#after i finish chapter 2 i might work on making the martin house

[john--ward]

working on something

[avasghost]

foreign birds: update #1

6k into the draft of my new book, and i just realized i haven't written a writing update in over a year since i finished ested. almost forgot how this works. anyways if you missed it, you can find the wip intro here.

disclaimer: this is my original work and plagiarism of any kind will not be tolerated.

TW: suicide, manslaughter, blood, ghosts

here's the playlist because it encapsulates a lot of the vibes, especially the first ~20 songs

so this book is actually going really well! it was kind of a slow start, but i really like what i have so far and it's definitely favourite book concept that i've ever written. the main difficulty is the research, since the book is set in 1973, so there's a lot of googling what motels and convenience stores looked like in the 70s. but i don't mind it since the aesthetic is on point.

the book is written in very short vignette-like chapters, interspersed with full-length ones. there are technically four timelines that we go between, but two main timelines. the primary timeline is the storyline of martin after he returns to his hometown after accidentally killing gabriel, and moving in with rainey. the secondary timeline is the present, after his suicide, where his ghost observes rainey continuing with her life when he returns to haunt the house where they lived together. the other two more minor timelines are 1) flashbacks to martin at college and the development of his relationship with gabriel before gabriel's death and 2) flashbacks to martin's childhood, growing up in his hometown and why he never wanted to go back. its kind of complicated but its really cool and fun to write.

chapters & excerpts under the cut!

CHAPTER 1

the book opens with martin's suicide, which marks the beginning of the secondary timeline (his life as a ghost). it's pretty short so i'll just put the entire chapter here.

It was the hollow of night when I died. The sky was flat and weighty with clouds, street invisible, no moon. I shot myself point-blank in the quiet solitude of our living room, the refrigerator’s hum pulsing in the background. I tilted the barrel to my chin and pulled the trigger with a shaking hand, and I can say now that I’m gone, that I was thinking of you with the last frenzied ticking of my thoughts. I can also say that I’m sorry, for the things I told you that night, but mostly that I didn’t tell you sooner. Your face in the dark, eyes like two moons reflected by the soft jitter of a candle flame. The gunshot rang through the silence of the living room and the bullet burrowed into my skull. The last thing I felt was a spatter of blood—blood on my hands, blood in my mouth, blood on the damask carpet—and then everything fell away. I watched from the corner of the room when you found me seconds later, startled by the gunshot, riled from sleep. You in your nightgown, your red hair feral and static’d around your head. You knelt beside my head and cried until your face distorted and you didn’t look real. I can only hope you don’t remember me dead and bloodied more vividly than you remember me living.

i think that might be the second saddest thing i've ever written ok onto the next chapter.

CHAPTER 2

In the main timeline, we follow martin as he leaves campus early in the morning following gabriel's death and travels home. he books into a motel and is sad and hungover. this is the longest chapter so far, at 2,371 words.

the chapter opens with:

The day after I killed Gabriel was the day I decided to return home for the summer. I packed quickly in the lampshade of blue light that sept through my dormitory window, a headache ringing in my skull, the haze of tiredness making the room tilt as I shoved my few belongings into boxes and hauled them outside.

here's a bit from when he's driving out of the city, featuring the "you" that is rainey

It wasn’t like I meant to kill Gabriel. I should tell you that first, before my reputation is tarnished. I could never have killed him. I probably could never have killed anyone. Too much to lose, too much at risk. It was never a matter of blood on my hands, that didn’t matter, or at least that was what I thought as cityscape flattened into little towns, until massive skyscrapers and supermarkets turned into diners with neon signs and thrift stores and whitewashed steepled churches. I couldn't have felt less guilty than I did that morning, despite the hangover and the absence Gabriel’s death had suddenly bored into my head. He was gone. He was gone. He was never coming back.

shortly after:

My car ran out of gas halfway through a tiny rural town, ringed by a grayscale of mountains. The sky had lightened, and now stretched blankly above my head, bone-white and stark, like an empty room. The sun, pocketed in clouds, was almost invisible.

he goes into a convenience store (because there's something about convenience stores) and then arrives home and checks into a motel.

I had hardly slept in the past twenty-four hours, after lying awake for most of the night, listening to the hum of silence in my dorm room. Gabriel’s face like a ghost splotching against the darkness, a furrow in the static, something recognizable. Despite knowing where his body was, I felt his eyes on my as I sweat between my bedsheets, hair slicked to the pillow, heart scudding sharp and fast.

he tries to go to sleep but wakes up with an even worse headache and goes outside for a smoke. while he's outside he sees his old choir leader walk by, and goes back inside because he doesn't want to be seen by anyone.

I couldn’t even remember her name and she probably didn’t recognize me, with my overgrown hair and half-obscured face, but I immediately snuffed out the cigarette in my sleeve, ash cascading onto my shoes, and ducked back inside into the orange light.

CHAPTER 3

the next morning, martin gets dressed, decides no one will recognize him, and walks down to the beach.

I remembered walking down this sidewalk with my mom when we headed to her friend Mary’s house every other Wednesday, how I’d align my feet with the cracks that snaked through the asphalt like lightning. I stepped on the cracks now, peering at the house where Mary used to live, the empty driveway and shuttered windows. She was probably dead now, the breast cancer my mom had told me about finally catching up to her. It didn’t bother me like it might have then, didn’t bother me at all. I didn’t know any of these people anymore. I wasn’t obligated to mourn their loss.

he sees two women sitting under an umbrella on the beach but doesn't recognize them so he ignores them. here's one of many beach descriptions

The sand gritted beneath my shoes as I stepped off of the grass, grains sticking to the laces and sea spray wasping into my mouth. I spat it out, salt ringing on my tongue. The ocean sloshed, rims of foam pearling across the tiny waves. A kid in bright red swim trunks crouched in the dark sand where the tide had been, shoveling a grave-sized hole in the soft the sand. His mother reclined in a beach chair nearby, her face covered by a large tartan sun-hat.

and here's another beach description

I folded up the legs of my bell-bottoms and waded in almost knee-deep. Plumes of seaweed laced against my ankles like living creatures. I peered into the murky grey of the water at the minnows darting around underneath, black shadows I could only see if I looked closely. The briny air feathered into my face and blew my hair into my mouth. I spat it out and winced around, wind searing my eyes. The women beneath the umbrella were watching me, but were still too grainy to recognize, like a blurry camera shot. I waded back to shore. The sand under my wet feet felt like contamination, but I hopscotched my way back to the strip of grass to wipe them off in the prickly cold. “Holy shit, Martin, I thought it was you.”

so it turns out the woman under the umbrella is martin's sister, jasmine, who's there with her girlfriend, eliza. martin is happy to see jasmine, who he always got along with better than the rest of his family, but tells her not to tell anyone else he's back.

here's some dialogue

"What are you doing here?” My throat dried, suddenly rough and scratchy. Sand was still imprinted to my shins, digging into my skin. “It’s a long story.” “Well that’s not very satisfying.” “All I can say is that it was time to come home. Don’t tell mom and dad I’m back yet, please. Or Leander. I’m not ready to talk to them yet.” “Were you ready to talk to me?” “No. But apparently I can’t avoid everyone.” “It’s a small town, man,” said Jasmine. “Alright, I’ll keep your secret. It would be nice to catch up though. You just look so … I didn’t recognize you. It was just that Eliza liked your shirt.”

CHAPTER 4

this is the first chapter we have the goes back to the earliest timeline, which follows martin growing up in their town as a child. and no the town doesn't have a name yet and i need to come up with one. chapter four is about when his mother became catholic and brought his family to mass for the first time, and he has mixed feelings about it.

My mother was raised Catholic and had recently reconverted. She started wearing a crucifix tucked into her blouses, the chain leaving a red mark stamped into her neck. She made us hold hands around the dinner table to pray, and got us to memorize Our Father to recite every night before bed. My father was skeptical at first but came around slowly, as the house slowly filled with crosses nooked in odd places and colourful pictures of saints plastered to the refrigerator. My mother kept my favourite rosary in the drawer of her nightstand, and sometime I’d sneak into their bedroom just to look at it, to twist the blood-red and midnight-blue beads between my fingers, feel their imagined hum, the holiness I couldn’t feel but knew had to be there. I thumbed the silver crucifix, the tiny metal man, his painted-on blood and crown of thorns. He didn’t look dead, not with his hanging head and the way his body rested, didn’t strain. He looked like he was sleeping.

i don't have any other excerpts for this chapter because the rest of it is kind of boring.

CHAPTER 5

shifting back into the secondary timeline, right after martin's suicide, where his ghost observes rainey crying over his body and calling body-removal people to take him away. it's in present tense now, since this is where martin is narrating from.

You dial the phone number with shaking fingers, and lean against the wallpaper while the phone rings, eyes set on my body, strewn on the living room floor, my eyes still open, still gaping at the ceiling fan, its silent whirring. Your hair tangles in the phone cord as you speak, voice slurry with sleep and shock. Your eyes are pink and your face is streaked, some tears already crusting to your skin, some leaving glimmering tracks down into the collar of your nightgown. You try to yank your hair free from the cord as the man behind the phone assures you that a team is on their way, to stay calm, not to worry. A knot of red hair is left in the phone cord when you untangle it, and the phone slams to the floor when you try to slot it back onto the receiver. You don’t pick it up.

right after:

The ambulance takes fifteen minutes to arrive. The distant sirens hover just above the silence, hardly breaking the curtain of shock, the static in the air. You sit on the damask carpet, arms curled around your knees, rocking silently, head buried in your arms. Your hair obscures your face, but you continue to jitter in the midnight chill, the moonlight glinting on the windowpane soaking the living room in underwater blue.

he wants to comfort rainey but finds that he can't touch her or communicate with her at all.

some men arrive to take away martin's body and he watches as they carry him outside, and tries to follow but finds he can't leave the house, which is his haunt where he will be stuck forever.

CHAPTER 6

continuing the ghost timeline, martin watches rainey for the rest of the day and tries to go to sleep beside her but can't sleep because he's a ghost.

You don’t get dressed all day and don’t eat and hardly move from where you slump at the kitchen table, fiddling with the napkin holder. When you check the clock, it’s 10:17 pm and the sky is inky through the shutters of the window above the sink. You skirt around the bloodstained carpet, something snagging in your throat as you try to focus on the ceiling, the whirring fan, the water stains. Anything but me. Your birds in their cages watch you disappear into the bedroom and I follow, slipping behind you into the dark right before the door clicks shut.

martin observes the neighbours having a good time in the window across from theirs but rainey shuts the curtains.

here's the end of chapter six:

For the first time, you sleep on my side of the bed, burying your face in my pillow, my scent probably still poignant in the sheets. You must know the last time I was there I knew what I was going to do, knew I was going to leave you. Would have rather left you be but now I’m here, in the dark room, sitting on the edge of the bed, not ruffling the sheets or making a noise. Your red hair laces across my pillow as you begin to sob into it again, the emptiness foreign, unfamiliar. My body heat gone, all that’s left turned cold and still. I lay beside you on top of the sheets, on your side, and lean as close as I can into your warmth but feel nothing.

😭😭😭😭

this entire plot of his ghost wanting to be alive again is basically the saddest thing i could possibly think of and i’m just gonna have to deal with that for the next ~50k words wish me luck.

and on that note, that's all i have so far! i hope you enjoyed the update and if you read this far then you're cool. until next time, goodbye

-- silas

taglist (i just have one for all my wips--ask to be added/removed): @flip-phones @chewingthescenery @ghostsofmemories @dallonwrites @wildswrites @annlillyjose @letsgetsquiggly @strangerays @mel-writes-with-her-dragons @teaandtypewriters @kahaaniyaa @coffeeandcalligraphy @47crayons @writing-is-a-martial-art @childhoodlovers @zoya-writes @pepperdee @oceancold @unorganisedbookshelf @musingsbycaitlin @sunstone-iolite @femmeniism @raywritesstories @rodentwrites @cheerfulmelancholies @these-starrynights

[umbracirrus]

20 Questions for Writers

Tagged by the lovely @thequeenofthewinter to answer some questions, and I will leave an open tag to anyone who wants to answer to feel free to say that I tagged them 💛

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

I have three, at present - I have posted many a fic to AO3 over the years, but with my current account, just three.

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

70,506 at present

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Elder Scrolls at present, though only have Skyrim posted at present - hoping to get something for Oblivion posted soon though! I've also recently dabbled in writing some things for BG3, and also Stardew Valley (though I don't think that any of them will be posted unless I find myself very satisfied with how they end up). Historically, I've delved into and posted Fire Emblem (primarily Awakening/Fates/Three Houses because they were the main games I had played), and even further back (back when I first started writing fanfic when I was about 12/13! I just realised I've been writing fanfic for half my life writing that out!) Pokemon.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

As I only have three fics posted on AO3, I can only do them, but in order: 1. The Perfect Storm (it's my main and longest fic to date, so unsurprising) with 117 kudos 2. Purity (a Vilkas/Dragonborn oneshot) with 17 kudos 3. Seeking the Sun (prequel to The Perfect Storm which I started on after it!) with a mere 2 kudos.

5. Do you respond to comments?

Where I can string together a coherent thought, and if I remember (and I am terrible at remembering!) I try to!! But I do read every single one, even if I don't remember to respond.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Now, as I haven't finished any fics (as of yet) beyond a few oneshots, I will have to base my answer on some plans for the few fics which I have planned out, and I believe that the story with my Hero of Kvatch Aelia is most likely to have the angstiest ending. She throws away her entire support network, including friends and family, to wallow in her misery and grief in the Shivering Isles, descending into madness, because all she wants to do is bring Martin back.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

I really want it to be The Perfect Storm! I haven't planned out the ending for it yet, but I want it to be happy. However, I shall delight in stirring the pot and make Elyse and Balgruuf work for that happy ending, you hear? 😂

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Not really? The closest thing to that which I got was being told that my writing was 'too dramatic'... Shame that I love writing me some drama. Dramatics can be taken from my cold, dead hands.

9. Do you write smut?

Yeah, though I don't think that I've posted any of it yet.... I still need to actually finish the smut which I was writing for my birthday. My birthday which was over a month ago. Ooops.

10. Do you write crossovers?

Nope. I just don't really like them. It's something I've always got to filter out when reading fics.... The closest I'd get to writing a crossover is, say, references to stuff from Oblivion in a Skyrim fic? But would that technically even be a crossover, if they're both Elder Scrolls? Though they are separate games....

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know of.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Again, no, not that I know of...

13. Have you ever co-written a fic?

Does it count if I tried co-writing a Pokemon Mystery Dungeon fic with a self-insert shiny Eevee with a ff.net friend when I was like 13 that we never posted???? If not, no!

15. What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Honestly... I think it might be the fic based around Elyse's parents, Ingja and Edwyn, which I've only posted the first chapter to here on Tumblr. I know their story - it's all very firmly in my head, and is set to be referred to across Seeking the Sun and The Perfect Storm, but I simply don't think that I would be able to finish it... Plus I like keeping Edwyn's fate very vague. Though Ingja dies, because Elyse will meet her in Sovngarde when she goes to fight Alduin, what happens to Edwyn I've left ambiguous, hence why I don't think I would be able to finish it. He simply leaves one day and after sending Elyse a handful of letters he disappears. It gives me opportunity to maybe bring him in at some point down the line in The Perfect Storm... I kinda want to write a scenario where Balgruuf meets Edwyn now. Damn.

16. What are your writing strengths?

I'd like to say dialogue. I don't like putting dialogue into a fic unless I can mentally hear the line in the character's voice, if that makes any sense? If I can't hear it, or can't imagine a character saying it, I won't include it. But in addition to that, a lot of my scene-building and whatnot comes from using dialogue as a baseline. Obviously there are times where that isn't the case, but I do love writing little conversations to push a scene along.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

I do believe that just as it is a strength, dialogue is also a weakness! Sometimes, I find myself over-relying on dialogue simply to 'fill space'. Where something like non-verbal communication, or environmental descriptions or even a change of scene would fit better, I'll just throw in some dialogue in the same way that I add cheese to meals - in overabundance! In addition, I would say that finding a way to bridge scenes together is another weakness of mine. I can have a chapter mostly complete, but without that one last bridging moment - often simply a sentence or paragraph or two which can join two scenes together - I simply cannot bring myself into completing it.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue on another language in a fic?

Now, in terms of reading it, I find it really cool as long as some sort of way to translate it is available! In that vein, I do sometimes use some of the dragon language in my fics - mostly when a dragonborn is communicating with Paarthurnax or Odahviing - and I'll have a full list of translations to include in the end notes. On that note, I swear that I have https://www.thuum.org/ open in a separate tab almost constantly when I'm writing just in case!!! I've always found that most useful when trying to include the dragon language.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

That'd probably have to be for Pokemon Ranger Guardian Signs, though none of those fics were ever typed up (I think???). I still remember excitedly pulling the odd page from school exercise books to staple together whilst scavenging for pens to write me some more Pokemon Ranger fanfic.......

20. Favourite fic you've written?

The Perfect Storm, absolutely. Though I do sometimes think of going back to work on/improve some of my earlier chapters in the fic, in particular surrounding Elyse's experience in Windhelm because I'm not as in love with that as I once was. My love for Balgruuf (and Elyse, and the two of them together!) fuels my love, favouritism, and bias towards the fic.

[focsle]

Night falls, so it’s time for a longass wooey post as usual.

I shared, in a much more prose-y capacity the trajectory of Mr. Martin’s life, but there was a significant chunk I didn’t include in that old post because I hadn’t dug into it yet. And there might be yet another additional Life Chapter that I’m not currently aware of, but so far everything I’ve learned from him falls in one of three categories: childhood, whaling, and the Cook Islands. He didn’t have a long life and certainly didn’t think much good about his first 21 years, so that may be it. But the fact that his time on Aitutaki takes such a prominent place in his memories when it was a really brief part of his life is poignant to me. 

The Aitutaki bits I saw from him were some of the most interesting to me, because it was something that I had no prior knowledge of (unlike whaling, where I always had a some doubt that because I knew so much of the history I was just making a string of lucky guesses). With the culture and language of the Cook Islands I didn’t know anything, and when I started to research more into it after the fact, I found so many things that matched what I saw. How houses were constructed, what certain homegoods and tools were, specific dishes and how they were presented and eaten, what people wore, what their names were, words in a language I had no familiarity with but ended up being Actual Words that contextually worked with the situation…

He didn’t finish out his third voyage. On the last leg of the journey, he requested a discharge at the Cook Islands just after his 27th birthday had passed (*somewhat corroborated. The logbook said 6 men came for their discharge and it was granted, and they were dropped off ashore but the log doesn’t list their names). His motivation was that he didn’t see the point of going all the way back to New Bedford just to ship out again. He had no love for New England, and didn’t want to spend months of boredom and bad weather leaving the cruising grounds just to go back to them. He didn’t want to round Cape Horn twice again. Since he was in the South Pacific already, he thought it’d be good to cut to the chase and just sign on with another vessel that was halfway through its voyage and looking for additional recruits. Like always, it had nothing to do with money—he knew he’d whale til the end, so he was fine cutting whatever losses may have come from taking a discharge pay instead of a cut of his ship’s profits. His plan was to recover on the island and then ship out with another whaler that touched down there. The fact that he thought it looked warm and beautiful helped elevate it over the prospect of sailing around the Horn again, too. But Aitutaki became so much more important to him than a temporary stopping point.

He lived there for a few weeks, no more than a month and a half. He stayed with a family—a young couple with two very small children who were maybe 2 & 3 years old. He traded some things with them, a shirt, a fid, and earned his keep by helping them (and other community members) with tasks around the island. He’d go out with a group of other men and help knock breadfruit out of trees with poles; as a harpooner he had a good arm for it. He’d help set up fishing nets and corral the fish into them. He’d carry baskets of drinking coconuts back to the home, or materials needed for repairs, or stones for fires. He laughed a lot with this couple, enjoyed their company. There was a language barrier but he didn’t mind it. He never talked much anyway, so being able to communicate more through pantomime, through body language, through not having to talk at all but just allowing for contented quiet was refreshing to him. Their little kids found him quite a novelty. They’d climb on him, pull his hair, shrill and run around him. He tolerated it, was amused by it. And he liked seeing how these parents interacted with their children. He had a bad home life growing up, had an awful relationship with his own parents so it was bittersweet seeing this one. Seeing what that relationship was supposed to look like. It bummed him out a little, but he liked seeing the warmth.

The first night he arrived on the island he met a girl. Gave her a roll of blue fabric from his seachest by way of introduction. She was the one who later introduced him to the above family when he asked if there might be a place for him to stay in the interim while waiting for another ship. He thought her very charming, and over the weeks that he was there they carried on an intimate relationship, albeit not in a way that they made known to her community. She was gentle with him—he’d never known anyone who’d treated him with such gentleness. It was the first time that he felt like he could actually let his guard down with someone, just a little. He felt cared for by her, and wanted to care for her in turn during the time he was there.

Between her, the couple he stayed with, and other community members he worked and played around with, was a brief window where he felt like he almost had a family for the first time in his life. His sense of belonging on whaleships, while so very strong and so much a part of him, wasn’t connected to people. It was connected to the work and his skill and sense of purpose in that work. In Aitutaki it was the people. He felt safe there. I don’t know if he’d ever felt safe before then. He was of course at ease and confident on a whaleship and ports of call, but that’s not the same as feeling ‘safe’. It was a different sort of belonging he felt here. When he laid in the family’s kikua by the door in the dark and quiet, and could hear the breeze rustling the trees and the thatch on the cottage, and the ocean, and the gentle snoring of the parents sleeping further inside with their children, he felt a different sort of home. 

Once I was looking at videos of the lagoon in Aitutaki and they just like…grabbed my throat, seeing them.  I told him he could’ve stayed there, that he may have lived longer if he did. But he had never seen that as an option. He didn’t even consider it because it was so different from the life he knew, no matter how content it made him in the moment. There was always an unsettled restless undercurrent within him while he stayed there because he felt so sure that it was temporary, that he couldn’t stay. What he knew and what he built his life out of was on those ships. Overhauling that belief never really crossed his mind.

