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lostonehero · 1 year ago

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This is stupid and I just really love Martin ok?

In which I make Martin's mother even worse

Tim sighs. "Why are we even here?"

"Because it's mandatory fun." Sasha snickers.

Jon crossed his arms. "Martin's running later, which isn't a surprise."

"Dude, chill out he literally just moved flats." Tim raised his brow, realizing Jon was saying this because they should all be together.

Jon sighs, his hair tied up in a bun. The heat outside was a lot for summer, and he would rather be inside.

Sasha points to a man with red hair, and his back turned to them. "Tim, where's your bidar?"

Tim followed her, pointing, and he could feel himself grow red in the face. The man was tall and chubby, but the fat was hiding muscle underneath and had intricate tattoos littering his body that poked out from the tank top, and they covered his legs that were shown from his shorts. "What department does he work in?"

Jon swallows that man could crush him, and he just wanted to be carried by him. "I'm not sure he must be a new hire."

Sasha rolls her eyes and approaches the man. "Hey, so my... oh!"

"Oh, Sasha! Sorry, I got turned around in the crowds, and I may have missed the train this morning. I made it, though, and I feel a bit underdressed, but it is quite hot today." Martin looks over and waves. "Oh, hey!"

Jon physically pales he just assumed Martin wasn't.... He wore big clothes and his face was soft. He makes his way over, and he can see the tattoos close up, and he furrows his brows. "I didn't think you would be one for tattoos."

Martin's face falls for a moment. "I didn't get them on purpose, but that isn't important. I'm glad I managed to find you guys. I ran into Elias and his ex husband that wasn't a fun conversation to get away from. Elias did look confused when he saw my tattoos he didn't even say something about being unprofessional. Anyway, I also passed some fun fair food they got from America that looked cool."

Tim nods. "I didn't know you worked out? You could have said something we can go for a run together, maybe even go on a hike."

"I just do some free climbing. It's nothing special, but hiking sounds fun." Martin smiles as Sasha grabs his arm.

"Ooo, show me the booths and spill the tea on what the big boss man was arguing about." Sasha chuckles.

"Oh, alright, yeah, so it turns out Elias's ex-husband is Peter Lukas. You know the Lukas family...."

.....

Martin sighs as he returns to his flat. He's incredibly embarrassed. Everyone saw the carvings, well they called them tattoos. He knew they weren't tattoos. His mother wasn't a kind person and used him as an experiment of sorts. 3 fears all across his flesh, he was an avatar of all of them. Jon was becoming the archivist, and Jonah was keeping him unaware till he couldn't. He knew it wouldn't work out well.

He served the Web the End and the Vast. Not really serving, they treat him like they are coparenting him, not their true nature but due to his mother they were infected by humanity and all three worry for him and don't want him hurt. He likes to think they don't want to lose their capacity to learn and understand. He actually doesn't know the reason, but he really doesn't think it's because of himself. He sighs and takes out his phone.

....

Martin: Anyone still awake?

Oliver: Late shift?

Martin: Not really.

Annabelle: Martin, don't be upset your marks are beautiful. Mother loves you dearly.

Mike: Stop.

Martin: Thanks, Mike, and I mean I know they're a part of me and everything, but also my coworkers saw.

Oliver: Did they push? I know you're working with the new archivist.

Martin: No? Tim asked me to go hiking with him, and that's not an invitation Mike to fuck with him.

Mike: :)

Martin: Mike, I'm serious, or I'll make you share bodies with Gerry again.

Mike: :(

Oliver: To be fair, Gerry does like being out of the book like that. He won't accept my offers, I don't think he likes me.

Mike: That is not the issue.

Martin: I can house Gerry for a bit.

Annabelle: Please do he promised to come to our knitting club

Martin: Are we still good for Saturday?

Annabelle: 👍

Mike: Yeah, promised Simon I make him a hat. Don't know why he asked for eyes on it.

Oliver: Oh yes, I'm working on my crochet plush, and I've made Oliva a little sweater.

Martin: Oh! (He sends a photo of a cat sized spider in a little nest she's wearing a crochet hat, and a little crochet eye is hugged by one leg.)

Annabelle: Such a big baby. I love her.

Oliver: I'm so happy she likes the little eye.

Martin: I think she thinks it's her baby she's got a mind like a cat.

Mike: she won't let me pet her :(

Martin: You tried to toss her in the air

Mike: I was just playing.

Martin: You're lucky she didn't bite you.

Mike: I love her, though she has to know that.

Annabelle: You can tell her on Saturday.

Mike: fuck you I will.

Annabelle: (a photo of Mike curled around a broken spider web, obviously drunk, and Olivia blurred skittering away)

Oliver: :)

Martin: :)

Mike: fuck all of you I'm going to bed.

....

Martin smiles as he shuts his phone off. At least he could trust them with his secrets. They were his family more, so then his actual family was. He shudders, and he knows some his carvings are glowing as he hears a soft oof.

"Sup, Martin." A skinny goth floats above him.

"Hey, Gerry, feeling better?" Martin smiles.

"Anytime out of that book is great. Oh, right, congrats on the new job. I hope you're being unhelpful as shit." Gerry smiles, showing off his tongue piercing.

"I'm trying not to be awful, just clumsy. Besides, Gertrude is dead, and the new archivist is kind of cute. He was also a part of that band we looked up." Martin hums sitting up.

"Dude, no way the Mechanism?" Gerry floats eagerly around Martin.

"Oh yeah, but he completely shuts any of that down. He totally thinks he has to be professional like all the time. He wasn't expecting the promotion, so he's over compensating." Martin hums. "Tim and Sasha are great too, but they treat me with kid gloves in a sense since Jon yells at me. I honestly don't mind it, but I just wish I could tell the truth, but nothing freaky has happened yet, and so they will just think I'm crazy and Jon is playing super skeptic."

"Ooo sounds like an office comedy in the Magnas insistute. I bet Jonah is having a field day." Gerry smiles. "I wanted to ask if I could stick around longer this time. I want to help you out, and I have experience dealing with Jonah."

"Gerry, you don't have to do anything for me. I'm happy to keep you around as long as you like. I know the book is painful, and I don't mind sharing my body." Martin hums. "Just don't borrow it while I'm working, please."

"Oh, absolutely not. I don't want Jonah knowing I'm hitching a ride." Gerry hums. "Anyway, what I want to do is sleep. Oh, how I miss being able to turn my brain off."

"Yeah, yeah, your flimsy excuses for me to practice a normal sleep schedule are getting worse." Martin hums, stripping off his clothes to put on pajamas.

"I thought that was pretty good." Gerry chuckles, tossing back his black hair. "You know I'm so happy I dyed it before I died, and my tattoos perfect also the piercings."

"I'm not getting any piercings." Martin rolls his eyes.

"Damn, I'm 0 for 2 now. Eh, at least you're taller than I was." Gerry chuckles. "Alright, time to sleep, and I'm going to make breakfast, I'm dying for an egg sandwich."

"America ruined you." Martin snickers crawling into bed.

Gerry gasps. "Take that back."

Martin chuckles. "Good night, Gerry."

"Goodnight, Martin." Gerry smiles. "Happy to be back."

.....

"Why are we sneaking into a random basement?" Gerry floats next to Martin.

"Because it's a progression, Jon asked me to look into the statement so I am. I highly doubt I will find a ghost spider, but it shows initiative." Martin sighs as he drops down from the basement window. "I'm also channeling my inner you."

"I'm touched, Martin. Now let's get a matchbook and burn the place down." Gerry chuckles at Martin's eye roll.

Martin turns his flashlight on his phone on. "Besides, we have to find evidence so I can eventually come clean. I don't want to lie to them forever, and I don't want them to end up like Gertrude's assistants."

"Understandable, and honestly, I don't blame you. This stuff is tricky, and I know your three patrons sure as he'll don't want what the Beholder does. I just hope things don't go sideways...." Gerry stops and looks at Martin. "Are you even listening? What has your attention... over..... fuck me."

Martin's light is shining at a woman in a red dress her skin is open pours full of worms. A hacking sound is heard from her. He steps back, and he knows he stepped on the silver worms because the woman cracked her neck to stare at him. "Hey, I'm sorry about that."

"Do you hear their lovely song?" The woman steps forward as worms spill from her lips and her body directly at Martin.

Martin steps back and looks to the window and focuses on the sky, and suddenly, he's in the air flying. "Fuck!"

Gerry takes a breath for his dead lungs. "I would of said warn me before you fly up but fuck I rather this then the worms. I don't even have my body, and I can feel it in my very core. Fuck the corruption."

Martin groans as he flies through the air. "Should I even go home? I don't want Olivia to eat those things if she follows me."

"Fuck no, and I can't believe I'm saying this but go to the archive, make up a story please." Gerry shudders. "I fucking hate the corruption."

......

Tim intercepts Martin. "Dude, you look like you fell from a building. Are you ok?"

Martin gasps. "Tim, I saw Jane Prentiss. I was investigating the ghost spider, and she was there, and she was like a living hive. I need to find Jon, I I have to make a statement."

Tim grabs his arm. "Martin, breathe, please. If you're ok with that, come on." He leads Martin's to Jon's office.

Martin hopes he isn't laying it in too thick, but again, he is panicked from the worms. "J-jon I have to make a statement."

Jon looks up a frown on his lips. "What happened to your investigation?"

Tim huffs. "Dude seriously?"

"Tim, it's fine." Martin sighs. "I went to investigate, and uh, Jane Prentiss was there. Yeah, uh, she was like a living hive." Oh, he just realized the patrons are going to be pissed when this gets back to them.

Jon nods. "Ok, I believe you are you ready to make a statement?"

Martin nods.

.......

The tape clicks off, and Martin sighs. He's so grateful Jon doesn't have the compulsions yet. He would have had to explain everything with his mother and the other avatars.

"Statement ends...." Jon takes a breath and slams a book down on a lingering worm. "Martin, I uh I'm sorry."

"It's ok, I mean, it's not, but you didn't try to fill me with worms." Martin frowns. "I don't want to go home. I'm worried that if I do, she'll find me."

"I have a cot here." Jon gave a rare smile.

Martin smiled back.

......

Jon nearly crashed into Tim. It was late, and it's only been a week since Martin started to live in the archives. He could hear him talk, and he knew Tim heard him too. "I uh you're never here this late."

Tim sighs. "I was dropping off clothes for Martin he wasn't wrong his flat is surrounded by those worms. It's also cobered in cobwebs." He pauses, staring at Jon. "I won't say anything if you don't."

Jon frowned but nodded both men, leaning by the door opened by a crack listening to Martin talk.

"I don't know. I just panicked!" Martin was pacing, but they couldn't see that.

"Panic is such a strong word when dealing with the corruption. I say you acted accordingly." A male phone emitted from the phone neither Tim nor Jon recognized.

"I mean, it does suck we have to reschedule our sewing day until further notice. Actually, the craft club sounds better or avatar tea time." A soft, nervous, sounding male voice answers. "I uh actually it would be good timing they changed my schedule at the hospital and have me working more doubles because suspicious deaths. I can't exactly tell them about fears because I'll be sanctioned."

"Why do you still have a normal job, Oliver? Mother would gladly accept you." A female voice interrupts.

The nervous voice Oliver sighs. "Because I have a doctorate, and I'm not going to waste it because I'm an avatar of the End."

"Fuck off Annabelle." That was Martin's voice but something was off. "I swear you're the definition of insanity."

"Gerry!" Three voices overlap.

"Man, I don't even care if Jonah sees me. Fuck the corruption, also fuck Gertrude while I'm at it." Not Martin chuckles. "Anyway, I'm the one to convince Martin to hide away here so Olivia doesn't eat the worms."

"Oh, that's good. I wouldn't want the baby to get an upset tummy." The unidentified male voice responded fondly. "I will get her to love me."

"She won't." Annabelle chuckles.

"Right, well now, the words out the corruption well attacked, so what have the patrons said?" Not Martin gave a heavy sigh. "Martin won't tell them even though he knows they could feel it when one worm got to him."

"Mother isn't pleased.... you really shouldn't go into the tunnels." Annabelle hums softly.

"Simon isn't worried because you know Jonah and everything, but the Vast gave me a heads up to drop in. I fucking swear if The Vast makes me join the fucking archives I'm going to be pissed I fucking hate being underground." The male voice groans. "Shit I'm giving them ideas. I dunno fuck it I'll visit tomorrow. I'm sure the new archivist would love a statement.... wait is he even that far yet?"

"No." Oliver speaks up. "He's still quite human."

"Huh." The male voice pauses. "He's also still in the dark so..."

"Don't you fucking dare." That was the real Martin.

"But it could be fun." The male voice chuckles.

"Mike, I swear, I will send Gerry to you right now." Martin huffs.

"Oh fuck yeah I'm the threat." Not Martin finishes right after. "We're totally going to paint our nails."

"Almost worth it." Mike huffs. "If it happens, I'll take Gerry."

"I don't understand why you hate it so much, Gerry seems quite nice to spend time with." Oliver seems to have returned to his phone. "Sorry, but would you rather I come by? The End isn't pleased and doesn't mind rushing things with Jane... if you get what I mean."

"Of course we do Oliver, but man fuck I never thought I would ever see the End get upset." Mike whistles. "Anyway, I'll show up tomorrow , and uh, I'll return your scarf. I finally made a new tackier one. I put clouds and stars on it, a pretty fun project."

"Guess I'll have to try harder next time." Martin chuckles. "Annabelle, if you come by, you'll give Jonah a heart attack, which please don't, it's bad enough that we have Peter in our group I don't want him to force himself in." Martin sighs.

"We can watch them divorce live." Not Martin snickers. "Serious though, does anyone know if Peter is ok?"

"He's fine he doesn't know how to accept group calls." Annabelle hums. "He's gotten better at texting, but it's still awful."

"For a man stuck in his 20s, he sure does act his actual age." Oliver hums. "Do you think if I'll ask hell, bring some fish from his boat?"

"If you're willing to listen to him talk about his ship." Mike adds dryly.

"Oh, of course, we love chatting about the sea together." Olivier hums.

"That can mean so many things, and I don't want to know any of it." Not Martin mutters.

"I still haven't convinced him to our crafts yet, but he is making them." Annabelle sounds giddy. "He made Mr. Spider a lovely jumper."

"Pics or it didn't happen." Mike interrupts.

"Already sent in the chat." Annabelle chuckles softly. "Are you sure you don't want a job working with Mother?"

"Oh, he hung up." Oliver hums. "Annabelle, you shouldn't tease him. He likes spiders like Martin does."

"They are cute." Martin adds. "But I have to go, it's late and I have to make sure Jon isn't staying late. He needs more rest than he gets. He has the right to enjoy being human while he is."

A noise of agreement, then Martin hangs up his phone. And the abundance of the door opening and two falling men.

Martin gasps. "Fuck."

Tim and Jon look up at him.

Martin sighs and pinches his brow. "You're both supposed to not be here." He sighs again and shuts the door behind them. "I'll explain, but no interruptions."

The two men barely nod as Martin begins his story.

......

"So the not you speaking is a dead guy that we have statements on called Gerald Keay." Jon blinks.

"Fuck that, Elias is Jonah Magnus?" Tim interrupts.

"Uh, yes, to both er kind of." Martin hums not elaborating, scratching his chin. "I'm sorry I've been in this mess for a long time, so I'm used to these things. My mom did carve my skin as a toddler..."

"That's really fucked up." Tim frowns. "So why here? Why are you pretending here?"

Martin sighs and frowns. "Jonah has this idea of the Watchers Crown, which will be a disaster sure the fears will have a feast, but it will come to an end. It's not some renewable apocalypse it's finite, and honestly, the fears fees are better here than there, but the eye watches and never truly learns, which again is stupid. I don't fault Jonah he is going off what his patron desires, but you can't exactly confront an eldrich horror on why its desires are bad for everyone."

"Could I? I mean, you said it yourself the archivist is more than a job." Jon bites his nail in deep thought.

Martin chuckles. "Jon, you're still human barely touched at this point. You can barely get through one statement a week. You can try to force yourself, but you have to let yourself adjust. You don't even have a hunger yet. Mike will be coming by, and his statement can help since he is another Avatar, but again, you're still so early that being touched by any other power can lead you to be an avatar to them. I never have a choice, and well, you kind of don't unless you want to gouge your eyes out."

Jon shudders and Tim looks a bit sick.

"So if you want to discuss things with the Beholder, keep moving towards becoming the archivist, or you can tall to Jonah, but I don't think he'll be much help." Martin frowns. "I'll try to keep you both safe, but it's not going to be an easy task, especially here."

Tim had a conflicted look before settling on determined. "Fuck it I'm in. I don't know about you guys, but I don't want the world to end either, and I think I would like to pick one of the fears that are infected, as Martin said."

"Oh you have a options then, The Web, The End, The Vast, and The Forsaken but that one happened by accident they have basically bonded to Peter in such a complex way that they are intertwined. All have pros and cons. Mike likes to joke that Peter is Forsaken's special little man." Martin smiles.

"Can I talk to the other avatars first?" Tim hums. "But thank you for not hiding."

Jon nods. "I appreciate not being kept in the dark."

"I'm glad I can help. Anyway it is late and I need to get some food." Martin sighs.

"Monster food or actual food." Tim raised his brow.

"Actual food." Martin rolls his eyes. "And I promised Gerry to grab kebas."

"Is it weird sharing a body?" Jon vaguely motions to Martin.

"Not really. Gerry's a cool guy, and I met him when I was 18. He didn't exactly get a choice on being stuck in the book. Sharing a body gets rid of the pain of existing in that book. I'm happy to help him out." Martin smiles. "It was weird in the beginning, but it's not so bad anymore."

"Can I ask Gerry questions?" Jon leans forward.

"After dinner. He's getting a bit impatient." Marrin chuckles. "He knows I'm hungry and can be little like a mother hen for whenever he is possessing." He laughs softly. "He's like a brother to me at this point."

Tim chuckles. "That sounds about right."

......

A man with black windswept hair and a large scarf covering his neck and lower half of his face. He has a pair of aviation goggles on his face. "Hey, I'm here to make a statement to the head archivist."

Rosie blinks and can smell ozone oozing off the man and a feeling of vertigo making place in her mind. "I uh... i"

A man stepped out behind hee coming from the hall. "It's ok, Rosie. I can handle this." The man smiles and motions for the man to follow.

The man sighs. "Fuck.... fine ok." He follows behind the shorter man, by an inch.

The man sits behind his desk and smiles. "Care to explain why you're here?"

The man rolls his eyes and pulls his scarf down to reveal his scar that travels down his face to his neck, then chest and arm. "I'm not here for you, Jonah. You should already know why I'm here."

"Enlighten me." Jonah continues to smile.

"Fine. Martin got attacked by the corruption following a lead, and he asked me to come by to make a statement and introduce myself to everyone, but you already knew that and wanted me to tell you the actual truth because you can see Martin due to the web." He smirks, knocking the nail on the head.

Jonah scowls. "Will you be interfering?"

"Depends on my mood. I can always ask Simon to drop by." The man smiles wider.

"The Beholder hasn't changed, and I will do my best to complete their desire." Jonah sighs, leaning back. "But you aren't here for that. I suppose I should be happy, but I can't say that I am. Don't kill my archivist." He pulls out a vistor badge. "This should get you inside. Please don't kill any of them they are still new."

The man smiles and takes it, and adjusts his scarf. "Pleasure as always, Jonah. It also makes me so happy to know you still haven't figured out what Martin is." He chuckles as he leaves.

Jonah rubs his temples.

......

"I'm excuse me unauthorized people aren't allowed down here." A woman with coffee colored skin and long curly hair and large glass puts on a polite smile.

Mike pulls up his scarf and holds up the visitor pass. "Oh right, sorry. I just got my pass from Mr. Bouchard, I'm here to talk to Blackwood and uh the archivist."

"Oh! My apologies, my name is Sasha it's nice to meet you." Sasha smiles and hums. "Jon's in his office with Tim and Martin like a little boys club."

Mike nods. "I'm Mike, by the way. Nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you, Mike." Sasha smiles and guides him to Jon's office, then knocks on the door.

Jon opens it, revealing Tim crossed his arms and Martin eating a kebab in the corner. "What is it, Sasha?"

"I have a person who is here to see you and Martin." Sasha motions to Mike.

Jon nods. "Oh uh hello come in."

Mike nods and waves to Sasha before the door shuts behind him.

......

Martin gives a warning look. "Mike."

"Martin, you told them?" Mike raised his brow and lowered his scarf.

"I didn't have a choice." Martin sighs. "Why are you here? Are you still going to give a statement?"

"Maybe." Mike sighs, sitting himself down in a chair. "Honestly, I was worried. The corruption is expanding into the buried territory, and that's a nasty fight happening. Thought you got caught into that."

Martin looks between Tim and Jon, then shakes his head. "No, it was a woman named Jane Prentiss, just a lone hive, but I don't exactly come off as an avatar unless I'm using my abilities. She would have followed me home so I just came here. Well, it was Gerry's idea, and I couldn't argue with logic."

Mike sighs. "He's right. This place sucks but it can survive an attack. Anyway, I'm here, and they probably want answers. I don't know how help -" he clutched his head, then scowls. He huffs. "I was joking!"

Tim raised his brow. "What did you do?"

Martin smiles. "Gerry wanted to say hi."

Mike leans back, and his shoulders slack as he kicks his feet up. "Dude, stop shouting. we both know that doesn't do shit. Besides, we both warned you." He rolls his eyes. "Anyway, hello again, it's Gerry, and I'm basically keeping Mike from feeding on either of you. We both know you are not hungry, and if you do it to Jon, you're playing into the Beholders' hands. Yeah, jokes can wait until the Beholder gets common sense."

Martin sighs. "Gerry, you can let Mike back out."

