#i love a strong nose so bad. and curly hair !!! yes!

[starscelly]

just harls [:

dal@ari 03.24.24

[saturns-space]

i think i enjoy drawing dream more than anyone else because of his features. he has a very square face shape, very strong jawline and chin, those big puppy dog down turned eyes, a cute unsymmetrical nose, small yet full lips.

i adore his eye bags and patchy beard that has a really nice shape and fits his face perfectly. i love his curly ice cream hair. i love how he’s tall and lanky, yet he’s big and sturdy at the same time.

he used to really challenge me every time i drew him because his unique features and proportions were something i was never used to drawing. he is so different compared to the people i used to obsessively draw and i love him so much for it. he has helped me improve so so so much.

he looks very different from a lot of other famous people i’ve been a fan of and used to draw. i think haters find him “unattractive” because they don’t believe he fits the criteria they subconsciously look for when deeming whether or not someone fits the beauty standard. however i think that makes him even more beautiful.

it was a weird experience after he face revealed for everyone because whether you had a very clear picture in your head of what he may have looked like, or had ideas of what he could’ve possibly looked like, i don’t think any of us were expecting this. even i had a hard time hearing his voice come from some random guy, not in a bad way of course it was just something i had to get used to.

but now it makes so much sense. like yes. THIS is dream. and i cannot imagine him any differently. down to his body language, facial expressions, the clothes he wears and how he styles his hair, it fits the person i had only known as a voice for years So perfectly.

he is so very dream and i love him so much thank you for coming to my ted talk

[onskepa]

Helllooo, could I get a Rapunzel AU fic? In this universe Spider would be the rapunzel of the story, he gets stolen from his family, the Sullies, at a young age (he was adopted by Jake and Neytiri a couple of months after his dad’s death, although he really isn't) Quaritch would be the mother gothel of this AU, keeping Spider in a tower because his magic hair is what is helping him keep being alive. Then Loak would be like Flynn, but in this case a prince going through a rebellious phase, so he stills his older brother crown ( he doesnt really know Spider, cause he was a baby when he was kidnapped) his thief name is “Tulkun” and his partners in crime are Lyle and Z-Dog.

Quite the intersting idea I gotta say, none the less! I hope you enjoy this one!

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

Our sun

The sun gives life to all, brings warmth and comfort. With its bright radiant light, it guides everyone to their path. Brings happiness and provides. A great gift humanity has ever gotten. For centuries, humanity has shown their gratitude in many ways. Praising, worshiping, believing the sun is their god. 

A god that is powerful and strong. The Omatikaya kingdom knows that better than anyone in the world. Festivals, sigils, legends, their symbol of the kingdom, all were dedicated to their sun. 

For centuries the kingdom has never wavered their belief in the sun. Remaining strong and true. Always grateful and never greedy. And so, the sun god who was also grateful for the people the sun provides to, believes they deserve a gift. 

A drop of sunlight fallen from the sky has touched the Earth. Gifting the king and queen of the Omatikaya their beautiful sunshine child. 

That is what the story says of course. 

“He is beautiful…” Jake Sully, King of the Omatikaya kingdom, gently coos at his believed son. Beside him was his queen, his love, and mother of their golden child, neytiri. 

“He is perfect,” Neytiri smiles as she rubs her nose gently against their sons button nose. He gives light giggles in satisfaction. Their son, their beloved child. A gift from the sun. His beautiful golden curly hair, bright blue eyes that can rival the sky. And his smile, so radiant and infectious. Their son, the kingdom's golden prince. 

Wrapped in the finest silk with embroidery intricately designed to that of the sun. The young baby was very much  snuggled in great comfort. 

“My lord, my lady, it is time” tsu’tey, their closest friend and top chief of the Omatikaya army, tells them. 

“Come on, we dont want to keep our people waiting” jake gently leads his wife towards the top balcony that oversees their people. 

“Yes my love, our people shall know of our sunny prince,” Neytiri says while she boops her baby’s nose. 

“Have you chosen a name for him?” tsu’tey asks as he follows closely behind. Neytiri chuckles as she shares a look with jake. 

“Spider, we chose to call our son, spider” 

The people cheered and roared out in happiness once the royal couple had presented their son. Many were in awe at how such an adorable child could ever exist. Truly a gift blessed from their sun. 

Many threw flower petals, confetti, horns blowing out, little children waving their flags. The crowd was booming with noise. All eyes on the prince. Including one set of icey blue eyes. Glaring at the royal family. 

No one noticed him. All too busy celebrating. A tall menacing man with a dark cloak to hide his face. The man glared with hate. Just how dare they? 

How dare the king and queen lie to their people? How dare they lie that their ‘son’ was a gift from their light above? How dare they lie and say the boy belongs to them? Lies, all lies. 

But Quaritch knows the truth. That baby, the child the royal couple holds is his son. His blood! His ‘wife’ was a foolish woman. Giving away their child to the royals. She is at fault in this mess too! Too bad she is dead otherwise quaritch would have given her a piece of his mind. But it is not too late. Good thing he still remembers the ins and outs of the palace. After all, he used to be their top chief. The king’s once right hand man. Now replaced by that snarky brat. 

Quartich will have his revenge soon enough. He will have his son back one way or another. 

Night came, and silent as an owl, quaritch entered the royal bedroom without a squeak. Quietly and effortlessly he passed by the couple who were sleeping soundly. Beside them was the cradle where HIS son was sleeping. The cradle was elegantly crafted with golden trims and plush pillows. Only a few days old and he is being spoiled rotten. Cant have that. 

Grabbing his scissors, quaritch goes for the baby’s golden locks. His hair will be a dead give away if anyone finds him. However, just cutting a small strand, the piece of hair turned dark brown and the baby began to cry. 

There was no time. 

When Jake and Neytiri awoke to the cries of their child, they were too late. 

In their eyes, a dark hooded figure stood at the balcony with their baby in his arms. Before Jake can reach him, the hooded figure jumps off and into the dark forest. 

Neytiri cried, not believing what just happened. Jake was quick to call out the night guards. Alarms were sounded, tsu’tey was quick to gather his army to search for the thief who stole their sun.

18 years later 

“Get your ass over here!” Z-dog, a professional female thief, growls at the little brat who seems to be taking his sweet ass time. Opening the top trap door that led  straight down to the golden crown that was heavily guarded. Lyle, her partner in crime, was also getting impatient. 

“Just a sec….wow……this view is nice, very nice…..guys I want my own castle” a young boy spoke. Age 14 and already making a long list of crimes against the kingdom. This will be the biggest one yet. 

“When we do this job, you can have you own castle” lyle grits his teeth as he yanks lo’ak back to the missions. Tying the rope on his waist, they lower lo’ak down to the crown room. 

Quickly he shoves the gold crown into the satchel until one of the guards sneezes loudly. 

“Ugh, day fever?” lo’ak asks. 

“Yeah” the guard answers casually. Until he realized what just happened. Looking up, he and the other guards saw lo’ak being pulled back up and quickly make a run for it. 

“What a great day to be aliiiiiiiiiiiiive!!” lo’ak shouts as he, z-dog and lyle run across the bride that connects the forest and the kingdom. 

The three ran fast at top speed. They already knew the royal guards were on their way to hunt them down. Capital punishment awaits them. tulkun might get some leeway. He really only wanted adventure, but for sure he does not want to really suffer the consequences. 

As they ran for it, they halted to a dead end. Hearing the soldiers nearing, acting quick was needed. 

“Give me a boost and I will pull you both up,” Tulkun said in a hurry. 

Z-dog and lyle looked at each other and then at him. 

“Give us the satchel first” z-dog says as she reaches for it. 

Looking quite offended, Tulkun places a hand over his chest, “I cant….after all we have been together, you guys still dont trust me?” 

Dead looks was all he was given. 

“Ouch” 

He gives the satchel to z-dog and the three were quick to holl up lo’ak. Purposely stepping in z-dogs face as he reaches the top. 

“Now help us up, pretty boy” she demands while reaching her hand up. 

“Sorry, but my hands are full” tulkun smirks while holding the satchel and makes a run for it. 

“What the- TULKUUUUUUUUUUN!!”

That was close, way too close for tulkun’s liking. Tsu’tey was close to seeing his face. If he did then its game over. For now, he will have to lie low, no doubt his family will be worried to death about him. His parents are way too protective. They will be even more once he gets back. Not something he looks forward to. 

For now, he found a little cave that was actually a little entryway to a tower. How long was that there? 

Not giving much thought he was quick to climb the tower and shut the doors[?] windows. Finally being able to be at peace, he opens the satchel to see the golden crown. Sighing in relief. 

“Hello at last-” 

Darkness was all he saw. 

“Who are you and how did you find me?” 

Miles demanded to know from the young stranger. Tied to the chair, miles made sure his long dreads were enough to make sure the invader didn't escape. Who the hell was he to just climb into someone's tower unannounced? And talking to themselves? 

Father was right, there are crazy people out there. 

“Is this….all hair?” the stranger asked as he looked at his long dreads. 

“Hey! I asked you first! Answer!” miles shouts. Holding the pan tightly, he points it at the stranger. His little friend, payakan climbs on the pan, looking dead in the eyes of the stranger. 

“Is that a blue lizard…?” the stranger asks another question. Do all strangers keep on asking questions? 

“Hey! I get to ask questions here, not you! Got that?” Miles narrows his eyes trying to look as threatening as possible. The stranger rapidly shook his head agreeing. 

Miles starts to walk around the stranger while swinging his pan. 

“So stranger, have you come for my hair? Cut it? Sell it?” he begins to accuse. 

The stranger looks at him confused. 

“What? No! Look, I came here to hide because a horse is on my ass! And now I have to-wait wait! My satchel! Where is my satchel!?” 

Crossing his arms, confidently smiling, miles responds “I’ve hidden in, somewhere where you will never find it” 

The stranger looks to his left, “It's hidden in that pot, isn't it?” 

BANG! 

Tulkun woke up once again, this time feeling something wet in his ear. Turning he sees the weird blue lizard outstretching his long tongue in his ear. Feeling grossed out, he shouts, “STOP THAT!!” startling the lizard. 

“Now I’ve hidden it somewhere you’ll never find it” the weird boy says. 

“Now back to the main question, how did you find me?” the boy asks again. 

“Look, in all honesty, I was running through the forest ok? I have an army at my ass and a horse! Just give me the crown back and I will leave. Alright?” tulkun replies honestly. 

The weird boy, or guy since he looks older, stares at him confusingly. 

“Wait, you don't want my hair?” he asks. 

“Why on earth would I want your hair? Actually, why do you even want your hair this long? Don't you have a knife or scissors in this place?” 

The weird guy didn't say anything. Walking away at some distance to talk to his blue lizard friend. Whispering some stuff he couldnt make out. However, using that time to try and free himself. No use, the guy tied him up pretty dang good. 

“Alright, it seems you are saying the truth. Now to important matters, look over here” the guy says as he shifts his hair for the chair to move, making him land on his face.

Lifting a curtain aside, the boy reveals a beautiful painting on top of an empty chimney. It showed a dark blue sky with lanterns floating up in the sky. 

“Do you know what these are?” the guy asks. 

“The lanterns? Yeah, they do that for the lost prince” tulkun says automatically. No real emotion behind it. Holding in his indifferent feelings for that specific day. His face is starting to hurt against the floor. Trying to push himself up, he couldn't hear what the guy said. Until suddenly he was being lifted up. 

“I have a deal I want to make,” the weird guy said. 

Take him to see the lanterns and in return he gets the crown back. No big deal. Seems simple enough. Except for one thing. 

“WOOOOHOOOOOOOO!! 

“What have I done?” 

“I LOVE THS!!” 

“What if he finds out??” 

“I DONT CARE!!” 

“I am horrible” 

“I FEEL GREAT!!” 

“I'm going back, i'm a horrible son” 

“I AM NEVER GOING BACK!!” 

Tulkun didn't think he would also be a babysitter. Damn, and he thought his sister was terrible with mood swings. This weird guy clearly is older than him yet acts just like his baby sister who is 3. 

After what felt like centuries, the weird guy calms down but not in high spirits. 

“It seems you seem to be in turmoil. Look, it does seem a lot. But from the bits I heard, it seems you got a protective father, leaving without telling, talking to a stranger whom you never met and now going somewhere that you need to rely on said stranger to get there. This is pretty serious stuff you know” 

The weird guy just stares at him. 

“Part of life you know. Kinda late but it seems you are going through what I like to call “fuck the rules” phase. Personally I hope it's not a phase. Normal stuff” tulkun continues to say while simultaneously shoving the blue lizard off his shoulder. 

“Really…?” the guy asks. 

“Yup, but this might make your dad upset. Hell, break his heart and crush his soul even. But its fine” 

“Wait, you are gaslighting me aren't you” the weird guy was picking up on what tulkun was trying to do. 

“I tried” tulkun answered honestly. 

“No, we are going to see those lights,” the weird guy says, standing up for himself. 

“Oh yeah? What I don't want anymore?” tulkun mocks him. 

“I will use this” the pan was pointing at him again. 

“Ugh, fine” 

“Miles” 

“Hm?” 

“My name is miles. I forgot to tell you my name earlier” miles says. 

“Oh nice….” 

“What is your name?” miles asks. 

“......its tulkun” 

Miles heard that slight hesitation. Perhaps its not his real name. 

“Cool, this is payakan. My one and only friend” 

Payakan stands on miles’s left shoulder, glaring at tulkun. 

“He really doesnt like me, does he?” tulkun eyes at the reptile. 

“Eh, he will warm up to you. Now, what was that place called again?” miles claps his hands, getting a little hungry. 

“It's called recom port. Best steaks and cold drinks. Hits the spot all the time. And the folks there are super friendly” tulkun says. Smirking inwardly. Surly that place will scare miles back to his little tower. 

Wherever miles goes, tulkun can't help but notice how it was so easy to bring in people. The recom outcasts were super friendly towards him! And they hated tulkun! The hell?! Even worse, miles managed to have them all sing for hours non-stop. Tulkun is just so done. He wants the crown and go back home. Screw with whatever punishment his dad will give him. He can take it. 

Even worse since miles somehow tamed that demon of a horse. 

“Awe, such a good girl aren't you….zeze!” miles coos at the light blue horse. Reading the collar the fowl beast has. 

Zeze was wagging her tail like some dog. Ready to comply with whatever miles tells her. 

“You cant be serious, that thing is capable of murder!!” tulkun tries to reason with miles. 

“Did she kill?” 

“Umm…no but I wouldn't doubt it!

Miles rolls his eyes and continues to pet zeze. 

“Look, we are tired from walking and zeze seems to have a lot of energy. Why not ride her the rest of the way? It's a win-win. What do you think, big girl? Want to blow off some steam?” Miles suggests to the hell beast who neighs in agreement. 

“Oh you have got to be kidding me” tulkun rolls his eyes. He would rather walk on hot rocks than deal with her. 

“Come on, it will be easier. Look, I can tell you both dont get along but please just until we get to the lights? Please?” miles pleads. 

Zeze seems to side with him, offering her hoof, she and tulkun shake in agreement. 

“Wonderful! Now lets get on!” miles says happily as he climbs on zeze. Payakan sitting on zeze’s head getting a good view and tulkun sits behind miles. 

“Have you ever rode on a horse before?” tulkun asks. 

“Nope, first time! HIYAH!” 

Zeze takes off, letting the winds hit their faces and excitement filling their lungs. 

It was amazing! Miles has never seen this many people before! And they all live together in smaller yet wider towers? So cool! And the food! So delicious! More books to read, new music to listen to. It was so perfect. 

A kind lady even gifted him a small flat with a sun design and a flower. He admires the pretty flower until he sees other people laying their flowers in front of an interesting mural.

“It's for the lost prince” a child says to their baby sibling. 

Lost prince? 

Miles takes a good look at the mural. There stood two proud looking people. A man and a woman, wearing fancy looking clothing. In the woman's arms was a baby. A child who is smiling and have lovely golden hair and blue eyes. 

“Poor baby…” miles mutters. He places his flower on the base of the mural. Whoever the baby is, hopefully he comes back to his family soon.

Night came and tulkun managed to get a small boat for them to the surrounding moat. The lanturn festival was about to begin. Tulkun look to see miles not smiling anymore. 

“Hey, you ok..? Feeling excited?” he asks. 

“Feeling kind of terrified actually…” miles confesses. 

Tulkun tilts his head, “how come?” 

“All my life, for as long as I can remember I look at my window and see beautiful stars in the sky. Always wondering what they were. And here I am, about to see the truth….I'm scared to be disappointed” 

Tulkun, understanding his new friend, places an arm over his shoulder. 

“Nothing wrong with being disappointed. In the end, you will get to see what is more than the stars as you call them” 

Miles smiles a bit, “and what if they are? What then?” 

“That is the fun part I guess. It opens a path for a new journey” 

Neytiri straights jake’s outcoat, making him presentable. Her eyes meet his. Sadness and sorrow are all there is. No words are needed to be said. She knows. What is supposed to be a joyous day has now become a sad tradition for all. 

They meet their children on the balcony, all holding their own lanterns. Yet, neytiri and jake notice their third son is missing. It was just putting more salt on the wound. 

Taking the lead, they light up their lantern and together they let it go. The royal children followed. Moments after, all of the kingdom let go of their lanterns. The darkened sky now filled with lanterns, all goes at their own pace. 

Neytiri and jake hold each other close while holding their children. Their hopes depleting each year. The hope that one day, their first child would return home. That hopefully their son would find these lanterns and use them as a guide back to them. 

But its been 18 years. A grown adult by now. 

They make sure their children know of their big brother, and how he would have loved each and everyone of them. Their children never doubted that. 

“He will come home this time, right mama….?” The first princess asks her mother as she stares at the lanterns. Every year she asks the same question. Every year, neytiri answers the same thing. 

“He must” 

Miles was in awe. The lanterns were so beautiful! Each one was different yet all burned brightly. 

“I finally know the truth…” he says. 

Tulkun hears this……

“Lo’ak” he speaks. 

“Hm?” 

“My real name is Lo’ak, tulkun was just a disguise name…” lo’ak admits. 

“Why?” miles asks, curious to know. 

“My family….well my parents to be precise. Are very protective. Like super protective. Cant go anywhere without someone spying on me or my siblings…” lo’ak says with what sounds like defeat in his voice. 

“You see….I have an older brother and two younger sisters. My parents however, had a son before my big brother neteyam. Spider was his name. My parents said he was only 3 months old before a dark cloaked guy took him away. They never knew who he was or why the stranger took him. That night traumatized them for life. Dont get me wrong, it is sad. He would have been 4 or 5 years old by the time I was born. Its just….” lo’ak couldn't continue. 

“So that is why you are rebellious…wanting to get out of their tight hold. Needing to breathe and just take risks for the fun of it” miles finishes for him. 

Lo’ak looks at miles’s long hair. 

“Yeah…but what about you? You never told me why you lived in that tall, isolated tower” lo’ak asks, wanting to change the subject. 

“My dad….he too is overprotective. Growing up, he tells me all of the dangerous things that happen outside of the tower. Baby stealing ghouls, men with sharp teeth, diseases, blood sucking monsters. I was terrified. But in reality…he kept me there because of my hair…” 

Miles moves his dreads to the side to reveal a short dark strand of hair. 

“My hair….is what is keeping me alive. If cut, it affects my health. He doesn't know why, niether do I but…something like that, it has to be protected” 

“So….you never left that tower?” lo’ak was astounded. Miles, a grown adult at this point, has never seen what life has to offer? 

Miles nodded. 

“And you still want to go back…?” 

Miles looked to be contemplating on that question. But before could be said, near the dock was two unpleasantly familiar people.

“There, it will be just like it never happened” his dad says. 

Miles was back at the tower. Any traces of him being outside was gone. Lo’ak left him and took the crown. Leaving him vulnerable to two dangerous strangers who wanted to cut his hair for higher value. If it wasn't for his dad finding him, who knows what could have happened. 

“Hey, I will make that coup you like so much, that will lift your spirits up” his dad was exiting his room. 

“Look son, I know it seems unfair but you have to understand. Not everything is bright and good. Terrible people who sees any trace of goodness, they will destroy it no matter what” with that, he goes downstairs. 

Leaving miles alone. He stares at the paintings he has done on the ceiling. Why do they look familiar? 

Pulling out the little flag he still kept, he compares the sun to the familiar shapes. 

“What the…?” why do his painting have the sun symbol? 

Suddenly, he got a massive headache. 

Memories of a past he didn't know he had came flooding in. 

“WAIT WAIT DAD!! YOU DONT GET IT!!” lo’ak shouts as he tries to fight back his uncle figure tsu’tey. The other night he was knocked out by z-dog and lyle, tying him on a canoe with the crown. Now being punished, he was to be sent to a neighboring kingdom as a form of punishment for stealing a royal crown.

Jake, having had enough of his son's lies, false promises, and fake sympathy, didnt want to hear him anymore.

“Hopefully this will teach you a lesson son. You knew how important that crown was. Stealing was the last straw "Jake says. His family beside him, none wanting lo’ak to go but it was necessary.

“NO!! YOU DONT GET IT!! THEY TOLD ME!! HE IS ALIVE!! DAMN IT!! IM SORRY UNCLE!!” with a quick hit with his head, lo’ak managed to free himself from tsu’tey. Acting fast he made a run for it.

“ZEZE!!” he calls out. The majestic yet beastly horse answers his call, he climbed onto her.

Tsu’tey calls his soldiers to follow lo’ak, his family yelling to come back. “HE IS ALIVE!! SPIDER IS ALIVE!!” was all lo’ak said before zeze ran faster, heading straight to the forest. This whole time, this whole time! His big brother is alive!! He has a lot to make up for right now, lo’ak needs to get him out of the tower and away from the stranger miles calls ‘father’.

There was so much blood. Miles didnt know how to heal him. He wanted to save lo’ak, save him, tell him of his newfound revelation! Yet his dad has him tied to chains like some feral animal. 

“That is enough! You are going somewhere far more hidden! Somewhere where you won't even see the sunlight!” his father says. Miles can hardly recognize him anymore. All he sees is a scary, tall man who sees miles as some golden item rather than a human being. 

Yet miles fought back, as best as he could. Lo’ak is dying,he needs to do something! 

“Let me heal him please!” miles begs. Tears ran down his face. 

“Let me heal him, and you and I will be together. Just like we always have. Please dad, let me save him” 

His dad saw lo’ak laying still, thinking he won't last long. He ties a chain to his ankle, just incase the brat gets any ideas of following them. Miles was quick, panicking but doing his best to close the wound. 

“Miles…” lo’ak whispers weakly, “dont…I can let you…” he tries his hardest to say, 

“I cant let you die…” miles whispers, more tears falling out. 

Lo’ak gets closer as if to tell miles something, however, in a surprise move, he cuts miles hair. 

“Lo’ak!! What did you…!!” his was was quick to turn a dark brown, his dreads also losing their golden color. 

“NO!!! WHAT DID YOU DO?! DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT YOU HAVE DONE!?” the mad man shrieks. In a hurry he tries to collect the hair, not carrying where he is stepping. He tangles himself in the dreads, unknowingly wrapping himself. In a daze he trips. 

Over the tower’s window. 

Falling to his death. His screams are now silent. 

Miles couldn't comprehend what just happened. Yet he had to focus on lo’ak. 

“Im sorry….brother….” lo’aks arms went limp, his eyes closed. 

“No no no!! Stay with me lo’ak! Please!!” miles cries out loud. Now he truly is alone. No friend, no father, no one. Just himself. He lets his tears fall on lo’aks wound. 

“Please save him…!! I beg you!! Save him!!” miles didnt know to who he was calling to. To himself? To some holy being? Perhaps he was already losing his mind now that he lost his golden hair. Or perhaps, not all is lost…

Bright light flooded the tower from the outside. Its light radiating warmth, reminds miles that of the lanterns. Bright yet gentle. It was like being swaddled in a blanket. The light surrounded him and lo’ak. His hair, although now messy, its golden color returned. The light touches lo’ak’s wound, sealing it, healing him. 

Just as it has appeared, the light has dispersed. As if it never did. 

Holding in his breathe, miles looks over at lo’ak, hoping to see something. 

A cough was heard, more coughs, and a scruff. 

“Oh fuck…did I hit something?” Lo’ak asks as he sits up. 

Miles shouts in happiness. Hugging lo’ak tightly, he says his thanks to the mysterious light that saved his friend. His brother. 

Quickly, neytiri and jake along with their children make haste to the balcony where tsu’tey said was where he was waiting. 

They all hold hands tightly, reassuring one another that this is real, its not a dream. 

Opening the doors, they see lo’ak. Beside him was someone jake and neytiri thought they would never see. 

A young, tall man with short yet very familiar golden hair stood before them. Wide, sparkly blue eyes that can rival the sky. His familiar smile, his aura radiant of warm happiness. This is him. 

“Spider…” neytiri whispers, getting closer to him. Touching his cheeks, his hands, his ears, hair, everything. 

“It is you…my spider, my son” she confirms. A mother could never mistake her child. 

