#falls for archie's gentle ways

[heatherfield]

And me too!!! Redcricket selkie au please and thank you 😊

I knew you'd see that.

Like, doesn't this just scream Red Cricket?!?!!?

Definitely a little treasure to tuck away and see what I could do with later...

[howmanyholesinswisscheese]

Sherlock & Co Headcanons

This list got SO LONG, SO QUICKLY, but here y'all are. Nobody asked, but I sure as hell will deliver.

Sherlock comes into John's room at night sometimes when he can't sleep. John lets him snuggle up in bed and wraps his arms around him like a koala, and - as long as John's breathing is acceptable - Sherlock falls swiftly asleep to the rise and fall of his chest. After a few times, Sherlock observes a notable decrease in John's nightmares and starts joining him in bed more often, even when he's not tired.

Mariana is one of those rare people who Microsoft Excel gets along with. She has magic powers for sure.

YOU GET A QPR, YOU GET A QPR, EVERYBODY GETS A QPR

On the topic of google docs in the latest episode, Sherlock's gmail is a random string of numbers like a default wifi password because "sholmes@gmail.com" was taken and that was obviously the next possible option. Mariana's job is infinitely harder because of this.

They have movie nights.

John tried once to get the others into football. Neither of them saw the appeal of it but they watched a game with him anyway out of some strange obligation and a hefty amount of coercion. Also there was popcorn. The joy John radiated when Swindon Town scored a goal was absolutely worth it all.

Carol Watson ships it.

CANE USER JOHN CANE USER JOHN CANE USER JOHN

John hates using his cane, like genuinely loathes it. He's convinced he'll get looks for it or seem like he's faking. And what would Mariana and Sherlock think about him as a colleague?? One morning, though, after a particularly physically taxing case, he woke to an awful flare up. When he reluctantly swiped the cane from the corner where it had been gathering dust so far and made his way into the kitchen for breakfast, Mariana and Sherlock didn't even bat an eye - Mariana did ask if he'd like to sit down while she made him toast, which he gratefully accepted. Archie did try to gnaw on it, though. He uses the cane a bit more often, now.

John and Mariana learned BSL for Sherlock's bad days. They have intricate and heated discussions from across the room entirely in sign language when others are around and nobody can understand them. It's hilarious to watch - well, hilarious from their perspective, at least.

They fall asleep on the couch an inordinate number of times.

One time, Sherlock made John and Mariana breakfast. The two of them spent a very long time trying to figure out whether he was high, delusional, or both.

Clients are generally confused by the whole trio's relationship dynamic. Slay. That's exactly what they're going for.

Honestly I'm 100% vibing with the poly hcs going around. Consider: poly qpr???

Short king John. You agree. Reblog.

Mariana consistently steps out of the flat looking drop down gorgeous because she's awesome like that, whereas Sherlock looks like he's just been dragged out of bed (he probably has been) and John exclaims in pleasant amusement whenever he finds bits of his breakfast in his stubble. They make the perfect trio.

Sherlock is tall enough to rest his chin on top of John's head. He does it like some sort of clingy cat whenever he's tired and John's back is turned. It's adorable. He's recently been experimenting with slinking his arms around John's waist as he does so, yielding gentle chuckles that he feels rather than hears. The results have been a smashing success.

Mariana was school captain.

John drinks juice straight from the carton like a heathen (which is fine because Sherlock hates the stuff - the pulp gets stuck in his teeth - and Mariana has her own food downstairs).

Sherlock really does play the violin at horrific hours. The neighbors hate him, but it actually puts John to sleep when he's not playing the violent, jerky melodies of a tricky case.

Sherlock and Victor Trevor. I'm surprised this isn't already canon. They happened. Whatever "happened" means is irrelevant - they happened.

Sherlock really likes rainbow sour straps.

MORE TO COME PROBABLY

[zedwards]

that which remains unsaid…

workaholic bf x male reader

word count: ~1.0k

genre: angst(?), fluff(?), slice-of-life

author’s note: this was based on plucholy’s accountant/office worker oc. plucholy is an 18+ artist, so minors should NOT interact with his page.

feedback/interactions are appreciated! helps me keep motivation alive ^_^

archie sits at his desk, flipping through various documents piled up on his desk. he pores over the numbers over and over again, wracking his brain to come up with a way to increase the projected profit for the department he manages at work.

he’s been crunching numbers all week trying to balance budgets and get the sales projections to go a certain way that would boost the department’s output, but the prospects are not looking good.

it doesn’t help that a lot is riding on his ability to pull this off, and if he fails to do so, his boss will never let him hear the end of if it. not to mention the board will most definitely be on his…

…his uh…

…his concentration is momentarily interrupted by a gentle knock on his at-home office door. you poke your head in cautiously, your eyes adjusting to the dark room. his face is illuminated by the screen of his laptop, a glare of which can be seen reflected on his glasses.

steeling yourself, you clear your throat before speaking up. “archie…?”

archie glances at you briefly over his glasses before turning back to his documents. he mutters a terse “yeah?” in lieu of a response.

“sorry to bother you, i just wanted to make sure you’re okay and that you’re taking care of yourself… drinking water and all that.”

he doesn’t so much as spare you a glance. “i’ll drink some water when i’m done with this. now is not the time.” he dismisses your concern with little more than a click of his mouse. the cold attitude hurts a little, but you try not to take it personally.

“ah, okay… is there anything i can do for you?”

archie eyes you with some disdain. he lets out a frustrated sigh, letting the arm that was previously propping his head up drop on the desk with perhaps a bit too much force to be considered passive. “don’t you think i’d ask you if i needed something? leave me to my work. i’m trying to meet a deadline.”

okay, that one stings. you know it’s only because he’s stressed about work, but still... you have to repress the urge to sigh. sometimes reminding yourself that it’s just his work-related frustration manifesting itself doesn’t reassure you as much as you’d like it to.

rubbing the back of your neck, your ears burn in embarrassment as you weigh your options. you don’t want to test his patience, but not making sure he’s taking care of himself just isn’t an option. ultimately, you figure if he’s gonna keep working like this, he should at the very least get some food in his system.

“alright then, um… i’m gonna order some takeout, you want anything?”

“no. do what you want.” another curt response. his voice remains sharp, uncaring, and dismissive as he glares back down at his documents.

“okay,” you reluctantly concede. “let me know if you change your mind…”

“i won’t. now leave me alone.”

you wince at his harsh words. if it were anyone else, you would have probably gotten fed up and snapped at them by now. but this is your boyfriend after all. you know him better than to think that pushing the issue would amount to anything other than more frustration for the both of you.

you decide to take the path of least resistance and slowly back out of the room. just before you close the door, however, you poke your head in one more time.

“i love you…” at this, archie pauses. his eyes soften as he sits upright, finally making eye contact with you.

“i love you too, honey. just…” he sucks in a tense breath of air through his teeth. you can see his exposed chest rise and fall almost theatrically beneath his unbuttoned shirt as he sighs. “just leave me alone, alright?”

you give a thoughtful nod, carefully closing the door to make as little noise possible.

archie sighs deeply, rubbing his temples. despite being very cold with you just now, he feels himself soften after the exchange. he takes a moment to re-collect himself, then gets back to work.

archie doesn’t emerge from his office until well past midnight, after you’ve long since retired to bed. he enters the kitchen to make something quick to eat, but stops in his tracks the moment he turns the corner. there, sitting expectantly on the counter, is a box of chinese takeout with a note taped to the side.

"i know you asked me not to, but you know me, always the worrier... i got you your favorite. enjoy :)"

archie sighs. shaking his head at the note with a soft smile creeping up on his face, he takes a seat to eat his food. Archie finishes off his portion and puts the leftovers away in the fridge, and then does a quick sweep of the kitchen to tidy up before he heads off to the bedroom.

sure enough when he enters the bedroom, you've already long since fallen asleep, breathing softly with just your head poking out from under the covers.

he stands there for a moment, unable to tear his eyes away from your peacefully sleeping form. eventually he approaches the bed and begins to silently remove his clothes, careful not to disturb you.

down to just his boxers, he gently slips into bed, not wanting to startle you. once under the covers, archie reaches over to wrap his arms around you, gently pulling you close.

you shift a little in your sleep, unconsciously chasing the warmth of your boyfriend's embrace, at which archie chuckles to himself. nuzzling his nose into the crook of your neck from behind, he closes his eyes, and allows himself to drift off, comforted by the all too familiar scent of his beloved.

[leggerefiore]

Can i request something with Maxie, Archie, Lysandre and Cyrus? Like they had a nasty fight with their s/o but they (s/o) aren't feeling so well so they end up passing out? It can be during or after their fight.

Smth like angst to comfort

the base four....

cw: arguing, fainting, comfort

characters: Lysandre, Maxie, Archie, Cyrus

The argument had been an intense one. Harsh words were slung around by both sides as emotions ran quite high. The topic was one of contention – His plans. When you learnt of what your boyfriend was actually doing and the possible effects it could have, you naturally decided to confront him. Though, the timing was absolutely awful as the lingering exhaustion from a cold took over your body. As your boyfriend stood defensively, you tried to catch yourself on a table as your balance staggered. Your vision grew blurry before you finally collapsed. The last thing you could definitely make out was your name being called out and rushed footsteps.

🔥Lysandre🍷

☕️ Whatever shock had momentarily consumed Lysandre faded in an instant. He rushed over to catch you before you could sustain any damage from your collapse. Dramatically, he would admit he called your name a few times and tried to shake you awake. When that failed, he laid you out on the couch and debated his next moves. His frustration about your disagreements on his plans faded quickly. No matter what, the most beauty he could possibly find lied with you. A cool pack was pressed to your head as he made a quick call. You seemed well enough aside from a sudden fever and passing out. The fiery man could only sit at your side and stroke your hand. To think that the stress alone of what he was going to do caused this… He felt vindicated in his choice not to tell you. His hand stroked your cheek. He closed his eyes. For now, he would need to find a way to keep you at ease.

☕️ When you woke up, it was to the scent of coffee. Lysandre sat in a nearby lounge chair, silently drinking coffee and looking over something on a tablet. It was quickly put aside when he noticed that you had awoken. Momentary upset at the thought of the argument continuing was quashed when he knelt down and gently comb his fingers through your hair, giving a gentle apology. You let out a shaky breath, the stress fading from you. It had been a lot, and you knew it was far from over with how impassioned Lysandre could be. Yet, you knew working yourself up was a terrible idea, and the gentleness he exuded was enough to let you forget for just a moment. Later, you would probably find yourself at ends with him, but not for right now. It was much better spent letting him offer you anything you could ever possibly want to earn your forgiveness.

☀️Maxie🌋

🪨 He managed to cushion your head before you hit the ground. Maxie felt panic rush through him, his collected demeanour falling away to reveal his evident distress. Your body felt warm – far too warm. He got you to the couch and immediately brought a cool cloth to your forehead. His upset about your inability to understand his plans were gone. They could wait – Everything could wait. You were his priority.  His glasses fogged up from how heavily he was breathing and how flustered he had become. As right as he might have felt about his goals, you being in such a state about it finally hit him. You were upset enough to pass out. He swallowed. There could be a discussion – something to either help you understand or give you peace of mind. He held your hand tightly as you remained unconscious.

🪨 When you finally awoke, bleary and exhausted, you smelled the scent of something pleasant. Raising up carefully, a cool cloth fell down from your forehead. Footsteps rushed to your side as you turned up to see your boyfriend gazing at you with worried eyes. Memories of the fight flooded into your head, but before you could say anything about it, arms wrapped around you. A proper apology left Maxie's lips as you sat in momentary shock. Hugging him back, you supposed the topic was not crucial right now. Instead, you prepared yourself to be interrogated about your health. Whatever harshness you felt about his plans did not apply to his person – No, you knew you loved Maxie, which is why you had become so overwhelmed. But, when he promised to speak with cordially about it later, you felt relieved.

🌧Archie🌊

💧 Archie scrambled to catch you as you fell, his body moving without any hesitation. The Aqua Leader was in shock that you suddenly fainted. Unadulterated Panic rushed through his veins as he carried you to lay on the couch. He moved through quick first aid to make sure you were all right before determining that it was apparently nothing serious. You were running a fever, though. He put a damp cloth on your forehead and sighed. The initial adrenaline wore off, and he let himself sit down. Were his plans that important? He knew they were – He desperately wanted to understand and stop viewing him as unreasonable. But… If it had you that upset, Archie could only wonder. He did not want you getting like this. Seeing you faint snapped him from whatever trance he was in. You two needed a proper talk, not some petty argument full of insults. He already felt awful for what he had said. His hand stroked through your hair. Shame flooded his system.

