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rosy-cheekx · 3 years

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Heard you were looking for prompts :) 1 of 2 - From favorite tropes: Blind date set up by mutual friends! And maybe combined with "I'm speechless you're so beautiful" from the fluff & kisses (and other stuff) prompts. Go wild with it!

This will go to AO3 soon, but it was a lot of fun to write and a nice distraction from any hypothetical realities the TMA fandom may be experiencing.

Double-Blind: 5K

Martin smelled like espresso. He wrinkled his nose and dusted his hands on his apron uselessly, as if doing so would rid himself of the months of coffee, cinnamon, and hazelnut baked into his skin. It wasn’t all that bad, he supposed, except what was the point in using cologne if it was going to be immediately overpowered?

The bell above the door jingled and Martin jumped, pulled from his thoughts on cologne and what he would like to smell like, given the opportunity. Sandalwood, maybe? Tobacco and vanilla? The musky-sweet smells are nice, they have a nice mix of feminine and masculine to them, almost—

“Ahem.” An exaggerated clearing of the throat, once again whisking him from his distractions. Martin locked eyes on the woman across the counter from him, grinning mischievously. “Welcome back to Earth, Martin.”

“Oh! Oh. It’s just you. Hi, Georgie.” Georgie Barker, a regular customer, moderately well-known podcast host, and most importantly, one of Martin’s favorite people to see at the tiny coffee shop he spent more time in than his own flat.

“Just me? Excuse me.” Georgie pouted and crossed her arms, coily hair bouncing around her face as she shook her head. “I’ll have you know you should be grateful to see me this fine afternoon, Martin Koffee Blackwood!”

Martin grinned and dropped the act. “I always am, Georgie. But I told you, there’s not a—”

“Like I said, you should be happy to see me.” Georgie barreled on. “I have good news.” She cocked her head and pondered the chalk-covered board behind the counter. “Two chai lattes, please. And make one of them extra spicy?”

Martin rang up the order and passed two cups down to Rosie, all the while checking the door surreptitiously, ensuring a little chat wouldn’t hold anyone up. “Okay? Spill.”

Georgie’s phone was in her hand, and she waved it at Martin like it contained the secrets of the universe. “D’you remember my roommate, Melanie?”

Martin nodded, pursing his lips. “Vaguely. I thought you guys were dating.” He raised his eyebrows, waiting for her to elaborate.

Georgie waved a hand dismissively, rolling her eyes. “Not the point. Anyways, she has a friend of a friend-“ Georgie frowned for a moment, “…of a friend who is looking to get back into dating. Mel says he’s short and nerdy and prickly until you get to know him. Apparently a real pain to work with according to the friend.” Georgie smirked and pulled a sticky note from her back pocket. “Thought maybe you’d want his number.”

Martin grimaced at the blue piece of paper as she smoothed it to the counter with a firm motion. “Wow, George. Really selling it.” It was his fault; they had bonded over being queer back in July when Martin had worn his gay and trans pride buttons and Georgie was proudly sporting her own pansexual patch firmly affixed to her laptop case. One lunch break discussing quirky exes later, their friendship had been sealed. Mentioning offhandedly that he was on dating apps and hating every minute of it seemed to have rooted itself in Georgie’s mind and had grown like weeds until she had taken it upon herself to become his personal wing woman.

“Do you even know his name?” Martin asked, regarding the string of numbers on the piece of paper in front of him.

Georgie blushed, shrugging apologetically. “Friend of a friend of a friend. Sorry mate. Melanie said he likes cats, documentaries, and-” she made air quotes with her fingers, “-being uptight.”

“Wow.” Martin chuckled in disbelief. “Really selling it here.”

Rosie sidled by Martin and set down Georgie’s lattes, who shrugged and picked them up after dropping a few coins in the tip jar. “You have his number. Just think about it, Blackwood. Melanie’s friend doesn’t spread the word about someone unless they’re something special.” She blew a kiss (clumsily, considering the cups requiring the attention of each of her hands) and made her way to the door.

“I just want you to be happy!” She called out as the January winds pulled her out the door and into the grey afternoon.

Martin chewed on his lip as he considered. January was always a tough month for him, and he had been feeling a little lonely recently. He really didn’t see anyone besides his coworkers, customers, and his mother. As much as he enjoyed his job, he wouldn’t call anyone there a romantic interest. He folded the sticky note and stuck it in his pocket as his next customer approached the counter. He did like cats, after all. Maybe that would be a good starting conversation.

Jonathan Sims groaned and shifted the stack of books in his hand as he inspected the knee-high table that was buried amongst the fiction books. He hated working the children’s section of the library. Although no food or drink was allowed, there always seemed to be crumbs everywhere. He was starting to wonder if children just manifested them. He made a mental note to come back with disinfectant wipes after putting the stack of child-suitable biographies away and turned, nearly walking straight into the chest of one Timothy Stoker.

“A-ah!” Jon jumped instinctively backward, clutching the books closer to his chest in an attempt to keep from dropping them. “Tim! Good lord, there’s really no need to be sneaking up on me like that.”

Tim grinned wryly and shrugged, taking half of the books from Jon’s arms. “Sorry boss, thought you heard me.” He gestured for Jon to lead the way through the half-sized bookshelves; an unnecessary act seeing as Tim worked the children’s library much more frequently than Jon did.

“I’m not your-” Jon sighed, deciding this wasn’t the hill he wanted to die on today. He made his way through the shelves, sliding books into their correct placements with practiced hands. “Do you need something?”

“Actually,” Tim checked a Dewey code and slid a book into a shelf a few rows down. “I don’t. But you do.”

Jon stared blankly, uncomprehending. Tim chuckled and gestured with a cock of his head towards the research section. “Melanie said she has a friend who has a friend she wants to set up on a date. And while normally, I’d jump at the chance-” he waved his left hand, the silver ring inset with tiny diamonds flashing in the fluorescents, “I’ve been wifed up and I don’t think my dear Sash would appreciate my going on a blind date with a stranger.”

Jon frowned, setting his stack of books down and eyeing Tim. “What, so I have to?”

Tim shook his head, a patient smile on his face. “No, no one is forcing you. I just think—well. It’s been a while since your last relationship and you’ve been a little…testy, recently.” The look on Tim’s face dared Jon to contradict. “Melanie says he’s apparently a really good guy, very kind and sweet and patient. I think his name is Melvin? I kinda tuned out after she wrote down the number she got from her friend.”

