#if i get the opportunity to dress a sim in black

[sanitysims]

7. Tea

Hannah Sun is a creative perfectionist who's never seen without her signature thermos, though few have been able to get a peek at what's inside. There's lots of rumors, ranging from coffee to energy drinks to vodka. It's just black tea though.

for the joyful january cas challenge by @honeysylvan!! went down a rabbit hole of different types of tea just to settle on plain old black tea LOL

[rkvriki]

not a couple but not just friends with enhypen ! - hyung line

hiiiii!! i haven't posted in sooooo long im sososo sorry!! something different might be on the way!!

make sure to leave feedback. my requests are open and so is my talk box so let's talk!

WARNINGS ! making out, it's not really suggestive but ya kno; might contain grammar errors!

word count: 1.1k

LEE HEESEUNG !

— kissing and other types of pda

heeseung and you were alone in the dorms, all the guys were out doing their own things and you both took that as an opportunity to spend time together.

the two of you were in the kitchen getting snacks and drinks for the movie marathon you were gonna have.

“hee, can you help me? i can't reach those chips.”

“sure thing, princess.” your stomach fluttered with butterflies as he came behind you putting his hand on your waist while the other one reached for the chips, making you let out a quiet gasp, which didn’t go unnoticed by him. heeseung grabbed the chips and put them down on the counter, while his hand joined the other on your waist as he turned you around to face him. you smiled at him used to this type of behavior coming from him. you put your hands around his neck as his face comes closer to yours to connect your lips. you both shared a passionate kiss, moving your head to the side to kiss him deeper. you both missed to hear the sound of the front door opening and only realized someone was in the house when you heard the voices of jake and jay coming closer to the kitchen, making you pull out slowly from the kiss, unashamed by the fact they probably saw you guys kissing. you both looked at them who were frozen looking at you guys with a confused expression.

“but weren’t you “just friends”?” jake asked, making quotation marks in the air.

“we are friends.” you said shrugging.

rest under the cut !

PARK JONGSEONG !

— going out on romantic dates

today you woke up with a text from jay telling you that he was going to pick you up by 7:30 and that you should dress fancy. everyone was confused with whatever you and jay had going on. honestly to both of you it was very simple, you were both too lazy to put a label on it. it was obvious you two were way more than just friends. you started getting ready by doing your makeup since you were still indecisive with your dress. you went for your roommate to ask her for help-

“i can’t choose which one to use today, jay didn’t give me details about where we’re going so i don’t know which one is more appropriate” 

yunjin looked at the dresses then at you. “the black is not too much and not too little, so take that one. also when will you let me know what you two have going on or?” she said, waving her hand at you. you sighed at her tired of hearing her asking the same thing every time you went out with him. “i’m not going over this again yunjin.” you said making your way out of her room.

you finished getting ready and decided to snap a picture for jay. you sent it to him and he replied almost immediately.

jay: baby… you look so gorgeous fuck

jay: i’m almost there

you smiled at his text happy that you didn’t need to have a label with him for you to know he was yours.

SIM JAEYUN !

— going on weekend getaways

jake loved taking you out to visit somewhere when he had his weekends off from work. it was hard for you both to go out for a few days since he had a busy schedule but you both still managed to spend time together. 

you two were now in one of busan’s beaches watching the sunset, sitting in a blanket in the middle of the sand. the beach was secluded since it wasn’t that hot yet. your head laid in jake’s shoulder as he held your hands in his to warm them up.

“how did we end up like this?” jake asks “why so suddenly?” you ask him, chuckling. “i don’t know, just wondering how the hell i ended up taking my best friend on weekend getaways that aren’t really friendly.” you took your head from his shoulder looking at his face, silently admiring his side profile. you smiled at him and said “life makes us do the craziest thing i guess.” jake looked at you, making eye contact. his eyes scanned your face and he started leaning closer, making you do the same. your lips fell into his like a puzzle piece falling perfectly into its place. the fresh breeze from the beach blew into both of your hairs. jake’s hand came up to your face, cupping your cheek and deepening the kiss. you felt his tongue swiping your lower lip, making you open your mouth and letting him explore your mouth. you both pulled out looking at each other, giving one last peck and going back to watch the sunset.

PARK SUNGHOON !

— giving each other gifts 

sunghoon loves spoiling you and it makes you feel bad because you don’t buy him half of the things he buys you. he keeps reminding you that it really doesn’t matter if you give him things or not because you alone are already enough to him. whenever he's traveling with the members in work or just a tripe he will be always saying “oh, y/n would love this.” and then proceeds to it for you. he doesn’t even check the price and the others keep saying something like “i don’t know why you spend so much money if you aren’t dating.” he just smiles at them not knowing how to explain it to them. he comes back home to you with so many bags and a cheeky smile. you stare at him dumbfounded and he just sits besides you telling you to open them. 

“sunghoon how much did you spend here?!” 

“it was just a little, don't worry about it.” 

you do the same thing as him, or almost. when you are out by yourself, just shopping for yourself or with friends, you see a clothing item that you are so sure he would love it so you go and check the price, almost crying when you look at it. either way, you take a deep breath and grab his size and take it to the cashier. when you give them your card you always fear it will decline, knowing you won’t shop anything else for the day. when you give him his present he smiles like a kid on a christmas morning. he barely looks at it before he’s pulling you into a hug and thanking you.

“baby this looks so expensive, you didn’t need to.”

“don’t worry hoon, it wasn’t.” a big lie. it was and your wallet was crying, but for him you didn’t mind it one bit.

[justmeinatree]

Oh, I Think She Said

Summary : a tooth rotting harryween treat.

Word Count : 1k

A/N : this is the cheesiest thing i’ve ever written, i dont know whether to love it or hate it

“you can’t be scary for shit !” you laugh, playfully smacking harry’s arm. 

you loved halloween, it was by far your favourite holiday. and being able to celebrate it with harryween was the icing on the cake. 

you did have a self imposed rule though, that you needed to have the opportunity for some kind of horror makeup, seeing as your night costume was matching with harry and “this was a family show,” so harry didn’t want to be scary on stage.

so now here you were, spending your day with harry around the stadium, both of you sporting some kind of freaky makeup, as he had insisted that you do something for him as well. 

the opportunities where harry lets you sit down with him and paint his face whichever way you want, are some of your favourite memories with him. he’s so trusting and fun loving, never wanting to know what you have planned, waiting for the surprise reveal, every time. in the end, he’s always so pleasantly surprised. looks himself over, admiring the details you’ve put in. and that’s just one example of when you really see the love he has for you, through the reflection in the mirror.

but right now, you wanted the photo that was being taken to match the vibe of the makeup and well, not a single bit of harry really matches the spookiness that is this makeup. he’s just a giant teddybear with black smeared on his face.

harry laughs, putting his hands up in defence before his strength takes hold over you, arms wrapping around your entire body, pinning you tightly to him.

you wiggle in his grip, trying to break free, but you both absolutely knew you weren’t going anywhere. harry’s much stronger than you are. you feel his lips pressing to your neck, his lips parting for his tongue to poke out, tasting your skin. “not letting you go until you apologize to me,” he murmurs against your ear and you can hear the smirk on his lips.

for a quick moment, you cuddle back into him, eyes closing, focusing on harry’s mouth against your neck. you faintly hear the clicking of a camera, photographer taking a few shots for you both, before someone else comes to whisk you away. the show was nearing, you needed to get into your costumes.

fluttering off hand in hand, you both end up in harry’s dressing room, washing off the dark makeup, going through an endless amount of wipes. your eyes focus through the mirror, on the costumes behind you, a flash of nervousness etching itself on your face. 

harry notices, about to say something before hearing you, “do you think they’re gonna get it ?”

“mine alone ?” harry hums pensively, “maybe not. but it’s planned that the camera will flash to you, remember ? your costume really completes it. s’that why you’re nervous ?”

you shake your head, you had gotten used to the cameras a long time ago. “aren’t you nervous,” you ask quietly, looking up at him. 

“have you seen what i’m wearing ? of course i’m nervous. nervous my prick’s gonna fall out,” he laughs, trying to lighten the mood. and it does work as he managed to pull a breathy laugh from you. but the worry is still present in your eyes.

“you know it’s time sweetheart,” he hums softly, smiling reassuringly at you. “can’t keep wearing this forever,” he nods towards you. “gotta let people know eventually.”

“i know,” you take a big breath, nodding. “i’m excited to tell everyone. i really am. but it’s still a bit scary, you know ?”

harry nods at that, leaning over to kiss the tip of your nose, then your lips, “i understand. and yes, i am a bit nervous too. but it’s a good nervous, yeah ?”

“mhmm,” you nod, kissing him again for a moment before he pulls away.

“right, can’t be late. lets do this baby,” he smiles, getting up with you and bringing you over to the clothes rack. you watch harry strip his robe off, as you do the same, both of you putting on your costumes.

they were fairly simple, but obvious none the less. you do take the time to laugh with harry as he slips on his tiny yellow shorts. christ, you really do hope tonight doesn’t end in a wardrobe malfunction. scary makeup would be far more appropriate for a family show.

fortunately for you, and in the spirit of harryween, the setlist has been altered. seeing as harry thought it to be totally unfair for you to be backstage for the entirety of the show, as the third song was coming up, a few notes from kiwi can be heard blaring through the speakers.

the crowd goes crazy, shocked to be hearing it so quickly in the set. harry’s spotted you, by the barricade, next to the security man you had both arranged this with. 

he makes it through the first verse, chorus, second verse, and as the second round of the chorus comes up, harry changes up the lyrics, belting out, “she’s having my baby !” 

and he’s pointing at you, the camera panning in your direction, as harry’s running up the catwalk to get to you. 

there you are, on the big screen, jumping around and singing along, in your juno costume, and beginnings of a baby bump on full display, having gone with a fairly tight striped tshirt. this was your first opportunity to go out without a sweater in almost a month now, and you were revelling in it. harry’s costume of bleeker now making perfect sense to the crowd. although so far, it wasn’t like anyone minded his little yellow shorts.

the crowd was screaming, absolutely losing their minds, chanting excitedly. the camera panning to some fans with tears in their eyes as harry’s now made it to where you are, smiling wider than you think he ever has, dimples etched deep in his skin, blowing you kisses.

you can see the adoration, excitement, pride, joy, how deep this moment is hitting him as he can hear, can see, can feel almost 100 000 people radiate excitement and pride and joy right back at him.

the song comes to an end and the crowd is screaming so loud, harry doesn’t get the opportunity to address them right away.

as things quiet down just a bit, he chuckles into the mic, “look at my beautiful girl. i’m gonna be a dad !”

……

Masterlist

tags : @gorlsinmultifandoms @cc-horan

[litrly-justagirl]

Shed What’s Holding You Back to Build the Life You Want

Remember when we used to play The Sims? There was something so powerful about designing the perfect character—choosing their look, their hobbies, their personality. You could decide what their hair would look like every day, what their clothes would say about them, how they’d spend their days and nights. You’d play out their dreams, and somehow, it felt like magic when those visions started to come to life.

Now, it’s time to stop dreaming in pixels and start creating our own life. The game is over—this is our reality.

you have to let go of the past

It’s time to shed the version of ourselves that’s stuck in the past. Let go of the old narrative. The one that tells you you’re not enough, or that you can’t be who you want to be. The imposter syndrome has had its run, but it’s no longer welcome here. We’ve mourned the past long enough, and now it’s time to step forward.

We’ve been clinging to the old, but now we’re called to something greater. We’re destined to move forward, but we’ve held ourselves back by staying rooted in who we once were. It’s time to release what no longer serves us so we can step into the future God has waiting.

How to Let Go:

Release what God has rejected. It’s not a loss—it’s a redirection.

Resume your responsibilities. Pick up where you left off with intention.

Get ready for something better. God's next is always greater than what’s behind.

The Vision for My 2025

So, if I could build the perfect version of myself for 2025, what would she look like? This is my vision—a woman who radiates confidence, elegance, and a clear sense of purpose.

Wardrobe: She dresses with intention, like every outfit is a reflection of her inner world. She’s effortlessly classy—sensual, grown, and timeless. She gravitates toward eclectic pieces, each one telling its own story—a statement bag here, an asymmetrical top there. Her style is uniquely hers, and it turns heads without trying. Even when she’s dressed down, people can’t help but compliment her. Her wardrobe feels high-end, but it’s the simplicity and comfort that make it stand out. She loves colors—rich hues that pop against her skin, because she knows that her complexion allows colors to literally radiate from her. Red for date nights, black for a touch of mystery. Each piece is chosen with care, because she knows how to blend luxury and ease, making every look an experience.

Work Attire: She’s a force in the corporate tech world, mainly working from the comfort of her home. But when she steps into the office, she brings the same timeless style with a modest twist—effortlessly chic, like she’s walking through a boardroom runway. Every outfit is a statement, without saying a word.

Sleepwear: Even bedtime is an opportunity to feel like a goddess. Her pajamas are silky, feminine, and luxurious. Think chemise dresses—soft, flowing, and sensual—not your grandmother’s nightgowns, but an elegant nightwear collection she can’t wait to slip into. She’s drawn to soft neutrals like whites, creams, blacks, and delicate pinks, with a quiet confidence that she looks just as beautiful while she sleeps.

Makeup: Her everyday makeup is subtle yet stunning—accentuating her features without masking them. For special events, she goes bold: a deep red lip, or a smoky eye that demands attention. It’s always about enhancing what’s already there, never hiding. She knows the power of looking effortlessly put together, whether she’s headed to the office or a night out.

Diet and Fitness: Her body is a reflection of the life she’s building—strong, healthy, and active. She eats a balanced diet, focused on protein, fiber, and fresh greens. Nigerian dishes fill her plate, but she’s learned the importance of balance. She’s gaining weight to build curves, strengthening her body with every workout. The gym is her playground, and she wears colorful, flattering sets that make her feel unstoppable. Wednesdays are her chance to romanticize her life with pink workout gear, a personal touch to remind her that she is branding her life, on and off social media.

Community: She’s surrounded by women who don’t just dream—they take action. They are spiritual, entrepreneurial, and fiercely ambitious. They love Christ and believe in lifting each other up. They’re a community of beauty lovers, skincare enthusiasts, and fearless dreamers. Together, they make things happen. Their support is unwavering, and they inspire each other to live life fully—no holding back.

Home and Environment: She lives in a luxury penthouse with panoramic views that take her breath away every time she looks out the window. Think floor-to-ceiling windows, bathed in natural light, with a view of the city—maybe Dallas, her favorite city in Texas. Her space feels like an oasis—soft neutrals with deep textures, creating a balance of tranquility and energy. Browns, creams, greens, and touches of gold make her space feel alive and welcoming. It’s the kind of home that excites her to be in, a sanctuary for when the world gets too loud. Her furry companion, a little fawn-colored Shorkie, keeps her company as she reflects on her life.

Lifestyle: She’s the type of woman who enjoys the simple luxuries—brunches at her favorite spots, working from cozy coffee shops with the best ambiance, and discovering hidden gems in the city. She’s constantly inspired by the world around her. She takes time to do her devotions, and attends church regularly—on Sundays and Wednesdays—fully immersed in her faith. She wants to be more active, and has joined the women’s Bible study group at church.

Creativity: She’s rediscovering her creative side, embracing the things she once loved as a child—painting, pottery, and exploring new forms of self-expression. She’s letting go of the pressures to conform and is finally diving into what makes her feel alive.

now i want you to try!

Imagine waking up every day in a space that feels like you’ve stepped into your dream life. Your wardrobe reflects your confidence, your energy, and your purpose. You move through the world with intention, shedding the weight of what no longer serves you and confidently stepping into the person you were always meant to be. The path to this transformation is one step at a time, but each step is a declaration that we are no longer bound by the past. We’re building something new, something powerful, something real. So, let’s make it happen. The life you’ve been dreaming of is waiting to unfold—and it starts now. Together, we’re shedding what’s holding us back and building the life we want. Let’s bring this vision to life.

