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d-criss-news · 3 years

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The Glee star and Emmy winner for The Assassination of Gianni Versace: American Crime Story, Darren Criss, 34, will be releasing his first album of Christmas songs, titled A Very Darren Crissmas (October 8). It includes duets with Adam Lambert, Evan Rachel Wood and an original song, “Drunk on Christmas,” featuring Lainey Wilson.

What was your goal with this Christmas album?

To reintroduce familiar songs in a new way. But I also wanted to take lesser-known songs and make those feel more familiar. And, most importantly, I wanted to take songs that people don’t associate with Christmas but I do—like Leonard Cohen’s “Hallelujah”—and try to make them feel like Christmas songs.

What inspired you to write “Drunk on Christmas”?

It’s about the end of Christmas when everything’s been done. There’s wrapping on the floor, you’ve cleaned things, the in-laws have left and there’s nothing else to do. It’s two people having a sit-on-the couch moment, sipping a glass of cocoa with some SoCo [Southern Comfort] in it.

What is it about Christmas music? Why did you want to do the Christmas album?

Christmas or the holiday season is something that, whether we like it or not, we experience every year, and that comes with a litany of wonderful songs and music that again, whether you have been proactive about listening to it or not, it’s pretty hard to avoid. It’s permeated our cultural consciousness for our entire lives. So if you happen to be someone like me who consumes music at a hyperactive level, I’ve always adored Christmas music.

People say this because of the way that it makes them feel and the things that it reminds them of. There are so many layers to why people enjoy Christmas music. It’s nostalgic, it is very romantic, at least in the true dictionary meaning of the word romantic. And to me, I’ve always loved it for a much more anthropological reason, which is for one month or several weeks out of the year we suddenly subscribe to a certain sentiment that the other 11 we don’t really dial into. We want it all, then we want it to just go away.

What makes Christmas songs different?

As a musician I’ve always loved that Christmas music can employ certain musical elements that otherwise aren’t very popular. To me, it’s incredible that without a doubt the estates of many artists are guaranteed placement on the radio even though many of them have been deceased for many years. The pop charts are dominated by whatever contemporary, awesome artists there are nowadays, but in December you can guarantee that Burl Ives and Dean Martin will be on the radio with the best of them. I find that so charming. It’s because people really, really love this music.

And those songs don’t sound like the sounds that we’re hearing on the radio, sonically, harmonically, rhythmically. They employ a lot of “classic” sounds that evoke the feeling of Christmas. I’m a self-proclaimed genrephile—this is a term I use for myself throughout all the stuff that I do. I can’t help but be so enchanted by this idea that artists have license, and by license I mean an excuse to do things that you ordinarily wouldn’t be encouraged to do, or that audiences wouldn’t necessarily be as quick to absorb.

So, when you’re talking about classic Christmas writing, for lack of a better word, you use clichéd Christmas terminology, you use certain chords, and harmonies, and instrumentations that you just wouldn’t do throughout the year. It leans on the slightly more sophisticated, slightly more musical, and that is really exciting for someone like me.

How much does the fact that your last name is Criss play into this?

If you play music and your last name is Criss, every year someone says, “You know what you should do?” as if they’re the first person who’s ever thought of this idea. So I’ve always wanted to do this; it was just a matter of time. And I also didn’t want it to be phoned in, I didn’t want it to seem like, “Oh, here’s some songs that you know already.”

I wrote this in my liner notes that my favorite thing to do with art, but particularly music, is curate, interpolate, create and personalize. That’s my main thing. I’m an OK singer, I’m an OK musician, but what I really think I have a yen for is trying to interpolate something new that people didn’t know before.

If you think about a song like “Jingle Bells,” it was not written for Christmas. It was a song from 200-something years ago that bears no mention of Christmas whatsoever, but we associate it so heavily with Christmas. Lately I hear Leonard Cohen’s “Hallelujah” come up on Christmas playlists. I think it must have something to do with the Christian angle of the song and the reverence of the word “hallelujah,” but there’s no mention of Christmas.

So there’s a lot of different things that can make people feel like Christmas if you arrange it a certain way, and that’s what I wanted to do. I wanted this cocktail of songs that people didn’t know and I might be able to introduce to them in a really new, interesting way.

You duet with Adam Lambert, Evan Rachel Wood and Lainey Wilson. These people couldn’t be more different. How did you select your song partners for this?

Honestly, people are busy, so I leaned on friends of mine. The album is called A Very Darren Crissmas, and I wanted to make it just that. Songs that are very, very me, doing things that are very me, and using the talents of people who are legitimately in my life. Adam has been a pal for a long time. We’ve known each other from just adventures in Hollywood, but he, of course, was on Glee with me. Evan Rachel is a dear pal of mine; we’ve done some things together. She’s played my festival, and I’ve done comedy sketches with her and stuff. These are all extraordinarily talented singers. As I told them when I asked them to be a part of it, “I’d be very lucky to have you on this record.”

I had not met Lainey Wilson before I started this. But when you’re in Nashville, you are in the Olympic tent of USDA certified prime country singers. And that’s a bit of a blind spot for me as far as who’s on the up and up, who’s somebody that can really give a level of authenticity, legitimacy to a more classic ’50s Nashville sound, which is the song that I wrote called “Drunk on Christmas.” My producer Ron Fair, who has been living in Nashville for a while, suggested Lainey and we got on like a house on fire. She’s an extraordinary talent and I was happy to have her. These were all people that were part of this grassroots friend to friend thing. That’s how I got them and I’m very lucky that they’re on the record.

There are hundreds of Christmas songs. How did you choose what to include?

Choosing was extremely hard. I had a list of about 100 songs. I’m not done; this record is only phase one in my mind. There are so many songs that it will make your head spin. If you go, “Did you think about this song?” The answer is yes, and I absolutely had to deliberate which ones I had to triage out of the sequence.

I even said no to “The Christmas Song,” which is on the album. I didn’t want to do it because I was like, “Everybody knows it; it’s perfect by Nat King Cole,” and Mel Tormé [who wrote it] is one of my favorite artists of all time, much less songwriters and musicians. So I was like, “I don’t want to have to do that.” And on the day when we were there, we just had a guitar and said, “Let’s just do it for fun,” because I love singing that song. But I was like, “It’s been done perfectly too many times, I really don’t want to have to put myself up against that.” But we had a nice take, it’s live in the room. And hey, come on, it’s Christmas. So I left it on there.

If we were to come to your house during the holidays, what would you be listening to?

I’d probably sit you down and play you my favorite songs that you’ve never heard that I think are great Christmas songs. But what’s nice is I’ve now put those songs on this album, hopefully, in a perhaps delusional effort to standardize these songs in the Christmas pantheon. There has to be an air of delusion to being an artist in the first place. If one of these songs that no one’s ever heard before catches on with a family or a person and becomes part of their Christmas playlist every year, then I will have succeeded in my efforts.

What did the Emmy you won for The Assassination of Gianni Versace do for your career?

Although the Emmy has just my name on it, the number one thing that I’m most proud of is it’s more symbolic and representative of the work of the whole team. It is a validation and celebration of the really hard work of people that I spent a lot of time and energy with creating this role.

You have a couple voice roles coming up—in Trese and Yasuke—but what are we going to see you in next, not just hear you?

I don’t know. Let me know if there’s any opportunities. A huge reason for why this album was made was because I had the time. Making records takes a lot of time, and I’m envious of people who are just singers. I don’t know how people do that, that’s just not who I am. I’m a producer, I’m a writer, I’m a musician. It takes so much out of me to make a body of music because someone doesn’t say, “OK, here are the songs, show up on a Tuesday, you sing it and then you leave.” Not that there’s anything wrong with that. Some of my favorite artists can do that and are blessed enough to be able to just do that. I can’t.

It takes so much time for me to really get in the weeds, arrange, edit vocals, edit instrumentation, mix tracks, really getting in the jungle of music production. I can’t function any other way and that takes an extraordinary amount of time. Even when there was a global pandemic, I still had deadlines that we could barely make to finish this album because that’s just how my brain works.

So I haven’t been able to act. I haven’t had an acting job in almost two years. That’s not entirely true. I’ve had little bit things during the pandemic, but no big series or films or anything like that. It’s just been mostly working from home and being as proactive as I can be. I started a weekly podcast with a friend of mine, I put out an EP. I’ve been extremely busy with high output and low visibility. I’m waiting for the next thing, but I’m not one to sit still. If you give me time, I’m going to fill all the spaces out. So I did that with music this past two years.

Are you going to go back to Broadway now that it’s opening again?

I don’t want to say anything that is not perhaps confirmed 100 percent, but I will say with full confidence that I have always had the intention of going back exactly where we started. I’ll let them announce what’s happening because every show is in its own unique holding pattern. But, yes, right before the shutdown I was doing American Buffalo in New York, and talk about the actor’s dream, that is right up there. Doing a great American play that I’ve always wanted to do. I’ve had a long history with that show, and I finally get to do it for real with two of my favorite actors—Sam Rockwell and Laurence Fishburne. They are two acting heroes of mine.

So I was in rehearsals for that. We were about to go into tech, and things got shut down. But we’re in a very fortunate position where you’ve got two huge movie stars, you have a very well-known play and you have a fixed set and just three guys. There are musicals that have orchestras, big choruses and huge set pieces, and the overhead and upkeep of these productions is quite complicated. And a lot of them, for that reason, fell by the wayside during the pandemic, and it’s an awful tragedy. But our set and our billboard and our posters are exactly where we left them. It’s kind of a trip. If you go to Circle in the Square, I keep telling people it’s the longest I’ve ever been on Broadway because it’s just sitting there dormant, waiting to be resurrected.

I think all of us are planning on going back. I think the show is scheduled to reopen almost to the day that it was supposed to open in 2020. We’ll see how the schedule ends up, but you have three guys whose heart and soul is the theater. I don’t want to speak for the other two guys, but I’m almost positive that all three of us would rather be doing that play on Broadway than anything else. So when I say I haven’t had an acting gig in two years, it’s been a comfort to know that that was waiting for me on the other end. I’m keeping my fingers crossed that we’ll be able to do it. We’ll have to make sure that everything is hunky-dory with theater audiences, et cetera, et cetera, but that’s the idea.

How did Ryan Murphy casting you in Glee change your life?

I said during my Emmy speech that actors are only as good as the moments they get. I used to say actors are only as good as the parts they get. Take that with a huge grain of salt, obviously, it’s not entirely true. But in context of that moment, certainly you can understand what I meant. Acting is a proactive craft, but in many respects it’s a passive career, where you have to hope and wait for a benefactor, a patron, a supporter to say, “OK, all right, kid, you’re up. I think you can do it.”

I think any artist’s life is a constant compromise between knowing what you can do and what you want to do, and having other people, audiences and creative authorities alike, have an idea of what you can do. You have to have that balance of somewhere in the middle, where hopefully you can rise to an occasion that you know you can do, that somebody’s going to give you the opportunity to do. But you’re not in control of that relationship, and so you have to sit and hope and pray that someone is going to give you that moment and that opportunity. That was something that I’m fully indebted to with Ryan.

Because he did say, “All right, kid, you’re up,” and gave me that shot. We talked about the The Assassination of Gianni Versace: American Crime Story series for years before we did it. I didn’t think he was ever going to do it. By the time we started shooting, he probably mentioned it to me three or four years prior. And I kept asking about it like, “Hey, you still want to do this thing?” I think he was just always obsessed with the fact that I was half Filipino and that I bore a certain resemblance to the guy. Age and everything, it seems pretty spot-on. But he was a man of his word, and he really did end up making it. So I’m incredibly indebted to him and I’ve always been very effusive about that.

Now that you have this modicum of fame, what would you like to use it to accomplish?

For me, there are so many things that I love in this world that I don’t think other people are familiar with. One of the things about having a modicum of a platform is hopefully embracing that to use it as a gateway drug for stuff that people might not be familiar with. I don’t know if they’re going to like it as much as I do, but I’m looking at this track list and there are songs that I guarantee that you don’t know.

These are all things where I go, “OK, I have this moment of people’s attention, hopefully, this is a fun way to have them have eyes on something that I think is deserving of eyes, and not because of me, but because of other people who have made something amazing.” And, hopefully, they have the same proactive curiosity that I had growing up where I look at the liner notes and see who wrote the songs and where they came from. But we’ll see. We’ll see if people have that reaction.

You’ve accomplished so much. What’s the dream going forward?

The dream is to keep doing me, really. I think all you can do is be as true to yourself and try and do as accessible and as valuable work as you can. And, hopefully, in so doing, represent people, giving them visibility and encouragement towards their own place in the cultural conversation.

#darren criss #parade magazine #a very darren crissmas #press #oct 2021

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theskywaslookingback · 3 years

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tma fic recs please ? 🤲🏽

Oooooo yes! I never get asks like this, thank you!

[my tumblr fic recs tag is here for browsing]

I had to put it under a cut because it got...entirely too long barely half an hour into making it, sorry.

Under 5k

means of cartharsis by orphan_account [G] [965]

“You’d think – you’d that at this point nightmares would be second nature for me, hm?” Martin says, forcing a smile even as he tugs the blanket tighter around his trembling shoulders.

It’s meant to be a bit funny. Instead of laughing, though, Jon frowns.

“No,” he says simply, and matter-of-factly wipes the moisture from Martin’s cheeks with a tissue like he’s a crying child.

A Proper Sleepover by Goodluckdetective (scorpiantales) [T] [1.4k]

In a different world, one where Elias is not waiting for them outside the Lonely, everyone has a chance to savor a moment of respite. As much as they can get these days. If only to talk about things that long need to be spoken.

“Basira says we should all sleep in the same room tonight,” Jon says without looking up. “Safer. So we can keep an eye out for intruders and also each other.”

“So we’re having a proper sleepover then?”

Jon scoffs. “Technically we’ve been having a proper one for months.”

where i go, when i go there by rainny_days [T] [1.7k]

Martin wants Jon to hold his hand. Martin doesn't want Jon to hold his hand.

It's complicated.

all the other ways by AptlyNamed [G] [2.2k]

Jon loses his first soul mark when he is eight years old.

a palace from ruin by bibliocratic [G] [2.2k]

"What're you sorry for?” Martin asks.

“I should have asked,” Jon says finally. “I'd never.... you were always so private about him, so I mean, at first I wasn't sure he was even yours, but then – when you, when you went with Peter, and I – he was so small, and I thought he was h-half-dead. S-so I picked him up and I carried him. And I'm sorry.”

interiors by doomcountry [T] [2.7k]

In the doorway, he fumbles with his keys. Their sound is loud in the silent stairwell. You don’t remember getting here.

searching for a light (for a right) by Kalgalen [T] [2.7k]

Some people make the mistake of assuming he's naive about sex, for the simple reason he hasn't dated in a while. Tim has called him a prude, at one point, and implied that he was somehow afraid of the intimacy required by the act; he wasn’t entirely wrong, but this definitely isn’t the reason for Jon's disinterest and general bafflement toward what most people seemed to consider as "what makes them human".

Jon simply hasn't found the right person. That is all it is: high standards, and a reticence to let people in.

(In which Jon finds out society is wrong about what a romantic relationship should be.)

how to plant a garden in rocky soil by treeprince [T] [2.9k]

Sometimes you just need a good pair of hands to work out all the kinks in your life.

Good thing Martin has two.

A Weather In The Flesh by cuttooth [G] [3k]

"There is a span of years where Jon doesn’t touch anyone other than the occasional hand shake. It’s not so bad. He’s never been someone who’s needed physical affection."

Jon has never been any good at making people want to stick around.

I'll bring the motion by callmearctus [T] [3.1k]

A long series of kidnappings and international flights leaves its own special mark on someone. Before the Unknowing, Jon is a mess.

Martin helps.

A Bread Made In Heaven by Againstme [G] [3.3k]

Martin moves over and watches how his boyfriend handles the dough. He's awkward with it, tentative and gentle, as if he's scared of hurting it somehow.

"Is this, uh, am I doing this right?" Jon asks, still slowly stretching out the dough and folding it onto itself.

"Well," he says shifting closer to Jon again, "you could be applying more pressure. Here, let me help you out, dear."

Martin moves fully behind Jon, and reaches around him, putting his hands on top of his boyfriend's. Jon inhales sharply, but doesn't say anything else, just lets Martin's hand rest on top of his.

Martin's hands are bigger, but not big enough to entirely envelop the other's hands, and Jon's hands are much, much warmer than his own are. To see what they're doing, Martin moves his head to look over Jon's shoulder. Though he can't see his boyfriend's face from this angle, he can see how it is slowly growing red at the edge of his vision. He decides not to tease him on it, instead content with letting a smile spread across his face and slowly guiding their joined hands in the proper motion.

Or, Martin teaches Jon how to make bread.

stumbling and spinning by lady_mab [G] [3.3k]

“Things happened,” Jon says demurely, trying to untangle Gerry’s fingers, but it only results in him getting pulled in so Gerry can kiss him properly. “It’s not all that bad.”

“I suppose not,” Gerry says with a sigh, sitting back upright. “You somehow managed to snag an incredible boyfriend out of it.”

It takes a solid few seconds before realization clicks in Martin’s brain. “You mean me?” [...]

“You have to admit, Jon has great tastes,” Gerry teases.

nothing sweeter than local honey by beeclaws [T] [3.4k]

So Tim is content, one arm leaned into the spray, waiting for the water to warm, enjoying the feeling of homecoming underneath the gentle fuzz of jetlag, when he hears gasping, panicked breaths coming from the other room.

Tim and Jon, in the aftermath, relearning how to be okay.

When Words are Inadequate by Mugatu [T] [3.8k]

Meals and the preparation of are, for want of a better word, informative. Fact gathering. A place where they can fill in the gaps of their knowledge of the other.

Jon cooks for Martin, and they learn more about each other.

go softly by doomcountry [T] [4k]

And there is nothing else besides this.

Imago by cuttooth [T] [4k]

“Jon?” he asks tentatively, tightening his grip around the poker as it slips against his sweaty palm. The antennae twitch, and suddenly Martin knows that it’s Jon, the knowledge sliding into his mind in a surge of desperate affection, the same profound love he felt that first time he truly saw Jon in the fog of the Lonely.

“Oh,” he whispers. “It really is you.”

Jon changes, but he’s still the same to Martin.

shoreline by bibliocratic [G] [4.1k]

“Martin," Tim says kindly, tipsily, only mildly slurring. "Dearest, dearest Martin. You're wankered, babe. Last train to Stockwell fucked off hours ago because it is now piss off o'clock in the morning, and there's a sofa with your exact name on it at my place. Thought you said you wanted some handsome fellow to take you back to his tonight?”

Or: The OG Archive crew go drinking, Martin comes out, and gets some well deserved TLC. In that order.

get your epitaph right by bibliocratic [G] [4.2k]

Martin's daemon has tried on the shape of dogs and lizards and snakes and horses, and even – once, when he was younger and Mum took him to the seaside, a fish.

Martin's never seen his soul in the dressing of a spider before.

i've known the warmth of your doorways by beeclaws [T] [4.2k]

'I’m always in pain, Jon wants to say, even as he dismisses the thought as melodramatic. Between his growing collection of old wounds and scar tissue, the supernatural hunger for statements that hasn’t been truly satiated in months, and the unpredictable aches and strains his body threw off day by day long before he ever set foot in the Institute, some level of pain and discomfort follows Jon wherever he goes now. He is used to being in pain. He’s not used to someone holding his hand as he suffers through it.'

Jon catalogs the comforts he receives, and wonders how long he will be allowed to keep them.

lay down your weary head by Zykaben [T] [4.6k]

Jon has been running himself ragged, searching for every scrap of information he can possibly find about the Unknowing. He's exhausted and sleep-deprived but he can't bring himself to take a break, not now.

Luckily, Tim and Martin are there to make sure that their boyfriend gets the care and rest he needs.

only the sweetest words remain by bluejayblueskies [T] [4.6k]

This isn't how things are supposed to go, right? Jon remembers those ratty paperbacks from the charity shops, dime-a-dozen romance novels with broken bindings and yellowing pages and words that spoke of love and passion and sexuality in prose that was more than a bit too mature for someone whose age hadn’t yet reached double digits. Stolen glances turn into dinner dates turn into passionate kisses turn into…

Well, he’d never actually read those parts of the books, because it had all seemed so deeply uncomfortable and gross. But he got the picture.

