#I don’t like analog horror I hope this is apparent | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

iclaimedtobethebetterbard · 2 years

Note

Trick or treat! How's about "magic" and analogical

bestie you have No idea how much i appreciate your existence fjsjfjksfjksjd

you get two options because i had two ideas and liked them both lol. also apparently i have a very limited grasp on what “about 3 paragraphs” means so. enjoy lmao

[trick-or-treat with me and get a ficlet!]

Logan, drawn by the notes of music intertwined with Virgil’s soft singing voice drifting down the hall, leaned in the half-open door of the bedroom he and Virgil had shared in the six months since their marriage. “Is that…” He squinted at the bluetooth speaker on the bed, as if that would help him identify the song. “One Direction?”

“Shut up,” Virgil said immediately, which Logan took as a yes. “I’m very cool and tough and I don’t listen to One Direction.”

Logan laughed and crossed to the bed, picking up a kitchen towel from the pile of clean laundry and folding it. “I see.” He leaned over and kissed his husband’s cheek, setting the towel in the stack of folded towels Virgil had already begun.

Virgil grinned, wrapped a towel around Logan’s waist, and used it to tug him closer. “But everything you do is magic,” he sang, sliding his hands up to gently cradle the back of Logan’s neck, his expression so adoring it made Logan’s breath catch on a pang of awe, and tugged Logan down to seal their mouths together.

Logan pushed open the front door of the cottage he shared with his husband, its splintery wood long since worn smooth, expecting to greet his husband with a kiss and a delighted exclamation about his being home early from his job as the King’s advisor and chief historian, before the two of them would work together to cook dinner and settle in for the evening. “Virgil, I—”

His words died in his throat. Virgil stood frozen, staring at him, an expression of horror on his face that made Logan’s stomach clench with dread. In Virgil’s hand was a long, thin object, something Logan had only seen before in diagrams. Unmistakably a magic wand. An active one, judging by the purple sparks drifting about the surface of the shimmering liquid in the pot before him.

“Logan, I—I can ex—it’s not what it—” Virgil began, voice shaking. “I just—”

“You’re doing magic,” Logan said, his voice coming out toneless and heavy.

“I—” Virgil closed his eyes, lips trembling; he pressed them together hard and opened his eyes. “Yeah.”

Logan looked back at the purple sparks, purple magic that he had heard so much about, purple that he had never connected with his husband’s favorite color until now. “You—are you the Mage behind the rebellion?” he asked, hoping against hope that it wasn’t—

“Yeah,” Virgil repeated, voice cracking and falling to a helpless whisper. He closed his eyes again.

Logan looked at the expression of terror and awful, awful resignation on Virgil’s face, and abruptly felt smaller and more worthless than a speck of dust. He closed the door, Virgil’s flinch at the small sound only twisting the knife that had already lodged itself firmly in his heart, and crossed the room to where his husband stood. He placed one hand over Virgil’s where it clenched the edge of the table.

Virgil opened his eyes with a sharp inhale, that same horrible, shame-inducing terror never leaving his face as he raised his eyes to Logan’s.

“Whatever I did to make you hide this from me,” Logan said, voice shaking with something that absolutely was not the urge to cry because he was far above such foolish expressions of emotion as that, “I—Virgil, I’m so sorry.”

“I—you’re not—” Virgil searched his face. “Aren’t you going to turn me in?”

“Of course not,” Logan said wetly, squeezing Virgil’s hand. “I would never.”

“Magic is against the law,” Virgil said, hesitant, hope not quite present in his voice.

“You are far more important to me than any law,” Logan told him fiercely.

“I just—” Virgil swallowed. “If you’re found to have anything to do with this, you’ll lose your job. If not worse.”

Logan stared at him. “And?”

“L, you—you love your job so much, I—I couldn’t—”

“I love you far more,” Logan interrupted, reaching up with his free hand to smudge away the wetness on his cheeks. “You are the thing that is most important to me, Virgil. Always and without question. You.”

“Oh,” Virgil said, sounding about as close to crying as Logan was. He set down the wand on the table and reached up to cup Logan’s cheek in his hand.

Logan closed his eyes against more tears and turned his head to press a kiss to the heel of Virgil’s palm, just as Virgil turned his other hand to rest palm-to-palm with Logan’s and intertwined their fingers. Virgil guided his face down just far enough to press their foreheads together, his thumb tracing gently back and forth along Logan’s cheekbone.

“I’m sorry,” Logan repeated, barely above a whisper, clinging to his husband like he could make up for everything before he had walked in the door this afternoon.

“Me too,” Virgil said, voice coming out on something halfway between a laugh and a sob. “I love you.”

Logan drew in a breath that was not a sniffle. “I love you too.”

They stood in silence for a moment, simply holding each other.

“So,” Virgil said at last, not letting go of Logan. “Now what?”

Logan hesitated for a moment. “Well. I would appreciate if you would explain your rationale behind starting a rebellion against our king. But…” He took a deep breath and let it out. “I trust you. And I will follow you to the ends of the earth, and I will do everything in my power to protect you. Unconditionally.”

“Okay,” Virgil said. He wrapped his arms around Logan’s waist and buried his face in Logan’s neck. “We can do that.”

Logan pressed his face into his husband’s hair, breathing in the scent of him and rubbing one hand slowly up and down Virgil’s back. “And…?” He hesitated.

“Anything,” Virgil said at once.

“I…” Logan swallowed, nerves and curiosity warring within him. “I… would like it if you would teach me things about magic. I—I enjoy collecting knowledge.”

Virgil chuckled. “That you do.” He pressed a kiss to the side of Logan’s neck. “I can do that. But we’ll have to be careful.”

Logan held his husband a little closer, newly aware of just how precious the man in his arms was. “We will.”

#sanders sides #thatsthat24 #thomas sanders #analogical #logan sanders #virgil sanders #ts logan #ts virgil #ts fic #ts fanfic #peregrin writes

71 notes · View notes

a-dragons-journal · 2 years

Text

OCs and Projection

Crossposted from the Fictionkind Dreamwidth

Nothing like creating a new OC out of a semi-random thought that you thought was cool and then realizing about two-thirds of the way through your ramble about her to a friend that oh, I am definitely using her to project some hearthome feels on. Whoops. So anyway, meet Irwi.

Irwi came out of me thinking, "We've seen severing someone's queue be used as a threat on par with straight-up killing them, and I don't think most of us have to think about it all that hard to imagine how terrible it would be, so... what happens when someone does lose their queue and lives to tell the tale?" So, Irwi, who lost her queue in a near-death experience with a thanator when its jaws closed on her tswin instead of her torso, and who for a while there isn't entirely sure that was the luckier outcome. The Na'vi are lucky, from a human perspective, or at least from mine - tsaheylu is a wonder, being able to tangibly connect to the world around you - to feel how interconnected things are in an undeniably concrete way. To feel the mind of another, and to feel the interweaving of every being that has ever lived in the all-encompassing network that is Eywa, to know undeniably that you are not separate from every other thing, that you are not alone. And then to lose that, and suddenly be utterly isolated, unable to touch that bond ever again - dead to Eywa already, for the "version" of you preserved in Eywa is an imprint of you the last time you connected to the network, and whatever life you have from now on will truly die when you do. The horror of that is... indescribable. To never again bond with your clan, your family - to never again hear the voices of your ancestors and the ancestors of all things. To permanently lose a form of connection and communication so intimate nothing else can replace it adequately. But she lives. And she finds a way to make life worth living. Because I refuse to believe that every Na'vi who has ever lost their queue has immediately given up on life. She is still part of her clan, still beloved of her clan and her family, and the people around her make special effort to reach out to her and stay connected with her because she can't bond with the clan at ceremonies anymore. She is still part of Eywa'eveng and Eywa, even if the thread connecting her to the web is far less tangible now than it once was, and somehow she finds a way to hold onto that and not let go. The world around her is still as beautiful and dangerous and wonderful in all its glories and tragedies, as it has always been. She still has her senses, can still feel the earth under her feet and smell the scent of a world washed clean after a heavy rain and watch the beauty of a dying sunset painting the sky a million colors. And she is still One with it all, it just... takes a little more faith. It is around this point, when first explaining this character concept to the aforementioned friend, that I realized, oh. This is definitely me projecting. See, there's a funny thing about having a hearthome like Pandora, which has tsaheylu and Eywa in a way Earth does not and never will. I wish it did; I wish our world was as tangibly connected as Eywa'eveng - but it's not, and any connection that might be even analogous to Eywa is much more intangible. I long for tsaheylu, for proof of that concept, and, well, apparently I'm making that Irwi's problem. Because yeah, if losing tsaheylu is basically equivalent to losing your life to a Pandoran native, what does that make me, who's never had tsaheylu to begin with? So yes, Irwi was initially a "fuck off, I can do something more interesting than that" to the idea that any Na'vi who loses their queue is likely just going to lose the will to live or whatever, narratively speaking, but maybe she's... also a little bit me projecting my hearthomesickness and self-soothing with some reassurance-of-defiant-hope here. Maybe my conceptual conversations between her and the Kìlsani Tsahik are a little bit me talking to myself through characters, giving one character my fears and aches and the other the ability to say "It's okay. It's okay. You are not alone, and we are still One, and you are still beloved. These things are still true." *deep breath* Yeah, alright, that's enough poetic prose out of me for one morning. Tune in to my Avatar/Na’vi language sideblog @/dragonofpandora for more on Irwi (coming soon to a blog near you) and also my other Avatar OCs (who are already there).

#rani talks #hearthome #journaling #am i brave enough to reblog this to the aforementioned sideblog #spoiler alert: the answer is probably 'no'#for the same reasons that i've been procrastinating about posting the stuff i've drawn with her there at all jfkjdgdsf #that being not being sure how fandom folks will react and being a Wee Bit Spooked about it considering *waves hand at the above*

21 notes · View notes

ifmywishescametrue · 3 years

Note

and bc i have no self control. #41 kisses to shut them up for rhodeytony

So this one spiraled so quickly, because I also have no self control! And now it’s a 3.4k words of 5+1 for Rhodey and Tony’s first kisses together. Hope you like it :)

The first time is something of a joke. Tony is doing that rambling thing like always, hands moving around rapidly and coming dangerously close to smacking passersby in the face. He gets more than a few dirty looks for it, but he doesn’t seem to be noticing. Rhodey isn’t even sure what he’s ranting about anymore. Maybe one of his professors, or that annoying guy in his physics class. All he does know is that he wants to get to the cafeteria before they run out of pizza and Tony walks slow when he’s talking. So Rhodey grabs him by the wrist when his hand flies in front of him again, spinning him around and planting his lips firmly against Tony’s for just a moment. It does the job of stunning him into silence, but it also makes him freeze completely on the sidewalk. Rhodey keeps walking, and Tony has to run to catch back up.

“What was that for?” Tony asks, eyes wide.

Rhodey shrugs, “Had to shut you up somehow.”

Tony makes an offended squawking sound, hitting Rhodey with the too long sleeve of his sweatshirt. Rhodey’s sweatshirt, technically.

“That’s rude,” Tony says. “You’re getting me ice cream to make it up to me.”

Rhodey laughs, slinging his arm over Tony’s shoulders to pull him along. “Whatever you want, Tones.”

______________

If the first was a joke, the second is just the repeat performance. Between Rhodey’s basic training and Tony’s recent and sudden rise to CEO, it’s been almost three months since the last time they’ve seen each other. Basic has him questioning everything and feeling like a bit of failure. He should have been able to handle it better. The homesickness, the pressure, the constant grind of work. It’s been the dream for so long that he doesn’t know what to do with the feeling he has now.

“Maybe I should quit.”

Tony snorts inelegantly, “Pretty sure that’s called deserting and it’s a crime.”

“So I’ll go on the run,” Rhodey argues, like it’s a perfectly reasonable response. “I’ll move to Tahiti or Fiji or one of those other islands. Wait, you have a private island, right? I could go there, and if anyone comes for me, I’ll just take a rowboat out to sea, and they won’t have any jurisdiction on the water to arrest me. I’m pretty sure that’s a thing. Right? It’s -”

Tony’s lips are a little sticky from the beer he’s been drinking, and his hands are warm where they cup Rhodey’s cheeks. He doesn’t understand what’s happening or why, and at first he can’t think enough to react. When he can think again he can’t decide whether to push him off or kiss him back, and he still hasn’t reached a conclusion when Tony pulls away. He doesn’t know if it lasted two seconds or two minutes, and it’s confusing to realize that he isn’t sure which he would prefer.

“Wow, that is effective,” Tony grins. “Thought maybe it was just me it works on, but I should try that on board members sometime if it’s that good.”

Rhodey gapes at him when he connects the pieces. “Seriously, Tony? That happened two years ago, and I’m in the middle of a crisis right now.”

"No, you were spiralling and now you’re not," Tony says simply. "Situation resolved by not talking about it."

"That's not how that works."

"Of course it is. How do you think most fires get put out? By putting a lid on them until they die."

"Alright, ignoring that that's not even true, what the hell does it even mean?"

"It's very true, and what it means is that I have put a lid on this irrational fire, so it doesn't have the chance to spread and ignite the rest of your life. Containment, honeybear. It's about containment."

"That's a terrible analogy," Rhodey says, and Tony tosses his hands in the air.

"What do you want from me on the spot?"

They spend most of the night trying to come up with something better, laughing and drinking the rest of the beer in Tony's fridge, until Rhodey forgets that he was ever stressed in the first place.

______________

Their third kiss is an accident. It happens somewhere in between Rhodey deciding that he hates Tony's new boyfriend and him realizing exactly why that is.

He comes back from six months overseas, and it's a few days ahead of what he was expecting. He told Tony Thursday, but his plane touches down in California on Tuesday morning, and he gives the taxi driver Tony's address without a second thought. Tony likes surprises, and he has no reason to think this might be a bad one.

He uses his key to let himself in, fully knowing that Tony won't be awake yet to answer the door. The first traces of sun are just starting to filter in through the windows, and Rhodey sets his duffle bag down near the door before moving into the kitchen. Tony's refrigerator is nearly barren, but there are a few eggs and a green pepper that would be rotten by tomorrow that he can make due with. He finds an onion, too, and falls into a rhythm while dicing vegetables.

It's this kind of thing that he misses when he's away. He misses having a kitchen and making what he wants in it, even if this isn't his kitchen or his first choice of food. But he misses the simplicity of it all. Life on the base seems alternate between too fast and too slow, but this is all his own pace.

He hears footsteps on the stairs a little after the eggs hit the pan, and he glances over his shoulder to watch Tony shuffle into the room while rubbing his tired eyes. If he had stayed turned around a little longer, their third kiss wouldn't have happened at all. By the time Tony opens his eyes, Rhodey's back is to him again.

Instead of instantly reacting, Tony slowly wanders over and puts his hand on Rhodey's shoulder. The words are mumbled when he says, "You're up way too early," and Rhodey doesn't have time to process how strange the sentence is, because he's being kissed the second his head turns. Not the shut up kind of kiss or even that sort of friendly peck he's seen people do sometimes. It's the kind where Tony's tongue is slipping between his lips, and his hand is wandering lower. The kind that friends don't share, but lovers definitely do.

Rhodey falls into it without question.

The spatula clatters to the floor from his hand, and Tony laughs into the kiss before pulling back. There's a grin and a joke on his lips that's quickly replaced by dawning horror.

"Rhodey?" Tony squeaks out. His hand flies up to cover his mouth, and through it Rhodey hears, "Oh, shit." He looks down at the complete lack of space between their bodies, dropping the hand to raise them both in front of himself like a defense as he backs away a couple of steps. "Fuck, I'm so fucking sorry. I thought - you weren't supposed to be here yet. Thursday. That's - you said Thursday. Didn't you?"

It's like ice water with how quickly the warmth of that kiss leaves his body.

Rhodey raises an eyebrow and plays at unaffected. "I did, yeah. Seems like you should attack an intruder instead of kissing them, though."

Tony's cheeks turn a vibrant shade of red, and he runs a still shaky hand through his hair.

"I thought you were someone else," he sheepishly admits. "It's just that from behind you, um, well you look a lot like Ryan, and he wasn't in bed still when I got up, so I came down here, and, uh, I guess you know the rest of that story."

