Apr 22
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Seven Sentences Sunday
I keep missing this, so since I have Monday off and it's like Sunday, here's a quick snippet of a Hollanov omegaverse story I'm working on.
+1 (514) 526-3524 (11:27 AM):
Answer your phone, asshole.
This is Hayden Pike.
Look, I know you hate me, and the feeling’s mutual.
But this is about Shane. So fucking pick up.
Fuck. Ilya guessed he should have hated himself for how quickly he hit the call button, how any mention of Shane sent him running from the locker room. A stab of fear made his blood run cold, so cold that even the Boston winter air didn’t faze him as he pushed open the heavy fire door and waited for Pike to pick up.
He did so within two rings.
“What is wrong with Shane?”
Spoiler under cut
Thankful
7th art for Suptober 2024 Remixed by @wigglebox and @thepagemistress based on Suptober by @winchester-reload.
Prompt 7. Thankful
And another fill for my subconscious @masoena's Kinktober 2024
Prompt 17. Oral Fixation
Linocut and chine colle - acrylic, eco paper, rice paper. Handprinted
(prints in my shop soon)
Here are my other arts for the event
Prompt 1. Autumn, Prompt 2. Spa Day, Prompt 3. Royalty, Prompt 4. Birthday, Prompt 5. Scars, Prompt 6. Electric.
i have a mini skirt addiction rn i wna go shopping for more asap even tho i have 2 tiny dresses n 1 skirt i just bought tht i still havent worn out of the house :0
Something Sentences Sunday Monday 🧜♂️
Hello. I come bearing pain gifts. Join me won’t you?
The tenderness of it is almost too much to bear, etching another hairline fracture onto his breaking heart. And yet it’s a sort of agony he’ll allow. Because it’s Eddie. Because it’s them.
“I know, Eds,” Evan murmurs, channeling his misery into mirroring Eddie’s gesture. “It’s okay.” It’s the furthest thing from okay, but he needs Eddie to hear it.
A different type of quiet than before – complicated and heavy, but still simpler than words – rolls in like the tide. It’s notes of breath, heartbeats, and lapping water arranging and composing themselves amidst a quartet of love, doubt, regret and, unexpectedly, fear. A twang of trepidation along their connection that Evan instantly wants to soothe.
“Are you afraid?” Evan probes, unable to help himself. “Of where you might go next?”
Whatever happens in the military is a mystery except what Eddie’s told him, and a little from some fiction he could get his hands on. Stories about war and death and lost loves. He refuses to think about his best friend in any of those situations.
Eddie stressed that they’ll train in case they have to protect people, hopefully nothing more. He said it’s going to be a completely different lifestyle but it’s ‘something he has to do’. Evan can’t fathom how any of this is something Eddie has to do, and yet he doesn’t have the facts to argue it either.
“Yeah,” comes the quiet admission. “Not just about the army though.”
He pauses for a beat before explaining. “I’m scared of being a terrible husband and father. Scared of never coming home again, leaving my kid without a dad. Just being some guy in a picture that Shannon tells them about.”
Words of protest form on Evan’s tongue — Eddie’s going to be an amazing dad! — but doesn’t get the chance, interrupted by a trembling whisper.
“I’m scared I won’t make it back here.”
The preemptive grief strikes, a bolt of lightning landing squarely in his chest, pronouncing the ‘to you’ that Eddie doesn’t say. He imagines it’s trapped in the single tear that runs down Eddie’s cheek, coming to rest on the skin between Evan’s thumb and index finger.
“Hey, no,” he shakes his head, “you can’t think like that. You’re gonna be there. For Shannon and your baby. A- and this place.”
He shouldn’t be surprised by the incredulous huff shot back in response.
“Evan, you have to know it’s not just about the place.” Eddie grips the other side of his face, firm but careful, lest they both break. “Please tell me you know that.”
Evan moves to thread their fingers together. “I do, Eds. I swear.”
Eddie mumbles what sounds like ‘Okay’. A reassurance as flimsy as Evan’s own that they’ll make it past this unscathed. In the dark, he clings to that as tightly as they cling to each other and these moments they have left.
It’ll be morning soon, no more than an hour or two at most. The sky is still black, twinkling with its millions of stars, but dawn is coming. He feels it in every nerve, a forewarning hopping between synapses. A reminder that the sun’s rays will inevitably reach their corner of the sky, warm tendrils that will creep into the microscopic spaces between their bodies to pry them apart. To admonish them for believing they could hide in this bubble of pretend where they never have to let go.
“And what about you?” Eddie asks. “What’s next?”
Fic Rec Monday
This week, @chelle-68 asked us to
share your favorite Night At Stevie’s. The smutty, the heartfelt, the funny, the sweet, the raunchy. Shy Patrick. BDE take control Patrick. Snuggles and cuddles. David not knowing how to react to someone who actually CARES. Give us your faves! I know there are a lot of them out there.
I'm fixing to post this week's round up (see, I got distracted looking at and sorting by the tags yesterday, after @trickiwooao3 posted about counting how many fics were in various tags, and then I started a spreadsheet . . .) but first I must add a few that no one has mentioned:
never thought i'd hear my heart beat so loud by @seadeepy which is part of her D/P Drabble Project. It's just a hundred words, but manages to be a whole fix-it fic packed with strong emotion and nice physical details.
Fly on the wall by Rabbitwhitethe was just listed in September 12's On This Day in Schitt's Creek (thank you @stereopticons). It was posted a year ago, which is relatively recently—so kudos to them for finding a new approach to the night and writing an all-dialogue fic.
One for One by bigficenergy / @fraudulentzodiac, on the other hand, is the oldest fic in the David and Patrick's Night at Stevie's Apartment (Schitt's Creek) tag, and if you haven't read it yet, you're missing out on a formative text. And people getting naked.
and ici by @blackandwhiteandrose —I don't speak French, but somehow this little des mots salaces series has me understanding it. Goodness.
Okay, thank you for indulging my lateness, and thank you for tagging me if you did!
eh i just did wtv