Or, Jonathan Sims, on being loved

5k-20k

and they keep not letting go by Marianne_Dashwood [G] [5k]

It’s an electric feeling, something strange and new and familiar all at once, even though he has been holding Martin’s hand for most of the day. His stomach swoops, like he is standing on the edge of the precipice of realisation and staring into the void of unknowing. But at the same time, he does know. In this instant of contact between them, the last few years of cups of tea and small smiles and momentary glances, of panic and fear and only feeling safe with Martin’s solid presence in the room, despite his paranoia, rush into him, and oh, oh oh.

ready to call this love by yewgrove [G] [5.6k]

How is Martin supposed to tell Jon that he panicked, stupidly, when the lovely old lady down the village asked him what they were doing in this part of the world? Got the shopping! Oh, by the way, we're married now! Whole village thinks we're on our honeymoon, hope you don't mind!

Prenons-nous la main by luftballons99 [T] [6k]

They still haven't talked about it, any of it, not even to pass the time on the long train ride to Scotland. Instead, Martin fell asleep in the seat next to him, pressed into his side from shoulder to knee, and Jon thought about love confessions and verb tense and how the two fit together when you think you're dying.

or: Good cows, mediocre poetry, and other crucial topics of discussion.

This Must Be The Place by cuttooth [T] [6k]

“You said – you said we were going home,” Martin says softly.

“I did,” says Jon, and is grateful that Martin doesn’t comment on him calling the Archives home. “I – I don’t really know where to go. I, uh, I don’t have a flat anymore, I don’t think. We could find a hotel?”

“Let’s go to my place,” says Martin. His hand squeezes Jon’s, more gently than before. Most importantly, Jon notes, he doesn’t let go.

Jon and Martin go home for a little while.

Small Things, Simple Acts by ZaliaChimera [T] [6.6k]

Even after leaving London, Jon and Martin are not free, not really. Maybe they never will be.

But for now they can be themselves, and maybe in the end, that's enough.

house by tomatoes [G] [9k]

Martin can take care of himself.

roses, roses, roses by acetheticallyy (judesstfrancis) [T] [9.3k]

Rose scented laundry detergent. Running into Jon in the breakroom. Running into Jon on his way back to his desk. Rose scented detergent. Running into Jon. Roses. Jon. Roses, roses, roses.

a deeply annoying child by ajkal2 [G] [9.6k]

Jon is hiding under the desk.

----

There's a child in the Archives, who shouldn't be there.

Inseparable by voiceless_terror [T] [10.3k]

“You can stay.” The voice interrupts his internal panic, and he looks over to find Jon studiously avoiding his gaze, staring hard at a neighboring bush. Martin wonders what caused his sudden change of heart. “But you have to sit on the other side. And don’t talk to me.”

Jonathan Sims and Martin Blackwood meet as children. Some things change, others do not.

i'm almost me again, you're almost you by gruhukens [G] [12k]

After a second Jon steps in towards him, close enough that Martin flinches, but all Jon does is put two fingers under his chin with his free hand and raise it until Martin can’t duck away. Jon has never touched him so casually before – at least, not until today, and it raises a lot of thoughts and feelings that Martin is trying very hard not to process.

Much like a lot of other things that have happened, he thinks. Not that it’s horrible or terrifying or numbing like everything else has been: it’s just another thing on the list of things he doesn’t have the capacity to deal with.

---

In the wake of the Lonely, there's a lot that Martin doesn't really want to think about.

hello my old heart by firebirdsuite [T] [15.8k]

Peter’s wrong, of course. When it’s all over, Martin does still want to tell Jon everything. It’s just—well, there’s a few things they need to work through first before they can get there.

Martin and Jon find each other again in Scotland.

Over 20k

The Kindness of Strangers by TheOestofOCs [M] [23k]

It was easier to treat Jon like a monster when he wasn’t shivering against his back, brokenly humming—wait, was that…

“Are you trying to do ‘Hey, Jude’?” Tim demanded.

Jon stopped, stiffening. “Mm hrmh mm mmh hm,” he said defensively.

“You really can’t hold a tune, can you, boss?”

It was just an ordinary walk to a restaurant. Tim had insisted that if they were going to talk, there would be no tape recorders or weird Archives ghosts listening in. A bit of fresh air wouldn’t kill him, Tim had said. What could go wrong?

By the time Jon spots the white delivery van, it’s much too late.

The Stranger kidnaps Jon. Tim comes along for the ride.

Misjudged by ShastaFirecracker [T] [36.5k]

Martin's been a longtime listener of What the Ghost, so when Georgie gives a shoutout to her flatmate's Twitch channel during a Q&A, he checks it out - only to discover that her flatmate is also his most terrifying coworker at his new job. The first time they crossed paths, Jon yelled at him for incompetence. But on the streams, Martin sees an entirely different person - someone fun and relaxed, engaging and unfairly attractive. Over time, Martin begins to find that Jon buried inside his dour, awkward coworker. He also learns to live with the fact that his crush is painfully one-sided... or is it?

if we make it through the night everyone is gonna hear us (Series) by skvadern [Ratings Vary] [42.4k]

In which Sasha survives the NotThem (with a little help from a certain Distortion) and she and Jon spend s2 working together to try and make sense of everything that's happening to them. It goes...interestingly

the garden of forking paths by bibliocratic [T] [49.7k]

Whatever he had predicted might happen, Jon wasn't expecting to survive upon demolishing the Panopticon. He certainly wasn't expecting to be rescued.

Instead, he wakes up in an alternative universe where he's never been the Archivist, and Martin Blackwood doesn't exist.

Martin Blackwood wakes up somewhere else entirely.

it's only forever by lady_mab [T] [50.9k]

“The castle at the center of the labyrinth,” Jon breathes, recalling again the words from one of the past conversations with Martin. “He’s there.”

“Turn back, Jonathan,” the Goblin King says, and Jon is surprised to hear a slight edge of desperation in the tone. “Turn back before it’s too late.”

“I can’t,” Jon answers with the same tone. “You know that I can’t.”

The Goblin King’s grin is gone completely, and he regards Jon with a degree of pity before that melts into resignation.

Yesterday is Here by CirrusGrey [T] [53.3k]

"Who the hell are you?" Jon could feel his hands shaking. The man laughed, taking a step forward and raising a hand to point at him. "I'm you, from the future!" he said, then swayed, eyes going unfocused, and collapsed to the floor in a dead faint. -------- Post-season-four Jon and Martin time travel back to the season one Archives.

A Home For What Loves You by TheWrongShop [T] [151k]

It was completely fine that Jon was following up on this very normal, non-supernatural statement at midnight on a Friday. He was going to find nothing at all, and then he was going to go home and sleep for fourteen straight hours and feel absolutely no qualms about moving case #0150409 directly into the filing cabinet marked "discredited".

Or; Jon and Martin end up investigating Carlos Vittery's basement and finding the entity formerly known as Jane Prentiss together.

RATED E *MINORS DNI*

A Look And A Voice by cuttooth [E] [6.9k]

“Do you want to have sex with me?” Jon asks bluntly, and for a second Martin can’t breathe.

“It - it doesn’t matter what I - ” he begins valiantly, before Jon interrupts him.

“Because I want to have sex with you, and frankly it doesn’t matter if you think it’s for the wrong reasons. I’m an adult. I can make my own decisions. The only thing that matters is if you want to as well.”

Martin meets a guy in a bar and takes him home.

Warms The Coldest Night by cuttooth [E] [11k]

"Flame that warms the coldest night Bring to us the waxing Light, Be with us on Solstice Night." Gypsy - Bring Back The Light

There is mistletoe hanging in the doorway to the Archives when Jon gets in.

Curiosity by ShastaFirecracker [E] [11.6k]

“You know that conversation we had the other day about how one of the most important things for queer youth to learn is that it's okay to change their minds, because identity and self-discovery are always fluid?”

Behind him, Martin slipped oven mitts over his hands and pulled open the oven door. The scent of garlic and rosemary flooded the kitchen. “Yeah?” he said.

“I, um... I'd like to revisit the topic of sex.”

At the Interim (Series) by Rend_Herring [E] [41k]

A Measure Outside the Lines and The Residuum

triptych (Series) by Stacicity [E] [44.9k]

A collection of Jon/Tim/Martin fics

a steady hand, a delicate man by callmearctus [E] [52.8k]

Martin is the proprietor and manager of a very discrete and fairly exclusive brothel situated between Belgravia and Chelsea. Blackwood House excels at special requests and pleasing any client.

Except for Jon, who probably has never been pleased a day in his entire life.

Despite that, he still comes back. It eventually begs the question: how do you solve a problem like Jon Sims?

#statement ends #anonymous #fic recs #save #((this took me like two hours lmaooooo))

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fakecrfan · 4 years

Note

Do you think Basira and Daisy had a healthy relationship?

I am so glad you asked! I have had a lot of thoughts about their relationship, but had decided to shelve those thoughts because I was worried it would come off as me telling people to not ship Daisira, which is... not what I want to be doing. But you sent me an Ask and so I am compelled to answer!

My answer is: no. Their relationship is toxic in one of the most interesting ways I have seen portrayed in media.

This might be a bit confusing to hear, though. Normally when we call a relationship toxic, it means that one or both of the people involved are making each other feel bad. But Daisy and Basira seem to make each other feel... good. Basira is apparently Daisy’s last human attachment, and according to Elias in MAG 92, and “not being able to see Basira again” is one of Daisy’s biggest laments in the coffin. And on Basira’s end, Daisy seems to make Basira feel... secure. Supported.

From MAG 117:

BASIRA

But at least Daisy’s coming. I mean, I know she’s… difficult. Everything they say about her, it’s true, it’s fair. But, she’s solid. She’s a… a fixed point, and if she’s there, I know exactly where I stand, exactly what I’m doing, relative to her.

From MAG 178:

MARTIN

We’re here for you.

BASIRA

No. She was there for me.

So, “attachment to humanity” “support” and “security” are good things in a relationship, right? Their love for each other (whether you read it as completely platonic or not) seems genuine, and they put each other first. That should mean that their relationship is Good!

Wellllllll no. Sometimes, a relationship can feel good while also... trapping you in a harmful cycle, or stunting your growth as a person. Think: a friend who is charming and fun who you love to drink with--to the extent that, even when you’re trying to manage an alcohol addiction, you end up going into situations with them that trigger your urge to drink. Also think: a friend who keeps bringing you sugary food even after you’ve been diagnosed with serious diabetes with potential life-altering complications--because you like donuts, they used to make you so happy.

Daisy and Basira are that to each other. In particular--Basira’s attachment to Daisy draws Basira back into dangerous situations and, by extension, causes her fall deep into that “siege mentality” that shuts down Basira’s more thoughtful side.

When Jon confronts Basira about Daisy’s crimes in MAG 178, this exchange occurs.

MARTIN

[Loudly] Enough. Enough! Someone has died! Show some respect. Or don’t you care?

BASIRA

[Incensed] Of course I fucking care!

…

[Quieter] That’s the problem.

MARTIN

I… I don’t understand.

BASIRA

I just… I don’t need him laying everything out for me like I’m some kind of idiot. I know, all right.

I don’t think Basira is making anything up here to make herself seem better. Basira already knew there was a problem with the police, before Jon confronted her. She already knew Daisy was corrupt to some extent, even if she had trouble facing it head on. And--she already cared.

That’s why she quit. She didn’t need a revelation from Jon or anyone else to open her eyes. She didn’t even need to see harm happen to an innocent bystander. Instead, she saw how the higher ups were covering up the killing of Maxwell Raynor, of all people--

BASIRA

They’ve given us a few days ‘compassionate leave’. I think they just want us out of the way while they figure out the official version of what happened.

--and she quit after that.

So, here we already have someone who is coming into an understanding of the police as a flawed system without anyone needing to tell her. Here we have someone who is already extricating herself from that system, because she cares about her impact on other people. From this point, she could easily have gone her own way, taken time to reflect and never hurt anyone again.

So what brings her back into the whole mess in MAG 88?

BASIRA

I’m looking for Daisy.

MARTIN

Oh for – Okay, I don’t know where she is! I don’t know where anybody is! Why does everyone… okay, why does everyone think that I always know where everyone is, all the time?!

BASIRA

Alright, okay, alright, sorry. They just… well, they said at the station that this was the last place she checked in.

--Her relationship with Daisy, of course!

She wants to leave the supernatural and the police behind. She tells Jon the Institute is bad (MAG 73) but she walks back in because she’s worried about Daisy. And then she throws herself right back in the fray to stop Daisy from killing Jon. Shortly after that, Basira has to sign herself off as a hostage to Elias…

ELIAS

She’s quite the killer, your partner. All in the public good, of course. And she was correct, I spent some time acquiring that evidence. Or creating it. And while your superiors don’t much care about the killings, the fact there is proof… They’re not happy. And they want you brought in.

--because of Daisy’s murders, Daisy’s reckless actions giving Elias leverage. Basira throws herself in with Daisy, and it draws Basira right back into a world of violence and the paranormal that she was trying to quit. It motivates her to, once again, cover for Daisy’s errors and justify them. This takes away any chance Basira could have had to gain distance from the violence, reflect, and get some perspective. Instead, she’s thrown right back into the siege.

Basira doesn’t even show any sign of frustration with Daisy at this. It’s not that Basira is 100% meek. We see her get frustrated with people later, express grievances, and hold people accountable later--but with Daisy she doesn’t do any of this. Instead, she immediately re-affirms that she’s on Daisy’s side.

BASIRA

Daisy, it’s… it’s okay. We’ll figure something out.

Of course, it’s not a one-way street, either. It’s not an uncomplicated “Basira good, Daisy toxic and bad” story. It’s a mutually reinforcing cycle where they are both complicit. We see that in season 4, when Daisy tries to stop feeding the hunt.

People like to rag on Basira for her actions in this season but... her actions are actually also more complicated than a simple story of “Basira sabotages Daisy’s progress.” Because Basira misses the more resolute Daisy, yes, and wishes she had a strong protector instead of another person to help... but even with that, she’s still willing to support Daisy’s progress away from the Hunt!

In MAG 133:

ARCHIVIST

You’re not happy she’s back.

BASIRA

I didn’t say that, John. I will never abandon Daisy, and… having her back is… (she sighs) But right now she’s dead weight, and I need to be able to travel light.

Basira wants someone powerful to protect her, is conflicted that she doesn’t have that but still will never abandon Daisy regardless. And, true to her word, she does support what Daisy is doing.

From MAG 140:

BASIRA

We’ve talked about it. If the Hunt takes her again, we don’t know if she’s coming back. And neither of us want that.

In MAG 146, she even praises Daisy’s path of resistance.

BASIRA

You didn’t know what you were doing.

[Daisy makes a pained sound, as if to contradict her, but stops.]

BASIRA

And since you did, you’ve spent every waking hour resisting.

So, Basira is--true to Elias’s word--being Daisy’s anchor to humanity. True to her own word, she’s having Daisy’s back, supporting her decision to quit the hunt even if it means Basira has less back up. So what changes?

MAG 155:

BASIRA

Because I’m not going to lose her.

ARCHIVIST

She goes hunting again, you might anyway.

BASIRA

And if she doesn’t, she might die.

Even at this point, Basira’s worst impulses are always about Daisy. Even when she undercuts Daisy’s progress, it’s about Daisy’s wellbeing. All she wants to do is make sure Daisy’s alive and okay, and to that end she will throw out all of her rationality and moral principles.

And then, when Daisy does finally give into the hunt, it’s for Basira.

It’s... funny to analyze and critique this behavior, because I have seen this sort of behavior in Jon/Martin fics treated as a sweet and romantic thing. You know, the “I want you to keep being a monster because I don’t want to lose you!” thing. And also the “prioritizing each other over everything else in the world” thing. Because the concept of unconditional support, of putting another person first above everything else in the world--it’s an alluring one.

But with Daisy and Basira, even though their relationship isn’t necessarily romantic, we see how harmful that mindset can be. How someone can care for you, prioritize you, make you feel like the whole world, and... the main effect of that is to stunt you, to give you so much comfort you never get out of a harmful cycle or change your behavior at all. How it can cause you to enable horrible things in the world, like police brutality.

That is the story of Daisy and Basira’s relationship. It’s about the effects of this cycle on Basira--yes, Basira specifically and not Daisy, even though the cycle is mutually reinforcing and affects them both.

Basira appears in nearly twice as many episodes as Daisy. Because of this, Basira is the one we see discussing the relationship and what it means to her. Basira is the one we see grappling with the psychological fallout of their relationship. It’s more Basira’s story than Daisy’s--not because she’s the “victim” or that she was morally pure but because... Basira is the one who ultimately grows past this.

After episode after episode of “she needs me” and “I can’t leave her” and “I can’t let her die”--after Basira endangering herself and stunting her own growth by centering Daisy

DAISY

Partner… Come…

[MORE FOOTSTEPS]

BASIRA

Not now. Not after everything.

--Basira finally breaks free, and moves on.

#taiey #basira hussain #daisy tonner #tma #the magnus archives #my post #tma meta

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bluejayblueskies · 4 years

Note

Could you do "things you said at 1 am" for MarTim? Romantic or platonic is good. I'm loving all these prompt fics so much!

warning for some discussion of canon-typical worms

Tim sets the box of Martin’s things at the foot of the cot in document storage and makes a show of shaking out his arms and hands, even though it really hadn’t been that heavy. Mostly clothes and toiletries and other necessary amenities—though Tim had snuck in a small faux-leather notebook and a picture frame depicting a family he assumed to be Martin’s standing in front of the sea. Martin couldn’t have been more than five in the picture, but Tim recognized his auburn curls and button nose.

If Martin’s going to be stuck in the Archives for the foreseeable future, he may as well have something personal to keep him company, Tim figures. So, he’d packed it away, gathered the rest of the items on the list Martin had provided him with, and brought it all back to the Archives. Sasha was already gone by the time he arrived, and Jon’s office door was shut, though a thin line of light escaped from below it.

He’s been working later and later, Tim’s noticed. And if the cot already tucked away in document storage is anything to go by, he’s also been spending less and less time at his flat.

“There we are,” Tim says, flashing Martin a warm smile. “You’re all set to live in the company of hundreds of years’ worth of dusty documents. Not exactly bedtime stories—unless you prefer the spooky sort—but, you know…”

Tim trails off with a small shrug. There’s an ache beneath it, one that grows stronger when Martin curls in on himself slightly and says, “Better than the worms.”

“Yeah,” Tim says, and some of it leaks out—a guilt so thick it hurts his teeth. Two weeks, and he hadn’t even thought to check on Martin.

“We would have come,” Tim finds himself saying, quiet yet too-loud in the space between them. “If we’d have known, we would have come.”

“I know,” Martin says, his words ragged around the edges. “It- it’s okay.”

“No,” Tim says, surprised at the conviction in his voice. “It’s not. You were trapped for two weeks by a worm-infested woman and- and we just took her word that you were out sick.” Tim feels revulsion bubbling up within him, a sickening nausea. “I texted her. I thought it was you, and I- I was sending her the things I would send you, little jokes and pictures I thought you’d like and offering to come over. But every time, you said no. Said you didn’t want me to get sick, and it was such a you thing to say that I just accepted it! After a week, I should have just come by, if only to see if you needed- Christ, groceries or something.”

Martin hugs his arms tighter to himself. “I’m glad you didn’t,” he says, barely more than a whisper. “I- I don’t know what would have happened if you did.”

Tim knows that Martin’s right. He’d probably be dead. Or worse. Still, he can’t shake the feeling that if he’d just cared enough to check in, Martin wouldn’t have that scared, haunted look on his face that he’s trying very hard to hide. “Yeah,” Tim says, that same guilt laced into his words. “You’re probably right. Doesn’t make it better, though.”

Martin just nods. For a moment, they stand there in silence. Tim doesn’t know what to do, how to make it better. He hadn’t been there for Martin when he’d been trapped and alone and terrified, but he’s here now. He’s here, but he’s never been good at comforting people, at smoothing the pain from someone’s face or knowing the right words to chase away fear and sadness.

So, eventually, Tim shrugs off his jacket, folds it on top of the box, and says, “You know, I have some playing cards stashed away in my desk, as well as quite an impressive selection of crisps and chocolates. I have to tell you, though—I’ve never lost a match of Go Fish.”

Martin’s eyes when they meet Tim’s are wide with surprise. “What?”

Tim shrugs and smiles, a practiced motion that keeps him grounded even when pain and sadness threaten to tear him apart. He hopes it does the same for Martin. “Thought we’d make a night of it. A good old-fashioned sleepover, if you will.”

“Why—?” Martin cuts off, shakes his head once. When he speaks again, his voice is cracked down the middle. “You- you don’t have to stay, Tim. I’ll be fine.”

“I know,” Tim says, a bit of that guilt pushing into the edges of his words again despite his best efforts to keep it hidden. He lets it take over, for just a moment, and says, “I thought you might not want to be alone. And I’ve been told that I’m excellent company.”

