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dragonbinx · 2 years ago

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Christmas Wishes

Part of my Christmas series from last winter. Posted on Ao3 here.

Series: Shadowhunters

Ship: Malec

Characters: Alec Lightwood, Magnus Bane

When Alec came home to an apartment decked out like a window display, he wasn’t completely surprised. Magnus was fond of pageantry, after all, and he liked having reasons to indulge in it. He just wasn’t necessarily expecting Christmas to be one them, or to walk into a low hanging loop of garland when he got home.

“Magnus?” He called out, lifting the strand of evergreen and the ornaments hanging off of it out of the way, only to get shocked still by the rest of the apartment. “Wow.”

Everything was beautiful, but amped up to the extreme. Garland hung from every section of the ceiling; there were twinkling lights in a canopy over the main room, connecting to the chandelier, which had what he was pretty sure was holly stuck in it; their rugs had been replaced with burgundy ones, the glass in the doors was frosted, and if the section of the tree that Alec could see was any indication, it was enormous.

“Alexander!” Magnus swept in, looking darkly festive in a long forrest green jacket over a maroon waistcoat. “You’re home early.” He gave Alec a kiss on the cheek, and he noticed Magnus’ nails were painted a matching deep green.

“I decided to let Izzy and Underhill take the meeting so I could be back for dinner.” He let his eyes drift over the decorations. “What’s going on here?”

“Ah, yes, our own winter wonderland.” Alec’s eyebrows crooked up. “Well, Madzie’s winter wonderland. Catarina is swamped this time of year, and Madzie fell in love with the holiday, so I offered to throw a celebration for them.”

“That’s very sweet. But …”

“What, is it not child friendly enough? I could do something else, perhaps with reindeer?”

“No, it’s not that. Well, actually, that’s not a bad idea, but that’s not what I meant. I just wonder if maybe we could not have the garland so low over the door? And those lights are kinda hurting my eyes.”

“Understood.” Magnus waved his hands and the decorations disappeared. “Perhaps I’ll try again when Madzie is here to bake cookies tomorrow, she can tell me what she likes.”

“We’re baking cookies tomorrow?”

“And decorating the tree. That’ll be festive and I can show her some tricks to conjuring objects.” He snapped his fingers in epiphany. “I should figure out what presents to get her.”

“Presents?” But Magnus was already walking away, muttering about what he should get the little girl, leaving Alec standing alone and sure he was missing something

“See you this weekend!” Alec closed the door behind Catarina, waving to Madzie until she couldn’t see him anymore.

When he returned to the kitchen, Magnus was magicking away the mess they’d made baking with Madzie. Alec looked around and noticed something important missing. “Where are my cookies?”

“I put them in the oven while you were with Catarina. Although I don’t know why you didn’t make sugar cookies like I suggested. Much more festive.”

“Because I like oatmeal raisin.” Magnus rolled his eyes, then pushed up his sleeves and moved a hand purposefully over Madzie’s recently decorated plate of gingerbread cookies. “Wait, what are you doing?”

Magnus stopped, confused. “I’m fixing them.”

He started to wave his hand again, so Alec grabbed it and pulled it down. “Don’t do that!”

“Why not?”

“Because they don’t need to be fixed.”

Magnus pointed at the wonky-faced gingerbread people. “These look good to you?”

“Okay, they aren’t the best gingerbread cookies I’ve ever seen, but Madzie worked hard on them and she’s proud of them.”

“Wouldn’t she be even prouder if they looked like this?” He snapped his fingers and one of the gingerbread men with one eye and what seemed to be a row of vampire teeth morphed into a picture perfect cookie with gumdrop buttons and a cheerful royal icing grin.

“Stop that!” He turned Magnus around to face, him, hands on his shoulders to keep him from changing any more cookies. “Look, when I was a kid, my mom made me do everything over and over until I could do it perfectly - archery, training, learning how to address my superiors. I felt pressure all the time and, well, you know how that ended up for me.”

Magnus’s eyes softened. “Alexander …”

“All I’m saying is, let Madzie be less than perfect sometimes. And let her be proud of things she puts a lot of effort into, even if they don’t always turn out just right.”

“Alright,” Magnus acquiesced. “You are very wise, Mr. Lightwood-Bane.”

Alec ran his hands along his husband’s shoulders and tugged lightly at the collar of his shirt. “I learned it from you. You’re the one who taught me to stop trying to be the ultimate Shadowhunter and follow my heart instead of my head.”

“That is true.” Magnus leaned up for a quick kiss, then tapped Alec’s arms lightly. “So I will put aside my aesthetic sensibilities for the time being.”

“Thank you.”

The oven dinged, and Alec spun away, too excited to see how his own baking had turned out to see the chagrined look on his husband’s face. He grabbed a mitt and opened the oven to find the cookies looked a little different than when he’d put them on the pan.

He turned around to find himself alone in the kitchen. “Magnus!” He looked down at the metal sheet with several lines of pristine sugar cookies. “Seriously?”

While he probably couldn’t say for sure with only one under his belt, so far Alec was a fan of Christmas. Madzie was thrilled, bouncing from him to Magnus to Catarina, showing off her presents and her cookies. Izzy beamed while Simon explained Hanukkah to Madzie, and his mother and Luke shared smiles over spiked eggnog. Jace even looked like he was enjoying himself, an all too rare sight since they’d lost Clary. And Lorenzo had stopped by between hopping around multiple holiday parties.

Now it was almost midnight. Magnus had split the bed in the guest bedroom into two queens, so the passed out Madzie could sleep in one and Catarina in the other. The rest of their guests had trickled out, and it was just them, out on their balcony under the stars.

“I think that went well,” Alec said, leaning on the railing. “Not that I have anything to compare it to, but everyone seemed to have fun.”

“It was a wonderful Christmas,” Magnus agreed, but he sounded subdued.

Alec shifted so he was facing Magnus fully, studying his profile with newly critical eyes. “Okay, what’s going on with you? You’ve been off ever since this whole thing started.” When Magnus stayed silent, he leaned in closer and pleaded softly, “Talk to me.”

Magnus stared out onto the city, in a way that felt like he was avoiding looking at Alec. “I may have had an ulterior motive for having Madzie over for the holiday. Not that I wasn’t thrilled to have her and Catarina both, but … I’ve been thinking about what you said. About how we’d be good parents.”

That he wasn’t expecting. With their whirlwind marriage, losing Clary, and then a whirlwind honeymoon, they’d only just started settling into married life. While he knew that they needed to revisit their discussion on the topic, he didn’t think it’d be anytime soon. He cleared his suddenly dry throat. “You have?”

“Yes.” Though he sounded as collected as ever, Alec saw his throat bob with a nervous swallow. “I wasn’t sure before, but now … I don’t know when I’ll be ready for it, but I think I want that for us someday.”

Alec laughed, too happy to keep it in. “I want that, too. Of course I want to have a family with you.” His joy faded as his husband’s face grew melancholy. “What’s wrong?”

Magnus turned to him, eyes sad. “How do we do this, Alexander? We can’t adopt mundane children, Shadowhunters will never allow a warlock to raise one of theirs …”

“Wait, that’s what you’re worried about?”

Magnus frowned. “You’re not?”

“No, I’m not,” he said, reaching out to take Magnus’s hand. “Because I know we’ll find a kid who needs us. Like Catarina found Madzie, or how my parents took in Jace. Like I wish someone had been there for you.”

“Madzie and I are warlocks,” Magnus pointed out, eyes fixed on Alec. “We’re difficult to raise, and it might cause problems with the Clave.”

“You think after all this time that matters to me?”

“No, I suppose not.” Looking hopelessly fond, Magnus leaned up and kissed Alec gently, lingering and sweet.

When he pulled back, Alec let go of his hand. “Wait here. I want to show you something.”

He walked quickly back into the apartment, got a pen and a notepad from the desk, then returned to his husband. “Do you know about the Shadownhunter winter festival?”

Magnus turned to him fully, eyebrows drawn together. “I have, though for obvious reasons, I’ve never actually been to one.”

“We don’t really do a lot for it, but one thing is that we take pieces of paper,” he held up the notepad, “and we write down our wishes. Then we set them on fire to send them to the angel. Well, we’re supposed to leave it in a fireplace, but the idea’s the same. Izzy really liked doing it when we were kids.”

“That sounds very her. And what did little Alec wish for?”

“To be head of the Clave someday. And a better bow.”

“Of course.” The warlock looked at the paper skeptically. “So you want to make a wish?”

Alec shrugged. “It can’t hurt, right?”

Magnus made a face that said he wasn’t completely sure it couldn’t, but he held his hand out for the pen and paper anyway. Once he’d written his down, he ripped it off and handed it to Alec. He wrote down, Find a kid who needs us. Then, after a few seconds of thought added, Make Magnus happy. He wasn’t sure if it was against the rules to make more than wish, but he was pretty confident both Izzy and Jace had tried it. And in a way, it was the same wish anyway. As much as he wanted their own Madzie to celebrate Christmas with, or birthdays, or whatever holiday they wanted, he really, really wanted to make Magnus Bane as happy as possible.

He ripped off the double wish and Magnus conjured fire in his hand. They fed their wishes to the flames and watched as the ash danced out into the night.

#Shadowhunters #Malec #Magnus x Alec #Alec x Magnus #Magnus Bane #Alec Lightwood #husbands who went to hell for each other #dragonbinx fics

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erimeows · 3 years ago

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*slides you an origami frog that hops when you press on it* Can I get Ultra Magnus trying to woo a bot reader that is his subordinate and super helpful but also painfully oblivious?

Oh, to be an origami frog... Anyways, yes, anon, you may have your request! This sounds like a lot of fun and is a good, fluffy way to break up all of the Kinktober stuff I'm trying to catch up on. Thanks for the request, headcanons below the cut!

You’re Ultra Magnus’s assistant. When he’s appointed as Magnus, he finds that he can’t do all of the paperwork, politics, self-care, and training by himself, so he hires an assistant. After filing through all of the applications and resumes, doing multiple interviews, and having background checks, he decides that you’re the best fit. You have perfect academy marks, training in combat and emergency medical care, you’re intelligent, you’re polite, you’re hardworking, and you have plenty of work experience and impressive credentials.

So, he hires you. You help him with paperwork and speeches and meetings, grab him some energon when he needs it, and help him with his basic maintenance, and he gives you a handsome salary and all the energon, oil, and supplies that you could ever want.

Really, he’s quite generous to you. At first he thinks it’s because you’re just this young, sweet thing who he wants to make sure has a good position and is well taken care of so they won’t leave, since you’ve taken quite the load off of him. You’re a life-saver.

Of course, though, he’s very experienced, self-aware, and in tune with his own emotions, so he quickly realizes that it’s a little more than that... Ah, he’s developed a crush on you. Inconvenient and unethical, he thinks. He’s been very careful to treat you with kindness and make sure you’re compensated well for all your hard work- the last thing he’d ever want is to take advantage of you by abusing his position as your superior and getting into the berth with you.

But it’s not just the physical parts of you that he wants. He wants to watch you read data tablets next to him at night in a shared home like you do when you’re going over documents for work, wants to share energon with you and wipe the drops that you always spill off of your face that you don’t notice. He wants to have conversations with you that aren’t about work, and have you touch him in contexts that don’t involve you using a medical pick to open up his panels and working on him after fights or for basic maintenance.

He wants to see what falling in love with you would be like, and if you would ever fall in love with him in return. You’re captivating.

So, one day while he’s sitting on the throne in his quarters, you quietly by his side, working on some upgrades for his shoulder plates, he asks: “(y/n), how would you feel about sitting with me and splitting some flavored energon? I just had it imported from one of the finest energy reserves on Cybertron, but I’m afraid I have no one to share it with.”

It’s obviously an attempt at asking you on a date, or so he thinks, but apparently not obvious enough, because you remain completely and utterly oblivious.

“H-Huh? Sir, I couldn’t! I appreciate your offer, it’s very generous, but you already give me so much... I suggest you offer it to one of the members of the Elite Guard or sell it for profit.”

“No, I want you to have it. Either we share some tonight after you’re done with your work, or I’ll send it home with you.”

“O-Oh, okay... Then, um, yes, I’d love to share some with you.”

And that’s your first date- or, what he hopes is a date, but you don’t know was intended to be a date, so not really actually a date. The two of you share a glass of sweet, spiced energon, passing it between the two of you and refueling as you chat. You seem tense at first, but relax and start talking more, and... Oh. You talk about how you’re really honored to be having energon with him, how much you admire him, how kind he is, etc., only for him to cut you off-

“I feel the same way about you, my dear. You deserve the best treatment I have to offer.”

You nearly explode.

And so, it becomes a regular occurrence. Ultra Magnus trying to find excuses to spend time with you, you melting into his advances, the two of you having a blast at the end of the night when your shift is over. There comes a time where your relationship kind of develops naturally. You continue going on these dates, you move into his quarters to “make work easier” after you propose it, and the two of you become friends rather than a boss and his assistant. Everyone starts to notice it, too, to the point where the council suggests he hires a new assistant to prevent all of the rumors going around.

Only, Ultra Magnus doesn’t really give a shit about the council when it comes to their opinions on his personal relationships. In fact, that’s what drives him to confess his feelings for you, because as close as the two of you have gotten, you’re too sweet and too innocent to realize what his intentions are, and he’s afraid the council might pull something soon.

So, one night while you’re on the rooftop of his home, watching the stars and sharing energon, he asks you directly; “(y/n), what are your feelings towards me?”

“Oh, well that’s sudden, but... I think you’re amazing at your job and a kind, generous boss. The council really couldn’t have picked a better Magnus!”

“No, I mean... Really. Personally.”

“Oh,” You gulp and look away, blushing. “Did someone tell you?”

Ultra Magnus blinks his optics, then laughs at you. You must’ve had feelings for him, he could tell by your face.

“No, my dear, no one has told me anything. You’re aware of the rumors that have come about, but what spurred me to ask was... Well, I’ve been enamored with you since I hired you and you’ve always seemed rather oblivious to me.”

“Wait, what!?”

The two of you talk and, unsurprisingly, you’d had feelings for him the entire time and were too afraid to say anything just like how he had had feelings for you and was too afraid to say anything. He tells you the truth in depth, and both of you are flooded with relief, kissing on the rooftop and sharing the taste of energon between your lips- because, despite the stress of your jobs, having each other makes everything feel easy, if only for a little bit.

#tfa #transformers #transformers animated #ask #asks #my asks #anon #request #requests #anon request #ultra magnus #tfa ultra magnus #ultra magnus x reader #tfa ultra magnus x reader #headcanon #headcanons #cybertronian reader #autobots #autobot reader

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janekfan · 4 years ago

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Tim shouldn’t be here.

He couldn’t make himself leave.

Tim should’ve told Sasha.

She wouldn’t be out of work for hours yet.

At the very least, Tim should’ve called ahead.

Jon had no idea who was standing on the other side of the door. It was apparent in the way his eyes widened. In the way his breath hitched in his chest like a skipping cassette, in how his fingers tightened on the scuffed up brass knob. In the tentative way he caught his lower lip between his teeth before his tongue darted out between them in preparation to speak.

“Tim.” Surprised, glancing to either side of him before staring at his eyebrow. Close enough. “No Sasha tonight?” Gentle inquiry as he stepped aside to let him in.

“Jon?” Martin was somewhere else in their little flat. “Who was that at the door, love?”

“Tim stopped by for a visit, habibi.”

Unannounced?

Tim could hear Martin’s unspoken question. This wasn’t what they’d agreed on when they first found out they were all alive, that they’d made it through everything after all and realized that Tim brought his old grudges along with him. It didn’t matter that he didn’t want to feel that way, not when he so clearly still did. It didn’t matter that the lingering worry and doubt and fear in Jon’s eyes made him sick to his stomach because he’d put it there.

“I’ll put the kettle on.” As he settled on the lumpy couch, Tim heard Jon click on the hob and then begin rummaging around in the cupboards.

“Hayati, where’s that jar of orange blossom…?” Tim smiled privately at the domesticity. He doubted any of them expected to have that. He certainly hadn’t. There was no answer in return but Jon’s phone pinged with a notification and a muffled burst of laughter followed. He came out shortly with a tray. “Martin’s putting our Emma down. He threatened bodily harm if I interrupted them now.” While he spoke, Jon busied himself setting out cream and sugar, pouring the tea, nervously rearranging biscuits already arranged on a chipped china plate painted delicately with roses. He recognized it as part of a set belonging to Jon’s late grandmother. When Tim went to reach for the cup offered up by a shaky hand, Jon flinched, spilling the hot liquid over his skin with a sharp hiss.

“Hey--!” Tim’s hands shot out, reacting too quickly, and this time Jon lost the entire cup over the both of them with an aborted yelp. “Damnit, Jon, stop!”

“S’sorry.” Jon mopped up the liquid, posture small and tight and stiff. “Please don’t um, uh reach for me like that.”

“Like what?” Annoyed, scrubbing a hand over the stain spreading across his shirt, Tim tried to stay calm. After all they’d gone through, none of them had escaped unscathed.

“So er, f’fast.”

“Why?”

“I don’t. It makes me--please don’t, Tim.” The tea towel was gripped in both hands, held close, even as he faced him. “It should be. I should be able to just a’ask.”

“I was trying to help.” This was ridiculous.

“And I appreciate it but--” had he ever?

“It really doesn’t seem like you do.” Tim needed Sasha here with her level head and grounding touch.

“I’m trying to ask you to--” He didn’t mean to interrupt. Really. But how were they supposed to move forward in this if Jon was so visibly afraid? He didn’t need to be afraid. He could trust him. He just refused to at every turn!

“I don’t see why you have to make this such a big deal everytime!” Tim shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t be doing this. He definitely shouldn’t be yelling at Jon for something he had no control over, for asking him to just be.

Just be gentle with him for once.

The ire and anger in him rose, a clawing riptide, one he recognized from before the Unknowing. Cloying in its familiarity and power over him and he moved through it like he was stuck in honey, desperate for an escape, to not drown in it even as it closed over his head and his mouth flooded with salt and erupted in vitriol.

“I don’t see why you can’t get over it!”

“Tim!!” Martin’s roar broke him out of those rank jaws and snapped him back into reality. “Back. Off. Now.”

Martin stood in the doorway, a sleepy, clingy baby in his arms looking seconds from bursting into tears while her father looked seconds away from throwing him bodily out of the flat. Emma began to wail. Martin refused to look away from Tim.

Tim.

Who was standing over Jon, towering above his trembling body curled small and pressed into the cushions, tear-stained face shielded by arms drawn with a roadmap of scars Tim both knew and didn’t, that matched and told stories he’d yet to hear. His own chest was heaving like a bellows, hot, heavy, and he unclenched fists so tight his fingers ached, stepping back, stepping away. Only then did Martin stride forward, placing himself as a bulwark between the pair of them, taking up the whole of Jon’s vision and whispering sweet things, reassuring things.

"Hayati, I need you to hold Emma for a moment. Can you do that for me?" Mechanically, Jon accepted their daughter into his hold, angling away from Tim--and didn’t that sting? And didn’t he deserve it. Martin waited to be sure he had her, pressing a soft kiss against his cheek even as Jon paid him no mind, lost in bouncing their daughter a little to soothe them both. Firmly, Martin grabbed Tim by the arm and tugged him into a tidy kitchen.

“Martin, I--”

“The hell is wrong with you?” Voice kept to a sharp whisper, Martin kept looking past him into the sitting room; keeping a close eye on Jon no doubt who was beginning to babble at Emma, words pitched high and sweet, if a bit quivery. “Yelling like that, we don’t yell in this home. You know that. You know that and you came here anyway and maligned my husband and you don’t know the half of what he’s been through, so don’t come here with your guilt and anger and take it out on my family.” This was a Martin that Tim had never met, almost unrecognizable from those first few weeks they’d all spent together in the Archives. When everything was new. Before any of this happened. Before everything changed.

