#hearing Jon swear is so satisfying | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

secondgenerationnerd · 2 years ago

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Could you do a short fic of lian having a panic attack at the tower because of her ptsd and nobody (except the people who know why she has ptsd( because she doesn't like to talk about it) knows why she's having a panic attack

…literally been thinking about this one for a few days. Enjoy!

(And there was no way it was gonna be short 😅😅)

———

Since the two teams had met, YJL and Omega have found reasons for the other to be in their universe. Strategic planning, information swap, various tests and experiments—you name it they’ve done it. So when Jai and Irey reached out regarding ‘simulation testing’, the other team showed up ready for chaos.

Zachary and Damian bicker in the corner. Connor watches, occasionally adding to the fire with a pun or stupid question. Ceridian explains his tattoos with Jon and Colin. Lucy and Milagro discuss new roller skates for Lucy, going over ball bearings and arch support. The Graysons, Mar’i and Luca, are either hacking into the NSA again or trying to figure out an aerial silk routine.

On the platform, the four Wests are deep in science mode. Irey goes over the system with Matty and Jania, explaining the different scenarios they train for the most. Lian sits on a stool, half listening to Irey. Really she’s watching her boyfriend as he pulls up her profile, reads through her old stats. Once he’s satisfied, he pulls out a sheet of wireless electrodes.

“We track her vitals using these, ” Jai takes over the explanation from his sister, placing a pad over Lian’s heart. She smiles to herself, even if his hands don’t linger. It’s nothing personal and she knows it. Those gorgeous golden eyes dart around, going deep into ‘science space’, “We’re also attaching one on each temple today.”

Matty nods, reading through data on the computer screen, “Watching for spikes in the amygdala and hypothalamus?”

“Naturally.” Jai presses the final electrode to her temple. “We do base level readings the night before and morning of for everyone.”

“Interesting. Seems better than Aunt M’gann using her powers.” The other Wests shiver.

“You’re done, Lian.” Jai says, absentmindedly. Nodding, she gets up and kisses his cheek. Oh, so worth it to see his brain process that. Heading to the door, Lian grabs her bow and the simulation arrows. They’ll feel like the ones she uses in the field, just won’t break the simulator.

“You got this, Li?” Mar’i asks. The archer shoots her a cocky grin.

“Course I do. I’m a badass.” She swears she hears the princess call her unbelievable, but the door shuts behind her. The simulator room, with its silver floors and walls, once intimidated her. Now Lian knows that the floors and walls move and change, keeping them from running into one. The speaker crackles to life above her, Irey going over the simulation parameters again.

Goal: free the hostage without being killed or captured.

Around her, the room flickers to life. Scene shifting to whatever location the twins choose today. Closing her eyes, Lian takes a breath. Then another. And a third. Then—

“Begin.”

Her eyes fly open, hand going back to her quiver. The arrow flies before the others can register her knocking it, hitting the masked man running toward her in the shoulder. Details about her surroundings neatly file themselves away. Residential home. Two stories. Open landing just above her. Target just beyond that in the shadows.

In the other room, YJL watches with awe; Omega with pride. While she calls herself their ‘eye in the sky’, it’s moments like this she shines. Because in the middle of a fight, they see what parts of her fighting style came from others.

Using her bow like a bat, momentum and power building up to knock a grown man out. Jason will be proud, especially when she gets a two for one. Grappling arrow she fires into a table, yanking it into the three men running at her, like Aunt Donna taught her. She moves quickly through the growing pile of bodies, turning and bending to dodge a hit. Growing up with speedsters and acrobats has perks.

With every arrow she fires, every one that lands their mark, Lian has a wicked smile on her face. No, not wicked. A Chesire cat smile—pure joy in the chaos. She fires another grappling arrow into the ceiling. Pulling herself up just as two masked people run into each other. Head cocking to the side, she listens for--there it is. A muffled scuffle from the room down the hall. Before she can move, the speaker crackles to life.

Inclement Weather activated.

Frowning, Lian pauses. Inclement weather? That wasn’t a part of the simulation for today. Then the ground begins to shake beneath her feet.

No.

No, no, no, no, no, not again. Eyes widening, Lian runs towards the stairs, bow clattering to the ground. Forgetting the goal. Forgetting she’s in a simulator. Because she’s not. She’s alone in her house and she’s too little to be alone, but Nonna said she’d be back soon.

“HELP!” A crack runs up the wall, part of the roof falling to clip her shoulder, “DADDY! HELP!”

“What’s happening?!” Damian asks. YJL has never heard that edge in his voice before.

“We don’t know!” Irey snaps, her and Jai’s hands flying over their keyboards.

“Sissy, we have to get her out—!” Jai flinches at Lian’s next scream.

“MOMMY! DADDY! HELP! HELP ME!”

“Something’s in the last update—those motherfuckers!” Irey snarls. “I found a virus from one of the other teams! Probably thought it would be funny—!”

“We need to get her out of there now!” Jai watches Lian’s vitals sky rocket.

“I need a few minutes—”

Lian won’t make it. She’s too little. But Mommy and Daddy swore she’d be safe at home! It’s why Mommy leaves so much! She trips over a fallen beam, pain shooting up her leg. The house falls down around her, dust filling her lungs as she tries to claw her way to the door. “DADDY! HELP!”

“MAR’I! DOOR!” Jai’s voice breaks, still frantically trying to shut off the simulator. In an instant, Mar’i’s at the door, digging her fingers into the metal and ripping it from the hinges. She throws it behind her. The simulation inside flickers away, leaving Lian curled into a ball on the ground. Arms covering her head as her body shakes. Mar’i flies over to her, kneeing down.

“Lian?” She starts to touch her, but hesitates, “Li?”

“Where’s Daddy? I need Daddy,” Lian doesn’t look up.

“He’s coming.” Mar’i promises, a quick glance to Damian. Thank god her uncle understands. “Lian, how old are you?”

“4.” Lian curls up tighter, voice breaking.

“Are you sure you’re 4?”

“…I-I was 4. When it h-happened.”

“You were so little. That must have been scary, Lian.”

“Nonna left. She said she’d be right back. But I’m alone. I die alone.”

“No, Lian. I’m right here with you.” Mar’i’s soft voice eases some tension in the others watching.

“You’re not real.” Lian sobs, “I keep screaming for Daddy, why isn’t he saving me?! I’m all alone again.”

Mar’i gently touches her friend’s shoulder, “He tried. I promise you you’re not alone right now. I’m right here. Do you remember my name?”

“…Mar’i…but I call you Ri sometimes.”

“That’s right.” The princess nods, rubbing small circles on her back, “Remember when we met? You dropped your toolkit behind the piano?”

“You lifted it up.” The panic begins to leave her voice. Mari continues talking with Lian, bringing her back to reality, while the twins shut down the system. Irey’s eyes burn with anger, Jai’s with worry.

Slowly, Lian sits up, tears rolling down her face. She turns to the princess. A simple, soft smile. That’s all Mar’i offers her friend. No judgement or fear or panic anywhere on her face. Face crumpling, Lian throws her arms around her friend. Twin cracks of lighting fill the room, two more pairs of arms wrapping around Lian.

Jai, Irey, and Mar’i hold her tight, letting their pressure and body heat help to ground her back into reality. She is Lian Alice Nguyen Harper. She’s almost 17. She died, but that was a long time ago. She’s safe now. Three voices overlap, each reminding her of that point. Three pairs of arms hold her tight as she cries. Not alone. Never alone with them. Soon, the sobs fade to manageable whimpers, the trio letting go as she moves back. Lian can’t look behind her, to the others watching in concern. Thankfully, the others understand.

“C’mere, baby.” Jai murmurs, kissing her temple. He picks her up bridal-style, letting her wrap her arms around his neck and hide her face, “I got you, Lian. Let’s get you taken care of, okay?”

“They’re gonna ask.” She whimpers. His shirt bunches under her grip.

“They don’t have to kn—”

“Tell them.” This time it’s said to Mar’i. The princess and twins share an uneasy look.

“Baby, are you sure?” She just nods quickly, refusing to look at anyone. Another silent conversation before they leave the simulator.

Jai doesn’t look at the other team as he carries Lian away. YJL swears they can hear him humming, but they instead turn to Mar’i and Irey. The two young women are having a quick conversation. When they finally look at the others, something burns in their eyes. Worry, pain, and a clear deep love for their friend.

“Sit.” Mar’i doesn’t use her ‘Princess Voice’, but none of them argue. Once everyone has a spot, she takes a breath, “Lian hates this story. She didn’t know about it until recently. She hates telling it, but wants you to know.”

“How bad is it?” Connor asks. Mar’i gives the other team a look that sends shivers down their spines. They’ve never been happier to be on her good side than at this moment.

“Bad enough that if it is told without her permission…” She lets the threat linger in the air for a moment. Then takes a breath, softening a little, “It happened when she was 4.”

#mar'i grayson #irey west #lian harper #jai west #omega squad #yjl #tw child death #tw ptsd

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sticksthestrangeone · 4 years ago

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Nothing in MAG 197 made me happier than:

“Free will,” she says, as we stand in the middle of her

fucking web

#hearing Jon swear is so satisfying #i literally had the biggest grin on my face #tma #the magnus archives #jon sims

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hargrove-mayfields · 4 years ago

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Add A Link and See It Grow

Today’s the last day of the Harringrove Week of Love! The final prompt I chose was Found Family! Read this here or on ao3 posted by ej_writer !

Word Count: 7,305

Rating: T

“Are you serious right now Nancy?”

It was 7:30 at night when Steve heard his doorbell ring and, upon answering it, was met with a swarm of middle schoolers rushing into his house. He had plans to go out to the quarry with Billy in like, a half hour, he could not afford to be the babysitter.

“I’m sorry, Steve. My mom was supposed to watch the kids but she had to go out so she asked me to babysit, but I already told Joyce and Jon I’d help them plan Will's birthday party and it’s only a few days away now and-“ Nancy talked about a thousand miles a minute as she tried to justify dumping the brats on him.

“Whatever, it’s, fine.” It wasn’t, but it wasn’t worth arguing over either. “Aren’t they old enough to watch themselves at this point?”

Nancy didn’t even respond to that, just gave him a stern look that said ‘you’re watching these kids no matter what, get over it.’ She crossed her arms and squinted at him and, even if it didn’t really matter if he agreed, his resolve broke. “Alright, fine.”

She smiled and thanked him before hurrying back to Jonathan’s still running car. Steve sighed and braced himself before turning around to go back inside. The brats were known for wreaking havoc in a matter of minutes, and he wasn't looking to let them destroy his parents’ house.

In the five minutes he was outside they’d already raided the fridge of all of his pop, added the leaf to his dining table (how did they even know where that thing was?), had game pieces and boards thrown all over the place, and made a stack of their bags in the corner of his living room.

“Wait a second, is this a sleepover?” Steve groaned at all of the overenthusiastic nods he received. “Where am I supposed to put all of you little shits?”

Dustin shrugged. “You have enough rooms in this place to house the whole neighborhood. I think you’ll be fine.”

“Well, since nobody felt the need to run this by me first, I’m already busy. Can you dipshits handle yourselves for like, two hours?”

The look on Mikes face perfectly mirrored the one his sister had given Steve at the door. “Dude, Nancy will kill you if she found out you left us here alone.”

“Not if I kill her first for dumping all of you on me.” The threat had still stuck, she absolutely would kill Steve. There was no way he could get away with leaving them unattended.

He figured he could just call Billy and cancel, but that was really the last thing he wanted to do. He tried to come up with some compromise, but with all the kids pulling up chairs to his dining table with intentions of staying all night, he didn’t really have much of a choice in the matter.

Dialing Billy’s number into the kitchen phone, he walks around the corner into the bathroom, shutting himself in as best he can around the phone's cord in an attempt at having some semblance of privacy from the six sets of prying ears in the next room, but he hears nothing from the other end.

He let it ring a few more times before he gave up, wrapping the cord back up and hanging the phone back in its slot. This wasn’t going to go over well.

Because it wasn’t like he could just be like ‘hey, I have to go do this, be back in a few’ when what he had been planning on doing was going on a date with Billy Hargrove. They were sneaking around behind the kids' backs, so that just wasn’t a luxury they had.

But Billy wouldn’t answer his phone, so he couldn’t explain the situation to him either, and now Steve was backed into a corner, and exponentially screwed.

At first, he was trying to just stay out of the kids’ hair, hover in the corner while they did their thing just to make sure they didn’t get it of hand, but he was feeling too jittery and nervous, so he pulled up one of the thousand extra dining chairs his mother kept around for dinner parties and joined in their stupid game.

For once, they were playing normal people games instead of that role playing thing he couldn't wrap his head around, so he could actually understand what was happening enough to participate.

Not that that meant he ever won, being outsmarted by these kids was his specialty. Round after round they ran circles around him, and he was getting frustrated enough he was considering making them sleep outside.

He was about to throw his cards down and quit for what was probably the tenth time already when he heard the telltale sound of Billy’s Camaro pulling into his driveway.

That was really bad. He’d stood Billy up, and he’d be pissed, he couldn’t let him just barge in here and make a scene in front of the kids. Because not only would that mean they knew Steve was not crushing on some imaginary girl or whatever he’d made up to thwart their suspicions, but that he was with Billy Hargrove of all people. They’d never let it go.

He shot a quick look at Max, who no doubt would’ve been able to recognize the sound of her own brother's car, hoping to somehow communicate to her to keep these other assholes occupied while he dealt with this. He was pretty sure Max already knew about them anyways.

Forfeiting again, he got up from the table and hurried towards the front doors.

Will called after him with a sympathetic, “It’s just a game, Steve!” which thankfully meant they either hadn’t heard or hadn’t recognized the sound of Billy’s car.

Holding up the pack of camels he always kept in his pocket, he turned around to face the kids, backing towards the door still. “Just need a smoke break.”

That seemed to appease them, and they went back to what they were doing. He practically ran the rest of the way to the door, as he opened and closed it before they could see the boy on the stoop.

Billy was standing there probably about to lay on the doorbell, something he always did just to drive Steve crazy, and seemed surprised at the way he came all the way outside and shut the door behind himself. “Listen, I’m on babysitting duty, so I kind of can’t do this right now.”

At the same time Billy’s face fell, Steve felt his heart drop into his stomach. This wasn’t about their rendezvous, turning up at Steve’s house usually meant he needed something, and judging from the way his hands were stuffed deep into his pockets and the way he was worrying his lip between his teeth, it was something important. “Whatever, Harrington. I’ll get out of your hair.“

“That’s not what I meant.” Steve reached out and put his hand on Billy’s arm to get his attention. “I’m sorry. I want you to stay, I just, I needed you to know they were here.” The additional so you didn’t out us and ruin our lives forever went unsaid, but Billy knew the implications of being caught by the kids.

“I need your first-aid kit“ It was hard for him, asking for help, but these days it was something he needed a lot of.

“Okay.”

Without another word he opened the door and led Billy inside, making him kick off his muddy biker boots before following him up the stairs to where he kept the band aid kit in his bathroom. One of the perks of having a big house was that the kids, from where they were in the dining room, couldn’t see the door, and only heard them go up the steps.

This had become routine for them, Billy showing up at his door in need of a little TLC, and Steve desperate to give it to him, but up to this point they’d been able to evade the kids. He didn’t think it would honestly be all that bad if they knew, Billy’s sister was among them and probably wouldn’t let her friends run too wild with the information, but Billy had made him swear on his life he’d never let them, or anyone else for that matter, find out about it.

Of course he understood that. There was a reason this kept happening, these nights when Billy would show up at his door in need of assistance, and that reason, who’s name happened to be Neil Hargrove, would undoubtedly kill the both of them were he ever to catch word that his son was dating Steve Harrington.

Steve had the displeasure of meeting Neil in person only once in late December, when he’d dropped Max off at her house after a Christmas party at the Byers. Being that he was such a responsible and caring father, or at least that’s what he was for the public eye, he just had to meet the boy who was watching his daughter.

Steve’d been beyond unsettled by the unnecessary firmness of his handshake, the distant look behind his so obviously practiced smile, the way Billy, with his arm in a cast for reasons he wouldn’t tell anyone, loomed in the corner as Neil did his interrogation.

When he was satisfied with the answers he’d been given, sure that Steve wasn’t carting the kids around because he was a creep or something, he’d let him go with a slap to the shoulder that was a little too hard to be friendly, and made Billy, maybe as a show of some sort of old fashioned respect, walk him back to his car.

“Did he do that to you?” Maybe it was because his experience with his own father had made it easier to recognize, but Steve was pretty sure he had a good idea of what was going on here.

Billy kept his eyes downcast and his shoulders squared, defensive in a way that was distinctly un-Billy. The broken arm must have been preventing his fighting instincts from taking over, or maybe it was the guilt from already beating the shit out of Steve once. “Maybe.”

That was enough of an answer for him. “Look, if you ever need anything, just like, I don’t know, come find me or something, man.”

Billy’s head snapped up to look at him. Steve could practically see the gears turning in his head as he tried to think of some response, but that had gotten to him. He kept his lips pressed in a flat line, and stared at Steve like he just grew a second head.

“I’m sorry for lying to you, just, my door is always open, or whatever.” It was extremely awkward, Steve offering help to the boy who’d literally just beat the shit out of him and concussed him like a month ago, but he could see through him.

The scar in his eyebrow didn’t come from their fight, nor did the cast on his arm. Seeing the way Neil acted, the saccharine smile he wore as he made subtle threats on him when he literally did nothing but drive his daughter around, he had enough to figure out that those injuries had been from what Billy had faced once he came home that night.

Billy hadn’t said anything, just scoffed and turned around to go back into his house, but a week later he showed up at Steve’s house, having gotten the address off of their sort of mutual friend Tommy, with a broken nose and bled all over his living room carpet, and the rest was history.

Steve walked him into the bathroom and sat him down on the toilet seat, popping open the first-aid kit where it sat on the tiled counter. “Where’re you hurt?”

A nervous habit of his, Billy was chewing on the side of his thumb nail. His gaze flickered between Steve’s face and the framed painting behind him on the wall. “S’my ribs.”

Steve got him to shrug out of the two different jackets he was wearing, his first winter in the Midwest had proved to be far too cold for a Cali-raised boy like Billy, and pull the Henley shirt he had on over his head. The damage hidden underneath was enough to make him sick to his stomach.

Reaching out, Steve gingerly touched the deep purple bruises littering the other boy's chest and ribs. He felt breathless, this was by far the worst he’d ever seen it. “Jesus, Bills.”

Billy wasn’t very good at accepting sympathy from others. It made him feel all squeamish to be fussed over, and Steve was the king of fussing over him. He muttered, “Think there’s a cut towards the back.”

Steve wrapped his fingers around Billy’s forearm and gently pushed his arm up over his head to inspect the damage, and sure enough, there was a gash about 6 inches long on his left side. “What the hell did he do to you?”

Billy sniffs, looks away and says, like it’s nothing, “Steel-toes break the skin easier.”

Every time they did this, Steve’s heart broke into a million little pieces. The nonchalance of it all was the worst part, the way it was so normal for Billy to have his father kick him until his ribs were bruised black and bleeding, it made him so sad to see his Billy that way.

He let Billy put his arm down and crossed his own arms over his chest, “You’re gonna need stitches.”

“You know how to sew.” Another shot right in his heart, Steve didn’t know how much of this he could handle.

“Barely. And this is completely different.” Steve stepped forward and put his hand on the side of Billy’s face, keeping him from looking away again to stare at that stupid painting on the wall. “Don’t wanna hurt you.”

“I can take it, Stevie. Either you do it or I will.” If Billy gave an ultimatum, he meant it.

He definitely didn’t know how to sew, it was a skill considered too feminine to be taught to a son despite its usefulness, so he never learned how, but if Steve didn’t agree he would’ve very much done it and hurt himself a thousand times more in the process just to prove a point

So Steve reluctantly did it, made Billy hold his arm over his head and turn to face the other wall so he could see it better. Not that he was an overly emotional person, or maybe he just wouldn’t admit he was, but the sight before him put tears in his eyes.

Billy caught that, and despite the swell of nervousness in his own chest as he saw Steve threading a needle from out of the kit, he offered comfort to his boyfriend.

“Only a few more months before I’m outta there, then we won’t have to worry about this shit any more.” Billy would turn 18 in June, just under three months from now, but when he showed up at Steve’s door bloodied and bruised every other day, that long stretch of time offered no comfort.

It wouldn’t be as easy as Billy seemed to think it was to leave. He wouldn’t have any money, the Camaro wasn’t in his name, so he wouldn’t have any way to get around, and he didn’t even know where he would stay yet. That was all hypothetical for if he’d even be able to leave too.