Martin lets out a small, shaky laugh. “Do they?” he says, humored, and something warm spreads through Tim’s chest, nestling next to his heart. “I- I suppose… I’d like that.” He nods hesitantly and repeats, “I’d like that.”

Tim flashes Martin another grin before heading off to retrieve the cards.

They stay up late, into the very early morning even as exhaustion drags Tim’s eyelids down with every passing hour. Tim’s always liked spending time with Martin—on Friday nights at the pub or on the occasional movie night or even just in passing, taking a moment to chat at Martin’s desk before moving on to his own work. He finds himself moving closer and closer to Martin as the night wears on until their thighs are pressed together as they lean against the wall, the cards laying forgotten on the floor in front of them as they just talk. About frivolous things, like the kinds of flowers Tim likes and Martin’s favorite pastries. About personal things, like Martin’s visits to his mother in the home and Tim’s brief affair with Sasha.

The clock rolls over into single digits, and Martin says, quietly, “I lied on my CV.”

Tim looks over at him. His hands are fidgeting in his lap, but his mouth is set into a thin, determined line, like he’d been working himself up to this for a very long time. Martin must sense Tim’s eyes on him because he continues unprompted, “I- I mentioned that my mother is in a home, and- and she’s been unwell for quite some time, so I had to drop out of school when I was 17 to support us. Didn’t have time or the qualifications for a degree, but I needed the money, and- and nowhere was hiring, so I- I faked my credentials. Said I had a master’s in business or English or history—anything that might get me a job that paid enough to support us. For some reason, my lie about parapsychology got me an interview with Elias, and then… he hired me.” Martin sucks in a small, shaky breath. “I- I’m only 29.”

Tim’s reeling a bit. He doesn’t really know what to say—what can he say? Eventually, what comes out is, “You’ve been here since you were 22? Without a degree?” He turns so he can face Martin fully and says, completely serious, “Martin, that’s amazing.”

Martin flushes a bright crimson. “I- I don’t really think it’s- I mean, it’s not really something that I earned—”

Tim puts his hand on Martin’s knee, and Martin’s mouth snaps shut. “To jump straight into an academic job without any prior knowledge? Yeah, maybe it’s not conventional, but it doesn’t negate the fact that you’re just as good a researcher as me and Sasha.”

Martin’s flush grows deeper, and he mumbles, “Yeah, I- I guess.”

Martin’s hands begin to twist around each other again, an uncomfortable gesture, and after a moment’s hesitation, Tim takes one of Martin’s hands in his, trying to offer support and reassurance in the brush of his fingers against Martin’s. He hears the way Martin’s breath hitches as he does so, and affection curls in his stomach. “I’m glad you told me,” Tim says sincerely. “And I hope you know that I’m not going to tell anybody, not unless you want me to.”

Martin shakes his head firmly. “No, I- I really don’t want to be fired. I, er. I kind of need this job.” He lets out a small noise that could almost be a groan if it weren’t so laced with nerves. “Christ, if Jon found out. After the dog incident, I- I think he’d just fire me on the spot.”

“Or maybe,” Tim says, “it might finally convince him to stop berating you for every little mistake.”

“Tim,” Martin says, pleading.

“I’m not going to tell him,” Tim says softly, squeezing Martin’s hand once more to firmly convey his point. “I promise.”

The tension in Martin’s shoulders bleeds out, and he sighs heavily. “Thank you. For- for everything, I suppose.” He pauses a moment before saying, quieter, “For- for this. For staying with me.”

Tim knocks his shoulder against Martin’s and then makes the split-second decision to leave it there, pressed against Martin’s. “Yeah, of course,” he says lightly. “We’re friends.”

“Friends,” Martin echoes, like the word’s unfamiliar on his tongue. After a moment, he squeezes Tim’s hand in return and leans more firmly into Tim’s side. His curls brush against the shell of Tim’s ear, and Tim has the sudden desire to feel Martin’s lips against him, ghosting across his jawline and light against his temple. For a moment, he considers asking—taking Martin’s hand and raising it to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to Martin’s knuckles and his palm and the inside of his wrist.

He doesn’t. Instead, he gives Martin a wide smile and says, “I like you, Martin. Me and Sasha and- and even Jon, I bet, underneath all that prickliness.” He gives in to his desires, just a bit, and lets his free hand come up to the side of Martin’s face, tucking a stray curl behind his ear. “How could we not?”

Martin’s cheek is hot beneath Tim’s hand, and he can feel the motion of Martin’s jaw as he says, quietly, “I… I like you too.”

“Flatterer,” Tim says. He loves the way Martin’s smile at that feels against his palm.

They go to sleep soon after, Martin flat on his back on the cot and Tim sprawled on top of him despite Martin’s protests that we’re not both going to fit, Tim, the cot’s not really built for two. Tim can feel the motion of Martin’s chest as he breathes; he wants to curl up into Martin’s side and stay there forever.

“Goodnight,” Tim mumbles, sleep already overtaking him. Maybe that’s why he lets his lips brush against Martin’s cheek as he says it, a slight enough motion that he doesn’t know if Martin feels it.

He’s not awake for long enough to know for sure. But with the feeling of Martin beneath him, soft and warm and safe, he doesn’t really mind either way.

#tma #tma fic #the magnus archives #the magnus archives fic #martim #martin blackwood #tim stoker #my fic #my writing #christ another 1.8k 'ficlet'#i am apparently incapable of writing short things (esp. short angst)#anyway hope you enjoy some s1 emotional hurt/comfort ft. pining tim :)

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liunaticfringe · 3 years

Photo

(via Lucy Liu's Independent Woman - Interview Magazine)

There have been many great sidekick pairings in the history of modern literature. Huckleberry Finn and Tom Sawyer, Phileas Fogg and Jean Passepartout, Winnie-the-Pooh and Piglet…the list goes on. Yet, it seems there has never been a delightfully tumultuous relationship that comes close to echoing the one embodied by rogue detective Sherlock Holmes and his faithful friend and assistant Dr. John Watson. Written in the form of short stories by Arthur Conan Doyle between the late 19th and early 20th centuries, the opium-den loving Holmes would terrorize London with his intellectual, astute, and stubborn prowess, with Dr. Watson providing medical expertise and chronicling their entertaining exploits along the way.

Doyle’s works have now long been entered into the public domain, with many film and television adaptions cropping up every few years. Still, when CBS announced in 2012 that it would be turning Doyle’s works into an hour-long crime-drama series titled Elementary, it elicited an unusually high response—this was mostly due to the news that a woman would, in fact, be portraying Watson. Her name would be Joan, not John. And she’s now a fallen from grace surgeon-turned-sober companion and private detective, forfeiting her “Dr.” title in the process. The woman chosen to take on this exciting, contemporary role of Joan Watson was none other than seasoned actress Lucy Liu.

Liu, who’s best known for her roles as a fierce and ill-mannered lawyer in Ally McBeal, an ass-kicking “angel” in the rebooted Charlie’s Angels, and an equally ass-kicking bad girl in the Kill Bill series, certainly provides the yin to the yang of Jonny Lee Miller’s gritty portrayal of Holmes. Elementary chronicles the duo’s relationship as they consult for the NYPD on various criminal cases while living in a shared brownstone in Brooklyn Heights. Initially starting off in Season One as a substance-free friend to the fresh-out-of-rehab Holmes with a keen interest in solving crimes, Watson quickly transformed into a sharp and observant right-hand woman who now clearly has the aptitude to work on her own. And it appears she’ll be doing just that—the end of Season Two left viewers witnessing Watson’s decision to move out of the brownstone and start a new career as a solo private detective, seemingly fed-up with Holmes’ erratic behavior.

The warm and delightful Liu recently called up Interview from her home in New York City to discuss Elementary’s upcoming third season.

DEVON IVIE: Were you on set today?

LUCY LIU: I was running around like a maniac, yeah. It’s beautiful today, it started getting a little bit cooler again. But of course I’ve been bitten by the two mosquitos that are still alive in New York City.

IVIE: I know you were recently at New York Comic Con. How was it?

LIU: It was amazing. It’s such a spectator place. Not only do you get super fans, but you also get people who are curious and inventive and imaginative. It’s fun.

IVIE: Did you run into any cosplayers dressed as Joan Watson?

LIU: Oh, no, I don’t know about that. That’s funny! We did a panel with a huge audience so I couldn’t really see if anyone was wearing anything specific, but it’s an excuse for kids and adults to get dressed up and just be crazy. You know you’ve made it when you have super-fans out there.

IVIE: When you first read the scripts for Elementary, what was it that attracted you to the role of Joan?

LIU: I liked the fact that it was going to be about [Joan and Sherlock’s] relationship and their friendship, and bringing that into modern times. And I thought it was wonderful to change up the gender.

IVIE: Did you immerse yourself in Arthur Conan Doyle’s work as preparation at all?

LIU: I did, I did! I started reading the short stories. I never read them before so it was a really great excuse to read them. I can’t believe it was written so long ago, because it’s so current. The characters are so colorful, which is why I think there are so many incarnations of Watson and Holmes.

IVIE: Do you have a favorite story? I love “A Scandal in Bohemia.”

LIU: There were some pretty amazing stories. The one that stood out to me, which was a Watson story that I got to know him a little more through, was “The Hound of the Baskervilles.” He really is on his own in that. Of course it turns out that Holmes has been there all along, but it’s interesting looking into his interior.

IVIE: Yeah, the entirety of “The Hound of the Baskervilles” is narrated just by Watson. And his diary and letters, too.

LIU: Yeah, I think it’s really cool. We started incorporating that into the show, too, the letters and journals.

IVIE: Has this detective genre always appealed to you? Did you grow up watching or reading detective whodunits?

LIU: I remember more of the old school Nancy Drew and Hardy Boys sort of thing. I also grew up with the Scooby-Doo mysteries. Remember when the villain would go, “I would’ve gotten away with it if it weren’t for you rascal-y kids!” Those were the kind of the things I immersed myself in. I have to say that my mother has always been a huge fan of Columbo and Murder, She Wrote, so this show was her dream come true. I don’t think she totally understood what was going on with Ally McBeal. [laughs]

IVIE: I’ve enjoyed witnessing Joan’s evolution throughout the course of the show, starting off as a sober companion and eventually ending up as a trusty sidekick and confidant to Sherlock. What can we expect from Joan in Season Three?

LIU: When you see them in the third season, you see some friction between the two characters. Joan is now on her own, she has her own detective agency, has a boyfriend, and has been without Sherlock for eight months. She’s got her own apartment, she’s settled, and he shows back up. I think she’s a little bit hurt by what happened and how their relationship and partnership ended, which was basically his decision and his choice, and he left it all in one little note for her. I think she felt that their relationship was much deeper than that, and that he was dismissive in the way that he handled that.

IVIE: How would you define the relationship between Joan and Sherlock?

LIU: I think that it’s a really positive and good relationship, overall. They really have a good chemistry together, work really hard together, and understand each other. They acknowledge each other and respect each other, which is a really important way to have a friendship. And they can learn from each other, you know? She’s very curious about him and I think he sees that she’s a very smart person—that’s vital for him in having respect for someone, having them be intelligent and thinking for themselves.

IVIE: Do you see any of Joan in yourself?

LIU: I do to a certain degree. She’s a lot more measured and patient, for sure. She’s a very curious person, which I think I am, and I think she isn’t afraid of change. She was a doctor, and then became a sober companion, and then jumped off and became a detective. I think sometimes it’s good to make big leaps.

IVIE: You’ve probably been asked this question many times, but do you think a romance between Joan and Sherlock could ever fittingly happen?

LIU: It’s a question that’s often asked and I think it’s really up to the executives. Rob Doherty, the creator [of Elementary] really feels incredibly strongly about keeping their relationship platonic. He has already taken great strides to keep the relationship as clean as possible according to the literature, but he has also changed so much of it by changing the gender of Watson. To have them have a romantic involvement would turn the whole thing upside-down in a way that might really jump the line. [Doherty] felt really strongly about it and I think that’s the one thing he really wants to stay true to.

IVIE: I totally agree. Even on the BBC’s Sherlock, there are campaigns to get Benedict Cumberbatch’s Sherlock and Martin Freeman’s Watson to become romantically involved. It’s like, enough already, no!

LIU: No way, that’s so weird! People do have that level of friendship oftentimes, but it doesn’t mean it’s physical. I think that everyone just assumes because there’s chemistry the next thing should be happening. I would vote “no” for a romance. I think for sure the creator would vote no on that, too.

IVIE: I’ve talked to both women and men who watch Elementary, and they all consistently mention how well dressed and fashionable Joan is. Do you collaborate with the wardrobe department on styling decisions at all?

LIU: That’s awesome. Yes, I collaborate with Rebecca [Hofherr], who’s the costume designer, who’s wonderful. She’s very easy to work with. One thing we try to maintain about Joan and her style is that she’s a bit wrinkled, you know what I mean? Sometimes it looks like things are really put together, but we always want to make sure things aren’t too tight and are comfortable, kind of like she throws things together. We don’t want it to seem so business-y, so we go away from suits. Chic, but not corporate. Also just to make her seem like her outfits aren’t so put-together all the time. But I’m glad that people really seem to like it, it’s a relief! We don’t splurge a lot on the show, we try to do cheaper things, like things Joan would wear a lot. She wears the same white jacket and shoes frequently.

IVIE: Will we be seeing more of the infamous Clyde the Turtle in the upcoming season?

LIU: Clyde will indeed be in it again. We have to share custody of Clyde.

IVIE: Is it true that Clyde is actually two tortoises? Pulling a Mary Kate and Ashley in Full House on us?

LIU: Yes. It’s just like having twins on a show. Just in case one is crying and screaming and passed out or something.

IVIE: You made your directorial debut for an episode of Elementary last season [“Paint It Black”]. Do you have plans to direct an episode again soon?

LIU: That was so exciting. I’ll be directing another episode again very shortly in December, so you’ll be seeing it in a month and a half.

IVIE: Where did your interest in directing come from?

LIU: I guess I was curious about it. Having been in this business for a while, you kind of see and get a glimpse of everything doing film and television. I think it seemed like a natural progression to go into directing, and I hope to explore more of it, because it’s very exciting and a really good way to collide all the things that you’ve known and experienced in the business and put them all into one.

IVIE: Is there an ideal guest star that you’d like to see on the show in the upcoming season?

LIU: I would love to see Mycroft come back. I really think there was a wonderful tension for Mycroft and Sherlock as well as the triangle that occurred when Joan became involved with him. There’s something very deep about that relationship, and I also think that Rhys Ifans is a fantastic actor. He commands the screen, but off-screen he’s incredibly lovely. A real treat to have on the show.

IVIE: I remember the first few episodes that I saw Rhys in, I was like, where have I seen this guy before? So I looked at his Wikipedia page and it became obvious: he was the crazy guy from Notting Hill!

LIU: Yes, the roommate! So good! Everything he does, he just kills it, no matter the role.

IVIE: And it’s always good to have some MI6 action on the show, which Mycroft provided. Some international flair.

LIU: [laughs] International flair, exactly, some added spice. Just throw some spy stuff in there to throw people off their game. You just don’t expect it, you know? It came out of nowhere.

IVIE: That whole three-episode arc at the end of the second season…

LIU: That was awesome. I was lucky enough to direct one of those episodes, which is more narrative in tone. It’s more fun in some ways, too.

IVIE: You’ve done a range of acting work for both television and film. Do you now find yourself preferring one to the other?

LIU: I love both of them equally. The lack of predictability with television is something that’s constantly changing what your perception of who you think your character is. Suddenly I have a father that’s schizophrenic, or I discovered something else, or I have a relationship with Mycroft. The things that pop up and change the game for you and always keep you on your toes. The wonderful thing about film is that you have something that has a beginning, middle, and end, and you have a concrete amount of time to shoot it. And the process of that can be longer, like editing and advertising and testing the movie, so it’s very different. Television you just continue going, no matter what’s happening outside of your world. You get lost in that vortex a little bit.

IVIE: It’s interesting that America is now embracing the “mini-series” format that has already been so heavily utilized overseas, where there are a set amount of short episodes, and that’s it. In a way, it’s kind of like a cinematic experience.

LIU: I like that, too. It allows you to have a freedom of creativity and at the same time you don’t feel like you have to be contracted to something for that long; you’re really working on a piece of art. And then you’re done and you move on, or it comes back, like Downton Abbey. You don’t know. Those things become little masterpieces. The thing about television is that you see a range of actors now that you may not have seen five years ago even, 10 years ago absolutely not, and I think now there’s no wrong about doing television. There’s no definitive category for what kind of department you fall into anymore.

IVIE: What’s a fun, secret fact about your costar Jonny Lee Miller?

LIU: A fun fact about Jonny Lee Miller is that he oftentimes does handstands on a wall before he does a take, sometimes with pushups, to get blood to his brain and get him geared up for a long monologue that he may have. He stays there, hangs a little bit, and then turns around and does the scene. Most of the time in the brownstone more than anywhere else. He’s in full costume and everything. That’s trivia!

IVIE: I wish I could do wall-handstands by myself.

LIU: Oh my god, I need someone to push my legs up and then hold me there. I’m a cheat!

ELEMENTARY PREMIERES THURSDAY, OCTOBER 30 ON CBS.

#Lucy Liu #Interview #2014 #comic con #jlm #mycroft #wardrobe #directing #third season #joanlock

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rosy-cheekx · 4 years

Text

Peeling Labels

Aspec Week, Day 7: Something New-- @aspecarchivesweek

an exploration of Jon and demisexuality! As a demisexual mspec person, a lot of this is based on my own anxieties as an aspec person and not being “ace enough.” (thanks to @ombreblossom for listening to me try to parse out how being demi feels and how to word it for the fic.)

Rated T for reference to a sex dream, but no explicit language/smut words used!

Jon has a weird relationship with labels. Labels are good, they categorize and compartmentalize feelings, situations, states of being. An archivist’s dream, really. But when they are applied to Jon, either by himself or someone else, they feel non-Newtonian, as if holding onto the word for too long causes it to slip through his fingers.

Usually, it’s fine. He knows that labels don’t really matter, but they still feel good. It’s comforting to know that he isn’t broken or a liar or confused; there are people in the world who share a word with him. They are bonded under a flag of black, white, purple, and grey.

Jon had set the precedent quickly, with Martin, on the first night they had been in Jon’s flat, pressed against a doorframe and exploring each other with gentle urgency. “I-ah, Martin,” he had broken away from Martin’s lips, eyes shining with a mix of adoration and anxiety. “I don’t think I’ve told you before, but I’m asexual. Just-uh, well. Thought you should know.”

Martin had nodded, eyes soft and full of understanding. “Okay. Do we have a boundary I should know?” The answer was yes: anything below the belt was strictly off limits, to give or to receive. And that was that. Martin was the perfect gentleman, checking in constantly whenever they were in the heat of a moment. The rule remained and was never crossed. Rules have labels and that label was: asexual.

Except, it wasn’t that easy. God forbid anything was easy for Jon. Labels are nice and they’re helpful to the part of Jon that craves structure, order. He’d found his ace identity while dating Georgie, after she gently asked him what was up after his third gentlemanly refusal of her advances. He had stammered out that he liked her, but didn’t want sex, at all, and he didn’t want her to be upset with him. And of course she wasn’t, because she’s Georgie, and she helped him find the word asexual, that glorious, blessed word that made so many frustrations and doubts slot into place.

Their romance didn’t end because of his aceness, far from it in fact. In fact, honestly, they were probably together as long as they were because their friendship was the strongest part of their relationship. But god, they were too similar to be in love. They were both too stubborn, too determined, unable to reach compromise when it came to the silliest things like movie nights (Jon found Georgie’s Lord of the Rings box set far too long and far too pretentious for his taste) or how their cupboards should be arranged. Their relationship was something they could win, and they were both determined to be the victor.

In the end, they both lost.

While Jon and Georgie had been a couple first, friends second, he and Martin had a foundation. There was friendship, shared trauma, a love that surpassed romantic and dug into something deeper. When they’re in bed and the dark is warm and heavy, limbs intertwined, Jon is reminded of the Greek myth of soulmates: a four armed, four legged being split in two, deemed to be too powerful by the gods. Sharing an essence, completing each other, making two halves whole. It makes Jon smile and kiss Martin’s forehead affectionately. They had been too powerful for the gods, hadn’t they? Unstoppable, really.

All this to say…what he has with Martin? It’s new. Something he has never experienced before. And it’s leading to a host of new, confusing experiences. He’s been in a relationship with Martin for nearly six months now. Jon really thought that at 32 years old, after battling down fear entity after fear entity in an apocalyptic hellscape, there were no new feelings he could experience. But here he was, lying awake, trying to trace patterns in the ceiling and understand the dream he had woken up from.