“I’m. I, I’m sorry, Martin. I’ll go. I’ll.” Tears, stinging, bright, prickled at the corners of his lids. “You’re right. I’m out of line. I don’t know--why did I come here? I’m sorry. I’m, I’m really sorry.”

“I’m not the one who needs to hear that.”

“I know. I. I should go.” He should never come back.

“This is why we came up with these steps together, all of us.” Martin handed him a handkerchief and Tim realized belatedly that his face was wet. “We heal on our own time, and it’s going to take time. But you have to respect Jon’s boundaries. He deserves to keep himself safe. He deserves friends who want to protect him, even from themselves.”

“Yeah.” His next breath got stuck, caught in the too-small cage of his ribs. Jon must’ve felt this way. When he shouted. Stood over him like that. “I wasn’t. Wasn’t. I’m not ready. I thought I could be.”

“Rushing this is going to hurt Jon and I’m sorry, Tim. I’m not going to let you do that.”

Not again.

It went unsaid and yet somehow hung heavy between them.

“I’ll tell Sash. I’ll. Come clean and she’ll chew me out and I won’t do this again, Martin. I promise.” Having them back was the greatest gift he’d ever been given. Why did he want to sabotage it? Question for therapy next week. Probably a good one.

“No, you won’t.”

I won’t allow it.

“T’Tim?” Tentative, behind him at a measured distance. Jon, cuddling a sleeping Emma close. “Are you alright?”

“No.” Tim laughed, choked on the sob rising in his throat. “But I’m working on it.” Jon offered him an understanding smile.

“We are too.”

“Yeah.” Tim swiped at damp lashes. “I’m sorry, Jon. I’m going to be better. I want to be better.”

“Okay.” Simple as that. Despite all their wretched history. Sash’s ringtone began to play and Tim found it hard to be angry at Martin. He didn’t want to go home on his own.

“Okay.”

#TMA #the magnus archives #jmart #jonmartin #angst #hurt/comfort #tim stoker #martin blackwood #jon sims #everybody lives #tim ignores jon's boundaries #yelling #Emma AU #babby!

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satanickpanick · 4 years ago

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this is technically late HOWEVER i had way too much fun and it got way too out of hand not to post for @tmanostalgiaweek day five: shenanigans! a very happy all fools’ day from me and everyone in the archives :)

“You got the goods?”

Martin nodded seriously. He reached into his jacket and, one by one, produced the instruments of chaos necessary to the events of the day.

Sasha grinned widely, and it only grew wider as she took inventory. Zip ties, fine glitter, styrofoam plates and cups, silly string, and several rolls of duct tape, all check, and more on the way according to the text she’d got from Tim. Martin seemed to be almost vibrating in excitement, eyes alight with mischief. She took out her notebook and they started to review the plan.

“-and if we time it exactly right, with Hannah to keep watch, of course, it’ll get him right in the-“

“Happy All Fools’!” came the shout, heralding Tim with a joyous laugh and a heavy tote bag. He set it down on the table with a satisfying thunk and let himself be swept up in one of Martin’s great bear hugs.

“You’re late,” Martin accused laughingly.

“Have you considered that you two might just be early?”

“Forget that, let’s see what you’ve got!”

Tim’s smile grew as he reached into the tote. “We have here my finest equipment, my greatest collection, the tools of a master’s trade-“ Martin swatted at him- “All right, okay…” He flourished each item as he listed it off. “Half a dozen whoopee cushions. Several bags of balloons. One industrial-size ball of twine. A packet of plastic spiders. Four handshake zappers. One rubber rat. And the centerpiece, my Magnus opus, if you will… one hundred wallet-size portraits of Jimmy Magma himself.”

“Holy shit, Tim, you came through,” Sasha breathed. “This is gonna be absolutely brilliant.”

“Ah, good morning, Tim,” came Jon’s voice from the doors to the breakroom. “Delighted you decided to show.” The three assistants froze. He raised an eyebrow. “What’s all this, then?”

“It’s April Fool’s day?” Martin squeaked out before anybody could think up a good story. Dammit, Sasha knew they’d missed something planning.

“I see.” Jon offered in a tone that said they very much did not. “I take it you were banking on my being shut up in the office all day?” Their collective silence was answer enough. “Right.” He made a valiant attempt to look indifferent. “Carry on, then, I won’t interfere, but I won’t be held responsible.” Jon turned to go.

“Wait,” Tim said, surprising, it seemed, even himself. “D’you want in on it?”

“Tim-!” Sasha hissed. He waved her off- but she knew that look now she saw it. A plan was forming.

“We could use your help, y’know- most of this is pretty standard stuff, we’re gonna put up glitter bombs in the doors and take the-“ He cut off abruptly as Jon held up a hand.

They tried for a beleaguered sigh, failed, and instead broke into a small, amused smile. “What do you want me to do?”

Martin shared a wide-eyed look with Sasha as Tim eagerly explained the climax of their plan. Jon nodded along, their smile growing more and more genuine- and more and more dastardly.

Finally, he turned to go. “I think I can manage that. Just give me… an hour, to finish up the box I’m on.” Tim nodded, giving a mock salute, and with that their boss- their boss, holy shit- was gone.

“Tim, what were you thinking?” Martin whisper-yelled the moment the door clicked shut. “He said he didn’t want to be involved.”

“They said they didn’t want to be held responsible,” Tim countered. “Besides, he’s the perfect one for this- he’s got legitimate reasons to be in Douchard’s office.”

“And we don’t?”

“I’m with Tim,” Sasha interjected. “Jon deserves to have a little fun once in a while. And besides, his being part of it guarantees he won’t rat us out.”

Martin sighed. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.” A beat. “Well, let’s get going, shall we? This place isn’t gonna booby-trap itself.”

And get going they did. With plastic wrap over tea left out, spiders in desk drawers, silly string rigged up on sinks, and other harmless little tricks, today had been months in the making. Sasha remembered well the day Martin had sat them down and told them about a tradition from when he was a kid- on he, for reasons yet undiscovered, wanted to start up with them. The tradition in question?

Total carnage she hadn’t thought the nervous, tea-brewing mass of jumper 5$-) was Martin’s face value capable of.

But all too soon it was done, and the three of them had very carefully navigated the network of traps back down to the breakroom. Sasha was animatedly recounting a close call in artefact storage with a tripwire and a nosy researcher when Jon entered, narrowly missing the confetti popper tied to the doorknob. He looked tired, moreso than before, but surprisingly eager.

“Okay, Jon,” Martin told him. “Rosie says he’s on the phone with some donor, but he’ll be leaving for lunch in… ten minutes and be gone til around 1130.”

“Which gives me… er… fifty minutes…? to get in, put them up, and get back out.”

“Yep.” Sasha held up a plain manila folder. “They’re in here, so’s a card of sticky tack.”

“Now, you know Rosie’s already agreed to help us, but that doesn’t go for the rest of the floor. You have to look like you have business.” Tim pushed his shoulders back and made a face like he’d smelled something sour. “Y’know-“ he put on an overly posh accent- “I’m the Archivist, I’ll zap you with my lazer eyes if you perceive me, I ha- ow!” He gripped his shoulder dramatically where Sasha had smacked him. “You get the idea.”

Jon chuckled darkly. “Do I really act like that?” Martin shrugged apologetically. “Well-“

“He’s gone!” said Sasha, thrusting the folder of tiny Jonahs into their hands. “Go, go!”

“Go, Jon!”

“Remember the safe route!”

The three cheered laughingly as Jon straightened up to his full tiny meter and a half and headed out the breakroom and up.

A tense ten minutes passed. Twenty. Martin left to take care of something trivial and returned. Thirty. The silence was broken only by the occasional giggle, quickly hushed by the other two. Forty minutes. They were getting quite down to the wire.

Pop! The party cracker at the door went off, making everybody jump. Jon had yelped and thrown the folder still in their hands, and now stood in the doorway, hair full of paper bits and sputtering laughingly.

“The deed is done,” they proclaimed dramatically through laughter, all but collapsing into an open folding chair. “That was- so much worse than I could’ve imagined. They were all- they were all staring at me.”

Sasha joined him first in laughter, the others soon to follow. Nobody could really understand what anybody was saying-

“…can you imagine?”

“Your face-“

“All of those eyes-“

“This is the greatest plan you've had since-“

Eventually, though, the energy died down. Jon stood, visibly reassuming the role of “boss”. “Well, that was certainly amusing. But we should all get back to work.”

“Come on, admit it, you had fun,” Sasha goaded.

“…all right, I did,” they admitted, “Doesn’t mean you lot’re getting out of anything, though.”

With a last conspiratorial look, the four separated Sasha liked to imagine she could hear Elias’s shout of confused frustration m as he returns to find his office plastered in tiny, smirking Jonah Magnuses.

She didn’t have to imagine Jon’s as he opened his own door and was showered in a cupful of neon pink glitter.

the joe mogus featured here, by the wonderful @fox-guardian:

#THIS IS SO LONG WHAT THE FUCK IM SO SORDY #also i cannot fucking believe i tagged tuesday’s prompt ‘tim stoner’ im going to eeby deeby #tmanostalgiaweek #sasha james #tim STOKER #martin blackwood #jonathan sims #april fools’ day #tma #the magnus archives

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writeyouin · 4 years ago

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Rodimus X Techbug – Guardian Prime (COMMISSION)

Description – When a new Autobot joins the Lost Light, Rodimus seeks to become their mentor. However, when he learns of Techbug’s difficult past, he might find the task harder than he expected.

A/N – Hey @ask-tf-techbug, I hope this is what you had in mind. If you want anything editing, just say the word and I’ll do it ASAP. In the meantime, thank you very much for the commission.

WARNINGS – Smut. NSFW. Mentions of abuse.

RATING – M

WORD COUNT – 2173

Rodimus walked with a spring in his step, eager to meet Techbug, the newest recruit to the Lost Light. Ultra Magnus had warned Rodimus of Techbug’s past. Originally an Autobot who had been captured at the start of the war, he had been forced into the Decepticon ranks. Techbug had been controlled through abuse, manipulation, and torture; it had turned him into one of the Decepticons’ most ruthless killers, Silentdeath. Now that the war was over and Techbug was free to start his life anew. He had been sent to the Lost Light to receive therapy from Rung, who specialised in treating PTSD, among other things.

Although Rodimus knew of the infamous Silentdeath, it didn’t taint his opinion of Techbug; after all, Drift had once been a Decepticon, and he’d managed to turn his life around. With the right mentor, Techbug would be just fine, and Rodimus was determined to be that mentor, if only to prove to Ultra Magnus that he could be responsible when he wanted to be; besides, how hard could it really be, being a mentor?

Finally, Rodimus reached Techbug’s new hab-suite, whereupon he rapped a playful tune on the door.

“Hey Techbug,” Rodimus greeted with a wink once the door was opened, “I’m Rodimus, the co-captain of the Lost Light. Nice to meet ya.”

Rodimus didn’t let his surprise at Techbug’s appearance show. He wasn’t small enough to be a mini-bot, yet he couldn’t have been taller that fifteen feet, only coming up to Rodimus’ chassis. He also had a similar appearance to Earthen cats, with a white tipped tail that sharply contrasted his orange colour scheme, and cat audials to match; it was rare to find bots that were shaped after organic creatures. Moreover, Rodimus couldn’t help feeling that Techbug was slender, more like a femme than a mech. To be perfectly candid, Rodimus found Techbug cute.

“Hi…” He whispered quietly in response, unsure of what to say since he didn’t know Rodimus; what he would give to be more comfortable with strangers like most other bots were.

“So,” Rodimus beamed, ignoring the tension. “You want a tour of my ship? It’ll help you get more acquainted.”

Techbug gave a small nod and left his hab-suite, following closely behind Rodimus, who slipped easily into the role of charismatic tour-guide.

They were about three-quarters of the way through the tour when something Rodimus said piqued Techbug’s interest.

“This is one of three labs that we have aboard the ship. As you can see, uh- Techbug?” Rodimus looked behind him, sure that the bot had been there a minute ago.

“Look at this, it’s all brand new,” Techbug marvelled, zooming around the lab. “Is that a GR-91 Centrifuge? I haven’t seen one in real life before. The Cons’ never let me into their labs and they only had old ones anyway. Do you know how fast this could separate particles? It could- Uh… I mean… Sorry for getting so over-excited… I’ll- I’ll be quiet now.”

Rodimus grinned cockily, “Hey, don’t worry about it, it’s cool to see you so excited. You like this lab? Then take it. Nobody else uses it anyway. Brainstorm and Perceptor each have one, so you may as well get this one if you want it.”

“Primus,” Techbug’s tail piece twitched in anticipation, “All of this for me, are you sure?”

“Yeah, it’s no biggie.”

‘Oh, but it is,’ Silentdeath, Techbug’s alternate personality growled maliciously inside his processor. ‘It’s a very big deal, right Techie? What have you done to deserve this? Nothing! You’ve done nothing for this, betrayer.’

“Be quiet,” Techbug hissed.

“What was that?” Rodimus asked, having missed Techbug’s warning.

‘Ooh, he’s listening to our private conversation. We don’t want that now, do we. You should stare him down. One look from our outlier ability and the only time he’ll speak is with Primus in the Afterspark.’

“Stop,” Techbug whispered.

“Hey, are you feeling okay?” Rodimus placed a soothing hand on Techbug’s shoulder-plate. “Med-bay isn’t far from here, I could take you to see Ratchet.”

‘HE WANTS TO TAKE YOU TO MED-BAY! You remember what happens in med-bay, right? They’ll recode you again, and they’ll make sure it hurts. I can’t wait to hear your pathetic screams when they tear you apart and put you back together again. Such sweet agony.’

“GET AWAY FROM ME!” Techbug pushed Rodimus, making him stumble backwards.

Before Rodimus could protest, Techbug fixed him with a hard glare, feeling his outlier ability rising up from within, burning quickly through his already low energon supply. With the ability to freeze or kill an enemy with a look, Techbug had been one of the Decepticons’ best weapons. With a full fuel tank, he could have frozen up to three mechs, as it was however, Techbug only managed to freeze Rodimus in time before a warning flashed on his visor: ENERGON LEVEL CRITICAL. SHUTDOWN PROTOCOL ENGAGED.

Techbug passed out and Rodimus was stuck, aware of everything yet unable to help. Fortunately, it only took a few minutes for Rodimus to be released from the effects of the outlier ability, allowing him to move freely once again.

He vented the excess air from his systems, eyeing up Techbug tiredly, “Something tells me that you’re going to be a bit of a handful… I’m really glad you left your swords back at the hab-suite.”

“I’m sorry,” Techbug murmured, unable to look Rodimus in the optics. The two were in the med-bay, where Rodimus had carried him after his energon burnout. “I didn’t mean to freeze you up like that… I was- He made me do it.”

“He? You mean Silentdeath?” Rodimus asked, feeling sorry for yet another bot whose mentality had been damaged in the war.

Techbug looked uncomfortable at the mention of his Decepticon name.

“Hey, you don’t have to worry. We’ve all made mistakes, y’know, except for me, ‘cos Primus broke the mould, I was far too perfect even for him.”

Techbug snickered and Rodimus shot imaginary finger guns at him, “And the bot does know how to laugh. Good for you buddy. Anyway, is there anything you wanna do next? I’m okay staying here for a while if you want, but now that you’re energised, I was thinking we could do something fun. What do you say?”

Going against his social anxiety, Techbug nodded, “Something fun sounds good, Captain.”

After a few weeks aboard the Lost Light, Techbug started to come out of his shell. Silentdeath was quieter than he had ever been before. Techbug hadn’t used his outlier ability since he’d frozen Rodimus. With Rung’s help during therapy, he was even confronting some of his worst memories which he had always shut away in an attempt to forget; it wasn’t easy, and it usually left Techbug feeling a little worse for wear, but in the long run, he knew it would be helpful. Best of all, Techbug had even been making friends among the crew. He still gravitated towards Rodimus, but who wouldn’t? Rodimus was charming, funny, handsome, had a great aft-

Techbug blushed, snapping his eyes away from Rodimus’ aft which he had blatantly been staring at as Rodimus went to buy the next round of high-grade energon for them.

“Seems like you have a little crush,” Dogfight smirked, taking a seat next to Techbug and wrapping his arm chummily around him. “The name’s Dogfight.”

“T-Techbug,” Techbug whispered his name quietly, going ridged at Dogfight’s uninvited touch.

“Yeah. I know all about you. Been watching you for a while. You’ve got a few admirers yourself, by the way. I should know, I’m one of them. That’s actually why I’m here. I was thinking that maybe you could ditch Hot-Wheels over there,” He gestured to Rodimus. “-and come spend some time with me. Maybe even see where the night leads, if you catch my drift.”

Dogfight stroked the inside of Techbug’s thighs sensuously, leading his way up to his interface panel. Supressed memories of Techbug’s past surfaced, hitting him like a freight train. He remembered how the Decepticons had used him for sex. They had called him names, debased him, forced their way into his interface panel, made him their slave in the berth as well as away from it. Techbug felt like he might purge his tanks if he didn’t escape Dogfight’s touch.

Once again, he concentrated on his outlier ability, though this time he was in full control of it as he froze Dogfight in place and extricated himself from his hold. On a full energon supply, Techbug was not weakened by the use of his outlier, however it did not stop him from feeling nauseous as he ran back to his hab-suite, trying desperately to forgot Dogfight’s unwanted advance.

As soon as Rodimus saw Dogfight frozen in space where Techbug had once been, he abandoned the high-grade energon he’d just bought. He rushed out of Swerve’s and immediately transformed, driving speedily towards Techbug’s hab-suite.

“Techbug,” Rodimus called, banging on the door, worried that he might be too late to stop one of Techbug’s episodes. “It’s me, Rodimus. Are you in there?”

As he was left waiting, Rodimus seriously considered using his override code to unlock the door, but before he could do so, Techbug opened it, wiping coolant from his optics.

“I’m- I’m fine, Rodimus. You should just go, I’ll be alright.”

“You’re clearly not fine. What happened back there? I just looked up and you were gone. You should at least talk about whatever it is. Was it something to do with Dogfight? Did you have another accident? Was it Silentdeath again?” Rodimus rushed through the list of possibilities, speaking faster with each question.

Finally, Techbug relented and let Rodimus in, if only to stop the persistent questions.

“I- I just- I got spooked and I couldn’t be there anymore. I only wanted to be with you tonight anyway.”

“Me?” Rodimus pointed dumbly at himself. “Why? Were you feeling shy or something?”

Feeling simultaneously vulnerable, frustrated, and like he needed some attention, Techbug threw his arms around Rodimus’ neck, pulling him down for a kiss. Thankfully, Rodimus didn’t question the action as he returned the kiss, pressing his mouth hungrily against Techbug’s as if they couldn’t get close enough.

Up till now Rodimus had ignored any lingering romantic ideas of Techbug, worried that by being a mentor, he would only pressure his ward. Since Techbug had initiated the kiss however, Rodimus saw no reason to reject the advance.

Rodimus yelped as Techbug’s nimble fingers tugged at his neck cables. He broke off the kiss, staring uncertainly at Techbug. “Are you sure?” He asked, alluding to the prospect of interfacing.

“Yes,” Techbug vented air out of his vents eagerly. He had never interfaced because he wanted to before, it was always because he had to; this was new and exciting and he could already feel his spike straining to be free of his interface panel.

Rodimus reached tentatively for Techbug’s aft, massaging it gently as he made his way to the berth, falling against it rather than laying on top of it. Techbug’s interface panel slid open, his spike rubbing against Rodimus’ inner thigh.

“Is that a gun or are you just happy to see me?” Rodimus joked.

Techbug’s face-plates flushed red and his cat-like tail lashed impatiently from side to side, “I want to see yours too. I want to ride you like a hover-bike.”

Rodimus’ engines revved, “Looks like you already found the ignition.” He lifted Techbug up, letting him wrap his legs around his waist. “Now all that’s left is to get on.”

He inserted his spike into Techbug’s valve, moaning at how good it felt. Although he had planned to take it slow for their first time, Rodimus was surprised as Techbug forced himself down on Rodimus’ spike.