Jon scoffed, pushing his glasses up his face as if that would help him comprehend the absolute ridiculousness of what Tim was saying. “Y-You want me to go on a date with this guy, Melvin? Because I’ve been…grumpy? That doesn’t seem very kind to this mysterious date.”

Tim pursed his lips. “I just think you could benefit from seeing someone who doesn’t work here. I mean, we love you Jon, but god, you need to get a social life. I’m practically begging you.” Tim’s purse elongated into a pout, eyes going big and starry. Jon inwardly groaned. Tim was his oldest friend here at the library and he really never learned how to resist that face. Maybe he should ask Sasha.

“One date,” Jon promised. “I’ll do one date. And then you never set me up again.”

Tim grabbed the rest of the books Jon had set down and added them to his stack before whisking himself away down the aisles. “If we’re lucky, I’ll never have to!” He called down the aisles, grinning madly. Jon sighed and grabbed a small pink sticky note that had been stuck to the countertop, running his eyes over the numbers before slipping it into his pocket. He’ll call later.

Martin stared resolutely at the numbers on the blue sticky note, running his thumb over the curled edge of the paper, slightly stained from some sort of milk during the shift. Even his apron pockets weren’t foolproof. The underground was busy and he was jammed between an older woman who smelled weirdly like salmon and a man who seemed utterly too well-dressed to be on the tube. Elbows crammed into his side to keep from nudging anyone, he pulled out his phone and stared at the messaging app for what felt like several minutes. He typed the numbers into the message bar and watched his cursor blip in the body of the message.

Hey whats up?

No, that would be so weird.

Hiya, this is martin!

Georgie never said the man’s name, would this mysterious date know his?

Hey I think the alphabet is missing I and U together.

Gross. Just gross. Martin grimaced inwardly and chewed on his lip, thinking carefully before typing.

Hi! My name is martin. my friend gave me your number, hope thats okay. she said you were really nice and recommended we try a blind date. if this is too weird, I get ignoring it. but if youre game, I am! :)

As he finished typing, he heard the familiar robotic voice of the tube announcing his stop. Quickly, Martin shoved the phone in his pocket and carefully forced his way through the crowd and onto the platform, mind cast to what he had accessible for dinner.

----

It took Jon a few days, until Saturday, to remember to call the phone number they had been given. They could text, they supposed, but they always appreciated hearing someone’s intonation a little better. Especially a stranger, ugh, they shuddered at the idea of not being able to decipher the tone of this Melvin. It was half-past 11 when they decided to call, hoping this would be late enough in the morning to not wake him up.

The phone rang momentarily before a surprisingly feminine voice answered the phone. “Hello. This is Rosie. You’ve reached Swirl Café and Bakery.”

Well shit. This was not what Jon expected. They stumbled over their rehearsed speech, trying to scramble words together in a way that made sense. “Uh-sorry, I must have the wrong number. I-I was trying to speak to Melvin?”

“Mmm, sorry. No Melvin works here. We have a Martin, but he’s off the clock. Would you like to speak to our manager?” Rosie’s voice was clipped and courteous, but Jon could hear the bustle of voices in the background. It must be their weekend rush.

“Ah-uh, no, no thank you.” Jon shook their head into the phone, before remembering that did not translate aurally. “It’s alright. Thank you anyways.”

“Sorry, mate. Thanks for calling!” The dial tone droned on for a moment before Jon hung up, sighing and pressing the heels of their hands into their eyes. That was a waste. Melanie must have been playing them; Jon knew they generally didn’t get along, but they didn’t realize she would stoop so low. Honestly, shame on themself for getting excited about a date.

Later that evening, Jon was cooking and listening to music through the speaker that balanced precariously on a shelf next to their stove. The music was low, with a variety of orchestral instruments and sultry, smooth voices. Jon’s eyes were half closed as they stirred the curry in the pan in front of them, letting the music and heat of the kitchen entangle them in a sleepy feeling relaxing their whole body. As the cello in the song dipped low and resonant, Jon stood still, letting the music sweep them away—

They jumped as the ringer alerted them through the speaker that they had received a text, glaringly electronic compared to the rich notes of cello and viola that had been so rudely interrupted. Sleepy feeling gone as adrenaline washed through their body, Jon sighed and retrieved their phone, checking for the message.

An unknown number flicked across the screen:

Hi! my name is martin. my friend gave me your number, hope thats okay. she said you were really nice and recommended we try a blind date. if this is too weird, i get ignoring it. but if youre game, I am! :)

i meant to send this a few days ago but I never hit send. sorry ab that! rosie said someone called the café asking ab me and i assumed that was you bc i wasnt expecting anyone else and no one involved in the blind date thing ever asked for my mobile number.

if it wasn’t you, oops! either way it reminded me that i had never texted you. :)

Jon squinted at the screen as they read the messages a few times over. That was…a lot of words. So his name was Martin. It was certainly nicer than Melvin. Jon agonized over their words as they typed out a response.

Hello Martin. That was me who called the café…I hope it didn’t cause problems for you. Blind dates aren’t usually my thing, but my coworkers think I need to get out more. I’d be happy to meet you for dinner or coffee. Even if we don’t get along, we can say we’ve done it.

Unless, of course, you’re rather sick of coffee. I prefer tea anyways.

…not “done it” done it. Just. Had the blind date.

Jon winced at their follow up texts. God, that was embarrassing. Martin probably didn’t even take it that way until they bothered to clarify. They shook their head, warding away the growing anxiety in their chest and tucked their phone in their pocket as they turned their attention back to the simmering curry. Jon had embarrassed themselves enough for one night.

----

Martin chuckled at the texts that came through; one slow and the two follow-ups rapid. He could feel the awkwardness through the messages, desperately trying to give a good impression. He chuckled to himself as he set down his dinner plate.

dinner sounds perfect. but same about the tea! and about the coworkers tbh, my friends think im making friends with the espresso machine. which, i am, but only bc its good company haha.

btw i never got your name?

Martin’s phone was silent the rest of the night, as he plodded his way through a mediocre dinner and shower before settling into his armchair, desperate to work on his poetry. Words came slowly to him recently, thoughts about the world and darkness and the intersection of fall and winter. He really should up and move to somewhere warmer, he thought to himself, before laughing the notion away aloud. Yeah, right. He rolled his eyes and tried to focus on the poetry prompts book he had found at the charity shop. “Use noncolor words to describe a color.” Great. Martin settled back and tried to focus, but kept finding himself checking his phone impulsively, the foamed latte art he’d photographed, one of a cat he was particularly proud of, stared back at him judgmentally.

