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yellowocaballero · 4 years ago

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Jon's Trapped in Temporal Time-Out: A TMA Time Travelling Tale

Sasha was tipping some whiskey from her secret flask into her tea when Tim poked his head into the breakroom and announced that he had found a corpse.

Sasha and Martin, hunched over their paltry lunches and pathetic lives situated upon a rickety metal breakroom table and equally rickety metal chairs, stared at him.

“Like,” Sasha said finally, “a human one?”

Tim shrugged. “Humanoid? I didn’t want to poke it and see if it was fleshy, so I guess the jury’s out.”

Hm. Sasha put her flask away. The day was no longer boring, so it was unnecessary.

The most relevant questions ought to be asked first. “Should we tell Jon?”

“He might throw a bitch fit about how corpses are unhygienic, so no?”

Martin drained his tea and stood up from the rickety metal chair, resigned. “I’ll get the broom.”

I kept on bitching about how much I dislike the beginning scenes of TMA time travelling AUs so my friend @lazuliquetzal (who wrote the best TMA time travelling fic in the fandom) told me to put my money where my mouth is. It’s nowhere near her level, but in my defense it’s probably even stupider than Reflection. 10K of stupid under the cut.

Sasha was tipping some whiskey from her secret flask into her tea when Tim poked his head into the breakroom and announced that he had found a corpse.

Sasha and Martin, hunched over their paltry lunches and pathetic lives situated upon a rickety metal breakroom table and equally rickety metal chairs, stared at him.

“Like,” Sasha said finally, “a human one?”

Tim shrugged. “Humanoid? I didn’t want to poke it and see if it was fleshy, so I guess the jury’s out.”

Hm. Sasha put her flask away. The day was no longer boring, so it was unnecessary.

The most relevant questions ought to be asked first. “Should we tell Jon?”

“He might throw a bitch fit about how corpses are unhygienic, so no?”

Martin drained his tea and stood up from the rickety metal chair, resigned. “I’ll get the broom.”

****

There was, indeed, a corpse in the Archives.

More specifically, in the stacks. The worst place to die, or least be dumped. Sasha had to admit the logic of it: it was the darkest depths of the library that Martin had informed her was ‘somewhat creepy’ and ‘kind of ominous’ so ‘please stop sleeping there you’re going to give me a heart attack’. After Martin flipped on a few lights that were never flipped on (apparently Elias was a cheapskate, which explained the breakroom) they could all gawk at the corpse to their heart’s content.

Very kindly and thoughtfully, Tim asked Martin if he wanted to stay out of the library and maybe to ‘tell someone’ or something. Both Sasha and Tim had mutually and silently agreed that Martin seemed the type to have a delicate constitution. Granted, he hadn’t seemed the type to win Magnus Anarchist every month by breaking into abandoned buildings with absolutely no shame, so maybe he was the kind that surprised you.

But Martin had just looked a little unimpressed. “Do you seriously think this is my first corpse? I went to university.”

That somewhat intimidated Sasha, who abruptly worried that she had missed out on an essential university experience again. “Is that a typical university experience?”

Martin paused a beat.

“Uh,” he said, “yeah, sure, of course. Hazing, you know.”

“Is that what hazing…?”

“Fraternities.”

Tim, from where he had been standing at the entrance to the stacks snapping on the sterile gloves he had liberated from the cleaning supply closet, looked delighted. “You were in a frat too, Martin? What kind of hardcore frat had corpse hazings? Was it the Sigma Gammas? My frat always thought they were way too crazy, but we were a business one -”

“You know what,” Martin said, “let’s just worry about the corpse.”

After Sasha tied her hair in a ponytail and Martin snapped on his own gloves, they awkwardly approached the aisle where Tim had been trying to find a reference book for Jon. Sasha was worried that they would have to hunt for it a little, or that there would be a bad jump scare, but when they found it she saw that it wasn’t subtle at all.

It was sprawled on the ground, face mashed into the cheap and somewhat gross carpet. Sasha approached it with absolutely no hesitation, which Tim and Martin gladly let her do, and squatted down to get a better look at the figure.

She definitely needed to make a coroner’s report. She was the objective expert in coroner’s reports.

“Tim, can you run back and get one of Jon’s silly little tape recorders for my coroner’s report?”

“Did you just see that on the telly?” Tim asked skeptically. “Because if you did -”

“Oh, here one is. That’s really convenient!” Martin grabbed one off the shelf and pressed play, letting the tape roll. “Good idea, Sasha. We need proof to Jon that we were researching.”

Probably...not what Jon meant for them to be researching, but Sasha liked to believe that it was the intent that mattered. She pulled a pencil out of her pencil skirt pocket, poking the figure thoughtfully. “Report by Sasha James, Archival Assistant.” There, now it was work. “At 1:30pm today, Tim Stoker discovered a corpse in the Archives, thereby referred to as John Doe -”

“Do we have to call it John Doe?” Tim complained, standing next ot her and crossing his arms. “Then we have too many Johns, it’ll get confusing.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Sasha said dismissively. “Ours is Jon, this guy’s John. Completely different.”

“Sasha, I’m not sure that’s how words work.”

“What are you, an English major?”

“Yes! I was an editor for a living!”

“Sorry if I don’t listen to guys who were fired from book editing school -”

“Uh,” Martin said, “have we checked to see if he’s actually dead?”

Sasha and Tim fell silent. Sasha looked at Tim. Tim shook his head.

“Seriously, mate?” Sasha asked, unimpressed.

“I didn’t want to touch the corpse!” Tim cried. “So sue me! It’s not as if he’s moving!”

Pussy. Sasha gently reached out and pushed aside a little of the corpse’s very long and pretty curly hair. What was that, 3C? Jesus, that had to be work. Sasha was 3A and the amount of hair care products she owned was insane.

She waved her hand at the boys for silence and put her thumb against his pulse, concentrating hard. Martin quietly walked over and crouched down too, eyeing his chest.

“I don’t feel a pulse,” Sasha said finally.

“Also, uh, I’m not a doctor,” Martin said, “but he’s definitely not breathing.”

“I told you,” Tim said defensively. “You just look at the thing, and you go - yep, that’s a corpse!”

“Corpse appears to be an ethnically ambiguous adult man with very nice hair,” Sasha said loudly. Martin helpfully held out the recorder to catch her voice better. “Maybe 190cm. Incredibly skinny - potential cause of death. He’s dressed in...some very ratty clothing. Potentially homeless.”

“It definitely smells,” Tim said, pinching his nose. Sasha didn’t blame him - the clothing was an overlarge green hoodie, ratty and threadbare, and his jeans weren’t any better. His boots were worn and soft leather. “Maybe he’s a homeless guy who snuck in and died?”

“That’s so sad,” Martin said softly. “Also a little gross.”

“Have some respect for the dead, guys,” Sasha said, as she poked the dead guy with a pencil. “Tim, go flip him over.”

Tim held his hands up, stepping away. “I couldn’t possibly. Martin loves flipping people over.”

“This again?” Martin asked, frustrated. “This is just like when you made me handle the Rawlings case because you’re scared of the suburbs!”

“They have too many eyes, Martin!”

“I am surrounded by cowards,” Sasha noted for the recorder. Nothing for it, then. Sasha carefully straightened, wobbling on her heels, before solidly wiggling her hands underneath the corpse’s chest. He was cold - dead a while.

It was surprisingly difficult to flip over a limp adult man. Sasha was strong, but the corpse’s flesh was weak, and he was all floppy. Eventually Tim got over himself long enough to help her, making a very disgusted face the entire time, and they were able to finally get a good look at the man’s face.

Abruptly, upon seeing it, they all quieted.

There was something about seeing a man splayed out on the ground that was a little funny, if you worked for the Magnus Institute and had probably encountered a Leitener two years ago and lost all empathy. No more impediments in the search for science. But there was something very different about looking at a person, who had a nose and lips and a very ratty hoodie, and knowing that it was no longer a person. Just a lot of cloth and meat and blood and organs and nice hair that once was a person, back when things were easier and the world was a little less harsh.

But maybe Sasha was caught by sentimentality: after all, the corpse looked a little like Jon.

Judging from the stunned faces of her compatriots as they all bent around the figure, they all thought the same thing. Tim’s jaw was open, and Martin’s hand was covering his mouth in shock.

“Man,” Tim said. “This sucks. And it’s really creepy.”

“He must have been really gorgeous,” Martin said. “That’s so sad.”

Actually, Sasha tilted her head and took another look. He had sharp and severe features, elegant and striking. A large and thin, sharp nose, and equally sharp lips. His face was just as sharp and gaunt, as emancipated as the rest of him. He had strange scars trailing up his neck and curving around his jaw, but it just kind of accentuated the intense atmosphere.

It was probably a pretty stupid thing to focus on, but in her defense it wasn’t really the face of a homeless guy. Well, maybe. Hot homeless people existed.

Sasha frowned. She’s only met one other person this hot.

“Hey,” she said, “doesn’t he look like Jon?”

Both the men titled their heads.

Finally, Tim said, “Nah, he’s hotter.”

“Agreed,” Sasha said. “I think the scars really do it.”

“Uh, guys,” Martin said.

Sasha grabbed her tape recorder out of Martin’s hands, resuming her coroner’s report. “Subject appears to be in his thirties. Weirdly attractive, but that’s probably not as important as we feel it is.” She looked down at his hands, carefully using her pencil to push up the sleeve. “What looks like an aged and badly healed burn scar on his right hand. Supports homeless guy evidence.”

“Knife scar over his throat,” Tim quietly observed. “Someone tried to kill this guy.”

“Guys,” Martin said.

“Well, I guess this is the point where we worry about body disposal,” Sasha said, straightening. “I think Elias could handle this discreetly and professionally, but that might involve letting Jon know. And I don’t think any of us want that kind of stress in our lives.”

“So, are we not even pretending to want to call the cops, or…?”

“Listen to me!”

Both Tim and Sasha shut up, somewhat guiltily. Martin had straightened too, fists balled, looking firm and determined and resolute - everything that Martin wasn’t, really. Martin lived unsure of himself, never expressing his own feelings or ending every opinion with an “I don’t know, maybe, that’s just my thoughts, what do you think?”.

So Tim and Sasha paid attention, and when Sasha nodded encouragingly at him he seemed to find further courage. Solemnly, with the air of a wise man by the side of the road, Martin said, “This guy isn’t hotter than Jon.”

Christ. Sasha takes it all back.

Tim propped a hand on his hip supportively as Sasha rolled her eyes. “Look, mate,” Tim said, “I know that you think Jon’s the hottest person in existence, and maybe objectively he’s fine as hell, but once you know him for longer than three months he loses all attractiveness. It would be like being into the DMV clerk. The really pretentious cousin at all of your family reunions who tries to explain your own job to you. The dude in your English class who thinks he invented feminism.”

“That was you,” Sasha said.

“I am the objective expert in Jon,” Martin said firmly, shutting down the dissent. “He’s, like, my muse, okay? And can I say, as I have spent so many long hours memorizing the curve of his jaw - that’s the same jaw.”

If Sasha had a retort to that, or if Tim wanted to judge Martin for his taste in men further, neither of them had a chance. There wasn't an opportunity to say anything more, because the corpse opened its eyes.

Sasha’s first thought was this: wow, what green eyes.

Sasha’s second thought was: the fuck?

His eyes didn’t focus on her, or snap anywhere. They drifted a little lazily, fixed on the right, but the man was undoubtedly aware. His fingers twitched, he tilted his head from left to right, and his left hand - doubtlessly the hand that still felt texture - clenched the thin and cheap rug. The man’s jaw slackened a little, as if in surprise.

For their part, the Assistants frantically looked at each other, all conveying the exact same thought - you said he was dead!

Sasha froze to her spot, petrified. She could handle corpses, or coroner’s reports, or mysteries. Sasha was intelligent, unkind, firm, socially incompetent, and a Libra. She could handle the dead, but the living? Sasha had no idea what to do with alive people.

But Tim did. He hesitated two moments, reeling back in shock, before he abruptly composed himself. He crouched down to the guy, and modulated his voice to sound calming and firm. “Hey, don’t strain yourself. Are you alright? Do you hurt anywhere?”

The man turned his head in Tim's direction, hiding his expression from Sasha, but she saw Tim’s eyes widen. Martin, standing closer to his feet, wrung his hands - clearly torn on what to do, uncertain how to help. Martin always hated being uncertain how to help the most. Which was pretty unfortunate, because Martin always wanted to help, and Martin was always uncertain.

“Can you speak?” Tim asked gently. “If you can’t speak, go ahead and knock on the floor for me, okay?”

“If we pack him into your car, we can say that we found him on the street,” Sasha piped up. As much as she distrusted NHS, and as much as the NHS refused to touch anybody who had ever stepped foot inside the Institute, they could hardly refuse somebody if they just lied their ass off about it. “They’ll have to treat him then, right?”

“We could make it so much worse if we move him,” Martin said quickly, just as strangely firm. “We need to take our chances with 999.”

“We don’t even know if he’s injured,” Sasha pointed out, somewhat optimistically. “Maybe this whole thing can just, like, not be a problem.”

Yeah, Sasha definitely preferred corpses.

The man was opening and closing his mouth, before he coughed wetly. Sasha clinically noted that it was the first time she had seen his chest move. As Tim reached forward, murmuring gently, and helped the man sit up, she saw that his chest didn’t move at all.

“Alright, let’s try to get you up.” Tim helped the man shift so he was leaning against the bookcase - uncomfortable, but a better position if he started coughing up blood. “We should fetch you some water - Martin, I don’t think he has any injury like that, he just seems out of it. His eyes aren’t focusing on me at all.”

Strangely, the man scoffed at that. The sound made him cough again, but the derision was unmistakable.

The derision was extremely familiar.

When Sasha looked at Martin his eyes were wide behind his glasses, and she knew that he had heard the same thing that she did.

Finally, with a raspy and hoarse voice, the man said, “Well, isn’t this fucking fun.”

Everybody stared at him. His voice...different, definitely, with a less posh accent and strained vocal cords scratching his tones. But when Sasha glanced at Tim, she just knew that he was remembering when Jon had insisted on coming into work with a terrible cold and Martin had to bully him home. He had sounded eerily like…

“Is this your idea of a joke?” the man said.

Tim, from where he was crouched next to the guy, turned his attention back to him. “I’m a funny guy, but last time I checked head injuries aren’t a joke.” He tracked his finger across the man’s eyes, frowning when they didn’t follow. “You definitely have a concussion, mate. If you can walk, we need to -”

“Lord, alright, I get it.” The man raised his burned hand and clumsily rubbed his eyes. “You’re mad at me, I’m sleeping on the couch, whatever. Is all of this really necessary?”

“Uh,” Tim said intelligently. “Mate, I’m not your boyfriend.”

The man waved his other hand in Tim’s direction as he pressed his fingers into his eyes in exhaustion. “I’m hardly speaking to you.” Tim’s jaw dropped in shock as the man angled his face upwards, the crown of his head jamming uncomfortably against the metal shelving. “In my defense, I was doing the best I could with the resources you gave me. It’s water under the bridge. I’ve forgotten about it already! So let’s just get back to our eldritch hellscape.”

Everybody stared at each other.

“We should move this into the break room,” Martin said. “There’s tea there.”

“Oh, don’t be rude,” Jon said, “making Martin into a caricature of himself. You like Martin, you told me so.”

“Counterpoint,” Sasha said weakly, “the bullpen has Jon. And I really don’t want to explain this to Jon.”

“I don’t even know who this one is,” the man said. “What? Not going to tell me?”

“Okay, like, fucking rude, but whatever.”

“I don’t know who you’re talking to,” Tim said firmly, reaching out and putting a firm hand on the man’s arm. The man didn’t recoil or jerk away, just looking down in vague surprise. “But they aren’t here right now. You’re in the basement of the Magnus Institute, alright? I’m Tim Stoker, at your service, and these are my coworkers. I think you have a brain injury. If you can walk, we need to get you -”

“I can’t eat here,” the man said, but he made no effort to remove Tim’s arm. He moved his other hand, pressing it against Tim’s own, as if they were friends. “Cutting me off from my Knowledge -” it was capitalized, Sasha could hear it �� - chaining me to my desk, for - what? You’re not even answering me? Come on!” The man’s voice raised, and for the first time Sasha could hear something ragged in it. “Don’t give me the silent treatment!”

“Jon.”

It was Martin, standing at a distance from the man - from all of them. He was wringing his hands again, shoulders hunched and tense, but his expression was caught in that same mysterious firmness.

The man didn't react. Not in surprise, not in shock, not in unrecognition. He just scowled a little, ignoring all of them.

“Jon,” Martin said, louder. “This isn’t solving anything. Don’t be stubborn.”

“I’m not the one being stubborn, Martin,” Jon - Jon?! - muttered, folding his arms. Like an infant. Like, hypothetically, something Jon would do. “I just don’t think omniscient fear gods should be petty.”

Everybody looked at each other.

“This needs tea,” Martin proclaimed finally, and everybody nodded in silent agreement.

Every nodded in agreement - even, strangely enough, Jonathan Sims himself.

****

This plan had a few complexities.

The first complexity was dealing with Jon - their Boss - himself. In an act of cunning psychological warfare, Martin had gone ahead of them and used his endless and infinite subtle acts of manipulation to guarantee that Jon wouldn’t interrupt them. This situation was already Quite A Bit, nobody wanted to babysit their boss.

Who Sasha frequently felt as if she babysat a bit. Having the youngest person in the office be the very rigid and authoritarian boss was objectively a little funny. But you know what’s not funny? Transphobia.

Eventually Martin came back and waved them forward, and Tim gently yet firmly dragged the man upwards and put a hand on his back.

“Do you mind if I touch you?” Tim asked. He sounded resigned about it - barely expecting Jon to respond. “Let me know how you want me to guide you.”

“Oh, it’s whatever. If you’re going to play it this way.” Jon easily looped his arm through Tim’s, who didn’t bother to mask his shock. “Let’s just get this over with.”

Sasha went ahead of them, watching Tim walk Jon down the aisle - hah! - with his arm looped through his elbow and a hand on his back. It was exactly the kind of care and meticulousness that Sasha always saw in him when it came to others. He literally walked grannies across the street. It was horrendous. She got second-hand embarrassed whenever she saw it.

Tim was loudly, extremely, messily kind. He was a person who adopted lost causes, like young men too grumpy to make real friends and women who only knew academia and never people. Sasha told him that once he got his teeth into something he never let go. It would get him into trouble one day. Maybe it already had.

Sure enough, when Sasha opened the library door for them and peeked her head into the hallway, she saw that Jon’s office door was very firmly shut and locked. Even more incriminatingly, she heard his cute little theater drama monologues starting. Tim had found Jon’s theater aspirations very adorable and he had tried recording them to put on his Snapchat and maybe get him discovered by an agent, but unfortunately the videos made Tim’s phone bleed. They had given Martin ten pounds to taste the blood. Man would do anything for ten pounds, but seeing as they all worked this job that probably applied to all them.

A workplace made out of people who always picked ‘dare’ in truth or dare. It was kind of a miracle they were still alive. Sasha was a little uncertain how she had survived to thirty five, actually.

Once Sasha gave the all clear, Tim was able to bring Jon (Neo-Jon? Nega-Jon? Dark Jon? Mean Jon? No, that was just Jon) into the bullpen. Softly narrating what he was doing, he pulled out a chair and lowered Jon into it.

Homeless Jon hasn’t been blind for very long, Sasha noted clinically. Long enough that he seemed more mildly irritated by it than anything else, but instead of orienting himself or testing out where he was he just kind of slumped in his chair.

“Jon - uh, the Boss is taken care of?” Tim asked Martin, who was rapidly bustling into the bullpen with four cups of tea that he seemed to be under the impression would help. Tim had sat Homeless Jon in Martin’s chair, which seemed to fluster Martin a bit.

“Uh, yeah. Gave him a normal statement to get his guard down, then five of the - you know, weird - statements and said that he has to go through all of them today. He’ll be in there for an hour at least.”

Sasha frowned. “After two he gets a headache and gets bitchy.”

“Three o’clock exactly,” Tim said solemnly.

“Oh, leave off,” Homeless Jon said, “it wasn’t that bad.”

Everybody double taked and looked at each other significantly - which was quickly becoming their predominant mode of communication in a ruthless act of ableism. But Martin just held out a cup of tea, faltering as he clearly stopped to wonder the easiest way to give it to him.

“Can you hold out your hands, Jon? I have some tea for you. It’s hot, so be careful, okay?”

“If the tea’s spiders I’m going to take it out on Annabelle,” Weird Jon said, but he held out his hands anyway and let Martin put the mug in them. He sniffed it cautiously, checking for spiders, before taking a cautious sip.

To Sasha and Tim, Martin said, “I know, he’s going to fall asleep after two. I mean, it might be because I drugged his tea a little -”

Weird Jon spat out his tea back into the mug.

“ - so we shouldn’t be interrupted,” Martin said brightly, clapping his hands. “Now! I think it’s time for explanations, don’t you?” He turned his mighty gaze upon Thankfully Blind Jon, who was occupied carefully holding the tea away from himself. “Drink your tea, Jon.”

Jon drank his tea. His expression twisted. “It tastes just like his.”

Everybody looked at each other. Tim mouthed the word ‘time traveller’ very clearly. Both Sasha and Martin nodded. It was the obvious explanation.

“An explanation now, please,” Martin said pleasantly. “If you’re a time traveller, you can tell us. This is a safe space.”

Jon-from-the-future’s expression harshened in creases. He hadn’t once relaxed, expression permanently tightened in annoyance and disgruntlement. It was ridiculously Jon.

Definitely a time traveller. You didn’t work at the Magnus Institute without secretly spending your life deeply hoping you run into a time traveller. Every researcher upstairs secretly prayed to discover the majesty. Everyone in Artifact Storage eagerly gathered around mysterious clocks and dared each other to touch them. Sasha, Queen of Truth-or-Dare, was the undisputed expert in making other people touch weird clocks and recording their reactions.

“Fine,” Super Time Traveller Jon said. “I know this is what you want. Statement of a stupid punishment by the pettiest little color in the evil crayon box. Recorded by the Archivist, in situ. Statement begins.”

Wow, Jon still had his job in the future? That’s a surprise.

Martin was mouthing the word ‘evil crayon box’ to himself, looking increasingly concerned. The forgotten tape recorder, clenched in Sasha’s fist without her even realizing it, clicked and whirred.

Then the Archivist began to speak.

***

In the hazy amber of a memory, there exists an office.

You can see it clearly in your mind’s Eye, even now. You could likely navigate all of it blindfolded - which you now see that your god has the intention to test. Every corner of it is known to you, in the most subtle and mundane of ways. There’s a dust bunny in that corner, never tidied. A mysterious stain on the far right ceiling. The faint smell of blood, just under the vents. The hot waft of tea; your hands wrapped around a mug.

Through these lonely offices, ghosts roam. They cling to desks and chairs; lingering in favorite mugs or in forgotten hair ties. A metal file cabinet holding neat rows of clothing, blood-stained jackets abandoned. A whiteboard with stubborn flakes of dried marker, forgotten handwriting clinging to life. These imprints no longer evoke terror or grief or pain. They are as familiar as the bloodstains and tea. Even death, eventually, is familiar. After long enough in a nightmare, it becomes indistinguishable from reality.

There is nothing unfamiliar in the Magnus Institute.