“I’m not that delicate,” Techbug whispered huskily.

Taking the hint, Rodimus gripped Techbug’s hips and pulled him onto the berth, so that Techbug was on top; most bots assumed that Rodimus liked to be on top but in truth he found it nice to be submissive on occasion.

Techbug began gyrating on Rodimus’ spike, growling with lust every time it pressed against his anterior node. He was desperate. He needed this attention. He basked in the warmth of Rodimus’ presence. Rodimus however, sought to toy with Techbug, reaching low to rub at his spike.

Techbug bit his lip to keep from crying out as Rodimus jacked him off. It wasn’t long before tips of transfluid beaded the top of Techbug’s spike.

“Delicious,” Rodimus purred, looking Techbug in the optics as he gathered the trans-fluid off his spike and licked it off his servo.

“Primus!” Techbug squeaked, feeling his overload building up. “I- I-” Techbug never got to finish his sentiment as Rodimus overloaded with a loud moan, followed closely by him.

He was going to tell Rodimus that he loved him, but at that moment, the words didn’t matter, and by the look on Rodimus’ face, he thought that Rodimus might know already anyway.

Like my work? Buy me a coffee and earn preview of the next fic, or commission me on the commissions page.

#transformers #IDW #rodimus #rodimus x techbug #rodimus x oc #ll #lost light #maccadam #mtmte #more than meets the eye #fanfiction #fanfic #commission #guardian prime #ask-tf-techbug

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nyctolovian · 4 years ago

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Summary: Tim has trouble sleeping these days. But perhaps, Jon could offer some cuddly assistance.

A/N: A pinch-hit gift for @president-homewrecker! I hope you enjoy this even though it’s a little short and a lot late :”

Someone pinched Tim's forearm hard and he startled awake. He turned to glare at the culprit. "What the hell?" he hissed.

But Jon only glowered before subtly jerking his head towards the back. Tim blinked, drowsy and perplexed, before following Jon's gaze.

Ah. Elias had just entered the research department. Thank goodness they were situated closer to the back of the room; if not Tim would already be in hot water. And thank goodness for Jon. Sheepishly, he whispered his thanks to Jon, who nodded and resumed his work. Tim blinked hard to get any bleariness out of his eyes and drank some water.

As the boss walked past his cubicle, he opened some folders to make himself look busy, as though he hadn’t been asleep on the job just ten seconds ago. When Elias was out of sight, Tim sighed. He tried his best to resume work. However, the words on the computer blurred into an incoherent messy blob and his mind drifted into a hazy blankness.

The next time he awoke was to Jon gently shaking his shoulder. "It's 6."

After a glance at the clock, Tim ran a hand through his hair and groaned softly. A full day had gone by and he had done almost nothing to lessen the never-ending pile of work on his desk. "Right, right." He stood up, slinging his bag over his shoulder.

Jon's eyes followed him. "You haven't been sleeping well?"

It was difficult to. In August, his dreams so frequently wandered into hellscapes of colourful fabrics and shrill echoes of a calliope. And then, on the unfortunate occasion that they were different, it’d be of bright dimpled laughter and sunlight at the end of a hike, speckling curly brown hair golden. Those were the dreams that made Tim’s heart pound deafeningly and sent him nearly scream-crying into his pillow, lips trembling.

It was so much easier to sleep when in the office. Between the monotonous sounds of typing, the somewhat soothing noise of pages flipping and the gentle hum of the air-conditioning, he found himself comfortably on the cusp of sleep, getting some rest without fully submerging.

He didn’t explain all that to Jon though. He merely shrugged.

Jon didn’t push him for an explanation. That was what Tim liked about Jon, he thought. That he was never pushy about things the way others might be.

They got into the train, and the two managed to squeeze into a nook in the carriage. Tim leaned against the wall.

“Wasn’t it so much easier when you were a kid?” he said, folding his arms and resting his head against a railing. “If you had trouble sleeping. I still remember just sliding into my parents’ bed when I had a nightmare. Even if the nightmare came back, I’d wake up in my mum’s arms and that would be enough to calm me down.”

Jon hummed in agreement.

“Now that we’re adults we have to deal with it all by ourselves. Ugh… I wish it was socially acceptable to just ask someone to be your cuddle partner.”

“You could.”

“What? You offering?” Tim said, raising a teasing eyebrow.

Jon frowned and pressed his thumb against his lip in deep thought. As adorably earnest as Jon looked, Tim didn’t think his heart could handle the idea of cuddling to sleep with Jon (whom he may or may not have a teeny-tiny baby crush on).

“Uh…” He laughed nervously. “I was just kidding, Jon.”

“No, no. I think it’d be good,” Jon said. “If it’d help you better sleep at night, I wouldn’t mind being a cuddle partner.”

His heart leapt to his throat, and he rolled his eyes to hide the reaction. “Oh, you’ll mind by the morning. I need to warn you – I kick in my sleep.”

“What a coincidence,” Jon replied jokingly. “So do I!”

Somewhere in between half-hearted protests, Tim found himself at Jon’s house. They had stopped by at his house to pick up some toiletries and clothes. Tim hardly had the energy to pay much attention to Jon’s place (but if a squirrel had a human home, he’d think it’d look a little like this). For dinner, they chose pasta, something simple and quick, and Tim was thankful for that because he only nearly nodded off into his plate twice.

At 9.00pm, after cleaning up, Jon led him to his bedroom and carried out some extra blankets and pillows from his cupboard. It was a bit of a tight squeeze but Tim slipped into slumber quickly, with Jon’s arms wrapped around his middle.

***

"Tim?"

Tim recoiled, breath catching. But it was just Jon, his face bearing concern and worry as his hand hovered where Tim had been lying a moment ago. For a second, it had felt cold and plastic around Tim’s shoulder. Jon drew his hand closer to his chest.

Remnants of his nightmare still clung to his consciousness, however. Tim glanced around furtively. From the corner of his eyes, silhouettes in the room seemed to move eerily, like moving hands, like shivering fabric, like clacking plastic joints.

“Tim,” Jon called, and Tim’s eyes snapped forward. “You’re in my room. You’re safe here.”

He gulped. “Yeah,” he breathed out, but he was still trembling.

Slowly, to allow Tim time to push him away, Jon reached over. His palm rested against Tim’s back, a solid warm weight, before pulling him gently towards himself. Tim let himself lean forward and dropped his head against Jon’s shoulder. He closed his eyes as Jon rubbed slow, firm circles against his back.

“Breathe for me, okay? In… and out,” Jon whispered. “In… and out.”

Tim tried. He took time. He forced himself to concentrate on Jon’s voice, on his warmth. And throughout, Jon was there, stroking his back and guiding his breath.

Eventually, some tension had seeped out his chest, and he could follow Jon’s pace. He lifted his head and eased himself upright. Jon’s hand slid upwards to his nape, and it took to massaging that area. The shoulder of Jon’s shirt was dark with dampness, and Tim realised that he had a fist curled around the hem of Jon’s shirt. He swallowed thickly around nothing.

“Better,” Tim muttered. “Yeah. ‘m better.”

“Do you need water?” Jon asked gently.

Licking his lips, he nodded.

But when Jon stood up, Tim found his grip tightening around Jon’s shirt. His face felt hot as he released his hold. God, he wasn’t a bloody child. He was being a massive nuisance to Jon already. He didn’t need to add childishness to his ever-growing list of ways he had embarrassed himself in front of Jon.

“Oops!” Tim said, mustering a dismissive chuckle. He expected Jon to just nod and leave to get water. Instead, he frowned slightly in that endearingly concentrated way of his before holding his hand out.

Blinking, Tim slid his hand into Jon’s, which then tightened. His pitter-pattering heart settled as Jon tugged him to his feet and into the kitchen, where they stood silently while waiting for the water to fill the cups.

It must look ridiculous, Tim thought. Two grown men holding hands to get some water from the kitchen before padding back into the bedroom. But between these four walls, he knew there would be no judgement, only comfort and safety.

So, as they settled back under the blankets, Jon latching onto Tim’s back again like a protective backpack, Tim found refuge enough to close his eyes, and ease himself back into the darkness.

***

Much to Tim's simultaneous embarrassment and relief, this sleeping arrangement continued through the month. Sometimes, it'd be at Jon's and sometimes, it'd be at Tim's. Either way, they’d always leave two cups of water on the bedside table before they went to bed. And each night Tim would be wrapped in Jon's embrace as he drifted to sleep. The soft even breaths against his back and the heavy warmth of Jon's body lulled Tim to sleep far easier than unsettling silence and aching emptiness ever did.

It was still impossible to avoid bad nights altogether. It wasn't a cure-all, of course, he still had nightmares, but they were far more bearable with Jon's presence. But… Tim supposed it'd be alright.

#jontim #jonathan sims #tim stoker #tma #the magnus archives #magpod #hurt/comfort #fanfic #my writing

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ollieofthebeholder · 4 years ago

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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] [14] [15] [16] [17] [18] [19] Also on AO3

Chapter 20: Jon Prime

Jon had been worried, before they had come back in time, about how well he would adjust to being in the past, pre-Apocalypse. He wasn’t sure if he’d be able to handle the lessened level of terror, or the need to eat and sleep completely again, or being, essentially, less than he’d been, or for that matter the urge to storm the Institute and throttle Jonah Magnus in his office. He’d fretted about a lot of things.

As it turned out, none of them were things he needed to fret about.

His body reacclimated to human needs quickly enough, and it actually felt kind of good to feel the rumble of hunger or the drag of exhaustion again. It was definitely good to get back to cooking, which he’d sorely missed doing even if it felt odd to be cooking for more than himself and Martin. Martin had been right about his statement fueling Jon for a while, and his younger counterpart had taken to bringing home any real statements he came across; it was enough. And with Martin there, he didn’t feel less.

As for storming the Institute, that urge had been surprisingly easy to resist. Tim had managed to convince them to stay at his house longer by asking them to keep an eye on Past Martin while he healed. His excuse had been that Jon knew what Past Martin was going through and Martin knew what his past self was like, so they could keep him from doing anything stupid. Jon guessed there was more to it than that, but he didn’t want to pry into anyone’s minds, so he just let it go and agreed. It seemed simpler.

Martin had adapted well, too. Granted, he’d still been human—as far as Jon knew—before they came back, and he’d had two weeks to adjust to being blind before they were reunited, but he’d picked up on the cane Tim bought him fairly quickly. He didn’t seem to need it around the house, though, and when Jon questioned him about that, Martin said that he had a pretty good sense of direction when the world makes sense, Jon. And, honestly, Jon couldn’t argue with that. Tim spent a Sunday afternoon reorganizing his cupboards, then showed Martin where everything was so he could feel more independent in the kitchen while Jon watched from the doorway with a grin.

Past Martin got stronger by the day. At first, he mostly slept, which was fine with Jon, since it meant he could spend time with Martin and not feel guilty. He’d accidentally fallen asleep with his head on Martin’s lap one afternoon and woken to soft laughter, which is how he found out that Past Martin and Past Jon had apparently discussed things and Sasha was the only member of what Tim insisted on referring to as Team Archives who didn’t know they were together. After that, they’d dropped the pretense and just been themselves. It had been a huge relief to Jon. It had also been a relief—and a surprise—that Tim didn’t tease them mercilessly, but when he mentioned that to Martin, Martin just laughed and shook his head.

They’d all fallen into an easy domesticity. It was honestly the most surreal thing Jon had experienced in probably his entire life. Sasha and Past Jon were still staying with Tim—Jon had no idea what argument Tim had used on them, but it seemed to be working—and Jon delighted in watching the three of them, together with Past Martin, draw closer together into a cohesive unit that would be harder for Jonah to manipulate. Often, he would come out of the spare room from recording a statement, tape recorder in hand, to find them sharing stories or playing games and laughing. Some nights he joined in on the games, too, but mostly he just sat back with Martin and watched, grinning.

There were arguments. Of course there were arguments. They were all human beings with their own personalities and quirks. Nothing was going to be perfect harmony. Thankfully, they were usually made up fairly quickly. It felt like home, in a way, something Jon hadn’t experienced in he didn’t know how long. He knew it couldn’t last, but he was determined to enjoy it while he could.

Several weeks passed like that. Jon could see the signs that Past Martin was getting restless and impatient to be back at work—he listened hungrily to the team’s tales of what they’d been up to, ventured tentative suggestions on avenues of research or possible connections they might have missed—but he was, ultimately, a far better patient than Jon had been. Not that that was difficult.

As Past Martin’s recovery progressed, the three of them began taking walks in the afternoon, Jon letting the two Martins go ahead of him and following just behind. Partly it was that there really wasn’t room for them to walk three abreast, but mostly it was him giving them the opportunity to see what they were capable of on their own while he watched their backs, literally. At first they were slow circuits of a single block, and then Past Martin needed to sit down for quite a while, but within a couple of weeks he was walking easily and seemed almost back to normal. The scars healed better than they had for Jon, partly because Martin’s skin was fairer than Jon’s but mostly because Past Martin was better about both following doctor’s orders and not picking at the healing wounds. Tim’s had healed about the same, Jon remembered, a thought which still sent a lance of melancholy through him. And finally, the day came when he returned triumphantly from a check-up with the news that he’d been cleared to return to work that Monday.

“We’ll be glad to have you back,” Past Jon said sincerely, actually smiling in a way Jon couldn’t remember smiling until the too-brief time he and Martin had had in Scotland. “It’s all kind of…I won’t lie, it’s odd to sit around and keep working like nothing has changed. Like we don’t know what’s going on. But we’ve managed. There’s a lot more than can be easily done with three, though.”

“I’ll do whatever you need,” Past Martin promised. “God, it’ll feel good to get back into things.”

“Kind of surprised you didn’t try to get us to let you come back earlier, actually,” Tim teased him. “Don’t think none of us saw you chomping at the bit.”

Past Martin gestured to Jon and Martin. “They wouldn’t let me bring it up.”

“How long did you wait before going back?” Past Jon asked.

Jon grimaced. “A month. I should have stayed out longer, to be honest, and I ended up needing substantial physical therapy. But I was already obsessing over who killed Gertrude Robinson, and I didn’t handle being alone with my thoughts very well. Tim was out longer.”

“How long?” Tim asked curiously.

“Eight weeks, give or take.”

“So we can be away from the Institute? I thought you said…” Tim trailed off.

Jon paused, knife suspended over the cutting board. “I—I never thought of that. God, how did I not think of that? Our Tim seemed fine when he first came back, and he never said anything, but…”

“You can be away from the Institute, just not for good,” Martin said. “When you’re out…convalescing, that’s one thing. Even if you’re on an extended vacation, that should be okay. It’s if you try to leave, if you just up and walk away with the idea that you won’t be back, that you’ll have problems. As long as you really intend to come back at some point, it’s fine.”

Jon turned around and stared at Martin. “How long have you known that?”

“Since Elias told us we were trapped there?”

“My God, that was…” Jon rubbed his temple with his free hand. “Why didn’t you say anything? And please don’t say ‘it never really came up.’”

Martin actually smiled at that. “Honestly, Jon, I assumed you knew. I mean, you were away for ages, and I know Basira kept going off on…excursions. She might not have been gone long, but I just…I thought you’d figured it out. Especially when nothing really happened to us in Scotland.”

Jon hadn’t thought about that, either. But yes, at the time they had meant to go back to the Institute eventually, hadn’t they? Or maybe the Eye had let them go because it knew what Jonah was plotting. Either way, Martin was right, he really ought to have figured that out sooner.

He sighed, turning back to his meal prep. “I can, as we have established, be a bit oblivious at times.”

Sasha gave an overly-dramatic gasp. “You? Never.”

“Oh, shut up,” Past Jon grumbled.

Tim snickered. “Hey, does that mean you two have to come back to the Institute, too?”

“That’s…more complicated.” Jon scraped the contents of the cutting board into the pot. “I’m bound closely enough to the Eye that I’m not…dependent on the Institute, I don’t think? As long as I’m taking statements, feeding the Eye, I’m fine. I believe. And Martin is cut off from the Eye entirely. But it’s a rather moot point, as we intend to move into the tunnels beneath the Institute anyway.”

“You can’t seriously be planning to do that,” Tim protested. “Come on, they can’t be comfortable—”

“They aren’t. But that’s not the point, Tim.” Jon sighed and reached for the spices he’d selected. “We are putting you in very real danger by being here. Besides, we’re not in a position to assist like we would be if we were closer to the Institute. I don’t particularly like them, but it’s the best option for everyone.”

Tim reached past Jon to get plates out of the cupboard, his expression mulish. Jon braced himself for whatever arguments Tim might throw his way and resolutely shut his mind against prying for it, but before he could say anything, Past Martin came up and put a hand on Tim’s shoulder.

“You can’t fix everything, Tim,” he said quietly. “And I know that’s rich, coming from me, but…we have to trust them. It’s not like we won’t ever see them again if they’re not living under your roof.”

Tim’s shoulders slumped. Jon caught his eye and offered him a smile. “It’s certainly no reflection on you, Tim. It’s just…we need to do this. I desperately need you to trust us.”

“I can give you that.” Tim managed a smile in reply, then turned to set the table. “You’re not planning to move in tonight, though, right?”

Jon was about to answer, then froze as a rumble of thunder sounded from outside. It was low and gentle, but the sound sent a shudder of horror running down his spine that he couldn’t explain. He had to stand, perfectly still, until the sound stopped.

“No,” he said as soon as he felt able. “Not tonight.”

He went back to what he was doing, or tried to, but there was obviously a storm building, and the next peal of thunder brought his breath up short. The spoon slipped out of his hand and into the pot.

“Are you okay?” Sasha’s voice seemed to be coming from a long way away.

“Fine,” Jon lied automatically. Really, this was ridiculous. There was no reason for this. Thunderstorms had never bothered him before; why were they suddenly an issue now? He retrieved the spoon and returned to cooking.

The others shifted the discussion to the logistics of smuggling Jon and Martin into the Institute and the tunnels beneath them without being spotted. Since Martin was already explaining about the other entrances, Jon didn’t feel the need to jump in. They would still need to figure out which entrance to use, or find one in the first place, and how to get there surreptitiously, but at least there were options beyond “hope to avoid the cameras mounted around the Institute when sneaking into the Archives and subsequently into the tunnels”. That would be the fastest way to tip Jonah off that something was going on.

Another roll of thunder sounded from almost directly overhead—not a sharp crack, but a long, rumbling bass growl. Jon felt it to his core, and he gasped, leaning over to catch himself against the counter. Suddenly he was in the spare room in the cabin in Scotland, the words being torn from his throat against his will: I…OPEN…THE DOOR!

“Whoa!” someone shouted.

“Shit, that’s—how is he—” someone else stammered.

“Get his hand off the burner!”

“Jon! Jon, it’s okay, I’m here, I’m here.”

Something brushed against him, and he jerked away, but then a hand wrapped around his arm and tugged him away from the counter, and then someone was wrapping an arm around his shoulders and pulling him close. There was a confused babble of voices around him, but Jon couldn’t focus on it, couldn’t focus on anything but the thunder and the static filling his mind and the fact that for some reason his hand hurt, why did his hand hurt…

“Jon,” the voice said again in his ear, and it was Martin’s voice, he sounded upset, he sounded scared, and Jon couldn’t let him be scared but didn’t know how to fix it, so he looked up desperately and saw Martin’s face close to his. “Come on, let’s go in the other room, it’s okay. Come on, I’ve got you. It’s okay. It’s okay.”

Jon couldn’t speak, could barely breathe. He just let Martin lead him out of the room they were in and into another, keeping his eyes fixed on Martin the whole time, and then they were sitting on something and Martin pulled Jon into his arms, onto his lap, and wrapped him up securely. One hand came up to cup the back of his head, the other rubbed his back in slow, soothing circles.

“I’m here, Jon,” Martin murmured, his voice low and gentle despite crackling with emotion. “You’re here. We’re both here and we’re safe. We’re in London. The world isn’t ending, Jon. You didn’t end the world. It’s okay. It’s okay.”

