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eldritchqueerture · 3 years

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Hello! This is a project for @summer-in-the-archives-event that I worked on with @horizonindigo! We came up with the idea together and based our individual works around the poem I wrote, included in the fic. You can find their absolutely amazing art here!!

I freaking loved working on this one and I got more and more excited as we progressed. I also surprised myself with the poem itself a bit, definitely didn’t expect it to end up quite as cool, if I may say so myself. It was incredibly fun to write.

Big shoutout to @sunflowers-and-frogs for beta reading, I love you bestie <3

I would like to thank all the mods that made this event possible! It’s my first time taking part in anything like this and it was really, really fun, so THANK YOU <3 Love you guys :3 Anyways, enough of my rambling kdfjgkjsdfg

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Category: M/M Fandom: The Magnus Archives (Podcast) Relationship: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist Characters: Martin Blackwood, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Canon-Typical The Lonely Content (The Magnus Archives), Kissing, Excessive Tea-Making, Set in Episodes 159-160 | Scottish Safehouse Period (The Magnus Archives), Poetry, Love Confessions Warnings: self-esteem issues, typical Lonely content, discussions of free-will and determinism, graphic kiss

Summary: As Martin fights the remnants of the Lonely's influence on their ride to Daisy's safehouse in Scotland, he focuses on his feelings for Jon to keep him tethered to reality. He watches Jon be himself in the safety of the cottage, share these small intimacies of domesticity and the words come to him as a poem weaves itself into the pages of his notebook...

He feels the taste of salt in his mouth, as he looks out of the car window at the rapidly falling away landscape, covered in the darkness of the night. He feels Jon’s presence next to him, focused on driving but glancing every so often at him with concern. Martin feels like he should say something, somehow fill the silence that has befallen them, but no words ever find their way to his mouth. He stays quiet, watching the trees pass them by, trying to ignore the anxious churning in his stomach. He’s always been pretty good at filling awkward silences with chatter; at least before the Lonely. Now… he can’t help but feel bothered by Jon’s presence, even though he did all of this for him, even though this is what he’s wanted all this time; it’s like a splinter, prickling at his mind, almost causing him physical discomfort. He swallows and feels the salty taste on his tongue; he discards the thoughts and tries his best to breathe through the discomfort, instead focusing on the sensation of Jon’s warm hand on his.

Martin used to be the warm one; he’d always been generating heat and his mind goes back to the early days in the Archives when the basement was cold in the winter and both Tim and Sasha used to gravitate towards him with their respective cups of tea during breaks. Now his whole body is cold, the chill of the ocean breeze and fog having settled in his bones so deep he thinks he’ll never feel warm again. The thought isn’t sparking any emotions in him though. It’s just a thing that he’s learned to accept, just as the fact that he’ll always be alo—

“Do you want me to put on some music?” Jon asks with another one of his glances. Every time, he raises his eyebrows a bit, and tilts his head to the side; Martin expects the concern in his eyes, but he sees something else there as well. He’s been afraid to put a label to the expression for the fear he’s reading him wrong, but the bolder part of his mind tells him it’s fondness.

Jon’s hand is warm, and his thumb grazes the skin of his palm just a little, as if not sure he’s allowed to. Martin looks down at their hands and feels warmth spark in his stomach; he smiles.

“I’m sorry I’m—I’m not really good at the whole, uh… small talk thing,” Jon adds with a flush, turning his head back to the road. “I should probably be talking about something, though, to, uh… to keep you here. I suppose.” He visibly cringes at his words.

“It’s—It’s fine, Jon,” Martin chuckles, and Jon relaxes, fixing him with a quick smile of his own. “I’m just… you know.” He looks down at their hands again and has a brief feeling they belong to someone else. Not him. Never him. “I’m not quite… out of that. Yet.”

Another look of concern. Martin feels heat prickling at his cheeks and he’s a little bit glad, because at least it’s a feeling. He interlaces their fingers and looks out the front window.

They spend the ride in relative silence. Jon tries a couple more times to start small talk and fails; they stop at a gas station at one point and Martin takes out his notebook when Jon disappears inside the station to pay for gas. He flicks through it and his eyes stop at an unfinished draft; he started writing it shortly before Peter took him down to the Panopticon, but he’d only managed to get a few first lines down. Despite still feeling the cold in his bones and his mind being clouded by the remains of the fog, words come to him, and he starts scribbling. He continues to do so even when Jon comes back with tea and an assortment of snacks, blushing just a little bit when Jon shoots a curious look at the notebook. He doesn’t ask and Martin is thankful for it. He’s not the sort to show his drafts to anyone, especially to the subject he’s writing about.

It’s 1am when they arrive at the cottage; they’re both exhausted and they quickly take their bags inside and lock the door. The cottage is small and practical, just Daisy’s style; it’s also quite dusty from months of abandonment. Martin yawns as he opens one of the bags to get the essentials. They should leave unpacking and cleaning for the next day.

He hears Jon’s footsteps on the wooden floor coming back from the initial run of the house and he turns to tell him that, but the somewhat sheepish look on his face stops him in his tracks. Has he ever seen Jon look sheepish before?

“So, uh, obviously this was Daisy’s safehouse when she was, well… Avoiding people,” he says, not meeting Martin’s eyes.

“I hope ‘avoiding people’ doesn’t mean killing them in this context,” Martin snorts, not sure if he’s entirely joking. The humour is lost on Jon, however, as he looks at him confused for a moment before he processes Martin’s words.

“Oh, no, no, I-I don’t believe she, uh… She just slept here.” Jon shifts awkwardly. “And that means there’s uh, there’s only one bed.”

Martin’s eyes widen and his lips form a little “Oh”.

“Of course, if you’re not comfortable with sharing, I can just take the couch, you need some proper rest and I’m used to running on low sleep” —Jon averts his gaze as he speaks. He grabs his bag and walks over to the couch, and Martin wants to stop him talking and just say that they should share the bed, but his voice seems to have left him at this crucial moment. He just stares as Jon places the bag on the couch and looks back at him, aware of the silence. “Martin?”

Martin swallows, a familiar cold freezing his toes. He feels the damp sand underneath his bare feet and a chill runs down his spine. He blinks and tightens his grip on the bag he’s been holding. This is real, he is real, Jon is real.

“You need good rest too,” he finally manages to say, and he’s surprised by how clear and normal his voice sounds; it makes Jon relax a bit. “We should share the bed, if-if you are comfortable with that.”

A small smile appears on Jon’s lips and a warm feeling fills Martin’s stomach again; he knows the smile is for him.

“Okay,” he says softly and picks the bag up.

They manage to keep the awkwardness of it to the minimum; they’re both very tired and at one point it just doesn’t matter anymore. Jon hands Martin a separate blanket and he pushes the disappointment down into a void inside him where he keeps feelings to come back to when he’s alone. It would be foolish of him to hope for cuddling since they haven’t talked about anything yet.

He expects to fall asleep as soon as his head touches the pillow, but he finds himself awake in the darkness after goodnights are said (Jon’s voice sounds so soft and tender Martin has forgotten all about his earlier disappointment). He’s laying on his back, eyes closed, and he feels Jon’s presence on his right. His breathing is steady, not yet slow enough to indicate sleep, but calm and relaxed. Martin peeks out through half-lidded eyes – he hasn’t gotten used to the darkness as much yet, but he can see Jon laying on his side, facing him, his eyes closed and his hair loosely framing his face. One of his hands rests close to his head on the pillow. Martin blinks, fully opening his eyes now and smiling softly. As his vision clears, Martin notices Jon frowning ever so slightly, and he wonders if the faint lines between his eyebrows smoothen when he’s asleep.

“Is watching people sleep a usual activity for you?” Jon whispers with amusement as he opens his eyes and Martin gasps with surprise and looks away, feeling heat prickle at his cheeks.

“Wha—uh, no! No, of course no—Sorry, I—” He rambles, and he thinks he might just die from embarrassment when he hears Jon laugh quietly.

“It’s fine, Martin.” He shakes his head with a sigh. “Really. I-- Sorry, I thought a joke would, um… lighten the mood somewhat.”

Martin risks a look at him and wonders if the red on his cheeks is visible through the darkness. Jon looks at him with that expression again, something Martin would very much want to classify as fondness if it didn’t feel so impossible. But now that he thinks about it… Would it really be thatfar-fetched? Jon had gone into the Lonely just to get him out. Would he have done that for anyone else? Martin rolls his eyes at himself in his mind, of course he would. He did go into the Buried, and it was for Daisy, a person who has threatened him multiple times, kidnapped and almost killed him. If Jon was ready to lay down his life for her, out of all of them, it shouldn’t be surprising he would do the same for his assistant; it says nothing about his feelings on the matter.

Martin’s memories of the Lonely are hazy. He remembers the cold, the dampness, and the loneliness. He remembers his thoughts, the lonely ones, and how they felt both alien and familiar at the same time. He remembers the comfort, the feeling of fitting in, but also the pain and the fear, just before they were numbed by the cold and the fog that made him forget. And then suddenly, Jon was in front of him, looking at him with desperation on his face, tears in his eyes glowing with a green light. Was it Jon calling for him, or just the Beholding?

“What are you thinking about?” comes Jon’s voice and Martin realizes he’s been staring into the air for a while. He blinks and looks back at Jon.

“Uh…” He searches for words before he gives up on trying to come up with an excuse. His voice is quiet when he speaks. “Why did you do it?”

Jon blinks at him a couple times and rises to lean on his elbow, to better look at Martin.

“What do you mean?”

“The Lonely,” Martin says, not meeting his eyes. Jon is wearing a blue t-shirt with a logo of a band Martin doesn’t recognize; the shirt is loose and it uncovers one of Jon's shoulders which would probably be distracting if Martin’s mind wasn't chilled by the remnants of the fog. “Why did you come for me?”

