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deathofacupid · 8 months ago

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cool | peter parker

a/n: this concept was so sweet to me, and i had to write something for it. okay, so yeah, this is technically irondad + spiderson... but i wanted to add to it.

repost because this fic flopped with, like, 10 notes. if you look at the og, it says 700ish because of the prev notes of what i reblogged. interact with this fic, it's what keeps me going!

summary: you find that a brown haired boy is always at the restraunt you work at, covered with cuts and bruises. you're curious, so what do you do?

warnings: cursing, minor angst (not really tho, mostly fluff)

pairing: fem!reader x post-nwh!peter parker

word count: 1.5k+ words

you're working late, you don't normally. it doesn't hurt though, having a side hustle outside of college. with shit parents, community college is really all you have as an option, so extra money is welcomed.

it's 20 minutes until closing time, and you're the only one left. you've read enough articles and watched enough true crime to be at least a little paranoid. not expecting anyone else, you spray a table, wiping it down with a rag. might as well get started with cleaning, right?

so when you hear the familiar chime of the door, you've got the right to be suprised. looking up, you're greeted by the sight of a boy. he's got soft brown curls, and (you find, once you meet his gaze) matching dark, hazel eyes.

you wave at him and move behind the register. he looks harmless, but don't most men that have bad intentions? not that you think he's going to do anything.

you're just a woman. it's the way of life, this thought spiral.

"hi, what can i get you?" when he's closer, you can see the cut he's got on his cheek. it's dried blood, but still enough to make your eyebrows shoot up. in fact, he's got a bruise too.

under his left eye, and by the yellow-green, you can tell it's fresh. it's not your business to ask, well, it is... but you're only asking about his order. he runs a hand through his hair, obviously trying to tame it.

there's a leaf at the top, tangled in there. you want to take it out.

he sniffs, eying the menu. you've never seen him here before, and you've been working here for a while. now that you're looking at him, his eye looks swollen - like someone socked him. "a- a cheese-"

you're not sure where the sudden courage comes from, but you cut him off; "do you want an ice pack? or, uh, maybe frozen peas?"

he looks startled for a second, as if he were just now knocked out og this long train of thought. he pauses to touch his eye, "um," you can tell he doesn't want to trouble you, but you're intrigued now.

"seriously, it's no problem." (on the account you have frozen peas, then it would be no problem. if you didn't... a pack of cold, raw meat-?)

"sure, yeah."

"cool. er- stay right there." you go to the freezer room, rummaging around for frozen peas. it takes you a minute, and you're afraid there are none for a moment, but there are. triumphantly, you bring them back out.

he's standing in the same place, although you're not sure why he would've left. "peas!" you sing-song. handing them to him, you smile.

he throws one back, though it's forced and kind of hollow. you're afraid you've made him uncomfortable, or that you're too much. are you too much?

he squints at your nametag, "thanks, uh, gertrude?"

you're confused for a second, "oh, she's dead."

"i- sorry?" he tilts his head, now he's confused too.

"no, i mean, this isn't my nametag. it's old. like, super old. manager's dead wife. this place is too cheap to get new ones, so we, like, basically catfish people."

he nods, "okay. what's is it then?"

"huh?"

"your name."

you mentally smack your forehead, of course that's what he was asking. "y/n."

"cool. i'm peter. peter parker."

"nice to meet you peter peter parker," it's your attempt at a joke, paired with a lopsided grin. it makes peter smile though, so you consider it a win.

peter presses the pack to his eye, a wince turning into a sigh. oddly enough, it sounds sexual to you, and your face is heating up. what's wrong with you? seriously?

"okay, well, um, i assume you still wanna order something?"

"yeah. maybe just a cheeseburger and fries?"

"you got it," it's closing time, but you don't mind. peter is cute, and he seems nice as well. you're more than happy to stay around longer. "on the house," you say when he tries to offer you money, "seems like you had a rough night."

"no, i-"

"no sweat, parker."

you ring up his order, get it ready, and by the time you're done, he's settled at a table. "here you go. enjoy!"

you go back to sweeping, but you want to talk to him more. "you live around here? i haven't seen you here before."

"uh... not exactly. i don't come here often. i, um," he presses his lips together, "had a friend that brought me here. once or twice."

you frown, "oh, i'm sorry."

"what?" peter looks up from his meal.

"i just- well, you used past tense so i assumed you don't... aren't in touch anymore?" maybe small talk was a bad idea.

"oh. yeah. i guess. he's not really... around. he passed a little while back."

it's like your heart physically aches. "that's sad to hear."

"yeah. 's okay though, getting by fine. or- or better."

"mhm. it gets better. lost my sister a few a years back."

"really? i'm sorry." they're empty words, you've probably heard them a lot, he knows that. you know he knows that.

"thanks."

"yeah," it's quiet for a little while longer.

"so, uh," he pauses, taking a sip of his water, "are you still in school?"

"college," you pause, slightly embarrassed, "community, i mean."

"oh. cool. i'm at midtown. it's not, like, super fancy or whatever..."

you cut him off, shrugging, "better than community. and isn't it like so stupid, how they basically tell you that college is a must, and then have you pay all this money? 'oh, you need it for a good future!'" you mock, "aw, really? then make it free!"

you freeze, realizing you've gone on a tangent. "sorry," you say, flushing.

"no, it's okay," he laughs. "it's cool you're... passionate."

"thanks," you put the broom away. "um, i have to go take out the trash. would you mind... not stealing anything?"

"i'll try," he jokes.

"cool. i believe in your ability of self-restraint."

"cool," he says, matching your tone.

"cool."

"okay, that got weird after the, like, second time," you make a face.

"no, yeah, i agree."