[wierdpersonononelikes]

I still love you chapter 4

(hwy it's me sorry this was supposed to come out yesterday at 2:30 am but it's fine hehe)

[Larissa POV]

As soon Y/n left the room I grab my phone and I call her when I hear that they picked up the phone I say "meet me at the weathervane in 20 minutes" and I hung up I knew she was going she knows why I wanna talk to her. I grab my keys and leave to my car.

(Time skip hehehehe)

I was sitting in a booth with a hot chocolate and I coffee on the other side and then I see her come in her blonde hair she looked just like father we kinda looked alike but I was more like mother. I see take a seat and she took her glasses off her blue eyes just like mine "you know why I told you to come right" I told her and she just nodded "why you always want to steal everything from me" I tell her "Larissa listen you cheated on her and yeah maybe I kinda took advantage of that but I fell in love with her when you showed me that picture,yes it was wrong but I stayed away and now I have this opportunity" I just scoffed at what she said "Brienne really I can't, my own sister fell in love with the person I was dating at that time… wow but listen yes I might have cheated on her but I regret it and I am not giving her away that easily you understand" I heard her chuckle "so I guess we are going back to old times my dear sister, but just know that I won't let her go easily too" and with that she got up and left. I got up and went to my car and I sat down and started thinking, I did missed y/n she was the first person I was able to be myself with and I still idid what I did but I regret it and I am not going to give up on her no matter what.

[Y/n POV]

I see I get a text from Brienne asking to go on a date I texted her that yes after today I have to get my head clear I mean Larissa kissed me and some feelings that went away came back I just I don't know I like them both and I… then i see that Brienne texted that shewas going to pick me up 7 pm i send her a text with a thumps up (hey itbeen a while seens i out nothes in ghe middle of the story, sorry i apologize but i normally send a thumbs up when I don't know what to answer)

[Heheh time skip]

I dress up with a emerald solid button front crop satin shirt and a black skirt with black heels ( I had to search it up hehehe) I hear the a knock on there door I opened it was Brienne with a white suit shelooked lovely "ready to go?" She asked and I nod. As we go out of the apartment complex I feel someone looking at us, look back and I see no one and the I look at Brienne and she smiled.

[Time skip because it's 2 am]

After dinner Brienne leaves me outside my apartment complex and I was going to enter i see i shadow in the corner of my eye i look back but I see no one so I just brushed off.

(Hey everyone I hope you guys are enjoying this I am trying for this to come good so yeah and I am going to start writing chapter 5 after I upload this one and uh if I post or repost about male actors sorry is just that I also sim for them hehehe so Bye.)

[itsbubbleteataro]

The Radio Host and the Reporter

Pt 3

Parings; Human!Alastor x Fem!Human!reader

Warnings; drinking, ooc Alastor as he's a little on the drunk side?

1923 - Summer

You and Alastor had been together for a few months now. You've even met his mother, a wonderful woman with thick curly black hair and chestnut skin. A pleasant woman who had just fallen sick. The stress of his mother falling ill had only spurred Alastor to go on more hunts.

Still, the two of you managed to keep your secrets under wraps. However one day he became very close to finding out yours.

Alastor had gone to a speakeasy and you had taken the opportunity to sneak out while he was away. You used your bronzing makeup to look you more look masculine, and had wrapped several bandages around your torso to make you appear flat like a man. You stuffed the toes of your loafers with cotton so they would fit. They were a men's size, so they would naturally be a bit large on you. Second you threw on the dress pants you had borrowed from your brother as well as the dress shirt. You tucked your pen in the shirt pocket as you adjust the suspenders and tighten the belt.

Looking in the mirror you fix your hair to be stuffed in your paperboy cap, adjusting so a few strands are out to make you look masculine. You then open up the window in your room, and jumped out, closing the window behind you after grabbing a small pad of paper that fits in your pocket.

Skipping the parts of land that are prone to leaving foot prints, you make your way down to a speakeasy to gain more information on your next story. Unfortunately for you, it's the same on Alastor is in after a rough day at work.

Walking in your greeted by lighting of the establishment. The sound of smooth Jazz by a subpar band. The smell of drinks fill the room. You look around, eyes landing on a certain familiar form, hunched over a few fingers of rye. His hand in his hair that has long returned to its naturally curly state.

Against your better judgment you go ahead and walk inside, getting a drink yourself. You just hope that Alastor is too lost in his own thoughts to notice you. As you walk past the table you hear a very familiar voice calling to get your attention,

"Hey, newshawk. Prowling for a new story? Come here lend me your ear. I got a story you might wanna hear"

You look confused for a split second before you realize that Alastor is tipsy. That paired with your more masculine appearance made you realize you may be finally be able to ask straight forwards questions to him. Not that you couldn't normally, but you didn't out of fear of your little secret coming out.

Alastor is a smart man, there's no denying that. He had questioned the type writer he had found in your home when he came over for the first time. You struggled to even have a passable excuse, saying it was a gift from your brother.

Now here you sat, next to him, note pad open and a finger of rye infront of the two of you. You click your pen and clear your throat. You had to tread carefully here, if he were to even recognize your voice, you knew it would all be over for you. The cat would be out of the bag.

Recently you have started to cover missing people's reports. You were a bit glad Alastor was willing to answer any questions you may had, it would be much better and easier than breaking into the radio station and looking around for hints yourself.

You took a sip of your rye, and take a deep breath, trying to relax your voice as you spoke,

"Thank you sir. You are Alastor correct? Working at the station in town?"

You smile inwardly at the sound of your voice, now sounding a bit raspy. Alastor nods his head confirming your questions.

"Surely you have then heard that, oh what was his name, Charles Smith? Yeah Charles Smith. He went missing a few days ago."

You watched as his hand tightened on his glass, his knuckles turning white from the strain. You raise an eyebrow and make a note, thinking he was simply just close to the man. You ask a few more questions, watching his reaction carefully as well as his answer.

As the night ticks on, you notice that Alastor seems ready to leave. You take that as a hint and excuse yourself. You quickly make your way home, shedding your disguise, and hiding your notebook.

You dawn a simple looking dress knowing Alastor would be dropping by for dinner. You fixed your hair and went to your kitchen

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

[thewhumpcaretaker]

♥︎ Whump Dating Sim: Longing for Flight - Part 1 ♥︎

Current Heart Level: ♡♡♡♡♡ (0/5)

Masterlist | Image Source

CW: dead bodies, gunshot wound

It’s an uneasy evening for you. Working undercover is always difficult. But this is a unique opportunity. There’s reason to believe that The Operator plans to take out a rival tonight. If that’s true, his best sniper will be at a business conference in an office tower across from that rival's hotel room. So that’s where you are too, in uncomfortable dress clothes, mingling with financiers and scrutinizing their faces for any sign that this one could be the assassin.

The assassin will have seen The Operator face to face. They'll know how the business works and maybe even where the top dog can be found. They're your best chance at taking this asshole out once and for all, so you have to take them in. Alive.

It’s shortly past midnight when the screaming starts. Shots have been heard, on the 20th floor. You get a text that the target in the adjacent building is already dead.

Security guards swarmed the sniper immediately, but it’s mostly over when you get there. The hallway is eerily quiet. Deserted. You follow a trail of bodies towards a lounge lined with picture windows, overlooking the city. They must have taken out every security guard in the whole place. There will surely be backup coming, but for now, you two are alone. And you have the upper hand. Based on the amount of blood trailing through the doorway, they're in bad shape.

Before you reach the doorway, you hear ragged breathing. Best not to surprise someone with a gun.

You lean against the side of the doorway, out of sight, and speak loud and clear. “There’s a friendly on the other side of this wall. I’m unarmed.”

The breathing hitches and you hear a gun cock in response. They'll need a little more convincing than that.

“I’m coming in,” you say. “I’m going to help you. Is that okay?”

“…No.” Their voice is deep and gruff, but it sounds very small right now.

You laugh quietly in spite of yourself. “Alright, um…How do I make it okay?”

There’s a long moment of silence. Then, “Hands over your head. Move slowly.”

You walk out with hands over your head. Now you can see him - a muscular figure, silhouetted against the pulsing red-orange glow of city nightlife. It sets his long golden hair on fire with light. You weren’t expecting him to be this beat up. Taking him in might be the easy part. “Alive” might be the hard part. And you weren’t expecting them to have this…look about them. Not the hardened eyes of a killer, but something scared and miserable. Too hopeless even to plead.

He must know how close to death he is. He’s collapsed on the floor with a rifle discarded next to him (probably empty of rounds) in favor of a handgun. He’s just barely propping himself up against the window a little, leaving a horrific red smear behind his back. He must have multiple bullet wounds. Blood is pooling rapidly around him. In a better state, he might be able to do first aid on himself, but you can see that he was trying to tie a tourniquet over his leg before you distracted him and he hadn’t succeeded yet. Probably shaking too badly. Their face is bloodless and their eyes are utterly wild with terror. Every part of him is shaking except the gun. That’s a steady, trained arm if ever you’ve seen one, the kind of training that teaches a person how to put aside everything else they’re feeling and focus on the weapon. Attack is the best defense, after all.

“Don’t come any closer.”

“I’ll get straight to the point. You’re dying and I need you alive. I have medical supplies – “

“I SAID DON’T COME ANY CLOSER!” A warning shot chips the black marble of the column to your left, making you jump and drop the med kit. It hits the floor with a bang.

“Please. I’m your only chance and we’re running out of time.” He doesn’t answer.

Tag List (comment/contact me to be added!): @bluelolblue

[scarlet--wiccan]

What would your ideal wardrobe for Wanda & Pietro be?

well, I'll refer you to my sims tag, where you can see how i've been dressing them.

I answered a question about color palettes a few days ago-- I picture Wanda dressing mostly in dark, warm colors with a lot of gold. I think she's very feminine and girly, so I do usually imagine her in dresses and skirts. I like her to have a bit of a gothic, witchy sensibility, especially as she gets older, but I think she'd opt for more of a dark romantic vibe, as seen in Scarlet Witch (2016). She doesn't dress edgy. I honestly really love the way she dresses in Scarlet Witch (2023) though-- there's a consistent sense of style, and she always looks so pretty and elegant.

Pietro needs more of a winter palette-- he looks good in pastels and he obviously gravitates towards white and light blue, but with his coloring, I think he needs a deep jewel tone or a touch of black to make his features pop. He's literally always running, so from a practical standpoint, I imagine he wears a lot of athleisure. He wants to look good, but he needs to be active at all times. Even though he's more of a casual dresser than Wanda, I also think he really likes looking nice and relishes any opportunity to dress up. I bet he's a cool jacket kinda guy.

Neither of them are super traditional, culturally speaking, and we don't see them wearing traditional Romani clothing that often-- which is probably for the best, all things considered. In my experience, even when we're not dressing traditional, Roma love bold patterns, especially florals. Adding that little touch to my outfits always makes me feel good, and I think it's a great way to add personality to Romani characters' wardrobes without cultural trespassing.

[raisindave]

[Chapter 1] Seeing the World Through Ballistic-Tinted Glasses

Masterlist (Please Read!)

Sealed, manilla paper unfurled to a surprisingly small amount of text on the page before you. Basic, bullet-pointed information about a meeting. Tomorrow’s date: 06:00 hours; a cafe name you vaguely recognized; come alone; do not bring your firearm. The Director signed it in the practiced and manicured handwriting of someone untouchable and high on the totem pole. Usually, whenever someone that high up in the chain of command wants something from you, it’s bad. One last note: destroy after reading.

A petite woman, looking up through her blonde bangs, rises to welcome you to sit at a black ironwork table set. The steel squealed on stone as she pushed her chair back, rising to extend her hand out to you in a practiced handshake. Black coffee, half drank, implied she had been here for a short while.

“Hello, Miss Grant, Kate Laswell, nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you, ma’am.”

“Please, have a seat,” gesturing to the adjacent seat, she slid back into her chair. “Well, good news to start us off, your security clearance came back clear.”

“I didn’t know I was due.”

“You weren’t.”

A gracious pause before calmly moving into her following sentence gave your conscience enough context that this mission is important. Quite important. At this moment, you couldn’t afford to let your nervousness register in your demeanour. This was a big opportunity.

Don’t blow it, for fuck’s sake.

“I had a flip through your file. You’re quite accomplished. 172 on your DLAB, 94 on your Air Force ASVAB...” Without raising her gaze, Laswell remarked, still thumbing through a short stack of papers, “How’s your Russian?”

“Beglyy.”

Marking the paper with tiny stars and stripes next to key points, how patriotic. Swallowing timidly, rolling your shoulders back as another flip of the page offered a glimpse at her notes - two dashes under Russian and Cantonese in your skills and specializations section.

With a final click of her red pen, she neatly stacked the papers into a manilla folder and pushed her chair back to rise. You unconsciously mirrored her motion to stand, neatly clasping your hands behind your back, only to have the motion swiftly come undone as Laswell extended her hand.

“Welcome to the team.” Laswell asserted with a nod and a closed-lip smile. An extended hand invited you into a curt handshake, leaving a white envelope in your hands.

“It’s a pleasure,” You responded, stifling the instinctive urge to respond ‘you too’ to her remark, “When do we leave?”

“Be there on the tarmac at 900 hours ... Dress warm.”

Holy shit, that’s like, two hours.

You knew the drill by now, especially when it comes to these types of missions. Bring only socks and underwear, maybe a pair of loungewear, though it’ll probably never see use, and leave your SIM card. This wasn’t your first deployment, not even close. Since wrapping up your master's, your past four years in the service were full of highs and lows.

On some missions, you were in a van somewhere, calmly putting transcriptions into deciphering algorithms for the better part of 2 weeks. Sometimes, it was a vessel somewhere in the Pacific, analyzing heated foreign communications about minor border disputes. Once in a while, you’ll get to diplomatically translate a senator telling your commanding officer to go fuck himself in three different languages.

Palming some warm, dry underwear from the dryer, the thought of the upcoming mission rattled around in your head as you folded the white envelope into the back pocket of your bag. The next issue that clicks into your mind is Chupacabra, your goldfish that most bases let you hang on to for long-haul deployments. Laswell was nonspecific about the timeframe, but you managed to weasel a mostly uncertain ‘two weeks, give or take’ from her lips. A ding from the phone downstairs alerts you to check your messages on your next frantic sweep of the residence.

The bubble read Sammy, Maybe Tammy (neighbour) “Come drop the fish off any time, sweetness. Australia is beautiful this time of year.”

“Fuck, fuck.” you huffed. In your scramble, you expressed your sadness over an aunt in Austria, not Australia, who needs some help for the next few weeks — seemed wiser than blurting about the top-secret mission to the first person who would listen.

One last frantic scramble back down the stairs left you five minutes of grace before your taxi arrived to take you to the airport. Years of training or experience make a last-minute scramble seem bearable, though no less jarring. You expected to spend the day catching up on months of missed seasons of your favourite shows and maybe finally get back to some unanswered texts. They’ll have to remain unanswered.

For now, you had to lock in for a 15-hour flight.

After the initial excitement of takeoff, the rest of the flight left you with the excitement of reading serial numbers off crates, with all the thrill of politely exchanging awkward smiles with Laswell. It’s hard to find sleep when you’re seated next to a military-grade jet engine, but you made do by fiddling with the zipper of your thermal jacket. Sooner or later, someone will tell you what’s happening, but your only duty is surrendering to the process. It makes you call into question how easy it would be to kidnap you.

That gut-wrenching falling sensation that churns your insides, paired with the distant sound of radio chatter, dragged your sleeping mind to alertness. You guessed you had about 60 seconds before touchdown by the plane's descension rate. Heavy rubber tires made contact with the runway, and lazy, sluggish fingertips dragged over the buckle for your harness. The plane barely slowed to a stop before Laswell swung her legs to stand as the tinker of fluorescent cabin lights turning on made the departure from your sleepy sanctuary official.

