#to hold Sasha and the statements

[anaceshornyblog]

Look non-apocalypse MonsterJon is just the creature that lives in the Archives that everyone is scared of. No one goes down there, but if you put a request into the box by the door your statement will be in the outbox within 4-5 business days.

Sasha being, queen of no self preservation that she is, going down there to investigate. Jon seeing a new human and just following her through the Archive like a very weird shadow. Sasha finally decides there nothing down here and turns to leave and there’s just a monster behind her. She screams, it screams, and the two are just standing there screaming for a moment before Sasha stops, and actually looks at it.

The creature just staring at her with big sad eyes because he did not mean to scare her Jonah is just very bad at socializing his pet. Sasha deciding that she is going to touch the neck floof if it kills her.

Jonah coming down like an hour later, he was at home okay even he can’t make London traffic disappear, to find Sasha tucked into one of Jon’s extra arms as he shows her his filing system. Sasha has one hand buried in his neck floof because it is so fucking soft while she offers him some tips.

Jonah just sighing and getting the non-disclosure agreement and job transfer forms ready.

Sasha becoming the new archival assistant because the monster in the basement was just like mine now.

[polysyndetonaddictsupportgroup]

like we all dunk on jon for being completely unqualified (fair and true) but so was everyone. fandom seemed to take tim at face value that sasha was qualified for the job and while she definitely had seniority on jon, the girl was also fucking stapling random sheets of paper together when a single google search will tell you to absolutely not do that. tim was an ex-corporate drone who was only there to revenge-kill a regency clown and martin just straight up lied about his qualifications because he didn’t have any. gertrude was the most qualified woman alive to commit acts of violence that violated the geneva convention but from an actual literal standpoint she was a terrible fucking archivist. at age 20 she received supernatural job security and a blank check for a budget funded by a man scared shitless of her and that defined her approach to employment for the rest of her life. her number one hobby was arson and her number two hobby was keeping secrets. not only did she never do any archiving I guarantee you she did not even know what an archivist was. queen of doing any fucking job but the one you hired her for. I’m in love with her.

the fact that the eye is shown to be actively opposed to the loss or destruction of knowledge is borderline hilarious to me considering the closest thing it has had to an actually qualified employee for the Special Room Where It Keeps Its Knowledge in at least the last century was that one guy who was too busy being a simp for a serial murderer and gouging out his own fucking eyes to have any long-term effect on the non-spooky parts of the position. the most shocking part of jon getting the job is not the blatant lack of qualifications but the fact that elias was able to choke out the offer over the eye beaming the same anxiety attack over document storage that it’s been having since the vietnam war directly into his little twink skull

[cirrus-grey]

Sorry just thinking about how Jon starts off episode 22 by asking "Martin, are you sure about this?" and it sounds like a bit of a dickish question but then you remember he took Naomi Herne's statement two months before and he's still having nightmares about it.

And he tries to tell himself they're not real. They can't be real, it's just his subconscious mind throwing this disturbing conversation back in his face every night. But part of him knows Naomi is dreaming this too, part of him knows that they're real, part of him knows.

And he doesn't want to inflict that on Martin. He doesn't want to inflict it on himself, seeing Martin in his dreams every night. But Martin insists, so he takes his statement.

The sheer relief he must feel that night when there are no worms in his dreams. The release of tension, the realization that what happened with Naomi was just a one-off. He's still seeing her, of course, but his nightmares are blessedly Martin-free.

Sasha, he just asks if she wants to wait. He's not worried about giving her nightmares, now.

And then Melanie comes in. And he takes her statement. And when he closes his eyes that night, he finds himself in the halls of an old, crumbling hospital, watching the ghost hunter hold her camera up to the crack in a door, and peer inside.

[f4irycafe]

long time no see freak hoes 😏

rn im thinking about eren and black reader who are this tik tok i saw. if ur friend has a man (cough like sasha and niko) he’ll be friendly but he’s really only here for you and the drinks. because when yall get home 😼 he knows that after a tense car ride in the uber and walk up to his apartment that his mouth will be on yours immediately, kissing you just as you were about to speak. the words obviously caught in your throat as you kiss him back. he learns forward for more, you watch his lips chase yours as you pull your head back and open your eyes.

“not yet” you say with a giggle, skipping backwards further into his apartment towards his bedroom as he stalks towards you.

“c’mere,” eren grunts out as he shoots out an arm to attempt to grab you. he fails, instead watching as you scamper into the bedroom. he slowly follows after you, taking his time to close the door.

if you wanted to be tease, he’d gladly go the extra mile just to show you how petty he was willing to be for this little delay.

it was your turn to be needy, your french tip manicured nails reaching for the back of his neck before being stopped by his much larger hands.

“not yet,” he said, repeating your earlier statement you. fawkkkkkkkkk. yeah im done, you thought as you watched him take his time traveling down your body, pulling away whenever your breathe hitched at his touch.

by the time he was finished with his little show, he was kneeling infront of the bed, your legs hoisted and locked around his shoulders, his long arms holding your hips against his face.

“look at me.” he whispered against you, the cold air causing your pussy to clench. eren laughed. you hid your face in the pillow, but your man was having none of it. he gently smacked your thigh, repeating his words until you finally looked at him.

he spent ten minutes down there just going the fuck at it. like that’s the only way i can describe it yall he ate 🙌🏾 by the time he was finished his nose down was covered in your juices. the way he slurped up the last of what he could before wiping your cum from his face with the back of your hand was enough to make you squirt a little just from the sight. he smiled and quickly rubbed your pussy, watching as you squeezed and squirted for him simple by looking at him.

“such a good fucking girl. cums just by looking at me hmm?” he says just as much.

“y-you’re so fucking hot” you say as you grab at his hands. his moves you up the bed before swiftly taking off his pants and climbing on top of you. the reason he stays down there so long, aside from his own pleasure, is so that he can do this.

he’s already hard you see as you watch him wet his dick on your soaking pussy before slowly sliding in in one stroke. you both moan and it feels so good as you hold eachother close, moaning in his ear as he slowly rocks into you.

his hands move from the back of your neck and shoulders to the top of your head and you know what’s about to happen, and all you can do is brace yourself. you dig your face into the crevice where his neck meets his shoulder, his soft brown hair covering your face as he begins to literally fuck you into the bed.

🫢

at the same time y’all are drunk and he’s made u cum thrice already so baby finished quick and then yall go to bed ok BYE !

elle’s thoughts: is this a loose retelling of how my one ex fwb used to fuck me .. no 🫠🤥. he was 6’5 … im much much smaller than that. also i just started writing and ofc because im a whore if turned into smut 😭 feel free to blow up my requests w lil asks for blurbs and what not, it’s summer and when im not working im bored 🥱 ⭐️ LOVE U ALL HUGS A DN KISSES MWAH 😘 also not proofread we die like men

[echo-of-the-eye]

A while ago I subscribed to rusty quill’s patreon for one month so I could get access to the extra bloopers (which are amazing and definitely worth it) and the deluxe transcripts and I’d definitely recommend it. I know they’re not canon, but they’re great. You’ll get such treats as:

• Jon being a tired millennial

• Jon shitting on the police

• Just general Jon snark

• Jon’s degree is in literature (unqualified king)

• Some really sad comments on the leitner statements

• Being subconsciously compelled to cross out this line “grant us the sight that we may not know. Grant us the scent that we may not catch. Grant us the sound that we may not call” from the statement in page turner

• Jon defending the anatomy students

• Statement giver says they almost threw up and Jon comments “a common response to fanfiction” like excuse me?! Sir?? What do you have against fanfiction??

• “Ah, mums. I assume” wtf Jon?! Why are you trauma dumping in your notes?!

• After Sasha talks about how she met up with Michael and kept investigating: “really need a staff training seminar on when to RUN AWAY” Jon I love you

• “Georgie needs to get better taste in friends”

• Just. Some really sad and ominous comments on the prentiss statement

• Implying that he’s sent the british museum MULTIPLE emails and they’re ignoring him

• “If this house is haunted by a ghost clown, I quit”

• And last but not least:

This picture of a random ass woman holding a DUCKLING that’s supposed to be mary keay

[dilfl0v3rss]

drunk delusions

(onyankopon x black reader)

summary: a strange man tries to pick you up from the club.

word count: 1.5k

── ⋅⋅⋅ ────꒰ ୨ ♡ ୧ ꒱───────

it was nearly midnight when ony got the call. you were supposed to be at mikasa’s house by now, but you seemed to have taken way to many shots at the club and gotten yourself into some trouble. “y/n it’s late. you good?” you hear ony’s deep and sleepy voice as you sat on the curb in front of the club in cuffs. the officer was kind enough to hold your phone to your ear as you called your boyfriend. you were accompanied on the curb by your friends sasha and mikasa. the three of you were drunk as hell and honestly had no remorse for the actions that got you here. “heyyyy boooo. ‘m on the curb” hearing your slurred words through the speaker, ony can tell that you are clearly drunk.

“i thought you was at mikasa’s already what happened?” even though you didn’t care about the situation that much, you knew even in your drunken state that your man will be upset if you told him what happened. you hesitated before you answered, knowing that if you lied the officer was likely to snitch on you anyways. “i got ina fight and i need you t’come get me. and can you call connie and jean b’cause sasha and mikasa are in trouble too.” little did you know that ony was already in the car, looking at your location on his phone. “i’m coming ma.” were the only words you heard come through the speaker before you heard three beeps. signaling to you that he hung up.

“connie’s finna spank me so hard guys i think my butt might fall off.” sasha quietly whimpers to you and mikasa as y’all wait for your boyfriends to get there. “i dunno if he’s comin sash. ony never said he was gonna call. he just hung up on me.” hearing your words, sasha began to smile, thinking she was safe. “okay good. can we pleaseeee go home wit you then y/n?” mikasa shakes her head at sasha’s question. “no he called. i can feel my phone shakin a bunch in my purse. now jeans not gonna buy me the bag i wantedddd.” you and sasha both turned towards mikasa. shocked at her sentence. “we’re worried about getting our butts slapped off and you’re worried about a BAG?!?” before you can add anything on to what sasha said you were interrupted by the sound of three car doors being closed near you.

your heart was filled with dread as a man approached the police officer. he was wearing a black nike tech suit with white socks and yeezy slides. you can tell he was well built by the way the hoodie nicely fitted his arms and chest. saying this man was attractive was an understatement, but you were a good girl and would never think of another man that way while you have your ony. as you quickly turned your head forward towards the police car you notice the officer walking being the three of you to remove the cuffs. you seen connie come up the sasha, whisper-yelling something to her in spanish while walking her to his car. and then you saw jean quietly grab mikasa and walk away with her. disappointment written all over his face. then you turned around to the mysterious man in the sweatsuit. “uhh who are you?”

now anyone in there right mind could clearly tell that this was your boyfriend, but in your drunken state you couldn’t tell the difference between a cat and a dog. “baby don’t start. m’tired and i needa get you home.” ony tried to gently pull your arm, but you quickly yank it away. “nigga i don’t know you. and you need to get back for real before my man see you tryna grab up on me like that.” you look around and move closer to his face. making it seem like it was top secret information you were about to spill. “he got guns too. i never got to touch em, but i’ve seen em and they’re real.” ony rolls his eyes at your statement. he did not have time for this tonight, but seeing the way you talked about him when he’s not around like he was some big scary guy kinda turned him on.

“you wouldn’t let anything happen to me tho. right pretty?” his words went straight to your core. ony knew that even though you may not have been able to recognize him visually. the affect he had on your body can never be forgotten. “h-hey! you don’t g-get to call me that. only my boyfriend calls me that” you whisper with a frown. as much as ony would’ve loved to keep teasing you, he really was getting tired and didn’t want to keep you in the cool spring air for too long. noticing how you started to shiver and cover up your arms every time a breeze came. “i am your boyfriend woman” he said with a blank face. you were still skeptical and you came up with a quick plan to settle this matter once and for all.