With an abusive father constantly looming over his shoulder and keeping tabs on him, he’d know he was going to leave and try to stop it at all costs. It was only a matter of time before he started trying to manipulate Billy into staying.

It clearly didn’t have the desired effect on Steve. Billy’d even offered his assurances with a smile, but his boyfriends face stayed grim as he wiped at the cut with an alcohol pad so he could start to try to stitch it shut.

They stayed silent after that, while Steve tried to steady his shaking hands for long enough to get the needle in and out of Billy’s skin without hurting him too bad. The only break in the silence was the occasional gasp from Billy when Steve made another hole in his skin, or the noise drifting up from when the kids started yelling downstairs.

After a few more times in and out he was able to tie it off, the sutures were sort of crude, but were doing their job, and he made Billy move his arm all around to make sure they wouldn’t tear right through his skin. Once he was appeased, he made him put a new shirt on, the other one stained with his blood would have to be washed.

Billy stood up and wrapped his arms around Steve’s waist. “I’m gonna be okay baby.”

Steve reached his arms around the back of Billy’s neck and pressed their foreheads together. “I know but-“

Cutting him off with a quick kiss, Billy interjected. “It doesn’t matter about him as long as I have you.” Another peck to his lips. “Love you.”

It hardly did anything to cheer Steve up or comfort him, but there wasn’t anything that could when every night, he sent his boyfriend back into the arms of a monster. He sighed and ran his fingers through the long hair at the back of Billy’s neck. “I love you too.”

Neither of them knew how much time had passed when Billy pulled away to grab his jacket off of the counter. Shrugging the layers back onto his shoulders, he stuffed his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket again. “I should go. The nerd herd’s gonna wonder where we went.”

“I want you to stay.” Steve kissed him one more time. “Not gonna let you go back to him yet.”

Billy looked like he wanted to protest, but Steve must’ve been looking as sad as he felt, because Billy sighed and gave in. “Fine. But your kids aren’t going to be too happy about that.”

“They’ll be fine.” Billy always seemed to underestimate just how much the kids liked him.

It was true that they hadn’t been his biggest fans at first, but when they first started doing this, Steve made him swear he’d apologize to them, and he did.

They were smart kids, they understood how the situation had looked when he got pissed, all of them hiding from him in a strangers house, and they understood the implications too of him begging Max to leave with him and his arm being broken literally the next day when she hadn’t.

It wasn’t immediate forgiveness, they were pretty wary around him until they felt he’d done enough to prove that he meant it when he apologized, but they’d all more or less accepted it by now.

Because he hadn’t stopped after just saying sorry. The words themselves never meant much to him at all, what with the situation he grew up in, so he tried to show them he was sorry.

Which was how he had become the secondary chauffeur after Steve, taking more than just Max home after trips to the movies or the arcade, and consequently how he had started helping them sneak around.

More than a few times he’d helped them smuggle Eleven out of her dad's cabin, because he understood feeling trapped, before he had his own car Neil had been able to keep him under 24/7 surveillance. He always covered for Lucas too, driving him home first before anyone else, and when Neil wanted to know who Max had been with, he’d lie and say it was just Dustin or El. After what happened it felt like the least he could do, but Steve was right, by now, they were pretty much over it.

Either way, he didn’t exactly want to have to explain away why he and Steve had disappeared upstairs for the last hour, hour and half. They might forgive him for his stupid outburst, but he couldn’t be sure where they drew the line.

Steve smiled at him and wrapped his fingers around Billy’s wrist, pulling him out of the bathroom and back through the hallway to the stairs. “Just follow my lead.”

Any semblance of a plan was lost when they made it back to the kitchen, Billy leaning in the doorway while Steve announced his presence, and they saw Eleven washing blood off of her hands in the sink.

There were some things Billy knew he’d never understand about these kids, Steve had made him promise he wouldn’t ask questions even though that was what had got them into a fight in the first place, so, despite his confusion, he didn’t even try to ask.

Not even when Steve put his hands on his hips and reprimanded her. “Oh, you were not spying on me.”

She smiled coyly. “I was.”

Billy felt the blood drain out of his face, felt his heartbeat skyrocket as he and Steve exchanged a look of fear. Steve stuttered and started trying to explain. “Listen you guys-“

Dustin cut him off, always overly eager to complain. “She won’t tell us anything.”

Nodding, Mike agreed. “She says it’s an ‘invasion of your privacy’.” He used air quotes around the last part as if spying on people in their own homes wasn’t exactly that.

The fear on Steve's face shifted into anger as he pointed his finger in Mike's face. “That’s because it is. I told you little shits a thousand times: no spying.”

Lucas interjected, agreeing with his friends. “What’s it matter if she won’t tell us anyways?”

Max fixed him with a deadly look and scoffed. “It matters because she didn’t want to and you made her. Why should she tell you what she saw?” Typically, Max would be on Lucas’ side, but they must’ve been fighting again.

Billy, watching the scene unfold while leaning on the door frame, clicked his tongue against the back of his teeth and announced. “Seems like I walked into something.” He turned to walk away and called over his shoulder. “Catch ya ‘round, Harrington.”

Before he could get away, Steve grabbed him by the back of his jacket and tugged, stopping him dead in his tracks. “No way. You’re not leaving me to deal with this by myself.”

“Your children aren’t my responsibility.” He reminded him, but he had no actual intentions of actually leaving and they both knew that.

The kids hadn’t understood at first why Steve got along with Billy after he’d been the one to be beat up, so, to put it in a way that made sense to the brats, they pretended to argue so it seemed like they were only begrudgingly hanging out, and so far, they hadn’t seen through it.

Steve had a retort ready, but Dustin beat him to it. The kids were constantly rubbing it in Billy’s face that they’d turned him into a babysitter too. “Yeah, we kind of are.”

Lucas, obviously only trying to get some sort of points towards Max’s forgiveness, agreed. “Especially since one of us is your totally awesome sister.” Max just rolled her eyes at his attempt.

Realizing he was still holding onto Billy’s jacket, Steve pulled him back into the room and let go. “You’re staying.” He turned to Will and asked him like nothing had happened, “So what are we playing?”

Unsurprisingly, the kids had developed tiny attention spans. They'd gotten quite the taste for crazy adventures, so unlike normal teenagers, activities like watching movies and playing truth or dare all night wouldn’t really do it for them.

Since Steve had left, they’d apparently played through two different games and had been about to start a third before they decided to spy.

Mike tells them, “We’ve narrowed it down to Uno and Monopoly.”

“Mike, Will, and Max vote Monopoly. Me, Lucas, and El vote Uno.” Dustin further explained, “We need a tie breaker.”

“I’m not any good at Monopoly. Too much counting.” Steve nudged Billy with his shoulder. “What do you think?”

“Last time I played Monopoly I broke someone's nose, and I’m colorblind. Don’t think my vote counts.” Neither of those facts are particularly untrue, but the only reason Billy brings them up is because he’s still trying to deny that he’s their babysitter.

Staying for Steve, whatever, that was fine, but playing board games with the little shits, that would be giving in, admitting that he wasn’t above hanging out with middle schoolers on a Friday night.

But he doesn’t get out of it, because with the excitement of all of the kids combined, Will pipes up. “Don’t worry, I am too! My mom put shapes on all the cards so I can tell the difference.”

He hurries and fishes out the playing deck, bringing it straight to Billy to look through. “See! Reds are squares, greens are circles, yellows are stars, and blues are triangles!”

Steve smirks at Billy, at the defeated look on his face. “Looks like you’re not getting out of this one, Hargrove.”

Tumblr decided this was too long, go ahead and finish reading on ao3! Over there I’m ej_writer !

#harringrove week of love #harringrove #billy x steve #billy hargrove #steve harrington #ej writer #story by ej!#I suppose this is sort of a prerequisite to found family? I don’t really know but you can tell what I’m going for #and that’s a wrap folks!#huge thanks to the people in charge of this event its been really really cool #sorry this is so late I had to do some college stuff and forgot :-(

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signalterminated · 3 years ago

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Hello Mr. Spider (snippet)

Jon ducks behind the nearest bookshelf, body going rigid.

"Jon," a voice calls out. He does not need to see to Know that voice has fangs, and spindly legs, and a bowler's hat sitting snugly atop a warped skull.

It's not possible. It can't be possible.

"Where are you?" Mr. Spider's voice is far too close for comfort. There's the distinct tapping of pointed claws against the Archive's linoleum flooring. "It's been so long," it croons, "You never showed up for my tea party."

Jon could swear he hears his own sweat rolling down his temples. Not real, he tells himself, not real not —

Click click. Claw-tipped feet draw closer. He slips a hand over his nose and mouth, slowly backing away further down the aisle. His vision is swimming from the ferocity of his pounding heart. How this apparition doesn't hear it is beyond him.

"I've been wanting to thank you for years." The voice is further away, now, a different aisle entirely. Try as Jon might to peer into the dark, he can't make out a single errant twitch of movement. "Your gift was just as thoughtful as it was nourishing."

Jon's throat closes up even tighter than before. He'd be hyperventilating if air entered it anyway.

The door. He needs to find the door.

"He was delicious." Mr. Spider's voice fluctuates in pitch, dropping to a low, satisfied hiss. "But not enough. Never enough, no. Not like you."

#tma #the magnus archives #magnuspod #this is very much a rough draft but boy am i having fun

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banashee · 3 years ago

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Hi Folks, welcome to my second fic for the Archival Pride 2021 project! Look at their tumblr for more info :) @archivalpride

Archival Pride 2021, Week two (June 8-14) Prompts: identity, embrace, celebration, intersectionality, firsts

The key words I've used here are identity, embrace, celebration and firsts

Content Warnings: Once again, this is mostly a bunch of fluff but to be safe:

- the words "murder" and "crime scene" are there, but it's not related to anything serious, no one comes to harm here and it's only part of some jokes related to hair dye. - mention of Top-Surgery, nothing graphic - some swearing

----

Oh and by the way? Jon's move of accidentally dousing Tim with the showerhead was taken out of real life. My best friend fucking did that to me when helping me with dyeing my hair... Thanks, Dear. @bananaink I love you lots! ♥ Thanks for being my favourite human and being a great inspiration for shenanigans like this :D

Wear your colours and be proud

“Careful! The tub already looks like we murdered a smurf, if you move too much we’ll have to clean the entire bathroom... Again.”

“Excuse me, Mx. Sims, if I recall correctly it was you who put the entire showerhead down the back of my shirt and scared the ever-loving shit out of me.” Tim complains good-naturedly, bent over the bathtub as Jon is standing over him and washes out the bright blue hair dye.

“Okay, one: it wasn’t the entire showerhead, two: there was hair dye on your neck and I didn’t think it through. Besides, I already said I was sorry!” Jon is having a hard time not bursting into laughter again – they didn’t lie, they really are sorry, but washing off the dye from Tim’s neck before it stained too much, with what they were currently holding in their hand anyway, seemed like a perfectly logical thing to do at the time. The startled yelp of a dripping wet Tim informed them that no, it wasn’t, in fact, a good idea. Who would have thought?

Jon had simultaneously apologized profusely and burst into laughter that had them wiping amused tears from their eyes. Okay, so, they hadn’t exactly planned this through as well as they could have.

“You’re laughing. I am suffering, cold and wet, and you’re laughing at my misery!” Tim laments, but the amusement that creeps into his voice absolutely betrays him. Nevermind that it is in the middle of summer and anything but cold. It is a matter of principle.

Behind him, Jon bursts into more helpless giggles – in their defense, they had too much caffeine already.

“Aw, Love, I apologize.” This time, it doesn’t sound like it at all, but they keep massaging Tim’s scalp, blunt nails scratching gently even as the water begins to run clear. The happy, satisfied hum they get in response tells them everything they need to know.

Jon has learned many many years ago that Tim will absolutely melt into a puddle under their hands if they give him head massages or even just play with his hair. They love doing it, but it also serves as a useful distraction sometimes.

“On the plus side, we’ve got two more rounds of colour to go! Plenty of opportunities for me to not do that again.” Jon tells him innocently, wraps a towel over the back of Tim’s head and squeezes out as much residue water as possible.

“Well, that’s reassuring, Dear.” He replies bluntly, but there is a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, before he gets up from the floor and then pulls Jon into a very wet, very tight full body hug, causing them to yelp.

“Tim! What the hell!”

“ Now we’re even, my Love.” Tim tells them with a shit-eating grin, and then presses a quick kiss on top of his half-heartedly glaring partner's head.

“…Would you like to blow dry it yourself or do you want me to do it?” They finally ask instead of a rebuttal, and Tim considers this for just a moment.

“If you don’t mind, I’d like you to do it. Cover the mirror while we’re at it, then it’s a surprise for me as well.”

“Of course, Love. Turn around?” Jon asks, and Tim does as he is asked, but not without turning the simple request into the beginning of “Total eclipse of the heart”, using a hairbrush as a makeshift microphone. Of course, he is putting his everything into the little performance. That is, until he is cut off by Jon and the hair dryer, which they are blowing directly at his face.

Somehow, Jon, Tim and most of the bathroom survive their shenanigans for long enough until Jon lifts the towel away from the mirror and lets Tim take a look at his new hair colour.

Hours ago, they started out by trimming his undercut, which is easy enough, followed by removing the rest of some particularly stubborn shade of green with bleach and giving his dark roots their own quick round of bleach. Then, the disaster with the blue dye starts. After that, the bathroom looks a bit worse for wear – indeed, it looks like a smurf crime scene and they keep joking about that. But Tim and Jon keep going, only having to take a break to fight off a giggle fit about two or three times.

Even now, after so many years with them, Tim is amazed and happy to see and hear Jon laugh like that. He hadn’t known they were even capable of being so carefree, let alone silly, when they first met. For most people, it is still a rare treat to see, if they even get that honor at all. But after many years of being together and acquiring two more wonderful and lovely partners, things are different – and even better.

They wouldn’t want to trade their family, this life together, for anything.

After a round of bright purple hair dye and much of the same, they move on to pink, and by the time that last round is done, Tim is getting more than a little excited, but truth be told, so is Jon. They really hope that they did good on this dye job – they only ever helped Tim, and many years ago, Georgie and some of their friends at Uni, to dye their hair in one solid colour. This multicolour thing is new territory for them, and they hope it turned out well. At least they’d like to think it did, but what it comes down to really, is what Tim thinks of it – it’s his head, after all.

As the towel falls from the mirror, Tim steps closer to take a look. Even under the unflattering bathroom light, his hair is shining bold and bright in the colours of the Bi Pride Flag. Pink, purple and blue in the longer hairs on top of his head, neatly sectioned off into thirds and dyed in hours of work. The smile on his face is bright and instant, but there is no trace of a joke in it. He looks really happy, and most of all, proud – as he should be.

“It’s perfect!” he exclaims, turning his head a few times to look at himself at all angles, the genuinely happy smile still plastered all over his face as he pulls Jon into another hug.

“Thank you, Love. I appreciate the help.”

“Glad you like it, then.” They pull Tim down for a kiss, fingers brushing gently over the freshly buzzed sides of his head. It’s one of those feelings they’ll never get tired of. The soft, short stubble feels incredibly satisfying, and Tim just knows he’ll spend the next few days with Jon, Martin and Sasha constantly running their hands over it. Not that he minds – as if he’d ever turn down head scritches from anyone.

Right now, just for a moment, the two of them remain standing in front of the bathroom mirror together. They are surrounded by and covered with various hair dye stains, despite best attempts to achieve the contrary. The bathroom needs a good cleaning session and both Tim and Jon are in desperate need of a change of clothes. But they look at themselves just for a moment, taking in how much they have changed over the years. It’s definitely for the better. Both of them are happy and comfortable with who they are, they have each other – and they have two wonderful people who they love dearly waiting downstairs to see the result of their hair shenanigans.

Neither of them says any of this out loud – they don’t have to. But it is Jon who breaks the silence this time.

“Let’s go show the others, we’ve been in here for hours.”

“Oh they’re fine. 5 pounds say they’ll roll their eyes and just tell us –“

“- All we heard was yelling, laughter and occasional singing, so we thought, you know, what else is new, they’ll be fine.” Sasha says without looking up from her phone. She’s nestled into Martins side, the both of them cuddled up on the couch with their phone and book, Crumpet dozing in the crook of Sasha’s knee while Gandalf has decided that a day with 26 degrees outside would be the perfect day to become a sentient scarf for Martin. The poor guy looks hot, but he doesn’t make a move to dislodge either the cat or Sasha.

Really, it is too warm to cuddle, way too warm, but what can you do? The two of them are wearing shorts and matching Hawaii shirts and have an old but steadily blowing fan facing their direction on the couch. It helps a bit, but neither of them looks to be up for much. At least it’ll cool down a bit at night.

“That about sums it up doesn’t it? Worth it though.” And with that, Tim rounds the corner, arms stretched out next to his head.

“Tadaa!”

A small cheer erupts from the couch, quickly followed by variations of

“You look great!”

Of course, Tim takes the opportunity to be dramatically fabulous and bows down in front of his audience and then makes a beeline for the couch where everyone else has now rearranged themselves.

Being the catlike human that they are, Jon is immediately by Martin’s other side, leaning in as their hands find one another. Their hair is tickling his nose, but he is so used to it by now, he simply bends down a bit to press a soft kiss against the side of their head. It’s only then that he realizes that Jon is drenched with water.

Martin huffs a laugh.

“Did you take a shower with your clothes or something?”

“No, but Tim did.” they answer, a sly grin on their lips.

“Jon means they fucking doused me. ‘By accident’ as I’ve been told as they laughed their arse off.” Tim corrects the statement, air quotes included, as he flops down on the couch on the other side. He wraps an arm around his partner, pulling them close for a moment, then his hold relaxes a bit and his fingertips travel over to Martin in search for more physical contact. He happily lets him, summer heat be damned.

Tim continues with a shrug and a shit-eating grin of his own,

“I just decided to share the joy, generous as I am.”

The explanation is met with laughter from everyone, as well as an affectionate sigh of,

“You two, I swear...”

“In our defense, you knew bloody well what you were getting into with us.”

Crumpet, annoyed by the human’s sudden loud behavior, gracefully gets up from her spot, stretches and then swaggers off, her head and tail held high. Gandalf, on the other hand, merely lifts his head from Martin’s shoulder and only stares for a bit, as if to say “What on earth are you silly creatures up to now?!” but then goes back to sleep.

Once again, it is too hot to cuddle, but that doesn’t stop any of them. At least, there is ice cream and the ancient fan that rattles for its life but still gets the job done.

It’s the end of June, and that means it’s hot, way too hot to be bearable for your regular British person, or anyone really, who doesn’t enjoy boiling themselves in their own juice.

End of June also means: its pride month and the London Pride Parade will take place very, very soon and that is a source of excitement for all four of them. Due to various circumstances in the past, this year is the first year that they can go to pride with the whole family together. That in itself is cause for celebration, really, but there are also the individual, personal milestones.

For Martin, this is the first summer and thus, the first pride that he can experience post top-surgery. That in itself has him excited to no end, and as a result, he’s spent much more time in open chested shirts than ever before. His happiness alone would make him an utterly beautiful sight, but honestly, his partners would readily admit, very vocally, that they enjoy the view an awful lot.

The first time he receives their plentiful heartfelt compliments, Martin blushes a bright scarlet red, but even more than that, there is euphoria and happiness. He might have cried a bit from being overwhelmed with too many feelings at once, but it had been a good day – a very good one.

For Jon, it is going to be the first pride they’ll spend not hiding their gender - or lack thereof, depending on the day. For many, many years, even long after they figured it out for themselves and told a handful of loved ones – mostly those in their chosen family, really – they didn’t tell anyone. Mostly for work reasons, because it seemed safer and easier in everyday life. It’s why they kept going by He/Him for their entire career in research, despite heavily preferring They/Them, but at that point, only Tim and Sasha knew.

It really helped that they would avoid pronouns at work, and only call them by their name and refer to them as They when in private.

Later then, they met Martin and got transferred into the Archives together. At this point, Jon felt comfortable enough to use their preferred pronouns at work, at least in their private circle.

As of now, they stopped caring – they deal with so much bullshit, in general and from Elias, they simply stopped giving a fuck, and this is how they explain it. All things considered, it goes over relatively well, and thankfully, no one bats an eye when they arrive at the institute in skirts or with nail polish or anything else they feel like wearing that day.