Nothing save these voices, emerging from nothing. Every one of your six million senses have been cut off - your hundred eyes reduced to none. You are cognizant only of two familiar voices, and one unfamiliar one. A firm hand, with calloused fingers from leafing through aged paper. A creaky desk chair - Martin’s, undoubtedly, always squeaking as he fidgeted in distraction. The air tastes the same as it used to back then, before the AC broke and no repairman would step inside to repair it. Daisy did, eventually. Three familiar voices, rendered unfamiliar by the harsh tides of wind and cruel plastic hands.

You are afraid of very little, these days. In this world that you’ve built, there is nothing that can harm you. The twisted little puppet strung up in his tower has been long since been disposed of, and the awful and terrifying future has settled into a gentle present. The apocalypse grows tedious after a while, and the buffet of fears start tasting a little samey.

But if anything could frighten you, this would. If anything would petrify you, it would be Tim’s kind smile, which died a year before Tim did. If anything could freeze you to your chair, it would be the sight of Sasha with red-rimmed eyes asking why you never even noticed that she was gone.

The sanctuary of memory corrupted. A mental place of safety infiltrated. A mind turned inside out, exposing its vulnerable flesh to the world.

There is nothing else this could be but your own personal hell.

Your loyal servant crouches on bended knee, giving this final prayer to you. He asks, humbly and with great reverence, one simple question:

Why couldn’t this have waited until after I got my milk?

***

The spell ruptured.

It was almost tangible, like a change in air pressure making your ears pop. Sasha blinked harshly, rubbing at her ears and trying to soothe strange ringing. Tim exhaled heavily and Martin screwed his eyes open and shut harshly, as if he was seeing spots.

The only person unaffected was Weirdly Christian Jon, who was slumped in Martin’s chair with his arms folded over his chest. He was still looking at the ceiling - speaking to whoever he had been addressing this entire time.

“Just one day,” Jon was saying. “Just one day! It was going to be a nice day! We had decided to take a day trip to the Flesh garden and have a picnic! My darling and beautiful husband was going to make us a cake! ‘Walk down to the Hell corner store’, my husband says. ‘Pick us up some Eldritch milk’, he says. ‘Why do I have to do it’, I says, ‘I’m in the middle of something’. ‘We need cake for bridge night with the girls and I’ll divorce you if you don’t do it’, he says. I didn’t even change out of my nightmare pyjamas! What did I ever do to you? How are you still upset about the eye thing?”

Sasha and the Assistants, still digesting the extremely disturbing monologue, let him talk. Sasha was caught up in how it felt exactly like Jon’s little drama monologues. Granted, he had obviously gotten a lot more practice - guy could go to Broadway - but the weird lilting and falling sing-songyness was just the same. And he only ever did that for the very weird ones. The ones that they were pretty certain were actually true.

So that probably meant at one point in the future, if Jon was speaking about the Archives as if they had worked there for years. Probably during the apocalypse. Which was happening. Which Jon had...built? Like, as a personal thing, or in a metaphor for capitalism and the human race? Definitely the capitalism thing - Jon was prone to flights of filing-induced passion that sometimes accidentally resulted in a stapler flying and punching a hole through the wall, but she couldn’t even imagine him even purposefully punching someone, much less being the Antichrist. Unless it was one of those things that just happened to you, like a rare genetic defect.

“Seriously. What was the alternative here? Endless horrorterrors, everybody screaming all the time? It was boring. You eat one Statement about somebody standing in line at a slaughterhouse conveyor belt and you’ve eaten them all. I didn’t do it because I didn’t like you, although for the record I don’t. But you have to admit that having Eldritch Lidls are much more practical than just having a bunch of people lying around screaming all the time. It’s not as if I don’t have other eyes, I hardly miss them. There’s no chocolate cakes in the swirling vortex of mankind’s worst nightmares!”

Okay. They had to find a way to engage with this guy. He was completely ignoring them, probably because he thought that they were mean ghosts. Sasha was only one of those things, and it was hurting her feelings. Judging from the expression on Tim’s face he was thinking the same thing.

Or - wait, Sasha knew that eyebrow. That was the ‘please please please tell the apocalypse has zombies’ eyebrow. Great.

But Martin was just looking thoughtful again. Sasha was pretty proud of him - it was probably very difficult for the poor man to remain coherent in the face of the crazy time-traveller who was definitely hotter than their already objectively unfairly hot boss.

“Jon,” Martin said, cutting Jon’s tired rant about how eggs benedict were much better these days, “Uh, I have an idea? Maybe you can’t get out of the - nightmare by bargaining with it. Do you know how to normally escape these things?”

Jon angled his head down and frowned in Martin’s direction. So far Martin seemed to be the only person who could shut Jon up, which was a hilarious turnaround from normal life. Sasha hadn’t heard anything about Martin being a sad little ghost, but it was hard to believe that Martin was a survivor in the zombie apocalypse.

“You go through the statement and you walk through it,” Jon said, in a very ‘duh’ kind of way. “Give the statement, highfive corpses, whatever.”

“Right, right.” Martin wrung his hands, biting at his lip. “So maybe it’s like that. Maybe instead of asking to be let out - you just have to walk through it. Like - like it’s a maze. Does that make sense? I’m not sure, it’s just an idea.”

Jon pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing. “Right as always, Martin.” Everybody’s jaw dropped, and Martin squeaked. “Fine, fine. Let’s...interact with the evil ghosts.” Jon gestured out with his arms, in a very ‘come at me bro’ gesture. “Go ahead and shoot. Hit me with how much you hate me and how disappointed you are that I never amounted to anything and started the apocalypse.”

Finally! Interrogation time!

But before Sasha could finally find out if global warming had killed the world, Tim jumped in. “Are there zombies in the apocalypse?!” Tim cried, way too excited. “Is it like the Walking Dead? Or is it more Last of Us?”

Jon squinted in Tim’s direction. “Define zombie.”

“...hunger for human flesh, shambling, gross looking?” Tim rolled his eyes. “Don’t tell me you still haven’t seen any zombie movies.”

“I’m omniscient, I’ve seen every zombie movie,” Jon lied blatantly. “I just think that you’re - you know, stereotyping. Sometimes people are the undead and eat humans and they’re - they’re very normal people.”

“Yeah, Tim, be sensitive,” Sasha said gleefully. She put the tape recorder on Martin’s desk, deciding that she would definitely need a transcript of this interview later. Also maybe ask more questions about that omniscient thing, but she was sure Jon was just exaggerating. If you asked Jon today if he was the smartest person on Earth he’d probably say yes. Jon wasn’t even the smartest person in the room.

For good measure, she drew out her little notebook from her pencil skirt pocket, flipping through it looking for a clean page. “The Archives have never gotten a time traveller before. This is unprecedented in its history.” Well, she really didn’t know what Gertrude had gotten up to, but she dearly hoped it wasn’t this. “Do you have any warnings? Desperate messages from a ruined world, that kind of thing?”

“I’m not a time traveller,” Jon said flatly, “so no.”

Everybody stared at him in abject pity.

“Mate,” Tim said sympathetically, “it’s 2015. You’re a time traveller.”

“No, I’m in a pocket hell dimension in a period beyond time and space,” Jon corrected arrogantly. “Time travel doesn’t exist.”

“The apocalypse exists but time travel doesn’t exist?” Martin cried. “That’s so unfair! Like, give us something, you know?”

“Your life is very hard,” the extratemporal reject said.

Typical Jon. A classic case of time travel and here he was denying it. Sasha crossed her arms, upset that they were wasting time debating temporal physics when they could be talking about zombies. She was a historian and had priorities. “Your denial ain’t cute, mate. You’re just wasting all of our time.” Jon opened his mouth, but Sasha steamrolled over him. “You want evidence, right? Do you need to, like, touch my face? Make sure that I’m not a sexy ghost?”

“That’s a stereotype that nobody actually does,” Jon said.

“Insensitive as always, Sasha,” Martin condemned.

“How else are we going to prove it to him?” Sasha said, somewhat defensively. “It’s not as if we have any evidence that we’re not sexy ghosts.”

With utmost care and incredible gentleness, Tim reached out an open hand and gently smooshed it into Jon’s face.

Jon slumped in his seat, arms folded, unimpressed.

“No mortal who is not my darling husband has dared to touch me since I became the Antichrist,” Jon said.

“I don’t know,” Tim said, withdrawing his hand and looking at Sasha. “What’s more unbelievable: Jon as the Antichrist or Jon with a husband?”

“Jon’s gay?” Martin cried, face beet red. “Gay Jon? Gay Jon real?”

“So, like, how do you get the Antichrist gig?” Sasha asked as she silently passed Tim a fiver. Her queerdar had never been so wrong. “Is it like an adventurer quest you can do or would you call it more of a rare genetic disorder thing?”

“Definitely rare genetic disorder.”

“Then does that mean that our Jon also has the Antichrist gene?” Tim asked, alarmed. “You’d never think so just looking at him! It’s always the quiet ones.”

“No, this makes sense,” Martin said.

Tim stared at him. “So, is that, like, a negative for you, or a positive…?”

Martin’s silence was incriminating.

“It’s a positive,” Jon said helpfully, startling everyone. They had conveniently forgotten not to talk about one very horny man’s very horny crush in front of sad grumpy time travelling crush. “He’s into it.”

“Wow, Jon,” Tim said, “what would your husband say?”

In a completely pointless show of sass, Jon rolled his eyes. “My useless husband is likely much more concerned with how I managed to get trapped in a nightmare dimension on my way back from the Hell corner store.” He waved a hand absently. “So, if we can hurry this up? Get started on the whole torturing me thing? Right now you’re just on track to annoying me to death.”

“We annoy you to death now!” Tim exclaimed, as Martin’s eyes boggled. “Isn’t that more proof for the time traveller theory?”

“It wasn’t annoying,” Jon said curtly. “I secretly enjoyed it. I always felt a little bad that I wasn’t included. Or wouldn’t let myself be included.”

That, abruptly, made everyone feel a little bad. Not guilty, seeing as Jon neither wanted nor deserved their affection, but just kind of bad. Future Jon didn’t seem any happier than regular Jon. Sasha liked to imagine that if she was trapped in an indeterminate period in time and space in a post-apoc hellscape, she’d at least be having fun.

Everybody looked at each other, equally a little uncomfortable. Tim was the one who finally took control of the situation, as the self-appointed Jon & Everyone Else mediator. He had taken up the mantle years ago and worse it with pride, and occasional exhaustion.

“Look,” Tim said, as reasonably as possible. “Let’s just say, hypothetically, this was super cool and awesome time travel. Let’s also say maybe this was completely baller and you’re from a post apoc future where everyone wears leather.”

“That’s just Melanie.”

“Put it down as one person who wears leather in the future!” Tim cried, and Sasha obediently jotted it down.”But let’s just put all of this in a hypothetical situation where you aren’t...uh, in a bad dream? So would there, hypothetically, be a way to stop the apocalypse or something?”

Jesus christ. What a try-hard.

Sasha crossed her arms, glaring at Tim. From next to her, Martin looked just as peeved. “Seriously, dude? Like we can just up and stop capitalism?”

“I don’t want responsibility for stopping the apocalypse,” Martin protested. “I can barely navigate the bus system. What if the Terminator comes after my mother or something?”

“You’ll be a bit better off, frankly,” Jon said. Martin nodded, conceding the point, before looking faintly disturbed.

“But he said that he caused it,” Tim protested. “Maybe the power of friendship can fix this? I mean, the apocalypse is cool, but I feel like this is the part where we’re all badasses and we fight evil or something.” Tim’s eyes widened. “That’s what the Magnus Institute is for. To stop the apocalypse!”

“Every day I feel a slight sense of emptiness due to my internalized guilt about your death, but you are usually wrong about things,” Jon said flatly, which seemed to both perk Tim up and depress him slightly. “And no. There’s nothing you can do. There’s no one event that precipitated the apocalypse; no rules of engagement. You are puppets on strings, indulging in the fantasy of free will. Yes, Sasha, the apocalypse is capitalism.”

Everybody stood in slightly depressed silence over this. Sasha, personally, was a little relieved. She really didn’t have to deal with the whole ‘preventing the apocalypse’ thing. She’d rather spend the finals days of the world in hedonism, frankly.

Really, the unique providence of the millennial was to live your entire life half-way convinced you were in the twilight years of the world. This hedonism and apathy was second nature. Or maybe the apathy was a Leitner - Sasha had lost track of that too.

“Aw, man,” Martin said, summarizing the abstract and complex feelings deftly and succinctly. “This sucks.”

“Yeah, this blows,” Tim agreed. “So should I buy my muscle car now, or later, or what?”

Then Martin and Tim started arguing over fuel efficiency in the apocalypse, and Jon royally checked out of the conversation. Sasha imagined that he was internally having a bit of a Saving Private Ryan moment where flashbacks of bombshells exploded behind his eyelids or whatever the fuck. The important thing is that everyone was distracted, and Sasha could finally check up on their most important gambit of the day: making sure Jon wasn’t bothering them.

Sasha listened carefully for the sounds of Jon’s little theater monologues, and caught only faint hints of sound. She slipped past everyone into the hallway and approached Jon’s office door, pressing her ear against the cheap wood. But she didn’t need to worry: he was still reciting away, oblivious to the actual interesting shit that was happening outside his door. Jon was a delicate plant, you couldn’t stress him out too much or he would die. Hopefully Martin’s drugged tea would kick in soon -

But Antichrist Jon’s head jerked towards her, directly behind him, and Sasha saw his unfocused green eyes fixate directly on her. No, not on her - on the door, or something beyond it. For just a second, his eyes flared a sharp and toxic green.

“There you are,” Creepy Jon hissed.

Well, sorry for leaving rooms without telling him, but she hadn’t thought that he even noticed, much less got resentful about it. But Weird Jon was standing up with no hesitation, and effortlessly swerved around Martin’s desk and stalked into the hallway. For the first time, his expression looked a little dangerous. It was bizarre and off putting, like seeing a ragged yet murderous two meter kitten.

He reached out an arm and let it trail across the wall, stopping short when he felt it hit wood instead of plaster. Tim and Martin surged forward to stop him, yelling warnings, but Sasha quickly stepped back. She never impeded the timeless march of science and progress. Sasha had done far worse in Artifact Storage for knowledge.

Jon brushed his hand down the door until it hit the doorknob and angrily twisted it, heaving the door open with unnecessary force. Tim and Martin spilled into the hallway as Angry Jon stalked inside, and Sasha eagerly hung in the door frame for a front row seat into the drama.

“This is your fault,” Jon intoned dangerously, directly in the face of a deathly affronted Jon.

In the spirit of the First Directive, Sasha heroically stretched out an arm and prevented Tim and Martin from spilling into the office. It was the right call. Jon stalked forward into the office, hair whipping in a nonexistent wind, expression obscured but undoubtedly thunderous, advancing on the terrified Archivist, as -

He tripped over a chair left carelessly in the center of the office, rocketing forward to land flatly on his face.

Beside her, Martin went white as a sheet. “Oh no.”

Simultaneously, in complete and total unison, Jon and the Archivist yelled, “Martin!”

****

Jon and the Archivist sat across from each other, exuding waves of pure mutual hatred.

Tim had quickly helped the Archivist up, moving the chair forward and getting him situated there. The Archivist’s mood was not improved by any of this. Which was difficult enough to handle by itself, if manageable. Sasha knew how to manage grumpy time travelling blind Antichrists who had gotten lost on their way to the corner store.

She even knew how to handle their boss, who was extremely grumpy about being harassed by a random homeless person with nice hair. Jon hated statement givers at the best of times, much less seemingly homeless ex-corpses. Or, well, Sasha didn’t know if he was an ex-corpse, but he was certainly an animate one.

They were both being so annoying about it Sasha was trying to determine if she should change their nicknames to something more derogatory. Thing 1 and Thing 2? Too long.

Both of them were very grumpy about the fact that Martin had pushed aside the chair for guests in front of Jon’s desks when he deposited the drugged tea, accidentally moving it close to the center of the office. Jon had known this because he saw it happen. The Archivist had known this because he, apparently, knew Martin very well.

Today had really been a bonding experience with Sasha, Martin, and Tim. Their skill at silent communication had reached borderline telepathy. They all looked at each other significantly as the Jons were caught in their mutual dyad of hatred, silently commiserating over the fact that their one goal had been spoiled by the greatest wildcard of all. Sasha privately liked to consider herself somewhat of a wildcard, but she was depressingly aware that the entire Archive team was composed of wildcards. Maybe that’s why half of them didn’t survive the apocalypse.

It was a little unlikely that Jon was a survivor/instigator in the zombie apocalypse, actually. Dude definitely would have bit it if he wasn’t cheating with Antichrist powers. Now, if Sasha had Antichrist powers, this whole game would be looking very different -

“Boss, this is a statement giver,” Tim hinted desperately, hands clenched so hard on the back of the Archivist’s chair that his knuckles were turning white. “Remember what Elias said about statement givers? About how we can’t harass them?”

“I was in the middle of a recording and this man was unnecessarily confrontational,” Jon said crisply. Sasha caught her eye jumping frantically back and forth between the two, trying to reconcile them. Honestly, if it wasn’t for Martin’s horny surety, she wouldn’t have realized that they were the same person at all. The Archivist’s most defining attribute was his big and fluffy hair, and Jon was sadly lacking in the nice hair department. That fade and twists were the shackle around his ankle. So was the sweater vest, baggy tweed jacket, and ill-fitting.“He’s lucky I’m not throwing him out.”

Martin, who looked as if he was having his tenth gay crisis of the morning, didn’t seem to hold the same opinion, but he was king of bad taste anyway.

“Remember what Elias said about harassing confused, blind statement givers? Remember that? Boss?”

Jon looked confused. “He didn’t specify the community of people with disabilities.”

“It was implied? Jon?”

“The optics would be terrible,” Sasha said, before snickering. Martin stomped on her foot. She stomped on his back, which definitely hurt a lot more. “Look, Jon, sorry about all of this. He was just - uh - really insistent that he talk to you -”

“I think if our visitor hassles Jon then maybe, objectively, you can say that Jon brought it on himself,” Martin said, in a daring show of anti-Jon sentiment.

This act of subtle rebellion was the first thing that broke the Archivist out of his cycle of hatred. He threw out a hand, bowling over Jon’s desktop cup of pens and sending them tumbling over the desk. Sasha saw him specifically orient his hand to do so. “Thank you, Martin! Your understanding of paraphysics is always immaculate.”

“Wow, really?”

“Stop complimenting my assistants,” Jon hissed, frantically diving to save his pens. “And stop - gesticulating over my desk! You did that on purpose!”

“Harassing the blind, Jon!”

“You don’t even need to tearfully blame me for how I ruined your life,” the Archivist said flatly. “You existing in my vicinity is torment enough.”

“That’s what I keep saying,” Sasha said, before pausing a beat. “I meant the first part, ha ha ha, obviously -”

“This man is a very normal statement giver who will be leaving any minute now,” Martin jumped in, “so there’s really no reason for us all to fight, when you think about it -”

“If you all don’t get out of my office, you are all fired -”

“You are listening.”

Everybody stopped talking at once, staring at the Archivist. He was still staring intently ahead, straight into his counterpart. Jon was hiding it, quite badly, but he was unsettled. He hadn’t even acknowledged that he and the man looked alike - the thought undoubtedly running through his brain and soundly dismissed - but it was clearly rattling him. But there was something else that was scaring him too - maybe the Archivist’s green eyes, so foreign from his own brown? His intense and furious expression, like cut glass? The particularly strange and heavy feeling in the air, prickling down the back of Sasha’s neck?

He hadn’t even stopped the recorder.

“You are here,” the Archivist continued calmly. “You were listening in. Why you were listening in on him, and his regurgitated aftertaste of Statements, I do not know. I felt you, and I came to you. We cannot forsake each other. Do not hide yourself from me.”

The effect was immediate.

The Archivist’s neck snapped forward, so harshly he cracked his head on Jon’s desk. Strangely enough, Jon screamed too, holding a hand to his temple as if he was suddenly pierced by a blinding headache. Tim immediately bent down to check on Archivist, making sure that he hadn’t hurt himself, as Martin bustled around the desk to check on Jon. Jon batted his hands away, scowling, so he was just fine. But the Archivist didn’t groan, or stir, or moan. He just lay there, still and limp, and when Tim shook him he didn’t even tense.

The air was heavy, a tang of metal in her mouth like the crackle before a storm, and Sasha couldn’t fight a shiver. But she couldn’t take her eyes off Jon, either: the way he stared at the Archivist, hand on his forehead, eyes wide and growing wider.

“Dad…?”

When the Archivist stirred, the spell was broken, and Jon’s mouth snapped shut so quickly it was as if he had never spoken at all. He turned his head and moaned, eyes opening uselessly. They were back to their usual toxic green, no flaring or flashing.

“Mar’in? Where…”

“I’m here,” Martin said quickly, and ducked around the desk to grab the Archivist’s hand and squeeze. For just a second, Jon looked a little jealous. Sasha had the sense that Jon had never been mothered than anyone other than Martin and Tim, and the prospect confused and frightened him so much he reacted aggressively to it. “Everything alright? You hit your head.”

“How many eyes?” the Archivist asked weakly.

“...physically, or functionally?”

But the Archivist just ran his burned hand over his smooth hand, kneading it and feeling the skin. “Still gone. Damn it.” He straightened, grimacing and spitting out a stray tendril of hair out of his mouth. “So it’s true…”

“So what’s true?” Tim asked urgently. “Do you finally believe us about the time travel thing? Because man, I have so many questions -”

He didn’t get the opportunity to say anything. The Archivist reached out a hand, fingers brushing against his shirt, and the Archivist’s hand abruptly clenched on the fabric. Tightly, roughly, the Archivist pulled him down and extended his other arm, and caught Tim in an awkward and lopsided hug.

Tim carefully straightened him and returned the hug, gracing the Archivist with the patented Perfect Stoker Hug, and the Archivist buried his face in Tim’s shoulder. His chest didn’t heave, and his breath didn’t catch, but the element of desperation was pungent and unmistakable.

“You were right,” Jon whispered. “We messed it all up.”

“Sure, yeah, totally!” Tim said, clapping the Archivist on the back in a masculine, yet sensitive way. “So, does this mean the zombie apocalypse is totally a-go, or…”

“Sasha,” the Archivist said, and Sasha chose to ignore her own personal distaste for hugs and being touched so she could step forward and hug him too.

He clutched onto her just as tightly as he had Tim, which surprised her a little. Jon and Tim had probably been best friends in the future, and Sasha couldn’t imagine her and Jon ever truly being close. He respected her as a colleague, but that was probably because Sasha purposefully left her manuscripts around the office and aggressively used as many big words in front of him as possible. Jon had always been an obstacle to her - innocently stupid at best, malicious at worst. To think that he would grip her so tightly…

With meticulous care, the Archivist separated from her. His expression was crumpled, and for the first time Sasha saw something over than aggravation or impatience in Jon’s face. Relaxed and soft, he looked like a different man. No - he was a different man, it was just apparent. The change softened his sharp lines into something a little friendlier; his striking exterior melting into something pretty instead of imposing.

Slowly, he raised his hand a little to tangle it in her hair. He frowned a little, gently tugging at it and feeling it spring back into place. “So it was curly…like mine…”

A lot of little hints snowballed into one strange and foreign realization. “Do you not remember me?”

