#yeah this podcast really has hold of me by the throat and my head under the water

[sphinxflowers]

Thought I’d share one of the keyframes of something I’m working on! Mostly cos I realised there isn’t a lot of art of Metrion wearing his makeup, so tadaaaa!

[starlightblueninja]

Ciao! can I please request headcanons for the bayverse turtles with a gender neutral S/O where they’re hanging out one day and they have music playing on shuffle, but then the reader suddenly starts crying because they used to listen to that song all the time when they were little and it just hit them right in the childhood? Comfort ensues 👉🏽👈🏽 please. and thank you.

Hey!

Thanks for the request! This took a little while because it’s my first one and I wanted it to be nice UwU and I enjoyed playing around with the bois being comforting since I’ve never really done that before. Hope you enjoy 💙♥️🧡💜💚 @sleeplessdreamer14

Leonardo

You’re laying on the couch reading while Leo’s doing katas about ten feet away. Every now and again you’ll look up at him, smiling as his practiced movements resemble a dance. Mikey left some playlist running in the background on his boombox before disappearing to make food, and normally music with lyrics makes it difficult for you to read but you were only really half paying attention to the book. You almost enjoy watching Leo practice more anyway.

The music barely distracts you, at least until you hear that… familiar intro. The rest of the world kind of fades away as the song takes you back years.

Nostalgia clogs your senses, eyes watering before you know it and a lump forming in the back of your throat as you try to hold back from crying. You close the book in your lap and let the music fill your senses. It’s been a while since you’ve heard this one. Memories resurface and you try to simply blink away the tears, but it’s inevitable, they fill your eyes until your vision is watery.

“Hey,” you look up to see Leo sitting down next to you, his eyes filled with concern but voice gentle and comforting as he asks, “What’s wrong?”

“It’s dumb, but… this song just… takes me back,” you respond quietly. “I used to listen to it a lot when I was younger.”

You wipe your eyes with your free hand just as Leo takes your other hand in his. His warm, strong, big hand in yours makes the tears easier to swallow. You squeeze his palm reassuringly and he moves a little closer to you before you continue talking.

“It reminds me of the places I used to go and the friends I used to have, feels like a lifetime ago, when things were less… complicated.”

Leo perfectly understands the wish for things to be easy, and he understands how it feels to not want to carry responsibilities. He knows what it’s like to have a weight on your shoulders. And so, instead of telling you it’s dumb or offering simple platitudes, he presses a kiss to your knuckles and nods in understanding.

“I miss it,” you say simply.

“If it’s any consolation,” he starts. “I’m glad that you’re here now.”

You look up at him with watery eyes but you’re wearing a crooked smile at his remark. The song still plays on in the background but right now you’re more focused on the way the terrapin kisses your forehead and buries his face in your hair. You feel his inhale taking in your scent and you smile against his collarbone, relaxing against him.

Yeah, you still miss your old friends and family, when things were easy and you bore less of the world on your shoulders. But for now you have him, and really, what else do you need?

Raphael

Raph’s got his workout playlist on while you sit next to him, bantering back and forth with him as he does his routine. The music is a surprisingly varied mix, you didn’t expect to hear the couple of 80s pop and early 2000’s girl band songs that you did. You teased him a little about it at first but it was all well meaning.

You don��t really notice what song is playing until about halfway through the first verse. You know this song too well. It’s been a long time since you last heard it, though, and maybe that’s why it affects you the way it does now. Raph had been saying something, but his voice kind of fades away as your focus shifts to the music and the memories it brings back.

Flashes of your childhood flit past your mind’s eye. The good, the bad, the in between, and all the other things you thought you had forgotten about. You don’t even realize there’s tears in your eyes until they’re falling, running hot trails down your cheeks and it’s too late to try and hold them back.

“Hey, hey baby, what’s wrong?” Raph must have noticed you go quiet since now he’s kneeling in front of you with so much concern on his face. “You okay? ‘S it somethin’ I said?”

“No! No no no,” you’re quick to reassure him and he relaxes, but only minutely since it’s clear you’re still upset. “I-It’s stupid, don’t worry about it.”

“‘Ey, don’t say that, whatever it is, it ain’t stupid,” his hand sets itself gently on your knee.

“I just used to listen to this song as a kid a lot, takes me back.”

He’s sat down in front of you now, cross-legged just as you are so your knees are touching his, “That ain’t stupid.”

His hand brushes away the tears from one side of your face, your own hand coming up to dry the other side before you lean into his warm touch. The way his hand cups your cheek comforts you immensely.

“Feels stupid to cry over it.”

But he knows what it’s like to miss the innocence lost with age, so he pinches your cheek lightly and playfully in disagreement, bringing a smile to your face even as you push his hand away.

“I can turn it off if ya want,” he offers gently, and you hesitate before shaking your head no.

“It’s fine, I’ll be fine,” you respond.

“Whatever ya say, shorty.”

And with that you two are right back to your usual lighthearted teasing. He leaves a chaste kiss on your forehead before he goes back to working out, the memories fading away to make room for the new ones you make with him. He makes sure to remember exactly what song it is, though, and you don’t consciously pick up on this fact but you never actually hear it from any of his playlists again after that moment.

Donatello

You two often sit in peaceful quiet. Donnie will work on his projects, you sitting there on your phone or working on your own stuff, occasionally handing him various tools when he needs them. He’s often got something going on in the background, usually podcasts or heavy music when he’s alone, but always soft music when you’re around so he doesn’t miss if you say something to him. Like now, with him under the truck fixing something and you sitting cross-legged a few feet away playing a puzzle game on your phone. You’re waiting patiently for him to be done. Bed time for you two was about an hour ago now but you know how important this fix is for him and that it should really be done tonight. So you don’t press the issue but you are ready to sleep.

You don’t often notice the music he’s got playing unless it’s a song you really like or dislike, it’s just some shuffled Spotify playlist that he thinks fits the vibe of today. But you notice immediately when that song starts playing. It’s so familiar to you, after listening to it so much in the past, that it would be shameful not to recognize it now.

Your vision goes blurry as your focus shifts away from your current self. You’re reminded of the past, the radio in your old house, your parents, the way they always had the same station playing in the house and in the car and at cookouts. You’ve heard this song so much now that it immediately throws you back into the past. It happens so fast you might as well have whiplash, but you just get misty eyed instead.

Your bottom lip trembles, warm lines running down your cheeks soon after and Donnie notices quickly that something is up when you don’t respond to his request for the torx screwdriver. He slides out from under the truck but you don’t even notice at first. The music has all but consumed you now.

“Y/N? Darling, what’s wrong?” He’s immediately at your side, a large hand gently on your bicep pulling you back to reality.

You look up at him but realize that it’s a little hard to see him with the way the tears have pooled. He can’t help but think that, even though he hates hates hates seeing you upset, that those tears make your eyes glisten so beautifully under the lights.

His other hand not on your arm comes up to brush the tears away as he repeats the question now that he’s got your focus.

“I used to listen to this song a lot as a kid,” you supply an answer softly, gaze falling from his. “Just makes me sad… I dunno why, I guess it just kinda hit me. Sorry.”

“No, no, dove, don’t apologize,” he says. “I understand and you’re alright, I’ve got you here, now.”

His sugar sweet words and oh so gentle hands comfort you. You offer a watery smile before moving into his arms, letting him wrap his arms around you. You return the hug the best you can with his shell in the way, face tucked into the crook of his shoulder, and he can feel the way more tears fall from your eyes and onto his skin. He doesn’t mind though, he simply holds you. He enjoys just holding you even if he’s never admitted it out loud before. He likes knowing he can be there for you.

And he may not fully understand how your memories attached to this song make you upset, but he understands the pain and will do anything to make you feel better.

His hands run over your back, soothing trails on your shoulder blades over your shirt. Then he’s reaching for a remote he set nearby to turn the radio off. He doesn’t even need to ask you anything to know when you want his hands back on you.

“You’re the best,” you say when your gaze has fully refocused and the tears have calmed.

“No, actually, I think that’s you,” he responds, before pressing a kiss to your hair and deciding to bring you to bed, putting off the truck repairs for grumpy morning-Donnie in favor of treating you like a queen now.

Michelangelo

You and Mikey will play a video game together quietly with music on in the background. Sometimes you’ll lay on his chest and watch him play, but in times like this, when the week has been rough and you both need some quiet down time, you lay on opposite ends of the couch with your legs tangled together playing a multi-player game that relaxes both of you. Tonight it’s Minecraft, and though you both like the music of the game, you’d both agreed on having a playlist on too.

You’re mining out a coal deposit in the game when you hear that song come on the background. Mikey notices faster than any of his other brothers would that something is off. He can practically smell how the air around you sours.

Childhood memories flood back to you as you recognize every line of the song as it plays, pulling you back and away from the now. Good memories give you life vests in the flood, bad memories tie weights to your ankles. You’ve paused in the game, your character just staring at the block wall. People, places, events, all of it suddenly overwhelms you as the music plays.

Mikey is on you in seconds though, throwing himself into your arms as soon as he notices that there’s an issue. You’ve got a lap-full of buff turtle man pulling you back into the present.

“Babycakes, you smell grump, what’s wrong?” He says while littering chaste kisses across your face.

He doesn’t even give you the time to get truly upset, let alone start crying, as he’s so in-tune to your emotions that he’s always right there to comfort you.

“I’m okay, baby,” you responds, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. “Just… thinking about childhood stuff. This song reminded me of it.”

“This song?” He says, suddenly jumping up.

You don’t know where he’s going but can see the humor practically dripping off of him. He storms up to the boombox, blatantly glaring at it. While watching him poke the speaker a few times like he’s threatening one of the many criminals he often fights, you can’t help but smile. He’s so lovely, and always knows how to make you laugh.

“You!” He snaps at the machine like it’s sentient, the same song still playing. “What’d you say to my girl, huh? Punk? Wanna act like a tough guy now? Too late, fella.”

You laugh as he jabs his finger at the skip song button and it changes to something different. You like this song, Hopeless by Khalid, Mikey likes it too. His attention is recaptured when you laugh at his antics. He smiles at you before making his way back over to the couch, crawling easily back into your arms as you continue giggling.

He kisses you before booping your nose, “Don’t be sad about the past, cherry tomato, we got the whole future ahead of us.”

“Cherry tomato?”

“Yeah,” he says, offering no further explanation as he relaxes on top of you with his controller, easily shifting back into the game.

He’s quick to go from one thing to another, but you can tell he’s truly there for you when he continues to lay his head on you, announcing that he’s coming to find you in-game. Every now and again he presses a little kiss to your stomach or chest, wherever his lips meet in that moment. Your confusing and bittersweet past is left buried under your love for your beautiful, caring, protective terrapin.

[ghostbustermelanieking]

i'd like to hear some headcanons for your "georgie can see dead people" au! :0

oh thank you so much!! this is probably going to be a little messy, since i haven't actually started the fic, but!! here is something!! :) (also i am so sorry for all the sixth sense references. the actual fic will undoubtedly be worse.)

1. So the basic premise of this AU is that the end result of Georgie's encounter with the End is that, instead of losing her ability to feel fear, she gains the ability to see the dead. Everything goes the same otherwise: the protest, Alex, the dead woman, Georgie waking up days later at home, the months of strangeness and unfeeling. The difference is that when Georgie wakes up, she can see the dead woman, too. Never too close—only in corners, behind doors, in the window. And never always, but only in the moments that feel crucial. The moments where she's searching for something of herself. Her mother hugs her and she sees the dead woman over her mother's shoulder. 

Georgie sees Alex, too, sometimes. Closer and more head on; she is always looking back. But she never speaks, and neither does the dead woman from the room. It isn't until she begins to see other ghosts that she realizes they can talk, if they want to. If they choose. 

(Six months later is when Georgie figures out how to lock the dead woman out. She stops seeing Alex shortly after, except on occasion. Sometimes she'll see a flash of those familiar eyes in the mirror, over her shoulder, and they always seem to be apologetic. But Alex still never says anything. Georgie gets good at pretending that this doesn't hurt nearly as much as losing her.)

2. Jon is the first one that Georgie almost tells. Almost. They're honest with each other in a way that Georgie usually isn't, when they first meet, and she almost thinks he'd believe her. They talk about ghost stories all the time. 

She mostly thinks about it when she sees Jon's ghosts. It isn't often but she sees them. He'll talk about what little he remembers of his parents, or pull out some old, faded pictures, and she'll see the faces reflected in the kitchen, the bathroom mirror, Jon's bedroom. He never talks about the apparition of a strange teenager that appears, once, when they both wake up sweaty from frantic nightmares and he refuses to explain, and Georgie doesn't press. He doesn't tell her about Mr. Spider and she doesn't tell him about the ghosts. Much as they love each other, they do still have secrets. 

Georgie goes to his grandmother's funeral years later, even though they're barely talking at this point, and almost tells him then. Seeing him stand mostly alone at the grave, looking monumentally alone, and then a flicker of his grandmother behind him—she almost does. But still she doesn't. She's never told anyone before, and she and Jon aren't really in touch, so she just hugs him and tells him she's so sorry, and doesn't meet the eyes of the woman watching behind the fresh grave. 

3. Melanie is another person Georgie almost tells. They still meet through their connections—Ghost Hunt UK, What the Ghost, and Georgie's power is (probably unsurprisingly) very useful for the paranormal podcast business. (All her episodes aren't pulled from real life, from her own experiences—that would be irresponsible, and there's more clout in retelling familiar stories. But sometimes when Georgie runs out of episode ideas, she'll visit a spooky place, write down what she sees, do a deep dive on the history, and fill in the gaps by attributing her sightings to "unnamed" witnesses.) She's met a lot of people in the ghost hunting business, but Melanie stands out, because they hit it off so immediately. Start hanging out outside of work drinks, at parties or pubs or research stints. Melanie starts inviting Georgie to consult on the show, or to collaborate, and Georgie uses what she sees to point Melanie and her team towards real sightings. Why not? Might as well have the horrible power be useful for something. Haley Joel Osment solved his problem by helping people, and this isn't the same at all (and that's a movie, anyways), but it is something. 

So she and Melanie become fast friends, faster than Georgie is used to, and Georgie genuinely thinks about telling her. She trusts her, and she doesn't think Melanie would laugh, or call her a liar. (Melanie's got stories about not being believed, too; it's common in the paranormal business.) She thinks Melanie might be the right person, maybe. Just maybe. 

(She doesn't end up doing it. She's still a coward when it comes to that. But it isn't because she isn't tempted.)

(The idea to tell Melanie comes before she starts seeing Melanie's father. But that fact doesn't help her decision, either. In quiet moments with Melanie, Georgie starts seeing the man in Melanie's framed photos in the shadows, looking at Melanie with sad eyes, calling her little moth. But Melanie can still barely talk about her dad, and the accident, and it feels even more wrong after he starts showing up, to tell her. Georgie worries Melanie might think she's making fun, or making something up to make her feel better, and she doesn't see this going well.

Instead she says, sometimes, I know your dad loved you a lot. Melanie says, Yeah, I know, too. Georgie says, And I bet he misses you, even though it isn't a bet; she knows. But she can't tell Melanie, and that's as far as it can go.) 

4. The most significant time Georgie wants to tell Melanie, but doesn't, is the one she'll end up regretting the most in the end. When Melanie gets out of the hospital, first, and then when she comes back from India; when Georgie is basically the only friend Melanie has left from her old life, and therefore is probably the person Melanie goes to the most. The person Melanie confides in. 

So Georgie is there to see it all. She'll be sitting across from Melanie in a pub, or beside her on the couch; she'll brush Melanie's hand with hers, or their knees will knock together, and Georgie will see flashes of blood, violence. Hear screaming. She'll see haunted faces out of the corner of her eyes: soldiers, doctors. Muzzles of guns. Once, a stained hand gripping Melanie around the leg. 

She'll regret it, later, but Georgie doesn't say anything; she doesn't know what to say. She's never seen anything like this, even with over a decade of seeing ghosts. How is she supposed to explain it? She doesn't really know what it means. Melanie talks about war ghosts, and Georgie listens, and she rationalizes that Melanie will have to be okay. (She was okay, when it was her, and if—if this is something serious, something worse, than… then Georgie will be there. Melanie will have someone who understands.) 

5. One night in February of 2018, Jon shows up back in Georgie's life, looking shell-shocked on her doorstep. He stands in the hall looking mildly terrified, when Georgie opens the door, and behind him stands a dead woman, looking desperate and furious all at once. 

"Georgie," Jon says weakly. "I-I know it's been a while, but…" 

"Jon! Christ, what happened to you? Are you all right?" Georgie says, trying to take in Jon and the dead woman all at once. (She is new—Jon must have had someone else close to him die.) She focuses on Jon, puts a hand on his shoulder. "Are you hurt?"

"I… I'm fine." Jon's hands twist in front of him. "I… didn't know where else to go."

Georgie swallows hard and says, "Are you in trouble?" The dead woman is looking right at her. Georgie keeps looking at Jon. 

"I… yes." Jon chews on his lower lip. "If… I know it's a lot to ask, b-but I… could I… possibly stay here for a little while?"

Georgie swallows hard. She has a dozen questions—what's happened, why he needs somewhere to stay, why he looks like this—he looks like he's been through emotional turmoil, through hell—and worse, why a dead woman has followed him here. But she doesn't know how to ask these questions. And she can't just turn him away. Jon helped her heal during one of the worst periods of her life, even if he doesn't know it. And she can do the same. 

"Yeah," Georgie says, and leans forward to pull Jon into a hug—tentative at first, and then stronger, when Jon latches on like he needs it. "Y-yeah, Jon, of course."

Jon rambles out a frantic thank you, layered in with apologies and copious promises to pay rent, but it becomes harder to listen. Right over Jon's shoulder, the dead woman is staring right at her, her mouth hanging open. She's got long hair and glasses, and she looks exhausted, and it isn't immediately obvious how she has died, which is unusual. And she's looking right at Georgie. She says, suddenly, "Can you—can you see me?"

It isn't the first time a ghost has spoken to her, but it's a rare enough occasion to be shocking. Her throat is thick with surprise, and she can't say anything in front of Jon, so she just sort of imperceptibly nods. Holds the dead woman's gaze for a moment. 

"Fuck," says the dead woman. "Thank—thank god, thank Christ, I…" She pauses and looks at Jon, then back at Georgie, still numbly hugging Jon there in the hall. "My name is Sasha," she says, and Georgie thinks of the scene in The Sixth Sense where the sick little girl under the blanket asks for help. "Can you… can you help me?"

(send me an au and i'll give you 5+ headcanons)

[alexandenigtscreations]

Chapters: 1/2 Fandom: The Penumbra Podcast Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Peter Nureyev/Juno Steel Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Poisoning, cough, lung trauma, Peter Nureyev has ADHD, Heist gone wrong Summary:

After Juno Steel and Peter Nureyev return from a salvaged heist, Juno proves to have a little cough that's more than what it seems.

Chapter 1:

“God damn it Ransom, would you hurry up?” Juno hissed, anxiously pacing back and forth through the garden path.  

He cast his eye about the place, the snaking paths, the exotic plants and flowers crammed into every corner; thriving under the environmentally controlled conditions of the dome.  Had to admit, as far as giant waists of creds went, an arboretum wasn’t bad... or whatever…

That is if said arboretum wasn’t a cover for a shady cybernetics firm Mercury Wear.  

The mission had been on shaky ground from the get go.  May have thought that a multi-billion cred company like Mercury Wear could afford some halfway decent security- but no.  

The place was a mess from the shoddy placement of it’s security cameras to the guard's off schedule patrols.  Juno for the life of him couldn’t figure out why they even bothered with them.  Five minutes into the heist and they nearly plowed into a patrol at least an hour late for that sector.  

There was something to be said for the unpredictability of their movements, lot harder to navigate a place when you didn’t know what or who was around the corner.  But it lost a lot of it’s edge with how haphazard it all seemed to be.  

He turned on his heel, pacing up the way he came.  Cursing the decorative hedge rows and bursts of color from the flowers, making him see shadowy figures around every turn.

Damn it Nureyev- Where are you?  Juno did his best to quash the worry niggling away rising up within, but didn’t have to do so for long.  

There was a cracking sound, Juno stiffened, head whipping around for the source-  

Nothing-

He was just jumping at ghosts- great.

Juno turned back to his vigil, trying to keep the place clear for when Nureyev made an appearance.  Casually shifting his grip on his blaster when wham!

Something plowed into his side, a youthful voice shouting out “Intruder!”

His blaster was sent flying, making him swear.  They were bigger than he was and it was hard to stay on his feet with a blow like that.  He balled up his fist, and planted it into his attacker’s gut.  They coughed, doubled over, and Juno prepared for another blow but this time hit only air as they twirled away.

The opponent may be green, but was no stranger to a fight- that could be a problem….

“Hey!  Where the hell do you think you’re going?” Juno barked at their retreating back.  Their arm was wrapped firmly around their middle and they seemed- scared.  Juno didn’t have time to think about that as he lunged forward and just managed to catch hold of their uniform before they disappeared between another oasis hedge row.

They hissed and twisted in his grasp, scrabbling for purchase on the raised flower beds.  Squeaking “Let me go!  Let me go or else!”  The fear was plain in their voice, catching and tearing at the edges.  And god- Juno hated that, wishing more than ever he could have just stunned this stupid kid rather than dealing with all of this.

“Can’t- Do that-” Juno grunted, and it was true.

The fact was that Juno couldn’t afford to let them go- couldn’t afford to give them the chance to trigger the alarm.  Couldn’t afford to bring any unnecessary attention to Nureyev while he still had a job to do.

“Damn it, would ya- hold- still- Ahh!”

They’d taken a fist full of dirt, red as the Martian sands and blown it into his face.  A cheap trick, an old trick, but... it worked.  Juno reeled back scrubbing at his eye and gagging on the bitter taste.  He’d eaten plenty of dirt in his time.  Unintentionally, of course, but this was particularly foul.  

Soon as his hold loosened, the guard sent a kick to his chest that would make a sewer rabbit proud.  

Galaxies exploded in front of his watering vision as he was sent sprawling.  The kid was gloating and somewhere he was aware of Nureyev calling out to him.  

Nureyev- that thought stuck in his mind.  

A shuddering gasp later and Juno recovered enough to realize that the guard made a mistake-  There his weapon was, somehow, laying right next to him.  He took up the blaster, aimed and made the shot.

The guard crumpled.

“Detective!” Nureyev appeared “Are you alright?” he offered a hand pulling Juno upright.

“Yeah.  Fine, just one second-” he crossed to the guard, they were quite still, almost too still.  Not something he’d normally worry about if it weren’t for how young they looked, maybe the same age as he was when he joined the HCPD.  The hell were they doing in a job like this?  “Ohh thank god-” he exclaimed, the kid’s pulse beat a strong tattoo under his fingers.  Captain Khan would be proud.

“Juno?”

“Can’t leave an unconscious guard out in the open now can I?” He hoisted them up under the armpits and dragged them behind the hedge.  Their sleeve hiked up over their wrist and Juno’s gut twisted.

A debtor's tag.

Damn-

He really hated rich people.  

“Love, are you-” Nureyev paused mid sentence, looking down at the glittering bit of tech on the kid’s wrist.  “Ah, an…. employee of the Board of Fresh Starts then.  That would explain something about discipline of the place.”

“Yeah, I think it does.”

Just then, their radio crackled to life.  Though Juno couldn’t understand what was being said, the way the message repeated it was clear that they were expecting a response.

Before he could so much as share a look with Nureyev, the doors banged open and guards started to pour in.

“I believe that that is our cue, Detective.”