Mike sits up straight and huffs, crossing his arms. "Fucking goth bitch. As I was saying, the in fighting is getting annoying, and The Vast is strictly neutral until well that happened." He motions to Martin. "I'm not exactly good underground, but I'll help out. I'm trying to keep Simon out of the loop, but thankfully, he's busy with his space projects."

"Simon Fairchild?" Jon raised his brow.

Mike nods. "Yeah, he's one of the first Avatar of the Vast, well before they figured out consciousness and whatever and won't exactly let me keep aging like him. Don't really know how it's going to go. I'm still young." He frowns. "However, I am here to help so when the worms do come use, co2 kills them pretty well."

Tim hums. "Could you explain your patron? Martin went over all of them briefly, and if I'm going to have to lose my humanity to keep up with this and stop the end of the world, I would like to know my options better."

"You are not showing him an example." Both Martin and Gerry using Mike's body says at the same time.

"Fuck you guys are no fun." Mike sighs. "Think the sky the vast openness then falling or just too much space no end to it no matter how far yoy go you're still to far from anything. Don't get us mistaken for the Lonely. Even if we are similar, we are quite different." He frowns. "But you have three other options, and you don't seem like the type for the Forsaken. The End might suit you but I don't know enough about you."

Tim furrows his brows. "Alright, I don't know how I feel about following something that sustains off death."

"Oh, Oliver would hate that you said that." Mike snickers. "He would be too polite to say anything, though. Our patrons feed on fear and the emotions surrounding what they are well, the four that have mentioned do the others are strictly fear since yaknow no pretense of a thinking mind. The archivist here might be able to change that for the future of the Beholder, and before you ask, why not Jonah? Because the man is at the mercy of his patron, and is strictly being used as an eye the only reason why the Beholder hasn't tossed him aside is because he's useful and the Forsaken has an invested interest because they adore Peter and they know Peter likes Jonah. Also, I think the Beholder enjoys picking out new bodies for the man, but I'm probably projecting."

Jon frowns. "So I'm the only hope?"

"No." Mike rolls his eyes. "You're a good chance, but not the only option." He sighs. "Whatever, let me give you a statement, and I'll be out of your hair."

Martin gets up and taps Tim's shoulder. "We should give them privacy. Uh, wait, before I go, I can take Gerry back."

Mike shakes his head. "Nah, I'm fine..... please don't tell Oliver." And Martin couldn't tell if it was Mike or Gerry speaking or both.

Martin smiles softly. "You're going to have to tell him." He guides Tim out and sighs.

"So what's up with the Oliver guy?" Tim raised his brow as the door shuts.

"They both have a massive crush on the man, and neither of them are able to confess. Hence why Mike is always adamant to keep Gerry out." Martin snickers. "It's really funny Oliver is completely clueless."

Tim smirks. "Ok, tell me all the freaky tea like now."

Martin nods.

......

Eli: Jonah's busy being pissy about Peter

Martin: Welcome back

Annabelle: Jonah has not figured out your passwords yet?

Eli: Oh, absolutely not, nor has he found any of my hiding spots.

Annabelle: Mother would love to have you.

Eli: That isn't possible. Also, Jonah is terrified of you.

Annabelle: ::::)

Peter: Elias.

Eli: My sailorman! How much longer till we get you back?

Peter: Forsaken is being picky.

Eli: Ah.

Mike: Oh, let me tell him.

Eli: We've tried Mike.

Peter: The Forsaken does not want me to be with you. That is entirely the opposite of my patron. You and Jonah have these debunkabke theories, and I keep..msjeih

Annabelle: Rip

Mike: rip

Martin: Rip

Eli: Proof Peter! Everything you argue, you lose control and phase through objects. Just come home. I already put the marriage papers in our normal spot. Besides, Jonah is insufferable and refuses to admit he misses you.

Peter: A week.

Peter: Elias?

Oliver: Oh, welcome back, Peter.

Mike: Old Jonah took back control.

Peter: Can you let them both in here?

Annabelle: Before Mike answers, I believe the answer is still no.

Mike: This is Gerry, and as much fun as that would be, we've agreed that Jonah can join when the corruption is out of the archives.

Peter: I'll handle that.

Oliver: uh

Annabelle: That wasn't supposed to...

Martin: fuck

Mike: Oh fuck is he there?

Martin: Gerry isn't leaving you for the next three years.

Oliver: I think that's a sign I need to sleep.

Mike: Fuck.

Annabelle: Mother is very confused.

Martin added Tim, Sasha and Jon to the chat.

Martin: Ask them questions

Tim: Spooky Discord

Jon: Tim be polite.

Oliver: No, he isn't wrong.

Sasha: Someone explain why the archives are trapped in a dense fog

Mike: Ah we fucked up.

Oliver: No shit. Peter doesn't get sarcasm or your jokes.

Mike: I knew I was forgetting something.

Sasha: Peter, as in Peter Lukas?!

Mike: Yeah, the one in the same married to Elias.

Annabelle: Currently divorced, nearly married again.

Tim: I'm sorry what

Sasha: Someone preferably not Mike explain. I literally have no idea what's going on.

Mike: Fair

Oliver: Oh, I'll explain. It's good to be distracted when surrounded by the lonely.....

......

Voice call ends

Sasha: Ok, that makes sense.

Tim: Who's Eli?

Jon: Yes, everyone else has been accounted for.

Oliver: So funny story...

Mike: Wait, wait, WAIT.

Mike: Don't tell them - Gerry

Martin: I mean, you're probably right.

Tim: Now we have to know.

Sasha: What is Eli, Elias, or something?

Annabelle: ::::)

Jon: Please tell me you're joking.

Mike: I get why he didn't make Sasha archivist.

Oliver: Honestly, she would probably become Gertrude 2.0

Sasha: Why would that be bad?

Mike: After I died, she trapped me in a book im in constant agonyif im nit sharing a bkdy woth someone. -Gerry

Oliver: She has more blood ok her hands than I do, and I'm an avatar of the End

Martin: She did attempt to kill me, but I was a teenager.

Jon:.... I'm sorry, what?!

Martin: I mean it wouldn't be the first time.

Tim: You get how that's worse, right? Right?

Sasha: Ok, not going to be Gertrude.

Martin: I'm fine, my mom didn't kill me, and neither did she.

Jon: Martin, how many people have tried to kill you?

Oliver: I have a spreadsheet

Martin: Oh, update it Jane needs to go on there.

Oliver: I knew I was forgetting something.

Tim: Why the fuck do you have a spreadsheet?

Oliver: It's better so our patrons don't go on rampages. They tend to be quite protective of their avatars. I guess that makes us possessions.

Mike: fucked up but true

Annabelle: Mother loves us in a way that isn't human.

Martin: To be fair, it's more love than I've ever received from my own family.

Jon: Oh lord.

Eli: Oh boy, new people..... anyway, the old man is pouting because Peter messed up his archives, so I'm back, also because Jurgen Leitner is hiding in the tunnels.

Mike: Fuck me that's where that asshole has been hiding? -Gerry

Mike: I will suffer underground to watch you beat the shit out of him.

Oliver: Bring a camera

Annabelle: I'll let you keep one of my babies if you sent me video.

Mike: kk already on it.

Sasha: Who are you, Eli

Eli: Technically speaking or literally? Because both are loaded answers.

Jon: literally?

Eli: Elias Bouchard, the actual one.

Tim: what?

Sasha: wtf

Jon: bullshit

Eli: To be fair, Jonah has been in control the majority of the time. I'm a passenger in my body during work hours for the most part. Anyway, Martin, can I get a picture of Oliva? I wanna make her out background to piss off Jonah.

Martin : (a picture of a cat sized spider in a green eye jumper seemingly sleeping in a giat web nest)

Eli: Perfect cheers, and I'm out.

Jon: first what the fuck is that Martin, and second what?

Sasha: That looks oddly cute, Martin.

Tim: So Jonah Magnus and Elias Bouchard share a body?

Oliver: Basically, hit the nail on the head.

Oliver: However, just because the Beholder did this for the first time, we still aren't certain that the Beholder is sentient enough to understand that the Watchers Crown is an awful idea.

Annabelle: Normally, the people Jonah possesses are already dead.

Oliver: Fun fact the End doesn't hate this it thinks it's really amusing to watch. The original body of Jonah Magnus lived till 100, which is quite impressive considering the time period.

Martin: To add, Jonah doesn't actually get to choose his new body. The Beholder dies, and it seems the Beholder has a specific type picked out.

Mike: assigned twink at swap.

Mike: fuck I was going to say that - Gerry

Tim: that's hilarious in a fucked up way

Sasha: is Elias ok?

Martin: As far as I know, he's happily married and actually enjoys Jonah's company

Annabelle: it's a polygamous relationship and Jonah is the only reason Elias ever figured out his sexuality.

Jon: huh I don't know what to do with that information.

Tim: that's one way to accomplish that.

Sasha: good for them.

......

#the magnus archives #tma #martin blackwood #tim stoker #sasha james #jonathan sims #elias bouchard

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bendy-n-stuff · 25 days ago

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https://archiveofourown.org/works/59554816/chapters/169948645#workskin

Wow another chapter 24 hours after the last one? This is a bad omen tbh. I will so try to not disappear, I promise.

Jon and Martin sat together in the lobby, hands intertwined with one another’s. The man who was there at the front desk previously had left, either to go on break or perhaps having never sat there in the first place. They were alone again, just the two of them.

“Soooo… new cosmic horrors, eh?” Martin started.

“It indeed appears so,” Jon nodded.

“And uh… your abilities still seem to work alright.”

“If you’re asking if I’m still apocalypse Google, I am not. But I think that’s largely because it’s no longer the apocalypse. I can still Ask, I think, and maybe Know a little, but it isn’t as strong,” Jon answered. He was nervously twiddling with their fingers, feeling Martin’s joints move. It was… strange losing a bit of himself, a monstrous bit, but a piece of him nonetheless.

“Yeah, I should’ve guessed that. All your eyes are closed,” Martin said, his free hand going to caress Jon’s marred skin. “Well, your extra ones anyway.” He sighed wistfully while looking his partner deep in the two eyes that were still there; had always been there.

“Hold on…” Jon started after a beat of silence, “You don’t miss them, do you?” A small smirk pulled at his lips as the other started sputtering to answer.

Martin gripped Jon’s hand tighter while trying to get his tongue to cooperate, his cheeks starting to burn slightly. “Well you didn’t have to say it quite like that!” he exclaimed. “I guess I just… got used to them is all. They were a part of you. So… yes. I guess I do miss them. Because I love every part of you.”

It was Jon’s turn to fluster at those words; he leaned on the other in order to hide his embarrassment. It was comfortable, just being together. For just a moment ignore what had happened and what would just to be here. Holding hands, together, in a moment of solace. But unfortunately it couldn’t last. They needed to talk about this new world they found themselves in.

Jon sighed and lifted his head off of Martin’s shoulder. “What do you think about this ‘Cecil’ character we just met? His demeanor reminded me a bit too much of Peter Lukas, but being chipper hardly makes you a bad person.”

“Yeah,” Martin nodded, “I picked up on that too; he doesn’t seem malicious though. With Peter there was a certain… undercurrent with his words, his presence. You could tell he was a little dangerous. Cecil just seems… eccentric? I think?”

“No kidding,” Jon agreed. “Beyond that though, I can tell he works for the Eye. Even if he doesn’t know it, he does. He can See and Know but I can’t tell how far or how much. For example, he didn’t seem to know our names, but that could’ve just been a hoax to let our guard down. He seems immune to my Asking as well.”

Martin hummed and started to mess with Jon’s long hair, winding it through his fingers and gently pulling at knots. “I can see what you mean. And the other avatars he mentioned, they seemed so abstract, don’t you think? Like Huntokar could definitely be a real name, but what the hell is a Glow Cloud?”

“He mentioned he kept recordings of his old broadcasts, maybe they’ll work like statements,” Jon said.

“Lord, I'm so tired of statements,” Martin bemoaned. “Hold on, are you still going to have to feed here? Since your powers are lesser and everything? What’s your hunger level?”

Jon paused for a second before looking back up, “I have no idea. Maybe I’ll get lucky? I don’t feel hungry.”

“It would be great if you didn’t have to feed anymore! No more daily creepy sessions out in the domains. Wait, were they daily? They seemed daily.” Jon gave Martin a look before he groaned out, “Right. No real time passing, dream state, yada yada. Forget I asked.”

“I’ll pretend to forget just for you.”

“As you should.”

As they giggle together, Cecil steps into the lobby to join them. “Hey fellas!” he greets. “I’m all done recording today and called my husband. I’ll be taking you both out to dinner tonight while he gets a spare room ready. Now, we only have one, so I hope you two are alright sharing a bed?”

“More than alright,” Jon confirmed. Martin nodded in agreement.

Cecil beamed, “That’s great! It took a little convincing, but since you guys will be joining the community, I told my husband a little trust is important to build. My husband is a Scientist, so eventually he agreed it was logical. Don’t you just love cute science buzzwords like ‘logical’? So cute.”

“Buzzword??”

“Oh! I nearly forgot, proper introductions. I forgot to really introduce myself during our existence question and also didn’t quite catch your names,” Cecil said sheepishly. “My name is Cecil Gershwin Palmer, and I am Night Vale’s very own community radio host!”

“Right, my name is Jonthan Sims and this is my partner Martin Blackwood. I am,” Jon paused. “Was the Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute. Or simply put the Archivist.”

“Did you work in Science too?” Cecil asked.

“No, that definitely wasn’t science.”

“That’s a shame,” Cecil said. “Anyways, let's get going, yeah? The Moonlite all Night Diner is pretty close by and is right next to some of Night Vale’s older attractions that I’d love to show you.”

Martin takes Jon’s hand once again as they get up. “That sounds great, thank you. I’m sorry we don’t have a way to pay you back yet.”

“That’s quite alright,” Cecil assured. “You two are far from the only interlopers with only the clothes on your back. Even my sweet Carlos was an interloper at one point.”

“Interloper?”

“Yes!” Cecil said chipperly as he walked them to the door. “A bit of local culture if you will. Newcomers are commonly referred to as interlopers. You gain true citizenship after about ten years of being in the community.”

Jon and Martin just nodded as their host led them out into the street. It seemed John Peters wasn’t the weird outlier in this town. Cecil guided their way to a diner down route 800. There were a few buildings nearby, one with a sign saying it was the Desert Flower Bowling Alley and Arcade Fun Complex, which was a bit of a mouthful. Another building was Rico’s Pizza, another nice choice for later, maybe. The whole way Cecil kept chatting at them, giving tidbits of history about the town or gushing about his family, which seemed to consist of him, his husband, a son, a dog, his sister, brother-in-law and niece.

“And here we are!” Cecil exclaimed and guided them inside. It was a retro themed diner with the common neon lights and sit down booths with a bar counter stretching through the middle to accommodate those moving quickly through or eating alone. Cecil gestured for them to sit in a booth, taking the side across from them. “Now do you prefer real food or imaginary?”

“Er, we’ll take real food please,” Martin answered.

Cecil nodded and handed them a menu specifically for the real food. “You should try the imaginary food sometime. It’s a town speciality.”

“I noticed,” Jon said, taking the menu with a nod. “John Peters, the farmer, gave us some imaginary corn muffins for breakfast when we first arrived.”

“You lucky ducks,” Cecil said with a chuckle. “Doesn’t he make just the best imaginary corn muffins? I had it once at a potluck- ugh. Delicious. I expect no less from our main source of imaginary corn however.”

Soon a waitress with the name tag Luara comes over and takes their orders. Jon ordered a turkey club sandwich, Martin ordered pancakes with blueberries in them and Cecil ordered an imaginary coffee and a real cheese burger.

“I’ve never been to an American diner,” Martin commented, deciding to really try and take in the scene. “This is America, right?” Cecil nodded, trying to not take offense.

“I was in America once,” Jon mentioned lazily while messing with the silverware. “That went famously well,” he said sarcastically.

“Well consider this friendly desert community a new start!” Cecil smiled. “I think you’ll find it largely different from the rest of America. In fact, my husband even said it was the most scientifically interesting city in America as a whole.”

“What science does your husband do?” asked Martin.

Cecil shrugged, “He’s just a Scientist.”

“Right…”

“Anyways,” Cecil waved off, “If you don’t mind, I have some questions of my own.”

Jon straightened up and focused. “Go ahead,” he said cautiously.

“So if I’m understanding correctly, you come from a different world entirely, correct? One with entities you called the Fears?”

“That’s correct,” Jon confirmed.

“You didn’t happen to fall through a rift, did you?”

Jon stuttered for a moment. “How did you know?”

“Well that explains everything! You see, Night Vale exists in a rift, I think. We had a time where there were countless different Night Vales, all with different outcomes and different situations. To stabilize things, Huntokar had to clean up the rift and separate the different towns for good; however some things still fall through. I think you two might be one of those things.”

“That… makes a lot of sense.”

“And I’m guessing you weren’t very fond of where you came from?”

“Hold on, that’s not fair,” Martin interjected. “It was… okay maybe not the best place, but it was home before the apocalypse. We fell through the rift to save our world, give it another chance. Because our world was worth it.”

“And in doing so we doomed yours…” finished Jon.

“Doomed?”

“Yes, doomed,” Jon nodded. “We had these entities called the Fears. They were… well, what people feared, manifested. There were 14 distinct categories but they could often be melded into one. Martin and I served an entity called the Eye, a fear set on only observing and recording. I became an Archive, essentially, because I ended the world.”

“Jon…”

“It’s the truth, Martin. I started the end of our world and became a powerful entity and now there’s a chance the Fears are going to end this one and I don’t have the power to stop them. I-” Jon startles slightly as a plate containing the sandwich he ordered is placed in front of him, along with the other two getting their meals.”Thank you Miss.”

“So…” Cecil started as the other had paused because of their food arriving. “There’s a new threat to Night Vale?”

Jon nodded.

“Then we’ll face it together.”

“What? You hardly even know us and it’s all my fault-”

“You’re a part of this community now and community stays together,” Cecil interrupted. “It’s hardly the first threat we’ve encountered. We’ve rebuilt countless times and have always come back stronger. You both look famished, we’ll talk more after you��ve had a good bite to eat.”

Jon looked down at his sandwich. Nothing blinked back, or crawled out of it. He was hungry…

#new to nightvale #chapter 5 #tma #the magnus archives #wtnv #welcome to night vale #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #bendy n stuff stuff

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anysin · 1 year ago

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Fic: Just Communication

For Twitter requester, here is a LonelyEyes with "nobody believes they are dating" theme! Set before the show. Guest appearances by Nathaniel Lukas and Simon.

Just Communication

"You have grown close to Jonah Magnus, haven't you?"

Peter knows that Nathaniel is deceptive; he might sound perfectly casual, and still have a knife hiding in his words. Therefore, Peter has to be cautious.

"I have," Peter says, his own voice calm. "Not willingly though."

"Of course not." There is faint approval in Nathaniel's voice, but it could also be a trap, so Peter doesn't let his guard down. Nathaniel goes on, his voice still plain: "It's actually good that you get along with him. Jonah Magnus has been an ally of the family for years, and it would be better to keep it that way."

"How about you get to the point?"

Being rude is risky, but Peter doesn't like mind games, so the sooner he puts an end to them the better. Nathaniel raises his brows, but doesn't seem offended.

"My point is that you're doing well, Peter, and you should keep doing what you do." Nathaniel's voice hardens a bit. "So you should fix your attitude, both with the family and Mr. Magnus. We don't afford to push him away."

And with that, Nathaniel gives himself away. Peter restrains a sigh of relief; nobody still knows the truth.

"Simon," Elias says. "What brings you to my office today?"

He could scold Simon for barging in without an invitation, but he knows it's no use; Simon will just pretend he didn't hear a word Elias just said. So Elias lets Simon walk around in his office, investigate the shelves, even Elias's desk.

"I miss it when you had a skull on your desk, it was funny." Simon finally sits down, crossing his legs as he gives Elias a bright smile. "Now, I'm here to talk to you about Peter Lukas."

Well, isn't this interesting? Has Simon sniffed them out, being as nosy as he is? "What about him?" Elias asks, keeping his voice cool.

"You two have been spending a lot of time together." Simon links his fingers together above his knee, and although there is still an amused glint in his eyes, they have become sharp. "As an old, quite literally, friend of his, I want to caution you to be careful with him. He isn't used to having friends and I know you are a vicious creature to have for a friend."

"Saying that from experience?" Elias asks, smiling himself.

"Naturally." Simon shrugs. "Anyway, whatever nasty things you have in mind for him, I suggest you watch your step. He has other friends too."

Elias laughs, leaning forward in his chair.

"What if I have him wrapped around my finger already?" he asks, keeping his tone playful. Still, he has his guard up; if Simon really knows somethng, it could spell trouble for him and Peter.

To his relief, Simon snorts at this words.

"Please, as if you could resist the urge to air it out to the world." Simon shakes his head, starting to get up from the chair. "But remember what I said, Elias. Don't go toying with him." He gives Elias another sharp look. "You will regret it."

Simon is right; it's hard for Elias not to taunt him straigth in his face. But he keeps his words down, and only nods.

In the afternoon, Peter comes for a visit.

"I had a talk with good old Uncle Nathaniel today," Peter says instantly upon entering the office, just barely having closed the door behind him. "He was telling me to be nice to you, which I think means that he doesn't know just how nice I have been."

"That is some strange timing." Elias frowns, leaning back in his chair. "Simon Fairchild came to me today to tell me to stay away from you."

Peter's eyes widen. "Do you think he knows?"

"I don't think anyone knows for sure, but it seems like your family and Simon are aware that something is going on. Your family seems to approve so far, but that could change." Elias looks over to Peter, who still lingers by the door. "But it also means we have done a good job keeping our affair secret. We should keep doing what we do."

