stricken.

logan trask // 22, striker, fox

[lgntrask]

akira-sxto‌:

Location: Roof of Fox Tower Date: October 13 Time: 3:46 p.m. (OPEN)

Akira had gotten back from his drive almost an hour ago and despite knowing he should definitely sleep. Should try to start the healing process. But he didn’t even stop at his room on his way up to the roof. He knew he needed sleep but he also knew that sleep wasn’t about to come either. Between the roiling thoughts in his head and the throbbing of his shoulder and the dark thoughts bouncing in his head there was no way he was going to sleep to night. So, like most Foes, Akira found himself on the roof. It was cold, he could see his breath in the watery moon light as he stood up there, a fair distance from the edge. He didn’t want to get any closer. Not tonight. Tonight wasn’t about facing the heights and staring them down. Akira didn’t think he had that in him tonight.

After a while he sinks to the roof, sitting. It doesn’t do much to help the cold but Akira’s legs are sore from the game and from standing for so long. He tries not to let his mind wander, tries to focus on the game, tearing it apart like he always does after a match. But he gets to the moment he’s shoved into the wall and he spirals. It probably doesn’t help that he hasn’t actually seen what happened in the immediate aftermath of the game. Abby had ushered him away as soon as the doors had opened. Not that he’d been paying much attention to the game once it had gotten into full swing. Not that it had been a good game to  watch anyways but Akira refused to let himself focus on that aspect. Instead, he let himself focus on himself. If that was a good or bad thing was a question that had escaped him for hours now.

He felt the hot prickle of tears for the fourth time that evening. Alone on the roof he let himself cry, for just a moment. His parents had always told him it was healthy but he still didn’t do it often. He felt vulnerable, exposed, and it didn’t help that Akira knew exactly what the press would do if they got a picture of him crying. But it felt good and some of the darker thoughts he’d been battling with didn’t feel quite so over powering in a few moments. He hadn’t been at it long when the sound of footsteps startled him. Using his good arm he used his sleeve to wipe at his eyes until the were mostly dry, glad his back was turned mostly to the door.

He wanted to stand up again but he wasn’t sure how to go about doing it. He was loathe to ask for help but he’d rather do that than have them possibly broach the subject of what they’d walked in on him doing. The last thing he wanted was for his teammates to think him weak. God only knows how long they’d been standing there. “I might…need help getting up again…if you don’t, uhm, mind.”

Typically, Logan would be basking in his sense of pride at having held his own against such tough competition, the fact that he had scored at all despite the obstacles and shady gameplay enough to put a pep in his step... but seeing the rest of the team, the absolute dejection and demoralized state that they were in after such a massive defeat, following all the others that had marked the beginning of their season, he couldn’t quite manage it, couldn’t coax any enthusiasm into his being. While he was happy that he managed to prove his prowess - something that had inevitably come to question in his mind after not being able to participate in their last game - Logan was more in the mood to commiserate.

And Akira was a very good start, not only because he may have gotten the brunt of the Ravens’ asshole-ness and then was made to do press duty after, but also because Logan considered him a very good friend, one of his closest, in fact, and he’d been worried from the very moment that Akira had been hit and fell to the floor. Had he been a little more like his old, impetuous self, Logan knew for a fact that he would have jumped right in after Peruggia and gotten in a few hits of his own, red card be damned. But then with so many of them ending up sidelined with injuries and offenses, how could he be so reckless? At the very least he could keep the image of the guy’s busted lips in his head for future gleeful reference.

“You good?”

He didn’t know why he even asked the question... to break the ice, maybe? It was clear what the answer was anyhow, but it did still allow Akira that moment of normality, a chance to let it all tide over so he can compose himself better. “Why, d’you wanna leave already? It’s not like they’re having parties this time around, not like the last game.” As it was, Logan was more than willing to plop himself down next to Akira and just let him sob, play the part of silent support. Or he could help the other up, offering now a hand that the other could choose to take or push away, take him to Denny’s, take him for a joy ride, whatever he needed to feel a little less... like himself right now.

“Last time I had a good cry, I think it was... when the news about my mom came out? It was mostly relief, I guess, cause I’ve been lugging that secret around for so long... or maybe I was sad too, I dunno actually. It was nice though.”

[lgntrask]

leodxarte‌:

It’s stupid to feel caught: he’s pretty sure he’s going to end up with a cast on his hand, and that’s something he won’t be able to hide from his teammates. But, for tonight at least, he wants to. He wants to get into his room and find an ice pack and some painkillers and let everyone, including himself, pretend that this loss was just a loss, that he can wipe the slate clean and be back on the court on Monday, ready to work for the next game and, hopefully, the next win. 

He knows he won’t be. He’ll have to watch the Foxes practice without him, play without him, win or lose games without him. And, if they win, he’ll be bitter, knowing he wasn’t a part of it. Wondering if they’re a better team without him on the court. Wondering, as he always does, if he’s dead weight, if he was better off at Class II, better off not pretending that he could be on this team and play this sport and contribute. Like he could make his dead father or anyone else, including himself, proud. 

Logan especially is hard to stomach. The lone goal-scorer of the night. The Golden Boy who could have been a Raven, if he’d wanted to be. 

Leo had been a Raven, but everyone knows what a fucking joke that was, even if they don’t know exactly what his father had done to get him in the doors of Castle Evermore. 

“What,” he says, unable to muster up a smile. “Are you going to bite me? And here I thought this nice couldn’t get any worse.”

He catches the opening door with his good hand, holds it open. He should say thank you, but he feels too wounded to manage it. Angry at himself, and jealous of Logan, all of it mingling together into a lump in his throat that’s hard to swallow around. “It’s fine,” he says, a bitten out reflex, because he doesn’t want the scrutiny—not because he thinks it is, because even he’s not that fucking delusional. Even as it is, it’s a pretty pathetic lie. “I”ll handle it.”

Are you going to bite me?

If this were any other night, Logan would have rolled his eyes and shrugged his shoulders, and simply let the comment drop; if this were any other person, he would have mimicked a biting motion just to be playful, but neither were realities that compared to the bleak one before them, staring him down with the image of Leo’s swelling hand that he almost willed himself to see through the skin into the damage underneath. The two weren’t close, there was really never any reason for them to be other than the fact that they were both Foxes and spent more time together in practice than most other students did in Palmetto, but with the passing of minutes in their little encounter, he was slowly getting a sense that Leo was almost him a few years back: the way that he imagined what the other would be thinking if Logan was in his shoes, how he would be reacting to this injury - the want to conceal and to minimize, the grittiness to push through the pain, the sarcasm to distract - made him sure those were actually Leo’s true thoughts.

How jarring.

“I’d bite you, but I’m feeling... generous tonight, so I guess I’ll just let you off with a warning,” he quipped back with a lazy smile, although judging by the half hearted tone of his voice, it was clear Logan wasn’t simply going to let Leo sweep this under the rug. He could try to reason it out and say to himself that the concern was coming primarily from a competitive place, that he didn’t want the Foxes to lose another player that could potentially be the one that they needed to win a game, Logan could justify a little selfishness in that respect... but it wasn’t the truth, not really. Maybe it was having to hear Grant’s rantings for the last five years, especially when the goalkeeper was made captain, that opened up this well in him, but Logan found himself genuinely concerned, except that instead of Grant’s strict and straightforward enforcing of the rules, Logan was little less... orthodox. Mainly that he strong armed people away from their obstinate ways through the use of fear and intimidation. His reputation had taken a hit lately, he wasn’t as ornery as he used to be, but Logan was still just as capable of getting right down to it if it came to that.

“If it wasn’t frowned upon, Duarte, I swear, I’d kick you to literally kick some sense into your bird brain right now,” his words weren’t laced with any maliciousness, only an exasperation that made it obvious he was pretty familiar with this stubbornness, because it was something he carried within himself too. “How are you fine when you couldn’t even open a fucking door on your own? What, you’re just gonna be stuck in this room until someone else comes in to open the door for you? You know we have someone on the staff whose job it is to actually “handle it”, right? How’d you even manage to hide that thing?”