“No kidding.” he quipped.  But Nureyev was already making his way out of the greenhouse.  “Hey!  N-Ransom!” Juno took off running after, clearing a path for them to get through with well placed shots.  

“Thank you Love!” Nureyev turned briefly to flash him the signature fox’s grin, blown all the wider from adrenaline.

“Yeah, yeah.  Eyes front Babe-” he wheezed “you can thank me later.  Whoa! Hey!” a bolt of plasma whizzed past his ear, sparking dead against the wall.  Juno was about to pivot and return the favor when Nureyev yanked him around the corner, commanding the door shut.  

“Juno, the lock-”

Juno saw what he meant.  It was a cheap thing made of poor quality metals.  “On it.” Not the safest thing in the world, but at this range, he couldn't afford to miss.  One shot was all it took to fuse the mechanism.  

Though he really ought to have expected the fumes.  As soon as he took a whiff of the stuff his lungs seemed to launch a full scale revolt.  Probably would have keeled over if it weren’t for Nureyev’s steading arm about his waist.  

“Are you quite alright Love?”

His lungs still felt unpleasantly tight, but he was no longer coughing which was a plus.  “Yeah, jus’ fine- Forgot how much I missed the smell of burning epoxy in the morning-”

“I’ll make a note not to add it to my cologne collection then.”

Juno rolled his eyes, picking up his pace to match Nureyev’s easy strides.  Taking a moment to both appreciate and curse those long legs.  They could hear the pounding footsteps come up from behind.  Whatever time they’d bought with the door trick was coming to an end.

Damn.

“How do we get out of this damned place?”  Juno demanded.  He’d gotten hopelessly lost several turns back.

“Like this.”  Nureyev flung open a door with a flourish.  Several faces stared up at them from the stairwell, “Or not.” He shut it just as quick; moving aside for Juno to fuse that lock as well.  

“Just how many escape routes you have left in there?” he wheezed against the pressure in his chest.  

“Seven.” He shot over his shoulder.  The pounding of boots issued from the corridor to the right, drawing Nureyev’s attention, “Make that five.”

“Five?  Oh, Great.” he skidded to a halt at the mouth of the hall, grounding his feet and lining up the shots.  Three guards, he could take out three guards.  

“A simple process of elimination Detective.” He grinned, pulling Juno out of the way of an erratic burst of blaster fire.  At the same time, he extracted a smoke bomb from one of his overstuffed pockets, lobbing it back the way they came.  

To their credit, the guards weren’t idiots.  They knew a threat when they saw one and high tailed it back the way they came as the corridor filled with a brilliant purple smoke.  

Nureyev turned, leading him down the corridor bearing the stunned guards, flinging open another door.  

“Another Stairwell?” Juno asked bewildered.  

“Of Course love, unless-” he paused long enough to give Juno a cheeky grin “you’d rather we take a window or the vents.”

“You know, been meaning to take more stairs.”

Even skipping two at a time Juno was outpaced.  Nureyev could vault over the edges of the banister, his feet barely touching the ground before he was once more air born.  Juno plowed on, his lungs burning, itching with the effort of catching up.  He suddenly regretted missing all those physical therapy appointments.  

There was a loud bang and a shout, sounds of a scuffle.  Juno readied his blaster, heart in his throat.  He relaxed a little when he heard Nureyev’s voice, slightly strained.  He was saying something in a language Juno didn’t understand, and someone was shouting back.  

“Juno, Dear, if I might have some- assistance.”

It took less than a second to eye up the situation.  Nureyev’s arm wrapped around the neck of a struggling guard, using them as a shield while another had their blaster trained on him.  They plainly weren’t ready to shoot their companion, which was good for Nureyev.  

“Yeah babe.”

The guard only had a second to lock eyes with Juno before she took a stunner to the chest.  

“Thank you Love.” Nureyev tightened his grip on the person’s pulse point.  Their mouth opened wide, gasping, desperately scrabbling with his arm until they went limp.  He held on for a moment longer to ensure they were truly out before letting their weight slide to the floor.  Juno stooped, exposing the guard’s wrist.  “I assure you love, they’ll be quite alright.”

Juno gave a soft laugh “Yeah, I know-  Just looking to see if they have any accessories.”  They did.  He stepped aside showing the debtor’s tag to his partner.  “Been in this mess for three years by the looks of it.”

“Indeed.”  

Nureyev crossed to examine the other guard “Six years.”

“Damn, she looks young.”

“Never too early to acquire debt.” There was a bitterness to his tone that Juno longed to ask about, but wasn’t sure if he was allowed to yet.  

Just like he wasn’t sure if he could ask about the subtle change in Nureyev’s fighting style when they were paired on missions.  

It hadn’t escaped his notice that Nureyev had allowed more people to survive their encounter with the nameless thief.  Juno knew this was less about his own sensibilities and more about- trust.  That belief that someone had your back as much as you had theirs.  The sight of his boyfriend knocking someone out cold with a choke hold probably shouldn’t make his stomach do flips, but there they were.  God, they were both saps.

Juno coughed roughly into his elbow, earning him a look from his knight in stolen armor.  

“Not much further Love.  Jet has been notified of our change in exits.”

“Wow, don’t waste any time, do you?”

“No such thing as wasting time with such delightful company.”

Juno groaned affectionally, coughing again into his sleeve.  

He was right, they were practically right next to the exit.  Nureyev dashed ahead, drawn to the green of the Ruby.  He opened the door wide, allowing Juno to pile wheezing into the back seat before joining him.  

The Ruby whistled cheerily and Nureyev returned “It’s wonderful to see you as well Ruby, Jet.”  He gave nods to each in turn.  

“I appreciate the notice in the change of pick up locations.” Jet acknowledged.  

“Thank you for making the- adjustments,” Nureyev searched for his seat buckle, “to the plan.  It can’t have been easy on such short notice.” and offered a smile that Jet did not return.  

“It is important to be flexible in our line of work.”

“Quite.”

“Nice to see you too Big Guy, but could we get out of here?” Juno coughed, “Surveillance in this place is kind of lax, but I guarantee you that at least a few guards will notice a bright green car.”

“I imagine so, the Ruby 7 is many things but is not inconspicuous.”  

The Ruby made a sound that if Juno didn’t know any better would say was disapproval.  

Once they were off, Nureyev turned to look at Juno, laughing softly “Love, what in heaven have you got on your face.” He reached up, brushing a thumb under his good eye.  

“Wha? Oh! Yeah!  The kid fought dirty.”  he explained, scrubbing at his face with a sleeve, only for Nureyev to place a handkerchief into his hand.  

“Perhaps you’ll have better luck with this.”

Juno smiled fondly, leave it to Nureyev to bring a handkerchief to a heist.  

“I suppose I should not be surprised.  Out of all the people on the Carte Blanche, the one that would pick a fight with a child would be you.” Jet commented.

Juno’s head snapped up, “Hold on Big Guy,” he objected “first off, they were much taller and secondly I think you and I both know that I-” and he caught it.  The crinkle around Jet’s eyes and the faint up turn in his lips that he’d of missed a year ago, he coughed “Oh very funny.”

“I should think this a serious matter.”

“Okay, hey, you know what I meant!”

He spent the rest of the flight back to the Carte Blanche idly bickering with Nureyev and Jet.  There was an odd tightness to his chest he couldn't place.  His hand kept drifting up to massage his sternum, as if he could magically reach through tissue and bone to ease the pressure.

_____________________________

Once back, he headed to the shower to clean off the remaining sandy residue and, hopefully, open his lungs back up.  Juno Steel was many things but lucky was not one of them.  The spray washed over his skin, the steam warming his insides as he lathered and scrubbed in his usual fashion.  He turned to reach for his towel.  He could have sworn he’d stilled- but the shower kept on spinning.  

The steam that had felt so good a moment before now felt oppressive, suffocating.  

He tried to draw in breath, but he just couldn’t. Couldn’t hold anything down.  Fear spiked as dark spots bloomed in front of his vision, threatening to swallow him whole.  He launched himself out of the shower, slamming into the opposite wall.  Feet only just gaining purchase on the smooth-grip flooring.  

By some miracle, his airway cleared on impact.  Juno’s chest crackled with each forced gulp of air.  But he was breathing, and that was….good.  

He coughed again, spitting pink into the sink.  

A knock came at the door making him jump "Juno, love.  The Family Meeting is about to start."

"Jus-" his voice came out harsh and broken.  He rinsed and repeated, "Just-a minute."

“Alright.  I’ll see you there.”

“Yeah-”

Once it became apparent that he wasn’t going to keel over any time soon, Juno straightened, dressed.  The itch was still there but whatever freak thing that had him choking on nothing seemed to have resolved itself.  

"Juno-"  Buddy admonished, "how kind of you to join us."

"Yeah-" he coughed "had a lot to consider, like why you didn't tell us Enterprise Labs had dealings with the Board of Fresh Starts.  You said you'd-"

"There were people from the Board of Fresh Starts there?"  Buddy queried.  

"Yes Captain.  The security team seemed to have been compromised entirely of the unfortunates indebted to the organization."  Nureyev’s hands flourished through the air.  

"We knew they had ties darlings, but had no idea the connection ran that deep."

Rita’s eyes went overly large, “I didn’t see nothin’ about that in our intel Captain A, I swear-  Unless-” she gasped “Wait- let me check somethin’.” and she dove nose first into her comms, hot pink nails clacking against the screen.  

Juno opened his mouth wanting to argue further but Vespa cut in.  "If you think you are the only one that cares, Steel, think again-" she flicked back her sleeve revealing her debtors tag.  

The anger from a moment ago dissipated in an instant.  Hell, he felt so tired, drained.  Juno kneaded his chest trying again to ease the prickling.

"Yeah, right.  So what are we going to do about it?" Another cough, the harshness of it taking him by surprise.

"As loath as I am to admit it.  For now there is nothing we can do darling, save plot and scheme our way to the cure mother prime.  A collapse of their business model ought to put quite the dent in their debtor’s practice.” she frowned, “Are you quite alright?"

"What?  Yeah-"he coughed all the harder "Just forgot how to breathe and swallow at the same time-" and dissolved into a fit.  He was making a scene and worst of all he didn’t even know what was causing it.  All he wanted was to shut the hell up and get out of there.

Buddy gave a disbelieving humm as she watched while Nureyev massaged circles into his back with clever fingers.  Stars burst in front of his eyes and his head was set to pounding in no time.  

“Damnit” he rasped at last, panting.

“Quite.  Well if you have similar issues in the future darling, might I suggest you pay a visit to our resident physician?”

Juno pulled a face, Vespa took offence and the rest of the meeting passed in much the same fashion.  Juno didn’t really need to talk, so didn’t.  After all, he'd just been playing lookout while Nureyev stole some data and installed some spyware.  Mercury Wear’s security seemed to be something of a joke to Rita.  She kept bouncing up and down in her seat with each new discovery on her comms.  Juno very much doubted anyone else would be able to get that far in such a short space of time.  He may not know much about computers, but he did know Rita was one of a kind.  

___________________________________

“Are you sure you want to stay Nureyev?  I think I’m comin’ down with somethin.  Wouldn’t want you to catch-”

“Nonsense love,” Nureyev waved him off, “Besides,” he sidled up closer and delicately laid a kiss on Juno’s forehead, much to the Detective's chagrin “how could I possibly leave a lady in distress?”

“‘Reyev~” Juno groaned, despite himself sinking into the man’s chest.

“And- I'm certain to have caught whatever it is you have by now love.  We do spend a lot of quality time together."

Juno scoffed "If you call a shoot out, 'quality time' then we may need to reevaluate our leisure activities."

"But oh my Detective" Nureyev coyly walked his fingers along Juno's collar bone, sliding into some silly character "I do love a lady who knows their way around a blaster-"

"Reyev-"

"Why, the smell of the plasma-" he made the words as breathy as possible.

"Come onnnn-" Juno mock groaned, hiding his smile in a cough.

"The smell of the plasma-" Nureyev plowed on as if Juno hadn't said a thing "just makes me all funny inside."

Juno burst out laughing "funny inside?"

"I assure you love," Nureyev broke character "this is a serious matter.  Now where were we-"

Juno laughed all the harder, until his breath caught and he dissolved into a fresh fit.

"Oh Juno-" Nureyev wrapped an arm around him bracing him through it.  "Sorry love, I shouldn't have pushed so hard."

"It's- fine-" he managed between coughs.

"I dare say it isn't.  We should have Vespa take a look at you."

"Nn-no."  Juno panted, swallowing against the soreness. "no way- in hell- am I bothering her at this hour.  And certainty not for a cold or whatever."

"It's the 'whatever' that concerns me Juno-"

He wasn't going to let it go.  It was easy to see that, so Juno decided on a compromise.  "I'll see her tomorrow if it makes you feel better." messaging his sternum again.  

Nureyev made a resigned sort of sound.  "It will have to do."

"Good."  Exhaustion pulled him down into the bed "you coming?"

Nureyev looked as though he had something to say, but thought better of it "Of course." and climbed in.  With a practiced ease he cuddled close, worming an arm under Juno's neck so that the lady could curl into his side, a gentile hand running lazily down his spine.  Juno shivered at the touch.  The persistent itch in his lungs continued, but that nagging pressure seemed to ease up.

He nuzzled in, ear to Nureyev’s chest and allowed the beat of his partner's heart to lull him to sleep.

[Reblogs are greatly appreciated] 

[isthisthingeven0n]

further down the line : d.d

brief summary: breakups are never easy, especially when your ex is half way across the world. 

word count: 1.6k requested: nope, it’s something i wanted to try out (thanks hormones) warnings: none that i’m aware of, just angsty and kinda sad 

* masterlistin’ / masterlistin’ 2.0

m y  e t s y  s h o p

(everything on my blog is my own writing. if it is shared on another page or website know it hasn’t been approved me unless specified. all rights reserved. - i have to start doing this as I had some shit on my other blog with plagiarism)

DO NOT STEAL MY WORK - IT IS ALL MY OWN WRITING

“Are you ready?” David sits down beside you, a cushion resting between you both as you glance up to the lens as a shaky breath escapes your lips.

“I guess.” You mutter as you tear your eyes from the viewfinder, seeing the pair of you together on camera for the last time. “Just feels,” You start, unsure where your sentence was supposed to end.

David nods along, resisting the urge to reach out and take your hand in his. “We’ll be okay, Y/n.” David tells you with a small smile. “Right, let’s do this.” David exhales deeply whilst you swallow back the lump in your throat, trying to present yourself in the best light as David looks to you.

“Is this how we start it then?” You ask him quietly. “I mean, I’ve never filmed one of these before.” A short laugh escapes your lips, a harmonious sound of David joining in.

“Never thought I’d film another,” David comments, his voice cracking ever so slightly as his eyes remain locked with yours. “come on, we can do this.” His eyes begin to gloss over as you reach out, unable to stop yourself squeezing his hand lightly before averting your focus back to the camera.

“Well, we broke up.” You state bluntly. “Thanks for watching, bye guys.” You wave to the camera as you rise to your feet, David’s laughter echoing in the room as you quickly return to your seat.

“But for real, we erm, we’re not together anymore,” David explains as you rest your hands in your lap, listening intently to his voice as he repeats the story you’ve shared countless times now with all your friends and close family members. “it was completely mutual, no one cheated, I don’t hate her, she doesn’t hate me.”

“That’s what you think.” You interject with a joke, easing the heaviness in the room as David flashes a smile to you. “We’re still on good terms, we’re just not together.”

“And well, we haven’t been for three months?” David questions, looking over to you as you nod. “Shit, I mean go us for keeping it together this long.” He raises his hand for a high five which you reciprocate.

“I mean, I’ve been a mess behind the scenes.” You hold your hands up in defence. “But it’s expected, especially when you go online and there’s thousands of cute edits and all.” You wipe your eyes as tears are now threatening to spill over.

“It’s a good thing though, I promise.” David adds. “We’re both in better places, and it doesn’t mean that I don’t still care about you,” David turns to face you, tears now falling from his eyes setting you off.

“Why did you have to go and cry you know it makes me cry.” You whisper, wiping your eyes as a watery laugh leaves your lips.

“Let’s take five.” David mutters as he reaches up and turns the camera off, allowing you to have a quiet cry as you bring your legs to your chest whilst David leaves the room.

As David turns the corner from the podcast room, Ilya greets him with a sincere smile whilst Natalie bypasses him and walks into the podcast room to comfort you.

“How’s it going, Dave?” Ilya asks as he rests his arm around David who sniffs loudly, nodding to himself.

“It was always going to be hard, you know?” David mumbles to himself as Ilya guides him over to the couch, trying not to fixate on the distant conversation between you and Natalie.

“It’s fine, just weird being back.” You explain to Natalie as your eyes wander over the studio, remembering all the times you sat in the corner whilst David recorded the podcast with Jason or the late nights you found yourself falling asleep whilst David edited a vlog beside you. “But it’s good to see you, Nat.”

Natalie smiles as she wraps her arms around you. “You don’t have to be a stranger, Y/N/N,” Natalie coos as you sigh against her shoulder. “we all still miss you.”

“I miss you too, but I should get used to it.” You half laugh as you wipe your face, just as David reenters the room.

“Love you.” Natalie blows you a kiss which you catch and wave as she exits the room, leaving you and David to film what is going to be the most difficult segment of this video.

With red eyes, David takes his seat after pressing record on his camera.

“A while ago, well, four months ago I was offered a job which I’ve been dreaming of for years.” You start, rubbing your sweaty palms over your thighs. “If anyone follows me, you’ll know that this was an opportunity I couldn’t turn down, but,” You glance up at David who watches you with such pride. “it’s in London.”

“And could be a permanent placement, leading to more.” David adds and you silently thank him for carrying on. “This isn’t the sole reason why we broke up, but I want what’s best for you, and this is what’s best.” David sniffs, and you choke on a sob as you cover your mouth, reliving the break up all over again.

“I guess by the time you’re watching this, I’ll have gone?” You question, and David nods in agreement. “But we’re doing okay, we still care about one another, but we’re just not together.” You finish, and David leans over and kisses your temple.

“If you could please be respectful and yeah, thanks guys.” David gives the camera a thumbs up before walking over and ending the recording. “Thanks, Y/n.” David speaks up as he turns back to face you, watching as you wipe your face.

“Of course,” You smile sadly to him as you grab your bag. “take care of yourself, Dobrik.” You chuckle as you rise to your feet and wrap your arms around his neck tightly, making the most of your last hug.

David rests his chin on the top of your head, wishing he didn’t have to let go. But all good things come to an end, and this was your ending.

“Bye, Y/n.” David mutters as you pull away and walk out from the podcast room, knowing there is no turning back now, you can only go forward.

*

Eight months later.

It wasn’t something he intentionally did, but whenever it happened David found himself in a rabbit hole, unable to find his way back to the surface.

You’d posted a photo of you and some friends, out for dinner in some fancy looking resturant and you just looked happy.

Sure, David had posted photos of himself and others with bright smiles, but behind the scenes part of him still longed to hold you close.

“Hey, Dave?” Natalie peers through into his room as Taylor stands behind her.

Pausing, Natalie watches as David lowers his phone before wandering over and sitting on his bed. “What’s up?” David asks, locking his phone before the girls can see what he’s up to.

“We’re going to get some food, want anything?” Taylor speaks up as Ella yells for her. “Just text me if you do!” She calls out as she exits his room, leaving him and Natalie alone.

Yet, Natalie is wearing that look, the one she mastered when she was a teenager with David. “What is it, Nat?” David huffs, and before he can stop her, Natalie reaches out for David’s phone, unlocking it revealing what she already anticipated.

“You know you can just call her, or text her, right?” Natalie suggests, but David shakes his head as he reaches back for his phone, glancing down at your bright smile before discarding his phone.

“She’s happy, Nat. She’s moved on.” David states. “And, and I’m trying to.” He mutters before running his hands through his hair, resting them amongst his curls as he sighs deeply into his chest.

“It’s okay, Dave.” Natalie shuffles across David’s best until she’s sat beside him, resting her back against his headboard as Ilya wanders in. “You’ve still got all of us, Y/n isn’t gone forever you know, you can reach out.”

“I can’t, Natalie.” David reiterates his point as he looks up to her with tired eyes. “If I do it’ll just remind me of what I can’t have, of everything I let go and won’t ever get back.”

“You don’t know that for sure, Dave.” Ilya adds, but David forcefully shakes his head.

“I’m not doing that to her, she, she’s happy in London, living the life she wanted and has dreamed of.” David moves past his two best friends as he climbs off his bed, grabbing his phone and keys. “I’ll never do anything to ruin that, I just, I’ll be fine.” He mutters under his breath before leaving his bedroom and the faint sound of the front door slamming causes Ilya to jump.

Silence looms over the pair until Ilya speaks up. “Do you think she’s really moved on?” Ilya asks, glancing over to Natalie who hums to herself.

“Looks that way.” Natalie sighs as she pulls out her phone, showing Ilya the photos you recently sent Natalie of you with a guy by the London Eye, bright smiles as his arm rests around your waist. “His names Fred.”

“Stupid name.” Ilya mutters. “Does David know?”

“He hasn’t said anything to me, but Y/n hasn’t posted anything of him online yet, it’s a recent thing, early days, you know?” Natalie explains.

“Damn.” Ilya whistles as he leans back. “I miss her, you know?”

Natalie smiles sadly to herself, nodding in agreement. “Me too, Ilya.” She shuffles to lie down beside her best friend. “Me too.”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

summertime sadness .5.

work day

Sequel to kiss me in the d-a-r-k

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 (masterlist under construction)

Warnings: dub con sex (fingering)

This is dark!(dad)Steve and dark(professor!)Bucky explicit. 18+ only. I know they aren’t super dark, but like questionable so I’m keeping those tags just to be safe.

Summary: Loki adds to your workload.

Note: Right, here we go, here we go, here go again. Girls, what's my weakness? Men! Sorry, minor detour there but are we ready for the darkness? Y'all hold onto your panties. Thanks everyone for their support and I love you all! 💋

<3 Let me know what you think in a reblog, reply, or like. I’m loving the feedback from y'all and the enthusiasm! Also as always, memes accepted.

💋💋💋

You didn’t sleep much. Every time you closed your eyes, the scene flashed behind your eyelids. Loki standing over you, the image on his phone, his hand on your chin. And then you thought of Bucky. It was hard not to; your phone buzzed all night as you ignored his messages. Steve’s too. It had finally caught up to you and it felt worse than you could imagine. A man you admired thought you nothing more than a floozy. Well, maybe you were.

Saturday shone through your window and you rolled over. You were exhausted; mentally, emotionally. Your hours were spent reprimanding yourself. Going over all your mistakes; every single choice that had led to such disaster. You sat up and rubbed your eyes. You moved slowly, your body cramped from the tension.

The grind of your coffee machine filled the apartment as you sat at your desk. A mark of your guilt. A gift from one illicit lover; another having defiled you a top it. A year ago, to think of all that had transpired, you would’ve been appalled. You were. You’d sold your integrity for fleeting pleasures. You felt cheated. By yourself more than any.

You filled a mug and grabbed your phone from beside your bed. You hadn’t looked at it since you laid down the night before. Missed calls, unanswered texts, unread emails. You answered Bucky first, a simple ‘I wasn’t feeling well. Sorry.’ Besides, he had plans with Tanya, or was busy dodging her.

You texted the same to Steve and his response was swift. Your phone vibrated as his ID flashed across the screen and you answered the call after several rings. You were weak, breathless.

“Hey,” You said quietly and sipped your coffee.

“Hey, you okay?” He asked.

“Fine,” You lied poorly. “Work’s kept me busy and… I guess it’s gotten ahead of me.”