“m’gonna call em” ony rolls his eyes as he watches you dig through your purse for your phone. as you continued to struggle to find your phone he decided that the quicker he gave in to your delusions the faster he can get you home. pulling your phone out his pocket, ony silently gives it to you. you look up at him in confusion as you snatch the phone from his hand and begin dialing your lovers number. “ima let that go since you’re drunk, but don’t snatch…you brat.” ignoring him, you turn away from the man so he didn’t see you put your password in. ony couldn’t do anything but laugh at this since he already knew your password, but he let you keep on with your mess. you put the phone to your ear and wait for your boyfriend to answer. as if you were under a spell, you completely missed the sound of the man behind you lightly laughing as he picked up his phone and answered it.

“hey mama. what you up to?” you sigh happily as you hear your man’s voice ring through the speaker. “hey pa there’s this man tryna pick me up from the club. i told him that you don’t play about me but he not listening.” an idea pops into ony’s head which causes him to smirk behind you. “what he look like baby?” you turn your head and look the man up and down a couple times. while you stared at him for a couple seconds you instantly felt your face grow warm when the motherfucker decided to wink at you.

quickly turning around you replied to your boyfriend, “he darkskin and got these tattoos all on his neck. he probably got more all over. he got on a sweatsuit and he smell good too. don’t be mad but…he-…he kinda fine” you whisper the last part into the phone, hoping the man behind you didn’t hear. ony chuckled through the phone at the compliment. “that’s not a good enough description princess. you gotta get closer for me.” you whine into the phone at your boyfriends demand. not trusting yourself to get any closer to this man without doing something dumb. “whyy daddyyyy? i think i did good enough.”

“i’d hate to come over there and get the wrong guy. if you want me to handle em you gotta give daddy a better description.” you sigh as you find yourself agreeing with your man. knowing you’d hate yourself if he were to get an innocent guy by accident. you walk closer to the man and study him again. noticing his sexy grin and his tall figure. he had small diamond studs in his ears and two gold chains on. he was very well built. looks like he works out almost everyday. you noticed under his hood he had on a dark grey durag. “damn he’s fine as hell” you quickly cover your mouth. not meaning for those words to be said out loud. the man laughs as you see him remove his phone from him ear and click a button. you notice that your phone was no longer connected to the call with your boyfriend as the man speaks. “it’s me mama”

his voice was so deep it made you have to clench your legs close together. you tried to pay no mind to what he was saying until you glanced up at his chains again. noticing the one with your name on it. squinting in confusion you look up at the man to get a better look at his face. his dark skin and bright smile made you almost pass out as you realized who he really was. “baby?”

“yea princess it’s me.” you squeal as you finally begin to recognize your man. “finally. i thought i was gon have to drag you outta here screamin. can we please go home now?” you smile up at your man as you showered his face with kisses. “mhmm i’m tired i wanna go straight to bed when we get there” ony chuckled at your sentence. knowing damn well he wasn’t going to let you just go to sleep after what you put him through tonight. “nah you not off the hook. you’ll go straight to sleep AFTER i handle you. i think twenty’s reasonable for tonight since you wanna be a criminal so bad” hearing his words you began to feel your pussy flutter under your short dress as you thought about the spanking you were about to receive when you got home. this was gonna be a fun night.

[firefly--bright]

winter sun.

jean kirstein x reader, modern au

summary ; wintery sunsets and a cold walk with jean, secrets being peeled apart. warnings ; none :) a/n ; hey divas im. dying there is so much work i found like a slither of time to write this </3 that being said requests are open even if i'll take time to write them. thank u @ppushable for enabling me to write this taglist ; @holding-infinity-and-a-book , @mrsnobodynobody , @hopeless-anti-romantic , @jeanscremebrulee , @berrijam , @happxme , @cherrypieyourface , @imgayandshesanime , @moonmalice , @kivernova , @potaho3frog , @xakilicious , @katestrophes , @gojo-ana , @ppushable , @candleohappiness

main masterlist is in pinned post! ✿ enter my taglist! ✿ requests are open!✿ listen to this while reading (shush.)

middle tile art creds ; @plutocisms on tumblr!

The apartment was surprisingly quiet. 

The rare occurrence where sasha’s voice didnt permeate through the thin door of your home, where connie’s protests to jean’s choices in music didnt make their way to your ears even as you were climbing the stairs, the surprising lack of marco’s voice trying to mediate the two while the smell of something deliciously preparing in the kitchen, no doubt being observed with careful precision and hawk-eyed vision of the guy. None of that. It almost sent a chill down your spine, the jingle of your keys being the only thing that could be heard on your floor - your neighbours were tired of complaining about you and your friends’ loudness - and you made sure to not make too much noise unlocking the door.

The curtains were drawn, the only sound coming carefully from your own room, a soft yellow hue from under your door. You put your things away, your socked feet still cold despite being covered, fingers frozen and buried deep in your pockets. 

You pushed the door to your bedroom open with your foot.

Jean sat in your bed - laid down, really, like it was his own. It might as well be, and his hair was set, absorbing the golden light from your bedside lamp, his phone his his hand. He was dressed in your favourite, almost a knowing, well-kept secret in your mind. How he became aware of it you had no idea, but his deeply forest green sweater flowed gently over him, hugging his arms. 

He looked up, his eyes shining, gleaming. “You’re back,” he says, sitting straight up, back no longer supported by the pillow behind him, the cushion only holding an impression of him that youd like to keep forever. A proof of sorts, but that wouldnt be necessary as long as he was infront of you. 

“Hey.” you said, warmly, because that’s what he made you be. You set your bag down at the foot of your bed, and jean gets up with a question on his mouth, his chapped lips spilling out the statement as if he’d been mulling it over for a time longer than himself. “Wanna go see the sunset?” he asked, lips twitching at the corner - another well kept secret in your mind, your favourite passing expression on his face. There were a lot of things you liked about him, in passing, in secret, truth kept hidden between you and your mouth. Kept close, kept quiet. 

You hummed as if you even had to think about the answer. Dramatically, you stretched your arms over you, faking a yawn. “I dont know, jean, im pretty tired,” 

His shoulder slumped in a way where he thought it wouldnt be noticeable - something you couldnt help but notice - and he said, “oh, okay. Some other day th- oh youre fucking with me. Oh, okay. Fuck you,” he says, a joking scowl on his face as he started to walk out your door, refusing to turn his back on you. You laugh in teasing, a small, conscious sound. “Im never going to ask you, now, and years later when im dead-” “-how many years are we talking?” “twenty thousand. Im going to outlive you. You’re going to regret ever doing this to me-” your laugh becomes just a little louder, a little less conscious, a little more comfortable against the sound of his voice, and he smiles wider knowing youre happy. “I’ll write it in my eulogy, then,” you say, following him to the hallway. “you better.” he leads you to where you kept your shoes, your welcome mat folding as he halted infront of it, removing your coat from the rack along with his. “here lies jean kirstein, died out of spite,” you wear your shoes and he holds out your coat to put your arms in. “youre joking about this but im pretty sure that would be the only reason i’d ever die.” he wears his own coat, and the door opens gently, with your laughter replacing the sound of the empty, dimly lit stairway.

There’s really not much of a sun to be seen set. Maybe it was all just an excuse jean made up to hear your voice that warmed him in the freezing cold, and maybe you already knew that, and hoped his hand would brush against yours to remind you of his grounding heat, walking beside you. Coats on your shoulder, you and jean walked around aimlessly in your neighbourhood, treetops barren with the branches cutting through the blueing sky, colouring jean’s stray hairs in their shade. Another well kept secret in your ever-growing list - jean’s hair was like a chameleon. Being light enough to catch the colour of the light shining on him without much protest, and in the mornings when he sat beside you in class, backlit against the closed window with the sun shining painfully through the planes of glass, his hair looked like a crown. A halo, summery and warm but diffusing in his hair like something that was only evidence of holiness, blending into his strands almost seamlessly.

The tip of his nose was red, cheeks and ears taking on the same tint. His breath created a small cloud in the air from his nose, disappearing in a millisecond. Youd keep it there forever, if you could, seeing as his breath warmed your face, every exhale holding a piece of his lungs and the fact that it was so close to you, an evidence of holiness, was more than what you’d asked for in your life. You were sure if you closed your lids you’d see the outline of his face etched in the same light of your bedroom nightlight, lulling you to sleep.

 

“How was your day?” he asks, his voice soft, turning his head towards you. His eyes reflect your figure and its the only way youd want to see yourself. 

“Alright. Oh! After my last class, i was just talking to some people in my class with the professor-” “-zoe?” “yeah!” your voice lilts upwards, a physical proof. He remembered your schedule for today. “And we were just, yknow, talking, and they started telling us about the one time they got into a barfight.” jean snorts. “Honestly, i wouldnt expect less form them.” “me too. It started out as them and the other guy arguing about some fact and the guy just refused to listen to them so they had to google it and, yknow, they were right, and the guy refused to believe it. Got punched in the face. And then they showed us a scar from the stitches on their chin after they fell down at the curb.” jean laughed. “I wish i still had their class.” he said, and your hands brushed just as predicted and hoped. Your boots crunched the ground below you, your footsteps in sync with his, and jean retracted his hand. “Jesus, youre cold.” he remarked, looking at you, and you shrugged. “What can you do?” you asked. A rhetoric, helpless question. 

But jean’s hand enveloped yours, your feet coming to a halt with his, standing face to face with both your hands held by jean's warm fingers, burning like a furnace, set ablaze like your heart, a hearth around your previously frozen closed digits. There was a breeze, somewhere, far away to you, and jean’s eyes looked at yours with gentleness and no secrets. His shoulders relaxed, as if holding your hands like this was something natural and unplanned and comfortable - it was - but it was new, and you’d always assumed that change set your heart racing because it was too much. But then this was change, too, and your heart was normal, only a little bigger, comfortable against your chest that seemed so close to his. Maybe it was only comfortable because of that fact.  

He breathed into your hand, his own creating a shell around yours to keep the heat locked in just as you had thought about. A piece of his lungs, disappearing in a moments notice, a moments silence, a moment too long, comfortably stretched out under your well-kept secrets that you werent sure were so well-kept anymore. 

“Pretty today.” he comments, his eyes anywhere but to you now, and you wonder if you heard him right, but his breath lies there, unapologetic, heard, content around you. A piece of his lungs wraps around you, sinking into your layers of clothes and skin until it hits your bones. Somewhere, distant and clouded, the sun sets slowly. “Thank you,” you say, wondering if you should spill your own secret. “I like you in green.” you say. It sounds stupid and embarrassing to admit, and now it’s your turn to avert your eyes and stare and your hands. Theyre warm now. Jean hasnt stopped holding them. 

“I know.” he says. “Thats why i wear it so often.” “it makes your eyes look warm.” you say, clearing your throat, “colour theory, i think,” you excuse. 

You feel him nodding slowly, and his hands tug on your gently, pulling your body closer to his. Your chin tilts up, just in time to catch his breath, again, so close to yours, disappearing not before mingling with your exhale, piece of your lungs, in the still air. “Colour theory.” he repeats, and its clear that the excuse didnt work on him, not because hes smirking the way he usually is when he spots your poorly concealed truth, but with a pinch between his brows, subtle enough to be almost hidden. You catch it anyway. 

“Is there…. any colour theory to… to support why you look so…pretty?” he asks, face scrunching at the end, cringing at his own question. You smile. He shakes his head, a strand of his hair slipping onto his forehead. The wind brushes it away and you allow it to because of your preoccupied hands. “Forget i said that,” “its the blue,” you breathe, providing him with a clearly fake statement, but its not a secret this time. It doesnt hide behind your teeth, freeing into the wind, wrapping around him unapologetically. 

His lips twitch, sacred secrets still in your hands but theyre in his warm ones now, so you suppose its okay. 

“The blue?” he asks, small smile on his slightly cracked, cold lips. Your reflection is in his eyes and youre close enough to see the blue that tints the corner of his pupils - colour theory. Whatever it was. “Yeah. the sky, i think.” 

“The sky makes you pretty?” he asks, and you copy his smile despite yourself. “Yeah. maybe.” 

He nods again, slowly. Your words soak into his skin, warming his muscles, relaxing his shoulders. “I like blue.”

“I like green,” you say.

You have matching smiles on your faces, and you lean your lips to his hands, placing a small kiss there, a proof of your secrets, the ability of them spilling out one day, the possibility of comfort that jean provided openly, without remorse, to you. The fog his breath was creating came to a halt. You looked back to him, and your nose bumped against his cold, pink one. “I… there’s no sun.” he said, almost desperately, holding himself together by flimsy reasoning, but you broke his resolve without even trying. “Its okay. Its there somewhere. Close your eyes, maybe you can see it.” 