Even without looking at him, Martin sees Jon’s forehead ripple. A while passes as Jon searches his face and the thought that he shouldn’t have asked starts creeping up to Martin’s head. Shouldn’t have brought any attention to the subject, he should just be glad, he should—

“I care about you, Martin,” Jon says in a very gentle and quiet voice, like he’s afraid anything louder would take away the meaning of his words. Martin looks up at Jon and the hint of that intense blush from before makes it back to his face. “You’re… You matter to me. You will always matter to me.”

Martin can’t stop a small smile appearing on his face and Jon mirrors it.

“Thank you,” Martin whispers, feeling a warmth settle in his chest, finally driving the cold away.

“Anytime.” Jon lays his head back down and settles back with the right hand near his face. “Sleep well, Martin.”

Martin closes his eyes contentedly and he curls up on his right side, facing Jon, as if trying to keep this warm feeling from escaping his chest too soon.

“You too, Jon.”

---

Martin wakes up alone in an unfamiliar bed, the smell of foreign covers filling his nostrils and for a second he panics. He opens his eyes and the memories come back to him; their late arrival at the safehouse and laying down to sleep next to Jon.

He sits up, looking at the space Jon had occupied. It’s vacant now, just the curled up covers he left behind, but it manages to bring a blush to Martin’s cheeks, nonetheless. It feels so… intimate to know that they slept next to each other. It makes him feel warm and cosy.

Martin gets up and goes to the bathroom before he finds Jon in the kitchen. He’s humming quietly as he finishes cleaning the table and he looks up when Martin enters.

“Good morning, Martin.” He smiles and Martin’s afraid he’s going to melt. He takes a quick look around and notices that their sparse kitchen supplies are mostly unpacked, and the kettle is already on the stove.

“How long have you been awake?” He asks; some of the shock must have made it to his voice because Jon looks amused.

“Two hours or so. I’ve always been a morning person.” He shrugs and finishes cleaning the table. “Tea?”

A smile lights up Martin’s face and he gets swept up by the familiarity of the activity, while Jon busies himself with fixing up some breakfast. As both of them work in the kitchen, Martin notices the casual brushes of their skin and touches of the shoulders. He doesn’t know if he’s doing it consciously or if it just happens naturally, but he knows that Jon’s open demeanour is drawing him closer than before. He wonders if he’s been like this ever since he woke up from the coma, and there was just no one to appreciate it.

The morning is relaxed, the casual conversation flowing a lot smoother than the day before, and after breakfast they set out to clean the whole cottage and go down to the village to buy some actual supplies. The village is small, but the local shop provides all the essentials they need; for a moment Martin forgets about everything outside of that village and shopping for groceries with Jon, as if this is their life now, in the Scottish Highlands, living together in a cottage. They talk about cooking dinner, and the cows they passed on the way, and Martin thinks he could get used to that.

The bubble bursts when they finish up and Jon decides to call Basira. She picks up after a while and updates them on the absence of both Jonah Magnus and Daisy. Basira says she’ll send some statements up to them when the Institute stops being an active crime scene, and a shadow passes over Jon’s face. Wrapped up in a conversation about their taste in dinner dishes, it was almost too easy for Martin to forget food isn’t the only sustenance Jon needs. He finds it easier to forget things ever since the Lonely. They walk back to their cottage in silence, Martin grabbing Jon’s hand as soon as he lets go of the phone.

When they get back, Jon declares he’s going to take care of unpacking and cooking, and even though Martin knows Jon to be stupidly stubborn, he’s surprised by the strictness with which Jon insists he sit back and relax. Martin doesn’t really complain; he’s spent his entire life caring for others and, to be honest, it does feel rather good to be on the receiving end for once. He watches Jon from the couch for a while, before he takes out his notebook and looks over the poem he wrote in the car.

Wisps of mist conceal my eyes

A lone indulgence to lose one's face

And soothing a part inside that cries

With chilling sadness and numbing grace

The steadfast rhythm of waves ashore

As ocean breeze leaves a taste of salt

The words forgotten, erase what I swore

Until I hear your voice once more

I wondered many times what it might be

That we finally took to calling "us"

What would be left if we broke free

Of dread and horror's eternal grasp

The Eye looms aloft, ever-present dread

Watching all, eternal lids apart

You made your choice unaware you were led

By strings of web, against your heart

Jon starts humming under his nose in the kitchen as he cuts something on the board; the water in the kettle boils slowly and fills the air with a quiet whistle. Martin smiles while shooting a subtle glance at Jon; he seems to notice his gaze and falls quiet, but a smile lights up his face when he sees the fondness on Martin’s face. For all this talk about Jon “losing himself” in the role of the Archivist, this seems as human as you can get. Martin never favoured the approach the other archival staff took to the knowledge of the significance of Jon’s position, and he often wondered how they could look at him and see a monster. Of course he made bad decisions, but so did everyone. They’ve seen or read about so many avatars giving into the powers that fed them and yes, maybe Martin is biased, but Jon was nothing like them. They’ve all been caught in this huge web of statements that turned real; the more they struggled to break free the more tangled up they became, and it wasn’t Jon’s fault that he ended up in the centre of it. He knows Jon tried to make right choices every step of the way. Can you really blame a human being for failing to completely resist something that’s beyond mortality and human reality? One way or another they ended up here, together, and yes, maybe the Eye and the Lonely are still looming as very tangible threats, and Jonah Magnus is nowhere near being stopped, but at least they’re together now. Martin remembers thinking the Unknowing was the endgame, the last chapter of this horror for them, and he remembers the hopelessness of their story getting a bad ending that essentially pushed him into the Lonely; now he feels a different kind of an end approaching – he dares to be hopeful. Maybe everything works out in the end? Maybe, if they were safe and happy, it wouldn’t actually be the end of the world.

Martin looks down at his notebook and starts writing, sticking the tip of his tongue out in concentration.

What is a monster? Where is the line

That would separate us from the world

All I know is our paths align

And we together can battle the cold

You cut through the curtains of mist and See

The green glow fades when our eyes meet

My lips form a soft and quiet plea

To be loved has never felt so sweet

To be loved is a new feeling for me

I only know how to love from one side

But with you I hope we can once be free

Maybe ignore the whims of the tide

Although I know we're not nearly through

I taste and savour your voice, your breath

If only for a moment, we can start anew

And I will follow you even to death

As he stares at the last word of the finished poem, his hand with the pen hovering over it, he registers that his eyes have watered a bit. He blinks the tears away quickly as Jon sits down on the couch next to him, looking at him with a gentle worry. Martin looks up at the two mugs of tea he’d placed on the table.

“Did you make tea?” He asks with mock bewilderment, and Jon scoffs at him.

“I know how to make tea, Martin.” He nudges him with amusement, that gentle worry not quite gone from his eyes. “What are you writing about?”

Martin falls quiet, pressing the notebook to his chest in a knee-jerk reaction.

“Thought you didn’t like poetry,” he huffs out a laugh that’s only a little bit self-conscious. Jon shrugs, reaching out for his mug and taking a sip.

“I don’t understand it. And yes, I have been known to dislike it at times, but… Maybe I could be swayed to give it another shot.” Jon rolls his eyes fondly and looks at Martin out of the corner of his eye, a look that says ‘for you’. Martin grins, heat pricking at his cheeks once again.

“You see, i-it’s all about emotion.” He places the notebook gently on his lap face down and reaches for his own mug. “You w-want to put all of your emotions into words in a-an artistic way, that has a rhythm and, uh, and feels alive. And you want your, uh, your readers to feel that, that emotion through your words.”

Jon listens attentively and his eyes aren’t leaving Martin’s face; at one point Martin gets distracted by it and forgets where his explanation was going. Jon’s gaze has always been intense, in different ways throughout the time they’ve known each other. At first it was judgemental, the gaze of his boss, full of unmet expectations; then it was piercing, watchful and suspicious; as time passed, it seemed to gain more and more weight of the Beholding, something Tim always complained about. After Martin had joined Peter Lukas, the rare glances he got from Jon were full of yearning that Martin didn’t understand at the time; didn’t want to understand. Now, it’s that gentle fondness, interweaved with something intangibly sad and Martin feels an urge to hug him, to bring him close to his chest and never let go; to bury his face in Jon’s hair and protect him.

They move to place their mugs at the table at the same time and snort, amusement quickly turning into a fit of laughter. Jon throws his head back a little with it and Martin wonders if he has ever seen him laugh so openly before. He didn’t think it was possible for him to fall in love with the man even more, but once again, his heart proves him wrong. He stares at him with a lovestruck expression and thinks they should really talk about it. Martin doesn’t know where to start though and Jon seems to be thinking in a similar direction because his expression shifts into gentle seriousness.

“Martin, I…” He starts and bites his lip. “I need to apologize.”

Martin straightens a little; it’s not exactly what he expects.

“I—The way I used to treat you…” Pain and guilt flash through Jon’s face as he looks away for a moment to gather his thoughts. “It was not okay. None of it was okay. And I’m—I’m really sorry for that. It doesn’t—I know it doesn’t change anything that happened, but I” —he sighs. “I really am sorry. I hope I can, somehow, uh… somehow make it up to you.”

Martin reaches for Jon’s hand, and he looks down in surprise; Martin sees his eyes start glistening.

“I’m sorry for everything that happened to you.” He continues in a whisper and his eyes are locked on their touching hands. “I’m so sorry about the Lonely. I’m sorry that you’re trapped in all of this with me, and I would understand if you decided to leave—”

“Jon.” Martin squeezes his hand and Jon’s eyes shoot up to look at him.

“I’m sorry, that’s not an apology,” he sighs again. “I just… I’m sorry, Martin. About everything.” His other hand grips Martin’s. “I’m glad you are still here. I’m—I’m so glad, you d-don’t even know,” he laughs.

