#Look I love jmart as much as the next person but like sometimes I just need a break

[feral-lantern]

I FUCKED UP I THINK I'M A JONDAISY FAN NOW. WHAT DO I DO???? HELP?????

[iintervallum]

some tma and tmagp meta and thoughts, disclaimer that this does contain some more negative critique

i think i realized why i still think about tma despite not actually fully loving the podcast. i like a lot of the lore and the workings of the avatars and the meta narrative around power structures,and many of the themes it discusses and disects through the subtext are intriguing, it has a very interesting tapestry of the inner workings of it's universe

but the actual way the podcast tells it was, at some points, repetitive and a little bit boring, i would have to relisten sometimes to episodes just to remember what was happening even though i was listening to a lot of it in the same time span and should have remembered, i havent felt as much of a need to revist the story as i have with other audio dramas ive listened to. I do want to say that i genuinely enjoy tma its just not something that ive latched onto as i have with other shows.

side tangent -> and seeing how volatile the fandom was in its peak i don't want to be involved further lol. I'm someone who has a bad habit of looking at discourse and critical tags because i like fandom history and I'm nosy, and seeing posts about jmart being "too fluffy" and the ending of tma having "no impact" and how they were "pandering" right next to posts about how "traumatically tragic" the ending was and how jmart was "extremely toxic" and they made them "do terrible things how dare they" was really funny. there were legitimate critiques of things there as well but the divisive nature of s5 is amusing to me as an outsider that came in late additionally some stuff with how fandom centers whiteness and white narratives, as nice as it that there is a widely adopted fanon of Jon as a person of colour, specially a brown asian man, i think the fandom still didn't really decenter whiteness at all, like sure you're solving the sexy man problem by making them non white but have you done...any thinking into the deeper implications of it? i have, being south asian myself makes it impossible not to. tangent over

I guess some aspects did not feel as tight as they could have been, with some themes the show deals with being hits and misses. i think the structure and the statement format as iconic as it is, restricted the way the story could be told, if i'm making sense? (and the decision to go with more realisitc and more grounded horror that intersected with real world issues are a part of said hits and misses from my perspective, some things i feel didnt fully work from a narrative standpoint but thats a subjective thing that i wont get into)

thats why i'm enjoying tmagp a little more, i think they took what worked well with tma and expanded on it with a fuller cast from the offset,the inclusion of the non statement parts that tma had (the interpersonal relationships and conflicts) and intergrated it without fully losing what makes tma intriguing to listen to. tmagp so far seems to balance the cases and the character interactions well. it doesnt feel like we're just going with the same format and its not too unfamilar either.

like one thing i'm looking forward to is the guest writers, specifically a few of them since ive listened to their work and loved them, and it will be really interesting to see how their writing would work within the tma universe.

and an aspect which makes tmagp intresting as well is if you have proior knowledge of the tma universe, we know much more than the characters, and have our own perceptions of what is going to happen to them based on our previous understanding of the series and the events that transpired. we're just waiting for the characters to catch onto what we know, and all the foreboding tragedy and devastation that will come with it.

some part of me wonders, if this season will be about how tragedies like the universe ending in the way it did in s5 are unavoidable, how even in an alternate universe where the circumstances are different the same things are bound to happen again. no matter what its inevitable, the mark of what transpired cannot ever be reversed,

like there are parallels to be had with how jon was ultimately pulled into everything against his will and had not that much agency in what happened to him, even if he did make the decision to use the power he had(for both good and bad reasons), it was forced onto him in the first place. meanwhile we have sam who is desperate for a connection to something greater, as a part of his self worth is tied to being chosen, even if we know that being chosen is not what it seems, hes willing to endanger himself if it means finding out more with his curiousity overpowering the risk factor. i wonder if the outcome of it all will be the same because that would be very very interesting.

either way the tighter nature of tmagp seems to work well for it and i hope that the momentum continues till it's conclusion, and even if not I had a decent time with it so it still would have been worth it

[nat-20s]

fill of @jonmartinweek day 6 prompt- flirting AND jealousy, though much heavier on the jealousy than the flirting. Set in a classic “season 5 jmart time travel bac to season 1″ au

~*~

“Mr. Blackwood-Sims, if I didn’t know any better, I would assume you’re trying to proposition me.”

