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the strings of fate are burning

something i started a couple of months ago for @lilas of one of the L5R NPCs for her campaign.

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recent commission for @phantodile with his (right) and his husband’s ( @roccobears ) OCs!

they feature in his husband’s amazing comic @thesundayhustle ! go read n share if you can, its WONDERFULLY illustrated and written!

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Rushed Mornings, Rushed Kisses

Pairing: Nat Sewell/f!Detective (Charlie Rosewall)

Rating: T, for a lot of swearing.

Word Count: ~1.7k

Summary: Charlie really doesn’t have the time for this shit. Not her morning routine, not breakfast, not even a moment for her damn girlfriend.

—

“Charlie.”

Charlie ignores Nat’s soft voice as she storms from bathroom to bedroom, hair tie between her teeth while she fiddles with the damn zipper of her trousers. One more sharp tug and the zipper jerks past the bunched cloth.

Finally, she half mutters.

“Charlie?”

Check the time. Charlie’s eyes dart to a clock on the wall while she slings her hair back into a ponytail and— fuck.

Fifteen past eight.

Late, truly fucking late.

[read on ao3]

Once again she finds herself cursing herself for forgetting to set her alarm last night. If Charlie has to sit through a lengthy hissy fit from Mayor Friedman because she wasted his so-called precious time she’s going to punch him square between his beady little eyes.

The first twinge of a headache stings at her temple.

“Charlie—”

Shoes now. Where are her black loafers? Nat’s always getting onto her for not keeping her shoes on the nice wooden rack they bought together. As she paces from corner to corner, checking under and around furniture, she suddenly wishes she had listened.

Charlie hears Nat begin to form her name as she passes her for the third time.

“Not now, Nat.”

Still no sign of the shoes.

Under her bed maybe? Charlie drops to her knees and ignores their groan of protest. She flings her hands out and slaps blindly around the carpet, letting out a growl of frustration when she comes up empty handed.

“Charlotte.”

The name cuts through the thick haze of her blind focus. Her body jerks towards Nat where she stands over her with hunched shoulders and imploring eyes that ask her to listen.

Refusal looks impossible from Nat’s firm expression. Reluctantly Charlie sits back on her heels and levels Nat with narrowed eyes.

“What is it, Nat?” Charlie snaps her hand towards the door. “I’m kind of in the middle of avoiding getting my ass chewed out this morning.”

Even Charlie has to wince hearing the razor edge her words take.

Nat’s fast at concealing the flash of mild hurt behind a wider smile, but not fast enough. Charlie inhales deeply, smothering her flare of anger with the cold practice of someone who is always half a second away from decking the next asshole to cross her path.

When she’s calm enough Charlie scoots closer, reaching up to slide her hand into Nat’s.

“I’m sorry,” Charlie says, punctuating it with a squeeze. “I shouldn’t be short with you because I’m in a hurry.”

Instantly Nat’s expression brightens. “Well, I do appreciate the apology, Charlie.”

Relief begins to wash over Charlie until a suspicious tremble at the corners of Nat’s smile makes her pause.

“But you can’t exactly help being short, can you?”

Oh for fuck’s sake.

With a beleaguered groan Charlie lets go of Nat’s hand and flops against the bed’s railing. She’s not mad, not really. At least she’s not mad at that low blow at her height—

(And at a modest five foot six she’s not even that short and she insists Nat is simply horrifically tall.)

—and most of the anger from earlier has burned down to mostly embers.

“Did you have something to tell me or are you just trying to make me more sour?” Charlie grumps.

“No, my beloved, never,” Nat laughs in a way that suggests she’s not even remotely sorry. “Even if you have the most darling little pout I can’t help but want to kiss.”

Glaring at Nat only deepens her wily smile. “Natalie.”

“Right, sorry, teasing you is too tempting sometimes.” Nat clears her throat with an apologetic smile. “It seems you’ve been getting a few messages on your phone.”

Only then does Charlie realize that Nat is holding her cell phone against her stomach. As soon as Charlie reaches for it, Nat quickly passes it along to her as if relieved to be rid of the thing. Ignoring Nat’s obvious distaste, Charlie unlocks the phone to a missed call notification and a couple of text messages from Mayor Friedman.

I’m rescheduling our meeting, Detective Rosewall. Next time I expect that you answer your phone so we can pick another date and time.

Understanding as heavy as lead presses down on her. All of her frantic hopping around her bedroom because she kept missing the leg hole of her trousers and fighting with buttoning her blouse evenly and nearly using back cream instead of toothpaste—

Swiping Mayor Friedman upside his fat pink head has never appealed to her more.