"cool," you say, staring at each other in dead silence, before bursting into laughter. you hold up the trashbag, "yeah, so, one sec."

you push open the back door, tossing the bag in the dumpster.

he's so nice, you think. look at you, falling for a basically stranger. you walk back in, closing the door behind you. you notice he's done, so you throw out his things, cleaning down the table.

"hey, uh, when do you close?" peter asks.

you check the clock, "mm... 15 minutes ago."

"holy shit, really?"

"yeah. it's cool though. i was closing anyway, and the company didn't hurt. also... it looked like you needed this."

he looks down at his shoes, smiling, "yeah, no, i did. thanks. and sorry."

"like i said, it's cool."

"cool," you stop, "are you in a cult?" you blurt.

"um, sorry?"

"sorry, like, i just, you look... beat up. and i was wondering if you were in a gang... or something." you squint at the dried blood on his knuckles.

"uh... i am not."

"then how'd you get those?"

he looks conflicted, and you've probably crossed a line. "oh my god, i'm so sorry. obviously, it's not my business. i was just... curious."

you wipe down your last table, cursing yourself internally.

"no, it's cool. i'm..."

"seriously, it's not my business. don't tell me, actually. plausible deniability," you joke.

he says something, and it's so quiet, you don't hear it. "what?" you ask.

"i'm spider-man!"

"uh. what?"

"you don't know spider-man?"

"no, of course i know spider-man!"

"well, yeah. that's me. suprise." he says, doing a small show of jazz-hands.

"there's legit no way. i know i catfished you earlier, but that was on accident!"

he tilts his head, as if he's weighing his options. in reponse, you narrow your eyes at him, trying to figure out if it's one big joke. after that, it's so quick, you barely notice. something hits your hip, not harshly, and then you're spinning towards peter.

"holy-!" you look down at your side, trying to figure out what it is. you're tucked into peter, and you realize it's... a web. "no. way."

"yes way."

"why'd you tell me? now i can't plausibly deny anything! also, isn't this supposed to be a secret? isn't that the point of the mask? how do you know i won't sell you out?"

"that was a lot."

"i know. but it was very valid."

"i don't know. i just wanted to. you're nice and sweet and pretty-"

"oh, so pretty privilege?"

"no! no, of course not!"

"well, um," you wrap your arms around his neck, "thank you for trusting me. i won't tell anyone."

"cool."

his hands are on your hips, and he's leaning in, but you pull away, smirking.

"no kissing until the second date, i'm afraid."

"we're going on dates?"

"if you don't want me to broadcast to the world, yes."

"well, i would've asked to take you anyways."

you smile at him, enjoying the moment.

"wait, are those cameras?" there's absolute panic in his voice, and you giggle.

"those are fake. it's cardboard to scare people off."

"oh. cool."

"cool."

you end up kissing him anyways.

@whatsupstark@ell0ra-br3kk3r@idli-dosa@susvale@kdbsr-h@littlemsbumblebee @sflame15-blog @twinsunkithies @chocolateshepherddreamclod @one-piece-frvr7

#tom holland #peter parker #spiderman #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #fluff #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #peter parker imagine #angst

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 11 months ago

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Dirty Work 32

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as bullying, familial discord/abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You start a new gig and find one of your clients to be hard to please.

Characters: Loki

Note: Well, this escalated in a way I didn't plan.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Mr. Laufeyson’s voice is a low drone. You can hear his curt tone as he comes through the front door. His slither is met by a booming timbre that makes you jump. Thor speaks loudly, enough for some of his words to thunder through the walls that divide you.

Your ears pulse as you try not to listen. You know you shouldn’t. By Laufeyson’s reaction alone, you know his brother is less than welcome. Thor’s presence brings you little peace yourself as the memory of his creeping touch crawls up your spine.

You sit behind the laptop and try to focus on the screen. If you can distract yourself, it will be over soon enough and Thor will be gone. Maybe then, you can figure out why Mr. Laufeyson has turned to ice.

“...is she?” The two words echo and jar you from your failing battle.

Laufeyson’s response is short and sharp. You fill in the blanks of his deflection; ‘none of your concern’.

“...busy cleaning up your messes, eh?” Thor’s taunting question rolls upwards as footsteps hammer up the stairs, stopped halfway as another pair shuffle after them.

“I did not welcome you in,” Laufeyson is clearer now. You assume they are on the staircase with how their voices waft airily.

“Always the gracious host,” Thor counters.

“Do not lecture me on grace. Say what you’ve come to say and go. I’m busy–”

“Oh, yes, if I had a little maid like that, I’d always be busy as well–”

“Get on with it,” Laufeyson snarls.

Thor laughs heartily, “brother, one day you will see we are more alike than you care to accept. Maybe then you would see that it is the crux of our problems. You might even appreciate our shared tastes–”

“If you’ve only come to ramble, I’m not interested. I’ve spent enough time entertaining you lot–”

“You speak as if we are enemies,” Thor accuses, “you cannot waste time on family.”

“Ah, because kinship has always been sacred in your heart,” Laufeyson scoffs, “you are like a storm, you bluster but only make a mess. Say what you came to say and leave me be. I’ve work to do. Real work.”

“Well, if I am to deliver my message, I think both recipients should receive it, don’t you?”

“Say it,” Laufeyson hisses.

“But it is meant for both of you. The little maid as well–”

You sit up straight and tweak your head. You shouldn’t listen but you’re caught now. You cannot keep from overhearing.

“House manager,” Laufeyson girds, “I’m certain I can efficiently communicate whatever nonsense has drawn you here.”

“And they say I am stubborn,” Thor snorts, “Walpurgisnacht.”

“Walpurgisnacht?” Laufeyson echoes the single word.

“Surely you recall the old ways.”

“Don’t,” Laufeyson warns.

