#an actual human person who makes mistakes and then makes up for said mistakes
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Radioapple Secret Marriage/Relationship au:
(They were married from the beginning but no one knows. This is extremely self indulgent cause no one else was making this.)
When Alastor fell into hell, he needed some time to get his bearings – understanding his strength as well as other things. And as soon as that was done he wreaked havoc.
(Lucifer's pov from now on)
Lucifer had heard of a new overlord. Someone murdering and making others suffer while broadcasting their screams on radio. And usually, he never bothered with this stuff, demons could be demons and he wasn't someone to care about a few suffering sinners.
But when he saw the fact that his daughter couldn't sleep because she was worrying about the demons – he let her listen to the radio once and they both listened in silence to the screams – and when he saw how depressed she had been, he decided to pay this "radio demon" a visit.
And for one, he hadn't expected the radio demon – Alastor, apparently – to be so... How do you put it? Kind, welcoming, motherly, accepting... Well, let's just say that Lucifer's day wasn't dull when talking to him.
Originally, he was supposed to have a 'talk' with Alastor (basically give him a beat down but let's not sweat the details). But as time went on he found himself enjoying their conversations, his little antics and his cooking were all amazing. Everything Alastor did would just brighten his day, especially since Lilith was in the process of separating Charlie from him so he'd just started losing his daughter and wife – who was probably going to ask for a divorce soon.
He opened up to Alastor and the demon was surprisingly good at giving advice (honestly, that demon was full of surprises). And despite the good advice, Lilith kept leaving and soon the divorce happened along with his complete loss of custody over Charlie.
He would've gone into a deep depression had it not been for Alastor checking in on him and making sure he was okay. And so they hung out more, Alastor would always make sure to give him some homemade food and he also always asked Lucifer if he was okay.
Lucifer knew he was a sinner, a cold blooded murderer, a cannibal and so on. But honestly, he had fallen head over heels for Alastor. Alastor, who was quite sweet if you found him at the right time. Alastor, who always pretended to be a bad person by pretending to have bad intentions. Alastor, who cares for and loves his mother dearly.
He found Alastor beautiful, every side of him.
And so, he inevitably confessed. With the hope that he wouldn't end out like the street rat whom Alastor saved – Box, or something like that (yes spelling mistake was intentional).
And he didn't. Alastor certainly didn't love him (he only said "I like you too" which sort of hurt Lucifer but he didn't really care much about the difference) but he did accept the confession. And with that Lucifer felt as if he was over the moon.
They did couple things – human couple things. Both of then were inexperienced but it was lucky that Alastor often studied others around him. So they did those things.
They hugged, kissed, they even held hands! Could you believe that? And with their fourth date came Alastor's actual confession. "I love you." Alastor finally trusted him enough to say that L word.
Of course most of their dates were done under disguises or they had private dates where no one could see them. And with time Alastor began to open up even more.
Lucifer heard about his abusive, neglectful father. His murderous tendencies. The way he always felt different, somehow. And he comforted Alastor about these things.
It was nice, since he loved Alastor's genuine smile.
And soon he proposed – or they both did. Lucifer considered it his win since the ring he got was much more beautiful than Alastor's. But Alastor's held more sentimental value (it was a ring his mother had left him before she died). So they decided to leave that one at a tie.
The ceremony was held in private. Lucifer didn't want his daughter nor his ex-wife to know of his quick moving on and Alastor didn't want people to know how soft he could be.
And they were just like any other married couple, just much much more healthier and loving. And for the matter, they barely fought. Those days were when they first met. The days when Alastor didn't trust him and Lucifer wanted to beat him up learn why the hell he broadcasted screams.
So when it had been their seventh year living together in private (Alastor temporarily stepped away from his 'job' to spend married life with Lucifer), Alastor decided it was time to get back into the loop. Lucifer was quite sad about this but Alastor assured he would always make sure to come back on weekends.
It was funny to see that one day Alastor was standing beside his daughter and treating her like his own. And it was hard to act like he hated the demon, especially when he loved him so much.
(For the record, this is Lucifer fell first AND harder and it is not very canonlike but who cares! Both of them are a happy cute couple who pretend to hate each other and cuddle when no one is watching.)
(I needed more wholesome aus but no one else would write them so I delivered this. Have a nice meal kids.)
👀
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The worst thing about suffering is that it still hurts when the danger is over but no one cares about it anymore because it shouldn't hurt. No one will ever say "I'm sorry that happened to you" especially when they barely say "I'm sorry that's happening."
#Okay to tb btw all the personal stuff is in the tags#Like. Not eating for a week because you couldn't get groceries hurts#and people will say 'oof sorry that's happening' but then#after you're able to get food no one will ever say 'I'm sorry that happened' even though you think about it and hurt from it constantly.#No one will ever say ':( that must have been so hard' because you're fine now right???? No psychological damage there?????#This example is stupid but I do think about it every time I feel hungry. I told people I wasn't able to get groceries#and there was no food in my house. And they said. Oof.#Instead of idk Oh God Are You Okay ??#No one cares when you've been abused your entire life and behave the way you do out of genuine terror because your brain is fucked forever#They don't say 'I'm sorry that happened it must have been really scary to turn you into Such An Asshole. I pity you like a dog :('#Speaking of man everyone loves fucked up abused terrified dogs and wants to be the one who makes them open up#And shows them that people can be good and kind and that touch doesn't have to hurt#But everyone is scared of fucked up abused terrified people#Humans are capable of harm even more than dogs and fear is understandable but.#Can you please call me good boy and shush me and tell me nothing's going to hurt me and let me curl up on your lap#And not hit me if I get scared and start to growl and feed me good and take me on walks and play with me#Even though I'm not very fun to play with and I'm still learning what's fun and what's mean and what's a toy and what's a hand#Plleeeaaase don't be jealous of a dog that doesn't eat good don't say 'tch he's so thin what am I doing wrong'#I want to eat good and grow and gain fat and be warm and be comfortable I don't want this#Don't say 'if abused dogs don't eat good then I don't deserve to either' no no no no eat good so you can take care of us both#Please please please I learned so many tricks to make people happy and call me smart but I don't actually know how to do anything I'm#Literally like such a stupid dog it takes me like one day of no one paying attention to me for me to become un-housebroken#I make a lot of mistakes even though I know better or I really should know better#And sometimes do things wrong on purpose to get attention either yelling or showing me how to do it right#But most of the time I genuinely don't know how to do stuff because I was never taught or I was taught and#My previous owners said 'this is how it is. It is this way because it is and it is forever. The answer is Because.'#'now quit asking repetitive questions before I pop you'#If I do something Because and not know the reason why I'm doing it that's not learning that's acting#Especially habits taught specifically to hurt me and not being allowed to question it or know why I'm being hurt#Oh my god I acted out so much when I was younger and all my friends were so disgusted and hurt by me and yelled at me every day
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How to Write REALISTIC and SMOOTH Dialogue
In a story, dialogue is quite important, it helps the readers paint a picture of what's happening and the characters themselves. However, it can be difficult to avoid the unnaturalness and choppiness that comes with a lack of experience. But luckily, I have put together A LOT of advice on how you can get over that rockiness and improve!
*** KEEPING YOUR DIALOGUE REALISTIC, AND PACING ***
>> Keep your characters in character:
Dialogue is a remarkably quick way for readers to determine your character's personality. Thus, you want their speech patterns to remain fairly consistent so the audience won't get confused. If your character is more serious, then they will use less slang and perhaps a more impressive vocabulary. If your character is more relaxed, they will use more slang and compress the words. (such as "dunno," "kay," "y'know," etc.)
Basically, you want their tone to match their traits so the way that they talk is more realistic and personlized to themselves. If the way all your characters speak is the same, there's something wrong. A strong tip is to put yourself in your character's shoes and imagine how they would respond!
>> Take the situation into consideration:
This is another part of keeping your characters in, well, character. Different emotional situations will have a different effect on separate people, so make sure that you have an idea of how your character will act during stressful, irritating, and sad times.
If your character is normally cold, they will struggle if it comes to comforting other people because they have less experience in that field.
>> Don't take too long with their words:
Unlike when narrating something, most people talk just to get the idea across. They will be more specific and quicker with what they say. (This excludes any character who likes to talk a lot.) Unless it's on purpose, they won't dance around the topic. Think of when you casually chat with your friends; you're pretty unlikely to use certain words and/or phrases that might be common to use while narrating.
If you want to explain something complicated, instead of writing out a paragraph of just one person talking, use a question-and-answer prompt! This is where another character continuously asks related questions that get answered by another person, so you can indirectly reveal your explanation.
*** HOW TO WRITE A SMOOTHER CONVERSATION AND DIALOGUE TAGS***
>> Having a variety of dialogue tags:
This is a pretty basic thing to look out for if you're new to writing conversations. Using words like "said," every other sentence can easily make it feel choppy and robotic. Instead, use words like "murmured," "smirked," etc. to paint some emotion into their words. Additionally, vary the location of the dialogue tags! They don't all have to go after the statement, you can include something in the beginning or even the middle, too!
Examples:
Beginning - She tilted her head, "What are you talking about?"
Middle - "Oh," he blinked, "I actually never thought about that."
End - "Wait up!" She exclaimed loudly, waving her hands around.
>> Using no dialogue tags to create a smooth conversation:
Having too many tags can also overwhelm your reader--remember, sentence variety is a crucial part of writing--so you can always drop them if they're unneeded. This applies when your characters (two is the suggested amount) are talking back and forth in a pattern straightforward enough for the reader to understand who's talking without it having to be labeled.
Dropping dialogue tags in these moments can create a smoother atmosphere during the conversation because the reader only has to focus on the talking present.
*** USING SLANG, STUTTERS, FILLER WORDS, AND PAUSES ***
Human speech is often not perfect; when talking, we often make mistakes such as filler words, grammatically incorrect phrases, etc. Hence, for more natural-sounding dialogue, it's important to incorporate some of these.
>> Pauses and stutters:
When reading dialogue, we read it at a steady pace unless it's written otherwise. However, that steady pace can soon get too robotic and too smooth. Luckily, there are several ways to change this! You can use dialogue tags, (ex: she quickly spoke) commas, and ellipsis (...). These are often integrated when the character is hesitant, nervous, answering something, or when they need to admit something. The same idea applies to stutters--they're mainly used to demonstrate anxiousness, which can be found in varying situations.
>> Filler words and slang:
Filler words can really just be used where you see fit. They may be used in the situations I previously mentioned (because it shows someone stumbling over their words) but it's ultimately up to you!
Slang, just like everything else, should not be used too often, or it will seem forced and exaggerated. The point is to sound natural, and increasing amounts of repetitiveness can ruin it. It's also important to remember that in real life, our conversations move slower; when someone speaks, another person usually doesn't respond quite literally, right after. However, in writing, dialogue can actually often seem that way, which is why using tags and these imperfections of speech is pivotal for building a realistic conversation!
*** CONCLUSION ***
Lastly, a key point when writing dialogue is to ALWAYS read the conversations! Whether it be in your head or out loud, it can often help you catch anything that seems off! Additionally, like I mentioned at the very beginning, write dialogue from your character's perspective! Imagine yourself as them and how they/you would talk. Try to keep your dialogue tags, sentences, and word use varied to create a natural conversation!
If you were struggling before, I hope that this (extra) long guide was able to really offer you some insight and useful tips! If you read this far, thank you!
Happy writing~
3hks <3
#writing#writeblr#writerscommunity#writing tips#creative writing#writing advice#writing inspo#dialogue#writing dialogue#writing dialogue tips#dialogue tips#how to write dialogue#how to write smooth dialogue#how to write natural dialogue#tips on writing dialogue#tips on writing smooth dialogue#tips on writing realistic dialogue#how to write realistic dialogue
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—𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭—
pairing . Natasha Romanoff x fem! reader
summary . she needs you, in multiple ways — she's just scared to ask for it.
warnings . smut — I am NOT responsible for the content you consume — thigh riding, scissoring, fingering, vulnerable sex (because yes), taking care of Nat because she deserves it.
notes . English is not my first language, I'm brazilian, so I apologize for any grammar mistakes. this is probably the first fic I ever post so hi hi!!!
(I'm sorry if this is bad, I literally wrote that in a waiting room, completely in a rush.)
divider credits: @cafekitsune ^^
You didn't know exactly why the TV was on. You weren't interested on the show, and Natasha wasn't even looking at it. Her eyes looked down as she fidgeted with her fingers. You could tell she was anxious, that something was bothering her.
You just never expected that this was something to do with you — no, you didn't do anything wrong. It was her.
Natasha and you met years ago, and had been in a situationship for a while now. You weren't friends, but somehow, you couldn't recall the time you started dating (because it never existed). Friends with benefits was too cliché, and maybe not enough to describe what you actually had with her.
To begin with it, you met Natasha when she was still an Avenger. You were never part of the team, but they treated you as if you were. You were close to everyone, but specially Natasha. There was a reason she had let that happen, since according to her, she was in New York to be a hero, and not to have friends.
Friends.
The moment the russian started to blush whenever Thor teased her about how close she was to you or when you simply stared at her for a few seconds or more was when she realized that she made a mistake. A good one, she hoped. In a heartbeat, she was telling you her story.
You listened — just, listened. Your hand went to brush her hair behind her ear whenever she looked down, and the sparkle of pride in your eyes was not something she could miss. You didn't pity her. You didn't try to bring up a justification for what she went through, or to bring up a solution to fix her. You were proud of her for who she became, and were there for her whenever she didn't want to be that person for a while.
It was with that trust in you that she found herself wanting, craving even, something more. She's human, wether she like it or not. She can't deny her feelings or urges, not even the most dangerous spy can.
So her walls broke when you said you were going with her to Norway after the Avengers split.
Natasha shifted a little in the couch, the blankets around her getting all crumpled as she took a deep breath, trying to calm herself down. Your focus went from the soft patting of the raindrops in the window to the woman next to you, as you frowned a bit.
"Nat?" you called, leaning your side against the backrest of the couch and looking at her. "What's wrong?"
She turned to you, a little startled, but tried to shake it off with a small grin. "Oh, it's nothing. It's just a little hot in here."
"We're in Norway," you laughed, giving her that goddamn smile of yours. "And.. it's raining."
"The..." she shook her head, failing miserably to come up with an excuse. "The blankets are making me hot."
"Mhm, are they?" you raised an eyebrow, and pulled the blankets off you both, and letting half of them fall to the floor. "Better?"
Natasha shivered, but nodded nonetheless. You saw she was unquiet, and that this looked a little more serious than the normal.
"Natasha."
"Yeah?"
"What is going on?" you repeated your question, scooting closer to her and placing your hand above hers — just to make things worse.
Natasha almost whined at your action, which made you pull your hand back and frown even more. "I'm sorry,"
"No, it's not your fault." she shook her head. "It's mine."
"Then tell me." you smiled softly, lifting her head up to meet your eyes with your pointer finger. The sight of her green orbs was something you maybe never saw before.
"I..." she mumbled, clearing her throat. She then grabbed your hand and held your wrist gently, not sure of what to do next. "I don't know."
"It's okay," you whispered, bringing her hand up and placing a kiss on it. You had no problem with being affectionate and she didn't mind either, but today, it was different.
"Y/n". Natasha whispered back, looking into your eyes and getting lost in them. She was clearly unsure of what to do, and how to express what she was feeling. So she brought your hand up and placed your palm above her heart. Faster than the speed of light.
"Hey..." you cooed, tilting your head as you felt the aggressive beating against your hand. "You... are you, scared of something?"
"No." she quickly shook her head. She wasn't having any negative emotions right now. "I'm not anxious, I'm not scared.. I'm just.."
"Just what?"
The fact she was not having an anxious episode or a panic attack made you slightly relaxed, but not completely — then you realized, the touches you were giving her made her sensitive. She was needy.
The Red Room turned her into a closed person, and that didn't completely vanish when she was with you — it was like there was a bug in her system that had to be fixed, soon. She couldn't be totally open, but not completely closed.
You smiled at the thought, and leaned in closer, inches away from her face, which made her breathing uneven. "Tell me what you need, Nat."
"I..." she took a deep inhale and placed her hand on your cheek, pulling you into an unexpected kiss — a desperate one.
She kissed you frantically, her movements with urgency as she placed her hands behind your neck, trying to pull you close. You couldn't say you expected this, but it wasn't unwelcomed either.
Your hands went to her waist as she shyly crawled onto your lap, her legs hooking around your hips as she pulled away for air, her forehead against yours.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry..." she breathed, feeling her eyes start to burn with unleashed tears.
"You have absolutely nothing to apologize for." you murmured, arms gently wrapping around her as she straddled you. "It's okay, let's not rush things. Let's take deep breaths, mhm?"
The fact you wanted her to calm down before anything almost calmed her down instantly, but she breathed with you, then leaned her head on yours, her cheek on your hair.
"I just need something," she whispered, more calmly now. "I—I think I need you."
"And I'm here," you turned your head to press a kiss on her temple, caressing her back. The redhead melted.
Natasha leaned down to kiss your lips again, but not with urgency. She sighed softly against your lips, her hands moving to hold your face, and yours, to hold her waist. It didn't take long for her to start moving slowly — she shifted, instead of straddling your lap, her legs were around your thigh. Your eyes opened, and you broke the kiss to look at her.
"Nat, my love," you whispered. "Are you sure of this?"
"Please." she uttered back, closing her eyes and gripping your shoulders. "I know you'd ever hurt me.. you would never disrespect me, you would stop if I asked you to. Right... right?"
You smiled sadly, realizing she was trying to reassure herself, and not actually ask you this. "Yes, yes, Natasha. I want to take care of you. I want to see you, beyond that shell they turned you in. I want you to feel comfortable enough with me to ask for this, and this is such a big step for you."
She sighed in relief, hearing the honesty in your voice. She nodded, clearing her throat. She leaned down, hiding her face on the crook of her neck and pressing small, gentle kisses on it. Then her hips started to slowly move, and the tiniest bit of friction made her gasp. "Y/n..."
"Shh," you held her hips, guiding her through her own pace. The little high waisted shorts she wore rolled up, so surprisingly thick that you could feel her wetness. "That's great, Natty. Move yourself for me, like this."
Natasha whined at your words, starting to grind against you slightly faster. The clothes were starting to feel uncomfortable, as she felt the need of you seeing her. She grabbed your hands, and slowly moved them underneath her blouse.
You did what she wanted, grazing your fingernails against her skin and slowly massaging her flesh, resulting in a soft moan of hers. "Take it off." You looked at her with a questioning look, even if you had an idea of what she was asking for. "Undress me, Y/n."
Given her permission, you smoothly lifted her blouse and pulled it over her head, letting it fall to the floor. She stopped her movements briefly, just so you could slide her shorts and panties down her thighs, her heat now in contact with your leg making you groan.
She felt your hands moving up to unclasp her bra and smirked softly, holding her arms out so you could take down the straps. That woman was surely breathtaking, her body, her marks, her scars, her voice, her everything.
"Natty," you uttered, pressing kisses in the valley between her breasts and moving up, to her ear. "There's so much I wanna do with you..."
Natasha closed her eyes, your touch making her shiver again, as she began to fastly grind her pussy against your thigh. "Please." she quickly removed your shirt and soon enough, you both were completely naked.
The feeling of skin against hers, the human touch that she never felt when getting off with a strap while thinking of you was unbelievable, a touch that she knew that wouldn't hurt her. It was so good, so different from the men she seduced when a spy, so different from the men that touched her in the Red Room.
"My pretty girl," you hissed, throwing your leg above hers and starting to grind yourself with her. "So beautiful, and all mine."
"Yes," she panted, burying her face in your neck again as her nails lightly scratched your back. "Y/n, please."
"You're coming with me." you sweetly commanded. Natasha started to whisper things in Russian that you couldn't really understand, but you took it as a sign that she was close.
Soon enough, Natasha's legs started to shake and her moans on your ear got slightly louder, you both coming together, her juices mixing with yours. She didn't stop, though. You gasped, looking up at her. She still needed more.
"Touch me." Natasha growled, grabbing your hand and moving it close to her cunt. She was starting to feel confident, and you liked it.
You didn't think twice before burying your middle and pointer fingers on her hole, using your thumb to slowly rub circles on her clit, biting your lip at the sight of her back arched. All for you.
"God, Y/n," she moaned, using her own hands to squeeze her breasts and circle her hard nipples. "Yes, just like that."
"You like it like this?" you asked, shoving one more finger inside her, her moans getting louder. She slowly started to lift herself from your fingers, just to lower her hips again, riding your fingers. "You're gonna come for me again?"
"Yes!" she nodded frantically, her breaths coming in little gasps for air. She gripped your shoulders tightly, throwing her head back and orgasming again. It took a while for her to calm down, and you didn't waste time before gently taking her and laying her down on the couch, spreading her legs and pressing soft kisses on her inner thighs, licking her juices and making her squirm around.
"Y/n," she murmured quietly, reaching her arms out.
"Oh, baby." you pulled Nat into an embrace, holding her close to your chest and caressing her hair, running your fingers through her red locks. "It's alright."
Natasha whimpered, wanting to hide herself in your arms and never come out again. She closed her eyes and laid her head on your chest, arms circling your waist.
The talk about this could wait. The silence was comfortable enough for now.
#natasha romanoff x reader#natasha romanoff soft smut#natasha romanoff x you#natasha x reader#natasha romanoff fluff#natasha romanoff smut#marvel incorrect quotes#incorrect marvel quotes#natasha romanoff imagine#natasha romanov#natasha romanoff#natasha marvel#marvel#Spotify
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do you know how it feels to be thrown away? to be made aware that dozens, hundreds of people hate you and want you dead?
that's the daily reality of trans women, and it's inescapable.
everyone keeps asking us why we're so angry, why we overreact to everything. how would you feel if day after day after day, everyone around you reacted to everything you say with utter malice, told you you were dangerous, demanded everyone stay away from you, twisted your words to make you look like the worst person who's ever lived? would you be content with that? you really wouldn't get angry? that wouldn't put you on edge? I find that hard to believe.
it's actually normal to make mistakes, or so I've heard. people say that if you say something insensitive, or you talk too much, or your voice is too loud, or you accidentally hurt someone, it's not the end of the world. people might roll their eyes, or there might be an uncomfortable silence, or the person you hurt might not talk to you for a while, but they'll move on, or forget about it, or ask you to apologize. you can be forgiven.
is that really true? I've always been made aware that if I slip up even once, make one tiny mistake, I'll be treated like I'm the scum of the earth. I'll be viciously ostracized at the drop of a hat without warning for one little faux-pas. for some reason, if I'm not perfect, people tell me to kill myself. sometimes I wonder if they have a point.
what is it like to be taken in good faith, I wonder? I wouldn't know. I always want to assume other people have good intentions, so I often take people in good faith, even when they disagree with me, or they have a problem with what I said. even if they're being hostile to me, even if they're ineloquent, even if they willfully misunderstand what I'm saying, I try to see things from their perspective and forge a human connection with them. after all, how are we supposed to build a better world together if we can't look past each other's shortcomings and try to come to a mutual conclusion, person-to-person? whenever I try to do this with someone, I almost always become painfully aware that they don't see me as a person.
does it surprise you that most of us are walking bundles of nerves, fueled by trauma inflicted by people who regularly try to kill us? are we supposed to be calm and rational when someone hates us and decides to make it our problem?
would you be?
#my writing#transmisogyny#I'm tentatively keeping reblogs on for this one. please do not make me regret that
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You didn’t know but with a twist
Hazbin Hotel! Adam x Fem!Reader
Warning: swearing
A/N: Hey<3 My name is Verosika and I’ll write fanfictions whenever I have the time to :) This is my first time writing one, so it’s based on the song "You didn’t know" to make it easier for me. Just to let you know english isn’t my first language..so be prepared for some grammar mistakes :,D
Y/N POV:
We all sat in the courtroom, waiting for the trail to begin. Next to me was my husband Adam and Lute. I wasn’t supposed to be here but Adam wanted me to hear the "childish" and unrealistic ideas of the princess of hell.
After everyone was here Sera spoke "We're gathered here today to determine whether or not a soul in Hell, can be redeemed into heavenly realm by means of this 'Hazbin hotel', Princess Morningstar?",Sera said wanting Charlie to speak up.
I looked down to Charlie,my head resting on Adam’s shoulder. "Webster's dictionary defines redemption as-" before Charlie could speak Adam interrupts her: "Objection, lame and unoriginal". I sighed at his immature behaviour and gave him a slight bump with my head.
Charlie was flipping through her cards making Adam roll his eyes. "If you have actually evidence, then show it already." He said,glaring at Charlie. "We have two patrons already they’re making incredible progress" Charlie defended and I smiled, "Who?", I asked. "Angel Dust" Charlie spoke. "Oh yeah, the pornstar demon" Adam snickered as he added. "He's totally worth being redeemed".
Suddenly Monika,another demon stood up. "Well then, if you know so much…what do you think it takes to get into heaven?",she spoke. It was quiet until I asked if Adam was okay. He scoffed as he pulled out a golden paper from his pockets and a pen, "Give me a fucking moment, okay?",he then started writing and gave me the paper as I read it out, "Act selfless, don't steal, stick it to the man?", I chuckled looking at him with an raised eyebrow. He shrugged "Uh, yeah? Sure got me here...didn't it?",he said seemingly questioning himself. Sera sighed before saying: "He was the first human soul in heaven."
In the following hours Charlie showed us the improvement of this demon called Angel dust and how he did everything what Adam wrote on his list but nothing happened. Sera only sighed as she wanted to declare the trail as failed and that we will see what brings someone to heaven when the first soul arrives. I sat there with my head hanging. I felt bad for keeping my secret,especially when I looked over to Emily,who held the paper that Adam had written earlier.
Emily: But she was right, Sera. She showed us a soul can improve. He saw the light, Sera. Checked all the boxes that you said would prove a person deserves a second chance. Now we turn our backs, no second glance?
Sera: It's not as simple as you think. Not everything is spelled in ink.
Charlie: It's not fair, Sera!
Vaggie: Careful, Charlie, keep a cool head.
Charlie: No! Don't you care, Sera? That just because someone is dead, it doesn't mean they can't resolve to change their ways turn the page, escape infernal blaze.
Y/N: I'm sure you wish it could be so. But there's a lot that you don't know.
