#I’m assuming Jon went off without telling the others

[bitter-goodbyes]

OMG HELLO?????

[g1rlken]

Last golden thoughts

Bucky Barnes x fem!exwife reader

*follows the original thunderbolts plot line and thunderbolts!Bucky

Warnings: minor spoilers, mild swearing, angst?

Word count: 4.7k+

summary: Congressman Barnes’ marriage did not end for the better only for his paths to cross again with his ‘wife’ in the most unpleasant fashion where he last expected her to be

an: you guys went crazy over this so I had to finish this in two days we are sooooooo back

—

​As red guardian’s fancy, gaudy and however bulletproof-ish limousine made a flip at Bucky’s detonator. The relieved group of delinquents inside were overcome with shock, bracing themselves for the fall, gripping handles tightly as the surprisingly present airbags opened in their faces. Ghost was the first one out evidently being more equipped to exit in the blink of an eye. Others fell with a thud a collective ache in everyone’s joints, groaning trying to find their way out ever so impatiently. Ghost broke the door open as Bucky was getting closer. In the front seat red guardian needed most strength to be extracted out of the vehicle.

By then Bucky had reached with a task at hand, Ava and Yelena focused more on trying to get red guardian out, “Not cool man” Alexei said in his heavy accent to the long haired who they’d assumed was here to help them.

With a swift tug with his metal arm Bucky pulled the backseat door right off its hinges, before he could lean John was already on his way out, the person following John out made his eyes widen. “You?!” He exclaimed putting his hands on her shoulders instinctively but she brushed him off and got out herself. “Have you lost your mind?! Don’t tell me you were in the goddamn vault with these-“

Standing up on her feet instantly, trying to regain balance given her vision was a bit dizzy after going through a flipping car. “You lunatic-“ she lunged at him but she was still evidently dizzy and had weak steps, he easily dodged. “You could have gotten us all killed!”

“Stop, stop!” Bucky’s hands were surprisingly of a gentle grip on her shoulders yet again, wanting her to find her footing again. “Are you alright?” He asked scanning for major injuries, if he had known she was in the car he would approached in a way less reckless way.

“Get off of me-!” Taken aback by his might to just downplay the weight of the situation, falling into old habits like they were getting reunited or something.

“Husband mode eh?” Alexei commented with a snicker, Bucky took it well, someone else didn’t.

“He’s not my husband!” She barked almost instantly and pushed Bucky even further, even after he’d let go off her shoulders.

Another truck circled around them, “With me” Bucky told them expecting them to follow without much resistance was really some heavy wishful thinking.

The red guardian was already walking, a lot of faith in the metal armed man when Yelana stoped him by his arm, “And why should we just follow you after you crashed us?”

“Bucky you do realise you could get years for attempted murder on captain America-“ Jon was stopped mid sentence by the others taking an offence at him calling himself captain America and less bothered by the attempted murder.

“You were all being chased by trucks with machine guns and I’m sure more are on the way. This is the middle of nowhere if you have better options than getting in the truck you’re all very welcome to do so” Bucky said crossing his arms, the truck driver probably one of bucky’s favour agents got on his bike and left the truck for him.

Red guardian was the first to pitch in to agree with him, Yelena and Ava had their suspicions. “It’s the worse of two I suppose” Ava said with a sigh.

“It’s not like you have anything on us and we outnumber you so there’s that.” Yelana started walking as the rest followed, no obvious threat so far.

“If it’s our help you need Bucky you know you can just ask.” Walker said with his ever high confidence in himself, it never fails to be less staggering.

“Are you people actually considering this?!” Y/n was the only one who stayed put in her place not trusting everyone’s and especially bucky’s instincts to follow him into god knows where, “We can’t trust this man-“

“‘This man’ honey? Really?” Bucky quoted her absolute disregard for their history like he was some stranger she detested so much. He wasn’t walking back to the truck either, well aware of stubborn she was he was ready to let this play out for a while and eventually take matters, her, quite literally into his own hands.

“Don’t call me that!” The disgust on her face was as though he had committed at atrocity, the others had already started accommodating themselves in the truck for her to get her point across.

“You know all this anger really isn’t good for your health.” He told her, leaning a bit forward and she stiffened.

“You know what would be good for you? Letting me be” she told him uncrossing her arms and the last of her ‘loser’fest team were already walking into the truck.

“Why would you get yourself into this mess? You know you are better than this and please don’t tell me you were in the vault” it felt so natural to fall back into old habits for Bucky. The soft scolding with an undertone of concern and frustration. He didn’t miss this feeling of dread that he was yet again so close to losing her but he was grasping at straws into conversations with her, after the divorce she had blocked his number, locked their old apartment just recently because he kept finding reasons to visit her over and over. Even stopped all streaming subscriptions he couldn’t even work through without her so if this was the conversation he could make he’d take what he can get.

“You are the last person I’m answerable to.” She clarified him losing his keeping tabs privileges on her as their marriage fell. It was the least pleasant feeling to be harsh against anyone, even him, despite of what he did. But if it she acted even a bit less colder it would give him hope to no end. So she kept it up and walked across him, he stayed unmoving from her way and her shoulder brushed his somewhat rudely she didn’t even account it. He felt good about her casually striding against him as if his touch didn’t repel her anymore. Idiot.

Before she could climb into the back of the truck with the rest of them he stopped her getting inside himself first and swiftly started cuffing everyone, “hey what the hell” Yelena said struggling against him but those high tech binds were so swift she couldn’t retaliate in enough time.

“Come on Bucky you know me is this really necessary?” John scoffed trying to break free of the cuffs but or was no use.

“She was right” Ava said nodding at the woman standing outside the truck unfazed Bucky would pull this, trying to make the run for it into ghost mode but the cuffs kept her hands in place so she couldn’t even move forward in her projecting form.

“You, in the front” Bucky said looking back at her and she obviously defied it.

“Why?” She scoffed not wanting to walk into his plan after he literally cuffed all her acquaintances. “We are not your little evidential gifts against Valentina”

“She did try to kill you all” Red guardian chimed in as Yelena nodded about the fact.

“It doesn’t align with our principles if he is the one who turns us in, we could do it ourselves” the fact that ‘Congressman Barnes’ would get all credit for brining Valentina’s assets in after they risked their lives to get out really didn’t sit right with her.

“Why would we turn ourselves in at all?” Ava questioned not really into the idea of getting under oath whatsoever.

“Exactly. It is up to us what we decide not him” So glad the others saw her point at least now, despite of walking into getting themselves tied up.

“It really isn’t” he shrugged and pointed to another one of automobiles from vault’s base at a far distance. “Say no and I’d leave you all here to fend for yourself.” No one but her would be ready to call his bluff. He knew that she knew that too well that he would rather fight off nearly everyone in that truck than put her in harm’s way but he had to convince the others somehow and it seemed to work well enough as he got out of the back container to get into the driver’s seat.

“Why doesn’t she get tied up?” John questioned as she had to walk to the passenger seat on Bucky’s uncalled for demand.

“She is the missus!” Red guardian said stating the obvious and a shrug, already under the cool influence of Bucky to question it.

“They’re divorced” John pointed out

“Doesn’t seem like it was mutual” Yelena commented gaining a snicker from Alexei.

-

In the front, looking out the window as Bucky pushed it on the accelerator, “Where are we going?”

“New York” he answered her without much debate or resistance, if he were to recall there was never a time he could lie to her. He would never want to.

She didn’t have much questions to ask because she didn’t want to give answers to the ones he would ask back, not without consulting the rest anyways. Besides she would rather turn herself in than to afford another conversation with him. With a heavy sigh she looked out the window crossing her arms.

He looked in her direction, eyes softening despite the gravity of the situation they were in. The exhaust on her face was evident, “There are some pain killers in the cabinet.” He told her.

No response for her equated to her disinterest in taking them, he knew she hated any sort of antibiotics or meds just to push through her pain but it was worth the shot, as stubborn as she was he hates her open wounds. He opened the cabinet and got out the patching kit, whilst his other hand was still on the steering wheel. He opened the pack between his teeth and applied antiseptic on the patches, without asking he put it on her forehead where she’s seemed to have taken a bad hit. “Ow” she grumbled in pain but needless to say it was a required patchwork for the bleeding. “I’ve got it” she said taking it from his hand on her forehead into her own.

Her palms against his arm…he hadn’t felt it in so long. His hand was much larger in her comparison he’d always noted that. Being reminded of that again made him want to intertwine his fingers in hers and hope she could undo every moment he had to be away from her.

Eventually he took his hand away and put it on the driving clutch, even though it wasn’t a manual drive, he just couldn’t contain the life coursing through him after her hands touched him against. It’s these minuscule of interactions with her that gave him so much purpose. At first when he saw her in the flipped car he felt awful she was here in the first place but now he has her right next to him on the road to New York and he feels bad for wishing the miles are longer than they usually are.

“Hey this is not a manual drive” she was quick to pick that up when he didn’t take his hand off the clutch for a while being lost in thought, unrecovered from her touch.

“Oh” he nodded taking his hand off and back to the steering, “I know” he had to shift the conversation “You practised on our old manual when you were renewing your license right?”

“Your old manual was a good car” she said emphasising on ‘your’ given the fall out.

“I wonder why we let it go.” He was left bemused trying to remember what was the reason to let it go given it wasn’t a bad car.

“You wanted to let it go because it was taking up too much space in the garage after the engine got way too old to be repaired” She reminded him thinking back to it now, it had become an old junk but the two of them held onto it for quite a while. Working on it on the weekends, basically he’d work on it and she would keep the conversation. She had a joke that Bucky was pursuing his abandoned mechanic dream every weekend on that car, that black sleeveless vest top laying his biceps all bare and as hot as he was working on the engine she hated the grime and the smell of automobile oil, he would purposely encage her between his arms and kiss her all over, then shower together later. Snap out of it.

“Had a good run with it, it even had a cassette player system” Bucky looked at her but she wasn’t looking back at him. Clearing her throat she shifted in her seat, they got rid of that car before they had a conversation of getting rid of their marriage but maybe the forthcoming was evident.

“It didn’t have that you modified it that way because we had a lot of cassettes between us” she corrected him as her lips curled into a small smile.

“Oh right” he nodded mirroring her smile, it just happened with him involuntarily every time she smiled and this was his first time in a while. “I think I lost some from my set, I maybe have 10-12 tapes left which is crazy given my set had about a 100”

“How would you lose them you never took them out of the house?” She asked with a faux confused look on her face.

“Exactly! It’s like they just vanished” he told her shaking his head, “I think the house needs a bit going over for me to find them”

Just humming in response she leaned back in the seat as the two fell into silence again, it wasn’t comfortable but it wasn’t awkward either. Nostalgia was often ugly. Their minds were going through ugly sweet things, Bucky’s mind wasn’t going through nostalgia it was in its usual state: consistent reminiscing of their marriage. In his life he didn’t have much things to lose in the first place except for her, she was the last golden thoughts he could have before he’d sleep and the first before he’d wake up all day, everyday. He didn’t have much to think back to fondly but it changed when she walked out of his life.

As he drove through the terrains, glancing through both the side view mirrors then back at her, she had fallen asleep. Leaning against the window, her eyes closed with a completely serene expression on her face he hadn’t seen in so long. She had actually fallen asleep around him. The scene had a strange intimacy to him, the fact that her mind still considered him safe enough to fall asleep around. Even after all dodged calls and messages, all the get-outs, changing her ways to not come across him in the city, telling everyone her mistrust in ‘this man’ yet she could fall asleep with him at the wheel just like the old times.

When they reached the abandoned safe house Bucky didn’t deem it proper to wake her up when she was already so exhausted. The others tied up and over explaining the Bob situation did not let her absence go unnoticed “What did you do with her?!” Ava asked, high suspicions it wasn’t good.

“We should have listened when she told us to be careful about you, he probably left her back there” Yelena said with a scoff, such a decorated man stooping so low.

“Woah woah” Bucky was crazed at the fact that these people assumed that he would hurt her, of all people. “She is still in the truck, she was sleeping very soundly so I didn’t want to wake her up.”

The red guardian snickered, “A real lover!” He commented in a positive way.

“Grow a pair, Bucky” John scoffed leaning against his binds, the man was on the phone for a while and would’ve happily disregarded Walked’s comments anyways.

“Are you like the podcast men?” Alexei asked facing Walker.

“—What does that mean?”

“Toxic masculinity, not good, insecure—bad just bad, are you them?” Alexei listed off his

very accurate descriptions of men who run podcasts.

“Men who run podcasts aren’t all that” Walker said rolling his eyes at the man’s poor judgement of those guys. “Besides Bucky is not a real lover, he’s freshly divorced”

“Do you not see the wedding ring?” Alexei asked nudging in bucky’s direction, the thick gold band was hard to miss: by anyone.

“Probably just wears it because it’s real gold or something” which was a bit ironic because even as a separated husband he didn’t have one on.

“On his wedding finger?” Ava asked raising a brow as she indulged in the divorce too, tied up they had nothing better to talk about.

Before Yelena could pitch in her two cents too, Bucky got off the phone and started freeing the set of ‘thunderbolts’ out of their ties. Giving them a brief explanation of wanting to help Bob they were all on board, as they headed back down to the truck, it was empty. The back and the front, the highly trained ex assassin went full into visible panic mode with her out of sight. A specific drop of his heart only her absence could cause him to feel.

It was difficult trying to explain to the bunch of all-of-a-sudden-ride-or-dies god knows where she picked up from, that her husband of three years and counting with a small bump of divorce of four months would be the last person in this world to hurt her. However difficult it was he managed to get his point across and decided they were off to a detour before getting to Valentina’s HQs.

Once they loaded back in the truck he drove with determination to get where he had deduced he would find her. Their old apartment, she kept her original gear there. If there was one thing he knew about her she was to never back down from a fight, however big and impossible. That had been his biggest fright throughout their marriage, not a single bone in his body had moved on from.

Bucky thought he could fetch her back down himself but he thought wrong, apparently they did not trust him with her so all or thunderbolts went up the six story building. As expected the door was open, “How many times have I told you to keep this locked?” It really wasn’t difficult to fall back into old habits. Always leaving in a hurry, always forgetting to lock doors. He thought to himself but it wasn’t just about locking the door when he hoped the door was open.

“Again?!” She exclaimed walking out of the bedroom into the living fixing the belts around her gear, her old gear. The most trusted one. It was a superstition of hers really, Bucky knew it affected nothing no combat flexibility or space…it was just old. “How did you all not manage to lose him?”

“We didn’t know if you left or he did something” Ava filled her in about her doubting their capabilities to lose Bucky by choice.

“He wouldn’t.”

“—I wouldn’t!”

Both of them said at the same time.

To avert the sync she refocused on strapping her knives into her suit, in all places and possible belt gaps. “Hey, is that mine?” Bucky’s attention went to the set of two in her hands she was about to fixate.

“No it’s not.” Caught, she hurriedly tried to wrap it in her suit.

“Yes it is, those are mine!” He huffed; it had been a long while since he had to be in a position where he would need all his knives but he remembers and counts all the ones he’s had and he knew exactly which ones were missing, surprisingly right after the divorce. “That set is a wedding gift from Sam if I remember correctly!”

“Exactly! It was my wedding too I can keep them!” She stood her ground, well aware it was a set of two, one for him&her type but it was too beautiful to break the set and she wanted both those knives. He hadn’t noticed it this entire time.

“You don’t get to keep them both I get to keep one.” He argued, validly so. “I can’t believe you just took these both with you letting me know once”

“You never asked! All this time you kept coming at my place for the pillow covers, cushions-literally last month you knocked on my door because you thought I took the tv remote with me! You never asked about these” she pointed at the knives and somewhere along the lines both of them knew Bucky was just finding reasons to see her again and she was allowing it too.

“Wow” Yelena commented at the desperate measure. Given the time they were short on this bickering was too intresting to be stopped abruptly.

In the haste to keep the knives to herself in her suit dropped it, giving Bucky the leverage to pick it up and examine it. He bent down to get it and found stored cassettes in the coffee table. “You have got to be kidding me!” He exclaimed frustrated as he got out all the cassettes, he thought were missing. “You had these the whole time?!”

“—I must have packed them by mistake when I moved out” she shrugged trying to downplay how purposeful it was but he saw through it.

“These are all my classics, you didn’t even ask me before taking them in the settlement?!” Bucky huffed going through the tapes.

Cursing under her breath she face palmed herself, for some reason this day was getting way too long. “Look I know the divorce agreement never said-“

“I didn’t even read that” Bucky scoffed shuffling through the tapes he thought he had ‘lost.’

“You signed it without reading?” Surprised she raised her brows.

He put the box down on the coffee table and nodded with a shrug, making a mental note that he will come by at her place over and over for all the tapes and not just take them altogether. There were around 93 tapes in there which belonged to him. 93 excuses to see her. “It was you, I just trust you.”

“See!” Alexei cackled giving Walker a big pat on his back for being right about the lovers fact. “Very silver springs”

“Silver springs?” Yelena asked raising her brows at the refrence.

“Like the song.” Alexei spoke with his thick accent ‘Like zhe songh’ “Never get away from the sound of a woman that loved you” he even relayed the lyrics from the group, Ava nodding at the obvious relation.

“He still wears the wedding ring though” Yelena pointed out trying to frame the dynamics of who’s who for the song reference.

“He would be Stevie Nicks.” Ava clarified stating the obvious as Alexei smiled wide at her, nothing like someone getting the perfect reference.

“What the hell?” The ex wife in question did not take that insult lightly, she didn’t point it out all these months why he still kept wearing the wedding ring. “Real good manipulation tactics, Congressman Barnes.”

“I didn’t even say anything!” Bucky exclaimed unsure how he got under the bus even though the Silver Springs refrence say very right with him. Eire how that refrence came up when no one knew he’s been having sessions of that song in his car ever since she left.

“You need to take off that wedding ring and the whole oh-she-left-me boo hoo theatrics like it wasn’t a mutual decision!” She let out unable to keep it in after these months of heartbroken yet preserving congressman Barnes, all the press issues.

“You know it wasn’t.” Bucky shot back, “I just didn’t want to you to work for Valentina and look what you’re gearing up for! The woman who tried to incinerate you!”

“It was a miscalculation of the job I took up and I got myself alive out of that” it was so frustrating trying to debate this again.

“You chose working for her over me! Over our marriage!” Bucky’s voice grew a bit louder than when he said before and the others just witnessed this break out awkwardly.

“Shouldn’t we let them have this conversation privately?” John muttered looking for the cue to exit this scene.

“No.” Alexei, regardless of his fanboy tendencies towards Barnes, he was somewhat interested in witnessing this, he was the least tensed person in the room. Ava and Yelena didn’t want to exit for the sake of interjecting just in case.

“No I chose a life you couldn’t dictate!” She cried out just as intensely as his voice. “And do not put this on me as if you don’t know what you did.”

“I saved your life that day. Just like today.” Bucky said in a lower voice flatly. Very unbothered and cold to the notion of saving her life, it was such a given to him. She would put herself in such situations and he would just have to make do. Reckless with not much thought but he could always rely on himself to keep that head over her shoulder.

“You put me in danger that day!” The agony in her voice was so evident, “You let me work on that assignment for months and on the final day—you leaked my coordinates on purpose so that Congressmen Barnes can have the best packet, you wanted to Valentina dragged to court and you got that at my expense.”

Putting his arms on his hips; taking in a deep breath. It was planned yes, he gave the feds her location for the OXE group mission she was put on, he could have told her to never take up the job but it had already led to so many countless fights. She had helped him through his electoral campaigns, supported him through it all but it just wasn’t the right fit for her. Combat was all she had known life to be so far, so her let her have her gigs. However he didn’t realise she could also work for Valentina without much thought and by the time he could pitch in she had already accepted the joke. He could have stopped it then too, but he didn’t. There was a bigger gig for him in it, exposing his wife’s secret assignment is how he got Valentina into impeachment proceedings.

Bucky wasn’t proud of keeping it a secret from her the entire time she was working on that assignment but it didn’t prove to be non fruitful, “I am the one who had to bear the expense of you leaving because you didn’t have it in yourself to stay, you just ran. Like a coward. Like always.”

That was a poke at a really old wound, she wasn’t a habitual leaver but at times when stuff got emotionally thick her fight or flight response was not fight. The first time, before they were even together…she always stayed away and distant and after their job was done, Sam upholding the shield. She just left. Leaving everything between Bucky and herself to be unsaid and be lost in fragments of season he just went after her, got the girl and the resr was history. Wretched, domestic, sad, far, a marriage in their history. However she couldn’t stomach that, “You piece of shit-!” She lunged at him full force and he barely held up his defence. More than happy for her to have at it.

“Woah woah woah” Walker spoke as chaos erupted in the small living room itself, not even out in the field yet.

Yelena got a hold of her however Ava wasn’t into the idea of not letting her get her frustration out, Alexei pulled back away, “We are the thunderbolts. Thunderbolts don’t fight ourselves. Not like this.” He said as the fight seemed to break.

“I am no teammates with any of you, especially that man!“ anger still coursing through her she pointed at Bucky as Yelena kept swaying her farther.

“Yeah yeah I think he gets it” Yelena tried to soothe her anger down so he could move on from this outburst.

“Can we just move on with the task at hand?” Before John could even finish that sentence Bucky was walking out the apartment broodingly, slamming the door open out of his way.

She stayed in her place taking in a few deep breaths in order to process it fast enough as everyone left, Yelena stayed with her, nodding off to red guardian in a small look that said ‘I’ve got her.’ “You okay?”

“-Yeah…let’s just get going.”

-

Please let me know if this story is a drag…for some reason it seemed better in my head than this! Regardless tune in for final two if you liked it! ;)

tags: @blowingbarnes @pattiemac1 @scrumptiousloser @suffragette-cities @toaster-fork @accoochtrement @forthelovelyheart @western-nightss @itsmeamysworld @taniamunson @dakota-rain666 @seventeen-x @bvckys-doll

[tinytalkingtina]

Free Show

2222 words | Rating E | Full fic on Ao3 Written for the @steddiesmuttyseptember event, Week 2 Prompts: "clothes on" and "back seat" Tags: Dom Steve/Sub Eddie, exhibitionism and semi-public sex, car sex, edging/orgasm control, some very mild CBT, spoilers for Die Hard (1988), pre negotiated scene, they get pretty messy

The Beemer rolled to a gentle stop. They had made good time, previews were only just starting. Eddie fidgeted excitedly in the passenger seat beside him.

“You know, the premise for this movie kind of reminds me of a puzzle from the first campaign I ran. Had an evil gang kidnap a bunch of nobles during their takeover of a wizard’s tower. Planned to have 10 floors of traps and monsters for the players to fight through before getting to the end, it was going to be brutal. Only problem was, I forgot Jeff had a saddle of flying. So whoosh,” Eddie punctuated his words with a flap of his hands. “All my plans, foiled by a horse with wings. But barring a wild departure from genre standards, I’m going to assume this cop will have to fight the baddies off without any magical items.”

Steve chuckled quietly. Personally he wasn’t really sold on how the guy from that comedy detective show would do in a serious action movie, but he did look forward to watching the explosions. And it didn’t hurt that in the trailer, it looked like Bruce Willis would spend most of the movie with his chest on full display.

Though, if the night went according to schedule, the two of them would have to rewatch Die Hard again at some point.

A few minutes in, the limo driver introduced himself as “Argyle”, and Eddie snorted. “Oh my G-d we’re gonna never hear the end of this from Jon are we.”

“No, I don’t think we are.” Steve laughed. He chose that moment to let his hand wander, resting it casually on Eddie’s crotch. Eddie’s breath hitched as he started to gently squeeze and massage.

“Not that I mind the attention Steve, but if you keep that up, I’m probably going to have a uh…situation,” he whispered, mindful of the open window. Steve leaned in close and pressed his hand in a little harder. 

“Nope, you’re just going to have to control yourself. Wouldn't want you to get so messy, not here. There's so many people around." 

In reality, there really weren’t. It was a Tuesday night in the middle of nowhere at a barely functioning drive-in theater (Steve was honestly shocked he’d found one playing a major summer blockbuster). Their car was the only one on this side of the lot, and he’d parked right by the tree-line, carefully out of the direct glow of the screen.

But Eddie didn’t notice all that. He didn’t need to. They had worked out all the details for this little game last week, so all he had to do was sit back and let Steve get him more and more worked up.

A small whimper left Eddie’s lips. "I can't help it when you're, oh, being so…mean about it!”

Steve smiled. “I know what you’re thinking, that I’m gonna make you come in your pants a bunch of times while we watch a movie, yeah? Maybe see if we can break your record?” The temptation was there. It would be so easy to just keep teasing until Eddie couldn’t hold back anymore, to take him to that place where he went all boneless and pliant. Tonight though, Steve had other plans.