“Short refuel, then we’re on to the base,” Laswell answered your question before it could manifest.

“Where are we now?”

“Mongolia. Let’s chat in the rig.”

Settling into the significantly more comfortable seating of the small but quaint DHC-6 Twin Otter, you sighed just before Laswell stepped into the seat next to you. The darkness of the night reminds you of the dreamless sleep you experienced no more than 10 minutes ago. Adjusting your eyes to the tablet Laswell placed on your lap took a minute.

“We’re set up about 300 klicks NorEast of Chita, Russia,” her voice elevated to cut through the kickstarting engine taxiing to a takeoff position. “Familiarize yourself with the profiles of your teammates.”

You did so, swiping past faces and lack thereof of the bunkmates you’d spend the next two weeks with, taking particular notes of names and corresponding ranks, mentally categorizing them by most to least intimidating. Two sergeants, a captain, and an ominously absent lieutenant, he must’ve missed picture day. There is a lot of redacted information, in which you only gathered that they are British, along with alarmingly high physical evaluations for each.

“We want this to be quick, efficient, and tidy,” a marked emphasis on tidy made your stomach churn.

“Yes, Ma’am.”

She clearly must have identified some aspect of your demeanour that radiated anxiety as she paused before speaking.

“You’re just a translator. I told the boys to take good care to ensure you won’t see combat.”

That would be a calming enough sentiment if it weren't for the metaphorical elephant in the cockpit: Flying an unmarked plane to an unmarked base a short distance from the Chinese/Russian border. These profiles under your illuminated fingertips painted a picture of some of the world’s best soldiers, accompanied by a linguist, all undoubtedly off the radar of your home government.

Out the window was inky black darkness from every direction. The kind of darkness leaves you wondering if you’re even upright, though a glance at the pilot’s equipment defuses your anxiety. Laswell filled the silence with polite small talk and an anecdote about the one time she went skiing when nightfall crept up on her. An indeterminate amount of time passed as Laswell eventually clicked her seatbelt into place, implying you do the same. Looking out the window, the stars were so different from home. Different from any place you’ve ever been and much brighter. From here, there wasn’t a single indication of where the nearest sign of human life could be.

A distant floodlight illuminated the blinding white snow around a structure in the distance, dark ants scuttling out. That familiar descending sensation said that this was the location as the pilot leaned back in his seat, definitely relying on the equipment for this one. Ants turned into humanoid figures as the plane neared the ground, distinguishable enough that it was possible to identify one doing jumping jacks while the others stood at attention. The back of your neck burned from strain as the restraints of your harness screamed against your chest. Undoubtedly, it is a water landing.

After a short motorized taxi to the platform, the engine purring as Laswell flipped on a cabin light to help with your fumbling. The rubber soles of boots met the cold ground as searing cold air flooded your lungs. A kind of cold that made you wonder if your eyes could freeze. Extending an arm to Laswell, she dropped down to the wooden platform that made for a makeshift dock on the frozen lake. Four, maybe five figures approached, and Laswell initiated a conversation with one of them, taking him aside.

“Travel-sized,” quipped one of the silhouettes forming your welcome party, half-illuminated as they approached you. They probably thought you wouldn’t hear that.

Two of the four were easily recognizable enough: John and Kyle, the two sergeants, stood at attention with heavily padded winter coats. John was tapping his boot against the plane's tire while Kyle bounced on his heels to retain some range of motion in this biting cold. An eerie figure loomed along with the group whose faceless profile seemed to remain faceless in practice. He must be pretty enthusiastic about his job to hide his face from even his senior officers, or maybe he’s just hideous. Stern, unmoving expressions followed your gaze, sizing you up as if you were a wrist flick away from drawing a gun on them.

At first, the base almost looked like a bunker, with the sloping snowdrifts easing the structure into the landscape. No, a bunker that big would be impossible; the ground is way too cold for that kind of excavation. Tall, slender trees stood so straight one could easily be fooled into thinking they were each crafted by an automated machine—sparse shrubbery with thick pillows of shimmering snow in its stead.

Frigid shock ripped through your gut as you met the gaze of someone expecting a response from you.

“Ah, there you are,” A familiar American accent slipped through his smug smile. “nice of you to finally join us.” His voice was heavy with satire as he tilted his chin up.

“Yes, sir,” you breathed, mind scrambling to connect the face to the profiles you skimmed earlier.

“Graves. Pleasure. I’m sure Kate gave you a basic sitrep. As for first impressions, we may or may not have time to get to know one another.” he rested a palm on your shoulder, his words oozing out of his mouth like warm honey. “But that’s just how these things go.”

Releasing his vice, you eyed the familiar faces from the profiles as they stood, now fully illuminated, before you.

“Grant,” Laswell grunted, “take your bags in. I’m afraid it’s not getting any warmer,” taking her leave to rush into the illuminated sanctuary.

You might as well be a newborn deer, fumbling around on unsteady legs from the last 15 hours of kneeling, and the four gargoyles could smell it. They’re looking at you like you’re a meal as every neuron screams for you to break down and start crying. One foot in front of the other. Catching your duffle from the pilot and swinging it over your shoulder traded the unfortunate consequence of uneven momentum, making you scramble to regain balance on the icy ground.

Raising your eyes brought the exact type of shame you came to expect. First, a hoot, then a stifled laugh, and then one spoke up.

“Ooh! We’ve got a Salsa dancer.”

Muffled laughter boomed from the biggest one, uncrossing his arms and trudging back to the base. You imposed a courteous, tight-lipped smile despite wanting to crave the satisfaction of telling them where to shove it. The other two followed, leaving one behind.

“C’mon, let’s get you situated.” Price said surprisingly gently, his face you could easily identify from the profiles, “You get the whole women’s dormitory wing to yourself since Laswell gets the General’s quarters.”

Next Chapter>>

[victorluvsalice]

Happy Smiler Creation Day!

The first date on my Valice(r) Calendar, the date that I first created a version of Smiler Always in Sims 4, and thus the general look for my OC Smiler Alton and all their various variants across the multiverse! Coincidentally, I’ve actually been doing some testing with Smilers in a couple of different “test saves” in the game recently, figuring out the best way to get a human Smiler Sim in case I want a version who isn’t a vampire for some reason, and making up some new outfits for them just for funsies. So I figured, might as well share all that with you today! :)

First up, the result of me putting Smiler into a save and then downloading a room from the Gallery which had the vampire cure drink in it, putting it on their lot, and having them drink it. What happened was, because their yellow eyes are a vampire-only feature in-game, even though I was using them on their “regular” form, they went away after they were cured. I decided I might as well take the opportunity to decide on their natural eye color, and this was the shade of green that spoke to me.

. . .if you think Smiler looks weird with a natural eye color, YOU ARE NOT ALONE. XD I dunno what it is, but it’s just -- OFF.

For reference, here’s a shot of a regular Smiler -- I think the difference is mainly that the yellow eyes I picked glow, so the sudden lack of extra shadows around them throws me. Fortunately, in a second “test save” (in which I just went ahead and created a full Valicer set for my library), I discovered that using MC Command Center to turn them human keeps their yellow eyes, so that’s almost certainly the method I’ll use for all future Smiler humanizings.

Onto the outfits! Here’s one I made for my “naturally cured” Smiler while looking for an outfit that might fit them for that Blades in the Dark-inspired AU I keep poking at (really need to do a proper post on that). I’m not QUITE sure it’s right yet, but I like that vest and its purple pocket square for Smiler!

Here’s a “classic” Smiler look that ended up getting deleted/overwritten in my Chill Save (I believe the “Smiler hoodie” outfit is now in its slot), so I wasn’t sure if you guys had seen it or not! Naturally, I tend to favor yellow with Smiler’s clothes, and I like the video game feel of this one, since it went well with The Smiler being so tech-themed.

I stumbled across this sweater/sweatshirt thing while doing outfits for my MC Command Center Cured Smiler and immediately liked it -- can’t go wrong with yellow and black! As this was just a “hanging around the house being comfy” look, I paired it with the purple pajama pants and some yellow slippers. :p

Another yellow-and-black sweater that I liked while poking around the various outfit categories, and some very wild pants that I thought they’d enjoy. Part of the fun of dressing Smiler is knowing they don’t particularly care about getting too matchy. XD Though I don’t think this particular combo is too horrible.

I found this shiny formal outfit and HAD to get it for them. XD I just like the dramatic contrast between the shimmery yellow jacket and the pitch-black pants. XD Gave Smiler some dramatic eye makeup to go with it too!

Some Vampires clothes that make for another good formal outfit -- I really like that purple vest (and hey, I just noticed it has a yellow tie!), and the pants with the faded yellow pattern are great. :D And still got the dramatic eye makeup going with it!

Probably Smiler’s most “normal” outfit, this was out of a desire to use those purple PJ pants for actual PJs and actually go with a solid purple theme for once instead of mixing it with yellow. I like it a lot. . .which makes sense because these actually look a lot like some of my OWN pajamas. XD

The return of the yellow vest, this time paired with yellow pants and brownish-yellow sneakers! The idea was that this was for a party that wasn’t exactly FORMAL but also wasn’t full casual. Think the pants are a bit muddy in the color, but it’ll do.

Again, a shiny formal outfit in yellow with a black shirt was a must-get. XD Smiler will sparkle at any given opportunity, thank you. Paired with a nice top hat and some black -- sneakers? Obviously they haven’t full committed to formal with this one. XD

A Smiler to illustrate my Christmas headcanon about them loving ugly sweaters and Christmas tat! I actually had my choice of ugly sweaters between the free “holiday” pack and Seasons, but I ended up going with this freezer-bunny-themed one because it was the right color scheme. XD Pair with a different set of PJ pants, slippers, and a knit Rudolph hat, and Smiler is ready to celebrate the season!

And finally, a quick shot from my Chill Save Smiler themselves, because I don’t think I’ve ever shown you their main formal outfit. Yes, full tux and tails just because that one had the yellow. XD And white and gold shoes, because who wants to match their shoes to their pants? :P

So yes, that is the Smiler Look Book for the day. XD Hope you enjoyed! Happy Creation Day, buddy!

[nyctolovian]

Summary: Where Jon and Martin get to grow old together and live out the rest of their lives in a village. Told from the POV of a 7-year-old girl, Trish, who just moved in next door.

Written in preparation for the emotional trainwreck that would be the finale of TMA :”)

Trish peeked out from behind the bushes to look at the cottage. She was new in the neighbourhood, but she had already heard all sorts of stories about it from the other kids she played with. There was a ghost in there, or a wizard, and anyone who stepped foot into its boundaries would be cursed and get kidnapped by a giant clown with claws for hands. 

If you asked Trish, she’d tell you she didn’t believe in stupid fairytales and ghost stories like this. While the other kids still believed in Santa Claus, she already knew that it was just her parents sneaking treats into her Christmas socks. There was no way there was some sort of cursed monster living at the bottom of the hill.

Still, as she stood outside it’s fences, wiping her sweaty palms against her skirt, she gulped nervously. The way the other kids acted as they told her to get the ball because “you were the one who kicked it there!” still scared her. What if there was a bad guy in the house? She was only seven! What could she do?

She ran through several possible scenarios. She’d run. If she couldn’t, she’d kick the bad guy as hard as she could; her aunt had always said she had a good kick. If not, she’ll bite as hard as she can. Or she could–

“Excuse me. What are you doing in front of my house?” came a low voice.

Trish leapt backwards in fright with a squeak. 

Standing behind her was an old man with a stubble in a long yellow dress (woman?), carrying several bags of groceries on her left arm. With her other hand, she wielded a cane. There were pale scars all over her dark skin and Trish wondered if this old lady might have been a pirate. Her dark eyes seemed to stare into Trish's soul as her lips were set in a downwards curl. Her eyebrows were thick and tightly knitted in a permanent-looking scowl. She reminded Trish of Mdm Taylor from school, except older and grumpier.

"I… Uh, I…" Trish shifted from foot to foot, her palms growing even sweatier. "I… My ball…" She pointed towards the ball in the lawn. 

The woman with the beard followed her gaze to the bright pink ball beside the front door. "Ah," she said, sighing loudly. She walked to the front gate.

With her hands full, she had to fumble with the latch for a good minute before pushing the gate open. "There we are," she said. "Get your ball."

Trish blinked. It was that easy? 

She ran past the lady with the beard and picked up her ball. She hugged it close to her chest and looked back up at the old lady, half-expecting her to declare that there was a price for taking the ball back, or that she was trapped here forever. 

However, instead the old lady just hobbled through the gate. Some of her grocery bags got caught between the gate and she let out a groan. Trish's eyes darted between the old lady and the bags before she placed her ball back down, stepped forward and took some of the groceries from the lady with the beard. 

"Oh, um," she said. "Thank you."

"It's okay," Trish replied, lifting the bags and walking towards the front door of the cottage. "I help my Ma take the groceries all the time."

The lady with the beard followed after and reached into the pockets of her dress (which were very deep pockets, Trish enviously noticed). As soon as she unlocked the door, Trish lugged the grocery bags into the house. 

It was a clean house, and it smelled a lot like her Gramma's house. Old people smell, she reckoned. 

"Where's your kitchen?" 

"Over here."

Trish followed after her into the kitchen and she placed the groceries down where she was told. 

"What's your name?" the old lady asked.

Trish froze. Her mother told her not to trust strangers and not to tell strangers her name. But perhaps she had already broken some of the rules since she just walked into a stranger's house. But she wasn't kidnapped yet so it was probably safe.

"I'm Trish."

"Ah, thank you so much, Trish. You have been of tremendous help." The lady with the beard began to pack her groceries away. "Usually, my husband would help me with all this."

"What happened to your husband?"

"He's in the hospital."

Trish gasped.

"He's going to be fine. Don't worry. It's just his knee. He'll be back in a week."

"Phew!" Trish dragged her hand across her forehead. "That's good. What's your name by the way?"

"Oh. My name's Jon."

"Jon?!" Trish shouted. "But that's a boy's name!"

The old lady looked confused. "I… yes? It is a masculine name, I suppose?"

"Are you a boy?"

Jon's eyes widened. "I see. Well… I'm neither a boy or a girl. But I am a he. As in, um, for example, 'his name is Jon and he likes eating peaches.'" 

"How are you both not a boy or a girl though?"

Jon frowned in thought. "I just am. It just happens sometimes for people. Some people aren't a boy or a girl."

"Then, what are you?"

Jon frowned. "I'm nonbinary."

"Non…"

"Non-bi-na-ry," Jon repeated, slower, and Trish followed after. He smiled. "It can be a difficult word to pronounce."

"It's not that hard. I can do it," Trish said, rolling her eyes. Adults always made it seem like everything was too hard for her to do. "Nonbinary! See!"

Jon smiled. It was a small one, but Trish spotted it anyway. 

She puffed up her chest and announced, “I need to go now. Bye bye!"

"Bye," Jon replied, waving his hand.

On the way out, Trish picked up her ball and made sure to close the doors behind her.

***

When Trish next spotted Jon, she was at the market with her father. As soon as she sees him, she tugs her dad's shirt and whispers loudly, "That's Jon at the fruit place. He lives in the cottage at the bottom of the hill."

Her father hummed absently as he picked out the vegetables. "Why don't you go say hi, sweetheart?"

With a nod, Trish headed over to the fruit stand where Jon was. He spotted her before she reached him and gave her a little wave. Today, he is in a button-up shirt and black pants.

"Hello, Trish," he greeted. "Helping your mother out?"

"Nope. My Da's shopping this time." She points to her father, who was still engrossed in examining the vegetables. She peered into Jon's basket and saw that in it, there were apples, mangoes and peaches. "Is your husband back yet?"