As he drew his evening to a close, Martin almost missed the buzz of his phone, now plugged in by his bed, as he brushed his teeth.

Congrats on the espresso machine. And my name is Jon. Anywhere you want to go for dinner?

________________________________________________________________

Jon hesitated, thumb hovering over the icon that would open a video chat with Tim. He didn’t want to come off nervous, but… he was.

Texting had been going well. Martin was good at keeping the conversation going and genuinely seemed to enjoy the long texts Jon had sent regarding his irritations with the research he was conducting as a part of his master’s in literature, asking him questions about details Jon had added for context. Martin was easy to talk to, too, he always seemed to have an opinion on subjects but always ones Jon was happy to hear, even if he was objectively wrong about spiders and oolong tea. Martin had sent an awkward text, letting Jon know he was trans and that if that was a dealbreaker he should tell him now, one Jon had blushed over and responded that he was nonbinary himself, and that it certainly wasn’t. The “okay fantastic! :))) remind me of your pronouns? he/him for me.” that followed it up had made Jon’s heart sing.

They had agreed to meet at an Italian place, equidistant between their flats and not too fancy. Martin had commented about getting ice cream after, but Jon wasn’t sure if he was joking or not, since it had also been a jab about Jon’s preference for rum raisin. Thus, he was staring at his wardrobe, paralyzed with indecision. Tim had offered to help, which Jon had initially rejected since he’s “not a child Tim, I’ve dated before. And I know how to dress myself.” But lord if he wasn’t wishing for someone to lay out his clothes and tell him to behave. He grimaced and jabbed the video chat button, bracing for the onslaught of teasing to come.

----

Martin adjusted his collar for what must have been the twelfth time, sucking on his lip as he waited at the reserved table. He hadn’t been there long, no more than five minutes, but his anxiety had been building up all day and a part of him was absolutely certain Jon wasn’t going to come. Neither of them knew what the other looked like; what if Jon saw him and had dipped out immediately? He was wearing mint green, as he had promised, so Jon would recognize him, and brought a bouquet of daisies, mostly because it felt weird not to bring anything, but he didn’t want to be too romantic. Not roses or anything. Besides, Jon said he liked daisies, said they reminded him of an old friend. Martin hoped it wasn’t too weird. He brushed his auburn curls out of the way of his eyes, part of him regretting not having gotten a haircut first, but he tucked those thoughts aside as he surveyed the restaurant from his vantage point.

He blinked in confusion as he watched long curls make their way towards him. Dark black hair, streaked with white, half bunned up in the back and rest left to hang loose, skimming purple-covered elbows. Martin wasn’t sure if they were wearing flowy grey pants or a skirt, but either way, the faint black pattern to them was stunning and Martin couldn’t help but watch the swoosh of the hemlines. As the person got closer, Martin realized they were tiny, stylized eyes.

“Ah-you’re Martin, right?” It took Martin a second to realize this absolutely beautiful person was talking to him.

“hmm—Oh! Yes! You must be Jon.” Martin stood, unsure whether he should shake Jon’s hand or hug him or? But Jon solved the problem himself by sitting, and so Martin did as well. “It’s nice to finally meet you…in person, that is,” he added, grinning shyly. “You look lovely, by the way.”

Jon blushed. “Ah, thank you. Y-You too. O-or handsome, whichever you prefer.” He sipped his water and fidgeted with his hands, eyes flicking around the room nervously before coming around to rest on Martin.

Martin shrugged. “A compliment is a compliment, they all work. Speaking of—what pronouns are you feeling today? I remember you saying it varies.”

Jon shook his head slightly. “I’m not going to pitch a fit either way, but ‘he’ is just fine.” It was nice to be asked. The library respected his pronouns, of course, but something about Martin going out of his way to make sure he was on the same page was… It made Jon’s heart thud deep in his chest.

They made small talk about the travel, the weather, Italian food preferences until the waiter came and relieved the tension. Martin felt his shoulders relax after they both ordered; it felt more real somehow.

“So,” Martin asked, sipping his water demurely, a smile tinged on his lips. “Melvin, huh?”

Jon choked on air for a moment. His mouth gaped open and shut again and Martin couldn’t help the grin overtook him. Jon’s embarrassment was sweet; his cheeks flushed and he bowed his head slightly. It was a lovely look on him. “For the record, that’s what I was told by my coworker, Tim.” Jon made air quotes with his fingers. “‘Melvin or something.’ Who was I to question your name?”

“Right, and I’m glad you respect names ‘n’ all. But Melvin?” Martin chuckled to himself, shaking his head. “I’m not the decimal system guy.”

“Nn-mmm,” Jon shook his head, nose wrinkled in a way Martin found particularly cute. “That’s Melville. Melville Dewey.” Jon emphasized, back straightening. “Distinctly different. I’m a librarian, actually.”

“Oh!” Martin blinked. “That makes sense. You work with Melanie, then, I assume?”

Jon grimaced again. “Unfortunately.”

“She’s not that bad!” Martin insisted. “I’ve met her once or twice and she’s been very polite.”

Jon rolled his eyes. “For someone who’s getting a degree in parapsychology, she seems very judgmental.”

“Oh? And what are you studying again?”

“English Lit-hey!”

Martin grinned behind his glass of water. “Just saying, I haven’t met an English Lit student who wasn’t obscenely pretentious.”

Jon faltered for a second and slumped his shoulders in defeat, though his voice still seemed to carry humor, albeit dry. “Unfortunately, I am no exception.”

“Well, I didn’t say I didn’t like it.”

Dinner arrived smoothly, shrimp scampi for Jon and eggplant parmesan for Martin. They ate slowly, chatting more about Jon’s graduate degree, Martin’s affinity for fiction and poetry, and their shared interest in tea.

“So, are you vegetarian?” Jon gestured to the eggplant on Martin’s plate. Martin wobbled his head slightly, not quite a negatory shake of the head.

“It’s complicated. My mother has—had—a sensitive stomach so we didn’t eat meat growing up. I think that turned me off the taste. And there’s something about the texture,” he shuddered. “Weirds me out.”

Jon’s eyes were sharp, boring holes into Martin’s in a way he should have found alarming, but instead found soothing. “Mine, too.” His tone—softer, almost reverent, clued Martin in: he wasn’t talking about being vegetarian.