“Oh,” He uttered. “Any plans today?”

“Rest,” You shrugged and sat back in your chair. “After I sort through all my work emails and catch up.”

“Bucky?” He asked.

“I… I’m tired.” You grumbled. “I… need a break.”

“I’m sure work would understand if you took a day to yourself.” Steve said.

“No, no, I can’t do that,” You said suddenly. “I wasn’t talking about work.”

“What do you--”

“You shouldn’t be calling me. You should call Kylie. See how she’s doing.” You interrupted. “And Bucky should worry about his students. About marking and whatever. And I need to think about myself and my job.” You stood and paced around the small space of your apartment. “I’m sorry but… you said it yourself. It’s okay to be selfish, so I’m going to be selfish and think about my future because fucking old men isn’t going to get me anywhere.”

You hung up before he could respond. And then your heart sank. Why had you said that? It all had spilled from you so quickly. You cringed and your phone began to buzz again. It was Steve. You let out a shaky breath and dismissed the call. You set your phone to do not disturb’ and tossed it on your bed. Maybe your words were rash but it didn’t make them any less true.

💋

Monday. You walked into Adder Press with a pit in your stomach. You were jittery from more than your morning coffee. You gripped the strap of your bag tightly as you passed Stacey. Everything around you seemed distant, obscured by the haze that fell over you. You sat at your desk, numb, and began to set out your stuff as you always did. In a desperate attempt to make it all feel normal again.

As you waited for your computer to boot, you felt a subtly weight on the back of your chair. You looked up at Loki as he gripped the chair and smirked down at you. You blanched and your pen slipped from your hand. He bent to grab it before you could and as he rose, he dragged the lid against your leg. He held it out and you snatched it from him.

“Morning meeting in five,” He said as he stood before you. “Then I wanted to go over layout with you. A useful lesson if you ever hope to be anything more than a freelancer. You have to have a good eye… for detail.”

You gulped and nodded. “Yes, okay, yeah.” You set the pen down on your desk. “Five minutes.”

He winked and left you there to stew in your shame. You glanced around but no one else seemed to notice your tense interaction. They were all too concerned with their own schedules, their own presence at the meeting. Really, who cared much about the summer intern?

You were antsy as you walked into the conference room. You hid between Vanessa, a political pundit, and Jory, who covered local business stories. Loki sat near the head of the table as the marketing head went over the final prints of the Pride issue. You folded your hands before you but couldn’t concentrate. 

Your eyes wandered from the powerpoint and you found the editor-in-chief peering over at you. Another sinister grin sent a chill through you. You looked back to the screen and prayed for the day to go quickly. Your heart felt as if it would explode.

When you broke out, you dragged your feet and were the last out of the room. You lingered at your desk as you grabbed your notebook and pen. Loki’s office beckoned to you ominously. He stood in the doorway watching you; waiting for you. You neared him as his lips curled.

He shut the door and you jumped at the click. He brushed past you before he rounded his desk. He pulled a chair with him and placed it beside his. He waved you over. You took a breath and crossed to him. As you sat, he pinched your ass and you pressed your lips together to keep from yelping.

His hand settled on your thigh as his other moved his mouse. He opened a page from last month’s issue and kept his eyes on the screen as he kneaded your leg. “We’ll go over composition. How to draw the reader’s eye and using layout to enhance your words.”

You nodded stiffly and shakily opened your notebook. He kept his hand on your thigh as you place the book on his desk and uncapped your pen. He circled the title with his cursor, entirely unfazed by your discomfort. His fingers slipped closer to your pelvis.

“Titles are easy but you’ll want to position them according to article type as well. Is it an editorial? Review? Reflective?” He continued. “Now, most editors would leave this to marketing and such but… I try to be hands on with every aspect of my business. My seal is on every page, ever word, that goes out.”

You scribbled down a jumble of words as his hand slid between your thighs and he squeezed. You flinched and he let out a soft chuckle under his breath. You kept your wide eyes on the monitor and he carried on his lesson. His hand never quite reaching its target. He was teasing you. Asserting the new power he held over you.

When he finished his spiel, he drew away and turned his chair to face you. His legs were far apart and you tried not to look at the obvious bulge in his pants. You kept your head down as you slipped your notebook down onto your lap. 

“I’ve got an important lunch date tomorrow,” He said. “I should like you to accompany me, darling.”

You peeked up at him. “Okay.”

“Sceptre Press is looking to expand its mediums. The director of Celestial has agreed to discuss a partnership.” He said coolly.

“Oh?” You breathed. “They… do podcasts?”

“Mostly,” He confirmed. “But, my dear, do wear something nice. A skirt.”

You crossed your legs. Your straight-cut pants felt thin enough. “Alright.”

“No panties.” He licked his lips. “Our little secret… well, another one, yeah?”

“Okay.” You said. You bit down and your pen rolled out of your grasp once more. 

His eyes followed the pen and flicked back to you. “Well, go on,” He mused. “Very… clumsy today.”

You bent to retrieve your pen and he caught the back of your head. He held you there and rolled his chair closer so that his lap was only inches from your face. He snickered as you tried to pull away but quickly gave up. His other hand stretched over his crotch and he grasped his erection through the thin fabric of his trousers.

“I could make you do it right now,” He slithered. “Hmm?”

“Yes,” You uttered. 

“I’m tempted,” He rubbed himself and shifted his hand as he pushed you closer. “Kiss it.” You closed your eyes and kissed his bulge. He shivered and let you go. You sat up, dizzy, and he grinned at you. “Not yet.” He preened. “But I do have to take care of this…” He ran his hand across his lap again. “So if you would excuse me. I am certain you have work to catch up on.”

You stood and back away slowly. “Yes, sir.” You turned as you rounded the desk.

“Sir? I like that,” He called from behind you as you neared the door. “Oh, darling, one more thing.”

You spun back to him and shielded your chest with your notebook. “Yes?”

“I’ll need some inspiration so before you sit down, go to the lav and take a nice photo for me.” He made a show of unzipping his pants behind his desk. “I bet you’re wearing a sweet little white bra, aren’t you? Maybe a precious pink number?”

Your throat tightened as you stared back at him. “Okay.” You forced out. “Is that all?”

“For now,” He shooed you away with a wave of his fingers. “As you will.”

💋

You had few skirts to choose from. You settled on a lavender one that ended just above your knees. With it, you wore a blouse with a Peter Pan collar and a grey blazer with three-quarter length sleeves. It wasn’t as enticing as any other outfit you owned; which was not at all. Perhaps that would work in your favour.

When you arrived at the bistro, Loki waved you ahead of him as you followed the hostess to your booth. You slid across the bench first and he was close behind. He took out his phone and checked it before he set it face down on the table. He asked for water and nothing else.

Your leg shook under the table nervously. He grabbed your thigh to still you. The waitress returned and he thanked her, his hand still on your leg. When she departed, his fingers slowly gathered your skirt. You reached to pull it back and he tssked.

“Our associate has informed me she’s running late.” He grinned. “About twenty minutes or so.” You squirmed as his hand slipped beneath your hem. “I think we can fill our time accordingly.”

“L--Mr. Laufeyson,” You gasped. “Someone might see.”

“They’d have to be watching us very closely,” He leaned against you as his fingers crawled along the top of your thigh. “Now,” He shoved his hand between your legs roughly. “Let’s have some fun, darling.”

You parted your legs reluctantly and he tickled along your cunt. You grabbed the edge of the table and your eyes searched frantically. The other diners were occupied with their own meals, their own company. You felt as invisible as you had back at the office. He rubbed you slowly. He lifted his glass with his other hand as he continued.

“After our meeting, I think we’ll head back to the office and call a conference. We’ll need ideas for prospective podcasts,” He swirled his fingertips and you let out a long breath between your teeth. “Of course, if this all goes to plan.”

You whimpered as you felt yourself getting wet. His fingers glided easily along your folds as he spread your arousal. You planted your elbow on the table and held your chin as you bit your lip. Mortified, you tried to hide your face.

“Uh uh,” He grabbed your wrist and shoved it down as his fingers dipped inside you. “Look at me.”

You leaned back against the booth as you looked over at him. He smirked as he moved his fingers steadily in and out of you. He pressed his palm to your clit and the sensation made your legs shake again.

“Is this what you like? Sneaking around?” He taunted. “Is this what he does, hmm? Or maybe he bends you over his desk?”

“Mr. Lauf--” You swallowed down a moan and clapped your hand over your mouth.

“I can see it in your eyes. I can feel it,” He sped up and your thighs squeezed his hand. “Are you going to cum? Here in front of everyone? In the middle of this restaurant?”

Your eyes rounded and you grabbed his shoulder pleadingly. You couldn’t speak, afraid you would cry out instead.

“You like being a naughty little girl, don’t you?” He curled his fingers and you heard a subtle squelch as your walls twitched around him. 

You bared your teeth and latched onto his arm. You rocked your hips without thinking as you came. You let out a shuddery breath and he slid his fingers out of your cunt, sure to drag them along your folds. He untangled his arm from your grasp and you fell back against the seat and pushed down your skirt.

He raised his hand and ran his wet fingers over your lips. He pressed against your mouth until you opened it. He stared into your eyes as he made you suck your own cum off his knuckles. He withdrew them and used a napkin to wipe away your saliva.

“It is a pity, however, that this lunch should set you behind, darling,” He crossed his legs and drank from his water again. “You will have to stay late tonight… to catch up.”

“Yes, sir,” You ceded.

He smirked and looked around. A moment of silence before he perked up and stood. He buttoned his jacket so it hid his bulge and greeted the tall woman who approached you. He shook her hand with the same one he’d just had between your legs. You stood in kind. Your legs felt weak.

“Valerie,” He purred. “Thank you for fitting us in today.”

“Us?” She looked between you. “And sorry about the delay. Traffic was… traffic.”

“My intern,” He introduced you by name, “She’s shadowing me for the day. To get an idea of the business and all its little quirks.”

You shook her hand and you sat down as she did the same. The server was quick to appear and offer you menus. You eagerly took yours, hoping to hide behind it for the rest of the meal. Especially as that familiar and irresistible tingle nestled in your core.

[eldritchteaparty]

Chapters: 15/22 Fandom: The Magnus Archives (Podcast) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist Characters: Martin Blackwood, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives), Sasha James, Rosie Zampano, Oliver Banks, Original Elias Bouchard, Peter Lukas, Annabelle Cane, Melanie King, Georgie Barker, Alice "Daisy" Tonner, Basira Hussain Additional Tags: Post-Canon, Fix-It, Post-Canon Fix-It, Scars, Eventual Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, I'll add characters and tags as they come up, Reference to injuries and blood, Character Death In Dream, Nudity (not sexual or graphic), Nightmares, Fighting

Summary: Following the events of MAG 200, Jon and Martin find themselves in a dimension very much like the one they came from--with second chances and more time.

Chapter summary:  Sasha calls a meeting to discuss their current situation, now that Martin and Jon have told their story.

New chapter of my post-canon fix-it is up! Read above at AO3 or read here below.

Tumblr master post with links to previous chapters is here.

***

Martin’s phone buzzed; he didn’t bother opening his eyes. He felt Jon lean toward the coffee table from where he sat underneath Martin’s legs.

“It’s Sasha,” Jon said. “Do you want to get it?”

“Not really.”

The phone continued to buzz.

“Do you… want me to get it?”

Martin realized she would probably just call Jon’s phone next anyway. “Yeah. Yeah, sure.”

Jon picked up on speaker. “Hey, Sasha.��

“Oh—oh, I thought I called—oh. I did.” There was a pause on the other end. “Is he—is Martin ok?”

“He’s—he’s here. He can hear you.”

“Martin, um—how are you?”

Martin still didn’t open his eyes; he started to answer, but he hadn’t spoken loudly for a little while and his voice was gravelly. He cleared his throat. “I’m ok.”

“All right.” There was another pause. “Jon, how are you?”

“I’m—I’m fine.” Jon moved the phone to rest it on Martin’s leg from its spot on the table, and now Martin did open his eyes. He guessed it was about mid-afternoon from the light in the sitting room. “What’s going on?”

“I was calling to tell you—” There was yet another pause. “Jon, I have to ask, do you already know what I’m going to say?”

“Oh,” Jon sat back against the couch. Martin sighed, but shook his head and shrugged when Jon looked at him. He hadn’t meant anything by it, or if he had, he didn’t know what it was. “I—no, not really. Although if you wanted, I could—”

“No, that’s all right. I think I prefer—well, I was calling to say that the police have allowed us to open up the Institute again. But not—”

“Not the archives,” Jon finished. “Or the tunnels.”

“Right. And I was thinking—they’re not going to be there investigating or whatever tonight, and while it’s closed to the public, maybe—we should meet there. All of us.”

“Who is all of us, exactly?”

“Well, I talked to Melanie and she’s told Georgie, and they have some questions… and I talked to Elias. I’m not sure exactly where he is with all this, he didn’t say much, but I’d like to invite him. Obviously Tim is still gone, but—anyway, what do you think? Would you come? Both of you?”

“Hold on.” Jon muted the phone and turned to Martin.

“What?” Martin asked.

“Do you want to?”

Martin sat up, crossing his legs to face Jon. “Is this my decision?”

“If you want it to be.”

“I’m—I’m not sure.” Before Jon answered him, though, he reconsidered. “Wait. Is it safe? Won’t the cops be watching or something? If they’ve closed it off—I mean, it’s probably not on the honor system.”

Jon went quiet and Martin could tell he was doing more than just turning it over—he was reaching out for something. “I think—for the moment—that could work in our favor.”

Martin waited to see if Jon would offer more of an explanation, but wasn’t particularly surprised when he didn’t. “Fine. If it’s safe, it’s your decision.”

“I can’t promise it’s safe, but—it’s as safe as anything else.”

Martin nodded and closed his eyes again. He didn’t bother listening to the end of the conversation. It was fine, really. Going was no worse than not going.

***

When they arrived that evening, there were two signs that the archives were closed; one was the crossed lines of blue tape reading “POLICE LINE: DO NOT CROSS” at the top of the stairs, and the other was a literal sign taped to the banister indicating that the archives were closed until further notice. Martin carefully lifted up one side of the tape.

“After you,” he told Jon.

“Thanks,” Jon said, stepping gingerly over the lower piece of tape.

As they entered the office, Sasha, Melanie, and Georgie, who had arrived before them, fell silent around the conference table. Jon and Martin stood awkwardly, almost apologetically, until Sasha attempted to bridge the discomfort.

“Thanks for coming,” she said.

Jon nodded, and Martin turned his gaze toward the floor. He hadn’t noticed until that moment, but the rug, the same generic office rug that wasn’t quite the right size to fit under the conference table, had the same exact stain on it that it had in the other dimension. It came from some time before the rug had come to be in the assistants’ office, and Martin had no idea what its origin was, but that really wasn’t important.

Nothing was going to be any different.

“Martin.” Jon said his name with an emphasis that indicated it wasn’t the first time he’d said it, and Martin looked up to find Jon already sitting, with an extra empty chair pulled over to the table for him.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, making his way to the seat. This put him between Jon and Melanie; Georgie was on the other side of Melanie, and Sasha was to the other side of Jon. Between the five of them, they took up just about all the room they could comfortably have at the table.

Sasha spoke again. “Well, I don’t know if we’re still waiting for Elias, but—we might as well go ahead. Jon, I told you on the phone that I talked to Melanie and Georgie, and they had some—questions they wanted to ask.”

“Of course,” Jon said. Martin glanced at Melanie’s face to find the steely, unyielding expression she had worn so often when he had known her before. He realized he hadn’t missed it. Georgie, on the other hand, looked worried. He had seen that expression on her as well, but there was something different about it now. Maybe it was a hint of the fear she could still feel here.

“To be fair,” Georgie started, “Melanie has some questions. I really don’t think we should be here. I’m—I’m really only here for her.”

“You feel like it’s safer to stay away,” Jon said quietly.

“Well—yes, frankly. Melanie’s already been through enough, and honestly—it just doesn’t feel like we can really help. It feels like—like we can only get hurt. And that just doesn’t seem—responsible.”

“That could be true.”

Melanie broke in. “Wait, before we—"

Melanie stopped speaking as Sasha sat up; they all followed her gaze to find Elias standing in the doorway. He looked small, Martin thought. Tired.

“Sorry for being late. Didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“No—no, you didn’t. I wasn’t sure if—well, I’m glad you’re here. I’m sure we can—” Sasha looked around at the table, trying to figure out where they could most easily squeeze in another extra chair.

“I’m fine. I’m—I’m fine here.” He sat on the corner of Tim’s desk, facing the group.

“Are you sure?”

“I think I’ll just listen, if that’s all right.”

“Yes, of course. That—that’s fine.”

Martin could not have explained exactly what it was he noticed, but something about the way Jon was sitting changed just slightly, and Martin realized Jon couldn’t see Elias from his position at the table. He leaned in close to him.

“Do you want to switch seats?” he whispered.

Jon looked at him long enough that Martin realized he was considering, but then shook his head. “No. No, I’m all right.” Despite his words, his fingers grasped Martin’s below the edge of the table, and Martin realized that he’d maybe inadvertently overestimated Jon’s level of comfort with this situation.

“Everything all right?” Sasha asked.

“Yes,” said Jon, and then after a moment, “thank you.”

“Go on, Melanie.”

Melanie looked from Jon to Martin, and then back to Jon again. “What do you want?”

“What?”

“What do you want? Why did you tell us all this?”

“I—I don’t want anything.” Jon looked back at Melanie in confusion.

“Then why did you tell us all this?”

“It was me. I thought we should,” Martin interrupted. “It didn’t feel right to keep hiding it.”

“Well then, let me ask a different question—why didn’t you tell anyone for so long?”

“When everything—when we first—” Martin hadn’t really planned on doing any talking, and he wasn’t prepared. He stopped and gathered his thoughts, then started over. “After everything happened, it took a while for things to—to come into focus. For a bit we could only remember the—the other place, and we weren’t sure where we were, or if you were all you—and then after we understood everything, well, it was just complicated. After what happened in the tunnels yesterday though—it was just—it was time. Probably past time, I don’t know.”

“Hm.” Melanie’s expression didn’t change. “So what are you going to tell us we should do, now that we know?”

Tell them to do? Martin looked at Jon; this wasn’t really a question he had anticipated.

“Nothing,” Jon said.

“Nothing,” Melanie repeated. “No advice for defeating these—fear powers, whatever they are? No explaining to us how we have to help you become more powerful so that you can—”

“No.” Martin felt a bit of anger when he realized what she was implying. “No, it—it’s not like that. Jon—Jon’s not—”

“No.” Jon squeezed his hand. “No advice. No—requests.”

“Sasha said—Sasha said that in the other world, the Institute—was like a trap, I guess. Like once people worked there, they couldn’t leave. They had to serve these things.”

“Just one of them. Just the Eye.”

“And you were in charge.”

Martin started. “What?”

“Jon was the archivist there instead of Sasha. And he had some kind of power. And—” She looked directly at Jon. “You still have it now.”

“That’s true,” Jon said.

“It was Jonah,” Martin blurted out. “It had nothing to do with Jon. Jonah Magnus was in charge of the whole thing. It was all him, he was the one who set it all up, who trapped everyone into working for him, and—”

“Right,” Melanie said. “Jonah Magnus, the—the old dead guy who started the Institute.”

“But he wasn’t dead there,” Martin snapped. “He was—”

The pressure of Jon’s fingers on his changed, and he stopped.

“He was Elias,” Melanie finished. “Or Elias was Jonah. Something like that.”

“Jonah—” Jon turned his head to look at Elias, who was still sitting quietly on the edge of Tim’s desk.

“It’s all right,” Elias said. “Say whatever you need to say. I’m fine.”

Jon turned back to the table. “Jonah killed Elias. And used his physical body to stay alive and run the Institute.”

Melanie looked like she was about to say something else, but then she glanced at Elias again and seemed to change her mind.

“Ok, look—what I really want to know is—what if—what if I do try to—help, somehow. Am I—am I already trapped here? And would it—would I really just be working for this—this Eye?”

“You’re not trapped here,” Jon said. “None of you—none of us—are. But that’s not really what you want to know, is it?”

“What do you mean?” Melanie asked.

“You want to know if you can trust me.”

Melanie thought. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess I do.”

Jon contemplated for a moment. “I don’t know.”

“Jon.” Martin couldn’t help it. “Yes, of course you can trust him. Jesus Christ, Jon.”

“Hm.”

Silence fell momentarily over the small group, until Georgie spoke again.

“All right. Let me—it sounds like, there, Melanie and I did everything we could to—to avoid it. To stay away. And clearly that didn’t work out, but—well, I’ve already said it, I’m inclined that way now. So tell me. How did I feel about it? In the end?”

Martin bit his lip; his frustration with Melanie and Jon’s back-and-forth left him. He remembered their conversation on that last night as well as he imagined Jon did.

“What?” Georgie said. “Be honest.”

Jon took a breath. “You regretted it.”

“Oh, of course she did,” Melanie countered immediately. “Look, Georgie, maybe I do want to at least—but that’s just—I don’t want you to make any decisions because of him. How do you know if you can trust him? Even he said—and how do you know he’s even really your Jon?”

“How do I—”

“Oh, I don’t mean—” She turned awkwardly to Martin. “I don’t mean her Jon, I just—”

Martin put a hand to his forehead. “I don’t think anyone thought—”

“Wait.” Jon let go of Martin’s other hand to hold up a finger, and everyone stopped talking. They listened to the silence until Jon spoke again. “You can come in, Basira.”

Sasha stood up as Basira, arms crossed and looking slightly disconcerted, entered the assistants’ office.

“Oh,” Sasha said, “I know the archives are off limits—we were just—”

“It’s all right,” Basira said. “I’m not here to arrest any of you.”

“Oh,” Sasha said again, slowly sinking back into her chair. They all stared uncomfortably. “Then, um… why are you here?”

“I saw you were all here”—she pointed to a corner of the room, where Martin couldn’t actually see anything but had to assume there was a camera of some sort installed— “and I suppose I wanted to—try to find out more about what happened the other day.”

“And to ask about Daisy,” Jon added.

Basira looked at him, apparently trying to make up her mind about something, but then she nodded slowly. “Yeah. And to ask about Daisy.”

“Oh,” Sasha said one more time. “Hang on, I’m sure we can find somewhere for you to—”

“I’ve got it,” Elias said, grabbing Tim’s chair and bringing it out from behind his desk for her to sit on. They all turned awkwardly toward her from their seats at the table.

“Well,” she said, “I don’t find myself in this situation often. This is not exactly how I imagined this going down.”

“Sorry.” Martin found himself apologizing for the situation. “If you want, I could—”

“Oh, no, it’s fine.” Basira waved him off. “It’s good for my hubris, anyway. So look—we’ve been getting a lot of very strange reports lately. I have a feeling you know what I mean. And we’ve had some incidents ourselves, but—the point is, some of the people who came to us mentioned they had talked to you all here at the Magnus Institute. They had this idea that you all studied things like that here, or—or something. And then yesterday, you clearly knew something about whatever had happened down there in the tunnels. At least, you two did.” She turned to Martin and Jon. “You two and the other one—you know, the hot one?”

“Tim,” Jon said, then looked at Martin. “I don’t—she said that once in—”

Martin put his hands up. “Why is everyone doing this tonight? I really—I’m really not that sensitive.”

“Right,” Jon said. “Sorry.”

“Anyway,” Basira continued, “when I remembered about the missing person thing and thought about the timing, and just—it felt like there might be some connection. So when I saw you were all here, I thought that instead of reporting it, I’d just come see what I could find out. And if—well, if you did know something, then—yeah.”

