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late-to-the-magnus-archives · 1 year ago

Text

Corrupted, chapter sixteen - a TMA x Malevolent crossover

A power outage.

An enemy invasion.

An unexpected outcome to a violent evening.

Chapter sixteen of Corrupted, a TMA x Malevolent crossover.

AO3

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The wind is absolutely wild out there. Even in the Archives, Tim can hear it: howling. Creaking. Ridiculous and impossible in a city built the way this one is, but all that unseasonable cold had to go somewhere, and physics are what they are.

The power lines keep going down. That means the power is out, and Tim lies in the dark on his squeaky cot.

Quietly, he has to wonder if this is going to be his fate—both eyes dark someday, as he loses more body parts.

So much has happened. “You know,” he says. “I think I’ve adjusted pretty well, given all that’s gone down.”

You have, Tim, says Hastur.

“Not sure I’m taking your word on that one,” says Tim. “Given you’ve never been in this situation.”

I have someone to directly compare you to.

“That Arthur guy.”

Yes.

“So what’d he do?”

Lose his shit, fight, tantrum, fuss, run, and cause innumerable problems for everyone he met.

“Aww, tell me how you really feel,” Tim mutters.

The lights flicker on, making Tim’s eyes water, then flicker off again. He sighs.

I’m serious.

“Well, from what Jon said, this was back in the thirties, right? So he didn’t have therapy and a copious amount of fantasy novels and films to prepare him for it.”

Hastur’s hesitation is an odd one this time. It feels weighted; not guilty, exactly, but reluctant.

Tim frowns. “Out with it.”

I don’t know what you’re talking about.

“Right. There’s something you’re not telling me.” And he guesses: “Something you think I’m not going to like very much.”

Instead of answering, Hastur changes subjects. You know, I can see, Tim, he says out of nowhere. We don’t have to stay down here, if you don’t want.

“That doesn’t make a lot of—ow.” Lights on; lights off. “How can you? You’re using my rods and cones and whatever.”

I don’t know. It’s curious, isn’t it? I suspect, should you wish to see, you could—but with your track record, you’d make your eyes unable to process light at all, or something, so I’d suggest you just let me navigate.

Tim sighs. “Yeah, that tracks. I feel positively betrayed, you know?”

Betrayed?

“I have magic powers, and I can’t use them, because I keep fucking up,” he says.

Hastur starts to speak.

Tim interrupts. “No, I’m not going to your cultists.”

There’s a pause. Fine.

That’s an awkward disagreement which isn’t getting solved today. “Yeah, let’s go upstairs,” he says. “It’s boring down here.”

You aren’t a man who likes to be idle.

“Called me a shark for it before,” Tim reminds him brightly, and rises.

The cot squeaks.

I find you less a shark these days, says Hastur, as though there are numerous days to consider. I like you more than I like sharks.

“Sharks are cool!” says Tim, inching toward the door, arms out. “All sleek and deadly and ancient.”

Sleek, certainly. Deadly? Somewhat. But you’re not ancient, no matter how old you think thirty is.

“I am well into old wise man of the village, I’ll have you know,” Tim says, finding the doorframe. “Okay. Direct me.”

The Archives are black as pitch, but it seems Hastur is not lying about being able to see. That woman’s idea of organization is madness. Directly ahead of you are two stacks of boxes, three deep, acting like a corridor. Once you’re at the end, two boxes sit directly in the center of the opening.

“I remember that. Have to skinch around that guy,” says Tim and goe to do so. “Hey. Maybe we should make this a game.”

A game?

“Sure. A trust fall, like.”

And what would the stakes be? Hastur rumbles.

Tim reaches the box pile blocking his way and inches right. “I dunno. Sure seems like we’re competing over body parts now, doesn’t it?”

Hastur is silent for a long moment.

Tim kicks the box again. “Oi. Where?”

Once you navigate around this box, take two steps left. Directly ahead of you and six inches to the right will be a stack of paper as tall as your waist, for some reason.

Tim is dearly tempted to hip-check it. “She’s got to be doing this on purpose.”

I’d say so. It’s narrow, so go slowly. You’re free to move forward if you stay straight.

“My friend,” says Tim. “I have never stayed straight in my entire life, and don’t intend to start now.”

Hastur’s laugh is low and dark. Ah, I do like you.

There is less regret in it now. Tim’s not sure what that means. “What’s that mean for me practically?”

I no longer wish to possess your body. I want my own.

Huh. “The one Bouchard’s offering?” says Tim. “The completely theoretical body that requires the help of the guys who want to eat you?”

Yes.

“The fuck why? Not that I want you to want my body, just… you know, I’d like this to make a little sense?”

I never said I didn’t want your body, Tim.

Well, that was a thing to say. Especially the way he said it; low, resonant, taking his time with every syllable, as though imagining his incorporeal mouth doing something else.

Tim stops walking for a moment, then resumes. “Can’t shake me by being sexy. Answer the question.”

Hastur sighs. I’m on a time limit now. I understand this; I’ve come to terms with it.

And just like that, they are on serious topics. “Devil Pants,” says Tim, moving on.

Yes. I can’t stop him. There’s no one left in this universe who could even be a balancing factor. I’m going to die.

That doesn’t feel good to hear. His heart aches, a little. “Hastur…”

And if I’m going to die, I want to feel fully myself first, Hastur says. I want my godhood back. It’s been fun, playing human; fun, wearing costumes, exploring your amazing world, experiencing all the things you mortal people do. But now that it’s going to be over… I want to die as myself.

Fun. Driving monks mad and who knew what else. What a mess. “All right,” says Tim, logging it away and picking his battles. “So the god-body, then. I get it. I just wish you weren’t giving up so quickly.” His foot hit a box.

Left, then correct right again and continue. There’s no one who can help me, Tim. Hastur’s voice is low.

“Maybe we could pull a bait-and-switch?” says Tim.

Boxes. Left two steps, then forward again. A bait-and-switch?

Tim complies. “You know. Get those fear-thingummies to go after him instead of you.”

It wouldn’t work. Deities my level and lower are fair game to the Fears, but him? Not him.

“Whoa. Really? Devil Pants is that big a deal?”

I am a Great Old One, far from minor. I can—could—create and destroy worlds at whim. But he is an Outer God. His power, compared to mine, is greater than even mine would be compared to an average human’s. He could end your universe, Tim.

“Shit.” Tim shuffles forward. “I’m having trouble picturing this.”

Of course you are. It’s like trying to actually imagine a billion of something. Human minds can’t really do it.

Tim chooses not to be insulted. “Well… is there an an Outer God we can go to for help, then?”

None of them are here now. They left when all the other gods did. Besides, it would do no good even if there were.

“Why?”

Would you care if a single-celled organism called for your aid? Or even hear it?

“If it got my attention, sure,” says Tim. “Seeing as they aren’t sapient, far as I know. Besides, Devil Pants sure seems invested.”

He likes chaos. He likes pain. He’s a sadist. Humans die very prettily.

“Fuck that guy,” says Tim.

Tim. Please show some wisdom.

“He’s already going to hit me with a truck or set me on fire and drop me in an orphanage.”

I promise you, he could do worse.

Tim sighs. “Fair. But why did the Outer Gods leave if they weren’t in danger? Oh, oops.” A stack of paper goes down, sliding all over the floor, judging by the sound. “Sorry, Lara,” Tim stage-whispers.

Lara?

“Elderly Lara Croft.”

Hastur laughs.

Tim finds the stairs. It’s a relief; there’s a weird claustrophobia that comes with this darkness. “Yeah, yeah, I’m a genius. So why no Outer Gods left?”

They left when the rest did. They had various reasons.

“You’re really sure there’s no one here but you.”

If anyone else is, they’ve hidden so well that I haven’t seen them in thousands of years.

“You mean like how you hid?”

Hastur hesitates. And if they were here, they’d have no reason to help me. I have nothing to offer them.

“Maybe I do. Baby Merlin, remember?” He starts on the stairs.

Tim… why would you leverage that? Why would you leverage yourself?

Tim sighs. “You’re an asshole, but you don’t deserve to be eaten, all right?”

Many would argue that I do, says Hastur, low and warm.

“Well, maybe I think nobody does. Anyway, done with basement time! I’m ready to trade in the mole-man existence.”

Hastur chuckles. Tim. We’ve only been down here for two whole hours.

“Unacceptable,” says Tim. “I’m not made of money, you know, and time is money, so. Transitive properties, or whatever.”

Hastur chuckles again as Tim makes it to the ground floor.

It is creepy in the library.

Ambient light through the opaque Victorian windows casts it all in gray and black shadow, and Tim tells himself to stop being spooked. It’s just shadows. It’s nothing. It is not moving the way he thinks it is.

Regardless, staying still feels unsafe, so he carefully paces. “Do you see anyone?” he says, sotto voce.

No, though Bouchard’s door is open. I feel him in there.

“What, sitting in the dark?”

Probably seeing through the eyes of the whole city, taking in their consternation for his god.

Tim pauses. “You know, my life has gotten really weird?”

We could go talk to him.

Tim snorts. “I’m bored, but I don’t know if I’m that bored.”

I could tell you a story.

That sounds interesting. “A story from the ancient Great Old Whatever! I’m honored. Sure.” His steps seem loud, and Tim tries to quiet them.

Many, many years ago, I saw a portal created by cultists.

“Your cultists?” Tim finds a bookshelf with his hands and slides along it.

Oh, no. Not mine at all. These served one so far above that I don’t think she even knew what they were doing: Shub-Niggurath, Mother Goddess, Lord of the Woods.

“Mother, huh?” asks Tim softly. “Don’t suppose she’s here.”

No, as I said. She was too great to eat, but her children… her uncountable children were in danger. She left and took them so they wouldn’t be eaten.

“Huh. That sounds… responsible?”

Her children are regularly at fault for the destruction of entire worlds and the madness of all who survive.

“Oh. So kinda gray area, then, I get it,” says Tim. “Good mom. Bad citizen.”

Hastur chortles. I really do like you, Tim.

That feels so weird, the way he says that. “Okay. Um. Meaning?”

Meaning, says Hastur, I will try to preserve you.

That feels like the most honest thing he’s said. Tim swallows. “Glad for that. I guess.”

You should be, purrs Hastur, as though conferring a great honor, and continues.

Back to safer topics. “So you saw a door meant for someone else and decided to just slip through. Is it all right if I say I have a bad feeling about this?” says Tim.

Yes, says Hastur. Perhaps if I’d had you, I wouldn’t have made the mistake I did.

Tim had been joking. “Oh, no.”

Oh, yes. I tried to take the portal.

“And?” says Tim, feeling along the bookshelf, stopping beneath a window.

And the humans who’d opened it were in the middle of a fight with other humans, trying to close it. The latter succeeded… and I, the Great Old One was cut in half.

Tim whistles, low. “Where was the portal going?”

To Earth. My Earth, in my universe.

That sounds… bad. “Why would… okay, let’s come back to that. What happened when you were chopped?”

My other half was still sentient, of course.

Oh. “Is that where John came from?”

That’s where John came from.

“Literally part of you? Fuck!” Tim says. “So the Arthur situation. How did—” The front door creaks open, a flashlight shines through, and he stops talking.

A man enters, muttering. It’s Jon and someone else.

Tim frowns. “The hell is he doing out of hos—”

Hastur’s hand reaches, fast, across his waist as if to stop him.

Tim goes still.

“I really don’t think we can do anything for you until the power comes back on, though you’re welcome to sit in our reception area until things calm down out there,” says Jon.