“Mr. Sims-Blackwood, I would never. For one, neither of us are inclined towards those sorts of activities, for second, we’re both married men. What would my husband say?”

“I believe your husband would say he never specified exactly what you were propositioning, and he would be more than amenable to kissing, preferably sometime in the next few seconds.”

“Mmm, suppose I’ll have to find him and take him up on that, then. If that’s really how he feels.”

“Trust me, it most certainly is.”

Christ, would those two shut up already? Granted, it’s late enough that they probably think they’re alone in the archives, but, still. This is, technically, a work place, and Jon would’ve preferred not to have accidentally gotten an eyeful as he made his way past the open door in the breakroom. Now, the image of (supposedly) a future version of himself sitting on the couch, with (supposedly) a future version of Martin straddling his legs, using one hand to cup his face, and the other to run his hands through that Jon’s longer hair, was seared into his mind, and he hated it. Look, contrary to what people who don’t know him very well seemed to believe, he’s hardly a prude. He’s more than fine with descriptions of physical intimacy, as well as public displays of affection. If he’s being honest with himself, deep down, he doesn’t even care all that much about professionalism, especially considering it is after hours.

But of course, he’s not being honest with himself, because then he’d have to admit that it bothers him that it’s them. He doesn’t know what to call the acrid burning in the pit of his stomach, the too tight ache in his chest, that’s present whenever the fun house mirror versions of himself and Martin are besotted with each other, but he knows it’s there. It doesn’t help that he’s the only one that seems to be bothered by it, the only one that frowns at the flash of wedding rings or the orbit those two always seem to occupy around each other.

Or, no, he’s not the only one. Occasionally, while witnessing the two of them being...the Two of Them, he can’t help glancing over to Martin. Lo and behold, Martin also doesn’t look thrilled about all of this, usually skewing more towards confusion or, oddly enough, resignation. At least, that’s what Jon thinks he sees there, it’s one of the few times where he can’t fully get a read on Martin.

Still, as much as Martin might share in being somewhat perturbed, as anyone who meets their “future selves” should be, Martin doesn’t seem nearly as upset as Jon is. That brings him back to his current predicament of feeling that level of upset, but not being able to determine the root cause of it.

It is not that he’s jealous. It’s not! He does not feel a pang of envy at seeing someone who looks extremely similar to himself loving openly, and being openly loved in return. He doesn’t find his thoughts drifting to the imagined feeling of lips pressed to his temple or arms around his waist or fingers running through his hair. He certainly hasn’t looked down at his left hand and been disappointed by the fact that its bare. He doesn’t even want those things, as he’s been telling himself for a number of many lonely years. One of these days he might even believe it.

Fine. Fine. Maybe, but only maybe, there’s a part of him that’s jealous. Maybe there’s even a part of him that despairs, because try as he might he can’t connect point A to point B, can’t see the steps he would have to take to be like that other version of himself, and he knows his Martin (well, not his Martin, but..) will never look at him like that, will never see him in that light. And, damn it all, it hurts, so if they could kindly stop ru-

Oh. Wait. He can’t hear them outside his office door anymore. Huh, perhaps they-

“Knock knock.”

Startled out of his...contemplation, Jon looks up to find himself looking back. Sims is leaning against the door-frame, with mussed hair, swollen lips, and pupils blown wide. Jon loathes him and wishes to be him in equal measure. In a move he usually would’ve thought more characteristic of Tim, Sims doesn’t wait for a response, instead sitting himself across from Jon and saying, “Figured you’d still be here.”

Trying not to sound too much like he’s speaking through gritted teeth, Jon asks, “Did you now?”

Sims gives a lackadaisical shrug. “With any luck, you’re not going to become me. I not sure you can become me, at this point, diverging paths and all that. However, we do share the first 28 years of our lives, and I certainly didn’t believe in the concept of a work life balance, so why would you?”

“Is there something you wanted?”