“Mother is having a celebration. Like when we were young. Father’s agreed to it.”

“She didn’t mention.”

“Ah, yes, well, you’ve much going on. She sent me to inquire after the little maid– house manager. She would require help with arranging the festivities.” Thor explains, “oh, and you’re invited too, I suppose.”

“She has her staff, does she not?”

“Frida is too old. She only serves tea and Gertrude’s never been very strong-minded. Mother needs input, not an empty vessel.”

“Charming,” Laufeyson remarks, "well, I will consider it. Next time, tell mother to call.”

“There will be many old faces. Many may even be happy to see you,” Thor goads.

“I wouldn’t expect so,” Laufeyson retorts, “must I ask you to leave anon?”

Another rolling guffaw fills the house. You hear a grunt from Laufeyson and a muted thump. Thor quiets with a sigh, “ah, fine, fine, I shall leave you to your little– house manager. You will tell her I say hello.”

Silence roils through the air. A scuff cuts through the tension and footfalls clamour down the stairs. The front door opens and closes, leaving you to wallow in the dark cloud left behind. Mr. Laufeyson’s long exhale blows up the staircase ahead of him and you listen to his approach.

You look at the door, expecting him to come through any moment. But it isn’t that one he opens. It’s the study door that slams with a terrible force. His growl permeates through and the adjoined door clicks as the lock is flicked into place. You stare at it and frown.

You don’t suppose his mood will thaw any time soon.

✨

Mr. Laufeyson does not emerge for supper. You barely eat anything yourself as anxiety tortures your stomach. You clean up after yourself and retreat upstairs.

You near the study, lingering before the door as you pluck up your courage. You tap softly on the wood. There’s no answer. You didn’t hear him go but maybe you missed it.

“I made dinner, Mr. Laufeyson. I’ve left you a plate in the oven,” you speak through the wood, to the ghost on the other side.

You traipse away in defeat. You’re entirely confused. What did you do so wrong? Even before his brother’s unprompted visit, Mr. Laufeyson was coolly apathetic. Yet that morning, in the shower, he’d been on fire, consuming you like flames.

Maybe you’re not good enough. Maybe you didn’t kiss him just right or make the noises he liked. Oh, but how are you supposed to know what to do?

You sit at the writing desk and tap your fingers on your chin. You squirm in your chair as the scene in the shower replays in your head. You tear it apart, trying to pick out the exact moment of your offense.

You shift on the seat and the throbbing pressure in your core ripples through you. Just the thought of his touch has you alight. You touch your hot cheeks and flutter your lashes. You shouldn’t be worried about all that, you should be working on that spread sheet.

You glance over at the study door. The house is stagnant once more. Just like those early days when you made your slow progress with a broom and mop. Something’s gone terribly wrong. Maybe… you should just leave.

You put your fingers mindlessly to the touch pad of the computer. You swirl around the cursor mindlessly. You blow out through your lips and sit up, another fraught peek towards the door.

You bring both your hands over the keyboard. No, you shouldn’t.

You need to figure this out. You need to know what you did, or didn’t do. You can be what he wants you to be, you have to. You have nothing else.

You type, then backspace, then type again. After several times, you hit search. You click through to a site with a black background and gasp at the obscene ads that fill the margins.

You bite down as you try to focus past the small thumbnails. You key into the search bar ‘shower’. You hover your finger over the enter key before you will yourself to hit it.

The search results are just as chaotic. You don’t know what you’re looking for. ‘Best Shower Scenes STEAMY’. Your insides tickle and you squeeze your thighs together. Invisible flames lick at you and cluster in your chest.

You mute the computer as the video loads. The house is so quiet that you’re aware of every creak and crack. You fidget as you sit through the ad of a woman giggling over a URL for meet-ups. You press your hands to your thigh, sitting forward so your weight rests on your pelvis, dampening the tingly heat.

The video begins. A woman with caramel coloured hair and a curvy body. You admire her figure and peer down at your own. Maybe that’s it, maybe you’re not hot enough? You remember how Mr. Laufeyson touched you all over, almost as if he was examining you. Did you disappoint?

You flick your eyes back up as a man enters and they step into the shower booth. You chew your lip as you fixate on his large dick. He’s very big but you think Mr. Laufeyson is too. You’re not sure. This isn’t helping, you still don’t understand anything.

They kiss and fondle each other. You lean forward, watching with a stitch between your brows. The woman drags her hands down the man’s body and gets to your knees. She pumps him with her hand and licks his tip, dragging her tongue down his length. He grabs her head and forces himself into her mouth.

She takes him greedily. Oh. That could be it. Last night, you were so afraid, and you got all teary, and you didn’t know what you were doing.

You watch her as she touches his sack, squeezing then works her hand in tandem with her mouth on his dick. You put your hand to the side of your neck and hold your breath. You wiggle on the chair, the friction making your own arousal more obvious.

Finally, the woman stands, the man lifting her by her hair. He spins her and bends her forward. She braces the wall and as he slaps her ass several times before gripping her hip. He’s so rough. You don’t know if you could handle that.

He slides into her and your mouth falls open. Her thighs quake and your own give a tremble. Your walls clench as the pressure knots in you. The thought of doing that with Mr. Laufeyson both frightens you and excites you.

You twiddle your fingers and blink at the screen. The furrow in your forehead deepens as you lean forward. You put your fingers along the touchpad but don’t press them down.

“Ahem,” Mr. Laufeyson startles you as he clears his throat.

You sit up and quickly hit the X in the corner. Your throat closes as you struggle to breathe, caught but not entirely. He stands in the doorway between the study and library. From that angle, he can’t see what’s on your screen.

“You are working hard,” he muses as he strides in with crossed arms.