"That's kind of what my uncle said." Peter sighs, but takes his coat off, signaling he's about to get comfortable. "Now, do you have anything to drink here?"

"Don't be ridiculous. We will go to my house once my work is done." Elias smiles at Peter. "You could give me a back rub while I'm at it. Help my concentration."

"Since when have you needed anything to help with that?" But Peter is smiling too, tossing his coat over to the sofa in Elias's office before pacing over to Elias, tracing his arm with his fingertips as he moves behind him.

It's good that Elias is the one whose god watches; they will be safe from other prying eyes for a while. But if they eventually are exposed- well, it will take a little more than disapproval from family and friends to make Elias back off.

Not now that he has decided that Peter is his.

#my fic #the magnus archives #lonelyeyes #peter x elias

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late-to-the-magnus-archives · 2 years ago

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A Special Day - a TMA fic

It's the big day. Jon and Martin will join to create one family, to become Blackwood-Sims for the rest of their lives, however that looks.

But this world is a mess, and Jon's red-string conspiracy board doesn't come close to solving it. Also, Jonah Magnus has the worst timing no matter what world he's in.

Part of the Magnus Monsterverse.

AO3

------

I drove my uni roommates absolutely mad with my notes. Post-It notes, half-used notebooks, scraps of paper torn from things. Sometimes I wrote on old receipts, or on the backs of syllabi, or (one memorable day) on the A4 sheet with a professor’s name, which had been taped to her door. I had nothing else to write on! It wasn’t as though she’d miss it, anyway.

My coworkers at the Magnus Institute had no idea how good they had it, really.

At any rate, it wasn’t really shocking that no one could understand my filing system. The confusion on Martin’s face as he witnessed my newest masterpiece spoke to that.

“Uh,” he said, staring at my handiwork.

“Wait,” I said. “I can explain.”

His mouth twitched. Martin Blackwood, the love of my life, was trying very hard not to laugh at me. “Right,” he said, and put his bag on the counter, carefully avoiding the strings.

“So,” I said. “Here’s what we have so far.” And starting on the left, I walked him through my system.

Red strings connected events and people. Post-It notes indicated category by color, and colored paperclips to indicate subcategories. The unknown was scribbled on white lined notebook paper, generally pinned according to how confident I felt about solving them—i.e., red push-pins meant I don’t have a damned clue, green push-pins meant possibly someday, yellow push-pins meant, I am about to give up on this—

“I don’t mean to interrupt,” said Martin, no longer hiding his grin. “But maybe we could cut to the chase a little? What’s all this for?”

“Oh,” I said. “Sorry. I thought it was obvious.”

“No?” he said, outright grinning now.

I took a deep breath. “So here we have all the players that I know of. Two Agnes Montagues, status unknown; at least one Jared, status known; two Jude Perrys, at least one Melanie, three Georgies, two Nolans, Crew and Banks, Campbell and Jane Prentiss, at least one each of Michael and Helen—”

“Oh, there were more,” said Martin. “They get absorbed.”

I stared at him.

“By choice,” he added. “Trust me, they aren’t upset about it.”

I lost a few seconds as the Eye showed me a merging I couldn’t understand, because they became one and yet they absolutely did not. Michael was legion, which meant Gerry was literally fucking a horde.

I shook my head. Back to reality. “Right. Well. Three Gerrys, sort of. At least one Manuela, something like eight Jonahs, at least one Tim, Peter Lukas, Callum, and Simon Fairchild.”

“I mean, there are more,” he said.

“Oh, I know!” I said brightly, and continued to explain my system.

Satellite feeds “monitoring everything,” Manuela had said. Leitner’s mysteries. Gertrude the unknown. The nonsense of us all being chosen ones. The precise mechanics by which we all ended the world—which included the fact that apparently, I had done it in a totally unique way. “What is the Veil, anyway?” I said.

“A… dimensional skin?” Martin suggested. “I don’t know. I mean, the Fears aren’t exactly like Smirke envisioned them, either.”

“True enough.” Smirke had definitely not imagined anything like what the Eye had become.

It greeted me happily and dumped a few episodes of of 1980s Ducktales in my head.

I needed a moment.

“Jon?” said Martin, concerned.

“It… it’s nothing. Sorry.” It had a catchy theme-tune, though. "Anyway. Here’s the thing. Whatever is happening here… for some reason, it needs us. I… am the only one here who ended the world the way I did. What are the chances? How can it be? It can’t! Why me? Why like this?”

He slides up to me, and as his arms wrap around, I melt into his warmth and his scent, the sandalwood aftershave, the slight crispness of his starched tuxedo jacket, the softness of his fresh-shaven cheek. “Because you’re unique,” he said, and his lips grazed my ear. “I won’t hear otherwise. I am marrying the most amazing man I’ve ever known in any universe.”

I close my eyes, resting my face on his shoulder. Although the tux, I will admit, is not my favorite texture. “Suppose I’d better get ready.”

“Don’t sound so enthusiastic,” he teased.

I laugh. Then I go to finish arranging my own fancy clothes.

It wasn't not a large ceremony, but I’m quite certain it would still give a stranger a bit of vertigo. After all, half the audience was doubled.

At least doubled.

It was important to invite them. To say I was intentionally letting go of any potential lingering unpleasantness, bitterness, fear. To say I was joining this bizarre, piecemeal family—and by their invitation to our wedding, they were joining mine. Speaking of wedding…

A lot of Roman traditions made it through to modern times, and oh, boy.

I was damned lucky I didn’t need to wear a toga. We did have to don wreaths of flowers and herbs (both of us, instead of the “bride”), and would be wearing veils when we made vows. But before that… well, it was damned embarrassing.

So first, the “groom” (we'd decided I would be, based purely on the fact that I am older) must kidnap the “bride,” who pretends to be against it to fool the household gods. I must drag him away (while he loudly protests) with witnesses, who would, in all likelihood, be hurling bawdy jokes and dirty lyrics our way in an encouraging manner.

Then, having obtained my ill-gotten bride, I cart them away to a room with a special couch where we are supposed to consummate. With all our guests in hearing range, just on the other side of the wall. Dear lord.

So we wouldn’t be doing that, but we would do the rest, and spend some time on the stupid little couch while they all enjoyed a reception outside. After, we would sign the contract, and we'd be done. We’d be married. I’d be a husband. Why in hell was I nervous?

Martin kissed my cheek. “See you on the other side.”

“Come on, damsel,” said Tim, and pulled Martin away from me to the other room, where he would pretend to defend his honor.

Michael stood with me. It had insisted on being my friendly household spirit (a ridiculous fulfillment of a ridiculous tradition), and now handed me a small bowl of salts. “To throw and distract Tim,” it said unnecessarily.

“Thank you. And thank you for, uh. Volunteering.”

It grinned at me with too many teeth. “I had to see it happen. Also, Gerry asked it of me.”

Well, that was news (but it didn't have to be, and the Eye offered to show me their conversation in the middle of absolutely bizarre multi-person in single-body sex anyone could imagine, and I shut that right down). “Why?”

Michael shrugged. “Oh, Archivist… is it so hard to believe others would like to see you happy?”

It was, and I didn’t know what to say.

The embodiment of doubt shivered. “Delicious, but now, it is time to move on. Are you ready for your role, Archivist?”

“Absolutely.” Not at all.

It cackled. The laugh was… less of a headache these days and more an expansion of human sound. “Delicious,” it said again, and steered me toward the door.

Ridiculous.

“Oh no! My virtue?” Martin cried as if in doubt it existed at all.

There was laughter as scents and lights and so many voices hit me all at once (and the Eye tried to show me everyone’s everything and I begged It to scale back), and Tim stepped between us and smirked, faux-glaring. “Thou shall not have his virtue, foul fiend.”

Martin was all-in. “Who shall rescue me from my virtue! Oh, wait, I got that backwards…”

The laughter was good-natured. Cheering (a surprising amount for me, by name) to get on with it and give a show, and the vague but ubiquitous command to get em. And I was laughing (and hadn’t expected to, but the joy on Martin’s face—) and people threw flowers and Tim waggled his eyebrows and said, “Put em up, put em uuuuup,” (The Cowardly Lion! the Eye informed me), and I emptied the salt bowl at Tim’s feet.

“I am defeated. My one weakness… salinity!” he said, swanning away.

The hoots and howls rose, and someone banged a tambourine. I was cheered on. By name.

Martin gave me the naughtiest look I have ever seen, and that was saying something. “Oh, no,” he said, absolutely flat. “To be freed from my binding chastity!”

And I don’t know what took over me. Maybe my millennia-past youth in student theater, or maybe the shock of everyone’s praise, or maybe… maybe just him, his eyes sparkling, his grin huge and playful, his blush (he was blushing!) amazing and lovely. Whatever the cause, I lost my mind, and dove all-in. “Oh, I’ll free you, all right,” I said (and managed a growl, to his delight), grabbed his hand, and yanked him into me.

He was larger. Heavier. But I stood still like a wall as he fell into me, and my arms around him were strong. “Jon,” he whispered, and licked his lips.

“Let’s blow this Popsicle stand!” I announced, spending all my “cool” credits for the foreseeable future, and ran for the door, pulling him behind me as everybody in the room erupted in cheers.

They started music out there, and loud conversation, patient while we did whatever with this steamy tradition.

Martin sat with me on the special couch (loosely inspired by the ancient Roman lectus) and held hands, side by side, both smiling shyly, both red in the face.

“I can’t believe you’re going through with this with me,” I said. “I red-stringed your kitchen.”

He laughed. “I’ll take your red strings over anyone’s anything.”

“Madman,” I pronounced, and pulled him in for a kiss.

We took our time, just lying there; we would not be consummating in (relative) public, but it was all symbolic, anyway. Also deeply romantic. To lie there under him, our tux buttons catching on each other, our breath mingled, our lips red and swollen, while out there, people we knew or had known cheered us on.

“This is weirdly inebriating,” I murmured, worrying his lower lip.

“You are,” he murmured back, and made an indecent sound. “You’re making it very difficult to be public-safe.”

“Your jacket is long enough,” I said practically, and he laughed.

“Come on, you goon. We’ve made them wait long enough. Got to sign the paperwork.”

The final formality. The Blackwood-Sims family begins.

We exited the room to ribald cheering, to loud toasts, to Tim and Michael hurrying forward to put veils on us and replace our wreaths. Carefully, both of us holding the same pen, we signed the final paperwork, and it was done. To massive cheering, we grinned at one another, his veil making his eye color pop, and finally joined everyone else in a feast well-started.

Can a man made of eyes get pleasantly sloshed? I was about to find out.

I have never “partied.” I can’t even qualify that with like this, because I simply never have. After today, I sort of see the appeal.

In true traditional fashion, everyone stayed and ate and drank until they were completely blotto. Some took advantage of the couches places strategically around the room to sleep it off. Others hired drivers to take them home; still others disappeared into mist, or vanished into webbing, or accepted a trip (so bold) through someone’s conjured doors.

Martin was out, leaning on the table with his head on his hands, dreaming… well, um. Things not meant for others.

I was considerably less drunk than I’d hoped I’d be, but at least I’d had a short while of feeling blissfully buzzed, delightedly dozy, and we all had a very good time. And I was married. There was that.

Married.

I could absolutely not be happier than this.

I hummed as I clean up a little, not that it was my job, but it was the least I can do to thank the people who came together to make this happen. I gathered and stacked cups, hummed some more as I put trash into a bag, and ensured everyone’s airways were unhindered.

I was married.

I couldn’t help smiling like a fool as I moved between tables. After this, we were going home. I’ve requested time off from my new job (and Spider Martin is hardly going to argue) so we could have something of a honeymoon, though I wasn’t entirely sure where.

Martin wanted to go to Canada. It was a magnificent place, apparently—neither France nor England ever had control over it, and the lack of colonialism left the land pristine and the people varied and creative. The Canadian nation was evidently a loosely affiliated network of tribal associations, and it was a wonderful place to visit.

I wanted to visit. I wanted to see, all on my own, without the Eye showing me… and It wanted that, too. It wanted to see through me. It wanted my heart, my mind, my brain; I didn’t fully understand why I was so to Its taste, but the crucial point was that we—

I felt it happen before I saw it.

Felt the parting of air, the ripping of this dimension’s flesh. The opening of a portal: the one that happened before in Martin’s tiny kitchen.

No. Not now. Why was this happening now? I turned to find that hole in the air, and that older Jonah Magnus staring at me through it.

He took in the tables, the sleeping guests, and just slightly, wrinkled his nose. Oh, older Magnus looked worse for wear. His shirt was sweat-stained, and his hair all stood on end as though he’d been running his hands through it. I saw the ghost of young Jonah in his face, in his features, but this man was entirely different. A scowling man, a harried man. He did not look at me with adoration, for one thing, which was deeply appreciated.

I’d had a plan for this. Exactly what I would say and how. Instead, I blurted, “You came back.”

“Come through,” he snapped. “At once.”

What the blazes? “Why would I do that?” I snap back. “You’re interrupting my wedding, I’ll have you know.” (My entire planned conversation had at this point gone up in flame.)

He startled. “You wed?”

“Yes! Who are you? What do you want? What are you doing?” I said.

Magnus kept looking around the room, frowning more by the moment. “Most unexpected,” he muttered. “No matter. Bring your bride. Come through. Before it’s too late.”

“I don’t have a reason, do I?” Gods, I was messing this up.

He drew himself up straight, and I finally noticed how broad his shoulders were, and how defined his forearms. “Very well,” he said. “I wanted to do this the easy way.”

Those were never good words to hear. I took a step back. “Do what the easy way?”

His look was withering. “Save the world, you bloody monster.” And he held up a—

I—

Don’t know what—

Sirens?

Darkness.

I woke to Martin’s scent, familiar and lovely. My head was in his lap; this was a good place to be, a safe place, and I turned my face to press it into his wonderful, soft belly and hide from the world.

“Jon,” he said softly.

“Mmm,” I said.

“Jon,” said Jonah Magnus, and I went stiff.

I turned my face slowly to find young Jonah there. He had a violently black eye, and what might be some dried blood on the side of his neck. But his expression… it was not defeated. It was not upset. It was triumphant. “I knew he’d wake.”

Martin’s arms were around me, and he lifted me slightly, holding me to his chest. “You scared me a lot, Jon,” he said, almost lightly, almost casually, into my hair.

I felt absolutely… awful. It was almost familiar; in secondary, I’d driven myself half-mad trying to get the best possible grades in my final year, and ended up passing out from… well, a combination of poor decisions. Waking from that faint felt like this; difficult to open my eyes, difficult to remain conscious, impossible to really focus on anything.

Martin made the tiniest sound. A miserable sound. As if he’d been crying.

I would not be unable to comfort him now, and with my push of will, my body seemed to settle. I gripped Martin’s arm. “What happened?”

“You were attacked,” he said, and suddenly I was aware of flashing lights, of many voices. There was an ambulance outside.

Oh, gods. “What happened? Is everyone…”

“It was close,” said Martin. “But everyone is okay.”

“What happened?” I cried.

“Hold on, Jon,” said Martin, and turned to talk to the police officer who came over to see me now that I was awake.

I lay silent, held by my husband, fighting dizziness. Jonah said nothing, but did not leave, and I realized the dark spots on his shirt were… burned. Cloth singed black.

How? I… why couldn’t I see it?

The Eye was silent.

The Eye was…

“Easy, Jon,” said Martin, because I’d begun to hyperventilate. “You’re all right.

The Eye was silent! “I…”

“It’s fine,” Jonah whispered, leaning in, hand on my arm. “It had a shock, too, through you. It’s recovering. It’s fine.”

I stared at him. “Tell me what happened,” I whispered.

“When we’re out of here.”

I shuddered.

The policewoman leaned over. She looked incredibly uncomfortable, as if struggling to meet my eyes. “Hello, Mister Blackwood-Sims. I know this is the worst time, but we need a statement.”

“I don’t know what happened,” I say, because it was the truth. “We were… everything was done, and I was helping to clean up, and then… suddenly, I’m waking now.” Which was a lie.

“Hm,” said this policewoman. “We’ll be contacting you. Something happened, and hopefully, you’ll be able to remember more. Congratulations, by the way. Sorry this happened, whatever it was.” She did not say that as if she meant it.

“Thank you,” I said, because I had to, and hid my face in Martin’s belly again. I let the world spin around us, clung to my husband, and just held on until we were finally allowed to leave.

There was a lot of burning. Jonah wasn’t the only one; Martin fielded text after text as our guests checked in, verifying they were all right, offering aid.

I was amazed. I thought we’d be blamed for… whatever this was.

And what had it been?

Jonah walked with us to Jared’s car, and rode with us to Martin’s apartment, and sat with us in our living room while Martin took my jacket and gave me something cold to drink.

“I don’t know what triage looks like for eyeballs,” I said, trying to be funny.

And the Eye… responded. Washing stations, refractory medical therapy, surgical intervention by an oculoplastic surgeon or neuro-ophthalmologist or neurosurgeon providing a ventriculoperitoneal or lumboperitoneal shunt.

Oh… oh.

I know It felt me react, nearly weeping with relief, unable not to, glad and grateful even though I would have done anything to be free of it in my former life. Are you all right? I thought at It.

In response, It gave me an absolutely bizarre animated movie called, Care Bears Movie II: A New Generation.

I laughed weakly.

Jonah watched me, eyes lidded. “There It is,” he said.

Finally, I was able to turn my attention his way. “Explain. Explain now. If I have to order you by whatever absurd deity you have assign to me, so help me, I will.”

“Easy,” said Martin, pulling me against his chest, arms around me. “Not my favorite thing to say right now, but… we owe him.”

“Owe him!”

“I saw…” Jonah took a slow breath. “I wasn’t invited to your wedding.”

“No, you were not,” I said.

Martin kissed my forehead, and that was enough. I fell silent.

“I understand,” said Jonah, long lashes brushing his cheeks. “I hadn’t been supportive of your relationship. It’s only fair. But I was… nearby. I wanted to congratulate you after, and hopefully put all the unpleasantness away. I waited while those who were going to leave left, and I waited while you were doing whatever in there.” He said that with the dismissive tone of one who clearly would rather not think about us doing whatever in there. “But then I saw a shift.”

“A shift.”

“I’d seen them—we had, my friends and I—a few times when we began truly exploring what we could do in service of the Eye,” he said, “and I recognized it. Someone was wrinkling reality. Damaging the walls between worlds.”

I stared at him. “Multiverse is absolutely not a thing you thought in the 1800s.”

His look was… real. “It was, though not by that term. We’d uncovered that much. The point is, I ran inside, and found you facing something that really took me a moment to understand. I froze, Jon. I apologize.”

I stared at him.

Jonah sighed. “I thought, for a moment, it was my father, back from the dead to haunt me through a hole in the air. But that only lasted a moment; I knew him. Knew him.”

“He was you,” I said softly.

“Me with… many, many different choices made. And he was hurting you.”

“How?” I sat up. “What was happening?”

Jonah studied me. Then he looked at Martin. “Does he know?”

“You know he doesn’t,” Martin whispered.

“You’re both being very worrisome,” I said.

Martin produced his phone—screen now cracked—and opened the camera.

I startled… badly. My eyes were… I… “What the fuck?” I whispered.

“He had something I can only think of as… a prism,” said Jonah.

I shook, was shaking, could not calm my breath. It had been difficult enough to handle my brown eyes turning green, but this—

True polycoria, the Eye said, in which there is an extra pupil, reactive to light and medication, independently dilating and contracting with triggers, and with an intact sphincter muscle. Normally, this leads to handicapped vision, but in your case, it has improved it. Also—

I closed my eyes and my mind tightly.

Jonah was still talking. “It looked like a mirror, sort of, except that you were broken up in the reflection, as though the mirror's surface had shattered. And you were… you were breaking apart, Jon.” His voice cracked. “You were making these horrible cracking sounds, and… there was so much heat.” He shuddered. “Like sunlight through a magnifying glass, though I couldn’t see its source. I tried to help you, but, ah.” He indicated his burns with a small smile, as if to say all was forgiven. “So when that didn’t work, I picked up a chair and threw it at myself. It hit the thing he was holding, and it shattered.”

“That’s when I could move again,” said Martin, his voice so strained. “I was hearing it all, but I couldn’t… no one could move.”

“By then, there was fire all over, in random spots,” said Jonah, “but you’d stopped cracking apart and had fallen to the floor, insensate. We put out the fires. Evacuated people. The other me was… rather furious, actually.”

“He had an argument in some other language,” Martin said, and gave Jonah a sharp look.

Jonah looked far too thoughtful. “He did. He tried to tell me you were the end of the world, and if I didn’t help get you through the portal and to him, it might be too late. I said we’d already all ended it a few times, and didn’t need his help, thanks. He, ah. Didn’t appreciate that.”

“He pulled out a damned handgun,” said Martin.

A Tranter revolver from 1858, I was informed, which was a double-action cap & ball revolver invented by English firearms designer William Tranter in 1858. This model operated with a dual-trigger mechanism, one to rotate the cylinder and cock the gun, the other to fire it. The first model of his own design used the frame of an Adams-type revolver, with a modification—

That told me something about other-Magnus’s time.

“He did,” said Jonah. “Fortunately, whatever hole he’d opened couldn’t handle bullets. He fired once; it ricocheted. Someone unseen behind him shouted, I told you that wouldn’t work! and then his hole collapsed.”

Slowly, I looked at the camera again. My eyes were normal. I’d willed them normal—or willed them to better hide. ��You… you saved us.”

“I saved you,” said Jonah. “I won’t lie about my priorities here—you’d know, anyway, and to you, I will never lie. But… they are your people, so yes, I did make some effort.”

“How bad was the fire?” I can’t fully process all of this.

