#georgie is fine! but i would say Very Unhappy

[queerpyracy]

good afternoon everyone, i just found out what happens when one of the chickens finds out about the electric fence

[bluejayblueskies]

an ill-fitting definition

rating: M words: 4.3k relationships: jongeorgie, jontim, jonmartin, background wtgfs additional tags: canon compliant, pre-canon, scottish safehouse period, canon asexual character, fluff, kissing, implied sexual content, rumors and misconceptions

written for weeks two/three of @archivalpride for the prompts identity and doubt!

cw for misconceptions about asexuality, assumptions made about somebody’s sexuality, rumors and outing somebody without their knowledge, non-explicit/implied sexual content, mention of canonical character death, mention of canonical stalking and paranoia, gossip (including of the sexual nature), food, very mild blood, mild internalized acephobia

ao3 link in source

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It’s three weeks and two days after they began dating, when Georgie picks up Jon’s hand where it’s clasped in hers and asks with plain curiosity in her voice, so does the ring, y’know, mean anything?, that Georgie hears the word asexual cross Jon’s lips for the first time.

It’s not a word she’s unfamiliar with; she’s run in enough LGBTQ spaces in her time in uni that she has a good idea of the breadth of identities that are out there. She rubs her thumb across Jon’s ring and thinks, in the voice of the gender and equality training instructor with sharp red heels and a “fun” black dress who’d stood in front of the seminar she’d been mandated to take for one of her courses:

Asexuality. A lack of sexual attraction. An aversion or repulsion to sexual activities.

It had been a small word on a large black-and-white slide, crammed in next to aromanticism and overcrowded by a myriad of other sexual identities discussed at length. It had been… quite a comprehensive training, Georgie thinks as she quits fidgeting with Jon’s ring and instead threads their fingers together. For a moment, she considers asking what he means anyway, but she quickly dismisses the thought. She wants to be supportive, and as Jon looks at her with open, trusting eyes and a faint smile, she decides that she knows enough. She doesn’t want to make it awkward, and with things like these, she’s found that asking Jon to explain his feelings in plain terms can be… well, awkward is certainly a word for it. Best just not to bring it up, she decides.

Still, she feels the need to ask, “Can I kiss you?” because the red no sex sign blinking on and off in her head is frustratingly vague on what, exactly, is contained within that stipulation. When Jon voices his assent, she tips her head up and presses a quick kiss to his chin before kissing him on the lips, wiping the disgruntled look off them.

So yes to kissing, she thinks, tucking that away next to no sex. Yes kissing, no sex. Yes holding hands, she adds as she squeezes Jon’s hand in hers and he smiles at her, warm and soft, that special side of Jon that she only sees on occasion. No pet names, she adds a week later when she tries out sweetheart and Jon’s nose wrinkles with displeasure. No foot rubs, when Jon swats at her and says, between giggles, that he’s awfully ticklish. Yes back rubs. Yes cuddling. No PDA. No touching with wet or sticky hands. Yes brushing hair.

That’s as far as she gets before, one year and two months after she begins dating Jonathan Sims, she stops. After which point she stops keeping track, because, well. There’s really no point anymore, is there?

.

.

.

“I’m sorry,” Jon says, burying his head in his hands.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Tim says quickly, holding his hands in the air in a placating gesture. He scoots a few inches away from Jon on the couch for good measure, unsure just how much space Jon needs right now. “It’s okay. You don’t have to apologize—I should apologize. I should have asked first.”

“It’s just—” Jon makes a frustrated noise, and when he takes his hands away his cheeks are dark and he won’t meet Tim’s eyes. “It’s complicated.”

“It’s okay,” Tim repeats, watching with a twisting feeling in his stomach as Jon apparently notices that the button of his trousers is still undone and quickly goes to redo it. His eyes follow the movements of Jon’s hands automatically, and just as automatically, he notes the distinct lack of a tent in the front of Jon’s trousers. The same… cannot be said for his own. Particularly after nearly twenty minutes of kissing, which Tim had very much enjoyed.

Christ, had Jon been uncomfortable with that as well? All in a rush, Tim says, “Was the kissing bad too?” Then, he winces—fuck, that sounded accusatory—and adds, “It- it’s okay if it was, I just- I didn’t know, and I don’t want to do something that makes you uncomfortable, Jon.”

“No, the- the kissing was fine, it’s just...” Jon makes an aborted motion with his hands, like he’s trying and failing to find the words.

“... complicated?” Tim supplies.

Jon nods mutely.

“That’s okay,” Tim says, and he finds that he means it. “We don’t have to do anything more than kissing if you don’t want to.”

“I- I don’t…” Jon worries his bottom lip between his teeth. He opens and closes his mouth a few times, like he’s searching for the right words, the crease in his forehead deepening every moment he fails to find them. Finally, he lets out a long, labored breath, pinches the bridge of his nose between his fingers, and says, “Yes, that… that might be best.”

Tim studies Jon’s face. It’s pinched and a bit stiff, like Jon would very much like to crawl out of his skin or melt into a puddle and disappear. “You sure?” he feels compelled to ask, placing a hand carefully on Jon’s knee. “You, uh. You seem a bit unsure.”

Jon sits there a moment more, spine straight and rigid, before melting slightly against Tim’s hand, his face slipping into something more relaxed but no less unhappy. “Yes.” He hesitates a moment, then says, a bit stiltedly, “I’m, um. I’m asexual. Since we’re already talking about this, I… I may as well get that out in the open as well.”

Oh. A few pieces slot into place, and Tim says with perhaps a bit more enthusiasm than necessary, “Oh. Why didn’t you tell—?” He cuts himself off and offers Jon a sheepish smile. “Sorry, sorry. That was rude of me. Thank you for telling me.”

“We’re dating,” Jon says bluntly. “It was going to come up eventually.”

“Still.” Tim shrugs, then reaches for Jon’s hand and holds it tightly in his. “Thanks.” He hesitates only a moment before leaning forward and pressing a quick kiss to Jon’s nose. Jon makes a disgruntled noise, which Tim thinks is adorable. Then, because it feels appropriate, he says, “Y’know, Danny… Danny was asexual. Aromantic too, actually. We had a big talk about it a few years ago where he sort of… laid it all out for me.” No sex, no romance, no thank you, had been the overall gist of it. Tim makes a new box for Jon and fills it in with the words no sex, yes romance, it’s complicated.

“Oh,” Jon says quietly, with that same sort of sadness in his eyes that he gets every time Tim mentions Danny, something much gentler than pity and significantly less cloying. If Tim notices the faint discomfort that accompanies it, something that whispers that isn’t my definition of asexuality, we’re not the same, you don’t understand if one were to listen closely enough, he doesn’t let on.

Tim does, however, notice the discomfort in Jon’s eyes—now mixed with anger—when two years, six months, and seven days later, he accuses Tim of murder. But by then, their days of hand-holding and nose-kissing are far, far behind them.

.

.

.

“Maybe he just needs to get laid,” Melanie says with a groan, lying on Georgie’s couch and staring at the ceiling. The Admiral is curled up on her lap, purring contentedly. She scratches absentmindedly under his chin.

“What, Jon?” Georgie appears in Melanie’s field of vision, wielding a damp wooden spoon and frowning.

“No. No.” Melanie shakes her head emphatically. “Martin. He’s been all… sulky lately. I think he’s still upset that Jon came to me instead of him for help, but I don’t know why he has to be all… touchy about it.”

“Ah. Well, you know, he is a bit hung up on Jon. At least, according to you.”

“I don’t see how that’s my problem,” Melanie says grumpily. “Besides, didn’t you say that Jon went on about Martin, like, all the time? Sounds like he’s got it bad as well. Maybe they could just… y���know.”

“Melanie.”

“What?” Melanie tries to shoot Georgie a glare, but it’s obstructed by the back of the couch. “I’m on my last nerve, Georgie!”

“I know, honey. But Jon’s really not… well, he’s not very open about these sorts of things. Getting him to talk about his feelings was like pulling teeth when we were together.”

“It still baffles me that you used to date.”

“He’s very sweet when you get to know him!” There’s a pause, a few clatters from the kitchen. “Besides, even if he and Martin got around to talking, Jon… well, he doesn’t.”

Melanie frowns. “Doesn’t what?”

“Have sex.”

“Really?” Melanie sits up, disturbing the Admiral, who lets out an irritated mrpp before adjusting himself accordingly and curling back up on her lap. “So when you were together…?”

Georgie shakes her head. “Nope. Never.”

“Huh.” Melanie thinks for a moment. “Is he like… religious or something?”

Georgie chuckles. “Jon? No, not at all. He’s asexual.”

“Isn’t that like… that thing that sponges are? Where they self-reproduce?”

“Seriously?”

Melanie scowls at the incredulous look Georgie’s giving her. “What? I’m not being a- a dick, I’ve just never heard of it before.”

“You were a YouTuber. Your job was to be internet famous.”

“Okay, now you’re just making fun of me.”

Georgie shoots Melanie a grin. “Sorry. Basically, it means that Jon doesn’t do sex. Like… at all. He just… doesn’t.”

“Huh,” Melanie says again.

“Yeah.” Georgie turns back to the stove. “Now, come here. Tell me if there’s too much salt?”

“Sorry Admiral,” Melanie whispers as she deposits him onto the floor and crosses the room to wrap her arms around Georgie’s waist from behind and take the bite of sauce on the spoon Georgie holds out for her. “Mm, tastes great. As always.”

And in the back of her mind, Melanie adds another line to the section labeled Jonathan Sims and writes, with careful handwriting, he doesn’t.

.

.

.

Although… according to Georgie, Jon doesn’t.

Martin pauses the tape and rubs his hands over his eyes. His cheeks are burning red, and he takes a few minutes to just breathe.

Doesn’t what? Doesn’t date? Doesn’t kiss? Doesn’t—

Martin stops that train of thought before it goes any further, the flush on his face growing in intensity. It’s none of my business, he tells himself as he ejects the tape and turns it over in his hands a few times before sliding it back into the small box it had come from.

He still can’t help but think about it. He thinks about it before the Unknowing, when Jon hesitates just a moment before wrapping him in a tight hug and whispering, I… I’ll be back, Martin. Then we can talk. He thinks about it when Jon’s in his coma, when Martin sits at his bedside and loses himself in daydreams and what-ifs. He thinks about it when Jon’s hand is clasped in his and he’s leading Martin out of cloying white fog and sea-salt air, his shirt speckled with bits of dark liquid that Martin tries to pretend isn’t blood. He thinks about it on the way to the safehouse, Jon leaning against his side, Martin’s hand clasped firmly in his.

He thinks about it a lot, in the confines of the wooden walls that let in the growing chill of the Scottish countryside.

Jon doesn’t.

He knows what Jon does. Jon makes him breakfast most days, eggs and toast and sometimes waffles, which Martin’s always considered a guilty pleasure but that he’s had more times in the past week and a half than he’s had for the past ten years. Jon puts his head on Martin’s shoulder when they sit on the couch and read, flipping through the dusty novels they’d found tucked in cardboard boxes underneath the bed that Jon had wrinkled his nose at but has been slowly making his way through nevertheless. Jon clings to Martin like his life depends on it when they sleep, and Martin will wake in the morning with one arm slung across his chest, a leg between his, and a sizeable portion of hair tickling at his nose.

And, nine days into their stay, Jon smiles at Martin as he shuffles into the kitchen in the morning, stands on his toes, and presses a soft kiss to Martin’s lips.

“Um,” Martin says eloquently, still half-asleep and trying to process what he’s 98% sure is their first kiss. He’d be 100% sure except for the fact that Jon kissed him like it was nothing, like it was easy, like it was something they do every morning.

The smile slips from Jon’s face, and he looks nervous. “I- I’m sorry, I should have asked first—”

“No, no, it’s- it’s okay,” Martin hastens to say, taking one of Jon’s hands in his and squeezing gently. “Just- just surprised, that’s all. I, um. I wasn’t sure if you wanted to kiss me, given that we haven’t…” He gestures absently, his face heating up. Stop talking, Martin. “Yeah,” he finishes lamely.

“Oh,” Jon says with a frown. “I… apologize for giving you that impression. I- I love you, Martin—I have no problems with kissing you.”

Warmth courses through Martin, as it always does when Jon tells him that he loves him. It all feels so unreal sometimes that he’s here, with Jon, away from it all and living in quiet domesticity. “Oh,” he says, face flushed. “A- all right, then. Great!”

“Great,” Jon echoes.

“Just- just thought maybe you didn’t—”

Martin clamps his mouth shut, face heating up more, this time in embarrassment. Shut up, Martin.

Jon raises an eyebrow. “Didn’t… what?”

“Um.” Martin rubs a hand across the back of his neck. “Kiss?”

Jon looks at Martin blankly. “Oh. Well, I- I do.”

“Right, yeah, I- I put that together. When we, um. You know.”

Jon looks amused. “Kissed?”

“Yep, that,” Martin squeaks out.

They look at each other for a moment before dissolving into giggles. Jon presses another kiss to Martin’s lips and finishes making the waffles and kisses Martin again when he hands Jon his tea, and it’s really quite lovely indeed.

So Martin adds Jon kisses to his mental list of Jon does and finds a sole remainder on the list of Jon doesn’t. And it’s fine with him, he decides, if Jon doesn’t want to have sex. He just wants Jon, in whatever way Jon will have him.

Jon doesn’t do sex, he thinks as he kisses Jon goodnight.

So, three days later, when they’re on the couch and they’ve kissed until Martin is red-faced and breathless and Jon pulls back with a pinched expression on his face, Martin assumes—with hot embarrassment coursing through him—that he’s somehow gone too far and strayed into sex territory and made Jon uncomfortable.

Then, Jon says with cheeks dark and eyes focused resolutely on Martin’s chest, “Martin, would… would you like to move to the bedroom?” and Martin’s thoughts grind to a halt.

“Sorry, what?” is all he can think to say.

Jon’s cheeks grow incrementally darker. “I am asking,” he says slowly, like the words are clunky and unwieldy in his mouth, “if you would like to have sexual intercourse. With me, of course, I- I hope that was implied.”

Martin’s aware that his mouth is quite literally hanging open in shock. He closes it quickly before swallowing and saying, “I… yeah, Jon, I- I’d love that, but I thought you—”

He clamps his mouth shut again, a touch too late. Jon’s forehead creases in confusion and he says, “I what?”

Martin hems and haws for a moment before biting the bullet and saying, all in a rush, “I thought you didn’t like sex.”

Jon’s frown deepens. “What? Why?”

And god, Martin doesn’t want to admit that he’s been thinking about office gossip for nearly a year, but he’s dug his grave—he may as well lie in it. He sighs, worries his hands on his lap, and says, “I… may have listened to a tape where Melanie said that Georgie said that you… didn’t.”

Jon looks at Martin blankly for a moment before his expression flattens into something that’s equal parts irritated and resigned. “Ah. Right. That… that makes sense, I suppose.”

“I’m sorry, Jon,” Martin says emphatically, placing his hand atop Jon’s and squeezing. “I- I didn’t mean to hear it; I was listening to the statements and it was just there.”

“No, it’s… it’s not your fault.” Jon sighs and rubs a hand across his eyes. “If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s mine.”

“What?”

Jon makes an aborted, dismissive gesture with his hand. “I’ve… never been good at explaining my own preferences. I never did with Georgie, just… told her I was asexual and left it at that. I suppose she took that to mean that I, er. Didn’t.”

Asexual. Martin has a vague notion of what that means—he’s been in enough online LGBTQ spaces to have encountered the word before, but he’s never really looked into it much himself. If pressed, he thinks he’d also assume it meant that Jon didn’t. Something a bit guilty twists within him at that thought, amplified by his next thought that Georgie shouldn’t have assumed, because, well, that’s a bit hypocritical, isn’t it? Still, he feels the need to voice it; he squeezes Jon’s hand again and says, “It’s not your fault that she just- just made assumptions about what you wanted, Jon.”

“Yes, but it’s my fault that I never corrected her.” Jon makes a face. “Or Tim, now that I think about it. I… I suppose I’m just not very good at talking about these things. Particularly because my own preferences are…” Jon’s pained expression deepens. “Christ, I don’t want to say complicated again, but there really is no other word for it.”

That’s not your fault either, Martin wants to say, but he knows Jon will just contradict him again, and he’ll repeat himself, and then they’ll just be talking in circles, and that won’t help anything. It’s frustrating, but it’s the truth. Still, Martin finds the words waiting on his lips when he opens his mouth, so he shuts it again and thinks for a moment, promising himself later. I’ll tell him later. Finally, he says carefully, “Do you… do you want to talk about it? We don’t have to if you don’t want to, but I don’t want to assume.” He lets out a humorless laugh. “Well, I don’t want to keep assuming, I suppose, given that I’ve already assumed quite a lot.” Quieter: “Sorry, again.”

“It’s fi—” Jon cuts off, takes a breath. “Th… thank you, Martin.” He hesitates a moment, then says haltingly, “I- I do want to talk about it, but I don’t—” He makes a frustrated noise. “—I don’t know how.”

“Okay,” Martin says after a moment. “You said it’s complicated, yeah?” When Jon nods mutely, he continues, “Would it help if you described how you feel right now? That’s- that’s less complicated, right?”

Jon’s mouth flattens into a thin line. “I… suppose.”

“All right, then.” Martin makes a go-on gesture, then rests his hand atop Jon’s and applies a gentle pressure.

Jon takes a few deep breaths, squints at nothing, makes a few wordless noises, then says bluntly, “I want to have sex with you.”

Martin tries really, really hard not to blush, but he doesn’t think he quite succeeds given how hot his face feels when he says, “Right, okay.” His voice is a bit higher-pitched than normal; he hopes that Jon doesn’t notice. “And, um. Do you always… want to have sex with me? Or just right now.”

Jon grimaces. “That’s where it gets complicated.” He makes an I-don’t-know gesture with his free hand and says, “No? Yes? I don’t know, Martin. I’m told that not wanting sex all the time is- is normal, that- that you have to be in the mood, but apparently I’m just supposed to know when I’ll be in the mood and when I won’t be, and that- that doesn’t really work for me.”

“Are you—” Martin cringes internally, but forces the words out. “—in the mood right now?”

“Well,” Jon grumbles, “not anymore, but I was. And it’s complicated, because even if I am, I- I don’t always want to be touched, but how do you explain that to someone, how- how do you tell someone that it’s mostly no but sometimes yes and there’s a very good chance that I might change my mind halfway through and decide that it’s no after all?”

“I think,” Martin says patiently, “that you just say that.”

Jon gives Martin a look. “Martin.”

“What? It’s true!” Martin gives Jon as reassuring a smile as he can muster. “It made sense to me, at least.”

“Yes, but that’s not—” Jon makes a frustrated noise. “It’s not whether or not it makes sense, it’s whether or not somebody is willing to put up with a sexual partner who doesn’t know whether or not they’re going to want to have sex on any given day, whether they- they’ll be repulsed or interested or want to give but not receive or the other way around or- or something else that I haven’t thought of but that will likely happen because consistency is, apparently, off the cards for me entirely.”

“Hey, hey,” Martin says gently, placing a hand on Jon’s shoulder and rubbing gentle circles with his thumb. “Jon, look at me.” When Jon looks, albeit reluctantly, Martin continues, “I can’t speak for other people, and I- I can’t tell you how to feel, but I can tell you how I feel, and I… I’m willing. No, more than willing—I love you, Jon, all of you, and if this is how you feel, then I love that about you too. Whatever you’re willing to give me, it… it’ll be enough. You’re enough.”

Jon’s cheeks darken and he looks away. After a long moment, he says in a stiff voice, “Well. Thank you, Martin.” Then, a bit softer: “I… I love you too.” He looks at Martin then and offers him a small, weak smile. “It’s… well, it’s still awkward, but it’s not quite as bad—talking about all of this—as I thought it would be.”

“Well, I’m glad you did. Talk to me about it, that is.”

Jon’s smile turns a bit hesitant. “So you would really be okay if I… if I never asked again? To, er. To have sex.”

“Yes,” Martin says, without hesitation.

“Oh,” Jon says quietly. “And- and if I said that I did? Want to? That… that would be okay too? Even if I’d already said that I didn’t?”

“Yep.”

Jon looks down at his hands where they’re twisted tightly in the hem of his jumper, then back up at Martin. “All right.” He hesitates a moment, then says, “And if… if I said that I wanted to have sex… now?”

Ah. It looks like Martin’s not done blushing quite yet. “Yep, that- that’s fine with me,” he squeaks out, then cringes internally. Fine? Really?

Thankfully, Jon doesn’t seem offended; if anything, he seems amused, his mouth quirking up into a small smirk. “All right, then.” He leans forward and presses a kiss to Martin’s lips, soft and chaste and ever-so-slightly lingering before he pulls away. “I, er. I think I’d like to just kiss for a bit, though.” His smile turns teasing. “Foreplay is very important, after all.”

Martin groans and gives Jon a look, his face likely fully tomato-red by now. “Jon.”

“Need to make sure we’re fully in the mood before beginning proceedings—”

“Yes, yes, you’ve made your point,” Martin says, a giggle slipping out around the words. Then, because he’s nothing if not a little mischievous himself, he leans forward and captures Jon’s lips in a kiss, significantly less chaste and a touch more insistent, pressing until Jon is leaned back against the arm of the couch and Martin is hovering over him. Martin disengages from the kiss so he can marvel at the flushed, wide-eyed expression on Jon’s face. “Like that?” he says innocently.

Jon blinks up at him for a few seconds, like he’s not entirely sure how to process everything in front of him, before he smiles, a warm, happy thing that captures Martin’s heart entirely and steals it away. “I do believe that was adequate, yes. Perhaps you should do it again though, just to make sure.”

So Martin does. I love him, he thinks as he kisses Jon on the couch and kisses him again on the bed, kisses him in the spot between his shoulder blades where he always carries tension and in the dip of his clavicle and on the inside of his thigh. And when he’s curled up next to Jon after, he presses another kiss to the crown of Jon’s head and wraps his arms around him and quietly discards his mental lists of does and doesn’t. He’ll start from scratch, he decides, and after a moment’s thought, he comes up with two more lists, upon which it’s surprisingly easy to add item after item after item.

Jon likes to be kissed. Jon likes eggs and toast, but not jam, and likes his tea black and slightly oversteeped. Jon doesn’t like wool because he finds it itchy. Jon doesn’t like white wine, but he likes red, the kinds that are too dry for Martin’s tastes.

Jon likes Martin, and Martin likes him too. So, so much. And even when things change, when Jon finds a white wine he likes at a restaurant they visit and he takes his tea once with honey and enjoys it and he goes through a period where he doesn’t enjoy open-mouthed kisses and Martin adjusts his lists accordingly, that remains.

[band--psycho]

George Weasley x Reader-Cuddles Before Class

(Credit to the gif owner)

My eight entry to @girl-next-door-writes bingo challenge (fluff), hope you all enjoy!

Bingo Masterlist / Harry Potter Era Masterlist

I was awoken by the pitter patter of rain hitting the glass windows; most of the days had been like this recently, maybe it was just because it was winter, so it shouldn’t surprise me all that much, but the weather seemed to match the mood most people at Hogwarts were feeling. It wasn’t the same. Not anymore, not since the Ministry sent Umbridge here. It was like she was a living breathing Dementor, she was just slowly sucking the joy out of the school, luckily Professor Dumbledore was still around to keep her in check. I hated her classes, I, like every other student in them, learnt absolutely nothing in them. Reading a book was nothing like actually casting the spells; which we needed now more than ever. I believed Harry entirely when he said that Voldemort was back, I knew others thought he was lying, but he was one of my best friends, I knew he wasn’t lying. We all knew that we needed to defend ourselves from the ever growing threat that hung over us even if the Ministry didn’t want us to. 

 I rolled onto my side only to be greeted by the peaceful face of no other than George Weasley. He’d been my rock throughout all of this, constantly reassuring me and listening to me rant about how unhappy I was here at the moment. Without him, I was certain I wouldn’t still be here. 

“Goodmornin’, love,” George muttered, his arms instantly wrapping around my waist to pull me closer into him. 

