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0bticeo · 6 months ago

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jonathan sims | get some rest (tomorrow is already here)

summary:

“what do you propose?”

you take in a sharp inhale. you should leave. drag him away from his desk. but jonathan sims is a stubborn man, so he must be coaxed into doing so.

“a massage.”

"a what?"

wc: 2.5k

tw: massage, making out, reader being a horny mess, jon being exhausted and a cranky bastard, hinted at elias' voyeuristic tendencies, usual tma ominous feelings, fluff (shocking, i know)

the analog clock reads 3:27, stark red embedded upon your retina. you sigh, fingers rubbing at the back of your neck as you step into the archives, weary bones aching.

it’s not your fault if you fell asleep in a secluded corner of the archives departement, squeezed between two shelves and piles upon piles of unlabeled statements. scratch that: they’re labeled. chronologically.

they do not make sense, however, because jonathan sims’ predecessor - whose name you curse with every breath and sleepless night you spend organizing her damn mess - left the whole department in such a state of disarray you might spend the rest of your life making sense of it. damn her. and damn your boss for being so uptight about it all.

you feel the weight of the institute, a looming force of knowledge pressed at the back of your neck, sweet pinprick of pain. you’re watched. oh, orwell, how right you were.

you make your way towards your desk, stepping over sasha’s pink slippers and picking up an empty mug. grab your keys, get out, and walk home. you’re not too far away from the institute. no trouble.

as you lean forward, palm pressed flat against a manila file, something catches your eye.

light.

thin rays of it crawl, seep out from under the wooden door of the head archivist’s office, stark golden in dull gray penumbra.

he’s there, jonathan sims, head archivist of the magnus institute. holed up in his office, recording a statement, voice poised and measured and controlled in every way he isn’t upon being confronted with his poor sleeping schedule.

you should leave.

you hear the soft click of a tape recorder being stopped. a long, deep-suffering sigh. a drawer opening, more muttering, some shuffling, rustling papers - oh no he won’t.

in three decisive steps, you’re before his door, your sharp knocking rinnging like gunfire in the quiet of the office.

“who-who’s there?”

unease. suspicion.

you’re quick to answer with a long suffering sigh of your own, forehead pressed against the door.

“it’s me, jon.”

a pause. an exasperated sigh.

“what do you want?"

you take it as your cue to step inside his office, dimly lit by a lone desk lamp, dust particles turning midas-gold under its rays. your foot catches on a discarded paper - another statement, this one regarding a gambling fool of a soldier.

(he who tries to cheat death gets the fruit of his labor and weeps upon tasting it.)

you pick it up, and let your gaze roam about the place.

a cork board takes up the majority of a wall, red strings twisting and turning in a web of confusion.

bookshelves align themselves in neat rows, cramped against one another, overflowing with statements, indigestions of facts made up and real.

a cluttered desk - a switched off tape recorder, manila folders, an open computer casting its blue glow upon the sharp edge of jon’s face.

he’s glaring at you.

“have you grown deaf since the last time i saw you?”

you let out an amused breath and make a move to put the statement on his desk. finding an uncluttered space is harder than it proves to be.

jon all but snatches the damn paper from your grip. if looks could kill, you’d be in bad shape. you lean back, arms crossed over your chest, hip pressed against the edge of his desk.

“no, merely mute with shock upon your wretched appearance.” you smile, teasing edges fading into concern. “seriously, when was the last time you slept?”

“that does not concern you-”

“it does, actually. you’re my boss. i can’t let you waste away, who would pay me otherwise?”

“elias pays all of us-”

“and he probably would have me promoted as a glorified secretary if you were to overwork yourself to death. i hate accountance, jon.”

he pinches his nose with long, deft fingers, glasses riding up ever so slightly. they reveal the deep circles under his eyes, embedded in his olive skin. you can practically see the tension oozing from him, the knots in his shoulders.

“if you’re determined to waste my time-”

“i came to help, actually.”

he raises a quizzical eyebrow, the living embodiment of judgment.

you feel his gaze rake your form, the own dark circles under your eyes, the crumpled shirt, the dust that clings to your skirt, what he’s sure is the imprint of the shelf you fell asleep against on your cheek.

you raise your hands in mock surrender. (you miss the way his gaze softens a little.)

“you’re exhausted. hell, i can feel your nervous energy from here.”

he opens his mouth, frowning, protest ready on his tongue. you cut him, merciless.

“when was the last time you’ve gotten more than three hours of sleep?”

that shuts him up. his frown deepens. you want to smooth out the wrinkles on his forehead.

“that - look, if you have nothing better to do than pester me-”

“it’s three in the morning and we’re the only living souls in this institute.”

maybe. you don’t really want to know what lies in the tunnels. or in the artifact storage. or what’s watching you.

“you’re not going to sleep at all at this rate - no, i know you’re not, because i know you. kinda.”

he sighs, exhaustion crawling out of his very marrow, and leans back in his chair. you take in the wrinkles in his shirt, now exposed because lo and behold, jonathan sims’ jacket is not sewn to his body and -

and he’s loosening his tie, two fingers digging in his windsor knot, smooth silk gliding away under skilled fingers. you wonder what they might feel like slipping under your shirt.

“what do you propose?”

you take in a sharp inhale. you should leave. drag him away from his desk and into bed. but jonathan sims is the living embodiment of stubborness, so he must be coaxed into doing so.

“a massage.”

“a- a what?”

you laugh a little.

“don’t pretend your neck isn’t stiffer than the stick up your ass.”

“i do not have-”

“jon, please let me help.”

silence. again, he pinches the bridge of his nose. at least, he’s considering it.

you eye the piles of statements on his desk, half-discarded, half-classified. there’s a pattern in the way jon operates, even if he’s not conscious of it.

he only ever calls for your help when he’s sure the statements at hand are lelgitimate. this means he rules out those he deems written by lunatics and madmen. this means he does most of the work. this means-

“all right. but under one condition."

you tilt your head to the side, curious.

“one last statement.”

“only if i massage you while you record it.”

a glare.

“we’re wasting time, jon.”

“fine. get over here.”

you smile, palms smoothing out the pleats of your skirt as you make your way behind his desk.

he pays you no mind, long fingers selecting a manila file from a pile, opening it with care. there’s a certain stiff grace with which he carries himself, you muse as you step behind him.

you watch the ripples of tension in the back of his neck, the fine strands of auburn hair tainted penumbra-dark brushing against his nape, and gently run your knuckle against his skin. he’s warm.

“whenever you’re ready,” you breathe, fingers resting on the back of his chair.

he coughs a little. composes himself. hits record.

“continued statement of trevor herbert regarding their latter years as a vampire hunter. original statement given july 10th 2010, audio recording by jonathan sims, head archivist of the magnus institute.”

you watch with fascination as the calm, composed, formal voice slips into something… else. something between jonathan sims and trevor herbert, and it’s fascinating, because for a brief second, split second instant of Knowing, you can See him, the tramp and his collapsing lungs, writing away his youth and hunts on bland institute paper.

you blink and it’s gone.

there’s only you, the “lofi charm” of the tape recorder, and jon. his nape is bare. intimate knowledge settles in your mind, the fragility of mortality. bury a sharp needle there and his body collapses.

you frown. push it back. roll up your sleeves and rub your hands together, warming them up because they’re always cold, and the least you can do is give him a modicum of comfort.

slowly, carefully, you put your hands over his shoulders. he tenses at that, briefly, until you start rubbing away the years of tension gnawing at him.

slowly, surely, you knead poor, exhausted muscles. slowly, surely, he relaxes under your touch, head leaning back ever so slightly.

from this close, you can smell him, you realize. cold coffee, dusty paper, cedarwood aftershave and something like a hint of sweat.

“good?” you whisper, almost silent, voice lost in the quiet static of the tape recorder, in the dust-soft penumbra.

he nods, cheek brushing your wrist. your heart hammers in your chest. a strand of hair brushes the back of your hand - they’re graying a little. you wonder why he exhausts himself so. why he spends nights buried in his office, burrowing himself in piles and piles of files.

hypocrite.

the only reason as to why you’re here, massaging your fucking boss and growing desperately wet at his deep sighs of content, is because you, too, spend much more time than reasonable trying to make sense of it all.

the only reason as to why you’re here, taking in the gentle mess that is jonathan sims, is because you both leave at ungodly hours. because he can keep his eyes on you and so he knows that you cannot be responsible for gertrude’s murder.

you think he might trust you.

his hand settles over yours, and you startle.

he’s warm, palm large enough to cover the entirety of your hand, from wrist to fingertips. you don’t know what to do with this knowledge.

you don’t want to think of what you might do in the quiet death of the night, your hand slipping under your covers, down the apex of your thigh-

he slides your hand lower. oh. oh.

you lean forward, until your cheek brushes his, skin on skin, and unbutton the first two buttons of his shirt. you think he might be leaning into your touch. you think you might cut yourself on the edge of his jaw, on the sharpness of his words.

your hands meet his bare skin and you feel like you’ve caught fire, breath stolen away as you feel him in a way the cotton of his shirt didn’t allow. there is a sharpness to him. you can feel his jutting clavicles under your fingertips, sharp angel wings of bone, and your heart tightens.

he works too much.

it’s quiet, for a while.

you don’t know what sets it off. one moment, you’re massaging him, relishing in the feeling of his skin under your hands. the next, your fingers catch a particularly tight spot in his shoulders and he groans , and fuck, you should not feel familiar heat curling in your lower belly but you do.

you should stop. bid him good night and leave him with his precious recording.

you don’t.

instead, you rub at that spot, tentatively, and watch as he bites his lip mid-sentence, voice catching on a word. he’s a little breathless.

you are, too, heart hammering in your ribcage, hummingbird trying to flee its bones.

his hand wraps around your wrist and tugs you forward, free hand settling on your lower back, guiding you until you’re in his lap, looking up at him.

you think you might be dying of a heart attack with the way he looks at you, with eyes so dark you can barely make out the beautiful green of them.

“just what do you think you’re doing?” he growls.

you feel like you're on fire with how close you are. how his hand still encases your wrist in an iron hold. how you can feel warmth of him. how you can see the fluttering pulse of his throat, adam apple bobbing up and down as he swallows and fuck you want to take a bite.

your mouth feels dry.

“i- i don’t-”

his grip tightens on your wrist.

“answer me.”

somehow you’re closer. close enough to feel his breath on your lips, to find yourself staring up at him through hooded eyes, to find him staring back with parted lips.

whatever’s left of your resolve dissolves into a puddle of desire.