“Yes, sir,” you answer breathily. You stare him in the face, too afraid to look anywhere else as your mind dares to imagine the shower again, both of you naked, this time, you’re bent over and he’s behind you. “Um, did you get your dinner?”

You close the laptop as you stand. You wince as the fabric of your panties clings to your wet cunt. You feel like he can see right through you.

“I’m not hungry,” he stops on the other side of the desk.

“Okay,” you swallow and your eyes flit side to side.

“I never told you to come out,” he drops his arms, placing his hand on the desk as he leans over it.

“Pardon?” You blink furiously.

“I said to remain in here until I told you it was safe. If you made my dinner, then you did not obey me.”

“I… Mr. Laufeyson, your brother’s gone–”

“And how could you know for sure if I did not confirm it?” He challenges with a wry tilt in his head. “I’ve been patient, pet, but I think you may require a different sort of discipline.”

“Mr. Laufeyson?” You babble, “I’m sorry–”

“Your apologies grow tiresome,” he huffs and stands straight. “Come here,” he points between him and the desk.

You put your head down and swiftly walk around the desk. He swirls his finger in the air and you turn your back to him. He backs away and rounds to the side of the desk.

“Hands down,” he nods to the desktop.

You press your palms flat, bent slightly at the waist. He considers you and strokes his chin with a hum. He circles the desk and you in a single, patient lap.

“Stay as you are.”

“Yes, Mr. Laufeyson,” you utter.

“Ah, no talking,” he warns, “remember your rules, pet.”

You gulp as he turns and struts away. Is it okay again? You can’t tell. He’s still rigid and painfully formal. He hasn’t touched you, he seems to be avoiding getting close. You stare at the wood beneath your hands and shiver.

You hear him in his study. You glance over as he appears in the door frame, his hands hidden behind him. He tuts. “Head forward.”

You look ahead and focus on the wall. He nears, his shadow skewed in the lamplight. He stands behind you, a foot away and he hums. He clucks and strolls around the desk to face you.

He pulls his hands from behind his back, revealing a thick leather strap. The brown leather is faded and cracked. Your eyes round as you stare at it and he brings it taught between his hands.

“Flogging is historically a long held practice. For the monk in his self-flagellation, for the heathen in his cell, and… for the woman in her disobedience,” he explains as his lips curl. “Spare the rod, spoil the child…” He takes a breath, “and you, pet, are growing spoiled.”

Your lips part but you don’t speak. You must follow the rules. This is the test. If you fail this, then it’s over. If you fail, you have nothing.

He walks along the desk and rounds the corner, brushing by as he purrs, “remember your rules. Not a sound.”

He comes up behind you and you hold your breath. He tugs at the back of your skirt and shudders. He pulls the fabric above your ass, his hand trailing along the back of your panties. He hooks his finger in the elastic and tears them down to your thighs. You quiver and clench your jaw tight, fighting back a squeak.

He stretches the leather across your ass. It’s cool and smooth. You twitch as bumps rise across your skin. He pulls back and you lower your head. You wait. Nothing.

You cautiously raise your chin and look back. He snaps the whip across your ass as you do and you spasm with the hot flash of pain. He points to the wall in a wordless demand. Eye forward. You turn your attention back to the grey blue paint as your eyes glisten. He strikes you again, the agony scalding across the swell of your ass.

Your thighs shake as he pulls back again. You await a third but it never comes. You don’t dare move. He paces behind you. You watch his shadow cast before you and he moves abruptly forward. You bite your tongue as he lashes you again. Harder as he lets out a thick grunt.

Your hands slip and you fall forward. You plant your palms more firmly as you push yourself straight. A fourth comes and sends tendrils down to your toes. You hiss through your teeth, quaking, fighting not to collapse.

You deserve this. Whatever you’ve done, you’ve earned this.

A fifth and your knees knock together. You barely keep afoot as the sixth lands with extra bite. Seven, eight, nine… He lashes you in quick succession, as if he cannot stop himself. The tenth has you heaving, about to vomit with the pain.

He stops himself, his shadow holding up the stap. He lowers it and steps back. He sighs and turns away.

“Tomorrow you will pack for our departure,” he declares, “we leave on Friday.”

We? So you are to go with him. You don’t dare ask or say a single word. You stay as you are, shaking as you roll your eyes back against the flood.

“You will be on your best behaviour,” he warns as he nears the study door, “I trust this lesson will not be forgotten.”

He passes into the study and the door closes harshly. Your legs fold and collapse beneath you. You land in a heap, holding yourself off your ass as you whimper. You won’t ever forget.

#loki #dark loki #dark!loki #loki x reader #dark fic #fic #dark!fic #series #au #maid au #dirty work #mcu #marvel #avengers #thor

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thermodynamic-comedian · 9 months ago

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thinking about adelard dekker's first statement again. "my dearest friend gertrude, hiii lol guess what. i thought i found proof of that theory i had. turns out it was just some end avatar LOSER. also i acquired his address through less than legal means. also he kills people when they're asleep so watch out for that i guess. shouldn't be a problem though, i literally stirred his brain like a good soup. anyways that's all. byee. yours truly, dekker."

adelard dekker, what a guy.

#come closer i am a normal appreciator of adelard dekker (i am so insane about him)#tma #the magnus archives #adelard dekker #gertrude robinson #tma spoilers #tma shitpost

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shenanigans-and-imagines · 1 year ago

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I need to know about the muppets Rosencrantz and Guilderstern are dead!!!

Okay, so, the big problem is doing a film adaptation of Rosencrantz and Guilderstern are Dead is that the fourth wall breaks simply work better on stage than they do on film. Much of the play happens on what we would consider “off stage” with Rosencrantz and Guilderstern filling up time waiting for their cue.

