Okay so the account I've been working for is "paused" (which is just a generous way of saying the project is likely terminated and I just lost a major source of my income). The timing is quite terrible since it's almost the end of the month and I have plenty of bills to pay that I'm gonna struggle with now that a weekly source of income has gone to dust. It usually takes a while before new projects kick in, so I need a bit of help for now.
If you have the power to chip in just a little, I'll need at least 165 USD more before the end of the month (for bills + loans). Thank you so much for your generosity.
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I have a cute(?) little comic idea for past radiostatic/radiosilence
(You can interpret it however)
Itās basically Vincent finally changing his name to Vox and him telling Alastor about it ^^ (because he wants to look cool)
Vincent/Vox: Alastor! There you are! I was wondering where you ran off toā¦what are you doing?
Alastor: (digesting a corpse) Having Lunch~! Care for a bite? The fear in this meat is extra juicy this time of year!
Vincent/Vox: (coils back in slight disinterest) Ew. No. I prefer my food actually cooked, I donāt want to work for a crunch if you know what I mean. (He laughs awkwardly before composing himself) Anyway! I thought that since weāve known each other for almost a year, I thought itāll be time to tell you something.
Alastor: (he momentarily stood eating the random sinner, his never wavering smile turning more upward as he looked at Vox with an expression that one could call āamusementā) Go On, Vincent! Donāt keep me waiting! (He says that like heās on his radio show, the charm but also the intensity of a ticking clock)
Vincent/Vox: Well (he steps closer again) People in hell like to claim a new sense of identity. Which I suppose makes sense. You getā¦a new body, a new āhomeā, a new future! So, Iāve been considering this for a few months and I think I finally have something that I can stick with for the rest of my afterlife.
Alastor: (just smiling, meat juice seeping from his gums)
Vincent/Vox: Back on earth, a few months before I died. I went by āVoxā Vox, of course meaning āVoice or The Voice in Latinā People always called me ātheir voiceā something that you can always rely on! I want to take that into hell with me. I want to be hells voice! I want to be the demon that sinners can rely on. (He says that with a more sinister tone) Like you! So, my new unofficial but official identity is āVoxā! Pretty cool, right? Itās fitting for me, huh!? (He starts to get excited)
Alastor: My, My! What a presentation! (He claps slowly) Yknow, people in hell just change themselves in a blink of an eye. But you? You just say it, out loud. Very entertaining, Vox! (Alastor finishes his sentence, his tone unclear, but Vox assumed he was liking it)
Vox: Eh! Force of habit! (He shakes it off) Being on TV 24/7, youāre used to being moreā¦public. More used to just talking about things. More used of doing the razzle dazzle! Iām telling you now, Alastor! One dayā¦Iāll get back up there. Metaphorically, of course!
Alastor: Hm! Time will tell! Now, if you donāt mind if a gentleman can finish eating his meal? (He points back to the eaten sinner)
Vox: Ha. Sure. I have a reservation, anyway! Iāll see you around! (Vox leaves while Alastor looks back, it was difficult to tell if he thought Voxs whole thing was kinda over the top or not, but he looked entertained. That was enough for Alastor to be sastified.
summary: The preppy girl that just about everyone admires has more in common with Dave than he expects. He doesnāt quite know how to handle this information, but it excites him nonetheless.
word count: 2K
ā” LANDING PAGEā”
notes: I havenāt written something like this in a good while, so please bear with me if Iām rusty or there are some mistakes here and there. Reader is referred to with she/her pronouns, I tried to be as non descriptive as possible about her appearance. I do love writing a bit of a mean reader like this, but donāt worry, sheāll warm up to him. This fic takes place in senior year for age purposes, Iām pretty much fully ignoring the timeline of the film. Comments and/or requests are super welcome btw!! Hope you enjoy!! <3
(ps this will get a part two donāt worry xx)
To Dave, girls like you were unreachable. You could hear about them, you could listen to them talk in the hallways, sneak a glance their way⦠But talk to them? Any single one of their group would consider that social suicide. The only reason any of them even looked in his direction was to ask him to do their homework. So why in godās name were you at his locker? Why were you acknowledging his existence at all?