Hugging him close, she cries out in joy. Jake followed soon after her. Holding his son after so many years. Kissing his head, hearing his heartbeat. Their son has returned. 

“You did find him…” jake says to lo’ak. 

Lo’ak smiles, joining in the hug, not saying much as to let his parents have this moment. 

“Come come my children, meet your big brother! He is home!” neytiri gestures her three other children, neteyam, kiri and tuk. The three join in one massive group hug. 

This is what miles, or now, spider, wanted. To feel truly loved. This is his family, may take some time getting used to, but spider truly felt at home with them. For they are warm and radiant, like that of the sun. 

Aaaaaaaaaand that is it for this one! Hope you all liked it! Until next time! See ya!

[marinerainbow]

Tagging: @slashingdisneypasta

Nobody asked, I just felt like posting this.

WFRR Characters as humans

Please note, I am not great at physical descriptions. This would be so much easier if I could draw xD I'm trying to be as descriptive as I can without dragging on too long. I hope I'm successful.

Roger Rogers (Roger Rabbit)

Yes, he has and will joke about his last name. He stands at about 5'1, and was born 1921 (26 years old in the events of the film), and is a lanky man with the flexibility of a wacky inflatable tube man. Roger still sticks to more loose, casual clothes similar to his toon counterpart. His nose is round and a little red, looking almost like a button ^^ though he is white (not overly pale. Might even have a slight tan. I'm not too sure). And yes, he still has his buck tooth, along with a head of fluffy orange hair. And I'm giving him freckles.

Jessica Rogers (Jessica Rabbit)

Honestly, Jessica looks pretty much the same as her toon self. With more realistic proportions, of course. She is 6'1 and was born in 1917 (30 years old). And above all, she still adores her short king, and feels loved by him everyday ^^

(I feel bad for not giving Jessica so much of a description, but she's the only adult humanoid looking toon, and I can't imagine her looking any other way as a human)

Herman 'Babyface' Douglas (Baby Herman)

A short, pudgy man. His exact height is 4'11, and was born 1897 (50 years old). Though he'll claim he's younger than he is. His skin care routine does help him look younger though, hence his nickname (don't expect him to tell you his secrets though), and how he can get roles usually reserved for younger actors. His hair is a bright strawberry blonde, but thinning, so he tries to style it in ways that make it look fuller. His eyes are still a bright blue. Herman prefers dressing in more expensive suits and coats (bro literally had a thick fur coat in one short), to show off his wealth and trying to make himself look better than everyone else.

Benjamin 'Benny' Brown (Benny the Cab)

(His initials are BBB like the now bankrupt store-)

I actually imagine Benny as an African American. He is 5'10 and was born in 1891 (56 years old. He said he was a cab for 37 years in the film, so that would mean he would've started, at most, when he was 19 in the human AU). He has short, kind of choppy black hair and dark brown eyes. He also has a scruffy goatee. Benny possesses a more muscular build, though it's mostly hidden by his jacket, so he just looks like a generally big guy (yes, he does perform his own maintenance on his car).

Anderson 'Andy' Winston (Smartass Weasel)

(If this guy was in the modern era, he'd get so sick of all the Toy Story jokes)

Standing at exactly 5'0, this New Yorker was born in 1912 (35 in the events of the film). He has a skinny frame, though broad shoulders, and is fairly strong for his size (he literally punched Eddie so hard he twisted around and doubled over the bar counter. Smarty has to have some strength, right??). He has olive skin, chestnut brown eyes, and actually has a bit of red in his hair. It's not too noticeable unless you're really looking, so he's not a red head like Jessica is. Also has a tooth gap! He cant grow facial hair though, even though he wants to (he wants a nice mustache. But can't grow one)

Miguel Rodriguez (Greasy Weasel)

His height is 5'9, and he was born 1909 (38 years old). He's got skinny arms and hands, which only makes his wandering hands feel just a bit more creepy on your skin (look at his hand/arm when he rolls his sleeve up! Not to mention how his sleeves hang off of him. Somebody put meat on those arms), though he's got a more curvy body with a bit of a belly too. I also imagine he's got a darker skin tone, and can grow scruffy facial hair if he forgets to shave. And he applies hair oil partially because his black hair is actually really curly (the tips curl up despite the hair oil? That's got to be some serious curl strength there). His eyes are a really dark brown, almost black, but in the light you can see the color.

Francis Green (Wheezy Weasel)

Yes, his last name is meant to be ironic. His height is 6'2, and he was born right at 1900 (47 years old). Kind of skinny, but you can see the sinewy muscle as well, hinting to his own strength. He looks pretty sickly, and has blemishes all over his body (he was a picker before becoming a smoker). His eyes are a slate blue, and he has ash blonde hair. Unlike Greasy, he rarely shaves, so he's got a rough, scratchy beard too, and yellow teeth from his smoking habit. I also see him having a more crooked nose shape.

(Honestly just imagine Bill Moseley and you'd get what I imagine human Wheezy would look like).

Charlie Renfield (Psycho Weasel)

(his last name may or may not be a reference to a certain Dracula character)

Psycho here is 5'3, and was born 1919 (28 years old). He has a skinny, angular build. No curves to be seen. Similar to Wheezy, he's got a sickly pale skin tone, and has scars and blemishes along his body from being careless and actively picking and scratching at himself. His most prominent scars are two on the corners of his lips from the times he's carried his razor in his mouth (he actually did do that in the movie. He's so lucky he's a toon). He's got a big head of fluffy, dark brown hair. Not curly necessarily, just... Poof. Also, he has split heterochromia; his right eye is blue, and his left eye is yellow (I know partial heterochromia would be more accurate to his swirly eyes, but I like the complete split more).

Thomas 'Tommy' Winston (Stupid Weasel)

This big lug is 6'4, and was born 1922 (25 years old). He is pretty chubby and has a round face, though don't let the plushness deceive you; that isn't just fat that makes him huge. He's got pretty big hands, especially (even as a weasel, he had huge hands! You guys saw his hand when he flipped the switch to the DIP machine too, right?). He also has olive skin, though it's more tanned as well, and he has freckles ^^ also has a deeper red hair color than Andy does, and it is more wavy than his too. I'm debating on whether or not he'd have brown or green eyes (everyone else has brown, blue, or yellow eyes. Green would complete the set). His buck tooth is still here, though smaller because human teeth.

Bonus! Sophie O'Brian (Poppy O'Hare)

(Yes, my OC. Technically I already made a post for Poppy, but I didn't really like how I wrote it. So this is take two. Hopefully I feel better with this one 😅)

Pops is the shortest of all, standing at 4'10. And was born 1920 (27 years old). She has pale, porcelain skin- though has developed some worry lines along her eyes- and big, bright brown eyes. I'm still having trouble deciding whether or not she has glasses, even for her toon self. But for her human self, I'm gonna say she only needs glasses when reading; any other time, you won't see her with a pair. She has a thinner, but still feminine build that she prefers to keep hidden under her clothes. Her hair is wavy and black, and reaches just under her chin.

(Hm... Honestly, when thinking of actors for human Poppy to look like, I keep thinking of Anya Taylor Joy. I'm not too sure about it though).

I hope you guys liked reading this ^^

[safetycar-restart]

Hybrid piarles!!!! They’re so sweet and so cuddle and Pierre is so protective over his pack!!!! Because that’s what reader and Charles are; his pack! Also I want Pierre to cuddle me he just looks like he gives good cuddles he’s so broad and muscly and I’m a simp but I also just- I need cuddles so bad I’m so touch starved and now this has turned into me just being lonely…

Anyways Charles is always so soft and snuggly, but mommy must always be in the middle because mommy must be safe and must get snuggles and must be warm and happy always! And whenever he gets tense his ears go straight up so reader and Pierre have a routine of massaging his ears every evening. I’m so sorry I’m so tired and it’s been a long day and I know this doesn’t make sense.

-💍

Don't worry this makes complete sense!! I love these so much.

Firstly, yeah Pierre sees you and Charles as his pack. To him, as long as you and Charles are safe and happy then he's good. He almost hoards you two? In fact no, he definitely hoards you two.

Especially if he's feeling particularly stressed? Then he really needs to know his pack is happy and safe. He'll have a bad day and when he gets home he'll just haul you and Charles to the bedroom and fetch everything you two could need. He doesn't want you two stepping out of the room, wants to know his mates are happy and safe and comfortable.

And he is made for hugs!! His chest is the comfiest place on earth, you and Charles are both convinced. Bunny needs at least one hug a day during a race weekend to be able to function, but preferably multiple hugs.

Oh and when Pierre hugs you and Charles, he wraps his tail around you too? Like he just wants to make sure that you and Charles are don't move away. He'll also use his tail to keep you two close in public, he'll have his arm wrapped around one of you and his tail around the other.

You and Charles find his protectiveness amusing, but you both also love it so much. Especially Charles. He's just a little bunny and LOVES that there's this strong wolf hybrid looking after him and his mommy.

And yes Charles is SO snuggly! He requires all the snuggles! Every single snuggle for bunny! All of them!

He especially loves you and Pierre stroke and massage his ears, that always turns him into a puddle of very happy bunny. He'll literally just bonk his head against your hand if he wants scratches, not even bothering to talk. He'll also plonk himself down with his head on your lap, his cute little nose twitching as he pushes his head into your hands, smiling and requesting scratches. He's so damn cute.

I love the idea that charles's ears go straight up when he gets stressed? You know how people sometimes say to relax your shoulders or unclench your jaw? You and Pierre are always having to remind charles to relax his ears or else he'll have such sore ears that night.

Though it should be noticed that only you and charles can tell him to do that, literally no one else. He'll hiss at anyone else who tells him that, but with you and Pierre he just blushes and bonks his head against your shoulder, a silent request for an ear massage.

I love the idea that you or Pierre massage his ears every night?

Maybe that's something that's recommended for all bunny hybrids, the same way brushing your hair or teeth is recommended. It's something that keeps their ears strong and healthy and prevents muscle seizures (angst: arthur doesn't do this and his ears have curly hair and they're always cramping).

You start to massage charles's ears after a scene one night, when he was clearly too tired to do it himself and he LOVED it. From then on, if you or Pierre were around then you must do it for him. He's your little bunny! You must look after him!! And his cute ears!!

(Sidenote: Pierre sometimes calls charles 'bun' instead of 'bunny' when he's fucking him and i don't know why but this felt like very important information)

[unpopularwriter25]

hey!!! so Ive come across a few of your matchups, and was wondering if I could request for one!    info  

My name is Brielle, first off. brie for short!! :D (pronounced 'BREE-EL')    appearance: i dont really know how to describe my skin tone. it's like a honey-bronze, I think? im black and Mexican, but my father is a light skinned black so im not that dark in colour, and my mom is a light skinned Mexican. idk im just tan lol. 

I have dark brown eyes and im pretty sure their almond shaped, and I have naturally curly lashes. my eyebrows are short and have an itty bitty arch at the end 

my nose has a bridge, but its not bulky at all, its just kinda there.  

my lips are bow shaped. 

I have like... no shoulders. :') 

im not slim or skinny, but im also not overweight. im like.. average ig 

I think I'm a pear body shape 

im a curly girly!! im a 3a. my hair color is like a medium brown. I have natural light brown and blonde highlights, and I have a few red undertones. it falls just under my shoulders when curly, but is to my bust when straightened.

I have freckles on my cheeks and on my hands. my hands are soft (as ive been told) and my fingernails grow fast, but I bite them because of my anxiety so their usually short. 

personality: im a 100% extrovert!!! im very social and loveee talking to others!! like, I scream in public regularly. im also very sensitive. if I see someone cry, I cant help but sob with them. when I get frustrated or angry, tears. its not embarrassing to me though. I think being open with your emotions is very important!!! I also adore to laugh. like alot. ive been told that im kind of a doormat for people I have soft spots for, but for the most part im super vocal about my opinions and im strong with my vocabulary and choice of words. im normally an overall goofy and silly person, but when something serious, or something im passionate about comes up, serious brie comes alive!! I have low self esteem, and get kinda bashful when receiving compliments.. im an over thinker for sure. i overanalyze random stuff cus yes. anxiety sucks man. im also moody. one day ill literally be depressed and hate myself, the next day im smiling and cheerfully skipping around. (hey, skipping is fun, ok?) I'm super talkative- which im sure you figured out by now, haha. im also kinda jumpy cus anxiety. im bad at decision making and get overwhelmed with it.  

hobbies: I like writing. more specifically, creative writing. I love being descriptive and stuff. I love readinggggg!!!!!! books r life . im a strong believer of God and a proud Christian. I like chatting to people, i like watching tv shows, and I love music. OH. how could I forget? my passion is musical theatre. im in love with the stage and being silly on it! im a certified triple threat. Singing dancing and acting are some of my talents. though singing is probably my specialty.  

dislikes: i hate ignorant and illiterate individuals. they make me furious. I also dont like when people overcomplicate things... like bro why??? I also will NOT tolerate homophobia, racism, transphobia, or any sort of hatred. I also hate when people make fun of others who are comfortable in their own skin, and are great at expressing themselves.

likes: I love, loVE, LOVEEEEEEE flowers. my favorites are roses. I love my blanket. I sleep with 9 of them :). nobody is EVER too old for the warmth of a soft blanket. I love physical touch, cant go without it! I randomly cling onto my friends. sometimes I give hugs out of nowhere, I hold hands with my friends alot. I even give them kisses... (on the top of their head, not on the lips lmao).. 

love language:i have alot. physical touch, WOA, and quality time. like I said earlier, I loveee physical touch. and I also love telling people how much I love them and love giving people praise, sometimes I randomly text my friends "iloveyouiloveyouiloveyouiloveyouuu" cus yesss. I also like spending time with people cus it makes our bond stronger and we can share so many more fun memories!! what I like receiving is mainly touch and also WOA. I blush kind of easily when my friends give me woa cus self esteem sucks lol. it also leaves a warm feeling in my heart when people say it to my face :) im gonna end it here cus ive been typing for like an hour lol. have a splendid day!!!! stay happy :)

-brie

Sorry for the delay! I hope you enjoy~!!

I ship with Gyomei Himejima!!

Gyomei is known for his deep compassion and kindness towards others, which aligns with your caring personality.

As the Stone Hashira, Gyomei possesses immense strength and is fiercely protective, providing a sense of security that you appreciate.

Both you and Gyomei value justice and empathy, sharing a strong stance against ignorance, overcomplication, and intolerance.

Gyomei’s backstory and emotional depth would resonate with your sensitive and emotional nature, fostering understanding and support.

Gyomei’s willingness to protect and his strength would align well with your love for physical touch and warmth from blankets.

Gyomei’s supportive nature would complement your extroverted and expressive personality, creating a balanced partnership.

Gyomei’s commitment to justice and protecting others would align with your vocal stance on important issues.

His calm and serious demeanor balances out your goofy and silly side, creating a harmonious dynamic.

Gyomei’s resilience and determination, as seen in his role as a Hashira, would be inspiring to you.

Both of you share a tendency to feel deeply and empathize easily with others’ emotions.

Gyomei’s spiritual nature and dedication to his beliefs might resonate with your faith as a proud Christian.

You both would likely provide mutual emotional support and understanding during times of emotional highs and lows.

Gyomei’s ability to communicate through actions and emotions complements your strong vocabulary and expressive nature.

Both of you would appreciate spending time together engaging in hobbies like reading, watching TV shows, and enjoying music.

Being with Gyomei could encourage personal growth, especially in areas of emotional resilience and deepening faith.

[curlysgirl0202]

HEAD CANNON STORY:

How Curly Bill and Johnny Ringo Would Respond When You Comfort Them...

We all need to be comforted, that's part of being alive. Even animals seek out comfort from one another.

Men like Curly Bill and Johnny Ringo tell themselves the only comfort they need is a ramera and a bottle of nose paint (whiskey). Traditional cowboys engaged in cuddling (yes these jackeroos were that lonely on a drive) and some men in the old west were involved with cross dressing to provide the illusion of a woman for the sake of comfort...Hard to believe...But remember, the wild west is often described as the lonely west...So receiving comfort wasn't as easy as it can be today. If you think you have difficulty finding a strong shoulder to cry on, imagine living back then so you get the picture. It was lonely...

So when Curly or Ringo are in need of something more than what a lady of the line can provide, they tend to shut down and pretend they're fine. They're not men to show emotion because like many men today, they saw it as a sign of weakness.

So when these two are down in the dumps, what will it take to comfort them and how would they respond to YOU providing comfort and cheer them up?

Curly Bill:

Curly Bill doesn't usually have too many bad days and he is looking to have fun most of the time. If one of his cowboys are mopish, Curly is more concerned about how they will mess up his good time. No need to get all sentimental; some women and whiskey are just what the doctor ordered. However the old cowboy does have his moments and he usually keeps it to himself. Cowboys don't receive counseling from anyone and they're a bunch of filthy dudes who just want to blow off steam.

When you first notice Curly Bill looking down, it's a concern for you because he's usually the one making everyone else laugh with his odd sense of humor and practical jokes. He likes to live in the moment most of the time. If you ask him, he'll tell you he's fine because he doesn't want you to think he's weak or that he can't solve his own problems. It's not so much that he doesn't want to trouble you, he's just not the type to be overly sentimental or sensitive. And why would old Curly be that way? He spent lots of time in chains or behind bars, stealing cows, getting drunk, gambling and spending his winnings on whiskey and caliquo queens. Whores don't ask too many questions... But they only provide so much..If he's got the funds, Curly can fall asleep with his head on her bosom and pretend there's something more. So, getting Curly Bill to admit to you that he needs some comfort would be as strange to him as it would be to you. But he likes you and when he's near you, he always feels a little better; as of there is a sense that everything will be alright when you're around. All it takes is your smile to get the old rustler to warm up.

So, like the lovely woman you are, you persist. Since he's told you he's fine, you back off with any more questions. That will only exacerbate things and you're the LAST person he wants to snap at for getting too nosey. Your approach with Curly will be different than with Johnny Ringo, who would never get tired of your concerns. And Curly Bill doesn't get annoyed for your concerns; in fact, a woman's genuine concern is priceless. Curly would get impatient and frustrated from too many questions.

First, you find out what Curly enjoys such as oatmeal cookies or apple pie (who doesn't love pie)? Then you ride out into town with a basket of your baked goods. When you see your cowboy, you wave from across the street and show the smile Curly Bill loves so much! He'll wonder what's in the basket.

"I know you've been a little down lately, Curly Bill," you begin. You smile up at him and his heart lifts. "I wanted to do something for you so I baked you some cookies." You shrug your shoulders and flip your hair with your free hand. Curly' eyes will grow wide with delight! Nobody cares about how he feels so having a beautiful woman like yourself actually take the time to bake something he loves would have Bill's head swimming.

You hand the basket to your cowboy and he's beaming from ear to ear and he's so moved by your kindness, he is at a loss for words! He shakes his head and continues smiling at you as you unfold the towel and show him a freshly baked batch of delicious and soft oatmeal raisin cookies.

"Well, ain't that mighty sweet!" He finally says. His heart is so full of joy at that moment that he suddenly forgets about his bad mood. He keeps smiling at you and you smile back, biting your bottom lip, which you do when you're feeling shy and it drives Bill crazy when you do that!

Curly Bill is so delighted by your gesture of kindness and he'll feel like you are the sweetest, kindest, tenderest and prettiest woman he's ever met. He won't be able to contain his happiness so don't be surprised if he places the basket of sweets down, cups your face with his big hands and kisses you gently. Your trembling will cause him to chuckle and flick his tongue like he does when he's amused by something. Not that he's pleased your nervous; he finds it adorable and endearing. Of course you're a little nervous... He's Curly Bill Brocious, King of the Cowboys and he's got quite the reputation for swift retaliation against those who hurt the ones he cares about.

"Well, do you want to try one?" You smile while playing with your hair.

Curly Bill smiles at you again and knows you want him to and since it's not everyday someone does something nice for this old cowboy, he takes one cookie and munches it. It's the most delicious oatmeal cookie he's ever had...He tells himself that because you're the one who baked them and you're the only person who ever cared about his feelings and you cared so much, you made something to make him smile so your cookies naturally taste better...They taste like your hugs which is something Bill can't get enough of.

"You baked these for me and my boys?" Curly asks. You shake your head and smile.

"No...Just you!" At that declaration, Bill is so overwhelmed by your sweetness, he takes you in his arms and holds you tight. His heart lifts when you wrap your arms around him and hug him tight. He then brushes your hair away from your face as the breeze keeps blowing it around... People walk by and stare at the both of you. Some whisper, "that's Curly Bill Brocious! He's a outlaw. What is that beautiful lady doing with him?" And Curly Bill has asked himself that same question over a dozen times.

Curly Bill will pick up the basket of freshly baked cookies and put his arm around you. While you walk together, he starts to speak. "You're real sweet," the big cowboy says. "Real sweet." He stops and looks at you. He still can't get over that you were so intent on cheering him up with one of his favorite things to eat! While walking together, Curly Bill will always feel great when he's with you. You overlook so much and he can't help but love you for that.

"Why are you so sweet?" He asks. "To me I mean? I ain't done nothing to raise your eyebrows!"

"Yes you have," you answer, kissing him on the cheek. Your spontaneous gestures of affection drive him wild. "I really like you, Curly Bill Brocious."

"Say that again...Soft on my shoulder. Say it real sweet.". You lean towards his ear, rest your head on his strong shoulder and whisper, "I really like you, Curly Bill Brocious."

Johnny Ringo:

When Ringo is having a tough time, it's tough to tell because he is usually morose. When his gang are busy drinking, laughing, flirting with prostitutes or gambling, Ringo is quiet. Sometimes Curly Bill will look over at his lieutenant and let his cowboys know to just let him be. Curly knows that when Ringo falls into his pit of depression, women seem to be the only thing to pull him out of it. And not just any woman; Ringo has his favorite rameras and although he's paying them for the illusion of their concern which is so gratifying, he'll pay double just to hear them say, "you be careful, senor Reengo.." Ringo never really believes they care, but those four words are among the sweetest he's ever heard.

So when it comes to cheering Johnny Ringo up, he'll be less impatient than Curly Bill when you ask what's wrong. Ringo would never think that you were being nosy or annoying. Your genuine concern for him makes Ringo feel like he's never felt before. He's very pleased you're not a wag tail and that when you compliment him or show you care, Ringo knows it is from your heart. Johnny Ringo doesn't want to trouble you. While Curly Bill is concerned about looking weak, Ringo simply doesn't want you to worry for him although he secretly loves it! Ringo doesn't want his darkness to corrupt you and he doesn't want to share with you how broken he really is. Not because he doesn't want to scare you off (although that's part of it), Ringo never wants to be anything but chivalrous with women. Women are the only beings that have ever showed him love and Ringo like Curly Bill, cannot go for long periods of time without the company of women.

Baking delicious sweets is definitely something Ringo would love and appreciate. For him, it wouldn't be enough to comfort him; he would want more...And to be fair, so would old Curly. Ringo would want to take you to his tent at the cowboy camp and hold you until he falls asleep. When he wakes, he'll want to know you're still there and that the dirty camp wouldn't sicken you. His misbehaving rustlers who would know to never upset you in front of Ringo...They know how Ringo is with women and how touchy he is when it comes to women. Ringo whole heatedly believes women are capable of driving demons out of him and it is only the comfort of a woman's touch that can awaken his dark spirit and let it stand in the light. For Ringo, he would do anything for a woman. Especially you because of your unbelievable kindness.

You decide to bake for him too. You learn that Ringo's favorite dessert is apple pie with a sweet crust. So you gather fresh apples and bake a pie just for him. While you're sprinkling extra cinnamon and sugar on top, you smile when you think about how Ringo will feel about your gesture.

Since Ringo doesn't really spend time with his own gang often, Curly Bill is the one he usually drinks with. Curly Bill knows how Ringo's darkness swells out of nowhere and although the cowboy king is concerned, he just figures Ringo will drink his way out of it or spend time with his favorite prostitutes either getting peeled like a bronc or just hold her while she strokes her dark hair. Ringo loves women with dark hair and dark eyes so it's no wonder he enjoys Mexican rameras; he can recall as a boy and hearing about Mexico and the beautiful women with their olive skin and he would dream about sweat glistening on their bosoms.

You know where Johnny Ringo stays from time to time; at an old shack that's been abandoned and often used by the Cowboys when they want a break from sleeping in tents. Or when it's raining. After your pie is baked, you pack it warm in a towel and put it into a basket to bring it to your cowboy. The shack the Cowboys occupy is just outside of town and is in walking distance. As you stroll away from town, you can't help but notice the plush, colorful wildflowers that seem to be bursting into a beautiful bloom that carpets the desert floor. The Palo Verde trees provide some shade while you walk to where Ringo is. Some monsoons came through Tombstone in the last few weeks so there are shallow ponds with water so clear, it dances on the surface and would be blinding if the bodies of water were a bit larger. You see the shack and a few cowboys are sitting in front smoking and drinking moonshine. You can hear their laughter as you get closer. Curly Bill sees you and calls for his lieutenant.

"Juanito!" The old cowboy declares. "Something real pretty and sweet to see you." Then he flicks his tongue, eyes the other cowboys and stands up to greet you. Curly Bill is protective of you because he thinks you're special and loves that his best friend has someone adore him and tolerate his bouts of sadness.