"Hm? Yes, he is. But he's resting at home. The surgery did a number on him."

"Surgery?!" Trish screeched. Jon winced at the shout and she muttered an apology.

Forgivingly, Jon shook his head. "Sometimes, when you get old, your joints will get a bit painful so the doctors have to replace it with an implant. He's on the road to recovery now so no worries."

“Implant…?”

Jon took time to explain what that meant. Trish had a million questions swirling around her head and she continued to press him for answers. Unlike a lot of adults, Jon took time to answer her questions to the best of his abilities. 

Trish was about to ask how on earth someone can survive being cut open by another person when someone interrupted them. "Retired to teach primary school children, eh, Jon?" the fruit seller said, folding her arms. "Didn't know you were taking in new students."

Jon scowled. "You know full well—"

"Enough of you," the fruit seller brushed him aside in favour of leaning over her counter to look at Trish. "Heya, pipsqueak. Haven't seen you before."

"I’m not his student… My Ma and Da and me moved in last last week. My Da's there," she said, pointing.

It was also then that her father seemed to have settled the payment for vegetables and came over. “Trish, there you are. Where’s your friend? I thought you went to talk to him.”

Trish tugged Jon’s shirt. “Here.”

Da's eyes widened. “Oh! You’re Jon?” He quickly schooled his expression into a friendly smile. “Sorry, I didn’t mean anything by that. The way she talked about you… I just thought she was talking about her classmate so I was…”

“Expecting a seven-year-old and not a seventy-year-old,” Jon replied, raising an eyebrow. “That’s understandable. I’m Jonathan Blackwood-Sims. Nice to meet you.” 

“Nathan Fujisaki. I’m Trish’s dad. Nice to meet you too.”

Jon’s phone began to ring and his brow furrowed. “Apologies,” he muttered as he placed his grocery bag on the stand before fumbling out his phone. He frowned as soon as he saw the caller-ID and picked it up immediately. “Martin, what’s wrong?” His eyes darted from side to side before he cupped a hand over the receiver and turned away from the rest of them to whisper into the phone.

“His husband,” the fruit seller said. “The two of them fuss over each other a lot.”

"Is that so?"

The fruit seller's eyes lit up with glee at the opportunity to gossip a little. "Yeah. When they first moved in, I was, like, 15? It's a lot better now but back then, the two of them were hardly ever apart. He taught me for a year, you know? And I don't know what arrangement they had with the school but they were practically glued to the hip anytime outside of class."

"So he is a teacher!" Trish exclaimed. "He reminded me of Mdm Taylor so I thought he might be a teacher."

"Yeah, he does have that vibe about him, doesn't he?" the fruit seller said. "Cross about everything and anything. He had that even when he was my teacher. And he was pretty scary back in the day too. Nothing seemed to get past him."

"If you truly believed that, you would know better than to gossip about me," Jon countered as he returned to pick up his grocery bag. 

"How is he?" Trish asked.

Jon winced. "It's… better now. But I should head back as soon as I can." He began to make his move and said, "Take care."

"Would you like a lift?" Da offered. "It's on the way."

"I…" Jon glanced down at his cane before he let out a sigh. "Yes, please. I would appreciate that."

It didn't take very long to fetch Jon to his house. Da gave Jon his contact number in case he and his husband needed any help. Jon stared openly, expression unreadable for a moment, before he gave a brief nod and rushed into the house.

On the way home, Da was frowning. "He seems familiar…" he muttered when Trish asked. "Like I've seen him somewhere before."

***

Stupid Da. Stupid Ma. 

They weren't listening to her. In a fit of anger, she ran out of the house and to the first place she could think of. It wasn't fair, she thought. Trish's lower lip wobbled as she curled harder into herself. 

Suddenly, the door to the cottage at the bottom of the hill opened. A large old man with a thick beard wearing a pair of boxers and a singlet emerged and his eyes fell upon the small girl who had squished herself into a corner of the porch. "Oh my god!" squeaked the old man. "Wh-What are you doing out here? Where are your parents?"

Trish glared up through the tears in her eyes. "You're not Jon," she said, her voice rough from crying.

 "Oh, he's… he's out right now," the man said, smiling apologetically. "Would you like to come in and wait for him? Or, uh, or not. We can wait for him outside."

Trish nodded.

"Feel free to sit in the chair there.”

Trish shook her head. 

“Okay. Would you like something to drink then? We have tea, and milk."

"Milk."

With a gentle smile, the man went back into the house and came out, dressed in a knee-length skirt and a loose shirt. He had also brought out a cup of milk, which he placed in Trish's hand. He went back inside for a moment, before returning with a piping hot cup of tea for himself.

The man limped over to a rocking chair and sat down heavily with a sigh. As he placed his own cup down on the table beside himself, Trish noticed the massive scar on his left leg that ran from his mid-calf up to his knee. "Are you Jon's husband?" she asked. "Martin?"

The man's eyes practically lit up. "Oh yes!" He drummed his fingers against his belly delightfully. "I'm guessing that you're Trish then?"

She nodded.

"Jon's told me a bit about you," he said.

"Are you also non… nonbinary," she said the word slowly to make sure she got it right.

From the look of it, she had because Martin smiled again. "Nope. I'm a man. Just one who finds skirts incredibly comfortable."

"I don't like skirts," Trish said frankly. "They're too wooshy and swishy."

"Perfectly understandable." Martin nodded. 

"Where's Jon?"

"He's doing groceries."

Trish stuck her lower lip out. "He's always doing groceries."

Something between a laugh and a sigh escaped Martin's chest. "He is, isn't he? My poor husband just can't sit still. He has to go to the market once a day or he'll get cranky. Or crankier than usual."

Trish nodded as she took a sip from her cup. 

"So, what are you doing here?"

Trish lowered her cup. "I don't know."

"Did something happen to make you cry?" Martin asked.

Curling in harder into herself, she muttered, "I'm not telling."

"Oh, um… Sure."

"Does it hurt?"

"Hm?" Martin followed her gaze to his knee. "Oh, you mean my knee? It was hurting really badly before I went to the hospital. I mean, it's still hurting a bit now because I'm recovering so I take a bit of painkiller to deal with that. It'll get better soon."

"Does it hurt when they do it on you?"

"Mm… not really? They give you an injection that makes you sleep through the entire surgery. It's kind of when you wake up that you start feeling the pain."

Trish frowned. It sounded a bit unrealistic. How could you sleep through being cut open? She didn’t get the opportunity to ask Martin anything though because, in the distance, a small figure could be seen hobbling towards the house. Martin immediately straightened up. "There he is," he said, before waving. 

Trish followed suit with a big wave of her own, putting her entire arm into it. 

“You have a little visitor,” Martin said as soon as Jon stepped past the gate.

“I can see that very well,” Jon said, rolling his eyes. He made a small detour to their side of the porch to give Martin’s forehead a kiss. Then, he looked at Trish and probably noticed her red-rimmed eyes. "Did something happen?"

Trish frowned. "Ma and Da won't let me have a birthday party. They said it's a waste of time and I'll forget it anyway."

"Oh…" Jon pursed his lips. "Do they know you're here now?"

"No. And I don't want them to."

"They must be worried sick," Martin remarked with a small frown. 

Shrinking into herself, Trish muttered sourly, "Let them."

“I know you’re angry at them and you don’t want to see them right now but it is quite  unkind to cause them needless worry,” Jon reasoned gently. “I shall give them a call, okay? Just to let them know you’re here. I promise I’ll let you stay here until you’re ready to talk to them again. But you wouldn't want them to think you're in danger, right?”

Trish pouted hard, but eventually nodded.

“Right,” Jon said with a nod before heading into the house. He came back out after about 5 minutes with some cut fruits. “We have permission for you to stay until dinner,” he said as he sat down in the other chair with a low grunt. “Now, I hope you didn’t have to suffer Martin’s nagging for too long while I was away.”

“Nagging?!” Martin shot back with an offended voice. “And don’t you think I suffer when you insist on leaving a trail of cups all over the house? Do you think you’re Gretel or something?”

“Actually,” Jon said, knowing full well what he was doing, “Hansel was the one who left the trails.”

Martin groaned comically and Trish giggled a little.

***

“You know what?” Trish yelled as she threw the door open. From the kitchen, Martin made a weird squeaky noise.

“It would be polite to knock. Martin’s already got a weak enough heart already,” Jon chided as he stood up from his sofa and went to the entrance. 

“Oh… Um...” She gently closed the door again before knocking. Then, she patiently waited as the sound of Jon’s shuffling slippers got closer.

“Trish,” Jon said exasperatedly as he opened the door. “You don’t have to close the door again if you’re already inside. We know you’re here.”

“Oh, okay,” Trish said, walking in.

Martin came into view and he was laughing a little. “God, you sound like such a curmudgeon.”

Frowning, Trish asked, “Cur…?”

“A grumpy old person,” Martin explained. “You know, like Jon.”

Teasingly, Jon poked Martin’s rib. “Oh yeah? Is that resentment in your voice, Mr Blackwood-Sims?”

Martin grabbed the offending hand. “Oh, absolutely not. You’re my curmudgeon. I’m not resenting you anytime soon.”

“Sap,” Jon muttered, covering his mouth with his hand, but that did nothing to hide the smile in his voice.

Trish rolled her eyes. “Aaaaanyway,” she said, putting her hands on her hips, “I’m here to announce something.”

“Yes, yes, announce away,” Jon said.

But he was making goo-goo eyes at Martin so Trish decided she’d leave the very important announcement of her birthday party for another day.

***

Having chicken pox and being forced to stay in her room for an entire week was already bad enough. But then, it just had to be on the week of her birthday. What’s worse was that Trish had gone and scratched at her skin, and even though it was healed, she had some scars on her arms and face. And she really did not appreciate scars as a birthday present.

Ma chided her for not listening and handed her a bottle of cream to apply over the scars. “If you properly apply it, then maybe it’ll get rid of those scars,” she said.

Not wanting any of the scars to remain, Trish religiously applied the cream every night. But they didn’t seem to be going away anytime soon.

“It isn’t the end of the world if it does leave scars anyway. Look at the both of us! We have scars and we’re doing fine,” Jon comforted her, which wasn’t very comforting.

“It’s okay if you two have scars. You’re old people anyway,” Trish said, popping one of Martin’s freshly baked cookies into her mouth.

“Ouch!” Martin said, sitting down beside Jon at the dining table. “That’s a bit mean, Trish.”

Wincing, she muttered, “Sorry.”

“Apology accepted,” Jon said. He peered over at her arm. "I think it's fading. It's just a bit slow so be patient with it."

Trish nodded. However, even as she sat there talking with them, her index finger kept returning to rub over the most prominent scar on her forearm. The tiny bump of the scar annoyed her and she wished she could tear it out, but she knew that would likely only make the scar worse.

"You know, Trish," Martin said, "it's normal for kids to get scars. We all get scars from at your age too."

"Jon too?"

"I…" Jon frowned. "I don't recall much of when I was young unfortunately."

"How come?"

"Complicated stuff," Jon said, making a vague gesture. "It'd be too long a story to explain."

"Well," Martin interjected, "he doesn't remember his. But I do." He lifted his arm to show the pale jagged patch on his elbow. "This one I got from when I fell off a tree outside my house. I got a kite snagged onto the branches so I had to get it down. It's a bit faded now actually." 

"Yeah, but that's a cool scar. Mine is just from stupid chicken pox," Trish grumbled. Then, she lifted her head. "What about those though? The dot-dot ones both you and Jon have? They're not from chicken pox too, right? They're really big."

"Oh, these?" Martin said, running his hand over the pockmark scars on his face and arms. 

"Yeah. How did the both of you get it? It looks really bad…" Trish frowned. "What kind is it?"

"Um… yeah," Jon said. "It... It was a… bad disease."

Martin sighed. "It was an office-wide infection. From when Jon and I worked in the same place." He then switched the subject by showing a long scar he had on his finger. "Oh, Trish, look at this one. Guess how I got this one? It was kind of dumb. I got it when I was, I think, 5 years old? I stuck my finger into the fan."

Trish scrunched her face. "Why did you do that?!" she shouted. "What if it got chopped off?"

"I don't know to be honest. I was five, Trish. I wasn't a very smart five-year-old."

"Five-year-olds generally aren't very smart," she assured Martin, who threw his head back and laughed.

They continued to talk about scars and dumb injuries for the rest of the afternoon. And by the time Trish went home, she realised that even if the scars remained in the end, she wouldn't be that upset. 

***

As Martin’s knee got better, he began to join Jon’s grocery trips more often. The marketplace got a little bit more noisy on the days Martin went with Jon. 

Firstly, Martin and the fruit seller seemed to have this bit that involved making fun of Jon, even though Trish didn’t necessarily understand most of the jokes. (For some reason, Martin likes to make fun of Jon for liking peaches.)

Then, Martin had what Jon called “itchy fingers'', which meant that Martin liked touching things he wasn’t supposed to. There was this one time when Martin had decided to poke something pink on the side of a carton, which turned out to be used gum. “You’d think you’d grow out of touching things unnecessarily, Martin,” Jon reprimanded as he dragged his husband to the toilet to wash his hands.

Trish just thought they were quite funny.

Sometimes, she would be with Da for groceries when she bumped into them. On those days, Da would talk to them about grown-up stuff that Trish had no hope of understanding. But it was fine since, with Martin at the front seat most of the time, this meant that Trish can lean to her side and whisper to Jon.

Sometimes, Trish would see Jon and Martin walking around together in the neighbourhood. More often than not, Martin joined Jon on his daily trips to the market, and they would slowly walk hand-in-hand. It was during those times that Jon most often had a smile on his face, and at times bursting into uproarious laughter.

Sometimes, Trish would dash over to greet them. People often told Trish that she was a bit too chatty for her own good. But around those two, she felt that maybe it was alright to talk a bit more because Martin would always smile warmly at Trish as she talked about the frog she found on the side of the road or about her stupid homework assignment. Jon, on the other hand, often had something to add to whatever Trish was saying, be it with questions or a weird trivia of his own. 

Of course, there were days where Trish was far too busy to call out to them. It was highly impractical to rush out to them during a game of Hide-and-Seek.

Sometimes though, the two of them would walk especially close to each other, and they’d be whispering, or at least, one of them would be. There were times when Martin looked greyer than usual, and his gaze would be distant even as he ran his fingers along railings, fences, or any surface available. Other times, Jon would look rattled, his eyes darting about and breaths shallow. The non-cane-wielding hand would not be holding Martin’s on those days, instead, it would be tracing the scar over his neck, or twisting his hair in a quiet frenzy.

And then, sometimes, they would sit together on the park bench, holding hands and whispering and chuckling to themselves.

Those were the days when Trish knew better than to disturb them.

[todoiidoriya]

*slaps the roof of this drawing* This bad boy can hold so many personal headcanons in it!

Here’s university-aged Jon, on his way to a pride event, picture courtesy of Georgie :) @jonsimsbipride​

(There is lore under the ID because I’m autistic and can’t help myself, but I’ll add a read more because I have So Much to say.)

[ID: A full-body drawing of a younger Jon Sims from The Magnus Archives. Jon is short and chubby, with dark brown skin and black hair that reaches to right above his chin. He has brown eyes, and wears square glasses and blue stud earrings. He is wearing a pink t-shirt, dark blue cuffed jeans, and gray Velcro tennis shoes. He is wearing a necklace with a bi flag on a heart at the end, a bead bracelet with the asexual flag colors on his left wrist, and a black ring on the middle finger of his right hand, which is holding a cane. He is smiling toward the viewer and making a peace sign with his left hand. End ID.]

First of all: Chubby Jon !! Do not fight me on this!! I’m all for canon-era Jon being scrawny (he’s under a lot of stress and I can’t imagine that leads to very good self-care) but 18/19yo Jon, who has been living on Grandma Food his entire life?? He’s chubby!! I will die on this hill!! 