“Morning,” I whispered, placing a delicate kiss on his nose, making him scrunch up his nose slightly as a small chuckle escaped his lips. We stayed like that for a short while, neither of us saying a word, both of us just enjoying the tranquility we found in each other. I rested  my head on his chest with closed eyes, the sound of his heart beating steadily, his chest almost acting like a lullaby that was easily sending me to sleep. 

“We need to get to class,” he muttered, stroking my hair lightly. I just shook my head in response to his words and buried my head into the crook of his neck. 

“Who’s your first lesson with?” George asked, still continuing his soothing actions, making me want nothing more than to stay in bed, just like this, with him for the entire day or least of all through my first lesson.

“Toadface,” I simply answered, a sigh of realisation left George’s lips as he held me tighter, placing a soft kiss on the top of my head. 

“She’ll give you detention if you don’t go,” he whispered, the worry evident in his voice as one of his hands wrapped around one of my own. His  thumb tracing along the back of it, where the words ‘I must not be so naive’ once were, that I got as punishment for supporting Harry and standing up to her lies in class. 

“I know,” I sighed, opening my eyes to see his brown eyes looking down at me. 

“I just can’t today, I can’t deal with her voice, or her digs at Harry or her constant refusal to actually teach us magic,” I admitted, frustration lacing my voice, as I ran a hand along his bare chest. 

“She’ll hurt you if you’re not there though, love,” 

“I know…” I sighed, remembering the sharp pain that shot through my hand when I wrote the words onto the parchment. 

“C’mon,” George began, practically jumping out of the bed, causing my face to land on the soft sheet that once held Georges body. 

“Georgie…” I whined, pouting my lips as my eyes locked onto his. 

“I know you don’t wanna go baby but you need to, I’ll walk you to class and I’ll meet you as soon as it’s finished,” 

“She’s just a bully, love, don’t let her win,” George reassured, attempting to lure me out of bed with his words. 

“Fine, but don’t blame me if I kill her,” I sighed, sitting up in the bed, rolling my eyes in frustration, as I ran a hand through my hair.

“You wouldn’t kill her, love,” George chuckled as he began to get dressed.

“You seem awfully sure about that,”

“There’s no books in Azkaban and there’s no me, you’d miss my cuddles too much if you got sent there,” he pointed out, placing his tie around his neck.

“You do give very good cuddles,” I stated, kneeling up on the bed, grabbing his tie and placing a long kiss on George's soft lips, attempting (and failing) to pull him back onto the bed.

“Nuh uh uh, I know your game, love and being charming isn’t gonna get you anywhere,” He whispered against my lips, wrapping his arms around my waist and lifting me off of the bed. 

Sighing in defeat I grabbed my clothes from the chair that was beside the bed and quickly got dressed. 

“Happy now?” I asked, as did the final button up on my shirt. 

“Not in the slightest,” George muttered as he hooked his finger under my chin, connecting our lips in a delicate kiss. 

“I love you,” he cooed his lips ghosting over mine, his eyes looking deep into mine. 

“I love you too,” I mumbled, wrapping my arms around his waist, closing the gap between us. In an ideal world I would  just  stay here, in this room, my newly found safe haven with the man I loved but we didn’t live in an ideal world and George was right, I had to go to class otherwise I would get another detention. And that would just mean spending more time stuck with her. I just needed to get through this class and then I could be back here with George. 

“You’ve got this, love,” George reassured again, pressing a kiss to the side of my head before intertwining our fingers together and pulling me out of the room.

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TMA/The Good Place AU

I've seen other versions of this before and I have so many thoughts (Contains spoilers for all seasons of both shows)

Gertrude is the Architect, who thinks she's working for the good of the universe by punishing bad people but gradually learns compassion, friendship, and the ways in which the system is broken

Gerry is the neighborhood guide like Janet

He's a lot more incorporeal though

Instead of "not a robot, not a girl" he's got "not a boy, not a ghost"

Good Gerrys have poor dye jobs

Bad Gerrys have perfect dye jobs

Neutral Gerrys do not dye their hair

Yes this means disco Gerry exists

Magnus is the Head of the Bad Place who pretends to be the Judge

(The actual Judge is Dekker)

OG Elias is the pothead student who had a bad trip and predicted the whole afterlife system with almost perfect accuracy

Jon, Martin, Tim, and Sasha are the four humans in the first neighborhood

Jon and Tim think they belong in the Good Place

Martin and Sasha know they do not

Jon is told his research into the supernatural saved thousands of lives

Tim was an environmental activist

Sasha was a hacker but Gertrude welcomes her as a tech innovator who changed the world

Martin was just working a minimum wage job trying to get by and Gertrude welcomes him as a professional in the parapsychology field, he's given the same "your research saved lives" spiel as Jon

Jon and Martin are told they're soulmates

Tim and Sasha are told the same

Jon and Martin have the Chidi/Eleanor multi-season-long star-crossed fall-in-love-in-every-reboot plot arc

Tim and Sasha have the we-hooked-up-in-one-reboot-but-we're-better-as-friends Tahani/Jason dynamic

However, Sasha gets Eleanor's "there's someone with my name who's supposed to be here instead of me" plot

This is Not!Sasha

Peter Lukas is the Bad Place representative who brings Not!Sasha to the "Good Place"

Martin gets Jason's "the person with your name was in a near-death coma"

Sasha tells Tim she doesn't belong right out of the gate

Martin overhears them and the three end up working together

Martin does not tell Jon he doesn't belong, leading to Jon becoming paranoid about what he, Tim, and Sasha are always conspiring about together

It comes out in a "why are you lying" argument just like the CV thing in canon and Jon is heartbroken that he doesn't actually have a soulmate

He shuts Martin out for a while but eventually realizes he's fallen in love with him, soulmate or not

The four of them end up working together (somewhat)

When they go to the Medium Place they meet Mikaele Salesa

He was a cut-throat antiques and curiosities dealer who donated his fortune to aid the orphaned children of sailors on his deathbed

Eventually the whole "this is the Bad Place" reveal happens

Not sure who figures it out

They get rebooted

And rebooted again

And again

Gertrude does not know how they keep figuring it out but she's definitely losing control

The other demons in the neighborhood are talking about rebelling

(Jude Perry is that one fire demon who keeps walking around without their skinsuit)

(I'm thinking Jared "canonically hot" Hopworth is the one who keeps going to the gym)

She makes a deal with the four humans to help them get to the real Good Place if they play along with the torture, and finally concedes to letting Annabelle Cane run the next reboot

(Yes, to line up with the original show it would be the Not!Them but I think Annabelle is far more likely to want to pull everyone's strings)

Instead of the Jason/Janet romance there's a Tim&Gerry friendship

Since there's no romance there's no need for a rebound boyfriend, however Gerry ends up feeling really alone in Annabelle's reboot and builds himself a new best friend to cope

It does not go well

Michael/Helen is a glitchy, non-functional almost-human who nearly blows everyone's cover with the chaos they cause

They have two faces, two personalities, two identities that they flip between seemingly at random

They get more stable the more times they're rebooted

They go chill with Salesa in the Medium Place while the main crew makes their bid for the Good Place, fails, begs the Judge (Dekker) for mercy, and ends up back on earth

Instead of a near-death psychological study they're all brought together again with an un-death paranormal study

Run by Jon and his new girlfriend Georgie

Yes, Peter is the demon Magnus sends to interfere

Yes, Gertrude drop-kicks him back off the planet

They form the Soul Squad and go off into the world to save people

Not really sure who

But they end up visiting OG Elias and realizing how deep the problems with the system go

They pass through accounting, which is run by Oliver Banks, and meet the neutral Gerry

I'm thinking Leitner is that one demon who's forced to assign point values to weird sex acts

Not sure who makes up the Good Place council

But they make their way back to the Judge and get the whole "test neighborhood" thing to happen

The new humans are Daisy, Basira, Melanie, and Georgie

I know it would make sense for Jon to end up in charge of the neighborhood as Gertrudes's replacement, but nope, he gets his memory wiped because he's awful at lying and he can't pretend he doesn't know Georgie

Martin ends up in charge after Gertrude freaks out

Jon does not actually end up as a participant in the study, since none of the new humans are demons in disguise, so he's just kind of wandering around like a loose end

Georgie definitely pulls the "this is a near-death hallucination" thing

Martin breaks his own heart telling Jon that Georgie's his soulmate, hoping Jon will be able to convince her it's all real

It backfires

Jon's miserable

He eventually confides in Tim (he and Sasha are pretending to be normal humans) that he thinks there's been a mistake, unless... do you think platonic soulmates are a thing?

He doesn't want to date Georgie

He's in love with Martin

Tim tells Martin and Martin has to handcuff himself to his desk so he doesn't run off and kiss Jon senseless

Yes, they establish that platonic soulmates are a thing

Georgie starts dating Melanie

Jon and Martin pine from a distance

I'm thinking Basira is the problem resident who is not making any progress towards improvement

She's very reluctant to see the complicated morals of a situation and takes a long time to break out of her "us vs them" mindset

When they're approaching the one-year anniversary of the new neighborhood and the end of the experiment Melanie and Georgie gather together Tim, Sasha, Daisy, Basira, and Jon

They pull out a huge red-string theory board and say there's something wrong with the neighborhood

Tim and Sasha exchange nervous glances

Georgie says she thinks it's all orchestrated by Martin

They make a plan to meet up at the party that evening

Tim and Sasha go straight to Martin, Gertrude, and Gerry and tell them what's going down

They decide to run out the clock and hope nothing goes too wrong

When Martin stops by his office Jon is waiting for him

Jon spills Georgie and Melanie's whole theory

"They think you're plotting against us, but I know you wouldn't"

"Whatever this is, you're as much a pawn as we are, I think"

"This is supposed to be the Good Place, right? So no one should be unhappy"

"But I am unhappy, Martin. You are too! I've seen the look you get, when you think no one's looking"

"Martin, I've seen the way you look at me. You must know how I feel about you. What kind of Good Place would not allow us to be together?"

Martin is imploding

He really really really wants to kiss Jon

But instead he takes him by the shoulders and tells him "I know what's going on. You're right, there's something more here than you've been told, but trust me when I tell you it's nothing bad. I won't let anything bad happen to you, Jon. I've got you"

"Please just play along with whatever happens tonight, I promise I'll explain everything soon"

And Jon does. Even when the sinkhole happens, even when Martin laughs in his face and tells him he's in the Bad Place

"I really got you, Jon," he says. "I got you good"

"I've got you," Jon remembers, and trusts him

Anyway there's a lot of drama but the neighborhood was a success

Jon gets his memories back and there's a tearful reunion

They start implementing test neighborhoods for everyone so everyone has a chance of reaching the Good Place

And Jon, Martin, Tim, Sasha, Gertrude, and Gerry finally get to go as well

Of course they still need to fix the Good Place itself but that goes fine

And then everyone gets a happy ending, with as much time as they want to spend with the people they love

[that-one-girl-behind-you]

Illicio 18/?

Part 17

CW for: -Canon-typical violence, body horror and gore  -Some characters talk about the not so great mental state they were in, including suicide ideation.

"Where are they? Elias, if you-" Jon's rather pathetic attempt at a threat is cut off by Elias' gleeful cackle.

"Calm down, Jon. Gerard's merely a bit... lost in thought. As for Martin, the door is open, if you want him back."

"What door? Elias, what did you do?" Jon snarls, pouring the compulsion thick into the question.

"I cashed in a favor. Or rather, a wager." Elias smiles. "You've grown fairly powerful, haven't you?"

"Elias-"

"You'll find Martin right where you put him." Elias' eyes gleam dangerously, his smile still sharp on his face. "In the Lonely."

XVIII

"Nah. I convinced them I'm not suicidal, mostly because, you know, I'm not? Anyways, they're letting me go this weekend. I'll call you when I'm settled, we'll have a sleepover that doesn't involve eye gouging, how about that?" Melanie smirks in his direction, and Gerry rolls his eyes.

"That's my preferred kind of sleepover."

"You have very low standards," Tim mutters in the background.

"I mean yeah." Melanie shrugs. "He's dating Jon."

"I'll take offense to that," Georgie laughs, closing the door to the room behind her after coming in.

Gerry lets his head fall back against the glass, closing his eyes to feel the rattle of the car as the tube makes its way through London's entrails. Melanie's looking well enough, her injuries healing at a slow, human pace that Gerry can't help but to be hopeful about.

"So you don't feel the need to go back?" Tim asks, leaning against the corner of the room with his arms crossed over his chest. It may be a bit risky to bring an avatar whose powers manifest as fire into a place with so much oxygen and defenseless people, but Tim looks calm for once, no hint of orange in the depths of his dark eyes. "When I left, I started feeling the withdrawal right away. Not like... at first it wasn't pain, I just 'wanted' to come back."

"Nope!" Melanie grins, popping the 'p' with such satisfaction that Gerry can't help but to chuckle along with Georgie. "The only place I want to go to is home."

"Aren't you lucky," Tim says a bit sullenly, but when Gerry looks over he's got the slightest hint of a smile on his face, albeit a sad one.

Tim is sitting two seats away, but Gerry can still feel both the heat -the burns on his skin throbbing in ghost pain- and the conflict emanating from him. Maybe this is why Jon used to feel so comfortable around him, Tim wears his heart on his sleeve and there's no guessing at what he's feeling, regardless of if that feeling holds something good in store for you or not.

"What is it?" Gerry asks after a few more seconds. He doesn't turn to look at Tim, but they both know his words are aimed at him.

Tim's voice, when it comes, holds all the fragility of diamond, hard and sharp and waiting for something to hit at just the right angle to crumble to dust. "Do you- I wonder if this would work on Martin."

Gerry snorts, his tentative good mood wiped away like so much dust under the rain. "Are you asking me?"

"You care," Tim says. It's not a question, and Gerry doesn't bother denying it. Thinking about Martin feels eerily like waiting outside of a locked room, kept barely alive by a voice not done justice by the magnetic tape in a recorder, hoping, praying that the coffin will open, that he will come back, for someone else if not for him.

He keeps hoping the story will end the same, but he knows better than to dare think he'll be lucky twice.

"I don't know that breaking Martin from the Eye is our biggest concern anymore." Gerry sighs. "He told Jon no when he offered."

"...So? Are you just going to leave it like that?" Out the corner of his eye, he sees Tim scowl something fierce. "Jon said the fucking same, are you two just going to sit there and make eyes at each other while he turns?"

"We're trying, alright?! Jon's running himself ragged trying to Know enough that Martin doesn't have to depend on Lukas anymore, and I can keep telling Martin he's more important than the Extinction, but he's too damn stubborn-"

"He said you broke into his flat just to make him talk-"

"Well, you live with him. If you can't bring him back, why-"

"Oh, shut up!" Tim groans, crossing his arms over his chest and throwing his head back to look at the roof "Shut up, for real. You're pissing me off, and we're underground, you're going to make me blow up half the city."

Gerry rolls his eyes, a resigned huff escaping his lips. "Sometimes I wish I'd convinced you to stay behind when we went to get the Dark Sun. I don't know what Lukas did to him, but I doubt he would've done it I'd you'd been here."

"You know what? I do, too." Tim remains focused on the roof of the car, his fingers tapping against his arm in an incessant rhythm that leaves melted indentations on his skin. "I should've stayed where it mattered."

They don't say much after that. What else could they add? He can deny it until he's blue in the face, but they both know Manuela Dominguez burned because Tim still holds Jon dear, whether he likes it or not.

Still, Tim's words weigh heavy in his mind as they climb up the steps to the street and start the short trek to the Institute. It's- he's right. Whatever they promised Martin, this has gone too far. Martin might be ready to sacrifice it out of some misplaced lack of self worth, but nothing is worth his life, not even saving the world. And if he has to break into Martin's office and convince him of it, well... it won't be the first time, at least.

He starts on the stairs up towards the Institute's upper floors, only to stop when he notices Tim is no longer following. When he turns around, Gerry finds him standing at the bottom of the stairs, his face turned towards the door and his eyes overtaken by the bright orange of the Desolation.

"...Are you okay?" Gerry asks, arching an eyebrow.

Tim scowls at whatever it is he's looking at, but lifts a hand to stop him when Gerry makes to walk back down. "You going to see Jon?"

"Martin, actually," Gerry admits. Tim nods.

"Fine. You do that. I'll be down at the Archives." He gestures to the stairs going down instead.

It is a bit odd, but there's something else tugging at his mind right now. Something feels off today crawling under his skin like a many legged being. He wonders for a moment if this is the Spider pulling at him, before he resolves that one way or another it won't do to dwell on it. He feeds the Mother of Puppets either by fearing the manipulation or by fighting against it; the best he can do is be prepared for whatever it is he's being pushed into.

"-ou are. I was starting to fear you'd gotten cold feet." Gerry freezes before turning the corner to enter the corridor that takes to Martin's office. Lukas' voice is light and amused enough that Gerry wants to rearrange his face, mostly because he knows there's only one person in the Institute Lukas really talks to.

"I haven't," Martin says, and he sounds like a gray afternoon given a voice.

"Wonderful! I'd hate for you to give up after so much hard work, when we're already at the finish line. We can go down, then."

Martin doesn't answer, not even when Lukas lets out a satisfied chuckle. Gerry leans around the corner as soon as the familiar static of the Lonely starts ringing in his ears, and he's just in time to see the last of Martin's back disappear into a wall of fog.

The finish line.

Gerry frowns; the Eye won't volunteer any information about what Lukas is talking about, not even when he tries to Look, but if this means that he's done with whatever he was pushing Martin into, then this can't be good. Should he go look for Jon? Would the Eye let him know where they-

"You're looking real unhappy there, dear." Helen's voice doesn't really make him jump as much as merely draws him out of his reverie. "Did you lose something?"

"Someone." Gerry huffs.

"The pessimism... you've been hanging with Jon too much, I'd say."

"If you happen to know where they're going-"

"They're real funny," Helen chuckles. It makes Gerry a bit dizzy, but he merely lays a hand on the wall to steady himself. "They kept saying they needed a map, like there aren't better ways to get to places."

Gerry freezes, the implications of the Distortion's words deafening in his mind.

"Helen?" he asks almost shakily. If he can reach Martin and ask Helen to get the others- "Is it a door that they needed?"

Helen merely stands there before him, her smile curling into itself and her door partly opened behind her.

Gertrude would eat him alive for being so stupid, so selfish, Gerry thinks with a bitter sort of amusement. What gives him the right to stop Martin from saving the world, just because of anything he or Jon may or may not feel?

Probably nothing, but maybe it's high time he tries being self-centered for once, he decides before he walks into the Distortion's corridors.

-----------------------------------

It had taken him a few blocks to place the feeling, but when he finally did Tim found it laughably easy to put a name to it.

At first it feels like a prickle at his nape, the feeling of being watched, and he ignores it because it's far from an uncommon occurrence at the Institute. It's only when he feels the urge to hasten his pace that it clicks in his mind, even when it doesn't feel quite the same as when he first caught sight of Jon ducking behind a corner on his way home.

The Hunt is insidious, playing at your most basic instincts as it chases you to where you'll be easier to strike down. Now that he's recognized it, Tim finds it all too easy to shake it off. Instead the Desolation sparks to life inside his chest, aching for a good fight, for destruction, for the delicious sorrow that lays promised by the bond between the two hunters.

It's a bit funny how they don't notice when he flips the tables, coming back through the Institute's front doors just in time to see the back of the old man disappearing into the alley behind the institute; how very Hunt-like, to underestimate the 'prey'.

They head straight for the door that leads down to the Archives, and Tim feels the burning in his chest grow hotter.

Daisy wasn't lying when she said they were opportunistic, but she failed to mention just how fatally uninformed they were. He still feels the sequels from yesterday, and Jon was trying not to hurt him. Even if they reached him, what chance do they hope to have against the Archivist on his home turf?

He waits until their steps have faded down the stairs, before pushing the door open again and slipping in himself, and he wonders if maybe in another life he wouldn't have shared a patron with them, with how fervently he tracked the Stranger, and how easily he falls into the role of the hunter now.

Jon did kill the thing that took Sasha, and he's not too fond of owing favors.

-----------------------------------

Dying is not so terrible, Daisy thinks. Or maybe it's Basira -as always- that makes it tolerable.

It's cold by the entrance to the tunnel, but the cot itself is warm enough that Daisy doesn't shiver -she doesn't think she has the strength for it- in Basira's arms.

She doesn't smell the scent of tears or despair, and it only hurts a little. She wasn't expecting Basira to cry, or be devastated. In fact, she was counting on it. One of the things she fell in love with was Basira's stability, always a safe port to come home to in the middle of the storm that is Daisy's rage.

She's looking down at her on her lap, lightly brushing Daisy's hair off her face. All the hair was brushed away long ago but still Basira runs her fingers softly over her cheekbones, her forehead, her closed eyelids, and it feels like drifting off to sleep on a sunny windowsill.

It's far too peaceful an end, for all the pain she's caused.

"Basira-" she starts, only to stop a second after, her eyes shooting open at the sound of running feet and hurried breathing, the cloying scent of fear like a shot of adrenaline straight into her expiring heart.

"Jon?" Basira asks, her body tensing under Daisy's in preparation for- for what? "What's going on?"

Daisy chokes back a strained laugh. Of course something else would happen now that Basira has finally run out of excuses to let her die.

"I'm- I- Daisy?" Jon's voice is shaky, and the scent of fear intensifies. It makes her want to howl that she's not only unable to assuage his distress, but that she's a part of it now. "What is- the Hunt-"

"Jon, what do you want?!" Basira snaps.

Jon flinches. "Martin, I- he left me- I don't think he's coming back." There's a tape recorder in his hand, and what makes Daisy sit up on the cot is that he looks like he sounded in the Buried, lost and trapped and all devoid of hope.

"Where's Gerry?" she asks. "He's good at finding Martin. Bringing him back."

"That's- I don't know," Jon says shakily. "I'm- I tried to See him, but- I think he's inside Helen? I don't know- he doesn't feel like he's in danger, but-"

"And can't you See Martin?" Basira arches an eyebrow. "If you can See inside the Distortion-"

"I'm- I can't usually do that." Jon huffs almost angrily. "I can sort of See inside Helen because Gerry's in there, like-"

"Like you're looking through him?" Daisy supplies, when he seems to be out of words. Much to her despair, she feels reenergized already, like the mere idea of a goal is enough to fuel the embers of the Hunt inside her. She can feel Basira's eyes on the side of her face, and she knows she's already plotting, scheming some way to keep her around longer.

"Exactly, yes." Jon nods. "And only barely enough to feel that he doesn't think he's in danger. But when I try to See Martin, it's- it's like- like two mirrors in front of each other. I know it doesn't make any sense, but-"

"Nevermind that." Basira climbs to her feet in a smooth move "We can find him."

Daisy doesn't miss the use of the plural, nor the way her glowing green eyes fix on her with that look she knows all too well. It's a look that beckons her to follow, a siren call she has little to no hope of refusing. She heaves a sigh before she stands from the cot as well, smacking Jon on the shoulder.

"Couldn't wait until I was buried to drag me out again, could you?" she asks.

Jon gives her a small, sad smile. "I'm sorry."

Daisy shrugs. She'll stick around just for a few more hours, just for them.

"Let's find those two."

-----------------------------------

There's a body below the institute.

This is, of course, not the first time this has happened, Martin thinks, and the thought almost feels amusing. The handle of the knife Peter placed in his hand after the whole explanation about the Panopticon feels almost vulgar in its suggestion that violence is the only way to save the world.

"I must admit, he's not at all as surprised as I expected he'd be." says a voice that Martin still hears in his nightmares from time to time. When he turns around, Elias is standing across Peter, the two of them framing the door like guardian statues. He looks immaculate, his suit clean and freshly pressed, his tie perfectly knotted at his throat. Martin arches an eyebrow, wondering if he factored in enough time for grooming when breaking out from jail, and Elias chuckles. "Speaks wonders of your job I suppose."

"A natural, I told you. Now Martin, if you'd move along please?" Peter says without taking his eyes off Elias. The smirk on his face speaks of familiarity, the kind of look you give someone that you know will be incensed by it. "I didn't count on us having an audience, but I guess I should've known."

"Can't a man watch his own death?" Elias' lips curve upwards like the edge of the blade in Martin's hand. "Also, you must admit it's much more.... poetic, this way, Peter."

"I'll concede on that." Peter turns towards Martin again. "What's keeping you?"