Eddie nodded frantically, hitching his hips to rut against Steve’s palm harder. 

“Yes, yup, please, I don’t think we can beat five but—.” He moved his hand away from Eddie’s crotch, ignoring the small noise of confusion.

“Tonight, I thought maybe we’d try something new. Can you keep your hands up here for me?” Steve gently tugged on Eddie’s wrists, moving them until he was holding onto the headrest. “Not planning on tying you down. But you’re not gonna move from this position unless I tell you to, right?” Eddie nodded, his eyes glazing over. “Good boy, thank you.”

His boyfriend relaxed a little at the praise, but kept shifting restlessly. “Can you touch me again now? Please? If I’m going to get arrested for public indecency I want at least one orgasm out of it.” Steve huffed out a laugh.

“Stay still for me, and maybe I will.”  He slowly undid the zipper on Eddie’s jeans and wiggled down his briefs to leave him bare-assed on the passenger seat. As asked, Eddie obediently kept the squirming to a minimum, even if he gave another whimper at the exposure. His dick on the other hand, gave an interested twitch, already half hard.

Steve held out his hand. “Spit.” Even in the darkness, he could make out how red Eddie’s face was as he did so.

He reached down and gave a few solid pumps while rubbing his thumb over the tip, not letting up until Eddie was fully hard. “Here’s the rules for tonight. I’m gonna keep doing this right up until you’re about to blow it. But you’re not gonna come. Not until the credits roll. When you get close to the edge, I want you to be good and tell me, okay?” It took Eddie a few seconds but he did finally nod. Steve grinned at his wide-eyed stare. This was going to be fun.

Thirty minutes later, the German terrorist leader shot someone. Steve wasn’t entirely sure he was actually a terrorist, but the finer details of the plot were kind of a lost cause at this point. And Eddie definitely wasn’t in a state to concentrate on anything besides what was happening in the car.

Read the rest on Ao3!

Popcorn divider credit: Firefly Graphics

[denimbex1986]

'There were rumors suggesting that Doctor Who would feature a bi-regeneration in the months leading up to "The Giggle," but it was admittedly hard to believe it would actually happen. Then I tuned into the final 60th-anniversary special with my Disney+ subscription and saw it with my own eyes. It's wild how Russell T. Davies pulled that off with Ncuti Gatwa and David Tennant. As surreal as that was on its own, however, Davies recently revealed another major detail that shook me to my core, and it could mean big things for the future of the franchise.

In a commentary track for "The Giggle," which is unfortunately not officially available to fans in the United States, Russell T. Davies dropped a pretty substantial reveal about the bi-regeneration (via @WilliamWhoDW on X). Read what Davies said to David Tennant and executive producer Phil Collinson when they watched the latest regeneration scene:

So the whole timeline bi-generated then. Sylvester McCoy…woke up in a morgue, and Jon Pertwee woke up on the floor of the laboratory. They all did. Most of those, the modern Doctors, just end up in their own TARDIS. They probably woke up in the TARDIS.

There is some dispute amongst fans regarding whether Russell T. Davies was delivering actual information with this comment or just theorizing. It if is indeed the former, then this is a major development. Assuming that every Doctor bi-regenerated into their next incarnation but continued to live, then it's feasible that every single Doctor is still alive and somewhere out there in the universe. I'm absolutely shaken by what that could mean, assuming again, he's genuine about this piece of information.

If every former Doctor is still alive, this presents yet another new and inventive way for a former protagonist to have adventures in the Whoniverse. More importantly, it would allow the franchise to bring back actor like Jon Pertwee or Sylvester McCoy to play The Doctor without explaining why they don't look like their past selves. Assuming they all lived for this long, they had to have aged!

I had already theorized that Doctor Who did the bi-regeneration to open the door for potential standalone adventures with David Tennant's Fourteenth Doctor without having to address him looking different from how he did as the Tenth Doctor. Assuming Russell T. Davies has canonized the return of every previous bearer of that title, it would appear his plans for the Whoniverse are much grander than that. The franchise now has the ability to bring back Matt Smith and others who left the show for their own new live-action adventures or even entirely different series.

This is great for someone like Peter Capaldi, who went on the record as not liking multi-Doctor adventures. Granted, he's someone who openly stated he doesn't want to return to Doctor Who, so there's no telling how receptive he'd actually be to reprising his role.

There are also additional hurdles with a star like Christopher Eccleston, who returned for other adventures but had issues with Russell T. Davies during his initial run and may not want to return to live-action. All this to say that while it's now easier than ever to get past Doctors into stories, it remains to be seen how successful the franchise would theoretically be at doing that. But again, we still have to keep in mind that these thoughts came solely from Davies, and we'll have to wait and see if this logic is officially established within the series itself. In the meantime, fans will be plenty occupied with Ncuti Gatwa's upcoming episodes, which will hopefully be as great as these specials were.'

[briamichellewrites]

55

Jon and Brad talked to Mike about going back to work. They both had contractual obligations. He understood. They exchanged phone numbers, so they could be kept updated. He told them not to worry about not being there. Thank you. That made them feel less guilty. David had been holding down the Bon Jovi fort, so Jon could be at the hospital but he was having trouble. He didn’t want to ask for help because he didn’t want to take him away from Bria.

But, they needed his vocals. He appreciated them trying to work around him. Brad was obligated to start shooting a movie with Angelina Jolie. He could be sued for breach of contract if he didn’t show up. Matt texted him to see if Bria was okay. He gave him all the information he had. She passed out due to low blood pressure. That restricted oxygen to her brain.

She was in a medically induced coma to give her brain time to heal. Once it was safe, she would gradually be brought out of her coma. There was still no guarantee she would wake up. If she did wake up, there was a chance she would be physically or developmentally disabled. Currently, she is on a ventilator to help her breathe. She also had an IV to administer fluids since she couldn’t eat. It was very difficult to see. Matt was devastated for her.

She was so outgoing and so full of life. It sounded like it happened out of nowhere and without any signs. It could have happened to anyone. That was the scariest part. Since he had Adrien’s phone number, he asked if he could tell him. After getting permission from Mike, he gave the okay. He also gave him Bradford’s phone number since he was answering calls and texts.

He didn’t want Mike to be overwhelmed with everything, so he volunteered to do it. Jon was giving updates to Dorothea, who was also devastated. She heard about it on the news. Someone who she assumed was her publicist put out a statement saying she was receiving medical treatment. They asked for privacy, along with thoughts and prayers. It was later revealed that someone had leaked her hospital records to the internet. Everyone was extremely angry at the lack of privacy.

The hospital CEO personally sought the band out and apologized. They found the person who went to the media and fired them. They didn’t want to start a lawsuit because it wouldn’t be what Bria wanted. They just asked for better privacy protection. She had them assured it would never happen again. Good. Thank you. Just because she was famous, it didn’t mean she didn’t deserve privacy.

It was also a federal crime to release private medical information. They talked about it amongst themselves to get it out of their systems. The most important thing they had to focus on was Bria. Bradford was visiting her. He felt overwhelmed by the medical equipment. But, he had to be there. He would feel guilty if he wasn’t and he would hate himself. She was so beautiful and so full of life. It wasn’t fair. That was what they were all thinking.

He got a text message from Phoenix explaining why he wasn’t there. Linsey wanted him home because he was at risk of relapsing. His brother, Joe was coming over to stay with him while she was at work. Was everything okay? Mike didn’t tell them anything.

He’s probably respecting my privacy. If you want to tell the other guys, I’m okay with that. My mother was diagnosed with breast cancer. We’re going to meet with Joe on Saturday afternoon to discuss what her options are. Because of that and Bria, I have the impulse to drink. Linsey took my car keys, so I can’t sneak out to buy alcohol. It’s also why Joe is staying with me. Tell Mike thank you for respecting my family’s privacy. – Phoenix

Joe, Chester, and Rob were devastated for Phoenix. They didn’t blame him for taking the day off. He had a lot of stress on his shoulders. It would make sense as to why he seemed exhausted. He was. Mike verified he had been protecting his privacy. He didn’t have his permission to tell them. They appreciated that. It wasn’t his responsibility to tell them.

Since Jon and Brad weren’t there, Bradford was in charge of communications. He had their phone numbers, alongside the phone numbers of Céline and Renè. If anything happened, he would be the one to let them know. The intensivist, or intensive care unit doctor was giving them updates on her progress. Her brain was slowly repairing itself. It would be a long time before she would be taken off the medications keeping her in a coma.

Phoenix and Joe went out for pizza. He slept in until ten in the morning. Linsey had already left by then. He woke up to the doorbell. Who the hell was at the door? He threw on a pair of sweatpants over his boxers and went downstairs. It was his brother. He had completely forgotten he was coming over. It wasn’t a problem. Did he eat anything yet? No, he just got up.

“Get dressed. We’ll get pizza.”

The pizza was good. Meat lovers. He had a Diet Coke to go along with it. How did he sleep the previous night? He slept like a baby. After dinner, he took a nice relaxing bath. What happened to his friend? She had low blood pressure and passed out. Her heart was unable to get oxygen to her brain, so they put her into a medically induced coma, so it could rest and repair itself. It happened out of nowhere. Was she the girl he dated for a while?

Yes, her name was Bria. She was the girl who helped him discover he had been abused. One day, he hoped he could meet her because she was just incredible. After eating and paying, they ran errands before returning to the house.

He hadn’t checked his phone all day, so he did that while in the living room. Joe sent him a text earlier letting him know he was at the front door. When he hadn’t heard from him in ten minutes, he rang the doorbell in case he was asleep. He was. Being asleep was better than being drunk or passed out. They had a fun afternoon together. He needed to get away from the hospital for forty-eight hours to recharge. Mike let him know that nothing had changed with Bria.

Matt and Adrien reached out to Bradford about visiting. They were going to come over some time the following day. He was going to leave when Joe and Rob got back from eating dinner. How was he doing? Did his brother come over?

Yeah, he’s here right now. It was such a relaxing day! I’ll be there tomorrow. Do you want to come over and hang out with us? – Phoenix

He declined since he was tired and wouldn’t make good company. That was perfectly okay. Get home safe. He would. Thank you. After an half hour, he got a reply saying he made it home safely. He was going to bed and would be turning off his phone. If he needed anything, he was told to text Rob or Joe. Linsey was happy to see him in a good mood when she returned home from work.

She heard about their day. It sounded fun! It was. Who was at the hospital? Rob and Joe.

“Mike texted me letting me know that nothing changed. I invited him over but he said he was tired, so he was going home to sleep. He texted me about a half hour later letting me know he made it home safely. One or two of her friends are going to the hospital tomorrow to see her.”

“That’s good news that nothing has changed because it means her condition isn’t getting worse. Are you going to the hospital tomorrow?”

“Yeah, if that’s okay.”

Yeah, she had zero problems with that. He would need his car keys. She promised to give them back to him. Joe confirmed they had a very fun day. Good for them! She was happy they were able to do something together. They thanked him for coming over. Yeah, he would see them on Saturday. He was going over to see their mom to see if she needed help with anything. Give her our love. He promised to do that.

@zoeykaytesmom @feelingsofaithless @alina-dixon

[mischiefandspirits]

Bernard Figures It Out

Was reading through all the comments on @frostbittenbucky's post and all I could think of was that it was Bernard talking to Tim. Then I got to thinking...

"I've connected the two dots."

"You didn't connect shit."

"I've connected them."

Bernard figures out Tim's a superhero... sort of.

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

Tim fidgetted nervously as he waited on the front porch of his boyfriend’s house. Bernard had sounded so serious when he’d called during Tim’s lunch to ask him to come over after work so they could talk about something.

Which Tim had done, after spending an entire board meeting just going over the past week trying to figure out what he’d done.

The only thing he could think of was that he’d ducked out halfway through their lunch date on Wednesday to give Duke some backup, but Bernard had seemed understanding when Tim explained there was an emergency at GRC Labs. It couldn’t have been a tipping point, either, since Tim had managed to only flake on three other dates over the past few months they’d been dating. Kate had been happy to cover for him as often as she could “out of queer solidarity” when she found out Tim was dating a boy for the first time and Tim had managed to trick Bruce into covering a few actual Wayne Enterprises emergencies for him when they came up.

There had to be a reason Bernard was breaking up with him, though. Had he missed something? He definitely wasn’t forgetting an important day. He was good with days and Tam was even better, so she would have reminded him on the off chance that he had forgotten.

What was he missing?

Bernard was smiling when he opened the door, but there was a nervous energy to it that had Tim’s stomach sinking. “Hey, Tim.”

“Hey.” Tim gave his own nervous smile then slipped inside.

They went into the living room and sat down on the couch.

Tim frowned when Bernard grabbed a manila folder off the coffee table. Crud, had he screwed up enough that Bernard had had to make a list? He knew he was new to dating a guy, but he hadn’t thought he’d done that bad. He’d really been trying, especially with how his and Stephanie’s relationship had fallen apart at the end. “What -”

“Just let me speak, Tim,” Bernard said, waiting for Tim’s nod. “Okay, so you know Clark Kent, right?”

Tim blinked as Bernard opened the folder to show a picture of Clark. It looked like one of the employee pictures from the Planet’s website, with his dorky “I’m just a humble country boy” smile and the golden globe from their roof photoshopped in as the background. “Uh, yeah? I think so. He works for the Daily Planet, right? I think he’s worked at a few of Bruce’s events. Not a lot of outside reporters are willing to come to Gotham.”

“Exactly!” Bernard said, snapping his fingers and pointing at Tim.

“What?”

He pulled out the picture to show the next page was an article titled, “DAILY PLANET REPORTER… BATMAN!?”

A wave of relief washed over Tim and he placed his face in his hands. “Were you up all night on the hero conspiracy boards again?”

“No. I mean, I found this on a board and was up all night thinking about it, but I found it reasonably early.”

“One in the morning isn’t reasonable, Bernard.”

“Says the guy who’s always wide awake when I call to infodump.”

“Touché.” Tim leaned against Bernard and gave him a smile. “So tell me, why is some reporter from Metropolis from all places Batman.”

“First of all, living in Metropolis is the perfect cover. Everyone assumes Batman would live in Gotham, no one would consider he could be from anywhere else. Metropolis is outside the GMA, but close enough that the commute is still possible.”

“But it’s Metropolis.”

“And who would think Gotham’s Dark Knight lives in the sunshine capital? Plus, I hear he disappears a lot on the job. There’s gotta be a reason for it!”

Tim made a note to let Clark know he needs to cut back on the disappearing act some since people are catching on.

“And have you seen the guy? He is swol AF, babe.”

“Please don’t call me babe while you’re talking about how hot another guy is.” Especially Tim’s honorary uncle.

“You know I prefer twinks.”

“BERNARD!”

“I’m just saying,” he continued, ignoring Tim’s shout. “The guy is definitely hiding something! Besides, Kent is an investigative reporter. He’s gotta know a lot about cases and the underground and detective work.”

Not as much as he likes people to think, but more than he likes people to know Superman does, Tim mused. “But what about the other vigilantes?”

“Well, Kent has a cousin…” Bernard flipped through a folder and pulled out a picture of Kara. It looked like a screenshot of her interviewing Lena for CatCo. “She’s obviously the latest Batgirl. Look at her hair. And the first Batgirl and the current Batwoman were obviously Lois Lane, the red hair is just a wig. Did you see how she kicked butt at that last event she went to? She’s not as subtle as Kent. That means their son is the latest Robin. He’s exactly the right size.”

Oh, Damian better not hear about this, Tim cackled internally. His youngest brother hated being reminded that Jon was the same height as him despite their two years age difference. Damian definitely took after Talia when it came to body type, no matter what he said.

“And Kent also has a brother.” This time he pulled out a picture of Kon. The clone must have been caught by a reporter out shopping with Ma since he was carrying some paper bags and glaring at whoever was behind the camera. “At least, he’s supposedly Kent’s brother, but he was a teenager when he first showed up with the Kents. A lot of people think he’s actually Kent’s son, that Kent got a girl pregnant when they were teenagers and something happened to the mom so Kent had to take him in. Now the Kents are trying to hide it by saying the two are brothers.”

That was… scarily accurate actually. Especially given Luthor and Clark were close friends at the time that Kon would have theoretically been born.

“And that beef would explain why the younger Kent brother went all crime lord on Gotham for a while before reconnecting with the family.”

“Wait, what?”

“Yeah, Kent Jr.’s got the perfect build for Red Hood.”

Tim bit back a comment on how Kon was shorter than Jason by a good foot. Timothy Drake-Wayne should not know that. Add Jason to the list of people who can’t hear this theory.

“And then there’s this girl,” Bernard picked up a picture of Lois, Jon, and Natasha Irons walking down the street together. “No one’s sure exactly who she is, but she’s been spotted with the Kents a few times. I think the cover story is that she’s Jon’s babysitter.”

“And the actual story?”

“She’s Black Bat, obviously. That’s why she wears a mask that fully covers her face. She doesn’t want to stand out as the only African American Bat.”

“Isn’t Signal also Black?”

“Yeah, but he works in the daytime so he’s already a standout.”

“And who is Signal in this? And what about Nightwing and Red Robin?”

“Well, Nightwing’s just a Blüd who came to Gotham. He doesn’t count.”

Ouch. Sorry, Dick.

“And Red Robin is obviously an older Robin, the one who was Robin when we were kids. Kent wanted to keep him on, and I don’t blame him. As for Signal, he’s got the same backstory as all the other Robins Kent picked up, he just went the Signal route because he didn’t fit the usual Robin mold.”

“Because the female Robin fit the mold,” Tim snorted. Robin Mold, as if he and his brothers were even the same ethnicity. Or even had the same hair color. Jason dyes his hair, Dick’s is brown-black, Tim’s is pure black, and Damian’s is more a dark brown and it’s only getting lighter as he gets older.

“She didn’t, that’s the point. Kent tried to give breaking the Robin mold a chance by letting his cousin have a go at it, but he realized it just didn’t work so she went back to being Spoiler and he got a new Robin.”

Not touching that with a ten-foot pole. “Right, and where does he get the usual Robins? Please tell me you’re not back on the secret government orphanages theory.”

“No, no, no. Kent travels sometimes for his job, right? And a lot of the time he’s going to places that have been hit by disasters or major crimes. So he’ll take in some of the displaced children to train as his robins.”

Tim pressed his face back into his hands.

“You see it, right?”

Honestly, Tim was just wondering how his boyfriend could be so close, and yet so far off. “How would Kent even afford taking care of a bunch of secret -- possibly illegally acquired -- children without anyone noticing?”

“Simple. Bruce Wayne is funding him.”

“Bernard, I love you, but what the heck?” Tim blushed and looked up as he realized what he’d said, but Bernard didn’t seem to notice as he steamrolled ahead.

“It’d also explain how he can afford all the gear and how he’d be able to travel to Gotham or anywhere else Batman goes without anyone noticing. He probably has a secret Batplane or something.”

“Why would Bruce do that?”

“Because Wayne cares about Gotham, everyone knows that, and this way he can make sure someone’s taking care of the city without anyone putting two and two together.”

“And two plus two is?”

Bernard gave him a hard look. “I’m not stupid, Tim. Bruce Wayne is obviously Superman. His face is right there.”

Oh, the others are going to love this! Too bad I can’t tell Damian or Jason. Jason especially would have loved this. “Right. Bruce is Superman.”

“He is. Superman is known for being nice and Bruce Wayne’s basically all that’s keeping the city running at this point. That’s nice as hell.”

Oh my god.

“And Wayne does charity for the victims of cataclysms, doesn't he? I bet he first saves people from them as Superman and then builds them new homes for free.”

Oh my god! Why am I not recording this!?

“And the Wayne’s were rich enough to hide the fact they adopted an alien baby.”

Tim raised an eyebrow. “If you’re about to tell me this is why Bruce’s parents got killed, you might want to stop while you’re ahead.”

“It’d make sense. There’re all sorts of unanswered questions about their deaths,” Bernard muttered under his breath, flipping through the folder. He pulled out another picture of Kara. This time she was in full Supergirl attire with a bus held overhead. “So if Wayne is Superman, then that’d mean your ex-girlfriend could be Supergirl. They look a lot alike and it’d explain how she got involved with you all.”

“Bernard, she has a human dad. You know, Cluemaster. The supervillain.”

“Yeah, her dad. But we don’t know anything about her mom!”

“Let me guess…”

Bernard pulled out a picture of Karen. She and Helena were suited up and talking to a group of cops, two goons held over each of Karen’s shoulders. “Her mom could be Power Girl! Some makeup and a wig and she could look just like Crystal Brown! And Damian Wayne is obviously the new Superboy! That’s why his background is such a mystery, right? He had to stay a secret until he could control his alien superpowers. That’s why he’s always so mean. It’s a cover since everyone knows Superboy is super sweet!”

Sure, when he’s not helping Damian pull pranks or using his adorable powers to put the blame on Kon and I. “No, Bernard. Damian and Steph are just very human hellspawn. And Bruce and Crystal are human too. I can’t believe you called me over here just to tell me you think Superman is both Batman’s sugar daddy and my adoptive dad.”

“Well, that’s not exactly why I called you over,” Bernard admitted, the nervous energy coming back. He grabbed Tim’s hands. “Tim -”

Tim’s stomach sank. “You are breaking up with me!”

“What? No! I don’t want to break up!”

“Why are you acting all nervous and serious then!?” Tim asked, pulling his hands away to throw them up in the air.

Bernard shook the folder. “Because I’m trying to tell you I figured out you’re Superboy!”

Tim’s brain blue-screened and his hands slowly dropped. “I’m sorry, what?”

“I know you’re Superboy. The older one, obviously. By the way, you and Damian really need to figure out separate names.”

Forget Jason and Damian, Kon can never find out about this. He’d never let me live it down. “Bernard, you called me a twink five minutes ago. Su-” Shoot, I can not risk getting Kon’s attention! “The older one might not be as big as Superman, but he’s not a twink.”

“Well, yeah, that’s the shapeshifting at work.”

“The what?”

“Obviously you Kryptonians can shapeshift. Why else would you look so much like humans?”

… Why do Kryptonians look so much like humans? Was there some - Wait, no! Break into the Fortress of Solitude for research later! Reassure your boyfriend that you’re not an alien now! “Bernard -”

“And that explains why your step-mom was so hot.”

“Gross.”

“She and your dad were actors hired by Luthor so you could have a normal life! But now Bruce has custody so he adopted you.”

“No.”

“That’s why you and your dad were so weird with each other when I met him.”

“We were weird because he’d just gotten out of a coma not long before to find that his wife was dead so he decided to actually be a dad for once in his life, but overcompensated and became a helicopter parent to a kid who was mostly on his own for his entire life!” Tim blurted out. “I am not an alien, Bernard!”

“Well, not technically since you were cloned from Superman on Earth.”

“Oh my god! You were just talking about Steph being Supergirl! Why would I date my dad’s cousin?”

Bernard blinked. “Supergirl and Superman are cousins?”

Right, Timothy Drake-Wayne wasn’t supposed to know that. “I thought they’d said something like that before, yeah. Are people seriously saying I’m Superboy on the internet?”

“NO! No, I swear I would have led with that if I thought your identity was compromised. A few people have mentioned Wayne and Damian, but not you or Steph or Jason.”

“Wh-Jason!? You think Jason was an alien too!”

“No, not exactly, but a few times when I’ve visited I swear I’ve seen a guy in the manor who looks like Jason. It’s just been out of the corner of my eye and he’s gone whenever I look so I’ve always thought it was just Dick or Bruce or some picture of Jason that my mind was playing tricks with, but it makes sense now that I know Wayne is Superman. He must have been able to heal Jason with alien tech, but couldn’t say anything because that would give away that he’s Superman.”

Damn it Jason! And damn it Bernard! I’m dating the smartest moron in the world! “Bruce did not bring Jason back with alien technology and none of us are aliens!”

“It’s okay, Tim. I won’t tell anyone.”

Tim grabbed Bernard by the jacket and pulled him into a kiss. When he started to feel lightheaded, he pulled back, “Could someone whose skin is as solid as stone kiss like that?”

Bernard blinked dazedly at him for a moment. “How do you know what Superboy’s skin feels like?”

Tim screamed internally. “He’s saved me from a kidnapping before.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I can get you the police report if you want.”

“Huh… And the others?”

“Not Supers. I can stab Damian the next time we’re at the manor if that’ll prove none of us are aliens.” He’d rather stab Jason, but that would probably only confirm to Bernard that Bruce used alien technology to bring him back.

“You probably shouldn’t stab your brother if he isn’t an alien.”

Tim rolled his eyes. “I won’t stab him anywhere deadly.”

“That’s not the point,” Bernard said slowly.

“He’ll be fine.”

“If you say so.”

“So do you believe I’m not an alien now?” Tim huffed, letting go of Bernard’s jacket.