“jon, please, let me kiss you.”

a pause. the faintest glint of disbelief in his eyes.

then his lips crash on yours.

you startle, hand shooting forward to grasp the nearest thing for purchase and find only him, him and the crisp cotton of his shirt, all exhaustion and boiling frustration.

he puts his mouth to you like one would to a lover’s and kisses you slowly, deeply, unraveling you like a beloved mystery.

your body sings for him, and it’s so right you dismiss the ever-present pinprick pressure at the back of your neck.

his palm cups it, your nape, warmth consuming that pinprick pain, until the only thing you can do is sigh in his mouth and press yourself closer.

his lips part from yours, briefly, a breath away, and it’s too damn far, so you tug at his cravat and pull him down. your fingers dig in his shirt, his hair, and he groans at the way your nails rake his scalp.

your lips part for him in a soft, whisper-quiet moan of his name, and he swallows it down almost greedily. you feel his tongue brush against yours and let out a low, needy sound, molten desire coursing through your veins.

his hand slips under your shirt, reaches for the soft skin of your side and presses up, up, up until it meets your breast and his thumb presses against your nipple in tight circles and you’re almost sobbing against his lips.

you’re not aware that your hips are grinding against the hardness of him until his hand settles on your hip, slowing you down to a stop, and you part from him, breathless, and so, so needy.

there’s a thread of saliva between you, thin little spider-web intertwining your fates.

he looks at you, disheveled, glasses slightly askew, their lenses foggy, shirt half-opened for your gaze to meet tantalizing skin. a feast for the sore eyes.

“you might want to make me breakfast instead.”

“not like this,” he mumbles, thumb swiping against your bottom lip. “not- at least, let me treat you to dinner first.”

he chuckles at that, a little breathless, a little exasperated, definitely fond.

“cheeky.”

you peck his lip, sweetly. his hand tightens over your hip.

“look at the time, jon.”

he rides up his sleeve ever so slightly to reveal his watch and with it, the tantalizing softness of his pulse, beating wildly against the tender skin of his inner wrist. almost four in the morning. you press your lips there, feel the yearning of his beating heart.

he doesn’t think he’s seen you this beautiful. you, disheveled, on his lap, almost chest to chest with him, bringing his palm to your cheek and pressing fluttering kisses to his fingers. you, smiling up at him, exhausted, worn to the bone, but happy, and -

“oh.”

“what is it?”

your gaze lands on the tape recorder. oh.

“still recording. i should -”

“go home, get some sleep and finish what you started - me included - later.”

he sighs. there’s still a smile on his lips, exhaustion melting down to affection.

"fine. end recording.”

#obticeo writes #the magnus archives x reader #tma x reader #jonathan sims x reader #jon sims x reader #jonathan sims x you #jonathan sims x y/n #tma x y/n

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laora-ryn · 4 months ago

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Chester, [ERROR], and Jonathan Sims: The Anthill Theory

Hello Tumblr, may I present a follow up to my initial thesis that [ERROR] is Jon? As well as a rebuttal to the argument I've seen floating around:

"[ERROR] can't be Jon! Jon is in the computers!"

Why are you treating these like two distinct eventualities?

Jon died as an omniscient, omnipotent demi-god half a step down from The Eye itself. Jon died at the exact moment that he was pulled through a rift in space-time. If Jon survived that, I doubt he'd end up human on the other side. He'd probably end up as something else entirely.

Something none of us, and none of the Protocol-universe characters, have ever seen before.

"Imagine you are an ant, and you have never before seen a human - "

1. We have Chester, who has Jon's voice, and has shown signs of autonomy and a personality where Norris and Augustus have not.

I have another meta post picking apart the fr3-d1 stuff, but for the sake of staying on topic, I will show an abbreviated, summarized list from that post below:

Mystery emails sent to various OIAR employees:

Episode 4: Gwen receives an email from an unknown source showing Lena trying to kill Klaus

Episode 4: "the system" sends Alice a notification that Sam searched for "Magnus" and "protocol"

Episode 7: Sam receives an email from a "John" with an internal email address, with Gerry's name and address

Episode 20: Sam receives an email from a garbled email address, with documents from 1999 regarding Starkwall and TMI

Error messages:

Episode 3: Alice receives a jmj error that Colin troubleshoots. Freddy snarks back at both of them

Episode 17: Alice receives a jmj error that Gwen troubleshoots. There are plenty of error noises, but imo it comes across less snarky than it did in episode 3

Other miscellaneous interactions:

Episode 5: Alice: "what the hell is wrong with everyone today?" OIAR computer, not having been touched or interacted with: [error noise]

Episode 17: Chester reads a universe-hopping statement to Celia

Episode 19: Sam asks Alice to talk with him about the Magnus Institute. Immediately, Alice's computer throws an error, like it wants her to stop working and talk with Sam

Magnus Institute Statements read to Sam:

All of the below statements are read out by Chester, and are (meant to be, in 21) read out to Sam specifically:

Episode 1: RedCanary

Episode 9: the cursed dice Magnus statement. This one starts on its own, while Sam is doing the Response Dept paperwork

Episode 14: the snake emporium. I'd almost mark this one as too much of a stretch, but Sam himself caught the Institute mention and was bothered by it

Episode 19: the one with Newton's alchemical tree that talks about the Protocol

Episode 21: the one about the Dome construction in the 90s, which Alice intercepts on Sam's computer

As far as I can see, the only statement that mentions the Magnus Institute that isn't read by Chester to Sam is the one that is read by Chester to Celia, as mentioned above

In terms of Norris and Augustus:

Martin was pulled through the rift at the exact same time as Jon, except as someone mostly human. Relatively human.

Jonah was too, but Jonah was already a static dead body at the moment of the rift - it wasn't the released potential energy of his death that catalyzed and pulled everything through the rift.

It makes sense, to me, that if all three of them are here, Jon is in a uniquely powerful/sentient position in comparison to the other two. Which leads us to point 2:

2. We have [ERROR], exhibiting characteristics that are indicative of Jon and no one else

See my other meta post for more info, but in summary:

The tape recorders spawned specifically for Jon in TMA, via the Web

Did even Elias show abilities to compel people to give their statement? He could tell people their statement, and force images into their heads, but could he force it out of their mouths? I don't remember seeing that

Along with the other evidence that isn't Jon-specific but is indicative of a TMA character:

They were initially trapped underneath the Magnus Institute - which could also be Jonah, or Martin

Their apparent desire to protect Gwen and "all of them" - which could also be Martin, or some non-familiar benevolent being

Jon being Chester and Jon being [ERROR] are not mutually exclusive.

Who's to say Jon, the Archivist, or what's become of him, or what's left of him, isn't the fingernail, and the boot, and the eye? Maybe he's even something else we, the ant, never live to see, or don't have the senses to perceive at all!

Additionally!

I think this might even tentatively explain why [ERROR] is voiced by Beth Eyre instead of Jonny - beyond "it would be way too obvious if they want it to be a plot twist"

If Jon/the Archivist is split into multiple parts of the same whole, in this universe. If, in the chaos of interdimensional travel, traits/attributes/parts of Jon were not distributed equally or correctly. For our anthill example, perhaps the color of our gazing eye, or the rubber material of our stomping boot, was applied to our fingernail instead. Maybe [ERROR] should have Jon's voice, but they don't. Maybe they didn't have a voice at all. We didn't hear them say anything at all in episode 10, only take a deep breath

Maybe they had to take a voice from one of their victims. Do you think there was a reason that we heard the autopsy statement secondhand, after the doctor transcribed it, rather than the victim's voice herself?

(When, as far as I know, the common ways to record information during autopsies is either with a voice recorder, or dictating to a secondary person to write, who was demonstrably not present? When, by all rights, there should have been a voice recorder present?)

I'm currently working on a master TMAGP timeline (and a TMA one otl), but an extremely abbreviated, specific version of it is as follows:

9 March: Sam and Alice visit the Magnus Institute and release [ERROR]

20 March: the autopsy victim is found dead in a park

22 March: Alice encounters the drowning woman

12 April: [ERROR] appears during Ink5oul's attack on Gwen

How many victims do they have, since Sam let them loose? Is it just the ones we've already seen, or were there others too?

This could go off in about 5000 different directions so I'm going to cut it here, but what I'm getting at here is - it makes a LOT of sense to me that we might be looking at another "creatures far beyond our comprehension" here; it'd make a lot of sense thematically; and it's just really freaking cool, if I'm being honest!!

#mine #i rewrote this like 4 times because i kept going off on tangents #i've never written so many meta posts in my life someone send help #the magnus protocol #the magnus protocol spoilers #tmagp spoilers #tmagp

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angelcqre · 5 months ago

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CoD TMA AU

ARCHIVIST

Statement of [Name Redacted], regarding her camping trip in The Grampian Mountains. Original statement given January Fifteenth, Two Thousand and Fifteen. Audio recording by Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London.

Statement begins.

ARCHIVIST (STATEMENT)

Now, before you say anything, I know how I sound. I know that it was stupid to go out into the middle of uncharted wilderness and get piss drunk. Believe me, I'm not interested, the park ranger gave me an earful when he found me and the cops did the same. Especially now. But.. something happened, something bad, and if I don't - if I don't say it, I don't know. I'll explode.

So…

I'm not really an outdoors type. I'm an inside cat, I like to curl up with a good book and a cup of tea and my cat, but Farah insisted for her birthday that we go camping. She's always been like that - hiking, caving, camping, it's her thing, and when Farah wants something, she's set on it. Doesn't let it go, especially because she knows how to cash in favors.

So - we went. I didn't want to go, but we went. Me, Farah, her boyfriend, Alex, and her boyfriend's friend. John. I didn't really know him, but he seemed nice enough. We were supposed to spend a long weekend roughing it, three days and three nights for the holiday. We packed plenty of booze, plenty of food, all the proper first aid crap.. and we spent four hours hiking to what John said was the perfect spot.

He was strange from the get-go. A little too touchy-feely, a little too in your space, but he seemed… enthusiastic, I don't know. Eager. He was obviously passionate about it, kept stopping me to show me edible plants, poisonous mushrooms, whatever caught his eye. If it was notable, you'd best believe he was stopping to point it out. It was almost kind of cute, if it wasn't so.. feverish. [VOICE DROPS, ASSUMING SCOTTISH ACCENT.]

"Look, bonnie, look here," and he kept saying it, over and over. It felt like he was trying to prove something - like that he could take care of me, maybe? I don't know.

He just.. didn't stop. He had so much energy, kept moving, expression bright and eyes wild, kept insisting I call him Johnny. It wasn't.. flirting - I don't know what it was. Too familiar. He was so big, just this huge guy, looming over me, smiling with these insanely white teeth that..

Is it crazy to say they looked sharper than.. normal? I know, cliche, but they looked.. sharp. Like fangs. Whatever.

So we settle down on the first night, and of course we all start drinking, set some sausages over the fire, the whole deal. Farah is a clingy drunk, so she disappears with Alex into the woods as soon as she's got some booze in her, and then it's just me and John - Johnny. He hasn't drank a sip the whole time we've been there, just clutching the same beer bottle, nursing it for hours, just.. watching us, and his gaze is so intense. Like he's sizing us up.

At some point, he gets up. Says something about it being "about time", offers me this wink, and then he's strolling off into the woods, whistling to himself.

A hunting we will go, a hunting we will go…

He doesn't come back for naarly an hour. They don't come back for nearly an hour, and I start to get a little worried. I mean, look at me, I would not be able to, like, fight a bear if it came down to it, you know? I just keep feeding the fire, getting jumpier and jumpier, but eventually, he comes back, and..

At first, I don't know what it is. He just looks.. dark. His mohawk looks wet, and his clothes are stuck to him, outlining every muscle, but he doesn't step out into the firelight, stays in the shadows, so only his eyes and his teeth are visible, reflecting the light, and it feels wrong, feels sick.