Eventually a ship made a provision stop there—he called it a ‘French’ ship, but also said he was on the ‘Napoleon’ which was a Nantucket vessel. I don’t know if it was a real French ship he took passage on to a port to sign onto an American whaler, or if he was conflating the ‘French’ name of this American ship in his memory of it. Either way, Martin sought out the girl who had done him so many kindnesses, kindnesses more significant to him than he thinks she knew, and bid her farewell. He went to the couple’s home to collect his belongings—the mother was there and he thanked her for allowing him to stay. The father wasn’t there, and with time pressing Martin wasn’t able to say goodbye to him…that beat him up a bit because he’d grown quite close to him.

He signed on with an American whaler that had stopped there mid voyage, just as he planned. At first it felt good and comfortable to be back aboard. But soon after he started to wonder if he’d made the right decision. He felt off kilter from the rest of the crew, being new. He didn’t have the same reputation or leverage he would’ve had had he signed on to a new ship with an advanced rank at the start of a voyage. He had to prove himself all over again, which he did quickly enough, but it still made him unsure of where he stood there. He once again felt emotionally distant from his shipmates in a way that definitely wasn’t a new experience, but suddenly it bothered him a bit. There were times that he missed the people he left on Aitutaki. He wondered after them sometimes.

As it’s nearing the date I got for his birthday, I asked him to show me one. I got his 28th, which would’ve been a year after he first went to Aitutaki. This was also the last birthday he’d live to see. He’s on this fourth vessel—this vessel I have no historical record connecting him to like the others, but feels like it happened. It’s dark and he’s laying in his bunk, holding his protection certificates. I ask what he feels on his birthday, and I just get a dull loneliness. Late that evening he’s taking stock of his life. He didn’t tell anyone it was his birthday, he never does because he doesn’t see the point in doing so. They were never much of a big deal, but this one’s a somber reflective moment for him. He feels pride in being a whaleman; it’s the only thing he’s proud of, but it’s getting hard on him. He feels proud, but he’s lonely, he misses the islands sometimes, he sometimes regrets signing on to a ship mid voyage, and whaling is getting hard on his body. He’s starting to hurt, he’s starting to get tired. It’s a sort of resignation that in that moment he doesn’t feel sure in his decision for being here like he did on the other ships. Those feelings always go away when he’s in his element and in the thick of the work, and the world feels right to him again. But that night on his birthday as he’s getting older and knows that he’s going to one day die out there in this world, he feels a twinge of sadness.

The last 7 years of his life really meant something to him, but that handful of weeks he spent in Aitutaki held a similar weight to the 7 years where he found his sense of self as a whaler. And I wonder sometimes how the people he knew on the island fared in their own lives. I wonder how his life may have gone had there been more time for him to mull over how that handful of weeks changed him. It makes me sad, but in a way that I’m happy that he was able to find something like that before the end of it.

[kiranatrix]

Need some Death Note fanfic to read while avoiding family, recovering exams/work, or just cause? Here’s everything I wrote in 2020 for Death Note. I’ll be updating this post for 2021 eventually. I organized them by type of work (in-progress fics, finished chaptered fics, tumblr fics, and one-shots).

IN-PROGRESS FICS BEING UPDATED NOW

Dial K for Kira: Lawlight//Rated E. Summary: Light needs some easy money to finance his Kira plans, and notices there’s a big demand for Kira roleplay phone sex. So he figures, “Why not? Pretty sure I’ll be convincing.” He raises some fast cash and plans to shut the whole thing down and get back to writing names, until he gets a request from somebody who wants to “roleplay” as L.

Catch Perfect [with @resilicns]: Lawlight/Rated M. Summary: Light’s desk catches on fire during the placement of L’s illegal surveillance cameras in the Yagami household, burning up the Death Note. Light forgets everything, the killings suddenly stop, and Kira fades away from the public consciousness but never from L’s. Six years later, Ryuk returns to Earth with a new Death Note for Light, now an agent in INTERPOL, ready for Round 2. L’s ready too.

Good Bones [with @main-exam]: Lawlight/Rated E. Summary: Mello and Matt have a seance with a cursed Ouija board but summon a very annoyed Ryuk from the Shinigami Realm into the attic of a gothic mansion. Fast forward a few years and Light Yagami is a realtor in England, vying for the title of Realtor King from the current champ. He's determined to sell this discount mansion with a bad reputation, but just as Light starts to make friends with the mansion's ghost, a ghost-hunting detective gets wind that something spooky is going on.

FINISHED CHAPTERED FICS

Koi No Yokan [with @ghostoftasslehoff​]: Lawlight//Rated E. Light decides to take a little risk and seek a no-strings-attached hookup and gets a surprising (accidental) match. Light and L gradually open up to each other over the course of a night, not knowing who the other is. However, as they go back to their lives in the morning, suspicions take hold and secrets come to light. The chance meeting starts to feel a lot more like fate as L closes in on Kira, and both must decide whether they felt anything real for the other and what that means. 

Lux Aeterna [with @ghostoftasslehoff​]: Lawlight//Rated E. Vampire AU. The world’s greatest vampire hunter, L Lawliet, heads to Romania with his mentor Watari to investigate some odd disappearances. Meanwhile, the 400-year-old vampire, Light, has recently awoken from his century-long slumber to find the world has changed, but his thirst for the blood of sinners hasn’t. 

Enemy of My Enemy [with @my-one-true-l​]: Light Yagami/Beyond Birthday//Rated T. It’s just another day for To-Oh’s top student Light Yagami, until he runs into a mysterious new student in class who can see Ryuk. Beyond is set on getting to Kira before L does but things take a twist when Light gets him alone.

TUMBLR FICS

Strange Fiction: Death Note Ficlets: Various//Rated Gen to T. Thirty-nine ficlets and more added periodically. Lawlight, Ryuk & Light being bros, MikaLight, gen fic, Remisa, Android AU, stories of Light and L’s childhood, etc.

ONE-SHOTS

Get Well Soon [with art by @sketchyspirit​]: Lawlight//Rated E. Summary: Light buys Misa a birthday present which L jealously intercepts. Possessiveness and misunderstandings threaten to rock the precarious agreement between Light and L, where each has made dangerous sacrifices to stay together after the end of the Kira case. 

Phototaxis: Lawlight//rated G. Summary: L comes over to the Yagami's household for dinner and to work on a project with Light. On the menu are suspicions, ulterior motives, and nobody saying what they mean.

Orbit: Lawlight//Rated T. Summary: Light’s having lunch under the cherry trees with his friends at To-Oh, but L unexpectedly shows up and runs everyone else off but Light. A missing scene, a private conversation with L's 'first friend' and rival under the spring sakura.

Appetites: Lawlight//Rated T. Summary: It was never about cake.

Main Attraction [with @ghostoftasslehoff​, with art by @ohgodplsdontlook​]: Lawlight//Rated E. Summary: Light invites L to the movies but L expects to be bored since Light picked the flick. Light has a secret plan to make sure that L will be on the ‘edge’ of his seat the whole time-- a toy that L doesn't know is remote-controlled. L finds out the hard way, and at the worst (best) moments.

Obsolete: Ryuk/Light//Rated T. Summary: Light lives all his life in the span of a day, but Ryuk will live that day over an eternity.

Beholder’s Eye: Lawlight//Rated M. Summary: Light's rudely awoken and seemingly kidnapped to face his execution, but all is not what it seems.

One of a Pair [with @ghostoftasslehoff​]: Lawlight//Rated M. Fencing AU. Summary: Light has just quit the To-Oh fencing team and the team Captain, Ryuzaki, will do just about anything to provoke him to come back, including challenging Light to an illegal duel.

Restitution: Lawlight//Rated T. Summary: L tries to pay Light a salary for his work on the Task Force to assuage the prickling of guilt he feels, but that’s not what Light wants.

Kodama [with @ghostoftasslehoff​]: Lawlight//Rated T. Summary: Seven years after L’s death, Light feels compelled to visit his grave and take solace under the strange, dead tree nearby. L’s watching from Mu and takes residence in the sacred tree, changing it and Light, who can’t see him.

Still Life: Light/Light//Rated T. Summary: Light stumbles upon a painting that he bears an uncanny resemblance to and discovers a magical secret behind who was cursed to dwell within it for 300 years. It might just be the best luck of his life (or the worst).

Dark Horse [with art by @daathdweller]: Gen fic. Linda left Wammy's House for a brilliant art career, but never forgot how she'd been passed over as one of L's successors. She decides to work in the shadows as the detective L2 when a new Kira appears in 2019, moving fast to tackle the case that the 'official' L seems content to ignore. Roger told her art never helped solve a case, but he was wrong. 

Technology Liaison: Light & Ryuk. Light gets curious about what the Death Note is really made of and asks Ryuk. What happens when paper becomes obsolete in the increasingly digital world?

Yosuzume [with art by @ikathemadhatter​]: Beyond-centric//Rated T. Summary: Beyond’s shinigami eyes have always set him apart and given him knowledge no human should possess. His obsession with divining and controlling the future has led him to develop his own rituals, which weave themselves into his life and the events of the LABB case.

Names and Distant Things [with art by @ikathemadhatter]: Beyond/L// Rated T. Summary: Beyond knew when L was planning to visit Wammy’s House because a padlock would appear on the second refrigerator in the kitchen. A day or so later, a green Aston Martin would roll up the long, oak-lined driveway in the dead of night, headlights off and practically invisible. Not to Beyond, though; his strange eyes had always seen more than others could-- names and distant things; an antique car in the darkness or the date someone will die.

Copper and Silver: Beyond/L//Rated M. Magician AU. Summary: There had always been two types of magic in the world. One was quite real but elusive, and more of a curse than a blessing on those who could channel it. The other was the magic of mankind-- the sleight of hand or memory trick, the careful distraction or well-placed mirror. It was the business of the famed illusionist Lazarus, also (un)known as L Lawliet, that no one in his audience should ever know the difference.

For fics before 2020, check out my AO3 (ZombieJesus) here!

[ollieofthebeholder]

leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall): a TMA fanfic

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12] [13] Also on AO3

Chapter 14: Martin

Tim is an unexpectedly good cook. Whether because of that or because everyone is still mulling over the little bits and drabs they’ve got from the Primes, breakfast is a rather silent affair. Martin doesn’t think he’s hungry until the plate is under his nose, and he’s not sure why it’s so hard for him to eat until he chokes down enough that Tim declares it can count as “with food” and Jon hurries out to get Martin’s pills for him. It’s only after they’ve started to work and he’s mostly done with his plate that he realizes it’s pain making him nauseous. Jon Prime gives him a knowing, understanding look and he has to look away.

Sasha offers to help Tim clean up, but he does most of it while they’re still eating and insists the rest of it can wait until later, so once everyone has finished and the stuff that won’t last sitting out is put away, they all head back into the living room. Martin supposes they could have this conversation in the kitchen around the table, but he also acknowledges that the seating in the living room is more comfortable, and he, at least, won’t last long in Tim’s kitchen chairs.

He starts to sit in the recliner again—it’s definitely the least comfortable seat in the room, not that it’s uncomfortable, just that it’s not exactly the best seat in the house, so Martin automatically assumes it’s his—but Jon stops him with a touch to his arm and a shake of his head and steers him towards the sofa. Sasha and Jon are both thin; Tim is a bit broader than them but not so broad as Martin, but they all manage to squeeze together onto the sofa somehow, Jon on one end and Sasha on the other and Martin sandwiched between Tim and Jon. The Primes sit on the love seat opposite them. Jon Prime rests his hand on top of Martin Prime’s without seeming to realize he’s doing it.

“Well,” he says. He sits up a little straighter, leans forward slightly, and looks directly at Jon. “Before we begin, I have two questions for you, and I’m fairly certain I know the answer to at least one, but…well, no one ever actually asked me these questions.”

Jon tenses, but says evenly, “Go ahead.”

“First question. How much do you want to know?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I can tell you everything I—we—learned in the two years between this point and when the world ended, but the more knowledge you have, the more dangerous things will be for you. Or I can tell you nothing more than you already know, and leave you to figure out what you can on your own. Or I can tell you something in between the two, in which case you would be trusting me with the decision of how much to tell you now and how much to let you discover for yourself.”

Jon is silent for a moment. Finally, he says, “Tell me—tell me everything you wished you’d known at this point.”

Jon Prime nods, as if that’s the answer he was expecting. Martin guesses that was the one he was fairly sure of. “Second question, then. How much do you want them to know?”

“Hey,” Sasha says, sounding offended.

Jon Prime doesn’t take his eyes off of Jon. “As I said, the more knowledge you have, the more dangerous things will be for you. The more people who have that knowledge, the danger will grow as well. And I can’t promise that some of these things won’t change the way they look at you. The way they react to you. Knowledge once given cannot be taken back.”

Jon looks down the sofa at the three of them. Martin tries to keep his face neutral, but he’s worried, and he knows it shows. Not so much about what might happen to him if he knows, but about what might happen to Jon.

“What about them?” he asks softly. “You said that the more people know, the—the more dangerous it is for me, but what about for them? If they know…will it put them in more danger?”

Jon Prime hesitates. “No,” he says at last. “The opposite. The more they know, the better able they’ll be to keep themselves safe.”

Jon straightens and looks his counterpart square in the eye. “If you’d led off with that, it wouldn’t have even been a question you needed to finish asking. I want them to know whatever they need to know to be safe.”

Jon Prime turns his attention to the assistants. “How much do you three want to know?”

“We have a choice?” Martin asks, surprised.

“Yes,” Jon Prime says simply. “There’s…so much you never had a choice about in our timeline. I refuse to do that to you again. Any of you.”

Sasha crosses her arms over her chest. “Call me curious, but I don’t think I can walk away from this without knowing more.”

“Yeah, screw it,” Tim says. “I’ve had enough fumbling around in the dark, and I want to know what the hell’s going on here. I’m not walking into anything else I don’t understand without a damned good reason.”

Jon Prime shifts his gaze. “Martin?”

Martin hesitates. He’s genuinely torn. On the one hand, he’s with the others; he hates not knowing what’s going on, and he’s more than a little afraid of getting into another situation like finding Jane Prentiss in that basement because he doesn’t know enough to steer clear. But at the same time, if it keeps Jon safe for him to stay ignorant, it’s a risk he’ll gladly run.

But will it actually keep Jon safe?

He looks, not at Jon Prime, but at Martin Prime. Martin Prime keeps his sightless gaze trained steadily in Martin’s direction, and there’s a pinched look on his face, like he knows what’s tearing Martin apart. Well, he probably does. As if he feels Martin’s eyes on him, as if he can sense the question Martin wants to ask, he gives a small, subtle nod.

“Whatever you want to tell us, I’ll listen,” he says, looking back at Jon Prime.

“All right,” Jon Prime says, exhaling hard. He nods and repeats, “All right. Well. Now that we’ve settled that…honestly, I’m not sure where to start.”

Martin worries at his lower lip. He runs through the dozens of questions he’s accumulated in the last week, every time Martin Prime has said it’s a long story and promised to explain when—he now knows—Jon Prime arrives, and tries to pick which one is the most pressing, the most important. Which one will be the easiest to answer. From the way the others are sitting, they’re probably thinking something similar. But Martin’s the one with the most pieces, so he knows that unless he wants Tim to break the ice with a borderline wisecrack, it’s probably on him to ask the first question.

At last, he looks at Martin Prime. “You mentioned…beings. Things that thrive on fear?” He turns to Jon Prime. “He said you could explain it better than he could.”

“I suppose the beginning is a good place to start,” Jon Prime says on a heavy exhale. His eyes flick from one of them to the other. “Right. What do you all know about Robert Smirke?”

Both Jon and Sasha give small sighs as Tim sits up a bit straighter. “The architect? One of the foremost proponents of Gothic Revival in the early nineteenth century. He was one of the first to use concrete and cast iron. He retired in—1845, I think, but he kept his hand in a bit. A lot of his work, in London at least, got destroyed somehow, but what’s still standing is brilliant in its symmetry. A master of subtle stability. And it’s interesting that his buildings have a higher percentage of paranormal sightings than any other architect of that school or style, I think. Might be why he rarely got taken up on his bids to design churches. His name cropped up any time an especially weird cult or sect popped up for a couple decades after his retirement. There were all sorts of rumors about what he might be involved in.”

They’ve all heard this before, Martin thinks, at least in bits and pieces. Architecture is one of Tim’s particular areas of expertise, and Robert Smirke in particular is something of an obsession. There’s not a lot of information out there about Smirke, though. Martin should know; he usually got the thankless tasks when he worked in the library, and he’d been the one assigned to pull any books on Robert Smirke for the new research assistant who was vague on what, exactly, he was trying to research. It’s one of the things he and Tim bonded over when they were first assigned to the Archives, those books. Tim will go off about Smirke any opportunity he gets, and Martin’s pretty sure that even Sasha tunes him out these days.

“Most of them false,” Jon Prime agrees. “Smirke himself wasn’t actually involved in any of that sort of thing, but his ideas got used—or misused, as he would have it.” He takes a deep breath. “Smirke designed a taxonomy of fears, and—well, it’s inaccurate, really, far too simplistic, an attempt to understand something that he never could have understood, but—”

“But if you’re learning your colors, you start out with the primary colors and branch out into shades and blending later on, once you know what you’re looking at,” Martin completes.

“Exactly.” Jon Prime smiles, briefly. “Smirke’s theory was that there were fourteen…entities, creatures of fear. They don’t just thrive on it—they are fear.”

“There are more than fourteen things to be afraid of in the world,” Jon says, in a rough approximation of his skeptic voice. “Where do you draw the line?”

“God, you are me. I said the same thing when I first found out about all this.” Jon Prime worries at the cuff of his sleeve, then seems to consciously stop himself and press his palm into his leg instead. It’s only then that Martin realizes he’s wearing the blue sweater, the one Martin Prime wore yesterday and Martin himself has taken off because he’s comfortable enough in his shirtsleeves, and Martin Prime is wearing the dark green one Jon Prime was wearing when he came in. It fits him perfectly, which is how Martin realizes that Jon Prime was evidently wearing one of Martin Prime’s sweaters.

He has no idea what to do with that information, so he decides the safest thing to do is ignore it before he blurts out something and makes a complete tit of himself.

“As Martin says, they’re like colors,” Jon Prime continues. “You can look at something and call it ‘indigo’ or ‘lilac’, but it’s still purple. There may be infinite colors, but we tend to lump them into bigger categories. Sky blue and navy are both considered blue, but pink is an entirely separate color from red. Of course, with the fears, it’s not so much a spectrum as an amorphous blob of terror bleeding out in all directions. I think I summed it up at the time I learned all this as ‘like colors, but if colors hated me.’”

“You, specifically,” Tim says. His voice is as deadpan as it usually is when he’s making a joke, but like Jon’s, it’s shaky. Martin suspects that none of them want to believe any of this, but it all makes too much sense for them not to.

“Yes, well, I’d spent two years getting kicked around by them before I got all this information,” Jon Prime shoots back. “Forgive me if I took it a little personally.”

Martin Prime rubs his thumb over Jon Prime’s in a comforting gesture. “Where Smirke comes into the weird…cults and whatnot is that most of those sprung up around the worship of these beings. Like they’re gods of some kind. They’re not, and they’re certainly not benevolent in the slightest, even to the people most devoted to them. You really can’t—nobody comes away from them in one piece. The ones who make statements? They’re the lucky ones. The ones who walked away, at least for a while. Not always forever.”

Martin doesn’t have to ask if that includes them. “So—w-what are they? I mean, not ‘what are they if they’re not gods’, but what are they, specifically? You said—one of them has something to do with spiders?”

Jon flinches. Jon Prime exhales. “The Web. Spiders, yes, but also…loss of control. Being manipulated. The fear of being trapped in something you can’t see. Addiction falls under its auspices, too.”

“Other insects…” Tim’s voice trails off. “Jane Prentiss. She’s one of them?”

“She wasn’t an entity herself, but she’d definitely been claimed by the Corruption,” Jon Prime confirms. “Insects, disease, rot. Filth. That creeping feeling of things burrowing under your skin, filling you full of holes…”

“Stop,” Jon says through gritted teeth. He squeezes Martin’s hand. Martin’s almost positive he doesn’t know he’s doing it and bites the inside of his cheek to keep from yelping in pain as his thumb digs into one of the worm holes.

“What, you think I don’t know what that’s like?” Jon Prime holds up both hands, backs towards them, letting the sleeves slip down towards his elbows, and they can all see the scars dotting his forearms. So Martin has that to look forward to, at least. “It’s a damned lucky thing you—we—knew how to stop her.”

“Michael.” Sasha leans forward. “He’s one of them. The fear of—confusion?”

Martin Prime nods quickly. “Madness. The fear that your mind isn’t your own. The entity as a whole is the Spiral. Michael—he’s just one aspect of it, the Distortion.”

Jon eases his grip on Martin’s hand, and Martin tries not to sigh audibly with relief. “The Dark, of course.”

“Of course,” Jon Prime agrees. “Who isn’t at least a little afraid of the dark?”

“And fire is another?”

“An aspect of the Desolation. The fear of pain, of loss, of unthinking or cruel destruction.” Jon Prime snorts. “I started calling it the Church of the Lightless Flame at one point, but it’s the Desolation.”

“The Lightless Flame,” Jon repeats. “Christ, that was—which statement was that? Th-the nurse, Ms. Saraki, with the burn victims. The second time Gerard Keay came up.”

Martin remembers, and just like that, he realizes that they must have dealt with all the entities, over the course of the statements. They’ve done too many real statements for them not to have hit all fourteen by now. He racks his brain, trying to figure out the ones they haven’t come up with. They’ve got five now. The People’s Church of the Divine Host, they’ve had a couple statements dealing with that, that’s probably the Dark…and maybe the one about the woman whose sister got lost caving, but—hang on.

“Claustrophobia’s one, isn’t it?” he guesses. “Or…small spaces? Being enclosed or—or buried alive?” He tries not to let his voice shake when he says it, but like Jon and spiders, that’s one he’s never been able to handle.

From the look on Jon Prime’s face, he knows that—of course he does. “The Buried. Being crushed alive, not able to breathe—not having enough space.”

“A-and then there’s having too much space,” Martin says quickly, trying to push the mental image of being trapped in a coffin or a cave out of his head. “Heights and—and empty spaces, that sort of thing? Like—hang on, which one was it—that first statement we looked into where someone found a Leitner, Ex Altoria—”

“The Vast,” Martin Prime supplies. “Vertigo, agoraphobia, deep water, fear of your own insignificance in the universe. Any time you come across the name Fairchild, especially Simon Fairchild, that’s definitely a sign you’ve come across the Vast.”