“It was lots of little fires,” said Martin. “Jonah helped, Jon. I’m not thrilled by this either, but it’s true. He helped.”

“I knew you wouldn’t forgive me if I didn’t,” said Jonah.

There was a strange comfort in knowing that his self-satisfying bullshit would work to my benefit for now. More than that: to the benefit of my loved ones. “Thank you. I… I don’t know what would have happened.”

“Something I wasn’t willing to allow,” said Jonah, low, his young voice cracking.

Martin sighed. “It’s been… a day.”

I looked at him. “You can’t be all right with this. With… I just…”

“Jonathan Blackwood-Sims,” said Martin. “If you say you ruined our wedding, I swear I’m going to snog you until your face could melt marshmallows.”

I choked.

Jonah stood. “I really need to go get this looked at. I’m glad you’re both all right. Congratulations.”

I looked up at him (and we both pretended my face wasn’t already on fire). “I don’t… know what I owe you. I don’t know how to respond to this yet.”

He was so godsdamned eager. “I know. In time, you will. I’m sincere, Jon. I would die for you.”

“Please don’t,” I muttered.

Jonah smiled, still patient. “Many happy returns.” And he left.

Martin left me long enough to like the door, then sat with me again, and we clung.

“I’m so sorry,” I whispered. “Don’t even fucking… I did this. Maybe not on purpose, but my presence is the reason—”

“And you are worth it, so you will stop,” Martin said, almost sharp, holding me so tightly it was like he wanted our ribs to catch on one another, like he wanted us to share a heart. “I feel so… useless.”

“Useless!”

“Here you are, you’re… you’re a god, apparently,” he said, and laughed weakly, “and you’re making things happen by just speaking, and there’s some insane plot going on with an alternate universe, and I’m just… I can’t even say boo! I couldn’t even move when it was happening!”

“Oh, Martin.” I breathed against his neck, kissing the curve, still scented with his cologne, though also now his sweat. I loved all of him, in any condition. “Without you… I know what I said to Gertrude, but I… I need you. So much. Please don’t think… please. Don’t think you’re useless. You’re anything but.”

“The only thing I can do is love you,” he whispered.

“That’s what I need,” I managed. “While you love me, I still feel human.”

He inhaled. Then he started kissing me.

We were both tear-wet, both smelling of smoke and sweat. Both smelling of chemical fire extinguisher, and alcohol. Both trembling from adrenal shock and whatever powers were expended against us tonight. But we lay on that couch together, and pulled off our sodden dress clothes, and held each other, and kept each other in one piece, and it may not have been a traditional wedding night, but it was perfect for us.

We were grounded.

We dozed, the couch's afghan draped over us, murmuring at each other about getting a steam cleaner in here and laughing at our indulgence.

I was so glad I could sleep. I still felt… dizzy, out of it, weak. Perhaps, like I almost blew apart.

What was that? What happened? It didn’t just hit me, either. Somehow, that hurt the Eye? How? How could that happen?

Maybe it didn’t hurt the Eye. Maybe it hurt the parts of It that… were affected by me. This personality. These preferences. This playfulness.

How horrible—yet my gut said that was true. What would have been damaged was not the eternal embodiment of the fear of being seen (of course not), but the… dare I say it? The good parts, or at least, harmless parts, or at least, more controllable parts…

The parts that liked me. That loved me

I was suddenly furious that whoever this other Magnus was, he’d tried to murder my friend. Oh, but since when had the Eye been—

I was suddenly flooded with a lovely recipe for warm vanilla pudding, because Martin liked that, and It liked Martin, and…

Fresh tears dampened the throw pillow beneath me, but I didn’t care. I held my husband. I still had my friend. I didn’t understand what happened... but I would. And when I did, whatever godly powers I had would be brought to bear.

This Magnus would regret the day he came after my loved ones. This Magnus would regret the day he didn’t finish the job. A god of guilt runs this world? For Magnus, I would make this world’s shame feel like a cool breeze on a hot godsdamned day.

“I love you,” I whispered.

“Muh-muh,” Martin agreed, already asleep, and I held my husband, and seethed, and took a truly long time to follow him into rest.

#tma #tma fic #tma au #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #jon x martin #jonmartin #jmart #teaholding #magnus monsterverse

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tuckedawaytulip · 2 years ago

Text

Hi! Im Tulip!

I originally made this blog to be able to reblog and eventually talk about my favorite ships outside of my regular reblogging and shitposting blog, as well as a few of my other interests. Now I use this blog to talk about anything I like in general. Like Jonathan Sims.

All posts will be tagged, and below is a list of the tags used on my blog currently. Itll be updated regularly and kept in alphabetical order according to its categories. Tag guide below.

Also, in case tumblr ever does die off, which hopefully it doesnt but you never know, find me in these locations! Or just message me if you feel like talking and Ill try to respond!

Discord - Randi8949

Twitter - beetlesecrets

Bluesky - fanaticalfreakshow

Tiktok - sleepycannibal

Instagram - beetlebenny

OTP - One True Pairing, I go insane over this and will reblog absolutely anything I ever see potentially relating to this ship. I love these two morons so much.

Jmart - Jonathan Sims/Martin blackwood, TMA. This thing is fighting with spideypool for OTP slot I wish martin would admit his feelings. Correction, Jmart has won the OTP slot fight

Currently shipping - I currently ship these, and will reblog stuff of them

Breagan - Brett/Reagan, inside job, I ended up on this ship way too late damn it but Ill reblog every single damn scrap of these dumbasses I can find

DoorKeay - Gerard Keay/Michael, TMA. These two are very neat and I like them. Jontim - Jonathan Sims/Tim Stoker, TMA. I find this fascinating and neat. I don't quite like it as much as Jmart, but I enjoy it.

LonelyEyes - Peter Lukas/Elias Bouchard, TMA. I find it both funny and I love how it contrasts jmart. The eye is always watching the lonely reminding it of just how alone it is.

Spideypool - comic spidey only, spiderman/deadpool Timsasha - Tim Stoker/Sasha James, TMA. They make me want to cry so much I love them

Characters - Characters I love enough to tag of their own accord. Will likely come with their fandom tag. Listed in alphabetical order by last name.

Elias Bouchard - The Magnus Archives character. Stupid bastard man. I hate him for his actions he does to the others and love him for his character.

Martin Blackwood - The Magnus Archives character. 2nd favorite character, I love him so much why is he being tortured? He also deserves to be hugged.

John Doe - Malevolent character. While I have not listened to Malevolent yet, I occassionally see this guy on my dash and I find him very neat

Sasha James - TMA character, looking back she makes me sad and I miss her

Gerard Keay - The Magnus Archives Character, he is very funny and I love him. I would wish he stuck around for longer, but he wouldn't want that.

Arthur Lester - Malevolent character. While I have not listened to Malevolent yet, I occassionally see this guy on my dash and I find him very neat

Nikola Orsinov - The Magnus Archives character. Mannequin covered in the flesh of a dead man, she is very neat, I would let her take my skin if she wanted she deserves it as a treat.

Helen Richardson - The Magnus Archives character. She is pretty spiral lady and I love her so so much. Technically she is Helen Distortion, but I tag her under Helen Richardson to include both her distored and regular self in the same tag for organizational purposes.

Reagan Ridley - Inside Job. She is pretty and I like her so she gets reblogged

⭐Jonathan Sims⭐ - The Magnus Archives character. My favorite boy. I wish to squish him like a stress ball. Absolute blorbo he rotates in my brain like a microwave he deserves a hug. Why is everyone so angry at him? Be nicer to him he is trying his best.

Tim Stoker - The Magnus Archives I am crying about him constantly I loved him he's just out kayaking he's just out kayaking he's just out kayaking-

Other - Anything not a ship or character but that I like enough to put here anyways.

TMA - The Magnus Archives. Horror Podcast Ive been listening to.

TMA textpost - TMA posts, but text specifically

Malevolent - Malevolent, a horror podcast Im not listening to currently, but I'll probably listen to eventually. I see it occassionally and while I haven't consumed this media yet I do find what I see very funny and interesting.

Retired tags - These are on my blog, but Im not as big of a fan of them as I once was, if Im a fan of them anymore at all. A lot of these I found neat for a week then got immediately bored, or found neat but realized I only liked one particular person's characterization of them and didn't care about the characters themselves. Either way, I most likely won't be reblogging any of these. If I do, it'll be once in a blue moon.

Billfiddlesford - Bill/Fiddleford/Ford, gravity falls

Billford - Bill/Ford, Gravity falls, platonic tag is 'Bill and Ford'

Bunnydoll - Ragatha/Jax, the amazing digital circus, I just find shipping Jax with people funny, platonic tag is 'Ragatha and Jax'

Davekat - Dave/Karkat, Homestuck

Fiddlebill - Bill/Fiddleford, gravity falls

Fiddlestan - Fiddleford/Stan, gravity falls

Funnybunny - Pomni/Jax, The Amazing Digital Circus, platonic tag is 'Pomni and Jax'

Guitarspear - Adam/Lute, Hazbin hotel

Paperhat - Dr.Flug/Blackhat, Villainous

Prohibited Wish - Prismo/Scarab, Adventure time and its spinoffs

Ribbun- Jax/Gangle, The Amazing Digital Circus

Scollace - Scott/Wallace, Scott pilgrim vs the world

Stanbill - Stan/Bill, Gravity falls

Stobotnik - Stone/Dr. Robotnik, Sonic movies

Superbat - Superman/Batman, DC

Voxal- Vox/Alastor, Hazbin Hotel, honestly I don't watch this show nor do I really know the characters, but I think these guys and their dynamic are neat

Winterkov - Winter King/Simon Petrikov, platonic tag is 'Simon and Winterking'

#intro post #I updated it to include categories #Since I don't ship a lot of this stuff as much anymore #But I do want to keep the tags listed #I just want them separated #Goddamn I have more old ships than I do current ones.#Yknow looking back I really just found a ship for a week got bored then returned to spideypool a lot of times #I should note I wrote most of these tags when I was consuming the media itself and all of them when I was sleep deprived

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fridayyy-13th · 2 years ago

Note

so um. I want to kiss you.

but I’m already committed to my spouse. and instead I will say thank you thank you thank you for those fic recs!- I read literally every single one and also some by the same authors- if you have any other recs even have as good (wether they adhere to what I originally asked for or not) I would love them!! But mainly just thanks!

lol, you're very welcome!!! and i have plenty more recs where that came from--funnily enough, when my friend started listening to TMA i started compiling a list of fic recs for her! it's...a very long list. i wasn't kidding when i said i read entirely too much Magnus fanfiction (jmart or not)

but anyway! without further ado, here's a bunch more recs:

The Sea Calls Me Home by EN123, T summary: When Martin Blackwood takes a job working at Peter Lukas's estate, in the highlands of Scotland, he meets an odd man down by the shore, who looks at him like no one ever has. This man proves to be another secret Martin Blackwood must keep, for more reasons than one.

To be so sure of a love the world denies is a heavy burden to bear. But bearing it was, and will always be, a choice. And it's one Martin has chosen.

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

Or: Jon and Martin investigate Carlos Vittery's basement and find the entity formerly known as Jane Prentiss together.

a consideration of tropes by gruhukens, T summary: "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?

wake me up (wake me up inside) by IceEckos12, G summary: "No, I won't bother you for long," Elias said politely. "Just checking up on my favorite writer's club."

"Your only writer's club," Daisy muttered under her breath. Jon bit down on a laugh.

"Anyway," Elias continued smoothly, resting his hands on the back of Basira's chair while Daisy gave him the most acidic side eye ever known to mankind. "How's the most recent chapter?"

"Very good!" Tim said enthusiastically. "I'm about to get eaten."

"Death is imminent for us all," Sasha added with gravitas.

Jon's Moving Castle by IceEckos12, T summary: Martin Blackwood may not have a perfect life, but he does have a good one. That is, until a series of magical encounters leave him with an unfortunate curse. Out of other options, he goes to the wizard who lives in the moving castle for aid.

Life never goes how he intends it to, though.

This Lonely Knight by arthureameslove, M summary: Martin couldn't remember exactly when or why he'd joined the Knights of the Lonely. He supposed that was by design.

Knights of the Lonely weren't meant to last long. They were built to take blows, and if necessary, they were built to die. He supposed that suited him fine.

But upon an assignment to escort the Watcher's betrothed to the Kingdom of Beholding, Martin began to realize that, perhaps, there was something he was missing. Perhaps it was in the shape of a person with bright, intelligent eyes and acerbic wit, with prickly edges and a gentle smile when he thought no one was looking.

There was only one problem. He wasn't meant to let the Watcher's betrothed reach the kingdom alive.

The Unknown Watcher by arthureameslove, T summary: The world has changed, and Martin knows the new rules as well as anyone. The monsters come when the sun sets, so you best be home before then. Blast your lights, barricade your doors. Don't come out until morning. When Martin inadvertently stays out past sunset, he flees his monstrous pursuers and stumbles upon the Magnus Estate, eerie and seemingly abandoned, in the middle of the woods.

Inside is a man with a monstrous face and glowing eyes, who insists Martin is the key to turning the world back.

Or, a Beauty and the Beast au--tma style ;)

The Sharkivist is In by ArtificialDaydreams, G summary: "The shark was sitting in his desk chair when Jon opened his office door. Actually sitting in it, with a "hello my name is" sticker stuck to it with "Jonathan Swims, Head Sharkivist" written on it in black marker."

What if Jon has one of those plush blåhaj sharks from ikea?

i finally did a coffee shop au by probsnothawkeye, T (series, 9 works) summary of part 1: At least once a week the man came in and ordered tea, taking it to the table by the window and sitting there for an hour. He would flip between checking his phone and looking out the window, clearly waiting for someone to show up. Every time, without fail, the man would leave after an hour, a sad, dejected look on his face, only to turn up again in the next couple days and repeat the cycle all over again.

Jon continuously gets stood up at the cafe Martin works at. What happens when Martin finally talks to the sad man who keeps getting stood up?

Déjà Vu by CirrusGrey, T summary: Sasha remembers being unmade. Tim remebers 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.

Archive Poltergiests by vanroesburg, T summary: "...did you need something, Martin?" Jon asked.

"Oh, uh, no, sorry, I was just wondering if- if you needed anything else? Biscuits, or help transporting anything?" Martin gave another flash of a nervous smile. This was normal behaviour, Martin was behaving normally.

Jon shook his head, but he did pick up the mug of tea, which Martin counted as a win. "No, Martin, all I need is your research on cases #0121102 and #0112905. Thank you very much," Jon said primly, taking a sip of the tea.

His face promptly scrunched up. His eyebrows knit together, he drew up his nose in disgust, and the twist of his mouth couldn't be interpreted as anything except utter distaste. God, Jon's face. This was better than he imagined.

Okay, act normal.

"Oh my god, Jon, is something wrong?! What just happened?" Martin asked, maybe laying the concern on a little thick.

Jon spluttered, confused for a moment before glaring at Martin, "What happened is your bloody tea's--"

Time to sell it.

"The tea?" Martin said, cutting Jon off quickly. He swiped the mug from Jon's desk, took a swig and swallowed it. God that was awful. He'd need to wash his mouth out after this. "What's wrong with it? It tastes fine."

do the stars gaze back? by bluejayblueskies, G summary: As they walk to the market, Martin considers just how unfamiliar all of this is to him. It's a rare occurrence to even hear about a celestial spirit visiting the earthly plane. He knows that the number of times he's seen Jon, much less spoken to them, is far beyond anything in anything in recorded history.

Because Jon is--for all intents and purposes--a star. And Martin has quite an impressive crush on them. It should maybe be terrifying, or at the very least remind him of just how very far out of his league Jon is. Instead, it's ... really quite wonderful. Jon is wonderful.

And now, Martin is going to go grocery shopping with them.

Or, Martin lives in a little seaside town and meets Jon, a celestial spirit with a fondness for books and human customs. He falls in love with them, even knowing that it's ill-advised and there's no way that Jon could love him in return.

... Is there?

snowed in by Athina_Blaine, T summary: "Do you think it's selfish? Trying to be happy?"

The snow is falling. Martin and Jon find themselves forced to stay for the night.

The Power of Self Respect by IceEckos12 & PitViperOfDoom, T summary: Jon's life has never been easy, but he's now in a place where he has friends, his job isn't wretched, and best of all, he's dating Martin Blackwood. Things are finally starting to turn around for him, so of course that's when he learns that he must defeat Martin's seven exes in order to stay with him.

There's something fishy about this whole thing, Jon is sure of it. But the only way to find out what is to throw down the gauntlet and fight for his love.

found this cute guy on the merry-go-round? by abeebumbling, T summary: Martin Blackwood hadn't meant to stick to the merry-go-round job for so long. It was boring, very boring, the music whiny once you've listened to it a hundred times, so anything even mildly interesting stood out like a sore thumb. Jonathan Sims being on the verge of a mental breakdown turned out to be one of those things.

alright! fifteen fics, mostly jmart but also some gen and some background ships. i love all of these fics a lot and i hope you do too!

#friday chats #fic recs #the magnus archives #there's plenty more where this came from so feel free to ask for more! i'll read almost anything tma-related #the one main exception is jmart smut; i headcanon jon as sex-averse/repulsed and don't like reading that sort of thing #no hate to those who headcanon differently though!#i just won't have any fics like that bc it squicks me out a lot #also: a lot of these fics are...Quite Long lol. hope that's okay. if not there's a handful of oneshots in here too

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nonbinaryeye · 3 years ago

Text

Bets and wagers

Written for @eliasbouchardweek

Day 7 - Favourite character dynamics

The results of the bets and wagers might seem to be suspiciously in Peter’s favour but it would be silly to suspect Elias might be the culprit. Why would he be cheating in favour of the other one?

One older man and one young man are sitting together playing cards in the older man’s office. The young man is having a surprisingly good time.

“Who would have guessed it is so easy to beat a servant of the Eye in cards. One more game?” Peter laughs, already putting cards back into the deck.

“You are really good at cards indeed.” James nods and struggles not to smile.

…

The older man could now be called simply old. The young man is still young even though his hair and beard are turning silver quite quickly.

“It seems I won the bet.” Peter laughs and collects his prize. Stock of papers with detailed information about people who encountered the Forsaken. As a member of Lukas family Peter who are so generously sponsoring the Magnus Institute, he would be entitled to get that information anyway. But who is James to ruin the fun.

“Hm, we should make another bet.”

“Sure. You really don’t like losing, do you?”

Of course, James doesn’t like losing. That is not what he is doing right now though…

…

One still quite a young man and one not so young man anymore meet to resolve the results of their latest bet again.

“For someone serving the Beholding you are terrible at predicting the future.” Peter collects his prize. At first look it is just a simple wedding ring. On closer look one who knows could notice that it is clearly a Lonely artefact.

“You do not have to rub it in.” Elias frowns. He is not really happy about giving up on any of his artefacts but how can the winning seem real if he is not willing to lose something he hates letting go?

“New body did not seem to improve your winning abilities.” Peter puts his trophy in his pocket. “So, what will we wager about this time?”

…

One middle aged man and one older man continue with their bets. The winner and loser are usually the same as always.

“Not your lucky day again, huh?” Peter takes stock of statements and documents talking about this new ridiculous obsession of his. The Extinction. Elias still doubts it is real. It was annoying putting it all together for him.

“Sometimes I doubt if you are not cheating,” he pouts and Peter rolls his eyes.

“One would expect you will learn how to lose by now.”

Soon. Soon Elias will collect the fruits of his labour.

…

Two older men meet again.

“One more victory and I will start believing you are letting me win.” Peter laughs but collects no prize as this time they forget to decide on a prize.

“Well, if you win the next bet, it might be the last one anyway.” Elias smiles.

“Oh? What do you mean?” Peter looks amused. He does not believe he could lose. Good.

“You will see as soon as I explain it all. Though I feel that this time I might be the one winning.”

“I doubt that. But very well let’s hear it then.”

Both of them are certain they know how this wager will end. Only one of them is correct.

…

One old man and one much older corpse are left alone in Panopticon.

“You would not believe how hard it sometimes was to arrange that you will win. You were always so terrible at gambling.” Elias’ sighs. He suspects he will not see his associate again. He will miss him a bit. He was the closest he had to a friend in these past years. Peter would hate to know that. Elias smiles but his smile is sad.

#Yes I do really love lonelyeyes as a ship but I am also very intrigued by their character dynamics as portrayed in canon.#tma fanfic #tma #lonelyeyes #elias bouchard #peter lukas #james wright #eliasweek2022 #mEye fanfic #mEye post

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bluejayblueskies · 4 years ago

Note

7 or 34 for the kiss prompts?

kiss prompt list!

7 - “I’ve missed you” kiss | 34 - returned from the dead kiss

this is sort of both? if you count jon’s coma as death, that is

set in an au just slightly to the left of canon where s4 jon is just a bit bolder with his affections. cw for canon-typical s4 lonely content

Jon doesn’t know how he realizes that Martin’s passing by his office. One moment, he’s holding the latest Fairchild statement in his hands and trying to pretend like it’s done anything to soothe the itching static that’s begun to build in the back of his mind, and the next he’s standing quickly and flinging the door to his office open because Martin is outside, holding a stack of folders, and he’s wearing a lovely blue tie that you’ve never seen before.

“Martin,” Jon says, a bit breathlessly.

Martin startles at the sound of Jon’s voice, nearly dropping his files. “Jesus,” he says, clutching the folders to his chest as he turns and affixes Jon with what is probably supposed to be a glare but is too weary around the edges to be one. “What do you…?” He shakes his head, looks away from Jon, and says, “How did you know I was here?”

“I… I don’t know.” A bit of the anxious energy bleeds out of Jon, and he hugs his arms to his chest. “I… I just did.”