He asks me, point blank, if I'm tired, and angles his head towards one of the two tents, and I tell him no, not yet, I'm waiting for Farah to get back, and he, uh.. he tells me she's not coming back.

When he steps into the firelight, it's like he's prowling, stalking more than walking, you know? He's moving like… like a predator, all smooth and uncanny, and now that I can see him, I can see that the wetness is.. blood, and he's covered in it, like, head to toe. It's worse at his mouth, his teeth are totally stained, like he was just.. ripping into something, I don't know. Biting. And his teeth are too sharp, and with the way he's moving, and the blood, and.. the look on his face, I just.. bolt.

And he laughs.

I can hear it echoing through the woods, bouncing off of every tree, but I don't hear him running after me. No, he just.. starts walking, and that scares me more, because he's so casual about it. Like he knows I won't get away.

But I run, and as I run, I can hear it, bouncing off of every tree, and it's December, right, so there aren't any leaves to block the moon or muffle the sound. I can hear him whistling as he walks, always seeming to be too close to me, no matter how fast I run, just out of sight, and eventually, I get to a clearing.

Everything feels too still. No nightlife - and there hasn't been any wildlife, no birds, no squirrels, nothing, and I'm realizing how bad that is.

And of course, I trip. My foot gets stuck in a gopher hole, of all fucking things, and then I'm dropping down, and he's on me.

His hand on my wrist, leaning down, and he's -

I don't know.

His eyes are blown out, manic, his teeth so large, ears.. pointed? I don't know, but he's drooling as he ruts against me, all but frothing at the mouth, mumbling about mates and calling me his little bunny, telling me that I had my fun, but that he's ready to have his prize, and-

And I have my bear mace still.

Because I can't fight bears.

He starts fidgeting with my clothes, and I just.. I pull it out, spray him, and he's so big, so unnaturally big, his muscles all.. I don't know, tense, wrong, and I spray him until he's howling and then I run.

I don't think the park ranger was happy to see me, but I was sure as shit happy to see her.

The thing is.. and why I came to you guys..

I keep.. getting this feeling.

Like I'm being watched. Hunted.

Like I never really escaped him.

ARCHIVIST

Statement ends. We attempted to contact Miss [REDACTED] following a similar statement we'd received months ago, regarding a man fitting the same description, but when Martin spoke to her, she informed him that all was fine, and that she was happy now.

That she was expecting pups.

Knowing Martin, he likely misheard her. I'm likely to dismiss this as a hallucination; with the mushrooms she discussed, perhaps she ingested some. The police seemed to think the same, and administered a drug test upon her statement, which came back... clean.

There isn't much more we can do here. If Miss- er, Mrs. MacTavish, doesn't wish to aid in further investigation, we, unfortunately, are stuck at a standstill.

Recording ends.

[CLICK]

#call of duty #john soap mactavish x reader #john soap mactavish #soap x reader #cod au #the magnus archives #tma au #cod tma au #my stuff

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barry-j-blupjeans · 6 months ago

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Lucretia would love to say that there wasn't much that surprised her anymore, but that was horribly inaccurate and incredibly easy to prove false. Last week, she had been surprised to tears when Merle held her hand, even though Merle held her hand all the time (he did that even with his memories gone, though it had been much more weird for both of them then). And even two days ago, she had nearly startled herself to hell and back when Angus told her that "you actually don't hide your depression symptoms very well, ma'am" and "maybe you need to seek some professional help? I have some great therapists I can recommend!"

Anyway.

No, Lucretia couldn't say she wasn't hard to surprise. But despite knowing all of that, standing in the tiny living room of Magnus's childhood home, getting hugged by two women whose arms wrapped around her the exact way Magnus's did? Cut her some slack, why wouldn't that be surprising?

"Thank you for staying with him," one of Magnus's moms said— Amelia? Fuck, of course Lucretia knew it was Amelia, she had drawn her dozens of times, recreating and refixing the worn-down photo that Magnus insisted on keeping on him the first few years of their century running from the Hunger.

The words, "but I didn't" got stuck in Lucretia's mouth. She swallowed around the, and couldn't bring herself to do anything more than just nod. Gods. Fuck.

Magnus had been the one to tell her of the Planar Belts. Lup was supposed to have, apparently, but Magnus caught her first. An hour in their home plane wasn't a lot but the seven of them had far grown used to working under weird, constrictive time limits. And while they were still tracking down Lucretia's brother, Magnus's moms hadn't been hard to find at all. Story and Song had stretched across their planar system, yes, but the Hunger had already touched down when it did. And thus, every single planar system inside it heard it, too.

Lucretia had spent a lot of time after that wondering what her brother thought of her. And standing here with Magnus's moms doubled the thoughts' intensity. Would he be proud? Teary, like Amelia? Speechless, like his step-mom? Had he been worried about her? Had he given up on her coming back? Was he even still alive?

A small gust of wind caught against her skin and Lucretia looked up to see they were outside. Gods, she needed to get a grip on herself. How much time had passed? How much time did they have left?

A hand tugged on hers, leading her to sit down. It was Magnus. She settled onto a picnic bench in their back garden, surrounded by dozens and dozens of flowers.

This was not the first time she had been to this house. The memory was old, but the scent of rosemary brought it back. She and Magnus, much, much younger than they were now, still in their Institution days, back when the Institution of Planar Research had yet to tack the "And Exploration" onto the end of their name. They had been roommates for a semester, back when they both started out. Magnus had convinced her to spend Candlenights out here and she had felt much the same as she did now.

Yearning. For her brother, for a life she didn't yet have, and a life she hadn't begun to know.

Helplessness. Away from home for the first time, in the wake of her mother's death and her father's withdrawal into himself. Trying to figure out who she was in the world.

And hopefulness. Winter had been bitter, but it hadn't snowed, and Amelia was, in Magnus's words, "an expert at seasonal plants." Their garden had still been full and lush and while she had been invited to help tend to it, she hadn't wanted to, in fear of breaking something by accident.

That version of herself felt foreign now. How could Lucretia possibly break anything worse than what she had already done to her family?

Magnus nestled into her side as she lifted her head, trying to blink away tears.

"Ma said she's gonna get some new plants," Magnus said. "As 'celebration'." Lucretia snorted a little bit at the way he said it— Amelia Burnsides thought every event, no matter how big or small, was worthy of new plants. "You still like cornflower, right? 'Cause I told her to get cornflower for you."

"I—" Lucretia said, her throat suddenly a little tight. She turned away. Magnus didn't budge, merely wrapping an arm around her and holding tightly. Lucretia cleared her throat, trying to get a hold of herself. But instead of answering, her mouth said, "thank you for staying with me."

Magnus didn't respond, just squeezing her slightly. She wiped at her eyes, looking up towards the horizon. The two suns overlapped like flower petals. The wind chime played a little melody in the wind.

"Cornflowers are good," Lucretia said at last. "It's— tell her that'd be great, Magnus."

"Tell her yourself," Magnus said.

#magnus burnsides #lucretia #taz #taz balance #ise cube writing #mine #enjoy! i've been thinking about them a lot

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alexanderlightweight · 1 year ago

Note

Could you write something with Alec interacting with nephilim children

I like how you write him being careful with his words towards downworlder children so I'd like to know how'd you write him with nephilim kids as well

so i've known how i wanted to fill this for a while but i couldn't figure out hw to like, contextualize it and write it until now but here it is!

i hope you enjoy!

<3 lumine

Magnus doesn’t realize there is a difference with how Alexander treats children until nearly a year after first seeing Alexander with Madzie and then — slowly — other downworlder children.

It never occurs to him to consider how Alexander might treats nephilim children, until now.

There are a dozen adorable little figures who perk up the moment Alec steps after Magnus through the portal and they instantly swarm him.

“Commander!” They call and Magnus hides a smile with a hand, expecting Alexander to break into the normally warm smile he shares with Madzie.

“Debrief!”

It takes Magnus aback, to hear Alexander’s normally low and soothing voice — the voice he uses with children — take a gruffer edge. It’s still much softer than what he uses with adults, but it lacks a delicacy that Magnus has learned to recognize with Madzie and other particularly vulnerable children.

Despite his — what Magnus considers — abrasiveness, the children seem only more delighted. They form a double line and wait for him silently and with minimal shifting as Alexander walks through their ranks and… oh.

Magnus’ heart breaks as he realizes that he is not watching Alexander with nephilim children.

He is watching Alexander with shadowhunter trainees.

Bright eyed and newly runed children who are expected to soon be capable of running messages to Institutes, learning to take portals without getting sick, and who have long left their childhood behind.

If they ever had one at all.

Alexander treats them as the tiny soldiers they are until he’s through inspecting them — stopping to listen to quick and quiet sentence from each of them — and then his face softens.

“You did well, all of you.” He tells them and his hand falls on the tousled hair of the closest trainee and he looks down, mouth curling into a gentle smile. “I’m proud of you.”

They all light up at his sincerity, at the depth of his words.

They look as happy as Madzie when Alec lifts her onto his shoulders at the aquarium or when he stumbles over youtube tutorials to carefully twist and oil Madzie’s hair into appropriate braids.

“Any injuries after sparring?” Alexander asks and there is a chorus of proud denials and then two hesitant affirmations. “Status report,” Alexander says, dropping to rock onto his heels before the two with a calm face and voice.

“I broke my wrist!” One of them finally exclaims and she seems almost pleased about it, something eager in the way she presents her ‘report’. “And I told the trainer immediately! I didn’t try to ignore it this time!”

Magnus internally winces at the ‘this time’.

“Well done Elise,” Alexander murmurs and he pats her head as well. “You did excellent. After all if you hide an injury, then it will only get worse.” He says but it’s in a fond, pleased tone as if he’s repeated it quite a bit and is happy that it’s sunk in.

The boy next to her nods his head eagerly, “I lost a tooth! But the medics said it was still a baby tooth.” He gives a little gap-toothed scowl at that and Magnus now sees the lines creasing around Alexander’s eyes that mean he’s holding back a chuckle as he pats the child’s head.

“Well done, all of you. Remember to keep an eye on yourselves and each other. Elise and Loyiso both need to check with a medic before sparring tomorrow, can I count on their teams to make sure it happens? I’ll expect a report about what the medic says after training.” There is a chorus of determined agreements and then the children depart, all of them sending a last glance to Alexander before disappearing down through a hallway.

“I didn’t realize you had trainees.” Magnus says as they walk to Alexander’s office.

“Shockingly enough, I have one of the lowest death rates per Institute’s.” Alexander tells him quietly, though Magnus hardly considers that shocking. Alexander holds himself to a higher standard than almost any shadowhunter Magnus has ever met and he holds his Institute to similar quality. “Especially for an Institute in such a populated area as this. I train my hunters hard but beyond that and the fact that I won’t allow nepotism—” Alexander grimace here makes Magnus wince, he knows why Alec is so strict with it. “I’m known to be fair. People have been petitioning me to take trainees for months. I insisted on waiting until we were no longer an active warzone.”

Alexander rolls his eyes here and Magnus bites back his own scathing response to hearing that.

They manage to make it to Alexander’s office without any further delays and instead of his desk, Alexander slumps into the sofa he normally joins Magnus on.

“Alexander?”