“And do you still want to talk about Daisy now?” Jon asked.

“Yeah, I think so. It’s just—she’s my partner, you know? And—it’s hard. I feel bad.”

“Go on,” Jon said. “Tell us.”

Martin recognized something in his tone.

“Jon.”

Jon turned to meet his eyes.

“It’s all right,” he said. “She wants to talk.”

Martin wasn’t sure if it was all right, but Basira certainly didn’t seem bothered.

“So here’s the thing. Like I said, Daisy is my partner. I’ve worked with her for years now. We put our lives in each other’s hands all the time. I don’t know how to describe that to someone who’s never experienced it. I think the point is, we trust each other. More than most people will ever have to trust another person. And I’ve worked hard to earn that trust. I know her. Don’t get me wrong—she’s not perfect. She’s always been—determined, and sometimes that’s maybe pushed her to take things out of step or—I don’t know. But she’s always wanted justice. That’s always been important to her. Trying to make things right. Or at least as right as they can be. I mean—you see a lot of bad stuff on the force, really bad stuff, and there are some things that nothing will ever make right, but—you know.

“After everything started happening though—around the time you reported these two missing—something changed in her. And it’s been getting worse. There are some days when I feel like I don’t know her now. At first, I thought it was just the stress of dealing with the incidents, signing the section forms, all of that, but—then I started seeing it. That look in her eyes. I’m sure you saw it yesterday. That’s not her. Not really. Lately it’s like it doesn’t seem to matter to her whether she’s even got the right person. And then—she’ll disappear for days sometimes. She’s done that before, but she’s at least always told me where she was going or what case she was investigating. Now I have no idea. And the worst part is that I don’t think I really want to know. I suppose that makes me kind of a shit partner.

“You know, I really don’t know why I’m saying all of this. Don’t repeat it to anyone—if you do, I’ll lie. I just—I want it to stop. I want whatever’s happened to her to stop.”

Jon nodded. “And what have you figured out so far?”

“Well, let’s see. There’s some kind of monsters here. And they have something to do with you.” She looked at Jon and Martin.

“Close enough,” Jon said. “What else do you want to know?”

“What’s their purpose?”

“Fear. They create it, and they survive on it.”

“Ok, and—what do they have to do with Daisy? Why are they messing with her?”

“Technically, they’re not,” Jon answered.

“What does that mean?”

“It means—Daisy is drawn to them. One of them, in particular. It’s called—it’s called the Hunt.”

“Does she know about the—the Hunt? Is she aware of it?”

“Not directly.”

“So she doesn’t know what she’s doing.”

“No.”

“And is she—is she afraid?”

“No,” Jon shook his head. “She—she’s happy, I suppose. She likes it. But if she knew, and she could choose—she wouldn’t choose it.”

“I see.”

They waited a moment.

“Is there—anything else you want to know?” Jon asked.

“Not really. Not unless there’s something I can do. I’d rather not keep things from Daisy. Just—are you trying to stop it?”

“Yes,” Sasha answered.

Martin felt a small pulse from the lump still lurking in his gut.

“To be completely honest,” Jon said, “it’s not likely we can.”

“But we’re going to try,” Sasha said.

“Good.” Basira stood up from her chair. “What do you need from me? Obviously I’m somewhat limited, but I might be able to help with something.”

“What do you think, Jon?” Sasha asked.

“Maybe—keep the archives closed. Officially. For a while. If they’re open, and we’re here—they’ll only be a target.”

“Easy enough,” Basira answered. “Speaking of, though—try not to come back here. I can’t guarantee I’d be the only one watching. Or even that I’d be able to warn you if—if someone else were interested.”

“Got it,” Sasha said. “Anything else, Jon?”

“Not at the moment. If we need anything else, though—”

“Here’s my number.” Basira was already writing on a pad of paper on Tim’s desk. “That is my direct number, but—be careful. I don’t know what’s going to happen between now and—whenever.”

“Understood.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to—stick around?” Sasha asked. “I’m sure we’d—”

“Better not,” Basira answered, setting the pen back down on the desk. “But I’ll do what I can. And really—don’t stay here too much longer tonight, either.”

“All right,” said Sasha. “Thank you.”

“I haven’t done anything yet.” Basira headed toward the door. “Save your thanks.”

“That was strange,” Sasha said, after Basira had left. “Jon, did you know she would come?”

“I knew—I knew Basira was in charge of watching the archives. And I knew she was worried about Daisy.”

“I see,” Sasha said.

They sat in silence for a few moments.

“So what are we doing?” Georgie asked. “Are we—are we really going to try to stop it?”

“Yes,” Sasha said again, even more insistently than the first time.

“Sasha,” Jon said softly, “I don’t—”

“I know, you’re not sure we can.”

“Hang on,” Melanie said. “Jon, do you—do you know we can’t stop it? Or—or are you saying that because you couldn’t before?”

“I don’t—” Jon looked down at his hands, where they had come to rest on the table. “No. I don’t know that we can’t stop it.”

“Then we have to try,” Sasha said. “Think about it. There’s no apocalypse here. Jonah Magnus isn’t here. Most people—other than us—don’t even really know these things exist. These rituals, they were all deliberate, right? Somebody had to choose to start them. And we know so much more than you did. Maybe we can find a way.”

Jon answered with silence; Martin turned to stare at the wall.

“At least say you’re with us, Jon. If the rest of us try. At least be on our side. You too, Martin.”

Jon sighed. “Yes, of course I’m on your side. If that’s what you choose.”

“Martin?”

He turned back to find Sasha looking at him expectantly.

“Look—it’s not like I’m—”

Jon took his hand. “This is what you want, isn’t it?”

“We need you, Martin,” Sasha added.

Need. He remembered telling Jon once that they didn’t need him—that Jon didn’t need him. His own words echoed in his head. Everyone’s alone, but we all survive.

They didn’t all survive, though, did they?

“Fine.” He still didn’t believe they needed him, or even that having him around would change anything—but he wouldn’t abandon them, either. “I’m—I’m here.”

“Good.” Sasha said. “Melanie? Georgie?”

“What do you think?” Melanie asked, turning to Georgie.

“Well,” Georgie said, “I know I don’t want to have any regrets. And I do trust Jon. But Melanie, I meant it, you’ve been through so much already, and—”

“We’re in,” Melanie said. “For now, at least.”

“All right,” Sasha said. “Elias?”

They all turned toward him.

“Hm.” He smiled faintly, almost inwardly. “Sure. Why not?”

“That’s all of us, then. And I’ll get Tim back here as soon as he’s ready.”

“So—now what?” Georgie asked.

“I—” Sasha frowned. “I don’t know. I suppose we can’t stay here much longer, though. We’ll have to come up with another meeting spot.”

Elias cleared his throat. “Are we safe?”

Everyone turned to Jon in a way that Martin found very familiar.

“Safe—how?” Jon asked.

“Are we safe? When we leave here—will we be all right?”

“That’s complicated.” Jon thought. “I suppose we’re relatively safe, for the moment. That could change any time, though, and I wouldn’t necessarily know if it did. And once Annabelle—understands that we’re—”

“Annabelle is the—the Web lady?” Sasha asked. “The one that came here with you?”

“Yes,” Jon said.

“I guess what I’m wondering is—would we be safer if we were together?” Elias asked.

“I don’t know.”

Martin thought about the time after the Unknowing, and before he’d ended up in the Lonely. Certainly the other assistants had all felt safer staying together. Probably they had been. And Martin, well, he hadn’t really been that concerned about his safety then, had he? He’d sort of just been waiting for something to—

“Yeah,” he said. “Probably.”

Jon nodded.

Elias continued. “Well, if you want—and I can understand if you don’t—you all can come and stay with me and Allan. I’ve certainly got enough spare rooms to go around.”

“To be honest, I wouldn’t mind,” Sasha replied. “I mean—I know Melanie and Georgie have each other, and Jon and Martin, but I—yeah. If it’s ok.”

“Of course it is. What about the rest of you?”

“We—have a cat,” Melanie said.

“That’s fine. Bring the cat.”

Melanie and Georgie spoke in whispers to each other for a moment, and then turned back to the rest of the group.

“If Sasha’s going, we’ll go,” Melanie said, slipping her hand into Georgie’s.

“Thanks.” The relief was evident in Sasha’s voice. “Martin? Jon?”

“It’s up to you,” Jon said, turning to Martin.

“We’ll go.” Martin was almost surprised to hear the words come out of his own mouth; he certainly hadn’t made anything like a conscious decision.

“All right, then.” Elias stood up from Tim’s desk, and Martin thought he saw some relief in him as well. “It’s a bit out in the country. Who has a car?”

***

Martin was trying, but the one small duffel bag he had wouldn’t quite fit everything he wanted to bring. They had an hour or so to pack before Elias was coming to pick them up, and he knew it really wasn’t a big deal—it wouldn’t be that hard to come get something else if he needed it—but that didn’t temper his frustration. If he managed to get his toiletries in the bag, then there were a couple of shirts that just didn’t want to let the zipper close; he could fit the shirts, but then—did he really need more than one pair of pants?

“Ugh.” He let the shirts drop to the floor and slumped back against the bed.

“I have room,” Jon said, from his seat on the floor next to Martin. His suitcase was neatly packed already, and he’d pretty much been watching Martin struggle for five minutes.

“It’s not—hang on, I can do this.” He unpacked the duffel bag again. It was more of a gym bag than anything actually meant for traveling. He’d never gone anywhere when his mother had still been living with him, and then after she had moved out, he still didn’t like being too far away from her. The bag had really only ever served for overnights—which he’d done less often than he might have, too.

Once again, he came up short on space. It was those two shirts.

“God damn it.”

“Just put them in my suitcase,” Jon said.

Without answering, he leaned forward and put all his weight on the small stack of clothing that was already in the bag with one arm, and tried again to jam the shirts in on top of them.

He stopped when he felt Jon’s hand on his elbow.

“Martin—do you want to do this? Do you want to go?”

He sat back on his calves. “I don’t really have a choice, do I?”

“Of course you do.”

“Jon—you know I’m not going to stay here if you’re going.”

“That’s not what I meant. If you want to stay—I’ll stay here with you.”

Martin leaned back against the bed again, and Jon did as well. Their arms met at the shoulder.

“Do you mean that?” Martin asked. “Would you be mad?”

“I wouldn’t be mad. Martin, you—you waited for me. In Scotland. You waited for me to be ready. I’ll wait for you.”

Martin nodded; Jon shifted his weight to rest against him, and Martin slipped his arm just behind Jon’s back.

“So this is that, then? This is us leaving the cabin again?”

“Maybe.” Jon let his head fall against Martin’s chest. “Maybe not. Maybe it comes to nothing.”

“You know, this—kind of reminded me of packing to go there. To the cabin. Except—” His throat caught.

“You don’t have to talk about it.”

“I want to, though.” Martin took a breath. “Talking to you—it always makes me feel a bit better, at least. I know you’re not like that, when you—just give me a moment.”

“Take all the time you need.”

Martin looked around the room, as much as he could without pushing Jon away. The bed, the dresser—he hadn’t been there that long, but the amount of time was irrelevant. Despite the questions he’d had later about their living situation, it had stopped being Jon’s bed the moment he’d gotten there; it was their bed. Their dresser. Their bathroom. It was silly to even care about sharing most of those things, but it had mattered. It was what he’d wanted. And as much as Jon could, it was what he’d wanted, too. Martin knew that.

“I was—maybe it was selfish—but I was happy when we went to that cabin. Or maybe—maybe just hopeful—but it had been so long since I’d had any hope, it felt like happiness.”

“Me too,” Jon said.

“And I’m—I’m sad now.” Martin laughed in spite of himself.

“What’s funny about that?” Jon asked.

“Remember when we argued about expressing your emotions, and I asked you how you felt about the apocalypse, and all you said was—sad?”

“Oh,” Jon smiled too, now. “I do remember.”

“I’m—I’ll do better. I feel hopeless. Worse than hopeless, when I think about how we felt then, because we it was so different. We still thought we could stop it. Call it off. Now, it’s—it feels like it’s just the end. And we’re walking into it.”

“Not necessarily. It could—they could all decide there’s nothing we can do, and we’ll be back here in a week.”

“But if we are—isn’t that—isn’t that just as bad? Doesn’t it just go the same place, with one more failure behind us?”

“Martin, we really don’t have go. Not yet.”

Martin thought. He didn’t want to leave. But he also knew if they stayed—while everyone else was together, scared, groping for answers—it wouldn’t be the same. It was over, either way.

“Jon?”

“Yes,” Jon answered quietly.

“I’m—I’m glad we had this.”

“Me too.”

[zwritestuff]

Placebo Effect (One-shot) - Monét/Monique

A/N: Hi! This is a paid commission I did for @derpy-avocado. I did my best to live up to her wishes for this fic, and I hope you all like it too! :D If you’d like a commission, all the information is on my pinned post.

Summary: Monique is sick and asks Monét to take care of him.

1,692 words | on ao3. 

*

Moonique: are u free today?

Monét barely has time to read the text when Bob is pushing him to keep on walking, albeit rather harshly, otherwise they’ll miss the greenlight. He just huffs, haphazardly putting it in his back pocket and adjusting his gym bag, pinching Bob’s arms once they’re on the other side of the street.

“If you wanted to push me in front of the cars, you should’ve just done that,” he jokingly says, and Bob just rolls his eyes.

“I don’t need you as a ghost tugging on my cold feet for the rest of my life, thank you very much,” Bob deadpans, but a chuckle escapes him. Monét just snorts, turning around the corner of the street, heading for their nearest Starbucks.

Summer is on its last stage, leaving space for autumn’s chilly winds and brown leaves. But the temperatures have yet to drop, and Monét isn’t sure why he allows Bob to drag him to the gym on hot days like these—best friend privileges, he supposes.

Between small talk he forgets about Monique’s text, until they get to Starbucks and the line is larger than they anticipated. He turns to Bob to go on with their conversation when he feels his phone buzz, before they hear a moo. Bob cocks a brow in his direction, but Monét is more than used to the ridiculous ringtone Monique set up for himself.

“Mo?”

“‘Nét.” His voice sounds solemn—and nasal. “You ignored my texts, bitch. I’m dying and you ignored me,” he says, as dramatic as Monét knows him to be, and he can’t help to laugh.

“Okay, first, I saw your first text while I was walking, I was going to answer. Second, I’m pretty sure you’re not actually dying.” He hears a whine on the other side of the line and gives a tiny smile, accompanied by a chuckle. Bob purses his lips as if he were to say something, but his mouth stays shut.

“Excuses, excuses.” He can almost see Monique dismissing what he said with a wave of his hand. “I’m sick, think I got a cold or somethin’. ‘M burnin’ up, my nose’s runny, my throat’s sore—and I’m bored outta my mind,” he sighs deeply, to really sell his acting.

Monét cocks a brow, “Pretty sure boredom isn’t part of the symptoms,” he says, amused. Monique groans on the other side of the line.

“Of course it isn’t, you dumbass.” There’s a small pause before he continues, “I just—I want someone to hang out with to not feel so miserable, y’know,” he admits in a whisper, and really, it shouldn’t make Monét’s heart speed up, but it does.

He purses his lips, glancing towards Bob, who seems much more preoccupied with his own phone. He knows they’re supposed to film a video and their podcast, amongst other things—but a day off can’t hurt, can it?

“Alright, I’ll come by. I’m at Starbucks, you want anything?” He asks, though he knows Monique’s usual order by heart. And sure enough, Monique recites it back to him. “I’ll be there in ten, maybe. The door’s locked?”

“I’ll unlock it now,” Monique says simply, and Monét hears some fumbling in the background. “Thanks, Nét,” he mumbles with earnest, making Monét smile lopsidedly.

“Anytime,” he whispers back before hanging up, and when he puts away his phone and goes to meet Bob’s gaze, there’s a questioning glare piercing right through him. “What?”

Bob just stares at him for a solid second before speaking, “It was Monique, wasn’t it? You got that look on your face, you know the one. No wonder you’re abandoning me that easy.” He goes straight to the point, with a shit eating grin. Monét just cocks a brow, trying to not look flustered.

“I have no idea what you mean,” he says, but he knows—it’s just he’d rather not think about it now, not when he’s on his way to see him.

Bob gives him sneaky glances and teases him a fair share until he leaves, and all Monét can do is pretend he doesn’t hear him.

*

Monét arrives to Monique’s apartment in the blink of an eye, with his stupidly complicated order, and unceremoniously lets himself in.

Immediately, he’s greeted by the sound of SZA’s latest song blasting from Monique’s room, and he smiles a little before he makes a beeline for it. The door is wide open, and right away he can see Monique bundled in a bunch of blankets, his eyes are closed, peeking out from under the covers, and he looks so peaceful he’d hate to ruin the moment.

But then again, his coffee is getting cold, and he knows Monique hates cold coffee.

“Wow, you really look like shit,” he jokingly says, making Monique’s eyes snap open.  He kicks off the blanket covering him and makes the motion to stand up from bed, but Monét takes a long stride and makes him settle back down.

“Thanks for coming,” he beams, turning the music just a notch down. He makes space in the bed for Monét, and he gladly settles by his side, and there’s something comforting by the familiarity of the motion. “D’you get my order right?”

“A venti Americano blonde espresso with caramel syrup and almond milk, right?” He asks, knowing the answer, and pride swells in his chest when Monique squeals in excitement, making grabby hands at the drink.

Monét’s own drink is already half empty, so he nibbles on it silently while Monique is cuddled up by his side, telling him about this one gig where he did shots with the host, how he felt sick over the course of the next days, pinning the blame on the host. Monét just listens, amused, unable to wipe the grin off his face whenever he glances to Monique out of the corner of his eye and sees him talking with his hand and making gestures, to really tell a compelling story.

They stay like that for what feels like forever, talking aimlessly about everything and anything, listening to SZA’s second album, and letting a comfortable silence fall when there’s nothing to say, just sipping on their drinks until the last drop. Monét leaves for a moment to use the bathroom, and Monique lets out a long breath.

He’s not sure why his first instinct upon realizing he’s sick was to call Monét instead of seeing a doctor, but he can’t deny his company brings him a sort of peace he only feels when he’s with him. And Monique isn’t stupid, he knows what it is and why he feels like that, but he’d rather protect their friendship a little longer.

He gets up to get a glass of water while Monét is still busy in the bathroom, and he aimlessly stands in the middle of the kitchen, still wrapped up in his comfy blankets, when he hears it—the ice cream truck tune.

Monique smiles widely, peeking over at the door of the bathroom. He knows he’s not supposed to go out like that and Monét will chastise him, but Monét can forgive him once he comes back with ice cream for the two. Right?

*

“Do you have any idea of the heart attack you almost gave me?” Monét exclaims, once he finds Monique sitting on the sidewalk, melting ice creams on each hand and a smug smile, still wrapped up in blankets.

“In my defense, you left me unsupervised, and I bought you an ice cream too!” Monique holds his hand out, offering him the sweet, and Monét glares at him, begrudgingly accepting it and kneeling down next to him.

“Girl, you’re a grown ass adult, I left you for one minute to use the bathroom and you disappear!”

“One minute? Seemed like an eternity to me,” Monique says nonchalantly, carelessly licking the ice cream. His tone is jokey, but there’s some truth to his words.

If he sees Monét blush before he looks away and scoops him up in his arms, Monique doesn’t say anything. Monét chastises him on their way back, the ice cream melting before he can finish it, and Monique would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy their proximity.

Monét vows to not let him out of his sight while he’s there, and proposes they watch something on Netflix, and it totally isn’t Monique’s idea to cover Monét with his own blankets to have him closer. They have a mixed marathon of SpongeBob and Avatar when they can’t settle on just one, and if Monique feels his heart skip when Monét insists he rests his head on his chest, he’ll never admit it.

“Y’know, I think it was always obvious Katara would end up with Aang,” Monét comments out of nowhere, and Monique cocks a brow, silently prompting him to go on. “I mean, just look at the way he looks at her. Don’t tell me you wouldn’t pick up on it if someone looked you that way,” he muses mysteriously, and Monique has to agree.

“Well, yeah, but why are you—” He glances up to meet Monét’s gaze, and the words die in his throat.

It seems planned, the way Monét is looking at him while the show plays on the background, mimicking Aang’s lovey-dovey gaze to Katara. It sends chills right down his spine.

He’s looking at his lips, and it makes him wonder who’ll be the one to make the move. In the end, Monique isn’t thinking straight, blame it on the way her brain shut downs when he’s with Monét or the fever, but the next thing he knows is that he stops holding back and clashes his lips with Monét’s.

It feels childish to say a canyon of butterflies exploded on his stomach, but that’s what happens.

“I think that made me feel better,” Monique confesses sheepishly, once they pull apart, and Monét just chuckles, pulling him closer.

“Oh, yeah? I’m more than glad to be your placebo effect,” he says, “You still need to see a doctor, though.”

Monique rolls his eyes, biting back a smile. “Don’t ruin the moment, bitch.”

[pronouncingitwang]

pre-canon Jon/Georgie | 4.3K words | for @the-magnace-archives

1.

“Laundry detergent is practically a self-contained emulsion—not that it has to be a mixture of anything, but it has a hydrophilic and a hydrophobic end,” says Jonathan-Sims-but-I-usually-go-by-Jon-oh-and-it’s-nice-to-meet-you-too, and Georgie grins. She hadn’t expected much when she dragged herself out tonight, prompted more by the vague feeling that she really ought to make some friends this year (apparently, her tutees don’t count, thanks Mum) than any real desire to do so. Then, she’d looked across Balliol Bar to see the student who’d interrupted their Modern-ish Lit prof in lecture yesterday, holding a briefcase in his lap and scowling at his beer as if it too wasn’t planning to analyze Jane Austen through a post-colonialist lens this year. Georgie had headed over as a gesture of BAME Literature student solidarity, and now it’s been an hour and she’s still here, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Jon doesn’t seem to be a fan of eye contact, which gives Georgie plenty of opportunity to observe. None of his initial red flags—being dressed like a professor on TV, for one—have proven to be signs of a deeper rottenness yet. There’s something in Jon’s gestures—abrupt, abortive, like he’s holding himself back—that assures Georgie that he’s not just doing this as an ego boost. This is all to say that the last three hours of banter and infodumping have been wholly pleasant. Probabilistically, it can’t last.

“Do- do you want to go back to mine?” Jon asks, and god does Georgie hates being proven right sometimes. It’s not that Jon’s unattractive, per se—Alex would have called him “hot in a murder victim kind of way” (and the memory of her voice hurts, but less than it would’ve a year ago)—but Georgie had hoped for a little more class. Plus, even if Jon seems harmless and even if Georgie's not scared, she'd rather not run the risk of being called a bitch tonight. She starts scanning for nearest exits.

Something about her silence must’ve clued Jon in because he quickly exclaims, “Not like that! God, sorry, not like that.”

Georgie pauses in her room surveyal. “Oh?”

“Sorry, sorry, I just meant that- that I’d like to keep talking to you, but it’s really loud here and I can’t think of anywhere quieter that’s open right now. I promise. But in retrospect, I can... I can see how that might’ve sounded.”

He looks earnest enough, and a little flushed as well. Georgie wants to—does—believe him. But she takes a second to size Jon up anyway. Between the eyebags, height (or lack thereof), and twig limbs, he looks like someone she could defend herself against if needs be. Also, she kind of does want to learn more about emulsifiers, or just watch him as he talks about them.

“Well, as long as you mean it—” “I do.” “Then, let’s go.”