💧 When you woke up, you found yourself under a blanket in the late evening. Eyes going to the window, you spied Archie hanging outside, watching the waves. You felt distressed suddenly – Both from the argument and from fainting. Before you could fret foo much, Archie noticed you were awake and headed back inside. A crushing hug was the first thing on his agenda when he saw you. A sweet yet simple apology left him. You let yourself fall into the affection, the scent of the ocean wafting from the pirate. For now, you supposed, the argument did not matter. It could be a later thing. Especially when he cupped your face so sweetly. Archie was a reasonable, caring man. You knew he would never do anything with active maliciousness. For now, you would just enjoy the moment.

🌌Cyrus🛰

☄️ Cyrus caught you, his panic springing him into action before he could even process it. His eyes were wide as he felt your body overcome with heat. A fever. Whatever his frustrations were towards your opinion on his plans faded. He brought you to the couch and quickly pressed a damp, cool cloth to your forehead. His breaths were shaky as he watched you lay. Your pulse was checked, and he listened to your breathing to confirm that you were alive. Even after his phone lit up with updates about work – him having come home in the middle of an important task – he ignored it. Nothing mattered. He felt oddly empty. His vile words about you being too foolish to understand and that his plans are truly the only option for this world. Seeing you faint… It felt harder for his thoughts to remain focused. His hand held yours as you laid unconscious.

☄️ When you awoke, you found Cyrus asleep at your side. His head lay on your side, arms crossed under him to support his weight. The sweet scene was interrupted by memories of your fight. You were not backing down from your options, but… The threats of leaving him felt impossible to follow up on. Whatever was going on with the blue-haired man, he needed help, not rejection. Your hand combing through his hair startled him awake, tired blue eyes piercing through you. A sigh left him when he saw you. No words were spoken, but it was clear that the fight was to be put off to the side for now.

[archieimagines]

Imagine ranting to Din while he repairs the Razor Crest.

finally, it’s written! this request has been sat on my list for a while, so to those who requested it, thank you for your patience! requested by: @ackermanbitch​ and an anon! written by: archie support me on ko-fi!

this is inspired by @yournewwriter‘s gentle prompts: moving you by the waist.

If there was one thing you could do, it was talk.

At first, Din hated it. He hated how you’d walked into the Crest like it was your home when he was only offering you a lift to a nearby system, he’d hated how you’d talked the whole time… and he hated how he’d accidentally grown fond of you.

He became glad to offer you a temporary place by his side when your situation shifted and you needed a residence, but there was no way he was expecting you to stick around for this long and still have so many stories to tell.

Somehow, tuning into your rambles both passed the time and helped him focus. He could fly easily with your words taking up a different space in his brain, and all the hours felt so much shorter, like he’d been travelling the universe beside you. You somehow kept him cheerful and engaged, even in the tough times. You had a natural knack for knowing what kind of story to tell, how to echo and fix his moods with your own experiences, which gave him an outlet for his own emotions. 

And that’s how it was right now, his mood utterly foul as he worked on repairing the Crest after a sticky run-in, but his scowl was placed on hold. Or at least, directed to Mr Narvo, your old, snail-esque colleague in that restaurant on Corellia.

“I swear, I hadn’t done a thing wrong. The order was correct, I did everything to match what the stupid customer had asked for, but he really just-- You know what?” You wandered by him as you talked, frustrated and pacing as all the irritation from working at that restaurant came right back. “I think he’d decided that it would be a bad day for me already. He slithered in and just knew he was gonna try and get me fired.”

You paused your pacing, facing the beskar-clad warrior as he retracted an arm from inside the ship’s panel.

“-And he just kinda blinked at me. You know that eye thing?” Your hands, which had been flapping around animatedly, lifted to hold invisible spheres above your head. “Like the antennae lean forward and just look at you and squint and- honestly it’s so annoying because I can feel how he’s judging me but like? At least my eyeballs aren’t half a metre above from my head, right?”

“Right,” came Din’s voice as he dipped into a toolbox, proceeding to reach back into the side of his ship and twist some valves. His voice was a dry monotone, but he hadn’t once told you to shut up yet, so that was all you needed to continue your spiel.

“Right! So I just- I don’t mean to be rude, but I kinda do- I couldn’t keep it in, okay?” Din halted your pacing and handed you the metal tool, reaching into the Crest again. “… I told him to go stick his eyeballs in the dishwasher.”

Din paused. He turned to look at you. You were almost sure he’d tell you that it was a low blow, or that it wasn’t worth such a threat, but his modulated voice rose with a question. “And did he?”

“Wh- No, Din. Why would he-“

He shrugged one shoulder, stepping away to rummage in the toolkit once more. “That guy was purposely villainizing you, day after day. The least he could do would be-“

“If the universe was a decent place he’d be blinking bubbles, I know,” you chattered on, wandering once again. “But unfortunately, the universe is horrible, Narvo is still out there terrorising colleagues and-“ You stopped dead, peering down at the helmeted man, busy with his tools. “He got me fired.”

Din stopped his hands, visor raised up at you. Of course you couldn’t see his expression, but you didn’t need to as his disbelief met your ears. “It worked?”

“I know!?” You toyed with the tool, the weight falling from hand to hand, gripping it with each as if to decide which hand would better suit hitting Narvo in the eyeball with it, mouth running a mile a minute all the while. “He went straight to the manager, clearly he’d been building up some bullshit case of all the things I’d apparently done wrong— which I always had a particular reason for, by the way, and they were never even against the rules—”

The irritation still buzzed in your veins, even if it was months ago. What started as your attempt to take Din’s mind off the frustration from a damaged ship had turned into a surprise therapy session that seemed to uproot some sort of inferiority complex, and now you were just airing out your issues without even being aware of Din bustling around you.

“Like, I’m a good worker, you know? I take pride in that because I actually care about what I put into the universe, I strive to make this shitty place better for the people, unlike Narvo. He was just there to feed his own-”

Gentle hands on your waist had you startled, and your gaze shot up to the visor, eyes wide and an unmistakable heat to your cheeks. He’d never touched you like this before.

You couldn’t help leaning into his hold, heart beating like crazy-

A gentle pressure from one hand had you stepping aside, and then it was gone.

He leant past you, reaching into the metal hood of the ship. You’d parked right in front of it without even noticing, far too wrapped up in the fury of your tale.

��Keep going,” he spoke, and you fumbled to find your words again, fiddling with the tool in your hands.

“Wh- What was I saying again?”

A gloved hand reached back to take the tool from your hands. “He was just feeding his ego by preying on you. It’s better to keep away from characters like that.”

Your stride finally came back to you and the story continued in your mind, but the sure flutter in your chest was going at full force. “Right, I learned that by now.”

“You want me to put a hit on him?”

You scoffed. “Din, please. …But if we stop off at Corellia, he’ll shit himself when he sees me with a Mandalorian.”

A soft breath of laughter, so quiet you almost missed it. “Then that’s our next stop.”

[skylarkking]

I've been whacked with the valveplug stick again and I have headcannons for some of the Lost Light crew.

🔞 under cut

I'm gonna start off by simply listing the characters I know currently (I've read up to the issue where overlord first appears but have read other snippets scattered on the internet) and the list will begin with my favorites:

Rung

Definetly into BDSM

Uses interface as therapy

Despite being a fucking tiny adorable nerdy twink he knows how to work big bots

His glasses sometimes fall off during sessions and when they do he's often too blissed out or focused on the other bot to care

He is a moaner and makes all sorts of sounds that bots are obsessed with

He has tried everything and anything

He attended one of Ratchet's orgies during Ratchet's college years as a Party Ambulance

He and Froid DEFINETLY had angry interface before and you can't tell me otherwise

Rodiumus

Legit a horndog

This mf gets so worked up that throughout the day he has to step aside and take care of himself

He's a bottom who tries to play top and FAILS miserably

Drift and him are fuck buddies (you can't tell me otherwise)

He's capable of gentle and intimate interface with someone he loves, but due to his inexperience and somewhat childish attitude (not his fault I mean he's essentially a guy in his 20s) he prefers quickies over that

After interface he sometimes forgets about aftercare

Drift

Way hornier than he lets on

Loves to have his neck bitten

When he is in heat he is either gonna top every bot in his reach and make them beg through tears or he's gonna beg Ratchet with tears in his optics. I'm sorry I don't make the rules here

I think when he was a Decepticon he was Hella into knifeplay

And I mean HELLA into it

Like this bitch would pop a boner if someone licked a sword or some shit

He bottoms for Rodimus mostly but in a sort of bossy bottom sort of thing

Ultra Magnus/Minimus

This guy.... this guy may act like he's only into vanilla shit, but I fucking GUARENTEE he's a freak

He's fragged Swerve before (size kink when he's in the Magnus armor)

When he's in the Magnus armor sometimes the connections for his own spike and the armor's get wired wrong and he has to "adjust himself" (like human amabs have to do with their dicks)

Out of the Magnus armor he secretly feels extremely vulnerable and anxious when it comes to interface because of how tiny our little dill pickle is

Side note: give him a fucking HUG DAMMIT! HE NEEDS IT!

Swerve

If any of the bots would fuck a human, it would be this bastard

He'd also have human kinks (like mommy/daddy kink [thanks @archie-sunshine for rotting my brain with that idea])

Despite being a motormouth I think he can easily be silenced by a pair of thick thighs around his head

Side note: I think minibots have WAY HIGHER stamina verses their larger counter parts, so swerve will be going at it for a loooooong time

Secretly has a stash of human porn in his bar

Magnus has found said porn once and for a week Swerve was on edge in keeping his secret

Skids

Since he can learn anything really quickly I think this bastard can master the art of seduction

Like he could simply give a bot those bedroom eyes and BAM! He's fucking

He's a massive cuddler after interface

Has fragged Nautica at LEAST 15 times

When he overloads his headlights sometimes flick on by accident

Ratchet

Oh you cannot TELL ME this guy hasn't had a kinky past

Party Ambulance is fucking cannon and no one can tell me otherwise idc if it's only a fan thing ITS CANNON AND ILL FIGHT GOD ABOUT IT

Not as horny as he use to be but when Drift or Rodimus get their heat cycles you better fucking BELIEVE he's on the case

A true master of aftercare

Really into bondage

These are only a few lmao I have SO MANY MORE

[padfootagain]

Complicated

Hello everyone! I’m answering a request today that was sent a few weeks ago! This request was sent by an anon : “Y/n is a new one of the main cast in S&B(In her 20s) She has a crush on Ben. Anyways she doesn't show it ofc and she was afraid if she will fit with the cast members or not.Yn is a bit shy and introverted. And we know how close Jessei and Ben are but it kinda upsets her cause She's not that close with Ben?!? Idk if I'm portraying it well or not but can you write something like that?!?”

I haven’t included the detail of the reader’s age… simply because the occasion didn’t arise in the fic as I was writing it, I hope it’s okay. So… fluff and a little bit of angst because we are writing for pining idiots and a slightly jealous reader…

I hope you enjoy your fic anon! And I hope everyone else enjoys it too! Tell me what you think about it!

****

Pairing: Ben Barnes x reader

Summary: Ben and you are working together on Shadow and Bone, and have grown closer and closer as the months flew by. But when you truly fall for him, everything becomes complicated…

Warnings: a slightly jealous reader. Some mutual pining. Lots of fluff.

Word count: 4171

Ben Barnes’s Masterlist – Main Masterlist

It’s complicated.

Everything is complicated.

Everything is a mess, and it’s all because of him.

You stare at Ben as he laughs, bubbly and merry and infectious…

You hate the way it makes you feel happy to see him that way. You hate that you can’t just walk over there, across the set, and kiss these lips of his that always seem to be calling for your own…

You can’t do it. You just can’t. It isn’t a possibility, because you’re working together, and he probably doesn’t even like you at all and…

You force your train of thoughts to stop. This is not the right place nor the right time to be contemplating your recent crush on your co-worker. Now, on the contrary, it is time to finish reading your lines one last time before being called for your scene.

But you’re distracted again when Archie nudges you.

“Hey, are you coming to Jessie’s party tonight?” he asks, shoving a small pastry into his mouth.

You smile at him, nodding your head.

