#jon has to get just a little drunk to be actually convinced

[thermodynamic-comedian]

i am like one encouraging reply away from writing a crackfic where all the avatars go to a karaoke bar and each eyevatar gives a shockingly different yet cunt-serving performance.

#everybody else is placing bets on what each of them is gonna sing #all of them lose every single bet. because literally nobody knows these three fuckers as well as they think they do. #jon has to get just a little drunk to be actually convinced #but eventually he gives an emotional performance of up the wolves by the mountain goats #nobody's actually expecting gertrude to sing anything and yet #she gets up there and screams her lungs out to no lodging for the mad by the taxpayers #NOBODY is quite certain what to expect out of jonah. i mean this could go any way possible. #actually even I'M not certain. #can't pick between all i wanted by paramore and thermodynamic lawyer by will wood. #paramore would be funnier #and more honest to my own interpretation #but thermodynamic lawyer might be more accurate to the overall fanon interpretation #the magnus archives #tma #tma shitpost #jonathan sims #gertrude robinson #jonah magnus

[findafight]

Thinking about gay Jonathan Byers. Gay Jonathan who sees what his baby bro goes through and thinks well, people might whisper about them but he doesn't get nearly as much flack as Will. Who convinces himself he's never really looked at anyone so he's not gay. Probably.

Gay Jonathan who sees Nancy as an unattainable girl so perfect that it's easy to have a "crush" on her, especially when she's dating Steve (who came back, rushed in, grabbed a bat and swung when he didn't have to. Could have run away. Who was only there to apologize for being an asshole and wouldn't leave without at least yelling through the door. Who sometimes elbows Jon gently and smiles like they have a secret together.)

Jonathan who likes being Nancy's friend and confidante, who loves feeling close to another person without the pressure of sex or romance, who thinks his life would be so much easier if it was actually Nancy he had a crush on since they fought a monster in November of '83. Who sees Steve rush out of the bathroom at Tina's Halloween party with tears in his eyes and gets asked to make sure Nancy gets home okay and does so. Of course he does.

Jonathan who thinks that he must be in love with Nancy because what else could it be? Who thinks this is what he's supposed to feel so it's what he feels. Who follows her to a man who reads their relationship as something Jon wishes it could be but inst sure it's what it is, who thinks if some random guy sees it then it must be true. It must be.

Gay Jonathan who sleeps with Nancy Wheeler because he wants to be the kind of person who sleeps with girls, dates girls, loves girls, even if he isn't quite sure he likes it. Jon who goes back home to his brother possessed and Steve leading the pack of middleschoolers through the woods with a jacket and sunglasses and a nail-studded bat and doesn't have time to process anything because his baby brother needs him to be strong, to protect.

Who doesn't think about it after everything is done.

Jonathan who dates Nancy and thinks that he could be okay like this for the rest of his life. Who thinks that there are far worse ways to live than beside Nancy Wheeler.

Who becomes friends with Steve again in spring of '85 after the sting of his girlfriend dumping him then immediately hooking up with Jon has faded enough. Jonathan who has a fight with Nancy in May and gets drunk at Steve's, just them two, and kisses him hard. Who wants Steve to be the one he sleeps beside and touches and loves. Who gets kissed back, head cradled gently. Who isn't the first to pull away.

Jonathan who gets told by Steve that it isn't fair to Nancy. That Steve can't do it. Who thinks for a second he's going to get punched, called slurs, kicked out. Who's told that if he and Nancy really are broken up, come back in a week and they'll talk. Who thinks he could have done it, broken up with Nancy and wrapped his arms around Steve a week later and held on, and kissed, and wanted.

Jonathan who accepts Nancy's apology and apologizes himself the next day.

Jonathan who has a fight with her in July, worse than in May, because they don't understand the way the other struggles with prejudice and hardship. Who feels like he might be able to breathe because maybe they'll break up over it. Maybe they'll be hurt for a while but still be friends. Maybe he could go to Steve and ask for another shot, ask for a chance.