“Dolls stole your identity,” the Archivist said apologetically.

“Like credit card fraud, or -”

“Metaphysically.” He paused guiltily. “I mourned you as an abstract concept?”

“Like I’m every woman in Hollywood?” Sasha screeched, outraged. This was not trans rights. “Alright, royally fuck that. Feel my hair, mister. Full permission to touch it. Feel that? You call that abstract?” The Archivist shook his head, eyes wide, and Sasha gently moved his hand to rest on the top of her head. “Taller than you in eight cm heels, remember? You asked me how I walked in them, and I said -”

“ - Barbie’s Princess Charm School,” the Archivist said automatically, eyes widening. “I do remember.”

Martin clearly waited around to be tenderly embraced, and was disappointed.

The Archivist stepped away from Sasha, expression creased in furious thought. “So it’s real. So far as anything’s real, I suppose. But I don’t understand how -” the Archivist’s eyes widened, and he snapped his fingers in realization. “The manhole!”

Everybody stared at him.

“I’m sorry,” Jon said pleasantly, “what is going on -”

“I was walking down the street, and I remember hearing city work!” the Archivist said brightly. “They were doing their monthly ‘clearing the gators out of the sewer pipes’ maintenance! And the Beholding told me that there was an open manhole, and I said oh it’ll be fine, I’m a demigod on Earth, I don’t fall down manholes - and then -”

The door to Jon’s office dramatically crashed open, and everybody jumped straight in the air. Jon, whose office had seen two more incredibly theatrical entrances than usual today, immediately bristled and opened his mouth to earn them all another harassment complaint, before he abruptly shut his mouth.

It was Elias, their miniature and unspeakably boring boss extraordinaire. He stood in the doorway, one hand clutching the doorframe, suit jacket askew and chest heaving. Had he ran down here?

“Is someone here?” the Archivist asked.

“Uh, yeah,” Tim said, stepping forward cautiously. “It’s our boss, Mr. Bouchard. Elias, we’re taking a statement, can we help - ?”

“How did that get here?” Elias asked, voice strangely tense and coiled. “How did you - not even I could -”

“That makes sense!” Martin cried, thumping a fist on his open palm. “Elias wants to time travel just as much as everyone else in the Institute!”

“I’m sorry,” Jon said, pathetically behind, “time travel -”

“Did the time traveller sensor alarms in the basement go off?” Sasha asked, surprised. “I thought only Artifact Storage had those.”

“Uh, Mr. Statement Giver, are you okay?” Tim asked, but it was already too late.

The Archivist had turned to face Elias, expression unreadable. Sasha felt that crackle again, weighing down the air, and she saw the Archivist’s hair puff and frizz slightly with a green crackle. His neon green pupils shone again and spun, like an infernal wheel.

“What’s wrong, Elias?” the Archivist mocked, as energy coursed through him. “Upset that Mama has a new favorite?”

And Sasha saw in that moment that the Archivist, who possessed the most inhuman green eyes she had ever seen, had eyes the same shade as Elias.

“Oh, man,” Sasha said, “is Elias a time traveller too?”

“Only in the most mundane way. Can’t even get a little bit of special attention, Elias? Sad!” It was second-hand thrilling to watch someone mock their boss, living the dreams of everyone in the room. Even if it was a little weird how much Jon seemed to hate this guy - nobody hated Elias, just like nobody liked him, and nobody had any strong feelings at all besides unpromoted women.

At the door, Elias’ expression was slack in - amazement? Was amazement the right word? He was staring at Jon as if...words didn’t even describe it. At least in any way that Sasha wanted to think about.

“Mr. Bouchard, I swear I can explain,” Sasha, who could not explain, said hurriedly. “We found this corpse and we were going to tell you, but -”

But the Archivist cut her off, as if nothing was less important than explaining himself to Elias. “Did you want to know how to stop the apocalypse, Sasha?”

Sasha froze. Martin and Tim did too. Jon, who nobody had actually bothered to brief since he was kind of the fifth most important person in the room, dropped his pen. “Uh,” Sasha said, sweating. For the first time she understood the possible upsides of not knowing something. “I mean, if I have to, but you said that it was inevitable -”

“Oh, yes. But, just once every one or two centuries, a man comes along who fancies himself fate.” The Archivist raised a hand, eyes spinning and spinning, as Elias stood frozen in the doorframe. “I’ll be honest, Jonah. This isn’t to save the world. That’s so last year. I just really fucking hate you.” Something cracked in the air. “Ceaseless watcher, smite this -”

The door slammed shut. Sasha heard Elias lock it behind him. They all stood around as footsteps quickly echoed through the Archives, and another door slammed. Which was probably being locked too.

They stood in silence, the Archivist having clearly heard the slams. He let his hand fall, but the energy didn’t cease crackling around him. He didn’t look resentful or disappointed - just thoughtful.

“Everything in due time, I suppose. I guess it is pretty unfair to get to smite that man twice,” the Archivist said thoughtfully. “I’ll give someone else a turn.” His mouth twitched wryly. “You know, Sasha, there’s one other way to prevent the apocalypse.”

“Is it work?” Sasha asked tiredly.

“You may kill the man who arranged the dominos,” the Archivist intoned, before hanging his head towards a petrified Jon. “Or you may kill the man who toppled them over.”

Sasha stared at Jon. Jon stared back, frozen like a deer in headlights.

Martin silently passed Sasha a penknife from Jon’s desk.

“I’m very qualified for this job,” Jon protested weakly.

“Queen of feminism, I very much support you,” Tim said quickly, putting himself in between Sasha and Jon in a heroic display of stupidity, “but, maybe, killing your boss to take his job, is perhaps, maybe not that much of a great idea, just a thought?”

“The job’s being the Antichrist,” the Archivist pointed out, crossing his arms.

“The direct action against sexism, xenophobia, and transphobia is very admirable,” Tim said, eyes held up as if he was placating a tiger, “but think of it this way - if you kill the Antichrist, then you become the Antichrist, like in - uh -”

“Pokemon,” Martin volunteered.

Tim snapped his fingers. “Pokemon! So you shouldn’t -” He halted, turning back to Martin. “Pokemon? Seriously? That’s becoming champion -”

“A - alright, alright! Everybody stop!” Jon shakily stood up, brushing aside the empty tea mug right next to him. “That’s enough of all of this! I may not know what’s going on, or who this man is, or why he looks like me -”

“Hm,” Martin said, eyeing the empty tea mug.

“ - why he looks like a homeless person, why he barged into my office and insulted me, why you are all defending this atrocious behavior, why you are calling it the work of time travel, which does not exist and you have no proof for it anyway -”

“Jon,” Martin said, watching Jon’s arm tremble, “maybe you should -”

“Shut up, Martin!”

“Don’t be rude to him!” the Archivist snapped.

“You’ve been rude to him twice today!”

“I’m allowed to be rude to him! He’s even ruder to me! I’m the nice one!”

“ - and you were glowing in my office, which is just frankly rude,” Jon continued viciously, steamrolling over the Archivist. “You gave me a terrible headache, you hugged my assistants very inappropriately for the workplace, you made my boss walk in before trying to smite him, you encourage violence against my own person in revenge for a job that I definitely deserve -”

Both of Jon’s arms were shaking, and Tim’s eyebrows were slowly raising. “Boss, you should sit down, I think -”

“ - I want an explanation!” Jon yelled, slamming the desk. “And I’m not going to stop until you tell me what’s going on!”

Then Jon passed out.

Everybody watched it happen. Everybody, save perhaps the Archivist, had noticed that it was about to happen: at first a tremor, then a shake, and then a final collapse. Like a marionette with his strings cut, Jon slumped over and crumpled solidly on the floor.

Everybody stood in disaffected silence. Martin carefully stepped over and prodded Jon with his foot. “Out cold.” He shot a considering gaze at the empty tea mug. “Sorry, guys. Looks like I accidentally used the delayed action sedative.”

"It’s alright,” Tim said magnanimously. “At least that problem is solved now. Maybe we can convince him this was a bad dream when he wakes up.”

“If he insists it was real, we’ll just ask him for evidence and refuse to believe him without it,” Sasha suggested.

“Isn’t that kinda gaslighting?” Martin asked. “Isn’t that, you know, a little morally dubious -”

“You did drug him,” Tim pointed out.

“I mean, hardly the first time?”

“Maybe Martin should be the Antichrist,” Sasha said thoughtfully.

The Archivist’s face was doing something extremely interesting, yet inscrutable.

“I really don’t want to be Antichrist, though,” Martin said apologetically. “Does it even pay?”

“Jon did say it was a job…” Sasha said, already considering herself in the role. “Do you guys think I’d be sexier as the Antichrist? Be honest.”

“Yes and completely,” Tim said immediately, before realizing that he said that too quickly. “I mean. I’d never objectify you. I respect women. But -”

“Oh, I see how it is,” Martin said, throwing up his hands. “When you think being the Antichrist is kind of hot it’s normal and M/F of you. But when I do it, then it’s ‘gross’ and ‘get that away from me’. Great double standards, guys.”

“It’s not the fact that it’s a guy,” Tim protested, “it’s the fact that it’s Jon -”

“Oh, when you think being the Antichrist is kind of hot then it’s normal and cis of you,” Sasha said heatedly, “but when Tim respects trans women, then it’s ‘gross’ and -”

“I respect all women,” Tim said, equally heatedly, “but I do want to acknowledge the systematic marginalization of trans women within the community, especially trans women of color like yourself -”

A hoarse wheeze echoed through the office.

Everyone froze, terrified by the haunted sound, but after a second Sasha realized it was the Archivist - Jon - who was laughing.

They had never heard him laugh before. He was practically wheezing with it, bent over with his hands on his knees, with a strained cackle that fizzed with static around the corners. He was smiling broadly, his grin splitting his cheeks, for the first time that Sasha had ever seen.

He straightened and threw his head back and laughed too, a greater belly-laugh that was so hysterical and fragile and free that it struck something strange and raw in Sasha’s heart. He rubbed his face with his hand, still laughing, and eventually broke into coughs.

“I understand now,” Jon said, when he stopped coughing. “I thought that you had deposited me here in revenge. You had sensed that I was happy - that the green skies were beautiful, that your large eye seemed kind that day - and that you found it a waste of emotion. But that wasn’t true, was it? It must have been an accident. I’ve never been happier to hear these idiots arguing, and you’ve lost me like a toy behind a bookshelf. The strange stupidity of it! I’m enchanted.” He sombered a little, expression falling from hysterical glee into a soft and resigned happiness. He held up his hand, feeling the crackle of electricity run across his palms. “But you See me now. The foolish man brought you down upon us, and I intercepted your lightning bolt. His eyes, mundane and paltry, are closed, and you feel my consciousness in replacement of him. I can feel you already - my Eyes opening, the Reality that we built together calling me back. When your infinite grace re-aligns with every one of my atoms, forming the fabric of my world, I’ll snap back.”

Just like that?

Sasha had thought that there would be an...adventure, or quest, or something. At least a research binge. Some kind of heroic group effort. But the Archivist was a stretched rubber band, held tightly and out of position, and after long enough straining against its center it had to snap back. A telly flickering in and out, blaring the song of a dead channel.

“Do we have time to group hug or something?” Tim offered weakly, undoubtedly thinking the same thing as she was. “Last goodbyes? Anything?”

“Howl’s Moving Castle moment?” Martin asked urgently. “I’ll find you in the future, right? We’re still together there, right?”

“Martin,” Jon said, strangely fond, “we were never apart.”

Martin turned a unique shade of red.

But it was Sasha who Jon turned to, face angled to the sound of her voice. His expression was still distantly fond, but there was something strange in it too - a wry recognition, a subtle knowledge, a faint recollection of a joke that only he knew.

“Sasha,” Jon said, “so long as you’re brave, and buy ten fire extinguishers and hide them around the office, things will be just fine. Buy twelve fire extinguishers, just to be safe. And don’t ever go inside Artifact Storage again. Not even for Alicia’s birthday party. If it’s a choice between worms and Artifact Storage then choose worms, the scars add a certain appeal. I cannot stress enough, not even if you lose your jacket in Artifact Storage -”

“Are you sure you don’t have anything to say to me?” Martin asked desperately, almost crying. Sasha, personally, wanted to circle back around to the worm thing. “Sad goodbyes? Waving a handkerchief? I thought you said I was alive? Don’t you have anything?”

Jon rolled his eyes. “Goodness, Martin, if you insist. There is something I’ve been meaning to tell you. In fact, I do believe it’s about time.”

Martin’s mind clearly projected very loudly ‘I’ve been in love with you this entire time’ in blatant wish-fulfillment. Everybody held their breaths.

Jon drew himself up to his full, imposing height, and sternly looked at all of them. “I’m tired of holding my tongue about this, Martin,” Jon said finally, and Martin qualified. “For the last time, I don’t load the dishwasher wrong. I load the dishwasher correctly. It’s you who’s always insisting that the cups go on the bottom. It’s a freakish way to live your life, and I’ll never forgive you for -”

Static blared in Sasha’s ears and overwrote her mind, and she screamed. The sensation was a pickaxe driven into her ears, an unforgivable rip and tear, and she heard her screams echoed in concert.

Then the pain abated, and was gone.

Sasha, Tim, and Martin were left standing in an empty office, accompanied only by the unconscious figure of their boss. There was nothing left of the Archivist, nor any suggestion that he had ever been here - just a drained mug, some scattered pens, and a lingering sense of malaise and confusion.

Everybody looked at each other, feeling strangely and uniquely connected. It was hardly Sasha’s strangest Magnus Institute experience, but maybe it was the funnest.

“Well,” Tim said finally, “at least one day this week wasn’t boring.”

“Yeah, I didn’t even have to get drunk today.” Sasha sighed. “We definitely have to gaslight Jon about this.”

Martin was already carefully lugging Jon onto his chair, arranging him so his arms were folded on the desk with his cheek resting on his forearm. “We’ll pretend it was just a weird dream.” He propped his hands on his hips, satisfied. “Hopefully this convinces him he needs more sleep.” Martin gasped in sudden realization. “Maybe he becomes the Antichrist because he needs more sleep! Guys, I have a great twenty step plan for saving the world.”

“Oh, come on, we said that was too much work.” Tim shrugged and opened the office door, holding it open and gesturing for them all to come out. “I think if we just friendship Jon to death, all of our problems will be solved.”

Martin just shrugged, following him out. They really did have paperwork that they needed to get back to. “Both are vital components. But...hey, it’s not weird to put the mugs on the bottom rack, is it? There’s not really that much of a difference, right?”

“Mate, you’re a fucking freak.” Tim looked backwards at Sasha, who was still standing in the office, dazed. “Sash, you coming? Let’s go day-drinking.”

“Yeah,” Sasha said, “in a sec.”

He shrugged and left the door propped open, and Sasha heard their bickering fade slowly as they walked down the hallway.

But she couldn’t help staring at Jon sleeping at his desk, chest falling in and out, inhaling and exhaling slowly through his nose. His short, carefully maintained hair and meticulous fade. His baggy tweed and ill-fitting slacks. The subtle and shameful kind of earnestness, the desire mixed with fear mixed with hope mixed with genuine desire for a better future. He just wanted to be happy, to not be afraid anymore. He seemed weirdly human, when compared with his inhuman self. Or maybe it was the other way around.

The tape recorder on Jon’s desk was still running. Sasha squinted at it, taking a second to listen to the staticy hiss. It was familiar, in the strangest possible way. It felt familiar -

Sasha reached out and grabbed the tape recorder, stuffing it in her pencil skirt pocket. “Just remember,” Sasha whispered, “I’d make a great candidate for Antichrist.”

She ran to go catch up with her coworkers, shutting the door behind them and leaving Jon sleeping contentedly in his office, head pillowed on his arms, dreaming strange and comforting dreams.

#i know I say 'this is the stupidest thing i've ever written' EVERY TIME BUT #my writing #tma #the magnus archives #the magnus archives fanfiction #tma fanfic #tma time travel au #crack #jonathan sims #sasha james #tim stoker #martin blackwood #elias bouchard

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aikrus · 4 years ago

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What It Means To Be Dead (Tokoyami x Reader)

Fandom: Bnha Warnings: Mentions of Dying, depression, bullying, abuse, and strong language Words: 2k259 Requested By: Anon <3 Request: Hi I love your writing! Can I request one where Tokoyami )or anyone you'd like really,) finds a collection of old-ish diaries and letters while cleaning? The person's handwriting is very distinct and pretty (Think 1700's love letter find) but they never mention their name. As they read more of it they find newer entries where Aizawa is mentioned so they ask him about it only to find out the person who wrote them died almost 100 years ago and 'haunts' the school. (Sorry for long request) A/N: I deviated a little from the request, but I hope you like it!

The night had already came and claimed the land of UA for itself. Shadows overtook the courtyards, and darkness fell across the classrooms, but not everyone had retreated to the safety of their comforters which shielded them from the secrets which the black abyss held so dear.

After a draining day of learning and training, Tokoyami wanted nothing more than to go to sleep- sadly, it was his turn to clean the classroom. It was annoying and boring and he’d give anything to be able to go to sleep, but fair is fair and he wasn’t the tyrannical type.

And so, he washed the windows and wiped down the desks. He swept the floors and organized the textbooks, and he turned to put the broom back into the small closet in the corner of the classroom. With a heavy sigh, Fumikage realized he should probably tidy up the dirty, dust-filled, death trap that was called a broom closet.

Narrowing his eyes at the cobwebs, he started to knock them down with the end of the broomstick (Seriously praying to whatever god there is that no spider fell onto his feathers). The room was in worse condition on closer inspection, it looked like not a soul had thought to clean it since the school was built.

After taking the time to sweep the floors, wipe down the door and the counters, and organize the books, Tokoyami was beyond tired and ready to fall asleep in the still-somehow-dirty closet. No matter how many times he swung at the cobwebs, how many times he picked up the coats and books and papers on the floor, despite the effort he put into tidying up the smallish space, it still seemed to have a weird layer of age coating itself entirely.

The closet felt preserved in time, like the oldness it felt was not just in the items littered about, but in the very walls itself. The things it’s seen, the memories it held, something about the space simply felt... wrong.

He turned to a corner he hadn’t worked on, inwardly groaning at the amount of work he still had to do despite the time of night. With a huff, he began to organize the textbooks and pages of work sprawled around the space.

His hands fell upon and old leather book- very different in both appearance and age when compared to the marble notebooks that surrounded it. Leaning over, he saw ten to fifteen more of there journal like collections shoved deep into the corner of the room.

Tentatively, he peeled open the first book. Looking at the pages, it looked to be the diary of a girl- the beautiful handwriting looked like it belonged to someone who saw the beauty that exists within the written language, someone who stops to smell the flowers, a person who looks at sunsets and bakes goods to say they love you.

The ink that bled onto the early pages spoke of a student, a girl who wanted to be so much more, someone who wanted to save the world. He became enthralled by the speech patterns, the phrases and swirls of the letters drew him closer, enchanting his eyes to never leave the pages.

------

Soon the pages became all he could think about, even after he had to abandon the closet to race to bed. During class all he could think of was the feeling of the crisp paper under his touch. The voices of his friends seemed ugly, seemed to be missing the douse of honesty and beauty he had been exposed to, even when he was practicing all he could focus on was the experiences of the girl who wrote down all her inner thoughts.

It was like she haunted him, appearing everywhere he went. Like she poisoned him, infecting his thoughts and feelings. She became everything to him so soon, every word had him on edge, every sentence a beautiful stream of imagery that he would give nothing but to experiencing along side her, what he wouldn’t give to see the world through her eyes of love.

As the day ended, he had quiet easily convinced Sero that he should take over his night of cleaning. Sure the actual work was quiet annoying, but he would be rewarded with her sweet words, he had left the book in the corner in his rush to get back to his dorm; he regretted his oversight the moment he laid down.

“Tokoyami, wasn’t your cleaning duty last night?” Aizawa asked, his eyes lazy looking up from the papers he was grading to make contact with Fumikage’s red ones.

“Yes sir, it was. I volunteered to take over tonight as well,”

“Mhm, and is there a reason for this?” He raised his eyebrow, dragging his briefcase off the table with him.

“Cleaning helps me think,” this wasn’t a total lie, reading the journal will calm his raging thoughts of the mystery girl.

“Just don’t make a habit of it,” his teacher echoed, not having enough energy to further investigate a seemingly innocent interaction.

Tokoyami was much faster with cleaning that day, and he was even faster to sprint inside the broom closet. He grabbed the leather books and raced back to his room, already feeling the warmth her voice provided.

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

The passages started off innocent enough, complaints about school, fantasizing about a better life, just a teen writing down their emotions. It then morphed into the beauty in everything, words that didn’t release Fumikage’s eyes until they were tearing up from dryness.

Then, things took a darker turn. Dark thoughts disguised in poems, things others have said to her, representation of her pain in drawings scattered throughout the book. The beautiful world- though still majestic in its own way- turned dark and twisted.

It was painful to read, and yet he couldn’t look away. It was like the book became a part of him- no. It was like he became a part of the book, nothing more than the cracked parchment and spilled ink. It was dehumanizing, but he wouldn’t change his position for anything in the world.

His bed was taken over by the old pages, dating back over two hundred years ago. The writer was in the post-quirk awakening. The world had just discovered the glowing child right before she was born. She was one of the first quirk holders in the world- one of the first one hundred Japanese citizens to have a quirk.

The journals started when she was ten- though that book was the fifth one he read. After that discovery, he categorized them in chronological order to read along with the flow of time. She wrote of the manifestation of her quirk- her parents had been struck with terror when their daughter walked through the wall of their living room to get into her bedroom.

That was the first moment she realized how different she is. Her life never seemed to go back to the way it was before, not even after the initial shock of what she could do faded from her parents; because, there would always be a new shock, a new ability, and no one was prepared to help her.

He realized, reading more about how the quirkless treated her, that her life would have been much different is she had lived in his time. Hearing the slurs and bullying they put her through, he wishes she could see how much the world has changed- would she be happy or sad that her bully's became the minority and were mocked in their normal-ness or if she would be ashamed of the people like her.

He was very satisfied that the people who made her life so awful were getting a taste of their own medicine, but he did wonder if that made him a bad person. Tokoyami figures that it really didn’t matter, she was gone so her opinion would never be known.

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

“Death didn’t feel like I thought it would. Surprisingly, it was reminiscent of when I use my quirk to posses things or people. My body was there, on the floor, but I was floating above it. Much like I am when I leave my body before finding my target. The cold was instantly recognizable- like an abyss with no end.

The only difference I’ve noticed so far is the lack of body to return to, though I can enter it, it acts as an object. While I cannot move it, I can see out of it. It’s therapeutic in a way. Really, this must have been the best case scenario- I could see how everyone reacts, see who really cares about me.

It was hard at first, seeing all theses people, who I believed were simply pretending to care, braking down behind closed doors. It was only my sister- whom held no quirk- that cared. She did everything she could to make my funeral how I wanted it, and she preserved my bedroom the way I liked it. That was a nice gesture, it truly was.

Now my life has come to an end- my body buried under ground, never to be seen again- I can’t help but wonder what comes next. How long will I be held in this mortal world? Will others be like me, or will I be forced to live alone in the agonizing realization that comes with immortality? I guess I’ll simply have to wait and see,”

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

He had fallen asleep after reading the last passage in the ninth book- where she described how she stayed a student at UA even after death. The names she referenced had been lost in time- Pro-heroes that have long been dead and are now another name on the Hero Memorial wall.