His eyes fluttered shut. In the darkness, he could see the outline your shape left under his lids. “Are you seeing it?” you ask, and your lips are so close together now its dizzying, and you wouldve collapsed if it werent for the way you held onto eachother’s hands. 

Jean nods. In the darkness, under his lids, he traces every line of your face, a piece of his heart. 

“Good. then we’re seeing the same sun.” you say. Jean opens his eyes to see your own closed, hands in his, growing warmer. He didnt remove his hands. 

“Yeah. we are.” he agrees, eyes glancing at your lips, waiting for your eyes to open.

When they do, you find a question in his. Warm, complimenting the colour of his sweater, gleaming in the blue of the sky. You inch closer to him with your own answer, your lips pushed slightly apart, waiting for your secrets to be unleashed into his own poorly concealed ones behind his usually clenched jaw. 

His lips are chapped. A little cold. So were your hands, but his touch warmed you, and you hoped your own lips warmed his, taking his breath - a piece of his lungs - into yours, and he pushed a little gently into you, chasing your own heart, tasting whatever was closest to the sun.

and then his lips are off of yours and the sun had set, but jean was still warm, a piece of his lungs stuck to your tongue and a piece of the sun stuck between his teeth. he'd keep it there.

[fox-guardian]

I am still thinking so hard about artist Jon.

Like. It's a hobby for him, purely, he doesn't plan to make money off of it. It's just for fun. He doodled a bit in his free time and then took life drawing classes in uni because Georgie insisted he needed to get out and do something more than studying so he. Kept studying. But just art this time.

He would describe his style as a kind of realism, but its definitely stylized in colors at least, as he's impatient and goes for bolder colors for lighting pretty early in his process so he doesn't lose the feeling of the piece, especially if it never gets finished. He wants to keep the vibes, just in case he wants to go back to it, so he doesn't forget.

He kinda falls of drawing after he starts at the institute, but I think during season 4 he picks it up again to cope with. Everything. He's not using his fancy drawing supplies since he doesn't have them anymore, just office pens and pencils. It's a lot of Martin, of course. But also Tim. He wishes he could ask Melanie to describe Sasha for him so he could try to draw her too, but he figures that wouldn't go down very well. Besides, telling his coworkers he draws is too much vulnerability anyway. Sometimes he even draws The Admiral, but he doesn't often draw animals so it never does him justice in his eyes.

Then at the safehouse, he works up the nerve and asks if Martin could sit for him for a bit. He doesn't need to pose or anything, just stay right there, Martin, keep reading that book, just don't move too much for a while, the lighting is perfect, he needs to capture it. He needs to map it with pen and paper. His phone camera could never catch the golden light on Martin's hair, and besides, the photo could lie to him later. But muscle memory and scratches in paper are harder to change, surely. He needs to record the moment like this. Hold it to his heart. Feel it in his wrist as he swipes strands of hair across the page, in his shoulder as his arm arcs down the curve of Martin's stomach, in his fingertips as he smudges the pigment he bought from the local craft supply shop to form a reddened cheek.

And Martin's cheeks are red. After everything that's happened, all the distance, his heart wasn't prepared for the intimacy of sitting before the man he loves being lovingly analyzed and having his likeness put to paper. It's exciting and agonizing at the same time, feeling eyes on him for hours as Jon stares down every curve, maps out every freckle, mole, and blemish. And when Martin sees the final image as Jon sheepishly presents it to him, he cries. He remembers feeling the fear of statement givers as he read their stories, living it through the words written. It was kind of like that, only instead of fear, he felt the overwhelming love pressed into every line on the page. Every stroke, every smudge, even tucked into the negative space, filling him up until it couldn't be contained, and he burst into tears. (Which worried Jon greatly until Martin reassured him with a hug and a kiss.)

He doesn't ask Jon to stop drawing him. How could he, when it was always with such love behind it? Not to mention Jon was getting back in the swing of it, oiling his rusty skills, and he was so happy doing it. But he will admit it was mildly mortifying seeing their home fill up with so many portraits of him, steadily increasing in their flattering composition. Jon was drawing from his imagination now that he had memorized most of Martin's form, and it was getting out of hand. He once caught a glimpse of a work in progress of Martin lounging and being fed grapes by cherubs. Good lord.

[maddie-dog-story-blog]

The Playdate - 2

PREVIOUS CHAPTER

It only took a few more minutes before Mia emerged back in the kitchen holding Sasha's hand and looking like a toddler ready to go to church. Mia's face was as red as a tomato.

Lisa gasped in delight as her girlfriend walked into the room. "Mia! You look absolutely adorable!" She exclaimed.

Sasha raised the hand holding Mia's and twisted it, forcing the other woman to twirl and show off all sides of her outfit to the room.

"What do you think, Tammy? Isn't Little Mia beautiful?" Sasha asked Tammy who, Mia noticed to her chagrin, had a purple ring around her mouth from the grape juice she had drank from a normal, plastic cup.

"Yeth, Mommy! Mia's sooooo pretty! She lookth wike one of my baby dollies!" Tammy yelled out enthusiastically.

"Little Mia even agrees with us, don't you Mia? You were just telling me how you want your Mommy to buy you more pretty dresses just like this one, right?" Sasha said.

Lisa raised her eyebrow. That didn't sound like her Mia, who would refuse to wear anything that looked like it was meant to be worn by anyone younger than a kindergartener. But, to her surprise and delight, Mia quickly confirmed Sasha's statement.

"Yes, Miss Sasha. This is a very pretty dress. I would like to have more just like it," Mia said reluctantly, blushing at having to speak the words.

Lisa stopped and pondered the statement for a moment. Was this Mia's way of telling her she wanted to regress further without outright admitting it?

Sasha spoke next, "Well, that's perfect! Since this dress is too little for Tammy, you can have this one to start your collection!"

Lisa beamed in delight. "How wonderful! Mia, what do you tell Miss Sasha for her generosity?" Lisa asked as Tammy took another messy drink of her juice.

Mia turned to Sasha, looking up at her, before politely saying, "Thank you for the pretty dress, Miss Sasha."

"You're welcome, little one! Now, let's get you some juice! You were thirsty when you got here; I'm sure you're parched now!" Sasha said as she headed back into the kitchen.

Lisa stopped her short, though. "Don't worry, I already have it handled." She reached over to a counter and grabbed, to Mia's horror, an extra-large baby bottle full of milk, not juice.

"Mommy! No! I'm a big girl!" Mia cried out in horror as her girlfriend offered her the bottle. Sasha had to cover a giggle as Mia, now looking more like a toddler than Tammy, had yet another emotional outburst.

"It's this or nothing, Mia. You already proved you aren't ready for a big girl glass with your little spill. You also lost juice and sippy cup privileges by having a temper tantrum and lying about your accident. Do you want to make your punishment worse by throwing another one?" Lisa asked as she lectured her partner.

Mia stomped her foot once before getting control of her emotions again. "But, I'm not a baby," Mia muttered timidly, taking the offered bottle from her Mom's hand.

"Mia's a big baaaby! Not wike me! Me's a big giwl! I dwink wif a big giwl cup!" Tammy said, unhelpfully. Mia wanted to cry.

Sasha, of all people, surprisingly came to Mia's rescue.

"Tammy, that was not nice! Mia is just a little girl who had a little spill and a temper tantrum, that's all. You've had plenty of both. Tell Mia that you are sorry, or I will make you sorry, little miss!" Sasha said, rounding on Tammy.

The large baby-woman immediately backtracked. Lips stained with purple juice, Tammy immediately apologized. "Sowwy, Mia!" she chirped out.

Dressed in a baby dress and holding a baby bottle full of milk, the apology did nothing to fix Mia's wounded pride.

Sasha continued though, turning to Mia. "You know, the bottle's not that bad? It means you can take it to the playroom without having to worry about making a mess! Why don't you go play? I bet your Mama might even let you use your little tablet while you calm down," Sasha looked expectantly at Lisa as she spoke the last sentence.

Mia looked up expectantly at her girlfriend as well. At this point, she wanted nothing more than to go hide away with her tablet and pretend she was anywhere but here.

"I guess that's alright. But, I expect you to finish that bottle in the next 45 minutes. You aren't going to go into the playroom and conveniently forget to drink it. The bottle is a punishment, after all," Lisa said.

That affirmation was all Mia needed. "Okay, Mom," she responded before grabbing her tablet and headphones in the hand not occupied by the bottle, palming a piece of bubble gum, and running off to Tammy's playroom.

Once in the room, she found a large, pink bean bag chair to settle into. She puffed her skirt out so she could comfortably sit down and popped the gum in her mouth. She put her pink, cat-ear headphones on and turned on her favorite show, My Little Pony. She started to blow bubbles with her bubble gum and let all of her attention be drawn into her tablet as she shut out the rest of the room. Mia was so enthralled in her own little world that she didn't even notice Tammy come into the room shortly after her.

Mia finished a whole episode of her cartoon before she remembered she was supposed to be drinking her bottle. She let the second episode start playing as she reached for the cursed container, put the nipple to her lips, and started suckling. Mia didn't really know what to expect, having never used a bottle as an adult, but actually getting the milk out of the bottle was much harder than she had anticipated.

Frustrated with how slow she was drinking, she set the bottle back down, moved the gum out of the back corner of her mouth, and started mindlessly watching her tablet and popping her bubble gum again.

During this whole process, Mia never looked up from her tablet once, failing to pay attention to her surroundings at all. Unfortunately for Mia, if she had been paying attention, she probably would have noticed Tammy staring at her malevolently from another corner of the playroom. She also probably would have noticed the larger woman slip off her pull-up. Had she been paying even a modicum of attention, Mia definitely would have noticed the large woman advancing on her. Mia wasn't paying attention though, so, when Tammy grabbed Mia by the leg and dragged her off of the bean bag, Mia was taken completely by surprise.

As Tammy grabbed Mia, the bubble of gum the smaller woman was working on popped, getting all over Mia's face and effectively sealing her mouth shut. Tammy immediately sat down on Mia's crotch once the smaller woman was on the floor, easily pinning Mia down. Mia struggled against Tammy's weight, but quickly discovered she couldn't move.

Once Mia was detained, Tammy ham-fistedly grabbed some of the gum off of Mia's face and smeared it into one of the other woman's long, braided pigtails. Mia struggled to reach for her hair, still unable to open her mouth to protest due to the rest of the gum, as she felt a warm, wet sensation growing from her crotch. Mia's eyes widened as she felt Tammy pee directly onto her crotch.

Tammy looked down at Mia, laughing maniacally. "Oh no! Did Little Mia have an accident in her pretty little party dress?" Tammy asked rhetorically, letting her overgrown toddler act temporarily drop.

Mia stared up at Tammy with pleading eyes. What was happening? Why was this happening? Unable to speak, she tried to let her eyes do the talking. Tammy didn't respond to the panicked looks. Instead, she grabbed Mia's wrists, pinning her down further, scrunched her face up again, and let lose another stream of hot piss.

"Oh no! The little baby pissed herself again! And here I thought you were such a big girl! So much bigger than and superior to gross little Tammy? You don't feel so big now, do you now, Baby Mia?" Tammy continued her taunt her prey before grabbing the remaining gum from Mia's face and rubbing it into Mia's other braid.

Tears started to form in Mia's eyes as she finally found her mouth free. She started to wail. Tammy quickly climbed off of the smaller, crying woman, leaving her lying in a puddle of urine. She then ran over to the dry pull-up laying on the floor of the playroom, pulled it back on, and sat on the floor, pretending to play with her dolls.

It only took moments for Lisa and Sasha to come running into the room once Mia started crying. The small woman was sitting in the middle of a puddle of urine on the floor, pulling on the gum in her hair. The once white petticoats of the toddler dress she was wearing was yellowed from the urine to match the rest of the dress.

On seeing the mess Mia was sitting in, Lisa immediately put her hands on her hips and glared down at her charge.

"Mia Eileen! What is going on here?!" She yelled as she stormed across the room. Sasha remained in the doorway, looking at Mia with a knowing smile.

