#veep writes

[veeples]

wip wednesday???

thanks for the tag @narrativefoiltrope beloved <3 i do have a little something but it's literally just oc stuff and it's... sad! :) it's valinterverse with my oc Alin and erin's oc Winter making an awkward pair at Faustus's grave (rip idiot)

gonna tagggg: @lilas @feralrosie and @solarisrenbeth |D would love to see literally whatever, i miss writing and seeing what my friends are writing!

[veeples-archive]

not realizing they’re holding hands till someone points it out - for charlie and nat please 🥺(~agentnatesewell)

hi mar!!!! <3 oh this is a lovely prompt, thank you!!

37. not realizing they’re holding hands till someone points it out

Farah bites down on her bottom lip to contain the grin that wants to break across her face.

On the leather couch Charlie and Nat have slowly been inching their way towards each other over the last half hour. Each time they pause from reading to chat in low tones, they both scoot in closer, bit by torturous bit. She doubts either of them really acknowledges they’re doing it– well, Nat might if the pleased smile that flickers across her lips when their thighs touch implies anything.

Charlie definitely hasn’t noticed. Might be a good thing considering how far she’s leaning over to peer at the giant book Nat has cradled in her hands and–

Oh.

Laying right over Nat’s long fingered hand is Charlie’s, a stark contrast of Charlie’s fair skin against Nat’s golden brown, fingers curled in gently. Neither of them seems to have noticed, both more invested in whatever Nat is reading. Farah manages to catch something about mountains and flowers and something about flowers on mountains? Maybe mountains of flowers? Some wordy poetic nonsense that probably means love or something.

Doesn’t matter. They can bond over their shared love for flowery poetry and thick books all they like when they’re being this freakin’ adorable in a rare moment of closeness. Charlie’s even smiling big enough that her dimples are on full display.

A perfect romantic moment positively ripe to be ruined by Morgan’s gruff voice.

“Can you two stop holding hands for two seconds so I can talk to Nat?”

Charlie’s eyes snap down immediately, tilting the book away to confirm that yes, she is holding Nat’s hand. Instead of snapping her back in a mortified fluster like Farah would have expected, Charlie withdraws her hand slowly and stands, brushing her hands down her crisp tan trousers in quick, nervous strokes and clears her throat noisily.

(And Farah definitely doesn’t miss the slight tremble in Charlie’s hands or the tinge of pink on her cheeks.)

“Sorry Morgan. Feel free to talk to Nat, I have some business to attend to anyway.”

Nat stares after Charlie’s retreating back, offering a belated goodbye right before Charlie disappears behind the heavy library doors. Charlie pauses, though she does not turn, and mutters out a quick, “See you soon, Nat.” as the doors close behind her.

For a moment none of them say a word.

Then–

“That was some Jane Austen homo shit, Nat,” Morgan snorts to Nat’s absolute wide eyed horror. “Anyway, Ava wants to talk to you about some project, and–”

[veeples-archive]

summer’s ending

✨ pairing: mason x faustus valentine

✨ word count: 1k

✨ warnings: typical potty language, some feelings, unedited and written on my phone lol

my last piece for @wayhavensummer for day 7: celebrations! it has been such an emotional summer and i have loved being able to host it with my co-mods ( @losingface @possumgeist @masonscig @lilas ) and i am so grateful to them and to everyone who participated and put their heart and soul into this event!

✨✨✨

Summer’s finally broken.

The heat is still there making the back of Faustus’s neck damp, but there’s breeze that plays at his face promises cooler weather. Soon, in maybe a couple of weeks. The beginnings of fall ushered in with cool mornings and nights, pumpkins on porches and in coffee, and the first leaves tinging brilliant red yellow.

Too bad he won’t be here to see it.

Faustus stares down the dim street, cigarette limp in his mouth. Houses dark and slumbering, blinds and curtains drawn, yellow porch lights winking like stars.

Guiding the wayward back home.

There’s a party going on behind him — his party — and he should really be in there draining another beer, stuffed with pizza and pumpkin empanadas (Haley’s rendition was damn close to his vague memories of panaderías and their glass cases of pan dulce), and counting each time a muscle in Ava’s jaw jumps.

(Last count was at thirteen. Impressive, given that Faustus can manage that in the first hour he’s awake in the mornings and the party’s been on for twice that.)

He tells himself he’ll go back in in a minute. It’d be a damn shame to spend his own going away party sat alone on the curb like a broken hearted teenager at prom.

Dirt crunches behind him. Not alone then.

“Hey.”

Faustus doesn’t need to look to known it’s Mason who’s clambering down next to him and stretching his legs out to the asphalt. Mason doesn’t signal his presence with smoke anymore — he’d quit with Faustus a year ago without a word of argument — but Faustus just knows. Something about how proximity to Mason makes him feel better somehow. Slows his heart, calms his mind, his shoulders sagging in a way he can’t ever manage on his own.

Oh, and only Mason would snatch his cigarette from his mouth and crush it beneath his boot.