Ryan, Rhodey's mind bitterly repeats. The guy Tony's spent the last three months talking about on the phone and in his letters. It's always about him in some way. He told me the funniest story yesterday, Rhodey or Isn't he so romantic, platypus? But Tony seems happy, so he fakes a laugh at a story that definitely isn't funny retold and agrees that string quartets are romantic instead of horribly cliché. He helps him plan dates when it's Tony's turn, because apparently that's yet another adorable thing they do together.

He just barely suppresses the sigh before saying, "Don't worry about it, Tones. It's all good."

Tony looks relieved, and after an awkward minute or two they fall back into their normal conversation like it never happened. They talk about the missions Rhodey has flown for and the designs Tony has been working on between bites of burned eggs and coffee.

Neither of them ever mention that Rhodey kissed him back.

______________

Tony and Rhodey are both drunk for the fourth. The music is loud at the club, and the air is a smoky haze. It's someone's birthday, he thinks, but he can't really remember anymore by the fifth shot of tequila.

He leans back against the bar on his elbows, watching in drunken amusement while Tony tries to put the moves on someone to hold up his end of the bet. The guy looks like he isn’t quite sure what’s happening, and Rhodey laughs into the rim of his glass. All he needs is one kiss, and Rhodey will be out the contents of his wallet. He isn't even sure what those contents are, and Tony wouldn't let him check before the handshake. It could be anywhere from a nickel to fifty bucks, he figures, which is worth it to watch this complete trainwreck.

It takes another ten minutes of flirting before Tony finally gives up and comes back over to the bar.

“Loser,” Rhodey teases. “What happened to having ‘game so good a straight man would fall to his knees?’”

Tony flips him off and steals the glass from his hand. “He has a girlfriend, which is the only reason it didn’t happen.”

“He didn’t even realize that you were flirting with him, did he?” Rhodey laughs, and Tony pouts pitifully.

“The no touching rule wasn’t fair.”

��A good bet doesn’t involve actual harassment,” Rhodey reasons, just like he did earlier in the night. “If you can’t get them to kiss you by flirting with just words, they wouldn’t want you touching them in the first place. It’s called consent.”

Tony rolls his eyes, “I do not need to be taught about consent. I am the king of consent. Enthusiastic, resounding consent, even.” He pauses, and there’s a dangerous look in his eyes when he narrows them at Rhodey. “Okay, I know that this about to go against everything I just said, but it’s you, and we don’t have rules, right?”

“What?”

“Just say yes.”

“Yes to what?”

Tony leans in with enough time that if Rhodey really wanted to, he could pull away. He could put his hand over Tony’s mouth or step to the side or simply tell him no and Tony wouldn’t do it.

But he doesn’t do any of those things.

He lets Tony cup the back of his neck to tilt his head to the right angle, and he threads his hand into Tony’s hair in return. His lips taste like the vodka and cranberry juice from the stolen glass, until Rhodey has kissed him so thoroughly that he can’t taste it anymore.

“There,” Tony says, grinning proudly like he’s just done something exceptionally smart. His breath is coming quickly, and Rhodey’s head is spinning with the thought that he’s the one that did that to him. “I got a straight man to kiss me. Pay up.”

Rhodey laughs, full-bodied with his head tilted back. “No, man. You definitely didn’t.”

Tony’s still a little too drunk to fully understand what he means by that, and he takes it as if Rhodey’s saying that he stole the kiss, rather than earned it. He spends most of the night after that trying to get him to kiss him again on his own accord, but Rhodey doesn’t want another one like that. He wants Tony’s soft-eyed gaze on him, and his body held tight in his arms. He wants to hear him say the same words he’s saying right now, but to have him actually mean it when he says the word please. Like he won’t be able to live for another second without Rhodey’s lips on his.

He doesn’t want the joke anymore, but he knows he won’t ever get to have the real thing.

______________

Rhodey is half asleep for kiss number five, and he isn’t even quite sure that it actually happens. He’s lying in a hospital bed somewhere in Germany, he thinks, and machines are beeping all around him. He can’t really remember what brought him here as he drifts in and out. There was some kind of fight - that much is obvious. He sees flashes of bullets in the sky, flames, and a rapidly plummeting altitude reading. Was it a mission gone wrong? An attack they weren’t expecting? One of the machines ticks a little faster when he tries to clear his head enough to think about it, and then darkness takes over again.

When he partially wakes the next time, there’s something warm and solid in his hand. It shifts a little, brushing lightly in circles over his skin, and it takes him a longer amount of time than it should to realize that it’s another hand. But when he does, he knows without a doubt who it belongs to, and the thought sends him back into sleep with a warm feeling in his chest.

He finds out later that he was unconscious for three days, and Tony hardly leaves his side for a minute of it. Rhodey doesn’t want to say how that makes him feel, so he falls back on what he does know how to say.

“You should really at least go back to the hotel to take a shower. You’re starting to smell, man,” he says after the doctor leaves the room.

Tony gives him a weak laugh, running his hand through his hair and grimacing at the oily texture. "Maybe in a little bit. You just woke up."

Rhodey shifts against the pillows, tilting his head to get a good look at him. His clothes might be the same ones he showed up here in, all wrinkled with a coffee stain on one of his sleeves. The circles under his eyes are darker than he's ever quite seen them before, and he looks too pale.

Tony isn't supposed to look like that.

He's supposed to be sunlight embodied, all tanned skin and bright eyes and fluid motion. But this Tony is slumped over in his chair, small and fragile looking like the wrong word could destroy him completely. This Tony offers him a brave face and a delicate smile that doesn't reach his eyes, and Rhodey can't stand it. Can't stand that it's his own fault he looks like that.

Stretching his arm out, he turns over his hand to open his palm. The movement tugs at his injured shoulder, but he grits his teeth to hide the pain and it's worth it to have Tony's hand back in his where it belongs. He squeezes gently, and Tony squeezes back.

"You almost died," Tony whispers. "You're not allowed to die."

"I won't do it again," Rhodey says, even though they both know he can't make that promise.

Tony nods, and for now that can be enough. He switches the topic to something else so they don't have to talk about it anymore. So Tony doesn't have to say what the last three days felt like, and Rhodey doesn't have to admit that his last thought before the plane went down was regret that he'd never get to have this again.

Tony makes him laugh until his battered ribs are aching with it, until they've talked about everything and nothing and sleep is pulling at Rhodey again. It's hard to keep his eyes open, and he fights it until he can't any longer.

A hand runs over his hair, and down the side of his face to linger on his cheek. Rhodey leans into the touch with closed eyes as Tony murmurs, "I'll come back tomorrow. Don't you dare do anything stupid like dying while I'm gone."

He feels the warmth of Tony's breath on his skin the moment before Tony kisses him. It's a barely there, wisp of a thing, right on the corner of his mouth. There one instant, then gone the next. It's the last thing he feels before slipping into sleep again.

______________

“I’m so old,” Tony groans, flopping down on the beach chair next to Rhodey’s. “Ancient. Decrepit. On death’s door.”

“You’re thirty,” Rhodey says, and he laughs at the pout on Tony’s face. “I’m a year older than you. What does that make me then?”

“A senior citizen, just like me.”

Rhodey lifts his beer from where the bottle was balancing in the sand and clinks it with the bottle in Tony’s hand. “Welcome to the club then. We’re happy to have you.”

Tony kicks off his shoes and tucks his feet under his thighs as he settles back in the chair. It’s quiet out here on the beach, away from the crowds and noise from the party. The crashing of the waves and the distant thrum of music are the only sounds, and they watch the water in the still of the night for a while.

“Don’t you want to get back to the party?” Rhodey asks softly, unwilling to break their bubble of peace. “It’s for you.”

Tony shakes his head. “I like it better out here.”

“Want me to kick everyone out for you?”

Tony looks over his shoulder at the house, filled to the brim and lights flashing from every window. He leans over the inch between their chairs and rests his head on Rhodey’s shoulder. “No, they can have their fun in there, and I can have mine here.”

Rhodey cards his hand through Tony’s hair, feeling warm despite the cool breeze. “This is fun for you, huh? Sitting in silence?”

“It’s always good with you,” Tony murmurs, so quiet that Rhodey almost loses it to the ocean. He’ll always be thankful that he didn’t.

He lets his hand go lower, slipping from his hair to run his thumb along Tony’s jaw, and it would be so easy, he thinks, to kiss him right now. To tilt Tony’s chin up and turn his head to the side just a little. To brush their lips together, slowly at first, then steadily growing more desperate as he gives in to everything he’s wanted for so long. He thinks of the way Tony would sound, if he would sigh or moan or whimper under his mouth. Tony would be sticky sweet from the buttercream on the cupcakes from earlier, and Rhodey would taste sugar on his tongue.

“Rhodey,” Tony whispers, looking up at him. The moon is reflected in the deep brown of his eyes, and Rhodey wants to keep this image of him in him in his mind forever. “Can I tell you what I wished for?”

“Won’t come true if you do,” Rhodey whispers back.

“I think it’s the only way it might,” Tony answers, and he seems even closer than he was before.

“What did you wish for?”

Tony’s cheeks are flushed, and Rhodey thinks for a moment that he’s going to lose his nerve to say whatever it is. He’s ready for the joke instead, but it never comes.

“For you to kiss me,” Tony says with an unsteady breath. “For it to mean something when you do.”

Rhodey slides his hand a little higher, and he strokes across Tony’s cheekbone. He doesn’t miss the way that Tony’s eyes flicker down to his lips. “And what do you want it to mean?”

“Everything.”

“Everything,” Rhodey repeats, and Tony smiles, soft and unsure. “I think I can manage that.”

______________

Years later, Tony still likes to tease Rhodey about their first kiss, except now it's become their thing. The interrupted sentences sometimes get finished after and sometimes don't because kissing Tony is more important than whatever it was that he had to say in the first place.

He loses count of what number they’re on. One thousand or one million, it could never be enough. They have all kinds of kisses now. Early morning, sleep-hazed kisses, and quick, little pecks on the way out the door. Good night kisses that turn passionate and desperate as often as they stay innocent and sweet. Reluctant ones when Tony is mad at him for something silly, lingering ones in apology.

Each one still means everything.

#rhodeytony #ironhusbands #my writing #my fic #prompt fill #warmachinesocks

76 notes · View notes

gthreepio · 3 years

Text

i’ve been thinking about the future of the mcu and realized there’s a LOT that i didn’t know/didn’t remember in terms of where things are going so i figured i’d sum it up incase anyone else was in the same boat!!

quick recap of (unresolved) mid-credit scenes:

doctor strange: mordo (a sorcerer that is one of strange’s mentors, who by the end of the movie becomes disillusioned with magic/the ancient one and quits) confronts pangborn (the paraplegic who healed himself with the mystic arts, who tells strange about mystic arts in the first place) and steals his magic because according to mordo, there are “too many sorcerers." of note, this guy is typically a villain in the comics but hasn’t been thus far...

gotg2: ayesha (leader of the sovereign, a golden skinned alien race obsessed with genetic purity), after spending most of the movie chasing the guardians for stealing some stuff, is revealed to have created an artificial being named “adam” which is presumably, adam warlock. (other stuff that is less relevant: kraglin appears to take up yondu’s mantle; the ravagers regroup and several old and obscure comic book characters are introduced [charlie-27, aleta, martinex, mainframe]; the watchers are watching things.)

far from home: j jonah jameson basically tells the whole world spider-man’s secret identity, and frames him for what happened with mysterio....making him public enemy #1. ALSO, turns out nick fury and maria hill in the movie were ACTUALLY the two skrulls from captain marvel (talos and soren) attempting to do their job, while the real fury (and presumably hill) is ... up in space on some spaceship!!!

wandavision: monica (who we can assume is photon) is called by “an old friend of [her] mother’s,” up in space, which presumably means fury, talos, or carol. ALSO, wanda sits in the middle of nowhere reading the darkhold and hears the voices of her children who.. by all accounts, should not exist.

aaaaand what we know about future movies (i’m not even going into the tv series.....):

black widow:

takes place after civil war

nat confronts a “dangerous conspiracy with ties to her past,” likely has to do with taskmaster who has apparently taken over the red room where nat was trained as an assassin

prominent new characters: yelena belova, who will take over the mantle of black widow after this; alexei shostakov aka red guardian, an ollllld marvel hero analogous to captain america except for the soviet union.

tony stark will make an appearance... SOBS

shang-chi and the legend of the ten rings:

shang-chi has never been seen in the mcu before, but he is, essentially, a superhero that is a master martial artist, and in some adaptations can also create duplicate (fake) versions of himself to confuse opponents

main villain will be the the mandarin who we have *sort of* seen before... he is the leader of a terrorist organization called “ten rings” whose main goal is to destroy world peace. brief history -- in iron man 1: one ten rings cell kidnaps tony stark and tries to force him to make weapons (he of course, makes his suit instead). stark and ten rings become enemies and fight a bunch. nat and nick fury fight them too. in iron man 3, the villain aldrich killian hires a dude to pretend to be the mandarin and claim responsibility for a bunch of stuff, but its not the ten rings or the mandarin at all. this makes the mandarin v mad and he has a dude kidnap the faker to punish him. they also briefly show up in ant-man, when a ten rings agent tries to buy the yellowjacket suit that darren cross is selling. BUT IN SHANG-CHI....... looks like we are FINALLY going to see the real mandarin after over a decade!!

the villain razor fist will also show up, he is lesser known... he has no superhuman powers but he has surgically replaced his hands (1 or 2, depending on the version) with a steel blade, and is highly skilled at hand to hand combat.

besides the presence of these characters, the only bit of plot we know is “shang-chi is drawn into the ten rings organization and forced to confront his past.” so... yeah. we don’t know much at all.

eternals:

quick explanation: the eternals are an immortal alien race who have been secretly living on earth for thousands of years. they were created by the celestials, who are most prominently in gotg2.

more entirely new characters!!! their names are: thena, who can form any weapon out of cosmic energy; gilgamesh, who can make a super strong exoskeleton out of cosmic energy; ikaris, who has superhuman strength, flies, and can project cosmic energy out his eyes; kingo, who can shoot cosmic energy projectiles from his hands; makkari, who creates sonic booms, has super speed, and is deaf; phastos, who has enhanced intelligence, and is also gay (and married with a kid!); ajak, who has healing powers; sprite, who can project illusions; sersi, who can manipulate matter; druig, who can mind control; and dane whitman (black knight), a human with a mystical sword.

regarding the plot... it seems the eternals have kind of dispersed, but have to come together again to fight the deviants, who are their “evil counterparts” (also created by the celestials, though i’m unclear on why). thena and gilgamesh have apparently been in exile, unclear why; sersi, who is posing as a museum curator, has apparently been in love with ikaris for centuries and it seems as if their love story may be central to the film; and kingo is a bollywood film star in his spare time. aaaaand that’s pretty much all we know.

directed by chloé zhao of nomadland fame!

spider-man no way home:

based on the post-credits scene in far from home, peter parker will now be known as spider-man to everyone. unclear if he’s going to be seen as a bad guy due to mysterio framing him, but i guess we’ll see!

jamie foxx is electro, and alfred molina is doctor octopus; which is VERY interesting considering they played these roles in other spider-man franchises, once again stirring up excitement for possible multiverse.

there have been *multiple* reports that andrew garfield, kirsten dunst, tobey maguire, and emma stone will be in the movie but tom holland has repeatedly denied this... so... who knows.

there are also rumors that matt murdock / daredevil (from netflix) will be in several scenes! not confirmed though.