Not a nightmare. No, quite the opposite. Nightmares he knows how to deal with: slip out of bed, make a cup of tea or a glass of water, slip on the lamp by the bed, and cuddle into bed, reading quietly until sleep steals him away. But he does not know how to deal with this new dream of Martin, hovering above him, low voice stealing his breath and pressing kisses along his jaw, collarbone, shoulder as delicate, warm, strong hands brushed his body, dipping low with confidence. Jon woke up to a heat pooling in his core, tight and powerful, one he hadn’t experienced in such a way.

Jon has a libido, sure, but it’s always been a bodily desire, not a…what would you call this? Emotional one? He certainly never fantasized about another person, especially not someone he knew, that felt so invasive. He felt a flush heat his cheeks and chest as he pictured that image of Martin his subconscious has supplied him, above and around him with that concentration face he wears whenever he’s starting a puzzle or stuck on a particular difficult crossword, the one that always makes Jon grin and kiss his wrinkled forehead. But this one looked more heated, more filled with lust. And it… it affected him. Jon realized with a dawning that he liked it. A lot.

Jon glanced at the bedside clock and sighed at the blinking green 5:15 on the LED screen. Good a time as any to get a hot shower and let his feelings wash away with the soapy water. He extracted himself carefully from Martin’s warm arms and slipped into the ensuite, stripping to the sounds of water pounding from the showerhead and letting the steam and hot water envelop him. He scrubbed himself down harshly, watching suds rinse down his legs and down the drain, trying desperately to keep his mind off whatever that had been.

Once his skin was blotchy from heat, Jon decided he had enough. He slid into the flannel trousers he’d left abandoned on the floor of the loo and slipped back to bed, trying to do so without disrupting his sleeping boyfriend. Martin looked so lovely like this, auburn curls streaked with white plastered against the pillow and his forehead, mouth hung open and naked torso splayed so openly, so unguarded. He looked so lovely, the freckles smattered on his shoulders and stretch marks carving beautiful lines across his skin; the stars and the rivers below, a whole world in the work of art that is Martin Blackwood. How would he feel if he knew Jon had had that dream about him?

Jon’s staring, the lowercase-b-beholding of the man he loved was broken by Martin sleepily opening his eyes, a moment of confusion followed by focusing on Jon, who was kneeling on the edge of his side of the bed, captivated.

“Mmm. Hi there, love,” Martin mumbled, running a hand through his hair and sleepily glancing over at the clock. “You alright? Bad dream?”

Jon nodded; the spell broken. “Ah, yeah.” He couldn’t tell Martin, it was just a dream; he didn’t want to confuse Martin or worse, convince him he was a liar, that he wasn’t asexual, that it had all been to avoid-

Oh. Martin had spoken. He was staring at him expectantly, waiting for a response. “Sorry, say it again?” Jon asked meekly, sliding back under the covers.

“Do you want to talk about it, Jon?” The voice was patient, so patient. Jon shook his head and tucked himself into Martin’s side, tying up his damp, freshly brushed hair out of the way.

“I don’t really remember it anymore.” Lies. “It mustn’t have been that bad.” Martin’s hands were cool on his skin, still warm from the shower, as they brushed over the planes of his face in a slow way, stroking his nose and cheeks and forehead in the way Martin always did when he wanted Jon to go back to sleep. With some reservation, Jon let himself fall back against the pillows.

Jon thought about “The Dream” quite a bit in the week that followed. He wanted to understand it: why it had happened at all, but also, why it was still affecting him. Every so often, between emails sent and papers graded, his mind would drift back to the image of Martin, cheeks ruddy and eyes glassy, gazing down at him with such affection and Jon’s whole body would freeze up. Why was he suddenly attracted to Martin in such a new way? He loved that man with his whole being and yet, there was suddenly a new element, something unexpected, coming over the horizon. It’s been almost six months with Martin; why now?

The implications scared Jon. He had always identified as asexual; it was a core part of who he knew himself to be. Had it all been an unknowing lie? Had he just never been attracted to Georgie properly? Was it like when people get STIs; would he have to ring Georgie up and say, “hey, sorry to bother, I was never asexual, oops!”? He really didn’t want to have to do that. Would Martin be upset, angry that he had missed out on six months of potential sex just because Jon was…what? Prudish? Naïve? Afraid?

The worst part was that this…desire hadn’t come on all at once, he realized. He hadn’t even noticed the way his stomach would flip when Martin’s hands brushed his thighs, blaming his touch-based love language. It was in the way he stared at Martin when he couldn’t see it; eyes tracing his form and wondering what it would be like to feel every inch of him, in a way he had yet to experience.

God he…had to tell Martin, didn’t he? He didn’t want to feel like a pervert in his own relationship, observing and imagining from afar without Martin’s knowledge. It felt…dirty.

Jon made dinner, nine days after the dream. Nothing extreme, tikka masala, rice, and garlic naan. Martin’s favorite. As he cooked, he vacillated between trying to plan out what he wanted to say and very-much-not-thinking about how the evening could end. The worst outcome, he imagined, was Martin storming out, betrayed and heartbroken. That…that probably wouldn’t happen. No, he knew Martin Blackwood. Better than anyone else in the world. That definitely wouldn’t happen. Lo-fi techno crooned through the speakers as Jon cooked and he let his thoughts float away with the music, trying to focus on the spices of dish he was making and not the knowledge that Martin would be home in ten-

Oh. Jon heard the shhlik of the door sliding against the welcome mat and felt his whole body tense up.

“Jon? You making dinner?” Martin’s voice was warm as he called through the entrance, he didn’t know yet what Jon was going to tell him, that it was all a lie-

“Yes!” Jon called back, determined to keep his voice light and casual. “Your favorite. Be ready in five, so get out of your work clothes.”

“Smells delicious,” Martin was behind him now, voice low against the shell of his ear. Jon felt a shiver run down his spine, to where his stomach and pelvis met and a ball of electricity crackled there, unbidden. Martin kissed the crook of his neck chastely and Jon froze, unsure how to reciprocate.

“You okay?” Martin’s chin was on his shoulder now, voice soft.

“Fine, fine. You smell like crayons. The cerulean one.” Jon nudged Martin away casually, trying to pass off a witty remark.

“Hazard of the job, I suppose. You know you love it,” Martin mercifully pulled his hands from Jon’s waist and retreated to the bedroom, and Jon exhaled in relief.

Jon plated the masala. Martin poured the wine. They sat down to dinner. Jon felt it all happen, was there for it all, but it passed in strange jerky stop-motion, and he couldn’t seem to slow it down. He couldn’t see to find the words, so elected for none at all, eating silently. Eye-contact would give away the anxiety brimming inside him, so he kept his eyes on his plate and the wine and the sleeve of Martin’s sweatshirt, anything but Martin’s warm hazel eyes that he knew so well.

“Jon.” He could hear it in Martin’s voice, the gentle prompting. He could hear the worry, the confusion. God, it was going to happen wasn’t it? He was going to tell Martin and what happened happened and he couldn’t do anything to change that. “How was your day?”

“I-ah. Martin.” He said, voice jerky, unable to find a rhythm that felt right. “I have something to tell you.” The words fell from his mouth in a tumble.

“Oh?”

“I. I had a dream?” Martin’s eyes widened and he set his fork down. “N-not one of the Eye’s dreams,” Jon reassures quickly. He really wished dreams weren’t such a theme in his life. “Not a statement dream, but a… different kind of dream.”

“I…I don’t follow.” Martin was confused, eyes searching Jon’s face.

“A dream…about you?” he tried, unable to add the words “sex dream” into his vocabulary quite yet.

“Oh. Oh!” Martin understood at last, eyebrows raised and forehead that adorable, confused wrinkle. “That’s, well, nice, I guess?” Jon’s face must have given way to his thoughts, as Martin tried again. “O-or maybe not?”

“Martin,” Jon steeled himself. “I…I think I’m maybe not asexual.” The words rang sharp in his ears, grating; they didn’t feel right. But it was true, wasn’t it? He didn’t know what sort of explanation there could be.

When Jon dared to look into Martin’s face, he saw an expression he didn’t know how to parse. Furrowed eyebrows, eyes searching Jon’s face, head cocked slightly. “Okay. Because of the dream?”

“Um-kind of? But also…” Jon felt blood rush through his cheeks, was certain the Desolation had picked now to tear its way through him, and was grateful. “I’ve been thinking a lot. About you. In-in ways asexual people shouldn’t. A-and I thought you should know, because I didn’t want you to think I was lying to you and I don’t want to be having those thoughts without you knowing because that feels rude, in a way? Like I set a boundary but have been crossing it in my head this whole time?” Tears stung the corners of his eyes.

Martin’s voice was even, level, hard to parse as he spoke. “Jon, can I ask you a question? Only because you seem upset and I want to try to help you.” Jon was frustrated. Why wouldn’t he have the decency to be upset? At a nod, Martin’s chair scraped backwards, and Jon found Martin kneeling him beside him, hands on his knees as Jon swiveled to face him. Taking his pockmarked hands in his own, Martin rubbed Jon’s knuckles slowly, tenderly.

“Have you ever felt those feelings before?” Jon shook his head meekly, certain the lump in his throat would betray him. “Have you had those feelings the whole time we’ve known each other? Like, since the Institute?”

This time, Jon shook his head. “Not-not until after we were dating. The safehouse, maybe?”

“This one’s gonna sound a little rude, Jon, but bear with me. Do you think you’ve ever been as emotionally close to anyone else as you are with me?” He squeezed Jon’s hands warmly, adding: “And I am with you?”

Jon shook his head. Of course not. Martin was something new to him, something untapped in the world. A treasure, a diamond in the rough. There was nothing that compared to their relationship.

“Jon. I don’t want to tell you how you identify, that’s not my place, but I, I think you’re still asexual.” Jon’s eyes snapped to meet Martin’s; it was his turn to furrow his brow. “After you came out to me, remember? I started looking into asexuality. I wanted to be able to impress you at Pride this summer,” Martin ducked his head, wincing at the cheesiness of his words. “But did you know there’s a bunch of subtypes of asexuality?”

What? This was news to Jon. There’s wanting sex and not wanting sex, right? He shook his head numbly and felt a comforting, grounding squeeze of his hands again.

“There was one I researched a little extra, because it confused me, and I wanted to understand the difference,” Martin continued, moving a hand to stroke Jon’s cheekbone, to guide his face to meet his. “Demisexual, Jon. It’s a subtype of asexuality, and it’s when-” Martin’s eyes rolled back in his head, as they were want to do when he was struggling to recite something from memory. “-you don’t even have to option to feel sexual attraction until an emotional bond is established. And it’s not, like, a one-to-one thing, either. There was a woman talking about her experience on a forum and she basically explained it like sex being a door, right? And the door has a padlock on it. Emotional connection opens the padlock, but you still have to open the door.”

Jon’s mouth was agape. He…there were so many things to parse out here. “You…you looked all this up for me?”

Martin’s cheeks pinked slightly. “I wanted to make sure I understood asexuality. It’s a whole subgroup of its own; it was interesting.” Martin had been a Researcher for a reason, Jon supposed dimly.

“I. I want to research for myself, but demisexuality?” He rolled the word in his mouth as he spoke. It felt nice, weighty. “And it’s still asexual?”

Martin nodded, vehemently, pulling out his phone as he spoke. “Yeah! Its flag is the same colors too, just arranged differently.” He showed him the white and grey flag, divided with a smooth purple stripe and a black triangle on the edge. “A-and, I mean, if you realize you’re not asexual, or you’re something else, you know I’ll still support you regardless, right? I don’t love you because of your sexuality, or your identity. I love you because you’re Jonathan Sims, and everything else besides that is bonus.”

Jon exhaled, feeling the Choke release the hold on his chest. “Demisexual. I…Thank you, Martin. For listening and believing me. I love you too.” He pressed a kiss to Martin’s forehead, carding fingers through the tumbled curls. “Let’s eat, and maybe you can show me that forum afterwards?”

#cw: internalized acephobia #cw: sex dreams #tma #the magnus archives #tma fanfic #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #georgie barker #fanfic to a tea #ace week #aspecarchivesweek #aspec archive week

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cuttoothed · 4 years

Text

Written for @aspecmartinweek, for the prompt “First”, for which I am overwhelmingly late. Featuring sex neutral ace Martin, sex averse ace Jon, brief discussion of sexual boundaries. and every first date cliché I could think to cram in.

Jon brings him flowers, on their first official date. They meet at a little park not far from the Institute, and Martin’s been waiting there almost ten minutes when Jon appears, walking hurriedly towards him with one arm tucked oddly behind his back.

“About time,” Martin is about to say, when Jon’s hand sweeps forward, and the words are lost in his throat.

The flowers are bold white daisies, their heads nodding gracefully, with sprays of small yellow blossoms peeking out in between. Jon presents it to him with near schoolboy awkwardness, his cheeks red and scarcely able to meet Martin’s eyes.

“They reminded me of you,” he says, obstinately, as if daring Martin to deny it.

Martin doesn’t know what to say. Nobody’s ever brought him flowers before. In fact, he’s not sure he’s ever had flowers. There are a few succulents in his flat, and an aspidistra that he bought ironically during his Orwell phase and has been stubbornly keeping alive since, but he’s never had the knack for blooming plants. And he’s always been too embarrassed to buy cut flowers, as if the salesperson might know he was buying them for himself and judge him accordingly.

There’s something charming and old fashioned and utterly Jon about the gesture, and Martin scolds himself as he feels tears start to sting his eyes.

“What are they?” he asks as a distraction, lifting them to his nose. The blooms smell sweet, like honey, with an earthy hint.

“Oxeye daisies,” says Jon, “And goldenrod. I—you don’t mind, do you? I know it’s a bit of a cliché. We can get rid of them—”

“No!” Martin is surprised by his own vehemence. “No, they’re lovely. Thank you. At least now I know why you didn’t want to leave work together—I thought you were trying to keep it off the Institute gossip vine.”

“Why would I want to do that?” Jon frowns, genuinely confused, and a tender warmth swells in Martin’s chest.

Jon’s made reservations at an Italian restaurant. Once they’re seated, Martin places the flowers carefully down by his feet, and looks around. The place is cozy and intimate, the tables set with candles, warm lamplight and low music.

“This place is nice,” he says, picking up a menu. “Have you been here before?”

“Oh, no,” says Jon. “But I’ve walked past it plenty of times, and I always thought it seemed like a date sort of place?”

It is, Martin supposes. Most of the tables are two-person, and most of the other patrons appear to be couples, leaning close to each other in the candlelight, laughing and drinking wine. It’s all very traditionally romantic, and Martin is suddenly extremely aware that he and Jon are on a date. He feels a bit foolish, because of course he knew, but until now it’s been easy to think of it as just...him and Jon. Walking somewhere to eat, like they do for lunch a couple of times a week, talking about unimportant things.

This isn’t that, though. This is flowers and a candlelit dinner, and all of this with Jon, and Martin has no idea what to do. He’s never been any good at dating. Relationships, sure—for a certain value of good—but the bit at the start, where you talk about interests and share details of your lives and gauge if this is a person you want to actually know better? Not his strong suit. Martin never knows how much to share, and when, and whether the first date is the right time to have the “so...about the whole ‘sex’ thing” talk or if he should wait for the third, and—

“Everything all right?” Jon asks.

“Yes, fine! Why?”

“You just looked a bit...wild eyed there. Like you’d seen a ghost.”

“I thought you didn’t believe in ghosts?”

“It depends what you mean by a ghost,” says Jon, his brow furrowing seriously, and then he’s off explaining theories of psychic trauma manifestations in specific locations, which is entirely different from the concept of an actual human soul lingering in the world, his hands cutting the air to illustrate his point, and it’s just them again, and honestly Martin could listen to Jon talk like this all day.

It’s lovely, after that. The food is tasty, and the glass of wine Martin drinks softens away any lingering nervousness, and Jon looks extraordinarily good by candlelight, the shadows sketching his cheekbones and jaw, the light sparking in the depths of his brown eyes. The only thing that Martin takes exception to is when Jon tries to pay for the entire meal.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Martin tells him, “We’ll split it.”

“I invited you, so I pay,” Jon persists. “You can pay next time.”

In the end he gets his way, because Jonathan Sims is possibly the most stubborn human being Martin has ever met, but Martin wins the concession that he will buy ice cream afterwards. He takes them to the little ice cream shop a few streets from the Institute, and Jon looks flustered and pleased when Martin, feeling bold, places the order for both of them.

“I can’t believe you remembered,” he says softly. His hand touches Martin’s as he takes his cup of rum and raisin, lingering for just an instant, and Martin feels his face go hot.

“Of course I did.”

They walk along the Embankment as they eat their ice cream. The sun is beginning to set, the street lights flickering on, casting bright shards across the surface of the river, and Martin realizes it’s been over three hours since they met in the park. It feels it’s been no time at all, talking easily, sharing little pieces of themselves back and forth. It feels like Martin could stay like this forever.

He stops to toss his empty ice cream cup in the bin, the flowers tucked into the crook of his arm, and when he turns back, Jon is looking at him oddly. The way he looks at a document that he can’t quite figure out, intent and curious.

“What?” he says.

“Could I kiss you?”

“Oh,” says Martin intelligently. “Yes, please?”

Jon huffs a surprised laugh, and then he takes a step closer, his hand pressing to Martin’s cheek. His eyes are dark and depthless in the twilight. His lips brush against Martin’s, dry and soft and still tasting of sweet rum flavor. When he pulls back, Martin tries to remember how to breathe, Jon’s palm still warm against his skin.

“Was that—”

“Yeah,” Martin says before Jon can even finish. “That was good.”

They get on the Tube together, since they’re in the same direction for a while. It’s busy, so they stand gripping the handrails, close together in the press of people. Martin holds his flowers against his chest, doing his best to protect them from jostling bodies. There are a lot of things Martin wants to say, things he wants to whisper in Jon’s ear or tell him while looking deep into his eyes, but this isn’t the right place, so he holds them against his chest as well.

The intercom scratchily announces the next station, and Jon clears his throat.

“Well, this is me,” he says. “I’ll...see you tomorrow?”

His voice is quiet and hopeful, as he starts to shuffle towards the door, and that warm feeling is filling up all the space behind Martin’s rib cage. He doesn’t want this to end yet.

“Hang on,” he says, as the train slows to a halt. He moves towards the exit as well, ignoring Jon’s startled glance, and when the doors slide open, he steps off onto the platform. “Coming?”

The doors shut behind them and the train glides away. They stand there for a few moments, while the other disembarking passengers disperse, and then Jon says:

“What are you doing?”

“I’d like to walk you home,” says Martin. “You’re not far from here, right?”

“But this isn’t your stop.”

Martin shrugs. “It’s not that much out of the way. And I want to. After you bought dinner, and brought me these,” he lifts his slightly battered flowers. “Maybe I get to do the cliché thing for this part of the date? If it’s okay with you?”

Jon huffs a breath, and the look he gives Martin is halfway between defensive and apologetic. Martin knows that look, the “this was nice, but…” look, and god, he can’t have been so wrong about all this, can he?

“I...this has been a—a lovely evening, Martin,” says Jon. “Truly. But I—I don’t want to give you the wrong impression, so I have to tell you now that I...don’t do the, ahh, the sexual aspects of a relationship. I’m sorry, I should have been upfront about this sooner—”

“I know that,” Martin says.

“Sorry?”

“I know, Jon. Or, well, not know, but there was some...office gossip?”

“Oh.”

“Sorry, I should have probably said something earlier. I, umm, I don’t either? Not much, at least. I mean I can, if it’s important to the person I’m with? I don’t mind sex. But I’d just as soon not. So, yeah.”

“Oh,” says Jon again. He looks stunned. Martin gives him what he hopes is an encouraging smile.

“I really do just want to walk you home, I promise.”

“R-right. I see.” Jon still looks a little stupefied, but relieved along with it, the tension in his jaw relaxing. “In that case...thank you, Martin. I’d like that.”

They walk the quiet suburban streets towards Jon’s flat, meeting no one but a startled looking fox that bolts into the bushes. They don’t talk for a while, but it’s a comfortable silence. At some point, Martin feels Jon’s hand brush against his, and Jon’s fingers tangle with his own. He looks across, and Jon is smiling shyly at him. That warm feeling inside his chest surges, fizzing up and over and spilling out as a laugh of pure joy.

“I can’t believe you thought I was planning to seduce you,” he says. “As if I’m anywhere near suave enough for that!”