(Georgie wakes up seven hours later with a crick in her neck and an Oxford sweatshirt she doesn’t own draped over her shoulders. Her hair’s a mess—she hadn’t pineappled it last night, and the back of this chair(? yeah, it’s a chair) is definitely not silk—and the time is… shit. Oh, and there’s Jon, perched on his bed and looking at her.

“You, ah, fell asleep during the ghosts debate? I didn’t know whether or not to wake you.”

“Yeah, I figured,” Georgie says, rolling her neck and wincing. “Sorry for stealing your chair.”

“Tea?” Jon asks, holding out a mug Georgie’s almost certain was just in the godforsaken microwave. Not that she hasn’t done the same thing on many an occasion.

“Sorry,” Georgie says, “I should probably be going; I’m gonna be late for a lecture. But before I leave—do you want to do this again tomorrow?”)

-

2.

Georgie spends some time deliberating over when to pop the question. It’s not fear holding her back; it’s practicality. There’s only a small window of feeling—after “certain she wants this” but before “starting to think losing Jon’s company would require her to take another gap year”—where taking the risk is worth it, and the second stage is coming up much faster than anticipated. (She’s never thought of herself as someone who falls for people fast—she hadn’t even realized her feelings for Alex until it was far too late—but now this. Maybe it’s another side effect of getting a philosophy lesson from a corpse. Or maybe it’s just a Jon thing.) All in all, it’s only been three weeks after their first meeting before she asks.

“Are you seeing anyone else?”

“What?” Jon asks, eyes jolting from his book to scan his room for uninvited apparitions. They’d both been unusually absorbed in their readings for the past hour, only interrupting the silence with scoffs and huhs.

“No, like, are you seeing anyone else romantically?” Jon frowns, and a thread of doubt worms its way into Georgie’s throat. “That is what we’re doing, right?” Granted, lunch meet-ups in the dining hall that spill over into long and unproductive study sessions might not scream “date,” but there’d also been a fair amount of (well, okay, Georgie-initiated) arm-around-the-shoulder action a few times. Also, hand-holding, of the fingers-intertwined variety.

“Oh. Um, yes, we’re romantically involved, or I suppose I should say that I hoped we were and didn’t know how to ask for clarification”—note to self: communicate clearer in future, Georgie thinks—“and no, I’m not seeing anyone else.”

Georgie had thought as much, but the confirmation is nice. “Cool. Me neither. Want to keep doing that?”

“Seeing each other?”

“And not anyone else, yeah.”

“Oh.”

“Maybe even start calling each other girlfriend and boyfriend?”

“Oh. Um.” Jon’s leg starts to bounce, which doesn’t seem like a good sign. Georgie waits.

“It’s not that-” Jon begins, then cuts himself off with a frustrated sigh. “It’s not that I don’t want to, believe me. I just—I have a… ground rule. That you may not be happy about.”

“Just one?”

“What?” Jon looks startled out of his worry for a second, which Georgie counts as a success.

“Well, I mean, if you’re talking about boundaries, I’ve got plenty. Routines that I’d need you to work around, stuff I don’t want to talk about, and if you’re ever even slightly sympathetic to the Tories…”

Jon doesn’t even laugh at the last one, and she knows he’s not a Cameron cocksucker. Something’s really bothering him.

“This one is… a pretty big deal.”

Georgie tries to keep her tone reassuring. “Let me be the judge of that, yeah?”

“Okay,” Jon says, “okay, yeah,” then nods decisively. “I’m… not going to have sex with you.”

What?

Jon continues, hands fluttering nervously as he explains. “I mean, I can’t say for certain that I’ll never change my mind, but if we’re doing this, it should be under the assumption that I won’t. And it’s not—it’s not a you thing, I swear, it’s just the thought of doing that with—with anyone is just…” he shudders slightly, and Georgie gives him a sympathetic wince. “And I know that’s a dealbreaker with a lot of people. I think I’m—well, it’s called asexuality, there’s some books I found if you don’t believe me, here, I’ll write the titles down—” Jon reaches for his briefcase, presumably to find paper and pen, but Georgie grabs his hand before he can.

“Jonathan,” she says. He tightens a little at the sound, and damn if that doesn’t near break her heart. “Jon. I believe you. And”—she squeezes his palm—“I still want to be with you.”

“Are you—are you sure?”

“Completely. Honestly, I’m kind of relieved?” Georgie says, realizing as she replies just how true the words are. “I’m not sure how I feel about sex yet either, really. I’d wondered, each time I’ve been over, if you’d try to… and then you never did, and I was always glad. I’m not like you, I don’t think—the thought doesn’t repulse me, it just… might not be something I’m ready for yet.”

“But you think you’ll want to later?”

Georgie shrugs. “Well, yes and no? People are hot, but even if I changed my mind about sex, I wouldn’t ask you for anything you don’t want to give me, and I doubt I’d be so horny that we’d need to renegotiate our relationship. I’ve been doing just fine dealing with everything single-handedly. Or,” she amends, “sometimes double-handedly.”

And there it is: Jon laughs, a rusty exhale that makes Georgie smile more than anything.

“So…” she whispers, bumping her nose against Jon’s, “Unless my boyfriend has any more objections…”

“Just to—just to clarify. That’s me?”

Despite her best efforts, a giggle escapes Georgie’s throat. “Yes.”

“Well. In that case. He does not.” Jon says. “Oh. Except. Can I kiss you?” he asks, which conveniently answers one of Georgie’s unvoiced questions.

“Absolutely.”

Their lips meet despite Jon’s grin, but only because Georgie’s smiling just as wide as he is.

-

3.

That conversation, it seems, marks the beginning of Jon-initiated physical affection. Georgie had assumed before that his lack of cuddliness was fully a result of touch sensitivity, but it's clear now that although the sensory stuff was a factor, Jon had also been holding himself back, trying to avoid any touch which could be seen as either too clingy or a prelude to sexual activity. Now, on some days, there’s a head leaning against Georgie's shoulder in the dining hall, a leg swung over her lap as they sit on his bed, an arm around her waist when they walk to Modern-ish Lit together. It’s not all effortless—Jon still moves like he half-expects Georgie to bat his hand away, and sometimes Georgie forgets to ask before she touches Jon—but they’re getting there.

Currently, Georgie’s wheeling a shopping cart around Tesco with Jon draped over her back like a very determined lichen. It was Steve-from-down-the-hall’s birthday last night, so Jon and a few of Jon’s acquaintances-turning-friends from a budding local urban exploration group had come over to duck into the party and snag several bottles. Georgie’s more than a little hungover, and Jon is no better for wear—he doesn’t drink, but staying up all night has taken its toll.

Jon’s wearing a sleeveless top that, on second thought, may actually be an old skirt of Georgie’s. Either way, he looks great. Georgie’s in her pajamas, and also, for some reason, a top hat? Between the outfits and Jon’s posture, they’ve gotten a few looks, but being literally fearless does wonders for one’s ability to ignore that stuff. Plus, Georgie knows almost all the employees here. They’ll have her back if needs be. Georgie’s not bothered, not by the other shoppers and not by her barnacle boyfriend—Jon’s not heavy, and he matches her every step, only disentangling himself to add items to the cart. She’s just glad they’ve both stuck around long enough to see each other like this.

In fact, there are a plethora of behaviors Georgie can sort into pre-commitment and/or post-commitment Jon things. She’ll make a Venn diagram once she’s certain her observations are solid. Pre-commitment things that Jon has since dropped include making his bed in the morning and keeping his professorial garb on at home. Things that go into both categories are Jon’s love of debate, the posh accent (though sometimes, after Jon’s just finished up a stilted call to his grandmother, his “of”s sound more like “off”s), and the fact that every time Georgie comes over, he opens the door before she knocks, like he’s been listening for her the whole time. Post-commitment, there’s calling her “George” when he’s sleepy; launching into completely sincere dramatic readings of his assignments to help him think passages through; stimming without looking self-conscious about it; and luckily for Georgie, cooking.

“Pasta tonight?” she asks as Jon squints at two identical-looking tomatoes so hard Georgie thinks they might explode.

“Mm.”

“The one on the left is a bit bigger?”

Jon puts the other one down with a scowl. “Maybe.”

The kitchens in Jon’s building have a stovetop and just enough counter space for prep. Georgie insists on helping this time, so she chops vegetables as Jon gets the noodles going. As the water nears boiling, Jon begins to hum something that Georgie thinks is meant to keep time, tapping his foot to the rhythm.

“Whatcha singing?”

“Oh,” Jon says, foot no longer tapping. “I didn’t notice—that is—it’s just. Something my grandmother sings when she’s cleaning.”

Jon doesn’t talk about his grandmother much, but Georgie can fill in the blanks. Again, she's been in the room for some of their phone conversations, and though she doesn't understand Urdu, she does understand silence. So she doesn’t push, just says, “Well, it sounds nice” and keeps chopping. Jon doesn’t sing, or speak, for the rest of their time in the kitchen.

Georgie’s dad said something once about vulnerability being a mutual exchange, and it’s stuck with her ever since. (Seems even more relevant now, since the no-fear thing means vulnerability doesn’t cost her much anyway.) Five minutes into a very silent dinner, Georgie speaks.

“You know, during first term, on the weekends, I didn’t eat dinner at all. Or any meals, really.”

Jon doesn’t move, but she can tell he’s listening.

“It made sense to eat on weekdays, because I’d always come across a cafeteria on my way to class. But on weekends, it was way too much work to drag myself out of my room, sometimes even out of bed. There didn’t seem to be any reason to. And I always had some rolls on hand that I’d taken from the dining halls earlier that week, so it’s not like I was starving myself. But still. Wasn’t great.” Jon nods, which is enough encouragement for Georgie to finish. “So I guess what I mean is, thank you? For being a good enough reason.”

Georgie takes Jon’s hand, and he squeezes back.

(A few days later, when Georgie’s almost forgotten the incident, Jon pulls the blanket tighter around them and says, “I think I’m going to tell you about my grandmother now, if that’s okay,” and Georgie says, “okay.”)

-

4.

Georgie hasn’t had a bad episode in a long time, but then her dad gets into a car wreck and he’s fine, he’ll be fine, but the bill’s gonna be hell to foot, and Georgie should be calling her English course freshers to see if they or their friends want any more tutoring hours, but instead she hasn’t brushed her teeth in four days and she’s missed her weekly scheduled room cleaning and she has that marked in her calendar for a reason, she has a routine for a reason, but every limb feels heavy and she’d rather stare at the ceiling and wait for it to collapse on her the way it one day will and therefore always has been. She misses Alex. She misses home. She misses being able to move without feeling like she’s dragging her body in a bag behind her.

Jon finds Georgie on what she thinks is a Saturday. He takes a second to scan the room before his eyes alight on the pile of blankets she’s under. “You haven’t been answering my messages,” he says.

The one time Jon had a meltdown in Georgie's presence, he shouted at her to leave, immediately. Georgie thinks she should extend Jon the same chance to escape, never mind that Jon's brain in crisis does better alone and Georgie's doesn't.

“Please go away.”

Jon does go away, but only to the other side of the room—where Georgie had accidentally knocked over her laundry hamper two(? three?) days ago and then stared at it until it felt like her insides had been hollowed out—and starts picking up each item of clothing on the ground, inspecting it, and shoving it back in the basket.

“Is this clean?” Jon asks, holding up a pair of knickers. Under most circumstances, the image would be funny, but as it is, it’s just surreal.

Georgie sighs. “I don’t think there’s a single clean thing in this room.”

“That’s good to know,” Jon says, and then, “Maybe you should get up.”

“Make me,” Georgie says. He does not.

As Jon continues to tidy up the floor, he asks her various bite-sized questions—trying to ground her, she assumes. Where did she get these jeans? What’s that poster on her wall of? Does she need the notes from Thursday? How is she doing? That last one, she elects not to answer.

When Jon’s done with the laundry pile, he asks for a hand to lift the hamper upright again. Georgie considers calling him out on the ruse, but finds that it’s easier to take Jon’s hand as he half-pulls her out of bed. Standing upright makes her a little dizzy, but he holds her still until her vision clears.

But then they go to lift the hamper, and Georgie drops it again and Jon doesn’t catch it fast enough and the clothes go spilling over the floor again, and she screams something at Jon that burns in her throat and Jon blinks and blinks and hardens and yells something back and Georgie wants to throw something or hide or fall asleep but instead she just tells Jon to get the fuck out out of her room.

“Fine,” Jon snaps, and wrenches the door open. He pauses before he takes his first step into the hall. “I’ll be back in an hour, if you want me here then.”

Georgie curls up on the ground and thinks about what Jon breaking up with her would look like and she isn’t scared, just sad, and then she counts prime numbers until she falls asleep again. And then Jon does come back, and Georgie is no less frustrated and Jon is no less hurt, but he’s holding a takeout bag. (Georgie tears through the wrap, and then, upon Jon’s prompting, all of his kebabs too, and he sits there until she’s finished. Once she’s full, she feels a little less heavy.)

-

5.

Georgie practically runs up the stairs to Jon’s room, phone still clutched in hand. “URGENT,” the text had read, and Georgie had felt a sharp curiosity course through her.

When Jon opens the door, he’s practically vibrating. “I figured out a way to get into the Sheldonian after-hours,” he whispers.

“No fucking way,” Georgie whispers back. “Seriously, how? We have to tell the others right fucking now. But how?”

Georgie had recently dragged Jon into her latest obsession—Oxford history—though “dragged” implies that he hadn’t come extremely willingly. She’d wondered if the incident in the medical building would come up, but Jon had quickly turned to fixate on something else. For the last month, Oxford’s main theater has been the subject of most, if not all of their conversation. That's spilled over into their conversations with their urbex friends (read: all their friends), which has then spilled over into their collective ability to engage in academia. Each member of their friend group—going on different days to deflect suspicion—has been on a tour to scope out the surveillance cameras’ blind spots. Plus, they’ve pooled their money to buy a fancy lockpicking kit.

“Well,” Jon says, hands flapping wildly as he looks for his phone, “I was talking to one of the violinists who played there last year, and then there were some blueprints in the Balliol Library—here, I took pictures—and…”

There’s more planning to do, obviously, if the six of them want to achieve their ultimate goal of “don’t get caught, like, seriously.” They practice treading lightly, quiz each other on floor plans, and (at least try to) confine themselves to a strict sleep schedule to keep their reflexes sharp. It’s unbelievably overkill, but such is life.

Then, there’s scheduling, which is difficult because Marie has two big assignments coming up and Steph works night shifts five days a week, but eventually, the expedition is a go.

Two weeks later, Georgie finds herself standing on the wood floor of the Sheldonian Theater, looking up at the barely-moonlit ceiling.

“Wow,” Jon breathes over a chorus of April’s “holy shit!”s.

“Kind of stupid that Truth is white,” Georgie says, but her voice is tinged with as much awe as Jon’s is.

Jon lets out a huff of laughter. “Next time, we can break in and repaint.”

“By stacking like ten ladders on top of each other?”

“Obviously.”

Georgie’s seen the ceiling before on daytime tours, of course she has, but those times, it was always just a painting, no less shiny and solid than the rest of the theater. The fresco she sees now is smudged with shadow, but that only makes it look more real. It depicts a vortex of orange clouds surrounded by scholars and cherubim. The figures curl themselves around the perimeter, simultaneously drawn into and bracing themselves against the storm. In the center of the swirling mass, Truth raises itself up, holding out its glowing hand. Structural support beams run over the mural to hold the ceiling up, sectioning off various parts of the scene. Every figure is drawn in exquisite detail; the shadows of their robes, the strands of their hair. But from down where Georgie stands, the whole thing just looks like an ancient mouth straining against a golden net, ready to consume them both.

“It’s beautiful,” Georgie whispers, and then, because one time doesn’t seem enough, “It’s beautiful!”

“You’re beautiful,” Jon tells the ceiling, though his whisper doesn't carry very far.

“You’re beautiful!” Georgie whisper-shouts at Jon. (Georgie senses, more than hears, an exasperated groan from Nick behind her, but she pays him no mind. She’s earned the right to be this sappy, thank you very much.)

“So are you!” Jon whisper-shouts back.

“I am!”

Most of their friends begin wandering farther off, but Jon and Georgie stay put. The Sheldonian is a flat-floor building. There’s no raised platform that draws the line between stage and audience, just an area with chairs and one without. Whatever secrets the two of them whisper to Truth, it is both call and response.

“Sometimes, I feel so lonely I could scream!”—from Jon.

“I wish I remembered what fear felt like!”—from Georgie.

“I don’t understand poetry and I never will!”

“I don’t know what I’m doing wrong because I don’t know what I’m doing!”

“I wish I’d chosen a different course! I have no idea what to do after graduation!”

“When professors call me Georgina, I feel physically ill!”

“I hate having short hair!”

“I hate having long hair!”

“I wish I’d actually taken my Urdu lessons seriously when I was younger!”

“I don’t feel guilty about quitting all my clubs in first year but I feel like I should!”

“We should be a little quieter!”

“I agree!”

A pause.

“I’m going to fail all my exams!”

“Funny, I’m gonna fail all of mine!”

“I’ll always feel like a disappointment! And I love my girlfriend!” It’s not the first time Jon’s said it, but the words send a thrill through Georgie anyway.

“I stubbed my toe yesterday and it still hurts! And I love my boyfriend!” It is the first time she’s said it. It feels right.

“I’m going to try to get to the balcony without being seen!”

“Good idea!”

“I really do love you,” Jon says again, and begins to move towards the nearest staircase, where Steph and April appear to be arm-wrestling. As Georgie watches his back, she’s suddenly struck by another memory—someone else Georgie loves standing in a building she’s not supposed to be in, taking one of her very last steps away from her. The feeling that rises in Georgie isn’t fear, but it must be the closest thing to it.

“Wait,” she says. (Jon turns around. He really is beautiful.) “I’m coming with you.”

-

+1

It’s third year, which means fast-approaching papers and goodbyes and post-graduation uncertainties, but it also means Georgie and Jon (and Nick and Marie, but they aren’t arriving until tomorrow) are moving in together.

“You’re gonna have to try to hold still,” Georgie says as she attempts to apply a second coat of purple to Jon’s pinky nail.

“I am,” Jon says. “Can’t you tape around it?”

“I don’t know which box the tape’s in,” Georgie says. “And since someone insisted on having his nails done before we began unpacking…”

“New place, new hands,” Jon says. “It just makes sense.”

“It really… doesn’t… but… there! That’s all of them! Now, just- don’t touch anything for the next ten minutes. I’m gonna do mine now.”

“Yes ma’am.” Jon gives a mock salute, and of course, grazes his nails against his hair in the process. “Oh, shit.”

“You’re the worst. I’m stealing all the blankets tonight for revenge.”

“Which blankets did you pack?”

“I thought that was your job?”

“It definitely wasn’t…”

“Oh, no. No, no, no, no, no…”

“What did you say the last time I asked you to check the packing list…?”

“Shut up!"

“No, I don’t think ‘shut up’ was it. I’m pretty sure it was more along the lines of ‘I’m not an idiot, Jon,’ but if you’re sure…”

“We can check if they’re still there after our nails dry, okay?”

“Okay.”

A few minutes pass.

“I think we should get a cat,” Georgie says. “Do you want to get a cat?” and Jon breaks the holding-still rule again by shouting something incomprehensible and flinging his arms around her.

(Later, over takeout and scuffed nails:

“This year will be a good year,” Georgie tells Jon. “I can feel it. And if it’s not, I’ll make it good.”

“I’ll make it good, too,” Jon says, “Or I’ll try to, at least. I promise.”

And Georgie believes him, and Georgie is not afraid.)

[ren1327]

Sweater Weather ch.3

Emerald Isle was covered in moss and rocks where they docked, the rocks and sand giving way to grassy hills and a dense forest of pine trees and shrubs where the side of a large house peeked out from behind them.

Owen took their bags after he had tied off the boat, Kenji leading Ben up some wooden stairs and on a brick path through the trees.

“Wow.” Ben said. “It smells amazing out here.”

“Smells amazing?” Kenji asked, glancing at Ben.

“Well, I…I haven’t been around real pine. It’s either been a candle or something already dying slowly for the sake of a holiday.” Ben said, shrugging at the end.

“Oh…I never thought of it like that…not a lot of traditional pine trees in Cali.” Kenji said. “You probably haven’t even seen snow.”

“No. And the funny thing is, my parents are, well, were, Seattle natives. I’ve lived in Texas and California my whole life. I’ve always wanted to come here. We planned to when my mom got better but…”

Ben’s smile fell and he looked at the trees in pain, closing his eyes for a moment. Kenji looked around to see Owen making his way up the path towards them. He grabbed Ben’s hand and led him along.

“Uh…M-My Dad likes the trees and we even have an orchard in the back. I think we have apples, peaches, almonds and a pomegranate tree in the green house.” Kenji said. “In summer, I bring back so much fruit from here.”

“That actually sounds great.” Ben said with a smile. “Smoothies galore.”

“Mom loves her trees and uses them for teas and jams, so…indulge her for me?” He asked. “She hasn’t really…nailed the flavor…”

Ben chuckled and hugged his arm as Owen got closer.

“Got it, Honey.” Ben said and Kenji nearly tripped.

“On your left, Lovebirds!” Owen called and walked past them with their bags.

“W-What?” Kenji asked once Owen was out of earshot. “Why did you…what was that?”

“A pet name?” Ben asked, raising a brow. “What would you call me?”

“Ben…ny?”

“No. Something else.” Ben said quickly.

“Babe?”

“That’ll do.” He said.

They continued to walk up the path, then stopped, Kenji noticing Ben staring at the house as they came up to it.

It looked like a Californian lake house; wooden with large glass windows and a balcony with a sturdy awning, a fire pit on the second floor awning, wooden steps leading down to another area where there was sand going into the dark blue water, a huge porch and yard and so many trees around it, as if hidden.

“Is that a lighthouse?!” Ben yelled when he looked up the hill.

“Yeah. Just in case.” Kenji said and Ben looked up at the regal looking stone structure.

“C…Can we go up it?”

“Yeah, sure. We can explore tomorrow though. Parents and sister.” He reminded Ben, who nodded, but let his eyes linger on the lighthouse a few seconds longer.

Kenji led Ben to the porch and knocked on the door despite Owen walking in a few seconds earlier.

A short, plump Mexican woman opened the door and cried out excitedly, scooping Kenji into her arms and despite being a full foot shorter than him, lifted him up and spun around.

“Mom!” He squawked and blushed. “Not in front of Ben!”

She dropped Kenji, who staggered before standing straight. He cleared his throat.

“Mom. This is Ben. Ben, this is my mother, Candela Kon.”

“Oh, baby, you can call me Candy!” She said and hugged Ben in her soft warm arms, Ben getting a whiff of cocoa butter and vanilla.

Candy, indeed.

She had the same golden skin and dark hair Kenji had. But hers was curly and in lose spirals that was tied back into a high ponytail with a white velvet scrunchy. She wore a thick red tunic over brown yoga pants and furred boot slippers. She had on tinted lip balm Ben often used on interviews and…

“It’s great to finally meet you!” Ben said, smiling brightly when she put him down.

“Oh? Has Kenji told you anything about me?”

“He may have mentioned gardening and teas.” Ben said. “Of which I am eager to see and taste.”

Candy giggled and elbowed Kenji. “You got yourself a keeper, Mijo.”

Kenji let out a huff but smiled regardless.

“Your Father is on a call right now, but I know someone in the sunroom who would be sooooo excited to see you!”

Kenji grinned and sped past her.

“Son?” She called.

“Yeah?”

“Your boyfriend?” She asked.