Tim counts on his fingers. “We’re halfway there…I guess death is one of them, huh? I mean, a lot of people are afraid of that.”

“Terminus. The End. Simple, but always there.”

“War’s part of that, I guess?”

Jon Prime shakes his head. “War is the Slaughter. Not unstoppable like the End, or targeted or premeditated. Just pure, unpredictable violence.”

Sasha sits forward a little. “We keep—there have been a lot of statements about…meat. What’s with that?”

Martin’s wondered that himself. Jon Prime grimaces. “The Flesh. The fear of being eaten, or…twisted.”

“The Boneturner’s Tale,” Jon murmurs. Martin wishes it didn’t hurt so much to hold someone’s hand, because he wants to comfort Jon somehow. He knows how much he hates those Leitner books, which makes sense if he encountered one once. “Hang on, though—how is that so common that it’s one of the major fourteen? There can’t be that many people afraid of it.”

Jon Prime gives a soft huff of laughter. It doesn’t sound particularly amused, though. “You think only humans feel fear?”

Martin’s eyes widen as he thinks about the statement they spent the last week looking into, the man who worked at the abattoir and the man who disappeared. It’s almost enough to turn him vegetarian. Almost. “Is that why those statements are all so…weird?”

“More or less. You start mixing more primitive, animalistic fear with a complicated human brain, and things get twisted.”

“Hunting’s not part of that, though,” Sasha says.

“No,” Martin Prime says quietly, and something flashes across his face. “The Hunt is its own entity. It’s another one that started with animals, but it still touches plenty of humans.”

Tim scans Martin Prime’s face, eyes flicking back and forth. “You don’t like that one much, do you?”

“It’s definitely one of my least favorite, yes.”

“So…” Tim glances at Martin, and there’s genuine worry in his eyes before he looks back at Martin Prime. “You’ve encountered it? Did it…do something to you?”

“Yes,” Jon Prime says, at the same time that Martin Prime says, “Not to me.”

They look at each other, or at least in one another’s direction, since Martin Prime can’t see—at least Martin is assuming he’s really blind, he’s still wearing his glasses, although Martin’s worn glasses since he was two years old and at this point he probably feels naked without them—and then Martin Prime amends, “Not directly. Not before the world ended.”

Jon Prime rubs his throat absently, but doesn’t say anything. There’s a long silence before Jon speaks, a single word that drops into the middle of the room like a lead balloon. “Isolation.”

“The Lonely,” Jon Prime says softly. He turns to look at the others, and Martin flinches at the pain in his eyes. “The feeling that you’re…alone. Maybe because there’s no one there, maybe because you just can’t connect. Maybe because you aren’t worth that connection.”

Something twists deep in Martin’s chest. He knows that feeling all too well; it basically encapsulates his strange, unhappy childhood. Tim’s arm drops lightly onto Martin’s shoulders, his hand brushing Jon’s beyond it, and when Martin glances Tim’s way he sees that his other arm is behind Sasha—like he’s reminding all three of them that they’re not alone, that they’re all here together. “Why do you look like you hate that one so much? I mean…that one doesn’t sound too dangerous, compared to the others.”

“I’m not fond of anything that tries to take someone I care about away from me. And the Lonely very nearly succeeded.” Jon Prime’s eyes flick over to Martin Prime, just briefly. “In truth, the only one I can honestly say I hate more than the Lonely is the Stranger.”

Martin Prime nods, his lips pressed tightly together. Sasha looks back and forth between the two of them. “That’s…fear of the unknown?”

“The unknown, the uncanny, the creeping sense that something isn’t right,” Jon Prime confirms. “The fear of someone who might be following you. Masks, mannequins…clowns.”

A shudder runs through Tim’s body. Sasha exhales. “Well, that’s…that’s thirteen. Funny, you’d expect there to only be thirteen fears, right? I mean, that’s a bad luck number to a lot of people.”

“Yeah, but this is Robert Smirke we’re talking about,” Martin says absently. “His big thing was balance—” He stops as the words leave his mouth and straightens. Balance. Everything has an opposite, something that counters it. You can’t fear being buried alive if you don’t know there’s such a thing as open space. You can’t fear random, purposeless violence if you don’t know that there’s another way of dying violently. Which means…what’s the opposite of the Stranger?

“Knowledge,” he breathes. “That’s the fourteenth fear? The fear of—of being known, of being watched? Or of knowing too much?”

“The Beholding,” Jon Prime says. “The Ceaseless Watcher. It Knows You. It’s got a lot of names.”

“We usually just call it the Eye,” Martin Prime adds.

I should have realized that whatever hid you from the Eye would mean I couldn’t see you either. Martin recalls Jon Prime’s half-frantic spewing of words when he first arrived. He thinks about the sensation they all get in the Archives of being watched, the near-compulsive way they prod into things that…really ought to be left alone, the way Jon gets twitchy when he reads the statements aloud, the sick feeling in his stomach when he couldn’t find anything on Ex Altoria and the headache that hadn’t gone away until he’d gone back to Carlos Vittery’s old apartment. “That’s the one that runs the Institute, then.”

“What?” All three of the other members of the Archival team stare at Martin with varying degrees of incredulity. He blushes.

Jon Prime nods. “More accurate, I think, to say that the Institute was set up for its benefit, but yes. The Institute is the Eye’s pedestal. And you are all bound to its service. I’m sorry.”

“No. No, no, no, I did not sign up for this.” Tim looks seriously upset. “I’m here to stop this sort of thing, not to join it—”

“So quit,” Jon Prime says, a bit sharply, looking Tim square in the eye.

Tim freezes. “What?”

“Quit. Walk away. Lean around and give your notice, right now. Tell him you’re done.”

If anything, that just makes Tim even more upset. Martin has never seen him so agitated—he looks almost like he’s on the verge of literal tears. “What the hell happens to me?” he blurts out. “First you think I’d actually make tasteless jokes about Martin being blind, now you think I’d just—walk away? Abandon my friends—my family? What the fuck did I do to make you think I’d just leave the only people I have left in the world at the mercy of some gigantic spooky fear monster?”

Jon Prime jerks back as if Tim has slapped him. He looks genuinely taken aback. Now Martin is wondering what happened to Tim in their timeline. Why he didn’t come back with them, why they both seem to simultaneously miss him and expect him to just up stakes and vanish.

“Tim, no, it’s not like that,” Martin Prime intervenes, his voice gentle. “Trust me, if you did quit, the rest would be right behind you. The point is that you can’t.”

“Damn right,” Tim mutters.

“No, literally. You can’t quit. You’re bound to the Institute—well, to the Archives really. You can’t quit, you can’t get fired. You can’t even leave for too long or you’ll start to get sick. Physically, mentally, literally, you cannot quit.”

That, Martin thinks, might be the most surprising thing he’s learned in the last week. He thinks this rather distantly, since it’s hard to focus through the white noise seeming to fill his mind. He remembers the resignation letters he typed up but deleted without even saving, let alone printing. Remembers, too, Sasha muttering about looking for another job and then never bringing it up again. It’s not like there’s no evidence for what Martin Prime is saying, but it’s still out of the clear blue sky and he’s not sure what to do with the information.

This time, it’s Jon that breaks the silence, his voice choked and shaky. “Oh, God.”

“There’s no way out?” Sasha demands. “Truly? There has to be something—something other than dying, I mean. You can’t honestly be saying we’re inevitably stuck until we die.”

“There’s—well, for you all there are two ways out,” Martin Prime says slowly. “Neither one is particularly pleasant, and, well, one of them does involve death. If—if the Archivist dies, then the Assistants have the option of leaving.”

Nope. No, Martin is not going to consider that an option. Jon is not going to die just so the rest of them can be freed. “And the other way out? The one that doesn’t involve dying?”

Martin Prime tips his head to one side, as if he’s studying Martin. “You have to remove your connection to the Beholding.”

Martin snorts. “So, what…gouge your eyes out or something?”

Jon Prime and Martin Prime both simply look at him, or at least in his direction. Jon Prime still looks haunted; Martin Prime just looks serious. Ice water floods Martin’s veins. “Fuck off.”

“Yep, he’s me,” Martin Prime says to Jon Prime. He rubs his thumb over the back of Jon Prime’s again. “Jon, breathe. It’s all right.”

“It’s…” Jon Prime closes his eyes and shakes his head slowly. When he opens them again, they’re wet with unshed tears as they flick back and forth from Jon to Tim. “God, I thought this part would be easier. I don’t know why. It’s never easy. But I thought…I am sorry.”

“You didn’t do this,” Martin protests. He looks at Jon, their Jon, and back to Jon Prime. “Either of you. It’s not—I mean, you didn’t set this up to be like this. And, and you didn’t force us to do this—”

“I requested you,” Jon protests.

“You didn’t request me,” Martin says. Jon looks away, evidently uncomfortable with the reminder. “Anyway, I wouldn’t have said no even if Elias had actually given me a choice, so—”

“Hang on, what?” Jon Prime blinks, then turns to Martin Prime. “You—you didn’t get a choice?”

“No,” Martin Prime says. His eyes widen. “Christ, I never—how did that not ever occur to me? He called me into his office and told me he’d finally appointed a new Head Archivist and that he’d decided to send me along as one of your assistants, that I would be down there first thing on Monday. I don’t think I even had time to say thanks before he sent me off to pack up my desk in the library.”

“Oh, God.” Jon Prime turns to Tim and Sasha. “What about you? Were you asked or told?”

“I—” Sasha frowns at him. “I didn’t—”

“Answer the question, Sasha.”

Static crackles in the air, and Sasha answers immediately. “Told. Elias said that he’d decided to go in a different direction than hiring me as Head Archivist, but he was sure I could still be useful to the Archives and that Jon would need me as an assistant. I told him if I wasn’t going to get the job I had applied for I’d be happier staying where I was, and he replied that wasn’t an option.” She presses a hand to her mouth, her eyes widening as she looks over at Jon. “Oh, God, I—Jon, I don’t—I’m sorry, I—”

“Jon,” Martin Prime says, exasperation and disapproval and maybe a bit of worry in his tone. It sounds like a five-minute lecture condensed into a single word.

“Sorry. I’m so sorry. I—I didn’t mean to do that, I wasn’t thinking…” Jon Prime inhales sharply and rubs at his face with the hand not now gripping Martin Prime’s so tightly his fingertips are going white. “I-it’s been so long since I’ve dealt with—it, it’s not the same, I’ve gotten so used to—I am sorry. I swear I won’t do that again.”

“What did you do?” Martin asks. He probably shouldn’t, but it sounds like it’s genuinely upsetting Jon Prime, and if they can stop Jon from having to do it as well, it’s probably not a bad thing.

“I—I compelled her. It’s one of the abilities I have from the Eye. I can—make people tell me things. Force statements out of them, that sort of thing.” Jon Prime uncovers his face, and he looks almost as upset as Tim did at being told to try and quit. “It’s invasive, and I try not to do it more than I have to and—I am so sorry, Sasha.”

“Wait, you can do that?” Tim leans around Martin to frown at Jon. His eyes are red-rimmed and his face is still pale, but he looks at least a little calmer.

“No,” Jon says, sounding genuinely distressed. “Of course not.”

“Not quite to that extent,” Martin Prime says. “It’s something that…develops, I guess?”

Jon Prime looks at Martin Prime in worry and confusion. “No, no, I—I didn’t start being able to do that until after—”

“Jon, I wasn’t going to tell you Gertrude Robinson had been shot until they confirmed that was what killed her,” Martin Prime said quietly. “Or at least until you’d slept some. You looked like hell and—last thing I wanted was you panicking that someone was running around gunning for you, literally. I didn’t realize it then, just assumed I was, I don’t know, trying to make you less agitated. That maybe if you knew for sure you wouldn’t be up all night torturing yourself or whatever. But…well, later on, I started learning what to listen for, and I realized what it was. I don’t know if it would have worked if I hadn’t been so tired, or if it was something I really didn’t want to tell you, but you did compel me to answer you. At least a little.”

“You never told me.”

“It never really came up?”

“God. All this time I thought—Martin, you—you know I’d never—I d-didn’t ever want to—I wouldn’t have—”

“Okay, you are starting to spiral.” Martin Prime turns his hand over and squeezes Jon Prime’s, then reaches forward like he’s going for the other one. “Maybe we should stop for a few minutes and—”

“No, I-I’m fine. I’m fine.” Jon Prime takes a deep breath and exhales slowly, then looks back up at Jon and the others sitting on Tim’s sofa. “We need to…there’s more we need to discuss.”

Martin thinks to himself that he’s never seen someone obviously less fine, and at first he assumes Jon Prime is only getting away with it because Martin Prime can’t actually see the look on his face. But a quick glance at Martin Prime shows otherwise. Martin Prime is absolutely aware of Jon Prime’s condition, maybe better than anyone else in the room, but he’s letting him get away with it for reasons of his own. He’s sure that won’t last long, though. They’ve got to speed this up, but the trouble is that the whole situation is taking on the aspect of a hydra. For every question answered, three more questions pop up, and Martin no longer knows where the thread is going. If he ever knew in the first place.

“Okay, so…wait. W-wait. Let me make sure I’ve got everything straight so far,” he says, more to give everyone else a bit of breathing room than anything else. He’s just as confused and off-balance, probably, but he’s not going to show it. “Fourteen fear beings, each with their own…followers and paths and all that. One of them is in charge of the Institute. We’re all trapped in its service as long as it can…use us. Jon—I’m guessing since he’s the Head Archivist, he’s…closer to it than the rest of us are, which is why he’s got some of its powers. Most of the statements, the real statements, the ones that won’t go on the computer, they’re somehow related to at least one of the entities. And it’s only going to get worse from here on out. Have I got all that right?”

“Basically, yes.” Jon Prime manages a smile. “Although hopefully we can keep it from getting too much worse.”

“Right, okay.” Martin tries to think of where to go next. “So, ah, so—Elias. How—how much does he know? I mean, he’s the head of the Institute, but…does he know about…all of this? The fears and the Archives and—everything?”

“He said he usually knows what’s going on in the Institute,” Tim says, his voice tight. He draws his arms from the back of the sofa and clenches his fists, resting them on his thighs. “And you sounded a lot like you hated him when we talked earlier. It’s because he knows all this crap, isn’t it? He knew all of it and he let us walk in blind. Ah, no offense.”

“That,” Martin Prime says, “is barely scratching the surface. And none taken. But yes. He knows all of it.”

“That’s…” Martin swallows hard, fighting down the resurgence of nausea. “That’s kind of messed up.”

Jon Prime lets out a bitter and brittle laugh. “Oh, you have no idea.”

“So tell us,” Sasha says. “You said you’d tell us what you wanted to know.”

“Yes. And Gertrude Robinson did attempt to leave a warning for me, it—she just wasn’t able to.” Jon Prime takes a deep breath. “Elias. He—was originally known as Jonah Magnus. Before he was Elias Bouchard, he was James Wright.”

“What?” Martin’s voice jumps to a pitch he hasn’t hit since he was sixteen.

“No. No, that doesn’t make any sense.” Sasha presses her fingertips to her temples. “Elias Bouchard was hired at the Magnus Institute by James Wright. He’d been here for five years when Wright died and Elias was promoted directly from filing clerk to head of the Institute. They were in the same place at the same time, they were both there. They can’t be the same person.”

“Unless Wright killed him and took his place,” Tim mutters.

Martin Prime winces. “That’s…kind of close to what happened, actually. Jonah Magnus has been body-hopping for generations, to keep himself alive. Finding a new vessel every time the old one starts getting…well, old. It’s the eyes. I mean, Elias’ eyes, they’re actually Jonah Magnus’ eyes. That’s how he takes over.”

Yeah, okay, Martin is definitely going to be sick now. He presses a hand to his mouth. Jon’s entire body goes rigid. “My God, how deep did he go into servitude to this…thing?”

“All the way,” Jon Prime says grimly. “In addition to whatever it is he does to transfer his…essence to his new bodies…and believe me, that is not something I have ever wanted to know in detail…he has some powers of clairvoyance. He can see out of any eye, real or symbolic. He can also read minds, to a limited extent, and implant images in the mind.”

“What, like…make you hallucinate?” Sasha sounds almost as curious as she does concerned.

Martin Prime shakes his head. “Not exactly. More like…he can make you picture things in your head. Events, memories…perceptions.”

Martin has to swallow twice before he can speak, in a voice much smaller than usual. “Is…is that what you meant? When you said…” He trails off, hoping Martin Prime remembers the conversation without him having to repeat it.

“Yes,” Martin Prime says quietly. “Mind you, I don’t know how much of what he showed me was based on reality and how much of it was based on…I mean, she’s not well. But yes.”

It doesn’t take a huge leap of logic for Martin to figure out what his counterpart means. Whatever Elias showed him, it’s something to do with his—their—mother. Tim’s the one who speaks up next. “Can he see us now, though? Like, if he can see through any eye, read minds…can he see us?”

“In theory, possibly. In practice, no,” Jon Prime answers. “I’ve…taken precautions. Besides, the Archivist is very closely tied to the Eye, so it’s possible that there being two of us here will create enough of a feedback loop that the room will function as a—a blind spot, so to speak. Too much interference for him to See properly in here.”

“But ordinarily?”

“If he tries…yes. I think the three of you are safe, more or less. You’re not his focus. And since he’s deliberately keeping your Archivist in the dark, obviously he doesn’t think any of you know anything.”

Sasha nods slowly. “So that feeling we get in the Archives, like we’re being watched—that’s Elias? Excuse me, Jonah?”

“No, that’s the Eye itself,” Martin Prime answers. “We’re…pretty sure Elias can only see out of one set of eyes at a time? And he has to be able to give it some attention. When he’s focused on something else, you’re safe. That feeling of being watched, though, that’s the Beholder. I mean, they don’t call it the Ceaseless Watcher for nothing.”

“Is it watching us now?” Sasha asks. “Or does it only watch us at the Institute?”

“I—” Jon Prime hesitates. His lips part and his eyes go slightly unfocused.

“Jon, no—” Martin Prime begins, his face going pale.

There’s another crackle of static, like when Jon Prime asked the question that Sasha had to answer, but it rapidly increases in pitch and volume until it’s more like a squeal of feedback. Martin screws up his eyes and tries to cover his ears, but the noise seems to be transmitted through his very teeth and bones—

And then, abruptly, it vanishes, leaving an almost ringing silence in its wake. Martin opens his eyes to see Jon Prime gasping heavily for air, his eyes closed, his whole body trembling.

“Oh, God, that hurt,” he pants.

“You know an eye can’t see inside itself, Jon,” Martin Prime says sternly. His expression immediately softens, though, as he reaches over tentatively and places his hand on Jon’s back, rubbing gently. Martin swallows down on no small amount of jealousy, which is a stupid and totally inappropriate reaction under the circumstances. “Okay. I’m putting my foot down. Now we have to do the statement.”

“Yes, I…I don’t think I can…last much longer if we…don’t.” Jon Prime’s voice is a mere thread, and he’s slurring his words.

“What are you talking about?” Jon frowns.

“I…” Jon Prime flounders for a moment, then looks up at Martin Prime in mute appeal. After a second, he seems to realize that won’t work and touches Martin Prime’s thigh.

It can’t be that much force, but Martin Prime evidently feels it. Something flickers over his face briefly, and Martin knows with utmost certainty that he wants to wrap Jon Prime in a hug and hold him until he stops shaking. Martin’s felt that desire with Jon more than once, but he also knows it’s a desire that isn’t going to lead anywhere any time soon; Jon seems to avoid physical contact like the plague. They’ve touched more in the last twelve hours than Martin thinks they’ve touched in the entire almost-year they’ve known each other and he’s sure it’s going to stop as soon as the shock of seeing the chaos at the Archives wears off. And despite the relieved way Jon Prime and Martin Prime clung to each other when Jon Prime first showed up, Martin’s pretty sure a protective cuddle is still out of the question.

“The statements feed the Ceaseless Watcher,” Martin Prime explains slowly. “He’s tied very closely to it, which means…well, to a certain extent, they feed him, too. At any rate, the longer he goes without a statement, the—the weaker he gets? And using his powers drains him faster. What he just did, in addition to being incredibly ill-advised to begin with, pushed him way too far. If he doesn’t get a statement, now, it might actually kill him.”

“I—I don’t actually—I mean, it’s not like we just keep those on hand,” Jon stammers. He looks shaken, which, well, Martin can understand that. It’s not easy staring down your own future, and this isn’t exactly something to look forward to.

“Too stale,” Jon Prime says hoarsely. He takes a deep breath and sort of manages to straighten up, but frankly, he looks like hell.

“He hasn’t had one since he got back, a week ago now,” Martin Prime elaborates. “And the old statements, they—don’t have the same power to them? It’s like trying to live off of granola bars. It’s possible, but it really sucks, and they don’t keep you going as well as a good meal. He needs a live statement.” He taps his temple lightly. “Fortunately, I have one on hand.”

“What, you’ve just been hoarding them?” Tim asks.

Martin Prime actually smiles a little, obviously not offended. “My journey back here wasn’t exactly straightforward, you might say.” The smile vanishes as he adds, “M-maybe we should…try to go into the other room, Jon. Or you all should leave. This might be a bit…much.”

“We’re staying,” Jon says firmly. “Tone it down if you have to, but—I can’t walk away from this, I don’t think.”

“He’s right,” Jon Prime says. He turns his exhausted eyes onto Martin Prime. “They won’t…don’t make them try to imagine it.”

Martin swallows, but tries not to visibly react otherwise. Jon Prime is right. Knowing the little bit that he knows…he won’t be able to stop himself from coming up with dozens of possible scenarios, and all of them will probably be way worse than just knowing the truth.

Martin Prime sighs heavily, then nods. “All right. Let’s go.”

[haberdashing]

Biting Your Own Neck (6/?)

Mid-season 2, Jon’s life is abruptly upended by the intrusion of two unexpected and eerily familiar visitors.

on AO3

Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 / Chapter 6

A brief moment passed in which Jon, Martin, and Tim all sat in silence before Tim finally spoke up.

“I still want to know why I don’t have my own spooky future double.”

“Perhaps it has to do with the ‘incident’ that apparently led to you being employed here in the first place.” The words came out sharper than Jon had intended; honestly, he was more surprised that his recent investigation into his archival assistants hadn’t uncovered anything about this so-called “incident” than anything else.