MJ is still his girlfriend and i hope it stays that way!!

doctor strange will be featured in the movie, taking on the mentor role now that tony stark is gone :( this will be interesting as i.. haven’t really seen them interact much before. because of this inclusion some people speculate that the film may draw inspo from some comic storylines where peter’s secret identity is restored with magic.

doctor strange in the multiverse of madness:

scarlet witch is essentially co-starring!!! it’s going to be really interesting to see if they bring vision or the twins into this at all, though i’m not counting on it.

seems like mordo will be the main villain -- recall the ds1 post credits scene where he is apparently running around trying to steal people’s magic.

america chavez will make her debut!!!!!! i have no idea how this plays into anything but i am so excited!!

regarding the plot, all we really know is that strange has been researching the time stone, mordo messes with him, and this results in him accidentally unleashing “unspeakable evil.” presumably there will also be heavy involvement of the multiverse, and who knows what kind of craziness that will bring!!

initially was going to be directed by scott derrickson who did ds1; however he stepped down to being just EP due to “creative differences.” i am presuming this is because derrickson really wanted to make this more gothic and horror than disney was comfortable with. i REALLY hope they keep some of those elements though and don’t erase the idea entirely! anyway, it will be directed by sam raimi now (of evil dead and spiderman 2002 fame).

the film also reportedly ties in with the loki series (will loki show up!?) and spiderman 3 (which is obvious enough, given that strange is in that movie and those curious electro and doctor octopus castings...)

thor: love and thunder

directed by taika waititi again, hell yeah!!! and he has stated, the film will be “so over the top now in the very best way" and would make ragnarok look like a "run of the mill, very safe film" .... so.... oh god

so many great returning players!!! including.... valkyrie (now the king of new asgard), jane foster, lady sif, korg, star-lord, mantis, drax, nebula, and kraglin (takes up yondu’s mantle after he dies in gotg2)

in this movie, thor isn’t thor anymore.... it’s JANE!!! she gets cancer :( and is undergoing treatment while simultaneously being thor. i’m a little nervous how this will be handled, but i’m excited. (it’s based off an amazing comic series by jason aaron)

the big bad: gorr the god butcher, played by christian bale! the gist of it is, this dude HATES gods because nobody helped when his family was dying and in need. his weapon is “all-black the necrosword,” forged from the head of a celestial, and allows the user to create wings and fly at extreme speeds. honestly, he sounds cool as fuck.

valkyrie is going to be made canonically bisexual!!!

it will explore more of korg’s backstory, and also include... space sharks!?!?! an alien race from the comics.

taika has called the script “very romantic” so take that as you will

black panther 2

will again be directed by ryan coogler

not much is known at this point, does not have an official name

t’challa will NOT be recast (which i’m happy about) so..... honestly no idea what to expect for this one. i think we can probably expect shuri to have an expanded role. all we know so far is they will be “exploring the world of wakanda.” not clear to me how this is different from the upcoming wakanda D+ series.

tenoch huerta has reportedly been cast as a villain, but no one has any idea who. there’s also rumors that donald glover is in “informal talks” to play a role. note all of this is unconfirmed.

captain marvel 2

will be directed by nia da costa (candyman!) and written by megan mcdonnell, who is one of wandavision’s best writers!

will take place in the present day

will feature kamala khan / ms. marvel, monica rambeau / photon!!! this will be so interesting.... kamala is a huge fan of carol’s in the comics, she is her mentor/idol. the ms. marvel series will also resportedly lead into cm2. and monica, well, monica knew her when she was a little kid. wandavision implies that there’s some bad blood between carol and monica though, not sure why. maybe because carol left and never came back? (until endgame)

post-credits scene of wandavision appears to tie into this, having monica go up into space at the reqeust of her “mom’s old friend.” again, not clear who that is. this could also be a tie in to secret invasion though, so we’ll see. or both.

zawe ashton has been cast as an unknown villain... a lot of people are actually speculating that she may play rogue? which would be fascinating, as there’s a comic arc where rogue steals her powers and memories. BUT there’s still no confirmation that X-men exist in the MCU so for now i remain skeptical.

they are looking to cast a ‘john boyega’ or ‘michael b jordan’ type which makes me wonder if they are going to create a new character, a “younger” war machine to be her love interest? (note: carol and rhodey are a huge thing in comics!) carol obviously does not look her age but her and don cheadle.... that just doesn’t work. which is why i wonder.

ant-man and the wasp: quantumania

in addition to scott and hope, pretty much all the major players are returning including: luis, hank pym, janet van dyne

cassie lang has been recast with an actress 5 years older, which is really making me wonder if they are going to make her stinger in this movie! (aka one of the main young avengers)

the villain: kang the conqueror! this dude time travels. original name nate richards. in the comics, kang travels back in time to rescue his younger self (nate) from an attack that would help shape him towards a life of villainy. kang also gives him some fancy armor. his younger self actually is like, what the fuck dude? and renounces his destiny, becoming a hero. and he makes his armor look like iron man, calling himself iron lad. who is a young avenger. which also makes me wonder about cassie lang.

otherwise not much is known!

guardians of the galaxy vol. 3

james gunn is returning, i’m mixed about this...he really does *get* the guardians though.

based on the gotg2 post credits scene, i think we can assume adam warlock will be a HUGE part of this. there are multiple versions of him, some villainous and some heroic, but no idea how this is gonna turn out.

no word yet on whether thor will be involved, or if those ravagers they introduced will be involved.

fantastic four

will be directed by the spiderman guy, john watts.

otherwise we know literally nothing.

aaaaand that’s the roundup!

#mcu #marvel #black widow #shang chi and the legend of the ten rings #eternals #smnwh #spiderman: no way home #doctor strange in the multiverse of madness #dsitmom #thor: love and thunder #tlat #black panther 2 #captain marvel 2 #ant man and the wasp: quantumania #amatwq #guardians of the galaxy vol. 3 #gotg3 #fantastic four #mcu thoughts

101 notes · View notes

ohtobeaspettyasleah · 3 years

Note

so. how did the coffee date go? do Ethan and Piper just talk for hours on end about life and get to know each other more? And talk about the kiddos??

Coffee. For many of us, its the one thing that makes the world go round. It’s the morning ritual we allocate time for to either enjoy on the couch before the morning news.

Catching up on all the horrors of the world sprinkled amongst the okay and somewhat high spirited good news story of the day. For others, it’s a moment where we watch the coffee stream down into our just barley washed and slightly over pungent travel mug that you tell yourself daily you’ll throw out-- but never do. Hell, maybe you invest in a flavouring. Sugar-free perhaps? Vanilla, caramel or maybe pumpkin spice depending on the season. You wait for the milk to steam-- or maybe you fall into the heart of people who poor their oat milk over ice to make a quick and easy iced oat latte. Cost-effective.

But then there is the very large chunk of people out there, that allocates a portion of their weekly pay for their coffee. Barista made. They know who makes their coffee each morning by name and they know how that persons day is going by the taste of the roast. Maybe it’s perfect? A good day, maybe its slightly burnt? The milk too hot or too cold? Not enough hazelnut syrup.

Ethan Dolan and Pipper Reid fall into the same category. Because out of the three mentioned above? There are about six others that follow and we just don’t have time to sit here and talk about coffee enthusiasts all day when you wanna know about Ethan and Pippers coffee date at Average Jo’s.

The best cup of Jo on the go:

“If you don’t promise to put your mind body and soul into this coffee Jo you won’t ever see this face again.” Ethan was joking. Maybe, deep down he wasn’t. Pipper Reid, sitting in the nook by the window smiling as she brushed her hair behind her ear as Ethan was caught out staring back at her. He froze, but his heart didn’t. Beating in his chest to loud it rang in his ears.

“You back on the dating sense hey Pal? Haven’t seen you walk in here with a Woman no bigger than that little bug of yours since well” Jo paused, he knew Ethan knew what he was referring to, “Hows she doin’ anyway? Lex.”

“Uh--yeah yeah shes good Joey, has this kindergarten teachers whos really pushing her along, Leo’s thriving too, apparently hes some kind of boy genius?”

“What as in math?” Jo smoked as he handed over the two cups of coffee. To go, even though Ethan had every intention of staying in-store. He just wanted an excuse to leave and leave with his coffee if things didn’t go the way he was hoping for. There was a brown paper bag handed over the counter too. Strawberry tarts, free of charge. Ethan chuckled to himself with a small sigh.

“Kid artist Joey, just think Leonardo DaVinci.” Joseph Ardale was always there for Ethan and his kids. A kind neighbour who just so happened to be the only person who Ethan would buy coffee from. No Starbucks in sight, just a small local business Ethan didn’t know how to live without. Considering the espresso machine sitting on his kitchen counter-top hadn't worked in years. Any single dad with twins lives and breathes coffee, add high school teacher to the mix and Ethan Dolan was no exception to the rule.

“Hey, you’re back!” It was the way Pipper seemed as nervous as Ethan himself had him softening. He liked the way she moved over for him. Accepting the gesture as he handed her her coffee. An Oat milk latte with two pumps of caramel syrup. She didn’t care if it was sugar free.

“You think I wasn’t gonna come back after asking you for coffee?”

“Just uh, a little nervous is all, I usually don’t uh—this, um—“ Ethan chuckled as he sipped his coffee sinking into the nook.

“Date? That the word you’re looking for, because if it is that’s not what this is, just coffee. I mean if you want it to be a date it can be.” Ethan was teasing, he liked the way Pipper smiled—he couldn’t really tell but he had a feeling her cheeks were hot. In a good way. “Date or no date I just wanted to spend—“

“Spend some time drinking coffee together.” Pipper interrupted, chuckling as Ethan nodded and laughed with her.

“Exactly and isn’t it the best cup you've ever had?”

“It’s pretty good, companies even better.”

“There’s no way you’re trying to flirt with me right now?”

“Would it be so bad if I was? Still confused about the wedding band but hey—you said you aren’t a married man? Fair game right?”

“Oh completely fair game, as fair a game is the kindergarten teacher with the not clinically diagnosed Psychotic son.” Pipper gasped.

“My son is a handful, But he’s a good kid.”

“Have you seen my eye? If I wore an eyepatch in this joint Joey over there wouldn’t stop laughing for a decade.”

“Learnt from the best I guess.” Pipper sipped her coffee, there was a slight change in her tone. Ethan almost didn’t pick it up, he pressed though.”

“Box with his dad huh?” The silence and delayed answer said it all. They both came before the drop in facial expression.

“Ollie doesn’t have a dad.”

“Oh—“

“I mean, sure yes there’s a guy out there whose sperm helped create him but, sorry this is uh, I should probably get going.” Ethan thought he was going to be the one who dipped. Tan off with his take away coffee because this was all too soon and he wasn’t ready for this. But watching as Pipper stood from her chair, his chest hurt. Reaching forward to grab her hand.

“Hey, no, wait wait wait wait.” Ethan stood, placing his coffee on the table and a hand a little too low on Pippers hip. For a second he saw his past—for a moment he saw his future. Pulling his hand away because hell, he didn’t want Pipper to think he wanted something more. “I—“

“Ethan—“

“I crossed a line, too personal.”

“Ethan—“

“I don’t know anything about you, you’re good with my kids, that’s all I know and I just, I wanna get to know you because—“ it was Ethan’s turn to pause, Pipper watched as Ethan looked like a deer in headlights.

“Because?”

“Because, you are the first and only woman I have looked at since.” Ethan took a deep breath.

“Since I lost my uh—my wife.”

“You said you weren’t married.” It was out of shock. Pipper didn’t mean to sound rude. “Sorry—“

“Well I mean, yeah I wear my band, I uh— but you can’t be married to someone who just isn’t here anymore. I don’t, please don’t think this changes anything, I wanna get to know you—to me? Yeah, this was a date.” Pipper was silent. She just watched as Ethan sat back down and ran his hand through his hair. Defeated. He knew this was a terrible idea even if his heart told him otherwise. Pipper sat beside him. Her hand reached out for the coffee on the table, handing back to Ethan as she leaned back, settling in.

“My ex is a piece of shit.” It shocked Ethan. He just listened though. “I’m not the person who you want to get to know Ethan—I’m, I’m a mess. There’s this book I read, called getting your shit together and apparently out of Simon, Theodore and Alvin? I’m Simon. I uh—I’m a grade-A mess but I hold it together well, I don’t show it.”

“That’s the weirdest metaphor or analogy I’ve ever heard.” Ethan laughed as pipped did. Comfortable again with one another. Drinking coffee. “But it doesn’t change anything, we’re both Simons.”

“You’re wife? How’d she uh—“

“Car accident, drunk driver about three years ago, just been me and the kids since.”

“That must have been difficult, is difficult?”

“Twin two-year-olds? That’s hard enough on anyone, Leo doesn’t remember her, he was in the car accident, doctors think he lost his memory or something, his body’s way of preventing more damage. Lexi just knows her mum isn’t here anymore. She’s in the sky, creating the clouds for her.”

“I don’t even know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything, I went to therapy, I proceeded everything, I still have days where it’s hard to function but damn it Pipper the moment I saw you, the second, I just knew, I knew I had to get to know you. Even if just as a friend, more would be great but I’ll settle for anything because like I said, I haven’t looked at anyone the way I looked at you in three years.”

“Well, if it means anything, I like the way you uh—look at me.” Pipper smiled before taking a sip of her coffee.

“Oh really?” Ethan smirked, eyes just taking in Pipper. Wondering what she was thinking. Maybe that her coffee was shitty or he’d shared too much too soon. But as she smiled and just stared back softly he couldn’t help but hope she was thinking about maybe wanted to kiss him. Because he was thinking that, shamelessly.

“I do, nobody has ever looked at me the way you look at me.”

#ethan dolan #Ethan Dolan series #teacher!e #to build a home #dolan twins

28 notes · View notes

myluciferiscody · 5 years

Text

In Case You Don’t Live Forever P.1

Pairing: Xavier Plympton x Reader

Word count: 2,541

Warnings: sad, you might cry, spoiler warnings if you are not currently caught up, language p.s. my first ever tumblr fic post! this didn’t end like i expected, please let me know what you think! not entirely proof-read.

*title inspired by Ben Platt’s song*

part 2 part 3 part 4

It has been a year.

It has been a year since your life was flipped upside down when he was murdered.

Xavier wasn’t your boyfriend, per se. You had known him for years, meeting him in kindergarten when you were seated next to each other in art, sharing colored pencils and drawing flowers in vibrant colors.

“Let me show you something!” Xavier had told you, taking the brightest yellow pencil and shakily drawing a sun that wasn't in the corner of the paper but in the middle. Your mouth dropped open at the absurd action; was this kid crazy!? Xavier smiled brightly and leaned over the paint-stained desk, and you could remember his contagious smile with missing teeth like it was yesterday.

Ever since then, you two were inseparable. You had moved in with each other two years after graduation, you working and going to school while Xavier aspired to be an actor, being an aerobics instructor on the side.

You also remember the last time you saw him. He was supposed to be a counselor at that forsaken place, Camp Redwood. Xavier was excited about the job; he didn’t have any siblings, but he liked children, for the most part. He loved the sassy ones, and that a majority of kids were not afraid to speak their mind. Plus, it would be good for him to get away from the bustling city of Los Angeles. He had begged you to come along, but you had a job, you couldn’t possibly take time off at such short notice.

Now that it has been so long, you wished you would have just gone with him. You knew there was no way you could have talked him out of going because you had already tried that.

“Are you sure, Xavier?” you asked him for the millionth time, as the two of you sat on the rickety couch, attempting to watch the latest blockbuster movie that had just come out on VHS. “That place has such bad memories for so many people, it’s probably haunted!”

Xavier shook his head, his blond hair falling in front of his baby blue eyes as he finally looked at you, giving you his signature smirk. Whenever he smiled at you, no matter how cocky he seemed, you smiled back. This time you refrained; you wanted Xavier to know you were serious about this. You really didn’t want him to go. Not only did it give you a bad feeling in the pit of your stomach, you knew you would miss him terribly.

“It’s going to be fine! You know why?” Xavier asked, leaning closer to you. You lost your resolve, unable to keep from smiling. He liked being close to you.

“Why?” you asked.

“I don’t believe in ghosts, y/n,” he whispered. “Plus, it’s probably all made up, anyhow. I’d be more worried about staying here with the night-stalker on the loose,” Xavier said nonchalantly as if YOU weren’t about to be left alone for the next few weeks.

You glared at him.

“.. Sorry,” he mumbled, and that was it.

You laid on your bed the morning of the anniversary, staring blankly at the analog clock on your bedside. It was still early, the sun barely peeking up over the LA skyline. Xavier’s room was still across the hall, door locked, and almost untouched since it happened. His parents had come and collected some of his stuff, and you refused to find another roommate.