Martin nodded, and gently placed a hand on Jon’s, the one that hovered near his drinking glass. “I’m sorry.”

They were quiet for a moment, Jon’s hand was small and warm under his, and Martin could feel a thin silver bracelet clinging to his wrist. Martin was amazed by how perfectly his fingers rested over Jon’s, how nice it must feel to hold hands with him on a walk or side by side against the world. Jon cleared his throat suddenly and reached for his glass, gulping down water while staring steadfastly at his plate.

Martin felt his own blush rise through his cheeks and pushed a stray noodle around his plate. “So, here’s a question,” he began, eager to clear the tension. “You said earlier your friend Tim gave you the number to Swirl, right? I don’t know a Tim. So how did he know me?”

Jon frowned, cocking his head. “Technically, I got the number from Tim but that was via Melanie. She said her roommate was friends with…well, friends with you.”

“Mmhmm, that makes sense. I know Georgie from the coffee shop.” He was about to continue when he saw absolutely paralyzed look on Jon’s face. “You…you alright?”

Jon was stock still, pausing the forkful of shrimp that was en route to his mouth. “Sorry, Melanie’s roommate is Georgie?”

Martin nodded slowly. “Yeah, Georgie Barker, that podcaster. She gets her an extra-spicy chai latte from Swirl most days and that’s about the most I know of the relationship. Why, you know her?”

Jon put the fork down, shrimp forgotten, and sighed, running his thumbs along the bridge of his nose, pushing his thin-rimmed glasses up to his eyebrows. “Y-yes, she’s kind of…my ex.”

It was Martin’s turn to freeze. “Sorry?”

“Mmm, yeah, we decided we were better as friends. It was back in Oxford. But I don’t exactly see her often much anymore.” Jon winced at his own words, as if he knew how bad they sounded.

Martin sat back in disbelief, chuckling to himself. “Y’know, she said you were a ‘friend of a friend of a friend.’ D’you think she even knew it was you?”

Jon cocked his head in thought. “I guess not. I mean, I think the whole library staff has been gunning for me to relieve some tension. I wouldn’t be surprised if they’ve been looking for a blind date for me for months now.”

Martin grinned, eyes sparkling. “Well, no matter. It was lucky for me.” Lucky again, was Martin, when he was rewarded with Jon’s warm blush.

----

The bill had been a painful affair, with both Jon and Martin vying for the privilege of paying. Martin struck a deal: he’d pay for the dinner, and Jon would pay for ice cream. Jon knew the differences would widely outweigh when it came to cost but he relented, and the self-satisfied smirk that blossomed over Jon’s face was payment enough.

Martin pointed out the ice cream parlor was a few blocks away and, though it was January, they decided to walk. The fresh snow on the ground glinted against the orange street lamps, and Jon laughed under his breath at the way Martin took great care to step on any unusually large clumps of snow, like he had a personal vendetta. When Jon’s chuckle had made it past the scarf he had wound round his neck and mouth, Martin had glanced over, embarrassed.

“I like the sound of it,” he mumbled, suddenly very meek for a man his stature. It was, regretfully, endearing. Martin was tall, but he was big too, and it was obvious underneath the layer of soft cashmere and chub, there was rigid muscle, and beneath that still, a gentle heart. Jon was struck by him, in more ways he had prepared himself for, and it felt second nature to slide his gloved hand into Martin’s and give it a solid squeeze of acknowledgement.

“Do you think it’s too cold to get ice cream?” Jon asked, watching a cloud of breath float by his lips.

Martin shrugged. “Technically? Yes. But who’s going to tell on us?” Jon swung their entwined hands a little. “Unless…you don’t want to?” Martin added, eyes locking on Jon’s before his head followed.

Jon shook his head. “No, I want to. I believe we have a debt to settle and I have a personal score involving rum raisin.” Martin beamed, clearly pleased, and Jon was certain the snow around him melted right off with the warmth of his smile. Jon leant into Martin’s side a little, and they continued in silence until they reached the ice cream parlor, the entrance to which glowed with pink and white LEDs.

Jon smugly ordered a scoop of rum raisin and was delighted to find Martin “didn’t hate it,” though he insisted his mint chip was better. That was genuinely the best Jon could hope for; not even Georgie in all her unusual tastes enjoyed his rum raisin sensibility. “My grandmother loved it when I was a kid,” he explained between bites, stirring the ice cream with his spoon. “It was the only flavor she kept around the house.”

“Not even vanilla?” Martin gasped in mock disbelief. “Any sensible person would say you’ve been tricked into enjoying it.” Jon chuckled and elbowed Martin mildly.

Jon found himself lingering over the bowl, realizing that the end of their dessert meant an end to the date. Martin seemed to be acting similarly, putting his spoon down between bites and taking more and more thoughtful swallows between their bouts of conversation.

“You-you took the tube here, right?” Jon asked, setting his finally-empty bowl off to the side. At Martin’s confirmation, Jon clenched his fist below the table. “Do you want to walk to the station together?”

Martin’s eyes lit up, nodding eagerly. “I had meant to ask, actually! I wanted to make sure you got there safe.” Jon winced at the blush that overtook his cheeks, though it was easy to blame it on the chill of the ice cream and the frigid night.

The walk to the tube was longer and the pair, heavily sated by pasta and dairy, were quiet, making soft comments about the snow or the odd remaining Christmas decorations, hands clasped tightly and shoulders pressing into the other. The fluorescents of the underground shone brightly, normally a beacon calling travelers home in the night, but to Jon it felt like a dreadful curse. He truly hadn’t expected to enjoy his evening with Martin so much, but they had just clicked. It felt like a shame to let it go.

Swiping their cards, Jon and Martin passed through their respective turnstiles and stood at the bisecting tunnels through which the various lines waited to take them home. They faced each other in silence, hands still interlocked, unsure of how to begin.

“If you’d like to,” Jon murmured, eyes shifting focus to Martin’s curls, plastered to his forehead from the snow; his collar, peeking through his coat; the way the shell of his ear seemed to have a nick missing (was it from a childhood accident? Just the way it was grown?). “I’d like to go out again.”