Lute: What are we even talkin' about? Some crack-whore who fucked up already? He blew his shot, like the cocks in his mouth. This discussion is senseless and petty.
Lute & Adam: There's no question to be posed!He's unholy, case closed. Did you forget that Hell is forever?
Adam: A man only lives once, we'll see you in one month. Gotta say, I can't wait to…
Y/N: Adam…
Adam: Come down and exterminate you.
Emily: Wait!
Adam: Shit…
Emily: What are you saying? Let me get this straight…You go down there and kill those poor souls?
Charlie & Y/N: You didn’t know?
Adam: Whoops
Lute: Guess the cat’s out of the bag.
Adam: What’s the big deal?
Emily: Sera, tell me that you didn't know…
Sera: I thought, since I'm older it's my load to shoulder
Emily: No!
Sera: You have to listen, it was such a hard decision. I wanted to save you, the anguish it takes to do what was required.
Emily: To think that I admired you, well I don't need your condescension. I'm not a child to protect! Was talk of virtue just pretension? Was I too naive to expect you to heed the morals you're purveying?
Charlie: That's what the fuck I've been saying!
Emily,Charlie & Monika: If Hell is forever, then Heaven must be a lie! If angels can do whatever, and remain in the sky. The rules are shades of gray, when you don't do as you say. When you make the wretched suffer just to kill them again.
Monika: Don't you act all high and mighty!Adam did you ever think your "sweet" wife might be a liar?
Y/N: Huh? Wait no…please!
Monika: Don’t be such a crybaby! Why hide the fact that you were a demon just like us?
Part 2
#hazbin hotel#adam x reader#hazbin hotel x reader#hazbin hotel adam#hazbin hotel adam x reader#x reader
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fae zedaph, avian tango, and/or butterfly impulse?
Tango pinches the bridge of his nose. He breathes in. He breathes out. He looks at Zedaph.
"Okay. Why do you have a baby," Tango says.
"Well, it was an accident!" Zedaph says.
"How! How do you accidentally end up with a baby!" Tango says. He pauses. He considers what he has just said. He revises: "How do you or I accidentally end up with a baby! I am a robot and you are an immortal fairy creature. You can't babyificate. I know. You've checked."
"You don't have to sound so haunted," Zedaph says, vaguely hurt.
"I am very haunted by most of what you do, that's not the point. How did you end up with a baby! I can't take care of a baby, Zedaph! You definitely can't take care of a baby! What are we going to do with a baby?"
Zedaph shuffles his feet. When they'd first met, Tango had been reluctantly impressed with how human Zedaph's mannerisms were for a guy who, at that time, still hadn't been entirely certain you weren't supposed to eat people who were rude to you. He's come a long way since Tango had discovered he was just alive enough to be able to accidentally slip into the feywild, and Zedaph discovered he was actually much happier experimenting in the human world most of the time than dealing with other fair folk and their 'predictable rules' and 'annoying laws of hospitality'.
If Tango wasn't mostly made of steel and cold iron, he probably wouldn't have survived the early encounters with Zedaph. Nowadays, though, it's easy to mistake Zedaph for just an exceptionally weird human. Sure, he still looks at everyone a little bit like they're more of an experiment or strange animal than a person, but that's just Zedaph. Even if he were human, Tango's pretty sure he'd follow his own idiosyncratic laws.
None of this explains why he has a baby.
"Okay, look, it's not my fault this time, I swear," Zedaph says. "It's--look, I was in-town, and there was this guy, and he made a bargain with me! It was a very little bargain! I didn't think he'd break it. Honest! He just wanted gold--"
"Oh no," mutters Tango.
"--and I just told him that I wanted him to take care of a sheep for me without looking at it! I wanted to see what would happen if a sheep grew up without anyone looking at it. Would it want to look at other people more or less? You know my problems with sheep and looking at me."
"I hate that I know where this is going," Tango says.
"And he was all like, oh that's easy, I won't break that bargain. And I remembered what you said about how most people don't like having their babies swapped out with fey, which still doesn't really make sense honestly because I think a baby me is WAY more exciting than a baby human to take care of and also then I can experiment with the baby human but that's not the point. The point is that you said most people would avoid that! So I said, okay, if you break our bargain and look at the sheep, I'll come take your first baby. It's a traditional fey thing! I thought he wouldn't do it! I don't want a baby, I want a traumatized sheep!"
"Sometimes I wonder if my inventor knew my life would end up like this," Tango says.
"So imagine my shock when one day I just--poof--I have a baby!"
"I don't know how to take care of a baby," Tango says. "You absolutely shouldn't be trusted with a baby. What do we do with a baby."
The two of them look at the child.
"I mean, I cast a spell on it so it would sleep?" Zedaph says tentatively. "But to be totally honest with you, I don't actually know how long those last. You know how it is with my magic."
"I have decided this is Impulse's problem," Tango responds after a moment. "We give the baby to Impulse. He's a human. Humans know what to do with babies, right?"
Zedaph gives Tango an extremely skeptical look. "I got this one from a human."
"Impulse will suffer with us," Tango says.
"Sold," Zedaph says. "Let's go give Impulse a surprise baby."
"Please don't phrase it like that," Tango says, and they both start heading in the direction of where Tango thinks Impulse is currently living. Surely, he has the solution to this problem. Surely.
#answered#ask game#prompt ficlet#a bee fic#hermitcraft#zedaph#tangotek#and also a baby i guess#anyway i feel like fae zedaph would get into a bunch fo weird hijinks#so my brain invented. this entire au for that.
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actually i'm still thinking about that part of oliver's zach sang interview where he says that he doesn't think of buck as a queer character, he thinks of him as a character that is queer, who has a fully fleshed out personality and a multitude of important characteristics and who has flaws and makes mistakes, just like any real, human person. he's not that bisexual character we shoved in there for representation's sake. he's evan buckley, and his bisexuality is important and undeniable but it's not the only thing that makes him buck. that makes him so loved.
i love it because that's always how 911 has approached queerness, right from the very beginning. when i think of hen, her being a black lesbian isn't the first thing that comes to mind. what comes to mind is her brilliance and her compassion towards the people that she treats. it's the understanding with which she approaches the world. it's how fiercely protective she is of her friends and her loved ones. it's her devotion towards her wife and her family. it's her complicated feelings towards her past and the way that she's learned to heal from the scars that were left. however, hen's identity as a black lesbian is always present. it's never ignored or minimized and the show never tries to diminish how those aspects of who she is would impact her life. her identity as a black woman and a queer woman is always relevant and has played a huge part in making her who she is, but it's never, ever been her sole defining characteristic. she is a fully fledged character, and her queerness has always been allowed to exist and take up space without taking away from anything else that makes her hen.
that is always how representation should be done and i'm so grateful that it's been the norm on 911 right from day one. i'm so grateful for this show, and the love and care with which they've treated our queer characters — hen, karen, michael, david, josh, that beautiful older gay couple that quite literally defined love on this show, that sweet woman who just wanted to pass her driving test, the guy who ended up with a tapeworm in his ass because he couldn't stop eating sushi, tommy, and now, evan buckley. a character that has been so loved right from the very beginning and now gets to discover this new part of himself that brings him so much joy and so much relief. despite the hurdles they've had to face, the people making this show have given so much to their queer audience and i'm just....so grateful that we get to witness the love they have for us. they really said. we see you. there is a space for you here. come and embrace it.
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Damage Done
prompt: The Winter Soldier is activated and Bucky's lover is unlucky enough to be in proximity.
pairing: Bucky Barnes x female!Widow!reader
fandom masterlist: Marvel
word count: 5.4k+
note: oh, wow, Cherry wrote Bucky NOT in a Mafia AU?
warnings: takes place during Civil War, absolutely no plot - author just doesn't know how to shut the fuck up. cursing, violence, established relationship, small angst, injury, blood, hurt and comfort, Winter Soldier antics, choking, abrupt ending, maybe domestic violence? it's the WS.
it's really not that bad, it's not terribly descriptive but still tread carefully if triggered by these topics.
"Keep them together," Agent Everett Ross commanded, a little man with a raging Napoleon Complex, gesturing at you and Bucky; the latter held in mobile, restrictive captivity. "He doesn't play nice if he doesn't see her, or so it's said," his eyes rolled.
"You're making a huge mistake!" You barked, struggling in the restraints they had you wrapped in.
"No, I don't think so," he sneered, approaching you as Bucky's unit kept moving. "I think the mistake was letting you out of anyone's sight. Tell me, how long have you been in cahoots with the Winter Soldier?"
"He's not the Winter Soldier anymore, you jackass, he's a person! A real, live human being! His name's James but he prefers Bucky! He likes plums," you were yanked away, still snarling, "his favorite color is blue, likes motorcycles, he has real guilt over his past transgressions, and you've got the wrong guy!"
"Oh, right, like you're the best judge of character," Ross laughed.
"Natasha! Nat! Fucking tell him!" You pleaded, struggling in the hold of the men who kept iron clad restraint on you and were starting to drag you away. "You've got the wrong guy! Bucky didn't do this! I wouldn't lie - not to you, Natasha! Tell him!"
"That's touching, really sweet," Ross mocked, rolling his eyes as you were finally overpowered and lead away.
"Hang on a second," Nat muttered, sharing a look with Tony. "Was her DNA or facial recognition anywhere at the UN? Anywhere near where the bomb was set off?"
"What's that matter - "
"Since they met, they've not parted ways," Nat spelled out. "He won't go anywhere without her - you, yourself, are keeping them together for interrogation - "
"It's just easier," Ross scoffed.
"No, you know..." She blinked in confusion, "You know, Bucky won't talk unless she's there - you know he'll be ten times as difficult if she's not in the room."
"So?"
"So, in the past two years, have you heard about him without her? Have you seen her without him?"
"Nobody's seen or heard from either of them," Ross shook his head.
"Exactly," she nodded, lungs tightening with nerves. "If you can't find evidence of her being in Vienna... Bucky might not be your guy... Besides, they're both trained to avoid cameras - "
"Mistakes are made," Ross waved off.
"Not by two highly trained assassins like them," she snapped. "Check the files, go back - look! Actually look, run her scans through facial recognition - if you don't find her, it wasn't Bucky."
"You're so sure?" Tony asked skeptically.
"I know her," Natasha nodded, "better than anyone. She's as good as my sister, she's as good as blood. I know her. I know she wouldn't run this risk - "
"Then you also know she wouldn't get caught," Ross laughed.
"Neither would Bucky."
The silence stretched, but Ross was stubborn; sneering at the Avengers and taking his leave with his own plan of action in mind. He left Tony and Natasha to deal with Sam and Steve as he went to observe the interrogation. When he got before the monitors, he watched as it took four different men to restrain you enough to hoist your locks up the wall until they were clicked in place by ultra-strength magnets.
You jostled, feeling the full extent of your containment, grunting when the pipe you were connected to shocked your entire system into submission. Everett Ross smirked at your pain; watching your tongue swipe over your teeth, arms high above your head, readjusting your weight in your feet, but otherwise, not moving.
Ross heard Bucky ask quietly, his eyes watching you carefully from inside the reinforced cell, "You okay, doll?"
"Looks like they learned from last time," you grit, the cuffs around your wrists electrified; charring your skin, making you grimace slightly in a veiled attempt to hide your pain from your lover.
"Don't fight, you'll make it worse," he advised softly, frowning, eyes glassy from restrained emotion.
"They could've at least put me in a bit more comfortable position," you sneered, glaring up at one of the cameras, shaking your head as if in disappointment.
"I don't think they want to play nice, sweetheart."
"Yeah, could've guessed that from when they arrested us," you shook your head, puckering your lips to gather the blood in your mouth; spitting it to the floor. "You good, baby?" You asked as the men who restrained you moved to plug in the power cell caging Bucky.
He nodded silently at you, bowing his head and letting his long locks curtain his face. You frowned, shifting again as you blindly felt your cuffs and designed a way to get free; watching the men stoically as they exited the room to make way for the psychologist. Your jaw clenched, the air smelling foul - alerting you that something wasn't quite right.
"Hello, Mr. Barnes," the accented man greeted casually, standing at a single table in front of Bucky, you off to the side; chains rattling as your defenses flared. The psychologist smirked and greeted you, too, assuring your real identity was known - something that Natasha released to the world about two years ago when HYDRA sent Bucky after Cap in DC. You didn't fault her, in fact, you respected her move, and after getting out of the blown-to-shit base, you had run into the Winter Soldier... Beginning your epic love story, both of you on the run from authorities and higher powers.
You smuggled Bucky out of the country, using fake aliases that had yet to see the light of day and therefor, wasn't released in the files Nat published during her takedown of the compromised S.H.I.E.L.D. agency. He was appreciative, pondering how he was meant to go forward in a world he didn't know; so, you agreed to stick around for a bit to help settle him, and that bit turned into a couple of years - the two of you inseparable.
There was an incident in London that almost exposed you, but instead, it just shined a light on your new partnership. Captain American, Nat, Sam, shit - even Tony Stark himself was unable to catch up; your trail going cold, Nat knowing your Widow training was running the show and keeping you safe. Granted, she probably could've unraveled the web you had weaved - but the truth was, she didn't want to. So, she kept quiet. Leading you all here...
"I've been sent by the United Nations to evaluate you both," the man you'd come to know as Helmut Zemo continued; playing his part very well, but not well enough to convince you of his innocence. Something about the man rubbed you the wrong way. "Do you mind if I sit?" He asked politely, feigning like you two had a choice. When he did, Zemo continued, "Your first name is James?"
He noted the way Bucky and you shared a look, both remaining silent. Zemo tried to assure, "I'm not here to judge you - either of you. I just want to ask you a few questions. Do you know where you are, James?" Continued silence, your head subtly shaking - an act only Bucky clocked. "I can't help you if you don't talk to me, James."
"My name is Bucky," he croaked, your sigh echoing around the room.
"Hm," Zemo nodded, "I take it, she doesn't want you to talk?"
"She wants me safe," Bucky answered stiffly.
"That is admirable," the psychologist offered kindly, "a great display of love, is it not?"
"Jesus Christ," you shook your head, offering a glare, "you went through all that schooling to ask stupid fucking questions? Might wanna get your money back."
Zemo chuckled after humming, "I am merely trying to establish the connection you two share. I hear it is rare to find one without the other, that you two have become, uh, joined at the hip?"
"I protect her," Bucky offered, sharing a long look with you, "and she protects me."
"An equal partnership, would you say?"
"Yes."
"Buck," you warned, wrists twisting to hold the cuffs; being zapped, making your jaw clench and the veins in your neck to bulge.
"It's all right," his voice sounded like it was being put through a grater. "We're caught, doll, it's all right."
You huffed, eyeing Zemo as his eyes flickered between you two. He nodded, making a note in his little book, "I was warned that you would be unwilling to cooperate without her present. Why is that?"
"She keeps me safe."
Zemo hummed, "So you've said, and yet... Here you both are..." You were ready to lash out, but the doctor changed course, "Tell me, Bucky. You've seen a great deal, haven't you?"
"I don't wanna talk about it." Your restraints zapped you again when you jolted forward as if to physically silence Zemo, Bucky's head snapping over and his eyes drooping in sympathy. "Told you not to move, it'll only get worse," he told you softly.
"He's asking questions that will get him killed," you snarled, gritting your teeth as the electric currents seized most of your energy. But it was worth it, finding a little weak spot and letting your mind devise a specific plan.
"You fear," Zemo continued, "that if you open your mouth, the horrors might never stop. I feel it is safe to assume, uh, your lady is privy to your past experiences? Perhaps, you two have shared a couple?"
"Just leave her out of this," Bucky pleaded.
"Don't worry," he assured you both, tapping something on his tablet before looking back at Bucky with a sick recognition. "We only have to talk about one. One mission... That I know you," he nodded at you, "were not present for."
"Kinda game you playin', Doc?" You sneered. "Think anything he says will change my opinion about him?"
"No, no, I know your relationship is too strong for that," Zemo smiled. "So, it's not so much what he will say... But what he will do..."
"The fuck does that - "
But then, the lights went out; darkening the room save for the lights individual to Bucky's holding cell. You perked up, the electric currents halting as the cuffs died with the power and gave you an opportunity to begin working on your escape. As red panic lights flickered, Bucky questioned, "What the hell is this?"
"Why don't we discuss your home?" Zemo offered. "Not Romania. Certainly not Brooklyn, no," he reached into his satchel, revealing a red notebook the world thought long lost... Buried in snow... Forgotten in time. "I mean, your real home," Zemo removed his glasses as you frantically started working.
"No, no, no, no, no, hey, hey, hey, don't - fuck!" You grit, trying harder to free yourself. "Bucky - Bucky, don't listen - ah, Goddamnit!"
The man you now understood to be a fake psychologist stood with a little flashlight, opening the red notebook, and began repeating words in Russian that would activate the decommissioned Winter Soldier. Bucky had told you all about these words, begging you to provide a shield against them should they ever be uttered again; but you had prior knowledge, the Winter Soldier someone you had been debriefed on during your time with other secret agencies.
"Longing."
"No," Bucky whispered, head tilting back in panic as he felt his stomach curl in a familiar pattern.
"Bucky - don't fucking listen, please!" You begged, still working to free yourself.
"Rusted."
"Stop," Bucky pleaded, sounding in pain.
"Don't do this!" You pleaded to Zemo. "You're fucking hurting him, please, stop!"
"Seventeen."
"Stop!" Bucky barked, his vibranium hand clenching in anger and pain; the entire arm whirring from the flex of his muscle. He began to pant, a deep growl emitting above your panicked whimpers.
"Daybreak!"
"You have no idea what you're doing!" You raged, Bucky screaming in pain as his mind was forcibly sunk back into dark recesses of his past. "Don't - Bucky, baby, listen to me - don't fucking listen to him, please, please, baby, don't do this!"
He screamed, breaking free of the iron restraints that kept him seated in the reinforced, mobile cell. "Furnace!" Zemo continued, ignoring the pain and panic you and Bucky were both thrown into.
"Fucking stop, please! You don't understand!" You begged, freeing one hand and working in vain to unlatch the other. Bucky was out of his seat, anger coursing like a palpable rain over you all - him screaming as his metal arm worked to pound into the strengthened glass surrounding him.
"Nine!"
"Bucky, please, baby, please, don't do this!" You tried a new tactic, hoping you were enough to cut through the brainwashing - but how silly to imagine. Decades of trauma was washing over Bucky again and your little words couldn't cut through the barricades of his mind.
"Benign!"
"You stupid fucking little man!"
Zemo rounded around the cell, Bucky still pounding away at the glass. "Homecoming! One!"
"DON'T!"
"Freight car!"
You whimpered in fear when Bucky punched the entire door off the hinges, freeing him at last; but the words were spoken, the damage done. He crouched on the floor, Zemo pausing to take in the sight, slowly approaching Bucky as he stood upright; the jangling of your chains louder and more frantic as you tried to free your last wrist.
"Jesus Christ," you whispered, trying to divide focus between the two tasks of freeing yourself and protecting Bucky - but being terribly unsuccessful as you watched Zemo stand in front of your dead-eyed boyfriend.
What a ridiculous, mundane label to assign someone like Bucky.
In Russian, Zemo questioned, "Soldier?"
And in Russian, the man you loved answered, "Ready to comply."
Zemo demanded in English, "Mission report. December 16, 1991."
You whimpered in fear, listening to Bucky give the report that would haunt you for years to come. Just as he finished, you managed to get out of the cuffs, but the clanging of your freed restraints caught Zemo's attention - who smirked with abundant cruelty. "Don't," you warned, backing out of the room just as officers began to flood it.
It was a brutal fight, trying to stave off Bucky once in his Winter Soldier mindset. You grunted as he engaged you, men dead at your feet - the lucky ones just knocked out. You grit your teeth, trying to defend yourself as Bucky operated mechanically; doing what you could to protect yourself, but it wasn't enough.
Blows landed, punching and kicking one another in an equal match of strength and stamina.
"Seize her," Zemo demanded, and in the next moment, Bucky had you by the neck; an effort that made you wheeze and claw at his bionic hand.
"Bucky," you begged. "Baby - baby - it's me, it's me, please, don't, it's me! Don't do this, baby, please, come back to me. Come back!" You struggled in his grip, trying to pry his hand open, "Baby, please, please, come back to me," spit drooled from your lips as he squeezed tighter. "This isn't you!" You managed to squeeze out, tears surfacing. "Not anymore, don't let them win!"
"Shut her up, Solider," Zemo commanded in Russian, your eyes widening and trying to beg Bucky again before he was sending you into a wall. He marched up to you, grabbing your hair, and surging his balled up metal fist directly into the bridge of your nose, breaking it, head jolting backwards, and effectively knocking you out.
When you came back into consciousness, it was to Steve's worried face; his hands caressing your cheeks and begging, "You all right?"
"Fucking hell," you winced, reaching up to prod the tender spot on your head; revealing blood.
"Got your ass kicked, huh?" He frowned.
"Watch your language, Cap," you smirked, wincing when your face throbbed. "Shit, how bad is it?"
He looked you over, offering, "Definitely a broken nose."
"Goddamnit - where is he? Where's Bucky?"
"Help me," a voice pleaded from the next room, Zemo playing his part by splaying out on the floor like bait.
"Don't trust him, something ain't right about him, Steve," you whispered, waving him on as you sluggishly hoisted yourself up the wall to lean against it. "Kept asking about Siberia, asking about shit nobody should actually know."
"Get yourself safe," Steve told you swiftly, nodding at Sam; who was checking on the status of the other bodies around you.
"Just find him, Steve, he's lost in his own mind - a threat to himself," you panted, slowly standing.
"I know - "
"You don't know," you shook your head, wiping a trickle of blood from your temple, "but you're gonna have to do more than understand him right now, Steve."
"I've got this," he promised, watching you nod and limp away. You had just missed the action, Bucky overpowering both Sam and Steve; getting to a safety landing and running into Natasha, Tony, and Agent Sharon Carter.
"We'll hash our bullshit out later," you panted, "but for now - "
You heard a commotion behind you, flinching out of sight when Bucky made himself known and began taking down rogue agents unlucky enough to stand before the Winter Soldier.
"He have an off switch?" Nat asked.
"Not that I've found," you frowned. "Split up."
Tony tried to engage Bucky first, using a mobile Iron Man device he wore on his wrist that used sonics to disorient Bucky. It only worked to a small extent, the two exchanging a few blows, Bucky firing a bullet at Tony's face at pointblank range that was saved by his technologically advanced glasses. Bucky got the upper hand, sending Tony flying back, letting Sharon and Nat attack.
He disposed of them both easily, stumbling when you caught him off guard and wrapped your legs around him. Normally, you'd do anything to have your legs around him - but this wasn't one of those times. You exchanged several punches, blocking one another, going for disarming hits but being of equal challenge; leaving small cuts and blooming bruises on each other as if to prove the engagement. Natasha rejoined the fight, two Widows showing Bucky up on a few instances, but he was heaving her across the room as you swung onto his shoulders in an impressive acrobatic move.
You heaved your fists down in a repeated fashion on the top of his head, Bucky charging at one of the cafe tables; slamming you down and choking you again with his metal hand. Both your hands held his, legs up around his neck to try to keep him at a distance for relief on your windpipe.
Through a strangled breath, you managed, "You could at least recognize me!"
"Who said I don't?" He growled, reaching out to snap a piece of wood from a chair.
You tried to regain normal breath, wheezing, "This isn't you, baby, you are not this person anymore - you're not a psychotic, robot killer! You're a man - please!"
"You don't know a damn thing about me," he seethed.
"I know everything about you," you strangled, "and I know this isn't you. Come back to me, baby, please! Y-You can't let the demons win, Buck, please - fucking listen to me!" But he only raised the wooden shaft above his head. "BUCKY, DON'T!"
"Who the hell is Bucky?"
You cried out shrilly when he jabbed the sharp wood into your shoulder, staking you to the table just as King T'Challa rushed onto the scene and stole your brainwashed boyfriend's attention. You hissed in pain, trying to yank the wood free but being unsuccessful; resulting in blood to splatter onto the tiled floor.
Hearing someone pant your name, you caught a glimpse of red and knew it was Nat, her face worried over yours a moment later. "Where's Bucky?" You coughed and winced in pain.
"Goin' up by the looks of it," she informed, "now hang on, this is gonna hurt. Want a belt to bite?"
"No, just do it, get it done, please," you panted, bracing yourself, and suddenly, without warning, your companion heaved the piercing shaft free from your flesh. Naturally, you cried out, groaning and clenching your jaw so tight, it nearly crushed your teeth into dust.
"Hey, you seen..." Sam arrived on scene, taking in your injury, "Holy shit, you good?"
"Yeah," you grunted, stumbling to your feet as blood bloomed into a bigger, brighter blemish on your tactical shirt. "We gotta go, Sam, we should get outta here."
"Hang on," Nat paused you two, your opposite hand holding your wound; her hands occupied by a smart device, "looks like Bucky tried to highjack a helicopter. Steve stopped him, but it resulted in them all crashing in the river."
"Shit," Sam breathed. "We gotta go find them."
"We need to get outta here, you know, away from the cops and agents," your head shook. "Get somewhere safe, away from this catastrophe. We'll regroup with Steve."
"Go," Nat permitted, "I won't say a word."
"You're one of a kind, Nat," you praised, pecking her cheek. "Let's go, Sam. And grab that First Aid kit," you pointed to the wall where the white box was mounted. He agreed and you lead the way out of the facility.
Bucky groaned as he woke up, head lulling back before realizing he couldn't move his metal arm; finding it clamped in industrial weights. Sam called you both to attention, but while Steve jogged over, you remained in your place out of sheer distress.
You only vaguely listened to the conversation, hands trembling as your shoulder was bandaged to prevent further injury or infection. You did what you could to patch up any injury, and when you heard your name, you dialed in; Bucky asking, "Where is she? Is she okay?"
"You don't remember?" Sam sneered.
"No..."
"You stabbed her," the Falcon growled.
"What? N-No, I-I-I couldn't've - I wouldn't!"
"You did," Steve confirmed, pity coloring his words. "Punched her out pretty well, choked her, too. Broke her nose..."
"Please - Steve, please, tell me I didn't."
"I'm sorry, Buck."
"That why she's not here? She's in a hospital?"
"Actually, no," Sam trailed, "she's just in the other room."
"She didn't want to come here?"