"Mommy!" Mia wailed as she pointed at Tammy, "I didn't wet my pants! She did! Baby Tammy did!"

Lisa reached down and grabbed Mia by the hand, forcefully pulling the small woman to her feet. She looked at the puddle on the floor, then bent Mia over at the waist, easily exposing the woman's drenched cotton princess panties, dress, and sewn-in petticoats.

"Tammy wet your panties?!" Lisa said incrediously, "TAMMY wet YOUR panties?!? Do you realize how ridiculous that sounds?"

Mia straightened up and looked her caregiver directly in the eyes. Screw emotional regulation, she wasn't taking the fall for this. She stomped both of her feet as her tears dried up, and she started yelling.

"BUT, SHE DID! SHE PINNED ME DOWN AND PEED ON ME!" Mia screamed at Lisa, willing her caregiver to believe her.

"Baby, you are clearly lying. Tammy come here," Lisa said, waiving Tammy over. The large woman stood up and made a show of waddling to Lisa's side.

"Yeth, Mith Lisa?" Tammy asked, now fully playing the role of the perfect adult baby girl again. Mia glared at the woman's act.

Lisa pulled up the hem of Tammy's sundress, revealing a slightly wet pull-up underneath. "What happened to Mia, baby girl?" Lisa asked softly like an adult talking to an actual two-year-old.

Tammy shoved her thumb into her mouth as she spoke. "Mia wath blowing pwetty bubbles wif her mouf. She blew a weally big one, and it popped! Da bubble got all in her hair, and Mia gots scared and went pee-pee!" She explained behind her thumb, giving Mia a dumb grin as she finished.

"That's a lie! That's not what happened! She pulled me off the bean bag, pinned me down, and…" Mia's rant was cut off when Sasha's hand wrapped around Mia's head from behind and shoved a giant pacifier into Mia's open mouth. Mia then shook her head as she felt a leather strap being tighter around her head, restricting her from spitting the pacifier out.

"Sorry, Lisa. I just couldn't take any more of Mia's naughty lies," Sasha said as Mia stomped both of her feet and balled her fists in frustration.

"That's totally okay, Sash! I agree with you. I don't know what's happening, but it looks like you were right on the phone the other day. Mia wants me to make her be my diaper filling little baby. I mean, obviously Tammy didn't wet Mia's panties. She's wearing a soggy pull-up for god's sake. How would Tammy even get the pee onto Mia's panties when she's wearing her, um, protection?"

Mia raged behind the pacifier gag as Sasha held her in place. Lisa continued to talk to her best friend over Mia's head as if she wasn't there.

"And Tammy's version of events make since," Lisa grabbed Mia's pigtails, "These cute little pigtails are covered in bubble gum! I think they'll have to be cut short."

Mia's eyes grew wide. She did not want to lose her hair. The bubblegum was so high up in her braids, she would only have a few inches left if Lisa cut it all out. She tried to protest through the pacifier, but couldn't form any words with the giant bulb pinning her tongue down.

"That'a exactly what it looks like to me too, Lisa. What are you going to do about this?" Sasha asked.

Lisa lowered her head to make eye contact with Mia. The stern yet caring look in her girlfriend's eyes made Mia start to tear up again. She started to cry.

Lisa grabbed Mia by the back of the head and drew it closer to her. Quietly, she whispered, "If you wanted this, you could have just told me. I'd have let you be my little baby. Secretly, I've been dying for you to ask. But, if you wanted to brat your way into being my baby, I'm happy to help with that too."

The tears were flowing at full force now. Mia was desperately trying to say something, anything, to alter the direction of her impending fate. However, the bulb of the pacifier in her mouth was so large all she could do was drool and babble incoherently around it.

Plus, at this point, Mia was almost certain anything she did would just be interpreted as her being an obstinate brat in an attempt to get regressed back to diapers. Given the look in Lisa's eyes and the seriousness in her tone, Mia wasn't even certain that safe-wording would work to stop what was about to happen, even if she could.

Lisa stood straight back up. She let her tone get more hostile and stern as she spoke, playing the role of the angry mommy she thought Mia wanted her to play.

"Mia, I am so disappointed in you. I thought you were a big girl who could do big girl things. Instead, it turns out your just a naughty little baby who lies and wets her pants. It's time for me to start treating you the way you've been acting!"

Lisa grabbed Mia's hand and dragged her to a nearby couch, leaving a trail of urine on the carpet with each step. Lisa sat down on the couch and pulled her charge face first, over her lap. She pushed the wet skirt and petticoats of Mia's dress up towards the small woman's head, exposing the soaking wet princess panties on her ass and effectively blinding Mia to anything that wasn't directly in front of her. Unfortunately for Mia, the only thing in her line of sight was Sasha and Tammy. Both women stood there, looking at Mia with self-satisfied grins.

"This is going to hurt me worse than it will hurt you," Lisa said.

Mia shut her eyes. She had never been spanked by her girlfriend. She'd be sent to her room, ordered to write lines, not been given desert, and grounded from anything but school and work. But, until today, she had never been spanked. That changed as Lisa dealt her first blow to Mia's pert little ass.

"This! Is! For! Lying! To! Me!" Lisa said, punctuating each word with a smack to Mia's butt. "You! Never! Lie! To! Mommy!"

Mia sobbed in shame and closed her eyes. The pain of the spanking was one thing, but the shame of being disciplined like a child, while wearing this dress, while wearing soaked panties, was too much. She'd been thoroughly beaten and humiliated by Sasha and Tammy. She couldn't watch them laugh at her as she broke down.

The spanking didn't last long. Soon, Mia felt her girlfriend stop stroking her and slide her wet panties down her legs. Mia didn't resist, she knew she had lost.

Lisa took the panties and hung them in Mia's face. "Say bye-bye to your panties sweetheart. Babies who wet themselves and lie about it get put back in diapers."

Mia let her sobs start anew.

"Look at this dress, too! Completely ruined! What are we going to do with you?" Lisa asked as she pulled Mia's skirts back over her now bare butt.

"Well, I do have one more outfit that would fit Little Mia here, don't I baby?" Sasha said, addressing caregiver and charge at the same time. Mia physically cringed, remembering the pink onesie from the closet.

"Really, that's wonderful. Stand up, baby. Let's go get you into something more appropriate for a pants wetting, little liar," Lisa said as she helped her gagged girlfriend off of her lap.

As Lisa stood up, Sasha immediately noticed a problem. "Lisa, sweetie, it looks like you got a little of the baby's potty on your pants," she informed her friend.

Looking down, Lisa immediately realized her friend was right. "Damn it. I guess I'll just smell like pee for the rest of the day," she responded.

"Don't be silly! I have all sorts of outfits you can borrow. Go down the hall and find something you like. I can get Little Mia here changed quick! I am an expert in this sort of thing," Sasha winked at Lisa. Mia, desperate not to be left alone with Sasha again, tried to beg Lisa not to follow Sasha's plan. The gagged woman's unintelligible prattle fell on deaf ears though.

"Thanks Sash! You're a lifesaver as always," Lisa said before turning to Mia. "I know you're acting bratty today, but please listen to Miss Sasha. She isn't your Mommy and shouldn't have to deal with your naughty behavior!"

With that, Lisa left the room, leaving Mia alone in the playroom with both Sasha and Tammy. Sasha strode up to Mia like a tiger coming up on it's kill.

"You heard your Mommy, baby girl. You need to listen to me. Let's go."

Sasha grabbed Mia's hand and dragged her back to the nursery for her first of what Mia truly fear was going to be many diaper change.

NEXT CHAPTER

[0bticeo]

j. sims, e. bouchard| love is an open wound still raw.

part one out of four. (part 2.) (part 3.) (part 4.)

summary.

“one of your wounds has reopened.”

slowly, you glance down to your hand. there’s a small puncture wound on your palm, surrounded by the imprints left by your nails. it bleeds, red seeping out of the flesh in neat droplets of crimson. your fist tightens.

drip, drip. 

“it’ll heal.”

“it might get infected.”

“oh, and what are you going to be able to do about it?”

“i have a first aid kit.”

wc. 2.6

tw. worms, jon patching up reader's wounds, heavily implied that elias is having the time of his life watching them go at it, fluff (in this economy?? written by obticeo??? shocking), handjob, blowjob, overstimulation (so um. non sex averse jon.)

work at the magnus institute, they said. it’s a good idea, they said. you thrive on knowing things and burying yourself in niche research topics for days on end for hyper specific information. why not give the esoteric and supernatural a try?

you blame the decent paycheck for signing the contract so quickly. 

(there is, really, nothing to blame but your own, insatiable curiosity. an institute studying supernatural happenings. how is the damn thing even funded?) 

oh, it wasn’t that bad. not at first, despite your instinct screaming not to trust the devilishly handsome head of the institute and to run away. the archives were a mess, courtesy of gertrude robinson’s piss poor organization. you did not want to know what layed in the artifact storage department. you dutifully ignored the sharp, pinprick pain at your nape, the weight settling over your skin like an accusatory finger. you’re being watched.

again, it wasn’t that bad.

then there were worms.

your fingers clench, dig in your palms. even now, weeks after the flesh-hive broke into the institute, you can feel it. smell it. 

the scent of decay, flesh rotting away, peeling bit by bit from brittle bone, and maggots. so many of them, worms everywhere, stark white fleshy mass wriggling, crawling towards you, biting you until they burrow in your flesh.

you should’ve seen it coming, really, what’s with martin being forced to reside in the archives until further notice and the occasional worm managing to crawl its way in.

you hadn’t. 

(drip, drip. 

blink, and you’re bleeding in a safe room, jon’s palm pressing down your thigh as he wrenches away the worms digging in your flesh with a corkscrew. your leg aches. your wrist is a bloody mess. all you can do is try to bite back a scream and fail, miserably. 

blink, and you’re safe, three months later. on bad days you can still feel them crawl, burrowing deeper and deeper in you, hungry, so terribly hungry.)

today, the archives are silent. the others are still quarantined, so the only noise filling the room is that of your breathing and the click, click, click of your pen. 

no martin to bring you a cup of coffee with a sheepish smile, debating over the merits of tea over coffee. no tim to prank you with the false statement of joe spooky and his encounters with the horrorsTM, holding back his laughter as you squint at him suspiciously. no sasha to gossip with, to laugh, delighted, voice lowering in a conspiratorial whisper as she tells you the latest tidbit of info she found out about jon - your prickly boss! in a band!

normally, the usual hustle and bustle of the archives (and its rowdy archival assistants), is almost enough for you to forget the permanent, oppressing feeling that you’re being watched. it’s always there, at the back of your mind, pinprick pressure at the edge of your neck. eyes, thousands and thousands of them watching you, knowing you, how you wake up screaming, nails digging bloody trails on your skin to get them out- 

breathe. 

you’re in the archives. you’re at your desk, tightly clenched hands resting on a manila folder. before you is the portrait of the founder of the institute. jonah magnus, green-grey eyes boring down upon you. you look back, tired eyes dead and unblinking. 

the watch on your wrist tells you it’s five and a half in the afternoon, give or take. the sun is declining. you’ve kept the lights off. penumbra settles over you like a blanket and you lean back in your chair. you’ve been there for three hours and haven’t moved an inch. 

you should probably go home. you should probably quit, actually. go up to elias’ office and politely tell him that you did not sign up to have your life threatened by worms, supernatural or not. 

you don’t.

the manila file in front of you contains a statement regarding robert montourke, given by one of his jailers. you should probably find a tape recorder. maybe there’s a spare in jon’s office. 

so you get up and set about getting that tape recorder. a beat. you think you catch the contours of one of these wretched worms, fat larvae half crushed by a bow full of statements. blink and it’s gone.

you all but slam open the door, only to reveal the head archivist in the flesh. he startles, almost dropping the pile of statements he’s been neatly stocking away in a cardboard box.

“what- how long have you been there?”

you stare at him, blankly, hand still resting against the doorknob.

“i- three hours- sorry, i should’ve knocked-”

“yes, yes you should have!”

your shoulders tense. he’s glaring at you with barely concealed suspicion, and all you can do is fight back the creeping panic that settles over you, because you can remember being in this very office, half leaning over jon’s desk, laughing with him, before the wall broke and the worms-

“what are you doing here?”

you take in a sharp inhale.

