princey's writing

Connor opened the makeup case carefully, trying not to make too much noise. It was five in the morning after all. The palette was all grey, going from lightest to darkest. If there’s one thing Connor lacked was makeup brushes, he just lost them all the time. Picking up an angled paintbrush from a jar he tapped it in the powder, picking up a small bit of dark grey and applying on the middle of his eyelid.

“Connor, I know you’re up.” Zoe knocked, whispering through the door. Opening it she stared at him. “Are you putting on eyeshadow.”

“So what if I am?” He quipped throwing her a challenging look.

“You should let me do it.” He handed her the brush and shut his eyes, not tightly. He twitched when it got closer to his tear ducts only to earn a quiet scolding from his sister. “Okay done.” She smiled guiding him towards the mirror between his door and bookshelves.

He opened his eyes grinning, he looked decent. Dark in the middle fading into a light grey, he liked it. Taking her phone from her pocket she snapped a picture. He frowned. “What the fuck are you doing with that picture?”

“Just sending it to Evan.” Zoe replied elbowing his arm. “He’ll think it’s hot.”

Rolling his eyes he smiled.

@astro-princey and I started a little project.

It’s like a tree bros fanfiction but told through letters/emails that will be posted on @the-email-project

It’s starts with Evan shoving a letter in Connor’s locker explaining the computer lab incident. That’s about as far we go with cannon(as far as I’m aware nothing is planned)

Princey will be writing for Connor and I will be writing for Evan.

archiveofourown.org
Chapter One- Dear Connor Murphy                          Archive of Our Own
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
By Organization for Transformative Works

Just posted my first fanfiction ever and I am really proud of the first chapter!! Really hoping people will like reading it as much as I loved writing it.

Also please recommend titles. This one is a tiny bit generic, but I figured since it’s connors POV… It’s cool?

@astro-princey inspired me to write this and post it, so if you aren’t following him yet, go do it.

The Truth Hurts

This is a Sanders Sides fic based on this webcomic panel:

Basically, I took that and threw in a heap of angst.

I have no beta reader, I’m not as amazing as most of this fandom, and the characters will most likely be OOC, but I wanted to give it a shot.

Words: 1.2K

Characters: Logan, Patton, small appearances of others

Relationships: Logan and Patton (possible romantic, possibly not); Roman and Anxiety (very small mention)

Triggers: Terrorist attack (made up for sake of story)


Inside the walls of the little Florida house, nothings appeared to be amiss. Thomas and Roman were in he bedroom, excitedly planning Monday’s video. From the various shouts and bursts of scribbling, they seemed to be making progress. Anxiety was enjoying some alone time in his bedroom, music blaring and a small smile on his face. Meanwhile, Patton and Logan were preparing dinner for the five in the kitchen, soft classical music playing in the background. While Patton was an excellent cook, Logan could use some work in that department.

“Now, all you need to do is pour in a teaspoon of salt…Logan, buddy, that’s a tablespoon.” Patton chuckled. We’d rather not have everyone gagging on their dinner tonight.”

Logan rolled his eyes. “I understand the difference, Patton. However, I believe my glasses prescription needs to be updated. I cannot read the writing on this utensil.”

Eye think you’re right!”

Logan groaned.

“I bet you saw what I did there, huh?” Patton grinned, obviously on a roll.

“Patton, while your puns make sense in relation to the subject we are discussing, they are distracting me from our task.” Logan returned his attention to the meal, squinting at the measuring cup in his hand. Was this ½ of a cup or 1/3?

“One more, one more-”

Before Patton could finish his statement, the music ceased and a news program came on. “This just in - suicide bombers attacked New York this evening.” Logan felt Patton stiffen beside him. “About eighteen minutes ago, the first bomb went off in lower Manhattan, followed shortly by four others of considerable strength nearby. Dozens are thought to be dead, with hundreds more injured-”

Logan heard a sharp intake of breath. “Yes, it is rather awful, isn’t it? I do wish these sorts of things wouldn’t happen anymore - soon the bridges between communities will be irreparable.” He couldn’t tell what the next ingredient was - baking powder, or baking soda? “Patton, could you read this for-” Logan turned and stopped short.

Patton was hunched over, a hand over his face and quickened, shaky breaths being drawn and released. From the one eye still in Logan’s sight, a steady stream of tears poured. Choked sobs, previously covered by Logan’s talking, echoed in the kitchen - a sound of crippling pain.