Ringo emerges from the shack and when he sees you, he's very pleased to see you, but embarrassed that you're seeing how he really lives. The last thing he wants is for you to look down on him as a lowly cowboy who never amounted to anything in his life except staring at a mule's ass while plowing a field or running off Mexican stock.

Your smile is so beautiful, it lifts his heart. The Clanton's, McClaury's, Stillwell and a few others smile at each other. Of course they're dying to hoot and howl at you, but wouldn't dare. Curly Bill would admonish them with a punch to the face or harsh threats, but Ringo is less predictable; he may shoot the idiot that shot his mouth off and made you feel scared. And it wouldn't matter how long you felt frightened; any sap head who bothered you is as good as dead. So they behave themselves as tough as it is. Ringo eyes his fellow rustlers and they rise and tip their hats to you and show you the upmost respect.

Curly Bill gestures to his gang to leave the two of you alone. They go back in the shack while Ringo moves toward you, wondering what is in your basket.

Ringo takes his hat off and holds it in his hands. The deadliest pistoleer can only be made weak by women. Especially you!

"Johnny," you begin. "I know you've been so down lately." You look to the ground and take a deep breath. "I wanted to do something to cheer you up so I..." You feel nervous and almost foolish, but you press on. Ringo looks at you with wide eyes.

"I know your favorite dessert is apple pie so I uh..." You giggle at your own anxiety. "I baked one for you!" You unwrap your freshly baked pie. It's still warm and the familiar and comforting aroma flood his nostrils and suddenly he feels the darkness slowly turn to light. A light that dances in your smiling and loving eyes; eyes that look up at him with such a sweet innocence, Ringo is surprised by his sudden light hearted feeling. He begins to smile and allow himself to feel the pleasure of the moment. With you around, there is no room in his heart for guilt and shame and he loves that you can provide that for him. His heart lifts and he suddenly sees that the sky seems a little clearer and bluer when you are around, he can smell the flowers over the usual horse shit and smelly cowboys he's used to.

Johnny looks at the pie you baked and then back at you. His eyes are wide with pleasure, but has a conservative and yet almost cautious half smile. He takes a deep breath and he beings to wonder what you looked like when you were making this dessert for him. He lets his mind wander for a few seconds and imagines you peeling apples, rolling out the dough and baking this just for him. That your intention was not to give this to anyone but him. He is taken aback that you do not seem to fear him the way most people do; the Earps and Doc Holliday and others have expressed their concerns to you and that Ringo is nothing but trouble. You ignore those warnings and allow Johnny Ringo is be who he is without shame or guilt. Some of the cowboys are looking out one of the broken windows and wondering if they'll get a peak at the two of you kissing! But Ringo is a gentleman borne so he is not going to lay a kiss on you in front of his gang like Curly Bill would. Not to say Curly isn't somewhat of a gentleman when he wants to be, but Bill seeks attention and admiration from his gang.

Johnny finally speaks. "I...Thank you, Y/N. I..." He stumbles over his words as he cannot find the right ones to fit what he is feeling. He wants to take you into his arms and shower you with affection and drive you to ectasy, but he's patient...While he tries to finish his sentence, you put your hand over his mouth and say, "you're welcome, Johnny!" Too moved to speak at all, Ringo drops to his knees and holds your body while his head is on your chest. He can't believe what you have done for him. Nobody seems to care about The Cowboys so receiving something this wonderful is as welcome as it is marvelous. Ringo feels a little intimidated; he's never had a woman in his life who cared so much about him and had genuine concern for him. He regards you as a priceless gift. He stands up and faces you. Your smile melts his heart and he takes your basket and puts on a nearby makeshift table Curly and the others made out of scraps of wood. He takes his Bowie knife and slices two pieces of pie. He tells you he's going indoors to get a few dishes, but you take your piece and begin eating it with your hands. Ringo can't help but smile because he thinks you're adorable. He too begins to eat his piece. When you are finished, the Clanton's ask if they can have a slice. You look at Ringo as if to say, "it's up to you!" And of course he is pleased that you show kindness to his cowboy companions. They may not be the smartest dudes around, but he's got an unbreakable bond with his red sash friends. While the other cowboys including Curly help themselves to the apple pie, Ringo takes you for a short walk.

"Well, he sure is lucky," Billy Clanton starts. "Pretty lady who makes sweet stuff."

"Yeah," Ike answers with a dreamy look in his eyes.

"That's what Juanito needs," Curly answers, shoving pie into his mouth. "I always said he needs a woman. A good one."

"Well, I am sure they'll finish off what's left. Not everyday we get a sweet present from a lovely lady like yourself. Johnny can feel his face grow warm and flushed. He feels calm and safe when you take his hand. "I hope I have bad days more often," he jokes before turning to you and holding you close.

[purplewritesstuff]

All I see around me, is everything I’m not. Conflicting ideologies, most of them, however no matter what the beauty standard is, you are not it. It laughs at you. It’s slim bodies but with curves, wavy hair but it shouldn’t frizz, colourful eyes but it can’t be just one shade, freckles but they can’t be too overcrowding, perfect, perfect, perfect but all natural. It is 12-year-old girls, crying at their undeveloped bodies, even though it’s not meant to look like an adult’s. Or kids who have developed faster, overwhelmed at the attention and the changes. It’s people not being comfortable in their skin, no matter what they are. It’s never being enough.

You’re 7, happy and blissful. You’re 10, excited at the double digits. You’re 11, growing, maturing. You’re 12, crying and thrust into things you are not ready for.

Curly, long lashes, a ‘perfect figure,’ a button nose, a perfect side profile, a nice jawline, defined cheekbones, a symmetrical face, clear porcelain skin, that’s projected onto you when all you want is to play on CoolMathsGames and go on playdates. You can’t, you have to grow up. Look at this 25 year old woman caked with make up and filters, why aren’t you like her? Why can’t you look as perfect? Because she isn’t real, and these unreachable, unrealistic standards degrade us.

Focus, focus, you are smart you are strong you are kind. Too bad that’s not what we’re looking for. You’re 14, it gets worse. People grow at different standards. Why is she so beautiful and why am I not? Why can she act that way and be loved but if I tried I’d be shunned and ‘annoying.’ Why do all the boys like her?

Boys…

Oh, boys. Now they’re the worst.

Don’t take it wrong not all of them. Not all of them but enough.

What do they see. Curvy figures, pretty faces, older caricatured faces that aren’t fit for girls their age. Belittle me on things I can’t change. Make me feel inadequate for the big tits and big butts that I am not. I’m not as pretty as her, and therefore I don’t deserve your attention. But when it’s time for a test or to hand in a worksheet, suddenly I’m a hotspot. Use me as a stimulus to build up to get the pretty girl to notice you. Use me, easy to talk to, to get to my friend.

How can I be happy? How can I be confident when I am slowly losing my innocence and realising I can’t compare to people and I can’t change that. When I realise the difference and the striking reason why. Those girls seem to effortlessly float over everything. I want what they have.

But for those girls, sometimes it’s not easy. I think it would be so easy if I were pretty, but they might not. Unwanted attention, being called rude names just for being themselves. Not knowing who’s true and who’s not. They want what others have.

I am worthless; I am in shambles. My brown skin, bleak eyes and dull hair isn’t what they want. My flat ass, my no tits, that’s not what they’re looking for. And when I fail, when he doesn’t like me, my mind seems to float over, no matter how many times I try to stop it, if it would have all been different if I looked like her. She’s effortless. She’s ideal. She’s not me. I’m not her and I never will be. So why can’t I reach that bar? I can never be her. I’m so sick of myself. And I try to be uplifting but that can’t always be. If I was more pretty, do you think he would like me? And I’m almost certain the answer is yes.

[phddis]

Intro Post

Hi, I'm Max (24, she/they, gmt+1), if you wanna plot with good old Charles like this post or send me a message xx

character’s full name: Charles Francisco Xavier character’s nickname: Professor X, old friend Age: 43 MBTI: infj zodiac sign: Aquarius powers: omega level telepathy

Physical appearance

Height: 1,78m Body build: lean, strong shoulder strength Shape of face: angular Eye color:  dark brown Glasses or contacts:  glasses when working, usually toys with it if not working Distinguishing marks: days old beard, kind eyes Predominant features: greasy hair Hair color: brown Type of hair: straight, curly at back of neck Hairstyle: often let down, strands stuck behind his ears, will sometimes tie it up when it gets too long Voice: clear and calm Physical disabilities: paraplegy (both legs paralyzed), needs a wheelchair to move around Usual fashion of dress: old man style Jewelry or accessories: always his Swiss watch on his right wrist, a hairtie next to it

Personality

Good personality traits: empathetic, generous, loyal Bad personality traits: manipulative, secretive, stubborn Mood character is most often in: tired but contempt Sense of humor: bright and sarcastic with his close friends Character’s greatest joy in life: knowing he was able to help others, no matter the way Character’s greatest fear: being responsible for someone's death Why? I don't think the worse would be the guilt, honestly, it might be the fact that other people's opinion about him could change Character is most at ease when: teaching, sleeping Most ill at ease when:  his team is off fighting, he has to debate in public with morons Enraged when: injustice happens under his nose Depressed or sad when: stuck in a loop about his past or hearing a student of the school talk about their own shitty past Priorities: the school aka all his kids' safety (he's a father of hundreds yes) Life philosophy: "you have to die a few times before you can really live" If granted one wish, it would be: for durable universal peace Why? so he could get a good night sleep once and for all Greatest strength: the fact he truly believes peace can happen between mutants and humans Greatest vulnerability or weakness: his kids Biggest regret: not opening the school earlier Biggest accomplishment: opening the school

Past

Hometown: New York Type of childhood: very privileged but also very lonely, would spend ages without seeing his parents and had no close relationship with them (or anyone for that matter); quite estranged from his childhood and doesn't like remembering it Pets: none Most important childhood memory: his last birthday celebrated with his father, right before his death Childhood hero: Noam Chomsky Dream job: owning an ice cream empire Education: went to Harvard and Oxford, got PHDs in genetics, biology and biophysics, as well as a doctorate in psychology

Present 

Current location: still his family mansion at Westchester, which he transformed into a sanctuary for mutants, he also has a flat near the Columbia University where he teaches thrice a week. Religion: atheist Occupation: Professor of genetics, advocate for mutant rights, Headmaster of his school of gifted kids Finances: wealthy as fuck

Family

Mother: Sharon Xavier Relationship with her: very conflicted, she was a violent woman who went through hardships, and Charles was often at the end of her wrath. Died alone and drowning in alcohol, she truly fucked him up Father: Brian Xavier Relationship with him: Charles' father died when he was still quite young, and the memories he has of him are pretty nice, He was one of Charles' childhood heroes and he made him fall in love with science Siblings: depends uwu Spouse: none Children: none that he knows of for the moment

Habits

Hobbies: reading/writing, playing chess,doing research Plays a musical instrument?  learned piano and cello as a kid Plays a sport? not really, does exercise when he has time though How he/she would spend a rainy day: either catching up on paperwork or gossiping with the kids in the common room Smokes: not anymore Drinks: has a few glasses of whatever's in his cabinet every day, used to get completely trashed during the day but had to stop, will get completely trashed whenever possible Other drugs: not anymore What does he do too much of? worrying What does he do too little of? sleeping, eating well, resting Usual body posture: leaned on his side, elbow on an armrest and chin resting in his palm

Thanks for taking the time to read everything!!

[goodboyriddler]

Anything with Pierre honestly if I think too much about him I immediately start to bark and drool

he really is my joker too anon, can't think about him too much for my own safety. thank u for giving me free range <3 i had to control myself i need him so bad fr

"Oh Heavens," Pierre looks up alarmed from the book he's been reading in his big armchair up until now. "My dear Countess, what are you doing?"

You smile innocently as you slowly drop yourself into his lap, and he gasps, tensing. Eyes going impossibly wide.

His thighs are thick enough to accommodate you comfortably and your arms wrap around his neck.

"Why Count, can't a wife spend quality time with her dear husband?" You slide your hand through his neck and up his cheek.

Your thumb slowly strokes his skin and he looks down at you, something about your teasing tone makes him nervous, his round glasses sliding down his cute nose.

You're only wearing a nightgown, and he realizes he had spent yet another day reading up this late, only the bright moonlight keeping him company. It now shines through your body on top of him.

He's about to yet again apologize and suggest you head to bed before you press your lips to his. You softly push him down, his broad back resting again in the armrest while your mouth moves to his. The bear of the man you call your husband is more than big enough for you to sink your whole body into him, feeling his body heat through his clothes.

Pierre relaxes beneath you, and he sighs in your mouth when your hand grabs his soft curly hair, making pleased noises when you trace his scalp with your nails.

Pierre unconsciously lets his book fall from his hands, instead opting to rest them in your waist. The strong gentle hands grip you, following the slow movement of your hips. He doesn't know what he did to deserve this, the feeling of your delicate hands undoing the cravat of his neck just for your teeth to bite his unmarked pale skin a moment later. And he moans, feeling your chest pressing against his. He's so fortunate to have you. The slow movement of you against his hardening clothed cock, how you allow his hands to slide down your light gown and into your thighs, while his thumbs tease your stockings.

"You're so good for getting ready for me, dear." You kiss his neck and he loves the praise. He's suddenly whining, unaware you had snaked a hand down his bulge till you're gripping him in your palm.

You massage him through his now straining trousers and watch him flutter his eyelids, mouth opening in a silent whine. Pierre shifts, panting slightly as you start stroking the outline of his cock.

"Would you like to be inside me?" You ask just as you start to rub his head between your fingers.

"Oh heavens, yes. Yes, please, could I?"

You laugh at his enthusiasm and undo his trousers, still in his day clothes and you huff frustrated at the thought. You stroke him a little before you are rubbing his head through your already wet folds. He doesn't know you had waited for him all day for him. At least not yet. He can feel tears in his eyes as you start to slowly sink into him.

He holds your hips and his mouth finds your breasts, slowly kissing them when he has undone the front lace of your nightgown. He buries his face in your chest, more for his sake trying not to cum too early.

He waits for you to adjust his size.

And waits.

He knows you usually take some time to, he doesn't want to hurt you. He doesn't want to seem impatient, his thighs are shaking underneath you.

He looks up from your chest.

"My love, I do not want to rush you-" Pierre knows his voice waivers as he slides his palms through your stocking-covered thighs. Then more desperately he chokes out. "But are you ready to move?"

You hum, stroking his curls away from his cherubic face.

"Move, darling? Who said anything about that?" You smile at him, giving him a peck on his lips. "I just want to be inside you."

His heart drops as he sees the familiar teasing smirk in your lips.

"All this books you have. All you do lately is pass day and night here in your studio for weeks." Your hand finds the book he had dropped, and you open it. "I want to know what's the fuss is about."

Oh. So this is what is about.

"I understand, I apologize, I-I didn't know-"

You gently press a finger in his redden lips.

It's punishment.

You guide the finger in his lips up into the air, and he follows it with his eyes, until it lands in the soft sheet of the paper.

For not being attentive.

"The moral composition of mankind..." You start.

Your beauty captivated him the first time he laid eyes on you. When he had started rambling about his passions to you after a little too much drink, thought he had made a fool of himself and lost any opportunity with you. Oh, how he loves how smart you are. When you had refuted his argument with such ease and left with a wink and a raise of your chalice, and he knew he had to ask for your hand.

He wonders if you can feel him twitching inside you, how ready he is for you to use him for your pleasure whenever you see fit. He wonders if you like him better like this, unable to think straight other how you clench around him, and how sensitive he gets by the minute every time you read page after page.

"Darling, hear this next part it's so interesting."

Oh Lord, he can feel you dripping down around his cock. You're getting off this too.

"Yes, Dear." Pierre nods dumbly, delirious, his vision blurring by lust. Everything you say is true, oh it's so wonderful and beautiful. "Yes, my dear, it is."

You notice his babbling. You grab hold of his chin, fingers squishing his cheeks in the process as you force him to gently face you.

"What was the last part about?"

"T-the law of-" He swallows hard, you're clenching so tight and he's trying not to move so he can get some kind of friction. Pierre blinks rapidly as he tries to remember what your sweet voice had said. "H-humanity, ah- according to-"

"Good boy."

Pierre whines, closing his eyes as he exhales. Yes, he's doing great for you. You might even use his cock to fuck yourself with, and he groans at the thought of you cumming because of him.

You shift again, trying to get more comfortable in his lap, and the movement brushes against the sensitive head of his cock. You're wonderfully hot and wet. His hands are shaking in his sides as he tries not to move, controlling his erratic breathing.

"Most be very interesting that it still has more of your attention into this, I see." You tease, pursing your lips, flipping through the book.

"No- No, my love-" He shakes his head, almost sobbing as he desperately tries to explain himself. He kisses your exposed shoulder. "Is not- everything you say is worth listening, I'm sorry for not realizing it sooner."

He understands now, how upset he has made you with how he has treated you this couple of weeks.

A little smirk breaks into your lips for a moment, and you hum. Pierre sighs as you finally put down that forsaken book back down again. He thinks he'll burn it after this.

"You always know just the right thing to say, my dear." You shift again and Pierre has to grip the armrests for dear life. "I think you've learned your lesson."

You take your nightgown off, only in your stockings now. Your hands go to rest in his broad shoulders and he kisses you desperately as he feels you move. 

"Yes, please use me." He begs as he stays still, feeling how you move up and down his hard cock. "Please, Please-"

Seeing moaning and panting in effort as you lift yourself and back down again. He's so useful, it's torture serving you, and he loves how you're enjoying yourself, your breasts bouncing with each movement. He grips the armrests wanting to thrust deep into you, feeling himself sweat, as he sees you're already too close.

“So god Pierre, God I'm-”

He feels you cum around his cock, your walls clenching, and he's sobbing, tears rolling down his cheeks as he shakes, trying not to finish. He hadn't moved. Stayed still for you to enjoy, oh how he desperately wants you to tell him he's done such a good job.

"Could I please-" Pierre throws his head back, babbling as he's panting. "Could I please finish, Countess?"

You hum, still high from your orgasm.

"Tell me why would I let you."

"I've been good, I've been of service to you." Pierre immediately says, tying not to think how he can feel your juices running down into his lap. "I won't neglect you, my dear beautiful wife. I'm sorry, I understand now."

"I know dear, I'm not mad about your hobbies." You smile, soft and genuine this time as you stroke his cheek. "We could always read them together once in a while."

Pierre smiles, sighing in relief as his grip in your waist tightens, about to start thrusting into you.

“But not tonight.” You are lifting yourself off him, and he hisses at the cold sensitive air. “You need to learn your lesson, isn't that right dear? You can finish alone.”

He gives a pained closed-mouthed whine, but manages to speak.

“Y-yes, Countess.”

[godlygreta]

teacher’s assistant | j. m. kiszka.

title | teacher's assistant

summary | the teacher's assistant for your class was way too hot to be able to focus in class

warnings | um yes. bitch this is smut. y'all should know me by now. 18+ pls n thx

word count | 5.6k

author’s note | i am such a slut for the idea of teacher's assistant josh. i really just ugh can’t get over it. sorry i posted this so late in the evening!! there will be a part two if everyone wants it. i have some ideas that al and i talked about in the dm's... y'all would not be mentally prepared for that (i also did not edit this in the slightest so whoopsies if u find any mistakes pretend u didn’t)

n e ways, enjoy this my beautiful people. i love you guys sm. i cannot thank you enough for every comment, like, or reblog. y'all make my day everyday :)

via out x

Film and Literature was one of the classes you were most excited for in your second semester schedule. College has been good to you so far, classes passing by with ease. Your grades had never faltered, even throughout high school you were a model student.

Once the class had started, on your first day, you realized that the Professor you had, had a teacher’s assistant. It wasn’t uncommon for teachers to have them, sometimes their students had different perspectives on different subjects within a class. Professor Steger’s TA was cute, to say the least. Every once in a while, you took a long, generous look at him sitting at a desk in the corner of the classroom. You found out on the third day of class, his name was Josh. He was a film major with a minor in English and Literature.

In addition to thriving in college, you also completely lucked out with your roommate. She was incredible, a smart and charismatic person. Her schedule almost matched yours, a class or two here and there were the only times you weren’t right beside her. “Do you want to study in the commons or in the cafe downtown?”

“Cafe downtown,” she spoke, putting her laptop in her backpack. “It’s quieter and I don’t really feel like running into my fucking BioChem professor any time soon.”

“Yeah, he always seems like he’s in a bad mood.” You joked, throwing your backpack over your shoulder. She nodded, looking at you with wide eyes. You watched as Mackenzi slipped on her shoes, following behind her out of your dorm room. You locked the door behind you and caught up to her when you could.

The walk to the coffee shop downtown wasn’t too far. Less than 10 minutes, actually. You both talked about upcoming assignments, any papers they had due. You always reviewed her papers, she always went over yours.

“Who’s that guy that keeps staring at you? The one over there with the super curly hair.” Mackenzi asked, her finger slightly pointing towards the table at the window of the cafe, two people sat there. One of them was a boy with incredibly curly hair, brown eyes and a strong nose. The other sat across from him, his hair framed his face, matching brown eyes.

“Oh, that’s Josh. He’s the TA for my Film and Literature class with Professor Steger,” you looked over at him, noticing him deep in conversation with the boy that sat across from him. “He’s actually the coolest TA I’ve had. Sometimes it seems like he knows more about film than Steger does. And that’s saying a lot. He always looks so… excited when people ask him questions about the movie than when they ask Professor Steger.”

“Damn, seems smart. He keeps staring at you, though. Maybe you should go over there and talk to him.” She brought the cup up to her lips, her fingers being warmed by her coffee.

You scoffed, but it was more of a half laugh than anything. “And say what? ‘Hey, my roommate won’t shut up about you staring at me so I came over here to shut her up’?”

“Y/N, you are so dense sometimes. Ask him something about your next paper, or your final. Don’t you have to do an in-depth analysis about a film? Ask him if he could review your paper a few times so you can really impress the professor or something.” She said matter-of-factly.

“I could,” the thought crossed your mind. Would it really be so bad? What if he wasn’t even looking at you as much as Mack said he was? “Fuck it. Fine.”

You were nervous as you walked over. You were mostly doing it to please Mackenzi, but also part of you had wondered about the possible ‘what if’s’. You stood before the two, one hand tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “You’re the TA for Professor Steger, Josh right?”

“Yeah, you’re Y/N?” The boy who sat across from him looked between the two of you, sipping his drink while he pretended to check his phone.

“Yeah.” You smiled at him, about to say something when he interrupted you.

“I, uh, I read your last paper on Halloween, it was very well written. I think you really put into words the importance of that movie in the Horror genre.” He spoke, hand moving from pinching the bridge of his nose to the air, circling around attempting to gather the words he was looking for.

“Thank you,” you smiled, looking between the two of them. A small, short window of silence fell between the two of you before you decided to take Mackenzi’s advice, asking about the final. “I was actually wondering if I could have you look over my final paper a few times before I turn it in to Professor Steger? I really want to impress him.”

“Sure! Do you want to email me and set up a time to meet within the next couple weeks or something?”

“Yeah, for sure. Otherwise, I can give you my number, too, if that’s alright with you?” You noticed right away the slight tint of pink that crept up on to his cheeks. He smiled a bit, taking his phone out of his pocket.

“Yeah, here.” He handed you his phone,  a new contact already pulled up. “I’ll make sure to text you so you know it’s me.”

“Alrighty. Thank you.” He nodded to you before you walked away, face slightly hot from nerves, although you didn’t seem nervous to anyone. You sat back down at the table with Mackenzi. “Don’t say a word.”

“Aren’t you glad you did that?” You didn’t give Mackenzi a death glare, per se, but it was something that closely resembled it. There was a long pause before you answered her, a sip of coffee before you spoke up to answer her question.

“Okay, maybe a little bit.”

You did not want her to be right about it, but she was. Josh had always been in the back of your mind, him being a senior and you being a freshman. The stereotypes were there, obviously, the whole “senior and freshman” thing. Josh seemed the opposite though, where the stereotype seemed to only fit towards the athletic department.

The next time you had seen Josh was your class on Wednesday. He sat at the desk in the classroom as Professor Steger taught the class. You watched him intently, the way his pointer finger swiped over his bottom lip as he watched the Professor. Once he had accidentally caught your eye, he looked away blushing. You didn’t stop watching him though.

Your mind was wandering other places that involved Josh. Sure, you had stared at Josh in class before then, but the thought of being alone with him one on one had only recently been playing in your mind. Mackenzi was simply reading your body language yesterday. If she had been in this class with you since the beginning, she’d know that you find yourself looking at Josh a lot.

You loved the way he talked about film. Space Odyssey was one of his favorites. He talked about it and referred to it in class constantly. The fire inside his eyes was organic, he was magnetic every time he spoke. Maybe not the entire class was entranced when he spoke, but you were. You hung on every word, so much so that you decided to finally watch the movie for yourself. You could see why Josh loved it as much as he did, but it wasn’t necessarily your cup of tea.