“I happen to think you’re very charming,” says Jon with mock affront, frowning, while a smile twitches at the corners of his mouth. “I’m sure you could seduce someone if you put your mind to it.”

“I’ll keep that one in my back pocket, then, just in case I ever have to become an international man of mystery.”

“Good idea,” Jon says solemnly, twining his fingers further with Martin’s.

At last they reach a three storey house with a little patch of garden in the front, and buzzers at the door for the different flats.

“This is actually me,” says Jon. “Unless...you’d like to come in for a cup of tea?”

“Isn’t coffee the proper convention here?” Martin asks, and Jon laughs.

“Traditionally I don’t think the beverage is the point,” he says, “But if you fancy an actual cup of tea…?”

“That sounds lovely,” says Martin. It sounds more than lovely, if it lets him spend more time with Jon; it sounds like the best idea in the world.

Their hands are still clasped together as they walk to the front door, and Martin pauses, tugs on Jon’s hand to stop him too.

“All right?” Jon asks with a tiny frown.

“Just one more first date cliché I think we should respect,” he replies seriously. “The kiss on the doorstep.”

He leans in, and Jon moves to meet him, and it’s just as soft and heart pounding as their first kiss on the riverbank. Jon gives him a little smile when they part.

“You know, the kiss on the doorstep usually signifies the end of the date,” he says, unlocking the door. “But in this case, I think we can break the tradition.”

“Sounds good to me,” Martin laughs, and follows him inside for tea.

#the magnus archives #tma #aspecmartinweek #aspec martin week #jonmartin #my fic

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banashee · 3 years

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Hi Folks, welcome to my first fic for the Archival Pride 2021 project! Look at their tumblr for more info :) @archivalpride

Archival Pride 2021, Week one (June 1-7) Prompts: friendship, pre-canon, self-expression, affirmation and sharing clothes.

The key words I've used here are mostly sharing clothes, self-expression, affirmation and friendship

Also, I'm late for week one! My Fucking WIFI broke so you'll get two fics for this week...

Content warnings: this is mostly tooth rotting fluff but just to be safe: - mentions of Top Surgery - hints at dead and/or unaccepting families but nothing explicit

"You mean, OUR closet"

It happens like clockwork. Ever since the four of them moved in together, as soon as the weather gets cold and the leaves outside start to turn golden-red, the usually sizable stack of woolen jumpers in Martin's closet seems to magically shrink. One day, they’re there and the next day, there are suddenly only a few left. Every year – it’s gotten to be a routine, and it makes Martin smile and shake his head fondly each and every time again.

Over the warmer months, the jumpers just sit there in the closet, carefully tucked away. Only a few of them are store bought at this point - Martin tends to knit them himself, and he’s spent weeks and months of his life making them. This is probably one of the many reasons why Jon, Tim and Sasha tend to steal them so much - they’re part of him, for one, and apparently they miss each other as soon as someone leaves the room or something. (Codependency issues? Them? Nah) the jumpers are also warm and big and they “feel like a permanent hug”, so what else is there to say? It’s adorable, really.

And Martin will say this as often as he can, if only so he can watch Tim go scarlet red (as smooth as he usually is, cute compliments like this get to him more than he cares to admit), watch Jon splutter and claim “I am not, nor have they ever been adorable!” – Unlucky for them, no one else agrees, and so they’re stuck with three partners who will tell them as much at any given opportunity. Sasha, on the other hand, is having way too much fun with this and will go “Aww, shucks.” Every time, just to see her favourite people blush even more.

The thing is, Martin owns plenty of woolen jumpers; he likes them because they’re warm and comfy, which is always a plus. To a certain degree, they’re pure self-preservation as well. The heating in the Archives breaks constantly, and oftentimes, it stays that way for days. They need to bundle up then, and drink more tea and coffee than any human should. Those days leave all of them freezing their butts off, and having something warm and cozy to wrap around themselves helps a lot. But their own woolen jumpers or even outdoor jackets aren’t nearly as warm and comfortable as Martin’s. His clothes are just the softest, and so, he knows to expect them to migrate to his partners when a certain time of year hits.

On a more personal note for him, the loose fit of the knitted jumpers helps him a lot on days when the body dysmorphia gets bad. Those days have gotten less now – especially since he’s had top surgery – but it’s still nice to have something comforting around. Just in case.

And then, of course there is the simple fact that he likes the aesthetic. “Retro-Aesthetic” as his partners tend to call it, and really, it is kind of accurate.

Right now, Martin is standing in front of the open closet in his underwear and is absolutely not surprised to find some of his jumpers already gone. There is no doubt that, as soon as he gets back downstairs he’ll find everyone else wrapped up in at least one of his jumpers. Sneaky, the whole lot of them.

The weather has turned quite rapidly in the last few days. That morning, they wake up and the cold wind has creeped in through the open window, leaving the entire bedroom freezing. If it wasn’t for the many, many blankets, they would wake up with their limbs frozen off, but by now, there are at least three or four blankets available at any given time. That is, because certain people tend to steal the covers in their sleep, but no one would look at Tim or Jon, oh no, of course not.

These two are frequently playing tug of war at night, which is why they often end up in the middle of their sleeping arrangements. That way, there are at least some chances to steal the blankets back for everyone else.

Martin has started to wrap one of the edges around himself in an attempt to keep the blanket there, while Sasha has threatened to staple the bloody thing to the floor on either side of the bed. There is no doubt that she is dead serious about the threat, even when it’s mostly mumbled at 2 in the morning, disgruntled as her face is smushed into whoever is currently closest to her.

But lucky for them, body heat is the best source of warmth, and there is plenty of it available in their family. Especially Tim and Martin run hot as it is, which is why Sasha and Jon lovingly call the two of them their Human Heaters on a regular basis.

Sasha is always happy for more warmth - she’s not cold very often, but she loves being close to the other three.

There are no romantic or sexual feelings from her side - it’s just not how she works. But her feelings towards those three people in her life are different from Just Friendship, and she loves them all dearly. Just… Not in a romantic kind way, but it is nice to share a life with people who know, understand and love her back just as much and just as she is.

It’s only when she wakes up in the middle of the night with no blanket anywhere to be found that she wants to strangle someone. Temporarily.

Jon, on the other hand, is pretty much always cold. They’re “made of nothing but bones and sharp edges” as Tim so eloquently put it, earning himself a jab from one of said sharp elbows into his ribs. It only makes him laugh, loud and carefree as he is, as he pulls Jon into his arms and smothers them in kisses until they laugh and complain half-heartedly. They don’t mind it at all.

So if they’re not currently stealing blankets, Jon clings. Like an octopus, to whomever they can reach easiest.

So this is how they wake up that morning:

There is a fresh, icy wind coming in through the window while under the small mountain of blankets, the four of them are wrapped up around one another, noses pressed into the warmth of each other's necks or into the chest of soft shirts. Hands that cling or seek warmth on bare skin under ancient T-shirts or pyjamas.

Sasha wakes up first, entirely uninterested in getting out of bed as soon as she realizes how cold the room has gotten over night. Only half awake, she moves closer to Tim and wraps her arms and legs around him. Her warm breath is tickling his neck, but he is long used to being surrounded by warmth and people - he loves it. Loves them, most of all.

Tim can’t move much. He’s got Sasha clinging to his back and he can tell that she is already dozing off again. While he wakes up to that realization, he does so with a face full of long, curly salt and pepper hair and a pair of arms wrapped around his middle.

Jon is still dead to the world, happily wedged in between Tim and Martin. Even if they were awake, it’s highly unlikely they would be able to move a limb at this point. Lucky for everyone else, due to the circumstances, they leave the blankets alone for once. They’re warm and dead asleep and Tim’s hands are busy holding both them and Sasha’s forearm around him. One of Martin's arms is stretched out in his sleep, resting near him as he provides another comfortable weight and source of heat.

Between their shared breaths and heartbeats, flailing limbs and two cats curled up by their feet, waking up is a comfortably lazy thing today. Neither of them needs to be anywhere - it’s a long weekend, and so they’re taking the opportunity to start their day out as slowly as possible.

And this is how Martin finds himself in front of his side of the closet, finding a small stack of his jumpers missing. The one on top is a jumper he knitted early in the year, after receiving several balls of really good wool for Christmas from Tim. Light blue, white and pink - more than enough for a jumper and maybe a scarf or gloves. Martin still has some of it left over, but the majority of this gift is now in his hands, in the form of a thick, woolen jumper in his pride colours. Needless to say, he loves the thing.

On his way down the stairs, Martin is joined by Crumpet. The tiny black void had been dozing in the mess of their unmade bed until recently, but as soon as Martin is on the way down, she magically wakes up with a small “mrrp?”, jumps off of the bed with light feline feet and is glued to his heels just a split second later. Maybe there is hope for some treats - as if there wasn’t a blackboard in the kitchen for this very reason.

“The sneaky bastards have been fed, DO NOT fall for their foul play.” is written on it in big bold letters next to shopping lists and lopsidedly drawn hearts, checked off with a bright green checkmark twice a day. To outsiders, it might seem excessive, but they have developed this system for very good reason. Especially at first, the pitiful meows and empty food bowls had been enough to convince whichever human was closest that it was time for food, the mistake only being discovered after a few days of rapidly shrinking cat food supplies and two fat and lazy cats rolling about in a cozy corner. Hence, the blackboard.

Now, Crumpet is making zig-zag-lines down the stairs, conveniently getting in the way wherever Martin is stepping until he scoops her up into his arms with a small sigh.

“Crumpet, my Love. You’ll make us both fall down the stairs. That is illegal in this household.” He tells her seriously and Crumpet meows, as if in protest.

“Yes, yes, I know. Cat crimes are what you do. The answer is still no.” Crumpet meows at him again, but then she proceeds to bump her tiny head against Martins, purring loudly as he scratches her soft chin.

Halfway down the stairs, Martin can make out the familiar sound of singing from the kitchen. Even after so many years, it makes him smile and wanting to stop in his tracks, just to listen for a bit. Jon has a beautiful voice. It’s one of the, if not the first thing that made Martin fall in love with them, and getting to hear them not only talk but sing on a daily basis is… Truly wonderful.

Martin may or may not be completely besotted, and he knows for a fact that he isn’t alone in that. And really, when he rounds the corner, he finds Tim and Sasha sprawled on the couch, Sasha on her back and with a book in one hand, Tim half-dozing with his head on her chest, but he is still awake enough to listen, judging from the small, content smile on his face.

Of course, two of Martin’s missing jumpers are to be found right here with them. Sasha has claimed one of the plain ones, dark green and with a neat Haskell stitch. It suits her really well, even though it dwarves her – which is one more reason she loves it. Sasha is not short at all - but there is still plenty of space for her to wrap up in, which she happily does whenever she can.

Meanwhile, Tim has put on what Martin calls his “scrap collection”. Frankly, he refuses to even call it a jumper, because what it is, technically, is a bunch of scrap wool in all different colours, shapes and bulk sizes, anything that was a leftover and too little to finish anything with, knitted together into… Something with sleeves. The main reason Martin hasn’t thrown it out years ago is that he spent a long time working on it, and besides, even the scraps were expensive once – wool is about the only thing he likes to splurge on for himself sometimes.

But then, Tim discovered this atrocity in the back of Martin’s closet one winter morning. Of course, he promptly fell in love with the garish colours and it’s kind of charming overall ugliness. Which leads Martin to put it into Tim’s closet after the next wash, but the Scrap Collection Jumper always finds its way back to where it came from, despite the fact that no one else ever wears it.

“Stealing it is half the fun!” Tim had shrugged when asked, and shot him one of his blinding grins.

Now, Sasha and Tim look up when Martin enters the living room, and he sets Crumpet down to the floor. Tiny Void that she is, she scrambles right off to jump onto the couch – or rather, on top of Tim, who has already been claimed by their other cat, Gandalf.

Gandalf is, just like his name suggests, a large, grey Norwegian Forest Cat, sprawled out over the length of Tim’s back. He looks like an old, wise wizard, with a huge beard and knowing eyes and everything. Gandalf is of gentle nature, and despite being impressively large, he is a big old softie. This is one of the reasons for his second, mostly-unofficial name, Professor Floof.

Crumpet wriggles herself into the tiny space between Gandalf’s front paws, turns on the spot until she happily settles down.

“I see you have been claimed.” Martin smiles, and he means both Sasha and Tim.

“Yep! I’m not moving today.” Tim tells him, and pulls on Martin as soon as he is close enough to do so and he bends down for a quick kiss. It is warm and gentle, still tasting a bit of tea.

“We’ve also got another private kitchen concert to listen to.” He points out then, and Sasha adds,

“It’s been Disney songs this whole time. I am so glad that you managed to talk Jon into watching those with us.” She smiles, and it only grows wider when the first lines of “I’ll make a man out of you” travel over from the kitchen. Not that anyone would blame Jon for having this particular song stuck in their head – it’s a great song from a great movie, for one, and besides, it’s not like it’s easy to get rid of once it is stuck in someone’s brain.

Martin settles down on the couch near Sasha and just listens for a bit. A small, happy smile is tugging at his lips. He is happy and content, knowing all of his family near and safe and happy – there really isn’t much more to ask for. Eventually, Sasha’s head finds its way onto his lap, and her book remains forgotten and face down on top of Tim’s head – it doesn’t bother him at all and he doesn’t even comment on it. .

“It was about time, too. Can’t leave someone in this household having such glaring holes in their cultural knowledge.” She continues from where she left off earlier, leaning back into Martin as she puts the book to the side, properly this time, so that her own hands can find their way to Tim’s messy mop of bright purple. In an instant, it is met with a happy, satisfied hum.

“Oh, of course not. Speaking of, any idea what they’re doing in there?” Martin asks eventually, nodding over to the half closed kitchen door. It happens sometimes, that Jon disappears in there for hours, doing their thing and refusing help when it’s offered. It’s nothing negative, the others have learned by now; it’s just something relaxing, some “me-time” so to say.

“Cooking. But they very lovingly kicked us out and didn’t want any help, so here we are.” Tim explains cheerfully, although he is getting slightly groggy from the head scritches and the warmth of two cats dozing on him.

“I’m sure you’re absolutely heartbroken, having to be all lazy and comfy on a day off.”

“Oh, how shall we survive this horrible fate?” he laments ironically, face pressed into Sasha as she just laughs at him.

“Drama Queen.”

Another song starts, and Martin makes his way into the kitchen. As much as he loves listening and hanging out with Tim and Sasha, he is curious as to what Jon is up to, and besides, he wants to spend time with them as well.

When he enters the kitchen, he is met with a mess that is very familiar to him by now. As particular as Jon is about most other things in life, cooking isn’t one of them. Or more precisely, they’re particular about the results – not how the kitchen looks after they’re finished being a whirlwind of chaos. Today, there are small mountains of chopped vegetables on several wooden cutting boards, about half the contents of their spice rack strewn about the counter, right next to bundles of fresh herbs and the giant pot on the stove. There is another, smaller pan on the stove, and this is where the heavenly scent comes from. It already smells like roasted spices, and there is no doubt that the mouthwatering smell will creep out the door as Martin opens it further.

Jon turns around when they notice movement out of the corner of their eye, without missing a beat or stopping their song, but there is a happy sparkle in their eyes that seems to get even brighter when they spot Martin.

Surprising absolutely no one, they are currently wearing a stolen jumper as well. It’s one of the older ones, one of the first jumpers that Martin ever made – it’s far from perfect and nearly falls apart at this point, but it is still warm and comfortable. Well worn – which is the reason Jon loves this one so much. They have to fold over the sleeves to be able to use their hands, and the whole thing – dark purple wool with black, white and grey flecks throughout – hangs off of Jon’s small frame and makes them look even smaller than they actually are. But they love it, and much like when Martin attempted to give the other jumper to Tim, he put this one into Jon’s closet. But much like their other partner, they’d put it back into Martins space with identical reasoning:

“Stealing it is half the fun, Love.”

Martin doesn’t even question it anymore – and really, he doesn’t mind. He doesn’t mind it at all. And if he notices his partners buying sleep shirts and such in sizes they wouldn’t usually wear, well. He recognizes it as his invitation to join in on the fun, and he does.

There really is something exciting about squirreling away something that’s usually worn by a loved one, even when it’s something they’d lend out with no questions asked. Especially then, because as the others have truthfully informed him, stealing the clothes from your partners is half the fun.

Right now, Martin is standing in the kitchen, surrounded by a hot mess that includes one of his favorite people in the world, and they only stop singing for a moment, wrapping themselves around Martin like the affectionate octopus they can be when the mood strikes them. Not like he is about to complain.

He happily hugs back, nose buried in the messy bun that Jon haphazardly piled up on top of their head earlier that day. The long familiar scent of shampoo and conditioner is still lingering, and Martin can’t help but kiss Jon right at this moment. They happily let him, and Martin rubs small, gentle circles on their back, aware of the soft, warm material of the jumper under his hands.

Another reason Jon loves this particular jumper so much, Martin knows, is because its colours resemble the Ace Pride flag. This isn’t even on purpose – it’s just how the wool looks. But there is no one in this household who isn’t happy about the smallest bit of affirmation of their identities, and as soon as Jon gets their hands on the jumper, well, you know how it goes.

Almost as predicted, Jon kicks Martin out of the room just as lovingly as they did Tim and Sasha, but only after more kisses and a brief but passionate duet as Martin makes tea for everyone, now that he’s here.

Back in the living room, Tim and Sasha thoroughly enjoy their private concert, snuggled up on the couch together and with their two fuzzy companions. Happiness can’t even begin to describe the feelings that bloom in both of their chests, as well as their partners back in the kitchen.

Later that day, the four of them are sprawled out on the couch, plates full with the Vegetarian Kadai that Jon prepared earlier. As secretive as they can be about their cooking sometimes, the one guarantee about it is that it’s always good. Today is no different.

Everyone tucks in, knowing that there will be plenty left still. More often than not, they end up freezing the leftovers, so they can have fresh, wonderful food whenever they want without the hassle – some days just are like that, and the energy can be low then. Everyone has bad days every now and then, but the knowledge that they are not alone, that they are loved and have a functioning support system, both at home and at work, helps a lot. Together, they always manage somehow.

They are family, the four of them, in any sense of the word. Neither of them has much of a family left that is related in blood – there are several reasons for this, and it hurts sometimes. Some days more than others, but by now, they have found one another and built their own family. They love and support one another, in so many different ways, but what it boils down to is just this. Family.

One Bisexual Man, one Pansexual Trans Man, one Biromantic Asexual Nonbinary Person and one Aromantic Asexual Woman – they’re a colorful rainbow mix, and they wouldn’t want it any other way.

#Archival Pride 2021 #tma fanfic #banashee writes #the magnus archives #fluffy and very very queer #season 1 polycule

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pensivetense · 4 years

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A List Of (Mostly TMA) Fic Recs Sorted By Vibe

Not an exhaustive list by any means, just a few favourites that caught my fancy. I shortened many of the summaries for space.

I’m going to pin this here and update it as I go.

Also, I’m pensivetense on ao3

MELANCHOLY VIBES

for when you want to feel comfortably muted

(sad but not utterly bleak endings here)

Hope, Etc. (Dickenson, et al.) by yellow_caballero

Jonathan Sims, six months after the Unknowing, wakes to find himself without a daemon - without humanity, without a soul. It’s a cursed half-life, but existence as a shell without a heart isn’t so bad: between solving the mystery of a persistent illusion cast over his friends and some light pseudo-cannibalism, a life as a monster is better than no life at all. At least, it would be, if it wasn’t for the fucking Owl.

A freaking. Amazing. Daemon au. Ties the lore of Dust with TMA lore very satisfyingly, but is mostly about Jon navigating what it means to be human, or, in the absence of that, a person, and doesn’t require prior knowledge of His Dark Materials. Cannot recommend highly enough.

after one long season of waiting by nuinuijiaojiao

Annabelle is not used to having nice things. or, Annabelle heads to Upton House, muses a little, and gets some well-deserved rest

I love survivalist Annabelle and also the concept of the Web as kind of a horrible Patron, actually.

i love you. I want us both to eat well. by SmallishWormMasterOfTheUniverse

At the safehouse with Martin, Jon decides it's time to quit statements once and for all. The Eye disagrees. Martin just needs Jon to be okay. It's quite possible that nobody is going to get what they want.

Scottish Safehouse Era, Jon and Martin coping with their respective Entities... really, really good.

the friend by doomcountry

He always greets a new spider when he meets it. It’s instinct, born in childhood, the same way he instinctively counts magpies, or flicks salt over his left shoulder. A little harmless superstition. A bit of politesse.