“They’re practically babies, Magnus.” Alexander murmurs, “it wasn’t so bad when I wasn’t around other kids. Now I see Madzie and the rest and I just— what am I supposed to do?”

“Oh.” Magnus breathes out, his heart breaking because of course Alexander can’t risk softening around shadowhunter children. He’s going to be their commanding officer or at the very least, he’s going to be the standard of every commanding officer and trainer that they meet from now on.

These aren’t children who can grow up as slowly as they want or need.

These are nephilim babes.

Shadowhunters bred for battle.

Alexander can’t treat these children as actual children.

Not only would it be viewed as disrespectful or cast a bad light on the children themselves, it would only coddle them to the point where another Institute might throw them out or they might get themselves killed.

Spares, Alexander called them.

Fodder is what the clave considers them.

Not the heirs who will learn politics first, but the backups, the ones the clave might use as sacrifices and suddenly Magnus understands why they’ve been sent to Alexander.

Alec Lightwood does not sacrifice his people without cause.

Shadowhunters cannot understand duty without sacrifice but even then, it’s a relief to know that it’s just, especially for their children.

Alec is known to protect his people viciously. Oh, if they betray him and his code, he’ll bleed them himself, but those under his authority are also blessed by his protection.

Magnus understands better now, why parents would risk sending their children to Alec, even in the middle of a warzone.

Alexander won’t use them simply as bait.

It would cross his mind — the clave and Maryse trained him too well for it not to — but as soon as he became aware it was an option, he wouldn’t truly consider it and instead use it as fuel and strive to find and create other options until it was the last.

Unlike more clave-minded Institutes, who would rather save time than lives.

“I’ve put a note on their files, none of their teams will be allowed solo missions until all of them have met and matched their estimated growth spurts and then be evaluated. That will give them some more time at least, out of the field without supervision.” Alexander is rambling now, but Magnus merely sits next to him and rests his hand on Alec’s thigh, massaging the tense muscles gently. “I can get away with it because I used my siblings and I’s records and then scoured the database of submitted reports. Half of the injuries during a trainees missions are due to themselves or a member of the team being unprepared for a sudden growth spurt. On their part or on a teammates and so they all move out of sync. I’m also going to be rotating teams to ensure they can fit into other teams in case of emergencies with minimal friction.”

They’re good points and more so, it leaves Magnus aching with the knowledge that the reason Alec found this loophole is because of precedent.

What age was Alexander when he decided that he would change things?

That he had to change things so that it would be different for those under his protection.

Magnus knows Alexander isn’t perfect.

His darling is far from it and Magnus loves him viciously for it.

Alexander is raw with wounds from his childhood — or rather the lack of it — and ingrained prejudice still poisons the very base of his formative thoughts and yet he tries so very hard.

And yet all Magnus can think about is an Alexander, young and unable or perhaps even forbidden to speak up about his injuries as he forced himself to train.

Looking for praise or at the very least, reassurance and only being met with vitriol and bitterness.

Alexander may not be able to take these children to a park and push them on a swing until they think they’re about to fly, but he does right by them.

These children don’t need a bright plastic playground and pressing their noses against the glass of a captured ocean.

They need stability and protection and they need a Commander and leader willing to praise and acknowledge their efforts. They need someone who will remember their names and their accomplishments and — as Magnus listens to Alexander’s murmurs — who will know what they need.

Already Alexander is furthering a training plan, his mind nurturing strategies that will train these children to their very limit but not beyond — never beyond.

Alec will be a shield between them and the clave and perhaps even the expectations of their families until they are strong enough to do it on their own.

Magnus can already see the specializations that Alexander is considering for each child and how seriously he’s taking the fact that he’s responsible for not only their wellbeing, but their futures.

Competence is a beautiful look on Alexander and one he wears well.

#lumine writes #writing wednesday #writing wednesdays #shadowhunters #malec #magnus bane #alec lightwood

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zodiyack · 1 year ago

Text

Pregnancy (A drabble)

Pairings: Jace Wayland x fem!Reader

Warnings: angst, pregnancy

Words: 526

Author's note: Just a little idea. I can make this a full fic / miniseries. Only Y/N and Clary have gone in to see Magnus in private.

Masterlist | The Mortal Instruments Masterlist

Taglist: @matth1w, @redspaceace-writes, @fandom-puff, @darling-i-read it, @simonsbluee, @thewarriorprincessxo, @sebastianstanslefteyebrow, @livlaughquinn, @bubsonnobx, @bunnyweasley23

Magnus hesitates when he passes Y/N. His expression shifts to one of concern and curiosity. "I'm surprised you're here."

Her brows furrow. "I'm a Shadowhunter, of course I'm here."

"Not that." He chuckles. "Given your predicament, I wouldn't expect you to join them on this journey."

"Why's that?" She asks, genuinely curious.

Magnus looks at her with amusement, then hovers his hand over her stomach. "You're with child."

Clary gasps in place of Y/N, who is too in shock to even react.

"No- I'm not... I mean, I've been sick lately, just... I'm not pregnant." She shakes her head, in denial.

"Y/N, I may not like your kind, but I would not deceive you. You. Are. Pregnant. I recommend that you withdraw from any strenuous missions, avoid putting stress on you and your baby, as well as putting yourself in danger if you wish to keep your child." He orders her. The topic is simply dropped when he returns to Clary.

(After the fight with the vampires)

"You really shouldn't have come, after what Magnus told you?" Clary announces to the group, but directs to Y/N.

Y/N widens her eyes and whips her head in Clary's direction. "Don't."

Jace looks at the two in concern and tilts his head. "What did Magnus tell you?"

Clary opens her mouth to speak. Y/N quickly replies, warning the redhead. "Don't. It's not yours to tell."

Izzy and Alec look at each other with confusion, but wait for Jace to reply. "What did the warlock tell you, Y/N?"

"Do we really have to do this right now?"

Clary rolls her eyes and speaks up, "How long are you gonna hide the fact that you're pregnant? They'll notice eventually! I mean, what about Jace?"

The three's eyes all widen at the reveal. Jace looks upset, but Y/N is livid. Seeing her reaction, Alec's expression darkens and he steps forward.

"Even if that is a concern, it's none of your business, Clary." Her name drips with venom when it comes from his mouth. "You've been ogling Jace since you got here. Your jealousy cannot hide forever either."

"But- Jace, she lied to you!" Clary averts her gaze in shame when he doesn't acknowledge her.

"Alec is right. Though I'm upset Y/N hid it..." Jace looks toward her with a sorry nod, "I still wish it would've been her to tell me, especially since it's between us. I've tried to brush off your advances, but I suppose I must be blunt now. I plan to stay with Y/N and my unborn child. The fact that you've known of our relationship and continued to pursue me has made me question whether I want to train you or not."

It's Izzy's turn to step forward. "We can talk about this later. For now, we need to get back to the institute and put Simon in the infirmary."

"Yeah." It's the only word Y/N lets out before she walks past Clary, bumping her shoulder on the way. Jace follows, also ignoring Clary. The girl can only watch and realize how much she's hurt him.

#x reader #can u tell i want him #jace wayland #jace herondale #jace wayland x reader #jace herondale x reader #jamie campbell bower x reader #jamie campbell bower #jamie bower #jamie bower x reader #reader insert #the mortal instruments #city of bones #shadowhunters #zodiyack

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intrawebs · 1 year ago

Text

A list of misc. Hermitcraft/Life Series fics from someone who loves AUs

There is no smut on this list

❤️ = Angst 💜 = Fluff 💛 = Fic I recently added

No Romance and Romance Optional

❤️Hermit Hybrids (In Progress Series) by Flickersprout - "Loosely connected fantasy AU with background dystopian elements. Mostly exploring the Hermits as a magic found family and all their different ways of being nonhuman." Can be read in any order! I'd suggest starting with The Colors of Friendship cause it's the earliest chronologically, ZombieCleo's great, and it's a good introduction to the world.

❤️the sanctity of the mundane (Completed Series) by crabbunch - “Snippets of life on the Double Life server; mundanity can reveal the most interesting things about people, after all.” This series makes me crazy. The only happy pairs are Boat Boys and Ranchers hell yeah

From the Archives (Completed Series) by Sixteenthdays and zeph - “A collection of statements from the archives of the Void Institute.” A Hermitcraft/Life Series Magnus Archives AU with Grian as the Head Archivist and Pearl, Mumbo, Scar, and Impulse as his assistants. Can be read with no knowledge of the Magnus Archives.

Interlude From Another Reality: Peacock's Eye by Sixteenthdays and zeph - “‘My assistant,’ announced Scar Goodtimes, newly-promoted Head Archivist of the Peacock's-Eye Institute, to nobody in particular except maybe the paused audio recording software on his laptop, or perhaps the small pile of tape recorders his predecessor'd left piled on a shelf in the corner, or arguably the little peacock-feather eye logo that dotted the office as haphazardly as it did the entire Institute, ‘is weird.’

(In which Scar is Grian's Archivist, and Grian is Scar's assistant.)” Sort of an AU of the Magnus Archives AU? Haha. But it’s completely divorced from the canon and can definitely be read stand alone.

❤️Shining and Polished (But Never to Plan) by SaltyServal - “A cough makes Grian freeze in his tracks, shakes him to his core. Despite all the signs, of all the things he was expecting to find in this cave, a truly sentient creature was not one of them. That’s what scares him the most.

He turns, grabbing his dagger and pointing it at the newcomer, who simply smiles at him, fangs and all.

‘Why hello there.’

tldr; Grian is an avian desperate to keep his wings, and he'll do whatever it takes to save himself. Even if it means stealing from a dragon.

(It turns out there's more to the dragon then he thought).” A fantasy AU with bird!Grian and dragon!Scar

oh captain (let's make a deal) by birrdie - “No one on these shores knew Scar’s name. Aside from Tango, of course. No one feared the humble, white-sailed ship docked on the south side of the port. This, like the tides, would eventually change with time. They would know his name soon enough. The greatest pirates all rose from humble beginnings like a phoenix from ashes. Scar was no different from them; that much he was sure of. And it would not take him long to prove it.

Or; Scar is a Captain of a humble pirate crew of one. That is, until a discovery on the shore shakes things up a bit.” A heaping helping of greedy pirate Scar and mysterious crewmate Grian, with evil Boat Boys and innocent Solidaritek as a garnish.

❤️starry eyes stare through me by whatcaniwriteinthis - "'You know,' he says. 'Gotta have a good show: high stakes, violence—' He nods at the room, at the 24 children learning how to use weapons, how to start a fire, how to find food that won’t kill them.

'An unlikely allyship,' Scar finishes, smiling a little. Grian smirks back.

–

Grian is this year's male tribute from District 9. Clearly, the odds are already not in his favor. But he has to get home to his sister and to do that he has to play the Games. Give them a show. Stay alive. Remember to step out of line is to threaten Pearl. Don't get too attached to the Career that agrees to be his ally, but not to put a damn shirt on." Angst without a happy ending. Made me cry

❤️Stained Glass Sunlight (In Progress Series) by Cosmic_Retribution - “The Watchers had seemed so nice, is the thing. So… disarmingly hospitable.