He and Georgie went to get their ears pierced together! He’s still pretty new to it, I imagine the earrings in the drawing are still his piercing studs. I think he tries to get a second one/cartilage piercing at a party or something in his third year, but it gets infected and he ends up having to give it up. Georgie teases him about it when she’s done being concerned. 

This is the longest he’s ever had his hair so far! His grandma is the only person that he’s ever had cut his hair, and he’s too anxious to have anyone else do it, so he just leaves it alone. He ends up growing it a lot longer, though. (He cuts it when he and Georgie eventually break up, and it feels like a fresh start.)

The pink shirt is one of his first experiments with his gender. He’s really nervous about dressing “less masculine” so it’s basically the most subtle thing he could think of. He gets more comfortable as time goes on, and he spends most of his twenties in skirts/dresses, but he’s not quite there yet. (Also!! GTCU has just made me associate Jon with pink now lol)

He doesn’t usually cuff his jeans- it just gives him Bad Autism Feelings- but Georgie made a joke about cuffed-jeans bisexuals and he decided to try it this once. He will un-cuff them before they even get to the event. 

He bought all of his pride gear at Spencer’s (or the equivalent) when he was like sixteen. He never really wore it at the time, because high school was rough and, while his grandmother had no way of recognizing pride flags, he didn’t want to risk it. He brought all of it with him to uni, though. This is the first time he’s had the opportunity to wear it. 

He has to use the cane because of a childhood injury! He was a very adventurous kid, and very understimulated about 99% of the time, so one day he just started climbing on things. It was fun for a long time, but when his grandma finally caught him, she surprised him and he lost his grip. He hurt his hip and leg really badly when he fell. He can walk without it, but it’s uncomfortable and he can’t do it for long periods of time. When he’s young, I imagine him mostly using it when he’s out, and not as often when he’s at home. As he gets older/gets injured via various monsters, he shifts to using it all the time. The accident made a sort of rift between him and his grandmother, though. They both feel really guilty about it, and it could probably be fixed by actually talking about it, but neither of them are too good at that. 

The Velcro shoes !!! I got so excited when I thought of this!! Jon is autistic, and when he was a kid, he had a really hard time learning how to tie his shoes. Like, for whatever reason, it just would not click for him. And when his grandma tied them for him, they would always be too tight, or too loose, and it was just Bad Autism Feelings all around. It got to the point where they were both just absolutely fed up with it- he was crying/having meltdowns every morning before school because of it, and she was so frustrated with all of it, so she just gave in and bought him Velcro, and he’s worn them ever since. 

[meechibell]

Build Your Own Sims 4 EP Challenge

Uptown World Expansion Pack

*My entry for #BuildYourOwnEPChall by #SimsBogdy99

 The 3 models I made are wearing all black salon uniforms. Dressing in all black takes the focus off of the stylists and puts it onto the clients where it should be.  All of their other outfits are made with their favorite colors in mind and are heavily themed with a 1980's vibe because I'm kind of stuck in that era because the music, fashion, and hair were so cool... still cool. So on with the pack...

Welcome to Rockin Key, the home of some of the world's greatest musicians!  Rockin Key is where the rich & famous go to play, and the locals that keep it going play here too. Located 5 miles West of Del Sol Valley, it's easy to find... follow the endless sounds of great live music across the 5 mile bridge to Rockin Key... the city that never sleeps.  Rockin Key entertainment venues are open 24/7. 

 On Rockin Key you'll find many new venues & plenty of room to build with 15 new lots to build homes/businesses! Including new lot types such as hair salons, Day Care Centers, houseboats, indoor concert halls, and movie theaters.

  Rockin Key (new) Venues Include: -Santiago's Hair Salon - Sims can now visit Hair Stylists, Nail Techs, & Estheticians for a variety of services. Don & Jori and their team are here to help you be the best looking version of yourself. Remember, it's all about the hair!

-Rockin Key's Slice of Paradise Concert Theater - This is the largest new venue. This is where the biggest names in the sim music industry come to perform. It's always the hottest ticket in town.  

-Rhapsody Twin Movie Theatre - Sims can now take their family, or a date, to the movies! The Plaza Twin Theatre has a full service concession stand, and the movie popcorn machine is always popping to make sure the popcorn is hot & fresh. To wash the popcorn down they also serve fountain sodas, and there's a variety of candy to choose from. In each theater for all sims' comfort, they'll find recliner chairs with built in soda & popcorn holders. It's stadium seating so no worries about someone's head being in a sim's line of view while enjoying their movie. And for the kiddies there are booster seats available.

-Sunny Sushi Bar - Indoor & outdoor dining w/ live music nightly by Toffee Butler (piano) or The Dunk-a-noos (steel drum band), located next to the marina. -Moody's Marina - Here sims can buy/own a luxury yacht w/ hot tub & full bar. Yachts can leave port and travel the area. Sims can fish off of a yacht or they can now charter a fishing boat.

-Lil' Sponges Daycare Academy - Sims can now drop off their children at this Nautical themed, state of the art Daycare Academy for ages infant - 5 years old. This isn't just a babysitting service; as an Academy it has licensed teachers to teach age appropriate lessons while keeping track of each child's growth and progress in their speech, fine motor skills, gross motor skills and social skills. By the time these little sponges are ready to move on to Kindergarten at 5 yrs old, many will be able to skip right into 1st grade.

NEW CAREERS

 -Hair Stylist This career is for the sim that believes it's all about the hair. Once a customer has the right hairstyle, anything is possible! Hair Stylists can wash hair, cut hair, color/highlight hair, perm or straighten hair & blow dry hair. Top level Supreme Hair Stylists unlocks hair extensions that come in long, medium, short, & extra short (to add bangs/fringe to most hair styles already in the game) with each length also being in straight, wavy, curly, or braided styles, each available in all colors for both females and males, age teen-elder. Depending on the hairstylist's level will be the outcome of the hairstyle given, so sometimes with lower levels there may be mistakes and corrections needed that result in comedic reactions by sims/hairstylists.  

 *Supreme Hair Stylist Bonus: Becoming a CELEBRITY HAIR STYLIST: Once a sim reaches top level as a Supreme Hair Stylist, they will begin to gain notoriety and in time will reach "celebrity" hairstylist status. Once this is achieved they will start to receive celebrities/rockstars as clients, be asked to go on location to music video sets, and backstage at concerts, to work on musicians'/celebs' hair, and they'll hob-nob with the rich and famous. Also, a celebrity hair stylist can be Owner & Creative Director of a very successful hair salon w/ barely any problems. They'll even be given the opportunity to own a chain of hair salons if the first one is successful. 

 -Nail Technician/Artist 

A career for sims that believe a person can't be their very best without well manicured hands and feet. Services provided, how well and how quickly done, depends on the level of Nail Tech/Artist. Lower levels may either take longer or make mistakes such as wrong nail color or spills water on the client.  Once a higher level is reached the Nail Tech adds Artist to their repertoire and unlocks fun nail art & nail accessories. When a sim visits a Nail Artist the prices are higher, appointment is quicker, and you get to choose the color(s) of nail polish used on the sim, along with a paint design (flowers/hearts/holiday themes) and/or nail accessories such as glitter or rhinestones.  

 -Esthetician For the sim that sees other sims as walking Barbie & Ken dolls and helps them reach that status through ridding them of any and all body hair through artful waxing. Starting level can only provide facials, moustache waxing, & eyebrow waxing/shaping. They also provide skin treatments afterwards to sooth the red hot burning newly waxed fresh skin after peeling off a layer with the hot wax. Clients are taken to a private area (behind a curtain or door) for body waxing. Bikini waxing for female/male adult-elder is unlocked once an Esthetician reaches the top level as an Elite Esthetician.  

(Note on how I see the Esthetician career as working in the game... Once an Esthetician reaches "elite" level they can start body waxing clients, so the nude sim laying on the table will have blurred privates, same as when they shower, but we'll know the spot the Esthetician is waxing as the sim will make some kind of horrible scream and/or face due to the wax being ripped off which makes for funny game play. You see it too, right?

 -Hair Salon Owner & Creative Director  This career is the ultimate goal for most Hair Stylists... a dream come true. This career is best suited for the sim who has achieved the top level as Supreme Hair Stylist because they know what they're doing, what the salon needs, and more importantly what their employees and clients need. Even with all of their experience and knowledge in the hair industry, they still hit bumps in the road and make mistakes. Hair Salon Owner & Creative Director may also work well for other salon employees after a sim reaches either the Finest Nail Artist level or the Elite Esthetician level. They will run into a few surprise bumps that the Supreme Hair Stylist knows how to avoid, but they have a better chance of success than a sim that has no salon experience. With that being said a sim without prior salon experience who can afford it, can be a Hair Salon Owner & Creative Director; however, that sim will  have a much more difficult time in being the salon owner & creative director with more mishaps, unhappy employees, angry clients, and more stress than the Supreme Hair Stylist that becomes an owner & creative director. Their chance of failure with the salon closing down is 50% higher than that of a salon employee & 75% higher risk than that of a Supreme Hair Stylist.  Top level for Hair Salon Owner & Creative Director opens up the opportunity for them to expand into a Hair Salon Chain Owner.

-Professional Contemporary Music Artist This career is for the sim that wants to be a Music Idol & Pop Culture Icon. Those that seek after a career as a professional contemporary music artist include sims that have dreamt about success as either a solo pop or hip-hop artist, or as a member of a rock band, or a member in a popular boy or girl band. Their journey begins when they begin to practice singing and/or playing instruments. As their skill increases, they'll gain notoriety performing in venues around town until finally a big music manager contacts them after hearing them perform in a local bar and offers them an audition. If the audition goes well, they'll then be offered a contract with choices such as music genre & solo artist or in a band to begin their musical career. Once the contract is signed, the sim will start receiving dates for live concert gigs that you will be able to follow and play sim through the onstage performances as well as the backstage after parties. At top level the sim will become known as a "King/Queen of Music" which will unlock many new items made for a rock/pop superstar including clothing,  jewelry, big hairstyles, & other rockstar items themed after 1980's musical legends that are known for their music & iconic fashion styles such as George Michael (Wham!), Prince, Bon Jovi, Tina Turner, Cher, Run DMC, Heart, Janet Jackson, DJ Jazzy Jeff & the Fresh Prince, Cyndi Lauper, & Boy George (Culture Club).

 NEW ASPIRATION CATEGORY: TRADESMANSHIP 

NEW ASPIRATIONS: 

-Supreme Hair Stylist 

-Finest Nail Artist 

-Elite Esthetician -Hair Salon Chain Owner -King/Queen of Music

 NEW TRAITS: 

 FINICKY - A sim with this trait is extremely hard to please & they change their minds often too. Finicky sims are the customers that businesses, hair stylists, & servers have nightmares about. They want things exactly like they want it, and if it's not to their preferences, they'll throw a hissy fit refusing to pay for services. At the hair salon they're the client that will ask for a certain hair style or nail style, and halfway through they'll change their mind or when finished burst out in tears saying they don't like it. If they place an order over the phone, or in a restaurant, there's a good chance by the time it arrives, they'll no longer want it causing them to pout, complain & refuse to pay for it. If they enjoy an activity one day, they may hate it the next. If they have a romantic interest, they may lose interest faster than other sims. They may even become the runaway bride or groom. Their likes & dislikes change often because they are FINICKY. 

LEECH - A sim with this trait is outgoing, cheerful, & charming so making a new friend, or romantic connection, is easy for them & quicker than other sims, but once another sim befriends them they will become the center of the LEECH sim's world. A LEECH will only want to do things with that one friend or love interest, and they will expect the same from that friend or love interest. They want to do everything with ONLY that 1 person, and can show up at any time, & anywhere, uninvited to be with them. When not with their friend, they're calling them on the phone, even if they're at work. And if they see their 1 friend/love interest being friendly with anyone else, they will act out in sneaky jealous "accidental" actions towards the other sim who is "stealing" their friend's attention away from the LEECH, such as spilling a drink on them, or bumping into them hard enough to knock them out of the way, or causing them to trip, or pulling their chair out from under them. A LEECH will talk to anyone that will listen to them, and when they're really lonely they will visit their favorite hangouts to talk to the employees knowing as a customer they have to talk to them and be nice. The LEECH is often a Rockin Key business' nightmare client because they tend to hang around bothering the employees or other customers looking for attention.   Some leeches even ask for free things like a drink. The LEECH doesn't have the same obsession with their family members, only with that 1 special friend/love interest which may be their spouse. With family members the LEECH is known for inviting themselves to dinner, or on outings (and of course leeches always forget their wallet no matter who they're with); however, when they make that 1 special friend or love interest their family is relieved because they get a break from the LEECH that will now come around much less often, if ever, while in the other relationship. Breaking off a relationship with the LEECH is not pretty either. They will throw huge fits no matter where or how the break up happens. And don't be surprised if the sim that broke it off now finds themselves being watched with a telescope or being followed when they go out as the LEECH has a very hard time letting go & may pop up at any time just to say "hi" w/ a creepy smile as they walk away. They also may find that their mail has been stolen when the electric is suddenly shut off due to non-payment since the LEECH out of anger stole their mail, though they're unable to prove it to the police. 

 WALLFLOWER- This sim is a romantic at heart, creative, super sweet & friendly, but has trouble approaching other sims, especially strangers because they're shy. They long to socialize with other sims & enjoy going out on the town to different venues/events hoping to make a friend, or meet that special someone; however, once they arrive, they will stay seated and will not approach sims becoming a WALLFLOWER while they wait for sims to approach them. Once they become friends with a sim, they're charming, super sweet, & a bit more chatty, but still more quiet & agreeable than most sims. Being shy they are the exact opposite of a leech as they will often pay for others, and wait for their friends, or family, to call them to make plans as they don't want to bother anyone. If a sim they care about takes too long to contact them they become gloomy or will sit at home & cry alone wondering why that sim doesn't like them. When it comes to business owners, the WALLFLOWER is a favorite customer/client as they're so sweet they're always happy/content with the service provided for them. 

 COUCH POTATO - They live to entertain themselves from a chair or a couch whether at home, a friend's house, or a night out. They tire much faster than other sims & have to sit down more often if out and about. One of their favorite things to do is sit and watch tv which they also enjoy blogging about their favorite shows and movies. If sim also has an outgoing trait they can often be found out at venues that have entertainment, or activities that require or encourage sitting such as a bar, movie theater, park bench, laying out by a pool, library, or hair salon. These venues look forward to visits from their COUCH POTATO customers/clients as they tend to stay awhile, spending more money, so they don't have to get up and go back home after coming all this way. The thought, or sight, of physical exercise quickly drains their energy, and they may need to stop for a power nap whether they are at home, a friend's house, or out on the town.

  New Objects: 

-Hair extensions (4 different lengths/textures/all colors) & accessories (barrets, headbands, bows, scarves) for all ages -Hair salon accessories - couches/chairs, mirrors, work stations w/ stylists' supplies, shelves, hair products -Nail Technician manicure table & chair, client chairs, nail equipment  

-Nail art & accessories -Esthetician table & supplies/cabinet -5 piece drum sets (2 sizes adult & child) -Steel drums in 4 different sizes 

-Electric Guitars 

-Bongos (2 different sizes)

-movie popcorn machine

-soda fountain

-Recliner chairs with large built in cup holders

-Oversized Kites 

A Special Thank You... I'd like to thank my daughter ( #SparkleMuffin21 ) and my son ( #DarthDjoe ) for their help in listening to my ideas and giving me their own opinions on this challenge, as well as pretty much all my sim's creations. My grown children both play Sims 4, so I value their opinions, and appreciate the kindness/patience they've shown me as they often help me by sharing their opinions on my creations. This time around they gave me a lot of advice on what I should or shouldn’t include, and my daughter helped me with the naming of the pack & the name of the town for this challenge. Thanks kids! <3

[purple-baby-d]

a good man.