“Yes, actually. I want you to ask out Martin, your moping is getting insufferable, and considering how much of our misery has been entirely outside of our control, you shouldn’t put up with what is in your power to fix.”

Jon blinks. Jon processes. Jon stammers. “I-what?! I am not, you can’t just-. Martin doesn’t even like me, and if you really were the same person as me, you know I’m not all that keen on him either.”

“Uh-huh. Is that why you can’t stop thinking about his hands?”

“I do no-”

Sims puts a hand up in surrender, though the smirk doesn’t entirely drop. “Sorry, sorry, I know that’s rather unhelpful. What I mean is, you’re already loved, right now, as you are. No, that love is not coming from Martin, but it could be,t because he doesn’t dislike you.  He doesn’t know you, because you have done everything in your power to make sure he doesn’t. You also don’t know him, even though you’re interested in him, because you’ve been trying not to be. It’s stupid. Get to know each other. It’ll probably work out.”

“I...is that how you did it? Because this seems like an objectively terrible idea.”

Sims snorts. “God, no. It took a coma before I was able to untangle my own feelings. The whole point is that you won’t have to take the same looping, painful path that I did.”

Jon wants to reject it outright, almost does, and yet. “Fine.”

“Wait, really?”

“Yes, really. Why?’

“Nothing, just. We’re usually a more stubborn on these sorts of things. I was expecting more of a fight.”

“Mm. Normally, I would be, but I’ve been forced to watch two rather obvious proof of concepts waltzing around in front of me, and agreeing will hopefully get you the hell out of my office.”

Sims studies him for a moment, then a surprised smile spreads on his face. “All right then.”

Jon makes a dismissive hand wave, and Sims obliges, and he spends the rest of the night trying not to think about what he’s agreed to.

~*~

The next day, about half an hour before the end of the work day, Jon calls Martin into his office. From his tight shoulders and carefully blank expression, it’s clear Martin very much does not want to be there. Great. This is going to go so well.

Jon gestures for him to sit, Martin does, and he dives in. “As we both now know, I don’t have the ability to fire you. In all reality, even though I am, on paper, your boss, I truly don’t have any power or authority over you.”

Martin leans back in his seat, letting a heavy pause fall between them before saying a stilted, “Okay?”

“So, I want you to know that I am about to ask you a question, and you have complete freedom and choice over your response, without fear of any negative consequences. Alright?”

“Um. Sure.”

Jon takes a breath, slowly lets it out, and bites the bullet. “Would you like to get dinner sometime?”

Martin stares. Then he squints. Then he studies. “Oh. Jon, you...we’re not them, you know that, right?”

“I’m aware.”

“So..why?”

Jon lets out a sigh, and tries to gather his thoughts in a way that makes sense to either of them. “Well, though I myself have some trouble with the concept, they’re not..entirely removed from who we are, and there’s enough foundation there that I have reason to believe we might...get on? Maybe we don’t, maybe we end up being friends, maybe we end up like them. That’s already enough to pique my own curiosity, but, alternate future versions of us aside, I mostly would just like to get to know more about you, and I’m hoping you might like to get to know me better as well.”

Martin’s shoulders relax, and he chews on his bottom lip for a moment before replying, “Okay. Yeah, why not?”

“Oh. Oh! Great! Does this Saturday work for you?”

“Works perfectly. Let’s give a shot.”

The first date is..fine. A Bit of a mess, but fine. The second date, however, is the best Jon’s ever been on. It’s so wonderful, in fact, that he doesn’t even mind when he catches Blackwood passing a fiver to Sims the day he can’t stop smiling at work.

[ieattaperecorders]

“I’m rambling again aren’t I?” and “Is that okay with you?” for the jmart prompt please :)

Cannon compliant, 1.4k, set at the end of S4. Prompt from here.

---

Cash only, no IDs, change directions at least twice. That was what Basira advised, so they were taking a roundabout route - train to bus to train again, a walk to another station, and then a third train to the outskirts of a town near a village near an isolated cabin. Someplace to hide.