When they’d set out for the ruins, they’d gone in search of some magical beasts reportedly plaguing the area, according to the flyer they’d taken. What they’d found instead was an empty city and a group of mages and scholars studying… something. They’d been cagey about what. Certainly not the history of the place— the Watchers arrived long after the fall of Dogwarts, content to live and work inside the city’s corpse with no special reverence for the grave it lay ruined in. They had no stake in its fall, or its future, or the preservation of its once-hallowed legacy— but its bones, certainly, served as protection enough for their studies.

The beasts were the only thing troubling the Watchers’ work, or so they’d said. Strange, then, that Grian and his party never once saw a trace of them.

How long after, until his friends realized Grian was gone? That they weren’t safe?

—

Two decades ago, the city of Dogwarts met its demise. Today, a traveler meets god wearing the mask of a merchant, looking for a miracle.

These two things are not as unconnected as they appear.” Grian and Scar’s version of the lamplight AU(below). Featuring bored god Scar and oblivious paladin Grian.

Lamplight (In Progress Series) by skelew - “Welcome to Lamplight, a DnD/Fantasy Third/Last Life Renchanting AU. Ren is a god stuck in the form of living fire. Martyn is his sole follower. Martyn and Ren help free one another from imprisonment by the Watchers and are now traveling the world on a two-man adventure of fond companionship and occasional arson.” There’s angst but really just in the first fic. The main series has no shipping but skelew has written some treebark one shots that are also in the collection.

❤️dandelion wishing by skelew - “The white lily is known to symbolize purity, innocence. It is also a symbol of mourning, a popular choice to decorate the casket at a funeral. This is due to their beauty, yes, as well as the fact their smell can cover up the scent of a decaying body. Dandelions are best known for their magic, but no dandelion survives a wish.

The King of Dogwarts is not dead.” A Martyn and Ren centric fic about coming back from the dead.

❤️Wooden Mausoleum by skelew - “‘To take the life of one you love an agony Martyn understands far too well. It’s not something he’d wish on anyone—not on his worst enemy, and certainly not on his dearest friends.

Least of all would he wish it on Ren.’

Or, for the Red King, there are fates worse than death. How fortunate he is that his Hand will never let him meet them.” Dogwarts makes it to the end of 3rd Life but Martyn has a betrayal arc.

💜Performance Evaluations by glossyblue - “From The Desk Of His Majesty’s Most Private Of Areas: A True And Accurate Evaluation Of Growth Opportunities For The Knights Of The Square Table, The Loyal Court of Ren the King, As Suggested By The HR Department. (Note to self: when did we acquire an HR department? Ask Bdubs.)” Super cute and funny performance evaluations of the knights from the King Ren Hermitcraft arc.

The H.T.G.Y. Files by glossyblue - "Research scientist Cub didn't intend to make a person. He just came up with the plans. But when a competing team looking to make a supersoldier gets hold of the genome he invented, Cub is pulled in to stop them screwing up—and whatever he expected to find, it wasn't someone like Scar." This is part of a series called Lab Escape but the other fic has a ship that's not in this list so I can't put it in. But I really recommend the whole series!

💜The Government Institute for Ghost Supervision (G.I.G.S.) by glossyblue - “HIGHLY SENSITIVE: G.I.G.S CLASSIFIED. Audio logs for a team of supernatural agents investigating reports of a ghost at a local high school.GRIAN: Yeah, Skizz, why did you let Scar set something on fire? Pretty irresponsible.

SKIZZ: [noise of incoherent outrage] You try stopping him, buddy.” Goofy GIGS story

fixed and dilated by iamsolarflare - “Anything waterdwelling knows from bait.

---

Or: xBCrafted deals with the people around him, and a secret he's been keeping for one hell of a long time. Not the ‘old enemies hunting him down’ type, no - this should be fine, as long as nobody pries. It's the way you should deal with secrets like this, really, just don't let people know. No questions, no answers.

Hypno never got that memo, apparently.” An xB and Hypno fic where neither are human and neither wants to talk about it. Even if you don’t watch them I recommend it.

on the getaway mile by Odaigahara - “‘You want me to do what?’ the civilian asked disbelievingly, and Scar’s body language shifted to that of an impatient trainer, one whose fuse was running short. It was a precursor to bad things, like being tased or forced onto a treadmill for hours; Mumbo flinched even knowing it was an act, and the civilian cut off with a squeak, so Mumbo knew he felt the same way.

Or possibly that was the gun. Scar having a gun seemed more likely as an explanation, now that Mumbo thought of it.

Stealing the car would be better, but they had no idea where they were going, and neither of them was familiar with road laws. What if they hit a person while driving? What if there was some sort of kill switch in the car that the owner could flip to blow it up with them inside? Anti-villain tech had to be wild, from what the Foundation had on hand– and they were villains now for sure. Not just for defying the Foundation, but for this. Heroes didn’t take the actions he and Scar were taking.” Heroes Villains Scar and Mumbo take civilian Grian hostage for a road trip! It's not as bad as it sounds

counterclock by scarabies - “When it’s over, Impulse finds him in the throne room.

(or, Bdubs and Impulse chat after a rebellion ends. Can be read as either platonic or romantic.)”

💜Tangotek Evil Incorporated by onawhimsicot - “As the supervillain Dr. Blaze, Tango has a fondness for oddly named "ificators" and stylistic flair. He spends his days trying to take over the city, shaming superheroes for their basic costume designs, and then sending said heroes home with better equipment that actually matches their aesthetic because clearly, if he wants a cool fight scene to happen, he's got to do everything around here himself.

For some reason, not many people think he’s evil. On the bright side, the superhero Canary, does and has made it his personal mission to bring down Dr. Blaze! But when he suddenly goes missing, Canary's partner, Parrot, is convinced that Tango is at fault. Seeing as this is not true at all (kidnapping is so gauche), Tango is offended that someone is trying to steal his nemesis right from under his nose. If Tango wants to get his nemesis back, he'll have to work together with Parrot to find and rescue Canary from whatever danger he's got himself into this time.

Because, after all, what's a supervillain without a nemesis?” A very fun modified Phineas and Ferb AU with Tango as Doofenshmirtz and Jimmy as Perry the Platypus

Scarian

❤️coliseum by artanogon - "Grian is on a mission: kill the Red King of the Third Precinct. Unfortunately, when he travels to the capital where the king resides, he lands in a spot of trouble with a local merchant when he accidentally destroys the merchant’s shop. After he enters into a contract to help pay off the damages, he discovers that there might be another side to Scar under the silver-tongued salesman— and that he’s not the only one who wants the Red King dead." This one made me cry. Bittersweet ending and it gets worse before it gets better.

Picture Perfect, Trapped in Eternity by CloudySkyFlight - “Grian's an architecture major in college, minoring in art history, and when the largest, and supposedly most haunted, collection of royal portraits in the world is displayed in a museum only a few hours away from his dorm, he gets up early to go see it.

Scar's been dead for centuries, living in a royal portrait he cursed to hold his memories and soul, waiting for the moment his best friend would come back to him. Several centuries later, he wakes up to see a brunette that has the looks and soul of his friend, and Scar knows that he cannot let Grian leave without him.” Starts out with Scar sort of kidnapping Grian? But the mood quickly lifts from there

and everything is you by eastwards - “‘Oh my gosh. I’ve got paint on your face.’

Grian moved to wipe the paint off, but Scar shook his head, ‘No the other side, here let me-’

He held Grian’s head steady with one hand, the other carefully brushing across his jaw. With an affirming noise, Scar nodded and bid Grian farewell, as he wandered back to his station in the studio. Grian held his hand up to where he had touched him, feeling his head begin to warm. How troublesome.

–

artist au w/ scarian wooo”

somewhere between the surface and the seabed by LovesickPrince - "It's a classic tale of love: Grian, a mer from the depths of the sea, makes a deal with a sea witch to exchange his voice for a pair of legs and go visit the human whose life he had saved. Only in this case, Grian is more interested in the sea witch than the human.

(If only someone had bothered to tell Scar, the sea witch in question, about this divergence)."

💜Dead Heat by glossyblue - “Jimmy's having a meltdown, Ren and Martyn are flirting outrageously, Tango gets cruelly betrayed and Grian and Scar are being unrepentantly weird about each other in every shot. It's the nation's favourite no-holds-barred elimination game. It is, of course, the Great British Bake Off.”

A Certain Je Ne Sais What by glossyblue - “Literally any one of Grian’s friends would be a better soulmate than Scar, and Grian is going to prove this scientifically.

Grian’s already felt it, a pinprick in his thumb. He’s familiar—he’s so painfully, unforgettably familiar—with the way Scar sees something and is already reaching out to touch it before he’s asked questions like 'what is this' and 'is it bad news' and 'is it going to hurt me, Scar, and by extension the unwilling bystander my physical sensations are now linked to'. Scar just immediately reaches out.” Grian tries to convince himself that anyone else would be a better soulmate than Scar while proving that Scar is the best soulmate for him.

❤️wait the worst is yet to come by glossyblue - “‘Grian is smirking at him. ‘I know, Grian, I know,’ Scar says. ‘Trade by name and trade by nature–okay, Scar by name but still trade by nature–we are going to be in business, opening soon, special rates for favorite customers of course–’

‘But have you done it yet,’ says Grian.

‘No?’ Scar says. ‘We only just started.’

Grian bounces on the balls of his feet, delighted. ‘Okay. Okay, okay, so. You need to know how it works, then, don’t you? Kiss me.’” Scar centric Last Life AU where you transfer lives by making out. There’s a sex scene but it’s not smut. Angst without a happy ending.

heart under your sleeve by Anonymous - “Scar was easy to love, as mortifying as that was to think. Grian didn’t think he was in love with the artist, it was far too soon for that, but he knew it would be easy for anyone to love him.

In the back of his mind, he wondered if Scar had met his soulmate, then shook his head to dispel the thought before it could fully form.

“Look, we can’t bring in a live panda, but if you want, we can try and connect with a zoo in the area so that they can set up a live stream of their panda exhibits,” Grian compromised and Scar brightened again. He ignored the sweeping feeling of relief in his chest as he opened his laptop, typing in a quick search for nearby panda exhibits. “Maybe we can even get one of their handlers in to give a talk about pandas.”

“Perfect!” Scar agreed, putting on a bright grin. Grian smiled to himself in turn.

—

Soulmate AU: You are born with a birthmark, similar to a tattoo, that is shared by your soulmate. Grian is a curator for an art museum. Scar is an eccentric artist who is just as attractive as he is infuriating to work with. Everything goes sideways when Grian realizes they're soulmates.”

💜If you like it… by GoodTimesWithScar - “‘Hello,’ slurs Scar, ‘you wouldn’t happen to know where a man such as myself… would find… an eligible bachelor to spend a little bit of time with?’

Grian blinks. ‘Oh, you are plastered.’

or, the ‘you got so drunk you asked your husband if he was single’ trope, but with added mumbo being 100% done with this nonsense.”

💜Well It’s Not Quite Narnia, But- by Raichett - “It’s just past seven in the morning when Grian opens his built-in wardrobe door to find a man dressed in something close to a green and gold matador outfit standing inside.

---

my ever after / is holding you by LovesickPrince - “Grian has been many things.

Or: Grian is not giving up this dirt-cheap rent flat for anything, not even the strange (if fun) goings on around the place and the elven king coming in through his closet.”