Quitting had been grueling.

“Hey yourself.” Mason says, already close enough for their thighs to touch. His arm remains at his side, but their hands are close enough to touch, should Faustus want it. “Ditching parties isn’t usually your thing.”

“Not ditching,” Faustus clarifies, a smile already creeping up to his face. “Needed a breather. Started to get caught up in my own thoughts.”

“Mm,” Mason hums. Another offering to refuse or take. Go on, or don’t. Mason will still be here either way.

“It’s sad, right?” Faustus toes at a rock. It clatters forward. “Leaving.”

Mason shrugs. “Dunno. Guess so. I never gave two shits about any place we’ve had to leave.”

“You know maybe I should be talking to Nate about this. Not exactly feeling the deep heart wrenching empathy here,” Faustus shoots him a toothless smile that makes Mason snort.

“I can go get him if you mean it.”

“You know I don’t.”

Faustus chuckles, turning back to the rock. He kicks it again. This time it clatters down farther, out of reach, behind the tire of Tina’s sleek motorbike.

“I mean I don’t think I’m feeling as sad as I should. It’s sad knowing I’m gonna miss tiny shit like, I dunno, the golden hue the town takes in the fall, Haley’s cinnamon spiced coffee cake, the classic monster movie specials the dollar theater does.” Faustus spreads his hands out in front of him like he could encompass all of the shades of Wayhaven between his hands. “The fall, the winter. The spring and next summer. I won’t be here for any of it and the main thing I can feel is… impatient.”

The limbo of it all, this in between place. One foot settled in Wayhaven, his other pressing down on the gas pedal of his car with his hand wrapped around the clutch.

“I’m so ready to leave this place. I’ll miss Tina, of course. Verda too. Everyone on the square.” Quieter. “Unit Bravo.” Then, louder. “But I’m ready to leave. My stomach feels like a twisted knot of buzzing nerves. I wanna go.” Desperate now. “I wanna go.”

Slate clean, a forgettable face glimpsed at in the street of some odd town in some part of the wide breadth of Americana. Seen for a second, forgotten the next.

Free in a way Faustus hasn’t been in a long fucking time.

“I’m ready for…”

He tongues his teeth looking for the words.

Faustus nudges Mason’s pinky, and in an instant Mason hooks them together.

“Me.” Faustus smiles. Genuine in a way that still feels a little weird, but easiest when it’s Mason who looks at him, knowing his raw ugliness the way no one else has, with that unassuming patience of his that encourages Faustus to try. “You.”

A smile twitches at Mason’s mouth. He thinks about kissing it in a new town, watching a different sunset, and that driving ache in him grows.

“Yeah,” Faustus nods. “I think I’m most excited for us, is all.”

Selfish, as Faustus ever was and ever would be. Leaving Wayhaven had always been in the back of his mind, some formless dream to escape to, but with the man he loves (loves! with every beat of his heart, every sigh from his lungs, Faustus loves Mason) seated next to him, he wants it more than he ever did before.

“Us.” Mason echoes. “Wherever that goes.”

Such fucking conviction. Faustus doesn’t wait to see what kissing Mason is like out on the road, he kisses him now, lets himself accept Mason’s arm around him.

The only constancy Faustus could ever need no matter where they go.

“God you make me into a fucking cheese ball, Foz,” Mason groans when they pull apart. Vulgar, always. Tender, always. “Disgusting.”

“You’re disgusting.”

Faustus kisses Mason again.

“Kinda gross to kiss someone disgusting.”

Mason kisses back.

“I have shit taste, what can I say?”

They kiss. Mason kisses him, and he kisses him, and he kisses him until Faustus does consider ditching the party because what could ever matter but Mason’s cheek under his palm and Mason’s hair between his fingers?

Nothing, Faustus thinks. Even when they do finally gather themselves up and slot back in between Nate discussing the latest book he’s been reading with Eric and Farah making some eyes at Tina that suggest they might be ditching, Faustus can’t imagine anything but the weight of Mason’s arm around his waist mattering more to him in this moment.

[veeples-archive]

it's not wip wednesday anymore but i also immediately lost the thread of this syd/faustus thing but i like this bit too much

(“Fifteen minute walk,” Syd says, mouthing at the coarse border where his jaw turns scruffy with hair. “Ten minute jog if Roz’s really blowing up my phone.”

“You could do that jog in eight if you tried, Spikey.” Faustus thumbs at the curve of Syd’s hip with a lightness that borders on tenderness for them. No real intent on looking for more beyond needing his hands on Syd.

“Fuck you I could make it in seven and a half,” Syd snarks back, ending the conversation with a kiss.)

[veeples-archive]

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.

[veeples-archive]

the art of nail polishing

a quick little drabble because i like nail polishing scenes.

fandom: body count

relationship: sydney alexander x faustus valentine

word count: 525

warnings: idiots

***

"You're looking at ease Fuzzy Bear."