Steve sighed as Sam informed, "Don't think she wants to see you right now, man."
"I didn't mean to hurt her."
"We know," Steve swiftly promised, nodding his head. "She knows it, too, you just have to give her some time."
Bucky looked utterly defeated, murmuring, "I scared her. Oh, my God, I scared her..."
"Gotta agree with you there."
"Sam," Steve reprimanded. "Look, Buck, she'll come around."
You waited until the two men left Bucky alone to regroup and stratify a new course of action. Slowly and almost sheepishly, you entered where Bucky was being kept, steps silent but he heard you anyways. His blue eyes flashed in concern as he met your gaze, mouth opening and closing as if words failed him.
"Doll," he finally breathed, "a-are you all right?"
"I'm okay."
"Don't bullshit me, how hard did I hit you? Steve said I broke your nose, I-I'm so sorry, doll, please believe me. What'd I do to your shoulder? Is that where I stabbed you?"
"Buck," you sighed, slowly squatting in front of him, "I need you to take a breath and know that I understand you were not in your right state of mind. You were forcibly triggered and sent back into that way of thinking, I know it wasn't you."
"I still hurt you, I still did it."
"Did you, though?" Your head cocked, eyes narrowing slightly, "Because I know my Bucky wouldn't hurt me, would never dare lay a hand on me - but the Winter Solider is a different story. You didn't do this, Buck, you weren't you."
"I can smell the fear on you."
"Well, yeah, it fuckin' scared me. I tried to stop that fake doctor, I tried to help, tried to save you and keep your safe. I'm sorry I was too slow, that I failed."
"You didn't fail anything, sweetheart... I-I failed you, I broke my promise to never hurt you."
"No, you didn't. The Winter Solider did all that, not my Bucky."
He frowned, repeating to ask softly, "Your Bucky?"
"My Bucky - the kind, charismatic, impossibly stubborn, kind hearted man I've loved the past couple of years who always gives me the crispiest fries, who has nightmares, who loves me unconditionally despite what I, too, have done in my past. And you know what I was doing out there while Sam and Steve talked to you?"
"What's that, doll?"
"Understanding that loving someone means loving their flaws, accepting them exactly as they are. So, while, yes, the Winter Solider scares the fuck outta me, he's still part of you and I can't authentically love you if I reject the Soldier."
His head shook "Your kindness is wasted on me."
"I think you should let me decide what's a waste and what's not when it comes to my own energy and emotion."
"I'm just gonna end up hurting you again. You're better off without me, baby, you and I both know you're better off keeping your distance. You should get out now while you still can."
"Not gonna happen. 'Cause you know what else I realized?" You reached up to caress his cheek, "I trust you beyond reasonable doubt, I trust you even if I'm afraid of the Winter Solider. I should've been faster, I should've helped you more, but I was powerless against that red notebook."
"You and I, both..."
You pet the cheek you were holding. "Buck, I know it was scary, I know how it must've felt being forced back into that mindset, but I want you to know that I'm in this for the long haul - you're not gonna scare me off. Because I love you, Bucky, and every single part of you - whether choking me out or not. Whether I earn a broken nose or not."
"I'm so sorry. I-I can't believe I did that, I'm so sorry, I hate that I hurt you. I'm so sorry, baby, I can't - I can't even put it in words how much I regret putting you in that position."
You smirked, "See? The Winter Soldier has no remorse, but my Bucky does." You gingerly reached out to curl his hair behind his ear. "My Bucky apologizes and takes accountability. There's no reason to not love that man - especially when he deserves it so much. Hey? Hear me? You deserve to be loved, too, Buck."
"And you deserve a man who doesn't run the risk of being turned into a psycho killing machine over a few measly words."
"I deserve to love my best friend, so let me do that. Say whatever you want, try to push me away - but I'm like a boomerang, baby, I'll just come right back."
"What kinda man puts his best girl in that kinda position? Who hurts the most important person in his life?"
"A man who endured decades of abuse," you laid your hands on either of his thighs, "a man who wasn't allowed control of his own mind. I can't - no, no, I won't fault you for that, Buck. Today wasn't your fault and I'll remind you of that as often as it takes. Don't you dare feel guilty because you didn't do this to me, okay? You didn't put me in any position - that fake fucking doctor did this, Agent Ross did this, special ops put us here. You, my sweet boy, didn't do anything to be at fault. You were trapped, but look at you now - freed, level headed, talking to me."
His eyes gleamed with a sheen of emotion, staring at the bloodied bandage wrapping your shoulder wound before his eyes danced over the bruising and other aftermath of your injuries. "I could've killed you," he muttered, tears filling his eyes.
"But you didn't - and surprisingly, neither did the Winter Soldier. Maybe there was a part of you still alive, wanting to refuse orders and not actually hurt me."
"Perhaps," he frowned. "I'm still so sorry, doll, I hate that I did this to you. It never should've happened."
Your head nodded, "I know, baby, and listen - I forgive you. Yeah? Hear me? I forgive you, this is in the past."
"Are you sure about me? You sure you wanna do this? Knowing I could flip a switch and hurt you - maybe even worse than today?"
"I'm sure about you, Buck," you agreed. "I don't wanna be without you, so, sign me up for whatever's to come."
"You might regret that."
"The only thing I could ever regret is abandoning you. I don't want to do this without you - I love our life together. In any world, in any lifetime, I'd still choose you. There's nothing that would make me regret you - regret being with you."
"You sure? I don't want to make you do anything out of your comfort."
"I love you, Bucky, yes, I'm sure. No matter what damage you think you might've caused, whatever damage has been done, I promise, that's not the truth. There's nothing about you that I could regret."
"Well, all that's left now is to get to Siberia, stop the other Winter Soldiers."
"And figure out a way to free your mind once and for all... It's what you deserve," you told him softly, rocking to your knees to meet his forehead with yours and caressing his cheek again. When you heard approaching footsteps, you sighed and pulled away from him to stand and turn, spying Sam and Steve. "C'mon, Cap, get him outta this. He's not gonna attack anyone," you requested, gesturing where your boyfriend was trapped.
"You sure?" Sam asked stiffly. "He did a real number on you alone. Not to mention all the other agents and cops he took out back there."
"He's good," you snapped, perking your brows at Steve, "and you two would do well not to throw what happened in his face, it wasn't his fault. So c'mon, free him, he's not a wild animal."
Steve agreed and lifted the machinery from Bucky's prosthetic, him instantly snatching it back and massaging where the joint met metal. Bucky stood with a set stare at Sam and Steve, as if anticipating them to lunge at him. His throat constricted, swelled with emotion when you stepped in front of him - posing barrier between the two Avengers and himself.
"You still got that phone on you?" Steve asked you softly.
"I do."
"Is it still unregistered?"
"You know it is. Who're we calling?"
"Reinforcements. We're gonna need help now that the Avengers will be looking for us. We gotta get to Siberia."
"Here," you agreed, unlocking the device and handing it over. "Who's first on your list?"
"Any Avenger who didn't sign the Sokovia Accords."
When he walked away with Sam again, you turned to face your lover directly; staring into swirling storms of baby blues. "You still with me?" You asked softly, reaching up to caress his hair again to push it behind his ear.
"Always. Got my six?"
"You know I do, baby," you smirked, stepping into his chest and wrapping your arms around his waist. "We'll figure this out, together."
"Together," he agreed, sighing deeply and returning your embrace tightly. His flesh hand rose to hold the back of your head, bringing his lips down to lay a chaste kiss on the top of your head. His voice rattled quietly, "Thank you..."
"Hmm? For what, handsome?"
"Believing in me. It's nice to think we can end this torment."
You smiled up at him, "You deserve freedom, Bucky, and to live without this haunting fear."
"I don't know about 'deserving' it, sweetheart. Done a lot of things that would argue against that."
"Maybe against the Winter Soldier, but Bucky deserves the world. Deserves kindness, accommodation, love and understanding. Now," you smirked and sniffled, giving his waist another squeeze before releasing and pulling back, "get your head outta this pit and focus, we've got a long day ahead of us."
He agreed, letting you take his hand and lace fleshy fingers together in a tether. Sam's face remained stoic and passive, but when Steve saw you two, he couldn't help but smile. Two years he hunted for Bucky and just today, he's learned his best friend's been shacked up with you - a warmth blooming in his chest over the idea of you two finding one another and loving each other.
requesting rules and masterlist
Marvel masterlist
#bucky barnes#james bucky barnes#james buchanan barnes#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes x female!reader#bucky barnes x fem!reader#bucky barnes x f!reader#bucky barnes imagine#bucky barnes fanfiction#bucky barnes fic#bucky barnes x y/n#bucky barnes x you#bucky barnes fluff#bucky barnes x oc#bucky barnes angst#bucky barnes hurt/comfort#bucky barnes hurt and comfort#bucky fanfic#bucky#bucky x reader#bucky x you#the winter soldier#winter soldier#bucky barnes the winter soldier#the winter soldier bucky barnes#the winter soldier x you#the winter soldier x reader#the winter soldier fanfic#the winter soldier imagine#marvel
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🔥
Oooh. People have GOTTA stop putting popular actual play DMs on a fucked up mile high pedestal. Yes I think Matt and Aabria and Brennan etc are all wonderful DMs with various impressive skillsets and fun personalities. And I do think Aabria specifically has gotten a lot of undue backlash and harassment for being a very prominent woman of color in these spaces, and I believe some of the mythologizing comes from a very rightful pushback against that. That being said. All of these people are real people who make mistakes, and treating any of them as some sort of god like creature of infinite skill and coolness who can do no wrong, both as people and DMs, is not only weird and dehumanizing, but will probably end up worse in the long run than if you just treated them like normal people. That type of mythologizing will often lead to worse harassment when they do something a mythologizing fan doesn’t like, because it will make a mistake or just something that particular person dislikes (both normal parts of being human) feel like some insane betrayal to that fan. You can appreciate these people without this level of pedestaling. Also you don’t need to compare your DMing style to theirs constantly, you can take inspiration without doing that and I promise you that you’ll feel better after. I still think all 3 are super cool. Go with love and peace my children.
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The Magnus Archives Fic Rec List
Press the read more for recommended fanfiction of The Magnus Archives! Never heard The Magnus Archives and are interested?
Current number of fics: 85
last updated March 18th, 2024
These are all works that I have personally read at least a couple thousand words of and enjoyed myself, so this list will reflect my own reading habits
If you are the author of a fic, you can request your work be removed from the list. Everyone should be comfortable
Table of Contents - 1. England Jonmartin-centric, 2. Scottish Safehouse Period, 3. Gen or Background Pairings, 4. Time Travel, 5. Highly Alternate, 6. Gerrymichael, 7. Other, 8. Updates (note: some categories tend to overlap. Only one will be prioritized)
England Jonmartin-Centric
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Full, Riotous Bloom by BigTed
Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
“Statement of Martin Blackwood, regarding…” Jon looks at him. Looks at him. The look of a boss whose employee was late three times last week, the look of a man who was just busy doing something really important and now he’s here, doing this instead. “...why he stole a grieving family’s oven gloves.”
-
Martin has a run in with a deadly Leitner, leaving him choking on his unrequited love.
M | Words: 66,962 | Chapters: 13/13
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fell in your opinion when i fell in love with you by Athina_Blaine
No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
“This is the Magnus Institute, not a creative writing course at university. If that doesn’t agree with him, he can leave.” There was a thud and the sound of rifling tapes. “He can take his bloody tea with him.”
Martin’s fingers tightened on the saucer. Oh.
-
Martin knows better than to talk about it. It's fine. He's fine.
Part 1 of it's only when i hit the ground it causes all the grief
M | Words: 18,987 | Chapters: 2/2
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Just a Little Bit Pet-tea by arthureameslove
No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Martin makes Jon tea for the first time about a week into his transfer. It’s horrible. Gag-reflex inducing. Somehow sporting all the wrong flavors.
For some reason, he does not have the heart to break this to Martin.
Little does Jon know that Martin actually makes wonderful tea. Just not for him.
G | Words: 13,335 | Chapters: 3/3
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Misshapes, Mistakes, Monsters by ZaliaChimera
No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
The Archives are his and stepping away from them, even for a night… it’s strange. Like he’s pretending to be someone else.
Like he’s pretending to be human.
Jon and Martin attend Jon's Oxford University Reunion.
T | Words: 7,969 | Chapters: 1/1
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Say You Love Me (Learn to Lie) by iamcringebutiamfree
No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Martin Blackwood & Sasha James & Tim Stoker, Martin Blackwood & Sasha James & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist & Tim Stoker
It shouldn’t have been surprising to learn that Martin hated him. He had been, he knew, a truly terrible boss - he’d treated Martin horribly, caused him to lose his home, nearly gotten him killed. Really, it had been ridiculous to ever think that Martin wouldn’t hate him.
Still, Jon had been trying, in his own way, to make it up to him. There wasn’t exactly a card at the drugstore that said, “I’m sorry I berated you for six months and caused you to nearly be eaten by a swarm of worms of potentially supernatural origin,” but he’d been trying. He brought Martin breakfast every morning, made sure the breakroom cabinets were stocked with his favorite blends of tea, and had tried to work some genuine praise into his feedback of Martin’s work. None of it was the direct apology that his conscience told him he really ought to give, but Martin had appreciated it. Or seemed to, anyway.
Jon wasn’t certain what motivated the decision he made next - whether it was guilt or spite or something else. He could, he knew, be quite petty when the situation called for it. Either way, he made up his mind then and there to prove Martin wrong. He was going to be the best fake boyfriend he could be.
A Fake Dating AU!
T | Words: 37,889 | Chapters: 10/10
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a consideration of tropes by gruhukens
No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
“Do you know much about cataloguing?” Jon asks, a little out of breath from the stairs.
Martin, mid-trolley, rolls his eyes. The gesture he makes at the shelves around him is only emphasised by the book he’s holding.
“What exactly do you think I do here, other than sit around and wait for angry patrons to yell at me?”
“Think of what you’re going to yell back?” Jon says, and Martin’s mouth twitches into a smile.
-
Asking the very important question: what if Jon and Martin had a gentle archives/library romance, and kept running into tropes? What if there was mutual pining involved? Only one bed? Fake dating? Hurt/comfort? Or perhaps, a soft and happy ending?
T | Words: 40,966 | Chapters: 8/8
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It Serenely Disdains to Destroy Us by trill_gutterbug
No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Martin gnaws his lower lip. “Do you think he’ll - I mean, do you think it’ll be…”
Melanie's smile becomes a little less of a grimace. She claps his shoulder. “Martin. It’ll be fine. It’s only temporary. He’s not moving in.”
Martin chuckles. “Yes. Of course.”
-
Jon's flat is being fumigated. He is not impressed. Martin offers his spare bedroom.
T | Words: 13,048 | Chapters: 1/1
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terror management theory by prismatical
Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Melanie King & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist & Tim Stoker, Basira Hussain & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Georgie Barker/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist (briefly)
“It’s a preexisting condition,” Jon explains, sipping more bitter tea. “I sort of got—hm. You know Spiderman?”
Tim raises an eyebrow.
“Heard of him, yeah.”
Jon nods, studying his tea.
“It’s sort of like that,” he says. “A spider killed and ate me when I was a child, and now I can’t stay dead.”
-
Resurrection isn't all it's cracked up to be.
T | Words: 36,587 | Chapters: 1/1
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Clutching Daffodils by Gemi
Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Martin has always liked the idea of love at first sight.
It’s such a romantic idea, the whole thing of it. Seeing someone and instantly feeling that strange, twisting feeling deep inside that every single media likes to obsess over. Of knowing you are in love within the day, petals falling from your mouth and warmth filling your chest as love burrows deep, vines twisting through your lungs.
He always liked the idea of it.
And then Jonathan Sims starts working at the Magnus Institute.
NR | Words: 7,624 | Chapters: 1/1
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a little love, a little sympathy by Did
No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
And then Jon is snarling into his face, demanding what are you hiding with a strange, bright-eyed intensity Martin has never seen from him before, and Martin thinks god, maybe he should just come clean about his CV, Jon thinking he's a fraud can't be any worse than Jon thinking he's a murderer-
Martin opens his mouth to speak. To his absolute horror, what actually comes out is: "I used to pretend to cry because I liked how nice you were to me when you thought I was upset!"
G | Words: 3,308 | Chapters: 1/1
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all resistance wearing thin by DivineProjectZero
No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Martin Blackwood would do anything for Jonathan Sims. The Web made him that way, after all.
T | Words: 4,799 | Chapters: 1/1
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Sam nie pojmuję, jak w twe zajdę progi by Mad_Maudlin
No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Martin's been acting odd since Jon came back. Well, odder than usual.
T | Words: 3,118 | Chapters: 1/1
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Mundanity by CirrusGrey
No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Inspired by @ themlet's post on Tumblr: Jon has to deal with normal human interactions. Martin helps (sort of). Featuring high school reunions, knitted sweaters, and conversations on the bus ride home.
T | Words: 3,097 | Chapters: 1/1
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Musical Mechanism by Darblesify
Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Martin has always used music to cope. One day he's playing music music out loud in the archive and Tim and Sasha realize the main singer's voice sounds familiar.
AKA Martin's favorite band might happen to be the one Jon was secretly a part of in college.
T | Words: 21,411 | Chapters: 8/8
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Misfiled and Misinformed by CirrusGrey
No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Martin Blackwood & Sasha James & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist & Tim Stoker
Jon and Martin are married. Tim and Sasha know this. What they don't know is that it's to each other.
T | Words: 2,507 | Chapters: 1/1
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look no further by inkyindigo
No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Martin just wants to keep Jon safe. Sometimes the easiest way to do that is to bodily remove him from harm's way.
or, a collection of times Martin picks Jon up.
T | Words: 15,145 | Chapters: 8/8
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Touch Me, Even if it Hurts by AuralQueer
Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims, Jonathan Sims & Tim Stoker, Jonathan Sims & Alice "Daisy" Tonner
People don't really touch Jonathan Sims unless they want to hurt him. That's mostly fine. Jon has never been a tactile person, and he doesn't need anyone but himself.
Except the world is falling down around him, and loneliness aches, and sometimes he'll take anything - even cruelty - just to feel human again.
*A story set between s1 and s4, looking at Jon's relationship with touch, friendship, and his own humanity.
T | Words: 6,540 | Chapters: 1/1
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I'll bring the motion by callmearcturus
Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
A long series of kidnappings and international flights leaves its own special mark on someone. Before the Unknowing, Jon is a mess.
Martin helps.
(based on this amazing art by linecrosser)
T | Words: 3,127 | Chapters: 1/1
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thanks for the company by lukeskqwalker
No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Martin had been baffled by how easily he spilled his guts out to this odd stranger. Now, Martin is more baffled by the baggy My Chemical Romance t-shirt he's wearing, paired with tasteful plaid pajama bottoms.
Or, Martin gets a visitor in his dreams. Reliving the same 14 days of loneliness every night isn't as bad when you have company.
T | Words: 4,314 | Chapters: 1/1
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stranger, stranger by blueskiddoo
No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
“Sure,” Georgie says, still laughing at him. At least someone is having fun. “Don’t you have assistants for that kind of thing?”
“Yes, but…” He huffs, scratching the back of his neck. “I wasn’t going to ask one of them to download an app called...Lover? Lov-rrr? I don’t know how you say it.” He flaps his hands dismissively. “There are--unions and such. It wouldn’t be appropriate.”
*
jon makes a fake account on a dating app to investigate a statement. tim sets martin up with fake account on a dating app to boost his self-confidence. it goes exactly how you might expect.
G | Words: 36,771 | Chapters: 11/11
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i wanna find a home (i wanna share it with you) by heartshapedguy
No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
“Have you got anywhere to stay?” Jon asks him, briskly. “Friends, acquaintances, maybe, who you could stay with…?”
Martin flushes, deeply. “I, I mean— n-no, not really,” he stammers, and then goes even redder. “Or, just, y’know not that I’d want to, to. Put in the middle of this. Put in danger of, of worms.”
“Ah,” Jon says, “No, of course, that makes sense.” Why drag anyone else into this mess? Seven people died during Prentiss’s initial hospitalization; the collateral damage of roping someone from outside the Institute into her orbit doesn’t bare thinking about. “In that case…” Jon feels like there’s some alternative solution, one he’s just not thinking of at the moment, but it evades him, and Martin needs somewhere safe to stay. “My couch is quite comfortable. You’re welcome to come and stay with me until you figure something else out.”
Martin is held hostage by Jane Prentiss for two weeks, and can't go back to his flat. Jon offers him a place to stay until Prentiss and her worms can be dealt with, and they can be sure he's safe.
T | Words: 65,951 | Chapters: 19/19
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true kinda love by Did
No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
So. Martin isn't expecting anything to happen. But then, one day, something...does happen. It happens when Martin is passing Jon in the hall, and stops to ask how he’s doing, because Jon always looks a little bit like hell these days, and it makes Martin feel like he has to do something, and useless small talk is pretty much all he can do, so that’s what he does. And instead of grunting or shrugging or mumbling something dismissive, Jon replies, with perfect, involuntary clarity, "Every part of me aches, and I would just about kill to have someone rub my shoulders right now."
There's a positively deafening silence as they both come to grips with this unprecedented turn of events. Then they both start talking at once.
"Ah," says Jon.
"Wow," says Martin, at the same time.
G | Words: 5,053 | Chapters: 1/1
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hey stranger by ennuijpg
No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Martin Blackwood & Sasha James & Tim Stoker
It’s a late night Tesco run, how eventful could it be? It’s not like Martin is going to run into his boss who’s wearing something absurdly different from usual and get the most acute form of whiplash possible from seeing him, right?
(Based on this post about alt jon on tumblr because it's all I've been thinking about of late.)
T | Words: 2,701 | Chapters: 1/1
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Sun-kissed by Rauchendes_GNU
No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist & Alice "Daisy" Tonner
Martin doesn’t have any freckles. Jon has watched him and the others for a while now, and he knows that everyone has freckles. Tim is absolutely covered in them, and he seems to get more and more every day as Sasha seems very determined to kiss every part of Tim that is not yet covered in tiny dark spots.
Everyone has been loved by someone at some point. Everyone has been kissed, no matter if a platonic peck on the cheek or a heated kiss on the mouth. Everyone but Martin, it seems.
Or: Jon realises Martin has never been kissed. He rectifies that right away.
T | Words: 3,407 | Chapters: 1/1
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skin deep by isthepartyover
Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims, Georgie Barker & Jonathan Sims
“Hello, Martin Blackwood speaking.”
“Oh thank god-” a woman’s voice answered, rushed and panicked, and Martin immediately closes the folder he was leafing through absent-mindedly and snaps his head towards the door. “Sorry, oh god, I’m Georgie, I’m Jon’s friend, I don’t know what to do-”
(au where georgie calls martin post burn)
M | Words: 3,125 | Chapters: 1/1
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Take Care of You (And I'll Take Care of Me) by Mad_Maudlin
No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
When Martin Blackwood met the new research assistant, his heart skipped a beat. Too bad Jonathan Sims seems to hate him.
(A soulmates AU)
M | Words: 20,386 | Chapters: 6/6
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Somebody That I Used to Know by CirrusGrey
No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims, Sasha James/Tim Stoker, Basira Hussain/Alice "Daisy" Tonner (background), Martin Blackwood & Sasha James & Jonathan Sims & Tim Stoker
(Minor) SPOILERS FOR MAG 161!!!
Jon gets replaced by the Not!Them. Life goes on.
T | Words: 6,358 | Chapters: 1/1
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a six-step process by bluejayblueskies
No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Martin stands next to him on the train. His hand rests just beneath Jon’s where it grips one of the metal poles, and Martin takes care not to brush against him despite how crowded the car is. Jon considered telling Martin, when they first got on the tube, that it was okay—that his touch would be… well, it wouldn’t be bad. Not like Nikola's. But he’d stayed silent, allowing Martin to cultivate a careful space between them. They’ve been silent for the past twenty minutes as they’ve passed by station after station on their way to Martin’s flat in Brixton.
Jon adds 24 hours onto his mental countdown of the time he has left until he’s allowed to break down and tells himself that he can manage. It’s… important to have goals, he thinks. He splits this one into steps.
Step one: get to Martin’s flat without crying.
Part 2 of touch prompts
T | Words: 2,138 | Chapters: 1/1
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who's there? by bubonickitten
No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Jon has a panic attack after Elias shows him exactly what happened behind the door after Mr. Spider took its victim.
Martin helps him calm down, and Jon tells him the story of his first Leitner.
Part 2 of thresholds
T | Words: 6,139 | Chapters: 1/1
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Clothes Have No Gender by kristsune
No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Jon wears a skirt to the Institute for the first time, and gets reactions he hadn't expected.
NR | Words: 1,846 | Chapters: 1/1
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northwest 6 to gale 8. rain. poor, occasionally good. by chewsdaychillin
Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
A voicemail made up of a female robot and Jon’s professional work tone tells him to leave a message, but Martin hangs up before the beep. He’s not even sure he can speak, let alone put this into words.
‘Hi Jon, sorry to call at four fifty-two AM. My mum just died and I don’t know what to do or how to feel. Call me back when you can! Love you, bye!’
AUish where Jon is alive when Martin's mum passes away, helps him grieve and heal (and they maybe admit to being in love)
Part 1 of northwest 6 to gale 8
M | Words: 35,828 | Chapters: 9/9
Scottish Safehouse Period
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Resigned, Though Not to Fate by inkfingers_mcgee
Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
“You’re really suggesting this,” Martin says, voice pulled thin.
“Yes.” No hesitation.
“You would- actually do it?”
“I would.”
“With me.”
“Yes, Martin.”
“Why?” Because love is blind, says something cliché and cruel in the pit of his gut. Christ, he never was much of a poet, was he?
Or,
When Jon asks Martin to Quit the Archives with him, Martin says yes. Things don't go as planned. In the Scottish Highlands, they hurt, and they heal.
(Re-written as of 22-12-27; see chapter 9 for more info.)
T | Words: 145,748 | Chapters: 9/9
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nor any more youth or age than there is now by Ravenesta
No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
The local Primary school has a new teacher. He is, to say the very least, odd.
A series of statements regarding the interactions of the townsfolk with one Jonathan Sims, never formally given.