“It had better not.” Tim’s tone matched Jon’s own in sharpness. “If it does, well, ‘Jonny’ and ‘Kay’ will deserve what’s coming to them.”

“Wh-”

Jon stopped himself mid-word. Jonny had warned him against asking questions outright, and while Jon certainly didn’t trust Jonny and his cryptic warnings, when the best case scenario was “ask a friend about a probably-sensitive topic” and the worst case scenario was supposedly “steal a friend’s trauma” (whatever that meant), it probably didn’t hurt to be a bit more circumspect in his approach.

“I’m curious about this ‘incident’ Jonny mentioned, and what he knows about it that I don’t.”

“Of course you are.” Tim’s voice wasn’t as sharp as before, but there was still an undercurrent of bitterness within it.

“Jonny, er, said it involved trauma. A traumatic experience, then.”

Tim let out a bark of a laugh. “Yeah, that’s one way to put it.”

“And, and given that it brought you here, I’m guessing it has some connection to the supernatural.”

“Yup.” Tim popped the P at the end of the word.

“So, you came to the Magnus Institute because of a traumatizing encounter with supernatural forces.” A statement, not a question.

“Jon...” Martin said. Jon could hear the unspoken warning in Martin’s voice, but he wasn’t about to let that stop him.

Tim looked away from Jon, pointedly staring at an unexceptional patch of wall as he responded. “Yeah, that’s right. Does it matter?”

“Well. Erm.” Jon cleared his throat before continuing. “I suppose that makes two of us, then.”

“Wait, two of you?” Jon hadn’t expected Martin to be the first one to respond to that statement, and he certainly hadn’t expected the bewilderment in Martin’s voice.

“Sorry, should- should that be three of us, then?”

“What? No, I just- both of you dealt with the supernatural before coming here?”

Jon and Tim exchanged a tense glance before nodding nearly in unison.

“Jesus, am I the only one whose first run-in with that stuff was with Prentiss?”

“Maybe Sasha-” Jon started, but Tim shook his head and interrupted before Jon could finish his train of thought.

“Sasha worked in Artifact Storage when she got here, remember? She knows- she knew as much as any of us did about all this. And look where that got her.”

“If she knew the most of any of us, and she still...” Jon couldn’t bring himself to finish the sentence, to acknowledge that Sasha was gone, to admit that the “Sasha” he thought he knew had apparently been an imposter for months now. “What hope do the rest of us have?”

Another silence filled the room for a long moment, this one gloomier than the last.

“The only thing we have going for us that she didn���t is that apparently I have some, some kind of power, if Jonny’s telling the truth, something to do with asking questions... Perhaps we should test that, see how far it can go, in case I need to use it down the line.”

Martin and Tim exchanged a glance, but neither of them said a word.

“Would either of you be willing to volunteer?”

Both Martin and Tim quickly said “No,” though Tim’s response was half a beat faster than Martin’s.

“Why not?”

Tim made a face before repeating Jon’s words in a bitter tone. “Why not?”

“Yes, Tim. For all we know this power might be the only thing saving us from... from the next Prentiss, perhaps, or another thing like the one that got Sasha. Why not see what it’s good for here and now, so we know what the limits are before it comes down to some life or death situation?”

“Why should we?” Tim’s words came out fast and quick. “Why should we go along with being your guinea pigs in some spooky magic experiment just so you can get something out of it? A spooky experiment based on the words of someone you obviously don’t trust in the first place, no less!”

Tim stood up, shoving his chair roughly aside and throwing his hands in the air. “Though I don’t see why you don’t trust Jonny, I mean, it’s not like Jonny stalked your house and took pictures of it, or, or accused you of being a murderer for some reason, after you’d been friends for years... what the hell would we even get out of killing you, anyway? Because if you think we want your job, believe me, I want no part of this mess, I would quit in a damn heartbeat if I could...”

As Tim’s speech slowed to a halt, he pulled his chair back towards him, the chair making a loud noise as it was dragged against the tile floor, before collapsing in it. He was shaking slightly by the time he stopped speaking, though after a brief moment he spoke up again, looking Jon right in the eye as he did so.

“I... I didn’t mean to say all of that.”

It took a moment for Jon to realize what Tim meant by that, but once he did, his stomach sank.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

“Oh, you’re sorry. You’re sorry you used your spooky magic to make me spill my guts. Well, that makes it alright then, doesn’t it?”

“Tim, Jon, can-”

“I didn’t say it was alright, but-”

“Jonny tells you not to ask people questions, and what’s the first thing you go and do?”

“It wasn’t the first thing I did, we had an entire conversation-”

“Will you two stop fighting and realize what this actually means?”

Martin’s voice came out sharper than Jon was used to, and the unexpected harshness in his tone was enough to get both him and Tim to quiet down.

“What are you talking about?”

“Jonny was right, clearly, about the whole question thing. He knew something about you, something you could do, something that you didn’t even know about yourself yet! Even if he was, was some sort of mind reader or something, he couldn’t manage that much. So isn’t this proof that maybe Jonny and Kay are telling the truth about all this?”

Jon thought for a moment. “Well... either they’re telling the truth, or the rabbit hole goes even deeper than I thought.”

Jon didn’t see who, but he heard somebody else let out a long, dramatic sigh.

[space-helen]

Where Have You Been? - Chapter 4

Words: 2309

Pairing: Jack Thompson x Reader

A/N: Only 1 Part more after this! Thank you guys so much for keeping with this fic. I’m so glad so many of you are enjoying it.

Also I looked into wealthy neighbourhoods in New York in the 40s and I from what I can see on a 1940s New York city market analysis there was some pretty nice/wealthy neighbourhoods in Riverdale, Bronx. So maybe it happens there? But tbh I made it up.

PART 1 - CH1   CH2   CH3    CH4   CH5

PART 2 - CH6   CH7   CH8    CH9   CH10

PART 3 - CH11  CH12   CH13

___________________________

A week had passed since your first dinner date with Jack and you’d practically shared dinner with each other every night since, but not in a date setting. Everyone in the office had been pulling overtime to get the case moving faster and the both of you had been working closely together and most nights ended up eating dinner in Jack's office.

The two of you had grown close and the date you’d shared had practically been forgotten about, but the friendship you’d built was strong and true. You knew it was stupid to have fallen for the man in this short space of time but you felt this weird connection with him, as if you’d known him most of your life. You suspected he felt a similar way to you, after all why would he have asked you to dinner if he didn’t? 

But for now you were content with this friendship, you hadn’t had something like this in a very long time. Sure you had Peggy and a couple of people back home but nothing compared to this. 

The car pulled up outside Mr Martin’s house, you’d finally been able to get a warrant to search the property. Jack practically fell out of the car and rushed up towards the front door, you hurried alongside him with the warrant in hand, all of the other Agent’s you’d brought along to help search the property followed the pair of you.

“Mr Martin open up. We have a warrant.” he banged on the door and shouted.

You all heard the lock turning on the door and Jack was ready to push his way in when an older woman revealed herself on the other side. “How may I help?”

“We’re agents from the SSR. We have a warrant to search the property.”

“Could you come back in a couple of hours? I was just about to polish the floor.” Jack jammed his foot in the doorway to stop her from closing it.

You tried to reason with her, “Unfortunately we can’t leave but we shouldn’t take too long.” she looked down before stepping away from the door and Jack pushed his way in, all of the Agents filing in behind him and splitting off as he shouted orders around. 

“Is Mr Martin present?” you asked the woman and she kept quiet, her eyes staring at the floor. “Well give this to him when you see him.” you handed her a copy of the warrant.

You walked up to Jack’s side as he watched the Agents spread out “Chief?”

“Yeah” he turned to you, hands on his hips.

“I think Mr Martin might be in the house.” you subtly pointed at the woman who was unmoved by the door. “She wouldn’t deny that he is here or say if he’s out, she just kept quiet.”

“Alright ok we’ll keep an eye out. Wanna stick with me or go with Agent Sanchez?”

“As much as I love the guy I’d rather stick with you.” he nodded and the two of you started to explore the downstairs portion of the house.

You were searching the draws of a desk while Jack scoured the bookshelf, pulling books here and there, you came across a large notebook and pulled it out, flipping open the cover to find receipts for parts and meeting places. “Jack I’ve got something, look.” you flipped the notebook around for him to study while you continued to route through the draws, you soon realised the draw had a false bottom.

Reaching for a letter opener you pushed it down the edges of the panel and forced it up. Slipping your fingers under it you pulled it off to reveal a stash of money. “Woah.”

“What is it?” Jack practically lunged over the table to see. “Woah indeed.” you put your hand in and took out some of the stacks of cash. “There’s got to be at least two thousand dollars there.” he commented.

“I think maybe more than that.” you continued to rifle through the draw. “We can’t prove this is the stolen money though.”

Jack nodded “you’re right. He’s a pretty wealthy guy without the theft.” he contemplated for a second. “Put the panel back and leave it. Are we all done here?”

You slid the panel back on and gave it a bash to stay in place “Yeah all done.” you picked up the notebook and followed Jack into the garden.

The garden was large, the neighbourhood very posh, inhabitants clearly wealthy. The two of you split apart, Jack heading for a garage at the back and you stopped at a pond and looked into it, your reflection staring back. 

A rustle is what made you move your gaze from the water. Scoping the area you soon saw a man that matched Jonah Martin’s description hiding behind a statue. “Mr Martin we just want to talk.” you started to slowly walk towards the man and that’s when he started running. You called for Jack before you chased after the man.

Mr Martin had led you into the street where he continued to run, the only sounds you could hear were your shoes hitting the ground and your breath. You soon caught up with the man as he started to cross a bridge, grabbing the man's bicep he stopped in his tracks. You pointed your gun at him “Running makes you look guilty.”

“Maybe I am.” the man untwisted his arm from your grip and hit the gun out of your hand before smacking you across the face harshly, making you fall to the floor. The notebook you’d taken fell onto the ground. His face radiated pure anger as he pulled you up to your feet.

You struggled and hit the man back, attempting to get out of his grip. However, he threw a punch to your gut and backed you into the railings of the bridge forcing your upper torso over them, the water of the river vicious beneath you. “You little bitch, going through my stuff. Who gave you the authority.”

You held onto the railing to keep your balance and tried to stay as calm as you could “I work for the SSR, don’t make this worse.”

“Mr Martin let her go.” Jack’s voice was stern and close, his gun trained on the man.

Jonah looked between you and Jack, weighing up his options before throwing you to the ground and picking up the notebook and sprinting in the other direction. Jack hurried to your side and took a knee beside you “Are you alright?” he looked over you for any serious injuries.

“Don’t worry about me just go get him.” Jack nodded before putting your gun down on the floor next to you. Pushing himself up off the ground he disappeared after the man.

Clambering to your feet you grabbed your gun and followed after the men.

The chase had been unsuccessful, you’d soon lost the man and brought in lots of attention from the neighbourhood. As you walked back to Mr Martin’s home, privileged, wealthy people were all staring out of their windows at you. Some daring to come out of their houses and stare in the doorways.

It was natural for people to be curious but everyone seemed to be looking at the two of you with disapproval, as if you were in the wrong for chasing down the man. 

You took one last sweep of the property before returning to the SSR with all the other Agents. Everyone came together to share what they’d found and it was slowly organised into piles to be further investigated.

After Jack gave instructions you all split up and got to work. Picking up the box of devices found on the property you quickly delivered them to the lab to be analysed.

The sound of heels brought you out of your thoughts, they definitely weren’t yours. Looking up you caught a woman turning a corner and you rushed to follow them. “Peggy?”

The woman turned with a smile on her face “Y/N?” you opened your arms and gave the woman a crushing hug.

“You finally made it”

“We did. I was just looking for you actually. How’ve things been since we last spoke?”

The two of you navigated the halls of the SSR at a leisurely pace “Everything’s been good, had my first proper chase with someone today.”

Peggy smiled. “How are things with Jack? He was curious about your whereabouts before joining the SSR, did he ever ask you upfront?” 

“Yeah actually, before you called I’d told Jack about my past and since then he’s been very trusting. I didn’t want to bring it up when you called. We actually went to dinner that night.” Peggy stopped and put her hand out on your shoulder “Dinner with Chief Thompson? Have you hit your head or something?”

You laughed “Yeah we went to dinner once. He’s a good guy, he acts tough but I can see right through him. Anyway, how have you been?” you resumed walking

Peggy could see how much you admired the man in just the way you spoke about him. “I’ve been good. We closed the case and I’m ready for something easier and a vacation.”

“Didn’t you use all of your vacation days on the Isodyne case and waiting to transfer to the LA branch?” you joked as you headed into Jack’s office.

“You’ve been spending too much time with Thompson.” 

“Y/L/N good to see you.” Daniel stood up from his seat in front of Jack’s desk and gave you a hug.

“It’s good to see you too. Enjoying being back in New York?”

“It’s colder than I remember.” you laughed at his comment as he sat back down. Peggy closed the door and you both took a seat around the desk. 

Jack talked through the case and brought Peggy and Daniel up to speed. Going through all of the different elements and presenting all of the leads you had. By the time the briefing finished it was dark out, definitely time to go home.

“Since it’s our first night back here, how about we have dinner together. Have a proper catch up.” Daniel suggested. 

Jack sat back in his chair and pointed at Daniel “That my friend sounds like a brilliant idea.”

“Y/N you coming?” Sousa asked as Peggy grabbed their coats.

“Yeah why not.” standing you quickly left the office to grab your belongings from your desk. What you didn’t see was Jack’s smile when you agreed to go. 

As Jack slipped on his hat Peggy noticed the smile and leant in close to Daniel’s ear and whispered “He’s sweet on her for sure.” 

Daniel quickly glanced at the man and smiled. “He sure is.”

“And she likes him too.”

“Where’d you want to eat?” Jack interrupted moving to leave his office.

“How about L and L, decent food for a decent price and a nice atmosphere. Nothing fancy.” Peggy suggested as her and Daniel left the office. Jack closed the door behind them and locked it, slipping the key into his pocket.

“Whatever you want, as long as it’s close, I’m starving.” 

You and Peggy led the way, when you came to the diner, Daniel and Jack pushed in front of you to open the doors. Walking inside they picked a booth and both sat opposite one another. Peggy opted to sit on the side Jack was on and you slid in next to Daniel.

The table fell into laughs and natural chatter, just like any usual group of friends meeting up for the first time in a while. Food was delivered and the conversation kept flowing, Jack and Daniel reminiscing about working together and Peggy and yourself talked about life.

“I don’t think I could handle LA, I might come visit you guys but I think New York is where I belong.”

“Never say never Y/N”

You laughed and carried on the conversation but what you didn’t notice was Jack's head turning at the sound of your laugh, he looked at you and smiled at the sound. 

Daniel caught the man in the moment before awkwardly looking down at his plate and clearing his throat “So Y/N what was your first impression of Thompson?” 

You smiled at Jack before looking at Daniel “I thought he was ok. I didn’t appreciate being brushed to the side, but he did stop another Agent from shooting me as soon as I walked through the door.”

“Wait really? Unbelievable.” 

“Yeah he was reaching for his gun and everything.” Jack added. 

The whole table erupted in laughter and he gazed towards you, catching each other’s eyes, you smiled brighter and noticed his eyes sparkle. The moment was short lived as you tore your gaze away back to Peggy.

The four of you carried on with your meal as the diner got busier. “Is it hard to work with someone you’re dating?” you asked Peggy quietly. 

“Not really, it’s just like working with a close friend. Of course, there’s a little bit more on the line but I don’t find it any different to when I was working with you for example.” You nodded at her response, she studied you and could see longing in your eyes “You’ll find love again”

You looked over at Jack who was in a deep conversation with Daniel, his elbow propped on the table and his head in his hand as he nodded at what Daniel was saying.

“I think I already have. I’m just scared it was too fast.”

Peggy felt her heart fill with joy as she saw how you admired Jack. “You’ve had it tough but so did I and look what I found. Who cares if it’s been years or a week. If you know, you know. Trust me” 

Next Chapter

Tag List: (open)

Jack Thompson: @fandomsandxfiles @itsmissdahliahayward @vintagelavenderskies @britishcorporal @ravennaofasgard @spunky-89 @darkusangelus96 @marinettepotterandplagg @fandomsandxfiles-writes

 All Marvel: @marvelsangels

[celosiaa]

steady, love (chapter 5)

Summary:

Martin is not doing well.

Jon is there with him through every step.

(because I became obsessed ™ with the idea of Martin dealing with the physical and emotional aftermath of leaving the Lonely)

Chapters 1-6 are up on ao3 under the same username!

(1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8)

WARNING: martin's sick! and I describe it a little more in detail here. no vomiting or anything, mostly just coughing.

After fumbling with the doorknob around the large grocery bags in his arms, Jon is not surprised to find that Martin has presumably retreated upstairs for the time being.  Closing his eyes, he allows himself a deep, centering sigh.

A bit of separation ought to do us both some good.

The contents of the bags shift awkwardly in his hold, forcing him to prop them up at a strange angle.  He crosses the room quickly and sets them down on the kitchen table with a heavy THUD.

Sunlight filters in through the kitchen window, highlighted now in the absence of electrical lighting.  From this angle, Jon can see ribbons of dust framed in the sunbeams, undoubtedly landing to coat every surface in the small kitchen.  He sniffs reflexively.

Time to get to work.

He flicks on the lights and throws open the windows, willing the stifling air out of the cottage.  After taking out the cleaning supplies he’d purchased and wiping down every kitchen surface, he turns next to the array of vegetables.

Where do I start?  How does soup…work?

He ponders this for a few minutes, setting all the potential ingredients on the countertop and rearranging them periodically in an attempt to draw some method from his memory.  With some doubt, he decides to chop the onions, celery, and carrots first.  Luckily, he is not left to flounder for long— in a single moment, he finds that he Knows exactly what to do.  His hands begin to work with the rhythm of a seasoned chef, his movements fluid and sure.

Soon after, the aromatic soup bubbling on the stovetop floods the cottage with a kind of lived-in presence previously unknown to it.  As he works, Jon smiles to himself, beginning to hum some half-forgotten tune.  He pops the baguette in the oven to warm it.

At last, Watcher, you give me something useful to work with.

While he waits on their meal to finish, he takes out the mountain of medicines he’d purchased and lines them up on the countertop.  Placing his hands on his hips, he stares at them intently, unsure of his next move.

Should I go up there?

He might be asleep.

…or he’s climbed out the window.

As if on cue, a creaking stair from behind him causes him to turn around quickly.  There stands Martin, pillow creases on his left cheek, smashing down hair that had been standing on end and rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

Their eyes meet, and both freeze for several seconds, staring at each other, neither willing to shatter the uncomfortable silence.  Eventually, Martin breaks eye contact, pulling a chair out from the table and slumping into it unceremoniously.  He props his head on his hand, staring into the middle distance.

Jon’s heart fills with hope as Martin sits down, and he hurriedly sets the table for two, ladling out generous portions of soup and placing the sliced baguette on the table.  Taking his seat, he sets a glass of water in front of Martin, back ramrod straight, and anxiously studies the man before him.

Martin looks up then, meeting Jon’s eyes, expression giving nothing away.  Jon worries at his bottom lip.  He wants to say something, anything to break this awful silence.

They inhale simultaneously.

“I’m sorry—”

“I’m sor—”

They pause, mouths hanging open momentarily, before Jon continues, words pouring out of him in a rush.

“You were perfectly in the right, Martin.  You—”

“I shouldn’t have snapped.  I—heh—I can’t really understand what this—” he waves his hands vaguely. “—feels like, to you, but…I should have given you a chance to explain.  It’s only fair.”

At this, Jon drops his gaze, suddenly uncomfortable.

“It’s alright, Martin.  And…I’m still sorry,” he replies in a soft voice.

A corner of Martin’s mouth turns up, and he chuckles briefly.

“I can tell,” he says, motioning at the colorful spread in front of them.

“Y-yes, well…I did sort of plan this before my actions necessitated apologies.  I hope it’s alright.”

“I’m sure it’s lovely, dear.”

Dear.

Martin’s words draw heat into Jon’s cheeks, and he grins into his soup.  It is quite good, actually—full of flavor that Martin praises enthusiastically, though his senses are undoubtedly a bit muddled by congestion.

They eat in contented silence for while.  Jon’s heart bounds when Martin starts to get up for seconds, bowl in hand.  Snatching it from him quickly, Jon delightedly fetches him another steaming bowl full.  As he places it in front of him, Martin smiles fondly, and thin grey wisps travel out with his breath.

“We should probably talk about that,” Jon says, taking Martin’s glass and watching the rising plumes.

“Yeah, maybe,” Martin laughs, which turns hastily into coughing— substantially deeper-sounding than they had been earlier.

“And that,” Jon says pointedly, filling Martin’s glass with water.

“It’s not that bad,” Martin replies, even as his eyes begin to stream.

Jon huffs sharply.

“Well, you’re going to take something for it anyway, now that you’ve eaten.  Here—”

He shakes two fever-reducers into Martin’s hand, which he swallows obediently.  Jon then turns to flick the kettle on and leans against the counter, arms crossed loosely in front of him.

“How do you feel?”

Martin has the audacity to simply shrug as he takes a bite.  When Jon sighs loudly in frustration, Martin looks up, setting his spoon down and swallowing.

“Alright, alright.  I’m…better than this morning, I think.  Least I’ve got my voice back a bit.”

“Fever’s still there, though.  A bit higher, even.”

At this, Martin chuckles again, shaking his head and stirring his soup.  Jon holds his hands out to his sides palms up in questioning.

“What?”

“You’re fussing!”

“I most certainly am not!  I’m being perfectly reasonable, thank you.”

“Whatever you say.”

“Hmf.”

Jon turns back to making tea, pouring a mug for each of them, adding plenty of honey to Martin’s for good measure.  As he sets them down on the table, he continues his line of questioning.

“And the…Lonely stuff, then?  What should we do about it?”

At this, Martin lets out a heavy sigh, congestion crackling audibly in his chest as he does.

“Dunno.  Seems to come out more when you’re being sweet, though.”

Jon’s eyebrows shoot up into his hair.

“And I wouldn’t complain about having more of that,” he continues with a sunny smile, tipping his head onto his hand again, eyes full of amusement.

Jon returns his gaze with a sidelong glare, and watches as Martin’s shoulders begin to shake in silent giggles.  His own face melts into a smile, even as he tries to stop it from doing so.

