but it's minor functions, mostly."

"Mostly," Ricky barks," can you fix him?"

"Of course I can fix him," I answer with false confidence. I think I can fix him. I'm sure as hell going to try because if this idiot dies on me I'm going to turn his body into a coffee machine. No, he won't get out of this that easy.

"yea, ok," Ricky answers, shaking a bit. Before I can start on Tenna I turn to Ricky.

"It's going to be ok, I got this. Why don't you grab my tools off the bench while you tell me what happened," I ask calmly. He nods, stumbling over to the bench while I pry off the plating on both arms. Ricky passes me the set, sitting down at Tenna's feet. I wait for him to start.

"I found him in his room after I heard a loud pop. I didn't think it came from him but when I saw him laid out jerking around on the floor I couldn't think. Gods," he rubs his face," I could kill him for putting me through that."

I rip the worn wires out, stripping them and re-welding them to his body," what did he do?"

Ricky scoffs, turning away," fucking shocking himself with the outlet. I swear, he is like a child sometimes." I scrunch my face up confused.

"Why would he do that," I ask.

"Because of you," he answers easily. I snap my attention to him, defensive and confused.

"Because of me?"

Ricky looks at me, fighting with himself before he reluctantly answers," this idiot has been making up every excuse to see you."

"So he shocked himself to see me," I ask, not really getting it.

"Shocked, maimed, dented, sabotaged. You name it, he had done it just so he had a reason to see you," he shrugs. I finish with one arm, leaving the plates off to let it cool. I start on the other side.

"Why would he do that," I wince as I burn my finger again. I feel Ricky's heavy gaze on me. Turning to him he sighs.

"Because he is in love with you and only idiots in love do stupid shit like this," he gestures to Tenna. I bark out a laugh, startling Ricky.

"No, that's not it. Why did he really do this," I shake my head amused. This hunk of junk couldn't be in love with me. That's funny in itself to assume such.

"He's in love with you. Has been since he met you," he answers. I scoff.

"I doubt that very much. He has been nothing but an ass, only coming to visit when he needs something. I consider him a good friend but I know he only sees me as his mechanic," I try to smile through the bitterness. Ricky laughs, throwing his head back as he busts a gut.

"Are you kidding me," he snickers," you two are exactly the same! Two idiots who just don't get the other."

I sneer, finishing up the wires before grabbing my soldering kit. Surely Ricky is mistaken, Tenna isn't in love with me.

"So, Valerie, are you in love with him," he asks with a big grin on his face. I fluster at the question, making him laugh again. "I fucking knew it. To think, I never met you and could tell you were as enamored with him as he is with you. If only he took my advice then you two would be spending your Christmas humping like lovesick teens," he chortles. I fluster more, wanting to roll up into a ball.

I solder the last wire, grumbling under my breath at everything. How can he go and do something like this? And just to get my attention? If what Ricky said is true then Tenna is more of an idiot than I thought. He never gave any hint that he liked me, let alone loved me. I spent the whole year feeling like shit because I adored this idiot, thinking he couldn't even give me a second glance. When he wakes up he is going to have an earful.

As I put away my tools I grab the plyers again. Stretching over his chest I press the thin tip into the hole, pressing the button. I wait for the telltale sign of his rebooting but there is nothing. I press it again, holding it before releasing. Nothing. Before I can push it again there is a loud drawn out beep.

"What's happening," Ricky jumps to attention. I don't answer, having the same question myself. Leaning over his body I stare into his eyes, the dim light extinguishing completely. My heart plummets, a cold chill running up my spine.

I jump up, bolting across the shop for my trolley. Ricky stands, asking too many flustered questions as he watches me wheel the trolley over. I grab the jump-started off the middle shelf, slamming it a tad too hard on the floor. Reaching for the two clamps I attached them to Tenna's chest. I look at the machine, ready to turn the knob. Before I can start, I check Ricky, making sure he isn't in danger of being shocked as well.

I turn the knob, a charge running through Tenna. I hold it for a few seconds. Leaning over Tenna I look for his lights, seeing none I try again. I mumble under my breath pleas and prayers. Checking again for a light I truly panic.

"No, no, no," I readjust the clamps on his body," you do not get to do this to me, you damn idiot!" I twist the knob again, asking any higher power for this hunk of junk to start.

"What's going on, is it working," Ricky asks unhelpfully. I ignore him, sitting in my own fear. I twist the knob, antsy as I wait.

It's a harsh few seconds of nothing. My heart feels like it's squeezing, threatening to pop with such force. A litter of please escape my lips as my eyes sting. He can't do this to me, he fucking can't.

"You son of a bitch," I whimper in anger," I do not deserve to find out you love me too and then have you die on me. You damn piece of shit, reboot!"

I twist the knob again, perhaps turning it a tad too hard. His body gives a sudden jolt, convulsing for a moment before he sits upright.

"Motherfucker," he shouts, clenching at his open chest. He tears off the clamps, curling into himself as he shudders. I can't describe the utter joy I feel at hearing him speak. Without much thought I grab him, pulling him into a hug. He tilts into my hold, still shaking and clenching his chest.

I grab his face, turning to me," If you ever scare me like that again I will turn you into a metal scrap cube." before he can answer I smash my lips again his less soft ones. He grunts in surprise, nearly recoiling. I hold him firm, annoyed and overjoyed all at once. Tenna melts into the actions, the hands curled against his chest grabbing at my shirt to tug me closer.

"Aw, that’s sweet," Ricky tease, smacking Tenna on the back of the head," glad you're alright but if you do that shit again I'm turning your scrap cube into a toilet." Tenna parts from me, smiling up at his friend.

"Wouldn't expect anything less," Tenna chuckles.

Ricky nods, rubbing snot on his sleeve," see you at home."

"You're leaving," I ask, watching him head to the door.

"Yea, you two have a lot to talk about. I'll get my words in later when he isn't high off you," he waves dismissively. As Ricky shuts the door behind himself Tenna and I are left in tense silence.

I look to Tenna, happy to see the bright glow in his eyes. He was nearly lost to me, left to be just a piece of fine metal on my floor. I smile at him, he returns the gesture. I then punch him in the chest, wincing at the metal. He winces, curling into himself again.

"Ow, let's not punch the injured man," he snaps. I growl at him.

"Wouldn't be injured if you weren't such an idiot," I snap," Of all the moronic things I know you're capable of, this tops the list. What were you even thinking? You could have been wiped, gone forever at Tenna the robot. Left at factory reset as a blank slate. God, I could kill you right now for being so blasé about hurting yourself!"

"I did what I had to do, ok," he bites back," it's not my fault that it's the only way you would give me the time of day."

I scoff, pushing him away," only time? Excuse me but I don't think you even bother trying a different way. Not once did you stop by for a casual chat or asked me out for some dinner. Hell, I've never even been to your place. I'm not the one in the wrong here just because you're an idiot!"

Tenna groans, starting up a sentence before backing off with a shake of his head. He tries again, falling short once more. In the end, he grabs for me, tugging my reluctant self into a hug. He drops his forehead to my shoulder, holding me sweetly.

"I'm sorry," he says simply," I've been reckless and unrefined ever since I met you. It's not your fault, I'm just a fool who has no idea what he's doing."

I tug him closer, petting at his back," yea, but you are the fool I fell in love with."

He squeezes tighter, rubbing his face against me. Tugging me into his lap we take the silent moment to bask in the glow of just being alive. I'm livid with him, beyond belief am I angry, but I nearly lost him today. That alone is enough for me to just sit in his lap and hold him.

"Do you really love me," he mumbles near my ear. I pet the back of his head, pressing a kiss to him.

"Sadly," I tease. He chuckles, leaning back to look in my eyes. He slants his lips against mine, timid and slow as he does.

"Well, I'm happily in love with you too," he says against my mouth. I tug him in for the next kiss, leisurely licking his lips and cupping the back of his head. We part only for us to rest against the other.

"I'm really sorry though," he nuzzles my head," I feel like a great idiot now."

"Truly the king of idiots, actually," I joke. He smiles, nodding in agreement.

"Can you forgive me," he asks. I nod.

"My biggest flaw is I can never say no to you," I say," it will surely be my undoing."

Tenna smiles big and wide, hands falling down to my hips to tug me close. We kiss like lovesick fools we are, straying off any more words for the enjoyment of just being here. Somehow we make it to the couch where he corners me against himself and the cushion. I fall asleep to him playing with my hair. Before I can succumb to rest I mumble to him.

"Merry Christmas."

He presses a gentle kiss to my head," Merry Christmas, love."

[pettyprocrastination]

Rip Out Our Seams and Stitch Us Together

Maxwell Lord x Valerie Lord x Black!Reader

Chapter Three

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: Straight up smut first thing in the fic, we startin’ off with a bang folks. Profanity, they stare at ur booty ;). Ur patience is TESTED by these rich idiots. 

Chapter Summary: The great Maxwell lord is having trouble focusing lately, You have your first consultation with the famed Lord couple and realize their clashing styles and all around personalities may cause an issue (or cause you to kill somebody). 

Tag List: @ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa​ @zeldasayer​ @readsalot73​ @captainsamwlsn​

Chapters: 1/2/3

(I will not stop using marilyn gifs for val she’s just so beautiful you guys hhhhh)

Max felt distracted. Muddled. He wasn’t sure what it was lately that had him in such a rut. 

“Maxwell!” His secretary whimpered beneath him, his hand moved from gripping her hair to slapping over her mouth to try and silence her nails-on-a-chalkboard like voice. He wasn’t sure if anybody outside his office heard her, and if they did he couldn't care less. They knew by now to ignore any suspicious moans or groans and keep doing their job unless they wanted to lose it. 

What she should have known by now is to never call him by his first name.  

The company was doing good, it was doing great in fact. He and Valerie weren’t spending time together, which was usual, and Alastair was home for the summer. Nothing was out of place, so why did he feel off?

Maybe it was you. 

That ridiculous seamstress with the even more ridiculous nickname and ridiculous outfits. I mean Stitches? What were you, a fucking dog? 

Delilah, the secretary currently moaning beneath him like a cheap whore, tried to grip at his jacket with trembling hands as he pulled her closer and closer to her climax with each thrust. He slapped her hands away without even looking down at her, eyes squeezed shut as he chased his own release instead of attending to hers. 

Valerie insisted he go to the “design consultation” with her today, which meant leaving his office in the middle of a goddamn work day to hear her prattle on about what color makes her feel the prettiest. Usually he’d stand his ground and refuse, but lately a break from work didn’t seem all that bad. 

All because of his goddamn secretary. 

The woman in question grabbed onto his wrist and cried against his hand, even muffled he could still hear her grating moans. Lately she’d been cuddly with him after each screw, trying to nuzzle his shoulder and ask for things like he was some pathetic sob paying for a sugar baby instead of her fucking boss. 

He’d have to fire her soon, if her whiny voice didn’t do her in, the piss poor work ethic would. 

But for a moment, when he looked down at her, with her back arched and eyes shut as she fluttered around his cock, he was reminded of that ridiculous seamstress, the little noise of surprise you made when he clamped a hand over your mouth, and just how soft your skin felt under his palm. 

Maxwell would never admit this to anybody. But that image alone made him cum on the spot. 

Maxwell Lord was a man who learned how to compartmentalize at a young age and never stopped doing so. He pulled out of the boneless woman beneath him, before cleaning himself up and tucking himself into his trousers while she laid against his desk, panting like a dog in the heat. 

Not like she fucking did anything. 

His ringed hand landed a stinging slap to her thigh that shocked her out of her blissful haze. “I’ll be out for the rest of the day, take my calls and let them know I won’t be back in until tomorrow.”

She blinked, watching owlishly as he grabbed his briefcase from his desk before walking out of his office. “Where are you going?” The way she sounded so disappointed and shaky as if he had broken a promise to her made him feel nauseous. 

He didn’t bother giving her a response. 

----

The moment his driver parked outside of the store, he saw a convertible drive up to the curb before stopping, he knew the cherry red color better than anyone, as it’s the same shade of the car he gifted Valerie for their five year anniversary. 

She stepped out, avoiding the jump in the curb as she adjusted her hair and dress before her eyes landed on his car and flashed him a condescending smile. 

Maxwell knew even though he was only two seconds later than she was, Valerie would still hold it over his head like a treat. He stepped out of the car, mindful of any gutter water around him this time and walked to his wife. 

“I wish I could say you're fashionably late at least but-” Her blue eyes ran down his suit, brand name and costly before smirking. “-you didn’t even bring that to the table.”

He let out a short humorless laugh before taking the handle of the door. 

“Oh? No witty remark about my outfit?” The woman feigned surprise as her husband raked his eyes down the baby blue dress that stopped just above her knees and fit her curves like a glove.

Valerie Lord held a doctorate and multiple books studying the human mind and the effects shaping childhood, she was an intelligent woman. Which meant she knew damn well just how good she looked. 

She just wanted to hear him admit it. 

“It looks good.” He said plainly, not hiding the way his eyes clung to the supple form of her thighs that she teased under a white sundress just last week. 

The curve in her red lips was the closest he’d gotten to an honest smile from her in ages. “You should know. You bought it for me after all.”

“I’m a man of refined tastes.” Max answered simply before giving her an almost playful swat on the ass and opening the door for her. 

The moment they entered the girl at the register from before, young and anxious, looked at them with wide eyes. A textbook laid open on the counter in front of her. 

She gaped for a moment before Valerie smiled at her. 

“Hello sweetheart.” His wife cooed, “We’re here for a consultation with the bosslady, mind letting her know for me?”

The girl pointed to an open door against the back wall. “She takes her consultations in that room.”

Valerie gave the young girl a quick pat on the cheek before walking into the room and calling out “Thank you dear!” over her shoulder. 

“Did you have to talk to the kid?” Maxwell mumbled under his breath to his wife, who scoffed in reply. 

“Well I wasn’t about to stand there in silence and scare the poor girl half to death like you were.” 

Maxwell looked at her incredulously. “I was not scar-”

His denials were cut off upon entering the room, which was laid with multiple chairs surrounding a table, covered in books displaying different types of dress and suit styles, a few fabric swatches were spread out as well. But the main focus of the Lords was on you, currently bent over, digging through a large container in the corner of the room as you grumbled and huffed, hips swaying and ass raised high in the air as if presented to them like a gift. 

One they admired greatly and for much too long to be deemed socially acceptable. 

Valerie tilted her head to the side with a little hum, enjoying the view before her just as Maxwell did, before he eventually coughed into his fist to make themselves known. 

You jumped up at an angle from surprise, accidentally thumping your head against the wall. A shouted curse left your lips as you rubbed your head. 

“Hard at work or hardly working?” Maxwell droned. 

“You're late.”

His wife smiled. “And you're exceptionally perky.”

“What?”

His elbow dug into her side. “What she meant to say was that we live busy lives. But we're here now so let’s get this over with.”

The three of you took seats at the table in the middle of the room, you handed each of them a design booklet before flipping open a blank notebook for yourself. 

“Any initial idea’s the pair of you have?” You twirled the pencil between your fingers as you spoke. “Or at least any automatic no’s?”

“Nothing too loud.” Maxwell told you. 

“Or too dull.” His wife added.

“No floral.”

“But don’t be afraid to use patterns.”

“No sparkles.”

“No tweed.”

“And absolutely no plaid.” They finished together. You stared at the list on your paper before blowing out a long breath. 

“Alright. So you don’t want anything dull, but also not loud, but no patterns, but use patterns, nothing with sparkles, or tweed and-”

“No plaid.” They reminded you in unison. 

“Uh, right. No plaid.” You didn’t enjoy them as separate people but somehow they were even worse together. “So is there anything the two of you can agree on wanting?”

“Color coordination.” Max told you. Your shoulders dropped with relief. Fucking finally. 

“Okay. Okay that I can work with.” A steady stream of ideas began in your head. The accent colors of Maxwell’s suit would match the main color of Valerie’s dress. 

“We’d have to match Alastair as well.” 

Your pencil froze on the page. “Who?”

Maxwell’s brows cinched together. He seemed offended by the fact you didn’t know who was the poor bastard who got stuck with that ridiculous name. 

“Our son.” He answered. “But don’t worry about making anything for him. He won’t be accompanying us anyways.”

“And why not?” His wife countered. She had turned in her chair to face her husband with an angry look. With each passing minute this started to feel more like couples counseling than a consultation to make them some fucking clothes. 

“Because the gala is in September, dear.” His voice was so sickly sweet you could practically feel the patronization dripping off of it. “He’ll be back at the boarding school by then.”

Of course this kid goes to boarding school. Eventually you just zoned out their argument and began to draw up ideas. It’s probably better the kid is away from these two though. God forbid you meet what type of monster they made.

“For how much money you pay that damn school it’s a miracle you don’t know their schedule. He has a two week break in September at the same time of the gala.” “For what?” Max damn near shouted. At this point you abandoned your notebook and pencil in favor of rubbing your temples. 

“I don’t know. Some dead president, I'm not on the school board!”

“Well maybe you-”

“ALRIGHT!”

The pair stopped arguing and shot back to you, eyes wide at the sheer audacity you had to shout at them. 

Nobody shouted at them. 

“I’ll make a suit for the kid, okay?” You explained weakly. “Could we please, just, get to the actual goddamn design you two want?”

Valerie stared at you, before looking at her husband who had the same “Well I’ll be damned” look on his face as her. She tilted her head to the side and he shrugged in response. 

The heavy use of non-verbal communication they had just made you feel like even more of an outsider.

“Well I don’t see why not.” Maxwell sighed, grabbing one of the books in front and flipped through the suits in it. “I blocked out the rest of my day for this anyways.” 

The pair spent the next hour and a half flipping through design books and pointing out to you what they liked and what they hated. 

They seemed to hate a lot.

But you still learned enough about them to cross out some ideas and begin finalizing others. While Maxwell could wear a solid colored dark suit, he didn’t box himself in that way. He enjoyed a notch lapel type with pinstripes, and seemed quite partial to robin egg blue given how often he pointed out the color on other designs.

Valerie enjoyed solid color dresses rather than those with patterns on them, and while she often wore clothes made to hug her figure, each gown she pointed out flared out at the waist, reminiscent of a princess at a ball. 

Their son, well you had no idea what the kid liked. But given he was a child, he probably hated most suits, as certain brands were just as scratchy as they were expensive, so you made note to find something especially soft to make it out for their child, who’s suit would most likely mirror his father’s.  

Eventually you pushed away from the table, four pages full of notes and concepts as you rubbed your eyes. “I think that will be enough for today.”

“Poor thing.” Maxwell simpered with pursed lips. “Are we tiring the baby?”

Valerie slapped her husband’s shoulder. “Maxwell don’t be rude. Of course the poor girl is exhausted. Just look at the bags beneath her eyes!”

You spared a glance up at them to place a hand over your heart. “It truly is a blessing to be working with you both. A gift if I’m being honest.”

Valerie stood up from the table and set a hand on your shoulder as you walked them out. When she walked close enough you were surrounded with the citrus perfume she wore the last time she came over. “Oh we’re just kidding. You show a lot of promise Stitches, don’t disappoint and we might just keep you around.” She bumped her hip against yours with a coy smile, you did your best to ignore the funny flips your stomach did at the suggestion of them liking you so much they return for your work again and again and again.

“Which wouldn't be that hard.” Maxwell smirked at you and waved a blase hand through the air while the other opened the door for his wife. “The standards aren’t set very high given the fact that your own sense of style has you dressing like a hippie liberal arts teacher.”

The door slowly closed behind them as they walked to their cars, but before it could shut completely you poked your head out to say. “Those are some mighty big words coming from the guy dressed like a car salesmen with a secret latex fetish.”

Even with the door shut you could hear his wife’s shrieking laughter. 

Authors note: Slooooowwww burrrrrnnn babey.Now that they consultation is done we can move on to these assholes just bursting into your store to “see your progress” and then TENSION WHILE GETTING THEIR MEASUREMENTS. Also Maxwell lord is so starved of actual chemistry and love that the mere thought of a woman he may be actually attracted to he BUSTS that second lmao. Alastair will be included in the fic!! Wrote headcanons for him last night n i got all soft and emotional. But no joke writing this fic and doing headcanons for it is honestly so fun and relaxing for me so if you want to be tagges or talk hcs PLEASE send them my way I love this ot3 of power bisexuals. 

[davidthetraveler]

David’s Fic-Rec Friday:  2020/04/10

Hey guys.  Sorry about missing last week, and being so late this week.  Definitely going to try more at getting this done early and efficiently.

But I still managed to get six new entries for you all for this week.  So then, let’s get cracking.