T | Words: 6,512 | Chapters: 1/1
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There's a 15th Fear, and it's Teenagers by captloverboy
No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Georgie Barker/Melanie King, Georgie Barker & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Melanie King & Jonathan Sims, Basira Hussain/Alice "Daisy" Tonner, Martin Blackwood & Basira Hussain, Basira Hussain & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Helen | The Distortion & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Helen | The Distortion & Basira Hussain, Helen | The Distortion & Martin Blackwood
What if Jonah didn't ruin everything? Didn't send the end of everything statement? What do Jon and Martin do now? Get a job, I guess. A teaching job, for Jon, though it was hardly his first pick. But sometimes your boyfriend looks *really* excited when he suggests it, and I mean, you know literally everything. It can't be that bad, right? Right?
T | Words: 26,140 | Chapters: 14/14
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the Teacher from the Magnus Archives by Athina_Blaine
No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
“Hey, everyone, welcome back to my channel. My name is Maggie Abernathy and today we will be continuing our investigation of the, uh, eldritch monster slash English teacher who calls itself Jonathan Sims.”
-
Maggie is determined to catch Mr. Sims via her channel, and then everyone would see how cool and smart she was, right?
T | Words: 5,993 | Chapters: 1/1
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Please Don't Tease Me Like You Did Before by bazemayonnaise
No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Martin is grinning at his phone when Jon comes home. This is not an unusual occurrence, but Jon can sense that the particularly smug smile being levelled at him means that whatever is entertaining the man has something to do with Jon.
“Yes?” he asks once he has dumped the day at the door. “What have I done now?”
Part 1 of Jon and Martin teach at a Scottish Catholic School
G | Words: 5,380 | Chapters: 1/1
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beloved of jon by gruhukens
No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
“Oh,” says Jon, numbly. “You don’t. Remember? Um. It’s complicated. What… what do you remember?”
Martin seems to shrink in on himself a little. It hurts to watch, especially after how Jon’s seen him so painstakingly grow back into his openness over the past few weeks.
“I don’t know,” he says. “I don’t – I don’t.”
“But you remember me?” says Jon, and he tries to keep as much feeling out of that question as he can.
---
For no reason that Jon can tell, Martin forgets.
T | Words: 12,739 | Chapters: 1/1
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every good intention (is interpretation) by gruhukens
No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
They’re standing entirely too close to each other in front of the hotel desk when the clerk asks them whether they’d like a double, twin, or two singles, and Martin absolutely bottles it.
‘Uh,’ he says, at exactly the same time as Jon says, ‘Oh.’
———
There’s a conversation that Martin and Jon need to have after the Lonely. Unfortunately, they are - historically - fairly terrible at putting stuff into words.
G | Words: 11,227 | Chapters: 1/1
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These words that make a home in my chest by arthureameslove
No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
The moment Martin leaves the Lonely is the moment he realizes that it has taken something from him. He is left with the realization that the Lonely fog had been the only thing keeping him whole, keeping him from feeling the aching hollows of his own sorrow.
Speaking makes it worse, so he doesn't. He almost expects Jon to leave, to grow tired of him, incomplete as he is. But Jon doesn't.
Or, Martin is mute after leaving the Lonely, and he and Jon learn how to be people again, together, in the comfort of the Scottish Highlands.
T | Words: 16,060 | Chapters: 7/7
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hello my old heart by firebirdsuite
No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Peter’s wrong, of course. When it’s all over, Martin does still want to tell Jon everything. It’s just—well, there’s a few things they need to work through first before they can get there.
Martin and Jon find each other again in Scotland.
T | Words: 15,864 | Chapters: 1/1
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i’m almost me again, you’re almost you by gruhukens
No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
After a second Jon steps in towards him, close enough that Martin flinches, but all Jon does is put two fingers under his chin with his free hand and raise it until Martin can’t duck away. Jon has never touched him so casually before – at least, not until today, and it raises a lot of thoughts and feelings that Martin is trying very hard not to process.
Much like a lot of other things that have happened, he thinks. Not that it’s horrible or terrifying or numbing like everything else has been: it’s just another thing on the list of things he doesn’t have the capacity to deal with.
---
In the wake of the Lonely, there's a lot that Martin doesn't really want to think about.
G | Words: 12,928 | Chapters: 1/1
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Prenons-nous la main by luftballons99
No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
They still haven't talked about it, any of it, not even to pass the time on the long train ride to Scotland. Instead, Martin fell asleep in the seat next to him, pressed into his side from shoulder to knee, and Jon thought about love confessions and verb tense and how the two fit together when you think you're dying.
or: Good cows, mediocre poetry, and other crucial topics of discussion.
T | Words: 6,027 | Chapters: 1/1
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Diary by luftballons99
No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Not for the first time since they ran away together, a camera reel of all the things they don't know about one another whirs behind Martin's eyes, and he can't help but look at all the sprawling magnetic tape and wonder if they’re going to wind up a romance or a tragedy.
or: Office parties, garage bands, and the joy of being known.
Part 1 of showing your hand
T | Words: 5,178 | Chapters: 1/1
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the umbrella by Wildehack (tyleet)
Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
"And to think—all of Jonah Magnus’ carefully laid plans, the centuries of scheming, the murders, the sacrifices, all of that work could have been completely undone if Martin Blackwood had gone back for an umbrella" - holdthosebees
M | Words: 4,662 | Chapters: 1/1
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ready to call this love by yewgrove
No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
How is Martin supposed to tell Jon that he panicked, stupidly, when the lovely old lady down the village asked him what they were doing in this part of the world? Got the shopping! Oh, by the way, we're married now! Whole village thinks we're on our honeymoon, hope you don't mind!
Part 1 of it is what you have.
G | Words: 5,650 | Chapters: 1/1
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Guess Who's Coming to Dinner? by pantsoflobster
No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
“Jon,” Martin said. “I have made a grave mistake.”
Jon whipped his head up, nearly tossing the elastic from his messy bun. “What? What’s wrong? What--what did you do?”
“I... might have invited guests for dinner.”
Jon stared blankly. “What, here?”
“Seeing as this is where we live at the moment, yes.”
---
In which a week in the safehouse turns into a fake-married sitcom, because they deserve to worry about social ineptitude instead of the apocalypse for a minute
Part 1 of this is not the house that pain built
T | Words: 5,391 | Chapters: 1/1
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Bergamot, Buckskin, and Lace by Qpenguin98
Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Jon's never been a touchy person.
T | Words: 3,061 | Chapters: 1/1
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be kind, i beg you by gauras
No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
“Fine,” Jon says, and he tries to ignore the sulky tone of his voice, “fine. What do you suggest?”
Martin pauses, like he’d not expected Jon to give in so easily. Jon’s never been particularly agreeable, but he still feels vaguely offended by the blatant surprise. “W-we,” Martin stammers, clears his throat, continues on much more confidently, “we go in together.”
Or: it takes close quarters and a full 24 hours to finally get them on the same page.
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T | Words: 14,946 | Chapters: 1/1
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tides turning by gauras
No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
There's more than one way to say I love you.
T | Words: 20,858 | Chapters: 1/1
Other Scottish Safehouse Period fics: see unassigned supplementals by bibliocratic in Other
Gen or Background Pairings
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a deeply annoying child by ajkal2
No Archive Warnings Apply, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist & Tim Stoker, blink-and-you-miss-it Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims, BUT NO SLASH WHILE ANYONE IS A CHILD
Jon is hiding under the desk.
----
There's a child in the Archives, who shouldn't be there.
G | Words: 9,631 | Chapters: 1/1
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Head in the Lion's Mouth by renwhit
Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Danny Stoker & Tim Stoker, Danny Stoker & Jonathan Sims, Basira Hussain & Alice "Daisy" Tonner, Martin Blackwood & Tim Stoker, Martin Blackwood & Danny Stoker, Jonathan Sims & Tim Stoker, Past Tim Stoker/Sasha James, Danny Stoker & Helen Richardson, Danny Stoker & Alice "Daisy" Tonner, Danny Stoker & Melanie King, Basira Hussain & Tim Stoker, Basira Hussain & Danny Stoker
He fell into a deep bow, smiling the whole while. “I’m the ringmaster, of course.”
“Is that skin— Is it yours?” Old wood groaned as the Archivist shifted his weight. “Originally.”
“It is!” the ringmaster said as he swooped back upright. “Nikola decided I wore it well, so she let me keep it. Why do you ask?”
The Archivist gave him another once-over. “You just… you look familiar. Like someone I know.”
On relearning, reconnecting, and redefining.
Part 1 of Come What May
M | Words: 157,202 | Chapters: 17/17
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reach inside (to find your heart is beating) by ivelostmyspectacles
No Archive Warnings Apply, Jonathan Sims & Tim Stoker
This is Tim, opening the door enough for his tired, careworn face to peer through the crack; Jon sees the genuine horror on his face as he takes in his boss, bloody on his doorstep, and he thinks– maybe– he thinks he might be safe here.
“Christ.”
Chapter two added January 17th!
T | Words: 5,774 | Chapters: 2/2
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Fractals Upon Fractals by cedarbranch
No Archive Warnings Apply, Michael & Helen Richardson
“There was never meant to be two of us,” said Helen.
Or: Michael and Helen play a game of chess, and work out what it means exist in duplicate.
G | Words: 1,652 | Chapters: 1/1
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Other gen fics: see Time is Hard by Serazimei in Time Travel
Time Travel
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Yesterday is Here by CirrusGrey
No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims, x2!, Martin Blackwood & Sasha James & Jonathan Sims & Tim Stoker, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
"Who the hell are you?" Jon could feel his hands shaking.
The man laughed, taking a step forward and raising a hand to point at him.
"I'm you, from the future!" he said, then swayed, eyes going unfocused, and collapsed to the floor in a dead faint.
--------
Post-season-four Jon and Martin time travel back to the season one Archives.
T | Words: 53,319 | Chapters: 12/12
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Déjà Vu by CirrusGrey
No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Sasha James & Tim Stoker, Martin Blackwood & Sasha James & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist & Tim Stoker
Sasha remembers being unmade.
Tim remembers being Unknown.
Jon and Martin remember being unwound.
All of them think they're the only one.
--------
The S1 crew wakes up in the past with memories up till the moment they died.
T | Words: 37,652 | Chapters: 4/4
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Reflection by LazuliQuetzal
No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims, Sasha James/Emma
Jonathan Sims, researcher at the Magnus Institute, is seeing a ghost. Of himself.
Of course, it’s not really him, no matter what secrets it knows, or how many arguments it brings up. So if it tells him to do something?
Obviously, he’ll be doing the exact opposite.
(AKA: Jon is an idiot, past and future, but somewhere along the way it all cancels out.)
(Expect general spoilers for S4 and specifically, MAG 158.)
T | Words: 51,527 | Chapters: 10/10
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Time is Hard by Serazimei
No Archive Warnings Apply, Michael | The Distortion & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Elias Bouchard & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Michael Shelley & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Gerard Keay & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Michael "Mike" Crew & Michael Shelley
The Eye isn't happy with how the end of the world turned out. Neither are Jonah and Jon. There is no other option but to rewind time and go down a different path. But time is hard for The Spiral and The Web likes to meddle.
This is how Jon finds himself back in his eight year old body with all his memories, some of his powers intact and a strange bracelet around his right wrist. Saving the world, Jon realizes soon enough, is much harder when no one takes you seriously.
Part 1 of Diverging Times
M | Words: 170,443 | Chapters: 60/60
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The Cube Rule of Food Identification by bluejayblueskies
No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Martin stands abruptly. His chair spins away from him, wheels squeaking on the cheap lino floor. The tension between him and Jon has reached never-before-seen levels. Tim could probably cut it with a knife. Or a particularly sharp spoon.
Then, Jon lurches forward and half-clambers atop the desk and kisses Martin, and Tim drops his sandwich.
.
Or, season one Jon and Martin receive memories from the future mid-argument, and Tim and Sasha receive emotional whiplash.
T | Words: 1,630 | Chapters: 1/1
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a map of what matters most by gruhukens
No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
“Is that a body,” Tim blurts before he can stop himself, rising to his feet. Martin looks, if possible, even more scared.
“He’s alive!” he hisses, almost defensively. “It’s not - it’s not Gertrude again, I didn’t kill him, he just – I don’t know what happened to him, I just found him in the stacks like this.”
“And you dragged him up here?” Tim says, and then registers several things at once – the build, the hair texture; the little round scars peppering a pair of thin hands and an awfully familiar face. “Wait, is that Jon?”
----
Jon stumbles back into an earlier Archive, looking for a way to fix the world. (Or, mom says it's my turn for the obligatory time travel au)
T | Words: 20,604 | Chapters: 6/6
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leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall) by OllieoftheBeholder
No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist/Tim Stoker
“So...you’re from the future. In the past. Why?”
“You want the short answer or the long one?”
“Short,” Martin says after a moment’s deliberation. “Until I decide if I trust you.”
The other nods, as if he expected that answer—which, well, if he really is Martin from the future, he probably did. “To stop the world from ending.”
They have one last chance to fix this - one last chance to prevent the Eyepocalypse, to save the world - to save their world. It all hinges on which is the greater force: greed...or love.
Part 1 of leaves 'verse
T | Words: 299,536 | Chapters: 60/60
Highly Alternate
Alternate universes will remain in the other categories, but this category is for alterations that are especially notable in their severity. This will also include any fics where Jon has an important alignment with a different fear entity, whether that be instead of the Eye or in tandem
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The Witch's Cat by Champagne
No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
“That’s the Witch’s cat,” Tim says, and grins at Martin. “Jonathan Sims, the town’s Witch, said that he’ll marry anyone that manages to get the key from the cat’s collar.”
G | Words: 12,584 | Chapters: 1/1
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What Belongs to the Sea by TwoDrunkenCelestials, WhyNotFly
No Archive Warnings Apply, Elias Bouchard/Jonathan Sims, Elias Bouchard/Peter Lukas, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
“My grandmother taught me about selkies,” said the tattooed man. “Said it’s good luck for them to grace your ship. To treat ‘em right, and they’ll guide you safe.”
It had seemed like a reasonable thing to believe.
M | Words: 126,367 | Chapters: 36/36
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school's out for the summer by kiaronna
No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims, Georgie Barker/Melanie King, Various Background Relationships, Elias Bouchard/Peter Lukas
The thing is, Jonathan Sims is someone you’d call the police on if you saw him hanging around a school, those frazzled clothes and bags under his eyes, the frantic muttering and thousand-year stare.
Yet there he sits, headteacher of The Magnus Institute for Gifted Young Minds.
The name’s a bit misleading, it is. They’re in a bad part of town. The parents are either terrible or absent, and the kids—
“They’re monsters,” his new and handsome coworker grins, when Martin’s signature on his contract is barely dry. “Absolute monsters. Get too close and you’ll lose some fingers. Or maybe your mind.”
“They’re babies,” is all Martin can feebly manage, in reply, and Tim’s eyes narrow at the fondness in his voice.
“You’ll learn.”
T | Words: 26,088 | Chapters: 2/2
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See the Line where the Sky meets the Sea by The_Floating_World
No Archive Warnings Apply, Jonathan Sims & Simon Fairchild, Jonathan Sims & Michael "Mike" Crew, Jonathan Sims & Gerard Keay, Jonathan Sims/Martin Blackwood, Jonathan Sims/Oliver Banks
When Jon is a child he looks into the infinite abyss of space. The Vast looks back into him.
T | Words: 59,336 | Chapters: 7/7
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rituals by doomcountry
No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/The Archivist, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Martin is the first person to knock on the Archivist's door since it arrived, fully, into its little waiting temple. The Archivist saw him coming from down the hall, but decides to feign interest when the knob turns, and Martin—still a little bit smaller, a little more translucent than before—stands uncertainly just outside the room.
T | Words: 8,492 | Chapters: 1/1
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ships passing in the night by Zykaben
No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood & Tim Stoker, Jonathan Sims & Tim Stoker, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Tim meets and befriends the new professor on the staff, Jonathan Sim. Tim has also been casual friends with Martin Blackwood for the past year.
It takes an embarrassing amount of time for Tim to realize that the two of them are married to each other.
T | Words: 5,027 | Chapters: 1/1
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all the flowers of all the tomorrows by ivelostmyspectacles
No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims, Georgie Barker & Martin Blackwood & Jonathan Sims
Martin owns a flower shop.
He starts crushing on the guy from the Magnus Institute, but why does Jon keep needing so many flowers for workplace deaths, anyway??
T | Words: 13,745 | Chapters: 1/1
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The Good Ol' Days by SingingInTheRaiin
No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
When Jon moves in with his grandmother he becomes fast (if somewhat reluctant) friends with one of the neighborhood kids, a boy named Martin.
Years later, they find each other again at the Magnus Institute, and whatever mysteries they uncover there, they will solve them together.
T | Words: 107,489 | Chapters: 40/40
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How Particular, My Fondness of You by cedarbranch
No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Jon risks a glance over to Georgie, expecting sympathy, or perhaps a grave expression of solidarity. Instead, he’s met with a fond smile. “Oh, Jon,” she says patiently, reaching over to rub his back. “You poor thing. You’re lovesick.”
Jon recoils. “I am not,” he says accusingly.
-
A college AU in which the whole gang works at the library, Jon is emotionally repressed, and the anonymous Facebook page knows all.
Part 2 of Magnolia Verse
T | Words: 29,263 | Chapters: 1/1
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because light reverses, because the dead return by 1248, Tiili97
No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
"Very well then, officer, take me away. And Martin?"
"Yes, Elias?"
Elias opened his mouth as if to say something, then closed it again with a shake of his head.
"Actually, never mind. I will see how it plays out."
Martin let out an annoyed sigh as Elias left. Always so goddamn cryptic.
Hopefully Jon and the others would be back soon to make sense of things.
-
Here's a hypothetical question: What would happen if no one noticed that Jonathan Sims survived the Unknowing?
What if they looked at his stopped heart and still lungs and decided he was dead?
What happens when you bury an Archivist?
T | Words: 9,491 | Chapters: 5/5
Gerrymichael
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Echo Chamber by orphan_account
Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Gerard Keay/Michael, Gerard Keay/Michael Shelley
“Look, if you’re another, uh, avatar of a horrible eldritch demon god come to assassinate me in a spooky manner, could you get it over with quickly? I haven’t eaten all morning and I’m starving.”
The thing that calls itself Michael stares.
“And this sandwich cost most of my weekly salary,” Gerry adds after a belated moment.
Part 1 of Spirals and Eyes
T | Words: 21,439 | Chapters: 1/1
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Break Me Like A Pattern by TheLibraryBat
Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Gerard Keay & Michael Shelley, Gerard Keay/Michael Shelley, Gerard Keay & Gertrude Robinson, Gertrude Robinson & Michael Shelley
The year is 2011. Michael Shelley is living his life in circles, blissfully unaware of the betrayal that awaits him in the summer. Gertrude Robinson has plans to enact and plans to destroy. Emma Harvey is hiding a book in the dark place at the back of a cupboard.
When Gerard Keay walks into the Magnus Institute - two years sooner than he was meant to - everything changes.
This is an (eventual) Archivist Michael AU, exploring how certain events might have played out, had one key player been in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Part 1 of Archivist Michael AU
M | Words: 215,290 | Chapters: 40/40
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Choke Chain by dramatispersonae
Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Gerard Keay/Michael, Gerard Keay/The Distortion
Things Gertrude Robinson possesses: decades of experience killing, containing, and otherwise thwarting supernatural beings, an uncompromising drive to destroy the Rituals and the people who would see them completed, Gerry's loyalty. Things Gertrude Robinson apparently also possesses: a monster on a magic leash.
NR | Words: 14,814 | Chapters: 1/1
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Make Me Feel Like I'm Lost by dramatispersonae
Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Gerard Keay/MichaelGerard Keay/The Distortion
Gerry meets a door that is not a door. And a person that is not a person. Remarkably, he does not get eaten. He would probably like to keep it that way. (Or, in the process of trying to avoid death by nightmare hallway, Gerard Keay accidentally charms the nightmare hallway)
Part 1 of As One Door Closes
NR | Words: 11,963 | Chapters: 1/1
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Fill The Gap Between You And I by dramatispersonae
No Archive Warnings Apply, Gerard Keay/Michael | The Distortion
Michael, like a cat, expresses affection with gifts of dead things. Gerry's trying not to be in the business of collecting strays.
Part 2 of As One Door Closes
NR | Words: 7,377 | Chapters: 1/1
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The Life Of Letting Go by dramatispersonae
No Archive Warnings Apply, Gerard Keay/Michael | The Distortion
Gerry suffers a workplace injury. Michael has concerns.
Part 3 of As One Door Closes
NR | Words: 3,235 | Chapters: 1/1
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Fever Dreaming by dramatispersonae
Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Gerard Keay/Michael | The Distortion
Gerry encounters a plot by a nascent avatar of the Corruption. It should be straightforward enough to deal with, especially considering his apparently ongoing... "alliance" with Michael. But when have things in his life actually been as simple as they appear?
Part 4 of As One Door Closes
NR | Words: 42,284 | Chapters: 5/5
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Please Don’t Eat the Flowers by Sloane
Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Gerard Keay/Michael Shelley, Gerard Keay/Michael | The Distortion, Razor/Wendy, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Instead of retiring to open a book shop, Gerry ends up working at a flower shop run by American lesbians in London. This leads to a brush with the Distortion, who just wants to buy some lilies, the Magnus Institute finding out he’s still alive, and... well, a normal life was never really in the cards for the likes of Gerard Keay, was it?
Oh, and those lesbians who run the flower shop? There’s more to them than meets the eye—bad Beholding pun intended.
(No knowledge of Maniac Mansion required; I take lots of liberties to slot it into TMA’s universe. UNDER MAJOR REVISIONS. Please see last chapter if you’re a new/returning reader for details..)
M | Words: 77,314 | Chapters: 33/?
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Ode to Joy: or, michael distortion's guide to naming yourself by fromthepinnacletothepit
No Archive Warnings Apply, Gerard Keay/Michael, Gerard Keay/Michael Shelley
Michael Shelley is sacrificed to the Spiral before he has the chance to come out, even to himself. Now, as an avatar of the Spiral, his identity is even MORE painful and confusing. Alone and filled with pain he doesn't even know how to name, he searches for acceptance in the one person who ever really knew him-Gerry Keay.
***
“What do you want to be called then,” Gerry says and wraps his arms around Michael’s back.
This conversation hurts. This question hurts. Everything hurts, so long as no one knows about his gender, so long as he has to go on being someone he’s not, someone he just can’t be anymore. He doesn’t know how much longer he can stand it.
“I dunnooooo,” he says, grinning, but inside he knows his name isn’t Michael. It’s just not. He doesn’t have a name. He never has. And it’s absence is like a hole in his chest.
The creature that might as well be called Michael, it supposes, if you have to call it anything, thinks about this conversation while it sits on the ceiling of its hallway and slowly digs grooves into the plaster with its fingers.
Gerry, it thinks desperately. I have to find Gerry.
G | Words: 14,513 | Chapters: 1/1
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Save That Heart for Me by cedarbranch
Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Gerard Keay/Michael Shelley, Gerard Keay/Michael
Gerry has just filled up his mug with coffee when it hits him. It’s a faint but sharp pain, zinging through his left wrist. He exhales a puff of laughter. That’s the third time this week. Whoever his soulmate is, they’re having a rough time.
T | Words: 5,577 | Chapters: 1/1
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call me your harbor by insertcleveracejoke
No Archive Warnings Apply, Gerard Keay/Michael Shelley, Gerard Keay/Michael
There was the matter of the owner. It could not be said that most people, when asked about their mental picture of what the owner of a bookstore should look like, would answer angry-looking goth covered in burn scars from the neck down.
He also had a terrible dye job.
Or: five times Michael went to Gerry's domain for help, and one time the opposite happened.
Part 1 of the bookstore AU
NR | Words: 4,488 | tChapters: 1/1
Other
Fic types I have not read enough of to lend it its own category. If I read more fics of its type, it'll be moved to a new category
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unassigned supplementals by bibliocratic
Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Oneshot #54: home improvement: or: Jon and Martin vs. IKEA
Oneshot #55: united front: or: Martin helps Jon with his statement hunger . (Set 159/160)
Oneshot #56: evolution: or: There is an uneasy alliance at first, between Jon and the Archivist
(Short TMA JonMartin one-shots, individual warnings in chapter notes, now with a fully-functioning contents page)
G | Words: 73,687 | Chapters: 56/56
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onto a vast plain by yewgrove
Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
The world ends. They get married.
Part 2 of it is what you have.
T | Words: 10,313 | Chapters: 1/1
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Out There, Somewhere by Artyphex
No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
"I'm sorry, you were found alone."
Jon survived the apocalypse and now will go to the end of this new, unfamiliar world to find Martin again.
T | Words: 54,080 | Chapters: 8/8
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enemy of my enemy by beeclaws
Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist/Tim Stoker, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist & Tim Stoker
Jon comes back from his time with the Circus a little worse for wear. Tim has some feelings about that.
M | Words: 6,263 | Chapters: 4/4
Updates
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a map of what matters most by gruhukens added to Time Travel - Mar. 8, 2024
leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall) by OllieoftheBeholder added to Time Travel - Mar. 8, 2024
How Particular, My Fondness of You by cedarbranch added to Highly Alternate - Mar. 18, 2024
call me your harbor by insertcleveracejoke added to Gerrymichael - Mar. 18, 2024
tides turning by gauras added to Scottish Safehouse Period - Mar. 18, 2024
a six-step process by bluejayblueskies added to England Jonmartin-centric - Mar. 18, 2024
who's there? by bubonickitten added to England Jonmartin-centic - Mar. 18, 2024
because light reverses, because the dead return by 1248, Tiili97 added to Highly Alternate - Mar. 18, 2024
Clothes Have No Gender by kristsune added to England Jonmartin-centric - Mar. 18, 2024
northwest 6 to gale 8. rain. poor, occasionally good. by chewsdaychillin added to England Jonmartin-centric - Mar. 18, 2024
#the magnus archives#tma#magpod#magnuspod#jonmartin#jmart#teaholding#gerrymichael#doorkeay#fanfiction#fic recs#fic rec#fic rec list#fanfic recs#mag pod#magnus pod#i need to read more time travel fics 😭
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a routine.