You were planning on talking to Josh after class to set up something, and you just barely caught him before he left. “Josh!”

“Y/N, hi. I’ve been meaning to text you, classes and my senior project have just been kicking my ass.” He spoke, filing his things into his bookbag.

“You’re fine! I just wanted to set up something while we’re both here, if that’s cool.” 

“Yeah! Of course. Did you want to meet sometime next week? Otherwise we could meet Saturday or Sunday evening around seven-ish. I’m not sure what your weekend looks like.”

“Saturday sounds alright. We could meet at seven-thirty if you’re okay with that?” You asked, fidgeting with your hands.

“I’m alright with that, we can meet outside the building. After five on the weekends only staff is allowed to get into the building, so your card won’t work.” He spoke, writing it down quickly in his planner.

“Okay, so I’ll see you Saturday night outside?” You asked, watching him sling his backpack over his shoulder. He nodded, escorting you out of the classroom. “Alright. It’s a date.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He nodded before walking off towards the south entrance of the building. You walked out, finding Mackenzi waiting for you with a hot cocoa.

“Class run late?” She asked, handing it to you. You hummed while taking a drink.

“No, I talked to Josh and we’re gonna meet here Saturday night at seven-thirty.”

“Girl,” she spoke, slapping your arm lightly, a big smile on her face. The look she gave you was enough to create a blush on your face, smiling a little too widely. You didn’t sweat it though, Mackenzi always gave you shit whenever you found someone new to obsess over for the next couple weeks.

That’s always how it went with you. The crushes - whatever you wanted to call them - never lasted too long; a week was the longest period of time. Her name was Cal, she was tall, brunette and played soccer for the team. You had her in your Western Civilizations class, she sat two rows ahead of you and seemingly always looked so good. It died out after she finally spoke in class, her views on the culture of the time ruining it all for you in one single sentence.

While you never formally admitted it to yourself that you had a crush on Josh, it had always been there in the back of your mind. Here and there you’d entertain the idea of what it would be like, but the fabrication of Josh in your mind had the potential to be the complete opposite. You didn’t think much more about it, the thought of Josh made your mind spiral into a million other things. Some of those things were not just about what a date with him might be like, but the aftermath.

❂ ❂ ❂

Friday’s class was a bore. Josh was nowhere to be found, fifteen minutes in. He was never usually late. This was his favorite class, not only to assist in, but also to learn from. He had been in this class before, his sophomore year. Professor Steger loved his contribution to the class. When Josh had been given the opportunity to TA for him, he took it.

You looked at the clock seemingly every five minutes to see if he was coming. You tried your best to focus on the Professor speaking instead of the thoughts of Josh that loomed around, but it was no use. Josh wasn’t coming today. It slightly made you sad, only because you had hoped his absence wouldn’t affect his attendance of your plans tomorrow evening.

The weekend came a little too slow for your liking. Thursday dragged on and then Friday came. You didn’t do anything Friday night except make up some bullshit for the paper you were asking Josh to help you with. You hadn’t even picked out what movie you were going to do an analysis on. You had had a few ideas in your mind, but nothing that seemed like it would make something spectacular. A few Timothee Chalamet movies, but what good is it if your main argument as to why someone should watch the movie is simply just that he’s in it.

As you walked up to the building, your nerves began to wrack up inside of you. You kept checking your phone, making sure it was seven-thirty. Maybe Josh had gotten there at seven and meant to meet at seven, when you didn’t show he left. Maybe he was running late. Maybe all the terrible things your anxiety made you think were just simply that - your anxiety. “Y/N!”

You turned around to see where the voice was coming from as well as who it belonged to. Josh was half jogging towards you, bookbag jumping slightly due to his pace. He stood in front of you, catching his breath, holding out his pointer finger to give him a second to breathe. “I was a little nervous you weren’t gonna show.”

“My roommate, who just so happens to be my twin, was talking on and on about an issue in the music department. I kept trying to get out of it, but he just never stops talking. Neither do I, but that’s not the point.” You laughed as Josh pulled out his keys, unlocking the door to the building.

You followed in after him, noticing how easy it was for him to navigate the building. While it was your second semester, you still had no idea what half of the building was. You had no idea where any of the classrooms were, especially from the front entrance. You barely paid attention, most of the time your brain was on autopilot walking to class. “Alright, Professor Steger doesn’t mind me using his office, I always find myself in here. He’s got a pretty extensive library in here for such a small space. He’s got a lot of older books, first editions and shit like that. They’re pretty cool if you’re a lover of books and other literature.”

“My mom used to read all the classics with me when I was a kid, my dad used to as well too. Although, I admit, they used to read Frankenstein with me and I always hated the beginning. It started too slow, as most books usually do.”

“They do, don’t they? I’m sure he’s got Frankenstein in here if you’d like to read it again. Maybe this time around you’ll enjoy the build up right before the climax.” He sat down in the Professor’s chair at his desk, legs spread as you pulled your laptop out of your bag. You tried your hardest to log into your computer and pull up the document you had started. All you could focus on was the way he was sitting, how fucking sexy he looked just sitting there. You gave the laptop back to him, letting him attempt to soak in the first few bits of your paper, “So--”

“I’m gonna be honest with you,” You interrupted him, Josh looked up from your computer, eyes locking with yours. Your eyes scanned up and down his figure in the chair. “I didn’t… I don’t… I’m good with my paper. I just wanted an excuse to get you alone.”

You couldn’t read his expression, mostly because your eyes were focused on the ground. You were nervous that this was a terrible idea and that Josh was about to reject you. Granted, if he did, it would be in the most respectful way possible, and you knew that. Josh wasn’t like every other dude that you knew, he was kind. 

“You could’ve just asked.” He started, standing from the chair. “I think you’re breathtaking. To be honest, I guess I always kinda had a little bit of a crush on you. I didn’t want to say anything to you in case you didn’t feel the same.”

“I guess we both should’ve said something then.” He was close enough to you that you could feel his breath on you. You could even taste the mintyness of his breath, eyes moving from his to his lips. He did the same, once he made eye contact with yours, though, his hand went to your arm, fingertips ghosting over the skin. “Will you kiss me?”

He nodded lightly, hand brushing past your cheek to pull your lips to his. His lips tasted like mint as well, soft and supple - just as you imagined. He licked his lips so much during class, you weren’t at all shocked when he kissed you. He licked his lips while he spoke, while he listened to Professor Steger teach, anytime you looked over at him he was licking his lips.

The way his hands felt as they pulled you closer to his body by your waist was electric. Every time the pads of his fingers brushed against any inch of bare skin, your mind filled with an entirety of different colors and shapes. Your mind painted pictures you could only describe as heaven. Here, kissing Josh, that was your own idea of personal heaven.

Your hands tangled into his hair, slightly tugging at the roots when his teeth lightly sank into your bottom lip, pulling it gently towards him. Your eyes barely opened, but the look on Josh’s face as he studied yours was ungodly sexy. His eyes pooled with lust, lips barely open, but one side twisted up into a smirk. You brought your right hand out from his hand, taking your thumb and swiping it across his bottom lip, pulling it down with your thumb before looking back up into Josh’s eyes.

The hunger that licked flames inside your belly were wicked, hot to the touch and needed to be put out. Your fingers tugged at the shirt Josh wore, pulling it and him closer to you. You let your hands roam underneath his shirt, fingers splayed out over his chest. He separated the two of you, pulling his shirt over his head. While doing so, all you could do was watch him.

Your eyes paid close attention to every detail of his skin that made itself known to you. He drove you absolutely crazy, eyes scanning you up and down as you trailed your finger through the happy trail he had that dipped below his jeans. Your eyes flicked from the button on his jeans back up to his eyes, noticing the way Josh stared at you. A subtle nod led to a smirk rising to your face, popping the button on his jeans.

You leaned against the desk as Josh shimmied out of his pants, leaving them on the floor as he went to lock the door. He picked up your thighs, setting you down on the desk behind you. His lips regained their rightful place against your neck, your arms wrapped around his. You were thankful you wore a skirt to meet with Josh, his hand trailing up your thigh. His fingers slipped your panties to the side, his middle finger diving into your folds. “Hmm. This all for me, princess?”

“Yes sir,” his eyes got darker, if that was even possible in how shitty Professor Steger’s room was lit. He got down to his knees, eyes never leaving yours once. He pressed kisses from the inside of your knees to the insides of your thighs, gently biting at the skin. Your legs were both over his shoulders, his hands wrapped around your thighs as his tongue began to tease you. “Mhm, more.”

“More what?” He asked, you whined, your hands grabbing fistfulls of his hair. “Gotta use your words, pretty girl.”

“Fuck,” you whispered, Josh’s tongue flicking over your clit. “Need your hands, need both. Mhm. Please.”

His mind, in that moment, had filled with so many instances of you begging, both on your knees, and while his mouth is wrapped around your clit. God, you had such a hold on him without even realizing it. The way you looked while moaning, his middle and ring fingers inside of you, tongue paying special attention to your clit. He loved watching your face contort in pleasure as he did so, his pride swelling. He needed more though. He needed to hear how much you were loving face-fucking him. “How good do you feel, princess? That feel good?”

“Mhm,” you nodded fiercely, your tongue running over your bottom lip. “So good. So fucking good, fuck. Love your mouth and your fingers.”

“Yeah, I bet you do,” he spoke into your pussy, going back to relentlessly finger you again. Your orgasm was right there, two more strokes of his finger and tongue and you would be coming undone in his mouth. When your release finally came, your vision went black, body shook throughout the whole thing. Josh held you steady against his tongue and fingers, letting you use him to ride out the rest of your orgasm.

“Holy fuck.” You breathed out, letting your body go slack, leaning into Josh who had gotten up from his knees.

“Good?” He asked, although he knew the answer.

“Mhm. Very good.” You spoke, arms lazily wrapped around his neck. “Your turn now.”

“I don’t need anything. Just wanna be inside of you, princess.” He spoke against your temple, hands rubbing over your thighs. You nodded, pulling the fabric of his boxers down his slim legs as best you could. He pulled your hands away, bringing his boxers back up over his erection. You pouted, “One second.”

He went through Professor Steger’s drawers, finding a box of condoms in the bottom drawer of his desk. He grabbed a single foil packet from the box, ripping it open and walking back over to you. “Can I put it on you?”

“‘Course, baby.” He handed it over to you. You made eye contact while you rolled the condom on. He hummed and closed his eyes lightly when you began to jerk him off a little before lining him up with your entrance.

He let out a low moan until he was deep inside of you. Your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him as close to you as possible. His hands were across your back, driving into you slow to start. It was annoying you - while you appreciated him taking his time, enjoying being inside of you, you needed something more. You needed to be fucked rough, and hard.

Almost as if Josh was reading your thoughts, his pace began to quicken, arms wrapping around your torso tightly, using your body as leverage. His hips snapped up, rolling into yours. You had to cover your mouth because you were being so loud. “Here, let me.”

Josh’s hand replaced your own, your nails digging crescent shaped marks into the tops of his shoulders. His other hand left from where it was wrapped around you to roll your nipple between his fingers, feeling you moan against his hand made him smile wide. A beautiful, blissed out smile. His smile was one of the seven wonders of the world, maybe even the universe.

His orgasm face? Even fucking better.

The pleasure you got simply from watching him get off was unbelievable. The way his face scrunched up, eyebrows furrowed and his teeth keeping his bottom lip hostage - it was the most beautiful thing you had ever seen in your life. You swore the heavens truly blessed you with the pure sight of his face. You whispered as he continued to pile drive you through the last of his orgasm. “Hmm, so pretty.”

He returned to his knees, spreading your legs apart, using his mouth to guide you through your second orgasm, your hand violently tugging at his hair this time -- this orgasm more intense than the one before, if that was even possible.

You and Josh continued to fool around more since then. In your dorm, in his, in Professor Steger’s office again and again. Anywhere you could have him, you would. It was everything about him that you absolutely needed. You loved the way he was so attentive to your body and what it wanted. His efforts seemed effortless, the way he began to become so acquainted with your body only made you want him more.

Ever since that first night in Steger’s office, though, you could really only wear a skirt. It was all you ever wore anymore. A skirt - easy enough access for Josh to fuck you anywhere, any time. Sometimes, you’d end up wearing a skirt that was shorter than the ones you would normally wear. You did it on purpose to drive Josh absolutely wild. You knew that your thighs were his weakness.

You’d wear it to class, especially on a day you knew Professor Steger was going to be gone. Josh would be teaching, standing in front of the classroom. He’d catch a glimpse of your skirt, noticing how high it rose on your thighs. He’d trip up on whatever he was talking about, stuttering before he’d go to take a drink out of his tin water bottle. Class would end and your phone would light up from a text message from Josh, telling you to meet him in the stacks. The ‘asap’ at the end would be in all caps.

This was one of those times.

Your back was against a stack of books, legs wrapped around his waist, his hands steady on your ass to help himself hold you up. His kisses created poetry on your skin, lips leaving entire sentence fragments of gratitude against your neck. Your hands were in his hair, raking through the curls, occasionally tugging when Josh kissed over that one spot on your neck that drove you wild. “Shhh,” he put his lips against yours as you moaned, grinding your hips against his. “We don’t want anyone to find us now, do we?”

You shook your head no, his mouth replaced by his hand as the other hand was used to swirl his middle finger over your clit in circles. You moaned into his hand, rutting your hips anyway you could to be able to feel more, feel anything more. You grabbed his hand, pulling it away, “Josh, I really don’t have time for foreplay today. Either you’re fucking me, or I’m going back to working on my Midterm paper for Hann’s class.”

“Fucking you it is, my love.” He unbuckled his pants with haste, forcing them and his boxers down. You were already dripping, his dick slid right in with no issue. The loud moan that fell from your lips was quickly silenced by Josh’s hand.

God, you could do this all fucking day. You could wake up, fuck Josh. Go to class, come back, fuck Josh. Go to dinner, come back, fuck Josh. And that’s the way that it was for the entire first semester. Once break came, you and Josh had to find other means of pleasure. He went back to Michigan, you living only a few hours from campus - the two of you resorted to phone sex. 

You lived for the nights you were able to hear him a mess on the phone, whimpering and groaning to the pure thought of you alone. And sure, he had pictures of you on his phone, but that wasn’t as good as being able to hear you himself.

When spring semester came around, the two of you resumed things as usual. Fucking each other anywhere and everywhere you could. You even broadened your horizons, fucking at your house, on the road to his, a beach you had stopped at along the way -- again, anywhere and everywhere. You couldn’t get enough of him, and neither could he. He swallowed up every inch of you that he could every time he was around you.

Being with Josh was truly like living a fairytale.

What you weren’t prepared for was having to spend the rest of your college years away from him. He was graduating next month and the life you had come so accustomed to living would be ripped away from you in mere weeks. It broke your heart, so much so that you didn’t even want to attend the Senior Project Event nights. Josh was up on Friday night and his project was a movie. He didn’t tell you any other details about it, all he told you was to dress nicely.

And so you did. The deep red wine color of your dress contrasted nicely with your skin tone, making your eyes pop as well. Yours really heels made you slightly taller than Josh, but not enough to create looks from the other students and faculty.

You sat next to Josh’s seat, nervous as to why you couldn’t have gone with him. You didn’t know many of the other seniors, besides his twin, Jake. Sam, his other brother, sat across from you, his best friend Danny next to him. You watched intently as Josh crossed the stage, walking up to the podium. 

“Hello everyone. Thank you for coming to our Senior Project night for the Arts department. My name is Josh Kiszka, I’m graduating with a major in Film and Acting. My senior project was about the raw versions of life everyone goes through, or at least, the raw, unfiltered version of my time spent as a college student. The film you are about to watch does have some mature content, all of which has been consented to have been in this film. This piece means the world to me, especially due to an important character we meet in the latter half of the movie. Sit back, and enjoy.”

The music in the background was instantly recognizable. Sam was playing the piano, a light and pillowy tone to set the mood. You had been there when Josh was recording Sam’s piece, the way certain parts held more emotions than anything, the rush of emotions you had felt.

Josh’s voice could be heard throughout the auditorium, his voiceover going behind his first three years of college, how blurry they were and how youthful he thought he had felt. The color scheme changed once senior year came around. All of the tones were warmer, yellow and orange hues playing in the scenes. You noticed bits and pieces of trips you had taken with Josh in there, videos of you driving, you at the beach, his and your houses.

Tears began to well in your eyes.

“During those beginning years, I felt as though time was never going to slow. The world was forever going to turn and I was just going to be the way I was then, forever. Time had stilled the moment I laid eyes on her. Embers and ashes began to ignite, flames erupted and my soul finally lit up. It was her. I never thought soulmates were a thing. It seemed too perfect of a thought. And then, the universe laughed at me. They threw me a curveball; the most beautiful woman I had ever laid my eyes on was right in front of me, asking me to be hers.”

The moment was clear in your mind. 

You sat in front of the television in Josh’s living room inside of his shared apartment with Jake. Your legs wrapped around his waist, curling the strands of hair around your finger, his eyes never leaving yours. It slipped out - you had no intention of telling him that you loved him before you were even a couple. “My heart has become very fond of you, Joshua Michael.”

His eyes filled with even more happiness than before, his hands grabbing your cheeks. “Mine has always yearned for you. It always will.”

Josh’s movie continued showing clips, videos of you, Jake and Sam hurling snowballs at each other, a glimpse of a movie night you and Josh had, a view from his bedroom door of you and Jake looking at baby pictures of the two of them together. A few of the clips that had made it into the movie were videos of the two of you kissing, one of them was a sneaky view of you getting off to the thought of Josh (which made your cheeks burn, but the video was edited so beautifully, it didn’t seem as dirty as most porn was -- it was almost ethereal, the way you looked from Josh’s lens).

The last and final shot of the film was from the day Josh told you about his movie. 

He had made dinner, a simple and easy pasta recipe (he had Jake help him cook so he could take you on a walk in the park first). He borrowed a record player from Sam’s dorm room, playing all of your and his favorite vinyls to slow dance to.

“This was so nice, Josh. Thank you. For everything.” You kissed him softly, hands steady on his cheeks.

“You deserve the universe and more. Everyday with you feels like I’m walking through Heaven. The stars don’t even begin to compare to how beautiful you are. You’re truly a beacon of light and love, mama.”

“You are the epitome of eternal sunshine, Joshua Kiszka.”

The movie got a standing ovation which came as no surprise to any of those seated at the Kiszka table. Karen gave you a hug, noticing the tears that fell from your face. You clapped your hands as loud as you could, making eye contact with Josh as he walked across the stage and bowed. You were completely in awe of the man on that stage. He was truly the most amazing human being you had ever come to know. Josh said his thank you’s, walked off stage and came running over to you.

In an instant you were picked up and spun around, the entire auditorium still clapping. The amount of serotonin rushing through you was intoxicating, life truly couldn’t get much better than this moment. You kissed him deeply, eyes screwed shut, cheeks still slightly wet with tears. Your arms were wrapped around his neck, his around your waist. “Did you like it, mama?”

“Did I like it? I have no words on how amazing that film was, Josh. It was so beautiful. You’re so beautiful.”

The amount of kisses you gave him after that was nothing compared to what was waiting for him at home.

[breakfastteatime]

First of all, your writing always makes my day and I'm always happy to see a new work or headcanon posted!

And do you have more headcanons about Cere beeing a Seeker overall? (And her finding Cal of course)?

(Thank you!!!!! 🥰🥰🥰🥰)

Cere is a natural Seeker. She can sense others strong in the Force, provides all the nurture they need when their parents or carers agree to give them to the Jedi. She takes care of all their needs, sings lullabies, gently chides (toddlers are always a handful), and plays with them until she gets them to the crèche.

One day, she is on a small world where the people are members of a religious order that eschews technology. The Force called her there, whispering of a child who needed her, needed the Jedi. The people are apprehensive, barely welcoming but not quite outright hostile.

She follows the Force to a small cottage. It's picture book beautiful, surrounded by flowers and well-tended crops. Called on by the Force, Cere knocks on the door. She hears movement inside, followed shortly by the excited babble of a child. A very young child, not yet able to use words. She can sense him though, sense the brightness of his presence.

A man's voice responds to the little one, the tone a despairing kind of love. Perhaps the child is overdue for a nap.

Or perhaps it is the man who lacks sleep.

The door opens. A Human male, somewhere in his twenties and weary, looks at Cere. He is prematurely grey, and there is something withered about him. He takes in her style of dress, not overly dissimilar from his own. His confusion bleeds into the Force. "Yes?"

Cere introduces herself, resisting the prompting from the Force to burst in and find the child. It isn't a bad feeling. It is simply the joy of a curious child picking up on a sense of newness, of change. Cere explains why she is here, watches the father process what she is telling him.

Sees that he understands what he is being told.

She notes his relief.

"You should meet him."

The man lets her in. She sees the outside's perfection is not matched inside. There is dust, grime, dirt, and not the kind that accumulates over a handful of days.

"My husband died," the man tells her. "I have struggled."

She gives him her deepest condolences. And then she sees him.

The child.

He is contained within a playpen tucked in the corner of a small living room. Tiny hands cling to the bars, curly red hair falling around his freckled face. He looks up at Cere.

And then he reaches out, arms held high.

She feels his young mind, senses his curiosity, knows that he feels it too. He recognises the presence of another Force sensitive, even if he has no way to verbalise it. He breaks out into a gappy smile.

"Pick him up," the man says. "He likes you."

Cere does so. The boy, barely more than a baby, snuggles in. His clothes are almost too small, but they are clean. He is clean. Soft red hair tickles Cere's nose.

"You're going to take him, aren't you?" the man says.

"Only if you allow it," she says. "He is strong in the Force. We will train him. Look after him. He will help countless people across the galaxy. Your son is special."

The man comes over, places a hand on his child's head. "He is meant for more. The people here... They know he is different. They see the things he can do that are... unnatural."

Nothing about the Force is unnatural. Cere does not voice this thought.

The man runs his fingers through the boy's curls. "He will not be welcome when he is older. He is already seen as strange, as requiring instruction. Perhaps he does. If he stays, he will be bent to fit the shape of this world."

A terrible fate to befall such a child. "With the Jedi, he can be who he really is."

The boy snuggles closer, his solid, baby warmth pulsing through her robes.

The man, his father, takes little persuasion. "Take him."

"You understand you will never see him again. He will never know you."

The man gives her a crooked grin. "I am not worth knowing."

Cere looks him in the eye. "Yes, you are. You have looked after him under trying circumstances. You love him and he loves you. Your world is coloured by loss, but know that if this is your decision, you are bestowing a wonderful gift upon the galaxy."

The man's eyes fill with tears as his grin disintegrates. "He is a wonderful child. To know that he will serve others, as we do here, soothes me." He leans in, presses a kiss to the child's head. "Your dad and I will be so proud of all you achieve." He looks to Cere. "Take care of him."

"I will. You have my word."

"Be safe, Cal," the man tells his son.

Cere does not make any promises the Jedi cannot keep.

(Thanks for this, Anon. I could have gone on for A LOT longer... maybe I will another day!)

(Got a JFO headcanon you want to talk about? Drop me an Ask!)

[ilovefinncole]

The Princess and the Blinder

Chapter 1: Tommy`s Orders 

Synopsis: After her father`s murder, Jessie Evans a young woman is under the Peaky Blinders’ protection, she meets the accountant Michael and he is in charge to protect her. 

Characters: Michael Gray, Jessie Evans, Tommy Shelby, Polly Gray, Arthur Shelby, John Shelby, Linda Shelby, Esme Shelby, Finn Shelby, Johnny Dogs, Ada Thorne, Lizzie Shelby, Jeremiah Jesus, Isiah Jesus, Curly, Charlie Strong and Henry Evans. 

Word count: 4,082

Part: 1/5

Warning(s):  English is my second language, swearing, sex, smoking, drinking and death.

Published: 12th April 2022

Author`s note: This fic is kind of inspired by Michael meeting for Charlotte Murray in Series 3 Episode 1, at Tommy and Grace`s wedding. I wanted to write something different. This is supposed to be set in 1929, but I have kept John and Esme and I didn`t want to not use John, I have pretended that he didn`t die in Peaky but he did, SADLY. 

Song recommendations for this chapter:

Ain’t No Grave - Anna Calvi

Red Right Hand - Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds

Chainsmoking - Jacob Banks

Amnesia - Grace Carter

I’m a Peaky Blinder - Duke Luke and Otnicka 

The Gun cocks and is ready to fire, bullets were fired everywhere, bangs were heard and so were screams and shouts, one man was shot with blood on his body, he was a Peaky Blinder.

“Arthur, John, Finn pick him up, we've lost a solider today boys.” said the voice of Tommy Shelby, “All right Tom.” said Arthur. They picked him up, Tommy`s sapphire blue eyes were in one direction, the direction of a dead man. Henry Evans, an honorable and lovely man, who fought for his family and friends.

At his funeral, he was buried in a whicker coffin, his daughter Jessie was present, she had curls in her pretty blonde hair, it was short up to her shoulders, her lips were baby pink, her eyes were filled with tears and her eyes lashes were long and black.