Learned it from the pizza man by TalesoftheEnchantedForest (Tumblr Account Unknown)

Our first entry is a Human AU featuring Prinxiety.  Virgil is trying his best to get through his shift delivering pizzas.  But on the last delivery of the night, he ends up getting kissed without warning by the handsome man who placed the order.  Even if he feels like dying of embarrassment, he figures he can just move on with his life so long as he never sees him again.  Unfortunately, he ends up having to go back less than a week later.  But the man, Roman, explains that his brother dared him to do it, and apologizes profusely for violating the sanctity of consent.  Virgil accepts the apology, and when he points out that he actually rather enjoyed the kiss, other than it being completely unexpected, Roman offers him his phone number, and Virgil vows to always be the one delivering to Roman’s apartment.

This does feature nonconsensual kissing and both Remus and Deceit in roles that aren’t quite unsympathetic but would certainly qualify as chaotic or morally neutral.  But if you can get past those, it’s a wonderful story with a sweet conclusion.

Admiration and Calculation by Volumes_Too_Logan (aka @volumes2lo-gan)

Our second entry is a nice Logicality oneshot.  Logan has taken note of how Patton becomes flustered whenever he is complimented by the other sides.  And he’s a little startled to discover his own emotional reaction to seeing the father figure figment’s response.  As part of an experiment, he asks Patton to put together a puzzle with him one day, and the carefully worded responses he gives not only turn Patton into a frazzled blushing mess, but manage to fill his whole body with a warmth that, while strange and unusual to the logical side, is absolutely not unwelcome.  With only some minor angsty mentions, this is a wonderful story of a nerd falling in love with a dad, and using science to prove how adorable said father can be.

Smiling Up At Me by MagpieMorality (aka @magpiemorality)

Another Logicality story, this one set in a High School AU.  Patton and Logan have already been through the whole “I like you, you like me” conversation.  But Patton’s still unsure if that means they’re actually a couple.  That is, until he discovers that Logan has set a picture of Patton as his phone’s lockscreen.  Logan is embarrassed for Patton to see this, but Patton responds by showing him that he’s already made Logan his own lockscreen.  And maybe that’s really all the confirmation the two young men need.  A very sweet story with just the slightest hint of angst, so no worries there.

Breakfast by fandomsandanythingelse (aka @fandomsandanythingelse)

Breaking out of this week’s unintended pattern, here’s a Human AU featuring the Sunshine Gays.  Roman is always so grateful for his husband Patton.  And one morning he hopes to show his love with a surprise of french toast in bed.  Unfortunately for him, Patton wakes up and comes looking for him, only to spoil the surprise.  But not even that can spoil a wonderfully perfect breakfast with the man you love.  Nothing to worry about here, just pure unadulterated fluff.

Be There For You by MagpieMorality (again)

The darkest entry in this week’s list, this High School AU sees Roman attempting to ask his crush to the homecoming dance with a fresh bouquet of roses, only to be rejected in front of the entire school.  While the rest of his fellow students simply whisper at his distress, his best friends Patton, Logan, and Virgil all do what they can to hold him together as he deals with a broken heart.  And in the end, the three friends are a much better recipient of such a loving gift.

This story does feature rejection, unrequited love, and public humiliation.  But its message of the true love of friendship more than makes up for its darker tones.

Light to my Dark by bisexualpicklewierdo (aka @bisexualpicklewierdo)

Finally, to close out the list this week. we’ve got a very sweet Prinxiety story that hits rather close to home for me.  In this human AU, Virgil has finally worked up the courage to tell his crush Roman how he feels, and with some encouragement from Patton, he decides to do so through Patton’s coffee shop’s Open Mic Night.  But his hopes seem dashed when Roman starts spending a lot of time with Valerie to prepare his own entry for the event.  Anxious thoughts plague Virgil as he begins to fear that Roman might not only not return his feelings but might have also already be in a relationship.  But then, Logan will always remind us how dangerous it can be when you jump to conclusions without all the facts.

Other than some anxious thoughts and a mention of unrequited love, this story is truly heartfelt and wonderful and most definitely deserving of your time.

*****

And this week, for our first reader suggested Featured Fic Writer, we have:

maxiswriting (aka @max-is-tired)

A long time supporter of the Fic-Rec Friday Project, Max is also an accomplished writer in their own right, with over forty Sanders Sides fics under their belt as of this posting.  They are definitely worth a look.

*****

Well, that does it for this week.  Be sure to give these stories and their authors some love and attention with some kudos, some comments, and even a bookmark or two.  And remember, I’m still taking suggestions for Featured Fic Writers and for new stories to feature, so long as they fit the necessary requirements.

In any case, I hope you enjoy this week’s selections.  If you’d like to see previous weeks’ recommendations, or learn more about the Fic-Rec Friday Project, you can find all that on my Fic-Rec Friday Masterpost.  And if you’d like to be added to the Fic-Rec Friday Tag List, or are already on the list and would like to be removed, just let me know and I’ll take care of it for you.

See you all next week, and happy reading!

General Tag List:

@ultimate-queen-of-fandoms2 @panicattheeverywheremcr

Fic-Rec Friday Tag List:

@kunnuglegur-tortimandi @max-is-tired @creativity-killed-thekitten @the-fangirl-sunstorm

[ninaxmikkelsen]

TASK 002 - CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT QS

x nina mikkelsen.x

TW: violence, anxiety & murder

what are 3 flaws your character has? first and foremost, she’s so undeniable scared and anxious of every little thing, which is understandably. nina’s also a little emotionally immature. she really wants to be loved and cared for. she’s a hopeless romantic, or at least she wants to be, but she’s so scared of letting anyone come that close, into the reality of her situation. so she ices people out from getting too deep. and finally, she’s got quite the temper when it comes to certain things, specifically work related. though it comes out as bursts of frustration rather than anger..

what are 3 insecurities your character has? well, her biggest insecurity is her entire personality. which to most would be strange aspect to feel so insecure of, but for nina; she doesn’t even know who the fuck she is anymore. most days she feels like a mime that takes attributes from others and makes it into her own after lying for such a long time, and that hope of rose sondersby being in there, has long gone. so she’s left feeling like an empty bullet casing that just witnessed a violent crime and was left empty afterwards. her other insecurities stem from not feeling like enough, so she’ll overcompensate for that, as child she was an overachiever and even then, her mother never showed any affection towards her. somewhat related is that feeling of not being experienced in a regular life, like little things just seem bizarre to her.

what is something your character is most proud of? nina is most proud of actually being alive, even if she’s not doing much living. just given the prior circumstances, she’s so incredibly lucky to be alive. so her most admirable trait is that will to live, to survive and stand against injustice, which came with a great personal cost that has tested her above and beyond, so that’s what she’s most proud of being durable in a complex situation.

where does your character feel most comfortable?  she feels most comfortable alone at home, in the lanes. perhaps a pile of work to do or something to keep her mind busy. also, some bad television is often involved.

where do they feel most uncomfortable? during any sort of conflict, be it a mild disagreement or argument. she feels extremely uncomfortable if she’s not in the driving seat of the situation. so she’ll often storm out or go quiet if it gets a little to overwhelming.

what are some hobbies of your character? she doesn’t have any real hobbies, maybe chugging down on tequila? ha! can’t do that anymore. her work as florist serves a certain purpose by keeping her mind busy, but the only healthy way she emotes is by going outside for walks. strolling around town until anything that bothers her makes sense or she’s too tired to continue.

are they more extroverted or introverted? maybe a little mix of the two? i would say she’s an introvert that desperately wants to be an extrovert. so she’s much more comfortable being on her own because that’s what she knows ( and that’s a little bit out of fear of the unknown ). buuuut, she still wants to be around people, she in dyer need of any connections and feels the need to socialize.

does your character have any scars, how did they get them? so she has a few childhood scars, like most people do; mostly on her knuckles after being a rascal. the most recent scars are mainly on her back and upper body after getting violently scratched by branches and debris when she escaped the first safe house which had been compromised. there are multiple little scars, so she avoids anything too revealing and often opts for turtle necks. something that could be perceived as conservative fashion.

what is/was your character’s relationship like with their mother and/or father? nina has never met her father, and actually believes that he’s passed away before she was even born. even if there’s no evidence to back up that claim. the relationship with her mother is so complicated to say the least, they haven’t spoken since the incident that led to her arrival to san amore which was 8 years ago. as a child, she played the part of being the perfect daughter and dutifully followed her mother’s directives to a tee. nina even looked up to her mother at one point, but ended up resenting her for not ever being there for her. so now, as ugly as it is, her mother’s dead to her.

have they any siblings, if so, do they get along?  no siblings.

has your character ever had a reoccuring dream or nightmare, what happened? nina has struggled with restless nights for a very long time and is never quite rested. mostly due to the nightmares she experiences, it could be a replay of events that have happened or more recently she’s had a reoccurring dream of being chased by a dark looming figure which wakes her up dead in the night sweating bullets.

what qualities does your character look for in a friend?  friendships for nina aren’t really planned out, they just happen on their own. that being said, the biggest thing she actually does seek out in connections with someone, is that they’re not the prying type or ask too many questions. it’s important that they have a similar humor. so something that just feels natural and easy to be around.

what qualities does your character dislike in others? narcissist is big no or anyone that pokes her temper, constantly and on purpose. it’s a long thread until she’ll get fed up but once she does, she’ll ice them out. also, clinginess is a major dislike. as an introvert ( with extroverted traits. ) she can’t handle being with someone 24/7 and their source of entertainment. then of course, the obvious; she does not like nosiness.

how does your character react to confrontation - are they a fight or flight? definitely flight and that’s been proven in the past. it’s the sole reason behind her being alive, because in that fight, flight or freeze moment; she chose to run. that had a heavy cost on her mental well being because she could’ve maybe kept one of the officers at the previous safe house alive if she had stayed, but then would’ve lost her own life. so it’s this survivor guilt that’s lingering always in the back of her head.

how easy or difficult does your character find it to say ‘i love you’ to someone?  very difficultly, that’s something she’s never had to utter before since she’s stayed far away from any romantic / close friendships. she did love valerie though, as a person and a friend which is quite heartbreaking.

have they ever said ‘i love you’ without meaning it?  no, never!

what does your character believe will happen to them after they die? are they in fear of this belief?  there isn’t a lot of fear of death itself for nina, or what happens afterwards. it’s the fear of dying before she’s done her purpose and having an opportunity at living a life without the restraints that it currently has.

how does your character react toward children?  well, she refers to them as little devil spawns which is not great. as a child, she hated kids and she’s never had to be around children, being an only child. so there was never really exposure to what wonders children can bring into life. though that’s about to change real soon.( hehehe.. she might be pregnant )

does your character have any fears? if so, what are they?  SO MANY. this could be an essay tbh! most, if not all of her fears stem from one thing and that’s illya. he has inflected so much fear and uncertainty into her life that it scares so much. also, blowing her identity is a very real fear of hers and where she has to be careful in normal day to day life not to make one wrong move.

if your character could relive one memory they have, which would they choose and why?  if she could go back and relive on memory, it’d be the night that everything turned upside down and not for the reason one might think. nina would want to go to the beginning of the night. where everything was so exciting and thrilling with valerie. maybe to just take a peak into her old self, the old naivety of the world she had and get an idea who she once was.

[lefaystrent]

Five Times

Fandom: Thomas Sanders, Sanders Sides

Pairings: platonic Analogical, mentions of prinxiety

Summary: There were five times that Virgil’s path crossed with Logan Sanders. Each time memorable, each time helping to shape Virgil into the kind of person he wants to be.

AO3 Link

There were five times that Virgil’s path crossed with Logan Sanders.

The first memorable moment had been in first grade, back when he’d had a different name and different pronouns. Logan had been an oddball of a child. He was the new kid in class, his family moving over from across the sea, and instead of that winning him ‘cool’ points, most of his classmates thought his English accent was funny and something to be mocked. None of the others really wanted to play with him, not that it seemed to affect him either way. Similarly, nobody wanted to play with Virgil, or Angel as he’d been called then. But that was because she was shy and hardly spoke a word, therefore she was boring.

One day during class, they were all coloring pictures. Angel didn’t understand why, but Logan walked up to her desk to inspect her drawing. She didn’t have anything against the boy. She never joined in with the other kids when they called him stupid names. But she never intervened either, and Angel wondered briefly if Logan was upset about that and wanted to tear up her picture in revenge.

Blue eyes gauged the paper in a serious manner, and it reminded Angel of when her dad was talking about adult stuff to other adults. Logan had that older look about him, despite his scrawny size.

At length, Logan set down a crayon on her desk. “Here. Purple’s your color.”

Then he walked away with no explanation.

They never spoke to each other for years after that, though Angel would always remember it as a curious thing. The next time their paths crossed was the summer before ninth grade.

Angel had always felt out of place, whether it was at school or with her personality and body. It was a time when she still didn’t know who she was, much less what to do about it. And then she met her best friend, a girl named Jeanne. She was one of the popular girls and had seen how timid Angel was and took her under her wing some time ago. She was seen as the all-around ‘nice’ girl who everyone liked, and Angel was proud to claim that they were best friends.

In the middle of June that summer, Jeanne had a party at her house. Problem was, her parents weren’t home.

“I thought you said Valerie and Dahlia were gonna be here,” Angel whispered to her shortly after arriving.

“They are,” Jeanne laughed. “There’s just a few more people here too.”

A few more turned out to be over twenty teenagers, many of them who Angel knew but hardly spoke to. Jeanne’s family had a beautiful large house, the kind that everyone recognized and all the kids talked about having something similar when they grew up. It was able to fit all the guests, but it was still crowded and made Angel nervous. She had told her dad that she was only hanging out with a few of her girl friends. If he found out about this . . .

Jeanne tried to convince her to lighten up, to get excited. All Angel felt was resigned. She couldn’t leave because then Jeanne would think she was lame. It didn’t stop her from wishing she was home though, especially when the longer the party went on, the more Angel realized that Jeanne’s parents didn’t even know that the party was happening.

There was loud music and games, and at some point Jeanne got some of her parent’s alcohol out. Everyone wanted to try some and pretend to be adults, and the one time Angel attempted to whisper to Jeanne about them being underage, she brushed her off.

“We’re about to be high schoolers. We should start acting like it.”

If this was what it meant to be a high schooler, Angel wanted to stay in junior high forever. And yet, there was a part of her that questioned if she was being too sensitive. Jeanne was just helping her overcome her own shy, boringness. And Angel didn’t want to be shy and boring for forever.

So that’s how Angel found herself playing a game of spin the bottle. When the bottle landed on someone, the two chosen players went to the closet to have seven minutes in Heaven, apparently.

What surprised Angel was not so much her own willingness to participate in such a game. That paled in comparison to seeing Logan Sanders of all people there. He didn’t look like the kind of guy who went to parties. He was still the weird kid, and Angel wasn’t sure how many friends he actually had, but there were more people amused by him now.

“What I’m saying is that everyone has their own perspective of what Heaven is. It’s different for everyone.”

“What does that even mean, Logan?”

“It means that someone’s Heaven could consist entirely of jelly. What if I wanted seven minutes in jelly Heaven?”

Everyone in the circle cracked up. The only people who weren’t laughing were Logan and Angel. Angel was merely watching. Meanwhile, Logan looked strangely invested.

“Whatever, Logan,” someone said, a guy from their baseball team. “Just spin the bottle.”

Logan gave up his debate and spun the bottle. When it landed, there were whoops and hollers, and the next thing Angel knew, she was in a dark closet with Logan Sanders.

“It’s dark in here,” Logan said needlessly.

“That it is,” Angel agreed. She could hear the party go on outside their little space. Barely a foot in front of her stood Logan, nearly a head taller than her. Not that she could see him. She could certainly feel his presence and hear his breath, and her heart should be racing at the thought of what they were supposed to do, so why did she feel so calm?

“Do you like jelly?” he asked.

“Uh . . . yeah. I like it on toast.”

“So a heaven filled with jelly wouldn’t be too much to ask, would it?”

“I don’t have any jelly on me.”

“That’s okay, I forgive you,” Logan said, and she couldn’t tell if he was joking or not.

Maybe this was why she felt calm. The people outside that door were expecting them to do obscene things like regular teens would, but Logan had never been a regular teen.

They ended up sitting on the floor squished together. They talked about random things like jelly heaven, and Angel never questioned it. Likewise, Logan appeared to appreciate her never questioning the topics and allowing the conversation to flow unimpeded. It was surprisingly easy to talk to Logan once you accepted his odd trains of thought.

Inevitably, Angel asked why Logan had come to the party.

“You’re friends with Jeanne,” he stated, and for a second she thought he meant that Angel had something to do with him being there.

“Yeah?”

“You know her cousin, Roman.”

“Yeah.”

“He’s friends with my brothers. Sort of.”

“Sort of?”

“It’s complicated. Baguettes aren’t really that useful in a sword fight.”

“I see,” she said, though she really didn’t.    

Angel would never get to hear the full explanation. She’d later assume that Roman had something to do with Logan being at the party that day, but as it was at that moment, Jeanne’s parents returned home early.

And boy were they pissed. They killed the music and Logan and Angel could hear Jeanne’s mother’s voice, shrill with anger, chewing her out. All the kids were kicked out, and Angel and Logan sat quietly wondering if the seven-minutes-rule still applied or if they could leave. They sat there awkwardly until the door opened. It was Jeanne’s dad and they nearly gave him a heart attack.

Jeanne’s parents knew Angel, and even though she hadn’t even been doing anything with Logan, they still called her dad and told him everything. After that, Angel was grounded and wasn’t allowed to hang out with Jeanne anymore.

High school came and with it came changes.

Angel became Virgil. Same anxious, confused mess true, but a mess that strived to feel more comfortable in its own skin.

Virgil made new friends. He stopped agonizing over how a girl was supposed to act and look. He allowed himself to enjoy the fact that guys were easier to connect with.

As for his best friend, he and Jeanne didn’t speak anymore. It wasn’t as big of a loss as Virgil first thought it would be. Virgil had admired Jeanne’s popularity and kindness for a long time, but Virgil deserved friends who wouldn’t force him out of his comfort zone, and Virgil felt all the more confident in his decision to stay away from Jeanne after seeing how fake she became in high school.

Years went by and Virgil didn’t see much of Logan Sanders. They were in different classes, and when the students weren’t in class, Virgil was hanging out with his friends. There was Patton, sweet and sometimes naïve and Virgil’s go-to person for when he felt overwhelmed. Then there was Roman and Dee, his gaming buddies. Emile was a chill guy and they mostly talked about tv shows of similar interest. Remy, Emile’s boyfriend, ran a ‘black magic’ club that Virgil was a part of, but they pretty much just played Dungeons & Dragons the whole time.

The third time Virgil had anything to do with Logan Sanders was during their Junior year. It was winter and apparently raining literal buckets, according to Logan.

“I guess it’s true when they say humans don’t look up enough. I should have looked up,” he said, plucking at his drenched shirt morosely.

Virgil had found him on his way to the gym for PE class. Logan had been sitting outside by himself on an out-of-the-way bench. Virgil almost didn’t stop but he’d seen the pinched look to Logan’s face and how he was sitting out in the cold in a wet t-shirt.

“You said Roman did this to you?” Virgil asked, confused. Why would Roman target Logan Sanders of all people? They never had anything to do with each other. Roman practically lived in the drama clubroom, and Logan stuck to quiz bowl type groups.

Logan shrugged. “Not on purpose. He’s in a prank war with Joan. You know Joan? Yeah, I tripped the bucket that was meant for them. My fault for not looking up.”

Virgil heaved a huge sigh. Now that sounded more like Roman. Idiot.

Speaking of idiots . . .

“Why are you just sitting out here then? You’ll freeze like this.”

“Probably for the best,” Logan said, nodding as if he’d always known it would come to this. “I didn’t have another shirt, and I can’t go to class like this. So I’ll just sit here.”

“Don’t be stupid. Come on, get up.”

“What?”

“I said get up,” Virgil ordered, waving his hands for the other to follow him. Realistically, he should have considered the fact that he and Logan weren’t friends and he was under no obligation to listen to him. He could have snapped at Virgil and would probably be justified, except the fact that he was literally freezing out here, but he didn’t even seem to register that fact.

“Why?” Logan asked. It didn’t sound like he opposed getting up, just that he wanted a good enough reason to. God, Virgil knew he was weird, but was he really this stupid too?

“Because you’ll freeze like this. Honestly, you could have asked a teacher or something for help.”

Logan glanced down at his shoes. He rubbed them in the dead grass back and forth. “I didn’t want to bother anybody.”

It occurred to Virgil then that Logan might not only be weird but socially anxious as well. Actually, that might explain why he was so weird or awkward in social situations. Maybe he had anxiety issues.

Virgil revaluated him, taking an extra minute to really look at Logan. Did he not have any friends he was comfortable enough with to seek help from? If that was the case, there was only one thing left to do.