Orter Madl x f!reader
Obnoxious, sour, call him whatever you want, Orter Mádl couldn't care less about what people thought of him. You can’t help but wonder if that’s what you find attractive, or if you just have a thing for authoritative, serious-looking jerks (because I do).
Warnings: slight angst? orter is a jerk, hurt (just a bit) with comfort, reader being too nice.
Word count: 3.4k words
Note: again with no sleep, sorry for any spelling mistakes, don't stone me to death. thought about making a part 2 for this, no clue yet let me know what y'all think. (i swear i have never simped for a man that hard before)
definitions at the end, but it doesn't matter if you don't read them so no worries! enjoy-
Indeed, Orter was a man who would sweat for the status quo to be protected. If this man had his name on an alignment chart, the creators would have to make up something like “lawful lawful”. That is how lawful Orter Mádl gets. It didn’t matter to him how people perceived him, or whispered to each other whenever they saw him walk through the large corridors of the Bureau of Magic. Few things mattered to him in fact, but if he had to put them into a list, it would look like this:
Making sure rules and order are respected
Staying undisturbed during working hours (and out of working hours, too)
Not doing anything unnecessary.
He had a very specific routine he followed almost perfectly everyday, and so far, nothing had pushed him to change it. No one had, either, because from an ordinary person’s point of view, Orter was nothing else than a sour workaholic, strict, obnoxious man. Most women (and some men as well) who worked at the Bureau always seemed to look to the ground when crossing his path, while the other ones were too busy gossiping about him being a potential serial killer, since he was “so calm and quiet”. But one (wo)man’s trash is another (wo)man’s treasure and surely enough, you were one hell of a hungry raccoon lady.
You had been working at the Bureau for almost a year now, and since the very first time your eyes had landed on him, you knew he was the one you wanted. And since that day, you were one of the only people who even dared speak to him— if you don’t count the other Divine Visionaries as people (because Kaldo’s… obsession¹ with honey made him a creature, and not a human being, we have to be honest here).
You’d always greet Orter when meeting him in the morning, or wish him to have a nice break time when he’d actually allow himself to take a break, and he would simply greet you back, always giving you the same confused look. Simply seeing him illuminated your days and kept you going through your seemingly unending workload. Yet, as much as you enjoyed these small interactions, the same couldn’t be said about him.
Orter didn’t dislike these despite the way he looked down at you everytime you greeted him. He simply wasn’t used to such… fervour² from any of his other colleagues. You were certainly very passionate, and he had to put in a lot of effort not to just immediately send you away whenever you’d bring him coffee when you had free time or simply try to chat a little when you were to give him a report.
It wasn’t against you or anything specifically, but Orter was a firm believer that saving energy was the move. After all, why bother doing anything that is unnecessary?
Even if it, indeed, was nothing personal, you were pretty much everything he disliked. Noisy, talkative, full of energy, sPEED, and quite naive as well. The embodiment of a child who has been given too much sugar and is now experiencing the zoomies.
And so, like an uninvited grain of sand in his eye, you slithered your way into his daily routine. Each morning, before entering his office, he knew he would encounter you at this specific time of the morning shift, by turning this corner. It happens everyday, and it will happen again today. He knows you get your break at 10:05 am and usually will knock on his office door at exactly 10:11 am to bring him your reports as well as some coffee you grabbed for him.
He knows that in the afternoon, usually between 3:48 pm and 4 pm, you’ll find an excuse— any excuse to bring him some pastries, or any kind of snack with another cup of coffee, but this time a bit more sugary.
He has gotten used to it now, but he still cannot quite understand why you’re spending so much energy on him, and when Orter doesn’t understand something, he gets frustrated. He does not often interact with anyone, and so the fact that people around him might have feelings is completely unbeknownst to him, or so it seems.
...
It’s approximately 4pm on that day and, as usual, you knock on his door. He looks up from his paperwork and just mutters to come in, knowing damn well it’s you. But this time, you’re not bringing any coffee or snacks. You just hand him a report you had written, as usual, and he notes that you look a little nervous.
You patiently wait for him to read through your carefully written report. He gives a nod, not even a word, as usual, and this time, instead of immediately leaving, you decide to speak up.
“Umm..” you start, and you start wondering whether this is a good idea or not. He’s looking at you now, in all of his cold, emotionless expression. “So… would you maybe… like to have your coffee break with me this time…?” you ask, looking away a little bit.
He leans against his chair’s backrest at the suggestion. He could definitely use a break and some coffee right now, but he isn’t sure if he can take the amount of energy you’ll be talking with for the whole duration of your time together.
“With you?” He asks, and you’re unsure if he means this in a mocking way, or if he’s just asking. You shyly nod and he adjusts the position of his glasses a little bit. “I could use a break,” he starts “but I’m not sure I can handle more of your… eagerness to converse³.”
It hurts quite a lot; you knew Orter had always been blunt, but to hear it from his mouth was something else. Were you really bothering him that much? Maybe he didn’t mean it in a bad way? After all, he did have a lot of work, and of course he’d like to free his mind a little bit and enjoy peaceful silence with his afternoon coffee. He quickly takes note of your nervous squirming and your lack of response.
“I don’t think this is a good idea,” he finally says after what seemed like an eternity “I don’t want this headache to get any worse.”
A headache. Was this really all you were to him?
“I.. can stay quiet if you’d like me to, but I would really like to have—”
“No, thank you. I’ll have coffee on my own. ” He cuts you off, looking back to his paperwork, probably very oblivious to the fact that he just hurt you deeply. “I don’t understand why you’re so eager to interact with me when all I’m really asking for is to be undisturbed.” Was it personal, or was it because of his lack of human interaction? Well, both meant the same to you, if you really were the only person he interacted with, it was directly against you.
You didn’t know what to say. You wouldn’t give up on him, of course, but your entire personality had just proven to be a nuisance to him, and you weren’t sure how you’d recover from this one. You had been standing for a minute, looking at the ground in front of his desk, before his authoritative voice you loved so much pulled you out of your overthinking.
“Anything else?”
You shake your head ‘no’ and promptly exit his office now. It sounded clear to you that you were a disturbance to him, and it was the complete opposite of what you wanted to be. But again, no matter how bad his rejection felt, you decided you’d be a little more like he wished you’d be: invisible, silent.
You made a mental note to change your behaviour around him and stop being so clingy and noisy all the time, then maybe, if you destroyed this personality of yours he seemed to loathe, maybe he would look at you. Even just once.
...
Orter arrives at the Bureau the next day as usual, and already knows you’ll be just around the corner where he meets you everyday. He gives a sigh and walks around… to find no one. He blinks a few times in surprise, but simply assumes you’ll be somewhere else, ready to greet him…. But there’s no sign of you. Or rather there is one, but it’s only the usual morning coffee you give him, and it’s sitting on his desk inside his office. You, on the other hand, aren’t here.
“Probably a different schedule today.” he thinks and quickly dismisses it to sit at his desk and remove his coat. He takes a few sips of the warm coffee and sighs before diving into his unending paperwork again.
As expected, there is a knock on his door at 10:11 am. He lets you come in and is pleased to see you’re still bringing him some coffee, along with your usual report. You quietly greet him and hand him the papers as you put the tall coffee cup on his desk, and await his review. Again, he gives you a nod and puts the papers back into his drawer, and as he looks up from his paperwork again to listen to your usual morning talk, he’s surprised to see you leave his office without a word.
“Probably has more work today.” he thinks, dismissing the change in your behaviour as the man sinks into his paperwork once more. You, on the other side, are only hoping your efforts aren’t vain. You’ve practised staying silent for a bit and you think you’re nailing it, honestly. All for the sake of the obnoxious, lawful man.
It doesn’t occur to him even once that you might be in emotional pain from his words; he isn’t well versed with other people’s feelings— and probably not his own either. You probably have more work today, and that’s why you’re not as talkative as usual. Or maybe you’re tired. Are you sick?
He stops himself for a second and takes off his glasses to rub his eyes a little; no. No, no. It shouldn’t matter to him whether you are ill or simply tired. He has too much work to do to care about one of his coworkers.
Roughly around 3:50 pm, you knock on his door again, bringing in the usual pastries and sweet coffee. Now, he’s wondering which excuse you found to visit him as he crosses his hands on his desk and looks at you intently.
His eyes on you start to feel uncomfortable. It’s like he’s tearing your soul open and trying to figure out what’s going on in this little skull of yours⁴, and really, it isn’t just an impression. He was expecting you to ask him out again, or talk about the weather, complain about your workload, but none of these words escape your mouth. A simple, polite “have a good afternoon”, and you’re gone immediately.
Your schedule must really be something else for you to quit pestering him about your state of mind like you used to do. But again, he takes a bite of the delicious pastries you brought him, and keeps working in religious silence as he occasionally takes a sip of the sweet coffee you delivered.
Time flies fast, and it’s already evening. You clock out, as one does, and as you walk away from your office, you encounter Orter, who seems to be clocking out at the same time. And this is when the overthinking kicks in. Is he going to think you waited for him? Will he believe it was a mere coincidence? What if he thinks you’re being clingy and annoying for clocking out at the same time?
But your thoughts come to an end as he simply walks away without a word; maybe he just doesn’t care. Right, maybe he just doesn’t care. It probably didn't matter whether you were quiet or talkative, hyper or calm. He probably didn’t care.
...
The next morning, you arrive earlier at the Bureau, as you did yesterday, and fulfil your morning routine: getting a few snacks for yourself, and a tall coffee for Orter. But unfortunately, the cafeteria is a bit more crowded than usual, and you end up exiting it at the same time you usually did.
He encounters you again at the very same corner, and he is now convinced you simply had a rough schedule yesterday, but as he was about to greet you, you simply hand him the coffee and walk away towards your office without a word.
The day goes on like the previous one; you barely exchange any words with him, and he makes no effort to change this. You’re quiet, reserved now, and you just internally pray that he will like you more. This isn’t you, but you will be whoever he wants you to be, if there’s the slightest chance that he will look at you.
What you were completely clueless about was how this little change of yours was affecting him. At first he didn’t think much of it, but he had gotten used to your nonstop talking, to your cheerful voice when you greeted him, and to the very specific hours you’d come to visit him and ask him out or talk about everything and nothing.
Orter was going nuts. The routine he had gotten used to was crumbling for reasons unknown, and he couldn’t understand why, it was beyond his power. The grain of sand in his eye⁵ had become an entire desert, and the frustration was great enough that he could barely focus on his work anymore. Something was missing. He needed to figure it out quickly.
His focus was long gone, and all he could think about was why the usual, cheerful girl who always greeted him with a smile and warm coffee had become so… dull and painfully normal. Had you been sick the whole time? Why did he even care in the first place?
But as much as he disliked admitting it, he had grown quite fond of your behaviour, even though his words had proven to oppose this fact. He needed to make sure of what was lacking in his daily routine now. You were still here, you still brought him coffee everyday, did your job correctly… What could be missing?
His mind was a complete mess and he could not get you out of his head for some reason, which made him even more annoyed. You were such a headache and a nuisance, right? He couldn’t possibly be going insane from the lack of… you?
As usual, at 10:11 am sharp, you visit his office with your daily report and his coffee. This time though, he doesn’t take the papers from your hands and just crosses his legs, looking straight into your eyes. “I would like you to read it out loud for me.”
Read it out? You ask yourself, why couldn’t he read it himself? But again, we are talking about Orter Mádl; this man could tell you to get on all fours and bark, and you would gladly do it without giving it a second thought.
“...right.” You started, a little confused at his sudden request. “The Bureau’s investigation on Magol Castle…”
Your words grew distant to him, but not your voice. He wasn’t listening, he was listening. He felt himself oddly soothed at your tone, for once, as he kept trying to find this missing piece of the jigsaw. But it was as if his focus had returned and he could finally get back to work. As soon as you stopped talking, he extended a hand for you to give him the reports, and you did.
“Good, very good. I’ll read it again later.”
You stood in awe for a second; Orter had just praised you. Your efforts were working, and now you just had to keep going and stay quiet most of the time. You gave a polite nod and walked away from his desk.
“Wait.”
That was it. You were the missing piece. But it made no sense, since you hadn't left, you were still here with him at the very moment... but then why did it feel like you weren't?
You turn around as you hear him speak and you just stand there, waiting for him to keep going. The silence is heavy and it seems like an eternity before he finally speaks up again.
“You’ve been… quiet.” He remarks, his eyes never leaving yours, and you couldn’t tell whether he meant this in a good or a bad way. Of course, his expressions always suggested that everything he said was to be taken in a bad way, but you knew better than to assume anything, especially about Orter Mádl. “Why?” he asks, and there’s an undertone of desperation in his voice. He sounds like he’s at his wit’s end.
At this point, you can’t really do anything else than speak up and tell the truth, can you? So you take a few steps towards his desk and nervously fiddle with the hem of your shirt.
“I… do not wish to be a nuisance or give you a headache.” You simply reply, in all of your honesty, and he looks at you, clueless and distraught now. Was that the reason why you had been silent the entire time? Were you driving him completely crazy because of what he said to you?
He buries his face in his hands and sighs. His glasses were slightly falling from his nose now that his hands were rubbing it entirely. You walk around his desk and gently push his glasses back in place, his state worrying you a little bit. You had never seen him being affected by anything before, so you were a bit confused.
“Are you alright..?” You quietly asked, not daring to touch him too much, lest he’d find you clingy, but the man sighed loudly once again and cleared his throat, his hands crossing against his desk again.
“You are driving me insane, (Y/N).”
You’ve never heard him speak your name before, and it felt… rather nice. You couldn’t tell if his words were meant to be good or bad though, so you only stood next to him and waited for him to speak up again. An uninvited feeling of guilt made its way to your heart and you couldn’t help but feel like all of this was your fault. You only wanted him to look at you, to make his life a little easier… but instead, you had somehow wrecked it.
After what seemed like an eternity, Orter was still dead silent, and you had to do something.
“I… I’m sorry…” you mutter quietly, not fully sure of what you did, but feeling the urge to apologise anyway. His state was more than concerning and you were the cause for it. “I… meant no harm, with whatever I did to you…”
And then something hits him. A feeling he’s probably rarely felt before: guilt. He looks up at you, and you clearly look like you’re holding back your tears as you shamefully look away from him. It takes all of his energy not to get angry— but at himself this time. He was the one who caused this situation, not you.
“It wasn’t your fault, only mine.” He sighed as he took off his glasses and started wiping them to distract himself from your sad expression that was awakening a myriad of new feelings within him. “I shouldn’t have said those things. I… did get quite used to your company. Please, feel free to speak as much as you want.”
He looks up at you, and despite the fact that he still isn’t smiling, his eyes are softer now, his expression is gentler and his voice has lost its authority. He is just asking you to speak to him. It isn’t even an order, he is actually pleading.
You can’t help this slight blush from creeping up to your cheeks as you try to regain your composure. You had gotten praised by Orter today, and he even pleaded with you and apologised? It was clearly your lucky day, so you thought you might as well try your luck. You cleared your throat a little.
“A-hem… so… maybe you… would like to have coffee with me this time?” You ask, timidly.
Orter merely chuckles, still not letting his face sport the ghost of a smile. He simply pushes his glasses up to his nose and stands up, pulling his coat back to his shoulders.
“I would love to.”
¹: this man will cover his sashimi in honey and proclaim it’s still edible.
²: read → insistence.
³: nonstop yapping.
⁴: empty, hollow. Not a single thought behind those eyes— or so he thinks.
⁵: you, sorry.
#orter madl#orter mádl#orter x reader#mashle orter#madl orter#orter madl x reader#mashle x reader#mashle x you#orter madl x you#mashle orter madl#orter mádl x reader#mádl orter#mádl orter x reader
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Obey me Boys as students
Thank you for the love on my other posts, every reblog, note and follower is appreciated!
Also feel free to request something!
This is more of a human high school AU, so there is more human talk than devildom.
There is a bit of Nsfw in asmodeus part, but other than that it’s pretty fluffy/maybe crack?
Lucifer
Straight A student, what did you expect?!?
But I’ll tell you, he’s honestly kind of annoying to be in a class with
He’s such a suck up without even ACTUALLY TRYING to be a suck up
When the teacher makes a mistake he 100% corrects them with no shame
But he’s still somehow a teachers pet
People hate him because they wanna be him fr fr
I honestly don’t think he’s naturally academically intelligent like belphegor or interested in subjects like Satan
The only reason why he actually tries is probably because he thinks failing academically is embarrassing
That being said I think he’s a hardworker, always practicing and learning
Definitely pulls all nighters regularly to finish assignments
Favourite subject is probably physics like a granddaddy
Has a very simplistic pencilcase in black with an ink pen
Mammon
Literal class clown
HE is the reason why class is low key fun
Everyone keeps saying he’s annoying but high key miss him when he’s not there
That being said he’s incredibly charismatic
I think he’s got lots of friends in class cause he’s super easy to be around and he’s funny asf
he’s probably one of the kids on the teachers “hate list”
Literally always gets picked on from teachers
Always goes red when they point out his mistakes but he turns it into a joke
I think he’s an average student but is crazy good at like music or something artsy
He’s that one kid who always ALWAYS forgets his stuff
If he’s lucky he might have a chewed up pen somewhere in his bag (maybe)
He’s definitely a pen biter you cannot change my mind
Leviathan
Oh boy
He’s a very shy kid, and honestly most people forget he’s there
Even the teachers which is kind of a good thing honestly
He sits in the back of the class and does his work calmly
Never talks like NEVER
Probably has one good friend in ONE class who he goofs off with but I think that’s honestly it
That being said there’s def some type of popular demon crushing on him
He has potential to be above average academically but I don’t think he cares enough
I think his favourite subject is art because he gets to practice drawing boobs I mean he gets to practice anatomy
Has a bunch of cool stationary from animes
Definitely has some sanrio type of stationary that he NEVER shares
Satan
A student that gives 110%
He would literally be the perfect student because he has this amazing combination of politeness, academic intelligence and actual academic INTEREST
would be if he didn’t absolutely despise all of the teachers
He knows more than the teachers so sitting in class is incredibly boring to him
Thinks the teachers have no teaching ability and knows he could teach this class better than them
He is such a good student for being such a bad student if you get what I mean
Super organized but not at all at the same time
Polite but disses the teachers- really it depends on the day
He loves all subjects but I think he’s a biology or maybe a literature guy wink wink
someone hc him to send answers in the groupchat while cussing them out- that is 100% Satan
He‘s probably super popular I mean, smart, pretty and a romantic- can’t get better than that! (Well lets skip over the anger issues)
Asmodeus
Your residential play boy/fuck boy!
But just add sweetness to the mix; like he makes sure the person knows his intentions before starting anything with him
That cute boy in class that has a bunch of friends and is super popular for an ACTUAL reason
He does literally EVERYTHING but pay attention
He‘s still a teachers pet though
Probably fucked a teacher to get through the year
Has a bunch of stationary and has really pretty notes even if he doesn’t know what anything means
His favourite subject is probably geography or design (art)
Beelzebub
Jock. What more is there to say?
He‘s not your typical jock, cause unlike all the other jocks he’s actually humble
(The sport bring fangol obvi)
That being said he’s crazy popular, because he’s athletic, cute, sweet, friendly and humble
People are all over him all. The. Time.
Yeah sure he might not have a whole bunch of brains and his grades are below average but at least he’s cute right???????
Yeah he’s not much of a academic person, like AT ALL- he only likes PE, maybe a little bit of art (cause it’s easy)
The teachers surprisingly don’t really care all that much about him- just a random student 🤷♀️
Belphegor
This little shit
He‘s that kid who is a genius for no reason what so ever
He reads the paragraph once and never again and still gets an A++++
He barely pays attention in class, skips like 60% of the time and still rivals Satan
Lucifer and Satan get pissy about it because he doesn’t even TRY
His fav subject is math because it’s just understanding a few rules and that’s it
His favourite saying is „mathematicians are lazy“, please tell me your teachers told you this too
He is so charming for no reason, and that makes him a little shit
All he has to do is smile and the person just melts
That being said a smile from him takes a lot of effort
He never takes his stuff to school so he just asks another person and they never hesitate to give him stuff
Teachers just don’t care about him since he barely shows up anyway 💀
Diavolo
Literally cannot focus in school
He‘s like a jock mixed with student body- super charismatic, super hot and reallyyyy popular
He‘s that one friend who has like a gazillion friends and says hi to someone every 2 minutes
But when he’s in class he cannot focus to save his life
At home he’s a mashine- finishing task after task but in school he gets distracted over every little thing
He has so many expensive items, shoes, pants, stationary EVEN HIS SOCKS
Nr.1 crush for literally anyone
Favorite subject is any social subject really
He‘s a pretty average student but his teamwork ability make him stand out
Teachers gossip about other students to him 😃
Barbatos
Straight A student, no one knows his methods
Diavolo is his best friend even if they are polar opposites
Very well liked, by students, teachers but he only willingly talks to diavolo and his crush we all know who wink wink
Very well organised, always has his stuff
Even the way he wears his uniform is neat
He‘s so mysterious…… which makes him kind of hot honestly
He probably doesn’t care about the attention though
Simeon
Ugh literally the perfect student
Smart, kind and charismatic
Literally a teachers pet
Probably is in a whole bunch of clubs
I could totally see him in the drama club
Favorite subjects; drama and literature
He probably reads shakespear in his lunch breaks
He never cusses in class- even when the teacher gets on everyone’s nerves
He has so many friends! Seriously it’s hard not to like him
That being said his weakness is computer science
Yeah not really his strong suit
Luke
Poor baby gets teased relentlessly
He is super cute though
is such a sweetheart genuinely
Don’t be mistaken if anyone actually has the guts to bully him, his 11 family members are ought to get them
He works really hard to get good grades and make Micheal and Simeon proud!
He‘s in the baking club and his favourite subject is probably science honestly
Solomon
This little shit (#2)
He‘s such a mixed bag of different student traits
He‘s lazy, but hard working
Social but introverted
Super popular but gets hated on
His favourite subject is science specifically chemistry
If you are in his chemistry class he‘ll pull some chemistry pick up lines to annoy you
He‘s also in the baking club which makes Luke get cold sweats every night
Also a huge shoutout to @kkeromenoo , thank you for the love!! Sadly I can’t respond to the comments 😭 someone pls tell me how it works..
I just also wanted to say sorry for the fact that 1) this post took so long and 2) some of the characters are shorter. Probably will edit this later, but again hope you enjoyed!
Proofread!
All credits go to @belphieslavenderscentedpillow
#obey me belphie#obey me#obey me shall we date#obey me asmodeus#obey me lucifer#obey me leviathan#obey me satan#obey me mammon#obey me x reader#obey me solomon x mc#obey me solomon#obey me mammon x reader#obey me diavolo#obey me barbatos#obey me barbatos x reader#obey me beelzebub#obey me belphagor x reader#obey me solomon x reader#obey me simeon#obey me simeon x reader#obey me diavolo x reader
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Hi love, Let me start off with saying that I adore your writing! I was wondering if you could do some cute fluffy relationship head cannons with TFP Optimus, Bulkhead, and Bumblebee with a human female S/O please?
Totally okay if you ignore this one, just wanted to throw something out there. Keep up the amazing work!
Thank you, love 🥰 I planned on doing TFP Autobots relationship headcanons so here are your boys amongst everyone else ;)
This one is EVEN LONGER 💀 (that’s what she said pt. 2)
For Decepticon headcanons click here! 💜
I AM SORRY FOR ANY GRAMMAR MISTAKES OR TYPOS, I DIED WRITING THIS 😭
TFP Autobots x reader
❀ relationship headcanons ❀
2nd person
female reader
how you’d get together, confession
how you’d function together, PDA
intimacy, preferences (NSFW)
how long would it last
excluding Arcee because I mainly do male characters
OPTIMUS PRIME
HE SAID 🤨
It would take a looooong time for you two to click. He would treat you equally like he does everyone else and not give you any signals, not even mixed, so you would think it’s impossible to take it to another level with him.
As time would pass though, you two would isolate yourselves more and more when you’d have a chance. He’d take you on long relaxing rides.
Most of the time he would let you blabber while he’d stay silent and listen. He can listen to your beautiful voice all day.
After a couple of romantic rides he’d finally confess to you, asking if it’s even possible for a creature like him to love a creature like you. He’d ask you to be his one and only, to conjux.
He’d totally understand if you’d reject him but of course you wouldn’t reject him, IT’S OPTIMUS PRIME, WHO WOULD REJECT OPTIMUS PRIME??? (lmao)
He’s okay with PDA but he’d still kinda avoid it, he prefers when you two have proper privacy. He’s often too busy throughout the day anyway.
But when you do get some alone time, he always makes sure it’s the best you’ll ever get.
His sex drive isn’t high but at times he would get intimate with you and make you feel special.
He’s quite romantic actually, vanilla yet very sensual. He would do anything to give you maximal pleasure.
He likes to take it slow and passionate, take his time with you but sometimes, just sometimes, when he has too much pent up stress, he’d take it a bit rougher than usual to relieve himself.
He’s not that vocal, definitely a groaning and grunting type. He’d praise you though, tell you how beautiful you are and how much he loves you.
Definitely calls you “little one”.
Prefers missionary or you riding while facing him so he can look at the complete soft beauty in front of him. Sometimes you push his size kink button which makes him tightly grab onto something, sometimes even damage it.
After he’d feel kinda bad, he’d make sure he didn’t hurt you or bring you any kind of displeasure. He’s the king of aftercare though, that’s for sure.
Da hell u mean how long would it last??? FOREVER OFC. IT’S OPTIMUS PRIME!!! 🤸♀️
🍓
RATCHET
Grumpy doc. (MY FAV!!!!!!!!!)
He’d pretend you annoy him the most just to deny his feelings.
As time would pass and as you’d grow on him more you’d catch him getting distracted by you. He’d just keep staring at you with a poker face, secretly admiring you. When you’d catch him he’d shake it off and continue his work.
Slowly he’d get overprotective, wanting to become your guardian probably. He’d also talk with you more often, perhaps even flirt a little with his old doc jokes, make you giggle and admire your blushy face.
He’d take advantage of some alone time with you in the base to confess. He’d let you sit on his shoulder for the first time while he works and talk quietly to you.
Finally he’d spill his spark for you, apologize for being too rough on you at times and asking for a chance to change that.
He’s actually a very good kisser, you could smooch him all day. But NEVER in front of the others. PDA is a nono, especially when you get him flustered which you tend to because he cannot absorb so much beauty at once.