Early in the morning, with all doors and windows open in the house, so they can let in the fresh, cool morning breeze, Jon sits on the living room floor and in front of the couch. There are several bottles of nail polish scattered about in their lap, and Jon scowls with intense concentration as they slowly and meticulously paint each nail a different colour. Pink, purple and blue surrounded by two black nails on their right hand, which is still kind of drying, and yellow, white, purple and black on their left hand. They’re on their second coat by now, and as a result, their posture starts slouching again. Sasha gently pulls them back and closer to her.

“Hey, stop moving away, I’m not done yet.”

“Oh. Sorry, go on please.”

Sasha adjusts her grip on Jon’s hair. There is a tablet open on the coffee table and Sasha skips back to an earlier part of the video tutorial that is currently playing, just to check if she got everything right.

The thing is, Jon has a lot of hair as it is, but now, there are some bright purple clip-in extensions added to it. Paired with their natural black that keeps getting more and more grey over the time, it all creates a swirl of colours, dark and beautiful and very much resembling the Ace Pride flag. Originally, they would have gone for a simple, partially braided half updo but that was before Sasha had grabbed them by the bony shoulders, sat them down in front of her and said,

“Don’t move, I want to try something.” – That had been about an hour ago, but just going along with it is a lot easier than arguing with Sasha, especially when she gets excited about something.

Besides, being forced to sit still gives Jon the time they need to paint their nails properly without ruining them after 5 minutes because they couldn’t wait long enough for them to dry before they start doing something else. It also gives them the perfect opportunity to ramble on about the article they read the other day. This seems like a fair trade off: Getting a complicated hairstyle done that Sasha wants to practise, in exchange for an info-dumping monologue about tropical birds and their natural habitats.

Their cats come and go, occasionally rubbing themselves against whichever human body part is currently closest, and there may or may not be a touch of cat hair in Jon’s manicure. Then again, there is always cat hair on them. All of them - it’s part of the wardrobe at this point. .

After a while, Sasha cheerfully informs Jon,

“And it’s done! Here’s a mirror, but you’ll see better when I take a photo from the back… Hold on… And here we go.”

Truth be told, Jon isn’t sure what they expected, but it certainly wasn’t a complicated arrangement of different kinds of tiny braids, falling down the back of their head in loops and little waterfalls, far down their back, surrounding what looks like little roses in the middle made of hair. There are four of them, and Sasha managed to sneak in more of those clip-in extensions, which leads to the flowers sticking out even more – each and every one of them is one solid colour. Black in the top, followed by grey, white and purple.

“Oh, wow.” They carefully touch the back of their head – this is probably the most detailed hairstyle – or anything, really – they’ve ever worn.

“Thanks, Sasha. This is really beautiful. I, I know I’ll feel bad whenever I have to take those out again” They pull her into a tight hug that she happily slips into and squeezes back just as much.

“Thank you – I’ve always wanted to practice this, but it’s way too hard to do on my own head, my arms will fall off long before I’m done.”

“…I’d offer help, but the result won’t be anywhere near as good or intricate as yours.”

Still, Sasha smiles brightly.

“Please do. Like I said, arms are falling off and all that.”

So this is how their morning goes. By the end of it, Sasha’s long curls are in a half updo with fishtail braids and glittery hair clips in her pride colours. Black, grey, white and purple on one side of her head, two shades of green, white, grey and black on the other side. Together, they form a constellation of some sort on the back of her dark, shiny hair, and she seems to be thoroughly happy with it.

In the meantime, both Tim and Martin have managed to finish getting ready entirely. The two of them are currently sprawled out on the floor, right in front of their trusty old fan, now that it’s getting hotter again. They are holding drinks with ice cubes swimming in them.

Martin and Tim patiently wait for Jon and Sasha to be done with their hair - those two have a truly impressive head full of it each - and they do so with their legs tangled into one another. Tim and Martin are currently discussing a video game that neither of the other two is interested in - something, zombies, something something. Thankfully, it’s still early enough in the day so no one needs to rush. Besides, it’s nice to just spend time with one another, in any way that presents itself.

Meanwhile, Gandalf is living his best life. He is dozing on his back, nestled into Sasha’s lap while she happily provides pets and scritches for their giant spoiled feline wizard. Crumpet, on the other hand, has made herself comfortable on the back of Jon’s shoulders, completely unbothered by their constantly moving arms. By the time they’re finished braiding Sasha’s hair, the little black cat still clings on, even by the time they make their way to get dressed for their day out.

Jon knows it’ll be fruitless to try and dislodge Crumpet from her current place, but they still try it. Surprising absolutely no one, the little cat meows pitifully as if to say “No one in this house loves me anymore, oh how shall I live on?!”

“I know, my little void, I know. Would you mind letting go of me for, like, 2 minutes?” Jon tries to soothe, but the next attempt to pluck Crumpet off of themselves results in her digging her claws into their T-shirt. Well - technically Tim’s T-shirt, but the tiny claws still end up in Jon’s shoulder since they’re currently wearing it.

“Ow. Crumpet, please. I cannot and will not be going out in my pyjamas.”

Crumpet meows again, more intently this time. Accusingly, almost. Jon sighs - they knew this was going to happen. While they gently, very gently pry off the cat claws from their person, they try to reason:

“Yes, I love you, too. But you need to let go now, please. Thank you.” As they hold Crumpet up with both hands, to keep her from digging in her claws again, they blink slowly and return the gentle head bump, making sure the “I love you” will travel over in cat-language. Then, Crumpet is set down and immediately jumps into the open closet. Oh well.

Jon starts rummaging through the shelves, looking for a specific top. It must be in there, somewhere, but in an array of… very mismatched clothes, it’s not that easy to find.

To be fair, their part of the closet very much looks like the laundry baskets of several retirement home residents and a punk rock band got put into a blender and the result is what they wear on a daily basis. Although their work attire leans more toward cardigans and grandmother skirts than fishnets most days. Sometimes, just sometimes they’re tempted to try, just to see if they would get away with it.

On their search for the purple fishnet top, they come across a swooshy, purple skirt they haven’t seen in a long time. They acknowledge their find with a surprised but happy noise. Quickly, Jon puts it aside on the bed and as well as the shirt that falls out with it. Upon closer inspection, they realize it is a shirt that they got for their first ever pride - it’s a simple black cotton shirt with a rainbow print, slightly too big for Jon and cut off in some places to make it look more interesting. It’s survived with them since uni, and they’re pretty sure it will always have a place in their closet, even when it falls apart completely one day.

There are a lot of memories tied to it, a lot of stages to their self discovery. Naturally, it’s what they choose to wear for the big day.

When the four of them step out of their house, they all but leave a colourful trail down the street on their way to the train station. Behind them, over their front door and tied to the rails of a small balcony, a rainbow flag is blowing in the wind. It is big enough to stretch across it the entire way, something every single person in this household is very happy about.

They are chatting away and laughing, holding hands with one another for the entire way. Some people on the street shoot them odd looks - this isn’t central London, and here they stand out a lot more than they would there. But trying to find a house, let alone a flat there that is big enough for all of them, has been… Difficult. Especially since finding a place that would have a bedroom big enough for their double queen sized DIY-we-are-all-clingy-and-can’t-sleep-apart-bed while still allowing them to walk through the room has been hard. Harder even close to the city, which is why they decided to move here in the outskirts.

Living there means a longer commute to the city and the institute, but it is a small price to pay for their collective happiness.

On the train itself, there are a few more people and smaller groups, decked out with rainbows or their own specific pride flags. The closer they get to the city, the more people who are clearly coming to London for Pride Celebrations enter the carriage, and soon, everywhere is full of happy and excited people.

By the time they step out into the streets together, there are people everywhere. Most, if not all of them are proudly wearing their colours and as do Jon, Tim, Martin and Sasha.

Martin is happy and comfortable in his skin. Just like planned, he is wearing a white button up shirt with a light blue- and pink floral pattern, only closed halfway up. There are several bracelets on his wrists, one in matching pink, white and blue, one with bright pink, yellow and turquoise blue and one rainbow. Both of his arms are occupied though, with one arm wrapped around Jon and the other around Tim, whose other hand is occupied holding Sasha’s.

She chose comfort over most things, settling for Jeans shorts and another older pride shirt. Additionally, she is wearing a split Aromantic/Asexual flag wrapped around her waist like a half-skirt - and her hair, of course. The clips are sparkling in the sun, instantly noticeable in her dark hair.

Next to her, Tim is literally a walking Bi Pride Flag. His new hair colour is bright and bold as anything, shining in the sun, and then there is his shirt that stands out bold in the same shades of pink, purple and blue. Even if it wasn’t for his bright smile and loud laugh, he would be shining bright.

On Martin’s other side, happy to be able to have one arm free to gesture around with while they’re talking, Jon is looking just as fabulous. Their skirt is dark purple, and the thick soles and front of a beaten up pair of Docs are only just visible under it. They successfully found the shirts they were looking for earlier, and they are wearing a belt made out of multiple small pride flags. There are four different ones - the rainbow, pink, purple and blue, followed by black, grey, white and purple followed by yellow, white, purple and black.

Of course, there is the hair - it got them, and in addition, Sasha, many many compliments back home, where all of them admired each other shortly before leaving.

“What can you do, all of us have great hair!” Sasha had said, and is 100% correct. While her own and Jon's hair is long, thick and structured, Tim always rocks some sort of fashion colours in the fluffy tuft of hair. Martin has just as thick, defined reddish brown curls that fall into his face sometimes, and a well-kept and well-cultivated beard to match it.

There is a little bit of glitter stuck to them - all of them, actually, because no one remembered to stop Tim from getting into the loose glitter. Hence, all of them are wearing glitter now.

That stuff travels, especially if one keeps hugging or kissing the culprit who brought the sparkly plague along in the first place. And it’s not like any of them keeps their hands off of each other for long. So, it spreads… It doesn’t take long at all until the tiny, sparkling specks find their way to everyone else.

There is no doubt that they will carry the remains of it into the office next Monday, whether they want to or not. But right now, they couldn’t care less. They are here to enjoy the day, enjoy themselves and be proud to show their colours.

For once, they fit right in.

#Archival Pride 2021 #season 1 polycule #tma fanfic #banashee writes #the magnus archives #queer and fluffy

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themockingpoint · 3 years ago

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Touch the Sky

Based off this prompt:

"She's back again." Ned thought to himself as he heard the shower start through the wall.

His mysterious neighbor, the greatest beauty in the world. Ned had lived in this apartment complex for the better part of the last year, working the strangest hours as an ADA for the District Attorney's office so it was rare that he got these little shows but when he did get them they were a thing of beauty. The sound of the shower started and Ned smiled to himself as he was about to get a show.

"Into the Unknown!" The voice sang, surprisingly the water nor their connected wall doing much to muffle the voice. "Into the Un-Known!"

Ned closed his eyes and relaxed hearing the new Disney song starting. Seasong, Ned's nickname for her, only recently started on the Disney soundtracks. When he first moved in with help from Allyria and Beric, she had been singing Sea Shanties (where she got her nickname) before moving onto Broadway hits (she particularly liked "You're a Good Man, Charlie Brown).

It was then that Allyria gave him her advice.

"Don't crap where you eat Neddy." She said, as they both heard her start up “Satisfied”.

"What?"

"Look at you. You are already besotted with her." Allyria said, rubbing his hair which was a lot less cute at 25 and 31 then it was at 10 and 16.

"Lyra!"

"She's your neighbor dude. You don't want to make it awkward."

"Ok! OK!" Ned said, finally throwing up his hands if only to get her to stop with the hair.

Ned was shaken from his memories when Seasong finally hit her chorus. "Where are you going? Don't leave me alone! How do I follow you, Into the unknooooooooooown?" She belted out and Ned swears he could feel the room shake.

Shortly afterwards the faucet started squeaking and Ned was disappointed that he was not going to get an encore. He knows what Lyra said, but she was haunting his dreams. It was getting bad.

As an ADA, his life was a little hectic. Especially his dating life. He had been on a few dates since he got here, Talla Tarly, Joy Hill, and Eddara Tallhart, but while his work at the District Attorney's office did have a little to do with those relationships failing but it was mostly Seasong.

He could not get her out of his head, nor did he want to if he was being perfectly honest. He let out a groan, both due to his borderline obsession and because of the ending to her song. The movement he heard through the walls stopped at that and Ned panicked.

He was such an idiot! In all his months in the apartment, while he knew he could hear her (he tried not to listen in if she was not singing), he never, not once, thought that maybe, just maybe, it may go both ways!

He wondered whether this was wrong. Legally speaking anyway. Could he get in trouble for what was, at least in his mind, essentially being a peeping tom? He'd have to ask Jon. He'd know.

}{}{}{}{

“I honestly do not know Edric.” Jon said, tying his tie for some meeting later. “I really don’t think it is illegal, hell I don’t even really think that it is even all that creepy.”

“You… don’t?” Ned said, ignoring the fact he used his full name.

“No. it is not like you are peeping.” Jon said, “Besides, she is the one singing loud enough that you can hear it through the wall.”

“Yeah, but…”

“But nothing.” Jon said, sitting behind his desk. It was more than time to go home but District Attorney Baratheon’s golden boy would never content himself at a nine to five. “You are a good kid Edric.”

“You are three years older than me.” Ned groaned.

“Three years older and your boss.” Jon snarked.

“If I had a dollar every time he said that to me.” A voice said from behind, Edric turned to see a mop of golden hair walk passed.

“You’re three years younger than him too?” Ned asked, surprised. “I could have sworn that you were in Trystane’s year.”

Myrcella came in wearing a red dress that matched Jon’s tie very nicely before sitting on the edge of his desk. He has known Myrcella for over a decade and was surprised to find out that his boss was dating her. Everyone though that she and Trystane were going to end up together. But, “I swear, kissing him felt like kissing Tommen. I already look enough like my mother. Don’t need any more similarities!”

“No, the other part!” Myrcella said with a evil smile.

“Cell!” Jon said, going red.

“I thought you were going to be on vacation this week?” Myrcella asked Ned.

“Nah, Lyra and Beric don’t get here until the day after tomorrow.” Ned said, “Although maybe you can help me out?”

Ned explained his issue and Myrcella got misty eyed. “Awww! Ned! That is so romantic! Like something out of a romantic novel!”

“Really?” Ned asked, somewhat skeptical. “It does not seem creepy?”

“Why? It is not like you made a peep hole to do it?” Myrcella said, earnestly. “You should ask her out!”

“What? No!” Ned said, aghast.

Myrcella’s cousin, and daughter of the D.A. Shireen walked in. “There you two are! We have to get going.”

Myrcella let herself be dragged away and she looked over her shoulder. “Ask her out!”

}{}{}{}{

A few hours later, after the gym and dinner, Ned finally got home. His hair was a mess and it felt like every muscle in his body was on fire. While his aunt and soon to be uncle were not getting here until tomorrow night, Ned had the next day off. He had been going nonstop for months. He was going to take a long shower and take an early night.

The familiar squeaking of his faucet seemed to make his body relax and the steam even more so. Stepping in, it felt like heaven. After a few moments he lathered up and felt at peace. Ned smiled to himself and took a cue from Seasong.

}{}{}{}{

Sansa walked into her apartment and huffed. Their opening night could now be measured in hours and Jaqen was pushing them harder than ever. She swears that Alla Tyrell was right on the edge of a nervous breakdown. Pulling the socks that had fused to her feet from sweat off her feet, Sansa flopped backwards onto her bed.

“No. Bad Sansa. You need a shower first!” Her entire body hurt and she knew she must have smelled horrible. Trudging over to the latrine she nearly jumped out of her skin when she heard the familiar squealing of metal on metal. The sounds of a shower head erupted and Sansa realized that her wall neighbor must be taking a shower at the same time as her.

She wondered about him as she started up her own shower. She almost never heard anything coming from his apartment. Not even the TV. He seemed so lonely... She was thinking about making cookies some day this week, maybe she could go drop some off. She had just started lathering her hair when she heard it.

“When the cold wind is a-calling, and the sky is clear and bright. Misty mountains sing and beckon, lead me out into the light!” The voice started, causing Sansa to jump in surprise.

Her apartment neighbor was singing. Singing in the shower. Like Sansa did. She blushed lightly wondering whether the sound was this clear in his apartment when she sang, before smiling as he started up again.

“I will ride, I will fly, Chase the wind and touch the sky. I will ride, I will fly, chase the wind and touch the sky!” He started back up and Sansa’s blush started back up with a vengeance.

She had been on a Disney kick these last two weeks, something that her mysterious neighbor obviously had picked up on. She recognized this song. Brave was Arya’s favorite Disney movie because it finally had an “Active princess”. Sansa supposed that Ariel, Jasmine and most notably Mulan just sat around and did nothing?

(She secretly suspected that she liked it because the mother-daughter relationship was eerily similar to Arya and their mother’s)

But the mysterious neighbor had obviously been listening to her and started up his own renditions.

“Where dark woods hide secrets, and mountains are fierce and bold. Deep waters hold reflections, of times lost long ago!” The voice began again and Sansa suppressed a giggle. While he was nothing special, it was very nice to hear someone just sing just to sing. Not performance, just for fun. “I will hear their every story, take hold of my own dream, be as strong as the seas are stormy, And proud as an eagle's scream!”

Deciding to join in herself, she waited until he began again. “I will ride, I will fly, Chase the wind and touch the sky.” Once the chorus began she jumped in on the second part “I will ride, I will fly, chase the wind and touch the sky!”

“Chase the wind, Chase the wind, Touch the sky!” Sansa went to end it before realizing that the other voice stopped. Quickly there was a squeaking noise as her duet partner turned off the water and shot out of their latrine.

“Hmmm.” Sansa thought to herself. “Best make those cookies tonight. Gives me an excuse to go over sooner rather than later.”

}{}{}{}{

An hour later she was at the door to apartment 127. When she first got back to her apartment she was bone tired and just ready for bed. But with her Impromptu duet she was more energized than normal.

“Excuse me? Ser?” Sansa knocked thrice. “I know you are awake.”

“Hello?” A man’s voice sounded as the door opened and a blond boy peaked out while he key latch kept the door open.

“I made cookies?” She said, holding the plate out.

He looked at it for a moment before incredulously asking, “Wait, are those made from scratch?”

“I am so insulted right now that I may just take them back!” Sansa said, in a factious tone. “Of course they’re from scratch! I did not have any milk, so you will have to supply it. May I come in.”

“Oh, uh yes!” The blond said, closing and reopening the door without a lock. “P-Please make yourself at home.”

As Sansa sat on the couch, he quickly went to his kitchen and returned with two mugs, one saying “Starfall High School” on one side and “SFHS” in the trail of a shooting star on the other, which matched the Purple workout top he was wearing that said “Starfall High Fencing Team” on it. The other mug said, “Law is not Law if it violates the principles of eternal justice” Both were filled with milk.

“Thank you…” Sansa said, giving him an obvious lead to start an introduction.

“Ned.” He supplied, and Sansa slightly was taken off guard at the boy her age sharing the name of her father.

“Sansa.” She supplied, as he handed her the mug with the quote on it. “You a lawyer, Ned?”

“Yes. Yes, I am. I am in my first year.” Ned said, sitting on a side chair.

“My cousin is too!” She said, “He works in the D-”

“You do not have to do this.” He said, embarrassed.

“Do what?” Sansa asked.

“Come comfort me because I humiliated myself.”

“You did not humiliate yourself.” Sansa reassured him. “Your singing voice is actually quite nice!”

“My singing voice?” Ned said, incredulously. “Your, your voice is ethereal! You should be on Broadway or Hollywood!”

“Oh I am.” Sansa said, with a beaming smile. “We actually open on Friday.”

“Really?”

“Oh yes.” Sansa said, “My sister knows a lot of producers and begged me to audition.”

Arya had been working with these producers for years. When she saw the script and production book to this one she had pestered Sansa for weeks about auditioning since it was the perfect part for her despite Sansa having zero acting experience. She had been so annoying, more so than usual, that it eventually convinced Sansa to give it a try.

(Granted, Arya had been a twit about it so Sansa told her she refused, and then auditioned under the pseudonym Alayne Stone.)

“What is it about?” Ned asked, although it seemed as if he were just trying to be polite.

“Black Aly Blackwood.” Sansa explained, “I am actually descended from her.”

“Oh! Wow!” Ned said, and then they started talking. For hours before Sansa realized it was past midnight. She was going to regret it come tomorrow at rehearsal, but she was very much enjoying herself.

“I actually need a date for the opening night after party.” Sansa said, suddenly.

She even surprised herself with her outburst. She did not know if it was the singing, or the fact that despite the low cut silk pajama top Ned had yet to catch a look at her cleavage.(Not to mention how pretty he was.) All she knew was that Harry, who was playing her half-brother in the play for goodness sakes, had dropped one too many hints that they should go together, and she was not looking forward to that.