“i was looking for a tape recorder.”

jon lets out an aggravated sigh.

“here, in the archives.”

“i-”

“you should still be at the hospital, resting-”

“i’ve been discharged three days ago.”

he scoffs, running a hand through his tousled hair. it’s grown, you realize. a few inches, now long enough to brush the sharp edge of his jaw. there and there, creeping up his neck, his fingers, his wrists, you can see the scarring tissue of his flesh, puncture wounds like many cigarette burns. worms.

you swallow.

you don’t realize he’s in front of you until he calls your name, tone sharper than his wit.

“i’m going to talk to elias. this is ridiculous, having you work while you’re barely healed-”

“like you’re one to talk.”

he glares down at you, a scowl twisting his features. you meet his stare, lone sailor in the eye of the storm. his gaze trails over your features, takes in the scars crawling up your forearms, the skin left bare by the rolled up sleeves of your shirt. his frown deepens.

“one of your wounds has reopened.”

slowly, you glance down to your hand. there’s a small puncture wound on your palm, surrounded by the imprints left by your nails. it bleeds, red seeping out of the flesh in neat droplets of crimson. your fist tightens.

drip, drip. 

“it’ll heal.”

“it might get infected.”

“oh, and what are you going to be able to do about it?”

“i have a first aid kit.”

with that, he moves behind his desk and opens a drawer with an aggravated sigh. he rummages through it, discarding stationary and a paperback of poe’s selected tales. he’s got taste, you muse, drawing closer, footsteps silent on the carpet. at last, jon pulls out a red box and motions for you to sit down on the edge of his desk. 

“give me your hand,” he mutters.

you extend your hand, slowly, holding it up by his desk lamp. his fingers come to cradle your wrist, brushing your pulse, pressing against the faint outline of the bone. your breath hitches. slowly, he gets to work, critical gaze assessing the wound. it doesn’t need stitches. small blessings. 

he pulls out a sterile compress and pours disinfectant on it.

“it’ll sting.”

he’s gentle, jon, the compress held firmly against your palm, but not harshly, no. you let out a low hiss, pain like an inferno setting your nerve ablaze. you think you see his frown deepening at the pained sound that manages to fly past your gritted teeth.

the compress comes out stained. finally, he discards it and grabs the gauze, carefully wrapping it around your palm. 

in the dim lighting of the room, you make out the sunken cheeks, the five o’clock shadow adorning his jaw, the exhaustion creeping in the deep green of his eyes. they meet yours. your heart skips a beat, then another. silence stretches, stretches.

he’s been watching you, you realize. 

“you didn’t have to do this, you know.” 

he scoffs, throwing away the stained compress.

“somebody has to take care of you, if you don’t do it yourself.”

you let out a dry chuckle.

“hypocrite.”

“i am not-”

“no? when was the last time you ate? have you slept in the past three days?”

with each question, you get closer and closer to him, until you’re a breath away from him, tired gaze boring into his. there’s defensiveness in his eyes, protests piling up in scathing retort on the tip of his tongue.

“why don’t you take care of yourself, jon?”

you see his shoulders tense under the white cotton of his shirt, fingers flexing, gaze flickering, looking anywhere but you. something like resignation settles over his features, clouding the blazing green of his gaze.

“it’s rotten work.”

“not to me.”

your hand finds the sharp edge of his jaw, palm like a balm against his cheeks. you feel him relax, leaning into your touch, lips brushing against your pulse. you drink in the sight of him, worn to the bone, scars etched in his skin, reaching for his soul. he’s soft, in the sunset, all ragged edges tiredly melting away as you take one step closer to him.

“please, jon. let me take care of you.”

a beat. he chuckles, the sound low and rich, vibration reverberating in your bones.

“i can’t stop you, can i?”

“no, you can’t.” 

you fall into his orbit, in the magnetic pull of him. your lips brush against his, brushing hesitantly against the chapped skin. you hear a startled little sound of a gasp, surprise dying on his tongue, melting as you press yourself against him, bandaged hand splayed over his chest. do not still, beating heart. it stutters under your touch, hummingbird yearning for escape. you’d cradle it in your hands and swallow it whole, his heart, keeping it safe.

as it is, you cannot turn bones and spread the open wings of his ribcage apart, so you settle for Knowing him, mapping out each prickly edge of him. 

your lips grow firmer in their relentless pursuit of his own. he nips at you, wounded animal desperate for respite, so you cradle him against you, kissing him over and over, until his mouth parts for you, until, finally, you share the same breath.

you melt a little against him, fingers digging in his shoulders for support. the world narrows down, optical adjustment until it’s only you and the warmth of his fingers on your waist, comet tail blazing a path of desire over your clothed skin. your knees go weak.

you pull apart for air, and it feels like losing a part of yourself.

jon looks at you, green eyes dark and heavy, lips kiss-swollen and red and so very inviting. 

more…

you don’t know which of you broke the silence. doesn’t matter when jon grabs the front of your shirt and yanks you forward until you stumble in his chest. doesn’t matter when he sits back on his chair, when he lets you straddle him, slender fingers coaxing you out of your clothes. 

he kisses you against, and he’s hungry for it, like he’s longed for this, longed for you, you with your mouth like an offering, so warm and safe against him. his hand finds the back of your nape, thumb pressing down, and you dissolve in a sweet puddle of need. he tastes like nicotine and tea, bittersweet in all the right ways, and it feels like a revelation.

your hands set about knowing him, wandering the paths made up by the dips of his ribs, the valley of his chest, going further and further south until your hands press against the buckle of his belt.

“yes- ah!”

you’re gentle about it, really. palming him, tracing the outline of him through his slacks, relishing at the deep, shuddering exhale of your name. his hand wraps around yours, dwarfing yours. your mind goes deliciously blank, his long, slender fingers pulling down his slacks just enough to free his length.

need burns in your mind. 

jon chuckles, low and teasing, something like mirthful amusement in his eyes.

“it’s not going to bite, you know.”

“i might.”

with that, you wrap your hand around his cock. jon hisses, hips bucking in your grip. pink dusts his cheeks like dawn rising as he watches you, like he’s committing you to memory.

(he is. he wishes you could see yourself, stark silhouette burned in his retina, clothes unkempt, shirt half-opened to reveal the tantalizing edge of your bra, lips kiss-swollen, eyes wide and dark, hands slowly pumping his length.)

he groans, head lolling back, his hand tightening on your hip.

“you’re a tease.”

“and you’re pretty.”

he gasps at that. you laugh, and press your lips to his, speeding up your rhythm until you feel him tense and writhe, hips jerking against you. beds of wetness drip down on your fingers. you bring them to your mouth and hum, tongue darting out, licking them clean. jon’s breath catches at the sight.

you want to taste him, you realize. know each and every part of him, so you slide off his lap and get on your knees, skirt riding up your thighs. your hands run up his shin, fingers dancing over his knee as they tread the path to his core.

your tongue flicks out against the flushed head, lapping at his pre. he shudders at that, a low groan leaving his lips. you feel him twitch in your grip and speed up, pressing fleeting, fluttering kisses against the soft, heated skin. when your mouth closes on his length and you taste and know him, static buzzes in your mind. 

a hand, broad and big and warm, settles on your head and pushes you closer, fingers threading through your hair. you whine. he’s big and heavy, filling up your mouth until all you know is him. your nails rake his thighs and he moans at that. you can’t help but look up through your lashes.

he’s the picture of sin, jonathan sims. his pristine shirt is crumpled, haphazardly unbuttoned to reveal the knife-edge of his collarbone. his fingers tighten on the armrest, deliciously firm in their desperate attempt to find purchase as you bring him closer and closer to his release. and gods, the slow, sublime arch of his neck, the way his head lolls back in rapture as he comes again with a startled gasp-

you hum, delighted, swallowing every last drop.

ah, but you’re not done yet. you’re not done learning about all the sweet moans you can coax out of him, about what makes him tick and come in blissful rapture. so, you make him come. 

again, and again, and again, worshiping every precious inch of him as you go, sucking  bruises in the tender skin of his neck. mine. his moans fill the room, startled little gasp and desperate pleas for more, for you to stop because it’s too much, to please, please-

when you pull back, your breath catches in your throat. he’s a masterpiece of debauchery, glasses askew, tears of overstimulation trailing down his flushed cheeks, lips parted in harsh, ragged pants. 

you nuzzle against him with a coo, one hand slipping under his shirt, settling over his chest, over the thundering beat of his heart.

his hand settles on your thigh, his forehead pressing against yours as he desperately tries to catch his breath.

“w-wait… you didn’t get to… let me…”

“shh…” you peck his lips, the kiss sweet and chaste. “this is about you. for once in your life, let yourself be cared for.”

he nods, reluctantly, fingers tightening over your thigh in a promise.

“fine. but i’m treating you to dinner. that is non-negotiable.”

you laugh a little, smiling fondly up at him.

“boss’ orders.”

[aussie-bookworm]

Going Through The Motions: Bonus Bits

Hi all! I'll keep this quick but we recently hit 4k hits on Going Through The Motions! I can't believe it! Thank you all for reading my silly little fic.

As thanks, I went through my cut content document and polished up these missing scenes from Chapter Four: Help. I originally wrote full scenes of Scout asking each merc for help but decided it was going to make an already long chapter too long and it was a bit repetitive so I cut it down to the basics.

These scenes take place between Scout asking Engie for help and asking Spy for help. Thank you to the lovely @gingerale13 for proofreading! Enjoy!

Demo finished his list of names on the blackboard and put a cross next to Engie’s name.

“Alright, next up is…”

***

“Heavy?” Scout asked, knocking on the man’s door. “Can we come in? I need your help.”

“Da. Just cleaning Sasha. Door is unlocked. Do not touch gun.”

Scout hesitantly opened the door to see Heavy sitting on the floor of his room, surrounded by gun parts, focused on cleaning the barrel. 

Scout shot a nervous look at Demo who nodded. 

Honestly, Scout doubted Heavy would be able to help him, but he had to make his way through the list.

“What is problem?” Heavy asked, not looking up from his task.

Scout slowly sat down, cross-legged across from him, making an effort not to touch Sasha.

How would he even explain this? Scout knew that with Heavy, you had to be blunt.

“I need your help. I’m stuck living in a loop of the same day.”

Heavy merely raised an eyebrow and continued cleaning.

“So you come to me for joke?”

Scout blinked, leaning away from Heavy.

“What? No! Nonono! Heavy it ain’t a joke! I'm actually in a time loop! Tell him Demo!”

Demo sat down next to Scout with a sigh.

“It’s all true, Heavy. Swear on my mum’s life.”

Heavy hummed to himself, as he gently placed the barrel down and started cleaning the rotor. 

“And you come to me because you have no other options.”

It was not a question, but a statement of fact.

“How did you…?”

“Little Scout would not willingly come to me for help with magic problem unless no options are available. So you come to Heavy.”

Scout bit his lip with a frown as he looked away.

Heavy was smarter than Scout gave him credit for. The team always saw him as a big gun-obsessed Russian. Maybe there was more to him than Scout originally thought.

“Yeah, but–”

“Heavy,” Demo interrupted, holding a hand out in front of Scout to shut him up. “Have you noticed anything off with Scout during the last couple of days or weeks? Or just… anything noteworthy that could change things?”

Heavy was silent as he slowly started reassembling his gun.

“Cannot think of anything. Little Scout is little Scout as always,” he eventually commented. “I have suggestions but do not think little Scout would listen.”

“Suggestions?” Scout’s ears perked up. “What do you have for me, big guy?”

Heavy sighed as he continued to skillfully put Sasha back together.

“Understand that team is looking out for little Scout and is not babying him. Understanding others’s motives is good thing for strong team, da?”

Scout sighed.

“Yeah, I know,” he responded dejectedly. “Been through enough loops of you telling me that to get it through my thick skull.”

Heavy was unperturbed.

“Team is only as strong as weakest link. When one succeeds, all succeed.”

That made sense, Scout guessed. No ‘i’ in team and all that. 

But Scout already knew this from his baseball days! How was this supposed to help?!

“Anythin’ else?”