A great Martin character study with eldritch spider horror included. The imagery regularly haunts me (in a good way).

autumn’s rare gift by bee_bro

Annually, the two meet, renewing the binding ritual where it had all started. The procedure simple: a waltz.

Singlehandedly made me ship Gertrude/Agnes so there’s that. It’s so bittersweet and bee_bro’s writing is, as always, incredibly poetic. (I’d recommend everything they write, actually.)

smile, you’re trending by Goodluckdetective

During an encounter with another Avatar of the Eye, Jon faces his past, Martin takes a turn at playing Kill Bill and Basira has a second look at the monster she’s determined to see. For three people associated with the Eye, they could all use some perspective.

Features an original Eye Avatar character who’s a YouTube personality; she is infuriating and inspired and genuinely frightening and I cannot say enough good things.

Humility by The_Lionheart

have you no idea that you're in deep?/i've dreamt about you nearly every night this week,/how many secrets can you keep?

An OC centric story but don’t let that put you off, it’s amazing. Very heavily focused around Jonah Magnus and the other Avatars as they change through the years. Also, I’d die for the OC.

oh, for one sweet second without the eye series by faedemon

Beholding does not like in the way humans do, but it likes its Archivist all the same.

I’m just so fond of the way this is done stylistically. I have a great weakness for dialogue only/dialogue heavy writing, not to mention all of the wonderful character beats and interplay of humanity/inhumanity for Jon and Melanie.

Rewind by WhyNotFly

It takes eight days of forced confinement for Jon to start hallucinating. [...] It’s Martin, though, that his exhausted brain conjures, because of course it’s Martin. After all this time, of course it’s Martin.

Jon willingly allows himself to be confined rather than hunting for statements, and examines his relationship with Martin.

for a firmament series by supaslim

There is beauty in destruction. There is art in becoming. In which Jon becomes the Archive, and the Archive becomes Jon.

Part two posted this morning and uhhh. Good. Also if you’re here for weird eldritch body horror (I am), this one’s for you.

ONES THAT JUST HURT

for when you want to feel sad

(somewhat bleaker endings here/everyone is NOT okay)

Feste by yellow_caballero

If asked, Martin would say that he became the shadow director of the Magnus Institute by accident. But nobody ever asked, and nobody ever cared, and it was in this way that Martin stopped lying to himself. Or: break free, Martin. All you have to lose are your chains. And your sanity.

Oh, this one totally didn’t go the way I expected it to. A study in isolation. Could go into the category above, as the ending is not bleak, but the tone of the whole is somewhat more depressing than most there.

Ghosts of Love by RavenXavier

Nothing made Martin more grounded in the world than yearning for Jonathan Sims.

Lonely!Martin that really captures a sort of visceral ache. Hurts me and yet I keep rereading.

i do desire (we may be better strangers) by godbewithyouihavedone

For ages, it only knew how to worship, taking human bodies and living off the fear of those who remembered. It never knew love until it became Jonathan Sims. Now it must fight against every instinct to save Martin Blackwood. Archivist Sasha, Not!Jon/Martin, and the worst kind of Fake Dating AU.

Oh, this one just made me sad. The poor not!them, which is something I never thought I’d say.

Apple Of Your Eye by fakeCRfan

In which the Eye is fond of Martin. Perhaps a little too fond for comfort.

Somehow manages to be both sweet and horrifying—the characterisation of the Eye is incredible. ‘The Eye loves Martin’ is a scenario that’s so utterly doomed to failure and yet the writing is packed with so much pathos that I just want them all to be happy. A fantastic use of themes of agency and choice, and the single best use of Beholding as a source of horror I’ve read.

The Last Press by copperbadge

Jon Sims is awake, and has begun preparations for the Rite of the Watcher's Crown. Peter Lukas, who woke him, would be content to rule at his side. Martin is very upset about all of this, and the Lukases aren't thrilled with it either.

I really can’t say anything without spoiling the end and it’s so good. An alternate take on the Watcher’s Crown. Not a pairing that I ever thought would work for me, but this made it work.

watch the blood evaporate by 75hearts

It starts, like so many things in Jon’s life have started, with a nagging itch of curiosity. Jonathan Sims uses his healing abilities throughout s4. Read the tags.

Dear God please read the tags. But this is some high quality pain if it’s for you.

the lighthouse series by low_fi

Peter Lukas is a lighthouse keeper. One evening, he gets a call from a cryptic overseer tasked with monitoring his work.

This is such a vivid and yet subtle story—from the setting to the emotions portrayed, it creeps up on you slowly. The ending was like the gentlest possible gut-punch. The sequel just completed, and yeah, just as wonderful. This one is very much LonelyEyes but I listed it here because it is just exquisitely painful.

SATISFYINGLY HOPEFUL VIBES

for when you want to feel cozy

Clutching Daffodils by Gemi

Martin has always liked the idea of love at first sight. It’s such a romantic idea, the whole thing of it. Seeing someone and instantly feeling that strange, twisting feeling deep inside that every single media likes to obsess over. Of knowing you are in love within the day, petals falling from your mouth and warmth filling your chest as love burrows deep, vines twisting through your lungs. He always liked the idea of it. And then Jonathan Sims starts working at the Magnus Institute.

Somehow manages to be lighter and fluffier than most hanahaki fare, despite the setting. I’ve reread this one a lot.

the least he could do by Prim_the_Amazing

Martin should in fact not pick this man, specifically because of how attracted he is to him. It would be the responsible thing to do. Except he’s already following him. And he’s hungry.

Fluffy vampire au which everyone’s probably already read, but was too good not to mention.

rather interesting by bee_bro

Jonah Magnus realizes that, for some reason, when he comes in contact with weed, Elias Bouchard's consciousness will come into his life banging pots and pans.

Oh boy. So these are all favourite fics but this one is a favourite amongst favourites. The way Jonah is characterised (i.e. incredibly sensitive to scrutiny) is my favourite depiction of him, and the slow-burn between him and Elias is far sweeter than it has any right to be. Also, it’s hilarious.

The Magnus Records series by ErinsWorks

In a world parallel to that of the Archives and the Institute, a supernatural sanctuary stands against a cruel and uncaring world: A world of bureaucracy and tyranny, of murder and carnage, of loneliness and surveillence, of plague and death. But in this world of fear and misery, 14 entities born of the hopes of the world have emerged. And one of them has made their home here, at The Magnus Sanctuary. Perhaps, the employees within may lead happier lives than their counterparts did in the Archives.

This is just so goddamn pure. The author writes a really imaginative, fleshed-out alternate world and alternate Entities with engaging, well-written short statements. All of the character voices are absolutely on point, and it’s overall absurdly hopeful without ever feeling overly saccharine. I love this series so much, you guys, you don’t even know. I want to print it out and paste it on my wall. I love it.

HARD APOCALYPSE

for when you want to feel dark and angsty (and eldritch)

Most of these are shorts/oneshots because it’s just that kind of genre, y’know?

Ashes to Ashes by marrowbones

A conversation at the end of the world.

Oliver Banks is one of those minor characters that I am overly attached to. Love him here.

Employee Benefits by equals_eleven_thirds

The Magnus Institute offered some normal employee benefits: a pension plan, holidays, travel subsidies, free lunch on the last Friday of each month. Rosie makes it work.

This manages to hit that perfect sweet spot of satisfying and hilarious. Rosie gets to torment Elias, as she well deserves.

a rose by any other name by Duck_Life

Part of Jon blooms in Jared Hopworth’s garden.

This one was sad and honestly too gentle to really belong in this category, but I love it.

Eye to Eye by Dribbledscribbles

In which Jonah Magnus attempts a post-apocalyptic pep talk.

Unreliable narrator at its finest, and the implications are suitably horrific.

commensalis by doomcountry

The tower is endlessly, impossibly tall, but Jon’s work is taller.

If you’re here for the eldritch imagery, then this has some of the best.

SOFT APOCALYPSE

for when you want to feel gently triumphant

apocalypse how series by sunshine_states

Humanity adjusts. The Entities have Regrets.

Some nice vignettes set in a kinder apocalypse.

ceylon series by Sciosa

The one in which Jonathan Sims decides that no, actually, he isn't going to let the world just end.

I include this only for the sake on completeness, as everyone has no doubt already read it.

rituals by doomcountry

Martin is the first person to knock on the Archivist's door since it arrived, fully, into its little waiting temple. The Archivist saw him coming from down the hall, but decides to feign interest when the knob turns, and Martin—still a little bit smaller, a little more translucent than before—stands uncertainly just outside the room.

This one’s a little less focused on the world at large and more on JonMartin specifically.

we raise it up by savrenim

Jonathan Sims reads a book and saves the world; although maybe the real salvation is the friends he makes along the way; (although perhaps the world itself and the darkness that exists behind it isn't quite as out to get everyone as it seems).

More ‘soft revolution’ than ‘soft apocalypse’, but has the same vibe. A time travel fix-it. Incomplete but worth it if this is a mood that appeals to you.

Scarred Ground by DictionaryWrites

“You see," Elias said softly, "people always have this idea that only living things can be scarred - and they're right, of course. But a building is a living thing, Martin. And the ground can be scarred, too." "I don't have any scars," Martin said. "Yes, you do," Elias said. "You just need the right light to see them.”

Falls somewhere between ‘Apocalypse’ and ‘Soft Apocalyse’ but I’m putting it here because I feel like it. Also technically a LonelyEyes fic. I found it hard to follow at first but it’s worth sticking with; things will eventually begin to make sense and come together.

LONELYEYES

for when you want to feel lonelyeyes

marrying anguish with one last wish by procrastinatingbookworm

In which Elias isn't Orpheus, and Peter isn't Eurydice, but Elias brings Peter home anyway.

Lives in my head rent free forever. My favourite lonelyeyes fic.

ouroboros by Wildehack

“You know,” Jonah says, a muscle in his calf quivering agreeably where it’s slung over Mordechai’s shoulder, “it’s really quite--fortunate--that I don’t care for you at all.”

Oh, this one hurts in the best possible way. The endless cycle of their relationship, the way it comes full-circle... yeah, good. Actually, no, this one might be my favourite. It’s a tie.

Breaking all the Rules by Thedupshadove

Elias proposes a somewhat...unusual wager.

Soft lonelyeyes? In my recs? It’s more likely than you think. Short, sweet, and... sweet.

Threefold by Sprinkledeath

Peter Lukas breaks three rules.

I’m just a slut for mythology allusions I guess.

Luck Be A Lady Tonight by prodigy

In 2014, Elias Bouchard takes a rare trip outside of his comfort zone. Peter Lukas wastes a bunch of money. You'd be surprised how many things can go wrong for two beings of cosmic power.

I love the sense of the history of them you get while reading this.

love is just a word (the idea seems absurd) by kaneklutz

"Something's wrong. It's stopped hurting" An avatar of the Lonely and an avatar of the Beholding walk into a bar relationship. It was bound to blow up in their faces.

Short, sweet, painful. Excellent exploration of their priorities.

Victor by penguistifical

elias tries something with his powers that he hasn't attempted before

The one where Elias tries to raise the dead. Not incredibly LonelyEyes centric but that’s still the pairing.

Simon Says by penguistifical

“Peter asked me to drop by and have a word with you, and, so, here I am.” Simon chuckles at Elias’s disbelieving stare. “Well, he asked in his own way. He’s not a complicated man, you know. He either comes from your arms looking like a stroked cat that’s been given a dish of cream or looking like he’s been in that toy boat of his out in an unexpected storm. He was far angrier than normal, so I daresay you weren’t cream today.”

I mean personally I’d just go ahead and rec all of penguistifical’s LonelyEyes fics but this is a standout for me.

AROMANTIC AND ASPEC MOODS

for when you want to feel Seen

The Aro Archives series by WhyNotFly

These are all just really really good. From Aro!Peter to two different aro-spec versions of the Scottish Safehouse to a long and beautiful aro hanahaki fic, this series is uniformly wonderful. The two Scottish Safehouse ones (Torn Edges and Murky Water) are my comfort fics.

and now all fear gives way by j_quadrifons

Before he can think it through, he murmurs, "Is that what it feels like? Being in love?" Martin's hand stills in his hair and Jon's stomach drops.

This one just. Wow yeah this is how it be. Another absolute comfort fic of mine.

Sweet As Roses by Prim_the_Amazing

Jon takes Martin by the shoulders, leans up on the tips of his toes, and kisses him.

I’m going to be honest—I didn’t know where to put this one. But it ended up here because the real standout of this fic for me is the portrayal of Sasha, and especially her portrayal as an aro character. So I’m putting it here. Mind the content warnings with this one!

HUMOUR

for when you want to feel delight

The Torment of Sebastian Skinner by Urbenmyth

After the Eye's victory, the statement givers are trapped in their horror stories, living them over and over again. Naturally, this works out better for some then for others.

Premise? Delightful. Execution? Fantastic. I read this one to cheer myself up when I’m sad.

Unlucky by VolxdoSioda

Jon’s dice betray him

Short, sweet DnD au, and the reason I cannot get DM!Elias out of my head now.

Voracious by beetl

A bird hits the window. Jon experiences The Flesh's thrall.

“Dead Dove: Do Not Eat” but make it literal.

The Stupid Endings by Urbenmyth

There are a lot of very deeply thought out and creative AUs on this site. These aren't among them. These ones are how the story could have ended, if Jonny Sims was a dumbass.

These are just uniformly hilarious, I cannot recommend them highly enough.

PODCAST CROSSOVERS

for when you want to make one of those “if I had a nickel for every time...” posts

The Sabbatical by morelikeassassin

Nicholas Waters is in need of an all-knowing eldritch entity beyond the confines of human imagining to help with his latest ritual. He'll have to settle for Jonathan Sims, who happens to have nothing better to do.

Crossover with Archive 81 (s3, specifically). Both fun and bittersweet.

The City And Its Sorrows by cuttooth

“What makes you think your friend is in Eskew?” David asks. He feels he can risk the scrutiny of the city that far. “I read that this is a place people end up when they get lost,” says the man. “This is a place people end up,” David agrees./The Archivist comes to Eskew.

Contemplative piece, and I love the way it presents David’s relationship with Eskew, the way he finds it horrible and hates it and yet belongs to it, is almost proud in the way he shows to to Jon. Great little vignette of two people oppressed by eldritch powers, intersecting.

Hiatus by bibliocratic

My name is Jonathan Sims, and I am in Eskew. (Jon gets lost in a Spiral city. It is not as easy as escaping.)

This one is far more focused on Jon than David, and is honestly more Eskew-weird than Spiral-weird. In the best way. Told in Eskew episode style, and is very good.

Sweet Music by Shella688

Eskew has a music to it, if you know how to listen. The percussion beat of thousands of footsteps, the melody in the squealing of the trains overhead. Today, the music of Eskew comes in the form of nine musicians, playing outside my office. My name is David Ward, and I am in Eskew.

Not TMA, but since a lot of Mechs fans go here—this one’s a Mechs/Eskew crossover. Short and simple, mostly David Ward centric, just a little well-written one shot I had to mention because I enjoyed it but it doesn’t have much traffic. Nice portrayal of the Mechs from an outsider’s perspective, and how genuinely strange and frightening they’d come across (especially if you’re already being haunted by and eldritch city). If you like Eskew-style storytelling, check it out!

NOT TMA

...but good enough that I physically cannot make a recs list without including them. Here!

#tma #the magnus archives #fic recs #long post #i'm not kidding you guys it's long #so be warned before you click read more #pinned on my blog

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beholdme · 3 years

Text

All the Many Shades of Gerry - Chapter 3

Chapters: 3/19

Fandom: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

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

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

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

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

He happens to love them back.

Find it on Ao3

[1] [2]

In the following weeks, as he sees Jon a few more times, Gerry's hair fades out and he looks rather more 'forest nymph' than 'American Gothic'.

So it's not much of a shock when the next time Jon catches sight of Gerry striding through the library stacks, his hair has been re-coloured. This time it's a smooth buttery yellow and Jon is struck by how young the warm, bright colour makes him look.

Gerry doesn't feel young though, he feels tired and bored and wrung out, and he wishes he had never agreed to take art commissions.

"It's only the one time!" Gertrude had insisted to a very put upon Gerry, very early in the morning. "And if he puts in a good word for you in his circles, your name will really be on the map in the art world."

Gerry wasn't particularly interested in being put on any maps, or being picked apart by rich, stuck up strangers, but he had agreed to try, mostly because Gertrude had put a lot of effort into making his passion for art an actual career and he felt like he owed her.

(He forgets, frequently, just how much of a commission she takes on the sales of his paintings).

So there he was, striding around the library at 7 am and desperately looking for exactly the right reference book. Unfortunately, it has been out of print for years, and Gerry can't seem to find a copy anywhere that won't cost him half a liver. He has the money now, but he refuses to pay half a month's rent to a second-hand retailer on principle.

Jon watches him skulk around for so long, (apparently forgetting that he is, in fact, a librarian) that Sasha comes out from her desk to ask Gerry if he's looking for something specific. She's wearing her big round glasses today and even indulged herself in her favorite waistcoat to beat the Monday blues.

"Why, yes." At this, Gerry looks directly up at Jon, where he is standing and watching him from the upper balcony level. Jon's face burns, and he ducks out of sight, but not earshot. "I do actually come here to borrow books, not boys." And he smartly feeds her the name of the reference book he has been hunting for almost an hour.

Sasha giggles at his antics, "We do have a copy of that, actually, but it's very popular. There's a waitlist; also it's checked out right now."

Gerry's whole demeanor sags and he sighs in defeat. "Guess I really will just have to order it off the internet, then." He eyes the stacks of books, old and new, looking vaguely betrayed.

"No!" Sasha's exclamation takes everyone a bit aback, being that they are in a library and all. "You know, my mate has this sweet little bookstore, and he loves hunting down rare copies of older books, he might have a copy?" She wrings her hands, eyebrows raised in question.

Gerry beams down at her, causing even stoic Sasha to blush and scurry off to get a piece of paper for the address.

They're already most of the way to the front desk by the time Jon realizes just which bookstore Sasha is busy recommending to the man he is dating , and just who owns that particular establishment.

By the time he manages to get downstairs to try to deflect the situation, Gerry is out the door, nothing left but the faint scent of oil paints and leather from his jacket.

***

Tim Stoker leaves Gerry feeling faintly dazed. By the time he stumbles out of the bookstore and into the tea room, elusive book in hand, he's forgotten everything he has ever known in the face of such intense flirting. And Gerry thought he was bad.

Throughout the whole episode at the library, the walk through Chelsea, and the exchange with Tim, Gerry had never once taken a moment to consider that Sasha's friend with a bookstore and Jon's Martin with a bookstore might be the same person.

He chooses to blame the lack of sleep and general disarray that is his life for the oversight.

Which is how, 9:30 in the morning, having been awake for almost 24 hours and completely finished, Gerry walks up to Martin in his tea room and says, "I'll have whatever is pink and in that jug, please. The biggest you've got."

Martin, of course, recognized him immediately. He would have recognized Jon's gothic childhood boyfriend from his social media stalking alone, but Jon's frantic texting was also a pretty big giveaway.

Martin: Relax, I don't bite clients this early in the morning. He's in safe hands with me.

Jon: HE KNOWS THINGS ABOUT ME. Besides, who's gonna stop him from biting you?

Martin: Whatever he has to tell me can’t possibly be worse than the office gossip I heard about you before we even meet.

Jon: W H A T

Now, here Gerry is before him, and he’s quite pleased with what he sees. Even tired and vaguely dazed, his presence in the little room carries a certain energy that Martin enjoys.

"Right away. Take a seat and I'll call you with it." Martin's voice is sweet, but gentle and firm, in a comforting sort of way. Through Gerry's sleepy haze, the instruction makes perfect sense, although he has neither paid nor offered a call name.

Gerry considers taking a seat on the plush bench that occupies one wall, before deciding that he desperately needs a cigarette, and wandering outside.

Technically he is only supposed to smoke at night when he's painting and needs just the right kind of boost, but he decides to call this one since he's on a painting-based errand when he's supposed to be sleeping.

"Gerry?" He turns toward the sound of his name, to find the barista offering him a large to-go cup of what he assumes is fruit ice tea. He frowns at having his name known (his new, much-preferred name, no less) and then frowns at a blonde, bespectacled man in a tea room attached to a bookstore.

His brain finally takes a moment to function, and he puts all the pieces together in an avalanche.

"Martin?" Far from his usual self-confident tone, the single word comes out in a squeak that would make even a toddler wince.

"Yes?" Martin returns the single word in the same solidly reassuring way, and even offers a happy smile.

"I didn't... I didn't recognize you."

"Would be pretty hard for you, considering this is the first we've ever met." Martin's voice is calming in a way that eases Gerry a bit, teasing and all.