You refused to move anything out of there, all of the clothes and shoes were still where he left them. What pictures of you two that you didn’t have hanging around the place were in there. Some days you needed to see his face; others you couldn’t bear the thought of it.

You planned on visiting his grave today, but you had been there too many times in the past few weeks. Your mom was becoming worried about you, figuring you were falling into a deep depression, and maybe you were. Xavier was the closest and best friend you ever had, you loved him.

You were in love with him.

Not a day goes by that you regret not telling him the truth. You had loved him for a few years, even when he had a fling with some chick Montana, or he occasionally brought a girl home when you were working a night shift. Your first boyfriend actually left you because he knew how you felt for Xavier, and you lied to Xavier by explaining the both of you thought it was best to see “other people.“

Once the sun had finally risen, you climbed out of bed and got ready. The sun was already blistering hot, you could tell as the drapes to your windows gently moved in the slight breeze outside your apartment window. You wanted to get some flowers and bring them to Xavier, or at least, his spirit.

As you walked to the small market next door and grabbed the most beautiful bouquet of flowers they offered, you thought of doing something a little bit different. Go to Camp Redwood.

It seemed like a great idea, as you quickly headed back to your apartment for your car keys. When Xavier’s mother called you that morning and told you what happened, you had raced to their house and listened as the detectives told them where they found him. He was laying by the shooting range, a deep, long stab wound into his stomach, alone. His face was severely burnt, and they assumed he may have been tortured before death. His funeral was closed-casket.

You grabbed one of the maps Xavier had brought home the night before he left, highlighting the route for you, in case you changed your mind.

"OR, if my agent calls me for an audition, this is very important, y/n! I don’t even know if the camp will have working phone lines!”

As you got into your car and started heading the one-hundred-and sixty-six miles to the site, you began to cry. The camp was once again abandoned. Apparently, one of the counselors was stabbing another as the bus full of kids approached. Now the county forbade the reopening of the camp, and around here, many people bragged about going to explore and “making it out alive.” They also claimed everything was still in place, you’d find where Xavier died, and the thought scared the shit out of you the closer you got.

You were forced to park your car in front of the entrance, where the gate was now heavily locked. The red letters were still a vibrant red, showing the lost dream of the crazy bitch who decided to reopen it. You took the flowers and held them tightly, almost too tightly as you slowly climbed over the gate and took off towards the shelters.

Nature had already taken over, as many of the cabins were slowly becoming covered in vines and moss, while tiny animals scurried around. You low-key hoped a bear wouldn’t pop out at you as you tried to navigate yourself. Caution tape still remained in some spots, flapping in the wind, causing you to become distracted at the horrors that went on here that night. There was a wooden map of the camp still standing, but the paint wasn’t in the best shape. However, you were able to tell you were by the women’s cabins.

It took a little longer than you thought, this place was more open than you assumed it would be. Your legs were slightly aching from the trek, but you pressed on, knowing you wouldn’t be satisfied if you wimped out. You turned a corner, and then suddenly, you were staring at a small group of targets, some of them on their sides from the elements or large animals.

Your hands were shaking as you observed the ground, not truly knowing where he took his last breaths, but you didn’t care. You made it.

You went to the only one still standing and gasped in horror. A large, silver 'X' was sprayed onto the targets face, before a small arrow was drawn, pointing to the side. You felt anger and hurt bubble in your chest, not knowing what the intentions were of whoever did this.

Multiple news sources released names of all the second Redwood victims, and of course, someone would do this. You hadn’t seen any other markings of vandalism, surprisingly, but perhaps you weren’t paying much attention. You slowly kneeled down and placed the flowers in a random spot, before falling onto your butt and sitting there.

Tears were still falling down your cheeks as you sat in silence, listening to the bugs in the trees and the sound of leaves blowing in the wind. The sun was beating hot onto your back, but you didn’t care. You had driven almost two hours to be here! You were just thankful nobody else was here, or maybe the sickos would come at night to gawk at the whole place like innocent people hadn’t died here.

You found yourself talking before too long. You told Xavier about his family, what they had been up to, and you talked about yourself. You had recently been promoted at work, you were thinking of getting your Masters degree, there was so much he was missing out on. You always talked to him at the cemetery, but here, it seemed more personal.

“I miss you so much, Xavier,” you sniffled out, wiping your nose on your arm, not caring how disgusting your face felt. It felt good to finally cry, you didn’t do it much anymore. “I-I should have been here, m-maybe we could have survived together, maybe I could have saved you,"

Silence.

You knew he couldn’t answer, you knew it. Yet, you still found yourself angry. Furious at Xavier for coming, mad at yourself for letting him go, for not coming with him. PISSED that anybody let this place open back up. It was good that you set the flowers down because they would be crushed by your fists.

"I don’t know if I can do this without you,” you sniffed. “I thought it would get better in time, not seeing you every day, not being able to hug you or watch television and pig out in front of the couch before hating ourselves,” you smiled at the memories the two of you had gathered over the past seventeen or so years. “Time is supposed to heal us, right? Xavier, I’m lost without you, nothing is right anymore!”

Your sobs grew louder as everything you had been holding in poured out. This pain was something you hadn’t experienced in your entire life; this was you coming to terms with the fact that it’s over. Absolutely nothing can bring him back, and you were going to live the next seventy years of your life in a world without Xavier in it.

Hours had to have passed when you finally got the courage to stand up, your throat parched, and your stomach growling in hunger. Your head was pounding as you gave Xavier’s spot a final glance. You’d come next year.

As you walked back to your car (more like stumbled) from the headache and evident sunburn on your skin, you screamed in fright when a girl with blonde hair darted in front of you, grabbing you into a headlock. You scrambled on your feet, attempting to keep your balance, while simultaneously kicking your leg to knee her in the vagina.

The mystery girl screamed in pain, her hold on you releasing. Another voice suddenly appeared around you, it was male. This crazy bitch glared at you from the ground as you backed away, holding your hands up in surrender.

“MONTANA! STOP THIS!” a man flew in your direction, also holding his hands up. He was cute, dark-skinned, wearing a striped shirt. “Are you okay?” he asked you in a genuine voice.

“N-No! What the fuck is wrong with you!?” you demanded, directing your words at Montana, who stood up but thankfully didn’t come near you. Her name didn’t immediately register in your brain, neither of theirs would at first.

“My name is Ray, this is-”

“Montana, bitch,” she hissed at you.

“I caught it the first time!” you snapped back. Montana’s expression slightly faltered, not expecting that. Ray had lowered his hands, but you continued holding them up, figuring if one of them charged, you could probably protect yourself a little better.

“What are you doing out here?” Ray asked you, and you looked at him with red eyes, a little snot on your nose, but neither cared. Montana had wanted to kill you, but Ray wouldn’t allow it, and Montana knew that.

“My name is y/n, first of all, and second, why is that your business?"

Montana let out a sarcastic laugh, "I like you!”

“Well, I don’t like you! You fucking attacked me!” you wheezed, wishing you would have left earlier to avoid this. You were not in the right state of mind. Montana blew off the little insult, happy she didn’t have the chance to kill you right away.

“I’m sorry about her, she is a little on edge around here,” Ray said, figuring it was a good explanation, given the circumstance of them being ghosts. “We get a lot of tourists, thinking they can trash the place, it’s upsetting,”

“Or they’re nasty perverts who get off on the scent of death infesting this place, and you don’t seem like either of those,” Montana commented, and you finally turned to look at her.

“I-I’m not,”

“Then, why were you here?” Montana pressed.

“My friend was killed here, I.. I was visiting him,”

Ray and Montana both shared a glance, and that’s when it clicked for Montana. She hadn’t paid attention to you much before, but now that she sized you up and down, and you revealed the reason you decided to show up, she knew.

“Holy fuck,” she breathed out.

“What? What’s going on?” Ray asked.

“DID YOU FIND HER?"

The sound of running footsteps once again freaked you out, wondering if you were about to be ambushed by three people. Suddenly, as if in slow motion, his face appeared in front of you. Not just his face, but his entire body. Montana was still watching you with an open mouth, and Ray only looked confused as fuck.

You took a step back, your body now trembling as both you and Xavier realized what was happening. He looked shocked, overwhelmed, and so many other things, but you couldn’t stand to look at him. You screamed, turning and running in the same direction you came, running faster than you ever had in your entire life.

"Xavier,” Montana breathed out.

“Montana!” Ray said.

“y/n,” Xavier choked.

“WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING?” Ray shouted at the two people, both still at a loss for words. y/n was still screaming at the top of her lungs, but her voice was fading by the minute.

“Y/N!” Xavier yelled, taking off after you. It was an instinct that Montana and Ray followed, both trying to keep up.

But the way Xavier was screaming your name would make the coldest of hearts break.

#xavier plympton x reader #cody fern #ahs 1984 #ahs spoilers #first fic #xavier plympton #michael langdon #jim mason #duncan shepherd #michael langdon x reader #jim mason x reader #duncan shepherd x reader

463 notes · View notes

praise-the-lord-im-dead · 4 years

Text

@jurakan @theamiableanachronism here's my list so far!!

Genre fiction:

Clarkesworld:

1,000 to 22,000 words

10c / word for first 7,000 words, 8c / word after that.

Guidelines: sci-fi and fantasy. Well-written, non-political, no automatic eye-rollers.

Three Crows:

1,000 to 4,000 words

$25 per story

Guidelines: gritty horror, sci-fi and fantasy. Ambiguous morality and Slavic settings are both pluses.

Lightspeed:

1,500 to 10,000 words

8c / word

Guidelines: anything goes! (Sometimes submissions are closed).

Fantasy & Science Fiction:

Up to 25,000 words

7-12c / word

Guidelines: anything goes, preference for science fiction and humor. A read-through of an issue is suggested.

Additional: no simultaneous submissions, they will respond in 8 weeks.

Cricket:

600-6,000 words

Up to 25c / word

Guidelines: any and all genres, but it must be immediate and character-driven, acceptable and wholesome for children, and fun.

Analog:

Up to 20,000 words

8-10 c / word

Guidelines: science fiction where science of some kind is a key element of the plot, in which dynamic characters shine against the fantastical background.

Ares Magazine:

1,000 to 10,000 words

6c / word

Guidelines: sci-fi, fantasy, horror, mythology, pulp adventure, alternative history. No fan fiction.

Additional: no simultaneous submissions or multiple submissions. You’ll hear back in 8 weeks. Occasionally closed for submissions.

Asimov’s Science Fiction:

1,000-20,000 words

8-10 c / word

Guidelines: studies of human existence with strong, relatable characters. Genre can be bent, but no sword and sorcery or graphic-ness.

Additional: no simultaneous submissions. Usually gets back in 5 weeks.

Giganotosaurus:

5,000-25,000 words

$100 per story

Guidelines: intersectional sci-fi and fantasy.

Pseudopod:

1,500 - 6,000 words

6 c / word

Guidelines: horror. Dark, weird, and brutal. All fiction is meant to be in audio form, so no lollygagging. Everything from literary horror to shock value insanity is all good. Genre definitions are for the birds.

Heroic Fantasy Quarterly:

1,000 - 10,000 words

$50-100 per story

Guidelines: unapologetically heroic sword and sorcery.

Additional: only open to submissions in March, June, September and December.

Beneath Ceaseless Skies

Under 15,000 words.

6 c / word

Guidelines: they are fantasy setting nerds and will die for original worldbuilding. Close pov, clear style preferred.

Fiction Vortex

They seem fun but dear lord is their idea for a thing complicated. Look into if I want to write for something as opposed to happily submit my writing elsewhere. Apparently pays $300 flat rate tho.

Aurealis:

2,000-8,000 words

A$20-A$60 / story

Guidelines: sci-fi, fantasy and horror. No horror without supernatural elements, and no derivative works.

Fusion Fragment

2,000 - 15,000 words

3.5 CAD c/ word

up to $300/ story

Guidelines: Science fiction and science fiction subgenres--anything that vaguely resembles scifi, with a preference for the bizarre and an emphasis on quality in style.

Additional: submissions through Moksha. Simulataneous submissions are fine.

Translunar Travelers Lounge

up to 5,000 words

3c / word

Guidelines: FUN stories. Gleeful romance, swashbuckling, intrigue, with plenty of hope and life and joy. Friendships, healthy marriages, equality.

Apparition Lit

1,000 - 5000 words

3c / word, minimum of $30.

flat rate of $30 for poetry.

Guidelines: 'Send us your strange, misshapen stories'. Proactive characters, odd setting, emotional depth and weight.

Additional: an odd and lengthly list of submission steps, make sure to follow those to the letter. Only open to submissions 4 times a year.

Arsenika

up to 1,000 words

$60 / story

$30 / poem

$100 / art

Guidelines: no fan fiction, horror is okay. They seem to be focused on spec fic.

Anathema

only open to queer/poc/indigenous people.

Fiction: 1.5-6k words

Non-Fiction: 1.5 - 3k words

Poetry: under 100 lines

$100(CAD) / story

$50(CAD) / poem

$200(CAD) / cover art

Guidelines: once again, only open to submissions from marginalized groups! including it on this list in case I ever share it.

Grimdark Magazine

up to 4,000 words

7c (AUD)/ word

Guidelines: Must be grim and dark. (They love Joe Abercrombie, for reference) Medieval fantasy or sci-fi.

Metaphorosis Magazine

1,000 - 10,000 words

1c / word

Guidelines: sci-fi and fantasy, beautiful writing, engaging characters. Bonus points for vegan worlds (i.e. no leather goods, meat, or labor animals). No present tense. No overdone tropes. No labeled timeframes. Minimal narration.

Additional: anonymous submissions. don't paint your name everywhere.

Lackington's Magazine

1,500 - 5,000 words

1c (CAD) / word

$25 (CAD) / interior illustrations

$40 (CAD) / cover art

Guidelines: punk, spec fic, all things odd. 2nd person is a hard sell, though, because they see a lot of it. They like stylized prose.

Flash Fiction Online

500 - 1,000 words

8c / word original

2c / word reprints

Guidelines: No hurting women. No hurting men in the ways women are traditionally hurt. 2nd person is a hard sell, as is Evil Human Race, Being Preachy, hiding the mc's name, ending on a identity reveal, sad stories, gory stories.

Strange Horizons

under 5k words preferred, up to 10k

10c / word

Guidelines: they love diverse perspectives, and complex, nuanced stories about political situations. All stories must have spec-fic elements.

Fantasy Magazine

up to 7,500 words

8c / word

Guidelines: fantasy and dark fantasy! They don't have any gripe lists yet.

Nightmare Magazine

1,500 - 7,500 words

6c / word

Guidelines: horror and dark fantasy.

Uncanny

750 - 6000 words

10c / word

Guidelines: speculative fiction. They want intricate, experimental stories with beautiful prose, strong emotions and challenging themes.

Albedo

2,500 - 8,000 words

.6 c / word + print and pdf copy of the magazine issue.

Guidelines: thoughtful, well-written genre fiction. Genre-crossing fiction is also accepted.

Leading Edge Magazine

1,000 - 15,000 words

1c / word

Guidelines: This is a BYU magazine, all stories must adhere to mormon sensibilities (not really a problem anyway?) They just say they're looking for 'fiction', but there's a dragon on their icon so they might do some genre fiction?

Liminal

100 - 6,000 words

6c / word

Guidelines: stories that are strange and unsettling, sharp-edged and evocative. Stories should linger in the mind and evoke emotion in the reader.

Daily Science Fiction

100 - 1,500 words

8c / word, possible anthology royalties (nonexclusive)

Guidelines: Shorter stories are preferred. Character-driven is awesome, but by no means a must. Anything gripping and fun will do -- no horror or erotica, please.

Aftermath Magazine

1500 - 5000 words

2c / word

Guidelines: End-of-the world stories to raise awareness for environmental efforts. They want to celebrate the beauty of the natural world, while it still exists.

The Arcanist

1,000 words or less

$50 / story

Guidelines: Sci-fi and fantasy with strong characters, evoking strong emotions.

The Dark Magazine

2,000 - 6,000

6c / word

Guidlines: Horror and dark fantasy (they don't want graphic violence tho).