[lgntrask]

leodxarte‌:

Location: Fox Tower Hallway Date: October 12 Time: Post-Game (open)

He isn’t sure when it happened: When his hand had been crushed in between sticks? When he’d thrown inelegant punches at a once-teammate? But by the time he had been sitting on the bench, feeling his hand swelling inside his glove, he’d known what he’d done. 

He isn’t a fighter, so maybe it’s no surprise that he can’t throw a fucking punch to save his life. But he’d just been filled with this crushing need to do something. And if he couldn’t match the Ravens when it came to speed or agility or stick skills then at least, maybe, he could start a fight, make it bad enough that he took someone else off the court with him. Not that he’d accomplished that, either—not without Sterling’s help, at least.

He’d certainly taken himself off the court, though. A red card doesn’t even fucking matter. He knows he’s not playing again anytime soon. 

Not that he’d done anything about it. Eased his glove off in the locker room as gently as he could, shrugged on a sweatshirt and tucked his hand into the pocket. Maybe it was denial, but he just—couldn’t deal with it. Couldn’t admit what he’d done to himself. Didn’t want Wymack telling him he deserved it for being stupid, didn’t even want Abby’s concern. Maybe wanted that even less. 

It wouldn’t be better in the morning, but maybe he’d be more ready to face it then. 

But with one good hand, it’s really fucking hard to get his keys out, his door open. He just wants some fucking ice. An Advil or two or three. Instead, he watches his keys fall to the carpet at his feet and just stares at them. Gets caught like a deer in the headlights, keys at his feet and swollen hand tucked protectively against his chest. “I’ll get Abby to look at it tomorrow, okay?” He says, preemptively defensive, jaw set and shoulders hunching up around his ears. “Just—help me out? And don’t say anything.”

“You’re being pretty fucking demanding for someone who’s asking for help.”

Most times, the snark that came out of Logan’s mouth comes with the caveat of hardly being meant, sarcasm for the sake of, a habit so ingrained that he never quite had the option to do anything else but. This time though, with Leo, even he wasn’t so sure if his words didn’t hold some ring of truth of them, a small grain of intention or judgement; his primary goal was to deflate the tension of the moment, to be sure, but maybe there was more to it than that.

With the previous game against the Jackrabbits, though he wasn’t a part of it, he had imagined what actions he would have taken, the retaliation that might have happened had he been on that court and was faced with the aggressiveness that his teammates had suffered under, the punch he would have thrown. Maybe back then it was all talk, he’d mellowed out considerably from his younger years at Palmetto and could hardly remember the last time he’d gotten into a scuffle that was started by him. Still, he saw parts of himself in Leo: the telltale anger, the desperation to win at something rather than lose at everything, even if that something was a fight that would earn him a card. What had that gotten him if at the end of it all? Would he have had the chance to score that one goal had he just succumbed to the desire to wipe that smug fucking smirk off that Raven’s face with the full force of his knuckles?

Pushing off from where he’d been leaning against the wall, he took the few steps needed to close the distance between them, deliberately slow in his movements as he bent down to pick up the keys Leo had dropped. The two weren’t close, not by any means, though Logan wasn’t close to most so that wasn’t really saying much. Was it just being part of the graduating year, this sense of... protectiveness, almost? Mentorship? Towards the younger members of the team. He didn’t like it, but he also didn’t act against it. “You ever watched Forensic Files on Netflix?” The question may have sounded off-topic, completely random with the conversational tone Logan was using, but he didn’t even wait for Leo to reply before he continued what he wanted to say. “There was this one story there where this guy working at a hotel was stealing from this lady, but she walked in on him, so he beat her to death, but he ended up punching her in the mouth and her teeth cut his hand... he didn’t report it, then the next day it was swollen as fuck and he was rushed to the ER. Turns out he could’ve died cause the wound got infected. Did you know the mouth is the dirtiest part of our bodies? Who would’ve thought, huh?”

At this point, Logan stopped with his story, momentarily busying himself by sticking in the key and turning it until the door clicked and slightly opened. “Anyway... that hand looks pretty messed up.”

[lgntrask]

striker-brayden‌:

Brayden let out a short snort in reply as he unzipped the side pocket of his duffle bag to fish out his cigarettes. “Just give me one of those stupid little party hats and balloon and I’m good to go,” He deadpanned. Brayden’s idea of participating at a party was sitting at table by himself while working his way through multiple drinks, as seen at Eden’s. Lately, it also included Arlo somehow dragging him onto the dance floor, but even then he didn’t really contribute. He just let Arlo dance all over him, because why the fuck not? 

Usually, Brayden would get all defensive towards Logan giving him shit about Arlo, but he was just relieved he somehow managed to put him a better mood–which wasn’t something he could usually say about himself. Brayden was closer to Logan than he was with most of the Foxes, but that didn’t mean he was gearing to have a heart to heart in the locker room. Talking about feelings was just something he didn’t do. Period. And if his sessions with Betsy were anything to go by, bad shit happened when he tried. “Yeah, well, he is the fashionable one,” Brayden shrugged. Except for when he wore those “ARE U NASTY” booty shorts, because those were just terrible. “Besides, you say that like not getting noticed is a bad thing. It just means you can just go to steal the drinks or food before disappearing without any drama,” He added. 

His jaw clenched a little in response, but otherwise he didn’t let it show how disappointed he also was with the game. “If it makes you feel better, I was on the court and I didn’t do shit to help us win either,” Brayden said lightly before tapping out two cigarettes and offering one to Logan. “If you’re not going to the party then you should just smoke with me instead. It fucking stinks in here.”

The mental image alone was enough to make Logan snort, but there was the added caveat that Brayden had gone so far as to inspire the thought in the first place. He knew it wasn’t the case, but it was difficult to imagine a time where Brayden may have been someone other than his grouchy, grumpy self, that his childhood was idyllic and would have allowed him to enjoy something as frivolous as a pointed party hat, a cake, and a group of people singing out of tune and too loudly. Fact of the matter was, Logan didn’t know, and he didn’t really have the heart to ask someone who made it clear that his business was his business, something that Logan respected endlessly as he expected the same of his peers. But did that make their friendship any less valid, the fact that they didn’t know these details about one another’s lives? Not that there was much else to say in Logan’s story, the court case had pretty much hung him out to dry. “It’s gonna be My Little Pony themed, isn’t it? I remember you get a hard on for those.”

Just that one line, that one comment - Yeah, well, he is the fashionable one - made Logan somewhat emotional, if only because it was a step forward from the Brayden who used to constantly deny himself the fact that he deserved good things, or that he deserved to have someone be interested in him like Arlo. Theirs was a slow burn, and Logan had unfortunately bear witness to the lighting of that candle and the whole process afterward. It was high time they got their shit together, otherwise he was actually inclined to just lock them in a room and see what happens, hopefully a soundproof one at that. “I dunno shit about fashion, but I’ll take your word on it, he’s probably taught you some stuff. You’re gonna have to model your brand spanking new pair of booty shorts for me one of these days,” he said with a smirk that was way too close to breaking into a laugh. “You get all the drinks, I get all the food, sounds like a pretty sweet deal, yeah. Cam keeps telling me I actually got fans though, I dunno what the hell she’s talking about cause I’ve never seen them or heard from them, so that might be an issue.”

Maybe Logan was a little dense or maybe he was a little too wrapped up in his own losses, but his mind didn’t even register that Brayden could be disappointed with his performance. To him, it was better that he had played and the outcome was a win than to have never been on the court at all... and for some measly ass reason too, Logan would be fuming with Wymack for a few days after, but would likely channel it into their practice. “Least you were there, man, instead of some sitting fucking duck in the sidelines, watching you guys get elbowed by those assholes. Maybe it’s a good thing too, did you see the way they shoved Byrd into the glass? If they pulled that shit with me, I would’ve rammed my stick up their chin.” It was odd to him how passionately he felt for a game he hadn’t even participated in... oh god, was he turning into Grant Rollins 2.0?! Reaching out for the offered cigarette, Logan pointedly did a sniff of the room, before replying, “It’s not that bad...” and then following it up with a small, inconspicuous farting noise from the side of his lips. “... now it is.”