“Here,” Virgil said, shrugging off his hoodie and offering it to him. Virgil had owned the thing for years, loving how it swallowed his figure with its bagginess, like a protective blanket. Virgil felt exposed without it on, but he couldn’t just walk away either. “You can go take your shirt off and put this on. If you zip it up, no one will notice you’re not wearing a shirt underneath.”

Logan blinked at the offered hoodie. He tilted his head slightly. “You want me to strip right here?”

If Virgil were more easily embarrassed, He would have blushed (because he didn’t doubt for a second that Logan was crazy enough to follow through on that). As it was, Virgil was more exasperated than anything. “No, I meant that you could take this to the bathroom and change.”

Logan nodded, accepting his explanation but not the hoodie. “I don’t want to touch it at the moment. I’m all sticky.”

“Uh . . . what?”

“I’m sticky.”

“Yeah, I heard that. I meant why?”

“Roman filled the bucket up with Kool-Aid. It was strawberry flavored.”

Who knew why it was important to Logan to specify the flavor, but that might explain the red tint to Logan’s skin. And here Virgil just thought it was the cold.

“Of course Roman filled it with Kool-Aid,” Virgil said, shaking his head. He gestured for Logan to follow him again. “Whatever. You can just go to the bathroom and wash off the best you can then before you put it on.”

Logan obeyed this time. Virgil stood outside the men’s bathroom while Logan cleaned himself up. Nobody stopped to question why Virgil was standing there in the hallway doing nothing while classes were in session. More than likely, the staff were mixed up in dealing with Roman and Joan and the mess of Kool-Aid. Virgil would bet money that Logan had walked off after getting the bucket dumped on him, otherwise a teacher wouldn’t have let his wet-self go sit outside in the cold. Or maybe he’d stayed long enough for the principal to show up and while the pranksters were getting chewed out, Logan slipped away to avoid the confrontation.

Virgil glanced at the closed bathroom door and checked the time on his phone.

At this rate, he’d be marked absent in PE.

He remained by the door, waiting for as long as it took.

After more time than what was probably needed, Logan came out looking far more dry and wearing Virgil’s hoodie. It was simple and black, not at all distinguishable as Virgil’s. That meant none of his friends would be able to tell he had leant it, though truthfully Virgil wasn’t ashamed of being associated with Logan. As far as Virgil knew, he was an okay guy.

“Thanks. This feels better,” Logan told him.

Virgil looked him over, spotted what was missing, and asked where he had put his shirt.

“Oh, that? I threw it in the trash.”

“But . . . that was your shirt.”

He shrugged. “It was wet and sticky and I didn’t want to carry it around. Besides, it’s not like it’s a family heirloom or anything. I can get another shirt.”

“Well, you’re not wrong.” But he wasn’t exactly right either.

He plucked at the dark material, looking vaguely unsure. “Want me to give you back your jacket before the end of school?”

Virgil waved him off. “Nah. I’m not gonna make you go home shirtless. Just get it back to me tomorrow.”

“Technically, I’m shirtless right now.”

“Technically, you know what I meant, so shut up.”

“Only technically,” Logan agreed. But he nodded and for the first time, Virgil saw a little smile light up his face.

Virgil looked around himself, figured this was where they parted ways, and said, “We should probably get to class.”

Logan looked around as if just noticing that education was going on around them. “We’ve already missed the first fifteen minutes of class. We might as well miss the rest.”

What kind of logic was that?

Virgil raised a brow. “Are you suggesting that we skip?”

“Not suggesting. Actively doing.”

Virgil snorted. “Alright. But if we just stay in the hallway, someone’s gonna notice.”

Logan considered for a moment, glancing down the hall. “Want to go to the band room? No one should be in there at this time.”

Virgil didn’t question how he knew this, nor did he feel uncomfortable at following Logan to some secluded place in the school. If he had survived seven minutes in heaven with him, Virgil would be fine here too.

“Lead the way.”

The next morning when Virgil arrived to first period, he found his hoodie neatly folded on his desk. In one of the pockets he found a doodle of a bee.

Curiously, the jacket’s material had a smoky aroma to it. Virgil didn’t recognize it as cigarettes. It was something cleaner and more appealing, not unlike incense or sage. Over the next few days, as the smell faded bit by bit and was replaced again with his own, Virgil wondered at the boy he had lent it to and thought many times to approach him. Virgil could use the excuse of returning his doodle, but he kept rethinking that plan. For one, he didn’t know if it was left intentionally or not. And for another . . . he’d grown rather fond of using it as a bookmark. He was hard-pressed to let it go now.

An opportunity never seemed to come, or so Virgil told himself, and the days turned into weeks and then some. Occasionally, he remembered their time skipping class together, the minutes spent talking about things that did and didn’t matter, as well as things they couldn’t understand at all. Virgil could recall the distinct feeling of what resonated between them, as if they were flowing down a river with no end in sight, but that was alright because the current was a gentle one.

It wouldn’t matter if his friends thought him strange for suddenly wanting to hang out with Logan Sanders. They probably would have gotten on with him too, in time.

But Logan never approached Virgil either. Virgil would think about that too sometimes, if the reasons that held Logan back were similar to his own. Because it’s just easier to say, “I’ll try tomorrow, definitely,” until it becomes a lie. And then, eventually, it becomes nothing at all, because there’s more to life and distractions are plentiful.

Virgil completed his high school education and kept on with school. He and his friends were accepted into the best college in the state and it was only natural that when they moved away from home, they all moved in together. They rented a three bedroom townhouse, with Virgil and Patton rooming together (because Dee’s sanity depended on having a safe space of his own and all of them needed a safe space from Roman). The four of them were incredibly different, having varying interests, areas of study, goals for the future, but they made it work.

For years, Virgil forgot about Logan Sanders. He had his college education, his friends, work, a few relationships here and there. The most surprising relationship was between him and Roman. It happened rather suddenly, one night of tension snapping and spanning into other nights. They were exhilarating, pleasurable, but neither knew what they really wanted outside of that and they were left in a limbo that didn’t specify what they were to each other.

And yeah, it made Virgil the fool for putting off confronting things, like he’d done many times just because it was easier. He let things be until he couldn’t run away from the consequences. It’s not like you can ignore life growing inside of you, and there’re only so many positive pregnancy tests you can get before denial can’t protect you anymore.

But Roman . . .

He wouldn’t accept it.

“We can’t be parents. Can’t you just, I don’t know, do something about it?”

This didn’t fit in with Roman’s plans, and it wasn’t as if they were really together, was it?

So Virgil did do something about it. He packed his stuff and went back home to his dad. The most humiliating part of it all was the look his dad gave Virgil. It would have been better if he’d given him the whole, “I knew this would happen,” argument. Instead, his dad simply supported him in his time of need, hugging him and telling him, “I’m here for you, kiddo.”

Virgil didn’t want that. He wanted a fight, to let out all of the pent-up frustration. He wanted to scream, because how could Roman suggest giving up their child, or worse, killing it? How dare he?

But more than that . . . how dare Virgil? How could he have been so careless?

And that’s how he came to be sitting at a bar in his hometown. An untouched margarita sat on the polished wood before him. Part of him hoped the bartender would sense he shouldn’t drink alcohol. Then he could yell at Virgil. Tell him what a disappointment he was. At least then he’d be listening to someone else say it rather than listen to the voice repeating it inside his own head. He wanted to guzzle the drink down, confirm what a horrible person he was by tainting what was inside of him.

“You look like you really don’t want to drink that,” a man said from the barstool beside him.

Virgil shook his head, peering down at the liquid. “No, I’m just . . . getting warmed up for it.”

“Like the artist who does warm-up sketches to put off the true painting?”

“Sure . . .”

“You know, sometimes the warm-ups turn out to be more beautiful than the original intention.”

Was he implying something here? Did someone finally sense that Virgil shouldn’t be here and was admonishing him? He had wanted that, but now it angered him.

Images of Roman’s face flashed in his mind, the strained look he wore when Virgil had gathered the courage to tell him. The gleam of disbelief in his eyes right before it was squashed by unrelenting rejection.

“I’m just twenty-one,” Roman had said, as if Virgil wasn’t too. They were both too young, too in-over-their-heads. But only one of them had the luxury of withdrawing, to not deal with it and favor childish simplicity instead. “Can’t you just, I don’t know, do something about it?”

As if it could be swept under the rug and forgotten.

And in this moment at the bar, just like he had back then with Roman, Virgil turned and asked coldly, “What do you mean?”

Blue eyes stared back at him, much sharper and calmer than Roman’s brown hues ever were.

The other shrugged. “Technically, I was only making an observation on art processes.”

Virgil blinked, his ire sizzling out as he stared hard at the lanky man sitting beside him. He felt like he was missing something important. “Technically?”

“Only technically,” he agreed, nodding, but it was only when he gave a small half-smile that Virgil recognized him.

“Logan?” he asked, not hiding his shock.

“Virgil,” he returned, greeting him naturally like they met up at the bar often.

Of all people, Logan Sanders had found him and was sitting beside him. He honestly hadn’t changed much in neither appearance nor personality. Did Logan think the same about him, or did he look different?

“What are you doing here?” Virgil asked.

Logan jutted a thumb over his shoulder. “My brothers. We come here occasionally.”

Virgil glanced behind them at a table towards the wall where similar looking men sat. All three heads at the table ducked as they found something else to stare at. It was odd, to remember that Logan had brothers but to have thought he would never meet them.

Then again, Virgil didn’t think he would meet Logan Sanders ever again.

“What are you doing here?” Logan repeated Virgil’s question.

He couldn’t help to be defensive. “Why do you want to know?”

Logan’s eyes narrowed minimally, a small sign to show that he’d noticed and was curious. “Fair is fair.”

He wasn’t wrong. He’d answered Virgil first. Wouldn’t he be an ass for refusing to answer him too?

Virgil wanted to be an ass tonight. He wanted to tell people to fuck off and leave him alone.

But this was Logan Sanders and Virgil still used his bee doodle as a bookmark to this day. Something about it all made it impossible to project his anger onto him. In the end, he felt put-out and sulky.

“I don’t know what I’m really doing here,” he admitted. His fingernail grazed lightly down the stem of his glass, his full glass that he knew from the beginning that he wouldn’t really drink. “I guess I just wanted to get away for a while.”

“That sounds like a horrible idea.” Upon receiving an incredulous look from Virgil, he amended, “I meant coming to a bar to get away. If you really want to get away, you should go somewhere with no people. Like a deserted island.”

Virgil snorted, and once he saw how Logan maintained his serious expression and realized he wasn’t joking, he surprised both of them by laughing.

“Are deserted islands really that funny?” Logan asked, genuinely confused.

“No, it’s just that most people can’t really afford to run away to a deserted island.”

“I’m not disputing that. Ideally, that would be the case. But like you said, most people can’t achieve the ideal. So we content ourselves with as close as we can get, or the illusion of it anyway.”

Virgil gazed at him and recalled the feeling of being swept along by a gentle current. It was so refreshing that he asked, “Where do you go then? When you want to get away?”

Logan stood from the barstool. “I could show you if you want.”

Virgil dropped some cash down by his drink to pay his tab and let Logan lead him out of the bar. His brothers watched them go with questioning looks, no doubt wondering where they were going. Virgil wondered where they were going too, and he wanted to voice the question aloud.

But in a weird, undefinable way, he trusted Logan Sanders.

They walked together down poorly lit streets, neither one of them speaking. Occasionally, their arms would brush and the feeling was a comforting one. Along the way, Virgil imagined that Logan would take them back to their old high school and to an empty band room again. Did he remember that afternoon? Did he think back on it fondly?

Did he ever regret not saying anything the next day?

They eventually stopped at an apartment complex. Logan apparently lived there.

“You brought me home?” Virgil asked, more amused that he had actually brought him home than mad about any implications that might have entailed. This was Logan Sanders after all. When playing a game of seven minutes in heaven, he would sit on the floor of a closet talking about jelly rather than make-out.

“You did ask me where I went to get away,” he said. They stood shoulder to shoulder, both of them looking up at the building, pondering it. “It’s a place that’s changed over the years, but ever since I moved out from my family’s home, my apartment is my safe haven because it’s just me here. I don’t have to worry about how people see me.”

Then he welcomed Virgil inside. It was a cramped, one-bedroom apartment with a lot of clashing furniture and decorations. Parts of it would be incredibly minimalistic while others were filled with clutter. Virgil examined the tapestry in the living room, a design of a tree with swirling branches in shades of gold, black, and red. Logan told him it was the tree of life, a design derived from a historic royal palace. From peeking at the overflowing bookshelves, Logan had a large interest in history and mythology.

They made their way to the bedroom and found themselves laying on the bed. Both of them stretched out on their backs, staring up at the ceiling as if there were stars there.

For hours they talked. Logan contributed the most to the conversation. He had a lot of thoughts built up, plenty of things to say now that he had someone to listen. And Virgil, he appreciated having something new to think about. He didn’t mind listening to a different point of view. In fact, he wanted to hear what Logan had to say about one matter in particular.

“Logan, you know how you said you like being here because you don’t have to worry about how people see you?”

“Yes. What about it?”

“What about how you see yourself?”

Logan was quiet for a time. For several minutes, Virgil could only sense his even breathing. He wanted to turn his head, to see if those blue eyes were closed and if he had fallen asleep. But Virgil’s eyes were fixated on the popcorn ceiling. His own breath quieted as much as possible, too afraid to miss the answer.

“You have to live with yourself,” Logan said at length. “You don’t have to live with anyone else, but you do have to live with yourself.”

You just have to deal with it. That’s what he was getting at.

It wasn’t that reassuring or alarming. It was simply a fact, what was to be expected.

They fell asleep like that. The next morning, Virgil woke before Logan. He had curled up into Virgil’s side, not exactly on him but more pressing against him, his face nuzzled into his shoulder. He frowned in his sleep, like he dreamt of puzzles with missing pieces that wouldn’t let him fully rest.

Virgil left a note for him before he let himself out. He was grateful to Logan, but there were things that he needed to do.

He had to live with himself. But it was up to him whether or not he was the kind of person he liked to live with. And right now, he wasn’t.

But he would be.

It was a hard journey, accepting himself and what had happened and—most importantly—how to deal with the aftermath. His father had given him time to work the stress out. He grieved for friends he thought he could trust. He shook in fear at this new unstable future. And although it hurt, he picked himself up and forged ahead, if not for himself than for his child.

The first thing Virgil did was transfer to a closer university. If he was to keep the baby, he’d need to swallow his pride and accept all the support his dad offered. It would be more practical living here, allowing him to raise his child in a good environment while also continuing his education.

The second thing Virgil decided was to cut ties from his friends. They were Roman’s friends too, and with how Virgil left with no explanation to the others, Roman had probably given them his side of the story without any consideration for him. They were probably on Roman’s side, and with his words still flashing through Virgil’s mind from that day, Virgil wouldn’t allow himself to be hurt like that again.

As could be expected, his friends tried calling him a lot. Roman did too. Whatever his reasons, Virgil couldn’t care less and blocked his number in vindictive satisfaction. If he wanted to make amends and actually be there for the baby, then he could put in the effort to come see Virgil in person. It’s not like Roman didn’t know where he had gone.

Surprisingly enough, someone did put in the effort to come check on him, but it sure as hell wasn’t Roman. It was early June and Virgil was six months pregnant when he opened the front door to find Dee. Of all his friends, he would have thought Patton or even Emile would be the one to come around, not Dee. He stood there uncomfortably, shoulders hunched, hands stuffed in his pants’ pockets. His eyes immediately zeroed in on Virgil’s round stomach.

“It’s Roman’s, isn’t it?” he blurted.

Virgil was so shocked that all he could do was stand there with his mouth open, struggling to say something. Dee seemed mildly alarmed, though whether that was at himself or seeing Virgil pregnant, he couldn’t tell. He averted his gaze to a bush beside him. His ears reddened.

“Sorry,” Dee said. “It’s just—well, I guess it all makes sense.”

“What?” Virgil asked, finally finding his voice.

“Why you and Roman got into that big fight. Why you left. He said you were ditching us, but it’s his, isn’t it?”

Virgil should have expected things to go like that, for Roman to leave out the problem altogether and blame Virgil. If Roman just ignored the existence of a baby he helped create, he wouldn’t have to worry about it, right? And if he didn’t tell their friends about it, then it was like it didn’t even exist.

And here Dee was on his doorstep, telling him that Roman had made him out to be the bad guy. Because if Roman couldn’t be the hero, he’d make do with being a victim.

It pissed Virgil off.

“What are you doing here?” he asked through gritted teeth. If not to tear the scab off of a wound that hadn’t fully healed, had Dee come for curiosity’s sake?

Dee fidgeted, crossing his arms and grumbling, “You didn’t come back, and you didn’t answer any of my texts or calls. It wasn’t like I was worried or anything.”

Just like that the anger dissipated and Virgil was crying. It caught him off guard, the swell of emotion, but not as much as it did Dee. His eyes were wide as saucers and he held his hands up as if to ward off the tears. He started stammering in a frantic rush.

“I was only stopping by to check on you. But if it upsets you that much, I’ll just go—”

Dee tried to turn to leave, but Virgil caught him by the wrist and pulled him in for a hug. Neither of them had been outwardly affectionate people, and the hug was made even more awkward by Virgil’s pregnant belly and the fact that he was crying all over Dee. He squirmed, freaking out.

“Do you want me to leave or stay? Which is it?!” he yelled in distress.

“Stay,” Virgil croaked out.

He had decided to cut off ties from his friends, but Dee had done what even Roman couldn’t be bothered to. He showed Virgil that he cared about him, and that was all he had wanted. That’s all he had wanted from Roman, to see some sign that he . . .

But he wasn’t going to show up. Somewhere deep in his heart, Virgil had hoped he would. Unconsciously, he’d been waiting for him.

It seemed he still had a ways to go.

Following that day, Virgil’s resolve deepened. Dee stayed for a while, and they talked things out and caught up. He’d been skeptical of Roman’s excuses, and his behavior as of late had become unbearably obnoxious. Dee moved out at the end of the Spring semester and now lived with his older sister just one town over. He’d be finishing out his education at a college there.

Virgil let Dee back into his life and found how much he had missed having friends. Since moving back in with his dad, any old friends from his high school days that he happened to run into didn’t get much past the, “Hey, how’ve you been?” pleasantries. That or gossiping about his pregnancy and getting his pronouns wrong.

There’d been Logan Sanders too, of course. They hadn’t exchanged numbers, but Virgil knew where he lived. He could have swung by his apartment at any time. Logan wouldn’t have turned him away, Virgil knew that. And he would have liked to talk to Logan, just like last time, and hear the calm tone of his voice as he enlightened Virgil with his eccentric considerations and pragmatic perspective.

What stopped Virgil was the note he had left him.

‘I want to be the kind of person I want to live with.’

You had to live with yourself. That was the lesson that Logan taught him.

And if he couldn’t be happy with himself, he would at least find contentment somewhere. He burned the notion into his head: the next time he saw Logan, he would have it all sorted out.

Months became years. Virgil gave birth to a baby boy and juggled family, friends, and college. After graduating, he convinced Dee to give living together another shot. They worked well together, and his son was already learning to call him uncle. Dee would play it off with a frown, but secretly Virgil knew that it warmed him.

One day, not long after his son’s fourth birthday, Virgil picked him up from school. Almost immediately after getting in the car, the child dozed off in the backseat. Virgil smiled at that, peeking glances at his little boy in the rearview mirror.

On the way, Virgil spotted a car pulled over on the side of the road. A man stood towards the back, looking over where one of the tires had blown out.

He almost didn’t stop. It wasn’t his problem, and if the guy couldn’t figure out how to change a tire, then he could call for someone to help him, right?

But the way his head hung low, and his shoulders hunched high, like he’d given up . . .

Maybe Virgil was reading too much into things, applying sentimental crap where he shouldn’t, but the point was that Virgil’s heart clenched and his foot eased on the brake pedal. He pulled over, a bit ahead of the man’s car.

He got out, closing his door as quietly as he could. Virgil wasn’t nervous about approaching the stranger. Okay, he was always nervous, but it was daylight, and the road wasn’t exactly abandoned. Plenty of vehicles came through this neighborhood. How many had passed though while the man had been stranded here? How many had labeled him as someone else’s problem?

Stupid bystander effect.

Virgil’s shoes clopped down the shoulder of the road. The man of course had noticed him pull over and watched him the whole walk over with a curious expression. He was tall, lanky as ever, hair brushed back and prickly cheeks in need of a shave, but Virgil recognized him right away.

“Logan?” he asked, hardly believing his luck.

Logan leaned back slightly, blinking at him like he had seen a ghost.

Virgil worried for a moment. “You . . . remember me, right?”

He looked him over and nodded slowly. “Virgil.”

Virgil managed a relieved smile. “Small world, eh?”