PULP magazine

1,000 - 15,000 words

2c - 8c / word (shorter stories get more money)

Guidelines: Solid stories of all genres, accessible to all readers, with balanced emotional weight.

LampLight Magazine

up to 7,000 words

3c / word

Guidelines: Dark fiction. Think The Twilight Zone.

This is by far an exhaustive list--I'm still researching! But hopefully it's helpful?

#long post #writeblr #story submissions

22 notes · View notes

a-mandala-rose · 5 years

Text

Angry, Angry, Angry, Pie

Words: 1474

Summary: After overhearing a conversation between Sam and Cas, Dean Winchester talks about his feelings... kind of.

“Hey, Cas. Why the long face?”

Blue eyes squint in confusion as the angel touches a tentative hand to his own cheek.

Sam smiles. Even after all these years, his friend can still be so literal at times.

“What’s wrong?” he clarifies.

Cas’ eyes widen briefly in understanding before the despondent look that prompted Sam’s question in the first place finds its way back onto his features.

“I believe Dean’s angry with me again. I’m not precisely sure what I did wrong this time, but I must have done something.” Cas pauses. “It seems like he’s always angry with me.”

Sam frowns. He’s not sure what the hell is up his brother’s emotionally repressed ass this time, but he is certain that whatever it is isn’t Cas’ fault.

Sighing, he readies himself to clean-up the emotional fallout of Dean’s poor coping skills. Again.

“Look, Cas, what you have to understand about Dean is that sometimes when he’s angry, he’s not really angry.”

Cas looks more confused by this than by the “long face” question.

“I’m an Angel of the Lord, Sam. ‘Holy wrath’ is something of a specialty of ours. I am more than capable of recognizing anger when I see it.”

“No, what I mean is…” Sam hesitates and looks up at the ceiling, thinking of how to best explain the complex emotional tapestry that is Dean Winchester. “Sometimes when Dean acts, and looks, and sounds angry, he’s actually feeling something else.”

Another pause.

Another round of confused angelic squinting.

“Okay, so there are four basic emotions, right? Anger, fear, sorrow, and joy. Most people express those emotions in very different ways. But Dean… not so much.” Sam takes a seat on the table next to where Cas is seated in one of the sturdy library chairs and leans forward, starting to warm to his subject. After all, he’s spent his entire life studying his older brother and Cas is a singularly captivated audience when it comes to all things Dean. “For Dean, there’s the angry that means he’s angry, the angry that means he’s scared or worried about you, the angry that means he’s sad… And then there’s pie.” He sits back in his chair, quietly satisfied with his analogy.

Cas stares at him a moment before saying slowly, “So… you’re saying that Dean’s four emotional states are angry, angry, angry… and pie?”

“Pretty much, yeah.”

“That makes… a surprising amount of sense.”

“Really?” Sam’s eyebrows raise in surprise. Understanding straightforward emotions was a struggle for Cas at one time. Emotions masked as other emotions? He hadn’t expected the angel to catch on so quickly.

Castiel nods, angelic countenance thoughtful.

“Human emotions can be… overwhelming. When I first began experiencing them, I sometimes felt like I was going to explode from the sheer force of what I was feeling.” Castiel stares at a spot above Sam’s shoulder, clearly picturing something in his mind. “Dean Winchester is the Righteous Man, Sam. True righteousness cannot exist devoid of emotion. There have been many men who could have been considered righteous based on the logic of their actions and yet, while benefiting the masses, those actions bestowed horrors upon a select few.”

“The ends don’t always justify the means and the needs of the many don’t always outweigh the needs of the few. Right,” Sam agrees while scrunching his forehead in confusion. He’s not quite seeing how this ties back to his brother acting like an asshole caveman.

Cas’ eyes find his again.

“What constitutes ‘right’ and ‘wrong’ in terms of human conscience is shaped by the values and customs of a particular society. It changes over time. Righteousness is universal. It’s rooted in the empathy that exists between all souls. A soul as bright, as righteous, as Dean’s must be anchored deeply in emotion, consumed by it even. To feel things so deeply, far more deeply than other humans… perhaps that explains why Dean constantly appears on the verge of exploding.”

Sam blinks.

“You got that from ‘angry, angry, angry, pie?’”

“Yes. Thank you, Sam. Our talk was very enlightening.”

Still feeling a little lost, Sam runs a hand through his hair and shrugs.

“Uh, sure. Glad I could help, I guess.”

He pretends not to notice Dean listening from the doorway.

~***~

“Hey, Cas.”

“Hello, Dean.”

Hearing his brother and Cas in the library, Sam continues his trek toward the stairs without saying hello, hoping to squeeze in a run before dinner. His steps slow, however, and take him back toward the library door when he hears Castiel’s next words.

“Are you finished being… angry with me? I apologize if I unintentionally did something to upset you.”

“What? I wasn’t ‘angry with you!’” Dean barks out sharply.

From where he’s standing next to the doorway, he can just make out Castiel’s eyebrow arching in challenge at Dean’s tone.

He probably shouldn’t be eavesdropping, but since Sam’s the one that’ll undoubtedly be cleaning up Dean’s mess if he screws things up with Cas (again), he feels justified. It’s not spying. It’s completely reasonable and defensible reconnaissance. Commendable even.

“I wasn’t angry with you,” Dean repeats in a softer tone, before slumping into the chair across from Cas and ducking his head to catch the angel’s eyes with his own. “Look, just because I’m angry, don’t mean I’m angry at you,” he explains before adding hurriedly, a finger jabbing toward the angel, “Don’t get me wrong, sometimes I really am pissed at you. You’ve done some really stupid shit, man. We both have.”

Cas nods in silent agreement.

“But most of the time,” Dean leans back in his chair and runs a hand through his hair, “I’m just angry about you.”

“About me?” Cas asks quizzically, tilting his head in classic Cas confusion.

“Yeah. Like, angry about you not being here. Or angry about you getting yourself killed. Again.” Dean rolls his eyes. “Or angry about you thinking you can handle shit on your own, instead of coming to me and Sam. Angry about you thinking that you have to handle shit on your own.”

“But none of that is you being angry at me,” Cas says doubtfully.

“Nah, not really.”

Dean taps his thumb nervously on the arm rest of the wooden library chair, his entire body radiating anxious energy.

“Dean?” Cas asks, shooting a pointed look at Dean’s fidgeting fingers.

“I uh, heard you talkin’ to Sam earlier,” Dean blurts out, “about my feelings or whatever.”

“About the way you express emotions?” Cas clarifies with raised eyebrows.

“Yeah. That.” Sam rolls his eyes. Turns out the only thing more painful than talking to Dean about his feelings is listening to him talk about his feelings with someone else.

“And?”

“And he ain’t exactly wrong.”

“So, you’re saying that earlier today, you weren’t angry angry?”

“Right.”

“So, which angry were you?”

Dean rolls his eyes.

“I don’t know. One of the other ones. Just pick one.”

“So you were s-,” Dean shoots a warning glare at Cas, who quickly amends, “one of the other types of angry, but not angry angry, about me, but not at me?”

“Exactly,” Dean grins and leans back in his chair, fingers laced across his stomach.

“Okay. Thank you for telling me… that.”

“No problem.” Dean clears his throat. “So, uh, that stuff you said. You know, the soul stuff. Was any of that true?”

“I believe it all to be true, Dean.”

“Yeah, okay.” Dean swallows and looks down at the table before finding Cas’ eyes again. “Doesn’t give me the right to take it out on you though. Doesn’t give me the right to be an asshole. You gotta call me on that shit, man. Don’t just take it.”

“I appreciate you saying so. The next you seem angry with me for no apparent reason, I’ll try to remember to ‘call you on your shit.’”

Sam grins as he watches Cas make air quotes around the end of his sentence. He can’t see Dean’s eyes, but he does see Dean’s entire head move with what he’s sure is a very affectionate eye roll.

“Yeah, you do that.” He stands, hands stuffed in his pockets awkwardly. “So, we good? You don’t still think I’m mad at you all the time?” he doublechecks, taking a few backward steps toward the door.

“I… no, Dean. I no longer think you’re angry at me all of the time,” Cas says, looking as bemused as Sam had felt after their earlier conversation.

“Good,” Dean says, “That’s good. Because, Cas? Just so you know, the way I… the way you make me feel?”

Dean pauses. Takes a breath.

“You’re pie.”

The last thing Sam sees before he makes a hasty retreat are the corners of Cas’ mouth ticking up in a smile that, while small now, looks like it’s on verge of exploding.

#mandalawrites #shortfic

147 notes · View notes

today-only-happens-once · 5 years

Text

With Great Power - Chapter 7

Catch up or read on AO3 here!

Fic Summary: Thomas Sanders is just a regular social media personality. But when he gets bit by a spider during filming one of his YouTube videos, his whole life is about to turn upside down—whether he (or the aspects of his personality) want it to or not. Platonic LAMP/CALM + Character!Thomas. Spider-Man AU.

Chapter Word Count: 3646

Chapter warnings: cursing, threats, alcohol consumption (casual and not heavy), robbery mention, please let me know if I missed anything.

A/N: Longer chapter with a hecking lot jammed into it, but I hope it’s an okay read. Was excited about this chapter, so I hope you enjoy the ride! Finished the edits around midnight last night and decided to wait until morning to post. Edited by yours truly. All mistakes are mine. Please let me know what ya think!

Tags: @captain-loki-xavier, @human-dictionary, @the-peculiar-bi-tch, @mining-pup, @band-be-boss-blog, @asexual-trashbag, @samathekittycat, @why-should-i-tell-youu2, @theobsessor1, @always3charcoaltea, @changeling-ash, @logical-princey, @princelogical, @crimsonshadow323, @flickering-raven, @smokeyrutilequartz, @dontbugmeimantisocial, @liz-a-bell, @black-king-white-knight, @soijusthavetoask, @analogical-mess, @marvelfangeek09, @dolphidragon, @thelowlysatsuma, @approximately12lbs-of-ducks, @vigilantvirgil

The internet personality sits on the couch in the living room of his apartment with his laptop balanced carefully on his thighs. It’s the middle of the afternoon the following day. He’d slept until almost noon, then scrolled through twitter and the news feed that was buzzing with the blurry, confusing security footage from the bank last night.

The spider logo had been visible from the way Thomas had wrapped the sweatshirt around his face, and that’s really all the public seemed to need to stir up excitement again. SPIDER-MAN MAKES A RETURN? had been the basis for nearly every headline Thomas had seen on the subject. News anchors puzzled over the bizarre footage of someone crawling on the ceiling. He’d watched a few interviews with some of the people that had gotten out safely—none of them claimed to know anything about who this “Spider-Man” might be.

Some threads on Twitter called him a “cryptid”. Others called him a “freak”. Law enforcement officials posted about how he should have left the job to professionals rather than go “vigilante”. Most called him a “hero”.

It left a weird, but not necessarily unpleasant, feeling in his stomach.

A few reports talked about the man Thomas had fought: Al Trevors, according to several news articles. He’d been a bus driver, apparently, with a wife and twin boys who were four years old. His wife is a lawyer, who had apparently advised him to not speak to the press. There had been no official statement from Trevors.

Eventually, Thomas stopped looking into the reaction to last night and instead turned his attention to the black cardstock rectangle he’d picked up. It sits beside him on the couch. On Thomas’s laptop, the cursor blinks lazily in the Google search bar.

“Thomas, are you sure this is a good idea?”

Virgil is standing in his usual space at the bottom of the stairs, his gaze narrowed at the host.

Thomas glances up at him, then back at the card. “No,” he says honestly.

Logan appears beside the staircase before Virgil can so much as open his mouth. He smooths his tie. “Virgil, you know as well as I do that Thomas buying into willful ignorance is likely only to be detrimental.”

Virgil shoots Logan a look. “Yeah, I know, Pocket Protector. I just…” he waves a hand at Thomas’s laptop. “I have a bad feeling about it. That’s all.”

Logan inclines his head. “Understandable, given the limited information we have available to us and your inclination to protect us.”

Thomas watches as Virgil glances quickly at the Logical Side. “Right…”

“However,” Logan continues, a little bit softer, “we have a responsibility. Knowing is always better than not knowing. And you know as well as I do, Virgil, that you would feel an equal level of distress—if not a more prolonged one as well—staying kept in the dark. Especially when there is a potential threat involved.”

Virgil rolls his eyes, but Thomas can see the hesitation of thought in the Anxious Side. He’s listening to Logan. “Knwoledge is our greatest weapon, huh?” he says dryly.

Logan nods once, his certainty undeterred by Virgil’s snark. “And our greatest defense.”

Virgil pauses. Then he groans, scrubbing a sweatshirt-covered hand across his eyes. “Fine, Thomas. Look it up.”

Thomas takes a breath as Logan crosses over towards the couch and sits beside him. Virgil sits on the other side. Thomas types “ekko” into the search bar and presses enter.

The first thing that pops up is a link to the YouTube video that Joan had been talking about. It’s titled “The First Warning”. The internet personality hovers his cursor over the link. The thumbnail is a blank, black screen.

Virgil doesn’t say anything, but Thomas doesn’t miss him flipping his hood up over his hair. It’s accompanying a tightening in Thomas’s stomach that makes him scroll further down the page instead of clicking on the link. He senses more than sees Logan glance disapprovingly at him, but the Logical Side doesn’t say anything.

The links below the video are a smattering of people talking about it: Twitter threads, pop culture websites that wrote articles about it, a talk show segment where they chat about it. Thomas wonders if maybe reading about it second hand would be enough.

“Thomas,” Logan says reproachfully. “While it would be better than nothing, a video is not capable of hurting you.”

“Beg to differ,” Virgil snaps.

“You’re stalling,” Logan replies flatly. “You cannot delay this forever.”

“Uh, he absolutely can.”

“Granted. But he shouldn’t.”

Thomas scrolls up quickly to the top of the page and clicks on the link before he can lose his nerve. Virgil growls and covers his face with his hands, peeking at the computer screen between his fingers. Thomas’s hands curl into loose fists against his legs. His foot taps quickly against the carpet.

The screen starts with static and a high-pitched whine. Flashes of news footage from riots, bombings, warzones. Static glitches.

It cuts out.

Thomas can just barely make out a silhouetted figure in the dark screen before a feminine voice starts speaking. “Pity, isn’t it?”

More footage, flashing so quickly that Thomas can’t decipher it all except that it’s all violent. It’s all bloody.

“It’s been long enough. It’s time for a new age to rise.”

The dark screen returns, but the figure steps forward into the minimal light. They’re in a body suit of some kind. Entirely white. It’s a sudden contrast to the dark background. The figure leans in closer to the camera.

“Some of you will see me as your hero. Others will fear me. If you’re the latter… I’m coming for you.”

It sounds like more than an empty threat. It sounds like a promise.

The video cuts out.

Thomas takes a breath and rakes a hand back through his hair. The video is playing back through his mind, trying to piece together the footage as if it might help make more sense. The words play back through Thomas’s mind. It’s time of a new age to rise. A new age of what? What did it mean that she’d be “coming for” the people who feared her?

“Virgil, are you all right?” Logan asks and Thomas almost jumps. He’d forgotten two of his Sides were sitting there beside him.

“Peachy,” Virgil growls back with the double vocalization.

“Thomas,” Logan says, “Please take a deep breath.”

The host closes his laptop and sets it on the coffee table in front of him as he sucks in some air and releases it slowly. He closes his eyes. Breathe with me, Virge, he wills. He takes in another breath and hears Virgil do the same.

Thomas opens his eyes and though Virgil still has his hood pulled up over his hair, the Anxious Side manages a faint twitch of his lips. A reassurance. Thomas nods once to him.

“What particularly was so alarming about that video?” Logan asks after a moment. “Though clearly intended to be threatening, it seems you have seen videos and movies that would warrant a stronger sense of fear than something such as that.”

Thomas swallows and clears his throat. “Virge?” He glances at Virgil on the other side of him.

“I don’t know.” The Anxious Side huffs a little, tugging on the strings of his hoodie. “Something about it just seemed… more real than a horror movie. Like she meant what she was saying, I guess.”