"This is you, isn't it?" It's not that big of a leap, the Panopticon, Jonah Magnus, and the Eye's biggest servant. Elias' widening grin is answer enough. "Will the others survive?"

"I'm surprised you care." Peter says, and Martin rolls his eyes.

"I-"

"He doesn't. But he knows he should. Again, impressive." Elias shrugs, and for all that Martin stands over his body with a knife, he couldn't look less bothered. "But in the interest of truth-"

"Oh, you care about that now?" Peter cackles in the background.

"The answer is, I'm not sure." Elias raises his voice a little. "But making an educated guess, most of the ones you used to care about should fare just fine. Tim and Melanie are well out of my reach. Your new allegiance should protect you from the worst of it, like the Hunt should miss Tonner, if she wasn't so keen on starving herself. I'm not sure about the Detective, ever the rogue variant, but thanks to our patron's little present, Jon is powerful enough that he should survive as well-"

"Don't call him that," Martin mutters quietly to himself. He doubts Elias is listening, anyways; he's much too fond of his own voice.

"-egular workers of the Institute will be affected of course, though there is no telling just how grave the damage will be. But I know you don't care about that, and you know that too, don't you Martin?"

He's... really irritating, Martin decides.

"I do." Whether he means he does care or he merely knows he doesn't, Martin isn't too sure himself.

"Always very self-aware, yes." Elias has the gall to nod like a proud mentor, and Martin rolls his eyes. "I would say then that the only variable to factor in is whether or not you want to kill me."

"I really do." And for so many reasons, too.

"Then go ahead, Martin." Peter steps forward, and Martin sees Elias watching him from the back like a snake about to strike. It's actually pretty funny, that they're both so sure they've cornered the other. "Kill him, and help me save the world."

"I don't think I will, actually." Martin shrugs, tossing the knife aside with a careless flick. The delight he feels at Peter's confused frown is muted, but it's definitely there.

"I- what?" Peter stutters. Elias' grin grows even sharper behind him. "Martin, this is not the time for games, the world is at stake here, and-"

"See, that's where you messed up. All those details that didn't add up, the insistence that I was some sort of- of world savior? Far too grand for me." Elias breaks down in cackles, and Martin covers his flinching by crossing his arms over his chest. "It really wasn't that hard to see through all the bull you were trying to serve me."

"Serve- Martin, I never lied to you. The Extinction is coming and-"

"I don't doubt it." He waves the matter away. "But this is not about the Extinction, is it? It's just whatever pases for a game between you two, using people as your betting chips, and I don't want any part in it. I'm out."

"But you said-"

"What you wanted to hear, mostly." Martin shrugs again; the feeling of perverse delight growing more and more alive in his chest. Who knew that pettiness was an emotion just as effective against the Lonely?

"You projected too hard on dear Martin, it seems," Elias says after his laughter has subsided. Peter looks fit to boil, his pale face sporting ugly red blotches as he rounds up on Elias.

"This is your doing," he says. Elias' carefully knotted tie crumples in Peter's clenched fist. "How-"

"It wasn't him." Martin interrupts again, feeling more tangible by the second out of sheer indignation. "It was me, always me. I came to you because Jon was dead and it seemed like the most useful thing I could do for the others was letting you do your thing. I thought it would even be a good way to get killed, but you lost any hold you might've had the moment Jon woke up." It's almost cathartic to let everything out after so much lying. It certainly is rewarding to watch Peter's face lose more and more color with each word. "Suddenly I had a reason again, and it was very easy to pretend I was going along with your schemes, if it meant keeping him safe. You had me for a while when you started dropping hints about the Extinction, but it was just too much, you know? I'm not exactly a- a 'chosen one', or a hero, but it was the best way to figure out what your end game was."

"But- I can feel the Lonely around you, it's-"

"Sure, it's there. Always has been, maybe. But if this is the final test, then- then I guess failed." The silence that blankets over the Panopticon after his words is so dense Martin can almost taste it. He wonders if the other two can hear the frantic beating of his heart.

"You- no." Peter shakes his head. "This- you have no idea what you've done, you've doomed-"

"I did warn you, Peter." Elias speaks, sweet and cloying like festering rot. "Now, sore loser is a terrible look on you, so get on with it."

"Get on with what?" Martin scowls, trying to ignore the shiver that bleeds down his spine when Elias' amused smile turns towards him. "I thought he couldn't use the Panopticon."

"That ship has sailed, I'm afraid." Elias shakes his head, tutting under his breath. "Really, one way or another you shouldn't have anything to fear, Martin. If your allegiance to the Lonely's strong enough, you should be able to walk right back out. If it's not... then you just have to hope Jon's allegiance to you is strong enough."

"I'm- what?" Martin frowns. Why would Elias want Jon to go get him from- oh. Oh, crap, how could he have been so stupid?! He steps back, when a tendril of fog begins to wrap itself around his ankle. "Wait, I-"

"I'll do it." Martin feels his blood freeze in his veins, when he whips around and finds Gerry standing by the entrance to the Panopticon, his hand wrapped around the knife Martin discarded just a few minutes ago.

"What on earth are you doing here?" Peter asks, his hand still extended towards Martin, but the fog momentarily at ease. Martin takes a few more steps back, trying to get his thoughts into some semblance of order because this is not good. Gerry shouldn't be here, he can handle the Lonely, but he can't leave Gerry alone with these two-

"If you want him dead so badly, I'll kill him, and use the damned thing for you." Gerry steps towards the body with knife in hand, and Martin has a split second to appreciate that Elias no longer seems so amused, even getting closer to the body himself. "Let Martin go."

"You don't have any bonds with the Lonely." Peter arches an eyebrow, but he's starting to lower his hand. Fuck, this- this isn't good.

"Does that really matter? I could hardly be more marked by the Eye. I'll use it for you, just let Martin-"

"Are you crazy?" Martin snaps, whipping around to face him again. "Get out of here, I-"

"Peter." Elias hisses in the background, and Peter grunts.

"As much as it'd please me to use the Eye's own gifts against it-" Peter starts, every word sounding like a forced pleasantry. The edges of Martin's vision blur with thick, white fog that pulls at his core almost as much as his mind reels from it. "-I am a man of my word."

"What- wait-" Gerry takes a step towards him, reaching a hand to grab at Martin's shoulder.

"Say, Gerard," Elias' voice cuts in, loud and laced with static as he steps between Gerry and his body. "Have you ever wondered how your father died?"

Gerry's face goes contorts in pain as the memories are forced in, and Martin flinches in sympathy.

"Go away!" Martin snaps, before whipping around to face Elias. "Cut it out, I'll go in-"

"The marks, Martin-" Gerry grunts. "Stay-"

"You were sleeping while she butchered his body. A spirited woman, your mother, but not the finest planner-"

Gerry shakes his head like trying to shake the foreign thoughts loose, a thin stream of ink running down his philtrum, staining his lips black.

"Like you'd fucking know- Martin? Martin, look at me!" He orders, like Martin isn't already doing so, like he isn't actively trying to give in to the pull of the Lonely -if he goes, they'll leave him alone, they have no other reason to keep him-

"She did love him, you know? Or she loved his devotion for her at least. It's quite funny, actually. Good old Eric fought so hard to break free of our patron, and he never once stopped to wonder if he wasn't running into something worse. His end was quite gruesome, even for one of Gertrude's assistants." Elias' eyes gleam with dark amusement when they meet Martin's, and the threat in them is clear. "He thought her steps sounded different that afternoon, but he was only starting to get used to getting by on his remaining senses, and she'd been so gentle and caring to him lately-"

"Stop..." Gerry snarls "I don't care, I never knew him, you can't-"

"Oh, but you could have. If he hadn't been so arrogant, if he hadn't tried to plan so much smarter than he was. You should be careful which of your parents' footsteps you want to follow, though I suppose both trails are marked in blood."

"Elias, stop!" Martin shuts his eyes tight to not see Gerry's pained expression, focusing on the cold, slimy feeling of the fog that resides within his core, but he can't- the Lonely's refusing to come to his call, and Martin wants to scream, because when Gerry warned him so many months ago that he'd ruin his plan, Martin wasn't expecting it to be by making himcare so much for him. "Peter, just- do it already!"

The man's face is veiled in satisfaction, and Martin has no doubt that he too knows Martin won't survive the Lonely like this, and the act is as much a fulfillment of the wager with Elias as it is his revenge for Martin unraveling his plans.

"Martin!" Gerry throws himself forward, and Martin feels his hand pass straight through his front.

The last hint of color he sees before the grey takes it away is that heart-wrenching mix of green and blue.

-----------------------------------

Martin's trail is a soft green against the dirty stone floor of the tunnels. Not as easy to follow as Daisy's, and mingled with a sickly grey one that smells of salt and absence.

"These tunnels don't make sense," she grunts after taking a left turn for the sixth time in a row.

"They change." Jon sniffles behind her, his footsteps light and hurried in contrast with Daisy's heavier, determined ones. "I feel a sort of- a pull, towards the center. I'm guessing that's where Martin is?"

Basira doesn't respond, sure, Jon could've come down here himself, but then Daisy would've given up, would've died in her arms without the interruption, without the goal.

"Do you feel Gerry?" Daisy asks. There's a light growl to her voice that wasn't there before, and it makes Basira stop a little. "Is he alright?"

"He's- I think he found Martin. It's like the two mirrors thing, whenever I try to See any of them." Jon wipes a hand across his brow, letting out a soft, sheepish chuckle. "I'm- I feel blind."

"We're being followed," Daisy says calmly, and Basira spins around on her heel. The Hunt doesn't manifest with light, there is no eerie glow to her warm brown eyes, but Basira sees her fingers curled in the shape of claws, and the stiff line of her back just as clearly, the blood simmering under her skin, not yet boiling but very much threatening to. "Are you going to come out, or will you keep hiding like rats?"

Basira's gun is on her hand in an instant, and she pulls Jon behind her, a rush of adrenaline coursing through her veins at the familiarity of falling into step with Daisy.

"Must admit- I'd been hopin' you'd be dead by now." She doesn't know the old man that comes from behind the corner they just turned, but she can guess who it is just by the distortion to his features, his too-wide grin full of too-sharp teeth, his eyes that reflect the light of their torches in the way no human could. "We wanted to have Jonny boy for ourselves for a bit."

"We got a few statements we'd like to give." And if that's Trevor Herbert, then this must be Julia Montauk, of course.

"You didn't dare go against Daisy and me last time," Jon pipes in from behind Basira, and she contemplates turning around and strangling him herself, because of course Jon will hear danger ask for him by name and be a smartass about it. "Now there's three of us. Doesn't sound too smart."

"But see, we're well out of your dear Archives now, Jon dear." Julia takes a step to the side that Daisy mimics, keeping herself between the groups. "And your guard dog here looks like a famished mutt. I like our chances, actually."

"Brought this on yourself, really." The old hunter cracks his neck, running a red tongue over his teeth. "We'd have let you live, you were going around stopping rituals even, but you just had to go and take that page out."

Basira feels more than she sees Jon's patience dwindling. There's static in the air sure, but there's something in her connection to the Eye that reacts to him getting ready for a fight.

"Easy, Jon," she mutters, her gun trained on the old man's forehead.

"We're wasting time. I need-"

"Go, just follow your call," says Daisy, without moving an inch from where she's facing the other woman down. Basira can See the blood rising hotter and angrier inside her, and Daisy's almost back to looking like herself, the light back in her eyes, the steel in her spine, the slightest hint of a smirk as she stares Julia down. "We'll take care of this."

Jon hesitates for a moment; Basira can see the struggle in his eyes, going from Daisy to the hunters to her-

"Just go!" Basira snaps. "You know what's going on here, go find out what's happening there!"

And well, maybe it is underhanded, to use his worry for those two against him, but if it gets him to leave...

"I'll come back," Jon says hurriedly.

Basira nods. "Or I'll find you. Go!"

He rushes down the tunnel; Basira wonders, daring a look over her shoulder to catch a glimpse of his awkward race around a corner, is this the last she sees of Jonathan Sims?

"That's cute!" Julia snarls, calling her back to attention. The faint orange glow behind her is easy to miss, but Basira recognizes it easily enough. "You're getting very high and mighty there."

"This one is not even a full avatar," Trevor gestures at Basira with a chuckle, and it feels both relieving and insulting. "You can't take the two of us alone, not in your state."

"I don't know. What was it you said a moment ago?" Tim speaks from behind them, causing the two hunters to whip around to face him. His eyes glow like two angry embers; Basira remembers this Tim not from the night before the Unknowing, but from the warehouse up North. "I like our chances."

-----------------------------------

The pull at his chest is not foreign to Jon, though it feels as different as day and night from the one he followed to find Gerry when the hunters came the first time.

It's something built into him from the moment he opened his eyes as the Archivist, something that ties him to the Archives, to whatever it is that lays at the middle of this labyrinth, and Jon despises it.

Still he follows it, heading to whatever fate awaits him willingly, for them.

The chamber he finds himself in is enormous, the walls made up entirely of cells with thick bars covered in rust. At the center, stands a tower made up of blackened stone, the very top domed in clouded glass, and the Beholding drops a word in his mind with all the ceremony of an artist revealing their Magnum Opus.

The Panopticon.

"So good you could join us, Jonathan." Elias's voice hits him like a hammer to the chest, and only then does Jon notice him standing at the base of the turret, his arms crossed behind his back and smiling beatifically in his direction. "Was it hard, finding the place?"

"Not- not too much." Jon steps closer carefully. He still can't See Martin or Gerry, but Elias being here -how did he get out of jail? Was he ever really trapped there?- is not a great signal.

"Because I called you." Elias nods. "I thought you might want to pick up what you lost."

Shit.

"Where are they? Elias, if you-" Jon's rather pathetic attempt at a threat is cut off by Elias' gleeful cackle.

"Calm down, Jon. Gerard's merely a bit... lost in thought. As for Martin, the door is open, if you want him back."

"What door? Elias, what did you do?" Jon snarls, pouring the compulsion thick into the question.

"I cashed in a favor. Or rather, a wager." Elias smiles. "You've grown fairly powerful, haven't you?"

"Elias-"

"You'll find Martin right where you put him." Elias' eyes gleam dangerously, his smile still sharp on his face. "In the Lonely."

"W-"

"As much as I'd enjoy a chat, I'd advise against dallying. He was in a bit of a state when he went in. Not too suited to survive in there, even after all these months." Elias takes a step aside, clearing the way to the stone stairs that curl up around the body of the tower. "Good luck, Jonathan. I'll be seeing-"

Whatever he was going to say next, Jon doesn't care to know. He rushes past him, climbing the stairs as quickly and as carefully as he can, keeping away from the edge because he wouldn't put it past himself to simply trip and snap his neck.

The interior of the turret is mostly empty, but his eyes pick up on three details immediately. The first is the dessicated body sitting at the center of the eye carved on the stone floor. He Knows who he is, and who the man outside isn't, but right at this moment, he couldn't care less.

The second thing he notices is the door to the Lonely, like a tear on dark fabric leaking out a soft silvery light and heavy wisps of fog that drift down to the floor.

Gerry's crumbled next to the body like a puppet whose strings were cut off. His arm stretched out towards the rift, and he's bleeding, a puddle of acrid-smelling ink under his head.

Jon rushes to his side, falling to his knees beside him and turning his head as carefully as he can.

"Gerr- I- can you hear me?" he asks, his heart beating so hard he's worried it'll punch a hole right through his chest. Gerry's eyes are wide and glassy and Beholding green, and his papery white lips move around words Jon cannot hear, but he's alive, and that means they have a shot still.

"I need- Gerry, I- you have to wake up now. I'm-" This is- he's so bad at this. How do you call a person back? I'm sorry but I love you, please don't go? "I need you, please."

-----------------------------------

"Told ya!" The old man smirks, his sharp teeth painted red with the blood flowing from his nose after Tim's headbutt. His claw-like nails sink into the flesh of Basira's neck, and the whirlpool of activity in the tunnel comes to a screeching halt. "This one is not quite done yet. Let's see if she bleeds like a monster or like a human."

If one thinks about it objectively, Tim's cockiness wasn't necessarily unjustified. He merely failed to factor in the part where he technically doesn't want to blow up the entirety of London to get rid of two hunters, or turn Daisy and Basira into a pile of ashes.

"That's enough," Daisy growls, loosening her grip around Julia's neck. The woman slashes at her face as soon as she's free, the knife leaving an angry red gash across her cheekbone and nose.

It makes something hot an angry burn at his chest, that even with all this power, he's still useless to stop this.

"How sweet." Julia shoves her off, climbing to her feet with a slight limp in her step. Tim feels a dark pang of pride at the angry red burn on the side of her face. "You're not the monsters we wanted, but it's okay, we don't discriminate. Let's see that throat, old man."

"Basira?" Daisy calls out. She's still on her knees, still watching her own blood drip down to the dirty floor of the tunnels.

"Yes?" Basira asks, then chokes a little when Trevor presses his nails a bit harder.

"Will you find me?" Daisy's starting to shake, and Tim takes a step back even as the Desolation in him beckons him forward, because the sheer amount of sorrow and rage coming from her is intoxicating.

Another wave of loss, of suffering hits him just as hard. Tim darts a glance at her, but there's nothing in Basira's face that betrays the pain simmering inside her.

"Anywhere."

Daisy's form splits open.

It's like watching a flower blossom in a timelapse video, or a moth emerge from its cocoon. The creature that comes out is long-limbed and sharp-fanged, and its fur shimmers with a faint coat of blood as it leaves behind the useless skin of Daisy Tonner. They watch it in stunned silence as it raises to its full height, its hunched back grazing against the roof of the tunnel, a cavernous growl squeezing out from between jaws where the hide is stretched too thin, pierced here and there by sharp yellowed fangs, its eyes like two pinpricks of light at the end of a cavernous tunnel fixed on the hunters before it.

"...Fuck," Julia mutters. Tim is inclined to agree.

Then the thing that was Daisy takes a step towards her, and the room explodes in activity again. Basira is shoved to the side as Trevor rushes to step between them, and it's all Tim can do to throw himself over her, as two and then three beasts slam each other against the walls of the tunnel, raining down dirt and debris that digs into Tim's waxy flesh.

It feels like hours before the howling fades away, before the tearing of flesh under claws and fangs leaves behind a silence so haunting it very nearly drowns the roar of the Desolation inside him.

"G- get off," Basira orders, pushing a hand against his chest. Tim scrambles to his feet and offers a hand that she ignores, her eyes focused on the soggy skins left behind in crumpled lumps by the beasts. "I- shit."

"Eloquent." She's looking down one of the tunnels, the one that reeks of hatred and pain, and Tim knows very well the sort of debate brewing in her mind. "Are you going after them?"

"Are you?" she snaps, whipping around to face him. Her face is carefully blank, and Tim doesn't point out the red rims of her eyes, or the pain emanating from her in waves. It doesn't take a genius to understand she's pinning her own hesitation on him. He doesn't know much about Basira, but he might understand that it's easier for her to handle weak people than to be weak herself.

Is he going after them?

He could probably find them, following the claw marks and the rage. If they make it far enough from anyone that could get caught in the crossfire-

"Why were you down here?" he asks, though he thinks he might know the answer already. Jon is many things, but he wouldn't abandon them so easily.

"Jon was still holding on to you when they found you, you know?" Sasha -no, not her, not anymore- had said, and Tim had believed her immediately, just as he believes it now.

"Martin and- they're missing. We think they're at the center of this- this mess." Basira's voice is almost frail as she continues to look down the corridor the monsters disappeared in.

"Can you find them?"

"Yes." The word comes immediately, mournful and without hesitation.

"Well- let's- let's get to it. Somehow I doubt Daisy needs us that much right now."

-----------------------------------

"You're making a right mess of me," he says. He's standing next to the table, watching the proceedings with something that almost feels like interest. "I thought you had more experience at this."

"I was feeling experimental." She shrugs. Her arms are covered in blood to the elbow, and her chest and face are also splattered red. "I felt like it had to be special."

"Very romantic," he says dryly. "What's going to happen to Gerry?"

"Gerard will be fine." She enunciates the name clearly and firmly. They never did settle that argument, but she pretty much just won, he guesses. "He's got the potential."

"He's two years old."

"He's my son." She saws angrily, until the bone finally breaks. "You brought this on yourself, you know?What were you thinking, pulling your eyes out?"

"I suppose I did. I thought you'd be happy that I was free." He shrugs again, before extending a translucent hand to push a lock of blood-soaked blonde hair behind her ear. It passes right through. "It's nice to see you again."

She pauses on her work, her eyes -he always did love that perfect mix of green and blue- fixed on the carnage dripping down to the kitchen floor.

"You knew how I was," she says finally. "I never hid that from you."

"You didn't."

That's not an apology. It's not an excuse. It's not enough for this man who sees himself dead on a table and asks about his son first, why do they both look so satisfied with it?!

The saw is heavy in his hand, and slippery with the blood that stinks the whole room of iron. Gerry tries to drop it, tries to step back, this is not him, up to his elbows in the blood of the one he loves-

"Gerry?" Jon's voice washes over him like cool water over a burn; Gerry thinks he might cry, when he blinks away the image of his parents and Jon is there, looking down at him in concern. "I'm- you're- how do you feel?"

"Like shit." Gerry lets out a dry cackle that's just this side of hysterical, before the gravity of the situation catches up to him, and he sits up so abruptly Jon has to throw himself back to avoid getting head-butted. "Fuck. Jon, we- Martin-"

"I know, I- Elias told me." Jon bites at his bottom lip. "I'm- it looks like we're completing the card after all."

"...Looks like it," Gerry says. It leaves a bitter aftertaste in his mouth, but there's no other way to go about it. Jon's not going to leave Martin in the Lonely, and Gerry's not going to ask him to. He climbs to his feet with a groan -he definitely bruised something- and Jon follows suit. "I'm- I don't know how well it'll go, Jon. You were able to use me as an anchor in the Dark, but I don't know if you can just- just pull Martin out. The person has to want to come back, usually."

"Let's find out." Jon takes a deep breath, his gaze fixed on the rift to the Lonely for a moment. He looks over his shoulder at him, and there's an odd intensity to his eyes, not the eerie power of the Archivist, but merely the one befitting a man in love. "Are you ready?"

"I- what?" Gerry blinks a couple times, before his own words come back to him from so long ago, whispered against Jon's lips with more devotion than any prayer he's ever uttered, the threat of an apocalypse looming over their heads and in his heart the firm intention of walking into the Dark for this man. "Oh."

"...I don't mean to force you to-" the little yelp Jon gives when he leans in to kiss him might just be enough to turn him immune to the Lonely, Gerry thinks.

"Let's go get your Martin back, then."

[thoseofgreatambition]

smoking

smoke and roses | prologue | pt 1. get well soon | pt 2. smoking

summary: george is glad to have you back. overjoyed in fact. he writes about flowers now. the nightmares are going away. it would all be perfect, if you would stop trying to sneak in cigarettes. 

a/n: it’s nice to be back and making this series again. i missed it a lot, and i’m happy to be revisiting the topic of grief again and what healing can look like. if you liked marry me, i think you’ll like this. let me know what y’all think please. i love feedback :) 

George’s quill danced across the page, a small smile upon his lips. 

you’re back. 

you’re back you’re back you’re back. 

you’re here. 

you’re here. no kisses is fine.

waiting is fine. 

you’re walking.

you’re smiling. 

you’re joking. 

He stopped writing for a moment, sniffing the air out in the garden as you came closer. George frowned at you as you came closer to him. 

He wrote one last line. 

now if you’d stop fucking smoking. 

“You smell terrible, Y/N.”

The scowl you gave him would have made a weaker man wither. “Want to say that in a nicer way?” 

“No, you said you’d stop smoking.” 

“It was my first cigarette in a week and a half! I think I’ve done very well.” 

George however seemed less than impressed. “You’ve just gotten out of the hospital.” 

“Two months ago--” 

“After being in there for a year.” 

It seemed that a stare down was in order, as you refused to break eye contact with the man. 

“I’m doing my best.” 

“It’s a terrible habit.” 

That you couldn’t deny. You’d picked it up in your sixth year, and Fred had picked it up from you.

George had always been the one to scold you for it. He’d ratted out Fred to Molly which had gotten the poor boy into a great deal of trouble. He’d gone to tell your parents and had found that both of them were incredibly avid smokers. 