Heavy was silent again as he finished up his assembly. Sasha stood proud in front of Scout, ready for action.

As Scout stared at the gun, Heavy finally turned his gaze over to Scout and assessed him.

“Teamwork requires communication. Speak to Sniper.”

“What?!” 

“You have been avoiding Sniper. I have seen it. Speak to Sniper.”

Scout spluttered, trying to come up with a response.

“He’s right lad,” Demo spoke up. “Even I have noticed you’re avoiding him and I’m drunk half the time!”

Was that why Engie had suggested it yesterday? Had he also noticed and decided not to be as blunt as Heavy?

No! He couldn’t risk it! He barely got through that awkward conversation when he tried to give Sniper a compliment! Why would he decide to do that again?!

“I… I’ll do it, tomorrow,” Scout lied.

Heavy nodded.

“Very good. Is there anything else Heavy can do to help?”

“Don’t think so. Thanks, big guy.”

Heavy smiled and nodded. He stood up and picked up Sasha. Scout took that as his cue to leave. 

Quietly, Scout stood up and Demo went to follow. He opened the door as Demo slipped through.

Scout threw a look over his shoulder to see Heavy starting to clean his supplies, before shutting the door behind him.

Scout turned to see Demo looking at him. Silently, they both turned and started to walk down the hallway.

“So, tomorrow you’ll talk to Sniper, right?” Demo asked, breaking the silence.

Scout quickly wiped the scowl off his face before Demo could notice.

“Yep!” Scout lied.

***

“So we’ve talked to Engie and Heavy? We’re making good time,” Demo commented.

“I guess,” Scout responded. “So who’s next?”

***

“Hey Medic, got a minute?”

Medic’s head snapped up from the corpse he was experimenting on and looked at Scout as he and Demo pushed the doors to the infirmary open.

“Herr Scout, you know where the plasters are. You do not need my help to put one on.”

“No, it’s not that.”

Medic sighed. 

“What is it then? Herr Demo might need my help and you are wasting my valuable time.”

Demo shook his head.

“No doc, I’m fine,” he responded. “Scout needs your help, though.”

“Verdammt. What is it?”

Demo gave Scout an encouraging nod as Medic continued to operate on the corpse. Scout let out a nervous breath.

Of course, he was nervous about this! He knew what Medic did last time Scout told him about the loop!

“I need you to promise me you won’t try to give me meds this time, okay?”

“…This time?”

“Just promise, okay?”

Medic shot Scout a confused look but slowly nodded.

“Ja, okay, I promise.”

Scout sighed. 

Good enough, he guessed.

“I’m in a time loop,” Scout blurted out. “If you can help me that’d be great. Have you noticed anything off with me in the last couple of days?” 

Medic blinked, processing the stream of speech that was directed at him. 

His scalpel slipped out of his hand and into the corpse’s rib cage as he turned his head to look at Demo who had a serious expression on his face. Medic turned back to Scout.

“O…kay?” Medic eventually answered, picking up the scalpel. “Am I to understand you have been experiencing the same day on repeat?”

Scout nodded.

“Yeah. Demo suggested I talk to everyone and see if they can help.”

“Really, we just want to see if there’s something Scout can change that I haven’t already noticed,” Demo helpfully added.

Medic looked up at Demo through his eyelashes.

“And what have you noticed, Herr Demo?”

Demo said nothing, staring at the doctor. Medic frowned and tilted his head. 

As the two seemingly had a silent conversation among themselves, only nodding and pulling faces, Scout bit his lip.

“Uh… I can go if you want,” Scout spoke up.

“No need, Herr Scout,” Medic replied with a bloody wave. “I was just making sure Herr Demo and I are on the same page.”

“Okay then. Can you help me? You’re smart – surely you can think of something!”

Medic put a hand to his chin in thought.

“Unfortunately, I can’t think of anything major that could break this loop you speak of,” he mused as he placed the scalpel he was using down and reached towards Scout. “Unless you let me look at your brain and the observable effects under the loop–”

“Nuh-uh! No way!” Scout interrupted, slapping one of Medic’s hands away. “Besides, you wouldn’t even fuckin’ remember it!”

“Ja, but how often do I get to observe the synapses of a brain undergoing extreme stress and magic? Oh! I wonder if brain activity would remain the same as the previous loop! Or would it change as you are experiencing a different flow of time?”

“You’re scarin’ the lad, doc,” Demo piped up.

Medic laughed as Scout staggered backwards.

“Just imagine…” Medic said to himself.

Scout frowned slightly. He wasn’t going to get much more out of Medic which was somehow both a blessing and a curse.

“I… I’m gonna go. If you can think of anything that can get me out, let me know before midnight.”

That conversation seemed pretty quick and painless. Scout wondered if the conversations with the rest of the team would be the same.

As Scout turned to leave, Medic perked up. 

“Ah, Herr Scout?” Medic spoke up.

Goddamn it.

Scout silently begged for this conversation not to go where he thought it was going to go.

“Yeah?”

“Have you spoken to Herr Sniper about this?”

Fuck.

What was everyone's obsession with him speaking with Sniper?! Scout avoiding Sniper wasn’t that bad, was it? 

“Oh um… he’s later down on our list. I-I’ll talk to him then.”

Medic nodded approvingly

“Good, good. I recommend you speak to him earlier. He might have seen something similar to this during his career.”

Scout frowned.

“Why don’t I speak to Spy then? He’s way older and has probably seen more shit.”

“The man is… Scheiße, what’s the word in English?”

“A prick?” Scout suggested.

“Secretive,” Demo offered.

“Ja! Secretive! He does not like to share details of his past. Although…”

Demo cleared his throat.

“One problem at a time, doc,” Demo interrupted. 

“But it might–”

“Doc, not our place to say, remember?”

Scout blinked.

“Are youse hiding something from me?”

Demo and Medic made an obvious effort to look away from Scout, who was starting to feel very left out.

“Okay… You don’t gotta tell me anything. Just figured it might help break this loop quicker,” Scout muttered.

Demo sighed.

“Sorry lad. If we told you, he’d probably kill us.”

What?

“Even if you won’t remember tomorrow?”

“Herr Scout, drop it,” Medic snapped.

Scout recoiled and stared at the two men.

“Alright, alright! I’ll go! I’ll leave you two to your secrets, assholes.”

With a scoff, Scout sulked off to his room. 

Quietly Demo shook his head at Medic.

“Plan B,” he whispered.

“Ah, I see. Good luck getting him to speak to Herr Sniper. He’s stubborn as a mule.”

Demo groaned.

“It’s gotta happen sooner or later. Either way, are we still good for drinks tomorrow?”

“Ja. Heavy found a new bar that’s opened in town that we haven’t been banned from yet!”

***

“This would be more effective if I could remember these previous conversations,” Demo muttered, drawing crosses next to Engie, Heavy and Medic’s names.

“Yeah, well, they’re not very helpful,” Scout said, trying to decipher the names on the blackboard. “Are you sure about this one?”

“Well, who do you go to for a fantastical scenario? That’s right, you go to…”

***

“Pyro! Hey buddy, are you free right now?”

“Mmph! Mm-Mmph! Mm!”

Scout and Demo walked inside and sat down at Pyro’s tea party table.

Now, this conversation should be nice and quick, right?

“Pyro, I need some help from you.”

“Mph mm?”

“Yeah. You see, Merasmus cursed me to live the same day over and over again.”

“Mm-mmph!”

“I know, buddy. He said that I can only break it when I make a huge change to myself, but I don’t know what else to change. Have you noticed anything I need to change?”

Pyro was silent before they jumped up from their seat and ran over to their bed where Balloonicorn was resting. 

They thrust Balloonicorn into Scout’s arms for a hug, bouncing slightly. 

Honestly, Scout couldn’t say no to Pyro. He awkwardly wrapped his arms around the plush toy and squeezed. Demo snorted from next to him.

“Does Balloonicorn know how to break the curse?” Scout hesitantly asked from his hug. 

Pyro shook their head.

“Mph mmphmm mph mph mmph mmphmm!”

“He wanted me to feel better?”

Pyro nodded.

“But you and Balloonicorn don’t know what else I could change?”

Pyro deflated slightly and shook their head. 

“Mmph.”

“No, it’s okay. We haven’t had much luck with the others either.”

Pyro looked away and started tapping their foot.

“Mmph mph mmph mmphmph?”

Not this again.

“What’d they say, lad?” Demo asked.

Was this coordinated?! How much did the team talk about Scout and Sniper behind their backs?

“They asked if I had spoken to Sniper yet. We’re doin’ that tomorrow.”

Pyro cheered and clapped their hands before going in to give Scout a bone-crushing hug. Scout gave a small smile and pat Pyro on the back. 

As he turned to walk back into the hallway, Scout’s smile slipped off his face and was replaced with a scowl.

He was running out of time and excuses.

***

“Okay, so we’ve talked to Engie, Heavy, Medic and Pyro. Now we’re onto the S’s. Are you ready to speak to…”

“Actually Demo? I fucked up. We spoke to Sniper yesterday. I just forgot to tell you,” Scout lied.

He didn’t want to risk anything. 

The way things currently were with Sniper was fine, Scout told himself.

He didn’t want to scare Sniper away thanks to some dumb feelings he had.

“…Why did you…?”

“I just forgot,” Scout responded. “All these talks with everyone are kinda blending into one. Sniper didn’t know shit and it was so similar to our convo with Heavy that I kinda just… forgot one. Sorry.”

Demo was silent, drumming his fingers on the table.

“Sniper didn’t say anything helpful?”

“Nah. It sucks but he didn’t know anything to help.”

One little white lie couldn’t hurt, right? 

Demo sighed and turned back to the blackboard, drawing a cross next to Sniper’s name. He muttered something under his breath Scout didn’t catch.

“Alright then. Today we’ll be speaking to…”

***

“Soldier?” Scout called, knocking on the door

“Atten…tion!”

Demo leaned into Scout space.

“…Do we salute or…?” Demo asked.

Scout shrugged as he knocked again.

“Solly, can we come in? I need your help.”

“Affirmative, Private Second-Class! You may enter!”

Scout pushed the door open to reveal Soldier doing push-ups in the centre of the room. 

Scout blinked at the sight in front of him. Did the guy ever rest?!

“At ease, Soldiers!” Soldier ordered, getting to his feet. “You requested aid?!”

Scout shot a hesitant look at Demo before turning back to Soldier.

“Uh… yeah, I did, Solly. I need your help. I’m stuck in a time loop and can’t get out. Is there anything you think I need to change about myself that could break the loop?”

Solider hummed as he put a finger to his chin and tapped his foot.

“Have you spoken to Merasmus about this?”

“Affirmativ- I mean, yeah, but he wasn’t able to crack it! He suggested I find something I needed to change, but I can’t find anything else! I’ve won so many matches, I’ve been to your boot camp so many times, I don’t fuckin’ know what else to do!”

Soldier frowned.

“Then, I have got nothing to offer.”

Scout deflated. He was starting to get sick and tired of this song and dance.

“Alright, thanks, Solly.”

As they turned to leave, Scout could see out of the corner of his eye, Soldier perk up.

“Private second class!” 

Oh no. If this was about–

“Have you informed the Sniper?”

Scout blinked, saying nothing, and just glaring at the corner of the room.

“P-private second class?” Soldier asked, sounding hesitant for the first time since Scout had met him.

Scout ignored him, robotically turning and leaving without saying a word, leaving both Soldier and Demo dumbfounded.

“What is wrong with Private second-class?” Soldier turned to Demo.

Demo sighed.

“Janey, he’s been doing this for fifty-nine days. All things considered, I’m surprised he hasn’t plumb given up.”

“Hm… His determination is admirable! When he fixes this, I think I will give him a rank-up! And a medal!”

“You do that, Janey.”

[kitsunesakii]

Printer issues

Chapter 1

(A conversation between Sasha and Micheal before the siege of Jane Prentiss)

Sasha stared as the printer sputtered and grunted. A pause, another sound before silence. She grumbled and hit the roof of the printer a second time. Nothing. A small mechanical shutter and then nothing. Sasha let out an exasperated sigh and sat back. It was unbelievable that she could hack into anything Jon asked her to, but she was thwarted by a damn printer. She considered bugging Elias about it but she wasn't in the mood to deal with him. If she wanted the details to the statement printed, she'd have to use the printer at the desk to artifact storage.