Now don’t get me wrong, I’ve got a soft spot for the film adaptation, but it’s clear that Tom Stoppard is a better writer than he is film director. Everything is staged rather stiffly and there is a neglect of certain film language he could be utilizing to replicate the meta aspects of the stage production. Now what company of players have made jumping rope with the fourth wall an art form? Enter, The Muppets.

Now the big thing that gonna make this work is treat it as if the Muppets are doing their own version of Hamlet and cast accordingly. Miss Piggy as Gertrude, Fozzie is Polonius, big celebrity as Hamlet and most importantly Gonzo as Rosencrantz and Rizzo and Guilderstern.

Have them clearly on set and shot exactly how like it would shot in the play for their scenes (including Muppet appropriate jokes), but when they’re “off screen” switch to an almost candid camera and have them switch almost entirely to Stoppard’s words with minimal to no Muppet gags to emphasize that this is them when the cameras aren’t rolling.

And here’s the big kicker, cast Frank Oz as The Player and the rest of the Tragedians as the actual puppeteers. Full faces, everything.

Are you starting to see it? All of these actors playing roles within roles, stuck in a loop and trying to find some meaning in all of it. Examining the Muppets themselves as both the characters they are and the people we so often think of them as truly being.

And, most important of all, Gonzo the Great performing the “In a Box” speech.

TLDR: The Muppets are the only troop I trust to make an interesting and loyal Rosencrantz and Guilderstern Are Dead adaptation.

#the muppets #rosencrantz and guildenstern are dead #tom stoppard #frank oz #jim henson

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vantablackdraws · 1 month ago

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Delilah probably? Goes to school? (Maybe she does? she has homework) so I keep thinking about her getting into like, a school play or something. They're doing hamlet, she gets the role of Claudius (Anji thinks she should've gotten Hamlet), they're going over her lines together at home and Baiken is occasionally tuning in to bits and pieces like a dad who pretends to not be interested in whatever you're watching but is still invested anyway.

Baiken: This Hamlet guy's a real piece o' work. What's his problem?

Delilah: Well he thinks his uncle murdered his father and now he's the king

Anji: And he also married Gertrude pretty quickly, so Claudius is also is his stepdad.

Baiken: You know what that makes sense.

#I have no idea if Hamlet would even exist in Guilty Gear #Or if they'd even go over that at her school or grade level #I'm just goin with hamlet since I remember doing that in high school and it was kinda fun #Baiken keeps asking them what's happening because Shakespeare wording is hard to disect sometimes and she's not a theatre nerd like Anji #they're both very delighted to tell her what happens and get into the nitty gritty of it #maybe she just does it so she can see them bonding over something together hmmmmmmm

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written-in-the-clouds · 7 months ago

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Can I request platonic Jonathan Sims x reader who is Gertrude's grandchild? The reader is essentially working as a spy and knows that Elias is bad but dosen't say anything to not blow their cover. Gertrude has had the reader working in the archives as one of Jon's assistants, Gertrude had off handedly mentioned she had a grandchild but no one ever knew who it was, but then Jon end up finding out.

Done! Hope you enjoy! <3

╭── ⋅ ──────── ✩ ────────── ⋅ ──╮

“Hey, [Name]? Can we talk for a minute?”

“Of course,” you agreed, following Jon into his office. “What is it?”

Jon sat down at his desk and pressed play on a tape recorder. The voice that came out of it was unfortunately familiar.

“Next week, my grandchild is returning from their research trip… if all goes well, they will have some interesting results. I do hope they will stay and help my successor, whoever they may be. They—” Gertrude cut herself off, and you could hear her stand up. Jon clicked the tape off.

“Okay,” you said cautiously, “so should I look for them? Do you have anything else to go off of?” If he sent you to investigate yourself, you were fairly confident in your ability to keep the appearance of a wild goose chase.

“No,” Jon replied. “I already know who they are.”

He pushed a printed-out photo across his desk, and you winced once you saw it. A social media profile of you, from a few years ago, but still clearly yours. [Name] Robinson. You force a smile. “Come on, Jon, that seems a bit stalker-ish. I haven’t used that account for years.” His paranoia is starting to concern you. Though he was right in this case, he would have had to dig for this profile. You should have deleted it, really, but it was too late for that now. You were also fairly sure that Martin had mentioned Jon had actually stalked Tim to his home. Depending on how he accuses you, you should—

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he demanded. “You know what’s going on here, don’t you?”

You hesitated for a moment, then reprimand yourself. Wait too long, and he’ll get more suspicious. “I’m not here to help you. I have another job.” A bit harsh, maybe, but that’s how you were raised. You may be friendly with Jon, but the job takes priority. Gertrude told you to watch Elias when she was gone, and while Elias may know that’s what you’re doing, he hadn’t fired you yet. Keeping an eye on an Eye.

And, really, if you were fired, all the better.

Jon looked upset. “I know our introduction wasn’t the best, maybe, but I thought we were friends. I want— need to know what’s going on. If you know anything about Gertrude’s murder—”

“Ah, that’s what this is about,” you interrupted, rising from your seat. “Your paranoia of being assassinated. Honestly, Jon, your stalking of your employees isn’t doing you any favours. Well, I suppose it makes you a better candidate for him. You don’t have to worry about being killed when you keep pulling this.”

You knew Elias had killed Gertrude. You knew that the more Jon attached himself to the Eye, the more he continued to dutifully work for Elias, the more useful he was. You should have interfered earlier. Maybe this would be a wake-up call for him.

—

It only takes a week of you and Jon awkwardly avoiding each other for Martin to start preparing tea and Tim asking what happened this time. Somehow, you both end up in the break room alone. You give it about an sixty-five percent chance that this was planned, and a seventy-eight percent chance that Tim is eavesdropping.