āWhatās that?ā You leaned against the locker next to his, pointing at the piece of a comic book panel heād taped to the door. It pictured Spider-man putting on his mask for the first time, something Dave looked to when he needed some motivation for the day.Ā
He struggled to get basically any words out, still not fully registering that youāre within such close range. He could smell you⦠God that was really weird to think about, he felt like a creep already, but you just⦠Smelled really nice. Like vanilla, mixed with something sweet. He realized he hadnāt answered your question yet and was just staring in front of him like a weirdo. āO-Oh, yeah, thatās uh⦠Thatās Spider-man. Itās this⦠This superhero I like.ā He adjusted the strap of his backpack to keep his hands busy.
You smiled and rolled your eyes. āDuh, I know who Spider-man is, please.ā You couldnāt help but think he was doing anything to avoid looking into your eyes, as if youād turn him to stone if he dared to do so. Which, yes, was exactly how he felt.
āI wanted to know which comic that was from. The art style looks a lot different than the ones Iāve seen.ā Now this part was pretty much making his teenage brain short circuit. He probably didnāt hear that right, thereās no way a popular girl like you read comics, right? This had to be some kind of elaborate joke, like you were trying to pull a prank on him by making him ramble about his favorite superheroes. However, he wasnāt close minded. Even if this was a prank, at least you were talking to him, right?
āYeah, sorry, I uh⦠Forget heās a pretty popular character sometimes. This oneās from a collectorās edition. One of the pages was kinda falling apart so I just⦠Taped my favorite panel to my locker.ā Again, he tried to look anywhere else, but it felt rude not to be making eye contact with the person whoās trying to give you a chance at a conversation. His eyes met yours and he realised he hadnāt ever actually seen you up close like this. You were really pretty, he knew that, but he never noticed these particular things about you before. The way your hair framed your features so nicely, the little beauty mark that seemed to be somehow perfectly placed, or the way a dimple appeared on your right cheek when you smiled.
āHopefully you didnāt pay too much for it, those things cost like, a fortune.ā You followed, snapping him out of his haze as you twirled a piece of hair between your index and middle finger. Dave was much taller than you, so you had to look up to match his gaze, which was already hard since he kept avoiding your eyes. You never realized how much heād matured since freshman year. He looked pretty cute⦠Really cute, actually.Ā
āS-So, uhm, I really donāt wanna be rude, butā¦ā He closed his locker before looking at you with a rather awkward expression. āWhy are you here? Why are you⦠talking to me?ā Honestly, not an unjustified question. Dave was often the subject of bullying, and the popular girls clique made no exception to that rule. He doesnāt remember you specifically doing anything, although... He has a vague memory of you being in the car with those jocks when they threw spoiled milk at him.
āWhat? A girl canāt talk to her fellow classmate? This is a free country, you know.ā You pretended to be a little hurt by his assumption that you were probably just here to make fun of him. In all honesty he was still a little dumbfounded by this whole ordeal, and the fact that half the people that passed you were giving you two weird looks really wasnāt helping.
āYou know I sit behind you in English, right?ā He responds by nodding. He is painfully aware of this fact, as your friends had expressed their empathy for you when your seat was assigned behind him, though you honestly didnāt mind. And also the fact that he got a fair share of gossip from you and your best friend always whispering to each other.Ā āWell,ā you flipped a bit of hair over your shoulder.Ā āI saw you had a copy of Birth of Venom in your backpack, and I... Wanted to ask if I could borrow it...ā You looked to the side, muttering the last part. As much as you tried not to care what people thought, you did have a bit of a reputation that you were stuck to. Liking comics wasnāt for you, you were a cheerleader, you went to parties, you liked shopping. Okay, you secretly liked comics.
Dave looked at you with a puzzled expression.Ā āI-Iām sorry, can you repeat tha--ā
āCan I borrow your stupid comic or what?ā You interrupted him, clearly looking a bit embarrassed.Ā
āOh!ā His face was getting hot, this conversation was lasting way longer than he imagined it would. Usually heād have his face shoved into his locker by now.Ā āU-Uhm, sure! Itās a bit expensive, but... Well, just donāt damage it, please.ā He took his backpack off his shoulder and was about to pull it out before you grabbed his arm.Ā
āNot here you dumbass! Just, like... Ugh, meet me at my car after schoolās over, you can hand it to me then.ā You were acting like this was some kind of illegal drug deal, but this truly was something important to you. Your dad had already made it very clear that he didnāt want his little girl becoming some kind of tomboy and have her mind run rampant with superhero stories. Especially with this Kickass guy running around...