Oh.

I think…I might love him.

Somehow, the thought does not alarm him.

Walking over to Martin slowly, he runs a hand over his hair where it still sticks up.

“Don’t push it,” he says tenderly, planting a soft kiss onto Martin’s scorching forehead.

Satisfied with the beet-red flush he’s pulled onto Martin’s cheeks, Jon sits down in the adjacent chair, taking Martin’s hand in his.  They enjoy the peace and quiet for hours, sipping at their tea and simply taking joy in each other’s company.

The fog rolls out of Martin in billows.

Jon awakens with a start, sitting up immediately, causing his head to rush.

What…?

Something had woken him, but listening now, he hears nothing but the house creaking around him.  Running a hand over his face, he tries to wrestle his sleep-laden thoughts into something resembling competence.

Something is…

He turns sharply to the right side of the bed, finding it empty.  Alarm rings through his head as he passes a hand over the Martin-shaped indentation on the sheets—already gone cold.  Breath quickening, he runs through worst-case scenarios in his mind, preparing to fight whatever had found them here, grabbing the knife he keeps at the bedside.  He slinks out of bed with cat-like grace.

From downstairs, he hears Martin’s deep hacking, urgently trying to clear his lungs.

Fuck.

Jon drops the knife to the floor, flooded with relief that he will not have to fight anything other than illness tonight.  Dropping back onto the edge of the bed, he doubles over, allowing his heart a moment to slow as it pounds in his ears.   Martin’s fit continues for nearly a minute before mercifully ceasing.

He must be miserable.

Jon winces in sympathy before standing again, pulling on his dressing gown as he heads down the stairs.

Upon entering the living room, he finds Martin once again on the sofa, curled up as tightly as his long legs will allow.  Jon can see his shoulders shaking as he desperately tries to hold back the coughs bubbling up in his chest, his face pressed into a tissue.  He turns away from Jon as he enters his peripheral vision, shaking his head rapidly.

“Martin?  What’s—”

He’s cut off abruptly by sneezing, loud and wet, that morphs quickly back into rattling coughs.  Jon’s chest aches as he watches, hearing whatever nastiness occupies Martin’s lungs refusing to loosen.  With a determined grimace, Jon steps over to him, placing a hand on his back, and begins rubbing circles with a gentle pressure.

Unfortunately, this does not seem to help, and Martin continues his half-drowned hacking with no respite in sight.

Biting his lip, Jon makes his decision and begins pounding the heel of his hand over the ribs protecting Martin’s lower lungs.

At last, this seems to break some congestion free, deepening Martin’s cough before he finally manages to get something up.  Looking into the tissue for a moment with disgust, Martin balls it up and throws it into the bin he’s dragged near the sofa, sniffling exhaustedly. He drops his head to rest on his hands.

Jon walks around the coffee table to sit beside him, resuming the slow circles on his back.

3͙̋̎9͓͂ͫ̆.̣̖̿6̩

Christ.

“I’m sorry, Jon.  I’m so sorry, it’s disgusting.” he rasps, voice wobbling with effort.

“Don’t—don’t apologize, Martin.  You’ve done nothing wrong,” Jon replies in the gentlest tone he can manage, continuing his ministrations for several moments in silence.

He looks up when he feels Martin’s shoulders beginning to shake, thinking he needs to cough again.

To his dismay, Jon sees hot tears threatening to spill over Martin’s cheeks.

“Oh, Martin, no.”

At his words, Martin immediately chokes out a sob, hiding his face in his hands, now unable to stop them from coming.  He gasps and heaves as Jon continues rubbing circles on his upper back, eventually coming to kneel in front of him, one hand resting on his knee as the sobs give way to shaking.

“Look at me, darling.  Look at me.”

Jon gently pries Martin’s hands away from his face, fever-glassed eyes meeting bright green.

“Listen to me.  I want to look after you.  I want to.  Please…please let me.”

Martin’s breath hitches, tears spilling out again, and Jon pulls his head to rest on his shoulder, stroking a hand through his faded curls.

They stay just like that for a few minutes, before Jon curls back up on the sofa next to him, hand still moving through his hair as he drifts off.

After several hours of fitful rest, Jon had managed to coax Martin into some breakfast and medication before dragging him back to bed for some proper sleep.  Basira and he had planned to speak at noon via the phone box in town, and he had told Martin as such.

Jon had left a note for him near the bed anyway.  Just in case the fever stole his memory.

He has just made it to the outskirts of the village, where sits the phone box.  It’s a bit dilapidated, peeling paint showing some hastily covered old graffiti beneath.  Jon smirks.

Martin would love this.

Stepping inside and closing the door, Jon dials Basira’s phone.  She answers almost immediately.

“Jon?  Is that you?”

“Y-yes, hello Basira.”

She exhales a long sigh of relief.

“You made it then.  Thank God, I was starting to get worried.”

Jon can’t help but smile at this.

“Yes, we’re here.  I don’t think we were followed, so we should be relatively safe for the time being.”

“Good.  That’s good.”

They pause as Jon carefully considers his words.

“Have you…have you found Daisy?” he asks in as soft a tone as he can muster.

Basira sighs heavily.  When she replies, her voice is lower, each word measured.

“I’ve got some leads.  But…I don’t want to go after her in earnest until I find out whether or not there’s any way she could…be the old Daisy again.  The real one.  I’ve been talking to some ‘experts,’ as it were.”

“Experts?  Wouldn’t that be us?”

Basira huffs out a laugh.  “You know, there are other people in the world outside of the Institute, Jon.”

“No, there aren’t.”

She fully chuckles at this, before they slip into a brief, but comfortable silence.

“And you?  How are you doing?” she asks, her question heavy with implication that Jon chooses to ignore.

“We’re fine, we’re…managing.”

“Are you, though?”

Jon sighs at this, knowing he has never successfully hidden anything of import from Basira, and he was unlikely to be able to start today.

“The Eye is…getting hungry.  Harder to control.”

“Thought as much.  You’ve been feeding on innocents again, then?” she asks waspishly.

“N-NO!  No, Basira, I’ve been able to resist.  I just…don’t know what to do going forward.”

“I’ll send you some statements then.  Should tide you over until…well, until the next horrible thing happens, I suppose.”

Jon feels he could cry with relief.

“Thank you, Basira.  Really, thank you.  You’ve got the address then?”

“…yeah.  I’ve actually been there before, you know.  With Daisy.”

Her voice grows muffled with emotion.

“It’s a lovely little spot.”

“It is.”

Their grief hangs in the air like a curtain for a few moments, and they decide to let it be.

Breathe it in, and let it go.

Just let it go.

Basira clears her throat and continues, voice stronger.

“Is Martin alright?  Is he…still Martin?”

“Yes, yes he’s been…more Martin than I’ve seen him be in a while.  Which is saying something, given that he’s quite ill at the moment.”

“Ill?  Ill how?” she says, her voice ticking up in concern.

“It’s…complicated.  Some kind of dreadful chest cold or flu or something, certainly.  But…sometimes, when he feels—”

Jon cuts off, embarrassed.

“Sometimes he breathes out this…fog.  It looks like the fog that was in the Lonely, so he thinks it’s a sign of the Lonely leaving him.  That it’s a good thing.”

“And what do you think?”

Jon sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face.

“I think he might be right, but…I also think it might be what’s making him ill.  He’s…gotten much worse, even just since yesterday.”

“Hmm.”

Another silence falls, both pondering.

“Well.   Something else I can look into, I suppose.  You’re at the phone box in the village, right?”

Jon chuckles, looking around at the smudged glass.

“Of course.”

“Right.  Let’s plan to talk again in a few days.  Half past one on Thursday okay?  I’ll rush you the statements in the meantime.”

“That sounds perfect, Basira.  Thank you.  And…”

He cuts off, softening his voice.

“Good luck.  I hope you can find a way to get her back.  And…that we’ll see each other again, soon.”

Basira sniffs audibly, leaning away from the speaker for a moment.

“Right.  Be careful, Jon.  I mean it.  Call if Martin gets worse.”

The receiver clicks.

Jon gets back to the cottage just in time for Martin’s next round of Dr. Sims-prescribed medication, his hair tossed wild by the Highland winds.  The downstairs lights are still off, just as he had left them.

I hope he managed some decent sleep, at least.

He grabs the meds from the kitchen counter along with a fresh glass of water, and ascends the stairs on tiptoe.  Swinging the bedroom door open, he finds Martin sprawled across the bed, mouth open and propped up on every pillow they had managed to find.  Jon smirks fondly.  He then sets the meds and the glass of water on the nightstand as he sits on the edge of the bed.

3̗͒ͩ9̬̖̊̔.̳̰̓3.

Jon frowns the moment he places his hand on Martin’s flushed neck.  It’s down from earlier, but not by much, and still on the border of worrying.

Dammit, I’ve got to wake him.

Stroking his arm, Jon calls his name softly.

“Martin.  Hey, Martin.”

He brushes the damp fringe back from Martin’s brow.

At this, Martin lifts his eyelids halfway, heavy with sleep.  After a moment, he turns his gaze to Jon before groaning and scrubbing at his eyes.

Poor thing.

Jon holds out the pills and the water glass to him.

“Do you think you can take these?”

Martin stares blankly at them for a moment, as though mesmerized by their colors, before reaching out with shaky hands.  He pops the pills in his mouth successfully, but as he reaches for the glass, his hands shake so badly that Jon is forced to keep a hand over his as Martin tips his head back to swallow.

His breaths are shallow and crackling when Jon takes back the glass, and sweat begins to bead his brow.  Grimacing for a moment, Jon rubs his shoulder briefly before standing.

“I’ll be right back.”

He walks quickly to the bathroom, finding a clean washcloth and dampening it with the coldest water he can coax from the tap.  Deep, rattling coughs echo from the bedroom as he does, and he shakes his head frustratedly.

Why isn’t any of this helping?

As he returns, Martin has reached the bitter and unsatisfying end of his fit, his chest still crackling with each inhale in spite of his efforts to clear it.

“Christ, Martin.  You sound awful.”

But Martin has squeezed his eyes shut again, leaning back against the pillows in exhaustion and rubbing painfully at his chest.  Jon perches near his elbow and begins gently sweeping the cold cloth over his face, eliciting a contented sigh from Martin as soon as the coolness hits his skin.  Jon moves lower, stroking his neck soothingly before depositing the cloth on his forehead.

As he does so, Martin reaches up, grabbing his hand lightly.

“What is it?”

Martin does not reply, merely gazing at his hand with half-lidded eyes as he begins to massage it, much in the same way he had done the previous morning on their drive to the village.

Oh, Martin.

Jon smiles and runs his free hand through Martin’s hair.  Martin’s fingers work over the length of each of Jon’s, before Jon’s gentle motions relax him enough that he falls asleep halfway through his ministrations.

Chuckling fondly, Jon lifts the towel from Martin’s brow just long enough to plant a few lingering kisses there before replacing it.

“Sleep well, darling,” he whispers, moving the tissue box within his reach on the bed and patting his arm before slipping out the door.

[be-the-creature-fan]

Rise of ZV (Episode 2)

By: be-the-creature-fan

Episode Summary: Life after the Accident had deeply effected the WK Crew and decided to split up and find work elsewhere. However they still keep in contact with each other and are together during the highs and lows as time moves forward. Meanwhile a John Doe finds himself not remembering who he is, in a hospital. With very little strength and no known family, a sweet old couple helps him get back on his feet and try to help him remember his past life but to no evale. (It has sub chapters which might occur sometimes in this series)

Hope you enjoy this episode :)

Part 1 Episode 2

Numb and Moving on

After the accident Martin had to tell Martin the news to his family, which was probably one of the hardest things he had to do. Time seemed to move slowly while planning for the funeral, but the day of the funeral eventually came. Martin was feeling numb throughout everything but the funeral seemed epeshily hard for him since they couldn't acutely find any of Chris's remains, so they instead buried Chris's CPS and Creature Souvenir Collection.

After the funeral the WK team started discussing what to do next.

"I think we need to split up" Martin said bluntly.

"Whoa What?" Koki said very surprised. "Why?"

"Well we aren't the WK Team without Chris, and since Chris is gone, well I think we should disband the WK Team and start finding new jobs. We can stay in touch of course but it's time to start moving on."

"Ok, we understand" Aviva and the others said.

Over the next month Martin, Aviva Koki and Jimmy eventually found new jobs.

Martin got an office job at a cabinet factory. Aviva got a job at a mostly top secret science facility. Koki got a job working as a mechanic and Jimmy making a name for himself as a food blogger. Life was hard for the team but time just seemed to moving forward.

Martin's Birthday

It was December 23rd and it was a cold and bitter day. Heck, Martin was so busy with his new office job that he nearly forgot it was his birthday if it wasn't for the rest of the WK team and both of his Parents calling him that morning wishing him a Happy Birthday, not like it was much of a birthday without Chris. Later that day Martin got another call from Aviva.

"Hey Martin, how's your birthday going?"

"I don't know, it's ok I guess just felt like every other day." Martin said as he looked at a picture of Chris trying to smash his head into his birthday cake from a year ago. "How about you Aviva, how was your week?"

"Very interesting to say the least?" Aviva recalled "it's a long story, so if you don't have time I can tell you later if you want"

"Oh I have time, I just finished working for the day and I'm about to head home"

"Alright, well the week started like this..."

You Look Like Somebody I Use to Know.

(8:07am December 19th)

Aviva was working at on a new type of pill in her office that is supposed to restore nerves in the brain. The only thing thats needed now was test runs, but qualified and willing participants were very slim, and for many weeks thats how it was for many weeks. However this day was different, it started when one of Aviva's coworkers barged into her office.

"Ms. Corvado I have excellent news!"

"What is it Jones?" Aviva asked in a unenthusiastic voice

"We found a perfect canidate to test out the brain pill, he's a John Doe case but after hearing about this he's saying that he's willing to be apart of the trial."

"Oh! Well that's great, but does he know the potential risk? Because its still not quite ready."

"Well, he and the people who found him were hoping that they could meet up with a professional to have more of an idea of what this pill can do so they can make a firm decision if they want to continue with participating in the trial."

"Ok I'll probably contact them and meet up with them sometime this week."

So Aviva got ahold of the John Doe victim and the old couple who found him and the very next day Aviva met with them in John Doe's hospital room. The old couple who had found him were Mr. and Mrs. Svinth, and they are farmers. They told Aviva the story of how they found John Doe crawling out of the forest fire that was near by their house, and how half of his face was severely burned and lost his eye.

"For weeks he has been slipping in and out of consciousness" Mrs.Svinth added "We're trying to help him try to remember who he is, but nothing is helping, so when we read about needing participants for the new pill you were working on we told John about it while he was awake and he wanted to be part of your study."

So Aviva meets John Doe and even though he had semi long stubble and a large bandage covering the left side of his face there was something familiar about him but put it to the side thinking she was still grieving and after a short discussion and signing the waiver, John Doe took the pill.

"It might be a while before it takes effect, please let me know if anything happens. Aviva said as she started packing up.

"Thank you" John Doe said in a very raspy voice.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Back to Decmber 23rd

"Wow, that's weird" Martin said as he approached his apartment.

"What is it?" Aviva asked

"The light in my apartment is on, but I always turn it off before I leave for work, maybe someone broke in"

"Oh! I'll talk to you later then" Aviva said as she quickly hung up.

The light then suddenly turned off as Martin began to open the unlocked door.

TBC.......

[breannacasey]

Fic Masterpost

Since I just made it to 100 posted works on my ao3 since I created it in January 2014, I thought I’d make a masterpost on here of all of them to celebrate. Also, shameless self promo. I’ll also include some of my upcoming things, because they would make it 100 without counting the translations.

I’ll put them by fandom and in the order I started writing for each fandom. And I’ll put a  ⭐ next to my personal favourites. And 🌟 for my faves of faves.

Fandoms I’ve written for in alphabetical order: 911, 911 Lone Star, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Criminal Minds, Hannibal, Harry Potter, House md, Leverage, Limitless, Lucifer, New Amsterdam, Prodigal Son, Sherlock, Supergirl, Supernatural, White Collar

Total per rating: General (21), Teen and Up (72), Mature (7)

Total per warning: No Archive Warning Applies (85), Chose Not To Use Warnings (1), Major Character Death (10), Graphic Depictions of Violence (3), Rape/Non-Con (1)

Supernatural (10 works)

Let Me Go (series, 2 works, 1 354 words, Teen) Castiel/Dean Winchester: Dean Winchester struggles with suicidal thoughts.

A Crowley Valentine (one shot, 1 899 words, Gen) Castiel/Dean Winchester: It’s Valentine’s Day and Crowley is tired of Dean and Cas not admitting that they’re in love with each other so he decides to take action.

Never Stop Fighting (multi chapter, 9 chapters, 21 274 words, Teen, Graphic Depictions of Violence) Castiel/Dean Winchester, Lucifer/Original Female Character: The brothers go investigate a weird occurrence but they end up rescuing someone who might be able to help them fight Metatron and put heaven back in business. But could she have an agenda of her own?

Demon Love (one shot, 1 117 words, Teen) Castiel/Dean Winchester: Dean uses his demon powers not exactly in the deadly way Crowley had hoped.

There’ll Be Peace When You Are Done (one shot, 1 076 words, Gen, Major Character Death) Castiel/Dean Winchester: Dean dies and goes to heaven

A Different Kind Of Family (one shot, 1 455 words, Teen) Castiel/Dean Winchester: Sam and Dean go on a hunt for what turns out to be zombies.

A Good Combo (multi chapter, 5 chapters, 11 680 words, Teen, Pizza Place AU) Castiel/Dean Winchester and more: Castiel meets Dean at a weird time in his life. He just got out of a relationship and, with the death of one of his siblings, he isn’t sure if he is ready to jump into another one just yet.

Please Stay With Me (one shot, 906 words, Gen) Castiel/Dean Winchester: Set some time after 11X04 “Baby”, Castiel is still staying in the bunker, resting and getting better, but the brothers are barely ever there and Dean won’t even stay in the same room with him.

+ one crossover

Criminal Minds (3 works)

Prentiss’ Secret (one shot, 1 209 words, Teen) Aaron Hotchner/Emily Prentiss: Prentiss left the BAU to work in London. Now she’s coming back to help them, but she has a secret.

Outside The Comfort Of Innocence (one shot, 1 354 words, Teen) Aaron Hotchner/Emily Prentiss : As a kid, Emily Prentiss and her family move in next door to the Hotchners. Hotch and Prentiss grow up best friends, but a dark secret brings the real world into their childhood. ⭐

Everybody Loves Halloween (one shot, 991 words, Gen) Aaron Hotchner/Emily Prentiss, Jennifer Jareau/Will LaMontagne: Emily comes for Halloween and the Hotchners go trick-or-treating with the LaMontagnes.

Sherlock (8 works)

Filling The Holes (series, 6 works, 8 960 words, Gen, Teen and Mature, Major Character Death) Sherlock Holmes/Jim Moriarty: This is a series that goes on in the spaces between what we see on the show. It takes place after Reichenbach Fall. ⭐

John Watson’s Missing Wednesday (one shot, 854 words, Teen) Sherlock Holmes/Jim Moriarty: At the wedding, Sherlock mentioned a time when John missed an entire wednesday without even noticing, what happened that day?

The Dead Are Busy Too (one shot, 618 words, Gen) Sherlock Holmes/Jim Moriarty: Nearly two years after the events of Reichenbach Fall, Moriarty’s network is close to being a thing of the past.

Harry Potter (20 works)

1998, or the year everything changed (series, 18 works, 77 224 words, Gen, Teen and Mature, Major Character Death) Various ships: A series taking place the months following the Battle of Hogwarts. Each story focuses on a different character, but they all interlock with one another. (aka I didn’t like the epilogue so I made my own.) ⭐

Light in the Darkest of Times (one shot, 742 words, Teen) Luna Lovegood/Ginny Weasley: Feeling his constant support of Harry Potter in his magazine might cause the Death Eaters to try something, Xenophilius has Luna stay in Hogwarts for the holidays, thinking she’d be safe there. But things aren’t the same in the castle since Dumbledore’s death.

The Potion Master’s Daughter (multi chapter, 14 chapters, 67 001 words, Teen, Major Character Death) Luna Lovegood/Original Female Character and more: Severus Snape had a daughter several years ago. A year behind the famous Harry Potter, she’ll navigate her years at Hogwarts, punctuated with all kinds of events, like the opening of the Chamber of Secrets, the Triwizard Tournament and Voldemort’s return. 🌟

Hannibal (1 work)

Love and Dogs (one shot, 137 words, Gen) Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter: Hannibal wakes up at Will’s place

Limitless (10 works)

Screw, Marry, No Kill (one shot, 1 317 words, Teen) Brian Finch/Ike, Brian Finch/Mike: Brian thought having a one night stand with a coworker wasn’t a big deal, but not everyone had the same opinion.

Distracting Thoughts (one shot, 1 508, Teen) Brian Finch/Ike: Brian takes too much NZT and suddenly gains the ability to hear thoughts.

Keep You Safe (one shot, 832 words, Teen) Brian Finch/Ike: Set during 1x22 Finale: Part Two!! With Brian under side effects from the NZT, Ike worries for the man’s life.

Undercover! Again! (one shot, 2 601 words, Teen) Brian Finch/Ike: Brian and Ike are sent on an undercover mission, but things don’t exactly go as planned.

Rebecca Harris’s One Sick (Valentine’s) Day (one shot, 1 137 words, Gen) Rebecca Harris/Lucy Church: Rebecca was about to head off to work, but when a surprise visitor shows up at her door, she has another idea.

The Influence A Person Can Have (multi chapter, 3 chapters, 10 340 words, Teen) Brian Finch/Eli Whitford, Brian Finch/Ike: Sometimes, you meet one person and it changes your whole life. Everything else after that would’ve been different. For Brian, it all comes back to that moment he met Eli. It seems some people are simply meant to enter your life at the right moment, to stir you in the right direction. From figuring out who he is to falling in love for the first time to getting his life together and even meeting the love of his life, Brian’s life wouldn’t have been the same. 🌟

A Little Bit of Ice and Rube Goldberg (one shot, 1 875 words, Teen) Brian Finch/Ike: When freezing rain takes over the city, everyone goes home while it’s still safe outside. Brian insists on finishing what he’s working on, forcing both he and Ike to stay alone in the office to weather the storm.