How, the small part of Jon that wasn’t numb with terror thought, did Martin always seem to know the right thing to say? It was a ridiculous thought, of course; Martin didn’t always know the right thing to say, any more than Jon did, and they’d had more than a few arguments over one of them saying the wrong thing at the wrong time. But when it was a situation like this, when Jon panicked or got lost in his own head or was hurting, Martin always seemed to come up with the right words. Jon fisted his hands into Martin’s shirt and buried his face in his chest, focusing on the heartbeat that always soothed him when things got too bad. One of his hands, in a distant way, hurt, but he didn’t let go. He couldn’t.

Of course the world wasn’t ending. It couldn’t be. How could the world end with Martin there? That was just ridiculous. If the world ended, he’d be all alone.

“You’re not alone, Jon,” Martin said, and shit, had he said that out loud? “I’m here. I will always be here. I won’t ever leave you. I promise. I’m here. I’m here.”

“You’re here,” Jon whispered. The words felt raw in his throat, but it felt good to say them. He whispered them again and again, and Martin whispered them back to him. They passed the words back and forth, you’re here, I’m here, you’re here, and slowly, slowly, Jon felt the terror recede.

The storm didn’t lessen. If anything, it got worse, but oddly, that helped, too. The sharper the thunder got, the calmer Jon grew. A mighty thunderclap rattled the windows, and the power went out, making someone yelp from the other room, but Jon was able to take his first full breath. He slowly eased his grip on Martin’s shirt and sagged against him with a heavy sigh.

“Better?” Martin asked, rubbing his back.

“A little.” Jon tilted his head back and rested his chin on Martin’s chest, looking up at him. There was only the barest amount of light in the room, but it was enough to see the outline of his boyfriend’s face by. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” Martin pressed a light kiss to Jon’s forehead. “How’s your hand?”

“Hmm?” Jon became aware that his hand still hurt a lot. He eased it away from Martin and stared at it. It was red, almost raw, and he could see a couple of blisters on the palm that had miraculously remained intact, despite the grip he’d had on Martin’s shirt. “Oh. I—did I put it on the stove?”

“Apparently. Let me see.”

Jon managed a smile. He turned his hand over, palm up, and laid it in Martin’s. Martin hovered his thumb just over the top of Jon’s palm. “It’s still warm. Hold on, let me go find out what Tim’s got in that medicine cabinet of his.”

“Plenty,” a voice said from the doorway. Jon started, then relaxed when he realized it was his own voice, and that was still weird to hear. He looked up to see Past Jon coming in, a torch in one hand and a small handful of supplies in the other. “I was going to just leave it on the table for you, but…”

“Thank you,” Jon said sincerely. He didn’t leave the comfort of Martin’s embrace, though. The panic had left him a bit shaky and he wasn’t sure he could really sit up on his own, but more than that, he honestly didn’t give a damn if it made him look weak to lean on Martin. That was part of what love was, right?

Past Jon set the things in his hands on the table, then lined them up. “Cool compress, lotion, gauze, bandages. Paracetamol on the end if you need it for the pain. I—do you need a spare hand?”

“We’ve got it, but thank you,” Martin said. He picked up the compress, then pressed it gently to Jon’s hand. It was obvious he’d done this before, in some capacity.

Past Jon nodded and straightened, then hesitated before leaving the room. Awkwardly, he asked, “Can I…are you sure you’re okay? That looked a lot like, well, a panic attack.”

“It was,” Jon said softly. He hesitated, looking up into Martin’s eyes. Even though he knew Martin wasn’t really looking back at him per se, that he couldn’t actually see him, he could feel his attention, and they’d learned in the last few weeks that they knew each other well enough that they could still communicate wordlessly, to an extent. Turning back to his past self, he explained, “It was—the last thunderstorm I remember came up while I was reading…Jonah’s monologue.”

Past Jon flinched. “Ah. Well, I’ll, erm…I’ll leave you to that, then.” He gestured at the supplies and retreated back to the kitchen.

Jon and Martin sat in silence for a long moment. Martin kept applying pressure to the compress on Jon’s hand, his other hand securely supporting it, keeping it elevated. At last, Jon said, “I—I never asked if it was actually storming. That day. If it was…real thunder I heard or if it was just…the impending end of the world.”

“It was. I was on my way back. At first I thought I’d grab an umbrella, but then I thought…I thought I’d just stay downstairs until you finished your statement, then bring you a cup of tea or something. And then…” Martin trailed off and shook his head.

Jon bit his lip. “At least you made it back before…the Door Opened.”

“No, Jon,” Martin said softly. “I didn’t. I was still a good five minutes’ walk from the safe house when it happened.” He tried to laugh. “Ordinarily, anyway. I ran, as soon as I realized…I don’t know that I realized what exactly was going on, but I knew it was bad, and I knew that it was probably coming after you.”

“My God, Martin.” Horror ran through Jon’s body, and he reached out with his free hand to grip Martin’s shirt again.

“Hey, careful, I need room to work.”

“You were outside when—you c-could have been killed. God, I could have lost you and—”

“But you didn’t,” Martin reminded him. He leaned forward and rested his forehead against Jon’s for a moment. “I’m here, Jon. You’re here. We’re both here. We survived the end of the world. We made it. Together.”

Jon took a deep, steadying breath. “Maybe one day it won’t be so hard to remember that.”

“Well, I’ll always be here to remind you.” Martin straightened up and lifted the compress, then checked the heat of his palm and set the compress aside.

Jon glanced at the next item on the table and grimaced. “Of course the next step is lotion.”

“Do you want to do it yourself?” Martin asked. “You’ve got to keep things from drying out, but…I understand if someone else rubbing it in might be a bit much.”

At least that was something Jon had known he had an issue with before. Just not something he’d thought he would ever have to think about. He started to say yes, then shook his head, despite knowing Martin couldn’t see him. “No. No, will—will you do it? Please? I trust you.”

Martin’s face softened. They both knew what Jon was asking for. “Of course, Jon.”

He poured a little bit of the lotion into Jon’s hand. Jon tried hard not to flinch at the feel of it pooling into his cupped palm. Martin replaced the cap and set the bottle back on the table, nearly missing it, then took Jon’s hand and began gently massaging the lotion into it. Jon focused on Martin’s face and tried to regulate his breathing.

“Tell me something,” Martin requested abruptly.

Jon cocked his head, slightly off-balance. “What?”

“Anything. Your favorite play, your earliest childhood memory, your most embarrassing uni story. Anything.”

“O-oh, okay,” Jon said, surprised. He tried to think for a moment. “Ah—I’ve always been fond of The Duchess of Padua.”

Martin smiled encouragingly. “Yeah? I don’t know that one. Tell me about it.”

Jon launched into an explanation of the plot. The more into it he got, the more wildly he gesticulated with the hand Martin wasn’t attending to. Martin listened to Jon ramble the way he always did, with a smile and a look of genuine interest as Jon went on about a topic he knew nothing about and honestly didn’t care all that much about. He’d even told Jon, simultaneously not long ago and an eternity ago, that he’d always hated the theater, yet here he was letting Jon describe in technical detail the plot of a play he’d had no good reason to fall in love with.

“—staged very often, or studied for that matter, but I always thought it was fascinating,” he concluded with a sigh. “I actually rose a bit in a professor’s esteem because I used that one as the basis for our term paper on one of Wilde’s works rather than The Importance of Being Ernest or The Picture of Dorian Gray.”

“Yeah, I know how that goes. Best grade I ever got in school was on a paper I wrote on The Ballad of Reading Gaol.” Martin set something on the coffee table. “How’s that?”

“I—” Jon looked down at his hand. The lights were still out, but his eyes had adjusted, and he could see the stark white bandage looped neatly around his hand, securing the gauze without being too tight. “Oh. You’re done.” He gave his boyfriend a slightly accusing look. “You were distracting me.”

“You were panicking,” Martin told him. He wrapped both arms around Jon again. “I really was listening, though. I love listening to you talk about something you know a lot about. Or even something you’re just pretending you know a lot about.”

“Hey,” Jon protested, but without any real heat. He tucked his head into the crook of Martin’s neck and sighed, curling into him. “Thank you. For taking care of me. For knowing me so well. For being here.”

“Where else would I be?” Martin kissed the crown of his head. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

How many times had they passed those words back and forth, Jon wondered? He could probably Know the exact number, with a little effort, but it didn’t matter, because it wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough. They could say it with every breath they had left from now until the end of time, and it still wouldn’t be enough. Jon had made a vow, kneeling in the remains of what had once been his boss’s office and pressing futilely against the gaping wounds in Martin’s chest, that he would never leave an opportunity to say them unsaid. They didn’t need to say it for each other to know, but it was important to Jon that they did. And while Martin never said as much, Jon knew it reassured him to hear confirmation every once in a while.

They sat in silence for a while, Jon letting Martin’s presence and the secure feel of his embrace soothe away the last of his lingering terror, or at least his lingering immediate terror. The fear would never go away completely. He’d grown to accept that. But at least now it was just the usual hum of background terror that was his everyday life, rather than the sharp, immediate panic of a flashback. Here with Martin, he was as safe as he ever could be.

At last, he sighed. “We should probably go back into the other room before the others eat everything.”

“I’m sure they saved us some,” Martin said. “But sure. You’ll have to get up first.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re sitting on my lap, Jon.”

“Oh. Right. I knew that.” Jon managed to get to his feet. Martin chuckled as he stood, too.

Tim had lit several candles and was apparently mid-debate with Sasha over whether or not he should add another one to the mix. Past Jon rolled his eyes in Jon and Martin’s direction when they came in. “Please make them shut up.”

“Impossible, I’m afraid. They’re both breathing,” Jon said dryly. Tim snorted and Sasha stuck her tongue out at him. “It smells good in here. Have you been baking?”

“Electric oven. Jon barely finished cooking dinner before the power went out. It’s the candles,” Tim admitted. “One of the kids in the neighborhood keeps selling them to raise money for school trips and the like, and I’m apparently one of his best customers.”

“Well, if you add any more, the smell might be overpowering. Or you might set off your smoke detector.”

“Point. Okay, then, sit down and eat. We saved you a couple plates.”

Jon didn’t have to look at Martin to see the I-told-you-so look on his face.

As they ate, Sasha slid a piece of paper towards him, covered in neat, still-unfamiliar handwriting that Jon presumed to be hers. “Can you think of anything on here we missed?”

The lighting wasn’t really adequate to read the paper clearly, and Jon was tired, despite Martin’s presence and support; the panic attack had drained him a bit more than he’d expected. He was going to need something stronger than a couple of old statements to recover, but he had no idea how to go out and get it. It all combined to make him forget himself a little. He reached out with the Eye rather than his own eyes to skim the paper. Sleeping mats, camp stoved, tinned food (ANYTHING but peaches)…

“What’s all this?” he asked, picking it up to see a bit better.

“Supplies,” Past Jon said brusquely. “You didn’t think we’d make you stay in those tunnels without some way of being comfortable, did you?”

Actually, Jon hadn’t thought about it. He picked up the list and studied it more closely, with his actual vision this time. It seemed like a fairly comprehensive list. There were a few things on it that he recognized as bearing his boyfriend’s hallmark, unexpected items that nevertheless might, in certain circumstances, make a huge difference. He angled the paper towards Martin. “Anything you have to add?”

Martin raised an eyebrow. “Unless that’s written in Braille, I don’t think I’m going to be of much use there.”

“Oh. Right.” Jon was thankful that the combination of his complexion and the low light in the room would probably hide his blush from anyone whose eyes still functioned.

Tim looked back and forth between the two Martins. “Wait, you know Braille?”

Past Martin ducked his head, looking mortified. Martin, however, simply nodded slowly. “Mum had one of those pill keepers, you know the ones. I taught myself Braille so I could know which pills to get ready for her without turning on the light before she was ready to be awake.”

The look on both Tim and Past Jon’s faces made Jon slightly glad, and also slightly disappointed, that Martin’s mother was dead. Then he remembered that she’d died while he was in his coma, so she was currently still alive in a nursing home in Devon refusing her son’s visits but accepting, even demanding, his money, and it was very difficult for him to swallow his own anger and uncharitable thoughts. He wasn’t a monster and couldn’t act like one, no matter how good his motives seemed.

Instead, he covered the moment by reading the list aloud to Martin. Martin listened and nodded and smiled when Jon hit the last item on the list. “I don’t think you need to worry about a tape recorder, honestly. They turn up on their own.”

“So I’ve noticed,” Tim said dryly. “But you said the tunnels blocked stuff at times. I figured, just in case…”

“Might be a comfort,” Past Martin suggested softly. It was the first thing he’d said since Jon and Martin had come into the kitchen.

“The tunnels don’t stop the recorders,” Jon said. “But…thank you. It’s thoughtful of you.”

Sasha nodded and took the list. “We’ll get everything together tomorrow, then, and you can find another entrance to the tunnels.”

“Will you be able to find the Archives?” Tim asked. “Through those tunnels, I mean? They’re a mess, honestly.”

“We’ll manage.” Jon actually wasn’t a hundred percent sure how easy it would be. He’d had a map made at one point, but that was after Leitner had manipulated things for him, and the tunnels were shielded from the Eye, somehow. He’d be lucky not to have to live with the ever-present…fuzziness he’d dealt with when they’d been staying with Georgie and Melanie and their inadvertent cult. But they really and truly didn’t have a choice.

“I suppose if we have to, we could put a—a beacon or something at the foot of the stairs under the trapdoor,” Past Jon said uncertainly.

Tim grinned. It looked slightly diabolical in the flickering candlelight. “Ooh, or one of those electronic gizmos they use in hunting to attract prey.”

“I’m very sure random deer calls would have the opposite effect than luring us to where you want us to go,” Martin said with a smirk. “Have you ever heard those things? They’re terrifying.”

The conversation devolved into a slightly silly discussion of the weirdest animal cries they’d ever heard, and Jon was able to breathe and eat his dinner without too much trouble.

That night, though, curled into bed with Martin, he said quietly, “What if it’s a bad idea? What if being down there…what if I fall apart again? What if it’s like at Salesa’s, but worse?”

“It won’t be,” Martin said. The confidence and assurance in his voice was almost a physical force.

“How can you know that, though?”

Martin ran a hand through Jon’s hair, gently untangling a knot that had probably got there during his panic attack in the living room. “Did you know that if you lose sight in one eye, you only lose something like twenty percent of your overall vision but all of your depth perception?”

“No?” Jon could have known that, if he’d wanted to, obviously, but it wasn’t something he’d ever consciously set out to learn. He also didn’t see how it was relevant.

“I mean, you can sort of train yourself to compensate for the depth perception, but yeah, twenty percent of your vision. Mostly peripheral. It makes it harder to see people coming from that side of things.” Martin’s fingers caught in another knot. “The Beholder really had two eyes overlooking the Apocalypse, Jon. Jonah and you. He saw from the heights and you saw from ground level. He oversaw, and you…experienced. I’d even go so far as to say you were the dominant eye, so to speak. Of course you were weak when you were cut off from it. It’s like a phantom pain. That won’t be an issue now. The Eye isn’t as…strong. You said yourself, you’re still…you, just not quite as…all-powerful?”

“Hopefully I’ve still got enough power to do what needs to be done,” Jon sighed, but Martin’s words were a comfort.

After a pause, Martin added, “And you have me.”

“And I have you,” Jon agreed. “And we can probably get fairly close to the Archives. All right, I know I’m probably worrying unnecessarily. It’s just…” He trailed off, tracing his fingers over the three puckered holes clustered just above Martin’s heart. Jonah had known what he was doing, far too well. “I can’t lose you again, Martin. I can’t. And I’ll never forgive myself if it happens because I wasn’t strong enough.”

Martin covered Jon’s hand with his own. “It won’t. You’re strong enough, Jon. I trust you. And you know I’ll be right there with you the whole time.”

“I know.” Jon snuggled into Martin’s chest, then leaned up to kiss him. “You know I can’t do this without you.”

“I wouldn’t want to see you try.”

Jon yawned and adjusted the covers over the both of them. Martin rolled onto his side and buried his face in Jon’s hair, and Jon sighed with almost-forgotten contentment as he drifted off to sleep, Martin’s heartbeat thudding steadily in his ear.

#ollie writes fanfic #leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall)#the magnus archives #tma #jonmartin #ptsd cw #panic attacks #I think we all agree that Jon has issues with lotion #but it occurs to me he probably has thunderstorm issues too

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normal-thoughts-official · 5 years ago

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UWU I'm in the mood for some Raphael talk, I love the headcanon you've talked about in the chat about Raphael tolerating Alec only because he makes his dad happy (which is so damn valid of him), and it's one of my most fave things do you have more slightly silly headcanons about it?

you really want me to be beaten up huh may. you want them to come for me again. you want to ruin my life

okay disclaimer Alec stans pwease dont hate me uwu I'm not saying i hate Alec I'm saying that i dont think Raphael would vibe with him. especially after the whole punch which I'll never get over cuz like i KNOW rationally that alec didnt have the full story and if izzy was hurt and sitting beside a white shadowhunter he would go there and beat them up all the same cuz alec's like this, but I'm still upset eidndidjdid my boy doesnt deserve this okay

anyway with that being said

i dont think its Raphael like, genuinely hating him as much as them having nothing in common besides their mutual love for Magnus and desire to see him happy. so Raphael can tolerate him fine, but he's not exactly dying to be best friends. besides, alec's like, all of the most annoying things about shadowhunters (all serious, never fucking relaxes, must have a weapon close at all times, doesn't understand food, doesn't listen to music, doesnt-) that arent like straight up nazist bigotry. so hes just like. ugh. whatever. I'm here for Magnus. leave pls

i can absolutely see that tbh Raphael just goes to their house and is all like "Alec leave i want to talk to Magnus" and alec's like "this is my house?" and raphael's like "and?" and alec's like "Fine, ill take a walk. Magnus, Raphael is here." but he also kisses Magnus goodbye in front of Raphael because he can, in fact, be an ass

also i know i told u about that already but Raphael lowkey challenges him every time like. he'll come by Magnus' and bring food, and of course theres food for 3 because Raphael is not gonna be that rude and he doesn't want to make Magnus feel like Raphael wants him to choose between Raphael and Alec. Alec makes Magnus happy and Raphael would never want to make Magnus feel like his love or presence in his life is conditional. Plus, he doesn't actually hate him. Just a little.

anyway so he brings the food and he's like (clearly judgemental tone) "i brought hot sauce because i figured Alec doesn't usually eat spicy food" and he's obviously correct, Alec had never eaten anything with season in his life before he met Magnus, much less pepper. he's the kind of ultimate, boss-level gringo who puts salt on his food when he's feeling adventurous

so Raphael sits down and puts the food on his plate and he pours hot sauce into his plate while making unwavering eye contact with Alec (yeah raphael can eat in this because he deserves it and i said so) and it's an obvious challenge and it evidently works because Alec 1- is competitive, and 2- actually wants Raphael's respect because he knows how important he is to Magnus. so he takes the salsa from Raphael and starts pouring it too while maintaining eye contact right back, jaw clenched in challenge, looking all serious and Magnus is like "children, please" and raphael's all like "oh no no no, let him" but Alec considers that a win because Raphael is clearly trying to contain a smile and thats the first step to winning him over

so anyway Alec sweats and grimaces through the whole meal, cuz like, look yes he may have pain tolerance because he's a shadowhunter but he's also the bitch who reacted to taking a sip of beer like someone had farted on his face. he can't hide his reactions for shit, but fuck if he doesn't lick the plate clean (not literally like gross) and doesn't shed a single tear, even as he clearly can't keep his eyes open with the effort

Magnus is like "Alexander, you dont have to do this" and alec's like "(eyes squeezed shut, grimacing, drenched in sweat) do what? this is very good" and Raphael is smiling into his plate even as Magnus shoots him dirty looks

then Alec is like "i won. i ate it all" and Raphael is like "(looking at his red sweaty face and puffy eyes) really?"

also look ill always love the hc that Raphael resents Alec for his height and Alec doesnt even notice. Raphael is not short, god damn it, hes 175! thats TEN whole centimeters above the mexican average! he was the tallest boy in Guadalajara! RAPHAEL IS TALL, OKAY

EXCEPT everyone in the goddamn shadow world is apparently a god damn giant. Its humiliating enough that Magnus is 180. but Magnus is his dad, so whatever. but Alec is FUCKING 190. no one needs that much tall. no one! Raphael went from being the tallest boy in the neighborhood to the shortest, and boy he is so not pleased about it

but Alec has no idea because who cares? (Raphael. Raphael cares. deeply. he cares so much) it's not even good to be that tall, he keeps banging his head on things. so there will be moments like. Raphael is standing in front of the bookshelf, seeming very focused. Alec shrugs, figures he's looking for something, and puts the book he was going to put there up. Raphael shoots him a dirty look that might as well be a stab, and Alec's like ???????? did i disrupt you? sorry? and Raphael just crosses his arms like "you didnt do anything, i dont know what you're talking about"

in reality the shelf was too high up because Magnus adjusted his shelves to his and Alec's height, and Raphael refused to stand on his tiptoes or god forbid, a stool, to grab his book, so he was just glaring at the shelf until the book came to him or something. and when Alec put the book up he was mad cuz Alec could reach it fjdndid

later Alec tells Magnus about it like "i dont get what i did. is he just that private?" and Magnus is like "hmm. i have no idea, darling" but next time Raphael comes, the shelves have been spelled to adjust to the book picker's height

also this always makes me think of that scene in hsm where zeke tries to talk to sharpay and she goes "evaporate, tall person!" and leaves and i love that mental image tbh

also like. eventually Alec apologizes for the punching thing (look. look. Im still salty and Raphael deserves it okay) and Raphael is like. moved because something deep inside of him still believed it was his fault and he was a monster, and it's. nice. and Alec kind of extends his arms and Raphael is like "dont think so" and crosses his arms and Alec kind of very very slowly lifts his arm and pats Raphael's head once and Raphael wants to scream and Alec looks very awkward and sheepish and Magnus bursts out laughing

(Raphael doesnt mind, though, because Magnus is genuinely so happy all day that they had a good interaction. so happy. and Raphael thinks, okay, this is okay. it's good if it makes Magnus happy.)

