#I bought a ticket for a matinee showing so fingers crossed that like No One Else is there

[joyfuladorable]

Spider-verse fit 🤘🏽🕷️

[bibliocratic]

YOUR WRITING IS SO GOOD OMG! How are you so talented?! :O your tma dialogue is on point! do you have any writing that you are working on atm that might come out soon? (if you wanna share).

Hi anon! That’s so kind of you to say! :D I do actually - I’m working on a RQBB fic that (fingers crossed) will be all finished for the big event at the end of the month. I can’t share any of it just yet (all very hush hush, I’m so excited to finally be able to show it.) BUT. I am working on a longer fic looking at the S1 OG Archives team and how they’d function as a polycule, so have some Sasha and Martin softness!

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This time round, it's Martin's turn to open his wallet, wincing at the price. They alternate who shoulders this particular financial blow – one of them forks out for the tickets, the other buys drinks or coffees or sandwiches after. On their trips, it's only ever the two of them. Tim will only venture near a cinema to see whatever popcorn action flick he's seen advertised on the side of a bus, and Martin will watch those, in fairness, if Sasha badgers him enough, but only begrudgingly, trying and failing not to be a little bit of a film snob about it. Jon, for his part, has only ever said yes once, to a documentary about Macedonian beekeeping.

Afterwards, because it's usually a matinee screening, they'll secrete themselves somewhere within the in-cinema cafe, elbows on the table and and playfully dissect the movie inbetween bites of an overpriced panini. Martin favours symbolic films, whimsical scores at odds with the unfolding drama,  full of dream sequences and stunning cinematography and uncertain endings. Sasha prefers social realism and emotional acting and a concrete resolution.

Their tastes do find overlap. They'd both been looking forward to this particular film for weeks; Martin had sent Sasha screenshots of raving reviews from Sundance and Canne and the film festival circuit, Sasha had taken a picture of the poster outside the Curzon in Mayfair and captioned it 'SOON'. Which is why, when they came out as the credits rolled, Martin already venting and mid-bitch, Sasha interrupting with her own heated, infuriated additions, heading down the stairs to the ground floor cafe sounding like two enraged magpies, Sasha had bought them both two bottles of beer and overpriced cake slices and they'd taken great delight in stewing in calories and alcohol.

They conclude the night many hours later. Martin's wobbling as they stand at the bus stop, squinting at the sun-faded timetable protected by a scratched and graffitted plastic covering. Sasha's gone sleepy, leaning against his back as he peers at the information blurring in front of him.

“Sash, wu'v misst it,” He slurs. “'s'.... fuckit.....went like, 'n'our ago.”

“S'fine,” she burbles against his back. “I-I'll walk, s'cool.”

“Y' live in, in fuckin' Haringey, 's....'s miles away,” Martin says, and he's got a crease above his eyebrows and he's clearly thinking hard because he spins round and says: “And my flat's.... 's worm-food, innit. So. Right. Up. Tim's... Tim's, what, twen'y minutes away, summin like that?”

It is an abominable hour.  Tim will most definitely be in bed, and neither Sasha nor Martin have a key, so he'll be rough eyed and sore about the disturbance. But she is tired and staggering and she wants to go to bed. Martin is gesturing with that stubborn expression he gets, turning around and indicating that she jump on his back. She clambers up like a graceless forest animal, digging her shoes into the fleshy sides of his torso. With a bit of swearing and manoeuvring and a sketchy moment where Martin nearly loses his balance and topples the both of them, she is seated comfortably against his back, arms held like jumper sleeves around his neck.

“Hm, love you Marto,” she sighs into his hair as he sets off, carrying her easily.

After a minute, she gets a self-conscious little 'you too, Sash' and she falls asleep against his hoodie.