“Sure, it sounds fun.”

You’re lying. Blatantly so. You’re not so much into parties like these, but you need to socialize to get along with your co-workers, and you want to fit in the cast. You’re only just arriving for this second season, after all. Even if the shooting has started several weeks ago, you’re still a little uncertain sometimes. But then again, maybe that’s because you always lack confidence…

“Awesome! It’ll be fun, you’ll see! Jessie always throws the best parties!”

You nod again, as if you knew what he is talking about, while already planning some fake excuses to go home early, and a strategy to remain as quiet and alone as possible during the event.

Damn, that introverted part of you really is a pain in the arse sometimes…

“Who’s coming? Everyone?” you ask, closing your script, aware that you will not be able to work before your scene now that your colleague has joined you.

“Yep! Having a hard time convincing our grandpa over there, though,” he jokes, nodding towards Ben. “He’s had a busy week, and he’s exhausted. But I’ll find a way to convince him, don’t worry. I want to get everyone coming tonight.”

“Nice!”

You hope he can manage to convince Ben. You truly do. Because… well, you have a crush on him, after all. A stupid, ridiculous, terribly serious crush on him. And if he can come tonight, the evening might not be so bad, after all…

Speaking of the devil…

Your heart quickens its pace as Ben approaches, a calm, comforting smile on his lips. He looks gentle and kind and a little mischievous, like he always does. He’s in full costume and make-up; dark scars running across his handsome features, and a long leathery coat embroidered with gold floating behind him. It doesn’t match, the scary and intimidating look against the softness in his dark eyes…

“What are you two troublemakers planning now?” he asks, his voice full of humour and teasing.

“Well, we’re talking about tonight. You know, the amazing party you’re planning on missing?” Archie answers.

“Ha… yes, at Jessie’s?”

“Yep!”

“I’ve had such a tiring week, I just want to sleep,” Ben admits.

He seems tempted nonetheless. After all, Jessie does throw the best parties.

“Come on! You don’t have to stay for too long, we’re used to you abandoning us before midnight. Come on, everyone but you has said yes already! Even Y/N is coming!”

Ben turns to you, hesitation intensifying on his features.

“You’re coming too?”

You nod.

“Yep! Sounds fun! You should come too. You can leave early, if you want. But it would be nice to have everyone around. Right, Archie?”

“Absolutely! Ben, you’re coming. That’s decided!”

Ben laughs, shaking his head.

“I haven’t said yes…”

“Now, come on. Y/N is asking you to come! Look at how disappointed she looks that you’re not coming…”

You feign a sad pout, batting your lashes, and Ben can’t refrain a laugh. He rolls his eyes but then again… if you’re coming…

Then, it gives him a perfect excuse to see you. He knows he shouldn’t think of you this way. Because this… silly, crazy, extremely intense crush he has on you can only make everything complicated. You’re working together, and you probably don’t even feel the same and…

… and yet, every time he sees you, his heart skips a beat. And he longs to see you, even if it’s just from across the room, and if he listened to himself, he would admit that he longs for far more than simply being near you…

But then again, it would make his life unbearably complicated. And you… you probably don’t feel the same, so why bother?

“Please, come to the party tonight!” you ask again, offering him a friendly smile. “You’re the person I know best in the cast, as we’ve had plenty of scenes together already… it’ll be less fun without you!”

Now, you’re looking at him with these pleading eyes, and you’re saying it’ll make you happy to see him there…

… how could he say no to that? How could he say no to you?

He heaves a sigh, but nods anyway.

“Alright, alright… I’ll come.”

“Yes!”

Archie and you share a high-five, while Ben keeps on laughing at the two of you.

But then again… if he can see you a little longer, outside of the studio, it’s worth the dark bags that will grow even more under his eyes…

Ben is blowing his cheeks, miming something big and round. You have no idea what he’s doing, and look at him with round eyes, scraping in every corner of your mind… what on Earth is he doing?

He adds a moustache with a finger under his nose and frowns hard, as if he’s angry and disdainful… Still, you’ve got no clue… it could be anyone…

His face changes back to his normal demeanour, and traces something that looks like a lightning bolt on his forehead…

And you got it! At last!

“Dursley! Vernon Dursley!”

Ben claps his hands and cheers, right as the timer rings. It was the last round of charades for the night, and as Ben comes to join you on the sofa, giving you a high-five for this last guess of yours, you’re all awaiting the final results.

You know the results are close… Jessie and Freddy have done an amazing job tonight as well. You wait for Calahan to count the last points, Danielle peering over his large shoulder to get a glimpse while she sips on her glass of red wine.

It’s merry. You’re happy to have come to the party, in the end. It’s still quite early, you know the mood is shifting to a more ‘partying’ colour, and you have no doubts that after this game, Kit is going to put on some music and start some kind of dancing competition. You know you’ll like this part of the night a little less, but so far, it’s almost 11 and you’re quite happy and at ease still.

Besides, Fortune decided to pair you up with Ben for this game, when you drew his name from one of Jessie’s hats. And as he sits down next to you, making the cushion bend a little under his weight, as he shifts next to you to get comfortable, as he leans forward to grab his glass of wine on the coffee table, as his shoulder brushes against yours with each of his movements…

Yes, the evening isn’t so bad, after all…

“Oh, we have some winners…” Calahan theatrically raises up his hands, picking the sheet of paper holding the results. “And the winners are… Ben and Y/N!”

Ben and you cheer, and you are quite surprised when he pulls you in a tight hug.

Warm. Safe. That’s the best way to describe his embrace, even if it lasts just a couple of seconds. It’s enough to make your head spin, your heart race under your ribs, you’re intoxicated already with his soft wooden smell…

But he pulls away soon, too soon… he has to. Breathing in your sweet perfume, and holding you close, feeling the air leaving your lungs to collide with his cheek and ear… it’s too much for him to handle. He’s already blushing, he can’t let you see how he feels…

It feels cold when he pulls away, empty. His embrace is filled with air again, and he hates it. You seemed to fit so well in his arms, your warmth spreading through his frame…

He pushes the thought away. This evening is nice, merry, full of light. He enjoys it. He knows that Kit will soon turn on the music, and he’ll soon be a little bit bored, as he won’t take part in the dancing. It’s alright, though. He hopes you won’t dance either. He hopes you’ll stay a little bit longer…

Around the two of you, people are teasing your team, saying you’ve cheated, laughing at your outraged faces. It’s fun and light-hearted.

The back of your hand brushes Ben’s as you shift on the couch, and your breath gets stuck in your throat. It’s electrifying, this sensation…

You need to stay a little longer to the party, just to socialize, to make sure you’ll fit in with the group. But you have to admit that you’re a little bit uncomfortable when Kit starts the music, and most people start dancing.

You decide that you deserve a little bit of intimacy, and excuse yourself to the bathroom.

You stay there a few minutes, just to recharge your social batteries a little. You’re hesitating between aiming for the kitchen or the sofa as you walk out the tiny room. The kitchen will be a little quieter, you reckon. But then again, Ben will probably be in the living room…

You’re smiling at the thought of talking to him again when you step in the living room. Everybody is dancing, except for Freddy and Amita who are chatting, sitting on the couch. You’re looking for Ben, but can’t spot him anywhere. He’s not dancing, and you’re not surprised. You aim for the kitchen.

He’s standing there alright. A glass in his hand, he’s leaning against the counter, laughing with Jessie. She leans against him, they’re standing against each other.

And you can’t help it. You wish you could stop the feeling from spreading through your veins, but you can’t. You wish you could stop yourself from being jealous, but you can’t…

Apparently, there’s nothing romantic between these two, but sometimes… like now… you envy their connection.

Because Ben doesn’t lean against you like that. He doesn’t laugh so hard with you. He doesn’t… he doesn’t act like that with you. And perhaps that’s yet another sign that he doesn’t see anything more than a friend in you…

You take a deep breath, turning around to face the dancing group again. The music is loud and pulsing. After seeing Ben like this… it’s a little too much…

“Hey, Y/N!”

You don’t turn around to face Ben, even if he’s calling you. Instead, you ignore him, act like you haven’t heard anything, and stride across the room. Your feet guide you to the front door, and you grab your coat as you hurry out of the apartment.

You feel ridiculous for feeling this way. You have no rights to be jealous, you’re nothing more than a friend to him. Still… still it hurts to see him so close to someone else…

“Y/N!”

You freeze. You’re waiting for the elevator, in the middle of the corridor. It smells of cigarettes, the white walls a little bit yellowed by nicotine and tobacco…

“Y/N? Where are you going?”

You turn around, at last. You can’t avoid it anymore. Ben is standing there, on the threshold of Jessie’s apartment. He’s frowning, staring at you. He doesn’t seem angry though, only taken aback.

The doors of the elevator open behind you, bathing your frame in a cold white light. They open fully with a little ‘ding’. You struggle to swallow, before you can speak, extending your arm inside the elevator to keep its doors open for you.

“I’m going home. I’m tired. Besides… dancing isn’t my strong suit so… better head out,” you explain, hoping that Ben won’t notice the way your voice is shaking.

He seems disappointed. If he wanted to hide his reaction, he’s bad at it. He gives you a smile anyway.

“Okay… Humm… Would you mind if I walked to the subway with you?”

“Don’t you want to stay a little longer?”

“Not really. I’m knackered. You had to convince me to come, remember?”

“Right… okay then.”

Ben disappears for a mere second, just to grab his coat. Soon, you’re entering the elevator together.

He has a shy but warm smile on his lips. He can’t really summon anything else right now. You’re standing right next to him, you don’t seem to mind that your shoulders and arms are brushing against each other. He does though. He minds terribly, because it makes his heart pounder in his chest, and he can’t breathe properly. He can feel butterflies starting their flight across his stomach, and he can’t take any more of it. He takes a step back.

It breaks your heart. The way he adds distance between the two of you, when earlier with Jessie he…

You push the thought away as the doors open again, and you hurry out of the tiny space in favour of the large hall of the building, then the street.

It’s springtime in Budapest, the air is still chilly despite the warmth that has started to rise during the day. But now, it’s night time and the air is cold and makes you shiver despite your coat. You welcome the feeling though, it makes you forget Ben’s warmth…

“You’re calling for a cab?” Ben asks, standing right behind you.

But you shake your head.

“No, I’ll just walk for a bit. Then take the bus.”

“Alright…”

“You’re calling a taxi?”

“No… No, I thought… do you mind if I join you?”

“No… not at all.”

His smile is brighter this time, and you can’t help the way it makes your heart skip a beat. You match his smile without even noticing…

Soon, you’ve settled in a leisurely pace. None of you seem willing to hurry. Why would you? You both long to spend as much time together as possible…

Ben is the first to break the silence that has settled between the two of you. In the distance, traffic hums in a regular pattern. There is a rhythm to the night. Still busy despite the darkness and the glimmering lights. It’s a little shushed though, distant. It comes only out of the large streets and boulevards, the small alleys are quiet, sleepy. As you walk further down the street, bathed in the golden streetlights, you tighten your hold on your coat. The wind pushes papers abandoned on the street, they roll in a shuffling noise that matches the rustling of the tree leaves.

“Any plans for the weekend?” Ben asks, burying his hands in the pockets of his black jacket.

“No… just sleep. A lot of rest. And some lines to learn,” you give him an amused smile, and he chuckles.

“Yeah, I feel your pain.”

“What about you?”

“Same, basically. Have a busy week coming again.”

“Yeah… they seem determined to make you work crazy hours these days.”

“It’s okay. I’m used to it by now. I just hope to catch on some sleep this weekend, so I won’t have to hide these dark bags under my eyes with too much make up.”

You chuckle, and he wishes you could laugh. A full-on laugh. He likes the sound of these…

Jessie’s words come back to his mind, right when he saw you leaving her apartment. He remembers what she told him, and it bothers him.

You should stop overthinking it and tell her while you still have a chance.

Is there someone else in your life? And why did you leave like this? You were almost… running away…

Maybe Jessie’s right. Everyone on set seems to have picked up that he likes you. That he has a crush on you. Maybe he should stop thinking so much about the consequences but… he can’t help it. He’s a rational man. He wishes, sometimes, for a little bit more freedom. For a little bit more naivety in his actions. But he’s lived long enough to learn that one ought to think before acting.

He heaves a sigh, without noticing, busy with his own thoughts. It makes you look up at him with a frown.

“Ben? You’re okay?”

“Hmm? Yeah, sure.”