Martin squeezed Jon’s hand, and Jon’s eyes flitted back to Martin’s own; they were grey-blue and reminded Jon of his childhood sea. “Mmhmm, yeah.” Martin rolled his eyes at his own words and tried again. “Yes, Jon, I’d love that.” Martin moved to hug Jon, a gesture Jon eagerly accepted, relishing the warm arms encircling him and the feel of Martin’s chin resting on the crown of his head. As they pulled away, Martin’s eyes flitted across Jon’s face and the hand around his back moved, cautiously, to rest on the side of Jon’s neck.

“I…I don’t want to presume,” Martin said quietly, and Jon was distinctly aware of how empty, how big, the station was. “Is it okay if I kiss your cheek?”

Jon blinked rapidly, nodding wordlessly, before clearing his throat. “Ah, um, yes. Please.”

Martin’s smile was soft as he pressed his lips to the apex of Jon’s cheekbone, almost into his hairline. Jon was sure the blush that rose across his face this time certainly couldn’t be explained away by the snow, but he honestly wasn’t really sure he cared.

#tma #tma fanfic #the magnus archives #the magnus archives fanfic #fanfic to a tea #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #jmart #jonmartin #georgie barker #rosie zampano #tma rosie #tim stoker #meet cute #blind date au #this is my love letter to TMA #prompt answer #fanfic prompt

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gailynovelry · 4 years

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WIP List Tag

Thanks to @albatris for the tag!

Rules: Share a list of the stories you’re currently working on, regardless of whether or not you have introduced them to writeblr before. I’m going to apologize to you beforehand because all of these are going to long. They are also queer. I do not apologize for that.

Heralds of Rhimn: A YA Dark Fantasy and my oldest project. The first book in the series is Shadow Herald;

“Few gods remain on the world of Rhimn, and the ones that do use special servants known as Heralds as pawns in the conflict between themselves. And not every Herald is happy with their role…

As Navaeli the Shadow Herald comes clashing with the dual threats of the Irongardhe knights and her own vengeful goddess, she finds romance in a handsome hooligan girl and friendship in a young feyrie thief — and with them, the courage to fight back against the injustices of her world.

But can Navaeli break free from the chains of her duty, or will she be the first casualty in the oncoming war between the gods?“

In essence, Navaeli is a dark messiah lesbian who Does Not Want To Be A Protagonist Please, Crislie is a love interest who decides to put her brawling problem to work protecting Navaeli, and Meparik is baby, but baby with many issues. In the time you’ve taken to read these character descriptions, he has probably already stolen your wallet.

The series as a whole involves some good wlw rapid-yearning-to-mutually-protective-girlfriends, REVOLUTION, a new take on fairies and a big ol’ middle-fingered subversion to the Oppressed Mage trope, and eventually some good ol’ fashioned god-killing.

The first book is going to come out May 20th this year! I have made a pretty cover for it, and also for the sequel! I am very proud of this!

Mindhive: A NA dystopia and the first project I’ve written where my characters are explicitly allowed to say “fuck.” They very much need to use this word, given the world I’ve built for them to inhabit.

“Dead-broke and dead-set on paying off his student loans before he’s forty, Nathaniel Emersin signed up as a paid test subject for ReGene, a genetics company with a mysterious new invention that they promise will change the world; the Worker Bee Implant.

But Nathaniel has one little secret that didn’t make it onto paper…

He’s also been hired by ReGene’s rival company, Future Body, to sabotage the trial and steal the mysterious new technology that ReGene’s been working on.”

Complications arise due to the presence of a very amicable security AI and the fact that Nathaniel gets attached to the two other lab rats he gets assigned to for the trial. And by “attached” I mean “develops mutual deep crushes on both Lucine and Avery, has a few cover-compromising panic attacks over it, and eventually reveals to them that he’s being hired to be a secret agent guy doing secret agent things.”

So he sort of decides to run away with his new girlfriend and datemate to an activist group who could a) remove the implant possibly and b) sue ReGene?

Needless to say, ReGene nor Future Body are happy with this turn of events, and decide that they should probably stop him before they experience consequences for the human experimentation and corporate sabotage.

Also, they take the AI with them. His name is Vertigo and he would like for someone to explain to him what a Vocaloid is.

Galactic Empress: This story is me indulging in my very specific need to write a royalty space opera political thriller. It is very high up on the Maslow’s chart of needs for me. It showed up one day and did not leave my brain.

“After the unresolved assassination of her mother, sweet but politically-savvy Princess Glissandrah Ayamarak — known better as Gliss — ascends to Galactic Empress earlier than she’d ever wanted to.

With her mother’s murderer still at large, Glissandrah turns to outsiders to protect her while she figures out just what game is being played in the Galactic Quorum. And it turns out that turning three hardened mercenaries into loyal royal bodyguards is harder than she first thought… but when anyone inside the Quorum could be after the crown, what other choice does she have?”

The hot and slightly controversial bodyguard team in question consists of Li-ah-li, a polite and slightly tired space furry, Yuukmi, a plantperson gunslinger with a space blaster in each of xer four hands, and Jennifer, a gruff human mercenary with a protective streak for her two alien comrades. This story is also polyamorous!

The Ghosts of Grimmigkeit Manor: I literally started working on this one again yesterday; it’s a reworking of a VERY old fully-OC pokemon fanfiction I wrote when I was fourteen, which has been subsequently lost to time. The genre is uhhhhhh paranormal shenanigans with semi-mystery vibes and a strong dose of snark. Probably NA.

The story follows three protagonists. Firstly is Eustace, a coroner who is doing a terrible job of divorcing himself from his family’s slightly goth business and reputation. Secondly is his triplet sister Alison, who is currently being The Responsible One running the family business of selling funeral caskets and who maybe should stop breaking the maids’ hearts in her free time. Thirdly is Dirk, the other triplet, who looks up to Eustace quite a bit and would really like it if his siblings got along more and maybe relaxed enough to let him leave the manor to go to college?

Anyway, during Eustace’s yearly Christmas visit to the family manor, it turns out that Eustace and Dirk can both see ghosts! This phases Eustace significantly more than Dirk, since Dirk has schizophrenia and didn’t realize at first that the ghosts were separate from his usual hallucinations.

The story at large involves family secrets, intimidating and quirky relatives, a murder that happened a quarter of a century ago, and this one really terrible ghost who needs to STOP MAKING THE WALLS BLEED BLOOD and who maybe is the triplets’ father. They have to figure out how to yeet him into the afterlife so that he stops causing problems.

Also, a different and more chill ghost owes Uncle Freddie money.