She had possessed her home room teacher and walked to the headmaster- there she said what had happened. Her headmaster agreed to keep her on as a student, but only under the condition that she wouldn’t unnecessarily possess an unknowing student. It was fair- annoying but fair. They gave her her old desk and she worked along side everyone. When he woke up, the book had moved on its own.

There was a page opened- an elegant scipt sprawllled at the top but had been smuged since it was written- the only elligable part following what could be assumed to be a name: Phatom-- The Ghost Hero. The script was familiar, but it wasn’t the handwriting the rest of the journal was written in. Beneath it was a drawing of a girl- a girl more beautiful than anyone Fumikage had ever seen. It was a realistic depiction and it looked modern- it was only with that realization which led Tokoyomi to realize this journal wasn’t one he had seen before. Flipping through it, he hadn’t even noticed its sudden appearance. It was the newest one of them all- spanning for the last decade. He leaned back in his bed and began,

So I guess it’s been a while huh? Here are some general updates: Shouta from class 2-A is an idiot but I guess he’s kinda cute. We picked out hero names today, I wanted to just keep my name but he dubbed me Phantom.. I called him Eraserhead in return. I hope it sticks.

I’ve graduated from UA more than six times now- but I kinda like it. I do some professional hero work- especially info recall- but I’m worried about how the public will react to a ghost. It would definitely fuck with some peoples religious views.

It’s better this way. I’ve also decided to distance myself from Shinso- she and I got along great, but her twin brother has been acting weirdly around me for a while. His quirk is amazing, but I’ve seen plenty of unstable students pass through these halls and I know enough to keep my distance. Shouta doesn’t seem to agree- neither does Hizashi. I guess only time will tell.

As for manifesting my physical form- it’s a lot harder than I had hoped. I can become visual for three active minutes or ten minutes with no moving. I’m still not touchable, but I hope that will change with time. That’s all for now- I’ll try to check in soon.

He shook his head- surely those names must be common, but she was in UA and only so many coincidences can happen at one time. He wonders how she was now. Mostly, he wonders if she’s still at UA. They hadn’t announced her as a student, so was she a pro hero now?

Was it weird to still be in the body of a sixteen year old? There were so many issues with immortality- he wondered how she coped with it. These questions abused him throughout the morning. He thought of how lonely she must be, how it must be so awful to be all by herself.

He wondered why he cared so much- why had he developed such a strong scene of attachement to this girl? The fuzzy feeling in his chest when he saw the drawing of the girl had taken up his entire mind- he needed to know more.

As soon as he entered his familiar class room he marched straight up to his teachers desk with passion in his eyes- “Professor, can we talk after class? I have some questions I’d like to ask you,”

Aizawa glarred at the corner of the room, an annoyed frown tugging at his lips. This was gonna be a long day.

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

A/N

Sorry for dropping off the planet everyone! This has been in the drafts for a long time and finally gets to see the light of day. I’ve had some mental health issues (not related to this story don’t worry) and am working on myself. I fully intend to finish the Christmas countdown I committed to and this account is still active, but this will remain on the back burner until I am well on my way to recovery. Requests will remain open for the time being and I will continue to make progress. Thank you for the lovely anon’s in my inbox with constant support and requests, I appreciate all of you. Thank you all and I hope you enjoyed this work <3

#boku no hero #boku no hero academia #My Hero #my hero academia #tokoyami fumikage #bnha fumikage #tokoyami x reader #tokoyamifumikage #fumikage x reader #bnha reader insert #bnha x reader #tokoyami fluff

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wehatejulietsimms · 3 years ago

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Chris Motionless, NTIO, Andy and Scientology

Recently I have seen a lot of speculation about two things leading up to the TOT Tour. Let me clear things up as best I can!

1: Yes Chris Motionless has a line with Never Take It Off, the jewelry company that Juliet and her family own and operate. However Chris NEVER promotes his NTIO line AT ALL. He doesn't even LIKE or COMMENT on any of the posts made by NTIO promoting his line there is ONE LIKE from him from years ago, on the NTIO Instagram page when they announced his line. THAT'S IT!

2: I cannot even find the posts from Chris Motionless's OWN Twitter or Instagram even ANNOUNCING that he joined the company. I went back years and found absolutely nothing about Never Take It Off on either his personal Instagram page or Twitter. Now, yes Chris is a fairly private man and does not post much but think about it, he always promotes the band and those they work with. Clothing designers, makeup artists, etc. Therefore why would he not promote his own line?

3: Also to everyone saying we should hold Chris accountable for his support of NTIO maybe you all should look all the other designers who still knowingly promote their lines with the NTIO brand like Ash Costello who has been called out for also being an abuser, she and her band mate Nikki Misery also are under fire for not paying a former member of the band.

4: Andy and his taking a Scientology course, yes taking a course does look bad. However is there any record that he ever took more than one? Also maybe he took the one so they could have the 2016 wedding. Don't forget Andy and Juliet technically got married legally in 2012.

5: Does anyone submitting these posts and asks really know how difficult it is to leave Scientology!? They have a process for member's and potential members ie Andy if he did take more than one course, called auditing where they have a person sit down with them and tell everything about them and i mean EVERYTHING! Even their darkest secrets and deepest thoughts. That is ALL RECORDED by the way.

6: Therefore there is no telling just how much information they may have on Andy should he ever try to leave. I do believe he may be in the process of leaving. He and Juliet are not tagging each other nearly as much. Also if they were both in Florida Juliet would have posted a shit ton of photos of the two of them with her family but yet there are crickets.

7: Also boycotting Ice Nine Kills because their label is associated with Sumerian?!? Are you kidding me?!? That is like boycotting Halestorm because their management team is the same as Juliet's Indegoot Management. Or how about we boycott Evanescence because they associated with Sumerian by having Juliet open for them? Anyone? No? No takers?

8: If you don't believe me look at what Scientology did to Isaac Hayes, the voice actor for Chef on the cartoon South Park. The story for years was that Isaac Hayes quit the show because Trey Parker and Matt Stone were mocking his religion. That is not true. This was all confirmed by Isaac Hayes own son years later. Isaac Hayes had a stroke around the time the episode 'Trapped In The Closet' came out in November of 2005. Hayes could not move or speak as a result of the storke. So SCIENTOLOGY TOOK ADVANTAGE OF THE FACT THAT HAYES COULD BARELY MOVE LET ALONE SPEAK AND QUIT THE SHOW ON ISAAC HAYES BEHALF!!! Isaac Hayes never wanted to quit the show at all, he loved the show, Trey Parker and Matt STone realized this years later.

9: So please, to everyone saying we should boycott Andy because he appears to be a Scientologist please do your research into how exactly Scientology operates and treats members of their church, especially if they catch any whisper that a member is thinking of leaving. Seriously look at Leah Remini and I mean really look at her and listen.

A/N: ^^^^This is great. Thank you.

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mandoalorian · 4 years ago

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Sugar and Spice [Maxwell Lord x Reader] - Chapter 8

Summary: When you are evicted from your apartment by your toxic ex boyfriend and have no place to go, who do you turn to? Alone in the city as the countdown to Christmas begins, you find yourself applying for a job as the assistant of the world’s biggest entrepreneur; Maxwell Lord. Little do you know, he has other intentions for you. No doubt about it, this Christmas will truly be like no other.

Word count: 2.4k

Warnings: Smut, mentions of a previous verbally abusive relationship, typical 80s misogyny (but very little of it), mentions of food and drink, alcohol consumption. This is a sugardaddy x sugarbaby fic soooo… a daddy k!nk too oops.

But in this chapter - reader confronts her abusive ex boyfriend.

Author’s note: ANGST! Mention of an abusive relationship although I've tried to gloss over it as much as I can. Sorry this chapter was a long time coming. I'm so happy that people are enjoying Sugar and Spice.

MASTERLIST

PREVIOUS - CHAPTER EIGHT - NEXT

"I think," Maxwell swallowed. "No. I know. I know that I've fallen deeply in love with you."

You swore your heart stopped at his revelation. Hand still cupping his cheek, you looked deep into his glazed, honey brown eyes and saw nothing but the truth. The man who had rounded his career on lies and greed loved you. You felt your throat dry up, searching for words but not knowing what to say. Maxwell looked at you too, his soft eyes beginning to cross in bewilderment when you didn't say a word. He wished so desperately that you'd say something, anything. The last person Maxwell Lord said 'I love you' to, was his father. You couldn't leave him hanging.

You wanted to say it back, you wanted to so desperately tell him the truth— that you loved him too, because, you did. You hadn't confronted your feelings, you hadn't realized it fully until faced with your current situation. But now everything made sense. The jealousy, the lust, the need for affection and the want to be cared for.

Fate brought you both together. Running from an abusive relationship, getting almost kicked out of your apartment, and finding yourself in the expansive office of Maxwell Lord the IV. You thought you were going for an assistant position but instead you found yourself as his sugar baby and now… now this only complicated everything.

"Max," you whispered and he closed his eyes slowly, one final year falling down his cheek. Your gaze flicked between him and the almost finished bottle of whiskey on his desk. He'd been drinking at the gala and he'd been drinking when he got home therefore it was for certain that Maxwell was not in the right state of mind at all. "Do you want to go to bed?"

"You don't love me," Maxwell tried to ask but it came out as an embarrassing croak. "Of course you don't." He regretted the words immediately after they fell from his lips. He was so sure that he had ruined everything and things would never be the same again.

What was wrong with you? No matter how much you wanted to tell him you just couldn't. "Max," he admired the way his name fell from your soft lips. You continued to smooth his hair out of his face and he hummed in contentment, his eyes still closed. "You're so sleepy. Please, let me take you to bed." you whispered and Max barely moved. You called his name one more time and he opened his eyes the slightest. You pulled him up and wrapped an arm around his body. Despite him being much bigger than you, you somehow managed to navigate the drunk and hurting man the corridor and into his master bedroom. He slumped onto his king sized bed and you gently tucked him under the blankets. He mumbled something incoherent, reaching out and making grabby fists. He wanted you.

"Lay with me," he mumbled, trying to pull you down on top of him. You wanted to but you weren't even sure if you could stay at the penthouse after his revelation. You hadn't even shared a bed with Maxwell, and now suddenly he was requesting that you lay with him?

"I have to go." you whispered, running your fingers through his hair and pushing his bangs out of his face.

"No." he mumbled, but he was already half sleep. You planted a gentle kiss on his forehead before stepping back.

You had genuine trouble trying to process what just happened and why it happened. Maxwell trusted you. He shared with you a family secret that nobody else knew, and all because he was in love with you. You were perplexed.

Before you could leave his bedroom, you were greeted with your reflection in the mirror. Your hair was a mess, your ballgown was ruined and your makeup was tear stained. You padded into Maxwell's closet and took out one of his shirts and tailored suit pants. That man desperately needed to get a pair of normal casual clothes and fast. You tried them on, not minding the way they fit your body. You could've gone all out, finding a belt or a pair of suspenders to clip onto the light grey pants, but you decided against it. You pushed your hair out of your face and padded into the en-suite to wash your face. You didn't look much better, and you figured you probably just need a good night sleep. At least this way, no one would recognise you. You were almost certain the press would still be walking the streets looking for you and Maxwell. You actually kinda liked wearing Max's clothes, although there was no doubt in your mind that they looked better on him than you.

The streets were freezing and filled with thick snow. You regretted not taking one of Maxwell's suit jackets or warm winter coats but nevertheless you shivered all the way home. Your feet were like bricks of ice by the time you got back to your apartment. As you walked up the flights of stairs, digging into your purse for your keys, you were greeted with an unwelcome visitor. Tristan.

"Maxwell Lord," he deadpanned, standing in front of your door. You paused, looking at him hesitantly. "What the fuck do you think you're playing at?" Tristan snarled.

"What do you mean?" you asked innocently.

"You were on national television!" Tristan accused. "You and him, and a bunch of other snobby business pricks. Bruce fucking Wayne too… and the president!"

You rolled your eyes. "Tristan, it's late. Please move so I can enter my apartment and go to bed." You reached out to press your key into the lock when Tristan's large hand grabbed your wrist, his fingernails digging into your skin. You winced, trying to flinch back but he wouldn't let go, and suddenly the memories came flooding back. "Tristan," you gritted out. "Fucking let me go."

"I sold your apartment." Tristan spat.

"What?" you gasped, tears filling your eyes. "But I paid rent!"

"You're fucking around with Maxwell Lord, aren't you?" He growled.

"Who I fuck around with is none of your business! Now. Let. Me. Go." you tried pulling yourself away from Tristan but his grip around you only tightened. You squealed when he slammed you into the door. "You're going to wake the neighbours." You hissed trying desperately to keep your cool. You didn't want to seem weak. You weren't weak. You had this under control.

"Let's go somewhere more private then." Tristan smirked, dragging you unwillingly to his own apartment and locking the door behind him. "Now you tell me right now what the fuck is going on between you two."

"Or what?" You snapped back. "What the hell are you gonna do?"

"Is he your boyfriend?" Tristan quizzed.

"He's a friend." you glared at him, backing away everytime he took a step bearing you.

"A friend," Tristan repeated with a scoff of disbelief. "Just like you said on television."

You wondered how much of the gala and the interview outside had been televised but now wasn't the time to ask questions. You knew Maxwell had the power to rid you of Tristan. If he knew about the awful things Tristan had done to you and the way he had hurt you… well, Tristan may as well have had a death wish.

"Jesus Christ Tristan can you just let me go home?" you sighed, rubbing your eyes tiredly.

"I knew you were struggling with rent. I knew you had been laid off from work and it's Christmas coming up… if you had just told me you were struggling I would've made a negotiation." Tristan shook his head shamefully. "But no."

"Negotiate?" you questioned in disbelief. "You're a fucking manipulator!"

"And you're a fucking whore!" Tristan screamed, towering over you, his cheeks turning bright red with rage. "You know, I really didn't think you had it in you. Fucking around with some big CEO who thinks he's a hotshot."

"And what are you supposed to be?" you exhaled shakily, tears threatening to spill from your eyes. His words stung. "Maxwell… he cares about me. You never gave a shit about me."

"You think he cares about you? You seriously think Maxwell Lord cares about anyone other than himself?" Tristan barked. "He has you wrapped around your finger. I thought you were smarter than this."

"You don't know him the way I do." you smiled bravely. Fuck, you really did love him. And you needed him now more than ever. You knew that he was just a phone call away and if you told him you were in danger he would come running to rescue you with his whole team of security. If only you had just stayed with him. If only you had just decided to lay next to him, curled up in his arms in his warm bed.

"So you are fucking him?" Tristan scrunched his nose up and looked at you with disgust. He double checked the door was locked and put his key in his pocket before walking over to his bedroom. "You can sleep on the floor like the whore you are." Tristan laughed before going into his bedroom and shutting the door.

Once he was gone, you were left standing in the middle of your ex boyfriend's apartment feeling small and helpless. You didn't know what to do or where to go. You didn't even have Maxwell's number memorised so you couldn't call him. You let the tears free fall as you glanced between the locked door and the windows that you knew you couldn't squeeze out of even if you tried. You were trapped in a place that has brought back so much fear, and you didn't know what to do. You didn't know what tomorrow would hold.

You could barely sleep, the December cold hanging over your body like an icicle. You would give anything to be in the warmth of Maxwell's penthouse. God, you'd give anything just to be with Maxwell. You needed him.

The next morning, Maxwell woke up groggy, and his butler, Kenneth, was already waiting by his bed holding a platter of French toast, cup of black coffee and a glass of water. "Good morning sir," he greeted. "Your hangover breakfast, as requested."

Maxwell rubbed his eyes and shuffled upwards in bed as Kenneth placed the silver tray on his lap. It smelled delicious but he couldn't help but wish you were there to share it with him. He imagined you laying next to him in bed, giving him sleepy kisses while Kenneth presented you with your favourite breakfast meal; waffles and berries. The perfect life.

That's when Maxwell remembered. He practically three the breakfast on the floor and dived out of bed, still in his clothes from the night before. He caught a glimpse of your gala gown in the entryway of his closet and his heart sank in his chest. The memories came flooding back. He told you he loved you, but he didn't remember you saying it back.

"Have you seen Y/N?" Maxwell asked hurriedly, trying to weigh up what time you must have left. He quickly tore open his shirt and grabbed a clean one out of the closet.

Kenneth stood there awkwardly watching his boss work up a frenzy. "Uh no sir," he replied. "So I gather you won't be eating breakfast?" Kenneth's gaze flicked from Maxwell to the mess of French toast and spilled coffee that was sure to stain the cream coloured carpet.

"Shit no, sorry Kenneth. Could you call Jeeves and have him drive me to her apartment? I have to see her." Maxwell asked as he buttoned up the top of his dress shirt.

"Right away sir, but there's something I think you must see first." Kenneth swapped out the usual business newspaper that Maxwell would read for a glossy red-top tabloid magazine.

"You know I don't read that bullshit." Maxwell sighed, quickly combing his hair and trying his best to style it into place given the stressful circumstances. He wasn't going to forget to spritz his cologne either.

"Sir…." Kenneth drew out again, flashing the cover in Maxwell's direction. Maxwell caught a glimpse of it and his heart stopped. Front page was an image of you trending through the thick snow in the dead of night wearing Maxwell's clothes. The headline was explicitly disgusting, shaming you in every way possible. Maxwell's lips parted as he drunk in your appearance and he was horrified as he read the mean words the journalists had wrote about you.

"She cannot see this. I want you to buy every copy of this god forsaken tabloid and have them all destroyed. You understand?" Maxwell ordered, slamming his black business credit card into the chest of Kenneth. "Get the rest of the house staff to help you and do it fast."

"No worries sir," Kenneth smiled. "Jeeves is waiting for you outside."

Maxwell nodded appreciatevely as he tied his shoelaces. "Thanks."

"Sir?" Kenneth asked timidly.

"Yeah?" Maxwell asked, semi breathless.

"When you're with her, I see your face light up. I see the same happiness in you that I once saw in your father." Kenneth admitted and Maxwell's heart blossomed at the comparison. "When you get her, please don't ever let her go."

Taglist (let me know if you want to be added)!

December Magic: @100layersofdaddyissues @mrschiltoncat @thisisthe-wayson @this-cat-is-dea @blonde2bomshell @maiyaaaa0130 @autumnleaves1991-blog @justanotherblonde23

Permanent: @supernaturalgirl @phoenixhalliwell @ah-callie @luvzoria @stardust-galaxies @wickedfrsgrl @goth-topic @nerdypinupcrystal @wonderfulfluffer @kiwi-the-first @pedroepascal @castiel-barnes @honeymandos @rocketqueen @ladycumberbatchofcamelot @dybalalover10 @girl-obsessed-with-things @elena-myth

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #maxwell lord #max lord #maxwell lord x reader #max lord x reader #pedro Pascal smut

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fluffymcu · 4 years ago

Text

Letting Loose

Part EIGHTEEN

This series is TICKLE related.

Series Summary: You’re the little sister of the one and only Captain America. You’re also the youngest girl on the team, so that automatically makes you the avengers’ little princess. And they spoil you as such. They have become your amazing family and you don’t know where you’d be without them. This series will show random adventures and fluffy events in the daily life of the reader and her family, along with an unexpected turn later on as you read.

A/N: I’m so excited to be writing this series! This is my first time writing one and I’m a bit nervous but I hope it all goes well. :) Hope you enjoy!

Word count: 1,962

It’s been a few weeks since the outdoor movie night. You were looking around in the kitchen for something to eat when you heard Sam make cooing noises from his place on the couch. You turned to see him flipping through a small book. You walked up to him to see what he was doing.

“What are you doing?” you asked. He looked up from the book and smiled.

“Just lookin’ at your baby pictures.” He said. 2 or 3 of them were from the 40’s that Steve had in his uniform pockets while he was looking for you when you were kidnapped by HYDRA. Others were pictures that Steve took of you during the year that you lived in an apartment when you were 5 or 6. The rest were pics that the team took of you as you were growing up after you moved to the tower then the compound.

“Aww, look at you here.” Sam said, pointing to a picture of you with cake on your face. You internally cringed. “So adorable! With your little bows and everything.” He chuckled. You rolled your eyes.

“I’m not adorable Sam.” You said.

“Oh, so you think you’re grown now? That you're not adorable anymore?” Sam asked amused, raising an eyebrow at you. You pursed your lips and crossed your arms.

“I may not be grown but I’m not adorable.” You sass. Sam chuckled at that.

“Well I have proof right in this book that says otherwise. Look .“ he smirked, flipping through many pictures or tea parties, days in the pool, the team playing dress up with you, and much more. Through them all, Sam was cooing the while time. You groaned and covered your face in mild frustration. You flopped down on the couch and sat there with your arms crossed. Sam didn’t pay you any mind at your little attitude and just kept looking through the book.

Bucky walked in at that moment and noticed your body language. “What's y/n so worked up about?” he asked Sam. “I mean, I know she’s talking to you and that’s enough to make anyone upset but is there any other reason?” he said, smirking a bit when Sam rolled his eyes.

“Little y/n here is getting all blushy because I keep calling her adorable.” He says, going the extra mile and pinching your cheek. You whined and leaned way from his touch.

“I am not!” you could feel your face heat up. Bucky chuckles.

“Aww this is what you're cranky about? You are adorable! Look at these pictures of when you were a baby; just precious!” he says, taking the book from Sam. You growled and slumped down further on the couch. And so begins the endless teasing session.

“Look she's pouting. How cute. But as adorable as that is, I don’t know how I feel about having a pouty y/n. Buck?” Sam asked.

“Oh, absolutely not. We can’t have that! We love a happy girl!” You pout even more to show your annoyance.

“Nothing seems to work, Buck. What do you suggest we do?”

“Well, I suggest we do the thing that always makes her smile when she's pouty!” he smirked. Your eyes widened at that and you tried to make a run for it. Of course, the super soldier got to you before you could and thew you back on the couch. You were already giggling, your annoyed facade melted away. Nervousness overcame your senses as you realized not only Bucky is about to tickle you to pieces but Sam as well.

“Wahahait! Guhuhuys! I wont pout anymore I promise!!” you begged. Sam raised an eyebrow at you.

“But will you admit you're the most adorable thing ever?” he teased. You pursed your lips in a scowl.

“I'm not adorable!” you growled.

Bucky and Sam turned to face each other at the same time and nodded. “Denial.” They immediately pounced on you, eliciting loud and bubbly giggles. Bucky was wasting no time, drilling his fingers into your ribs while Sam was repeatedly squeezing up and down your thighs. You threw your head back as you laughed, keeping your arms pressed to your sides, even though it did nothing to stop the ticklish feeling.

“We can do this all day, y/n. We won’t stop until you admit it.” Bucky smirked, slipping his hands up further up to wiggle his hands under your arms. You yelped and erupted into high pitched laughter, kicking out your legs. Sam had gotten a hold of your ankle and was now scratching the soles of your feet, making you cackle. “Tickle tickle tickletickletickle! Aww look at that adorable smile!”