Jonathan who gets pulled into supernatural bullshitery again and can't find the emotional strength to sort through everything again between worrying about his job and brother and whatever the fuck is happening with the town.

Jon who moves to California with a little brother and a little sister, thinking maybe the distance will make it easier to break up with Nancy and not ruin any friendship they might have. Who meets Argyle his first day in school and thinks he can do it. Who talks to Steve on the phone after will and El have both filled in their babysitter on all the happenings he's missing from Hawkins.

Who hears Steve gush about Robin, his best friend, his soulmate, his other half. Who listens as Steve says, earnest and soft, that he's so glad he and Jon are friends. That he hopes California treats him well, that he loves him.

Jon who knows it's not in the way he wanted back in July. Who's pretty sure he's okay with that now.

Gay Jonathan who smokes with Argyle because there's nothing better to do and he's still doing long distance with Nancy because he doesn't know how to make the words I think we should break up come out of his mouth. Who watches Argyle smile at Will and El on the way to school and wants it to last forever. Who wants to hold his hand over the console and kiss his knuckles and thread his fingers through his long hair. Who loves so much he thinks he might cry with it, might blurt it out at any moment, might tell Nancy over the phone before he tells her they should end things.

Jonathan whose little sister has been arrested and whose mom isn't answering and who has to deal with Mike wheeler breaking both his siblings' hearts in one goddamn trip and can only think to call Argyle for help. Who drags his best friend into the insanity Hawkins has been going through for years because he can't think of anyone else he wants by his side. Who saves his sister and nearly punches Mike and doesn't hold Argyle's hand.

Jonathan Byers who rolls into his hometown to gate to hell opening up.

Idk I'm just thinking about gay Jonathan angst I guess...

#jonathan byers #gay Jonathan byers #stranger things #jargyle #stonathan #angst #argyle stranger things #steve harrington #sorry jon i love you #finda's rambles #finda writes stuff #honestly i think itd be soooo interesting for comphet jancy on Jonathan's side. #steve was Jon's one that got away #in this steve is bi and aware of it by '84 #and he likes jon but things ended for him and nancy messily and he didnt want anyone to get hurt so he made sure clear ending was a must #and jon!!! hearing about robin and getting the wrongbidea but also falling for Argyle right away!!! #who sees Argyle with his siblings a falls in love #the way to jons heart is his baby brother and sister ok. OKAY. #one sided jancy #platonic stobin

[amidstsaltandsmoke]

prompt 142 👀

...anon, I promise I didn't forget about you! Life™ and writers block/doubt had me stuck for a while. Apologies that this was sent something like 5ish weeks ago? I originally had a whole other idea written for this one but didn't like it and scrapped it. Not sure how much I like this one but I hope that you do!! Someday I will learn how to write an actual drabble-sized drabble. Thank you for sending the prompt!💛 P.S. I changed the wording around a little bit, I hope you don't mind :) ________________________ Prompt: “Hold my hand so he gets jealous.” Dany was a master at these types of work events by now, but the past few weeks, especially, had been draining. That was typical for a start-up, when they were trying to garner as much outreach as possible. Traveling between two different states and another country and back in the span of 7 days was a whole other animal, however.

This affair was meant to be a little more informal, but the air was still stuffy with corporate suits slithering about. Her favorite colleague and come-to-be wonderful friend had been working with her to get the head honchos drunk the quickest, that way they would be less inclined to hover and more likely to forget the goings on entirely.

But it wasn’t any of that that had her so on edge. It was that Jon was acting particularly distant ever since they’d all arrived nearly three hours ago now, and he seemed to almost be evading her.

Jon Snow, the young visionary who co-founded the company alongside her, who developed the technology that was rapidly playing a vital role in detecting and detaining human traffickers. That was sexy all on its own, but tonight he was dressed in a crisp, slim black suit, his dark locks half pulled back behind his head, his short beard trimmed just a little more for the gala.