“Patton, what is happening?!”

“T-turn off the radio-dio. Ple-Please, bud.” Patton’s voice was tight with pain.

Logan reached for the radio, deftly turning the knob so Patton’s ragged breathing was the only sound in the room.

“Patton, bring your hand away from your face.” Logan’s voice might have sounded commanding to most, but those who knew him well could have detected the underlying tone of concern in his demand.

Patton nodded tearfully, his posture more relaxed now that the radio was no longer playing. He took his hand away, revealing the mess underneath. A dark purple ring surrounded his bloodshot eye, with tinges of blue and green at the edges. The entire side of his face was puffy, tear tracks visible against the swells.

“Patton…how?” Logan was truly at a loss for words - a rare occurrence - at the sight before him.

Patton glanced mournfully at the radio, his eyes filling with tears once more. “All those deaths…all those people hurt…” To Logan’s shock, he started to shake slightly, as if barely holding himself together. “All those families…”

Logan wasn’t exactly the best at emotions. However, he knew facts. He could analyze problems and find solutions very well. And from past memories - Anxiety being comforted by Roman after a particularly bad day, the two joined on the couch to watch The Princess Bride; Patton offering a shoulder to cry on after Tommy’s break up with his significant other a few years back - Logan knew Patton needed comfort in this moment, preferably physical. So, incredibly awkwardly, Logan extended his arms and gave Patton an expression that hopefully conveyed sympathy and not constipation.

With a sob, Patton launched himself into Logan’s arms. He grabbed at his friend’s polo shirt, clinging to Logan in desperation. His crying was muffled by Logan’s chest, but shook both men in its strength.

Logan was beyond baffled. Patton never acted like this. Patton was the one who was always joking, always smiling, always so confident with the world. He was the one they all came to in their times of need. This Patton - the one who seemed so broken, so fragile - this Patton was new to him.

After a few minutes, Patton calmed down enough to detach himself from Logan, still sniffling but under control. He looked up and, upon seeing the confusion in Logan’s eyes, sighed softly. “Sorry about that, bud.”

Logan frowned slightly at the hidden tone of embarrassment in his voice. “There is no need to apologize. Whatever triggered this…” He searched for an appropriate word. “…episode, you certainly did not seem capable of controlling it. You required a form of comfort, and while I’ll admit I’m not the first one would normally go to for such things, I was content to provide it. As you did not inconvenience me in any way, I find your apology thoughtful, but unnecessary.”

Patton chuckled softly, a sign he was returning to his normal self. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. May I ask why this happened?”

Patton’s lip twitched. “You may.”

Logan waited a few seconds, then groaned as Patton giggled a bit at Logan’s exasperation. “Fine then, if you require me to be more literal: why did this happen?”

Patton gazed at the radio, an expression of sadness and wistfulness dawning. As if he longed to turn the radio back on to the classical station they had been listening to, letting the music block the world from his ears. “The news…I hate it. I hate the terrible stories it brings, stories of death and destruction and terrorism. It hurts.” He looked back at Logan, the pain so clear in his eyes. “It hurts so much.”

Finally, all the metaphorical puzzle pieces clicked in Logan’s head. He recalled seeing Patton duck out of the living room after the television had been turned on and CNN popped up, hearing the man hum to himself as the other discussed politics, watching him grimace in pain at the actions of extremists.

Of course these events hurt Patton: he represented Thomas’s morality, his heart. And Thomas, being the the caring and compassionate person he was, would feel heartbreak at the loss of innocent lives and the cruel actions of others. It made complete sense - Logan just hadn’t realized how directly this would affect Patton.

“I’m sorry,” Logan said. Those two words held so many others: “I understand”, “I’ll try to help”, “It hurts me too”. But these didn’t have to be voiced. Patton understood them clearly. “I truly am.”

Patton nodded, then clapped his hands together so suddenly that Logan jumped. “Well then! I don’t know about you, but I’m hungry. Let’s finish up dinner so we can call the others down to eat, okay bud?”

Logan smiled. “Sounds like an excellent course of action.”

Unseen to either of them, Anxiety slipped down the hallway back to his room, camera in hand. He was sure Logan would appreciate the picture of the two of them embracing for Christmas - maybe framed.