You’d been punished for smoking before you were 17, and giving cigarettes to your friend. It’d been enough to have you quit for a few years. You’d apologized to Molly and gone cold turkey with Fred. 

Then the war happened. And you’d reckoned that there were worse habits you could pick up to deal with the stress. Fred still snuck off with you every once in a while to light one up. 

George had been less than impressed. 

“Pop a mint, Y/N. And no more smoking here. Mum hates it.” 

Your teeth ground together for a moment before you nodded and popped a mint into your mouth. “’m sorry George.” You sat down next to him and leant your head on his shoulder. “Don’t mean to make you worry.”

Like always, you made it hard to stay mad at you. “Show me you’re sorry by stopping it.” 

With a nod, you reached into your coat pocket and handed him the carton of cigarettes “You can take ‘em then. Won’t be needing them.” 

George stared down at the box with a frown, remembering how unhappy he’d been cleaning out Fred’s room and finding an empty carton of cigarettes. “Terrible habit.” 

“It is.” 

“Stupid thing to do when you’re recovering.” 

His voice lacked any real anger behind it. He spoke a great deal like when he was chiding his siblings on something they ought not do. A gentle voice that still remained stern enough to get a point across. 

“You’re right.” 

“What made you want to smoke anyways?” George reckoned he was undermining his point by pulling you closer and wrapping an arm around you. But the smell of roses from your conditioner was quite nice, and it truly was impossible for him to keep you at an arms length. 

Your silence spoke volumes. He glanced down at you with a larger frown. This time his tone was worried. 

“You’ll be cross with me if I tell you.” there was an odd thread in your voice that he couldn’t quite tie to an emotion. 

He used the same tactic he had when he was younger. A joke. “Can’t be that bad can it? Sure I’ve done worse. Surely you remember me and Fred’s exit from Hogwarts.” 

Tears stung your eyes and your chest seemed to tighten up. A rather painful thing now. When you’d been in the hospital your strep throat had turned into pneumonia pretty quickly, which had led to a whole host of other problems. Any tightness in your chest just served as a reminder of that time. 

Really, you’d been quite stupid for smoking. 

“When I got sick it was just three months after the war, you know? Not that long. And I was in there for a year...” your voice trailed off, unsure of what you were really trying to say. “And everything is different now, you know? It feels like everyone’s moved on and I don’t know how or I’ve missed the boat... and I just...” 

Again you fell silent. Truly you felt awful for bringing this up, especially when George was having such a good time adjusting to it all. 

It was almost a year and a half now, and to you it felt like a much shorter time. 

“I’m sad about it all.” your voice fell even more quiet. “And I really miss Freddie.” 

You’d expected to be chided about how silly that all was. What a foolish reason to pick up a bad habit. Instead you found yourself being hugged so tightly you lost your breath for a moment. Tears welled in your eyes as you gently gripped George’s shirt. 

“Why would I be cross about that?” his voice was muffeled against your neck. “You’ve been through a lot. It’s normal to be sad. I’m sad too.” 

Your eyes burned for a moment. “I thought you’d think it was silly because it’s been so long since it happened.” 

“Eighteen months isn’t long at all, Y/N.” he held you even tighter against him. “We knew him for years. Probably going to keep being sad for a while.” 

When the tears finally began to fall you gripped onto him even tighter. You weren’t even sure what there was to cry about if it was okay to be sad. The tightness in your chest scared you, and resulted into you gripping onto George painfully tight. 

Gently, he rocked you back and forth, allowing his own tears to fall. “Why don’t we go inside and you can lay down. You’re still getting better. A nap will help out.” 

There was a small nod from you. “Can I nap in your room?” Something about being closer to George made the tightness in your chest feel smoothed away. 

“‘Course. I could use a nap too.” 

_______________________________________________________________________

You had fallen asleep incredibly quickly. Immediately asleep as you hit the pillow of Fred’s old bed. 

George’s brow knitted itself together as he watched your breathing even out. Just why would you think he’d be cross with you? 

Some days seemed like everything was back to normal, and other days you seemed close to tears. Perhaps you didn’t notice yet that most everyone else felt the same way too. 

There was quite a loving look on his face as he spoke softly, “Numpty.” 

He tried to write once more and simply found that his words wouldn’t come out right. Hot tears began to escape him, which he simply did his best to wipe away. When he’d smelled the smell of cigarettes as you came towards him before, he’d half expected to have Fred trying to hide behind you, making jokes about what a terrible influence you were and that George shouldn’t be mad at him. 

Then you would laugh and try to push Fred in front of you and say if he was so brave he should be able to resist temptation. 

He’d been so frustrated before when that would happen but now it seemed to be a rather fond memory. 

You opened your eyes and found yourself staring at a crying George.

“Are you sad too, Georgie?” 

He wiped away his tears the best he could and gave you a smile. “Yeah. ‘m sad too.” 

You held out your arms from underneath your blanket. “Need a cuddle?” 

George nodded silently before crawling underneath the blankets and wrapping his arms around you. A rather squished fit seeing as how small the bed was, but you nuzzled into him and any discomfort faded away. “Yeah. A cuddle sounds good.” 

With a hum you closed your eyes. “Do I still smell bad from the smoking?” 

His chest vibrated underneath you as he laughed. “A little. But that won’t be a problem anymore, will it?” 

He was rubbing circles onto your bath as you shook your head. “Nah. Not a problem anymore.” 

George still found himself crying, but still managed to smile up at the ceiling. 

“Good.” 

He needed you healthy, after all. 

George wasn’t sure how he would handle you getting sick again. 

“’ts really good, Y/N.” 

He half expected a response before realizing you were asleep again. 

You weren’t perfect, but he loved you for it. 

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[waitineedaname]

And Did You Know That You Were Always Like A Fantasy?

happy late birthday @notedchampagne! also on ao3

---

If someone had told Jon two years earlier where he would be and who he would be there with, he would have scoffed. Really? With him? It would have been too absurd to consider. If someone had told him two months earlier, he would have been scared to believe it. Really? And we’re safe? It was too perfect to even hope for. 

But here he was, standing at Martin’s side in the kitchen of a Scottish safehouse, rinsing the soap suds off the dishes Martin handed him and swaying gently to the soft music playing off of Martin’s phone.

The peaceful domesticity scared him sometimes. He would catch himself getting too comfortable, and he would be seized by a sudden terror that it was a trick or that it would all be yanked out from underneath him, that some fearsome monster was waiting for just the right moment to strike him down. He would count the doors and stare at the cobwebs in the corners and avoid his own gaze in the mirror. It couldn’t be real. After all that had happened, after all he had done and become, he couldn’t have this scrap of happiness.

It was real, though. Martin, if nothing else, was real. It was hard to deny that fact when he had Martin’s warm body brushing against his side as they went through the domestic motions of washing the dishes together. It was hard to deny the memories of Martin’s soft kisses on his cheeks or the victorious laugh Martin let out when he discovered a long forgotten bottle of wine in the cupboard or the dozens of pictures in his phone of Martin posing next to indifferent Highland cows.

Even if the worst was yet to come, it was hard to care during mornings like this, when everything felt still and quiet. Not the still quietness of a world holding its breath, but the peace of waking up naturally to light filtering in through curtains, with the arm of the person he loved around his waist.

Martin roused him out of his thoughts by leaning across the sink to turn up the volume on his phone. “Oh, I like this song.”

Jon huffed out a soft, fond laugh. He couldn’t help but think the song was the same as the last dozen he’d played; apparently Martin’s fondness for “lo-fi charm” extended to soft indie music Jon had never heard of, but he couldn’t bring himself to mind.

Jon didn’t realize he was singing along until he felt Martin staring at him. “What?” He said, caught off guard.

“I didn’t think you knew this song.” Martin said with pleased surprise.

“I don’t.”

“...Ah.” Martin said. “Well, I guess there are worse things to Know?”

“I suppose.” Jon sighed, unhappy despite the relatively innocuous nature of the Knowledge. It would never become less unsettling to suddenly Know things he didn’t ask for. Martin gently bonked his hip against Jon’s, distracting him from the downward spiral that seemed imminent.

“I’ve never heard you sing before.”

“It’s not like we hosted karaoke nights.” Jon smiled wryly.

“I’m fairly certain Tim planned one, but it never happened for… whatever reason.” Martin steered the conversation away from another uncomfortable subject. “You have a nice voice, you know.”

“I’m flattered.” Jon said, a sarcastic tone covering genuine happiness at the praise. “Would you believe I was in a band while at Uni?”

“No, I wouldn’t believe that, actually.” Martin’s expression was of surprised delight.

“We were quite eccentric.”

“Now that I do believe.”

Jon allowed that a self-deprecating huff of laughter. “A bunch of dramatic Oxford students singing about space pirates and cyberpunk Frankenstein and Arthurian legends retold as sci-fi westerns…” He smiled fondly at the memory.

“Jon.” He looked over to find Martin looking at him with restrained glee. “Please tell me you have recordings of this somewhere.”

“What, currently? No.”

“You don’t understand. I have to hear this right now.”

“I can’t help you! It was over a decade ago.” He laughed at Martin’s exaggerated pout and leaned up to press a kiss to his nose. “Sorry, darling.”

“It’s fine, it’s fine. I’ll just lose sleep knowing there are probably pictures of my boyfriend dressed as a space pirate, and I can’t see them.” Martin heaved a great sigh, but there was a smile playing at his lips. He dried his hands and turned to place them on Jon’s hips. Jon followed suit by taking off his dish gloves and draping his arms over Martin’s shoulders.

“There are certainly worse things to lose sleep over.” Jon said, playing with a tuft of hair that curled over the back of Martin’s neck.

“I guess so.” Martin pressed his face into the top of Jon’s head, and when the song on his phone switched to something with a quicker tempo, he could feel Martin’s smile. He started swaying, hands still on Jon’s waist.

“Martin,” Jon said with a warning in his voice, “What are you doing?”

“Nothing. I’m not doing anything.” Martin replied innocently. He stood up straight and smiled down at Jon.

“I’m fairly certain this is something.”

Martin rolled his eyes fondly. “I’m dancing. You know, that thing people do where they move in time to music? Surely you’ve heard of it.”

“I know what dancing is, I’m just- I’m not very good at it.” Jon protested, even though he was already matching Martin’s movements with only the slightest stutter.

“You don’t have to be good at it. Come on.” Martin stepped back and took Jon’s hands, pulling him into the middle of the kitchen. They weren’t even dancing, not really. It was more of a combination of sways and shimmies that made Jon laugh and shuffling footwork as they avoided stepping on each other’s toes. Jon felt more than a little ridiculous, but if he was completely honest with himself, he would do any amount of ridiculous things to keep that happy, adoring look in Martin’s eyes. An adoring look that morphed into one of mischief as Martin said, “I’m going to spin you.”

“Y- Oh!” Jon didn’t even get the chance to question it before Martin was guiding his arm around in a spin. It wasn’t exactly the most elegant maneuver, and he almost lost his balance for just a second, but it startled a laugh out of him all the same. Martin looked delightfully smug when he faced him again. Well, two can play at that game. 

Martin must have seen the look in Jon’s eyes when he decided his next move, but he only had half a second to look inquisitive when Jon slid his hands around Martin’s back. Martin leaned back with him as he was dipped, and Jon relished the surprised awe in Martin’s eyes for just a brief moment. 

And then they simultaneously remembered Jon’s limited upper-body strength. 

Jon’s arms gave out and Martin yelped as he fell, grabbing onto Jon, who let out a shout as he went tumbling down too.

The two of them fell in a heap on the floor, Martin letting out a soft “oof” as he took the brunt of the fall with Jon collapsed on his chest. Martin groaned quietly, and Jon scrambled upright. 

“Oh- Oh god, Martin, I’m so sorry. Are you alright?” Jon’s heart seized with panic as he saw Martin sling an arm over his face and start shaking. Oh god, was Martin crying? Jon would never forgive himself. Wait, no, not crying-

“That was so stupid.” Martin managed to say through helpless laughter. He slid his arm off his face to reveal bright eyes and a brighter smile. Jon gaped intelligently at him. “I’m twice your size, how could that have possibly gone well?”

“I…” Jon stammered for an excuse. “I thought it would be romantic.”

“Oh, it was romantic, sure. Really stupid, though.” Martin was still giggling weakly up at Jon, and some of the anxiety slid out of him. Still, he had to ask.

“You’re sure you’re alright?”

“I’m fine, Jon.” Martin rolled his eyes. “I’ve dealt with worse than a bruise before.” 

Jon slid back to sit on Martin’s shins as Martin lifted himself into a sitting position. He touched the back of Martin’s head gently, and Martin stalwartly did not flinch. “I can get you some ice.”

“I said I’m fine.” Martin grabbed his hands before he could get up, a laugh still playing in his voice. “You don’t need to fuss.”

“I’m not fussing.” Jon protested. Martin gave him a look, and he huffed. “Besides, that’s rich coming from you.”

“Alright, fair.” Martin smiled and kissed Jon’s knuckles, still not letting go. “If you really want to make it up to me… you can find your college band’s stuff?” He asked oh-so-hopefully. Jon laughed softly.

“I’ll see if there’s anything on YouTube. Satisfied?”

“Yes.” Martin looked pleased with himself as he finally stood and pulled Jon to his feet with him. “Now come on, we have dishes to finish.”

The peace might be deceptive, the happiness a trick to convince him to let his guard down, but when he shot Georgie a text requesting concert pictures from their college days while Martin chatted politely with a shopkeeper later that afternoon, Jon was convinced he wouldn’t trade it for anything.

[princecupcakee]

Park Bench | Reddie

Read on AO3

Rating: E

Pairing: Richie Tozier/Eddie Kaspbrak

Word Count: 3,112

Chapter: 1/8

Next Chapters: Chapter 2 (AO3), Chapter 3 (AO3), Chapter 4 (AO3)

Summary: Recently divorced and ‘incapable of love’, Eddie Kaspbrak moves to Los Angeles for work and a small, small hope of a fresh start. Broken up and never dated again, Richie Tozier tries to get back into love with help from his love of music. Quickly meeting eyes and one concert later, they think that maybe love isn’t that bad. So they try it one more time.

Chapter 1: Richie Tozier’s Plan, Eddie Kaspbrak’s First Vinyl & Beverly Marsh’s Plan

Tags/Warnings: Angst / Unhappy Ending / theres only one sex scene but this is explicit anyway / Bisexual Richie Tozier / Gay Eddie Kaspbrak / Post-Divorce / Implied/Referenced Cheating / Inspired By Remembering Sunday (All Time Low) / Inspired by The Book Ninja by Ali Berg / Implied/Referenced Child Abuse / Implied/Referenced Abuse / Implied/Referenced Manipulation

Tag-list: @richietoaster, @s-s-georgie, @mikeuris​, @gazebobullshit, @that-weird-girls-blog, @tozierking​, @thoughtfullyyoungduck, @s-onora, @bellarosewrites, @lermanslogan, @ambitiousskychild, @ghostnebula, @vanillaredvelvet, 

(Ask if you wanna be on the tag-list!!)

Chapter 1

Richie Tozier’s Plan

If Richie’s love life was written into a song, it would be called ‘Disaster’; named after his sad attempts at everything even just slightly involved with it. It would be a ballad, slow at first, some depressing line about how dreams don’t become reality. The chorus would hit loud, deafening if rock music wasn’t something you’d find yourself listening to, ‘He loved the sound of their romance’ is the loudest line in the chorus followed by: ‘But he messed up the steps to the dance’  then a sudden melancholy beat, ‘He failed his audition and he lost his chance.’ Toward the end of the song, as the sounds of the drums faded, and a slow guitar was the dominant sound, ‘It’s hopeless’ and the song would close.

Richie’s love life was an utter disaster if you tried to put it to words. He hadn’t had a single normal date in a very long time (he wonders if he ever did, really.) It wasn’t as simple as, ‘I spilled my drink and now there’s going to be a stain and that embarrassing’ those dates wouldn’t stand a chance on his. A few from his museum of failed dates:

Exhibit A -

James: Hey, I saw that you live in Los Angeles

Richie: Yeah! What about you?

James: I just got out of jail and my ex changed the locks. I really need a place to stay?

Exhibit B -

“I love this band so much,” Abigail gushed.

“Me, too! I’m really glad we were able to catch them here.”

And later that night on the news: ‘Woman arrested for jumping on stage to pull a strand of hair from a celebrity in a Los Angeles concert.’

Exhibit C - Connor. Connor Bowers was perfect with Richie, at least as Richie thought. The two had been dating for 2 years until Richie proposed, only to be rejected. Connor confessed that he was cheating, that he didn’t even actually like men. The night they got together, Richie had bought him a drink. Connor really only wanted to try it, but it clearly wasn’t for him. The next morning though, when they woke up in Connor’s bedroom, Richie decided that they were together. Richie wasn’t really thinking, he was just in desperate need for love. After Richie was kicked out of Connor’s apartment, he ended up in Stan’s house, unable to stay alone his own.

Richie never really moved out of Stan and Patty’s house. They didn’t really mind Richie living there, but they did mind that Richie was still bitter about the breakup. Stan and Richie have been friends since they were kids, he’s seen Richie in every way. Patty and Richie became close friends right when Stan introduced them. They would try to set Richie up with a few of their friends but he would just sulk in his room. He claims to be ‘done with love in the most chill way possible’ but the sad love songs, the bitterness on Valentines, and the sulking would beg to differ.“Love isn’t that bad you know, you could try”

“I don’t need to try. I’m fine,” Richie countered.

“There’s a lot of fish in the sea,” Patty said, kindly.

“Not anymore. All I get is plastic bags now,” Richie said bitterly.

Stan sighed, “you’re just gonna be alone forever?”

“Yes,” Richie replied immediately, standing up to get ready for work. Aside from a few comedy gigs, he works at a little record store a few minutes from where he lives. The store had the best speakers, phonographs, Walkmans, discs, headphones, everything. Richie loved it there, always being surrounded by music. The store was always pretty empty, aside from the occasional customer, it was just him. Like its always been.

He took his car from the driveway, heading for the city.

~~~

“Morning, Ben, Bev,” Richie nodded at them, smiling.

“Good morning Richie,” Beverly greeted with a wave, “How have you been?” Beverly was Ben’s wife, she has always been nice to Richie. ‘Nice’ didn’t compose of only greetings and coffee and being professional, they were close friends who went out to movies and heard each other’s lives play. Beverly designed clothing lines, while Ben was an architect. They don’t spend much time in the store, usually just leaving it with Richie.

“Pretty good, you?”

“Fine, but this one forgot to fix the thing on this table yesterday and was insanely worried all night,” Beverly pointed to Ben over her shoulder.

“It could break!” Ben argued, continuing to fix whatever was wrong with the table. Beverly walked over to Richie, who is sat down on the sofa. “So… I have this friend. He’s smart, good-looking, and really nice-“

“No, Bev, I’m not going to date. I’m single and unwilling to mingle.”

“More like, single and afraid to mingle,” she tiredly rolls her eyes, “Richie, there are good people out there, you just have to try.”

“I don’t see that. All the good people are with the other good people. Look at you and Ben! Both of you are like, super hot and nice. Guys like me got no chance- not saying that I want a chance, because I’m fine being alone.”

“You just have to keep looking.”

“Its a waste of energy to ‘keep looking.’ People who like me are not okay. Remember Abigail? Not to mention, people have shit taste in music.”

“You’re such a music snob,” She weakly laughs and shakes her head.

“Alright, its good. The screws were just-“ Ben says, getting up and walking to them.

“Ben, we love you but I don’t understand a single thing you say about architecture and furniture, and whatever else there is,” Bev jokes.

“I try. I’m out for today though, I have meeting, and I’m not sure if I’ll be back,” Ben says to Richie.

“Thats fine, I’ll just sit back here,” Richie smiles putting his hands behind his head and leaning further into the sofa.

“See you then.”

Richie picked up a vinyl and put it in the player. He had been playing around with cassettes, and a few of his own vinyl for a few hours now (‘few’ probably not being the case) and thinking and writing. After he’s finished a chunk of the script he was working on for his Friday performance at a local bar, he had gotten bored and just casually sat by the sofa. ‘Love’ the word danced around his head, taunting him. Or at least, to him, it was taunting. ’He woke up from dreaming and put on his shoes’ sung the player.

The song carried him around as he sang, “Forgive me I’m trying to find, my calling, I’m calling at night. I don’t mean to be a bother but have you seen this girl?” The lyrics took him strongly, his heart tight and loose at the same time, feeling each beat. He drums his fingers on the sofa, following the beats, “She’s been running through my dreams. And its driving me crazy it seems. I’m going to ask her to marry me.”

“you’re such a music snob,” rang in his ears, and he knew what he was going to do. He ran to his collection of vinyl seated by the left of the speakers, under the small table and began to search. He had his own few pieces of vinyl in the store, his own music that he listened to on the empty days of work. The Beatles, Green Day, Aerosmith, he took all the classics in his hands and grinned.

~~~

“Explain to me your plan again?” Stan asked, shocked.

“I’m going to get the best vinyl, write my number or email- whatever, and see who calls. Go on a date, see what happens. I’m gonna leave the vinyl all around the city’s subway all that, ” Richie explains excitedly.

“That might actually work!” Patty says, joining Richie’s excitement.

“This can get you more crazy dates than the ones you got before, Rich,” Stan says, unsure.

“Then, its material for my shows! Like Abigail and James!”

“See, Stan? Its great! Richie tries to go back to dating and he gets show material, win-win!” Patty hopes.

“Where will you get all the vinyl your leaving?”

“Thats the only downside, I’m going to use my own vinyl, maybe beg Ben to let me use the ones at the store?”

Stan sighs, softly smiling and nods, “this could work.”

~~~

‘Hot Fuss’ sat on his lap as he traced over the letters. Richie was in doubt now, his heart racing as he sat in the train. This was the first vinyl he would be leaving for this project of his. His stop was in a few minutes, so he pulled out the Sharpie from his pocket, bit the cap off, and wrote: ‘If you’ve enjoyed listening to this, would you enjoy a date too? Email me, Richie Tozier, @Remembering_Records.’ Richie set the vinyl down subtly and walked. “@Remembering_Records?” Stan asks.

“I was listening to Remembering Sunday, it was influenced,” Richie replies, hopping over the gap, he takes a deep breath and looks over at Stan, “Let’s hope this works,” he smiles, dashing away.

Eddie Kaspbrak’s First Vinyl

“I can’t believe we’re not using our cars,” Eddie mumbles, grumpily.

“Says the New Yorker,” Mike jokes.

“I drive there! Bill’s from there too! Subway stations are so unsanitary, so many people-“

“P-please! Enough with the com-complaining!” Bill says, frustrated, “M-Mike’s car broke down, and there’s no other way to get to B-Ben and Bev’s shop.”

“Its your day off! You landed in LA at midnight, and now we’re going to meet up with old friends,” Mike says happily, walking into the train.

“Exactly! Midnight. I shouldn’t be running around in this germ-infested-“

Mike looks at him tiredly.

“—I’m doing this because Ben and Bev are great and they’re our place to stay, Florida,” Eddie rolls his eyes.

Eddie doesn’t fit in LA. At all. He’s not used to the weather, the lifestyle, everything. He doesn’t like it here and just wants to go home. And Los Angeles seems to not want him here either. He lost one out of three of his suitcases the moment he got down, he had to wait an hour for Mike and Bill to pick him up from the airport, Mike’s car breaks down on the way to meet a friend, and now he’s taking the dirty subway.

He’s only really here for work. All three of them are. Bill and Eddie are from New York, and Mike is from Florida. They were transferred to the Los Angeles branch as a way to teach and help the new workers there. Bill’s ex-girlfriend, Beverly, lives in Los Angeles with her husband. They’re all good friends and Ben and Beverly offered to let them stay at their house (scratch that- mansion) for as long as they’re there. Of course, they took the offer instead of some crummy hotel, too far from their jobs.

Now here he is, on a train, heading to EighthNote to meet Ben and Beverly. But something isn’t right in this train, Eddie doesn’t know if this is just Los Angeles, but there, two seats away, is a light blue, paper casing, with the words ‘The Killers Hot Fuss’ sprawled across its center.

“Look, its Hot Fuss,” Mike points, “someone must’ve lost it.”

“We could put it in the l-lost and found,” Bill mumbles.

“Do not touch that. Who knows where its been?” Eddie says immediately, grabbing Bill's wrist and lightly pulling him back.

But Mike was already on his way to the seat, hand already about to grab the record. Until some guy in his late twenties took the record and sat on the seat. “Oh, is this yours?” He asks Mike.

“Oh, no, it isn’t mine,” Mike says walking back to Bill and Eddie.