They'd spent many a late evening and early morning in the office and over video conference working out the kinks of their start-up, smoothing wrinkles and always doing their best to stay ahead of their goals, where seeing one another so groomed and freshened up it was almost jarring. Typically - especially by the end of their days when work ran over - they'd been too riddled with exhaustion to bother keeping up physical appearances. There were more important matters that needed tending. And plus, as magnificent as he looked now, when he was a little disheveled with his riotous curly hair strewn about his head, his black thick framed glasses, his button-down loosened at the collar...there was an odd sort of comfort she found with that, and in knowing he was comfortable enough in her presence to relax.

She devoted so much of her young life to this dream and to have found someone just as driven, reliable, and enthusiastic about it was beyond her hopes and dreams.

But it also came with some side effects.

Months of time spent together between just the two of them had, inadvertently, created a wild storm of feelings for him. She found herself thinking about him on her days off and in her time away from the office, of which she spent more there than home these days. Dinner was more frequently than not held in one of their offices, depending on how they were feeling by the end of a strenuous day - his was always cooler with the air conditioning turned so low she oftentimes wondered how he didn't get hypothermia sitting in there.

On the other hand, she cranked up the heat in hers, and she received mirroring grumbles from Jon, how his northern skin would simply melt and she'd be left scooping him up off the floor.

To her advantage, however, that meant loosened layers of clothing, sometimes less of it if she were lucky. The same went to his benefit, too; he thought she didn't notice his wandering eyes, but of course she did. Just as she felt she was smooth enough to get a study on his stacked arms when he would remote even his button-down and left himself in a snug white or black plain t-shirt. That occurrence only happened once; she possibly hadn't been as discreet about her ogling as her mind had told her. Not when the cotton fiber was stretched so perfectly over his broad, muscular chest and fit his biceps like a rubber glove.

Sometimes, in the last hour of the day when they were already working well over their regular time, they would give themselves a break and kick back. They dove into topics ranging from favorite movies to deeper subjects like their most fucked up childhood memory. It turned out they had quite a lot in common, which fed into her ever-growing "things I adore about Jon Snow" bank that she stored away in her mind.

The trouble was, workplace romance was simply not allowed. At least, not within the same departments, and it still required paperwork to be filled out with an assortment of terms and agreements to abide to. Considering they were co founders together, that made things trickier.

Neither of them spoke any of this into the atmosphere, but it was palpable, and it got more torturous as time went on. Jon was the stronger one out of the two of them, and she knew he would never act on anything if it meant she could get let go or demoted. Their CEO could be a little bit of a hardass when it came down to company policies, but Dany was convinced they could find a way to make things work.

That included doing so behind everyone's backs. In all of the time they spent together without other company, Dany could count on one hand how many times there was ever anybody else in the building besides them when they were pulling extra hours. They could easily keep their hands to themselves during the day around their colleagues. At least, she thought so. It would at least make for a very exciting night cap to the day once they were able to be alone.

Missandei and Oberyn were the only two people she could trust to confide in, and to also keep it between just the three of them. Thus far, they did nothing but root for her luck to change, that maybe one of them would just bite the bullet and finally hook up. She was quite tired of skirting around it when she was with Jon, and the tension that thickened between them was going to reach a breaking point.

If she didn’t do something soon, if not just to confirm that he had it as bad as she did, she would wind up doing something impulsive, like pouncing on him one of these days when nobody was around. Or, possibly, when they had an audience.

Dany turned around and scanned the room until she latched onto him, where he was shaking hands and chatting up other people. He was not the tallest man in the world, but his presence was demanding, despite his humbleness. Every now and again, even in conversation, he would look up and around as if seeking something or someone. A little foolishly, she hoped it was her, though even in heels she was below average height compared to most everyone else in the room and would be a little difficult to locate.

"Go get that ass, girl," Oberyn growled into her ear, whacking her bum with the back of his hand, to which she promptly slugged his arm.

"Ouch!" He hissed, rubbing at the offended area. His smugness returned soon after, lips ticking up at the corners. "You'd better save that strength, you will need it later!"