“Right,” Martin says. He doesn’t sound angry. He doesn’t sound anything.

Quietly, Jon says, “I haven’t seen you. They… they say you’re working for Lukas?”

He phrases it as a question, but he already knows the answer. The small, pinched look that comes across Martin’s face only confirms it. “Ah. N- no, Peter’s…” He makes an ambiguous gesture with his hands, lets out a small, frustrated noise, and says, “It’s complicated.”

“Right,” Jon says. Complicated. He doesn’t remember the last time anything had been simple.

“Anyway,” Martin says, looking vaguely uncomfortable, “I should, er. I should probably get back to—”

No, no, don’t go, not yet—

“H- how are you, Martin?” Jon says quickly, taking a few steps closer to Martin. He doesn’t miss the way Martin tenses at the motion. “Er, I- I know it’s probably not great, but I… I’ve missed you, quite- quite a lot, and I- I know I haven’t been here, but I just… I want to make sure that you’re all right.”

Martin’s quiet for a few moments. Then, without meeting Jon’s eyes, he says, “Yeah. I’m all right. Everything’s… everything’s fine.”

Jon studies Martin’s face—the flat line of his mouth, the unhappy slant to his eyebrows, the far-away look in his eyes—and says, softly, “Is it?”

Martin doesn’t respond. He grips the folders tighter and lets out a slow, measured breath before looking back at Jon, his expression almost pleading.

Jon moves closer, close enough that if he wanted to, he could reach out and rest his palm against the side of Martin’s face. “Martin.”

“It’s fine,” Martin says, barely more than a whisper. He looks down at the ground. “I… I should go.”

“Oh,” Jon says, his voice cracking a bit around the word. “Martin—”

“I- I should go,” Martin repeats. He doesn’t move. “I… I shouldn’t be here. I’m not supposed to…”

He trails off, and Jon’s heart breaks. He reaches out a hand, then hesitates, his fingers curling back towards his palm as he takes in the quiet misery written across Martin’s face. He wants, more than anything, to tell Martin not to go. To hold him close and keep him safe and to never again hear the words Peter Lukas. But that… that wouldn’t be fair of him. Because no matter what he wants, it’s Martin’s choice. And he just has to trust that Martin won’t make the wrong one.

“Okay,” Jon says, barely getting the word out around the lump in his throat. He swallows sharply and repeats, brokenly, “Okay.”

Martin still hasn’t moved. He’s looking at Jon, his eyes tracing over every one of Jon’s features individually, like he’s trying to commit them to memory. Jon’s struck, suddenly, ridiculously, by the fear that Martin’s preparing to leave him forever. That this moment will be all Martin has to remember him by.

That this is all they’ll get to have.

“Martin,” Jon says desperately, uncurling his fingers and crossing the remaining distance between them to lay his hand gingerly against Martin’s cheek. “Just, b- before you go, I- I need to tell you—”

“Jon,” Martin cuts in, sounding exhausted, “don’t—”

“I- I know,” Jon says quickly, “I know you need to- that you don’t want to, to hear it, but I just- if this is the last time that I get to- to see you I need to—”

“No,” Martin says firmly, but his voice breaks a bit around the word, like he’s forcing it out. “Please, just… just don’t.” He hesitates, as if considering, before saying, “I… I’ll still be here, Jon. I- I can’t see you, but… I’ll be here. I’ll be safe.”

Safe. Jon wants to laugh. They haven’t been safe since the moment they signed their lives away to the Institute. “Is that even a possibility?” he says, a touch of humorless laughter bleeding into his voice.

“Probably not,” Martin says quietly. “But it’s all I can give you.”

That, at least, Jon understands. “Okay,” he says, indulging himself for just a moment as he brushes his thumb over the curve of Martin’s cheekbone, across the starburst of freckles that sits just underneath his eye. Martin shivers minutely under his touch. “I… I trust you.”

“Thank you,” Martin says. He looks at Jon, and he doesn’t smile, and it threatens to break Jon apart.

He doesn’t want to lose him.

I don’t want to lose him.

I love him.

Jon’s not sure when he decides to kiss Martin. But when he does, Martin doesn’t move away, just exhales softly against Jon’s mouth as Jon brings his other hand up to Martin’s cheek and holds him gently close. He tries to memorize the way that Martin’s lips feel against his—warm and dry, a bit chapped from the winter air—even as he tells himself he doesn’t need to. That, someday, this will all be over and he’ll get to have this. That they can be together and happy and safe, in a little house somewhere, sharing tea and planting a garden and staring up at the stars at night, mapping the constellations together.

Jon pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against Martin’s, letting their breaths mingle in the space between them, and says, “I’ve missed you.”

“I know,” Martin whispers, pulling back, and Jon aches at the loss. Martin extracts himself from Jon’s hands, worries his thumb over the edge of the files, and says, wearily, “You can’t find me again, Jon. I- I can’t see you, not- not right now. I’m sorry.” He takes a step back; the distance feels like a chasm, and Jon can’t see the way across. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry too,” Jon says, hugging his arms to his chest in a desperate attempt at comfort. He looks away, squeezing his eyes tightly shut against the tears he can feel building in the corners.

When he opens them, Martin is gone and he’s alone, with only an ache in his chest and a lingering warmth on his lips to keep him company.

“I’m sorry too,” he repeats softly before turning and walking back to his office. He ignores the finality of the click as the door swings shut, takes a slow, shaky breath, and sits down to record another statement.

#tma #the magnus archives #tma fic #jonathan sims #jonmartin #martin blackwood #my fic #my writing #i went in a sad angsty direction w/ this because i'm in a Mood lately lol #thank you so much for the prompt!#ghostbustermelanieking

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venfx · 4 years ago

Text

magnus fic roundup

as tma comes to a close, i thought i'd post some of my favorite fics to come out of this fandom. most of these are classics, listed in no particular order.

A Weather In The Flesh by @cuttoothed | 3K | S1-S4 | Jon/Martin | Complete

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

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

↳ this is such a well-done exploration of jon’s character and his relationship with touch, and i’ve re-read it at least five times. sweet and sad and phenomenally well-written.

in the chillest land and on the strangest sea by imperfectcircle, singlecrow | 20K | Safehouse, S1-S4 | Jon & Daisy, Jon/Martin | Complete

Jon remembers a statement he read years ago given by a Jesuit priest, who said that the shortest prayer he knew was, just, fuck it, as in fuck it; it's in God's hands. He takes Daisy's hand and trails on after her.

or; hope is a thing with feathers.

↳ hey, you wanna fuckin..... feel things? read this.

The Magnus Institute hires a Data Protection Officer. He sets about diligently booking in meetings, writing policy documents, and training all the staff in the importance of confidentiality. Now if only he could get hold of the Head Archivist, who seems to have vanished again...

(Jon is only trying to save the world, but apparently some people think he should still be doing his day job.)

↳ i’d be surprised to find people who haven’t read this series, but it’s the definition of “the magnus archives is a workplace comedy”. also, alasdair stuart has actually read some clips of this on Twitch, so that’s a fun bonus.

In accordance with the Ride or Die Pact of 2009, Jonathan Sims can call upon Georgie Barker at any time for aid with no strings attached. Despite their rocky history, their childhood friendship, and Jon’s barely recovered alcoholism, this pact is sacred and must be upheld.

Georgie Barker may regret this. She may regret it when she discovers that the world is full of monsters and eldritch gods and dickhead managers. She may regret it when a punk rocker who should be dead collapses on their doorstep, a teenager again who needs their help. She may regret it when her stupid ex-boyfriend starts selling his soul for knowledge and the ability to keep his new family safe.

But she probably won’t. Georgie isn’t scared of anything - not a Clown’s apocalypse, not the apocalypse that Jon is destined to begin, and not Jon’s own loss of humanity.

Maybe she should be.

↳ if you’re looking for an everyone-lives-no-one-dies-happy-ending fic that also happens to be massively chaotic, look no further.

The Reverb in These Holy Halls by @wolftraps | 98K | AU, S1-S4 | Jon/Martin | Complete

Undoing the apocalypse would have been enough for Jon, if all his people survived. Without them, Jon's only recourse is making it so it never happened in the first place. He's going to do better this time.

↳ quintessential time travel AUs. plot-wise, i feel like these can be difficult to write, but op does a fantastic job of tying things together in a way that makes sense. plus, it’s just fun to read.

jon sims v the nhs by @thoughtsbubble | 12K | Series | S3 | Complete

Joan Bright has a new patient. He's carrying an old tape recorder and is covered head to toe in scars. Jonathan Sims looks dangerous, but Dr Bright has dealt with all sorts of atypical individuals. She has no reason to be nervous.

Right?

↳ if you’ve ever thought “hey, jon should probably go to therapy”, then 1) you’re absolutely right and 2) this is... probably what would’ve happened. prior knowledge of The Bright Sessions is not required. also, apparently, this fic is written by the showrunner of The Underwood Collection? wild.

Family, Found by Dribbledscribbles | 9K | S4 | Complete

It’s Basira who catches onto it.

The collective shift that seems to come over them when heading in or out of the Institute. Not just the oppressive sensation of being observed, their every move catalogued for the voyeuristic cravings of some unseen Eye(s). That feeling remained with them even when they left the Institute these days, but it was always stronger inside its walls. That wasn’t the change. Nor was it the point.

The point was: making life worse for Jonathan Sims.

↳ i think being part of the avengers fandom circa 2012 has given me permanent found-family-trope brainrot, but you know what. jonathan sims can have a little happiness, as a treat.

n. an important moment of insight, typically one that leads to a dramatic transformation of attitude or belief

Or, in which Tim becomes an avatar for the end of all things.

↳ tim dies and then he doesn’t. there is catharsis and world building. just....read it.

Come, Change Your Ring With Me by @backofthebookshelf | 29K | S3 | Peter/Jon, Jon/Martin, Peter/Elias | Complete

The Lukases demand the Archivist marry into the family, and the Institute relies on them too much to say no. Peter is smug. Elias is fuming. Martin is suffering. Jon thinks this might be tolerable if only Peter would hurry up and leave him alone already.

OR, the soap opera we call an Archives revolves around Peter Lukas this time.

↳ superb evil-bastards-in-love content, feat. martin pining, tim being obnoxious, and jon being... well, tired, mostly. i will literally never get tired of how op writes peter.

creatures that i briefly move along by @dotsayers | 16K | Series | AU, Post-S4 | background Jon/Martin

Mr Sims was so weird, was the thing. Miss Grant always said calling people weird was rude, and Anna sort of agreed, but she didn’t know what other word to use to describe Mr Sims.

He’d only been in with the class for a few days, really, and half of that he just sat at the back listening, but that didn’t stop her from making a swift judgement. 5BG had had student teachers before, back when they were 3ST, and they’d been uniformly normal.

Mr Sims was… actually, Anna had a better adjective. He was interesting.

↳ i just.... love teacher!jon fics. this series delivers.

Once Bitten by @apatheticbutterflies | 1K | S4 | Jon & Daisy | Complete

Jon Sims has always been a jumpy kind of guy. Nervous. Twitchy. Daisy used to think it meant he was guilty. Turns out he was. Just not of what she’d thought.

Daisy learns how to peel an orange.

↳ daisy and jon’s relationship is an example of an instance where i’m happy to say “fuck what you wrote mr. jonny ‘chocolate torte of tragedy’ sims, i want them to be friends”.

pins and needles by mutterandmumble | 13K | S1-S4 | Complete

He’s got a reputation to uphold anyways; an uptight, rigid reputation that dictates the way that he interacts and functions and is such an integral part of him that he can’t let go of it anytime soon. He likes his safety nets. He likes his contingencies. He likes his privacy, and everything around this place right down to the walls seems to have ears, so he’ll stay tight-lipped up to and beyond the threat of death.

He’s good at that.

In which Jon takes up embroidery and bumbles through life the best that he can.

↳ out of all the introspective jon pieces i’ve read (and there are many), this one stands out. maybe it’s the symbolism or the characterisation, or maybe it’s the fact that i have an embroidery kit lurking in the back of my closet along with a hundred other half-pursued hyperfixations. whatever. this is excellent.

sleeping in by @ivelostmyspectacles | 5K | S2 | Jon/Tim | Complete

“Who are you trying to convince?”

Jon gives up, letting his head sag against Tim’s shoulder. “I don’t know.”

aka Elias gets tired of Jon and Tim's bickering, sends them away for a "team-building" weekend trip, and is sure to book them a room with only one bed

↳ this has everything you’d need from a “oh no there’s only one bed” fic. someone please get these men therapy.

if you try, sometimes (you get what you knead) by @ajcrawly | 3.5K | S1-S4 | Jon/Martin, Tim/Sasha | Complete

It starts with an abundance of boeuf bourguignon and ends up as a team tradition.

Food and love in uncertain times.

↳ more found family fic, this time with a diverse og!archival staff and food as a metaphor for love. hurt in all the right ways. made me hungry in the process.

#tried to keep this shortish but i might just make a part 2 #people in this fandom are crazy talented #tma #the magnus archives #tma fic recs #fic recs #long post #txt #mine

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fakecrfan · 4 years ago

Note

could i prevail upon you to analyse Basira’s short-tempered paranoid phase ?

---

Okay I put off answering this for a while because I wanted to make it Super Well Researched and perfect and everything like that. But it seems my perfectionism has stopped me from like, actually making significant progress so!! Instead I am just going Blab all of my Basira thoughts in a disorganized manner without worrying about being perfectly insightful.

So HERE IS THE THING.

Most of the criticism I see of Basira is around her Being Mean To Jon in season 4, of her being too Cold. Like this comment on the wiki.

Anyway, this is really frustrating to me because in my humble opinion:

1: Basira’s flaw is not “too mean, too cold, and too practical.” It’s passivity and numbing down her own reactions to things. Therefore,

2: Her expressing anger and coming down hard on Jon is actually a positive development in her arc, even if not everything she does during this phase is the greatest.

To elaborate on Basira’s flaw being passivity: When we are introduced to her, one of the things that came up in her statement is that another officer was racist to her, and she let it slide.

Basira is later revealed to--not have direct confirmation of Daisy killing, exactly. But she has a pretty good idea of what’s happening and she doesn’t rock the boat by trying to find out more. But I think the biggest glaring sign of her passivity is the fact that she gets basically forced to join the Institute on the threat of death and she just… goes with it?

MAG 102

MARTIN

Basira’s the only one doing – well, she seems weirdly calm about the whole thing. Like it’s… like she’s on a vacation or something.

ARCHIVIST

Maybe she just suits the academic life.

Basira, when threatened and forced to work for an obviously evil institute just… rolls over and shows her belly. Immediately starts to just sit in the library and read so quietly that Martin completely misses that she’s there. Passivity. Acceptance. Her philosophy, as she tells Martin, is that if you can’t change it you just hunker down and make the best of it.

Of course, the problem with this is… she hasn’t tried to change things very hard before shifting into Acceptance mode, has she? In her statement before the season three finale, we get her briefly talking about why she behaves like this.

MAG 116

My dad would hate me talking like this. He couldn’t stand people who just passively moaned about their problems. He always said, if you don’t like something, you accept it and you adapt, or you fight and you change it. Whining doesn’t help. I always tried to live like that. But I think sometimes you feel like you’re adapting, but it’s just denial.

But not anymore. I’m going to fight, and change it.

Regardless of Basira’s dad’s intentions, he raised her in a way where expressing discomfort is not allowed. You either change things, but if you can’t change them then you shut up. Which of course, if you are powerless and disenfranchised that’s just setting you up for a life of biting your tongue at every injustice that you face, every police officer who sneers “diversity” while giving you a significant look--because you don’t have the power to change it, do you?

But right after that acknowledgement, we get her resolution for moving forward: She’s not going to shut up anymore. She’s going to fight.

I think we really need to keep this resolution of hers in mind when we analyze her season 4 behavior. Yes, her s4 behavior is influenced by other factors: grief at losing Daisy, paranoia after getting attacked by monsters who are after the Institute, guilt at not being able to stop Martin from going with Peter Lukas.

But more than anything, I think her fierceness in this season is fueled by this rock hard resolution to stop rolling over and fight back.

If you’re someone who is passive and enabling in this way, and you’ve worked to change yourself, you might be aware of how easy it is to either fall back into old habits or overcorrect. Sometimes it feels like you have to be as direct and harsh as possible because you’re scared that it’s only option besides falling back into passivity. I think that’s what a lot of Basira’s aggression comes from. She wants to be someone who fights but she’s still figuring out how.

So she overcompensates, and she scrambles for how to accomplish this, and she sort of falls back to the example set for her--the one person she saw as resolute.

MAG 116

At least Daisy’s coming. I mean, I know she’s… difficult. Everything they say about her, it’s true, it’s fair. But, she’s solid. She’s a… a fixed point, and if she’s there, I know exactly where I stand, exactly what I’m doing, relative to her. She has no doubts.

Basira wants to be someone who fights. So in season 4, as she’s trying to reconstruct her whole ethos, she latches onto Daisy’s example. But so much of it is a facade, so much of it is her trying to… not be someone she can’t be, exactly, but to become something that she doesn’t know the shape of, yet.

It’s difficult for her to sustain because it’s so different from her usual mode of interacting with the world. For example, people make a big deal of her threatening to kill Jon if he feeds on people again but… remember her first reaction when she directly saw Jon doing it right in front of her the first time?

MAG 141:

ARCHIVIST

Floyd Matharu. Served on the Dorian from 2011 to 2014. With Salesa.

BASIRA

John, I’m not sure about this.

ARCHIVIST

I am.

Tell me what happened.

Basira gets passive again. Politely indicates to Jon he should stop without raising much of a fuss. And how does Jon respond to Basira when she taks this passive, polite route to trying to stop him?

BASIRA

It wasn’t right.

ARCHIVIST

You could have stopped me.

…

But you wanted to know as well, didn’t you?.

Jon tells her that she could have stopped him. Implies that she’s just as much to blame as he is for what he did, because she didn’t try harder to stop him. And, well. The thing is? Basira believes him. Agrees with him. She’s clearly already trying to become someone who fights and she just rolled right over when an ally did something wrong. So the next time Jon does this she sort of rises to his challenge here.

MAG 148

BASIRA

Yeah. John, We’ve been over this. the key is to not force people to feed you their trauma. You know – just don’t do it?

ARCHIVIST

It’s not that simple.

BASIRA

No. It is. Or I put you down.

She fights him. Pushes back instead of rolling over and being nice and polite. And of course, the blueprint she has for this is Daisy. Using threats and blatant intimidation.

But you know? Even though she’s not doing things entirely right here, I actually think this is still better than where she was in season 3. She’s seen where she has gone wrong in the past, and she’s struggling to turn herself into a different, better person who actually fights back against wrongness in the world instead of passively accepting it. She’s not there yet, but this? This is still progress.

#basira hussain #my post #my thoughts #meta #tma #long post

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lyrker · 3 years ago

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I DONT LIKE GERTRUDE ANYMORE SHES MEAN ))): HOW COULD SHE JUST SACRIFICE A PERSON LIKE THAT HOW COULD SHE NOT CARE WHAT THAT WOULD DO HOW—HOW )):

what i’m getting is that the distortion were a bunch of funky critters and oh “michael” got an identity, he became physical, is that it? But he’s really a neutral party it seems.

Oh but Helen,,,,She’s kinder than Michael is she? She won’t hurt Jon. Helen liked Jon, “Helen” is sort of Helen. I liked Helen. I trust her (:

Nikola like oh what lotion do you like ur skin is SHIT i can wear THIS to my dance!!! That’s incredible funny honestly but goals she wants to look pretty pop off ig

anyways theory time theory time oh Peter Lukas why did you drive them to the land that does not exhist? You are clearly not normal Mr Captain but I assume,,,he is an Ally. He drove the workers under The Eye and drove..one back. Ig he is an ally? Maybe? That’s fun I do like him, he’s a funky sea captain that’s so fun! Also for whatever reason Elias can’t? See Jon atm? Maybe Peter Lukas knew Jon got ‘napped and was like “HEY BOUCHARD your kids Fucking Gone” and Elias is in his office with statements on the floor and his hair frazzled like “I CANT FUCKING FIND MY ARCHIVIST”

conclusion: i don’t like gertrude, michael is Gone and Helen is back for now, Michael has not always been michael, Peter Lukas is a friend? Jon is missing but like MISSING missing

#tma #The Magnus Archives #liveblogging

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misterghostfrog · 5 years ago

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So I was reading someones post about what if Jon went back in time to save everyone, and he managed it. He kept Martin away from Prentiss, he Kept Sasha alive, Tim never even know the unknowing existed and he never had Jons paranioa to ruin him. But They never knew, there was never those moments of bonding between the terror. Martin never had that moment when he realized Jon wasn’t just his shitty boss. And sure the assistants were close, but there was no room for Jon. And it gave me thoughts.

Under the cut bc I started to Ramble and it got Long, warning; its Big Sad Hours down there. No happy endings here.

Jon solves all these problems before they start, he fixes it without anyone ever knowing. The assistants are blissfully unaware, maybe he stops sending them on ‘real’ statement followup. The archives are a normal, safe job for all of them. Sometimes it gets too much, pretending he doesn’t know them. So he’ll record, mostly for himself. Sometimes for them, though he’ll never share. He sticks them all in Gertrude's old storage locker, where he knows they’ll never be found.

And then something goes wrong. He knows the unknowing can’t work, of course it can’t. But Nikola doesn’t, none of the avatars know. And Nikola still wants her skin. She still wants his skin, actually. And she’s not afraid to play dirty to get it, she’s hands-on like that. Because why stop at the archivist when he’s got so many lovely ignorant assistants?