The blond’s eyes dipped down to Tim’s lips. “If I say no, will you kiss me like that again?”

“You’re ridiculous,” Tim said, but he kissed him anyway.

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

“Okay, but I still say Clark Kent is definitely Batman.”

“Sure, Bernard.”

[misterghostfrog]

[IMAGE ID; a digital drawing of Martin Blackwood carrying Jonathan Sims from The Magnus Archives. Martin is a fat freckled white man with curly ginger hair that is shaved close at the sides. He has a pair of round framed glasses in a bright red, under the glasses he is wearing eyeliner, and a navy eyeshadow. He has black lipstick, two black snakebite piercings under his lip, and a small black nostril piercing. His ear has a large black piercing that cuffs a chain to a small black piercing higher up his ear, and one final black piercing in the middle. He has a black choker, and then a looser chain necklace with an eye ornament on it. He has a studded lather jacket on that is covered in multiple patches and pins, mostly hidden by Jon: of the visible pins there is a trans flag patch on his chest, and on his shoulder is a large dark colored patch that has A-C-A-B on it in white. Under the Jacket is a black shirt that he has partly tucked into his pants, the shirt has a large anarchy symbol drawn on it in red. Under that he is wearing jeans that are significantly ripped as far as we can see. On his right hand he has several black rings, and his nails are painted black. Jon is a skinny Jordanian man with brown eyes and shoulder-length grey-streaked dark brown hair pulled back into a messy ponytail at the base of his neck. He has a beard beginning to grow that appears to be the product of forgetting to shave. He is covered in a series of small round scars that vary in exact size. He is wearing a pair of rectangle-framed glasses, a plain t-shirt, a pair of jeans that are ripped at the knee, and converse. Martin is carrying Jon bridal style in his arms, and is looking away, he is blushing, though his expression is concerned and appears to be speaking. Jon has his arms wrapped around Martins neck, his cheeks are darkened and he is staring at hte ground with an expression somewhere between fear and the face one makes when they’re having to retrace every step they’ve taken to get here. END ID]

Punk Martin but make it Jonmartin.

Also I wrote a lil thing to go along with this under the cut, its only barely edited because it was mostly for fun so be warned its a big ol mess! But its s2 jonmartin nonsense with Martin being very cool and attractive and Jon being seven layers deep in denial (Also I may have written Jon as a touch autistic because its projection hours tonight i’m too sleepy to mask and that goes for writing too babey)

(Mentions of worms, past injuries, and Jon dealing with some internalised ableism and general foolishness)

Jon forgot his cane.

It’s a relatively regular occurrence, for a multitude of reasons. For one thing it’s something of a recent addition to the list of things he needs to keep track of when he leaves the house. Another lovely parting gift from Prentiss, a worm in his left leg that went just quick enough to start burrowing into the bone before it was removed. 

For another, he really has other things to worry about. And if it doesn’t hurt, it shouldn’t matter. Most days he can get by just fine without it- it hurts of course. But not so much he can’t support himself, and really, does he need it otherwise?

Martin and Tim don’t seem to agree, though Sasha has kept respectfully to herself on the whole business. Martin, of course, he trusts. Albeit only recently. But that doesn’t make him right, his priorities are warped. Naturally. He doesn’t see the bigger picture.

(or at least that’s what Jon tells himself)

Which is what leads to this moment, sitting on a bench outside the shop, single grocery bag by his feet. He’d only run out to get a few things, but somewhere between the his flat the the shop his barely visible limp had become more pronounced as his hip began to throb, then he was halfway through the frozens when he realized he wasn’t going to be able to finish the trip. After that he’d barely made it through checkout to the nearest seat before all but collapsing into it.

And now he’s sitting, stuck. An insurmountable walk from home, without his stupid cane. Which, he notes, he wouldn’t need if he’d brought in the first place. Funny how that works.

“Jon?” A familiar voice jolts him out of his thoughts. Jon jolts upright. Martin. 

He knows Martin lives in the area, a side effect of his... investigations. Though he was unaware he used the same shop. He looks up, a greeting or perhaps a question on his lips that dies as soon as he actually lays eyes on Martin.

Martin is wearing a leather jacket. Not just a leather jacket of course, but that’s the first thing Jon can process. He’s wearing a studded leather jacket covered in various patches that advertise various opinions and identities that Jon doesn’t have time to think about. His  jeans are about as much rip as they are Jean, and he’s got piercings- and eyeliner. he’s dressed like he should be riding a motorcycle, not the beat-up red bike he’s got beside him.

“Are you alright?” Martin says, and Jon realizes he’s been staring.

“Are you going to a costume party?” Jon blurts instead of answering. A costume party would make sense, of course. Martin doesn’t dress like this, he dresses like- like-

It occurs to him dimly that he’s never encountered Martin outside of work, at least never in a scenario that would allow him to change out of his work clothes. And some part of him has always assumed that sweaters and khakis were simply how he dressed. It suited him, really. Or Jon had assumed, but then again he assumed anything familiar is suiting.

“Wh- A- no?” Martin answers, looking vaguely offended. Jon flushes.

“I- sorry, I just- I’ve... I didn’t think you seemed the type to dress... like that...?” Jon fumbles, pathetically trying to salvage the conversation. Judging by Martins expression, he’s failing.

Martin opens his mouth to say something, and Jon realizes there’s likely no coming back from this particular mortification. He snatches the bag by his feet and moves to stand. Some excuse already tumbling out when the reason for his sit-down, which had dulled to a shockingly forgettable throb, decides to remind him of his place in the world.

He lets out a cry of pain, and crumples. Only stopped from hitting the ground by a pair of arms that wrap around his chest and under his shoulder. 

“Oh my god, Jon. Are you alright- what- is it your leg? Where’s your cane-” Martin babbles, Gently replacing Jon on his bench as Jon breathes through gritted teeth.

“It’s fine- i’m fine Martin I-” he sighs, studiously avoiding Martins gaze. “My cane is at home.” He tries not to sound chastised as he says the last part- he shouldn’t have to after all. He’s still Martins boss. He shouldn’t be looking away like he’s been caught at something.

“Jon” Martin sounds exasperated, and Jon crosses his arms. Once again, nothing like someone being scolded. He’s not being scolded. He’s an adult. “How long have you been sitting here like this?”

“I...” Jon begins before trailing off, he’s not actually sure. The period between sitting on the bench and the pain dulling enough for him to think through the fog is something is a blur. He is pretty sure someone asked if he was alright at some point. His lack of answer seems to be enough for Martin though.

“Just give me a moment.” He says, stepping away from Jon over to his bike- which has fallen over onto the ground -pulling it upright and over to Jon on the bench. He pushes down the rusted kickstand with a hearty kick- and Jon briefly notes he’s wearing steel-toed boots -and sets the bike gently upright.

“Okay, so! If you sit on the bike I can push it, and you can get home and rest that leg without jostling it too much by trying to walk without your cane.” He says pointedly. Jon makes a face,

“This... this really isn’t necessary Martin- I’m perfectly capable-” He grumbles, waving a hand dismissively. But a glance at Martins expression shuts him up quick. 

“Do you think you can stand?” He asks. Jon pauses, the memory of the white-hot flash of pain still fresh in his mind. He grimaces, shaking his head. Martin hums thoughtfully. “Alright, would you be alright if I picked you up? Just for a moment to get you on the bike” He asks carefully.

Jon hesitates, looking between Martin and the bike. And weighs his options. After several seconds he nods. Martin smiles, and Jon feels something in his chest flutter. Anxiety at his decision most likely. Or perhaps nerves in relation to sitting on a bike, he’s never ridden one- of course Martin will be doing all the work but surely there’s some sort of balance required isn’t there? Really he shouldn’t be riding a bike like this-

Those thoughts are all swept away at the feeling of large warm hands gently scooping him off the bench. He instinctively throws his arms around Martins neck for support as he’s lifted into the air. 

He can feel Martins chest warm against his side as Martin holds him close, one hand on his shoulder and the other supporting his legs. He’s being cradled by his subordinate, carefully as so not to jostle his leg. And all he can think about is how warm Martin is. He’s large and soft despite all the sharper accessories and he smells a bit like leather and tea on top of whatever soap he uses. Probably something that Jon wouldn’t be able to name with a gun to his head. And Jon can see the freckles on Martins cheeks and neck close enough to count if he wanted to even as he looks away, saying something Jon can’t quite parse because he’s too busy reeling from the realization he’d be happy to sit in Martins arms like this for the rest of his life.

His face goes hot and he forces himself to look down at the ground. The pain is clearly messing with his head, or perhaps the sleep deprivation. Or perhaps he’s still riding the high from that moment of realization that Martin isn’t trying to kill him, that he can trust him. 

Either way he’s not thinking straight, which is why he’s dissapointed instead of relieved when Martin gently places him on the bike with the exact amount of care he took in picking him up. Which shouldn’t make him feel so oddly jittery but it does.

The ride is quiet, aside from awkward instructions from Jon on where to turn as Martin guides them carefully along the sidewalk. They miss a turn once because Jons too preoccupied with the feeling of Martins arm bumping against his shoulder as he guides the bike.

And then they’re at Jons flat, and Jon once again feels that misplaced disappointment. He wonders if perhaps Martin will carry him up to his flat, and his face burns again as the silliness of the thought hits him.

Martin does very, very briefly lift him to help him off the bike when he stumbles. But his leg has recovered enough that he can make it up to his flat without assistance, or so he tells Martin. Who looks unconvinced.

“Let me at least walk with you, yea? That way I know for sure you got home safe.” He insists, and Jon forced himself to be displeased with the situation.

It ends up being a good thing Martin came along though, a partway up the steps the railing is no longer enough to support Jon, and he ends up half-carried the rest of the way. Martins arm under his shoulder, his own loops around Martins back, gripping the jacket for support. He can feel his head drifting at the contact- Martin is just so damned warm and safe and Martin it’s impossible not to get distacted.

He forces himself to think about something else, anything else. The jacket- he can feel the leather under his fingertips and it’s as good distraction as any.

It’s a nice jacket, really. Clearly well-worn. And it does suit Martin, in an odd sort-of way.

Jon winces internally, remembering the conversation from earlier. He hadn’t meant to come off so... well. It doesn’t matter. Except that it does, even though it doesn’t, but it does.

Once they reach Jons door, he pushes off of Martin to lean on the wall while he fumbles for his keys. Martin lingers as he does so, twiddling his thumbs awkwardly in the silence.

Jon finds his keys and sighs in relief as the door swings open.

He nearly wanders inside and shuts the door before remembering basic human etiquette. He pauses in the doorway, turning to Martin. Who smiles awkwardly.

“Thank you.” He says stiffly, still leaning heavily on the doorframe. “That was... very kind. Of you.” Martin shakes his head.

“It’s nothing, really. Couldn’t exactly just leave you there, could I?” 

Jon shifts awkwardly, wincing at the brief weight on his leg. He’s right of course, morally at least. If not logically.

“I... I suppose not.” He says, hesitating before adding “I’m sorry.”

“Look, Jon. I already said it’s fine-”

“No-” Jon grimaces “not for that. I- I meant... for what I said. About your clothes. They don’t... I just- I didn’t expect it, and I may have come off as... rude.” He mutters

“Oh.” Martin says flatly, Jons sure he’d forgotten about that until just now, and he wishes he could have kept it that way.

“they do suit you, though.” He says, after an awkward pause. “Your clothes, I mean. It looks- you look nice.” he finishes as genuinely as he can- he does mean it. Of course, he just doesn’t know how to make it sound like he does.

“Oh” Martin says again, brightening slightly, his cheeks going blotchy red in a blush. “I- er- thank you...? I suppose?”

“Yes. Well. Your welcome, I suppose.” There’s another awkward pause, Martin isn’t quite smiling at Jon, but there’s something soft in his expression Jon can’t quite parse. “ Have a good day, Martin.” He says finally, after a long pause. Martins cheeks redden again.

“Oh- yeah, er. You too Jon- and take care of yourself. Alright?”

Jon nods, and Martin smiles. And Jon thinks he’d like to see Martin smile a bit more.

He waves as Martin heads down the stairs, he can hear Martin humming as he goes.

[liquid-luck-00]

Seven Stages of Being thrown into Teenage Superherodom

Stage 1: Panic

@marijon-week Day 1: Blue Eyes / Identity Reveal

@t1dwarrior-of-earth

Here *** Second

~~~~~~~~~~

Ever since Fu made her Guardian she left Paris. The Kwamii convinced her that the stress of being ladybug and the mental, and now physical, abuse of her classmates has become too much. Her parents also noticed her shift and they supported her leaving.

This was how she found herself in Blüdhaven. She was a student at Gotham Academy, but with Gotham's high crime rate they wanted somewhere safer for her. Sure she could have also chosen Metropolis, but the commute from Blüdhaven was shorter.

She will be the first to admit that it wasn't ideal, but for her mental health it was great. And with complete honesty and sincerity she wouldn't change a thing.

You see one thing that apparently gets overlooked is that Nightwing is the resident vigilante of Blüdhaven. Even more is the fact that he happens to be her neighbor.

OK so maybe a little bit backtracking here. Marinette may have figured out that her next-door neighbor, Detective Richard Grayson, happens to moonlight as Nightwing at night.

So the building they had chosen for her was extremely safe, however they didn’t take an account Marinette's extremely packed and late work schedule. With how Marinette would still be awake in the early morning hours, and if she heard a thump of boots on the balcony next to hers regularly, she is going to look out the window eventually.

When she does, she sees Nightwing at her neighbor's apartment. Which could be one of two possible reasons why Nightwing could be there. One, his significant other lived in that apartment and he just came regularly. Or two, he lived there and assumed every sane person was asleep.

Her question was eventually answered one night when she was at the desk next to her balcony door, she heard boots like normal, but this time they were closer than normal, this time they were on her balcony.

The door moved, causing her to turn and focus on the door. That was when a male voice muttered, I thought I left it unlocked like always.

So most people would have quietly left, but she wasn't most she opened the blinds. She is pretty sure she had a stare down with him but its difficult to say because at the mask.

However after countless akuma attacks, you tend to figure out who the target is, which is what she did. Same height, same rough build, same hit and skin tone, combined with her ability to recognize figures for fashion, that gives you Richard Grayson. Without breaking eye contact she got up, stepped to the door, opened it and pulled him in, shutting it and the blinds, turning to face him. Then is when she noticed the blood near his hair line and down his neck.

“There better be an extremely good reason why this happened Mr. Grayson.” She looked innocently at him, “because I don’t know how to explain.” She gestured to him now seated at her desk. She pulled out her first aid kit and started checking him.

“How did you find out?”

“Night owl,” she shrugged. “I hear you come in every night and well um, well...”

“Curiosity got the best of you.” She nodded.

Of course this was when her phone would go off, she grabbed it, opened it, and groaned, because of course she was being called a Paris in the middle of the night, morning over there.

“You know what you're still alive, just a superficial head injury, but I have to go.” She said moving towards her bedroom when Mr. Grayson finally reacted.

“I’m supposed to… you said you were 14 right?” She nodded. “I’m supposed to let a 14 year-old leave in the middle of the night?”

“I am, I can explain in the morning.” She tried to justify, but he wouldn't let go of her wrist. So in a leap of faith, she gave him a quick rundown of the Paris situation and why she had to leave. If after this Blüdhaven had another vigilante well no one else knew why, Trixx loved it though. And she had someone who not only knew who she was but knew how to help and train her. Even if he acted more like a brother to her.

After all the eyes are the windows to the soul, and as a true guardian and a pure soul of creation, she knows that she can trust Richard ‘Dick’ Grayson’s.

- - -

It’s almost humorous that the next pair of eyes she would this come to trust were a blue so electric that they seemed to hold Lightning itself. Those eyes belong to one Jonathan Samuel Kent.

She had actually met John while in class at Gotham Academy, but nothing much more than their initial meeting and a good morning in the halls. This was pretty much because he seemed to stick with Damian Wayne, the ice Prince of Gotham. And green eyes always hurt her in the past, so she mostly stayed away from them.

However the fates had another plan for them. A group project, yay was sarcastically running through her head because of course, the two people she was partnered with happened to be two pairs of eyes that made an impression on her originally.

“So, should we go to your place, or should we go to the library, oh maybe we should go to Damien’s, or maybe mine to work on this.” Jon rapid fired at her and Damian, as they well she moved in order to talk about the project.

“I um... I’m not exactly...” she couldn’t even finish the sentence before Damian butt in.

“Tt figure this out and inform me later.” With that he go up and walked away. And go figure her assumption that everyone with green eyes were complete and total dicks is just reinforced. Because if you’ve never had a good experience with anything or anyone who shares the same traits why would it be any different now.

“Maybe we should just meet at the café or at the library just get this over with.” She got up with the bell, turned on her heel, leaving Jon sitting at the desk she just vacated.

She heard of a soft, “oh ok” as she walked away.

But of course nothing ever was easy in her life. Because the next thing she knows she hears foot falls behind her, they were actually picking up speed, and then stomps as if they were trying to stop right behind her. That was when I hand wrapped itself around her wrist making her spin and face the person who grabbed her.

In that moment she didn’t think, she reacted, she reacted like every other time one of her classmates decided to hurt her. It was a motion that came as naturally as breathing while in her civilian form, so much so that she would bet her heartbeat wouldn’t have changed. She dropped the books and book bag from her arms and shoulder lifting her arms defensively to protect her head and she pushed her shoulders forward , defend her head, in an attempt to stop a blow. But the swing never came, no weight, no pressure, no kick, no pain, just silence.

She tentatively opened her previously shut eyes eyes and looked forward, towards where the hand had originally pulled her, to the person who pulled her, she saw Jon, shocked at her reaction and then that turned to fear almost, it seemed to her, as if he was wondering if he did something wrong, if he hurt her, quickly she tugged her arm away from him and dropped to the ground and tried to pick up her items. However what shocked her was that he also dropped down and tried to help her pick up her things.

She looked up as he handed her a stack, “I forgot to ask you for your number so we can do a group chat. Are you OK?”

“Oh yeah yeah I’m fine.” She pulled a pen quickly from her bag and a sticky note, she usually uses to annotate her sketches and class notes come on, “here.” She handed him the piece of paper, Marinette got up and started to walk away again, as to not miss her next class.

By the end of the day, she found out that Jon can can text her head off. She always tries to respond to text quickly but this boy spammed the chat trying to get to know her better. If she was Damian, and she figured he did, she would’ve silenced the conversation, but it would be rude of her not answer.

Eventually they did figure out a an arrangement, Damian was going to go meet a brother after school so he wouldn’t be available meaning that she and Jon would start the project. So they decided to open a chat just between the two of them and figured it out from there.

Seeing as both of them lived outside of Gotham they decided it would be a little bit safer to meet at Marinette’s and John would leave from her apartment. And that is what they did, together the two of them left Gotham Academy after school, took the train to Blüdhaven and got into study mode. They worked in relative peace, researching and writing down ideas until there was a knock on the door. Marinette made her way up to the door, looked through and there stood Dick. So she opened the door, yet what got her attention was not just her pseudo Brother but the person who is with him. This person just happened to be the missing member of their project group, Damian.

“Hey Mari, I thought I would introduce you to my baby brother!” He beamed then noticing the other person in the room. “Hey Jon.” He greater and then took a double take “Jon!!!”

“Hey Dick, Damian.” He smiled.

“Tt. Anyone care to explain this.” Damian glared between her and his brother.

“Wow something the boy wonder doesn’t know.” She muttered under her breath, apparently it wasn’t quite quiet enough as some reacted.

“She knows?!?” Jon directed towards Dick and Damian.

“Know what?” She bit the bullet.

“Boy Wonder!?!” He seemed to shout just loud enough to get their attention. This did cause a reaction, Dick almost looked proud but Damian seemed ready to attack her.

“Okay I knew you were clever but seriously?!”

“Not the time Dick!” She moved so the kitchen island was between her and Damian. That was when something clicked Boy Wonder, Robin, Damian is Robin. Dick is Nightwing, both work with Batman. Jon heard her the others didn’t, Robin is close with… oh sweet honey iced tea. “ Dick please please tell me that I’m wrong!”

“I’m going with no your right.” Thump went her head as it fell onto the counter unrestrained.

“Why can’t my life be normal?” She asked no one in particular.

“You are a magical girl who can use the power of mini sized gods who you also protect.” Dick supplied ever so helpfully.

“Not helping!” She glared at him.

“Your life wasn’t normal long before we met.”

“Still.” She grumbled. Damian and Jon were now watching her and Dick interact as if trying to figure something out. Ping. Her phone went off. “Oh come on.” She fell back on the counter.

“Who is it this time?” Dick asked.

She tossed the phone to him. “I hate elementals.” A livestream of Stormy Weather ravaged the city of Paris.

“Cookies?”

“Cookies, I’ll be back.” He tossed her a box from her pantry. Special macaroons for the kwamii.

“Wait! Let me come with you.”

“And how many times have I told you that would be a bad idea.”

“But…”

“No, don’t make me call Honey Bee to venom you again.”

He slowly backed up and sat on the couch dragging Damian with him. “I’ll um… I’ll hold down the fort. Don’t call Goldie.”

“I won’t.” She turned to go to her room. “Oh there is fresh cookies in the jar.”

She silently transformed and portaled away. Luckily her team was already there and they made quick work of the Akuma. Meaning she was back near instantly.

“That was quick.”

“Viperion was there.”

“How many times?”

“Dunno.”

“Liar.”

“Am not.”

“You are.” Jon interjected into their bickering.

“Who’s side are you on anyways?” She asked out.

“I have no idea.”

“Great we broke Superboy.” She plopped down on the couch next to a stunned Jon. “If only… Fluff.”she smiled, and knowing that smile Dick panicked. “Fluff. Hey Fluff.”

“Oh no time travel is what got you into this time travel will not get you out.” Dick jumped landing on her keeping her seated.

“What it’s going fine?!“ Jon screamed at them, looking pretty close to a mental break down, she should know.

“You didn’t explain anything did you.” She looked on up from her position under a pile of a Dick and pillows.

“I was meaning to come up with the cookies were good and kind of had my mouthful.”

“OK great so here’s the rundown. Hello my name is Marinette Dupain-Cheng and I was chosen at the age of 13 to wield the Miraculous of the Ladybug which grants me the power of creation and healing. I moved Blüdhaven and enrolled into Gotham Academy because of my utterly deteriorating mental health as a result of bullying in my previous school. Not to mention the magical terrorist who prays on sad or negative emotions, who happens to be using the Miraculous Butterfly or the miraculous of transmission. My partner uses the miraculous of the black cat which grants them the power of destruction, but he’s a total and complete asshole, but that’s not surprising. I was then given full guardianship of every single miraculous in the Chinese zodiac box, the most powerful of all of them the tender age of 14. I figured out that Dick was Nightwing about a month after I moved in and afterwards I have been going out into with him as he’s in as the vigilante Vulpes. And I literally just figured out you are Robin,” she pointed at Damian. “And you are Super Boy,” she pointed at Jon, “because of you’re a little outburst. I would not have figured it out otherwise! And I’m totally not I am going crazy because now there is a total of three people who know my identity in another country, no less, and I’m sure I can figure out the rest of the Bat family from here but I so I don’t want to.“ She was able to breathe now, after having explained this in just under a minute.

She looked between both Damian and Jon noticed they both looked as if she was either crazy or that certainly made a lot of sense, or a mixture of both she really can’t tell.

“You were bullied.“ Jon seemed to only take away. “That actually explains earlier.” He said just load enough for her to hear, as they were still next to each other.

“I’m not going over this again.“ She huffed, causing Dick to roll off of her laughing onto the ground and she followed suit. “You know there’s a reason I’ve always trusted blue eyes.” That was the beginning of and inseparable friendship between her and Damian, and something more between her and Jon.

None of them quite knew that at the time.

Next

~~~~~~~~~~

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Taglist: @miraculousfanfic127 @t1dwarrior-of-earth @bonusbuggy @ashbrea381writings

[theskywaslookingback]

tma fic recs please ? 🤲🏽

Oooooo yes! I never get asks like this, thank you!

[my tumblr fic recs tag is here for browsing]

I had to put it under a cut because it got...entirely too long barely half an hour into making it, sorry.

Under 5k

means of cartharsis by orphan_account [G] [965]

“You’d think – you’d that at this point nightmares would be second nature for me, hm?” Martin says, forcing a smile even as he tugs the blanket tighter around his trembling shoulders.

It’s meant to be a bit funny. Instead of laughing, though, Jon frowns.

“No,” he says simply, and matter-of-factly wipes the moisture from Martin’s cheeks with a tissue like he’s a crying child.

