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yellowocaballero · 4 years ago

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He’s Just Not That Into You: Web!Jon and Martin ficlet

Another ficlet written in the same universe as The Convention on Chronographer Lane/The Monster at the End of This Book. As before, you don’t need to have read that to read this. These ficlets are being written as character studies so I get a good handle on the uniqueness of the characters in this AU before I actually write something longer. Which is why they’re...like this.

Very slight content warning for internalized fatphobia and Jon being interpreted as being a creep again. Reverse content warning for Martin’s tasty pasta.

EDIT 2/4/2021: With the release of Sucker’s Bet, which this story was a kind of pilot study for, this story is no longer canon. However, you can still consider it a 15 page summary of that entire story. I’m sad I couldn’t keep the ‘join my spider cult’ thing but we all make sacrifices.

Martin was in the middle of making a delicious pot of pasta when Jonathan Sims crawled in through his kitchen window.

Martin stared at Jonathan Sims, too out of it to even be surprised. Jon halted halfway through his entrance, sitting on the windowsill with one leg swung over it to rest on his floor, one leg on the fire escape above. Martin was on the sixth floor of his flat complex.

“Hullo,” Jon said, as if he was not in his window, “have you reconsidered my offer of -”

Martin threw his spoon at Jon, hitting him squarely on the forehead. Jon cursed, shocked into leaning backwards, and he accidentally topped off the window and onto the fire escape. He landed on the metal grid with a loud crash and a rattle, and the muffled sounds of his cursing echoed through the flat.

After a second to grab a new spoon and turn down the heat on the pot, Martin walked over to the window and wiggled it down again. He looked Jon dead in the eyes as he locked it, before going back to his pasta.

It was good. He should add some pesto and herbs next time.

Martin was in the middle of making a delicious pot of pasta when Jonathan Sims crawled in through his kitchen window.

“Hullo,” Jon said, as if he was not in his window, “have you reconsidered my offer of -”

It was good. He should add some pesto and herbs next time.

***

Martin had never really bothered to learn how to cook, but now that he was unemployed he had plenty of time.

Now that he was unemployed, he had plenty of time for lots of things. He was finally taking up knitting again. Lots of seasons of Jane the Virgin to catch up on. His severance package from the Institute had been pretty good, not to mention the check Rosie had slipped him with a wink that she had worryingly called ‘Hazard Pay’, but this was London and even Martin could only make the money stretch so far. He spent eight hours of his day looking for jobs, touting his five year experience as a librarian and six month experience as an Archival assistant. But there was only so far you could go without a degree, and the market was shit, and really wouldn’t it just be so much easier to list a master’s in library science from some huge, anonymous university…

But Martin had the feeling that line of thought was what had put him on Jon’s radar in the first place.

***

A week later Martin was halfway through a comforting Gilmore Girls rewatch when he heard a knock on his door. He had been fastidiously avoiding answering knocks on the door ever since Jon had pulled his first Jehovah’s Witness impression, but he had ordered a replacement washing machine part and it was arriving that day. He put his knitting down and got up, peering through the eyehole - hair not nearly long enough to be Jon, great - and opened the door.

“Hullo,” the man said in a thick Cockney accent, not looking up from his clipboard, “I got a package here for Mr. Blackwood?”

“Yes, that’s me.” Martin held out his hands to take the little screen and sign for the package. After a second of clumsy fumbling, the man passed the package and the screen over, and Martin boredly scribbled his name. “Thanks, mate -”

But the man was gone, and Martin had realized belatedly that the man had slipped past Martin to enter his flat. He easily slid the cap off, letting his tightly curled hair cascade down to his shoulders, and propped his hands on his hips as he spun in a circle, admiring Martin’s extraordinarily boring and cramped flat.

“Really love what you’ve done with the place!” Jonathan Sims said loudly. “Your sense of interior design is really impeccable, Martin, truly. A man’s home is his castle! Oh, is that vintage chintz? So cute.”

“Get out of my house.”

“Look at this ceramic kitten!” Jon was already in front of his mantle, carefully scrutinizing his little row of ceramic figures. They were fifty pence at the charity shops and Martin found them precious and charming, okay? “Your place has so much personality. My flat has personality too, but I’m afraid that personality just screams a propensity towards arson, so it’s much less impressive. How old is that couch, from the 70s? Very grandmother. Is it inherited?”

Yes. “No,” Martin said, resisting the urge to throttle the man as he dumped his washing machine part on the end table, “and please get out of my flat. I’ve said explicitly I don’t want you where I live -”

“Really, Martin, I’m hardly a vampire,” Jon said, having the gall to look offended as he cradled a little meowing ceramic kitten in his hand. “If I needed permission to enter dwellings I’d never go anywhere.” He paused a beat, something seeming to occur to him. “But I get a lot of permission from many different people of a variety of genders to enter their homes for sex, which I am very good at.” He paused again. “I really am very thirsty. I don’t suppose I could trouble you for a spot of tea…?”

Because Martin was British, he made the tea. But he resented every second of it.

Jon hadn’t started stalking him immediately after he and his weirdo friends had murdered Martin’s boss, but it was pretty close. He had probably thought a week was enough time to emotionally recover from the ordeal of finding out that your boss’ boss was an immortal apocalypse cultist or whatever and that your boss was actually just a plant from a different and somehow creepier apocalypse cult inserted into your workplace to assassinate his boss. He had probably thought that a week was enough time to emotionally recover from the fact that Jonathan Sims - prickly, rude, pretentious Head Archivist with a heart of gold - was an elaborate fabrication, and that the man whom Martin had been falling for had never truly existed at all.

A week had not been enough time.

He didn’t even know Jon’s real name.

“So what is your real name, anyway?” They were, unfortunately, sitting at Martin’s rinky-dink kitchen table, complete with little pock-marked burn scars in the wood and a wobbly leg. Martin had a magazine rolled up and jammed under the leg, which he was uncomfortably aware of as Jon lounged in his hard little wooden chair as if it was a thousand dollar gaming chair. The fake UPS uniform helped make him look like something other than a movie star, but it was hard to disguise the sharp and haughty features and the cold grey eyes. He had kept the ceramic cat, placing it in front of him with its little plainative face turned towards Martin.

“What makes you think it’s not Jonathan Sims?” Jon asked archly, sipping at his PG Tips out of a chipped black mug. He made a faint face. “Sorry, is there cream for this? I hate black tea.”

“You always take your tea black,” Martin said automatically. Jon stared at him until he got it. “Of course. Right.”

By the time he got back to the table with the sugar and cream Jon was going through his mail, with absolutely no shame whatsoever. “Bill, bill, overdue bill. You’re hurting for money, aren’t you? You know, I might know someone who’s hiring -”

“If you’re about to say a giant spider that’s going to lay eggs in my stomach and then burst out of my skin and transform me into a spider person, I have to pass.”

“I wasn’t going to say that,” Jon blatantly lied. “I just don’t think you’re hearing me out. Has anybody ever told you that you’re very unwilling to listen to new ideas?”

“When the new idea is joining a spider cult, then yes. Actually, no, because nobody’s ever asked me that before I met you.”

Jon didn’t seem to pick up on Martin’s extraordinarily pained expression, or maybe he just didn’t care. He leaned in instead, easily dropping a grotesque amount of sugar cubes into his tea. “Just consider it. Let the idea percolate in your mind. There’s a lot of benefits. No more worrying about money. No more putting in all that work to manipulate people. It’d be as easy as breathing for you. Anybody you want to like you likes you, and anybody you hate has their life ruined in days.” Something glinted with light in Jon’s grey eyes, like a spotlight shining off a raincloud. “Anybody you want to fall in love with you does so instantly. Doesn’t that sound like fun?”

“All for the low, low price of selling my soul to a giant spider god,” Martin said sarcastically. Jon nodded fastidiously, as if it really was a low price. “Seriously, Jon? I have no interest in any of this. I don’t even know why you’ve singled me out to stalk. I don’t - I don’t like manipulating people, it’s not some kind of hobby -”

“Liar. You love manipulating people.” Jon sipped his tea, as if bored. “Honestly, Martin, we’re all friends here. I won’t judge. You don’t need to virtue signal. We both love manipulating people, getting what we want, putting on personas. We like to control how people see us, no matter what that perception is. You believe that ends justify the means, I believe that good means result in good ends. We’ve very similar.” Something strange entered Jon’s expression, almost entirely hidden by the tea, and for the first time Martin wondered if this was an expression Jon hadn’t meant for him to see. “You’re the only person I’ve ever met who is exactly like me. We should work together. You’re so well suited for the Mother. You’d be a treasured son. Valued, celebrated, loved. Everything you always wanted, you can have.”

Silence stretched between them. Martin let Jon think that he was thinking it over, staring into his own cup of Earl Grey and letting the slowly wafting steam fog up his glasses. Jon sipped his tea again, still posed casually yet attractively. In a brief yet stupid spurt of nostalgia Martin found himself missing the man he thought Jonathan Sims had been.

Stupid. Loving Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist, had been as real as crushing on a love interest in a dating sim. Instead, Martin leaned in, and Jon leaned in to match him. Martin locked eyes with him, as sincerely as he possibly could. No lies, no artifice. “Stop projecting your insecurity about your own bad decisions on me,” Martin enunciated clearly, and Jon’s eyes widened in shock. “and get out of my house.”

He did, eventually. Maybe that was one of a million surprising things about Jonathan Sims, or whatever his real name was: Martin could always get him to do what he wanted eventually.

***

Martin did not spend time thinking about Jonathan Sims, mostly because he had the feeling that this was what Jonathan Sims wanted.

Instead, he frantically piled more and more projects and work into his free time. Ever since he was seventeen, Martin had always held down at least three jobs. His life was a never-ending rotation of a six am to three pm shift at Papa John’s, then a three pm to ten pm shift at Panera, and then stumbling home to stuff a ready meal in the microwave before doing it all over again only to work his third weekend job on the weekends. It had gotten to the point where he had paid the unemployed downstairs neighbor living on disability cheques to feed and occasionally take care of Mum because he hadn’t had time to do it himself. Martin could have have just dropped a job and scraped by on two so he could take care of Mum himself, but - well, it wasn’t hurting anybody. His neighbor had needed the cheques, right?

In comparison, the Institute had been an absolute dream. Work from nine to five, every day, then come home and crash. There had been benefits, insurance. It probably said something that even after discovering that both of his bosses had been cultists to Lovecraftian horrors who wanted to end the world or whatever, it was still the best job he ever had. He even missed it, sometimes - missed listening to Sasha and Tim joke around, missed the repetitive work, missed harmlessly and shallowly crushing on his persnickety boss who sometimes flashed a smile at him that made his heart melt.

Fucker had known exactly what he was doing.

That was what got Martin, even now. What had been the point? Jon had been there to infiltrate Elias’ plans for a Head Archivist, or so Sasha had confusingly explained after the fact. The skeptic, pissy act was to show himself off as an ideal candidate: willfully ignorant, psychologically vulnerable, and utterly isolated from everyone. What was the point of...of...seducing Martin?

The thought made Martin want to die. Imagine living a life where you woke up in the morning and thought to yourself, ‘Today I’m going to seduce the ugly, fat, high school dropout in my extensive long con to save/destroy the world’. It was like he was a movie star in a heist film or something, only cruel and pointless.

Was it just to make fun of him? Martin had thought it was. But as he...interacted with Jon more and more, he got the sense that his fascination with Martin was genuine. He genuinely saw something of himself in Martin.

Unless that was a lie too, and he just needed something from Martin. Unless Jon knew that Martin knew that he was conning him, and that there was another reason -

Martin had the terrible sense that Jon lived his life like this, always guessing and second guessing and triple guessing. It sounded...very tiring.

He didn’t know how to explain any of this to Tim. They got together every so often for drinks - actually, Tim texted him asking to hang out, playing it all cool as if he went out and got drinks with tons of buddies all the time but was doing Martin a favor. Martin had the sense that he was hiding a deep and pervasive loneliness, but these days whenever Martin went down too deep a spiral of teasing out motivations he felt like Jon, so he quickly cut it out.

“What’s there to get?” Tim said, throwing back his pint. “He’s an asshole who pretended to be our friend for months, and he turned out to be a total creep who leads a spider cult. You know, as happens sometimes!”

Sometimes Martin got the sense that Tim was a little bitter about what happened at the Archives. He didn’t really have a good thread on why yet, but he had the sense it was because Tim had ‘adopted’ Jon as his friend very intensely and that made him react badly to the perceived betrayal - no! No psychoanalyzing! Not today!

“It do be like that sometimes,” Martin said wisely, peeling away the label at his shitty beer. The bar was crowded, noisy, and dim, and it was hard to hear Tim over the noise. “I don’t know, though. If that was all there was to it, he wouldn’t be showing up at my house all the time…”

“Wait, what?”

Martin explained in short order, trying not to feel embarrassed about it. Tim seemed to grow increasingly furious, and Martin found himself trailing off uncertainly near the end.

“He’s doing the same thing to Sasha,” Tim said lowly. “Fucking freak.”

“Wait, what? He’s been bothering Sasha?” Jesus, that really was creepy. Come to think of it, Martin hadn’t seen Sasha around lately - she used to come get drinks with them right after they all got fired, but the last three invites she had begged off and said that she was ‘dealing with a lot right now’ and that she was ‘really swamped’. Martin was pretty sure that she was also unemployed, so he didn’t really know what she was swamped with, but it wasn’t any of his business. Maybe she was depressed. “Like, is he also trying to recruit her into the spider cult, or…?”

Weirdly, Martin felt a weird pang of disappointment at that. He had thought that what he and Jon had was special.

Ha ha. As if.

“I don’t know!” Tim cried, frustrated. He was gripping his pint glass tightly, as if he wished he was wrapping his fingers around Jon’s very slim and attractive neck instead. “First he keeps bothering Sasha, and now he keeps breaking into your house and flirting with you -”

“What!” Martin squeaked. “He’s not -”

“He’s a predator,” Tim said finally, as if he was a judge delivering a verdict. “Fucking freak. Martin, next time he drops by, I want you to call me immediately. I’ll kick his ass for you.”

“I’m a grown man, I can kick his ass by myself,” Martin said lamely, fully aware that he had never kicked an ass in his life and never would.

“Don’t let that bully intimidate you,” Tim lectured, like the overbearing big brother Martin had always kind of secretly wanted. “He’s just a grifter, spider cult or not. Seriously, Martin, next time he bothers you call me. I have more than a few things I want to say to the bastard.”

It was heartwarming, almost. “You haven’t seen him since he killed Elias, right?”

Tim looked away, scowling. “Nope. Dunno why, if he’s hassling you two. I’m the only one with some serious questions I need to ask him, and he hasn’t even - whatever.” He looked back at Martin, forcing a great big smile. “Really, if he wants a hottie, why isn’t he knocking on my door, right? Like, come on, I’m single and ready to -”

“How’s the job hunt going, Tim!”

“I’m trying to get back into publishing, what do you think! Kill me!”

Martin liked Tim. If you had asked him four months ago if they were really friends, he would have smiled and deflected, because he was pretty sure that Tim was just that friendly to everybody. Martin always felt insecure with friendly and nice people, because he never knew if they were being friendly to him because they liked him and considered him a friend, or if they were just like that with everyone.

But they still got drinks when they didn’t have to, and the expression of tight and barely controlled rage that flashed through his face when he thought that Sasha and Martin were in danger from Jon was real. Maybe they really were friends.

Maybe there was something deeply buried and long since repressed in Tim that was destroying him slowly from the inside. Maybe Martin and Sasha had that too, that rot: the way Sasha would carelessly invade privacy to hack inside people’s private files without even thinking about it, the way that Martin would almost instinctively balance impression management with playing down to expectations with always dissecting people in a ruthless search for a weak point without even thinking about it.

Maybe they were all bad people, every one of them. It felt sometimes as if Martin had a corrupt and diseased heart, that infected parts of his body with a sick necrosis. He hurt people when he didn’t want to; he said things he didn’t mean. There was something rotten and evil in Martin, and sometimes it felt as if he couldn’t help but pass it along from person to person.

Man hands on misery to man, Phillip Larkin said, it deepens like a coastal shelf. Get out as early as you can, and don’t have any kids yourself.

Well, Martin had the second part down. He was still working on the first.

***

But Martin was right to worry, because when he woke up at seven the next morning to shamble into his living room, he flipped the light switch to see Jonathan Sims sitting on his grandma couch flipping through his meager collection of books.

“You don’t read very much, do you?” Jon said.

“How did you get into my house.”

“Told the landlord I was the exterminator and needed to get in to spray for bugs.” Jon tossed the book on the battered coffee table - 1984 - and reclined on the sofa. “You really do have quite a bit of spiders, though. Want me to take care of that? Do you want more spiders? I can get you as many spiders as you like.”

