Veronica Mars ficlet: and this is how she steals your grace 1/1
Title: and this is how she steals your grace
Fandom: Veronica Mars
Characters/Pairings: Logan, Logan/Veronica (slightly)
Word Count: 861
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: early S2. ♥
Summary: you were lily’s boyfriend. but you thought about veronica. and lily knew because lily made it her fucking business to know. ‘cause lily was like that. and she knew that you were going to be this fucked-up anyway.
Author's Notes: For inell. ♥ Since I extended the drabble I wrote for you. Just a little bit.
If you really want to hear about it, the first thing you'll probably want to know is where I was born, and what my lousy childhood was like, and how my parents were occupied and all before they had me, and all that David Copperfield kind of crap, but I don't feel like going into it, if you want to know the truth.
J. D. Salinger, The Catcher in the Rye (1951)
you hate water almost as much as you hate losing to dick in super mario brothers (because it's old school and you kick ass at anything old school). but you skipped- or incidentally, you cut school all together- the field trip the last time and tell yourself that you have to make somewhat of fucking effort. or so the lawyer/shrink/male whore that's working for your father says.
you settle against the tree, sliding down and watching the curves of the water as they twist and turn. you think poison and gin and tonic and mom. but stop yourself. because the dead is dead and you’re on a fucking english class trip. something about walden pond. you didn't read the packet.
you sigh, fidgeting and playing with the blade of your swiss army knife. flick. swish. close. flick. swish. close. and start to think about lily. because you’re about forgetting lily these days. that and school trips and ignoring visit calls to dad (trina’s better at faking).
and you like thinking. or brooding (you hate buffy, but whatever. girls like the brooding). you spend a lot of time thinking about lily. or your mom. or lily. and forgetting lily- maybe both. whatever.
you were lily’s boyfriend. but you thought about veronica. and lily knew because lily made it her fucking business to know. ‘cause lily was like that. and she knew that you were going to be this fucked-up anyway.
she used to do this thing with her mouth, lily. curl her fingers around your cock like she had no fucking clue what she was doing. and she’d says things like think of veronica’s pretty, little mouth and then afterwards, after you came so fucking hard, she’d mock you with i can’t, like, believe you got turned on like that. but there’d always be that light in her eye. (you stayed. lily loved the boys who stayed.)
but you forget about lily. and reds and water and those fucking cosmo quizzes she made you do. you forget about wet mouths and secrets (you never were a fucking idiot, but you loved lily still) because of a someone called dad and celeste kane’s fucking overpriced ash tray.
because at some point, you need to start breathing too. (you just like to be angry.) it’s just not working well. at all, really.
"You know," comes a dry voice behind you. you feel your smirk (battle armor). "You keep your face like that, it might stay that way."
veronica, veronica, veronica. endless chants of her name in your head (you’ll never admit it’s when your fingers curl around your cock and it’s that special time for punishing yourself that you like thinking about her. soft, pliable. and almost yours in misguided devotion.) you don't give veronica invitations anymore. because you can’t. because you’re going fucking insane about respecting the universal laws of best friends and shit like that. even though ducan and you are trying not to be best friends. at all. and she rarely takes anything else from you (as if she knows). but she sits here, leaning against the trunk and watching the water.
you hate these moments. because it reminds you about the fucking albatross around your neck. (is it you?) she left you. you didn’t leave her. and she’s never been about building bridges- not the veronica you know. of course, there’s the obvious. and fuck the obvious, you say-
duncan's girl. duncan's girl. fucking duncan's girl.
"Okay?" it's tentative. because you’re unpredictable. or so she tells you. or told you when she ripped your heart in two. (lily was better at it. but veronica hurts more. it’s really about tangibility.)
there are million things you could say. there’s always a million things. but you hate half the music she listens to and she’s called you a tasteless bastard more than once (even though a joke’s a joke).
you can’t resist answering (her). “Fine.”
even though it’s: no, i’m not fucking fine. you fucking left me to go back to my idiot of best friend. who left you in the dust too. no, i’m self-destructive. but if you can lie to yourself. than so can i.
but you don’t tell her these things. because even if you could, like lily, she doesn’t listen. she never listens until the epiphany hits her with bricks. big, fat, heavy bricks. (you want to watch when this happens.)
but veronica shrugs. and her hair brushes against her shoulders. you leave the knife in the ground, flexing your fingers. because god, you still need to fight to touch her. because, that summer (this- it’s just easier to say that because you can forget when it’s that) all you did was touch, touch, touch veronica mars.
“Do you-”
you frown. it’s starting to smell over this way, the drifting of the picnic of cafeteria food no less appealing. and so you dig your knife into the ground. five times. hard, stupid strokes. you don’t know why she’s trying or what she’s trying for.
so you end it. because even you need to stop tormenting yourself. "Fuck you, Veronica. Just fuck you."
this is how it is now.