[lgntrask]

striker-brayden‌:

Well, they finally fucking won, not that Brayden had anything to do with it. He couldn’t help but find it ironic that they lost the games he actually played well in and won the won where he fucked up. The pressure got to him, making him lose focus and possession of the ball. He knew for certain his brother was watching now, and that should’ve made him play better. He’s been playing like his brother was watching, after all. But something about having that verbal confirmation made him question every move he made tonight. At the end of the day, it didn’t really matter how stupid he looked, they won, and for a while there, he was starting to believe that might not happen this season. 

He was slow to leave the locker room, definitely not in the mood for a party. Watching stupid movies and drinking in his hotel room sounded like a much better idea. He winced as he tugged his shirt over his head, already able to tell he was going to be fucking sore in the morning. He must’ve collided with the Jackrabbits harder than he thought. Brayden was so lost in his own head, he didn’t realize that anyone was left in the locker room at this point, so he was surprised when he finally got his shirt over his head and saw Logan standing there. Brayden didn’t know why he was out of the game, but he could assume he broke one the banquet rules, and from the look on his face, he wasn’t happy about missing a game. 

He must’ve been staring a little too long if Logan was calling him out for it, prompting him to shut his locker and grab his duffle bag. “Do I look like I wanna go to a party?” Brayden countered as he hiked the strap of his bag over his shoulder that wasn’t throbbing. “I mean, I’ll take the free alcohol, but I was going to go for the whole fashionably late thing,” He added. Brayden would rather skip completely, but he could probably handling sticking around for twenty minutes to drink before vanishing into his room. 

“Don’t you?” Brayden asked pointedly. Logan and the other fifth years only had so many post-win parties left, not that he was going to bring that up right now. He could only imagine how sore of subject that was. It wasn’t like Brayden was eager to play Exy for the rest of his life, but he couldn’t deny he was dreading his fifth year. Palmetto was his safety blanket. He wasn’t sure what he was going to do without it. 

“From what I know of you, Sykes, I can say for sure that you’re a goddamn party hound.”

The two of them had never really outright said that they were friends, it wasn’t exactly characteristic of their personalities, but Logan knew that there was nobody else, nobody apart from Cameron, that would have prompted him to make a joke that he actually meant when he was in such a foul mood. There was no doubt in his mind that the two of them carried more demons than they deserved, but surprisingly, it was a topic that has never been broached between the two of them... and still, Logan counted this friendship among one of his strongest and his closest. Silent understanding was just that much more preferable to him than having to talk about his fucking feelings.

With Exy, however, there was a slight change. Brayden should be able to see the strength of his ambitions, the lengths that he would go through for the game that provided him and Cameron with much needed stability, and he wouldn’t question or be turned off by how angry Logan was at missing a game. If it was Grant, Logan was sure the captain would be nagging him about his own fault in the matter instead of commiserating, like Logan wouldn’t be aware that he messed up his own chances. That was an integral part of his anger at himself in the first place. “With guys like us, man, I doubt people are even gonna notice that we’re not there. If you’re gonna try and go for the fashionably late shit, I’m telling you now, it’s not gonna work... except maybe with your boyfriend.” He hated it, but it was almost reflex the way his eyebrows wiggled as he said the word, taunting Brayden over something that he knew would elicit a reaction. Despite that though, Logan was simply happy that Brayden was happier, even if he was still a grumpy son of a bitch most of the time, which is really how he liked his friend.

“Not really. Not like I did anything for it. I’ll just be raining on everyone’s parade and shit.”

[lgntrask]

Location: Locker Rooms Date: October 5 Time: Directly after the Game Status: it’s open y’all

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

What a stupid thing to do, to not explicitly follow Wymack’s rules. So what if he hadn’t been there at the end of the goddamn Fall Banquet? It wasn’t as though any of the people there actually cared, and they certainly hadn’t noticed him enough to push him to leave the event in the first place. Wasn’t it high time that the coaches stopped expecting that having the banquet in the first place would lead to some sort of growth in camaraderie that would actually bring these teams together? At the end of the day, when the tables were cleared and the floors swept, they would still be rivals, they would still have to beat each other on the court, what was the whole point of trying to pretend otherwise?

What a stupid thing to do, to bench him for even just one game when Wymack (and honestly everyone on the team, it wasn’t exactly subtle how much more intense he’d gotten this year) knew how much each game meant to him. To be able to pick up his racquet and play his ass off each and every game was another opportunity to show the world that he had something to give, that he was worth taking a chance on just like Wymack had done for him before the Foxes, and until he was secure in a future that could benefit both him and Cameron, he needed all the shots he can get to keep on shining. He missed the end of one fucking banquet and it’s equivalent to this much? To his entire future in jeopardy? Suffice to say, Logan Trask was livid.

What a stupid thing to do, punching a solid steel locker and bruising the fuck out of his knuckles (not that it mattered, he didn’t really have any need for them at the moment; he had all the time in the world to let them heal before the next game, if Wymack didn’t find some other ridiculous excuse to bench him again) at the start of the game, just after everyone else filed out to leave him in the emptiness of the space, finally letting the facade that he was fine with being out for a game fall. When he stepped out to join the others, Logan’s hand was stuffed deep into the pocket of his coat where it stayed for the entirety of the game, clenching and unclenching at every twist and turn.

They won, at least. That was a consolation to his bruised ego. They didn’t win with him though, and despite his consistent scoring the past games, the bottom line was they lost; how was he supposed to convince teams to recruit him with those odds? Shaking hands, flashing smiles, throwing congratulations at everyone, Logan waited for them all to leave him alone again in the locker room, stewing and brooding all the while. He wanted so badly to throw another punch into a locker, but he spotted there was still someone there, someone who was actually watching him, what the hell? “Don’t you have a party to go to?” he asked in as nonchalant a voice as he can muster, which was pretty good actually, but the ticking seconds counted down the bomb that he was, and the longer that they stayed in his presence, the bigger the possibility they’d be a casualty.

[lgntrask]

tanxalis‌:

Location: Dining Hall Date: September 28th Time: 5:12 PM 

It’s always on a Friday that Alis feels a sense of relief – her tense shoulders finally relax and that terrible lip-chewing habit she’d picked up on disappears. The relief comes from making it to the end of the week, and while Alis is aware this feeling will go away come Monday, she revels in it for now. In the dining hall, she has a table all to herself and her dinner is staring back at her. This would have gone better with a beer, she thinks, twirling her fork with one hand. She sighs into her mashed potatoes and takes her cellphone out, glancing at the date. October was approaching soon, and October was always a difficult time for Alis. There was no relief for her in October, certainly not with practice, and definitely not with the anniversary of Evie’s death. 

It’s with a bitter sigh and a lack of appetite that she finally pops some food into her mouth, chewing and scrolling through her phone. Dry texts, an e-mail from her mom updating her on things back home, and a pop-up ad for eczema. She could slam her head into the table, with the lack of entertainment in her life. Others seemed to have so much going on – the head Vixen had literally smashed someone’s face in. Alis hadn’t seen it happen, but it sounded interesting. All Alis had going on was a suspicion that she was developing carpal tunnel from catching the ball during practice. 

As someone slides into the seat next to hers, Alis looks up curiously. “That could be taken, you know.” 

So far, so good. 

At least that was what Logan kept telling himself, despite this nagging feeling inside him that sooner or later, the other shoe would drop and he’d be back to his partying, gambling, staying up all night, disappointing his sister and wrecking his roommates’ sleep days. The thing about reaching a good place in his sobriety was the memory that he’d ever reached that low point in the first place, how straight his path used to be, how clean his nose was, and then he’d just... fallen deep into the rabbit hole, what started the descent he couldn’t recall. This could just be that, he could just be reaching another high and couldn’t see that the low was just in front of him, waiting to catch him in its dark, twisted arms... High school Logan managed to juggle work and school and Exy and his chaotic home life with relative ease, college him was nearing its close and... well, there wasn’t much that he could say for himself, apart from almost reaching championships, almost getting his name out there, almost, almost, almost. 