Fulfilled, Not Finished (one shot, 4 861 words, Teen, Major Character Death) Brian Finch/Ike: When the squad finds a potential witness for their case, Ike volunteers himself and Brian to go check it out. But things take a dark turn. ⭐

Curve Ball Field (one shot, 7 196 words, Teen) Brian Finch: When Brian gets kidnapped for ransom, the CJC isn’t clear on how to handle the situation, or how to reassure his family. 🌟

+ one crossover

House (2 works)

Lean On Me (one shot, 1 414 words, Teen, Major Character Death) Gregory House/James Wilson: A short evolution of House and Wilson’s relationship, from their first meeting to their last. ⭐

Don’t You Know I Care? (one shot, 1 364 words, Teen) Gregoy House/James Wilson: House ended up in a hospital bed, again, but this time the familiar face of Wilson is missing from his bedside.

Supergirl (4 works)

My Hero (one shot, 650 words, Gen) Kara Danvers/Lena Luthor: When Lena gets pushed off her balcony, Supergirl is there to rescue her once again.

When It Starts (one shot, 1 908 words, Gen) Kara Danvers/Lena Luthor: Lena loves being Kara’s friend, but she wouldn’t say no to being more than that.

Hero in Need of Saving (one shot, 2 180 words, Teen) Kara Danvers/Lena Luthor: When a gunman shows up at Catco, Kara gets hurt and ends up stuck in the elevator with Lena and some kryptonite. ⭐

If I Could Find The Way Up (multi chapters, 3 chapters, 4 959 words, Teen) Kara Danvers/Lena Luthor: Lena Luthor is depressed and she doesn’t understand what she calls an obsession for Kara Danvers. Kara who keeps cutting their time together short, maybe on purpose. Lena is struggling to deal with all that pain she feels inside and trying to figure out what she feels around Kara might mean.

Lucifer (1 work)

Grow On Me (one shot, 4 051 words, Mature, College AU) Lucifer Morningstar, Marcus Pierce: Lucifer and Marcus are college roommates. When Lucifer learns Marcus doesn’t have plans for the holidays, he convinces him to come to a cabin with him and pretend to be his boyfriend to get his siblings off his back. ⭐

Prodigal Son (7 works)

Bright Ideas (one shot, 3 560 words, Teen, Graphic Depictions of Violence) Malcolm Bright/JT Tarmel: Because Malcolm is Malcolm, he goes after a suspect on his own and gets taken. And then JT helps.

Unleashed (multi chapter, 8 chapters, 53 452 words, Mature, Graphic Depictions of Violence) Gil Arroyo & Malcolm Bright, Malcolm Bright & Martin Whitly, Gil Arroyo & Martin Whitly, Gil Arroyo/Jessica Whitly: Martin Whitly has escaped. He is finally free to get back at those who have hurt him. Everyone is anxious for him to be found and locked up again. And worried about what he might be planning to do. 🌟

On An Island (one shot, 1 704 words, Teen) Malcolm Bright: While on vacation, Malcolm finds he misses home and reflects on the past.

Shivers and Soup (one shot, 1 340 words, Gen) Malcolm Bright & Dani Powell, Malcolm Bright & Ainsley Whitly, Dani Powell/Ainsley Whitly: Malcolm has a cold and is sent home

Hold You Close (one shot, 2 077 words, Teen) Dani Powell/Ainsley Whitly: Ainsley gets injured while covering the team’s latest case and Dani decides to check on her.

Only One Safe (one shot, 2 609 words, Teen) Dani Powell/Ainsley Whitly, Malcolm Bright & Ainsley Whitly:  When blackouts spread across the city, Malcolm’s friends lock him up to make sure he won’t get himself into trouble. He worries about everyone else.

+ one crossover

911 Lone Star (12 works)

Stranded in Smoke (one shot, 2 339 words, Teen) Carlos Reyes/TK Strand, Owen Strand & TK Strand: During a fire, the floor collapses under TK’s feet, his radio stops working and he finds himself completely separated from the rest of the crew.

There For You (one shot, 1 235 words, Gen) Carlos Reyes/TK Strand: When Carlos doesn’t show up to work and cancels their plans, TK wants to make sure he’s okay.

Not Your Choice (one shot, 3 236 words, Teen) Carlos Reyes/TK Strand: A man holds up TK’s therapist office and Carlos is the officer sent in to deal with it.

My Only Sunshine (one shot, 2 553 words, Teen) Carlos Reyes/TK Strand: Carlos gets hurt while pursuing a suspect and, despite Michelle’s advice, he insists he’s fine and doesn’t need to go to the hospital. He is wrong.⭐

Late Night Bruises (one shot, 2 385 words, Teen) Carlos Reyes/TK Strand: TK gets himself into trouble, but Carlos is there to help.

Classic Happiness (one shot, 1 021 words, Teen) Carlos Reyes/TK Strand: TK invites Carlos over to the house for their first actual date.

Don’t Leave Me (one shot, 2 384 words, Teen, Major Character Death) Owen Strand & TK Strand, Carlos Reyes/TK Strand: TK had been the one unconscious, on the edge of death before, and he knew it had to hurt for those around him, but he never fully understood what it felt like until he was the one standing over someone he cared deeply about, begging for them to wake up.

A Long Day (one shot, 4 245 words, Teen) Carlos Reyes/TK Strand, Marjan Marwani & Paul Strickland, Marjan Marwani & TK Strand: Some days, nothing truly bad happens, but without anything good either, small things pile up and drag you down.

Pain Leaves Traces (multi chapter, 3 chapters, 5 958 words, Teen) Carlos Reyes/TK Strand, Owen Strand & TK Strand: TK is getting closer to Carlos, but there is still a part of himself he’d rather he didn’t know about.

Stay Behind, Make A Friend (one shot, 524 words, Gen) Carlos Reyes & Paul Strickland: Paul is alone at the firehouse when Carlos shows up, so they hang out.

Another Heart Robbery (one shot, 4 886 words, Teen) Carlos Reyes/TK Strand: When the building he’s robbing catches fire, Carlos thinks he’s the most unlucky man on Earth. Then comes a very handsome firefighter.  🌟

Off Balance (multi chapter, in progress, 8/10 chapters, 10 399 words and counting, Teen) Carlos Reyes/TK Strand, Carlos Reyes & Michelle Blake: What Carlos thinks is a simple cut, turns out to be much worse. 🌟

Leverage (4 works)

The Past Job (one shot, 1 565 words, Mature, Rape/Non-Con) Damien Moreau/Eliot Spencer: Damien Moreau learns Eliot wants to leave his organisation. He decides to deal with it himself, and why not enjoy it while he’s at it. ⭐

The Protection Job (one shot, 1 785 words, Teen) Alec Hardison/Parker/Eliot Spencer: Eliot falls off a roof during a job, leaving Parker and Hardison unprotected. ⭐

+ two crossovers

911 (15 works)

In My Heart (one shot, 2 410 words, Teen) Evan Buckley/Eddie Diaz: While on a call, Buck gets exposed to a toxic substance and it makes Eddie put things into perspective.

Worry, Worry, Worry (one shot, 3 238 words, Teen) Evan Buckley/Eddie Diaz: No matter how many times Buck gets told that he will be safe, when Eddie accepts to be serial killer bait, Buck worries about him. ⭐

Who’s First? (one shot, 1 322 words, Gen) Evan Buckley/Eddie Diaz, Howie Han & Hen Wilson: Hen and Chimney bet on who, between Buck and Eddie, will be the one to make the first move.

A Gay Old Time at the Mini Golf (one shot, 2 004 words, Teen) Hen Wilson/Karen Wilson, Evan Buckley & Hen Wilson & Karen Wilson & Michael Grant: When Buck gets woken up by the sounds of people in his apartment, he doesn’t expect the day to turn out so fun.

When Things Are Bad, Better To Laugh It Off (one shot, 1 525 words, Teen) Howie Han & Tommy Kinard, Howie Han & Hen Wilson: The story of how Howie Han became Chimney.

His First Choice (one shot, 1 209 words, Teen) Evan Buckley/Eddie Diaz: Buck feels lonely, like everyone around him has a family, someone who cares about them more than anything, but he doesn’t. Turns out he is wrong. ⭐ 

Always Come By (one shot, 1 196 words, Gen) Evan Buckley & Bobby Nash: Bobby’s afternoon alone is cut short when a sad Buck shows up at his doorstep. ⭐ 

Beautifully Cold (one shot, 1 463 words, Gen) Bobby Nash & Grant Family, Athena Grant/Bobby Nash: The Grant-Nash family goes on a trip to Minnesota in the middle of winter.

Give Her The Comfort She Needs (multi chapter, 2 chapters, 2 912 words, Teen) Evan Buckley & Maddie Buckley, Evan Buckley/Eddie Diaz: Eddie, Buck and Christopher are having a morning like many others when Maddie shows up to take her brother to a funeral he doesn’t seem keen on attending.

Let Me Take Care Of You (one shot, 596 words, Gen) Maddie Buckley/Howie Han: Maddie is sick and Chimney takes care of her.

Loving Exasperation (one shot, 571 words, Gen) Evan Buckley & Maddie Buckley: Maddie comes home for Thanksgiving during her first semester of college. ⭐

At Least We Have Each Other (one shot, 666 words, Teen, Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings) Howie Han & Karen Wilson: Something happened to Hen during a call and Chimney is the one to deliver the news to Karen.

Wait Happy (one shot, 650 words, Gen) Maddie Buckley/Howie Han: After they learn about it themselves, Chimney and Maddie have to wait to tell the others about the pregnancy.

Gratefully Together (one shot, 632 words, Gen) May Grant & Michael Grant: Michael helps May move into her dorm room.

Barbie Boy (one shot, 618 words, Mature) Evan Buckley/Eddie Diaz: Buck’s karaoke performance has quite the effect on Eddie

Crossovers

Supernatural and Buffy the Vampire Slayer:

Nobody Picked The Family Business (multi chapter, 6 chapters, 14 796 words, Teen) Dawn Summers/Sam Winchester, Tara Maclay/Willow Rosenberg, Spike/Buffy Summers, Castiel/Dean Winchester: When Sam doesn’t get a scholarship to Stanford, John lets him go to UC Sunnydale, hoping all the stuff going on there will convince him to keep hunting.⭐

White Collar, Leverage and Limitless:

The Grey Area Job (multi chapter, 4 chapters, 15 992 words, Teen) Neal Caffrey/Eliot Spencer, Sophie Devereaux/Nate Ford, Alec Hardison/Parker, Brian Finch/Ike: When he and Peter encounter a particularly complicated case, Neal calls his friend, Sophie Devereaux, for help.

White Collar and Leverage:

The Informant Job (one shot, 2 675 words, Teen) Neal Caffrey/Eliot Spencer: While searching a warehouse, Eliot finds himself in a situation he wasn’t expecting.

Prodigal Son and New Amsterdam:

Stay Right Here (one shot, 5 129 words, Teen) Malcolm Bright, Iggy Frome: After being kidnapped, Malcolm ends up at New Amsterdam to get treated for his injuries.⭐

Traductions

Du Poison (vf de Poison, Supernatural)

Je Tiens à Toi (vf de Don’t You Know I Care?, House)

Quelqu’un Sur Qui Compter (vf de Lean On Me, House)

Une Vie que Personne ne Choisit (vf de Nobody Picked The Family Business, Supernatural, Buffy the Vampire Slayer)

Soon

Henren Week: Everything I Need (one shot, 534 words, Gen) Hen Wilson/Karen Wilson: Hen and Karen enjoy a quiet day off together. ⭐ 

Buddie Week: Good Things Don’t Come Easy (one shot, 1 272 words, Teen) Evan Buckley/Eddie Diaz: Eddie couldn’t fall for someone like Evan Buckley, but the heart hardly ever listens to logic. ⭐

Buddie Week: How To Handle Friendship With Smart Idiots (one shot, 836 words, Teen) Evan Buckley/Eddie Diaz: Carla is tired of watching Buck and Eddie being oblivious about their feelings for each other, so she decides to get involved.

Tarlos Week: The Best Farmer’s Market Find (one shot, 810 words, Gen) Carlos Reyes/TK Strand, Carlos Reyes & Owen Strand: TK wakes up to the sounds of his dad making breakfast, not alone. ⭐

Owen Strand Week: Snow Day in Austin (one shot, 1 060 words, Gen) Owen Strand & TK Strand: Owen has been feeling down and missing the New York winter, but he has an amazing son.

Evan Buckley Week: Under The Stars (one shot, 532 words, Gen) Evan Buckley & Christopher Diaz: Buck and Christopher go camping. 

[ironwoman18]

The Worst Third Date Ever part 30

Chapter 30: Changes.

Spencer and Max returned to Washington DC, using the same route. Rome- Amsterdam- Detroit- DC.

When they got their suitcases and walked out of the baggage claim area they saw a big banner with the message 'WELCOME HOME DR. AND MRS. REID' on it.

It was hold by Michelle, Sammy and Eloise. Max ran and hugged her sisters and nephew, then Spencer did the same.

"Welcome back uncle and aunt. I missed you" said Sammy hugging Max.

"We missed you too buddy" said Max as she ruffles his hair "we brought you a present"

"Really? That's awesome!" Said the kid excited "can I see it?"

"Honey..." Said his mother with serious eyes "they are just arriving, and I'm sure they will give it to you when they rest tonight" the kid looked down and nodded at his mother "how was the flight?" Michelle asked as they walked to the door.

"Great, there was a little turbulence but nothing too serious" said Spencer with a calm voice.

Max shook her head "I was shaking and he just mentioned facts about how an aircraft can crash"

"Oh really? Can you tell me uncle Spence?" Asked Sammy excited.

"Maybe later Sammy. Your aunt Max is still upset about that" said Spencer looking at the kid.

They reached Michelle's car and after putting the baggage in the trunk, they all got in the car and the older sister started to drive.

"Max. This week the Smithsonian called you, when they couldn't reach you on your phone they called me" said Michelle and Max looked worried.

"What? Really? What did you say? What did they say?"

"They wanted to let you know their decision after evaluate the 4 candidates" Michelle said and Max held Spencer's hand tight "they asked me when you will return. I told them the date and they asked if you could go tomorrow afternoon"

"Yes of course I can" she said holding tight her husband's hand.

"That's what I said" was the answer of her older sister and Max relaxed a little "now Spencer. JJ said Georgetown called you" the man looked confused "she said they wanted to offer you the courses. As I did, she explained that you were at your honeymoon so they wanted you to go tomorrow in the morning"

"Aww we were planning to move tomorrow my clothes to Max's apartment. It's bigger than mine" said Spencer "until we find a bigger place and I can move my books in there"

"But if you need help Spencer. Tomorrow we can help" said Eloise "my first class is after lunch tomorrow so I can take my dad there"

"That would be so nice. Thank you Eloise" said him at the younger sister of his wife.

After that the rest of the ride was quiet. Sammy was playing with his mom's phone, Max and Spencer were watching outside the window and the two sisters were listening to the music on the radio.

When they arrived to Max's apartment the couple got out and got their baggage out. They said their goodnight to the three people, Spencer handed Eloise the keys of his apartment then, they went to her apartment and walked in.

They unpacked their clothes to sleep and even with the jet lag, they were too tired to feel it's effects.

OOooOOooOO

The next day Spencer woke up earlier and got out their clothes and put in the washing machine some of them while he was getting ready to go to his new job.

Her classes will be later so he let her sleep some more minutes. Just when he was ready to leave he woke her up.

"Why didn't you wake me earlier?" She asked rubbing her eyes.

"I wanted you to rest some more. See you later and we can talk about what the Smithsonian said"

"I'm nervous. What if they don't hire me?"

"Then they will be stupid for losing such a wonderful woman" she blushed and kissed him softly.

"Have a good day Spence. Keep me posted" she said smiling.

"You too" he smiled back and he left to the university.

Spencer's car was at his apartment so he will go to the university in a taxi.

When he arrived, he walked to the office of the man he always talk with.

"Good morning, I'm here to talk with Mr Martin"

The woman at the reception nodded "your name sir...?"

"I'm Dr. Spencer Reid" the woman tapped his name on the computer.

"Floor three, go to the right, the office at the end" he nodded and walked there.

He walked there looking around. He liked this place and was excited about working here as a teacher.

When he reached the office he knocked the door and waited until the voice of Mr. Martin said "come in, please"

Spencer walked in "good morning sir" he smiled at the man, he was a man in his late sixties and fat body, with white hair, he had glasses.

"Dr. Reid! Good morning" the old man stood up to shake his hand.

Spencer shook his hand gently "it's good to see you again, sir"

"Same here boy. Please have a seat" he pointed to a chair then he sat down and so did Spencer "congratulations, Agent Jareau told me you just got married"

"Thank you. Yeah it was a week ago and I still can't believe it" he said with a little laugh.

"Hope everything end up well for you. I already signed my fourth divorce" he said a little sad.

"Oh I'm sorry"

"It's ok boy. I will move on, as always" he said with a smile that Spencer noted forced but did not say anything "anyway, thanks for coming Dr. Reid. As you know we will need you to start this April so here are the subject we need you to teach" he handed him a piece of paper "Forensic psychology, geo profile and we opened a little course where we would like you to explain how to profile someone. The classes will be Mondays and Wednesdays and those courses will be an hour on Fridays. Is it ok?"

Spencer nodded "you know I'm also working part time at the FBI, right?" He nodded "this schedule will make it hard"

"Oh, but it's not all day. You will have the rest of the day to go to your other job"

"Sir, if you move two of them? For example, forensic psychology and geo profile to one day? It could be helpful"

"I will see what I can do" said the man checking the other schedules "I will let you know this afternoon" Spencer nodded ready to leave when the man in front of him talked again "one more thing. Do you need a place to live? Because the university has some houses for the teachers. Mostly for people who have to move from another state, but right now we have a free house because Dr. Flinch left to Florida" he looked at Spencer "I'm sure you and your wife will have to find somewhere to live so maybe it can work for you"

"That would be perfect for us, we were indeep planning to look for a house" the man in front of Spencer nodded happy.

"Perfect then... You can move tomorrow if you want" he handed the keys "and I will call you today during the day ok?"

"Yes and thank you sir" Spencer shook his hand again after stood up and walked out the office.

He smiled looking at the keys and decided to check that house. It was close to the building he will work. They were finishing the painting in the house and clean the rooms that were already painted.

They told him that by tomorrow afternoon it will be ready. Spencer smiled and nodded at the people who were working there.

After that he went back to his apartment where Eloise and Don were getting his clothes in suitcases.

"Good morning Don and Eloise" he said walking in "how are you doing?"

"Oh hey Spencer, we are almost done here" said Don "you have a lot of suits"

Spencer laughed "yeah I have been working as an FBI agent for fifteen years so needed lot of suits"

He helped them with the suitcases and moved thembto his car. Then they drink coffee and he told them what happened and that they offered him a house and that they will move tomorrow.

Both congratulate him then they drove back to Max apartment and Spencer decided to call to his friends and asked if they could help him to move in his new home, and they were all accepted.

Spencer went to the Smithsonian waiting for Max. She must be there already so he walked around the area.

Thirty minutes later Max walked out and she looked at Spencer, she was holding a bouquet of flowers in her arms.

He walked to her "hey" he could not read her expressions "how was it?" He asked.

She looked up at him and her poker face morphed into a big smile "I got the job!" She scream hugging him "I will start next week"

He hugged her tight "congratulations sweetheart! I'm so proud of you and I told you, you will get it" he smiled at her.

"Thank you babe, and what about you?" He explained everything that happened there "ok so we have a house?" He nodded "that's awesome. And do you think they will change your schedule?"

"I think so, but let's see because if they don't I might have to change my status at the FBI. And definitely leave the field" they walked to buy a coffee to celebrate "and those flowers?"

"Well these are as a present for my marriage" she smirked "and of course for be their new employee"

"That's so sweet of them" they bought coffees and donuts.

"Yeah I'm agree" they continue to talk and then the university called Spencer and they said they could not change his schedule.

Which make him consider his role in the FBI as a field agent. They will wait to talk to Prentiss about it.

The next day they moved to the new house and Spencer asked Prentiss to have a meeting with her the next day.

Their house decoration was a mix of Spencer and Max's styles which make it look weird but great at the same time, just like their relationship.

Max and Spencer gave each other their souvenirs then they sent Hotch, Jack, Morgan and his family theirs.

The next day Max has to talk with the principal that she found a new job. They asked her to stay until the end of the school year but part time, and she accepted.

Spencer also talked with Emily and she understood what was happening, she told him it was ok if he decided to quit to be a field agent.

OOooOOooOO

Hope you liked this. This chapter was planned to finish different but I could not connect with it so I decided to leave it here.

The next chapter will have a time jump and we will have 2 chapters left.

[hiyo-silver]

Dear Blue Birb, - Puzzle Pieces

Summary: Blue and Bill finally meet.

A/N: The ending is here!!

Chapters 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 + ao3

Taglist: @fuckboykaspbrak @thesquidliesthuman @rachi0964 @beepbeep-losers @bigbilliamdenbro @jalenrose1122 @sleepygaybrough @itandstrangerthingsfanfic @boopboopbichie @peachywyatt @aizeninlefox @sockwantstodie @ahoybyeler @yooonbum

The next few days are lonely. No losers, no Blue, Bill hardly has anything left. He drives to and from school alone, going home just to dick around on his computer until it’s time to sleep. Time moves slow and he’s spending a lot of his life just zoning out. It’s like sitting at the bottom of a swimming pool and watching everyone else swim just fine, but you’re weighed down.

One day he’s walking to the diner to get something to eat, that and the fact that he needs some fresh air. He needed to get out of the house, it was starting to drive him a bit crazy. He keeps his hands shoved in his pockets and his eyes trained on his sneakers as they slap against the pavement at an even rhythm.

He gets a bit stiffer as he passes by the Kaspbrak house, shrugging his head further into his hood to the mas the read hair that’s really only attributed to him and Beverly Marsh. It’s nearly the end of Hanukkah, St. Nic would have come for the young children a day or two ago, and the weather matches. He watches the fog escape his mouth as he breathes out, trying not to be too anxious. He deserves a second to relax after all that’s happened.