The bell rang and you silently thanked it for doing so.Ā āLook, I gotta go. White Corvette, by the vending machines.ā You walked past him, and a waft of that lovely vanilla scent hit his nose. He damn near melted into the floor when your arm brushed against his.Ā āLater, Lizewksi.ā
You leaned against the hood of your car, scrolling on your phone as you waited for the brunette to show up. You couldnāt help but feel a little guilty that you were just meeting him in secret like this. Itās not like you were embarrassed to be seen with him, or that you didnāt like him, itās just that liking comics and superheroes was just about the dorkiest thing anyone could be into. Especially with Kickass running around, and, well, kicking ass, people would probably be thinking youād be into this whole vigilante business yourself. Sure, you thought it was cool that people were doing something about all the crime, but youād rather die than mess up your hair beating some thugās ass.Ā
You noticed someone approaching and noticed that Dave wasnāt alone. With a bit of a disgusted expression, you gestured to his two sidekicks.Ā āI donāt remember inviting the entire geek entourage to come see me. This isnāt some kinda meet and greet, you know.ā Todd and Marty seemed, just like Dave before, a little shocked that you were talking to them.Ā
āS-Sorry, they just uh...ā Dave began.
āWe didnāt believe him.ā Todd followed.
ā...believe what?ā You questioned, crossing your arms.
āThat a chick like you was into comics.ā Marty said, before Todd smacked him on the back of the head.Ā āDude! Donāt say it like that!ā
You got a bit flustered, and looked at Dave.Ā āYou told them!? What the fuck, Lizewski?ā
āI-Iām sorry!ā He held up his hands.Ā āThey were asking me what we were talking about, and... I panicked.ā They were more so insinuating that he was flirting with her, and he didnāt want that rumor going around, in case your jock brother caught wind of that and beat his ass for flirting with his sister.
You sighed, looking down and pinching the bridge of your nose before waving your hand out in a dismissive manner.Ā āItās... whatever, just leave. Before I change my mind and throw a bitch fit.ā His two friends gave him a suggestive look before heading out.Ā āThose two better not snitch or Iāll cut off their shrimps.ā He nodded, just a little intimidated by the threat.
He got out his backpack and handed you the comic.Ā āIām still surprised I uh... I never knew you were into this stuff.ā His breath hitched in his throat when your finger brushed over his as you took it from him. You flipped through it, keeping your eyes on the pages.
āYeah, well... Thereās a lot you donāt know about me, as much as Iām sure you guys love to assume.ā You realized you hadnāt even told him your name, so you looked up at him and held out your hand, introducing yourself. You know, out of courtesy.Ā
āI-I know your name, but uhm... Iām Dave.ā Your hand felt so soft, your beautifully manicured fingers being a real juxtaposition to his. His hand was much bigger and rougher than yours. You wondered why his hand was so calloused anyways... He didnāt look like he did many sports.
āWait... Your name isnāt Lizewski?ā You chuckled.Ā āChrist, my bad... I always thought that was just your first name.ā Your feeling of guilt for the boy before you flared up a bit again. He was being really nice to you, offering you something personal of his that he probably spent a pretty penny on. And you didnāt even know his actual name before. No wonder some people thought you were a bit of a bitch, you thought to yourself.Ā
āHey, uhm... I know you got a bunch of these, and my dad would kill me if he knew I was reading them. He hates vigilantes, and he thinks reading comics will get me into the whole thing. Stupid, I know, but... He takes it surprisingly seriously.ā You put the comic away carefully.Ā āSo I have a proposition for you.ā
His eyebrows rose a little. A proposition, alright. No big deal. Could be literally anything though.Ā
āCome to my house this Saturday, bring a bunch of these, and Iāll tell my dad youāre coming to tutor me for physics or something.ā You tilted your head a little, your locks falling gently over your shoulders.Ā āIāll pay you. Moneyās not a problem. Itāll be like Iām renting them from you.ā
He thought for a second, but in all honesty... How was this not a total win/win situation? He got to be in a pretty girlās room, read comics with her, talk about them and make money. What kind of idiot would say no to that?