(Magnus also pats his head and plays with his hair, but its okay because Magnus has always done that and Raphael doesnt mind. only from him though. and raphael's partners. but anyway)

plus whenever Magnus is like, upset, or sick or something, theyre like. an unit. because for all they have no common interests they do think very alike (autistic solidarity i guess) and are very practical when it comes to taking care of others, and they both just. adore Magnus, okay. so Raphael will arrive, make Magnus soup. while he makes soup, Alec stays with him and takes his temperature. once Raphael is back with the soup, Alec goes out to buy medicine, and Raphael stays with him to make him company. and so on. at some point Alec is almost falling asleep by Magnus' side and Raphael taps his shoulder and points to the chair nearby, and Alec nods and dozes off for a while. then its the other way around. Magnus isnt seriously sick, of course, but he doesn't usually get sick so it's an event, plus they're both Like This. and for all the grief they give each other, they trust each other to take care of Magnus. theres no argument about that

(Magnus was resting, but he did see some of these moments, and smiled a bit to himself before dozing off again)

also Raphael and Ragnor gave Alec the ultimate shovel talk (Ragnor doesn't trust anyone after Camille, and while neither do cat and dot, they were more chill), but it lowkey backfired because they were like "if you ever hurt him, we'll remove your kneecaps" and Alec was like "(nodding seriously) thats fair"

also i know we've talked about this already but i also love the idea that Raphael goes to their house and is all absentmindedly like "hm can i have some coffee" and alec's like "sure, ill make it :) you stay here and talk to Magnus" and when Alec comes back he hands Raphael his coffee in a "best. bonus son. ever" mug and then he leans back against the wall, sipping his own coffee from his "world's #1 stepdad" mug that he bought himself, trying to hide his shit eating grin, and Raphael scowls and deliberately holds it so his hand covers the words, and Magnus laughs and his eyes shine as he sips his tea.

(later, Raphael is like. guess me and lightwood have a dynamic now. gross. but he still rolls with it)

in short Raphael and Alec being little shits to each other but still building something of a relationship for Magnus and always taking care of him..... ultimate trope

#ask #cosmicnovia #luxxmagnus #sh #shadowhunters #raphael santiago #magnus bane #alec lightwood #brotp: i'll do whatever it takes to protect them #long post #autistic alec lightwood #autistic raphael santiago #brief but still there #crack #sh crack #malec

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avengerscompound · 5 years ago

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The Tower: The Queen of Asgard - 27

The Tower: The Queen of Asgard An Avengers Fanfic

Series Masterlist PREVIOUS //

Pairing: Avengers x OFC, Bruce Banner x Bucky Barnes x Clint Barton x Wanda Maximoff x Steve Rogers x Natasha Romanoff x Tony Stark x Thor x Sam Wilson x OFC (Elly Cooper)

Word Count: 2990

Warnings: Being naked, sex talk

Synopsis: The twins are now three and while the Avengers know that Clint and Thor are the biological father’s none of them know or care which blond, blue-eyed baby is related to which man. When Riley gets the power to control wind and it becomes evident that she is the heir to the Asgardian throne, Elly, Steve, Thor, and Tony take the twins to Asgard to train her.

Not every Asgardian is happy with their king’s choice of consort, nor the impurity of the heir’s blood. While others expect Thor to make things more official. What’s clear is, the role of Queen of Asgard is not easily filled.

Author’s Note: Written with my very sleepy daughter @fanficwriter013

Chapter 27: Friends and Loved Ones

The following week and a half passed with little incident. Since the Fenestare things had settled a lot. The threat of some sibling taking the crown seemed to pass by forgotten completely and everyone had just fallen in line with Thor’s leadership. For most of us, it had become like the vacation none of us had ever taken. We were relaxed and enjoying the planet and each other. Tony had made his little bots that followed us around but aside from the fact I would need mine to tell me where I was, no one ever used it.

It was only really Thor that was kept busy and he was kept very busy. Between the Bonding and training Riley and running Asgard he was out from early in the morning until late at night when he would come back exhausted. We had started talking about one or two of us staying with him on Asgard at a time but we didn’t know how to organize that system. There was already so much time that got taken from us as a family, to add weeks on Asgard to that too meant that we’d always be in a state of flux. Not to mention deciding who would stay.

Being in a long-distance relationship with a king wasn’t easy.

The day we had set to have our joint bachelor party I woke up engulfed in Bucky and Steve’s arms. I stretched like a cat and they didn’t stir at all. It had only taken a week for them to completely enter a relaxed holiday mode. It was probably a little concerning, but I was still impressed. It was nice seeing them like that.

When I opened my eyes that wasn’t the only thing I saw though. Phil Coulson was standing near the bed looking at us.

“Phil!” I yelped covering myself with a sheet.

Bucky and Steve both sat bolt upright and looked around startled and on alert. “Phil?” Steve said confused.

“What the hell?” Bucky added a little angrier sounding.

“Sorry!” Phil said raising his hands in surrender. “I was told you were in here, so I came to see and you were sleep and… I’m sorry.”

“Does that mean everyone is here?” I asked.

“Yeah, we arrived this morning,” Phil answered. “You’re getting married?”

“Bonding,” Steve said. “But essentially. Now if you don’t mind…”

“Right. I’ll go back to the others.” Phil said apologetically, retreating from the room.

When the door closed I leaned my forehead on Bucky’s shoulder. “I think I just aged 5 years.”

Steve chuckled softly and kissed my neck. “Well, in good news, you’re about to get 4,900 extra years. So you can afford them.”

I turned and kissed him gently. “Two days.”

He made a soft sound and his hand flexed on my hip.

“Okay,” I said pulling back. “I’m gonna get dressed and go say hello.”

“That’s a good idea,” Bucky said stretching.

I dressed and headed out into the living room. It was at capacity, with almost everyone else up and eating as well as our friends, some of the Dora Milaje and even Carol Danvers who we saw once in a blue moon.

“Gurl!” Clark said, jumping to her feet, her violet eyes twinking. “We gonna hafta talk. This is fucking Asgard!”

“Right?” I said coming over and hugging her.

“Everyone is so pretty. How are they all so pretty?” She asked as she pulled back from me.

“They’re gods?” I said. “But it’s much more open here if you and Jax want to get busy.”

“Mmm… we’ve already decided on a competition. I’ve got my eyes on a few people.” She teased. “So come on, explain to me what’s going on.”

I came and sat next to her and Jax and ran through the whole series of events from the day Riley’s powers come in, coming here, being attacked and the bonding ceremony. Around me, a similar conversation was had by small groups of the others in the room.

“You sure you want this?” Jax said. “We always spoke about what your parents wanted for you…”

“Yes, what they wanted for me was marry rich have kids. Which I guess I am doing, but I don’t think they envisioned this. There are things that scare me, and I’m sure you’re going to have your work cut out for you when I get back. Living for 5000 years is scary. But...” I said. “I’m so happy.”

“Well, then I’m happy for you.” He said.

“Sweetie, you’re not at work now,” Clarke said in a playfully patronizing tone, letting Jax know to stop analyzing things. He held up his hands in surrender and she turned back to me. “So bachelorette?”

“It’s a group thing because we don’t really have a lot of people otherwise,” I said.

“Alcohol? Strippers?” She asked.

“Yes to both. But go easy on the mead.” I said. “I had to take Sam to the healers.”

“Yikes. Okay. I’ll try and remember that.” She said. “I’m excited to try the food.”

“Well, it should be here soon. I’m sure there will be enough for everyone.” I said.

“Oh, nice. I bet it’s super weird and decadent.” She sat up straight all of a sudden and looked around the room. “Wait, where are my kiddos?”

“Asleep I guess. They sleep like the dead here. I think it’s the air.” I said. “Do you want to go get them.”

She raised an eyebrow at me. “Of course.”

“Before you do,” Loki said, appearing behind me and making me jump.

“Jesus, Loki!” I gasped holding my chest. “How many times can you do that and find it funny?”

“Every time, Elise,” She snarked. “There is a tight schedule today. You have about an hour and a half for breakfast and to … socialize. Then final fittings for your garments. Then there will be initial preparations for Henhalda. That’s the body painting. You will be bathed and then your artists will do the outlines on your arms and legs. You will have lunch during that time because it will take you until dinner and then this party of yours tonight.”

“Thank you, sister.” I teased.

“Do not make me break the truce and stab you, Elise.” She snarked.

“Fine. No, that’s all good. I’ll go and get the kids then?” I said. “Will you be taking care of them?”

“Myself and the Lady Sif shall take turns. I assure you they will be fine.” She said.

I nodded and got up and headed into the kids’ rooms with Clarke trailing behind me. As we came into the room we found Riley already climbing out of the bed. She squealed and ran over to Clarke. “Aunnie Cwarke!”

“Hi, baby!” Clarke said scooping her up. “Tell me all about Asgard.”

I went over to Pietro and start to rub his back to wake him.

“Umm… dey calls me a pwincess.” Riley said, thinking hard. “And uhh… daddy’s been teaching me to do da wind.”

“And are you getting good at controlling the wind?” Clarke asked.

She nodded vigorously as Pietro groaned and sat up. “Aunnie Cwarke?” He said in a sleepy voice.

“Hey, baby,” Clarke said gently.

“You came to Asgawd?” He asked.

“Yeah, buddy. Lots of people are here. Uncle Phil and Auntie Maria. Uncle Scott. Uncle Rhodey. Uncle Jax.” I said and he started bouncing on his bed.

“Come on, kiddo,” Clarke said. “Come out and see everyone.”

Pietro ran out and stopped dead looking at the room full of all the people he loved best. The food had arrived and Riley pointed at Magnus. Meanwhile, Pietro had started dancing on the spot like he didn’t know where to go first. Wanda looked around at him and smiled. “Hey, little one. How are you doing?”

“Good, daj,” he said, happily. “Deys all here.”

“Are you happier now that family is all here?” Wanda asked.

“Dis Cwistmas?” Pietro asked.

Wanda squeaked and her hand went to her mouth. “El. El! That was adorable!”

“Not quite Christmas, kiddo,” I said ruffling his hair. “How about you go say hello to everyone though.”

He ran over to Rhodey first and gave him a huge hug. I went and got a plate of breakfast for me and the kids and sat. The room was completely alive with talk and excitement. It was good. Everything felt like it was falling into place. There were just a few more pieces to go.

My final fitting was done under the supervision of Loki, who was very particular about where things still needed to be taken in or up. She’d hiss things in Asgardian to the tailors and then swept out of the room to do the same with the next person. It looked beautiful though. Everything I never imagined a wedding dress could be. Not that it was a wedding really, but there was no way that whatever dress I chose to wear when I married Tony would be able to match the way this shimmered in the light and looked like it contained magic itself in it. I decided then and there, whatever Tony and I did would be small, and more casual. A little celebration just to make what we were doing here as a group, as legally recognized as we’d be able to back on Earth.

When I was done and back into my regular clothes I came out to the living room. A moment later a group of people of varying ages came in and they were directed by Loki to each of our bedrooms. She turned back to face us.

“Now is Henhalda. You will need to follow the directions of your artists. They may ask you to stand, lie down, sit. Or they might be happy for you to decide. Each artist has been chosen to deal with you specifically. Whether you need a firm hand, someone to work in silence, a reassuring presence, a gentle touch, or someone who is less attached to rank and tradition.” Loki said looking from Clint, Natasha, Wanda, Bruce and I in turn. “They have briefed about who you each are and who they are working with specifically so they understand what reservations you might each have. Particularly when it comes to the nudity required for Henhalda. Those fine with nudity will most likely be asked to strip off right away so that the artwork can be carried out from the inside out. Those that need time to become comfortable will have their arms and legs worked on first.

“Voice your reservations so they can put them at ease. But this must be done apart from each other. You may take a friend with you but it can not be one you are to bond with.”

Steve looked a little uncomfortable but gave a small nod, while Bruce looked from Loki to me with panic in his eyes. “I don’t think I can do this, El.”

I moved over to him and caressed his jaw. “Yes, you can,” I said firmly. “The big guy knows how important this is. You just have to get out of your own head.”

“I can come with you if you like,” Jax offered. “Go through your relaxation techniques.”

Bruce nodded a little. “If you’re sure.”

“I’d be honored,” Jax assured him.

“Bruce, if you really can’t handle it, let Hulk out. Just… let him out before he takes over on his own. You know that he’s always calmer when you do that, and I think he’d quite enjoy being painted on. Besides, it will let him be a real part of this.”

Bruce winced and gave a nod. “El,” he whispered. “I might need a buffer for the party. I mean, after this.”

I leaned in and kissed his cheek gently. “Of course, honey. You’ve got me.”

We separated into pairs. Coulson went with Clint. Hill with Natasha. Jax went with Bruce, Wanda with Vision. Scott got super lucky when Steve agreed to let him go with him. Bucky had the honor of T’Challa agreeing to go with him. Sam took Rhodey with him after Tony agreed to share his best friend and took Happy with him instead, and Thor took Sif. Clarke was coming with me and everyone else was going to either see the sights of Asgard or take turns looking after the twins.

I went into my bedroom to find a young woman, who looked around 18 in Earth years but could have been any age really, set up with a table, brushes, and inks.

“Where would you like me?” I asked.

“Where ever you feel comfortable.” The girl replied. “We’ll be here for a while so I’d suggest lying but I can work however you like.”

“Do you want me naked right away?” I asked her.

She nodded. “If you’re comfortable doing that. You can go face down first too if that helps.”

“Alright,” I said taking off my clothes. “It’s okay to tell me what to do, you know? I don’t want to make this difficult for you.”

“So, it is true what they say.” She said as I lay down on the bed face down and Clarke went to my wardrobe and began looking through it.

“What’s that?” I asked.

“That you are like us,” she said. “You don’t see yourself as Royalty. Or better than us.”

I chuckled. “Yeah, well I don’t think I’m better than you, that’s for sure.”

“Some of the elders don’t understand.” She said. “I like it though. It’s nice.”

She began to wash my back down with a warm cloth that smelled like roses and Clarke came back and sat down beside me, leaning on the bedhead. “I’m gonna steal some of your clothes.”

“Go for it,” I said as the girl began to trace a pattern out on my back with her finger.

“Awesome. Gonna look like a princess at your party.” Clarke said. “What’re you doing there?”

“Oh, I uh - I’ve never done a Henhalda before. I just want to get a picture of it in my head before I start.” She said. She kneeled on the bed beside me and pulled her little table over closer and began to paint.

The ink was cool on my skin and she was painting such fine intricate lines that it put me into an almost trance-like state of relaxation, my skin tingling.

“You should see this, blue,” Clarke said. “This girl is crazy talented.”

“Thank you,” she said.

“Will the others be the same? Or is this unique per person?” I asked.

“Some of it will be identical. It’s supposed to represent your lives together. And some of that is shared. Some is individual.” She explained.

I hummed. “I can’t wait to see everyone’s.”

“And of course the private paintings meant only for each other.” She said.

“What will they be?” I asked.

“You will have symbolic images, representing your lovers, painted in your most intimate places.” She said.

“Oh wow. That’s going to be so fun to explore with each other.” I said. “What will the one that represents me look like? Do you know?”

“It is a flower made of blue flame, that’s roots run out and join with the other’s symbols and one to the heart of each person it is painted on. Worked into the flower is the rune Gebo.”

“What does Gebo mean?” I asked.

“It means, gifts and relationships. Sacrifice and exchange.” She said.

I liked that and wondered if the others had runes in their symbols too and if they did what they stood for. “Who designed them.”

“We did as a team using psychics who mapped out your futures.” She answered. She moved down to my legs and then seemed to change her mind and came back up to my shoulders. “Sorry, the way I paint is more unconventional. This is why they assigned me to you. The others are more stuffy.”

I chuckled. “Oh no. I’m the difficult one.”

“Just untraditional. But I am the youngest. So I don’t care for tradition.” She said. “I like working with you. I think we could be friends.”

“That would be nice. I could always use more friends.” I said. “What’s your name?”

She almost squeaked in excitement. “Katveil. Can I call you Elise?”

“Or Elly. My friends call me Elly.” I said.

“I don’t. I call her blue.” Clarke said.

“Why do you call her that?” Katveil asked.

“I don’t know. She’s just … blue.” Clarke said.

“What is your name?” Katveil asked.

“Clarke,” Clarke said giving Katveil a nod. “Here to share in naked time.”

Katveil started laughing. “It is a little odd, even for here.”

“Feels nice though. Soothing. I could probably fall to sleep.” I said.

“You are welcome to if the urge comes. Go with your feelings.” Katveil said.

We stayed talking until lunch where I ate lying on my stomach while the ink dried on my back. When Katveil was satisfied with the ink being dry enough she had me roll over and started painting my front. I watched her for a while as the design got smaller and more intricate and eventually I did doze off and was awoken abruptly by Katveil shaking me.

“You’re finished.” She said when my eyes snapped open. “I have not painted the special symbols yet. They are to wait until tomorrow.”

I looked down at myself. I looked like I’d become one giant mandala. “Holy shit.” I gasped.

Katveil smiled. “Just wait until it’s colored. You won’t believe your eyes.”

“I’m really excited,” I said.

Katveil gave a little bow. “I shall see you tomorrow. Enjoy your party, Elly.”

“Thank you, Katveil. I’ll see you tomorrow.” I said.

“Please, call me Kat.” She said.

“Kat is is.” I agreed.

Katveil left the room and Clarke shoved me. “Come on, lady.” She said. “We gotsta get ready. It’s time to party.”

// NEXT

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alistair-blackwood · 4 years ago

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hey kids wanna see a fic preview??

(howdy! for readers of my tma fics wondering what the heck ive been up to the last month, here’s a little something for you-- yes, you! the full chapter will be posted next week)

(preview under the cut!)

Once upon a time, in a faraway land, there was a man who wanted to save the world, and instead, nearly destroyed it.