Choi Seunghyun (T.O.P.  — BIGBANG) x female reader.

Genre: I don’t know, it’s kinda angst, but also fluff and then it gets kinda smut... I’m a mess but whatevs.

Word count: 2,994.

Content: rich!top, gambler!gdragon, heartbroken!reader, college friends, descriptions of domestic violence, top being a hella interesting and caring man, vanilla sex (love making), unprotected sex, just the fluffy smut I needed to write as soon as zyanya told me she needed a good top reading material.

Brief: as you finally run away from your years-long toxic relationship, your best friend is right there to pick you up, and some feelings might bloom all over again once you let your hearts speak.

Dedicated to @theravengoddess​ 💜

"Do whatever you want, but leave me out of it!", you yelled, shutting the door closed as you left the apartment you and your troubled ex-boyfriend lived in, rain falling over your shoulders and your luggage as you cried silently. Where did it all go wrong?, you asked yourself, trying to understand why Jiyong, your former couple, had fallen into the darkest roads, and it was his short-tempered mood and up-to-the-clouds ego that led you both to self-destruction, and you knew it was over a long time ago.

But still, you somehow wanted to blame yourself for it.

Running down the roads of that small neighborhood you lived in, you sobbed to yourself, wanting to get as far as possible from that misery you left at your apartment. The buildings slowly started looking nicer as you kept running, ending up on one of the nicest neighborhoods of your city. As you walked in front of a nice restaurant, you bumped into a tall man, who sadly you recognized as your best friend, Seunghyun.

"Y/N? Princess, you're soaked!" he told you, giving you his old, rusty leather jacket to protect you from the cold night you ran into. "Why are you crying? What happened?", he kept asking, concerned by the tears that kept streaming down your face, not really knowing what to do anymore. "Come on, tell me something, please".

You just laid your head in his hands, reuniting every last strength of yours to tell him about the worst night of your mid-length life. Jiyong had bursted into your lovenest, the one you've shared for years now, looking desperately for money to pay his debts. You walked out of your workspace after hearing his whole rendezvous, the scandal making the neighbors concerned as things kept crashing on the floor, breaking into little, tiny pieces of glass as he then repaired on you. He shook your shoulders, asking you where you'd left the money you were saving for your years-planned dream vacations with him. You knew exactly what happened: he was gambling again, even when he told you he would stop after losing his dream car to it.

You told him to stop looking, that he wouldn't find it and he was definitely not using it, but you knew you were up to no good when rage got the best of him, combined with the drinks he was having back at that illegal casino he loved. He pushed you to the floor and kicked you out of the way once you tried to stop him. Still in pain, you got up and grabbed the bags you'd packed weeks prior in case of emergency, the money he was desperately looking for safe in one of them. You left your old phone at the apartment, along with everything he could locate you with. And although he deserved it, you still cried thinking about the years of your life you wasted on him, hoping he could change somehow.

Hoping he could become the good man your mother always said you deserved.

"God... I'd kick his ass, but that would lead him to know where you are", Seunghyun sighed, looking at you as his thumb stroke your cheek, weeping your tears off. "Don't cry, princess, you're breaking me slowly", he begged you, holding you close without caring about getting his expensive designer clothes wet or damaged. In that moment, he cared solely about you, about how you were dealing with finally leaving the toxic relationship you've kept yourself in for the last few years, at some point even thinking of marrying the guy who had just hurt you phisically and emotionally. "Come on, you can stay with me for as long as you please", he offered you, looking down at you with a smile. "Are you hungry? Wanna grab some food before we go?", he asked softly, to which you couldn't say no. Even though you weren't in the mood, you were starving, and the mixture of all the time you spent running combined with the nice smell flooding your nostrills thanks to the restaurants that surrounded you made your mouth water.

He ordered takeout as you waited in his black sports car, the heat was on as he tried to keep you from freezing, his jacket still over your shoulders as you watched him through the window. You met Seunghyun years ago, in college, to be precise. He was a natural hardworker, the best in his classes, the most promising future from our generation, and he stood up to that title. He started his own business, dedicated to funding different medical researches and environmental causes, such as cleaning the oceans or preventing deforestation. That was his happy place, knowing he was doing what he could to help, and he was tremendously well-known amongst the Korean community, earning several awards and rename because of it. Still, he was sweet, kind, polite, humble... everything your mother could wish for in a husband for her daughter.

You still couldn't understand how his only friend in college was a humble girl from a working class family, let alone how he still was single at his thirty-two years of age.

He sighed as he got in the car, touching your forehead gently to check on your body temperature, his concerned expression somehow making you feel safe. "You're still quite cold, but at least you won't get sick", he told you, his deep, raspy voice making you smile with the words it pronounced. "Thank you, Seunghyun", you muttered, making him smile to you in return. He drove down the roads that lead to his apartment as the city lights made the tamished glass of your window look quite artistic, and the raindrops that stuck to it started blurring as he sped up. Some low-fi music playing in the background as he looked ahead, his hands shaking on the steering wheel until he finally turned onto the underground parking lot of the building he lived in. He parked the car and got out of it, taking your luggage out of the car and taking it upstairs as he walked next to you, not letting you move a finger.

You gasped as the elevator led you to his apartment, the penthouse of one of the fanciest buildings around the whole city. Still on the minimalist spectrum, it looked so fancy and elegant, just like its owner. "Mi casa es tu casa, princess", he told you, taking your luggage to one of the rooms. "Get yourself comfortable, you can use the library as your workspace, and I'll settle a room for you. Until then, you can sleep on mine, I sleep on the couch most of the time, anyways". Without letting you hesitate, he left your bags on the laundry room, washing them over since they gained a certain smell because of the rain.

You noticed he wasn't the average bachelor, even though he lived alone, he still managed to keep everything nice and clean. He then grabbed something from his office, handing it to you. "Use this", he told you, handing you a new phone. "It's my old phone, I also have a spare computer in case you need one. It has a new SIM card and my number's saved on it. It's yours". I nodded, taking it in my hands as I sighed. "Thank you", I muttered. He showed me a little grin, a slight chuckle coming out of his throat. "Is it all you know how to say?", he said, making you smile as he kneeled in front of you, caressing your cheek. "Mine is yours too, princess. You won't need anything as long as I'm here".

There was this tiny moment of tension, you felt like he was way too far from you. The way he made you feel suddenly reminded you of the way you felt about him years ago, that slight crush you developed in him that you immediately faded away with the fear of losing your best friend. Your only friend. But the way he looked at you made you sense something else... something new.

His phone rang, and the caller's ID made him clench his teeth at the most opportune moment. "I'll pick this up, you should take a shower. You can use my clothes for now, my sweaters will probably fit you like dresses", he smiled a little for you, and you nodded, doing as he commanded. He got up from his spot in front of you, picking up the call and walking away from you far enough for his voice not to sound as clear as if he talked in front of you, but you still could hear every word. "The fuck do you want, Jiyong?", he growled, the rage burning through his eyes. "I have no fucking idea, she doesn't pick up her phone and that means she wants to run away from you, so stay the fuck away from her!", he yelled at the phone. "I'll pay every single cent of your goddamn debts only if you promise you'll disappear", he snarled again, making you confused. "I'll find her, and when I do, I'll do what I should've done from the very start, what I didn't do because I cherished our friendship". You then entered the shower, letting the water run over your skin and the noise keep you from listening to the conversation Seunghyun kept on the phone. You washed your hair, appreciating how everything was made to your tall friend's fit, having to stretch out your hand to reach the shampoo.

You got out of the shower, wrapping a towel —a very long one— around your chest to cover you up while you looked for something to wear. You grabbed one of his oversized sweaters, the smell of his cologne making you obsessed with it. Just as you expected, it looked like you were wearing a dress, covering up to the middle of your thighs, giving you some sweater paws which you folded while combing your wet hair. You decided not to wear underwear, since you were dressed enough for it not to be obvious. But as you got out, you could tell he was still on his phone.

After one last "get lost", he hung up, sighing as he rested his back on the wall and your curiosity started shooting up like fireworks. He then got back to you, the rage you sensed in his voice not showing in the comforting smile he dedicated you. "Come on, let's have dinner", he invited you, getting two glasses and some chopsticks out of the kitchen, he then sat down with you, sighing as he served a glass of wine to the two of you from the bottle he bought, not knowing if you were in the mood for soju and deciding to go for the safe choice, your favorite wine. He served even portions of food for the two of you, again not letting you move a single finger to help him. It made you upset, but you couldn't deny how touched you were by the way he was treating you. He caressed your cheek and smiled at you. "Be my guest, princess", he told you with a smile.

You bowed politely at him, grabbing your chopsticks and having a bite of the food he'd bought for you, having you moaning in pleasure at the delicious flavors invading your tastebuds. It was so good, and he made you so happy you nearly forgot what you were about to ask him. But once he'd had his last bite, you took a deep breath and looked at him. "Seunghyun, what were you and Jiyong talking about?", you asked, after a soft "eung?" came out of his full mouth when you called his name. He then took a deep breath and a sip of his glass of wine, turning to look at you. "How much did you hear?", he asked you, concerned. "You said you would find me and do what you should've from the start".

He then sighed, his sight going down to the floor. "Princess, do you remember how you met Jiyong?", he asked softly. "I met him at a party in the dorms", you answered. "He was the host of that party, and he told me to invite you because he thought you were pretty", he told you. "Since he was my senior, I respected his order and did what he said, but the truth is I didn't want him to get anywhere near you... because I was falling in love with you".

You looked at him, shocked. Why was he saying those things? How could he ever fall in love with you? That wasn't the line he drew when you met Jiyong, not even before. But then, I got it: Seunghyun found it difficult to express his true feelings with words, if not to express them at all. He was tender and loving, but when it came to expressing his heart, he wasn't that much of an expert. "But I saw you were developing feelings for Jiyong too, so I stepped back and gave you the freedom to do your life however you decided to do it, because I knew you were strong enough to be good by yourself", he explained, breaking your heart in two as he muttered his point of view with nostalgia. "I wanted you to look at me in other way so badly, but I didn't want to force my feelings into you, nor to ruin our friendship. So I made my vows, I would stay away from you and Jiyong hyung, but I would always take care of you, and so I did".

You took his hand in yours, not really knowing what to say. Your feelings were mutual all along, but you were both so scared to lose eachother, you never thought about letting them bloom. How could you make up for the time you've lost? You were all grown up now, the age for joyful childish dates leaving you behind as soon as you started getting bills to pay. But neither of you cared about that, but about the way the other was feeling. So as Seunghyun leaned closer to you, you leaned in as well. "But I always wanted to be a good man for you, princess", he muttered.

Your lips then met, in the softest yet most special way yours had ever been kissed. His lips were soft and tender to yours, and the way they could naturally move with each other made the two of you know it was worth the wait. No matter how long it has been, you deserved this. You deserved eachother. You broke the kiss, looking for air to breathe as you didn't know how to function anymore as for doing such a simple thing. You looked at him, knowing that you wanted more, that the two of you did. He took your hand and pulled you to his lap, his lips meeting yours again as he held your waist tenderly, and your arms wrapped around him as he lifted you up, walking the two of you to his bedroom and laying you down slowly in his bed. The soft feeling of his sheets under your skin making you smile as he leaned down to kiss you again, holding up the weight of his body as he straddled over you. His lips started leaving kisses down your body as he took off his shirt, later on taking off his sweater from you, biting down on his lip as he realized you were naked, but then undressing himself completely so you were even.

You crawled up to his lap, his throbbing erection making direct contact with your dripping core, and you couldn't handle the foreplay much longer, none of you could. So he did it, right there, he guided you until you sat down on his length, taking it completely once you sat down on his lap, his lips connecting to yours as you kept a slow pace the whole while. You kept going up and down, feeling every single inch of his as he groaned, enjoying your tight, wet core more than he could ever express. You've had sex with Jiyong plenty of times before, but having sex with Seunghyun was different for one single reason: it wasn't sex, you were making love.

He kept up to your pace, respecting it as much as he could, and when the two of you reached the edge, you collapsed in his chest as he collapsed in the bed. You laid over the bed again as he got down to your core, eating out all of your arousal and the combination of his climax with yours. He didn't care, he found it so fantastic he actually could give two shits. He wanted you to feel comfortable, and the moans you let out of your mouth let him know you were enjoying it. Once you were clean, he got up and you grabbed his cheeks, kissing him for what felt like forever. But it felt good, it felt right.

It felt like that was where you needed to be.

"I'll make you fall in love with me too, princess", he told you, but you shook your head in denial. "I fell in love with you a long while ago, Choi Seunghyun", you muttered. And with a little smile of his, he covered the two of you with his bed's sheets and held you close to him, taking a deep breath as everything finally felt like it was the right path to follow, the two of you together at last. And as you were about to fall asleep in his loving arms, you muttered one last sentence.

"You're the good man I needed".

It’s short and not so smutty as I’ve been doing them lately, but I hope you like it! :)

[eldritchteaparty]

Chapters: 8/20 Fandom: The Magnus Archives (Podcast) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist Characters: Martin Blackwood, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives), Sasha James, Rosie Zampano, Oliver Banks, Original Elias Bouchard, Peter Lukas, Annabelle Cane Additional Tags: Post-Canon, Fix-It, Post-Canon Fix-It, Scars, Eventual Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, I'll add characters and tags as they come up, Reference to injuries and blood, Character Death In Dream, Nudity (not sexual or graphic), Nightmares, Fighting

Summary: Following the events of MAG 200, Jon and Martin find themselves in a dimension very much like the one they came from--with second chances and more time.

Chapter Summary: Following their misadventure at Hill Top Road, Jon finally takes some time off; Martin remembers something disturbing about the archives’ collection of books.

Chapter 8 of my post-canon fix-it is up! Read at AO3 above or here below.

Tumblr master post with links to previous chapters is here.

***

“Jon, take the pills.”

Jon, wrapped in a blanket and staring out over the railing of the flat’s small balcony, stayed silent.

“Fine, I’ll just wait.” Martin set the vitamin bottles and the glass of water on the sturdiest-looking part of the railing, and shifted the second chair enough so he could sit down.

“You’re going to get cold,” Jon said.

“Yeah, probably.” Martin was dressed in a light jumper with only a t-shirt beneath it. It had been warm enough earlier in the day—the weather was getting nicer—but as the sun started to go down it was cooling off.

“Your choice.” Jon picked up his lighter from the small table between them and lit another cigarette, and they sat together as the sun continued its journey below the horizon. It really was beautiful, Martin thought. He hadn’t taken the opportunity to observe any part of nature in a long time. It hadn’t ever been much of a priority to him, but there was something nice about taking in the colors that spilled across the sky—deep yellows and oranges that gave way to pinks and purples, and eventually a dark glowing blue that was only barely distinguishable from black.

Martin wrapped his arms around himself.

“At least get a coat,” Jon said.

“At least take those pills.”

“God, you’re stubborn.” Jon readjusted in his seat to pull his legs up under the blanket a little more.

“Pot and kettle, Jon.”

“Why should I take them? You heard the doctors, there isn’t anything actually wrong with me. They’re just grasping at straws.”

After an hour or so on the porch at Hill Top Road, Martin had calmed enough to make the decision to go to A&E. Although Jon had protested, the fact was that he had been too weak to do anything about it, and Martin only felt a little bad taking advantage of that. As he’d said then, he couldn’t believe he hadn’t insisted on doing it before; he’d become so used to not being able to get help, that he hadn’t really considered it until then. He wasn’t going to mess around anymore, though, especially now that he realized he might not always be able to help on his own.