āYeah! Sounds good to me, uh... What do you want me to...ā His words trailed off as you pulled out a pen and reached for his hand, writing a string of numbers on the back of it.Ā
āIāll text you the address, and which series I like. Iāll let you do the picking. Oh, and Dave?ā
āY-Yeah?ā He felt like his heart was going to beat right out of his chest. This is the closest youāve ever stood to him.Ā
Your grip on his hand tightens, and you look up at him with a death stare.Ā āNot a word to anyone about this.ā You followed with a cutesy smile.Ā āAlrighty?ā You let go of his hand and put your stuff away before pulling out your car keys.Ā
Dave stands frozen in place, a faint blush already spread across his cheeks. He swore you were going to be the death of him. He looked down for a second and realized that what you wrote down wasnāt just some random numbers. It was your phone number. It all just suddenly felt very real to him, heād never gotten a girlās number before. And you were just about the last person heād expect it from too.
You got in your car and turned on your engine.Ā āSee ya on Saturday, Lizewski! Donāt be late or Iāll kill you!ā You smile, before driving off at a totally normal and acceptable speed.Ā
He gave a nervous wave before he looked back down at his hand. There was a little heart scribbled behind the phone number. It probably meant nothing.
Gold and Gravel
~2k words, marcnaia immediately post-Aragon 2024
Pecco has been watching the patch of sunlight on the wall of his motorhome change shade and shape for the last several hours. White fades to gold; the rectangle slants into a diamond as the sun slants towards the horizon. Good, he thinks. The sooner it sets, the sooner he can set this wretched weekend behind him.Ā
If he closes his eyes, strains his ears to listen, he can still hear the cheers and chants of Marcās fans. Itās not so loud, anymoreā the roar giving way to a low and distant rumble, like thunder on the horizon. Going out like the tide, washing into the streets of AlcaƱiz. It will go on all night, he is sure of it. And maybe if things were different heād be celebrating tooā if heād taken Acostaās place, or better, Martināsā if he had shared the podium with Marc again. Alex could have joined them too, but that possibility is gone now. Buried in the gravel, crushed somewhere in the mess of metal and limbs.Ā
Pecco shudders. Shifts the ice pack on his shoulder that has long since melted. Itās not his fault, he knows. The stewards said it wasnāt, laid the blame evenly between themā but the guilt creeps in all the same. At very least he was too harsh on Alex after the race. Heād meant it thenā hurting and angry and embarrassedāĀ he wouldnāt say it now.Ā
Because if he were better, he would have known not to take the risk. If he were better, heād deserve the title he may as well have handed to Martin. If he were better, he wouldnāt have been battling Alex at allā would have been running at the front. Fighting with Marc, maybe, like they had three years ago.Ā
He sighs. Maybe if he were better he would be able to rein in his thoughts, wouldnāt be sitting here spinning his wheels and going nowhere. Heāll be up all night, at this rate, unless Carola comes and drags him to bed.Ā
Thereās a knock at the door. Pecco winces as he pushes himself up onto his elbows. Itās probably Bez, he usually likes to stop by after a bad race, so he heaves himself the rest of the way up, walks stiffly to the door and opens it.Ā
And stands there, blinking in surprise, becauseā itās Marc, on the other side of the door, one hand fiddling with his watch.Ā
It takes at least a minute for Peccoās brain to reboot. When it does, all heās able to say is a quiet, questioning, āUh, hi?ā becauseā this is the last place Marc should be, today.Ā
āHi,ā Marc says. āCan⦠can I come in?ā he asks, a moment later, and Pecco realizes heās been blocking the doorway.Ā
āYeah, of course,ā he says, stepping aside.Ā
He follows Marc in, goes to the counter and sits on it. Marc leans on the table opposite himā Pecco watches as he glances over, as he frowns at the ice packs on the shelf by the couch, the half-empty packet of ibuprofen.Ā
The guilt washes over him like a wave again, pools cold and heavy in his chest. The only reason why Marc would come here, when he should be off celebrating somewhere with his team, is because of the crash. Because of what Pecco had done to his brother, what heād said about Alex afterwards. Marc must be here to bite back. Harder, Vale had said, now that heās seen Pecco bleeding. And Pecco doesnāt want thatā canāt stomach any cutting words from Marc when heās heard them enough in his own head.Ā