“Sure! When is it?”

“Friday Night at 11:30.”

Ned thought it over for a second, before smiling. “Sure. It’s a date.”

“No it isn’t” Sansa said, suddenly and Ned was taken aback. “That would mean it was a first date. And the only first date with you that I am accepting… would be karaoke.”

Ned threw his head back and groan, causing Sansa to give a feral wolflike smile. “G’Night Ned.”

posted on AO3 here

#Sansa Stark #edric dayne #Sansa x Edric d #modern au #my post #Jon x Myrcella #Sansa x Edric #Sansa x Ned Dayne

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epiphany-of-a-madwoman · 4 years ago

Text

The Last Dragon | The Witcher & Game of Thrones

Chapter 9 | Toss a Coin to Your Witcher

Summary: Visenya Targaryen is the eldest and only surviving child of Rhaegar Targaryen and Elia Martell. When Robert Baratheon’s rebellion was won, instead of being slaughtered by the Mountain like her mother and siblings, she was saved by Ned Stark and taken as his ward. Years later, after she’s killed at the Red Wedding, she wakes up outside Blaviken. Now she finds her destiny intertwined with the White Wolf on her quest to go back home.

Word Count: 4,339

Note: Click here to read the previous chapters ♡

💕 Shout out to my Beta: @thisbreakableheaven , I always say it, but I’m going to say it again, thanks for listening to all my plot rambling as I try and piece together all my strange plot / chapter ideas! 💕

Visenya’s eyes shoot open. Her breathing is heavy and erratic with her heart beating rapidly against her chest. A cool sweat coats her forehead and brows with a slight tremble in her body, like a leaf shaking in the wind. Amber eyes dart from left to right, attempting to take in her surroundings. Everything is hazy and out of focus, like a thick fog hangs in the room, translucent enough to not be immediately noticeable, but still there. She’s in a bed, larger than the small lumpy ones in the inns she and Jaskier inhabit and certainly plusher than the hard floor she swears she fell asleep on last night.

Heavy furs cover her body, keeping out any potential chill, the hairs on her body stand up straight due to the cold air. Directly across from her is a small table pushed up against the wall with a small mirror resting on top of it. The window to her right is shut firmly, and adorned with loosely hanging curtains made from a thick navy blue fabric. On the left side of the room, a long wardrobe crafted from dark wood, and beside it a dresser crafted from similar materials. Visenya pushes the heavy furs and sits up. Her back pops at the movement, her neck and shoulders stiff from a restless sleep. In the back of her mind something feels off, but for the life of her, Visenya can’t put her finger on it. A part of her that’s buried deep in her hazy thoughts is screaming at the top of its lungs, but she doesn’t know why.

Winterfell, she’s in Winterfell. But she's always been here, so why does it seem so wrong?

She slips out of the bed, her left and then right foot touching the cold floor, it’s dark stone color matching with the rest of the room's decor. The cold air bites at her bare legs, the light nightgown doing nothing against the cold. Only silence fills the room, not even the sound of her feet lightly tapping against the stone floor is heard. For some reason, this unnerves Visenya, but once again she doesn’t know why. She approaches the vanity table, sitting in a wooden chair in front of it. the legs of the chair scrape against the ground, the sound echoing in Visenya’s mind. It’s the first noise she’s heard since she awoke. She sits in the chair, the wooden backing not soothing the stiffness she feels.

Looking into the small mirror, she stares at her reflection. Tangled silver hair delicately frames her pale skin that nearly glows in the dark room. Purple eyes glimmer in the reflection, staring at Visenya with a hint of mirth she’s familiar with but also seems almost like a distant dream. For some reason it seems wrong, the reflection staring back at her, but Visenya can’t place why. Targaryens are known to have silver hair and purple eyes, so why do her own features feel foreign? Another shiver overcomes her body, the sensation mildly confusing. She outstretches a hand towards the mirror --.

Knock. Knock.

The sound echoes around the room. Visenya turns her gaze to the heavy wooden door and her arm retracts. She stares at the source of the booming noise, not sure how to react. A moment passes and another knock, this time with a voice attached.

“My lady, I’m here to make sure you’re awake,” a voice calls out, the soft voice barely registering in Visenya’s mind. She blankly stares at the door, before remembering how to speak.

“Come in,” she replies, attempting to project her voice. A moment passes before it opens and a woman hardly younger than Visenya enters the room. Her hair is mousy brown, pulled into a tight bun without a strand out of place, a plain dress that’s as dark and dreary as the room limply hangs from her small body, the fabric drowning her. She nervously bows in Visenya’s direction before scurrying to the wardrobe. She flings open the doors and begins rifling through the dresses hanging inside. Visenya watches the woman, not sure what to make of the scene. She’s seen her before, that much she is sure of, so why doesn’t she know her name?

She pulls out a pale blue, with delicate embroidery near the bottom, a garment much more intricate than the one she is wearing herself, and yet she turns to Visenya with a satisfied expression on her otherwise somber face. The woman turns to Visenya, a satisfied expression on her otherwise somber face. The dress is familiar and evokes an emotional response, her eyes dampening, a sharp pain in her heart. And she’s confused, more so than before.

“This dress Lady Sansa made for you will look lovely.” the woman remarks. She begins rifling through the drawers, pulling out various pieces of fabric. Visenya turns her gaze back to her mirror, staring at her reflection with a blank expression.

Flashes of Visenya in that dress, hair braided back as she stands in line with Theon and Jon, uncomfortably waiting for the King and Queen, along with their company to arrive. But that can’t be right, Robert Baratheon hasn’t been to Winterfell since she was eight years old.

The woman begins humming a soft tune under her breath. The sound amplifies in Visenya’s mind until the melody is all she can hear and it clouds her thoughts and further muffles the distant screaming in her head. It intoxicates her like a strong northern ale, pulling her further and further away from sober thoughts and into a dream-like state. Soon the humming turns into outright singing, the hauntingly sweet words dancing around Visenya’s mind and while the woman’s voice is lovely and soft, something about it’s grating, like scraping a knife against a plate.

Visenya continues to stare at her reflection, her expression unchanging and eyes unmoving as they stare into the mirror. All the while, the woman continues singing the eerily beautiful song while rifling through the drawers filled with clothes. Everything is unchanging in the room, feeling as though time itself is still until Visenya notices a few slight changes. The metal framing around the mirror begins to rust, the once bright metal turning dark. The mirror portion starts to discolor and is blotched with dark spots and the entirety of the mirror covered in a hazy fog, obscuring Visenya from her own reflection. The vanity table shows signs of aging as well, no longing feeling as sturdy as it was a moment ago with random parts of it looking rotted. But the most obvious change is the air. The crisp morning air that’s normal in the North turns stale, the cold in the air burning deep in Visenya’s bones rather than leaving her skin cold. But the woman continues singing, weaving her hands through Visenya hair like it’s threads of silver, either not noticing the sudden change or unbothered by it.

“You seem warm, My Lady. Shall I get a maester to check on your health?” the woman says, pausing her singing.

“N-no I’m fine, just a bad dream is all,” Visenya says, staring at her reflection in the old mirror.

“Did you dream of fire and dragons?” she asks. Visenya’s heart stops as all the thoughts in her mind cease. She whips around to face the woman, the hair she previously held pulling Visenya’s scalp.

“Wha - what did you just say?” Visenya asks, her eyes piercing into the woman. She doesn’t look startled by Visenya’s sudden change in mood, in fact, her face is completely emotionless. Rather than a real, breathing, living person, she looks like a life-sized doll, eyes dull and dead, with nothing behind them.

“There’s no need to be afraid, my lady. The Lord of Light smiles down upon his chosen champions. From fire and ash you were reborn, to bring a world thrust into darkness into the light.” she says, speaking as if she were a dead person brought to life - monotone with no inflection - weaving her hands into the locks of Visenya hair, meticulously braiding each strand.

“What are you talking about? I demand you tell me.” Visenya says, her voice getting louder with each word spoken as her temper begins to flare. She stands from the chair, pushing the woman’s hands away from her face.

“Remember the words, remember what was said. With Fire and Blood.” the woman speaks, this time her tone has a sense of urgency in it, but for the life of her, Visenya can’t think why. But before she can question her further, the ground beneath Visenya is ripped away, and she feels herself free-falling in darkness, unable to make heads or tails of her surroundings. All she knows is it’s cold and dark. She tries to scream but nothing comes out, leaving her mouth open with silent screams. Her hair whips around her face and she watches the silver locks darkening until the shining silver is a dull brown.

Then she hits the ground. It’s sudden, unexpected, and very painful. But feeling solid ground around her is somewhat comforting.

And when her eyes flutter open, apprehensive and scared of what she might see, she breathes out a sigh of relief. Tall trees, emerald leaves, a fire that’s been smothered, and a sleeping figure. She’s in the camp again, if she ever even left. She places a hand over her chest as she sits up, the other one reaching to wipe away the dampness on her face. Birds softly chirp high on the branches, singing in tune with the gentle breeze that rustles the forest. The sun is rising, the faint rays of morning light hitting the trees, the leaves fanning the light out below them, and with a final heavy breath, Visenya pushes her body up to stand.

Stumbling through the small camp, past the sleeping bard, she breaks into the thick of the forest. Her hand rests on one of her silver daggers, eyes keenly looking around the thick greenery for any movement. She crouches low to the ground in an attempt to obscure herself from future prey and stalks forward. To her left, she notices the tall grass shifting, and with the grace of a cat pouncing onto its prey, she pulls out her dagger and flings it. The dagger flies through the air but instead of striking her target, it embeds itself into the tree nearby. A moment later, a fat rabbit with beady black eyes rushes out of the grass and disappears into the forest. A frustrated groan leaves Visenya’s mouth and she trudges towards her dagger and pulls it out of the wood with just enough force.

Absentmindedly wandering through the forest, her thoughts return to the dream. It’s odd, she’s had dreams before but never so...life like. She’d felt every emotion, smell every scent, and feel every surface as she would’ve in reality. The phantom feeling of ash clinging to her skin is still there and she catches herself shaking her head, attempting to get the ash out before remembering it’s not actually there. Perhaps it’s merely her mind playing games, a trick the mind was playing on itself to coax out her best-kept and well hidden fears, even the ones that had been buried so deep that she'd forgotten about them. However, the chill in her body as she remembers the madness buried in the eyes of her reflection makes it difficult to convince herself.

And that second...dream, if it was even that. The woman’s words echo in her head, on repeat over and over, growing louder each time she hears them again.

Fire and Blood.

She knows the words well, the words of House Targaryen. The only comfort she had during her darkest nights. An assurance that even if she was physically by herself, isolated from her only chance of ever knowing her family, she was never truly alone. And some nights she’d even convince herself Queen Visenya I was with her, watching over her, guiding her every step of the way. That she was there, when Visenya first started training to fight, guiding her swings with the wooden sword, coaxing her into a proper battle stance. And even though they were foolish tales and fantasies dreamed up by a small child too sad for her age, they were comforting as she maneuvered through this new strange world.

With a huff, she sinks down to the ground, leaning her back against the tree. A hysterical laugh escapes her mouth, the sound dancing away in the mellow breeze rushing through the forest.

“I’m going insane,” she mutters to herself, and she rests her forehead against the palms of her hands. Her thoughts wander as she absentmindedly scapes her hairline with the tips of her fingers. Her nails are unkempt and longer than preferred, strands of hair getting stuck in the corners of her nails.

“There you are!” Jaskier’s voice breaks Visenya from her thoughts. Her head snaps up in his direction, watching as his form swiftly approaches her spot. He’s wearing the same ensemble from the night before and his floppy brown hair is as well managed as it can be on the road. Her face twists into a look of confusion, her eyes following his nonchalant movements. However, Jaskier doesn’t acknowledge her and instead opts to sit on her left, only part of his body resting against the tree.

“Now I was going to leave you to do your…well whatever it is you were doing,” Jaskier continues waving his hand vaguely in Visenya direction. “But, then it sounded like you were having a real crisis. So I thought to myself ‘Oh better make sure she’s okay.’ You are my source of protection after all.” Jaskier muses, a lopsided grin resting on his face. The teasing tone in his voice is a stark contrast to the worry swirling in his eyes. A small grin creeps its way up onto Visenya's mouth, a warm feeling filling her chest. The harsh lines that were forming on her forehead immediately softened, the anxiety and hint of fear barely hidden behind her eyes swiftly disappearing.

“I’m fine,” she replies. Jaskier raises his eyebrows at her response, clearly not buying the lie. “Well, I’m not fine, but I will be,” she corrects herself before Jaskier has a chance to verbalize his doubts. Seemingly satisfied, he nods once at her words but makes no move to stand. Instead, he wiggles towards Visenya until their legs are touching and leans his head closer towards hers so it’s resting against the tree. Always one for personal space, Visenya normally would’ve either physically or verbally lashed at him - demanding the bard keep his distance. However, the scathing remarks never come. Instead, Visenya moves over slightly to allow Jaskier more room, watching the leaves delicately blow in the wind, the faint sound of birds singing echoing in the distance.

“If you ever need to talk to someone...” Jaskier’s voice interrupts the quiet atmosphere surrounding them. Visenya turns to face him, raising a single brow with her lips tilted upwards.

“You’ll be the first person who knows. Considering you’re the only person I talk to.” Visenya replies. At her reply the serious expression that Jaskier wore immediately dissipated. His eyes sparkling with mischief and his lips were pulling into an amused smirk.

“And what about our mighty Witcher! How would our dastardly hero feel about not being included in this list?” Jaskier exclaims, dramatically emphasizes his words. Visenya simply rolls her eyes at him.

Everything with him always comes back to Geralt.

Jaskier then leans forward, eyebrows raised so high they nearly touch his hairline. When he quickly moistens his lips with his tongue, Jaskier more closely resembles a cat that got into the canary rather than a man.

“Could it possibly be because you and Geralt don’t do much…” his eyes flit to the left and right before landing on Visenya again. “Talking?” he asks. Visenya brings a hand up and smacks Jaskier on his left shoulder. He immediately moves away from her, rubbing the spot she’d struck. “That’s not very nice!” he exclaims, moving until there is sufficient space in between them.

“Play stupid games, win stupid prizes,” Visenya replies. She stands from her sitting position and holds a hand out for Jaskier to take. Always one for theatrics, Jaskier moves backward and throws one of his hands across his forehead. He leans his head back and closes his eyes, an exaggerated gasp escaping his mouth.

“Time and time again, my fair maiden has abused and used me. When will this insanity end, giving me sweet release from her beguiling aura? I pray to the gods every night that it will change” Jaskier exclaims. After he finishes his words, he waits a moment and then opens one of his eyes only to quickly close it and sigh again, louder than the first time and far more dramatic.

“Ha ha ha, very funny. Now let's go before the sun is gone, we’ve got places to go.” Visenya says, her expression hiding any amusement she got from his antics. A defeated sigh leaves Jaskier's mouth, and a moment later he places his hand in Visenya’s as she pulls his body from the ground.

“As my lady commands,” he says. And with a single bump against his shoulder from Visenya, the two of them begin walking back to camp.

o0o0o0o0o

“When are you going to finally admit that you enjoy those novels more than you let on?” Jaskier asks, pulling out one of his quills, scratching it against a piece of parchment. Two tankards full of ale rest in front of them, neither of them drunk from. The ale here is watery and weak, yet still managing to taste worse than rotting fungus.

Flick, the thin parchment page of the book nearly rips from how quickly it’s flipped. Visenya glances at him out of the corner of her eyes, raising a single brow at him before returning her gaze to the trashy romance novel. It’s sickeningly sweet, the dialogue almost as unrealistic as the premise of the book itself, but it’s something to read when she needs to stave off boredom.

“Do you want me to hit you? Because I will hit you.”

Flick, another page. The heroine of the story finally meets up with the main love interest, practically throwing herself into his arms, that the author took time to describe every detail of. Visenya's face crunches up into a grimace, quickly turning the page.

“I’d rather you didn’t, if you don’t mind. I think I’m still bruised from where you hit me when we first met.” He runs his hand over the spot on his abdomen she elbowed him all those months ago, after the whole situation with elves resolved itself. And she can’t help the small self satisfied smirk that slowly creeps onto her face.

Flick.

The soft sun rays of dawn creep through the windows, the thick layer of dirt and grime that covers them dispersing the light. The rays shoot through the tavern, randomly choosing the next victim to blind with their radiance. The room is loud with town folk who gather around the old creaky tables, with drinks in hand, muttering quietly amongst themselves. Tension is thick in the air, everyone seemingly on edge, and it has nothing to do with the newcomers. This tension is different, almost like the whole village is slowly sinking into their fears with only the tops of their heads above the water.

“Why can’t you be nice to me, Jane? I really thought after our conversation around the fire three nights ago we were growing closer?” Jaskier asks, feigning offense in his tone, placing his hand over his heart with eyes wide and innocent looking.

Visenya snorts.

“Maybe you should try--”

The front door swings open, silencing any noise in the room. A figure rushes through them, it’s an older man, chubbier than most with a short beard and balding hair. His clothes are nicer than most other people in the room, besides the putrid smelling goo that clings to it, seemingly a mixture of blood and black ooze. His whole body is trembling like a leaf in a storm, clutching a fabric hat in his hands as he rushes towards the center of the tavern.

“Eustace, what is this?” the barkeep calls out, scrunching his nose as he passes.

“I-I saw it!” he exclaims as he drops his hat on a table, the room gasping at his proclamation. Visenya glances at him for a second before looking back to her book, scanning the words with mild interest. It seems the author is still going on and on about the hero’s rippling muscles.

Like a swarm of rats skittering towards their next meal, the entirety of the room gravitates towards him and by association, Visenya and Jaskier, since he stands closest to their table. Jaskier flips his journal to a blank page, eagerly waiting for his next grand tale.

“I tell you no lie, it swallowed the whole village it did. Not a bone to be found,” he starts, making sure his uneven and shaky voice carries throughout the entire room.

“Oh don’t give me that look, shitling. That’s why we had to call him…” he pauses, allowing the words to ring in the air before continuing, “The White Wolf.” Everyone around them dramatically gasps, completely enraptured by the story. Visenya eyes flick up from the book in her hand, leveling a hard stare at Jaskier, her gaze enough to turn him into stone if he dares to look in her direction. Noticeably, he does everything to not look at her.

The White Wolf, of course Geralt is here. No wonder Jaskier was so eager to settle in this tavern for the day.

“And he stood in the middle of that frozen lake like he knew it was coming for him. The ice cracked open and a selkimore shot out! Oh you’ve never seen one, but it’d take down a ship with its cavernous mouth full of devil's teeth!” the man exclaims, waving his arms around like a mad man. “And it… swallowed… that Witcher...whole!” he finishes.

Visenya’s head shoots up like a bolt of lightning, narrowing her eyes at the man.

‘No, there’s no way Geralt’s dead, he wouldn’t just...let himself get eaten like that.’

The words do little to comfort the small bit of anxiety inside her. Witchers hunt monsters and monsters are deadly, tearing apart people and destroying their homes as easily as Visenya breathes air. But Geralt isn’t normal, this is what he’s trained to do. She dares to glance at Jaskier out of the corner of her eyes, seeing him nonchalantly scribbling away and that does more to quell her worries than any half assed words she could concoct.

“Oh, this is brilliant!” Jaskier says, quickly diffusing the tight and tense atmosphere that surrounds the inn. In perfect synch, the patrons snap their attention towards Jaskier, staring at him in disbelief, as an amused smirk plays on Visenya’s face. Feeling a million glares piercing his skin like knives, Jaskier looks up from his writings, eyes wide and his mouth open. “Oh sorry. It’s just Geralt is usually so stingy with the details.”

“For good reason,” Visenya mutters under her breath.

Flick. Now the hero is dueling his rival so he can marry the heroine.

“Uh- and then what happened?” Jaskier asks.

“He died.”

“Eh...he’s fine.” Jaskier replies, his voice nonchalant and relaxed.

“Look, I was there. I know what I saw with my own--” heat builds in his voice, face as red as a ripe tomato, aggressively shoving a pudgy finger towards Jaskier. Visenya slowly rises from the chair, hand ghosting over the pommel of the dagger strapped to her leg, eyes in slits as they level a glare on the man.

Before he gets the chance to escalate the situation and force Visenya to end it entirely, the door slams open, metal handle clashing against the wooden walls.