The way he sat was purposeful, the way one of his black boots with a low heel was propped on the coffee table, the way his dark and closely cut trousers were slightly splayed, his tight black turtleneck highlighting his figure was slightly hidden by a fine white silk jacket. The small part of Martin’s mind that used to work at a dry-cleaners inanely wondered how difficult that jacket was to keep clean. Most of Martin’s mind was occupied realizing that Tim was right, and that Jon was flirting with him.

“What do I have to say to get you to leave my house,” Martin said, instead of asking why, why, why, why. He knew why - spider cult purposes - but why -

“Lots of poetry collections, though,” Jon said, and Martin knew that he had caught him looking. He had a little half-smile: half encouraging, half shy. “You have great taste. I’m a Yeats fan too.”

Sure. “Name one Yeats poem.”

“The Stolen Child,” Jon said instantly.

Martin narrowed his eyes. “What do you like about it?”

Jon was silent.

“Thought so.” Martin pointed at his door. “Out.”

There it was, a brief explosion, so quick that Martin might have thought he imagined it: grinding teeth, sloping eyebrows, a scowl. A flash of irritation: here one second, gone the next. “I like your poetry, though,” Jon attacked, a different angle. “Your imagery is very vivid.”

What the fuck. “You went through my diary?” Martin screeched.

“Yes?” Jon looked slightly flummoxed. “I was doing research. People like it when you display interest in their hobbies.”

“I am making coffee,” Martin said, voice strangled, “and I am making breakfast. And if you refuse to leave, you are not saying a single word until I’ve had caffeine.”

And then Martin refused to acknowledge Jon any more. Martin quickly realized that Jon hated this very much, used to being the center of attention wherever he was, and it was an extremely effective method of making him throw himself into a kitchen chair and sulk as the coffee pot sputtered out a cup. Martin focused himself on heating up the pan and cracking a few eggs into a bowl, whisking it absentmindedly as he clenched his mobile.

He should call Tim. He had never known Jon to get violent, but that didn’t mean anything. The guy was...he was…

He glanced back at Jon, who had his arms crossed and was frowning down at the stained wood of the kitchen table. He didn’t seem to know Martin was looking, and it occurred to Martin for the first time that this might be the authentic Jon: tired and frustrated and uncertain what he was doing wrong.

The eggs sizzled on the frying pan, and Martin pushed them around with a spatula. “What do you like on your eggs?”

Jon looked up, surprised, before rearranging his expression into something cool and distant. “Surprise me.”

Martin served them cheesy with herbs, just for that. When Jon took a bite he looked surprised, as if he had been expecting something spiteful and received only something good in exchange.

When he put a cup of Early Grey in front of him, with sugar congealing on the bottom and rosy brown from the cream, he looked surprised again too.

“You’re excellent at reading people,” Jon said, carefully directly after Martin had a sip of his coffee. “Mother would -”

“Do you want to make a bargain?” Martin asked.

That caught Jon’s attention. He smiled winningly, leaning in, hair carefully arranged to fall over one shoulder in a painfully attractive way. “I could be convinced.”

“If you knock on my door at a reasonable hour, then I will let you in and we can talk or whatever. I’ll make us tea. I don’t care.”

Jon’s grin only widened, and when Martin felt a foot brush his leg he had to fight the urge to jump a foot in the air. “What’ll I do in exchange?”

“You let up on the sales pitch,” Martin said severely, and physically moved his chair further away from Jon. “And you stop lying to me. And for christ’s sake, stop pretending you’re into me.”

Jon blinked, expression falling in shock.

He scrambled to paste something back on, but it was as if he couldn’t decide. Martin saw him half-cycle through different expressions, different appearances: abashed, eager, flirtatious. It was as if he was frantically guessing which Jon would work best to convince Martin to do what he wanted, but he just couldn’t decide.

Finally, he weakly asked, “What makes you think I’m not into you?”

Martin couldn’t help it: he scoffed bitterly. “Guess someone like you was never asked out as a joke in secondary. Nobody would honestly find me attractive. Everything you do is calculated, Jon, and I’m not vain enough to think the flirting is an exception. It’s obvious.”

“I’m not obvious,” Jon said, physically fighting to keep his expression from twisting into anger. It was...obvious. He eventually forced his expression into something wide-eyed and sincere, reaching out a hand to place on Martin’s arm. It was warm, but it settled oddly on Martin’s skin. Something about it didn’t feel like a human arm. “That’s just your low-self esteem talking, love. When I look at you, I see -”

“A sucker?”

Jon opened his mouth, then closed his. His hand was still on Martin’s arm. Martin didn’t know why he hadn’t shaken it off. “I see someone very kind,” Jon said, almost lamely. “I like that in a man.”

“Yeah, sure.” Martin shook his hand off - disgusted with Jon, disgusted with himself. Someone like Jon - attractive, confident, smooth - could never understand how it felt. He didn’t know why he expected him to. “I don’t know why you aren’t leaving me or Sasha alone, or why you’re trying to recruit us both into your spider cult -”

“I’m trying to recruit Sasha into my vigilante superhero team, actually.”

“Whatever. Point is, if I can’t get rid of you, I don’t want our conversations to be exhausting. These...games you’re always playing,” Martin waved his hand demonstratively as he chugged coffee with the other, “are tiring. Maybe - maybe you and I are similar, Jon. But the difference between us is that I find these games tiring. I don’t like doing it. I - what I want is a relationship where there’s no games. Where I can just be me and the other person can just be them. Don’t you want that too?”

Jon stared at him, eyes wide, almost shocked, almost hesitant, almost hopeful.

Finally, he said, “I only trust three people.”

“I’m not asking you to trust me,” Martin, who trusted nobody, said exasperatedly. What did it say, that the leader of the spider cult trusted more people than Martin did? “I’m just asking you not to lie to me.”

“I don’t know how to do that,” Jon said, before pausing a beat. “I’d trust you if you joined my spider cult.”

“You’re shit out of luck, then. And you’re not going to convince me.” Martin took another sip of his coffee, hiding his trembling hands. “Because you can’t lie to me, Jon. Face it: I’m almost as good as you are.” He smiled wryly. “As good as someone can get without supernatural powers, anyway.”

Jon stared at him, just stared, and Martin let the moment linger in silence as he cut into his eggs. Finally, he said, “You’ll tolerate my presence if I agree to drop the act.”

“Yep.”

“I’m not sure how to drop the act,” Jon admitted, somewhat embarrassed, as if he was admitting to not knowing how to tie his shoes.

Martin rolled his eyes. “Do your best. You must have been normal at one point.”

“When I was normal,” Jon said, “nobody tolerated me at all.”

The shocking honesty made Martin almost gag on his coffee. Jon’s eyes widened again, as if he couldn’t believe what he had just said, as if he had never meant to say it. As if nobody had ever heard it at all.

“Now that we’re actually getting somewhere,” Martin said, tactfully not touching that barrel of worms - er, spiders - with a two meter pole. “Can you please tell me your real name? Unless it was, like, wiped from your mind by your spider mom? Is this like one of those cult things were they rename you for indoctrination purposes?” Something terrible occurred to him. “Is every guy in your cult named John and every woman named Annabelle? It was just a fake name you gave to Elias, right? Right?”

Jon - whoever he was - stared at Martin, completely and utterly dumbfounded.

Then he laughed, long and hard, hoarse and wheezing and breathy, and Martin knew that this, at least, was real.

***

Martin: I think I’ve taken care of the Jon thing

Martin: Probably

Martin: The guy’s kinda hopeless

Tim: ya sash said that hes cool

Tim: apparently shes a vigilante now? or smth? Idk

Martin: Yeah that seems about right

Martin: At least she’s living her best life?

Tim: ya good for her honestly

Tim: ….so does Spider-Man KNOW how to use all eight of those arms ifyaknowwhatimean

Martin: WE! ARE! JUST! FRIENDS!

***

“ - so then after my father passed tragically of brain cancer, I was raised by my emotionally distant and disaffected Gran. I think she’s the one who taught me that if I ever want anything in life, I have to secure it for myself. I’ve been very independent ever since I was a child, and although my social skills have always been naturally lacking I’ve worked to compensate for that by studying the art of social interaction. I guess you could call it somewhat of a special interest of mine, I like to sit in coffeeshops with my sister Annabelle and study passerby -”

“Uh huh.”

“Did you know forty percent of Britons own pets? I think it reveals interesting things about the human psychology. The domestication of dogs has always been fascinating, of course. Did you know that all dogs are descended directly from the grey wolf? There were other wolf species at the time, but they’ve long since gone extinct.”

“Wow.”

“I know! The evolution of what we today determine as dog breeds were only created in the Victorian era. I’m sure Jonah would have had some thoughts on that, if I hadn’t fed him to my mother. Actually, few people know this, but our modern conceptualization of the wolf pack hierarchy has been thoroughly debunked. Alphas and omegas only exist in captive populations. Tell that to the werewolves, huh! Actually, I organize the weekly Avatar poker games - you can come if you’re interested, great way to make some money - and I actually did tell that to the werewolves, and they were not very happy with me -”

“Jon? I can’t hear the movie.”

“Right, right.” Jon passed Martin the popcorn. “So what’s this one about?”

Martin scooped up a handful of the popcorn without shame, feeding it in a steady stream into his mouth. “About a guy who gets turned into a fly.”

“That’s fun,” Jon said warmly. “I turned a guy into a fly once. He got stuck in a spider-web immediately and everything, it was quite entertaining.” At Martin’s horrified look, he quickly followed it up with, “Gerry had found out that he was illegally evicting tenants who were undergoing cancer treatment, asking for rent before it was due and physically intimidating the tenants and everything. He also stole one thousand dollars worth of goods from Whole Foods and everything, which is quite funny if you think about it -”

“How does someone steal a thousand dollars with of stuff from Whole Foods? It’s a grocery store.”

“I know, right!” Jon threw up his hands, accidentally sending some pieces of popcorn flying. “The rich are the true parasites, Martin! I’m speaking as an insect person!”

“Word.”

Martin ate more popcorn, and noticed Jon carefully brush his crossed legs against Martin’s knee.

Well, he was trying. He’d stop pretending to like Martin eventually.

They’d get there. ;

#my writing #tma #the magnus archives #the magnus archives fanfic #tma fanfic #web!jon #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #jonmartin #ME? WRITING JONMARTIN? ITS LESS LIKELY THAN YOUD THINK #tim stoker #feat. tim's protective streak martin's low self-esteem and jon's theater special interest #ftr jon is sex-repulsed and never had any intention of actually going there with martin he just knew martin was into him #offscreen jon was throwing chairs like 'WHY CANT I SEDUCE THIS MAN WHO I SIN LOVE WITH ME'#gerry playing video games: because you actually like him back and you can't handle feelings that are genuinely your own #jon: 'i think ill just flirt harder actually'

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neerasrealm · 4 years ago

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Trender Comes Home For Christmas

Yes I know it’s September but it’s canon this happened at christmas time shut up In which Trender sees his brothers for the first time in over thirty years. Things get a little heated and a little awkward, but they make it work. And also there’s just a random clown with a cockney accent hanging out in the living room but we don’t talk about that.

Word count: 1711

He trudged through the snow, listening to it softly crunch under his feet. He stopped as he reached the familiar wooden cabin. It looked as warm and cozy as he remembered it. There were a few changes though, namely the plant boxes and small patches of dirt with out of season flowers in them. They were probably beautiful to look at during spring and summer, but right now they were just stems and buds.

Shifting his bag to his left hand, he stopped on the doorstep and stared at the door for a moment before knocking. The muffled voices behind the door went quiet and a few moments later the door was opened by his twin brother. Internally he cursed to himself. He’d been hoping to meet his other, younger brother at the door.

Slender stared at him with eyes he didn’t have, shock plain on his featureless face. Neither of them said a word as they stared at one another. He’d been waiting years to see his brother again, yet standing there on the doorstep, he had no words worth saying.

‘’...Messenger, you-’’

‘’That’s not my name anymore.’’ he interrupted softly. Slender looked surprised and taken aback. ‘’It’s Trender now.’’

‘’...it’s been decades,’’ Slender finally responded after a few moments. ‘’You changed your name? Why didn’t- why didn’t you write? Or- or say anythi-’’

‘’I know.’’

Slender’s shoulders dropped. He looked defeated as he just stared at his twin. Trender held up his bag. ‘’I brought gifts. You don’t have to let me in, just- take them.’’ he swallowed his nerves as Slender took the bag. ‘’...Tell Splendor I said Happy Christmas.’’

He stepped back from the doorstep and Slender sighed before stepping aside. ‘’Come in. I’m hardly going to leave you outside in the snow.’’

Trender stepped into the house and shivered as the heat inside washed over him. He looked around. It looked...exactly the same as the day he’d left. Same cozy family home. It was almost like-

‘’MESSENGER!!’’

Suddenly a blur of black and colourful dots rushed at him and tackled him, knocking him back. He heard the familiar sound of bells jingling as he stumbled backwards, tendrils sprouting from his back to help keep him from falling. He wheezed as the breath was squeezed out of him by the person tightly hugging him.

‘’...Hello Splendor.’’ He murmured, looking down at his brother. He managed to yank his arm out from his side and used it to ruffle the small tuft of wavy hair under Splendor’s hat. Splendor only squeezed him tighter.

‘’I knew you’d come back!! I knew it I knew it I knew it I knew-!’’

‘’Okay, Splendor, I get it. You knew I couldn’t stay away.’’ Trender patted his back. ‘’...I missed you t- URK-!’’ Splendor’s tendrils shot out and squeezed him even tighter. Trender gasped for air. ‘’C-choking- me-’’ he gasped.

‘’Splen I fink ye’re g’nna kill ‘im doin’ tha’.’’

Splendor’s grip loosened just enough for Trender to breathe and he looked over at the owner of the unfamiliar voice. His nonexistent eyes widened in surprise when he saw them. Tall, completely black and white, striped nose, sleeves and socks and wearing a ‘jingle bell sweater’, a christmas time trend that he had come to abhor. He looked over at Slender questioningly.

‘’Who’s that?’’ he asked, pointing to the...clown? Mime? Standing in the living room holding a mug of hot cocoa. The monochrome mime- clown- person- gave him a toothy smile.

‘’Laughin’ Jack, profess’nal clown an’ yer brovers roomma’e.’’ Jack tilted his head at him. ‘’Ye’re Messenger, ain’tcha?’’

‘’That’s not my name anymore.’’ Trender replied. ‘’I’m Trender. It’s a pleasure to-’’ he tried to move towards Jack to shake his hand but Splendor was still firmly latched onto him. He awkwardly stepped forward, dragging his younger brother with him. ‘’A pleasure to-’’ he glared down at Splendor. ‘’Splendor please let me go.’’

‘’Absolutely not, I’m never letting you go! Never ever ever ever ev-’’

‘’I get it, Splendor.’’ Trender interrupted. Splendor glared up at him and Trender patted his head again. He looked up and saw- Jack’s hand- stretched out towards him from across the room. His arm was extended ridiculously long. He stared for a moment, then shook it because that’s the polite thing to do. ‘’Pleasure to make your acquaintance.’’ he said as he shook Jack’s bony, bandaged hand. His striped arm retracted back to a normal-ish length. "If I had known you two had a guest I would've waited to come." He murmured awkwardly.

"Nonsense!" Splendor yelped from below him. "We'd want to see you as soon as possible! And besides," he stood up a bit, still refusing to let go. He beamed up at Trender. "Jack is family!"

Trender stared over at Jack, who only laughed softly. "Awe splen, ye're g'nna make me blush." He replied. "Tha's suppose'ta be 'is job." He added, gesturing to Slender, who's face quickly turned a dark shade of grey. He looked away hurriedly.

"How do you three know each other?" Trender asked, arching his brow suspiciously at Slender.

"Oh! Well me an' Slen live t'gether. I'm 'is-"

"Beep beep beep!" Jack was interrupted by the time switch in the kitchen going off.

"Ah! The turkey!" Splendor finally detached himself from Trender and practically sprinted across the living room to the small kitchen, the bells on his tendrils jingling loudly. Trender tilted his head, bemused.

"You cook now?" He asked.

"Hm? Oh yes!" Splendor put on a pair of oven gloves and opened the oven. "Slender has been teaching me!"

Slender nodded approvingly. "He's a fast learner, as always."

"Mhm!" Splendor lifted the turkey out of the oven and looked over at Trender. "What about you? What have you been doing all these years?"

"Oh. Well I live in New York now-"

"NEW YORK?!" Both Splendor and Slender exclaimed in unison, making both Jack and Trender recoil in surprise. "Ah! Hot-!" Splendor quickly set down the turkey on the kitchen counter and whirled around to Trender, the bells on his tendrils ringing as he moved. "That's where you've been this whole time?"