Each time they stopped Jon would grab maps and brochures to stuff in his pockets, studying them carefully during quiet moments. Something about being prepared to act as if they were headed to a different destination if anybody asked.

Nobody did ask, and in any case Jon would have probably looked weird and suspicious, throwing in needless details about whatever place they were meant to be visiting. But it was painfully endearing, the way he poured over them, concentrating like he was prepping for an exam. One hand holding the brochure, the other usually clasped over Martin's or pawing at the fabric of his sleeve.

At one point, Jon's hand absently came to rest on Martin's knee. He flinched -- surprised at the unfamiliar contact, at the intimacy. Then he covered Jon's hand with his own, keeping careful around the edge of the wide, angry scar Jude Perry had left.

It had been so long since anyone touched Jon gently. It had been so long since anyone touched Martin at all.

* * *

There'd been a quick, fearful trip to Martin's flat so he could pack a bag. Jon barely let go of him the entire time, as if scared that he might still disappear. (Maybe he was scared. Maybe he was right to be.) He frowned when, after only a few minutes, Martin zipped up a small bag of clothes and toiletries and said that he was ready.

"You . . . may want to look around a bit," he said softly. "See if there's anything else you want to take. We might not be able to come back here."

"Thought the idea was to get in and out quickly. And shouldn't we be traveling light?"

"We can spare another minute. Besides . . . ." he bit his lip. "You might want to keep a few things. Even if they don't seem important. You may end up missing them if you lose this place."

Martin glanced around. The truth was he'd been living sparsely for a while. Bit by bit, he'd boxed up and donated most of his personal things over the last several months. It had just felt right.

(Jon's flat was long gone. He only had the small satchel he'd been carrying, and a plastic bag of thrift store clothes that Basira had gotten for him.)

He ended up grabbing a few books, a notebook he hadn't written in for a while, a couple of cheap pens, and a scarf that he'd always liked. The small carved box his grandfather had given him ages ago went in the bag too -- he'd never found anything to put in it, but he'd kept it all these years and it still smelled pleasantly like cedar.

Despite Jon's insistence they could spare another minute, he spent the entire time Martin packed bouncing restlessly on his heels, his gaze flicking back and forth between the windows.

"God, it's cold in here," he whispered.

". . . Is it?"

"Yes. Colder than outside . . . noticeably so," Jon looked at him sadly. "You can't feel it?"

Martin shook his head. He hadn't noticed.

"Suppose I'm used to it," he said.

Gravely, Jon nodded. He took Martin's hand and squeezed. Martin held back for a moment, then pointed out it was hard to pack with one hand, and Jon awkwardly let go. Another minute and they were done.

As they made for the door, Martin noticed Jon shivering and thought Basira ought to have gotten him a heavier coat.

"Hold on."

He made a detour to the closet, grabbed one of his thicker jackets and held it out. It would swim on Jon, but at least it was something.

"Dunno if it works on supernatural cold spots, but it'll be cold in Scotland too," he explained. "You'll want more than a windbreaker."

Jon stared at him for a moment, then swallowed heavily and nodded. As he put it on, folding the sleeves back so his hands would fit out, Martin noticed him wiping at his eyes.

Was he tearing up? Why? It was only a jacket, one Martin was probably going to lose anyway.

Jon held his hand all the way to the train station.

* * *

They didn't talk about the Lonely on the train. They didn't talk about any of it there, not the Institute, the entities, the attack. It was all too risky if they were overheard.

Instead, Jon talked about the places they weren't going, the things he read about as they went. Describing historical points of interest or natural features, sometimes adding a jarringly morbid fact that Martin was sure he hadn't gotten from the brochures. He suspected part of it was an attempt to engage him, as Martin found himself going long stretches saying next to nothing.

It was nice, though, listening to him chatter on as if they were out on holiday. Sitting there with the landscape going by, the rumble of the train around them and Jon talking about some landmark or another, Martin could pretend they were just out seeing the sights. Traveling on their own time, without a care in the world.

As it got late into the night, he realized the train car they were in was empty. It was the last one that ran, and there hadn't been many on it to begin with, so it wasn't much of a surprise. But with no one else there, they had a chance to speak more freely.