In walks a hulking figure that is drenched head to toe in the same grotesque smelling foreign goo the pudgy man is coated in. Everyone’s attention turns towards the door, frantically covering their noses as the stench is stronger and fouler than what the rounder man emanates. With his sword in hand, Geralt walks towards Jaskier and Visenya, eyes set on the man before them and the people part, granting him a wide berth.

“See,” Jaskier says, nonchalantly writing in his book.

“What’s that stench?” the man asks Geralt as he approaches the table.

“Selkimore guts. Had to get it from the inside. I’ll take what I’m owed.” Geralt says, his voice rougher than it usually is. Jaskier immediately jumps up, quill still in hand and begins singing that gods awful song.

“Toss a coin to your Witcher oh valley of plenty oh oh oh.” The man tosses a coin pouch as the entire tavern begins singing along, hesitantly at first, but as the song continues, people grow more enthusiastic. Geralt side steps the crowd and moves straight for the bar, bag of gold in hand. Jaskier rushes after him, rambling on about one thing or another. A sigh of exasperation and mild relief leaves Visenya's mouth as she thumbs through the book again, despite having completely lost interest in it by this point.

‘It keeps my muse fresh and exciting!’ Jaskier always says about his large collection of frilly books, but to Visenya they’re just dead weight only useful to pass the time. But it doesn’t even do that.

“Food, woman, and wine, Geralt!” Visenya hears Jaskier exclaim. She looks up to find Geralt a few steps away from their table, still covered in guts with no drink in hand.

Wordlessly, Visenya grabs her waterskin that’s filled with Cintran ale and tosses it to Geralt. She then returns her attention back to the romance novel.

“The drinks here are shit,” she said.

o0o0o0o0o

Tags: If your name is crossed out, it means I wasn’t able to tag you. Also I’m not 100% sure if most of y’all still want to be tagged, since it’s been so long since I posted a new chapter, so feel free to message me if you no longer want to be!

#geralt x reader #the witcher fanfiction #geralt imagine #geralt one shot #geralt fanfic #geralt of rivia #Geralt #the witcher imagine #the witcher #the last dragon #the witcher one shot #game of thrones #game of thrones fanfiction #game of thrones imagine #house targaryen #targaryen!reader #targaryen!oc #CrossOver

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letstalkaboutshtufff · 4 years ago

Text

Jon Snow x reader

Pairing: Jon Snow x young reader (platonic)

Summary: reader is a captured wilding and is forced to be Jon's steward. Shes tough and stubborn but one day something happens and her feelings for the crow begin to change.

Warnings: Swearing, violence, attempted assault, mentions of rape. Mentions of blood.

***************************************************

A/n Hello my loves! Just a quick note about this story. Reader is a young teenager, also her relationship with Jon is non romantic. Hes protective of her like a brother. I hope you like it!

***************************************************

"Whats your name girl?" you wanted to roll your eyes but refrained as the new commander of the nights watch, barely a man in your opinion tried to be intimidating in a room full of equally unintimatading men.

As dumb as they looked they still outnumbered you like 100 to 1. So you begrudgingly decided to answer.

"Y/n"

The lord commander, or more commonly known as Jon snow the bastard of winterfell, nodded once, satisfied that he finally gotten a word out of you.

"Well y/n, seeing as your people are gone-"

"Dead you mean" you couldn't help but bite out. "You crows saw to that"

Those damn crows had raided your village and slaughtered everyone save yourself.

"You're lucky we didn't gut you along with the rest of those filthy wildlings" one man spat out stepping forward but was halted by the commander, "Enough!"

"We had no choice, they trespassed and started to cause trouble-"

"Trespassed?! That land has been ours for generations, and just because some rich folk came and decided to put up a wall and cast us out, we're the criminals?!" You felt your anger rise again. "We didnt do anything wrong! We were just trying to survive like everyone else in this stupid godsforsaken world!"

The lord commander sighed with fustration, he tried to have patience, after all she was more or less a child. Well a child with the mouth of a 40 year old sailor.

"I'm sorry y/n, but there are rules, and they broke those rules"

"Rules?" You scoffed, "And who decided on those rules hmm? Certainly not the people who lived here, so tell me Snow, why the hell should any of us listen to rules that were forced on us?! In our eyes you are the enemy. We were just people, trying to not starve and freeze to fucking death and you slaughter us like animals!" You felt the burn behind your eyes as you remembered the screams and smell of blood. But you would die before you cried in front of these heartless butchers.

"I'm sorry that you had to witness it, but you have a choice to make now" he looked into your eyes with seriousness. "You can either be sent back beyond the wall or..." he paused hesitantly, "you can serve as a steward here"

You almost laughed, "Are you drunk Snow?!? Or do you actually think those are fair options?"

"Considering I'm already bending the rules by letting you live, yes I do" he said firmly.

You let out a humorless laugh, "So you think throwing me into the wilderness alone is fair? Or I suppose making me a slave to the nights watch is somehow better?" You glared at the men around you. Half of them fithly pigs who would no doubt use you whenever they got the chance.

"No harm would come to you if you stayed, of this you have my word. And you wouldn't be a slave. You'd be my steward."

But I wouldnt be allowed to leave, so a slave... but it's either that or what's beyond the wall.. I wouldn't last a day alone... after a while of silently debating I looked up into the killer's eyes, and sealed my fate with a nod.

************************************

The first week was hell. All you wanted to do was murder every crow you saw.

If you had poison you would've wasted no time spilling it in the stew you had to carry to commander stupids room every evening.

He acted like he cared, asked about if you had enough to eat and if anyone had been bothering you. But you ignored him. He was just trying to get you to trust him, and then he would turn on you. It was all a sick game, you were sure of it.

Another few weeks passed in a similar manner, he gave up on trying to make conversation which you were ever thankful for.

Not having anyone to talk to was the worst part. Your days were horribly dull. You cleaned, did laundry, prepped meals and repeat. Other than glares no one had messed with you which you were kinda disappointed in to be honest. You would take any excuse to blacken and bruise those ugly mugs of theirs...

Apparently the gods had a sense of humor because the next day you found yourself cornered by two of them.

"You should be on your knees thanking us girl" one of them sneered.

"We coulda left you for dead with those other savages but we didnt. And all you've been is given attitude."

"It ain't right"

"No it ain't" they agreed.

While they yapped you were mentally figuring out how you were gonna fight your way out of this one. Three against one wasnt exactly fair, and it's not like snow let you carry around your weapons. And the fact that you were far away, gathering firewood when they cornered you wasn't ideal.

Ugly man number one tsked when he saw your wandering eyes, "no use screamin girl, no ones gonna hear you"

"What the fuck do you want, the sooner you tell me, the sooner I dont have to look at your ugly faces" you couldn't help but want to anger them.

The bald one shoved your shoulder against the wall, on instinct you swooped your arm over his and brought it down, severing the hold and then you kneed him in the groin...hard.

"You bitch!" He faltered and you took that opportunity to try and get away. Ugly number 2 grabbed the cloth of your shirt and pulled back but you quickly shoved an elbow hard into his face.

While you were distracted, the third man, let's call him horse face, pulled your hair harshly until you were tumbling to the ground with a grunt.

It didnt take long for the other 2 to recover and help horse face pin you down. P

A deep rooted panic spread across your body. "Get the fuck off me!" You tried to hide the fear in your voice as you thrashed.

"Shut up wilding whore!" You heard the sharp smack before you felt the pain blossom against your cheek.

"You got the mouth of a slut, now let's see if you've got the body of one" your eyes widened and you felt a rough hand slide under your tunic.

"S-stop it! I swear I'll kill-" he shut you up with another sharp slap. You could now taste copper in your mouth.

"I swear to God if you say one more word I'll cut out that sharp tongue of yours" he pulled his knife out of its sheath and pressed the cold metal against your cheek. You winced as he pressed in and you knew he had broken skin.

You tried to be strong but you were terrified. These men were going to rape you and you didnt have the strength like you thought you did to stop them.

You closed your eyes praying to whatever gods were out there that this would not happen. But the gods were cruel. They had allowed the crows to wipe out the only people you had to call family. No they weren't yours by blood, but they had taken you in and cared for you. Taught you how to hunt, how to fight, and now this is how your life was going to end.

"That's a good girl" he took your silence as compliance and started to kiss down your neck.

You shivered in disgust and fear, one hand placed firmly on your neck keeping you in place and the other was exploring beneath your shirt.

You didnt want to give up, you wanted to fight. You didnt want to be raped and killed. How would you ever face your family in the after life if you didnt put up a decent fight. Taking a deep breathe , with the risk of losing your tongue looming in your mind, you clenched your fists and let out your last shred of hope,

"GHOOOOOST" you hoped the wolf you had come to befriend could hear through the walls.

"WHAT DID I FUCKING TELL YOU" he clamped a crushing hand over your mouth.

"W-we should g-go, what if that mutt heard?" Horse face looked around nervously.

"Shut up Pud, no way that he can hear all the way in here"

"But-"

"Oh for god sakes, hold her down and be quiet!" He motioned for horse face to clamp my mouth shut instead whilst he began unbuckling his trousers.

"Before I cut that pretty tongue of yours, I'm gonna see how it feels around my c-AHH FUCK" a giant streak of white crossed your vision.

"HELP YOU IDIOTS, DONT JUST STAND THERE, FUCK!" You heard growling and tearing sounds.

The mens hold on you immediately loosened and you took that chance to sit up and see what the hell was going on. And when you saw the familiar white fur and black eyes you almost cried in relief.

Ghost had launched himself at your assailant and was currently biting away at his arm. The other two turned tail quick and made for the door, thinking they could escape, but what they did not expect was a very angry lord commander blocking their way.

"Ghost" he called back his wolf who growled at the men before walking back and standing beside his master.

You couldn't tell whose eyes were more threatening, the wolf, or the bastard wolf..

Before you knew what was happening several crows flooded the room and arrested the bleeding man and his friends.

The commanders attention was now on you. You rolled onto you knees and tried to stand up but found that someone had traded your legs for jelly cakes.

"Y/n" you immediately looked down, not wanting him to see how afraid you were.

You were surprised at how soft the commanders voice was now compared to two seconds ago when he ordered they be taken to the prisons. "Are you alright?" He knelt down in front of you and reached a hand out to your face.

You flinched and he hesitantly pulled back, "Its alright now, your safe, please... let me help you" he said almost pleading.

You don't know what came over you but something was telling you that it was ok to trust him so you nodded.

This time when he reached a hand to lift your face up you didnt pull away.

You met his eyes and found anger and regret in them, "I'm sorry"

You were instantly confused, "For what?" You questioned as he continued to inspect your injuries.

"I said that no harm would come to you, I shouldve kept a closer eye on you" he apologized with a look of deep regret.

You didnt know what to say. Why was he being so nice to you?! It didnt make any sense, weren't the crows supposed to be the bad ones? But he saved you...well ghost did lead them to you so you really should be thanking him but...

You didnt really know how to respond so you just stayed quiet. He moved to help you up, gentle hands supporting you. When it was clear you couldn't stand on your own he asked if you would let him help you to maester aemon.

Reluctantly you nodded and was surprised when he swooped down and gently lifted you up like those dumb princesses you heard about in fairy tales.

You thought he was just gonna help you walk with a slung over arm or something.... if you weren't so exausted you probably would've been way more embarrassed.

Wordlessly he carried you through the halls and into Maester Aemons infirmary. He set you down on the bed with care and said he would be back to check on you later. The maester was already by your side examining your injuries.

You dont know what came over you, but before you knew what was happening your mouth opened and halted the lord commander through the door.

"Thank you snow..." you were glad he was facing the door, you were sure your face was bright red.

But if he had been facing you, you would've seen his smile.

Maybe not all the crows were so bad after all...

********

Ok soo it was kind of short I know, but my idea was for this to be a sort of prologue to a mini series of Jon and the reader. Please let me know if that's something you guys would want! Thanks for reading🥰

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phoebenavarro · 3 years ago

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and on you stumble on (ch 2)

the magnus archives, established JonTim, pre-JonMarTim, 1,200 words

read on ao3 here

ch 1 on tumblr

Tim goes to buy the axe, and Jon calls Martin into his office. Martin looks wary, but he softens the moment he sees Jon, and he starts fussing over Jon, as is his way.

“Are you alright, Jon? You look awful.”

Jon clears his throat. “Yes, I… I think I’m coming down with something. You should go home, and take tomorrow off as well.”

Martin frowns at him. Jon just hopes he’ll buy the lie and stop asking questions. “Are you sure you—“

Jon cuts him off. “I don’t want to infect anyone else. Best you stay home.” He tries to give Martin a completely normal smile.

Martin gives him an unimpressed look, and Jon can practically hear his bullshit detector going off.

“Wouldn’t it make more sense for you to stay home, then.”

“Yes,” Jon concedes. Damn it, Martin. “But I have things I still need to take care of here,” He sighs, “And… I know things have been a bit tense lately, and that’s mostly been my fault. I think we could all do with a bit of a break.”

“Well, yeah, but…”

“And I’m sorry. About everything.”

Jon expects Martin to protest more, to ask more questions, but he’s quiet for a few moments, and then he nods. “Alright,” he says, “Thanks, Jon. I… I appreciate that. Do you need me to tell Tim and Sasha?” Jon is surprised, but he tries not to react.

“Oh, no, I already told Tim, and I’ll be seeing Sasha later.”

Martin nods again. “Right. See you on Monday, Jon.”

And with that, Martin leaves, closing the door behind him. For a moment, Jon is concerned. That was way too easy, Martin is usually much more stubborn, it wasn’t even a good lie… But maybe Martin could sense just how desperately Jon needed him to agree, Martin is perceptive of other people’s feelings like that, and either way, Jon has more pressing concerns. Tim is due back in a few minutes.

--------

Tim returns around 5, when most other people are leaving for the day, with a pizza in tow.

“We still need to eat,” Tim says, even though neither of them have an appetite. They both manage to force themselves to eat a slice, and they leave the rest in the break room fridge. (“Maybe we’ll be hungry afterwards, or if we die, Martin can have it,” Tim says in a failed attempt to lighten the mood.)

And then they wait. Tim reads through all the statements with the Not!Them in them again, going all the way back to Amy Patel. He wishes they’d understood what they were dealing with back then. Jon stares into space, thinking. They don’t talk. It’s solemn, almost as if it’s their way of paying their respects to Sasha.

At 7 o’clock, when they’re certain everyone in Artifact Storage has gone home, they sneak in. Jon has a key as a department head, so it’s less ‘sneaking’ and more ‘letting themselves in.’ It’s not particularly hard to find the table about halfway in.

“You should do the honors,” Jon says, staring at the hypnotizing pattern on the table and wrenching his gaze away from it to look at Tim. He hates the thing, hates how it caught Sasha in its web to be killed by a monster. Tim feels resigned; this is his life now, getting revenge on monsters that have hurt the people he loves. Tim picks up the axe, feeling the weight of it, getting an idea for what the heft of the swing is going to be like.

“You sure about this?” Tim asks.

Jon huffs out a small laugh. “No,” he admits, “But it’s the best option we have.”

“Yeah,” Tim agrees. “You probably want to step back a bit. You don’t wanna get hit with any spooky shrapnel.” He offers Jon what he hopes is a reassuring smile. Jon backs up a bit and gives Tim a reassuring smile of his own. Tim wants to say something, just in case something horrible happens, but what can he say? I’m sorry, I love you, I really hope we don’t get killed by a horrible monster? Those are all things Jon already knows. “Ready?” Tim asks, and Jon nods.

Tim lifts the axe above his head and swings it down against the table with a satisfying crack. Music starts to play, seemingly emanating from the crack in the table. It reminds him of the music that was playing in the theatre, when Danny… It spurs him on to hit it again, and again, and again, as the music only gets louder, until finally the table is in splinters on the floor and the music stops. Jon moves to Tim’s side, placing a steadying hand on Tim’s arm, and Tim realizes that he’s breathing so hard he’s nearly hyperventilating. He tries to calm down as Jon inspects what’s left of the table.

“It was hollow,” Jon murmurs, “There’s just cobwebs and dust.”

“What…?” Tim begins, when he’s cut off by laughter. Jon freezes, his grip on Tim’s arm tightening.

A tall, lanky figure emerges from the shadows. “That was very stupid,” it giggles.

Tim recognizes Michael from Jon and Sasha’s descriptions, the hair, the hands… and he understands why Jon is holding onto him so tightly.

“What do you want?” Jon spits, reminding Tim, absurdly, of a cat puffing itself up when it’s scared. Michael leans against a nearby shelf.

“There’s no other way out of this room, you know,” it says casually, conversationally. Tim turns to look at the doorway, to make sure their exit is still clear.

“What?” Jon says.

“You don’t have time to escape before they get here,” Michael continues, and Tim’s blood runs cold.

“Oh no,” Tim murmurs.

“No, the- the table…”

“Was binding it quite effectively,” Michael says with a too-wide grin.

“Shit,” Tim swears. Next to him, Jon starts muttering something he can’t quite make out.

“Even with all the protections you have here, Archivist, I doubt you can survive them now,” Michael says, “And your assistant has no such protections.” It laughs. Jon tugs on Tim’s arm.

“No, no, no, no, no,” he says, “Tim, you need to go, you need to get out, I’ll— I’ll distract it.”

“I’m not gonna leave you,” Tim immediately counters, “No way!”

They both freeze as they hear a distorted voice calling Jon’s name. Michael just laughs in the background. Tim swears again, spinning to look at their exit. There’s a tall figure silhouetted in the doorway. Fucking of course there’s no fire exit, Tim thinks.

“Tim, run!” Jon shouts, pushing Tim away from him and then running deeper into Artifact Storage. The Not!Sasha chases after Jon, seemingly uninterested in Tim, and Tim sprints to the exit.

Jon drew it away so that Tim could escape, he realizes. Stupid, stupid self sacrificing idiot. If they both make it out of this alive, Tim is going to be so pissed at him.

#tma #the magnus archives #tma fic #jontim #tim stoker #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #jonmartim #reblogs encouraged #mine #my writing

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masterthespianduchovny · 4 years ago

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You know what, I’m sick and tired of show runners swearing that their shitty series finales was because the fans didn’t get what they wanted.

More times than not, if you find yourself on the worst TV finales of all time, you earned that shit, bud.

Because, you know a show’s finale is bad when people won’t shut up about it years later. People rarely talk about mediocre endings or endings that were serviceable.

But, bad endings, especially on iconic shows, that pisses people the fuck off.

And there is nothing brave about doing what you wanted to do to the detriment of your show, characters, fans, and legacy. It’s cheap. Because, rather than do the hard work of trying to stick the landing, you indulged your worst impulse.

It should rewarding for sticking with a show. It should feel rewarding to rewatch a show. It should feel rewarding to be apart of a fandom. Instead it feels like a slap to the face as the show runners condescend to you. And go with what they want rather than do what makes sense for the series.

I truly hate the phrase, “The fans are upset because they didn’t get what they wanted.”

It’s such fucking bullshit because what I want--what most fans want--is a satisfactory ending. We want loose ends tied up, answers, or a plan of sort that lets us know you cared for the show as much as we invested in it.

1.) I think about Game of Thrones and how they shit on the plot, characters, and all of that world building. People say, “Oh, you wanted a Disney ending”, but what the fuck does that mean? Because some people did get a Disney ending and that’s the fucking Starks. And, guess what, I actively rooted for them until mid way through season 8. I liked Dany okay, but I was a Stark fan through and through and became a Dany fan and loathed the Starks by the end. They are the ones with the Disney ending...they have a Stark on the throne as another Stark rules the North as the Queen, Jon with the Wildlings, and Arya allegedly living out her fantasy of exploring the world. How is that not a Disney ending???

You know what I expected? A main character to die like Dany or Jon. A major betrayal by a main character like Sansa. Where is the Disney ending in that?

Dipshit and Dipshit sacrificed character development, world building, and fucking sense to ram their ending down our throat and we’re allegedly upset because we didn’t get what we want when all we wanted was a satisfying ending? That doesn’t even touch on glossing over the magical aspect and the significance of the Night King.

2.) I’ve divorced myself so much from How I Met Your Mother that I can barely remember the show. This, like GOT, is a show I’ve never revisited, despite owning at least 2-3 seasons. This show left such a sour taste in my mouth that the series is retroactively ruined for me. HIMYM is what happens when, as a creator, you’re so married to your original idea that you refuse to let it go when it doesn’t make sense 15 million years down the road. The sacrificed character development of Robin, Ted, and Barney for this to make sense. They had fans spend, what, a season on a wedding that was ended in less than five minutes. They somehow make meeting the mother everything fans wanted and more--the magic was there--only to kill her off and have him end up with Robin. IF they were going to have the mother die, I’d rather us sit with her in that last show with the kids. After Ted tells them this story, they go to the hospital and sit and talk with her. I know there is an alternate ending, but I stopped watching in season 8 (maybe), so it means nothing to me. I knew the show was on bullshit by season 7 and had enough.