Kenji sped back and took Ben’s hand. “Right, sorry Babe.”

“It’s Carmen, I get it.” Ben said dismissively, noting how Candy beamed at Ben’s reaction.

“Aw, you’re still a doting brother!” Candy teased.

“I think it’s cute.” Ben said and Kenji smiled at him.

“Ready to meet the most important lady in my life excluding my mother?”

“Good save.” Ben teased and Kenji chuckled, leading him past a large sitting area with a plush red sofa set and armchairs around a curved tv and sound system mounted on the wall and a fireplace to the left, burning away fragrant wood.

They walked down a wide hallway, the walls decorated with family pictures and photos of the ocean and various sights around the island and Seattle itself.

“You guys really like Seattle.” Ben said.

“It might be a little farther, but Dad has an office building there and a condo where Mom and Carmen chill during summer weekends. We used to live in Cali, but after I left, I guess they relocated to Washington for good. Especially after the bullying…”

“It’s amazing. What parents will do for their children.” Ben said softly.

Kenji paused outside a door and closed his eyes before sighing. “Yeah. It is.”

He opened a white door with a large glass panel with a soft gauzy white curtain with reflective green sequins stitched in them in patterns that looked like ivy or vines on the inside. The walls of the room were a light minty green with metal work on the walls of sunflowers, daisies and chrysanthemums. Two walls had large windows that opened inwards to let in the cold air, another fireplace sheltered from the breeze and with a low back black cushioned wide bench with thick legs looked to be made from bleached driftwood before it. Most of the furniture looked to be made from sturdy carved driftwood, pale gray cushions and blankets on it, along with a basket piled high with furry or fleece throws and a few bookshelf cabinets with thick glass sheltering the treasures inside.

But before the fireplace on the wide bedlike bench, with green led light cat eared headphones over her head and staring at her switch as she played what Ben noticed was Stardew Valley, was Kenji’s treasure.

She was also plump and short like her mother, with her big brown lashed eyes and full lips. Her skin was very pale and her waist length black hair pin straight. Her hair was dyed green about five inches from her scalp and in two high pigtails. And her lips were chapped from how she was biting them.

She wore blue jean capris despite the cold weather, a black t-shirt and red and pink socks with a pink cartoon lion and a thick looking sword on them. She laid on her stomach and Ben saw her phone was on a podcast; episode 68 of King Falls Am, so she couldn’t hear Kenji go behind her.

Kenji poked the small of her back, causing her to scream and pull her switch to her chest, kicking out as she rolled over.

“If I die in the mines, I’m so gonna…Ji?” She looked down at her game to pause it and place on the back of the bench as she jumped up and ran around to hug her older brother.

“You did come!” She squealed.

“I did!” Kenji yelled back happily. “I missed you so much!”

“Dad said you would be coming, and I was so excited because I thought you were still in India. How was it? Did you eat a lot of spicy food? Did you pet an elephant?”

“Uh, I kinda just bummed around a camp, kiddo.” Kenji said. “I was…I wasn’t in a really good headspace…”

“Oh. I get it.” She said softly and rubbed her arm, then noticed Ben.

“Hi, Carmen.” Ben said nervously.

“Hi?” She asked.

“Oh, Carmen, this is Ben. He’s my…my boyfriend.” Kenji said.

Carmen looked from Ben to Kenji and back.

“Oh, no, he’s way too good looking for you.” She said, shaking her head.

“Hey!” Kenji yelled.

Ben watched them bicker for a bit and smiled as Kenji pulled his sister close and started giving the smaller Kon sibling a noogie. He reached into his book bag and quickly plucked a receipt out of a bag, holding it out to them.

“Kenji?” He called and they both paused, Kenji grinning when he saw the black bag.

“We found something you might like.” Kenji said and took the bag, giving it to Carmen.

She reached in and pulled out a small Miles Morales plush gasping and hugging it to her chest.

“Oh, my gosh! I love him! How did you know?”

“It was mostly Ben.” Kenji said. “He made me watch the movie and I saw your snapchat posts and we saw it, so…”

She hugged Kenji, then Ben. “Thank you guys so much! I’ve asked Owen to keep an eye out and I’d pay him back, but he never understands what I mean!”

She smiled and hugged the plush again.

“Kenji, get in here!” She said, picking up her phone to take a picture with him. “Ben, you too!”

Ben awkwardly stood next to Kenji, who threw an arm around his waist as Carmen held up the plush and snapped a picture, Ben happy he smiled at the last second, not looking too awkward.

“Um…can I post that Ben’s your boyfriend?” Carmen asked, lowering her phone to look at her brother. “She…She kinda follows me still.”

“Yeah.” Kenji said. “Go ahead.”

“Ben?” She looked at him.

“I’m out and good. Go ahead.” He said, waving his hand.

“Okay. Annnnnd…post!” She said and smiled at the picture. Her smile fell and she touched under her chin.

“Carmen?” Ben asked.

“Oh!” She blinked and smiled. “So um…was the flight alright?”

“Yeah. Hey…” Kenji hugged her. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I am. I promise. I start my new school after break so, that’s fun.” She said.

“New schools are fun.” Ben said. “I had to start a new school too.”

“Oh. Why?” Carmen asked.

“…I was bullied. Really bad. Like, I could’ve died from an asthma attack bad.”

“What?” Carmen squawked.

“I was left outside overnight with my hands tied. I couldn’t get to my inhaler while I was panicking.” Ben said, looking at the floor. “No one really knew I had asthma. Inhalers cost like…six hundred dollars. And my bullies…I was scared they would take it or use it as ammunition.”

Carmen hugged Ben tight.

“You’re okay, right?” She asked, voice wobbly. “Like…now?”

“Yeah. My mom moved us to San Antonio where I met the coolest people and even moved to California with them. They’re going to move back again, so…I guess I’ll just find my own way from there.”

“You could move in with Kenji!” She said. “Since you’re boyfriends and all!”

“Uh, I think he wants to go back to Texas though, kiddo. That’s where he wants to set up shop.” Kenji said awkwardly.

“Long distance sucks!” Carmen huffed. “And besides! You can move into our old neighborhood when I was a baby!”

She turned to Ben. “We moved to Cali when I was like, six. And now…”

“Washington is really pretty.” Ben said with a tilt of his head.

“And I get to have so many cute raincoats and boots!” She said excitedly.

“Carmen hates the sun.” Kenji said.

“If you live in Texas, we can visit you as much as we want with Daddy’s plane!” She said. “And then you guys can come see us when summer gets too unbearable.”

Ben smiled.

“Any excuse to see you, Carmen.” He said. “You’re really cool for a high schooler.”

She blushed and smiled. “Thanks. I um…thanks.”

There was a knock on the doorframe and Ben felt his face heat when he saw the man.

“Hello.” He said, looking at Ben. “We have yet to meet. I am Kenji’s father, Kosei.”

He held out a hand and when Ben shook it, in engulfed his own smaller one in a warm, strong grip.

The man looked just like Kenji, save lighter hair with streaks of gray and a close trimmed beard. Ben would say he looked like a neater version of his favorite Overwatch character.

“Ben Pincus.” He said softly.

Kosei made a puzzled face. “Pincus? I feel like I know that name.”

Ben shrugged a bit, noting how the man had released his hand.

“Welcome to our home, Ben.” He said and smiled warmly, Ben blushing harder.

Kenji blinked. And paled when he saw how pink Ben’s blush was.

‘…left overnight with my hands tied…’

He remembered something he had long buried away.

“Fuck.” He said out loud.

[damienthepious]

mmmm let’s have a random little oneshot for this week’s lizard kissin’ festivities, yeah? that’s just... what i’m feelin, right now. enjoy?? hopefully?

Won’t Break (Chapter 1)

[ao3] [chapter 2]

Fandom: The Penumbra Podcast

Relationship: Lord Arum/Sir Damien/Rilla

Characters: Lord Arum, Rilla, Sir Damien

Additional Tags: Second Citadel, Lizard Kissin’ Tuesday, Established Relationship, Declarations of Love, Miscommunication, (very mild), Communication, canon typical Arum ignoring feelings

Summary: It is far too soon for such words, isn't it?

Notes: sometimes an idea just fucken runs with me, idk. I love arum but he's such a dip sometimes. he looks at vulnerability and HISSES, the asshole.

~

Arum's cape billows, flaring nearly as high as his frill as he bursts into the room, already growling low and muttering under his breath as his tail thrashes behind him.

Rilla blinks, and then she tucks her recorder back into the pockets of her skirt.

"Okay," she says, and Arum startles as if he hadn't noticed her in the room. "What's up?"

"Amaryllis," he says sharply, and then he blinks, and his growl pitches deeper, and then he turns and continues his quick stride, pacing in a narrow oval.

"Arum."

"Nothing of import," Arum mutters, just above the level of his earlier grumbling. "Nothing at all."

"Yeah," Rilla says. "Because you'd totally be this upset about nothing, Arum." She rolls up to stand, folding her arms over her chest and raising an eyebrow. "C'mon. What's wrong?"

Arum snarls a little louder, mutters something Rilla can't hear, then spins on his heel to repeat his little lap.

Rilla watches, suppressing an urge to either roll her eyes or actually start to worry. "If you want me to leave you alone I will, Arum, but if you're upset I'd rather try to help, y'know? That's kind of part of this whole trying this thing. I- I care about you. If I can help-"

Arum's pace falters, and his frill sinks slightly as his eyes dart towards her.

"Ha," he says, more a noise of surprise than a laugh. He swallows, his hands clenching on empty air. "That- now that I can believe. Clear words. Honest words. Not some nonsense declarative, some sweeping poetic falsity, all saccharine and cloying and-"

He's pacing again, his mouth twisting down into something like anger.

"So… you're upset with Damien," Rilla says. It's a near certainty of a guess, and when Arum scoffs, his pace quickening, she knows that she's right.

"Absurd. Absurd, he- he cannot attempt to ply me with pleasant nonsense and expect me to simply believe-"

"What exactly did he say to you, Arum?"

"Ridiculous, he cannot- after so little time and so much conflict, he could not possibly-"

"Arum." Rilla reaches out, grabs Arum's wrist, pulls his pacing to a stop. "What did he say?"

Arum snaps his teeth, looking decidedly away, his frill rising again. After a moment the ticking rattle in his chest grows louder, and Rilla realizes that he's not going to answer.

"C'mon," she says gently, and she lifts her other hand to cup his cheek. He startles, his breath escaping in something like a gasp, and he clenches his teeth but he doesn't pull away. Actually, he leans into her hand after a breath, wincing, and she lets go of his wrist so she can cup his face in both palms. "Arum, it couldn't have been that bad. I know Damien talks so much that sometimes he forgets to think before he speaks, but- what did he say that was so horrible?"

"It wasn't-" Arum cuts himself, cringing again. "It- he- it was not that it was- he did not say something horrible."

"Then…" Rilla raises an eyebrow, gently brushing her thumbs up and down his cheeks. "Then what's the problem?"

"The problem," Arum hisses, "is that what he said could not possibly be true."

Rilla's brow furrows, now, and she keeps stroking his cheeks, trying to keep him steady. "Damien isn't exactly in the habit of lying," she says, a gentle sort of nudge. "And he's pretty awful at it when he tries. Are you sure?"

Arum snaps his teeth together without words for a moment, glancing away. "I- well- he must be mistaken, then. Careless words. He cannot mean it. He cannot."

"He can't mean what, Arum? This isn't going to go anywhere if you're too afraid to tell me what he said."

Arum pulls his head back automatically, hissing again. "Afraid- I am not afraid, Amaryllis, don't-"

"Arum. What did he say?"

"That he loves me, Amaryllis," Arum spits, and then he cringes again, folding two arms over his stomach, the other two reaching to pull his cape forward, hiding more of himself in the thick fabric. "I- I cannot- he cannot possibly mean such things so soon, and I cannot abide empty assurances, platitudes for the sake of flattering my ego or- or whyever else-"

"O-oh," Rilla says. She swallows, pulling her hands back and clasping them in front of her chest. "Oh."

"He cannot mean it," Arum mutters again, teeth bared.

"No," Rilla says quietly, and Arum's expression crumples, his mouth curling down miserably for only a moment before his brow furrows into something angry.

"Of course-"

"No," she repeats, shaking her head. "No, Arum, he meant it. He means it."

For half a heartbeat Arum looks- terrified, and then he scowls again. "No. No. He can't-"

"He does." Rilla reaches out again, and Arum frowns but he doesn't push her away, doesn't try to step back. She slips her arms around him, holding him in a loose embrace as he stiffly stands, his own arms stubbornly at his sides. "Arum. I- I've been holding off on saying anything because I didn't want to make you uncomfortable, or- I didn't want to say it if we weren't on the same page but-" she smiles wryly as Arum stares at her, violet eyes flicking quickly between her own. "But Damien is terrible at holding things in when he feels them. He's gotta speak his heart and all that."

"What- what do you-"

"Are you upset because you don't feel that way?" she asks, trying her level best to keep her voice neutral, and Arum tenses even more.

"Of course not, of course I lo-"

Arum's teeth snap together audibly, and when Rilla looks up at him he closes his eyes.

Rilla stares at him, at the shine of his scales, the curve of his horns, the fear and desire in the twisting of his expression, and-

She knew it.

Or. She had been hoping really, really hard, at least.

She slips her hands more securely around him and goes up on her toes. She presses her lips to the scales of his cheek, smiling against him when he makes a quiet whirring noise at the contact.

"Amaryllis," he hisses as he blinks his eyes back open.

"I love you," she says as she sinks back to her feet. "And I'm not saying that because Damien did. I'm saying it because you're absolutely ridiculous and stubborn and I don't even think you notice the way your frill twitches when you're nervous and I've been biting it down for weeks because you're so damn skittish about actually talking about feelings but Saints, Arum. How could I not love you? How could he not? Arum-" she laughs. "I figured I was falling for you before I left the Keep the first time and that was after I got to spend all that time together with you- are you really surprised that Sir Damien the Headfirst would be on the same page? Arum, you're incredible, and I know you know it because you're an enormous braggart, which I really shouldn't find as fucking charming as I do, I love you so-"

Arum presses his mouth to hers. When she gasps and kisses back with a noticeable edge of teeth he gives a soft little whine against her lips, and then his arms finally tighten around her and he lifts, scooping her legs out from under her and holding her to his chest.

"Amaryllis," he hisses against her lips, panting.

"So damn much, you giant stubborn ass, I-"

"I love you too," he says. His voice is shaking, and Rilla laughs with something like relief.

She presses her lips together tight, closing her eyes, pressing her forehead against his own as she lifts a hand to press to his cheek. "You believe me, then?"

Arum breathes a weak laugh of his own. "Y-yes."

"You love Damien too?"

"Of course I do, Amaryllis, don't be absurd."

"Well, Arum, if you love him," she says, exasperated and fond, "why is it so hard for you to believe that he loves you too?"

"I…" he pauses. "Well-" he stops again. "It-"

"You are," Rilla kisses him again, "ridiculous."

"I don't- I haven't- it only seems… I couldn't believe, and- and I- if it were a lie, I knew I would only- only make a fool of myself if I revealed- if I said-"

"If you were honest, you mean?"

He growls, and with the way he's holding her, with the way she's caught up in his arms, she can feel it rumbling through her own ribcage.

"… perhaps."

She laughs again, letting her cheek rest against his neck as she shakes in his arms.

He pauses for a long moment, his growling drifting down to a low purr at the back of his throat as he holds her.

"… I…" he hesitates, his voice low and warm. "I knew I felt too much for you before you left the Keep as well. I knew I loved you when I let you go."

"Can't believe you waited this long to say anything," she grumbles, and when he gives a wry laugh she squeezes her arms around him, pressing her lips against his neck. "Can't believe Damien waited this long, honestly-"

Arum winces; she feels the way he goes tense. Rilla pauses. She blinks.

"Wait. So- Damien told you… hang on." She leans back in his arms, brow furrowed as she tries to force the lizard to meet her eyes. "So you just. So he told you he loved you, and then after that, you did… what, exactly?"

"I…" Arum flicks his eyes stubbornly away, frill flared in clear panic. "Left."

"You left," Rilla repeats, blank. "Did you … say anything? Did you respond?"

"Nnnnn."

"Arum."

"No. No, I- I was surprised. And I- I thought he was lying, or- that he must be- be- exaggerating, at the- the least. I was- I panicked and. And I- left."

"You bolted," she clarifies.

Arum ducks his head, teeth bared in a grimace, and then he nods.

"Alright. Okay. Let me down." She shifts in his arms, and he keeps his head ducked as he gently sets her back on her feet. "C'mon," she says, grabbing his hand before he can curl in on himself too much. "Let's go fix this."

"Fix-" he drags his feet, but he follows as Rilla leads him back the way he came. "Amaryllis, he must be-" he breaks into an unhappy, wordless trill. "I have failed spectacularly. He tried to- to tell me- to share this with me and I smacked it from his hands and ran, like a coward, like a-"

"You're not helping," Rilla says calmly, and then she squeezes his hand. "Look. You messed up. Let's go make it better, yeah?"

"Better," he hisses. "He will not want to see me. We will be lucky to find him here still, lucky if he has not already-"

"Arum," she says, breaking his name into two distinct, sharp syllables as she skids to a stop again, and he blinks, refocusing on her. "You freaked out, and you probably hurt his feelings, but one mistake isn't going to break us, okay?"

His eyes flick between her own, searching. "I… I must trust your word on that," he says eventually, quietly. "I don't… I have very little…" he frowns, "very little practice, in this. In- in relationships. This particular mistake feels… rather large."

Rilla feels her heart do a little kick at the worry twisting her monster's face. She pulls his hand up, holding it in both of her own and pressing it against her chest, and he meets her eyes again. "I know you're new at this, Arum," she says gently, "and I know that Damien and I have been together for a long time, comparatively. But- this is new territory for all of us. We're all gonna wind up making mistakes, here and there. We just-" she pauses, and smiles in a way that feels a little crooked. "I want this to work. I love both of you, and I want to be with you. So, when we mess up - and we're going to mess up - we've gotta make sure we fix it, and try not to trip into the same mistakes again. Does that make sense?"

"I… yes. I suppose. I suppose that does indeed make… sense." Arum stares at her, tilting his head. "… is there any arena in which you do not excel, Amaryllis?"

Rilla barks a laugh. "Oh, I do not excel in this," she says, shaking her head. "I really don't. I'm impatient and independent and kinda petty, actually. But-" she bites her lip, and then she goes up on her toes again, rising just enough to press a kiss to the scales of Arum's cheek. "But I love you, and I love Damien, and it's really important to me to put in the effort to make sure we're okay. Okay?"

"… Okay," Arum echoes, the casual word sitting oddly on his inhuman tongue. "I suppose that makes sense as well."

She smiles, gentle, and Arum pulls her hand up towards his mouth, and when he brushes his lips over her knuckles Rilla can't help the way her cheeks go hot, or the little laugh that escapes her lips. "Arum-"

"Thank you, Amaryllis." He keeps hold of her hand as he lowers it again. He inhales, and when he exhales his frill settles at his neck. "One mistake will not break us," he says quietly, fierceness furrowing his brow.

"It won't," Rilla agrees.

"Will you-" he pauses. "Will you come with me?" he asks, and the smile that curves his mouth is wry. "I know what I must do, the apology I owe, but- I would rather have you by my side as well."

"Of course I will," she says, squeezing his hand.

"Thank you," he says again, and then he stands straighter, his posture regal in the gentle filtered light of the Keep. "Now. Let us find Sir Damien. It is long past time I speak my heart."

[regrettablewritings]

Podcasts, Youtubes, and TV Shows to Distract Yourself With Because Why Not, and Also Because I Wanna Blab About Some of These

Since I can’t go to work and horrify my coworkers/make them realize I’m a mess and/or nerd by telling them about the type of media I’m into, I’m foisting my recommendations on all of y’all who choose to read this. I frankly do not care how many people have actually heard of these things because I’m also sure there’s plenty of people who, like me, are very slow and oblivious to entertainment, or who have heard of the property but were never that convinced.

Kipo and the Age of the Wonderbeasts

Type: TV series

200 years after a mysterious yet earth-shattering event, much of humanity has taken to living beneath the surface in communities called burrows, wherein life goes on, if effected somewhat by the bizarre fauna that exists above them (referred to as “mutes”, short for “mutant”). One burrow girl, Kipo, founds her world turned almost literally inside-out when she finds herself not only separated from her father and the only world she’s ever known, but on the surface, no less. What ensues is her trying to find her way back home with the help of a stony-faced little girl with a massive chip on her shoulder; a music enthusiast and his literal gadfly friend; and some . . . unusual allies that only an oblivious optimist like Kipo could make. All to a kickass soundtrack, a beautiful backdrop of art, and a world where animals have basically evolved into gangs under a looming threat known as Scarlemagne. If you can’t already tell, I love this series to bits and now is the perfect time for people to get into it and encourage another season of it. Just . . . don’t think too hard that whatever happened to cause the Event in the show happened in October 2020 . . .

Available on: Netflix

My Dad Wrote a Porno

Type: Podcast

This should go without saying, but this podcast is definitely meant for more mature audiences. Or somebody with a strong stomach. Not that it’ll always be easy to tell with the type of content this series gives. When Jamie Morton’s father handed him his manuscripts for his self-published books, he had no idea he was being given a pinnacle of a polished turd: It was erotica. Really, really, really bad erotica. But the ear’s trash is the heart’s pleasure with this bad girl, as Jamie enlists the company of friends Alice and James to provide commentary on “Rocky Flintstone”’s series Belinda Blinked, a drama chronicling the sexcapades of Belinda Blumenthal as she climbs the ladders (and men and women) both in and out of the cut-throat world of pots and pans sales. What follows is a goldmine of awkward metaphors, strange bedmates, and just an overall stampede of whiplashing events that somehow exceed expectations. Listen in if you dare . . . And make sure you’re in good company for it. Fun Fact, though: Daisy Ridley, Ben Barnes, Lin-Manuel Miranda, Michael Sheen, Mara Wilson, Elijah Wood are but a few well-known fans of this series! Nobody is safe . . .

Available on: Wherever podcasts can be found

Lore

Type: Podcast

Sometimes, truth is stranger than fiction. And what better way to be reminded of that, then to have the dulcet tones of Aaron Mahnke tell you about the lighthouse incident that the 2016 movie The Lighthouse was loosely inspired by? Suffice to say, this podcast could also be interpreted with some advised discretion, but definitely in a way that’s different from My Dad Wrote a Porno. In the centuries humankind has existed, we’ve managed to create a menagerie of beasts, both fictional and in ourselves. Lore explores all the many different kinds of events and persons and creatures we have to offer. In any given episode, we could be talking about anything from the bizarre story of a lady who convinced 18th century physicians that she was giving birth to rabbits, to something more disturbing like the life of H.H. Holmes. Or something as relatively innocuous as the relationship between gremlins and flight. Regardless of the subject, however, you’ll definitely walk away knowing something new, if bizarre. And perhaps slightly terrifying.

Available on: Wherever podcasts can be found

The Amelia Project

Type: Podcast

Congratulations: You have been made aware of The Amelia Project. If you’re not interested in this, exit the page. Now. If you continue, there’s no unhearing it. Good choice! A new interest awaits. If you don’t enjoy it, please consider the whole thing a hoax. Okay but in all seriousness, there’s no way to do The Amelia Project justice in just a simple description. The plot sounds quite simple, really: People want to disappear and start a new life, The Amelia Project is there to help – with a price. And that’s if you can actually get a hold of them! What really makes the show, however, are the people and the writing, and I’m not just talking about the almost childlike Interviewer with an obsession for hot cocoa. I’m talking about the clientele: I’m talking about the macabre-obsessed theme park owner who’s out for revenge; the cult leader who’s in way over his head; a Santa impersonator stuck in a miserable marriage with his own manager; an actual podcast character trying to outrun his creators. And obviously this would all be nowhere without the spectacular writing! I really can explain this series without blabbing on and potentially spoiling things; The Amelia Project is an experience!