“I—” Charlie grits her teeth.

Those first twinges of headache from only minutes before blossom into a sharp throb of pain.

“So I’m really—”

She can’t bring herself to say it. It’s too goddamn stupid.

Natalie spares her from it.

“Not remotely late, no.”

Charlie shoves the heels of hands against her eyes as hard as she can stand and just groans.

“Why did you not tell me earlier?”

“I tried, but you kept shushing me,” a hand moves over the crown of her head in a comforting gesture. “When you’re focused like that it’s rather difficult to break you from it.”

Indignant, Charlie lets her hands fall to her lap and stares blankly at her still naked feet. The meeting was scheduled a full fucking hour before anyone expected her to show up at the station. No one would be there if she left now, not even Tina who came in early to relax with a cup of her overly sugared coffee and oogle at the firefighters washing the truck.

Exasperation settles heavy over her shoulders. All she can manage is to sit and sulk. Blessedly Nat lets her with nothing more than a patient smile. After a few measured breaths, Charlie nods to herself, and accepts Nat’s hand when she makes to get up.

This morning isn’t a total bust. At the very least she could now enjoy a nice breakfast with her girlfriend.

“Well, thank you for trying despite my bullheadedness,” the little laugh that elicits from Nat brings a satisfied smile to Charlie’s lips. “Would you mind making some tea while I finish getting ready?”

“Yes, of course,” Nat takes a step closer, fingers twitching at her sides. Eager to reach out to touch her, yet waiting for an affirmative sign from Charlie.

Charlie does her one better. She closes the distance and rests her hands on Nat’s waist, letting them slide down until she stops at the full curve of Nat’s hips.

Open delight bursts across Nat’s face, found in the sparkle in Nat’s dark brown eyes and etched in every wrinkle that lines her face. Nat wraps her arms around her with a loving sigh, eyes fluttering closed. Being embraced by Nat is something akin to being engulfed by a summer rain: encompassing in every way, the warmth of rain soaking through both clothes and skin and nestling deep in her chest.

Just as frightfully easy to be taken away by it too. Charlie lets herself enjoy it; the weight of Nat’s chin finding its spot on her shoulder and the weight of Nat’s hands clasped together at the small of her back, being surrounded entirely by the smell of leather and old ink.

It’s wonderful for the moment she allows.

Lingering almost guarantees Charlie will miss the breakfast she knows she needs more than hugging Nat. With a great amount of restraint, Charlie turns her face to nose along Nat’s jaw.

“Nat,” Charlie says. No response from Nat aside from a stubborn sigh. She tries again, firmer. “Nat, please. Breakfast?”

“Hm?” Still Nat stays, unmoving until Charlie clears her throat. “Oh, yes, of course. I’ll brew a pot of tea and warm the rest of that banana bread we made yesterday.”

Before Nat can move away—

(And she’s never the first to move away. Always hanging on to these moments of intimacy and trying to make them last longer. Charlie wishes she could let her do that, too.)

— Charlie leans up for a kiss. Closed lip and quick because if it was anything but Charlie knows her constitution is weak to the tenderness of Nat’s mouth on hers.

Nat steals two more light kisses before Charlie forces herself a step away.

“Thank you, Nat. I do appreciate you so very much.”

The space between them fizzes with unfulfilled want — so much so that Charlie has to rub her hands over her trousers hard enough to sting. It quells her nerves, at least. Across from her Nat’s hands come together, fingers squeezing in short, wanting pulses.

“I would love to explore that appreciation a bit more fully, you know.” The charm is there in Nat’s voice, yet strained with a streak of huskier yearning.

“As would I,” Charlie sweeps her hand over her hair where a few strands have already fallen from its loose knot. “But I’d rather have breakfast with my girlfriend before I go.”

“Oh, well, I won’t say no to that either,” Nat sighs. “Perhaps later then?”

“Yes, of course,” Charlie’s smile pinches down into a grimace as she considers the rest of her day. “It’ll be something to get me through the earful I’ll get for not answering Mayor Friedman’s call.”

Nat laughs at her sudden dour expression. “Don’t fret so much, Charlie. If I must, then I will simply speak to Mayor Friedman myself about respecting your hours away from work. For now at least you can finish dressing in relative peace? Things should be ready by the time you’re done.”

Without anything more than another bright smile that could rival the morning sun, Nat leaves the bedroom. Charlie turns away, hiding her own ridiculous grin that she can’t ever suppress whenever Nat acts so damn domestic and sweet, and enjoys listening to the kettle humming as she applies her makeup.