A Proper Sleepover by Goodluckdetective (scorpiantales) [T] [1.4k]

In a different world, one where Elias is not waiting for them outside the Lonely, everyone has a chance to savor a moment of respite. As much as they can get these days. If only to talk about things that long need to be spoken.

“Basira says we should all sleep in the same room tonight,” Jon says without looking up. “Safer. So we can keep an eye out for intruders and also each other.”

“So we’re having a proper sleepover then?”

Jon scoffs. “Technically we’ve been having a proper one for months.”

where i go, when i go there by rainny_days [T] [1.7k]

Martin wants Jon to hold his hand. Martin doesn't want Jon to hold his hand.

It's complicated.

all the other ways by AptlyNamed [G] [2.2k]

Jon loses his first soul mark when he is eight years old.

a palace from ruin by bibliocratic [G] [2.2k]

"What're you sorry for?” Martin asks.

“I should have asked,” Jon says finally. “I'd never.... you were always so private about him, so I mean, at first I wasn't sure he was even yours, but then – when you, when you went with Peter, and I – he was so small, and I thought he was h-half-dead. S-so I picked him up and I carried him. And I'm sorry.”

interiors by doomcountry [T] [2.7k]

In the doorway, he fumbles with his keys. Their sound is loud in the silent stairwell. You don’t remember getting here.

searching for a light (for a right) by Kalgalen [T] [2.7k]

Some people make the mistake of assuming he's naive about sex, for the simple reason he hasn't dated in a while. Tim has called him a prude, at one point, and implied that he was somehow afraid of the intimacy required by the act; he wasn’t entirely wrong, but this definitely isn’t the reason for Jon's disinterest and general bafflement toward what most people seemed to consider as "what makes them human".

Jon simply hasn't found the right person. That is all it is: high standards, and a reticence to let people in.

(In which Jon finds out society is wrong about what a romantic relationship should be.)

how to plant a garden in rocky soil by treeprince [T] [2.9k]

Sometimes you just need a good pair of hands to work out all the kinks in your life.

Good thing Martin has two.

A Weather In The Flesh by cuttooth [G] [3k]

"There is a span of years where Jon doesn’t touch anyone other than the occasional hand shake. It’s not so bad. He’s never been someone who’s needed physical affection."

*

Jon has never been any good at making people want to stick around.

I'll bring the motion by callmearctus [T] [3.1k]

A long series of kidnappings and international flights leaves its own special mark on someone. Before the Unknowing, Jon is a mess.

Martin helps.

A Bread Made In Heaven by Againstme [G] [3.3k]

Martin moves over and watches how his boyfriend handles the dough. He's awkward with it, tentative and gentle, as if he's scared of hurting it somehow.

"Is this, uh, am I doing this right?" Jon asks, still slowly stretching out the dough and folding it onto itself.

"Well," he says shifting closer to Jon again, "you could be applying more pressure. Here, let me help you out, dear."

Martin moves fully behind Jon, and reaches around him, putting his hands on top of his boyfriend's. Jon inhales sharply, but doesn't say anything else, just lets Martin's hand rest on top of his.

Martin's hands are bigger, but not big enough to entirely envelop the other's hands, and Jon's hands are much, much warmer than his own are. To see what they're doing, Martin moves his head to look over Jon's shoulder. Though he can't see his boyfriend's face from this angle, he can see how it is slowly growing red at the edge of his vision. He decides not to tease him on it, instead content with letting a smile spread across his face and slowly guiding their joined hands in the proper motion.

Or, Martin teaches Jon how to make bread.

stumbling and spinning by lady_mab [G] [3.3k]

“Things happened,” Jon says demurely, trying to untangle Gerry’s fingers, but it only results in him getting pulled in so Gerry can kiss him properly. “It’s not all that bad.”

“I suppose not,” Gerry says with a sigh, sitting back upright. “You somehow managed to snag an incredible boyfriend out of it.”

It takes a solid few seconds before realization clicks in Martin’s brain. “You mean me?” [...]

“You have to admit, Jon has great tastes,” Gerry teases.

nothing sweeter than local honey by beeclaws [T] [3.4k]

So Tim is content, one arm leaned into the spray, waiting for the water to warm, enjoying the feeling of homecoming underneath the gentle fuzz of jetlag, when he hears gasping, panicked breaths coming from the other room.

Tim and Jon, in the aftermath, relearning how to be okay.

When Words are Inadequate by Mugatu [T] [3.8k]

Meals and the preparation of are, for want of a better word, informative. Fact gathering. A place where they can fill in the gaps of their knowledge of the other.

Jon cooks for Martin, and they learn more about each other.

go softly by doomcountry [T] [4k]

And there is nothing else besides this.

Imago by cuttooth [T] [4k]

“Jon?” he asks tentatively, tightening his grip around the poker as it slips against his sweaty palm. The antennae twitch, and suddenly Martin knows that it’s Jon, the knowledge sliding into his mind in a surge of desperate affection, the same profound love he felt that first time he truly saw Jon in the fog of the Lonely.

“Oh,” he whispers. “It really is you.”

*

Jon changes, but he’s still the same to Martin.

shoreline by bibliocratic [G] [4.1k]

“Martin," Tim says kindly, tipsily, only mildly slurring. "Dearest, dearest Martin. You're wankered, babe. Last train to Stockwell fucked off hours ago because it is now piss off o'clock in the morning, and there's a sofa with your exact name on it at my place. Thought you said you wanted some handsome fellow to take you back to his tonight?”

Or: The OG Archive crew go drinking, Martin comes out, and gets some well deserved TLC. In that order.

get your epitaph right by bibliocratic [G] [4.2k]

Martin's daemon has tried on the shape of dogs and lizards and snakes and horses, and even – once, when he was younger and Mum took him to the seaside, a fish.

Martin's never seen his soul in the dressing of a spider before.

i've known the warmth of your doorways by beeclaws [T] [4.2k]

'I’m always in pain, Jon wants to say, even as he dismisses the thought as melodramatic. Between his growing collection of old wounds and scar tissue, the supernatural hunger for statements that hasn’t been truly satiated in months, and the unpredictable aches and strains his body threw off day by day long before he ever set foot in the Institute, some level of pain and discomfort follows Jon wherever he goes now. He is used to being in pain. He’s not used to someone holding his hand as he suffers through it.'

Jon catalogs the comforts he receives, and wonders how long he will be allowed to keep them.

lay down your weary head by Zykaben [T] [4.6k]

Jon has been running himself ragged, searching for every scrap of information he can possibly find about the Unknowing. He's exhausted and sleep-deprived but he can't bring himself to take a break, not now.

Luckily, Tim and Martin are there to make sure that their boyfriend gets the care and rest he needs.

only the sweetest words remain by bluejayblueskies [T] [4.6k]

This isn't how things are supposed to go, right? Jon remembers those ratty paperbacks from the charity shops, dime-a-dozen romance novels with broken bindings and yellowing pages and words that spoke of love and passion and sexuality in prose that was more than a bit too mature for someone whose age hadn’t yet reached double digits. Stolen glances turn into dinner dates turn into passionate kisses turn into…

Well, he’d never actually read those parts of the books, because it had all seemed so deeply uncomfortable and gross. But he got the picture.

Or, Jonathan Sims, on being loved

5k-20k

and they keep not letting go by Marianne_Dashwood [G] [5k]

It’s an electric feeling, something strange and new and familiar all at once, even though he has been holding Martin’s hand for most of the day. His stomach swoops, like he is standing on the edge of the precipice of realisation and staring into the void of unknowing. But at the same time, he does know. In this instant of contact between them, the last few years of cups of tea and small smiles and momentary glances, of panic and fear and only feeling safe with Martin’s solid presence in the room, despite his paranoia, rush into him, and oh, oh oh.

ready to call this love by yewgrove [G] [5.6k]

How is Martin supposed to tell Jon that he panicked, stupidly, when the lovely old lady down the village asked him what they were doing in this part of the world? Got the shopping! Oh, by the way, we're married now! Whole village thinks we're on our honeymoon, hope you don't mind!

Prenons-nous la main by luftballons99 [T] [6k]

They still haven't talked about it, any of it, not even to pass the time on the long train ride to Scotland. Instead, Martin fell asleep in the seat next to him, pressed into his side from shoulder to knee, and Jon thought about love confessions and verb tense and how the two fit together when you think you're dying.

or: Good cows, mediocre poetry, and other crucial topics of discussion.

This Must Be The Place by cuttooth [T] [6k]

“You said – you said we were going home,” Martin says softly.

“I did,” says Jon, and is grateful that Martin doesn’t comment on him calling the Archives home. “I – I don’t really know where to go. I, uh, I don’t have a flat anymore, I don’t think. We could find a hotel?”

“Let’s go to my place,” says Martin. His hand squeezes Jon’s, more gently than before. Most importantly, Jon notes, he doesn’t let go.

*

Jon and Martin go home for a little while.

Small Things, Simple Acts by ZaliaChimera [T] [6.6k]

Even after leaving London, Jon and Martin are not free, not really. Maybe they never will be.

But for now they can be themselves, and maybe in the end, that's enough.

house by tomatoes [G] [9k]

Martin can take care of himself.

roses, roses, roses by acetheticallyy (judesstfrancis) [T] [9.3k]

Rose scented laundry detergent. Running into Jon in the breakroom. Running into Jon on his way back to his desk. Rose scented detergent. Running into Jon. Roses. Jon. Roses, roses, roses.

a deeply annoying child by ajkal2 [G] [9.6k]

Jon is hiding under the desk.

----

There's a child in the Archives, who shouldn't be there.

Inseparable by voiceless_terror [T] [10.3k]

“You can stay.” The voice interrupts his internal panic, and he looks over to find Jon studiously avoiding his gaze, staring hard at a neighboring bush. Martin wonders what caused his sudden change of heart. “But you have to sit on the other side. And don’t talk to me.”

Jonathan Sims and Martin Blackwood meet as children. Some things change, others do not.

i'm almost me again, you're almost you by gruhukens [G] [12k]

After a second Jon steps in towards him, close enough that Martin flinches, but all Jon does is put two fingers under his chin with his free hand and raise it until Martin can’t duck away. Jon has never touched him so casually before – at least, not until today, and it raises a lot of thoughts and feelings that Martin is trying very hard not to process.

Much like a lot of other things that have happened, he thinks. Not that it’s horrible or terrifying or numbing like everything else has been: it’s just another thing on the list of things he doesn’t have the capacity to deal with.

---

In the wake of the Lonely, there's a lot that Martin doesn't really want to think about.

hello my old heart by firebirdsuite [T] [15.8k]

Peter’s wrong, of course. When it’s all over, Martin does still want to tell Jon everything. It’s just—well, there’s a few things they need to work through first before they can get there.

Martin and Jon find each other again in Scotland.

Over 20k

The Kindness of Strangers by TheOestofOCs [M] [23k]

It was easier to treat Jon like a monster when he wasn’t shivering against his back, brokenly humming—wait, was that…

“Are you trying to do ‘Hey, Jude’?” Tim demanded.

Jon stopped, stiffening. “Mm hrmh mm mmh hm,” he said defensively.

“You really can’t hold a tune, can you, boss?”

*

It was just an ordinary walk to a restaurant. Tim had insisted that if they were going to talk, there would be no tape recorders or weird Archives ghosts listening in. A bit of fresh air wouldn’t kill him, Tim had said. What could go wrong?

By the time Jon spots the white delivery van, it’s much too late.

The Stranger kidnaps Jon. Tim comes along for the ride.

Misjudged by ShastaFirecracker [T] [36.5k]

Martin's been a longtime listener of What the Ghost, so when Georgie gives a shoutout to her flatmate's Twitch channel during a Q&A, he checks it out - only to discover that her flatmate is also his most terrifying coworker at his new job. The first time they crossed paths, Jon yelled at him for incompetence. But on the streams, Martin sees an entirely different person - someone fun and relaxed, engaging and unfairly attractive. Over time, Martin begins to find that Jon buried inside his dour, awkward coworker. He also learns to live with the fact that his crush is painfully one-sided... or is it?

if we make it through the night everyone is gonna hear us (Series) by skvadern [Ratings Vary] [42.4k]

In which Sasha survives the NotThem (with a little help from a certain Distortion) and she and Jon spend s2 working together to try and make sense of everything that's happening to them. It goes...interestingly

the garden of forking paths by bibliocratic [T] [49.7k]

Whatever he had predicted might happen, Jon wasn't expecting to survive upon demolishing the Panopticon. He certainly wasn't expecting to be rescued.

Instead, he wakes up in an alternative universe where he's never been the Archivist, and Martin Blackwood doesn't exist.

Martin Blackwood wakes up somewhere else entirely.

it's only forever by lady_mab [T] [50.9k]

“The castle at the center of the labyrinth,” Jon breathes, recalling again the words from one of the past conversations with Martin. “He’s there.”

“Turn back, Jonathan,” the Goblin King says, and Jon is surprised to hear a slight edge of desperation in the tone. “Turn back before it’s too late.”

“I can’t,” Jon answers with the same tone. “You know that I can’t.”

The Goblin King’s grin is gone completely, and he regards Jon with a degree of pity before that melts into resignation.

Yesterday is Here by CirrusGrey [T] [53.3k]

"Who the hell are you?" Jon could feel his hands shaking. The man laughed, taking a step forward and raising a hand to point at him. "I'm you, from the future!" he said, then swayed, eyes going unfocused, and collapsed to the floor in a dead faint. -------- Post-season-four Jon and Martin time travel back to the season one Archives.

A Home For What Loves You by TheWrongShop [T] [151k]

It was completely fine that Jon was following up on this very normal, non-supernatural statement at midnight on a Friday. He was going to find nothing at all, and then he was going to go home and sleep for fourteen straight hours and feel absolutely no qualms about moving case #0150409 directly into the filing cabinet marked "discredited".

Or; Jon and Martin end up investigating Carlos Vittery's basement and finding the entity formerly known as Jane Prentiss together.

RATED E *MINORS DNI*

A Look And A Voice by cuttooth [E] [6.9k]

“Do you want to have sex with me?” Jon asks bluntly, and for a second Martin can’t breathe.

“It - it doesn’t matter what I - ” he begins valiantly, before Jon interrupts him.

“Because I want to have sex with you, and frankly it doesn’t matter if you think it’s for the wrong reasons. I’m an adult. I can make my own decisions. The only thing that matters is if you want to as well.”

*

Martin meets a guy in a bar and takes him home.

Warms The Coldest Night by cuttooth [E] [11k]

"Flame that warms the coldest night Bring to us the waxing Light, Be with us on Solstice Night." Gypsy - Bring Back The Light

There is mistletoe hanging in the doorway to the Archives when Jon gets in.

Curiosity by ShastaFirecracker [E] [11.6k]

“You know that conversation we had the other day about how one of the most important things for queer youth to learn is that it's okay to change their minds, because identity and self-discovery are always fluid?”

Behind him, Martin slipped oven mitts over his hands and pulled open the oven door. The scent of garlic and rosemary flooded the kitchen. “Yeah?” he said.

“I, um... I'd like to revisit the topic of sex.”

At the Interim (Series) by Rend_Herring [E] [41k]

A Measure Outside the Lines and The Residuum

triptych (Series) by Stacicity [E] [44.9k]

A collection of Jon/Tim/Martin fics

a steady hand, a delicate man by callmearctus [E] [52.8k]

Martin is the proprietor and manager of a very discrete and fairly exclusive brothel situated between Belgravia and Chelsea. Blackwood House excels at special requests and pleasing any client.

Except for Jon, who probably has never been pleased a day in his entire life.

Despite that, he still comes back. It eventually begs the question: how do you solve a problem like Jon Sims?

[pitviperofdoom]

Me: I’ve got some time and motivation on my hands! Maybe I should work on one of my immediate projects, like putting the finishing touches on my RQBB piece, or making some headway on my TMA BB piece, or editing the next chapter of the DND AU...

Me: *writes a 5k opener for an au that’s basically The Owl House*

------

“Again.”

Jon held still and kept his eyes shut. Everything ached, his head most of all; the slightest movement sent lightning bolts of pain through his skull. Even now it throbbed like a quiet threat behind his closed eyes.

“Get up, Jon.”

He couldn’t. He was done. Wasn’t that obvious?

“I don’t have time to indulge you. I know you can do more. Now get up.”

He couldn’t.

“Open your eyes, Jonathan.”

That was a simpler request, at least. He could do that much, couldn’t he? He could open his eyes. It barely counted as moving.

Dutifully, Jon forced his eyelids apart. Punishment was swift; this time the pain was so intense that he couldn’t even scream, only curl up tighter on the floor with a strangled whimper. The polished tiles were cold against his face, but they did little to soothe the ache. Warm liquid trickled from his closed eyes; when had he started crying?

Across the room, Jonah sighed. “Already? We’ve barely scratched the surface, Jon. I expected another hour from you, at minimum.” Footsteps echoed against the floor, and Jon tensed in spite of the pain, but the hands that picked him up were gentle. “Come now. Our work is too important for me to indulge you like this. For Titan’s sake, your endurance was better when you were a mere child.”

Jon kept his eyes shut, and hated the part of himself that wanted to curl up again, apologize, and promise to do better. The ache was beginning to recede, just barely, but he kept his eyes shut. If he opened them too soon, then Jonah would take it as a sign that he wasn’t as tired as he behaved.

“Can you make your own way back?” Jonah asked, steadying him by the shoulders. “Or do you need help?”

Jon’s blood ran cold. That was a dangerous question. If he chose to go under his own power, then Jonah might change his mind about letting him stop. But he didn’t want help. His limbs felt like wet clay, and there wasn’t a single muscle in his body that didn’t hurt, but at least they were still his.

“I—” HIs voice cracked in his dry throat. “I can—I can make my own way. Th-thank you, Jonah.” He held his breath.

After far too long for comfort, Jonah sighed again, heavy with disappointment. “Alright, Jon. Get some rest. We’ll do better in the morning.”

“Yes, Jonah,” Jon replied, faint with relief, and waited.

He was met with silence.

“Have you changed your mind?” Jonah said, after a moment. “If you’d like to continue…”

“No,” Jon replied. “No, I’m—thank you. For letting me stop. Just…” He held his hands out in a blind plea. “It’s my eyes, so I need…”

“Ah, of course, how could it have slipped my mind?” He heard a faint rustle from Jonah’s robe, before warm, smooth wood was pressed into his waiting hands. Jon swallowed another sob of relief. “There you are, then.”

“Thank you,” Jon repeated, and turned toward where he hoped the exit was.

The shape in his hands shifted. Smooth wood became downy softness, before the feeling left his hands and landed gently against his face. Soft wings brushed his cheeks, tiny legs grasped the bridge of his nose, and the world returned to him.

He hadn’t opened his eyes, but he could see the room once more: the library’s main room, a vast space where he and Jonah did most of their work. He could see Jonah as well, watching him with the weary patience of a parent indulging a child’s tantrum.

Jon looked away, muttered his thanks again, and limped out of the room.

Even with a closed door between them, the weight of Jonah’s scrutiny never left. Not helping the matter was the wallpaper that, currently, was openly tracking his progress through the countless eyes hidden in the intricate pattern.

That was the downside to navigating with these eyes; when he used his own, he couldn’t see the Beholding that soaked every nook and cranny of the manor. At least then he could pretend that closed doors and distance meant something.

It was a long way from the research wing to his quarters—their quarters—and Jon had to pause several times for a moment’s rest. By the time he reached the last flight of stairs, he was shaking from exhaustion, and strongly considering the benefits of simply curling up in a corner of the hallway and falling asleep on the floor. Jonah certainly kept the carpets plush enough.

His borrowed vision went hazy for a moment, and soft wings beat gently against his face. Jon braced himself against the wall as another powerful headache washed over him, closed eyes be damned. His face was wet with tears again.

“Alright,” he murmured. “Alright. Just a bit farther.”

The mask of wings left his face in a sudden flurry of beating, leaving him blind again. Jon bit back a cry of alarm and stayed where he was, leaning against the wall. He wouldn’t leave—surely he wouldn’t. He’d be back. Maybe he was just…

Before he could work himself into a proper panic, he heard the door at the top of the stairs creak open. Familiar footsteps came tumbling down the steps.

“Fuck, Jon,” a familiar, wonderfully welcome voice breathed out, and Gerry caught him before he could fall.

Jon made the rest of the journey leaning heavily against him, blind and trusting. He could feel gentle puffs of air against his face, fluttering wings that didn’t quite touch, and smiled gratefully.

Eventually Gerry deposited him in a chair and went to retrieve something—from the potions stand, going by the clatter of glass vials. Less than a minute later, one of them was pressed into his hand.

“Here. Need help drinking?”

Jon shook his head. “I can manage. Thanks.” He downed the potion and was rewarded by a receding headache. His eyelids were so sticky that he had to massage them open, and his vision came back in blurry patches, one piece of the room at a time: A single table and chair by the kitchenette. Two beds shoved together in the far corner. The sparsest alchemy array on the Isles. Gerry's face, watching him with open concern.

"Do you know how much you lost?" Gerry asked.

"What?"

Gerry gestured to his face, and Jon mirrored the motion until he found rough, sticky stains streaked down his face. He was confused until some of it crumbled off at his touch, and he looked down to find flecks of congealed blood clinging to his fingertips. "That's probably not good."

"Yeah, Jon," Gerry sighed, short and forceful with held back anger. "Probably isn't." He moved off to the kitchenette, and returned moments later with a damp towel.

Jon cleaned his face, sighing in relief at the coolness against the lingering ache. He put the now-soiled towel aside, eyes finally clear, and caught the briefest glimpse of amber eye spots on coppery wings before their owner alighted gently on the side of his head.

"Yes, of course," he said, reaching up to stroke one of the moth's large downy wings. His familiar nuzzled his finger in return. "Thank you, Atlas."

"He alright?" Gerry asked grimly, already checking the moth for any sign of damage.

"Jonah had him for the entire session," Jon replied. "No overt threats today, he just… didn't let him go until we were finished. So. Could be worse."

"Could be a lot better," Gerry muttered.

It will be, he carefully didn't say. Soon, it will be.

It wasn't safe to talk like that. Not here. Not yet.

After Gerry coaxed food into him, Jon crawled beneath the covers and curled up as small as he could manage. Patched and mended blankets didn’t offer any more protection than the walls of this place, but huddling in the dark made it easier to pretend that Jonah couldn’t see him here. It was the only way he could make himself sleep, these days.

When he awoke to Gerry’s gentle shaking, Jon found that he hadn’t moved so much as a finger in his sleep.

Without a word, he slipped out from under the blanket. The light in their quarters was dimming as twilight approached. Gerry barely glanced up from the book he was reading at the table as Jon shuffled to the kitchenette and the kettle.

Casting the spell was a simple matter of well-practiced sleight of hand, disguised beneath mundane activities. One spell circle traced idly by Gerry’s finger against the page as he turned it, the other drawn in the air as Jon waved away the steam. They never did it the same way twice, nor with any regularity by day or week or month. If it became a pattern, then Jonah might catch it.

The spell slipped into place smoothly, with none of the clumsy ripples of their earliest attempts, and Jon let out a shaky sigh. They had to assume that Jonah was always watching—but now, if he was, all he would see was Gerry reading at the table, and Jon drinking tea at the kitchenette. It was a routine they had set long ago. It was exactly what Jonah would expect to see.

Titan willing, it would be enough. They couldn’t afford to slip up now.

“It’s almost ready,” Gerry assured him. “Everything’s in place. All we have to do is wait for the moon’s alignment to power it.”

Jon ran his hand absently over his arm, scratching at the pockmark scars that dotted his skin. Some of the ingredients had cost them dearly to procure. They likely wouldn’t get another chance on any of them.

When he looked at Gerry again, his friend was watching him with something indescribably soft in his face. “It’ll work, Jon.”

“And if we’re caught?” Jon blurted. “We can’t hide this ritual behind false visions. He’ll sense it no matter what his eyes tell him.”

“Once it’s cast, it won’t matter,” Gerry said with grim satisfaction. “We’ll have our out. And where it leads, Jonah won’t have any of the power he does here.”

Jon took a deep, shaky breath, and nodded. His hands curled and uncurled at his sides, nails digging deep into his palms.

Gerry’s eyes never left him. “What’s on your mind?”

Swallowing against the thickness in his throat, Jon struggled to find an answer. “Is it—is it wrong that I’m afraid?”

“Jon, no—”

“I didn’t want to be here,” Jon went on. “I never wanted—ever since I came here, I’ve wanted to leave. And now we finally have a chance. Why am I afraid?” Gerry opened his mouth like he was about to reply, but Jon couldn’t have stopped himself if he tried. “It’s not like I’m safe here. Today wasn’t even that bad, compared to… it wasn't that bad.” A bitter, ragged laugh tore itself from his throat. "He pushed me until I bled from my eyes, and he was happy to keep pushing, and all I can think is it wasn't that bad. Why am I afraid to leave?" His voice trailed off. Atlas’s wings fluttered against his head, mirroring his agitation.