She was skinny and pale, she was wearing a black dress, black gloves, black tights, black shoes and a black coat to match. She wore a black hat, she was paying respect to her late father. 

She put a rose and a cigarette on top of his coffin, he loved the smell of roses and he always had a cigarette in his hand. Tears ran down her pale face. 

After they buried him, the Shelby brothers walked over in her direction, “Miss Evans?” Tommy said, “Yes Mr Shelby.” she says, sobbing, she was obviously upset, it was a very sad day.

“I'm sorry for your loss, your father was a good man and I think he`ll be a good man in heaven, he was a very hard worker and did a lot for me and my business, he was the best of the best., you have our sympathy.” Tommy said, locking contact into her eyes.

“Thank you Mr Shelby, dad always admired you, he loved his job working for you and your brothers, I just can`t believe he`s gone, it doesn't feel real.” she says, sobbing some more.

“Come here, darling.” Tommy said, she walked towards him and they hugged, Tommy comforted her, he wanted to help her.

“Thank you Mr Shelby, thank you all for coming. Your welcome to come to the wake, there will be drinks and food, everyone is welcome.” she says.

“That's very kind of you Miss, we`ll be there, you look just like Henry standing there, you have his eyes and his nose, and his uh-” Arthur said but he was interrupted by John, “What Arthur is trying to say sweetheart is, you look just like him.” John says.

“Yes that is what I was saying, thank you John.” Arthur said, smiling. “Now I promised your father, that I`d protect you and look out for you and that is exactly what I'm going to do, you see Jessie your father once said to me, that if he`s gone before you get married to some poor boy then I`ll look after you.

Jessie, you have no mother and no man, no other siblings or any family still left in Birmingham, so your going to live with me in my house, in Warwickshire, its a big house its not as big as Buckingham Palace but it will do for you. What do you say Jessie?” Tommy says, offering to protect and keep her safe.

“Mr Shelby, that seems too much. I can save up and buy a house myself and I don`t need protecting from anyone, I get that your the Peaky Blinders but I can pull my own weight.” she says. 

“Everyone needs protecting Jessie, even us Peaky fucking Blinders, think about it. What Mr Shelby is offering here is something that you get given every day of your fucking life, he probably wont offer it to you again.” John says.

“Ok, I accept Mr Shelby, I`ll live with you in your big house in Warwickshire.” she says, with a sweet smile. “Good I`m glad that you have accepted my offer, I look very forward to living with you Jessie. Your dad told me once that you like to cook and clean, and you don't mind doing the washing up.” Tommy said.

“Yes that's right, Mr Shelby, it keeps me busy.” she says, Arthur chuckles and John smiles. “But where will I work? I don't have a job, the last job I had all us women had to leave, they couldn't afford to keep us so they chucked us out onto the streets with no job, some of us had no homes to go to and some of us-” she says but she was interrupted by Tommy.

“I know Jessie, your dad told me, I was there, we were there. But don`t worry i will find you a job, at my company, you`ll work for me. I could use another pair of hands around. We are in use of a woman who could be an accountant or you could make teas.” he says.

“I`d rather be an accountant that make the teas, I'm not a waitress you know Mr Shelby.” she says, he chuckles. “You have Henry`s sense of humor and that's what I like in a woman, shall we go to the wake then?” he asks.

“People used to say that if me and my dad were on stage in London then we`d be a duo in comedy, I think we shall go to the wake, I`m getting a bit cold standing here. If I'm not careful my legs will freeze and I`ll walk like a penguin in the snow.” she says.

John laughs, “Come in our car Jessie, sweetheart you can sit in the front.” John says. “Thank you John.” says Jessie, “Your welcome Jessie.” he says back to her. 

They all walk to the car, Arthur opens the door for Jessie so she can get in, “Thank you Arthur.” she says, “No problem Jessie.” Arthur says, he gets in the back with John and Tommy sits in the front with Jessie, and he drives away with them all in the car

Two days after the wake, Tommy enters Shelby Company Limited in his grey suit looking smart and handsome as the King of England. “Pol family meeting, Thursday at noon.” he says to her. “Another one? We only had one yesterday, what are you doing Thomas?” she says.

“Your up to something, I know you Thomas Shelby and I want to know what it fucking is?” she says, her hazel brown eyes lock with his sapphire blue eyes.

“Its important Pol that's all you need to know for now, have you seen John and Finn?” he asks. “There at the Garrison drinking with Johnny Dogs and his brothers.” she says. “Thanks Pol.” Tommy says, walking out of Shelby Company Limited.

He heads to the Garrison, to find John, Finn and Johnny who are drinking with Johnny`s cousins. He enters the Garrison, people are drinking and laughing, “Here he is Tommy, come and drink with us brother.” John shouts.

“Not now John, its midday. Its a bit earlier for you isn't it.” Tommy says, “No not since Esme`s up the duff again, I cant keep up with the number of kids we have these days, every fucking year she's up the fucking duff. She`s like a bird, she lays eggs each year.” John says, then he has a sip of whiskey, in a crystal glass.

“John I need you Finn and Johnny on Thursday at noon, for a family meeting in this fucking pub, don`t be late.” he says, “Alright Tommy.” John says, “Me as well Tom?” Johnny says.

“Yes Johnny you as well.” he says, “But I`m supposed to be burying some gypsy from Ireland on Thursday, the widow wants her husband to be married in a forest how I am supposed to be there and here at the same fucking time? Huh?” he says.

“Johnny just come to the fucking meeting.” Tommy says, “Alright Tom I`ll come to the fucking meeting, but Mrs Edwards is going to be upset.” Johnny says, “I really don't care Johnny.” Tommy says. “Well I do Tom, I care.” Johnny says.

Tommy leaves the Garrison and has a cigarette outside of the Garrison, he goes to a telephone box and calls someone. “Tommy, is that you?” Arthur says.

“Yes its me Arthur, where are you brother?” he asks. “I`m with Linda in bed, well I was in bed, I'm up now. What do you want Tom?” Arthur asks, he was in the middle of sex with Linda.

“Family meeting Arthur.” Tommy says, “When?” Arthur asks, “Thursday?” Tommy says, “Time?” Arthur asks, “Noon” Tommy says, “Where?” Arthur asks, “The Garrison Arthur and don`t be late, and bring Linda. Her religious past could come quite useful.” Tommy says.

“Alright Tom, I`ll see you Thursday brother.” Arthur says, “Yeah” Tommy says, he puts the phone down and walks out of the telephone box. “Arthur, who was that?” Linda says in bed, she`s out of breathe. 

“That was Tommy, he wants you at the family meeting on Thursday in the Garrison at noon.” Arthur says, “Why? What does Tommy need me for Arthur? He wants me to read the bible or talk to him about the Indians or the Jews?” Linda says.

“No he doesn't want none of that, he says that your religious past could come useful, so you`ll be there with me.” he says, he stands in the doorway of there bedroom.

“Right are you coming back to me then solider?” Linda asks, “I am Princess, I am.” Arthur says, she giggles, he gets back into bed with him, then continue to have sex in there bed in there house.

In London, Ada is at her house with Karl here teenage son, the phone rings as she`s reading one of her favorite books, this one is called  The Mysterious Affair at Styles by Agatha Christie. Its one of her favorites, Ada loves reading. “I`ll get that Karl.” she says, after she hears the phone ring.

“Alright mum.” he says in his teenage voice, he`s wearing a navy blue jumper, with a white shirt, a navy tie, black trousers and black shiny shoes, he goes upstairs, and she answers the phone.

“Hello Ada Thorne.” she says, “Ada its me, I need you in Birmingham Thursday at noon we're having a family meeting don`t be late.” Tommy says, “Tommy I`m sorry but I cant, I've got Karl and I've-” she was interrupted by him.

“Don`t be late Ada.” he says, he cuts her off, “Fuck.” she says, “Mum is everything ok?” Karl says, “No Karl it isn't, look how would you fancy a trip to Birmingham? Lets call it a holiday.” she says. This brings a smile to his face.

“Sounds good I`m in.” he says, she walks away back to her book in the living room and he walks back upstairs. 

Tommy knocks on Michael`s office door, “Come in Lizzie.” he says, “Actually its me Michael.” he says, “Hello Tommy, is everything alright?” he asks. “Yeah, come to the Garrison on Thursday at noon, I'm holding everyone together for a family meeting and don`t be late Michael.” he says

“Of course Tommy, I`ll be there.” Michael said, he drank the rest of his whiskey that was in his crystal glass and Tommy left Shelby Company Limited. He carried on with his work that he was doing for him.

At Charlie`s yard, Tommy walked down the dusty path to him. “Hello Tommy what brings you here then?” said a cheerful Curly, “Hello Curly, is Charlie about?” Tommy asks.

“Yeah, he`s coming now look.” said Curly, “Good, hello Charlie.” Tommy says, “Tommy.” Charlie says, “I need you both on Thursday at noon in the Garrison, were having a family meeting, don`t be late.” Tommy said. “Alright Tom.” said Curly, they got back to work and Tommy left the Yard.

Thursday came and Michael watched the clock in his office at Shelby Company Limited turn to noon, then he got out of his chair, put his blazer and coat on and his hat and drank some whiskey in his crystal glass and left for the meeting.

Everyone was there, Linda, Esme, Lizzie, Polly, Ada, Curly, Charlie, Isiah, Jeremiah, Johnny. Finn, John, Arthur and Tommy, Michael was soon to arrive for the meeting. “Where the fuck is Michael? Isn`t he supposed to be here by now, its gone noon?” Finn said. 

“He`ll be here Finn, I know my own son.” Polly said, while looking at Finn and Tommy. “He`s running late again, your son needs a watch Polly, he`s a fucking bastard.” Esme said, looking arrogant and crossing her arms.

“What did you just say about me son, Esme?” Polly asks, Esme didn`t say anything she was silent, “That`s what I thought Esme.” said Polly, “Just leave it yeah Esme, we get it, he`ll be here.” said John.

“Why don't we start Tom?” said Charlie, he was sitting with Curly and Johnny in the corner of the Garrison, then Finn with sitting with John and Esme, Polly was sitting with Linda and Lizzie, Tommy and Arthur were standing up and Isiah and Jeremiah sat on stools.

“Yes, lets start now the first thing I have to say is this-” Tommy said, but he was interrupted by Polly, “We're waiting for Michael, Thomas don`t start yet.” said Polly. “Polly he isn`t here yet, lets start” said Arthur.

“Fine” she said, “Good I called for a meeting because I have some news, you all must of heard by now that one of our men has died, Henry Evans he was a good man, he worked hard for us all and was a dear friend, so lets all raise our glasses to Henry. Henry Evans.” Tommy said.

He held his glass which was half full of whiskey in it, “Henry Evans.” everyone said together, Tommy placed his glass down on the bar, “The second this is, Henry has a daughter called Jessie, she`s twenty one, she has no job and no other family left, so I promised to Henry that I`d protect Jessie and she`ll work for me at Shelby Company Limited, she`ll be an accountant.” Tommy says. 

“She`ll take Michael`s place then, Tommy you can`t. My son has worked his arse off, for this job, he`s been there for the last eight years you can`t do this to Michael.” Polly said. “Michael will still have his job Pol, I need another accountant.” 

“Jessie, the blonde girl, she used to come to the library in London, she`s sweet I remember her.” Ada said. “Yes that's Jessie Ada, Finn bring in her in.” he said.

Finn stood up and walked to the door on the left, and opened it. “You can come in now Jessie, Tommy and everyone is waiting for you.” he said to her, “Thank you.” she said.

She was wearing a light blue dress, with a white collar, black shoes, a light blue hat, red lipstick, light blue earrings and white gloves and a tanned coat with dark brown fur around it. 

She walked in slowly, Finn shut the door and all eyes were on Jessie, “Come in darling.” Tommy said, he could tell that she was nervous, she walked over to him and they hugged.

“Everyone this is Jessie, Evans.” he said, with a smile, everyone looked at her like she was a famous actress, but she wasn`t, she was a Peaky Blinder`s daughter, some of them smiled and some of them didn`t.

“Hello everyone, thank you Mr Shelby, for welcoming me into your family, how can I repay you?” she said, with a grin.

“Welcoming? Oh darling, your not a part of this family, yet.” said Polly then she laughed, “I`m sorry I shouldn`t of said that bit, I`m sorry Mr Shelby, my apologizes” she said, “Don`t apologize Jessie, Polly please respect Jessie. She`s our guest.” he says locking his sapphire blue eyes into her hazel brown eyes.

“Alright, welcome Miss Evans.” Polly says, “Thank you, its lovely to meet you all.” she says, “I`m Ada, we've met before Jessie in London, at the library I used to work out, you loved reading the history books” Ada says, “Yes I remember you, those books were so interesting to read thank you Ada.” Jessie says.

“This is Linda, Esme and Lizzie, they all work for me, Linda is Arthur`s wife, John is Esme`s wife and Lizzie is my secretary.” Tommy says, Lizzie looks sad. “Hello.” Jessie says, “It`s nice to meet you Linda, that's a nice necklace.” Linda says.

“Thank you, my father bought it for my eighteenth birthday, it was the best present that I've got, he`d hate me if i lost it.” Jessie says back to Linda, “It`s lovely, Arthur bought me one just like it for Christmas last year, but It was pink.” Linda says smiling at Arthur, he smiles back and Jessie smiles.

Esme and Lizzie just smiled at her, “In the corner is Curly, Charlie and Johnny, Curly is one of the best stable boys there is in this world, Charlie is like my Uncle, he has his own yard and Johnny is my friend and he works for us.” Tommy said.

“Its nice to meet you Jessie.” Johnny said, “Thank you Mr Dogs.” she said, “Please call me Johnny, everyone does.” he says, he winks at her with a smile. “Ok thank you Johnny.” she said.

“That`s a nice coat.” Curly said, “Ah thank you.” she said, “Welcome Jessie.” said Charlie, “Thank you” she said to him. 

“Then over there is Jeremiah and Isiah, there father and son, Jeremiah is a preacher and Isiah is one of us.” Tommy said, “Welcome Jessie, I`m Jeremiah.” Jeremiah said. “Thank you Jeremiah.” she said, he smiled. “It`s nice to meet you darling, I`m Isiah and if you ever want a drink I`m available.” Isiah said smiling.

“Thank you, I`ll have to let you know.” she said, “Sure.” said Isiah. “You`ve already met John and Finn, two of my brothers and you've also met the other one Arthur.” said Tommy. 

“Hi I`m Finn, nice dress and coat.” said Finn with a smile, “Thank you Finn, its nice to meet you, hello again John.” said Jessie, “Alright Jessie?” said John, “Yeah thank you.” said Jessie. 

“Hey Jessie, do you drink?” said Arthur standing behind her, “Uh yes I do but only whiskey, I don`t like to drink scotch or champagne.” said Jessie, “Right come and have some then, love, here you go one whiskey for you.” Arthur said in his loud voice.

“Thank you Arthur.” she said, she drank the whiskey out of a crystal glass that had Shelby on it. “It says Shelby on it, I don`t think I`m supposed to drink out of this.” she said.

“Well your a part of the family now Jessie, you drink out of that.” Arthur said, “Oh thank you Arthur, I`m not quite a Shelby, I`m an Evans.” she said, “Your a Shelby when I say your a Shelby, Jessie.” Tommy says.

“Thank you Mr Shelby.” she says smiling, “I`d prefer it if you called me Tommy, or Thomas or Tom if you like, it just makes things easier.” he says, “I will.” she says.

Then Lizzie, Ada and Linda got up from there seats and started talking to Jessie and they all laughed together, Polly looked at Tommy with a stare and he looked back then Esme came over and joined the conversation, Jessie and Ada hugged.

Then Michael walked in, “Sorry I`m late Tommy, I got held up.” he said, then Jessie turned his eyes to him, then he turned his eyes to her. “Who`s this woman Tommy?” Michael asked.

Ada, Lizzie, Linda and Esme sat back down in there seats. “Michael this is Jessie, Henry Evan`s daughter.” Tommy said, “Oh I`m so sorry to hear what happened to your father Jessie, It`s horrible, you have my sympathy.” Michael said.

“Thank you, Mr Gray.” she said, “Please, call me Michael.” he said with a smile, “Ok thank you Michael, It`s lovely to meet you.” she said, “The pleasure is all mine.” he says, they shake hands with each other, Jessie couldn`t help but be drawn to Michael, he was a stranger but to her he was something else.

“Jessie will be working as an accountant at Shelby Company Limited, Michael, she`ll be working with you.” said Ada, “Oh really?” he asked. “Yes.” said Jessie, “Well I'm looking very forward to working with you Jessie.” Michael said, “And I you Michael.” said Jessie.

Polly watched them, she inhaled a cigarette and watched Michael the whole time, “What`s the matter mum?” he asked, “Nothing Michael, what do you think of the girl?” she asked him, she whispered to him.

“She`s nice mum, I don`t really know her but she`s alright, she`s pretty, why?” Michael asked, “No reason Michael, no reason.” she said, he inhales a cigarette and she inhaled another cigarette, she watched Jessie talking to Tommy and Arthur

A few hours later, Tommy and Jessie walked down the streets of Birmingham and into Shelby Company Limited, “Now this is my business Jessie, Shelby Company Limited, you will start work here tomorrow, but today I want to show the ropes, show you some people and you show where everything is and how everything works. Alright?” he says.

“Yes Tommy.” she says, “Good, Lizzie?” he says, he calls Lizzie over, “Yes Tommy?” she said. “Please show Jessie, your desk and what you do?” he says, “Yes Tommy, its lovely to see you again Jessie.” she says.

“Thank you, its nice to see you again too Lizzie.” Jessie says, “I`m Tommy`s secretary, I do the phone calls, organize meetings and the typing, Tommy even bought me a typewriter for it, they come handy in my job. I hear your going to be working with Michael as an accountant.” she said.

“Yes I am, I`m a bit nervous to work with him but, I think I`ll be looked after here.” she said. “Don`t worry Jessie, Michael is lovely, you`ll be fine and I`m sure he`ll look after you. Tommy I've got work to do, I`ll see you later Jessie.” Lizzie said.

“Thank you.” Jessie said, Lizzie smiled at her and glared at Tommy, she got back to work. Tommy and Jessie walked through Shelby Company Limited up until Michael`s office, Jessie looked terrified as she`s nervous about Michael, she has mixed feelings about him. 

Tommy knocked on the door, “Come in.” Michael said, “Tommy its you, oh hello Jessie.” he said, smiling. “Hello Michael, its lovely to see you again. I like this room, is it your office?” she asked, nervously.

“Yes this is my office.” he says. “Oh, its lovely. I like the wallpaper.” she said, “Yes so do I my mother chose it.” Michael said. “Michael, I`d like you to show Jessie where everything is, I need to go to London with Arthur, John and Finn, there`s some trouble up there I need to go and sort it, I`d like you to stay at the house with Jessie. I`ve booked a holiday for Lizzie and Charles there going later tonight, Its your job to protect Jessie and if you don`t protect her I will know.” Tommy said.

“Ok Tommy, how will I get here every day?” he says, “You can drive there Michael or get the train from Warwickshire to London then to Birmingham, but just keep her safe Michael.” Tommy says.

“I will Tommy, I`ll keep our guest safe, you`ll be fine with me, Jessie don`t worry I`ll protect you.” Michael said, inhaling another cigarette, he inhaled slowly. “Thank you Michael, but I really don`t need protecting I can protect myself.” Jessie said.

“Everyone needs protecting at some point Jessie.” Michael said, she looked into his sea blue eyes. “Thank you Michael, I`m counting on you, I`ll see you soon Jessie I won`t be in London for long, just a couple of days then I`ll be back.” he said.

“Thank you Tommy, I am very grateful for this job and for everything that you have given me.” she said. “I know Jessie, your welcome. Michael.” he said.

“Goodbye Tommy good luck.” Michael said. Tommy smiles at Jessie and she smiles at him, he leaves and Michael inhales another cigarette, the smoke fills the air all around him.

“Welcome to the team Jessie.” he said with a smile, “Thank you.” she said. He smiled at her as he sat in his chair.

She felt uneasy, she has fallen for Michael`s charm and smiles, he must protect on Tommy`s orders.

[sammykiszkasunusedshoes]

label off the bottle

pairing: Josh kiszka x F!reader

warings: dirty talk (???), drinking, fluffy Josh, swearing, cheating ex, Lil angsty

A/N: this is my first fanfic on here so my apologies if it's horrible ! The grammar also might suck because I'm writing this all in one go and praying for the best. I'm so sorry if this bad. Please leave feedback!!!!

Word count: 1.6k

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

Smoke looms the building as the strong smell of liquor and cheap perfume makes the air even heavier. There's clashing body's everywhere as you excuse yourself through the crowd trying to find the group you came with. You knew coming here wasn't a good idea, but the thought you'd see him here? That wasn't something you'd expect. Yes, it's been a month since you and Owen had called it quits. But it still hurts to see him around. Especially since you just saw him with his tongue down the same girl's throat that you had caught him with the night you had called it quits. Thank God for the boys and Ronnie. Without them you'd probably still be a hermit in your room. But right now that's what you wished for. You just wanted to leave but you didn't want to ruin their night.

As you finally found your way through the sweaty crowd that danced to the wall banging music, you found where your group was hiding. Well, you wouldn't say hiding. Of course they were sitting where the booze was. As you walked over to them and pulled your skirt down from the hike you just had to make to get over to the kitchen, Josh smiled up at you from his seated position. He grabbed your waist and sat you on his lap hugging you tightly to him. You laughed and ruffled his curly hair playfully trying to get away from him. But in reality you wanted to stay exactly where you were. You always were close with Josh but your heart wanted to be closer.

"There you are mama! I thought you left me here all alone!" Josh dramatically nuzzled his nose into your neck. Of course he was drunk, but he was usually like this, Josh is a pretty touchy person. It's just his way of showing he cared. But you wanted the touch to mean more, not just as a best friend type of way but a lover.

"oh Joshy, I'd never leave you alone. That'd be horrible! How else would I get home?" You smirked at him as you got up off his lap. You reached over Josh to grab another beer.

"You only use me for my super cool jeep" Josh pouted as he ran his hand up your side while you leaned over him. He quickly brought his hand away and looked across the room at Jake, who as you guess was smirking right at Josh. Jake knew all about Josh's feelings for you and has told Josh you felt the same. He just doesn't believe it.

"y/n!!! come here, it's our song!" you squinted your eyes closed as Ronnie screeches drunkenly as some song you two danced to once at a club started to play. she grabbed your hand and pulled you to the makeshift dance floor.

"tsk tsk tsk brother… when are you finally gonna make a move Josh?" Jake chucks his empty bottle in the trash as he grabs another.

"I don't know… she only sees me as a friend jake- I don't want to ruin anything" Josh slurs as he looks down at the beer bottle in his hand. He slowly picks at the label trying to peel it off as he sighs. "She's my best friend and always has been-"

"And she's always been in love with you Josh. You're blind as a fucking bat if you can't see that." Jake cuts his twin off as Josh rolls his eyes dramatically.

"And you're blind as a 'fucking bat' to even think she sees me like that Jake! She's had countless boyfriends and I've tried to make her see that I want her but it doesn't work! She gets hurt then moves on and I'm still friend zoned!" Josh rips the label off the bottle and tosses it on the floor. "I've accepted that I'm just a friend to her."

Jake rolls his eyes and scoffs at his twin brother getting swallowed by his self pity. "Oh c'mon Joshua. If you don't own up to your feelings soon. You're gonna lose her for good."

"Lose who for good?" You lean on the wall looking between the two identical boys as you picked at the label on your bottle. Just as Josh had done to his a minute ago.

Jake looks at Josh before rubbing Josh's shoulder as he walks by indicating that now's the time to man up. Josh watches Jake walk past, biting at his lower lip before looking back at you.

As you leaned against the wall Josh studied you. He started at your legs, slowly looking up. Scanning over your black leather skirt, to your sage green tank top. God his thoughts were spinning like a record as he took in your beauty.

He stood up and scratched the back of his neck. He smiled like an idiot as he walked closer to you. "Whattttt we weren't talking about anyone pretty mama!" He tried to play off his conversation with Jake earlier.

You crossed your arms as you gave him the 'mom look' you were so well known for. "Joshua, don't lie to me" you scolded.

Gosh, even drunk, Josh still bucks at his knees when you scold him. It's honestly a turn on for him. "Mama I wouldn't lie to you" he said in a sing-song voice as he kissed your cheek and giggled.

"Josh, I'm serious! I hate it when you leave me out of things." You pouted and pushed him away playfully.

Just when Josh was about to say screw it and own up to his feelings, the man Josh would strangle with his own hand walks up to you, as if he owned you.

"Baby, it's been so long…" Owen. The ex that broke you completely came to you and grabbed your waist.

"Don't touch me Owen-" you pushed his hands away and back up towards Josh. "And don't call me baby." You crossed your arms.

Owen rolled his eyes and grabbed another beer. "Oh shut it, Y/N. Accept a man's affection." he slurred.

Josh swore he growled like a savage animal. He grabbed your hand and looked at you sweetly. "C'mon babe, let's head home." He hoped you would play along so he could get you away from your asshole ex.