He shrugged. “We live in the same town. We were bound to run into each other sooner or later.”

Always so literal. Virgil shook his head and crossed his arms, leaning his shoulder into the side of his car. “Actually, I don’t live here anymore. I live over in Arcadia now. We were just on our way to go visit my dad.”

Logan tilted his head. “We?”

Virgil recalled that night Logan had invited him back to his apartment. He’d been pregnant with a boat load of problems weighing him down, and he’d held back from telling Logan about any one of them specifically.

Virgil glanced back over his shoulder. Suddenly he felt like being more open with him.

“C’mere,” Virgil said, waving him forward. “I want to show you something.”

It was a surreal experience, seeing Logan again after so many years and finding him here of all places. It was strange, sensing him trailing behind him, inquisitive as ever. Virgil stopped by the window, and they both looked in to see the sleeping face.

Before Logan could question him, he answered, “His name’s Thomas.”

There was a long silence where Virgil let the implication sink in. He watched the slight reflection of Logan’s face in the glass, the way his brows were furrowed deep in thought.

“I always thought that you would be a parent,” he confessed randomly. Virgil could have pointed out that lots of people were parents and that it wasn’t an unlikely hypothesis for him to have about Virgil, but it was the fact that Logan must have thought about this subject at length during some point of knowing him, and it tickled Virgil in a peculiar way. He laughed. Logan just looked at him questioningly.

“You know, I always planned to come by and see you again,” Virgil admitted. If Logan was confessing random thoughts, he might as well too. “I really wanted to.”

Logan shifted his stance. Virgil would say that he looked uncomfortable, but it was more like he never expected Virgil to say something like that and simply didn’t know what to do with the information. He settled for the obvious, logical approach. “Why didn’t you?”

Virgil stared out at the passing cars, up at the cloud covered sky. A chill wind picked up and brushed his bangs against his face, reminding him that winter was around the corner.

“Because I wanted to be a different person when we met. A better person. Someone who had a handle on his life. Someone I could be proud of.”

“And do you?” he asked, his eyes boring into Virgil’s. “Do you have a handle on your life now?”

It wasn’t an easy thing to answer, but if nothing else, Virgil had always been honest to him. “Sometimes I think so.”

Logan’s hands were hidden in the pockets of his jacket. It struck Virgil how much older he looked, and he wondered if he saw Virgil the same way or if he had aged by his view.

“We don’t ever have control of our lives. Not really,” Logan said. “You wanted to wait to see me until you were a different person? If that were possible, I’d say that was incredibly . . . sad.”

Virgil’s stomach plummeted for a brief moment at the thought that Logan—Logan Sanders—would make fun of his efforts.

He must have seen the hurt on Virgil’s face. One of his hands reached out, to touch his face or shoulder or something, but he was an awkward kind of person, like Dee, and so he lowered that hand again.

“I don’t know why you would want that.” His voice was soft, frustration edging along the lines of his words.

Virgil’s nails dug into his palms. “You don’t have to know. I don’t need yours or anyone else’s approval. If I want to change, that’s my choice.”

“You’re upset,” Logan pointed out needlessly. He shook his head. “You misunderstand. I meant if you were a different person, then you’d be gone, and that would be sad. I like who you are.”

“Oh.”

So he hadn’t been insulting him. He was still just really bad at socializing.

Virgil scratched his cheek, embarrassed. “Well then, what was all that about people not having control over their lives? You made it sound like the work I put in to better myself was pointless.”

“Not pointless. You can’t become someone else. You can only be a better you.”

“That’s what I guess I was going for then. I understand that.”

“Do you really believe then that you have a lot of choice in life?”

They were doing it again, like they tended to do. Diving in deep headfirst and getting lost in the stream of conversation.

Virgil scuffed his shoes against the asphalt, mulling over his question. “I didn’t peg you for the ‘fate believer’ type.”

“I’m not. I think people have a degree of control over where they end up. But sometimes, no matter how prepared you are . . .”

“Shit just happens?”

His lips twitched up. “I was going to say that things beyond our control interfere, but yes, your way of saying it sums it up too.”

“Things like a tire blowing out?” Virgil asked, gesturing to Logan’s crippled car.

“Among other things,” he agreed. There was more to it lingering underneath that statement. How had his life been since Virgil last saw him?

“You know how to change a tire?” he asked. If he didn’t, Virgil could offer to do it for him and that would give him a chance to talk more with him. It wouldn’t take too long, and Thomas would nap the whole time anyway.

Logan shook his head. “In theory, but I lack the tools to do so. My brother is on his way. He should be here in a few minutes.”

Guess that plan was out the window then. Virgil struggled to think of something else, a segue back into the topic he wanted. If there was something going on with Logan, he would like to help him.

“Virgil,” he spoke, breaking him from his fumbling thoughts. “I like to be in control of myself.”

“. . . yeah?”

“But as I’ve said, I don’t think we truly have control over our lives.”

“To some degree.”

“To some degree, technically, but all the same, when it comes down to it, shit just happens, as you said.”

“Right.”

“And I think that . . .” Logan paused, tapping a finger to his lips as he came to his conclusion. “I think that’s one of the hardest things a person must accept.”

Virgil thought on it long and hard, trying to see what he was getting at. In the end, Virgil nudged his shoulder with his. “It doesn’t mean that good things don’t happen that’s out of our control. Just look at Thomas. I thought my life was over when I got pregnant with him. I thought I lost pretty much everything. And I used to be so . . . angry . . . about it.”

There were times when he didn’t think he could make it through, when the safer corners of his mind reached out to him and told him to give it all up. If Roman could throw away responsibility, then so could Virgil. It was his life to do with as he pleased.

But it wouldn’t have been a very proud life, one that he could live with himself in, and that made all the difference.

“But when life throws you a curveball, you throw it right back.” Virgil smiled at Logan’s expression. “It’s something my dad says. It’s lame, but he’s kinda right. Things used to suck, but I’m glad I pushed through. I love Thomas and I love being a parent.”

“What if the metaphorical ball hits you hard?” Logan asked seriously.

Virgil leaned forward and smiled wider. “Then throw the ball back even harder.”

A truck pulled up behind Logan’s car and a tall red-headed man stepped out. He exchanged greetings with them, and though he put on a polite enough face for Virgil’s sake, he could tell that he was put out by his little brother.

As he dutifully left to change the car tire, the two of them watching him go as they stood side by side, Logan whispered to him, “I think he’s annoyed with me.”

“He still came,” Virgil pointed out. “That’s the important part.”

Logan eased at that. He turned to face Virgil fully, hands back in their pockets. “Thank you for stopping, but I don’t want to hold you up. I know you had somewhere to go.”

“It wasn’t any trouble,” Virgil said, though he did glance at Thomas’s sleeping face and consider that they should be heading on soon. “And it’s not like I actually helped.”

“You helped,” Logan denied firmly, meaning something entirely different.

For a few seconds, the atmosphere between them grew heavy. Lots of things were unspoken between them, lots of chances lay ready for the taking. But Logan’s shoulders weren’t hunched anymore and his eyes were brighter than ever.

“I guess I’ll be going then,” Virgil said, moving to take his leave.

Logan nodded, backing away slowly as he watched Virgil round the car to the driver’s side. His hand grazed the handle. It’d be easy to pull it open and forget about the niggling in the back of his mind. To hop in and not look back.

He looked back at Logan. He was still watching him, as if he’d been ready for Virgil to call back to him.

“Hey Logan?” he called.

“Yes?”

Virgil bit his lip, gaze searching him in an effort to etch the memory into permanence. Logan waited for him, patient as always.

“Back in first grade,” he started, “the first time you spoke to me, you told me that my color was purple. Do you remember that?”

“I do,” he said, surprising Virgil that he would remember that long-ago, seemingly unimportant experience.

“What did you mean by that?”

Logan stared into the middle distance, head gradually moving from left to right. “I have no idea.”

Virgil opened the door and slid inside. All the way to his dad’s house, he had to stifle his laughter.

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[khadij-al-kubra]

Imagine, if you will, FtM single dad Patton and little anxious kid Virgil. Based off of “Rockabye” (Acoustic Version) sung by The Mayries. Patton is kicked out of his house after coming out and his trashy bf dumps him after finding out Pat’s pregnant. Pat works day in and day out to support Virgil and one day, he meets Logan. Single dad Lo with little maniac energy Roman. Logan, I dunno let’s be cheesy, own a coffee shop and meets the overworked dad and it’s just Bam. Love at first coffee.

Okay, I just listened to the song and….literal tears! ~TT^TT~ I absolutely ADORE this idea! The Patton angst hurts my heart but luckily i’m good at taking angst and making fluff! So Lets take this wonderful idea of yours a step further lovely anon! [Disclaimer, long post ahead] Picture this:

Rockabye AU:

Logan was divorced from his wife Valerie because they grew apart. The union ended amicably and even though Logan got majority custody because the mom travels a lot for work (part of why their marriage didn’t work out) Roman and his mom do still have a healthy relationship even if they don’t see each other often. She and Logan actually make better friends than they ever did as husband and wife!! XD

His coffee shop is right next to a University where he substitute teaches part time to help with the bills. And his coffee shop is called the Logos Roast (because he roasts people with logic and that is the ONLY pun he will ever admit to making XD). The coffee shop is popular with students and professors, so along with the sub work he makes a fairly comfortable living.

Roman is all over the place, energetic, imaginative and on the autism spectrum (because I SAY SO) yet Logan loves him to bits!!! He encourages Roman’s imagination and love of the arts by reading him classic fairytales and myths from all different cultures and will play violin (yes he plays violin to relax because why not?) for him. It’s one of the only two things that’ll calm Roman. The other being his super soft & soothing stuffed dragon he takes everywhere. They both also share a love of astronomy, and sometimes Roman will make up stories with them.

There’s a corner of the coffee shop with chairs and bookshelves for people to read in and Roman will often be found there either coloring or reading grimms fairy tales. Logan has to take his son to work with him somedays, and it’s tough helping customers AND keeping an eye on his son.

He meets Patton one day when the stressed single dad comes in and orders a hot chocolate with a shot of espresso, whipped cream and cinnamon, holding his small six year old son on his hip. Logan is immediately smitten but notices the sadness in Patton’s soulful blue eyes, yet he still has this tired yet hopeful and bright smile. Logan says hi gently to Virgil, smiling in a way that the normally shy child actually opens up to a bit. Virgil has selective mutism (again why not? because i say so) and his Papa has been teaching him sign from a book borrowed from the library. Logan catches Virgil signing something and signs back (he took ASL in college). He gives Patton the order and writes a line of Shakespeare’s sonnet on the side. Logan also offers (with Patton’s permission and checking no allergies) Virgil a chocolate chip cookie fresh from the oven, his treat. Patton reads this, sees Virgil’s tiny smile,  and smiles so brightly. 

Logan is head over heels!!! He is not good with emotions. He is all books and logic and organization and keeping a modicum of control in order to support his son and keep his once chaotic life (divorce be a bitch) under control. But Patton has now become the X factor in his life and honestly, he doesn’t want to subtract him from the equation. Not this bright beautiful soul.

Patton comes to the Logos Roast at least twice a week now as a treat, especially because it’s by one of the places he works at. He and Logan start talking more and more, little by little and form a bond. Patton wont admit to himself how much he likes Logan though. Mind you, he finds Logan EXTREMELY attractive. But Patton thinks he has no time for romance and frankly has been guarding his heart like a dragon’s hoard ever since is ex abandoned him and their child. So while he’s willing to be friends with this kind and brilliant single dad (you bet your ass they bond over that and share parenting tips), he refuses to fall in love.

Virgil and Roman even get to becoming friends, which both dad’s are very happy about. Even though Roman normally has a lot of energy and doesn’t have much of a filter, Virgil and him bond over mutual love of disney. (it helped that Virgil was wearing a Winnie the Poo shirt from goodwill under a patched up oversized Jack Skellington hoodie) Six year old Roman learns to tone it down around the shy and sound sensitive anxious Virgil, because he intuitively understands what it’s like to get sensory overloads. And Virgil happily listens to Roman rant about his favorite subjects and stories he makes up. They also both like to draw together when their dads are busy. Patton is so happy and proud that his bright but shy son finally found a friend!

One day Patton comes in and he looks more tired than usual (which is saying something) and Logan can’t help but ask what’s wrong, and his tone is so sincere and gentle that Patton burst into tears. It’s been a HARD week for Patton, between balancing his jobs as a waiter at a diner by the waterline at night, working part time at an animal shelter (which he actually enjoys), and working as a janitor on weekends. He hates the diner job most of all because his boss is also horrible and leers at him, stupid hips and chest; he didn’t used to mind his body most days,it gave him Virgil after all, but he HATES being seen as a girl AND leered at, and it’s not like he can afford a binder. Patton does his best to make time for Virgil and keep him in school, or at least tame him to the public library, but he’s tired and overworked and after five years on his own he just doesn’t know what to do anymore!!! And he’s so scared that social services might take Virgil away from him if they think he’s not able to take care of his son, and Virgil is all he has left in this world, he just cant LOSE HIM!!! Patton promised Virgil the day he was born that he’d give his son the life he deserved someday but it’s so HARD! He just can’t do it alone! He just weeps.

Logan’s protective instincts kick in and he immediately tries his best to calm Patton down, even going around the counter to embrace Patton. this is the first time they’ve touched beyond hand brushes and they both just melt into each other. Logan asks his co-worker Remy to cover for him while he takes Patton around back. Remy’s been seeing their obvious chemistry for a while now and agrees happily. 

With gentle comfort and encouragements, and after talking the man through some breathing exercises, Patton finally tells Logan his whole story. By the end Logan is FURIOUS at this douchebag and Patton’s family for abandoning him and Virgil (whom he now adores) for his gender, sexuality, and child. But he also now has even greater admiration for Patton, this forlorn yet hopeful and bright as sunlight soul who’s become the object of his deepest affections, more so than anyone else in his life! (well next to his son of course)

Logan offers to help Patton. He wants to because not only has he come to care for Patton and Virgil both, but because he knows that Patton is capable of so much more in his life, of doing great things for himself and others, if he just had a little more support. Logan asks Patton to let him be his support for now, or for as long as he let’s him be. Logan emphasizes his last please with a kiss to the back of Patton’s hands. ANd as he hold them and they look into each other’s eyes, Patton see’s just how much Logan means this and means to him. He nods yes, and two days later, he and Virgil have moved in with Logan.

Patton insists on “earning his keep” by offering to cook and help keep the house clean. Since Logan is actually a pretty terrible cook, both he and Roman are actually really grateful to have Patton’s help in the kitchen. Plus, his food is HEAVENLY OH MY GOSH!! Logan offers Patton a job at the coffee shop part time as the baker, and because of this he is able to quit his diner and janitor jobs. Patton couldn’t be happier. Even Virgil seems happier and is sleeping better knowing his Papa isn’t so stressed and sad anymore. Plus it helps that they aren’t sleeping together on a mattress in a cold one floor apartment.

Overtime Logan and Patton grow closer and closer, and they get along really well with each other’s sons. Logan is a great source of calm and quiet for Virgil, and Patton actually has the energy and effervescence (as well as the patience) to keep up with Roman. They can’t help but laugh and blush however when one day they come home from work to find a messy kitchen, a battery candle lit dinner, and their two eight/nine year old sons covered in food bits waiting for them. (the boys may have gotten the idea from The Parent Trap XD)

Finally Patton and Logan officially start a relationship. Patton opens himself up again, Logan subtly yet significantly becomes better at displaying his emotions, and Logan even helps Patton through his dysphoric days. Logan always assures Patton that he sees him for the strong, kind, handsome man that he is and not as a woman. Yes, Logan is attracted to both men and women, but he fell for Patton’s soul, not his body. And Patton feels the exact same way, because okay, he admits it, he ADORES Logan! They balance each other out in way neither of them ever knew they needed. (plus their chemistry is, well, brewing quite nicely in other ways on nights when uncle Remy and his partner Dante offers to babysit the kids ;D )

When they have a holiday dinner with Logan’s family over they all get to meet the Patton and Virgil they’ve heard so much about. Turns out Logan’s got a big family since his parents are polyamorous. So he has two moms, a dad, an enby and three sibling. All of whom welcome Patton with open arms. (give my boy a better family than his birth parents goddamnit!) During dinner, Logan makes a fumbled nervous but heartfelt declaration of love for Patton, gets down on one knee, presents a ring to Patton and asks if he will give him the honor and joy of becoming his husband? Patton of course says yes.

They have a simple wedding with close friends and family on the university campus with a reception in the library. (it’s a fancy ass university and Logan pulled some strings). Patton wears a fetching suit, complete with his brand new binder that Valerie (because yes they met, logan did gush to her about him over phone calls, and became besties) gifted him. And to everyone’s slight surprise Logan decided to wear a silvery wedding dress with a midnight blue blazer over it, because screw gender constraints he wanted to look and feel elegant on his wedding day to the most beautiful man he’s ever met, and Patton is in joyful tears. and of course Virgil and Roman are the flower boy and ring bearer. 

They become husbands, Patton feels loved for who he is, Logan is the happiest he’s ever been, Roman has a new Papa and brother, Virgil has a new Dad and brother, and they all found family in each other. While Patton may have started out scared an alone, he got back more than he ever could’ve dreamed for himself and his son. Safety, family, home and love. More than that, he was finally able to keep his promise to his baby boy. For that, it was all worth it.

THE END!!! I hope you enjoy it anon and everyone because holy heck did i cry writing this but ADlsjkfa THANK YOU FOR THE IDEA!!!!

[svrsxsnp]

Protego

Chapter 5: Home

Weeks had passed since that night. You and Severus were speaking still. You were surprised when that following morning he spoke to you like nothing had happened. You’ve carried on like that since. Now, weeks later, you find yourself feeling weird that you never addressed it. You wouldn’t worry about it today though as after class you were returning home for Thanksgiving. You will be gone for almost four days and you didn’t want to leave on a sour note. Your last class leaves wishing you a safe trip as Severus comes into the rooms. The class grows silent and rushes out. You stop yourself from laughing.

“I will always admire your ability to clear a room,” you say and he gives you a stern but joking look.

“You know, I did come here to offer to go with you to the airport so you didn’t have to travel alone but,” he turns and puts his hand on the door. “I can just leave I guess.”

“No, no, no,” you say and you rush up to stop him. You place your hand on his and you both jump at the touch. You pull away. “I would love for you to go with me. Sucks you won’t be able to get on the plane with me. That part of the trip will be so lonely.” You can feel your heart drop at the thought. “Oh, wait,” you say and rush off to your room. You left Severus there looking confused until you came back out with a polaroid camera. You snap a picture of him. “I wanted to take some pictures to bring back and show Valerie and my friends.”

“And so you’ve taken one of me?”

“Well, yes. Valerie and I have talked about you. She wants to know what you look like,” you say put the camera up to your face to look through the hole. “And maybe I need something to look at when I miss you. Now smile!”

“No, I have a reputation to uphold. What if someone saw me smile?” You mock him in a deep tone that sounded nothing like him but it got a good laugh out of him anyway. You snapped the picture.

“Gotcha!” You say and immediately pull the picture away so he can’t take it.

“Let me see this thing,” he says and turns the camera towards you. You strike an over-the-top obnoxious pose. He laughs and takes the picture. Once it develops he starts laughing again. “Oh I’ll treasure this forever,” he says and slips it into his pocket.

He takes you around the school to get pictures of certain things and with the professors. When you took a picture with McGonagall she takes the camera and turns it on you and Severus. He actually pulls you close to him, you can feel your cheeks flush when he places his hands on your waist. McGonagall smiles and makes an “aww” sound and you laugh to make yourself feel less anxious.

“So, do you have all of your pictures?” he turns to say to you after the picture was taken

“Yeah. I’ve just got to grab my bags and I’ll be ready,” you say and you both head to your room. After gathering up your things you head to Hogsmeade Station to board the train. For most of the ride, you discussed how the class should go the two days you’re gone.

“Don’t traumatize my students too much,” you say and he chuckles.

“I’ll try not to,” he says just as the train stops. You have to take a taxi to get to the airport. It’s a silent ride. Once at the airport Severus grabs your bags for you. Inside there is a short wait before you can board your plane so you sit and talk for a bit.

“I’m going to miss these talks with you, Sev. I’m going to miss our walks to the lake.”

“I am too. I’ll have to find another professor to go with.”

“Don’t you dare.”

“Maybe Professor Sprout?” He says and you both start to laugh. The laughter subsides when it’s announced that you can board the plane now. Severus looks sad when you stand and turn to tell him bye.

“Don’t forget about me, yeah?” You say to him but he doesn’t respond. He just stares at you with a sad expression. “Sev, are you okay? You ask and he moves forward and holds you in a tight hug. It felt like it lasted forever. The second he pulled away you could tell that he was more for him than you. He leans down, his face inches from yours to whisper in your ear.