“Why this desperate sigh, then?” you tease, amused.

“I’m sorry, I was… lost in thought…”

“Come on, tell me! A penny for your thought!”

You’re cute. It’s almost annoying how adorable you look right now. A glint of mischief alit in your eyes, and a tender smile on your lips. You look soft, domestic almost, holding tightly your coat around your frame. He wishes he could wrap an arm around you, pull you to him, use the excuse of the chilly weather to keep you close. But he knows you’re shy, introverted, and he doesn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable. He knows he’s a tactile kind of guy, but not everyone is. He doesn’t want to go too far.

Besides… if he does hold you close… will his poor little heart survive?

But he’s being ridiculous with all this. He’s not a teenager anymore. He knows how life works, how relationships work, what his feelings for you mean. He’s got to stop being so shy around you. Jessie says you like him too… maybe she’s right…

If he’s wrong, everything will become complicated. But then again… sometimes… complicated is nicer than simple.

He takes a deep breath, before diving…

“Actually… I was wondering… do you have someone in your life?”

Your eyes widen, your eyebrows shoot up… you look more than surprised…

“I… no, I’m single. Why?”

Ben shrugs, trying to calm his racing heart.

“Just… I was just wondering.”

“You?”

“Me?”

You chuckle, as he doesn’t seem to understand what you mean.

“What about you? Are you single?” you repeat, and he blushes hard, silently cursing himself.

What a moron…

“I’m single too,” he answers.

“I… why are you asking me this though?”

He notices how you shy away a little. How you bend your head. How nervous you look.

But he can’t back down this time. He’s got to do something about all this.

“Just… asking.”

“Why?”

“I thought… maybe we could… go have some diner together? Or a coffee? Or… anything you’d like, really.”

You freeze. You stop dead, standing still in the middle of the street. In a nearby alley, you hear someone singing drunkenly. You ignore the sound though. You merely stare at Ben. He’s so handsome like this, his frame tainted golden under a lamppost…

“Are you… asking me on a date?” you stutter.

“Yeah, I am.”

“Why?”

Ben blinks, an amused smile appearing on his lips.

“Why do you think I’m asking you on a date? Because I… want to go on a date with you.”

“Yes, but… I… me?”

His smile falters, he looks down at his feet, kicks into an invisible pebble, his hands still buried in his pockets. He doesn’t want you to see the way he clenches his fists…

“It’s okay if you don’t want to. I get it. It’s not going to be the first time a woman says no…”

“I’m not saying no!”

“Are you saying yes, then?”

“I just… I thought…”

But then, you remember the way he acts with Jessie, and he’s not like this with you. He didn’t offer you his arm as you walked together, the way he always does when she’s around and he…

You shake your head. You like him. If you’re to be honest with yourself, you do feel a little bit more than a crush for him. A lot more, actually.

But you’re not stupid. You’re not a teenager anymore, you know how these things work. And you don’t want to get your heart broken.

Maybe he’s just doing this to make her jealous… the thought breaks your heart…

“I don’t think you mean that,” you answer earnestly.

Ben looks up at you again, frowning hard.

“What?”

“We’re working together…”

“I know… but I don’t think it would be a problem. But then again… I can wait. If you want us to finish shooting the show before we can go on a date… I’ll wait. I’ll ask you again once we’re not working together anymore.”

You know he means it. You can see it in his brown eyes. Brown… they’re fully black though. You can’t see where his irises start, where his pupils end…

His gaze is earnest as much as it is hypnotic.

You’re more puzzled than ever.

“But… I thought… you and Jessie…”

But Ben rolls his eyes, almost annoyed.

“We’re friends. Nothing more. People like gossiping, that’s all.”

“I’ve seen the way you act with her. You two are very close.”

“And?”

“And… I thought you… were like that…”

“She’s just a friend.”

“But you’re not like that with me.”

He frowns again, but lets you continue.

“You’re… not… close to me. Not like that. I thought it was because… because you’re closer to her, than you are with me.”

“It’s just different.”

“You’re always touching and hugging everyone… but not me. It’s not just Jessie… I think it’s about me. I thought you were… friendly with me. That’s all.”

“I just…”

He lets out a breathy chuckle.

“You make me nervous,” he admits, and there’s something a little sad in his smile now. Or… not quite sad but… fragile. “Besides… you’re shy. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. I like hugs, but I’m also aware some people don’t like that.”

“I like hugs,” you answer.

Which is quite ridiculous, and Ben can’t help but laugh.

“Good to know.”

He takes a step closer, his heart beating so fast. He hasn’t felt so giddy and excited and utterly nervous in years… what are you doing to him?

“I like you,” he confesses in a breath, letting it all out in a shaky whisper, and you stop breathing altogether at the sound. “I like you… a lot. And I’m just… nervous and… afraid to make you uncomfortable. But I… Y/N you can’t imagine how much I want to hold you right now and… touch you and… kiss you and…”

“Do it then.”

He falls silent, and you do too. Because it isn’t really like you to be so bold, but you can’t help it. You’re not really thinking anymore. His words register into your brain, you make sense of them, and you want him to do everything he’s saying out loud, and that’s all you know, all that you’re aware of. That, and the fact that he’s standing very close to you, maybe a little too close, close enough for your chests to brush against each other as you fill up your lungs with air…

“What did you say?” he asks, his voice shaking.

He’s searching for something in your eyes. You think it might be reassurance…

“I said that you should do it.”

“It?”

“All that you’ve just said.”

A crooked smile appears on his lips, his hands coming out of his pockets to reach up towards your cheeks.

“Even the part where I’m kissing you?”

You smile, nodding.

“Especially that part, I think.”

“Alright… but then… can we have a date.”

“Okay. But… everything is going to be complicated. Like… we work together and… and it’s going to be a mess and…”

“Y/N?”

“Yes?”

His palms have reached your cheeks, warm and a little calloused, and you adore the feeling. You lean into his touch, his fingertips lost in your hair.

“Do you want me to kiss you now?” he asks, leaning closer, his lips bare centimetres away from yours.

“Yes. Yes, I do… but…”

“Then let’s just get things impossibly complicated… and let’s kiss too.”

You’ve closed your eyes at the feeling of his warm breath fanning against your mouth and…

… and then he closes the gap between you. And it’s gentle, almost shy. Delicate. It becomes more heated though, after he pulls away for a second, just long enough to change the angle of his lips upon yours, so he can have better access to your mouth, so he can deepen the kiss and…

Christ, that is too good… too good to be true…

When you part, you’re both out of breath.

“So… are you convinced that I like you now?” Ben asks, brushing his nose against yours.

You open your eyes again, just to fall in his gaze.

“Kind of, yes.”

“So… What about Sunday for the date?”

*********************

Taglist : @reg-arcturus-black @wolfmoonmusic

[naivesilver]

Anddddd from the pregnancy and baby prompts, Could I maybe interest you with a AU Proposition that is no.11 or no.20 with Baby Cedar and the Pinocchio fam as a whole? 😏 (August centred with either Archie, Geppetto or both present if you'd like more than just the wooden mans) 👀

NOT GOING IN ORDER BECAUSE THIS ONE HAD ME LOOPING 🥰🥰🥰

Pregnancy and baby prompts

11. Being repeatedly astonished how tiny the baby is

“I think there was a mistake,” August whispers, more to himself than anything else. “There's no way she's mine.”

He feels his father shift position by his side, but doesn't dare look up just yet; up to this point, they'd each been minding their own business in silence, wary of waking up the slumbering beast in the younger man's arms. Cedar has such troubles falling asleep, be it day or night, that any impromptu naps need to be treated with the same caution one would use to defuse a bomb, and that means August is stuck on that couch for the foreseeable future - if he'd been an ounce smarter, he'd have avoided saying something so heavy, something that will certainly bring forth a conversation with a capital C. 

But of course, he messed that up, and of course, like clockwork, comes Geppetto's response, equally as quiet: “Whatever do you mean?”

August briefly considers pretending he hasn't heard, but, though a coward, he wagers he's yet to sink so low, so there's no other option, really. “Look at her. She's so…”

Good, is what he wants to say. She's too good to be real, too good to be his daughter, a perfectly healthy, normal little girl who won't go to sleep alone and never has to cry for more than a minute before getting picked up and comforted. She can't be his, because her life's off to a much better start already, despite the shameful life he was leading when she was conceived. 

But that's too much. Even in private, even to his father, towards whom August has strived to be as honest as possible, that's too much to speak aloud. So instead, he says “Small”, which is also true: Cedar is not an especially tiny child, in theory - Whale said she's a bit on the skinnier side for a two year old, but nothing concerning, for now - but he's never spent enough time with a toddler to get used to their dimpled little hands and grubby fingers, who grab everything and make it look so so big in contrast. 

It's mesmerizing, and it's frightening, like he's cradling the most minute piece of fine china: not even Emma ever felt this small in his arms, and she was a newborn to begin with, though perhaps that had more to do with the fact that August was a child himself when he held her. He doesn't know. He rarely ever lets his mind wander that far, because if he does, he'll start thinking about how Cedar must have looked at one, three, six months, and he'll be reminded he was too busy paying for his mistakes to see it happen in person, and-

He's not sure if his father senses the turmoil behind his lame response, but still, soon he feels a hand landing on his shoulder, giving a warm, gentle squeeze. “You were small, too, once,” Geppetto says, a hint of a smile in his voice. “Not this small, but- I used to be able to carry you around all day.”

That makes the corner of August's mouth twitch in faint amusement. “Don't give her ideas.”

“Ah, but there's nothing wrong with holding her for as long as you can- it's never too much, for a little girl. And I'm sure it will make you as happy as it did me.”

His hand moves as he says this, until he’s all but wrapping his arm around his son’s shoulders; and as he leans into the older man’s hold, August can almost believe that’s going to be all it takes to soothe his doubts - he can almost convince himself that he deserves the warmth that’s coming from both directions, and the reassurances that come with it, and the slight, endearing tilt of the head he sometimes sees in Cedar like he does in his own mirror, more self-suggestion than evidence of where she actually belongs.

Almost.

[whumpbug]

Hello, Bug! I hope you are doing okay!

I’m here for the emoji game :)

Could you please combine ⚡️(scared of thunderstorms) and 🤒 (needs to be looked after)?

- anon with whumperflies :)

anon, it always makes me so happy to see you in my inbox! i hope this is what you were looking for!

since my last fic was kind of angsty and ambiguous, i decided to make this one pure fluff with these two boys as their relationship slowly becomes something more than a friendship......

•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

“Archie? Archie, come on.. where are you? I know you’re in my apartment,” Simon called out, swinging open his bathroom door to check behind it. 

The window had been cracked open when he came back from work. Unless he was being robbed, which, unfortunately wasn’t too far-fetched, the only other person that would be in his apartment was Archie.

It was.. strange. Archie didn’t usually hide from Simon when he stopped by. When he dropped in, it was usually for a reason, and that reason tended to be rather urgent.

This was utterly unlike Archie. 

Simon padded into his bedroom, scanning for any sign of his friend when a loud crack of thunder sounded through the room.

He didn’t think anything of it, until he heard a high-pitched whimper coming from inside his closet.

“Archie?”

Simon tilted his head and paused. He made his way to the door and carefully slid it open and-- oh.

Archie was curled into a tight ball, pressed as far into the corner as he could possibly be. His hands were clasped around his ears and he was visibly trembling. 

Simon sighed.

“Hey, Archie? Can you look at me?” He ducked into the closet and knelt in front of him.

Archie lifted his head and stared at him, wide-eyed, and slowly brought his hands down from his ears.

“Simon,” He whispered breathlessly. He immediately burst into tears, throwing himself into Simon’s chest and clinging tightly to him. “It’s so.. so loud..”

Without missing a beat, he wrapped his arms around Archie and pulled him close. He frowned.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay.. I’m right here..” He murmured, rubbing gentle circles into Archie’s back. Archie let out a pathetic whimper.

Simon never knew that Archie was afraid of the thunder but.. well, it checked out. He did have enhanced hearing after all. But Simon had seen Archie patrol through all kinds of weather, storms included, and he never seemed too bothered by it. Archie was too good at hiding his discomfort sometimes. It was.. concerning.

He supposed today it had been all too much.

Suddenly, more thunder cracked in the sky and Archie yelped as if he had been struck. His hands flew up to his ears and he buried his face into the crook of Simon’s shoulder. Simon cupped a protective hand around the back of Archie's head and shushed soothingly.