Logan quirks an eyebrow. “Hm. I see.” He eyes Thomas’s closed laptop before speaking again. “Under usual circumstances, I would remark how it seemed a bit over the top in terms of its dramatics. The effects and spliced footage are clearly meant to be a fear tactic with seeming little meaningful substance upon which to base that fear.”

“Aren’t you kind of commenting on that now—”

“However,” Logan continues, interrupting Thomas, “it’s connection to recent events makes me less inclined to dismiss it so easily. A fear tactic? Absolutely. But one so easily dismissed? Perhaps not.”

Thomas rubs the back of his neck, glancing between Logan and Virgil. “So what now?”

There wasn’t anything in the video that suggested a location—either for where Ekko is, or where she’d be next. Thomas didn’t really have another plan of action, and it makes his fingers twitch with a surprising restlessness. It doesn’t help that Ekko’s line about being seen as a hero keeps replaying in his mind in a way that tightens his chest a little with discomfort.

“Well,” Logan says as he adjusts the frame of his glasses, “there are several questions left unanswered, it seems. The first being what connection, if any, does Ekko have to the attempted robbery last night? The video suggests some kind of wide-scale plan, perhaps even global given the use of news footage from around the world. So what business would someone like Ekko have in Gainesville, Florida?”

That did seem unusual, Thomas has to admit. He picks up the cardstock rectangle beside his leg on the couch, rubbing his thumb over the neat white print. E K K O.

“Speaking of wide-scale plan,” Virgil adds, sounding a bit more calm but no less worried than a moment ago, “the next question is… assuming that video isn’t just some fear-inducing media stunt, what is Ekko planning?”

Thomas sighs and scrubs a hand down his face. “Maybe that’s all it really is,” he says. “Maybe she’s just trying to get attention.” He doesn’t quite believe himself, and he sees Logan and Virgil exchange a silent glance. Neither of them says anything, but the quiet that lingers in the apartment is quickly interrupted by Thomas’s ringtone.

It’s Valerie.

“Hey, Valerie,” Thomas says, hoping his voice sounds brighter than he thinks it does. In his peripheral, Thomas sees both Logan and Virgil sink out.

“Hey, Thomas!” The familiar sound of his friend’s voice helps alleviate some of the tension in his shoulders. “I was talking to Joan, Lee, and Terrence and we were thinking of having a game night since everybody’s gonna be in town. Do you wanna join?”

Thomas smiles with a sudden relief. “Sounds awesome.”

…

“Did you just throw a blue shell, Talyn?! Shit. No, no, no—”

Thomas laughs as he watches his friends play Mario Kart. Joan’s corner of the screen fills with a bright blue light. A cart slams into them as it passes, sending Joan’s cart careening off the edge of the map. Thomas laughs even harder as Terrence’s square announces his victory. Joan curses again, managing to squeak past the finish line in 6th place.

“Hey, thanks, Talyn,” Terrence comments with an amused, smug smile. Talyn gives him a small salute, snorting with laughter a moment later at the look Joan throws their way.

Thomas smiles and leans back into the couch, picking up his glass of wine and taking a small sip. Turns out, a lot of Thomas’s friends had been free tonight. Lee and Mary Lee came, as did Valerie, Joan, Talyn, Camden, Terrence, and Kenny. It felt like it had been forever since he’d last hung out with his friends without it being with the intention of working on a video. Amicable chatter and friendly argument about the best character to main on Mario Kart fills the room with a warmth and comfort that is interrupted briefly by the arrival of pizza.

Mary Lee announces a food break, causing everyone who was getting ready for another round to set their controllers down as they all break into the various kinds of pizza. It was a reprieve that the internet personality had welcomed with open arms. In fact, Thomas has almost forgotten about the events of the past 24 hours when Kenny speaks up.

“So did you guys hear about that bank last night?”

Thomas shovels a bite of pizza into his mouth to avoid having to answer. Don’t say anything, Thomas, Virgil growls in his mind. Valerie points at Kenny. “Yes! Did you see the security footage?”’

“It’s a little hard to believe it wasn’t doctored somehow,” Lee chimes in as he reaches for another piece. “They swear it isn’t, though. And some of the eyewitness accounts verified that the guy was freaking climbing on the ceiling.”

“I saw this thread on Reddit,” Camden chimes in casually, reaching for a napkin, “arguing about whether or not he should count as a ‘hero’.”

Thomas glances at him. “What’d they decide?”

Camden’s mouth quirks. “It’s Reddit. You really think they arrived at any organized consensus?”

“I think it’s a little weird that he keeps covering his face,” Mary Lee cuts in, then grimaces. “If they are a he. It’s the pronoun that little kid and the hostages were using, but I probably shouldn’t assume that.” She opens a can of Coke and takes a long swallow.

“I don’t totally get why they’re hiding their identity,” Valerie adds. “I mean, both times we’ve seen them, they’ve had half their face covered. Unless they’re doing something wrong—which I don’t think they are—why hide?”

Thomas opens his mouth, but Talyn jumps in before he has a chance to reply. Part of him is grateful.

“I mean, not everybody thinks they’re doing the right thing.” Talyn sets their slice down on the paper plate in their lap. “Besides, if they can climb on the ceiling like that, there’s totally people that would try to capture them and run experiments or some shit.”

Thomas swallows. He reaches for another slice of pizza to avoid looking at any of them, even though the sudden churning in his stomach keeps him from actually taking a bite out of it.

“Talyn’s right,” Kenny says. “Plus, if they’re trying to stop criminals, maybe they’re trying to protect their family too. So bad guys can’t use their loves ones against them.”

“Bad guys?” Lee asks, more curious that argumentative. “So you think they’re a hero?”

Kenny lifts a shoulder. “Yeah, I think so. You guys don’t?”

Thomas doesn’t hear their answers, his thoughts racing ahead of him. Kenny had been right, of course. So had Talyn. Thomas hiding his face had been a mixture of both reasons, but sitting here in a room full of his friends reminds him all over again just how much had changed. How much risk is involved in what he did last night. He hadn’t just been risking his safety, he’d been risking all of theirs, too. After all, the man had reached for the sweatshirt he’d tied haphazardly around his face, and if Thomas had been just a little bit slower on his reflex…

His family would be at risk. Everybody in this room would be at risk. Everybody Thomas ever cared about.

And if he was really going to try to figure out what the whole Ekko business was about… well, that really only put them in more danger.

“Thomas? Joan?” Valerie asks, yanking Thomas abruptly from his thoughts. “What do you think?”

Thomas takes another sip of wine and shrugs, despite his racing heartbeat. He quirks an eyebrow at Joan, willing them to answer first.

Joan adjusts the beanie on their head. “I think it’s probably too early to tell. I mean, so far it seems like he’s tried to help people in need at risk to himself. Most people would probably classify that as a hero, but it depends on what you mean by the word in the first place.”

“Classic Ravenclaw answer,” Lee chimes in lightly, causing everyone to smile.

Joan laughs a little, then grabs the nearest controller. “All right,” they say. “So who am I gonna beat at Rainbow Road?”

“Oh, you’re on, Joan,” Camden announces, grabbing his back from the floor. “Let’s go.”

“Hold on, I’m still eating pizza!”

“Eat fast, Terrence. Rainbow Road waits for nobody.”

Thomas smiles and shakes his head, gathering up the discarded paper plates and napkins. He’s silently grateful none of them remembered that Thomas never answered the question.

…

It’s nearly two in the morning when all four of his main Sides show up at the same time, startling Thomas out of his almost-asleep state. The host groans.

“Really, guys?” he grumbles, but reaches over to the nightstand and flips on the lamp light.

“Apologies, Thomas,” Logan says from his position at the foot of Thomas’s bed. “I thought it would be best to let you rest and come to you with this idea in the morning, but Roman was rather insistent.”

Thomas rubs at his eyes and sits up. “What idea?”

“Roman and I were discussing potential strategies for dealing with some of Virgil’s concerns, and the… four of us—” Thomas frowns at the odd hesitation—“came up with a solution.”

“Oh,” Thomas says, his brow pulling together. “Um… cool. What’s the idea?”

Roman is practically bouncing on the balls of his feet. “A suit!”

Thomas’s confusion only deepens. “A suit?”

Virgil rolls his eyes, but it’s Logan that speaks up. “Of a sort. Not the type of suit you’re thinking, Thomas, but rather a suit designed with your specific superhuman abilities in mind that will maximize your potential while maintaining a certain level of identity protection.”

Thomas blinks a few times, then looks quizzically at Virgil. “Why?”

Virgil ducks his head a little and rubs the back of his neck. “I don’t know. I guess…. Your friends talking earlier got me—us—thinking about how close you’d been last night for your identity getting found out. Logan agreed that we needed something better than a sweatshirt.”

“So I then consulted with Roman,” Logan chimes in, “to see what might work best.”

Roman smiles. “And we came up with a little design idea.” Roman flicks his hand towards Thomas, who gets a sudden, clear picture in his head. A full body suit. Red and blue fabric, dark-purple-nearly-black stitching. A spider silhouette stretching along his torso.

“The spider was my idea,” Patton chimes in.

Thomas looks at Patton, disbelieving. “You wanted to add a spider? I mean, don’t get me wrong, Patton. I love it. But… I would’ve thought you’d be the last person to want a spider added onto the suit.”

Patton’s mouth tugs into a small, fond smile. “Spiders do freak me out, kiddo. But… I thought it’d be a nice tribute to the first time you helped someone with your new abilities. A reminder of the good you can do.” Mikey babbling about the Ninja Turtles flickers through Thomas’s mind, doubtlessly Patton’s doing. It makes the host’s chest swell.

“It’s perfect,” Thomas says honestly.

“After consulting with Virgil,” Logan adds, “I believe I have a fabric in mind that should be able to be a useful level of durable without being too restrictive in weight or flexibility.”

Thomas’s mind is reeling with the onslaught of ideas. “Wow. You guys all worked together on this?”

Roman is rotating the image around in his mind, giving Thomas a sharpening view of each angle on the suit. He can feel Roman’s excitement thrumming with a sudden burst of creative energy. Virgil seems quieter than he’d been previously, and when Thomas looks at him, he can see the calmer look in his eyes. Patton still has that small, happy smile.

And Logan… well, Logan has something bright and electric simmering just beneath his stoic exterior. He looks invigorated, and Thomas gets the feeling there’s something else that Logan hasn’t told him about yet.

“Indeed,” Roman says in reply to Thomas’s question. “The general aesthetic was my doing, but we each had a hand in its overall design.”

Thomas sees Virgil glance over to Logan. “There’s… one more thing about the suit,” he prompts gently.

Logan flicks his hand towards Thomas and the image in his mind zooms to focus in on the wrist of the suit, breaking it open almost like a blueprint. The host closes his eyes to focus on the schematic that Logan has sketched out in his brain. Logan’s voice floats through his thoughts, providing an explanation.

“I was considering methods for which to solve Virgil’s proposed predicament from last night regarding if you had been seen prior to reaching an acceptable proximity to Al Trevors. I eventually arrived at this concept.”

“I call them Web Shooters,” Patton chimes in brightly. “Y’know, like a spider web?”

“Indeed,” Logan says. “Although spider webs are generally lightweight and easy to dismantle, so such a term may be a bit misleading. Regardless of what you call them, I think we could construct a device that would allow you to essentially project a strong adhesive substance from your wrist or hand when activated. It could be used as a rope to retrieve things, or perhaps even to use to your advantage in terms of travel.”

Roman’s voice jumps in. “You could be like freaking Tarzan.”

Logan’s voice hums, unamused. “The point is, I see several uses for this kind of device, and I think it’s worth developing.” Thomas’s mind is suddenly overtaken with a string of chemical equations running through his mind. “I’ve already begun developing a formula, although I could use a refresher given how long it has been since your experience as a chemical engineer.”

“Oh!” Patton’s voice again. Thomas opens his eyes, his bedroom and Sides coming back into focus even as Logan continues to scroll the chemical equations through his mind. “Why don’t you see if Dr. Washington could help? Remember her, Thomas?”

Thomas does. She’d been one of Thomas’s favorite professors. “It’s been a while, but I can email her.”

Patton’s grinning as Thomas reaches for his computer. “Perfect! We’ll leave ya to it, kiddo.”

When Thomas looks up again from his computer screen, all of them have sunk out. They’re excited energy radiates through his mind. He has a feeling he won’t be getting back to sleep any time soon.

#sanders sides #sanders sides fanfiction #platonic lamp/calm #sanders sides au #sanders sides au fanfiction #spider-man au #with great power #wgp fic #tw cursing #tw alcohol #tw violence mention #pretty excited about this chapter #so i hope you all enjoyed it!

103 notes · View notes

theimpossiblescheme · 4 years

Text

Soooo I was today years old when I learned about Starlog, an old fan magazine that covered movies from the 1970s to the early 2000s, and because the universe is apparently compensate for the terrible day I had at work, I found issue #101, which had a blurb about Fright Night straight from our favorite horror host himself.

There’s a part of me that loves it when actors can roast their own characters--not only is it hilarious, but it says that they have a healthy enough ego to laugh at themselves a bit. There’s a very old interview from The Register where Roddy describes his Evil Under the Sun character as “ the sort of person you hope you never have to have in your home” (and he’s not wrong: Rex is the worst). I would also love to know who these awful actors were he’s talking about and whether or not I’ve seen them on Svengoolie.

There’s a part of me that totally gets what he’s saying here, especially about letting things stand on their own merits, and it’s kind of interesting how much of his own opinions he apparently brought to Peter Vincent’s character (slasher films being “rubbish”, for example, and that very Cushing-esque statement about how horror is a pretty flexible term that gets thrown around a lot). But the other part of me... you seriously didn’t think The Legend of Hell House was a horror movie? I mean, haunted houses are kind of a horror staple, Roddy my dude... it’s not at all a bad take, but it’s a very interesting take.

(Also, are there really people who call Snow White a horror movie? I mean, I can kind of see it--I’ve just never heard that particular take before.)

...You know what? Completely valid. And as weird as this is going to sound, I think part of the reason he never talked very much about his process as an actor-in-progress was that... if you talk about it too much, you kind of lock yourself down. It’s like the analogy of the album cover--once it’s down in writing, that’s the “official” explanation you’ve given it for yourself, which isn’t really fair because the process always changes. You might have completely different opinions about your character from when you start and when you finish, and you can’t really be conclusive about something that’s still forming, especially in your own head. You’re not gonna show somebody a drawing or a book you haven’t finished, after all--it’s the same principle. And there really are hundreds of different ways to interpret a character; we see proof all the time here on Tumblr.

I don’t know--I just thought it was a neat little piece, and it was cool to see the actor’s insight on one of my favorite characters he ever played.

#starlog #fright night 1985 #roddy mcdowall #the schemer speaks #This issue also had an interview with Lloyd Alexander which I might post separately.#Two of my favorite famous people in the same space--it just made me happy. :D

12 notes · View notes

unfolded73 · 5 years

Text

How Do We Get Back (5/16) - schitt’s creek ff

Summary: In a literal alternate universe where the Roses escaped financial ruin, David and Patrick struggle with loneliness and a sense that something isn’t right. A chance meeting in New York and a terrible tragedy drive them to question whether the timeline they are on is the right one.

This chapter is explicit. 3.9k words. (ao3)

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

_____________________________________

Chapter 5

David finally stopped hitting snooze on his alarm at 9:45, groaning as he sat up. Looking down and seeing his lack of clothes wasn’t exactly a shock, even when the memories of the night before were a little slow in making their appearance. Waking up naked and confused had been a pretty regular occurrence for him over the years. Then the memories flooded in: Patrick, the closeted button of a man who’d drawn him in with his big brown eyes and his soft lips. Patrick, who’d given him an adequate but enthusiastic handjob and had trusted him enough to fall asleep in his bed. Patrick, whom he’d likely never see again.

He was supposed to open the gallery at 11:00, but David decided not to go in today. He felt like he needed a day in front of the TV, watching old episodes of Downton Abbey and eating a pint of whatever expensive gelato he could get Seamless to bring him. Dragging himself out into the kitchen, he remembered he’d used up the last of his good coffee beans a few days ago, and if he wanted coffee without having to wait for a delivery or going out, he’d have to settle for using the stupid Keurig machine that Alexis had bought him a few Christmases ago. Grumbling, he opened the cabinet where he kept coffee stuff and found only those cursed pods.