But it was time for food, and letting himself fall into hunger was what started these depressing thoughts. The soft grumbling of his stomach seemed to nod in agreement, the cigarette that he’d just finished off and stomped dead with his foot not quite enough to stave it off. Pulling out his phone, Logan was right on the verge of calling Cameron, even had her number picked out, the goofy smile as her contact photo looking up at him, but he changed his mind at the last second with a shake of his head and shoved the phone back into his pocket. This was his last year in Palmetto, maybe it was time to start getting used to not having each other in such close quarters, able to get together with a quick phone call.

So he headed to the dining hall, halfheartedly ordered a burger and some fries, grabbed a soda, and was about to pick a table by the corner of the room when he spotted Alis. After all, he had set himself up for company, and maybe this would be a welcome distraction from his foul mood... or maybe they can egg on each other’s shitty moods, who knows? Only one way to find out though, and he was already fully sat down by the time she said something.

“Is Harry Potter here under his invisibility cloak or something?” he quipped, not snarky or serious, just... typically Logan. He pretended to feel underneath him then, unsatisfied, jumped back to his feet to address the sparsely populated dining hall in a loud voice, “Is anyone sitting in this one, specific seat?!” Only a few people turned his way, two girls looking and giggling before turning away just as quickly, making Logan turn back to Alis with a shrug. “Takes care of that,” he sat back down, popping a fry into his mouth like nothing had happened. “So... got any fun Friday night plans?”

[tfcrp]

Hey Foxes!  For your entertainment, please see the below headcanon meme. Reblog to participate, and be sure to include everyone by sending symbols to everyone who reblogs this meme!

🏃 for an Exy headcanon.

👪 for a family headcanon.

👫 for a friendship headcanon.

 📱 for a social media/technology headcanon.

🏫 for a school headcanon.

😍 for a crush your character has/had.

📖+NAME for your character’s thoughts on that person.

💪 for a strength.

👎 for a weakness.

✔️ for something your character likes.

❌ for something your character dislikes.

🎁 for your character‘s most prized possession.

♌ for your character’s zodiac sign (or other personality indicator).

😊 for a happy memory.

😔 for a sad memory.

🎓 for your character’s future goals.

😨 for an irrational fear.

😈 for a bad habit.

😠 for a pet peeve.

🕑 for something your character regrets.

❓ for a random headcanon.

[lgntrask]

vi-brooks‌:

Her knuckles were bruised and for the most part, so was her god-damn mood. Not only had she embarrassed herself but she embarrassed the Foxes. The Vixens. Wymack and everyone in between. She could hear the whispers, the judgement, the laughter. Her name spilling past nosy, irrelevant lips. Usually, she’d brush it off because Vivian Brooks? Well, Vivian Brooks was always the topic of conversation. But tonight something sinister stirred inside of her. So to avoid any more bullshit and inflaming encounters like the one she had with Raleigh Evercunt, she decided to retreat to the bathroom. 

It could’ve been seconds. Minutes. Hours. But it felt like days. So, when she finally convinces herself to head out, she manages to cross paths with Logan fucking Trask. Vivian hadn’t seen him since her failed attempts to shove her tongue down his throat ━ could’ve been worse, she thought. But inevitably, wasn’t good for anyone.

She emits a sigh. Hopes he ignores her. Walks away. But no. He gives her a half-assed wave in attempts to catch her attention. Her fists curl up into balls. Nails dig into the palm of her hand. Teeth bite the flesh of her bottom lip. But then he speaks and she relaxes. Her shoulders unhinge. He’s eyeing her but not in the way that said ‘I’ll tear that dress to pieces in the nearest bathroom stall’. No, it was genuine. Real. Honest. Refreshing. Though, in a whirlwind of sudden emotions, the only thing that manages to slip past her lips is a simple “Thanks”. 

But then he mentions earlier ordeals and she feels sick. Her smile falls flat. Arms folded across her chest, looking everywhere but at him. This was going to fucking haunt her. She chooses to ignore the statement. So she shrugs it off, as if breaking someone’s nose was casual. 

Though, Logan jumps onto the next subject and Vivian’s thankful. He starts to ramble and as hard as she tries to listen, she just… can’t. She eyes his attire. Then glances back up at him. God, when did she start taking time out of her day to actually look at him? He’s disheveled. His tie is fucked. His collar is lopsided. So as he’s speaking, her fingers are adjusting everything. Blame her mother. “Jesus, Trask. Who taught you how to tie a god-damn tie?” 

Finally, after flattening out the ripples in his suit, she shakes her head. Exhales. Fingertips linger. “Wanna get the hell out of here?” 

Even though he was used to being naturally abrasive for anyone who crossed his path, the zero to a hundred turn that Vivian did in the split second her eyes settled on his presence made him briefly consider taking a step back, perhaps even going so far as taking the two, three more after that first one that would place him back inside the bathroom he'd just vacated. It wasn't difficult putting two and two together: she'd gotten into a scuffle with some players a while ago and he was no stranger to the flare ups of her anger, who was he to expect that he be spared from the dregs of the adrenaline that fueled through her veins (Logan assumed, at least, remembering the many times he had pulled back a fist and hit, the absolute rush that came with it) or the scowl that adorned her lips (her painted... beautiful... lips...)?

“What, no witty remark? You’re just going to brush off me, your detested, your most hated, complimenting you?” It was a very thin line that he walked, continuing to speak in such a playful tone when it was clear the last thing Vivian wanted to do was play games (though not to ignore the nervous tinge at the end of his words, the slight worry for her that colored his features but refused to shake off their usual waters), Logan was more than aware of that, but their relationship was nothing if not for the way that they constantly pushed and pulled, teased the other to the very edge, waited for which of them would be the one to drop in a spectacular fall. That or it was all just an act. Where was the fun in conceding to that sad truth? “I feel like we’ve reached a new level in our relationship, Brooks, and I, for one, can’t wait for what comes next.”

Just to be safe, he shifted his grin into a capitulated smile, genuine in its ease and hoping that she would mirror the effect. These events, despite what their coaches and staff and all the others believed, never followed its intended path: there was no good will between opposing teams, no new friendships started, no nice things unfolding. If Vivian hadn’t started it, Logan would bet his entire life that something else would have come along to shatter the tension. At least she had done it with aplomb, but he wasn’t going to tell her that. Instinct would have him believe that Vivian didn’t really give a single, solitary fuck about the possible repercussions of what she did, it would be part and parcel of her reputation, but he wanted to work towards diffusing the situation further anyway, and maybe offer her some solid clarity and confidence or, at the very least, a distraction with the use of his annoying self.

“Who taught me how to tie a goddamn tie?” He repeated in a mocking, incredulous tone, head tilted downwards so he could watch the way that her fingers worked, the freedom with which she fixed him. More than anything, even against what should be an awkward response to her question, what dawned on him is the fact that he can’t remember any previous instance of her standing this close to him, of her touching him freely and with gentleness, it was.... well, it was something that he couldn’t describe, only that his insides dropped to cold climates for a moment before suddenly his entire body warmed up. What the hell was that about? 

“Oh, just this man called my dead father,” he let the answer linger for a few seconds, before he smirked and continued, “Yeah, bet now you feel like an ass.” Caught up in their irregular familiarity though, Logan didn’t have time to process the infinite possibilities that her query could pose, of what they could get into should they get away from eyes that would curb their actions from getting too dangerous (the memory of that close kiss at Eden’s flashed in his head), so before long, in sudden seriousness, he was shrugging his shoulders in a nonchalance that was internally screaming panic. 

“Sure, yeah, I’ve had enough of this crowd anyway and I’ve played nice for Wymack long enough. Where’d you wanna go?”