~~~

On a street corner, a glass door, big windows, and a small wood sign that says EighthNote hanging above, Ben and Bev were talking inside when Bill, Mike, and Eddie walked in. “Ben! Bev!” Mike smiles, arms open wide.

“Its been so long!” Beverly sings, piling them into a group hug.

“It really has. I didn’t even know you had this shop,” Eddie says, admiring the speakers.

“At this point, it isn’t even ours, one our friends who work here basically one the place at this point,” Ben explains.

“You guys have a whole staff for this?”

“Nah, its just one of our friends. We pretty much just lay around here, the few customers here and there,” Beverly smiles, “he’s got comedy gigs though, he should honestly be a star now.”

“What’s his name?”

“Richie. We met him through Patty—one of my friends who model for me— her husband, Stan.”

“I’m probably pulling at strings here but are you talking about Stan Uris?” Mike asks, surprised.

“Yeah! How do you know him?”

“Best ex I ever had.”

Beverly laughs cheekily, “do tell.”

“Nothing! I just know from college, we dated a while, then he swooned for a girl, Patty Blum.”

“Thats her alright. Gorgeous.”

Eddie had moved on from the speakers by then, knowing they’d be reminiscing college in the next few minutes. Eddie only knows Ben and Beverly through Bill. Bill and Beverly had dated in college, but broke up and just stuck to being friends. Nothing is really awkward between them, all still close. Ben and Eddie both get along with architecture. He really just wanted something to do, he didn’t know what anything in this store was. “Its the thing from the train,” Eddie points, not exactly talking to anyone.

“Oh yeah,” Mike says walking over to Eddie. Mike’s reply startling him.

“Train?” Ben asks.

“We found a vinyl in the train on our way here,” Bill explains.

The conversation didn’t go into the details anymore, as Beverly took the record and put it in… Eddie didn’t know what that was. Was he supposed to? He saw Walkmans from his classmates when he was in middle school, but he never paid too much attention to it. He simply didn’t have the time or energy to care. Its just music. The song started oddly, in Eddie’s opinion. ‘Save some face, you know you’ve only got one’

“What the fuck is this?” Eddie wondered as the song continued.

“You’ve never heard ‘Smile Like You Mean It’?” Bill asks making Eddie slightly uncomfortable.

“I- No?”

Beverly cheekily grinning, “Well, since you’re in LA with us, you’re gonna finally see what good music is.”

~~~

The day took longer than Eddie had hoped, but now, he was in a car (thank God) heading the Marsh’s house. Grateful that Bill and Mike were just as exhausted and quiet as he was, he finally caught up with his thoughts. He was finally able to think again, about how the shop looked, how much he disliked the album Beverly basically threw at his ears, how cute the boy who walked into the shop earlier- no. No. Not what should be running threw his head right now. “Do you guys know the guy who walked into EighthNote earlier?”

“The tall, Hawaiian shirt guy with the glasses?” Mike asked, not looking at Eddie as he turned the wheel.

“Yeah.”

“I th-think that was the guy who works there. Who would randomly bring food into a store and y-yell ‘I brought Chinese, fuckers!’ If they didn’t work there?” Bill answers.

“Right,” Eddie says, his mind wandering away from the topic. He found himself opening his phone and searching ‘Hot Fuss’ into Spotify’s search bar. As much as he’d hate to admit it, it wasn’t that bad. And the guy at the store was cute.

Beverly Marsh’s Plan

“I brought Chinese, fuckers!” Richie shouted as he walked into the store. He instantly dropped his hands when he saw a man right in front of him.

After a quite lengthy moment of staring, “Excuse me,” he said, moving to the right of Richie, out the door, two men following after.

“Who were they?” Richie asked, setting the food on the table in front of him.

“Old friends of ours. They’re gonna be staying at our place,” Beverly explains.

“Okay,” Richie drags the word, “anyway, I have an amazing plan that was already put into action before any of you two hets try to stop me—”

“Uh-huh,” Ben cautiously nods.

“— so. Here’s how it works. I’m gonna set out a bunch of vinyl and shit on subways, with an email written on the back, and see how calls. I write if they wanna go on a date on the back, and if you’re worried if that'll be a bunch of people like Abigail and shit, I’m not saying you’re wrong. But if it is, it’s show material. It’s gonna be great.”

“This is amazing! You should’ve told us earlier, I totally would’ve come with you!” Beverly laughs.

“Wait. Did you start today?” Ben asks.

“Yeah, why?”

“Which?” Ben smirks at Beverly, as she returns the look.

“Hot Fuss,” Richie smiles. Ben and Beverly snicker. Richie rolls his eyes, “Yeah I know I played Mr. Brightside to a girl before, but I didn’t know the song was about cheating!”

Beverly’s laughter doubles, “That’s not it but okay.”

“Whatever. But, anyway, who was the short guy earlier?”

“We told you, old friends. Why?” Ben says.

“Dunno. He was kinda cute I guess.”

“See? I told you you’d like him. That was the guy I was telling you about,” Beverly smiles knowingly.

“You tried to set up Eddie and Richie?” Ben wonders. Beverly sneaks a wink at Ben, “There’s a concert next weekend, right?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“Think you could get us three more tickets?”

“Sure?”

~~~

Beverly walked into to her and Ben’s room, grinning. “Are you gonna explain why you’re so happy?” Ben asks.

“We’re gonna get Richie and Eddie together.”

Ben gives an unsure look at her, “Richie’s going back to dating with this vinyls-on-trains thing he’s doing. Are you sure you want to set him up? You know how unhappy he is about love and stuff, its surprising enough that he’s willing to try again.”

Beverly takes a moment to think. She knows Ben is right, but she also knows that this will be good for both Eddie and Richie. Well, the second one, she isn’t so sure of. “I guess,” Beverly says, slightly disheartened, “but, we could ask them and, y’know, try?” She says hopefully.

“As much as I worry about this, I also think that it could be good. We’ll take them both to the concert and see where they go from there. What do you think?”

“Perfect,” Beverly smiles.

[winryofresembool]

Things We Lost in the Fire, ch 2

Aka Caleo uni AU

Fic summary: Calypso starts studying at a new university, but to her annoyance her new flatmate is a loud mouthed mechanic who also likes to sneak his dog in whenever. But as she learns to know him better, she realizes they might have more in common than what she first thought. Eventually, even the darkest secrets come out...

Chapter summary: Leo visits his new family.

A/N: This chapter was a lot of fun to write because of Leo's pov! For those who may not have read The Dark Prophecy, Jo and Emmie basically adopt Leo and Calypso and Leo even says Jo reminds him of his mom at one point so I wanted to include that to this story! Also, to be clear about this, Leo still lives in the same town with them but wanted some independence once he started uni so he moved into a flat a year before the events of this story.

Thanks to Cris again for helping me out when I needed it the most! Now, please enjoy this chapter and remember that feedback would really be loved because otherwise it's hard to motivate myself to continue this story!

Words: 1400+

Genre: gen (this ch), romance & hurt/comfort in the future

Warnings: none

previous chapter / next chapter / AO3

...

Festus barked happily as he and his owner drove to the familiar yard of Waystation. For 4 years, Leo had had the honor of calling this place his home, and even now that he was already 19, he was still as happy to go there as in the first time after finding out that the two wonderful ladies living there would be adopting him. For the first time in 7 years he had felt he belonged somewhere. He had never met his biological father, and after his mother’s death (about which he still did not want to talk) he had been going from foster home to foster home, occasionally running away and living in the streets because the families did /not/ understand him. Not even his own relatives had accepted him.

Finally, his road had brought him to Indianapolis where he had sort of by accident met a family of two elderly women, Josephine and Hemethea (or as Leo knew them, Jo and Emmie), and their adopted daughter Georgina. It had been the happiest accident of his life; somehow the women knew exactly how to handle a troubled and traumatized 15-year-old. As an added bonus, Josephine was just as interested in mechanics as he was, and she had taught him a lot. The now 10-year-old Georgina called Leo her brother and when he was home, she followed him everywhere. Festus, whom Leo had gotten as an 18th birthday present, liked Waystation too: it offered him way more space to run around than the student flat in New York.

The brown haired girl was already waiting for Leo by the door when he got there, and even though she was almost as tall as Leo was (Leo claimed he had gotten his short genes from his nonexistent father), he scooped her into his arms and swung her around a few times. The girl giggled excitedly until she wanted to get back on the ground to pet Festus. Leo complied and soon he was surrounded by his adoptive mothers, both gray haired and strong built for their age. They were worried about whether Leo remembered to eat now that he was living on his own because he was so skinny (“I’m an excellent cook, Jo! Stop worrying!”), but secretly he was happy about the attention he got.

Eventually the family settled down and started asking Leo questions about how things were going in his uni town. He told them everything from his most recent mechanic job to his upcoming courses in the mechanical engineering program, but conveniently he avoided mentioning his new flatmate. Of course his mothers noticed that and looked at each other significantly before asking:

“So, it’s been a while since Jason moved away. Any word on a new flatmate yet?”

Leo did not know what force made him blush (he liked to think he did not blush often), but he did. The thought of his infuriating, annoying, rude… beautiful (he quickly pushed that thought away) flatmate seemed to cause that kind of reaction a little too often for his liking. They had known each other only for a few days and already she was driving him nuts in more than one way. She was arrogant. She seemed to think she was better than him (which, mind you, Leo was not disagreeing with because his self loathing still occasionally got the better of him despite the therapy and his mothers’ attempts to talk to him). She managed to make an argument about the smallest of things and good gods, that girl was still angry about the desk even though he had offered to fix it. What could he do in a situation like that?

But the years as a runaway had also taught Leo to interpret people pretty well, and he sensed that there was something much more under that hard cover that Calypso was holding up. Something fragile and soft that he simply couldn’t reach yet. When she thought Leo didn’t notice, there was a hint of sadness in her eyes that felt very familiar to him even though he couldn’t put a name on it. And damn it if she wasn’t the prettiest girl he had seen at the university campus with that caramel colored hair and dark mysterious eyes. Not that he’d admit that to her. Ever.

He was so distracted by his thoughts he only realized he still hadn’t answered to the question until he felt the burning gazes directed at him.

“Uh… yeah! I do have a new flatmate now,” he finally admitted. The blush seemed to persistently stay on his cheeks.

Instead of asking directly who that mysterious person was, Emmie decided to take a different approach. “Oh… That’s nice, isn’t it? To have someone to remind you to actually go to your lectures and not work 24/7?” There was a hint of warning in her tone; she did know that Leo was still processing a lot in his head, and when things got particularly overwhelming, he tended to drown his feelings into his work and forget to rest. Which, Emmie supposed, was still better than the experiments he had done as a 15-year-old before they finally managed to help him, but at this rate he might burn out some day. There was a lot of fire inside him, she knew, but if he didn’t remember to turn it off, he wouldn’t last long.

Leo didn’t agree with her. “It’s… she’s not that kind of person. She doesn’t really talk to me a lot anyway.”

“She?” Jo asked curiously. Among other things, she was aware of Leo’s soft spot for pretty girls. That would certainly explain why he was blushing and acting grumpy when asked questions about her.

“Focus on the relevant things, Josephine.” Leo usually called Josephine and Hemethea with their nicknames instead of ‘mother’ or ‘mom’ because he wanted to save that word for his dead mother. But when he wanted to let his adoptive mothers know he was unhappy with them, he sometimes used the full name. “I was gonna say that when she does talk to me she usually likes to argue, and it’s super frustrating.”

“Alright, spit it out,” Jo said in her direct manner. “What did you do to the poor girl to madden her so?”

“Hey!” Leo protested, offended that she would think it was all his fault. “Who said I did anything? I didn’t! Well…” he finally gave in, “Festus did… but it wasn’t his fault, the desk was flimsy!”

“Flimsy desk? Please elaborate.”

“We carried Calypso’s desk,” Leo swallowed, realizing he said her name aloud for the first time, and it tasted weirdly good in his mouth. Even though he was mad at her. Which he definitely was.  “… into our flat but I left my door unlocked for a moment so Festus got out of my room and… he may have jumped on it,” he finished sheepishly.

“Oh,” Emmie said understandingly. “But you’re a handy young man; did you not offer to fix it?”

“I did!” Leo grunted. “But she didn’t accept my offer!”

Emmie looked at him thoughtfully. “I don’t know her but maybe she was simply too proud to accept your help. She doesn’t know you yet so she doesn’t know how good you are at fixing and tuning things. But trust me; I’m sure she’ll be more than happy when she sees what Leo Valdez is capable of.”

Leo had to admit that the older woman had pulled from exactly the right strings. That was how you encouraged him to do something.

“Fine,” he nodded finally. “I’ll see what I can do when I go back.”

“Anyway,” Jo smirked slyly. “Tell us more about this Calypso! What does she study? What does she look like?”

“She’s a history nerd and she smells like some spice you often put into your bakings… hold on… cinnamon! But…”

Leo saw his mothers’ expressions and immediately stopped when he realized he had said too much. “That’s it, tía Jo, I know what you’re thinking and I’m saying no. Georgie, Festus, let’s go to play or something. These two seem to have gotten some weird ideas…” He shook his head as he gestured the two to follow him.

When the trio had left the room, the elderly couple burst into laughter. It would definitely be interesting to see what Leo’s story with his new flatmate would develop into, they concluded.

[imalwaysintune]

Soft JonMartin pt. 2

Thank you so much for the love on my first story! I t was wonderful reading all the positive feedback. And thank you to @ggracee for making beautiful art for it.

If you have any requests, please send them to my ask box or message me. I’m also in the process of making an AO3 account so be on the lookout for that.

Please don’t judge too hard cause their probably not all in character but i have a lot of soft feelings i need to get out and it is being projected onto these characters. Enjoy!

-------------------------------------

“What? Elias, I don’t understand. It’s not even a holiday today.” Jon spoke to Elias, trying very hard to keep up with the man’s eager stride.

“It’s nothing you need to worry about, little Archivist. Tell everyone that they can go home. Consider it a gift, if that tickles your fancy.” Elias drawled, opening the door to his office. “I promise everything here will be fine. Plus, you look a little worse for wear. Go suck a statement out of somebody or something.” At that, Elias slammed the door to his office, leaving Jon dumbfounded.

Normally, Jon would want to argue with him. He would want to fight against the decision Elias has made, but today he just… couldn’t. Elias was right, and that annoyed Jon. He was tired, and more hungry than he had been in a long time. He decided to drop the issue and just enjoy the free day that he had been given.

As Jon began walking around the institute, relaying the message Elias had told him to, he ran into Martin. Martin helped him with the few people left while Jon went into the Archives to collect his things. Not that he had much; just his journal and charger for his phone. Not that he really used it all that often anymore. The only people who texted him were Martin and Basira. But he rarely answered. Jon sighed, staring at the device when he heard a knock on the door. Gentle, but it made him smile to himself. “Come in, Martin,” He said.

The door opened, revealing the redhead Jon had come to rely on heavily these past few months. Martin smiled gently. A rush of dizziness ran through Jon’s head, causing him to lean heavily against the chair leaned against his desk. Martin quickly rushed over to support Jon, looping the smaller man’s arm around his shoulders. “Careful, Jon. You need to take care of yourself. When’s the last time you... fed?” He asked carefully, careful to not talk to loud as to spook Jon. 

Jon slowly looked up at Martin, his mouth suddenly being deprived of all moisture. He swallowed in vain before speaking, “I... um... maybe a month? It’s hard to keep track of time in the grand scheme of things, right now, to be honest.”

He slipped his arm from across Martin and stood up on his own, his shoulders rolled back and his chin high. “I’ll be okay. Ah, but since we have the rest of the day off today because Elias is... busy... we should get out of here. Don’t want to upset the boss.”

“I was actually going to come to you to talk about that. I was wondering if you wanted to come over to my place. We don’t really see each other much out of work now and I have extra tea at my house that I didn’t mean to buy, but the tea was one sale and so I bought so much more than I’ll ever need and-”

“Martin. Martin!” Jon interrupted Martin’s ramble. A smile was tugging at the edge of his mouth, but from what he couldn’t tell. He was tired, oh so tired, but still he felt compelled to accept the invitation Martin had extended to him. He normally wouldn’t let himself indulge in something he wanted to do when he knew he had things that he was supposed to be doing. But Martin’s little hopeful sent shivers down Jon’s spine he couldn’t ignore. So he did accept, gladly basking in the chance to let himself relax. 

Before he knew it, Martin was driving him to his flat. He didn’t think about how he’d get home later, about how his car was still at the institute, about how Martin had said offhandedly that he has a spare bedroom that is currently unoccupied. All he thought about was the man in the driver’s seat. He allowed himself short glaces over to him while he was distracted, staring at the busy intersections in front of them. 

Every time he looked over, Jon felt his face flush and his stomach turn over. He didn’t know why this was happening, as he usually associated those feelings with fear, but he knew that he wasn’t scared. He felt more content than he ever had in his life, sitting next to Martin. Soon, though, his thoughts shifted to how tired he really was. His eyelids began to close, sleep quickly overcoming him like a gentle wave. He didn’t think, just let the feeling take him over as he fell asleep leaning against the passenger side window.

When Jon came to, he didn’t recognize his surroundings. What he did notice, though, was a few things. First, he was in a bed. Not, he decided, his bed, but it was comfortable and soft. Second he realized the decorations that covered the walls. They were pictures, he saw, pictures of various people whom he did not know, save for one. Martin. Suddenly it clicked, he was in Martin’s flat and had no recollection of coming inside himself.

Christ, he thought, Martin must have someone carried me in here himself. The selfless bastard. 

Jon slowly got out of bed, his joints screaming against the movement. He ignored them, like he always did, and began scanning the room with his eyes. It was Martin at different points in his life, surrounded by people Jon knew he’d never met, or will ever meet. Still he was drawn to a particular face in one of the pictures. It was a ginger, more heavy-set woman holding a child that looked an awful lot like Martin as a toddler. He felt the pressure beneath his eyes but decided to ignore it. He didn’t want to peer into parts of Martin’s life he wasn’t inclined to tell. But then again, it didn’t matter anyways when he heard footsteps come up right behind him.

He knew who it was before he turned around. Martin’s voice spoke quietly and broke the silence. “That’s my mum. Or, it was my mum. Before she passed away. A while before she passed away. Sorry, it’s hard to talk about.”

Jon finally turned around and faced Martin, a wave of what he thought was nausea passing over him. He awkwardly collapsed into Martin, his bony joints pressing against Martin’s soft body. But Martin managed to catch him nonetheless and set Jon down onto the bed. “You need to rest,” was all he said. 

Jon didn’t have the energy to argue, and instead let the sweet lullaby of Martin’s voice lull him to sleep. Funny, he thought, I’ve never heard Martin sing before.

When Jon woke up for the second time, it was noticeably darker. He could see the outline of Martin in the same position he had been before he’d fallen asleep. Had he been there the whole time?

Soon Jon realized with a jolt, though, that Martin was speaking. Softly, bare audible, so Jon had to strain his ears to actually hear what he was saying. He almost seemed to be talking to somebody, but Jon couldn’t make out the outline or light of a phone.

“-and I know you’re still asleep so you’ll never hear this. Maybe that’s for the better. Maybe we’re- maybe I’m meant to be unhappy. Just look at you from the sidelines and cheer you on from the stands. You’re the hero Jon, not me. The hero isn’t supposed to fall in love with a bystander, much less a guy. He’s supposed to fall in love with the sexy damsel in distress. Someone like Melanie or Basira. But I supposed they’re not really damsels, per say. I mean Melanie literally gorged her eyes out, but she’s with Georgie now. And Basira can hold her own better than any of us. 

“Sorry, I’m rambling.” He laughed. “I don’t know why I apologized though because, well, you can’t hear me.”

Martin took a pause, staying quiet for so long that Jon was worried he wasn’t going to speak again,  but suddenly he let out a deep sigh.

“I guess the moral of the story is that I love you Jon. But I’m too scared to tell you to your face, so I’m instead telling you while you sleep. It’s a coward move, I know, but I’m just scared. We’ve only just started getting closer, I don’t want to push you away so soon. I have to constantly push down the urges to hug or kiss you. I don’t think I hide it well, unfortunately. Daisy gives me these... looks, like she just knows what I’m thinking. It seems you’re the only one who doesn’t know at this point. I don’t know if I’ll ever tell you to your face. But this will have to do for now.”

Martin was silent again, and finally he moved. Jon felt the weight leave the bed, and soon the sound of a door opening and footsteps retreating down the hall. Jon sat up as quietly as he could and leaned against the wall, his face cool. When he reached up to touch it, his hands came away wet. He realized then that he’s been crying, for how long he didn’t know. 

“Holy shit, Martin,” He whispered, wiping the rest of the tears from his face.

Again he felt his stomach turn, and his face heat up. He didn’t know what it meant. He didn’t know what any of it meant, he didn’t know what to do. He just sat there, staring at his hands until he heard the footsteps returning down the hall. He did not move as he saw the silhouette of Martin appear in the doorway. The figure froze, and only moved after a few seconds to turn on the lights.

Suddenly Jon could see all of Martin, his disheveled hair and tear stained face. Had he been crying?

“Uh, h-hi Jon. Glad to see you’re awake. Are you feeling any better?” Martin asked gently. Had he always been this gentle?

“Martin I-” He froze, unsure how to respond to the entire situation he’d found himself in. “Um, I’m fine. Better than fine. I, um, heard what you said. Or, some of it. The end of it.”

Martin’s soft smile dropped, and so did the mug he was holding in his hands. He slowly sank to his knees, not caring about the broken ceramic mug. His head dropped into his hands and he began shaking, slow heavy sobs being released through his hands.

Jon sprung off the bed and over to Martin, careful to not step on any of the shattered mug. He slowly grabbed Martin’s hands and peeled them away from his face. He gripped them tightly, and stood as he led Martin over to the bed. He sat the man down gently and began picking pieces of ceramic off his skin. “Stay here, I’ll be right back,” He ordered, leaving the room and returning a minute later with a wet washcloth.

Jon began to wipe Martin’s knees carefully, weary to remove as much of the shrapnel as he could. Martin was silent through all of this, just staring intently at either Jon or his knees, trying to keep the whimpers of pain to a minimum. 

When Jon was finished, he stood and threw the cloth in what he assumed to be the dirty hamper. He then sat down next to the larger man, looking impossibly small next to him. But he was stronger than he looked, he knew, and took Martin’s hand into his own. It was such a simple movement, but it caused the butterflies in his stomach to persist harder. He fought down the emotion and spoke as levelly as he could.

“Martin, I don’t understand love. That’s not to say I don’t feel it, it’s just even if I did, I don’t think I would know. Or, well, Know. But, every time I’m around you, my stomach feels uneasy and I can’t help but to want to look at you. Doesn’t that mean something?”

Martin perked up at that, smiling warily at Jon, wiping his face of the rest of the tears. “Jon, you’re so oblivious. Don’t you understand? I’ve loved you for literal years, and it’s taken you this long to sort through your feelings. Christ, I never thought we would be having this conversation.”

“But I- I want to Martin. I think I understand now. I’ve been... I’ve been reading romance novels and-”

Martin burst out laughing at that, his voice incredulous, “Romance Novels?? The Jonathan Sims has been reading romance novels? For what? How to know if you’re in love or not? That’s not how you-” The look on Jon’s face shut him up. “Oh my God, you were reading them to find out about love. Jon, I didn’t- I’m sorry-”

It was Jon’s turn to laugh. He placed his hand on top of Martin’s and leaned on him. “It’s quite alright, Martin. I just didn’t know how else to get answers to my questions, and The Eye was keen on telling me. So, yes. Romance novels.”

He felt Martin move above him, and turned at the same time Martin tried to look down at Jon. What happened instead, however, sent shivers down both their spines. Martin leaned down a little too far, and their lips brushed. Soon Jon felt Martin above him again, but this was, was pushed to the mattress with a weight on top of him. His mind turned blank, not inclined to help him out but it didn’t matter. His instincts kicked in and soon he was kissing Martin back. He was kissing him back.