“Thank you, young man,” says an older voice—a strong voice, but strange. It resonates, Tim thinks, like a voice in a steel drum, unnatural, hollow, somehow metallic. “I can normally navigate just fine in this city, but without things like crosswalk alarms, it becomes truly hazardous.”

“I’m so sorry. I can’t imagine.”

“Kindnesses like yours make all the difference, Mister Sims,” says the old man.

Hastur’s silence says much. Tim’s instinct says more: something is very wrong with whoever this is.

The shadows are moving now, for certain; Tim isn’t nuts. They’ve begun to shift, to undulate, seemingly too thick in the limited light from the windows and Jon’s torch.

Hastur is still silent.

You think this guy can hear you? Tim thinks at him.

Hastur squeezes.

Tim steps back between shelves, out of the way of Jon’s questing beam.

Jon passes them without a glance. “I’m afraid I can only offer you water to drink at the moment.”

“Anything is appreciated, Mister Sims,” says the old man, and he turns to look directly at Tim.

The old man is tall, thin, with sparse white hair and a scraggly beard. The thing that matters, though, is his eyes. They are solid white. Absolutely solid, without pupil or iris.

The old man smiles at them, full teeth bared.

Tim stares. That’s not normal, he thinks inanely, and takes another step back.

The shadows actively avoid Jon’s beam, and Jon clearly can’t see them; they curl around his feet, playful and predatory, as though ready to take him down on command. “Here we go. This lobby furniture is at least comfortable.”

The old man carries a cane—white-tipped, the kind a blind man would carry. He’s not holding it that way, though. He’s got one hand on the tip, and one around its shaft, a strangely ready pose. “Many thanks. I don’t suppose we’re near your boss’s office.”

Jon stops walking. The billowing darkness at his feet is hungry, edges licking his clothes. “My boss?” he says.

“Elias Bouchard,” says the old man, and chuckles. “At the moment, anyway.”

Jon has gone as still as a deer in the eyes of a hunter. “You… know him?”

“Indeed, I do,” says the old man, low, as Elias materializes out of nowhere to stand behind Jon.

Though it makes no sense, Tim can clearly see Elias’s eyes, though the rest of him is hidden in silhouetted gloom. “It’s all right, Jon. I’ll take it from here.”

“There you are,” says the old man, low.

“Maxwell,” says Elias Bouchard as if he tastes something bad. “Fancy meeting you here.”

“So you do know each other?” says Jon, his voice unsteady.

“We do,” says the old man. “I need to thank you properly for bringing me in. Couldn’t have gotten near him otherwise.” And then there is a sound.

Tim knows what it is from movies, from games; from countless hours watching television, and he is completely sure what just occurred: the old man’s cane was hiding a knife, and it’s been unsheathed.

The old man grabs too fast for Tim to see. The torch drops to the floor and rolls, splashing their struggling feet with alternating light and darkness.

Tim starts to move. Hastur grips him, tight and warning.

Jon makes a choked sound.

“Now, now,” says the old man, gripping Jon against him tightly. “Don’t struggle. I wouldn’t want my hand to slip.”

Tim clenches his jaw, bends down, and quietly removes his shoes.

No, whispers Hastur, but Tim ignores him.

Elias sighs. “Is this really necessary?”

“Well, you wouldn’t answer my letters,” says the old man.

“Naturally not,” says Elias. “You are going to fail.”

“We will not,” says the old man. “Everything is ready. Mister Pitch is coming. I’m here to give you one final chance. Join me. Leave this nonsense behind.”

Jon lets out a tiny cry, and Tim, creeping closer, has to focus not to breathe like an angry bull.

“Must you molest my librarian?” says Elias. “You’re not making a very good case for your promises of clemency.”

The old man laughs softly. “Librarian? As if that’s what he is. Did you forget I’ve listened to your theories for years? Maybe you think me truly blind?”

Tim won’t just lunge. The lunatic old man has that thin blade to Jon’s throat, and even in this bad light, Tim can see the front of Jon’s shirt is stained dark with his own blood.

What the fuck is wrong with everybody? Why do they keep hurting this guy? Jon didn’t do anything but show kindness to a blind old man!

It’s anger that moves, anger that surges, that translates Tim’s will, and he has no chance to overthink it, to plan, to try to avoid any damage.

Maybe that’s why it works.

The handle of the old man’s cane is suddenly red hot, instant, like a switch flipped on. The old man shouts and flings it, shocked.

Disturbingly fast, Elias grabs Jon and yanks him away.

The old man reaches for them, snarling, shadows moving with his hand as if on a leash.

Tim tackles the old man, counting on inertia and weight and youth—

And finds him solid, shockingly strong, with a grip like ice and an expert twist as though he’s been cage-fighting for years, and for a horrible moment, they grapple. Shadows snake around Tim’s legs with painful tightness, locking his feet in place.

Lights! Tim thinks, and as if he summoned them (which he swears he did not), they suddenly come back on.

The shadows vanish. The strength and solidity of this old man do, too, and abruptly, Tim is bearing a frail old man to the ground with a crunch so unpleasant that he thinks he might have broken all the psycho’s bones.

It somehow figures that Daisy Tonner is the cop who shows up.

The ambulance is already there. The old man, whose arm is broken, doesn’t seem upset by any of this. He keeps smiling, face turned unerringly toward Tim wherever he stands, because apparently, it’s What the Hell, Let’s Scare Tim Day.

Finally, they cart Maxwell Rayner off. Jon sits where they put him, looking dazed, the white bandage around his neck redder than Tim likes.

“Why are you here?” Tim asks him quietly.

“I didn’t want to miss anything,” Jon whispers back. “Also, some weird guy came around asking about you, and I didn’t want to risk being overheard if I just called to warn you.”

“What weird guy? And why didn’t you text?” says Tim.

Jon has visibly forgotten text was a thing. He goes red.

“And then Mister Stoker managed to tackle him,” Elias explains, the perfect witness to such random tragedy. “I wish I could tell you more; we simply don’t know what drove this elderly man to come in off the street and accost us.”

“Uh, huh,” says Tonner, not taking notes, watching Elias, unblinking, like a wolf watches a rabbit.

Elias smiles like no rabbit has ever smiled in the history of the world.

Tonner turns on Jon. “Mister Sims, I need more than what you’ve given me. We’re still missing things. Like how the hell his hand is burned in the pattern of that knife handle.”

Jon isn’t a good liar. Fortunately, this isn’t a lie. “I’m sorry,” says Jon. “I don’t know what to tell you. This man came up, and said he needed help, and then when I turned around, he… did this.”

“He’s blind,” Tonner says.

Jon just looks at her, and his tone goes sharp. “And that means he can’t hold a knife? Do your job, detective, and figure it out. I’ve told you the truth, and badgering me won’t produce a different answer.”

Tim flinches. That would go over great.

What a genius, Hastur drawls.

Tonner takes a step toward Jon.

Jon flinches back as if she’d bared her teeth.

Elias steps in, hand on his shoulder. “Easy, Jon. I know you’re stressed. Detective, we’ve all had a terrible day, and may I remind you that we are the victims here? Are we nearly finished?”

Jon looks down, hunched.

Tonner turns toward Tim.

Tim, who has some of Jon’s blood on his hands. Tim, who’s bruised from tackling that startlingly strong man. Tim, who really wanted to never see this woman again in his life.

Tim gives her a thousand-watt smile. “Hello again.”

“Funny, finding you in the middle of this,” says Tonner. “And I suppose you have a perfectly reasonable excuse for being here?”

“Sure do,” says Tim. “I work here.”

She looks deeply startled, and turns to Elias as if offended. “What?”

“He’s my newest employee, detective,” says Elias. “Why?”

“I suppose you’ve got paperwork to back that up?” Tonner challenges.

“Certainly, though I hardly see why it’s relevant to your investigation,” says Elias. “I have nothing to hide. If you want to see it now, I can show you.”

“Show me now,” says Tonner, as though she thinks he’s going to forge it the moment he’s out of sight.

“Well, I’m sure a little harassment is all in a day’s work for you,” Elis says mildly. “This way, please.” He heads for his office.

“Watch it, Bouchard,” Tonner says, on his heels.

Tonner’s partner sighs. She studies Tim, thoughtful, arms crossed. “Anything else you want to say on record?”

What was her name? Hussain? “No, officer. We just got really lucky tonight. No one’s hurt too badly, and I’ll take that as an outcome.”

“Mm,” says Hussain, noncommittal.

“How’s your night going?” says Tim, trying the charm.

“Weird,” says Hussain. “Seems when the lights go out, the crazy fills its place.”

“Right?” says Tim. “Can’t thank you enough for all you do, protecting us ordinary citizens.” He is deadpan.

She eyes him.

His serious expression does not crack.

Hussain gives up. “Mister Sims, we’ll be calling on you later as a witness.”

Jon is touching his white bandage so gingerly, almost as if to convince himself it’s really there. “Of course, officer. Whatever you need.”

Hussain nods and goes to talk to the EMTs.

Jon sighs. “I’m sorry about all this.”

“Not your fault,” Tim murmurs back. “Some lunatic on the street comes in and attacks everybody, it’s hardly your fault.”

“He didn’t attack everybody, though, did he? Just me.” Jon sounds bitter.

Tim’s not sure he can blame him. “Want to stay here tonight?”

“What? In the library?” Jon says as though scandalized.

“Down in the Archives. You’re shaken up, and I think it might do you good to have someone look after you.”

“I’m fine. I don’t need looking after,” Jon says loftily.

“If this were reversed, and you saw me shaky and bleeding from the godsdamned throat, would you say, ‘Hey, good luck!’ and just walk off?” Tim challenges, pushing, urging Jon to accept.

Jon looks uncomfortable. “If you’re sure I won’t be a bother.”

He will.

Tim ignores that. “You won’t.”

“Thank you.” Jon is sincere. His dark eyes are just a touch shiny.

Such an awkward little dude. Tim feels justified in his unspoken adoption.

Tonner suddenly storms past, then spins on her heel, and fixes Tim with a sharp glare. Were her eyes always fucking yellow? “We’re not done, Stoker.”

“Sure?” he says, resisting the urge to get sarcastic.

Tonner stomps off.

Hussain sighs and follows.

The EMTs, having finished, give Jon some final instructions and paperwork, and leave.

Jon stares at nothing, looking gray.

“So,” says Tim to Elias. “Don’t suppose you can explain what just happened?”

“I can,” says Elias. “But not right now. Instead, I’m going to invite you both to my house.”

What?

“Huh?” says Tim.

Jon just blinks owlishly.

“I have plenty of room,” says Elias. “You both require a safe space to unwind tonight, and some food you don’t have to cook. And my home, unlike both of your apartments, is protected.”

“What, like the Institute is protected?” Tim snaps.

“When someone touched by the Eye doesn’t hand-deliver enemies over the doorstep, yes,” says Elias.

Jon hunches again.

Tim’s eyes narrow. “Don’t you fucking dare make him feel bad for this.”

“I won’t,” says Elias with a straight face and wide eyes. “Anyone could have fallen for this.”

“Yeah, I’m thinking no,” says Tim, but Jon interrupts him.

“Will you give us answers if we come?” says Jon.

“Oh, come on, Jon,” Tim murmurs.

“Yes,” says Elias. “You have my word. I will answer questions and explain what just happened.”

Jon looks at Tim, pleading.

The downside of adoption: that look is hard to ignore. He sighs. “You know what? We might as well. This is already all weird and fucked up. Might as well throw an awkward family dinner into the mix.”