Misc: I have a dozen other ideas that I float around but Deliberately Wait To Work On because my stories are stews and they need some time to simmer in the crock pot that is my brain. Among these are a mermaid/selkie wlw romance, a mlm post-apoc ??? story, and various wlw Eragon ripoffs where there’s dragons being ridden and cool things happening.

#writeblr #tag games #WIP summary #lgbtq fiction #trying to clear these out #i've been busy whoops #Heralds of Rhimn #Galactic Empress #Mindhive #Ghosts of Grimmigkeit #this is good practice for summarizing!#i need more work on that

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aveys6 · 3 years

Text

little wip

how richie's health changes in relation to his relationship w eddie

* the dialogue is rough bc i intend on actually putting it into structured sentences in ao3, bare w me

age 13 - 1989

"sorry guys, cant hang today. i have a hot appointment scheduled with dr noelle" he lifted his eyebrows and shit to insuate prostitution

"so, what, you have a physical?" stan said unimpressed

"that's the techinical term, stanny, but we all know better. i cant wait to have her hot bod all over me on the examination table-"

a chorus of dismissal waves around him, and eddie elbows his upper arm. stan even mutters something about 'examination' being quite a big word for richie to use.

"i bet theyre gonna test you for HIV. or maybe you'll get diagnosed with lung cancer from all of those cigarettes you've been smoking. *insert fact about smoking here that was probably exaggerated*"

"oh yeah? and where'd you hear that? your mommy?" richie challenged, ignoring eddies mention of the 'queer disease'

"ill have you know, dipwad, that my mom is highly educated in the field of medicine. cigarettes are insanely addictive-"

rich cuts him off and mocks with a nasally voice

"according to my calculations, cigarettes have roughly 236 chemicals in them-"

"thats basically true!"

"you guys are infuriating, but im pretty sure eddie's right on this one"

"thank you stan!"

"my mom says its fine because im young"

"im pretty sure she said that in reference to your junk food intake which you should also cut back on-"

"anyway," rich cuts in "im 100% sure everything will go completely fine. my doctor will be swayed by my irresistible charm to which she will then add a couple inches to my heigh chart so i can officially be 5'4 and make fun of you all"

eddie was determined not to smile, his quivering lips miraculously staying straight and expressionless "thats not how it works and you know it"

"not with that attitude!" noogie on eds

"fuckin quit it!"

his heel was practically slapping the waiting room floor, eyes flittering over childish paintings of sea creatures on the walls.

eddies irrational-but-not-quite-irrational rants finally processed in his mind.

richie never liked worrying his friend. he knew the boy's mom was a nutjob and said as such often (as well as vocalized his extreme desire to 'love her up'). he knew eddie was basically brainwashed.

it was scary, having someone worry about you. it means they cared. richie never truly comprehended why they cared. why eddie specifically cared. but it also felt good to have someone worry about him, outside of his mother, who, speaking of, gently placed a hand on his knee to stop its incessant movement.

richie wasnt the prime of schoolgirl crushes. he looked a little buggish: big eyes, thin limbs- clumsy and annoying. he wondered why eddie of all people gave him the time of day, and sometimes even more than that.

"richie toe-zee-air?"

the pair stood up despite mispronunciation.

richie was more than delighted to announce that his appointment was flawlessly average. everyone knows the deal: lie about how many fruits and veggies you consume, exaggerate how early you go to bed, deflect when the doctor asks if you've experienced any romantic or sexual attraction, count the inches of a growth spurt- no biggie.

"im sorry for, like, berating you earlier. i dont like doctors."

"i would hardly call what you did berating eds. it was your normal amount of neuroticism. dont sweat it"

there was a pause

eddie breaks the silence "i just worry sometimes"

ah, so it was confirmed.

"i know you do, eds."

"how do you know the word neuroticism?"

"heard my dad say it."

--------

age 25 - 2001

richie was back to tapping his foot on the linoleum of a waiting room. this time, alone, with no one to calm his fire-y energy. its not like he wanted the tapping to stop anyway. the repetitive motion helped ease the anticipation of getting scolded for letting himself go. this time not by a boy he couldnt catch the name of, but by a licensed professional.

he reasoned that he would rather hear it from the boy. what the hell was that shit bag's name?

this was the first appointment he had attended and organized since his pediatrician refused another after his 22nd birthday. she was already stretching the age limit of which he could visit (said extension curtesy of his dad being friends with medicinal people).

he figured it was time to move on with his life once snotty kids started giving him weird looks for fidgeting with the baby toys displayed near check-in. what says being an adult more than scheduling your own health appointments? richie answers that question by saying 'having to pay for them'.

richie's silent complaints are interrupted by a soft knock. a very typical, white-haired, doctor you'd see in movie, type of dude sauntered in.

"mr tozier, im dr sigman, how're we doin'?" he said, pumping obscene amounts of hand sanitizer.

richie replied automatically, "i'm doing pretty well, doc', how are you?"

as one can tell by the excruciatingly boring small talk, richie seemed to have lost his most palatable edge: quirky socialization.

"eh, my condition is not what's important here. how about you sit up on this here table and we can listen to your heart and lungs."

richie followed the instruction, heart rate increasing accordingly. the paper on the bench-table-thing crinkled far too loudly to be acceptable. maybe he was hungover. it would explain the heightened senses.

"so, according to your medical records, tozier, you haven't had an annual physical since- uh..." the man scanned his clipboard, "1998, correct?"

"that is correct, sir" his ears were aflame.

"mkay. you eat healthy?"

okay, then, they were getting right into it

"as healthy as i can, sir" what kind of fuckin answer was that?

dr sigman grimaced a bit, clearly knowing richies response meant his patient ate an apple every month or so to throw his body for a loop or, rather, 'reset' the ol' immune system. a shallow try at 'taking back your life' like some tabloid bullshit.

"you have a stable sleep schedule?"

richie shrugged with an "i guess" that conveyed that his average hours of sleep per night were as dreadful as his attempt at a balanced food pyramid plate.

"smoke or drink?"

now thats the million dollar question

#richie tozier #it 2017 #it 2020 #eddie kaspbrak #reddie #yeah idk

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its-tortle · 3 years

Note

Hii just here to wish you a happy Pride!🌈🌈 it’s been so nice to see on your blog today that you had an amazing time yay!! I’d like to attend Berlin Pride someday as I’m not that far from Germany, and I assume it’s awesome!!