It was the softest thing he had ever felt. With a jolt, though, Martin sat up and scrambled off the bed, off of Jon. He suddenly felt cold as Martin stared at Jon with wide eyes. 

“We should, um, probably head to bed. You can sleep in here, I’ll crash in the other bedroom. Goodnight, Jon, um, I’m sorry.” Martin stammered.

Groggily Jon smiled, and reached out his arms for Martin. “Please, stay with me tonight. I lost you so much already, I don’t want to lose you again.”

And so Martin did. He slept with Jon that night, relishing in the fact that Jon had asked him to stay. He couldn’t leave Jon when he was finally asking for him. Right before Martin finally fell asleep though, he heard Jon whisper in the dark.

“I love you too, Martin.”

The End!

[smokinholsters]

A Decision at the Crossroads

A Heartland AU - Chapter 4 – Finale

While Ty went to fetch his phone Amy popped open one of the side panels on the trailer and unsnapped the table that was first in line. She reached her arms wide to grab it and start lifting it out when Ty showed up.

“Whoa easy Amy, I’ll get it.”

“I’m fine.”

“Of course you are now back up please.”

“Thank you Ty.” She said and stepped aside “and 5 of the chairs please.”

“Six actually Kelsey’s coming.”

“Kelsey ?”

“Dr. Burton, my namesake apparently.” He said laying the table on it’s side and unfolding the legs. “Hey, this is nice set up.”

“We take trips with kids, believe me a table is always easier and cleaner than watching them balance plates. Besides it’s more homey and civilized.”

“I’ll file that away” he said maneuvering the table and then placing chairs as Amy opened and gave them a wipe with a damp cloth as well as the table. She had also removed a little basket with a tablecloth sealed in a zip loc bag, and began to spread it. As well as counting out silverware found in the basket as well.

“Ty there’s another basket with plates and more pitchers.” She said watching him walk over as she grabbed one pitcher from her now empty basket and put it on the table.

They set the table together, each handling three settings and Amy ran in for a roll of paper towels. He watched as she took a second to look at the table, nodded and walked over to lower herself into a chair slowly. She was wearing a blue dungaree dress that went down to her knees, it had ¾ sleeves and embroidery along the hem and collar. Obviously a maternity dress, he was captivated by her shape.

“You need to stop staring at me Ty, I’m becoming very self conscious, I already think I look like a beach ball.”

“You don’t, I’m sorry, you look great. Two kids, one on the way, I’m, I don’t know….”

“Three actually, you’re the first to hear, Clint Riley called, they have a foster for us, a young boy named Luke Kashani, he’s nine. Clint’s bringing him Monday.”

“Clint Riley, he’s still around huh. That’s nice, keeping that tradition going.”

“Yeah, Scott, you, Georgie, remember Badger, it’s nice.”

“Mitch mentioned Georgie and something with Lou, he also told me about the divorce.”

“Georgie was an orphan who ran away from her foster family in Okotoks, she stowed away in Grandpa’s pickup and found her way to Heartland. She was a keeper. The divorce is what it was I guess, it’s now amicable with benefits apparently, works for them.”

“Georgie lives with Lou at Heartland ?”

“Lou took a condo in town when she became Mayor and lives there with Katie. We fixed up the loft when I got back from Europe as a nice studio and I lived there alone and then with Mitch for awhile before moving to Saddle River, his family ranch, his parents have an independent living condo in Calgary. Georgie and Quinn are engaged and live in the loft, Grandpa and Lisa live in the house.”

“I heard Jack married Lisa, I saw an article about the Hall of Fame that mentioned it. I’m sorry about your dad Amy, I read about his passing.”

“The death of a legend, it was a nice tribute.”

“I saw a tribute to Lou as Mayor too, ordering the stay in place at home and closing Maggie’s early on definitely seemed to make a difference in the area.”

“It did and I think she’ll be remembered for that, this is her last term, she’s not running again. Enough about Hudson, tell me about you, is there someone special, Kelsey maybe ?”

“Nah, Kelsey and I never, there have been women over the years but I’m free now, I’m picky I guess.”

“Well when it happens you’ll know.”

“You and Mitch look happy.”

“We are, very happy.”

“How’s Jack ?”

“Older, pretty much retired, his arthritis, heart problems, a hard 90, for a former bronc rider and Alberta cowboy not fun.”

“Lisa ?”

“Lisa’s good, the perfect grandmother, she loves the kids. So does Casey, Lyndy adores them both. Mitch’s folks too.”

“Casey, I know this.”

“McMurtry.”

“Right, McMurtry Rodeos, they come around every couple years.”

She noticed quickly enough that he had changed the subject. “Ty ? Are you happy ?”

Ty looked at her and into her eyes, Amy could see that he wasn’t teary but there was disappointment, a small sadness in his face “I guess, I mean I don’t think I’m unhappy.”

“Were you happier yesterday ? Mitch said he thought you might be having a case of the might have beens.”

“I didn’t need to see you for that. The baby was eye popping don’t get me wrong and not in a bad way Amy, you look amazing, really the, well,  the high school boyfriend comment, that sort of slammed a world of reality down on me.”

“That’s what we were, we were an actual couple for most of my high school 3rd year, my senior year was a nightmare, we were way better as friends than as a couple Ty, we were a lousy couple.” She was smiling and not being harsh, her tone somewhat softly nostalgic, it was in fact a long time ago.

“Come on, that’s a bit extreme don’t you think ?”

“Really ? You really think ?” She said,  again somewhat amused and again not in anything more than the nostalgia of it “we had a good few months, you know Kit and the Quarantine and then I won the Ring of Fire and rather than joining me and perhaps a later bike trip in the summer to see some of the world you decided that you needed to go off alone for a few weeks. So, after the excitement of motels with my dad on tour and while I spent the rest of the summer working and doing what used to be your job on top of mine you came home almost 4 months later with a huge dose of misplaced maturity and Blair. Then Chase stuck his nose in, we were a good couple for 7 months, maybe. Look Ty, I know about what Grandpa did and he told me what led up to that talk and him sending you off. I don’t know what brought you to that point or why you didn’t come home, but it was your decision, we all had to live with your decision.”

“Looking back, I don’t know either honestly.”

“And I don’t know what would have happened if you had but I do know this, my life with Mitch and our kids feels so right to me that I can’t imagine life without him being a part of it, I’m not saying this to hurt you Ty, but your best days are still ahead of you.”

“So this is the honest conversation part we didn’t do back then huh ?”

“This is it.”

“How do you do it and go on together ?”

“You say it, get it out of your system and have sex, then you fix it in the morning.” She answered smiling.

“Well to be fair we weren’t, at the time, you know.” He said smiling.

“That’s true”, Amy agreed and immediately blushed and then agreed with a smirky smile and a nod, “hey, you’ve,  you know, since, right ?”

“Huh ?” Then realizing she meant had sex, “oh, oh yeah, no worries.”

“So, you’re still driving a classic truck I see, what’s that an early 70’s GMC ?”

“Yeah,’73, hey, whatever happened to Harley and Old Blue ?”

“After a while Caleb took Harley because, well, it broke my heart to see him every day and he eventually found him a nice home with a couple kids who were going to share him.”

“Sorry, I really wanted to,,,,, forget it. And the truck ?”

“Grandpa kept the truck running and in front of the house for months figuring if nothing else you’d show up in the night and drive it off but you didn’t and one day it wouldn’t start so he hauled it next to Goldie swearing he’d fix it one day.”

“So it’s just sitting there rotting ?”

“Well no actually, about the time Caleb sold Harley I was sick of looking at it so I got rid of it.”

“You sold it.”

“Well, in the interest of honesty, not exactly.”

“What does that mean, exactly ?”

“I attached the promise ring to the ignition key and had it crushed.”

“You had it crushed ?”

“I needed closure Ty, it was invigorating, a grand release of emotions.”

Ty stared at her for a few seconds in shock and then Amy started laughing and then holding her stomach bent over and laughing. “I’m sorry Ty.”

“It’s Ok” he said laughing along with her.

“Oh here, give me your hand.” She said reaching out, she loves it when I laugh “come on silly give me your hand” she prodded seeing the look on his face.

Finally she grabbed his hand and hauled it over, “come here I don’t bite,” gently she turned his palm and lay it over the right side of her belly holding her hand over his. A few seconds later she smiled, “there, feel that ?”

When she stretched out her leg rather than kicking Ty identified a second feeling and realizing it was really no different that any animal understood “that’s a stretch.”

“That’s it” she said gently releasing the pressure. “I think we’ll call her Marion, it’s time. Marion Fleming Cutty.”

“That’s really great, so Lyndy.”

“Lyndy Sarah, Mitch’s grandmother. Jackson Timothy and Marion no middle yet.”

“And Luke was it ?”

“Luke Kashani. I guess we’ll need something for a toast, is there a place to get some wine close by ?

“I have beer for dinner and a couple bottles of champagne I can donate to the cause. You drink ?”

“Oh no, I‘ve had a couple sips of champagne as toasts, wedding night and the like, but not, no, I don’t. Especially pregnant.”

“It was just a question Amy.”

She smiled and nodded, “you wouldn’t by any chance have any ice in there for the water ?”

“There’s an ice machine in the barn for ice packs and stuff.”

“You get the champagne, I’ll do the ice.” She said pushing herself up with a grunt.

He smiled watching her move, almost awkwardly, before turning to the house while she walked slowly into the barn.

She wasn’t at the table when he returned and neither were the pitchers so he walked over to the barn where he found the pitchers full of ice on a small table by the barn door and then heard her on the other side by the paddock. Following her voice he turned around the barn and found her engrossed in conversation with the three rescues she had never met. He stood there watching her and the horses who seemed very anxious to be close. The soft sing song pater of her voice a sweet memory for him, the miracle girl.

She turned and smiled “Oh hey, I saw them and figured I’d say hi. We should probably get them stalled and fed.”

“As soon as the guys get back we’ll get it done, you’re wearing a dress, come on.”

They returned to the table after Ty filled the cooler he carried out with ice as well, as a truck Amy did not know pulled up and an early 40’s woman stepped out and over. She had a welcoming smile and a pretty face.

Amy looked up and smiled, “you must be Kelsey, it’s good to meet you, I’m Amy Fleming, Mitch’s wife” she finished extending her hand.

“Kelsey Burton, good to meet you Amy,”

“Sit, relax, we’re waiting for Mitch and Matt to get back.”

“How far along are you if you don’t mind my asking.”

“Little over 5 months I guess, you have kids ?”

“Two, one about to start high school and one about to go to college. Mitch said this is your third, we never got to three before the arguing got too bad, we married way too young.”

They all turned as Mitch’s truck came onto the property, the large Cummins Diesel was not quiet as it pulled up.

Amy smiled when he got out the cab and opened the back door along with Matt repeating the act on the passenger side.

Ty walked off to grab the cooler he had put by the barn and offered beers to all. Amy poured a few waters on her side of the table as Kelsey helped with the food and Mitch and Matt led the horses into the barn.

Once laid out Kelsey examined the table.

“This is a lot of food you guys.” Kelsey said.

Mitch who had come out the barn wiping his hands on a paper towel glanced over at Amy who grinned and him and made a face “don’t you dare.” She said blushing.

“Still eats her weight ?” Ty asked seeing the exchange only to have a dinner roll thrown his way which he caught.

“Hey, what happened to civilized dinner ?” Ty said laughing before sitting down.

Dinner was long and drawn out. Kelsey and Ty talked about the practice, Matt had sheriff stories and Amy and Mitch talked about adventures of their own and their kids. Amy was surprised at the chemistry between Kelsey and Ty and the looks they passed to each other like old friends but maybe something more. Amy was past the age thing, her dad and Casey and Jack and Lisa proved that.  She was not surprised at all that Ty was friends with Kelsey’s kids or that Ty caught every baseball and hockey game her sons played, in and out of school. At one point during a lull in the eating Ty lifted the champagne so that Amy could see.

“Good a time as any.” She said reaching for clean cups and passing them over.

“Champagne, what are we celebrating ?” Mitch asked.

“Us” Amy said as Ty passed cups around after the big pop.

“Why us ?”

“Because sweetheart congratulations are generally tendered when one is told he’s about to become a father, Clint called before, we have a 9 year old foster son arriving Monday morning, Luke Kashani.”

“Luke Kashani, 9 years old, wow.” Mitch repeated.

“Congratulations you two, that’s wonderful” Kelsey announced raising her glass and tapping it to Mitch’s and then Amy’s iced tea that Mitch remembered to get. Soon they were onto 9 year old boy stories and Amy reached out to grab the platter of ribs and dropped them. Not hard but everyone turned to her as she reached for her side.

“Easy girl, mom’s just grabbing for some ribs.” She whispered and then seeing Mitch’s look took his hand as she had Ty’s and then kissed his palm, something she had not done to Ty before placing it on the spot.

“She’s really going at it.” He said smiling and then leaned forward to grab the ribs and bring them closer for Amy who smiled and kissed him before pushing a few onto her plate.

“What do they put in this Cole slaw, it’s always awesome and I can’t figure it out.” Kelsey asked putting some on her plate.

“It’s horseradish” Amy said after swallowing.

“Is this a pregnancy thing ?” Matt asked “heightened palate ?”

Amy shrugged trying to swallow her next bite before answering, “It’s years of studying herbs and alternate remedies. Single ingredients are easy usually unless the tastes are ambiguous like licorice and anise. Or I guess it could be the pregnancy thing” she finished looking up with a smile.

Kelsey was the first to leave, she had to get home to her teenagers. Mitch and Amy said goodbye as they wouldn’t be seeing her in the morning. Matt was game to leave as well, he had an early shift in the morning but promised to stop before they left which was planned for 9:00 AM. Ty helped clear away and helped Mitch with stowing the table and chairs while Amy split the food as Ty insisted they take enough for lunch on the way home. He promised he’s see them in the morning so goodnights were easy.

Later in the evening in the afterglow of their lovemaking Mitch had gone to get some cold water for Amy who settled herself into her current comfortable position, on her left side, pillow between her legs and her arm perched on her belly. Mitch lovingly held the glass out and helped her take a drink without moving much or spilling and then settled as usual behind her, his arm sliding under hers as he leaned forward to kiss her shoulder.

“You had a chance to catch up with Ty ?”

“I did, it was nice.”

“He Ok ?”

“You were a bit right I think, the could have beens but we had a good talk, it went well.”

“Seemed to from my perspective. How about you ? Could have beens ?”

“Not on your life Mitchell Cutty, I couldn’t imagine spending my life with anyone but you.”

“Good to hear and back at you Amy Fleming.”

Amy leaned back as far as she could to catch his lips with hers for a moment before returning to her spot.

In the morning Amy woke to the closing of a car door and a truck start. Peeking out the window she saw Ty’s truck drive off and wondered if he was just getting out without a proper goodbye. When she finally showered and dressed and headed outside with a cup of tea and her breakfast of muffins and clementines she found a note tucked into the trailer door. It said that he was called away for a calving that wasn’t going well but expected to be back by nine when they were scheduled to leave.

Matt arrived after Mitch got his coffee going and decided to wait with them while it perked and join Mitch for a cup. He wasn’t surprised to find Ty gone for an emergency, that was his job as long as Kelsey had kids to get off to school and he was fine with it.

Before he left Matt got a call from Ty and explained that he was almost done but rather than make Mitch and Amy wait he’d meet them for their goodbye as a scenic pull off about 5 miles down the road south, the direction they were heading anyway.

Matt helped them pack up and load the horses, made sure they knew where to go and watched and waved as Amy pulled out first followed by Mitch and the trailer.

They parked and leaned against the overlook fence when Mitch received a text that Ty was on the way. He joined them 10 minutes later full of apologies that they discounted as completed unwarranted and totally understood.

Mitch went first and shook Ty’s hand before a brief bro hug and then walked off to close the trailer that they had opened for the horses benefit.

Amy walked over to Ty and gently ran a finger gently across his brow to move his hair away from his eyes.

“I’d forgotten just how green they were.” She said dropping her hand and smiling.

“Back home ?”

“I have to tell them Ty but we’ll leave contact up to you.”

“Thanks.”

Amy heard the door trailer handle locked into place and took a step forward to reach around Ty for a hug before stepping back.

“Find yourself a woman who loses herself in those eyes Ty and then hold on.”

“I’ll try ?”

“She can be a little older you know.”

“She’s my boss Amy.”

“And soon to be your partner, think about it, you’re a good catch with a big heart Ty Borden, it’s time to stop running. Oh, and I was technically your boss for a while there.” Then she leaned forward and kissed each of his cheeks gently. “Don’t be a stranger, you’d make Grandpa’s day with a call.”

“I will.”

“Goodbye Ty, it’s nice knowing you’re doing well.”

He walked her to her truck as Mitch got into the cab of his and Ty helped Amy in and watched her settle and buckle up before closing her door.

“Bye Amy, It was great seeing you and meeting Mitch.”

Amy smiled and nodded as Ty stepped back and she shifted into drive and drove out followed by Mitch who smiled and waved.

A few miles down the road Amy smiled when the next song was announced and she switched on the truck to truck radio to have Mitch join in when she started singing.

Together, they were the perfect couple.

“Almost heaven, West Virginia

Blue Ridge Mountains, Shenandoah River

Life is old there, older than the trees

Younger than the mountains, growing like a breeze

Country roads, take me home

To the place I belong

West Virginia, mountain mama

Take me home, country roads

All my memories gather 'round her

Miner's lady, stranger to blue water

Dark and dusty, painted on the sky

Misty taste of moonshine, teardrop in my eye ……..”

The End.

[fearfearer]

more thoughts about the magnus archives as i reread the transcripts

i was thinking about how gertrude robinson was really an extraordinary person (not extraordinarily Morally Sound, but extraordinary) just because of who she was, whereas the only extraordinary things about jonathan sims are things that have been arranged for him (i.e. his role). i don't mean this as a diss for jonathan, as i'm not extraordinary either. it's just striking that gertrude was so driven and confident compared to jon. of course, now we know that basically everything she did was in the pursuit of a moot goal (i.e. killing people in order to stop rituals that were already doomed to fail) so maybe my point is somewhat moot as well.

i've been doing some rereading of episodes on my phone (i.e. away from this text document on my computer) and i'll have a realization like "right, i should note that down when i get back to my computer" and i have forgotten all of them now that i am back at my computer. suffice it to say there are quite a few things i misheard/misunderstood on the first listen, unsurprisingly.

reading through the first 20 or so episodes i'm surprised by how well i remember each of them, considering i was listening like 4 episodes a day when i started. then again, it was only a month or two ago that i even listened to them, so one should hope my memory is at least this good. anyway the first episode i'm re-listening instead of rereading is 22 bc that's the first one where we hear martin's voice, i'm pretty sure

i've also noticed some errors in the official transcripts, which aren't a big deal because obviously what matters most is the audio, but still... some of them have been simple typos. magnus archives hire me as your official transcriptionist and i'll make all your transcripts 100% error-free bc im smatr

(reading through the rest of the transcripts and my standards went way down in terms of grammar/stylistic consistency, as most of the later ones are fan transcripts by several different people. i found quite a few mistakes, but obviously i have no particular way to help fix them short of sending an email to the tma transcripts fansite person like “hey there’s all these mistakes. upload my good version instead?” bc i’m not that much of a dick)

the whole reason martin went to the spider guy's building was because he didn't want jon to be disappointed in him for not doing Due Diligence. he says so twice. then he went back for the same reason. it seems the fandom joke is "jon asks his assistants to do crimes for him" but in this case martin is like "oh no maybe i didn't do enough crimes to satisfy jon"

jon was doing his archivist voice HEAVILY in season 1, huh?

tim's first appearance is so jovial compared to how he ends up...

if this boat lady is speaking spanish in brazil, then it doesn't matter if it was "bad spanish" or not. anyway now i understand why we already knew peter lukas was serving the lonely by the time jon mentioned offhand that peter lukas was serving the lonely. it was my whole “let’s not bother noting down any FREQUENTLY RECURRING names”

well i guess robert smirke was a real person. should i feel dumb about this? idk. it’s such a fictional-sounding name, to be fair. but i guess that set the precedent of using a real person as an important historical figure in the fiction that we see happening again when edmund halley is referenced later on. also episode 35 has foreshadowing for the separation of 14 powers, and people thought it was 13 because they mention 13 halls PLUS the one they came through.

totally forgot about tim goofing around in episode 39... he was really not having the worst time at this job before bad things started happening and he realized he was trapped, huh

the worms were trying to make a doorway into the Worm Wealm

ep 40 jon's like "I need to hear it. I need to record it. Or else I can't finish." (lightly abridged)

listening to the season 1 Q&A for the first time and EARL BIGMAC

also good to know there's only going to be 5 seasons. very good to know. this seems like a good kind of series to write with a fixed endpoint in mind, as it's very easy to do an episode that has effectively no bearing on the MetaPlot but which is still a short story in itself and therefore doesn't count as "filler"

jonathan sims performs with a mythical space pirate music cabaret. so he IS a ham

jonny says, "no rude words. i could say bums, maybe..." (alexander j newall does a laugh while i do the exact same laugh irl) "...but i won't."

some dumbass writing into the Q&A to ask if the background music is diegetic... get a podcast brain, ya fool. though for my part, i have to say that one of the most striking things about this podcast when i first started listening (though i never made a note of it before) was the Too Spooky Music, and i didn't like it at all. the reason was that i am, and have been, vulnerable to Getting Spooked about irrational things at night, such that it becomes really hard to fall asleep... and one of the things that has an outsize effect on my level of Spookédness is spooky audio. so if i was watching a video at night and i was worried it would Get Me Spooked, i would just turn the sound off, and it would turn out fine. but obviously you can't turn the sound off on a podcast. and i've been listening to podcasts after work, i.e. after 5pm, and i go to bed at like 8 or 9pm because i'm old. so the way it turned out was that even if the actual subject of the podcast wasn't that scary to me, the music would amplify it in an unpleasant way and make me more likely to have trouble sleeping. also i think most of the episodes would have been fine without the music, or maybe with some less intentionally-disconcerting background music.

this just in: i seem to have totally missed episode 50 on my first listen-through, despite having gone in linear order. bc i'm listening to it now and i've definitely never heard this before. fortunately it doesn't seem to have much of a bearing on the rest of the series, so it's not like i missed any crucial information. tbh the only worthwhile bit was a brief moment of tim being a ham, which was good. i hope i didn't miss any other episodes the first time... still don't know how i managed to miss this one.

the official transcript said [EXTENDED SOUNDS OF BRUTAL PIPE MURDER] ...

so gertrude and leitner WERE played by jonny's parents <:3c i'd thought as much when i saw the cast names but i like that it's confirmed. his mom is a really good actress too. i always find the gertrude episodes to be striking in a certain way

"it's Fine working with your parents. it's Fine." as someone who worked with my mom for like a year i can confirm this

i'm tickled to find that the official transcripts have a sense of humor. i wonder who is behind them. i also wonder, what is the excuse for not having a full set of official transcripts when it is a script-based show? surely you know what is going to be said beforehand, and you have it written down, and if someone ends up saying something different in the final recording, surely it wouldn’t be too hard to give the original script a little edit, and bam! that’s a transcript. i wonder if this approach is not feasible for some reason.

whenever martin reads statements, he says something about jon... whenever he talks to someone, he says something about jon

i think episode 110 is an instance of the tape recorder turning ITSELF off... at the end of the episode. because they walk away, and they say something distantly, and then it turns off. lots of other times, there had to be a diegetic reason for the tape recorder to turn off at the end.

i noticed something which i missed last time, which was that there is a rumor between melanie and georgie and basira that implies that jonathan is asexual. worth noting, i think. [side note added in later: yeah it’s canon. cool]

also i listened to episode 103 again and yes. i had thought-- i had been SURE-- that the person interrogating the traffic cop (using the asky ability) was martin. but it was actually jon. how did i possibly manage that mistake? i'm not great at distinguishing voices, but i'm not THAT bad. the only possible answer: when i was listening to the episode for the first time... i must have been eating a crunchy snack.