Hastur chuckles. Awkward family dinner. Very good.

“I’ll bring the car around. Let’s not linger,” says Elias, and heads for the door.

“You sure about this?” says Tim.

Jon’s look is now hungry, sharp. Unwavering. “Tim, I need to know what’s going on. I need to know if what I saw was real. I need to know what just happened, and who that was.”

“All right, all right, I already agreed,” says Tim.

Foolish, murmurs Hastur. But perhaps expected. He’s driven by his accidental god.

“What’s he saying?” says Jon.

“You really can tell when he’s talking to me, huh?” says Tim.

“Yes,” says Jon. “You change, somehow. It’s hard to explain.”

That is unnerving. Tim swallows.

A polite honk echoes through the front doors.

“Our ride is here,” says Tim dramatically, and helps Jon stand. “Come on. Let’s do this. You got keys?”

“It’s how I let the enemy in,” Jon mutters.

“Not your fault. I’d have helped him, too.”

No, you wouldn’t. You saw the shadows.

Then why didn’t he? Tim thinks at him.

I don’t think he could. This is something the Eye can’t handle well.

A ‘balancing influence,’ Elias had said before, as though some of these things counteracted one another. Why could I see it?

Because of what you are.

Baby Merlin, Tim thinks, keeping an eye out while Jon locks up.

Elias’ car is, of course, ridiculous. Some fancy Mercedes, fortunately a sedan. He smiles behind the wheel.

“Front or back?” says Tim.

“Back,” says Jon at once. “I don’t want to talk.”

“Fair enough.”

As they pull away, Tim pretends not to see the angry shadows lasing around the steps of the Institute, as though angry they can’t wreak vengeance inside.

#tma #malevolent #tma x malevolent #tma fic #malevolent fic #malevolent crossover #tma crossover #tim stoker #jonathan sims #elias bouchard #kiy malevolent #tim x hastur #corrupted fic

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a-mag-a-day · 2 years ago

Note

MAG 69 - nice - Folding laundry

Of course, it's a Web episode and it starts with Martin.

MARTIN "No but she’s pretty private with that stuff. Not like Tim." - Tim going on and on about his dates and/or hook-ups is canon.

Jon immediately getting defensive when Martin mentions Tim and Martin begging Jon to just talk to Tim. I'm guessing Tim and Martin are talking about this, Martin being the caregiver and Tim being pretty open (except for his brother and his whole history with the Stranger).

JON "Ironically, I think working is all Tim and I can do together." - Meaning they also had a non-work-related relationship? I mean, we don't know, but they were both in research and Jon asked for Tim (and Sasha) as assistant, so that at least implies that Jon did know him to some extent, that he said "I wanna continue working with this dude". I really like to see them both as friends before all this shit started, even if Tim was a bit salty about Jon getting the Head Archivist position instead of Sasha.

MARTIN "Look. Jon… when was the last time we all just talked? Just talked, without all of this –" - And so they did talk non-work-related stuff before all went to hell? Did they go to the pub together? I like to think it was like that. S1 Archives Crew <3

MARTIN "He’s not wrong, you know." - Not wrong about what?

I love Jonny's way of introducing a story like "I'm gonna vaguely talk about that thing that happened without ever saying what happened or I'm giving you one horrible detail that came out of all this, just to make everyone curious"

"And when I started to see more and more spiders around the lab, I turned the very real sense of unease into the… the fun sort of fear, like I was just playing at being scared. It’s so strange, even when you’re really looking for horror, it’s impossible to actually believe it. It always feels like something you made up. Just having a bit of fun scaring yourself. Because those things don’t happen. Not in the real world." - This speaks to me very much.

"but I know ESP research when I’m mopping its floors." - Well, I don't so I'm googling it xD (Is the term generally known in native English speaking?), Let's see, what we've got there "ESP has been defined as ‘anomalous processes of information or energy transfer, processes such as telepathy… that are currently unexplained in terms of known physical or biological mechanisms’" (https://www.bps.org.uk/psychologist/extra-sensory-perception-controversial-debate)

"Not that I minded, of course; I love that crap." - I do love that crap too. But I actually mind it very much in the real world, especially when they want to justify it in the medical field. All this pseudoscience mumbo-jumbo like energy medicine is potentially dealing with persons who seriously need medical attention and those Charlatans gonna send them home like nothing's wrong. This is highly dangerous.

"I’m a horror nut but I generally tend toward the more sci-fi end. Demons and ghosts have never really got me but give me aliens or the sinister powers of the human mind and I am there." - Funny, I'm very much the opposite. I mean, I AM a horror nut! But I like supernatural horror the most. Sci-fi yes, but it depends. Alien (the movie, not Aliens as monsters), yes! The Thing, I mean come on, of course! Annihilation (this one has also has cosmic horror tho), Life, Underwater (Hmm… there's a pattern of inescapability). Interesting that a lot of movies, that I would count more as cosmic horror than sci-fi (Bird Box, The Endless, The Mist, Color Out of Space… ok, that got "space" in it) are categorized as sci-fi horror. Hm… Maybe I do like sci-fi horror more than I thought and it's just sci-fi-sci-fi which I don't like? I'm definitely fed up on Christian religious/demon movies for the next few years tho, that is getting old… So yeah, just my… thought for the day! XDD

"The subject’s name was Annabelle Cane." - On my first listen I couldn't focus and barely followed the plot. So naturally I totally missed Annabelle being introduced in this episode.

"I’m sure you can guess what I ended up cleaning more and more of over the course of the study. Cobwebs." - I wonder if you could kind of see this part of a subtle hint, that no cobwebs in TMA ever are a coincident.

"I can still remember her face as she told me that Annabelle had apparently reported having several unsettling dreams about spiders. Notably, at no point in the experiment had she been informed that it was spiders being used." - I wouldn't be too sure about that being a sign of "telepathy" as the statement-giver just told us, that he saw more and more cobwebs in the building and sometimes spiders scuttling away to hide. Annabelle easily could have seen them as well.

"She dressed like a vintage clothing store exploded on her" - lol

"every one of the other participants in that study, Dr. Bates’ so-called “projectors”, have also disappeared. I cannot help but wonder how many cobwebs might be found in their old homes." - Just a year ago he laughed about Carlos Vittery and now he's saying stuff like this xD S1 Jon was fun at times.

Aw man, Jon sounds so sad in the supplemental part..

"I should ask the others for help but I… I can’t. At best, they’d just try to talk me out of it. At worst… No, I… if I’m going down there, I go alone. I should just leave it." - He wants to be with the others. But he knows he burned that bridge with at least Tim and probably (Not!)Sasha as well and I'm guessing he is very much still paranoid having the Not!Them around.

"But I can’t not know." - When my spouse listened to this he laughed and said "Ha, he's just like you!" Yeah, thanks :/

I feel ESP research and experimentation is probably much more common in a reality that hosts supernatural horror, even if it's not a universally known fact, it still lurks underneath everything, making people more inclined to study it and create with it as inspiration. In the same way I feel the horror genre is probably more prevalent in that kind of world as well

#a mag a day #tma #the magnus archives #episode asks #mod ashes #tma spoilers #mag 069 #lycanlovingvampyre

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commando-rogers · 1 year ago

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thoughts on the first two episodes and by thoughts I mean screaming

EVERYTHING ABOUT THE EPISODE ONE COLD OPEN WAS ABSOLUTELY FUCKING OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD

LIKE HOW MANY TIMES HAVE WE SEEN AND WRITTEN AND READ FIC ABOUT ANGEL CROWLEY CREATING THE STARS

oh my fucking god David Tennant’s performance there was incredible, he was just so open and happy and excited and giddy, and still undeniably crowley (though who knows what his name was then) and just the brilliant little seeds planted of his personality and his questions and god his enthusiasm and his facial expressions were absolutely incredible

and the fact that AZIRAPHALE IS THE ONE WHO FELL IN LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT BEFORE TIME EVEN FUCKING EXISTED YET

AND CROWLEY SHIELDING AZIRAPHALE UNDER HIS WING FOR THE METEOR SHOWER JUST LIKE AZIRAPHALE THEN DOES FOR HIM AT THE WALL IN THE FIRST RAIN

AND NOW CROWLEY IS LIKE YEAH HUMANS FALL IN LOVE WHEN THEY GET CAUGHT IN THE RAIN AND STARE INTO EACH OTHERS EYES REALLY CROWLEY??? REALLY????

and now ok oh my god the fact that we’re gonna have the trope of two characters trying to orchestrate a romance while then falling in love themselves ???????????? like the parallels of Maggie and Nina to aziraphale and crowley are so clear personality-wise dynamic-wise etc (though tbh it’s not cut and dry how we’d have thought it’d be) and just knowing crowley and aziraphale are gonna spend so much time talking about love and trying to create love is gonna fucking murder me

I mean it when I say I don’t need or even necessarily WANT crowley and aziraphale to say I love you or kiss or something I feel like that’s just too small that’s too inconsequential for supernatural beings who’ve known each other for eternity. but the love is just so clear. it’s so much.

Jon hamm oh my god he’s incredible

ugh aziraphale’s fear after lying during the Job storyline was honestly so heartbreaking and both actors did a great job conveying what the stakes were for each of them

I’ve been screaming forever and we all have been screaming forever about the parallels between crowley and aziraphale and lizzy and mr Darcy in pride and prejudice so the fact that’s gonna be a thing omg

the I was wrong dance

oh my god

fic writers are probably already going feral over it

it was incredible

the way it was so perfectly flourished and bouncy while crowley hated every second

and just. the way they’ve so clearly had this little inside thing for centuries. I just. oh my god. oh my god. oh my god

curious about Nina’s controlling partner - interesting her name starts with an L, interesting that she’s kind of like aziraphale in that she always feels surveilled by her partner and “we’re just friends, we barely know each other” that is STRAIGHT FROM THE GLOBE SEASON ONE EPISODE THREE

and so it is interesting then if Nina reflects aziraphale and Maggie reflects crowley- we’ve always felt that crowley, though he hides them, has such strong emotions and feelings, so if they’re parallels it’s interesting how Maggie is almost like Crowley’s id of maybe this is how he feels having spent forever (months) working up the courage to get close (bring the LP)

idk man

and oh my god just the way that crowley is the one who got aziraphale to lie and to realize maybe heaven and hell and good and evil aren’t as black and white as he thought

interesting their discussion of how aziraphale seemed to be the one saying there was an “our side”

ugh I’m just so. I’m so. oh my god. it’s so beautiful I love it omg and I also love that I can’t tell where it’s going

if we see aziraphale trying to drive I’m gonna lose my shit

I have so many other thoughts I can’t remember right now but omg

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mochiwrites · 2 years ago

Note

for ur writing prompts- some jon and martin pls? im so down for some fluff but follow ur heart ❤️ maybe like. some domestic shit or like a lost scene or whatever u want

reblogs do more than likes!

Martin can hear Tim and Sasha laughing loudly in the break room, as Tim tells her some kind of kayaking story. They’re talking animatedly, and if Martin wasn’t so wrapped up in quelling his own anxiety, he’d probably be in there with them.

Except he’s still seated at his desk, tugging at his tie. His foot lightly taps against the floor as he takes a few deep breaths.

God he really hates work functions. He’s never been a fan of them, really. Not when he’s forced to interact with the other employees of the Institute. It’s hard enough keeping the secret about his CV from Jon, Tim, and Sasha (though he’s got a sneaking suspicion Sasha knows. She made a habit of frequently offering him help on his reports), but everyone else?