So he fixes the problem before she can make good on her threats, she can’t be killed that easily. He knows. But she died during the unknowing, and there are some pretty simple steps to follow to replicate that result. He knows the easiest way to make sure it works is also a death sentence for him. But that’s a simple choice to make. Alright no, it’s not. He’s terrified of death, of dying. He doesn’t want to die, but he can lie to himself. He can delude and say maybe he’ll get another chance. And just in case, he makes sure the assistants know they can quit now.

Tim, Sasha, and Martin don’t know what to make of the news that their boss died mysteriously in an explosion. They know even less what to make of the notes he left them.

Clearly the ramblings of a very unstable man. They all knew Jon was a bit off but this... Well, they all know there’s something weird about the job. But the apocalypse? Really?

Sasha believes some of it, she’s worked in artifact storage. She’s seen what this stuff can do. But, well. Jon’s never come off as the most stable person, and with no proper proof to back up any of this there’s no reason for them to follow suit. After all she’s known lots of people to quit the institute, she even knows for a fact that Eric Delano did it when she was rooting through employee records for perfectly rational legal reasons.

Then Martin gets called up to Elias’s office, and gets the news he’s the new head archivist.

He tries to turn it down, but he’s offered a pay-raise and a promise that he can step down anytime if he doesn’t feel suited to the position. Elias just sees so much potential in him.

Martin tries to feel flattered and not thoroughly terrified by the way Elias says potential. He takes the promotion, after all, he can always step down if it’s too much.

He offers as much when he finds out Sasha probably should have been given the position, but she turns him down. It’s not his fault their boss is a sexist old bastard, and at this rate he’d probably just turn around and give it to Tim.

Things are normal for a few months. Until slowly a strange noise starts to be heard around the archives, a weird sort-of squishing sound with no source. Along with a metallic scent of meat.

An infestation, of course. They’re getting the problem worked on, or so Elias says. But aside from the occasional exterminator coming in to ‘take a look’ nothing ever seems to change. Weird statements start showing up on Martins desk, surrounding meat and twisted up things, eaten alive and wrong. Suddenly he understands how Jon went off his rocker so easily.

It’s hard to believe all this supernatural stuff as it’s suddenly getting crammed down his throat, after so long of the archives being normal in almost every sense of the word it’s like missing a step on the staircase. The more awful statements he finds- that Tim and Sasha confirm -the more he realizes how much his boss was hiding from them.

He wants to quit, he thinks about it, he tries to think about it. But he just, can’t.

It’s another or two month before it happens. Meat and bone and gristle erupt from the floor, taking on horrible mangled shapes of almost-humans reaching out with hands full of teeth and hungry.

They all survive, though Tim gets eaten up a bit more than the rest of them. And they’ll all have nightmares for the rest of their lives. They’re alive.

And they find Gertrude’s body, though none of them know how to feel about it. They’ve realized by now there’s something to Jon’s nonsensical ramblings. And they’re long past regretting not quitting before this all happened.

There’s a section of document storage that got uncovered during the cleaning,an old cot that was shoved behind some of the shelves, and a box that had a few sets of clothes, an old teacup, and a key. The cleaners say they burned the clothes, but the cup and the Key are given to Martin for him to keep to return to whoever left their things in the archive.

Neither of those items belong to Tim or Sasha, so they all assume they belonged to Jon.

They start following Jons footsteps, they find out he was a suspect in an arson case surrounding Carlos Vittery’s old apartment. Nobody was there except one unidentified body. He was arrested for trespassing on a dock, though no charges were filed. There was an incident that ended in the near arrest of one Jude Perry, though no charges were filed and she soon fell off the grid. And then he exploded using C4 he had no way of getting, Nothing concrete, no proper genuine evidence except a series of weird encounters their dead boss had.

Martin Decides to try and hunt down Jude Perry, it takes some time. He has a very nice cup of tea with one Micheal Crew. Who points him in a general direction and is just a bit weird about tall buildings.

Martin finds Jude, and asks her about Jon. She laughs at him, of course. But she tells him anyway. Jon was trying to have her arrested- no, not arrested. Killed. Officer Tonner would have seen to that, he knew one of the Hunt could do her in, well. At least of Officer Tonner’s sort anyway. Jude resisted, naturally. He escaped her clutches only barely, by running. Like a coward. And she escaped the policewoman by playing innocent. She’s still on her tail though, damn dog. It’ll be a long time before she’d rid of her, but she knows better than to run. Oh, he doesn’t know what any of that means, does he? Oh he really doesn’t, how sweet. Just a little baby archivist- she was going to kill him after this. But watching him stumble into his own ruin will be so much more fun.

She sends him on his way with a burn.

Martin is terrified, he genuinely tries to quit. Almost manages it before his computer shuts off. The others try too, and then they all have a lovely freak-out together.

They decide to try and talk to Detective Tonner, which proves easy. She’s the partner of the one who’s been interviewing them. She comes to the institute, and they ask her about Jon. She tells them they believed he was responsible for killing Gertrude, seeing as he was next in line. Martin accidentally Compels her into a statement, and then into admitting she's mostly just saying he killed her because dead men don’t put up fights.

She threatens him right then and there, though Basira comes in and intervenes before anything happens. He files a dispute with the station, and avoids the police after that.

Basira brings him some of the tapes, she says it’s an apology. He’s pretty sure she’s just trying to get him to drop the dispute in the weirdest way possible. He does learn some about Gertrude though, and through her what he’s dealing with. And something about an ‘unknowing’

A man named peter Lukas visits the institute, one of the doners. Elias says he wants to see how the archive runs, Lukas says a few choice words about it. And Martin tells him in the most polite of terms to shove off. Lukas threatens him, and very briefly makes him forget everyone he’s ever loved. And then tells him he got off lucky, and that Elias should have picked a better archivist. You can hardly trust someone so childish to run something as important as this now can you.

Daisy visits him in his home, and threatens him in much more physical terms now. She tells him if he tries to do what he did to her again he’ll get more than a scar.

After that it’s a bit unclear how he gets marked by the next two (Curruption, Stranger.) but he does.

There’s a delivery, a few weeks after the stranger mark. It’s not supernatural in any sense, just a young woman dropping off a small box in the archivists office. She says her name is Georgie, and no, she doesn’t know what’s in the box. She just had an old friend tell her to deliver it if he didn’t check in after a bit. Then she found out he died on the news, and then she hadn’t wanted to deliver them- clearly whatever was in the box was going to get someone killed. And she wasn’t scared of it, she wasn’t one for fear, but the thought of putting anyone in danger made her skin crawl. But she didn’t want it in her house, and she refused to be haunted be this box forever. And there was no reason to defy the poor guys apparent final wishes- wait, why was she saying all this again?

In the box was tapes, a dozen or so of them. All addressed to ‘the next head archivist’

It’s Jon’s voice, on the tapes. Talking to who he apparently assumes to be an entire stranger, explaining the fears. And how Smirkes 14 wasn’t wrong, but wasn’t right either. It tells the next archivist to avoid eyes, paintings, doodles, abstract representations, and to keep playing dumb. There’s a lot out there, and the more you know the worse it gets. There’s no fighting, don’t struggle the nets already around you. There’s a way out, but you’re not going to like it.

It gives an odd image of Jon, the man who awkwardly tried to make small-talk int he break room, only to shuffle away after it fell flat. Carrying this world-ending secret on his shoulders. Stiff, awkward Jon. Grim, sad Jon. not so far apart but still so far outside of what Martin had known about him.

What had Martin known about him?

Tim decides to quit, Sasha stays. Elias hires Melanie. Who turns out to be another connection to Jon.

Melanie says he was kind of a prick, he belived her about her Sarah incident, but refused to give her library access. Probably because he was sexist, or maybe just a dickhead. She’d been trying to learn more about her encounter for ages. And this was finally her chance. They try to explain the way out but she won’t listen.

Martin starts following Gertrudes tapes, things about the unknowing have been popping up on his desk lately, and it sounds like Jon was right about an apocalypse. He goes to america, gets a bit kidnapped, and meets Gerry. He offers to help, and then asks about the unknowing. Gerry points him towards the storage locker. And when he gets back He and Sasha and Melanie check it out.

It’s mostly empty, apparently somewhat recently cleared out. Though in the corner there’s a large box of Tapes. There has to be dozens of them, and when they pres play it’s Jon. Talking to them. Except it’s not them, it’s another version of them, and something this version.

And there’s another Jon to add to the mystery of a man he was. The jon on these tapes isn’t stiffly awkward or forcedly professional. He’s open, sad. He cries, he laughs at memories they don’t have. He apologizes, a lot. Too much really. He talks about time travel, about forgetting faces and losing friends.

“Sometimes I-I think- I can’t help but be a bit... upset. At how unfair it all is. You’re all happy and laughing and together and i’m-

i’m alone.

I suppose it must be some sort of- cosmic Karma, I doomed the world so in this new one bright an new I pay my penance in isolation.

Or maybe it’s the other way around. I doom the world- suffer its horrors, and get a little bit of time to taste what humanity would be like.

Or maybe i’m just not that likable without an apocalypse.

Probably says a lot about me either way.

Is it bad that I- I sometimes consider letting things play their course? W-without any of you dying of course I just... I suppose it is bad, to want to end the world because you’re lonely. Just because i’m a bit sad doesn’t mean the planet should suffer, no... maybe i’ll try and reconnect with Georgie, it’s been... well. No. Perhaps best not.”

Sasha says that if she knew she would have at least brought him out for drinks or something.

But they did sort-of know didn’t they? Not about the apocalypse, but about the loneliness. After all, nobody chats so awkwardly in the break room because they have a thriving social life.

“I’m going to kill Nikola tonight- i’m not going to die. I’m not. I didn’t die last time, a-and there’s no reason for that to change. T-there isn’t. I’m going to try and be a safe distance from the blast this time, too. But... Well, it’s not like I have anyone to miss me if I do go.

I suppose... Martin, if you’re listening to this- I... I miss you. You always did say I should be more open with my feelings, and it’s weird. To miss someone who’s right there. T-to look at a face and see a friend and a stranger. To love someone you’ve known for years who doesn’t even really know who you are.

It’s all very stranger, ironic really. Considering what i’m about to do.

I love you, and I miss you. I know you’re not listening, even if I did die you’ve probably long since quit. I hope you’re happy, whatever you’re doing. Happy and safe. All of you.

And maybe you are listening, maybe... maybe we do become friends, maybe you actually choose to talk to me someday. Maybe I tell you about all of this and... And you don’t think i’m mad. Maybe you let me take you out to dinner and we’d be together again. We’d never be like before- not that that’s a bad thing what with the eldritch horrors. There’d be bits missing, memories we don’t share- but, it would still be you... It’s always been you, I think. And maybe I've decided to give this to you as some sort of silly romantic gesture.

A-and in that case. I love you, Martin Blackwood. More than you’ll ever know.

[HE SIGHS]

When I come back, i’m recording over this.”

[CLICK]

But he didn’t come back. He died that night. He died loving Martin, who never even really knew him beyond passing awkward conversation. Martin doesn’t know how to feel about it, besides guilty that is.

The tapes point them towards Georgie Barker, the woman who delivered the other set to the archives.

Georgie doesn’t really want anything to do with them, she knows whatever they’re stewing in got Jon killed. But she tells them about her encounter with The End, though she’s tetchy afterwards. Martins finally starting to understand this whole compelling business and is feeling pretty sorry about it. He redirects, he starts to ask about Jon. Who he was, really. What she knew he was like.

They talk, Martins curiosity is part Eye and part knowing that someone loved him, really, really loved him. And feeling like he missed out, like he skipped a train he hadn’t known was there. And wanting to know what kind of person would- could love him the way Jon did. And why that kind of person could end the world.

They talk, Georgie explains why they broke up (clashing ideals, he didn’t believe in the supernatural and her trauma was so inherently tied to it. He was a sleep-clinger and she kicked when she dreamed) And why it took so long for them to break up (Jon was funny once you learned to get his jokes, the Admiral loved him, he had a weird way of caring that was really sweet) they talk about things, Georgie lets him hang out with her as long as he promises to keep the supernatural out of their conversations. And how is Melanie doing by the way?

Sasha has a hard time splitting her time in the archive and helping Tim. He can manage himself of course but it’s hard knowing he’s sitting in her flat alone, he’s getting back into publishing though. Sleeping easier now he knows that not only is he free of the eye, but Jon very much killed the thing that killed Danny. He only wishes he could have been the one to pull the trigger. Sasha is getting more involved though, the eye has it’s own grip on her.

They finally confront Elias. They know it won’t do any good, Jons tapes explained what he was, who he was. But they’re frustrated. Low on options. Jon never really explained what the apocalypse was- if Martins learned anything from the other tapes it’s probably because he forgot, thought he did somewhere and didn’t.

Elias isn’t entirely surprised that they’ve figured it out, he knew something was going on. Though he wasn’t quite sure what. He claims he knows what oncoming apocalypse Jon was talking about, and that he was likely underestimating the amount.

He sends them to Ny-Ålesund. And Martin views the black sun. Gets briefly taken hostage by Manuela. And gets “saved” by a man who pops out of a door to stab her.

He says his name is Micheal, and he’s not there to help. He does his whole distortion bit, confuses them. Stabs Martin when he tries to take his statement. Says he was going to kill him, but what happens next might be much better than death. And leaves after stating that he’s very excited to watch how the rest of this plays out.

They go back to the institute, and Elias says he must have been wrong. Oopsie. Anyway the web is planning a ritual you should go check out the spooky house from all these statements.

They meet Annabelle in person, Martin gets marked by the web.

This continues on for the end the slaughter and the buried. They finally confront Elias again about these wild goose chases, he claims innocence but he’s done it enough times they don’t believe him. They stop trusting Elias. Not that they ever really did, but they stop listening to him.

Melanie isn’t as angry as she was. Though she is still angry. She didn’t go to india so no ghost bullet, but she’s still trapped. Though she knows how to quit, it’s been a scary idea. But the longer she stays the more she realizes how low she is on options. So she quits.

Martin is angry, he’s exhausted, he’s confused. Nothing makes sense. And another one of Elias’s goddamn doners is visiting. A weird old man who, when he shakes his hand, makes him feel like he just dropped off a rollercoaster at a million miles into empty nothingness. He laughs when Martins regained himself, and says that that tricks better than a buzzer every time.

He visits Georgie again, he’s thinking about quitting. But he can’t figure out what the apocalypse he’s supposed to stop is, because according to Jon it’s pretty bad. And he’s the one who can stop, or maybe start, it. But he doesn’t know what it is.

He talks to Georgie about Jon some more, it’s funny, to grieve a man you already knew. Except four years too late. There’s a sort-of helpless frustration to it, every time he talks about Jon he wishes he could be learning this first-hand. Not from someone who hadn’t spoken to him in years before this.

He also finds himself glued to the tapes, he can relate, in a way. To Jons loneliness. To have a person so, so close but so far away. He wishes he could meet the Jon on the tapes now. Then neither of them would have to be lonely. But Jon is dead. And Martin... Martin might love Jon. Jon, who died years ago. A dead man who apparently loved him enough to consider ending the world for the chance to have a real conversation with him.

He goes back to work, frustrated and so, so lost. A million questions that genuinely can’t be answered. There’s a fresh statement on his desk. It’s a statement of Jonah Magnus, regarding stopping the apocalypse.

Certainly a goddamn roundabout way of giving Martin information, but he’ll take it.

He reads the statement.

The world ends.

Sasha, Tim, Melanie, and Georgie all get their own domains. And wander free in the hills of suffering. Martin is alone, well and truly alone. He ended the world, because he was too stupid and sad to read a few extra paragraphs before starting the tape.

But Jon went back, didn’t he? He went back in time and stopped this once. Maybe Martin can too. Maybe he can stop the flesh from attacking, maybe he can stop Melanie from joining the institute. Maybe he can meet the real Jon.

He goes back, he does it. Nobody remembers but him.

Nobody remembers but him.

And things keep happening he can’t have predicted.

Worms, Sasha is gone, Gertrude. It’s all wrong. And Jon isn’t the Jon he knew, he doesn’t know Martin, he doesn’t even like Martin. Nobody is the person he knew before.

He is alone. And things keep happening he can’t have predicted, worms tables and paranoia. He starts recording. Trying to follow in Jon’s footsteps and leave information behind, easier to access this time of course. In his flat, and he’ll have the key sent to the archives if something goes wrong. He’ll record until Jon trusts him enough to believe him, Maybe he’ll even stop him before it’s too late and he’ll never need to find out what happened at all. Maybe he can't get close as he was to everyone, but he can keep them safe.

He doesn’t get to finish his recordings, he wasn’t careful enough. Jonah catches wind and half the tapes are destroyed when he dies in a mysterious housefire. But what’s left does get delivered to the archives.

And the cycle continues.

#jonmartin #the magnus archives #tma #angst #writing #ghostly scribbles #Tma is a tragedy and so is this #not a proper fic more like a really weird outline

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fragileizywriting · 4 years ago

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bad day blues

pairing: Luka / Marinette (Viperion / Multimouse) word count: 10,418 chapter: 1/1 rating: E summary: “How is it that I can sling myself across rooftops for years, day and night, but I can’t even walk in a straight line once I’m out of my suit and end up spraining an ankle?” “Don’t be so hard on yourself, Mousey. That’s not good for you.” “I wish I wasn’t such a klutz.” “You’re not.” Luka kisses the top of her head as a punctuation to his words. “You just had a bad day, that’s all.” “One of the worsts in a while,” Marinette nods into his shirt. “Luka? Could you make it better for me?” He laughs. “And you call me the insatiable one, little mouse.” Her eyes sparkle. “Who was the one that jumped me when I was going to go shower after my pool trip with my friends? One look at me in a towel and suddenly my boyfriend’s hands are all on me— sounds pretty insatiable, if you ask me.” AO3 | Start Here To Read The Whole 'Out of The Closet' Series! | Previous Fic in Series | Next Fic in Series

Here's some more Lukanette! Don't worry, there's plenty more incoming, too. This series is so wonderful to write, I'm having so much fun!!! Especially since Luka is my favorite character 🥺

Enjoy <3

She’s having a bad day.

Like, a really bad day.

There is that whole cake ordering business that her parents live off of, that she helps out with. She’s rolled so much fondant out that her arms hurt, and they’re barely attached to her body when she’s rushing out of the door to get to her class when the second bad part of the day happens.

She spills coffee all over herself.

Well, it isn’t her coffee. Her dad’s been getting into the habit of walking around the bakery and the pantry with his mug she got for him for his birthday, a delicate piece of ceramic that is absolutely dwarfed by her father’s large hands. She’d knocked into him while scarfing down some breakfast of her own, where she’d tried to get bits and pieces of it into her mouth while rolling out fondant for that particular eight-tiered cake that is surely going to be the death of her that she still has to pipe and decorate when she gets back from class.

Her blouse is stained, and it’s warm. It doesn’t seep far into her shirt, because her dad presses his apron right on the stain to soak up as much moisture as possible, but she yelps anyway out of sheer instinct.

“Are you okay, sweetheart?”

“I’m fine! I’m so sorry for making you spill your coffee, baba. Are you okay?” She waves him off with a little smile. These things happen, it’s okay. Besides, smelling like coffee isn’t the end of the world. It isn’t the smell of a particularly expensive perfume, but she can hardly say no to smelling like coffee when she’s lived at a bakery for the entirety of her life.

“I ran into you, sweetheart, not the other way around,” Her dad shakes his head. “Go change your shirt while I get you some packed food to take with you to school for you and Mullo.”

“Thank you! I’ll be right back.” She kisses him on the cheek, making sure to stay clear away from his mug. She rushes up the stairs, trying her best not to accidentally tear her skirt, but isn’t as delicate to her blouse as she could be. The side rips open. She squeaks while getting it off. “Oh, no! I just bought this!”

“Oh! Is everything okay?” Mullo peeks out from the little cubby Marinette’s made into her own little room.

“Yeah— I’m okay! These things happen, don’t worry. I’m just going to change my shirt into something better and then we can head out, okay?” She snaps open a drawer, tossing her soiled top into the laundry bin near her desk. She’s not opposed to wearing other shirts with this particular skirt, but… she really likes wearing that peter pan collar. This is fine. A normal button-up will go fine with the skirt, even though now she looks a lot more formal than she wants to be.

It’s a good thing her bra is nude-colored. She’s already in a rush as it is.

She hasn’t learned a single thing since school was at a walking distance, clearly, because she’s rushing to get to the metro, running back down the stairs, tugging her backpack over her shoulder with Mullo zipping into the pocket of her skirt, and kissing her dad goodbye and thanking him for the food— all the while trying her best to go over the list of things she needed to do before heading off to class.

Feed Mullo, though the little mouse can definitely go scavenging for blueberries whenever she wants. And yet… Mullo starts to whisper that she’s hungry the moment Marinette makes it down the stairs of the metro and goes pawing for her metrocard. She’s grateful that she’s placed a small container of fresh blueberries inside her backpack, with even a portion of small chocolate chips in the screw-top compartment of the container, just for the little mouse— and the small kwami is giggling and back to being happy before Marinette can even blink.

She looks for her metrocard. It’s on the inside of her phone case, which is good, so she’s able to go through the ticket booth with no problem— thank goodness. She doesn’t need another stressor for the day— but she needs to make sure she repays the bill for her monthly pass before the next month arrives so that she isn’t late trying to pay for it the day of, and hopefully she can remember this thought for long enough to write it into her agenda so she doesn’t forget during the week.

Oh, gooseberries. Hopefully she’s not late.

She checks the time on her phone once she’s safely situated inside a subway car, only to look at the turned-off screen with a confused noise. She tries turning on her phone but blinks with so much confusion when the black screen refuses to light.

Wasn’t one of the things on her list to make sure that her phone was charged last night?

What in the world happened to her phone battery?

She tries to think about it, pinning down that the only real reason it would be out of battery would be if Mullo wanted to use it to watch videos or listen to music while Marinette was asleep.

