modern AU fic so BAWN could give her some feedback over the weekend.
Right before bedtime, she couldn’t stand it anymore.
Block finger ready, she checked her Twitter notifications.
Holy fuck. Holy fuck.
She’d gone viral. At least by her modest standards. Hundreds of people had commented on her photo, with more chiming in by the second. She couldn’t read her notifications fast enough, and some of them she didn’t want to read at all.
She’d known how certain swaths of the Gods of the Gates fandom acted. She wasn’t surprised to find, scattered among admiring and supportive responses, a few ugly threads.
Looks like she ate Lavinia seemed to be the most popular among those tweets.
It stung, of course. But no stranger on the internet could truly hurt her. Not the same way family and friends and coworkers could.
Still, she didn’t intend to inflict that sort of harm on herself longer than necessary. It might take time, but she needed to wrestle her mentions into submission.
But . . . Jesus. Where had all these people come from?
Blocking all the haters in one particular thread took a while, as did muting—at least for the moment—certain key livestock- and zoo animal–related words.
By the time she finished, she had dozens more notifications. These seemed friendlier, for the most part, but she didn’t plan to tackle them until the morning.
Until she noticed one at the very top, received seconds before.
The account boasted a bright blue bubble with a check inside. An official, verified account, then.
Marcus Caster-Rupp’s account.
The guy playing Aeneas—fucking Aeneas—had tweeted to her. Followed her.
And . . . he appeared to have—
No, that couldn’t be right. She was hallucinating.
She squinted. Blinked. Read it again. A third time.
For reasons yet unknown, he appeared to have—
Well, he appeared to have asked her out. On a date.
“I read a fic like this once,” she whispered.
Then she clicked on the thread to find out what the fuck had just happened.
Lavineas Server DMs, Two Years Ago
Unapologetic Lavinia Stan: I saw that you wanted a beta reader for your fics? I know we don’t write the same types of stories, but if you’re willing to beta my fics too, I’d be interested.
Book!AeneasWouldNever: Hi, ULS. Thanks for writing.
Book!AeneasWouldNever: I figure it might be good to get a different perspective on my work, so—to me, anyway—our different styles are a bonus, not a drawback. I’d love your help with my fics, and I’m more than willing to beta your stories too.
Unapologetic Lavinia Stan: Oh, yay!
Unapologetic Lavinia Stan: My first suggestion: using the tag “misery ahoy!” so your hapless readers don’t inadvertently end up running through a year’s supply of tissues in one story. [clears throat] [blows nose] [stares meaningfully at you]
Book!AeneasWouldNever: Sorry about that?
Unapologetic Lavinia Stan: The good news: the tissue industry is saved!
Unapologetic Lavinia Stan: The other good news: your writing had such an emotional punch, I managed to refill several dwindling saltwater reservoirs.
Book!AeneasWouldNever: That’s good?
Unapologetic Lavinia Stan: That’s good.
3
Of course you chose the option that’s both canon-compliant and rife with possibilities for Man Pain. Of course.
MARCUS SNORTED, THEN SAT UP IN BED.
As soon as he’d blinked awake in the early-morning dimness of a curtained hotel room, he’d reached for his phone. Before his eyes could fully focus, he’d already checked his messages from Ulsie on the Lavineas server.
Although, to be fair, that blurriness could just be a sign of advanced age. He was turning forty in a few months, and maybe he needed bifocals now. Even the special font and extra spacing didn’t always help him read his screen comfortably these days.
Late last year, he’d finally asked Ulsie how old she was.
Thirty-six, she’d promptly replied.
At that bit of information, he’d heaved an embarrassingly enormous sigh of relief and hoped like hell she wasn’t lying. Some of the people in their group were barely out of high school, and although he’d figured he and Ulsie were about the same age—one day, they’d discussed how they might turn to the X-Files fandom at some point, due to their adolescent crushes on Scully and Mulder, respectively—the explicit confirmation that he wasn’t DMing a near-teenager was . . . good.
Not that anything suggestive had ever passed between them, either in public or in private.
But still.
Ulsie’s most recent message had arrived only minutes ago. He was surprised she was still awake. Glad, though. Very glad.
Shoving a pillow behind his back, he sat up against the leather headboard. Took a sip from his bedside water glass, still smiling at her snark.
Using the voice-to-text feature on his phone, he sent her