“Don’t worry, I won’t forget about you,” he whispers and kisses your cheek. His lips were soft. He leaned his forehead against yours. His mouth was so close to yours. You could feel his breath on your face. You look up into his eyes and tried to read what he was thinking. He lingered there for a minute but pulled away. You say your goodbyes and you board the plane. You sleep most of the flight.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You wake up about thirty minutes before you land. In a small bag, you had with you are the pictures you had taken at Hogwarts, You take them out and look through them. You start with the two you took of Severus. You flip through them until you get to the picture McGonagall took of you and Severus. This was your first time seeing it.

You felt a lump in your throat like you might cry. You see yourself mid-laugh blushing. You see Severus’ hand tightly on your waist. When you look at him he isn’t looking at the camera. He’s looking at you. He’s smiling. The way he’s looking at you makes your heart melt. You touch your cheek where he kissed you. You put the pictures away for the rest of the flight putting the pictures of Severus in the back.

After landing and getting off the plane you start to look for your friends. They were supposed to meet you here when you landed. You wait another twenty minutes and they finally arrive. They all come running up to you.

“Sorry, we’re late,” Valerie exclaimed pulling you into a hug. “We got stuck in traffic. It’s monstrous out there and you know no-maj’s can’t drive worth a damn.”

You step to look at all your friends. Valerie had traded in her fro for long braids and she was still in her suit from working at MACUSA. Two of your other friends were with her. There was Abby, who was a quidditch player. She had very long blonde hair as straight as a pencil and the brightest blue eyes. Next to her was Brandon. He had long brown hair. He had been Theo’s best friend and ever since everything happened your relationship had been weird. You can only imagine what it would be like now.

“You must be starving,” Abby says. “We made reservations at your favorite restaurant. We need to get all caught up.”

You leave and head to a no-maj restaurant. You let Valerie, Abby, and Brandon fill you in on all that you missed here before you told them about Hogwarts, Severus, and eventually Theo. After telling them about Hogwarts and classes and the other professors the topic of Theo came up. You told them everything that happened. When you finish everyone was silent.

“I just can’t believe he would do this,” Brandon says.

“I can’t believe he’s still alive,” Valerie says and you can see Brandon look uncomfortable. “I saw what happened during that fight. I saw you kill him.” You all sit in silence unsure of what to say. Abby breaks the silence.

“On a lighter note, Valerie tells us you have a man?” She smiles.

“Oh, no,” you say blushing and stumbling over your words. “He’s not- we’re not together.”

“They’re both interested in each other but neither will get up the courage to ask the other out,” Valerie says for you. You all laugh.

“Thanks for that,” you say grabbing your bag. “I do have some pictures.” They all scoot closer together so they can huddle around you to see the pictures. You go through them one by one. Your classroom, your office, the professors. You stop with each picture to explain them and then enchant them so they move. You get to the picture you took with McGonagall and you hear Valerie mumble something that sounded like “so that’s her.”

Finally, you get to your pictures of Severus. The first picture is him looking stern and confused. You stare at it for a minute. He was very handsome you had to admit. He had this little crease between his brows and when he is concentrated or frustrated and you thought it was adorable. The second picture is him laughing. He was so beautiful when he laughed. He clearly didn’t do it a lot but you loved it when he did. The final picture is of him looking at you. Valerie and Abby both let out a simultaneous “awww” when they see the picture.

“Look at the way he looks at you!” Valerie says.

“He’s so handsome,” Abby says. “He’s, like, dark and mysterious.”

“Tell us about him,” Brandon says.

You tell them everything. Valerie interrupted every once in a while with things you had told her. Abby had tears in her eyes when you told them about Lily.

“Wow,” Brandon says. “That’s rough. You know he blames himself.”

“He was apparently really close to death,” you say staring off into the distance. “I don’t know a lot about it. I didn’t ask him but he almost died during the battle for Hogwarts.” Everyone is silent. You can feel tears fill your eyes. “I’m glad he didn’t,” you say and you pick up the picture of him looking at you. You had enchanted it to move. You scan every inch of the image. You, mid-laugh, the small smile on his face, his eyes resting on you, his hair resting lightly on his shoulder and you notice that it had gotten a bit longer since you met him. Finally, you look at his hand on your waist. You felt your heart jump at the sight. For the first time, you realize how much you miss him. You wished he could be here with you.

“You miss him, don’t you?” Valerie asked you. You nod. “Well, let’s go to the store, get some snacks, and head to your mom’s place and we’ll stay up all night and watch movies. Let’s try and cheer you up.” You nod and the four of you get up to leave. When you arrive at the store you grab a blender and some things to try and make homemade butterbeer.

“What’s all that for?” Brandon asks.

“To make us only the best drink to ever exist,” you say and you head to check out with things to make butterbeer and a bag of bugles and squeeze caramel sauce to drizzle on them.

“You eat the weirdest snacks,” you can hear Severus say in your head and you miss him more. Butterbeer was your thing to do together and now you’re sharing it with your friends. Would he be hurt by that?

Once you make it home you hesitate to knock on the door. You and your mother were never close but she was your mom. You’re sure she missed you. You knock and after a few minutes, she opens the door. There is a small smile on her face. You set your bags down and she pulls you into a tight hug and you realize she might miss you more than she is letting on.

“It’s so nice to see you,” she says and looks past you. “All of you. The house has been so empty. Come on it. Eris, I want to hear all about Hogwarts and what it’s like.”

Everyone goes into the kitchen while you and your mom sit in the living room and talk.

“I didn’t think you cared all that much for all this magic stuff,” you say to her after talking to her about your classes. She had shown genuine interest in them.

“I realized I haven’t been the most supportive. It’s not like you asked to do magic.”

“Thanks, mom. I appreciate that.” You look through the pictures together trying to avoid showing her the picture of Severus looking at you when you show her the other two you took of him.

“Don’t let her skip that last picture, Ms. Osbourne. Look at the way that man looks at her. He’s so in love,” Valerie says putting a chip in her mouth. You shoot her a look and hand your mom the last picture.

“He’s so handsome, dear,” she says. “Are you dating?” You blush when she asks this.

“Not yet,” says Valerie. “But if I have anything to do with it they will be soon.”

“What does that mean?” You say standing. She just winks at you. “Valerie!” You grab the pictures from your mom and head into the kitchen after Valerie.

“I just mean that maybe I’ve been sending letters to someone else at Hogwarts.” You feel the room start to spin around you and you have to sit down in one of the dining chairs and lay your head in your arms on the table. “Are you okay?” Valerie says and she sits next to you and places a hand on your back. When you lift your head there are tears in your eyes.

“I really thought that he was going to be standing in this kitchen when I came in here. Is that dumb?” You asked looking at everyone in the room. They shake their heads.

“Of course not,” Abby says sitting on the other side of you. “You miss him. It’s understandable, sweetheart.”

“Come here, let’s make those drinks you were talking about. I’m sure that will make you feel better.” You nod and move over to the counter to set up the blender. You reach into one of your bags from Hogwarts and pull out a recipe from Madam Rosmerta and a special ingredient. Both Severus has somehow managed to get her to give him so he could surprise you with it. You follow her instructions and make each of you a butterbeer. You grab some glasses for each of you and fill them.

“Bottoms up!” Abby says and you all take a sip. It’s nice and warm and tastes almost the same as hers. “Wow Eris. This is really good.” Abby and Brandon agree with her. You stand around in the kitchen laughing and joking for a while until the phone rings in the living room. Your mom’s head peeps around the corner with the cordless phone.

“Eris it’s for you,” she says and extends her arm out to you. You’re confused who it could be. The only people who could call you are here with you. For a minute you’re scared it’s Theo but you see Valerie and Abby smiling wide. You put the phone up to your ear.

“Hello?”

“Hey there,” you hear Severus’ voice say. You put your hand over your mouth. A tear runs down your cheek. “How was your flight?”

“Uh, fine. It was fine,” you say stumbling over your words and you head out through the backdoor in the kitchen and sit on the back porch to talk to him in private. “How are you calling me?”

“I might have taken a small trip home just so I could use a phone. Valerie gave me the number to call. I really just wanted to make sure you made it home okay.” He paused for a minute before he resumed. “It was so hard letting you go knowing that anything could happen to you and I won’t be there to stop it.” You knew he meant Theo.

“I’ll be okay, Sev. I promise.”

“You can’t promise that. At least put some protective spells over the house. Please.”

“Yeah, of course. I will do anything to ease your mind.”

“I’m sorry for being so intense. I just want to always be there to protect you. I don’t know what I would do if anything happened to you,” he says and you melt. You feel the same about him. You can’t imagine what your life would be like now had he died during the battle for Hogwarts. You try not to think about it.

“It’s fine, honestly. I’m flattered you care so much for me. I don’t know why,” you say and you can’t get the rest of the words out. You don’t think you’re deserving of it.

“Don’t you dare think you’re not worth it. I swear if you think that I will come down there right now and prove you wrong.”

“I’m not worth it.”

You hear some scuffling on the phone and you think he’s dropped the phone. You hear him scramble to pick it back up.

“You said that just to see if I’d actually come down there.”

“Maybe,” you say and bite your lip. “I miss you.”

“I’ve been looking at your picture all night.”

“So have-”

“I think I’m falling for you, Eris.”

[ilovemygaydad]

Friends in Dark Places [ch 8]

pairing: eventual moxiety, eventual logince, background eventual remile, background eventual remy/emile/deceit

WARNINGS: worry, anxiety, mentions of panic attacks, food mentions, eating, rants about nutrition, boredom, logan being a mother hen, possibly something else

tag list: @hufflepuffgirl01 @cocobearthe4th @cas-is-a-hunter@band-be-boss-blog @theunoriginaldaisy

a/n: so i have to repost all of these in a different format! yay fucking me!!!! please consider reblogging these if you’re a fan of this series because it’s all fucked up now

first - previous - next - companions

consider buying me a coffee (please)

-

Virgil

Sent at 11:30 am

um, hey pat. where do you guys sit for lunch?

Virgil stood awkwardly at the side of the cafeteria trying to scan the crowd for familiar flashes of blue, but didn’t see anyone who even slightly resembled Patton. He’d barely made it through advisement and second block in one piece; his teachers berated him with questions on where he’d been and, consequently, how he’d gotten into the hospital. He was anxious to see his friend.

“Hey, Virgil!” a voice cheerily said behind him. Virgil whipped around and found Roman and Logan standing with expectant faces. It was only now that he saw how vastly different their heights were.

“Oh my god, you guys scared the shit out of me! A little warning would be appreciated next time.” Virgil used his lunch tray to angrily gesture at the pair of friends.

Logan pursed his lips. “We apologize, Virgil. Patton told us to look for you once we’d gotten to the cafeteria so that you wouldn’t get lost, but you were obviously faster than us. We’ll show you to the table.” Logan led him to a lunch table in the far corner, away from all of the commotion.

“Virge! Are you feeling better?” Pat greeted as they walked up. He cleared a space beside himself for Virgil, while Logan and Roman sat across from them.

“Um, I guess.” Virgil slid his tray onto the table and awkwardly maneuvered himself so he was sitting on the bench.

“What’s wrong? Are you feeling ill?” Logan questioned, concern flashing on his face. Virgil opened his mouth to reply, but Patton spoke up instead.

“He’s had a kinda bad day since he missed so much school last week, Lo. Virge’s totally okay health-wise, so don’t worry,” Patton assured, patting Virgil on the head. The receiver of the pat groaned softly, but he still gave a small smile to his friend. Patton just had this aura that made Virgil feel calm.

“Well, I hope your day gets better, Halloween Town,” Roman commented as he took a bite of his sandwich, careful not smudge any of his lipstick.

“Additional affirmation.” 

Virgil just nodded at their sentiments and stirred the cream and tan gloop on his tray. It was actually his favorite school lunch: mashed potatoes with turkey and gravy. However, just because it was his favorite, that didn’t mean it didn’t look (nor smell, sometimes) like hot vomit. He stabbed the soupy meal and took a bite. When Virgil looked up from his food, he found the other three staring at him.

“Um… What’s up, guys?” He asked, suddenly self conscious. A beat passed before Roman spoke.

“You… electively eat that stuff?” The dramatic teen pointed at the wilted lettuce and mashed potatoes with disgust.

Virgil nodded slowly. “Yeah? I mean, I don’t usually have the stuff to make my own lunch, and I’ve been eating school lunches for the past eleven-ish years, so I’m mostly desensitized to it. It’s fucking gross, but it’s food at least.” He punctuated his point by taking another bite of the glop. Logan paled.

“That cannot have any nutritional value. It’s all starches and fake meat; there’s barely any protein in the meat substitute they use because it’s ‘much cheaper’ that way! I mean, it’s practically criminal to be feeding that to children, especially since they need all of the nutrition they can get to grow.” Logan ran his hands through his hair in distress and dug around in his paper lunch bag. “Here! Please just eat some soup with real meat.”

Virgil hesitantly took the blue and black thermos and unscrewed the lid. Inside there was a pretty decent amount of what looked like chicken noodle soup. “Uh, thanks, Logan. But I don’t have-”

Lo held out a plastic spoon. Ah. Virgil took that as well and began to eat. It was way better than the lunch he’d bought. He idly listened to the others as they talked about their classes and what they planned on doing after school. He heard something about maybe going to a park, but Virgil wasn’t really sure if they meant a playground or one where you could bike around and go swimming.

“So what do you think, Virge?” Patton asked, making him jump.

“What do I think about what?” He, admittedly, had stopped listening a while ago and had ended up just drinking from his water bottle and staring at his lunch tray.

“Would you like to go to a party at the Westview park tonight? A few of our friends thought of a rather fantastic idea where they transform the picnic area into a mystical wonderland, and we all can have dinner together,” Roman explained, using vivid hand gestures as he spoke. At one point, he almost flung his hand straight into Logan’s face.

Virgil scrunched up his nose, weighing the pros and cons. “I dunno, guys. I don’t know any of your friends. Wouldn’t I just be intruding on your fun?”

“Of course you wouldn’t, kiddo! I’m sure Valerie and Jo and everyone else would love to meet you! Especially Talyn. They have a very similar style to you.” Patton’s voice was encouraging, but Virgil still wasn’t sure.

“Let me think about it for a bit. I’ll let you know tonight.” He got up to dump his tray, arriving back to the table just as the lunch bell rang. The four friends said their goodbyes and went to class.

—

The rest of the day passed pretty painlessly. Virgil finished all of his homework in class with tons extra time to spare. He texted Patton to stop his boredom.

Virgil

Read at 1:10 pm

pat I finished all of my homework what should i do?

Patton

Delivered at 1:11 pm

You could do some doodling! That’s always a fun pastime for me when I’m bored in class.

Virgil looked down at his papers, which were filled with designs for letterheads for Pat, Logan, and Roman.

Virgil

Read at 1:13 pm

uhhhh yeah i kinda already filled up three pages with doodles

Patton

Delivered at 1:13 pm

Okay, well, are you listening to music?

Virgil

Read at 1:14 pm

yeah i’m listening to my playlist. any other ideas

Patton

Delivered at 1:16 pm

…doodle some more?

Virgil

Read at 1:17 pm

yeah okay i’ll try that again, pat :)

—

Later that evening, after Logan had dropped them off at Patton’s house, Virgil and Pat were lounging on the black comforter in the former’s bedroom, listening to music and helping each other with various things for school. Patton was still extremely confused about physics.

“Alright. You got these force and acceleration questions perfectly fine, but I don’t think these friction questions are quite right,” Virgil pointed out the minor flaws in the calculations with a pencil before walking his friend through the problem step by step.

“Ohhhhhhh. That makes a lot more sense.” Pat looked over the paper and flipped his notebook shut, clearly done with homework for the day. “So, have you thought about the party at all?”

Virgil sighed. He’d hoped Patton would’ve forgotten that they’d invited him to come along so he wouldn’t have to disappoint him. “Uh, yeah, about that…”

Patton’s face fell ever so slightly, though he still had a smile on his face. “It’s okay if you don’t want to go. We just thought you might enjoy it. Logan’s going to be picking me up soon, so I should probably start getting ready.” He stood up and began to head for the bedroom door.

“Actually, I would like to go,” Virgil rushed before he could even think about what he was saying. He really needed better self control.

“Really? That’s awesome! You don’t have to dress up, but we’re having a bit of a fantasy theme, so you can do whatever you’d like with that. I’m just going to put some glitter in my hair.” Virgil perked up at the idea of dressing up.

“Um, Pat, if you want me to do some makeup on you, I can. I’m not that great, but I can put some glittery eyeshadow and stuff on your face,” he offered, already planning what he’d do for himself.

“That’d be great, kiddo! I’ll be right back; I want to grab a different sweater.” When Patton returned, he was wearing a black jumper with little shimmery strands of thread woven into it. He truly looked magical.

Virgil rounded up the few pieces of makeup that’d been taken from his house and sat Pat at the end of his bed, swinging his desk chair around and sitting in front of his friend. He first applied eye primer and then began to pat on different glittery shades of purple and blue and smoking them out with a little bit of black. Then he applied the same shadows under Patton’s eyes and gave him just a bit of mascara (Patton wouldn’t sit still for that part, and Virgil just gave up on trying). He dusted a bunch of white shimmery eyeshadow to the highlight points and swiped deep blue lipstick onto his lips.

Virgil leaned back to admire his work. “Pat, you look absolutely glittery.” A smile spread across his friend’s face as he began to bounce lightly on the bed

“LetmeseeletmeseeVirgilletmesee!” Patton squealed. Virgil obliged, handing him a little compact mirror and as Pat looked in awe at himself.

“Are you going to do yourself next? Oooo, can I watch?” Patton inquired, looking more excited than ever. Virgil nodded and began to apply makeup to himself. He chose a darker look, applying deep purple and black to his eyes and expertly drawing a sharp wing with eyeliner. His lips were colored with a matching purple and he swiped some glittery lavender highlighter on his cheekbones. Raising his eyebrows, Virgil looked at Pat for his opinion.

“Virgilohmygoodnessyoulookabsolutelyfantastic!” Patton held his hands over his face in a childish but sweet gesture.

“Aww, thanks, Pat.” Virgil smiled brightly and stood up, padding his way to where he’d thrown all of his shoes, and chose a pair of black high tops that had secret heels in them. It was just the little touch of femininity that his outfit needed to tie everything together. He slipped on a black beanie that he’d also thrown into the shoe pile and sat back down beside the still-gawking Patton.

“You good, dude? You look like you’ve just seen a ghost,” Virgil commented with a tiny smirk. Patton aggressively threw his arms around Virgil, tackling him onto the bed.

“I’M JUST SO PROUD OF YOU! YOU LOOK SO CONFIDENT, AND I’M PROUD OF THAT!” Virgil laughed and awkwardly tried to return the hug-tackle.

“Okay, Patton. I get it. Now can you please stop half-laying on top of me?” Patton just hugged him harder.

next

[rosesisupposes]

What I’ve Been Looking For

Part 4 of Breakin’ Free, a High School Musical Sanders Sides AU

Chapter Pairings: Prinxiety

Chapter Warnings: Roman Is A Disaster Gay (If Only He Was Out Enough to Know That)

Reader tags: @residentanchor @royally-anxious @bewarethegrammarpolice   @jemthebookworm @arandompasserby  @sparkly-rainbow-salt @astral-eclipse​ @thelowlysatsuma

<<3. Get’cha Head In The Game | 5. The Status Quo>>

read on ao3

SCENE: Homeroom and Hallways of East High

A particular air was flowing in the Ms. Darbus’ classroom the next morning. There was a humming undercurrent of excitement that didn’t quite spread to every occupant, but filled those it touched.

Dee Evans was in full form, glowing in gold accents, from the line on his sneakers to his eyeshadow and lip liner. His head was out of his phone for once as he smiled at every student he walked past on his way to homeroom. Cee was in an equally good mood, in complementary shades of silvery blue with a matching hat in navy. He carried a small gift bag with artfully arranged tissue paper. Cee handed the bag to Dee, who placed it on Ms. Darbus’ desk with a flourish. “Just a little something for you in honor of today!” he said with another bright smile.

As he returned to his desk, the rest of the class filtered in. Virgil and Roman made eye contact as they found their desks, sharing a small smile before Remy called Roman’s attention away. Patton Baylor chatted happily from his spot at the center of a small crowd of students, all of whom looked up at him with slightly starry eyes. Logan McKessie brushed past the crowd, his face buried in a book on theoretical physics. Murmurs of chatter slowly quieted as Ms. Darbus stepped on the stage at the front of the room.

“I expect we all learned our homeroom manners yesterday, correct? If not, we have some dressing rooms that need painting,” she said imperiously. Remy rolled his eyes at Roman as he leaned on his basketball as a pillow.