Her morning routine may have begun jilted, but Charlie is grateful she can still enjoy Nat’s company at the kitchen table. Tea for both (a spoonful of wildflower honey for Charlie, plain black for Nat), a slice of banana bread to share, Nat’s crossword spread between them.

No words, only savoring each other in the quiet before the bustle of the day.

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☀️ sunshine ☀️

welcome to summer, mason my love.

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🌼 cute boy spring 🌿

aster: love/daintiness

black eyed susan: justice

yellow tulip: sunshine in your smile

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The first thing Fiona feels when Ava takes her hand is a flutter.

Not unlike the first rush of nerves she felt the first time a boy kissed her after a movie date or the first time a girl pushed her hair behind her ear. Years had passed since then though, and Fiona was not the blushing teenager navigating the dance of flirtation.

Yet she could not help but feel an echo of that now drawn close to Ava’s front. Faint, and growing stronger.

Around them, other couples danced to the dreamy tune of violins and piano, heels clicking along the polished floor. The light from the chandelier cast the room in a warm golden light, reflecting the buttery tones in Ava’s hair, swept back in a more delicate updo. If her initial experiences with Ava had been like cutting chilled wind in the dead of winter, gliding across the floor hand in hand felt like the first warm sigh of coming spring.

Being tucked in Ava’s arm felt safe. It felt right.

“You appear to be dazed,” Ava murmured. “I hope it does not mean you find me an ill engaged dancing partner.”

Amusement flickered across those emerald bright eyes. The shadow of a smile. The flutter she felt before was no longer a soft echo. It bounced along the cavities of her chest, amplifying, louder and stronger until her head rang with the strength of it.

“Never,” Fiona laughed. “It’s... I’m just taking it in all in.”

“The dance?”

“No.” Pause. “Yes.” Laugh. Fiona chanced resting her cheek along the slope of Ava’s shoulder. “Being in your arms.”

Ava tensed at the touch. As she always did, a flinch that pinged painful in that glorious chorus of exhilaration guiding her now more than music.

Slowly, the tension eased, shifting away to her shoulder to the hand on her hip drawing her fractionally close, to the twitch of Ava’s hand squeezing her fingers.

Ava’s voice comes raspy and imploring.

“Do you enjoy it?”

The flutter of Ava’s pulse at her ear feels as a mirror to her own. Both of their hearts racing in perfect parallel to their mounting crescendo.

“Very much so,” Fiona whispers to Ava’s shoulder. “I feel safe, Ava. Like nothing can touch us here. Do you feel it too?”

Though it could be easily the rustling of dresses moving around them, Fiona thinks she hears the smallest, shuddering sigh.

“I feel...”

The song hitches. The silence before a crash.

“I feel held, Fiona.”

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Aahh Vee, hi- hello!! If it's not too late! No. 35 for lulix - please - I beg 😭💕

hey buddy! sorry this is.... very late! but i have finally finished these two boys having a good time together. :D

35. things you said at the top of your lungs

---

Motorcycles let Luce taste freedom. 

Wind nipping at every inch of exposed skin. The red flare of tail lights of cars on the highway. Colors blurring together until all he could see is a smear of green against the wide arc of blue sky.

It’s rare he gets to bring out his bike now. Usually it’s kept in storage under a dust blanket and only gets taken out once to keep the battery alive. Makes those few and far between times he could sneak away from his busy schedule and take to the roads even more precious.

Now that he’s got Felix nestled behind him though? They’re highlights in his life.

Felix’s warm weight at his back contrasts against the icy air slicing through his jacket and sweater. Winter is only beginning to bow to the oncoming warmth of spring. Nights remain cold and in winter’s icy grip, yet.

Luce tilts his head up to the blanket of stars. Farther out from Wayhaven they’re clear, less obscured by the light pollution. Tonight is especially clear, not a cloud in sight to mar the twinkling stars overhead. Without the day’s traffic to slow them down, the bike takes the winding curves up the hills with ease until they slide to stop beside a site seeing spot partially hidden by dense pine.

By the time the bike is propped up safely against a tree, Felix is already at the stone wall protecting visitors from the cliff’s edge, eyes wide and reflecting more light than any number of the stars they can see. Moments like these, where Luce gets to watch Felix take in every little detail of what Luce shows him of his small corner of the world, are nearly sacred. Words aren’t needed and don’t belong, extraneous, annoying clutter to Felix’s awe.

Still, he’s more than happy when Felix turns those lovely amber eyes on him.