"it doesn't have to make sense! alex has to make it sense." (jonny sims re: writing the spiral)

glad to know that jonny sims regrets using his own name for the protagonist. doesn't make a difference either way at this point but yeah

YES i knew episode 100 was improvised. and i see, all the statementers had actually had supernatural experiences, but because the archivist was absent, their statements didn't have the coherence and clarity normally lent to them by the eye (in exchange for becoming cursed). i think melanie or basira actually said pretty much that in the episode itself, but i still couldn't be sure that all of those people had something real to talk about.

"in the same way that tim is dead, michael is helen." good shit

the archivist is canon a bit of a drama queen. the first bullet point in my first tma notes document is vindicated

jonny sims mentions another podcast (apocrypals) that sounds 100% up my alley, so that is appreciated, i will add that to my list i think. (listened to episodes 0 and 1 of apocrypals and i'm heavily struck by how VERY clearly i can hear the smiles in chris sims's voice. i did not know smiling could be so audible, truly.) (listened to quite a few more episodes of apocrypals and it’s certainly entertaining at times. i should’ve been reading along though. maybe some other time)

I DIDN'T LISTEN TO THE SEASON 4 TEASER THE FIRST TIME AROUND.........................................

i must confess something that people who know me well may already know: i hate when stories have a bad ending. an unhappy ending. a painful ending. a hopeless ending. bittersweet is the furthest in that direction i can tolerate. my perspective, which is pretty deep-seated, is that there's no point in getting to know and love characters if you're only going to be hurt by that connection to them when the end turns out to be bad. if i have even a mild inkling that a story is heading toward a bad ending, i make a conscious effort to regard all characters from afar and not develop any strong attachments. this is not so much "how i think all stories need to be," but rather, "the characteristics a story needs to have to appeal to me personally." so i understand that my view is very subjective and mostly based on my own mental weakness. but i can't help but apply it to the media i consume. and the idea that someone would do something like "make characters very human and strongly developed" IN COMBINATION WITH "heading toward a bad end" makes me upset. like, picture a horror movie. think about the characters in a horror movie. with the exception of a main character, if there is one, there's no guarantee that anyone is going to survive to the end of the film... BUT... the characters generally aren't fleshed out and very sympathetic. i wouldn't go so far as to say they're disposable, but you're not SUPPOSED to cry when they die; you're just supposed to get scared. their purpose is as objects of fear, and you never expect or even hope for a happy ending. but in the magnus archives... all i'm saying... is that i would cry if any of the remaining members of the main cast died. and it seems clear that we're not heading to a happy ending. so i'm somewhat afraid, and not in a good way. i don't know how much i can trust jonny sims to give me the story i want, and obviously, i'm not entitled to it.

if your name is jonathan and you want to shorten it, the short form is jon. it ain't john, no matter what the official transcripts say. where'd you get that h, huh? stole it from someone else's name? are you shortening it like JOnatHaN? you can’t just be that sneaky!

i listened to scrutiny again and it hits so hard. now, in heart of darkness, when manuela begs jon not to force her statement, it's really heavy given the direct context of the previous two episodes where we see how compulsion works and how it hurts.

also when jon was talking about how to destroy the dark sun and he was like "i just need to see it," when i first heard it, i assumed he meant something along the lines of, "by seeing it, i will learn how to destroy it." but now i understand that the mere act of the eye seeing it destroys it, because being known is what the darkness is weakest to.

the magnus employees who work in the library probably at least have a LITTLE BIT of a feeling that they work in an almost normal place, given that jon and all his assistants were able to have that impression before transferring to the archives. so i wonder how the magnus library people feel about their institute's director getting arrested for double murder and now the big boss is a completely unrelated ship captain who seems to want nothing to do with the place but simultaneously is trying to continue business as usual

on second listen, listening to jon ask helen when the guilt stops (wrt hurting people in order to feed one's patron fear) is pretty chilling. because it seems like he's definitely accepting that he will have to hurt people, and what he's concerned about is how bad it makes HIM feel. of course, helen then answers with precisely what i just wrote, so...

i should've read the transcript for episode 159 instead of relistening because i forgot that peter lukas's actor got so gravelly and hard to listen to in this one. anyway, time to re-listen to the season 4 finale... then i'll listen to the season 4 Q&As and stuff... and then the new episode. (DOKI DOKI DOKI DOKI DOKI)

i heard in the Q&A that the voice of peter lukas did multiple takes for episode 159?! but it was because of technical difficulties. right. because i can’t imagine the way it turned out being deemed the best take. sorry

ok, things i missed last time i listened to 160: daisy and the other two hunters are missing. also jon mentioned "magnus's body" and martin mentioned "an old man's corpse" and at the time i took this to mean (somewhat unthinkingly) that when jon and martin returned from the lonely, they killed elias/jonah's body. which would be a weird thing to happen "off-camera," so to speak. so i think i must have been wrong? slightly confused. ok, no, i'm now sure that elias survived, so i must have misunderstood. definitely alive.

as martin leaves and jon is about to begin the statement, he sounds so peaceful and satisfied. that's good acting.

by the way, in one of the previous few episodes, i noticed that jonah seems to have body-swapped by switching out his eyes into his preferred body, which i'm pretty sure i missed the first time.

i like that jonny sims checks reddit to see whether people have solved the mystery. that's just a really funny way to do things, sneaking a peek like "hmm how mysterious is my mystery? let's see who has figured it out..." and for the record, i wasn't even close to figuring it out. but to be fair to myself, i didn't try. like i said from the beginning, i started listening with the intent of going along for the ride. plus the mystery had already been solved before i started listening to the series, so it's not like i had a lot of time in between updates to contemplate whether elias was jonah, etc.

JON'S AMERICAN ACCENT FOR THE IONIZED YEAST AD

ALEX WAS THE VOICE OF JARED HOPWORTH?! i mean it was so messed up it could have been anybody but god

ALEX DIDN'T LET GERTUDE CACKLE

i've listened to the bloopers (including a gertrude cackle?) and the season 5 trailer (martin seems slightly cavalier about the end of the world but maybe he's just trying to keep his shit together for jon) and i'm going to listen to the new episode Soon.

final conclusion on rereads/relistens: i had pretty poor comprehension of some important happenings. i’m realizing just how easy it is to mishear/fail to hear exactly what is happening in a podcast when you’re doing other stuff at the same time. there are still a couple things i don’t quite understand, but i think i’ll have a look around the wiki one of these days.

[paleandmoonstruck]

Half-Sick of Shadows CH 2

The next chapter is up! You can go read it on AO3 here. I’ll be properly updating/keeping you guys posted on this blog from now on, so stay on the look out for snippets and the like. As well, if it would so please you, you can leave little prompts in my ask box and I’ll write you a drabble from the universe of this fic! See you soon! <3

“I just think that maybe working in the Peaky Blinders’ pub is a bit too much for you,” Alice fretted, wringing her hands as Lucy slipped into her shoes.

Rolling her eyes, Lucy turned to face her. “And what do you mean by that?”

“You’re a bloody trouble magnet!” Alice said, “I swear you can’t walk two feet down the road without bumping into something you shouldn’t.”

“I’m a big girl,” Lucy said, tugging on her hat. “I can take care of myself around these kinds of people. You know that. And need I remind you who suggested I apply there?”

“You know full well I meant Kelly’s,” Alice hissed. This was true. What Lucy wouldn’t give for someone to have snapped a photograph at the exact moment when she informed Alice that she had been employed at the Garrison. Her face had lost all colour, jaw practically hitting the floor. “How was I supposed to know that the Blinders were looking for staff as well?”

“What’s done is done. I’ll be fine, provided I’m not late like I will be if we continue this conversation. Then they might cut my fingers off.”

Alice lifted her hand to her forehead, sighing rather dramatically as she went to flop down in the armchair. “You’ll be the death of me, Lucy Frasier, you will.”

“See you tonight,” Lucy trilled, stepping out onto the street. The walk was long enough to be pleasant, but short enough not to feel like a trip. She wore her same blue coat, but earned fewer stares. Something warm settled in her chest; a nice familiarity. It made her strides more purposeful, lifted her chin.

The Garrison was empty when she entered, despite the door being open. She locked it behind her according to Arthur’s instructions. Making for the back room, she shrugged off her coat. She nearly jumped out of her skin when she heard a sharp “shh!”

“Hello?” Lucy whispered, whipping her head around the back room. A flicker of movement in the corner of her eye. A small girl crawled out from beneath the desk, face and hands streaked with dust and dirt.

Unsure how to respond, Lucy stared down at the girl. She looked to be around ten, and was staring up at Lucy with an equal amount of bafflement. She, however, was not at a loss for words, “Miss Charity?”

Blinking, Lucy snapped out of it. “No, my name is Lucy Frasier. Is that who’s watching you?”

“I wish,” the little girl said. “I’ll I’ve got is Katie, who’s a right pain. That’s fine, though. I’m playing hide-and-seek with her, and she’ll never find me.”

“Right,” Lucy said slowly, “and who might you be?”

Sticking her hand out like a prim and proper young lady, she ducked her head in greeting. “Georgina Shelby, Miss Frasier. Pleasure to meet your acquaintance.”

She mispronounced ‘acquaintance’, and Lucy felt a small bubble of affection rise in her chest. Shaking her hand, she offered Georgina a bright grin. “And I yours, Miss Shelby.”

Then she realized exactly what the girl had said. “Shelby? Like the Shelbys who own this pub?”

“Yep. It’s my Uncle Arthur’s pub, but everyone knows that Uncle Tommy is the one who really owns everything,” she said matter-of-factly. A shadow passed over her face, and she narrowed her little eyes, “if everyone knows, then why don’t you?"

Despite herself, Lucy couldn’t help the relief blooming in her gut at the words ‘Uncle Tommy’. “I’m not from Birmingham,” she said. “I’ve just arrived to live with a friend. I’m working here as a barmaid and a singer.”

Georgina nodded, understanding glowing in her eyes. “So you’re here to replace Miss Burgess?”

“I suppose so,” Lucy said, utterly confused but not unhappy. Setting her hat on the coat rack, she offered Georgina a hand, “why don’t we get you cleaned up, and you can help me set up in here if you want to hide from Katie?”

Tommy Shelby had never felt uncomfortable entering the Garrison before.

This is ridiculous, he thought, standing outside the door of his own bloody pub like an idiot. He reached into his jacket pocket, thumb tracing the worn gilded letters of the book that lay there. He was loath to part with it, but it had never been his.

Pulling off his cap as he walked through the front door, he sped up as he took in the sight of Georgina talking Lucy’s ear off. He had no idea how she had snuck in here; Esme was going to have a heart attack.

“What are you doing here, Georgie?” he said by way of greeting.

Spinning around in her seat, Georgina’s face lit up, “Uncle Tom!”

He allowed her to fling herself at him, meeting Lucy’s gaze over her head. A soft grin was tugging at the corner of her mouth, her eyes warm.

He had the random urge to crack a joke, just to broaden her smile, and force her dimple to appear.

Instead, he pulled away from Georgina, leaning against the polished wood of the bar. “I see you’ve met our Georgie. I hope she hasn’t been too much trouble.”

“She’s a delight,” Lucy said, voice utterly sincere. God, did he love her accent.

Georgina peeked up from where she had burrowed into his chest, “isn’t she wonderful? And so beautiful? I thought she was Miss Charity at first!”

He regarded her suspiciously. Georgina never acted so stereotypically childlike unless she had an ulterior motive. “Very wonderful, Georgie. Now where’s Arthur? Tell him I’ll watch the pub for a bit so he can bring you home.”

The soft puppy-dog look in Georgina’s eyes died immediately. “I don’t want to go home.”

He sighed, bracing himself for a negotiation session. A true Shelby, Georgina never did something for nothing.

“Say,” Lucy said, just a little too pointedly to be off-hand, “you remember that princess you were telling me about? With the flowers in her braid?”

Flipping to face Lucy, Georgina narrowed her eyes at her. “Princess Lyra?”

Shrugging, Lucy leaned over the bar to get closer to the eight-year-old. “If you go home with your uncle, I’ll drop by on my next day off and teach you how to braid your hair the same way.”

For a moment, Georgina looked as though she was considering getting that in writing. Instead, she held out a small hand for Lucy to shake, “sounds like a deal.”

There was the grin. As Lucy curled her fingers around Georgina’s, her lips curved into a dazzling crooked smile, revealing the dimple in the hollow of her left cheek. For the briefest of moments, Tommy’s breath caught in his chest.

You’re an idiot, he thought, tapping Georgina on the shoulders. “Alright, deal struck. Go get Arthur.”

As soon as Georgina scampered off towards the back room, Lucy arched an eyebrow at him, “who is Miss Charity?”

“One of those newspaper cartoons,” he said. “She’s a debutante, supposed to teach young girls lessons in etiquette. Georgie’s obsessed with her. She wants to be the next queen.”

Her smile grew mischievous, “I am exceedingly well-mannered.”

He couldn’t help shooting her a disbelieving look, “from what I remember of you, you’re far from a lady.”

For the briefest of moments, the air in the room seemed to still. He cursed himself. The memory of her flashed across his mind: their fingers interlaced, the soft curve of her waist, the faint taste of champagne that had clung to her mouth.

Her eyes narrowed, then she rearranged her posture. Spine straightening as though she wore a corset, her limbs gained a fluid, airy quality. She composed her face into a perfect mask of neutrality, settling on one of the bar stools with all the grace of a duchess. “My grandmother was very big on etiquette,” she murmured, offering him the small smile permitted to proper ladies. He preferred her grin.

He grabbed a cigarette, striking a match as he lifted it to his lips. This was interesting information, it could be of use. “Full of surprises, I see,” he said, turning his attention to the burning in his lungs.

She dropped the charade, propping her head up on her fist. “I’ve got plenty of hidden talents.”

Was she really looking at him like that, or was he imagining it? Either way, he needed to change the subject before he did something inadvisable. He reached into his pocket, pulling out her book of Tennyson and laying it on the bar.

He didn’t know what to say, so he said nothing. She paused, lifting up her head and flicking her gaze back and forth between the book and his face. Her hands shook as she reached for it, picking it up off the bar like it was something holy. He watched her fingers trace the letters of the title, and when she looked back up at him he could’ve sworn there were tears in her eyes. “You kept it?”

“It brought me comfort,” he said, coming to stand rather abruptly. Picking up a glass and a bottle of gin, he gestured towards the snug. “I’ll be in there, if you need me. Pleasure to see you again.”

So he left, cigarette still trailing smoke in his hand. She would have asked for explanations he didn’t have. This was for the best.

“You motherfucker!”

Lucy’s head snapped up, already coming around the corner of the bar to break up whatever was about to happen. Two men stood in the half of the room closest to the door, barely two fists apart.

One was slightly taller, with slicked-back blond hair and a wicked scar across his cheek. His bone structure was both fine and sharp, like someone had decided to fashion a knife into a man. He was exactly the kind of person she’d cross the street to avoid.

The other was no more comforting. His dark hair was cut short on the sides in the modern fashion, a peaked flat-cap clutched in one hand. He was a Blinder, and he was currently punching the blond man in the face.

She winced. The Blinder looked strong, built broad and muscular. By the time she made it three paces they were exchanging blows, and the door to the snug was billowing open.

Something about the idea of Tommy watching made her a little braver. She stomped across the shining floors of the pub — floors she had just scrubbed this morning — and wedged herself between the men, planting a hand on each of their chests. “Hey — Hey! Stop it!”

The men came to a pause, panting heavily. The blond glared down at her. “I’d move, if you don’t want that face of yours to get a lot less pretty.”

“Shut the fuck up and save it for someone who cares,” she spat. Something warm and wet splashed against her neck, and she realized the Blinder behind her was bleeding. Turning to examine his face, she found bright green eyes trained on her. He was somewhere between fury and curiosity, and she couldn’t help but shiver beneath the intensity of it. His eyebrow was split, dripping blood down his cheek.

“This fucking cunt just stuck his hand up my friend’s skirt,” he said, nodding towards a young woman who was cringing away from them both.

“I don’t care if he tried to kiss the fucking queen,” Lucy said. “If you have something you’d like to sort out with fists, by all means take it outside. But keep it out of my pub.”

Before she knew what was happening, the blond had reached out and wrapped his hands around her neck. For a heartbeat she was frozen, brought back to a different day, a different set of fingers curled around her throat.

She slammed her fist into his nose.

He reared back, bellowing as his hands flew up to his face. Blood hit the polished wood, and he stumbled away from her, reaching for his coat. “You fucking bitch!”

The Blinder called out to him, “this isn’t fucking over, McCreedy!”

Lucy stepped away, desperate to shake off the claustrophobic feeling that surrounded her. She looked at the young woman ‘McCreedy’ had grabbed. “Are you okay?”

Lifting her timid gaze, she spoke with a strong French accent, “quite alright, thank you.”

“Are you sure?” Lucy asked, switching to French, “I’ll get you a drink for your nerves, on the house.”

The girl’s face softened, relief blooming across her features. “Merci beaucoup.”

Turning back to the Blinder, she tugged on his wrist, picking up his half-glass of whiskey. “Come with me, you idiot.”

He followed her obediently to the bar, and she pretended not to notice Tommy making his own way over. She tugged the handkerchief out of the Blinder’s pocket, dumping his whiskey on it. “Stay still,” she instructed, reaching up to clean out the cut on his eyebrow.

“Pleasure to meet you,” he said dryly. “The name’s Gideon, by the way.”

“Lucienne,” she murmured, focused on the split. “But English folk call me Lucy.”

“We’ve heard of you,” he said, trying his best to gesture back to his table without moving. “Arthur Shelby’s been telling everyone who’ll listen about the pretty new face he’s hired.”

She hummed noncommittally, trying to ignore the burning feeling of Tommy’s gaze on her neck. The skin there still throbbed, and she redoubled her focus on Gideon’s cut. Snapping open the first-aid kit she had made up, she used a clean pair of scissors to cut a butterfly bandage. She lined up the layers of skin with careful precision, sticking the bandage solidly in the middle of the wound.

“There,” she murmured, “shouldn’t even scar.”

He grinned, “much obliged. Now, I’ve heard you’re a singer. How true is that?”

“Depends on the day,” she said, turning to her first-aid supplies to avoid eye-contact.

“We’re musicians, my friends and I,” he said, grabbing her hand. She stiffened at the sudden contact, but he didn’t seem to notice. “You should perform with us, we come in here with our instruments sometimes.”

Sighing, she turned to look at him. His eyes were bright, face like a kid on Christmas day. She offered him a small smile. “We’ll see.”

“Let me walk you home.”

Tommy’s voice floated across the empty bar. The cleaning was finished for the night, and Lucy was about ready to lock up.

She tossed the idea around in her head. Did she want to prolong her time in Tommy’s presence? Undeniably. Despite herself, every moment where they were in the same room felt important and precious. She couldn’t go longer than a few minutes without flicking her gaze over to him.

But this was a different time; a different place. Whatever had been between them in France had disappeared, and there was no use trying to fool themselves into thinking otherwise.

“It’s fine,” she assured him, shrugging on her coat.

His eyes caught on the bright blue of it. She watched him swallow, eyes flicking over her with a look she couldn’t quite place. “After this evening? Please, for my own peace of mind.”

“Okay,” she murmured, something wondrous and strange unfurling in her gut as he offered her his arm.

The walk was quiet. She supposed neither of them knew what to say. It was like one of Alice’s terrible romance novels come to life in the most terrible way. Their steps were aligned, every thump of their feet beating in perfect time with one another. She wanted to bottle the sound for later and write a song.

A cry of pain tore through the night buzz, shaking her from her thoughts. They stopped dead, and Lucy cast her gaze up at Tommy. He was already reaching for the gun at his waist, shifting to curl himself closer to her. Another loud cry echoed from the alley they had just passed, followed by a whimper of pain.

Without thinking, she peeled herself out of Tommy’s arms and sprinted towards the shadows. Someone was hurt. Her mind raced, fingers already reaching for the first-aid kit in her bag. She heard Tommy curse behind her; the sound of his feet following hers.

A girl leaned against the alley wall, head tipped back in pain. She clutched her abdomen. Blood stained the gray concrete.

Lucy approached slowly, speaking soft, “what’s happened?”

The girl turned, and Lucy saw that she wasn’t bleeding from anywhere on her torso. She was young, maybe sixteen. “I got pregnant,” the girl whimpered, eyes wide and wild with pain.

“And then what?” Lucy coaxed, crossing the alley to come to her side.

“My man went and left me. I had to go and get the baby handled.”

“Tabarnak,” Lucy cursed. She turned to Tommy, who had his gun pulled out and a strange look on his face. “She’s dying. I need to help her.”

“You can bring her to Watery Lane,” he said. “It’s closer than the Garrison at this point.”

She nodded, turning back to the girl. “Can you walk? I can help you, but I need to get you somewhere safe and clean first.”

The girl nodded, and as Tommy rushed them along, Lucy asked for her name.

“Angeline.”

“Very French,” Lucy mused.

“My mum read it in a book once. It means ‘angel’. Guess I’m not an angel anymore though, am I?”

“What makes you say that?”

“Thou shalt not kill. One of the imp —” Angeline cut herself off with a cry of pain, and Lucy shifted to take more of her weight. By the time they reached the front door of Watery Lane, she was practically dragging her across the sidewalk.

Tommy nearly flung open the door, sidestepping out of the way to allow Lucy some room. She placed Angeline on the floor with little grace, already scrambling for her bag. She heard a cacaphony of voices from a nearby room, but her entire world had narrowed to what was in front of her.

She worked methodically, cleaning her hands with Dakin solution and snapping on a pair of gloves. “Angeline, what did the abortionist use?”

“A knitting needle.”

Lifting up Angeline’s skirts, Lucy gently removed her bloody undergarments. “Jésus et tous ses saints.” It was likely an internal bleed; something she was not authorized to — or capable of — fixing.

Swishing black fabric entered her line of sight, and Lucy looked up to see an imposing older woman standing above her. “Who are you?”

Lucy took off her hat, laying it to the side.“Miss Lucienne Frasier. A pleasure. Do you have any red raspberry leaf tea, perchance?”

The woman blinked at her. “You’d like some tea?"

“Not for me. For Angeline. It’ll slow her bleeding, hopefully.”

“Right,” the woman said, nodding and turning on heel.

Lucy refocused. Angeline was crying, body shaking against the hardwood. Shushing her, Lucy rubbed gentle circles on the back of her hand. “It’ll be alright, ma chouette. I need to know, how far along were you?”

“Six weeks, I reckon,” Angeline choked out. “I wanted to keep it, at first. Had names picked out and everything.”

Lucy kept talking even as her mind raced, “what were the names?”

She was bleeding somewhere Lucy couldn’t stitch without cutting her open. She needed to clean the wound and stop the bleeding. Angeline hadn’t been far along enough to need anything removed. Any embryo or the bare beginnings of a fetus would have been swept out before Lucy had stumbled upon her.

“If it was a girl, I would’ve named her Elizabeth Jane, after my mum and my aunt. She could’ve been Eliza, for short. If it was a boy, it would’ve been James Henry, after my brothers. They died in the War, over in France.”

“Those are beautiful names,” Lucy murmured, racking her brain. She needed to stop the bleeding, but not by closing the wound. The next best thing would be pressure, she supposed, but how could she apply pressure to an internal wound?

“You’re a nurse, are ye?” Angelina asked, “were you in France?”

An idea struck Lucy. Slapping on a pair of gloves, she tore open her bag for her roll of bandages, beginning to wrap it into a ball. She answered Angeline’s question absentmindedly, “I was.”

“Was it horrible? The dying and all?”

“A moment,” Lucy said, pouring Dakin solution on a smaller wad of cotton gauze. “I”m going to use this to clean the wound. It will feel very, very strange, but you have to trust me. Keep talking to me, alright?”

For a brief moment, Lucy came back to where she was. Tommy was on the other side of the room, standing with the older woman from before. They were next to one another, but both staring at her. She was still in her coat and shoes, kneeled before a stranger’s gentials on the floor of a near-stranger’s entryway.

“Right,” she said, turning back to Angeline. “France was horrible, I suppose, but not in the way you’re imagining. You get used to everything eventually.” She tied her soaked gauze to a thin metal rod she’d typically use to set a broken bone. Inserting it as smoothly and quickly as possible, she focused on cleaning where her approximation of the wound was.