💛Dispossessed by Raichett - “Grian's - kind of, sort of, maybe - a living doll, made of fabric and stuffing. Or, at least, that's what he is to the naked eye. Scar wants to know the truth of the matter. He's also maybe working through some feelings, but that's a whole other thing.

—

Or: Scar contemplates the enigma that is Grian, unknowing that sometimes when one watches, one invites being watched in turn.”

A servant of a respected noble family. A survivor, with bruises on his skin and hidden wings tied down to his back. A rebel, sneaking away for a night of wonder in the heart of the kingdom - and a curiosity, gawked at by all as the King himself swept him into his arms and spent hours by his side.

When Scar spent days tracking Grian down and helping him escape the cruel grasp of the Watchers, Grian thought his life couldn’t surprise him anymore. Pledging his life to serve Scar was all he could do to thank his King.

Of course, being the personal servant of the King comes with its' own risks - and now Grian could add ‘hostage’ to his list of titles.

i live in a hologram with you by remrose - “‘Anyone in there would be lucky to be graced with your company.’ Scar told him. His face was calm but at his sides, his hands tightened and knuckles went white.

Or; someone decides kidnapping King Scar’s beloved servant was a good idea. It really wasn’t.”

💛❤️Bread and Butterflies by Anonymous - “‘You do this thing,’ Mumbo began awkwardly. 'Where when you get worried, you start stalking people.’

‘I don’t stalk people,’ Grian denied immediately.

Or, after the events of 3rd life, Grian finds himself lingering outside Scar’s base.”

💛❤️a little victimless crime by definitelynotshouting - “On a technical level, the rite he’s performing is paltry compared to what he executed all those heady months back– chalk-powder in concentric circles, a matchbook, the potential for flame. Simple. Too simple; any of his old professors (Academy-trained, tried, and true) would have failed him for presenting such a stripped summoning spell. But half the magic lies in intent– with enough bull-headed, scrabbling belief, you can claw anything into a shape of your choosing.

Grian had taught him that.

One breath. Two. No room for doubt– no room for second chances. Scar strikes the match and, with a deft flick of his hand, tosses it into the chalk-powder.”

‘Stop trying to sweet talk me, I've already caught you fleeing.’ Grian stalked another pace forward, eyes alight with mischief and excitement. ‘Where are you going?’” Scar’s bad end in the treesekai AU (which you need to have read to understand).

Treebark

Through the Sky-Blue Cracks (In Progress Series) by Amethystfairy1 - “This is a compilation of all the pieces that take place within my Over-City/Under-City AU, which is also a Hot Guy/Cute Guy Superhero AU, though that's not the only thing that'll be going on!” The first treebark fic is quite a ways down (It’s called Dagger and Rose), but I believe in yalls ability to figure out the setting through context clues.

💜love goes toward love as schoolboys from their books (In Progress Series) by GoodTimesWithScar - “treebark theatre kids au, with ren as the male lead and martyn as the very distracted spotlight operator!”

wild things can't get comfortable by donnerstag - "Ren and Martyn steal what small moments of comfort they can get.

❤️Sgt. Pepper’s Broken Hearts Club Band by harpydora - “The sign next to the door just reads, ‘Support Group,’ which frankly doesn't leave a great impression for the gathering inside. Martyn double-checks the Facebook event on his phone, but he's unfortunately certain he's in the right place: a support group for people whose soulmates are no longer with them.” The double life broken hearts club in a modern AU.

Several loosely-connected scenes from Dogwarts as Ren struggles with his feelings towards the Hand of the King."

What will that something be? Well don’t look at me, I’m the one who wrote it. Look at yourself, and ask yourself: Why don’t I know?

Scribbling the lines (from you to me) by Siri_Spy - “Martyn and Cleo are soulmates… but what exactly does that mean for them? And with Martyn starting to fall for the over-the-top president of his RPG club, and Cleo starting to realize that they might be a little late to the ‘disgustingly in love’ phase… something needs to change.

Exactly. That’s what I’ve been wondering. Anyway, what are you still doing here? Go read!” A really sweet modern AU about Cleo and Martyn.

The Not Ghost of the Castle (he is a very dedicated cosplayer, thank you very much) takes a liking, and possibly some recognition, to Martyn, and while he spends the night terrorising Martyn's friends, the two of them build an unlikely bond and friendship.

not the ghost by csillagvizsgalo - “Martyn tags along with his friends on a ghost hunting trip (he has seen people who had weirder hobbies anyways) for fun in an old run-down castle museum that has definitely not been kept properly. It's all fun and games, and he definitely doesn't believe in the supernatural, so it's not scary at all, until he starts noticing things lying around in areas that nobody has been to in ages, that remind him of memories of events that he never experienced, hundreds of years ago. The voices aren't helping. Well, the one Voice.

The Red King just wants to rest, and so does Martyn. But not everything is as easy as it first seems.” Ren pulls out all the stops to try and intimidate Martyn but Martyn is a little rude to him and completely ruins it.

Wild Life: A Conservation Podcast by donnerstag - “Ren and Martyn, hosts of a popular little nature and conservation podcast, go camping together as part of a season finale special; discussions of the future, for both the show and themselves, ensue. Featuring: a campfire! innuendos! and even a little bit of kissy, perhaps?”

A Romance Route For The Doomed Villain?!? by skelew - “These days, Martyn doesn’t really have a lot going on. This is where the dating sim comes in.

Granted, if Martyn knew he was going to die so soon, he maybe would have tried a little harder at, like, holding down a job. Or maybe not. It's not like he has a lot of time to think about it.

Or, Treebark Isekai Romance Parody Which I Spent Far Too Much Time On.”

❤️I Think I’ve Seen This Film Before by GoodTimesWithScar - “In which Martyn fails to get the guy - but he doesn't let that stop him for long.” Set in the treesekai AU (the fic above), which you need to read to understand.

—

💜I should’ve known it would be you - water/woods by theorionsound - “Martyn sort of expected to fall in love with Ren eventually.

On their bi-annual hiking trip, Ren and Martyn get lost in thought. Mainly about eachother.”

'Sure.' There was something knife-bright in Martyn’s eyes. 'And I’m a good little Southlander now.'

❤️To Sit in Hell With You by dirtybinary - "Ren pulled Martyn close, breathing in the smell of soot and cinders still clinging to his clothes. 'You never kept secrets from me, back at Dogwarts.'

Martyn's playing every side in the death game. He's a loose cannon, he's a wild card, he's a selfish bastard who's going to betray everyone in the end, even Ren. Probably. Most likely. Any minute now."

Solidaritek

💜Red Bandit AU (In Progress Series) by scribblingdragon - “A Empires Season 2 AU with Jimmy as the Sheriff of Tumble Town, and Tango as a local bandit that is slowly, forcefully, being domesticated. Shenanigans ensue from there.”

❤️��Hels To Pay AU (In Progress Series) by aquaquadrant and lunarcrown - “Angsty Tango-centric Hermitcraft/Double Life SMP AU”

❤️The Highwayman by EnvelopedByOblivion - “Fate walks many paths - but for each person, it only wears one face. Sheriff Jimmy Solidarity’s fate is a handsome red-eyed highwayman who saves Jimmy from a group of bandits. Despite being on opposite sides of the law, something keeps bringing them together, tangible as gravity and inevitable as death.

💜Let Me Show You Everything I Know by MassiveWaffle - "Jimmy Solidarity is an ordinary guy. He goes to his grad school classes during the day, works at the campus library in the evenings, and neglects his friendships a little too much. Then, engineering student Tango enters the library for some help, and Jimmy finds his friend group growing, and his life inexplicably changed."

Which will get to them first? What will win out – a growing relationship between them, or their obligations to the life they’ve chosen for themselves?”

💛💜Tangotek Evil Incorporated’s Masterful Schemes (for wooing the Canary) by Tiny_Minecraft_Rabbit - “Dr. Blaze, like all good supervillains, has a nemesis. One that he hates, of course. The Canary is always meddling in his plans to be evil after all! Supervillains don't like their nemeses. Except, for some reason, no one believes him that he despies the guy! Sure the Canary takes him seriously when no one else does and laughs at his jokes and has these bright brown eyes that light up when he figures out how to escape Tango's traps and... and Tango might, just maybe, like the Canary more than he thought.

Well, now he has a new problem: confessing those feelings.”

A Nestcommunication by YacintheMorning - “Tango just wants to make the ranch a home for both him and his avian soulmate. Unfortunately, he knows almost nothing about avians. But the least he can do is try, right?” In which Tango is accidentally way too forward.

💜A Lesson in Listening by YacintheMorning - "Grian's brother is moving to town and staying with him while he house hunts. While introducing him to his friend, however, Jimmy and Tango seem to make quite a connection. Determined not to suffer through the pining, Grian and Impulse attempt to play matchmaker."

Unfortunately, this panicked Jimmy at first.

💜He loves that horse by ThatTallQueerBassist - “Tango uses his horse training knowledge to get Oreo back in shape after all the drama of being stolen back and forth.

He quickly calms down once he finds Tango training Oreo just outside the walls of their ranch.

They chat, and everything is well in the world again.”

SmallEtho

❤️The Best Soulmate by BlocksRuinedMe - “‘But everyone else didn’t know that - it was possible even Bdubs didn’t know that - and yet he carried on like that, all the time. All about Joel’s soulmate. Bdubs didn’t respect Joel, and fuck that.

Fuck that.

Joel had been fantasizing about killing Bdubs for weeks.’

—

The Boat Boys have made it to the end of Double Life, standing with Impulse and Bdubs, watching the divorce quartet crumble. Joel has a plan to make Etho win Double Life, whether Etho likes it or not.” Joel being an unreliable narrator because rage clouds his thinking is really something I wish there was more of. You definitely want to read the tags before diving into this one btw.

Holy Father, judge my sins by giddyfenix - "Joel and Etho as the seven deadly sins. After all, what were they if not corrupted?" The lust chapter has a sexual scene, obvs, so skip that if you so wish.

A list of facts and problems by giddyfenix - “Joel had never realized it was possible to feel someone in your bones until Etho came along.”

Amores anacrónicos by giddyfenix - “Don’t be further than 10 blocks from Etho for 10 minutes. One attempt only.”

You held his hands, it felt like flying by Prudent_seer - “Etho doesn't believe in soulmates. Doesn't believe in fate, destiny or an invisible little string tying two people together indefinitely. It was ridiculous, maddening even to think of two people who were made for one another; made perfect for each other by the "universe's almighty will". With that being said, he had someone in mind that was pretty damn close. So when Grian threw them in a world where these soulbounds did in fact exist in a tangible form, where health and pain was shared with someone else, he sought out the person whom he thought was his match. Only to literally fall into the life of his actual soulbound.

It was Joel. And with that Etho cursed the universe for its twisted sense of humour.

Creative rewrite of double life through the eyes of Etho, who learns to love his soulmate.” There’s sex but it’s not smut, you know what I mean?

when everything burns, they burn together by TheYesterdayShow - “No one for Joel because he's always been a loner. For as long as he can remember he's been on his own in these games—in the first one he had his cottage on the hill (so long ago that he can barely remember what it looked like, he can only remember it burning and the flames licking up at him and melting his skin and the smell of his hair and he has to put it out—), and in the games since, he's been alone. Alliances that last little more than a week, here and there, and somehow he always ends up at Grian's side at the end of things, but he's never actually teamed up with anyone else.