As he moved to pull the Keurig machine out of a cabinet, a small white card on the counter caught his eye. He picked it up and held it close to his face to read.

Patrick Brewer, B.B.A. Business Manager Rollins Electrical Supply

And, of course, there was a cell phone number and an email address.

Did that mean Patrick wanted him to get in touch? He didn’t remember how much longer Patrick said he’d be in town but he thought it was at least two or three more days. They hadn’t exchanged numbers, so this business card was the only way they could feasibly reconnect. But it also put the decision of whether to reconnect entirely on David, which he was very much not a fan of. David was not a man who put himself out on a limb easily, not when he’d crashed to the ground so many times in the past. He preferred to let the other person be the one responsible for reaching out so that when they inevitably didn’t, he could pretend he hadn’t cared that much anyway.

Whining and shaking his hands up and down with anxiety, David went in search of his phone. Instead of texting Patrick, he tapped out a message to his sister.

Hey are you up?

While he waited for a response, David turned on the television. A solemn news announcer was talking over helicopter footage of a house, intoning the news that 57 people had died in an apparent mass suicide. “GRISLY END TO DEATH CULT IN SAN JOSE,” the chyron at the bottom of the screen read. “Oh my God,” David whispered to himself, then just as quickly forgot about it as the phone in his hand buzzed.

[Alexis] Ew don’t text u up to your sister

[David] I need you to talk me down though

[Alexis] why

[David] I hooked up with a guy last night and I need you to tell me whether I should text him today.

[Alexis] Wait at least 48 hours. You know this.

[David] Yeah but he’s not going to be in NY in 48 hours. Also he’s different.

[Alexis] 👀

[David] What?

His phone rang.

“What??” he said, holding the phone to his ear.

“How is he different, David?” Alexis’ voice was sing-songy, like she thought he was cute and also ripe for being mocked.

“I don’t know, he just is!” David shouted. Then more softly: “He’s nice. And I guess just realizing that he’s gay, or whatever.”

“Mm hmm.”

“He actually says the things he’s thinking. Out loud.”

“Ew, who does that?” Alexis asked. “What kind of game is that?”

“Also he’s married.”

“So not that nice, then.” Alexis said.

“Look, he left his business card in my kitchen. So should I text him today or not?”

“I don’t know, David.” It sounded like she’d already lost interest.

“Alexis!”

“Yes, text him. He probably left his card because he wants to hook up again. And if he doesn’t, then it’ll only be mildly humiliating on the scale of humiliating things you’ve done.”

David hung up on her.

~*~

[Patrick] I need some advice.

[Stevie] i’m glad you realized that yes your hair is too short

[Patrick] No. You know how I had to go to NY for a tax seminar?

[Stevie] idk i don’t always listen to what you say

The crowd around Patrick was laughing, and he looked up at the speaker who was lecturing on import taxes to see what was funny. When he couldn’t figure it out from the powerpoint slide on the screen, he looked down at his phone again.

[Patrick] I’m there now. Last night I met someone. A guy. I went home with him and spent the night.

[Stevie] omg

[Patrick] Yeah.

[Stevie] omg omg

[Patrick] Is that all you’re going to say?

[Stevie] was he hot?

Patrick pictured David: his dramatic eyebrows and chiseled jaw, his dark eyes that could be steely or surprisingly soft, his leather jacket. And then later, his hairy arms and gasping sighs and his cock in Patrick’s hand.

[Patrick] Yes

[Stevie] did you duck? fuck ???????

[Patrick] Um. I guess it depends on how you define that word.

[Stevie] were there orgasms?

[Patrick] Yes

[Stevie] 🍆🍆🍆🍆🍆🍆🍆

[Patrick] Please stop

Clearly Stevie wasn’t going to be any help, so Patrick tried again to catch the thread of what the lecturer was saying. He wrote something down from the slide that sounded important, all the while watching his phone, still open to the texting app. The dots to indicate Stevie was typing came and went for a while.

[Stevie] ok so i know you were only here a few months and i don’t know everything about you. but i thought you only drank white wine, and now i find out you also drink red wine?

Her analogy was obvious, but Patrick sat and pondered his response for a while.

[Patrick] More like, I’ve been drinking white wine because it never occurred to me that I might like something else. But now that I’ve had red wine, I’m realizing that I may only like red wine.

[Stevie] wow

[Patrick] Yeah

[Stevie] who is this guy?

[Patrick] His name is David Rose. I guess you can probably google him - his family is sort of famous.

It occurred to Patrick that he could google David if he wanted to. Probably should, in fact.

[Stevie] so what advice do you need exactly?

[Patrick] What the fuck do I do?

[Stevie] like, about your wife? i think you have to tell her the truth if you’re gay

Eyes squeezing shut, Patrick shut his screen off. He couldn’t think about that yet. She was right, but he couldn’t think about the horror that his life back home would become if he went to Rachel and confessed that after all these years, he was actually gay. He tried again to focus on the lecture, but he’d missed too much and had only the vaguest idea what the speaker was talking about. He tried writing everything down for several minutes, hoping he could look up the rest later and that the notes would make sense in retrospect.

Another message popped up on his screen from Stevie: are u gonna see him again?

He didn’t respond to that either.

When a few minutes later another message popped up, at first Patrick assumed it was Stevie again, but then he noticed it was from an unknown number. He swiped his phone up off the table quickly.

[212-555-4561] Hey, it’s David from last night. I got your card.

Hands shaking, Patrick unlocked his phone and stared at the message. David had actually texted him; when he left his card, he hadn’t really expected that to happen.

[Patrick] Hey, just waking up? ;)

[David] No. Did you think the sex was so good that it knocked me into a 12 hour coma?

Patrick cringed. Okay, that stung a little, but it’s not like he wasn’t aware that last night had been a much bigger deal for him than it had been for David.

[David] Sorry, I didn't mean that. It was very good.

[Patrick] For me too. Obviously.

He stared at David’s last message for a couple of long minutes. ‘It was very good.’ Was he just being kind? He could have just not texted at all if he wasn’t interested. He must be interested. Psyching himself up, Patrick typed out: Would you like to go out with me tonight? and pressed send before he could out-think himself.

The time between hitting send and when David texted back felt like years. Decades. Millennia, maybe.

[David] Or we could order in? At my place?

[Patrick] What time?

[David] 7?

[Patrick] See you then.

Patrick finally looked up from his phone and realized that a new speaker had taken over to present on the next topic. He also realized that absorbing any more information today was hopeless. He sent one more text:

I’m seeing him again tonight.

[Stevie] 👍👍👍

~*~

“Hi.”

“Hi.” Patrick stood on his doorstep, and if he hadn’t been wearing a shirt in a darker shade of blue, David would have sworn he had on the same clothes.

“Come on in,” David said, opening the door wider and sweeping his hand out dramatically. He’d agonized over his own clothes for far too long before opting for his favorite Kitsuné sweatshirt and a pair of skinny jeans that he thought made his ass look good.

“I brought wine,” Patrick said, holding out a bottle of red, “which is probably terrible, but in my defense, I don’t know or care anything about wine.”

“Thank you,” David said, taking the bottle and looking at it as they walked into the kitchen. “Actually, a Williamette Valley pinot is a safe bet, but it probably won’t pair well with the Thai food I just ordered.” He set it down on the counter. “We can open it after.”

Patrick shoved his hands deep in his pockets, rocking back and forth on his heels. He looked nervous.

“How was your seminar thing today?”

“Oh, I have no idea. Couldn’t stop thinking about stuff. You know, last night.”

David didn’t want to ask, but the word came out of his mouth before he could stop it, his head tilting back like it was trying to extract itself from this awkward conversation that his body had gotten them into. “Regrets?”

“I mean, I’ve cheated on my wife, so… yeah,” he said to the floor before looking back up at David. “But also, no. How could I regret the way you made me feel? Nothing’s ever… nothing’s ever felt as right as last night felt to me.”

“Okay,” David said, his voice coming out as a breathy tremble.

“I guess I wouldn’t be here if I truly had regrets.” And then it was like his hesitancy melted away and David got a glimpse of a confident man underneath as Patrick moved in to kiss him.

Patrick backed David up as their mouths collided, making his ass bump against the edge of the countertop. It was a dominance that hadn’t been in evidence the night before, and it made David go a little bit weak in the knees. “This was all I could think about all day,” Patrick whispered, which weakened his knees further.

David couldn’t stop himself from smiling, which interfered with his ability to kiss Patrick back. “That’s a… very nice thing to say.”

“It’s true.”

They continued making out, and David let his hands wander down to the plain of Patrick’s chest, over his belt to the bulge in his jeans. Patrick moaned into his mouth, and okay, that was it. David couldn’t take it anymore. He’d been thinking about this all day too, even if he wasn’t prepared to admit it out loud.

David turned them around so that Patrick was up against the counter and then sank to his knees. Immediately, he regretted the fact that they were in the kitchen where the granite floor was very hard, and his artfully ripped jeans weren’t doing him any favors.

He put his fingers on Patrick’s belt buckle. “May I?”

Patrick was breathing quickly, his eyes wide. “I… really want to say yes.”

David shrugged and gave him a tiny smile, his other hand rubbing up and down Patrick’s thigh. “So say yes.”

“God, David, you’re so hot. Yes.”

“And I just want you to know,” David said as he unfastened Patrick’s belt, “that I’m no less attracted to you because of this terrible woven belt.” Unfastening and unzipping his jeans carefully, David pressed a hand against Patrick’s erection through his underwear, turning Patrick’s laugh at the belt comment into a gasped exclamation. Inspired to tease him a little longer, David nuzzled and mouthed over Patrick’s clothed cock, his thighs trembling under David’s hands.

“How do you do that?” Patrick asked him.

“What?” David pulled Patrick’s underwear down but didn’t touch him, stretching out the anticipation, letting Patrick’s cock bob there in front of his face,.

“How do you make me feel this way?”

David didn’t answer, didn’t think he could answer even if he wanted to, so he avoided having to do so by taking Patrick’s cock into his mouth. He moved his hands to grip Patrick’s hips, holding him against the counter as he worked. Patrick seemed to have immediately been rendered speechless, reduced to hitched breathy sounds that were very gratifying.

This was an act David had performed countless times, and he often let his mind wander during the process. But right now his mind was full of only this, the rigid length of Patrick and the taste of him and the noises he was making. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Patrick gripping the counter, his knuckles white. David reached out for Patrick’s right hand, picking it up and putting it on the back of his own head, hoping he would get the message. Patrick’s fingers immediately gripped David’s hair, pulling slightly, and David moaned in appreciation.

“Fuck, David, I’m… I’m gonna…” David didn’t let up, swirling his tongue and sucking him deep until Patrick cried out and came down his throat.

Just as David was releasing Patrick from his mouth, the door intercom buzzed. “Look at that, perfect timing,” he said as he pulled himself up from the floor. “Food’s here.”

Patrick looked stunned, his breathing very fast, so David reached down to begin righting his clothes for him.

“I’ll get this, you get the door,” Patrick said, his voice raspy. He looked like he wanted to say more, but couldn’t summon the words.

“Okay,” David said, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek before going out to the hall to buzz in the delivery person.

~*~

“So how old were you when you came out?” Patrick speared a piece of chicken with a fork. “If you don’t mind me asking a personal question.”

David grimaced, but said mildly, “I don’t mind.” He took a sip of water. “Look, I’m not unaware that I have some stereotypically gay mannerisms. So most people assume I’m gay, and that included my parents. The hard part was convincing them that when it comes to sexual attraction, gender doesn’t matter to me.” When Patrick frowned in confusion at that, he added, “I identify as pansexual.”

“Oh. Sorry, I didn’t mean to assume.”

“No, it was a reasonable assumption. I mentioned I was waiting for a guy at the bar last night. Also I just gave you a blow job, so why wouldn’t you assume I’m gay?”

Patrick’s face heated up. It felt surreal that he was sitting politely at a table eating dinner with a man who’d just brought him to an earth-shattering orgasm fifteen minutes before, but he was doing his best to roll with it. He ate his noodles slowly, trying to ignore the loose, lazy feeling in his limbs. David had ordered an assortment of dishes, way too much for two people. Patrick had never been a picky eater, so all of it was fine with him, and the two of them had taken turns putting food from various containers onto their plates. In spite of his undercurrent of sexual panic, Patrick found it strangely comfortable sitting down to eat with David, like they’d done it a hundred times.

“Anyway, when I was a teenager I had dated some boys and some girls, and I guess my family assumed I was still figuring things out? I don’t know, we didn’t really talk about it. There was a point in college when I was in a polyamorous relationship with a couple, and so I just brought them home with me and told my parents to deal with it.”

“And they did?” Patrick asked. “Deal with it?”

David shrugged. “They weren’t… all that invested in my life. I guess they did. My dad did ask me at one point if it wouldn’t be easier if I picked a gender, but he’s never been… there was never any homophobic drama.”

Patrick thought about his own small-town upbringing, where any behavior outside of the norm would result in the epithet of ‘queer’ or worse being hurled at the person in question. It was the kind of bullying that Patrick himself had usually avoided — he was likable and good at sports, and he’d managed to traverse school with enough popularity to feel secure most of the time. His own parents had never said anything bad about gay people, but that was maybe because they’d never said much of anything about gay people.

He envied David, with his cosmopolitan family and his urban lifestyle, where he’d been open to exploring his sexual identity at a young age. He wondered what that must have been like.

“I’m embarrassed,” Patrick said, and then winced at his own admission.

“Why?”

“Because I’m thirty years old, David! How did I get to this age without realizing very basic things about my own identity?”

“Hey, don’t do that. Every queer person has a different journey.”

“Yeah, but if I could have figured it out sooner, I wouldn’t have so royally fucked up Rachel’s life.”

“Rachel is your wife?”

Patrick nodded and pushed his plate away. “It’s not like there weren’t signs, thinking back on it. My cousin Dennis just told me recently that he’d thought I was in love with a high school friend, Eric. And you know what? I guess I probably was. But I was dating Rachel, and I just thought… I don’t know. Maybe I just didn’t let myself think about it. Maybe I was afraid of what I might uncover if I thought about it.”

David was watching him carefully, just listening. It was comforting, having someone to talk to about this to who would just listen.

“I was a late bloomer. When I was thirteen and all my friends were pairing off and playing seven minutes in heaven at parties, I was only interested in hockey and baseball and music. I was small for my age, and I hit puberty seemingly after everybody else in my class.”

“Ugh, not me. I’m so fucking hairy — it’s my dad’s sephardic genes — and I hated it at that age. Braces and acne and hair everywhere and my terrible nose… I just wanted to hide under the bed until puberty was over.”

Patrick smiled. “What’s wrong with your nose?”

“Nothing now; I had a nose job.”

He’d be willing to bet that teenage David was more attractive than he was giving himself credit for, but Patrick let that topic drop. “Anyway, Rachel had been a friend of mine since we were kids, and when we were fifteen and she kissed me, I sort of went along with it. A girlfriend was something every guy was supposed to have, and here she was, a girlfriend I genuinely liked spending time with. I didn’t feel much when we kissed, but I never knew any better. I didn’t have anything to compare it to.”

“And by the time you reached an age where you might explore your sexuality, you were already dating Rachel,” David guessed.

“Yeah. But dating wasn’t… it just wasn’t a big deal in my life. I was a hard worker at school and I had a lot of activities that kept me occupied. Rachel and I did eventually, um…”

“Have sex.”

“Yeah. And it was fine. It felt good, and I figured, okay. This is what sex is. But I didn’t understand why it was such a driving force in other people’s lives,” Patrick said.

“I’ve known people on the asexual spectrum who felt that way.”

“I actually had a genderqueer bartender suggest that I might be asexual a few weeks ago, now that you mention it.”

David smirked. “For the record, you don’t seem to be asexual.”

“Yeah, no. Just in deep denial for a lot of wasted years, I guess.” He heaved a sigh. “Rachel and I were on-again, off-again for a long time, but we always just, I don’t know, fell back into it. We’d break up, and then something would always push us back together. I proposed, and then six months later I panicked and broke it off again and left town.”

