my favorite somewhat underrated jarchivist moments
“a COMPLAINT? i could just as easily COMPLAIN about her WASTING MY TIME”
“before i address the central point of this statement, namely the question of…. whether the sky can eat people .”
melanie: “i should have known this was a COMPLETE waste of my time”
jon: “probably 🙄”
“you don’t seem like you’re in your fifties?? or- or burnt to a crisp”
“you’re serious? you’re going on a date with… the dullard of skull mountain just so you have an excuse to eat a shopska salad?”
“another startling insight from the piercing investigative mind of georgie barker”
“WHAT is my metaphorical pit???”
melanie: “i mean it’s not like you have any reason to kill me”
jon: noncommittal sound
martin: “melanie seems okay but i get the feeling she’s planning something?”
jon: “i- i got that feeling. Too.”
“so. kidnapped. Again.”
“like colors, but if colors hated me. got it. christ i need a cigarette.”
“MARTIN. STOP trying to TOUCH the PLASTIC EXPLOSIVE. just PUT YOUR HANDS in YOUR POCKETS or SOMETHING-”
basira: “so would you say this was supposed to be churchill or alfred hitchcock?”
jon: “jowls like that, could be either”
“coma! great! let’s rearrange his office! sleeping people don’t need. pens!”
“police brutality lawsuit? :)”
[picture of edwardian offense] “I what?”
daisy: “it’s a joke, jon.”
jon: “oh! hAha! yes.”
“i mean you’re not suggesting that santa works for the people’s church..”
long-suffering sigh “fuck.”
“i’m starting to feel a little. Self Conscious being a post apocalyptic google !”
martin: “did it stir any feeling in you?”
jon: “Yes! Nausea! Because of the Horrible Things In It!”
“Yes the Colossal Web stretching down into an Endless Pit is a Significant improvement😑”
“‘free will’ she says, as we stand in the middle of her FUCKING WEB”
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i just think that simon’s the type to stick his freezing hands underneath your shirt early in the morning because he doesn’t know how else to warm them up. it makes you squeak out a surprised gasp and you whirl to glare at him, blinking tired eyes at this big man who just presses his apologies on your temple before drawing you close, snuggling back underneath the sheets and letting the morning pass in silence.
you’re settling back into the fog when you feel his chest rumble, “g’morning, sweetheart.”
you huff a fond laugh, pressing a kiss on his chest, and whisper, “good morning too, big guy.”
i just think that simon’s the type prop you on the kitchen counter before ambling about to prepare breakfast. the kettle goes first (priorities!) then he trudges towards the fridge, grunting at the bright lights before glaring into it, forcing his eyes to focus.
you muffle your quiet giggles on the back of your palms, your legs swinging as you say, “i can cook f’r us, baby.”
he turns to you with a confused hum, still too tired to truly comprehend what you said. “what?”
you jump off the counter to walk towards him, curling your arm around his waist before leading him towards the island’s chairs. he sits without prompting, brows still furrowed in confusion, and you pepper kisses along his face before whirling around and taking over.
it’s when the aroma of coffee fills the space that simon blinks back to reality, mind racing to patch the broken recollection of the previous minutes.
he hugs you from the back, surrounding you with his warmth and bulk. “thank you, darlin.”
i just think that simon’s the type to want to have lazy mornings because it’s then when reality spills over: he’s home.
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