Your face was burning as you blushed and tried to cover your face with your hands. Bucky chortled and shook his head, lifting your shirt and blowing a long raspberry, tasing your sides at the same time. You shrieked and shot your arms right back down. “I CAHAHANT BREHEHEATHE!” You cried, shaking your head side to side. It became clear then that they really weren’t going to stop until you gave in. “AHAHAHAA OKAHAHAY OKAHAY ILL SAY IHIHIT! EEH!” You squealed and fell right back into hysterics when Sam started to squeeze your knee.

“Well? On with it then.” Sam said, not letting up on his torture. Bucky smirked, tickling your waistline, making your giggles more desperate.

“Lehehet me go fihihirst.” You giggled.

“NOPE!” Bucky said, blowing another raspberry. You arched your back with a loud squeal and finally gave in.

“NOOOHOHO OKAY IM ADOHOHORABLE!” You cry, scrunching up your neck when Bucky feathers is fingers around your neck.

“Damn right. And you better not forget it.” Bucky said, pointing a finger at you warningly. You blushed and turned on your belly to hide your face.

“Okay, yes, I get it.” You whine feigning annoyance. Bucky and Sam shook their heads at you fondly and left, leaving you to rest on the couch. You didn’t even realize you had fallen asleep until you woke up to the soft chatter of the team in the kitchen. You hadn’t opened your eyes yet and were still half asleep but you could tell you were covered by a blanket. Someone must have put it on you when you were asleep.

You stirred a bit and woke up a little more at the sound of chuckling and you sat up on the couch. You had wrinkle marks on the side of your face that was on the couch and you turned to see the team gathered around the island, having a conversation. Bucky has the first one to turn and see you, smiling and winking at you. You giggled, drawing the attention of the other team members. Steve smirked at your sleepy look and put a hand on his hip. “Look who finally woke up.”

“How was your nap, Sleeping Beauty?” Tony teased, taking a sip of his coffee.

You giggled again and fell back onto the couch to cover your blush with the blanket. “What are you guys talking about.” You asked, your voice muffled a bit. Steve walked over and sat on the couch next to you, lifting up your legs to sit.

“We’re trying to see where we wanna go to eat. There’s a nice new Wing place a few minutes out of Town Square. Think you’d like that?” He asked, rubbing up and down your legs comfortingly. You nodded with lazy smile.

“Alright, it’s decided then. Everyone get ready, we leave in 20.” Tony said, clapping his hands once. You got up and headed to your room to change.

-----

You had all just gotten seated at a table after waiting for a bit. The place was still new so there were many people there wanting to try it out. You sat next to Wanda and Bruce and across from Peter and Steve. Nat was sitting next to him. As you all were waiting for your food, you looked up to see Steve sit back and wrap an arm around Nat’s chair, kinda on her shoulders while Nat scooted closer with a small smile.

You grin to yourself and dig in your food when it arrives, making a note to yourself to tease Nat about it later.

------

You got home and followed Nat around all the way to her room, without saying a word until you closed the door behind you.

“So...? You and Steve have been getting pretty close, huh?” You asked, bumping her with your elbow and smiling smugly.

“What makes you say that?” She said, folding the rest of her laundry and obviously trying to play dumb. You rolled your eyes playfully and scoffed.

“Oh come on, don’t act like you don’t know. I think you should tell him and the team already; that you officially like him.”

“And why should I feel the need to do that yet?”

“Because... if you don’t tell him, I will.” Of course you were joking, you would never reveal a secret like that to someone. You turned on your heel and went for her bedroom door. “Oh, steeeeve!” You sang.

You didn’t expect Nat to quickly come up behind you and stick her hands under your arms. You immediately clamped up and fell to the floor in a fit of laughter. “Y/n don’t you dare-I will stuff you in my closet and keep you hostage if you tell him.” She playfully growled, following you to the ground and wrapping herself around you like a koala and tickling your sides. You were in hysterics.

“OKAHAHAHAY I WONT TELL HIM!” You cried. You were basically trapped in her hold and could do nothing but laugh your heart out. She dug her nails in between your ribs, making you cackle and arch your back.

“Promise?” She smirked, pinching mischeviously at your hip bones.

“YEHEHES, I WOULD NEVEHEHEHER!” After that, she let you go from the hold and you sprawled out on the floor, panting. Nat smirked at your exhausted state.

“Good.” She hummed. She stood up and leaned against the bed, her lips pursing a bit as she gulped. “So... how do you feel about it?” She asks a little more serious now.

You sat up on the floor and raised your eyebrows at her. “Seriously? I ship you guys so hard.” You chuckle. “If I’m being honest, I was rooting for you guys since... years ago.” You chortled. “I really hope you guys become a thing in the future. Just know I’ll always be your #1 supporter.”

Nat smiles at that, pulling you into a hug. “Thank you y/n. That means a lot. Really. I don’t know what would be possible of us if you didn’t support a relationship between us. Maybe now we actually have a chance.” She says.

“Of course!” You smile and return the hug.

-------

Tonight was Movie night with the team and you were snuggled up to Thor and Bucky. You smiled to yourself and leaned your head on Thor’s shoulder. You looked around to see everyone on the couches, sitting net to each other nd having their snacks with smiles on their faces. Right then, you had a moment where you became aware of the life you had. You had an amazing family that loved you so much and you loved them back. You wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world. You glanced over at Ruby Anne to see her sitting net to her dad. You couldn’t wait until Ruby started to feel the same feeling you feel about your family now. You sighed happily, resting your head back on his shoulder.

“Goodnight. Love you guys.” You sighed before closing your eyes. The rest of the team smiled at you and bid you goodnight as well.

“We love you too y/n/n.”

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

I hope you all enjoyed the series! this was really amazing and stressful and fun and interesting to write and although some of these chapters may not be that good, just know I put my heart and soul into this series and I was really happy to share it with you guys. <3

Remember if you’d like to request a plus chapter continuing this storyline, feel free to request one but please be specific as to what you’d like to see in that chapter. Thank you so much for reading! :D

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bonjour-rainycity · 4 years ago

Text

Spring(ish) Cleaning -- Jalice Secret Santa 2020

@jalicenetwork

Pairing: Jasper/Alice

Summary: It’s that time of the year again, and Jasper doesn’t take it quite as seriously as Alice would like. Fluff! Domestic life!

Disclaimer: I’m not making any money from this nor do I own anything recognizable.

Word count: 1280

Warnings: None

A/n HAPPY NEW YEAR!!! And happy Secret Santa, @alice-cullen-is-an-angel :) I hope you like it <3

“Jasper Whitlock Hale, you get back here right now!”

Jasper squeezes his eyes shut and takes a deep breath before setting his book down on the table. From in front of the TV, Emmett chortles. “Busted.”

With quick movement, Jasper pushes his brother’s head to the floor, then darts up the stairs, dodging Emmett’s retaliatory shove with a full second to spare.

Feeling Alice’s frustration, Jasper puts on what he hopes is a charming smile and hurries up the stairs to their room. “Yes, my love?”

Alice rolls her eyes at her husband’s faked innocence. “You said you were just getting a book.”

The edges of Jasper’s lips twitch. “And I did.”

“You’ve been gone forty-five minutes!”

Jasper rubs the back of his neck with a scarred hand, sheepish. “Well, then I settled down with the book and it got really good, so—”

Alice skips forward and jumps to place a kiss on his nose. “The book will still be here when we’re done.”

Jasper sighs, wanting to put up just a little more of a fight, even though he knows he’s already lost. “The closet will still be here when the book’s done, so…” He trails off under his wife’s death glare.

“You promised we would do this last April. It’s now January first. You know how the humans say—‘new year, new me’, well I say, ‘new year, new clothes’, and new clothes need space so we have to get rid of old clothes. Now sit.” With a measure of strength incongruent for her size, Alice shoves Jasper onto the bed, where he obedient sits with a resigned chuckle. It’s true. He had been putting this off for over nine months. He just hates going through their entire wardrobe—an achingly tedious task that takes hours due to his wife’s love for fashion. Back in the mid-1900s, they only had to do this once every five years or so—clothes weren’t produced as quickly, then, so it really slowed Alice down. Now, she has no limits, and it definitely shows in the size of a walk-in-closet that’s bigger than their actual bedroom, and three storage units scattered across the United States’ northern boarder. So now, Jasper’s least favorite chore occurs at least every eighteen months.

Wonderful.

Alice disappears in the closet and returns within a millisecond, clutching a thick grey button up from Jasper’s section, holding it up for him to see.

“Keep.”

Alice scoffs and quirks an eyebrow, raising the button-up into the light as if that would help Jasper see it through her eyes. “It’s six years old, Jazz.”

Jasper bites back a smile. The shirt is in excellent condition, but the disdain emanating from Alice when she declared the shirt’s age means it clearly has to go. Jasper shrugs, unaffected by parting with the shirt. “Donate, then.”

His wife smiles approvingly, tosses it into a pile, and returns with a nearly identical shirt in deep blue. Though, since this one is only from November, he’s allowed to keep it.

They continue like this for hours, the ‘donate’ pile growing ever larger due to Alice’s strict criteria for keeping an item in their rotation. While Jasper doesn’t enjoy this task, he basks in the one-on-one time with Alice, and mentally chides himself for putting this off for so long. It’s nice, being in their shared space, acting as a husband and wife would. Cleaning out a closet feels very normal, almost human.

He notices Alice taking longer than usual to return with the next item of clothing, and pushes off the bed to investigate. Her emotions hint at amusement, and he’s definitely intrigued. She hears—and mentally sees—him coming, and quickly hides something behind her back, moving to toss it in to the depths of the closet. He’s faster than her though, and locks a hand around her wrist, halting her movement.

“What have you got there?”

Alice gives him his second death glare of the day, though the amusement hasn’t faded. “Nothing. It’s none of your business.”

Jasper raises an eyebrow, slowly snaking his other arm around her back to pull her against him, taking her other wrist in his free hand. He pauses momentarily to enjoy her sharp intake of breath, then continues in his scrutiny. “If it’s in my closet, I’m pretty sure it’s my business.”

“Well, this specific thing isn’t,” Alice shoots back, quite obviously fighting a smile.

He acts on instinct alone, not even giving her second-sight warning before he switches his grip of her wrists to one hand and squeezes lightly, forcing her to drop the object into his free—and waiting—hand. She lunges forward, intending to steal the object back and make a run for it, but Jasper uses his grip to keep her steady, holding the object high out of her reach for both of them to see.

And he dissolves into laughter.

Alice takes advantage of his distraction and extracts herself from his loosened grip, snatching the gaudy hat and holding it in her crossed arms.

“Wha-what is that thing,” Jasper sputters, reaching for the hat. Alice takes a step back, shaking her head resolutely. “No, c’mon, please,” he chortles, raising his hands in mock-surrender. “I’ll be nice, I promise.”

Despite her expression that clearly says she doesn’t believe him, Alice hands back the hat, biting her lip against embarrassed laughter of her own.

Jasper straightens, examining the hat with forced seriousness. “It’s interesting.”

“I got it in Milan,” Alice defends, despite knowing that it won’t help her case against Jasper. Rosalie, maybe, but not her fashion-safe husband. “It’s couture, actually.” At his stuttering laugh of disbelief, Alice nearly stamps her foot. “You just wouldn’t get it!”

“You’re right,” Jasper grins, radiating pure mischief. “I don’t get it. I think it might help if I could see it on.”

“Ohhhh no,” Alice warns, taking a step back. “I’m not giving you any more ammo.”

“Alice,” he coaxes, grinning wickedly. “I’m just a student of fashion trying to better understand the trends of the time. An expert such as yourself wouldn’t deprive me of that, right?”

She knows she won’t win if she’s trapped like this. He’s already got the plan worked out in his mind—back her into a corner and simply take the hat, putting it on her head. So, she tries for her only other option.

She makes a run for it.

Her visions allow her to dodge the arm he throws out in an attempt to stop her, and she makes it into the bedroom. But then he switches to acting on instinct, and it’s all over.

They end up tangled on the bed, laughing wildly as he wrestles the hat from her grip. All too soon he’s won, and he places a soft kiss on her lips before settling the hat firmly on her head, much to her obvious annoyance.

He fights hard to not laugh, but it’s a losing battle.

The hat is somehow as large as a five-tiered cake, which looks absolutely comical on Alice’s four-foot-eleven frame. The extra-wide brim extends way past Alice’s shoulders, plunging the majority of her face into darkness. The hat is a fierce lime green, with bells made of ribbon zig-zagging up to the very top of the hat, upon which, sits an intricate design reminiscent of a bird’s nest.

“You’re beautiful,” he tries, his voice wavering with barely-restrained laughter.

“Donate,” she says firmly, gritting her teeth.

Jasper shakes his head, grinning as he tilts the brim back to see Alice’s less-than amused expression. He fully loses it then, burying his head in the crook of her neck as he shakes with laughter. “Keep.”

A/n Once again, Happy New Year everyone! My requests are open so send me a message if there’s anything you’d like for me to write :) And if you have a moment, it would mean the world to me if you checked out my masterlist! You are all loved, you are strong, and I’m here if you need me <3.

#jalicesecretsanta20 #jalicenetwork #jalice #jalice network #jalice 2020 #alice cullen #jasper cullen #jasper hale #jasper whitlock hale #alice x jasper #jasper x alice #twilight #jalice fluff #jalice domestic life #twilight fanfiction #twilight renaissance #twilight gapfiller #jalice fanfiction

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hopeless-deerie-fanfics · 4 years ago

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MC who’s panic response when in danger is to say kinky shit (eg: harder) and the brother’s reactions

Masterlist and requests info as well as the fandoms I write for is the pinned post on my page, so go check it out if you like this! Had some fun with the prompt because hey why not XP

WARNINGS: NSFW, SWEARING, KINKS, MINOR SPOILERS PRE EP.10, MAJOR SPOILERS for pre ep.20 for Belphie’s one, so avoid that one if you arent there yet. Lemme kno what you think and enjoy!

LUCIFER

- This poor man

- He thought he could handle the human exchange student

- Honestly so far things have been going quite well

- And then he gets angry and you step in between to stop him from hurting his brothers

- Part of him is impressed you even have the guts

- But he is Very Angry and you should move if you don’t want to get hurt

- He takes a step closer and grasps your neck, about to make a warning threat

- When suddenly you just scream at the top of your lungs, fear wide in your eyes

- “HARDER DADDY”

- *Lucifer.EXE has stopped working*

- You broke the poor man

- Gobsmacked is the only word to describe the expression on his face

- He’s so shocked that his anger dissipates and he turns back into his regular form

- At which point you collapse to your knees heavy breathing

- “fuck, fuck, um sorry, uh when I panic I just blurt out anything to try and throw people off and uh, well normally kinky stuff seems to work”

- Lucifer just blinks

- Then smirks

- “Come to my room later tonight, a punishment is in order for distracting me from disciplining my idiot brother”

- Your heart is pounding a mile a minute, face flushed, and from the look on Lucifer’s face he knows it

- Yeah good luck looking him in the eye for a while without immediately remembering and getting super flustered

- You did this to yourself hun

- When you do go to see him that night you expect something hot, but he just sits you down for a two hour long lecture on ‘appropriate use of language’

- Of course once he has drained all the excitement from you, just as he dismisses you, he runs a gloved finger across your jaw, tilting your face up to his, standing a little too close for comfort

- “What darling, were you expecting something else when you came here?”

- He’s smirking, and you’re melting under his gaze

- He knows what he’s doing and is relishing in your squirms

- Sadistic bastard

- (but you love it)

MAMMON (read lucifer’s first)

- By this point mammon has already sprinted off, half of him thanking his luck at getting away scot free, the other half completely bamboozled (and kinda turned on) at what you said to get Lucifer to stop

- Of course the moment he sees you again he’ll burst out laughing

- Now that his life isn’t in immediate danger he can process the humour and oh man

- You really said THAT

- To LUCIFER

- And LIVED

- Maybe he should try it next time he’s about to get strung up by his ankles

- Nah it wouldn’t be worth the punishment plus his brothers would make sure he would never live it down

- Would be hilarious though

- But seriously, he’s pissing himself laughing

- Internally though, he wants you to say that again, this time to him

- And if you do?

- Man oh man, he will melt into a pile of blushing spluttering mess

- “H-Hey ya, ya can’t just go around sayin’ that stuff!”

- *pause*

- (under breath) “say it again, but louder”

- “What was that mammon?”

- “I-I said I GOTTA TAKE A SHOWER” *slams door as he runs away*

- It won’t be long till he’s back beside you, honestly just use this method any time you want a 5 minute break

LEVIATHAN

- Oh he was PISSED

- You beat him at the *clearly RIGGED* quiz and he wasn’t having any of it

- How could some measly normie possibly begin to understand the complexities of ‘The Tale Of The Seven Lords’ when you had only watched it for the first time last week and hadn’t even read the hundreds of manga that feed into the backstory!? What about the Extended Cut!? The Holiday Special!? The Japan Only Release of the secret episode where Henry gets possessed by an ancient cheese spirit and trapped in the fridge realm and the Lord of Corruption has to go and rescue him in a daring feat only ever seen by 17 pairs of eyes in stop-motion clay!?

- Rage coursed through him, and now in his demon form he stepped closer, ready to strike

- At least that was until…

- *anime girl voice*

- “CHOKE ME WITH YOUR TAIL ONII-CHAN”

- …

- Cue silence

- You could hear a pin drop

- Levi is BEET RED

- Drops out of demon form and stares open mouthed, wide eyed at you

- Asmo’s the first one to let out a snicker

- Then Satan

- Then Mammon

- Levi’s panic response is ‘Retreat to the bathtub-bed’ so that’s what he does

- Because Hoooooo he’s suddenly got a bulge in his pants and he *DOESN’T KNOW WHAT TO DO ABOUT IT*

- HOW did this stupid normie human NAIL Ruri-Chan’s voice from that one tentacle hentai he watched, had they seen it!?!? Were they secretly an Otaku like him!? Were they real life Ruri-Chan dressed up in a human costume!?!?

- And how did they know one of his kinks-

- HOW IS HE SUPPOSED TO PROCESS THIS INFORMATION!?!?

- THAT IS NOT NORMIE BEHAVIOUR!!

- He will avoid you till the end of time until you go to him and explain and apologise

- But he will never see you in the same way again

- And if you two end up getting physical at any point in the future he will use this to your advantage

- Knowing what you like makes him feel more comfortable

- Poor baby needs reassurance though

- And you bet he’ll blush the whole time

SATAN (read Levi’s first)

- He was actually snickering at Lucifer’s expression when you said …*that*… to Levi, because he has never seen the eldest look so shocked and appalled

- Do it again human, keep going, drive Lucifer insane and let him watch

- He was shocked initially of course, but quickly morphed it into pleasant surprise

- And curiosity, if there’s one thing this man seeks out it’s knowledge

- And in this case, knowledge of just how many things he can get you to say in Lucifer’s presence to infuriate and/or horrify him

- He isn’t all that phased by what you said

- But he will tease you about it

- Only when Lucifer is around

- He likes watching the irritation in his eyes as you stutter over your words

- Or better yet when he Kabedons you to the wall and you yelp out an incoherently horny mish mash of words

- That is until one day he does this and your words ignite something in him other than his usual supressed anger boiling deep beneath the surface

- “M-MASTER MAKE ME BEG”

- Well, if you didn’t know what he was into... you do now

- His pupils immediately widen and there’s no missing it

- Something about the way he moves closer to you screams predator cornering prey

- He breathes and whispers softly against your neck

- “Say that again”

- You’re shell shocked

- “u-um.. m-master-“

- He nips at your earlobe he doesn’t care who’s watching

- Of course Mammon walks in and screams as he throws himself between the two of you shrieking incoherently

- But next time you’re alone, looking for a book in the library…

- …

- You and Satan may be a little, lets just say, preoccupied, with something other than books.

ASMODEUS

- Need I say anything here

- The only one who is 100% down with this straight off the bat

- Not even phased in the slightest

- “Oh, so that’s what you’re into huh~ hmmmm you have good taste” he practically purrs into your ear

- He’s running his hands over your hips, tracing your neck with his tongue

- The others have to tear him off of you but when they do he simply smiles and winks at you

- “You know where to find me if you want to play out your fantasies sweetie~!”

- If he catches you alone you know he will take that opportunity to do what ever it is you yelped out

- And of course he will pry to try and figure out more things you’re into

- Purposely make situations where you are more likely to blurt out yet another kink

- If you do go to him?

- Well, he’s the avatar of Lust for a reason

- And you will come to know just what that entails

- He will ensure you are completely satisfied, no leaving you all fired up and no place to go

- Good luck ever sleeping alone again

- Or ever sleeping again without him occupying your time and your bed first

- You will be busy every night, and will need to learn to avoid secluded closets and quiet rooms alone with him if you don’t want to get railed in public

- If there’s one thing Asmo appreciates, it’s Voyeurism

- And if you get caught, don’t think he’ll be stopping any time soon

- More likely than anything he’ll ask them to join if you’re comfortable with that

- But the pampering and aftercare he provides is second to none

- This man practically worships your body through sex

- If you didn’t know he was once an angel, well, you do now

BEELZEBUB

- Big beefy teddybear boi just wanted a midnight snack

- But he found a midnight snacc instead

- So he is shoulders deep in the fridge hunting for goods

- You come in to get a glass of water not noticing he is there

- So when he leans back, lapping up a full tub of custard pudding and swings the door of the fridge closed with a loud *thunk*

- You whip round in shock and your brain decides to betray you

- Or perhaps bless you, it really depends how you see it

- “WHY DONT YOU EAT ME OUT LIKE THAT”

- …

- Wide eyes

- Pupils dilated

- A new hunger is present and the avatar of Gluttony won’t stop till he’s satisfied

- He finished the pudding in a second flat and immediately made his way over to you, leaning close to your lips

- But he hesitates

- “Did you… mean that?”

- He asks

- He is hesitant but hopeful

- Clearly trying very hard to resist the urge to not ask permission and just dig in

- But he can see the blush on your face and tell that it was not something you meant to allow to slip out

- And come on, who could resist his big round eyes gazing down at you

- If you nod he’ll take it as enough of an answer

- I hope you don’t mind some public action because this boy is far too focused to cart you back to his room

- Up on the counter you go, legs spread, bottoms discarded

- If you’re wearing a skirt it is pushed up

- He licks up your thighs first before trying his meal

- This… well, you will be there a good while, he just can’t seem to get enough

- And once you have let him have a taste, the more he cannot have you, the more he will crave you till he’s begging you to let him try once again

- The only way he’s stopping is if somebody interrupts you, and it will take a couple tries to actually pull him away

- He’s a strong boy but he tries so hard to be gentle

- And if you’re embarrassed he’ll take you to his room and tuck you in, taking the couch out of fear of crushing you unless you insist that it is absolutely, 100% ok to share

- But if you do let him share…

- Don’t be surprised if you wake up to him trying you for breakfast

- It’ll be the only time he’s ever late to breakfast

- Eventually somebody will come and find you two and once again, it will take a few tries to pull him away

- But then he’ll give you a beaming smile like sunshine

- “You’re delicious, let’s go get some more breakfast, huh?”

- And lead you to the kitchen

- Diavolo forbid you can ever again look at a kitchen counter without getting turned on

BELPHEGOR ( SPOILERS FOR CHAPTER 20)

- So, it’s not like it was a normal day to start with

- What with, ya kno

- Belphie breaking out from the attic

- And going ape shit

- And trying to kill you

- So of course, in what could have been your final moments, your last words, the thing they would read at your funeral or put on your gravestone

- Your brain really said ‘hm, how do I want to be remembered, as this very angry, vengeful demon stands over me ready to slaughter me?’