Eddie’s looks out the window at just the right time to spot his best friend on the sidewalk outside. He feels a softness wash over him. He really does feel bad that Bill was outed. He can’t imagine how he’s cope if it’d been him. He’s not often one to be impulsive, but maybe just this once he’ll let himself make a snap decision. He pulls his coat over himself and zips it up as he dashes down the stairs of his house and out to meet Bill where he’s walking. He knows he was insensitive, but he can only go so long without his childhood best friend, he needs to apologize.

Bill doesn’t acknowledge him nor say anything yet. Eddie jogs to keep up with him. The shorter boy doesn’t say anything yet either, fumbling for his inhaler before pushing a puff of the medicine into his mouth to free his constricted lungs. He gasps for air for a moment, his hot breaths showing up white fog against the cold air.

“Okay, Bill, I gotta be kinda fast. My mom has decided I’ve got a cold this week so she’ll be mad I’m out. I’m sorry for how I reacted and what I said to you. It wasn’t your fault and I never should have done that,” Eddie rushes out, trying to keep up with the strides of Bill’s long legs. It takes Bill a few moments to react, but when he does he looks to Eddie looking nearly as if he’s about to start crying.

“I bet you don’t know how much I was hoping you’d say something like that,” he says with a sigh of relief, stopping in his tracks. He lets his eyes meet Eddie’s. “It’s just been so hard,” he says in a small voice, just glad to be able to verbalize it to someone. He’s never been used to dealing with hardship on his own, he’s had the losers for years and this is one of the only times he’s had to be separated from them.

“I’m sorry this has all been going on, you really didn’t deserve that. Martin should suck a fat one, one that hasn’t been washed in weeks, not even circumcised,” Eddie starts rambling on, not knowing how else to talk to Bill after this long gap in their friendship. It’s never happened like this before. “To be fair. I did think something was up. I even said to Ben one day ‘ah Billy-boy must be in love, only a man in love acts that way,’” he says with a chuckle. “Who is it that you love so much, tell me about this ‘Blue Birb’.”

Bill smiles, chuckling slightly in awkwardness, there’s so much he could say about this boy. Nearly everything except for his name. “Well, he’s quite lovely. He’s kind and funny. And he’s so, so smart. Like all his jokes are about smart people things. We’ve been talking since his post, the one you actually told me about. Thank you for that, I suppose,” he rambles almost as bad as Eddie does, flushing red at the idea of finally being able to gush about the boy he likes so much.

“Have you met him? Like in real life?” Eddie asks, nudging Bill teasingly, wiggling his eyebrows up and down at the tall ginger. He’s almost as bad as Richie, basically asking about their sex life straight away. Eddie’s always been that friend. The one who will gossip with just the losers but keep his mouth zipped all of the rest of the time.

“Actually no. I don’t know who he is, I mean I know him as a person, but not his name or what he looks like or anything. Kinda wish I did, I want to be able to like, kiss him, and hug him and stuff,” he says in a small voice, sighing wistfully. He’s a hopeless romantic in his own sense, longing to meet him now. But he doesn’t know how, the email address has been deleted. Months of talking down the drain, he doesn’t know if he’ll ever get to talk to him again.

“I’m sorry about that, I hope you get to soon,” Eddie says, trying to meet Bill’s eyes but they’re on the ground again. He still likes Bill, but obviously Bill is deep into this, the thing he’s sparked with Blue. He deserves the happiness that has come with it. He won’t get in the way. He always thought he’d do anything to be with Bill, but now he’s realized really he just wants Bill to be happy.

“Me too,” Bill says, stopping on the sidewalk again. An idea springs into his head, having him turning around sharply, then looking to Eddie. “I just realized I have something at home to take care of, can we continue this conversation later?” he asks, his voice breathless with excitement. It’s only a simple idea, and it may not even work. But speaking with Eddie has given him the most motivation he’s had since Blue ended their contact.

Eddie nods, a little taken aback by his sudden change in tone. “Yeah, yeah definitely. Text me when you can, I should be heading back home now too, don’t want my mom to be too pissy,” he says, shoving his hands up into his warm sleeves and starting off to his home again. He wracks his brain for what could have caused the change, what may have been said to trigger it.

He gets home as fast as he can, his heart feeling as if it’s beating up into his throat. It’s not from fear necessarily. Only adrenaline. His body knows that what he’s about to do is impulsive. But heck, impulsive is Bill Denbrough’s middle name. He pulls out his laptop as ceremoniously as Martin had retrieved his for his callout, but this post Bill is to type up is much different to that. iIt’s even different to how Martin asked Beverly out, though it’s similar in the public nature.

He pulls up the gossip site. It doesn’t feel right in his heart to have to post it here, but he doesn’t know how else to establish what he wants to with this. He starts typing.

Dear Blue Birb,

You’ve seemingly disappeared, and I miss you. I know our classmates just had a problem with asking someone out publicly, but I hope this is different. You once said that life is chaotic when you’re in the closet, all the opportunities to be outed or to reveal yourself. It’s scary, I get it.

It’s almost like living life on a ferris wheel. Up and down over and over, and sometimes you get stuck. In the tone of that, the carnival is coming to town on the opening night of the school musical. I’ll be there, on the ferris wheel. If you want to join me, ride’s on me.

Lovingly yours,

Big Brother

He sighs in relief after he gets it all typed up, changing the wording at least three times before he posts. It’s a gamble, the boy he’s trying to contact may not even see it. But it’ll be fully worth it just in the case of it working. Of him finally being united with him after these few months of messages back and forth.

He’s nearly jumping and shaking with anticipation for the days leading up to the carnival. Not only because of the show opening and stage fright, but because the idea of finally meeting Blue. Maybe it was a bad choice of days, but he hopes his plan and his actions will reward him.

The day finally comes. His costume is pretty simple, just a black suit and tie, but he sweats under the spotlights of the stage. Out of heat and also out of nervousness. He speaks his lines in a smooth voice, thankfully stutterless. Beverly steals the show as expected, her solo in the final song leaving an echoed note ringing beautifully though the auditorium. A standing ovation follows.

As soon as they finish their bows, Bill dashes backstage to pull on his jeans and his flannel over his t-shirt, running his hands through his hair in front of the mirror. He still has thick theatre makeup on his face but he elects to ignore it. They should be expecting an actor to show up with some evidence of acting after all. The cakey makeup could make a funny story.

He makes eye contact with Eddie as he leaves the theatre, waving enthusiastically. He’s in good spirits, better than he has been in days. The show just ended, and he gets to ride the ferris wheel, and best of all, he might finally see Blue in the flesh.

He pays for the ride tickets, spending about all the money he has, he didn’t specify a time for Blue to come, just after the show. And he won’t take any chances in having to stop too early. It’s common knowledge now to the entire school what Bill is waiting for, and there are already people around the ferris wheel but nobody on it, leaving it for Bill to do his honor in waiting, some people even have their phones out to film. Martin’s drama is long forgotten and the outing is no longer the news, now it’s all about Bill. The brave one who had the courage to leave himself the possibility of complete humiliation for the sake of love.

He steps onto the platform to the man who runs the ride, who looks sincerely perplexed about the plethora of teens at the ride usually mostly frequented by children. Bill holds out the entire roll of tickets to the man, who scratches his beard in his confusion.

“As many rounds as this will get me,” he says with a smooth grin. He’s probably never been this excited in his life. He’s finally getting his own love story, the kind he would have seen on Disney channel as a kid. It’s perfect. The sky is darkening and the crowd is growing as quickly as his smile. Goosebumps cover his arms as he gets into the seat, it rocks back and forth with his weight. This is it.

The ride makes it’s first circle. Classmates cheer and take pictures and videos. Finally a wholesome story for their social media. Two rounds done and no Blue yet. Three and the peers start to quiet down, the time taking some of the excitement from them, teens so impatient that they get their main entertainment from seven second videos played in succession.

It keeps turning and turning, slowly getting more lonely and pathetic up there. It’s a while before his tickets run out, but they do. Everyone is surprised when Martin runs up to the platform. “I’m Blue, it’s me!” he shouts dramatically.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Bill sighs, this is embarrassing. Martin has been blackmailing him for about forever, even if he was Blue he wouldn’t be with him. It all makes sense when he speaks again.

“I am, but this is just sad, take my tickets, good luck,” the boy says, obviously finally feeling the guilt of what he did. He presses the bundle against the man running the ride’s chest without looking before walking away, beating his hand against his chest. “We believe in you Billy!”

Bill starts going up in another round of the ferris wheel’s circle. Everyone stands silently until a dark haired boy parts his way through the crowd. He stands before the seat Bill is in when the ride comes to a stand still. “Can I sit here?” Stan asks, his hands buried deep in his pockets.

“I’m waiting for someone,” Bill says softly, flabbergasted. He can hardly look into Stan’s deep brown eyes.

“I know,” Stan says, a small half smile on his lips. He sits in the cart right next to Bill. “Are you disappointed it’s me?” he asks, scared because Bill hasn’t said anything yet, only stared on in surprise.

“No, not at all,” Bill says, his eyes still looking into Stan’s. “You deserve a great love story too,” he says, letting his hand find Stan’s jaw, putting his lips against his. It’s nothing like he’s ever felt before. It feels right. Like two puzzle pieces have found their home.

[frejahertziswritingthistime]

Teenage kicks  Chapter 2

A/N: Another chapter, new fun! Just a warning: this series is going to be full of crude language, a hat/hate/love-relationship and some VERY heated sex. I’m really in love with this story, and I can’t wait to share it with all of you! This is born from a request from the always lovely @theboundlesssoul!

This story is dedicated to @redeyedvixen, because she is without a doubt, the best person I’ve ever met, and she is one of the few people who can push myself to do even better every time I write something new. I love you, you wonderfully weird and perfect person.

Remember, I always say yes to requests, and feedback feeds the writer (seriously, guys, please comment, like, reblog or even send me an ask/message about the story, it warms my heart and makes me want to keep writing!)

 MASTERLIST

 Teenage kicks masterlist

Warnings: Language

READERS POV

Summer 1995

Your father had dragged you – very much against your will – to Bobby’s, when he had gotten a call. You were not having it, biting, snapping and sassing your dad at every turn, or as an answer to every question he had asked; you knew it was probably a bit too much, but hell, you were a teenager with heartache, and he would just have to live with it.

When he had pulled up to the old house, you had groaned and rolled your eyes; you dad had snapped his head towards you. “Shut it, Y/N. Stop this shit, right now, I don’t want to hear it. This is what’s going down, and that’s final, got it?” He had hissed at you, and you simply nodded – you knew better than to anger your dad further. You didn’t need a new bruise. You slowly stepped out of the car, the hot, august air breezing gently over your skin – you closed your eyes for a second, enjoying the warm wind against your skin, but your dad had yanked your arm towards him, eliciting a yelp from you, and dragged you towards the house and Bobby. “Ease up, Martin, she’s a kid, not a ragdoll.” Bobby had grumbled as he saw the grip on your arm. Your dad let go of you, but you didn’t dare move from his side. “You good, kid?” Bobby whispered. You nodded. You weren’t, not really, but you guessed it was a part of the life – your dad was overprotective as shit, and you didn’t really think further of it. You swung your hands lightly back and forth as you tuned the conversation between your dad and Bobby out, looking around. It was a mess, if you were honest, but that’s how you liked it. Nothing better than a bunch of overgrowth and tall grass, all swaying slightly in the light breeze. You hoped you could stay for a while. Bobby was like an uncle to you, and he doted on you every time you were here; being a girl in the hunting-life had its perks.

“Y/N!” A voice, very teenager-y, voice cracking at odd places, rang out and you turned around – Sam Winchester was running towards you. He had grown a lot, since the last time you’d seen him, all long and gangly, but still with the stupid hair flopping everywhere; you grinned and accepted the hug. “Hey, Samson! What are you doing here?” He nodded casually towards his dad and a brooding boy, who was leaning against the wall next to him. You raised your eyebrows as you took him in; he was wearing a leather jacket, two times too big, and a pair of acid-wash jeans. He was tall, and there was a bad boy-vibe all around him – he had full lips and hair, that begged to have fingers run through it. He must have girl swarming over him everywhere he went. Fuck, he was pretty. You cocked your head towards the bench further down in the garden, and Sam followed you, talking avidly about school and books he had read. You both sat down, and he told you about the last Lord of the Rings book, he had apparently just finished. He was gesturing wildly, and you could see his brother approach you, walking with a certain amount of swagger and tousled hair – he looked damn fine, if you had to say so yourself. You didn’t know much about the Winchester-boys, other than what Sam had told you, the one time, you met him. Dean seemed, for a lack of better words, like a god. He was always smirking a little bit, and when he got close, you could see freckles on the bridge of his nose. His green eyes were really pretty. He could be a Rockstar, if he wanted to. “And Aragorn was so badass, you know? He was just slaying people and leading them, and it’s so awesome. I like reading, you know.” He had said, almost shyly. Dean had sat down, seemingly not interested in your conversation. “That’s supercool, Sam. I do too.” You could see the very well-known movement of eye-rolling next to you, and you snapped towards Dean. “What?” He sneered and eyed you quickly, sending a slight blush to your cheeks; he was sizing you up. “Nothing. Nerds.” His voice was deep, and something about the whole ordeal made you super pissed – Dean Winchester, the Boy who could do it all, wasn’t about to reel you in. You knew better than that. “What, like you’re any better? I’m guessing you wear that stupid leather jacket to look cool, you have a bad-boy rep, and you’re a pain in the ass, probably to cool to get anything done, other than kiss chicks, drink before you’re old enough to do it and look at cars.” You said in a lofty, albeit snarky voice, turning back to Sam to continue your conversation with him. “What?” Sam snickered a bit, and Dean’s eyes narrowed at his brother, a finger pointed at his chest. “Shut it, Sammy.” You turned slowly to you, his eyes shooting daggers, and you almost recoiled under the intense stare, he gave you – but you would not let him win. “I don’t care what a goodie-two-shoes like you think. I bet you’ve never had any friends, have you? Fucking prissy.” He said bitingly. You could feel your stomach drop down to your knees – you had for some reason, hoped that Dean would just laugh haughtily at you, and leave it be. His words hit you hardIs words ,lgbmn, and you mustered the last bit of snark in you. “Fuck you, Winchester.” You stood up angrily. “Fuck you too, no-name.” He said casually. Your stomach curled, and you tried to bite the tears back. You turned to Sam, who looked a little scared, and softened your expression. “Sam, I’m happy you’re at least a decent human being, when you’ve got ass-clown over there as a brother.” You nodded towards Dean, before stomping off.

When you were far enough to no longer hear the brothers, you let the tears fall. You weren’t a soft-hearted girl by any means, but you had your fair share of self-esteem issues. You were a goddamn teenager after all, and his words brought back some very vivid and uncomfortable memories back. High school wasn’t easy, and you had been picked on so much, since you were always the new kid – it didn’t help, that you were somewhat gangly, not really “pretty” by the normal high school standards (plaid flannel all the way), and you had bruises everywhere; either from your dad, or the few hunts he let you go on. Mostly from you dad.

“no-name” rang through your head as you walked towards a very old swing-set, that creaked dangerously as you sat down. Fuck Dean Winchester and his smirking, stupid face.

 Present day

You sighed deeply, as you drove towards the motel, the black Impala trailing you. God fucking damn it, of fucking course it was the goddamn Winchesters, that would fuck this up for you. You hadn’t seen them since that horrible summer in ’95, and you had intended it to stay that way, but apparently, some god with a sick sense of humor had fucked that royally up for you. You sighed again, and slammed your hands on the steering wheel, cursing the best you knew, at the whole situation. You had spent so many years, trying to forget that fucking summer and that fucking ass-hat, but of course, he would be the one to screw up an operation, that had required so many weeks of prep-work, and you were blaming him so much – even though it might have been irrational, because he didn’t know, but still. He was a dick.

You pulled over, turning the engine off, before stepping out of your truck and without waiting, went into your room, leaving the door open. Sam stepped inside first. He was a giant; big, muscular, tall and still with the ridiculous hair flowing around his face. He smiled tightly at you, but you could see, that he was in pain – the cut above his eyebrow was still oozing blood, and you were slightly concerned about a concussion. That meant more time near these two dolts, which you weren’t really in the mood for. Dean stepped inside too, and he rubbed his neck – he had taken a few hard hits, you knew it, but anger still boiled at the sight of him. He was a douchebag of epic proportions, and you intended very much to let him be very aware of that fact. Who the fuck flirts after almost dying? You nodded towards the couch. “Just… Throw your shit there. If you touch anything of mine, you’re dead, Winchester.” You said with narrowed eyes at Dean, who simply held his hands up in a gesture of peace, and threw his duffel on the worn couch, before he slung himself on it, as well. He was about to put his feet on the table. “If you get your fucking blood-filled, ugly, dirty boots on this table, I will rip you a new one.” You snapped. He quickly put his feet down again, a scared look in his eyes, mixed with something you weren’t sure of. You snickered a bit, slightly happy you could scare him so much. You unzipped your jacket, letting it slide off of your arms, revealing the black tank top underneath, and you pulled your boots off as well, before you pointed to the bed. “Sam, sit down, before you pass out.” You said softly, and he obliged – he didn’t look too good, and it worried you. You quickly pulled the first aid kit you had in your bag, out, and turning towards him, assessing the damage.

He was already bruising slightly on his cheek-bone, but that wasn’t something to worry about. What was worrying, was the fact that his eyes were swimming and his breathing was slightly ragged. “What the hell did they hit you with?” You mumbled and tried to still the bleeding, before it ran into his eye. “Sharp.” He mumbled back. You rolled your eyes. “Wow, I had no idea, especially when your head is gushing blood, you ass. Sit still, I’ll try to patch you up.” Silence fell in the room, as you worked Sam over – the blood had finally stopped pulsing from the wound, and you could stitch it up just fine. You let a finger wander in front of his eyes, and he could barely focus on it. You sighed and turned to Dean, who had been watching the whole thing – apparently, he had been watching something very specific, because his eyes shot up from your backside, a faint blush on his cheeks. “He’s concussed.” “You cuss.” Sam mumbled as he fell backwards on the bed. You rolled your eyes. “As I said, concussed. You guys got rooms close to here?” Dean grimaced and shook his head. “We barely got into town, before we went to the barn. We didn’t have time to get one.” He said apologetic. You sighed and pinched the bridge of your nose. “Fucking shitfuckergoddamnitasscrackonjesus.” You looked back at Sam. “Fucking fine, you’ll stay here. I’m not happy about it, and you’re still a dick, but I’m helping Sam, so deal.” You moved a little closer to Dean, looking him over briefly. “I need to check that eye, idiot.” You said lightly. He nodded and leaned a little forward, so you had better vision under the shitty lighting. “You’re… Good at this. How is that? Most of us suck at stitches and injures should be walked off, so…?” Dean said, clearly trying you start a conversation. You grunted. “Not that it’s any of your goddamn business, but when my dad died, I went to med-school. Pre-med, so I learned a bit.” You put an alcohol-soaked rag on Dean’s bruised eye, and he winced in pain. “Fuck off, you big baby. You’ve had worse, from what I hear.” You snapped. He smirked. “You’re gonna fix me right up, doctor? I know just what the thing would be, to get me right-side up.” He winked, and you slapped his shoulder – hard. He winced again. “Stick that right back where the sun don’t shine, Dean. I’m not going to fuck you, not in this goddamn lifetime, you pompous dick.” He smiled despite your insults and clutched his hand in his t-shirt, right where his heart was. “Aw, you called me Dean!” You snorted. “Don’t get used to it, dickhead. Wake Sam up in half an hour, I’m going for snacks.” You mumbled – it was very hard to hate this man, if you were honest. Before you slammed the door behind you, you shouted out to him. “Don’t think for one second, you’re gonna stay long, ass-hat.” As soon as you were outside, the cool air hit you, and you breathed deeply – your anger towards the older Winchester ebbing out a little, as soon as you couldn’t see his smirking, fucking face. He was still good looking, but all of the choice words he had directed towards you in your youth, swam in your head, along with that day.

You groaned and walked to your truck. Fuck Dean goddamn Winchester and his good looks.  

 CHAPTER 3

TAGLIST: @hobby27, @trustnobodyshootfirst, @wingedcatninja, @supernatural-idjit-95, @superrandomnatural

FOREVERLIST: @redeyedvixen, @supernaturalmagicfolk, @al1y, @roonyxx

[journalofimprobablethings]

Chapters: 2/3 Fandom: The Magnus Archives (Podcast) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist Characters: Martin Blackwood, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Annabelle Cane, Mikaele Salesa Additional Tags: Set in Episodes 180-181 | Upton Safehouse Period (The Magnus Archives), Spoilers for The Magnus Archives Season 5, Memory Loss, Dreams vs. Reality, Character Study, did this sort of turn into a study of jon's character development throughout the seasons?, Maybe - Freeform, jon starts forgetting things while they're still at upton, that's it that's the fic, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending

Chapter Summary:

Every time Jon forgets, things get a little harder.

Preview:

This time, the last thing Jon remembers is the Unknowing.

His dreamy confusion fades as he looks at Martin, takes in the expression on his face, what Martin is sure must be a look of utter despair.

"This isn't a dream, is it?" Jon says.

A tiny, cautious hope blooms in Martin’s chest. Maybe Jon hasn’t forgotten entirely, after all.

"No, it's not.”

Jon sighs, and his shoulders slump. "So that's it. I'm dead, then."

" What? "

"Tim blew up the Circus and we were still inside it, so I must be..." Jon trails off, his brow furrowing. Martin can almost see the wheels turning in his head as he tries to make sense of where he's found himself. He  opens his mouth to tell Jon it's all right, to explain, but before he can Jon has taken his hand, looking up at him earnestly.

"God, Martin, I'm so sorry. I never wanted to...it's all you asked of me, to 'just not die', and I couldn't even do that for you."

Martin frowns, trying to think what Jon could be referring to. Their last conversations before the Unknowing had all been...careful. Purposefully inconsequential, the air thick with things left unsaid; sometimes Martin had thought he would choke on all the things he wanted to say to Jon, but couldn't.

He didn't remember them having a conversation about dying.

It would have made the danger too real, maybe, to say it out loud.

"What are you—what do you mean, Jon?"

Jon looks at him like it should be obvious. "The—the tape. The recording you made, before we all left. Just don't die , Jon , you said. That's all you wanted, for us to make it back home."