Four walls and a locked door is the best for him. He can admire you properly and have his way with you. He might seem vanilla but he can get kinky.
He’s a control freak in bed too. Considering his age, his pace isn’t the best. He’d always complain about his hips and back but his strength is definitely something to cherish. He’s actually quite experienced so he doesn’t need a quick pace to give pleasure to both of you.
He’s girthy and it’s definitely something he’s proud of. He can get quite cocky and throw a couple of dirty talks. He can get very loud too, likes when you’re loud as well so he can shush you for fun.
He kinda has a breeding kink too (perhaps even doctor & nurse/assistant or patient kink), loves filling you up and seeing your tummy bulge, not letting it leak out.
He isn’t an exhibitionist but he’d love to do it on the control panel with you or in the med bay. As time would pass and as he’d remember how good IT feels, he’d want to do it anywhere and at any time, whenever you’d tickle his wild side with a provocative comment or a provocative look.
One thing that’s hilarious is that he can almost immediately fall asleep after nutting (excuse my language). He tries his best not to but he’s an old tired doc after all, you can’t be mad at him.
He’d pray it lasts because deep down he knows he got too attached. Even when you two would argue, when he’d yell at you for a stupid thing for example, later he’d do anything to make it up to you.
He loves you very dearly.
🍓
BULKHEAD
GENTLE GIANT!!!
He would confess to someone by secretly researching customs about Earth and he would be nervous at first.
You two would bond with some common interests he did research on previously. He’d buy you gifts and take you anywhere you want but at the same time he’d worry about your safety.
He gets flustered very easily so you’d get the memo that he likes you from the start.
It would take him a long time to confess which would result in him being a pure blushing mess. The moment you’d kiss him he’d probably almost faint.
He’s ok with PDA, he doesn’t care what anyone thinks. When he’s with you he’s in another dimension.
He’s a big snuggly wuggly teddy bear. Cuddling has become one of his fav things in the world because of you.
He would also need a lot of time to allow himself to get intimate with you hence he’s so huge. He’s scared he could hurt you.
Hence he needs a lot of words of affirmation, communication is key with him.
He’s a soft dom but can also be a switch if that’s what pleases you. He likes when you tug at his chin. He also loves when his digits are tangled in your hair, it’s his favorite part of your body.
He isn’t really a kinky type or at least his fear of bringing you any harm is suppressing anything that can come out onto the surface. That’s why he might be an experimentalist.
He would not stop until you’re fully pleased. You need to talk to him a lot during sex if you want him to be maximally confident with you.
He’s probably the best at aftercare. Would wrap you up in a blanket and bring you food or anything you ask for really.
He only prefers long term relationships and he’d hope you’re his precious little human forever.
I AM SO SORRY THIS IS SO SHORT!!! :’((
🍓
BUMBLEBEE
Precious Bee is so clingy that it’s SO obvious that he’s into you.
He wouldn’t leave your side almost. He’d be all happy and bubbly and win you with his optimism.
Don’t let that bubbliness full you though, he’s a hot head and would do anything to protect you. He’s protective in the right amount though.
He’d always snuggle into your hair and press his muzzle against your cheek, as if he’s kissing you. He’d ask you to kiss him back by tapping his cheek and muzzle.
When you’d kiss his muzzle it would be over for him. You’d officially become his partner. He’d probably find a tiny gear to put on your wedding finger.
Totally into PDA! Especially when it annoys Smokescreen and makes him jealous.
Cuddles and any kind physical touch are his absolute FAV. He’s so spoiled when it comes to nuzzling which he does all the time (is obsessed with your softness).
He’s actually very quick to get intimate. You could say his sex drive is high due to his youth.
He’d take it nicely and passionately, especially with his servos. He has a specific kink with digit play. Loves touching you absolutely everywhere and almost every time he overstimulates your private parts with them before he actually penetrates you with his spike.
His stamina is crazy and he always takes advantage of it. His pace is very quick all the time but if you ask him to be slow he will. Your pleasure is also very important to him.
He has a thing for beauty marks, he’d kiss every single one of them every time. You’re the only one he puts his muzzle down for. But not gonna lie he loves when you tug on it.
Perhaps he’d be into leashes and chokers and stuff if you really asked him.
He’s a very soft lover after all so expect epic wholesome aftercare.
Considering he’s a hot head there might be some minor arguments with him but that won’t stop you from having a long term relationship.
🍓
WHEELJACK
JACKIEEEE! (2ND FAV!!!!!!)
He’d flirt the hell out of you. He’d flirt and flirt and flirt, make you blush and get flustered all over again until he makes you fall for him. He’d tease you with calling you “sunshine” or “kid” or “doll” or “baby girl”.
He’s a player, likes it casual but when he knows you’re the one, he doesn’t give up. He’s extremely stubborn.
You’re probably the only reason he’d stay in the base.
He’d take you out and if he notices you’re a romantic soul, he’d be the most romantic man out there even though, in reality, he isn’t romantic at all.
Doesn’t mind PDA, loves showing off how he’s the best boyfriend in the world (or at least he thinks so lmao).
You know he’s a HUGE hot head. Would kill for you.
The moment of confession would probably be the night you get intimate. We could say the best way he can express his love for you is through sex so expect some extreme overstimulation.
He’s into lingerie, especially black and red. Loves making you stain your panties good too.
He INVENTED dirty talking. Also very into oral, eating you out like the tastiest snack. He also loves eye contact, he’d make you look at him or else he’d stop.
He can combine all sorts of paces and positions and roughness, he has his own magic tactics. He loves making you scream while he’s praising you. Doesn’t matter if the base is full or not, he’s a risk taker and it really turns him on.
Sometimes he’d even grab you with one servo and slide you up and down his spike like a pocket pussy. Backshots and reverse cowgirl must be his fav positions.
One his fav places to cum is onto your face, definitely. Or into your mouth. He likes it gushy and messy. His stamina is crazy too.
Would shower you with kisses and praising afterwards, make sure you’re alright.
As I said, he’s into casual stuff but you’re probably the only one who would make him take relationships seriously and enjoy the long term.
🍓
SMOKESCREEN
He’d be so cringe at first. He’s an act first then think after type of mech.
He would flirt SO MUCH with you to the point he’d start annoying you.
He’d notice though. He may seem confident but in truth he’s nervous underneath all that cockiness. He tends to overthink.
He’d ask others for advice, research, anything that could make you his.
At first he would view you as just another one of his dolls he plays with but when he’d realize he actually has serious feelings for you, he’d get serious.
The confession would be spontaneous as he’d probably make out with you like the horny teenager he is. He’d promise to be loyal though and he’d keep that promise.
He’s into PDA, loves showing off how you’re his.
He has a weird kink in making you jealous and vice versa. You’d play a flirting game with anyone you know just to get each other jealous which would result in “who’s gonna give up first and frag the other”.
Loves giving you pet names but also loves when you give him pet names too and refer to him as “baby boy” hence he’s a switch. Also into exhibitionism.
Has a thing for breasts and thighs. He can whimper at times too and when you’d bring it up later he’d deny it and be like “WHAT!? NU-UH!”
Loves when you ride him or his face but is also into backshots even though he prefers when you face him. Perhaps he has a tiny sex tape kink too.
Surprisingly he’d make you cum every time which he would brag about later. His cockiness is always present nonetheless.
As I said, even though he can be an immature horny teenage boy, he can get serious when you put him in his place.
🍓
ULTRA MAGNUS
UH OH 💀💀💀
If you choose to fall in love with this man expect to be heart broken twelve times until you get together (if that’s even possible).
Kidding, it’s possible. But still very difficult. Prepare for a long one, he’s a very complicated mech 💀.
He would not even notice you. At first he’d just call you a native or a soldier but once he starts calling you by your actual name that would be the signal that he views you as someone who he has a positive opinion on.
You’d have to be REALLY pushy on him, be as clingy as possible, annoy the hell out of him so he’d actually set his guard down.
You’d develop your relationship with him scolding you like a parent, telling you what to do and what not to do while you’d disobey him. Sometimes you’d even bring a TIIINY smirk on his face because you’re just too cute, he can’t be mad at you forever.
With that, he’d get overprotective and follow you around all the time, not letting you out of his sight.
Would always correct you that you should refer to him as “sir” or “lieutenant” or even “commander”. He loves it when you do it in bed especially, it REALLY gets him going. Also has a brat taming kink.
This would go on for a loooong time until you actually conjux. He’s definitely a type of mech to keep you in handcuffs in a relationship.
PDA? What’s that? Sometimes it would seem he’s keeping you a secret.
When it comes to intimacy you’d probably think this mech’s sex drive is ZERO. But oh. He’d grope you and touch you everywhere, ex vent into your ear, giving you a sign at the most unexpected time that he wants you then and there.
He has a LOT of pent up stress so you’d be his stress outlet. His foreplay is a bit dry to be honest but he’d learn his way with you.
Even though his roughness can result in not caring about your pleasure at all, he’d still make your eyes roll in the back of your head.
Soon he’d realize how good you actually make him feel as he’d lean and kiss you (your lips, torso or back/neck, depends on the position which don’t matter to him as long as he’s on top).
Would definitely mark you all over with his servos because he tends to grope HARD. He also loves seeing the outline of his spike on your stomach as he couldn’t help but press onto it and feel it move in and out of you.
His aftercare is very poor too. At first you’d get intimate as if it’s a one night stand. He’d leave almost immediately or the next morning without even saying anything.
He’d isolate himself as first, making you feel as if he’s using you as a toy but in the end everything would come together and he’d give himself to you.
He’d still keep his formality at times. Getting intimate with him would probably be the only time he’d express his emotions as much as possible even though it really isn’t much.
This could go on either forever or fall apart after some time… Depends on you.
Dividers belong to @baexywth and @animatedglittergraphics-n-more 🍓
@k----a27s helped me with Bulk, Bee and Smokey! ❤️
#transformers#transformers prime#tfp#transformers x reader#autobots#transformers fanfiction#optimus prime#ratchet#bulkhead#bumblebee#wheeljack#tfp smokescreen#ultra magnus#tfp optimus prime#tfp optimus x reader#tfp ratchet#tfp ratchet x reader#tfp bulkhead#tfp bulkhead x reader#tfp bumblebee#tfp bumblebee x reader#tfp wheeljack#tfp wheeljack x reader#tfp smokescreen x reader#tfp ultra magnus#tfp ultra magnus x reader#optimus x reader#ratchet x reader#bumblebee x reader#tf headcanons
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peachy keen.
Hi guys! So I'm pretty new to writing and this is actually the biggest thing I’ve ever written. I watched The Way of Water when it came out and took an immediate interest in this guy, partially because I thought his character has a lot of potential, and partially because I also thought that he was really hot.
So I decided to set up a series of little works. This one is just sort of a beginning to the Reader’s character and Quaritch, and I do plan on writing more about them in the future with this fic as their base. Maybe do some AU’s, maybe just continue the story from here, maybe lead into the movie, who knows!
That all said, I really, really hope you like it! If you do, please give it a like or a comment!
WORDS: 15,000
WARNINGS: Adult themes and language
peachy keen. Part Two.
Jesus fucking Christ.
Your body jerks to a stop just before you can fully trip over your shoelace and faceplant onto the floor. Unfortunately, the leftover food on your plate could not say the same, jostled just enough that it went flying from your hands and onto the tiled floor of the mess hall.
You lean down quickly to clean it up, scooping the food with your fingers and back onto the plate as best you can. You succeed only halfway, goop just smearing across the floor and onto your hand.
You stare at the mess you made, ears and cheeks burning as you hear snickers of cruel amusement coming from some military meatheads a few feet behind you.
You jump up quickly, making sure to avoid your shoelace so you don’t trip on it again and embarrass yourself any further. You hurry to the counter holding the utensils, mugs, and paper towels, tugging several brown napkins out of the dispenser sitting on top. You take a deep breath to calm yourself.
Kneeling down so soon after sleeping for six years in a cyropod made the muscles in your legs and shoulders ache, but you do it anyways. You wipe up the mess as best you can, piling the dirty napkins onto the plate and dumping it all into a nearby trashcan. You wish the ground would swallow you up.
You aren’t usually so embarrassed by such a small mistake, but it had been a rough past couple of days for you. You had landed at Bridgehead City just a few days ago, and you had felt immediately overwhelmed by the extreme size of the fortress.
It took the RDA fifteen years to return to Pandora, but when they did, they made sure to put in roots. Bridgehead City was an enormous structure, constantly building upon itself and hosting thousands of military combatants, engineers, skel suits, construction robots, anything that was thought of to build and maintain humanity’s last stronghold. Every person of every imagined career was here, working as one like bees and ants had once done for their queens a hundred years ago, before they had both gone extinct.
Bridgehead was terrifying to look at for the first time, seeing in person exactly how far humanity was willing to go to force itself onto another planet. You had noticed that it almost looked like a parasite, contrasting in color and material against the lively, glowing rainforest that surrounded it just past the barren land of the Kill Zone.
The wave of information that hit you the moment you stepped off the ship was almost enough to make your excitement to be on Pandora wither and die, but you held onto it with shaky, desperate hands.
Luckily for you, it wasn’t long before your enthusiasm bounced back and you met your new colleagues. Most of them had been just as nervous as you, clearly uncertain and overwhelmed. Knowing you weren’t alone made you relax just slightly. They were scientists hand-picked by the RDA as test subjects for re-opening the Avatar program, just like you.
None of you were really sure why the program had been stopped in the first place. The RDA was very quiet about what had happened all those years ago, when most of their military and scientists had been sent fleeing from Pandora with nothing but the clothes on their backs and tails between their legs. They refused to issue many statements, insisting that a minor misunderstanding had occurred with the ‘natives’ of the planet, and they’d be back soon enough to continue their mission.
The RDA had stated that the main reason for discounting the Avatar program was because the cost outweighed any benefit. The only reason they were allowing a few lucky souls to come to Pandora as Avatars was simply as a favor to the scientific community, and as a test to see if the Avatar program should be reinstated. Now the main purpose behind the program is to see if it’s worth it for people to be able to travel around Pandora without having to worry about the environmental protection systems, than a way to make peace with the Na’vi.
Most of the scientists in the base were only allowed restricted access to information regarding the past and current situation with the Na’vi, only knowing that The People were no longer accepting of humans on their planet and that the military is now on constant high alert. Most of the remaining records were classified to you, although you did try to learn as much as you could about what was happening on Pandora. Unfortunately, the RDA was very strict with that information, and you never found anything that mentioned the Na’vi or what happened fifteen years ago.
The ten members of the new Avatar program had been divided into two parts of five, just to make the introductions and sessions easier. You had met your three new acquaintances, eager to make some friends. They had introduced themselves; Emma, a small, shy woman who preferred observing rather than participating; James, a sweet, handsome young man; and David, an older man in his late fifties who seemed a bit too haughty for his own good.
Your group was shown to your individual rooms over on the west side of Bridgehead, far away from the landing pads and ships you had arrived on. Your new room was small and gray with concrete walls and a thin layering of carpet covering the cold floors. You had a small desk that sat underneath a suction-locked window that let you glimpse into an enclosure full of construction robots, but at least the light it let in was nice. There was a simple cot in the corner and a mirror as the only piece of décor on the walls, but it was yours, a place you could call your own.
You had grinned tiredly and fallen face down on your bed without bothering to take off your shoes. You slept for fourteen hours, and when you awoke you felt as though you were rising from the dead, hair wild and mouth fuzzy. After you brushed your teeth, showered, got dressed in clean clothes, and ate food for the first time in six years, you felt like a brand-new person.
And here you are now, in the mess hall, already making a fool of yourself on your second week.
You quickly rush back to your table and plop your behind into the seat you had vacated to throw away your plate, sitting across from Emma and David. Emma is poking at her food, face pale and gloomy. David is almost done with his own dinner, glasses perched on his nose as he reads from a holotablet.
Geesh. These guys certainly weren’t known for being the life of the party back home.
Maybe they just need some more time to adjust? I know I certainly fucking do.
You take a moment to bend down and tie your shoelace, double knotting it, not wanting to cause any more scenes.
When you sit back up in your chair and make eye contact with Emma, your lopsided, embarrassed smile falls from your face when she simply stares back at you, clearly uneasy for some reason you can’t name.
“Jesus, you’re so fucking clumsy. And why the fuck does it look like you’re all attending a funeral over here?” The voice that chimes up behind you lifts your mood exponentially, and you turn around in your seat to greet the approaching form of the last member of your group and your best friend with a happy grin.
You had met Margot a few months before your trip to Pandora when you both attended a required conference that would discuss certain parts of living in Bridgehead. The second you struck up a conversation with her, it was like meeting your long-lost sister. You had instantly clicked, getting on like a house on fire and scarcely spending a day away from each other.
James arrives at the table with her, holding his own plate. He gives you a comforting look, clearly sympathetic to your embarrassment.
“Hey Margot, James! You saw that, huh?” you ask sheepishly, shoulders raising to your ears as you feel a hot flash of mortification all over again.
“Uh, yeah, honey, I saw. I’m pretty sure half the cafeteria watched you nearly eat shit. You need to learn to tie your shoes better, babe.” Margot’s voice is just as loud as ever, and her bright blonde hair and tall figure aren’t exactly subtle, either.
She was the type of person to grab someone’s attention and refuse to let it go, manicured nails digging in deep. Well, her nails used to be manicured. Now they were just as plain as everyone else’s.
She takes a seat in the empty chair next to you, setting her own plate down with a clatter. She untucks her cheap silverware from the napkin and digs into her dinner, eating hurriedly like someone is about to snatch the plate away from her. You had once asked her why she never slowed down to enjoy her food, and she said that with eight siblings if you wanted any food, you needed to eat it like an animal.
James takes the other empty seat next to you, patting your shoulder twice before saying, “It’s okay, I don’t think that many people saw.”
You smile weakly at his attempt to make you feel better. It doesn’t help much, but you appreciate the thought, “Thanks, James.”
He nods and moves his attention to his plate.
Your table is silent for a few moments, everyone lost in their own thoughts and tasks.
You break the silence when you nervously ask, “So. Anybody else freaking out at the thought of linking up for the first time or is it just me?”
David looks up, paying attention to your words for the first time since you met him. “Well, I’m not nervous because I did all the pre-linking sessions and training years ago.” His nose is practically raised in the air.
You stare at him.
What a fucking douchebag. Who answers a question like that?
“That’s nice. What about you, Emma, are you nervous or excited? How are you feeling?” you ask gingerly, wanting to include her in the conversation. It would be nice to have another friend so that the next few years weren’t miserable.
Emma stares at you blankly, and then whispers a simple, “No.”
You lean back in your seat and deflate. “Oh.”
Fuck it, I tried.
Margot, the smug bitch, is watching you drown in social awkwardness as she happily munches away. You give her a look and a shrug, and she rolls her eyes before placing her fork down on the table. She dabs the corner of her mouth with her napkin, and then says to Emma, “Girl, I absolutely love that bracelet you’re wearing. Where did you get it?”
To your surprise, Emma perks up in her seat, right hand grazing the bracelet she wore on her left wrist. Her face softens, and she says, “It was my mom’s, actually.”
“Oh, that’s so sweet. Right?” Margot jabs her sharp elbow into your side, and you hiss but nod hurriedly.
“Yes, that is so sweet! I wear my mom’s wedding ring, actually.” You rub said ring with your hand. Your mood drops a little bit at the mention of your mother, but you shake your head to get back on track. “Makes me feel closer to her, I suppose.”
A small smile pulls on Emma’s cheeks, and she looks down, still rubbing the bracelet. “Yeah.”
You look at her, reconsidering your thoughts about her personality.
Maybe it just takes a little time to connect, that’s all.
You fiddle with the small, emerald cut ring that you were on the ring finger of your right hand. It had been a piece of jewelry your mother had worn faithfully until the day she died.
When you were a child, around ten or eleven years old, you had asked her why your dad had chosen that specific ring to represent their marriage, out of the hundreds of others he could have.
She was still sick at the time, spending most of her days laying in a hospital bed while nurses bustled in and out. She had lost so much weight that her cheeks were gaunt, and her face and hands were so white they were almost transparent, pale blue veins clear through the skin.
Her lips were pale and chapped, and the dark circles around her eyes were deeply imprinted in her skin like bruises. She looked like a ghost, a fragile, terrifying imitation of the woman who had raised you, a woman who you had thought put the stars themselves into the sky. She was weak, and even before she passed away it was like she was already dead.
She had gripped your hand as tightly as she could when you had asked that question, sweaty palm squeezing yours to the point of pain in a rare show of strength. She was usually so weak the nurses and you had to feed her by hand as she could barely lift up her arms. She looked you in the eye and pulled you close until your face was right next to hers.
In the croak that had now become her voice, she whispered, “I had asked the same question, years after he had proposed. I asked, ‘Jonathon, why this ring? Why this cut, why this color?’. And he had gripped me tightly and pulled me close and said, ‘Well, my love, it’s the breathtaking green color of your eyes. Your eyes and the ring match exactly, you see. And every time you look at it, you will see yourself the way I see you. Beautiful and bright.’
Tears had filled her glazed eyes, and she whispered to you, “No matter what, when you find the one you love, never let them go. Cherish every single second you have with them, never take them for granted, and make sure that they love you for everything that you are, the good and the bad. It is the purpose of our life. Love. Without it, we are nothing.” Against the tears and the agony that claimed her face and voice, your mother smiled for the first time in years.
Your father had passed away while your mother was still pregnant, killed in an easily avoidable accident. No matter how much your mother loved you before she had gotten sick, no matter how much joy you brought to her life, there was always a deep sorrow and grief inside her that consumed her soul every day.
She never got over your father, never dated or remarried or showed the barest hint of interest in anyone else. When asked why, she said that she had already had the love of her life, and there was no one who could ever compare to even the lingering ghost of your father that seemed to haunt her.
And when the sickness truly hit and reduced her to almost nothing, her anger and bitterness twisted her mind and her love for you into something cruel and abhorrent.
Even years later you kept her whispered words locked away into the very muscles of your heart. Even though your mother had been sick and weak when she told you these things, it was one of your few beloved moments with her. It had shown you who your mother really was, past all the sickness and malice, who she really was deep in her soul. That she had once loved and been loved.
And now you wear her wedding ring as a reminder of your parent’s love for each other, and how regardless of your mother’s cruelty toward you during the last years of her life, your love for her would never fade.
You’re jerked out of your melancholy thoughts when Margot burps loudly and thumps a fist against her chest.
“Jesus Christ, Margot. Where the fuck did you learn your manners from?” James asks, recoiling in disgust.
“Sorry, sorry. I’m almost done, then we can go check out the linking center.”
You nod eagerly, so overwhelmed with anticipation and delight that your fingers tremor just slightly.
You are so ready to meet your Avatar and link up for the first time, but the thought of anything going wrong makes you restless. You wish you could just get it over with so you could stop agonizing over it.
Margot finally finishes her food and stands up to dump her plate. James does the same, and then all five of you are off, walking down a long hallway with lots of twists and turns. The fluorescent lights shine brightly on the ceiling, and you can hear the distant sounds of never-ending construction.
Even with all five of you working together to get to your destination, the new buildings are too much for your group and you get lost in the labyrinth of hallways. James even has to ask a nearby custodian for directions once or twice. When you turn a corner, you spot a bathroom sign, and suddenly you have business to take care of. You pat Margot’s arm and point in that direction.
“Hey, guys, I’m going to head to the bathroom real quick. I’ll meet you there, okay?”
The rest of the group nods, but Margot decides to go with you. You do your business and you’re washing your hands in the sink when Margot makes eye contact with you through the mirror as she washes her own hands.
“I won’t lie, honey, I’m feeling pretty nervous about linking up as well. I know we’ve been through training simulations and have studied and practiced for years, but this is going to be different.” Her face and voice are uncharacteristically serious, and her hands shake just slightly as she pulls a towel out of the dispenser to dry her hands.
You feel a flash of sympathy for your friend, stopping your own drying. You walk around to her and put your hands on her shoulders, leaning your face close to hers.
“It’ll be okay, Margot, we’ve both got this. We just need to do it, and then it’ll be as easy as breathing before we know it, okay?”
Margot nods and takes a deep breath, looking down for a moment. When she looks up she’s much calmer, and her usual peppy attitude is back and shining.
“Thanks, sugar.”
You nod understandingly, releasing her shoulders and knocking her hip with yours as you walk toward the bathroom door. You both step outside into the hallway and continue your way.
“Of course. And besides, I’m just so ready to finally see her, you know? We’ve seen pictures and videos, but actually being there in real life is going to feel so surreal. The Na’vi are just stunning to me. Ooh, I almost forgot!”
You stop walking as you talk, scientist-brain taking over. Margot moves to stand in front of you, crossing her arms over her chest with an amused expression. This was far from the first time you had gone on a tangent.
“I saw someone from the recombinant unit when I was walking around yesterday, and he was fucking huge!”
You’re so busy trying to organize your thought flow into something sensible that you completely miss the approaching footsteps coming from behind you, and the way Margot looks over your shoulder and turns white.
You continue on, oblivious.
“He must have been pretty high ranking because the people with him followed him around like little ducklings. And the blue pigment of his skin was so beautiful. The color contrast of his eyes versus his skin kind of reminded me of a Primula ‘Zebra Blue’, you know, that blue and golden flower that went extinct like a hundred years ago? It was just amazing to finally see in person, and I-”
“Well, aren’t you just a peach?”
The deep voice that comes from behind you nearly makes you jump out of your skin. You whirl around, expecting to come face to face with whomever just spoke. Instead, you come eye level with the belt buckle and zipper of a pair of navy green camo military pants.
Your heart drops to your shoes.
You tilt your head up, up, up, until it’s practically craning backward. The uncomfortable position hurts, but that’s the least of your problems.
Your biggest problem, literally and figuratively, is the cold eyes and carefully amused face of the man you were just talking about.
You open your mouth to speak but words refuse to leave.
Why does this shit always happen to me?
You clamp your mouth shut when no words appear and swallow nervously, and the man notices your tense expression.
He smirks down at you, almost sneering. From the way he towers over you closely, unconcerned with personal space, it’s clear that this man likes to have people’s attention on him, takes pleasure in scaring people with his massive height and muscles.
And his intimidation tactics completely work on you, that’s for sure.
