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The Magicians 1x08: The Strangled Heart

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No one would think to disturb her at a time like this. One loud noise could ruin hours of focus. It was with that in mind that Olek, the large forest cat with far too much fur, sat motionless on the rolling tool cabinet by the blonde woman's side. His tail, nearly as thick as his body, curled around his feet. There was satisfaction in watching humans work with their hands.

The blonde's brow furrows as she focuses on the project before her. At this stage, it didn't look like much, as there were still many panels to weld and electrical harnesses to set. Her tongue made quick appearances out of the corner of her mouth - those that knew her knew that was a telltale sign that 100% of her focus was on her work. Avis could be a bit of a one track mind when the hyperfixation set in, and projects like these created that kind of focus. Besides, it wouldn't be surprising that something would miss her radar with the stereo in the shop at full volume.

@anedendarkly / @beyondedenton

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What was he supposed to say to that? He looked back at this man he had loved almost his entire life, feeling that same surrealness just watching him navigate the backseat of the car. “So can you, like—“ He paused, looking around the door and roof for cameras—not even a doorbell camera. A moment of consideration, he shook his head.

“Later. Bet ya didn’t bring shit for swimmin’, huh?”

The cabin was exactly as he expected it to be—exposed wood in its natural color. A stiff, bench-like couch from the 1970s with flower pattern upholstery. A kitchen with outdated appliances and a gas stove. More exposed wood and wrought iron for stairs leading up to a modest loft, they would have to duck to utilize.

“Sure I did!” Pete gave his boyfriend a cheeky grin, leaning over to whisper, “Got my birthday suit, don’t I?” as he brushed past him into the cabin.

This place wasn’t luxurious by any stretch of the imagination but Pete didn’t care. It didn’t matter where they were, just that they were together. That was the most important thing.

He left his bag at the foot of the stairs and made to go back to the car for another trip.

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What was he supposed to say to that? He looked back at this man he had loved almost his entire life, feeling that same surrealness just watching him navigate the backseat of the car. “So can you, like—“ He paused, looking around the door and roof for cameras—not even a doorbell camera. A moment of consideration, he shook his head.

“Later. Bet ya didn’t bring shit for swimmin’, huh?”

The cabin was exactly as he expected it to be—exposed wood in its natural color. A stiff, bench-like couch from the 1970s with flower pattern upholstery. A kitchen with outdated appliances and a gas stove. More exposed wood and wrought iron for stairs leading up to a modest loft, they would have to duck to utilize.

“Sure I did!” Pete gave his boyfriend a cheeky grin, leaning over to whisper, “Got my birthday suit, don’t I?” as he brushed past him into the cabin.

This place wasn’t luxurious by any stretch of the imagination but Pete didn’t care. It didn’t matter where they were, just that they were together. That was the most important thing.

He left his bag at the foot of the stairs and made to go back to the car for another trip.

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Been slowly getting back into writing since my vacation. My brain wasn't on writing at all while I was gone, so I have to calm my thoughts to get into writing mode.

I'm also struggling with random starters with no history between characters. Saying characters have a pre-established history and actually having history are two different things. We can say all day that people have history, but to actually experience how they interact is unique to them. So I'm writing my character as organically as I can and guessing what might be appropriate for a person who isn't supposed to be a stranger.

I also feel like constantly asking a writing partner for confirmation of a feeling or aura or tone is too much, so then what? Just mulling that over.

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Habit had him ducking his head to hide his wrinkled smile. He was out of the car and around the house before he could think of something clever or stupid to say, fiddling with the lock box. He would have the door open before bothering with luggage.

And he would be pinching Peter's ribs as he passed him.

"How ya feel 'bout a swim?"

“I’ve missed your smile, too!” Pete called after him as he went to grab their things. Only Fletcher knew where his clothes were, so Pete grabbed his own bag and the guitar first.

He smiled. “Absolutely. I was wedged in my seat on the plane like a sardine. I need to stretch.” Joe long had it been since they’d eaten? Had to be about an hour by now. Should be fine.

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When this would feel real he didn't know. Some moments he was rooted in the present, others, nearly tricked into believing this was a dream. At some point his world would balance, but for now, equilibrium didn't exist.

"Uh, just my backpack. Clothes, you know? Want my guitar?"

Pete was in exactly the same boat. Truth be told, he’d been constantly feeling like he was having an out of body experience ever since Fletcher had confessed. He kept expecting to wake up and learn that none of it had ever happened, that it had all simply been a wonderful dream.

Yet here they were. Finally together after so many years of loving each other quietly, unable to let each other go.

“Yeah,” Pete said far more softly than he’d intended, nodding. “I’ve missed your voice.”

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@pawnshcpdevil

"You made me bleed on my shirt - I fucking loved this shirt!" - Jersey at Fletcher ( @pawnshcpdevil )

"Fuckin' spit on it, bitch."

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Masao Yamamoto.

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"I offer no aid to one side or the other."

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Les deux orphelines vampires | Two Orphan Vampires 1997 | Jean Rollin