You broke the silence first. “I apologize for blowing up like that,” you started, “but your paranoia is becoming a problem for all of us.”

“I hardly think finding an old social media profile indicates paranoia.”

“Sure, but you stalking Tim home is.”

Jon paused for a moment, then said, “I suppose that is true.” He sighed. “You are right, I suppose. Though, what ‘job’ were you talking about?”

You shrugged. “Can’t tell you that one. Call it a side gig.” It’s one thing for Elias to know what you’re doing and turning a blind eye, and another to admit it outright.

“Alright.” Jon sighed. “I apologize for… sneaking around.” He raised his voice slightly: “To you eavesdroppers as well.”

Tim slammed open the door and strode in. “Excellent, now we can go back to dealing with our regular spooky bullshit.” Martin followed in behind him, and Sasha not long after that.

Speaking of Sasha. Something is off about her. You can feel it, a vague sense of something wrong. You haven’t been able to confront her yet. Maybe that’ll be next on your list.

“You know,” you say, “now that you all know I’m Gertrude’s grandchild… There are some things I should explain to you all.”

They would be more successful if they knew what the Fears were, too.

╰── ⋅ ──────── ✩ ────────── ⋅ ──╯

#✒️ -- cloudy writing #the magnus archives x reader #platonic reader #tma x reader #platonic tma x reader

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magnuspanoptes · 10 days ago

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Came across your blog and fell in love with your takes on arguably the most important dynamic in tma (like it made me miss them and actually start a relisten after like never finding the energy to after the finale years back). Do you happen to write any fics or have any fic recs?

RAHHH thank you!! this is exactly what i'm hoping to achieve every time i post yet another one of my delusional comparatives 🙂‍↕��

and i don't write fics but i do have recs!

I'd suffer all if you'd tell me, by RavenXavier is definitive S4 silence of the lambs / red dragon prison visit fic. to me.

Death Be Not Proud, by Startless - is another prison visit fic, but it's an AU where jon chose to die in his coma and woke up as an avatar of the end.

Pinned in vain desire, by statuscrows is about jon slowly developing compulsion which causes problems for elias :) they probably write the most in-character elias. he's not nice, but he's fond of jon. i recommend, like, every single one of their je fics. nobody writes beholding powers quite like them, almost every fic is based around an aspect of the beholding. Skeptic is an AU where jon finds gertrude's tape on the first day of the job. statuscrows always writes jon with his early seasons abrasiveness and mean streak intact, which is really all i want from jon's characterisation. i don't want nice jon, take that awayyy; Ritual misery is set immediately after 160 and is doing more interesting things with the web than all of S5 put together; From his prospect high - jonathan sims learns to See; Quenched in darkness you shall see - this is noncon and dead dove. read the tags! reccing this because ritual voyeurism to please the beholding is a real and true concept.

Perchance to Dream, by parva_dae and once upon a dream, by indelibleangel - are dream fics, inspired by MAG 120. first one is a snippet of elias poking around in jon's head and worsening his fear and paranoia. he would do that ^_^ and in the second one they talk. and kiss.

and lilies, by kototyph - i read two chapters while it was still ongoing but it's finished now and i haven't gotten around to it yet, but from what i remember this had, like, revolutionary elias characterisation. he's a disaster. a very well put together, beautiful disaster.

also these two one shots they wrote for jonelias week which i liked very much :3

something different crosses the threshold, by aguntoaknifefight - amnesia. classic.

a heavenly madness, by roundthedecay - this is one of the very few, proper gothic fics with these two. there's a cursed oil painting. jon's having his life ruined by said cursed painting. and jonah/elias gets a proper gothic villain treatment.

Worn to Shadows, by Ash_Rabbit, which somewhat satisfies my bluebeard itch, but it's an AU with no institute.

everything Candentia has ever written, basically. they write entity horror really well, and i think almost every one of their je fics are squarely in the horror genre, which i appreciate very much. i'm here for the horror. and you have to check out Beholding's Own if only for the jonah chapters. it doesn't have that older mentor shaping the younger in their own image dynamic because this an AU in which they're childhood friends. but it's so good. it's so good!! the georgian jonah chapters are exquisite. the tone, voice, word choice, atmosphere, general everything. also, some serious wuthering heights stuff happening between these two. like, they get it. they get it! they've also written a bluebeard (and cupid & psyche) adjacent fic - darkly, which is a fairy tale au. and Where Hope and Reason Part is tagged dead dove for the detailed descriptions of eye gore. which is my thing. we need more of that.

Professional Distance - takes place during the birthday tape, has an excellent elias voice. he's evil. and enamoured by jon. and evil.

a glass essay, by fairbanks is jonpeter and only tangentially lonelyeyes and jonelias, but it's one of the most gorgeously written fics i've had the pleasure of reading. excellent isolation narrative and has symbolism which pays off in an unexpectedly perfect way. and as a guy who does not care about peter lukas or any ships involving him in the slightest. well. this got to me.

Scenes from an Epicenter, by NeverwinterThistle which is set during S3 and the first je fic i recall reading. the bit where elias takes jon home after distortion helen drops him in his office is canon to me <3

Dark Square Bishop, by Blissymbolics, exactly what it says on the tin. homoerotic chess match at the end of the world.

#jonelias #fic rec #asks

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magpod-confessions · 5 months ago

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Alright, I'll say it. And I mean this as someone who really loves TMA (just started it last month, and nearly finished it, so if anything changes in the last season then, great!) but...

The show has a really bad problem with its female characters. Whyyyy are nearly all of the female characters horrible people?