"Well I was in Virginia and Pennsylvania for a while, but New York is where I've settled for now. I don't have plans to move." He explained. His two brothers went quiet and he glanced around, confused. "Is there...something wrong with New York?"

"Well- no, but…" Splendor fiddled with his hands, his bells chiming gently. "It's...far away…"

"And you don't plan on moving." Slender added. Trender felt the smallest pang of guilt.

"I'll visit. And write." He said, trying to reassure the two. "I did plan on staying for a while, you know."

Splendor tilted his head. "How long?"

"About...three weeks?"

Splendor perked up almost instantly. "Oh!!" He chirped. "That's perfect! That's enough time for us to all catch up! Oh, oh! And you can come see me and Jack-"

"Splendor." Slender interrupted. Splendor looked at him. "You're getting over excited again."

Splendor stopped, realising that, in his excitement, his tendrils had started whipping around wildly, causing loud ringing.

"Oh- heheh, sorry."

Trender sighed fondly. "Good to know you haven't changed." He murmured with what would have been a smile, had he a mouth.

"Yes but I'm sure you have." Slender said as he strode over to the kitchen table. He pulled out a chair and sat down. "You must tell us what you've been doing all these years." He added. He was as calm and professional as Trender remembered him..

"Yeah! I'm sure you've got tons to tell us!" Splendor said as he pulled a tray of roast potatoes from the oven.

"Well- back in 1917 I enlisted in the war-"

"YOU WHAT?!"

Slender stood up so fast his chair was violently thrown across the room, scaring Jack in the process. There was silence for a few stunned moments that was ended by the "clang!" Of Splendor dropping the tray of potatoes.

"Aw fock-" Jack murmured, looking sadly at the floor potatoes.

"Are you crazy?!" Slender spat. "I knew you could be foolish but- but-" he looked the angriest Trender had ever seen him, tendrils sprouting from his back and curling around in agitation. His entire body shook with fury and disbelief. "You're the biggest clown of a man I've ever met!"

"Oi! I'm righ' 'ere y'know."

"Calm down, Slender." Trender murmured, a little taken aback at his brother’s unnatural anger. "I knew what I was doing."

"You absolutely did not! What if you got shot?! Humans notice it when wounds heal faster than they should!" Slender pointed at him accusingly. "What if there were steel bullets?! What then?! Were you TRYING to die?!"

"Bullets are made from copper and lead." Trender countered. He tilted his head at Slender. "...I don't think I've ever heard you raise your voice like that before."

Slender stopped for a moment, seemingly surprised. He relaxed. "Oh." Was all he replied with.

Jack opened his mouth to make a joke but was interrupted by Splendor. "S-so...what else were you doing…?" He asked nervously.

"Well...after the first war I just went from job to job, settled down in Virginia in the mid twenties...and then the second war came…"

"Tell me you didn't-"

"I enlisted again."

"Moron!" Slender snapped. Trender sighed. "What were you thinking?!"

"I was defending my country." Trender replied firmly. "It's what our sister would have wanted."

"Aw shite 'ere we go-" Jack murmured.

"She would have wanted you alive! And safe!" Slender yelled. "She laid down her life to protect us and you throw it away so foolishly?!"

"Protecting my country is my way of protecting you." Trender quickly crossed the room and stood in front of Slender, arms crossed, staring at him. There was silence for a few moments. Slender softened.

"...Using her words against us." He finally murmured. Trender nodded. Slender sighed, finally relaxing. It fell silent again, with Trender just staring at his twin and Slender staring at the ground.

"...I dropped the potatoes." Splendor finally spoke up, looking down at the ground sadly. Trender and Slender turned to look at him. Jack let out a loud, tired groan and buried his face in one of his hands.

"Yes're fockin' eejits, swee' lord…"

#creepypasta #creepypasta fanfic #creepypasta fanfiction #trenderman #slenderman #splendorman #happypasta #slender brothers #writing #laughing jack #slenjack #<- it's implied but not super blatant oop

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violettelaverne · 4 years ago

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Morpheus One Shot - The Ball

I looked down at the hole in the ground. The rabbit hole. I'd read about it in stories before but never thought it actually existed. If the rabbit hole exists, does he, too? I wondered. After all these years of crushing on a character I presumed to be imaginary, could I finally meet him? Without another thought, I leaped into the darkness of the rabbit hole.

I emerged shortly after, only to be greeted by Alyssa, in all of her royal glory. I bowed down in front of her, dusting the dirt off of my skirt. She was even more beautiful in person.

"Now that won't be necessary, darling," She said sweetly.

I stood back up and introduced myself.

"Your Majesty, I am Lila. I happened to stumble upon the rabbit hole and jumped in, wishing to discover the wonders of Wonderland," I told her in all honesty.

She nodded.

"Very well. If it is Wonderland you’d like to discover, then Wonderland shall you discover. Let me show you to my kingdom. It is there where you will meet Jeb, Morpheus, Gossamer and others you might've heard of in the stories," She winked. "I know you've read the stories, and right away I could sense how you feel about Morpheus. You don’t have to worry, my dear, unlike the stories, him and I are not together. I put a spell on Jeb to make him live forever, and him and I are content down here. It took Morpheus a while to come to terms with it though. However, I think he’s finally coming around. And don’t fear, I won’t tell a soul about your feelings,”

I smiled.

"Thank you, your Highness,"

Alyssa was much more regal than she was in the stories but she still dressed the same.

Finally, my brain processed what Alyssa had previously said, and my heart skipped. Morpheus was real, they weren’t together, and I could meet him. I followed her, heart in my throat.

Soon, we arrived at the castle, and were greeted by Jeb and Gossamer. They were both stunning renditions of how I'd imagined them.

"This is Lila," Alyssa spoke.

"Hello, Lila. I'm Jeb, and this is Gossamer," Jeb greeted.

Gossamer fluttered her wings and waved in response.

"It's nice to meet you both," I replied.

Jeb pulled Alyssa into his arms. I had always been team Morpheus, but honestly, I preferred the moth being single overall.

"Where's the moth?" Alyssa questioned.

"Out flying. Should be back soon," Gossamer answered.

"Good. I want him to meet Lila,"

I blushed. I couldn't wait to meet him.

Suddenly, a burst of blue magic appeared.

"Morpheus," I whispered.

He transformed a few feet in front of me and I took in his Wonderland-moth handsomeness. His skin was sparkling, his blue hair shiny and soft, a black top hat set atop his head.

"Who's this?" He asked in his cockney accent, approaching me.

I held out my hand.

"Lila, pleasure to meet you,"

"Please, the pleasure is all mine. I'm Morpheus," He replied, shaking my hand.

I felt my knees turn to Jell-O at his touch.

"You know, you’re better looking than I could’ve ever imagined," I said.

"Well aren't you the charmer?" He teased, but I knew I had fluffed his ego a little.

I pushed a piece of hair out of my eyes.

"I try my best," I answered.

"We'll leave you two to introductions," Alyssa crooned.

I groaned, embarrassed. Glancing at Morpheus, I noticed he was completely unfazed. He watched the three of them leave before turning back to me. He turned to walk, but motioned for me to follow.

"So why are you in Wonderland?"

"I stumbled upon the rabbit hole and I wanted to see if the stories were true,"

"The stories?" He wondered.

"It's a long story. Let's just say they're true, and better than I expected," I answered.

I looked up into his eyes. They shone with an unknown emotion. I watched them travel from my eyes to my lips and back up again. Pretending not to notice, I continued talking.

"I like your hat," I complimented.

"Ah, I see you have good taste, thank you," He smiled, his voice as sweet as honey.

"Lila, I have a proposition for you,”

My head tilted in confusion, but I stayed silent, wanting him to go on.

"How would you like to go to the ball we're throwing tonight? It'll be a blast, especially if you go with me,” He said with a wink and a tip of his hat.

My heart almost stopped. I'd been in Wonderland for less than an hour and my biggest literary crush had already asked me to a ball.

"I'd love to go with you, Morpheus. I’m somewhat surprised that you asked though," I admitted.

His face lit up, a smile illuminating it.

"Perfect. Be ready at eight. I'll meet you right here and walk you to the castle. And don’t be surprised, you’re beautiful," He replied with another smile.

"You’re making me blush. I’ll see you at eight, then?”

"It’s a date, and Lila?”

“Yeah?”

“I never disappoint,” And with a wink, he was gone.

I made my way back to the castle, all the while on cloud nine.

“Well someone has quite the smile,” Alyssa teased as I walked through the castle doors.

“You’ll never believe this, Your Highness. Morpheus asked me to the ball you’re having tonight!” I burst.

“Well he certainly took a liking to you! And Lila? You don’t have to call me Your Highness all the time, call me Alyssa,”

“Sounds good, Alyssa. As for Morpheus and the whole ball thing, there’s one tiny problem,” I said, hesitating slightly.

“And that is?”

“I have nothing to wear,”

“Oh that’s no problem at all! Come with me, we’ll get you all dressed up and looking as pretty as a princess!” She burst.

“You’re too kind,” I replied as I followed her up the castle’s stairway. We made our way into a giant bedroom with a plush bed and towering windows. I looked around, my mouth wide open. The room was so beautiful.

“This is one of our guest bedrooms. You can stay here tonight after the ball if you’d like. You’ll likely be tired,”

“Thank you, I’d love to,” I said, accepting her gracious offer.

“So, these are some of the dress choices I was thinking of for tonight,” Alyssa suggested, pulling out five different dresses. I looked at all of them. They were all so stunning, and fit for royalty. They were all different colors, blue, pink, yellow, green and the most gorgeous of them all, purple. I walked over to where Alyssa had placed the dresses on the bed and held the purple gown up to me. It was floor length and had a blue tinge to it, almost like it was indigo. It had an off-the-shoulder neckline and was floor length, with a silver beaded belt. It was made of a silk material, and had some chiffon on the skirt of the dress, making it fluff out a little. There was also a little bit of a train. It was perfect.

“Do you like it?” Alyssa asked, noticing my interest in this particular dress.

“I love it, it’s gorgeous,” I answered.

“Well, you can have it then. I have too many gowns I don’t know what to do with them,”

“That would explain having some in the guest bedroom closet,” I joked.

“That it does. Now go on and get into the dress. I’ll call in someone to do your hair and makeup. You’d be surprised how good some of the creatures down here can be at those,”

“Thank you so much Alyssa, you’re so generous,” I said before darting into the guest bathroom to get changed.

I pulled the silky material over my head and slipped into the gown. It fit perfectly to my small figure and hugged all the right places. After adjusting the straps, I stepped back into the bedroom.

Alyssa smiled, and waved her finger around in a circle, motioning for me to spin around. I did as I was told, and she let out a low whistle.

“Morpheus is going to love you. Now, let’s get your hair, makeup and accessories out of the way,”

It took about another hour before everything was to Alyssa’s liking. When I was done, I could barely recognize myself. My long brown hair was curled and pinned out of my face, and fell effortlessly down my back. My blue eyes, usually hidden behind tacky black-framed glasses, now had contacts in them and popped thanks to the eye-shadow used. My makeup was done expertly and I felt like an actual princess. To top the entire look off, Alyssa picked out a delicate silver necklace with a butterfly pendant, matching earrings, and as cheesy as it was, a small, sparkling tiara. She was about to put me in six-inch stilettos, but after my protesting, we settled on a cute pair of black kitten-heels. My look was complete, and just in time. It was nearing eight o’clock and Morpheus would be arriving any minute now.

I paced in front of the door, more nervous than I had ever been before.

“Relax, it’s like I said, he’s going to love you,” Alyssa said, trying to calm me down.

“Do you really think so? Do you think it’s too much? Maybe the tiara is too much,” I protested, ready to tear the entire ensemble off and hop into the soft bed in the guest room.

“Don’t be ridiculous. You look beautiful, and you’re going to rock this ball. And I have your back tonight, so don’t worry about anything going wrong, okay?”

“Okay,” I replied reluctantly. I looked at Alyssa. She had such a genuine smile, it made me smile back. While I had been getting my hair and makeup done, she had rushed away to get ready for the ball as well. She had returned moments later in a beautiful red knee-length dress, which was artfully torn at the bottom and had black mesh underneath as an underskirt. She rocked a smokey eye-shadow look and had black finger-less gloves on and black chunky heeled booties. This was quite different than the elegant Alyssa I had seen moments before, but it was a welcome change. She looked like I had assumed she would in the stories.

I thought about that for a moment. 24 hours ago, Alyssa was simply a storybook character to me, as were Jeb, Gossamer, Morpheus and all of the Wonderland creatures. Now, I was about to attend a ball with all of them, and hopefully dance the night away with the one I loved the most. Goosebumps rose along my arms as that thought crossed my mind. Morpheus, holding me tight on the dance floor, us rocking back and forth to the music. My heart started to race and I resumed pacing... right as the doorbell rang.

“I’ll get it,” Alyssa offered, making her way over to the door. She pulled it open to reveal Jeb and Morpheus, all dressed in their very best. Jeb looked handsome in his red suit, that matched Alyssa’s perfectly, and Morpheus, well, I can’t exactly put it into words. Morpheus took my breath away.

“Speechless, are we luv?” He teased, walking over to me. His top-hat rested on his head, as per usual, and his hair was neatly combed. He wore an indigo suit which complemented my dress and his shoes were recently shined. That smirk of his that was always on his face remained ever present as he extended a hand out to me. I took it, and he raised my hand up to his lips and kissed it softly. I felt my knees weaken. Even though I had already met him earlier, and he had shaken my hand, his touch still had an effect on me.

“You look absolutely stunning, Lila. That dress looks amazing on you,” Morpheus complimented, and even the makeup on my face couldn’t hide the blush creeping into my cheeks.

“You clean up pretty well yourself,” I replied, sending a quick wink. He tugged on the bottom of his suit jacket quickly before grabbing my hand and leading me to the grand ballroom in the castle. Alyssa had told me before we had come back downstairs that that was where the ball was being held.

We walked through the big double doors and into the grand ballroom. All around us were decorations of red and gold, a dazzling crystal chandelier and an assortment of Wonderland creatures acting like a DJ. I looked around in amazement, noticing every last detail. It was the most incredible thing I had ever seen.

“Nobody throws a party or ball like those in Wonderland,” Morpheus said proudly, as if reading my mind.

“This is unbelievable, I’ve never seen anything like this before,” I said in response.

All of a sudden, as if noticing our presence, the music sprang to life and the lights began to flash, creating a pulsing and engulfing feeling.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t a ball supposed to have a more regal and classical music playlist?” I inquired, asking no one in particular.

“Not down here, luv. Alyssa felt that this would be more appropriate for Wonderland residents, herself included. She likes the feeling it all gives her,” Morpheus replied. I nodded. That made sense. The Alyssa I knew from the stories was wild, rambunctious and not at all the type to go to fancy and classy balls.

I listened to the music, letting it surround me and suddenly I felt my body moving awkwardly to the rhythm. My limbs jostled around and nearly hit someone next to me. I apologized and hid my face in embarrassment.

“Here, luv, let me show you how it’s done,” Morpheus crooned, taking my hand in his and leading us to the center of the dance floor.

He spun around gracefully, his wings following suit. He looked like a beautiful butterfly, but I would never tell him that. He moved his arms around, creating soft movements and dancing elegantly. Every movement he did was strategic and well-planned. I tried to copy his movements, but I didn’t come close to how easy and effortless he made it seem. I started to laugh at myself, and I caught Morpheus chuckling too.

“I’m a total train-wreck, aren’t I? I’m sorry that you’re the one who has to be seen with me,” I apologized.

“I don’t have to be seen with you if I don’t want to be, Lila. If I’m still here, it’s because I want to be,” He replied. I felt my cheeks go bright red again, and this caused him to laugh even more.

“You know, you’re cute when you blush,” He teased, causing the blush to deepen.

“Oh hush, Morpheus. Leave the poor girl alone,” Jeb said, poking him in the ribs.

Morpheus rolled his eyes, a bright smile on his face. All of a sudden, a slow song started to play.

“May I have this dance?” Morpheus asked, extending his hand to me once again.

I took his hand graciously and followed his lead. He led me through a series of spins and dips before the song ended. We moved together in perfect harmony and ended in one final dip. I looked up into his dazzling eyes as he held me there, staring right back into mine. The moment felt like it lasted a lifetime, but in reality, it was probably only a minute. Then, in one swift movement, he reluctantly pulled me back up to my feet.

“Follow me,” Was all he said before he took off for the doors. I did as he said and followed him out into the crisp night air. We stopped under a tall tree and he turned to face me.

“Lila, how are you able to have this effect on me?”

“What effect?” I asked as he took a few steps closer to me.