He doesn't want a soulmate.”

etho has said parkour tag! by panch_owo - “Neither Cyan or Aqua make it to finals, which means the rest of the event is unimportant!

And instead of dwelling on their non-team, they go on another round of tag because it's them.” No smut but a lot of innuendo and tension

More Powerful Than Fear Itself Is The Will To Win by smoothlikebutter - "After a devastating crash ends Etho’s racing career with the McLaren Formula One team, he’s forced to take significant time off to recover. While his fans are eager to see him again soon, what they don’t know is that Etho’s crash was worse than reported; he had to re-learn how to walk and talk before he could even think about racing again. But the desire to get back in a racing car is a strong motivation, so Etho pushes himself to his limits… However, his team couldn’t wait forever. His replacement is talented and the endless competition of motorsports is ruthless. Now Etho has to prove to his old team— and to the whole world— that they were too quick to forget about him. And what better place than the 24 Hours of Le Mans?

ConCorp is eager to snap up a big name like Etho. They’re entering under the Garage 56 innovative category this year, and their CEOs aren’t interested in much more than publicity so the pressure is low. But they’ve also signed Joel, a ruthless pro endurance racer who isn’t about to settle for anything less than the top step of the podium and a champagne shower at the end of the race. And honestly? That’s exactly the kind of teammate that Etho needs." Had me dancing around my room with excitement. Etho's character arc is amazing.

We're a Couple of Freaks by smoothlikebutter - "Joel is a weapon. Etho is also a weapon. They're professional monster hunters, and they've got a job to do tonight: clear out a ton of undead from an abandoned old mansion. Simple, right? This could only possibly go wonderfully well.” Epic Smalletho Souleater AU

❤️Blurring The Lines by FountainPenguin - “Dad always goes overboard with presents. They're never something traditional that a kid would ask for, either. It's always something he had left over in the back of his truck after a project or something stupid he bought after sipping a few too many potions and regretted sober.

One year for Scar's birthday, when he and his cousin Grian were playing in the sandbox out back, Dad and his friends arrived unannounced with four oak saplings. Dad didn't grab his arm or anything (Dad basically never touched him except on rare occasion to brush sand from his hair before loading him in the car; he always said it would make Mom mad), but he used words and praise and empty promises to drag Scar away from his and Grian's game to plant them right away.

Maybe Dad gave so many gifts because he was never around in summer. As early as April, he spent every weekend out fishing with his cousin on his houseboat...

AKA - That Scar-centric standalone piece about the Clocker family in contemporary suburbia.”

And goodness you’re bleeding (What a wonderful feeling) by knightinshiningarmor - “When the relationship burns, Etho feels an intense burst of emotions that leads to a revelation.”

#masterlist #fic rec #scarian #treebark #solidango #solidaritek #smalletho #hermitcraft fanfic #trafficshipping #traffic life fanfic #life series fic #can u tell i watched double life first? lol

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kenphobia · 1 year ago

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YOUNG AND RECKLESS!

"here's an idea! let's buy a cake, lure Elias out and throw it off a cliff. watch him get it."

summary. when the new hire and the hottest archival assistant become besties, all hell breaks loose.

contents. really really old content; somewhat ooc since i was too lazy to fix dialogue; wholesome, general fluff; there's not much of a plot tbh; not edited

The job were boring, you knew that from the very start.

When you first stepped into the Magnus Institute, a weird feeling had crept up on you like a snake slithering pass the halls and jumping at you with fangs sinking into your shoulder. Yet after the terrible, terrible interview with Elias and getting accepted into the job, that funny feeling slipped away once you settled into the notion of things.

You worked in the Institute for far longer than you would've liked, always having to look around corners because that sense of dread and foreboding death trickled in at the worst times possible (AKA when you're idly standing in the corner, waiting for the printer to finish its job). But the pay was good enough to pay your stupidly costly london rent AND your necessities at the same time, so you had to room to complain.

Though, you wish your boss wasn't so weird and creepy all of the time. Makes sense since this is an Institute known for collecting statements and artefacts regarding otherworldly, and dare you might say 'spooky', beings and events. And also for holding the highest MIAs/deaths record among all other academic institutes, but you digress.

Working in the library department was fine, nothing really big like the artefact storage or the achives. Like you mentioned, it paid a hefty amount and the place was quiet enough for your introverted self to get comfortable in.

Well, until you were brought into the archives and met the one and only (and possibly the hottest person in the archives), Tim Stoker.

After another excruciatingly awkward meeting wth Elias regarding your sudden promotion, you sighed in relief as you pass those doors and hear it close on you. You tried shaking off the feeling of being watched, but the loud pounding of your heart echoed louder than what your mind is trying to tell your body.

As you try to silently pass through the halls, squeezing yourself into tight corners despite having no one but you around, your body suddenly came into contact of another. You stumbled, nearly falling to the floor until a hand grabbed you and pulled you closer by your arm.

"I get that I'm charming, but really is no need to fall head over heels for me." You looked up and saw a man with bright hair. He was tall, taller than anyone in your family and his colorful outfit choice really made stand out from the boring, nearly barren hallway.

You raised a brow at his words. "Oh please. With how you bumped into me while being in a spacious hallway, I'd say you're the one who's head over heels here." You played along to his sudden flirtatious move, rolling your eyes and flipping off a strand of hair with the back of your hand. "You seemed like the type of guy who'd pay someone just to have a mary sue moment with their crush."

"Oh, you wounded me!" The man cried out dramatically, putting a hand on his chest and letting you go in the process. You were alreayd standing on your two feet and yet you still nearly stumble backwards. "But yeah, maybe I was or maybe I wasn't. I'm Tim, Tim stoker by the way."

Tim offered you his hand and you gladly accepted it, shaking it gently but firmly. "(Name) (Last name), it's nice to meet you, Stoker."

"Please, call me Tim. And the pleasure's all mine." He laughed, winking playfully.

And from that day moving onwards, you and Tim were practically stuck by the hip at every hour of the day. Wherever he went, you were there as well. And wherever you ended up at, Tim was closely following behind you like a unassuming bodyguard with a few tricks up his sleeve.

Oh, Tim's at the police getting evidence for a report? You were there as well, merely for fun and also you can secretly record police officers fucking up for laughs. You're out in the woods for a camping trip, getting wood for fire? There's Tim guarding both of your tents, rehearsing alpha male jokes to tell you when you come back.

It was almost impossible to split the two of you up. Well, almost impossible.

"Hey, (Name). Did you see the email Elias sent to everyone?" Tim called you from across the room, sitting relaxed in his chair while you turn your gaze away from the bright screen of your laptop.

"Hm? No, not yet. Why?" You asked him, despite knowing it was either about you and Tim or random changes being implemented into the Institute.

The bright-haired man struggled to contain his laughter, even bringing up his wrist to bite at his cuffs but even still he wheezed through his teeth. "Hgh— Listen to this!" Tim coughed, breathing in before displaying a poor impression of Elias.

"May I remind everyone that bringing in alocholic beverages are strictly prohibited in the archives, as well as bringing in any lighters or any item alike that could potentially set fire to 'important materials'. Sincerely, Elias Bouchard."

You raised your brow in amusement, chuckling all the while Tim stopped himself from bursting into laughter when he was impersonating Elias. "Is that so? Surely, no one has been bringing in alcohol or lighters into the archives. Right, Tim?" You teased, poking him with your words as to hint him to cough off his crimes.

Tim composed himself. "Yes... No, of course not. I mean, that would be stupid, wouldn't it?" He sighed, leaning on the office chair. "But... If you hide it well enough, then it's not so stupid anymore." He grinned mischievously, pulling out a flask from his pockets. It looked a lot like a calculator in his hands rather than a little alcoholic bottle as the metal shimmered under the buzzing, yellow-ish lights.

As he shook it, he didn't realized the looming shadow over him until you divert your eyes from his form and hold back a snicker. Tim looked at you with confusion, closw to saying something before he turned and saw no other than Elias' percing pale blue eyes.

"Is that so, Tim?" Elias spoke callously, though a wide smile was attached to his face, stretching skin across his facial bones like plastic covering. "Why don't you meet me in my office for a little chat, wouldn't that be lovely?"

Tim shrinks in his seat, averting his gaze down to the ground. "Yes. of course, sir."

You watch in half amusement, half concern as Tim is dragged out of the office by Elias. A familiar face peeked out of the corner, carrying a tray of tea and donning a blue cloud-patterned sweater.

Martin raised a brow as he settled the tray down. "What just happened?"

You pour some tea for yourself and drink from it, doing a dramatically loud slurping sound before smacking your lips. "The cycle of life, Dear Martin."

notes. this was supposed to be for a request but hhhh i need to fill the space somehow oopsies i'll do the req later maybe

#ken writes！#tma x reader #the magnus archives x reader #tim stoker #tim stoker x reader

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lurafita · 10 months ago

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Look alike contest

Magnus and Raphael coming back from a trip to Germany, stepping out of the Portal into the loft. Alec, who didn’t want to come because he didn’t like the head of the Berlin institute and just knew the woman would find a way to bump into him, greets them, but is a little surprised at the indignant look on Magnus face and a cackling Raphael.

Alec: "So, how was Germany?"

Magnus: "Unbelievable! The audacity! Idiots. All of them."

Alec, looking to Raphael as Magnus is storming off in a cloud of dramatic outrage: "Did something happen?"

Raphael: "The local downworld was hosting an impersonation of prominent downworld figures contest. When it came to the High Warlock of Brooklyn, Magnus entered as a contestant. He lost."

In the apothecary something explodes.

Raphael: "To Ragnor"

Magnus, shouting: "Unbelievable!"

#magnus bane #alec lightwood #malec #shadowhunters tv #raphael santiago #ragnor probably entered just to annoy magnus #every fandom needs that look alike contest headcanon thing right?

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ao3feed-jonmartin · 4 days ago

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Good so easily fades away

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/VUEx6Tq by RavenXavier "[...] his husband, but not his husband, suddenly sitting up in bed, staring straight at him with raw fear only rivalled by his curiosity; his Archives, but not his Archives — the fumbling steps of a younger Archivist, too caught in in his dream walk to fully process Jon studying him, sleeping too still in a little cot just above Jon’s head. And then further — the Stranger, threat still looming close by, the Dark, gathering a laughable, pathetic band of cultists, and… Oh, the Spiders. Those damn spiders, still crawling everywhere, trapping him here—" (A remorseless, fully-fledged Archivist!Jon is thrown into a universe where his alternate self struggles with what he's becoming while working with his assistants to fight against the Unknowing and their evil boss. Admist trying to find his way back to his own home and husband, Jon decides he might as well have a little bit of fun with everybody here and wreak havoc through the whole Institute.) Words: 2615, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English Fandoms: The Magnus Archives (Podcast) Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: M/M Characters: Elias Bouchard | Jonah Magnus, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Martin Blackwood, Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives), Basira Hussain, Alice "Daisy" Tonner, Melanie King Relationships: Elias Bouchard | Jonah Magnus/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist Additional Tags: Rating May Change, no beta i'm pretending to be a native speaker again, The Magnus Archives Season 3, Alternate Universe - Evil, Seduction to the Dark Side, Canon-Typical The Beholding Content (The Magnus Archives), there might be a plot brewing, more tags to come because I genuinely don't know how evil Jon is going to behave, Evil!Jon, warning that both jonelias and jmart are treated as equal loving relationships read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/VUEx6Tq

#IFTTT #ao3feed #fanfic #tma #jonmartin #jmart #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #jonmartin fanfic

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0bticeo · 6 months ago

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elias bouchard | bloodied hands may mend the flesh

summary:

“i’m fine, elias.”