“I think I do.” Martin smiles gently. “Thank you for saying that. I’ve—I've forgiven you for a lot of it a long time ago. A-And the rest just isn’t your fault.”

Jon frowns.

“The Lonely was always there,” Martin shrugs. “Peter Lukas was just… a catalyst, I think. But now I have you.” His finger grazes the outside of Jon’s palm and his heart flutters in his chest when he sees that small smile appear on Jon’s face. “And you can’t be blamed for Elia—Jonah’s games. We’re all just… a bunch of people who didn’t know what was going on until it was too late.”

Jon’s eyes fall as he nods slightly.

“He’s still up to something,” he says quietly.

“Figures,” Martin laughs bitterly. “But we’re here now. And frankly, I don’t really want to think about him when we’re finally…” The word ‘together’ gets stuck in his throat, as if it would breach this fine line of ambiguity they’ve drawn between themselves. Jon seems to fill it in and his eyes land back on Martin.

He’s never wanted to kiss him more than he does right now. Jon's eyes are wide and glistening with something that looks suspiciously like hope, and his fingers gently graze the outside of Martin's palm. Warmth spreads in his chest and his eyes flutter a little, not breaking the eye contact. He wants to pull Jon close to his chest, to run his fingers through his hair and feel his breath on his own skin. To really feel like he's there, next to him, with him.

Before he can follow through with any of that, something sizzles in the kitchen, loud in the silence, startling them both.

“Food!” Jon chuckles slightly before he jumps to his feet and rushes to the kitchen, while Martin snorts and follows him. Jon stirs the pan with curry and sighs with relief when he sees it's not burned. He turns down the heat anyway and checks on the rice.

“Jon, this smells amazing,” Martin says, peeking into the pan with cheese and spinach. “I didn't know you could cook.”

“Well, contrary to the popular belief I was a functional human being. For a while,” Jon snorts and leans against the counter to look back at Martin. “It's Palak Paneer, my grandma taught me when I was a child.”

“It looks fantastic,” Martin grins, and Jon rolls his eyes in mock exasperation.

Even though the moment's lost, the remains of the feeling can be felt between them as they prepare the plates and take the food to the table. They easily fall back into usual chatter and, as soon as they’re finished, Martin jumps to wash the dishes. Jon relents after extensive affirmations from Martin that he's alright and he can definitely take care of a couple dishes in the sink, and he drops onto the couch with a content sigh instead.

Martin finishes up with the dishes and dries his hands on a towel.

“Do you want some tea?” He asks and hangs the towel back on the rack. When there's no response, he turns to the couch. “Jon?”

Something sinks in his stomach when he sees that the object that consumes Jon’s attention is the poem he’s finished; he scratches his neck, as his cheeks take on a pink tinge. “Oh…”

He walks up to the couch, unsure, trying to gauge Jon's reaction. His face seems tense, he squeezes the notebook in his hand so hard his knuckles go white, and his eyes are focused at one point on the page.

“Um... Jon?” Martin asks weakly, his heart drumming in his chest so loud he's sure both of them can hear it.

Jon jumps to his feet, startled, and looks up at him with eyes wide, like a deer in the headlights. Martin instinctively raises his hands in a placating gesture, as Jon registers his presence, looks down on the notebook in his hands, and quickly puts it on the table as if it stung him.

“Martin, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to look, it was just there and—”

“Hey, Jon, it’s alright!” It’s maybe a little not alright, since the poem is nothing short of a love confession and a wish Martin had no right to assume would ever be true, so Jon reading it is less than ideal. Martin rushes to gently place a hand on Jon’s shoulder but when he recoils from the touch, Martin withdraws his hand, cursing everything about himself.

“No, I, uh…” Jon runs his hand through his hair, eyes darting between Martin, his hand, and the notebook frantically. “I shouldn’t have— uh, it’s—it’s your private business, what you write about, so—”

Martin is sure he’s tomato red on the face by this point and hopes against hope that the afternoon light filtering through the curtains obscures it just a little. Jon, on the other hand, doesn’t have the embarrassed blush that usually darkens his cheeks; instead he breathes fast, his hands shaking ever so slightly. Martin sees him hunch just a little, making himself smaller.

“Um, yeah, I, uh—” He starts fidgeting with his fingers. Did the idea of—of love frighten Jon so much? He was stupid to leave it out in the open and now Jon knows, and it’s not how he feels, so he hates him… “I’m sorry.”

Jon’s eyes snap to him, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“For what?”

Martin huffs out something like a pained laugh.

“Th-That’s not exactly how- how I wanted to tell you.” He wrings out his hands and shoots Jon a pleading look. What’s done is done and the only thing he can hope for is for Jon to let him down easy and never speak of this again.

“Tell me?” Jon looks down at the notebook again and there’s the worry again, stark on his face. He breathes out, slowly, and looks at the floor. “I don’t—I don’t even want to think this is a possibility…”

Martin doesn’t need to imagine what it would be like to be stabbed, if he wanted to - he’s pretty sure the acute pain of his heart shattering in his chest is close enough. His mind tries to catch up to the emotions, slow them down just a bit, because something seems off, and isn’t this a weird way to reject someone you must have known had a crush on you? But his throat tightens with the swell of pain and shame and Martin blinks away the tears welling up in his eyes.

Jon sighs and plops down on the couch, hiding his face in his hands and pushing his glasses up to his forehead.

“We d-don’t have to talk about it, if—if you don’t want to,” Martin says quietly. He sits down next to Jon, careful not to touch him in any way, and puts his hands between his knees.

Jon lets out a bitter laugh.

“Isn’t that what they—the Web would want? Just… mindlessly follow, go with the flow until something… irreversibly bad happens?”

Martin turns to Jon with a frown.

“Wh—What?”

Jon looks at him with something glistening in his eyes and Martin can see the lines of pain and misery written on his face like they belong there.

“The web,” he says faintly. “Strings of fate. I—” He lets out a breath. “Was I just being manipulated this whole time? Was I ever really—Did I ever have a choice?”

“Jon... what are you talking about?”

“You—You said I was...” He reaches for the notebook and points at a verse with his finger. “’Made your choice unaware you were led by strings of web against your heart.’ How—W-Why did you say this?”

Martin stares into Jon's green eyes with concern, yet parts of his heart start to weave themselves back together. However confused and worried Jon seems to be, none of it is directed at Martin; he looks at him with desperation, almost pleading, and he realizes they’ve been having two different conversations at the same time.

“Oh-Oh, God, Jon, I-I didn't mean—I just, it's a-a metaphor, just that, you know,” he takes a breath. “It does remind me of a web, the-the way we got caught up in Elias' plans.” He looks down, his cheeks burning as he remembers why Jon would get caught at this specific phrase. “I'm sorry for, uh, using that, it was just the first thing that came to my mind and—”

Jon exhales next to him and Martin risks a look up. The uneasiness isn't gone from his face but he relaxes just a little bit, enough to stabilize his breathing.

“I'm sorry for this… this whole thing, Martin.” He gestures at nothing in particular and it's his turn to look at the floor, as if it's all of a sudden the most interesting thing he's ever seen. He starts fidgeting with the notebook. “I'm just—What if it’s true?” His voice goes higher at the question and he closes his eyes. Martin squeezes his arm. “What if I am just... Just a puppet? An inhuman, helpless puppet in the hands of—Of some spider pulling the strings?”

A tear rolls down Jon's cheek and Martin grabs one of his hands. It’s small and still shakes a little; he tries to put all the protectiveness he feels into this small gesture. Jon doesn’t recoil this time, instead taking a moment to watch Martin’s hand clasp around his.

“Jon,” Martin starts softly. “You're still you. You're not some—Some spider puppet that can't make choices.”

“But what if—”

“You've made a choice to go into the Lonely for me.” Martin bumps their knees together lightly and Jon looks up at him. ��I don't suspect any webs would need me alive to push you into it. It was You.”

Jon looks him in the eyes and Martin barely stops himself from reaching up to his face to wipe away his tears.

“Or it just makes us think that we have a choice but are ultimately helpless against fate and everything we do is determined by intricately crafted circumstances,” Jon whispers. “Maybe free will is a lie.”

Martin blinks.

“Jon...”

“Maybe I was never able to stop it. Any of it.” Jon’s voice grows more horrified and even though his eyes are directed at Martin's face, he seems to be looking somewhere past him. “Maybe nothing we try to do really matters.”

“Jon.” Martin’s voice gains a bit of force, even though he feels all but sure. “What do you see?”

Jon frowns. “What?”

“Look at me and tell me what you see?” The force is gone; the sentence sounds more like a feeble suggestion than a request, but Jon's eyes refocus on Martin's in a frown of confusion.

“What do you mean?”

“We're here now,” Martin says quietly. “And yeah, maybe our decisions are all predetermined or whatever. I still think it matters that we try. I think our experience matters. And you're not a-a monster without free will, Jon. You care about people, and you’ve sacrificed a lot for other people. You've made your own choices and, no matter if they were good or bad, they were still yours. And I think that matters.”

Jon blinks at him for a moment, then his shoulders slump with a sigh and he interlaces their fingers. Martin doesn’t miss it and he feels warmth in his chest.

“I've always been afraid of—of my will not being my own anymore,” he confesses quietly. “Of, uh... of not knowing the difference.”

“I get it,” Martin nods. “If it’s any consolation, I see a lot of Jon in you still.” Jon looks up at him with surprise and Martin gives him a half smile. “I see a very changed Jon but it's still Jon.” He strokes Jon's palm as his heart picks up the pace. “The same Jon I've first fallen in love with.”

Jon exhales softly, his face caught in a soft surprise, and Martin smiles around the dull ache in his chest.

“You don't have to say anything. I'm sure you've known for a while, but I just... I wanted to say it.”