"Thank you. For the tea, I mean." Gerry closes his eyes and desperately begs his shit to pull together for him, just this one time. "It's nice to finally meet you."

His hands are fully occupied with a book, a cup of tea, and a cigarette, but Martin doesn't seem particularly bothered by the lack of a hand to shake. "It's nice to meet you too. We're giving Jon a heart attack by doing it without him."

"That is the lawful good," Gerry says, after a long drag of his smoke. "A panicked Jon is a happy Jon, after all. Whatever would he do with himself without a situation to unnecessarily complicate?"

"Yes, the man does seem to thrive on anxiety, doesn't he?" Martin asks warmly, eyes crinkling around a fond smile. "Speaking of, you seem pretty wrecked yourself. Good party, I hope."

Gerry's answering laugh has a razor edge, "Not hardly. This fucking painting I'm working on will be the death of me." Gerry lifts the reference book as proof of trauma and stabs out his cigarette viciously.

"Hmm, sounds like a pain. I hope you typically find art a more enjoyable career?" Martin asks, tilting his head inquisitively. His curly hair moves fetchingly and Gerry catches himself tracking the movement.

"Mostly, yes. Although I keep the bartending gig for variety. You'd be amazed at the sort of inspiration someone can find in the right drunk crowd." Gerry grins, thinking of all the ridiculous things he’d seen walk in and out of the bar in his run there.

"I'd be very interested to see what kind of art you can turn that into. Maybe you'd like to show me sometime?" Martin's words are open and friendly.

Gerry eyes him for a minute, hiding behind a long taste of his drink. He's trying to suss out Martin's motivations, for his kindness and general geniality. The drink is good and it tips Gerry's mood far enough back into cheerfulness that he shrugs off his considerations for the time being.

"You know what," Gerry quips back. "I think I would like to show you sometime. How 'bout tonight."

It's not a question really, with Gerry's typical force of personality behind it, and he leaves the shop with Martin holding an address in his hand and a time to drag Jon over for dinner that evening.

***

Gerry does not make a big deal of Martin coming over. He acts as if any other friend is coming over for dinner.

He tidies, a little. Lights a few candles. Wears pants. The bare minimum really.

He isn't trying to impress anyone, he tells himself sternly.

Except he is, obviously. He doesn't know Martin very well yet, but he does want to keep Jon around, and they are a packaged deal these days. Which he was happy with, truly.

In their limited interaction, Martin had been sweet and put Gerry instantly at ease. He knows, from many years of working a bar, how to spot a dipshit, and feels confident in his assessment of Martin's character.

But, it's his own character that concerns him. People don't always like Gerry past surface interactions. He can be tempestuous and moody, and catching him tired is a pretty bad idea. The combination of artist and mommy issues can be jarring.

He desperately wants those things to not bother Martin though. He wants Martin to like him, and he's not interested in putting on a show to make it happen.

It occurs to Gerry an hour before they're due that he doesn't even remotely know what takeout to order for dinner.

(He knows what Jon will eat, and he obviously knows what he likes, but what about Martin? Why didn't he ask this morning? Why didn't he ask Jon earlier?)

Gerry is just starting to really panic about all the life choices leading up to this moment, when he gets a text from an unknown number, instantly filling him with relief.

Martin: Since you're hosting this time, I'll grab the take-out. Jon says you like Thai, I'll bring that. You got the drinks covered?

Gerry: As long as you drink either coffee, vodka, or water, yes.

Martin: I'm sorry, I subsist only on the blood of virgins.

Gerry: Oh dear. I couldn't tempt you to settle for Earl Grey?

Martin: Hmmm, yes, I'll accept your offerings this time.

***

The first knock comes right on time. Gerry, dressed in his best paint-stained jeans and cherry blossom kimono, opens the door with a flourish.

Martin allows himself to be welcomed in and hands the food off to the dramatic artist, who deposits it on the table where he has already set the tea tray.

"No Jon? Not that I mind quality ‘us’ time, of course."

Martin is busy taking in the rambling studio space and barely spares the attention to respond, although he manages a blush at the flirty tone. "He's, uh, running late. Work stuff. You know Jon."

Gerry smirks at that. "I do indeed. Is it a 'stumble in at 3am' late, or 'we could probably wait to eat' late?"

"Hmmm? Oh, let's wait a bit? If you don't mind." Martin seems equally taken with his painting wall and his book wall and keeps trading his attention between the two. The paintings, being the larger attraction, eventually win, and he meanders over to study them closer.

"Do you keep all the completed paintings around?" His voice is soft and reverent, and Gerry feels a rush of pride for his work.

"For a while. I like to make sure they're in their final forms before I release them into the wild." Martin blinks big brown eyes at him, before grinning and giggling slightly.

"You're very talented. Jon said as much, showed me the pictures, but words and photos are nothing compared to seeing the real thing." Martin really regards his paintings as if they're special, and rather than the prickly feeling of appraisal he feels during gallery nights, it fills Gerry with warmth.

He turns to examine the wall himself. It's filled with an eclectic group at the moment. Large abstracts made by pouring paint and then layering designs over, three-dimensional pieces painted and then embroidered or quilled over in select places, including a particularly wild eye design. Surreal faces and scenes that seem realistic except for the wild subject matter of planets in meadows and chimeras going to battle.

"Is this what comes from your adventures in bartending?" Martin asks Gerry, turning from the wall and towards the slightly taller man.

"That, and my traumatic childhood." Gerry makes sure to laugh at the last, taking the edge off the small confession.

"Obviously." Martin offers.

"Obviously." Gerry accepts.

***

Gerry and Martin drink tea on the floor while they wait for Jon. Gerry gently prods Martin through the story of how he came to open the bookstore. The blonde man even softly confessing that he had to lie on his CV to get the librarian gig at Magnus.

"How old are you? How did you convince them you had a Master's degree?" Gerry is incredulous. Not that he doesn't think Martin could have an advanced degree. But in paranormal research? Gerry hadn't even known that was an option.

"That's the thing! I'm only 29 now . I worked there for five years!" Martin's voice pitches up in disbelief. "I'm still in shock that anyone ever brought it. Desperate times, desperate measures, you know?"

"I do, actually." Gerry shifts slightly, adjusting his balance with the long remembered urge to flee from those desperate times. He fiddles with his teacup to distract himself. He brought this particular set from a pawn shop because the filigree and florals appealed to his love of colour theory. Soft pinks and corals warm against the cool aqua background.

"Jon says you wanted to go to art school when you two were younger."

It's not a question, but merely Martin offering the same space for openness that Gerry had given him.

"I never went. After my A-levels, I had to get away, and I never really stopped moving for long enough to go to uni when I was younger. Now I'm settled and it's not important to me anymore. Besides, no one asks for a copy of my phantom degree when I sell a painting. So I'm happy with how things turned out for the most part." He stops to consider the outline of a possible past for a moment, one where he didn't have to skip college and go ten years without seeing Jon. "Besides, can you imagine a 27-year-old in art school? The young ones would sacrifice me for more creative talent."

Their eyes meet for a moment, and then they laugh easily and move on to different topics, sliding through the easy stages of getting to know each other.

***

Jon does eventually arrive, looking panicked and harried. He de-ages 10 years when he finds them laughing and relaxed instead of tense and awkward.

So, the three of them eat cold Thai take out on the floor of Gerry's loft, leaning against the perfectly good couch. They share the odd intimacy of people who have known each other for very disjointed amounts of time but like each other just the same.

#the magnus archives #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #gerry keay #jongerrymartin #tma #fic #also on ao3

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ohh-baekhyun · 5 years

Text

Nothing Like Us | 03 - [M]

✨ Summary: Rich, charming and undeniably good-looking, Byun Baekhyun is used to women falling on their knees for him. You are an exception though. Quiet, reserved and indifferent, you are never afraid to put him in his place if you need to. That’s probably why he is quite besotted with you. No woman has ever challenged him the way you do. Thus when he has the chance to spend three weeks under the same roof as you, he makes it his sole mission to win your heart.

✨ Genre: Arranged Marriage-ish!AU, romance, fluff, smut.

✨ Warnings: fluffss and romantic pool sex that turns a wee bit steamy hehe

Baekhyun should be relieved now that he is done with his business project, but he feels unsettled instead. That’s why he decided to ditch the company dinner and went straight home. As he drives, he is filled with this overwhelming sense of foreboding, like he knows something is wrong but he doesn’t know what.

“Where is she?” He questions one of the housekeepers when he steps foot into the house.

“She’s been in her room all day, sir.” she says.

Baekhyun mutters a quick thanks and proceeds to hurry up the stairs. He strides down the dimmed hallway, stops by your room, knocks on the door and wait. When there’s no answer, he didn’t bother to knock again. He pushed the door open and enters your bedroom. His eyes zeros in on your bed, and he expels a giant breath when he sees the lump underneath the cover.

She’s sleeping already? Baekhyun wonders as he checks the time on his wrist watch that says five thirty. That’s early.

He walks over and stands by the bed. Slowly, he peels the cover back and his heart pounds when he finally sees you. Your face was mostly covered with hair, so he reaches out to brush it back, only to be shocked. Your skin was so hot to the touch and your face was slick with sweat.

Baekhyun drops to his knee by the bed and presses the back of his hand on your neck. “Sweetheart,” he calls. “You’re burning up, are you okay?”

You murmur something unintelligible, and as he watches your lips move, he realized you are shivering violently. Oh fuck. Panic rises in his chest, and he immediately places his arms under your body to scoop you up.

You groan at the sudden movement, peeling your heavy eyelids open to look at him. You seem surprised. “Wh-what are you doing, Baekhyun?”

“I’m taking you to the doctor.” He says, looking ahead as he strides toward the door.

“Put me down, I’m fine.”

“Don’t argue with me,” He repels, still not looking at you. “I’m not taking no for an answer.”

You roll your eyes. “You’re acting as if I’m having a heart attack or something...it’s just a fever, Baekhyun, it’ll probably go a–.”

Baekhyun suddenly stops to stare down at you with a look so stern it manage to shut you up. You blink up at him, looking somewhat flustered. “I’m taking you to the doctor and that’s final.” He says, leaving no room for any argument.

You finally resign with a huff of annoyance, your lips puckering slightly.

Baekhyun felt his blood heating in his veins. He takes a breath as he internally fights the sudden urge to press his lips on yours. He feels mildly ashamed because you are sick and he isn’t supposed to be having this thought. Maybe it’s due to the fact that he misses you so much, because, how does someone manage to look so goddamn kissable even when they are sick, it’s ridiculous.

Damn her.

“Can you at least put me down? I can walk just—” your eyes widen when Baekhyun suddenly leans in.

“Do I have to kiss you to shut you up?” He mutters over your lips. You swallow nervously, and he watches as the redness slowly rises on your cheek. Something warm filled his chest, bringing a smile to his face.

Beautiful little brat

You haven’t seen Baekhyun in a while, and all of a sudden he is carrying you in his arms like a prince charming he probably thinks he is, and to top that, he even tells you he is going to kiss you? You don’t know what to think. Your head feels too heavy to even know how to think.

You remain quiet as Baekhyun carries you down the stairs. One of the housekeepers gives you a concerned look, and you manage a weak smile to assure her you’re okay.

“We’ll be out for a while,” Baekhyun tells her before moving through the open door towards the driveway where his Aston Martin is parked.

You don’t say a thing even as Baekhyun sets you down in the passenger seat and helped you with your safety belt. He then rounded the hood to get to the driver's seat, and you watch silently as he starts the engine and buckles up. Even through your sickness, his good-look still has an effect on you. Attraction is truly a mysterious thing. Seeing him in his work attire never fails to turn you on, though now, he has taken off his suit jacket and is only wearing a white dress shirt with the top buttons undone. You also realize this is your first time seeing Baekhyun drives, all along it has been his chauffeur, Mr Kim, who drives you both around.

“Where is Mr–” your gasp and press your lips together, suddenly recalling what he had just said earlier. Do I have to kiss you to shut you up? You can hear his voice in your mind that’s making your cheek heat up again.

Baekhyun turns to you, raising his brow in question. After a moment, understanding seems to dawn and he chuckles. “You can speak, baby, I’m not going to kiss you.” He looks away from you to stare at the road ahead. “Not now.”

Not now...

There’s a momentary silence when you try to gather yourself. He is really making you so nervous with all the things he says. You clear your throat and finally ask, “Where is Mr Kim?”

“His wife went into labor yesterday, I’m giving him the time off.”

You didn’t ask anymore questions afterwards, simply not having energy to. It was at the first traffic stop when Baekhyun turns to look at you. His feature softens when he sees your weak state. He extends his hand to touch your forehead and grimaces at the heat he felt on your skin. “Poor baby.” He brushes his knuckles over your cheek tenderly.

For some reason it’s making you want to cry because you have been longing for this all your life; to be cared for. “Are you taking me to the hospital?” you ask.

He mildly shakes his head. “I’m taking you to Chanyeol’s clinic.”

“Chanyeol as in your friend, Chanyeol?”

“Yeah.”

Park Chanyeol is probably the most good looking doctor you’ve ever met in your entire life. To top that, he is also warm and friendly. Ten minutes into your session, you find yourself already liking this doctor. Until he says, “I need to give you a shot to reduce your fever.”

You don’t want to be such a scaredy cat, but everyone has their own phobia and for you, it’s needles. Which is why you didn’t get your ears pierced even when everyone else around you did. Which is why you refused to be taken to the doctor.

Your expression turns pale, and it must be obvious because Doctor Park is smiling now. “Are you afraid?” he asks. You give him a small nod and a shy smile. He chuckles. “Such a cutie,”

Almost immediately, Baekhyun clears his throat next to you. “Doctor Park…” he says calmly, but it sounded more like a warning than anything.

The tall doctor grins to himself as he turns away to prepare the tools he needs for your injection. You twiddle with your thumbs anxiously as you watch the doctor picks up a syringe.

Baekhyun watches you the whole time, wanting to ease your fear but not knowing how to. Through his uncertainty, he reaches out to rest his hand over yours, his other hand stroking your back soothingly. When you turn to glance at him, he gives you a soft and comforting smile. “It’s okay,” he assures. “Just look at me.”

You do as told, and soon enough, you feel a cold sensation on your upper arm as Doctor Park rubs the alcohol swab over your skin. Knowing what’s coming your way, you shut your eyes close and hold your breath. You swallow your wince when the needle pricks into your skin, not wanting to sound like a baby.

“All done,” the doctor says after he finished pasting a plaster on your arm.

You open your eyes and see that Baekhyun is still staring at you with concern. “Are you okay?” he asks, brushing his thumb over the back of your hand soothingly.

You manage a small nod. “I’m okay.”

Baekhyun smiles and gives you a pat on your head. Just a simple gesture, yet it’s giving you all sorts of feelings.

This time it is Chanyeol’s turn to clear his throat. You tear your gaze away from Baekhyun to spare the doctor your attention.

“You’ll feel better real soon.” He says. “Let me prescribe something for your headache then you’re good to go.”

“Thank you, Doctor Park.”

He looks up from the prescription pad. “You can call me Chan–wait, how old are you again?”

“I’m twenty one.”

“Just like Hana,” he smiles fondly, and you wonder who she is. “You can call me Chanyeol oppa, then.” he says.

“Oppa my ass.” Baekhyun snorts. “She doesn’t even call me oppa.”

“Well, then that’s your problem.” the doctor retorts.

“Are we done or not?” Baekhyun impatiently asks.

“Here,” the doctor passes you a piece of paper to be handed to the pharmacy. “Get well soon, pretty.”

“Thank you, oppa.” you tease and burst into giggles when Baekhyun groans.

He looks at you with a frown. “I’m older than you too, why don’t you ever call me oppa?”

You shrug. “Maybe because you don’t behave like an oppa to me.”

The doctor sniggers at that, while Baekhyun scowl. “How does an oppa behave exactly?”

“Like a man? I guess.”

He raised his brows. “You’re saying I behave like a child?”

You shot him a playful grin, only to gasp when he hooks his foot on the leg of your stool and drag you to him. With his arms touching yours now, he’s close enough to lean his mouth next to your ear. “Should I take you home and show you how manly I can be?” He whispers.

Chanyeol must have heard it because he is spluttering non-stop now. “The fuck, Baekhyun...” he mutters in between his coughs.

You face turns bright as a tomato, and you slap him across his chest in retribution. Baekhyun grins at your embarrassment. “Let’s go home, baby.” He takes your hand in his and walk you towards the door.

“Baekhyun,” the doctor calls just as he is about to open the door.

Baekhyun drops his hand and turns around to face his friend. “Yeah?”

“Hana is back,” Chanyeol says.

A tense silence follows as you glance between the two males.

“How is she doing?” Baekhyun asks, his tone sounding so serious that it’s making you more curious. Who is she? A friend perhaps?

“She’s doing good.” Chanyeol says. “We should catch up soon. You free to join us for the gathering this Sunday at Jongin’s place?”

You look at Baekhyun to expect his answer. His quietness shows that he is unsure, or perhaps reluctant.

“It’s been awhile, Baek, she really misses you.” Chanyeol persuades. “Sehun and the rest will be there too.”

“Okay…” Baekhyun agrees. “I’ll be there.”

You glance at Baekhyun as he leads you out of the room. His demeanour seems to change and he’s unusually quiet. Unable to contain your curiosity any longer, you ask, “Who’s Hana?”

“His little sister.” was all that he said. So you let your mind wander to this person named Hana. You can imagine her being beautiful, just like his handsome brother. You wonder what her relationship is like with Baekhyun, and why was he reluctant to accept Chanyeol’s invitation for dinner earlier. Did something happen between the two?

As curious as you are, you also know it is none of your business. If Baekhyun wants you to know, he will tell you about it. So you set those thoughts aside and heads to the pharmacy to collect your meds.

The sky is turning dark when you leave Chanyeol’s clinic. Whatever the doctor injected into your body must’ve worked wonders because you are already feeling less lethargic when Baekhyun leads you to his car. As he drives, you relax in your seat and take in the sleek interior of his Aston Martin.

“You have a nice car,” you absent-mindedly say as you smooth your hand over the dash of the supercar.

“Do you want one?” he asks, turning to you to hear your answer.

“Wh-what?” you squeak. How could he ask such a question so casually? This car must cost a fortune. But again, this man is crazy rich. “No,” you hurry to add. “I don’t even know how to drive.”

“You can learn.” he says.

Getting a driver’s listen is actually in your bucket list this year. You feel a bubble of excitement at the possibility of checking that list. “Will you…teach me?” you sounded unsure, considering how busy he is these days.

“Of course.” he says. “How about we start this Sunday?”

You can’t contain your excitement when you say, “Yes.”

He smiles at that, and then he parts his mouth to say something but then closes it again. You watch as hesitation move over his feature, like he’s thinking of something he is unsure how to voice out.

“What is it, Baek?” you prod.

“Do you want to come with me this Sunday night?”

“The dinner Chanyeol invited you to?” you tilt your head in question, and he confirms with a nod. You then ask, “Do you want me to come?”

“I’d be happy if you could, but I know being around too many people makes you uncomfortable so you don’t have to say yes if you don’t want to. I want you to be comfortable.”

You smile at his rambling, and he must’ve realized it too because he is smiling a slightly shy smile while putting his hand on the back of his neck. Something you’ve never seen before, something refreshing and so very endearing.

“Yes, Baekhyun, I’ll be there with you.” you say willingly, because even if you know you’d be so anxious on that day, you also know Baekhyun will be there.

He offers a grateful smile in return. “Thank you.”

The car fell into an easy silence again and you stare out of the window, savoring the night view of the city lights. There’s something romantic about it, and you swear you feel that giddiness every time you catch Baekhyun’s gaze through the reflection on the side window as he secretly glance at you.

When the car stops at a traffic, you felt the warmth of Baekhyun’s hand on your thigh that startles you. Your eyes move down to his hand, then up to find his eyes on you.

“What do you want for dinner?” He asks while tapping his index finger on your skin.

Amidst your nervousness, you will yourself to think and answer him. “Can we get McDonald’s?”

“You’re still sick, baby.” He gives your thigh a tender squeeze. “Let’s get something healthier, okay?”

You almost start to hyperventilate on the spot. You didn’t know what has changed or if it means anything at all, but he has been extra affectionate with you today. All the physical contact and endearment, they feel so intimate, and it is making your stomach flip inside out.

“Should we get something soupy instead?” He asks, drawing you out of your trance. “I know a place that sells good Samgyetang.”

“Yeah.” you nod. “Sounds good.”

Baekhyun admits he is being unusually touchy with you today. But he knows at this point he has nothing to lose. Time is running out, and with him not knowing how these three weeks will end, he doesn’t want to waste the little time he has left with you.