Just lovely.

Sasha dragged her hands through her hair as she made her way to the other end of the Institute. She didn't have to pretend she enjoyed the place. It wasn't... Natural. She had figured out that much. And not just because of the worm infestation gathering outside the walls of the Institute. She had felt it before as well. She sensed it when they had followed up on statements only to find the person dead or missed. She had noticed it when at her desk and it felt like a thousand eyes staring daggers into the back of her head. And she noticed it now as she sat behind the Artifact storage reception desk and logged in, praying desperately that the printer would connect and behave in a timely manner.

The printer made a small wine and a short compliant huff before a paper started feeding through. Sasha dared to breathe. The paper pushed its way through and the printer made a delighted chime. She frowned. The printer paper, which should have printed out an information sheet about a drug company in relation to a health crisis, was instead a mess of colors and patterns, Sasha found it was hard to look at after a while.

Just. Bloody. Lovely.

She didn't have time to think before laughter ricocheted off of the wall and shattered through her mind. Micheal. Lord, she really needed to get paid more.

Sasha forced herself to at least try and stay calm.

"Hello again, Archivist Assistant, what leads you down here to such a place?"

She eye'd him carefully. The last interaction had left her compromised and almost dead in a graveyard and while she was safely within the Institute, she doubted that would actually be a genuine factor against him.

"The printer wasn't working." She answered rather dumbly.

He giggled and walked forward, picking up the headache of colors splattered over the paper and looking it over. "It doesn't seem broken to me." He laughed again and she felt it in her bones.

She shook her head and swallowed. "No- not this one, the one upstairs."

"Ah yes, well that one has never seemed to work." He giggled again and she managed a small frown.

What would he know about the institute's printer? She thought it was best not to ask. Instead she carefully moved towards the computer and gestured at the screen. "That's why I'm opting to use this one."

"You should try again then." His hair washed over his jaw and his shoulder as he tipped his head. His grin spreading further than the confines of his face.

Right. Sasha clicked print and watched the printer go through the motions of odd sounds before spitting out yet another distorted array of colors and shapes. Maybe she'd just be better off telling Jon he wasn't getting a paper version. Surely she could just email the details to him?

Micheal's laughter reverberated through the room as he leaned against the counter, holding his face in too long fingers.

"My, my, Assistant, whatever are you printing?"

Sasha let out a half hearted chuckle. It was too late into the day to have to deal with this. She ignored his question. "Yeah, obviously this isn't working."

"Giving up already? Oh Assistant, come on, give it another try." His smile was all teeth.

"It's Sasha." She said, rubbing her forehead.

"The printer has a name?"

"No, Micheal, my name. My name is Sasha."

He laughed again, his form spreading out like smoke before reflecting colors like glass, just transparent enough to see through whilst also noticing your reflection.

"So you say, will you try again?"

"Yes cause I'm sure it'll work better than the first two times."

"Sasha?"

She snapped her head in the direction of the voice, seeing Sally walking towards her with a concerned expression and carrying a stack of books.

"Who are you talking to?"

Sasha turned back to where Micheal was standing, except Micheal was gone and the door he had come from no longer seemed to exist. Of course.

"Oh um, no one, just talking to myself."

Sally didn't press the matter, instead disappearing down an adjacent hall. Sasha scowled and tried pressing print again, almost crying with relief as the document finally printed. Sasha quickly grabbed it and went to walk away before glancing back at the tray. Back at the two distorted pages. She grabbed those as well, folding them up and tucking them into her purse.

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

"Thank you, Sasha, I'll have Martin look into the drug company's representative tomorrow."

"Great, just don't ask me to print out anything in the future, I've had quite enough to last me for a while."

Jon gave her a quizzical expression and Sasha let out a belated sigh.

"Nevermind, I'm headed home. Don't forget to feed yourself, Jon."

He muttered some backhanded response and she headed for home.

Sasha tossed her purse on the kitchen counter and started brewing a cup of tea. She spent most of the evening getting out of work mode and into comfier attire. Finally pulling out the distorted papers from her bag and looking them over. The colors were...pretty. For lack of a better word. Oddly distracting, mildly disorienting, but pretty nonetheless. She hummed and taped them to her fridge. A bit of eye-catching decoration never hurt anyone.

Chapter:

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9

[dutifullyscreechingdragon]

Michael the Distortion X Reader

A/n: Hiiii, I should note from the start, that the characters belong to the Magnus Archives Podcast, which was written by Johnny Sims. So, yeah, I do NOT own the characters. That being out of the way, enjoy:)

You were an Archival assistant. You were also Helen's close friend. So it was natural that she went to you for comfort after being trapped in the weird halls dimension and terrorised by a series of weird doors. It was also natural for you to suggest she makes a statement for the Archives. There was a chance, however slim, that they might do some digging into the matter.

And naturally, you were there with her as emotional support. It would be cruel to make her face Jon's scrutiny on her own.

So here you were, listening to your friend rambling about her encounter, nodding along and giving her encouraging smiles. You glanced at Jon. He wasn't pleased, but he wasn't wearing his usual look of skepticism either.

"...Maybe you can make some sense of it" Helens words finally drew you out of your thoughts.

"We'll try our best" you gave Helen another smile and gave her a pat on the back. Your little moment was interrupted by Jon:

"You said you don't remember the man's name..."

"I... I think he told me, but I just, I..." Helen begins but is interrupted, by Jon:

"-it wasn't Michael, was it?"

"Yes! Michael..." Helen's face darkens "Do you know him?"

You furrow your eyebrows and turn to Jon:

"You don't think that-"

"Maybe. I don't know!" Jon sighs and turns to Helen "We'll make some enquiries and get back to you"

"Right, well... I'll just leave you to it" Helen says before leaving.

You watch her and turn to Jon, to start discussing Helen's statement. You brace yourself for his questions. Maybe he'd ask you to provide some more context. However, instead Jon opts for calling Sasha and you resignedly plop into the armchair once again.

You look over the maps Helen drew. They really don't make sense. At all. Weird lines crossing one another... They are oddly fascinating.

When Jon and Sasha finish talking you brace yourself for questioning once again, but freeze when you see a tall, lanky man.

He has golden locks that twist and turn into intricate patterns. His hands are abnormally long and his fingers curl around the doorframe he leans on. The suit he wears makes you dizzy. It looks woven out of caleidoscopic fabric. And his smile. It's unnaturally wide. His features... Are weird... As if shifted a bit, making his face a bit mismatched, misaligned.

He is not supposed to be in the archives. You are sure of that.

He speaks:

"Do you know they're lying to you?"

The words make your hair stand on end. Or maybe it's just the static that seems to rise in the background with every word he speaks.

"I'm sorry- This uh... May I help you somehow? This place is off limits" You hurriedly inform the impromptu visitor.

"I disagree" the man says leisurely.

"Who let you in here?" Jon cuts to the chase with his questions. This seems to amuse your stranger.

"Let?" He laughs. It's breathy and out of sync. It makes you shiver. "I'm afraid this isn't how it works..."

"You're him" Jon states, rather than asking.

"Yes"

"Michael"

The creature holds a pause before speaking:

"That is a real name"

"Wait. Pause. Break" you interrupt. This is... Well, you'd say weird, but anything concerning the archives is weird... It's more than your daily intake of "weird".

"You're... Michael" you restate.

"Ah... The little archival assistant's comprehension skills deserve the highest praise" Michael muses.

"No. I mean... You're the guy that Sasha met... Michael 'How would a melody describe itself if asked' the distortion ?"

"Mhm... Yes... The Deceitfully distorted being of non-reality" Michael grinned, visibly please you quoted him.

"Sure... That checks out... Weird, but poetic descriptions" you mutter "Should I uh... Take your statement?"

"You'd like one.... Wouldn't you?" Michael asks you, twirling his hair "I wonder... Is it the eye's mark... Or sheer human curiosity? A mix of both? Or perhaps... Something else entirely?"

"Are you here to make a statement? You haven't answered the question." You respond.

"I suppose I haven't..." Is all the response you get.

"Are you here to kill us?" Jon asks. Way to be optimistic, you think.

"No" he states decidedly.

That's a relief, you don't think fighting him would be pleasant.

"Oh... Why are you here then?" Jon seems to take the lead in asking questions.

"I am simply collecting what is mine, Archivist. the one who entered my domain"

"Helen?" You muttered, your heart rate picking up.

"Mrs. Rich-ard-son? You own those hallways?" Jon asked slowly.

The distortion grins

"What a fffascinating question" Michael drags out "Does your hand in any way own your stomach?"

"Ah-" is all you can manage to utter. Your stunned silence doesn't seem to throw Michael off as he continues:

"In any case, it doesn't matter, the wanderer had a brief respite, but it's over now" he shrugs.

You can't help but let out a triumphant laugh:

"Haha! You're too late! Helen's already left! You ain't getting her! Tough luck, mate" you shrug.

"Yes... Ah... Did you notice which door she left through?" Michael's smile grows wider and he can't help but let out a small chuckle.

"Well, yes it's... Wait... You trail off" you don't remember that door... Should there be a door?

"There has never been a door there, your mind plays tricks on you…" Michael responds to your silent question.

"Let her go! This instance! Open the bloody door and Let. Helen. Out!" You clench your fists, making a few steps forward.

"No?" He laughed. That made your blood boil. You couldn't contain yourself. You leaped over the desk, grabbing a dagger in the process and putting it to the creature's throat... Or at least where you thought it would be.

"Let Helen out!" You seethe.

This didn't have the effect you counted on. Michael stayed unphased.

"No can do" he slightly moved your dagger to the side and unperceptedly shifted behind you.

You turned still gripping your dagger.

"How did you- you were just standing here and-"

His Cheshire cat smile just widens at your confusion.

"I'd advise not to wave sharp objects" he drawls in a leisurely manner "you can never know when you can accidentally... Get cut" he lightly trails one sharp talon over your forearm. Tiny beads of blood litter your skin, in spiraling shapes. It stings. You wince. Michael.... Smirks. It almost makes you want to punch him in the face. But you know better. You do not want to be sliced into ribbons. At least, not before you have rescued Helen.

You take a few steps back, trying to put a bit of space between you and Michael. You barely contain the irritated groan, when he shifts a bit closer.

You try to move away, without turning your back to him and simultaneously avoiding tripping over the boxes scattered on the floor. Somehow, you still find him behind you, his long fingers resting on your shoulders and tapping a rhythm you can't quite guess. It's too irregular to be predictable, yet too regular to be completely random.

You turn and come face to face with the madness incarnate. Michael cocks his head to the side and you wonder whether he will continue twisting further and further, until any normal human neck would snap.

Jon's voice breaks you out of your staring contest. Michael directs his attention to the Archivist, leaving you standing there.

It gives you ample opportunity to catch your breath and notice, that you're mere meters away from the door Helen walked through. A quick glance reassured you that Michael and Jon are deep in conversation.

You inch slowly to the door, trying not to tip off the embodiment of losing your mind. You're almost there. You wonder if the door is unlocked and if you open it, will you be able to get to Helen instantly.

Your hand touches the door knob. It's warm almost welcoming.

You turn your head slightly, to check that Michael is still distracted.

He isn't. In fact, he's staring right at you, with his everpresent uncanny smirk

"Oooh, do go on... Don't you want to see what's behind the door?" His staticky voice encourages you, "Don't you want to rescue your friend? It is... Slim chance... But I am keen to see you try..."

You wonder briefly, whether this is some reverse psychology thing. Whether he actually doesn't want you to open the door. You look at Jon, noting his foreboding expression and slight shake of the head.

You start weighing your options, but then you remember her. Helen. Your friend. You can't leave her.

You put on your bravest face and push the door open. Caleidoscope colours flood your senses. And this laughter. This uncanny, hypnotising laughter, feels your ears, clouding your senses. You feel it reverberate in your bones and course through your veins.

The avatar of the Spiral and the Archivist watch you disappear behind the door. One wears an all too wide grin, the other the expression of utter shock and horror. It's easy to guess which is which.

"What a fascinating Archival Assistant you have" Michael drags out disrupting the silence, "Or perhaps I should say... 'had'?" He muses much to Jon's irritation.