Every year, he’s forced into some stuffy, uncomfortable conversation about something related to the paranormal. And every year, someone (it was usually from the library staff), brought up his “degree”.

So yeah, he thinks he has enough reason to be worried. And he can only imagine how much worse it’ll be now that he works in the archives.

Martin can already imagine what type of things he’s going to be asked.

He’s pulled from his thoughts as he hears muffled mumbling coming from Jon’s office. He perks up, curious and a bit concerned (plus, it’s a good distraction from his nerves). Tim and Sasha are still chatting away in the break room, probably waiting on both Jon and Martin to be ready.

Turning toward Jon’s office, Martin rises from his chair and walks over. He knocks on the door, a soft sound. “Jon? Are you alright?” He questions, hovering in the doorway.

Inside is Jon, standing in front of his desk. His face is scrunched tight in an annoyed scowl, hands fiddling with something around his neck. It takes Martin a second to realize it’s a bow tie.

Jon pauses in his fiddling, eyes lifting to meet Martin’s gaze. “Ah, yes, I’m fine.” He says, though his annoyance is quite clear. “Just having difficulty with this tie — I’ll be out in a moment.”

Martin weighs his options: he could offer his help and risk being the target for Jon’s annoyance, or he could leave Jon be.

He knows that if he wants this night to be a little smoother, he should really avoid Jon. But Martin has a habit of being his own worst enemy and he can't bring himself to actually ignore his boss when he's clearly struggling.

"Do you uhm, want some help with that?" He asks, gesturing toward Jon's bowtie.

Jon pauses at that, looking at Martin with an unreadable expression. For a moment, Martin worries that he's overstepped some kind of boundary and Jon is about to snap. Trying to soften what he thinks is an inevitable blow, he opens his mouth to rescind his offer.

Yet before he can get a word out, Jon's shoulders seem to sag in what Martin is hesitant to call defeat. "I... suppose accepting help would be more productive than continuing to fumble with this damn thing." He grumbles.

Martin feels relieved almost immediately, glad to have avoided Jon's ire. "Okay!" He says, maybe a little too cheerfully before taking a few steps over to him.

And upon standing in front of Jon, with maybe a few inches between them, Martin realizes his mistake. Number one, he's standing very close to Jon in order to help him. Number two, Jon smells faintly of cinnamon and smoky vanilla; reminding him of old books. Fitting. Finally, number three: Martin is very, very gay.

He's doomed.

He swallows down the fight or flight instinct that is very quickly activating, and tries to still his slightly shaking hands. He goes to reach for Jon's bowtie, finding that the other is still holding onto the ends of his tie. "Erm.." Martin stutters, looking up at Jon almost nervously.

"Oh, right, yes." Jon coughs, dropping the tie.

Nodding mostly to himself, Martin takes Jon's bowtie gingerly in his hands. He finds that his breath stills as he works to tie the bow for Jon, attempting to keep his hands from shaking too much.

He hears Jon clear his throat, and Martin's eyes naturally shoot up to look at his face. Oh god he isn't doing this wrong, is he? Though when he does look at Jon's face, he finds that his head is tilted to the side, eyes staring off at something that isn't Martin. His cheeks also seem to have a flushed tint to them, making Martin's heartbeat thud in his chest. Jon looks so... awkward.

Affection swells in Martin's chest at just how cute he looks.

Christ, get it together Martin! Focus!

Shaking himself out of his stupor (it won't do him any good to stare), he returns to the task at hand. He finishes quite swiftly (though he does get distracted a few times thanks to Jon), and when he is, he steps back with a little huff.

"O-Okay, I've done it." He says, offering Jon a wobbly smile that he hopes Jon doesn't look too much into.

"Oh." Jon replies, looking almost surprised at Martin. His eyes are a little wide, shining in a way that can only mean he's pleased. It makes Martin's heart flutter. He doesn't get many opportunities to see Jon be pleased with him. "Thank you, Martin." Though he still sounds a little flustered, even as his voice is just a tad soft. "Right. We should get going then." Jon slips back into the perfect image of professionalism and Martin lets him.

He gives a jerky nod before spinning on his heel and basically high tailing it out of Jon's office.

Oh Christ. He just did that.

#mochi speaks #mochi writes #jmart #jonmartin #tma #the magnus archives #THIS WAS SO FUN TO WRITE #THEY'RE SO UEUEUEUE #I ALSO HAVEN'T WRITTEN JMART IN FIC FORM IN A BIT #A GOOD WARM UP YES

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botchbaby · 1 year ago

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oh this is addicting

i really think i suck at writing and articulating my thoughts because i spent the better part of the past 8 years trying to drown my thoughts so i don’t kill myself. i am so curious to learn who i am and how i think. it feels pathetic, like a character jon lovitz would play, but also it is what it is baby

film is helping me step outside of my own head and think more. id really like to write something one day to prove to myself that yeah i can write things and be proud of it. for so long my identity was driven by being a writer, by being funny and by being fat

it’s odd now that i’m left with just being fat because i don’t think i’m a writer or funny and that’s okay. but i’d like to build myself again to someone who i can identify with.

maybe what i need to do is focus on reading too. i haven’t read a damn book since high school and it shows baby. books and film. that’s the shit i’m diving into for my hobbies

#marmarwrites

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welcometogrouchland · 3 years ago

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Re-reading the transcripts and realising... Georgie doesn't actually say she'd prefer if Jon was dead

GEORGIE

How are you feeling?

ARCHIVIST

Honestly, I – I, I think I’m alright.

[GEORGIE SIGHS IN EXASPERATION.]

ARCHIVIST

I mean that’s – good, right?

[GEORGIE SIGHS AGAIN.]

ARCHIVIST

I –

GEORGIE

After a six month coma? No – it’s not. This isn’t how it’s supposed to go, John.

ARCHIVIST

I – what? Y-y-you’d prefer I was – brain-damaged? Dead?

BASIRA

John.

ARCHIVIST

(shaky sigh) W,W,What?

if anything that's more of a sentiment that Jon puts in her mouth? She didn't like the fact that he says he's fine after a six month coma-

ARCHIVIST

I, no, I, uh, (he starts to sit himself up) I’m alright, it’s –

GEORGIE

(overlapping) Stop it!

ARCHIVIST

(overlapping) – I’m okay.

-(both because pretending he's fine when he's not is a bad habit of Jon's, and if it is true, it spells out bad things for his involvement with spooky shit)-

but Jon takes this as her preferring he was dead because what matters to him at this moment (besides the unknowing fallout which I'm gonna get to-) is that he's fine, which means he's useful.

later, in Heart of Darkness, he asks Basira to "let him help". He wants to be useful. It's probably exacerbated right now, as he's a character prone to survivors guilt and he just found out that Tim (and Daisy) didn't make it out of the unknowing. This season also shows Jon getting progressively more 'insecure', i guess you'd say, about his agency (hello web trauma), and that journey sort of starts here I think.

(Digression, but- I don't think Jon genuinely thinks this resurrection is 100% good w/ no possible downsides. I think Jon's aware enough to know that this is bad, but he only sees it in a distant, abstract sense. in the immediate sense, he's fine with it, so long as he can get up and do stuff, stuff that'll help)

(Further Digression- Also interesting to note is the scenes I mention of Jon wanting to be useful both come after Jon making choices that pull him further away from the (fast and loose, to be fair) concept of "humanity"- coming back from the dead, and taking a statement from an innocent person.

Has me wondering- Is it subconscious guilt? Conscious guilt? natural good heartedness poking through, trying to compensate for these less than moral actions? Or is it a form of justification? He wants to help so he has to do this thing that's either a bad idea and/or actively harmful. Maybe it's more of the classic Jon Sims "heroic self sacrifice as punishment". Straying from humanity requires a good deed to balance it out or something in his mind. Maybe a mix of things? Unsure what I think, but it's a small pattern I noticed. Digression over)

and he doesn't get why Georgie doesn't appreciate that too. He makes the assumption she'd prefer he were dead and she never really gets a chance to disagree (basira goes to tell him off, and he starts addressing her), but she also doesn't particularly fight for one- my best guess being that she probably thinks that's a ridiculous idea. Jon and Georgie are both quite presumptuous characters in a lot of ways- We see it later on in the season where Georgie assumes the worst of Jon (the "jumping on a grenade" line) because he hasn't given her evidence to the contrary, and we get it in this very scene with Jon in his "brain damaged or dead?" Line-

Jon's curious and Georgie's sensitive, but they're both stubborn asses who are, currently, kind of at the end of their rope. So when he assumes she wishes he were dead, she assumes he has to know how ridiculous that idea is. And bam, you've arrive at miscommunication city, baby! Population jongeorgie.

Also, He assumed the same of Basira, which is more based on her less-than-enthusiastic reaction but is still filling in a gap from "reasonably suspicious about your resurrection" to "does not want me alive".(Note: she doesn't outright refute it when asks, but she's probably not meaning it that seriously based on her humor).

so i think it's very likely that what Jon really wants is a warm welcome upon waking up (very understandable), and his actions in this scene are partly informed by him being upset at it's absence.

Jon is a) a pretty defensive person (see: majority of season 1) and b) has a history of feeling unwanted (childhood in 81). Like anyone, especially a person w/ his specific issues, he wants to be wanted. And when he feels unwanted? That's when he gets defensive. (It's one of the similarities between him and Melanie- she feels isolated or disrespected, She gets cagey and lashes out, assuming the worst of people's intentions. That's not relevant here I'm just passionate abt Melanie <3)

He's also recently decided (on Georgie's behest, ironically) that he needs more connections/"allies" (his words), and when he's greeted with an uphill battle to earn those things, he's frustrated. Both because he sees Georgie and Basira as ppl who, at some point, trusted him before. When you look at all the factors- the spooky shit and both Georgie and Basira's personal trauma, their lack of trust is pretty reasonable, if yknow. Cold. Since that's generally how ppl tend to be around ppl they don't/can't trust. But he hasn't been there for that, and so he feels like they've suddenly done a 180 on him (much like the audience on first listen). See also him about to ask for tea but then cutting himself off. He wants Martin, the character who's consistently the warmest towards him, to be there and give him the warmth he normally does, but he isn't.

I've gone kind of all over the place with this, but Georgie's scene in this episode ends with her just once again stating her reservations and asking him to take care of himself.

GEORGIE

John. If this really is a second chance, please try to take it. But I don’t think that it is.

ARCHIVIST

(breath) Georgie, I don’t underst–

GEORGIE

Take care of yourself.

not that sinister. You could argue it's cruel or unfair that she doesn't clarify when Jon says "I don't understand" (cut off), but it's one line, both parties seemed a little heated, and I feel like that line is mostly there for ~drama~ purposes.

And yes, the episode also ends with her leaving without a "proper" goodbye, but at that point, even before Jon started reading the statement, he's shown her everything she was afraid of: his miraculous rise from the grave is supernatural (hello end trauma), he's back in old bad habits of pretending he's fine when he's not, and he doesn't plan on pulling back, and if anything seems more determined to keep carrying on. Hell, we only find out she's officially cut-him-off cut-him-off when he's back at the archive. Yknow. The evil place that's ruining his life. I forget if she knows he can't stay away too long (probably not?) But I think it speaks for itself symbolically.

She asks him to take care of himself and he doesn't, and after having had this same sort of exchange over and over again in season 3, it breaks the camel's back. And that's very different than your friend waking up from coma and telling him "I'd prefer it if u were dead".