3.) The X-Files. My feelings and relationship with the X-Files is much more complicated because I didn’t watch the series until AFTER the original series ended. So, my investment, although deeper, wasn’t enough to make me not finish the series and subsequently rewatch it. But, the Chris Carter, the creator and show runner, actions are so egregious that it’s baffling and infuriating.

Unlike the GOT show runners who wanted to end early to get Star Wars money and HIMYM show runners who went on far to long and were married to an ending, Chris Carter hated the core of his fans AND took his resentment out on the characters if he had an issue with the actors. He was a man without a plan that had a great idea, an ounce of talent, and great writers and directors surrounding him. Despite losing a lead actor, someone who he knew he was losing IN ADVANCE, and having time to appropriately deal with this departure, he did the most fuck shit things he could do. Try to undermine the relationship between the two core leads, prop up this new character, not focus on a main character absence in a way that was poignant, and continued to offer up a shitty mythology. When the other core lead wanted to dial back her responsibilities, he still was serving stale shit. His series finale was essentially a fucking clip show. This isn’t fucking Cheers (no shade to Cheers, I just mean that a clip show is appropriate for a comedy and not a sci fi drama), this was the X Files and we wanted answers and something to blow our minds, but he basically told us to blow it out our asses.

So, you’d think that a man whose show was cancelled because he couldn’t helm his creation without his core leads because the leads stepped back or away he’d learn his lesson, right?

NOPE, he kept serving uninspired drivel, undermining his characters, and creating unnecessary or fucking ridiculous conflicts that he had no intention on exploring. He retconned his mess of a conspiracy and made it even more convoluted, so much so, that the other main lead has sworn off revisiting the show!

And I don’t want to hear anything about, “it’s difficult to please everyone” and “how do you end shows like that?”

Because, you know what: THESE MEN WERE PAID TO KNOW AND/OR FIGURE OUT HOW TO END THEIR SHOWS.

All of these shows should've prepared for an endgame or pivoted to make the show narratively and emotionally satisfying. Instead, it’s nothing, but turmoil because it’s so rage inducing.

These men had a team of writers at their disposal. They had narrative arcs or overarching plots that should’ve been OUTLINED. Yet, they let their hubris do the talking and fucked up their own careers.

Dipshit and Dipset lost their Star Wars contract due to the GOT fiasco. I honestly don’t believe they stepped away. They rushed the ending for SWs, yet they decided to leave after shit hit the fan???

Carter and Bays lost their TV How I Met Your Father. Have they even worked in Hollywood since then?

Chris Carter can only get work for the X-Files and that’s only because people want to see David Duchovny and Gillian Anderson--and that’s as a pairing. Even if he wanted to do a season 12, which I know he does, he cannot because Gillian refuses to come back.

Stop defending these shitty as show runners and writers who fuck over their series. It is their jobs to tell us a story and make that shit worth wild. They’ve literally made millions off of this, but somehow we’re supposed to excuse them giving us a shitty ending.

A show that is not well known that struggled with viewerships for years, 12 monkeys, does what the other girls couldn’t (or wouldn’t) do! They had a far more complex plot--time travel--and their network treated them like ass, yet they delivered one of the most narratively and emotionally satisfying series finales I’ve seen in years. You know why? Because she show runner actually cared. And, even though I expected heartbreak and nothing close to a happy ending, I was satisfying surprised and happy at the end result.

I fucking hate lazy ass show runners who think they know it all.

#the x files #how i met your mother #game of thrones #12 monkeys

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snarkwrites · 4 years ago

Text

02 | upside down; steve harrington

Notes:

I suck so bad. I meant to post these before I left to go on my little trip and life got hella busy. But, I didn't get around to it. BUT BUT.. I am now. They're not really that edited, so yeah. I was happy with what came out, despite this turning out to not be a slow burn type thing at all like I originally wanted. So for all those hoping for a slow burn, oopsies?

OH.. And before I forget, chapters one, two, three and potentially four take place BEFORE the actual series starts. ;P

Summary:

She moves back to Hawkins and manages to turn his life completely upside down. In the best of ways.

But how will everything play out between them? Also, can they handle all the weirdness ahead? We shall see.

Warnings:

LOOSE CANON COMPLIANCE AT BEST, TOTAL DEVIATION AT WORST - this is just an up front catch all because sometimes, things happen that I don’t particularly care for (the senseless death of Barb, anybody?) and if you’re one of those canon only people, this is here to warn you that this is not the fic for you. LANGUAGE, OCCASIONAL GORE, MONSTERS / FANTASY ELEMENTS, TEENAGE DRAMA AND SHENANIGANS - Obviously, teenagers are going to do stuff. They’re at that point in their life where not every decision they make is the best one. So if you’d rather skip over this kind of thing (teen drinking, fighting, etc) then yeah.. you’ve been warned. THIS IS NOT A SLOW BURN, I REPEAT NOT SLOW AT ALL / EVENTUAL FILTHY GOOD NESS - because lets be real.. we’re all wondering when we’re gonna drop the plot and get to the good stuff. When this chapter occurs, I will flair it with an M. In the meantime, if you’re not into slow burn or mutual pining, then you’re probably not going to care about this.

Other Parts

[ SOUNDTRACK | part one]

Other Stuff

[ FAQ - TAG LIST DOC ]

Tagging:

There’s nobody on my list yet but… If you wanna be tagged for this, tell me pls. It will make me overjoyed.

Throwing out a no pressure tag to @RAMPAGEWRITING and @TWISTNET as well as @CHASINGEVERYBREAKINGWAVE just because. No pressure though bbies!

TWO.

Monday came with no sign of Steve. Then Tuesday. By Wednesday, I felt like I was about to lose my mind. Still no sign of him.

It was now Thursday afternoon. And honestly, I’d put the whole thing out of my head. Started to convince myself that I’d been right about Steve Harrington and his intentions after all. Nana Ginger had gotten Jonathan to come and help out by bussing tables in the dining area for an hour or two so I could go over the books for her with no interruptions. When I caught sight of Steve’s silver BMW pulling into the parking lot, I was perched atop the counter in the gas station doing just that.

With Billy Idol blasting quietly from a little boombox nearby.

I raised a brow when instead of coming in like usual, Steve wandered around back. Out to where Nana's boyfriend Hank was working in bay 3 of the garage behind the place.

“Oh. Oh no. Steve, why the hell…” I muttered to myself. Sitting the ledger to the side as I tiptoed carefully to the door that lead out into the garage from the front of the buildings attached. I pressed my ear against it, trying to listen.

All I could really make out was Hank laughing out loud. And Steve asking what was so funny about what he’d apparently asked. Then Hank telling him verbatim, that he didn’t know if he could trust him as far as he could throw him while pointing out that he’d been a teenage boy once too and that he knew exactly where this was all heading.

My breath caught in my throat. I waited on Steve to offer some form of rebuttal. Seconds later, he finally did. “ You’re actually completely wrong about me, sir. With all due respect.”

“If you can get her to say yes to a date in the first place, kid, by all means. But if you hurt her, you’re not gonna have anywhere to hide. We clear, kid?” Hank said this as loud and as plain as day. Clearly enough I could hear it completely through the door separating the two areas.

Steve muttered something else I couldn’t quite hear and in a mad scramble that had Jonathan nearly doubling over in laughter, I was trying to perch myself back on top of the counter at the front of the gas station. Balancing the ledger on my lap. Trying to force myself to concentrate on running numbers.

My reading glasses started to slip down the bridge of my nose and swearing, I pushed them back up. Eventually taking them off to unfocus my eyes and give them a little relief from strain. Jonathan spoke up from nearby.

“Hear anything interesting just now, Jen?” he gave me a teasing smirk and I grumbled, playfully flipping him off as I gave a soft smile. I nodded. “Yeah. I guess I have to at least consider saying yes to Harrington’s constant asking me out. I mean… takes a brave guy to talk to Hank.”

“You’re definitely not wrong there.” Jonathan muttered, chuckling quietly. Digging around in the pocket of his apron and tossing me a cassette tape. Smirking. “I made it during the countdown last night.”

“Oh?” I turned the cassette over in my hands, smiling. “I’ll put it in right now, give it a listen while I’m doing the rest of the books. Hey, do you need somebody to give Will a lift to Mike’s on Saturday?”

“If you don’t mind?” Jonathan asked.

“Not at all.” I grinned, adding quickly, “I’m supposed to drop Dustin Henderson off there too. Figured since they’re going to the same place and I’m gonna hang out with Nancy for a while, why not?”

“Thank you.” Jonathan gave a grateful smile and an idea kind of formed. I smiled and mentioned casually, “Ya know, Jon.. If you really want to thank me.. You could talk to Nancy sometime.”

Jonathan eyed me with a raised brow. I held out his mixtape and added, “She loves The Clash.”

“Really?” his brow raised.

“Just take my word for it, Byers.”

“ You’re sure you don’t mind me giving her this?”

“Why would I? I told you to, silly.” I laughed, shaking my head. Jonathan was being called to the back dining area again by my Nana, so he hurried off and I stood, stretching. Slinking down the aisles of the gas station, over to a cooler.

I grabbed myself a Diet Pepsi and dug around in my pocket for the money to put in the register to cover it. Once I’d popped the top against the counter, I settled back on top of it, getting back to balancing the books.

I heard a throat clearing from the doors about ten minutes later. The smell of cheeseburger and french fries wafted straight to my nose, making me groan quietly as my eyes fixed on Steve and then promptly lowered to the grease stained brown paper bag he held in his hands as he grinned at me, nodding to the glasses perched on my nose.

“Fuck.” I scrambled to take them off. Steve stepped into the gas station completely, walking towards me. A teasing gleam in his eyes as he shook his head. Stopping on the other side of the counter, in front of me. “You don’t have to do that, Jennie. I’ve seen you wearing glasses before, remember? The red framed ones you had in kindergarten.”

I cringed, laughing a little. Leaning in slightly. Gazing at him almost helplessly as the bits of conversation I’d overheard between him and Hank out in the garage earlier replaying in my head.

Remembering that tonight, if he asked me on a date yet again, I was going to say yes. And not just because of some silly dare given to me by Barb and Nancy. Because I couldn’t keep fighting Steve Harrington off the way I had been if I wanted to, to begin with.

I was leaning closer where I sat. It occurred to me when Steve chuckled quietly. Stepping between my legs, the way they dangled over the counter on his side. He sat the grease stained paper bag to the side and he bit his lip, gazing up at me.

“Your grandma told me to come and drag you out of here. She told me to tell you not to worry about waiting the tables, she’s trying to help Jonathan get some extra cash on the side. She also said don’t argue.” Steve flashed me another one of those charmer grins and I swallowed hard. My mouth opened and closed for a second or two because I just couldn’t think of anything clever to say. Weird, because normally, I have plenty to say. Constantly.

Out of habit, my fingers drifted up to the dainty cursive nameplate that hung on the silver chain around my neck. I toyed with the lettering as I pretended to mull it over, just to be slightly difficult.

So I could feel better about giving in when I inevitably did.

“C’mon, Jennie.” Steve pleaded. Eyes locked on mine. Gaze dropping briefly to my lips and lingering there just long enough that I could feel my breath when it caught in my throat.

I finally managed to get my mouth and brain working in tandem and licking my lips as I gazed at him, I muttered quietly, “It’s Jen.”

“Maybe I like Jennie better.” Steve leaned in just a little. A teasing gleam in his eye and a flirty tone to his voice as it dropped lower. Quieter.

And when Hank’s throat cleared from the door between the garage and the front of the building, I wanted to puddle into a pile of goo in the linoleum tile.

“Interruptin somethin, Jaybird?” he asked the question so casually.

Steve looked like a deer in headlights. He pulled away just a little and despite myself, I pouted.

Satisfied that he’d interrupted things between Steve and I, Hank smirked a little, dragging an oil stained hand over shaggy brown and gray hair. Gazing at us both. Giving Steve that universal gesture that clearly spelled out “I’m watching you, kid.” before going to a cooler to grab himself a six pack of beer, counting out the correct change in bills and coins and handing them to me.

I grabbed hold of Hank’s hand. “Nana is gonna have a fit. I know that’s not super glue I see holdin skin together, sir.”

“It is, Jaybird. Because if I don’t get that damned Chrysler off my lift, I’m gonna burn her to the ground.”

“Oh Hank.” I shook my head, clucking my tongue at him. Digging around for antiseptic and a bandage, holding it out to him expectantly as he withdrew his hand. He chuckled and shook his head. “It’ll be fine, kid.” he waved away the antiseptic and the bandage and made his way into the garage area again, making me shake my head.

Taking the time to pull myself together decently enough that I wasn’t a stammering mess when I glanced at Steve again.

“C’mon. Please?” he asked again.

I tapped my chin, pretending to think about it. Slipping off the counter. By this time, he’d stepped in close all over again, so me slipping off the counter had us body to body. His hand settled in the curve of my hip and I barely restrained a gasp.

“Okay. Alright. I’ll leave with you.”

He grinned brightly. Holding the door open for me after I clocked out and placed my timecard in the slot with my name on it. I ducked my head into the dining area and my Nana’s only response was to smirk and wink at me. Shooing me out of the diner.

“Get her outta my hair, kid!” my Nana smiled as she called out to Steve, who was standing right behind me. His hand at my lower back. The second I realized this, I could feel myself burning up all over. Just the simplest touch.. Felt comforting. Intimate. And me, being of dirty mind, well.. Me and my dirty mind, we took that and ran.

Jesus Christ, of all the times for my hormones to manifest, it’s now? When I’m trying to break 2 prior generations of questionable romantic choices? I wanted to shake my head at myself. I reminded myself calmly that just because my Nana and my mom did the things they did, that didn’t mean I had to cave in and repeat. I am my own person, after all. And apparently right now, that person is giddy with… Thoughts.

“Gladly, ma’am!” Steve called back, laughing.

He pushed open the door and we stepped outside. When he opened the passenger door, I sank down into the seat, leaning back against it a little. Steve wandered around to the driver side, getting into the car. Starting it.

“Where are you taking me?”

He chuckled. “ I think you’ll like it.”

“Steve.” I pouted, “A hint?”

“It’s outside.” was literally all he’d tell me.

“Well that really narrows it down.” I teased with a laugh.

He parked at this old park we all used to play at after school. Just as the sun was starting to go down.

We got out, wandering over to an old picnic table. Sitting on top of it, digging around in the bag for our food.

“So.. That dumb carnival is this weekend. Starts tomorrow night, I think.” Steve hinted after a few minutes. I nodded to where carnival workers were already setting up a midway a few feet away from us. Taking a bite of my burger, I mentioned casually, “I thought about going. But Nancy’s grounded again and Barb’s got that date with some guy Logan.”

“You could go with me.” Steve chuckled as he said it.

I smiled, taking another bite. “I could.”

“Would you?” he asked a few seconds later. Adding quickly, “Tonight isn’t a real date. Tomorrow. That would be.” flashing me that charmer smirk.

I nodded. Smiling as I spoke up. “ Yeah. I will. Hey… since I don’t have to go back to the diner…” before trailing off and gazing down at my legs . Reminding myself to have boundaries and restraint. But all the mental reminders in the world just weren’t cutting it. At all.

He reached out, curling his fingers beneath my chin. Making me look up at him. “What were you going to say, Jennie? You can tell me.” he coaxed. Biting his lip as he gazed at me intently.

“I was going to ask if you wanted to go swimming with me. There’s this little place out by my Nana’s out in the woods I go to swim…” I gave a soft laugh. I had to laugh at myself, it was pretty much all I could do.

Look at me. Going overboard.

“Yeah.” he nodded, smiling. We finished our food, and after, we wound up driving around a little. And about an hour later found us walking through the woods. Well, he was walking, glancing around warily, swatting at spider webs that he almost walked into a time or two and I had hold of his hand, practically dragging the poor guy.

We stepped out onto the sandy bank and he chuckled. Dragging his hand through his hair as he gazed down at me. “We don’t have suits or towels.” he mused, stepping closer to me. Staring me down all over again. I could feel my breath as it caught in my throat because if you want me to be honest?

I hadn’t thought this through properly. And was now freaking out silently. Just a little bit.

But I did my best to shove that out of my head and play it cool and calm. I went for turning it around on him, hoping to fluster him like his observation had flustered me just now.

“I know Mr. Lady Killer’s not worried about somebody seeing him in his Calvins.” I teased, sticking my tongue out at him. He chuckled. Going for his shirt, tugging it over his head. Letting it settle on a branch nearby without tearing his eyes off me for a single second as he did it.

“Did that look worried to you, Jennie?” he muttered, stepping closer. His hand at my hip as he gazed down at me. Waiting.

I cleared my throat, gesturing for him to turn around. He did, but as he did so, he joked that I was the one who was worried. Which to me, sounded like a challenge. So I tapped his shoulder so he’d turn around after lowering my shirt.

He eyed me, a brow raised.

“Challenging me, Steve?” I questioned, giving him an amused laugh as I reached down, tugging my shirt up and over my head. Letting it settle on the branch next to his polo shirt.

Steve sucked in a sharp breath and muttered something to himself, closing the distance between us. His hand settled on my hip again and he laughed quietly. Leaning down a little bit so that we were face to face, his forehead against mine and one of his hands cradling my face.

My heart was pounding. Hard and fast. So fast that I thought it might break out of my chest. I went to lick my own lips and my tongue brushed against his mouth. His fingers dug into my hip lightly and he muttered huskily, “ I see you still can’t turn down a dare, Jennie.” only half teasing. I shrugged, biting my lip as I gazed up at him. Trailing my fingers over his chest mostly just so I could ignore the way my hands were shaking and I was wet, getting wetter by the second. I glanced over my shoulder and nodded at the water. “If we’re going to swim, we should get in.”

Steve cleared his throat, nodding hastily. Stepping away, bending to tug off his sneakers and nearly tumbling over in the process. Making me giggle softly as I pulled off my boots. When my pocketknife and my mom’s old lighter fell out, he eyed me and then nodded to the items on the ground.

“A knife?”

“A girl’s gotta be prepared.” I shrugged it off. Steve tugged down his jeans and while I told myself I wasn’t going to peek or stare, I wound up failing at this miserably and got so distracted watching him that he was able to turn around my own words on me as soon as he kicked his jeans free at the ankle.

“If we’re going to swim, Jennie… we should get in.” he gave me a playful smirk as he said it, stepping closer all over again.

My hand shook as I lowered it to the button on my cut offs. As soon as I’d shed those, I took off for the water full speed. Nearly tripping on a stump in the hill leading down to the water. Steve’s arms shot out and he caught me, pulling me back upright. Pulling me hard enough that when he did, I found myself pressed against him completely.

He chuckled quietly, raising a hand. Pulling a leaf free from my hair.

“The water’s not going anywhere, Jennie.”

“I know.” I answered, my breath catching in my throat when our mouths brushed against each other’s just a little more with each word spoken. His fingers dug into my hip a little more and he took a shaky breath, asking the question quietly, “If I kissed you right now…”

My heart was hammering away in my chest but I managed to answer, “I dare you, Steve...No… I triple dare you.”. The hand he’d placed on my hip was tangled in the hair at the back of my head, pulling my mouth all the way against his mouth. His tongue swept out, outlining and then parting my lips. Massaging my tongue. Slow. Deep. Savoring the moment, even after we both clearly started to get light-headed from lack of actual oxygen. His hand moved up and down my body, settling on my lower back. Pulling me up to tiptoe slightly. The kiss broke long enough for both of us to properly breathe and then his mouth found mine again.

When it finally broke completely, Steve dragged the back of his hand over his mouth. Taking a few deep breaths. “Yeah.” he chuckled to himself.

I raised a brow. “Hm?”

“That was exactly how I thought it’d feel.” he mused, adding quietly, “Wow.”

My stomach churned and I tensed up a little. He chuckled, shaking his head. Placing his lips against my forehead. “It’s not a bad thing. Not at all. I mean.. It wasn’t for me?” he was the one who looked anxious now.

I muttered quietly, “ I definitely wouldn’t mind a repeat. A few repeats, actually, if I’m being honest.” while still quietly reeling from the intensity of it all. Melting myself against him, my fingers dancing slow over his chest. He sucked in a breath, catching hold of my hand. Tilting my chin so that I had to look up at him.

“You’re blushing.” Steve was teasing gently. Rolling his thumb over my bottom lip, leaving it quivering.