"Jon?" Martin nudged him, interrupting his description of a stone burial site a few miles down the line.

"Hmm?" Jon started, smiling sheepishly. "Sorry. I'm rambling, aren't I?"

"It's not that. Was just thinking . . . I know the plan is to keep moving, but we'll have to wait for the morning train anyway. Wouldn't make a difference if we got a cheap hotel room or something tonight, would it?"

"Oh . . . no, I don't think it would," he shuffled through some papers in his lap, peering at the train schedule. "Actually, in that case we may want to take the next stop, rather than going to the end of the line. There's a motel near the station that could be perfect. It's cash only, and the only security camera is over the safe."

"Did you See that?"

"Not deliberately. There's just, ah . . . " he winced, "been a lot of really gruesome murders there."

"Ah. Right." Martin raised an eyebrow. "Are we going to get gruesomely murdered if we stay there?"

"Well it's not a service they provide."

"But we do have murderers after us."

"True . . . and I don't think this place would be much protection if they caught up. But the same could be said about a bench outside the train station," Jon shrugged. "And I don't believe it's supernatural, just a bit shady. Which is probably what we want at the moment."

Martin nodded. Then, with a smirk, asked "does it have a pool?"

"Yes. And so many people have drowned in it."

". . . Hmm."

Jon's deadpan look broke into a smile. "I've no idea if there's a pool. Probably not."

"Pfff," Martin reached an arm out over his shoulders, and Jon leaned into the embrace, smiling. "The Beholding didn't think to list amenities, then? Not even an evil laundry service or, like, a continental breakfast that eats you?"

"Thankfully not."

"Good enough for me, then."

He felt Jon chuckle against him and leaned back, yawning loudly, thinking about how nice it would be to lie down in a bed. Jon shifted a little and sighed, looking at him with a smile.

"I love you," he said. Soft and warm, as if he'd said it a thousand times before. As if it was natural and obvious and easy.

Martin must have gone noticeably tense, or maybe his expression changed, because Jon's eyes widened and he looked down, fidgeting. Worried he'd made a mistake.

"Is that, ah . . . okay with you?" he added weakly.

Almost dizzy with it all, Martin let out a breath that turned into an unsteady laugh. He felt tears pricking at his eyes, and he squeezed Jon tighter.

"Y-yeah," he whispered, "yeah Jon. S'good."

[bluejayblueskies]

Don't know if you're just doing jmart but 6 or 65 for jontim?

kiss prompt list!

6 - “I’m sorry” kiss | 65 - One Small Kiss, Pulling Away For An Instant, Then Devouring Each Other

I did both! I was incredibly tempted to go an angsty route for this, but then domestic established relationship no entities jontim took over my brain and compelled me to write this.

cw for food

.

Tim’s stood in front of the stovetop, stirring still-runny eggs in a skillet with a wooden spoon, when he feels arms wrap around his stomach and a nose press into the space just between his shoulder blades. It might be startling if it weren’t such a regular occurrence. As such, Tim just smiles, continues stirring the eggs, and says lightly, “Morning, Jon.”

 Jon makes an unintelligible, grumbling noise into the soft fabric of Tim’s shirt and burrows closer, standing on his tiptoes so he can hook his chin over Tim’s shoulder. His hair tickles Tim’s neck and cheek. It’s adorable.

 “I was thinking,” Tim continues, “that we could stop by some shops today? There’s that vintage shop I know you’ve been wanting to visit—the one with the little cat status in the window—and I’ve been craving fresh-baked bread, so there’s that bakery across the street from it. Plus, you know, groceries, clothing—standard stuff.”

 Jon hums. “That sounds… acceptable.”

 “Acceptable,” Tim repeats, amused. “Very enthusiastic.”

 “Pardon me for not having an appropriate level of enthusiasm at eight in the morning.”

Tim grins. “You know, I remember when I thought you were a morning person. Turns out, sometimes you’re just so much of a night person that it eventually becomes morning.”

 Sullenly, Jon says, “That was one time, Tim. And it was entirely by accident. I… lost track of time.”