He was darting off into the crowd with a chortle before she could scold him, and it took all of her professional mind to not flip off his retreating back.

“So...how are you going to seduce the elusive Jon Snow?” Missi inquired with a sassy eyebrow raised, her nearly-empty drink clutched in her hand.

Dany sighed, trying to not be too obvious as she observed him flitting from person to person. “I’m starting to think I’d imagined the entire thing,” she muttered with some frustration.

Missi pouted. “I don’t know about that. Not only are there a lot of snitches here that are probably keeping him at arms’ length, but have you not noticed Jon only goes to these things if you’re here?”

Dany frowned, finally tearing her eyes away from Jon to gape at her friend. “What? No, he’s gone to plenty without me, I’m sure of it…”

But was she? In hindsight, now that she really thought about it, there was never a social work event that Jon ever reported to her when she couldn’t make it. She could recall a handful where she went for the both of them, because he would much rather stay lat to play catch-up than mingle with large groups of people, and whenever there was news or gossip, he was the first person she’d save it for.

“You need to make him show you that he wants you just as bad as you want him. I’m sure he has the same fantasies-”

“Missi,” Dany drawled, tilting her head back and scrunching up her face. Yes, she and Missi may have shared almost daily secret huddles in the office, most of which entailed Dany agonizing over Jon Snow haunting her dreams on a regular basis. Rather than his hands rolling up his sleeves because the air was stifling, it was him doing so and crawling over her. Instead of him crouching down near her feet to pick up the pen he’d just dropped, it was him lowering himself to lift up the hem of her skirt and situate his face between her thighs. Sometimes it was sweeter than that: his hands sweeping wisps of hair away from her face when she gave up on it at the end of the day, or he would say “fuck it” to a prticularly agitating project and would gather her up and they would hold eah other on his office couch.

Reality was reflective of the sweetness of her wandering thoughts, just much less physical. They always texted each other when they each got home safely. By now, they’d each memorized their favorite go-to take-out preferences for various restaurants. If someone was having a rougher-than-usual day, one would send the other home and stay longer to cover them (if they were both having an equally terrible day, it came down to a couple rounds of rock-paper-scissors).

All things friends would do for one another, sure, except for the unbearable pull between them that was almost a physical thing.

In recent weeks, they began texting each other regularly, and most of it did not pertain to work, unless they were poking fun at it. A handful of times, Jon snapped photos of something of interest of Dany’s, and his message screamed “this made me think of you” without the actual words. It was the subtext. Usually something along the lines of, “didn’t you mention you were looking for this for about a million years?” in regards to a really cute coffee bar that had been sold out in her favorite color, a lemon yellow, that Jon had managed to find. And reserved for her special so nobody would snatch it up.

Or the multiple times he would share photos of his beautiful snow-white dog, Ghost, in various odd positions, or making strange faces, and adding something like: “a nightcap to your shitty day?”

And Dany loved to return the favor, though it was no competition. She just genuinely adored making him smile. Sometimes it was taking the piss out of him when he was extra grumpy, which immediately put him in a lighter mood. It was also bringing in an obnoxious box of coffee to share between them during the early dawn hours when nobody should be congregating for work-related endeavors at such an ungodly time. Just last week, he had been fidgeting more than usual and was noticeably distracted. When she had inquired what the issue was, he mentioned that Ghost was probably crossing his legs at that point since Jon was running late. As Dany had another errand to run before stopping home, she’d offered to let him out since Jon had a late conference that evening, and he had been all-too-happy in handing her over his keys.

The snort from Missi that invaded Dany’s thoughts had her turning her head toward her friend, who looked doubtful. “Probably every sane person in this room has had a fantasy about you. Jon is at the very top of that list."

Dany grimaced. "Please don't say things like that when I have to look all these people in the eye tonight.”

She weighed Missi’s words, but nothing came to mind right away. Jon appeared too distracted to notice anything she did anyway, and she also didn’t want to come off as desperate, especially if it might raise suspicions amongst others in the ballroom.