Jesus, look at his hands. He could cover my entire face and upper torso with just one of them!
You want to put as much distance between this frightening man and yourself as possible. But there’s a little voice in the back of your head, a stupid, too-curious little voice, that want you to examine him all the way from the finger pads and palm lines of his hands to the tip of his tail.
He was terrifying, yes, but you are also stunned by the wonderful science and technology that made up his body.
Of course, you’d seen holographs and pictures of Avatars and the Na’vi people, but they could never hold a candle to the real thing.
The navy green tank top, tattoo, and dog tags were all familiar things, but his height and the bright, smooth blue color of his skin were brand-new to you, something you wanted to take a closer look at. His hair was shaved closer to his skull than any other you’d seen, Avatar and Na’vi alike.
His bright yellow eyes sear into yours, and it feels like he is trying to see into your fucking soul.
Your heart rate skyrockets, mortified and thrilled and fearful all at once. The pile of extreme emotions twists your stomach, making you queasy.
Do not fucking puke on his shoes.
The man takes a step back to make room for his massive arm before he lifts it up, clearly holding his hand between you for a handshake. It almost seems as though he is testing your nerve; you wonder how many people had chosen not to shake his hand, too frightened.
“The name’s Colonel Quaritch, pleasure to meet you. What’s your name.” It’s a demand more than a question.
You look up at his face again before quickly wiping your hands on your lab coat to get rid of any sweat. You grab onto his hand as best as you can with your own, and holy shit.
His hand engulfs your own minuscule one and part of your forearm, his fingers reaching almost all the way to your elbow. And the skin of his hand is surprisingly soft; he doesn’t have as many calluses as you thought a marine would, but that might be because his Avatar body is fairly new. You tell him your name, and say,
“Uh, sorry, sir! I’m a xenobotanist from the science division, I got here about two weeks ago!” Your voice is squeaky and louder than you want it to be, making you cringe. You barely remember to shake his hand as you speak other than simply hold it in your own.
He continues to stare at you, wicked smile only growing when you say you’re a scientist.
“Ah, you tree-huggers are officially back, then. Part of the ‘newly instated Avatar program’, right?”
“Uh, y-yes, sir. That’s us.” You laugh weakly.
He barely twitches the fingers of the hand still holding your own, but the strength that comes from them is enough to make his grip almost painful.
“Hmmm. Well, I’m real curious to see how long you and your friend last before Pandora eats you alive. Just as a friendly warnin’, you should be real careful about what you say and who you say it about ‘round here. Guess I’ll be seein’ you. Peach.”
Your knees weaken and you nod hurriedly.
He finally releases your hand, gives you one last cold, golden look, and continues on his way. His bare arm brushes your shoulder as he passes you, and it’s enough to make you shiver.
He’s gone in just a few seconds, but you stay rooted in your spot, staring at the floor. You’re wondering if he’s going to come back and shank you with the wicked knife you’d seen strapped to his thigh when a hand gently presses against your shoulder.
You leap into the air for the second time that day, hand slamming into your chest and breath coming out in a gasp as you realize it’s just Margot. You’d completely forgotten she was even there, too consumed with the encompassing presence of Colonel Quaritch.
You look at her, eyes wide and mouth gaping. Margot returns your stunned look, face paler than you’ve ever seen it before.
“Holy. Fucking. Shit. You have the worst luck out of anyone I’ve ever met in my entire life. What the fuck just happened?”
You gulp. “I’m pretty sure that a terrifying man who wouldn’t hesitate to gut me overheard me practically gushing about him?”
She nods. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”
You stand there, practically swaying on your feet. “Oh my god, he fucking hates me! Did you see the look on his face? Oh my god, why is this happening? I’m never going to able to leave my room again!”
You bury your face into your hands, suddenly exhausted. First the mess hall, now this? Why couldn’t you just not embarrass yourself for once?
Margot pats your shoulder as you groan. “There, there. It’s alright, all you have to do is avoid him for the rest of your life. If you don’t, I’m pretty sure the next time you see him he’ll either just ignore you or kill you for saying all that stuff about him, and then you won’t have to worry about it anymore!”
“But I didn’t even mean it in a bad way! I was just describing him, the same way I do with all unknown subjects.”
Margot winces. “Uh, yeah, I would definitely not tell him that.”
------
You feel like whining as you finally continue walking to the linking center. After all that, the excitement you had felt at meeting your Avatar had almost completely disappeared. Now, the only thing you wanted to do was crawl back to your room and hide underneath your blankets forever.
But Margot pulls on your hand and ignores your childish wishes. When you arrive, she practically has to push you into the room.
And then every single thing, all of your hard work, the training, the learning, even the awkwardness of that day, was suddenly all worth it when you saw her for the first time.
She was curled up in the tank, cords attached to her body and eyes moving behind her closed lids. She floated gently around in the liquid that surrounded her, sometimes twitching a limb as she slept on.
You approach the tank, mind blank and mouth dry. As you get closer, you can see the details of her face, your face, just shifted into the feline-like features of a Na’vi.
She stole the breath straight from your lungs.
And that was how you spent the next few weeks, gazing at her slash yourself. Eventually, the time came for the first linkup, and everything went well, just like you had told Margot.
You spent the next month linking into your Avatar and wandering around the facilities, checking your reflexes and consuming everything Pandora had to offer while still in the confined space of Bridgehead City.
The disorientation from linking was enough to make you lay in a cot for an half an hour each time, too dizzy to move much. It’s such a bizarre feeling, suddenly being so much taller than everything else, and you are so much stronger than you are as a human.
It took a long time to remember your strength, and you accidentally put dents into a metal door handle when you grabbed it, squeezing it much harder than you meant to. The tiny little humans helping you gave you a pretty wide berth after that, only approaching when necessary.
You practiced using your new body, walking around without sitting on your long-haired queue or stepping on your new tail, which flailed around with a mind of its own. You liked to press your tongue to your sharp canines and look at the swaying tendrils attached to your hair.
It was an exhausting, thrilling process, and you loved every second of it.
None of the new Avatars had yet to actually leave Bridgehead and go into the forest yet. It would probably take a few more weeks for that to happen, and even then, you would probably only be allowed into the tree line past the Kill Zone.
Still, you eagerly look forward to that day, barely able to contain yourself in your excitement. It’s all you can think of day and night, and even in your dreams. On that day, you would be accomplishing so much more than a lifelong goal.
Now, your group is relaxing in one of the lounges used for breaks, discussing your experience with linking and Pandora. It was something you’d been talking about for the past few hours, the past few weeks, really. It wasn’t like any of you had very much in common with each other, other than your careers and education, but you were trying to dig a little deeper to learn more about these people.
The only problem was they were more antisocial than not, which was almost to be expected by a bunch of scientists. They were also hesitant to speak much about their past. You were the same way. They probably wouldn’t be here if they had a very pleasant past filled with lots of people they wanted to stay with back home.
You eat the small bag of crackers you’d snagged from one of the vending machines lining the gray walls of the room, hoping that the tiny treat will hold you until your next meal. The chair you are leaning back in creaks dangerously and wobbles, but you hold your precarious position, feet pulled up and crossed on the table in front of you.
Your mind wanders as the chatter of the group drifts in and out of your ears. You think of nothing in particular, dazing out of focus, simply relaxing for once.
That peace is shattered when James leaps from his chair further down the table where he and Emma sit. They’re playing an old-fashioned card game; one you’ve never heard of before. When you asked James where he learned it from, he said his great-grandfather had taught it to him. Something called ‘Go Fish’.
James raises his arms above his head in apparent victory, grinning fiercely.
“That’s round three for me, Emma!”
Emma is giggling behind her hand, cheeks flushed a bright pink. She keeps her eyes on James as he playfully postures at winning, and the sight of her joy makes you grin.
You look across the table at Margot and wiggle your eyebrows. She laughs quietly, nodding in agreement.
Sweet Emma and James. You’re almost surprised that they developed such an obvious, big fat crush on each other out of all people, given that their personalities are so different.
Maybe opposites really do attract?
Whatever the reason may be, you hope your friends find happiness in one another. The world could certainly do with more love.
Margot scoffs in disgust and curls her lip at her empty plate, apparently already over the tooth-rotting sweetness that was Emma and James.
She throws down her silverware onto the table and leans back in her chair, pout firm on her face.
“The food here is ass! You’d think a multi-trillion-dollar company would be able to feed its employees with something other than more fucking oatmeal. I’m so damn tired of oatmeal! It’s been most of our meals for the past month!”
“The supply shipment is late, you know that.” Is all you say. There is nothing to gain from arguing with Margot when she gets into one of these hungry moods.
“Then they need to make it un-late and bring me my fucking muffins!”
“Yeah, I’m pretty sure that ‘un-late’ isn’t even a word, but I do agree with you. Oatmeal reserves are getting pretty old.”
Margot nods vigorously, leaning forward and placing her hands on the table.
“Coup? Coup? Anybody interested?”
You throw back your head and laugh, “Margot, we’re not going throw a coup just because there aren’t any muffins! I thought you had saved a bunch of snacks the last time this happened?”
Margot deflates. “I ate them all already and the vending machines are out of my favorites!”
“Oh, Margot.”
“I know! Somebody just put me out of my misery.” She plants her face into her crossed arms on the table, moping.
“You know, you always complain about the food here, Margot, but that never seems to stop you from scarfing it down,” James says, putting himself into your conversation. He sits in his chair still, shuffling the deck of cards as he smirks at Margot.
“I have to eat it, it’s the only thing they have here!”
You open your mouth to say something, only to pause when a big blue hand reaches around the curve of the open doorway like something out of a horror movie. You sit there, gaping, as Colonel Quaritch crouches down through the opening and steps into the break room.
Margot, James, and Emma see your startled face and turn to see what you’re looking at. When they see Quaritch, they all lurch out of their seats to stand up straight. The cards Emma and James were playing with go flying all over the table and the ground, and Margot nearly knocks her plate off the table.
Quaritch straightens up and stands, several feet taller than any of you. He rests his hand on the holster of the belt wrapped around his trim waistline and practically cocks his hip as he looks directly at you.
You’re still sitting, cracker packet now crushed to a pulp in your right hand. When he looks at you, you finally jolt up to your feet. You dust off the cracker crumbs from your shirt as best you can, anxiety filling you.
“S-Sir!”
What the hell is he doing here!?
He saunters into the room until he’s standing by the table, just a few feet from you. You crane your head up to look at him, baffled and worried.
“Is there…anything you need, sir?” You can’t help the way your eyebrows scrunch up as you ask, clearly confused.
He stares down at you, head tilting to the side as if pondering something. Eventually, he speaks.
“Walk with me.”
And then he turns on his heel and ducks out of the room as quickly as he had entered. You stand, frozen, turning a bewildered stare to your group of friends. They stare back at you, just as perplexed, until Margot urges you to follow him with a push of her hand on your back.
You get your limbs to move and start walking after him, exiting the break room and finding him waiting. Once he sees you’re following after him, he continues walking down the hallway without a word.
The silence is almost uncomfortable as you walk several hallway lengths away from the lounge to some unknown destination. You’re almost tempted to break it to ask where the hell he’s taking you, but fear of his biting words keeps your mouth shut.
His legs are so long that his stride is practically jogging for you, and you have to speed walk so you don’t get left behind. He notices you struggling but doesn’t slow down one bit. In fact, the bastard smirks meanly at your frustration and funny walking pace.
You scowl at his amusement but refuse to say a word.
Finally, Quaritch stops in front of an enormous metal door, and he takes a key from his pocket and twists it into the lock on the doorknob. He opens it and walks in, and then gestures for you to do the same with an impatient wave of his hand.
You hurriedly scuttle in, freaking out even more. If he’s taking you to his office then he must have something serious to talk about, right? Was he going to punish you for what you said, was he going to yell at you, threaten you? You’re practically sweating, fingers twisting as your imagination goes wild.
You take a moment to break out of your thoughts and look around.
You pause.
You stand in the middle of the room, eyes locked onto one thing and one thing only: the large bed laying flush up against the corner of the space.
Who keeps a bed in their office? Is the first thing that comes to your mind. Confusion rushes through you and you look around the room, taking in the closet doors, the large desk tucked into the corner across the room parallel to the bed, the empty walls just as barren as your own room.
Your own room.
Ohmygod I’m in his room. Why would he bring me to his room!?
You whirl around, and Quaritch is standing so close to you that your face nearly smacks into his crotch.
You leap backward with a yelp and jump when Quaritch barks out a loud, unfriendly laugh and then sneers at you.
“I would’ve taken you to my office before, but it seems I don’t have one of those anymore. So, this’ll have to do.”
Confusion layered with frustration comes back to you, and your eyebrows furrow. “Do for what, sir?” You barely remember to tack on the ‘sir’ at the end of your sentence.
His face suddenly breaks out into a sharp-toothed grin, and he leans back, smug once more. You were really starting to get tired of that expression.
“I have a… proposition, for you.”
You barely refrain from turning a wide-eyed, horrified look at the bed.
Under any other circumstance, if a man had taken you to his bedroom and said he was propositioning you, you would be real worried. Red flags would pop up in your brain, mind demanding you flee fast.
But these aren’t normal circumstances, given that one of his arms alone is almost as big as your body. And you didn’t really get the impression that was something he was looking for right now, so you shake your head to get rid of any crude thoughts. You refuse to lower your guard, though, still uneasy.
“Uh, a proposition, sir?”
“Yes. You see, I’m under the firm belief that to destroy your enemies, you have to think like ‘em, be like ‘em. Kill like ‘em, eat like ‘em, shit like ‘em, that sorta thing.”
He takes a step closer and you take one back.
“And if I want to have even a snowball’s chance in hell of finding Jake Sully and the rest of the natives, I’m going to need to put myself in their shoes, metaphorically speaking. But most of the people here are military, marines, people with no knowledge of the Na’vi except how best to kill ‘em.”
“So. Who best to teach me how to be Na’vi other than one of the soft-hearted, limp-dicked scientists who just eats up Na’vi shit like it’s Mamma’s home-baked cookies?”
His yellow eyes burn into yours.
“One specific little scientist came to mind, you see, when I was thinkin’.”
You knew it was coming, but that doesn’t stop you from blanching. You shove a finger in your chest and point at yourself like an idiot.
“Me?”
Quaritch finally leans back, rolling his eyes.
“Yes, you.”
You sputter, mind going a thousand miles per hour.
“But-but, I’m not even an anthropologist, sir! I study foreign plant and-and animal life! Emma, she is the one in anthropology, you should talk to her!”
Quaritch scoffs.
“Emma Rodrigo can barely string a sentence together without pissin’ her pants, let alone teach me to do anythin’.” He crosses his arms over his chest, muscles bulging. His wicked teeth glint in the fluorescent lighting as he grins.
“Nah, I think it outta be you. Peach.”
Shit, shit, shit!
I was right, I should have just gone to my room and never come out.
“But-”
“You can say no, ‘course. This ain’t an order.” The look in his eyes says otherwise. If you decline, you’re sure you’ll either be cleaning toilets for the rest of your life or found dead with his knife in your gut. There is no going easy with this guy.
You gape at him, dumbstruck by the bizarre turn your day had taken. You had hoped you would never have to see this terrifying man ever again, fully prepared to cower and duck out of every room you saw him in. Now, he was asking you, of all people on this base, to teach him?
While this guy had the height and look of a Na’vi, he seemed to utterly despise everything about them. Was it even possible for him to learn anything about the Na’vi, their culture and their language, for it to really make a difference in whether he found them or not?
You weren’t even good at teaching! You were far better at learning and observing than educating people, and you had never been interested in changing that. Could you really teach this guy anything? Was he even capable of learning?
Your face hardens as you realize you’re faced with no other choice but to accept.
I guess we’ll see.
“You know, if you’re too chicken-shit to help me out, I could always get-”
“I’ll do it.” Your voice comes out firm, as confidently as you dared to speak to him.
“…oh?” He raises an eyebrow, looking surprised. And skeptical, the asshole.
You nod your head, letting out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. You are nervous, yes, but it had been decided. There was no going back now.
In for a penny, in for a pound.
“Yes. I’ll teach you everything you want to know about the Na’vi. But I-I also want something in return.”
His eyebrow raises higher.
You muster all the courage and audacity you can find in your body. Admittedly, there isn’t much, but you scrounge up enough to say the next few words aloud,
“In exchange for teaching you, I want you to teach me how to fight. I need to be able to protect myself when I’m out in the forest collecting samples, and I would ask one of my friends, but they can barely handle butter knives. And you are obviously…”
You eye him from top to bottom, eyes lingering on his massive arms before you can stop yourself.
“…capable.” You finish lamely, swallowing. You refuse to back down though, tilting your chin up and keeping eye contact.
Quaritch grins slowly.
“Well, little Peach, you certainly have bigger balls than I thought! It’s a deal-”
You hold your hand out for a handshake, palm open.
“To make it official.”
Quaritch glances down at your hand and then at your face, expression unreadable. And then, slowly, he reaches to grasp your hand and most of your arm once more. He pumps your entire arm down three times, eyes never leaving yours.
If you dared to think it, you might have thought he looked almost…impressed.
You clear your throat, face on fire. “So. When would work best for you, for our lessons?”
“…0500 every day for the next two months outta do it.”
Your eyes widen in horror, mouth dropping open all over again in protest. You barely keep yourself from grasping your chest in shock.
These military guys, did they never learn how to fucking sleep in!? That’s so damn early!
His sneering smirk returns to his face at your reaction, “Come on, Peach! Where’s your sense of adventure? You’ll tell me everything I need to know about the tree-fuckers, and I’ll teach you how to take a fist to the face, that sound good? About two hours each, four hours in total every single god-damn day. Good? Good.”
You sputter, hardly believing your ears. “Four hours every day? Don’t you have better things to do!?”
“Nope. My entire purpose for existing is to capture the traitor Jake Sully and end this war once and for all. With your help, I might actually be able to do that, which means that your time is now my time. Got it?”
You nod, queasy. It seems like all of your bravado from earlier had fled, leaving you with only the shakes and a bad feeling in your stomach.
“Yes, sir.”
“Good girl, Peach. Knew you had it in ya’!”
He claps your shoulder, and even through your shirt you can feel the warmth leaching off his hand and into your own skin.
The grin he wears makes you shiver, and you suddenly feel like prey that had just been caught by a predator, sharp teeth sinking into your neck and bleeding you dry.
He leads you to the door of his bedroom and practically tosses you out, done with you now that he had gotten what he wanted. He barely gives himself a chance to say, “See you bright an’ early tomorrow morning, Peach!” before he is slamming the door in your gawking face.
You stood outside his door for a few moments, simply processing. Eventually, you’re able to make your feet unstick from the floor and you wander back to the break room in a daze, mind clouded.
I can’t fucking believe that just happened. This is going to change my entire schedule for the next few months! Jesus Christ.
You practically stumble through the hallways toward your destination. Once you reach the door to the break room, you lean your arm against it and press your forehead into your arm. Your eyes close, and your heart jackhammers in your chest.
I don’t there’s anyone in my entire life who has ever made me as nervous as that guy. Holy shit.
You take deep breaths, trying to relax your muscles and get some air into your lungs. It takes a few moments, but eventually you’re able to get your heart rate down to a steady pump.
You lick your lips, suddenly parched.
When you lean up from your perch against the door and open your eyes, you can see the faint form of your face shining up from the metal of the door. Your pupils are blown, eyes still wide, and your cheeks are red.
He is seriously the scariest motherfucker I’ve ever met. And now I’m going to have to teach him things! I don’t know how I’m going to do it without passing out a few times, ohmygod. This is going to be miserable.
You swallow as best you can with a dry throat and shakily reach up to fix your messy hair, smoothing down flyaways. You straighten your shirt, crack your neck, and plaster a calm smile onto your face.
There’s no reason to let them know how terrified I am.
You open the door to the break room and step inside, ready to answer any questions they must surely have, and…
The room is empty.
You deflate, hand rubbing down your face and feeling embarrassed.
Of course they wouldn’t wait, we have a linking session in thirty minutes…that I am now late for. Fantastic.
------
You spend the rest of the day completely distracted, too worried about what might happen the next morning. It even took longer than usual for you to link into your Avatar, and when you were finally able to get outside, you had to answer to the swarm of nosy scientists you called your friends.
They were just concerned, you knew, but you didn’t like having to relive the entire stressful event down to the last detail. Still, you gave in and spilled, telling them about Quaritch’s ‘proposition’ (ha!) and leaving out the part where he had taken you to his bedroom.
They had all given you looks that ranged from horrified -Emma-, sympathetic -Margot and James-, and utterly uncaring -David-.
You start drinking from your water bottle franticly after you tell them everything, feeling anxious all over again.
“Well, maybe this won’t be such a bad thing,” Margot says, expression turning contemplative. All members of your group are sitting outside around a creaky wooden table in your Avatar forms, enjoying the fresh, sweet air and the bright light of Pandora as the rays warm your cyan skin. When you tilt your head back to let it shine on your face, it almost feels like home had been before the pollution clouded the sky.
Your hearing in this form is incredibly sensitive, and it hurts to hear the loud, never-ending beeping and rumbling of production taking place. It had taken you weeks to spend much time outside, and even then, you still sometimes have to put your hands over your big pointy ears when the sounds become too overwhelming.
Margot curls her large fingers underneath her chin and props her head up in her hand, “I mean, you’ll learn to protect yourself, so there’s that. Also, um…” She looks at the rest of the group mischievously, and they all get questioning looks on their faces.
She clears her throat and leans in closer to you. She puts a hand in front of her mouth, blocking it from the others, and whispers into your ear,
“I really, really wouldn’t mind getting to see how big his dick actually is and maybe you’ll get a chance.”
You choke on the water pouring into your mouth, spraying it all over the table you are sitting at. The liquid gets caught in your throat, causing you to cough painfully.
“Oh my god, Margot!” you screech, still coughing into your elbow and voice coming out scratchy. Your watery eyes glare at her over your arm.
Margot shrugs, “What, I was just saying what we were all thinking. He’s the biggest guy here, which has gotta mean something, right?” She wiggles her eyebrows and grins salaciously, and you bury your face into your arm.
“If he ever heard you saying anything like that, he would put his knife straight through your face without even hesitating!”
“I’ll let him put something else in my face if he wants.”
“Margot!”
It wasn’t like you hadn’t noticed that Colonel Miles Quaritch was a beautiful man. It would be impossible, really. Despite the sneer he always seemed to have on his face, the deep cyan of his skin, his wide, golden eyes, and his tall, broad frame were enough to make anybody swoon.
And his feline features weren’t the only thing that made him attractive. You could see his beauty in his long-fingered and broad hands, in his high cheekbones, in the curve of his lips even when they were curled up in disdain.
It wouldn’t surprise you to learn that a lot of people thought he was attractive just because of his attitude, either. Back home it seemed that everyone was interested in the cocky, proud, manly posturing that Quaritch seemed to like to do.
But despite how pretty he may be, he was also absolutely, shit-your-pants terrifying, and an asshole, which was enough for you to keep it in your pants. That, and the fact that he hated your guts.
“Trust me, Margot, I’ll be too busy trying not to piss him off again to see how big anything is.”
Great, now I’m thinking about his dick.
Margot rolls her eyes but leans back in her seat and drops the subject, “Your loss, then.”
James strikes up a new topic, just as embarrassed as you, and you slouch gratefully back into your seat, glad that the interrogation is over.
It’s nearing darkness by the time you all finish your linking sessions, and the group shuffles their way back into the sleeping center for the Avatars. You move over to your assigned bed, crawling under the soft sheets and sighing deeply.
You lightly traced your right-hand index finger over the smooth skin of your left arm, causing goosebumps to rise. It was still so strange, being able to actually feel with a body that was yours but not, having so many new features that you still have to adjust to even weeks later. Having a whole-ass tail, being several feet taller than any human alive, having super strength, hell, even being blue was still just totally fucking weird.
You lay back into the cot and attempt to clear your mind from any thoughts, but it was just as hard as it had been when you had linked earlier. After a few minutes, you are finally able to silence your mind and drift off just enough for the link to become secure and for you to wake up in the gel link bed, back in your human body.
By the time you walk to your room, you are bone-wary, almost stumbling on your feet. You dread the coming morning, and the only thing you want to do now is turn off your brain and rest. Your shoulders hurt from the stress of the day, and when you finally unlock your bedroom door, take off your clothes, shower, and brush your teeth, you’re practically hunched over.
You shuffle under the covers once again, and you’re unconscious before your head can fully settle onto the pillow.
------
Your eyes pop open, arms and legs flailing wildly in your sheets as you struggle to reach over to your alarm clock to silence its screaming. When you finally smack it, the crack of your hand connecting with its durable metal makes your palm sting angrily.
You let out a hoarse groan, cradling your hand to your chest as you flop down onto your bed. It had barely felt like you had gotten a wink of sleep last night, too busy thinking about your approaching morning with Quaritch. Scenarios ranging from you accidentally stabbing him to him purposefully stabbing you ran through your head, keeping you awake after only a few hours of rest.
Eventually, you stop your moping and reluctantly pull yourself out of your bed, eyes blearily glaring around your room.
It’s still a gray and sad little space, your room, but you had placed the small number of personal items you brought with you to Pandora throughout it. The one picture you had of your parents sits framed on your desk, along with your holotablet.
The few items of clothing and the two pairs of shoes you owned were put up in your closet haphazardly, and your hygienic amenities were scattered across the small bathroom connected to your room.
Your room and areas beyond it are all so generic and boring, which is why you spend most of your time either with your group or outside in your Avatar, being able to run around and feel. And once you were finally able to leave Bridgehead, your life would start, and it wouldn’t matter what your room looked like.
You tiredly get dressed and brush your teeth and your wild hair, putting it up into a simple ponytail to keep it out of your face. Once you’re suitable, you head out and lock the door behind you, placing the key in the right pocket of your jeans.
The hallways are quiet for once, and even the incessant roaring of construction has stopped. You walk down the softly lit hallways to the mess hall, unreasonably jealous of the people who get to sleep in their beds.
Most of the lights are off when you walk in, but to your surprise, there are a few people sitting down at a table already eating their breakfast.
Guess my assumption about the military was right, they really don’t know how to sleep in.
To your delight, there is a light amount of muffins and bagels laid out on a table nearby, but the most important thing was the coffee pot next to them.