Instead of answering, Gerry held out his arms. Jon walked into them without hesitation.

“You were a kid.” With his head on Gerry’s shoulder, his hand to his heart, and Gerry’s arms holding him close, Jon felt surrounded by his friend’s voice.

“I was nearly eighteen,” Jon protested. “Hardly a child.”

“I’m just saying, you’ve been here too long not to be scared of what’s out there,” Gerry reminded him. “And it’s not like we’re escaping out the front door. We don’t really know what we’ll find on the other side.”

Jon’s hand curled into a fist against Gerry’s chest, and his other arm tightened around him. If they did this right, then their exit strategy would dump them into an entirely new world, of which Jon had only ever read old books or heard second and third-hand stories. A fresh wave of apprehension seized him.

Not for the first time, he let himself be desperately, pathetically grateful that he wasn’t doing this alone.

“Can you keep it together?” Gerry asked, still quietly gentle. “I just—I know you’re scared. I’m scared too. But I can’t do this alone. This is a two-person job at least, and—”

“Of course.” Reluctantly, Jon pulled back to look him in the eye. “I’m not going to give up at the last moment. You can rely on me.”

Gerry smiled. That was a rare thing, these days. All the more reason not to lose his nerve. Once they got out, Jon was going to spend the rest of their lives giving Gerry every reason to keep doing it.

“I know,” Gerry replied. “Now come on. Let’s finish prepping before we run out of twilight.”

***

“You know,” Gerry whispered late at night, as Jon settled himself into the curve of his body. “By the time I left home, I’d passed up five chances to escape.”

Jon listened in silence. He was never quite sure what to say when Gerry talked about how he grew up. Nothing felt like the right thing to say. Luckily, Gerry never seemed to expect him to say anything at all.

“Those are just the ones I was looking out for, at the time,” Gerry went on. “Couldn’t tell you how many I just didn’t see.”

“You were a kid,” Jon murmured back.

Gerry scoffed into Jon’s hair, and Jon smiled. “Don’t you turn my words back on me. How dare you.” A moment later, “But… you’re not wrong. I was a kid. She was all I knew. I didn’t know who I was without her.”

Safely out of Gerry’s line of vision, Jon allowed himself a thoughtful frown. It was different for him, wasn’t it? Gerry had been born his mother’s son, but Jon had been someone before he was Jonah’s… whatever he was. Student, research assistant, test subject, prisoner.

Before, he’d been the son of parents he barely remembered. He’d been the grandson of a woman who did her best until he drove her to give up on him, and a coven leader came to her with a kind smile and a promise to take away her burden. And now…

And now he wasn’t any of that. Because there wasn’t anything for him to go back to. The only way out was forward, into the unknown.

“I figured it out in the end,” Gerry told him. “You will too. I know you will.”

“I might need help with that,” Jon admitted. “I could use your expertise.”

A soft huff of laughter jostled him. “I’m gonna be in the same boat as you, you know? I’ve never been to the human world.”

“You still know more about it than me,” Jon pointed out.

Gerry was quiet for a moment. “He didn’t tell you anything?” he asked eventually. “It didn’t take much to get him talking, when I was running around with him.”

“Only a few things. His family, his brother, some of his favorite foods. It was all we had time for before we parted ways.”

“Ah, that’s a shame,” Gerry sighed. “The human world sounds amazing—if even half the things he told me about were even real.”

Jon laughed softly. “I know what you mean. Can you imagine someone actually swimming in the ocean? It would strip the flesh clean off your bones.”

“Not if the water’s cold and non-corrosive. Which it apparently is. People swim in the ocean all the time. It’s a thing. They take their kids and everything.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it.” Jon stifled a yawn.

“It was weird, you know?” Gerry went on. “The things he’d talk about like they were nothing. Sometimes he’d say just the wildest thing, and he’d look at me like I was crazy when I didn’t know what the hell he was talking about.”

“Like what?”

“Hmm… trying to think of one I haven’t told you before…” Gerry hesitated. “Did I tell you about how mornings in the human realm just… make water?”

“You mentioned something about the rainwater being cold,” Jon replied.

“No no, this is different. Titan, how did he explain it…” Gerry hummed thoughtfully. “Something about how, when it’s cold enough, everything’s covered in little droplets of water in the morning. The air just… does that. Makes water out of nothing.”

“I’m sure there’s more to it than that.”

“Can’t remember,” Gerry admitted. “He showed me a picture, though. Water droplets on a spiderweb. Looked like tiny little diamonds. Dunno what kind of face I was making, but he laughed at me.”

“Rude,” Jon murmured.

“Still not sure I believe it.”

“Maybe we’ll see it for ourselves. One day.” One day very, very soon.

Gerry’s only reply was to run gentle fingers through Jon’s hair, again and again, until Jon finally fell asleep.

***

The moon sat at its apex, round and bright and wreathed in blue fire that seemed to dim the stars around it. It was the first thing Jon saw when Gerry gently shook him awake.

He stirred, wincing when his movements jarred his injuries. Most of the day had been devoted to Jonah’s experiments, and Jon had fresh wounds to prove it. The burns on his face would heal without scarring, but his right hand was still wrapped in liniment-soaked bandages. Jon avoided putting any weight on it as he rose to a sitting position and pushed back the blanket. The sight of the moon, burning brightly in celestial alignment, chased away any lingering weariness.

They cast their usual cloaking spell with less caution than usual. It was only a stopgap measure at best, a few minutes’ safety to get everything in place. The table, chair, and alchemy set were pushed aside to clear the floor. With steadier hands—Jonah had been focused on Jon today, leaving Gerry a day of respite—Gerry borrowed Jon’s staff to draw the circle. Atlas alighted on his place at the top of the staff, colors fading as he shifted back into wood, and the symbols glowed brighter. Jon fetched each component from their hiding places around the room, and began laying them out amid the lines that Gerry was tracing.

They worked quickly, not speaking, barely breathing. For all their planning, there had been no time to practice. They would get only one chance, and no more.

And so, there was no time or opportunity to brace themselves before Gerry drew the last line, and Jon poured the last drop of Titan blood, and the circle caught the moonfire blazing through the open window.

The spell ignited, and the sheer force of clashing power nearly knocked them both off their feet. Their flimsy cloaking spell shattered, exposing them to Jonah’s sight, but it was far too late to turn back.

Jon had barely regained his footing when his own magic, coursing through the spell circle alongside Gerry’s, was caught in the moonlight’s amplifying effect. For a single, glorious moment, for the first time in years, Jon felt magic—wild magic, covenless magic—coursing through him. He smelled fire and earth and sea air, felt wind against his face, sensed the distant light of stars above them, tasted blood in the back of his throat as drumbeats pounded in his ears. Every sensation rushed him at once, melding together into a storm of color and music. It was the most beautiful thing he had ever felt.

And then the coven brand on his arm blazed, burning away the storm until only the Beholding remained.

It seized him mercilessly, knowledge clamoring its way into his head all at once. It was a confusing mess, so many sights and sounds and thoughts that he couldn’t have picked out a single one among them. But in the end he adjusted, the stream became more focused, and his mind was his own once more.

At the center of the circle, a seam formed in the fabric of the world. It split neatly down the length of it, opening wide into a ragged doorway.

Jon’s heart leapt. They had been planning this for years, researching in secret, sneaking and lying and stealing to get the components together, and yet—only now did he realize that he had never expected it to actually work. The fact that it had, that freedom lay only a few steps from where he stood, was as exhilarating as it was terrifying.

Jonah was on his way, he realized absently. It wasn’t just the inevitability of it; even without his focus on the river of knowledge flowing through him, he couldn’t help but catch a few drops. One of them showed their captor flying up the stairs toward their quarters, wild-eyed and intent.

“Gerry,” he said. “We have to—”

Another scrap of knowledge slipped into his mind, like a dagger between his ribs.

“Jon?” Gerry’s voice sounded far away. Everything was suddenly muffled, even the portal. Even the Beholding, swollen with moonlight, felt far away. The whole world was contained in a single, inescapable truth.

“We can’t.” The words slipped from Jon’s mouth. His hand closed on Gerry’s arm. “Gerry, we can’t.”

“Jon, let go, the portal’s right—”

“It won’t work.” Jon squeezed his arm. “It won’t—there’s not enough power. It’s not stable enough for both of us. As soon as one of us goes through, the spell will fall apart and the portal will close. It won’t work.”

Gerry stared back at him, face suffused with dismay.

Dismay, but not surprise.

Jon’s heart sank like a stone in mud. “You knew.”

“Jon, there’s no time for this, now let go—” He was pulling away, prying Jon’s fingers from his arm, and the portal was within his reach, and Jonah was so close to their door.

“You knew,” he repeated. “How long have you known? How long have you been lying?”

“I had no choice!” Gerry shouted over the crackling, ringing din of the spell. “There was no other way! What was I supposed to do, sit here while both of us wasted away? What other chance was either of us going to get?”

The worst part was, Jon couldn’t bring himself to be surprised, or even all that angry, really. Of course this was going to happen. It was simply the culmination of his entire life, thus far. His parents, his old friends, his grandmother—and now Gerry.

Maybe it was just his lot to be left behind.

Across the room, the door rattled. Jonah called to them from the other side. Jon barely heard either.

“I…” His throat grew thick. “I understand.”

“Jon, I’m sorry,” Gerry said desperately. “I wish there was another way.”

“No, I—” He really shouldn’t be crying. This was a happy thing, after all. Gerry was going to be free. “At least—even if it’s just one of us—”

Gerry smiled through his own tears. “I’m really gonna miss you,” he said.

“It’s not fair,” Jon blurted out. “We were supposed to go together. We were supposed to see it together!”

“When has any of this ever been fair?”

Tears gathered in his eyes until Jon blinked them away. His last sight of Gerry should be a clear one. “Please don’t forget me.”

The door rattled again, and Gerry choked back a sob. “Fuck. I could never. You’re not the sort of person anyone just forgets.”

Before Jon could reply, Gerry lunged forward. Not toward the portal, not toward freedom, but to Jon. The kiss was fast and clumsy with desperation, but the hands against the sides of his face were ruthlessly gentle.

“I love you,” Gerry whispered. “Don’t look back.”

Jon blinked back his tears, confusion cutting through the grief. “What?”

Gerry curled Jon’s hands around the staff and threw him into the portal.

He fell through the riot of color and music, too shocked to scream as the image of Gerry shattered into pieces above him. The light winked out, and Jon fell into the emptiness alone.

***

Jon landed hard, though not nearly hard enough for how long he must have been falling.

He lay in darkness and silence, wheezing softly as he regained his breath, gripping his staff until his fingers went numb and his injured hand screamed in protest. The air was cold and smelled stale. The light show from the portal was gone, but he could still feel its power humming beneath his skin, threatening to burst free.

After a while, Jon gathered himself enough to roll over. The floor felt like stone beneath his hands, relatively smooth but unpolished. With a grunt of effort, Jon planted his staff on the ground and pulled himself to his feet. It was too dark to see well when he opened his eyes, so he felt along the length of the staff until he found the shape of wooden moth wings at the end.

“Atlas?” His voice rasped in his chest. The wood turned to soft chitin, and Atlas took off from the head of the staff to flutter in frantic circles around his head, buffeting him gently when he flew too close. “Yes, yes—it’s alright. We’re alright.”

Atlas landed on his shoulder, and Jon’s eyes adjusted.

Was this the human world? For all he knew, the portal might have simply dropped him elsewhere in the demon realm. He was in a room, possibly a basement, judging by the clutter. Boxes sat in stacks and piles, some of them too full to close properly. Indistinct objects sat against the walls—an old mirror, frames wrapped in thick brown paper, a tall wooden clock that didn’t seem to be working. A thick layer of dust blanketed everything, untouched by fingerprints or footsteps.

He was alone.

Of course he was alone, he’d seen the portal break apart as soon as he fell into it, with Gerry still on the other side. Jonah had been seconds from breaking the door down, and now—

A harsh sob took him by surprise, and tears blinded him all over again.

Jonah had never set a clear punishment for escaping. And now, whatever it was, Gerry was facing it alone.

They weren’t supposed to be alone, they were never supposed to be alone. It shouldn’t have been him going through the portal, it should have been Gerry, why couldn’t have been Gerry, why couldn’t Gerry have been selfish for once in his life—

A distant scream rang out, shocking him out of his tears. Jon stared around, wide-eyed and searching, but the room was still. Then the ceiling shook with a crash, drawing his eyes upward.

“It’s above us,” he murmured. “Stairs—we need to find stairs.” Atlas took off from his shoulder, eye spots glowing in the gloom.

With an extra set of eyes, Jon found the stairs within a minute. He ran up them, his brand warming as he loosened the leash on his swollen magic. The door at the top of the steps was locked, but he Knew within seconds where to find a key. Atlas vanished from his side and returned moments later, clutching it in all six of his legs.

The door opened to an unlit hallway. Jon hesitated, took one last look back at the dark and cluttered basement, and hurried on.

He could hear more, now that he was really listening for it. Running footsteps, multiple sets by the sound of it. Shouting, always muffled and bitten-off, as if whoever was doing it was trying very hard not to. There were people in trouble—this was the human world, wasn’t it? Was it as hostile as the demon realm after all?

The hallway ended and took him up another flight of stairs. He expected to see light at some point, either artificial or from the windows. The last time he saw the moon, it had nearly blinded him. But instead, the darkness of the stairwell only seemed to grow thicker as he ascended, and reaching the door at the top did nothing to abate it.

At the very least, what he could see of the room he stepped out into looked more like the ground floor. There were proper floorboards, high ceilings, and windows that only showed faint outlines of trees against a dark, starless sky. The house was unlit, and his eyes refused to adjust. Jon drew a quick spell circle on his forehead with one fingertip, and magic poured into his eyes to light the way.

Shouting rang out again from somewhere above. Jon raced to follow it.

Around him, the house was in the slow process of falling apart. Ornate wallpaper hung faded and peeling, shreds of old rugs showed the ragged remains of color and embroidery, and broken shards of wood protruded from walls and doorways alike, as if any ornamentation set into them had been ripped out long ago. This must have been a fine-looking house once, but now it was a crumbling wreck.

Eventually the hallway opened up to another dilapidated chamber, this one a rotting front hall with its doors still standing ajar. Opposite them, the sagging remains of a grand staircase led up to another floor.

Jon had nearly reached the foot of it when he spotted movement at the top of the steps, and his vision went black.

For a split second he thought he’d lost consciousness, but the floor remained firmly beneath his feet. His breath came in short bursts of alarm as he drew another spell circle for sight in the darkness, to no avail.

Jon settled his grip on the staff, wincing at the pain in his burned hand. The bad news was, nothing that simple was going to let him see through this darkness. The good news was, it meant he knew what he was dealing with. He should have figured it out as soon as he left the basement and saw how dark it was. Stupid.

He could hear the others. Their running footsteps had fallen still, but the sound of panicked breathing was unmistakable. Someone was whimpering in pain with each breath. Someone else was whispering frantic reassurances. The darkness swallowed up everything else.

Jon hardly had to reach for his magic. It was brimming all the way to the surface, swollen from the storm of half-wild magic that had brought him here. When he drew a spell circle in the air with a tight whirl of his staff, it all came boiling up and out like a geyser.

Eyes opened everywhere—in Jon’s face and neck, along the length of his staff, in Atlas’s wooden face and wings, and in the choked air all around him. The darkness burned away as quick and clean as thin paper, revealing the scene before him.

There were three people now at the foot of the stairs, in such a state of panicked disarray that Jon could hardly tell whether they’d run or fallen down them. The larger of the two men had the others pushed behind him, backing away from the creature that menaced them, all three of them too frozen in terror to even attempt to cast a spell.

In spite of the glowing eyes that lit the room, a single wriggling mass of darkness remained, crawling and twitching toward its prey with wispy feelers that reached out to touch them. Sour air wafted from its body, filling the room with the smell of rot.

An acid shade. Nasty, hateful things that hunted prey by blinding it, then dissolving it while it was still alive. One touch was enough to melt the skin off your hand. Gerry still had scars from his last encounter with one.

Gerry.

The eyes blazed, and for the first time the brightness touched the shade’s slick hide. It recoiled, convulsing with a sound that was not a scream, but close enough.

Jon didn’t remember crossing the room, but he stood between the writhing mass of shadows and its would-be victims, so he must have. Fear warred with wild, directionless anger. He missed Gerry and hated Jonah. He remembered the feeling of lips on his, and the sight of his only friend weeping as his image shattered. Jon took all of it, gathered up every last drop, and poured it all into the merciless light of his swollen magic. He gave it all of himself, until it was blinding, until he could See every part of the room he stood in, down to every last crack in the walls, down to every convulsing wisp of darkness that made up the shade.

It let out another not-scream as it was utterly, agonizingly Seen.

And then it was gone, and Jon’s last drop of magic trickled out and left him hollow.

The darkness returned—not a demonic creature this time, but regular unconsciousness creeping up on him. He fought it as he turned and looked back at the faces of the people he’d saved. A round-faced man, so pale that his freckles stood out in his face; a woman with wide eyes and dark hair in disarray; and the second man clutching a corrosive burn that covered his arm, whose face—

—whose face Jon recognized.

“Danny?” Half-blind, Jon struggled to focus as the world grew smaller, and the darkness overtaking it nearly obscured the look of shock on the man’s face. “You found your way home?”

He lost his grip on consciousness before he could hear the answer.

[leighistired]

Out Loud

A Martin character study AO3 Link

“G’night mum, love you.”

“Make sure you put the trash out, don’t want it stinking up the house.”

At 12 it occurs to Martin, he can’t recall the last time his mother said “I love you” to him. She must have. He knows she loves him, so why can’t he remember her saying it? Was it before dad left? It can’t have been that long ago. He knows if he brings it up she’ll just tell him off for being silly so he just decides to not say it unless she says it first. She doesn’t say it.

“Look how nice our neighbor’s garden is,” she says instead. “If only we could have such a nice garden.”

“The neighbors hire a man-” Martin tries to explain. He had just done law maintenance over the weekend; he would have to bring up memory issues next time they saw a doctor.

“Aren’t you happy with how I provide for you?” She snaps. “Ever since your lousy father left us I have done my best even with my health and all you can talk about is getting a bloody gardener.”

“Sorry, mum,” he says. It’s better not to argue when she gets like this.

“Forget it. Just get me my tea.”

He goes and brews her a cup of Oolong tea. It’s far too bitter for his tastes but it’s all he buys when he does the shopping. Perhaps that was it, instead of saying she loved him she just provided for him.

Martin tells himself that until she gets too sick to work and begins needling him to get a job at 14. Suddenly he’s providing for her on top of school and everything else but that didn’t mean she didn’t love him. She was just sick and the medication she was on made her tired most of the time so it wasn’t like he could expect her to be excited to see him; especially not when he’s the one bringing it to her.

“Is soup the only thing you buy?” She asks one evening when he brings her dinner.

“You didn’t have soup last night,” he reminds her patiently after a long day of school and work.

“Oh, so you think I’m ungrateful? I am your mother! I gave birth to you! You should be happy to take care of me!”

“It would be nice if you acted like a mum for once!” Martin snaps back. He regrets it as soon as he says it and doesn’t wait to hear her response. He leaves the house and sits in the park near his house for a long time and cries. Of course she loves him. It must be so hard on her to be stuck at home all day with no one to talk to and there he went snapping at her. She’s asleep by the time he comes home and neither of them mentions it in the morning.

Martin doesn’t know what he expects when he starts to transition. He hadn’t even called it a transition at first, he just likes how he looks with short hair, baggy clothes, and a sports bra. His mother disagrees. There are days she won’t even look at him and when she does it’s usually even worse.

“You cut your hair again,” she mentions one morning over breakfast. “Just when you were starting to look like a girl.”

“Yup,” Martin replies tight-lipped. He had been thinking it over for a while and he’s slowly coming to terms with the fact that he isn’t a girl. The way she says it hits him sharply. If she was never going to say “I love you” to a daughter, why would she say it to a son? He doesn’t bother coming out to her properly because he can already see the disgust on her face when he gets a proper binder.

When she decides to move into a full-time care facility, it’s almost a relief. He feels foolish for expecting her to say it when she leaves. He feels even more foolish when he says it in goodbye. The receptionist gives him a sympathetic look when she doesn’t say it back but the receptionist probably assumes his mother has memory issues and forgot who he was. She doesn’t. Still, he appreciates the gesture.

Dating is nearly impossible for most of his life. It’s easiest to blame his busy schedule; he doesn’t even have time for friends outside of school. The fact that no one even asks him out isn’t something he wants to think about. After he drops out of school and his mother leaves, dating and friendship don’t get any easier. He can’t let anyone he works with get close enough or they’ll find out his real age and utter lack of qualifications. Online dating is also out of the question for similar reasons. If one of his coworkers saw him with the age 19 in his profile they would either know he wasn’t actually 25 or they would think he was a creep and he didn’t exactly feel comfortable lying about his age to potential dates. Meeting people organically isn’t the worst thing in the world but it’s difficult. He makes a few passing friends at a local trans support group but even then, he can’t get close to anyone without risking someone discovering his falsified CV.

He doesn’t have his first real boyfriend until he’s 23 years old. They meet at a Holloween party thrown by a mutual acquaintance and date for almost five months before Martin ruins it.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Dominick, I love you,” Martin says as he serves dinner.

“Oh, uh, it’s a little fast to say that, don’t you think?” Dominick had stammered awkwardly. Was it? It didn’t seem like it to Martin and even if it was, it was true. He loved Dominick.

“I-I don’t think so,” Martin replies nervously. Some distant part of himself starts to berate him for being so needy.

“It kind of is. Let’s just pretend you never said it and we’ll see how we feel in a few more months, ok?”

“You mean we’ll see how you feel,” Martin says a little bitterly.

“Why can’t you just relax and enjoy the holiday?”

Martin had sighed in resignation and picked at the rest of his plate. They broke up a week later because Dominick felt like they were “looking for different things.”

Martin doesn’t have another serious boyfriend after that. He goes on a few more dates over the years but nothing that lasts longer than five months. Nothing that lasts long enough to say “I love you.” In some deep dark part of him, he wonders if he was ever meant for love. His father hadn’t loved him enough to stay, his mother hadn’t said she loved him in over a decade, and he’s not even sure he was in love with Dominick. He gets crushes, sure, but he just throws himself into his work at the Magnus Institute instead.

Working in the library isn’t bad. He gets along with his coworkers well enough but he can never get close to them. Not close enough to love them as friends or be loved in return.

Then he gets transferred to the Archives.

Jonathan Sims is not the first asshole boss Martin has ever had. He doesn’t understand why Mr. Bouchard sent him down to work in the Archive in the first place and his first impression with his new boss is less than stellar when a dog follows him into the building. It doesn’t help that Jon is good-looking and every once in a while Martin catches glimpses of a version of the Archivist without a stick up his ass. Like when he spends Martin’s ice cream birthday talking about emulsifiers. If only he would be clearer about what he actually wants from Martin. No report or follow-up seems to be good enough, even with the help of Tim and Sasha.

Martin works hard for Jon’s approval. He doesn’t know why he wants the recognition but it’s either this or quit and he really, really can’t quit. So he spends three full days looking for every woman named Angela over fifty in Bexley only to be berated for actually talking to one of them and then he offers to look into a case about spiders that clearly upsets Jon only to get trapped in his flat by a zombie worm woman.

When he finally escapes, he takes a few worm corpses with him and he dumps them on Jon’s desk while he’s in the middle of a statement. Let Jon try and disprove that When he gives his own statement he makes special emphasis on reminding Jon how hard he worked to meet his exacting standards. He refuses to be yelled at for this.

Except Jon believes him. More than believes him, in fact. He offers Martin a place to stay. Of course that would be enough to ignite a crush in Martin.

As soon as they get to document storage Martin sits on the cot and begins to cry with exhaustion. He expects Jon to leave but again he surprises him.

“I-it’s alright, Martin,” he says awkwardly as he pats Martin’s shoulder. “You’ll be safe here and I’m certain Elias will respond promptly to my request for extra security.”

“Thanks,” Martin sniffs. He can’t remember the last time he cried in front of another person.

“Would...would you like me to stay until you fall asleep? If- if you think it will help.”

“Oh, er...no...I’ll be fine, thank you. You should be getting home, anyway. It’s Saturday, Jon.”

Martin blacks out as soon as Jon shuts the door to document storage. When he wakes up he finds his crush on Jon stubbornly still in place.