Even oftentimes the one off characters in statements tend to be written more favorably if they're male. Nearly all moms in the show are some manner of neglectful or cruel (whereas fathers are usually seen as kind and/ or dead with fond memories attached) , ALL of the main female cast past season 1 are extremely hostile for no reason, and just. They really feel like they act in ways people in their position shouldn't or wouldn't just to have them be purposely unlikeable. Like, what do you MEAN you're ok with violent murder to satisfy urges foisted upon someone by an all powerful entity, but draw the line at nightmares that seem like they can be managed after a point?? What do you MEAN you think Jon is working against you intentionally but also mock him for getting kidnapped and tortured?? Why are the staff written as bullies that never get told they're being harsh except by Martin (a male!!!) .

None of this makes sense! The writing for the female characters is inconsistent and seems - oftentimes - hinged on whatever would piss the viewer off the most at the time. With so little logic or reasoning.

The only female characters that aren't written as horrible or excessively annoying people (or dead by the time we even HEAR about them), are like. Sasha. In season 1. Who was killed. And Helen, who unfortunately was forced to be Michael's following act, and therefore always going to be in his shadow. awesome.

Daisy does, admittedly, get a lot better and more complex as a character in season 4. But everyone else's personality seems to be "hate Jon and also herself". Don't even get me started on Basira and how she treats everyone post season 1.

Gertrude is callous and morally grey. I actually think that's awesome, but it's unfortunately symptomatic of a bigger problem when you notice how many female characters do extremely callous and/ or abusive things like she did (without having the 'badass, cunning old woman fighting against all odds' thing going for them). Except Sasha. Who died. Maybe Agnes? From the Desolation? Ah, but she had feelings, and therefore died. Right, sorry.

Does this not rub anyone else the wrong way?

#georgie is nice lol #magpod #tma #the magnus archives #magpod confession

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ziploc849 · 1 month ago

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Alright I’m back on my TMA bullshit welcome to the circus. This is a long with many episodes worth of thoughts so strap in

62. Holy FUCK. Mary fucking Keay is here and she’s killing people and putting their skin in a book to. Summon them again??? I have truly no understanding of the implications of this but what the hell man. Also Gertrude is either fucking crazy or knew waaaay more than we do (or both. Both is a solid option at this point) cuz she took everything very well. Also when asked who the book was from, Keay just said “The End”??? Like fucking Minecraft???? Idk what the hell this lady is talking about.

(Also I feel like I recognize the idea of a “The *blank*” in this series. I can’t remember if we’ve seen it before or if I’ve just collected some knowledge after being on the outskirts of the fandom for so long but. Whatever it is it’s fucked and I’m intrigued)

63 What is up with this fucking architect guy what is his deal???? Why does he keep building fucked up places where fucked up things happen??? Also weird that the people in the church seem to know/want to cover up something is odd. Also also the end with Melanie King coming back was an interesting lil thing, of all the characters I expected to be recurring I was not expecting her. Don’t like that she got saddled with Not-Sasha though, hopefully it’s nothing or there are at least other witnesses to her leaving cause otherwise she might not be as recurring anymore. Idk what Not-Sasha’s deal is but I Do Not like it

64. ARCHAEOLOGY MENTION FUCK YEAH. I could honestly go on a whole rant about just how much I dislike Gwynne based on her ideals when it comes to archaeology, as someone who wants to be in the field myself, but I digress. I am curious about the fact that this is someone clearly long dead who still was conscious in some capacity? Clearly they didn’t want to continue as they were. It sounds sort of similar to something one of the officers mentioned in an episode they were giving statements (can’t remember which). One of them mentioned being called to a scene where someone who seemed like they should’ve been dead from a suicide attempt kept trying to reach for the gun. The moment where the skeleton was trying to stab themself in the chest gave me a very similar vibe in the worst possible way.

65. I am following maybe 3 of the words this woman is saying in the first 7 or so minutes. But also the stuff she mentions with the man eating the computer is so unbelievably unsettling, and the stuff he was saying is fascinating. “The maze is sharp on my mind. The angles cut me when I try to think” especially reminds me of all the variations of endless mazes or places we’ve seen in the show so far. Jon reaching out to specifically tech savvy people is also super smart, and it’s sick that he has access to Gertrude’s laptop now. Tim and Jon fighting felt like listening to parents fighting. Im glad Jon is both getting a stern talking to and Tim is getting some sort of understanding of where Jon’s coming from. The fact that they both mention they can’t quit/can’t fire the other is interesting especially. I know stuff like that has been mentioned before, I’m pretty sure after the first encounter with the worms Martin mentioned something about “why don’t I quit?” But regardless it’s just another weird fuckin thing going on

66. Mikael fucking Salesa, what is your problem. I honestly don’t have a lot to say about this episode, definitely another example of weird extradimensional spaces, and some mentions of the weird, unexplainable heat, but also the way he mentioned the box “punishing him” as if it was a living thing was interesting. I also have a lot of thoughts on the stuff mentioned about Gertrude, and I’m really fascinated by all the stuff Jon mentioned about stopping asking about who killed her and focusing more on the why. As we’ve actually gotten to hear some of her recordings, esp the one with Mary Keay where she’s incredibly nonchalant about the murder and skin book, I think it’s an interesting idea that she may have been more suspicious that we thought.

Finally I think her lil shopping list was interesting, but honestly it’s the more mundane stuff rather than the Leitners that interest me, but I’ll probably make a seperate post about that cause it kinda rolls into a theory I’ve been sitting on for a little bit now

#magnus archives #the magnus archives #tma first listen #tma podcast #jonathan sims

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blasphemous-lies-and-deceit · 6 months ago

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"let me feel your forehead" ? (i think reading this prompt from you would fix me)

I hope this makes you feel better ::hugs::

It started as a sore throat.