With every second that passes in silence, however, Martin's cheeks grow hotter, and he concludes that this might have been a mistake.

“I-I'm sorry. M-Maybe I shouldn't have said that, I… I don't want things to get weird or anything, so, uh, we can, we can just forget—”

“Martin.” Jon says his name in a soft and kind of inquisitive way that makes his heart bounce around and transforms the ache in his chest into swirling butterflies again. Martin looks up and Jon’s head is tilted to the side, his face still wet with tears, but he notices something hopeful glitter in his eyes. “I love you too.”

Martin frowns, suddenly wondering if he isn't dreaming. Is Jon really saying what he thinks he is? Did he hear correctly? Maybe he misheard—

“I have for a while,” Jon's voice is still quiet and soft. “I didn't want to say anything because I thought it was too early after the Lonely and you might not feel this way anymore, but...”

Martin swallows, acutely aware of how loud his heartbeat is. He squeezes Jon’s hand and smiles slightly.

“I... I didn't know,” he whispers, not trusting his voice to cooperate.

“As soon as I woke up from the coma, I wanted to tell you,” Jon says. “I thought I was too late; that it took me too long to stop denying the feelings I had because I didn’t know how to deal with them, and I'd missed my chance.” He laughs bitterly.

“So that’s what it was about,” Martin whispers, as Jon's actions towards him throughout his time as Peter Lukas’ assistant start falling into place. Jon looks at him with a frown, so he adds, “The ‘let's gouge out our eyes and escape'.”

Jon scrunches up his nose and clears his throat.

“Yes, well. Yeah.”

Martin chuckles quietly.

“I don't think I would have lasted in the Lonely if I understood then. But then again. It didn't really matter in the end. It didn't help.”

“But it was your choice,” Jon echoes Martin's words from before and their eyes meet again.

“Yeah. It was my choice.”

They stare into each other's eyes for a moment, losing track of time, before Jon smiles slightly and looks back at the notebook.

“I really am sorry for not asking your permission, though,” he says. “I got so caught up in the metaphor I didn’t even finish it.”

Martin blinks, the warmth from his chest spreading to his cheeks again.

“D-Do you want to?”

Jon smiles softly, this new smile that Martin has only seen in the past couple of days, always directed at him.

“If you’d let me.”

Martin needs to look away, unable to handle the affection in Jon’s eyes. He mumbles an ‘okay’ with a smile that’s not entirely under his control and gets up.

“But I am making that tea whether you want it or not, waiting for someone to finish reading something is a torture.”

He hears Jon laugh as he heads back to the kitchen.

When he comes back with two steaming mugs, Jon is waiting for him with a smile and his nervousness dissipates with his next words.

“I like it,” Jon says. “Apart from the, uh, web metaphor, obviously. It's hopeful.”

“Y-You do?”

Martin swallows; the pleasant tingling in his stomach is back. He places their mugs on the table and reaches out to join their hands again. Jon intertwines their fingers immediately and caresses the outside of Martin’s palm with his thumb.

Jon looks down at the verses again and smiles softly, almost sheepishly, a familiar blush darkening his cheeks.

“I—I don't know if there would be anything for us outside of. You know. The fears and all that,” he grimaces. “At least, for me. But, uh…” He looks at Martin again with a hopeful expression that makes Martin melt a little, and he gently caresses Martin's cheek with his free hand. “I really like the thought of it.”

Martin's brain might be short-circuiting at this moment and all of his thoughts take form of fuzzy static.

“Me too,” he says, suddenly breathless. Jon's hand rests cupping his cheek and, are they a bit closer than they were a second ago? Jon's gaze slides down Martin's face to his lips and he feels he might faint right there and then. He doesn't, instead gathering up his courage to take a breath.

“Can I kiss you?” Jon asks first and Martin feels his lips form a grin.

“Please,” he breathes out; the next second their lips meet, soft but urgent, desperate and sick of waiting. Martin's hand dives into Jon's soft hair, fingers scraping the delicate skin of his head and earning him a low sound from Jon's throat. They pull each other closer and find a rhythm to lose themselves in for just a moment; the sensation of Jon's tongue swirling in his mouth, of his slender fingers on his cheek and his neck, the pressure of his body against his chest; all of it making Martin dizzy with happiness.

Martin pulls away when his lungs painfully remind him breathing is still a necessity and he opens his eyes to look at Jon – His soft lips, his nose, his pockmark scars, and his eyes, green yet with no trace of Beholding in them. He takes him in whole, with all of his flaws and all of his virtues, and he feels seen in return, seen by the man he loves and who loves him. The weight of it all hits Martin like a crashing wave and he pulls Jon in for a tight embrace.

“I love you,” he whispers against his shoulder, and he feels Jon's arms tightening around his torso.

“I love you too, Martin.”

#tma #the magnus archives #tma fic #summer in the archives event #niki.writes #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #jonmartin

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we-call-it-technophobia · 3 years

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(( Hey, look! Mod Giant Spider did it! He made it! It’s real! He might have changed his AO3 username just out of pure embarrassment from writing fanfiction so no one from any point of his life could recognize him but man.

I’m generally so conflicted on fanfic. Some days I’ll say to myself “I may be cringe, but I am free”, and then seconds later I go “oh god. ggod. I’ve passed the cringe threshold into unacceptable territory”

But this blog is a great creative outlet for all my queer musings and projecting on these silly little monsters, and I’m still somewhat excited to share it with you all! These dorks really are so important to me, I grew up with like no queer media in a very conservative place so moving away for college and getting access to so much queer content now is like. MIND BLOWING. And these two monsters are at the top of my comfort list. I promise more asks are coming, but school is so, so busy and as a full time arts student I don’t get a lot of time to draw for fun reasons anymore.

If you enjoyed, please please let me know! This was mostly pure self indulgent with all my silly dumb little headcanons, projecting, and giving myself everything I want, but if you still found it enjoyable I’d be delighted to hear! Also, let me know if you would like more stories alongside the asks here! :D

And with that I’m off to bed somehow both feeling very self conscious and very free

— Mod giant spider ))

#not an ask #monster prom #oz yellow #calculester x oz #calculester hewlett packard #oz x calculester #fanfic writing #mgs writing #autistic writer

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csmeaner · 2 years

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CS has made me such a snob and I’ve met lots of people with similar attitudes but I don’t know if they realize it yet:

“Oh, that design will never be worth much so I’d better save for something better.”

“That’s a beautiful design, but it’s not brand name. Maybe I could get it just to look at, but I’ve gotta focus on my Popular Shit so people know what a Popular Piece of Shit I am.”

“This design has XYZ elements out of place.”

“I couldn’t be seen dead with this design. Absolute cringe.”

Yanno what, Mod Shit? I’m gonna return to the forest and go feral. Cringe is dead–long live cringe.

Gonna dust off my old sparkledogs, my Warrior Cats, and all the other dumb shit I put away because I wanted to be a member of the “in” crowd and be “cool”.

Yes, this sparkledog has an obnoxious color scheme. I like it. Fuck you.

Yes, this anthro’s markings are never the same from drawing to drawing. I like it. Fuck you.

Yes, I’m drawing the cringiest, “I’m 14 and this is deep” emo art to express the fact that modern capitalism sucks. I like it. Fuck you.

Yes, I got this weird-looking-cat-that-could-be-a-dog-who-knows for the equivalent of 30 cents and I like it. Fuck you.

Yes, I draw like a blind man with the shakes. It’s fun and I like it. Fuck you.

Yes, this is just a bunch of color shat out onto a page. I like it. FUCK YOU.

In summary, fuck you, and fuck myself for becoming the equivalent of a wine snob over art. Art is supposed to be fun and freedom, not some stupid pissing contest about who can spend the most money over the most popular brand name pixels.

be free, anon, be free and shake your little frog ass as much as you want

we are cringe

but we are free

#general

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lm3-imagines · 3 years

Note

Morty and Amadeus with an s/o with extremely good art, like the best art they’ve ever seen, yet s/o keeps on claiming that it looks terrible and cringes when they see their art?

Honestly a mood with this one. I relate to the s/o a lot, just when it comes to writing since I don’t draw. Hopefully this is all right!

-Mod Pasta

Morty

-Morty didn’t mean to offend you when he looked without asking! He was curious, and you were sitting there with your sketchbook, drawing away, and he looked over your shoulder out of instinct. It’s something he does when it comes to his movies, and he tends to move around to get a good look at everything without thinking about it.

-He couldn’t contain the excitement when he saw your artwork – the detail! The creativity! It was magnificent! He was overcome with inspiration in that instant, but on the other hand, you were absolutely horrified that he saw. The sketch was nowhere near complete, and honestly you didn’t think it was even that good, and you kind of wanted to tear it out and set it aflame, and now that Morty saw it, you were really embarrassed that he had to see what you were considering to be yet another failure.

-He was worried that he upset you by invading your privacy, which he genuinely hadn’t meant to do, but when he realized that it was that you weren’t confident in your artwork at all, he wanted to help. He’s familiar with the feeling, sometimes experiencing his (more dramatic) downs when it comes to film making.

-But he’ll give you so many compliments on your art. You’re going to drown in them. He absolutely loves your work, and he’s going to make that known. The colours, the linework, the details, he’ll tell you about anything that makes his heart flutter with inspiration. You almost think he’s making it all up, but he’s really not. He loves all forms of art, and it’s something that makes him passionate. He adores your work and wants you to know that.

-Morty tries other small things to improve your self confidence, knowing that it isn’t something that just appears overnight. For example, he’ll ask for your input on his designs. Making a movie comes with making a poster for it, and he values your opinion highly. Even if you follow up your thoughts with “but I’m not sure, it might be bad”, he’ll try it out and let you know what he thinks. You have a great sense of design even if you’re not confident in yourself, and often your ideas come out to be exactly what he’s looking for!