“Ouch.”

“Yeah. So I moved to this small town that was even smaller than the one I’d grown up in for some bizarre reason,” Patrick continued. “But that didn’t magically fix me, it was just a change of scenery for my sadness.”

“You might have considered going to a city; Toronto, for example.”

Patrick shrugged. “I don’t know why I ended up where I ended up. It seemed like some kind of weird destiny at first, that it was very important that I be there. And then it just… wasn’t. So Rachel and I got back together and I suggested we elope.”

“Marrying her before you could chicken out again?” David guessed.

Patrick nodded. “In retrospect, yeah, that’s what it was. That was four months ago. Now I have to tell her… I don’t know what I’m going to tell her.”

“I’m sorry, Patrick. If I could have met you before you got married, I would have.”

He laughed, but there wasn’t any humor in it. “Yeah, that would have been nice, huh? If I’d realized this about myself six months ago, I could have spared Rachel some of the pain that…” Patrick wiped his hands over his face and groaned. “You know what? I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

David glanced over to the living room. “We could watch a movie?”

“Yeah, that sounds good.”

“I think I’m in a Sandy Bullock mood.” David drummed his fingers on his lips. “What’s your preference between Two Weeks Notice and The Lake House?”

Patrick had never seen either, so he shrugged and picked one at random. “The Lake House?”

David grinned at him. “Correct.”

Chapter 6

#schitt's creek #schitt's creek ff #david x patrick #david x patrick ff #david x patrick fic #hdwgb fic #my fic

8 notes · View notes

grace13star · 5 years

Text

Better Get Superstitious (Prologue)

Logan Dennison is a firm believer in science, and the facts are that no one can come back from the dead. Witches and magic could never exist, he's known this since he was a kid. But after a sudden move to Salem, Massachusetts, suddenly everything he's ever believed is challenged by a talking cat, a cute believer, and a trio of undead witches from the 17th century. What's a skeptic to do?

Character(s): Roman Sanders, Deceit Sanders, Remus Sanders, Anton (Antagonist), Missy (Misleading Compliment), Terrence

Trigger(s): Death, Deceit, Remus, electrocution, witchcraft

This is a Hocus Pocus AU, so Roman’s last name is Binx. Eventual Analogical, and that’s the only ship.

AO3 Here Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4

Roman woke up later than usual, which was his first clue that something was off.

The sun was already up as he stumbled outside of his house, still disoriented from waking up. He held his hand up to block the light.

“Missy?” he called.

Come little children, I’ll take thee away. Into a land of enchantment.

“Terrence!” He said, spotting his friend. “Terrence, hast thou seen my sister?”

Terrence shook their head. “Nay, but look.” He pointed in the direction of the woods. “They conjure.” A column of strange purple smoke was rising from the Sanders cottage.

Roman straightened up, tiredness forgotten. “Oh God, the woods! Emily!” He started off for the woods, but Terrence grabbed his arm, stopping him from moving.

“She’s done for. You won’t have a chance.”

Roman shrugged Terrence’s arm off, giving his friend an apologetic smile. “Get my father,” he said. “Summon the others. I’ll try to distract them long enough.”

Terrence seemed hesitant, but patted his arm. “Good luck.” Then he started off to gather the village.

As soon as he was moving, so was Roman. He started off in a dead sprint, forgetting that he didn’t even have shoes. Rocks and sticks dug into his feet, but he barely noticed them in his panicked state.

One particularly big rock sent him tumbling down a hill. He gathered himself at the bottom. His ribs were hurting, but he didn’t have time for that now for right ahead of him was his destination- the Sanders cottage.

Biting back a hiss of pain, he ducked behind a tree, as one of the brothers was outside of the house with his sister.

As Roman watched, Missy followed the green-clad witch into the cottage. Once they were inside, he ran across the clearing to one of the open windows.

From inside the house came laughter- laughter from the Sanders brothers themselves. They all wore long velvet cloaks- yellow, green and orange. The green one was dancing like he was deranged around Missy, who was sitting on a wooden chair in the middle of the room.

She spotted him and sat up. The witches noticed, so Roman was forced to duck out of view.

One of the witches came over to the window he was at, and he held his breath.

“Oh, look. Another glorious morning.” A sound like an intake of breath. “It makes me sick!” The shutters were slammed, leaving Roman without a way to see in.

He looked around quickly, and spotted a water wheel. There was a window near the top of it, so he hitched a ride to the top, then entered the house with as much stealth as he could muster. He wanted to go in guns blazing, but he couldn’t risk Missy getting hurt. He ducked down to observe and wait for the right time.

The yellow witch was flipping through a book, ignoring his brothers as the green one fooled around and the orange one tried to get him to stop.

“We must finish this spell now that our guest of honor has arrived.” yellow was stroking a book like it was a dog. “Wake up now.”

As Roman watched, what had seemed like a latch on the cover opened revealing a yellow snake eye, mirroring the yellow witch’s own eye. It rolled a bit, looking all around the room.

“Anton, I definitely don’t need any help,” yellow said to the orange one.

Orange- Anton, apparently- rolled his eyes as he walked over to the cauldron. “I notice Remus isn’t helping,” he muttered.

Green- Remus- struck a dramatic pose, as if he’d been shot in the heart. “I’m hurt, Antie! I lured the child here, didn’t I? Didn’t I!”

“Don’t be quiet you two,” Yellow groaned. “Remus hath done his chore.” Then he turned back to his living book, either missing or ignoring when Anton dragged his thumb across his neck in a ‘you’re dead’ motion and Remus stuck out his tongue in retaliation. “Bring to a full rolling bubble. Then add two drops of oil of boil.”

Anton put the drops in as Yellow continued. “Six, but the hour with the herb that’s red. Turn three times, pluck a hair from my head. Add a dash of fox and a dead man’s toe. Don’t get a fresh one.” The last part was addressed at Remus who cheered and danced over to a box singing about dead men’s toes.

Roman tried not to gag as the green witch pulled out a human toe, sniffed it, announced, “it’s fresh!” and tossed it into the cauldron. Did they just have a collection? Where did they get them in the first place?

Remus threw a toe at Anton, and he threw it back, causing a toe throwing war until Yellow snapped at them.

“Will you two never stop that? I am definitely able to concentrate right now.”

“Sorry, Damien,” Anton and Remus chorused, sending each other dirty looks.

Suddenly Anton stopped in his tracks. He sniffed the air, turning round the room before stopping right at Roman’s hiding place.

“I smell a child,” he said, eyeing the balcony.

Damien gave a long-suffering sigh, putting his gloved fingers up to rub his wrinkled eyes. “What do you call that?” He demanded, pointing at Missy.

“...A child,” Anton muttered. Remus laughed at him and he sent a glare back.

“Whatever. Potion’s not done now,” Damien said, waving them all over. “Just need a bit of thine own tongue.” They all spit in the cauldron, making it steam and turn a bright green color. “Now just one taste and her life will be mine.” He paused. “I don’t mean, ours.”

He scooped up some of the potion and started towards Missy.

“No!” Roman shouted, standing up.

The brothers looked up in surprise.

“I knew I smelled a child,” Anton growled.

Damien shook his head. “It matters now. Get him!”

Roman leapt down from the loft and ran to the cauldron. He pushed with all his might, briefly wondering how he was able to do this without being burned, and managed to tip it over, spilling potion everywhere.

“No!” Damien shouted. “My potion!”

The witches were confused, so Roman took the chance and ran to Emily. He grabbed her sleeve, but before he could do anything else, pain hit him.

He fell to the ground in agony, the electricity running through him aggravating his bruises from earlier.

“Damien, look,” Remus said, clapping his hands. “The child!”

Roman’s vision was blurry, but he could see Missy was now glowing. He attempted to move, but his limbs wouldn’t respond to him. He struggled as much as he could, but he could do nothing as the witches advanced on his sister.

“Come now,” Damien said, reaching out his hands. The other two witches grabbed them, forming a line. “We shall share her.”

They started sucking in air, but instead of just air, the glowing around Missy went into their mouths. She started growing older before Roman’s eyes, even as he tried to get up.

Before too long she was old and gray, and the witches were now young. Roman stared in horror at his sister, who was sitting unmoving in the wooden chair. Was she-?

“I am beautiful!” Remus cried, dancing around again. “Boys will love me!”

“We’re young,” Anton said, smiling. The smile looked out of place on his face, and Roman shivered just looking at it. Luckily that meant he could start moving again. He pulled himself up on a ladder slowly.

“Well, younger,” Damien said deprecatingly. “But we’ll get younger as we suck the lives out of all the children in Salem.” He turned to Roman who was swaying on his feet, even with the ladder as support. “Let’s brew another batch.”

“You hag,” Roman spat with all the strength he could muster. “There aren’t enough children in the world to make thee young and beautiful.”

The three witches gasped. “Ooh, did you hear what he called you?” Remus whispered dramatically.

“Let’s just kill him,” Anton said. “We can get other children.”

Damien shook his head. “No. This one’s punishment should be more fitting.” He snapped his fingers and the book flew over to him. “Let’s see here.”

Roman watched in fear as the witch searched through the pages. He knew he wouldn’t be getting out of this one- he could barely stand and they and magic. He just hoped his death wouldn’t be in vain. Hopefully Terrence had been able to gather everyone so they could kill these witches and stop their terror once and for all.

“Perfect!” Damien slammed the book shut. “His punishment will not be to die, but to live forever with his guilt.”

Roman’s heart pounded as the witches started chanting. He could barely hear the words over the roar in his ears as pain filled his body. He could feel himself changing, and watched through blurry eyes as the witches seemed to grow, leering down at him as they finished their chant.

Soon a cat stood where he had last, a cat that hissed at the witches. Remus went in to pet him, but Roman swiped at him, claws out.

Suddenly there was pounding and shouting at the door.

“Open! Witches! Sons of Satan! Open this door!”

Roman’s heart leapt at the sound of his father’s voice. Father would make everything all right- he’d kill the witches, save Missy, change him back…

“Hide the child,” Damien ordered. Anton threw a shawl over Missy, then joined his brothers near the door.

“Witches? There are no witches here,” Damien called.

“Just three brothers spending a quiet night at home,” Anton added.

“Sucking the lives out of children!” Remus said gleefully. Damien growled at him.

The village was quick to put up the noose, especially after finding Missy’s body.

The witches were sentenced to hang that day, and soon enough they were standing on barrels awaiting their deaths.

“Damien Sanders,” Roman’s father said. “I will ask thee one final time.”

“Yes?” Damien said smoothly.

“What hath thou done with my son, Roman?”

“Hmm, I don’t recall,” the yellow witch grinned. “Cat’s got my tongue.” All three burst out laughing at that. Roman growled.

“This is uncomfortable,” Remus said, moving his head.

“Brothers, sing,” Damien demanded. What followed was the worst harmony Roman had ever heard. They weren’t bad singers, per se, but the notes they were singing did not go together at all.

“Cover your ears!” Roman’s father cried. “Listen to them not.”

The boy holding the witch’s book threw it down in his rush to cover his ears, and as Roman watched, the cover opened and the pages flipped.

The witches stopped singing as Damien cackled. “Fools! All of you!” He announced. “My ungodly book speaks to you. On All Hallow’s Eve when the moon is round, a virgin shall summon us from under the ground. Oh, we shall be back, and all the lives of the children will be mine!”

Roman’s father gave a signal and the barrels were kicked out from under the witches.

The crowd, including his father turned to leave, so Roman hurried over. He rubbed against his father’s leg, hoping he’d notice.

Unfortunately, he didn’t notice in the way his son was hoping.

“Away, you beast, away,” his father swatted at Roman, sending him off.

Roman watched him go with a mournful meow, mourning the loss of his sister and the life he once had.

#sanders sides #roman sanders #logan sanders #virgil sanders #patton sanders #hocus pocus #better get superstitious au #grace writes stuff #halloween #tw: death #deceit sanders #remus sanders #tw: deceit #tw: remus

9 notes · View notes

themagicianshea · 5 years

Text

From now until November, we’ll be spotlighting one of our MHHE registered authors every week. Want to be featured? Just fill out this form!

MHHE Author Spotlight: lunaraindrop

What piece of work best represents your writing style, and how would you briefly describe it?

I chose my one posted Queliot fic 'Let This Promise in Me Start Like an Anthem in My Heart' as a representation of my writing style.

I am a hopeless romantic and a comedian at heart. I am a bit of a mender when it comes to sadness and angst. In my stories you will find healthy doses of fluff, humor, and tooth rotting romance. There is always a happy ending in the works. Life if full of hardship and pain, and I don't want my work to contribute to that. That being said, my work is not all softness though. I try really hard to keep the character's voice intact (in fact they take over most times), so I do not shy away from letting them have their anxieties, fears, and boughts of melancholy. They never stay that way, though. Why? Because I believe in letting the characters finding happiness. Besides that though, I do love to surprise my audience with plot twists and turns, (NOT like some show writers that shall not be named), and I like to drop subtle hints and some foreshadowing for my readers to pick up like clues. I do love a good mystery. :) So for people wanting to read my stories, know that you are in for an adventure full of heart and ridiculousness, and maybe some twists along the way. ;)

It was like the bunny broke Q from the impending anxiety attack and set him into action. For Eliot, it was like watching a scene in slow motion. Quentin had briefly looked up towards the ceiling before he underhand tossed the rabbit in a high arch to Josh. As soon as the General Woundwort wannabe cleared his hands, he hoisted himself over the bedrail. Q scrambled himself into a protective position over Eliot’s body, bracing his trembling arms besides his shoulders, and knees by his outer thighs. Desperate gasps of air fanned out across Eliot’s face as he saw Quentin screw his eyes shut. To Eliot’s horror, he realized that the stupid, brave man he loved was planning to take the brunt of the bunny fallout. Quentin Coldwater threw himself at Eliot’s body like skinny-ass Steve Rodgers on a grenade. (Yes, he knew sex with him was hot and explosive, but this really was not the time for analogies.) Before he could shove him away, he saw the cascade of rabbits falling from the invisible hole. While a bunch of bunnies would not kill Quentin like they probably would him, he still did not like the idea of him getting hurt. If the horde was anything like the other one, he would certainly get banged up.

Despite not being able to use magic for such a long time, using his telekinesis was as easy as breathing. He bumped the first two bunnies into Penny23’s chest and the side of Julia’s head, knocking her off her feet. He didn’t have the time to get the others.

At the very last second Eliot reached up and wrapped one arm around the younger man’s back, the other cupping the back of his head. He pulled him into a crushing hug before turning them both to Margo’s vacated side. He knew he wasn’t careful enough, that Q was smashed hard between the bedrail and Eliot’s own body. He could feel that cute, pert nose pressed into his carotid artery, and a trapped hand twitching against his ribs.

This was not typically how they fit together.

If he could, he would shift and curl his body around the man, like they used to, like he never thought they could again.

They fit.

They fucking fit.

They were bespoke.

And Quentin loved men in vests, (and apparently men, and hope to God he read that right and that meant he still loved him and that he still had a chance ) and he’d be damned if he let some beefy bastard bunnies bruise Q’s precious kidneys before he got to parade around in a dark vest and gun holster to give his super nerd a visual orgasm. Would you like to read more? Click here!

What piece of work are you most proud of and why?

That is a hard one. I have too many that I have really enjoyed making, but I think a few of my Teen Wolf stories are where I would go. I think the ones I am most proud of are the stories that make people laugh and swoon all in the same chapter.

What tropes can we look forward to in your MHHE fic?

I really don't know yet, tbh. My fic is a little different. I can say though that while the original movie has an established relationship, this one will be a getting-together story. There will be a first kiss, and maybe a declaration of love. Someone might wipe off flour from someone else's cheek. They might have to get close because of a stakeout. I would love to hear other ideas and suggestions about tropes people would like to see! I adore prompts. :)

Fuck, Marry, Kiss (under the mistletoe) with three Magicians characters of your choice!

That's tough. Can't I just Fuck/Marry/Kiss Eliot, Quentin, and Margo at the same time?

#mhhe author spotlight #mhhe #queliot #the magicians

10 notes · View notes