“Now, a few announcements,” she continued, brightening. “This morning during free period will be your chance for the musicale auditions, both singles and pairs.” Dee sat up even straighter in his seat, clapping in excitement. “I will be in the theater until noon for those of you bold enough to extend the wingspan of your creative spirit.”

Remy snorted. “When you’ve got auditions at 11 but have to be back on the mothership by noon,” he snarked under his breath. Roman had to cover his mouth with his hand to keep from catching the teacher’s attention with his laughter.

Unaware of her students’ commentary, Ms. Darbus began to instruct. “Today, we are going to discuss the importance of William Shakespeare and his works. Can anyone tell me of a phrase or word we use in everyday language that was originally coined by the Bard?”

Behind him, Roman could hear Remy sliding dark glasses over his eyes as he settled in to nap.

~~~

Later that day, Roman was sorting through the books in his locker when Remy came up, spinning his basketball on a finger.

“Sup, gurl.”

“Hey, what’s up?”

“So the whole team's hitting the gym during free period. What do you want to have us run?”

Roman looked directly at the books and binders in his locker as he answered. “Uh, my dude, you know what, I can't make it. I gotta catch up on some homework.”

Remy snorted. “Bitch, it's only the second day back. I'm not even behind on homework yet. And you know I've been behind on homework since preschool.”

Roman forced a laugh. “Oh, Rem, you’re so funny! I’ll catch up with you later, okay?” He closed his locker and walked off before his friend could offer another objection.

Remy pulled his sunglasses down his nose to stare at his friend’s retreating back. “Homework? Girl, nah.”

He followed Roman down the hallway as the team captain turned into a classroom to chat with another student. Remy slid up to the door as he tried to see where he was going, listening to their idle chatter. Then someone bumped him. He turned to see Patton and a small handful of admirers.

“Remy! How are you today?”

“Hi Pat - I’m good, thanks, just busy…”

“Not too busy to miss the GSA meeting this afternoon, right?”

“Never too busy for my little minions, you know that,” Remy said with a fond smile.

“Oh good,” Patton said, his bright teeth a contrast to his brown face and browner freckles. “See you later, gay-ter!”

He turned and walked off with his friends as they giggled and Remy rolled his eyes. Turning back to the classroom, he realized it was empty. Roman has escaped him. “Boo, you whore,” he muttered to himself. “What could possibly be more important than basketball?”

Roman slipped down the southern stairwell of the school, checking behind him to make sure Remy was off his tail. He wasn’t sure he say why he felt so compelled to at least watch the auditions, but he knew that for some reason, he needed to be there. That need wasn’t quite enough to admit to even his best friend in the whole world what he was doing, though. He strolled through one of the lower courtyards, alert for any team members who might see him and ask why he wasn’t heading to the gym. He turned a corner and immediately turned back. Here he’d been worried about teammates when Coach himself was in the next courtyard, clearly looking for him. Had he seen him? Were those his footsteps walking in his direction?

Crapcrapcrap gottahide gottahide

Roman ducked into the closest door, the auto body and mechanics shop. He put on an air of nonchalance as he leaned behind a car, seeing his dad glance into the shop from the corner of his eye. Coach didn’t spot him, though, and he breathed a sigh of relief. He turned his head to see the shop teacher staring at him oddly.

“Uhh, shortcut,” he said lamely. “I’m… late for class. Gotta go, thanks, bye!”

He walked quickly out, from the auto shop to the woodshop. He could hear snatches of a tune played on the piano from here, where the woodshop connected to the backstage and green room areas of the auditorium. He took a deep breath. This was it - the auditions. He could as least get up the courage to watch, right? He walked into the backstage, trying to summon more confidence. Then he heard another person walking towards him and immediately ducked behind a janitor’s cart, hunching over to hide his face behind the mop.

SCENE: Auditorium

The auditorium and backstage were buzzing with chatter as multiple auditioners filed into the audience seats. Ms. Darbus strode to the stage to welcome them all, a small person in her wake. They seemed to be trying to hide from the crowd behind their bright orange beanie and also behind Ms. Darbus herself. The drama teacher took center stage and addresses the crowd.

“This is where the true expression of the artist is realized. Where inner truth is revealed through the actor's journey…”

She was interrupted by a loud ringing, and immediately glared at the crowd in front of her. “Was that a cell phone?”

“That was the warning bell, Ms. Darbus,” the student at her elbow whispered.

“Ah, I see,” she said, clearing her throat. “Those wishing to audition must understand that time is of the essence. We have many roles to cast and final callbacks will be next week.”

Roman slowly made his way to the back of the auditorium, still hiding behind the janitor’s cart as he listened. Callbacks, next week? In the same week as the big game? Luckily, even if he somehow got the nerve to audition, there’s no way he’d get called back. That was a thing that only happened to real actors, right?

Ms. Darbus was still reviewing the audition process. “Please come to the stage on your turn. Once you’ve introduced yourself, you will sing a few bars and I will give you a sense of whether or not the theater is your calling. Better to hear it from me now than from your friends later.” From his hiding spot, Roman gulped. Maybe this whole ‘audition’ thing was a mistake. “Our composer, Joan Stokes, will accompany you and be available for rehearsals prior to callbacks. Shall we?”

Joan took their seat at the piano bench as the first singer came to the stage.

“Hi, I’m Derionna!” she said with enthusiasm. She dove into singing, with plenty of energy but perhaps not a lot of rhythm.

“It’s hard to believe that I couldn’t see that you were always right beside me. Thought I was alone, with no one to hold, but you were always right beside me”

Joan played well, trying to get her to match their beat, but she was snapping to her own beat and seemed unaware.

“Thing feeling’s like no other, I want you to know…” she paused, seeming to have forgotten the rest of the song. Ms. Darbus took the opportunity to jump in.

“Uh-huh, thank you, next!”

A nervous-looking, gangly boy came to the stage. He seemed to be speaking rhythmically more than singing, and kept checking his hand for the words he’d written there.

“It’s hard to believe that I couldn’t sneeze - see! That you were always right there next to beside me!”

“Camden, I admire your pluck. As to your singing... That's a wonderful tie you're wearing. Next!” Camden smiled and smoothed his tie as Ms. Darbus’ words sank in. His face fell as he shuffled off the stage.

Roman winced through the next singer. Even he could tell she was badly off-key and trying to conceal it by winking frequently, directly at Ms. Darbus. Joan mouthed the words along with her, trying to get her back on rhythm, but it was to no avail.

“Please, stop,” Ms. Darbus finally interjected. “Thank you, Brittney. Next!”

Another auditioner. She was clearly talented, but was also singing as if in an opera, not a musical.

“So lonely befooorrrre I finally fooooo-hooounnddd what I’d been lookiiiiing fooooooooooooooooooor!” She held her last ear-piercing note as Joan stopped playing in shock and audience members tried to subtly cover their ears.

“Ah... Valerie,” Ms. Darbus said with forced cheer. “What... courage to pursue a note that has not been accessed in the natural world. Bravo! Brava! Perhaps the... spring musicale?”

Valerie frowned and looked over at Joan. They forced a smile as Valerie hmphed in affront and left the stage. She was almost knocked over by the next auditioner, a tall, graceful man who leaped onto the stage to the opening bars of the audition song. Joan stopped playing once again, confused. The auditorium was silent as the dancer pirouetted and jetéd before elegantly leaving the stage. The effect might have been perfect, had not he crashed into an unseen obstacle backstage that was audible to everyone. Joan looked over in concern as Ms. Darbus coughed politely. “Thank you, Leo. Next!”

Up came a pair of auditioners, one very short student with brightly-colored hair, the other a man with a headband and bangs swept to one side. The shorter of the two started delivering a dramatic reading of the song as the other whispered echoes of their words.

“It’s hard to believe that I could not see”

“See”

“That you were always right beside me”

“Beside me”

The pair accompanied their words with strange motions that appeared to be attempting interpretive dance

“Thought I was alone!”

“Alone”

“With no one to hold!”

“Hold”

“But you were right beside me”

“Beside me”

They both began to roll and crawl on the floor as Joan backed up their piano bench as far away as possible.

Ms. Darbus had been stunned into silence, but finally found her voice again.

“Talyn, Dominic, that was… that was just... very disturbing, go see a counselor. Next!”

A hand suddenly tapped Roman on the shoulder, and he jumped so high he almost hit his head on the doorway. Virgil had come up behind him, smiling wryly.

“Hey there - did you decide to sign up for something?”

Roman ducked his head. “Uh, no. I was just… watching. Did you?”

Virgil shook his head, his purple bangs falling into his face. “So, uh, do you often hide behind mops, or do your friends just not know you’re here?”

Roman flushed lightly and shook his head in response as another auditioner came to the stage. She stood tall and adjusted her glasses as Joan began the opening bars. She took a breath to sing as she looked out at the audience, and froze.

“Thank you, Dahlia. NEXT!”

Roman winced. “Ms. Darbus seems a little… harsh,” he observed quietly to Virgil.

Virgil smirked. “Roman Bolton, Wildcat superstar, afraid?”

“Not afraid,” he protested. “Just… a little, uh… scared.”

“Me too, usually,” Virgil said, rubbing his neck. “But, um. I was thinking of actually auditioning, if someone could sing onstage next to me?”

Roman blanched with fright. “Um, uh, I could--  I mean, possibly, uh--”

“And for the lead roles of Arnold and Minnie we only have one couple signed up,” Ms. Darbus said happily. Virgil pushed Roman slightly as he hurried to hide behind the janitor’s cart with him. “Diego and Cedric, I think it might be useful for you to give us a sense of why we gather in this hallowed hall.”

Cee and Dee walked from the audience to the stage, flashing smiles at the remaining audience. As Cee started up the stairs, Dee stopped him so that he could go first.

Joan caught Cee as the twins picked up their microphones. “What key did you want?”

“Don’t worry about it, we had our rehearsal pianist do an arrangement,” Cee said with a smile.

Joan deflated. “Oh. Okay.”

The curtain closed as Dee & Cee prepared to sing. Virgil tugged on Roman’s arm to follow him as he found a seat in the last row of the auditorium.

The music started, jazzy and far more upbeat than the previous auditions. Two pairs of hands stuck through the curtain and snapped to the beat, before the curtain opened to reveal Cee & Dee with matching bedazzled microphones in silver and gold, respectively.

“It’s hard to believe that I couldn’t see,” Cee sang. He had an unarguably nice voice, and his perpetual smile matched the bouncy drumbeat the accompanied them.

“That you were always there beside me” Dee joined in, singing in harmony with his twin. Virgil wrinkled his nose as he watched. The pair were both excellent singers, but they kept adding in a lot of over acting, pretending to be surprised by each other on “beside me.” Even for a musical, this felt corny. But Ms. Darbus was clearly enjoying it, bopping along from her spot in the audience.

Roman physically recoiled as Dee handed off his mic to perform a peppy tapdance solo in the middle. “Is this normal?” he whispered to Virgil, who grimaced.

“I don’t think so,” he responded, nodding a head at Joan. The pianist watched from their bench, looking vaguely horrified at the spectacle in front of him.

The pair continued on through the song, adding full choreography. Cee even broke in the middle to do a highly energetic jazz square with accompanying jazz hands before accidentally bumping into Dee. His twin scowled and pushed him, but both recovered and smiled as they continued to sing.

They finally came to a close, Ms. Darbus and the sprinkling of audience members applauding enthusiastically. Dee shot Joan a glare until they clapped too.

Holding their final pose, Dee hissed in Cee’s ear. “I told you not to do the jazz squares.”

“It's a crowd favorite. Everybody loves a good jazz square,” his twin shot back, grinning hugely.

As the applause quieted, Ms. Darbus stood. “Are there any last minute sign-ups?”

Roman stood and tried to edge out of the theater without being spotted as Cee appealed to the dispersing crowd. “Don't be discouraged. The theater club needs more than just singers. It needs fans, too! Buy tickets!”

Joan caught Dee’s attention as he strode backstage. “Oh, actually, if you do the part with that particular song, I imagined it much slower…”

“If we do the part? Joan, Joan, my sawed-off Sondheim, I have been in 17 school productions. And how many times have your compositions been selected?”

“This would be the first,” Joan admitted.

“Which tells us what?” Dee asked with a tight smile.

Joan flinched and offered, “That I need to write you more solos?”

“No,” Dee snapped, his smile dropping. “It tells us that you do not offer direction, suggestion, or commentary.” He advanced on Joan, who backed up nervously into their piano. “And you should be thankful that Cee and I are here to lift your music out of its current obscurity. Are we clear?”

“Yessir! I mean, Diego.”

Dee backed down, then smiled brightly, lifting his mic closer to his mouth again. “Nice talking to you!” He followed his twin backstage with a tiny wave.

“Any last minute sign-ups?” Ms. Darbus called again.

“We should go,” Roman whispered at Virgil, reaching out to grab his hand.

“No?” The theater teacher said, looking around. “Good. Done.”

Suddenly, Virgil was pulling away from Roman’s hold and speaking up. “I'd like to audition, Ms. Darbus!”

Roman’s mind went into overdrive. What is he doing? What? How!? Why?! He gestured wildly at the smaller man, willing him to somehow take back his words and for them both to disappear.

Ms. Darbus looked up, surprised, but her surprise quickly morphed to disapproval. “Timeliness means something in the world of theater, Mr. Montez. The individual auditions are long, long over and there are simply no other pairs.”

Roman stuffed his fear into a tiny corner and emerged from his hiding place behind the theater door. “I’ll sing with him.”

The drama teacher pursed her lips. “Mr. Bolton? Where is your sports posse or whatever it's called?”

Roman stared. “Team”

“Ah.”

“But I’m, uh. I’m here alone,” Roman stuttered out. He felt as nervous as he ever did right before a game. “I’m actually here to sing with him.”

Ms. Darbus was unimpressed. “Yes, well, we take these shows very seriously here at East High. I called for the pairs audition, and you didn't respond. Free period is now over.”

“He has an amazing voice,” Roman protested, gesturing towards Virgil. Virgil looked vaguely queasy over the confrontation, and appeared to be attempting to will himself out of sight or out of existence, whichever came first.

“Perhaps the next musicale, then,” Ms. Darbus said, and left the auditorium.

Just then, Joan tripped as they turned away from the piano, spilling sheet music in every direction. Roman and Virgil hurried to the stage to help them.

“So, you’re a composer?” Roman asked, smiling at the piano player. “You wrote the song Dee and Cee just sang? And the entire show?”

Joan seemed unable to speak, but nodded weakly, staring at Roman like an alien had just landed in the middle of theater.

“Well, that's really cool. I, uh, can't wait to hear the rest of the show,” he offered, helping them up. “So, uh, why are you so afraid of Cee and Dee? Or, Dee, at least. It’s your show, isn’t it?”

“Um, it is?” Joan asked, confused.

“Isn't the composer of a show kinda like the playmaker in basketball?” Roman asked with a smile. Both Virgil and Joan stared at him in incomprehension.

“Playmaker?”

“You know, the one who makes everyone else look good. I mean, without you there is no show. You're the playmaker here, Joan.”

“I am?” they responded, smiling tentatively. “Do… do you want to hear how the duet’s supposed to sound?”

Virgil nodded, and tossed a small grin Roman’s way. The taller man covered his face with a hand to hide what felt like another blush and followed the composer back to the piano, standing behind them to read the sheet music over their shoulder.

Joan tapped a foot to the proper timing, a much slower, sweeter tune than the one the twins had performed, and prompted Roman to begin at the right moment.

It was like New Year’s Eve all over again, and yet nothing like it. The fluttery nervousness was still there, but without the surprise or fear of the crowd. And this time, he wasn’t standing with a mysterious stranger who might run away. It was Virgil, smiling up at him as he came in for the second line. He no longer felt the same electrifying urge to grab the other boy’s attention at any cost - he just wanted that smile to keep being directed his way.

“I've never had someone that knows me like you do,” they sang in harmony, eyes meeting. Was Virgil blushing? Roman couldn’t be sure, especially as the shorter man turned back to the sheet music.

They finished in harmony and paused, all three appreciating the sweetness of the tune.

“Wow,” Roman finally said. “That’s really nice, Joan.”

Suddenly, a voice sounded from the rear of the theater. “Bolton, Montez,  you have a callback.” Ms. Darbus stood at the entrance, looking less severe with her glasses removed. “Joan, give them the duet from the second act. Work on it with them.”

Joan gasped in delight, then started bubbling over with plans. “All right. If you guys wanna rehearse, I'm usually here during free period and after school, and even sometimes during biology class. You can come and rehearse anytime. Or you can come to my house for breakfast. I have a piano, we can rehearse there. After school, before school - whatever works. After basketball class… do you have basketball class? Is that a thing?”

Virgil listened to the pianist, smiling a bit bemusedly, as Roman stared after Ms. Darbus’ retreating back in shock.

“We- she- what?”

a/n: Look who's able to write fluff again! Trust me, no one's as surprised as I am

(I know all of Thomas' friends are incredibly talented and would never be awkward/bad auditioners, but I feel like they'd have fun acting it out anyway :])

[sonata-of-sorrow]

Ruthlessness

Maybe I should’ve sung something a bit more upbeat…

That was the first thought that crossed Vivica’s mind when she looked out at all the numb and vacant faces looking at her. She couldn’t blame them. Most of them were drunk, seeking that sensation of warmth even though the chill was still deep within their bones. The others had just become so resigned to their miserable existence in the Brume that they could no longer be moved by song.

It had seemed almost blasphemous anyway to sing of joy and love, of good tidings and happiness. Not when most folk were just wanting to survive. Vivica tugged nervously at her threadbare gloves, the feeling of dread like a heavy stone within her belly. Or maybe that was just what hunger felt like when you had nothing to fill it for two days.

Guilt put a few pennies in her knit cap but it was only enough for maybe a cup of bone broth. Maybe if she were lucky, there might be some scraggly excuse for root vegetables in it. If this had been the first time her songs had not been well received in the pubs, she might have cried but by now, this was just her lot in life.

Vivica double checked to make sure no holes had worn through her pockets before safely stashing away the coin. She hated the prospect of having to go out into the blizzard again but there were other taverns she might have better luck at to visit. That was, until she saw the woman in the back of the room.

At first she assumed it was merely a figment of her imagination, brought on by starvation. No respectable woman would have been caught dead down in this part of the city but there she was, dressed up in all her finery. She was a robust woman, full cheeked and curved that meant she wasn’t wanting for a good meal. Vivica thought she had to be at least as old as her own mother, though still quite beautiful. Many of then in the bar thought so as well, considering the looks she was cast.

And yet, despite all the attention paid to her, the well-dressed woman seemed to only have eyes for her. A shiver worked up Vivica’s spine, despite there being no draft. Her minor distress seemed to amuse her admirer and a gloved hand was quick to beckon her over to the vacant seat at her table. After a quick glance about, the half-elezen realized that she was indeed the intended and meekly approached.

“Take a seat, darling. I promise, I do not bite.” Her words were like warmed honey on Isghardian muffins first thing in the morning, rich and alluring.  Vivica could not help but feel self conscious in her tattered dress and the dirt upon her cheeks.

Unlike the other drunkards in the establishment, a teapot with two empty cups at before her. It only added to the air of refinement that hovered around her. She began to pour as Vivica tentatively took the opposing seat. Her own tangled mess of auburn curls seemed such a stark contrast to the perfectly manicured tendrils that spilled out from her elaborate hat. Vivica felt ashamed to even look upon her considering her current state of poverty, keeping her chin dipped.

“Oh no, need to be meek with me. You and I are not that much unalike. “ The strange woman tried to reassure as steeped tea filled the cups and one was placed before her. “This world is hard and cruel and meekness is devoured. I was once like you. Lost and aimless but I wanted to survive. I realized I had to shed my meekness and allow myself to be ruthless to do so.” Vivica cupped the drink in her hands and sighed softly from the warmth bleeding into her fingertips. A part of her questioned the generosity but she was so drawn in by the aura and intrigue that her instincts could be easily dismissed.

“All my sacrifices were for not though. I am now in a position that is advantageous because I was willing to do what must be done. I make it my calling to help girls like you, so you will no longer have to suffer as I once did. Girls that the world has cast away and left to die in the cold streets.” Lazily, she stirred her tea with a small spoon, reciting soothing words that seemed too good to be true.

“I want to help you, child. If you will let me. I can give you a purpose, revenue. A roof over your head and food in your belly if you only agree to my few stipulations.” Vivica looked up at the woman, wide eyed with curiosity and awe. Everything had a price but how much longer could she sing for meager amounts of gil before it was too much.

The woman giggled at the response and it seemed almost practiced. Vivica could not care. “What’s your name?” She was asked and without thought, her mouth opened to give a response. Her words were cut short though with a sharp click of the tongue. “Not the name given to you. No, if you are to embrace my offer, I implore you to give me a name that emboldens you. Reminds you of what you are entitled to…”

Suddenly, Vivica’s head was filled with the presence of her once friend, mistress and then competition. She thought of all the fine dresses Guinevere was constantly wearing. The late night calls to the kitchen for sweets before bed. All the suitors that came calling looking to court the young elezen girl and the bitter jealousy she had felt when one of them had taken notice of Vivica herself. The look of anger was still seared into her mind when she had been caught in that closet with the nobleman’s son and it had brought Vivica a sense of satisfaction. “Guinevere,” she responded after a pause.

With a sip of her tea and a nod of her head, the older hyur woman seemed quite pleased with the answer. “Excellent, my dear Guin. Now let me tell you about an opportunity of a lifetime…”

Guinevere walked with purpose through the halls of the brothel. No one impeded her at this early of an hour. Most of the other working girls were enjoying a bit of quiet before night fell and business picked up. Even then, there were a few clients that were enjoying the services they provided if the moans and cries of satisfaction were anything to go by.