[lgntrask]

@vi-brooks // banquet (near the end of it? idk)

While so many people around him were all jitters and jumps, seemingly looking for any presented opportunity to bare their teeth and show their might, Logan was still waters, calmer than the most utopic representations of what one could be when at peace. Shit, he was pretty convinced he could give fucking Gandhi a run for his money (you know, if it didn’t turn out that Gandhi was a lot less perfect than he was made out to be), except for the grin that occasionally flitted across his features when he thought of how spectacularly he was doing above his own expectations. Did that mean that he liked where he was, surrounded by all these players who looked like they held a grudge or two against him for his many offenses in the past? No, and if anyone even dared to challenge him on it, he was willing to gift back what was dished out, but it looked as though the coaches of all the teams had done their part in scaring good behavior into their players because so far, the banquet was going off without a hitch. Without booze, without cigarettes, and without fighting, there really was little for Logan to do with a night like this that wouldn’t get his ass in trouble, and with the Foxes off to such a shitty start for the season, the last thing he needed was to be out for a game or two.

Except that this was maybe the thousandth drink he’d nursed in his hand through the relatively short extent of the night, and he was starting to consider just making camp in the bathroom altogether with the way that he kept disappearing to it; to do what the room was intended for or to simply splash water to his face or clench his fists until his knuckles turned so translucent, he was convinced he could see his bones, the bathroom was Logan’s safe zone from the battlefield that was everywhere else. The last time – about half an hour ago – he could’ve sworn he heard someone…s having their own kind of fun in there, tempting him to just hold it all in and die of disease months later instead of subjecting himself to that little slice of hell all over again… and then nature called.

As he stepped out of the bathroom, rubbing his hands dry with paper towels, it just so happened that the door to the ladies room on the opposite side of the hall opened, and out walked… Vivian Brooks. Vivian goddamn Brooks whose company he’d been avoiding ever since that awkward night at Eden’s when shit got too real. Truth be told, more than her actions, it was the fact that she could get so… out of her own control that shocked him, since he, like most people, had gotten so used to the pristine, put together image she presented to the world. Should he expect himself to know any different, when what little interactions he’d had with the Vixen captain were all surface level, all jabs and jibes with subtle sexual tension? Though he never had any doubts that there were layers upon layers to her, and had time and time again felt himself drawn to uncover them one by one, Logan was careful of how far things got, where his boundaries lay, which was why he tried not to end up all alone with her again, in case it started something up again… or woke something up again with him… pants… wise.

Acknowledging her for some awkward small talk was harmless though… right?

He raised a hand to wave and catch her attention, trying to be as innocuous as possible to minimize the possibilities of this shifting into something more (though knowing her and knowing him, this was a timed bomb waiting to explode). “Nice outfit,” he commented, pointedly looking her down and up to show that he had taken notice, even though he knew next to nothing about fashion or clothes. For all Logan knew, she could be wearing something from like, five seasons ago or whatever the fuck it was they called that… but damn if he just couldn’t acknowledge how good she looked. She was Vivian Brooks after all. With his worn out suit that he’d worn to practically every single one of these events, Logan was a trash bag next to her. “Heard you started something earlier, something about breaking a guy’s nose, clawing his eyes out, and kicking his dick off? I might not be remembering it right, but I’m still sorry I didn’t get to see it. Not everyday someone gets emasculated in the middle of a party.” Though he couldn’t help but scoff at his own words: party was such a misnomer for whatever this night was. The raucous nights he’d spent at Eden’s and other clubs? The hazy mornings after? That was a party. He threw his balled up napkins into the open bin close to them, making a ‘woosh’ sound under his breath, and fist pumping when he got it in cleanly. “This shitshow’s almost done at least. You having fun or just waiting for an afterparty or something?”

[lgntrask]

gloryhoskins‌:

Where: The Outskirts of the Campus

When: September 20, 6pm

Status: Open

The leaves would fall soon, exposing the skeletons of the trees that lined the edges of campus, their thin fingers scratching up towards a pale blue sky. For now, she could hide in the tops of them, sheltered by the thick green. It was as good a time as any to hide, and Glory stripped off her worn to the sole runners and began to scale it. It’d been a long time since she’d climbed, her grip slips in certain places, the rough bark taking a thin layer of skin off her palms and she hisses a curse. Finally, she reached halfway to the top— high enough to see across the little kingdom that was Palmetto. The tree was old, the boughs were thick enough for her lie across without fear of falling. She didn’t mean to fall asleep but there was something about the way the wind sang through the branches, drowning out all the noise and shit of the past few weeks. Her leg must’ve rolled over the side because she woke with a jump when something or someone poked at it. “Fuck,” Glory breathed, tucking her limbs back up, ready to take a swipe at the offender. “The fuck you want?”

Logan had no idea when he started adapting some weird, lonely old man habits, perhaps because he now lacked his favorite past times of drinking the night away, leaving him wide away for the rest of the next day, but people watching on his free time sure as hell paid off at certain moments. Sitting some ways off from the rest of the university population, ensuring that he would avoid annoyances (which basically included everyone doing anything), avoid the possibility of ending up on the Foxwatch, or just avoid the real world entirely, it still hadn’t been enough to keep him completely distanced from Exy, having spotted none other than Glory Hoskins making her way towards his little haven. For a moment, he genuinely considered making his presence known, but chose instead to bite down on his tongue when he remembered how much of a spitfire the backliner was, and how, if he got started up again, he might just start berating her for constantly getting into messes on the court that only served to take her out of the game instead of allow her to showcase her potential. That and she was potentially costing them the championships, but he wasn’t selfish... or he didn’t want to look like it anyway.

And he watched, bemused, his eyebrows slowly going up, up, up, as Glory herself did the same at a tree; when she settled in, he still couldn’t take his eyes off of her. Was he worried she’d fall off? Amused that this was her activity of choice? Impressed at her agility, her determination? He didn’t really know, but after a while, Logan started to feel weird that he was simply watching her nap, so he picked up his things and made his way over, picking up a twig on his way over, poking at her exposed leg when he was close enough like he was some child inspecting a wayward bug he’d never seen before. Honestly, he wasn’t sure if he wanted her to wake up or not, but now that she was, he flashed her an innocent grin that was anything but, considering the stick in his hand was still raised and only inches away from her leg still. “Just checking you’re still alive or whatever, because it would seriously ruin my fucking night if I had to call campus security to report a dead body up a tree... not that they’d believe me, but still, I don’t need to add more fuel to the ‘Logan Trask is a murderer’ fire.” He poked her leg again, only because he was already halfway there so why the fuck not follow through? “Do you just... not like flat surfaces?”

[lgntrask]

raleigheverhart‌:

She spent three years cheering for the football team. Remembers how game nights had felt, when she’d worn her uniform to classes all Friday, when they’d turn up their pre-game playlist in the cheerleader house and help paint fox paws on each other’s cheeks, make sure their orange-and-white ribbons were tied in their hair just-so. She remembers the afterparties, victorious nights when it seemed like the entire campus was trying to cram itself in to the football house, when they could charge whatever they wanted as a cover and they’d just keep coming. 

And now she wants nothing more than for them to lose. 

She doesn’t know how she’ll be able to face anyone Monday morning, if the Foxes crashed and burned again and the football team won again, if they story played out the way everyone knew it would. She’s been beat down: they kicked her off the squad, they trashed her house—why should they get another win? Maybe if they let down a stadium filled with screaming fans, they’ll have something to focus on that isn’t the Vixens, isn’t Raleigh. 

It doesn’t seem likely—but she can hope. 

And she doesn’t know much about Exy, still, and isn’t sure how much she cares to learn. But that doesn’t know which of the Foxes have been scoring goals—and that’s Logan Trask, on a two game point streak even as the Foxes as a whole are on a two game losing streak. She wonders how he stands it. Being a Fox. Raleigh’s just a Vixen, and she can’t stand being as close to the Foxes as she is, even though she’s not truly one of them. 