∅
end.
Fandom: Veronica Mars
Characters/Pairings: Logan, Logan/Veronica (slightly)
Word Count: 861
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: early S2. ♥
Summary: you were lily’s boyfriend. but you thought about veronica. and lily knew because lily made it her fucking business to know. ‘cause lily was like that. and she knew that you were going to be this fucked-up anyway.
Author's Notes: For inell. ♥ Since I extended the drabble I wrote for you. Just a little bit.
If you really want to hear about it, the first thing you'll probably want to know is where I was born, and what my lousy childhood was like, and how my parents were occupied and all before they had me, and all that David Copperfield kind of crap, but I don't feel like going into it, if you want to know the truth.
J. D. Salinger, The Catcher in the Rye (1951)
you hate water almost as much as you hate losing to dick in super mario brothers (because it's old school and you kick ass at anything old school). but you skipped- or incidentally, you cut school all together- the field trip the last time and tell yourself that you have to make somewhat of fucking effort. or so the lawyer/shrink/male whore that's working for your father says.
you settle against the tree, sliding down and watching the curves of the water as they twist and turn. you think poison and gin and tonic and mom. but stop yourself. because the dead is dead and you’re on a fucking english class trip. something about walden pond. you didn't read the packet.
you sigh, fidgeting and playing with the blade of your swiss army knife. flick. swish. close. flick. swish. close. and start to think about lily. because you’re about forgetting lily these days. that and school trips and ignoring visit calls to dad (trina’s better at faking).
and you like thinking. or brooding (you hate buffy, but whatever. girls like the brooding). you spend a lot of time thinking about lily. or your mom. or lily. and forgetting lily- maybe both. whatever.
you were lily’s boyfriend. but you thought about veronica. and lily knew because lily made it her fucking business to know. ‘cause lily was like that. and she knew that you were going to be this fucked-up anyway.
she used to do this thing with her mouth, lily. curl her fingers around your cock like she had no fucking clue what she was doing. and she’d says things like think of veronica’s pretty, little mouth and then afterwards, after you came so fucking hard, she’d mock you with i can’t, like, believe you got turned on like that. but there’d always be that light in her eye. (you stayed. lily loved the boys who stayed.)
but you forget about lily. and reds and water and those fucking cosmo quizzes she made you do. you forget about wet mouths and secrets (you never were a fucking idiot, but you loved lily still) because of a someone called dad and celeste kane’s fucking overpriced ash tray.
because at some point, you need to start breathing too. (you just like to be angry.) it’s just not working well. at all, really.
"You know," comes a dry voice behind you. you feel your smirk (battle armor). "You keep your face like that, it might stay that way."
veronica, veronica, veronica. endless chants of her name in your head (you’ll never admit it’s when your fingers curl around your cock and it’s that special time for punishing yourself that you like thinking about her. soft, pliable. and almost yours in misguided devotion.) you don't give veronica invitations anymore. because you can’t. because you’re going fucking insane about respecting the universal laws of best friends and shit like that. even though ducan and you are trying not to be best friends. at all. and she rarely takes anything else from you (as if she knows). but she sits here, leaning against the trunk and watching the water.
you hate these moments. because it reminds you about the fucking albatross around your neck. (is it you?) she left you. you didn’t leave her. and she’s never been about building bridges- not the veronica you know. of course, there’s the obvious. and fuck the obvious, you say-
duncan's girl. duncan's girl. fucking duncan's girl.
"Okay?" it's tentative. because you’re unpredictable. or so she tells you. or told you when she ripped your heart in two. (lily was better at it. but veronica hurts more. it’s really about tangibility.)
there are million things you could say. there’s always a million things. but you hate half the music she listens to and she’s called you a tasteless bastard more than once (even though a joke’s a joke).
you can’t resist answering (her). “Fine.”
even though it’s: no, i’m not fucking fine. you fucking left me to go back to my idiot of best friend. who left you in the dust too. no, i’m self-destructive. but if you can lie to yourself. than so can i.
but you don’t tell her these things. because even if you could, like lily, she doesn’t listen. she never listens until the epiphany hits her with bricks. big, fat, heavy bricks. (you want to watch when this happens.)
but veronica shrugs. and her hair brushes against her shoulders. you leave the knife in the ground, flexing your fingers. because god, you still need to fight to touch her. because, that summer (this- it’s just easier to say that because you can forget when it’s that) all you did was touch, touch, touch veronica mars.
“Do you-”
you frown. it’s starting to smell over this way, the drifting of the picnic of cafeteria food no less appealing. and so you dig your knife into the ground. five times. hard, stupid strokes. you don’t know why she’s trying or what she’s trying for.
so you end it. because even you need to stop tormenting yourself. "Fuck you, Veronica. Just fuck you."
this is how it is now.
∅
end.