Available on: Wherever podcasts can be found

LegalEagle

Type: Youtube channel

To be frank, I just like learning for the sake of learning, even if I may not always necessarily understand the topic or have any plans to use it in the foreseeable future. The big difference here being that at least this channel makes learning about the law fun and breaks it down. Headed by a certified lawyer (because what an age we live in, where professionals actually take time out of their lives to teach us common folk), there’s a multitude of series D.J. Stone uses to help break down the complex world of law, from reviewing the realism of procedural favorites (Law & Order, The Good Wife, HTGAWM, etc), to analyzing real-life situations, to even watching childhood media that has nothing to do with the law and determining how much money, say, Willy Wonka would owe in a lawsuit. In short, it is one of my worst subjects done in one of my favorite ways to learn! Plus, Stone hates business students and is perfectly willing to poke fun at law students so it’s all fun, frankly.

Available on: Youtube

Nando v Movies

Type: Youtube channel

Sometimes, movies are bad. Sometimes, they’re good. And sometimes, they could use a few adjustments in hindsight. Especially the nerdier movies where the directors may or may not have tried way too hard or way too little. And that’s where Nando comes in: Whether it’s explaining why a different villain might have worked better for a hero’s origin story movie, or analyzing how one seemingly small adjustment could’ve potentially made more sense in explaining characterization, this channel is always providing a new perspective on a movie or show you’ve probably seen and maybe weren’t necessarily too pleased with. (Or maybe you were – I enjoyed Justice League okay but I love the version he rewrote more.) Oh, yeah: Sometimes he does rewrites of movies or even series. So if you’re anything like me and you’re way into that, this is a channel you don’t want to miss out on.

Available on: Youtube

DEATH BATTLE!

Type: Youtube channel

Does anyone remember Deadliest Warrior? No? . . . How about that one time during lunch where you and your friend got into it over who would win in a death match between Superman and Goku? Good news: A buncha geeks did the math for you and have come out with the results! Specifically, hosts Wiz and Boomstick have analyzed the weapons, armor, and skills of each combatant in every episode, resulting in an ongoing series of absolute nonsense and satiation of bloodshed. The description is admittedly nothing crazy, but the amount of detail applied is honestly where it’s at: From calculating how loud Black Canary’s screams are to approximating Scrooge McDuck’s speed (I’m not kidding you), there’s actual thought put into the characters being assembled and how they might fair with their respective combatant. And it all comes together for an actual fight, often animated but always amazing. So if you’ve ever wondered if Thor could beat Wonder Woman, or if McGruff the Crime Dog stands a chance against Smokey the Bear (I’m…I’m being honest), then this is the show for you!

Available on: Youtube

Sideways

Type: Youtube channel

If there is music in that movie or show, it will be analyzed to a degree that, unless you’ve been trained in music, you would’ve probably never thought about. There isn’t necessarily much rhyme or reason to Sideways’ videos in terms of themes beyond music, but really, must they? Is it not enough that this man is screaming to the internet these wack and awesome trends he’s noticed in certain pieces associated with movies and musicals and the genius behind them? Could life not just be him explaining the symbolism of the instruments associated with the Crystal Gems of Steven Universe, or breaking down the cultures explored by way of the Black Panther soundtrack? Also, here’s a fun drinking game: Take a shot every time he mentions leitmotifs or the Dies Irae.

Available on: Youtube

Craig of the Creek

Type: TV show

In the woods of suburban Maryland, there exists a kid’s utopia: A place where horse girls are free to roam the fields, where a boy can be a king of garbage, and where children travel the sewers completely unsupervised. That is, until the dinner horn rings; then they have to go home until the next time they can return to The Creek. The show focuses on one specific trio (Craig, JP, and Kelsey) as every day, The Creek (and their own childish naivete) brings them new hijinks to experience. There’s a blissful lightheartedness to the show, in addition to a lot of creativity that feels like it was ripped straight out of your own imagination as a child (robots made from cardboard boxes, building portals using lights, etc). But beneath it all, there’s something just plain wild brewing. I don’t want to spoil anything, but CotC has some G-rated GOT shit going on the further along the series goes and I can’t wait to see how it all unfolds!

Available on: CN app, wcostream.com

And that’s probably enough for now, I think. Lemme know if you want any other suggestions, or how you’re findin’ ‘em if you take any of them up! Stay safe, stay healthy my dudes!

[demisewrites]

Kinktober #8

Glory Hole

(cw: teratophilia, public bathroom, mentions of alcohol, strangers having sex, mlm, modern AU)

Author’s Note: this is a fan fiction based on the teratophilia podcast, Fuck Humans. Pairing: Bask/Angel. Dedicating this to all the lovely people in the FH discord!

The idea of having random sex in a public bathroon in a crowded bar would have made Bask cringe, and he still did, to some extent. Yet, he couldn’t deny that the idea was a little hot.

Mentioning this to Asmodeus and Cheri while out for drinks, however, was a mistake on his part. They kept badgering him about “getting loose”, “you’re only 25 once, live a little, Bask!” and “You know, I do know a few bars you could do it at!”. Excusing himself to go to the bathroom for SOME peace and quiet, he sighs heavily as the stall door closes. Luckily, the music outside seems to be blocked by the door and the bathroom seemed clean enough for now. He slumps forward against the door, horned forehead thumping against the surface. Bask hadn’t had a lot to drink, but there was a pleasant buzz strumming throughout his body. He should go home soon, he thinks, besides, he has work in the morning even if it is just housework.

He gets a jolt of shock as he hears the outside door open suddenly, the loud music filling the bathroom before getting cut off as the door slams closed. Someone huffs angrily before storming into the stall next to Bask. The person seems to be muttering under his breath, clearly distressed by something. Bask stands still, debating whether he should leave as quickly as possible, before small sniffles start echoing from the other stall. ‘Is he... crying?’ thought Bask.

Against his better judgement, he clears his throat. “Are you ok?” he asks gently.

“H-Holy shit?! Y-You...! How long have you been there for?” the sniffles stop yet the angry voice wavers with emotion still.

“A while,” Bask admitted, “I was here before you came in. Are you ok? Do you need to call someone?”

A loud huff. “No! I’m... fine,” the voice grumbles, “just peachy.” Then a bit lower. “Besides, what do you care? I’m just some stranger crying in the bathroom.”

“Well... I just thought I’d ask...” Bask said awkwardly. He stood there for a moment, before reaching for the door. The voice sniffles again then sighs.

“No, no, you’re... I’m just being an asshole... “ the voice mumbles followed by a soft thump against the stall barrier, “just having a really shitty night...”

Bask stays and finds out that he, a human named Angel, had been humiliated by a date before he had stormed into the bathroom. He thought his date with another human had been going great until he found out that they had been using Angel to make his ex-partner, the bartender, jealous. They speak for a while, with the stall barrier between them, sharing vague information about each other as they were just passing strangers.

Angel sighs. “I’m probably keeping you from your friends. You should go.” Bask chuckles softly. “It’s fine, I’d rather sit here than going back to a list of bathrooms with glory holes.”

A choked, embarrassed laugh. “O-oh! Well... I hate to break it to you... you should probably look down.” Bask raises a brow before looking down.

There, between the barrier the two have been talking through, is a clean cut glory hole.

Bask groans in embarrassment, feeling his body flush with heat. There was a joke to be made about cruel fate here. Angel laughs, and it makes Bask’s heart skip a beat.

“I mean... it’s not the worst thing I’ve done... and you did just sit in a cramped stall listening to my pitiful ass crying over an asshole,” Angel says suggestively, “...and you sound kinda... hot.” Bask balks, totally not expecting that. “And, I’m not just like... saying that. You are probably one of the nicest guys I’ve met in a long time. I wouldn’t mind to, you know....”

A beat of silence passes before Angel starts stammering. “Shit, did I make it awkward? J-just forget I said anything...!”

“...I wouldn’t mind either,” Bask says before he has time to rethink his decision.

“I- wait, really?”

“...If you were... being serious, then yes.”

There’s another beat of silence before there’s some shuffling on the other side. “Well, then let’s see what you’re packing~” Bask can almost hear the smirk in Angel’s voice. Almost comically, tanned fingers poke out of Bask’s side of the glory hole, wriggling around to try to feel for something. He can’t help but laugh at the sheer comedy of it. Still, he doesn’t take long to unzip his pants and move closer to the wall.

The warm fingers press against the front of Bask’s boxers, feeling up the growing bulge beginning to strain against the cloth. Angel gasps lightly, unable to stop himself from squeaking out, “Y-You’re so big, what the fuck?! No fair...” Bask laughs to himself, his surprised comment somewhat endearing to him. “You wanted to see what I’m packing.”

“Yeah, and I didn’t think it was a whole ass rocket launcher!” Angel huffs, “j-just get it in here already!” Pulling down his briefs, hissing lightly at the cool air hitting his half-erection, Bask strokes himself a few times before threading it through the hole. Warm palms wrap around the shaft, caressing as it twitches in the firm grip. He groans deeply, any lingering embarrassment about the situation shoved to the back of his mind. His knees buckle slightly at the shock of feeling a slick warm tongue lap at the tender head, flicking at the underside and swirling at the tip.

“Gods, your tongue...” Bask pants, arousal making his mind go hazy with nothing but the thought of Angel. He lets out a rumbling moan as Angel takes him into his mouth, slowly bobbing up and down the shaft. Angel strains to take in as much as he could, though Bask is much bigger than anything he had taken in recently. The thought of taking this beast completely inside made his own erection twitch within his pants. Angel lets go of his dick with a loud pop, smirking as he hears Bask groan with a “Fuck...”

Bask’s brows shoot up to the sky as he hears the sound of clothes rustling in Angel’s stall. “What are you...”

“Hey, do you have any condoms? I mean, you’re cool and all, but we did just meet, you know...”

“...I do,” Bask replies awkwardly, remembering that Cheri had slipped in some cherry flavored ones. “Just in case,” she winked as he sighed in defeat. He pulls back, waddling awkwardly to dig out a condom from his pocket. He fumbles with the packaging as soft moaning comes from the other side. Angel may be a bit too eager with his fingering to do a proper job, but it’s not like this is his first time at the rodeo.

Bask threads his dick through the hole once more, now encased in a bright red condom. Angel snorts a bit. “Cherry flavored?” he teases. Bask grumbles out, “a friend gave it to me.” A laugh, the same one that made the dragon’s heart skip a beat. “Well, they have good taste, I’ll give them that.”

There’s a sharp inhale as Bask feels the tip prod against something and slowly slide into a suffocating warmth. Both let out shaky moans and curses, Angel slowly letting himself get adjusted to the large size. Angel groans in frustration, feeling the stall wall stopping him from completely taking in the full length. “B-Bask, you can move now.” There’s another sharp inhale as Bask pulls his hips slightly, and a loud moan as he snaps it back in.

Though the wall between them stopped their bodies from connecting, the creaking and rattling of the stalls mixing with the sounds of their moans and grunting made everything much sexier. Bask steadies himself by placing his hands on opposite ends of the stall, wishing that it was Angel’s body he could hold onto instead. Angel on the other side, was desperately trying to push himself back against the wall to take Bask in deeper, wishing that there wasn’t a wall between them.

Bask’s movement grows faster and deeper, and Angel presses his hands against the opposite wall, throwing his head back and arching his back with every thrust. He starts moaning out Bask’s name, breathlessly at first, then growing to a chant. His ass might be sore tomorrow, but gods if he wasn’t enjoying himself right now. He hoped Bask was too.

“B-Bask! I’m- fuck!” Bask grunts out Angel’s name as he feels him clenched tightly around his cock. The stall walls rattle with the force of his last thrust before he cums.

“T-That was...”

“...Indeed...”

They laugh quietly. Bask pulls back to clean himself up and allow Angel to recompose himself.

Just then, the outside door slams open. “WHO locked the DAMN door?! There are PAYING customers that have been waiting for HOURS!” a shrill angry voice boomed. Bask and Angel quickly stuff their clothes back on. “S-Sorry, I was taking a big shit...” Angel squeaks out.

“...Ugh, it does smell. Well, FINE! Just hurry it up!” the door closes shut once more. “...I um... I should probably...”

“Yeah, we should...”

The door locks click and slowly creak open as the two step out of the stalls. They stare at each other, breaths taken back by seeing each other for the first time. No wonder he was bigger than anything he ever had, Angel thought, because he’s only ever been with other humans, not a monster. Bask can’t help but think that Angel’s name suits him. He was stunning, almost angelic to him.

“Um... It was nice to meet you... and your uh... dick,” Angel says awkwardly. “Same... You and... your ass, I mean...”

“...We should probably wash our hands.”

“...That’s probably, yes.”

‘Fuck it,’ thought Bask, thought just as he opens his mouth to ask, Angel beats him to it.

“Do you... wanna get out of here and grab a coffee somewhere?”

“...I would like that.”

[writethehousedown]

umbrella. (Jackie/Jan) -- meggie

A/N: Hello hi. This is from the teachers!AU universe, but it focuses on two of the students instead. (A concept.) Y’all know I’m in love with Jan by now, so of course, I was going to include her. This is also a response to a prompt I got a couple of weeks ago from an Anon (Jackie/Jan, “let me take you home”).

Thank you, Mia, for looking over this, and THANK YOU, MAC, for my Cameo from Jan!!! It was exactly what I needed for inspiration for life. Love you both big big big.

Let me know what you think! I’m @janssports

Jan is walking home from school in the rain when it finally happens.

Her umbrella has been on its last legs for some time now, the metal skeleton underbelly warped just enough to make it a little bit floppy on the backside, but Jan doesn’t care, because it’s her favorite umbrella and it was the last gift she got from her grandmother before she passed five years ago and she’s been hesitant to replace it because that would feel like replacing Nanny and Jan isn’t quite ready to do that yet.

Anyway.

But she’s walking home from school, purple polka dotted umbrella held aloft, every once in a while tilting her head up to the sky to let the drops of moisture fall on her skin when there’s a gust of wind that catches her umbrella in just the wrong way and the whole thing collapses on her head.

“Well, fuck,” she mutters, the curse word heavy and unfamiliar in her mouth. It’s pouring now, and she’s been standing there, contemplating the demise of her poor umbrella for a mere 20 seconds and she’s already soaked. And she still has quite a way to go until she gets home.

She could have ridden the bus, like she usually does on rainy days, but it had just been sprinkling when school let out, and sometimes she likes to walk in the light rain; it clears her head, letting her recenter after her day at school. Especially with her umbrella from Nanny in her hands. It’s almost like they’re having a conversation. Almost like she can hear the woman’s voice in her head giving her advice, telling her what she needs to know.

“Guess that’s over now.” Jan twists the umbrella in her hand, looking for any redemptive qualities although she knows that it’s too far gone to be saved. She has other umbrellas: her parents have bought her umbrellas for the last two Christmases, ever since her cousin Rose stepped on the umbrella and caused the first flaw. But this one feels special, sentimental. She can’t just give up on it.

She trudges on, the rain cold as it trickles down her back in rivulets, and Jan shudders a little. The light cardigan she’d wrapped herself in before leaving the house this morning is doing very little to keep her warm now. It doesn’t wick the water away from her skin at all; it feels something like wearing a wet towel draped over her shoulders.

She’s miserable, on the verge of tears, and positive that all the homework in her bag is going to be ruined when a silver car slows on the road beside her.

Jan puts her head down and keeps walking. This isn’t the first time a creepy guy has stopped and asked to give her a ride, and while she may look naive and dumb, she listens to far too many true crime podcasts to fall for that helpful nice guy nonsense.

“Hey, Jan!” The voice is female and almost drowned out by the driving rain, but she ignores it just the same. So what if they know her name?

“You’re Jan, right?” The voice calls to her again, and this time (mostly out of curiosity), Jan turns her head to look.

“Hey!” Jackie Cox waves her over upon making eye contact. “Oh my god, girl, get in the car. It’s pouring!”

Jan knows Jackie. Well. She doesn’t know her, but she knows of her. (She’s always admired her a little.) Plus Brianna is friends with Jackie (as vice president, Jackie is heir apparent to Brianna’s student body presidency) and Jan and Brianna are close. So she guesses that makes her friends by proxy with Jackie, which is more than reason enough for Jan to consider accepting a ride.

She must be hesitating for far too long because Jackie waves to her again. “Come on. Let me take you home?”

The facts were, as Jan saw them, fairly straight forward: Jackie was probably not a serial killer. If she was, then she managed to organize her day in a way that Jan envied, because not only was Jackie involved in student council, but she also started on the girls’ lacrosse team, served as secretary of the history club, and had the highest grade point average in the junior class.

So yes. Jan knew Jackie, admired her even, and if Brianna trusted her, it was probably okay for Jan to do the same.

So she quirks her lips to the side, shakes out her stringy, sopping hair, and jogs to the side of the car.

Once she’s settled, Jan shoves her poor broken umbrella in the side pocket of her backpack and studies the interior of the car. It’s pristine, as she would have guessed. Jackie is not a messy kind of person; she’s meticulous and careful and perfect. It’s another reason Jan has always been a little bit fascinated with her. Jackie is, truly, everything Jan wishes she was.

“Oh, here.” Jackie reaches over to the center console and twists knobs until the heat blasts on Jan’s feet. “God, you must be freezing. What are you doing walking in this mess?”

“My umbrella broke,” Jan offers feebly. “And I kind of didn’t know how to react. I…” She sighs. “It’s dumb, and it’s just an umbrella, but it means a lot.”

Jackie nods, but doesn’t look convinced. “Just tell me where I’m going, okay?”

“Straight until Sinclair,” Jan says, tucking her hands under her thighs. “Your car’s going to be trashed. I’m so sorry.”

Jackie brushes her off with a wave of her hand. “No biggie. Besides, I’d rather have a messy car than have you get pneumonia out there. What are you doing walking in all this rain?”

Jan shrugs. “I like walking. Gives me time to think. Plus it’s good exercise. Good for the lung capacity.” She hates herself in this instant. Wishes she could take back everything she’s said since Jackie picked her up.

“Oh yeah!” Jackie nods. “You’re really into show choir, aren’t you? Like the main soloist or whatever.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Jan’s cheeks burn hot and she ducks her head. “I mean, we don’t really have a ‘main soloist,’ but Ms. Act has been really nice to give me some solos this year.”

“Most solos from what I’ve heard,” Jackie tacks on quickly. “But anyway.” 

“Yeah.” 

Jan wonders for a brief moment how exactly Jackie knows that she’s been given more than one solo this year. Logically, she just assumes that Brianna has mentioned it. But the girl never gives Jan information about Jackie or Kameron or really any of her other friends that Jan doesn’t know very well. 

“So where am I going now?”

Lost in her thoughts, Jan has completely missed the fact that they’ve turned onto Sinclair, so she gestures wildly with her right hand. “Just straight. I live off Upton, so it’s a few more blocks.”

Jackie snickers. “Upton and Sinclair.”

“Yeah, I know.” She rolls her eyes. “I think that’s half the reason my dad bought the house in the first place. He calls the house The Jungle, which is just… It’s so stupid.” Why is she still talking?

“No!” Jackie insists. “I think it’s cute.”

Silence descends on them once more, and Jan watches house after house pass by, still wondering how exactly Jan knows things about her.

You’ll never find out until you just ask, she practically hears her nanny’s voice in her head.

So despite her instincts to just shut the hell up, Jan clears her throat. “You, umm. You pay attention to the show choir? I thought most people just made fun of us.”

Jackie’s mouth falls open. “Oh my god, why? That’s awful.”

Jan shrugs. “I mean, it’s not like we’re that good.”

“Now that Ms. Act’s taken over, you guys are pretty good,” the other girl says. “And since you started getting the solos.”

Jan blushes again, tells herself it’s just the blast of the car’s heater, and not the way that Jackie keeps looking over at her and smiling that tiny, genuine smile that kind of makes Jan burn hot all over.

It’s definitely the heater.

She shifts uncomfortably in her seat. “I’m the fourth house on the left,” she mutters quietly, pointing at the towering brick structure as the car pulls closer.

Jackie drives around the cul-de-sac and parks just in front of Jan’s house. “Here you go,” she says brightly. “Still damp, but… Maybe not as wet as you would have been.”

Jan blushes harder and reaches for the door handle. “Thank you,” she says sincerely. “Seriously. I can’t imagine what that walk would have been like if you hadn’t come along.”

“Wet,” Jackie deadpans, then smiles that radiant, lovely grin over at her. 

Jan giggles. “You’re right. Well. Thanks again.” She gathers her backpack, tugs on the handle, and has just stepped onto the sidewalk after closing the door when she hears the power window roll down.

“I’ll see you around school, yeah?” Jackie asks, her voice full of optimism and (Jan could totally be misreading this) hope. (She thinks it’s hope. It really sounds like hope. She really hopes it’s hope.)

“I’d love that,” Jan says and smiles.

She stands on the stoop and watches the tail lights of the car until they disappear from view.

***

Jackie’s waiting for Jan at her locker between second and third period the next morning, a pale purple gift bag dangling from her hand.

“Hey!” She waves as she steps aside, allowing Jan access to her locker. “Sorry, god, this is really creepy. It really wasn’t this creepy when I thought it out in my head.”

Jan shakes her head. “It’s not creepy. I guess Brianna told you where my locker was?”

“Correct,” Jan says. “I just wanted to give you this.” She holds out the bag to Jan and bounces a little.

Jan pulls the bag open and glances inside. It’s her broken umbrella. But it looks slightly… Less broken.

“Did you fix it?” Jan asks incredulously. “I thought it was totally wrecked.”

Jackie nods. “Well, it was a challenge. But my mom helped me. She’s pretty handy. I don’t know. I found it in my car, noticed it was broken and… It seemed like it was really important to you.”

“It is.” Jan lunges forward and captures Jackie in a tight hug. “Thank you.”

“No biggie.” Jackie shrugs. “Really. It was a pleasure.”

Jan could be imagining it, but she could swear that Jackie blushes a little as she smiles at her. 

[hyperfixationspam]

jonmartin voice requests transcript

i don’t think anybody’s made a transcript of the requests from the gaming & giving stream yet so here it is. i cut out the first few minutes where they’re just getting ready and a few minutes at the end, but otherwise it’s the full thing

ALEX (out of character): So, we are going to be going through a bunch of reads which are what people have been, basically providing us to say. I’ve not seen these beyond checking that I can open the document, so this is sort of, a bit of a blind read on my end.

JONNY: I’ve read through some of them and they are awful.

ALEX: (laughing) Fabulous. Great. So with that in mind, I’m now opening it up. Um... okay, cool, so for the first one, you- I need to interrupt you. (frustrated) Oh, fine.

JONNY: Okay, so this is from donut_bridgetrose. (spooky voice) The Magnus Archives is a podcast-

ALEX (ooc, very loud and overenthusiastic): FUCK, DUDE! YEAH IT SURE IS!

(Jonny starts laughing out of shock)

ALEX: I thought that was an appropriate level of enthusiasm.

JONNY: (laughing) Sorry, I didn’t expect you to put quite so much pepper on that one!

ALEX: I mean, I don’t know what to say like-

JONNY: No, fair enough, fair enough.

ALEX: I’m just reading with (???) intent. I’m up next, who’s this one from?