“I’m not!” I pretended to be offended by what he said, pouting a little. But I knew I was, I could feel my cheeks burning hot. I stepped away and turned my back, taking off at a run down the hill. Hitting the cool water with a loud and obnoxious splash. Steve dove in behind me, swimming over. Surfacing behind me and pressing against me from behind. I turned to face him and when he splashed me and dove out of the way, I sent up an obnoxious spray of water in his direction, making him yelp because he hadn’t been expecting it.

After about an hour of swimming around and walking the creek down further, we made our way back up to the bank, flopping onto the sand.

My restraint was well out the window by now. If I even thought for a second I was going to fight off the magnetic pull I felt to Steve, I was mistaken and I knew that now. I settled my head on his shoulder and he looped an arm around me, and we lounged around lazily, watching the sky get darker and darker.

Talking. A lot.

I realized that it had to be getting late and I sprang up, holding out my hand. Steve grabbed hold, pulling himself up. After we’d gotten redressed, we wandered up the hill and out of the woods, over to where he’d parked his car at the end of my nana’s driveway..

When he went to walk me up to my front door, we wound up body to body. My arms raised, settling around his neck. My back met the front door and he pulled me into another long and drawn out deep kiss that had us both breathless when it broke.

“Kind of don’t want tonight to end.” he admitted as he gazed down at me. I nodded, definitely agreeing. “Me either.” I admitted quietly, muttering the words against his lips. The porch light started to flicker like crazy and I smiled into the kiss, wiping my mouth as I finally managed to pull away.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, right?” Steve asked, reminding me that I’d agreed to go to the carnival in town with him. I smiled and nodded. Pausing in the doorway of my grandmother’s house to steal another quick kiss before finally making myself go inside.

I leaned against the door, pulling myself together and my Nana called out from the kitchen, “Well? How did it go, Jennie Bird?”

I wandered into the kitchen, sinking down in a chair at her kitchen table. Smirking at her as all I did to answer her endless stream of questions was to shrug.

“You’re no fun, girl. No fun at all. I wanted to hear juicy details.” my nana reached out, pulling a leaf from my wet hair, holding it at me, smirking as she did so. “Any reason you’re all wet and dazed, bringing half the forest up in my house?”

“We went for a swim down at the creek.”

“Mhm.” my nana teased, laughing softly. “I know you’ll use your head. God knows one of us Brown women needs to, neither me or your mama, god rest her, could ever manage it.” she nodded to the phone on the wall by the doorway. “Might wanna call Nan and Barb. They’ve been calling all afternoon, wondering where you were. They both told me tell you they wanted full details.”

“No listening from upstairs, Nana.” I teased as she shrugged. “Makin no promises, Jennie Bird. You know me. I’m a nosy old broad.”

I grabbed the phone and managed to make the cord stretch to the living room, where I sprawled out on the old couch, legs over the back, telling Nancy and then Barb everything that happened that afternoon.

At one point, while I was talking to Nancy, I smiled to myself when she went into a good ten minutes of gushing over Jonathan walking her home from the library earlier. And giving her a mixed tape.

To be fair, it’s about time he finally talked to her. I was beginning to wonder if I’d have to shove them both in a closet and walk away.

“So… how’d it go with you and Steve tonight?”

“So many sparks.” I gave a dreamy sigh as I spoke, making Nancy laugh. Toying with the necklace and smiling softly to myself as I continued, “ Between you and me? I needed the dip in the cold water…”

“You went swimming?”

“Mhm.” I answered, taking a deep breath. “He’s taking me to the carnival downtown tomorrow night.”

“Oh my god. Get out. Really?” Nancy laughed.

I rolled onto my stomach, twisting the phone cord around my fingertip. Laughing softly as I explained exactly what transpired when Steve showed up at the diner earlier. By the end of it, Nancy let out a low whistle. “He really sacrificed himself to Hank.”

“Mhm. Left me with no option but to say yes. We know how my nana’s boyfriend is. It takes… a brave one to even attempt that.”

“Confession… I may or may not be meeting Jonathan at the carnival tomorrow night too. And Barb mentioned earlier that she’s going to come to it after the movie ends over at the theater, with Logan.”

“Group date?” I asked, giving a giggle. Raking my fingers through my hair as I reached for the Diet Tab I’d gotten myself before grabbing the phone, taking a sip of it.

“Yes. Group date indeed.” Nancy answered. I could hear her mother yelling at her to hang up, and I let her go, calling Barb.

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, you are not going to believe what happened to me this afternoon, Barb.”

“Your nana told us you left with Steve earlier. How’d that go?” Barb asked in a teasing tone. “I told you he liked you, you realize this, right?” she added.

“All I’m saying is I needed that swim to cool me down. I needed it badly.” I giggled. Agreeing reluctantly when she reminded me that she’d been telling me he liked me all month long. I rolled onto my back, twisting the cord around my fingers again. “Hey, are you and Logan gonna stop by the carnival after your movie?”

“Yeah! Did Nancy tell you? I told her to tell you so we could all meet up or something.”

“I am dying for funnel cake. And maybe getting stuck at the top of the Ferris Wheel like some cliche romance novel…” I muttered, giving a soft laugh at the end.

“Aww how cute!” Barb teased.

I took a few more sips of my diet Tab and smiled to myself. Excited about tomorrow night. Barb spoke up again, “Wait… you said you and Steve went swimming…”

“We did.”

“What was that like?”

“Oh, it was interesting. Very,very interesting.”

“You’re no fun girl!” my Nana’s voice cut through the call and I groaned inwardly, lowering the phone to call up the stairs to my Nana in her room, “Seriously?”

Barb was laughing. After my nana hung up, we talked a little more and I told her about Steve going out to the garage. WIth all the tools. And my nana’s boyfriend Hank… to ask him if he could take me on a date.

“He did? And he’s alive? How?”

“I don’t know, actually. Hank’s always giving him shit when he comes into the diner, I did not see it going the way it did. But.. I’m glad it did. Ah, I had such a good time tonight.”

“He’d better be good to you or I’m coming for his knee caps.” Barb teased, going quiet for a few seconds. Her mom must have come to her door to tell her she needed to use the phone, because she had to get off. After I ended the call with her, I wandered up to my room, falling across my bed.

What.A.Night.

#steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fic #steve harrington imagines #my writing ; steve harrington #my fics ; steve harrington #my fanfics ; steve harrington

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simpirals · 4 years ago

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Down The Tunnels

(Read on AO3) So this is another collab with my very cool friend @stellarwhaleshark in which we wrote about Not!Sasha chasing Jon down the tunnels, ending it completely differently from canon. (Jon doesnt die dw) If you liked it,please let us know in the comments! ❤️ Reblogs are encouraged ! ❤️ Characters: Not!Sasha/ Not Them, Jonathan Sims (mentions of Timothy Stoker,Sasha James and Martin Blackwood) Warnings: body horror, stabbing, axe violence, generally spooky atmosphere Jon scrambled down the dark halls. Dark, unkempt hair with streaks of grey frame his face, which scans every nook and cranny in the impossible labyrinth before him. His breathing is ragged, and as he clutches his axe in sweaty hands, a laugh echoes out in the stale air. He is utterly terrified. And he had all the reasons in the world to be so. Something that wasn't his friend wore a face he used to deem as familiar, and that very same thing was out to hunt him down.

"Jooooonnn..." An uncanny voice echoes through the tunnels, reaching out to the man fleeing for his life. "Jooonnn… Why don't you stop running so we have a nice, friendly chat? With your Sasha?" Noises that weren't footsteps reverberated through the tunnels.

"Isn't it what friends do, Jon? Sit down and talk things out together? I promise you this won't take long."

The creature's voice lowered in a dangerous growl.

Jon's heart leapt in his throat as he desperately tried to find an escape from the thing chasing him. He didn't dare respond, fearing that if he focused on anything else except running, he would be caught. Despite the nagging in the back of his mind that told him that losing it was impossible, Jon forced himself to believe that somehow, some way, he could shake the impostor from his trail. But as far as he could see, the path only continued straight. Something scratched along the walls behind him, sending his feet into a more frantic pace. "Shit, shit!"

Having no other option but to continue forward, the Archivist wills himself to move as fast as he can to avoid falling victim to Sas- no, not Sasha. Whatever was chasing him was definitely not who it claimed to be, and that voice that taunted him was certainly not his coworker's... despite how familiar it sounded.

Jon had no time to turn around and watch his pursuer. But he didn't need to do that to guess that it had picked up its pace. It was coming, and it was coming fast.

"Jooooonnnnnnn !"

Its limbs scratch at the concrete walls as it advances rapidly.

"You'll just tire yourself out eventually, silly! What do you think will happen when you collapse on the ground, exhausted and vulnerable?"

Jon's paranoia makes him feel like something was breathing down his neck. But it was just the coldness of the air.

"I'll catch you. And then we'll be able to properly chat. Like friends! Friends do that all the time, don't they? Why are you doing this, Jon? Am I not a good friend to you? Isn't Sasha someone you can trust? You truly wound me, Jon!"

It almost sounded like it was trying to feign… sadness.

But Jon knew better than to listen to it.

He itched to scream back at it. To tell it that he knew it wasn't her, that it could never be Sasha. But instead, Jon grit his teeth and pushed onward. Then, to his left, he saw a dark patch in the wall. As he got closer, he noticed that it was an opening - another corridor. If he was fast enough, Jon could catch it off guard and use the weaving halls to his advantage. Jon let himself slow down a bit, and he could hear what wasn't Sasha gaining on him. Timing his movement just right, Jon skids over into the opening, turning his attention behind him to see the thing dash past with a growl of irritation.

Huffing a small laugh of victory, Jon turned around to gather his bearings of the new hall, but rather than seeing branching pathways, he instead saw concrete walls encasing him.

"Oh, no... no, no no--"

The monster slammed its claws down on the cold ground with satisfaction, cutting off the path to Jon's only escape.

"Found you, Jon."

There was a sickeningly triumphant grin to its voice as it slowly neared Jon, as if it had all the time in the world, its prey standing right before it.

"How about you face me properly, Jon? Come on, turn around. It would be boring if the last thing you ever saw was a wall, wouldn't you agree?" It sang, and this time, the cold breath creeping against Jon's nape was not his imagination.

His whole body shook, and his breathing became so fast that his vision began to blur. This was... god, this wasn't good at all. Jon's thoughts were a jumbled mess, and it was so hard to focus. He was going to die, he was sure of it. How could he be so stupid? Of course he wouldn't be able to outrun that thing. If it wasn't for him breaking that table--

The table. He still had the axe with him, didn't he? Jon gripped the handle tighter into his fists, knuckles turning white. The whole point of getting it was to make that thing hurt, right?

Well, hopefully it'll actually serve its purpose.

Slowly, Jon turned around, having to crane his head to meet the gaze of the monster that stared back with a dangerous glint in its eyes.

The being that wasn't Sasha stared right at him as he looked straight into its fake, glassy eyes.

"Good." It says, with a satisfied tone, lifting its hand- no, not a hand; this was far too big and sharp to be called one- from the ground, raising it to Jon's eye level.

"Remember when I told you I'd make this quick earlier?" It cackles, with that voice that did not belong to it. "I'm afraid Good old Sasha lied!"

It's going to strike.

"You. Are. Not. HER!"

One quick swing, and Jon manages to axe the beast's right limb. The force sends it slamming against a nearby wall and the thing shrieks with multiple voices at once, stumbling back.

"You...YOU!!!" It had not expected Jon to still be able to inflict any sort of damage on its body.

Clutching its wound, it emits a furious roar, and Jon swears his eardrums are about to pop.

He just has enough time to turn around and start running again before the creature tries to catch him, and it trips on itself.

No matter how far away Jon was getting, screams of anguish still rattled off of the walls around him. It sent a chill down his spine, and as he spotted a fork in the catacombs, a screech of muddled voices startled him. "GET BACK HERE, YOU LITTLE RAT!" It yells out, and the sound of it getting back onto what Jon supposed could be feet made its way down the hall.

As far as he was concerned, remembering how to navigate his way back out of the tunnels was the least of his problems. So Jon ducks and weaves through halls of all sizes, hoping that he'll eventually become so lost that not even the monster at his heels would be able to find him.

Not!Sasha wants to hunt him down to the ends of the Earth.

But first it needed to get its arm back. It quickly grabbed it and pressed the area that was freshly cut against its shoulder and the porcelain colored flesh melted, fusing the missing piece against its body.

It clutched its limb and stretched out its claws, briefly studying itself to see if that puny human caused any further damage.

It seemed satisfied.

It quickly looked at the direction where Jon had fled and it screeched again, getting back on all fours and rushing out, leaving the dead end behind.

" JON! " It howled like a dying animal.

" I WILL FIND YOU AND I WILL DEVOUR YOUR ARM! THAT'S A PROMISE! "

It galloped through the halls, absolutely seething, scanning each nook and corners that could lead it to Jon's location.

" WHERE ARE YOU?! "

Its screams of rage had encouraged Jon to avoid staying in one place for too long. So he continues to let himself wander, some turns echoing the voice louder than others. He's not quite sure how long he's been running, but the aching in his legs is beginning to slow him down. "Come on, keep going...!" Jon grunts to himself as he tries to fight through the pain, but it's becoming apparent that he has to find somewhere to rest soon.

" Jooooonnnn.... " It hissed through gritted fangs, "If you show yourself now, maybe I won't tear you limb from limb. Come on, be a good friend and come out, won't you?" As the monster began to speak aloud again, Jon rounded a corner and pressed himself against the cold wall. Every bone within him shook, and it took everything in him to not slide down to the floor.

The creature snarled, still very much enraged by her previous wound. Even a monster of the Stranger can still feel pain, after all. And having to push its fake bones back into place wasn't exactly pleasant.

Seeing that Jon was still nowhere close to her, it halted for a brief instant. "Alright, I may have gotten a little bit angry earlier. But could you blame me? You literally cut my arm off! That's not a very nice thing to do to your friend, is it, Jon?"

Naturally, she knew this wasn't going to entice him to come to her. But it was fun to toy with him.

"You know," It says, "I wonder how your screams would sound like once I get you to the circus... Taking you apart pieces by pieces, to reshape you afterward… Kinda like Sasha, actually! Oh, you should have seen her! She did such a wonderful performance too, squirming under my claws.'' It chuckles, dragging on the last words of her sentence painfully. No matter how hard Jon tried to ignore the taunts of the beast, its words sank in deep. The second that it began to describe Sasha's body being torn apart and put together, he felt himself heave a bit. And yet they continued on, finding humor in how his dear friend suffered.

"She writhed and squirmed when I gave her new joints, too. Human bones are tough, that’s obvious, but they can always be upgraded to better material. No one would see the difference anyway! Especially not you, Jon."

It chuckled eerily.

"Oh, you should have heard her too! She kept on screaming at you and your acolytes' names, too! It was delightful to hear! Actually, why don't you listen to it yourself? You love to listen, don't you?" Jon's breathing began to pick up again until it became quick gasps of air. He did his best to get it under control, but then.

The sound Jon heard was the exact replica of Sasha's voice. He could hear the terror and the agonizing pain in her tone.

"Jon, Martin! Anyone! help, it-it hurts so much! Please, someone, get me out of here! Please! PLEASE, JON! HELP ME! "

It spoke like Sasha. The real Sasha. The begging and pleading that called out into the halls belonged to someone he couldn't recognize. But he knew without a doubt that it was her. "Oh, Christ... Sasha, s-she was--"

How long was she tormented? Ripped apart and reconstructed like some sort of sick puzzle?

" PLEASE, JON! HELP ME! "

"I-I'm so sorry, Sasha..!" Jon whimpered out, clamping a free hand to his mouth to stop a sob bubbling up his throat. The whole time, Sasha was alive, and they did nothing to help her.

The realization hit Jon with such an intensity that he collapsed down the wall with a pathetic thud. The axe followed shortly after, the metal clattering to the stone floor and ringing out beyond where the Archivist could see. He stiffened, eyes widening in horror and darting down to his weapon he had dropped on the floor.

Jon made a huge mistake.

The creature halted its grim imitation suddenly, turning its head sharply toward the direction of the noise she just heard.

Oh, that was too easy.

She did not need to look any longer, she knew exactly where her prey was now.

Not Sasha suddenly appeared right before him.

"There you are."

Jon barely had the time to get up and made another foolish attempt to flee. The monster had already seized his ankle with her inhumanly big, sharp hand, forcing the man to collide brutally against the hard floor beneath him. Jon gasped in pain at the force of the impact.

"Oh, no no, I’m not letting you go anywhere anytime soon!"

Jon uselessly thrashed and scraped his nails on the stone covered ground as Not Sasha simply dragged Jon back to her, flipping him unceremoniously on his back, so he could see her in her full glory, her entire body looming over him, caging him.

"No-- No, no no no--"

Jon's desperate pleas were cut off as the thing that wasn't his Sasha suddenly slammed her other hand against Jon's body, effectively pinning him down under its weight as its dangerous claws were big enough to cover and seize his body.

"Now… What am I going to do with you…?" It said, absolutely relishing the way Jon stared back at her with terrified eyes.

Oh, how much she loved to taste the fear of her prey. This was delightful.

"Hmm... I could do the same thing you did to me... But using that little axe of yours may make it too easy. I think cutting through you myself would be much more fun!" She spoke idly, biting back a laugh when their suggestion only caused the Archivist to squirm more.

"Oh, but I know how much you care about your old Sasha! Maybe taking you to see her one last time, broken and wrong would be more painful!" Jon managed to wriggle an arm out from its grasp, and attempted to punch their long fingers.

It didn't even phase them. "And if you're good, Jon," Not Sasha's face leered down to meet his own, her sharp grin reflecting in the glasses that framed Jon's panicked eyes.

"Maybe I'll tear you apart just like how I did her."

Jon felt his breath snag in his lungs. If being torn apart would be his reward for being "good" Then what would it be if he tried to actually fight back? Probably something worse than death itself.

He wasn't about to find out.

"Just- please, just let me go, I don't-"

"Ah, ah, ah! I didn't chase you through these tunnels all this time just to let you run again, you silly. No, no, I exactly know what I'm going to do with you."

Not Sasha grabbed Jon's wrist between the edge of its claws, observing it.

"Such a frail little limb. Wonder how long it'll take to break."

"Wait--"

Before Jon could utter another useless plea, the monster unhinged its jaws,and violently sank her teeth into his right shoulder, mirroring the damage that Jon did to her just before. The second her horribly sharp teeth punctured into his skin, Jon began to spiral into hysterics. His instincts told him to do something, anything, but the pain clouded his mind to the point where he wasn't able to focus on anything else. Jon screamed.

Not Sasha pulled and pulled on his arm, and a sickening squelch could be heard as her fangs kept digging deeper and deeper inside his shoulder.

As soon as he felt his shoulder about to give out under that thing's fangs, she suddenly released him, pulling her head back to reveal her freshly bloodstained face. It casually wiped the blood that dribbled down its chin, eyeing its work.

"...Actually, I just remembered that Nikola doesn't really like being handed broken playthings. I guess you get to keep your arm this time. Lucky you! ...But then again, I could always replace your arm with something different. I wonder if Nikola would mind… Hmmm."

She tapped her chin, seeming to seriously ponder that option.

“Oh, I sure hope she won't be mad at me for damaging you a bit.”

She looked almost worried, but more for the fact that she could get in trouble for harming Jon rather than being concerned about his well being.

The Not Them had briefly released Jon, as she was too busy trying to shred his shoulder into bits previously. The Archivist stumbled backwards in hopes of gaining some distance between them. But it took nothing more than a tug at his ankle to drag him back.

Hm, she must have tired him out. Good.

"Well, I suppose I'll just have to wait until I hear back from Nikola. In that case," Not Sasha grabbed hold of Jon's torso with one of its large disfigured hands, gripping tightly.

She hummed in satisfaction when she was able to feel the Archivist's heart hammering against her palm.

"It seems like you'll be coming with me." It squeezed him a bit tighter, chuckling as Jon screwed his eyes shut in agony. "N- no! I'll never- AH-!"

A claw prodded in one of the gory punctures on his arm. "Now, now. I was generous enough with letting you keep your arm... don't push it." They dug the finger in deeper to emphasize their point.

For the fun of it, Not Sasha left her claw in the wound, enjoying the sight of her prey writhing in pain. But soon enough, Jon tired himself out, slowly falling limp and shaking with exhaustion. "Someone, p-please...!" He begged. A last ditch effort on his behalf, Not Sasha was sure of it.

"Oh, come now, Jon, no one can hear you. I thought you knew that these tunnels keep things rather well hidden. If none of your friends were able to hear your screams, what makes you think they'll hear your pathetic whimpering?"