“Shhh.. it's okay.. I’m right here..” He hummed. 

Archie sobbed.

Simon didn’t have super hearing, but he was no stranger to overstimulation. He knew all too well the tear-inducing overwhelm that Archie was going through, and, to be fair, it was probably worse than Simon was imagining.

“I know.. I’m sorry..” He whispered, bringing his own hands to gently cover Archie’s over his ears. He tilted his head up.

Archie sniffled. “Simon.. I can’t.. It’s.. it’s so loud.. It hurts..”

Simon thumbed a tear away from Archie’s cheek and leaned over to press a kiss to the crown of his head. Archie immediately melted under the touch, letting his eyes flutter close and his head fall into Simon’s shoulder once again.

More than anything, Simon knew Archie needed someone there. Someone to remind him that he was safe, and that it would pass. 

Considering all the other things Simon did for Archie, that wouldn’t be a problem at all.

“I know I know.. how about we get you a warm bath and then we can go from there?” Simon suggested, steadily patting Archie’s trembling back.

Archie feebly nodded, and soon the two were standing and making their way to the small bathroom.

The thunder had begun to die down a bit, but Archie was still shaken. Simon saw the tension in his body, the way his shoulders were hunched and his eyebrows were pinched together. 

He seemed exhausted. He seemed fully at his limit.

Once Simon started the tap for the bath and tested the water, he rubbed a gentle hand over Archie’s shoulder blades and shut the door behind him.

In the meantime, Simon shut all the windows and doors to help muffle the sound of the rain falling. He idly began making a pot of hot chocolate while waiting for Archie to finish up and get dressed. 

It was interesting. Simon had taken care of Archie in far more perilous situations with far more dire consequences, yet it seemed the mundane problems incapacitated Archie the most.

In other words, Archie could walk off a bullet wound, but loud sounds had him down for the count.

Simon supposed he understood. Still, he made Archie a promise when they first met. That he would do anything in his power to keep Vigil up and running. Sometimes that meant making hot cocoa and putting Empire Strikes Back on the TV at half volume.

Archie emerged about thirty minutes later with his hair damp and some of Simon’s clothes thrown on. They were about a size too big, and the plaid pajama pants were bunched at his ankles. Simon found it terribly endearing.

“The bath help at all?” Simon asked, placing the steaming mugs on the coffee table and settling into the couch.

Archie only offered a nod before beelining his way to the couch. He practically leapt into Simon’s lap, immediately wrapping every limb around him.

He let out a small, muffled whine and pressed his face into the crook of Simon’s shoulder. 

Simon huffed a small laugh and reciprocated the hug, tucking Archie’s head beneath his chin and tracing wide circled across his back. Archie was already melting under the touch; the tension in his shoulders drained away like being wrung out of a sponge.

The solution, it seemed, was cuddles. Simon couldn’t say he was surprised, but he definitely didn’t think Archie would feel comfortable being so affectionate. Still, he had no complaints. None at all.

Simon continued rhythmically rubbing his back and shoulders, feeling a little more stiffness dissipate with every pass.

Soon enough, Archie's breathing began to even out and his head slipped a little bit into Simon’s chest. Simon gathered him up in his arms once again and pulled the blanket over them both. He smiled softly and pressed a kiss to Archie’s temple.

It was then that he knew. Archie didn’t need to be bleeding or broken for Simon to want to take care of him. He was content just being by his side, through thick and thin.

The movie played on, and the two slept.

•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

[khruschevshoe]

Jim, Olu, and Archie Jimenez (Amnesia fic)

It feels just like a dagger buried deep in your back

You run for cover but you can't escape the second attack

Your soul was innocent, she kissed him and she painted it black

You should have seen your little face, burnin' for love, holdin' on for your life

All that I wanted was a little touch

A little tenderness and truth, I didn't ask for much, no

Talk about being in the wrong place at the wrong time

-The Killers, Miss Atomic Bomb

Jim swallows as they stare at the wall, eyes burning. They can’t push off Olu and Archie's arms. They don't want to risk waking them up and revealing their vulnerability to them.

So they must endure this. This comfort, this affection, this safety-

Can they have this? Can they have casual affection? Can they live a life where they are allowed to be open, allowed to be soft, a world where they can wear knives strapped to their leg and wear a blue silk jacket? A world where a scabbard can be both a home for their blade and a declaration of love?

A world where they can live with not just one person who loves them, but two? 

There is nothing stopping them. No one is keeping them from this possibility.

And yet-

Jim cannot help but hesitate.

How can they let themself let down their barriers? How can they condone themself showing vulnerability when Jackie is still hunting down their face? How can they allow kindness in when it has never kept them safe?

(But most importantly, most horribly, most dangerously: how could they not?)

-aletterinthenameofsanity, when I dream I'll only dream of you (does my memory remain)

This fic has a fucking deathgrip on me. I have reread it at least three times since it came out and I'm halfway through a fourth reread. Amnesia fics just HIT, y'know? Seeing season 1 Jim's POV on a world they where they are happily married and accepted and loved is DEVASTATING in the best possible way. Watching them having to grapple and struggle with the idea that softness and gentleness is something that they can actually have without it being a weakness + them falling for Olu and Archie all over again (plus all the lovely friendship scenes with Lucius, Pete, Izzy, Roach, and the others) actively rewrote my brain chemistry. 10/10.

@polikate @possumsmushroom @yuenity @bricksbloggyplace @ruecrown

[woodandwaxwings]

Glimpse Of Us (Henry Mills x Male Reader)

summary; Needless to say Henry and Y/n have been very close all their lives. But things change, and not always for the best. can be read as platonic or romantic but was intended to be romantic.(It seems like I only post angst or sorta sad fluff lol also my requests are VERY open as long as the character is on my masterlist) Might turn this into a full fic if y'all want me to.

Warnings; reader has black hair, ANGST, strangers to friends to secret crush

Word Count— 1,004

"You're in my spot," The young boy looked down from the stood he was seated on to the other boy around his age. "Henry, that's rude!" The woman next to him spoke as she kneeled next to her son and looked up at the other child as he swung his feet on the stool. "I'm so sorry about him." As she surveyed the boy she realized she had never seen him before, with his tussled black hair and fragile hands, he looked to be only seven, the same as her son. "I'm sorry sweetie, what's your name?" Regina asked as the stranger slid off the stool. "Y/n, and it's no problem, miss. I've got to get going anyway, my mom's expecting me." As he said that she noticed the bag of oatmeal that sat on the counter as the child brought it to his chest. Henry smiled as he climbed into the still-warm seat and his mother watched the mystery child leave. Henry furrowed his brows at the still half-full mug, "You forgot your drink!" He called out and the click of Y/n's black boots halted, "You can keep it." Henry nodded, unable to answer as the other boy's smile gave him a fuzzy feeling in his chest.

Y/n sat up on the frozen bench as he was blinded by the lights of a foreign yellow car. He brought his frost-nipped fingers to his eyes to block out the lights as a blonde woman and a hazy boy exited the car to speak with Archie Hopper. Henry looked between this blonde woman and the boy from Granny's before he made his decision to sit next to Y/n. "You running away again?" Henry asked, though he already knew the answer. "I just... needed some air." Henry shook his head, "You're gonna get in trouble again." Y/n let out a scoff through his nose, "I hate that place. And-" Y/n looked at his lap, "And I wanted to visit my mom." The truth was after Henry discovered the book Y/n was the first person he went to. At the time the orphaned boy was still just a stranger, but his page in the book and his unchanged name gave him a feeling that he could help him break the curse. Y/n looks up from his lap over into the doe eyes that were already on him, "You really think she can help us?" Both of their gazes snapped over to the blonde woman, supposedly Henry's mother, as she left Dr Hopper to join them on the bench. "I know it." Y/n smiled as he looked back at Henry, "You're lucky I trust your heart more than mine." Henry smiled at the boy next to him, their conversation ending as Emma joined them.

Y/n stood anxiously at the front end of Killian's ship, knuckles lightening with his harsh grip on the ship's edge. "You're going to fall off if you go any farther up the wall," Snow said as she placed a gentle hand on the preteen's shoulder. "What if we don't make it in time?" He asked the elder woman, his gaze unmoving from the approaching horizon. "We're going to find him, Y/n." He nodded, "I know that. I'm afraid of how we'll find him." His gaze dropped from the golden sandy shores to the mermaid-riddled ocean. "I've been having these nightmares. They- they feel so real." He looked over to the dark-haired woman as he placed a hand below his left rib. "Henry, he- he's different. And then there's this strange pain in my stomach and suddenly I can't breathe. It's like the world is suffocating me in my own darkness." "You've been having visions?" Y/n turned around fully to face Regina. "You're mother had them too." Her shoes clicked against the wooden grain, "The way they're shown to her was very deceiving. They happened, just not the way she expected." Y/n turned back around, "So, you don't think they'll be bad?" He asked. "I think you should have hope that they'll be good." He nodded, their talk ending as the ship reached the shore.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Henry asked as he firmly grasped Y/n's hand. "Our world needs your mother more than it needs me. My soul has been tainted by darkness since I was born, nobody needs me." Henry sighed as Y/n pulled out of his grasp, his e/c eyes meeting his best friend's puppy dog brown ones. He smiled, "I'm not going to die, Henry. I promise," Those were the last words he had spoken to his friend before ending up at the docks in front of the Dark Swan. "You stole my title," Y/n joked as he approached the woman. "Didn't you know, there's only space for one black swan." The elder woman rolled her eyes, sending a wave of dark magic at the teen as he shifted into a swan, flying over the magic and onto the edge of the dock. This game of chase continued as Y/n began to grow tired of wasting time. "Emma!" Regina shouted out, distracting her allowing Y/n to grab ahold of the blade in her hand. The platinum-haired woman trusted the blade forward, the shift pushing him back a step. It wasn't until her son screamed as he pushed past her had she realized what she had done. With a ball of smoke, Emma had returned to her savior self, grabbing onto Henry before he lunged off the edge of the dock. "NO!" He screamed out at the splash of his best friend's body slamming into the sea. "Please, you promised! I need you. I love you," His voice cracked as his knees hit the dock, his vision blurring as his tears hit the surfacing air bubbles in the water. "No," He whispered, looking up at his adopted mother as she placed a cautious hand on his shoulder. "He promised."

[commonguttersnipe]

Silly question because I’m having a bit of brainrot regarding AFCW: opinions on the A Fish Called Wanda characters?

Wanda- LOVE HER. Honestly, she’s actually a really great take on the temptress stereotype (especially haven been written by a man). Jaime Lee Curtis absolutely killed it with not only her delivery, but also her interpretation of Wanda’s flirty nature (which doesn’t feel cringy, just very natural). She also is intelligent which is seen as a huge draw for Archie’s affections towards her, rather than just her beauty. Then there’s her relationship with Ken which shows her more gentle side. She’s so well written!

Archie- What’s interesting about him is that he’s actually a very vulnerable male character with his own insecurities and flaws. He falls for Wanda first which you don’t often see. They do kind of gloss over the fact that he was willing to have an affair and that it was deemed okay because his home life wasn’t very loving but it adds some complications to his character so… It’s also nice that Cleese didn’t give himself all the best lines so Archie doesn’t feel like he’s trying too hard. he’s also kind of hot…

Otto- Best character. Possibly one of the greatest comedic characters in film. An idiot who can’t interpret philosophy, Otto has all the funniest lines and yet doesn’t cross the line between aloof and obnoxious. Despite being a ridiculous character throughout the majority of the film, he’s also surprisingly cruel (mainly against Ken). He’s a fool who thinks he’s wise and is a walking example of dramatic irony. He also has a remarkably fragile ego, for a running joke in the film is him getting increasingly upset at being called stupid. He’s just great.

Ken- The animal lover who accidentally murders them. He is like a modern day equivalent of Lenny from Of Mice And Men, the sweet, quiet outsider whom destruction follows. He is very kind to animals but seems to have a very cynical attitude towards humans (“He’s had a hard life… Dad used to beat him up” “good.”). He is the movie’s punching bag and is frequently mocked for his stutter. Despite not necessarily being a good person, the audience feels sorry for the man because of his incredibly timid nature and the horrendous way he is treated through the film. Sir Michael Palin is phenomenal (as always).

[daggzandarrowsnew]

A New Horizon

Outlaw Queen FF

Not quite canon - set after Zelena’s defeat but OQ hasn’t happened…yet

“Milady.”