- “IF YOU’RE GUNNA FUCK ME OVER AT LEAST MAKE ME COME FIRST”

- …

- Belphie doesn’t know if it’s the rush of emotions or the heat of the moment or the fact that those are the worst last words that have ever been conceived by a living being

- But he just

- BURSTS out laughing

- Completely breaks

- He’s on the floor

- None of the brothers know what to do

- One minute he’s about to kill you, the next you say… *THAT* and then his reaction is to start rolling around on the floor, tears streaming down his face, uncontrollably laughing so hard that he’s clutching his sides in pain

- And what do you do?

- What do you say?

- “… wow I cant believe that worked”

- Absolute fits

- He can’t contain it

- He manages to supress his laughter for a short while once he finds out about Lilith’s connection to you

- But at this point he was already gunna keep you

- He can’t bring himself to kill anyone who would voluntarily go out with those words, it would be WAY more fun to spectate such a lunatic, not to mention the abject horror across Lucifer’s face is more than enough to sate his hunger for revenge for enough time to process and calm himself down

- But he’s not going to forget this, human

- You just wait

- …

- 3 days and you find out that he has teamed up with Mammon and made TSHIRTS

- TSHIRTS that say what could have been your last words

- Not only that, they’re selling them at Majolish and it’s a best seller

- And he’s rubbing it in your face

- Yeah

- You will never live this down

- At least he seems to be getting along with most of his brothers now

- Who knew you being a horny idiot with no verbal filter would be the thing that saved your life?

- Certainly not you

- All of Devildom knows what you said

- And you can bet Solomon bulk buys some t-shirts and sells them in the human world too

- He’ll wear one until Simeon manages to pry it off of him, saying it’s inappropriate to wear around Luke

- That won’t stop him from teasing you about it too though

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gallavictorious · 5 years ago

Text

“Will you suck my dick whenever I want?” Sex, Power, and the Gallavich Modes of Communication.

Becaue of reasons I want to talk a bit about the rather infamous “suck my dick” scene of 4x08.

This is a complicated scene and I have complicated feelings about it, which is pretty much the above-mentioned 'reasons' for writing this exploratory meta: when in confoundment, hash it out by putting all your thoughts down on paper. Fair warning: this is long, and since it deals with dubious consent you might want to give it a miss if discussion of that sort of thing upsets you. Same goes if you believe that Ian really is just asking for unlimited access to blowjobs, or find extensive (over)analysis of fictional works silly.

The accusation sometimes levelled at Ian in regards to this scene is that he's being manipulative and practically forcing Mickey into performing sexual acts he would otherwise not perfom, taking advantage of Mickey's emotional vulnerability to secure sexual pleasure for himself. He certainly issues an ultimatum and this scene is uncomfortable to watch because of that, but at the same time it's always seemed pretty obvious to me that endless blowjobs isn't really Ian's objective here. If that's all he wanted, he could easily get that without having to resort to extortion: finding sexual partners has never been a problem for him. No, there are other things at work, and below I try to figure out what.

Let's kick of by a quote from Oscar Wilde: “Everything is about sex except sex. Sex is about power.”

Because yes, this is about power rather than sex – which is another way of saying that what Ian truly wants isn't for Mickey to give him a blowjob, but for Mickey to agree to do it in spite of his initial reluctance. Which still isn't a very flattering look for Ian, because neither demanding blowjobs nor demanding your partner's submission is particularly charming (outside of negotiated kink, of course). However, I think it's fair to say that the power Ian seeks here is not the power to (permanently) place himself above Mickey, but the power to once more level the playing field between them and regain some sense of the agency and control that Ian felt he lost during the whole mess leading up to Mickey's wedding.

From the very start, Ian's been wanting more from Mickey than Mickey's been willing or able to give (not because Mickey isn't as into Ian as Ian is into him, but because of all that other shit: you know well what I'm talking about). To a large extent, Ian's been reining himself in, wary of asking too much, lest he scare Mickey off. Whenever he's openly pushed for more – trying to kiss Mickey, putting his hand on the glass, insisting that Mickey do not murder his father – Mickey has brusquely rebuffed him. However, he's had quite a bit of success with less direct methods, as when he 'gets' Mickey to kiss him by explaining that one of the reasons he likes Ned is that Ned isn't afraid to. (And for the record, I don't think this was a conscious ploy by Ian: he was simply being honest with Mickey, in a way that also conveyed his disappointment in Mickey's continued unwillingness to kiss.)

Ian's been in love with Mickey for a long time. For a long time, he doesn't tell Mickey this, which is partly due to the above-mentioned fear of scaring Mickey off, and partly due to Ian genuinely not being sure if Mickey likes him back. (“How do you know if a guy you've been hanging out with likes you?”) But following the very obviously jealous beatdown of Ned, the kiss in the van, and the invitation to a sleep-over, Ian is finally convinced that Mickey does indeed like him too – only 3x06 happens and Mickey is not only shutting him out again, he's getting married to someone else.

But knowing what he now knows – i.e. that Mickey is in love with him – Ian doen't back off or try (to the best of his feeble ability) to play it cool. He puts himself out there, he puts his emotions on display, and he repeatedly begs Mickey not to get married.

Mickey gets married all the same.

Now, Ian has a strong sense of integrity and does not enjoy having to depend on someone else. Ian is not very good at admitting when he's wrong. Ian is proud. Because of this and quite apart from the heartbreak of losing Mickey to marriage, I'd imagine that he's feeling less than great about being scorned after having been so open about his wishes. (Well. Scorned is a somewhat strong word: Mickey's obviously still down for him, but he's not willing to give Ian what he wants – a real relationship, as Ian defines it.) As far as Ian is concerned, the situation has created a tangible power gap between them, with Mickey having the upper hand. (It might be argued that the power gap's been there the entire time, with Ian wanting more than Mickey was willing to give, but up until that point Ian has not actively asked for things Mickey's made clear is out of bounds but has accepted Mickey's marking of boundaries with a shrug and an 'oh'.)

Mickey's broken “don't” as Ian announces his intention to enlist isn't enough to bridge that gap: it's an admission of feeling, of need, but does not indicate any intention on Mickey's part to further act on that feeling. It doesn't change anything: Ian still wants a commited relationship, Mickey still wants Ian around to fuck him even while he stays married to Svetlana.

And for all that we sympathize with Mickey – which we bloody well should, because he was the victim of a horrible crime and trapped in the shittiest of situations through no fault of his own – it isn't unreasonable of Ian to not want to be the secret 'mistress' of a closeted man. He's been there, done that, and quite understandably wants more from Mickey. He isn't wrong for trying to extricate himself from that situation, even as it's utterly understandable why Mickey isn't able to give him what he wants at the time.

Life's like that, kids. Sometimes there are no good choices, and sometimes no one's at fault even though everything's an absolute mess and people get hurt. (I mean, Terry's at fault. Terry is a huge fucking cunt.)

It bears saying that Ian isn't a saint and doesn't behave perfectly in this situation: he shows little understanding for Mickey's entirely justifiable fears, and rather than telling Mickey that he loves him, he insists that Mickey admits that he loves Ian, which I do find a bit presumptuous. Ian's small smile when Mickey comes close to breaking when Ian announces his plan to leave indicates that he finds some small measure of pleasure in knowing that he's hurt Mickey the way Mickey has hurt him: though I think it's not primarily pleasure in the hurt itself, but rather pleasure in what it signifies, i.e. that Mickey does care about him too. But that isn't enough; that isn't really news.

So he enlists and that goes the way it goes and then Mickey seeks him out at the club and brings him home, to the bed Mickey normally shares with his wife. This, I think, tells Ian something; it suggests something beyond Mickey just having feelings for him. It's just a suggestion, mind, so it doesn't actually resolve anything, but it's enough of a something that Ian's willing to have a conversation about possibly returning when Mickey comes to see him at the Gallagher house.

But Ian has a problem. If he simply goes back to be being with Mickey without anything changing he has effectively agreed to the sort of arrangement he joined the army to very pointedly escape. Quite apart from him not wanting that sort of relationship, it would signify a failure to proud guy Ian, and following his failure to even make it through basic, I think that's not something he's willing to allow. He still wants to be with Mickey, though. Knowing that Mickey is as unlikely to divorce his wife now as he was to call off the wedding, Ian can't ask for that; he can't ask again for the type or relationship he really wants – but he can't go back to what they had previously either. This puts him in a pretty tough spot, and I think this is why he asks for Mickey to suck his dick. While not achieving exactly what he wants it still gives him enough of a something that he feels comfortable resuming his relationship with Mickey:

Firstly, it serves to even the score and redistribute the power between them. Yes, this is him asking Mickey to submit to him and for Mickey to acknowledge Ian's power over him, but it's a request made from what Ian perceives to be a position of weakness (because of the whole Ian putting himself out there and Mickey getting married in spite of that). By momentarily placing himself above Mickey, Ian seeks balance the scales, bringing them back to an even level. This is a one-time thing, over and done with once Mickey agrees. Evidence suggests this works very well, too: look at their interactions the next day, when they're back to their normal and easy back and forth. Even so, it's a pretty fucked up thing to ask for, but we need to remember that Ian has a fairly complicated relationship with sex, given all that he's been through, and probably doesn't take this kind of thing nearly as seriously as we might want him to.

Secondly, Ian wants Mickey to commit to an emotional honesty he has so far resisted. If they can't be an official couple, he still wants that much. They were getting somewhere before Terry fucked everything up, and Ian has zero interest in going back to a relationship where Mickey pretends that it's only about the banging and shies away from any notions of an emotional involvement.

Ian wants Mickey to let himself be vulnerable with Ian, and while performing a sexual act to signify a commitment not to let things be only about sex seems pretty damned contradictory at first glance, this specific type of sexual act – which is bitch-coded in the enviroment Mickey has grown up in and which he probably finds hard to admit that he likes (until he doesn't: “I suck his dick and I love it” – but this line really supports both the idea that Mickey doesn't in fact mind sucking Ian's dick and that it's something that isn't “appropriate” for him to like; else he wouldn't have thrown it in Terry's face like that) – signifies more that just the sexual act itself: Ian knows that Mickey likes sucking his dick, and he wants Mickey to own that (as Mickey owns being a bottom): he wants Mickey to lay off the bullshit and be honest about who is and what he wants, to Ian, if not to anyone else at this point. The last time Ian asked this of Mickey, Mickey kicked him in the face, so I don't think it's too hard to see why Ian would go about it in this way rather than asking for what he really wants outright.

What he seeks here is a promise of a long-time commitment, and that's why the “whenever I want” bit is significant, because it points ahead to the future, even if Ian has no intention of enforcing the actual sucking of dicks bit.

And I think it's very important that both Ian and Mickey are ver clear about the fact that Ian will not enforce this. I think they are: for all that they have trouble communicating at times, this is the sort of subtle signalling they are pretty good at. I guess it comes down a bit to character intepretation though: I just don't think Ian would seriously ask this of Mickey, and I don't think Mickey would agree to it either. They both see this for the one-time act of submission it is, with all that it signifies and symbolizes.

(Let's be clear: if Ian had actually continued to enforce this demand, leading them down a path of a 'blow me right now or I'm leaving' that would have been pretty damned horrible. The reason I don't think this happened, apart from finding it OOC, is the complete lack of evidence that things are weird between them going forward, and if Ian had been forcing Mickey, a rape victim, into performing sexual acts, things sure as hell would have been weird between them. After this, they're back on an even footing: they sure have conflicts, which culminates with Mickey coming out [and, yes – demanding that someone come out isn't great, especially when that someone is facing the kind of threats Mickey is, but at the same time it's perfectly reasonable for Ian not to want to stay in a secret relationship: again, it's a fucked-up situation with no good choices], but they're on level fighting ground. It's not the sort of conflict resolution I'd recommend, but it apparently worked for them, and given their generally messy dynamic, I'm not really surprised.)

In fairness, Ian isn't really being nice about this whole thing, and there's absolutely some glee and triump when Mickey actually agrees to do it. A sense of vindication, surely, after what happened between them just before Ian left. But do notice that while Ian kind of does rub it in – “suck my dick, whenever I want” with that pleased smile – he doesn't in fact make Mickey say it, even though Mickey's request – “don't make me say it, asswipe” – does make it clear that if Ian demands it, Mickey will. There is an element of payback to this whole exchange, there's no denying that, but Ian's not out to actually be cruel to Mickey: he wants them to be back on even and equal ground, and he wants Mickey to own his desires and emotions.

So yeah, it's still not great by any means, and it's still uncomfortable to watch, but if we take into account Ian's somewhat causal relationship to sex in general, as well as Mickey's unwillingness both to emotionally commit and to actually talk about things, I think it's fair to say that Ian is not trying to manipulate Mickey, but rather to stand his ground and express his wishes in a way that he believes Mickey can and will play along with. (I, incidentally, think that Ian might be wrong, and that it's possible that Mickey has missed him enough and worked with himself enough that if Ian had made instead asked “will we actually talk about our feelings” Mickey would have gone along with that too, to the best of his ability – but this is actually way easier for Mickey to roll with.) It is pretty messed up, but viewed through the lense of their shared history and less than straightforward modes of communication, it does make a whole lot of sense.

To me at least – as always, feel free to disagree or add your own perspectives. I view meta as an invitation to discuss, not as a finalized argument to end discussion, and there are certainly aspects I haven’t touched upon here. And if you have seen this discussed before, I'd be super grateful if you'd point in me in the right direction.

#gallavich #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #4x08 #tw: dubious consent #meta #yeah i might have gone a bit overboard with this whole thing #but it IS a very complex scene #and this is how i make sense of things #rambling endlessly about them #my stuff

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matth1w · 5 years ago

Note

Can I ask for a Lucifer Morningstar fic where the reader to pregnant, hasn’t told Lucifer yet and panics starting to lie to him and avoid him. They resolve it when he does some of his own detective work and he decides he wants you to know he likes the child. Bonus points of stuff like ‘well now I’ve trapped you and you’re mine...’ (like playfully) Thanks.

Detective Morningstar

Pairing: Lucifer Morningstar x Reader

Summary: You’re pregnant with Lucifer’s baby. Great, right? Wrong. You know how much he doesn’t like children. So being a responsible adult, you… lie and avoid him. Lucifer does some detective work and finds out, because of course he would.

Warnings: Unplanned pregnancy, angst, language, talk of period, talk of yeast infections (just wait)

Rating: Everyone

Word Count: 2,709 words

Note: Lots of internal dialogue in this one, with lotsa cursing. Indicated by italics. Also, part of what took so long - my first attempt at this was much less happy and required me to get into a certain mindset. The rewrite is much happier and lighter. And pregnancy fics just take more effort from me.

Note to Requestor: Thank you for requesting and your patience, nonnie! I hope you enjoy! 💕

Tags: @kittenlittle24

It was about four in the morning and you were thankful for your natural inability to hold your bladder through the night. Lucifer didn’t seem disturbed by your getting out.

Heavy sleeper and used to it, I guess.

You slowly closed the bathroom door with a soft click and opened the cabinet just as slow. Thankful you had fixed that squeaky hinge.

Your eyes fell on the bright box in front of you and you grabbed it with trepidation - hoping your period would start and wake you from this nightmare. You opened the box quietly, swearing internally at the foil wrapping.

Why did they make these things so loud??

It wasn’t necessary. All it did was make it perfectly clear to anyone within a mile’s radius that you were taking a pregnancy test.

You paused after finally pulling it out - so on edge and nervous of making any sound Lucifer would overhear.

Nothing came from the bedroom so you got down to business.

Yuck, of course you got a little on your fingers.

Okay. All done. Now just five minutes.

God it felt like an hour.

Any bleeding?

Nope.

You checked. Still had hope even if it was a week late. You had been practically begging for your period.

You made empty promises to never complain about your period again.

You checked your phone for the hundredth time in the five minutes.

Finally.

You didn’t even pause before looking at the test.

Shit.

Hold up, it could be a -

Nope. Definitely a +

+ means pregnant right??

Shit shit shit.

Wait.

Could be a false positive. Those happen all the time.

Yeah, sure, your brain aka reasonable Y/N thought.

You looked into the cabinet to get another one, a different brand.

As much as you were freaking out, you realized that wasn’t the best idea. You’d wait until tomorrow.

I’m sure I’ll get my period by then and it’ll be some weird false positive...

Yeah.

You pushed the feeling in your gut down. It could be wrong.

It had to be.

1 day and 1 more positive test later...

You sat on the couch, Netflix running but not earning your attention.

You were too busy thinking at break-neck speed.

... Well he came around to liking Trixie. Becoming like an uncle to her. Now when he called her monkey it was affectionate.

And he loved and was even affectionate to baby Charlie.

So maybe he wouldn’t be mad. Or upset? Or idk disappointed?

Oh God, that would be the worst.

Wait, God!

Hey! Dad in law! Can you help out here? Take little bugger out?

I mean you helped Mary so just like say the spell backwards.

Yikes.

Let’s hope He wasn’t listening. Pretty sure that sent you straight to Hell ten times over.

Speaking of Hell, this was his fault! He’s the one with the freaking sperm!

But.... you’re the one whose body betrayed you. Apparently your uterus had too many months of preparing for a baby just for it to get torn down.

Maybe it was a fake. False positive. People get those all the time.

Across two different brands?

Ugh, shut up, reasonable Y/N.

3 days and 3 more positive tests later...

Maze you whisper-yelled through your teeth and shook your hand to get her to come over once she looked up from her spot on the barstool.

“I’m fucked.”

“Why?”

Maze asked with a suspicious look.

“I’m... fucked”, you cursed.

“You can’t tell anyone. Especially you know who.”

Maze smiled and nodded, curiosity piqued. She loved secrets.

You sighed, the omnipresent string of curses running through your head before you spoke again, taking a deep breath and spilling it all out.

“I’m like 99.999 percent sure I’m pregnant.”

You sucked in air, having to breath after saying that all so hurried also because FUCK, you just said it out loud.

Your best friend/practical sister just started at you, chewing on your lip.

She shifted on her feet.

“Are you...” she was trying to gauge you and the situation. “Happy?”

You made faces as you tried to think.

Were you?

Petrified. Anxious. Happy? Okay a little. If you weren’t worried about Lucifer’s reaction maybe you would be.

You mean, it was kinda cool you were like making life.

“Uhhhh...”

Maze nodded slowly at that. Understanding nearly perfectly well what was going on.

“I see. And you’re worried about Lucifer?”

You nodded, scared of even saying his name.

“What if he doesn’t like me like that?”, you sighed, wanting to cry.

She just stared at you, but it was no use as you had dropped your head in your hands. She waited until you lifted your head back up before speaking.

“You’re literally married.”

Oh. Right.

“Yeah but...”

She flicked you in the forehead.

“Stop being an idiot, YN.”

“What are my two favorite ladies gossiping about?”

You jumped out of your skin. Neither of you had noticed your husband/ father of your child until he stood just a foot away.

Shit shit shit.

Say something!

You looked to Maze but she was giving you nothing.

Fuck. Okay uh...

“Uh... VAGINAL ITCHING!”

Lucifer stopped himself from putting his hand on your shoulder. His face was a hilarious mixture of confusion and strange acceptance.

No one said anything so you had to go again.

“Um... yeah. Maze,” you gulped at the daggers coming from her eyes.

“I mean, I.... uh, I think I got a yeast infection.”

Lucifer nodded furrowing his eyebrows. He just turned on his feet and walked away.

Once he was out of reach, Maze snorted.

“You’re a mess! Vaginal itching??”

You buried your head in your hands once more and groaned.

— — —

When you went to bed that night Lucifer was already there.

“What have you been up to darling?”

Reading articles about how to tell your husband you’re pregnant.

“Um. Uh.... Reorganizing the closet.”

You smiled and laughed a little too loud as you realized how utterly stupid that was considering he was in the bedroom. With full view of the closet.

You blushed and tried to laugh it off.

“Sorry, babe. I’m super tired. I’ve been out of it.”

He chuckled. “That yeast infection?”, he mused.

You nodded over enthusiastically. “Yeah the uh, yeast infection.... Itchy itch!”

You cringed.

Itchy itch? Who says that??

Lucifer pursed his lips, trying so hard not to laugh at you.

“Yes, itchy itch indeed. Let me know if you need me to run to the store and get you something for that. I was planning on going out tomorrow.”

You gulped. Fear and paranoia coursing through your veins.

He nudged your shoulder.

“CVS has those chocolates you like on sale so I thought I’d pick some up.”

You sighed. A little too eagerly. Then tried to cover it up.

You couldn’t trust your words so you smiled and leaned in to kiss Lucifer.

He held your lips for an extra moment and pulled away slowly.

“I love you, Y/N” he said. Certainty and firmness evident through his tone and eyes that held yours.

You closed your eyes.

“I love you too, my angel”

— — —

You stopped as you stepped out of Lux, taking a moment to appreciate the warm LA sun hitting your skin. You closed your eyes and held your head high.

Today was going to be a good day.

Someone cleared their throat next to you and you frowned.

Or not.

Opening your eyes you saw you sister in law, Remiel.

Ah, fuck.

“Remy!” you exclaimed, trying to be excited. Like you didn’t know what was going on or why she was here.

She looked at you unamused.

“Y/N. I thought you said you used protection.”

Your face fell and you slumped. Embarrassed as Remy brought up your old conversation.

When she came down to try to take Charlie to Heaven she made a comment about expecting Lucifer to be the one to create a nymphlim.

And you of course said that you two used protection and she wouldn’t have to worry about that.

Which wasn’t a lie, you had been! You just... kinda stopped.

You laughed awkwardly.

“Yeah…” You swallowed.

“Since you’re here... am I actually…?” your throat tightened. You couldn’t say it.

In an instant your sister in law eyes softened.

“Yes,”

You nodded, looking away as you bit your lip, trying to hold back the tears from spilling onto your cheeks.

Remy came closer to you and put her hand on your shoulder.

“Hey,” she began, her voice soft and almost unfamiliar from what you knew of the hunter.

You looked up at Remy and tried to smile.

“I guess,” you sniffled. “I kept thinking it wasn’t real. That all the tests were somehow wrong.”

You shuddered out a shaky laugh, meeting her eyes quickly.

“But I guess if you’re here and you can tell...”

Remy grunted in agreement. “I can smell it clearly.”

You chuckled and looked back at her, not surprised to see her serious face. But that left after a moment to a sly smirk.

You sighed and decided to go in for a hug. After a quick flinch, Remy brought her arms loosely around you.

“You’re not mad?” You sniffled against her shoulder.

She laughed under you as she pulled away, holding you at arms length.

“No. I learned my lesson with Amenadiel. I wanted to offer my help. The child of Lucifer will be highly sought out.”

You blanched. “Sought out? Like...”

She nodded seriously. Her mood instantly changing.

“Yes, Y/N. Many will try to get ahold of your child for their own benefit.”

You just nodded back, unable to handle the situation and desperately wanting to not think about it.

Remy seemed to notice your fatigue and tried to smile again.

“But there’s no need to worry about that now!”

You smiled back, trying to relax as well.

“Well... since you’re here...”

“Remy!”

Lucifer shouted from behind you.

Your husband walked up to you both and pulled his sister in for a tight hug.

“So lovely for you to stop down. What are you doing here?”