He can’t help himself after that. He starts taking special care of Jon in hopes of encouraging the kind man he saw that night into emerging. At the very least Jon doesn’t yell at him as much and he even thanks Martin for the tea he brings. It’s then that he notices other things about Jon, like how rattled he gets by certain statements and how he’ll often go an entire day without eating or drinking anything unless someone brings him something. That someone being Martin. He also notices how late Jon leaves, if he leaves at all.

It’s on one such night of Jon still being in his office at 11 o’clock that Martin knocks on Jon’s office door.

“Jon?” He calls gently.

“Hzzmt! Martin?” Jon responds, having been startled awake from dozing at his desk. “You should be asleep.”

“And you should be home.”

“I see your point,” Jon sighs. “I’ll finish up here and head home. Unless you need something?”

“Actually….I-I was thinking,” Martin beings. “Since I sort of kicked you off your cot...D’you want to come back to document storage with me? You know, get some sleep?”

“What?”

“Er...forget I-”

“The cot would be rather cramped with both of us,” Jon warns as he gets up from his desk. “If...if you’re sure you want me to join you.”

“Yeah...I thought you had work to do?”

“It can wait until morning, no use keeping you up longer than necessary.”

Martin only half regrets offering to share a bed with his crush. Jon was right, the only way to fit both of them on the cot is for both of them to sleep on their sides (or for Jon to sleep on top of Martin but even the thought has his face burning) and it’s difficult for him to fall asleep with Jon’s back pressed against his. It’s good to hear Jon fall asleep, though, and as time wears on it’s easier for Martin to goad Jon away from work to sleep a few hours.

The more of himself Jon reveals the harder Martin falls for him. Especially after Jon accuses him of being a ghost during the Prentiss attack. Even with the guilt Martin feels every time he looks at Jon mummified in bandages. That was Martin’s fault. If he had just paid more attention then he wouldn’t have lost Jon and Tim in the tunnels. He does everything he can to try and make up for it; despite Jon becoming more and more closed off by the day. Intellectually, Martin knows that Jon has gotten like that with everyone, but something deep down makes Martin feel like it’s his fault Jon’s gotten so cold. It doesn’t help that Jon seems to have gotten friendly with the policewoman investigating the murder of the previous Archivist. Tim even seems to think they’re having an affair which does wonders for Martin’s self-esteem. Jon wouldn’t be the first straight man Martin has ever had a crush on but Martin was pretty sure Jon wasn’t straight. Again, he wonders if he’s done something wrong to push Jon away.

After Jon stumbles out of his office covered in blood claiming to have had an accident with a bread knife Martin finds all the excuse he needs to regularly drag Jon to the canteen to make sure he eats something. The silences during those lunches are hard. They had eaten together before but now Jon wasn’t talking to him. The most Martin could get out of him were a few one-word answers. He tries not to think about how it reminds him of his mum.

“So,” he tries for the millionth time while Jon picks at his sandwich. “Did I tell you what happened while you were at physical therapy the other day?”

Jon doesn’t say anything but he looks up with a gaze that bores into Martin.

“Uh...A little girl came in alone with a statement, she must’ve only been eight years old,” Martin says. Jon looks at him with an expression that almost seems afraid. “Don’t worry, it recorded fine on digital. She walked right down into the Archive, walked up to my desk, and said ‘Excuse me. My name is Beatrice Walker and I’d like to make a statement about a supernatural occurrence.’ She sounded so grown up and she refused to leave until I had recorded her statement. Turns out her dad was using the library for research and she had just wandered off.”

“What was her statement about?” Jon asks to Martin’s surprise.

“Oh, a hamster with mysteriously changing spots.”

“Ah,” Jon replies thoughtfully. “Not much need for follow-up there, I suppose.”

“Not unless you really need me to track down the shop where her parents picked up the new hamster.”

He catches the briefest of smirks from Jon before the conversation dies again.

After that Jon’s coldness and paranoia comes out in the form of a screaming accusation over letters Jon found in the trash. Martin barely manages to make it to the bathroom before he bursts into tears after coming clean about his CV. Tim thankfully doesn’t check on him while he silently curses his taste in men. Jon doesn’t meet his eye for the next week in what he bitterly hopes is guilt. He does seem slightly more willing to talk with Martin at lunch, though.

Then Jon goes missing. After trying to get Martin and Tim to go home early because Jon was feeling under the weather; he disappears. Not before apparently bludgeoning someone with a pipe and isn’t that exactly what he and Tim need to see as soon as they get back from a two-week kidnapping by a spooky door monster?

With Sasha gone, Jon missing, and Melanie King being suddenly hired by Elias, whatever’s left of Martin’s relationship with Tim deteriorates. More so when Martin becomes the only one in the world to believe Jon could be innocent. It’s probably that that makes the police detective “investigating” Jon so actively hostile toward him. Apparently, people say he and Jon are “close” and that probably only means the lunch thing but he wants to imagine it’s something more. Like people are somehow picking up that Jon likes him back.

When Jon comes back to confront Elias it’s all Martin can think to do to fall back on his tea-making. He ducks into Jon’s office with a piping cup of the overly sweet tea he spent months perfecting to Jon’s taste and finds him with his face buried in his one non-bandaged hand.

“Jon?” He calls as gently as he can while he closes the door behind him. “I brought you some tea.”

It’s when Jon looks up that Martin notices the bloody mess down the front of his shirt.

“You’re hurt. Let me go get the first aid-”

“No!” Jon interrupts frantically. “Just...Could you just stay with me for a moment?”

Martin acquiesces and they sit side by side on the sofa in Jon’s office in silence until Jon starts sniffling into his tea. He offers Jon a hug and Jon all but dives into his chest to cry. It’s the saddest most broken thing Martin has ever heard and it’s all he can do not to pull Jon into his lap and curl around him protectively.

“Martin...I-I...I’m sorry,” he says quietly. “For everything. For Sasha and Prentiss and...and for the way I treated you. You didn’t….no one deserves that.”

“None of that was your fault and I sort of deserved it. I didn’t actually know what I was doing.”

“You didn’t deserve it,” Jon insists before going back to quietly crying into Martin’s jumper. Martin doesn’t respond. He can’t recall the last time someone’s apologized to him. At least not like that. He’d been told off most of his life for not doing things up to people’s standards. A few people over the years had told him he didn’t deserve it but Jon was the first person to apologize. No wonder Martin was falling in love with him.

Damn it.

Cuddling doesn’t become a regular occurrence for them by any means but Jon begins doing more to seek Martin out after that. They eat lunch together more often and Martin stays up late to talk to Jon while he’s abroad. It drives home how deeply buried into Martin’s heart Jon has become. Especially after he comes back after going missing for a month and has the audacity to joke about being moisturized by a clown mannequin for a month.

He wonders if Jon feels the same way. Sometimes Jon will smile shyly at him, and he can almost believe that Jon would be interested in a relationship if the world wasn’t ending. The last time they speak before the Unknowing they’re in document storage.

“Are you ready?” Jon asks as he shifts nervously.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Martin signs. He heard what happened to Melanie. He knows what’s likely to happen to him. Some small part of him is screaming to just tell Jon his feelings like it’s the climax of an action movie.

“Stay safe,” Jon says.

“Come back,” Martin replies. Jon offers him a hug. It’s no movie kiss but it allows Martin to hold Jon as close as possible. Jon himself is hanging off of Martin’s neck and it feels like a final goodbye.

Then Elias confirms what Martin has always suspected deep down. That his mother never loved him or if there was a time when she did, she stopped when his father left. Even after everything. After he spent years taking care of her. After he had to quit school to care for her. All she ever saw was his father. All his transition did was to remind her further of how much he looked like his father’s son. At least it was worth it. To distract Elias so Melanie could find evidence to arrest him.

Then Peter Lukas shows up and reveals that Elias planned to get arrested. Worse than that, he offers Martin a promotion of sorts.

Then they get the news from Yarmouth. Tim’s body is found in a charred heap, Daisy is missing, and Jon is dead in all but brain activity. At least Basira is physically alive.

Martin spends as much time as he can next to Jon. He’s used to loving someone who can’t love him back. Maybe this is all he’s destined for. Love unrequited. He talks to Jon’s dreaming corpse. Tells him about his day, reads him poetry, even a statement, but nothing draws Jon out of his coma.

Then his mother dies. He barely has the emotional strength to mourn her. Instead, he scatters her ashes and mourns his childhood lost to trying impossibly to earn her love.

After the Flesh attacks, Martin makes a decision. He’ll join Lukas. It’ll probably lead to his death but what did that matter? His mother was gone and didn’t care about him anyway. Tim and Sasha were gone. Jon was basically gone. Basira and Melanie were the only people left that he vaguely cared about and by doing this he could at least protect them.

He visits Jon one last time in the hospital. He’s still covered in wires and his eyes still flit around violently behind his lids as Martin sits down next to him and takes his hand.

“Hey Jon,” he says quietly. “I...This is the last time I’m going to see you...Probably ever. I know, I know old dramatic Martin surely he’s exaggerating. I’m not. The Institute is in danger and...I have a way to keep Melanie and Basira a little safer, so I’m doing it. I just came by one last time to say...Jon, I...I love you. Goodbye.”

He gets up and presses a kiss on a part of Jon’s forehead not covered in wires before leaving. It’s alright that he doesn’t say it back. No one ever says it back to Martin.

When Jon wakes up everything becomes that much harder. Suddenly he had a reason to live and the way Jon pursues him makes him almost believe...No, even completing the thought would be dangerous for all of them. Jon trusts him enough not to be constantly badgering and that makes it worse. When Jon is there the Lonely makes Martin resent his presence and when Jon’s gone Martin resents his absence.

The final, most excruciating pain is when Jon comes after him in the Lonely. He’s excepted his fate in the chilling numbness of the Lonely. Maybe that’s why he says it. The certain, inevitable rejection would be numbed utterly. So he says it.

“I really loved you, you know?”

And Jon looks broken. Even after he rips Peter’s statement from him. Even when he reaches for Martin’s face with hands that seem far too warm and makes him See. Knowing Jon loves him isn’t like “knowing” his mother loves him. Instead of a lie born in Martin’s mind to stamp down the fear of rejection, it’s a reality pouring from Jon’s mind mingled with Jon’s fears of rejection.

Jon’s hands still feel too warm compared to the icy chill of the Lonely as he leads Martin out. Still, he refuses to let go all the way through the tunnels, the Institute, talking to Basira, packing at each other’s flats, and on to the train. The way to Daisy’s safe house feels like a blur and when they finally arrive it’s all Martin can do to remember to take off his binder before collapsing into bed with Jon’s warm arms around him.

He wakes to Jon’s quiet crying. The awful, stifled thing that breaks Martin’s heart.

“Jon,” he whispers.

“Martin? Did I wake you? I’m sorry, I’ll-”

“It’s alright, Jon,” he assures as he swaps their positions so Jon is tucked firmly against him. Jon makes another broken noise and Martin can’t stop himself from crying, too.

“I-I’m here, Martin. You aren’t on your own,” Jon soothes and Martin almost has to laugh. They lay crying and comforting each other until they both fall back asleep.

When they wake up properly they take stock of the safe house’s pantry and make a list of things to pick up in the village after breakfast. Martin gives in to the temptation to buy a new notebook to try and write poetry in. They have enough canned food to survive to the next ice age so they pick up perishable items like milk, bread, butter, and eggs. Jon also picks up fresh peaches and a box of Martin’s preferred tea. It’s easy to pretend like they going on a normal shopping trip as they walk up and down the aisles to check things off their list.

They return to the cabin and settle in. Martin sits on the sofa and tries to write out a poem while Jon tries to read a book from Daisy’s personal collection. After a while, Martin beings to feel Jon’s gaze on him.

“Is there something on my face?” He tries casually as he’s met with an expression he’s never been on the receiving end of.

“I was just thinking about how much I love you,” Jon sighs. Martin can’t stop the noise that comes out of him. All his life trying to earn love and Jon just says it while Martin’s thinking of a synonym for ‘yellow.’

“I-I don’t expect you to reciprocate,” Jon says quickly, his soft expression suddenly turning worried.

“But I do.”

“Oh…Oh!”

“Yeah.”

Jon starts giggling and it’s impossible for Martin not to follow suit until happy tears stream down both of their faces.

[ashbrea381writings]

Fractals and Feathers:Pt1

For as long as Damian could remember, his grandfather had grumbled about his wings. The outer color was fitting for the League, a deep pine green with brown eye-markings near the base. The underside, however… Were a soft, baby pink that faded into a grey-white. His soulmate was obviously some civilian girl who had no problems in her life. “It is unbecoming. If you were to ever meet this person, you must end them on sight, salvage some form of dignity.” Ra’s lectured, sneering down at Damian. “If you fail to do this, you will lose the right to have wings at all.” With that threat, Ra’s swept out of the training room, leaving Damian to consider what he must do.

The next five years were spent with Damian training hard, the threat of having his wings removed hanging over his head. He kept an eye out for his soulmate anytime he was out on a mission either with his mother or when he was alone. He was determined to not get his wings ripped from him, no matter what fate wanted for him. This went on until the fateful day his mother took him away from all he knew, and left him with his father. His father’s wings were jet black with small points of pure white like stars on the underside and slate grey with blue and purple markings on the outside. Damian didn’t care about the colors of the other boys’ wings, and ignored the color of his own, choosing to keep them tucked close enough that only the grey edges of the bottoms showed at all. This is why it took him 2 weeks to notice the first cracks.

****

Marinette had always found the dichotomy of her wings interesting. The light, pale pink fading to grey on the back, and the dark pine green on the underside. She thought it was pretty, and just a bit mysterious. Somehow, on hot days the inside of her wings would be just a bit cooler than the rest of her, soothing the heat just enough to be comfortable. On cold days, they gave off the heat of the summer sun, warming her through the cold nights in her attic bedroom. When Marinette got her miraculous, she worried about her wings giving her away, but instead of her pink/grey and green wings, she found that the pink was replaced by bright red with black dots, and the green was changed to black with red dots. Meeting up with Chat, she found him with startling acid-green and black patterned wings. “I guess they want to protect our identities.” He joked, laughing and admiring the pattern. “Let’s not focus on that, Kitty.” She sighed and turned to face Stoneheart. “This is scary enough as is without thinking about if they didn’t hide our wing colors.” “True… Let’s go.” His face turned suddenly serious. “Do you have a plan?” Stoneheart took time to defeat, and Ladybug forgot the Akuma, so they had to clean it up later, but… They were pretty happy with the partners they were starting to become. They started to get to know each other, not revealing identities, but learning everything else about each other. Until one day, Chat brought up something interesting. “Hey, what happens to your wings if something happens to your soulmate?” “Why do you ask, Kitty?” Ladybug paused as she was unpacking the dinner she’d brought with the two of them. “Someone I know, they commented about the color of a person’s wings when we were out together. They said something about how that person had lost their soulmate. Nobody ever said anything to me about the colors changing if we lose them.” He stared at his gloved palms, seeming to not see anything at all. “Why? Did yours change color recently?” Ladybug asked, alarmed. “No! No, they’re the same as always, but… My… My mother disappeared a while ago, and I want to know what to look for and how to know what happened to her if I see my father’s wings change.” He sighed deeply, dropping his head into his hands. “I know I can’t say more because we can’t know who each other are, but I just… I’m so terrified to see them changed one day.” Ladybug wrapped an arm and wing around Chat, pulling him to lean on her shoulder. “Oh Cat. I can tell you, but try to stay positive, okay?” At his nod, she continued. “Your color on the underside of your wings will change if your soulmate dies. If they die of old age, they turn pure white, if they were sick, pure black, if they had an accident, they become silver, if they died a hero or sacrificed themselves for someone, they turn gold, and… If they were killed, they turn blood red.” Ladybug sighed at the end and hugged Chat tighter. “Does your father have any of those colors without any other color or pattern? It’s only plain colors with no other pattern for if the person has died.” Chat took a deep breath, shaking his head, “No, they still look like Mom’s wings as of last I saw them. We… Don’t talk much.” He hugged Ladybug tightly, wrapping his wings around under the one she had put over his shoulders. “Thanks, Bug, I’m glad I know now… At least I know she’s still alive out there. Somewhere.” They finished their dinner, flying a circuit around Paris to make sure all is well before they called it a night. The next few weeks passed, and they kept up with the Akuma Victims, making sure to check in on the victims after each fight. The people of Paris started noticing something odd as this continued though. The Akuma fights, even though all damage was reversed after each one, were affecting their wings and those of their soulmates.

***

Damian squinted at the small spider-webbing of cracks that glowed gold on the underside of his wings. It reminded him of kintsugi in appearance, subtle cracks that showed gold between the usual colors. “Father, what does this mean? I thought your wings only changed color if your soulmate died?” He finally asked after the number of cracks increased to stretch in geometric patterns across the pink and grey feathers. “I don’t know, I’ve never seen this before.” Bruce frowned, looking closely and waving Tim over to him. “Will you try to find anything you can about this phenomena?” Uncharacteristically serious, Tim nodded and went to work right away, his red and black wings draped over his chair comfortably. Damian turned away before he noticed the colors inside his wings, not wanting to know. A sharp beep alerted him to his phone, and he raised an eyebrow at the photo. “It would seem Kent is having a similar problem.” He showed Tim the photo Jon had sent of his own wings, the blonde and emerald green feathers also showing cracks, in a similar geometric pattern, but in a mix of gold and blood red. “I shall inform him that we are already looking into it.” “Yes, let Jon know that we’re working on it. If his case increases at any point, or anyone else around him experiences it, have him notify us.” Tim called over his shoulder as he continued to work on the program he was making to search with.

***

How long does it take for your wings to change color when your soulmate dies?

Marinette chewed her fingernail as she scrolled through the results, reading a few different reports comparing the reported time of death and when the soulmates’ wings changed color, mostly reported by hospitals in the case of illness or death. “Within two or three minutes. That explains a lot, actually. But then why are they not completely changed, just showing cracks?” “You have dealt with some pretty destructive Akuma recently.” Tikki recalled from her place on her Chosen’s shoulder. “Maybe those only kinda count because they would have been permanent if you hadn’t done the Cure?” “I suppose. Syren was pretty intense, and so many of the people who have the markings were probably people whose loved ones and even they themselves drowned.” Marinette sighed. “I wonder what Mamman and Papa think about all this?” “You could probably ask them… It isn’t so strange to wonder since you can see the cracks in their wings, and in other people’s at school.” Tikki suggested. “Good idea, what would I do without you?” Marinette giggled, patting Tikki’s head and opening the edge of her blazer so Tikki could listen in from there. The bakery was quiet at the moment, so Marinette had little trouble catching a few minutes of her parents’ time. “What do you think about them? I saw Alya and Nino with the markings at school and I’m not sure what they mean.” “Well, I’ve seen them before, but not this much on one person.” Her Papa said carefully, “Your Grandpa Roland had a heart attack not long before your Maman and I got together. Did you notice the black edging to some of Grandma Gina’s feathers?” “I thought she just had black markings.” Marinette answered softly. “On the back of her wings, yes, but his wings are just grey and white with the black tips.” Tom sighed, rubbing his face. “This many cracks… and the mix of colors. It’s very unusual. I can only assume it’s because of the akuma attacks. Which means that either your soulmate is very lucky, or they aren’t in Paris.”

[gloomyhearts]

That's life || Steve Harrington

Chapter ten

October 30, 1984

Y/N POV

Almost a year after Will went missing. The boy did recovery very well at least it looks like he did but this afternoon in the arcade changed my mind.

I started to work at the arcade three months after Will was back. My brother was happy but for him because I could give him coins to play.

So today after school Dustin and his friends wanted to meet at the arcade and Dustin wouldn't be him if he would have to search for some coins. He searched through the whole house including the shed.

"Dusti you're alright?"

"I totally am."

"Do I have to take you to the arcade?" He just nodded as he lifted the pillow from the sofa.

"Dustin Henderson what are you doing? you're scaring Mews" he walked over to the cat and excused himself.

"Dustin I can borrow you some" he turned to face me

"and you're saying this now after half an hour of my search?"

"You could have asked me but you didn't and it looked funny" I laughed and my mom too.

"Mo-om" he threw his arms in the air sighing.

"Dustin don't screw your pants." My mom's a real savage.

"Ready?" He nodded and walked out the door.

We drove to the arcade and I parked the car, "are you staying the whole time?" He nodded and I rolled my eyes, "you're stupid. Call me when something is wrong" he nodded and walked away from me.

Two hours into shift Nancy stormed into the arcade earning glances of the nerdy gamers.

"Nanc what's wrong?"

"There is this Halloween party and I want you to come" she was enthusiastic

"there's no way I'm going"

"please Billy's there too" Billy is the new boy at our school he almost hit me over with his car as I was walking to the entry and then he tried to flirt with me. Nancy thinks I have a little crush on him.

"Y/N please this will be fun. Steve could take you there" yeah Nancy and him are still together and it's still driving me crazy I don't want to be near the couple if I could

"but I promised Jonathan were going with our brothers on trick or treat."

"Jonathan is coming too"

"that's not typical for him. You sure?" Nancy only nodded.

"Y/N" I heard Dustin shout through the arcade. He came running towards me.

"Will is.. He is standing outside and we think he has an episode again."

"fuck" I came forth the counter and walked over to Will.

"call miss Byers" Dustin nodded and walked into the back.

"Will. Hey it's me Y/N I'm here. Everything is alright. You're not going to the other world again" I touched him slightly and he came back from wherever he was.

"Will you're good? Joyce is coming" he didn't say anything and just hugged me. I caresseshis back and whispe, "I'm here Will, it's okay." I noticed that he was shaking and lightly crying.

Five minutes later Joyce arrived at the arcade and thanked me for looking after Will.

"I'm so thankful you were here. Will really likes you. Thank you so much" she hugged me and went to their car.

"Y/N" Dustin walked over to me again.

"Do you know who's mad max?"

"I heard the new kid Billy called a red haired girl Maxime. Maybe her I don't know. I'm sorry Dusti"

"it's alright."

"Oh and Dustin. Only an hour to go buddy" he nodded and joined his friends again.

"I feel so bad for Will. He was such a lovely boy and now he's just scared" I forgot that Nancy was still here.

"Yeah I'm so sorry for the boy and his family" we stood there in silence.

"So you're coming?"

"I have no choice or?" She shook her head.

"Great. Call me when Steve arrives at yours" she nodded and left.

Ok so eventually I like Halloween but not with dozens of teenagers around me and alcohol. I always enjoyed to do trick or treat with my brother and his friends.

"The time is up Dusti time to go. The arcade is closing."

"Noooo I didn't revenge on mad max." He cried out as I drag him out to the car.

"That's so unfair."

"What? You can stay even a few minutes more than the others you should be grateful"

"I'm not because of mad max"

"you're such a stupid boy. Please shut up"

During the drive home we didn't talked that much and when we arrived Dustin ran into the house.

As i passed the bins I heard some hustle but I ignored it.

"Hey darling. How was work?"

"Great as everyday." She smiled and I sat down at the table to start dinner.

"Are you ready for Halloween Dustin?" He stopped eating and smiled as wide as he could.

"And you Y/N?"

"That's it. Nanc asked me to come to the Halloween party" Dustin and my mom widened their eyes.

"You're not coming with us?"

"No but Jon is, you're going to be alright" my mom calmed down after she heard they wouldn't be alone.

"I'm finished can I go upstairs?"

"Yeah honey. Good night" I gave her a quick cheek kiss and left.

When I arrived in my room Steve sat on my bed.

"Who allowed you to come in?"

"You?" He pointed to my window which wasn't closed at all.

"Idiot"

"Love you too dumbass" I sat down next to him and he lays his arm around me.

"How was work?"

"It was boring. I can't believe I took that offer"

"it's okay Y/N only a year and then you're almost off to college" I lay down on my bed and he was now laying next to me

"is this cheating?" I turn in his arms to face him.

"You and me laying here and talking?" I nodded, "when you think that this is cheating then you've got your answer."

"No I don't think so but everyone is interpreting different"

"so what would Nancy interpret as cheating? I mean she laid in the same bed with Jon a whole night and they talked. We are just laying here and talking I'm leaving soon if you want me to go"

"no stay, please. So you're going to the party as well?"

"You're coming?" I nodded, "that's great finally you're interacting with people in your age."

"Shut up" I slapped his chest, "you have to take me with you"

"in my car?" He laughed.

"Yeah Nancy said so"

"so she's now deciding over both our lives?"

"Looks like. Steve I'm so tired"

"do you want me to leave?" I couldn't even answer because I felt asleep on his chest.

Steve's pov

I was laying in her bed waiting for her to come upstairs after having dinner.

Today she worked the longer shift and hasn't really got a break. I'm feeling sorry for her because she's working her ass off and they are paying her like shit. Hopefully she's happy to see me.

"Hey there" I said as she entered the room still in her working clothes.