#ramblings of a lunatic #tma #the magnus archives #georgie barker #jonathan sims #jongeorgie #ON THE FENCE ABT POSTING THIS BECAUSE I KNOW IT'S JUST REGULAR ANALYSIS BUT IT FEELS DEFENSIVE AND THAT FEELS EMBARRASSING #AGAIN I AM NOT ABSOLVING GEORGIE OF HER FLAWS #I ALREADY SAID I THINK SHE'S PRESUMPTUOUS AND I ALSO THINK YOU COULD ARGUE SHE'S VERY BLUNT #(i do love that last trait abt her tho i think it's sexy (non-sexual))#I AM JUST ONCE AGAIN LAYING OUT THE CASE FOR WHAT HER ACTUAL FLAWS ARE IN TEXT (w/ room for interpretation i hope)-#-INSTEAD OF THE COMMON FAN INTERPRETATION #oof okay got that disclaimer out #there's a couple days between me editing this and me posting this so i can't. be bothered to double check spelling and syntax #this is messy and you will like it /j

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happyandticklish · 2 years ago

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Tickletober Day Nine - Trapped

Notes: For the request by @michael-something! I’m not gonna lie, I was kind of nervous writing for this fandom because I’ve only watched the first season and a half so far, but this was not the utter shit I thought it was gonna be, so small victories~ This is set in an indeterminate time in the series, so it’s up to reader’s interpretation. Hope you enjoy!

Summary: Martin finds himself trapped between two impossible choices.

Martin wouldn’t label himself as a particularly defensive person. Cautious, sure, careful, and diligent about upholding the truth and sticking to it. That’s all this was; defending a base, unchanging truth even in the face of adversary. The only one being unreasonable here was Tim.

“Look, it’s a simple choice.” Tim rolled over to him, glancing down at the file in front of Martin, the file that had remained unread and unopened for the past several minutes. “All you have to do is make it. I’m doing half the work here, the least you can do is help out.”

“It’s hardly a choice,” Martin spluttered. He clutched at the file, picking anxiously at the edges. Jon wouldn’t like it, but he needed some sort of outlet for the racing in his chest. “It’s hardly anything, actually. And besides, we need to get back to this. You know how busy Jon is, and there’s no way he’ll agree to us helping him out if he actually knows we’re doing it. He’ll be back soon, so if you could just—”

“Oh, relax, relax.” Tim waved him off in that dismissive manner of his that Martin was equally envious of and annoyed by. “We’ll get to it. We still have an hour, and you’re great at all this organization stuff.” He paused, giving Martin a meaningful look. “So until then—”

“Oh, my god, you are relentless—”

“All you have to do is admit it and I’ll let you off the hook—here.” Tim gently pried the file out of Martin’s reluctant hands, setting it on the table several feet away from it. Martin frowned, already wanting to grab it back, if only to give himself an excuse to do something else, anything else, but have this conversation. “I know it’s someone in the office, so that part’s already done—we’re halfway through! All you have to do is tell me who.”

Martin bristled, spinning his chair around to face the other way. “Absolutely not.”

“Is it me? Because if so, I’m flattered—”

“It’s no one!” Martin threw a hand up in exasperation, glaring at the far wall. “I don’t like anyone, let alone in the office, so you might as well stop with the interrogation.”

There was silence from behind him and for a moment, Martin dared to hope that he had deterred him. But when he peeked back, Tim was staring right back at him, his lips pressed into a thin, held back smile.

“What?” Martin’s skin prickled uncomfortably, unable to help feeling as though he was the butt of some joke. “What’s that face?”

Tim shrugged nonchalantly, twisting on his chair. “Nothing. Nothing at all. It’s just cute how you think you’re a good liar.”

Ah. A compliment. Somehow, that was almost worse. Martin’s ears burned as he glanced down. “How many times do I have to tell you that it’s not a lie?”

“Once you give me a convincing one, I might be inclined to let it go.” Tim continued to swivel for a while longer before kicking forward, leaning his elbows on the arms of the chair and resting his chin on his entwined fingers. “Well, if you’re not going to tell me, then I have to assume you’ve chosen option two, which, if I’m being honest, I did not anticipate. Not that I’m disappointed, of course.”

Martin tensed, hands slipping down to grip the side of the chairs in case an escape was necessary. For some reason, he didn’t push away just yet. Maybe a part of him foolishly believed he could change Tim’s mind once he’d made a decision. Maybe he was curious.

Regardless, he stayed.

“Tim. Don’t.”

“Hey, you were the one who agreed to these terms.”

“That was before I knew what your question was!”

“Doesn’t change the fact that you agreed.” Tim flashed him a wolfish grin and Martin shrank imperceptibly in his chair, a grin of his own finding him, though his was far more nervous. “I promise to go easy on you. It’s only ten minutes after all; surely you can handle that.”

Ten minutes. It hadn’t seemed like that long at the time. Now Martin found himself thinking about each second contained within a minute, how fast fingers could move in that time, how little he’d be able to do about it.

“Tim—”

“It is incredibly suspicious that you agreed to get tickled without even asking what the question was going to be,” Tim mused conversationally, standing up to walk over to him. Martin gripped the armrests tighter, still not moving away. “You should be careful, Martin. You might give people the impression that you wanted this outcome to happen.”

Martin spluttered indignantly, comebacks rising and dying on his tongue. Finally, he landed on something short and sweet. “This isn’t fair.”

“You still have time to save yourself.” Tim grabbed his chair, whirling it around slowly and placing his hands calmly over Martin’s sides. “Who is it? Sasha?”

Martin only shook his head, anticipation thrumming in his veins. He wondered if they had ever happened upon such a case in their files—a human being filled with electricity. “Cruel,” he insisted, shrinking back into the chair with a giddy smile.

“Necessary,” Tim corrected, before his fingers set into motion all at once.

Martin had never thought much about his own sensitivity before coming here. It simply hadn’t occurred enough in his normal life to devote any time to wondering about it. And then he’d met Sasha, and Tim, and Jon (not that it happened much with him either, a fact Martin was decidedly not disappointed about in the slightest), and it had started cropping up every once in a while, and now, as time had gone on, almost daily. And as it turned out, Martin just so happened to be incredibly ticklish. Unbearably ticklish, if you will. Ticklish enough that he should not be so wantonly inviting the activity through stupid dares.

Martin jumped when Tim started, the beginnings of laughter bubbling up in his throat. He squirmed back in his seat as fingers poked and prodded and curled and dug into his sides, pressing the unfortunately soft material of his sweater into his bare skin. He curled up as much as his position would allow him, opting to cover his face instead of pull Tim’s hands away. He had made a deal after all; Martin was not about to be accused of breaking promises.

“I’m hardly even touching you,” Tim said, his amusement obvious and incredibly irritating. He crawled his fingers up to the top of his ribs and Martin let out a shriek of a giggle, gripping the ends of his hair to stop his hands from chasing his attacker. “There is no way it can already tickle that much.”

“I-Ihihit dohoes!” Martin insisted, his words laced with laughter. “Y-You try sihihitting still f-for thih—ahaAH!”

He arched back as Tim’s fingers made their under his arms, cackling pitifully. It could not have been more than thirty seconds yet. He had to pull himself together if he was going to make it a full ten minutes.

Tim clucked his tongue, nudging Martin’s arms up unhelpfully each time they started to inch downwards. “Ah-ah-ah, I’m not falling for that. This is about you, specifically the information you have that you refuse to tell me, after all we’ve been through. I’m offended Blackwood, truly.”

Martin would have glared at him if he had been able to, but it was hard to look annoyed when giggling like a madman. Tim’s hands were big, with long, dexterous fingers, and as such he was able to cover an unfair amount of territory with each of them, one hand practically eclipsing his ribs on one side. He was using some sort of weird technique that was halfway between a massage and a spidering motion that was serving to drive Martin up the wall.

A knock on the door caused both of them to whip their heads towards it, Tim’s fingers freezing against his sides.

“Martin? Sasha said you were in here.”

“Jon!” The word sounded strangled and high-pitched to Martin’s ears, and he struggled to form his next sentence into something more coherent. “Yes! I mean, no. Or—we’re busy.”

There was silence from the other end of the door, and Martin could practically see Jon’s brow pinching in confusion. “Ah. I see. In my office?”

“It’s… quieter in here?” Martin shot Tim a helpless look but he merely shrugged, clearly not as invested in the secrecy of their mission. Admittedly, Jon’s presence would most likely save him from Tim, but he knew the moment Jon saw the paperwork he would clear them out and insist he do it on his own. “I just had some leftover work from earlier and I thought I’d get it finished before the end of the day. Didn’t you have an interview today?”

“It finished early.” Jon’s tone was thick with suspicion, and Martin knew he didn’t believe them for a second. “Did you say we?”

“Tim’s helping meHE!” His clarification pitched into a laugh as Tim’s fingers twitched suddenly; he had nearly forgotten about their presence on his sides. He covered it up with a cough, shooting Tim a warning look. “Tim is. Helping me, I mean. He’s right here. Thought he could, ah... thought he could be useful.”

“Hey Jon!” Tim greeted cheerfully.

“Ah.” The suspicion was mixed with exhaustion now at the mention of Tim. “Well, just don’t take too long. I need to ask your opinion on something when you have a minute—a private something.”

They waited until the sounds of footsteps had faded away into the hall before Tim turned to look at Martin, arching a brow. “Is it Jon?”

Martin flushed, kicking him lightly in the shins. “Oh, bug off, will you?”

“Ah, so it is—”

“It is not—ahAHA! Tihihim!”

“Remember, be honest, Martin, or we could be here a while.”

As Martin fell shrieking back into the chair, he made a vow with himself to never again make deals with the likes of Tim Stoker.

#tickle fic #tickletober #the magnus archives #martin blackwood #tim stoker #jonmartin #jonathan sims #tma #tickletober2022 #tickling #fanfiction #augtickletober2022 #me throwing in subtle jonmartin: its like a reward

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paintball-writes · 3 years ago

Text

Bio Dad Bruce Wayne Month 2021!

Day 2 - Family

Day1 - Day2 - Day3

Marinette Wayne was the baby of the Family. She loved her brothers to no end.

Maybe a little more because they treated her as the baby.

Being the youngest had both its advantages and disadvantages. On one hand they listened to her every demand. On the contrary they were over protective.

Being the youngest also had other perks. No one could ever say to Marinette. Growing up Marinette was given lots of love by her older siblings. She got everything. She always loved the attention her crazily big family paid her. Don’t get her wrong, She loved her family a lots.

They gave her everything she asked. All she had to do was ask.

A ride in the Batmobile. Done. Modelling her clothes. Done. A baby Tiger. Also done. But mostly Marinette enjoyed spending time with her crazy family.

She loved the gifts and all, But the most? It was spending time together.

Playing pranks, Making gifts for each other, Game nights, Cooking nights.

Yeah those were definitely her most fond moments.

Her father and Siblings tried not to blow up the kitchen. That was something straight out of the funny TV shows for Baby marinette. She always loved her brothers and father trying to cook, and later accidentally blowing up the Kitchen. That was the funniest part. She would fall down laughing while clutching her stomach every single time.

Don’t blame her, Her family managed to do the most impossible things. Setting water on fire, Blowing up an egg in the microwave, Her father couldn’t even make coffee!

And that was funny itself. Marinette loved sitting on a chair and watching her Dad trying to make sense of the Coffee maker. Everytime she ended up laughing out loud.