“Like I just want to be around you. I’m drawn to you, like someone’s put a spell on me. I don’t know how to explain it,”

“Morpheus, I think you just did,” I said, stepping closer to him as well.

“Lila, this never happens to me. I never find this connection. The last time I did, well, you know what happened,” He motioned back towards the ballroom, as if talking about Alyssa.

“I’m sorry about how you were treated, Morpheus. Alyssa seems lovely, but anyone who doesn’t see how great you are is clearly blind,” I replied.

“Well I guess the entire population is blind, then,” He teased.

“Not the entire population,” I protested. “You’re pretty great to me,”

“Well thank you, it’s appreciated,” He said, looking at the ground bashfully.

Slowly, he looked back up and our eyes connected. In his eyes was a slight sparkle, a small glint of some emotion, but I couldn’t make out what it was. We kept steady eye contact for a little before he turned around and started climbing the tree.

“Morpheus, what are you doing?” I burst.

“Climbing, come join me. I promise you won’t regret it,”

Shaking my head, I grabbed a hold of the first branch and hoisted myself up, following the path he took, scaling the ginormous tree. Soon enough, we reached a lookout point and what we saw was stunning. In front of us was a beautiful starry night sky and Wonderland’s version of fireflies, twinkling all around us.

“Morpheus, you really know all the best places to get amazing views,”

“After being lonely for so long as a child, you start to find places like this,”

“But didn’t you have Alyssa?” I wondered.

“I did, but she wasn’t available all the time, only really in her dreams. And before we met, I didn’t really have anyone. So I explored Wonderland, and it’s how I became so comfortable with it,”

“That makes sense. Thanks for showing me around, I’m loving this impromptu tour,”

“I’m always happy to share my home and its wonders with others,” He replied.

We sat in silence for a bit longer and watched the sun set. Just as the final sliver of light disappeared into the horizon, I saw Morpheus inching closer to me. He placed his hand over mine on the tree branch and moments later his face was mere inches from mine. He leaned in and I followed suit, and before I knew it our lips met. The moment was brief, but passionate. After the kiss, he pulled back, a bashful smile on his face.

“You look cute when you blush,” I teased.

He laughed, the red on his cheeks deepening. I squeezed his hand slightly and tilted his chin up to look at me.

“Want to get back to the ball? I’m sure Alyssa is wondering where we wandered off to,” I suggested.

“We probably should be getting back,” He admitted reluctantly.

And so we climbed back down the tree and walked hand in hand back to the ballroom, the biggest smiles on our faces. As soon as we walked through the doors, Alyssa bounded up to us, a giddy look on her face.

“Finally! The tension between you two was nearly unbearable!”

“How did you know?” I asked.

“A queen has her ways. Congratulations you two, I was rooting for you,” She said, before twirling around and rejoining Jeb on the dance floor.

“I was too,” I replied, as I grabbed Morpheus’ hand and pulled him in for one more sweet kiss.

#morpheus splintered #splintered #splintered series #alyssa gardner #jebediah holt #wonderland #fanfiction #splintered fanfiction #oneshot

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flowerbeom · 5 years ago

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Go For Broke | 02

Im Jaebeom x Older Female!Reader

Genre: Fuckboy!AU, Aspiring Songwriter!AU, Slow Burn, Angst/Humour/Smut (loads)

Warnings: Incredibly mature themes, Asshole Jaebeom (because he’s a real asshole in this), Swearing, Explicit smut scenes.

Word Count: 5.3k

Concept: Premier fuckboy Im Jaebeom is used to getting his way. Though, he wants more, he craves more. He wants his music to be heard, he wants his music to be loved. So when he learns that the attractive woman he buys records from has an connection that’ll get him into the industry, he uses every trick in his book to get in. Seduction is his game, and he plays to win.

A/N: Enjoy. All GIF credits for this series go to @defsenses.

→ Mood Board → Series Index - Links to the Spotify Playlists are available in Series Index

Your eyes scanned down the column of the excel spreadsheet on the screen, lips screwing into your cheek at the numbers displayed. Standing slightly to lift your foot onto the chair, you pulled your knee into your chest before leaning back.

“Yo, when the hell did Arctic Monkeys get popular again?” Yelling into the back of the store, you watched the empty void behind the stockroom door for movement. You heard a few rips of plastic and a whack of the microwave door shutting; your eyes rolled at the sound.

“Hmmm, why?” Mark appeared, filling the empty void to lean a shoulder into the door-frame, pushing up the sleeves of his way-too-big-for-him hoodie.

“They’re my highest selling artist this week. After that it’s David Bowie, but I can understand David Bowie cause he’s…”

“Classic.” Mark interjected.

“Classic, yes. But Arctic Monkeys? And AM no less.” The 2013 seminal album proved the most popular purchase on your weekly report, and it confused you to no end. You turned to better hear Mark’s potential explanation, but he had disappeared into the void once again; returning a few breaths later with a reheated burrito in hand. Your jaw slacked open as you watched him proceed to inhale half of said burrito in one bite; eyebrows only furrowing when you couldn’t make out what he tried to mumble through a mouthful of brown rice and guacamole.

“Come again?” Mark swallowed loudly with a grunt and wiped his mouth with the back of his forearm.

‘Peaky Blinders.” You paused, eyes lifting in realisation and returned the nod Mark gave you once he saw it all click in your head. Lifting the pen you were twirling into the air, you puffed out your chest with your inhale.

“There is God.”

“And there is the Peaky Blinders.” Mark returned, burrito held high in salute. A moment of shared shame hung between you, you knew you’d never be forgiven for butchering the Cockney accent. Though your attention was stolen by the person strolling into your store.

“Good show.” There was an air of arrogance in Jaebeom’s voice that irked you, but you found yourself smirking instead. Pushing your pen into the messy bun tied high on your head, you shifted in your seat - tilting your head in defiance when Jaebeom smirked back.

“Day off?” Jaebeom nodded, sliding off his cap to push his hair back and away off his face and you caught the tick in his jaw as he did. You tongued your one of your canines, hoping you had stitched up that part of you that had snapped well enough to endure that moment and exhaled sharply when Jaebeom caught your eyes after placing his cap back on. Straightening his watch under the cuff of his hoodie, Jaebeom’s tongue found his own canine - his shoulders shifting to sit at their broadest.

Mark coughed from where he stood; coughed or choked, you weren’t too sure - but it broke the narrowed stare you and Jaebeom were exchanging. Angling your chin towards the stockroom door, you waited for Mark to swallow the last of his burrito before holding out your hand to him.

“Mark, Kid.” Then sweeping your hand over to Jaebeom.

“Kid, Mark.”

“Oh, you’re the Kid.” The way Jaebeom’s expression made his eyes slit with irritation made it hard to suppress the urge to laugh; especially with the smile Mark had plastered on his face. Jaebeom held out his hand, Mark eagerly reached to meet it; shaking once on contact then once again out of respect.

“Jaebeom.” He pressed. “Nice to meet you.” Mark winked, wordlessly gesturing that it was indeed, nice to meet him too.

“After some records, Jaebeom? Y/N here has the best selection.” Mark chimed, scrunching up his burrito wrapper and taking up a perfect Kobe stance to free-throw it into the bin behind you. Mark pumped a fist when it made it in and you raised a congratulatory eyebrow.

“That, among other things.” Jaebeom’s voice dipped into the territory belonging solely to seduction and let his eyes float across his bottom lashes as they stayed locked on yours when he stepped into the Hip-Hop section. You held his stare while he fingered through records while doing your best not to show how tightly your jaw was viced shut.

“And by other things,..” Yours and Jaebeom’s eyes both shifted to Mark. “You mean you’re keen on taking her out for a drink? Maybe show her a good time? Cure her of her loneliness.”

Jaebeom’s eyebrow cocked devilishly, eyes not lowering as he pulled out a record from the stack. Mark on the other hand, could feel your pupils branding him with a marker for impending death; contempt practically seeping out of your pores.

“Come on, Y/N. Admit you’re lonely. You crave my daily visits.” Mark crossed to the counter, digging a single knuckle into your arm.

“No, you just crave my Nespresso.” Standing abruptly to flick Mark in the ear, he swatted away your hand, just for his other hand to yank the pen out of your hair; you could feel your ears stinging as he sniggered.

Spinning on his heel, Jaebeom suppressed the need to laugh by pulling out another record from the Alternative section. Jaebeom scooped his selection under his arm and met you at the counter, gingerly placing the records into your outstretched hands.

“So what do you say?” Tone still bobbing on the surface of seduction.

“On these?” Musing over his choices. “Grandmaster Flash, Son Lux, L’Orange. Interesting choices as usual.” Scanning each bar-code without ever meeting his stare.

“No, on a drink.” Persistent.

“A drink?” Ringing up the total, you slid Jaebeom’s card out of his fingers - finding no protest from him.

“Yes, a drink. With me.” Tapping his card against the EFTPOS machine, you finally looked him in the eye once the transaction went through; subconsciously signalling that if he wanted your attention, he’d have to pay for it - in one way or another.

“Why don’t you message me when you want to take me out, and I’ll see if I’m free.” Handing him his records, you let your finger drag across his as he pulled them from your hands; you relished in the minute flicker of his lashes - in the tiny part of him you had somehow disarmed.

Tucking the records under his arm, Jaebeom swallowed. “I’d love to, but you need to give me your number first.”

“What? You don’t already have it?” Feigning disappointment with a hand pressed against your heart. “Well that’s just too bad.”

Jaebeom inhaled sharply through flared nostrils as you licked your smirking lips. Steadying to rebuke, Jaebeom halted when Mark pushed off the counter to the sound of 503 horsepower pulling up to the curb outside.

Jaebeom’s head whipped around, his potential meal ticket sitting in the driver’s seat as he did a few days prior, Rolex glittering through the tinted window and Jaebeom involuntarily stepped to the door like a greedy moth to a fluorescent bug trap. The driver looked out through the passenger window, not at Jaebeom, but behind him, at you.

“Gonna come out and say hi?” Mark asked as he slid past Jaebeom.

“I see enough of him at home, he’ll survive if I don’t grant him pleasantries this one time.” Mark shrugged, but nodded anyway and the driver pulled back his head from the angle it had been and looked over the steering wheel instead. Tapping the back of his hand against Jaebeom’s forearm, Mark gestured he should leave with a cock of his jaw.

“Her bite is worse than her bark, you should leave now while she’s still smiling.” Jaebeom angled his chin over his shoulder to catch you smiling with only one side of your face, hand lifted no higher than your shoulder - fingers wiggling their goodbye.

You watched him slink away, records under one arm; his other hand sliding into his jeans pocket after shaking Mark’s. You watched Mark slide into the Vantage, grinning a little too much but you shook it off. You could tell Jaebeom was watching the Aston Martin as it sped away. You didn’t need to see his face to know he was slurping up the drool that had pooled under his tongue; all boys were the same when it came to cars like that. Who you were you kidding? All boys were the same regardless. Yes, all boys.

Jaebeom finally breathed easy after twenty minutes of trying to shake off the girl he was dancing with after he determined she was a little nuts; no matter how hypnotising her ass was. Though nuts was a bit of a stretch, he just didn’t like the way she moaned whenever he grinded into her. Bit much, he thought; she didn’t have to try so hard, he still would have fucked her if she kept her mouth shut. But alas, he had lost his appetite.

Claiming he’d wait by the bar when she said she needed to go to the bathroom, Jaebeom counted the seconds it took for her ass to disappear down the dark corridor before he snapped around and through the back door.

To him, 1-AM always felt the same. Like how the air feels suspended just before it rains, but you feel weightless instead of suffocated. And that’s what he wanted, standing in the alley behind the club; and he had it for a moment before Bambam’s shrill laughter invaded his senses. Dropping his head from his gaze at the moon, Jaebeom turned to see Jackson and Bambam a few meters away, passing a cigar back and forth. Taking a pull then holding it in his mouth for a second, Jackson blew the thin column of smoke through his lips before handing it to Bambam.

“Cubans, they know their stuff.” Bambam repeated the motion, rocking back on his heels before shivering, the 1-something-AM air a little too cold for his liking. Jaebeom cocked his head when he heard another voice.

Further down, concealed in shadow, Jaebeom made out Jinyoung’s form; pacing between a brick wall and a dumpster. He took two steps towards him, then paused when he heard the ache in Jinyoung’s voice.

“What’s it to you what I do tonight? It’s not like you’re here to stop me.” Passing headlights lit the pain etched between Jinyoung’s brows before darkness hid it from view again, Jaebeom somehow felt it hammer against his chest.

“I’m going to do whatever the fuck I want, since that’s all you ever do anyway.” Jaebeom knew who Jinyoung was arguing with on the phone, though he never told him he did.

“Why don’t you call me when you’ve made up your mind.” Jinyoung couldn’t hang up fast enough, his thumb slamming against the screen before clawing his phone into a fist. Jaebeom took another step when it looked like Jinyoung was going to smash his phone into the ground, but eased back when Jinyoung’s shoulders dropped - his hand shoving his phone into his pocket.

“Hey, Nyeong!” Jackson heckled, completely unaware of the fight Jinyoung just dragged himself through. Jinyoung approached at a languid pace, catching Jaebeom’s glance but unable to read it.

“What’s eating you Gilbert Grape? You look like you need a fuck.” Bambam coughed through his exhale, the Cuban hit catching on his tonsils - Jinyoung merely grizzled.

“There’s a gorgeous brunette at the bar. She’s down about five vodka raspberries. I’ll warm her up for you if you want.” Jackson’s teasing slithered through a slanted grin; Bambam coughed through another exhale, smoke sputtering out through his chuckling lips. Jaebeom saw Jinyoung’s eyes narrow in rage, so he lifted a hand onto his shoulder; Jinyoung’s anger smothered under the weight of it.

“How about a drink? I could definitely use one. This one’s on me.” Said only to Jinyoung but loud enough for Jackson and Bambam to feel ignored. Jaebeom led Jinyoung back into the club - the music blasting through the open door to dissipate the thick tension that had clung to the night air.

“Hyung it’s alright, I-..I don’t want, I might just go..” Jinyoung stuttered, weaving through the crowd behind Jaebeom. Jaebeom didn’t want to turn around, afraid his resolve would break and Jinyoung would see the worry behind his eyes. Though, through a heavy breath, Jaebeom steeled himself; turning to square Jinyoung.

“One drink?” Jinyoung shook his head.

Jaebeom stood stoically where Jinyoung left him, watching as he left the club. Eyes following his friend pass the bouncer on his way out, Jaebeom almost turned away but froze as he caught sight of someone else slipping past the line and straight into the club.

Jaebeom clenched his jaw as he watched you place a kiss on the bouncer’s cheek and smile as you slipped out of his embrace; he swore he could hear you giggle when the bouncer, his bouncer, tried to snatch at your hand. His eyes slit suspiciously to better see you glide through the crowd; stopping every so often to greet regular attendees and staff alike. His mind was racing. If you could get in with only a smile and swat at the owner’s hand as it tried to place itself a little too low on your back, why had he never seen you before? Why did it seem that his club, was yours? All yours.

Jaebeom crammed his hands into his jeans pockets; eyes still fixed on your figure at it strolled towards the DJ booth. The crowd seemed to part for you - faces beaming when you approached and mouths gaping when you passed by. Jaebeom was enthralled. Confused, but captivated by the scene unfolding before him all the same.

You bounced up into the DJ booth, the skirt you wore riding up your thigh as you cleared the height. Jaebeom felt the driest swallow crawl down his throat. Again, he was thrown as his DJ threw his arms around you, greeting you like an old friend he hadn’t seen in years. Your expression mirrored his happiness, hands staying put on his shoulders as you spoke to him over the music. Jaebeom’s jaw was ticking, cheek flaring as he stared.

Watching you drop a hand into your bag, Jaebeom saw you pull a few records out to hand them to the DJ - his headphones falling off and onto his shoulders as he bounced with glee. You were pulled into another embrace before pulling back to say what looked like a few stern, yet lighthearted words to the DJ. And he nodded, agreeing with whatever you had ordered him to do and Jaebeom was floored.

Shifting his weight onto one foot, Jaebeom leant against the pillar beside him. He couldn’t take his eyes off you. He continued to stare as you jumped down for the booth and like the Red Sea, the crowd parted for you again, making way for you to approach the bar. Jaebeom’s seething curiosity flared, tongue clicking against his teeth when he watched the bartender, his bartender, place a drink on the counter even before you got there.

Your smile was tender, almost loving when the bartender refused to accept the twenty dollar note you held out to him - merely fanning your hand away and pushing the carefully prepared drink closer towards you. You accepted, not much to Jaebeom’s surprise, and drank the drink in one tip of your chin.