He went quiet at that.

"Good. Now, shall we go?"

"Martin, Tim, please...." Jon mumbled to himself, feeling himself close to passing out from the pain.

"I'll take that as a yes." ———————————————- Please let us know if you enjoyed that fic so we can be motivated to write more ❤️

#tma #the magnus archives #jonathan sims #magpodfic #not!sasha #not!them #the stranger #Its Strange serie #body horror #stabbing #generally creepy #simpirals #taikeero-lecoredier #the not them #tai's stories

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ash-rabbit · 4 years ago

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An Autopsy: Mag200 Last Words

I will preface this by saying that, one (1) this is my opinion, and that I am at best ambivalent towards Martin and Jmart. And that this influenced the emotional impact of the episode for me, and likely many other viewers.

Additionally, I don't have a transcript open so we're going off memory. And spoilers below, obviously.

I. Everything that I wanted to see

1. Jonah

I'm very glad he showed back up and was coherent. That was definitely a highlight since bastard he may be, but he's my favourite.

I would have liked to hear him monologue or give a statement, but I don't mind Jon cutting things short. It's deserved, and I'm sure Jon was sick to death of Magnus' voice anyway.

I really liked how his last words were so very scared and vulnerable. "I don't want to die." and then Jon's retort of "Neither did they" before going through with it was excellent.

Being the vessel for the eye being like a wonderful dream was also very good, because I can only imagine that it would be similar to Jon's nightmare walking for someone who actually enjoys the suffering of others.

Something that was odd was that I could swear that it contradicts 193, where Jonah was referred to as nothing but a husk when serving as the eyes conduit. I had thought that meant his sense of self had been eradicated and he was nothing but his eyes for all intents and purposes. Clearly not. So I suppose all those fics where Elias survives and is aware of everything after Jonah gets gouged out of his skull are still plausible, seeing as Jonah still remained, even after being crushed beneath the weight of his eldritch patron.

2. Jon doing his own thing

I said this after 198 and 199, but I though the Web's plan was dumb, and everyone completely misunderstood the Trolley Problem, because just like the average Tumblr user, the Archival assistants are illiterate. But I suppose that happens when you have two influencers, a cop, and a high school drop out debate ethics. I'm just saying Tim with his anthropology degree would have called bullshit on their moralizing, he might not have disagreed with that plan of action, but he wouldn't have tried to justify it.

3. Jon going through with the 193 plan

Technically a merger of point 1 and 2, but it had Jon having a completely decent plan for once. It worked for the most part, it was cathartic and wholly satisfying to watch for him as a character.

As stated in 193 the conduit position is meant for him, so he doesn't suffer any ill effects outside of becoming a bird in a gilded cage, but he already spent the series as that. And it wasn't as if Jon hadn't been acting as a conduit with the constant statement taking anyway.

3.b a late addition to this but why does Jon need to keep taking statements?? It feels entirely superfluous in a fear saturated landscape, unless it was the Eye really wanting that Archivist pupil.

II. What Didn't Hit, or the Deflated Souffle

1. Jon and Martin

Hinging the emotional weight of a finale on a couple doesn't work if you don't have any feelings invested in the couple. I didn't care for Martin from the moment we were introduced to him in Season 1, and my interest to become invested in Martin was ignited and subsequently extinguished within Season 4. I find Martin hypocritical and self righteous and it's a bad mix for me personally. I didn't like his character trajectory over Season 5, so Jmart did nothing for me across the Season.

The misquote of LotR also just doesn't do it for me. It's sort of romanticizing the whole Romeo + Juliet thing, which is always not good. I think being unable to live for Jon undercuts any growth Martin could have gone through since in season 4 he was running a suicide gambit, and I think if he had been able to live as a person at the end of it, he would have come out a stronger character.

2. The Knife in the Gut

So Jon went through with his actually good plan, and Martin acts like its the worst possible thing. Jon is mostly himself, more himself then across Season 5 for the most part actually. But it's treated like the worst betrayal, and then Martin has the gall to go "we expected this so we're burning the Archives at this very second"

Like okay?? You're mad he went behind his back, even though everything previously stated had your plan set up to fail from the get go. It just made me irritated at Martin for being short sighted.

Worse then that was how quickly Jon caved to Martin and saying fine kill me and go through with your plan. And then Martin did it. They condemned countless dimensions because when Martin show sup and say anything contrary to Jon, Jon's spine disappears. It defeated the purpose of Jon going behind their backs in the first place. Though I'm glad Martin wasn't there when Jon spoke to Jonah.

I think the damnation of countless realities should have been framed as a tragedy, and not as the heroic thing. So I guess it's just fridge horror now. The framing just, it really doesn't work for me here, I was horrified by the moral ramifications and how it's the one thing Jon didn't want to do, to have more people face the same horrors he had.

3. The Archives are Burning: One of the Best Paying Academic Institute's is in flames.

So Jon was called the Archive by Jonah, and it never felt like that meant anything. We don't know if the burning Archive affecting Jon was because he's the Archive or if it's because burning knowledge hurts him as burning Gerry's page did.

Also I'm just against the burning of centuries of knowledge in general, that was probably the part of the episode that hurt. Cursed or not, the Magnus Institute seems to have incredibly pay for a research institute of all things, I mean a flat in London and it can pay for a care home? I know biology researchers who make around minimum wage at best. I'm just saying, I would work there despite everything the series has laid out.

4. The Girls Started a Fire

I don't mind that they survived, but they blew up a gasline?? And survived, no Helen to save them, but they survived.

It's weird.

5. Back to Business as Usual

So they ejected all the fears into other universes and everything is back to normal. But I have questions!! How are people's state of mind?? Are some people catatonic from constantly experiencing constant fear? The Admiral is fine which is great but, there's so much mental scarring that even with a fix it band aid slapped on, the whole population is mentally fractured at best. I don't have the words to elucidate, but it bothers me.

In Sum

The finale didn't hurt me. Which in and of itself hurts. I signed up for a tragedy/horror, and it felt like the romance shift undercut a lot of character growth and impact. But that's because I don't like who Jon and Martin are when they're together, and that's a normal thing to fell around new/codependent couples.

I was hoping for something that was soul crushing for the characters, but death isn't really the worst fate, and I suppose it's grim if only because they made the selfish choice. Which is weird, for Jon at least, he stopped making selfish choices after Season 2 for the most part and was punished every time he did something that was necessary for his continued survival in Season 4. I have thoughts on the statement dependency being a food thing more then an addiction thing but I'm ending it here.

The series is good, but I'll probably just relisten to S1-4 only, I don't care for romance or apocalypse settings, and 160 is a good stopping point if you want a soft tragedy of sorts.

#Mag 200 #the magnus archives #tma #mag 200 last words

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squeeneyart · 4 years ago

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Breathe in the Salt - Chapter 13

AO3

Beta reader is @thesnadger!

Jon walks Martin home.

As expected, it's still cold outside.

By 11:30, Martin had locked up the lighthouse and walked out into the night with the others. It was a nice walk to start. Tim was set on distracting them both by having Martin guess between real and made-up work stories, with a few of them even involving the supernatural. It was almost enough to settle the anxiety bubbling in Martin’s stomach, but every time his eye caught on Jon the feeling would surge and keep him from being more pleasantly occupied.

Eventually, the group split for their separate destinations and said their goodnights. Tim warned Jon to get Martin home safe like a parody of a television father, and all too quickly Martin and Jon were the only ones left on the road home.

Whatever confidence or wishful thinking had possessed him to let Jon walk him home, it had abandoned Martin entirely.

Several blocks went by without conversation. Martin refused to look at anything but the ground, because how else would he avoid a fall? That was the whole point, right? Forcing his eyes down and away from anything else was obviously the safest way forward. So was keeping his mouth closed, can’t go wasting his breath, and if he just kept quiet for long enough-

Jon cleared his throat “So. You came up to get some air?”

Martin squeezed his eyes closed. “Yeah, I did.”

“Is there any particular reason or-”

“Okay, I know what you’re getting at so, yes, I- what we talked about, I did it.” Martin opened his eyes and focused on the road. “It’s done.”

“Oh,” Jon breathed out, as if he’d been holding it in. “Good. You, um, you did the right thing.”

With Jon apparently satisfied, or at least with nothing else to say, a more companionable silence stretched between them. Well, that was nothing, he thought. He’d worked himself up for what ended up being a simple transaction. Of course Jon wouldn’t need to dig into the emotional details of the event when his interests lay elsewhere.

Martin’s relief was short-lived as his foot snagged on a pothole. He only just managed to stop himself from plummeting face-first into the pavement. “Shit! That was-”

“Are you okay?” Jon asked, grabbing Martin’s elbow. “Was it the-”

“N-No, no, I’m fine! There was a hole in the street.” His heart pounded from the adrenaline. He shook his head, trying not to think too hard about Jon’s hand tugging him upright. “Just zoned out and didn’t see it.”

Jon frowned, releasing his grip. “You’ll want to ice your head when you get home. Probably should have before we left.” The last part he muttered to himself like a curse.

“My head is fine. No fuzziness or anything, I swear.”

“Hmph.” Jon eyeballed the mark on Martin’s forehead, unconvinced.

They resumed their walk, and Jon began to sweep his eyes across the street ahead of them. The turn of his profile was stern, almost comically absorbed by this new preventative measure. His fingers laced and unlaced themselves with a strange energy, most likely to keep warm.

The corner of Martin’s mouth twitched upward. The man so ridiculously, unintentionally endearing. It really was unfair of him.

Finally, Martin’s heart returned to its normal speed. He laughed, the day’s events settling into his bones. “I hope this was the last of the excitement for today.”

Jon smirked. “Sure you wouldn't like to run a marathon tonight? Maybe hunt down a local vampire.”

“No, I’m completely exhausted,” Martin replied. He wasn’t ready to do anything until he got a good night’s rest.

Jon’s face fell slightly. “I was- Right, no, I’m sure it’s been a lot.” He scratched at his neck.

Ah. Martin had missed something, hadn’t he? Whatever it was, there was no figuring it out now. In front of them was the end of the road and the start of the cliff side descent.

“I think I’m feeling all right. It’s been long enough,” Martin said. “You should head back to your hotel. It would be-”

“A long way back up, yes. I recall from this morning.” Jon glanced into the trees with disdain. “But that would go against the whole point of me being here. If anything is going to give you trouble, it’s a twisting downward slope.”

Martin opened his mouth to argue, then reconsidered. With Jon’s stubborn posture, all folded arms and rigid shoulders, arguing would just mean forcing an ill-equipped man to stand outside longer.

Seeing he’d won, Jon nodded. “Let’s continue on, then.”

Down they went, the gentle curve leading to the main path. Jon held his phone out in front of him to light the way. Every once in a while, he would point out some obstruction and give warning. This, paired with Jon only seeing the way once in the light of day, made for an incredibly slow process. Eventually Martin had to beg him to just please keep walking.

However, without Jon’s interruptions there were only the sounds of crunching footsteps and whistling wind, hollow whispers through the trees that Martin’s ears couldn’t parse. The ground sloped down into the waiting dark like a tongue dipping into the throat of a beast. Martin was no longer moored by the view around his feet as it swerved and sloped ahead of him. Instead he clung to the visual of Jon’s outline, glowing in the phone light, steady and consistent.

Halfway down Jon paused again, but before Martin could urge him forward, he turned around and asked, “Is everything all right?”

Martin braced himself for whatever this was. “...Yes?”

“Are you sure there isn’t something you’d like to discuss?” With the phone illuminating their feet, Jon’s face hidden save for the flash of his eyes and outline of his jaw, but his voice gave away his frustration. “When you showed up earlier, I thought maybe-”

“Like I said, I just-”

Jon talked on, running his fingers through his hair. “Because if something happened that you’re confused or worried about I can try to-”

“Jon?”

“-help, given I was the one who told you to do it in the first place. If there’s-”

“Jon.”

Jon clamped his mouth shut, waiting.

Martin dragged a hand down his face. “It’s… It was a lot for her. She needed some space, that’s all.”

With some hesitation, Jon asked, “But she… did she know about it?”

“Yeah.” Martin stuffed his hands into his pockets and kicked at a rock. “Yeah, she knew.”

“Oh.” Wrapping his arms around himself, Jon stared at his feet. It was almost imperceptible, but a shiver passed through his shoulders. “That wasn’t the scenario I’d expected. I’m sure it was an intense moment for both of you. If I’ve... pried too much, I apologize.”

“It’s… it’s okay.” Martin exhaled. “If you hadn’t pried, she wouldn’t have it now. That’s worth something, I think, but at this point, it’s just… it’s family stuff.”

“Right. I understand.” Jon rubbed his forearm. “If there’s anything you’d like to know or talk about, though...”

“You’ll be the first and probably only person I’ll ask.” With nothing left to add, Martin began to walk ahead. Jon seemed to get the message and was quick to put himself back in front, dutifully shining his light ahead onto the dirt. “Jon?”

“Yes?” Jon didn’t turn or stop walking, keeping to his task with renewed determination. Stupidly endearing.

Martin opened his mouth and then closed it again. He smiled to himself. “You really should get a thicker coat.”

His reward was slumped shoulders and crotchety grumbling about Tim’s bad influence.

They reached the treeline without any problems. Perhaps low light had helped, or having Jon’s back to fixate on. Whatever the case may have been, Martin was blessedly close to being off his feet and in his own bed without further incident.

Jon, however, would have a long, lonely walk back to his hotel. Despite the reassurance that it had all been no trouble, Jon’s hunched posture betrayed how poorly he was doing in the night air. At least his head was covered.

Tapping his foot, Martin stared at his home. There was… a lot, there. On any other night his mother would be fast asleep. There was no light on in her bedroom window, but that didn’t necessarily mean things were the same as usual.

From Martin’s left, Jon coughed. “I should get going. If anything happens, be sure to text the details to Tim so we’ll all be aware.”

“Sure. Thanks for walking me down. I think it helped,” Martin said, his mind already halfway up the stairs.

Jon nodded. “Good. Glad to hear it.” There was an extended, empty moment before Jon moved to leave.

At the sound of Jon’s steps, Martin shook himself to the present. “Wait a minute. You should at least warm up inside.”

With a scowl, Jon said, “Listen, while I understand you’re part of this inane inside joke-”

“No! No, it’s not like that. You’re just… you’re shivering, as we speak.” As he spoke, Martin saw Jon stiffen. “As long as we’re quiet, it should be fine. Frostbite isn’t a joke.”

Jon glared at the rocky beach, where the fog had already settled in thick. “...Fine.”

Martin raised his eyebrows. It had been much less of a fight than he had expected. A small grin spread across his face. “Great! Let me just make sure everything is okay first.”

He led Jon to the front door, then stepped inside. Keeping his steps light, Martin inched over to his mother’s slightly open door, just as he had left it. Through the crack he could see the rising and falling outline of his sleeping mother still tucked into bed. Martin carefully closed the door and exhaled.

Like nothing had happened, he thought, ignoring the jelly sensation in his knees. What would he have done if she had been awake? What would she have said about him leaving the house so late? Would she have said anything?

There were other things to think about. He walked back to the door and let Jon inside, leading him to the kitchen. Neither of them spoke, but the tension seemed to seep out of Jon’s shoulders as warmth returned to them.

Jon kept his hands tucked under his arms, eyeing one of the kitchen chairs. He kept his voice to a low whisper. “Thank you for inviting me inside. I won’t need to stay long.”

A pity. Martin bit his tongue at the thought. “You’re welcome. Feel free to sit down.” With some reluctance, Jon took the offer and sank into one of the wooden chairs. In spite of himself, he relaxed just a little.

With that out of the way, Martin glanced at the doorway and asked, “Actually, could you wait here a moment?”

Before he got an answer, he slipped back into the hall, toeing off his shoes before making the climb up the wooden stairs. Once he’d crept into his room, he faced his skinny chest of drawers with a sudden determination. There had to be something.

The first articles of clothing were definitely wrong, both too big and not the right material. Everything would be too big, really, but he could at least figure out the best options for blocking out the cold.

After some sifting, Martin fished out an old thing of stretchy fleece that had managed to retain its size better than some of his other pullovers. Still very Martin-sized, but that meant it would fit over other clothing just fine. On top of that, it was a dark grey material, nothing so bright as some of his other windbreakers. He could at least spare Jon from his own very retro fashion choices.

When he returned, Jon was standing near the kitchen window and staring out into the night. Without looking away from it, he said quietly, “The fog is much thicker down here. Is it always like this?”

“Not always, but it’s pretty normal? Mum likes it.” Martin fidgeted with the pullover in his hands. With every passing second, he was losing time to throw it out of sight and forget the idea ever came to mind. “Makes it sort of eerie, sometimes, like it’s just the house.”

“Hm. My phone light should still be fine, I suppose.” Jon pivoted away from the window, and his eyes landed on the thing in Martin’s hands.

Just get it over with, his mind desperately hissed. “I found this upstairs and figured it might be helpful. It’s, um, it’s a bit big, but it should slip over what you’re wearing just fine.”

Instead of responding, Jon stared at the pullover, sparing a single glance for Martin’s face before returning to the object in question.

“You don’t have to use it, obviously,” Martin said, squeezing the fabric. “I just thought, since you came down here because of me, it was the least I could do. But, yeah, it’s probably too much? I’ll-”

“Okay.”

Jon seemed as surprised by this was Martin, whose feet were now rooted to the spot on the kitchen floor.

“Um. Good? Good.” Martin held the pullover out in front of himself, his elbows locking him into a position that begged Jon to just take the damn thing.

Jon walked over and pulled it to himself. With almost robotic motions, he slid the garment over his jacket, pushing up the sleeves so they weren’t flopping over his hands. Gosh, it absolutely swamped him. It reached down to his mid-thigh in a way that might’ve been considered fashionable when worn with something other than work trousers and scuffed formal shoes. If Martin hadn’t been stricken with a lead tongue he would’ve let out an inappropriate giggle.

“Well. It’s not as if Tim is going to see me,” Jon sighed. “Thank you. Now I really should get going.”

Though attempting to put on a veneer of calm formality, Jon was clearly distracted by some thought as they walked to the front door. He couldn’t seem to stop pulling at his sleeves. Martin should’ve been thankful for the silence considering the awkwardness of the whole exchange. If Jon never brought it up again, it would be a boon to them both.

Once Jon had exited the house, Martin held the door halfway open. “Careful on the way up. Maybe have Tim text me when you get there?” Or Jon could just text him, if they exchanged numbers. Martin stomped that thought out of existence. No, there was no way he’d be able to ask for that when he’d just barely survived the pullover situation.

Before replying, a weird look crossed Jon’s face. Something between irritation and intense concentration. “Yes, I’ll let him know to do so. Good night, Martin.” And he was off, shoving his hands into his new pockets.

Martin shut the door. That was that, he thought. Jon wouldn’t freeze to death, and the day was finally over. As if a string above him was snipped, Martin slid against the front entryway and sat on the floor. What a familiar location. Who needed chairs?

It was a few minutes before he could will himself up and forward, his legs barely cooperating. As he passed his mother’s door, the urge to check inside, to see if she still clutched the skin to her chest or if she’d thrown it aside for reasons beyond him, it itched in his hand and begged him to turn the knob. The door stayed shut, and with the last of his energy he reached the top of the stairs and stumbled into his room.

His bed was before him. Without changing, he flopped forward onto the mattress, ready for sleep to take him, but it came so achingly slow he was still awake to see the flash of a notification on his phone.

Tim: boss said to tell you he made it back

Tim: at this rate youll have him wearing long johns by friday

Ah. He pressed his face into his pillow. Tim had caught Jon in the pullover after all.

At least he’d kept it on. With that thought, Martin’s mind finally showed mercy, and he slept.

No dreams made for a quick jump to morning, and Martin was unfortunately awake.

Checking his phone, he found that his barely awake self from the night before had responded to Tim’s text.

Martin: just in time for you all to run from the cold weather

Tim: i wouldnt say its much warmer in the city

Tim: and hey were still here

Tim: so i hope youve got some oversized fuzzy socks to complete the set for our brave leader

With a snort, Martin pushed himself upright. It hadn’t been enough sleep, not for the day he’d had, but there was no helping it. He got ready and began collecting his things together, including his work contract and the sketchbook buried in his bedside drawer.

If nothing else worked out, he would make sure this thing was out of his hands with Peter none the wiser.

#tma #the magnus archives #breathe in the salt #martin blackwood #jonathan sims #sasha james #timothy stoker #peter lukas #fanfic #au fanfic #selkie au #jonmartin

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