She also loved doing the trapeze with Dick. Playing pranks on everyone with Jay. Trying to stay up all night with Tim. Walking Titus with Damian. Dancing with Cass. Doing ridiculous things with Stephanie. Watching Babs help through the Comms. Baking with Alfred too.

Also there was another thing she loved the most. Going to WE with her Dad. The Employees were made to sign NDA’s so her Identity wouldn’t get out. Many times she got bored in Dad’s meetings. So she ended up talking to one of the employees while they worked. Marinette was curious about business. So she often ended up with her bombarding a person with Queries. At the end of the Day, her dad would realize she wasn’t with him. That ended with him panicking and announcing on the huge microphones in WE. She enjoyed scaring the shit out of her Dad.

So when it was time to stay with her mother. Everyone ended up crying. Marinette was confused and sad. Did heer family not love her anymore? Did they hate her now? What about Jay-Jay? And Dami? Sure he was four years older than her, but he loved her, Right? She pulled her father’s coat and timidly asked

“Do you all hate me now? Is that why you're sending me away?”

Gasps were heard among many. “No darling, we don't, we love you lots. But your mother gave birth to you right? Don’t you think she wants to meet you too? You can still visit every summer and winter break.We won't miss a single christmas without you. I promise we’ll all call you daily!” Her father says. Yes, that makes sense. She should thank the lady for giving birth to her. Maybe the lady wants to know what she looks like.

“Pinky Promise?”

“Pinky Promise.”

And the promise was kept. Every Summer she ended up with new memories. She also got to thank the lady who gave birth to her. She was her Maman now. And there was Papa too! Marinette hopes that her Dad finds her another Mom! Then she would get to keep two Moms and two Dads! One will always be her Dad, Bruce. Second will be her Maman. Third, her Papa Tom. And fourth her Mom or another lady her Dad finds.

Marinette loved her new life too!! She also missed her Brothers and Sisters and the craziness they brought. She loved cooking with her Maman. Also she loved Baking with Papa. She also had a two year old sister Bridgette! She looked just like her! Now she has a small Sibling. It’ll be just like her and Damian!

Marinette made a lot of friends. Bonded with her sister. Also Introduced her to her Dad!

She had such good friends! She also became a superhero. Her both families knew about that. But all that changed one day. Why? The one and only Lila Rossi.

She took all of Marinette’s friends. Except Chloe, Kagami, Luka and Nathaniel. Chloe is dating Nathaniel. And Kagami is dating Luka. She also has a boyfriend, Jon kent. She started dating him Last year. Her family knew about Lila. So did Bridgette. She always called Lila a Witch.

This year she won't be going to Gotham to visit her family! They will be coming here! She was Psyched. Now Bridgette could meet them in person! She and Bridgette were currently sitting in Le Grand Paris waiting for the Waynes. Her Class was also going to be there. Instead they will be talking with Mr.Agreste. Oh Boy, She was going to enjoy this.

As she was thinking about what her family brought her, They said it was a surprise. They even got Bridgette one! Bridgette wanted to become a Cop, Just like Dick. She wondered if that was related. Maybe a famous cop’s autograph. Ooh maybe Commissioner Gordon’s.He was her role model after all! As she was soaked in her thoughts she missed the group of men wearing suits. Everyone’s Jaw Dropped. Aurore started filming. Her train of thoughts were cut off when she fell down from weight. She looked to see it was Jason Todd.

“Ouch Jay-Jay! Get off!” Marinette shouts. “What? Am I not allowed to hug my Baby Sister anymore?” He asks with fake hurt. “Of course you can! But seriously you are jumping on me!”Marinette Retorts. Then she’s under a dog pile. “I’m gonna join the pile too!!” Bridgette and Damian shout. “Boys get off your sister!” This earns a lot of Gasps. “Thanks Dad, I missed you.” Marinette then hugs her father. “Missed you too.”

“Hey Bridgette, nice to meet you formally!” While the waynes are absorbed in their conversation they miss a class with a teacher and principal coming in and taking a seat. Mr.Agreste is here in person.

“Aren’t those the Waynes? Why are they sitting with Mari-trash?” Lila asks getting a lot of Gasps. “Lets go talk to them, they will make an excellent Buissniess partner.”Mr.Agreste says to Adrien, getting a nod in return. Everyone follows them. The first thing they here is

“-A whole fabric shop for me? Thank you!” Marinette says hugging her Father.

“Is this Commissioner Gordon’s Autograph? That’s so cool!” Bridgette says.

“Mr. Wayne! A surprise seeing you here!” The Waynes turn to see Gabriel.

“Hello Gabriel. A surprise indeed.” Bruce answers smoothly.

“If you don’t mind, What are you doing here?” Gabriel asks.

“Oh, I decided that this year I should visit my daughter in Paris, Instead of the other way around,” Bruce says Patting Marinette’s head.

“She’s your daughter? She has quite a lot of potentiel Mr.Wayne.” Gabriel says Surprised.

“Right? She’s MW! Marinette Wayne!” Bruce exclaimed. Everyone Gasps.

“Oh?I’m glad our kids are such good friends.” Gabriel says fuming to the fact she’s on the top of the Designers list. To his surprise Mr.Wayne Scoffs.

“Good friends? Good Friends? These children bully my daughter on claims of a liar! Your son knows the truth, Yet he let’s kids bully my Daughter!On what note are they Good Friends?” Bruce Fumes. Everyone pales.

“I apologise, I had no idea.” Gabriel says.

“Not your fault. You should pay more attention to your son. Like even I’m a lot of busy. I still make time for my family. Although I'll still be pressing charges against the class and School.”

That’s how Lila’s Reign ended. She loved her Family no matter how much Chaotic they were. Yes she loved them lots.

@maribat-bdbwm

#mbdbwm2021 #Bio Dad Bruce Wayne #maribat #Bio!dadbrucewayne2021

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ptergwen · 4 years ago

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ok how about a blurb where tom takes his best friend the reader to set and while on breaks they always hang out together, one time one of his castmates comes to the reader with tom trying to pull them away because his castmate is about to spill to the reader about his crush on her??

the thing

w/c: 1.1k

a/n: pretend the world is normal and it’s the summer cuz that’s when they usually shoot spidey 😭

you’ve been staying with tom at his atlanta house while he films the third installment of spider-man. classes are out for the summer, and home is boring when he’s not there. tom’s solution was that you travel across the world for a change of scenery. he always jumps at the opportunity to bring along any of his people.

his go to is usually harry, but only because the others are busy. that would include you. tom could never ask you to drop out of university to watch him film something. with spider-man filming starting in the early summer, you’re able to be here for most of it and not miss out on your own life.

you made a few visits to the far from home set in london, and tom has invited you to hang out with the cast before. like tom, you became the closet with zendaya and jacob. they’re just as psyched you’ll be around for a while as he is.

some days, you stay back and chill until tom gets off. he’ll burst through the door out of breath and raving about how there’s an easter egg in this scene or guess who comes back? then, you remind him about all the nda’s he signed so he’ll shut up. it’s also so he doesn’t spoil too much for you.

he says you’re his better half and collapses next to you on the couch for cuddles. he’s sweaty nearly every time, yet you find yourself biting back grins as he lays all over you.

on tom’s free days, you do whatever you want together. you might binge your shared tv shows and order food. he might take you out to a few places he knows, show you around a bit. zendaya and jacob might meet up with you two for dinner, a movie, anything fun that doesn’t require much effort.

tom thought the summer he filmed far from home was the best of his life. this one is so much better. it’s all because you’re here. he gets to come home to you each night, unwind with the person who’s mastered helping him do so. tom plans on telling you that and another thing soon.

there are days tom brings you to set, too. you’ll get to watch him work, which makes him want to do even better. the hugs and compliments you shower him in after boost his confidence insanely high. you also spend a good amount of time in his trailer. together, of course. it makes all the waiting around a lot more bearable for tom.

zendaya is currently hanging with you and tom in his trailer. they just finished shooting a scene. she’s posting one of her signature face zoom instagram stories while you take a long sip of water. tom is in the bathroom after drinking too much water and being stuck in his suit all day.

“everybody keeps asking for an mj selfie,” zendaya sighs lightheartedly, rewatching her short video. “this is what they get. i don’t care.” you snicker at her and cap your bottle of water. she presses post without another thought. “they’re making you guys be so... secretive this time,” you observe with a curious smile.

“‘cuz there are so many rumors and shit everywhere.” z looks up when the sink in tom’s bathroom turns on. “some of us read our contracts.” she glances over in his direction, lips pressed together. you’re trying not to laugh at how tom does the exact opposite as her. “he’s almost told me the entire plot, like, maybe twenty times.”

moving to sit cross cross in her chair, zendaya lets out a breath. “mhm. i wouldn’t expect anything less.” you nod to say that’s fair and uncap your water again. she lets you take a drink before posing her next question. there’s a more serious tone to her voice this time. “did tom talk to you about that thing yet?”

you gulp down the rest of your water, eyebrows knitted together. “no. there’s a thing?”

zendaya doesn’t spill secrets ever, especially not those her close friend’s confide in her about. tom went to her when he realized he has feelings for you. he needed to tell someone that wasn’t you, and she’s good at this stuff. he’d decided he would confess to you before you have to leave. you’re going in a couple of weeks.

she doesn’t want tom to run out of time, so she’ll help him out. he won’t mind too much, will he?

you both fall silent as tom comes out of the bathroom. z gives him a smile that he feels like he should be in on, but has no clue what it’s for. you’re looking him over with the thought that he has something to tell you running through your mind.

“what are we talking about?” tom looks between you two, slowly shutting the door behind him. he naturally takes the spot next to you on his bed. “you, actually,” zendaya chirps and gestures to you. “don’t you have some, uh, news for y/n?” he squints at her, wracking his brain. on high alert, you sit up straighter.

“the thing,” z vaguely hints at it, widening her eyes at him. tom tilts his head to the side. “the thing... what thing?” surely, it can’t be that thing. she wouldn’t bring it up without asking him first. you laugh out an awkward “um.” he turns to towards you, voice getting lower.

“genuinely, i have no idea what she’s on about.” you’re not fully convinced, your eyes landing on a frustrated zendaya. “man,” she huffs, dropping her hand to her side. tom stares at her dumbly. his body is still facing yours. “alright, i’ll say it. tom told me the other day that he-“ it finally hits him. the thing is his crush on you.

“ahem,” tom loudly clears his throat, which gets z to stop talking. she’s not impressed. “hm. we’ll have that conversation another time,” he says sharply and looks over at you. you’re already looking at him, worry crossing your features. he’s never kept a secret from you. this must be pretty big.

groaning, zendaya plants her feet on the ground. “there is no other time! let me finish.” she holds out a hand to get your attention. “y/n, tom likes-“ this time, he shoots up from the bed and over to zendaya. he takes her by the arm, gritting his teeth as he leads her to the door.

“nah, what the hell?” she demands while tom brings her down the stairs. you watch on in utter confusion. this is strange behavior even for tom. “jon needs you, um, on set,” he fake explains and opens up the door. “huh? he said i’m done for today.” zendaya makes a move for the stairs, so tom shuts the door in her face.

“rewrites!” tom calls through the closed door, hearing her grumble something he can’t make out. you’re waiting at the top of the stairs when tom turns around. he winces and offers a smile, a pained one. you tap your fingers against the wall.

“let’s have that conversation.”