He is not going to deny that his feelings for you has grown (even more in the past hours he spent with you). Which is why he needs to know if you are okay with all these advances he made, because eventually, he would want more. First, he wants to kiss you. Then, he wants to take you to his bed and do all the wild things he has been dreaming of doing to you.

Baby steps, Baekhyun He reminds himself You don’t want to scare her away.

Currently, you and Baekhyun are in the lift heading up to the Korean restaurant at the top floor of the building. He stares down at his hand that is holding yours. “Truth or Dare.” He initiates.

You glance up at him and smile softly. It warms his heart because he knows you must’ve missed playing this silly game as much as he does.

“Dare.” You choose.

It’s not the answer Baekhyun expected you to say, but that’s alright. He has an idea. With a slow smirk spreading across his face, he says, “Call me Baekhyun oppa.”

You made a face of disgust at his request. “I change my mind. Truth.”

Even better Baekhyun thought. He stares down at the intertwined hands again. “Do you like it?” He lifts your hands up to his chest. “This, me holding your hand. Do you like it?”

You take a while to think, possibly wrestling with different answers in your head. But eventually, you nod and mutter a soft, “Yes.”

Baekhyun feels like he has just been handed a trophy. I love holding your hand too He wants to shout it out loud and jump in victory, but that would be so fucking weird. God, this girl is really driving me crazy. Who would’ve thought a guy like him would get so thrilled over a simple hand-holding? It’s not even sex for fuck sake. He chuckles and shakes his head at himself.

You give him a quizzical frown. “You okay there?”

“Do you miss Uni?” He dodges your question quickly. “Your friends...they are all in Japan right?”

“I do. I miss the learning, but I don’t miss living in Japan.” You smile a slightly sad smile. “It’s rather lonely there.”

Something about that breaks his heart a little. He doesn’t want you to be lonely. “What about your friends?”

“I only have one close friend. Her name is Sera.” there’s fondness in your voice when you mention her name. “But she is not taking the same classes as me, so we don’t get to see each other often. We call each other everyday though.”

“That’s good,” Baekhyun smiles. “You’ll get to make more friends this Sunday. Sehun and the rest...they will probably bring their girlfriends along.”

You look unsure, and he can tell you’re doubting yourself again.

“They are all good people,” He assures. “You’ll like them, and I know they’ll like you too.” Just like I do.

You smile meekly. “I hope so.”

Do you know that feeling you get when you are in the last chapter of a good book? That longing for more? That feeling of not wanting to say goodbye?

You feel the same way when you walk down the hallway towards your room with Baekhyun beside you. Though it is rather presumptuous of you to say, you’d like to believe that Baekhyun feels the same way too. Because even if he isn’t talking, he is walking at a slower pace than usual, as if he doesn’t want to say goodbye to you, and to this night.

Today had been a special one for the both of you. A lot has happened in the past hours spent together. And if there’s one thing you realize, you realize that your feelings for Baekhyun are growing. There’s no point denying it anymore because it is there. Although you can’t help the fear that grips you every time you think about the possibility of him leaving. But is it so wrong to hope for a happy ending? For once, you just want to throw caution to the wind and enjoy what is given to you in this moment.

“We’re here,” Baekhyun announces as we reach the end of the hallway where your room is at.

You turn to stare up at him. “Thank you for today.” you smile, leaving a moment of still silence before you add, “And dinner...I had a great time.”

“Me too.”

The silence continue to stretch as he drops his gaze to your mouth and lingers. The butterflies in your belly started flapping their wings all at once. You watch as he swallows and somewhere inside, you’re hoping he would kiss you or make a move of some sort.

But...

He lifts his gaze and let go of your hand. “You should get some rest.”

You feel a pang of disappointment at the sudden loss of contact. You’re confused. One moment he is being all touchy, and the next moment he is pulling back like this.

“I’m going for a swim,” He says. “I’ll be at the pool if you need me.”

You force a smile. “Good night, Baekhyun.”

“Sleep well.”

You enter your room and close the door behind you, exhaling. What was this sudden awkwardness and hesitation between us? You wonder to yourself as you walk into the bathroom.

After a long shower, you get in bed and try to get yourself to sleep but your mind doesn’t seem to allow you to. You are still confused, and frustrated. And as you lay there in silence, it suddenly occurs to you that there is a possibility Baekhyun might think you’re inexperienced when it comes to sex. You remember him asking about it before; if you’re a virgin, and you had refused to answer. He must’ve thought so, of course, considering how you always get all shy and jitterish everytime he touches you.

You sit up in bed, a hopeful smile spreading across your face when every thought in your head seems to fall into place. So this why Baekhyun has been so unsure to make a move. Because he doesn’t want to scare you off. Because he is waiting for you to be ready. Something warm moves through your chest. What a sweet soul he is. Has he always been this way? Or are you only discovering this side of him because you’ve fallen for him?

You hop off the bed, feeling unsure and nervous, yet there’s this longing so deep that it is making your heart pounds. You’ve never moved so fast in your life as you hurry to change into your nude colored bathing suit before putting on a bath robe. You give your appearance a quick check in the mirror before striding out of your room. Rushing down the stairs, you ponder through the things you are going to say to Baekhyun when you see him. In the midst of your nervousness, you can’t think of anything. So you can only hope that you’ll find the right words to say when you see him, soon.

The sliding door that leads to the backyard pool is left slightly ajar. You hear the splashing sound of the water as you step out into the open. The backyard is slightly dim but you easily catch sight of Baekhyun’s naked back. Your gaze slides along his bare shoulders, and you feel your stomach clenches at how broad his physique is. He has his upper arms stretched along the pool ledge, staring thoughtfully up at the starry sky. You wonder what, or who is in his mind at this very moment, and you find yourself praying that it is you he is thinking about.

You glance down at yourself. Your hands, they are slightly trembling as you untie the knot of your robe, letting it fall freely over your shoulders to the ground. Staring down at your semi-naked self, doubt washes over you instantly. What if Baekhyun doesn’t like what he sees. You are sure he has been with many women before, and for a guy as attractive as him, he must have high standards.

You feel the sudden urge to run away, back into your bedroom and hide, but it’s too late now, because when you lift your head, you realize Baekhyun is already staring.

Your breath catches when you meet his eyes. He stares at your feature first, then slowly, his gaze drops and drags down your body, drinking every inch of you. The air around you suddenly feels so thick, and your heart nearly bursts as you watch the lump in his throat rises and falls.

You clear your throat softly to get him to look at your face, and he did. There are tenderness mixed with desire in his eyes, and you’re both thrilled and unsure. “Can I join you?” your voice came out soft.

Baekhyun takes a moment to process your question, then he says, “The water is freezing, baby, I don’t want you to get sick again.”

You press the back of your hand on your neck, checking your body temperature. “My fever has gone down. I’m feeling much better now.”

“Get in then.” He says, turning his head around to face the water again.

You walk over to the poolside and lower yourself into a squatting position. Baekhyun feels your presence close to him that made him turn his head towards you again. He keeps his eyes on you as you dip your legs into the water before sliding your body in. The water rises all the way to your collarbone and you shiver at the sudden cold sensation that runs through your body.

“Told you it’s cold,” Baekhyun mumbles. “Come here.” He reaches for your hand underwater and move you to stand with your back to him. Butterflies take flight in your stomach. What surprises you the most is when he wraps his arms around your waist as he hugs you from behind. “Better?” His low whisper sounded in your ear.

“Yeah,” you breathe, and despite your racing heart, you let your body relax in his hold.

“I was hoping you’d come and you did.” he rests his chin on top of your head. “Did you read my mind, hmm?”

You huff softly. “I can feel you calling my name from up there.”

Baekhyun chuckles. “Why did you come here though? Can’t sleep?”

You hum, leaving a beat of silence before you confess, “I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

“Me too.” He says. “I think about you all the time.”

You let out a soft breath as a soft smile tugs at your lips. Here in the quiet, the beating of his heart sounded so clear in your ears, and so do yours. Glancing to your side and up, you find him gazing up at the sky again, seemingly in deep thoughts. In the dimness of the night, the moonlight is illuminating his feature, strands of wet hair fall over his forehead, and you take the opportunity to study his handsome face. Baekhyun must’ve felt you staring because he is lowering his gaze to look at you now. You suddenly feel shy by his closeness, by the soft way he is staring at you.

“What did you do these few days when I was gone?” He asks out of nowhere, the question random as if he’s trying to defuse the thick tension in the air.

“I did a lot of thinking and worrying...” you huff and shake your head.

He turns you around to make you look at him. “Worrying about what?”

Your answer might come off silly to him but you decided to be honest. “I thought you were purposely avoiding me because of the kiss that we shared…because you didn’t enjoy kissing me.”

A frown marred his expression. “That’s what you were worrying about?”

You show him a small embarrassed smile before dropping your gaze to stare at his chest. “Silly, I know.”

Baekhyun grips your chin and gently tilt your head up, making you look at him again. “That might not be the best kiss, I know, but I enjoyed it.” He claims. “I enjoyed kissing you so much I want to do it again,” He lowers his gaze to your mouth and swipes the back of his thumb over your bottom lip. “I want to do it now...if you’d let me...”

You blink up at him, the surprise causes your lips to part a little. Baekhyun gazes at you expectantly, waiting for your approval. Then you nod, and that small gesture brings a soft smile to his face. He leans closer and weaves his fingers through your hair. Your eyes flutter close and the butterflies take flight in your stomach when he presses his lips on your lips.

Unlike the first time he kissed you, his mouth is moving more skillfully, more firmly this time. You slide your hands up to the back of his neck and return his kiss with equal passion. He groans into your mouth, the tip of his tongue sweeps across the seam of your lips, and you part your mouth in an invitation. Without hesitation, his tongue slides into your mouth to meet yours, and you made a whimpering sound when he bit down on you lower lip, tugging at it as he groans.

His hold around your waist turns bruising and he roughly turns you around to back you against the pool wall. You gasp when he presses his body closer to you, his hands sliding down from your waist to the back of your thighs. You instinctively wrap your legs around his hips, and your chest emerges from the water with the elevation. His hard-on is now positioned against your womanhood, and your body reacts in pure instinct, grinding yourself against him with no inhibition.

He grunts into your mouth and from there, the kiss quickly turns wet and dirty. You continue grinding yourself against him, and soon the ache between your leg is getting unbearable. You need more, but to your dismay, Baekhyun pulls his mouth away from you

You blink at him, panting and confused. “W-why did you stop?”

His face is contorted as though he is restraining himself from something. What though?

“If we don’t stop,” he says, his voice a hoarse whisper. “I’ll end up fucking you in this pool and I can’t promise I’ll be gentle.”

“It’s okay!” your answer came so quick it surprises him. You bit your lips in a shy smile. “I mean...you don’t have to be gentle with me, Baekhyun.”

“I don’t want to hurt you...”

You smooth your hands over his bare chest, feeling his heartbeat under your fingertips. His eyes flared, and it's making your heart drums with nervous excitement. “I don’t know if you know this but I’m not a virgin anymore, so you don’t have to, you know, hold back with me.”

Baekhyun looks more amused than surprised by your admission. The corner of his lips curled up into a grin. “Are you telling me you like it hard, baby?” Your cheek flares up and he lets out a huff when he notices it. “Is that why you came to me wearing this?” He lowered his gaze to your bathing suit.

You nod. “Do you like it?”

“I’ve never seen anything so beautiful,” One of his hands hikes up your waistline, cupping your breast before tugging the neckline of your bathing suit to the side until your nipple is exposed. You swallow heavily. “You’re too good to be true, baby...” He glances up, watching you with heated eyes as he rubbed his thumb over your bud. “Do you like it when I touch you here?” He ended his question with a light pinch on your bud.

You expel a soft moan and Baekhyun takes it as a yes. He keeps his piercing gaze on you as he lowers his head to take your nipple into his hot mouth, his tongue twirling around the tip, teasing you for a while before he draws it in between his teeth in one long pull.

“B-baekhyun...” you squeeze your legs tighter around his hips, feeling his erection poking deeper against your woman parts.

The friction coaxes a low grunts out of him. He lifts his head from your chest to meet your gaze, his eyes smoldered with desire. His free hand is now coasting along your inner thigh, hiking up until his thumb is pressing over your underwear. He pulled the hem aside to reveal your pussy. “What about this?” He starts to rub his thumb over your clit continuously in a tormentingly slow manner.

”More...” you beg breathily. “Please…aah,” a moan slips when he thrusts two fingers inside you, keeping his eyes on you as he fulfills your wish for more. Your inner wall clenches around his digit with each push.

“So tight…” he murmurs low under his breath as he works his finger in and out of you in a lazy manner. “How long has it been since the last time you’re fucked, baby?”

Through your your lust-filled haze, you can’t even bring yourself to think. So you thoughtlessly mutter a “it’s been a while.” to answer him.

His free hand trails from the side of your neck, up, to cup your face. “So delicate and beautiful,” his voice thick, brimming with lust as he caresses your cheekbone. “makes me want to protect you and ruin you all at the same time,” he let out deep chuckles. “Is that even possible?”

His hand disappears into your hair, and he leans in to kiss you sweet and slow, while his other hand continues to fuck your pussy, as sweet and slowly as his kiss. Although his touch brings pleasure to your body, it isn’t enough to relieve that overwhelming ache between your legs, if possible, it only worsens it, making you more needy and desperate. So needy you start whining and moaning to beg for more. So desperate you start rocking your hips against his fingers to take control.

Baekhyun’s fingers make a fist around your hair and he tugs it back, making your lips to detach from his. He looks into your eyes, his gaze dark and intense. “Stop it or I’ll stop.” He warns you.

You still and nod timidly, surprised to discover this dominant side of him, but even more surprised by your own submission. You didn’t know you have it in you, considering how much you despise him ordering you around. But maybe it’s different during sex, because you find it such a turn on when he takes control like this.

“Good girl,” Baekhyun whispers his praise over your mouth. “Now tell me what you want.”

You drop your gaze to the hard-on underneath his black swim shorts. Although you can’t see it well due it being underwater, you can feel it damn well and Baekhyun gets the message. He hums and pulls his fingers out of your tight hole, causing a small gasp to fall from your lips. You loosen your thighs around his hips so he could remove his swim shorts. Your breathing slows when he wraps his fingers around the base of his cock. His jaw clenched as he gives it a few pumps before he slaps it hard over your pussy, drawing a lewd purr out of you.

Baekhyun brings his eyes up to stare at you, his dark pupils dilating. “I was planning to take it nice and slow today,” He starts rubbing the tip of his cock over your slit and watches as you squirm against him. “But you...God, you are one hell of a temptation to resist, aren’t you?”

“Baekhyun, please...” your breath comes out ragged. “I-I don’t think I can take it any–Ahh!” the air is knocked out of you when he roughly slams his cock into you, stretching you so good you cry out a lewd sound of pleasure. You feel so full you can barely breathe, and he isn’t even fully inside you yet.

Baekhyun drops his head to your shoulder and you feel his warm, heavy pants fanning against your skin. “Baby, you’re so tight my cock can barely fit,” Baekhyun breathe out harshly and moans when you unconsciously squeeze around his cock. He lifts his head from your shoulder and plants his hand on the pool edge on each side of you.

Your heart nearly beats out of your chest when Baekhyun holds you in his gaze. His jaw is tight and you notice the bulging veins around his neck. He looks so masculine, so thoroughly turned-on, and knowing that it is you who made him like this gives you a sense of ease and a little boost of confidence. Feeling bolder now, you lean forward to put you mouth close to his ear. “Baekhyun...” you whisper, parting your lips to pull his earlobe in between your teeth. “Fuck me, please, I can’t wait any longer....”

“Jesus,” He curses roughly. And when you lean back to stare at him, the heat in his brown eyes are growing hotter. “Where is this side of you coming from?”

You chew your bottom lip through a smile. “I think you bring it out of me.”

“Fuck, you’re so hot,” he says hoarsely, moaning a little when your pussy clenched around his cock. “Hold on to me, baby.” He orders, so you do as told, sliding your hands up and slinging them around his shoulder. He presses his lips in a thin line as he slides his cock out of you, leaving just the tip inside you. And with a grunt, he slams his cock deep inside you, until you are hugging every throbbing inch of him. Your fingers dig into his back in a reflex as he lets out a low guttural sound from the back of his throat.

He leans forward to capture your mouth in a hard kiss, and then he is pounding into you, driving his dick deep inside you mercilessly. It almost feels like he’s going to rip you apart because he is so big, and you’d never been fucked so hard like this. With each thrust, the water sloshes all around and you are pushed harder against the wall. You are a mess of moans and whimpers, and if it wasn’t for the kiss that’s muffling your lewd voice, you’ll likely wake the housekeepers from their slumbers.

“How does my cock make you feel?” He whispers through a husky groan as he pumps his thick length in and out of you.

“So good,” you say breathlessly over his mouth. “You make me feel so good, Baekhyun.”

His thrusts is becoming quicker and harder now. He is fucking you as if he is losing control of himself, like he’s a wild animal let loose of its cage. A beast unleashed. And it wasn’t long until you feel that knot coiling up in your stomach.

“Baekhyun,” you panted heavily. “I-I’m close.”

“I know, baby,.” He slips his hand under your stomach. He presses his thumb on your clit and pulls back to watch as he starts rubbing it aggressively. “Come, come for me.”

A cry; almost a scream tears out of you as your body quakes and shudders against him. Your walls are convulsing around him but he didn’t stop pounding his cock into you. Soon enough, you feel him swelling inside you as his orgasm nears. His long, guttural groan sounded in your ears, and with one last thrust, he jerks against you and unloads his cum into your pussy.

“Fuck,” Baekhyun grunts harshly before he slumps into you. He drops his head to your shoulder as breathes heavily. Your thighs loosen around his hips and you drop your legs to the pool tiles, too languid to hold them up.

As you try to moderate your breathing, reality begins to sink. Baekhyun has just cummed inside of you, without protection. Fear grips you tight in your chest.

“Baekhyun,” you pat on his back and speak into his ear. “we didn’t use a condom.”

He lifts his head, his chest inflating and deflating as he tries to regain his composure. “Don’t worry, I’m clean.” He finally says.

“It’s not that,” you explain. “I’m not on the pill.”

Baekhyun considers it calmly, as if you didn’t just tell him the ‘news’ most men fear the most. “One time is probably okay.” He assures. “But if you ended up pregnant, I promise I’ll take care of you...and our baby.”

Your heart soars. “Our baby?” you voice out softly, half in disbelief, half liking how the words sounded when he said it.

“I just filled my sperm in your vagina, whose baby would it be if its not ours?”

Your body shook as you laugh. No one you know has ever used the word ‘sperm’ and ‘vagina’ in a sentence. God, you really adore this funny and sexy man. You give him a smile. “You know it’s funny how we do things the reverse way.”

“Reverse way?”

You nod. “Usually, people fall in love first before they get married and make babies, but for us...it’s the other way around.”

“I don’t think so,” Baekhyun disagrees. “Because I think I’ve passed the first step.”

“First step?” you ask. “What do you mean?”

His answer is to lean in and kiss you. Sweet and softly. A complete opposite to the wild pool sex the two of you just had. The kiss lasted for a while before he pulls back to stare at you. His eyes hold so much emotion that it is making your heart rate goes overdrive.

“When I got home today,” He starts. “for a moment there, I had this bad feeling that you were gone, that you left me… and I...it broke my heart.” the expression in his eyes is something close to pain. “I know we don’t have much time together, and I know if you decide not to marry me, I can’t force you to stay…but if you leave, baby...I’d be so broken because you,” He sucks in a shaky breath. “You’re starting to mean everything to me.”

You’re starting to mean everything to me…

He…

Your eyes roam over his face to search for any trace of mischief, or deception maybe, but there’s none. He is being truthful. God. You are hit by a wave of emotions so intense you know you will likely burst into tears. “I...” Your lips part and unpart, trying to form a word but nothing comes out.

A look of understanding laces his eyes and he smiles. “It’s okay, baby. You don’t have to say anything if you’re not ready.”

Unlike Baekhyun, you are not someone who is good at expressing your feelings. But he has just shown you parts of him, and you know it is only right if you do too.

“I can’t give you an answer yet because...I honestly don’t know it myself,” you explain. “Marriage is a big thing and I need time to figure things out, Baek.” your hand moves up to cup his face. “What I can tell you is, you mean something to me, and the thought of losing you scares me too.”

That brings a hopeful smile to his face. “Does it mean you’ll stay?” He asks.

“Yes, Baekhyun.” you return his smile. “I’ll stay as long as you want me to.”

Next Chapter

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