Regina turned at the, now familiar, endearment of sorts the thief had adopted for her. With Snow, it was Princess. With Emma, it was Emma. But with Regina, it always seemed to be ‘Milady’ and she found she quite enjoyed it.

Robin nodded to the tumbler he was holding out to her, Amber liquid swirling within and that damn tattoo visible through the glass just as before.

She’d worked hard at keeping her distance from him or, at least, at trying to during the last few weeks of the chaos wrought by her sister. It was strange to think of her as such even after all that Zelena had done but Regina didn’t exactly have an abundance of family to choose from. And though she was now gone, a decision of her own making that Regina couldn’t help but respect in a way, Zelena had left a strange mark on her heart that Regina hadn’t yet been able to work through on her own. Perhaps a visit to Archie was in order at some point soon.

“Thank you,” she replied with a small smile, not at all ignorant to the fact that he was stepping over the same log she sat upon to take his place beside her.

Across the way, a burning bonfire between them, Snow and Charming were engrossed with one another. Arms linked and heads together as they spoke quietly, laughing softly every now and then, Regina felt almost wistful in her longing for that kind of love. It was hypocritical, she knew, for here was a man beside her destined to be her soulmate, the other half of her, and she hadn’t been able to let him in.

“It’s been quite the day,” he smiled, both of their eyes falling to the tent in which their boys had practically collapsed together after a day filled with activity.

Regina nodded with an affectionate hum, lifting her glass to her lips at the same time as Robin. “It certainly has.” And then, because she hasn’t said it yet, “Thank you.”

“No need for thanks,” Robin waved her off as he looked over the place he’d come to call home here in Storybrooke. “It was no trouble.”

But she didn’t mean that. She took the hand not holding his glass - the hand attached to his tattooed wrist - and waited for him to turn those pale eyes on her as she explained, “Thank you for giving me a chance.” Because he had, right from the very beginning, right from that awful year she’d spent away from her son and in the company of everyone she’d ripped from their land to begin with. He’d offered her his help when she’d fallen, had kept her on her toes throughout the plan of their return and had stopped her from succumbing to the pain of losing Henry indefinitely.

If it were anyone else, she’d likely receive a scoff of laughter in return at the notion she even deserved a second chance but, of course, Robin took her words to heart. He took his glass along with her own and carefully placed them on the flat space of log behind him before turning and taking her hands into his own.

Regina’s eyes widened in surprise at being touched so openly and Robin seemed to sense this, apology colouring his expression as he moved to release his gentle grip on her before she was curling her fingers around his own and shaking her head to allow the contact.

“I am not unaware of your past, Milady.” And of course he wanted, his own face had brandished wanted posters beside Snow White’s though Regina’s attention hadn’t been on him during that time. “I too have made some deplorable decisions in my youth due to abuse at the hands of people who were supposed to love and protect me.”

Her heart knocked in her chest at that as tears filled her dark eyes. They’d talked of her mother previously, of her marriage to the King and those dark dark nights she endured with him. She’d poured her heart out to him more than any other in her life and still she’d kept herself away from him because everyone she ever loved had died.

“I am not immune to darkness, I know the temptation it holds…” he brushed his thumbs over her knuckles, taking the breath from her body as he shifted closer to her, their knees knocking slightly. “But I also understand the joy and the peace of living in the light. And, I think, over the last few weeks at the very least, you’ve started to feel that too.” He moved their hands together so that he was now clasping both of hers between his own as he smiled so warmly at her. “I’m not sure if I’ve earned the right to feel this way, Regina but…I find myself filled with pride watching you navigate this new horizon you have found.”

And it was then that she found herself absolutely unable to hold back from him. Whether it was the invisible tie of destiny between them, his heartwarming words or just the look of pure admiration in his eyes, Regina found herself slipping her hands from between his to pull his face towards hers and capture his lips with her own in a kiss that was most certainly overdue and the most perfect she had ever experienced.

Taken from the September Prompts list currently on my page. This is number 2. Horizon

Open to prompts/requests as always

[maya-matlin]

Hi! I'd love to hear more about why you prefer varchie to barchie because same. i know you said you would go with neither right now but i still think varchie is a much better ship than barchie despite not expecting to feel that way. so please elaborate on why varchie > barchie if you want to! i always thought barchie was a lot more popular but have seen polls lately where varchie keeps winning so maybe we're not the minority opinion anymore?

Hi! Thanks for the ask. First things first, Riverdale did a much better job at writing romantic relationships during seasons 1-4. I acknowledge that some of the writing could be wonky at times because it's literally Riverdale, but ultimately I feel that the original ships had something special because they were given the space to thrive. This includes Archie's relationship with Veronica. At first, it seemed as though RAS wanted to go against the usual comics' story line where Archie was forever bouncing between Betty and Veronica and instead committed to having Archie all in with Veronica while Betty was truly happy and content with Jughead. Relationship wise, Archie was much more selfless pre-cheating in season 4 and a lot more open to compromise in contrast to now where he's basically subtly "my way or the highway" but in a gentle sort of way? Like, Archie is never aggressive about it. But since the time jump and especially at the end of season 5 and beyond, he has wanted to basically emulate his father. He has to have marriage and babies. He has to grow old in his childhood home. The dude cannot face any sort of challenges or opposition without Betty being the one to cave. I always thought it was somewhat unrealistic that Archie and Veronica could be so fundamentally different as people to the point of being in drastically different story lines following the second season all the while maintaining a stable relationship. But somehow, it worked for them, and they appeared to balance each other out. I believe that meeting and falling for Veronica changed Archie's life. In his own words, he saw his entire future when they met and basically never deviated from that path until the confusion with Betty. Seven years after their breakup, Archie still loved Veronica and only went to Betty because Veronica was married to another man. Right down the line, Betty is Archie's second choice. Archie has never chosen her over Veronica when he was aware Veronica was an option.

To be honest, Archie's relationship with Betty is a joke to me. Don't get me wrong. It had the potential to be a great ship. The series started off with the premise that they'd been BFFs since childhood and that Betty had always harbored feelings for Archie. But then, Archie made it clear he'd never felt what we was supposed to feel with Betty. Not long after, Betty fell in love with Jughead and kind of never looked back. The writers had many opportunities to delve back into BA, including when they kissed in the second season, but instead decided to make it clear Archie and Betty wanted to be with their actual partners and had no interest in a romance. Worst of all, their friendship was barely a thing prior to the cheating. It was rarely given any significant screen time. But because the writers wanted a shake up, they decided to do the cheating arc. Even during their big cheating moment, the only flashbacks shown were from the first two episodes and then of their kiss in 209. Like, that's all this ship had prior to the cheating. Some fans can view them as a "slow burn" or interpret occasional three second glances as something more, but I can't agree. It was very poorly set up, and it was only marginally better following the time jump. So they became fuck buddies, but Archie had zero interest in being a support system for Betty and ran back to Veronica yet again. Much like in previous seasons where BA is only relevant when their romance is being teased, they had very few scenes prior to season 5's finale where they unofficially got together with no set up - following another Varchie breakup. Season 6 was basically.. everything is all about Archie all the time. They fuck and drink beers together. Sometimes the writers gave them unearned milestones such as saying I love you, becoming a couple, moving in together, and then getting engaged. It felt more like boxes were being checked than a couple in love organically arriving there. Mostly, Betty becomes an extremely watered down version of herself in order to become Archie's perfect match. Because Betty feels that she's "dark" and "damaged", she pushes down anything that isn't pure and good and allows Archie to validate her. The character is pretty much unrecognizable.

It's hard to know what's most popular. Social media seems to skew towards BA because that's literally all that's left these days. But the massive ratings decline and fandom engagement doesn't lie. The change in ships can't be entirely blamed, but the way everything played out along with the timing was a major contributing factor.

[westeroslive]

let's  fight  with  gentle  words  til  time lend friends,  and friends their helpful swords as the court seeks the presence of their sought after.

two wanted connections  have been added.  

𓏲ּ  ֶָ  𝑤𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑜𝑠𝒕𝒗  ⁝         LYONEL  of  house  LANNISTER,  the  LORD  of  CASTERLY  ROCK  requests  the  presence  of  their  BETROTHED  at  court.  their  portraits  seem  to  resemble  aubri ibrag, beste kokdemir, bethany antonia, dominique davenport, mirren mack, ozge torer, phoebe tonkin, phoebe dynevor, sam reid, assad saman, aidan turner, archie renaux, ben barnes, corey mylchreest, devon terrel, douglas booth, giorgio belli, jacob anderson or jonathan bailey  -  and  whisperers  among  the  court  seem  to  say  the  following  regarding  their  relationship:  their union is a match set up by lyonels mother. it would have to be a connection which could in a way benefit the casterly rock family, may it be territorial or anything like that. however, lyonel hates the whole idea of being betrothed, he however does follow his mothers wishes. It would be a "i hate you and despise you" into perhaps "i have fallen for you and i would rather die than succumb to this love"  for lyonel, how the opposite feels is up to the player.  you  must  seek  contact  with  @sapphircd  to  discover  the  truth  behind  these  whispers.    this  particular  dynamic  seems  to  be  NEGATIVE  in  nature,  and  for  a  noble  of  26-40  name  days  it  is  most  surprising.

𓏲ּ  ֶָ  𝑤𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑜𝑠𝒕𝒗  ⁝         MAESELLA  of  house  TARGARYEN,  the  LADY  of  CASTAMERE  requests  the  presence  of  their  LOVE INTEREST  at  court.  their  portraits  seem  to  resemble  alberto guerra, bradley james, calahan skogman, david oakes, deng wei, hayden christensen, leo suter, luke arnold, matthew goode, michiel huisman or sam claflin,   -  and  whisperers  among  the  court  seem  to  say  the  following  regarding  their  relationship: throughout her life maesella has ever been in love with people she cannot stay with and with everything happening around they are a breath of fresh air - daring her to step outside of her comfort zone but also respecting her fleating mind of dreams and dread. they can be from anywhere and she'll be captivated by them. they can have an ulterior motive to their intentions or they fall for the targaryen who inherrited nothing of fire and blood, but the insanity of a dragon with broken wings.  you  must  seek  contact  with  @sapphircd  to  discover  the  truth  behind  these  whispers.    this  particular  dynamic  seems  to  be  POSITIVE  in  nature,  and  for  a  noble  of  30-45  name  days  it  is  most  surprising.

[gazetotheabyss]

Sweeps Weak

Archie had, since he was but a young man, struggled with the ability to fall asleep. Truthfully it wasn’t until he’d grown and managed to climb his way free from lower-class poverty that he’d broken free into his first night of proper sleep. When he first got a television it was 1962. The first time he fell asleep in front of it was just before sign-off in the Spring of ‘68. Coaxed to sleep by a particularly arduous day at work, but comforted by the gentle monotone of the dead signal, and the soft image of his TV projecting the so politically correct RCA ‘Indian Head Test Pattern’. Waking only for the beckoning call of his alarm from upstairs, and the welcoming sound of the National Anthem signaling the start of the day. 

After that night he had trouble sleeping away from the couch. But as he grew into his middle ages, it became commonplace—Or rather, acceptable—To have a television in the bedroom as well. Something about that had made his life so much simpler. It became routine, and at about 8 pm every night he’d slink away to lay down for the night so that he may watch whatever late night host entertained him most that night and fall asleep before they even got to the second guest. Such was the way he slept and woke for years, always out before sign-off. A lonely life he’d lead, but he was happy enough. 

One peculiar night he found himself awoken at about two hours passed midnight to the singing of a crowd’s raucous cheer. So excitedly welcoming onto the stage a late night host he’d never seen before. Happily walking onto a set he’d equally never been privy to. Looking at his alarm clock, he’s rather vexed to see the time. Curious about the station airing so late... 

“Welcome back folks.” The charismatic man starts, his smile so boldly stretched practically ear to ear. Standing calmly center screen his suit is finely pressed, not a wrinkle or crease in a spot there shouldn’t be, he begins his monologue without a second’s hesitation. “The President was in town today—” Pause for reaction, but what should have been an adoring crowd is silent like the dead. Though the ever-charismatic host, in his handsome smile, lifts his hands still, as if to quiet their jeers and boos even though there were none to be heard. “--Hey, I know. I didn’t vote for him either. But he was in town this week to celebrate the bicentennial of our fine nation. Of the ceremony, the president and the fine men in his cabinet stressed the opportunity for renewal and rebirth for our country.” He reacts, again, as though there are a barrage of boos, the smile never once fading from his face. “Now, I say, that’s exactly the sort of thing I expected to hear from the man who pardoned Nixon.” Inaudible crowd clearly cheered with laughter. 