Then an idea struck her when she spotted Oberyn once more. Their marketing sleuth, and someone she had grown fond of because of his warm demeanor toward everyone he met. He was the friends-with-everyone type, and he was flagging her down as if he’d read her mind, so she excused herself and weaved through the crowd until she reached him.

Oberyn pecked each of her cheeks, even though he’d just seen her a little while ago, then held her out by her arms and gave her a slow once-over as if he’d only been seeing her for the first time that night. With anyone else, she would have balked, but she knew him well enough to understand it was a platonic gesture. Once his eyes reached hers again, his dark brow lifted to his hairline. “How has the white wolf kept his paws off of you this long?”

Dany scowled, flicking his shoulder. “I’ve been trying to figure that out myself for the past several months.”

“Well, what’s the hold-up?”

Sighing, Dany made a secret peek behind Oberyn where Jon was moving closer. Briefly did their eyes lock, and she turned back to Oberyn. “Hold my hand,” she said, extending her own for his.

“Why? So he gets jealous?” Oberyn drawled, snatching up her hand and taking it a step further by pressing a kiss to the top of it.

“Maybe,” she replied, straightening her spine by her boldness.

They conversed for some time, getting cozy and giggling away and eventually were joined by some of their other colleagues. When someone made a point to question why they were holding hands, Oberyn was quick on his feet in explaining that there were no rules to dating across different departments, only if two people worked in the same one. But it soured her stomach.

After she and Oberyn stayed that way for a short time, chatting about things she could barely bring herself to care much about as Jon edged past them, her shoulders slumped as she twisted about to watch him make a beeline for the bar.

“Daenerys,” Oberyn called to her sympathetically, “go to him. You’re not going to get anywhere if you keep up this silly game,” he explained and wiggled their conjoined hands, gently returning hers to her.

She swallowed and nodded, feeling childish that she even considered making such a move. Most of the guests were out on the dance floor, so it was easier to maneuver around to get to the bar where Jon had just collected his drink. Her nerves were wrecked, and this time it was the uncertainty of what reaction she may get, despite her earlier confidence.

As he was turning around, she observed him downing a quick shot before he realized she was there. He returned the glass to the counter and gave her his full attention. “Hey,” he rasped, his throat likely still burning from the liquor.

The pessimistic thoughts ate at her once more. “Hey. I didn’t think you’d show up tonight.” She tried for casual conversation, though it sounded forced even to her own ears.

Shrugging, he stuffed his hands into the pockets of his trousers. “Figured I ought to make an appearance. You look nice, by the way.”

The tight smile he produced felt uncharacteristically forced, almost nervous. She shifted on her heeled feet, her mouth suddenly parched, her words half choked out. “Thanks. So do you,” she drew in a silent breath, and decided she couldn’t take it anymore. “Are you alright?”

“Aye, just...tired,” he landed on, but she wasn’t convinced. Before she could dig a little deeper, his attention fell on something behind her. She followed his gaze and caught Oberyn heading their way. She wasn’t sure what to make of his determined expression, but something about it made her a little queasy.

“I should probably go before your boyfriend gets upset,” Jon murmured just loud enough for her to hear; he didn’t give her a chance to catch him before she realized what he’d said and disappeared on her.

Oberyn stopped just short of Dany. “What was that all about? It looked like you needed rescuing.”

Pressing her eyes closed, Dany silently cursed herself. “I’m an idiot, that’s what happened. I’ll catch you later,” she cut him an apologetic glance and squeezed his arm before trailing in the direction of where Jon slunk off to.

___________________

The damned ballroom and her petite height made it hard to see above anyone, but luckily she was able to locate him by asking around if anyone had seen him. When she was notified he had mentioned he wasn’t feeling well and wanted to take off without any commotion, her heart sank. She was a damn fool, and now she was half running in six-inch heels, the skirt of her dress hiked up so she wouldn’t land herself a concussion, hoping beyond hope he hadn’t reached the parking lot yet.