Sending happy pride hugs even though you don’t know me🙃🌼 and also, while we’re at it, why not a well deserved thanks for your blog and your writing!! Unfortunately I haven’t had the time to read your latest endgame fix-it that you tagged me in, but I’m looking soo much forward to when I get the time!!!!!

Okay, also now I’m thinking of adding a question lol - has ‘tortle’ got anything to do with turtles or is that just my brain seeing that? Anyway I love turtles, at many occasions I have thought of them as my spirit animal!:D🐢

Okay this turned long lol, anyway, hi, I’m Mari, nice to meet you hehe🌼☺️

THANK YOU 💗🏳‍🌈 pride was such a lovely time, even without most of the party-aspects due to covid. berlin csd is always such a joy of ten of thousands of queer people and everyone being besties. i got to hang out with a bunch of my friends and host one of my uni friends for the weekend and get drunk on cheap cocktails. it was wonderful.

and aH 🥰🥰 thank youu!! absolutely no pressure to read everything i upload, i'm just so glad you're here and enjoying my blog and my fics. your kindness and support mean the world to me, and i hope i can keep providing the good kush for you <3

and yes! tortle is a quirky diminutive form of turtle! in, like, 10th and 11th grade me and my two besties at the time all had animal-based nicknames for one and another -- froge, ladyboog, and tortle were an iconic trio. i chose tortle as my username/screenname on basically all my social media so now it's kinda stuck (and i really don't mind in the slightest) 🐢💙

thank you so much for your long and kind ask, and i'm sorry it took me so long to answer. nice to meet you, mari! <3 💐

#this is so so sweet #keepsakes #thank you love #and how wonderful to formally meet you!#tortle answers #lovely people

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ber-bonfamille-lyons · 6 years

Link

Made You A Mixtape: September 2015

@simba-lyons

Happy Three Year Anniversary to Simber!!!!! To celebrate, the following playlist is the first playlist that Berlioz made Simba. Yes, that’s right, I have tried to recreate what it would have been here, which means that these songs reflect three criteria:

1. They came out in 2015 or before 2015 and would be on Berlioz’s radar 2. They remind Berlioz of Simba, and so they are mostly cheerful and a bit funky and are Big Sounds 3. Lowkey Berlioz is in love with Simba and these songs are telling him if he would just PAY ATTENTION. This is most obvious in the fact that Ber put two of his fave songs ever on this playlist-- Eskimo Kiss and Wood. They are both on this like massive playlist that he gives people for like Songs That Sound Like Ber’s Soul so yes!

So this is not a ship soundtrack as much as it is a Simba Soundtrack or a Simba-as-he-sounds-to-Berlioz-in-September Soundtrack. <333 The following descriptions are all basically incoherent, so I apologize.

Out of the Blue- Prides

Hear you come, my heart's only drummer I've been holding out for your symphony The air in my lungs is like thunder And I can't fight what you've made of me.

This is a Big Sound Song and a good way to open the mixtape in Berlioz’s opinion. He’d talk to Simba about the scratchy guitar that rumbles under like thunder, those drums, and that persistent, driving synth. And when he’s talking about those sounds, what he’s really saying is basically what the lyrics are saying honestly, like-- this song “text paints” very well, as in, it uses a storm metaphor for a lot of it and builds a storm with its instrumentation by creating a very heavy sonic atmosphere, like with all those layers and booming drums-- wow i really do sound probably how Berlioz sounded when really what he was saying is “You’re like thunder to me” and that’s really romantic and super embarrassing

Shut Up And Dance- Walk the Moon

A backless dress and some beat up sneaks My discotheque Juliet, teenage dream I felt it in my chest since she looked at me I knew we were bound to be together Bound to be together

GOD this CHEESY 80s dance guitar powerhouse of a jam!! I feel like i don’t even need to describe how this is such a Simba song in every single way and why Berlioz would think of Simba at once. But yeah, I mean: the sheer joy of it, not to mention that honestly Simba is the discotheque juliet teenage dream in this song who is grabbing Berlioz and telling him to dance. But yeah, I mean it’s so over the top in like every single way. Like Simba.

On the Regular- Shamir

Hi, hi, howdy, howdy, hi, hi! While everyone is minus, you could call me multiply Just so you know, yes, yes, I'm that guy You could get five fingers and I'm not waving "hi" Guess I'm never-ending, you could call me pi But really, how long till the world realize?

Kay so Shamir is a HELLA Simba artist and this song has a lot of these kooky sound samples that Berlioz really loves, especially when it comes to Simba. I want to say that tapping noise is a cowbell? Super fun and funky. And of course, lyrics wise, this song is brimming with confidence and attitude which is definitely how Berlioz saw Simba at first. (He still sees that, but of course this song I think, more than others, really reflects the beginnings of their relationship because obviously Ber knew nothing about the drinking and depression etc.) So yeah, Berlioz literally thinks Simba’s “regular” is this cool, funky, ridiculous guy and including this on the song would be conveying that impression, while also being like “Hey Simba, you should check out Shamir if you don’t know him because his sound is You.”

Oh Girl You’re the Devil - Mika

And I said follow me Whoever you want to be Don't care where you where you go As long as you stay with me

This is another song along the same lines of “On the Regular”-- very groovy, playful, with some fun quirky sounds and structures that just evoke Simba musically more so than lyrical content. But it’s definitely a song that Berlioz would think Simba would like and find fun to dance to/sing along to. And I mean honestly: this entire album is Simba. Me and Berlioz really struggled with which song to put on here. In addition, this was one of Mika’s more personal albums when it came to his sexuality and including Mika on here and probably writing “Please listen to all of No Place in Heaven” in the margins of the notes included with this playlist was Berlioz subtly talking about his own sexuality to Simba.

Bite Down- Bastille/HAIM

You’ve got your claws buried deep Bite down, bite down into me Bite down, bite down into me You better sink your teeth before I disappear Bite down, bite down into me

Ah yes, another “I’m very into you please make out with my face” subliminal message (is it subliminal?? Is it?) Here’s why this is a Simba song-- because its carnal and aggressive and Big. I do body rolls during the pre-chorus anyone else just me?? And the shifts from chorus to verse to post-chorus is so jarring, it just grabs your attention and keeps your attention, which is probably what Berlioz would point out to Simba. And that’s a very Simba thing too, at least a Simba thing according to Berlioz. Also, I personally love the irony considering this song foreshadows the back and forth that Simber will go through in the winter.