Maybe that imagined connection makes her feel more kindly predisposed to him, or maybe it’s his wry acknowledgment of what Raleigh already knows—two games in, and the Foxes’ season already seems lie it’s turning to shit—instead of biting her head off over stating the fucking obvious. But either way, the smile she sends his way comes a little bit more easily. “Nobody ever cheers my name. I’m the one doing the cheering. And, you know, as a expert, we can make any number of syllables work, though I admit your first name would probably work better.” To demonstrate, she pitches her voice a little higher, a little louder, really committing to the cheer: “Let’s go, Log-an, let’s go!”

Self-deprecation was the theme of the night, so it seemed... or at least it was for the Fox striker, he couldn’t say the same for the Vixen and he wasn’t sure that he wanted to. After five years of being a part of this team and getting to know their cheerleader counterparts, the one thing that remained constant about each and every one of them was the fact that they horribly disliked being placed in a box. From what little he could recall of Raleigh’s history, the part that was known to the Palmetto population, she would be at the top of that subscriber list, maybe only second to Vivian goddamn Brooks, and the last thing that Logan needed was another stubborn girl constantly working to rile him up as best as she could (not to say that he didn’t like it, but it did confuse the hell out of him, which was a distraction he certainly didn’t need if there was any hope of saving this season from its impending doom). 

Of all the people that he knew - which wasn’t a lot honestly, he had not done a good, let alone great, job of trying to make more friends - she had the most reason to hate the fact that the football team was flourishing, their cheerleading team rising through the ranks with them, but why the hell had she positioned herself within earshot of their game? Was it so, like Logan, she could live vicariously through their campus-wide acceptance and support? Pretend that it extended towards them to make up for the way that they had become social pariahs so quickly into the school year? Or was it just so she can direct her hate to something else, something apart from the Foxes and their shitty gameplay that was dampening everyone’s moods? If he was her, he’d take this time to get payback at her old team, trash their building now that it was definitely empty... but then again, maybe she wasn’t as petty and bored as all that.

“I’d cheer your name, but between Wymack riding my ass down the court all damn day, all damn week, and classes,” he said the last part with dripping sarcasm and an eyeroll to match, because it was clear that classes were not the priority of anyone in the Exy team, especially now that they went into overdrive training, like it would make a damn bit of difference their next game. The Foxes didn’t have a talent or practice issue so much as an attitude one, himself included. “I’m swamped. If you want, I’ll give you a pretty convincing chant right now, you can record it on your phone, and then just listen to it whenever you feel like. And by pretty convincing, I mean, it’s gonna be shit, but almost passable shit so...” 

He shrugged his shoulders, and only just finished his offer when loud cheers erupted from the direction of the game. All of a sudden, Logan sprung to his feet, faced towards the sound, and shouted as loudly as he could: “Shut the fuck up!” A cathartic release for the frustration that was directed at himself, at his team, at every single fucking thing that seemed determined to ruin his chances at a good future. Didn’t he deserve to have things be easy and smooth for once in his miserable, short life? He sat back down and turned to Raleigh as thought nothing had happened. “That was great, you really put some h-e-a-r-t into that, huh?” Grinning, Logan laughed, basking in the lessening of weight on his chest from the outburst and the company, however short lived it would all be.

[lgntrask]

raleigheverhart‌:

Location: Palmetto State Quad Date: Saturday, September 15  Time: Evening (open)

The campus is decorated in orange and white, festive and bright in the sunlight for the parents and alumni that have flooded the campus for the weekend. The school might let the Foxes pretend that it’s for them—with the pep rally, with their home opener—but Raleigh knows better than to believe it. The Foxes are a blight on the rest of the campus. The football team is much easier to cheer for, for Raleigh and for everyone else: it doesn’t have the same baggage that the Foxes do. 

And it actually wins. 

Though—that’s getting ahead of herself. The football Foxes play tonight, and the Exy Foxes—(her Foxes, now, no matter how much she still hates it)—played and lost last night. She doesn’t know if the football team will win or not, but she does know that it’ll be the first time they play at home without her cheering on the sidelines, pom poms in hand, dancing during half time. Without her being a part of it. 

The urge to be there is nearly overwhelming. But she wouldn’t be proving anything to anyone. It wouldn’t end the whispers that have followed her all this week, speculating that she’s behind an act of vandalism she knows knowing about. It wouldn’t make up for the snide remarks and jabbing elbows thrown her way during their shared pep rally, all while she smiled smiled smiled. It’d just be torturing herself. 

So she isn’t there. But when she sits on the quad like this, cross-legged in the manicured grass, the noise from the filling stadium filters through to her, she might as well be. There, and yet not there, and torturing herself. What else is new. “You hear that?” She says, unable to keep the bitterness from seeping through. “I think that’s what it sounds like when people are cheering for you.” Instead of your own school being against you. Instead of them watching your games like they’re just waiting for the inevitable crash and burn. Raleigh had used to go to Fox games just for that purpose. It’s much less funny now. 

He didn’t know her story, wasn’t even certain that he knew her name at all, but goddamn if the tone of her voice wasn’t one so familiar to Logan.

The moment positively rang of the memory of when he’d first arrived at Palmetto, trying his best to let excitement be the dominant mood when he started training with the Foxes... but game after game, loss after loss, it all soured until there was nothing but that deep, dark bitterness that colored each interaction he had with everyone, that dripped from every biting taunt that passed his lips. 

For someone who came from his background and still resided in that abyss of nothingness, of orphanhood and poverty, Logan had very few things to be proud of, if not just that singular thing: Exy and his talent for it. Any of the Big Three would have been lucky to have him, he believed it then and he never wavered from that conviction even now, knowing how his performances in their games for the season thus far was consistently good, but he’d jumped the gun and volunteered himself the Foxes for Cameron, for safety and security. It was a good move, but now that the team seemed to be falling back to its old ways, living up to the very low expectations and standards set for them, Logan wondered yet again if he had made the wrong decision and wasted all that potential.

After all, didn’t the crowd used to cheer for him? Didn’t they use to shout his number, scream his name, ask for his autograph? What he would give to have that back, to be as adored as the football team instead of... this.

“That’s what they do, y’know. They hype you up when the going’s good, but when it all turns to shit? They’re never gonna let up on telling it to your face,” Logan replied from where he sat, a bench some ways off with an open book on his lip he’d abandoned ten minutes ago for a cigarette break... or two or three. She was familiar, of course, known even to him, at least for her story more than her identity, but that was usually the way it was with the Foxes and the Vixens: their baggage and the reputations formed from it preceded them. “Sure, I miss it, but Trask was never a good name for cheering. You gotta have at least three syllables for it to sound like a fucking chant. Like Everhart. E-ver-hart! See? Trask is too simple.”

[lgntrask]

brooksvivian‌: 

                                                                  ♚

She gasps.

Not from shock or anything, but from his sudden appearance, from the unexpected downward force on her bag that has her eyes widening and body turning to face its source; and she’s whipping her head around, face a bit too close for comfort to his own—and for a second, she relaxes, embraces herself in the relief of knowing that it’s just Logan Trask before her expression sours (as it so automatically does in his presence) and her figure takes heap full of steps back. She ignores the burning sensation creeping across her cheeks, the redness that thankfully dulls in the moonlight, disregards the speeding up of heartbeat (discredits it is as merely a byproduct of surprise) as she glares at him—for he knows.

And of all the fucking people at this university, he’s the last person that she wants to know.

So she tenses, hands balling into fists and nails digging into soft flesh of palms as she stares at him, pays no mind (at least, not anymore) to the bright red cap of spray can that distinguishes itself from the rest of the belongings in her bag. “Trask—” she starts yet stops herself, hesitates for a second upon realizing that, in some sort of way, he has her wrapped around his finger, capable of making her do whatever he could imagine with this over her head—with her reputation and respect as captain on the line. “Logan—” softer, gentler now; for she’s desperate, and though Vivian’s never been one to beg, she does know how to play nice … when needed. “Don’t. Just don’t … please. Or I’ll actually kill you.”