You nodded and followed Josh outside to his truck. You tilted your head at Josh as you heard him mumble things under his breath angrily.

"Josh, why are you mumbling?" You asked as he scoffed.

"I don't understand how you've let yourself date such… such assholes! You deserve better but you don't let yourself have better! It's stupid Y/N! God- it hurts me to see you let yourself settle for cheating assholes like that. You're so… so goddamn blind!" Josh ran his hand through his hair as he laughed at his anger.

Oh you were ticked. How could your so-called best friend just… just snap at you like that? "Seriously Josh? I'm blind? It's not like I'm some lie detector when it comes to men! God your not any better than those assholes right now. And I try to do better Josh! It's hard when you can't get the one you want to realize you want them!"

Josh scoffs, "oh trust me y/n. I know exactly what it's like. Do you know how stupid it is to get friend zoned by you everyday? I do everything in my power to get you to realize I love you but you're so caught up with that stupid ex of yours!" He waves his hands around as you look at him blankly. "Shit- I'm… no I didn't mean-" Josh stammers with his words. He just confessed everything to you.

"You… you, Joshua Kiszka like… me?" You looked at him in disbelief. He laughs at you and grabs your waist, pinning you against his Jeep. "Like I said. You are so fucking blind mama. I love you more than life itself, and it's so stupid it took this long for you to realize." He brushed a loose strand of hair behind your ear and looked at you with dark eyes.

"Now tell me mama, it's only fair…" Josh smiles and leans in closer. "How do you feel about me?"

You were not expecting tonight to turn into this… pinned against the love of your lifes vehicle. "I uhm.." you searched his expression, he was drunk but definitely sobered up from the screaming. You shake your head and close in the space between you two. His soft lips connect with yours and he suddenly goes completely still before he melts into you. Running his hands all over your body. It's a dream come true for him.

After what felt like years of kissing, you finally pull apart to catch your breath. You look at him between your eyelashes and laugh softly. "Josh I've been in love with you for- god knows how long…"

Josh kisses you again, and again, and again. This was all he's ever wanted, what's he's wished for every birthday when he had to blow out the candles you begged the twins to do since its a 'tradition.'

While you two are smiling at each other you hear cheering and hollering from behind Josh, you look over to see Ronnie, Jake, Danny, and Sam clapping away before Sam hits Danny's shoulder. "Pay up bitch! I told you it would happen!" Sam does the grabby hands as Danny scoffs and grabs his wallet.

"I'm never letting you go, just so you know that mama." Josh pecks your lips once again as he smiles. He's finally found his euphoria. Finally found his reason for life. He's finally got the prize.

[yellowocaballero]

Jon's Trapped in Temporal Time-Out: A TMA Time Travelling Tale

Sasha was tipping some whiskey from her secret flask into her tea when Tim poked his head into the breakroom and announced that he had found a corpse.

Sasha and Martin, hunched over their paltry lunches and pathetic lives situated upon a rickety metal breakroom table and equally rickety metal chairs, stared at him. 

“Like,” Sasha said finally, “a human one?”

Tim shrugged. “Humanoid? I didn’t want to poke it and see if it was fleshy, so I guess the jury’s out.”

Hm. Sasha put her flask away. The day was no longer boring, so it was unnecessary. 

The most relevant questions ought to be asked first. “Should we tell Jon?”

“He might throw a bitch fit about how corpses are unhygienic, so no?”

Martin drained his tea and stood up from the rickety metal chair, resigned. “I’ll get the broom.”

I kept on bitching about how much I dislike the beginning scenes of TMA time travelling AUs so my friend @lazuliquetzal​ (who wrote the best TMA time travelling fic in the fandom) told me to put my money where my mouth is. It’s nowhere near her level, but in my defense it’s probably even stupider than Reflection. 10K of stupid under the cut. 

Sasha was tipping some whiskey from her secret flask into her tea when Tim poked his head into the breakroom and announced that he had found a corpse.

Sasha and Martin, hunched over their paltry lunches and pathetic lives situated upon a rickety metal breakroom table and equally rickety metal chairs, stared at him. 

“Like,” Sasha said finally, “a human one?”

Tim shrugged. “Humanoid? I didn’t want to poke it and see if it was fleshy, so I guess the jury’s out.”

Hm. Sasha put her flask away. The day was no longer boring, so it was unnecessary. 

The most relevant questions ought to be asked first. “Should we tell Jon?”

“He might throw a bitch fit about how corpses are unhygienic, so no?”

Martin drained his tea and stood up from the rickety metal chair, resigned. “I’ll get the broom.”

****

There was, indeed, a corpse in the Archives.

More specifically, in the stacks. The worst place to die, or least be dumped. Sasha had to admit the logic of it: it was the darkest depths of the library that Martin had informed her was ‘somewhat creepy’ and ‘kind of ominous’ so ‘please stop sleeping there you’re going to give me a heart attack’. After Martin flipped on a few lights that were never flipped on (apparently Elias was a cheapskate, which explained the breakroom) they could all gawk at the corpse to their heart’s content. 

Very kindly and thoughtfully, Tim asked Martin if he wanted to stay out of the library and maybe to ‘tell someone’ or something. Both Sasha and Tim had mutually and silently agreed that Martin seemed the type to have a delicate constitution. Granted, he hadn’t seemed the type to win Magnus Anarchist every month by breaking into abandoned buildings with absolutely no shame, so maybe he was the kind that surprised you. 

But Martin had just looked a little unimpressed. “Do you seriously think this is my first corpse? I went to university.”

That somewhat intimidated Sasha, who abruptly worried that she had missed out on an essential university experience again. “Is that a typical university experience?”

Martin paused a beat. 

“Uh,” he said, “yeah, sure, of course. Hazing, you know.”

“Is that what hazing…?”

“Fraternities.”

Tim, from where he had been standing at the entrance to the stacks snapping on the sterile gloves he had liberated from the cleaning supply closet, looked delighted. “You were in a frat too, Martin? What kind of hardcore frat had corpse hazings? Was it the Sigma Gammas? My frat always thought they were way too crazy, but we were a business one -”

“You know what,” Martin said, “let’s just worry about the corpse.”

After Sasha tied her hair in a ponytail and Martin snapped on his own gloves, they awkwardly approached the aisle where Tim had been trying to find a reference book for Jon. Sasha was worried that they would have to hunt for it a little, or that there would be a bad jump scare, but when they found it she saw that it wasn’t subtle at all.

It was sprawled on the ground, face mashed into the cheap and somewhat gross carpet. Sasha approached it with absolutely no hesitation, which Tim and Martin gladly let her do, and squatted down to get a better look at the figure. 

She definitely needed to make a coroner’s report. She was the objective expert in coroner’s reports. 

 “Tim, can you run back and get one of Jon’s silly little tape recorders for my coroner’s report?”

“Did you just see that on the telly?” Tim asked skeptically. “Because if you did -”

“Oh, here one is. That’s really convenient!” Martin grabbed one off the shelf and pressed play, letting the tape roll. “Good idea, Sasha. We need proof to Jon that we were researching.”

Probably...not what Jon meant for them to be researching, but Sasha liked to believe that it was the intent that mattered. She pulled a pencil out of her pencil skirt pocket, poking the figure thoughtfully. “Report by Sasha James, Archival Assistant.” There, now it was work. “At 1:30pm today, Tim Stoker discovered a corpse in the Archives, thereby referred to as John Doe -”

“Do we have to call it John Doe?” Tim complained, standing next ot her and crossing his arms. “Then we have too many Johns, it’ll get confusing.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Sasha said dismissively. “Ours is Jon, this guy’s John. Completely different.”

“Sasha, I’m not sure that’s how words work.”

“What are you, an English major?”

“Yes! I was an editor for a living!”

“Sorry if I don’t listen to guys who were fired from book editing school -”

“Uh,” Martin said, “have we checked to see if he’s actually dead?”

Sasha and Tim fell silent. Sasha looked at Tim. Tim shook his head. 

“Seriously, mate?” Sasha asked, unimpressed. 

“I didn’t want to touch the corpse!” Tim cried. “So sue me! It’s not as if he’s moving!”

Pussy. Sasha gently reached out and pushed aside a little of the corpse’s very long and pretty curly hair. What was that, 3C? Jesus, that had to be work. Sasha was 3A and the amount of hair care products she owned was insane.

She waved her hand at the boys for silence and put her thumb against his pulse, concentrating hard. Martin quietly walked over and crouched down too, eyeing his chest. 

“I don’t feel a pulse,” Sasha said finally. 

“Also, uh, I’m not a doctor,” Martin said, “but he’s definitely not breathing.”

“I told you,” Tim said defensively. “You just look at the thing, and you go - yep, that’s a corpse!”

“Corpse appears to be an ethnically ambiguous adult man with very nice hair,” Sasha said loudly. Martin helpfully held out the recorder to catch her voice better. “Maybe 190cm. Incredibly skinny - potential cause of death. He’s dressed in...some very ratty clothing. Potentially homeless.”

“It definitely smells,” Tim said, pinching his nose. Sasha didn’t blame him - the clothing was an overlarge green hoodie, ratty and threadbare, and his jeans weren’t any better. His boots were worn and soft leather. “Maybe he’s a homeless guy who snuck in and died?”

“That’s so sad,” Martin said softly. “Also a little gross.”

“Have some respect for the dead, guys,” Sasha said, as she poked the dead guy with a pencil. “Tim, go flip him over.”

Tim held his hands up, stepping away. “I couldn’t possibly. Martin loves flipping people over.”

“This again?” Martin asked, frustrated. “This is just like when you made me handle the Rawlings case because you’re scared of the suburbs!”

“They have too many eyes, Martin!”

“I am surrounded by cowards,” Sasha noted for the recorder. Nothing for it, then. Sasha carefully straightened, wobbling on her heels, before solidly wiggling her hands underneath the corpse’s chest. He was cold - dead a while. 

It was surprisingly difficult to flip over a limp adult man. Sasha was strong, but the corpse’s flesh was weak, and he was all floppy. Eventually Tim got over himself long enough to help her, making a very disgusted face the entire time, and they were able to finally get a good look at the man’s face.

Abruptly, upon seeing it, they all quieted. 

There was something about seeing a man splayed out on the ground that was a little funny, if you worked for the Magnus Institute and had probably encountered a Leitener two years ago and lost all empathy. No more impediments in the search for science. But there was something very different about looking at a person, who had a nose and lips and a very ratty hoodie, and knowing that it was no longer a person. Just a lot of cloth and meat and blood and organs and nice hair that once was a person, back when things were easier and the world was a little less harsh.

But maybe Sasha was caught by sentimentality: after all, the corpse looked a little like Jon.

Judging from the stunned faces of her compatriots as they all bent around the figure, they all thought the same thing. Tim’s jaw was open, and Martin’s hand was covering his mouth in shock. 

“Man,” Tim said. “This sucks. And it’s really creepy.”

“He must have been really gorgeous,” Martin said. “That’s so sad.” 

Actually, Sasha tilted her head and took another look. He had sharp and severe features, elegant and striking. A large and thin, sharp nose, and equally sharp lips. His face was just as sharp and gaunt, as emancipated as the rest of him. He had strange scars trailing up his neck and curving around his jaw, but it just kind of accentuated the intense atmosphere. 

It was probably a pretty stupid thing to focus on, but in her defense it wasn’t really the face of a homeless guy. Well, maybe. Hot homeless people existed.

Sasha frowned. She’s only met one other person this hot. 

“Hey,” she said, “doesn’t he look like Jon?”

Both the men titled their heads. 

Finally, Tim said, “Nah, he’s hotter.”

“Agreed,” Sasha said. “I think the scars really do it.” 

“Uh, guys,” Martin said. 

Sasha grabbed her tape recorder out of Martin���s hands, resuming her coroner’s report. “Subject appears to be in his thirties. Weirdly attractive, but that’s probably not as important as we feel it is.” She looked down at his hands, carefully using her pencil to push up the sleeve. “What looks like an aged and badly healed burn scar on his right hand. Supports homeless guy evidence.”

“Knife scar over his throat,” Tim quietly observed. “Someone tried to kill this guy.”

“Guys,” Martin said. 

“Well, I guess this is the point where we worry about body disposal,” Sasha said, straightening. “I think Elias could handle this discreetly and professionally, but that might involve letting Jon know. And I don’t think any of us want that kind of stress in our lives.”

“So, are we not even pretending to want to call the cops, or…?”

“Listen to me!”

Both Tim and Sasha shut up, somewhat guiltily. Martin had straightened too, fists balled, looking firm and determined and resolute - everything that Martin wasn’t, really. Martin lived unsure of himself, never expressing his own feelings or ending every opinion with an “I don’t know, maybe, that’s just my thoughts, what do you think?”. 

So Tim and Sasha paid attention, and when Sasha nodded encouragingly at him he seemed to find further courage. Solemnly, with the air of a wise man by the side of the road, Martin said, “This guy isn’t hotter than Jon.”

Christ. Sasha takes it all back.

 Tim propped a hand on his hip supportively as Sasha rolled her eyes. “Look, mate,” Tim said, “I know that you think Jon’s the hottest person in existence, and maybe objectively he’s fine as hell, but once you know him for longer than three months he loses all attractiveness. It would be like being into the DMV clerk. The really pretentious cousin at all of your family reunions who tries to explain your own job to you. The dude in your English class who thinks he invented feminism.”

“That was you,” Sasha said. 

“I am the objective expert in Jon,” Martin said firmly, shutting down the dissent. “He’s, like, my muse, okay? And can I say, as I have spent so many long hours memorizing the curve of his jaw - that’s the same jaw.”

If Sasha had a retort to that, or if Tim wanted to judge Martin for his taste in men further, neither of them had a chance. There wasn't an opportunity to say anything more, because the corpse opened its eyes. 

Sasha’s first thought was this: wow, what green eyes. 

Sasha’s second thought was: the fuck?

His eyes didn’t focus on her, or snap anywhere. They drifted a little lazily, fixed on the right, but the man was undoubtedly aware. His fingers twitched, he tilted his head from left to right, and his left hand - doubtlessly the hand that still felt texture - clenched the thin and cheap rug. The man’s jaw slackened a little, as if in surprise. 

For their part, the Assistants frantically looked at each other, all conveying the exact same thought - you said he was dead!

Sasha froze to her spot, petrified. She could handle corpses, or coroner’s reports, or mysteries. Sasha was intelligent, unkind, firm, socially incompetent, and a Libra. She could handle the dead, but the living? Sasha had no idea what to do with alive people.

But Tim did. He hesitated two moments, reeling back in shock, before he abruptly composed himself. He crouched down to the guy, and modulated his voice to sound calming and firm. “Hey, don’t strain yourself. Are you alright? Do you hurt anywhere?”

The man turned his head in Tim's direction, hiding his expression from Sasha, but she saw Tim’s eyes widen. Martin, standing closer to his feet, wrung his hands - clearly torn on what to do, uncertain how to help. Martin always hated being uncertain how to help the most. Which was pretty unfortunate, because Martin always wanted to help, and Martin was always uncertain. 

“Can you speak?” Tim asked gently. “If you can’t speak, go ahead and knock on the floor for me, okay?”

“If we pack him into your car, we can say that we found him on the street,” Sasha piped up. As much as she distrusted NHS, and as much as the NHS refused to touch anybody who had ever stepped foot inside the Institute, they could hardly refuse somebody if they just lied their ass off about it. “They’ll have to treat him then, right?”

“We could make it so much worse if we move him,” Martin said quickly, just as strangely firm. “We need to take our chances with 999.”

“We don’t even know if he’s injured,” Sasha pointed out, somewhat optimistically. “Maybe this whole thing can just, like, not be a problem.”

Yeah, Sasha definitely preferred corpses. 

The man was opening and closing his mouth, before he coughed wetly. Sasha clinically noted that it was the first time she had seen his chest move. As Tim reached forward, murmuring gently, and helped the man sit up, she saw that his chest didn’t move at all.

“Alright, let’s try to get you up.” Tim helped the man shift so he was leaning against the bookcase - uncomfortable, but a better position if he started coughing up blood. “We should fetch you some water - Martin, I don’t think he has any injury like that, he just seems out of it. His eyes aren’t focusing on me at all.”

Strangely, the man scoffed at that. The sound made him cough again, but the derision was unmistakable.

The derision was extremely familiar. 

When Sasha looked at Martin his eyes were wide behind his glasses, and she knew that he had heard the same thing that she did. 

Finally, with a raspy and hoarse voice, the man said, “Well, isn’t this fucking fun.”

Everybody stared at him. His voice...different, definitely, with a less posh accent and strained vocal cords scratching his tones. But when Sasha glanced at Tim, she just knew that he was remembering when Jon had insisted on coming into work with a terrible cold and Martin had to bully him home. He had sounded eerily like…

“Is this your idea of a joke?” the man said. 

Tim, from where he was crouched next to the guy, turned his attention back to him. “I’m a funny guy, but last time I checked head injuries aren’t a joke.” He tracked his finger across the man’s eyes, frowning when they didn’t follow. “You definitely have a concussion, mate. If you can walk, we need to -”

“Lord, alright, I get it.” The man raised his burned hand and clumsily rubbed his eyes. “You’re mad at me, I’m sleeping on the couch, whatever. Is all of this really necessary?”

“Uh,” Tim said intelligently. “Mate, I’m not your boyfriend.”

The man waved his other hand in Tim’s direction as he pressed his fingers into his eyes in exhaustion. “I’m hardly speaking to you.” Tim’s jaw dropped in shock as the man angled his face upwards, the crown of his head jamming uncomfortably against the metal shelving. “In my defense, I was doing the best I could with the resources you gave me. It’s water under the bridge. I’ve forgotten about it already! So let’s just get back to our eldritch hellscape.”

Everybody stared at each other. 

“We should move this into the break room,” Martin said. “There’s tea there.”

“Oh, don’t be rude,” Jon said, “making Martin into a caricature of himself. You like Martin, you told me so.”

“Counterpoint,” Sasha said weakly, “the bullpen has Jon. And I really don’t want to explain this to Jon.”

“I don’t even know who this one is,” the man said. “What? Not going to tell me?”

“Okay, like, fucking rude, but whatever.”

“I don’t know who you’re talking to,” Tim said firmly, reaching out and putting a firm hand on the man’s arm. The man didn’t recoil or jerk away, just looking down in vague surprise. “But they aren’t here right now. You’re in the basement of the Magnus Institute, alright? I’m Tim Stoker, at your service, and these are my coworkers. I think you have a brain injury. If you can walk, we need to get you -”

“I can’t eat here,” the man said, but he made no effort to remove Tim’s arm. He moved his other hand, pressing it against Tim’s own, as if they were friends. “Cutting me off from my Knowledge -” it was capitalized, Sasha could hear it “ - chaining me to my desk, for - what? You’re not even answering me? Come on!” The man’s voice raised, and for the first time Sasha could hear something ragged in it. “Don’t give me the silent treatment!”

“Jon.”

It was Martin, standing at a distance from the man - from all of them. He was wringing his hands again, shoulders hunched and tense, but his expression was caught in that same mysterious firmness. 

The man didn't react. Not in surprise, not in shock, not in unrecognition. He just scowled a little, ignoring all of them. 

“Jon,” Martin said, louder. “This isn’t solving anything. Don’t be stubborn.”

“I’m not the one being stubborn, Martin,” Jon - Jon?! - muttered, folding his arms. Like an infant. Like, hypothetically, something Jon would do. “I just don’t think omniscient fear gods should be petty.”

Everybody looked at each other. 

“This needs tea,” Martin proclaimed finally, and everybody nodded in silent agreement.

Every nodded in agreement - even, strangely enough, Jonathan Sims himself. 

****

This plan had a few complexities. 

The first complexity was dealing with Jon - their Boss - himself. In an act of cunning psychological warfare, Martin had gone ahead of them and used his endless and infinite subtle acts of manipulation to guarantee that Jon wouldn’t interrupt them. This situation was already Quite A Bit, nobody wanted to babysit their boss. 

Who Sasha frequently felt as if she babysat a bit. Having the youngest person in the office be the very rigid and authoritarian boss was objectively a little funny. But you know what’s not funny? Transphobia. 

Eventually Martin came back and waved them forward, and Tim gently yet firmly dragged the man upwards and put a hand on his back. 

“Do you mind if I touch you?” Tim asked. He sounded resigned about it - barely expecting Jon to respond. “Let me know how you want me to guide you.”

“Oh, it’s whatever. If you’re going to play it this way.” Jon easily looped his arm through Tim’s, who didn’t bother to mask his shock. “Let’s just get this over with.”

Sasha went ahead of them, watching Tim walk Jon down the aisle - hah! - with his arm looped through his elbow and a hand on his back. It was exactly the kind of care and meticulousness that Sasha always saw in him when it came to others. He literally walked grannies across the street. It was horrendous. She got second-hand embarrassed whenever she saw it.

Tim was loudly, extremely, messily kind. He was a person who adopted lost causes, like young men too grumpy to make real friends and women who only knew academia and never people. Sasha told him that once he got his teeth into something he never let go. It would get him into trouble one day. Maybe it already had. 

Sure enough, when Sasha opened the library door for them and peeked her head into the hallway, she saw that Jon’s office door was very firmly shut and locked. Even more incriminatingly, she heard his cute little theater drama monologues starting. Tim had found Jon’s theater aspirations very adorable and he had tried recording them to put on his Snapchat and maybe get him discovered by an agent, but unfortunately the videos made Tim’s phone bleed. They had given Martin ten pounds to taste the blood. Man would do anything for ten pounds, but seeing as they all worked this job that probably applied to all them. 

A workplace made out of people who always picked ‘dare’ in truth or dare. It was kind of a miracle they were still alive. Sasha was a little uncertain how she had survived to thirty five, actually. 

Once Sasha gave the all clear, Tim was able to bring Jon (Neo-Jon? Nega-Jon? Dark Jon? Mean Jon? No, that was just Jon) into the bullpen. Softly narrating what he was doing, he pulled out a chair and lowered Jon into it. 

Homeless Jon hasn’t been blind for very long, Sasha noted clinically. Long enough that he seemed more mildly irritated by it than anything else, but instead of orienting himself or testing out where he was he just kind of slumped in his chair. 

“Jon - uh, the Boss is taken care of?” Tim asked Martin, who was rapidly bustling into the bullpen with four cups of tea that he seemed to be under the impression would help. Tim had sat Homeless Jon in Martin’s chair, which seemed to fluster Martin a bit. 

“Uh, yeah. Gave him a normal statement to get his guard down, then five of the - you know, weird - statements and said that he has to go through all of them today. He’ll be in there for an hour at least.” 

Sasha frowned. “After two he gets a headache and gets bitchy.”

“Three o’clock exactly,” Tim said solemnly.

“Oh, leave off,” Homeless Jon said, “it wasn’t that bad.”

Everybody double taked and looked at each other significantly - which was quickly becoming their predominant mode of communication in a ruthless act of ableism. But Martin just held out a cup of tea, faltering as he clearly stopped to wonder the easiest way to give it to him. 

“Can you hold out your hands, Jon? I have some tea for you. It’s hot, so be careful, okay?”

“If the tea’s spiders I’m going to take it out on Annabelle,” Weird Jon said, but he held out his hands anyway and let Martin put the mug in them. He sniffed it cautiously, checking for spiders, before taking a cautious sip. 

To Sasha and Tim, Martin said, “I know, he’s going to fall asleep after two. I mean, it might be because I drugged his tea a little -”

Weird Jon spat out his tea back into the mug. 

“ - so we shouldn’t be interrupted,” Martin said brightly, clapping his hands. “Now! I think it’s time for explanations, don’t you?” He turned his mighty gaze upon Thankfully Blind Jon, who was occupied carefully holding the tea away from himself. “Drink your tea, Jon.”

Jon drank his tea. His expression twisted. “It tastes just like his.”

Everybody looked at each other. Tim mouthed the word ‘time traveller’ very clearly. Both Sasha and Martin nodded. It was the obvious explanation. 

“An explanation now, please,” Martin said pleasantly. “If you’re a time traveller, you can tell us. This is a safe space.”

Jon-from-the-future’s expression harshened in creases. He hadn’t once relaxed, expression permanently tightened in annoyance and disgruntlement. It was ridiculously Jon. 

Definitely a time traveller. You didn’t work at the Magnus Institute without secretly spending your life deeply hoping you run into a time traveller. Every researcher upstairs secretly prayed to discover the majesty. Everyone in Artifact Storage eagerly gathered around mysterious clocks and dared each other to touch them. Sasha, Queen of Truth-or-Dare, was the undisputed expert in making other people touch weird clocks and recording their reactions.

“Fine,” Super Time Traveller Jon said. “I know this is what you want. Statement of a stupid punishment by the pettiest little color in the evil crayon box. Recorded by the Archivist, in situ. Statement begins.”

Wow, Jon still had his job in the future? That’s a surprise. 

Martin was mouthing the word ‘evil crayon box’ to himself, looking increasingly concerned. The forgotten tape recorder, clenched in Sasha’s fist without her even realizing it, clicked and whirred. 

Then the Archivist began to speak. 