Another dry swallow scratched down Jaebeom’s throat when he saw you plant your hands on the counter to hurl yourself up - leaning over the marble to place a kiss on the bartender’s cheek. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t get excited at the sight of the underside of your ass, your skirt doing you absolutely no favors. But he was stuck trying to compute the entirety of your presence in his club.

He was still calculating who you could be to all these people, all his people, when he watched you leave as slyly as you entered. Gliding through the crowd and letting the bouncer give you the hug he wanted to give you moments before, you left a lipstick stain on his cheek before you slipped through the exit - the only trace you left before you disappeared into the night.

Jaebeom didn’t hear Jackson ask him what the fuck he was doing just standing there. He didn’t feel Bambam whack his shoulder as he walked past, or hear him yell at him about the girl that was checking him out. Jaebeom was fiddling with the piece of paper in his pocket. The piece of paper Mark slipped into his hand when he shook it outside your store.

Pulling it out, Jaebeom read the scratchy handwriting under the dim red light he stood beneath.

Good luck, Kid. +092 6683 9845

One hand sunk itself into the pocket of your denim jacket while the other tapped the back of your phone against your cheek. Head tilted to one side, you watched, bemused, as Mark stood hunched over, staring with wandering eyes at your key-less lock. He slid open the cover and watched the numpad illuminate and as if a switch flipped off in his mind, he slid the cover back down. Fanned fingertips pressed into your door, his whole body leaning forward in hopes the door would swing open - and when it didn’t, his hand fell limp by his side.

You watched, amused now, as he repeated himself - slid open the cover, gazed as the numpad lit up and slowly dimmed and then pulled down the cover; fingertips replaced with his forehead trying to push open the door. It was time to end his suffering, you thought, despite knowing full well you could watch him struggle until he passed out.

“You alright there, bud?” You tried not to let your question sound condescending but with the way Mark simply swiveled his head to follow the sound all without lifting his forehead from the door made it impossible to smother the squeak that escaped you.

“Y/N! Hey! I brought Thai food!” The fact that it was two in the morning did not escape you. The fact that Mark was three steps away from blind drunk did not escape you. And the fact that Mark still had his forehead pressed to your door while holding up the bag of take out for your inspection certainly did not escape you. But that was not the first time you had seen him, white girl wasted, trying to enter your apartment at some ungodly hour. You also knew, it would not be the last.

Curling your hands around his shoulders to pull him back, Mark dropped his head onto your shoulder; the unmistakable waft of Patreon XO Cafe spilled out of his mouth, and apparently down his shirt too upon a cursory glance. Probably when he was still six steps away from blind drunk.

“You gotta put the code in, stupid. You remember the code right?” Trying to balance his swaying head on your shoulder, you pinched his nose to focus his attention. Mark whined, but found his own balance; standing erect and holding out a finger to the numpad.

“The code, right..” Elongating a single syllable word into ten. “That’s what I forgot.”

You patted the top of his head. A slight stretch, despite the heeled boots you had on. Mark was tall. Real tall.

You watched his pupils dilate, laser like focus; and you screamed the code in your mind, hoping he’d telepathically hear you.

Four

“Four…”

Nine nine zero.

“Nine. Nine. Zee-roh.” Oh he’s doing so well.

But then he stalled; tongue poking into the corner of his mouth - searching for the last two digits.

Four Zero.

But he continued to stall, finger quivering above the numpad.

Four Zero!

Nothing. Your mind link with him had severed. So you took his hand in yours and keyed the rest of the code with your free one. Mark giggled deep in his throat, letting you push him through the open door and into your apartment. You watched him toe off each one of his shoes, one sock deciding it wanted to remain sheathed and clung to the inside of his shoe. Mark, valiant as ever, fought against the resistance, claiming back his sock and strolled victorious to the couch; one foot fully socked, the other holding onto it’s sock cover by his toes alone.

You muffled your laughter with bit lips and puffed cheeks, unzipping each of your boots to place them down beside Mark’s discarded sneakers.

“Tell me you went to Fresh Chilli.” Slinking one arm after the other out of your jacket.

“Of course I did. What do you think I am? A savage?” Mark plopped down onto your couch then carefully placed the plastic bag on your coffee table. He began to undo the knot in the bag, lips pursing as he pulled it apart with wobbly fingers.

“Red duck curry?” Mark nodded, pulling the first container out.

“Rolled omelette?” Mark nodded again, placing the second container next to the first.

“Coconut rice?” Mark began to whistle, liken to the sound of a missile about to collide with earth, he revealed the last container, dropping it onto the table along with a comical explosion blowing open his mouth.

“You cool to get spoons? I’m gonna get changed.” Mark took his cue, rising from the suede cushions and marched towards the kitchen drawers. A man on a mission.

Despite his completely inebriated state, you trusted him to navigate your kitchen with ease. You were roommates in college, and despite moving to the other side of the city, the layout of your apartment remained practically identical. Urban living at its finest.

“Where’s Eric?” Hollering from the inside of the sweater you were still pulling over your head. There was a delay in Mark’s response. Either because he was still figuring out how to answer your question, or because he had two mouthfuls of coconut rice and curry in his mouth.

“Probably still at work.” Every syllable muffled. Definitely three mouthfuls of coconut rice and curry.

Leaving your bedroom and sitting on the floor across from him, you picked up your spoon; tapping his away when it dove for the only lychee your favourite Thai restaurant ever put in the Red Duck Curry. A little nugget of sweet succulent semi translucent goodness.

“I messaged him and he said he has to meet with the A&R team. Something about a rookie group’s debut coming up.” You nodded while spooning a heaped pile of rice and omelette into your mouth.

You swore you were beginning to fade into a curry induced nirvana when Mark groaned. Your eyes shot up, widening as Mark angrily shoved half-ladened spoonfuls into his mouth; the metal clang it made as it hit his teeth on entry and exit made you cringe.

“People suck.” Breaking the silence between chews.

“Okay?” You uncurled one of you legs to lean an elbow into the bent knee.

“If someone messages you, you should, out of courtesy, message back!” Slamming his spoon onto the table, rogue grains of rice bouncing into the air.

“Well you said Eric’s with the A&R team, he’s probably stuck discussing some important shit.” Answering nonchalantly, picking up rice grains with your fingernails.

“And if you tell them you love them, they should, out of courtesy, answer back even more!” Mark’s hands were flinging around his body, explosive expression of emotions.

“I’m sure Eric knows you love him, as weird as that may be.. ” Nonplussed in your response, though Mark only withered into himself; flopping dramatically onto the couch; legs curling into his chest. Mark’s favourite position to wallow; fetal.

You rolled onto your knees, every intention to crawl to him and stroke his hair affectionately. Patronisingly, but affectionately. But the rattle your phone made on the coffee table halted you from displaying sympathy.

A message from an unknown number piqued your curiosity; though unknown numbers at 3-AM granted you more apprehension than interest.

03:09am +010 4522 2858 Weren’t you a vision walking into CREAM like that. But, next time don’t run off so soon. I’ll be happy to keep you company.

You scrabbled on hands and knees to Mark as if possessed, smacking the side of his head instead of lovingly stroking it like previously planned.

“What the fuck did you do?!” Enraged. Mark cupped his ear, mewling through his pout. Puppy dog eyes welling with tears on full display.

“What?!” Thrusting your phone into his face, your arm shook as Mark blinked to focus. He read the message. A few times over and once a moment of stillness had passed, clapped a hand onto his mouth and exploded in laughter.

“Fuck, the Kid has balls after all!” You smacked him again, Mark shooting up to scurry to the other end of the couch. You were quick to your feet, lunging onto the couch though Mark caught your wrists to save himself another beating.

“Hey, hey, HEY! Stop, calm the fuck down woman, fuck.. Fuck, stop!” Mark growled, his tenor vibrating down your spine and you rocked back. Sitting on your feet, you breathed in a few steadying breaths and once Mark was almost sure you weren’t going to hit him, released your wrists.

“So you gave him my number?” Voice steady, body shaking.

“Yes.”

“To the poster boy of all Fuckboys?” Voice still steady, but eyes twitching.

“He’s not a Fuckboy, probably...” Mark insisted, but with the way his face contorted proved he didn’t completely believe himself.

“Mark, it’s three-am. Who the fuck sends a text like that at three-am if you haven’t got your dick on permanent slut-scan?!” Mark flinched when you threw your hands into the air, exasperated to say the least.

“Okay okay, good point. But what’s done is done.” Mark clapped his hands together, a finishing move of sorts.

“Why the fuck did you do it?” Your voice cracked, body close to boiling point.

“Cause you need to get fucked.” Your body suddenly calmed, as if someone had thrown a bucket of ice water over you and doused your flaming rage. You blinked heavily, Mark’s eyes starting to show sober thought.

“Excuse me?” Quieter than before, meek even, would be a good way to describe your tone.

“When was the last time you got laid?” Your mouth opened and closed like a loose screen door caught swinging back and forth in a tornado.

“Like ten months ago? Like not since that rapper from Sydney broke your poor little heart?” Mark jutted out his chin, eyebrows raised awaiting your answer. And when you gave none, Mark shifted to cross one leg over the other and dropped an arm behind the back of the couch.

“Listen.” In that holier than thou tone you hated so much, but you were still struck dumb and Mark knew it.

“The Kid is practically begging to take you out. And from the look of the thighs on that boy, could be a good lay. Perhaps a great lay.” Rage started to simmer within you again, your cocked jaw and narrowed eyes giving it away.

“Don’t even get me started on those shoulders. He’s like a walking proverbial Schrodinger’s fuck ready for the taking.” Mark’s chest popped as he sneered, and you clenched a fist reactively, but kept it glued in your lap.

“So why don’t you..” Mark edged forward.

“Drop the ego..” Knocked a knuckle against your chin to straighten it.

“Uncross your legs..” Dragged his thumb down your bottom lip to pop your lips apart.

“And let the Kid show you a good time.” Waggling one brow to better accentuate his suggestion. You wanted to right hook the smug look off his face.

“Come on, tell me he isn’t the perfect guy for some harmless, casual, no strings attached fun! Good old fashioned hit it and quit it.”

Silence fell between you. Though after a pregnant pause of weakly angered contemplation, Mark saw the break in your resolve and unhooked his arm from the couch and leaned over you; grabbing your phone from where it fell when you wailed on him. Holding it out to you, Mark tampered down his smirk as he tapped his thumb on the screen to wake it.

“Harmless, casual, no strings attached fun, you say?” Tone skeptical but you couldn’t deny the lurid curiosity simmering deep within you. Mark nodded and tapped a patient finger against your phone one more time.

“Go on. Open the box.”

Jaebeom yanked at the fistful of hair in his hand, the chin of the poor girl he ghosted hours before digging into his kitchen counter. If you asked him why he hunted her down after unceremoniously ditching her, he’d tell you with Hail Mary conviction that her ass was actually far too hypnotising to pass up. He in no way, would admit that he was irrationally angry; broiling from the inside out.

He in no way, would admit that watching you prowl through his domain like some rogue Alpha turned him on as much as it irritated him. He’d never admit that he swallowed down his delicate sensibilities to message you, because of course, he had none. He would absolutely never tell you that after an hour of hoping, maybe two of waiting for you to message him back, had left him irate enough to peel the chick he found displeasing off Jackson just so he could claim her, so he could claim something.

So if you asked him to deny that he was rage-fucking some poor girl because he felt threatened by your complete indirect display of power, he would. He would tell you through gritted teeth and a smile that didn’t reach his eyes that seeing you tonight meant nothing and that in the end, that chick’s ass was indeed far too hypnotising to pass up. And he was going to prove it by hammering his hips into her as hard as he could while keeping her bent over his kitchen counter.

No, he didn’t learn her name. No, he didn’t listen when she told him. No, he didn’t care. He probably wasn’t even paying attention; every rut senseless, every deep drive into her dripping cunt, indifferent. He couldn’t hear her moan, he couldn’t hear his name spill out through her lips; drool pooling under her cheek onto his fake stone bench top. All he could see was you and your charming smile and vexing demeanor and the marvelous glance of your ass that he drank up.

You’d be tempted to ask him if he was imagining you bent over for him, taking his dick like a champion and filling his apartment with erotic noises. You’d be tempted to ask him if he was rearranging the poor bottle blonde’s insides to regain dominance that you didn’t even know you had taken. You’d be tempted to ask him if he enjoyed the thought of doing just that. On the surface it’d be a flat no; but deep down, it’d be a hard yes.

Jaebeom was getting closer to climax, and god was he happy about it. The sooner he could get what’s-her-name out of his apartment, the sooner he’d be able to actually deal with his emotions. If, of course, he even knew how to do that. But as release sprinted towards him, it was stripped away just as quickly when his phone blared harsh white light into the darkness of his apartment; your name flashing bold on the screen.

Jaebeom picked up the phone off the counter, not even pausing stroke to read the message. If anything, he snapped his hips harder into her; every thrust punctuated with a Kahlua scented moan. Jaebeom found euphoria as he read the last word of your message; spilling out inside what’s-her-name like a conditioned puppy finding pleasure in receiving even a smidgen of your attention.

03:46am Noona Alright, Kid. And only cause you’re cute. One drink.

210 notes · View notes

devdevlin · 5 years ago

Note

raise your hand if you think Tom has a secret cockney accent and Hermione bring from London calls him out on it (prompt please, but take your time 😊)

Ahhh, Anon. Sweet, sweet Anon. You really pulled my leg on this one. I just… I’m gonna be straight up with you; Cockney accent Tom doesn’t do it for me. It just doesn’t at all. I… would not raise my hand, lmao. It’s just that Lord Voldemort accidentally using rhyming slang is just not a thing that I could take seriously at all.

But. BUT. In saying that, I am no quitter. Despite my personal opinion, I have managed to put together a v v small one for you! I hope you like it!

(Disclaimer—I myself have never used rhyming slang in my life, so plz forgive me…)

Tom was lying to her.

Years of friendship, and he was lying to her.

She’d had her first suspicions when she’d walked in on him and Rosier bickering, and he’d been speaking faster than she’d ever heard, and it sounded an awful lot like he’d forgotten a few consonants.

At the time, she’d chalked it up to her imagination and let it go. But then, mere weeks later, she could’ve sworn she heard him utter a tired ‘sandshoe’ after she passed him a plate of toast over breakfast in the Great Hall.

Her suspicions had deepened, but still, they were only that. Suspicions.

But another month later, she was positive she heard him tell Dolohov have a 'butcher’s hook’ in the dungeons for Abraxas. And with that, her suspicions solidified and she became convinced.

He was a liar.

And so, Hermione bid her time. She knew if she asked him while he had his wits about him, he would never give her a straight answer, and so, she said nothing and waited for the right opportunity.

And waited.

But then, two months after she’d made the initial decision to confront him, she found him alone that Wednesday evening in the Great Hall at the Slytherin table, hunched over what looked to be a very long essay.

She didn’t hesitate in seating herself opposite him and was pleased to see that he didn’t immediately notice her presence.

Good. That meant he was tired.

“Hello Tom.”

He lifted his eyes for a fraction of a second in what looked like surprise and murmured, “Granger.”

Hermione smiled. The whites of his eyes had been red, and he looked as if he hadn’t slept.

Good.

“Is that your Transfiguration essay?” she asked. “The one that’s due tomorrow?”

A grunt.

“I finished mine last week,” she said, in equal amounts bright and unhelpful. “Quite unlike you, to leave an assignment so late.”

He grunted again and continued scrawling the sentence he was working on.

She watched him work in silence for a minute, which soon stretched onto two, and then ten.

“Tom?” she dared to ask only once she was sure he’d acclimatised to her presence.

“Hmm?” He continued writing, didn’t look up.

“I was wondering… what does it mean when someone says that someone’s brown bread?”

“Means they’re dead,” he murmured quickly enough for it to have been out of reflex.

Hermione straightened in her seat, and then she grinned an evil, triumphant grin. “I knew it!”

At her tone, Tom finally glanced up from his essay, his brows quickly furrowing. “What?”

“You thought I wouldn’t figure it out? You thought you could hide it from me?”

Tom blinked. “Granger. While I’d normally be reasonably happy to indulge you, I’m really not in the mood for your games tod—”

“I’m not Malfoy, you know! We’ve been friends for years now, you should know I don’t care how you talk! I don’t care where you’re from, or how much money you have. You know it doesn’t make a difference to me.”

His eyebrows lowered ever so slightly. “What are you talking about?” he asked slowly, carefully.

“You’ve always been so… secretive! You’ve never mentioned your family before. And you said you lived in London, but you never said where. But I’ve heard you when you think no one’s around. I’ve heard it slip out when you’re extra tired, and I’ve figured it out—you’re from the east of London, aren’t you?”

He held her eyes for a long moment. “You’re imagining things.”

“Oh, come on! Why would you trust Dolohov with this and not me? I’ve seen him come to class with his shoes on the wrong feet!”

