#ship: fauson

[veeples]

message received tuesday at 1:41 am

✦ Fandom: The Wayhaven Chronicles

✦ Pairing: Specialist Agent Mason/Faustus Valentine

✦ Word Count: 737

✦ Warnings: Slightly suggestive language. But c'mon.

✦ Notes: 72 hours remain to Book Three. :)

✦✦✦✦✦

Message received Tuesday at 1:41 am.

“Voicemail, huh? Really? I’m a little surprised, to be honest. You’re good at your job, better than what all that sulking lets on. Guess your phone must be dead or something.

[read on ao3]

Well, that’s– That’s good, actually. I’m relieved. This isn’t an emergency or anything. No sewer monster jumping out of the toilet while I’m trying to piss. [laugh] Hey, are sewer monsters real? Fuck, I hope not. It took like three washes to get the stink of stale muck and human waste out of my damn jacket. No way I’m shimmying my ass down a manhole again.

Don’t laugh at that. It’s not even that– [laugh] I can hear the way you would, you know. Even if you barely fucking laugh, I can hear it so clearly in my head. Deep, gravelly. Rough, but never loud. Growling, like distant thunder. It’s nice.”

[pause]

“Okay, so I don’t have a real reason I’m calling you.

It’s late, I really should be sleeping – Jesus, I can’t remember when I’ve had a decent night’s rest. Between the Agency and the music store yanking me around I’m so fucking spent I barely have energy to choke down cold pizza, but I still can’t sleep. Remember that night we spent on the roof? It’s still like that. The nightmares, I mean. Almost every night.

It’s stupid, isn’t it? We caught Murphy. He’s in the Agency’s fucked up little mind prison. I shouldn’t be this piss scared. Months later and still it’s like I’m waiting for something to be waiting for me in the shadows. It’s just…”

[sigh]

“Hard to forget. I guess. Nothing looks the same anymore. Nothing feels the same. The veil’s been lifted, the rose colored glasses are off. The world’s at a permanent tilt.

Sorry. I didn’t mean to get so– whatever. Just a lot of shit crowding up my thoughts.

You know, there must be a leak from the upstairs unit. It’s soaking into my bathroom ceiling. One big, ugly water stain growing in the corner that drips grey water every time Mr. Yu runs water up there. It’s got this dark center, like a rotten, moldy heart. I watch it sometimes when I’m shaving or brushing my teeth. I think I see it grow. It moves like a wave. Like a pulse? Spreading its fingers across the ceiling.

It never drips long enough for me to ever remember to call the office to get it looked at. All I do is kick an old mop bucket under the center to catch the water because the dripping drives me fucking nuts.

Eh, it’s fine. Probably. I’m not too hung up on it. If getting a dirty blood transfusion and having my throat ripped open in a rusty warehouse didn’t kill me, I’m sure a little bit of black mold won’t.”

[pause]

“Fuck it.

I called because it’s been too damn long since I’ve seen you, Mason.

What’s it been, a month? It feels longer than that. I keep thinking– remembering the last time we got to touch each other. The way your eyes look in shadow, hard and sharp, like flint. How you’re a little soft in the stomach.

Carnival, right? Haunted house. Dusty corner, stale smell of popcorn, faint stink of vomit– yeah, you remember. I got a little more than fake ass cobwebs stuck in my hair because you didn’t give me enough warning, asshole.”

[laugh]

“Goddamn. What a mess. Like two stupid teenagers.

You know what I miss? The smell of your cigarettes. They don’t carry them in store. Not any in Wayhaven, at least. I must have gone through all of ‘em. Gas station, grocery store. Nothing. Nada. Zilch. Zip. It’s not even a particularly nice smelling cigarette. Little too woody for my taste. Almost burnt. But it’s you.

One day I’m going up to that stupid warehouse. Fuck the Agency. Fuck their paperwork. Fuck the music store too. I miss you. I miss how warm you are under my hands. I miss the scratch of your stubble on my thigh. I miss how sweetly sharp my name sounds in your mouth.