Love Me Anyway-The Mowglis

Oh, you know I love you But no, I am not a saint Oh, I make stupid mistakes But you love me anyway Oh, I forgot your birthday And yeah, I show up late Oh, I'll get it right someday 'Cause you love me anyway

So The Mowglis are a very Berlioz band and this album was probably something Berlioz was definitely listening to. The sing-a-long chorusy stuff is VERY Simba-sound as well as the lyrical content just being so very Simba. I like to think that even though Ber and Simba were very much getting to know each other, this chorus still makes a lot of sense since Simba would show up late and forget all these little things-- but obviously, he has such a big heart and always came across as so sincere to Berlioz. It’s a song Berlioz would maybe learn how to play on guitar and think to himself “Hey I bet Simba would really like this song!”

Eskimo Kiss- the Kooks

Oh lonely bones I'm coming through the sun And our lives have just begun Oh lonely bones I'm coming through the sun And our lives have just begun

As I mentioned above this is literally the biggest fucking tell that Berlioz has a big ol fat crush on Simba. This is one of his favorite songs, ever. This was not even a little bit new, it came out in 2011, and yet Berlioz listened to this song and to lyrics like “She's like a rose without a thorn/She's like the sunflower/That never looks back at the sun” and his first thought was “Simba.” He’d probably say some bullshit about how he just liked the lyrics because they were nice and it seemed like the kinda cheerful thing Simba would like. But it was bullshit and what he was really saying was lets please eskimo kiss under the bar rn because you make me feel both sunshiny like this first half of the song and achey and tender like this second part of the song, so, like, how i imagine how love feels like. That was the inner monologue there. And really, the shift in this song from the upbeat jangly acoustic to that tender part emulates Simba’s two sides, because he is very capable of being a gentle honeybun sweetie pie.

Smile - The Royal Concept

I've got to dress sharp, you know I will Give you what it takes cause I'm not Gonna be outdone By those beautiful fakes In your halo, there's gotta be gold I've got you waitin' on I'll step on a grenade so you Can see I'm the bomb

And here we are back at that interesting mix of Berlioz finding some funky songs for Simba but also songs that speak to Berlioz’s perception of Simba’s characters in subtle ways/songs that Ber really wants Simba to be into so they can talk about it! So musically wise, you’ve got a lot of the same elements as previous songs here, lots of powerful guitar and some layered vocals and a pretty groovy tempo. Basically this is an alt rock song that makes you want to dance, and that’s the perfect place where Songs-that-sound-like-Simba live (there aren’t a lot of straight pop songs on this mix as you might have noticed.) But then of course, it’s all about this guy trying to go out of his way to make a girl smile (he “carries sorrow” and will “step on a grenade” for her etc) and if that isn’t the most Simba thing. What i like is this is one of those lowkey sad songs that sounds super upbeat and happy too-- which is also a Simba thing, and I like to think Ber would pick up on those vibes. He’d definitely notice Simba trying to make others happy. And I mean.................. who else was making Berlioz smile............

Shine- Years and Years

I was biting my tongue I was trying to hide (Ooh oh oh oh, ooh oh oh ooh) I'll forget what I've done I'll be redefined

Okay, I admit: this song is really not about Simba at all, this one is Berlioz trying to tell Simba he likes him by putting this song on this mixtape and look I am not responsible for Simba not getting that.

Okay but more seriously: shine/sun/light etc are all motifs that reoccur for Berlioz when it comes to Simba, and have for Simber in general. Years and Years debuted the summer before Ber met Simba and was, again, this openly queer artist who Berlioz was definitely listening to a lot of, so it makes a lot of since that he’d go into their album and put a song on there, hoping Simba would get into them so they’d have this kind of shared connection. He picked Shine because of all the songs, Shine is the most optimistic and romantic, so naturally he thought: Simba. And again, there’s this lowkey thread of Berlioz using music to address his sexuality without actually talking about it.

By My Side- Great Good Fine Ok

Baby when I come to get you I'm all I find Every time I go to come back to see it's not my time Any time you think something is on my mind I'll tell you when it's all about you, I need you by my side

So Great Good Fine Ok is like the contemporary BeeGees, and their velvety falsetto and solid dance beats were Berlioz’s Jam in 2015. Seriously, go back and look, I reblogged all their stuff. ANYWAY, so this song really hits all three of the criteria as I talked about above-- this is a band that Berlioz was SUPER excited about and he wanted Simba to like. Sound-wise, totally upbeat and those trumpets in the end!!! scream Simba, which was basically what Berlioz said to him. He’s always associated brass with Simba, that’s just like, a general known fact. He said “The ending with the trumpets really reminded me of you.” And the translation for that is “Please be my boyfriend.” And of course lyrically, this is about someone pining over another… and that’s really not a Simba mood but it is a Ber one.

Indian Summer- Jai Wolf

It would not be a Berlioz mixtape without at least one instrumental song or something. And this one! This one! If you noticed, Berlioz organized this playlist so it shifted toward more techno/dance music in the second half and part of that was to BUILD to this song right here, his musical climax if you will. Everything about this song screams Simba to him and I honestly do not have a developed enough vocabulary for music to talk about how that works. Maybe it’s just the scope of the song-- and that it has that very BIG scope and it goes from soft, chime-like sounds to exploding outward in these huuuge moments that are Cinematic as heck. It’s beautiful and soft while also powerful and strong (and that’s simba for u, those four things). It sounds like adventure, like starlight, like camping? And he thinks Simba would like all those things and was probalby like “Oh he’ll like running to this song.”

man anyone having serious simba feelings at this point just me or

Wood- Rostam

Sunlight on your eyelids You were sleeping Ah ah, ah ah ah Sunlight on your back You were dreaming

And following a climax, you must have your falling action and resolution. Berlioz decided to end softly and tenderly with another one of his all time favorites, therefore revealing that he associates Simba with all of his favourite sounds-- all the plucky violin and bongo drum and flute. Plus, it describes sleeping with your lover. That’s it. That’s the whole song. And that’s what Berlioz wants: cat naps in the sun with his sunshine boy.

He wouldn’t have said that obviously, he would have been like, this “cool percussion bro.”

But we all know what he meant.

#simber #im sobbin r u sobbing #also like this is a simba playlist #i SWEAR it is #noT a Simber oNE but #idk jury is out on if i can tag this as a bdrptask or not i really tried lol

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