JONNY: Uh, reatx.

ALEX: Okay, given the writing of this one, I’m going to assume this is actually intended as a Martin one, not an Alex one, so I’ll do it as such. (clears throat to do Martin voice, disappointed tone) Jon, please j-just stop reheating tea in the microwave!

JONNY: The next one is from sofairycakes. Again, I’m gonna assume it’s a- like, I think these are all pretty much JonMartin ones, to be honest. I don’t think anyone’s actually said- the thing is, Alex, I don’t think anyone actually cares what *we* say.

ALEX: (laughs) That’s true. So I think we need to do this one like-

JONNY: No one’s paying to have, like, Alexander J. Newall say something, you know?

ALEX: It’s fine, I’ll pay me. Okay, I think we have to do this simultaneously.

JONNY: Yeah, because it says “both.” Or... let’s- do you want to go first?

ALEX: I don’t know if it is- no, let’s say it together, let’s say it together. Let’s try and sync up.

JONNY: I don’t- I don’t think they want it simultaneously. I think what this means is they don’t mind which one’s which.

ALEX: Very well, in which case then, I’ll go first.

JONNY: Okay.

ALEX: And I’ll do it as a Martin one, then. (clears throat, Martin voice, soft) I-I’ll take care of you.

JONNY (Archivist): (hoarse, upset voice) It’s rotten work.

ALEX (Martin): Not to me. Not if it’s you. (ooc) There you go.

JONNY: Okay. Ac3yspac3y-

(Alex laughs)

JONNY: Or, ace 3 space 3.

ALEX: Okay, great.

JONNY: (clears throat)

ALEX: Yeah, really get the-

JONNY (ooc, looking straight at the camera): Four rats in a trench coat is the best Peter Lukas, and we love him.

ALEX: (laughs) Direct to camera address, very nice, okay. (as Martin) Jon, why isn’t Lonely Eyes *our* ship name? (ooc) Who was that from, by the way?

JONNY: That was from compostwitch. Next one is from theoceaninmotion, there’s a whole bunch for you.

ALEX: Ooh, yeah. Oh, my formatting’s terrible, I’m gonna do the unspeakable, I’m now just gonna start looking at the text instead of your face. (computer screen shines in his eyes) Ooh, that’s bright, maybe not, maybe not. Okay, gimme a second to just mess with my formatting because I can’t see nothing.

JONNY: There’s very little like streaming to make you realize quite how absurdly pale you are after a year of just being inside.

ALEX: Outside is bad time. Right, okay, I’m gonna give this a go, then. Forgive me if I hesitate here, I’ll do my best. (clears throat) No, don’t-

JONNY: This is from- sorry. This is from theoceaninmotion.

ALEX (Martin): No, don’t click- Peter, just-just give me your phone, I’ll get the emojis set up, but I-I *refuse* to help you understand Elias’s texts any further from here. There are just some things I don’t need to know! (grossed out noise)

JONNY: This is from joeytwoeyes.

ALEX: I’m gonna assume Martin as well. (as Martin) Mm, assassins killing Elias? My favorite!

JONNY: This one is from nagev.

ALEX: Uhh. Alright, I think this one might be for me, like not a Martin one. (deep sigh) Harrison Campbell is my favorite author.

JONNY: This is one for me from riotcontrolcamp. (as the Archivist) Sometimes people will ask me about my life aspirations and I’m like, I don’t know, I thought I’d be in a car with my hand out of the tail light by now.

ALEX: (laughs) I like that one.

JONNY: This one’s from Cassidy.

ALEX (Martin): Forgive and forget? (very quickly shifts into a hysterical voice that’s very much not Martin’s) No! Resent and remember! (cackles evilly)

JONNY: From cucumberkale, this is a two hander.

ALEX: Oh, yeah, I’m first. (as Martin) I have done nothing wrong ever, on my life.

JONNY (Archivist): I know this and I love you. (ooc) Good little Parks and Rec reference there.

ALEX: Oh, yeah!

JONNY: From the bluescapegoat.

ALEX (Martin, mischievous): Jon, uh, did you hear about the explosion at the cheese shop?

JONNY (Archivist): What? What cheese shop?

ALEX: (wiggling eyebrows) Yeah, da brie [debris] was everywhere.

JONNY: (deep sigh) This apocalypse has officially gone on for too long. (ooc) This is from alfcommittingcrimes.

ALEX: (laughs) (as Martin) Hello, Jon. Apologies for the deception, but I would like to remind you I love you. (laughs)

JONNY: Aww.

ALEX: Cute reference.

JONNY: Um, this one’s from Monty. This isn’t actually-

ALEX: This is more of an instruction.

JONNY: They haven’t scripted anything, yeah. Um, okay. (as the Archivist) Martin, I’m very sorry for ever saying that I hated your tea.

ALEX (Martin): It’s okay. Some things are more important than tea. (ooc) There you go. I thought I’d go sincere-

JONNY (ooc): Oh no! Martin’s been replaced! (Alex laughs) Anyways, this one is from tomakeitworse and it’s for you, Alex. Well, as Martin, not as you.

ALEX (ooc): I mean it’s wrong, but okay. (as Martin) Oolong is the best tea.

JONNY: From shikashaman. (statement voice) Statement of Benedict Avalanche regarding clown milk. Statement begins. Honk.

ALEX: (laughing) I think that’s a call back to earlier this stream, so. (makes ok symbol) Very class act.

JONNY (ooc): One from ladymystree for me. (Sasha giggling in the background)

ALEX: I’m hearing giggling on your end, I think someone’s enjoying themself.

JONNY: No, it’s fine. They’re doing a cryptic crossword and I’m sure they’ve just stumbled across a-

ALEX: It’s really cryptic. Really cryptic. Yeah, it’s a cryptic giggle, alright. Carry on, then.

JONNY (Archivist): Ceaseless Watcher, evict this feline, Her Serene Highness The Empress Nyx from out of the *goddamn* Christmas tree.

ALEX: (laughing) I like that one.

JONNY (ooc): This is from myth_ac. (as the Archivist) Martin and I have this connection where we finish each other’s-

ALEX (Martin): Sentences!

JONNY (Archivist): Don’t interrupt me.

ALEX (ooc): (laughs) I quite like that one as well.

JONNY (ooc): Yeah, I don’t know what that one’s from, I recognise it. But it’s, uh, redderie. (as the Archivist) I’ve been asked why I changed my opinion on poetry. I do not know this. This information is unattainable such as it is. Not even my endless resources could solve such a mystery. No, I did not fall in love with a poet on purpose, next question. (Alex laughs) (ooc) This one’s from coinmaster. Uh, and it’s for you, Alex.

ALEX (Martin): Thank you so much for asking, Jon. My ideal date, uh, would be getting home after a long day, curling up next to a roaring fire and listening to Rusty Quill Gaming. It’s-it’s a podcast, it’s distributed by Rusty Quill.

JONNY (Archivist): Oh, yes, I’ve heard of it. It’s not very good. (roasting) Ohhhh!

ALEX: But it does have a Creative Commons attribution non-commercial sharealike 4.0 international license, so that’s quite cool, too. (ooc) (laughs) I may have riffed there, I apologise.

JONNY (ooc): It’s fine, it’s fine. We’ve said what they’ve asked us to say, anything additional is- that’s bonus. (Alex laughs) This one is from mstars, for me to read in statement voice.

ALEX: Oh! (laughs hysterically, tries to compose himself)

JONNY (statement voice): Why are you so far away in Galactonium? Hey, won’t you save me? Hold me, maybe? I just want to be your little clone baby.

ALEX: (laughs) And that’s in my head for the rest of the day.

JONNY (ooc): This is for you. I refuse to listen to it. I’ve- too many people have told me it’s good. Which means that-

ALEX: Automatically, yeah. Understood.

JONNY: Well, no, it’s just, like- I don’t want it stuck in my head. I’m aware, if I listen to it, it’s in my head forever, and I can’t risk that.

ALEX: You don’t want him- you don’t want Tim getting- well, Tim and Ben, you don’t want them living rent free there.

JONNY: They can’t win!

ALEX: Understood. Okay, in that case, then. (as Martin) Sorry, Elias, I can’t hear you, there’s a panopticon in the way! (ooc) Fair.

JONNY: One from b_ees. Another for you.

(TheBrothersMeredith in the chat: Coward)

ALEX: Oh no.

JONNY: Mm-hm.

ALEX (Martin): (grunt) I’m trying to sneak around in the Lonely, but I’m-I’m dummy thicc and the clap of my ass cheeks just- it keeps alerting the Eye!

JONNY: One from thequack04. (as the Archivist) I have had a very long day, I am very small, and I have no money, so you can imagine the stress I’m under. Square brackets this is a John Mulaney quote close square brackets. (Alex laughs) (ooc) One for you. Uh, from misssunflower94.

ALEX (ooc): I’m gonna assume this is for actually me.

JONNY: No, I think it is for Martin, because remember, Martin’s opinions on poetry.

ALEX: Uh, no, fair, actually, no, I take that back. You are correct, you are correct. (as Martin) I don’t know, I just- I’ve always found Oscar Wilde to just be a bit... overrated?

JONNY: One for me, from awildmeerie. (as the Archivist) Hello demons, it’s me, ya boy. (Alex laughs) (ooc) Um, (stumbles over the name) emperiocism. Sorry for that, emperiocism. Can Jonny sing/speak in his most serious Archivist voice? (serious Archivist voice, speaking) Now, this is a story all about how my life got flipped turned upside down, and I’d like to take a minute, just sit right there, I’ll tell you how I became the prince of a town called Bel Air.

ALEX: Oh, don’t- (incomprehensible frustrated noises) god.

JONNY (ooc): From marsmagnusandkbouchard, this is for you.

ALEX (Martin): (very angry) Fuck being the bigger person, I’m just- (feral) I’m just gonna start biting people!

JONNY: Excellent. One for both of us from zestymayos92.

ALEX (ooc): (laughing, tries to compose himself) (as Martin) The world ended, and that is super not poggers.

JONNY (Archivist): You’re right, Martin, very not poggers indeed. (ooc) One from catskeleton for you.

ALEX (ooc): That’s just- oh. (as Martin) Roses are red, violets are blue. I’m definitely not a ghost, and Jon, I love you.

JONNY: I have a really difficult one- this anonymous one is difficult because it says “in the style of Sailor Moon” and I’ve not seen many anime, um, animi, sorry, in my life.

ALEX (ooc): The plural is anipodes.

JONNY: And Sailor Moon is not one, so I have no idea what-

ALEX: As far as I am aware, if you want to do it representatively, your clothes need to fly off in a large elaborate explosion and be replaced with some kind of dress-based armor. But that may not be feasible.

JONNY (Archivist): (very awkward) I am the pretty Avatar who fights for the Eye and for knowledge! I am the Archivist, and now, in the name of the Ceaseless Watcher, I’ll punish you! (ooc) I... I don’t know.

ALEX: I think that might have been actually pretty decently close. It’s been a few years since I watched a Sailor Moon, so don’t hold me to that though.

JONNY: I’ve only ever seen silent gifs on... your Tumblrs or your Twitters. Anyways, this is from theraccoonfriend. (as the Archivist) Get out of my swamp. (ooc) Uh, from Kath, for you, Alex.

ALEX (Martin): I’m fine! Stop asking!

JONNY: From sunnyjordie, for you, Alex.

ALEX (Martin): Hey, would you help me out? I’m very gay and a few- and I’d like a few dollars. (ooc) I’m gonna do that again, I think I screwed it up. (as Martin) Hey, would you help me out? I’m very gay and I’d like a few dollars.

JONNY: Square brackets this is a John Mulaney-

ALEX (Martin): Square brackets this is a John Mulaney quote close square brackets.

JONNY: Um, from Linothy, for both.

ALEX (Martin): Please, pleeeease stop drinking tea by just putting the bag in your mouth and just chugging hot water.

JONNY (Archivist): I’m *cultured*, Martin. (ooc) And dang3rgrang3r, or dang 3er grang 3er. Uh, for both.

ALEX (Martin): God, Jon, why don’t you ever wear your own clothes?

JONNY (Archivist): I like your sweater! It makes me feel...

ALEX (Martin): It makes you feel like a thief!

JONNY (Archivist): No, it makes me feel *safe*.

ALEX (Martin): Aww, Jon...

JONNY (ooc): One from voidbean.

ALEX (Martin): I’m sorry, you were STABBED??

JONNY (Archivist): *Lightly* stabbed, I didn’t want to frighten you. (ooc) I think that’s a Brooklyn 99 one.

ALEX (ooc): Yeah, so do I, actually.

JONNY: Sarafifi24.

ALEX (Martin): Press X to pay respects.

JONNY: So from alfcommittingvoicecrimes, they’ve asked “sing chorus of Pump Shanty.” And the thing is, if you want to hear me singing the chorus of Pump Shanty, that is available on Bandcamp, Youtube, and Spotify. So, Alex, why don’t you do it?

ALEX (ooc): Okay, I have no idea so I’m gonna take a random stab in the dark.

JONNY: I’m very excited to hear it.

ALEX: With a tune that doesn’t even scan in terms of meter.

JONNY: No, like just- it’s a folk tune so just sing it like a folk. Sing it to an old folk tune.

ALEX: ...Yes.

JONNY: You know, an old folk tune.

ALEX: (to a tune that’s definitely not Pump Shanty) Pump me boys, let’s a-fly, down to hell and up to the sky. Bend your backs and break your bones, we’re just a million miles from home. (cringing) I have no idea what that should be-

JONNY: (trying not to laugh) Brilliant. No, that was it. You got it.

ALEX: Oh, wicked. I was worried for a moment.

JONNY: No, that was... uncanny, to be honest. We’ve got a few more that are from Nobles donations, so these don’t have specific donor names, so we can just go back and forth.

ALEX: The first one’s as Wilde. (as Wilde) I am so clever that sometimes I don’t understand a single word of what I’m saying.

JONNY (Archivist?): Blartin, that is, Paul Blartin Martin Cop is on his segue and eye ass Jon is sitting on the handlebars. He is facing Blartin in a koala-esque embrace which is not quite an embrace but rather for structural support. His ass eyes are out and alert. He knows all. Petty theft perishes under their collaborative iron fist.

ALEX: (laughing incredulously) Okay!

JONNY (ooc): Do you want to do this one? I think- yeah.

ALEX: Okay, okay, sure. (deep breath, as Martin) Hey, you can do this. It’s been really, really rough, but you can do this.

JONNY (Archivist): Working at the Magnus Institute was like a four year game show called “Do my friends hate me or do I just need to go to sleep?” but instead of winning money, you lose your bloody soul. (ooc) Okay. (as the Archivist) You’re a child, an infant. Your mocking is thus infantile. He’s not my boyfriend. This man is more to me than you could dream. He’s the moon when I’m lost in darkness and warmth when I shiver in cold, and his kiss still thrills me after a millennia. His heart overflows with the kindness of which this world is not worth of. I love this man beyond measure and reason. He’s not my boyfriend, he is all and he is more.

ALEX (Martin): You’re an incurable romantic.

JONNY (Archivist): (next request) He thinks I don’t notice, but the bodies in the hallway speak a clear language. Death is all around us, no one is safe. The signs all point in one direction: Martin’s totally sus.

ALEX (Martin): (noises of disbelief) O-okay, come on, I am innocent! How could you even think that??

JONNY: Martin was ejected.

ALEX (ooc): (laughs) I think that’s it.

JONNY: Yeah, I think that’s the list.

[juniebjoneswrites]

Bring Me Home // Harry Styles

Acceptance (1)

My eyes are closed and my whole body is tingling like I left it for too long in a nightmare and it's finally waking up slow and groggy.  I'm surrounded suddenly by cold winter air as a door opens. Someone in the distance calls my name but I can't dig myself back up to reach them. My toes wiggle and dance with the dirt in my sandals and I reach for that feeling. My arms cover my chest, stopping the cold from hitting my wet bathing suit and I can't help but wonder if this is what he felt like, it must have been cold. Wet and cold, with the ocean spraying sand and foam.

"June?" My eyes flutter open. The broken, fluorescent bulbs of a gas station throw sickly, yellowing shadows over my sister. I look around and the only door I'm in front of is the freezer section. The frozen single-serve pizzas are staring back at me sadly.

I look down at her hands and see the Powerade she grabbed, bags of chips, and a gallon of water. "I'm back," I say slowly. I grab the water, becoming fully aware of my cottonmouth. Taking big gulps I think of my brief and tragic winter vaca hallucination and remember it was definitely summer. Guzzling this water as if it were from the Tuck Everlasting spring itself and I'd live forever, I glance at the aisle mirror. Unfortunately for this man I caught him staring at my sister and I. I cap the jug and hand it back to her, "go pay."

I  turn my back, heading to the corner where his aisle and mine meet. "What's up?" I ask bluntly, "Do you usually creep on scantily clad women who're minding their business?" getting to him I realize how I shrink in his presence and the tiredness his face holds. And there was something else.. Familiarity.

He looks uncomfortable, "Was just making sure you weren't dead on your feet," he smiles nervously, "I tried to chat with you before your friend came in but you didn't respond."

I squint my eyes, if they weren't so glossy and my head didn't feel like it belonged underwater then maybe I could have placed him. But alas, like offerings to Xibalba, the stars were not in position for this tribute. Aka me. I again cross my arms and let out an "mhm." Angrily plucking a snack from his hand and walking away, I'm very aware of how many he can hold in the same hand as his bottled water.

I want to ask my sister if listening to all those true crime podcasts have done nothing for her since she's waiting for me in the darkened parking lot. But I figure the wrong place, wrong time. The lot is riddled with potholes and faded paint and there's usually one kid hanging around the outskirts, seemingly waiting for someone. She tosses me the Powerade and some Visine eye drops. "That bad?" I ask.

"They're as bad as your sunburned ass," she laughs, I shrug. We can't win them all.

We cross the deserted street to the ocean where the fire is blazing and our six closest friends are waiting for us. The waves lap the shoreline and the moon shines high above like a nightlight I had once wanted to kiss, but now holds my secrets. I disliked the dark, but I dislike the heavy stare the  moon now follows me with even more. I heard laughing, crackling fire, and the subtle sounds of a playlist through speakers. I could almost forget why we were there. I vaguely register a car driving off as my sister takes my hand.

 "Is it time?" she asks, standing near the fire. Sam gets up from a log, shakes his brown curls from his face and stands at the shore line. Craning his neck upwards he checks the moon's position. Just this once I wished it would close it's eye. He makes a sound that seems like a "yes," as it struggles to leave his throat and I can't tell if it's from the angle of his neck or the emotions of what we're here to do.

Sam grabs the box and we walk to the boat they probably used in the Notebook. We row over to the crag of ocean rocks that leads to a trail up a cliffside. No one speaks. I can feel a wetness coming over my cheeks that I'm certain had nothing to do with the ocean spray. We tie the boat to a tree and move up the cliff. I will my sandals to corporate and keep me right but that's like asking seaweed to keep the shark steady so I let the cliff wall guid me instead. Slowly the rocks and granite turn to dirt, and grass and I know we made it to the top. From this point, the moon sits perfectly centered over the cliff's edge. I can feel the choices we've made and how this is completely and utterly the best one.

I hear laughter again, feel the excitement, the friendship. However this time it's not something any passing person would see. It's a memory of many times that had come before and many times that would not come again. We open the box. A small blue and silver ceramic pot sits inside. Sam pulls it out, walks over to the edge and pours a little in his hand. He tosses his brother's ashes into the sea that took him. The final middle finger Elijah would have given if he had been alive to do so. Except if he was alive he could give two and I know one would be for me. I close my eyes as he throws the rest.

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

That beach and gas station were still part of our stomping grounds, but that summer it was less frequent and we spent more time cuddled on couches and wandering graveyards. Death will make you do strange things. Guilt will make you do stranger. I watched days, weeks, even months blur together until finally it felt like the fever broke and I woke up. Fall feels like a rebirth, a brief moment of clarity before winter asks if that's what you really want. I dress and drive to the gas station.

 Turning off my car I can feel the cool wind coming from the shoreline. Walking to the waves I crane my neck the way Sam did and wish for the moon above me. I need to know what it saw. The ocean spray cools my body and nerves while waves kick sand on my boots. I stand there listening to the crashing for some time before someone pulls me from my depths.

I turn around to see the gas station worker, he waves. "Where did you kids go?" he calls over the crashing. "I thought you forgot about old Seb," he chuckles as he walks to meet me. "Was worried something happened,"

 "Something did... happen," I reply. He frowns, understanding my emphasis. "Yeah," I say heavily. I start walking away, I want to go to the cliffs. He stops me.

 "You know that guy came back a few nights later," he pauses, "he was looking for you. Said something like wanting 'to make sure that girl was alright,'" he pauses. "It took me a minute to realize he was talking about you. He said you looked sad," I must look confused because he fumbles on, "uh.. he uh was there the last night you and your friends were here...." he trails off, gesturing to the shore, "tall, dark hair, had an accent."

I trace that night back to it's beginning when a memory hits. Oh. Now, how does one tell Mr. Harry Styles, "Sorry about last night, it's just that I was sad and angry and had to spread my friends ashes"? Because unlike John Mulaney I haven't lost the best excuse I have.

"Has he been back since?" I ask.

 "Only once," he replies.

I smile a smile that has stopped reaching my eyes and pat his arm as I walk away, "Thanks, Seb." I say. I make it a few yards before he calls again.

"Oh! I gave him your name," I hear the triumph in his voice. Seb wasn't always the best for remembering. He's getting older and lost his wife a few years back.They ran the station together but ever since she passed it's just been him. We told him to hire help, even to hire one of us since that was our go-to snack shop when we're at the beach. However, he's a stubborn man and refuses the help he doesn't think he needs. I turn around to see him smile his wide, goofy smile and for a brief moment I'm happy with him.

"Did you now?" I ask playfully, "Then why hasn't my mysterious man found me yet?"

He shrugs, "Maybe just waiting for the right time, or to find you at my shop again," he smiles wide.

"Maybe," I respond, "I guess I'll have to come around more," I start walking away but suddenly I turn on my heels, as if forced by unseen hands, "Maybe instead, Seb, you could hire me? Increase my chances at seeing him."

He pauses to think. I know he thinks he doesn't need help, but I know he does and I need to help someone since I can't help myself. Or maybe I'm a masochist. Or maybe if I can meet my "mystery" man I'd have a break from this nightmare.

He sighs and walks over, "Well I guess it would be okay, since it's for love and all,"

I almost kiss him. "You're one lucky man, Seb." I put my arm around his shoulder, facing his station, and wave it in an arch like we were imagining a better world, "With my help we might even fix those potholes." He laughs and I lead him back to the station to fill out my paperwork.

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

I never make it to the cliffs, I end up helping Seb well into the night. When I pull up to my apartment I see my sister's car in a guest spot. I sigh heavily, taking a long drink of my melted slushie and make my way inside. She's asleep on my couch with reruns of the Golden Girls playing and a plate of uneaten food on the coffee table.

She wakes as I sit on the floor between her and the table and pick at the food. "Where were you?" she asks.

"I got a job working for Seb," I hold up the slushie.

"What? He actually hired you?" she half sits up, "What kind?"

I stick out my blue tongue and she lays back down in disgust. She likes the red. "Yes, Jo, my sweet talking is good for more than drinks in a bar," I say dryly.

"Well maybe you can get him to have better snacks," she opens the covers for me to join her. I crawl under the blankets with my big sister like I'm a child again and hope the protection she offers will keep my dreams at bay. But like many sailors and ships lost to its melody of waves, the siren sea calls me back.

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