Martin can feel his face start to burn. It's not the end he's embarrassed about—he remembers that desperate feeling, the prayer he put out into the world like he thought if he said the words with enough fervor, the universe might listen.

But he's fairly sure he also rambled quite a bit about spiders in that statement.

He drops his head in his hands and groans. "I can't believe you actually listened to it."

"No, I—I'm glad I did, I—it gave me something to—" Jon stops and takes a breath. "It gave me something to think about besides the Unknowing. It gave me a reason to want to come back. I wanted to come back to you, Martin. I did. But I—I failed. I'm sorry. I'm so s—”

Jon stops suddenly, and his face twists into something wry and rueful.

“What am I doing? It’s not like this is real.”

“Jon?”

Jon doesn't pay him any attention. He gives a small laugh with absolutely no humor in it, and takes a step back.

“It’s not like you’re actually Martin. I can apologize all I want, but this is all in—in my own head, late-firing synapses, or what have you—”

“Jon.”

“Of course my version of the afterlife is just me apologizing to everyone I—I ever wronged or failed. I suppose Tim will be next. And Sasha.” He pauses, and the bitter humor in his voice fades, replaced with something small and lost. ”I wonder which version of her I’ll get. Is there any part of me that still remembers what she really looked like?”

“Jon!”

Martin reaches out and takes Jon firmly by the shoulders, trying to pull him back before he can wander any further down this path. Jon looks up at him and seems surprised that he is still here.

“Hm?”

"I’m here, Jon. I’m really here. This is real. You’re not dead." Martin says. Then he softens, moving his hands down Jon's arms so he can take Jon's hands in his.  "You didn't fail. You came back. It took a while, but you came back."

Jon stares at him.

"Martin, what are you talking about?”

And so Martin explains, again.  

He tells Jon about the Change, and the camera, and Annabelle and Salesa. There is more to cover now, but even so, the parallels with their earlier conversation are...disquieting.

What exactly have I forgotten? Jon asks again, and

The Eye, I can't feel it, I—why can't I feel it? , and,

How did the world end? What did Elias do?

He again reaches out, even more tentatively than before, stammers over his words as he asks if you and I, are—are we—? There is more than a little disbelief in his face when Martin says yes.

Martin answers Jon's questions as best he can, pushing down the gnawing dread growing in his stomach at the repetitions.

He skips over most of the details of those last months at the Institute. He doesn't have the heart.

When he’s finished, Jon is quiet for a moment.

“You’ve told me this before, haven’t you?” he says finally.

Martin pauses, weighing his answer. “Yes," he says.

“Will it happen again?”

The question hits Martin like a physical blow.

He hadn't considered, until now, what Jon forgetting again might mean. He'd been so focused on convincing Jon that this was real, getting him up to speed, that he hadn't stopped to think about the implications. But now that Jon has asked, the idea tears down all the walls he's put up in his mind, and all the things he hasn't been letting himself think about come crashing in.

Jon is going to keep forgetting, and each time he seems to remember less.

What if it keeps getting worse?

What if getting him out of Upton House doesn't fix it?

What if Jon keeps forgetting until he's forgotten everything—the Eye, the Archives—him?

What if Martin loses him?

Martin's breath quickens, short and sharp, hitching in his chest, and he shies away from that thought, from the panic it brings with it.

Don't think about it. Don't feel it. You can't afford to feel that right now.

He pushes the panic down and away, trying his best, just for a second, to feel nothing at all.

He can hear waves crashing somewhere in the distance. The sound is soothing, and he tries to match his breaths to the rhythm of the waves.

"Martin."

Jon's voice is so distant. Martin can barely make it out, drowned out by the cold wind in his ears.

" Martin ."

A chill creeps through him, seeping deep into his chest and towards his heart, gently numbing. He can feel his anxiety fading.

“ Martin! ”

Then Jon’s hands are on his face, not quite shaking him, but firm. The heat of his palms on Martin's cheeks is like a brand against his suddenly chilled skin, shocking him as if he’s been struck. Martin gasps, deep and shuddering, and reaches out to clutch at Jon's arms.

Jon, who is looking up at him with worry and confusion and the remnants of panic.

"You were going grey, you were—you were disappearing."

Martin nods, his fingers still clutched tight into the sleeves of Jon's jacket.

"Sorry. That—it—sometimes I...s-sorry."

He focuses on the feel of the slick polyester under his palms, the sound of Jon's breathing, still slightly too fast. He doesn't know why he thought the Lonely couldn't touch him here, but it terrifies him how quickly he had begun to fall back into it. He looks at Jon, tracing the familiar planes of his face with his eyes, the scattering of scars on his cheek, the line between his brows. I see you, he thinks. I see you.

Jon is still here. He hasn't lost him. He will not lose him.

"Okay," he says. "Okay. I'm okay. Sorry."

"No need to—please don't apologize, Martin," Jon says. He gives Martin a searching look. "Do you—do you want to talk about it?"

Martin can see the questions building up behind his eyes, the need to Know. But the idea of explaining the Lonely to Jon is more than he can bear right now. Right now, he just wants to pretend it doesn't exist. He shakes his head.

And Jon just nods. Even though Martin can see the curiosity burning in him, the hunger for knowledge mixed with worry and concern—he just nods.

"All right." he says. And leaves it at that.

Martin is suddenly overwhelmed by how much he loves this man, this stupid, stubborn, infinitely kind man. Jon hasn’t moved away, his hands moved down to mirror Martin’s own, so they’re standing in a loose embrace. Martin allows himself to lean forward, slowly, until his forehead drops onto Jon’s shoulder.

"Thank you."

The bird outside trills again, the sound so incongruously normal when set against everything else. Martin takes a deep breath, filing that sound away with all his other memories of this place, memories and images he'll be able to take out and warm himself with later, when everything is bad again.

Then he opens his eyes, and takes Jon's hand. Time to go.

"Come on. Let's get out of here."

Read the rest on ao3!

[davidcarner]

Hotel California Ch 1, Bartowski, IT

A/N:  Fanfic community after canceled intervention:  Thank God, we've got him down to four ongoing.

Me:  NEVER!  *pushes publish to get reaction from everyone on this being an ongoing and skips out of the room*

A/N 2: A few notes before we start. This fic will be (not this chapter, but down the road) a little more…saucy, spicy, than things I've done before. It's still T but, I'm going to take it up one or two notches. This fic takes place current time, Chuck is approximately 26 years old. Welcome to Hotel California Ch 1, Bartowski, IT

Disclaimer: I don't own Chuck, but I do own several copies of Hotel California.

He felt the eyes on his back watching his every move. This had required more than he thought it would when she brought him the laptop. Most men were scared of her beauty, but he wasn't. It was a weird friendship, but one just the same. They teased each other….well, she teased him, and he laughed about it. They were on the same page about the important things. He felt her over his shoulder.

"What's wrong, Chuckles," Carina said breathily into his ear. Her breath was making it hard to concentrate, but that was Carina's game. She loved making Chuck uncomfortable. She probably loved making all men uncomfortable, but he had no empirical data to support that theory. "Have I corrupted the hard drive? Please don't ask me to turn off, because you already have me so turned on." Chuck turned toward her slowly.

"Carina, I'm pretty sure that's sexual harassment," Chuck said, an amused smile on her face.

"What you gonna do, report me to myself? I am HR," she replied, bending back over his shoulder to watch him work on her laptop.

"Carina, you are in benefits until they hire someone," Chuck said, chuckling. "You're the Director of Operations."

"And I'm trying to let you enjoy some benefits," she said with a smirk. Chuck stopped in mid turn of the screw on her laptop. "Well, finish screwing me."

"I swear I keep walking right into these," he said, finishing putting the case back on. He plugged it in, hit the power button, and sat back, bumping Carina because she was so close.

"Chuck are you trying to touch me?" Carina asked.

"Keep it up and I won't fix this," he said. She jerked her hands back in a defensive posture. He paused, unsure if he should say anything or not, but it was her, so he went ahead. "Carina, there was some interesting porn on there." She looked at him. "I'm pretty sure it wasn't yours."

"Chuck, you think you know what I want to see?" Carina asked, with a coy smile. He looked at her with no humor on his face.

"It was furry porn," he said. She closed her eyes, and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Let me guess, some guy you were seeing used it." She nodded, opened her eyes and looked at him.

"Explains why he wanted the costumes," she mumbled under her breath. Chuck shuddered. The computer started up, and she hugged him. "You are the best, Chuck. Can I pay you?"

"Nope," he said, unhooking everything, giving her the laptop, standing up, and walking with her to the door. "You could tone down the innuendos."

"But then how will I see you blush?" she asked. "I love to see you blush, all the way down to the roots of your hair." She looked him up and down, slowly, and not even trying to hide what she was doing. "I wonder if you blush…everywhere?" With that, Chuck began to blush. "Hmmmm." She gave him a grin that looked nearly predatory. "Hey, I have an idea."

"Nope, no, not a happening," Chuck said, shaking his head. She reached up and moved his hair around, fixing it the way she wanted it. He looked up at her hand, back at her, and she finally stopped, satisfied with how it looked. "No blind dates, especially when they're probably with you," he said, grinning.

"You don't know the blind date I was gonna set you up on was gonna be with me," Carian said. He gave her a look and she bounced a shoulder. "Fine, but you're missing out." The look on his face was "here we go again." "I swear one night with me would ruin you for all other women."

"Is that what you really want, Carina, me at your door step every night playing bad love songs to win you?" Chuck asked, amused. She rolled her eyes.

"You would too, wouldn't you," she said, laughing. Chuck leaned against the door frame and gave her a look. She thought she might melt.

"Well, you want to ruin me," Chuck said, waggling his eyebrows. She gasped.

"Chuck Bartwoski, are you flirting?" she asked. Chuck grinned at her, and winked. She hugged him, gave him a kiss on the cheek, and watched as he turned and started back to his desk. She couldn't help herself, and slapped him on the back side causing him to whoop and high step for a second.

"Seriously, HR!" he said, with a grin. She winked, spun, and strutted out of the room as only Carina could. Chuck shook his head. "That woman is twenty pounds of crazy in a five pound bag," he said to himself.

-ooooo-

Carina returned to her office and shut the door. She liked Chuck, he was a sweet guy, but he was also one of those forever, with a house, 2.3 kids, a dog, and a white picket fence. Carina was not in to that, today. Someday, maybe, but today, today she wanted to have fun. She sighed and pulled out a folder that she needed to turn in before the day was over before Zondra gave her grief. Well, not too much grief, because Zondra knew Carina would get things done. Her thoughts returned to Chuck. She felt bad for the guy. It was a few months ago that she was talking to Martin in the kitchen, or was it Morgan, she wasn't sure. Whatever his name was, he had told her how his friend Chuck had been screwed over by Bryce. Bryce had framed Chuck at Stanford and gotten him kicked out of college. Bryce denied it, but Martin swore Chuck wasn't that guy. They needed someone in IT, and Carina was intrigued. She thought Bryce was a tool as well, so that's why she went to scope out Chuck at the Buy More. She tried to flirt with him, but he basically was nothing but super professional and excused himself when some idiot father forgot to load tape into his camera to record his daughter's ballet recital.

Carina told Zondra about Chuck, but left out everything about Bryce. Zondra called him, offered him an interview, and Carina asked if she could take care of it. She and Chuck had a long talk more than an interview. The reason for hiring him was two-fold, one, it might upset Bryce. Two, he was good, real good. She had called around and asked those who used the Buy More if there was a technician they would recommend, and all the recommendations came back as one Charles 'Chuck" Bartowski. She had to admit, she was pissed at Bryce for hurting Sarah, and if this would upset Bryce, all the better. Bryce might be the Hotel General Manger, but Carina wasn't scared of him. His parents loved her too much to fire her, and that's who she was worried about, the Larkins.

Zondra tried to remind Carina that they needed to keep their personal lives out of this, and it was somewhat Sarah's fault for dating the boss. Zondra thought Sarah knew better, and she did. But, Carina had encouraged Sarah to date Bryce, and that had been an absolute disaster. Sarah thought they were in a relationship, and Bryce thought they were casual. She caught him with someone, Sarah never would say who, and that was the end of Sarah and Bryce. Sarah refused to date coworkers now, and since she didn't want to go clubbing much anymore, Carina was determined to find her someone. Chuck wouldn't bite, Sarah wouldn't bite, so somehow she had to get the two together. How? And that's when it hit her. She picked up the phone and made a call.

"Hey, Reg, it's Catrina," she said smiling. "Did I say Reg, I meant Rick, sorry." Whoops. "So, I got my laptop fixed. You know the one you visited the furry porn site with. Yeah, Rick, that one. Well, there's a real simple way to make it up to me. Tell me the site name. No, I'm not kidding. I met a cute IT guy and I want him to come scrub my hard drive. I know that sounds dirty, I said it." She wrote down the website address. "Thanks Rick. No, I don't want to dress up. Good-bye." She hung up, a grin on her face. She knew just what to do.

-ooooo-

Sarah came in the next morning, tired. She had stayed up most of the night watching old movies on the old movie channel. She liked her job, loved it actually, and especially the people she worked with. She liked them all, except for Bryce Larkin, the biggest cheat that ever cheated. "We're causal," she said, in a low mocking voice, twisting her face. The thing was, she didn't miss him, she was upset at how bad she had gotten burnt. She swore it would never happen again. No guy was going to hurt her, and definitely no guy at work. She turned on her computer and waited for it to warm up as she drank her coffee. Maybe she'd get lucky and someone would pull the fire alarm today and she could watch the firemen come in. She always enjoyed that. She shook her head as she logged into her computer. She waited a minute and realized it was acting very weird. There was a strange icon on her desktop. She double clicked it to see what it was.

"OH GOD!" she screamed and turned off the monitor. She looked around to see if anyone had seen that and then she remembered she was in her office, and no one could see what had happened. The backs of the monitors were facing the doorway…what was that noise. THE SOUND! She turned the monitor back on, found the sound bar, and muted it. She took a deep breath, and nearly jumped out of her seat when there was a knocking sound on the door.

"Hey," Carina said. She took a good look at Sarah and had to fight not laugh. Sarah looked beautiful as usual, her blond hair just past the shoulder with that slight curl, the simple blue top and the black jeans. She looked elegant, and frazzled as can be, all at the same time. "Something wrong?"

"Uh, well," she began.

"Oh, before I forget, there's been a slight porn problem on some computers. If you have any problem, call down to IT and ask for Bartowski," Carina said. "Skip is a good guy and all, but Bartowski is the one you want."

"Have you had any problems?" Sarah asked, nervously.

"Oh, no," Carina said. "Gotta run," and she was gone. Sarah took a deep breath and composed herself. She picked up the phone, put down the phone, walked over to her door, shut it, locked it, and called IT.

"Bartowski, IT," the voice on the other end answered. Sarah smiled at the soothing voice.

"Hi, this is Sarah Walker," she said trying to have steel in her voice.

"Hello, Sarah Walker, are you okay?" he asked.

"Why do you ask?" Oh no. Was she so shook up over this that this guy could tell? What was he gonna think? She had to get control of the situation. "I need help and so help me God, if you tell me to turn it off and turn it back on, I will come down there and…"

"Well, that answers that question. You don't sound like things are going well, and that's never good," he said. "What's wrong?"

"There's this weird thing on my computer," she said with a low voice, still snapping. She didn't care if he thought she was an awful person, but she couldn't have him thinking she was looking at porn at work. "Carina told me to call you to get it off."

"Carina Miller?" he said with a hint of laughter. "Okay, so we're probably going to be at this for a bit, my name is Chuck."

"Chuck?" she asked, her tone changing to curiosity.

"Yeah, my parents were sadists," he said. She laughed. She couldn't help herself. "But, I've managed to make my way in this world despite it." She was wrapping the cord around her finger, and feeling better just talking to him.

"Chuck, I'm sorry," she said. "Things….well…"

"Something went wrong, you snapped and I happened to be the first person you talked to," he said. She winced. She bet that happened a lot.

"No one calls you to say thanks for making everything run smooth, do they?" she asked. Chuck laughed.

"Nope," he said quickly. "So, what happened?"

"Well, I started my computer, and it was running weird, slow," she began. "There was this weird icon…."

"You clicked on it didn't you?" he asked. She heard the humor in voice.

"I was very tired and not thinking clearly," she said waspishly. She huffed. "Again, I'm sorry, I'm just having a very bad day."

"Hey, I'll fix it," Chuck said. "And I won't judge." She looked guilty and was glad no one could see her. "You have no idea how many people get things on their computer and call me wanting me to fix it and are in the foulest mood because they think I'm going to judge them."

"I don't watch that stuff," she said softly.

"You said Carina told you to call me?" he asked. "Is it a certain type of porn?"

"Yes," she said, burying head in her hand.

"Well the good news is I can fix it quick," Chuck said. "But I'm going to have to come up there."

"I've got a meeting, do you think you do it while I'm gone?" she asked.

"Sure," Chuck said cheerfully. "Go to your meeting, and when you get back it will be fixed. Sound good?"

"Sounds great," she said. "And, Chuck, I'm sorry I was a jerk."

"Don't worry about it," Chuck said. "Bye," and with that, he disconnected.

-ooooo-

Chuck pulled up today's calendar and made sure and waited five minutes after the meeting started before he headed to Sarah's office. The last thing he needed was to be yelled at by some crazy woman because she had double clicked an icon that wasn't on her desktop the night before. He had already reformatted a hard drive and loaded her backup from the night before. This would literally take minutes, and then he would reformat the original hard drive and use it down the road. He checked his watch, saw he had some time, and accessed the log-in system. Her computer had been accessed last night by Carina after Sarah had logged off for the evening. What was Carina doing? Chuck thought about the blind date thing Carina had mentioned yesterday. He closed his eyes and had a bad idea as to what was going on. She was going to try to pawn another insane person off on him. What did he do to deserve this?

He appreciated all that Carina had done for him, most of all getting him this job. He sat back in his chair, wasting ten more minutes. He thought about that day they met for the interview, and how she told him about her friend who Bryce had screwed over. Join the club, he though. She told him about how she wanted someone she could trust in IT. She wasn't saying Bryce was doing anything wrong, but she wondered how he had some of the ideas he came up with. Bryce was a lot of things, but his new hotel security internet system made her scratch her head. Chuck's ears perked up when he heard that. He had been working on a project for a class. It was unfinished, but the security system would have been full proof by the time he was done. He asked if he could see it, and with a grin, Carina told him she couldn't allow him to see it unless he was hired. He took the job immediately. When she logged him in and let him access the system, he became sick to his stomach. It was his system, exactly the way he left it, and more importantly it wasn't finished and there were security holes. He told Carina and she could only shake her head. She told him to keep his head down and do his job.

A few days later he got walked up to Bryce's office by Casey, head of security. Chuck figured he was fired. When he sat down Bryce grinned at him like they were old pals. Bryce said he was glad he could give Chuck one last chance, and he really hoped Chuck didn't blow it. If Chuck did well, Bryce could give him all the recommendations to clear that little snafu at Stanford and Larkin Hotel and Resort would gladly pay his tuition to finish up his degree. Chuck started to say something, but realized it was his word against Bryce's, again, and that had gone so well last time. Bryce told him if something happened here like it did at Stanford, the Buy More would be the only place he would work for the rest of his life. Chuck just stared at him, but knew he couldn't win this fight. He simply nodded, thanked him for his time, and got up to leave. Bryce had asked him how Ellie was. Chuck stopped, turned, smiled, and said, she hates your guts and if you ever enter her house she knows over one hundred painful ways to kill you. Bryce blinked and Chuck walked out, grinning.

He looked at the clock, got up, and headed upstairs to the offices. He entered Sarah's office, and quickly took apart her computer, swapped out the hard drive, put it back together, turned it on, check it out to make sure it was alright, logged off, and started to leave. He paused, that was unprofessional. He left her a note to say if anything was wrong, make sure and call and ask for him. He looked at it, smiled, and started out the door, when he nearly ran into the most beautiful woman he had ever seen in his life. Chuck was tall, but so was she, only a few inches shorter than he was. She had blond hair, and stormy blue eyes. He was transfixed.

"Chuck?" she said again.

"Hey, that's me," he said, grinning. "Got your corrupted old drive here," he said, holding it up. "Give it a whirl and if you need anything just give me a jingle," he said, holding his hand up to his ear like a phone and internally wincing. Jingle? Who the hell says jingle?

Sarah meanwhile was trying to hold down a giggle, wondering when the last time she had giggled. Who had hidden tall and dark-haired curly down in IT? Get ahold of yourself, she thought. She scolded herself. No more interoffice relationships. Besides, what could they possibly have in common. He was a nerd and she was a conman's daughter who was lucky enough to get out of the life her father had tried to drag her into and make her way through college working odd jobs.

"So it's fixed?" she asked.

"I believe so," Chuck replied. He stood there staring at her, and that's when he realized he was standing in her office. "Soooo, guess I'll be going," he said, pointing out of the office. She was blocking his way.

"Oh, yes, of course," she said, and stepped aside. "If I need anything I'll give you a jingle," she said as he was walking away. He paused, looked over his shoulder and saw her biting her bottom lip so as not to laugh. He smiled and headed on, determined to have words with Carina.

-ooooo-

"What do you think you're doing?" Chuck hissed, coming into Carina's office.

"Well hello to you too, Handsome?" Carina said. "Miss me?" she asked with a wink.

"Carina, why did you put porn on Sarah's computer?" Chuck asked. Carina studied him a minute. "I have log-in access," he reminded her.

"Oh, yeah," she said, grinning and shrugging. "So, how was it?"

"She's crazy," Chuck said. "She double-clicked the icon you installed on her computer and then yelled at me about it."

"But, Chuck," Carina began.

"No, no, no," Chuck said. "I am not dealing with a crazy lady, no matter how attractive she is and how soothing her voice is."

"Her voice is soothing?" Carina asked, an eyebrow raised. Chuck glared at her.

"Carina, I'm telling you, NO!" he said, and headed out her door. Carina sat there a minute, thinking.

"Well, I'm just gonna have to try this a different way," Carina said, grinning.

A/N: Shrugs...Welp...that one has been sitting in todo folder for months.  I finished chapter 2 yesterday and thought I'd give this a test run.  Like Chuck V2 (the previously known as Chuck 2.0) I'm just putting it out there to see...I have two more fics in reserve as well...Reviews, PMs, and anything, are always appreciated…take care…see you soon…til next time.

DC