Remy went to say - the truth. So you spoke up first. Almost drowning her out.

“I invited her for pedicures!”

“Ooh pedicures?” Lucifer turned to you with excitement.

“Yeah. Uh, Girl family bonding. Like just girls! ... Sorry uh no boys allowed.”

Luci chuckled as Remy just looked on.

“Sounds lovely.” Luci couldn’t even try to hide the love in his heart seeing his wife and sister together.

You stepped in to give him a quick peck on the cheek then back to Remy and wrapped your arm in hers.

“Bye Luci!”

There was a glimmer in his eyes as he pulled out the corvette keys from his pocket and handed them to you.

“Have fun, darling”.

You smiled up at your husband, appreciative of the act.

He gave Remy one last look before he walked back inside.

It was quiet for almost a minute before Remy broke the silence.

“You haven’t told him yet?”

You sighed and hung your shoulders.

“I’ve been meaning to but I just... I’m so scared.”

“Of what?”

You looked at her. She really did want to help.

“Hey uh, if you’re not busy. A pedicure would be nice.”

She smiled. It truly was a nice sight.

“Sure.”

— — —

After you got home and said your goodbyes to your sister in law you hummed happily, trying to not be nervous.

Thankfully Lucifer wasn’t home so you relaxed in front of the tv with a snack.

When the elevator door dinged, you jumped up as Lucifer was quite cheery.

“What’s got you all smiley, Mr. Morningstar?”

He chuckled. “Well, Mrs. Morningstar, not only did they have your chocolates on sale. I also got a coupon!”

You giggled at him. Lucifer Morningstar. The Devil himself. Clipping coupons with such eagerness like a domestic housewife.

He walked over to you and held up the bags. You gawked.

“Luci, how much chocolate did you get??”

He gave you a sly smile.

“Oh I noticed we were running low on some items so I got them as well”

He held your eyes and in that moment you knew you were caught. But you tried to play dumb.

“What stuff?”

He tilted his head at you.

“You know, darling. Pregnancy tests. You’ve gone through quite a lot these past few days.”

You felt the color drain from your face.

“Luci...”

He held up his hand and walked over to sit beside you.

“Y/N. Whatever the reason, I want you to know you don’t need to lie anymore.”

You had to look away at the intensity of his look.

“I’m the Devil. Sensing truth and lies is my thing.”

He put two fingers under your chin to make you meet his eyes.

“And even if I wasn’t. You’re a bloody awful liar. Pedicures?”

He gave you a crooked cheeky smile and you couldn’t help the groan that escaped you.

“I know. But Luci...”

He wasn’t moving to speak so you took a breath and continued.

“I thought you would be upset. I mean, other than Trixie and Charlie, you don’t really like kids. And having a kid, it would tie us together forever. And I know we’re married but it’s different? And I just...”

Your voice trailed off when you looked back up at Lucifer and saw him shaking his head.

“Y/N, my darling wife. We were tied together forever the moment I first saw you. And a child? To be honest, seeing my brother with Charlie it sparked something in me.

“And when I saw you and Remy standing together today - I hoped she was here for the same reason you had taken almost every kind of pregnancy test. And didn’t use any tampons. And didn’t eat any of your period ice cream.”

You felt the blush grow on your cheeks and bumped your head into his shoulder - trying to desperately hide your embarrassment.

“You used your detective skills on me, Morningstar?”

He laughed wholeheartedly as he wrapped his arms around you.

“You aren’t that challenging of a case, love.”

You let yourself laugh.

It shouldn’t surprise you.

Wait.

He said hoped.

Hoped.

“Luci...” you stilled under him, “You said you hoped?”

“Yes,” he said simply.

“Really?”, you said softly, so surprised by his words.

He nodded then leaned in to kiss you, saying all he needed to say with the passion and love pouring from his lips to yours.

When he pulled away you took a breath, feeling like a weight had been lifted off your shoulders. Staring into the eyes of your husband, you knew his words to be true.

“You want this? A baby? Our baby?”

He smiled, lighting up at your words.

“Yes.” He shook you slightly.

“I want all the babies you’re willing to give me. Because it’s you, Y/N.”

You couldn’t help it.

Yep, time for the waterworks.

“Oh, Luci” you sobbed as you dove to hug him.

He held you tightly as he soothed your pain.

“It’s alright, love. Everything’s alright now.”

After a few minutes of crying and comfort, you sniffled and wiped your eyes. Unable to form words that could convey how you felt, you just looked at your husband, smiling softly, eyes glistening and showing relief, gratitude, and love.

He brought you back into his arms and hummed softly.

— — —

Later that night, when your limbs were intertwined between the sheets, the emotional toll of the day mixed with sleep to loosen your tongue.

“Luci... you don’t feel tied down to me??” Your voice was quiet - scared and hopeful.

“Darling.” Lucifer chuckled before he saw the seriousness on your face.

“We’re married.” He said as he stroked your cheek down to your shoulder.

“But a baby.” You nuzzled into him. “It I don’t know... it kinda ties you to someone forever.” The wetness of your eyes coming back again for what felt like the millionth time that day.

Lucifer shifted, pulling you closer to him and lifting your head so your eyes would meet his.

“Being tied to you for the rest of my life isn’t a prison, my darling - it’s a gift.”

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alpacaparkaseok · 4 years ago

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7 Secrets <pt. 4>

GENRE: Soulmate!au BTS!

WARNINGS: none

WORD COUNT: 3274

Part 4 woohoo! I just really love these girls and their friendships with each other. I kind of wanted to spotlight some of their friendships/back story a bit more in this chapter, just to round out the story a bit more. I swear we’re getting to the good stuff. Also, has anybody else noticed that the word count is steadily increasing? Lol you don’t mind, right? Anyways, thanks so so so much for all the love the story has received so far, I was seriously not expecting anybody to even see it haha. So thank you, it means so much! I’ll probably have part 5 up really soon! Enjoy!

By the time morning rolls around, I feel like I’ve been hit by a train. A quick glance at my phone tells me what I need to know: it’s nearly 10:30. I wince at the time, it’s a rare occurrence when I sleep in for this long. However, judging from my jet-lag and my eyes that are still a little red and puffy from my emotional breakdown last night, I’ll let this one slide. Heaven knows I needed some extra rest.

I stretch and put on one of the hoodies I left behind in my closet from last year, glaring at my suitcases that still need to be unpacked. I’ll add that to the to-do list for today.

Brushing my teeth, I inspect myself in the mirror. I already feel lighter, more at ease. It was a good thing to open up last night. All of my worries haven’t been put to rest, but I feel less overwhelmed. Happier, too. Happier than I’ve felt in a while.

As I descend the stairs to the main level I can hear the mixture of voices, Ichika’s voice piercing through the others as she talks about running out of her favorite cereal.

“Wow,” I mumble as I finally enter the kitchen and dining area. “I think this is the first time everybody else is up before me.”

“Did we wake you up?” Seohyun looks guilty, but I shake my head no.

“Just woke up, actually. I can’t believe I slept for so long. Where’s Soon?” I notice that there is one missing.

“In here!” I follow the sound of her voice, leading me to the living room where she sits underneath some blankets on the couch. The TV is on, and I scowl as my heart kicks into high gear.

It must be the boys’ latest interview, I haven’t seen this one yet. I curl up next to Soon silently, and she resumes her focused attention on the TV. While Kyun-soon may not be as outward in her devotion to the boys, Jin in particular, she is always the first to watch the latest interviews and performances. That is, when we don’t watch them together.

“Which one is this?” I whisper, careful to not distract her too much. Her eyes glisten, and I turn to see Jin giggling in the background.

“iHeart radio,” she whispers back.

Eventually everyone wanders in after hearing the boys’ voices drifting in from the living room. Ichika munches loudly on some toast before nearly choking on it when Taehyung comments on something.

“Ugh,” she groans as we laugh at her. Nobody can blame her, it’s happened to the best of us. “That boy is going to be the death of me.”

I try my best to focus on all of the boys, but I can’t help it if my eyes keep drifting back to Namjoon. He sits in the front as per usual, Jimin on his right. He has a pleasant smile on his face, and not for the first time do I wonder what goes on in his head during these interviews. If he thinks that the interviewers questions are as dumb as I do.

A single camera is in the living room. There’s one other in the entire house, in the kitchen. They automatically turn on at certain times of day, the schedule is hanging up on the fridge. I’m rarely in the living room as is, much less when I know the camera is on. A quick glance confirms my suspicions; there’s a little red light on the camera. It’s filming us. Try as I might, I still can’t help but react when Namjoon offers his adorable dimpled smile at the end, thanking the interviewer and ARMY for the interview.

“Thanks for having us!” Namjoon’s voice echoes through the apartment. “We love you ARMY! We can’t wait to see you soon!” He blows a kiss to the camera, then immediately gets embarrassed after.

I get embarrassed too, the red in my cheeks all too noticeable.

“Aw, look at Beth! She’s embarrassed!” Himari pokes my side, and I tug at Soon’s blanket in order to hide my face.

“So cute!” Seohyun giggles from where she stands behind the couch. “You two are just alike. Oh my gosh you’re going to be so awkward around each other, aren’t you.”

I glare up at her, Seohyun chuckling lightly even as her eyes remained glued to the screen. “I’m not embarrassed…”

Aera laughs wickedly. “Not embarrassed? Beth, I’m sorry, but as cool and calm as you try to be, we all know what your weakness is.”

We laugh together, even as the interview ends and something else comes up on the television. It’s mere background noise as I try to deal with the sudden flood of emptiness that overtakes me. No, not today, I tell myself. I feel happy today.

“What’s the plan for today, boss?” Himari asks, taunting me with the nickname I usually use for her.

I yawn, stretching against Soon who doesn’t seem to mind. No doubt her mind is elsewhere at the moment.

“Well, I’ve got an editorial meeting this afternoon for Webtoon,” I sigh, rolling my neck. “Then I’m free for the rest of the day after that. What are you guys going to be up to?”

Everyone goes about talking about their plans. All of us have some form of work, Minsuh and Seohyun are attending university too. I plan on jumping back into school for my master’s soon, but I just can’t decide where to go yet. It would be fun going to school with them, though. It’s hard to decide when I’m constantly traveling, I’ll probably have to settle for online classes.

Minsuh and Seohyun excuse themselves to go to class together, promising to be back before I get back from my meeting. I smile at Seohyun’s backpack, an assortment of pins adorning it. The centerpiece, of course, is a “Trivia: Seesaw” pin.

Kyung-soon yawns, easing herself off the couch. “I’ve got a couple of clients today, so I’ll be out until later. But I bet I’ll be back before you, too. Your meetings last forever.”

I grunt in agreement. They do last forever. Long enough for Soon to show two different clients houses and still finish before me.

“Where are the houses that you’re showing?” Soon is a respected realtor in Seoul, and it’s no secret that she loves her job. She can make any house a home, in my opinion. She certainly has a knack for making people feel at home, myself included. She’s one of the reasons I survived those first few months after I found out about my soulmate.

“Not that far, you know that one night market you got lost in for hours and Himari and I had to come pick you up?” Himari chuckles at the memory even as I wince at the embarrassing moment.

“Yup,” I mumble. “It’s close to there?”

“No,” Soon gives me an evil smile. “I just wanted to embarrass you again.”

I launch myself off the couch after Kyung-soon, caught between yelling and laughing. She’s smart, locking herself in the nearest bathroom where I can’t get to her.

When I return to the living room Aera, Ichika, and Himari are wiping the tears off their faces as they laugh at me.

“That really was embarrassing,” Himari says. “How long were you lost again?”

“Oh, shut up.”

↔

The rest of the morning passes with no further incidents, although I do go about cursing at my luggage as each suitcase seems to have no end in sight. I typically stay for roughly six months at a time here, which is what I’ve planned for. That should put me here over Christmas this year, returning at the tail-end of January. Just in time for tax-season in the states.

It would be a real pity if I missed that, now wouldn’t it? Himari and Ichika sneak into my room to observe the damage, wincing as I tell them that I still have one bag left to go.

“We’ll be back in a bit, but if we aren’t back in time for your meeting, good luck!” Ichika gives me a thumbs up before heading back downstairs. Himari lingers for a moment, assessing the piles of clothes I’m currently trapped between.

“Having fun?”

I give a dry laugh. “You have no idea. Ready for your lesson?” Himari and Ichika work together, tutoring kids in Japanese. They tend to spend the majority of their time here every year, and over the past three years they’ve created quite the reputation. Apparently the two of them are a dynamic duo.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Himari replies. She’s hesitating, that much I can tell. We may have only known each other for three years, but we know each other inside and out. Outlandish circumstances tend to lead to strong bonds.

“What are you wanting to say?”

She laughs at my intuition. “Ah, right. That. It’s just,” she fidgets in my doorway. “Are you doing ok? I saw you and Kyung-soon up on the balcony last night, it looked like you were having quite the conversation.”

I sigh, a little surprised that I didn’t notice when the others came back. I must have been in my own little world last night.

“I’m...better now. I was just overwhelmed, and Soon was able to wring some emotions out of me.”

Himari nods, the concern in her face fading. “Good, I’m glad. You know, Beth, you can talk to me if you need to. I was getting worried over the last little while, it’s been hard not seeing you and having to guess about your emotional state. If you need anything, I’m here.”

I stop folding a shirt, laying it aside as I rise and make my way to Himari. She meets me halfway, enveloping me in a tight hug. Neither one of us talk about our emotions very often, rarely do I feel the need to. But the fact that she’s so willing to listen makes me thank my lucky stars for friends like Himari.

“Thanks, Himi. I’m so lucky to have you, truly.”

“Oh, I know.”

With that Himari leaves me to my unpacking frenzy, leaving me alone in the house with Aera. It doesn’t take long until she’s knocking on my door, her room just down the hall from my own.

“Need any help?”

“Please.”

With the two of us working together we finish much sooner than I had anticipated. Aera makes me laugh, stating that she thought I should have brought more clothes.

“What do you mean more clothes? I’m pretty sure these are all of the clothes I own.”

Aera looks at me in feigned shock. “Are you kidding me? It’s high time I take you shopping. What time is it?”

We check the clock and notice that I only have a couple of hours left before I have to leave for my meeting. Not nearly enough time to go shopping. Especially not in the huge city of Seoul. Instead we settle on my bed, the two of us staring wistfully at my photo of Jeju Island.

“We should go back,” Aera mumbles from beside me. I hum in agreement. “That was such a great weekend.”

“That weekend was the weirdest weekend of my life.” I laugh as Aera smacks my shoulder. “What? It was! Within literally one week I found out I had a soulmate, he was famous and one of my role models in life, and that I had these six other girls in the same situation and I was shipped off to an island for a weekend to ‘bond’ with them. Don’t tell me that’s not weird.”

Aera nods beside me, eyes sparkling as she recalls that weekend. “Yeah, it was weird I guess. I don’t know, I was just so happy that I had six new best friends who would always be linked to me since our soulmates are inextricably linked with each other. I had thought for so long that I would be all alone on this crazy journey. I guess I was just so happy that I wasn’t alone anymore that I didn’t think about the weirdness of it all.”

I forgot about that. Aera was the first soulmate BigHit found. She’s from downtown Seoul, certainly the closest to our boys. Apparently Mr. Bang found her almost six months before he found me. He hadn’t informed her when he found the others, preferring to not get her hopes up until all of us were found and agreed to the terms of agreement he set us.

When I think about those six months Aera went through all alone, not able to tell another soul that she was impossibly linked with Park Jimin, I can’t help but admire her even more for her quiet strength.

“That must have been horrible, not being able to talk to anybody about it.”

Aera only nods, eyes still glued to the photo. “I’m not going to lie, it was. I thought I was going insane most of the time.” She laughs drily at the memory, and I scoot closer to her. “Do you remember what it was like meeting each other? For a second I thought that Mr. Bang had messed up and that we were soulmates!” She shoots me a fond smile.

“You can say that again.”

“Why would I say it again?”

We look at each other blankly before I burst out into laughter. “Oh, sorry! It’s a phrase in English. I guess it doesn’t translate over very well, does it?” We both giggle, the moment seeming so calm. “It’s true, though. What you said. We all just...clicked. It makes me wonder.”

The moment I walked through the doors of the house we were staying at and met my six best friends, the world became a much brighter place. I had arrived later in the day due to meetings, and I had been so nervous. I was cursing myself the whole ride over, calling myself an idiot for agreeing to Mr. Bang’s idea of “bonding” with my soul sisters. It seemed like a ridiculous idea, but the thought of having other people to lean on and talk to was too tempting to pass up.

The second I met the others, I could feel the warmth and love our friendship would bring. It was like, for a split second, I experienced all the emotions we would go through together. The heart-wrenching tears, the nights filled with laughter and silly antics, the worry and adoration for each other. Above all else, I felt the pillar of support that promised to be a constant throughout our friendship.

It was, in a word, overwhelming. Which I’ve noticed has become a common theme over the past few years. Overwhelming, yet exhilarating.

“Wonder about how it will be to meet Namjoon?”

I nod, laughing at how even the mention of my soulmate seems to have me melting. It can be inconvenient at times, especially when I’m in a meeting and somebody brings up the band. It’s pretty hard to play it cool, so instead I’ve learned to just excuse myself to the bathroom whenever that happens. Can’t have anybody thinking that I’ve got a schoolgirl crush on BTS.

“Well, look at it this way.” Aera rolls off of my bed, stretching like a cat. “I’m probably just going to pass out. No questions asked. The second I lock eyes with Park Jimin, I’m going to pass out cold.” I let out a startled laugh as Aera feigns seriousness. “So, as long as you don’t pass out, you should be good. I’ll take up all the embarrassment, there won’t even be enough left for you. Which is good, I think. Because if it was that intense just meeting you guys, and we’re not even directly connected, then I can only imagine how intense it’s going to be with those weirdos.”

With that little speech, Aera flicks a strand of long brown hair over her shoulder and marches out of my room, leaving me dumbstruck.

“Um, Aera?” I call after her, heading toward the bathroom to finally get ready for my meeting.

“Yeah?”

“I really hope I get that on video.”

“What, me passing out in front of Jimin?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh-ho, you’ll regret it if you do. Better watch it, little girl.”

↔

It’s been so long since I’ve been in Seoul that I decide to leave nearly an hour early for my meeting, taking the option of the bus over car. Aera didn’t mind, she was leaving anyways. She was off to a high-end boutique she had just pitched some designs to. She was obviously nervous, but I had no doubt the boutique would gladly welcome her ideas. Aera was an up and coming designer, she had even recently designed a dress that was worn overseas at a film premier.

I was on the bus for just shy of an hour as it made its way across Seoul. I didn’t mind one bit, it allowed me some extra time to simply reconnect with the city and map it out in my head. It was something I often did, in order to prevent future mishaps...like getting lost at a certain night market for hours on end.

I was so lost in my mental map-making that I almost didn’t notice the bus’s approach to the Webtoon office building. Scrambling off the bus, I made my way to my first meeting.

Everything went pretty much according to schedule. I was able to review the panels that my illustrators had prepared for the upcoming season of my book-converted-toon “Young Rising”.

It was all too easy to dive into the work that awaited me there, happy to back among my friend and editor. He was the same prestigious editor who had been there that day Mr. Bang came to visit me. I have no idea what Mr. Bang told him, but my editor never asked me any questions about it.

Apparently it was so nice to be back that I didn’t even notice the time until the sun had set. I glared at the clock on the wall in the drawing room, claiming that it was already well after 9 pm. Add a bus ride onto that, and I won’t be home until nearly 11. I pulled out my phone to text the girls only to find a flurry of texts already waiting for me.

7:32 Himari loml: Don’t tell me you’ve decided to go back to the states already, you just barely unpacked.

8:01 Himari loml: Wow, did you miss work that much? More than me?

8:17 Aera 💛: Are you staying late tonight? Let me know.

9:08 Kyung-soon☺️: I swear if you’re lost at another night market, I’m not coming to get you.

9:28 Kyung-soon☺️: I’M KIDDING I SWEAR TELL ME IF YOU’RE LOST I’LL COME GET YOU

9:32 Ichi: Beth I drew you a picture while I was in class, come home so I can give it to you.

9:38 Himari loml: Ok

9:38 Himari loml: We’ve got a situation here

9:39 Himari loml: Seriously, come home ASAP

9:41 Himari loml: Minsuh is on her way to the office rn. Let me know when you get this.

What started out making me roll my eyes suddenly comes to a halt as I keep scrolling through my notifications. It’s only when I return Himari’s text, letting her know that I’m fine, that I notice the missed call from 9:35.

Missed call: Bang PD 😟

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taglist: @mae-musicbitch

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florenceandthemachine · 4 years ago

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(my @911giftexchange contribution for @brcttshvghes!!) Relationships: Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV) Characters: Evan "Buck" Buckley, Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV), Henrietta "Hen" Wilson, Howie "Chimney" Han, Bobby Nash, Athena Grant Additional Tags: First Kiss, Christmas, Secret Santa, Idiots in Love, Mutual Pining

Last Christmas, Eddie had—as Hen would put it—his ‘oh’ moment.

No, it wasn’t when Buck had thrown himself into action to help some random dad see his daughter sing for Christmas.

No, it wasn’t when Eddie caught Buck trying to sneak extra presents (for he and Christopher both) under the Diaz tree.

No, it wasn’t even when some random elf had complimented Buck on his “beautiful family”.

Eddie’s ‘oh’ moment came when Athena announced that she was saving them all from themselves, when he walked into the firehouse loft and saw his kid standing there, beaming like a megawatt spotlight, smiling not only up at his dad but at Buck; and suddenly things clicked into place. Buck had set all of this up, and sure, it was for the whole house... but it was also for him. Buck had done this all, for him. He had Chris in his arms, he had Buck by his side, and Eddie realized—not for the first time, but for the first time with this level of severity—that this was exactly what he wanted, for the rest of his life.

Forever.

Hence the ‘oh’ moment.

(Hen had suggested calling it his ‘no fucking shit, you clueless moron’ moment instead. Eddie had politely declined.)

The ‘oh’ moment was one thing. The ‘oh’ moment was great.

Afterward, though, afterward everything was kind of sucky.

Valentine’s Day was rough. Watching Athena lock up a newlywed couple together, that was fun, sure, but seeing Buck with Ali? That was... literal torture.

The tsunami sucked. The bomb sucked.

The lawsuit, that really fucking sucked.

But pulling Buck into his arms underneath some shitty Halloween decorations, being back together again, that... that was almost worth it.

Even if he had to watch Buck bat his eyes at Taylor Kelly a few days later.

“Why don’t you just tell him?” Hen had asked the next month, sprawled out over the couch in the loft, idly kicking Eddie’s thigh as he groaned, full of Bobby’s turkey and homemade cranberry sauce.

“And risk it all?” Eddie had asked, long since beyond the point where he wanted to even pretend that he didn’t know what Hen was talking about.

And when Abby reappeared in Buck’s life with a fiancée and two stepchildren, Eddie knew staying quiet was the right idea. He wouldn’t risk it. He couldn’t risk it.

“Hey, Eds, hand me another nail?”

So now here he was, almost a year later (“A full year of pining, Eddie, seriously, if you don’t say something by New Year’s—“ “I hate you, Hen.”), staring at Buck’s ass as he struggled to hang another loop of garland haphazardly throughout the station.