Now, Archie had never much been one to pay attention to whatever drivel he put on to go to sleep to, but he felt himself captivated. Wondering, idly, who could have possibly been the president this man was speaking of to have pardoned a president who had only just taken office a mere two years ago. Let alone celebrate an event perhaps a little under four years away. Sleep had vanished from his eyes, and he found the screen somewhat burned into his gaze, unable to blink let alone tear his vision away. 

“Oh, it’s gonna be another magical show, kids.” The host clapped his hands together, addressing the audience so informally, looking every which way about the camera except to stare dead into it. “I’ve got a great one tonight for you and the viewers at home. So, stay tuned, for musical guest tonight I’ve got ‘The Abyssal Horns’, movie star Anita Silver, and famed author--” The signal cut for a moment, glitching when the host tried to speak the name of whoever his guest was, in its place a horrendous shock to the ear of ungodly static before the host is back on screen. “And a very special secret surprise guest tonight. Stay tuned—I'm Hartly Baker, and everyone, you know I’m always-”  

And the audience, once silent, sings out in tandem when the title graphic comes to the screen. Monotone in their delivery. Grand applause. ‘Speaking from the Hart.’ He’d never heard of this show, but he found himself a captive audience member, despite its mundanity. Eyes were fixed upon the screen, expecting a commercial or two, there were breaks for them. But the screen merely faded to black and opened back up with the host suddenly at his desk. This must have been an old taping. Maybe they were testing a new reel system or something. Archie was never much for learning how the breadth of it worked as he was reaping the benefits of the product. This program was clearly some measure of political fiction, right? 

“Tonight, as always, I strive to bring you the most cutting and up to date entertainment I can. Our industry is ever changing, always in motion. Once there was a time when you could sit down with the children and watch some wholesome program, but now? We have sinned, our eyes beholding things that were only once nightmares. Exposed to this cycle and barrage of violence. Misery. Sex. Death. All at the click of a button. Gluttonously consuming with no question for our sanity—So I welcome our first guest, Anita Silver!” He holds out his hand to the far-off edge of the screen, camera shifting along the stage to capture the vision of a woman, dressed to the nines and back, the audience reacting in kind as if this were a show like any other. She saunters happily across the stage to sit so calmly in the chair beside the host’s desk. 

“Welcome to the show, Anita. It’s so good to have you back--” 

“It’s great to be back, Hart. I’m such a big fan, the only shows of yours I miss are the ones I’m on.” Cue awed reaction from the crowd, a slow crawling zoom in on Anita’s face as she shyly smiles at the host and his once again bubbly personality. Archie’s mind races from here to there, pulling the protection of his covers up to his chin. Staring down across the length of his bed, he remains transfixed. 

“Well, that’s just sweet of you, Anita.” The host says with a chuckle, gently reaching out to place a comforting hand atop hers. “How do you feel about contributing to the damnation of our society with the brainless swill you shove down the gullets of these disgusting little piggies?” 

She proceeds to answer a question, not the one he asked. No, it seemed as though this Anita Silver were participating in a wholely different show than the one that he had been observing. Her answer finished; the camera zooms in upon her meticulously painted face. As the very heartfelt question she had been supposed to answer had clearly drawn some emotion from her and the audience. Anita fights back tears, but the host remains smiling. A hollow gesture, by the appearance. Something done because it looked like it was supposed to be, rather than conveying any true emotion. 

“And what of the children? They watch you galivant on screen like some cheap slut, partaking in the flesh of so many. What is that to say of our society’s current destination? Do you feel it lessens our cultural relevance whilst those who come after us merely replace us with the next flavorless slop to drain away into their trough?” Again, she answers another question. One far and away different than the ones asked. Morbid curiosity had run its course, and Archie shuts the TV off. Whatever the program had been? He didn’t wish to partake in it any longer. 

Laying back on his bed, staring up at the ceiling, he struggled to find comfort in a place he had once found whole worlds of it. Though the program did not instill any sense of fear within him, it did press upon his mind an eerie discomfort. Something uncanny upon trying to recall the host and his array of curiosities. The longer spent laying there, focusing on the very subject, the further away it all seemed to be. The face of the man but a blur, save that cheery grin, the shape of the set nothing more than a blur of every late night show he had ever seen.  

Feeling the pounding in his heart tear away in his chest, he feels the night consume him. Though he did not remember ever falling asleep, he finds himself waking. Much later than usual, at that. His head splits like a log beneath the force of an ax, thoughts splattered about his mind like blasted as pellets from a shotgun. Contemplating calling work to tell them he is ill, he pushes through and gets on with his day. 

Thoughts linger throughout the day on the mysterious show that plagued his night. Initially writing them off as nothing more than a bad dream, the clarity of the memory of being so wide awake seems more than palpable enough to assuage any hesitation. Almost, has it come to the point where he can only even remember being awake and uncomfortable, let alone details of harsh specifics afforded by this thing that had kept him awake. Remembering the name of the host, the show, and nothing more. Coming upon lunch he fields the question to some of his colleagues but turns up nothing from their responses. Only curious questions about what sort of things were talked about, and whether he was anything like Carson, what time to catch the show. The usual sort of senseless mundanity you would get when a friend asked you about a show they watched last night. 

When accordingly, it was of little comfort. 

What it had meant to him was either something odd was at foot here or that he was steadily losing his mind. As much as he would love to give this over to something supernatural, the staunchly atheist man in him knows to put more stock in the decline of his mental fortitude. Coming apart at the seams, that’s what it felt like. Like he was a picture being painted on a once-immaculate canvas, now fraying off the frame that had held it in place. Of course, in a rational way, as well, this felt like an overreaction. It was a dream, yes? Nothing more than a fleeting flight of his errant mind cooking images up during REM sleep.  

No channels ran that late. 

That had been the response of a couple of people he spoke to. They needed to change the tubes out at the stations to prevent daytime interruptions or some other such operational issues. Archie must admit, he was only vaguely listening. More fixated upon the implications to be had for his own mental health then, if it weren’t some fluke of the system. 

That night, he could only sit idly poking his fork at the ill-cooked TV Dinner, freshly plucked from the microwave. Getting caressed after a long day at work by the background noise of his favorite show. Which had now failed to draw his attention. Not whilst he tried and failed to remember more details of the show he had prematurely shut off in favor of a literally unmemorable night of sleep. 

 He lays down for bed again, he stares vacantly at the black glass screen staring back at him. Archie swallowed thickly, feeling his brow moisten with the fresh pinpricks of sweat. The hairs on the back of his neck beginning to stand harshly on end. Though he could not place the why, he still laid his head across his pillow, and pulled his blanket over his head. Like a toddler protecting themself from the monster in the closet. It’s not surefire protection from anything, but it’s nostalgic comfort for a night that’s so painfully quiet save for the wild drumbeat of his panicking heart. 

It happens again, unsure of the moment it had happened, or how long he had laid there, only that he must have fallen asleep. When he is awoken amid the night again, it is significantly darker than it had been when he pulled his covers over his head. The click and buzz of the CRT springing to life was enough all on its own to cause him to shoot up in his bed. The static crackling of falling snow on the screen was something he took as an ill omen. It was in this moment he’d found himself doing something that he never particularly was inclined to do before now and pray to whatever god may have been listening, damning any spirit that may have been haunting him. 

As if it were being tuned to the right signal, images shift and swirl on screen, dragged down and then up again, all across the screen in uneven patterns, before once again stood at the center of his screen is Hartly Baker. Stood there with his hands clasped behind his back again, smile stretched wide across the whole of his face carving a near perfect curve from ear to ear. 

“Welcome back folks.” His intonation was the same. Every syllable, every sound, as vivid as it had been the night before. And the swell of memories flooded themselves back to his mind of the details of the show that had been robbed of him. “The President was in town today--” Pausing for reaction once more, staring expectantly down the lens this time. Archie couldn’t help but feel as though the man were piercing his eyes down to the very depths of his soul. Miserably poisoning his mind with all sorts of anxiety and terror for no reason other than sheer amusement. “--Hey, I know. I didn’t vote for him either. But he was in town this week to question why you tuned out so early last night.” Archie had zoned out for but a moment, concentrating on that unearthly gaze. That had snapped him back to attention. Ears as ready and waiting as his panicked eyes. 

“Now, I say, that’s exactly the sort of thing I expected to hear from the man who pardoned Nixon.” The host laughed, a hollow sound as ever. But the miserable connection was fragile. Breaking. The sound cracked and fizzled at the edges of his ears. The laughter became corrupt and far more haunting. 

“Oh, it’s gonna be another magical show, kids.” The host clasped his hands together, uneasy gaze pierced down the lens again. Archie could feel a vein in his brain throb with anguish whenever he tried to match or level his gaze with the man on the television. 

“I’ve got a great one tonight for you and the viewers at home. So, stay tuned, for musical guest tonight I’ve got ‘Mindless Flavorless Drivel’, movie star adulterous whore, and tonight the gate opens, the pathway lit.” Archie couldn’t have shot to his feet with any quicker a pace. Running over to wall so that he may yank, with an almost superhuman swiftness, the cable from the wall. The abyssal black screen overtaking the TV once again, the only sound in the air was the unsteady breath of the fearful man.  

He finds himself a child, once again. Stumbling through the expanse of his room and sliding open his closet door. Diving to hide among the hanging pants and sweats that cascade overhead like foliage of some great forest. He feels burdened by the familiar sounds of his childhood. Archie’s palms find themselves pressed tight over his ears, muting the imaginary sound of his father battering the closet door. Demanding he come out and face whatever punishment was coming his way for whatever perceived sleight had hit his drunken mind the moments before. 

It’s uncanny how the trauma can have him feel almost transported to that time. Still, after all these years, he can feel the reverberations of the open palm pounding on the door vibrate in his skull. The muffled sound of anguishing fear leaves him now, as a full-grown adult with his father long since passed on. How quickly it all comes swimming back to poison the well, when he finds his one place of pure comfort corrupted by the unfiltered nature of fear as it swirls about in his mind.  

And then? 

Morning. 

The rays of sunlight piercing through the slats of his closet door like beacons through the darkness. A lighthouse on the bay of the stormy night that had tormented his maddened brain. Throat dry, though at some point he had surely slept he had never felt more tired. Eyes sunken and worn, it feels as if he’d been flattened on the highway more than anything else. In his rationalization of things, it explained more than ever what had been happening. Fever. It was all it had ever been, the cresting of a miserable sickness breaking over the hill to weigh itself upon his ever-active imagination. A swell of relief bursts like a bubble in the back of his mind, a soft exhale of comforted safety breathed itself free from his throat-- 

He’d never called out from work before, but in all honesty, Archie had felt like he could barely stand let alone attend the meeting that was on the agenda. For a little extra piece of mind, he wheels the nearly 80-pound TV out of his room for the day. In some world or way hoping that it would provide even further peace from these miserable visions that had burdened him and his waking consciousness. 

With little ceremony he lays back down in bed, hoping to come upon some form of rest. Maybe when he awoke, he would feel better. Closing his eyes, he lets himself be cradled to some place far away from here. The passive world of dreams swallowing him whole and carrying him off to some land of fantasy.  

At least, until he was awoken by the sound of heavy feet clodding up his stairs. Another familiar sound. Boots pounding upon the surface of carpeted floor, soon accompanied by a furious hand twisting with great futility against a door that had been habitually locked. Once more in the mindset of his thirty years younger self, Archie drags his blanket up to cover his mouth. The warmth of his breath pouring from his nose reflecting fearfully back into his face as he stares with wide eyes at the door. Knowing what comes next. Arhythmic pounding, bashing with a furled fist against the fragile wooden structure of his bedroom door. Symphonically resonating with the miserable song of incomprehensible rambling that may as well have been gibberish.  

“Go away!” He calls out to the voice, knowing better than to do so but feeling himself steeled from years of passivity, he no longer feels the need to lie down and be someone else’s outlet. Reality had long been an array of moments where he found himself to be someone else’s punching bag, the side bit to whomever felt like they deserved far more to be headlining the story than he did. Control. God, control had felt so far from his grasp at any given moment that even as an adult he was haunted by this sound. These memories flowing through his veins and tainting every night’s sleep he’d ever had. 