Gerry didn't even consciously notice it at first, just drank more water to soothe what he thought was just a dry tickle. He had more important things to worry about, like the possible Leitner Gertrude had tasked him to find, and what he was supposed to do with his life, and whether Michael was the type of guy who would like fancy dinners or casual outings. The ache in his throat grew and grew until it finally caught his attention, and he cursed living in a city with so many people pressed together. Who knew where he had picked up whatever sickness he had come down with?

The cough came next. It was dry, sparking heat in his chest and making him painfully aware of the ache in his throat every time a cough burst loose. It hurt like a motherfucker, and yet he couldn't stop coughing, because that was the only thing that brought relief to the tight pressure in his lungs. He didn't have the buildup of gunk in his nasal passages yet, which was a small relief, since that meant he could still breathe, but Gerry could feel his thoughts slowing, a tired dullness settling over his body. He was well and truly sick.

There was no time to dwell on it. Gerry knew the right thing to do would be to hole up somewhere and wait it out, but he couldn't give in like that. He couldn't let Gertrude think he was undependable, and Michael…he didn't want Michael to think he couldn't handle a simple cold. Gerry was still trying his best to present his most competent self to him; it was still too early in what could barely be called a relationship to show any other side of him. He couldn't let them see him as weak.

Still, he couldn't hide it for long. The coughs kept building in intensity and grew more frequent. Gerry tried to muffle them in his jacket sleeve, but he could feel Michael's attention being pulled to him every time he did. "Are you okay?" Michael finally asked when Gerry gave in to another coughing fit, glancing over at him worriedly. Gerry shook his head without bothering to look up from the old Web statement he was studying, trying to find some hint about the book's current location.

"I'm fine," he dismissed raspily. "It's just dusty down here."

"Doesn't dust make you sneeze, not cough?" Michael pointed out. Gerry involuntarily sucked in a breath when he realized his mistake, which triggered another coughing fit. Fuck.

"My throat's dry. It's fine," he said when that was done, a bit more firmly, which just hurt more. There was another tickle he longed to cough out, but that would be too much, so soon after the last coughing fit and under such scrutiny. Michael looked like he wanted to press the issue further, but Gertrude chose that moment to call him and Carpenter into her office, leaving him alone with Harvey. He had no problem coughing his lungs out in front of her.

Gerry almost felt like making himself scarce, instead of sitting around miserably for Michael to be done with his day. It wasn't like Michael would invite him over when he was sick. It wasn't like he'd want to spend any time with him when he was so miserable to be around. But he really didn't want to go back to Pinhole. He was almost certain that place would make him feel worse, between the stale air and oppressive atmosphere. But…that left him with nowhere else to go‒ a feeling he was unfortunately very used to. He didn't know where to go or what to do, and the lack of choice left him sitting paralyzed and even more miserable.

To his relief, both Carpenter and Harvey left the Archives with Gertrude when she left her office. Michael lingered, awkwardly hovering over Gerry's desk and looking worried and uncertain. "Can you let me feel your forehead?" he asked hesitantly.

Gerry sighed, leaning back in his seat. "Sure," he agreed, simply because there was no reason why he shouldn't. He already knew he had a fever. Michael pressed the back of his hand to his forehead, his frown growing more worried.

"Hmm. You do feel warm." He turned his hand to brush his hair back and then, to Gerry's surprise, leaned in and pressed their foreheads together. "I think you do have a fever," he noted, breath brushing across Gerry's face.

"Yeah," Gerry weakly agreed. Michael was so close, he could kiss him if he wasn't so sick. It was still so tempting, just like how every inch and every piece of Michael called to him and drew him in. Irresistible. "I should probably go home and‒"

"You can come back to mine," Michael offered immediately, pulling back to look down at him intently. "I mean, you don't have to if you don't want to, I completely understand if you want to recover in your own space, if you want to do that it's…fine. But…" he bit his lip, fingers fidgeting nervously. "I'd really like…I'd like it if you were with me. So I could take care of you. If you wanted."

Something deep in Gerry's chest cracked painfully. "Are you sure?" he asked hoarsely, barely able to breathe past the unexpected flood of emotion. "If I'm…if I'm sick, I won't be good company. I don't want to make things difficult for you‒"

"I want you to," Michael insisted again, hands twitching forward like he wanted to take hold of his shoulders. "Gerry, I really…I know it probably won't be a good time, but I want to look after you. Really." His eyes were huge, open and honest, and Gerry was no more able to resist them than he'd ever been. If Michael said it, it had to be true. And he meant it.

"Yeah, okay," he agreed, watching Michael's face light up with excitement before he became serious again.

"I'll have to pick up some supplies," Michael realized, wavering in place like he wanted to dash off and do just that. "Medicine, nasal spray, cough drops, maybe some methanol cream. It'll help, I promise. I'm gonna take such good care of you, Gerry."

"I'm sure you will," Gerry agreed, an impossible smile pulling at his lips. Somehow, even though he still felt miserable, he was feeling…hopeful, maybe? Or at least no longer dreading what was to come. He was going to be sick, but Michael would be there. Michael would be taking care of him. Michael would be doing everything he could to make him feel better. That had…he'd never had that before.

Michael smiled at him, reaching out to brush his hair back from his forehead again. His hand lingered, soothing and cool. Already providing the comfort he promised. Whatever had cracked in Gerry's chest was burning, filling him up with warmth and feelings he couldn't dare say out loud, not yet. But there were there, so intense, like nothing he'd ever known before. And maybe, if Michael's promises and words were true, he wasn't alone in what he felt. And maybe, just maybe, he could tell Michael soon.

#gerrymichael #the magnus archives #tma fic #gerry keay #michael shelley #rebelwriting #if you care about the timeline of my series this takes place relatively early in it #doorkeay

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