Have you thought of me? I hope you have. I hope you miss the way I say your name too.

See you soon, sunshine.”

End of message. To erase this message, press one. To save this message, press two. To replay this message, press three.

[veeteeshirt]

the next chapter of my twc holiday fics is up which means, yes, i’m still on My Bullshit

this time it’s detective faustus valentine/mason!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/27510871/chapters/67364986

[veeples-archive]

writing dump

ok since like, i wanna share more of my writing, but much of it goes no where i present: the writing dump. it is a mixed bag of things! there is one nsfw-ish one below the cut

***

Mason slots in next to him then, grabbing the first shirt on the mountain of clothes on his bed. It’s one of the ones he keeps folded in his dresser, a casual tee. Soft and well worn, yet plain and nearly indistinguishable. He starts to tell him it goes in a designated stack and not on a hangar yet the words catch in his throat when he watches Mason fold it and places it away correctly. It’s sloppily done, a sleeve flopping out over the side. Mason continues, taking a pair of jeans and a hangar. Faustus swallows his words, lets them sink warm and heavy down his throat, and takes the next shirt with a private smile.

—

With her fingernails still wet with fresh polish, Fiona can’t do much. It’d be half an hour wasted if she weren’t careful. Frustrating forced idleness. But— it’s kind if nice, too, if only for how Ava helps her open a can of soda without asking. Just because she knows her temporary limitation. Just because she is happy to help for fifteen minutes while they dry.

—

There is a kind of silent communication that lives between them. It dwells in Mason’s fingers skimming over his wrist, it whispers in Faustus parting Mason’s tangle of hair with his fingers. It nestles in these nothing moments, hundreds of thousands of them, to soothe, to pause, to turn their attention to each other so they can pass along the language of quick smiles and quirked eyebrows. All of them, though, they all say ‘I am here.’

—

Ah, Nate thinks with his mouth skating across the stubble of Lucedio’s jaw, this, this ragged gasp from the detective locked between his thighs, is the sound he wants to savor. It is a timid thing. Shaking as the hands that grip his back and as fleeting as continuous rush of heat that warms his skin. Nate smiles, brushes his lips to the softness of his earlobe, and whispers a low, gentle command:

“Don’t hide the proof of your pleasure from me, my love,” his entire body hitches, waiting on the edge, just for him. “I would like to commit it to memory.”

Nothing. Then, slowly, Lucedio sighs out his name, like this were his shuddering surrender, and it is the sweetest noise. Nate hopes, he prays, it may live in his ears.

[veeples]

anTiquity thursday

beloved @masonscig tagged me to drag me to open up the dusty file of old TWC wips </3 this is an abandoned fic from when mason watches faustus sing for the first time

-

All other thoughts fall away. They’re unimportant now. Distracting. The only thing he wants is to be drawn into the lilt of the music and the hum of Faustus’s singing, the effortless roll of Faustus’s shoulders. The yawn of his open mouth, the gleam of sweat on his brow. The easy, feline command of a cat sunning itself in the captivated awe of an audience.

All eyes on him. All ears towards him.

The lights play on the contours of his cheeks and the soft curls of his hair. He moves to the left, and everyone moves with him. To right, and they sway. Like magic, he moves.

So this is Faustus. What he should be, where he should be. Natural, powerful, deadly. A snake weaving through the flow of the music as if it were tall grass.

Stunning, he manages to think. Brightest star in the night sky.

Mason forgets to breathe.

“Flashin’ lights, flashin’ lights, you got me faded, faded, faded.”

Each punctuation of the words draws Faustus closer to the edge of the stage. His eyes (god, those eyes, dark and sweet as ichor) focused on him. His tongue darts out. Quick. 

Mason steps closer. His knees knock against the cold metal and send a jolt of pain. He doesn’t care, he needs to be closer.  -

not tagging anyone since this is has been passed around, but consider it an open invitation!

[veeples]

i may be missing faustus and mason. what of it.