"What did you do to them? Bring me backy assistant!"

Ignoring Jon's demands, Michael approaches the door. It swings open and the distortion's fingers curl around it's frame.

"If it wasn't for the Ceaseless Watcher's touch, they'd make a fine spiral avatar..." Michael's laughter echoes through the room "They still might..." He grins disappearing through the door

A/n: Whooo, this is done. I hope you liked it and have a great day!!

[pitviperofdoom]

Jongerry prompt: reunion after one thought the other was dead?

Tim wasn’t sure what to make of the guy. 

They met in an awkward almost-collision at the institute’s front door, Tim rearing back in surprise, the other flinching away from the sudden movement. He was lanky, and probably would’ve been tall without the permanent slouch to his spine. His hair was a dull shade of mousy brown, and looked like it had been hacked short with kitchen scissors. His clothes hung loose and ill-fitting on his body. He looked like he hadn’t slept in weeks.

Tim took a wild guess. “Here to make a statement?” he asked.

The man grimaced. “Maybe later.”

“I’d make it quick if I were you,” Tim chuckled, holding the door open for him. “Jon was in a good mood before lunch, and those don’t tend to last long.”

Halfway through the door, the man froze. “Who?”

“Jon Sims, the head archivist,” Tim said carefully. “He’s the one who takes statements, so…”

“Oh.” The man’s face was blank. “He’s… that’s… down in the archives, yeah?”

“I can show you how to get there?” Tim offered. Whatever statement this guy had, it must have been rough.

"Sure, thanks," the guy said distractedly.

In spite of the accepted offer, the guy quickly pulled ahead, and Tim found himself trailing behind as the scruffy stranger led the way to the basement stairs. Before long, he was jogging to keep up.

That was why, when the man suddenly stopped at the top of the steps, Tim crashed straight into his back.

"Hey, what did you—"

A hand closed tight around his arm, stopping him from shouldering past. The man had gone still, staring intently down the steps. There was nothing to see except the bottom of the stairs, and the mouth of the hallway that led to the archives.

"Smell that?"

Confused, Tim sniffed. At first all he could smell was dust and old paper, but then, beneath it, as if carried on a draft, came a familiar musty, wet stench.

"Damn worms," He muttered. "We've had a bit of an infestation—dunno if you saw them on your way in—"

"I'm gonna need you to shut up and go back outside," the man interrupted. "Maybe pull the fire alarm on your way out, get everyone out of the building."

"Excuse me?" Tim demanded. The man was already releasing him and moving on, so Tim grabbed him before he could make it two more steps. "Hey, what the hell are you—"

"Listen." The man turned, deftly winching his arm out of Tim’s grip. "I have had a very long day. I was hoping it would end with a long shower, a change of clothes, and a minimum twenty-minute hug from someone who means the world to me. Instead, there's something very nasty down there that I need to deal with. Kindly piss off."

Tim's blood ran cold. "You—you mean Prentiss is—" He stopped. He had a million questions, but maybe just this once they could wait. "My friends are down there."

The man spared a moment to look, if possible, even more exhausted than before. "Great. Fine. Stay close and don't fuck me."

***

Tim's head swam with the gas. His body felt strangely detached as he heaved the fire extinguisher against the wall, again and again until he felt the plasterboard give way. His strange companion drew back as if preparing to do a run-up, and Tim hurled himself into the space and finally broke through.

His first view into the dimly lit storage room was of three familiar faces with varying levels of shock, alarm, and growing relief.

"Hey, guys!" Tim gasped out.

Sasha was already struggling to her feet; Tim was about to go in for a hug when he was roughly shoved out of the way. A gas canister landed on the floor with a heavy thunk as the stranger lurched his way past Tim.

A strangled cry broke the shocked silence, and it took Tim a moment to realize it had come from Jon. His friend was sitting on the floor, propped up against a stack of boxes, one leg wrapped in bloodstained bandages. He stared at the man in blank, silent shock.

The stranger moved as if to lunge, but stopped when Jon held up a shaking hand.

"Wait." Jon's voice broke. He was fumbling something out of his pocket, wincing when the movement jarred his leg. "Wait, just—" 

"Mmhm," the man said in a strangled voice, fidgeting but staying where he was.

Jon finally wrestled his wallet out of his pocket, ripped it open, and pulled out a photo—a Polaroid? His eyes flickered between it and the man standing over him.

The wallet fell to the floor. With a sudden burst of energy, Jon heaved himself upright, and managed to stand for all of a second before his leg gave out and sent him pitching forward. The man caught him before he could fall and yanked him into a hug.

"What the fuck, Gerry," Jon choked out.

Sasha was eyeballing Tim frantically, but all Tim could do was shrug back.

"I'm sorry," the man—Gerry—mumbled, face buried in the side of Jon's neck.

"I thought—she told me that you—" Jon stared blankly over Gerry's shoulder, looking at the others without seeing them. "Where have you been?"

"Couple of hunters picked up our trail in the woods in Pennsylvania," Gerry answered. "We split up. They caught me. Didn't kill me, just… didn't let me leave either. Sorry I didn't contact you right when I escaped, I just—I was afraid I'd get your hopes up and get killed on the way home."

In the silence that followed, Martin let out a strangled "Um."

Jon jumped, and his teary eyes focused back on them. "Oh. Right. Er." He tried to pull back, without much success since Gerry was the only thing keeping him upright. "E-everyone, this is Gerry."

"You just finished telling us he was dead," said Sasha.

"Yes, well." Jon managed a watery smile. "I've been wrong before."

"We had a moment about it."

"Right." Without warning, Gerry reached down and swung Jon up into his arms in a bridal carry, ignoring Jon's squawk of protest. "Let's go. We can talk later—and we will be talking later—"

"Gerry!"

"Seriously, I turn around and you're fighting the Corruption with fire extinguishers, and you're the bloody Archivist."

"Put me down, you absolute—"

"No, you've got holes in your leg." Gerry shouldered past Tim and stepped back into the tunnel, carrying a disgruntled Jon with little apparent effort. "You three coming, or what?"

[iwillstabifnecessary]

Tma headcanons: some of these hurt

So I like to think pre-coffin daisy had long hair that was ether in a ponytail or braid, which she cut off post because it was choking around her and post coma jon has pretty long hair grown during the events of previous seasons usually puts his hair back with office supplies like paper clips the office rubber bands, has had Daisy who keeps a hair tie on her wrist as a former habit from long hair coming up to him abd just asking if she can braid it as something to do, so after the coffin its not uncommon to find Jon with his hair and a braid or Daisy braiding Jons hair as he reads a statement

Research era Jon had very long hair and cut it when he got the promotion but during that research era with his hair he would use paper clips and actual rubber bands to hold his hair back and did it until Sasha gave him an actual hair tie which he kept on his wrist after he cut it and after the not!sasha reveal he kept it until he could use it again ie 3-5 was wearing it in his hair in a braid that martin learned how to do when he killed the not!them

the archival assistants dragged jon to a pride parade in season 1 and there was a Polaroid taken that is one of the few photos that Jon, Martin, and Tim had of the true Sasha and Jon regrets that he wasn't truly smiling in that photo even though he was having actual fun and jon also risked every thing to get the photo and brought it with him and martin to the safe house and kept it with them during the eyepocalypse it was in Jon’s front coat pocket in the end

This is a sad one after escaping the lonely when martin makes tea it can stay warm and comforting for very long because he's unintentionally lonely this does have a plus side because Jon can't make tea for anything so in the safe house martin teaches Jon how to make both their properly and Jon gets to pay martin back for all the times Martin made him tea

Jon is some form of neurodivergent ie either autism or adhd and when in a hyperfocus will sing/hum any song he hears and in this state is very impressionable so Tim will take advantage of this ie sing toxic by Britney Spears

Jon and Tim both love Monty Python and the two before the transfer to the archives would quote it to each other

Sasha and Tim are each others support system so if tim has a nightmare about Danny he will call her and if Sasha has a very bad day Tim will come over and just give her a shoulder to cry on, this stopped after Sasha got replaced because the not!them wouldn’t pick up the phone

The mechs were in fact Jonathan Sims, The Archivist’s university band, and were his found family

Jon wears skirts

Georgie is trad goth

Melanie is 5’1-5’2, Jon is a singular inch taller

Tim is tall wears Hawaiian shirts, heelles, and has dyed pink or blue hair

[wizardsnorlax]

Ok so update on the Spiral Jon fic I'm writing: I'm getting it onto Ao3 bit by bit because it's super difficult to write on mobile, but I need to take a break and get ideas for the season three events out before they get lost, here's a link to the season 2 notes

Ok here we go

Melanie does not join the Archives, this is for the best

At one point in season 2 Jon gave Sasha Georgie's contact info for "in case of emergency" use so Sasha is gonna be (mostly) ok she just needs to pop an allergy pill every once in a while

Sasha might be good with the hardware of a computer but the software might as well be a completely different language so she's very little help with Georgie's show

Jon takes to reading Statements like I took to weed gummies

Sasha follows about the same trail of clues as Jon did in Canon but Daisy's grip on Sasha is a bit harder to hold so Sasha gets claw slashes on her arms instead of a knife at the throat

Things that have changed about Jon while Sasha was gone: his hair now has ringlet curls, the extra flexibility in his joints has progressed but not to the point anyone has noticed let alone would consider a problem and his eyes are twitchy from the stress of filling her position to the point he looks like he's constantly ODed on caffeine

Sasha gets back in the office and when everyone learns they can't quit or be fired Jon makes it his personal mission to be as much of a menace to Elias as possible

but he'd never do that to Sasha, she gets doodles of her hanging out with Cecil from Nightvale because she's a good boss:)

Martin scolds Tim for how he's been treating Jon and Sasha because of the changes caused by first and secondhand paranormal bullshit exposure

Jon gets to go out for drinks with people who actually like him

Everyone learns why Jon has a shirt that says "the difference between me and Superman is Superman has Super Vision, I need constant supervision

A discussion about who takes Jon home with them is had because at some point the poor goober lost his shoes and started trying to wrap around Martin like a belt

Sasha gets kidnapped on her way home

Michael helps her because some part remembers being an archival assistant and she's treated hers so much better than Gertrude did

Helen doesn't take Michael's place but the door still rejects him and the corridor collapses as both Sasha and Michael crash into Jon's new flat

Michael is freed but is in such bad shape he needs to be in the hospital for several weeks on recovery

Things attempt to be normal

Tim and Jon are menaces to Elias in very different ways

Jon doesn't want anyone traveling alone

Elias doesn't care but can't STAND the idea of Jon being there without a buffer so Sasha gets to have company on her trip, Tim goes to India and gets the ghost bullet, cue Mystery Mousketool meme

Martin, Basira and Daisy are handling the workload as best they can but since none of them are particularly suited to the task things go badly because Martin is terrible at direct leadership

When Sasha and Jon get kidnapped by Trevor and Julia, Sasha decides that the best way to clear some of the air is through lore dumping her backstory (still to be determined)

Jon is deemed suspicious by the false cop cause he does NOT look sober

Insert attempted police brutality interrupted by a shotgun

While the false cop is regenerating Jon gets the "how did you two meet" Statement from Julia

They get to the cabin and Jon freaks out a little at the idea of reading ANOTHER cursed book

Big relief when nobody gets eaten this time

Nobody ever believes him but Jon has kept every promise he's made (not that he's made many before but it's the principle of it)

Yoinks the page

Our duo finishes the assignment

Back home

Sasha learns about the storage unit

JON STOP REACHING FOR THE EXPLOSIVES YOU ABSOLUTE GREMLIN

Tim is EXTRA motivated to wreck shop at the Unknowing

Jon and Martin stay behind to be distractions

Big boom happens, Tim makes it out because the guy's literally too angry to die, Sasha is in the coma, Daisy is in the Coffin and Basira is just having a time of it

Jon gets mind fondled by Elias and it makes Martin want to rip the bastard's throat out but the best he can do is have the cops rough him up as much as possible

Jon is temporary head of the Archives and the pressure swallows him whole and he crashes like a meteorite because he desperately doesn't want to be the one giving orders

Martin's "assistance" has been leaving cobwebs in places nobody checks

And thus we enter season 4