After a moment of hesitation, he did as he was asked, sighing as he held up another couple of tacks that Buck could push into the wall. “Why are you even doing all of this, Buck? I don’t know if you noticed, but the station was already decorated.” Eddie said with a hum, leaning back against the wall as he looked up to Buck, not-so-subtly admiring the way Buck’s entire body reacted as he laughed.

“Please, it looked like Pottery Barn threw up in here. We needed something other than stark white garland and red ornaments, Eds.” Buck descended down the step ladder and stepped back to admire his handiwork as Eddie looked around the station—as much as he hated to admit it, Buck was absolutely right. The station had been decorated by what looked like the night crew after one too many cups of coffee; too clean, too pristine, all glittering white garland neatly tacked up to every corner with a giant red bauble tacked at every intersection.

Needless to say, once Buck had gotten through with things, it was... definitely far from a professional looking decor job. Buck had rigged up huge wreaths made of fake garland and bows made out of giant, floppy, silver and gold ribbon, and hung them all over the station.

He had all but stapled his hand to the wall hanging up Christmas lights—the old, slowly blinking type, on the thick green cord, the type where if one light went out they all went out. There were twinkling, colorful lights all over the walls, mounds of fake snow around the staircase, big, fake poinsettias all over the kitchen.

At some point in time, while Hen and Chim were passing time upstairs in the loft and Bobby was stuck in his office doing paperwork, Buck had even rigged up his iPhone to play Christmas carols over the entirety of the station PA system (“Don’t worry, Eddie, calls will still come through and cut out over the alarm,” Buck had assured him, and Eddie was struck, not for the first time, with pride as he realized how much planning Buck really put into things like this).

The station was a mess, honestly. It was a jumbled, disorganized, chaotic explosion of Christmas. The station had gone from Pottery Barn to looking like a Yuletide grenade had gone off.

Eddie loved it.

“There! All finished. Back up, Eddie, I’m coming down.” Eddie blinked as he was jerked back into the present, standing back to admire the latest (and apparently the last) wreath that Buck had woven on the wall, acutely aware of the closeness that he and Buck shared as Buck beamed up at his handiwork.

He managed to look away from Buck’s smile—glowing didn’t even begin to cover it—right as Buck turned to look at him, clearing his throat. “Alright, Buck, what gives? Not that I’m mad about the extra decor you’ve doused the place with, but this is even bigger than what we did last year. There another surprise party that I’m supposed to be aware of?” Eddie asked, smiling as Buck threw his head back and laughed.

“No, no, nothing like that,” Buck started, looking over his shoulder as he folded up the ladder, heading back through the gym to the utility closet. “We’re still on for Christmas dinner at the station with everyone’s family, and unless Hen or Bobby has something else planned—because let’s face it, Chim would forget it was Christmas all in all if Maddie didn’t remind him—that’s all that we’re doing as a station. I just figured we needed as much holly-jolly as we could this year.”

His words were innocent enough, but Eddie had known Buck for years now, and the last year had been spent watching Buck a little more… closely than usual. So he knew that Buck’s innocent smile was just a shade on the wrong side of sneaky, how his words were carefully chosen so he wouldn’t be technically lying. Buck was smart—seriously, Eddie didn’t understand how people always forgot that—and they were the kind of things that Eddie would have missed if he wasn’t so… invested.

Sure. Invested. That was the right way to think about it.

“Hey, Eds,” and damn, a nickname shouldn’t bring him that much joy, “can you open the closet up for me?” Buck asked, the smile on his face seemingly innocent as Eddie rose a brow, stepping around him and just taking the ladder from his hands, pushing the door open behind him, not missing the look of surprise on Buck’s face.

“Wait, Eddie—no, I can—“

“Buck, it’s a step ladder, it’s no big deal. Did you take anything else out of the closet, or was it just this?”

“Well no, but it’s just that—“

Before Buck could continue his protest, the Christmas carols died out throughout the station, the siren blaring in its place, and for a split second, Buck looked absolutely crushed, which was weirder than anything else Eddie had witnessed that morning, because Buck loved going out on calls.

The moment was gone in a heartbeat, but it still made Eddie’s mind reel as they darted off to their lockers to suit up, mind racing with questions as Buck was all laughs with Hen as Chim got behind the wheel.

Something was up, and Eddie was going to find out what… even if the day had other plans.

There were two ways that shifts around the holidays were destined to go. Either the 118 would be dead quiet, or the crew would be completely dead on their feet.

Unfortunately, today seemed like it would be the latter.

No sooner than they had been cleared from their first call of the day did another roll in, and then another, and then another, to the point where the only time that Eddie had to text his kid was between calls, and the 118 was probably trapped in their turnout gear for a good five hours without a single break.

Buck, to the surprise of absolutely no one, only grew more and more alive with every save—he had an absolute knack for riding the rush that came with the job, and by the time they finally pulled back into the 118, Buck and Eddie couldn’t have been in a more different place in their lives.

“Alright, six calls in five hours. I think I’ve earned a fucking nap.” Eddie grumbled as he slid out of his designated spot next to Buck in the ladder truck, barely even waiting to get to the rack on the wall before he started pulling his turnout gear off, impatiently tugging at his sleeves and kicking his boots off before he bothered to even loosen anything.

While the sound of Buck’s laugh behind him certainly raised his spirit, he still pouted as Buck sauntered up beside him, easily removing his own jacket and boots and hanging them up with a certain sense of maturity that Eddie couldn’t muster at the moment. “Come on Eddie, a nap? Did you turn fifty while I wasn’t looking?” Buck asked, the teasing tone of his voice bringing a smile to Eddie’s face as he shoved Buck’s shoulder playfully.

“Just because you can keep up with Chris’ special blend of all night holiday nonsense doesn’t mean we all can, Buck.” Eddie started, rolling his shoulder as he hung his turnout coat back up. “Right now, he’s probably running Carla through literally every last strip mall in the state, trying to find a perfect present for our Buck, and… uh.” Eddie cut himself off, far too late, cheeks pinking up as he clamped his jaw shut.

He feared the worst for a moment when Buck looked at him with stars in his eyes, thinking that his slip hadn’t gone unnoticed, and he had to work to hide his sigh of relief when Buck grinned. “He’s getting me a gift? I mean, I know he doesn’t have to, and you know he doesn’t have to, but… fuck, Eds, I’m all excited now. Okay. Forget it. Anyway, come on. I want to completely obliterate you in Mario Kart.”

Eddie sighed softly, his smile big and dopey on his face as Buck got himself all excited, shaking his head as he kicked off his boots, finally leaving his gear behind. “Buck, if you think I’m going to add insult to injury and let you completely wipe the floor with me, you’re sorely mistaken.”

“Fine, then you don’t have to play. You can just hang around and bask in my awesome.” Buck said, his effort at being nonchalant almost going over Eddie’s head, just barely catching the sidelong glance that Buck shot him while he was re-lacing his work boots.

He narrowed his eyes for a moment as he watched Buck’s shoulders tighten, sighing as he shook his head. “Fine, but you better fucking dazzle me, Buckley.” he said as he started walking to the tiny corner of the bay they had set up as a miniature rec area (a fancy word for three couches and a big-ass television, courtesy of Chim’s baby brother), but not before he saw the abject joy that bloomed over Buck’s face.

As much as he wanted to believe that that much joy could simply come from Buck getting to spend time on a couch with Eddie, he had a sneaking suspicion, much as he did earlier, that something else was up.

“Who knows, maybe you’ll learn something by osmosis, and actually stand a chance against your kid the next time he—“

Buck was cut off by a bang as the firehouse door hit the wall, a panicked cry pulling Buck and Eddie’s attention as they both automatically started to move.

“Help! Please, please I need help, I don’t think she’s breathing!”

Eddie and Buck were both immediately moving, Chim and Bobby close on their trail as they came down the stairs from the loft, Hen already opening the back of the ambulance and yanking out one of her bags.

Eddie slowed himself down as he reached forward to take the body of a young girl from her clearly distraught mother, Buck already a step ahead of him as he put a braceboard down on the ground, placing her too-small body down on it.

(Eddie still hated situations that involved kids.)

The little girl was conscious, but only barely, wheezing along as Eddie laid her down, taking her pulse instinctively as he gave her a simple once over. “Signs of angioedema, breathing is shallow, pupils are tight, plenty of hives across the neck and chest. Ma’am, does she have any allergies, any—”

“No! I mean, I don’t think so, we tried a new recipe for our christmas cookies this year… uh, almond, maybe? I don’t know!”

“Okay, we’re gonna give her some epinephrine, you need to look into an epi-pen, Buck?”

Buck nodded, grabbing a pen from the ambulance, pressing it against the thickest part of her thigh (she was so tiny, Jesus) and plunging the needle into her skin. “Alright, now, we’re going to take her to the hospital, so hop in the ambulance—” Bobby started, nodding to the vehicle as Hen and Chim jumped into the drivers cab, “—and you can ride with or follow along, whatever you want.”

Eddie and Buck had the gurney popped up in a heartbeat, wheeling it in the back of the rig as mother and daughter were loaded up, doors slamming behind the pair of them as Hen practically burned rubber.

Eddie felt his heart rate start to slow back down to a regular, human level as the ambulance tore out of the bay, and even he couldn’t keep the small smile on his face as he turned back to Buck, expecting the expression to be mirrored on his partner’s face.

So, you could imagine his surprise when Buck just looked… tired.

“Buck? You good? You still wanna get a round of the… uh… whatever?”

He rose a brow as Buck hitched his smile back on, giving a half shrug as he shook his head. “Nah, Eddie, it’s good. I’m gonna get started on Bobby’s chore list.”

With that, he started up the stairs to the kitchen, and Eddie was left in the metaphorical dust, staring up to Buck’s retreating backside as he was left alone on the main floor of the 118.

The fuck was going on?

buck fifty: why do i have to clean the kitchen if bobby and athena are just going to be cooking in an hour anyway

sent: Because, Buck, normal people clean the areas where they’re going to be preparing food.

buck fifty: miss me with that logic i havent had food poisoning in weeks dont @ me bro

Eddie let out a breathy bark of a laugh as he pushed up on the leg press again, his back drenched in sweat as he read over Buck’s reply. As much as he hated doing anything even remotely close to leg day, he figured that now was the time to work it out—a workout did better than a nap to help him wind down from back-to-back calls (and a near poisoning, Hen and Chim weren’t even back from the hospital yet), but it was a great way to keep his hands free so he could text Buck.

It was kind of sad, honestly, how many decisions that he made in his day to day life that were focused on Buck.

Today, though, the mission was a little more ‘what the fuck is up with Buck’ than it was anything else—Buck was a weird dude, sure, but he was acting jumpy and weird all fucking day today. Even in the moments when they were out on call, and Buck was in the zone, he still felt a little… off.

It was like there was a fucking satellite delay between them, and there had been all day. Eddie usually prided himself on being able to read a room, but today, it was like Buck was intentionally throwing walls his way.

Not that he was that attuned to Buck’s everyday emotions and mood, anyway. Nope. Definitely not.

…

fuck.

sent: Why don’t you come down here and do a few reps with me? Burn off some of that energy.

sent: Oh, wait, that isn’t an option for you yet. How sad.

buck fifty: look its not my fault that you happened to finish your chores earlier and i didnt

sent: …Buck, that is 100% your own fault. Are you good today? You’re weirding me out.

“Hello, 118! Did someone order a chef?” Eddie looked up as he heard Athena’s voice echo throughout the station, a smile on his face as he waved over to her. He loved the way that she had fit together with the station so well, and how she and Bobby got along as well as they did (even if he felt like he had to pay for it whenever Hen shot him a knowing look, less and less subtle with each passing day… okay, month), but he loved even more that she usually brought food, especially now, in what Eddie sincerely hoped would be a new tradition — Christmas dinner with his work family.

Make no mistake, Bobby’s cooking was phenomenal, but there was something about Athena’s family style everything that settled right in Eddie’s soul.

Maybe it was because she had the uncanny knack at seeing through his bullshit and calling him on anything and everything that he tried to pull when she was around, in a way that was both kind and hilariously firm.

Or maybe it was because she actually understood how to make a decent tex-mex meal.

Either way.

“Eddie, where’s our boys?”

Eddie looked up as Athena closed the distance to his machine in the gym, smiling as he did another rep. “Hey Athena. Buck’s cleaning up the kitchen, getting ready for you and Bobby.” he said easily, his legs giving a little wobble as he realized what he had said, eyes snapping to her easily. “Uh, I mean—“

“Diaz, please, we both know that was who I was talking about.” Athena said, cutting him off before he could answer, the knowing smile on her face making Eddie wish the ground would open him up and swallow him whole, but apparently LA was fresh out of earthquakes for the moment. Thankfully, Athena took some pity on him, keeping the conversation moving easily as she looked around the station. “I see he got a hold of the decorations. Good, the place looked too… clean before.” she said, and Eddie laughed even as his face flushed red, swinging his legs off the machine, the familiar burn in his thighs anchoring him in the moment. “Yeah, it really did. Buck said it looked like a Pottery Barn threw up.”

Eddie shook his head as Athena laughed, that same smile on her face again, but it was different now—easy, familiar, like she was seeing the answer to a puzzle that Eddie only had half the pieces to. “He’s a good man, Eddie. Both of you are. It’s just such a shame neither of you would know what healthy communication was if it bit you in the ass.” She said, shaking her head dramatically as she started up the stairs, leaving a completely baffled Eddie to grab his phone off of the machine as it buzzed again.

What the hell was she talking about? He and Buck communicated all the time.

buck fifty: ok now you have to help me

buck fifty: if athena and bobby are going to be in the kitchen together im going to wind up drowning in mushy

sent: How is that my problem? And don’t think you got by avoiding my other question.

buck fifty: eddie plz

sent: Use your words, Buck.

buck fifty: u gotta get up here and save me

sent: Have you cleaned out the oven yet?

buck fifty: ………

buck fifty: save me by helping me clean the oven

Okay, Eddie may have already lost the fight, but—

buck fifty: pleeeeeeeeeease

—but that didn’t mean he had to admit how wrapped around Buck’s pinky he was. He could still whine about it, he could still complain about it, he could still bring this up the next time he and Buck argued about who’s turn it was to go and answer the door when they ordered takeout. Cleaning the oven, that was absolutely something he could hold over Buck forever.

He made a quick detour to the locker room to change out of his gym clothes as he heard Athena greet the boys upstairs, his own smile begrudgingly pasted on as he remembered what Athena had said.

His boy. She had called Buck his boy.

It was… well, it was nice to dream.

He was basically floating on air as he made his way up the stairs, to the point where he almost walked straight until Bobby’s chest from where he stood at the top of the stairs. He let out a very masculine noise as he jumped back, nearly dropping his phone as Bobby clucked his tongue.

“Nope, Eddie, you know the rules. You and your black thumb need to stay far from the kitchen while we’re cooking.”

Eddie tried to sputter out a protest even as Athena laughed from her position near the fridge, unloading what looked like an actual mountain of groceries. “Come on Bobby, I’m sure he can’t be that bad—“

“He’s burned pasta, Athena.”

“That was one time!”

Eddie felt his face heat up as Buck immediately came to his defense, equal parts pleased and perturbed, as Bobby shook his head. “Not taking that chance, kid. Especially not while Athena is armed with two whole hams. Come on, go downstairs, shower up, and then we can find a way for you to help get ready for dinner that keeps you far away from the kitchen.”

“Cmon, Bobby—“

“Buck, you can clean the oven on your own. Now let’s go, we all got work to do.”

Eddie felt his mouth snap shut as Bobby dismissed him—not unkindly, nothing that Eddie hadn’t heard before, but the way that Buck was looking over at them was nothing short of tragic. He hadn’t seen Buck look that defeated since their run in at the grocery store in the midst of the lawsuit-that-they-didn’t-talk-about-seriously-Buck-we-both-apologized-it’s-fine.

Eddie’s brain continued to churn as he showered, nearly drowning himself beneath the scalding hot water as he tried to understand what the fuck was going on.

Buck had been acting weird. Which, honestly, wasn’t that unusual for Buck. Buck was a good man. He had his heart on his sleeve, like, constantly. He was happy when he was happy, he was sad when he was sad, and there was no hiding it when he was down.

And now, somehow, Eddie was bringing him down.

Or… when Eddie really thought about it, the lack of Eddie was bringing him down…

Eddie didn’t get to spend time with Buck, and Buck looked like someone had just stamped out his dreams.

And that… that was interesting.

The last piece of the puzzle finally sank into place as he toweled off his hair and stepped out of the locker room, right in time to hear Athena’s laugh ring through the station. He looked up to the loft in time to see Bobby dipping her into a kiss, but that wasn’t where his eyes focused—no, they were instead focusing on something red and green. Something red and green and small and something that was definitely not there before Buck started his redecorations this morning, hanging in front of the oven.

The oven that he was supposed to help Buck clean.

Eddie felt his eyes narrow as he looked around the station, trying to retrace his steps throughout the station from the moment he walked in that morning. The utility closet… the recreation area… and back to the kitchen again.

He felt a small smile, in spite of himself, spread across his face, something dangerously close to hope blooming in his chest. Fate seemed to smile on him as Hen and Chim pulled back into the firehouse bay, and he took the opportunity to smack Hen’s arm as she walked past him.

“Ow, Eddie, what the f—“

“I’m gonna risk it, Hen.” Eddie said, effectively cutting her off, knowing that she would pick up on what he meant immediately. “But I need some help. You got a minute?”

“Buckaroo, will you take these plates down to the table? Here, bring Eddie some silverware.”

“Yeah, no problem Chim.”

Eddie elbowed Hen away from him as Buck started down the stairs, trying his best to act like he was doing anything but listening up the stairs. He and Hen had been busy setting up the table (and a few other things) while Chim was assigned on running interference upstairs, which turned out to be the easiest job of all while Buck… well, while Buck moped.

Eddie hated Buck moping. Almost as much as he hated how cute he thought it was, now that he knew what Buck was up to.

Or, at least, he thought he knew what Buck was up to. He was still painfully aware of how wrong this could all go—maybe it was the magic of the season, maybe it was a year in the making, maybe it was Hen egging him on, but Eddie…

Eddie actually felt like he could do this.

Even if it meant that he had to play completely oblivious in the meantime.

“Alright, Buck,” Eddie started, taking the stack of plates out of Buck’s hand, somehow fighting the smile as Buck handed them over, “what’s wrong? You’ve been acting weird all day.”

Buck grumbled as he tugged at the corner of the table cloth, straightening out a few placemats as he shrugged. “Nothing, Eds, I’m fine. Just a weird day, I guess. Dinner should be good, though!” Buck said, hiking a smile up onto his face. Eddie did his best to hide a little laugh as he nodded to Hen, who had slipped into the cab of the ladder truck.

“Buck, come on. I’ve known you for years, you’re not fine. Weird, yes. Fine, no.”

Buck stuck out his tongue as he started to dole out forks and knives, the little lighthearted gesture doing something to ease the worry that Eddie felt at the base of his spine, but he could still see the tension coiled through his best friends shoulders.

“Seriously, Buck, I—“

“It’s fine, Eddie! I just…” Buck’s shoulder slumped as he started to deflate, the harsh tone of his voice giving way as his face flushed. Setting the last fork down, he started to pace in earnest, speaking with his hands as much as he was with his voice. “I just had a certain thought about how things might go this year, and fate, or destiny, or whatever, has made it very clear that’s not going to be how it goes. I dunno, I thought I could make things… different, or special or whatever?” he started, and Eddie seriously had to swallow the words that were threatening to spill over his lips.

Buck wanted to make things special. Buck wanted to make things special. For him. Like Buck didn’t do that kind of thing every day simply by existing.

“Anyway, it doesn’t matter, you don’t have to worry about it.” Buck sighed as he put the last fork down and started pacing at the head of the table, and Eddie had to make sure his voice wasn’t going to waver when he spoke again.

“It still can be special, Buck—“

“Eds, it’s whatever. It was stupid anyway.”

“Buck.”

“No, Eddie, it’s okay, I shouldn’t have—“

“Buck. Stop. Breathe.”

Eddie grabbed both of Buck’s shoulders to stop him from pacing, raising his eyebrows as Buck finally made eye contact with him.

“Are you breathing? Okay. Great. Good. Now look up.”

“Eds, what are you talking about?”

“Buck, for the love of God, listen to me for once in your life and just look up.”

Eddie took a moment to savor the complete confusion written on Buck’s face as he finally comprehended what Eddie was asking (with a murmured complaint of “I always listen to you”), and Eddie let his eyes lock on to Buck’s face. Mostly because he wanted to see Buck’s reaction, but partially because he was afraid of what said reaction would be. Even if Buck was seeing the mistletoe above them for the first time, that Eddie had painstakingly tied to the top rung of the ladder that Hen had extended over the table from the truck, this was the moment of truth—and Eddie already knew what was up there.

Besides, Buck was a much better view than some green garnish.

“That’s, uhm.” Buck started, and Eddie finally gave up trying to keep the smile off his face. “That’s mistletoe.”

Eddie hummed thoughtfully as Buck looked back to him, “It is. I pulled some from the kitchen, found a sprig near the rec room, one from the utility closet…”

Buck actually had the decency to look surprised as he looked back to Eddie, literal stars in his eyes. “And you… put them together. And tied them to the ladder, and… got me to stand under it with you.” Buck continued, slowly, and Eddie gave a little chuckle as he nodded his head, taking a step closer. “I did. I mean, unless I’m misreading this entire situation, in which case I have no idea what you’re talking about, and if that’s the case, I’m going to go dig a hole out back and throw myself—mmhph.”

Eddie was more thankful than anything when Buck took the step forward to close the distance between them before he could start rambling, one hand on Eddie’s jaw to tilt it up (god he loved that Buck was taller than he was), the other warm and heavy on his hip (god, he loved Buck’s strong hands), lips slotting together with an ease that Eddie had never experienced with a first kiss before (god, he loved kissing Buck).

He also loved Hen and Chim, because no sooner did Chim hit the switch near the bay doors to dim the lights around the ladder truck did Hen manage to restart Buck’s Christmas playlist, Irving Berlin’s voice crooning about a white Christmas over the station speakers as Eddie’s arms wrapped around Buck’s neck.

When they finally pulled back to breathe, Eddie found himself tiptoeing up to chase Buck’s lips, his face flushing bright red afterward when he realized what he had done. They both started laughing as Buck’s hands dropped down to Eddie’s waist, Eddie following suit and letting his hands rest on Buck’s shoulders, fitting together in a way that Eddie had only imagined.

“So… I guess the mistletoe worked out for you in the end.” Eddie said with a smile, and Buck laughed, shaking his head, that beautiful ruddy color staining his cheeks again. “Eds, I, uh… I’ve kind of been working up the courage to do something like this for weeks.” He said sheepishly, and Eddie couldn’t help but laugh, smacking Buck’s shoulder.

“Weeks? To think, you still had months to go before you were anywhere close to my level.” Eddie said as he pulled away, sighing as he smoothed over Buck’s collar, a smile on his face as he turned and left a stunned Buck in his wake.

“Wait, Eddie, what?”

Eddie shook his head as he walked back into the locker room, Buck following suit shortly after.

“Eds, no, wait! How long did I pine without needing to?? Eddie!!”

#911giftexchange #buddie #911 #evan buckley #eddie diaz #idiots in love #mutual pining #first kiss #fluff #christmas #merry crisis!#flospeaks

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