Tom snorted but didn’t say anything as he went back to work.

“Tom,” she said. “Tom. I didn’t come from money or from magic either. You know that. I never had the best clothes, or brand-new books, or a house that had its own library.”

He answered her with silence. But then—

“You’re crazy.”

Hermione straightened. “Crazy? Crazy? Don’t you mean 'barking’? 'Radio rental’? ’David’?

Tom remained motionless, and for a moment, she thought he wasn’t going to bite. But then, he slowly glanced back up.

Hermione grinned at his sour expression. "You, Tom Riddle, are a Cockney,” she declared. “Why on earth have you been trying to hide it?”

Tom sighed in resignation, before he lowered his quill and rolled his eyes. “I don’t know if it’s ever occurred to you Hermione, but I share a name with Jimmy.”

Hermione opened her mouth, and then snapped it shut. Then, she opened it again and stated rather bluntly, “your name is Tom.”

Tom laced his fingers together over the top of his parchment, and gave her a look that said he was very quickly approaching on running out of patience. “Jimmy Riddle,” he clarified.

“I…” Hermione blinked. The name wasn’t familiar. “…I don’t follow.”

“Jimmy Riddle?” Tom leaned slightly closer, and when she still didn’t catch on, he said, “like piddle? Means piss?”

Hermione frowned. “Oh. Oh, well that doesn’t make much sense.”

“You’ll find that’s sort of the point,” Tom said tiredly. “But while it makes little sense to an outsider, it made perfect sense to the other children I grew up with, and if you think for a moment that I ever appreciated my name being substituted as a verb for whenever one of the others decided to let everyone know that they needed to urinate, then you’d be very much mistaken.”

Hermione shrunk back in her seat at the way he spoke of it, at the way his words hardened around the edges, and it was only then that it dawned on her that she might’ve struck a nerve.

“I… you can trust me, you know,” she said quietly, and Tom scoffed as he picked up his quill and went back to his writing. “I’m not going to tell anyone.”

He grunted.

Hermione watched him work and bit into her lip, suddenly wishing she hadn’t been quite so smug about it, even though she’d been right. How was she to know he’d been bullied? It wasn’t as if he’d ever brought it up.

They again sat in silence for a long while, the other students slowly beginning to trickle in for the dinner which would be commencing shortly.

Seeing a group of Slytherins heading in their direction, Hermione leaned forward toward him.

“I promise I won’t tell anyone,” she tried. Still, he didn’t reply, so she swallowed her dignity and said in the best eastern accent she could manage, “…jellied eel?”

Despite her efforts, Tom still didn’t stop his work, and the only sound that passed between them was the scratching of his quill.

But though it’d only lasted a second, Hermione could’ve sworn she saw him smile.

#tomione #lmao #harry potter #fanfiction #tom riddle #hermione granger #my writing #prompt #thanks for playing #ask me anything #❤️❤️

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justkimberley · 5 years ago

Text

HSMTMTS Thoughts Episode 7

Episode 1 Episode 2 Episode 3 Episode 4 Episode 5 Episode 6

This one is also kinda long (~2200 words)

Nini and Ricky doing a fantastic job harmonizing in Start of Something New

the dance routine around them is absolutely crazy and all over the place

So it seems that Seb is just their resident piano player (side note, who ended up getting Kelsey??)

Big Red with the flashlight trying so hard to keep it on the disco ball

EJ interrupting because of the bell. Does anyone really love Thanksgiving that much??

Also I always forget that American Thanksgiving is like a month later than Canadian Thanksgiving and I was hella confused for a second.

Ricky is so surprised that Nini is complimenting him

Ashlyn as Robotics Team captain! (side note Big Red gives her an impressed look after he overhears that she’s the captain)

Also: debate team, baking club, high priestess of the Renaissance Faire

We love a multifaceted lady

Miss Jenn/Mr. Mazzarra trying to have a ‘my horse is bigger than your horse’ banter except neither of them have the horses they claim to have

“With whoever could possibly love you,” lol ok Miss Jenn went for the head

“Late night party” - party starts at 8 that’s adorable

“Small group or…” “PARTY AT ASHLYN’S HOUSE!”

It’s really interesting learning about Nini’s Lola (? I think that’s how it’s spelled, which is what I believe Filipino people call their grandmother’s), and her story

I’m just really proud of Ricky’s Dad. Like he was in such a bad place 2-3 episodes ago and now he’s taking care of himself and Ricky (even if it isn’t a grandiose Thanksgiving) he’s trying and I think he’s doing great

“We roll hard” I just really love this line

“I suppose if you’re lonely, you could always just… randomly text my drama teacher,” “Too soon… RIck,” “... yeah okay”

That was pretty funny. Also, it seems like Ricky’s okay with his dad dating?

Ricky’s mom waiting for him to call

I don’t know how I feel about this to be honest. I feel like maybe she should have tried to call him first and then if he didn’t answer or want to talk to her, that she should wait for him to make the next move then.

EJ’s truth arc is very funny to me

Big Red and Ashlyn

“I promise not to steal your phone if you promise not to throw a basketball at my face,” “No, the only thing I’d ever throw at your face is a brighter spotlight cause, I like the way you sing

Oof they’re so cute, we love little crushes

Also this might be an unpopular opinion but y’all need to calm down about the whole ‘Ashlyn and Big Red are GAY and they only THINK theyy like each other’ thing. #1 It was never confirmed for them to be gay. #2 You can still have wlw and mlm head-cannons for them! Bi, Pan, and other multiple gender attraction oriented people exist, even if you forget about us sometimes.

They are a cute little pairing of people who are always looking out and taking care of other people. It’s okay for them to do things for themselves.

Ricky debating calling his mom, it took a lot of courage and then Todd picks up.

Hangs up immediately, it almost looked like he was going to have a panic attack. That would be so hard, such an extreme shift

I guess the reason he was more okay with his Dad dating was that his Dad was open and honest with him about it. Calling your Mom only to find out that she has a boyfriend that a. She never told you about b. He knows about you and c. is trusted enough to be left alone with her phone while she showers? Is a lot, and probably means that she started dating him before the split was official.

Ricky going to call Nini and then deciding against it. Why doesn’t he feel like he can talk to Big Red about this kind of stuff? Why does he always go to Nini first?

Gina shows up, those are good looking cupcakes

She made him a hat!

She looks so hesitant before she gives it to him!

Gina’s like ‘look dude, I know something’s wrong, spill the beans’

Ignore it and push through - I understand where she’s coming from but you really shouldn’t ignore your problems, it usually just makes them worse

“Do what makes you happy,” “... Give me that hat,”

Adorable, also do what makes you happy is good advice so we’re a little all over the map here

“That’s too big,” “I’ll grow into it,” (adorable)

Miss Jenn and Mr. Mazzarra’s whole interaction is hilarious.

Don’t burn down my shop! - holy shit, foreshadowing buddies

Ashlyn is so cute! She’s so happy when people compliment her

“I highly recommend not telling someone you love them for the first time on instagram” - yup! That’s what I said in the first one of these I did.

Carlos - “The party may begin!” - I totally thought he said “The party made me gay,” the first time I watched it so uhh yeah

Big Red is lactose intolerant

Carlos’ board game is amazing

“High School Musical the Choosical,” - fantastic name

Everyone is so accepting

Ashlyn and Big Red choosing to be on the same team

“South Side Knights -” “It’s the West High Nights,” “the West High Knights”

Ej is like a compulsive truther now. And it’s kind of hilarious

His face when he says “She laughed!” is hilarious and kind of adorable

“I gotta go join the party, and admit some terrible things, you ladies, catch up!” - I wish we got to see what he was admitting to, I find this whole thing quite funny

I’m glad that Emily and Nini got some reconciliation, I know Nini felt guilty even though it wasn’t her fault

That is not a good cockney accent

Why did Ricky enter alone when him and Gina walked together?

And he left her to open the door on her own with all those cupcakes?

“Buddies,” “We,”

Ricky and Gina both laughing about YouTube, cuties

Look, feelings are feelings and you can’t help what you feel, but pushing someone away and insisting to remain only friends means that you shouldn’t be upset when he makes a new friend

Mr. Mazzara and Miss Jenn

The plug socket is in the frame, more foreshadowing

“He won’t.. Not… fall” this show loves it’s double negatives huh? I don’t not love you, he won’t not fall etc.

“Ok but the center of gravity is off,” YES to different kinds of intelligence being helpful in fields other than the main one people associate them with

Carlos thinking people are going to keep judging him and the theater people being as accepting as possible

EJ is a gleek

What I’ve Been Looking For to the rhythm of Get Your Head in the Game is hard! (Catch me on the piano later trying to figure it out lol)

It just turns into a terrible rap

EJ - “That was terrible,” Seb - “I’m so happy”

EJ vs. Ricky - “without laughing… or killing each other,”

This is a good parallel to the basketball scene, once again they get kind of aggressive, but this time they also joke around and no one gets hurt

Also I would love to see them become friends, I mean they both need to grow a little before that happens, but I have hopes

They missed the ‘neeee howww’ part of it, I really wanted to hear them do the high voices

EJ’s little “mehh” that sounds like a duck kills me everytime

Gina and Nini awkwarddd

“I do have high hopes for a junior year at East High” oof babey :(

“It must be nice sometimes though, right?” - nini does not understand

This actually gives us an insight as to why they don’t understand each other. Nini would love nothing more than to start a new life with no drama and Gina would love nothing more than to have a life that lasts longer than a couple months before being restarted.

Gina/Nini apology very exciting, hopefully they can actually become friends

“It’s all good,” from Nini seemed disingenuous, I don’t know if it’s because of the Wonderstudy thing or the Ricky thing.

The sleepover thing I was so worried that it would be a mean spirited thing but I’m so glad it wasn’t

Nini sits on Ricky’s lap when she goes back to the game room and I don’t know if it’s intentional or not but it’s kind of like she’s trying to lay her claim back on Ricky.

Gina looks so happy when a. Carlos calls her in and b. the happy dance about the sleepover! (why’d they have to ruin the happiness??)

Mr. Mazarra returning the favour

“It’s beautiful,” “Math often is,” dudde I feel you I fucking love math

“I cannot stress to you enough how uncomfortable that would make me feel,”

“You know what we should do?” “Break off eye contact sometime soon?”

I’m dying

“It’s about a robot!” this is… pretty adorable. She just wants to make a genuine connection with him

Also are they going to do a romance route with these two? Because I can see them setting it up but also imagine if they just become like… best friends? I feel like they’d be unstoppable.

Musical Choosical Handbook of Rulesicals

“I thought you had never actually played this with people-” “Honey not today of all days,”

Carlos and Seb are the only couple with no bad drama and I’m living for it (please let them just stay happy)

Oops! I knew that jersey question… also it’s definitely the answer Big Red would now because he’s only watched the movie with no words (at his allergists office)

“And do people usually talk like that?” “No they do not.” - gold

EJ the compulsive cheater and also compulsive truther makes a comeback (I seriously find this so funny I don’t know why)

“I love to pop and lock and jam and break,” oh GIna

She’s so happy about winning

Not realistic, you know that the second she called her mom at least someone would be like “pass the weed,” (you know because friends are awesome and also terrible)

“Can you take me off speaker”

Some people are like ‘oh no is she in trouble?’

I kind of hate that it looks like Nini looks sort of happy about Gina’s mom asking her to take her off speaker - I really don’t want Nini to turn into a catty person.

Ricky is concerned

Why did her mom tell her this right now? She should have waited until the next morning, like that wouldn’t have hurt anyone and it would have let them form stronger bonds. And Gina would have had her first sleepover and also they might form strong enough bonds to try and stay in contact with her

Ricky is worried for her, he’s like, ‘You made me feel better, so I’ll go make you feel better’

Nini’s looking upset that Ricky’s being emotionally aware for once? Like dude, he’s grown up a lot since BEFORE summer break? That’s like six months ago I think at this point?

Ricky just wants to help Gina feel better because she made him feel better

She doesn’t understand that they can stay friends even if she leaves and I just :(

“Please don’t do that” he’s so overwhelmed

“My mom moved out two weeks ago and she’s already got a new boyfriend, sound familiar?” Oooh low blow Ricky bud.

“Really don’t need advice from a .. buddy right now,”

Ok but then who does Ricky want advice from? I’m so confused. This boy needs to get a better support system and learn how to use it. Romantic relationships should not be your only outlet for your problems.

Red and Ashlyn

“I hope Gina’s gonna be okay,” - Big Red is so sweet!

They’re so cute

“Hey Big Red? Don’t forget your dip,” - oh she was so going to ask him out and then lost the nerve

Write something for yourself.

It’s a hard thing to do, dude. It’s also hard to let yourself feel so vulnerable, even if it’s only you that’s going to hear it

Gina packing, I feel so sad for her, she’s finally made some good friends and now she has to leave again. She kept the badge! :(

EJ losing followers and being cancelled, at least we know why now

It seems like a lot of EJ’s self worth comes from how others think of him. So losing followers is probably a pretty big hit. I wonder if he’ll keep going with his whole truth thing when it has these consequences or if he’ll just go back to what he was doing before. I hope that he has a positive arc but, will it go downhill from here? I hope not.

Ricky about to apologise to Nini (why did he erase it, he probably should have sent that) - side note: their conversation before was them asking each other if they were going to the party

It’s interesting that Nini had pictures of EJ and Ricky up still

Gina’s crying face is making me cry

“Hey mom, it’s me, I miss you so much,” tears

Nini hanging up pictures of her grandma and the musical. She’s really trying to move forward from boys huh?

Is nini going to apply to the theater school??

Electrical fire???????? WHy??

#hsmtmts #hsmtmts spoilers #episode 7 #kimberleysthoughts #mypost #kimberleyreacts #feel free to come yell into the void with me about this show #the void is always open #(the void is the name of my askbox lol)

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belphegor1982 · 5 years ago

Note

How about the first chapter Tommy appears?

[Pick any passage from any fanfic I’ve written, and stick that selection in my ask/fan mail/submission box. I will then give you the equivalent of a DVD commentary on that snippet!]

Thanks a lot!! (Also I answered this kind of ask about a passage from chapter 2, if you want to take a look - it’s all spoiler-free!)

Here’s Thomas Sean Ferguson’s grand introduction, then :D Oh god, it’s kind of awkward, because like with Blake there’s a certain amount of early installment weirdness. Also I go on and oooooooon (sorry about that). But let’s go!

_________

Quite lost in his thoughts this time, [Jonathan] barely registered that he was walking past the Museum (where Evy is, right now, negotiating the Cairo Museum “lending” the Diamond of Ahm Shere to the British government - which kickstarts the plot) before somebody knocked into him, hard enough for both of them to crumple, breathless, on the ground. It took Jonathan thirty seconds to get his lungs in working order again and, instinctively, check his pockets for anything missing.

A lot of this commentary risks being “this used to be [thing] before I tweaked it in the rewrites”, and a lot of it is because I’ve gained some insight in the past twelve years. Jonathan’s first thought being checking his pockets (which - and I made it explicit in the second or third paragraph of the story :D - comes from his being a skilled pickpocket himself and knowing how it works), however, was there from the very beginning.

“So sorry I bumped into you, mate, didn’t mean to,” came the voice of the attacker. Jonathan’s eyes widened at the sound of this voice and he squinted up at its owner.

And cue Tom Ferguson :D He wasn’t my first OC, far from it (that dubious honour would probably belong to the buttload of OCs I created for my Marauder era story which died when Order of the Phoenix came out), but he was the first I got to really explore and develop, and he ended up one of my favourites ever. Em, I answered an ask of yours way back in 2015, “introduce us to two of your OCs” :o) The first was him, the second was Marguerite LeBeau.

“Tommy? Is that you? Tommy Ferguson?”

The diamond is the reason the O’Connell-Carnahan gang goes to Egypt, but without Tommy, there’d be no plot. Hamilton would probably still find a way to “retrieve” the diamond from the museum, only without Evy and her family getting personally involved and then having to go back to the UK saying she failed her mission. and then cue the end of the world about a week and a half from there, but shhh - spoilers!

The fellow shook his head, still looking a bit dazed; then his own eyes, round and brown, (so he’s the opposite of Jon in almost every way, physically speaking. Like I said in the aforementioned OC ask, I designed him as a foil for Jon, fundamentally different in some ways but very similar in others. Physically speaking he’s basically Sean Astin (with some James Corden thrown in) with brown eyes, blond hair, and a Liverpool accent.) went even rounder as he stared at Jonathan. “Jon! What the hell are you doing ‘ere?”

For the longest time Tommy used to call Jonathan by his last name here (and Jon’s earlier line used to be “Ferguson? Is that you? Tommy Ferguson?”). I changed it quite recently. I think I wanted to convey the idea that school friends at the time often called each other by their last names; but since he calls Jonathan “Jon” 100% of the time - and is the only one to do so, which I have Feelings about - I went back to correct it.