Before he was forced to commit this great evil, the man fled-- but the failed ritual inflicted him with a terrible curse, and he concealed himself inside a dark, lonesome manor. As the years passed and the solitude ate him, he never ventured to the outside world, ever again.

But that was alright. The man preferred it this way. For there remained not one person, living or dead, who was better off for having known Jonathan Sims.

"Aren't you lonely, Mister Blackwood?"

THE MONSTER OF MAGNUS MANOR

CHAPTER 1

THE FOG

“Blackwood.”

Martin lurched upright, unfinished letter sticking to his sweaty face. Mister Griffiths was standing in the doorway, his scowl deepening by the second as Martin scrambled out of the desk chair and onto his feet.

“If you’re finished with your nap,” Griffiths snapped, “make your way down to the kitchens at once. Lord Barclay’s guests will be arriving soon.”

“Of course, sir. Sorry, sir.”

With one last, withering look, Griffiths turned on his heel out of the servants’ quarters, and Martin’s shoulders lost some of their tension. He wasn’t sure if he should be relieved, or find a good rock to curl under.

At least he’d only been glared at this time.

Martin sunk back into his chair, eyelids threatening to slip shut again. Hard wicker had no right being as comfortable as it was. In all fairness, though, the cold stone floor of the refrigerator would be just as soft right now.

Peeling the letter off his cheek, he flipped it over and groaned. Oh, perfect. He’d gone and completely smudged the thing. Half his face was probably covered in a splotch of ink.

No wonder Griffiths had looked at him like he was dog shite underneath his shoe. At least the dog shite wasn’t going to be late to its shift, now.

He huffed.

At least he’d snuck in a few winks before he needed to get ready. Something was always better than nothing– even if the thick, pulsing needle driving itself through his temples disagreed. Hopefully, it would be enough to get him through today’s shift.

Especially today’s shift.

He tucked the letter underneath his pillow; he’d have to rewrite it later if he wanted it ready to send out tomorrow morning.

A new uniform was waiting for him in the communal wardrobe, one that Lord Barclay had ordered just for the occasion. His dormmates must have already grabbed theirs– aside from his, the wardrobe was empty.

Bit annoying that they hadn’t even taken the time to give him a quick tap on the shoulder. ‘Hey, Martin, rise and shine, big day today, don’t want to be late!’

Perhaps they’d figured it was best for him to sleep as much as possible. This wasn’t the day to get sloppy, after all.

Or maybe they hadn’t considered him at all.

He hoped it was the first one.

Uniform slung over his arm, Martin hurried toward the servants’ washroom. He was making good time; with any luck, Griffiths’ scowl would never graduate higher than mildly disappointed. On the scale of the head butler’s ranking displeasure, it wasn’t the worst place to be.

In his haste, however, he bumped into the shoulder of another server. Martin turned, an apology already on his lips, then paused.

“Charles?”

Charles spun around, and his eyes brightened.

“Look who decided to make their way out of bed,” he said, giving Martin’s shoulder a playful pat. “You know Jefferies is going to have your hide if he sees you like that, yeah?”

“Please don’t tell him. He’ll kill me this time, he really will.” His eyes flitted down Charles' figure, brows shooting up. “You … you’re wearing the new uniform.”

“I am, indeed. How do I look?” Charles asked, smoothing down the front of his chest. “Fetching, right?”

“I-I, uh, you …”

It was hard to get the words out. Anyone would look good in a uniform like that; that was why Lord Barclay had bought the bloody things. But the dark red jacket, white gloves, and navy tie complemented Charles’ ginger hair and smile in a way that tangled his tongue something fierce.

Martin’s face warmed, and he hoped it wasn’t obvious.

“You look wonderful,” he said. Then, face growing even hotter, “I mean, um,” he coughed, “it looks really good.”

Charles’ grin widened, and Martin had to stop himself from slapping his own face. Get it together. There was something more pressing here.

“But you’re going to start serving? Today? You’ve barely even finished your apprenticeship.”

“Griffiths needs all hands on deck. I’ll be fine. You’re such a worrywart, you know that?”

Of course Martin was worried. Charles had only been working in the castle for a few months, and Griffiths was going to have him start now? On the night of Lord Barclay’s autumn soirée?

Martin was about to remind him of that when a wave of dizziness crested over him, weakness shivering up his legs. He would have tipped over if Charles hadn’t grabbed his shoulder.

“Whoa, hey, are you okay? You’re looking a little …”

If Martin’s face was hot before, it was nothing compared to now. “Didn’t get much sleep last night.”

“Again?”

“I’ll be fine once I’ve had a wash up.”

Charles’ eyes lingered on him so long that Martin was sure he’d well and truly pass out. After a moment, Charles gave his shoulder a quick squeeze and withdrew.

“You’d best. Well, I need to be off. Ol’ Griffiths is on the warpath. Good luck tonight, yeah?” He winked. “Drinks on me at the pub later.”

“Y-yeah. See you.”

Martin tracked him until Charles left the room, eyes drifting on the corner where he’d disappeared until another dizzy spell swept over him.

Focus. Charles hadn’t been kidding about what Jefferies would do if he knew Martin still hadn’t changed yet.

The reminder had Martin rushing through his wash. Throwing the new uniform on was a struggle; all those foreign buttons and straps kept tangling together, and he got stuck twice before securing the last tie.

Martin paused in front of the mirror to check himself over. It was... nice enough, he supposed. The most expensive thing he’d ever worn, that was certain. Despite the custom fit, though, the torso still hugged too tight around his chest, and the material scratched at the sensitive skin on his neck.

Luckily, he’d only have to wear it tonight.

With one last glance, he smoothed down his hair and hurried out into the main hallway.

Chaos. The corridors were packed wall to wall with other servants, confused about where they should go, what they should be doing. The crowd smothered him; how had he managed to sleep through this? Now, in the thick of things, his ears were beginning to ring.

“Martin!”

Pausing, Martin scanned the sea of twisting faces. Angelica was elbowing her way through the swarm, drawing sharp cries of pain from her victims, but her expression of dogged determination didn’t change.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” she said, as soon as she was within earshot. “I just wanted to say thanks for setting up the guest bedrooms last night. I would’ve been up ‘til dawn if I’d had to do it myself.”

Martin, who had finished outfitting the last of the guest quarters just as the sun was rising, smiled. “I’m glad I could help. Wasn't really fair to you, getting assigned something you aren't used to.”

She nodded in agreement, sage-like. “I swear, Griffiths is out to get me. I’d rather stay in the laundry room where I belong.” Then she reached into the pocket of her apron, pulling out a bundle of cloth. “We had apple slices for breakfast this morning,” she explained, holding the bundle out. “I saved you mine. You know, as a thank you.”

Woken by the mention of food, his stomach spasmed. He hadn’t even spared a thought for breakfast– based on the sun’s height, the servants’ meal hour had long been over.

Eyes burning, he accepted the gift. “Thanks, Angie. I really needed this.”

She beamed up at him.

From somewhere within the clamour, an authoritative voice rose up. “Come on then, to your stations!”

The tide of the crowd was pushing them apart before the last word faded. “Good luck, tonight!” Angie called as she turned to follow some of the others into the laundry room. Martin waved back to her, and once she had disappeared from view, unwrapped the cloth and bit into one of the apple slices.

Sweet and refreshing. Martin let his eyes slide shut, savouring the crispness. Thank God for Angie. There was no telling when his next meal would be; Griffiths had informed everyone last night that they wouldn't have time for their regular lunch.

He finished the last slice just as he reached the kitchens. If the hallways had been chaotic, this was a scene straight out of a nightmare. Servers were shouting orders to the kitchen staff, the kitchen staff were dancing around the servers, and everyone inched a hair's breadth away from colliding into one another. It was only through sheer level of experience on the part of the servants that they managed to avoid absolute disaster.

And in the centre of it all was Jefferies, shouting directions and helpful threats in equal measure.

“If a single one of you even so much as serves a smudged glass,” he roared, “the Lord’ll have all our heads!”

The ringing in Martin’s ears had gone from loud to stringent. Bracing against a countertop, he dragged a hand across his face.

Focus.

Plate the food, take it to the dining hall, serve. He’d done it a thousand times. This was the exact same thing.

He just needed to stay focused.

“Here, Blackwood.” One of the servers pressed a tray of champagne flutes into his hands. Taking one more bracing breath, Martin shouldered his way back into the corridors.

Time to get this over with. The frantic noises from the kitchen fell away in increments until, at last, he reached the ballroom.

#the magnus archives #tma #the magnus pod #jonmartin #fanfiction #fic #fic preview #whats a girl gotta do to get some line breaks around here

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lampmeeting · 5 years ago

Note

For Toki/Magnus prompts! Hope that at least one of them helps spark inspiration!! 1.)In a surprising twist of events, it's Magnus who asks to see the latest Disney movie. 2.) They go through CDs that's in their native languages (if we go by the Magnus is Armenian headcanon) 3.) Toki ends up gifting Magnus something for his birthday or other way around 4.) Magnus actually tries to teach Toki to drive-

ohhhhh my goodness, ash, you have gifted me such wonderful ideas! T~T i’m SUCH a sucker for birthday fics, though, i dunno why. so i gotta pick that one. :3 all these other ideas are being stored in my brainvault for use in later things though, rest assured.

i went REAL self-indulgent with this aaaaahahahah... post-doomstar babey. magnus is having a hard time of things. this got so fucking long kjfgkdf

[tw for mentions of suicide]

=+=

After so many years of nothing on his plate, no band, no projects, no responsibility to anyone but himself, this pulled-in-all-directions bullshit was getting old fast. It had happened so quickly. Offdensen had needed a place for him to go once he could get up from the hospital bed, a place to keep him out of Mordhaus and away from the band, but close enough to keep an eye on him. He hadn’t had a moment to himself on his own terms since waking up out of the coma, and he kinda missed it. At least he slept in the coma.

Magnus left the latest staff meeting for the newly-built Dethklok Home for Wayward Musicians and returned to his on-site living quarters, aka his jail cell with a nice kitchen. There was a camera at the door to make sure he stayed or left when he was meant to stay or leave, and he’d been operating under the assumption that the place was bugged. Because why wouldn’t it be?

And fuck his chest hurt. He unbuttoned his shirt and checked the incision in the hallway mirror. From just below the dip in his clavicle, a red, gnarled line split his chest for about twelve inches--a result of the surgery to repair the stab wound to his heart and whatever that fucking pipe had punctured. Awful. Just fucking awful. He wasn’t exactly taking care of it very well, either. Barely ate, barely slept. What did it matter, exactly? A fucked up scar to match his fucked up eye and his fucked up face and his fucked up life.

He took a deep, wincing breath and let it out as a long sigh. Whatever.

His phone rang. That fucking stupid “dethphone” everyone in the company seemed to have. Magnus fought it out of his back pocket, swearing as the little spines caught on his jeans. “What??”

“Oh! You pickeds up!”

Magnus swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. He still had no goddamn idea why Toki wanted anything to do with him. They’d had their little moment in the hospital at Mordhaus, blubbering like babies, Magnus apologizing and Toki just so damn happy to see him alive for whatever reason. And he still wasn’t exactly sure why he hadn’t been left to bleed out in the street. Would’ve been a lot easier for everyone, Magnus included.

“Magnus?”

Shit, he kept doing that--getting lost in his own head when he should be speaking to people. He’d probably talked to more people in the past few weeks than he had in the past few years, and his brain just wanted it to stop already. “Yup, I’m here. What is it?”

“Are you gonna bes at home laters?”

Where else would he be? “Yeah.”

“Oh goods! I’m on my way, pal!”

Magnus nearly swore at him. “I’m sorry, you’re what?”

“I’m flyins over! Sees you in a few hours.”

“Okay, but why--” But Toki hung up. Magnus threw the phone at the wall which only sent a shock of grating pain through his sternum. He pressed a hand to the incision. “Ahh, son of a bitch.”

Fucking Toki. He really didn’t want to deal with him tonight. All the talking, all the laughing. They hadn’t seen each other since he’d left the hospital, but he had to imagine Toki wanted to pick up where they left off before everything went to shit. Probably wanted to drag his ass to laser tag or something equally asinine. God fucking damnit, all he wanted to do was sleep.

Easing down onto the couch, he closed his eyes and tried to breathe. Even if Toki came over, it wouldn’t be forever. Time would pass, the kid would return to Mordhaus. It would be okay. Magnus would just have to be patient. He could be patient. He was good at that. Or at least he used to be.

All right. All right. He was fine.

So he waited for Toki. He sat in front of the TV for a while, attempted to nap with no success, made a frozen dinner that he barely touched. Through it all, his chest ached with increasing discomfort, the result of being too rough with himself lately. He wasn’t allowed to keep pain medication, though. Definitely not opioids given his history, but not even over-the-counter stuff. Assholes. If he wanted to kill himself again, it wouldn’t be with pills.

Toki finally knocked on the door with his typical shave-and-a-haircut, and Magnus called him in. “There’s no lock.”

Toki poked his head in the door and the rest of him followed after. He carried a white box in both hands and grinned from ear to ear. Magnus wrenched himself up from the couch and tried to keep the twist of agony off his face.

“Surprise!” Toki cried.

“It’s hardly a surprise, buddy, you told me you were coming.”

“No, no, this!” And Toki shoved the box at him. “Opens it, opens it! Oh, I can’ts waits to see you’s face!”

Screaming expletives in the safety of his head, Magnus tilted the box away from him and slowly opened the top, fully expecting something to pop out. When nothing happened, he peered inside.

Oh.

It was a cake. Small, homemade. Buttercream frosting, and scribbled on top in icing were two stick figures more or less recognizable as Toki and Magnus holding hands under a rainbow. Across the rainbow in white icing it read Happy Birthday Magnus!

“I...forgot it was my birthday.”

“That’s okay. Toki remembers.”

Magnus set the cake down on the kitchen table and stared at it, chest throbbing. “Why would you do this?”

“What you means ‘whys’? Because we’s friends!”

“I’m no friend of yours, Toki.”

“Sure you ams! You wents kinda crazy but you’s gettins better now.”

“Oh, I dunno about that.”

But Toki kept smiling. “Eats some cake. Cake’s whats makes bad feelings goes away.”

Magnus didn’t have the energy to argue. Toki went into the kitchen and shuffled through a few drawers before asking, “You don’ts has a knife?”

“Nope, not allowed.”

Toki went quiet, searched a little longer, then returned to the table with a fork. “Here!”

Magnus took the fork hesitantly. “Just one? You’re not having any?”

“I can’ts has sugar, remembers?”

Of course he remembered. He’d given Toki his insulin injections for a month.

“So wait, you made a cake that you can’t eat?”

Toki just laughed. “I mades it for you, not me.”

For some reason that made Magnus’ eyes well up. He bit the inside of his cheek and forced it all down. The doctors had told him it was normal to be more emotional than usual during recovery, but god damn. It was a fucking cake and he wanted to cry about it.

Magnus shoved the forked into his little stick figure foot and took a bite. Oh. It was really good. He’d been living off TV dinners and cheap pizza, hospital food before that, and finally having something actually edible in his mouth was heaven. He closed his eyes, chewing reverently. When he opened them, Toki had his fists curled excitedly under his chin.

“So?? Ams good?”

Magnus went for another bite. “Yeah.” Popped it in his mouth. He couldn’t get enough, and before he realized how much he’d been eating, about a third of the cake was gone. He put down the fork, embarrassed. “I’ll, uh. Save the rest for breakfast.”

Toki hadn’t stopped beaming at him for a second. “You wanna dos something now?”

Ah, here it came. What exhausting fucking outing did Toki have in mind? An arcade? The mall? “Sure, just, uh, not anything too--”

“Thoughts maybes we could just hangs out here, watch a movies.”

“Here?”

“If that’s okay.”

Magnus let go of a rough, relieved breath. “Yeah. Yeah, buddy, let’s do that.”

They’d found an old black and white samurai movie just starting on TV and settled in on the couch to watch. Toki sat cross-legged, enraptured, making little comments (”wowee!” “oh, brutal!”) every time something cool happened. Magnus rested back and stretched out his legs, trying to find a position that didn’t make his pain any worse. And once he did, he began to doze off.

He jerked his chin up from his chest, flinching awake, pressing subtly at his incision. Toki noticed. “Are yous okay?”

“Think so.”

Toki looked at the movie again for a moment then turned back to him. “Can I sees it?”

“You don’t wanna.”

“I dos.”

Magnus grumbled and shifted to face him a little better, not liking the grinding sensation in his sternum as he moved. Made him feel a little sick. Still, he unbuttoned his shirt and parted it just enough for Toki to get a good look.

Toki’s eyes went huge with shock, and in the light of the TV Magnus could see tears gathering and threatening to fall. He buttoned himself up again in a hurry, flustered. “Oh, for fuck’s sake, kid.”

“I’m sorries,” Toki wailed a little, rubbing at his eyes. “Just looks like it really, reallies hurts.”

“That’s ‘cause it does.” Magnus couldn’t deny that. He turned back to the movie just in time to see one of the samurai cut himself open with his own sword. He put a hand to his chest again, feeling his repaired heart pounding away in his ribs. Being allowed to die like that would’ve been nice, he thought. By his own hands. An atonement for all the terrible, unforgivable shit he’d done. Not something he was supposed to fucking wake up from in a hospital bed. Toki was silent. Magnus snatched up the remote to turn the TV off.

They sat in the dark for a moment until Toki spoke, his voice small. “Do you still wants to do that?”

“To do what?”

“To...die.”

Magnus grumbled noncommittally. “Maybe. I dunno. It doesn’t matter.” He pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes. “More than anything I just wanna fucking sleep.”

The couch sprang up a little as Toki got up, and when Magnus lowered his hands he realized Toki was offering his.

“Then comes on. Let’s go to asleeps.”

Magnus looked up at him. This kid, this man, this god or whatever the fuck--why was he bothering? Why was he here, being so kind to him? Magnus didn’t deserve it. He didn’t deserve anything. Death, sleep, a friend. Not a goddamn thing.

Toki leaned down and took his hands. No one had touched him in weeks, and the last person had been Toki, too, now that he thought about it. “I means it. Ups.”

“...fine.”

He lumbered to his feet with Toki’s help and dragged ass into the bedroom. “You gets ready for bed,” Toki told him. “I’ll bes right back.”

In the dark of the bedroom, Magnus wormed carefully out of his clothes and pulled up a pair of pajama bottoms. He could feel the two halves of his breastbone click against each other as he reclined into the pillows, heard it in his fucking head, and he gulped down sudden nausea. His eyes drifted shut. He was so tired. But no matter how much he tried to sleep, there always came a point where he woke himself up, yanked himself from the edge of that deep, restorative sleep he really needed, as if he were afraid of going too far under and never resurfacing.

He heard soft footsteps on the carpet, felt the mattress sink a bit, and then something so warm draped over his chest and he groaned before he could think to stop himself. The pain retreated, not all the way, but enough to unknot his stomach. When he opened his eyes, Toki was there.

“Warms wash cloth,” he said. “It helps?”

“Yeah.” Magnus shuddered in relief, so grateful he could cry. And when Toki placed a hand so tenderly on his brow, he finally did. Just for a second. Just to get it out. “Sorry. Fuck...”

Toki smiled down at him, and even in the darkness he seemed to glow. Maybe he was a god.

“Try tos rest now. Ams gonna looks after yous all night, so don’ts worry abouts nothing.”

“...really?”

“Mm-hm.” Toki’s fingers started to weave into his curls. It was...nice. “Happy birthdays, Magnus.”

“...thanks, buddy.” And Magnus slept.

#metalocalypse #magnus hammersmith #toki wartooth #magtok #hammertooth #my writing #jeez ash thank you for this jdfgjd i went wild here ahahaha #insomniac-pens

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silver-lily-louise · 5 years ago

Text

Planes, Trains, and Portalmobiles

‘Y’know, there’s a lot more standing around and waiting than I thought there’d be.' Magnus shrugs. ‘Why do you think I haven’t bothered with planes before now? Compared to a portal, they’re horribly inefficient.’