After hearing about Jon’s recent fatigue and his fainting episode, the healthcare staff had run a lot of tests. They’d hooked him up to monitors, measured things, done blood draws. Martin had to admit Jon’s description of their conclusions wasn’t far off—they didn’t find anything explicitly wrong with him. There was no diagnosis they felt comfortable giving, although they had pointed out a few possibilities that they should monitor. And they’d recommended the vitamins, of course.

“They did say you have nutritional deficiency—”

“—minor nutritional deficiency—”

“—and your vitamin D levels were actually quite low.” Martin shivered involuntarily in the cool night air.

“God damn it, Martin.” Jon fidgeted with the lighter on the table, but didn’t actually reach for another cigarette. “Will you take the blanket, anyway?”

“Will you take those pills?”

“They won’t help with anything,” Jon protested. “We both know that. This is ridiculous.”

“Speak for yourself,” Martin countered. “I’m not assuming anything about what will help. Beyond that, given how you’ve been eating, they can’t hurt. And finally, yes, I am being ridiculous, and I don’t care.”

“I didn’t say you were being ridiculous.”

“No, I said it. I’ll own it. I am being ridiculous, because I don’t want to lose you, and I’m scared. I don’t want to lose you now any more than I did when we were walking through an apocalypse together, or when you were being kidnapped by actual monsters every week, or when you were taking unannounced holidays in coffins or whatever.” Martin shivered again. “Look, it’s just not that hard to take them, Jon.”

“Well, when you put it that way, I’m behaving like an ass,” Jon sighed.

“Now I didn’t say that,” Martin replied. “I’m not trying to ignore what you’re feeling Jon, and I know there’s not a quick fix for any of it. It’s just that it’s—it’s such a small thing, and if it helps, at least it’s something.”

Jon grumbled.

“And not to bring this up again, but—I mean, it might help if you would just talk to me?”

Jon shook his head. “I can’t. When I try to put it into words, I—it never comes out right. I sound like a—well, a monster.” Jon seemed to shrink back into the blanket even more. “Or maybe I am one, and I can’t face you knowing it.”

“Jon…” Martin hesitated, but decided to finish the thought. “I’ll be honest with you. I’ve asked myself if—if you are.”

Jon turned to him. “And?”

“And I don’t think so,” Martin said simply.

“Why not?”

“To be completely clear, it’s not the most rational reason. I just don’t think I could love you like this if you were. You’re just not bad. You’ve only ever wanted to do the right thing. You’ve only ever wanted to protect people, to protect me, even if—” Martin cleared his throat. “Even if we haven’t always agreed on what that looks like.”

“I see,” Jon said softly, turning to look over the railing again.

“So, if you don’t want to talk, that’s fine.” Martin leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees, blowing warm air into his hands. “But in that case, it’s vitamins and freezing myself.”

“May I ask a favor first?” Jon said, eyeing the glass of water warily.

“Depends on the favor.”

“Will you make me some tea?”

“Of course.” Martin was relieved; that was one thing he imagined he’d always be happy to do. “But you’ll take those pills if I do?”

“Yes,” Jon said. “You’ve made your case.”

He reached down to kiss Jon’s head before he walked back into the kitchen, and noted with comfort that Jon leaned into him as he did.

***

That was Sunday evening. Since they’d returned from A&E, Jon had spent most of the time before that afternoon sleeping. He’d been restless, and Martin had slept on the couch for a few nights to try to let Jon get as much sleep as he could. Of course, he had woken anxiously every few hours needing to check on Jon, so he was more than ready to go to bed after their discussion on the balcony. He ended up turning in before Jon, so he was a little surprised to find him already awake and sitting back against his pillows when he opened his eyes on Monday.

“Hey,” Martin said, moving closer to rest his face against Jon’s hip, throwing an arm over his legs.

“Hey.”

“Did I keep you up?” Martin asked.

“No.”

“What time did you get in bed?”

“I don’t know exactly. Not that long after you. I’m just not that tired. Maybe I finally slept enough.”

“That makes one of us.” One night of sleep hadn’t done Martin as much good as he had hoped.

“I’m sorry.” With his eyes still closed, Martin felt Jon’s hand come to rest on his head, gently rubbing his scalp just above his ear.

“I’m going to have to cut my hair soon.”

“I like it,” Jon said, gently tugging at a few strands. “I mean, I like it shorter, too. I guess I just like your hair.”

“Flatterer.” Martin yawned, then pressed his face into Jon even harder for a moment before rolling back to his side of the bed. “Just so long as you know it’s not getting you out of those pills. Do you want to shower first?”

“Actually, I was thinking I might not go in today.”

“Really?” Martin sat up to look at Jon. “How are you feeling?”

“Better.” He picked at an invisible spot on the quilt. “It’s more that I’d just—I’d like some time to think. If you’re ok with it.”

“Yes, of course I’m ok with it. I’ve been trying to get you to take it easy ever since we got here. We can—” He stopped when he saw the look on Jon’s face and realized what he was actually asking. “Oh, you meant—just you. Yeah, no, of course that’s fine. That’s great.”

“Are you sure? I mean—if you want to stay too—”

“No,” Martin interrupted. “No, it’s really fine. It’s not a problem. I mean, I know I’ve been really irritating with the—”

“That’s not it,” Jon said reassuringly. “It’s really not. I’m—I’m glad you’ve been here for me. It’s just my mind’s been so cluttered, and it finally—I feel like I can gather my thoughts.”

Martin nodded. “I get it. I do.” He did, mostly. “Would it be ok if I called to check on you?”

Jon smiled. “I’m sure I’d worry if you didn’t.”

So Martin went in by himself. He told Tim and Sasha the truth, mostly; Jon had blacked out after therapy, of course, not in an abandoned house in Oxford where there existed a possible gap between dimensions and realities, but the part about going to A&E and Jon staying home to recover was straightforward enough.

“Glad something slowed him down,” Tim said, and Sasha gave him a look. “Well, something was bound to happen, and at least Martin was there. It could have been worse. He was pushing himself too hard.”

“You’re not wrong,” Martin agreed, and Sasha patted him soothingly on the shoulder.

He went in by himself the next day, too. Jon seemed to be doing well enough. They didn’t talk much; Martin was tired and Jon seemed lost in his thoughts. Martin wasn’t sure what Jon was doing most of the day, though it didn’t seem to be much of anything. He was eating—well, drinking the nutrition shakes Martin had picked up for him—and Martin suspected he was sleeping a little, based on how the bed looked when he came home. Jon managed to eat solid food at supper again that second night, and reached protectively for his half-empty plate when Martin assumed he was done.

“Sorry,” Martin said with his hands up in apology, leaning back into the couch. “Does that mean—maybe you’re feeling better?”

“I think so. Starting to.” Jon stretched out his feet to rest them on the bottom ledge of the coffee table. For an instant, Martin already missed the feeling of Jon falling asleep against him—but this was better, he knew. He pushed the mournfulness away.

He went in by himself again on Wednesday. A little after noon, Sasha joined him and Tim in the assistants’ office.

“Want to come to lunch?”

Martin assumed she was asking Tim, but when he didn’t hear an answer, he glanced up to find both of them looking at him.

“Oh—me?” Martin asked.

“Yes,” Tim replied, grabbing his jacket off the back of his chair. “Might be nice to take up some old habits again.”

Martin didn’t have to think for too long to figure out what Tim was referring to; memories from this world came easy now. Not long after his mother had died, they’d started going out for lunch together once a week. It had almost certainly been for his benefit, but no one had ever admitted that to him; instead, they’d all acted like it was a spontaneous idea that for some reason had never occurred to any of them before. Martin had been so grateful for the company that he’d simply accepted it without thinking about it too hard.

“We’ll miss Jon, of course,” Sasha added, “but he can come with us next week.”

“Oh, whatever,” Tim said, elbowing Martin good-naturedly as they left the office together. “This just makes up for those times Jon couldn’t wait and stole Martin out from under us.”

Martin remembered that, too; there had been a few times when, despite their best intentions, he’d been overwhelmed by the thought of lunch with the whole group. Jon had somehow understood and anticipated those days, and had come up with some reason he had to go early, asking Martin if he’d wanted to join. They hadn’t said much when it had been just the two of them, nothing important, but that had sort of been the point, hadn’t it? It was a nice memory, anyway, and Martin was glad he had it now. He wondered if Jon had remembered it yet.

***

Lunch was pleasant enough, if a little bit awkward. Martin hadn’t spent much time with Sasha, at least not compared to how much time he’d spent with Tim, and he could tell she was being careful with him. She was polite, keeping the conversation easy, deliberately avoiding topics that held anything other than surface interest. After he finished eating, he decided to ask her some things he’d been wondering about, and hoped she’d chalk up anything strange about it to him being a little thrown off from last week.

“Sasha,” he asked, setting his fork down, “do you—like being the head archivist?”

“What do you mean?” she asked, leaning toward him slightly over their table.

“Do you like it? Is it a good job? Is it—is it how you thought it would be?”

Sasha crossed her arms in thought. “Well, I’m not really sure how to answer that. I mean, the Magnus Institute has its issues, I suppose. It’s an academic joke, of course, but it’s not like the respect of my peers was ever that important to me.” She laughed at herself. “And some of our benefactors are… well, a bit full of themselves? But I suppose that’s true anywhere. I am quite happy with the job security, and it pays well enough for what it is. Plus I’m actually using my degree, which is more than I can say for most of my classmates.”

“Have you ever—wanted to leave?”

Sasha frowned slightly. “No—no, not really. Why?”

“No reason,” Martin said as casually as he could. He couldn’t exactly say just wondering if you’re trapped here. “Just been doing some thinking, I guess.”

“Well,” Sasha said, “I’ll admit the job’s felt a little bit different lately. Hard to say exactly how… I guess I’ve been struggling a bit with—well, I’m still not sure how to handle the—incidents, I suppose? It doesn’t make any sense, but it feels like I’m responsible for the people who come here to talk to us. Like I should be keeping track of their stories, somehow. I just don’t know what to do with them. Honestly, I’ve just started asking them to write everything down. I feel bad, but I just can’t listen to some of them. I’ll have nightmares.”

“Oh. They’re still coming in, then?”

“Sometimes. Not every day, but enough.”

“I—I didn’t know. Does Jon know?”

“He’s been there for a few, yes.”

Martin took a few sips of water. Jon hadn’t mentioned that specifically, but it probably wasn’t anything.

“What about—what about Elias? He doesn’t seem too fond of the Institute. Why does he stay?”

“You’ll have to ask Tim,” Sasha said, poking at what was left of her salad with her fork again. “They’re best friends.”

Tim laughed. “We are not best friends. However, I do think you should spend a little more time with him outside of work. You’re missing out.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Oh, come on.” Tim poked her arm playfully with the tines of his fork, and she batted him away. “He and Allan are a trip.”

“Exactly,” she replied.

“What I meant was, they’re funny. Especially Elias.” He turned to Martin. “Now the key to understanding him is to recognize that he has money—and also that he hates money, even though he has no idea how to function without it. And people with money, he especially hates. But at some point, I suppose, his father wore him down, and he has now accepted his position in life with as little grace and composure as he can.”

Martin thought back to what little he knew about Elias Bouchard, the actual Elias Bouchard, from his own world. “That… makes sense, actually.”

“And it makes him a pain in the ass when I need something,” Sasha added. “But on the positive side—he does leave me alone to do my job, for the most part.”

Martin remembered Allan’s name too; Martin remembered he had died after finding an old book. “So Allan is—his roommate?”

Tim raised his eyebrows. “That, Martin, is none of our business.”

“What?” Martin was genuinely confused before he realized what Tim was getting at.  “Oh—oh god, no, I didn’t—”

“However,” Tim interrupted him, “if you find out let me know, because I believe Sasha will owe me 10 quid on that day.”

“Doubtful,” Sasha said, grinning over the phone she was now scrolling through. “Very doubtful.”

Martin could feel his face turning red, so he was grateful for the distraction when Sasha leaned forward with her phone.

“Speaking of working at the Magnus Institute—look at this,” she said, attempting to angle the phone so both Martin and Tim could see at once. “I cannot get over how much she’s enjoying her retirement. I never thought she’d leave, but then it was like she was just up and done one day, and she never looked back.”

It took Martin a moment to understand what she was showing them, but it was a picture of Gertrude Robinson—a Facebook picture. He might not have known it was her, if it wasn’t for the name posted above it. The biggest difference was that in every picture he’d ever seen of her, she’d been wearing her hair in the same tightly-pulled grey bun; here, she was wearing her hair down, and it flowed softly past her shoulders. The next most obvious difference was he didn’t think he’d ever seen her smiling in a picture before, and she looked quite happy in this one, drink in hand, next to an equally-cheerful looking older man who had been holding up the phone to snap the photo. The caption read catching up with an old friend.

Sasha pointed at Martin to emphasize his surprised reaction. “See, that’s what I’m saying. I guess you just never know.”

“Who—who’s in the picture with her?” Martin asked.

“Oh right, I forget you never met him in person. That’s Jurgen Leitner.” She shook her head. “I didn’t think she was that fond of him, really. Must be another retirement thing.”

Jurgen Leitner—what was his connection to the Institute here? It’s not like he would have been living in the tunnels, there was just no—

The realization hit him like a ton of bricks. The Leitner Room. In this world, the Magnus Institute was home to every book Jurgen Leitner had ever collected. He had collected them, of course, only his library had never been destroyed because there was nothing to make that happen. When he’d decided to downsize in his later life—when he didn’t feel quite the same sense of pride in them—the archives had been the perfect home for his books. Of course, up until now, it meant nothing except a new collection and a nice endowment for the Institute.

What did it mean now?

“Are you ok?” Sasha asked. “You look—”

“You look like you just got run over,” Tim finished.

“Sorry.” Martin pulled his hand away from his mouth; he hadn’t even realized he had put it there. “I just—I just remembered something. It’s, um…”

“Do you need to get back?” Sasha asked after a moment of silence.

“Yeah,” Martin answered, apologizing with his voice. “Yeah, if you don’t mind. You can stay, if you want—”

“No, I’m done.” Tim took one more drink to empty his glass. “Sasha?”

She shrugged. “I’m ready.”

“Thanks,” Martin said. “I—there’s something I need to take care of for Jon.”

***

After they got back, Martin tried to look busy at his desk, hoping they’d think that he was taking care of whatever it was online. He took the opportunity to review the records in the system, and was comforted to note that nothing in the Leitner group currently had any special notations connected to it. All of the books were, at least in principle, on the shelves, and no one had requested access to any of them. He’d been hoping that was why his attention hadn’t been drawn to any of them previously, and it seemed like he’d lucked out. It was an obscure collection, and there were a lot of restrictions on them at Jurgen Leitner’s request; not just anyone could come in and browse them, and only a very specific set of research purposes qualified for special permission to remove them from the library.

He relaxed a little, and then waited for an opportunity to leave the office without attracting attention. He had to wait a while, but eventually Rosie came in with something for Sasha to review. A moment later Sasha called Tim in to her office, and Martin took the opportunity to leave. He just didn’t see a reason to risk drawing anyone else’s attention to the Leitners, especially since it seemed they were all but forgotten as they were.

He walked out past Rosie’s desk and back into the stacks; the room really was quite out of the way, buried deep in a corner of the shelving units. It wasn’t a large room, and if you weren’t looking for it, it would have been easy to miss. Even the sign above the door, emblazoned with the word Leitner, was barely distinguishable from the metal door frame behind it. The room was kept locked, but as an archival assistant Martin had a copy of the key. He held his breath and turned it.

Walking into the room was anticlimactic; it didn’t feel like much. There was no threatening aura; there was no sense of danger. It felt like nothing more than a small room full of musty old books, like many other small rooms of musty old books Martin had been in before.