***

In the hazy amber of a memory, there exists an office.

You can see it clearly in your mind’s Eye, even now. You could likely navigate all of it blindfolded - which you now see that your god has the intention to test. Every corner of it is known to you, in the most subtle and mundane of ways. There’s a dust bunny in that corner, never tidied. A mysterious stain on the far right ceiling. The faint smell of blood, just under the vents. The hot waft of tea; your hands wrapped around a mug. 

Through these lonely offices, ghosts roam. They cling to desks and chairs; lingering in favorite mugs or in forgotten hair ties. A metal file cabinet holding neat rows of clothing, blood-stained jackets abandoned. A whiteboard with stubborn flakes of dried marker, forgotten handwriting clinging to life. These imprints no longer evoke terror or grief or pain. They are as familiar as the bloodstains and tea. Even death, eventually, is familiar. After long enough in a nightmare, it becomes indistinguishable from reality. 

There is nothing unfamiliar in the Magnus Institute.

Nothing save these voices, emerging from nothing. Every one of your six million senses have been cut off - your hundred eyes reduced to none. You are cognizant only of two familiar voices, and one unfamiliar one. A firm hand, with calloused fingers from leafing through aged paper. A creaky desk chair - Martin’s, undoubtedly, always squeaking as he fidgeted in distraction. The air tastes the same as it used to back then, before the AC broke and no repairman would step inside to repair it. Daisy did, eventually. Three familiar voices, rendered unfamiliar by the harsh tides of wind and cruel plastic hands. 

You are afraid of very little, these days. In this world that you’ve built, there is nothing that can harm you. The twisted little puppet strung up in his tower has been long since been disposed of, and the awful and terrifying future has settled into a gentle present. The apocalypse grows tedious after a while, and the buffet of fears start tasting a little samey.

But if anything could frighten you, this would. If anything would petrify you, it would be Tim’s kind smile, which died a year before Tim did. If anything could freeze you to your chair, it would be the sight of Sasha with red-rimmed eyes asking why you never even noticed that she was gone. 

The sanctuary of memory corrupted. A mental place of safety infiltrated. A mind turned inside out, exposing its vulnerable flesh to the world. 

There is nothing else this could be but your own personal hell. 

Your loyal servant crouches on bended knee, giving this final prayer to you. He asks, humbly and with great reverence, one simple question:

Why couldn’t this have waited until after I got my milk?

***

The spell ruptured.

It was almost tangible, like a change in air pressure making your ears pop. Sasha blinked harshly, rubbing at her ears and trying to soothe strange ringing. Tim exhaled heavily and Martin screwed his eyes open and shut harshly, as if he was seeing spots. 

The only person unaffected was Weirdly Christian Jon, who was slumped in Martin’s chair with his arms folded over his chest. He was still looking at the ceiling - speaking to whoever he had been addressing this entire time. 

“Just one day,” Jon was saying. “Just one day! It was going to be a nice day! We had decided to take a day trip to the Flesh garden and have a picnic! My darling and beautiful husband was going to make us a cake! ‘Walk down to the Hell corner store’, my husband says. ‘Pick us up some Eldritch milk’, he says. ‘Why do I have to do it’, I says, ‘I’m in the middle of something’. ‘We need cake for bridge night with the girls and I’ll divorce you if you don’t do it’, he says. I didn’t even change out of my nightmare pyjamas! What did I ever do to you? How are you still upset about the eye thing?”

Sasha and the Assistants, still digesting the extremely disturbing monologue, let him talk. Sasha was caught up in how it felt exactly like Jon’s little drama monologues. Granted, he had obviously gotten a lot more practice - guy could go to Broadway - but the weird lilting and falling sing-songyness was just the same. And he only ever did that for the very weird ones. The ones that they were pretty certain were actually true. 

So that probably meant at one point in the future, if Jon was speaking about the Archives as if they had worked there for years. Probably during the apocalypse. Which was happening. Which Jon had...built? Like, as a personal thing, or in a metaphor for capitalism and the human race? Definitely the capitalism thing - Jon was prone to flights of filing-induced passion that sometimes accidentally resulted in a stapler flying and punching a hole through the wall, but she couldn’t even imagine him even purposefully punching someone, much less being the Antichrist. Unless it was one of those things that just happened to you, like a rare genetic defect. 

“Seriously. What was the alternative here? Endless horrorterrors, everybody screaming all the time? It was boring. You eat one Statement about somebody standing in line at a slaughterhouse conveyor belt and you’ve eaten them all. I didn’t do it because I didn’t like you, although for the record I don’t. But you have to admit that having Eldritch Lidls are much more practical than just having a bunch of people lying around screaming all the time. It’s not as if I don’t have other eyes, I hardly miss them. There’s no chocolate cakes in the swirling vortex of mankind’s worst nightmares!”

Okay. They had to find a way to engage with this guy. He was completely ignoring them, probably because he thought that they were mean ghosts. Sasha was only one of those things, and it was hurting her feelings. Judging from the expression on Tim’s face he was thinking the same thing. 

Or - wait, Sasha knew that eyebrow. That was the ‘please please please tell the apocalypse has zombies’ eyebrow. Great. 

But Martin was just looking thoughtful again. Sasha was pretty proud of him - it was probably very difficult for the poor man to remain coherent in the face of the crazy time-traveller who was definitely hotter than their already objectively unfairly hot boss. 

“Jon,” Martin said, cutting Jon’s tired rant about how eggs benedict were much better these days, “Uh, I have an idea? Maybe you can’t get out of the - nightmare by bargaining with it. Do you know how to normally escape these things?”

Jon angled his head down and frowned in Martin’s direction. So far Martin seemed to be the only person who could shut Jon up, which was a hilarious turnaround from normal life. Sasha hadn’t heard anything about Martin being a sad little ghost, but it was hard to believe that Martin was a survivor in the zombie apocalypse. 

“You go through the statement and you walk through it,” Jon said, in a very ‘duh’ kind of way. “Give the statement, highfive corpses, whatever.”

“Right, right.” Martin wrung his hands, biting at his lip. “So maybe it’s like that. Maybe instead of asking to be let out - you just have to walk through it. Like - like it’s a maze. Does that make sense? I’m not sure, it’s just an idea.”

Jon pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing. “Right as always, Martin.” Everybody’s jaw dropped, and Martin squeaked. “Fine, fine. Let’s...interact with the evil ghosts.” Jon gestured out with his arms, in a very ‘come at me bro’ gesture. “Go ahead and shoot. Hit me with how much you hate me and how disappointed you are that I never amounted to anything and started the apocalypse.”

Finally! Interrogation time! 

But before Sasha could finally find out if global warming had killed the world, Tim jumped in. “Are there zombies in the apocalypse?!” Tim cried, way too excited. “Is it like the Walking Dead? Or is it more Last of Us?”

Jon squinted in Tim’s direction. “Define zombie.”

“...hunger for human flesh, shambling, gross looking?” Tim rolled his eyes. “Don’t tell me you still haven’t seen any zombie movies.”

“I’m omniscient, I’ve seen every zombie movie,” Jon lied blatantly. “I just think that you’re - you know, stereotyping. Sometimes people are the undead and eat humans and they’re - they’re very normal people.”

“Yeah, Tim, be sensitive,” Sasha said gleefully. She put the tape recorder on Martin’s desk, deciding that she would definitely need a transcript of this interview later. Also maybe ask more questions about that omniscient thing, but she was sure Jon was just exaggerating. If you asked Jon today if he was the smartest person on Earth he’d probably say yes. Jon wasn’t even the smartest person in the room.

For good measure, she drew out her little notebook from her pencil skirt pocket, flipping through it looking for a clean page. “The Archives have never gotten a time traveller before. This is unprecedented in its history.” Well, she really didn’t know what Gertrude had gotten up to, but she dearly hoped it wasn’t this. “Do you have any warnings? Desperate messages from a ruined world, that kind of thing?”

“I’m not a time traveller,” Jon said flatly, “so no.”

Everybody stared at him in abject pity.

“Mate,” Tim said sympathetically, “it’s 2015. You’re a time traveller.”

“No, I’m in a pocket hell dimension in a period beyond time and space,” Jon corrected arrogantly. “Time travel doesn’t exist.”

“The apocalypse exists but time travel doesn’t exist?” Martin cried. “That’s so unfair! Like, give us something, you know?”

“Your life is very hard,” the extratemporal reject said. 

Typical Jon. A classic case of time travel and here he was denying it. Sasha crossed her arms, upset that they were wasting time debating temporal physics when they could be talking about zombies. She was a historian and had priorities. “Your denial ain’t cute, mate. You’re just wasting all of our time.” Jon opened his mouth, but Sasha steamrolled over him. “You want evidence, right? Do you need to, like, touch my face? Make sure that I’m not a sexy ghost?”

“That’s a stereotype that nobody actually does,” Jon said. 

“Insensitive as always, Sasha,” Martin condemned. 

“How else are we going to prove it to him?” Sasha said, somewhat defensively. “It’s not as if we have any evidence that we’re not sexy ghosts.”

With utmost care and incredible gentleness, Tim reached out an open hand and gently smooshed it into Jon’s face.

Jon slumped in his seat, arms folded, unimpressed. 

“No mortal who is not my darling husband has dared to touch me since I became the Antichrist,” Jon said.

“I don’t know,” Tim said, withdrawing his hand and looking at Sasha. “What’s more unbelievable: Jon as the Antichrist or Jon with a husband?”

“Jon’s gay?” Martin cried, face beet red. “Gay Jon? Gay Jon real?”

“So, like, how do you get the Antichrist gig?” Sasha asked as she silently passed Tim a fiver. Her queerdar had never been so wrong. “Is it like an adventurer quest you can do or would you call it more of a rare genetic disorder thing?”

“Definitely rare genetic disorder.”

“Then does that mean that our Jon also has the Antichrist gene?” Tim asked, alarmed. “You’d never think so just looking at him! It’s always the quiet ones.”

“No, this makes sense,” Martin said.

Tim stared at him. “So, is that, like, a negative for you, or a positive…?”

Martin’s silence was incriminating. 

“It’s a positive,” Jon said helpfully, startling everyone. They had conveniently forgotten not to talk about one very horny man’s very horny crush in front of sad grumpy time travelling crush. “He’s into it.”

“Wow, Jon,” Tim said, “what would your husband say?”

In a completely pointless show of sass, Jon rolled his eyes. “My useless husband is likely much more concerned with how I managed to get trapped in a nightmare dimension on my way back from the Hell corner store.” He waved a hand absently. “So, if we can hurry this up? Get started on the whole torturing me thing? Right now you’re just on track to annoying me to death.”

“We annoy you to death now!” Tim exclaimed, as Martin’s eyes boggled. “Isn’t that more proof for the time traveller theory?”

“It wasn’t annoying,” Jon said curtly. “I secretly enjoyed it. I always felt a little bad that I wasn’t included. Or wouldn’t let myself be included.”

That, abruptly, made everyone feel a little bad. Not guilty, seeing as Jon neither wanted nor deserved their affection, but just kind of bad. Future Jon didn’t seem any happier than regular Jon. Sasha liked to imagine that if she was trapped in an indeterminate period in time and space in a post-apoc hellscape, she’d at least be having fun.

Everybody looked at each other, equally a little uncomfortable. Tim was the one who finally took control of the situation, as the self-appointed Jon & Everyone Else mediator. He had taken up the mantle years ago and worse it with pride, and occasional exhaustion. 

“Look,” Tim said, as reasonably as possible. “Let’s just say, hypothetically, this was super cool and awesome time travel. Let’s also say maybe this was completely baller and you’re from a post apoc future where everyone wears leather.”

“That’s just Melanie.”

“Put it down as one person who wears leather in the future!” Tim cried, and Sasha obediently jotted it down.”But let’s just put all of this in a hypothetical situation where you aren’t...uh, in a bad dream? So would there, hypothetically, be a way to stop the apocalypse or something?”

Jesus christ. What a try-hard. 

Sasha crossed her arms, glaring at Tim. From next to her, Martin looked just as peeved. “Seriously, dude? Like we can just up and stop capitalism?”

“I don’t want responsibility for stopping the apocalypse,” Martin protested. “I can barely navigate the bus system. What if the Terminator comes after my mother or something?”

“You’ll be a bit better off, frankly,” Jon said. Martin nodded, conceding the point, before looking faintly disturbed. 

“But he said that he caused it,” Tim protested. “Maybe the power of friendship can fix this? I mean, the apocalypse is cool, but I feel like this is the part where we’re all badasses and we fight evil or something.” Tim’s eyes widened. “That’s what the Magnus Institute is for. To stop the apocalypse!”

“Every day I feel a slight sense of emptiness due to my internalized guilt about your death, but you are usually wrong about things,” Jon said flatly, which seemed to both perk Tim up and depress him slightly. “And no. There’s nothing you can do. There’s no one event that precipitated the apocalypse; no rules of engagement. You are puppets on strings, indulging in the fantasy of free will. Yes, Sasha, the apocalypse is capitalism.”

Everybody stood in slightly depressed silence over this. Sasha, personally, was a little relieved. She really didn’t have to deal with the whole ‘preventing the apocalypse’ thing. She’d rather spend the finals days of the world in hedonism, frankly. 

Really, the unique providence of the millennial was to live your entire life half-way convinced you were in the twilight years of the world. This hedonism and apathy was second nature. Or maybe the apathy was a Leitner - Sasha had lost track of that too. 

“Aw, man,” Martin said, summarizing the abstract and complex feelings deftly and succinctly. “This sucks.”

“Yeah, this blows,” Tim agreed. “So should I buy my muscle car now, or later, or what?”

Then Martin and Tim started arguing over fuel efficiency in the apocalypse, and Jon royally checked out of the conversation. Sasha imagined that he was internally having a bit of a Saving Private Ryan moment where flashbacks of bombshells exploded behind his eyelids or whatever the fuck. The important thing is that everyone was distracted, and Sasha could finally check up on their most important gambit of the day: making sure Jon wasn’t bothering them. 

Sasha listened carefully for the sounds of Jon’s little theater monologues, and caught only faint hints of sound. She slipped past everyone into the hallway and approached Jon’s office door, pressing her ear against the cheap wood. But she didn’t need to worry: he was still reciting away, oblivious to the actual interesting shit that was happening outside his door. Jon was a delicate plant, you couldn’t stress him out too much or he would die. Hopefully Martin’s drugged tea would kick in soon -

But Antichrist Jon’s head jerked towards her, directly behind him, and Sasha saw his unfocused green eyes fixate directly on her. No, not on her - on the door, or something beyond it. For just a second, his eyes flared a sharp and toxic green. 

“There you are,” Creepy Jon hissed. 

Well, sorry for leaving rooms without telling him, but she hadn’t thought that he even noticed, much less got resentful about it. But Weird Jon was standing up with no hesitation, and effortlessly swerved around Martin’s desk and stalked into the hallway. For the first time, his expression looked a little dangerous. It was bizarre and off putting, like seeing a ragged yet murderous two meter kitten. 

He reached out an arm and let it trail across the wall, stopping short when he felt it hit wood instead of plaster. Tim and Martin surged forward to stop him, yelling warnings, but Sasha quickly stepped back. She never impeded the timeless march of science and progress. Sasha had done far worse in Artifact Storage for knowledge. 

Jon brushed his hand down the door until it hit the doorknob and angrily twisted it, heaving the door open with unnecessary force. Tim and Martin spilled into the hallway as Angry Jon stalked inside, and Sasha eagerly hung in the door frame for a front row seat into the drama. 

“This is your fault,” Jon intoned dangerously, directly in the face of a deathly affronted Jon. 

In the spirit of the First Directive, Sasha heroically stretched out an arm and prevented Tim and Martin from spilling into the office. It was the right call. Jon stalked forward into the office, hair whipping in a nonexistent wind, expression obscured but undoubtedly thunderous, advancing on the terrified Archivist, as -

He tripped over a chair left carelessly in the center of the office, rocketing forward to land flatly on his face. 

Beside her, Martin went white as a sheet. “Oh no.”

Simultaneously, in complete and total unison, Jon and the Archivist yelled, “Martin!”

****

Jon and the Archivist sat across from each other, exuding waves of pure mutual hatred.

Tim had quickly helped the Archivist up, moving the chair forward and getting him situated there. The Archivist’s mood was not improved by any of this. Which was difficult enough to handle by itself, if manageable. Sasha knew how to manage grumpy time travelling blind Antichrists who had gotten lost on their way to the corner store.

She even knew how to handle their boss, who was extremely grumpy about being harassed by a random homeless person with nice hair. Jon hated statement givers at the best of times, much less seemingly homeless ex-corpses. Or, well, Sasha didn’t know if he was an ex-corpse, but he was certainly an animate one. 

They were both being so annoying about it Sasha was trying to determine if she should change their nicknames to something more derogatory. Thing 1 and Thing 2? Too long. 

Both of them were very grumpy about the fact that Martin had pushed aside the chair for guests in front of Jon’s desks when he deposited the drugged tea, accidentally moving it close to the center of the office. Jon had known this because he saw it happen. The Archivist had known this because he, apparently, knew Martin very well. 

Today had really been a bonding experience with Sasha, Martin, and Tim. Their skill at silent communication had reached borderline telepathy. They all looked at each other significantly as the Jons were caught in their mutual dyad of hatred, silently commiserating over the fact that their one goal had been spoiled by the greatest wildcard of all. Sasha privately liked to consider herself somewhat of a wildcard, but she was depressingly aware that the entire Archive team was composed of wildcards. Maybe that’s why half of them didn’t survive the apocalypse. 

It was a little unlikely that Jon was a survivor/instigator in the zombie apocalypse, actually. Dude definitely would have bit it if he wasn’t cheating with Antichrist powers. Now, if Sasha had Antichrist powers, this whole game would be looking very different -

“Boss, this is a statement giver,” Tim hinted desperately, hands clenched so hard on the back of the Archivist’s chair that his knuckles were turning white. “Remember what Elias said about statement givers? About how we can’t harass them?”

“I was in the middle of a recording and this man was unnecessarily confrontational,” Jon said crisply. Sasha caught her eye jumping frantically back and forth between the two, trying to reconcile them. Honestly, if it wasn’t for Martin’s horny surety, she wouldn’t have realized that they were the same person at all. The Archivist’s most defining attribute was his big and fluffy hair, and Jon was sadly lacking in the nice hair department. That fade and twists were the shackle around his ankle. So was the sweater vest, baggy tweed jacket, and ill-fitting.“He’s lucky I’m not throwing him out.”

Martin, who looked as if he was having his tenth gay crisis of the morning, didn’t seem to hold the same opinion, but he was king of bad taste anyway. 

“Remember what Elias said about harassing confused, blind statement givers? Remember that? Boss?”

Jon looked confused. “He didn’t specify the community of people with disabilities.”

“It was implied? Jon?”

“The optics would be terrible,” Sasha said, before snickering. Martin stomped on her foot. She stomped on his back, which definitely hurt a lot more. “Look, Jon, sorry about all of this. He was just - uh - really insistent that he talk to you -”

“I think if our visitor hassles Jon then maybe, objectively, you can say that Jon brought it on himself,” Martin said, in a daring show of anti-Jon sentiment.

This act of subtle rebellion was the first thing that broke the Archivist out of his cycle of hatred. He threw out a hand, bowling over Jon’s desktop cup of pens and sending them tumbling over the desk. Sasha saw him specifically orient his hand to do so. “Thank you, Martin! Your understanding of paraphysics is always immaculate.”

“Wow, really?”

“Stop complimenting my assistants,” Jon hissed, frantically diving to save his pens. “And stop - gesticulating over my desk! You did that on purpose!”

“Harassing the blind, Jon!”

“You don’t even need to tearfully blame me for how I ruined your life,” the Archivist said flatly. “You existing in my vicinity is torment enough.”

“That’s what I keep saying,” Sasha said, before pausing a beat. “I meant the first part, ha ha ha, obviously -”

“This man is a very normal statement giver who will be leaving any minute now,” Martin jumped in, “so there’s really no reason for us all to fight, when you think about it -”

“If you all don’t get out of my office, you are all fired -”

“You are listening.”

Everybody stopped talking at once, staring at the Archivist. He was still staring intently ahead, straight into his counterpart. Jon was hiding it, quite badly, but he was unsettled. He hadn’t even acknowledged that he and the man looked alike - the thought undoubtedly running through his brain and soundly dismissed - but it was clearly rattling him. But there was something else that was scaring him too - maybe the Archivist’s green eyes, so foreign from his own brown? His intense and furious expression, like cut glass? The particularly strange and heavy feeling in the air, prickling down the back of Sasha’s neck?

He hadn’t even stopped the recorder. 

“You are here,” the Archivist continued calmly. “You were listening in. Why you were listening in on him, and his regurgitated aftertaste of Statements, I do not know. I felt you, and I came to you. We cannot forsake each other. Do not hide yourself from me.”

The effect was immediate. 

The Archivist’s neck snapped forward, so harshly he cracked his head on Jon’s desk. Strangely enough, Jon screamed too, holding a hand to his temple as if he was suddenly pierced by a blinding headache. Tim immediately bent down to check on Archivist, making sure that he hadn’t hurt himself, as Martin bustled around the desk to check on Jon. Jon batted his hands away, scowling, so he was just fine. But the Archivist didn’t groan, or stir, or moan. He just lay there, still and limp, and when Tim shook him he didn’t even tense. 

The air was heavy, a tang of metal in her mouth like the crackle before a storm, and Sasha couldn’t fight a shiver. But she couldn’t take her eyes off Jon, either: the way he stared at the Archivist, hand on his forehead, eyes wide and growing wider. 

“Dad…?”

When the Archivist stirred, the spell was broken, and Jon’s mouth snapped shut so quickly it was as if he had never spoken at all. He turned his head and moaned, eyes opening uselessly. They were back to their usual toxic green, no flaring or flashing. 

“Mar’in? Where…”

“I’m here,” Martin said quickly, and ducked around the desk to grab the Archivist’s hand and squeeze. For just a second, Jon looked a little jealous. Sasha had the sense that Jon had never been mothered than anyone other than Martin and Tim, and the prospect confused and frightened him so much he reacted aggressively to it. “Everything alright? You hit your head.”

“How many eyes?” the Archivist asked weakly. 

“...physically, or functionally?”

But the Archivist just ran his burned hand over his smooth hand, kneading it and feeling the skin. “Still gone. Damn it.” He straightened, grimacing and spitting out a stray tendril of hair out of his mouth. “So it’s true…”

“So what’s true?” Tim asked urgently. “Do you finally believe us about the time travel thing? Because man, I have so many questions -”

He didn’t get the opportunity to say anything. The Archivist reached out a hand, fingers brushing against his shirt, and the Archivist’s hand abruptly clenched on the fabric. Tightly, roughly, the Archivist pulled him down and extended his other arm, and caught Tim in an awkward and lopsided hug. 

Tim carefully straightened him and returned the hug, gracing the Archivist with the patented Perfect Stoker Hug, and the Archivist buried his face in Tim’s shoulder. His chest didn’t heave, and his breath didn’t catch, but the element of desperation was pungent and unmistakable. 

“You were right,” Jon whispered. “We messed it all up.”

“Sure, yeah, totally!” Tim said, clapping the Archivist on the back in a masculine, yet sensitive way. “So, does this mean the zombie apocalypse is totally a-go, or…”

“Sasha,” the Archivist said, and Sasha chose to ignore her own personal distaste for hugs and being touched so she could step forward and hug him too. 

He clutched onto her just as tightly as he had Tim, which surprised her a little. Jon and Tim had probably been best friends in the future, and Sasha couldn’t imagine her and Jon ever truly being close. He respected her as a colleague, but that was probably because Sasha purposefully left her manuscripts around the office and aggressively used as many big words in front of him as possible. Jon had always been an obstacle to her - innocently stupid at best, malicious at worst. To think that he would grip her so tightly…

With meticulous care, the Archivist separated from her. His expression was crumpled, and for the first time Sasha saw something over than aggravation or impatience in Jon’s face. Relaxed and soft, he looked like a different man. No - he was a different man, it was just apparent. The change softened his sharp lines into something a little friendlier; his striking exterior melting into something pretty instead of imposing. 

Slowly, he raised his hand a little to tangle it in her hair. He frowned a little, gently tugging at it and feeling it spring back into place. “So it was curly…like mine…”

A lot of little hints snowballed into one strange and foreign realization. “Do you not remember me?”

“Dolls stole your identity,” the Archivist said apologetically. 

“Like credit card fraud, or -”

“Metaphysically.” He paused guiltily. “I mourned you as an abstract concept?”

“Like I’m every woman in Hollywood?” Sasha screeched, outraged. This was not trans rights. “Alright, royally fuck that. Feel my hair, mister. Full permission to touch it. Feel that? You call that abstract?” The Archivist shook his head, eyes wide, and Sasha gently moved his hand to rest on the top of her head. “Taller than you in eight cm heels, remember? You asked me how I walked in them, and I said -”

“ - Barbie’s Princess Charm School,” the Archivist said automatically, eyes widening. “I do remember.”

Martin clearly waited around to be tenderly embraced, and was disappointed. 