 “Whatever you say,” Tim says cheekily. He gives the eggs another stir before spooning them off the skillet and onto a plate. Then, he turns, ignores Jon’s noise of protest, and presses a quick kiss to Jon’s forehead. “Tea?”

 “Mm.”

 Tim fills the electric kettle with water and turns it on, then leans back against the counter and watches Jon open the fridge, stare into it intently for a few moments, then close it with a small, irritated exhalation. Jon looks at Tim, lips curled down into a frown that’s dangerously close to a pout, and says, “We’re out of milk.”

 “Hence, the shops.” Tim sees the frown on Jon’s face deepen ever so slightly and he says sympathetically, “No tea then, I suppose?”

 Jon leans back against the fridge and shakes his head. “I… I suppose not. It- it’s too bitter black.”

 “Could just add enough sugar that you can’t tell it’s tea anymore.”

 Jon levels him with a flat look. “Tim.”

 “Jon.”

 At Jon’s scowl, Tim sighs fondly, crosses the kitchen, and presses another kiss to Jon’s forehead in an attempt to smooth away the frown lines forming there. “Sorry,” he says with a smile. “Don’t worry; milk will be the first thing on my list. Top priority. Marked for immediate attention.”

 “Good,” Jon says primly. “It is of the utmost importance, after all.”

 A corner of Jon’s mouth turns up, a sliver of a smirk. He’s wearing one of Tim’s hoodies and his hair is a thick, sleep-tangled mess and he has blue-grey bags under his eyes. And sure, Tim’s known that he loves Jon for quite some time, and they’ve been dating for nearly two years now (long enough that he’s begun to surreptitiously create a list of potential rings), but he’s always reminded of it when he least expects it. Here, in the early morning, with the smell of salt and pepper in the air and the whirring of the kettle in the background, he’s overcome with affection that blooms within him like a rose, free of thorns and a deep, brilliant red.

 He wants to kiss Jon, so badly. And so he leans forward, places a hand on Jon’s cheek to tilt his head up ever so slightly, and presses a soft, chaste kiss to Jon’s lips. He feels Jon’s startled exhalation against his mouth and he smiles, pulling back enough to say, “Have I told you lately that I love you?”

 Jon’s breath hitches. It does so every time, like it’s the first time Tim’s ever said the words, and Tim loves him even more for it. “Mm, I don’t recall.”

 “Well, then. I love you. Even with the morning breath.”

 “How romantic.”

 Tim smirks and moves his hand to the back of Jon’s head, threading his fingers in the soft curls of Jon’s hair. “Flatterer.”

 Then, he leans in and presses another kiss to Jon’s lips, this one firm and wanting. Jon folds beneath him, his arms winding around the small of Tim’s back and pulling him closer as he sighs against Tim’s mouth. Tim tilts his head, deepens the kiss, backs Jon up against the counter and captures Jon’s startled exhalation with his mouth, filing it away to treasure forever. Then, because Jon’s practically made of twigs, Tim places his hands on the back of Jon’s thighs and lifts him effortlessly onto the counter, smiling as Jon lets out a startled noise against his mouth.

 “Tim,” Jon says, the word breathless and amused even as it’s swallowed by another burning, bruising kiss, transformed into a hum of pleasure. Tim lets Jon’s legs bracket his hips, steps in closer, and slips one hand down to rest against the side of Jon’s neck, feeling the soft flutter of Jon’s pulse against the pads of his fingers. For an indeterminate amount of time, there’s only this: Jon’s mouth warm against his and Jon’s hands firm against his back and Jon’s quiet little noises, sighs and hums and gasps that Tim sequesters away in his mind for safekeeping.

 Finally, if only because he’s growing winded, Tim pulls back, rests his forehead against Jon’s, and says, “Romantic enough for you?”

 Jon lets out a noise that sounds like a breathless laugh but could just as easily be a groan. “You’re ridiculous.”

 “Ridiculously handsome.”

 This time, Jon does groan, pulling back enough to give Tim a dry look. “Fishing for compliments this morning, I see.”