#tom holland #tom holland fluff #tom holland x you #tom holland x reader #tom holland imagine #tom holland smut #tom holland fic #tom holland fanfiction #spiderman #marvel #peter parker fluff

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pitviperofdoom · 4 years ago

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Might I ask about 'Life Preserver'? I have no idea what it could mean, and that makes me very curious👀

This is my pre-S1 JonGerry AU! They meet while Jon’s still in school and Gerry’s on the hunt for a Leitner. It’s part of a trilogy in my head that includes JonGerryMartin later on, but Life Preserver takes place before Jon becomes the Archivist and is just JonGerry.

Here’s a scene from it!

---

“Thanks for meeting me,” Georgie said, by way of greeting.

Gerry shrugged. “‘S fine. What’s the occasion?”

It was a nice day. The cafe was bustling but not overcrowded. Georgie had insisted on dragging him to the one empty table outside, with the nice view of the street and the park on the other side. Gerry had eaten lunch in far worse places, with far worse company.

Shit, were they friends? Had he missed that somehow? Not that Georgie wasn’t nice enough, but he’d always figured she was more invested in Jon than in him. That was how it worked, wasn’t it? He wasn’t sure if being friends with your boyfriend’s ex was a thing you were supposed to do, and at this point he was too afraid to ask.

“Why does there have to be an occasion?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. “Maybe I just wanted a lunch partner.”

“Didn’t think you liked me that much,” Gerry said bluntly. Maybe that was harsh—she’d only given him a little bit of stink eye when they first met, and she’d let up pretty quick.

If Georgie was bothered by it, she didn’t show it. “I worry about Jon sometimes,” she said. “He’s not always the best at… at advocating for himself, I guess.”

“Yeah, I’ve gathered.” For someone as prickly as Jon, he was shit at actually standing up for himself where it counted.

“Worried a lot about you, at first,” Georgie went on, clasping her hands around her coffee cup. “But I decided not to prod too much. I didn’t want to be one of those exes, you know?”

“Yeah,” Gerry lied.

“Figured it wasn’t my business anyway,” she said, pausing to take another sip. “Jon and I hadn’t talked in over a year by the time I met you.”

“Right.”

“You know, I didn’t even learn your full name?” she said. “Not til last week. Weird, isn’t it?”

Gerry paused with his cup halfway to his mouth. “I… guess?”

“And you know, it stuck in my mind for the longest time,” she said. “Could’ve sworn I heard it somewhere. So I did a quick Google search.”

Slowly, Gerry put his cup back down. Georgie continued to sip demurely at her own.

“Thought I’d find a Facebook page with a few friends in common,” she said. “Or a LinkedIn or something. So you can imagine how surprised I was.”

Gerry looked around at the cafe’s full outdoor seating area, and the crowded, public street beyond. Plenty of witnesses, in broad daylight.

“Ah,” he said.

“Yeah.”

Besides a slight lift of the eyebrows, Georgie’s expression barely changed. Gerry stared down at his cup, appetite gone. Around them, passersby remained happily oblivious.

“I didn’t do it,” he said after a moment. “The charges were dropped and everything.”

“On a technicality.” Georgie’s eyes were cold and steady when they settled on him. “Contaminated evidence, according to one of the news articles.”

“Look, I don’t know what you expect me to say,” Gerry bit out.

“I don’t know either, Gerry, but what am I supposed to think?” Neither of their voices rose above the dull roar of the street and the hum of conversation around them, but Gerry still felt like he was being shouted at. “Does Jon know about this?”

“No, and if I have my way, he won’t.”

Georgie’s steely gaze turned to a glare. “And you don’t see the red flags that might raise? That you might’ve—”

A tide of red rose up behind his eyes. Not anger, but the memory of blood, both the sight and the overpowering smell. “She did it to herself,” Gerry said coldly.

“Not what the coroner’s report said—”

“What do you want from me?” Gerry went on harshly. “I came home and found her halfway through—that. Went into shock long enough for her to get plenty of it on me, then ran out to the nearest coffeeshop and sat in a fog until the police picked me up. Happy?” Georgie’s glare only hardened. “It really doesn’t matter what you think. It’s the truth whether or not you believe it.”

She waited for him to wrest himself back to something resembling calm before speaking again. “Fine. Let’s say I believe you. Why are you lying to Jon, then?”

“Oh, tell me what the best time to bring that up is,” Gerry said dryly. “Is that a fourth date conversation, or more of an anniversary thing?”

“I’m not talking about the murder,” Georgie retorted. “Why did you tell him you’re living with your mother?”

He probably could have come up with a feasible lie. But what came out instead was, “Because I am.”

The look on Georgie’s face was viciously unimpressed. “You’re living with your mum.”

“Yep.”

“Your mum, who by your own admission, committed a violent suicide in 2008.”

“Got it in one.”

“If you’re not even going to take this seriously,” Georgie began.

“Would you like to meet her?” Gerry asked. “It’s not like it’d be the first time you saw a corpse get up and walk around, would it?”

Georgie froze.

That was the funny thing about saying cruel things, Gerry reflected. More often than not, you had to say them out loud first to realize they were cruel at all.

But it was out, and he couldn’t swallow it back down, so he let it sit there between them, bloating like a dead thing in the sun. He didn’t look at Georgie’s face again. He wasn’t sure he could.

“What did you just say to me?” Georgie said shakily.

“I don’t want to say it again,” said Gerry. “And I don’t think you do, either.”

“That’s…” She sat back in her chair, putting just a bit more distance between them. Gerry shut his eyes. “How—how could you possibly know about that?”

Gerry heaved a sigh, running his hand down his face. He could always stop. He could get up right now and walk away. Never talk to her again, never see her again. Of course, if he did that, it’d probably mean never seeing Jon again, either.

Not for the first time, he wondered if that wasn’t a good thing.

“When you live like I do,” he said at last. “You learn to see it. Recognize it—them. The marks on people. Like the one on you.”

It was subtle, as the End always was. It never looked like a proper scar, the way the more violent ones did. After all, what was more natural than death itself?

“I’m… marked,” Georgie said. It wasn’t a question.

“Kind of impressive, to be honest,” he said. “Dodging Terminus. Not many can say they’ve done that.”

“Stop.” Her hands went to her ears quickly, almost instinctively, before she forced them down again. “Just, stop for a second.”

“Okay.”

Georgie sat and breathed for a moment. Then, “So your mother—” She paused again, gathering herself. “She… she was like that woman in the medical sciences building.”

“Dunno,” Gerry replied, forcing himself to look at her again. “I can see the scar, not what left it. And what my mum did was… unique.”

Her eyes were still fixed on the table in front of her, not on him. “Is this common?” she asked.

“Walking corpses, specifically?” Gerry asked. “Or did you mean more generally?” She nodded once. “Guess so. It’s been common enough to take over my life.” He watched her carefully, waiting for a sign that he should stop again. “There are forces behind the monsters. Powerful. Omnipresent, even. Most people are lucky enough not to notice, or be noticed. Some are lucky like you, and escape with only a scar. Others—” The Eye dropped a helpful bit of trivia in his head. “Others are like your friend.” She flinched. “Sorry.”

She sat and breathed for a little while longer. Gerry picked up his coffee cup again and waited.

“And what about you?” she asked at last. “Where do you fall?”

Gerry grimaced. “Long story. Very unpleasant.”

“Broad strokes, then.”

“Mum grew up seeing the monsters and decided it’d be nice if she could be one herself,” he said. “Then she thought it’d be even nicer to start a little monster dynasty, and that’s where I came in.”

At last, Georgie lifted her chin and looked him in the eye again. “And what about you?” she asked. “What do you want?” Her jaw shifted as it clenched. “What do you want with Jon?”

“I’m not going to hurt him,” he said quietly.

“That’s not what I asked.” Georgie’s eyes hardened again. “You know what I thought, when I first met you? I thought you were just—toying with him. Because I saw how he looked at you and how you looked at him, and it didn’t match. Like he was just—just a diversion for you. Just some passing curiosity until you got bored and moved on.”

Gerry slipped his hand off the table and into his lap. It was a bit late, she’d probably already seen it shaking, but it made him feel better, at least.

“Was I right?” Georgie asked. “It makes sense, even if it’s not the same as what I first thought. Growing up like that, I bet you’re curious. Is that what Jon is, to you? A way to play at being—”

“Human?” It came out harsher than he meant it to.

“I was going to say normal,” Georgie replied, glancing away for a moment. “But if these—monsters are as common as you say they are…”

“Look, you’re not wrong, alright?” Gerry sat back in his chair, letting his spine curve into an ugly slouch. “That’s how it started. He asked, and I was curious, so I went along with it.”

“And now?” she pressed.

“And now I want to keep it,” he said. “I want to keep him. I’m finally starting to like the world outside of the one I grew up in, probably because I finally have a reason to be here. Happy?”

“No,” Georgie said flatly.

Gerry tipped his head back with a groan. “What do you want from me?”

“I want you to acknowledge what this sounds like!” Georgie glared at him, sitting up straight enough to look down at him. “What you’re making it sound like! So you grew up in a bad place—fine. I can’t imagine what that’s like. But then—what, you meet a nice guy and now you’re ready to leave it all behind and defy your undead mum and turn to the light side, just like that? That is not how it works, Gerry. It’s not as simple as that in this world, much less yours. You don’t just fall in love and fix everything, and it’s not fair to put that on Jon—”

Gerry barked out a laugh. “Is that what you took from this?” he demanded, dragging himself back up to face her. “You think I need you to tell me that—that love doesn’t conquer all, and I can’t pack all my baggage away and skip into the sunset because a cute boy asked me on a date and showed me the error of my family’s ways? Fuck you.”

Georgie held his gaze, unflinching. “Fine,” she said. “How should I have taken it, then?”

“I’ve wanted out since I was old enough to want anything.” The words came as if ripped from him, raw and bloody-tasting on his tongue. “You think I’ve never tried to leave before? But where’s someone like me supposed to go, hm? Even if I didn’t have monsters in my head and her ready to drag me back if I don’t come on my own, what place is there for me to run to?”

She didn’t flinch or look away again, even with Gerry a breath away from yelling in her face. Instead she watched him without so much as a twitch of an eyelid, leeching the venom from him with steady, infuriating calm.

“It’s like this,” he said. “Like I’m on a—a ship, sinking in a storm. I know if I stay on it, it’ll take me down with it, but what choice do I have? I could jump, but it would only drown me faster.” He swallowed, struggling against the dryness in his throat. “And I can see, just off the deck, all the boats that don’t have room for me, and all the people drowning in the ocean, and all I can do is stay where I am and throw life preservers until I join them.” His eyes burned. “But then I met Jon, and suddenly it’s like I have…” He gestured vaguely, struggling with his own analogy.

“A safe harbor,” Georgie said quietly.

He shook his head. “No. I don’t think there is one. Not from this. Not from them.” He shrugged, feeling inordinately tired. “But for the first time, I feel like—like if I jump, someone will throw me a line.”

In the space that followed, the hum of surrounding conversations washed back in between them. Gerry was almost surprised to see them still there. Apparently he hadn’t gotten loud enough to scare anyone off.

“Well?” he said, when Georgie’s silence got to him.

“It’s a lot to take in,” she said.

“Yeah.”

“And I’m still worried about Jon.” She lifted her eyes to meet his again. “But, I’m less worried about your intentions than I was before.”

“Guess that’s something,” he answered, and heaved a sigh. “So what happens now? Gonna demand I come clean with him?”

“No,” she said, faster than he would have expected. “No, I… I never told him about mine. And, just on instinct… I don’t think I’d ever want him dragged into this, if it’s avoidable.”

She didn’t know, Gerry realized. She’d known him years longer than he did, and she didn’t know he came scarred by the Spider.