Amadeus

-Amadeus wonders what it is you’re so often working on in that sketchbook of yours that you’ll sometimes carry around. He only knows that it’s full of drawings because of the way your hand moves on the page – it’s not the way one would write words down, he observes – but he does wonder what exactly you do draw. Despite his curiosity, he isn’t one to pry, but he does hope that you’ll show him one day.

-He ends up seeing it on accident, too. You had left the room to go get some snacks, and of course, you carried your sketchbook with you, worried that someone would steal it or look inside when you weren’t present. But on the way back, the addition of a drink and your favourite snack available on the fourth floor of the hotel made it harder to carry everything at once. Sure, you could carry it all a little bit, but eventually the sketchbook just slipped out of your hand, and it happened to open up as it hit the floor.

-Amadeus was nearby, and naturally when he saw you struggling, and he reached down for the sketchbook to help you. He ended up seeing the art you had drawn – it was hard to not look at what he was picking up – and he was amazed. For a moment he was shocked that this is what you had been hiding from everyone.

-He carefully closed the sketchbook and held it out to you, saying that your work was lovely in an attempt to lighten up the situation, considering you were absolutely mortified that he saw it.

-When you denied the compliment instantly, shaking your head and saying that you knew the art was terrible and that he didn’t need to lie. If he wasn’t shocked before, he was certainly shocked now. You thought your art was bad? How? He thought it was incredible, so why did you cringe when he opened the sketchbook back up to the page?

-He understands how there are times when it’s hard to be satisfied with a piece, but it was clear that you hated all of your work. Each time you insult your art, he’ll point out all the details he likes about your piece. Finding small things is what he enjoys about such things, to see the more subtle parts that make up and add to the whole, so he’s got lots he can say on this subject with anything you show him!

-If you’re open to it, he’d love to let you design some of the portraits on the fourth floor. If you do, there’s still times where you cringe when you see it in the hallway, but all the ghosts love it all! You can often find a goob admiring your work, and they’re not afraid to let you know how much they like it, either. Amadeus is sure to let everyone know that it was you who made it if you choose to not keep your work anonymous.

#mod pasta #Luigi's Mansion #luigi's mansion 3 #lm3 #lm3 x reader #lm3 amadeus wolfgeist #lm3 morty #lm3 imagine #request

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indecisive-v · 3 years

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NINJAMUFFIN TWITTER AMA AUGUST 7 2021, EXCEPT HE'S ONLY ANSWERING QUESTIONS THAT HAVE PROPER GRAMMAR AND PUNCTUATION

ama just ended!! funkin related shit has been recorded under the cut as per usual. this time og copied text is uncolored, and purple text is paraphrased by me

Q: Do you have a favorite Friday Night Funkin’ mod at the current moment?

A: MordeTwi Magic

Q: Do you have a format in mind for the built-in mod support, or are you saving that for later?

A: depends what you mean by 'format'. stuff like charting will probably always be constantly changing until we have most levels of the game done, since we'd essentially want modding tools to be basically DEVELOPMENT tools as much as possible, and dev tools change as project goes on

Q: Favorite FNF character?

A: Girlfriend

Q: Have you tried (or are going to try) getting Friday Night Funkin' on other consoles?

A: It's totally possible, we just gotta get in contact, figure out what we're feeling it with, and get folks to make the backend for it

Q: Are you worried about the game itself being overshadowed by fan content (and by extension modding), or is it a non-issue for you?

A: we can see the grand picture of what we want out of FNF, and thats what separates us from any of the fan mod stuff

Q: What do you think of the reliance of Game Banana in the current modding scene?

A: it makes me very happy to see sans undertale over fnf boyfriend mod sit side by side on the same website as counter strike surf maps

Q: Hey, Mr. Muffin, what’s the release schedule for “new” Friday Night content looking like?

A: make stuf til its ready for an update

Q: Will there be something like an "extras" gallery where we can look at concept art and stuff?

A: if there is, it would be super cool. we dont just want some concept art image viewer in-game and call it a day.

Q: Will characters from stuff that ISN'T Newgrounds-related show up in FNF?

A: probably happening sooner than later, so yea

Q: Have you guys thought of hiring famous modders? (KadeDev, SugarRatio, etc)

A: no, we wont hire based off of fame

Q: Are you for or against Friday Night Funkin' mods and/or fangames being sold or otherwise distributed commercially (as long as they're open source obviously)?

A: Not against it, but why would anyone put up paywalls this early anyway?? Even the vanilla game is free rn so it seems kinda weird. But it's cool for em to take donations

Q: Are you okay with people going to the game’s source code, compiling it and getting the whole full game for free?

A: That's the point, my guy.

Q: Did you play test any of FNF yourself, and if so did you ever have trouble beating specific weeks or songs?

A: I've only beat Guns once or twice, but I've had others play test and do better than me

Q: If FNF hadn't gotten so popular, what would you be doing right now?

A: Still workin' on it. That was the plan, getting popular was just a surprise bonus. We'd be less focused on it though since we wouldn't have like 2 million Kickstarter bucks

Q: Got plans for FNF's anniversary? Anything cool?

A: Thinkin about it, but... monkey ball...

Q: Do you think the direction of 'let's make the hardest mod ever' will have some impact on the difficulty of the final version of the game?

A: I don't think we're influenced much by mods. We're NOT in the modding community at all

Q: Is there an fnf modder that is your friend or whose relationship with you is closer than other modders?

A: prob siivagunner crew technically

Q: Do you worry about how mods might execute ideas that you were eventually gonna do?

A: yeah, cuz usually when they do it, they dont do it as cool as we had in mind, and we'd have to show them how its done, lol!!!!

Q: How do you feel about the majority of fans that are basically children? Will the game have more mature content in the future to keep them away?

A: i think people see it as something we need to "actively combat" but genuinely i dont think any of us care. we just are going to make the game how we want to make it, and forcing these edgy things or whatev to "scare of the dumb kids XDDD" will just come across as cringe i think!!

#friday night funkin #fnf #fridaynightfunkin

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electrosquash · 3 years

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Tag Game

I was tagged by @a-pirate-my-hearties (thank you 💜)

1. Why did you choose your url? I have a weird AI thing going on. The Malevolence Engine was an somewhat-evil AI in a little flash game logic puzzle that is not playable anymore. THE MALEVOLENCE ENGINE SEES ALL FLAWS. I’ve been called “Malevolence” a few times so i chose another name (Davine Lu Linvega, after the silicon life queen from Blame! - he only wanted to see the netsphere ...) but i’m still attached to the url.

2. Any side blogs? Nope, everything goes here unfiltered - for a reason. Spent the past few years going full corpo and kept my interests locked away so much that i forgot i had any. Wanted to merge them back into one unified personality again - side blogs would be detrimental to that.

3. How long have you been on tumblr? Been on tumblr 2011 - 2013, which led to a big breakdown of mine. I’m back since January 2022.

4. Do you have a queue tag? Nope ^^ But i do queue heavily. The past few days were about 90% queued as i’ve been ... in a hole of sorts? Edit: I got one now, it’s “q”

5. Why did you start your blog in the first place? The first iteration? I forgot actually. It was mostly Cyberpunk aesthetics and a really terrible ancom bubble that imploded in drama at one point. The current iteration? I might ramble about the merging myself at times disregard that bullshit, to be honest it was loneliness. (My DMs are open btw ;) Discord is also an option, if you’re looking for someone to watch a movie or show with you i’m here!)

6. Why did you choose your header? Blame! is the best manga in existence, full stop. It’s a work of art. The sheer size of the world, so far into the future that you can not comprehend the distance anymore; the endless architecture, the storytelling.

7. What’s your post with the most notes? Probably one of the nekkid mods. We will not speak of them ;) (I don’t actually feel well about them anymore so)

8. How many mutuals do you have? Uhhhh would have to count please no math at this hour D:

9. How many followers do you have? 253

10. How many people do you follow? 219 (Sidenote i do get Fear of Missing Out so i try not to have my dash overflow - if i unfollow, please don’t take it personally! Let’s be friends on discord instead!) I generally follow asymmetrically, don’t feel pressured to follow back if i follow!

11. Have you ever made a shitpost? Yeah but i always delete them because i cringe at them myself immediately after

12. How often do you use tumblr each day? Not that much currently, mostly when there’s free time at work. I’m more active when i’m having a hyperfixation but currently i ran out.

13. Did you have a fight/argument with another blog once? One of the reasons i left tumblr in 2013. Did not do my mental health well. I try to stay out of the politics side of tumblr ever since.

14. How do you feel about “you need to reblog this” posts? Instant block for OP. Regardless whether i agree with the message or not. No time for getting guilted into giving others free internet points.

15. Do you like tag games? Sometimes! If i don’t respond to them please don’t feel bad, i just sometimes have trouble with interacting and then it’s two weeks later and i feel awkward. But i am very happy that you thought of me!

16. Do you like ask games? Don’t really partake in them :/

I don’t like to tag people in stuff like this because i then feel like forcing them into making a post (i have issues i know) but everyone’s invited if they’d like to!

#tag games #about me #wow this got quite #personal

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askneruandhaku · 4 years

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My thoughts

Hello and sorry, first of all... mod here breaking character once again.

Mod has been extremely consumed by a specific job these past two years. A lot of hardships have happened in that span of time, not just talking about the current climate but horrible things happened in 2019 as well, related to family loss. But besides that....

This month marks the 9th anniversary of this askblog. In a really boring summer now almost 10 years ago, a younger version of me created askneruandhaku, and the Vocaloid fandom and my love for Neru and Haku only grew and consumed me since. Oops.

I want to make a proper post going in on what this askblog means to me, but I don't think this is the moment because there is something else I need to get off my chest. So I rather make this anniversary a bit more bitter and leave all the praises and good memories for the celebration of a decade of cringe in 2021.