“Glad to see you too, old chap,” laughed Jonathan, standing up and dusting himself off before offering a hand at the man on the ground, who accepted it gladly.

Heh. Look, one of the staples of Mummy fanfiction was and still is the old school friend of Evy’s who follows either the siblings (TM time) or the whole family (TMR/post-TMR time) to Egypt and falls in love with Ardeth Bay. I’m not throwing stones here; I’ve read a couple I really liked. There’s the odd Jonathan/OFC romance, too. What I set out to do as a baby writer (I was 21 at the time!) and unsuspecting ace was to write something completely devoid of romance (except the odd Evy/Rick snuggle and, of course, all-encompassing love for each other). And then, as I reread the story for rewrites a decade and a half later, I became more and more convinced that Jonathan and Tommy used to be more than friends, and then when Elizabeth came along the three of them got together as a thruple and very happy for a while. (For some reason I couldn’t work this explicitly into FTaH, though - it felt too much like hinting at this huge story I was never going to write and might have made FTaH much too crowded. So it’s up to the reader to decide, really. Personally, I like both options.) So here’s 37 year old me shipping Jon with a female OC and a male OC, and quite enthusiastically, at that. *chuckles* Wonder what my 21 y-o self would think of it…

He hadn’t seen Thomas Ferguson since some time after the end of the war, what felt like ages ago. They’d made quite a pair at Oxford, the two of them – the scrawny, foppish Southerner with the quiet grin and the sticky fingers, and the broad-shouldered, round-faced Scouser with the laughing eyes and the deceptively innocent face. They’d rowed for the Dark Blues for a bit, got properly pickled on Boat Race Nights, and helped each other out of many a tight spot. Oh, for the halcyon days of youth.

One of the reasons I picked up FTaH again is because the second half of 2019 was very, very British for me. I saw (and read) Good Omens for the first time in early June and my feelings exploded; July was very much about discovering the delights of P.G. Wodehouse’s Jeeves and Wooster (TV show and books). Halfway through that month I remembered my everlasting fondness for the characters of The Mummy and realised the protagonists and Bertie were the same generation, more or less, and I started imagining a crossover. By the time August rolled in I was fully into TM/TMR again, reading fic and my fingers itching to at least correct some iffy parts of FTaH. This last sentence, about Jon’s and Tom’s Oxford days, would never have come out that way if I hadn’t read Wodehouse.

As soon as Tommy was on his feet he was wringing Jonathan’s hand with all the energy he’d been famous for as a boy. “Sorry, Jon, mate, I was a bit stunned –” After all these years, he still retained some of that accent, too! “– En’t everyday you bump into a pal from Oxford in the middle of Cairo! How’d you get here, for starters?”

…Tommy’s accent. *sighs* I’m not a fan of writing accents phonetically in the first place. When I write Newkirk (Hogan’s Heroes) and his Cockney accent, there isn’t much except the odd “me” for “my” or things like “d’you”. I did have to make it obvious Tommy had an accent, though, if only because later Jonathan is surprised when he tones it down to speak with the curator. (This is something his 18 year old self found incredibly difficult, btw.) @thisstableground oversaw the first chapter and gave me very valuable tips, including “en’t” (// “ain’t), which was super helpful in giving Tommy’s accent its own specificity and meant that I didn’t need him to drop “h”s and “g”s all over the place. (which he does do, but hopefully not in a way that takes you away from the story.)

As for why he’s from Liverpool as opposed to, say, Manchester or the East End of London, the answer is very simple. I’d discovered the Beatles a year or two prior and they remain one of my favourite bands in the whole world ♥

“Well, I followed my sister,” Jonathan replied, grinning. In fifteen years or so, he had not realised how much he had actually missed this accent. “She’s giving a hand to the curator of the Museum of Antiquities – she’s something of an authority now, as a matter of fact.”

“Oh aye? That’s fantastic. I en’t forgotten how you’d talk about her, y’know. On and on and on. I’m curious to see what she looks like.”

Somethingthat didn’t change after rewrites is the idea that Jon was verysecretive about his Oxford years. Tom and Evy never met before this,and Evy hadn’t even heard about Tom before.

Jonathan stole a glance at the entrance steps of the Museum, and turned to Tommy with a smirk. “Really? Well, if you really want to, I suppose I could…”

His sister had just appeared on the stairs, accompanied by the curator, an elderly man with greying hair and whiskers. The curator, Dr Fahad Hakim, has a somewhat larger role later on, but this is just a cameo to let you know he exists :o) There’s another mention earlier, too. Tommy followed Jonathan’s gaze and looked at them, goggling at Evy in particular.

“Jon – are my eyes mistaken, or is this gorgeous woman Doctor Evelyn O’Connell? I’ve read about her, she’s famous in my line of work… According to what I’ve read, she was one of the first people to make it out of the City of the Dead alive –”

He doesn’t say what his “line of work” is, but we (and Jonathan) can infer it has something to do with archaeology or Egyptology. And, incidentally, I’m setting up the first alarm bells here because, as Evy points out in the following chapter, at the time her name was “Carnahan”, so how come Tommy didn’t seem to make the connection between Jon’s bookish sister and this English librarian with the same name? The answer is: because he’s nervous (because he’s in Cairo on secret Chamber of Horus business) and as delighted as he is to see Jon again after so many years his brain went “YOU KNOW NOTHING” then backpedalled and went “…OKAY, YOU KNOW SOME THINGS.”

Jonathan’s grin widened as he nodded. “Yes, that’d be her.”

Tommy rambled on as they walked closer to the stairs, “That’s bloody amazing! I thought she’d look, you know, like in the pictures in the paper, the bookish type with glasses – your typical Southern spinster,” he added with a wink. They waited for the curator to bid her goodbye, and Jonathan, greatly enjoying the situation, crept up on his sister to kiss her on the cheek.

“Hey there, old mum – how’s your day been?”

Evy started, then her expression shifted from slightly irked to a smile at her brother’s laugh. She rolled her eyes. “Honestly, Jonathan, the things that amuse you…”

SIBS!!! I love writing siblings, and those two in particular. One of the things that I find amusing/endearing is how comfortable they are with each other, physically (and emotionally) speaking. It’s all gentle touch here, light slap there, running hand in hand, lots of things you wouldn’t expect from two Very English siblings from the first half of the 20th century.

“You’re just miffed that I startled you. C’mon, I’d like you to meet someone – an admirer,” he added with a grin to Tommy, who stood there, his eyes wide. “Thomas Ferguson, an old school friend of mine. Tommy – Evelyn Carnahan O’Connell, my famous baby sister.”

There’s a couple of instances where someone introduces Tom as “Thomas”, or Tom introducing himself as such. Most of the time, though, he’s “Tommy” - until chapter 9, where we spend some time in his head for the first time and see he thinks of himself as “Tom”, and when we go back to Jon’s PoV in chapter 11 Jonathan made the mental switch to “Tom”, as well, to separate the boy from his youth from the man he’s become. I actually spell it out in chapter 17: “A lot had happened since that late afternoon in Giza when his friend had pointed a gun at him and stopped being ‘Tommy’. ‘Tommy’ was a warm memory of loud laughter, daring escapes, bright eyes over pints clinking in the comfortable darkness of a well-loved pub. Tom, on the other hand, was a fairly decent man chucked into a complex situation, who had a wife he loved dearly but lied to about his job, who had not wanted to bring harm to an old friend but had done so anyway.”

Evy held out her hand, which Tommy grabbed and shook heartily. “So you’re the old scoundrel’s sister? No wonder he talked about you – though you don’t quite fit the description now…”

“What exactly did you tell your ‘school friends’ about me?” asked Evy, warning in her voice, though the twinkle in her eye did not quite disappear. Nevertheless, Jonathan preferred to ignore her question, earning a hard nudge in the ribs.

He bragged, actually. A lot. Since he thought Tommy and Lizzie would never meet Evy, Jonathan considered himself free to speak quite enthusiastically of his baby sister’s achievements and how bright she was. Of course, he also complained a good deal, because even at 12 Evy had a penchant for being bossy that came out even in letters.

“So, what did you say your ‘line of work’ was?” he asked Tommy.

“Well – don’t laugh. I work at the British Consulate in Cairo, specialising in antique stuff. Oh, I’m sorry, Dr O’Connell,” he stammered with a glance at Evy who had an eyebrow raised, “I mean I’m one of the chief agents in the British Antique Research Department.”

No he’s not! He’s actually a secret agent, kinda :D And not remotely close to a “chief agent”, at that. Tom Ferguson is deeply in love with his wife and nothing will ever change that state of affairs, but he might have a little intellectual crush on Evy, which leads him to… wanting to impress her a little bit.

“I’ve heard of you!” exclaimed Evy. “At least of that Research Department. They’re gradually cutting off public funds – encouraging individual financing – but that won’t do any good for scientific research! Such a stupid decision is only going to –”

“So you lot are the ones she kept fuming about for half a year!” Jonathan snorted. The infamous Ferguson rotten luck struck again.

I still regret I didn’t find more opportunities to showcase how ridiculously unlucky Tommy could get sometimes. Ah well.

Tommy looked dejected. Evy must have seen this, because she bit her lip and said, in softer tones, “Look, I’m sorry I snapped at you. But as my brother said, I’ve been… rather upset over this. There’s been some pressure on the British Museum lately by private patrons who threatened to pull out their funding on some… sensitive collections. Without the Crown to back us up, we might have to cave in to their ridiculous demands.”

Before the rewrites, Evy’s speech used to be a lot more “private funding is bad” without much nuance or justification. I changed it to something that hopefully makes sense and justifies her previous outburst.

“I’ll – I’ll tell my superiors about it,” said Tommy, still looking unsure. “See what I can do. I’m sure it won’t be much, but… Well. I’ll have tried.”

“That’s nice,” Evy said cheerfully, taking Jonathan’s arm and starting to walk. See what I mean about physicality? She doesn’t even ask him with a look, just takes his arm and that’s that. And he lets her, because he’d do the same thing. “Look, the two of you – I’ve had something of a rough day, so I’ll go home, if you don’t mind. You can –”

“Brilliant idea!” said Jonathan, flashing a grin at his sister. “I thought of going to the Sultan’s Casbah, but you might find it a tad – let’s say – dingy, my good friend.”

The Sultan’s Casbah, in the novelisation of the film and my personal headcanon, was the bar Jonathan patronised the night before the first time we see Evy and where he stole a valuable-looking puzzle box from an unsuspecting drunk American.

“Worse than the Turf?” Seeing Evy’s puzzled look, Tommy explained, “Sorry, private joke. I mean the Turf Tavern, that’s where I saw him for the first time. Me family didn’t ‘ave much money, so I used to work there to pay for my studies. Very nice pub, didn’t deserve the reputation.”

The Best Beloved and I took a trip to Oxford in the spring of 2003 (by bus - 20 hours to get there, same to come back home) and while we were so broke we had to settle for a soup and some rice in a lovely Thai restaurant we did go for a drink at the Turf. I remember a dimly-lit room with dark wood, and I think either they changed a lot of it or my memory isn’t that good because it doesn’t really look like that on the Google Maps pics. Still, I liked it, and when I needed an Oxford pub for the story it’s the one I worked in. Incidentally, there was a lot of illegal gambling going on in there in the 19th century, hence Tommy’s mention of the pub’s bad reputation.

“I’m sure you did indeed see a lot of my brother there,” Evy slipped in slyly. Jonathan threw a mock glare at her.

“To think you are almost my only family. What a shame.” Then, as Tommy looked uncertain, he added, “Carry on, Tom.”

“All right. So I was one of the only students who needed a job, and there were some others who thought that it was – how’d they put it? – a ‘disgrace’ to our university.”

“Preposterous,” said Evy sternly. “As if money could take you further than talent.”

Jonathan bit back on the cynical comment that crossed his mind. Sometimes Evy’s naïveté baffled him.

“Right,” said Tommy uncertainly, glancing at Jonathan. “So, one day, a little bunch of lads come in, and Jon here was sometimes hanging with ‘em at the time –”

Because Jonathan likes to gamble with people with deep pockets :P

Evy glared at Jonathan in advance, and he threw his hands in the air. “Don’t look at me like that! I haven’t done anything!” Evy’s gaze softened, and Jonathan finished, “…Yet.”

That earned him a playful slap on the arm, and a laugh from Tommy, who went on, “Anyway, one of the blokes orders somethin’ or other, and starts to poke fun at me. Well, I was used to it, so I let them be. Then they continued, and I finally noticed that skinny lad in the corner who was makin’ fun of them for making fun of me. Didn’t quite understand what the hell was going on – oh, sorry, Dr O’Connell – what was happening.”

While John Hannah is not “skinny” by any stretch, he is rather svelte, and one of my unimpeachable headcanons for Jonathan is that he was skinny as a rake in his youth - until he went through basic training (then WW1) and his shoulders filled out a little. It’s more or less what happened to the Best Beloved, so I feel quite secure in this headcanon’s plausibility. Plus, picturing 18 year old Jonathan as a mix of awkward gangliness and skinny limbs and aristocratic poise is just funny. (and I find the comparison with Tommy - who at that point was soft and a little chubby but already had broad shoulders - rather endearing.)

Evy smiled. “You’ll have to watch your mouth in front of my son, but otherwise it’s fine. And please, call me Evelyn.”

Tommy beamed. “Right, uh, Evelyn. So, uh –”

“What he didn’t know at that point,” interrupted Jonathan, “was that I had my eye on that fellow – what’s his name – Farbow. He owed me quite a bit of money, but wouldn’t repay me. So I was looking for a way to get him back for it.”

“And get the rest of his wallet in the process, of course.”

“Evy, he owed me seventeen pounds. (Which used to be £70 until I did some research and saw that £17 was A Bloody Fortune a the time.) And he was not what I’d call a ‘decent bloke’ – nasty, disdainful piece of work he was, and his little friends with him. Always a dirty word about the Scouser who worked at the Turf Tavern, just because he didn’t belong to his snobby little world. I did the community a favour, really.”

What he doesn’t say is that Edwin Farbow also had a lot to say about “half-Egyptian mongrels” who thought they belonged in those ancient walls. Too bad I couldn’t find a way to work it in this particular fic. If I ever manage to finish at least Tommy’s part of One-Step, Two-Step, Waltz, the first chapter of Pirouette features the whole scene.

“Don’t push it, Jonathan,” warned Evy.

Tommy carried on. “Well, I was glad there was at least one person who didn’t think like Edwin Farbow – nice change. Then Farbow said something – I don’t remember what it was about, I just remember it made me really angry, really. An’ it’s not a pretty sight when I’m really angry at someone.”

It’s always the quiet, genial ones, isn’t it.

Jonathan remembered, but thought it wise to keep his mouth shut.

Both because what Farbow said was pretty damn offensive to Tommy’s character, background, and lineage, and also because Farbow’s rant included “It’s bad enough they let inpeople like Carnahan, who only exists because a glorifiedgrave-robber shagged some darkey and didn’t even have the decencyto pretend otherwise –” and he really doesn’t want to bring this up in front of Evy, who’s had to deal with her own share of this kind of racist bullshit and doesn’t need a reminder.

“An’ – an’ I just lost it, y’know? I dropped his tea over his ‘ead –”

“I say, that one was pretty funny,” Jonathan said, smiling widely at the memory. The strangled yelp that had followed had definitely been one of the best parts.

“So they all leaped for me, obviously – began to punch me, the five or six of them – hey, I still managed to get back at them!” Tommy added quickly, as if defending his honour. Evy hid a smile, and it occurred to Jonathan that that last sentence had something very Rick-like about it. “But I en’t a fool. I know a losing fight when I’m in one.”

“Don’t tell me. Jonathan bravely threw himself into the fight to take on as many attackers as possible.” There was mischievous laughter in Evy’s voice, and her eyes were twinkling. If anyone other than her had quipped that way about him, Jonathan would probably have taken offence, or at least pretended to. But they knew each other enough not to cross the line.

Tommy raised an eyebrow. “Well, that wasn’t quite Jon’s style – I don’ know, might’ve changed since then. But yeah, he did. One moment I was squashed under five or six, the next I found out we were two on the floor.”

This was perhaps the biggest suspension of disbelief I’m asking the reader to make - which, in a story where governments have secret agencies to keep an eye on magical ancient artefacts and a diamond has magic powers, is saying something. Jonathan throwing himself into a fight because someone he loves (ie. four people in the whole world that we know of) is in danger? Yep, that checks out, that’s what he does both in TM and TMR. But an (almost) complete stranger? I needed one hell of a justification. Which ended up… 60% Farbow’s money and 40% Farbow being a giant arsehole who had no business making decent bartenders look like that.