“Wow, I can see the whole forest from here! It’s gorgeous!” Felix glances to one of mounted scopes and gives it a playful flick. “No quarters needed.”

“Not all of us have impeccable vampire vision, Fel,” Luce crosses his arms along the edge of the wall as he leans forward. Miles of forest stretch before him. To his eyes, just a formless, dark shape, broken up only by the sky. “Still pretty, though.”

Taking his place, Felix bumps their arms together. “Yeah, damn pretty,” he whispers. “Say, you know we’re kind of close to the Warehouse…”

“Close?” Luce arches an eyebrow. The Warehouse is in this general area but well away from the main road.

“Close for us, babe,” a grin flashes between them. “Maybe even close enough for the others to hear if we yell super loud.”

Ah. A laugh bursts out, sudden and barking. How many ridiculous notions did Felix suggest that Luce would never have followed before? Taking a day trip out to the next town over with no plans, no itinerary, nothing but gas in the car and Felix’s camera to capture it all. Digging through the bargain DVD bin and picking one blindly and watching it together, cuddled under blankets, laughing at bad acting and poor shots.

Another whimsy, and who is he to say no?

Deep breath. Hands cupped around his mouth. Lean back.

From the depths of his chest.

“AVA IS A BUTTHEAD!” 

The shout bounces further, echoing out into the faceless night. Alongside its fading whisper, another joins it in Felix’s bright tones.

“AVA IS A BUTT!”

They’re laughing, the both of them. Laughing and yelling as loud as they can, their chants rippling with laughter until they’re bent over. Hoarse and misty eyed and bursting with nearly (only nearly so) painful joy. Heads touching, hands reaching out to each other for support. The forest sings with their echoing laughter instead.

The night is alive and young, and distantly, Ava thinks she hears the clipped edge of her name.

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✨ specialist agent m ✨

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Tag List Navigation

#veep art: All of my finished artwork.

#veep writing: All of my finished writing.

#veep commissions: Art the my clients have commissioned me to do.

#veep wips: Art and writing WIPs.

Character Tag List

#oc: faustus valentine

#oc: fiona stonehart

#oc: lucedio jansen

#oc: charlie rosewall

Canon characters will be tagged with their full name when possible.

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“Charmed.”

“You shouldn’t be.”

Specialist Agent Morgan, everyone.

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“Faustus laughed, a weak stuttering thing, wincing at the tingles of pain that shot through him. He missed the way Mason eyed him, not out of any hunger for the blood shining bright from his scrapes or the blood dribbling down his nose or the blood staining his teeth. No, Mason looked at him with a fraction of softness not for his weakened state, but for the strength he had to be standing, laughing, despite it all.”

Day 10 of @31daysofwayhaven , theme: blood. My MC Faustus Valentine and Mason.

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🎵 so no one told you life was gonna be this way~! 🎶

okay this was 1) supposed to be something quick and 2) i am going out of order for @31daysofwayhaven but my roomie and friend @lilas has been having so much fun i decided to do a little catch up with prompts i’m most interested in

i bring you day 8: villain, with good ole murphy

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“Words cut through the heavy fog that the intense grip of pain left in Faustus’s head. The voice sounds warbled, but familiar. Faustus grasps at it, wild in his desperate attempt for something - anything - to anchor him. The voice calls again, an insistent prodding edging ever so slightly on a plea.

‘Faustus?’

He opens his eyes, the world a wash of grey blurring into each other. A pair of eyes, squinted in concern, pierce down at him, a tentative hand raised. Mason’s eyes. Mason’s hand. The racing in his throat calms and some of the tension leeches out of him as the thought of “safe” floats to the surface.

Mason’s eyes soften, his lips curve into a rare gentle smile, and it’s like his entire body sags as relief passes through him. His forehead drops to his, the waves of his hair falling in a curtain around them, creating a little bubble that shields the look they share.

“Hey handsome.”

Faustus’s eyes fall close as Mason cups his face, heavy with exhaustion. Still, he manages a smile.

“Hey sunshine.”

—

@31daysofwayhaven Day 11: Transformation. If it wasn’t clear, this is post transformation for Detective Faustus Valentine! :D

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softly, “what the fuck”

—-

day 12 is flesh which means day 12 shameless thirst trap art of adam.

@31daysofwayhaven

Also:

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Poppies flower over the scar Murphy left on his throat now. The tattoo ink curls around edges of the mark, enclosing it in petals. Still, though, the scar peeks out in the sheerest shading, rough and ugly against the delicate lines. It feels appropriate: Faustus knows the scar will linger always, a grim reminder of the night his body was so easily brutalized by a cruel mouth.