“The first few times a man dies underneath your hands, it’s awful. There’s a moment, you know, where you can feel it. It’s like when the string of a kite snaps. There’s so much movement, and energy, and then suddenly there’s nothing; you’re left holding a bit of loose thread. And you want to snatch at the kite — get it back, somehow — but it’s already so far away. But the first time I had a patient die on me, and I felt nothing? Nothing worse. I felt like a monster. That’s what was horrible about France. It did something to people; took away their humanity. We were packs of beasts hurling lead at each other and crawling back a few kilometres to lick at our wounds.”

The rod came out soaked in blood, but it sizzled against the Dakin solution. This was working.

“What was the worst thing you ever saw?” Angeline asked.

Balling up more clean gauze, Lucy had to stop and think about that one. “I once held a toddler as he died,” she whispered, her voice nearly echoing in the dead-silent room. She kept cleaning the wound. There was resistance at the cervix, but whatever the abortionist had done to enlarge it originally was still holding true. Voice shaky, Lucy kept going with her story.

“He was a civilian casualty. Covered in massive burns. The skin was peeling off of him, almost down to the bone. I couldn’t do anything but ease the pain.” She tried to keep her movements smooth and slow, her fingers flexing jerkily. “He was so tiny. Malnourished, probably. I took him out of the tents, away from the noise and stink. And I held a globe of ether to his face, and sang until he died.”

The older woman spoke from behind her, “what did you sing to him?”

Lucy turned to peer over her shoulder, the woman standing there with a pot of tea and tin mug. “An old Jacobite song,” she answered. “Something my grandmother would sing as a lullaby. I suppose to me, it’s a promise.”

“Of what?” the woman asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Protection. The song was written about Bonny Prince Charlie. For me, it means ‘I will keep you safe, even at my own peril.’”

Angeline closed her eyes. “Will you sing it?”

Lucy stiffened. She had sung the same song for Tommy. He would remember that. What would he think of it? How could she explain the strange sense of connection she had felt for him since the beginning?

But Angeline looked so small. So tired. And Tommy wasn’t dumb. She had already tipped her hand by describing the song. Might as well thoroughly fuck herself over. So as she tended to Angeline, she began to sing:

Speed, bonny boat

Like a bird on the wing.

’Onward’, the sailors cry.

Carry the lad, that’s born to be king

Over the sea to Skye.

Loud the winds howl,

Loud the waves roar,

Thunderclaps rend the air.

Baffled, our foes stand by the shore;

Follow, they will not dare.

Tommy had drawn in a sharp breath behind her, but she just kept working. The cotton was coming back less and less red.

Speed, bonny boat

Like a bird on the wing.

‘Onward’, the sailors cry.

Carry the lad, that’s born to be king

Over the sea to Skye.

Though the waves leap,

Soft shall ye sleep;

Ocean’s a royal bed.

Rocked in the deep, Flora will keep

Watch by your weary head.

She gestured for the older woman to approach, still singing. Angeline looked as though she might fall asleep, and though she hated to disturb her, she needed to drink her tea. Flipping around, she lifted Angeline’s head into her lap, lowering the mug to her lips.

Speed, bonny boat

Like a bird on the wing.

‘Onward’, the sailors cry.

Carry the lad, that’s born to be king

Over the sea to Skye.

Many’s the lad, fought on that day

Well the Claymore could wield.

When the night came, silently lay

Death, on Culloden’s field.

Angeline drained the cup, and Lucy gently shifted out from beneath her head. Balling up yet more gauze, she tied it with medical string, measuring it against her fist. Hopefully it was small enough to fit, but large enough to actually apply pressure. Cutting the song off for a moment, she forewarned Angeline, “this is going to be very, very painful.”

Angling the rod, she wished for the umpteenth time that she had proper equipment. With careful hands, she began to stuff Angeline with the gauze.

Speed, bonny boat

Like a bird on the wing.

‘Onward’, the sailors cry.

Carry the lad, that’s born to be king

Over the sea to Skye.

Burnt are our homes;

Exile and death.

Scatter the loyal men.

Yet ‘ere the sword, cool in its sheath,

Charlie will come again.

Speed, bonny boat

Like a bird on the wing.

‘Onward’, the sailors cry.

Carry the lad, that’s born to be king

Over the sea to Skye.

Over the sea to Skye.

Through it all, Angeline cried and bit her palm. Lucy desperately wanted to cry too. Her chest was too tight, her head light. Instead, she kept at it, reaching up to hold Angeline’s free hand. By the time the song was over, the gauze had gone where it needed to. The string still hung out, leaving the ability to remove and replace it.

“Shhh, mon gentil ange,” Lucy murmured, drawing Angeline back into her lap. “It’s over now. You did such a good job.”

Crying into her legs, Angeline choked out a response, “do you think I’ll go to Hell?”

“What, for getting an abortion?”

Angeline nodded, her small frame shaking.

“I don’t know if you’ll go to Hell or not. Though — and I’m not much for church anymore, but —if I remember correctly, that’s what repenting’s for? God knows that we are but weak mortals, prone to sin, and all that. And I have to say, if you've decided you're going to Hell, ma chérie, it should be over something a little more exciting than making sure your eventual child doesn't grow up in poverty, shame, and suffering.”

After a beat of silence, the older woman spoke up, “do you have anyone you can call for, sweetheart? Someone should stay with you.”

“Me mum. She lives on the other side of the cut.”

“Right,” the woman said. “I’ll take her address, and I’ll get one of the boys to take you there in the car. Miss Frasier, would you like to take a seat? Tommy will you get you something to drink, I’m sure you’re in need of it.”

Stripping off her gloves, Lucy reached for her notebook. “I’ll take your address too, mon ange. I’ll come visit you in the morning and redo your gauze. You should stay in bed until I give you the clear to move about.”

Copying down the street and number of her apartment, Lucy supposed she would need Alice’s help to find it. She made to stand, but found that her legs gave out beneath her. She nearly fell, a strong arm wrapping around her waist to steady her.

Looking up, she saw Tommy standing there with a glass of whiskey. “Careful,” he murmured, leading her to a small couch.

“Thank you,” she said, taking the glass and knocking it back greedily. The burn centred her, brought her back to where she was. Warmth bloomed in her chest, though whether it was procured by the alcohol or the way Tommy was looking at her was up for debate.

He leaned towards her, and despite herself she rested her head on his shoulder. He was solid beneath her, unwavering. It brought her an indescribable comfort. His voice was soft, “you just can’t help yourself when you see someone in need, can you?”

“You should be grateful for it,” she said, “it’s what kept you alive in France.”

“And here I thought I was just that charming,” he said, smiling into her hair.

She snorted, “you wish.”

“You mean you weren’t overcome with the desire to save me after glancing at my beautiful, sleeping face?”

“Oh, of course.”

Someone cleared their throat, and they tore themselves away from each other to see that same older woman. “I thought I’d introduce myself,” she said dryly, “my name is Elizabeth Gray, but you may call me Polly. Lucienne, is it?”

“Please, call me Lucy.”

“Right. So, how exactly did you come into the acquaintance of my nephew?”

Suddenly, Lucy realized that this was the ‘Aunt Pol’ she’d heard so much of. “I met him in France,” she said softly, scrambled brain desperately trying to gauge how she should be acting in order to win the woman’s approval. “I was a nurse. He was dying. I fought to be allowed to try and save his life. He stayed with me for a time, in recovery.”

Polly seemed to weigh this, dark eyes glinting in the low light. “So we owe you a debt.”

“No,” Lucy said, shaking her head. “It was my job, and my pleasure. I’m in Arthur’s employ now, too, so consider any perceived debt repaid.”

“Then you have my gratitude,” Polly said. “Feel free to stay here for the night, we’ll send a message along to your home.”

Lucy accepted the offer, giving Polly Alice’s address. She was swept upstairs, given an old dressing gown, and settled into a guest room. Lying in the dark, she stared up at the ceiling for what felt like hours. Her mind raced, with thoughts of Angeline, thoughts of France, thoughts of Tommy.

Like the act of thinking his name somehow summoned him, she heard a gentle knock on the door and a slow creak as the man himself slipped into her room. “Are you alright?”

Sitting up, she gathered the blankets around her bare shoulders. “I suppose so.”

“I couldn’t be sure, and I knew you wouldn’t say anything in front of Aunt Pol,” he said, settling on the foot of the bed.

“She was so young,” Lucy murmured, “and she was bleeding so much, and it’s not like I could just stitch it up, you know? God, I was so terrified. She came so, so close to dying.” She laughed bitterly, “there’s still no guaranteeing anything. Maybe I just prolonged her agony.”

Something was making a pattering sound, and she realized that she was crying, tears falling onto the quilt. Tommy hovered for a moment, tension seemingly corded into his every muscle. Then he came forward, wrapping his arms around her.

She felt something snap in her chest, the tears coming in sharp bursts. Burrowing her head into the crook of his neck, she finally let herself sob the way she had wanted to for hours. He held her quietly, thumb tracing soft circles into her shoulder until her crying lessened. “What do you need from me?”

“Just this,” she managed, curling closer. He smelled like leather and fresh cigarettes, and all she wanted was to stay there forever.

“Alright,” he murmured, “however long you’d like.”

Chapters: I, II ...

Ao3

[thepainlessmoustache]

Sharing is Caring

My first Nessie fic! Based off a converation @liamalmighty and I had about Niall and dogs and Bressie buying Niall dogs. Fun fact: I briefly considered naming the dog Nessie because Niall is a little shit and probably totally would. 

"I've got a present for you."

"A present?" Niall hums from the other side of the phone. "Sounds promising."

Bressie grins and glances at his passenger's seat. "It's not like that, but I do think you'll be pleased."

"I'd hate to get a present that makes me unpleased."

"When will you be home?"

"'bout an hour?" he guesses. "But if you need me there sooner, I can be."

"Hour's fine. Tell Liam hi."

"Will do. Love ya."

"Love you, Chief."

Niall opens the door and immediately falls to his knees. "Bressie, you didn't." he gasps, even as he scoops the puppy into his arms. She's a Collie, but she's only four months old so she's small enough for Niall to clutch to his chest as she wriggles and slathers his face in kisses. "Bressie."

"I haven't named her yet." Bressie chuckles, turning off the TV so he can watch Niall roll onto the floor with the dog. "Figured if she was going to be yours, you'd want to."

"I love her," Niall whines, kissing her back. "I love you, you sweet thing." The puppy yips back.

Bressie gets up so he can join Niall on the floor. "So? Got a name?"

"Georgie." Niall says, pushing her back and watching her wriggle. "You like that, sweet thing? Little Georgie?" The puppy yaps, turning to bite playfully at his fingers. "Bressie, she's perfect."

"Knew how much you've always wanted one, pet." Bressie says with a smile, and Niall levers himself up to kiss him.

In the process, though, Georgie gets loose and gets between them, licking mercilessly at Niall's face. Bressie doesn't mind that Niall falls back over to let her. He'll get his kisses later.

He'd been so excited about seeing how happy Niall would be he never really thought about if he'd like the pup, or if she'd like him. And unanimously the answer is no. She chews on all his shoes—only his—and never lets him sit cuddled up to Niall. Niall doesn't really notice, of course, too enamored by her big brown eyes. Bressie hates to admit he's jealous, because Georgie is a bleeding dog, but those used to be his eyes he was enamored with.

Niall doesn't let her sleep in the bed, which is only a small blessing because she still gets a place of honor off in the corner of the room and barks whenever Bressie gets a bit too handsy. It's funny the first few times, but by the tenth Bressie is wishing he'd never seen the ad for Border Collie puppies.

"She's just protective," Niall promises against his collar, giggling lightly but still incredibly interested in where things were headed. "Thinks you're trying to hurt me."

Bressie glares over the bed at her, at how alert she is. How she's staring. He groans and rolls off Niall. "I can't. I can't touch you like that with her staring at me."

"Bres," Niall laughs.

"I can't touch you at all without her wanting to rip my arm off."

"She just gets jealous, darlin'." Niall rolls onto him now, running his fingers through his hair soothingly. "Just like you."

"I'm not—" he starts, but Niall smiles knowingly at him and he can't lie so he just huffs. "She hates me, Niall. She hates me and I'm starting to hate her."

"You're both too much." Niall sighs, rolling so he's lying with his back to him. "Maybe you just need to bond with her or something. I spend all my time with her, you know, so she knows I feed her and walk her. Maybe if you did some of it she'd learn to love you just as much."

Bressie sighs and touches his back as a consolation. He just catches Georgie laying her head down from the corner of his eye and frowns in her direction.

He has to try. Niall is everything to him, and Georgie was supposed to be something that made them both happy, and the longer this goes on the more unhappy everyone's becoming. So he grabs her leash and takes her out of the house. She's not as polite with him as she is with Niall, tugging on her leash and barking occasionally instead of falling beside him silently.

He gets her to a park and sits on the ground, scratching carefully at her ears. She lets him, but it's not always the case. "Georgie, we both love him." he says stiffly. It feels slightly dumb to be explaining this to a dog, but he's done a lot of dumb things for Niall so... "I bought you for him because I love him. And I know it would break his heart if we couldn't get along."

She blinks blankly at him.

"Yeah, right." Bressie groans, dropping his hand. "'course you don't get it, you're a dog."

Her ears perk up, but Bressie doesn't catch the movement until it's far too late. She takes off, leash bouncing uselessly behind her. She's twenty feet ahead before Bressie even gets to his feet, screaming after her.

Georgie's fast—she's a fucking Collie, so of course she's fast—and it's moments before he loses her completely. "Fuck. Fuck fuck fucking—" He's got to tell Niall he's lost his goddamn dog, he's going to break his fucking heart.

He spends an hour running around the park, searching, but Georgie's long gone. He walks back to the house alone, hand feeling surprisingly empty without Georgie's leash in it. Niall smiles when he walks in, but it goes quickly when he sees he's alone. "I thought you had Georgie."

"I...I did." Bressie admits. "She took off, I couldn't—"

"You lost her?"

"I tried to find her, Niall. She just heard something and my grip wasn't tight."

"Oh my god." Niall hunches over and pulls at his hair. "Oh my god."

"I'm sorry. Niall, I'm sorry. We can go look for her, we'll put up photos and we'll—"

"I need to—I can't talk to you right now."

Bressie's heart shatters when Niall walks out of the room. He knows that Niall knows he would never do something like this on purpose, but with the arguments they've been having about her...he's sure there's a lot of loud thoughts in his head right now.

He takes his car keys and goes.

It's not until dawn that he finds her. She's wet and shivering nearly a mile from where he'd lost her. She cowers when he pulls the car to a stop, but when he gets out she just looks up at him lamely instead of growling or running again. He drops to his knees and takes off his coat. "C'mon, Georgie." he murmurs. "C'mere, sweet thing. Your da's probably losing his mind about both of us right about now."

She slinks over and lets him wrap her in his coat and lift her up. She licks at his chin and he huffs. "Yeah, I know."

He cranks the heat and sets her in the passanger's seat and it's so much like when he brought her home the first time that his heart warms a little. He reaches across and scratches at her ears. She licks his wrist.

Niall's not home when he gets there, but he finds a note on his phone—left on the coffee table so he's sure to see—that tells him in all capitals to call him the moment he gets home. He sends a text instead, tells him he's got Georgie and is going to give her a bath. She doesn't even really like Niall giving her baths, but she's muddy and smells a bit like rubbish so he carries her into the bathroom. She huffs when they enter, but doesn't scratch at the door like she usually does when he puts it down and shuts it. He runs the water just over lukewarm and pats his hand on the tub. "C'mon, then."

She steps in with a weak glare and shivers while he rinses her clean and gets her warm.

Niall walks in when he's got her wrapped in a towel, hugging her to stop the shivers. Georgie whines and wriggles free, running to Niall who drops to his knees like that very first day. "Georgie, you're okay." Niall sighs, clutching to her neck. "You stupid dog, what could've possibly made you think it was alright to run away, huh?"

"She was about a mile from the park. I think she fell into some rubbish but she wasn't hurt, so..."

Niall stands and crosses the living room to kiss him, a proper firm kiss. Then he laughs and leans back, scrunching his nose. "You smell like wet dog."

"S'cause I just took care of one."

"C'mon, then. Let's take care of you now."

Bressie grins and kisses him again. "Go be with your dog, pet. She's scared out of her mind. I'll just go clean up quick."

Niall nods and leaves one last lingering kiss before turning to Georgie, who happily hops onto the couch for cuddles.

Bressie's shower isn't long, but when he comes out Niall is passed out with Georgie laid across his chest. Her ears twitch when he approaches, but instead of growling her tail begins to wag. Bressie smiles at her and rubs her head. "Only took a bit of trauma, huh?" he whispers to her, and she lifts her head to playfully snap at his hand.

The movement wakes Niall, who blinks up at him sleepily. "Clean?" he mumbles.

"Aye," Bressie chuckles. "Let's get to bed, huh?"

Niall mumbles his ascent and shoos Georgie off him. They lean on each other—Bressie's really just realizing how tired he is—and Georgie keeps bumping into their arses, pushing them forward helpfully. When they stumble into bed, Bressie doesn't even hesitate in patting it. "C'mon, then." he huffs, and Georgie leaps up and settles between them.

"You're sure?" Niall asks on a yawn.

"Not going to be feeling you up." Bressie reasons with a smirk. "And I think we both need to know she's alright."

"Mmkay." Niall agrees, finding his hand. They tangle their fingers together and set it on Georgie's back. Her sigh and Niall's nearly match up, and Bressie presses a kiss to Niall's mouth. "Love ya, head."

"Love ya, chief."

Georgie makes a low grumbling noise and Bressie scratches at her. "Love you, too, you pain in the arse."

Niall chuckles and Georgie turns to lick his arm. Bressie's pretty sure they'll be alright.

[azworkingdogs]

Are You Really Ready for a Pit Bull?

So, you’ve made the decision to get a dog, and you’ve decided that a Pit Bull is the breed that speaks to your heart. I think you’ve made an excellent choice, but please tread carefully. Do your research, and only deal with reputable breeders or rescues.

Of course, this is the case with any dog purchase or adoption, but perhaps more so with the “bully” breeds. Let’s get the main caveat out of the way before we go any further: you need to know for sure what you’re buying or adopting.

What Is a Pit Bull?

If you go back to the origin of the term “Pit Bull,” it actually means any dog used for pit fighting. So, technically, English Mastiffs, Bull Mastiffs, Rottweilers, Boxers, and any number of other large breeds that have ever been used to fight their own kind for the amusement of so-called “humans” could legitimately be termed “Pit Bulls.” However, under the terminology that we typically use today, there are actually only three breeds that can be truly classified as “Pit Bulls.” They are the American Pit Bull Terrier, the Staffordshire Bull Terrier, and the American Staffordshire Terrier.

There are also many, many dogs available that have “Pit-like” characteristics but that are not true Pit Bulls. Often, they’re mixes of some of the breeds I’ve already mentioned. Other times, they’re simply mongrels that resemble some Pit Bull types in that they have a short coat, and Pit-like markings. It’s very much “buyer beware.”

Now, I’m not saying that a Pit Bull mix is necessarily a bad choice. I’m just suggesting that you should know exactly what you’re buying (or adopting) when you’re considering a Pit Bull puppy. If you want a pure Pit Bull, you have three breeds to choose from. If you’re happy with a mix, you still need to know what exactly is contained in the mix, so make sure that the breeder (or rescue) you are considering can provide information regarding your puppy’s lineage.

Are You Really Ready for a Pit Bull?

Before you commit to a Pit Bull breed, or a Pit Bull type, you should ask yourself some very important questions.

Does a Pitty Really Fit Your Lifestyle?

Pit Bulls and Pit Bull mixes are very high-energy dogs, and if they don’t get enough exercise, they’ll be very unhappy. If your idea of a good time is kicking back with a beer and binge-watching “Storage Wars,” a Pit Bull is probably not the right dog for you. You need a nice, snuggly lap dog, not an athletic companion. On the other hand, if you love going out for a run, or even just playing vigorously with your dog, tossing a ball or a Frisbee, you’ll probably do fine with a Pitty. Also, just like any other breed, proper training for a Pit Bull is key to it being a well-mannered dog. Make sure you are ready to commit to a training regimen as well.

How Secure Is Your Yard?

The thing about Pit Bulls, and the mixes thereof, is that they’re escape artists. They can pull their way up over even high fences, dig under them, and even figure out how to unlock supposedly “dog-proof” gates.

If you choose a Pit Bull, you should ideally have a chain-link fence at least six-feet high surrounding your yard; don’t bother with wooden fencing, because your Pitty will soon figure out how to chew through it and go off in search of adventure.

How Well Do You Know Your Neighbors?

This might sound like a non sequitur, but believe me; it’s not.

I have a friend who has a sweet American Staffordshire name Georgiana, Georgie for short. Georgie is one of those aforementioned escape artists, and every so often, despite my friend’s best efforts, Georgie gets out. Then my friend gets a call from his nearest neighbor: “Georgie’s down here playing with the kids, so you might want to come and get her. No hurry, though. Just thought you’d like to know where she is.”

That’s the kind of neighbor you want if you own a Pit Bull. Unfortunately, there are other kinds of neighbors, as well: the kind who say things like, “If she shows up in my yard, I’ll shoot her because Pit Bulls are vicious.” You need to know who they are and where they live, and then you need to make sure that your dog doesn’t encounter them.

Are You Okay with Being Stigmatized?

This goes to what I’ve just talked about. Pit Bulls get a lot of bad press, and you can bet that if you own one, at some point you’re going to end up being upset by hurtful comments that are founded in misinformation. You’ll get people saying things like, “He can’t be trusted,” “She’ll turn on you,” “Keep that vicious thing away from my child,” and so on.

You may also find that bylaws could be put in place that will eventually deny you the right to own the canine companion of your choice. This is what’s known as breed specific legislation (BSL), and it can affect not just true Pit Bulls, but dogs that have no Pit Bull DNA at all. They just resemble Pit Bulls. You might be surprised at how many breeds and breed mixes are mistaken for Pit Bulls. You might be even more surprised at how many jurisdictions are out to get them.

As an example, the Canadian City of Montreal has imposed a ban on not just Pit Bulls but any dog that resembles a Pit Bull. This is, believe it or not, in response to an attack by a dog that wasn’t a Pitty at all; it just resembled one. The mayor of Montreal has even admitted that the ban has less to do with problem breeds than it has with simply making people feel safer. In other words, if someone doesn’t like the look of your dog, the City of Montreal will round it up and put it to death. So that other people will feel safe.

The good thing here is that right-thinking people in Montreal are taking Pit Bulls and Pit Bull types and, by means of a sort of “underground railroad” for dogs, sending them to Pit-friendly locations. The bad thing is that people are having to choose between giving away their beloved friends, and having them killed.

If you choose a Pit Bull, there will be people who will want to see your dog dead. Even your family might not be onside with your choice. Georgie’s Dad, for instance, had to put up with his mother-in-law telling him that the dog had to go once a human baby entered the equation. “Nana” was convinced that the dog would be a threat to a child despite nothing at all in the dog’s behavior that would suggest such a thing.

People will be rude. Beyond rude, actually. And they’ll think they know more than you do about the nature of your dog. If you can’t handle unreasonable invective, you might want to reconsider getting a Pit Bull.

Why Do You Want a Pit Bull?

I’ve left this question for last, because I think it’s important enough to close on. Are you looking to impress people with your big, powerful dog? Do you want a really cool fashion accessory to go along with your leather Harley Davidson jacket? Are you trying to look tough?

If you’ve answered “Yes” to any of these questions, then stop right now. Go get a tattoo, or a bit more bling, or start working out to build up muscle. A dog is not something you should get to amp up your “street cred.” A dog is a companion, someone to snuggle up with on cold winter nights, a playmate, and a friend. A dog is not something you get so you can say, “Look at how cool I am.”

The Final Word

If you want a Pitty for the right reasons, then get one. They’re wonderful, loyal dogs. Just be sure, before you make that final decision, and commit to having your dog for many years, that it’s the right decision, both for you and for the dog that you’re thinking of adopting.

Author Bio: Franklin Medina lives in comfortable squalor with Boxers, Janice and Leroy, and spends a lot of time with human and canine friends down at the dog park. You can read more from Franklin at SimplyForDogs.com.

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