There is something holding me back from posting, aside from how busy I am and other mental health problems. Call it an RP-block of sorts.

I'm having a very difficult time with this askblog.

I'm really thinking and considering how I could even make a comeback.

In the past three years the Vocaloid fandom has changed. A lot. Even more so if we compare it to when I started this blog, almost 10 years ago in 2011 (that is insane). Mod has grown, all the original askblog mods have grown, right, but a new generation of fans has entered the chat. On one hand, it's great! to see that the fandom is still alive and thriving despite Yamaha pulling the rug from under our feet, and specially that in the midst of all that, some fans still care to draw and support Akita Neru and Yowane Haku. I really didn’t think they would make it this far (they are also still pretty beloved in Japan). However, the way younger newer fans view Vocaloid, their sense of humor, their tolerance for certain interpretations, jokes or whatever. Totally different from mine and other.. "Vocaloid elders", lol.

The humor of this blog has always been very “out there”. I've never shied away from being extremely rude, using insults, cussing, putting characters in compromising situations and doing many a thing that is now treated as if you should be reported to the police for drawing it. Neru in particular has always been very crass, and I've used her in the past to take joking digs at the fandom. She is very fun to RP. In a way, I project to both of these characters, because I also suffer from diagnosed depression, I'm also petty and sarcastic, and as both of these characters, I’ve also always felt like an outcast, or less popular or beloved compared to my peers.

Ironically, lately I have been completely outcasted outside of the askblog world by the popular voices in the fandom. It has also lead loads of people to turn their back on me. Some that I even met through this little askblog itself, and it does hurt. I don't want to get into detail because whatever mod does outside of askblog should not impact the askblog. But I bring it up because it lead me to think, if I'm not well recieved when I'm being myself and drawing my serious non teasing art, how will people recieve me when I'm literally playing a rude character? When I'm calling Miku a bitch, in the age of people kinning Miku and projecting their person extremely hard onto her? When I'm calling anons weirdos, weeaboos or telling them to get a life?

I never truly mean those things (spoiler alert: mod actually loves Miku... though not as much as Neru and Haku), I'm portraying a troll, a cowardly jealous keyboard bully, which is who Neru is.

However, in times of people losing their mind in anger at the mere mention of magnet, how can I trust fans to tell?

When I have seen people on tumblr cover Neru's midriff and arms with an undershirt because that's showing "too much skin"?

When new fans pearl clutch and write hate towards NeruxHaku shippers?

When it's been spread by the loudest vocaloid wiki editor to new fans that Neru and Haku were created as tools of hate to insult and bully people?

Even the clothing magic anon from just two years ago has aged terribly to the standards of new Vocaloid fans that are all over Tumblr. Despite it's humor being very well recieved then.

I'm torn, guys. I don't know. I don't know how much of my audience is still sticking around after all these years. I don't know what a new audience would think about this hot mess of an edgy, rude askblog. I think there is to love if you look past the troubled, disjointed surface, just like how I see these characters as being. But I think most new fans look for some kind of "purity" that they are not going to find here. They are looking for the flawless idol cardboard cutout Miku. Not for my problematic rude, jealous, slightly abusive Neru, or my problematic depressed Haku that copes with substance abuse.

Do they still answer questions?

No.

Will they ever come back to answer questions, though?

I don’t know.

#but i will love these two forever #that is for sure #OOC #askneruandhaku #akuziiwatanabe #i've been sitting on this for half a year now

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marshmallowprotection · 5 years

Note

do you do requests? if so, saeran, seven, and v's reaction to a male mc that seems very caring and understanding but is goth af, listens to heavy metal, and likes to collect creepy/cursed things in his spare time.

This MC is just Mod Haruka. Anon, are you aware that you’re basically describing my fiance? He couldn’t stop laughing when I told him this popped into the askbox. - Mod Kait.

Saeran

Saeran is the man that will vibe with you like nobody else.

He can't judge a book by it's cover because if he did that, he would be dooming himself to the very same fate. He's always been more lured to the darker, and gloomier side of things. If he had a choice, then he would be dressed in muted tones and in all black. He's not really going to put a lot of work into it, either. If he likes it, he slaps it on and that's nice.

That's not to say that he's totally what we all consider a true goth, though. He's just a very minimalist type who aims to blend into the big darkness. Just leave it to simple black sweaters or turtlenecks. He'll pop in the spikes and the collars and the chokers just for kicks when he feels like it. Just depends. He just likes the style and the aesthetic but that doesn't invalidate him. It's the thing that he used to freely separate himself from the rest of the damned cult.

So, he takes one look at this MC and he’s like, okay, I can vibe with this. It wasn’t what he expected but there’s not a problem in the world with that one, nope, he’s more than happy to be close to somebody that gets his aesthetic really good.

You two have a lot in common from the surface, but there are some subtle differences on the inside that separate you. Saeran is hard on the outside but soft on the inside. He’s got more domestic hobbies and he really doesn’t listen to music. Whereas you’ve got a grungey vibe and enjoy the finer things in life, meaning the macabre and the fun.

Yet, one glance at the two of you in public leaves people left to assume that you’re both just the same kind of grungey punks.

Saeran is intrigued though by some of your hobbies. He’s always wanted to get more into supernatural things. He’s always an inkling of something inside of him but he’s never had the time to get to learning. He likes to learn and you’ve got a lot of things in your collection and disposal that he’s never seen before, and a lot of info that he didn’t know where to start from. He likes you to listen to you fixate and talk about your interests. Everybody else in the room may be cringing or looking away because the two of you get rather involved in your discussions and those with weak stomachs just can’t seem to cut it.

He’s rather infatuated from the start. Saeran loves your vibe and makes no qualms about it. He’s got the same style. Though, sometimes he may like your jacket a bit too much and borrow it from you. There’s a lot of mixing and matching going on in this household with your shared wardrobe.

Seven

Seven is a man of wild colors and bright patterns who looks like he walked right into the zany era of pop art color and crawled right back out of it to look like a vibrant hot mess discounted Ronald McDonald and somehow make it look really dope as hell. Seven has found something that works for him but he doesn't really have a set style that defines him apart from the mishmash he made for himself. He can put on anything and feel right at home in it without any worries. He's never had the option to have picky tastes so he's never really thought about it.

He's okay with anything.

He really doesn't think hard. His life is a lot like his personal choices, a big swirling pot of outcomes that don't seem to twine just right yet somehow the puzzle pieces smash together.

He takes one look at this MC from the CCTV and he’s a bit stumped. You’ve got such a cute face and you’re got an aesthetic that he hardly ever sees. Seven is unsure of how to approach you. He assumes at first that your tone and attitude may be more surly. Then, he talks to you on the phone for the first time and oh, oh my God, you’re the nicest and sweetest person that he’s ever spoken to in his life, and your laugh is enough to steal his soul.

You’ve just got interests that are a little different from everybody. He likes to cozy up to you, and when he stops being such a butthead, he takes every opportunity to get hugs from you. Everybody assumes right off the bat that you’re the one that they should fear crossing but it’s the other way around. The goofball is the one that has all the power and you’re such a sweetie. It’s kind of hilarious when you’re together because you’re always turning heads.

Seven doesn’t mind that attention when it comes to turning heads. He’ll get more involved in your style when he gets closer to you, and he’ll often time ask you for your opinion on what he would look best in. There’s a lot of fashion shows in his closet when he’s just jumping in and out to try and enthrall you. He’ll playfully mess with you by borrowing your clothes, but he’ll make it even by tossing his jacket at you.

He’s got his own weird fixations. He makes robots and AI for fun, just for the hell of it. So, he really doesn’t say much about what you like. He can be a little superstitious and uneasy around the supernatural but as long as you carefully reassure him when those are involved then he’s not bothered.

He does like to listen to you talk about the cursed things that you own. He often ponders how things can get so cursed over time and if you two could find something modern that’s haunted.

That’s kooky hijinks!

V is also a big minimalist.

In all parts of his life, he tends to keep things simple and not overbearing. He just thinks that things have order and he feels better when he knows where all the items are and there isn’t too much overbearing clutter to bother him with clutter. There isn't much he wants or desires and he keeps things neat and tidy. Be it from the way he keeps his house from looking any more than a spick and span museum, or the way that he tries

He tends not to think too much overall about the style choices he wears.

V hasn't really changed his ways ever since he was a kid, the same could have been said for Jumin. He's got a simple but very relaxed look that he wears and it's nothing overall too flashy or too noticeable compared to the part around him. He's never really given it much thought and he just sticks to what feels okay to him and that's pretty much that. He’s just a simple man who doesn’t think too hard about the way he looks.

Now, he comes to learn rather fast that not everyone is like that. You’ve got a style about you that he’s never really come across. He knows plenty of artists and photographers that have a personal brand of style, but he’s not had the chance to be around those that have a style like yours. So, he’s intrigued by your choice. He would be one of those to be unsure momentarily of you but wouldn’t show that on his face. He’s too polite for that.

V comes to really appreciate you. You’ve got an energy that is somehow both comforting and imposing. You can draw people into you and you can keep those that you don’t like at bay. He’s always had nervous energy around others but when he’s with you, he finally doesn’t even think about that. He can just hold your hand and breathe in a sigh of relief. You even get him to think harder in appreciation of more colors that he’s never really considered.

Being an artist, he’s always looking for that next sense of wonder, and you’ve captivated him like nothing else ever has in this world. You’re tough but you’re delicate, you’re sweet but you’re macabre, etc. He often compliments you very sincerely when you look like you’re radiating confidence. He sees that you feel more at ease in muted tones, and in ripped jeans. He may not get it himself but he loves that you’ve found something that works for you.