 “What can I say? I’m a simple man. I see my beautiful boyfriend in my clothes, complaining about a lack of milk, and I’m immediately robbed of all higher brain functions.”

 Jon flushes, a lovely splash of dark across the sepia brown of his skin. “I don’t see how the milk factors into things.”

 “Oh, the milk is a critical component.”

 Jon makes a face, and Tim laughs before pressing another quick kiss to Jon’s lips. “Speaking of milk—want to get ready? I can run to the shop down the street, grab some before we make the full grocery run this afternoon.”

 “Oh,” Jon says, surprised. “You really don’t have to. I- I’ll be fine without tea for one morning.”

 “I know,” Tim says, brushing a strand of hair from Jon’s cheek and tucking it behind his ear. “But I want to.”

 Jon opens his mouth, closes it. Finally, with a small smile creeping across his lips, he says, “All right. But only so we can finally put this- this milk conversation to rest.”

 “For now. Just wait until the next time we run out of milk. I’ve got at least ten dairy puns ready for that specific moment.”

 “Goodbye, Tim.”

[p1nkwitch]

Please may I have number 3? Drunk/sloppy kiss, with either jmart or lonelyeyes?

This got out of control, so forgive me, i just have this scene in the backburner of my mind for months and wanted to post it somewhere. So its soft and a little bit sad, but ultimately i love it. I hope its what you want!

Also im a lonelyeyes shipper first so if given the option i would always pick it first, sorry if you wanted the Jmart.

Maybe later i will compile all this shorts in ao3.

3- Drunk/sloppy kiss

Elias is trying his hardest to focus but it was proving to be a little bit too hard. Today was…

Well today was not a good day for him in several instances, so when he got home he decided to drink to more or less forget the day happened and just wake up the next morning with a headache, more bearable in his book than overthinking things and beholding being particularly bitchy by making it worse.

However he did manage to get significantly drunk which is why he was currently talking animatedly to Peter who was looking at him amusedly from behind the couch, since he just arrived and Elias was not up to getting up.

“sSo i was with- with OsCAR AND you would not believe what he said-” Peter hums in agreement and starts to move away, making him pout so he gets up slightly and grabs his sleeve before he escapes.

“I'm talking Peter!!” His husband? Were they married now? He can't recall, sighs and gets his hand off him, making him upset, but he goes around the couch to sit next to him and pour what's left of the scotch on a glass, taking a gulp.

“Why did you think getting drunk on a… wednesday night was a good idea?” He doesn't want to think of the reason now, so he shrugs and says what comes to mind.

“Awful day, wanted to not thiiiink about it” He sees him scrunch up his face at him, but ultimately nods, he won't pry, it would mean caring about his wellbeing too much and Peter can't bring himself to do it. Or well he does sometimes, his moral sense is a spinning wheel anyways.

Elias feels still slightly upset, but more importantly he is also mesmerized watching Peter drink and just stay close to him, what a peculiar man that he is, claiming to be lonely yet staying with him who represents everything he hates. It makes him smile.

Peter is an acolyte of the lonely yet he has his personality and is not a boring husk, he knows exactly the kind of person he is and yet he still marries him, more importantly Peter is aware that one day he could be the death of him, and Elias has the suspicion that he wouldn't even be mad at him for it. Merely annoyed at himself.

Peter Lukas would never hate him for how he is even if it brings him his doom.

Elias slides closer and leans on Peters side, with his head on his shoulder making him stiffen and yet not pull him away, he giggles at the contradictions of this man, this silly little big man that he loves. Oh.

Oh he does love him, it does not mean he won't let him go if it serves him and he would be offended if it wasn't the same way for him. But nevertheless he does.

His face burns pleasantly and he nuzzles his side a little bit. He must have mumbles something, because he hears him sigh and kiss the top of his head.

“Dead of me for sure” Elias looks up at him and he sees the surprised and flushed look he has. Silly man. Nodding he grabs his arm and pulls him until they are both lying on the couch, with him lying almost practically falling off it. His husband or not husband doesn't protest much, beyond grumbling and snorting at his feeble attempts at kissing his neck, they were sloppy as hell, but he was having fun!! It's been a while.