And then there’s a sudden turn of heel, a restart in her steps back home because she knows, full and well, that he’ll just follow behind her stride; and as much as she hates it, as much as she despises it, a tiny part of her is thankful—that it’s him, that is. That he’s the one who found her, caught her in the act and has her bound with invisible handcuffs of teasing and sarcasm, and not of guilt, not of shame; for she wouldn’t have it any other way.

Though, he’s still his annoying self; he’s still Logan Trask, and she’s still Vivian Brooks—and so, she rolls her eyes, scoffs under her breath at his remarks and laments because god, has he always been this insufferable? “You really think that I’d choose you to be my partner-in-crime, Trask?” she muses, a chuckle following the curl of her tongue before she’s shooting him a gaze and shrugging her shoulders. “Don’t flatter yourself—besides, since when were we friends?” she counters.

“And what about you? Couldn’t sleep?” she lightheartedly mocks, eyebrows raising at the question. “Or are you just stalking me now?”

When she turned to him, nostrils flaring, fists already clenched, knuckles fading fast, and with barely even an ounce of effort expended on his part, a warmth enveloped Logan, a success akin to a hat trick goal that clinches the game towards their favor with only seconds to spare, it was just. that. satisfying. Going out at this hour, he initially had no plans in mind except the very rare chance that she too would still be awake, but this? Would have exceeded anything that he could have ever come up with, and more, reflected by the trademark smug grin that already spread across his lips… which, only ten seconds into Vivian’s facing him, did he realize to be so dangerously close to touching hers, he might even dare to bridge the gap had he caught on in time and spoke up again just as quickly. Before he could do so much as think of teasing her, there was already the distance from her footsteps that so marked their... whatever the hell this cacophony of sexual tension, frustration, genuine annoyance, begrudging tolerance was.

(It wasn’t like he even necessarily wanted to kiss her. Maybe he’d do it just to shut her up, just to see how little miss perfect Vixen captain would react, just to see how he’d like it.)

Though he did make a mental note that the small gust of breeze stirred up by her sudden movement, wafting towards his face, smelled of something familiar, something comforting almost, barring the fact that the cheerleader seemed to be weighing in her mind the pros and cons of killing him on the spot: dead hour, no witnesses, and Logan might not even fight back (out of a unique fondness for her?), had he pushed her far enough to dare her to? “You know what, I think that’s the first time I’ve ever heard you say my name. Kinda has a nice ring to it, even if you have to swallow your vomit to get the syllables out,” he maintained the playfulness that he’d started this interaction with, but it wasn’t remiss on him why she’d second guessed herself for the first time since he’d known her. Knowing that doubt, acknowledging it, deflated the mood somewhat, scrubbed the expression on his face to one of indifference, shrugging his shoulders. After all was said and done, Logan thought she would at least know he was on her side, that the bare minimum of their connection as Fox and Vixen would guarantee his silence, but apparently she couldn’t even trust him implicitly on that. “Don’t what? I was taking a walk, you were taking a walk, nothing else to talk about... except maybe that hoodie, I never would’ve guessed you even know what a hoodie else, let alone have one.”

It took only a brief skip in his step to have them side by side, enough so that he’s comforted by both the darkness of night and simple physics masking his face. “Between you and me, Brooks, I would put my money on someone like me, say, painting the town red,” his words heavily implied, still wary should someone else be lurking like he was and overhear them. “Than someone like you. Crimes are more up my street... or did you not hear the lovely story that I killed my mom?” When were they friends? What the hell were they? Because it wasn’t as though Vivian sought out his company, they didn’t hang out, gossiped, shoot the breeze, they just fell into each other’s orbit when they felt like it, when they were bored and looking to sharpen their fangs and their tongues. Didn’t explain why Logan sought her out tonight, but it was possible there just wasn’t any good reason, right? “I was actually hoping I could get a lock of your hair so I can cast a spell on you that’ll make you fall head over heels for me, but stalking? Hmm, I didn’t even consider that, sounds fun.”

At the end of it all, Logan let the facade drop for a second and sighed, making sure that he was looking literally anywhere else but at her, because he knew that even the shortest instance of being honest and vulnerable in her presence would catch him hell. “Or, you know, I actually couldn’t sleep and I... for some stupid reason... thought I’d... come see if you were up too or whatever. Like I said, it’s stupid.”

[lgntrask]

brooksvivian‌:

    > during her walk back after ‘visiting’ the football cheerleader’s house / sept 11 : 3:04a <                     an open starter in which vivian (accidentally?) resorts to vandalism

                                                                    ♚

Being envious is not a pretty trait, does not embody the personality of most beautiful women—but Vivian Brooks has never been most. Vines as green as envy lace themselves around her lungs, constrict her airway and have her catching her breath, snake across tan skin as she burdens the walk across campus, across town to stand in front of a house haunted with hatred and disdain—for only ghosts seem to live inside, with their empty threats and heartless bodies.

They creep behind her in her sleep, in the shadows, constantly reminding her of her failures, of how she’s the captain of cheerleading team for a bunch of misfits who have, time and time again, reassured her they’re not anywhere near worth cheering for; and she laments, knows she shouldn’t give into such teasing or taunting, but this last game—their first game of the season, their first game to showcase their potential—winds up ending in disappointment, in pulling the trigger of pent-up resentment and frustration.

Vivian Brooks hates the Foxes … but it’s not like she can just tell them that.

So she resorts to the next best thing, finds herself suddenly searching the nooks and crannies of the Vixen Den for cans of spray paint and the most inconspicuous hoodie she owns, walks through the breeze and nightly brisk to their rivalry cheerleading squad’s own home base as if on a casual midnight stroll. And then she’s writing insults, whatever expletives she can think of in the moment, on their wall paneling and cement driveway—tosses used-up spray can into her bag and shoves red-stained hands into pockets of a jacket that reeked of paint and malice before she’s on her way.

An incognito mission, she likes to call it, as in she’s not expecting to run into a familiar face on her walk (of shame) back to the Vixen Den. Don’t talk to me, she recites her in head as the distance closes, adjusts the bag strap on her shoulder and prays the other doesn’t notice the vibrant red cap of spray paint threatening to peek out over the top.

I couldn’t sleep.

Wishing that his voice could come out more convincing than how it sounded in his imagination didn’t make the truth any less real: that Logan had trudged the distance from the Fox Tower to the Vixen Den with only those three words in his head for an introduction to his sudden presence, nothing more, nothing less. What had prompted such a late night excursion was beyond him, even more so the reason/s why Vivian Brooks, of all the damn people in this damn university, was the first person to pop in his head as a potential commiserator for this unexpected surge of cynicism... and yet he wasn’t really surprised, didn’t really make an effort to turn on his heel and go back, change his mind. Maybe she was just that good of a companion... or maybe he could do with someone who would give him shit - willingly, gladly, and nonstop - as a distraction.

Switching his phone back and forth between his hands, weighing it for a second or two until it teetered at the edge of his fingertips, just at the point of drop and ruin, the striker took a moment to process the facts that showed it was way too late for his actions to be speedily and rationally justified: he knew he had class in the morning, practice through the afternoon and into the night, he could’ve gone to Cameron who would be much more sympathetic, and oh, not to mention that the Vixen captain hated his guts, why the hell in a million years would she want to see him at this hour? 

He paused his tinkering to pull up her number, briefly considering texting her instead as a compromise until, like a summons, he was watching her walk out of the building without even spotting him (he couldn’t blame her, he did decide to hide behind a tree... you know, as if he didn’t look sketchy enough). For a beat he thought she was going to meet someone, but it’s her body language, more than anything, that settled into recognition first. How could he not be familiar with it when every stance he’d ever held, every expression he ever carried since he moved to Palmetto was the very same? An odd mixture of pride and indignation, determination but blind...