V has really only ever been invested in the music that his mother held dear to her heart. Apart from that, he’s never gotten too in touch with it. You give him the chance to look into other avenues and find other messages in it. He’ll actually be really into it, believe it or not. Does that mean there’s death metal at the house? Yes, yes it does.

He’s also kind of odd when it comes to hobbies. So, he really doesn’t judge you for what you’re invested in. He’ll listen to you give the story and history behind what you’ve got in your hands and he’ll nod mindfully. It’s important to you so that means that it’s important to him. He likes to learn and understand more about how you see the world and find beauty in places nobody else looks.

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emmelfish · 5 years

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Free to Good Home – CURIOUS SPAWN

(A 300 Follower Special)

Truth-seekers and secret-hunters, gather around! Strangetown’s mysteries may have long been solved – after all, TS2 has been in existence for over 15 years at this point – but I wanted to take the opportunity to pay tribute to the ’hood that got me into Sim Storytelling in the first place and give you some basegame-based gifts for gifting me with 300 followers.

Sure, sure, I could have included my Tycho, but friends – y’all games begin with a Tycho. Everybody got a Tycho. So instead, I’m gifting you these Curious babies I’m especially proud of. Three sets of parents, five kids, and I’m pretty sure you can guess their parentage just by looking at them.

Additional bonus is that you haven’t met a single one of them yet because my posts haven’t caught up with my gameplay. So... surprise?

Downloads and infos beneath le cut! Use Clean Installer pls!

_____________________________________

Holy neat points on these kiddos, Batman.

Upon playing Strangetown for the first time, not only are you greeted with Pascal as a cosmic-parent-in-waiting but you’re strongly encouraged to send eternal Middle Child Vidcund to the telescope where he’ll be blessed with his own green bundle of joy. In my game, I’d already installed a multi-PT mod... so Vid’s spawn I believe are the product of PT#7.

Holmes Curious

Sloppy/Neat: 10

Shy/Outgoing: 6

Lazy/Active: 2

Serious/Playful: 7

Grouchy/Nice: 7

Hobby: Cuisine

Aspiration: Romance

When Vidcund developed his stupid crush on Cassandra Goth in my game, he probably walked all the way to Pleasantview and drank its cursed water, because he had TWINS. I promise I didn’t do this to punish him. Holmes is lucky enough to have inherited the pointy PT#7 ears and was named for a comet. He actually grew into that pink-streaked hair as a toddler, and I couldn’t let it go. He pretty much has Vid’s exact face and much like his father, looks for love in all the wrong places (but UNLIKE his father, those plentiful nice points mean Holmes is vaguely successful on the dating scene). He plans to combine his family’s love of science and his own love of food into a Molecular Gastronomy career.

Download Holmes Curious

Halley Curious

Sloppy/Neat: 10

Shy/Outgoing: 3

Lazy/Active: 0

Serious/Playful: 10

Grouchy/Nice: 9

Hobby: Cuisine

Aspiration: Pleasure

While her twin focuses on sauce spherification and deconstructed goopy carbonara, Halley just wants to give the world a big hug with a massive plate of homemade cookies. Like her bro she too was named after a comet, and is at her happiest curled up on the sofa watching The Great Simlish Bake Off or in front of her own oven, baking up a storm (and cleaning up after herself at every stage even though it exhausts her). She’s not the most confident, but perhaps doing work experience at J’Adore Bakery will help her come out of her shell. She dreams of being whisked away on a romantic voyage to Champs Les Sims to eat pastries and bread and drink wine before noon... but needs to pluck up the courage to ask somebody on a date first. Once she does, the lucky sim will realize just what a catch Halley is when they get to know her – fiercely loyal and belly-achingly funny.

Download Halley Curious

Quest Beaker-Curious

Sloppy/Neat: 6

Shy/Outgoing: 4

Lazy/Active: 2

Serious/Playful: 9

Grouchy/Nice: 5

Hobby: Games

Aspiration: Knowledge

Skintone: Between S2 and S3

You KNOW that face is unmistakable, right? Of course that’s Lazlo’s son, he even grew up into purple clothes without me doing anything for crying out loud. But pray tell, where do those twinkling green eyes come from? Yep, Quest’s the result of one of my favorite new pairings! And with Erin and Lazlo for parents, of course we’re evolving from Vidcund’s slightly-silly-but-still-somewhat-socially-acceptable kid-naming scheme to all out ludicrousness. I legit lifted ‘Quest’ from a website called something like Hippy Baby Names. Cute as a button and a barrel of laughs to boot, much more comfortable interacting online than in person, I’m genuinely impressed that he’s relatively capable of keeping a... fairly tidy living space when his genetics held him at a massive disadvantage. Most likely destined for the Gaming or Game Development career – in the meantime he co-runs a rather popular Twitch channel with his cousin Jack. Will beat you at both Solitaire and Hearthstone.

Download Quest Beaker-Curious

Anaïs Beaker-Curious

Sloppy/Neat: 0

Shy/Outgoing: 9

Lazy/Active: 2

Serious/Playful: 6

Grouchy/Nice: 9

Hobby: Arts & Crafts

Aspiration: Popularity

Skintone: Between S2 and S3

Narrowly escaped being named Moonunit at my SO’s suggestion (who, fun fact, also came up with the name Anaïs). Just... if you let this sim into your game, you’re gonna need a maid. In sharp contrast to her cousins, ya girl is a complete slob. Maybe one day I’ll have her share an apartment with her cousin Halley, and between Halley’s 0 active points and Anaïs’ 0 neat points, we’ll see if literally anything gets done (apart from cookie-baking and clay-sculpting... girls, please don’t accidentally mix those two doughs up). Much more extroverted than her bro Quest, she’s also far more of a people person than he is. (Jeez, the majority of these Curious kids are hella nice, right?) Her natural hair color is her mother’s blonde, but I thought I’d have a bit of fun and dye it lilac for her. Fun fact: Sims 3 Erin’s favorite color is violet, Lazlo wears a violet T-shirt, you do the maths. (Let’s just ignore Vid’s love of African violets shall we.) If she had the remotest liking of physical activity she might be a surfer girl, but instead she just loves wearing shells and Salt Rock clothing. Enjoys making busts that look like that creepy Lionel Richie one in the ‘Hello’ video.

Download Anaïs Beaker-Curious

Jack Smith

Sloppy/Neat: 7

Shy/Outgoing: 6

Lazy/Active: 2

Serious/Playful: 10

Grouchy/Nice: 10

Hobby: Games

Aspiration: Family

(That’s my half-hearted attempt at making it look like Jack took a selfie.) It’s always a gamble when you give PT#9 and Jenny Smith (née Curious) a genetically correct kid. Will they even have a nose? Will their cheekbones poke peoples’ eyes out? Well I truly struck gold with Jack, who has the best of both wonderful worlds. Frequently to be found in the butt-groove of a beanbag embroiled in Fortnite battles with Quest (Quest ‘5 nice points’ talks fairly gentle smack on his headset while Jack cringes and apologizes for him), he’s inherited both parents’ Family aspiration and adores being at home with the entire massive extended clan (also Jen and PT have like 5 dogs at this point). Probably the kind of kid who comes home from college to do a bit of laundry and ends up staying the whole weekend. He’s easily the most fun of the Smith kids, and his maxed out nice points mean he is truly too pure for this world. Please look after him, Johnny and Jill can only protecc him so much.

Download Jack Smith

#Vidcund Curious #Pollination Technician 7 #PT7 #Erin Beaker #Lazlo Curious #Jenny Smith #Jenny Curious #PT9 Smith #Pollination Technician 9 #Maxis Premade Kids #Premade Spawn #Maxis Premades #TS2 #The Sims 2 #Maxis Premade Spawn

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robot-unicorn-attack · 5 years

Text

CHAPTER 01 - SUPERNOVA

(written by @interluxetumbra)

... CHAPTER 01

The benefit of being a goddess, ergo an immortal being, could supposedly be boundless patience, which Supernova had as a heavenly entity.

Assana, however, as a mere mortal with fraying nerves, did not.

And she was reaching her limit with ruffles.

Standing stock still on a tailor’s stool in the centre of her (low-luxury almost) penthouse apartment, As stood awkwardly as two girls, probably no older than her eldest daughter, flitted about the voluminous skirts of her cloud-like dress for the evening’s event, fitting and tucking and readjusting to an exhaustive point. Experience told her not to move a hair, although these two didn’t seem as vindictive as the old harpy who had once been part of her team when she first started racing. (The vicious older woman – although now that As thought about it, she was probably now the same age as her former dressmaker – never hesitated to stab young Assana with pins if she even dared breathe during a fitting.) Even more awkwardly still was the arm stretched out and away clutching an untouched glass of somesuchsort (she hadn’t been paying attention) pressed into her hand the moment her agents and publicists invaded her home. Whatever current brand of alcohol RISE was courting was likely to be in that cup trying to lure her away while everyone was casually “forgetting” that she would imbibe no such thing these days.

And that bastard Atraxys let her stand there like that, fully aware of her feelings on the matter idly scrolling away on his holopad, his boredom making itself more important than her discomfort.

Blowing away the ruffle closest to her face for the umpteenth time, Assana decided she had had it.

“Okay that’s it, I need some air,” she declared, stepping down from the dais, waving the young stylists away from her as she moved. They looked at her in surprise, near frozen on the spot until Atraxys’ deep baritone flowed from his place on the couch: “Give us the room.” Assana struggled to storm for the kitchen gathering her dress up roughly as the stylists scuttled out, their heels scuffling the floors, and one whispered, “She’s kinda old. Does she like … need a break or something?” as they disappeared out the door.

Biting down to stop herself from screaming in frustration, As dumped the contents of her crystal cup into the sink, rinsed it out, and filled it with cool water. She drained the cup greedily, not realizing how hard her other hand was gripping the edge of the counter until she released, the tension crabbing her hand for a moment.