“you pulled your stitches two streets after coming out of the hospital.”

“yes, because you wanted to see me.”

tw: blood, hurt/comfort, elias being somewhat manipulative, one (1) kiss, reader's french and done with life, non graphic descriptions of stitching up wounds, the mummy returns (2001) references bc why not.

wc. 1.3k

silence.

you stand in elias bouchard’s office, heeled boots digging uncomfortably in a decadently expensive carpet. persian. a deep green.

tick; tack.

you’re watched.

before you is a lone silhouette sitting at his desk, framed by an oval window. it stretches and stretches in the shape of an eye and stares at you.

hello, Big Brother.

you stare back.

tick; tack.

you breathe in.

tick; tack.

your fist unclenches, fingers smoothing out the pleats of your skirt. you wince at the small motion. breathing's hard. huh.

elias barely acknowledges you, fountain pen scribbling away in neat, impeccable cursive on what you know is his precious scheduling. you find yourself detailing him. taking him in, tracing his features with a tired gaze.

behold, the head of the magnus institute, with his perfect posture and crisp black suit.

behold, the olive skin and long, slender fingers fishing a sheet of paper out of a neat little pile on his side.

behold, he’s staring back at you, green-grey eyes sharp behind his glasses.

“i was wondering when you’d come back.”

you scoff.

“apologies, i was busy rescuing my godson from being kidnapped by a mummy-ressurrecting cult.”

“i know.”

you consider punching him. him and his stupidly perfect face. you wonder how you’d go at it. maybe you’d slam your knuckles against the sharp edge of his jawline, where he’s defined the contours of his goatee. maybe you’d go for the gut. see if he’s as toned as you think he is.

“your thoughts are loud today.”

“don’t turn your gaze upon me if it bothers you that much.”

a beat. he has set aside his fountain pen. a mont blanc. how cliché. he’s watching you, hands neatly folded in front of him. waiting.

“well?”

you sigh. there’s a headache building behind your poor, poor ocular globes, and by the looks of it, your cerebrum might decide to liquefy and run down your ear.

“why am i here, if you already Know where i’ve been?”

silence. you want to scream. you might be, actually. a long, low, guttural thing, exhaustion dripping down its jagged edges.

as it is, you know you’re silent, so it dies down in your throat and scrapes your tongue bloody. you stay still. you stay still, and your nails dig in your palms, mind reeling.

you’re feeling dizzy. why are you feeling dizzy?

you startle.

a wide palm has settled on your shoulder, broad and comforting. you haven’t seen him move. he’s standing in front of you, something like concern flashing in his depthless eyes. there’s a pinprick pressure at the back of your neck, bearing down on your senses.

“were you hurt?”

“i don’t- what?”

“miss leblanc. were you hurt?”

you open your mouth when his hand comes up to cradle your head and his thumb presses against your temple, hard, and he Sees.

(you, stepping out in the dark, cigarette a molten dot in the cold london night. something flickering in the corner of your eye. metal slamming upon your skull.

hands closing on your throat, old, old, older than the sands surrounding you, dirty, chipped nails scraping the skin, scraping and scraping until you bled, until you slammed your torch upon an eyeless skull.

a khopesh slicing the air, the fabric of your shirt, your flesh.

a temple rising from aeons of sands, glorious, glorious until it collapses, until you have to run-)

“reckless, reckless you,” he tuts.

you look up at him, leaning in his touch, his palm warm, so warm and safe. his eyes are narrowed, and in the velvet quiet of the sunset, they seem to glow a soft green.

“i’m fine, elias.”

“you pulled your stitches two streets after coming out of the hospital.”

“yes, because you wanted to see me.”

a beat. then, he chuckles, the sound deep and warm, melting over your ears. you feel the rumble of it against your chest and realize with a start that you’re pressed up against him, his arm wrapped around your waist to support you.

he’s cradling you against the warmth of him, and you don’t know when your vision started to blur at the edges to the point you can only see him.

“’you give me no choice but to stitch you up myself.”

“you don’t need-”

“and you don’t want to go back to that hospital lest they ask questions.”

“fine.”

you settle on his desk, shuffling around so that you don’t mess up his neatly organized workspace. your knuckles dig in the wood, whirling fibers printing themselves in the pad of your fingertips.

breathing hurts, actually. the painkillers must be wearing off. you feel a trickle of blood sliding down your side. ah, there goes your white shirt. blood’s a pain to clean up, so it’s pretty much ruined.

shuffling. elias is behind his desk, palm pressing down on a spreadsheet a few words away from your hand as he opens a drawer. you can feel his warmth. you decide you must be having a fever.

“take your shirt off.”

heat creeps up your cheek.

“not even treating me to dinner? where are your manners, monsieur bouchard?”

his last name rolls off your tongue à la française, with the rasp of the “r” and the final “d” left silent, melting under the weight of his gaze. in there, even through the gauze-veil of exhaustion shrouding your vision, you glimpse a hint of fond exasperation as he pulls out a first aid kit.

with a low hiss, you unbutton the blasted thing, slowly revealing the bruises beneath, and the gauze wrapped tight around your chest. blood spreads there, clings to you, uncomfortably viscous. there’s enough of it that you have to peel off your shirt, shed it off, fabric coming away like old skin.

when his hand brushes your side, you almost scream.

“broken ribs, too,” he mutters. “what happened?”

you’re not usually this sloppy.

you take in a sharp inhale.

“what, do you want me to make a statement?”

“nothing so formal, no.”

a beat.

depthless green-grey eyes focus on you, and you alone, and you feel the weight of his gaze in your very marrow, burrowing and burrowing until it reaches your psyche.

it’s like having someone standing at your front door, elias knocking at the forefront of your mind, waiting for you to tell him. he could pry it out of you. he doesn’t.

there’s silence, for a while. stretching, stretching, only troubled by the sound of hands brushing against one another because of course elias bouchard would have hydroalcoholic gel in his first aid kit. absently, you watch, eyes following his long, clever fingers twining and intertwining as he sanitizes his hands.

he takes a pair of scissors and starts cutting away the soiled gauze. the blade is cold on your flushed skin. you shiver. slowly, he peels the bandages away and reveals the bloody, bruised mess beneath. out of the fourteen stitches, eight remain untouched.

he sighs.

“this will hurt.”

“i know.”

so he sets to work, bending at the waist to clean up the bleeding wound, gently, so gently you might break under the careful press of the cotton slab on your skin.

your breathing is uneven, sharp, irregular intakes of air like shards digging in your lungs - it hurts.

the worst has yet to come.

when he presses the next slab on the wound itself, you cry out, hand clutching at his forearm, teeth gritted in agony. he continues, unrelenting, your grip on his forearm tightening. you think you might tear at his expansive shirt - egyptian cotton. oh, irony…

finally, he withdraws.

your lower lip is bleeding with how hard you’ve bitten down on it.

“i got sloppy,” you mutter.

“tell me.”

you do. your eyes focus on the needle in his hand, on the blood clinging to his fingertips, crimson droplets highlighting the contours of his veins. in the quiet sunset light, they're golden.

“it was two weeks ago. evelynn o’connell, an egyptologist who so happens to be a very good friend of mine, called, in tears, while i was recording a statement. her son had been kidnapped, and she was begging me to help. so i did.”

a sharp inhale as his hand cradles your hip, fingers splayed on your lower belly as he steadies himself, sharp gaze narrowing down.

“turns out, the kidnappers were a cult of sorts. they knew enough of me and my work at the institute to deem i was a threat.”

“so they kidnapped you.”

“yes. but hey. i found alex, safe and sound.”

the needle penetrates the flesh. you exhale, strained, knuckles turning white where you’re gripping the edges of his desk.

“tell me about the mummy they unearthed for the second time.”

“imhotep. high priest of seti I. condemned to the worst of punishments for having an affair with pharaoh’s wife to be. mummified alive and left to rot.”

two stitches done.

he’s close, elias. closer than you expected, the sunset framing the sharp angles in his face like a modern masterpiece. there’s a strand of graying hair falling in front of his eyes, unkempt. you want to push it back and run your fingers through his hair.

“i don’t know all the details. they had knocked me out hard enough to give me a mild concussion - i think. i…”

a beat. four stitches. elias’ thumb traces abstract patterns on the low dip of your hip. when he speaks, his breath is warm, brushing against your ear.

“take your time.”

“i was dead weight, elias.” your head presses against his shoulder, pinprick pain burning, stinging your eyelids. “couldn’t even protect my godson, couldn’t even get him back home in one piece alone, the o'connells had to come.”

six stitches. all done, all bandaged up, and you’re still talking, so, so very fast.

“that temple crumbled upon us and i had Seen it coming, but i didn’t even have the time to act, it all went down so fast-”

your name is sharp on his tongue. you raise your head, and it’s heavy, and you’re all raw nerves exposed under his ceaseless gaze, with tears streaming down your face and god, why are you crying-

“are they dead?”

“what?”

“the o’connells. are any of them dead?”

“no, but-”

“are your enemies dealt with?”

there’s a pernicious voice, little screaming thing, that burns the words across your mind. death is only the beginning. you think of imhotep falling down in the duat and nod, slowly.

“then why do you keep worrying?"

“because the mere thought of losing the people i cherish ruins me.” you raise your head, and you’re exhausted, and the small space between his arms looks so very inviting. “because if i slip up, they die.”

“they didn’t.”

“no, they didn’t. not then. but, gods, elias, i’ve Seen them die, death waiting at every corner of this damned temple-”

his lips press down on yours. slow, soft, and so very warm. you let out a muffled sigh, hands digging in the collar of his shirt as he leans in closer, as he breathes you in. with a teasing nip at your lower lip, he withdraws, licking away the blood coating his lips.

you look up at him, eyes widening.

“you need to get better at Seeing. i can teach you.” a glance at his watch. “how about i treat you to dinner?”

you can only stare at him, mouth agape in shock.

“dear?”

“oh. oh, um. yes, that’ll be lovely. seven tonight?”

a low chuckle as he wraps his suit jacket around your shoulders.

“eager, aren’t we?”

“oh, you unsufferable-”

he shuts you up with a kiss and sends you on your way, hand settling on what little part on the small of your back is left without bruises.

“take the rest of the week off. i’ll pick you up at seven.” a beat, as he holds the door open for you. “do try to get some rest, dear.”

a beat. you peck his lips and smile.

"will do, boss."

#elias bouchard x reader #elias bouchars x y/n #elias bouchard x you #the magnus archives x reader #the magnus archives x you #the magnus archives x y/n #the magnus archives #elias bouchard #obticeo writes

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