He took a quick look at some of the titles on the shelves. At first glance, he didn’t see any he had heard of before, but of course he hadn’t heard of most Leitners. He continued to look, straining his eyes at words written on faded spines, occasionally pulling one gingerly off the shelves to check the front cover; he just needed something to prove to himself he wasn’t overreacting. Finally he found one he knew: a thick, black paperback labeled The Boneturner’s Tale. Martin felt a shiver run down his back as he involuntarily jerked his hand away from it.

He closed the door to the room, locking it behind him, and pulled out his phone. Thankfully, he had service, and he immediately dialed Jon’s number.

“I ate,” Jon said when he picked up.

“No,” Martin said. “Well, yes, I’m glad, but—”

“Martin, are you—what’s going on?”

“I—I don’t know how to tell you this. I’m…” Getting Jon to remember for himself was going to be much easier than explaining it.

“Are you ok?”

“Yes, I—well, all right. At lunch, Sasha showed us a picture of Gertrude Robinson. On Facebook.”

“Oh,” Jon sounded puzzled. “I knew she had retired, but I hadn’t thought to—”

“Well, that’s not it. She was with someone in the picture.”

“Who?”

Martin took a deep breath. “Jurgen Leitner.”

There was a prolonged silence before Jon spoke again. “Oh. God.”

“Yeah.”

“You’re there, aren’t you? Right now.”

“Yes. I’m—I’m not sure what I should do.”

“First, don’t touch anything.”

Martin didn’t respond.

“Ok—don’t touch anything else, then.”

“All right,” Martin said.

“Damn it. I should be there. I should be there with you.”

“No—no, it’s fine. I just—what should I do?”

“I don’t know.”

“Can I—ok, can I destroy them?”

“What do you mean?”

“Like—” Martin swallowed. “Ok, I’m sure this isn’t the best idea, but—what if a fire were to start in here? Or—something?”

“Do not,” Jon commanded. “Martin Blackwood, I have never been more serious in my life, do not do anything of the sort.”

“Ok, ok,” Martin said. “I said it probably wasn’t a great idea—"

“Some of those books would—let’s just say burning them would not have the desired effect. Or wetting them down, or chopping them up, or—”

“All right, all right. I get it. I mean—that’s not surprising, I guess. So what do I do?”

“Did you check the system? Are any checked out, or reserved, or—?”

“No,” Martin answered. “I mean, yes, I checked the system, and they’re all—they’re all here, in theory. No one’s asked for any of them.”

“Ok.” Martin heard the relief he’d felt earlier echoed in Jon’s voice. “That—that’s good.”

They sat in silence for a moment, before Jon spoke again.

“You’re—you’re not going to like this, but—I think you should go. For now.”

“And just leave them all here?”

“Yes. Believe me, I’m just as frustrated as you, but I don’t think there’s another option just yet. They’re relatively protected there, and hopefully they’ll continue to not draw attention.” He paused, and then added softly, “Right now, I just want you out of there.”

Martin sighed. “Right. Ok. Um… I guess… I can at least set up an alert so I get notified if anyone puts in a request?”

“That’s a good idea. And I’ll—I’ll keep thinking. Are you leaving yet?”

“Right after we get off the phone. Just in case. I don’t want to attract attention if someone else is down here.”

“All right. Message me when you’re back at your desk.”

“Sure.” Martin hung up, disappointed there wasn’t more to be done, but Jon was almost certainly right—it would be much too easy to do damage instead of prevent it, if he acted rashly.

Before he left though, he had one more thing he wanted to do.

***

That night, when Martin got home, he found Jon on the small balcony in back again; that was what he’d been hoping for. He grabbed the small metal trash bin out of the toilet in the hallway and stepped outside, closing the door behind him.

“Martin,” Jon said, stamping out a cigarette in the ash tray on the small table as he stood up. “You startled me. You’re a bit early—we can go in.”

“Sorry, didn’t mean to—I should have said something. Actually, I wanted to catch you out here. I brought you something.” He set the bin he’d brought out with him on the balcony, between the two of them.

“It’s a trash bin,” Jon observed.

“Well, that’s only part of it.” He picked up the lighter Jon had left on the table and handed it to him.

“If this is commentary on my smoking habit, I think the ash tray is big enough. Besides, I don’t plan to keep—”

“No—no, that’s not it. I don’t care about the smoking. Well, I don’t love it, but that’s really not it.” Martin sighed. “Look, I know you said not to touch anything in the Leitner Room, but—well, here.”

From behind his back, he brought out a small, square book; he could see Jon didn’t need to read the title to recognize it in the dim evening light.

“Martin,” he whispered. “I—”

“Don’t say anything. Don’t think, don’t open it. Just—take it. Burn it. This one should be fine. I can do it if you don’t want to.”

Jon reached a hand toward the book, running his fingers hesitantly over the scribbled black spider webs illustrating the otherwise plain white cover. He spoke as if he were in a dream. “Yes. I imagine this one would be ok.”

“Light it,” Martin encouraged him, reaching for the hand that held the lighter to pull it closer. “Now.”

It seemed too easy; he was afraid it wouldn’t catch, or that Jon would change his mind, or any number of other things would go wrong—but nothing did. The cardboard cover caught beautifully, the yellow-orange flame spreading elegantly out from the corner in less than a minute, swallowing the book front and back.

“Now let go,” Martin said, as the flame began to spread, and Jon nodded. They dropped it together into the trash bin, and Martin watched as the title words A Guest for Mr. Spider were consumed, slowly, letter by letter. They watched together, transfixed, until the fire burned itself out and all that was left was a smoking pile of ash.

“You shouldn’t have done that for me,” Jon said quietly. “Going through the shelves—taking it out—it could have been dangerous.”

“Yeah, well, you said the web was probably still weak, and—” Martin reached for Jon’s arm. “Anyway, it’s done now.”

“Thank you,” Jon stepped carefully around the trash bin, and then his arms were around Martin’s waist and his face was in his chest. “Thank you.”

[beholdme]

All the Many Shades of Gerry - Chapter 4

Chapters: 4/19

Fandom: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Gerard Keay/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Martin Blackwood/Gerard Keay, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Gerard Keay/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist

Characters: Martin Blackwood, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Gerard Keay, Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives), Sasha James, Gertrude Robinson, Elias Bouchard

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Library AU, Librarian Jon, Artist Gerry, Trans Male Character, Trans Martin Blackwood, Canon Asexual Character, Asexual Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Ace Subtype - Sex Positive, Polyamory, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Romantic Fluff, Falling In Love, Boys in Skirts, Kissing, Demisexual Gerard Keay, Minor Character Death, Past Character Death, Canon-Typical Child Neglect, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Flirting, Minor Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist/Tim Stoker, Adventures in Hair Dying, Happy Ending, Banter, Gerry has a lot of sass, Gerard Keay is Morticia Adams, Jon is a very grumpy Librarian, Martin adores them anyway.

Summary: In which Gerry is a kaleidoscope and Jon and Martin can't help falling in love with him.

He happens to love them back.

Find it on Ao3

[1] [2] [3]

Gerry leans out his window one early, early morning as summer dies in a crushing heatwave. Even at 4 A.M. the humidity presses against him, and his cigarette does nothing to soothe it.

He smiles as a bird begins its first song somewhere nearby and moves back inside.

He glares at the half-completed commission painting on his main easel, petulantly flipping it off as he walks past to get to the painting he's actually been working on.

The painting shows Frankenstein's monster in a white dress and a flower crown, walking through a library, barefoot and beaming. It's a small one, nothing like the monster in the other corner, but he thinks Martin will like it and plans to give it to him to hang in the bookstore.

Martin had cooed over the sketch, and suggested that they should name the painting so people finally had something to call it other than 'Frankenstein' or 'Monster.'

"Everyone deserves to have their own name, Gerry," Martin had told him firmly, "Even if they have to pick it themselves."

Both intimately familiar with the concept, they had exchanged a significant look over those words.

"Not spiders," Jon stated firmly from nearby.

"Yes, spiders." Martin had whispered into Gerry's ear, and they had dissolved into secretive laughter.

Gerry had painted a small spider and cobweb into the corner of the final piece, hoping Jon would notice and shudder every time he noticed the little guy. If Martin saw it and thought of their sweet camaraderie, then that was all the better.

He signs his artist's mark into one corner and considers it a job well done.

***

Martin's eyes fill with tears when Gerry takes it over to the store to give it to him later that week, when it has dried and he can wrap it in soft tissue paper to deliver it.

The weather is still oppressive outside, and Gerry orders something icy while Martin looks it over.

"You shouldn't have." He tells Gerry weepily, dragging his eyes away from it.

"Why not?" Gerry shoots back, leaning over and tucking a piece of wavy blonde hair behind Martin's ear, tactile as ever. "It makes you happy, and art is meant for enjoying, not sitting in sketchbooks."

Martin comes around the counter and pulls Gerry into his arms. He hugs him back, absorbing the sweetness in the embrace.

"Thank you, Gerry."

"You're very welcome, Martin."

***

Gerry texts them all at 3 in the morning to invite them to the park the next afternoon. Martin replies immediately that he would love to, Jon replies the next morning grousing about being texted in the middle of the night. Gerry and Martin both understand that it's because he had probably only just gone to sleep when it arrived, but they say nothing.

When they arrive, Martin goes immediately over to coo and feed bread to the local ducks, while Jon and Gerry settle nearby.

Martin glances over at one point to find them looking at him with identical looks of adoration on their faces and feels all the blood rush into his face.

Gerry is leaning against a big tree that they chose to set up under, trying to escape the afternoon sunshine. Jon is laying with his head on Gerry’s lap, uncharacteristically relaxed and amicable as he smokes an indulgent cigarette. Nearby, Gerry’s sketchbook is laying open, but his pencil lies abandoned as he plays with Jon’s hair instead.

Martin wasn't sure what he thought was going to happen when Jon told him about Gerry. Honestly, he had supposed that Jon would simply prefer to be with his previous lover and that would be that. And yet somehow Martin found himself courted by both of them, and it fills him with pleased warmth every time he allows himself to think about it. Being wanted and pursued was a feeling that Martin had never let himself bask in, preferring to ignore the idea that he was desired in any way, rather than risk the crushing rejection that he so feared if he wasn’t.

He had let himself go after Jon anyway, so hopelessly enamored with him that Martin had been willing to risk any dismissal, even the razor-sharp one he was convinced would be the only result of his rushed date offer.

Jon’s enthusiastic acceptance was the biggest shock of his life, and each small way he showed Martin that he cared for him was like opening the curtains in a dark room; bright, unexpected and so beautiful it hurt just a bit.

Martin wanted to default to the assumption that Gerry was only playing along to benefit his relationship with Jon, but with Gerry, it's hard to deny that he is actually interested, his attention so focused and his flirtation so palpable.

Now they're on a date in the park, and things are so easy and affectionate between them, and Martin can't help but let himself feel a fond hope in that place that he hasn't ever allowed himself to feel before.

***

It turns out Gerry's idea of a picnic is just junk food and pink lemonade from Martin's bookstore, but he gets no complaints as they lie together in the dying light of afternoon and toss candy and chocolate between them.

Jon migrates from his lap to lie between Martin's legs eventually and Gerry takes the opportunity to sketch them together. The light shifts in Martin's blonde hair, gilding it golden, and Jon's smile shines out of his mossy green eyes as he tips his head back to look up into Martin's face.

Gerry hopes he has the adequate talent to capture the magic that moves between them, that he feels moving between all of them.

When the sketch is finished, Jon demands it, obviously enamored.

"Ask nicely," Gerry replies tartly, holding the sketchbook to his chest protectively.

Jon narrows his eyes at the sass and rolls up to his knees to shuffle towards him. His eyes are narrowed rather intimidatingly, but Gerry knows it's more of a face of consideration than an actual threat.

"Gerry." Jon takes his head into his long-fingered hands and tilts his face upwards. "Please." He presses a kiss to Gerry's mouth and punctuates each successive word with another. "Can. I. Have. That. Sketch."

Trying to appear unmoved by the display, Gerry responds with a dispassionate, "Why should I?"

"Because," he leans down to whisper, "My heart shall break without it."

"Well, I suppose we can't have that," Gerry tells him dryly, handing it over.

"Thank you," Jon says, offering him another kiss as payment. Gerry leans into this one, sliding his hand up into Jon's hair and pulling them closer together.

When they separate and Jon flops down next to Martin again, his attention has been captured by something across the park.

“Martin?” Gerry nudges him with a foot.

Martin’s attention snaps back towards him, a grin spreading across his face. “Can we get ice cream?”

***

They do go get ice cream. They pack up their things, and meander across the park with only a vague sense of urgency as the sun sets around them.

In the ice cream parlour, they stand in a line before the freezer window and consider their options as a bored-looking clerk eyes them.

"Really, Gerry?" Jon asks in disbelief as Gerry orders the black charcoal flavor.

"Obviously. Have you met me?" He gestures at the length of himself. His hair is dyed a violent shade of blood orange, and his piercings glint in the light of the setting sun. He's wearing combat boots and black skinny jeans, and the tattoos on his hands and arms stand out starkly against his pale skin. His black tank top has a Metallica album cover on it, and he's wearing enough black eyeliner to put an over-dramatic teenager to shame. The ice cream will certainly fit with his aesthetic.

"But what if it doesn't taste good?" Martin asks, sounding genuinely concerned.

"And what happened to your obsession with drinking pink things?" Jon adds triumphantly.

Gerry just shoots Jon an offended look. "You don't drink ice cream, Jonathan. Get a grip. Besides, it's lemonade flavored, it'll be just as good as if it were yellow."

Martin giggles, although it's not clear if it's at Jon's flushed embarrassment or Gerry's firm opinion on the matter. “I’ll have the strawberry,” Martin tells the server, who then looks to Jon for his order. Sensing his distraction, Martin adds, “He’ll have mint chocolate chip.”

Jon, chastised, doesn’t even argue.

They sit outside on a bench, the air finally cool enough for them to brave sitting in the open for a few minutes, side by side, Jon in the middle. One hand occupied by his ice cream, he can hardly link hands with both of them, but Gerry takes his left hand, and Martin reaches across his lap to hold both their hands in one of his. It’s a bit tangled, but all of them are happy.

Jon, always a speedy eater, practically inhales his cone and sits looking very satisfied indeed. Martin also appears content and at ease as he eats at a far more reasonable pace, savouring a rare indulgence.

Gerry faces twists at the first taste of his own ice cream, but he says nothing, resolutely working his way through it.

“No good, Ger?” Martin asks, looking over Jon's head at him.

“It’s fine,” he mutters, although his expressiveness calls him a liar.

“That bad, huh?” Jon crows, voice filled with triumph.

“Bite me,” is Gerry’s only response, eyes rolling sullenly.

“Can I try it?” Martin asks earnestly, reaching a hand out. Gerry hands it over, nose wrinkling. Martin secretly thinks the expression makes him look quite adorable, but would never mention that to Gerry. He tastes it and makes a face. “It’s weird. Too sweet, probably to overcompensate for the taste of charcoal. And not lemony enough.”

Gerry grunts in agreement. Jon, overcome with curiosity, slips it away from Martin as he attempts to pass it back to Gerry.

“That's just rude, Jon.” Martin pronounces, scandalised. He pinches Jon just above the knee for good measure, but he simply accepts it as his due and takes a big bite of the pilfered dessert.

Jon sits up straight, eyes lighting up.

“Really?” Gerry grouses, “After the shit you gave me for ordering it?”

“Yes, actually. It’s good!” Jon’s voice is filled with rare animation, and Gerry waves him away as he tries to hand it back.

“Someone should enjoy it. I wouldn’t want to deprive the ice cream of its purpose in life,” Gerry’s expression lightens. “Besides, I’ll probably get more satisfaction from watching you eat it than by eating it myself.”

Jon blushes at the suggestive comment but doesn’t let it deter him, finishing the ice cream almost as fast as he did the first one, sitting between his two favourite people in the world.