Post-Canon. On their way back to Alicante from a trip to Scotland, Magnus and Alec decide to take a few Mundane modes of transport for once. There are... mixed results.

Read it on AO3, or below!

~oOo~

‘Y’know, there’s a lot more standing around and waiting than I thought there’d be,’ Alec comments, readjusting the straps on his rucksack for the seventh or eighth time. Magnus shrugs. ‘Why do you think I haven’t bothered with planes before now?’ he points out, managing to add a surprisingly high dose of disapproval to his quiet words. ‘Compared to a portal, they’re horribly inefficient.’

The line moves up, and Magnus turns to him more fully, frowning a little. ‘You still have the passports, right?’ ‘Yes, Magnus,’ he says, fondly exasperated. They’ve been in this line for less than twenty minutes, and he’s given that same answer three times already. He leans closer, dropping his voice low enough that it’s only for his husband’s ears. ‘Not like you couldn’t conjure another couple if I had lost them, anyway.’ Magnus gives him a half-hearted glare. ‘True, but I might make a mistake if rushed,’ he insists. ‘What, like, put your real birthday or something?’ Alec says, his lips twitching up into a small grin. ‘I already think you’re pushing your luck claiming to be thirty-seven, by the way.’ Magnus smirks. ‘Hm. Afraid of being seen with a partner so much older than you?’ he teases, reaching out to straighten Alec’s collar. ‘Whatever will the good people of Edinburgh Airport think?’ Alec just stares at him, barely suppressing a laugh. ‘Everyone we know is fully aware that I married someone who’s started counting in centuries,’ he says, his tone ringing with exaggerated patience. ‘But sure, ten years would make me self-conscious.’

Whatever reply is undoubtedly forming on Magnus’ tongue is lost as they reach the front of the line, Alec producing their tickets and passports with an easy smile. Ordinarily, he’d let Magnus take the lead in situations like this, especially with things that require a little deception. But he hasn’t missed the tension in how Magnus is holding himself, nor the way his eyes dart to each unexpected sound. Alec doesn’t want to give him anything else to be nervous about. Or, for that matter, for his anxiety to be noticed by any airport staff and arouse suspicion.

Thankfully, it’s not too much longer until they’re actually on the plane. ‘Aisle or window?’ he asks, stowing his rucksack overhead. Magnus had insisted that they fly first class, which means that their seat is a duo, rather than the usual trio. Alec’s grateful for that now – they’ve got enough to think about without having to be mindful of a random Mundane sitting right next to them. ‘Aisle,’ Magnus says decisively. Alec had expected that, knowing that being hemmed in gives Magnus less space to wield his magic if he needs to. ‘Okay,’ he says, taking his window seat and settling back into the comfortable padding with a quiet sigh. Magnus snorts. ‘How are you so calm?’ he asks, taking his own seat. ‘It’s not like you’ve been on a plane before, either.’ Alec shrugs. ‘Thousands of Mundanes use them every day,’ he says. ‘And statistically, they’re incredibly safe. I was probably in way more danger walking around New York, especially while I was glamoured and invisible to traffic.’ ‘You have a point,’ Magnus admits.

Alec doesn’t miss how his husband still doesn’t relax, though. ‘It’s gonna be fine,’ he says quietly, reaching across to squeeze Magnus’ hand. ‘You know that, right?’ ‘For the most part,’ Magnus says, wearily. He gives a small, frustrated smile. ‘I’ve just… grown used to being in control of my own transport,’ he says. He gestures vaguely around them. ‘I’m not in control of this. I wouldn’t know how to be, without jeopardising the whole operation. And I know that it’s ridiculous to be anxious, but I also don’t know how my magic reacts at high altitudes, without proper connection to the earth – if we get into trouble, I don’t know if I can keep us safe, or – ‘

‘Well, that’s what the parachute is for,’ Alec says, cutting off Magnus’ increasingly-agitated tirade. Magnus looks at him, stunned. ‘…Alexander,’ he says carefully, ‘you are aware that planes don’t come with parachutes as standard, right?’ ‘Of course I am,’ Alec says, rolling his eyes, though carefully keeping his soft, reassuring smile in place. ‘That’s why I brought my own. Why else did you think I needed a carry-on?’ Magnus’ eyes briefly do their best impression of dinner plates. ‘You - Where the hell did you even get a parachute?’ ‘The Gard armory’s pretty well-stocked,’ Alec says, shrugging. ‘Even with some of the more obscure stuff. And there’s no metal in the mechanism, either, so the airport scanners would have just thought it was a bunch of fabric. A blanket or something.’ He smiles, a little pleased that he hasn’t lost the ability to surprise Magnus just yet. ‘So, if things go wrong when we’re up there, hold on to me and we’ll get out,’ he says simply.

Magnus just stares at him for a few moments longer, shaking his head silently as a voice over the intercom welcomes them aboard. ‘Nephilim,’ he says eventually, sounding practically awed in his disbelief. But when he settles back in his chair with a quiet, breathy laugh, he doesn’t look quite so nervous.

And when the seatbelt signs turn off a short while later, and a quick shimmer over his fingertips apparently confirms that his magic is under control, he relaxes completely, returning Alec’s smile with an honest one of his own.

***

The flight takes about ninety minutes, and by the time they’ve disembarked, collected their luggage (which is mostly for show, because travelers without luggage might draw Mundane attention) and are standing on the right platform at Heathrow’s train station, it’s mid-afternoon. The train pulls up from the right-hand-side, and they board. They’re promptly asked to show their tickets; but once that’s done and the conductor moves on, they’re practically alone, the rest of their carriage almost empty. (When they booked the tickets, Magnus said something about super-off-peak, which Alec still doesn’t see the point of. Surely the train runs the same no matter the time of day?)

Magnus leans against Alec’s shoulder, letting his eyes drift closed. ‘Perhaps it’s the adrenaline comedown, but I’m suddenly exhausted,’ he says, stifling a yawn. ‘Remind me why we had to get up at such an ungodly hour?’ ‘I asked you that this morning, and you said it was all part of the experience,’ Alec reminds him, letting his voice turn a little husky as he quotes his husband. Magnus huffs in displeasure. ‘I do not sound like that, Alexander,’ he protests. ‘Yeah, you do.’ ‘Hm. Do not,’ he argues, closing his eyes.

Alec chuckles. ‘Are you seriously going to sleep through this part?’ he asks. ‘What happened to experiencing Mundane transport?’ ‘I’ve been on trains before,’ Magnus points out, lazily waving a hand and throwing up the barest shimmer of a ward, just around their seats. ‘You can appreciate it enough for the both of us,’ he suggests. Alec snorts quietly - but Magnus really must have been tired, because he’s already asleep.

Alec looks out of the window, surprised to find that they’re already surrounded by greenery, despite having left London a relatively short time ago. Apparently, England’s not quite as rural as Alicante, but it’s a damn sight less urban than New York. His gaze flicks up to the scrolling banner above the doors, the one that declares which stops are coming up next. Their stop, Guildford (which, for some weird British reason, is apparently pronounced ‘Gill-furred’, instead of by saying the words which actually make it up) is pretty far along the list.

Magnus’ breathing is slow and rhythmic, now, and Alec feels tiredness tugging at his own awareness, like it’s trying to pull a comforter over his thoughts. But they can’t both fall asleep in public, no matter what the alluring quiet and warmth of the train carriage is saying. He ought to activate a stamina rune. Unfortunately, his stele’s in the pocket that Magnus is currently lying on top of; and he doesn’t want to wake his husband up, knowing that he didn’t sleep well last night.

I’ll grab it in a few minutes, he reasons. He’ll let Magnus sleep a while longer, and then make his attempt, just in case he wakes him irreversibly. He can make it a few more minutes.

He jumps to attention as Magnus’ phone goes off, reaching for a seraph blade that isn’t there – before gaining a little awareness and settling back down, glancing around to check that he hasn’t inadvertently made a scene. Thankfully, the only person close enough to have noticed his reaction is his husband, who extinguishes the dim sparks at his fingertips, raising a seemingly-amused eyebrow at Alec’s jumpiness before answering the offending cell phone. ‘Hello?’ ‘Magnus, w… ‘l are you?’ Alec catches through the speaker. ‘You sh… Gilf… ‘ly’n hour ago.’ ‘Ah,’ Magnus says, looking over at the scrolling banner – which now says The next station is Portsmouth Harbour, and Alec’s stomach drops as he realises what must have happened. ‘It seems we’ve taken a little detour. We’ll get off at the next station and portal straight to you as planned.’ He pauses, Ragnor’s reply lost in his grumpy tone. ‘Yes, all right. See you soon.’

Magnus hangs up, turning to Alec and giving him a sheepish smile. ‘It seems that we’ve missed our stop.’ ‘Looks that way,’ Alec mumbles. ‘Well, no matter.’ He snaps his fingers, apparently unfazed. ‘There. Two tickets for Portsmouth Harbor. Problem solved.’ ‘Great,’ Alec says, attempting a smile of his own. He sits back in his chair, looking down at where he’s unconsciously started fiddling with his wedding ring.

Magnus is too well-versed in his brush-off tactics to let him get away with that, though, and Alec soon finds his face gently pivoted towards his husband with a careful hand. ‘Alexander, is everything okay?’ he asks, his brow furrowed in soft concern.

‘Yeah,’ Alec says. ‘I mean it,’ he insists, when Magnus tilts his head as if to say come on, now. ‘Everything’s fine. It’s just…’ He sighs, one corner of his mouth twitching up into a rueful smile. ‘It might not have been. I didn’t mean to fall asleep, I’m sorry.’ ‘It’s okay,’ Magnus says, his frown deepening a little in confusion. ‘You fell asleep first. Which means it was my watch,’ Alec points out.

At that, Magnus rolls his eyes, heaving a long-suffering sigh, though a gentle smile tugs at his lips. ‘It wasn’t your watch, darling,’ he says. ‘We’re not on some… quest through dangerous territory. You fell asleep on a train. It happens.’ ‘We’re still out on our own in public – ‘ ‘Which makes it a little embarrassing, especially since we missed our stop, but not dangerous,’ Magnus says firmly. ‘You saw me put up a ward before I fell asleep. I doubt your subconscious would have let you sacrifice your alertness, otherwise.’ ‘Magnus-‘

But he’s silenced by his husband holding up a finger to his lips, just shy of touching. ‘It’s good to let your guard down sometimes, Alexander,’ Magnus says softly. ‘It’s good to feel safe.’ He flashes a small, teasing smile. ‘Especially when you’re with me.’

Alec’s stomach twists again, but this time, it’s a warm, fluttery sensation, and he relents. ‘Okay,’ he murmurs – and he hums a little in contentment as he’s rewarded with a kiss.

They get off the train, their magically-adjusted tickets not giving them any problems at the gate, and they quickly discover that Portsmouth Harbour is a fairly literal name for this station – it’s practically on the water. ‘Those seagulls are huge,’ Alec says, as they wander through the streets to a quieter area, trying to find a safe place to glamor and portal without visibly disappearing. ‘Disproportionate,’ Magnus agrees. ‘A tiny country and a tiny stretch of water, and they’ve practically got albatrosses? I can’t say it makes a lot of sense to me.’

It’s not long before they’re ducking into an alleyway, and Magnus twirls one hand, calling a portal. His other hand reaches out to Alec’s, and he orders, ‘Hold on,’ like he always does when he knows their portal destination is new to his husband.

They step out onto a rolling expanse of green – large enough that the clouds above them cast the soft outlines of shadows, slinking across the grass like ships going by. Ragnor is there waiting, standing before them with a raised eyebrow and a small smile. ‘Took you long enough,’ he comments. ‘Oh, shut up,’ Magnus says lightly, stepping forward and embracing the other warlock briefly. They hadn’t seemed like those sort of friends, at first – both from what Alec himself had seen of them, and from what Clary and Jace had told him. He’d mentioned that casually to Magnus, once; and Magnus had thought for a second, before quietly explaining that he’s just found himself doing that more often – reaching for a hug, or accepting one – since Ragnor’s apparent ‘death’.

Which… yeah. Alec can definitely understand that.

He’s pulled back to the present moment as Ragnor extends an arm towards his impressive house, at the top of the hill and not too far from where they’re standing. ‘Shall we?’

Ragnor’s home proves to be pretty much exactly what Alec expected. With the eclectic furniture, old-world charm, and shelves of copious books and artifacts, it’s similar in a lot of ways to Catarina’s home, and to Magnus’ loft before it was Alec’s, too. Or, actually, if he’s being honest, for the first few months after. It was only in the process of moving their lives to Alicante that Magnus had insisted Alec assist with ‘a long-overdue redecoration.’ Magnus, he’d protested, we don’t have to, I like your place the way it is- But that’s exactly it, Alexander, Magnus had interrupted him. It’s our place. And if it’s going to feel like our marital home instead of my bachelor pad- (Alec had smirked at the phrasing, and had received a withering glare) - then it needs your input, too. Now: couches facing northwards, or east?

And maybe Alec had gone along with it just to appease his husband, at the time. But these days, he can’t deny that there’s a certain comfort in coming back to a home he’s had a hand in shaping.

Across the room, now, Magnus is looking at a painting hung in the stairwell, out of Alec’s eyeline, and shaking his head. ‘When will you get rid of this thing?’ he asks, with no small amount of distaste in his expression. ‘It reeks of a narcissism that doesn’t become you.’ ‘I will get rid of it when – or, more likely, if – it stops being useful,’ Ragnor says, holding a cup of what smells like very good coffee out to Alec, and returning his smile of thanks before pointing at a seat, silently inviting him to make himself comfortable. ‘Especially since you insisted I get rid of my wall of fire,’ he continues, glancing back at Magnus. ‘Because it was a ridiculous drain on your resources, and beyond superfluous once Valentine ceased to be a threat,’ Magnus scoffs, summoning his own drink before collapsing into the seat next to Alec’s like he owns the place. ‘If you’re not careful, you’ll end up with this place looking as tacky as Lorenzo’s,’ he adds, pointing accusingly at their host with his free hand.

Ragnor glares at him. ‘You ought to take that back whilst you still can, Magnus,’ he warns. Magnus raises his eyebrows, his mouth shrugging irreverently. ‘Or?’

But Ragnor doesn’t answer him directly. ‘Tell me, Alexander,’ he says, a wicked shine seeming to spark in his eyes. ‘Did your husband ever regale you with the story of the weekend he spent in Tuscany with Signor Simoni? How he ended up –‘ ‘All right,’ Magnus says loudly, huffing out a disgruntled breath. ‘All right, comment withdrawn.’ He glowers, though the effect is somewhat lost when he’s peering above his cup of tea. ‘Blackmailer. I try to look out for your good taste in your dotage, and this is how you thank me?’

Alec chuckles, not too bothered by the loss of a promised story. They’ve hosted Ragnor enough times by now that he has a general idea of how this evening’s going to go, and so he’s fairly certain he’ll get to hear it anyway.

One excellent roast beef dinner and several glasses of honeyed wine later, he’s proved exactly right.

***

The night they spend at Ragnor’s passes quickly. The three of them while away most of it talking, and when they eventually turn in, Ragnor’s guest room is inviting and comfortable, from the wooden floors that are warmer than they ought to be to the cool cotton sheets that are almost as soft as Magnus’ preferred silk. The magic that hums around them, guarding the house, is different, of course – it’s a little less heady, quieter and more distant, yet more persistent than the wards around their own home. But just when Alec is beginning to wonder if it’s too different for him to be able to fall asleep, Magnus rolls over and semi-consciously wraps an arm around his waist, his breathing evening out against Alec’s neck moments later.

A more familiar hum seems to resonate within Alec at the possessive gesture, and he smiles, closing his eyes. He sleeps the whole night through, peaceful and undisturbed.

The house comes to a sleepy start after the late night, and they partake in an indulgent ‘Full English’ brunch before deciding to make the most of the sunshine, going for a walk around a few of the meadows and small stretches of forest bordering Ragnor’s own land. Alec walks a little in front, taking in the fresh air and occasionally thinking of practical uses for what’s growing around them. The small flowers underfoot, he’s pretty sure, are birdsfoot trefoil, and he knows that Catarina sometimes combines the darker petals of that with powdered adder scales, to make an infusion for patients with particularly stubborn fevers. The treeline nearby is fairly yew-heavy, and Alec’s thoughts drift once again to the fanciful idea of taking up bowyery someday. After so long refining how to use a bow, he guesses it’s pretty natural that he’d catch some sort of interest in how they’re made. He’s heard that old mundane bows were often made of yew wood, so perhaps that’d be a good material to work with; providing he avoided prolonged, long-term exposure, the kind that used to poison traditional woodworkers.

When he isn’t busy daydreaming about craftsmanship that he definitely doesn’t have the time for right now, he listens to what Magnus and Ragnor are discussing as they walk along. Right now, for instance, they’re debating the usefulness of platinum cauldrons – Ragnor claims that they’re a trinket and a fad, whilst Magnus is preaching the merit of their unique and subtle inert energies during the potion-brewing process. Sometimes, when they get like this – bickering over magical theory, neither willing to give an inch – Alec wonders how on earth they ever managed to live together. Maybe he ought to ask Catarina about it sometime.

They eventually turn back towards the house, Magnus linking arms with Alec as they walk. ‘I hope we weren’t boring you,’ he says, more indifferently than Alec suspects he feels. ‘I do worry about leaving you out, sometimes.’ Alec leans a little closer to his husband in reassurance, nudging Magnus’ ribs affectionately with his elbow. ‘Are you kidding?’ he says. ‘You know I find all that magic stuff interesting. Especially when you’re the one talking about it.’ He grins. ‘Though, I gotta say, I think Ragnor has a point about moose antlers being more potent than reindeer.’

Magnus looks at him in sheer offence, apparently speechless in the face of such betrayal. Ragnor chuckles, clapping Alec on the shoulder. ‘I knew I liked you for a reason, Shadowhunter.’

***

In the evening, they take their leave, thanking Ragnor for his hospitality before stepping through their portal. It takes Alec a moment to notice, because the world looks different at night, but they end up in the exact same alleyway they portaled to Ragnor’s from. ‘See?’ Magnus says, as they step out into the streetlight and the last remnants of dusk. Across the water, orange lights flicker from where the coastline curves round, like stars at the horizon. ‘Our train mishap was helpful, as it turns out,’ Magnus continues, linking his arm with the one Alec isn’t currently using to drag their suitcase behind them, the wheels rumbling quietly over the sidewalk. ‘This is far closer to the ferry port than I would have been able to portal us before. We won’t even have to call a cab.’

He’s right; it’s a very manageable walk to the ferry port. The city is quiet at this time – though a New Yorker’s perspective on that is always a little skewed, Alec will admit – but they do pass a couple of dog walkers, among others. And when they run into a third group of young people, laughing raucously and moving in herds, Alec raises an eyebrow. Magnus shrugs. ‘College town,’ he says by way of explanation, gesturing to a building nearby – one that bears the same purple livery as several others they’ve passed tonight. ‘And eighteen’s the drinking age here, so they’re not limited to the secrecy of frat parties.’

They reach the ferry port soon after that, and board quickly. Magnus finds a quiet corner to surreptitiously banish the suitcase, and then they head out to the stern of the top deck. The boat begins to move towards Caen, the water rushing loudly below them, and Magnus’ arm is warm around Alec’s waist as they watch the city lights grow distant across the sea.

He wakes to a heavy weight on his chest, smiling fondly even before he opens his eyes. At home, Magnus might be justified in calling him an octopus; but when they’re sleeping away from the loft, his husband gains a certain charming clinginess of his own.

Alec turns his head to the left, gazing out of the porthole. Neither of them had wanted to be underwater – or in a windowless room that might make them feel as if they were – so they’d paid the extra for a glimpse of the outside world, and at this moment, Alec thinks it might be among the best decisions they've ever made. He breathes slow and steady, a sense of calm washing over him, and watches as the dark orange clouds twisting across the violet sky gradually shift into a brighter hue.