Faustus doesn't bother to disturb his focus from painting the last stripe of nail polish on his pinky finger. Polish isn't hard to get off from his skin but he doesn't need acetone to dry out his cuticles to all hell just because he got distracted by Syd. Besides, he can already hear Syd's footsteps crossing the room. By the time he closes the bottle to properly look up, Syd's reclined back on his bed, an easy grin on their face.

They're eyeing the box of Faustus's nail polish with what looks like mild interest. Syd doesn't usually paint their nails, but every so often, Faustus sees them painted. Usually a dark color. Usually chipped within the day.

"Self care and all that jazz," Faustus waves a hand at the box. "You want me to paint yours too?"

Syd tilts their head to the side, humming unnecessarily long and squinting their eyes.

"Yeah, you know what, polish me up," Syd tugs the the box closer to their lap and begins to noisily rattle the bottles inside.

It only takes a moment for them to fish out a bottle of dark polish, a deep aubergine that Faustus favors in the winter. "This one's good. Think I'd look pretty fucking handsome in a nice purple, yeah?"

"Dunno Syd," Faustus smirks, grabbing the bottle from their loose grip and positioning their hand on his naked thigh. "Might be kind of a reach from the black and grey you usually wear. Bit adventurous for you."

They bicker back and forth about a whole lot of nothing. That's how things usually go for them. Needling, pressing, toeing the line to see who gives first, keeping careful count of each smirk that manages to tilt its way into a grin. Faustus doesn't look up much while he's painting neat stripes on Syd's fingernails -- too focused on keeping the polish away from the skin and the cuticle, too focused on admiring the subtle bends there from old breaks and faded scars from old abrasions.

There's a little mole on the inside of their wrist Faustus sees when he lifts their hand to blow on the wet polish. It's faint brown, barely noticeable. Faustus thinks about kissing it, wonders about how Syd's face might look. Eyes a fraction wider, cheeks a fraction pinker?

Oh. No, no that's a weird thought. Too tender for what they've got going on.

Faustus settles for swiping his thumb across it. Something subtler. Unusually gentle. He does chance a look and catches Syd looking at their joined hands, eyebrow lightly cocked, before their eyes meet and the curiosity Faustus sees there cools and retracts to a playful smirk.

"Don't tell me this was some ruse to kiss my hand, Fuzzy," Syd coos. "Bit romantic for you, eh?"

"Maybe. You don't know how romantic I am," Faustus laughs. He twists the bottle of polish closed, gives it a shake, and points at Syd's other hand. "Might be some prince charming in hiding. Now give me the other one, and for fuck's sake, stop moving so much unless you want polish all over you."

[veeples-archive]

let go, let go

When Charlie dreams of Natalie she dreams she is drowning.

Swallowed by water, the weight of the sea like hundreds of thousands of arms tugging her down, down, down. Down to the silt and to the sand, away from the rays of light that pierce a blue so vivid it hurts her to look upon it.

In the distance she hears a call to let go, Charlie, let go.

(Her hands throb with the pain of years gripping her heart close.)

Despite the distortion the voice is familiar. A voice that calls to her in genuine delight whenever they see each other. A voice that is both as soft and as firm as a hand rubbing her back. A voice that speaks her name as no one else has ever spoken it: with both the reckless hope of tossing a message in a bottle to the sea and the intimate understanding that it may never be received.

She buckles.

She sinks and she sinks and she sinks. The water is warm and the sea dark and it is a horrifying embrace of a monster asking her to trust claws she cannot see. The voice is there now too, rolling on the currents that guide her deeper still.

Let go, Charlie, I’ve got you. I’ve got you.

Her fingers twitch, ready to cling hard again for a dim safety she knows well. It’s not too late.

Charlie refuses, and accepts the monstrous sea into her lungs.

[veeples-archive]

cherry tart

Sunshine dappled and sun warmed, Nate could thumb page of every book of poetry and still come up short to find ways to describe Fiona as they both lounged in cool long grass shaded by a grand oak tree. Might he describe the hue of her skin, a rich, golden brown like hot baked earth and flecked with freckles or the dark curls at the nape of her neck that would kiss her skin with each caress of the salted sea breeze.

Or perhaps he could name each line and tendon of her hands and her fingers, the tips stained red with cherry juice, and describe their quick, deft movements as Fiona worked a water color sketch of the faraway ocean and washed out sky.

Perhaps her short amused huffs or her lilting laugh or the curve of her cherry stained smile or the deep sigh of pleased enjoyment when her teeth sunk into the cherry’s flesh that would make his throat constrict thinking of what flesh he might like her teeth to relish instead.

Any of that, all of that and any of the other details of Fiona, could do.

What he would like to capture with words is the simple action of Fiona reaching to him, tucking away a lock of hair behind his ear, and telling him with her fingers still lingering on his cheek that his mouth was dirty.

And just as fast, her touch would be gone with only her teasing smile turned to her paper and his skin burning in her wake.

Nate could not help himself if he pulled his hair forward and let the cherry juice sit at the corners of his lips.