Looks like the shipment finally came in. Margot is going to piss her pants.
You gladly snag two muffins with napkins and two small cups of coffee, heading right back out the door to the hallway with a friendly smile to the person walking in. They look blankly back at you, but you don’t mind as you stuff a chocolate chip muffin into your mouth as you walk.
You shuffle the remaining muffin and cups into your left hand and elbow crook, grasping the cold metal handle of the glass door that leads into the center with your right hand. You can see a head of black curls poke out from the side of a monitor, followed quickly by a scowl and a pair of eyes glaring blearily at you as you walk in.
You wince. “Morning, Tom. Thanks again for doing this, I really appreciate it.”
Tom had been the unlucky soul you had asked to help link you into your Avatar every morning for the foreseeable future. He had balked when you had asked, saying “Hell no!” before the words were fully out of your mouth. You had leveled him with your best begging look and offered to pay for six of the ridiculously expensive books you know he liked to read coming in on the next supply shipment.
He grouchily agreed to the deal but demanded you bring him breakfast every morning. You had accepted with a pleased smile.
Tom rolls his eyes and snatches the cup of coffee from your hand when you offer it. You’re about to warn him about how hot it was when he gulps half of it down. You watch, halfway impressed and halfway feeling the pain for him in your own throat.
“Let’s get started, then.” His voice is even more crackly than yours is this early.
You nod hurriedly and take one last sip of your coffee before you reluctantly set it down on the table. You walk over to the link bed and crawl in, and Tom pulls the cover down over you. You settle in, closing your eyes to clear your mind.
------
“There ya’ are, Peach! I was startin’ to think you’d chickened out on me.” Quaritch’s loud voice startles you out of your sleepy trance, and your head snaps up from where it is laying against the metal table you are sitting at.
The asshole looks as awake and lucid as usual, not a hint of tiredness on his face. He grins nastily when he sees your sleepy expression.
“We didn’t agree on a place to meet up, sir.” You are barely able to cover your yawn with a hand, and you stand with a grimace.
“That is true. From now on, we’ll do our lessons in Courtyard Six. Try to keep up.”
He turns and walks away, clearly expecting you to follow. You hurry to catch up with his long stride, but it’s much easier to do in this form. He’s almost ten feet tall, but your Avatar is eight and a half feet tall, and you are able to lengthen your stride to match his pace. Your shoulder width and muscles are still much smaller than his, but you imagined most were.
As you step in close to him, your nose twitches, and you realize something that almost makes you trip.
Quaritch smells really, really good.
You lean in closer to him and inhale discreetly, deeper than before, and, yep, that scent is definitely coming from him.
It is such a rich scent, a strange combination of rainwater, black coffee, and something smoky, like a campfire.
The smell is so strong that it feels like a physical mist floating its way through your nose and ears and into your head. Your mind goes fuzzy, as if suddenly stuffed with cotton. Your lips and fingertips tingle. And to your absolute horror, you can actually feel your mouth start to water.
It’s just such a lovely scent.
Do you think he’d be okay with it if I pressed my nose into his neck to smell him better-No!
You try to break out of the mist, shaking your head to get rid of the images of licking up his neck, tasting his skin, the way his head would tilt back and you would be able to feel his rumbling groan spread through his chest pressed up against your own and-
Stop it! Jesus Christ, don’t even think about it!
This is just a completely normal physical reaction, right? Maybe, but it wasn’t like this with the other guys!
In front of you, Quaritch’s footsteps stutter to a stop for a split second before resuming. It’s barely a pause, but it’s enough to make you snap out of your thoughts and look up at him. When you do, you notice the slight twitching of his own feline-like nose.
Is he smelling the same thing?
He turns his head around slightly to look at you, and you make eye contact with him just enough to notice his pupils are blown out, consuming most of his iris.
My eyes are probably no better, you think, before ducking your head to watch your feet as you walk.
Quaritch stares at you for a moment and then turns his attention back toward the path, and you do the same. You discreetly rub at your sensitive nose, trying to get his fantastic scent out of your head. A few moments after you do, Quaritch rubs at his own nose.
It doesn’t work, but by the time you reach the courtyard you’ve already gotten a little used to it. Thankfully you don’t feel as lightheaded anymore, but you have no idea if it is going to come back.
You notice that the sky has begun to lighten up as Quaritch unlocks the chain-link gate leading into the yard. Not that you really need any light, what with being able to see in the dark and all.
He stops once you enter and closes the gate behind you, and you can immediately tell why he had chosen this courtyard out of all the others. It was hidden behind a big wall of concrete that had no windows, so nobody could see you from inside the building, and it was positioned all the way in the back of the court section, meaning it was far more remote and private than the others.
Probably doesn’t want his tough guy image to be hurt when people saw him learning about the Na’vi and chatting with a little scientist, the prick.
The enclosure is a simple little area with a small basketball court, a tetherball pole, and a metal table. Nothing special, but it would be perfect for your lessons.
He turns around to meet your eyes, and you still have to tilt your head back to return his yellow gaze. The bioluminescent markings on his face glow brightly.
“You wanna go first, Peach?”
You swallow nervously but nod, “I’ll go first. I thought a lot about what our first lesson was going to be last night.”
You drop down onto the soft faux grass that covered the courtyard, legs crisscross applesauce in front of you as you avoid sitting on your flicking tail. You look up at him expectantly when he continues to stand.
Quaritch looks at the table sitting just a few feet away and shrugs. He plops down onto the grass hesitantly and crosses his legs in front of him the same as you. Now that he’s actually here, all the plans you made completely leave your brain, and you mind turns blank as you struggle to come up with something to say. You both sit there in silence for a few moments before he says,
“So are you actually going to say anything in this lesson or what? Usually I can’t get you quacks to shut the fuck up-”
“Sorry, sorry! I’m just trying to figure out where to start. Um…” Your brain flashes to what Quaritch had said when he started this whole thing, wanting to learn more about the way the Na’vi think, what’s important to them, how they work.
“Okay. Well, I guess the first place to start would be at the very beginning. Millions of years ago, when-”
Quaritch interrupts you with a loud groan, throwing his head back in exasperation, “I’m not askin’ for a history lesson here, Peach. Just tell me about them now, how they operate now, in this time, not millions of years ago! Jesus Christ, you pretentious assholes always have to drag things out-”
“Okay, alright, I’m sorry! Um, so the most important thing to know about the Na’vi is their connection to nature, their connection to Eywa. You’ve heard about Her, right?”
You continue to speak when Quaritch nods. “Right, well, She protects the balance of life here on Pandora, and the Na’vi love Eywa, the Great Mother. All things on Pandora are connected to each other through Eywa; you, me, plants, animals, you name it. Life and the forest are sacred to them because it bonds them to Eywa. They can actually speak to Her, and there are places like the Tree of Souls and the Tree of Voices that are sacred to them. They connect all the Na’vi to Eywa and to their ancestors, and they can actually hear the voices of past living people, isn’t that amazing? Are you with me so far?”
Quaritch nods again, surprisingly quiet. In fact, it’s probably the longest you’ve ever seen him be silent. His face is carefully blank, eyebrows furrowed with some unnamed emotion as he listens to you speak.
And that’s how the next two hours go, you talking and Quaritch listening with rapt attention. You had no idea if what you were talking about was anything Quaritch wanted to hear, but he didn’t interrupt you other than to ask a rare question.
About an hour in you stood up and stretched, bones popping and limbs aching from sitting on the ground for so long. Your ass was practically numb, and your left leg was stinging with pins and needles. You put your hands on your hips and looked down at Quaritch, who remained sitting on the grass.
For the first time ever, you were actually the one towering over him, and the thought made you grin as he looked up at you.
It seemed he could tell what you were thinking, because he scowled and pulled himself up on his feet, looming over you once more. He stretched his long arms above his head to get the blood flowing back in, groaning just like you had a moment ago.
You paused your own movement, gaze lingering on the way his strong muscles shifted underneath his pretty blue skin. They bunched up as his arms flexed, and your mouth turned dry.
Your eyes flickered over them for a few moments and then shifted to his face. Your stomach swooped low as you realized he had caught you looking, and you stared at him in mortification as his sneering, arrogant smile returned full force to his face. He looked so smug.
You had no idea your Avatar could even blush from embarrassment, but your cheeks burned all the same. You hurriedly turned your gaze away from him entirely, eyes squeezed shut.
He let out a low, unpleasant chuckle, clearly taking immense pleasure in your misery.
Asshole!
You stood for a few more minutes, back facing him as you pretended to examine the sky with incredible interest, waiting for your blush to fade and your stomach to settle. Eventually, you both sat on the grass once again, and you resumed your speech.
You talked about all things Na’vi related, from their connection to Eywa to what they wore, what they ate, their ceremonies, anything that popped into your head that you felt was important to mention.
In the grand scheme of things, you weren’t able to cover very much ground before your two hours were up and your lesson ended for the day.
By this time, Pandora’s light has returned from the eclipse, shining down brightly on both of you.
“So, how did I do?” you dare ask Quaritch.
“Well. Now I know what a Na’vi eats for breakfast, so. That’s something.”
You groan and bury your face in your hands, “I’m sorry, you said you wanted to know what they ate and everything! I promise we’ll eventually get into the more interesting and important things.”
Please don’t put me on toilet duty. I can do this!
Quaritch sighs, but says, “Don’t worry, Peach. We’ll get to the juicier parts someday. Learning to be one’s enemy is a long process, after all.”
He smacks his thighs, and the sound makes you jump, face moving away from your hands. Your nerves reignite in your stomach all over again as you realize it is now time for your lesson.
Why did I ever ask him to do this!? I should never have said anything, now I’m going to be Quaritch’s punching bag for the next few months! Idiot!
A sharp-toothed grin stretches over Quaritch’s face, and he leans in until he’s right in front of you, face close to yours. His yellow eyes bore into yours, and you can see your own terrified expression reflecting right back at you.
“Time for me to teach you, Peach.”
------
“Alright, Peach. You know how to handle a knife?”
You think about it and shake your head.
“…Okay. Do you know how to throw a punch?”
Again, you shake your head.
Quaritch curses and takes a step back, squeezing his eyes shut and rubbing the middle finger of his right hand between them as if praying for patience.
Both of you are standing in the middle of the small basket court, facing one another. You refuse to feel embarrassed by Quaritch’s reaction to your fighting skills, or lack thereof.
Not everyone can be a terrifying killing machine, asshole!
Quaritch seems to get the patience he was asking for, straightening up with a sigh.
“Back to the basics, then. Jesus.”
He steps up to you and places his warm, large hands on the bare skin of your shoulders. He shuffles you over closer to him, and you go willingly, body tense.
“First step in learning to defend yourself is to not be a pussy.”
Wow. Wonderful advice.
“You need to be firm in your stance and your attack, else your opponent will just be able to knock you off your feet before you can even land a hit. And if your limbs are loose, you’ll lose your balance and go flying just from your own force. Keep your core tight.”
He places a large hand firmly against the bare skin of your stomach and you suck in a surprised breath. His touch tingles through you in a way you’ve never felt before, and you look up at him with wide eyes.
He jerks his hand back and clears his throat. He walks around toward your back, and you can see the veins in his arm shift when his hand flexes by his side.
“When you throw a punch, you need to keep your wrist straight and fully extend your arm each time. Make sure you step like this,” he demonstrates, “and pull your arm like this.”
“Keep your thumb behind your index and middle fingers but out of your fist, don’t stick your pinky out, and you want to hit your opponent with these knuckles right here. Got it?”
You nod slowly, making a fist following his instructions with your right hand. He nods once and then moves in front of you. He lifts his hands in the air, palms facing outward.
“Hit me.”
Already? But I barely even- alright, you know what, I don’t even care anymore.
You shake out your arms self-consciously and try to position your body in the way he had shown you. You pull your arms up, hands folding into fists, stance widening, and you lash your arm out at him with all the strength you can muster.
Your right fist smacks against his open palm with a satisfying thwack, and you grin, tossing your arms above your head at your success.
“Your form was good, Peach, but your fist felt like getting hit with a bug. You need to work on your strength, build up your muscles and your core. Try again.”
You nod, arm flying out and hitting his palm once more.
“No, you need to keep your arm tucked in, not flying out like an idiot bird with a broken wing. Again.”
You hit his hands over and over for the next half an hour as he corrects your form and stance. As he said, you need to build your strength up in this new body, but this was a good start. He has to get in pretty close once again to show you how to move your body, but other than he seems to keep his distance.
You know, this isn’t so bad!
You hit him again a few more times before he nods, satisfied, and drops his arms.
“Now you know how to hit somebody hard, Peach. Always go for sensitive places, like the nose, groin, ears, eyes, kidney, wherever you can reach. Got it?”
You lower your own arms, panting. Reaching out to punch him hadn’t taken much movement from your arms, but doing it over and over again for half an hour made them ache terribly. You struggle to catch your breath.
It had been embarrassing, admittedly, the first few times. You had felt shy and scared all at once, unsure of yourself and uneager to be anywhere near Quaritch, let alone close enough to touch him.
Then you’d lost most of the fear the second time he had lightly smacked your cheek when he got through your defensively positioned arms. They were pretty much love taps, practically pats, but it had lit an angry fire in your stomach. Your uneasiness turned to determination to land at least one hit on him, and you forgot all about your trepidation and that this was Quaritch you were tussling with.
From the way he had grinned and curled his fingers in a ‘come-hither’ gesture, that was probably what he had been trying to do.
He also probably just liked hitting you, the dickbag.
Quaritch nods, and you fully expect him to end the lesson early for the day. What you weren’t expecting was for him to reach down and pull a massive knife from its sheath on his right thigh, bringing it up toward the light for examination.
You lean back quickly, ears flicking to the sides of your head in alarm. You had thought your punching lesson had seemed tame for him! It really wouldn’t surprise you if he decided you needed a lesson on keeping your guard up and lunged at you.
He won’t stab me, he won’t stab me, he won’t stab me, he won’t stab me-
“This here’s a bowie knife, seventeen inches of serrated steel strong enough to cut through bone.”
He waves it around carefully, smirking at your wide-eyed look of terror.
“And this…” he leans down to put the knife back in its sheath before pulling out something else from a different pocket on his right leg, “This is your knife.”
The little knife is comically small in his giant hand, more of a switchblade than anything else.
“That’ll be the knife you use for the next week at least, so don’t lose it.”
You pluck it from his hand gingerly, fingers folding around the base as you bring it up to your eyes for closer inspection. It looks bigger in your hand than it did in his, and you can see his initials, M.Q, engraved on its tiny metal handle.
Why the hell would a guy as big as Quaritch even need a knife this small? Does he use it as a toothpick?
Nonetheless, you’re glad he didn’t give you anything bigger to use for your first time. You weren’t sure you’d be able to handle it without stabbing yourself.
He shows you how to hold it, how to slash and stab, the proper way to stand and lunge with the little blade.
After another half an hour, he nods.
“Alright, now I want you to try me.” He says, pulling his arms up close to his chest and goading you on once again with a ‘come at me’ curled hand gesture, cocky smirk in place.
You balk. “You want me to charge at you with a knife already? We just got started!”
“Yep, sure did. What, you think you could actually touch me, let alone hurt me with that little thing? Ha!”
You wince. That’s a good point.
You do what he taught you to, adjusting your grip on the blade and positioning your body and feet into the dirt, tightening your core. You take a deep breath, strengthen your muscles, and then leap with a cry.
Quaritch shifts out of the way of your knife quicker than you had yet to see him move, simply stepping to the side with an unsurprised expression.
You go sailing past him, war cry turning panicked. You drop the knife and jerk up your arms to cover your face, turning away and squeezing your eyes shut.
Just as you start tilting toward the dirt, a hand grips the back of the collar of your shirt and pulls you upright before you can even realize you aren’t falling anymore. You remained positioned for impact, hands still in front of your face to cushion your fall even as you stand on your own two feet.
You open your eyes and blink, hands patting down your front as if to make sure no injury had been done to your person.
Quaritch lets go of your collar, knuckles brushing against the sensitive skin of your neck.
“That was fuckin’ pathetic! It was like a wet paper bag was throwin’ itself my way. And where the hell did you learn to cry out like that, ‘cause it was fuckin’ embarrassin’.”
You pay no attention to his harsh words, still stunned you hadn’t face-planted into the dirt for once.
You look up at him, starry-eyed.
“That was amazing, Quaritch! You moved so fast I could barely see you! Have you always been that quick or is it new? Could you teach me how to dodge like that?”
He stares down at you, ears flicking back against the sides of his head. An odd expression crosses his face, almost as though he was taken aback by your wonder.
He clears his throat awkwardly, turning to the side to avoid your strong eye contact.
“That doesn’t matter, not with that pathetic performance. You need ta’ be firm, like I said, and not throwin’ your weight ‘round like a pussy. Come on, do it again.”
You reach down into the dirt to pick up your little knife, and you lunge at him again. He dodges all the same, but you surprise the both of you when you don’t stop, turning around and slashing in his direction.
Of course, the blade doesn’t even touch him, but it’s the thought that counts.
He grins at you, “There you go, Peach! Way to show some initiative, I’ll make a fine soldier out of you yet. Let’s go again, come on.”
And that’s how you end your morning, trying to stab Colonel Miles Quaritch with a knife the size of one of his fingers. You’d have never thought this was where you would be when you met him all those weeks ago, but hey, if learning from him would one day save your life, you’d do it gladly.
By the time two hours have passed, you’re sweating and panting for breath, hands on your knees. Your body was still new, and you hadn’t been in it long enough for you to get past light jogging and reflex training. Honestly, the fact that you were able to do all that moving without collapsing was a god-damn miracle.
You were so much faster in this form, so much more flexible and stronger. Still, that held no comparison to the trained, experienced combat vet you were practically playing with. Because that’s what this would be called, not fighting or even training. It was like playing tag or a slapping game, cause that’s all that happened for the entire lesson.
Quaritch, the fucker, doesn’t have a drop of sweat on him. His chest rose and fell evenly, and he rested one of his hands on the gun holster he had wrapped around his hips.
“You good, Peach? Not going to puke, are ‘ya?” You’d be flattered by his concern for your well-being if it weren’t for the mean, amused tone layering his voice when he spoke.
You stay bent over for a few more moments as you struggle to catch your breath. Eventually, you’re able to rise fully upright. You answer his question, even though you know it was rhetorical,
“I-I’m good, I think.”
Just as you finish your sentence, your stomach growls angrily, as though enraged at being denied sustenance.
Ugh.
If you weren’t exhausted and beyond caring about what Quaritch thought of you, with your floppy, sweaty form and shitty punches, you would have been embarrassed. Now, though, the only thing you do is pout. Now, you were just a little pissed and tired at getting your ass thoroughly kicked for two hours.
“I’m hungry, can we be finished for the day?”
Quaritch rolls his eyes, unimpressed, but relents.
“Yeah, Peach, we’re done. Let’s get goin’.”
You grin, relieved, and your energy returns just slightly at the thought of lunch. You bound to his side, and he leads the way out of the courtyard and into the space beyond.
The day is in full swing, scientists, soldiers, robots, and trucks all bustling around Bridgehead as you follow Quaritch close on his heels to the mess hall.
You pass by all the tiny little humans, most of whom don’t even spare either of you a glance. Either because they were used to seeing ten-foot-tall Avatars walking around or because they were too busy to give a shit. Probably both, really.
You both have to duck as you walk through the doorway, Quaritch much more than you. You walk over to the table where you had snagged the muffins for breakfast earlier that morning, grabbing three of the sandwiches that were there now instead.
Quaritch grabs six of them, piling them all onto his plate.
You’ve just started scarfing yours down when a large hand whips out across your back, slamming into you. You inhale instinctively and start choking on your food, struggling to breathe. You turn around, fully ready to smash your sandwiches into the face of whichever fucker did that when you see Quaritch’s walking away, waving the spare hand not holding his food up behind him.
“See you ‘round, Peach.”
Oh. Well, at least he said goodbye.
You drink from the water bottle you’d snagged from the mass hall and eat your sandwiches as you walk to the showering station for Avatars. You stay under the pounding warm water longer than you probably should, enjoying the way it soothes the ache in your tense arms and shoulders.
After you’re done washing away the sweat and grime, you head back to the Avatar resting area, ready to be in your own body.
It had taken you a while to learn how to hold onto the brain link connecting your bodies; the first few weeks were the worst when you were learning to hold it longer and longer. Sometimes it would break, and you would slam back into your human body with a gasp, disoriented and head pounding.
Now, though, you were much better at holding onto the link for longer periods, even if it still gave you a headache.
You settle back into the pillows, closing your eyes and letting your mind go blank.
------
When you wake up in your human body, it always feels stuffy, not right, like you’re being squeezed into a tube. Your mouth is always cottony, too, and even though your body was simply laying down like you were asleep, your bones always ache when you get up as if you’ve been doing jumping jacks for however long you were in there.
You step out of the link bed, stretching your arms above your head and groaning. Tom is no longer in the linking center, but you didn’t expect him to be when there were others milling about who could watch over you.
You stand up and wobble a little bit, dizzy. Once it passes and you’re sure you can walk without smacking into anything, you make your way back toward your room, fully intent on sleeping for the rest of the afternoon before the conference in the evening.
Just as you leave the linking center, Margot runs into you, hair wild and eyes a little bit crazy. She grabs onto your shoulders, shaking you back and forth lightly. You let her do whatever she wants, beyond caring.
“How did it go? Did he yell at you, did he flirt any? Ooh, did he smack your ass-? Hey!”
You shake her hands off, walking past her with a roll of your eyes.
“Jesus Christ Margot, you really need to get laid.”
She groans, following after you with quick steps, waving her arms around as she says, “I know! There’s just no one I’ve seen that I’m interested in, so I have to live through you and your sexy romance with Colonel Quaritch-”
You halt, turning around to grab her shoulders. You’re the one shaking her back and forth this time.
“Listen, Margot, there is nothing going on with Quaritch and me at all, nothing sexy, nothing flirty! We literally just met like two days ago, and he’s hated me ever since! Now stop saying stuff like that, or he’s going to overhear us, again, and kill us both. Okay? Okay.”
Margot whines, “Oh, but maybe there could be! If you were just a little less uptight and he was a little less homicidal, you guys could totally get together. I mean, you can’t deny that he might be interested, right? I totally saw the way he was looking at you yesterday!”
“Yeah, he was looking at me like he wanted to wrap his hands around my throat.”
“Kinky.”
“No, Margot, not kinky! More like murderous! You’re starting to sound crazy, Margot, you’ve gotta do something before you start humping anything that moves.”
Margot blushes, finally feeling some sort of shame, and she nods, “Yeah, you’re right, I’m sorry. I’m just so pent-up, honey. Ugh! Okay, I’m going to try to relax somewhere, get outta my head for a little bit. I’ll see you tonight, okay?”
You pat her shoulder and say, “See you then, Margot.”
She gives you one last smile before she’s off, bounding down the hallway. You shake your head in fond exasperation, now even more tired than before, and walk back to your room. You adored Margot, loved her, but sometimes her exuberance made your head pound.
You unlock your door, kick off your shoes, and toss yourself onto the unmade sheets of your bed. One last thought floats through your mind just before you drift off to sleep.
Maybe mornings with Quaritch won’t be as bad as I thought.
peachy keen. Part Two
#avatar: the way of water#avatar the way of water#avatar 2#avatar imagine#miles quaritch#miles quaritch x reader#miles quaritch imagine#my writing#avatar#avatar fanfiction#the way of water#cross posted on ao3#peachy keen#colonel quaritch#colonel miles quaritch#avatar miles quaritch#na'vi quaritch#na'vi quaritch x reader
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I’m sure it’s because not many people know but kon actually has a lot of different sources for angst potential! He’s engineered to be a copy of earths greatest hero yet constantly struggling to find out who he is outside of a given purpose. He galavants around with the idea that he’s independent enough to be his own boss, but from the moment of his creation he’s been told who to be or exploited by the people he meets. He’s both treated like an adult yet punished for acting like a kid. He makes mistakes and often feels like a screw up but he gets up and tries again every time! He’s acts like the S symbol is both something he already deserves (because that’s what he was made for) yet acts as if he constantly has to prove he’s worthy. He didn’t have a name for the first years of his publication history, and for a long time he didn’t know how to be anything other than Superboy (and maybe he’s still figuring that out). He cried tears of joy when Superman finally gave him his very own Kryptonian name and verbally accepted him into the family, a testament to how important that journey of identity and belonging is to him. At the same time, why did it have to take so long?
His life is constantly being uprooted, and he can never settle in one place long enough to call it home. He deserves agency and stability, yet his life is often slipping out of his own control. He yearns for a mother or father, and maybe if he had one, he wouldn’t feel so lost. For a while, he thought he would never grow up and be who he needs to be, which is ironic given how many people are quick to call him immature. He cares so much for his friends and family, and he is pained when people leave and feels immensely guilty when he hurts the people he cares about. Regardless of what he may think, those people are happy to remind him that they think of him as family too and they’ll travel across time and space and to the ends of the earth for him.
Despite being created in a lab to be a copy of someone else, ironically he is brimming with a unique personality that is sometimes sought to be stifled. But he’s tied so much worth into who he’s supposed to be that shaking that foundation shakes his very core and is a source of insecurity. He acts so differently from Clark, yet so similarly as well. He wants to be Superman, but both emulates him and fights to be Different from him. He believes in seeing the good in people, even if it lands him into trouble, and though he may doubt it or question it he really is a hero at heart. He’s like Clark where it matters, but everything else—his personality and style, his connections to his friends and family, his struggles and triumphs—all of that is completely his own.
He may not have figured out everything it meant to be human, but he’s loved enough to die for it. To die would indeed be an awfully great adventure, but like J.M. Barrie said, “To live would be an awfully big adventure.” And Kon has certainly experienced it all, good and bad.
<3
#Not directed at anyone in particular but#Kon el is too busy being tormented by the Horrors to be sad about Tim drake having a diff love interest than him okay💀💀💀#there is so much diff angst potential in him#however I do think he has trouble w change#and would be sad about the fact his bond with a person doesn’t feel as strong as before#ugh idk how to explain it#I could go on about kon for hours#spurred to make this post bc everytime I see ppl say that kon is sad bc Tim doesn’t love him I’m like#there is sooo much more here u guys#kon el#Conner kent#superboy
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