Marc opens his mouth but Pecco speaks first, ducking his head as he does. āIf youāre here about Alex, Iām sorry,ā he says, and it feels too much like baring his neck for slaughter, but he continues. āI was upset, hurting; the interview, what I said, I meant it thenā but not anymore. I know he didnāt do it on purpose.ā
āPecco,ā Marc starts, but he just shakes his head.Ā
āAnd Iā it was a stupid move. Too risky. Another lap and I couldāve caught him anyways, it was my mistake.ā
āPecco, Iāā Marc starts to say again, but Pecco presses on. The longer heās talking, the longer Marc isnātā the longer he can delay the inevitable.Ā
āIāll apologize. Next chance I get, I willā I will walk it back. I donāt want to make trouble for him.ā And thatās all he has to sayā all his cards laid on the table. He clenches his jaw, grips the counter with white knuckles. Braces for the bite.Ā
But Marcās voice is soft as he says, āPecco, look at me,ā and itās so unexpectedā what can he do but lift his head?
Across from him, Marc is standing in the patch of sunlight he was watching earlier. It paints gold over the planes of him, his face, pools warm and honey-rich in the dark of his eyes. Catches in his hair like a glowing halo. Winning looks good on himā there is a weightlessness, an ease to him now that Pecco has never seen before, only marred by the concerned slant of his brow.Ā
āI appreciate itā you should apologize to Alex,ā Marc says, slow and measured, ābut that is not why I am here.ā
āThen why?ā Pecco asks before he can stop himself. āYou should be celebrating, no?ā
āNo, actually. We are leaving for Madrid in an hourā no time.ā
Pecco must look confused because Marc waves his hand in a vague gesture and says, āEh, Iām too old for all of that now. Maybe in a few years youāll understand.ā
Pecco just shakes his head. Doesnāt want to think about being Marcās age, having to endure the same things he has. āYou lookā you looked fantastic all weekend,ā he says instead. āOn the bike,ā he clarifies. āEven if it were just a few drinks, you would deserve it.ā
He watches Marcās reaction closely, half-hoping the praise will catch him off-balance like it does to Pecco. But Marc just smiles at him, all relaxed lines and incandescent teeth, and Pecco is the one knocked unsteady.Ā
āEh, maybe,ā Marc says. āBut look at you, distracting me again.āĀ
Pecco just blinks at him. If heās not here about Alex, or to fish for congratulations, then why the fuck is he here?
He must be making a face, because Marc laughs, shakes his head, and says, āPecco, I came here to check on you.ā
āWhat?ā Pecco breathes, feeling like heās suffocating under the bike again. Because thatā that doesnāt make any sense. Thatās not who Marc is, not ruthless or cunning like Pecco has come to expect. Surely itās just another mind game.Ā
But Marc sounds entirely genuine as he says, āThe crashā I saw on the replay. It was bad for Alex but it looked worse for you.ā He winces as his eyes flick down to the collar of Peccoās shirt, where the bruising edges its way up his neck. āI wanted to make sure you were alright.ā
Pecco shrugs. āIt could have been worseā my helmet did not catch on the tyre,ā he says, slow and measured, trying not to give too much away. āBoth of us walked away from it. No broken bones.ā
āThatās always good,ā Marc says with a knowing look.Ā
Thereās a beat of silence between them. Marc seems unsatisfied, somehow, waiting for moreā and maybe thatās the game, Pecco realizes. Offer a bit of vulnerability, see who flinches first. He hasnāt made a good counter to Marc yet, but he can.Ā
āStill fucking hurts, thoughā I am very bruised,ā he says. āDo you want to see?ā
Marc perks up at that. āSure,ā he says casually, but the way he leans forward belies his interest.Ā
So Pecco hops down from the counter, turns his back to Marc, and shucks his shirt off over his head, wincing as the movement strains his sore muscles.Ā
He doesnāt dare look at Marc, but he hears his sharp intake of breath, how the table shifts as he stands. āShit, Pecco,ā he hisses as he steps closer and thenāĀ
Marcās hand brushes the curve of Peccoās shoulder blade, feather-light, testing. The sensation sings up his spine, sets him alightā he only just suppresses the urge to shiver. Because he knows what Marc must see, the pale skin of his back mottled purple from neck to tailbone; heād caught a glimpse of it in the mirror and had to look away immediately, feeling ill. Heād hoped Marc would do the same.