Double doors at the end of the hall were elaborate by comparison to the others and a grizzled old soldier, turned guard stood beside it. He barely even registered the fact that Guin was wearing little more than a corset and stockings as she came to knock on the door. When she had first started, she had always wondered why he had not gawked at her show of flesh but the half-elezen soon came to realize that he was just a well trained dog.

“Come in….” Came the soft trill from behind closed doors.

Guin turned the knob and entered, unimpeded by the guardsman. Inside, the lavish interior always made her feel uncomfortable. It made her feel like she was walking back into the manse she served in her youth, except then, it was in the kitchen and not on her backside. Except Delacroix was no noble lady, just a Madame who had grown her wealth on the sultry business of prostitution.

All those years ago, she had not lied when she promised her that she would have a roof over her head and a full belly but seeing all the meticulous stacks of gil upon the desk made Guin wonder if she wasn’t entitled to more than second hand garters and mended fishnet.

“Aww, my dear. I was not expecting you. I hear that Lord Valincourt was been calling upon you quite frequently. I can’t say that I’m not pleased by his continued patronage.” Madame Delacroix did not even need to look up from her ledgers and money counting to know it was her. It was a trait that always threw Guinevere off guard.

She wasn’t there though to discuss the men that paid for her company in bed. While the shame of her profession had long since disappeared, Guin had other matters upon her mind. “Valerie has not been seen in a sennight.” Her words were firm and conveyed the gravity of her concern.

Madame Delcroix sat back in her chair and finally regarded the half-elezen whore. Her fingers plucked the glasses from the bridge of her nose and set them upon the desk. “Oh? And why should you worry about her? She’s always been a wistful thing, constantly trying to ensnare some poor lord’s son into taking her as a mistress.”

The callous tone when she spoke of Valerie rankled Guin but she did not want to show disdain for her boss and patron. “She came to me last week and told me that she was in trouble. That she had important information in regards to the disappearances of those working girls down in the Brume.” Even the mention of it made Guin’s nose wrinkle, remembering cold stone and the desperation.

When the Madame did not respond, Guin took it as a cue to continue. “She gave me something. A journal and told me to hold it for her while she settled a few things. I can’t make heads or tails of most of it but there are some notes in there that lead me to think that something nefarious is about….”

This peeked the woman’s interest as she leaned forward in her chair. Her gaze was intense and caused Guin to look elsewhere to lessen the sting of scrutiny.

“And where is it she supposedly procured this journal?” The woman’s words were droll, forced. As if she were trying hard not to let on how curious she really was.

Guin shrugged her bare shoulders and put her hands upon her hips. “Last I knew, she was frequenting the Weilfric Household. The second son had taken quite a liking to her the past few months and I know she was complaining of feeling ill of late but that was before she went missing that first time. She seemed scared, anxious when she gave it to me. I think something may have happened to her.”

Valerie had been the closest thing to a friend since she’d started working in the brothel. She had shown her many ways to please a man, held her when they had been too rough and had driven her to tears, and had been a confidant during her time within the walls.  

The older woman’s lips turned up into a smirk as she rose to her feet. It was such a graceful movement, poised as she crossed over to stand beside the red head. “Aww, yes. You have right to be concerned but it is far more simple than you assume.”

Guinevere’s eyebrows arched, head tilting as she considered her mistress. The woman grasped her shoulders and smiled warmly. “There is nothing to worry about, my dear. Valerie has just succumbed to the cruelest fate a whore can endure. She has a bastard brewing in her belly and she wished to ensnare the Lord Weilfric’s son into claiming legitimacy.” It seemed a plausible enough explanation but something did not seem to sit right with Guin.

As if reading her apprehension, Madame Delcroix pulled her into an embrace and began to stroke her hair. “Do not fret for her. I have seen that she is being taken care of. No doubt she wished to use the journal as leverage against the nobles and thought it right to entrust you with it. I was not made privy of such lengths when I found her accomodations suiting her condition.” A hand rested on the flat of Guin’s stomach and the pressure caused the boning of her corset to dig into her flesh.

“This is a cruel world and I hoped to shield young Valerie as much as possible from the ruthlessness that she would endure if Ishgard knew of the illegitimate child brewing in her belly. I can assure you, all is well. If you would like, I will arrange for you to visit her. She is quite comfortable and in the best care. I have seen to it. You believe me, right my beloved Guinevere?” Maybe it was the smoothness of her tone or the gentle comfort of her touch that eased her worries but the half elezen nodded in agreement and sighed.

“Yes ma’am...I would like to see her as soon as I am able.”

Delacroix pulled away and saw to fidgeting with stray strands of hair and the lace of her bodice. “Good. We could go as early as the morrow but not until after you attend to your duties tonight. I expect you to be on good form, my girl. Do not disappoint me.”

Guinevere could barely restrain herself from rolling her eyes. None of the men had made a complaint about her yet.

Delacroix looked quite surprised when she found Vivica sitting at the same table they had met all those years ago. It amused her greatly to see her slack jaw expression and the whites of her widened eyes. Maybe she had assumed she was looking upon a ghost. Considering she had languished in an Ishgardian prison for so long, most people would’ve just thought her long dead.

But here she was, dressed in a simple gown that had been given to her after her pardon and release. At least she was clean and tried to remain dignified. A steeping teapot and a set of cups sat on the table as Vivica’s gaze remained upon the woman.

The madame had always been a stubborn woman and the sight of one of her old working girls did not hinder her in the slightest. She composed herself, jaw set and looking quite formidable as she slunk into the vacant seat. “I see that prison has treated you well.”

The courtesy was a veiled insult but the only inclination that it affected Vivica was the brief wrinkle of her nose. “If by treating me well, you mean hours of endless torture and then solitude in the hopes that my spirit might break? And yet, here I am, whole and hearty.” She responded with a terse smile.

Removing her hat, Delacroix seemed undeterred by the curtness of her tone. “I can see that. A miracle, to be sure.”

Vivica reached for the teapot, proceeding to pour one glass and then the other. “Mmm..” she hummed thoughtful. In truth, it was taking every inch of her concentration to not fumble with the teapot. There was so little strength left in her limbs but she knew that every day, she would recover. There was no way she wanted to show the woman her weakness. “Considering your part you played in my imprisonment, I would have thought you would not be pleased to see me.”

The elder woman took one of the offered cups and sipped at it briefly. Vivica knew she was covering while she considered her next words careful and it was amusing to watch the normally composed woman squirm. Licking her lips, she looked down at the inside of the cup before finally addressing her former employee. “I have told you many times before that I did not get to where I was without being ruthless. You would have brought down my entire establishment, my hard work with your nosiness had I not intervened. Think of all those girls I spared a harsh life on the street had you meddled in business that had nothing to do with you.”

It was the closest thing to an admission of guilt that Vivica was like to hear and yet it did not surprise her. She merely smiled and stirred her drink slowly with a spoon. “Girls were disappearing. My friend was in trouble…”

“The destitute disappear all the time. Their life is hardship. You should know, considering you were once one of them.” Delacroix sneered as she licked her lips again and then coughed when a tickle developed in her throat.

Vivica let her words linger in silence for a moment, the only sound was the growing severity of her companion’s cough. The older woman seemed unable to clear her throat, a raspy sound as she began to become distressed by the sensation. A few patrons of the tavern turned to look at the pair but the serene expression upon Vivica’s face seemed to dissuade them of anything untoward.

“I may have been but you aren’t the only survivor. I was stubborn, resilient and I did not break.” She finally whispered, leaning forward so her words could only be heard over the hacking sound. Delacroix began to claw at her throat, eyes watering and cheeks flushing bright red. Satisfaction washed over Vivica as she watched the moment of realization dawn upon her victim.

“How does it feel, Madame? My ruthlessness. Are you choking on your own lies now? Your falsities? How many other women did you force to break their backs so you could live in your gilded palace? How does it feel to question the choices in your life? The choices that have brought you here to look one of your many sins in the eye?  Does it taste bitter? That would be the poison you swallowed but to me, it all tastes so sweet. I’ve been waiting so long for this moment....”

Maybe it was the coldness in her delivery that set Delcroix into a panic. She bolted to her feet, knocking her chair over. Her mouth opened wide but only the strangled sound of her choking on her swollen tongue came forth. Vivica swept a hand across the table top and sent the porcelain smashing to the floor.

“Oh no! I think she’s having a reaction! Please! Is anyone able to help!?!?! She’s choking” Vivica cried out in feigned hysterics, playing the part of the concerned friend ever so well. They had the attention of everyone now and they circled like carrion bird, though more out of morbid curiosity than wishing to intervene. Delacroix was flailing now, the inevitability of her fast approaching demise feeding her fear. The entire spectacle and the audience that they had attracted made it easy for Vivica to slip away into the crowd.

No one paid her any heed despite her part she’d played. The half-elezen merely turned on her heel, tightening the lapels of her jacket around her neck and walked confidently out the door. It was only when she heard the heavy sound of Delacroix collapse and the collective gasp did she even chance a victorious smile.

[dcnativegal]

Autumn in the Oregon Outback

It’s autumn here in the Oregon Outback. I’m writing this in mid-December and it surely feels like winter. The snow is so beautiful and stays white. In DC, by day 3 the snow is grey and black.

We started burning wood in the stove right after the equinox. Much of the wood we’ve bought is stacked in the wood shed but then we were away for a weekend and it rained and the wheelbarrow wheel is flat and Valerie’s hand isn’t quite healed from surgery… can you hear the excuses? So, we gather the wood from the driveway AND the shed at the moment. All in good time.

We had a little trouble locating someone who’d deliver wood all the way to Paisley. We were on a waiting list, but I got anxious since wood is our only source of heat. A client knows somebody who knows somebody who desperately needs the work, and next thing we know, we have a pile of wood. When Valerie organized it, she realized it was not quite a cord, and we’d paid $160, which is a lot for a cord, though more reasonable with the 90-minute round trip from Lakeview factored in. We gave him another chance and he gave us than two and a half more cords.  That were not cut quite right. So we have a stack that needs more chopping, and a lot of misshapen bits with tree branches sticking out that make them very hard to stack. We are making do. He was deeply grateful. And we have heat.

When I got up this morning, it was 23 outside and 62 inside. It may get warmer than freezing today, and with my beloved pyromaniac, Valerie, at the stove, it might get as warm as 78. Which means it’s over 80 in the loft if you want to take a nap. I go from wool socks, warm jammies and a sweatshirt to a tank top and shorts in the course of a day. If we ever lose power in winter, we’ll be fine.

Valerie had a medical adventure this past summer in which she woke up and couldn’t get the world to stop spinning. I called her daughter, Hope, an RN at the one hospital in this county, and she met us in the emergency department. The 45-minute ride down to Lakeview with poor Val puking in a bucket was not fun. With a shot of Zofran, she stopped puking, and after an overnight stay to see if she’d had a stroke, an MS flare or “just” loose crystals in her ears, she saw a neurologist to establish care with one out here in Oregon. And it was the neurologist who said, you know you really should see a hand surgeon about those lumps in your left hand. Which hurt when she bonks them. So she did. And the hand surgeon, in Bend, went WHOA NELLY you need those lumps out. Can it wait until after my grandson Adam’s wedding in September? Nope. We’ll schedule the surgery for next week. That’s how fast she came to have 22 schwanomas removed very delicately; they apparently cluster like grapes along nerves. The surgeon had to cut her hand like Zorro because straight-line scars would contract and she’d have even more trouble opening her hand fully. The presenting problem of dizziness turned out to be a temporary issue of rogue ear crystals, but what came out of all the hullabaloo was a hand that no longer hurts.

She’s fine now, and stretches her hand out with the use of heat.

++

Recently, Valerie spent hours with 3 neighbors killing chickens, then defeathering them, and finally putting them in baggies to freeze. For her labors, she got two whole chickens (minus their heads, and innards), and two livers. Valerie does love liver and onions. (The big animal vet she sometimes works for says eating liver is like sucking on an oil filter. I’ll take his word for it and avoid the whole situation.) The neighbors, who’d bought chicks to grow them into meat chickens (not egg-producing ones) now have 35 chicken carcasses frozen for winter meals. Valerie invited me to help. Ha! Ha, ha ha HA!  That would be a no. I did take over our new-to-us poodle named Griffey. He’d have LOVED to smell all the feathers as they were drifting to the ground. The whole business was a revelation. I didn’t stay long. (Shudder.) If I’m going to eat chicken, I need to appreciate where the poor bird on my plate came from. I just don’t need to pluck the actual feathers off myself.

Later that same day, after Valerie’s chicken-plucking and a long shower, we drove to the Lakeview Elks Lodge for a fundraiser for the senior citizen meal program. (The Elks Lodge is the largest venue for big gatherings in the county.) There are 350 senior citizens living below the poverty line. The program serves less than a third of that, and although the meals are offered for free, they are not entirely subsidized by tax revenue, therefore, fundraiser. I’ve come to know the folks at the Senior Center through my many requests for transportation, and they are hardworking, smart women.

Val and I sat and chatted with a husband wife pair we’ve gotten to know from St. Luke’s Episcopal. And then, my coworker, fellow knitter, and Valerie’s primary care provider walked in with her husband. I gestured wildly and they joined our table. She’s the health care person who refers the most clients to me for mental health assessment. I got to know her when I worked in Christmas Valley, those 18 months when I drove north each workday instead of south. She referred clients to our tiny mental health outpost up there. Other things we have in common: she’s a liberal. She’s lived and worked on the east coast. She grew up with a high ACE score (which means, many Adverse Childhood Experiences.) She’s a serious introvert and has a very busy, stressful life in the same clinic that I work in. I admire her very much. Her name is Kathleen.

The Lakeview Senior Center program started and we heard about services to folks 65 and older in the county, which include home delivered meals, transportation to far-flung doctor appointments in Bend and Medford, and daily meals with socializing. Right before dinner was served, there was a loud clatter and thud at the edge of the tables. A man had collapsed. A small group surrounded him. Kathleen asked, is something wrong? Yup. She went over to the man, and stayed there until the EMTs took him out on a gurney to the emergency department. She came back to the table, regretful that she’d had half a beer and had to breathe that breath onto this guy, who’s had trouble with dehydration since his car broke down and he wandered around in the desert for days. Despite the Hebrews’ and Jesus’ success at wandering in deserts, it’s not recommended.

We finally chewed on our tamales, beans and rice, followed by sheet cake. Manley, and Valerie, talk old haying equipment, and tell stories. One of my favorites is about the time when young Valerie worked as a ‘hooker’, that is, she hooked lumber so that it could be lifted by a CAT(erpillar) onto a truck… she tells this story so much better than I do… A guy in a caterpillar hoists her up by large hooks which she holds onto, and he lifts her over to the log he wants her to put on the truck next. She puts the hooks where they go and up goes the log onto the truck.

One day, she’s swinging in the air above the logs still waiting to be loaded, hanging on by her hands, and she sees that the guy running the caterpillar is slumped over the enormous steering wheel. Has he had a heart attack? She swings herself around to see the other crew member to find out if he notices the slumped guy, and guy #2 is slapping the side of the truck in paroxysms of humor. Uh oh. She looks down and her bra straps had snapped and her bra was now visible as a belt around her waist. The caterpillar driver managed to catch his breath and graciously swings her up and over a bush and she drops down. After she’d gotten her bra back up where it belongs, she came out behind the bush and bowed.

A great story. One of many that show how a tough woman gets out of a pink-color trap to work alongside cranky menfolk who learn begrudging respect for this ‘hooker’ and ‘millwright’ and shoe cobbler and… my partner is remarkable …

At the benefit dinner, we listened to the brief explanation of how Meals on Wheels is a program of the triple A which has nothing to do with the American Automobile Association, despite the importance of ‘wheels’ in home-meal delivery, but is rather the Area Agency on Aging. Which is a governmental entity. And that’s all that’s said about that by the director of the program. Because we are in an anti-government, very “red” county. But I know that it’s the Older Americans Act that funds all the ‘triple As’ in the country, one covering every county in the USA. (Since Lake County is the red headed step child of Klamath County, that triple A covers 2 counties.) And I know that the Older Americans Act was one enduring program signed into law by Lyndon B Johnson as part of the Great Society Legislation which also brought us Medicaid and the Voting Rights Act, to name just two more important bits of ‘government.’  

Just ask Valerie. My blood pressure goes up when people disparage ‘government’ around these parts. I know too many very good people who served in ‘government’, how many laws are so deeply helpful to everyone, like the Americans with Disabilities Act, the Affordable Care Act, and the Family Medical Leave Act. How most things that we complain about are due to the influx of corporate control over government, and how reluctant the government is to tax corporations. Campaign finance reform would be the way to drain the ‘swamp.’  

Nevermind. I’m trying to chew all my food and not eat too much of it since my bariatric surgery in April as the evening wears on.

(I will post about the weight loss adventure one of these days…)

I’m glad we went. I’m glad to show my face in support of the senior center. Plus we got to visit with two folks I like. One of whom knew just how to care for a man who collapsed.

The other day, Kathleen walked into my over-decorated office and said, Jane I really need your help. Expecting to hear about a patient who was crying in the examining room and who would soon be ‘warmly handed off’ to me for counseling, I was surprised to hear she needed help with the first couple of rows of a 90-stitch knitting project. Could I cast on? Why of course. “Other duties as assigned.”

*****

In other news, we are adjusting to life with a dog. Since Valerie’s faithful Westie, Dudley, died about 7 years ago, she’s dog-sat various pooches and lived happily with my 13 year-old cat, Moe. Since Val’s pretty much retired from ranch irrigation, she’s now able to spend time with a dog. She was vocal about wanting some sort of poodle mix, because they are smart. Lake County is full of cow dogs, pit bulls, and lots of chihuahuas for some reason. When her daughter Hope saw a message on Facebook about a family needing to rehome a poodle mix, she signaled Valerie, and next thing we know, we have a dog named Griffey, named after a baseball player. He’d been born 6 years before in Maryland, and flown by a coworker’s father to a ranch here; Erin has a poodle breeding business. Poor Griffey apparently didn’t like being in a herd. That family rehomed him with a young couple who had a baby and worked long hours away from home. Griffey pooped in their bed. So Griffey came to us.

This pooch is very well behaved. Aside from chasing the cat, which we are trying to discourage, he obeys Valerie’s voice, loves going gallivanting in the desert every mid-day, and enjoys the cat food Moe turns her nose up at. We take him with us to town for church, and he sits in the truck, waiting for our return. Moe gets the house to herself for a few hours. We’ve become a family who lives with a dog. His current names include “Nickelplate” (which is cheap jewelry), “poor, sad dog”, Snicklefritz, and “Your dogliness.”

I swear there are 2 rush hours in Lakeview every weekday: one at lunch to let the dogs out to pee, and one at dinner for the same purpose, even if folks are going out to dinner later. The homeless people have dogs; the owners won’t go into subsidized housing if their dogs can’t come, too. Dogs and guns. Everyone has them. We don’t have guns. But we do have Griffey. Currently, Griff and Moe are negotiating how to sleep on their humans without hissing and growling at each other.  This is not going well; however, Moe, who’s never lived with a dog or encountered dogs in her sheltered life, is learning to hiss and swipe, which may be far more effective than us ordering Griffey to resist a primeval impulse to chase.

The other thing I’ve been doing is starting up and nurturing a group of women who knit, crochet, or want to learn. I miss knitting in a group, chatting, sharing stories about anything. These gatherings have been called “Stitch and Bitch”, but there is no bitching that I can tell. Occasional complaints about the wait service at the first venue we tried, which had but one worker and one cook for the entire restaurant. We moved to the bowling alley, a large building that has a cavernous party room with a wall protecting us from the racket of big ball bowling. The food has been better and the waitresses take good care of us. So TJ’s Family Fun Center is where we can be found on Wednesday evenings right after work.

I’m surprised by the enthusiasm, and we’ll see if it lasts. The very first gathering, there were 11 of us, and a couple women came to learn. I’m a pretty patient teacher, as long as you’re right handed. I’ve listed youtube videos in our facebook group for lefties, and lots of projects. Here are a couple that I finished this fall.

[travelbases4u]

How Travel Can Benefit Our Mental Health

What's the first thing that comes to your mind when I say ‘travel’ – Vacation? Meeting new people? Or on the other hand possibly, Instagrammable nightfalls? While traveling can be energizing and thrilling, it's far beyond tasting margaritas on a sun-doused seashore. 

It's no news that travel is useful for your physical prosperity, however, a lot of logical research recommends that investigating another spot can do wonders for your mental and passionate health too. 