Palms press flat to his ears again, sitting up and shouting once more without fear of repercussions. “Leave me alone! I just want to sleep!” As he grew older, the escape from reality that had been his solitary comfort in this life had grown into a strange addiction. Needing it and the watchful eye of the glass screens glow to even lull him to some gentle slumber. Even now, though, upon his cold moment of self-realization, he is still haunted. Burdened by the pound of fists on his door, his own fingers furling into meaty cudgels of their own against the sides of his skull. Pounding at flesh and bone to make the banging at cheap particle wood stop. Tears prickle at his eyes, and he fights to stay in bed. 

Through it, he remembers his father’s funeral. O’ the last time he’d spoken to his estranged family. How they all shared such pleasant lies about a man they had all secretly despised. Deifying a devil in the flesh with every goddamned word like it was all truth. A monster. A boogeyman. Not the sort that hid in the closet or under the bed, the sort a young boy ran to the closet or hid under the bed to escape from. Not sure when it happened, he finds himself stumbling to his feet. Head pounding in rhythm with the drunken bashing at his door. 

Swinging the door open, Archie intended to find his father, hoping to confront the tormentor of every single night of sleep. The not so peaceful death of every single moment of rest he’d ever have in his life. There is nothing. Just the stairs that lead to the abyssal darkness of the rest of the home below. Silence. No sound, no closure. No control. Just, nothing. 

It’s a hollow feeling, walking back to his bed and burying himself beneath the mountains of comforters. But now his sleep finds itself uninterrupted. By the damnable touch of any sort of painful memory or imaginary nightmare. Unaided, it’s the first night of sleep he’s had in... Ever. Before this moment, his mind had never known a peaceful night without the touch of a TV’s glow, or medical enhancement of some form. It’s refreshing to wake from. To lay flat upon the surface of his bed, staring at the speckled ceiling feeling a calming serenity from having taken back a piece of himself in some fashion. 

At least for one night, there was control. A feeling that swelled within him long enough to take the TV from his room. A pleasant night of sleep was a boon of much confidence, to him. Further still were the succeeding nights, and the amount of comfort the sleep had afforded him. 

A week. That was how long this euphoria had lasted him. A safe bastion from the displeasure of the mundane that seemed to suffocate and drowned him beneath the whispering darkness that seemed to swell and bury him beneath its cresting waves and peaks. One week. One week until he is reminded of how little control he truly has, again, by the bitter touch of his life. One particularly nasty verbal lashing from his editor had been all it took for him to fall right back into the suffering of helplessness. Coping with his lack of power with escapism into the glowing box in front of his couch. 

The gentle call of the trumpet is what startles him to wake from his slouch on his sofa. Followed swiftly by the heavy pounding of drums, and a saxophone, lulling the adoring audience from their wild cheering so the handsome host could stand at the center of the stage again. 

He could almost recite it lyrically; it had been burned into his mind. 

“Welcome back folks.” Memorized the playful splay of the hands, the welcoming stance of open arms that soon close once more. Letting the crowd’s cheer die down to nothing. “The President was in town today—” A pause for reaction, one that drags on for far too long this time. As the host hauntingly stares down the lens. Piercing gaze burning a hole into the depths of every worry, ruining any comfort with but a look. “--Hey, I know. I didn’t vote for him either. But he was in town this week to discuss how much of a fat lazy piece of shit you are. Simpering about at your job, letting everyone walk all over you.” Archie isn’t sure if it’s real, or his own mind kicking him for being proud that-- “You stand up to the ghost of one memory and you feel invincible. One more road black hits you in life, and you rebound so quickly. You want it all just handed to you, don’t you?”  

Clicking the button on the remote, he clenches his jaw tight. His eyes sinking to the floor in front of him. Whether this was his own mind playing tricks on him, burying him in uncertainty and doubt, or some bullshit paranormal thing, he doesn’t quite care. Not when whatever it was made some, admittedly, valid points. 

Archie quit his job the next day. No one was ever sure why. The opportunity never even raised itself for anyone to ask before he’d done so and practically danced his way out of the office. His coworkers did not the smile that had spread itself across his face, ever present and wide. 

Two weeks.  

Still no job, no call backs from any of the prospective places he’d given his resume. Even through his desperate pestering of some of these places. Inundating answering machine after answering machine with phone calls asking about the status of his application. On one such occasion, even downright pleading for the job. So little time and his resolution crumbles again, withering like a castle of dust in the wind. Finding comfort and control in the escapism of the dim glow of the CRT. Though he had freed himself of it as a sleep aid, though he had stopped watching it so obsessively, it still helped him cope to these feelings of powerlessness. 

When he wakes this time, he notices the feeling of his Argyle couch has somewhat changed. Less coarse and harsh and more of a welcoming plush feeling beneath his tired body.  

“Welcome back folks.” 

His eyes shoot open, his body stiffly rigid when he rises to his feet at the familiar voice. 

“Easy there, killer. I’m getting to it.” Those piercing eyes are directly on him now, craning so the host can look over his shoulder at Archie himself. The audience laughs, but as he gazed beyond the assaulting lights of the studio to the bleachers beyond all he can see are an array of stiffly positioned bodies. Faces frozen in some darkly contorted expression somewhere between amusement and despair. Feeling the sweat beginning to bead as he lowers himself to sit calmly in the further guest chair, he clutches at the arms. Fingers furling roughly to grasp a white-knuckle hold onto them. Hoping such force would drag him free from this nightmare. 

“The President was in town today—” The pause for reaction was maddening from the other side. An eternity of the pair of them staring off into that crowd of gaunt grey corpses, as they make sounds without movement. “--Hey, I know. I didn’t vote for him either. But he was in town this week to celebrate the bicentennial of our fine nation. Of the ceremony, the president and the fine men in his cabinet stressed the opportunity for renewal and rebirth for our country.” The boos are there, but the audience just stares forward with their dead eyes. Sunken and swimming in sockets filled with puddles of dried blood. “Now, I say, that’s exactly the sort of thing I expected to hear from the man who pardoned Nixon.” When the audience finally stirs, it’s to physically clap alongside their raucous cheers. The bloodied stems where their hands might have once been clacking bare exposed bone together, this routine having been done sufficiently enough to wear down the extremities to nothing more than a passing memory. 

“Now folks. I’ve got a magical show for you tonight.” This was different. This wasn’t like when he was out there. “But, I’ve been host of this wonderful program for twenty years.” Pause for cheers, calm them down with the gentle raise of his hands. “I’ve been host for twenty years, but I think it’s time I hang up my microphone and retire. Put someone else in control...” The audience lets their sadness be known, even if their bodies merely sat there continuing to do nothing more than rot in their seats. 

“I’ve got a great one tonight for you and the viewers at home. So, stay tuned, for musical guest tonight I’ve got ‘The Calling Darkness’, movie star Anita Silver, and a very special secret surprise guest tonight. Stay tuned—I'm Hartly Baker, and everyone, you know I’m always-” 

On this side? The audience says nothing, there is no graphic or cheer as there is in the mysterious broadcast, just silence as the host stands ever still while time passes as though there was. Archie doesn’t even blink and Hartly vanishes from the stage, to appear behind the desk at his right, proceeding as if this were all according to plan. 

“Tonight, as always, I strive to bring you the most cutting and up to date entertainment I can. Our industry is ever changing, always in motion. At the forefront of this ever-shifting medium is a star, a good friend, and most certainly a fan of mine, Anita Silver!” Cue cards in hand, he motions offstage as the lights focus their beams on the curtains that part so ever slowly. A decrepit, worn down, thoroughly ancient skeletal corpse falls face first through the sapphire shade, head bursting open with all manner of nightcrawlers as the host once more rises to his feet. Miming a loving greeting to the host. Looking at the empty chair beside Archie as though it had been occupied. 

After the dead silence where canned cheers would normally be, Hartly beams his charming smile to the empty seat. 

“Welcome to the show, Anita. It’s so good to have you back--” 

Silence, of course, there was no guest to speak. 

“Well, that’s sweet of you to say, I’m glad you could take a break from your busy life to be on my farewell show.” With a gentle clack, the host straightens his cards out on the surface of his desk. Feigning a misty-eyed reaction, averting his gaze for dramatic effect. “Anita, you’ve been an icon of our generation. The industry has certainly wrung you dry and spat you out. But through it all, you endured. All to make your mark on our world, and I’m sure I speak for everyone when I say I’m going to miss you, my dear.” Passively, Archie shifts in his chair, pulling his body away from the empty chair to almost hide in the corner of its seat. 

“Anita Silver, everyone.” Light shines once more on the desiccated corpse strewn about just barely on this side of the curtain. The clacking cacophony of bone on bone returning as the gaunt shapes once more mime a parade of applause for the guest. 

“Folks. You’ve been a wonderful audience, and I have with me tonight a very very special guest I’ve been trying to get onto the show for months.” Vacant gaze fixates on him. The suddenly dead eyes of the host staring emotionlessly through Archie, the ghostly foggy eyes of all the adoring eyes of that corpse-like audience accompanying it. 

“I have here Archie Walker. Now for those who don’t know, Archie is a pathetic little wretch. No love, no life, no job.” Opening his mouth to speak, Archie finds no sound leaving his mouth, not before the host begins again. “But I think I’ve got what he craves more than anything. Something that I craved too once upon a time.” What could have been construed as a solemn look passes over the features of the host as he settles back casually in his chair. 

“As you all well know, this is my last show. Archie here? He’s my replacement. I hope you treat him with as much kindness and respect as you’ve given me over the years.” 

Shooting to his feet, Archie finds fire in his belly finally. Enough to kick to his feet and stand threatening over the desk of the host. To grab his tie and pull him taught to the edge. “Now listen here, you don’t get to talk to me that way! I may not be as important as you or your guests, but I matter. I’m not pathetic. And I’m not defined by what anyone else thinks of me. You’re gonna take me home, and I’m not gonna host your little show.” 

“Why not?” Is all the host asks, no fear or anger in his own gaze as he stares up at the angered protagonist. A snide mocking grin baring itself across his features almost instinctually. 

“Because my life--” 

“Is going nowhere. No job, no control, no power. No confidence. Look where you are, Archie. Look around.” Archie tried to resist the command, but he does. Looking at the set, the lights, the stage. Almost with stares in his eyes. Hypnotized by the grandiosity of it all rather than being buried by his own fear. 

“My life might not mean much, but it’s mine—So I get to decide what happens to it. Not you. Got it?” 

“Yeah, Arch. I get it.” He holds his hands up in surrender, his features not shifting even an inch as he keeps his gaze leveled. “So, I guess you wanna go home?” 

Tanner had, since he was but a young man, struggled with the ability to fall asleep. A child of the 80s, he’d had a TV in his room since he was a toddler. Engrossed in every program his eyes swallowed, he couldn’t even get to sleep without the gentle hum of the thing humming him to sleep. Adulthood had been unkind, when he’d lost his job, he found himself forced to move back in with his parents, old habits died so terribly hard. But one night, while coaxed to sleep by his childhood TV, he suddenly found himself woken by the sound of some sort of late night program. 

“Welcome back folks.” The charismatic man starts, his smile so boldly stretched practically ear to ear. Standing calmly center screen his suit is finely pressed, not a wrinkle or crease in a spot there shouldn’t be, he begins his monologue without a second’s hesitation. “The President was in town today—” Pause for reaction, but what should have been an adoring crowd is silent like the dead. Though the ever-charismatic host, in his handsome smile, lifts his hands still, as if to quiet their jeers and boos even though there were none to be heard. “--Hey, I know. I didn’t vote for him either. But he was in town this week and apparently while he was walking back to his limo, someone tried to shoot him.” An array of gasps overtook the crowd, but the host maintained his grin. “Honestly, I’m shocked he missed. It’s not like Reagan’s winning the Olympics anytime soon.” The crowd bursts into laughter. 

“Oh, it’s gonna be another magical show, kids. I’ve got a great one tonight for you and the viewers at home. So, stay tuned, for musical guest tonight I’ve got ‘Darkness That Calls, movie star Terry Watts, and more for you.” Tanner found himself engrossed immediately, watching with great interest as the host practically danced across the screen with energy while he spoke-- 

“I’m your host, Archie Walker, and I hope you’re ready for--” 

The graphic bursts onto the screen, the audience singing alongside it. 

‘A Late-Night Walk!’