She makes sure to unzip her bag, peering down at the little mouse kwami with inquisitive eyes, trying to understand why her only communication device isn’t charged, speaking in a hushed voice to not alert anyone in the subway car with her. “Lolo, did you watch videos last night?”

Mullo is asleep. At least she remembered to put the lid back onto the container, which is some good news. Marinette can’t feel too upset, looking at the little creature. It’s a good thing she packed her bag and made sure to grab her portable charger— it’s not often that Mullo gets in the habit of overusing Marinette’s phone— but she’s always prepared, just in case. Mullo likes texting Sass, too, though all their texts look like gibberish to her and Luka whenever they try to reread it.

She opens the front pocket zipper with the cute little mouse charm attached to the handle and freezes.

This isn’t her school backpack.

She’s not sure how it didn’t dawn on her before, but this isn’t the right backpack at all.

The only thing it has is a plastic bag with her swimsuit she’d used during the weekend— it’s not exactly dry, given that it’s been in the baggy for at least four days since she’d come back from the pool with her friends. That’s strange— she’s not one to just drop her bag off to the side and not put away her stuff— so, what gives? She chews on her nail while she thinks about what could’ve possibly distracted her from hanging up her swimsuit and letting it dry, and stopped her from putting away this particular backpack, and squeaks to herself when she remembers.

Oh. Right. That’s right.

Viperion had shown up in her room just as she was going to go take a shower— having completed patrol on his own because he wanted her to have fun with friends and go swimming— and since her boyfriend is somehow allergic to learning how to swim, he’d happily shoved her out of the house with the pretense of keeping Paris safe while she relaxes for once in her life— no wonder she’d been so distracted and completely forgot about the backpack.

He’s so insatiable, nowadays, wanting to spend so much time with her that it’s completely pointless to try to keep clothes on around him. He’d taken one good look at her while she was making her way to her bathroom tucked into her towel and had decided to wash her himself— joining her in the shower without even taking his suit off.

She knows that their hexleather is water-resistant— but she didn’t know that it’s enough to keep water from completely entering his suit.

He’d cleaned her inside and out— pressed her up against the bathroom tiles, hopeful that she would keep quiet, as Viperion slicked two fingers inside of her.

The hexagonal grooves on their suits had never been something she’d even considered until now— it was obsession at first touch, in all honesty.

Her back is filled with love bites and possessive teeth marks that make her toes curl in her shoes when she thinks about it more, or remembers it whenever she brushes up against her shoulders. Not to mention she feels a comfortable full-body ache when he finally slips away to go home— she’d spent the rest of that afternoon in bed, curled up, dreaming of the day the two of them can always wake up next to each other.

She shifts in her seat, feeling damp and uncomfortable. She misses him already.

But all of that means… her school backpack is still at home. And she’s carrying nothing except her wet swimsuit, instead of her agenda and planner and notebooks and sketchbooks and pens.

Oh, sugarcubes.

It’s fine, though. These things happen. Sometimes no matter how much she plans and prepares, the universe sometimes throws her for a loop, and that’s okay. A good planner knows how to plan for things going wrong— even if she doesn’t want it to happen in the first place.

In all honesty, this is probably not what Luka meant when he said to let things flow and don’t let things bother her, but it is kind of hard to stop her tendencies to want to plan for the worse.

Okay, so how does she fix this?

She has a lecture that starts in about twenty minutes that she can technically skip out on and go back home to grab her things, assuming she switches subways at the next stop. Since she’ll be late, she might as well change out of her clothes, too, into something much more suited for her. She doesn’t like wearing button-downs— especially since, oh, gooseberries, it looks like she’s missed out on about three buttons and gotten her neckline skewed. There’s no point in even fixing it, as long as she’s able to tuck her miraculous back underneath her shirt without someone seeing it.

What else does she need to do?

Well, she definitely needs to make sure she gets the right backpack the next time she slips through the door. Make sure to bring another container of blueberries, too— she never knows when there’ll be another Akuma, and of all things to not be worried about, this is something she’ll never stop.

Everything will be okay. No worries. The lecture wasn’t that important, she’s sure of it.

The moment she makes that same thought, the subway car slows to a crawl. The lights in the car flicker, and she looks around to the other passengers, hopeful to see anyone who has any idea of what’s going on.

Everyone looks nonchalant. They probably assume it’s an Akuma, at this point.

“We are having technical difficulties,” The subway car emits a tinny, metallic little noise from the speakers near the doors. “Please stay calm and wait while we fix it.”

Marinette groans. Okay, maybe she’ll be late for a lot more than just her first class. This is fine. Things happen. Things like this just happen— she just needs to relax about it. At least it’s not an Akuma— and it’s not like she can be blamed for the subway being stuck.

There’s just nothing to entertain her, though. No pencil, no pen, no paper to doodle and keep her occupied. No phone to listen to music or keep her busy. Just her, the plastic bag with her swimsuit in it, a sleeping kwami, her breakfast, and half a container of chocolate chips. She might as well start eating now, since there’s nothing else to do— eat and think about her boyfriend’s pretty blue eyes.

-*-

She has— well, had— a pop quiz in her missed lecture.

Worth twenty percent of her grade.

She stumbles into the classroom after everyone’s starting to clear out, looking for the professor and her continuously bored glare she gives to the class on the regular. “Uhm, excuse me— sorry, I didn’t attend class today because of the metro—”

“You can’t make it up.” Her professor says, collecting a thick stack of paper into her briefcase. The only professor she’s ever met to actually use a genuine briefcase— it makes her look more like a lawyer and less like an introduction to fashion history professor.

“Make it up?” Marinette blinks, confused. “Make up— make up what, exactly? I wasn’t in class.”

“The quiz. Twenty percent of the grade, of course, because no one in class was answering my questions today for some reason.” Because Marinette’s the one who usually answers for everyone, of course. No one stepped in, probably, because they were most likely too comfortable with her answers to actually come up with one of their own. “You missed out on the quiz. You can’t make it up.”

“Oh.” That’s fine. Things happen. Sometimes the universe just throws curveballs— her grade in this class won’t suffer. “Uhm. Is— is that all I missed?”

Her professor gives her a good look. There’s something in her dull, tired eyes, like she registers who Marinette is in the class— and what she brings to the lecture hall. “I’m going to give you the homework, even though I technically shouldn’t. You’re a good student— you’ve never been late to class— and definitely never missed an entire lecture. And today, without your questions, it was completely and totally quiet.”

“Oh.” She repeats. “Th— uhm. Thank you.”

She pulls out another stack of papers, handing her a stapled group of paper from the top. It looks ridiculously thick— as in— maliciously thick. Maybe at least thirty pages. “Here’s the homework. Make sure to finish it by next class.”

One week to finish the assignment. No problem. She can do that.

“Of course,” Marinette breathes, slightly overwhelmed, looking over the title of the assignment. She has no idea where to begin— the lecture today must’ve been all about it. Maybe she can find one of her classmates and ask about it? Although, she’s never really made a friend here before… “Thank you very much.”

“Don’t make it a habit to skip,” The professor calls out to her as she leaves through the door.

“Understood,” Marinette mutters under her breath. The strap of her kitten heels breaks when she runs her foot too close along the doorframe as she leaves behind her. She trips, falling into her second person with a coffee today, spilling all over her shirt again. This time, it’s cold— it’s an iced latte, of course, and ice cubes fall down her collar and into her shirt, and pain blistering up her ankle.

She tries to walk it off, she really does, but it ultimately just collapses back onto the floor the moment she tries to put pressure on it. Mullo comes out of hiding when she makes sure that there’s no one around, asking if Marinette’s okay— and all she can do is just smile at the little kwami, trying her best not to wince.

Today just isn’t her day, is it?

-*-

By the time an Akuma actually comes around, and tries to do damage in the city of Paris, Multimouse is running on fumes from how close she is to breaking down.

She’s weaved and dodged most of the attacks, relying on her rope to get out of the way. Her ankle doesn’t hurt as much when in the suit, of course, because the magical properties of the miraculous make it so that they focus on the fight first than anything else. She can put her weight on it, which is the good news— and that’s enough for her to walk and run and jump rope when she needs to.

Seeing Viperion is such a blessing. She hasn’t been able to text him much all day, aside from the vague ‘good morning’ text she sent when she finally managed to get her phone to turn on— she’s been too busy to respond to all of the texts he’s sent throughout the day.

Hopefully, she can talk to him after the fight is over. She needs a little bit of downtime.

But she can’t exactly focus on how thankful she is to see him when she’s in the middle of weaseling out of the Akumas grabby hands. She tucks and weaves, snaps her rope out like a whip when she needs to, and does her best to roll out of the way of the Akuma that falls into their trap using the Liberty that sends him spiraling across the city with it. Viperion is nearly on the other side of the city taking care of the sentimonster when she feels her ankle start to blister in pain again, indicating that she’s putting far too much stress on the ankle for even magic to make it stop hurting.

By the time they’ve got the Akuma purified, the sentimonster dealt with, and the victim is in safe care with the social worker from the workforce that’s been assigned to assist people who have just been Akumatized— Multimouse can barely stand up. She chooses, instead, to keep sitting down on the lip of the sidewalk between a couple of parked cars, her legs spread out in front of her, trying her best to seem like she’s just out of breath. She keeps her right boot completely straight, hopeful to not put any more strain on her ankle, but lets her left boot sag against the asphalted road, and tries her hardest not to hide her face in her hands.

Viperion makes his way back to her after he’s done talking to the social worker.

“Mousey?”

“Hi, Vai,” She speaks into her gloves. Some battles are just too difficult for her to focus on, and trying to keep herself from doing something just isn’t worth the effort anymore. “That was a tough one, huh?”

He sits down next to her, shoulder to shoulder. There’s probably not enough space for him in between the cars, since his shoulders are wide, but he makes the effort anyway. Besides, if it’s truly that bothersome, all he has to do is give a gentle push to the car next to him— the miraculous suits give them extra strength, after all— but even without the suit, he’d probably be able to push it forward. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” She leans into him. “I missed you so much.”

“You didn’t text me today like you usually do,” He murmurs into her hair. He’s a thick wall of heat right next to her, and she’s so thankful for him like usual. “Everything okay?”

“Everything is— it’s fine— I’m sorry. I forgot to charge my phone last night, and Mullo was watching videos while I slept, so my phone just went kaput.” She smiles in her hands when he makes a noise meaning that he understands exactly what she means. “I only got to text you when my phone was back on. I’m just tired, really. I’m not having a good day.”

The road is going to be populated soon with whatever foot traffic it usually has, now that the Akuma’s been taken care of. They need to probably get up to higher ground before the people of Paris come out to ask for autographs or selfies— and, okay.

She wants to give everyone the best treatment possible, of course, but she’s in absolutely no condition to do that like this. Definitely not like this.

It’ll be better for everyone’s comfort if she doesn’t stay around to listen to what people have to say about the fight— she’s Paris’s sweetheart, she knows, but if anyone says anything remotely negative in her direction, she’s pretty sure she’ll start crying.

Not to mention that if she hears anything bad about Viperion, she’ll start crying while beating civilians off with a ten-foot pole. She’s not in the mood at all to continue behaving like the sweet little Parisian Princess today— she can’t do it.

“Are you stressed out?”

“Yes. Very much. Ironically, the Akuma was my break from stress. Imagine that?”

He laughs. It’s a loving noise, usually, but there seems to be an edge to it this time. “Do you want me to help you with that? I think I saw an alley over there. Let me help you relax.”

She steams red behind her gloves. Oh, she knows exactly what he means— and, well, the answer is always yes. “Yes— but maybe not here. People are going to show up, soon, and I’m already in pain as it is—”

Viperion looks at her. She can tell because her face starts to prickle underneath her gloves. “Pain?”

She takes a deep breath, looking up at him. His hair is starting to curl around his neck, it’s so lovingly him that she can’t help but comb her fingers into his hair and smooth it back. The confusion on his face morphs into contentment as she takes her time brushing his bangs back, getting a good look at what the top of his domino mask looks like. “Nothing’s wrong— things are fine. Everything is fine. Sometimes things happen, and we can’t control all of it.”

Liquid golden eyes look back at her when she’s done petting through his hair and, he— he smiles at her. Really smiles at her— he knows that she’s trying to repeat the quotes and virtues that he usually says to himself. His smile makes his domino mask crinkle, the scales on his hexleather shimmering turquoise and green, and it’s not exactly a front when she smiles back at him. “That’s true. Sometimes things happen that we can’t control, even if we really try, but sometimes we can fix whatever is hurting us. So what really happened, Mousey?”

“Just a bad day,” She uses her left foot to brush against his, taking her hands back from his hair to follow the scale pattern on his chest. The muscles underneath are no illusion— he’s truly that filled out. She likes physical contact with him, just as much as he loves physical contact with her— and she finds a certain kind of sweetness in the way he leans just slightly into her touch as she traces his collarbone. “I’m not kidding— I’ve been having a really bad day.”

“The Akuma didn’t help all that much, huh?”

She cups his cheeks with her palms. She can’t feel him, because her fingers are covered in protective hexleather, but it means all the same to her when she presses their foreheads together, smooshing their bangs against one another. “I don’t know about that. I’m getting to see you, after all— I love being able to see you, Vai.”

His eyes twinkle as he laughs, giving her a kiss. “Stand up for me? I want to check if you’re missing any body parts.”

“What? I’m not missing anything.” She finds herself laughing at the strange request. “See? Look: I have my two arms, my two legs. Tail is still here, and so is my miraculous.”

“I don’t know about that,” His face is oddly serious, even as she continues to giggle. “Wiggle your fingers for me so I know they’re still there.”

“Vai,” She makes a face as she laughs. When he implores her, she rolls her eyes, twiddling her fingers in the air. “Told you.”

“All ten fingers?”

“I think so,” She breaks into a grin. What is this man on about?

“Let’s see.” He takes her hands in his, bringing every single finger up to his mouth so he can count them with a kiss. “One. Two.”

“Oh my gooseberries. Vai,” She giggles hard enough for her shoulders to shake.

“Don’t make me lose count, Mousey, this is important. Three, four—”

“How did I get so lucky to have you?”

“I think it’s the other way around, honestly. Five, six— how did I get so lucky to have you?”

“By treating me like this,” She can’t help but bite her lip when he makes it past seven and eight. “By treating me so sweetly.”

“Sue me, little mouse. I like treating my girlfriend well. Nine, and ten.” At the tenth finger, he kisses where her fingernail would be, then her knuckle, then the back of her hand. He kisses up her arm, too, all the way up to her shoulder as she snorts and giggles, until he tilts his head and kisses her against the jaw, finally completing his quest and kisses her softly on the lips— she melts. He keeps the kiss soft, though— and if her ankle wasn’t rolled, she’d honestly climb into his lap for more than just something so chaste. She deserves it, after this horrible day— and he always makes her feel loved and comforted. “I think your hands are okay.”

“You think so?” She feels a little dopey from the kiss.

“Move your feet, too, so I can figure out if your legs are still attached.”

She moves her left foot only, letting her right boot rest. Instead, she pulls up her right leg, hoping to look like she’s just switching up her sitting position, but that’s enough for Viperion to break eye contact with her and look at her knee. “See?”

But he’s smarter than that. “Ah, there it is. So you did injure yourself during the fight?”

“No. I— uhm— no. Not during the fight.” She’s not lying, but her smile dies down as a quiet contemplation morphs on his face. “It’s— I’m fine, Vai, honestly, I’m okay. My ankle will be fine after some ice, I’m sure—”

“Oh, Mousey.” He looks hurt for her, immediately swiveling in his seat to look her over. He grabs gently for both of her legs, lifting them up to place in his lap, and gently starts to move her foot at the ankle back and forth.

The first leg is the good one, so she barely even reacts— let alone blinks— to him swiveling her ankle around and testing the elasticity. But her bad ankle— oh— it’s enough to make her start to squirm.

His eyebrows pinch when she continuously flinches, her half-sentient tail batting against the asphalt behind her as she tries her hardest not to cry out in pain. He supports the back of her ankle with his palm, and doesn’t let her foot rotate when he puts her leg back in his lap. “When did this happen, baby girl?”

“It happened at school,” She hides her face back into her gloves. “Just the cherry on top, honestly. I fell and twisted my foot. I thought I was okay, but— I can’t walk in my civilian form.”

“School? And you fought the Akuma while injured? Oh, Mousey— I’m so sorry, I wouldn’t have let you stay alone with the Akuma if I had known. What else happened? Tell me what’s wrong.” She feels the gentle pressure of his thumb against her calf, even through the hexleather. “Maybe I can help you. I sure want to try, at least.”

Why is he so gentle with her? Why is Viperion always so sweet and soft to her— kind and loyal?

She knows why— there is the whole ‘they’re dating’ part of the answer— but honestly, how did it get this way? When did Viperion become the boy she fights crime with, day or night, live or die— to the man who snags her just before her showers, who makes it a habit to make her toes curl every time he sees her, who is happiest when she cuddles and routinely hides in his bed with? How in the world has she gotten this lucky?

How? How did she get so lucky to have a man so conditioned to care about her?

Why did he ever fall in love with someone like her— someone who needs everything to be in its place or else she has a nervous breakdown? Someone that loses her demeanor when there’s even a slightest mistake, because everything needs to be perfect or it’s not worth doing at all and— and— why would he even stay with someone like her like this? Why? She’s completely the opposite of him— so— why does he stay and deal with someone so completely different than him in every single aspect?

The thought is enough to make her cry— and— oh— that’s it, really. That’s what makes her push over the edge and start hiccuping into her hands, tears falling down her cheeks. “Oh—”

“Mousey, it’s okay. Shh. Your ankle will get fixed up in no time, okay? We can fix this.”

“I’m sorry,” She says, more to herself than anything else, gesturing to her leg before hiding back in her hands. She sags against him so easily when he pulls her onto his lap. “I’m sorry— I’m so sorry, Vai. It’s not just— just the ankle— I’m just—”

“I know.”

“And— such a bad day—”

“Breathe, Mousey,” He traces circles against her back.

She gasps for breaths between sobs. “And I just— I really did try to not let it get to me— I really tried—”

“You did very good. You are doing very good.”

“It really hurts, Vai, I’ve never rolled my foot before, it’s so painful— and I know I’m going to be in more pain when I’m out of the suit. I’m so exhausted, Vai— today has been so difficult.”

“Tell me what happened.”

Where does she begin? “So much coffee on my shirt, I smell like an espresso machine—”

He listens to her ramblings, even if they don’t make any sense without the full context. He’s gentle when he shifts her even closer, making sure that her foot doesn’t hit up against the car next to them, tucking her in next to his collarbone and letting her cry it all out. His chest is so warm against her. “Everything’s going to be fine.”

“And then the subway— and I don’t have more blueberries for Lolo right now because she ate them all already, even after I went back home and refilled her cup—”

“We can get more in my house, it’s okay. All the blueberries Mullo could want.”

“And I was also stuck in the subway for two full hours with just a swimsuit—”

“You went on the subway with only a swimsuit on?” He makes a face. “That doesn’t sound right.”

“In my bag,” She explains, even if it doesn’t make much sense, sniffling around her gloves. “I mean— I picked up the wrong backpack— the wrong bag— before leaving the house and it was just my swimsuit in there— the subway got stuck and I thought it was because of an Akuma so I was just—”

“Take a breath, Mousey.”

She sucks in a breath, trying to fill her lungs in all the way, before the inevitable fresh wave of tears that she continues to border on. “And I— I couldn’t— even text you. I couldn’t, because my battery was out— and I was underground— and— oh, sugarcubes, I was so bored— I just kept coming up with more and more ways to sneak off the train without being seen because there was nothing else to do and I ended up overthinking everything.”

Everything. All of it. Every single thing. If she’s doing well in school— if what she’s trying to get a degree in is even worth it— if she’s wasting her time not focusing on defeating Hawkmoth— if Viperion even finds her necessary in fights. After all, most of what she does is just a distraction for him to get close and defeat the Akuma— but there’s not really a genuine need for her since all he has to do is move his ouroboros miraculous over to the side and turn back time and do whatever needs to be done, right?

“I thought about how you’re so much better without me during Akuma battles— I thought how much of a klutz I am— I thought about how I always have these nervous breaks whenever something goes wrong and you always just deal with them and I wish I could just stop worrying about every little thing without making it into a thing— and— and—”

Gentle hands make it to her wrist, and she looks up, sniffling and biting her lip. Viperion’s smile looks soft on his face as he wipes away her tears— golden eyes looking at her like she’s the most important thing in the world. He kisses her forehead, her cheeks— her nose, too— all in favor of getting a smile back onto her face. “None of that is true, okay? There’s no need to overthink about any of it anymore. You’re okay, you’re here— exactly where I need you to be. You are the entire reason why Paris is safe every day— I’m just here to keep you company, in all honesty. You’re the most amazing woman I’ve ever known, little mouse, and I absolutely cannot do any of this without you.”

Amazing woman? Has he met his own mother before? “But— what about your family—”

“I’m aware of what I’ve said,” He smiles. “I don’t deal with your problems, we deal with our problems. You getting worked up about something is something we both work on together— I’m not going to let you suffer alone when you’re nervous about something.”

She blinks slowly at him, her lashes damp and full of tears, only being able to offer him a watery and a heartful: “Oh.”

He nods, encouraging her to smile back. “Everything’s going to be fine, just like it always is, okay? You’re not a klutz. You’re doing great. Everything is going to be fine.”

“But—”

“Breathe, Mousey. It’s okay. You’re okay.”

She looks at him in the eyes, her breath slowing down, looking around them to see just how empty the street is. It’s an unpopulated street to begin with, so there are only a couple of shops at the corners, nowhere near them where they sit in between the cars, catching their breath from the battle. “I’m— I’m going to be okay. I am okay.”