"Who allowed you to come in?"

"You?" I just pointed towards the window which she didn't closed at all.

"Idiot" she teased me.

"Love you too dumbass" she sat down next to me and I laid my arm around me.

"How was work?"

"It was boring. I can't believe I took that offer"

It was kinda hart to her y/ec full of tiredness, without the sparkle, "it's okay Y/N only a year and then you're almost off to college" She lays down on her bed and I was doing it like her.

"is this cheating?" She looked me in the eyes.

"You and me laying here and talking?" She nodded.

Why would she think over that

"When you think that this is cheating then you've got your answer."

"No I don't think so but everyone is interpreting different"

"so what would Nancy interpret as cheating? I mean she laid in the same bed with Jon a whole night and they talked. We are just laying here and talking I'm leaving soon if you want me to go"

"no stay, please. So you're going to the party as well?"

"You're coming?" She nodded

"that's great finally you're interacting with people in your age," I chuckled and her eyes lit up.

"Shut up" she hit my chest, "you have to take me with you"

"in my car?" I just laughed.

"Yeah Nancy said so"

"so she's now deciding over both our lives?"

"Looks like. Steve im tired"

"do you want me to leave?" She hadn't answered because she felt asleep on my chest.

I totally missed her. I have her back, finally. I won't loose her again I couldn't handle it. I think I love her.

October 31, 1984

Y/N POV

The next morning Steve wasn't there. Steve and I become closer again but I still feel the same towards him and I don't know if he knows. I'm scared that Nancy would assume that Steve would cheat on her with me because he isn't! We are friends!

Today was the day. The party. I hate to interact with others I don't know. I hate being around too much people.

"Dusti could you help me please" Maybe he has an idea what to wear.

"What's wrong?"

"Can you help me? I don't know what to wear," he rolled his eyes and opened my closet.

"Go as Sandy Olsson."

"From Grease? I'm too ugly Dustin"

"okay you're the totally opposite of ugly Y/N!"

"you're only saying this because I'm your sister."

"AAah" He sighed. "maybe a bit but only a quarter."

"Oh thanks Dusti but I don't have any clothes she has worn"

"of course," he went inside to have a better view. He threw a black leather pant into my face followed by a black crop top and a pink jacket.

"And you're taking moms black high heels."

"I'm not wearing heels!"

"of course you will. Please that would suit the outfit so good."

"fine," I sighed and walked to mom asking for her heels which she gave me. "Okay and now?"

"A bit make up," he opened the drawer and picked some utensils. "Great you can do this by yourself," i dragged him towards the door, "thank you Dustin. Love you."

"too," he left the room and I applied the make up.

Nancy called around eight o'clock telling me they would be here around twenty minutes later. I waited outside for the couple and hopped in as soon as they arrived.

Dustin left two hours before so Jonathan could join them for an hour and a half.

"And what do you show?" Nancy turned in her seat to look at me.

"Wait let me guess. A pink jacket. And the black clothes. Mm." She thought.

"She's Sandy Olsson Nancy."

"Steve I wanted to guess," she clapped her hand on his chest, in the raw view I saw him rolling his eyes

"I'm sorry," I smiled lightly.

We arrived to many already wasted teenagers, almost everybody held a red cup in his hand, swaying to the music.

"I'm getting drinks for ya Y/N," I nodded and she walked away.

"You're looking stunning Y/N," I felt heat in my cheeks.

"Mm thanks. You're not that bad yourself," Nancy came back with red cups.

"I'm not drinking Nanc I'm sorry" I put the cup on the counter next to me.

"Oh please only today. It's party time" she threw her hands in the air.

"Mm no thanks Nancy." We stepped on to the dance floor in the living room where everyone were when Billy and his friends including Tommy and Carol arrived.

"They are assholes," Steve muttered under his breath and focused on Nancy again who was drinking her fourth cup.

"Nancy I think that's enough" Steve tried to take the cup away but it spilled over her white blouse.

"Nanc.. I didn't want to. Nancy I'm sorry" she ran upstairs to the bathroom and he followed her leaving me alone in the fully living room.

"Y/N," I felt a tap on my shoulder and as I turned to face the person behind the voice I realized it was Jonathan.

"Jon you're not dressed," he turned a little bit around to show a bunnytail.

"Nice. I like it."

"Where are Steve and Nancy?"

"In the bathroom"

"couldn't they wait until home?"

"No ihhhr.. they're not doing it. Steve spilled Nancy's drink over her shirt"

"that's bad. How is the party"

"as an anti party person I hate it," we laughed when Nancy ran past us.

Jonathan began to walk after her and I wanted to do the same but someone grabbed my arm.

"Y/N can we talk?" I nodded and he lead me to the backdoor.

"What happened?"

"Nancy said that our relationship would be bullshit. That she doesn't love me. That it all is bullshit." A tear rolled over his cheek and I wiped it away.

"I'm so sorry Steve." I looked at him and saw his red eyes. As I saw him like that my heart began to hurt and a tear left my eye too. A strand of hair fall in his face and I pulled it behind his ear. A few moments later I hugged him and we stood like this a few minutes.

"You know Steve when someone is drunk they are saying the truth. Always. I'm not saying this because of you know. I'm saying it as your best friend I just want the best for you," I hugged him again and we drove to my house.

"You want to come in?" He nodded and locked his car.

"Thank you Henderson."

"You're welcome Harrington."

[wordsintimeandspace]

Comfort, One Way or Another

Jon has never been one to ask for comfort when he needs it, but somehow, he still finds himself in Tim’s bed after a bad week. It would be nice, if it wasn’t for the hangover - and the fact that he has no clear idea how he got there.

Jon/Tim, rated T, ~3200 words. Read on AO3!

Jon wakes with a pounding headache in a bed he doesn’t recognize. It takes him a moment to push aside the fuzziness clouding his mind and take it all in: the lavender bed sheets, the muted light streaming through the curtains, the stack of books on the nightstand and - oh, God - the arm slung around his back.

Jon freezes, his heart in his throat. For a long moment he doesn’t dare to move, not even to turn his head to see who’s in bed with him. Just as he’s ready to leap out of bed and flee, the person behind him mumbles something in their sleep and… oh. Oh. He recognizes that voice.

It’s Tim.

Jon finally manages to roll over to see his face without dislodging the arm wrapped around him. Tim is still fast asleep, lips slightly parted and hair falling onto his forehead. He looks peaceful and calm, so different from the energy that usually courses through his veins.

Jon lets out a breath of relief. He’s still not quite sure how he got there, but waking up next to Tim instead of a stranger makes the whole thing a lot less alarming. It’s still startling though, because ending up in other people’s beds is not something he generally does. But generally he also doesn’t drink a lot with his basically nonexistent alcohol tolerance - and if the headache and the hazy memories are any indication, that’s exactly what he did last night.

~~~

There was a pub, and music, and alcohol. Definitely too much alcohol. And there was Tim, all bright smiles and easy banter, a warm shoulder pressed next to Jon’s. Jon remembers how they got there - it had been a bad week, and an even worse day. The kind of day where he used to bury himself in research until he was exhausted and refused to talk to anyone. Just a few months back, no one of the other researchers had cared. But now he’s friends with Tim, and Tim had taken only one look at him before he’d pulled Jon aside to ask what was wrong. Even after Jon had insisted that everything was fine, he’d brought him tea and sent him cat gifs and bullied him into lunch. And took him out for drinks, apparently.

That’s how Jon had ended up in a dimly lit pub, well on his way to being plastered, squeezed into a booth with Tim next to him and struggling to follow whatever story Tim was telling. Because Tim was right there, his shoulders and thighs pressed against Jon’s, a warm presence that was both comforting and overwhelming in its intensity. Something inside Jon’s chest ached, and for a long moment that was all he could focus on.

 He couldn’t remember when he’d last been hugged, or kissed, or held. Touched in a way that was more than just a clap on the shoulder or an accidental brush of hands. Jon hadn’t been close to anyone since Georgie, and for some reason he couldn’t fathom society had decided that prolonged touching was reserved for romantic and sexual relationships. So, here he was. Drunk and sad and touch-starved, his entire mind occupied with imagining how it would feel to have Tim’s arms around him, holding him close to his chest. How it would feel to let himself be comforted by the quiet thrum of Tim’s heart beneath his cheek, and stay just like that until the grief that had consumed him this week had waned.

 Tim nudged his shoulder against Jon’s, interrupting his thoughts. “Are you listening?” he asked, bemused.

 Jon shook his head before he could stop himself, but Tim was never mad when Jon was being rude. Instead Tim just laughed, even as Jon winced. “I’m sorry,” he finally managed to say. “I’m just… I’m just thinking.”

 “About what?”

 “I- I want…” He trailed off, embarrassed, but Tim’s eyes were soft, and his hand was warm as it covered Jon’s.

 “You can have anything you want, Jon. Just ask,” Tim said gently, with a smile that was kind and understanding and entirely too much for Jon to bear. Jon turned his hand until he could interlace his fingers with Tim’s. He didn’t ask. He wasn’t sure how. Instead, he took a breath and leaned in to kiss him. It took only a second before Tim kissed back.

~~~

Jon’s cheeks heat up as bits and pieces of the last evening finally come back into focus. He still isn’t quite sure how they went from kissing in a pub to ending up in bed together, but the reason is fairly obvious, he supposes. The thought makes his stomach churn with anxiety, but he tries his best to brush it aside. It’s only Tim. And it’s not like he hates sex. It’s- it’s fine, if something happened. At least they’re both wearing clothes right now, or this would be a lot more awkward.

Despite his anxiety, Jon can’t bring himself to move. Not just because his head protests every movement he makes, but also because he’s comfortable, aside from the throbbing behind his temples. He definitely got more sleep than he had in the previous nights, and Tim’s arm that is still draped over him is warm and grounding. It’s nice to wake up like this, and if he’s feeling like shit he can at least indulge a little.

For a while, he drifts off again. But it isn’t long until Tim wakes up as well, and his movements are enough to rouse Jon from his doze. He squints against the light that is still too bright for his aching head, and turns to Tim who is already looking at him with an unreadable expression on his face. Tim smiles as their eyes meet, and still doesn’t move his arm from Jon’s chest.

“Good morning,” Tim says casually, as if waking up next to a work friend after a drunken night out is just a normal thing in his life. Maybe it is. Jon is never quite sure what counts as normal among his allosexual peers.

“Morning,” he finally says, wincing at how hoarse his voice is.

Tim looks him up and down, frowning a little. “How are you feeling?”

Jon lets out a groan. Emboldened by just how casual Tim is about this whole thing he shifts closer and presses his forehead against Tim’s shoulder. “My head is killing me,” he grumbles.

Tim lets out a small laugh and gives him a sympathetic pat on the back. “That was to be expected, I suppose. I can get you some painkillers in a moment. Are you feeling okay otherwise? Any nausea?”

“No, not really. But I’m not, uh…”

“What?”

“I’m... not quite sure what happened last night,” Jon finally admits.

Tim sits up a little, propping his head up with one hand. “How much do you remember?” he asks, concern clear in his voice.

“I’m, uh.” Jon flushes, stumbling over his words. “I remember that we kissed. And then it gets a bit… hazy.”

“Yeah, you kissed me. Didn’t think you’d go for such a thing, especially with me, but I’m definitely not complaining,” Tim says with a grin.

Jon gulps, bracing himself for the answer to his next question. “Did we…?”

“What?” Tim frowns, but then his eyes widen. “Oh! No. I mean, you certainly tried to get into my pants, but no. We didn’t have sex.”

“Oh.” Jon blinks, perplexed. Somehow, that wasn’t what he expected. He looks down to where Tim’s arm is still resting on his chest, his fingers moving in small circles over Jon’s stomach. This still doesn’t add up. “Then… why am I in your bed?”

“Look, I tried to sleep on the couch, but you looked like you might cry when I suggested that. So here we are, in one bed.”

“Right.”

Tim suddenly stills his movements, his eyes widening in alarm. “Is that okay? I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed that it would be-”

“It’s fine,” Jon rushes to say, covering Tim’s hand with his own before Tim can snatch it away. “This is… this is fine. I don’t mind.”

“Okay.” Tim smiles, a bit apprehensively, and gives Jon’s hand a squeeze before letting go. Jon immediately misses his warmth. “I’ll get you some painkillers and you can get a bit more rest while I go and make breakfast. How does that sound?”

“I- yes. Thank you, Tim.”

Tim flashes him another smile before jumping out of bed with way more energy than should be allowed after a night out. He comes back just a moment later with a glass of water and a bottle of ibuprofen, and Jon gratefully swallows down two pills before he collapses back into the cushions. Tim leaves him to it, so Jon closes his eyes, listens to the sounds of Tim rummaging around in the kitchen and begs his battered memory to please give him context for Jon trying to get into Tim’s pants. Christ. He can’t believe that happened.

~~~

Jon wasn’t quite sure how they made their way to Tim’s flat, but it wasn’t really important. The important thing was that they were finally alone, and he could press Tim against the wall all he wanted. Could press closer until they were finally touching from head to toe. Could slip a hand down Tim’s shirt to feel the heat of his skin against his fingertips, and swallow the gasp that escaped Tim’s lips with his own. Tim wrapped one arm around Jon’s waist and moved the other hand into his hair, and Jon melted against him with a mewl. He could feel Tim’s grin against his lips.

 It was warmth and comfort and closeness all in one, and it was everything Jon needed from this night. It was only when Tim bucked his hips against Jon’s that he suddenly remembered that it was also something else for Tim.

 “Alright?” Tim whispered against his lips, a hint of concern in his voice, and Jon belatedly realized that he had stilled after feeling Tim hard against him.

 He nodded. “Yes,” he managed to get out, rolling his hips against Tim’s to make him gasp. Tim tightened his grip around Jon’s waist for just a second before pulling back.

 “Bedroom?” he asked, his cheeks flushed and his eyes dark.

 Jon nodded again, almost automatically before his brain finally caught up with the situation. By then, Tim had already taken his hand and was leading him to the bedroom. The thought was enough to send a sudden spike of anxiety through him. Jon froze, but Tim was still tugging him along, and he stumbled over his own feet before he could bring his muscles to move again. Tim’s arms wrapped around him before he could hit the floor, and Jon let out a breath as he curled closer, burying his face in the crook of Tim’s neck as he waited for the world to stop spinning.

 “Jon…”

 “Mhh.”

Tim sighed, pulling away from Jon and gently cupping his face. Jon squirmed under his gaze as Tim looked at him, really looked at him for probably the first time since he’d first kissed him. His heart sank as Tim’s searching expression turned into a frown.

 “Jon, you’re very drunk.”

 “Mhh. Yes, I think so. It’s fine.”

 Tim sighed again. “No, it isn’t. Jon, I’m not going to have sex with you.”

 Jon blinked in surprise before his eyebrows drew together into a frown. “Why not?”

 “Because you’re drunk, and I’m not exactly sober either, and I don’t want you to do anything you’re going to regret tomorrow.” Tim paused, letting out a short laugh. “Don’t look at me like I just kicked a puppy. I promise you, if you still want to have sex tomorrow I’m all in.”

 A feeling rushed through Jon that he stubbornly refused to call relief. In any way, it was quickly replaced by the sting of rejection. Jon gulped against the tears burning in his eyes. Tim was still so close, touching him in all the right ways, comforting and reassuring. For the first time this week, it felt like he could breathe. As if Tim’s touch was the only thing holding him together. “I- I don’t-” he started, not quite sure how to put his feelings into words. His voice wavered. “I don’t want to be alone tonight.”

 Tim’s gaze softened. “I’m not kicking you out, Jon,” he said gently, leaning down to press a kiss to Jon’s forehead. “You can still stay, if you want to.”

 Jon nodded, closing his eyes. Tim’s lips were warm against his skin. “I’d like that.”

 “Good. Come on then.” Tim pulled back with a smile and took Jon’s hand again, and Jon let himself be led towards the bedroom, his earlier anxiety all but gone.

~~~

Jon eventually crawls out of bed and stumbles into the kitchen. Tim is standing at the stove, stirring bacon and eggs in the pan. There’s already a plate of toast on the table, and two steaming mugs of tea on the counter. Tim flashes him a grin, and for a moment Jon is overwhelmed by the desire to cross the room and wrap his arms around him. Instead, he slumps down onto a chair. He’s not quite sure how to navigate all of this just yet. Maybe he should apologize.

“Are the painkillers working?” Tim asks before Jon can figure out what to say. He gives Jon a concerned look over his shoulder.

“Yes,” Jon says truthfully, rubbing his temples where there’s only a slight pressure left. “I’m feeling better.”

“Okay, great.”

Still struggling for words, Jon watches Tim load the bacon and eggs onto two plates, and springs up to help with the tea despite Tim’s protests. Then it feels wrong to bring it up during breakfast, so he doesn’t. Instead, he waits until they’ve eaten and Tim has bundled him onto the couch with a large glass of water, ordering him to rest and hydrate. As soon as Tim is done with the dishes and falls down onto the couch next to Jon, the words blurt out of him.

“I remember some things. About last night,” Jon hastily says before he can back out. His cheeks are burning. “All the relevant parts, I think.”

Tim looks at him, eyebrows slightly raised, before giving him a wink. “I didn’t forget my promise, by the way. The offer still stands, but no pressure.”

“I’m, ah-” Jon stammers, not quite sure how to continue.

Gently, Tim reaches out and takes Jon’s hand in his. “I’m serious,” he says softly. “No pressure. I won’t take it personally if you changed your mind. We all do things we don’t mean while drunk.”

Jon lets out a breath and looks down to their hands. “It really isn’t personal. I promise it’s not you, it’s…” Jon hesitates. He thinks of the bi pride pins on Tim’s messenger bag, and the way Tim had chewed out Greg from Artifact Storage after he’d knowingly misgendered one of the statement givers. He decides it’s safe to utter the next words. “I’m asexual.”

Tim’s eyes widen in understanding. “Oh. Um, okay.”

“... is it?”

“Yes, of course.” Tim smiles, giving Jon’s hand a squeeze. Relieved, Jon lets out a breath he was holding. “Thank you for telling me.”

“Yes, well. It seemed… relevant, after last night.”

“Yeah. But I’ve got to be honest, I’m a bit confused. I mean, I know some ace people have sex, but I assume you telling me now means that you don’t, so I don’t quite understand why you would… you know. Last night.”

Jon lets out a frustrated sigh, trying to gather his thoughts. “I just- I meant what I said last night. I didn’t want to be alone,” he finally admits. “And I just wanted...” Oh, how can he still not say cuddle, for God’s sake? “... contact.”

“And you thought the best way to get that was to proposition me?”

“I was drunk,” Jon says defensively. “And, well. That’s how people usually do it, isn’t it?”

Tim looks at him with an expression that is somewhere between fondness and exasperation. “Jon,” he eventually starts, his voice gente. “Can I hug you?”

Jon blinks in surprise. “Um. Yes,” he finally manages to say. “Please.”

Tim pulls him into his arms, and Jon readily squirms closer until he can rest his head against Tim’s shoulder. Tim is still so warm, and his arms around Jon’s shoulders feel grounding and safe. This might be even better than last night, Jon decides, now that his senses aren’t dulled by alcohol. He lets out a content sigh, smiling into Tim’s shirt as Tim drops a kiss to the top of his head.

“I’m sorry if anything I did last night was making you uncomfortable,” Tim eventually starts. “I probably should have paid closer attention. I never wanted to make you feel like you had to do something.”

“Tim, no. You didn’t, and you don’t have to apologize. Especially since it was you who stopped me from going too far.”

“Still, I should have-”

“Nothing we did was making me uncomfortable,” Jon interrupts quite firmly. His cheeks flush as Tim raises an eyebrow, waiting for him to elaborate. “I- I’m serious. I like kissing. I was having a good time.”

Tim lets out a small, relieved laugh. “Yeah?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. I’m glad.”

“I might have liked the sex as well. It’s not something I usually do, but it can be nice. I just… get anxious about it and overthink every move, but, well. It’s not terrible.”

Tim looks at him, a bit exasperated as if he’s about to say ‘not terrible is clearly not good enough Jon’, but in the end he only lets out a sigh and pulls Jon back into an embrace. “I’m still glad I stopped you before we got there,” Tim says as he rests his chin on top of Jon’s head. “I’m glad we’re okay.”

“Me too,” Jon says quietly, wrapping his arms around Tim and settling back into the embrace. Closing his eyes, he rests his head on Tim’s chest. He needs a moment to focus on it, but there it is: the steady beat of Tim’s heart, right beneath his ear. He listens to it for a while, lets the rhythm calm his thoughts while Tim’s arms hold him together. It doesn’t mend the wound that had plagued him all week, but it makes it easier to breathe for the moment. Easier to look ahead, to the days soon to come where the pain will be nothing but a quiet noise in the background.

“It was the first anniversary of my grandmother’s death yesterday,” he finally says after a long moment, his voice quiet. “We weren’t very close, but, well. She was the one who raised me after my parents died. The only family I had left.”

Tim tightens his arms around him. “Oh, Jon.”

“It’s- I’m fine, usually, but somehow it hit me harder than expected this week. I don’t know.”

Tim hums, rubbing his back. “Grief can be like that,” he finally says quietly, with a certainty that makes Jon think he’s speaking from experience. “Sneaks up on you when you don’t expect it.”

“Mh. It’s easier, like this. When you’re not alone.”

“I’m glad I can help. Just promise me one thing?”

“What is it?”

“Next time you want a hug, or a cuddle, or… anything, really - please just ask.”

Jon lets out a huff, lips curling into a smile. “I promise that I’ll try. As long as you do the same thing.”

Tim laughs quietly, and drops another kiss to the top of Jon’s head. “It’s a deal.”

[yellowocaballero]

Jon & Sasha Arson fic

Little fragment of an idea that never went anywhere. No reason for it. Just thought it would be funny. I was right. Rest under the cut. 

Most people who were unlucky enough to meet Jonathan Sims assumed he had no friends.

This was true, up to a point two weeks after Jon became a researcher at the Magnus Institute: afterwards Jon had no friends, except for Sasha James.

Sasha James was attributable to arson.

Most people who were unlucky enough to meet Jonathan Sims assumed he had no friends. 

This was true, up to a point two weeks after Jon became a researcher at the Magnus Institute: afterwards Jon had no friends, except for Sasha James. 

*******

Sasha James was attributable to arson.

Arson was attributable to a bookshelf of Leitners, humming strange songs and spewing toxic energy into the air in rhythmic hissing motions. The Leitners were attributable to Artifact Storage, a testament to mankind’s hubris and a modern-day tower of Babel where a group of underpaid academics found themselves stress testing kevlar and fire suppression systems each day. Artifact Storage was attributable to the Magnus Institute, where Jon had managed to land a job after three months of desolate post-graduate unemployment. And the Magnus Institute was attributable to - well, probably Jonah Magnus, but Jon found that it was likely a bit of a reach to blame a long dead Regency gentleman for all of his problems. 

Jon needed this job. London was expensive and so were funerals, and he couldn’t keep living on life insurance forever. It was even a good job, with decent pay and the exact kind of limp, half-hearted academia that the private sector promised disillusioned English mastery holders. His coworkers were nice - well, Tim was nice, everybody else seemed to hate him for the same reason that everybody else hated him, likely intimidated by how smart he was - and the commute was short. He couldn’t afford to lose this job. Spiritually, metaphysically, and literally. 

Which was why he should stop staring at this piece of paper. The follow-up research to a statement given by some idiot unlucky enough to cross paths with what was certainly a Leitner. 

‘ORIGINATION OF PHENOMENA ISOLATED’, the page read out professionally, yet chipperly, like a young woman in a new office job. ‘ITEM QUARANTINED WITHIN ARTIFACT STORAGE (46B.1)’. 

Hm. 

Jon pushed down on the floor, rolling himself a meter to the left.

“Say, er, Mr. Stoker.”

Tim “I’m only four years older than you, please call me Tim” Stoker, who had been thumping away on his cheap plastic keyboard either writing up a report or messaging someone on one of those infernal casual sex websites, pulled down his headphones and blinked at Jon owlishly, before splitting his face into a grin. Jon could practically hear the David Attenborough-style narration within his mind: ‘After long weeks leaving out food for the wild Simothan, the feral yet gentle animal approaches the researcher of his own volition. A win for scientists everywhere.’

“Yes, Jon?” Tim asked, in an uncanny yet hopefully unintentional RP drawl. 

“What’s Artifact Storage?”

“God, I wish I was you,” Tim said feelingly. But he nodded sagely anyway, milking his ‘wise senpai’ thing for all it was worth. Jon could practically feel Tim calling himself a senpai. It was kind of embarrassing. “You know the shady room locked deep within the basement that exudes a terrible aura of malice and hatred towards you specifically?”

“The gender neutral bathroom?” Jon asked, confused. 