Evy began to laugh. “Why, Jonathan? My Jonathan, in a fight, for someone he barely knew?”

At that Jonathan cleared his throat, a mite embarrassed. “I told you, I was looking for Farbow’s wallet. That was the perfect diversion – you should’ve seen that twit looking in every corner for his lost wallet afterwards. It was three months before he gave up.” And it’s lucky you didn’t see me then. I was a bloody mess. “Why’re you looking at me like that?”

“Nothing.” Evy smiled. “You never told me that.”

To be fair, there’s a LOT of things he never told you, old girl ;o)

“Should I have?”

“I don’t know, it’s – it was nice of you to do that, even for the wrong reasons. I’m proud of you.”

Jonathan felt an unexpected lump rise in his throat. Not a very big one, but enough to keep him from talking for a few seconds. It was always like this whenever she said something really nice to him. It caught him off guard each and every time.

Look, it took me years to realise it, but I’m a sucker for validation. Sometimes it bleeds out on characters I write.

After a little while, Evy stopped in front of a door and announced, “Well, we’re home.”

“Nice house,” commented Tommy, taking in the sand-coloured neat front and the curtains at the windows.

“Our ‘old haunt’ since the family moved to Egypt,” Jonathan said, opening the door and stepping aside to let his sister in. “Evy wasn’t even walking then.”

In the first film, Evy, Rick, Jonathan and the remainder of the American party go straight to Fort Brydon, and the next thing we see is Evy emptying her suitcase while Rick tries to fill it. Since both Carnahan siblings actually live in Cairo, I thought they would live in an actual house, and from there I extrapolated that the family had one house in England (the manor we see in TMR) and a smaller pied-à-terre in Cairo.

“I do believe I was,” Evy protested.

Jonathan snorted. “Oh, you weren’t. You crawled.”

si b l i n gssss ♥♥ And like, you can always count on a big sib to remind you that you could be ridiculous as a kid. I should know, I’m the big sister :D

Evy seemed to resist the urge to slap her brother and walked into the living room, her nose in the air. She was greeted by two simultaneous voices:

“Mum!”

“Hey, hon.”

Rick’s first words in this story, and it’s greeting his wife ^^ I didn’t do it on purpose, but it’s. Y’know. There.

Jonathan waited a few seconds, then walked into the room in turn, and grinned at the sight of his nephew looking genuinely eager to see him. He was not fooled, however – as soon as Evy wasn’t looking, Alex mouthed the words “Got one?” and frowned as his uncle shook his head. No, he still had no present for Mum’s birthday.

Evy’s birthday mainly originated as a device to get characters (especially Jonathan) moving. It’s the reason he’s roaming the streets of Cairo just before he bumps into Tommy, and why he and Alex go to the bazaar in chapter 5. It also pops up further on in the story, but I’m not saying anything because spoilers.

“Uncle Jon? Who’s that?”

“Who, him?” Jonathan pointed at Tommy behind him, looking uncomfortable at the family reunion, and Alex rolled his eyes. “Tom Ferguson, he was in class with me at Oxford. I ran into him by chance today.”

Tommy stepped past Jonathan and held out his hand to Alex, nearest to him. “Hi – glad to meet you. Jon’s nephew, eh?”

“Yeah,” said Alex, eyeing him with all the suspicion of a ten-year-old who’d seen what he had seen. Behind him, Rick’s eyes spoke loads about his own distrust. But mistrust towards Jonathan and everything related was par for the course on his part, and, admittedly, reasonable.

Alex has Seen Things. This may sound tongue-in-cheek, but it’s true. After what happened in TMR, he’s 100% entitled to being suspicious of strangers. As for Rick, I took my cue from one of his first lines to Jon in TMR being “What did you do this time?” implying that the weird shit happening right now, with the men in red and the sexy lady waving snakes around isn’t exactly unheard of. Hence the “and, admittedly, reasonable”, which I added in the rewrites.

“Thomas Ferguson, British Antique Research Department,” said Tommy, holding out a hand towards Rick, who shook it slowly, still reluctant.

“Rick O’Connell.”

“So you’re Dr O’Connell’s husband? Pleasure to meet you, sir. I’m impressed, you’ve no idea.”

Rick raised an eyebrow. “Impressed?”

“It seems I’m rather famous in the Research Department,” said Evy, laughing.

“Make that infamous,” quipped Jonathan.

“The Department owes your wife a great deal. She was the one who uncovered a huge amount of our information about some obscure periods of Egyptian history, as well as the major part of serious knowledge we’ve got on Hamunaptra,” Tommy pointed out, and Evy blushed. “She’s a legend – one of the original three who managed to go to Hamunaptra and live to tell the tale! But… I assume you’re another one?”

Oh, Tommy. MATE. You’re saying you know three people made it out of Hamunaptra alive, one of whom a woman with the exact same first and last name as your best friend’s sister who had a passion for ancient history, but you had no idea he was one of them as well?

Incidentally, the early installment weirdness I mentioned earlier mostly consists in Tommy being a lot more energetic and innocent-looking than he later proves to be (which is a little more grounded and pragmatic than Jon). In fact, he and Jonathan’s first couple of scenes together give the impression that he’s the red and Jon’s the blue in the “Bue oni, red oni” trope, when later chapters show Jon as a little bit more of a disaster while Tom struggles to make better choices and be more sensible. Which in the end would make them shades of purple, really.

“Yeah,” said Rick, looking a bit nonplussed. Jonathan definitely didn’t regret bringing Tommy in. Seeing Rick O’Connell confused was a very rare occurrence, too rare to be missed.

“I never knew – who was the third one?”

Jonathan was now struggling to keep a straight face. Rick blinked, and pointed at his brother-in-law. “That was him.”

“You!?” God, the look on his face was priceless. “You were at Hamunaptra?”

“Yes,” risked Jonathan, laughter rising in his voice. “And believe me, it wasn’t exactly a picnic. Oh, by the way, there were four of us, not three.”

Meaning Ardeth, of course. My take is that Tommy - and by extension the Chamber of Horus - know about as much about the Medjai as Evy knew about the Book of Amun-Ra prior to the events of TM: a non-negligible amount of information, but all of it second-hand and some of it a bit dicey.

From the corner of his eye, he could see Rick roll his eyes and grinned, undaunted. This was proving to be a fun evening.

Make the most of it, people, because it’s all going to go downhill fast…

Thank you ♥♥♥

#thatsoneginger #ask reply #fic commentary #Fairy Tales and Hokum

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carefulvenom · 6 years ago

Text

Bag of Bugles and a Spell

sheogasms said: had an idea for a carol x fem!reader(pre relationship): carol has been trying to hide her feelings for the reader but, on a mission, she gets hit with some charm/spell that makes her even more stupidly in love with the reader. it makes her super soft and extremely flirty towards the reader, no matter who’s around. possible comedic fluff? (also thank you sm for doing these ur writing is amazing and im gonna lowkey keep bothering u w prompts)

A/N: omg this is the cutest prompt ever!! I was super excited to write this although I feel like I suck at fluff!! thank u for sending in I love hearing all of your ideas, hope I do them justice! also, I made Carol a lil bit of a cornball...she’s just weird

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: some language and minor violence/shooting

You’ve had three missions with Carol this month. The missions have been fairly easy and they’re over pretty quickly, which makes sense considering you and Carol are a hell of a team. You and Fury seem to think so and you’re hoping Carol thinks the same. You like spending time with her, even if you’re drenched in blood and dirt and killing people at the same time. There are not many people who you can experience that with, and that’s why Carol is so great. She cracks jokes, you tease each other, you have hilarious banter, she sends funny looks your way when you overhear something stupid over the coms, and she’s very confident and energetic.

So, when you find out Fury had paired the two of you up again, you’re ecstatic. Even if it’s a stakeout mission. You’re geared up and ready to go, standing patiently outside the entrance of the Avengers compound, when you see Carol walk up to you in her suit. She looks great, but she does a stupid dance and spin to show off her suit that you’ve seen endless times. You sarcastically clap.

“Hey, partner,” Carol smiles kindly at you. “Ready to kick- watch some ass?”

You giggle. “Yes, ma’am. Let’s watch that ass.”

You and Carol have laid on the same roof for what seems to be hours. You brought snacks with the hope that you could stay filled up and energized while doing basically nothing. Too bad Carol’s been eating them all. She shakes the last of the bag of Bugles into her mouth and chomps on the crumbs just leaving you to stare at her. She turns her head to look at you and her mouth is full and crunching. You’re staring at her, saying nothing. She’s eating all your damn snacks.

She swallows quickly. “These were to share, right? I’m good?”

“Yeah, they were to share. Too bad you ate them all.” You try to scold her but end up giggling.

“Well don’t blame me! It’s boring! What am I supposed to do, just stare through these binoculars?”

“Yes, Carol, that’s exactly what we’re supposed to do.”

“Well, Y/N, how about I just...ya know...not do that,” Carol suggests, wriggling her eyebrows. But you have no idea what she’s suggesting.

“Fuck are you on about? You’re already doing nothing. You’re not even watching the subject.”

“Perhaps I shall get in on the action myself, m’lady.” Carol proposes with a very bad cockney accent.

“Okay, what?” you sigh and press your fingers to your eyebrows. You’re sat there, shaking your head when you start to laugh. You look up at her and she’s laughing back too.

“I mean...hold my beer.”

“Carol, wh-” you start. There’s not even a beer anywhere.

Carol, of course, makes a big scene by doing jumping off the ledge and doing her trademark superhero landing on the roof of the building in front of you. She starts to run and you immediately get off your feet and jump down to follow her. Of course, she’s running to the action, the girl can’t sit still for more than 5 minutes. You understand that completely, but you don’t understand why she would disturb something that’s meant to be observed. You’re supposed to keep a log and report back to S.H.I.E.L.D with the information. But, Carol decides to run ahead of you and you have to follow her, climbing down fire escape stairways and jumping on trash bins.

You’re finally caught up to her when she hiding on the side of the building you’ve been watching. She’s waiting for a proper time to enter. You genuinely don’t even know what to do. You would try to stop her but you know Carol isn’t one that is stopped. You’d try to talk to her but she’d just run away into the building. You sigh probably a bit too loudly. You suppose you’re going in with her.

The subjects you’ve been watching are a small threat, hence the fact that you’re just watching them instead of capturing them. That might change soon, though. Carol can be a wildcard at times but it’s dealt with considering that she’s just so powerful. She makes a signal with her hand and enters the building. You follow reluctantly with your gun in hand, checking corners and behind you before walking further. She leads you to a room in the back that seems to be empty and looks out of the door cautiously but curiously.

“Carol, we didn’t even check the security. They probably know we’re here.”

She puts her finger up to her mouth, gesturing for you to be quiet. You’re sure your eyes roll back into your head, but she gives you a playful push backward and giggles very lightly.

You’re caught up staring at her and her cheeky smile when you see a person in front of you. Carol is turned towards you, unaware. You duck away quickly, grabbing her by the waist to bring you to the ground with her as your hand extends your gun to shoot. You shoot him, but it’s too late. Carol seems to be unconscious. You try to wake her quickly and look on her for any wounds but you can’t seem to find anything. She must’ve gotten a spell put on her.

You stand up, looking out the doorway. You see two armed men and you shoot both of them, allowing an opportunity to exit. Stealth and speed are very important in this situation, so you grab Carol quickly and you carry her in front of you. You’re running at full speed out of the building with Carol in your arms and you make it far enough down the block into a hidden alleyway to hit your com.

“Carol was being a dumbass. Got a spell put on her or something. She’s unconscious but she has a pulse and vitals seem fine. I’ll be making my way back to the spot. I’ll keep you updated.”

Maria Hill’s voice comes through the speaker. “Okay. Make sure she’s safe and head back as soon as you can. Need any backup?”

“No, I got it. Thank you.” You click off your com.

You decide to go inside the building this time, unlike Carol who decides to jump off things and run down fire escapes. You hurry into the elevator and try to avoid as much eye contact or attention as possible. You head up to the roof and place Carol on the spot where she was laying before.

You wave the empty bag of bugles in her face, smacking her with it. “Hey, goofy, wake up.”

She’s still unconscious. You sigh, and reach your hand back, about to slap her hard. Her eyes flutter open all of a sudden and you immediately pull your hand down.

“Hey! Hey Carol,” you smile. “I’m so glad you’re awake now.”

“Mmmmm,” She moans and sits up slowly, staring at you for a few seconds. “Hey, gorgeous. Goooorgeous. My jaw hits the flooorgeous.”

Your jaw opens and your mouth is agape. You turn your head and chuckle, blushing hard. She never ceases to surprise you. You wonder what type of spell she’s under or what she’s coming off of.

“What, they got you drunk or something?”

“No!” Carol yells, very loudly. She looks and sounds like a toddler. It actually startles you. “But I’m drunk off of youuuu.”

“Okay. Understandable. I’d flirt with me too. But I’m gonna need you to quiet down and help me pick up this stuff so we can go back to the compound,” you reply, trying to keep your cool. She’s flirting with you and you love it. You’ve been waiting for this.

“You cute dumbass! I’ve been flirting with you this whole time!” Carol yells again. She definitely sounds drunk, but man, are you reveling in this. It feels so good to hear.

“No, listen here. You’re the dumbass. Be quiet and let’s go.”

“Ooooooooh. Yes, ma’am!” she salutes. “A woman in charge. That’s what I like about you. Not to mention how beautiful you are.”

You’re actually blushing like crazy, but you’re worried she’s not meaning anything she’s saying, so you’re trying to be serious. Also, you’ve got places to be.

“Carol, can you ple-”

“And THAT ASS. It’s a MARVEL. Captain Marvelous Ass over here! God damn!” She starts cracking up at her own joke and you can’t help but laugh too. You knew you’d have fun on this mission.

“You’ve got a pretty nice ass too, Miss Drunk Toddler.”

“I am not a trunk ogler!” Carol whines, crawling over to you and placing her head on your shoulder. You're both sitting criss-cross and staring off at the cityscape. “I am a Y/N lover. And I love it.”

“Carol, you’re the cutest thing I’ve ever seen. You drive me crazy. In a good way and a bad way.” Mostly bad way. You’re always blushing whenever she’s around, and you’re always wanting to just place your hand on hers. You like Carol. You have ever since you met her.

“Let’s go to the museum and get ice cream. I want to take you on a date. Take you to paradise.” she drifts off, then gasps. “Two tickets to paradise! Eddie Money!”

“Yeah, that’s right. Eddie Money.” You say softly, looking down at her. You can see the moonlight accentuate how her eyelashes lay on her cheek. You can see her blonde hair framing her beautiful face in just a way that makes you want to kiss her nose. You can see a smile sitting on her lips and a dreamy sigh come out of her mouth.

“I like you, Y/N. I want to be your girlfriend. I want to take care of you, I want to do everything together. I’m starting to feel a little bit more normal. But this is right. Feels good.”

“Does feel good, doesn’t it Carol? I like you too. I always have.” you smile down at her.

She looks up at you, surprised. She nearly gasps. She pats your chest excitedly, like a child or a dog, and she leans her head back on your shoulder.

“Although I’d be the one taking care of you, you big dummy.” you tease, tousling her hair and then kissing her head. “I hope you remember this.”

You sit in silence for a bit, feeling the breeze run through your hair and the warmth in your heart radiate to your body. You’re happy, and you’re staring at the city and stars in front of you. You have Carol, what else could you need?

Maria’s voice comes through your com again, startling you. “Everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine, she’s just a little out of it. We’ll be packing up in a second and we’re gonna need a car.”

“Sounds good.”

You nudge Carol and stand up, extending your arm for her to grab your hand. You lift her up and she doesn’t let go of your hand.

“Can we pack up now, please?” You ask her, softly. She nods quickly and grabs the binoculars on the ground as you fold up the blanket. You take the binoculars from her and put them in your backpack. Putting the backpack on, you extend your hand for Carol’s again. She’s picking up the Bugles bag and looking inside, frowning.

“You literally just ate them all. Did you think they were going to reappear?”

“Shut up. Maybe I did.” Carol laughs and takes your hand. You make your way down to the lobby and get in the backseat of the car. The driver nods to you and you nod back. Carol rests her head on your shoulder again.

After tucking Carol into bed, you find your way to yours and plop down face first. You squeal and smile into your pillow and hope to god she remembers this. Or at least, meant it.

You wake up in the morning and check your phone first thing. There’s a text from Carol.

I meant it all. We still going for ice cream and a museum trip?

Oh, and I’m sorry for eating all your Bugles. I’ll get you more on our date.

All you can do is smile as you lay down in your bed, taking in the warmth of the sunlight shining through your window.

Finally.

#carol danvers #carol danvers x reader #carol danvers fluff #carol danvers x fem reader #carol danvers x reader fluff

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