And before long he was watching her graffiti, stifling a laugh at some of the more delicate ones, wondering how safe his own cojones were in angry Vivian Brooks’ presence (one knee from her to him and he could vividly see how he’d crumple to the ground faster than he could annoyingly call her Viv). It never once crossed his mind to try and stop her because, well, why ruin someone’s fun? And he wasn’t a narc, he wasn’t a good guy either. Only until she was done (though far from looking satisfied, he noted, not remorseful either) did he step out from the shadows, having to pick up his pace to catch up to her with her quick and long strides, close enough that he could reach a hand over, finger extended, and push the spray paint can deeper down into her bag. “Couldn’t sleep?” he said innocently, a little too much, making it clear he was being coy. “What, you couldn’t call or text a guy? Invite him on a little trip? And I thought we were friends, Brooks... we could’ve covered more ground together. You know, red really does become you.”

[maleksrami]

[lgntrask]

triggers: alcoholism tw, addiction tw

01 / BASICS

Full Name: Logan Isaiah Trask Nickname: Logan Birthday: April 22nd Gender: Cis Male Sexual Orientation: Bisexual Astrological Sign: Aries-Taurus Cusp Spoken Languages: English, horribly butchered Spanish that he’s getting around to polishing Birthplace: Pittsburgh, PA Relationship status: Single

02/ PHYSICAL TRAITS

Hair Color/Style: Brown/blonde/dirty blonde // natural tendency towards curling so he doesn’t really bother doing anything with them, no matter what they’ll look messy Eye Color: Blue Face Claim: Jeremy Allen White Height: 5′8 (helps with speed and agility, he likes to believe) Tattoos: Triangle tattoo on his chest. Honestly he would love to have a full sleeve in the future or a full leg, and there would definitely be some pieces in it that pay homage to his being a Fox. He and Cam are also planning one that’s family related, possibly something to remember their father by Piercings: None Unique Attributes: Slight bump on his nose when it was broken a while back during a high school exy game and wasn’t reset (by him) properly because he wanted to get back in the game quickly. Other than that, he’s pretty... typical, he would say

03 / PERSONALITY TRAITS/TYPES

Positive Traits: Determined, hardworking, independent, frank, supportive, understanding, resourceful Negative Traits: Impatient, temperamental, rash, resentful, volatile, sardonic, stubborn Hobbies/Interests: Exy with Cam, jogging/running, cooking (started as a means of survival but he’s found he does have a genuine interest in it), he also started baking, thinking that he would take to it just as easily as he did cooking but after almost burning down Abby’s oven, he’s taking a break for now, Netflix and chill, do martial arts count if he isn’t learning from an actual professional but just copying from old Bruce Lee movies? Insecurities: General aimlessness/hopelessness of his future and the fear that he won’t have anything to do after Palmetto to keep him and Cam going, now that he’s on his final year it’s gotten worse because he isn’t completely sure if he wants to do Exy for long but he still does want to get offers just to have security and safety; his height on some level and his appearance but he’s quick with the witty remarks if someone tries to point it out; typical boy problems where he has zero to no relationship history compared to anyone (even his own sister) and this has gotten even drastic now that he’s about to leave Palmetto, but he’s kind of resigned to the possibility that maybe he’s one of those people whose lives only start happening after university. Quirks/Eccentricities: Ambidextrous; if anyone asks questions about his home life or his past that he feels is too personal, Logan will ignore them no matter what, pretending that they didn’t say anything or straight up walking away; good at memorizing phone numbers but bad at putting names to faces; has the ability to sound like he’s always sarcastic even when he’s trying to be serious; also has the amazing ability to rub people off the wrong way just with his smile because he naturally looks like he’s smirking all the time (not to say that he isn’t, but...) MBTI Type: ISTP Enneagram Type: Type 5: The Investigator Moral Alignment: True Neutral Temperament: Choleric

04 / FAMILY & HOME

Immediate Family: Cameron Trask (younger sister) How do they feel about their family: Their relationship is the best that it’s been since they made their move to Palmetto, especially now with Logan actually trying to clean up his act. Though there are still some tougher subjects that they’ve yet to fully talk about, the two also know that when one of them finally brings it up, they would hear the other out always. Even with Cam telling him to finally think about himself, he’s honestly still basing a lot of his current and future decisions with her in mind: she is his everything. His impending graduation is something that worries him, mostly because he’s not sure if he’ll get offers and if he does, how far those teams would be from Palmetto, but he knows they’ll make it work somehow. How does their family feel about them: The strength of his loyalty and affection for Cameron is definitely something mirrored by her, and all the Foxes know that, possibly even the entire college Exy network knows it, because he’s not been shy in the past about starting a fight if someone tries anything on or off court. He knows that there are parts of him that Cameron doesn’t necessarily take a shine to, which is why he’s tried to change for the better, but he’s never once doubted that she supports him no matter what. Pets: None Where do they live: Fox Tower is his home for now, Abby’s being a second home. After Palmetto, he’s not sure where to go or what’s going to happen and he doesn’t really want to dwell on it much just yet Description of their home: He’s not his any of his roommates’ favorite, he knows that much, because he still does carry the reputation of being that guy who woke everyone up in the dead of night because he tried to sneak into the room, tripped over something, crashed loudly and laughed loudly. This year will hopefully be better in the dorm as everyone knows that 1) Logan has retired from the late night party and gambling scene and 2) that he is graduating so they’ll be rid of his annoying ass soon Description of their bedroom: There’s a veneer of cleanliness with his things, but underneath that, he can be messy. He’s gotten used to cleaning up after himself because back in PA, there wasn’t really anyone else to do it for him but Cam and she was busy too.  Now that he’s trying to stay sober, his side of the room has gotten a little more... haphazard. Logan keeps trying out all these activities to distract himself from the craving every now and then, and sometimes it frustrates him when it’s not enough that he just leaves things lying around.

05/ THIS OR THAT

Introvert or Extrovert? Optimist or Pessimist? Leader or Follower? Confident or Self-Conscious? Acts very confident, even coming off as arrogant at some point, but it’s clearly more of a defense mechanism than anything. He’s gotten a bit more self-conscious when he sees all the happy couples around him, but he also easily shrugs that feeling off Cautious or Careless? Cautious when it comes to Cam and the lives they’ve built that could just as easily come crashing down; careless when it comes to himself Passionate or Apathetic? With his renaissance, Logan is regaining his passion for Exy, returning to the version of him that could rival Grant with his love for the game (except not really because that’s Grant but like. a notch or two or three down from Grant) and it’s made him a little more... aggressive with winning and proving his talent; he’s apathetic about much else Book Smarts and Street Smarts? He balanced work, practice and school for a while before Palmetto happened to him so it’s fair to say he’s got a good head on his shoulders Compliments and Insults? Depends on the situation. He can be very supportive of the people that he cares about, but the ones that he don’t? He’s critical and defensive

06 / FAVORITES

Favorite Color: Teal, Green Favorite Clothing Style/Outfit: Anything comfortable really though usually he’s a tank tops, shorts kind of guy when he’s not doing anything Favorite Bands/Songs/Type of Music: Gorillaz, Radiohead, Foo Fighters, Kings of Leon, Queen Favorite Movies: Sucker for a good martial arts movie, he swears by Enter the Dragon and Drunken Master. Also psychological thrillers. Loves Stephen Chow and Star Wars Favorite Books: London Fields, Catcher in the Rye, The Road, Haunted by Chuck Palahniuk (he was pulled in by the story of Guts making people faint when Chuck does readings). He’s an indiscriminate reader and would give anything recommended to him a shot. Cam made him read Harry Potter and it’s not as bad as he thought it would be Favorite Foods/Drinks: Tacos, buffalo wings, Jameson, beer, Sunny D Favorite Sports/Sports Teams: Any team other than the Foxes jk Steelers and the Penguins. Watches boxing if its Pacquiao playing. Watches the Olympics for kicks Favorite Time of Day: Early hours after midnight Favorite Weather/Season: Fall, not too warm, not too cold Favorite Animal: Did you know that red pandas belong in the raccoon family while giant pandas are in the bear family? He likes both