“You’re okay.” He nods, smiling gently, taking her hands in his.

“I’m— I’m fine.” She takes another breath. She still feels watery, still feels like a wet sponge, but it’s a little easier to breathe. “Sometimes days just don’t go my way, no matter how much I plan for it.”

“Good, good— but you’re forgetting the second half of that.”

“The second half?”

“For every day that it happens, whenever your days don’t go right, I’ll be right here for you to cry on because you and I have always been a team.” He kisses her bangs, smoothing his gloves at the back of her head, behind the buns in her hair. “As much as I don’t like seeing you cry, baby girl, I know that I’d rather see that, than have you bottle it up inside.”

She sniffles, giving him a little smile when he pulls away to gauge her reaction. “Thank you, Vai.”

“I love you.” He kisses her on the lips again.

“I love you, too.” She ducks her head as a blush stains her cheeks underneath her domino mask. “Oh, I’m— I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For crying on you and turning this into a mess.”

“My girlfriend seeking out comfort from me— what a scandal, little mouse,” He teases with a flash of his fangs. “How dare my Mousey want reassurance from me.”

She has the reflex to giggle, even though there’s a bit of tears still trying to make its way down her face. “It’s probably not what you had in mind for today, huh?”

“All I had was work today,” He wipes at her cheek again. “The Akuma is always unpredictable, but it’s not like your parents don’t know why I have to leave the register when our phones start to ding with the Akuma notification, right? And I’m always thinking of you, so, in a way this is sort of what I had in mind.”

She kisses him. It’s not as quick as it should be— it definitely isn’t as innocent as it has to be, given that they’re in public and they haven’t technically told the public yet that Viperion and Multimouse are more than just a duo, not to even mention that they’re a lot, lot more than a duo now, if her wandering hands are any indication— but she breaks away just before she has the urge to shift her position on him, laughing softly when he narrows his eyes at her. “We should— uhm— probably go back, right? Your mom is probably calling your phone right now, asking why in heaven’s name you picked the Liberty for the trap location— Alya will be here any moment now to ask things for the Ladyblog.”

“Hmm? What did you say? I was too busy living in the moment of hearing you laugh again. Such a sweet melody.” He looks back up to her from looking at her ankle. She has no idea what’s going on in that head of his— and it bothers her, because she so desperately wants to know, even as he gives her a wink and a smile.

She’s so thankful for this man. So ridiculously thankful.

She bites her lip to stop herself from smiling harder. “We need to go. Out of here. And I need a favor.”

“I’ll do whatever you need, Mousey. What is it?”

“I need you to marry me.”

His eyes widen, completely caught off guard. “What?”

“I mean— I mean carry—” She gasps, hiding her hands behind her mouth. “Oh gooseberries— I’m so sorry. Sorry! I meant carry, I promise! Slip of the tongue, oh sugarcubes— I’m so sorry— that’s not what I meant at all.”

“Breathe, Mousey, come on.” He snorts so hard that he has to hide his face behind his hands, shoulders shaking in mirth. “Obviously I’ll carry you. That’s without question— I’m not letting you walk like that. Come on, let’s get you back home.”

-*-

Marinette’s finally sleeping by the time he’s back into her room.

They’ve wrapped and bandaged her foot, kept it elevated and out of the way for her. She sleeps soundly, even as he struggles with her trap door to not make any noise. He’s not good at being quiet when he really tries— the universe is always out to get him whenever he tries to do something quietly. Or maybe he just gets too self-aware of himself.

“How’s she doing, Sass?”

“She’s been sleeping for the whole time since you brought her home,” The little kwami answers just as softly. There’s a couple of doll-sized lounge chairs on her nightstand, as well as a small little dining table with a couple of cushioned seats— it looks like a playset, in all honesty, but they’re the perfect size for the two kwamis to sit and eat away at their food.

Sass looks like he’s finished with his eggs, which is good to see. Mullo is still working on her blueberries, chewing through each one almost anxiously as the two kwamis watch Marinette rest. He’s never known just how many blueberries is enough for Mullo, so he’d grabbed a heavy container full of it and put it in a small basket to keep her entertained.

“Is her foot going to be okay?” Mullo squeaks out.

“She’ll be fine,” Luka sits on the floor to be at eye level with the kwamis. He takes a couple of berries in his hands to snack on in order to have something to do. “She’s never hurt her ankle before, so it’ll heal up fast. Master Fu wrapped it up for her, after all— her uncle wouldn’t lie, would he?”

Both kwamis nod in agreement.

“I feel like this is all my fault,” The little mouse makes a face. “I should’ve helped her today, I shouldn’t have been quiet the entire time. Maybe things wouldn’t have gotten this bad. Maybe I could’ve told her she was taking the wrong bag— or maybe I could’ve remembered to plug in her phone. I fell asleep watching videos on mermaid history, I’m pretty sure— I don’t think the videos were worth her twisting her foot.”

Sometimes kwami and holder are really alike, huh? Even the face that Mullo makes is so reminiscent of Marinette, it’s incredible— he tries his best not to smile lovingly but can’t help himself. “It isn’t your fault at all, Mullo. There’s no point in thinking about what you should’ve done— all of it has already happened. It’s okay.”

“She’s never gotten injured like this before for as long as I’ve known her— and you said earlier that she hasn’t torn any muscles since I was given to Luka. Her ankle will heal before you know it.” Sass is quick to pet his friend’s arm. “But until then, she definitely won’t be able to act should an Akuma arrive.”

The room goes silent again as the three of them settle back into what they were doing. Sass is curled up, of course, enjoying the luxury of the little doll chair that is stuffed to the brim with cotton and sewn expertly shut. The dollhouse furniture looks well-loved, though— he’s under the assumption that Marinette most likely bought second-hand miniature sets for Mullo to play house in when she had first been given the mouse miraculous. There’s no dollhouse in sight around anymore, but the bookcase near Marinette’s bed still has two cubbies empty in favor of a little curtain pulled open to reveal two fake little rooms.

There’s a little closet rack full of little clothes. There are hats lined up against the bookshelf wall with two slits on the sides to make space for Mullo’s ears. There’s a doll bed with a blanket and a cushion— there’s a couch and potted plants all made out of felted material in order to decorate the space. A rug, too, underneath all the furniture.

All of these little trinkets and toys, so loved and cared for by a young girl and the love she has for her mouse— now something cherished by a young woman. “You know, I’ve always wanted to ask— how long have you two known her?”

“The Cheng family has always kept the miraculouses safe,” Mullo bites into another blueberry. “We’ve been passed down for generations.”

“Well, usually. Master Fu is the guardian right now, but he’s making sure that Marinette is the next guardian.”

“I know that, yes— but I meant Marinette specifically. How long have you two known Marinette?” He turns to her, wondering if she’s in any pain. The inflammatories must be working well in her system because there’s nothing on her face that indicates that her foot’s been wrapped and bandaged to stay still.

“We’ve known her ever since she was little. About eight years old, maybe? All of the kwamis loved playing house with her— the little princess was always so sweet and lovable. Growing up an only child was really lonely for her, so we played with her whenever we could.” The dollhouse furniture makes a lot more sense now. “You name it, we played it. Hide and seek, dollhouse, tea time, dress up— princess and the knight, too.”

Of course Marinette would’ve made them little clothes, how could she have resisted? The idea is adorable.

“Kaalki would frequently run away from Master Fu’s place in order to come play with her. Who could blame him? I for one loved it when it was tea time. Princess always made deviled eggs, just for me.” Sass slips his eyes shut to sleep. He always gets tired after eating his share of eggs following an Akuma attack— Luka’s thankful he works at a bakery, where eggs are plenty.

Sass is out like a light.

Mullo giggles to herself, holding a giant blueberry between her two paws, turning to him in her little chair, speaking as quietly as possible. Marinette may be asleep for longer, but Sass’s hearing is always so sensitive— they don’t want to wake either of them up. “I just ended up being the lucky one that got to stay with her. All of the other kwamis were really upset when they heard that I was her permanent friend— especially Kaalki. They all loved playing with her. We’re sure that Plagg and Tikki will love her, once we find them again.”

So much history between Marinette and the kwamis. No wonder Sass was so happy when they’d finally revealed their identities to one another. “Hey, Mullo— how come she didn’t tell me about her ankle?”

“She didn’t want to worry you.” Mullo replies in her soft, tiny voice. “You both needed to focus on the Akuma first.”

But in the end, she’d hurt herself. What he wouldn’t give to second-chance her ankle back to normal— but it’s been hours, not minutes, since it happened.

He takes his time eating the handful he’s picked from Mullo’s basket. The blueberry is sweet in his mouth, and tasteful, and something quiet to do while he looks at Marinette’s sleeping form. She’s working herself too hard, isn’t she? Trying to keep up with all the things at university— and trying to keep up with everything at home— and definitely trying to keep up with Akumas on top of it all. They haven’t technically even been on dates together, if that’s something she even wants, because her life is so full. It’s commendable, but watching the girl of his dreams get pulled in all different directions makes him understand entirely why a multitasking miraculous is the perfect one for her.

“You should rest, Luka. It’s getting really late.”

“I don’t know if I should— I don’t want to accidentally wake her up.”

“She’ll be more upset if she wakes up and you’re not in bed with her,” Mullo argues. He smiles, because he can’t help the humor at the sincerity of her words. “You should join her.”

He’d have to take off his jeans, and go pawing for one of his shirts she’s stolen from his room in order to not get flour all over her bed, but it’s doable. Her parents already know he’s up here, after all— he’s said he was going to check up on her once his shift ended. Her parents had let him go without barely any warning gaze— in fact, Mrs. Cheng had implored him to spend the night and make sure Marinette didn’t attempt to run off, in case another Akuma were to pop up.

They trust that he’s a good person and will actually stop her from leaving the house. And he doesn’t want to disappoint.

The last thing he wants to do is go back home and listen to the absolute earful he’ll be getting from his mom about using the Liberty as bait, so he’s going to camp out in Marinette’s room after sending about a billion and one heart emojis to Juleka, hoping she’ll try to keep their mom out of trouble.

Maybe it’d been a bad idea to tell his family about his identity— just his family in general. It’s safer this way, now that his family knows, so there won’t be any nasty revelations down the line and his family won’t turn into Akumas (and if he has to fight Reflekta or Captain Hardrock any more times in his life, he’s going to quit) but now there’s the added bonus of his mom knows why he disappears all the time.

So.

Heart emojis sent to Juleka it is.

“And what about you? Won’t you be going to bed?”

“I’m still hungry, so I need to dip downstairs and get some more food, if that’s okay. Or, better yet— do you want me to take Sass downstairs with me when I go?”

He raises a brow. Surely she doesn’t mean to imply… “She’s— Marinette— come on, Mullo. She’s injured.”

“I’m not sure she needs her ankle for that!”

This doesn’t top the weirdest conversation he’s ever had, but this is definitely up there. “And she’s asleep— I’m not comfortable with the idea.”

“She’ll wake up soon. You should ask her then, obviously.”

“Mullo.”

“You’re two aren’t our first holders, you know, we’ve done this so many times before.” Mullo giggles behind a paw. “So, do you want privacy? If you don’t, I’ll stay right here. Mari likes to tell us that we’re as scary as actual dolls, sometimes, with our beady little eyes.”

No one has to tell him that. He learned the hard way when he’d woken up the first time with Sass looking straight at him. Beady little eyes indeed— it’d scared him shitless and almost caused him to scream at a bleary five in the morning. Sass is a terrifying little creature when he wants to be.

“Maybe it’s a good idea to give us a bit of time.” He tries not to blush when Mullo tilts her head in acknowledgment. “I don’t think she wants anything except sleep, but, who knows.”

“We’ll give you all the time you two need,” The little mouse nods. She grabs Sass’s sleeping form by a paw, taking one last bite out of the remaining blueberry, before the two of them phase through the floorboards down below. Sometimes kwamis are weird little creatures with all of their powers, honestly— he’s gotten used to Sass appearing out of thin air in his attempts to scare him, but it’s always so concerning to see it happen without that context.

He lifts himself up from the floor, peeling open some of her drawers in search of one of his shirts. She’d taken his pleading to heart, and now has a steady collection of his clothes starting to grow and multiply in her closet— he’s running out of his own clothes, honestly, but he can’t say no when she smiles at him like she always does before squirreling away a new shirt into her bag when she wants to keep a piece of him with her.

He should probably take some of these shirts home with him, though. If the point was for her to smell like him, well, he should probably make it happen.

He folds his shirt and jeans. Marinette doesn’t have piles of clothes everywhere unlike him, so he makes the executive decision to stack his clothes on her desk chair. By the time he’s going back up the ladder over to her bed, Marinette’s shifted onto her side, facing him— she wakes up the moment he tries to shimmy his way under the covers with her.

“Oh. Hi.”

“Hi.” She has pieces of her hair catching in her eyelashes— he brushes it away, shifting closer to her. Her entire bed smells of faint traces of lavender, what a nice scent. “How are you feeling, Mousey?”

“A lot better,” She’s quick to smile, even as she’s groggy from sleep. Adorable. “Probably because of the amount of pain killers I’m on right now, though.”

He laughs. “Master Fu told me you don’t usually take painkillers. You must just completely relax under it, then, since your body isn’t used to it.”

“I don’t think I tore anything, did I?”

“No, I don’t think so. Your uncle said you’re fine, after all, but you should just stay out of commission for this week until you can put weight on that foot again.”

She looks so disappointed. “Where’s Lolo?”

“Downstairs. She’s probably eating through your entire pantry at the moment.”

“And Sass?”

“Went with her. Mullo took him to give us privacy. Are you okay?”

He should’ve known better than to relax his guard around her. The moment he’s completely at ease in bed, she grabs for him, pulling him so close to her that they’re perfect puzzle pieces. “How is it that I can sling myself across rooftops for years, day and night, but I can’t even walk in a straight line once I’m out of my suit?”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself, Mousey. That’s not good for you.”

“I wish I wasn’t such a klutz.”

“You’re not.” He kisses the top of her head as a punctuation of his words. “You just had a bad day, that’s all.”

“One of the worsts in a while,” She nods into his— hers?— shirt. “Luka? Could you make it better for me?”

He laughs. “And you call me the insatiable one, little mouse.”

Her eyes sparkle. “Who was the one that jumped me when I was going to go shower after my pool trip with my friends? One look at me in a towel and suddenly my boyfriend’s hands are all on me— sounds pretty insatiable, if you ask me.”

How can she blame him? She has such soft and delicate skin. Everywhere.

He loves touching and feeling her up whenever she lets him and asks him to. Not to even mention her ass— god— he could write so many songs just about it— he likes biting her everywhere he can, and he’s sure he’d done exactly that while sneaking his way into her shower box. Marinette always takes to bruising really well when it comes to him teething at her, she blossoms into hickies whenever he has his mouth on her. Not to even mention just how excited and turned on she was when he’d finally fingered her to completion.

“I don’t believe you were complaining, were you? Besides, I was just giving my girlfriend what she likes the most.”

She snorts and giggles. “And what is that?”

“Word is around here that she really likes Viperion. Has lots of fantasies about him— and, hey, I’m a pretty understanding guy. If my girlfriend wants to call out his name instead of mine, I get it.” He loves it when she laughs this hard— it’s always so much better to hear her laugh than it is to hear her stay quiet and in her thoughts. “It’s a good thing he likes helping out, too. The guy’s taken a real liking to my girlfriend, even though I’ve heard that him and Multimouse are a thing.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” She smiles against his mouth. She’s feeling a lot better now, he can tell, because her hands disappear under his— seriously, hers?— shirt, teasing all of the skin available to her. Her fingers are ticklish against his chest and abs— she’s just as handsy as he is, most of the time.

“Insatiable,” He kisses her before pulling down the covers.

Her sleepshirt is soft and stretchy in his hands, and it’s easy to pull it up enough so he can kiss her stomach and hip at the waistband of her panties. He’s careful with her leg, of course— he doesn’t want to move it, just to make sure the wraps on her ankle don’t come undone by accident. He helps her out of her underwear slowly and gently, pulling the cute panties off so he can get her completely bare.

Such cute underwear. But then again, he’s always a little biased to anything green or blue— and the mint green color is adorable on her pale skin. The cut is cute, too— he doesn’t know enough about women’s underwear styles, but these are a lot cuter on her than he’d imagined. They rest just at her hip, with a pretty little scalloped edge that is just a smidge too Marinette for him to reasonably handle.

But he likes her better naked, of course.

“You’re already this wet?”

“Don’t tease, Luka.” Her hands disappear under her shirt. He doesn’t get to exactly see what she does underneath with her fingers, but it doesn’t take much brainpower to recognize the arching of her back like she always gets whenever he’s pinching at her nipples.

He follows the line she’s made with her body with an appreciating gaze, kissing up and down her thigh so slowly that she makes a frustrated noise. “Awh, don’t be like that, Mousey. Tell me why you’ve soaked through your underwear, I’m curious.”

She groans. “I thought of you the entire time I was in that stupid subway.”

Oh, did she? “No wonder you’ve been so tense today.”

She makes eye contact with him after a little flinch and a little exhale— she must’ve pinched herself just enough to make it count. “I was thinking about what you did to me in the shower. You’re such a glutton, Vai.”

He grins at her. Oh, he loves it when she calls him that. “I’m not so sure about that.”

And gives her what she needs.

He takes his time licking between her legs, even though she’s wet enough that it wouldn’t take much effort at all to slip his fingers into her. He likes this part, personally, even to the point where he shifts his hips down into the mattress to alleviate some of the pressure building at the base of his spine, starting to get desperate himself. It’s always so satisfying to go down on her— the noises she makes are always so attractive, and he loves making her come without much regard to himself. Marinette isn’t loud when she vocalizes her likes and dislikes, but not because she doesn’t want to be— she always hides her mouth behind her hands— and it always feels like a contest.

Today is no exception.

Her ribs heave under her shirt as he licks and licks, swirling his tongue at the place she loves the most. Her sighs are soft and sweet, even as he pulls her good leg up and over his shoulder, burying his face into her cunt as she makes a noise halfway between an exhale and a laugh.

“Who’s the glutton now?”

He makes a humming noise, not exactly interested in answering her question— he’s more in favor of showing. He’s glad to help, after all— pulling noise after noise from her when he licks his way into her, digging his tongue in as far as he can possibly reach. Her hips lift, using his shoulder as an anchor, and she moans— but still, again, it’s so soft and nearly quiet like she doesn’t want anyone to know what they’re up to. Always so considerate of others.

Cute.

By the time he’s got two fingers dipping into her, she’s wound up tight already. He can tell by the way she twitches, how she bites the fleshy part of her thumb— and how she bites harder when he uses his free hand to cup her ass and give her a squeeze. Soft. Soft soft soft.

God, so deliciously soft.

“Luka,” She whispers, trying her absolute hardest to stay quiet as he curls his fingers into her. Her free hand makes it to his hair, brushing it back so sweetly— she’s more cuddly this way, than an actual sexual deviant, like she’s desperate for reassurance. “Please please please?”

He loves it when she starts to beg for more and asks for more physical touch whenever he makes a home between her legs.

“Easy, Mousinette. Take a breath,” He kisses her thighs, liking the way how her thighs get sticky and messy with it. She sucks in a breath at his suggestion, looking at him with her hazy, pretty eyes. “You’re almost there, aren’t you?”

“Yes—” She cuts herself off with a particular sigh that makes him piston his fingers more into her. She reaches down with the hand that was in his hair, gesturing for his hand underneath her to join her. “Could you— oh— please—”

“There you go. That’s it. Come whenever you want, baby girl.” He intertwines his fingers and clasps hands with hers, giving her one last swirl and flattening of his tongue, before he feels her start to come on his fingers.

“Luka—” He doesn’t let up once he recognizes the exhale, or the squirming— especially not when he feels the attractive fluttering of her walls. She squeezes and squeezes, milking his fingers desperately.

He can deal with his erection later. For now, he slowly eases his fingers out of her, and kisses her thigh again when she complains about the loss of his hand between her legs. “How are you feeling, Mousey? Better?”

“Always am when I’m with you. Sex or no sex.” And— oh— if he wasn’t so desperately hard in his boxers, he’d fall in love with her on the spot all over again. She’s always so honest with him— it’s always such a shock, even when he knows that’s just how her personality is. He watches her eyelids struggle to keep open, even as she raises her hands up in an attempt to coerce him to bed— barely clothed, with a sleep shirt that covers nothing except her chest and her shoulders at this point. “Come cuddle? ‘M tired. I want my boyfriend.”

“Probably not a good idea. I’m going to end up dry humping you— I’m so fucking horny.”

“Vai…” It’s so heartbreakingly cute that she tries to be stern even while falling asleep. “Cursing.”

“Sorry,” He laughs, gesturing to himself even though she’s not really looking at him. “I’ll be right back. I should probably go take care of my di— uhm, I mean, this— in your bathroom, and wash my hands too.”

Her face unpinches. “But what about cuddling?”

“I will after I clean you up,” He kisses the lines of her abs— pulling her shirt down enough to get comfortable. “If you fall asleep can I still towel you off? You know I don’t like it when you’re left messy.”

“Always take good care of me.” She mumbles, completely oblivious to the way he hides his steaming face behind his hands. She nods a confirmation, patting the spot next to her. “And then after cleaning come cuddle. Please.”

By the time he’s made himself orgasm while thinking of her, and washed his hands clean of her, and made sure that she’s no longer sticky between the legs— Marinette is still bravely putting up a fight with sleep. He helps her put on some new underwear, making sure that she doesn’t move her ankle as much when he does it— but he’s completely caught by surprise when she pulls him in for a hug— and, honestly— he should know better by now.

He loves it, though.

So much.

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