Magnus shifts, his breath tickling Alec’s chest a little as he yawns. ‘Good morning,’ Alec says softly. Magnus rolls off of him, stretching and sighing heavily before curling back in, planting a light, smiling kiss to Alec’s shoulder. ‘Morning.’ Alec turns his head back towards his right, deciding that watching Magnus watch the sunrise makes for a better view than watching it himself. His husband is beautiful in any light, but something about the blue and gold of dawn makes him look soft and ethereal - like a really good dream, but one that Alec’s somehow gotten lucky enough to hold and taste and keep.

‘Hey,’ he says after a few long, quiet moments, drawing Magnus’ eyes back to him. He flicks his own gaze briefly over his shoulder. ‘Nothing against air travel or trains, but I think that this one might be my favorite,’ he says with a small smile. Magnus chuckles, the laughter creasing kindness around his cat eyes as he reaches up, tenderly brushing Alec’s hair away from his face. ‘Mine too,’ he agrees.

~oOo~

#malec #malec fanfic #shadowhunters #shadowhunters fanfic #shtv #shs #food cw #alcohol cw #mine #btw don't eat birdsfoot trefoil or adder scales!!! I made that up lol #it's not actually a fever remedy

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teejaysnow · 5 years ago

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Here's a fluffy prompt! Breakfast in bed on a chilly morning :)

Thank you very much a lot - you helped!! <3

(also, this turned out a lot longer than expected...)

Do you want toast with all that cheese?

Isak was not happy. Not with the world, not with the temperature outside (which was way too far below zero for happiness anyway), and not with the landlord who ”wouldn’t be able to fix the heating until tomorrow - sorry, boys”. There was a small space heater noisily blowing warm air towards a very limited area of their combined dining room/living room/bedroom, but the kitchen was a complete no heat area and the floor’s arctic climate laughed in the face of his knitted socks. So no, Isak was not happy.

And who in their right mind had their birthday in February anyway? What was wrong with a nice, clement June birthday when their boyfriend wouldn’t have to freeze his bollocks off while preparing breakfast in bed? Not that Even was expecting breakfast in bed - or breakfast anywhere else for that matter. Even was much too familiar with Isak’s very reluctant acquaintance with mornings and was happy enough to make breakfast for both of them, birthday or not. Which was the reason that Isak had had to get up at fucking arse o’clock in the morning to make the fucking breakfast before his boyfriend woke up and ruined the surprise. (Did I mention that Isak wasn’t happy?)

Isak glared at the scrambled eggs (and yes, Even, he had remembered the spoon of sourcream, thanks), willing them to cook faster so he could finally get back into bed and warm his cold feet on his hot (heh...) boyfriend's toasty warm legs. The breakfast tray was already decked out with a red rose in a small vase, two badly wrapped presents, and two mugs full of wonderfully warm coffee. The toast was toasting along while the scrambled egg scrambled, and Isak was just about to get the small cake - that he’d somehow managed to keep hidden from his annoyingly nosy boyfriend - out of the refrigerator when a hand on his lower back and a chin on his shoulder made him start.

“Breakfast?” Even asked, still sounding half asleep. “Also, fuck, it’s cold!” he added as an afterthought.

Isak hummed in agreement with both those statements - as well as in appreciation of Even sneaking his arms around Isak’s waist, his nose finding its favourite spot just at the junction between Isak’s shoulder and neck.

They were interrupted by the toaster spitting out two more or less unburned pieces of bread and Isak turned around and shoved petulantly at his boyfriend’s chest.

“Move over, arsehole! Why are you awake already, anyway? Except for spoiling your surprise, obviously,” Isak complained.

“The bed was too cold without you,” Even said with a small shrug, grabbing at Isak’s waist and pulling him into a tight back hug. Isak rolled his eyes, the toast burning his fingers as he transferred it onto the tray.

“And you thought it would be warmer in the kitchen? Really?”

“Noooo, but I’d rather be cold with you than warm without you...?”

Even leaned in over Isak’s shoulder and twisted his head to the side so he could flutter his eyelashes up at him, but Isak only wrinkled his nose and gave Even an unimpressed look.

“And do you perhaps want toast with all that cheese,” he scoffed.

Even kissed him on the cheek and removed the frying pan from the hob.

“Well, I’ll take whatever you’re willing to give me.”

“Oh God, please just go back to bed without saying another word,” Isak begged, turning his head to give Even’s cheek a quick kiss before turning back towards the scrambled eggs and distributing them onto two plates.

“Aww, it’s like you don’t love me anymore.”

Even sighed mournfully, eyes widening into the expression of an unusually hurt and confused puppy. This time Isak turned his whole body around and leaned his head back so he could look up at Even with heavy-lidded eyes.

“I’m sorry, this was not the way I intended you to find out, but… yes, there is someone else. Sorry.”

Even put a hand to his chest in feigned shock, collapsing - cautiously - against the stove.

“Whaaaaat? Why? What’s he got that I haven’t?” he asked, taking a step back to flex his biceps in a feeble attempt at muscled manliness.

Isak couldn’t keep his grin under control any longer so he leaned over and gave Even another quick kiss, “Well, first of all, he stays in bed when his boyfriend tries to do something nice for him. So… why not be more like him and maybe I’ll grow to love you again? Now, fuck. off. back. to. bed!”

Even grinned back and repaid Isak’s kiss with two hard kisses on the mouth and a third that was originally aimed at Isak’s cheek but hit him in the eye instead.

“What the fuck, you uncoordinated giraffe,” Isak protested as Even quickly scurried off and threw himself headfirst on the bed.

“Sorry, can’t hear you, I’m in bed, sleeping. Waiting for my wonderful boyfriend to bring me breakfast in bed,” came the unrepentant reply and Isak smiled fondly down at the plates of scrambled eggs he was holding.

“Your wonderful boyfriend just has to butter the toast and then he’ll be right there,” Isak promised, fetching the cake from the fridge and stabbing a birthday candle into it, actually buttering the promised toast, and then remembering to grab the bacon slices peacefully degreasing on a paper towel, before carefully carrying the tray towards the bed.

He was met with loud (and very fake) snores from his boyfriend - who in the short time between leaving the kitchen and Isak’s arrival at the bed had managed to turn himself into a very well wrapped burrito. Isak kneeled on his side of their bed and placed the tray between them before leaning over and kissing Even on the nose.

“Happy birthday, baby. I love you!”

Even opened his eyes and grinned up at Isak before trying to force his expression into something that could, in a good light, be described as shocked. Possibly.

“Oh, you remembered! I have never been so surprised, like, ever!”

“Idiot,” Isak muttered, slowly stroking his index finger down the small part of Even’s cheek that wasn’t covered in duvet.

“Your idiot,” Even agreed, turning his head so Isak’s finger got better access.

“Mm, yeah,” Isak hummed before abandoning Even’s cheek in favour of burritoing into his own duvet, only sticking out a hand to grab a fork. “Now enjoy your surprise before it gets cold.”

Even quickly unburritoed and sat up to cross leggedly enjoy his meal, duvet loosely wrapped around his shoulders.

“Best breakfast I’ve ever had,” he complimented after a few mouthfuls, happily chewing on a slice of bacon. “How have you managed to get the eggs so moist? That’s Gordon Ramsay quality right there, that is.”

“Old family recipe, you know how it is,” Isak replied with a shrug and a toothy smile. “I could tell you, but I’d have to kill you afterwards.”

“Still worth it, I think.”

“Well, in that case…” Isak flopped over so he was back on his knees, leaning up towards Even, eyes flitting between Even’s eyes and lips, “The secret is…”

“Yeah?” Even whispered back, licking his lips as his eyes followed Isak’s every movement.

“...a tablespoon of… shit!!”

Isak quickly replaced the coffee cup the right way up and pushed Even’s presents out of the way - the toast not faring quite as well as it met with a swift but wet coffee related death.

“‘Shit’ is the secret? Really?? I would never have guessed.” Even’s voice sounded muffled as he tried to look like he wasn’t laughing at his irate boyfriend.

“You suck!” Isak informed him on his way back from fetching paper towels to clean up the mess, his temper not helped by the floor still being just on the warmer side of zero degrees.

“Mmhm. Just let me finish breakfast first,” Even agreed, thus significantly improving Isak’s mood.

Dropping the now coffee drenched paper towels on the floor beside the bed, Isak crawled back under his duvet and pushed one of the gifts towards Even.

“Can’t wait, baby. Now go on, open this!”

“Still eating,” Even protested, taking a careful bite of a small piece of still uncaffeinated toast.

“Don’t care. Open it.”

“Fine.” Even looked around for somewhere to dry his hands but couldn’t find anywhere. Reluctantly he dried them on his pants before reaching for his gift. “What is it?”

“You’re really not up to date with how this whole birthday gift thing works, are you?”

“Open it and find out, huh?

Isak nodded.

“Open it and find out,” he echoed.

Even fought a losing battle against the tape until Isak impatiently handed him a pair of scissors.

“Jeez, how many tape rolls did you use wrapping this thing?” Even wondered out loud.

“Less complaining, more unwrapping,” Isak huffed back, his fingers trembling like he was itching to help, only relaxing when Even finally uncovered the gift.

“Umm… thanks?” Even gave the bottle of beer a puzzled look. He knew that Isak was fond of beer, but… the enthusiasm that he’d shown over this bottle had been slightly more than Even thought it deserved.

Isak giggled at Even’s bewildered expression.

“It’s a hint for the real gift, okay? Any guesses?”

Isak was more or less bouncing on the bed now and Even quickly moved the tray to the floor before another accident happened.

“Beer tasting?” he hazarded, none too excited with the prospect.

“Beer tasting? Really? That’s what you think I’d get you? Oh, Even...” Isak shook his head in mock disappointment. “I mean, what kind of beer is it? Maybe there could be a clue in that?”

Even looked back at the bottle. London Pride? Not his favourite beer to be honest. Pale ale. Red label. Fuller’s. Nope. Nothing.

Isak sighed, “Good thing you’re pretty, baby... Now open the other one!”

This time Even reached straight for the scissors instead of battling it out with the tape.

“Gin? Do either of us even drink gin?” he mused, even more confused as he eyed his second birthday gift.

Isak was still basically vibrating with pent up excitement.

“We can give it to Magnus, he drinks anything,” he shrugged. “It’s just another clue for your actual gift, get with the program here.”

“We’re giving my present to Magnus?” Even asked, feeling more confused than ever.

“We are not giving your present to Magnus. We are giving Magnus this bottle of gin because we two have standards when it comes to getting drunk - but the gin is just another fucking clue for your actual gift, okay?!”

“Okay.” Even kept staring at the bottle. Beer and gin. B&G? Well, apart from his boyfriend spending too much money at Vinmonopolet, there wasn’t too much information to be gained from that, was there? London Pride. Beefea… what the... “We’re going to London?” he asked hesitantly and Isak nodded, smile wide enough to almost reach his ears. “Really? We’re going to London?!”

“We’re going to London,” Isak confirmed.

“Really?” Even repeated, excited but not quite daring to believe it yet.

“Yep. London, baby!”

Apparently Isak’s grin wasn't letting up anytime soon.

“But… how? When? And can we actually afford it?” Even’s brain was multitasking hard, partly already planning what to do in London, partly worrying about the state of their bank account.

Isak let his hand skim down Even’s arm, intertwining their fingers when he reached Even’s hand.

“We can afford it,” he assured him. “As for when… how do you feel about celebrating Pride in London this summer?”

Based on Even’s bright smile, Isak decided he was probably feeling pretty good about it.

“Wow. I’m… this is just… I mean, London!?”

“So what pretentious movie locations have you already decided we’ll have to visit?” Isak asked fondly, pulling at Even’s hand to encourage him to lean over and kiss him.

“Well, we have to visit Notting Hill and take a photo in front of the blue door!”

“‘Have to’, huh? You’re using those words again. I don’t think they mean what you think they mean,” Isak teased him.

“And we have to go to 84 Charing Cross Road, because that’s the most epic non-love love story there is,” Even continued, ignoring him. “And I guess we’ll have to do the 221B Baker Street thing, which… ugh. Oh, and we have to go to Leadenhall Market, and the Harry Potter studio tour, and…”

Isak let go of Even’s hand in favour of pulling at his t-shirt hard enough for Even to topple over into Isak.

“We already have tickets for the Harry Potter thing because I’m the world’s best boyfriend,” he stated, combing back Even’s hair and kissing his forehead. “The rest we’ll just have to fit in where we can.”

Even shoved at Isak and crawled up to lie face to face to him where he’d let himself fall.

“World’s best boyfriend,” he whispered reverently, cupping Isak’s cheek and looking into his eyes for a few long seconds before wetting his lips and leaning in to kiss him.

Isak hummed encouragingly into the kiss, dragging his boyfriend closer so he was half lying on Isak’s chest. They could continue the argument about who had the world’s best boyfriend later anyway - but Isak was pretty sure it was him.

#skam fanfic #the cheesiest cheese to ever cheese #my shit #thegirlnooneknows5

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nyctolovian · 4 years ago

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Oh wowww 3 fics in a week! What's happening??? Okay, so, apparently my coping mechanism under stress is escapism and fiction. I keep thinking about my OCs and my favourite fictional characters (currently Jon).

Summary: Martin commits Cookie Crimes for Jon because he loves him.

Winters were terribly cruel to Jon. To begin with, his stick-thin figure stood little chance against the freezing drafts and freezing cold. Clearly, he was built for tropical climates, where the sun was out all year round and there was none of this dreadful London grey winter nonsense.

Then, there was Christmas. Raised in an Indian household, Jon had never grown up celebrating the holiday and after becoming an adult, Christmas season only got evermore annoying. There were all the eardrum-grating Christmas songs at every corner, co-workers who exchanged gifts, expecting something in return, and overly cheery Christian people who talked nonstop about their holiday plans and "Oh! What about you? What plans do you have, Jon?"

If there was anything worse than the horror upon realising Jon didn't celebrate Christmas, it was the end-of-year office parties. Every single office seemed to enjoy torturing their employees by making them spend more time at work under the guise of celebration and bonding. Kinder bosses would let Jon off the hook.

Others, like Elias Bouchard, seemed to look right through Jon and pry apart his excuses. That was how Jon found himself standing crossly in the corner of a function room, surrounded by tinny Christmas music and idle chatter. There were several business partners milling about. Jon had no idea what on earth they were doing at an office Christmas party, but Elias seemed pleased with their presence because, like a hawk, he picked Peter Lukas out from a corner of the room for a chat.

Jon's eyes slid across the room and he let out his nth groan of the night. Tim and Sasha weren't here. Lucky bastards. They must have successfully pulled the wool over Elias' eyes. Why couldn't they have taken him along?

"Come on, Jon," Martin said. "You're already here. You might as well enjoy it, you know? Don't be all grouchy."

That only made Jon's frown deepen. He was grateful for his boyfriend for keeping the socialising element to the minimum by simply being there. However, he really wasn't in the mood for optimism tonight. "I can be as grouchy as I want to," he grumbled.

Martin chuckled. "I have a little something that could turn that frown upside down."

Quirking an eyebrow, Jon hummed inquisitively.

With a small smile, Martin pulled his hand from behind his back and revealed a plate.

Jon's eyes widened.

Upon it sat a couple of cookies, all in different shapes and colours, two of each to be shared. Some were detailed like the deer ones and others were just yellow-icing slathered on top of star-shaped cookies. Nonetheless, the sight of them delighted Jon.

The one saving grace to this abhorrent season would definitely be the Christmas cookies. The treats always lit up the inner child in Jon with their wonderful decorations and sweet flavours.

Grinning like a child at Christmas (hah!), Jon pinched a snowflake-shaped cookie and popped it into his mouth. The sugary icing melted splendidly on his tongue as he chewed the cookie. "You know me too well."

"Of course I do," Martin replied, pressing a light kiss to the top of Jon's head. Then, he lifted the plate closer to Jon, who grabbed another cookie and savoured it slowly. Soon, the plate was empty as Jon cleaned off the last cookie.

"How was it?" Martin asked, though the pride in his voice let slip that he already knew the answer.

"The only decent things tonight." He sighed. "I'm getting more of those pine trees. They're mint chocolate."

"Ooh! Your favourite, huh!" Martin teased.

"Yes, yes. I've bad taste in sweets," Jon said, jabbing a finger at Martin's side and hopping out of reach before his boyfriend could retaliate.

"Terrible!" Martin stage-whispered.

Jon rolled his eyes and made a beeline for the tables of food.

Only to be intercepted by a woman. "Jonathan Sims, yes?" she said.

"Uh…" Jon's eyes darted around nervously. "Yes, I am."

She held out a hand. "Pleasure to meet you. I'm Annabelle Cane."

Elias' instruction of "I expect you to be courteous to my guests, Jon" echoed in his head. He suppressed a sigh at the thought and lied with a sterile smile, "Pleasure to meet you as well." He took the offered hand and gave it a firm shake.

Miss Cane's smile widened further to show a row of perfect pearly whites. "I hope you don't mind talking for a bit."

+++

Two full hours.

That was how long "talking for a bit" lasted because apparently talking to Annabelle Cane had sent some sort signal to the rest of the party that Jon was available for conversation. After speaking to Miss Cane, several more people approached him to talk. By the time whatever Torture God of Socialisation deemed it enough small talk and business talk for the night, it was already close to the end of the party.

A migraine was hammering through Jon's skull and he needed some sugar to beat out the lethargy in his bones. Just as he thought the night couldn't go any worse, when he finally stumbled to the table, he found that it had already been cleared by the caterers.

Naturally, the party's only saving grace was gone as well, leaving Jon with an indescribable emptiness in his chest (and in his belly). He was sulking at the empty table when he felt a tap on his shoulder.

"I thought that those donors were never going to let you go," Martin said, looking around furtively. The function room was mostly empty now with people slowly taking their leave over the course of the night.

Jon groaned. "So did I."

"Want to leave?"

"Yes, please. I'm close to death at this point."

Chuckling, Martin intertwined his fingers with Jon and, together, they left the party. It was already fairly late but there were still a steady stream of people on the trains. It was the weekend right before Christmas after all. It was only towards the end of the ride that the train began to clear.

As Jon sat down on the train seat, he let out an exhausted huff. Christmases were the worst. Far too many niceties were expected from him when he really couldn't be bothered.

Jon tucked his hands under his armpits and buried his nose behind his scarf. It's really too bloody cold.

Softly, Martin chuckled and pressed his body closer to Jon. Gently, he took Jon's hands and placed them between his to warm them, eliciting a satisfied sigh from his boyfriend.

"Oh!" Martin exclaimed. "I almost forgot."

Jon was immensely disappointed when Martin's warmth retreated as he rummaged through his bag. As Martin pulled out a large bundle of napkins, Jon cocked his head in befuddlement.

After a furtive look around, making sure they were alone in the carriage, Martin placed the napkin bundle on his lap and gingerly unwrapped it with the tips of his fingers. "Um… Here."

Jon's eyes widened comically and then he burst into peals of laughter.

Cookies. Dozens of cookies. The pine tree ones specifically.

"Martin, did you steal those?"

His boyfriend's face turned a brilliant shade of red. "I– I just… It's not stealing if we're allowed to eat them!"

"So you thought it alright to just snatch up the entire plate?"

"In my defense, you were still stuck with the donors and they were already clearing the table. I was simply taking the leftovers."

A cat-like grin spread across Jon's face as he hummed teasingly.

Martin's cheeks puffed with indignation. "Fine! Don't eat them then!" he huffed, folding the napkins.

"Hey," Jon said between laughter, "I'm kidding. I'm kidding." He took a cookie from the pile. "Of course I'll eat the cookies you stole for me."

"I didn't steal," Martin muttered.

Jon popped the treat into his mouth and bit down. He leaned appreciatively against Martin's shoulder as the cookie melted in his mouth.

It had gone a little stale but it was just as tenderly sweet as before.

#tma #the magnus archives #jonmartin #magpod #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #fluff #tma fanfic #fanfic #my writing

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