“Is he in danger?” she asked. “Being with you?”

“No,” Gerry said firmly. “I wouldn’t—no. I keep him as far away from my shitty life as I can. I told him I didn’t want him anywhere near my family, and he didn’t press the issue.”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “He thinks your mum’s a homophobe, you know.”

That shocked a laugh out of him. “You know, he’s probably right? Think she might just hate the idea of love in general, though.”

“Messy divorce, I take it,” Georgie said dryly.

“Rohypnol and garden shears were involved, so yeah, I’d say it was pretty messy.” He realized his mistake when the sickened look crossed her face. “Sorry.”

“It’s… fine,” she said. “Probably should’ve guessed.”

They sat in silence again, but the climate of it had shifted. It felt easier, somehow. Less like he half-expected the fog of the Lonely to come rolling in for a snack. Gerry remembered his coffee, and found it just on the edge of lukewarm. He drank it anyway.

Georgie shot him one last odd look, then took out her phone. She scrolled through it for a minute or so, then snagged a paper napkin and pulled a ballpoint pen from somewhere to scribble on it.

“Here,” she said, sliding it over. Gerry looked down to find a line of neat blue numbers. “That’s the number of the therapist I talked to after—what happened to me.” She looked at him briefly, saw the dubious look on his face, and shrugged at him. “Just in case you need another lifeline.”

It was strange—usually Jon was the one to make funny things happen in his chest. This one didn’t feel the same, but he still didn’t quite know what to do with it. It left him feeling uncomfortably like he owed her something.

“I won’t let any of it hurt him,” he said, because he had nothing else to offer. “I’ll end it myself before I put him in danger.”

She nodded, though she didn’t look as relieved about it as he’d hoped. “That’s good,” she said hesitantly. “Don’t be a martyr, either. You—you deserve help. You deserve a chance to get out. You know that, right?”

He tried to smile, but it felt more like baring his teeth in fear. “Don’t think I really know what anyone deserves.”

Georgie reached across the space between them, telegraphing her movements in case he wanted to pull away. He didn’t, even as her hand settled on top of his. “I’m rooting for you, alright?” she said firmly, as if she’d just decided it then and there. “Jon’s… he’s happy with you, you know?”

“Fuck if I know why,” he forced out.

“Stop that.” She gave his hand a quick squeeze. “I changed my mind about you, before. I can tell he makes you happy, too.”

His throat felt tight. “Yeah.”

“Fuck if I know why.”

“Oh, piss off.”

He palmed the napkin while she was busy laughing at him. For a moment he eyed the nearest bin, judging the distance and his chances of making it without her noticing. The moment passed, and instead he folded it carefully around the numbers and slipped it into his pocket to throw out later.

He never did.

#tma fic #jongerry #georgie barker #gerard keay #safe harbor au #tales from the pit #ash-rabbit

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justcourttee · 4 years ago

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MariJon, where Valentine's Day is coming up and both of them are trying to figure out how to ask each other out without making it weird and turn to their mutual best friend, Damian. Lots and lots of awkwardness and pining please 😊

This is so cute and so fun to write. I hope you like it!

Damian Wayne: The Love Doctor

Valentine’s Day.

It’s the day that initiates feelings of romance and longing in people across the globe. For couples, it’s a day to spoil each other and gorge on chocolates and fancy dinners. However, for the singles, it’s a day of anxiety and stress hoping that someone returns their feelings or risk sitting dejected for another year alone.

For Jon, it was the latter. This year though, he was determined for it to be different. Thanks to Damian, Jon met Marinette this year. They were always hanging out in one of the League’s hideouts and after several months of begging, Damian finally introduced him. To say it was love at first sight almost felt like an understatement.

So if he felt this way, it should be easy to step forward and hand her the box of chocolates that he had clutched in his hands as he moved to the store’s checkout. Except it wasn’t easy, after all, he had no way of knowing how she felt and Jon wasn’t sure he could handle the idea of Marinette rejecting him.

“-and that’s how I found myself here. How am I supposed to ask her out if I don’t know if she’ll say yes?”

“Yes, that does sound quite perplexing.” Damian flipped the page in his novel, his eyes glued to the words. Jon was positive he wasn’t paying attention, but he had no one else he could go to. Taking a deep breath, Jon darted forward snapping the book from his best friend’s grasp.

The look that Damian gave him would usually be enough to send Jon running leaving the book in his tracks, but he was so worried about asking out Marinette, he honestly had no value for his life at the moment.

“What is it that you think I can do for you, Jon? I myself have never been interested in relationships. They are quite meaningless if there is nothing you can obtain through the partnership.”

Jon scratched the back of his neck as his eyes clung to the ground. Damian was right. He never had a relationship and never seemed to be interested in them so for Jon to ask him advice on how to ask out Marinette, well, it wasn’t his smartest move.

“It’s just-you see-I know that but-”

“Kent, for the love of whatever being may be out there, spit out your sentence.”

“You’re my only friend Damian!”

He hadn’t meant to shout it, the volume even earning a raised eyebrow from Damian’s usually stoic face.

“I’m just-I’m just desperate. I really want this to go over well.”

Damian’s stare sent a shiver down his spine as they stared in silence for a moment and then two. Just when he was sure his friend was about to snap, he did something that surprised him even more.

“Violets.”

“Excuse me?”

Breaking their stare, Damian reached behind him tossing Jon a notebook and pen without a second look.

“You better write this down Kent because I’ll only say it once. Her favorite flowers are violets so that’s where you’re gonna start.”

Jon’s eyes widened as he scrambled to open the first page of the notebook jotting down the words that were spilling out of Damian’s mouth. By the time his friend had sent him away, Jon was almost confident that this plan could work. Maybe, just maybe, he could finally find the courage to ask out Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

It was barely a day later when Damian Wayne found himself cornered yet again.

He was just trying to finish the last few pages of his book when the blob curled up on the other end of the couch uttered its first noise since it collapsed.

“Damian, can I ask you a question?”

“That’s counterproductive Dupain-Cheng, you already did even though you didn’t hadn’t had my permission.”

Using his book as a shield, he was able to block the incoming pillow assault before it made contact. “I apologize. Was the correct response; what can I do for you my liege?”

This time a shoe flew toward his face, one he narrowly missed.

“Jon. Is he single by chance?”

Damian couldn’t help the smug smile that pulled at his lips.

“What’s it to you whether he’s single or not?”

The red that crept up her neck confirmed his suspicions before her blubbering even began.

“It’s nothing to me! It’s just that Jon never talks about a girlfriend and it’s not because I don’t think he can get a girlfriend, I mean he’s a very attractive guy, but not that I think he’s super attractive, that’s just stating facts that everyone knows and-”

“You’re rambling.”

Closing his book, Damian turned his attention to his red friend, who’s pout brought a smile to his face.

“Damian, I think-I think I want to ask Jon to be my Valentine.”

Damian couldn’t help the snort that escaped earning a groan from Marinette as she buried her face in her hands.

“There were nicer ways to tell me it wasn’t possible you little demon.”

“Hey now, if you start pulling out cruel nicknames like that, I won’t help you.”

Instantly her head popped up, a doubtful expression monopolizing her face.

“Why would you want to help me, huh?”

Reaching down into his bag Damian bit back the sigh as he sacrificed another notebook to his friends.

“Let’s just say, I’m very invested in the outcome of this Valentine’s Day. Now get to writing.”

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Two days had passed; Valentine’s Day arrived and Damian hated to admit how curious he was to if the two love-struck idiots had followed his advice.

He got his answer as he entered their favorite hangout spot only to find it covered in bouquets.

“Damian Wayne, you have some serious explaining to do.” Damian ducked on instinct as a batarang flew over his head impaling itself on the nearest wall. “If you were setting people up with the stunning Marinette Dupain-Cheng, why wasn’t I at the top of the list?”

“Sorry Steph, I didn’t think she was all that into blondes.”

“Wipe that shit-eating smirk off your face!” Damian moved to the side as Stephanie lunged at him, her fist dusting the side of his shirt. “You know good and well she used to be into blondes!”

“Jon beat you to asking.” With a shrug of his shoulders, he gently pushed her backward watching as she dramatically flung herself into the couch. “Now will you please shut up? Marinette will be here at any moment.”

As if on cue, the whirl of the Zeta tube echoed through the hangout snapping Jon’s attention into place as he fumbled with the gift bag in his hand. The soft click of Marinette’s heels confirmed her presence as Damian slapped his hand over Stephanie’s mouth.

“Oh mon Dieu, what is all this?”

Damian could feel the nerves rolling off of Jon slamming into him. It was almost as if he was begging him to swoop in and explain why the place was covered in her favorite flowers. He really was hopeless.

“Uhm, well, uh, you see, I-uh-I heard that you like violets. Which I thought was strange because your favorite color is pink but then I also heard that they are one of the few flowers you can always find inspiration from and I wanted you to have as much inspiration as you could ever need.”

It was quick like he was trying to spill his every thought in one breath, but at least he got it out of his mouth.

“That was very nice of you Jon. I’m sure I’ll never run out of inspiration now.” Marinette’s chuckle was soft and Damian was sure he could hear the blush from where he and Stephanie remained crouched. “I, uh-well-I got something for you.”

Without waiting for a response, Marinette shoved her gift box into his arms causing Jon to half chuck his gift at her as well. Their nervous laughter was too much, Damian felt like he was going to die of second-hand embarrassment for them. The sound of tearing paper and tissue flying earned enough of a curious glance from the boy.

Their gasps were in sync earning a small smirk from the boy. With the power of observation, he was able to read both of his friends like an open book.

“You made me a leather jacket? Marinette this is so cool! It looks just like Conner’s! How did you know?”

“How did I know? How did you know that I had been eyeballing this thread set? You’re amazing Jon.”

The noise died down and for a moment, Damian was worried they had reverted back to their awkward selves. Just as he was about to turn back for another look, two shadows loomed over his hiding spot.

“Holy shit! You guys are so quiet!” Stephanie fled from her spot, grasping at her chest. Damian allowed himself a second to exhale as well.

“Damiboo,” he cut his eyes at Marinette sending her a warning look, “did you perchance give both of us advice for Valentine’s day?”

“Tsk, I did no such thing.”

As if on cue, they both raised their matching notebooks, matching smirks on their faces.

“Aww, Dami does love us!” Marinette flung her arms over his shoulders, Jon followed close behind.

“Get off of me you delinquents. I only helped you so that you two would go out and let me finish reading my damn book!”

The two of them were a giggling mess as they finally released him, comparing their notes as they moved toward the zeta tubes. Damian watched precariously as his two friends slowly intertwined fingers, their laughter fading with them as the tube closed. Ensuring they would not pop right back in, Damian finally released a breath he didn’t even realize he was holding.

Moving to the couch, Damian fished for his book that he left hidden underneath the cushions. Just twenty more pages. The end felt like it would never come. Just as he slipped the bookmark out of place, the weight on the couch shifted as Stephanie exhaled loudly.

“If you like playing Love Doctor so much, why don’t you ever set me up with anyone?”

“Perhaps it’s because I don’t hate anyone enough to set them up with you.”

Damian didn’t even bother to dodge the pillow that knocked his book from his hands. With a huff, he pulled out his final notebook making a mental note to have Alfred pick up some more.

“Here.”

The way she looked at him made him feel as though he had grown a second head, but she accepted the notebook, opening it to a fresh page.

“Who do you hate-”

“Don’t talk, just write. I really would like to finish my book today.”

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