Covering up the scar is hardly the point of the tattoo, though. That would be in spite of Murphy, which doesn’t sit as warmly in his stomach as the thought that it’s for Mason. It is a happy reminder of how a kinder mouth sought out that place and pressed into the shiny skin a desire not for his blood, but for the body - the man - it coursed through.

A soft reminder of a love that blossomed, ever defiant, from the core of trauma.

—

Day 14: Throat @31daysofwayhaven

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Mason/Detective Faustus Valentine

@31daysofwayhaven day 15: feral.

(It’s the cat. The cat is feral. This counts LOL.)

—

Mason follows the distinctive heartbeat of the detective all the way to the back of the apartment complex, past the parking lot and the small community area where a couple of rickety looking benches and a rusty barbeque pit stand alone amongst the neatly manicured grass. Nearly hidden by the shade of trees that line the edge of the property he spots him, his slim frame crouched down. He slows his approach to a quiet stalk, curious to see what has Faustus looking so enamored.

Something fluffy and orange stands between Faustus’s knees. A striped tail flicks out and the grin on Faustus’s face widens in complete and unhidden delight as the fat body of the cat rubs against his leg. Mason’s eyebrows arch up high. He’s never seen Faustus look so truly gleeful before. It sends a strange twinge of… something through his chest, which Mason quickly brushes off as surprise.

A branch snaps as he takes a step forward and both the cat and Faustus’s heads immediately turn to him. They both have equally wide eyed expressions and Mason can’t help but let out a sharp laugh at it.

“Don’t tell me you’re surprised to see me,” Mason smirks, leaning against the tree he’d stop by to watch. “I’m supposed to accompany you to the facility, remember?”

The surprise quickly fades and is replaced by a half hearted smirk. Mason doesn’t miss the way the tips of Faustus’s ears tinge red and the jump in his heart beat. “Sorry, I had a pre-existing date with this guy instead.”

Faustus gestures to the cat which is now peeking out cautiously behind Faustus’s legs. He gives the ears a quick scratch with his long fingers, as if trying to soothe the cat’s nerves. “I call him Mr. Buttercup. I can’t have strays in my apartment, but I saw this guy around and started feeding him and now he’s my buddy.”

“That so?” Mason stays put and watches the cat slowly start to relax until its entire fat body flops onto the ground, stretching out its paws and exposing the soft white underbelly to Faustus. “Seems like he really trusts you.”

“It took weeks to get him to this point,” Faustus casts soft eyes down to the cat. He runs the edge of his finger under its chin and Mason clearly hears the appreciative purr in response. “He’s still feral according to the vet, so he can never really be adopted out, but I got him fixed and checked and everything. Since then I come out here and give him food and water and just… hang out with him. It’s one of those little things in life I’ve come to enjoy. Especially… you know, now.”

Faustus’s voice quiets to a gentle whisper towards the end. His shoulders slope down in a tired sag and, just for a moment, Mason can see the weight of exhaust flicker across his face. Faustus is usually pretty good at facing both his normal detective work and his newer Agency work with a self-confident smirk and swagger, but now, it looks like the weight of both are pressing him down hard.

Mason frowns. He doesn’t like seeing him look like that.

“We can stay a little longer.” Mason shoves a cigarette between his lips and fishes for his lighter. “Guess you can play with that wild little furball while I smoke.”

Faustus’s eyes meet his. A smile touches his lips, the expression making his face look a fraction brighter than it had before. The look he’s giving him now, a look not unlike the one he’d caught Faustus giving the cat, warms the air between them to a comfortable simmer. His chest clenches again with the thrum of heat between them.

Weird that it keeps happening.

Mason shakes his head and busies himself lighting his cigarette. By the time he looks back, Faustus’s attention is back on the cat, his open grin back in place while he flicks a small twig with a leaf still attached on the end. The cat juts its arms arm, batting at the leaf whenever Faustus lowers it, and Mason watches on and stays quiet even after his cigarette burns out.

[veepart]

The emptiness in Sanja’s wide blue eyes is jarring and bellies the horror of her pallid skin and singed hair. There is accusation in those terrible, unseeing eyes: you have failed you didn’t save me your fault your fault your fault.

That emptiness is like a gaping maw, swallowing him whole. All he can offer this ghost is a plea. It comes out like a belated apology.

“No...”

In his mind, Sanja’s words warble back to him, clear even through the haze.

“How many will you fail to save him, Faustus?”

—

Day 18: empty.

@31daysofwayhaven