But he seems to have no such reservations. He splays his hand out over the bruise, gently probing with his fingers. It feelsā it feels good, Pecco thinks, the warmth and pressure like a soothing balm over the ache. He had tensed up, when Marc had touched him, but he relaxes into it as Marc rubs little circles down his spine. Then he reaches the small of Peccoās back, where the skin is flushed pink, raw and irritated. It stings when Marc touches it, little jolts of pain, but then he presses downā
āSorry,ā Marc says, and Pecco looks over at him, needs to know if that was intentional or not. But Marc does look genuinely contrite, brow furrowed in concern as he studies Peccoās face. āIām sorry,ā he repeats, reaching out to rest his hand on Peccoās shoulder. āThat isā that is not a bruise, is it.ā
āNo, itās not,ā Pecco says. āIt is a burn, from the exhaustā got me through the leathers.āĀ
Marc makes a small sound, low in his chest, eyes flicking back up to Peccoās face. Before he can react, Marc is sliding his hand up to the nape of his neck, pulling him down into a hug.Ā
And heās caught completely off-balance, again, stands there for a moment before it occurs to him that he should reciprocate. So he winds his arms around Marcās back, feels him stroke a hand down his spine. Marc is so warm, pressed to him front-to-front like thisā what can Pecco do but tuck his head into Marcās shoulder, melt into him like honey, golden and sweet?Ā
He doesnāt want the moment to end, but all too soon Marc is stepping away, trailing his hands to rest on Peccoās arms. āI am glad you are okay,ā he says, looking up at Pecco wide-eyed and earnest, and heā he believes him, Pecco realizes, rocking him like a punch to the gut.Ā
But just as quickly Marcās face relaxes again, into that easy, winning smile, as he says, āRest well for Misano, yeah? When I said I wanted to share a garage with the world champion next year, I meant it.ā
Pecco can feel his face flushing, shakes his head and says, āOkay. If only so I can beat you next weekend.ā
Marc laughs and lets go of Pecco, crossing his arms over his chest. āDonāt push it,ā he says, mock-scolding. He heads for the doorā Pecco has half a mind to offer him a drink or something, get him to stay a little longer, but he doesnāt.Ā
Instead, he just says, āCongratulations, Marc. You were incredible.ā
Marc opens the door, looks back and smiles at Pecco one last time. āSee you on Thursday,ā he says, and then the door is swinging shut behind him.Ā
The latch clicks, and itās like a spell has broken, leaving Pecco standing there blinking in confusion. Becauseā he buries his face in his hands and groans, loud and longā what the fuck possessed him, to make him act like that? Marc must have laid the trap, somehow, and Pecco blundered directly into it. Thereās no way heāll be able to restā heāll be up all night thinking about warm hands grazing his shoulder, about deep brown eyes looking up at him with open, genuine concern.Ā
But it wasnāt genuine, Pecco knows, it wasnāt anything real. Just another mind gameā so why, he thinks, does he wish it wasnāt?
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An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Raine Pierce lives in a sprawling, futuristic city- one that has banned magic of any kind. Unfortunately for her, she happens to have a demon brother. A demon brother who has tied himself to her actual shadow.
This leads to some problems.
HI GUYS!!!! HAPPY 10TH TAUIVERSARY I KNOW IM A LITTLE LATE BUT ITS STILL THE 5TH FOR ME SO IT COUNTS
i wanted to write a poem about oranges. how the flesh of the sun peels back to reveal segments. enough for all the people you love. sharing an orange in the sun. tasting the light. but i couldnāt. because itās already a poem itself, donāt you see?