Here are five proof supported ways traveling makes your mind cheerful and healthy: 

1. It’s a great stress buster.

 "The pressure of work and day by day requests can divert us from what we see as really significant and intriguing," says Dr. Tamara McClintock Greenberg, a San Francisco-based clinical clinician, and creator of Psychodynamic Perspectives on Aging and Illness. In this manner, taking a break from the day by day rushing about is fundamental for your brain to unwind, energize and restore. 

Also, what preferred approach to do as such over to gather your sacks and check craving for new experiences commendable goals off your container list? Traveling advances joy and causes you to take your psyche off unpleasant circumstances. This prompts lower cortisol levels, making you feel progressively quiet and substance. "It likewise encourages us to consider our own objectives and interests," includes Greenberg. As indicated by a recent report, over 80% of Americans, who were overviewed, seen noteworthy drops in pressure soon after a day or two of traveling. "Despite the fact that I'm constantly bustling when I travel, regardless of whether it's touring, taking photographs or simply investigating a goal by walking, I know I'm the calmest and most loosened up when I travel," says Jacintha Verdegaal, a devoted traveler and originator of travel and way of life blog, Urban Pixels. 

2. It helps you reinvent yourself.

Author Patrick Rothfuss stated, " A significant lot of street can show you more yourself than a hundred years of calm ." Experiential traveling, especially to an outside nation, can help you reexamine and rehash your life. "In the event that you permit it, travel can grow your psyche in a way you never acknowledged was potential," says solo travel master and originator of the Trusted Travel Girl, Valerie Wilson. 

In addition, the significant exercises that you learn en route widen your point of view, making you increasingly mindful and open to new things. "I love traveling to places with various societies since it drives you to consider your own," says Verdegaal. "Distinctive isn't better or more regrettable, it's simply extraordinary. However, being stood up to with these distinctions causes me to rethink my very own standards and values and, here and there, transform them," includes the expert globetrotter. 

Investigating new places can likewise give you a new beginning in case you're recuperating from significant progress in your life. "At the point when I had Lyme malady, for quite a while, my reality contracted. I lost companions who didn't have a clue how to manage a debilitated companion. I was very alone and lost a ton of my fearlessness," says Wilson, who started to travel "out of dread of backsliding." "By traveling and cooperating with my general surroundings, I found another energy forever. I persuaded myself to travel in any event, when I wasn't feeling admirable. It has brought me joy, given me a reason, and has made me a solid, autonomous lady," she clarifies. 

3. It boosts happiness and satisfaction.

 Aside from the conspicuous reality that you don't need to get down to business (and can genuine have pizza for breakfast), traveling offers you the chance to step away from the monotonous routine. The new occasions and encounters help revamp your cerebrum, subsequently boosting your state of mind and fearlessness. "I think individuals, by and large, are not intended to be secured to only one spot their whole lives. I particularly feel "caught" when I need to remain in a similar spot for a lot of time, without having the option to truly move about and investigate," says travel fan and prime supporter of The Passport Memorandum, Marta Estevez. "My life feels most satisfying when I'm outside, surviving new encounters and learning," includes the travel master who has been to in excess of ten nations. 

"Travel certainly fulfills me," concurs Wilson. "Indeed, even the demonstration of arranging an excursion gives me something to anticipate and brings me joy," says Wilson. Turns out, she's by all account not the only one who feels that way. As indicated by a Cornell University study, the expectation of an excursion can build your bliss considerably, significantly more than the expectation of securing something substantial, similar to another vehicle. 

4. It makes you mentally resilient.

 Proceeding to live someplace where you feel energized and threatened simultaneously can assist you with toughening up mentally and inwardly. "At the point when I was more youthful, I couldn't see myself traveling the world all alone. Be that as it may, presently, I travel without anyone else more often than not. Furthermore, I love it! It's never as terrifying or risky as you make it in your mind," says Verdegaal of Urban Pixels. 

Additionally, confronting troubles in a new situation, among new individuals, compels you to learn and adjust to a life that is out of your usual range of familiarity. This makes you progressively adaptable, tolerant and genuinely solid. "Travel has shown me tolerance, to give up control to the wild, and adequately issue understand," says Wilson who portrays herself as a "normally restless and anxious individual." 

It can likewise assist you with managing "bigger issues in existence with more beauty and tolerance," includes the travel master. "One of the most noticeably awful encounters I had, right off the bat in my travel life, was being robbed of heaps of money and my identification only a day prior to I was because of fly home. It instructed me to acknowledge circumstances like this all the more tranquility and to join less feeling to assets. Presently, I can get over comparable distressing circumstances rapidly, without having the issue get me down for long," tells Allan Hinton, a London-based picture taker who quit his place of employment to turn into a full-time traveler. 

So also, when travel blogger Marta Estevez harmed her lower leg during the well known Loi Krathong celebration (Lantern celebration) in Thailand, "the streets were in part shut off that night and the roads were loaded up with heaps of individuals that made it fantastically hard for us to move," she clarifies. "I needed to figure out how to acknowledge the circumstance and adjust our travels as needs are, without separating. I don't know I would've had a similar poise a couple of years prior in this circumstance." Bottom line is, the more difficulties you're looked with, the better you'll get at conquering them, in the long run getting stronger, mentally and inwardly. 

5. It enhances creativity.

 As per Adam Galinsky, a teacher at Columbia Business School, visiting an outside spot and drenching yourself in their neighborhood condition (for example, going to a 'snake vessel' race in southern India or devouring fresh tarantulas in Cambodia), expands your subjective adaptability. It likewise upgrades "profundity and integrativeness of thought," thus giving a lift to your imagination. Galinsky is the creator of various investigations that investigate the association between inventiveness and global travel. In spite of the fact that, note that traveling animates inventiveness just when you connect with the neighborhood culture of that spot. Simply visiting another city or a nation won't cut it. 

Furthermore, expanded traveling likewise improves your efficiency, critical thinking abilities and can even build your odds of getting advanced at work! 

Be that as it may, "recall that get-away can be unpleasant for certain," notes Greenberg. On the off chance that that is the situation with you, take a stab at taking "short, organized get-aways so as to become accustomed to the experience of having time off," she recommends. Additionally, plan your outing appropriately, ahead of time, to stay away from a minute ago frenzy and disorder. 

In conclusion, how might you receive the rewards in the wake of coming back from the outing? 

"As a clinician, I urge individuals to clutch parts of a travel understanding or excursion that was pleasurable," says Greenberg. For instance, "on the off chance that you loved the nourishment in Paris, figure out how to prepare French nourishment so as to re-make a portion of the sentiments you had while you were on an excursion," she clarifies. "Another conduct mediation is to recall serene minutes you had in the midst of a get-away and attempt to recollect what was not quite the same as your present life. Perhaps you set aside the effort to have breakfast, possibly you worked out. Those things are pivotal tokens of what we ought to do each day," includes the clinical clinician. 

Since you've got done with finding out pretty much all the magnificent things travel does to your mind, it's an ideal opportunity to gather your sacks and get moving!

[nofomoartworld]

Hyperallergic: Andy Warhol’s Self-Conscious and Perfect Bodies

Installation view of My Perfect Body at the Andy Warhol Museum (all photos by the author for Hyperallergic unless otherwise noted)

PITTSBURGH — Young men and women recline on their backs, some shirtless, staring at the camera confrontationally, or smoking, aloof. They are often serious and sexy. They are the subjects of Andy Warhol‘s screen tests, where visitors to his studio, the Factory, sat alone with a rolling video camera. The silent footage occupies a large wall at the Andy Warhol Museum, where you can also make your own screen test. Sitting before a camera and under a blaring light for four minutes and 41 seconds, I didn’t know what to do with my limbs or what facial expression to make. Whom was I looking at? I felt painfully inept.

Jessica Beck, a curator at the Warhol Museum, says there is an “uncomfortable encounter with shame and sexuality” in the screen tests. Recording one makes you hyperaware of your body; it sort of felt like I was staring into a mirror, but couldn’t see my own reflection.

The screen tests were an apt prelude to the exhibition My Perfect Body, curated by Beck, which makes plain Warhol’s self-conscious relationship to his own body and fascination with others. I saw the show after walking through the entire museum dedicated to the artist and it’s how it ought to be seen. It seals his work together, from his early fashion designs to his celebrity portraits.

Andy Warhol’s pills and medication at the Andy Warhol Museum

Before the exhibition officially begins, there is a room of glass cabinets filled with Warhol’s prescription drugs, vitamin supplements, wigs, thick-lensed glasses, and plenty of cosmetics. In his book The Philosophy of Andy Warhol, the artist writes: “If someone asked me, ‘What’s your problem?’ I’d have to say, ‘Skin.'” From a young age, Warhol — who then went by Andrew Warhola — was anxious about his acne and blotchy skin, which started to lose pigment when he was eight years old. Some people called him “Spot,” or “Andy the Red-Nosed Warhola” (the redness was later attributed to rosacea). His diaries tell of his various appointments with the “pimple doctor,” the crystal doctor, and the plastic surgeon “dying to do” the artist’s face. As he got older, Warhol regularly took collagen injections to smooth away wrinkles. He also began to bald and lost much of his body hair, reputedly after a nervous episode when a love affair fell apart — hence his need for a wig.

Andy Warhol, “Before and After, 4” (1962)

My Perfect Body leads with a hallway of photos of Warhol. In one, his hands mask his face; in another, he has colored his nose with dark pigment to make it look smaller and less round. Soon after, we come across Warhol’s “Before and After” print, which was based on an ad for a plastic surgeon and shows the results of a woman’s nose reduction. Several of Warhol’s early anatomical drawings, such as of male genitals, hands, and feet, are inspired by a slew of ads, blaring phrases like “Try Man Power Today” and “Where Is Your Rupture?”

Andy Warhol’s source material

Andy Warhol’s source material

As the exhibition delineates, Warhol either idealizes or uncovers the blemishes and failures of the body, a dichotomy that mirrors what he said of Pop in a 1966 interview: It’s “just taking the outside and putting it on the inside or taking the inside and putting it on the outside.” Sometimes, bodies are purely sculptures, at others they are grotesque objects and vessels for ugly feelings. In the show, we jump from loving ink drawings of naked men, with small, black hearts crawling up their shoulders and backs, to Warhol’s astonishing large-scale prints of car crashes and a woman’s suicide.

Installation view of My Perfect Body at the Andy Warhol Museum

In 1968, writer Valerie Solanas attempted to murder Warhol with a gun. He survived, undergoing intense surgery, which left deep scars across his chest and stomach, forcing him to wear corsets for the rest of his life (a colorful array of them is on display). At first deeply ashamed to reveal his deformed body, Warhol eventually posed shirtless for various artists and photographers, famously including Richard Avedon and Alice Neel. Whereas Warhol previously focused his energies on adjusting his looks with cosmetics, plastic surgery, and accessories, after the gun wound, he developed an obsession for bodybuilding. He maintained a regular regimen of riding exercise bikes and lifting weights, and recorded videos with his trainer for Andy Warhol’s TV, his television series that ran from 1980–82. He collected clips of men with bulbous bodies, deeming them nothing less than marvels. “Muscles are great,” he writes in America. “Everybody should have at least one they can show off.”

Various Andy Warhol–related objects, including Richard Avedon’s portrait of the artist and Warhol’s wig

Andy Warhol’s corsets

But I should mention that My Perfect Body is not sensational in its approach. If anything, it provides you with a more nuanced interpretation of Warhol and his work, one that moves beyond the artist as a kind of character or persona.

One of Warhol’s quietest works, “Sleep,” in which he films his friend John Giorno sleeping naked, focusing on one body part at a time, encompasses the artist’s approach to much of his art: a gaze filled with love for others. Giorno writes a fantastic essay in the exhibition catalogue, describing an indelible scene of Warhol drying himself naked after a shower. “He had a beautiful body and a big dick. I was very surprised,” Giorno writes. “What he didn’t see in himself he saw in everybody else … . Whoever attracted him, and potentially every person in the world, had a perfect body.”

Scene from Andy Warhol’s “Sleep” (1963)

In Beck’s interview with art historian Douglas Crimp, he builds on that point: “Yes, Warhol was shy and insecure about his own body, his own appeal, and undoubtedly about his sexual desires and activities. But he made up for it, found outlets in others and in the art he made with and about others.”

Andy Warhol’s source material

It’s easy for us to diagnose, analyze, and glamorize Warhol. On the one hand, he didn’t shy away from feeding people with deliciously frank and gossipy commentary about art and life. He gave the impression of being quite open, but, like any of us, concealed not only parts of his physical body but aspects of his private life. While he identified as gay, his sexuality was not so easily definable; in 1980, he told his biographer that he was a virgin — a claim that would be challenged. “Fantasy love is much better than reality love,” he said. Likewise, his art is populated by fantasy bodies.

Near Warhol’s collection of medical prescriptions, the contemporary artist Adam Milner has installed his own glass case of what he calls “remains.” They are a mix of Milner’s, Warhol’s, and strangers’ possessions, the distinction often blurry. They include the last (unwashed) pair of underwear Warhol wore, an ex-boyfriend’s wisdom tooth, braided hair, fake eyelashes, and bones. The takeaway seems to be that we all have bodies, with similar parts, that are equally gross, attractive, and sexual. Our relationship to our bodies is a strange admixture of love and shame, curiosity and disdain. But somehow, leaving the museum, I felt the admiration of Warhol’s gaze, as though I, too, had a perfect body.

Adam Milner, “Remains” (2016) (image courtesy the artist)

Andy Warhol: My Perfect Body continues through January 22 and Exposures: Adam Milner: Remains continues through January 15 at the Andy Warhol Museum (117 Sandusky Street, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania).

The post Andy Warhol’s Self-Conscious and Perfect Bodies appeared first on Hyperallergic.

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[29theageofunderstanding]

New years, the worse year. 2016's last big laugh

So my current situation is bleak. Recently I was diagnosed with borderline personality disorder after having a complete depressive breakdown at work and feeling like I was so completely unloved. Part of feeling like I was being gaslighted part feeling like I was actually having a mental breakdown. I went in to the e.r. to voluntarily entering a mental health in patient center. That pretty much ended with me not really having answers as much as more questions. They rushed me thru more or less even they I just sat there forever with nothing. Waiting in a phyc room with Valerie by my side. It felt like such a inconvenience for her, but she stayed. And I appreciated that so much. But I ended up being diagnosed with borderline personality disorder. Valerie said it was either I get help or I loose her. And I tried, I tried to get help but the docs did a horrible job and pretty much brushed me of and did the absolute minimum for me getting me nowhere. So in trying to make things better for the relationship, it made them worse. I was suppose to get help but I didnt. So the issues that were suppose to start getting worked on never did. I was still jealous and insecure and worried about if valerie loved me, if she was telling me the truth let alone wanted to be with me. We would still argue but we always got past them by ending them laughing somehow. Our latest argument has not ended up with a joke in the same sense. It was 2016's joke. Starting off going into 11pm-1am new years day things were good, I was sort of anxious and quiet but I slowly warmed up and me and valerie were having fun. There was a bigger dude who was flirting with her most of the night when she would go up to get drinks but I think she sort of just rolled with it as the conversation turned to a friend of hers being single or not. But I still let that effect my night and I shouldn't have. The night which originally and ironicly started off great. I made her french toast in bed Which I enjoyed taking care of her a lot. She was my baby and she meant the world to me. Later we took a nap and woke up. I went to the store to get stuff for the night and she made her butternut squash soup. When I got back in inadvertently started a argument about a ex of hers and if she had messaged him l, which she had and that wasn't the issue. I'm very insecure about him because I know how valerie feels about him. Or at least I know from the beginning of the relationship when I had caught her lying to me about him which caused arguments and a distrust in her. Truth be told I thought he was a ok dude. A ass hole for how he treated valerie but other then that a ok dude. So valerie texted him about coming to hang out with us for new years, and some other friends and I tried to explain to her that it made me uncomfortable to be around him and with Valerie drinking I wasn't sure how she would act as well as me drinking and how I could react. And frankly it just was a situation in wanted to avoid. Well we argued and she said we should just stay home then because I had already ruined the night. I insisted we go out still as it was suppose to be a special night for us. And I didn't want it wrecked for some dumb reason.which noe looking back would have saved it.. we were drinking and our table had copious amounts of alcohol at out table valerie probably had collectively 2+ bottles of champagne in her. 5 gin and tonics and I believe two shots of taquila. For her this was alot. She was acting bubbly and fun but started getting sloppier and boisterous. I was on my 6th or 7th whisky sour. And I had a couple cups of champagne in me and a shot of jameson. I had a pretty good buzz on but still maintaining and had my whits about me. She had made mention of a ex of hers that she openly admitted to using him and manipulating to get to this other dude. And how he was at the bar across the street. And how we were lucky to be at this bar because he would gladly jump her bones. Just hearing those things Ontop of my own insecuritys sort of changed my outlook and her prior statements about how the people at the next table were ugly as shit and looked like dogs and how hot she was, which I agree she was so fucking beautiful. But I did tell her she was being rude as shit. Which at this point she had just started drinking champagne and her buzz was starting pretty good. Sort of the whole night she had this clout of being the shit. And being better then everyone. And it's off putting when she acts like that. I.mean to a certain extent I agree she is incredible. And I won the fucking lottery with her. When she drinks or smokes bud she becomes "lost" asking where is she and stuff like that with a demeanor of just not following what's actually going on but still just going with the flow. I sometimes admire it and sometimes it makes me feel like I have to babysit her or tell her when she's had to much. She doesn't really do moderation. She just keeps going untill she cant. And that hurts to see because I know what those are signs of. Plus she had already had a past with drinking in excess. What I feel like is with this being her first year with out her father and her mother taking alot out of her I understand why she was overly stressed. And I know inside she misses him so much. That the drinking was a coping mechanism. To deal with her internal emotions she can't let go of. But it's in those senarios that she gets so drunk that she doesn't have to feel. I can completely relate. And I've been there and yet I feel like I can't stop her or that she will find someone else who allows it. It's very hard for me to deal with that. Because I try so hard to make people happy. I know exactly what started the shit storm. I walked away and made her feel like i was abondoning her. With the other issue Ontop of that it was done from there and I fucking g regret just walking out of the room her irrational thinking compiled with my absence it quickly added gas to the fire. I asked her friend for a cigarette because she was acting overly drunk and roaming around her friends house chasing the cat, digging thru his stuff and just not respecting his space. She didn't have one so I walked out of the apartment and onward to the car. To have one and warm up because it was to goddamn cold and I only had on a flannel that was light. So I wanted to warm up and my lighter had gotten to cold and wouldn't not start so I used the car lighter. She called and said we were over and how much of a piece of shit I was. She called again and I answered it actually seeing a phone call this time. And she just went off. She was screaming and crying completely irrationally saying how much she hoped I had died and worthless I was and just tearing down and making me feel as tho I was nothing to her. With her excuse of I was keeping you safe. Which I didn't understand what so ever and with her punching me in the face and verbally distroying me I was broken. I was done. I walked home and waited. She called saying she was going to be waking home. Instantly I thought she can't be walking home its way to cold. So I went and found her and drove her back home where we got into even more of a argument and her being agressive twords me because I grabbed her phone so she could calm way down and she was grabbing at me and pushing me. When I grabbed her I put her against the wall in order to try and get her to calm way down that didn't help what so ever. She started screaming help me oh my god help me. After about 15 seconds of seeing this was not going any wear I let her go. Where I pleaded with her to listen and calm herself down but she wouldn't. She cared absolutely zero about me. On my knees in front of her she grabbed at my head in the way of catching a basket ball and shook my head. I gave her back the phone and her bank card. I wanted to get out but she kept stopping me she was on the phone with the police telling them what was going on and how she was trying to keep my inside and they kept telling her to let me get out. I finally got out and waited for the police. I filled out out a statement and so did you. The next thing I know is you are being carried off by the police, handcuffed and scared. I was really becide myself and scared about what would happen. That's why it sucked so bad....