“Are we having fun yet?”

As looked up and gave her manager a withering glare that would never see the outside of that apartment before softening with resign as she took a deep breath.

“It’s just a lot to take in,” she replied. “There’s so much more to wrap my head around - especially all this media and appearance making. The body mods - who’s idea was that?”

“The business is evolving,” Atraxys shrugged.

“But so quickly? I know I retired, but I wasn’t gone that long.” Assana picked up her personal holopad from the counter where it had been abandoned when the stylists descended. “And the fanbase - it spreads much further than I ever thought.” She flipped through open tabs to find what she was looking for. “It used to just be magazines and videos, minor promotional things. But now the collective is filled with pockets of fans talking, arguing, and creating things - all dedicated to their adoration of racers. There’s fan-made art -” She held up the holopad to show him an image of a hyper-stylized version of Supernova and MK II as a goddess and pegasus heading to war against a brilliant sunset sky, other racers somewhat identifiable in the background. “- this looks like it could be a RISE promotion, but it’s not - someone just made it in their home on their own time for their own amusement. There’s even someone who composed an entire symphony - a symphony, Trax - devoted entirely to Flower,” she told him, flicking through saved pages. “You should give it a listen - I actually broke down in tears when I listened to it, the whole thing was so moving and beautiful. It’s unbelievable, the amount of talent and obsession out there in the collective, just being shared between groups of fans.”

Atraxys looked somewhat amused, which was not quite the reaction she had hoped for ... although, if she was honest, she wasn’t sure what she thought his reaction would be.

“Creative expression is quite the highest compliment, especially from other worlders,” he mused, looking over Assana’s shoulders as she flicked through even more.

“This is nothing, there’s someone who has designed and is selling figurines of all racers, past and present, and they look stunning - I was even tempted to order one.”

“Really? Who? Supernova past?”

“No, gods no.” Assana bit down on her lip to prevent herself from supplying an answer. “The thing is the level of consumption is much bigger than I expected. It’s insane and awing at the same time.”

“It is impressive. But, people will always create devotional items to their idols.”

“True. It’s not just visual art, though.” She looked up from the holopad and grinned lopsidedly. “Have you ever heard of fan-fiction?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Spending the past decade on a private spacious estate had not done well to help her re-adjust to the claustrophobic nature of Unicorn City and the celebrity lifestyle. Surrounded by an entire retinue of people she barely recognized, As straightened out her posture, held her head high, and became Supernova as she glided through the front doors of the Neon Demon. Trying not to flinch at the constant flashing of camera drones and her name being shouting over like waves crashing over one another as people tried to touch any small part of her as reverent fingers reached out to touch her, to lovingly graze a fragment of her dress, upturned eyes all eagerly roving her face - or rather the hologrammed amalgamation - as if the barest contact or look from Supernova would grant them some celestial blessing. Those of her retinue even adjusted their positions ever so slightly, allowing fans through, gently jostling aside only those who overstayed their welcome. She tried not to cringe as hundreds of fingers reached out and sought flesh, not having been touched so much in awe since she had carried Indigo, the sheer memory of the constant onslaught of people touching her pregnant body as if they could draw energy from the extra life she bore repulsed Assana, but Supernova could not feel as such. Although she wanted nothing more than to fold into herself, to shrink away from the awed masses, the most serene and benevolent smile she could summon spread across her lips, eyes meeting with as many worshippers as she could, accepting their devotion and repaying them with nothing but her presence, which would sate them for days.

This was far worse than the fan-works on the collective - at least those could be separated, the safety of the screen providing a protective barrier. Do you not have real gods to devote to? she wondered, overlooking the zealots with gold painted into their hair, angelic wings painted around their eyes in honour of Supernova’s grand circuit win almost 15 years ago. They called her name like a prayer, brushing her arms as she ascended the dais at the back of the club to join the other gods racers, repressing the desire to find a quiet corner to clean herself off. Instead, her beglittered arms were now smudged with track marks from adoring fingers. She looked quickly over her shoulder to see through the crowds now filling in the space that had been parted for her, a group of younger girls: one held her hand aloft and was crying with hysteric joy as her friends clung to her, all either crying as well or on the verge of some sort of actual ecstasy. They all looked to be Jaina’s age, which would have bothered her more if the girls hadn’t made such a display of tears.

Things are much different now, everything is in extremes, she thought, turning her focus away from her congregation to the other racers and their entourages. As she passed by some crystal curtains, she spotted Flower sitting on a couch, her ever-present tattooed shadow nearby. It was a relief to see a teammate, almost grounding her after what had happened moments ago, a reminder that it was all a façade. Breaking stride momentarily, she nodded her head and gave a small wave to the younger racer. As she did, Flower spat out her drink - in surprise? Assana flashed a goofy grin before it collapsed back into a goddess’s smile for the people, trying not to reveal an honest personality. Aura was so odd, but endearingly so. Even the fact that she had puked on As during Supernova’s first official outing after the announcement of her comeback hadn’t diminished this feeling.

Sunbeam, on the other hand, she felt strange being around. Sometimes it seemed like she was looking into a mirror directly linked to the past, like the character of Sunbeam was Supernova in her early years, but almost heightened in a way. She was what Assana had strove to be, the true daughter of Sky World, representative of all the morals and values her people prided themselves on … but she had always felt she failed that image somehow, and now Sunbeam was there as a tangible reminder. She didn’t dislike or begrudge Sunbeam for it, the girl was the embodiment of Sky World values both as a caricature and as herself it seemed, and As didn’t have it in her to hold it against the girl.

Finding herself with yet another drink placed into her hand, Assana settled in to watch the other racers. Snow Princess - or, Snow, rather - was there, listening to an overly animated woman. Diamond eyes caught As staring at her, mid-sip, and As could only nod in acknowledgement to her, the only other racer outside of RISE that she knew from before. As had watched Snow’s reemergence onscreen like most others, wondering what had happened to her in truth, not the Twilight version of it. Snow gave a curt nod in reply before returning to her companion. Assana’s attention drifted between whatever inane conversation was happening around her to the surrounding activities. She spotted Nyx across the dais, her molten eyes blazing like twin suns from the darkness. Assana found it hard to look away, observing the dark girl as she spoke with those around her, as if her eyes had a magnetic quality that meant to pull you in before destroying you. They suddenly turned in her direction, and within seconds As looked away, embarrassed to be staring for too long whether Nyx noticed or not ... someone else probably did.

Masking her embarrassment, she tried to focus on the discussion before her, something about trying to get back a contract with Alix Estelle’s fashion house, one that had been a late sponsor just before Supernova’s retirement, when Glimmer touched her arm lightly, startling Assana. Without speaking, her PA showed her her holopalm, which glowed a soft blue with an incoming call - the kids. Assana took the holopalm and turned to leave, pausing only when Atraxys snagged her arm.

“You’re not leaving right now, are you?” he asked, golden eyes glowing with disapproval. Assana pulled her arm out of his reach.

“I am. You’ve got a handle on this,” she replied dismissively. She tore away from the group, seeking a quieter space to take the call, heart racing, worrying that Draca would have something to say if she missed it, worrying that her children might be disappointed in her for not talking to them. Desperate anxiety carried her to a small corridor near the bathrooms, the music muffling slightly as she rounded the corner. Frantic, she punched in the call while tucking herself into a tight alcove and fumbling with the switch for her holocollar (she couldn't bear to have them see that face). Immediately the crowded faces of her three children appeared, a faint blu-ish pallor to them from the holographic light as they excitedly shouted their hellos.

“Mummy, you look so pretty!” cooed Indigo, his face growing larger as he leaned closer, inspecting the screen back home.

“Thank you, baby,” As replied, trying not to cry with relief at seeing their faces. “Did you guys have a good day? Jain - how was your first day at the Lyceum? Indi, sweetheart, can you move back, your sisters can’t see … Xan - what’s that, did you paint that?”

Assana grinned broadly, laughing with them as they recounted their days and doled out advice when needed. You could call her a lot of things, but As would be damned if anyone tried to say she wasn’t present - or as present as she could be while off-world. Making sure she spoke to her kids every night was the most important thing in her life and no amount of public appearances was going to stop her.

“Mum - where are you?” asked Jaina, cutting through Indigo and Xanthippe chattering about something trivial between the two of them.

“Um, just a club, it’s a promotional thing.”

“Mum.”

“I know, I know! But I can take a break to call you guys, it’s not a big deal.”

“You sure?”

“Of course! Anyway, I’d rather be back home with you guys.” Assana immediately clamped her mouth shut, realizing her mistake. The happy chattering stopped immediately as the three faces sobered.

“I wish you were here too, mummy,” replied Indigo. “Mom can’t sing me to sleep like you could.”

“Mom can’t sing - it’s pure torture listening to it,” quipped Xanthippe.

“Mom’s trying, and that’s the main thing,” As replied, fighting down a smile. Draca was probably the most tone-deaf person in the galaxy, but it had never stopped her before. “I love you all, and I’d be there if I could. Maybe in a couple weeks we can ask mom if you guys can come for a visit - how’s that sound?” The holograms erupted with excited chattering before they exchanged farewells and good-nights, the hologram fizzling out as the call ended. The sudden silence in the hall was deafening and isolating. It was her own fault, this exile, she knew. Scuffling a few stray tears out of her eyes without a care for her make-up, Assana straightened up, forced her mind clear, and breezed back out into the main hall of the club, the pulsing music dragging her back in.

Taglist: @ayzrules @bebemoon @jay-swagsby @filthysoulls @shiftyprincess @kzombi3 @now-on-elissastillstands

#ch1 #supernova #assana #writing #semp's writing #this is pretty long and probably painful to read sorry guys #hope the inclusions of flower snow and nyx were okay!

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