Its when he brushes a certain spot that Peter stiffens and laughs.

Oh?

“Elias no- don't you dar-!!!” He blows a raspberry and Peter starts laughing like crazy!!! He was ticklish that asshole told him he wasn't! He always got him and he could never get revenge not until now!!

“YES!! I KNEW YOU HAdd to be Ticklish someWhereeee” Peter wheezes and he laughs against him trying to reach the spot again, oh god he has to remember his tomorrow, he has to otherwise it would be for nothing- shit- He-

Flops to the ground with a thud.

There is silence only shaken by Peter's heavy breathing. Despite the fall he is grinning ear to ear. He sees the man peak from the couch at him with an afronted look and very flushed face.

“Are you ok?” He keeps his grin in place and laughs nodding.

“Yes!! Oh that was funnn” He sighs dreamily, it was so much fun. Peter shakes his head at him.

“Who knew being drunk got you to be so...sappy and childish, you really were holding out onto me huh?” Was he? He probably was, he really had to hold back most of the time.

“Mm” He sees Peter hand go to his face and he tilts it to the side expectantly, the man merely puts some hair out of his face and hesitatnly boops his nose. His smile turns softer. Quickly he grabs his hand and kisses his wrist softly. The man stiffens and he laughs before lifting himself up a little bit to start to kiss his way up the arm.

Peter breathing goes up and when he checks his face is completely red, not only that but he doesn't seem to know where to look. God he is so cute.

Laughing softly he keeps going, advancing like he wants, grateful he was wearing a short sleeve. Once he reaches the fabric of his clothes he jumps up directly to kissing him in the mouth, now that they were at the same height. Its good.

More importantly he feels the other unwind and reciprocate. Elias is honestly in a cloud right now, whatever was upsetting him was definitely out of mind, the feels of his sometimes husband slightly chapped lips pressed against his, his hitched breath at the whispered words that he knows makes him usually run, but not today, now now, make ti all the better and sweeter. Of course that's when the man tries to get closer and ends up rolling too much falling half on top of him. They both groan at first, but then-

Then he starts to laugh uncontrollably, Peter pouts but chuckles along before pressing his face on the crook of his neck. Far bigger than him, but always awfully cuddly when he can get away with it.

“What?” Peter shakes his head.

“You are not going to remember any of this are you?” He blinks a few times and after measuring it he has to admit he drank too much.

“Mmmmayhaps not?” A kiss to the neck.

“Good” Ah, that's why he is so sappy. Loneliness by being the only one who recalls this.

“Peter?”

“Mm?” Well if he is not going to might as well go out?

“Want to danceeee”

“No”

“Please?” Silence.

A resigned sigh.

“I hate you” Elias smiles and kisses the top of his head.

“No you dont-”

They get up and he is shakily clutching Peter who merely spins him around the room without rhyme or reason, but that in his addled mine is the closest to waltz he can manage with his coordination at hand. He spends most of it laughing and talking and occasionally just leaning up to get more kisses, that Peter obliges. Silly, silly man!!

In the end he drags him to bed and they lay down to sleep, not before his husband leaves him a cup of water and some pills for an upcoming headache in the morning. Once in bed he snuggles closer to Peter who lets him and curves himself around him.

“... It's the anniversary of Barnabas death”

“... Which one-?”

“The skull, your- Mordechai?”

“Ahh the lonely one” He stays there in warmth not as bothered by it anymore.

“Would you watch me and still let me die little pufferfish?” He scrunches up his nose and thinks, but the answer has always been the same.

“Yes… would you hate me for it?” Peter doesn't answer and he is almost asleep before he hears the answer.

“No, i dont think i could, i know how you are, it would be stupid of me to do it” It was the answer he was expecteng yet having it confirmed lifted something out from him, a small weight he wasnt expecting.

“Thank you, love you Peter”

“...You too my lovely downfall”

Elias sleeps and dreams of foggy beaches with lost rings and skulls. One day he will miss Peter just as he does for Barnabas he is sure of it.