“No, the one that always smells somewhat of blood. You hear screams sometimes?”

“The Archives!”

“Yes, but no! It’s Artifact Storage. If the researchers dig up any creepy shit from a statement, or if a statement giver brings in something that melts the metal detector, then we dump it in Artifact Storage and let those miserable fucks take care of it.”

“Is it more of a containment facility, or would you say that they conduct experiments?”

But Tim just shrugged. “My source down there tells me that they do some experiments to justify their budget, but it’s mostly unscientific. Poke this and I’ll give you twenty quid, that kind of thing. They say that if you really want a sick day, all you have to do is touch a mysterious rock and whisper your mother’s name -”

“Fantastic, thank you for your help, must go back to filling now,” Jon said quickly, skittering back to his own desk. He tried to distract himself from the terrifying thought of the basement full of supernatural nuclear bombs underneath his feet by trying to remember his mother’s name, but he was stuck on if it was Marjorie or Margaret. Mary Anne?

Maybe Tim’s personal Meerkat Manor series of Jon’s life had paid off - Sims Shack? - more than Jon would like, because Tim squinted at Jon in an unsettlingly familiar way. As if he knew exactly what Jon was thinking about the literature of mass destruction, and he really wanted Jon to be thinking literally anything else. 

“I wouldn’t go down there if I were you, Jon,” Tim warned, sounding a little like a horror movie trailer. “Bushy tailed college grads who go down there don’t come out the same as they went in.”

“I’ll take that under advisement, Mr. Stoker.”

“For the love of christ call me Tim!”

It really was a pity - Jon had actually liked this job. 

*******

It was remarkably easy to commit arson in central London.

Jon had done it once or twice. Three times, actually, although when you think about it arson was a criminal charge and only truly existed so long as someone was charged with it, so technically you could say that Jon had done arson zero times. In his defense, you try making it through Oxford without doing anything embarrassing. 90% of your time was in class or schoolwork and 10% of it was being hazed. At least Jon hadn’t fucked any pigs. 

Jon hit up the usual stores, and stashed the usual implements in his rucksack. It was a careful week after his conversation with Tim, as he couldn’t afford for the older man to connect the dots. He made a show of going home at a timely five pm, startling everybody around him, and paced in a tight circle around his flat until he gave up and watched mindless telly until the clock struck midnight. 

He took a cab to the park a few blocks down from the Institute, and walked the rest of the way. It was a cool, dim night in London, and the foot-traffic had slowed down to a steady trickle of young people in tight clothing. Jon pulled down his baseball cap on his head, fished a key out from his pocket given to him by a helpful and friendly janitor, and took a back entrance into the Institute. 

Said helpful and friendly janitor, whose allegiance had been won because Jon was a “nice young lad” and “I always wanted to burn down the place myself, I’m happy to see the next generation give it a go” had helpfully told Jon that there were no security cameras inside the Institute. A grievous oversight, but good luck for Jon tonight. He took the stairs down to the basement, zipping his jacket up tight against the inescapable chill, and pushed his hat further down his head as he navigated his way towards Artifact Storage.

He unlocked the door with the janitor’s key, hands shaking, and slipped inside into the dusky and unlit room. 

It was pitch-black, and Jon quickly fished a torch out of his backpack. He flipped it on, letting it slowly scan the room. It was the lobby into Artifact Storage, familiar from his stake-out missions: you walked in, met the bored woman behind the desk, checked in or checked out what you wanted, and if you needed to go inside she would press the button that unlocked the heavy climate-controlled door and let you into the hallway inside. The only other door in the lobby was to the office of the Director of Artifact Storage, a terrifying short and squat woman with silver hair pulled into a bun. 

Jon leaned over the counter and jammed the button, holding his breath until he heard the door click open. He quickly twisted the handle, swung the heavy door out, and slipped inside, taking care to grab one of the chairs in the lobby and prop it open. Quick escapes were necessary. 

He was in. 

The torch lit up a map taped up to the wall, and Jon squinted at it. Section A, Section B, Section C...he remembered the classification from the document he read a week ago, and slowly walked down the hallway until he found the heavy climate controlled door marked ‘SECTION B’. He carefully wrenched it open, taking care to grab a rolling cart and using it to prop the door open, before stepping inside. He fished the canister of gasoline and the lighter out of his backpack, giving the gasoline a good shake. 

It was a library. Small, and instead of shelves there were long metal racks with filing boxes stretching long into the darkness, but Jon knew a library when he saw one. Each box had a clipboard attached to it, and most boxes had very large and terrifying stickers on them painted sickly yellow or dangerous red. 

The only thing in the library that wasn’t a filing rack was a battered and beat couch. And the only person in the room besides Jon was a woman, blinking up at Jon blearily from where she had been passed out on the couch. 

“Er,” Jon said. 

The woman sat up, squinting at Jon’s torchlight until he guiltily aimed it just to her left. She had a wild mane of curly brown hair, and was wearing a pencil skirt and ruffled burgundy blouse. A blazer was folded at one end of the couch, clearly being used as a pillow, and she looked strongly as if Jon had just woken her up from a very nice nap. 

“Whuh,” the sleepy woman said. 

“My mistake,” Jon said, “this isn’t the loo. Go back to bed, this is - er, a very bad dream, goodnight.”

“Whutuhiseet,” the woman slurred. 

“It’s - very late, go back to bed.”

“Alright,” the woman said, falling back on the couch. After a second, her snores echoed through the room again. 

Jon very slowly crept backwards. Actually, on second thought, his mission could wait for tomorrow. Bit of a cock block, this, but that was alright - 

“Hey! Who are you!”

Jon, hand on the handle of the door, squeaked and turned around. 

The woman was back up again, and this time she seemed actually awake. She was frowning mightily at Jon, and was already sliding off the couch in stocking feet to glare at him. Jon was aware that he did not look like an innocent person in these events. The gasoline did not help.

The woman’s eyes trailed to the gasoline, then widened. Jon ineffectually tried to hide it behind his back. 

“You’re trying to burn down Artifact Storage!” the woman accused, somewhat fairly.

“Not all of Artifact Storage,” Jon said guiltily, “just the Leitners.”

The woman stared at him further, as if she was a special guest on Tim’s Sims Shack nature documentary. 

“Why,” the woman said slowly, “would you want to do that?”

Despite himself, Jon found himself puffing up in indignation. “They’re evil, nasty little books that shouldn’t exist. Forget studying and - and containing them, we should be making sure no more of them ever disgrace the world again. We should be burning every one we see. They’re pure evil given literary form, they are a disgrace to books and libraries, and if I ever met Leitner myself I would beat him to death with a rusty pipe for subjecting me to his fucked up books.”

The woman stared at him. 

Finally, she said, “I’m Sasha James. Want some help?”

“I - er, wouldn’t that get you in trouble, Ms. James?” 

“I like this job but I hate Leitner and his fucked up books more,” Sasha said gravely. 

Jon, having found a kindred spirit, held out the lighter. 

Sasha James took it, a wide grin splitting her face. 

*********

Jon didn’t remember much else of that night. 

There was definitely arson involved - or, seeing as they hadn’t gotten caught, just some good old-fashioned fire starting. He had the sense that they had both been so giddy with adrenaline that they had immediately joined the raging uni students in the late night bars, toasting their success in toasting. There had probably been quite a bit of alcohol.

When he woke up the next morning, it was in his narrow and uncomfortable bed, face to face with an unfamiliar snoring woman. For a second, two, Jon was briefly convinced that he had done something so drastically out of character it meant that a fucked up book had body swapped him with Tim. Bodyswapping was more likely than him having casual sex. 

Then Jon remembered the arson, and he exhaled in relief as his life made sense again. 

“Ms. James,” Jon whispered, poking her in the arm. She snuffled and muttered something. Jon poked her harder. “Ms. James, we have work.”

Sasha turned around, turning her back to him and pulling up the blankets. “Go back to bed, Tim.”

Ti - oh god. Jon felt like he was in a CW drama. This was why he didn’t interact with people, far too much likelihood that he would accidentally end up interacting with somebody who had sex.

“Ms. James,” Jon hissed, extremely embarrassed, “you have to get up!”

“Mergh mergh fuck off,” Sasha James said. 

Jon, like a true gentleman and hero, got up and made them both strong tea. He squinted at Sasha, recalling everything he knew about her (slept a lot, liked arson, hated Jurgen Leitner) before digging out some instant coffee and making some of that too. Finally, after shoving a hot cup of sludgey black liquid at the woman, she grabbed the cup and chugged it until she was able to sit up and open her eyes. 

She blinked at Jon, who was already picking his hair in an attempt to get ready for work. He could clearly see the thoughts ‘you aren’t Tim’ run through her brain. Hah! He could be the narrator of the nature documentary for once!

“Uh,” Sasha James said, “I’m sorry, did we…?”

“Commit arson? Yes.” Jon paused a beat. “But as I don’t believe we were caught, call it an indoor campfire.”

Sasha James drank more of her coffee. Jon grabbed his clothing and disappeared into the loo to get changed. 

When he re-entered his bedroom, she snapped her fingers at him. “Right! We got pissed after! Good times, mate!”

“I have to assume,” Jon said politely. He was doing his very best to be very polite, because Jon knew he was rude and didn’t want his new coworkers to know that until his probation period was over. Maybe he should have waited until after his probation period for the arson? Would it look bad on his annual review? “Do you need to borrow some clothing? I think we’re about the same size.” Oh, no, was that rude to say to a woman?

Sasha James squinted at him. “It’s like you’re not hungover at all. How old are you?”

“Twenty five?” Be polite, Jon! “And you’re...thirty seven?”

“I’m thirty one, asshole!”

Oh no. Women hated it when you called them old. “You don’t look a day over twenty seven!” Jon cried, panicked. 

“Have you met a woman?”

“I had a grandmother?”

“I’m going back to bed,” Sasha James said. 

Unfortunately, Jon knew that it would be very suspicious if they both skipped, so he forced Sasha into one of his suits that...looked much nicer on her than him, but whatever, and hustled them both to work. Now that the adrenaline had worn away and the sense of purpose in his holy mission had burned up with the cleansing flames, Jon found himself biting his nails in agony in the Underground. 

They had to know. Someone must have caught them. Maybe there were secret CCTVs in the Institute. Maybe Sasha was going to rat him out - but she had helped, so wouldn’t she just be ratting out herself? Was she a double agent? Mr. Bouchard was never going to forgive him, no matter how nice he was and how much he seemed to like Jon to the point where he rather wished someone had given him the ‘Stranger Danger’ speech as a child so he would know what to do. Jon was going to go to jail, or worse - get fired. 

Sasha, cooly sipping her coffee and looking somewhat fly in sunglasses and his suit, did not seem disturbed by any of this. Jon’s rapidly spiralling panic attack must have been obvious, because she casually flicked a finger on his forehead. Jon yelped with pain. 

“Take it easy, mate. If they catch us, I’ll just say that the books made us do it.”

Jon scowled at her, rubbing his smarting forehead. “The books?”

“Sure.” She waved her fingers spookily as the Underground rattled forward into the heart of London. “Brainwashed us to do their evil bidding of -”

“Destroying them?”

“There’s a lot of arson Leitners,” Sasha James said sagely. “Trust me, this is just a normal day in Artifact Storage.” She clapped him reassuringly on the shoulder, and Jon fought a blush. “Don’t worry. We performed a public service, kiddo. St. Peter’s gonna give us a medal when we get to the pearly gates.”

“I’m an adult,” Jon said, scandalized. He had gray hair!

“Well, I guess, but I don’t know your name, so…”

 Jon squinted at her. She squinted at him back. 

“You’re thinking that if you don’t give me your name I can’t rat you out to the feds,” Sasha said flatly. 

Jon pursed his lips. 

Finally, he settled on, “You don’t rat me out to the feds and I won’t tell them that you’re in an illicit relationship with Mr. Stoker.”

“Mr. - how did - what!”

“It’s Jonathan Sims,” Jon said gruffly, crossing his arms. He was slightly hungover and his nerve were jittery and he had set fire to his workplace the previous night, but somehow Jon thought that his heart was jackrabbiting in his chest for a different reason. Somehow Jon felt as if his heart couldn’t stop thumping behind his sternum because Sasha James was staring at him, head cocked, as if he was a mystery she was interested in finding out. “That’s my name.”

Sasha James stared at him, as if surprised, before her face broke into a wide and happy smile. Jon hunched his shoulders up, embarrassed, faintly aware he was blushing. “It’s nice to meet you, Jonathan!” Then she grabbed him by the collar, shaking him slightly. “And there is nothing illicit about me and Tim, and there is nothing between me and Tim at all, we are just friends, so get that out of your little head -”

The train rattled on towards the Magnus Institute, and towards the slight smell of smoke in the air. 

*******

Sasha: are you coming 2 the pub w/us 2nite?

Sasha: come onnn you should comeee don’t feel awkwardddd 

Sasha: I know you hate a) group settings b) drunk people c) Tim in a group d) drunk Tim and e) Tim drunk in a group but that’s no reason not to come!

Sasha: Tim is physiologically incapable of not adopting men 3-5 years younger than him it’s in his blood you can’t escape his affection

Sasha: or at least I find it funny so I’m not letting you

Sasha: Jonnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn

Jon: Yes I’ll come, I need to talk to both of you.

Sasha: WAHOO

Sasha: wait

Sasha: really?

Sasha: did you commit ars*on again

Sasha: wait if you did don’t tell me the courts can request text transcripts

Jon: No, I just need your advice on an urgent matter.

Sasha: do you need to be drunk to do it

Jon: ...maybe.

Jon: ....Mr. Bouchard offered me the Head Archivist Job?

Jon: Which is stupid because I’ve worked here for barely four years and you’ve worked here for about ten years I think. And you’ve published five papers in parapsychological research. I know I helped you figure out that this place is a weird trauma mill but it was really mostly you. It’s completely ridiculous to promote me and I’m afraid it’s favoritism. For potentially heinous ends? This feels awful because it’s such an honor but I would never stop feeling stressed and guilty because I know so many more people (like you) are so much more qualified. Or qualified at all.

Sasha: holy shit

Sasha: ...do you remember the speech I gave you on stranger danger?

Jon: I’m afraid to mention this to Tim because he might beat up Mr. Bouchard for both my honor and yours.

Sasha: Jesus at this point I don’t even want a fucking job anymore. What bullshit. I’m never going to get promoted and I just need to accept that. This isn’t your fault, Jon, seriously, thank you for telling me. 

Sasha: we can talk about this at the pub

Sasha: in private. Off the radar. 

Jon: Looking forward to it :)

Jon: did I use the emoticon right?

Sasha: Yes, Jon, you did everything right. 

[write-orflight]

Galileo: Chapter 1

**Gif Not Mine**

Prev -  Next

Pairings: SpencerXReader, enemies to friends to lovers trope

Rating: M

Words: 2.1K

Warnings: None right now. but will eventually be smut.

Request: OPEN/CLOSED

Summary: Y/N is an astronomer with her head constantly in the stars. But when a serial killer is threatening NASA’s top scientists, she is left in the protective custody of a man who’s gravitational pull threatens to pull her back down to earth. 

A.N: I made the reader jewish (or from a jewish family really) for reasons I don’t even know. Message to be added to the taglist! Much love, Cia

                              Chapter 1: Venus

Spencer never really “understood” women but he thought in the passing years he got at least, a better understanding. 

He still, however, didn’t understand you or your clear adverse feelings for him. Spencer immediately thought to do what he did in most situations when he didn’t understand people. He profiled them. 

He watched you from across the room, seated in a barstool height chair so you could look into the telescope, legs crossed as you scribbled into a notepad placed on your right thigh. No ring or any form of jewelry, Which most likely meant no significant other. Your work space was clear devoid of any pictures or sentimentals except for one small photo of you and Victim #4, clearly at a bar of some sort. He looks completely in his element while you look slightly uncomfortable. You’re both smiling brightly though he’s looking straight at the camera while you’re slightly looking up at him. That, how none of his desk or items were cleared, and how you seemed to move around his stuff like you were used to the routine of it all told Spencer what he needed to know. 

“Were you dating your coworker?” Spencer asked. You stopped in your track on your way to one of the chalkboards you set up for equations. Dr. Cliff often told you it was so outdated but you preferred to do things right yourself not let a computer decide for you. You leveled a heated look to Spencer. 

“Excuse me?” 

“Your partner, Jonathan Brewer.” Spencer pointed out. “You didn’t say in your initial interview that you were dating. If that was the case, that’s something we need to know. It could help find his kille--” 

“We. Weren’t. Dating.” You say, angrily. Spencer almost flinches at the pure venom that is seeping out of your voice. “Not that it’s any of your fucking business, by the way. Everything I already told your agents was the truth. He was my best friend, My only friend, and now he’s dead. Please do not distract me from my work with idiotic questions again.”  You turn away from him, going back to your math. 

How dare he pretend to know anything about you and Jon. What a fucking pretentious asshole. Accusing you of sleeping with Jonathan, not that you didn’t want to… or didn’t at least think about it. You never got to tell Jonathan how you really felt about him, how he had the unfiltered ability to make the room feel lighter like you were in the zero gravity chamber, or how every shoulder press, hand on your back as he passed by, bright smiles from across the room while he did the math and you tracked Gaia would feel like lightning down your nervous system. 

You never got to tell him you were in love with him. 

And now you never will. 

You knew you were only angry at Spencer because he was able to clock you on what never occurred to Jonathan the year you’d known him in an hour of knowing you but in the end it was none of his business and he had absolutely no right. 

Thankfully, he had learned silence was a virtue and didn’t say anything the rest of the night, opting to read some of the books you had around. You stretched as you stood from your desk grabbing your bags to head out the door. Spencer also notices this and follows suit. 

“What’re you doing?” You ask as he’s following you out the door. 

“I’m your protective custody which means, I’m with you always, not just at work.” He says, awkwardly. “Did Dr. Clifton not explain?” 

“No, he did not...” You trail off. “Fine, come on.” You say going to your car, Spencer automatically climbs into the passenger seat and you drive home in silence. 

When you arrive at your apartment, the cat greets you with beady eyes from the top of his cat tower. 

“You know some people’s cats greet them at the door.” You say, approaching the tower to pet him, he purrs and pushes his head into your palm. You turn back to Spencer who is standing awkwardly by the door. “The sofa folds out if you want to take that, I guess I’ll bring you a blanket and pillow.” Spencer watches as you disappear from the room to give him the items you just said. “Don’t be confused if Alfonso is next to you when you wake up, the couch is his spot.” 

“Alfonso?” 

You gester to the cat. “Context clues, might help you out someday.” You say sarcastically. “I’m going to shower.” You brush past him on the way to what seemed to be your only sanctuary away from the doctor. 

Spencer takes this time to survey your apartment, making sure there’s no way for someone to break in without his knowledge. He pulls out the sofa bed and almost like clockwork, the small cat moved from his tower onto the corner of the couch and slept. Spencer also looked around the apartment like he would with any victim, though you weren’t one yet, he still had to figure out why you’re specifically being targeted. But he couldn’t get a gage of who you are because there was nothing that said who you were in this house. Living room was obviously designed by an interior designer, the kitchen was neat only things on the counter were a coffee maker, kettle and a stand mixer. Different plants lined your balcony along with a small telescope. The only thing he could get a reading on was that you lived here, you had a cat, and that maybe you baked. 

“Mom, I’m fine.” Spencer hears, he turns toward the bathroom to see you exiting in a pair of pajama shorts and a large Georgetown University sweater. He knew you didn’t go there but Victim #4 did, he could only assume it was his sweater. “Obviously I’m not in danger, we’re talking on the phone.” He watches you pause and roll your eyes. “No mom, this isn’t an elaborate hostage call. I told you to stop watching true crime before bed.” Spencer tries not to listen to the conversation, he really does. But it’s been a while since he’s been able to have a normal conversation like this with his mom. So of course that made him a tad jealous. 

“Mom it’s almost 7am. I should really sleep…. for the last time, mom, I have to work at night my job is to watch planets…. You’re right I’m probably not going to find a husband this way, but I also don’t want one…. I do not need a yenta, Ma! Now I really have to go, give my best to dad.” You say, hanging up. Spencer watches you groan in frustration. 

“God, can you believe that woman! I love her to death but I don’t need a fucking matchmaker, there’s a serial killer after me for god’s sake! Dating should be her last concern—“ You cut off realizing you’re ranting to a man who’s just met you and that you also despise. “You don’t give a shit about this.” You say, Spencer just tilts his head at you. You roll your eyes. “Goodnight.” You say, closing your bedroom door quickly. 

Some things stayed the same though because as soon as you hit your pillow, you were deeply asleep. 

———————————————-

Spencer wakes up in the late afternoon to the cat sprinting across his body. He opens his eyes a little to see you placing food and water in a bowl. You pet him briefly before letting him eat and then you sit at the dining table with a hot mug in your hand. 

“You made coffee?” Spencer asked, groggily. 

“Yes.” You say, obviously. 

“The pot is empty…” 

“I didn’t say I made some for you.” You looked at him. “I’m sure, they taught you how to use a coffee maker in the academy.” 

With that you turn away from him, back to the book you were reading. Spencer rolls his eyes but makes the coffee anyway, he knew if the entire day was going to be like this he’d need it.

“You know, this would probably be easier if you would stop fighting me at every turn. We’re going to be spending a lot of time together. There's no point in arguing constantly.” 

“No, what would make it easier is if you caught the serial killer, so I could have my apartment back.” You say, rolling your eyes. 

Spencer just throws his arms up. He tried, he’s officially giving up trying to find common ground with this she-devil. He grabs his phone and steps into the hall for a second. 

“Oracle of Quantico, speak and be heard.” He hears Penelope say over the line. He sighs in relief at the tone of his friend. 

“Garcia, do you know if the others have found anything on this case yet?” He says. 

“No dice, my friend. Far as I know they’re still doing victimology. You know I would call you if we found anything out. Why? What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing, I’m just… trying to gage how long this’ll be.” 

“Jesus Spencer, it’s been one day. It can’t be that bad.” 

“It can, Garcia, this woman….she hates me. And I don’t know why.” 

“Well what did you do?” 

“Nothing! I didn—” 

“Spencer…” Penelope said in an almost scolding tone. 

“I may have… accused her of dating Victim #4.” 

“Jonathan Brewer, her coworker. Why would you do that?” 

Spencer tells her of the things he’s found in her office as well as her sweater this morning and Garcia cuts him off. 

“Ok, I’ve heard enough.” Garcia says. “Spencer, I may not be a profiler but I understand women, especially smart, nerdy women. So you told me she has a picture of them on her desk and that she still hasn’t cleared his desk?” 

“Yes.” 

“Did you see any pictures of her on his desk?” 

“No.” 

“And you already know from when we went to his apartment, there were no photos of her there either.” Penelope says, like it’s kinda obvious. “So combine that with the sweater and everything else what do you get?” 

“She was in love with him....” Spencer says, confused why it took him this long to get it. “And it wasn’t reciprocated…” 

“Points to Ravenclaw.” Penelope says. “Now you’re already a constant reminder that she’s lost someone, so bringing it up every second and accusing her of lying probably isn’t helping. She probably isn’t even angry at you, she’s just grieving, let her do that.”   

“You’re right, Garcia.” He sighs. 

“I always am. Adieu.” She says hanging up. Spencer re-enters the apartment and sees you sitting in a chair next to the window reading, he notes that you are dressed for work. You were wearing a knee length black pencil skirt with a mint green blouse. All tied together with your floor length lab coat that held your badge. Your hair was tied in a high bun and round rimmed glasses adorned your face. Spencer hated to say it but he wasn’t blind, you were breath-taking. 

“I’m leaving in 45 minutes, if you want to put on something less… firetruck-y.” Spencer looked down and he was still wearing his Pajama pants that had a pattern of fire trucks on them. 

Well, she was breath-taking until she opened her mouth. 

Spencer just sighed and went to change. 

The two of you drove to the office in silence, the only sound being classical music playing through her speakers. You put the car in park and you start to get out when you feel a hand circle your wrist you pull your arm back and look at the man in disgust. 

“Wait before you get out.” Spencer says looking you in the eye. “I wanted to apologize for making accusations about your relationship with Jonathan. It was not my place to do that.” 

“It wasn’t.” You say. 

“I know. I’m sorry… we’re going to be with each other constantly until we find his killer so I don’t want to fight everyday. Friends?” He says offering his hand for her to shake. Spencer didn’t like shaking hands but if it would show her he was serious he’d do it. 

“I appreciate the apology but we’re only working together briefly, there’s no reason for us to be friends. Colleagues.” She agrees, looking at his hand but not shaking it. Just choosing to get out of the car without another word. 

God, you were not going to make this easy. Spencer knew that for a fact.