The Archivist stepped away from Sasha, expression creased in furious thought. “So it’s real. So far as anything’s real, I suppose. But I don’t understand how -” the Archivist’s eyes widened, and he snapped his fingers in realization. “The manhole!”

Everybody stared at him. 

“I’m sorry,” Jon said pleasantly, “what is going on -”

“I was walking down the street, and I remember hearing city work!” the Archivist said brightly. “They were doing their monthly ‘clearing the gators out of the sewer pipes’ maintenance! And the Beholding told me that there was an open manhole, and I said oh it’ll be fine, I’m a demigod on Earth, I don’t fall down manholes - and then -”

The door to Jon’s office dramatically crashed open, and everybody jumped straight in the air. Jon, whose office had seen two more incredibly theatrical entrances than usual today, immediately bristled and opened his mouth to earn them all another harassment complaint, before he abruptly shut his mouth. 

It was Elias, their miniature and unspeakably boring boss extraordinaire. He stood in the doorway, one hand clutching the doorframe, suit jacket askew and chest heaving. Had he ran down here?

“Is someone here?” the Archivist asked. 

“Uh, yeah,” Tim said, stepping forward cautiously. “It’s our boss, Mr. Bouchard. Elias, we’re taking a statement, can we help - ?”

“How did that get here?” Elias asked, voice strangely tense and coiled. “How did you - not even I could -”

“That makes sense!” Martin cried, thumping a fist on his open palm. “Elias wants to time travel just as much as everyone else in the Institute!”

“I’m sorry,” Jon said, pathetically behind, “time travel -”

“Did the time traveller sensor alarms in the basement go off?” Sasha asked, surprised. “I thought only Artifact Storage had those.”

“Uh, Mr. Statement Giver, are you okay?” Tim asked, but it was already too late.

The Archivist had turned to face Elias, expression unreadable. Sasha felt that crackle again, weighing down the air, and she saw the Archivist’s hair puff and frizz slightly with a green crackle. His neon green pupils shone again and spun, like an infernal wheel. 

“What’s wrong, Elias?” the Archivist mocked, as energy coursed through him. “Upset that Mama has a new favorite?”

And Sasha saw in that moment that the Archivist, who possessed the most inhuman green eyes she had ever seen, had eyes the same shade as Elias. 

“Oh, man,” Sasha said, “is Elias a time traveller too?”

“Only in the most mundane way. Can’t even get a little bit of special attention, Elias? Sad!” It was second-hand thrilling to watch someone mock their boss, living the dreams of everyone in the room. Even if it was a little weird how much Jon seemed to hate this guy - nobody hated Elias, just like nobody liked him, and nobody had any strong feelings at all besides unpromoted women.

 At the door, Elias’ expression was slack in - amazement? Was amazement the right word? He was staring at Jon as if...words didn’t even describe it. At least in any way that Sasha wanted to think about. 

“Mr. Bouchard, I swear I can explain,” Sasha, who could not explain, said hurriedly. “We found this corpse and we were going to tell you, but -”

But the Archivist cut her off, as if nothing was less important than explaining himself to Elias. “Did you want to know how to stop the apocalypse, Sasha?”

Sasha froze. Martin and Tim did too. Jon, who nobody had actually bothered to brief since he was kind of the fifth most important person in the room, dropped his pen. “Uh,” Sasha said, sweating. For the first time she understood the possible upsides of not knowing something. “I mean, if I have to, but you said that it was inevitable -”

“Oh, yes. But, just once every one or two centuries, a man comes along who fancies himself fate.” The Archivist raised a hand, eyes spinning and spinning, as Elias stood frozen in the doorframe. “I’ll be honest, Jonah. This isn’t to save the world. That’s so last year. I just really fucking hate you.” Something cracked in the air. “Ceaseless watcher, smite this -”

The door slammed shut. Sasha heard Elias lock it behind him. They all stood around as footsteps quickly echoed through the Archives, and another door slammed. Which was probably being locked too. 

They stood in silence, the Archivist having clearly heard the slams. He let his hand fall, but the energy didn’t cease crackling around him. He didn’t look resentful or disappointed - just thoughtful. 

“Everything in due time, I suppose. I guess it is pretty unfair to get to smite that man twice,” the Archivist said thoughtfully. “I’ll give someone else a turn.” His mouth twitched wryly. “You know, Sasha, there’s one other way to prevent the apocalypse.”

“Is it work?” Sasha asked tiredly. 

“You may kill the man who arranged the dominos,” the Archivist intoned, before hanging his head towards a petrified Jon. “Or you may kill the man who toppled them over.”

Sasha stared at Jon. Jon stared back, frozen like a deer in headlights.

Martin silently passed Sasha a penknife from Jon’s desk. 

“I’m very qualified for this job,” Jon protested weakly.

“Queen of feminism, I very much support you,” Tim said quickly, putting himself in between Sasha and Jon in a heroic display of stupidity, “but, maybe, killing your boss to take his job, is perhaps, maybe not that much of a great idea, just a thought?”

“The job’s being the Antichrist,” the Archivist pointed out, crossing his arms. 

“The direct action against sexism, xenophobia, and transphobia is very admirable,” Tim said, eyes held up as if he was placating a tiger, “but think of it this way - if you kill the Antichrist, then you become the Antichrist, like in - uh -”

“Pokemon,” Martin volunteered. 

Tim snapped his fingers. “Pokemon! So you shouldn’t -” He halted, turning back to Martin. “Pokemon? Seriously? That’s becoming champion -”

“A - alright, alright! Everybody stop!” Jon shakily stood up, brushing aside the empty tea mug right next to him. “That’s enough of all of this! I may not know what’s going on, or who this man is, or why he looks like me -”

“Hm,” Martin said, eyeing the empty tea mug. 

“ - why he looks like a homeless person, why he barged into my office and insulted me, why you are all defending this atrocious behavior, why you are calling it the work of time travel, which does not exist and you have no proof for it anyway -”

“Jon,” Martin said, watching Jon’s arm tremble, “maybe you should -”

“Shut up, Martin!”

“Don’t be rude to him!” the Archivist snapped. 

“You’ve been rude to him twice today!”

“I’m allowed to be rude to him! He’s even ruder to me! I’m the nice one!”

“ - and you were glowing in my office, which is just frankly rude,” Jon continued viciously, steamrolling over the Archivist. “You gave me a terrible headache, you hugged my assistants very inappropriately for the workplace, you made my boss walk in before trying to smite him, you encourage violence against my own person in revenge for a job that I definitely deserve -”

Both of Jon’s arms were shaking, and Tim’s eyebrows were slowly raising. “Boss, you should sit down, I think -”

“ - I want an explanation!” Jon yelled, slamming the desk. “And I’m not going to stop until you tell me what’s going on!”

Then Jon passed out. 

Everybody watched it happen. Everybody, save perhaps the Archivist, had noticed that it was about to happen: at first a tremor, then a shake, and then a final collapse. Like a marionette with his strings cut, Jon slumped over and crumpled solidly on the floor. 

Everybody stood in disaffected silence. Martin carefully stepped over and prodded Jon with his foot. “Out cold.” He shot a considering gaze at the empty tea mug. “Sorry, guys. Looks like I accidentally used the delayed action sedative.”

"It’s alright,” Tim said magnanimously. “At least that problem is solved now. Maybe we can convince him this was a bad dream when he wakes up.”

“If he insists it was real, we’ll just ask him for evidence and refuse to believe him without it,” Sasha suggested. 

“Isn’t that kinda gaslighting?” Martin asked. “Isn’t that, you know, a little morally dubious -”

“You did drug him,” Tim pointed out.

“I mean, hardly the first time?”

“Maybe Martin should be the Antichrist,” Sasha said thoughtfully.

The Archivist’s face was doing something extremely interesting, yet inscrutable.

“I really don’t want to be Antichrist, though,” Martin said apologetically. “Does it even pay?”

“Jon did say it was a job…” Sasha said, already considering herself in the role. “Do you guys think I’d be sexier as the Antichrist? Be honest.”

“Yes and completely,” Tim said immediately, before realizing that he said that too quickly. “I mean. I’d never objectify you. I respect women. But -”

“Oh, I see how it is,” Martin said, throwing up his hands. “When you think being the Antichrist is kind of hot it’s normal and M/F of you. But when I do it, then it’s ‘gross’ and ‘get that away from me’. Great double standards, guys.”

“It’s not the fact that it’s a guy,” Tim protested, “it’s the fact that it’s Jon -”

“Oh, when you think being the Antichrist is kind of hot then it’s normal and cis of you,” Sasha said heatedly, “but when Tim respects trans women, then it’s ‘gross’ and -”

“I respect all women,” Tim said, equally heatedly, “but I do want to acknowledge the systematic marginalization of trans women within the community, especially trans women of color like yourself -”

A hoarse wheeze echoed through the office.

Everyone froze, terrified by the haunted sound, but after a second Sasha realized it was the Archivist - Jon - who was laughing. 

They had never heard him laugh before. He was practically wheezing with it, bent over with his hands on his knees, with a strained cackle that fizzed with static around the corners. He was smiling broadly, his grin splitting his cheeks, for the first time that Sasha had ever seen. 

He straightened and threw his head back and laughed too, a greater belly-laugh that was so hysterical and fragile and free that it struck something strange and raw in Sasha’s heart. He rubbed his face with his hand, still laughing, and eventually broke into coughs. 

“I understand now,” Jon said, when he stopped coughing. “I thought that you had deposited me here in revenge. You had sensed that I was happy - that the green skies were beautiful, that your large eye seemed kind that day - and that you found it a waste of emotion. But that wasn’t true, was it? It must have been an accident. I’ve never been happier to hear these idiots arguing, and you’ve lost me like a toy behind a bookshelf. The strange stupidity of it! I’m enchanted.” He sombered a little, expression falling from hysterical glee into a soft and resigned happiness. He held up his hand, feeling the crackle of electricity run across his palms. “But you See me now. The foolish man brought you down upon us, and I intercepted your lightning bolt. His eyes, mundane and paltry, are closed, and you feel my consciousness in replacement of him. I can feel you already - my Eyes opening, the Reality that we built together calling me back. When your infinite grace re-aligns with every one of my atoms, forming the fabric of my world, I’ll snap back.”

Just like that?

Sasha had thought that there would be an...adventure, or quest, or something. At least a research binge. Some kind of heroic group effort. But the Archivist was a stretched rubber band, held tightly and out of position, and after long enough straining against its center it had to snap back. A telly flickering in and out, blaring the song of a dead channel. 

“Do we have time to group hug or something?” Tim offered weakly, undoubtedly thinking the same thing as she was. “Last goodbyes? Anything?”

“Howl’s Moving Castle moment?” Martin asked urgently. “I’ll find you in the future, right? We’re still together there, right?”

“Martin,” Jon said, strangely fond, “we were never apart.”

Martin turned a unique shade of red. 

But it was Sasha who Jon turned to, face angled to the sound of her voice. His expression was still distantly fond, but there was something strange in it too - a wry recognition, a subtle knowledge, a faint recollection of a joke that only he knew. 

“Sasha,” Jon said, “so long as you’re brave, and buy ten fire extinguishers and hide them around the office, things will be just fine. Buy twelve fire extinguishers, just to be safe. And don’t ever go inside Artifact Storage again. Not even for Alicia’s birthday party. If it’s a choice between worms and Artifact Storage then choose worms, the scars add a certain appeal. I cannot stress enough, not even if you lose your jacket in Artifact Storage -”

“Are you sure you don’t have anything to say to me?” Martin asked desperately, almost crying. Sasha, personally, wanted to circle back around to the worm thing. “Sad goodbyes? Waving a handkerchief? I thought you said I was alive? Don’t you have anything?”

Jon rolled his eyes. “Goodness, Martin, if you insist. There is something I’ve been meaning to tell you. In fact, I do believe it’s about time.” 

Martin’s mind clearly projected very loudly ‘I’ve been in love with you this entire time’ in blatant wish-fulfillment. Everybody held their breaths. 

Jon drew himself up to his full, imposing height, and sternly looked at all of them. “I’m tired of holding my tongue about this, Martin,” Jon said finally, and Martin qualified. “For the last time, I don’t load the dishwasher wrong. I load the dishwasher correctly. It’s you who’s always insisting that the cups go on the bottom. It’s a freakish way to live your life, and I’ll never forgive you for -”

Static blared in Sasha’s ears and overwrote her mind, and she screamed. The sensation was a pickaxe driven into her ears, an unforgivable rip and tear, and she heard her screams echoed in concert. 

Then the pain abated, and was gone. 

Sasha, Tim, and Martin were left standing in an empty office, accompanied only by the unconscious figure of their boss. There was nothing left of the Archivist, nor any suggestion that he had ever been here - just a drained mug, some scattered pens, and a lingering sense of malaise and confusion. 

Everybody looked at each other, feeling strangely and uniquely connected. It was hardly Sasha’s strangest Magnus Institute experience, but maybe it was the funnest. 

“Well,” Tim said finally, “at least one day this week wasn’t boring.”

“Yeah, I didn’t even have to get drunk today.” Sasha sighed. “We definitely have to gaslight Jon about this.”

Martin was already carefully lugging Jon onto his chair, arranging him so his arms were folded on the desk with his cheek resting on his forearm. “We’ll pretend it was just a weird dream.” He propped his hands on his hips, satisfied. “Hopefully this convinces him he needs more sleep.” Martin gasped in sudden realization. “Maybe he becomes the Antichrist because he needs more sleep! Guys, I have a great twenty step plan for saving the world.”

“Oh, come on, we said that was too much work.” Tim shrugged and opened the office door, holding it open and gesturing for them all to come out. “I think if we just friendship Jon to death, all of our problems will be solved.”

Martin just shrugged, following him out. They really did have paperwork that they needed to get back to. “Both are vital components. But...hey, it’s not weird to put the mugs on the bottom rack, is it? There’s not really that much of a difference, right?”

“Mate, you’re a fucking freak.” Tim looked backwards at Sasha, who was still standing in the office, dazed. “Sash, you coming? Let’s go day-drinking.”

“Yeah,” Sasha said, “in a sec.”

He shrugged and left the door propped open, and Sasha heard their bickering fade slowly as they walked down the hallway. 

But she couldn’t help staring at Jon sleeping at his desk, chest falling in and out, inhaling and exhaling slowly through his nose. His short, carefully maintained hair and meticulous fade. His baggy tweed and ill-fitting slacks. The subtle and shameful kind of earnestness, the desire mixed with fear mixed with hope mixed with genuine desire for a better future. He just wanted to be happy, to not be afraid anymore. He seemed weirdly human, when compared with his inhuman self. Or maybe it was the other way around. 

The tape recorder on Jon’s desk was still running. Sasha squinted at it, taking a second to listen to the staticy hiss. It was familiar, in the strangest possible way. It felt familiar -

Sasha reached out and grabbed the tape recorder, stuffing it in her pencil skirt pocket. “Just remember,” Sasha whispered, “I’d make a great candidate for Antichrist.”

She ran to go catch up with her coworkers, shutting the door behind them and leaving Jon sleeping contentedly in his office, head pillowed on his arms, dreaming strange and comforting dreams.

[bex-la-get]

Sunday Mornings (Ethan x f!MC)

Book: Open Heart

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x Natalie Cusack

Special Appearance: The Ramsack Kids

Word count: 1945

Summary: Nat and Ethan enjoy their Sunday mornings. Told over several years.

Rating: T (All the fluff)

Author’s Note: Literally wrote this in the span of an hour and it’s currently 1am here so apologies in advance for any mistakes. Enjoy!

Sundays were for them.

Every Sunday, Nat and Ethan had the day off from the hospital, something Ethan had negotiated with Naveen and the Board early into their relationship. And, as a result, every Sunday was theirs for the taking. If they wanted to be lazy, they would be lazy. If they wanted to run errands and prepare for the week, then that’s what they would do. If they wanted to turn off their phones and focus only on each other, then that’s what they would do too. Regardless of their plans, their Sundays were always sure to be full of one thing: each other.

On a particular rainy Sunday morning, Nat woke to the sound of thunder rumbling outside her window. She groaned in protest at the sound and snuggled deeper into the mattress, burying herself beneath the covers. Within moments, she felt a strong pair of arms snake around her body and hold her tightly, the feel of Ethan’s bare chest against her back, as they breathed in sync with one another.

“Mm, good morning,” Ethan muttered into Nat’s ear.

She groaned in response. “No.”

Ethan chuckled. “No to me or to the morning?”

“To the morning,” she mumbled, her eyes still closed. “Too early.”

Ethan glanced at the clock on his bedside table, noting it was rather early for a Sunday; 7:15 to be exact. He turned back to Nat and pulled her closer in his embrace, placing a soft kiss behind her ear. “I love you,” he said, quietly.

“Mm, love you too,” she replied. Her eyes were still closed and her voice was still sleep laden. He smiled and placed another kiss on her shoulder, laying his head back on the pillow and intending to fall back asleep, only to feel Nat shift in his arms until she was facing him. She began to gently run her fingers up and down the bridge of his nose and he opened his eyes to find her blue-green ones staring back at him. “Hi,” she whispered.

“Hi.”

“Let’s stay in today,” she suggested. She snuggled closer to him as she spoke, their noses almost touching. 

“Mm, didn’t you want to go grocery shopping?” he asked.

She shook her head. “We can have them delivered. Today, I just want you and me. And Jenner.” The aforementioned pup perked his head up at his name, his tail gently wagging.

Ethan smiled. “Okay; you, me, and Jenner then. Anything in particular you want to do?”

“Mhm, this.” Cupping the back of his head with her hand, she kissed him firmly. He melted into the kiss instantly, his hands gripping her hips as he pulled her impossibly closer. But just as the kiss was growing in intensity, Nat pulled back and bit her lip. “I just realized, I have morning breath,” she giggled. “I’ll be right back.”

She moved to make her way out of the bed but Ethan held her down tightly, readjusting the two of them so he was laying on top of her. “Oh no, you don’t.”

Nat fell back onto the mattress and laughed. “E, I’m just going to brush my teeth. I’ll be right back.”

“Nope, don’t care,” he said, peppering kisses along her neck and jaw. “I’ll kiss you with any kind of breath. Morning breath, coffee breath, garlic breath; I don’t care. I want to kiss you always.” He kissed her lips softly to emphasize his point and Natalie smiled when he pulled away.

“That’s quite a declaration, Dr. Ramsey. Are you sure you want to stick with it?” she teased.

He grinned and kissed her more firmly this time, eliciting a soft moan from Nat. “Always,” he repeated, when he broke the kiss. Natalie returned his smile and kissed him again, this one full of love and passion. Soon, their kisses led to roaming hands, stripped clothing, and moans of pleasure filling up the room. On this particular Sunday, they never left the bedroom.

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

Two Years Later

Ethan was the first to wake, the sounds of crying filling his ears. Quickly getting out of bed, he made his way to the nursery, finding baby Noah wriggling around in his crib, crying for his parents. Ethan smiled at his son and gently picked him up, the crying stopping almost instantly. “Good morning, Noah,” Ethan whispered quietly, looking into the bright blue eyes of his son. “There’s no need to cry, Daddy’s here. I’ve got you.”

Taking his son to the changing table and giving Noah a clean diaper, Ethan made his way to the kitchen and grabbed a bottle from the fridge before returning to the bedroom. Settling Noah comfortably in his arms, he gave Noah the bottle and watched as his tiny hands grabbed for the container. Ethan smiled at the sight.

Halfway through his son’s feeding, Natalie began to stir next to him. Opening her eyes, she smiled at the sight of Ethan and Noah in front of her. “Good morning.”

“Good morning, my love,” Ethan replied, smiling at her. “Happy Sunday.”

“Mm, happy Sunday, indeed.” Natalie stretched her arms above her head before sitting up to watch her feeding son. “How’s our little Bear this morning?”

“Just fine,” Ethan said, proudly. Nat gently ran her hand over Noah’s curly hair and smiled. When Noah finished, Ethan transferred the baby into Nat’s arms for a burping while Ethan got up to make them some coffee. When he returned, two steaming mugs in hand, his heart swelled at the sight of Nat gently rocking Noah in her arms, humming a quiet tune to the small boy. Noah’s bright blue eyes stared back at his mother in awe, as if he were amazed by what he was hearing. Ethan couldn’t blame him; Nat was quite the amazing woman.

He entered the room further and placed the coffee mug on Nat’s nightstand before sitting back in his own place in the bed. “Thanks,” she said, smiling at Ethan.

He returned her smile and placed a chaste kiss against her lips. “You’re welcome, my love. So, what’s on the agenda today?”

Nat thought for a moment. “Brunch with your dad, we need to get some more baby-proofing stuff for the apartment, and… oh, didn’t you want to hit up that new bookstore?”

“If we have time, yes,” Ethan confirmed. 

“We’ll make time,” Nat said, confidently. “I hear their children’s section is really extensive.”

“More books? Nat, he’s already got a shelf full,” Ethan replied, fighting the smile that was growing on his lips.

Nat shook her head, a familiar mischievous look in her eyes. “You can never have too many books, baby. Besides, I want him to be well-read! And, studies show that reading to babies can help them develop their language skills.”

Ethan chuckled. “I should’ve known not to question you on this. But you know we’re going to need another bookshelf at this rate.”

Nat shrugged and smirked. “You say that like it’s a bad thing!” Ethan simply laughed in response.

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

Ten Years Later

Little Lydia was the first to wake in the Ramsey household, early one Sunday morning. It was a quiet, snowy morning in December; the Christmas holiday was right around the corner and she’d been dying to know what Santa would be bringing this year. She’d planned on asking him for the new toy doctor set that she’d seen on TV; she really hoped she’d get it. She’d been extra good this year too! If only Christmas wasn’t so far away.

She tiptoed out of her room and glanced down the hallway, only silence and a slight chill greeting her. She shivered and turned to her left, making her way down to her parent’s room. She cracked open the door slightly to find her parents fast asleep, Jenner sleeping on the floor next to her mother’s side of the bed. The only creature in the room that was awake was Louis, their calico cat, who was watching her with mild interest from his perch on the window sill. 

Quietly, Lydia entered the room and made her way to her mother’s side of the bed. Patting her arm gently, she waited as Natalie opened her eyes, sleepily. When she spotted her youngest daughter, Nat perked up slightly. “Hi baby,” she said, quietly.

“Hi Mama,” little Lydia greeted. “Can I sleep with you?”

“Of course, sweetie,” Natalie said. Scooting further into the middle of the bed, she lifted the covers for little Lydia to crawl under, tucking her youngest into her embrace tightly as they snuggled together back into bed. As the two of them settled back into bed and began to fall back asleep, Natalie felt a strong arm wrap around her, stopping when it felt an extra body in the bed. She fought back her smile as she felt Ethan lift his head up from the pillow.

“Why are there two of you?” he asked, groggily.

Nat giggled and turned her head to her husband. “You do know we have three kids, right?”

“Oh, is that who they are? I thought they were just tiny roommates who don’t help pay the mortgage.”

Nat rolled her eyes and placed her cold foot against Ethan’s leg causing him to jump at the sensation. “Now, that’s just cruel,” he joked.

Natalie chuckled. “That’s what you get for being snarky this early in the morning.”

Ethan shook his head, smiling. “Yes, dear.” He nuzzled his nose into her hair and placed a soft kiss on her temple. Just as the two of them settled back into bed, they heard the distinct sound of their bedroom door creaking open. Ethan looked to the source to find Evie sneaking into the room. “Hi honey, everything okay?”

Evie nodded. “It’s cold,” she replied.

“Come here,” Ethan gestured. “We’ll put you right between me and Mama for extra warmth.” Evie followed her father’s instructions and crawled into the middle of the bed, snuggling under the covers between her parents. Ethan wrapped his arm around the three Ramsey women, who now occupied most of his bed, as best he could, his fingertips just resting on little Lydia’s back. His head falling back onto the pillow, he slowly began to drift back to sleep.

Until the door creaked open again. He did his best not to groan; it appeared this would not be the Sunday to lie in. 

This time, Nat was the one to look up at the new occupant of the room, finding Noah groggily looking confused at his parents. “I heard voices,” he explained, “it woke me up.”

“Sorry, Bear,” Nat said. She quickly glanced at Ethan who gave her a small nod before she looked back at her son. “Come on in here, there’s plenty of room.”

“I’m too tall, I won’t fit in with the rest of you,” Noah protested. It was true, he was tall for an eleven-year-old; but neither Nat nor Ethan cared. Their boy would never be too tall for them for anything; especially cuddles. 

“I’m tall too,” Ethan reasoned, “and I still fit. Come on, we’ll make it work.”

“Come on, Noey,” little Lydia encouraged. 

Smiling, Noah nodded and crawled into his parent’s bed, snuggling next to Nat as Evie snuggled against Ethan. It was tight, with all five of them in the bed at once, but the Ramseys were nothing if not resourceful, and they found a way to make it work. With all of their children tucked safely into their arms, the Ramseys finally fell back asleep, as a light snow fell on the ground outside. As both Ethan and Natalie drifted back into their slumber, they shared one singular thought: Sundays were their favorite days.

A/N: Tagging separately.