She almost passed him up when she barged her way outside, frantically searching over the lot, breathless, to spot his car. A movement to her left made her jump, her hand flying to her chest until Jon stepped beneath the dim patio light and let her breathe again.

"Bloody hells," she exhaled, observing him as he put out his cigarette with his shoe and tossed the butt into the trash.

"Sorry," he chuckled, once more sheltering his hands inside his pockets as he turned his shadowed eyes on her.

"I didn't know you smoked," she mused, still trying to calm her heart.

Jon ducked his head, and she thought she caught a smirk on him, but it was too dark to tell. "Only sometimes. What are you doing out here, anyway?"

So much for giving her heart time to settle - now it kickstarted tenfold. There was no way to be honest without the whole truth. She supposed now was as good a time as any, best as they didn't have an audience. "I was hoping to catch you before you'd left," she paused, his gaze lifting and resting hard on her. So intense that she averted hers to her feet while she sounded her admission. "Oberyn isn't my boyfriend."

After a moment of silence, she sought his reaction. He lifted a shoulder "It's not my business, Dany."

"No. It is, because…," she took a half step closer, then squeezed her eyes shut. It sounded so childish to even say it. "I'd asked him to do me a favor so that it might make you jealous."

It came out so quickly she didn't think he understood half the words. But he was frowning when she braved opening her eyes again. "And why would you want to do that, Dany?"

His voice fell an octave lower, practically purring, and it left her momentarily stunned in place even as he began to close in on her. The use of her nickname in such a manner was leaving her in a delirious state. By the time he stopped, just a hair’s breadth short of their toes touching, she was having to tilt her head up to see him. Even despite the added height of her shoes. Somehow, her voice didn't quiver with the hopeful anticipation that was setting her nerves alight.

With whatever scrap of courage she had left, she voiced it into the world. "Because I really, really, really like you, and it's been torture trying to piece together whether the feeling is mutual, or if it's a figment of my imagination."

His frown returned, deeper than before, his eyes darting between each of hers. "How could you ever think it's one-sided?" He asked gruffly, and a knot firmly wrapped around her throat. Maybe that was a good thing, to prevent her from saying anything that would break the spell. “You occupy my mind ninety percent of the time,” he said, “the other ten is me trying to figure out how to stop thinking about you for five bloody minutes so I can get work done without being distracted.”

She huffed out a breath of relief, finally allowing herself to smile. It was good that it was night time so the red sweeping over her cheeks was well hidden. Still, she ducked her head to give herself a moment to dwell on his confession. His finger gently encouraged her to come back to him though, and suddenly the air between them was thin, his breath puffing against her lips.

A raucous shriek just a little way over inside the building made them both jump apart, a group of intoxicated people bowling their way through the double doors and out onto the patio. One of them slurred their apology as they stumbled out into the parking lot, exclaiming about how they couldn’t wait to get their hands on a fat greasy burger and then throw it up later. There couldn’t have possibly been anything much better at ruining the mood than that.

Jon huffed when he looked at her, rubbing at his forehead. No doubt his heart was beating just as violently against his chest as hers was. Without a word, he snatched up Dany’s hand and tugged her into the grassy area, hidden behind the solid wall of the venue. After double checking over his shoulder, he pressed himself against the rough brick wall and pulled her flat against him while she gasped, gently sweeping away small wisps of hair that got in his way.

His hand cradling her jaw, he finally, finally, dipped his head until his lips were brushing over hers. Her eyes nearly rolled into the back of her head, overstimulated by months of need for him, her hand fisting his shirt whilst the other curled around the back of his neck. His hands cuffed her waist and kept her close, the tips of his fingers digging into the fleshy bits of her hips when she nudged open his mouth to slip her tongue into the hot confines of his.

The low groan he elicited forced one of her own from her throat, and then everything was escalating at a dizzying pace; their hands were roaming everywhere they could reach, exchanging nips and licks and everything inbetween until they were forced apart for air. Where she had wedged her thigh between his, she could feel the hard evidence of his arousal, and if it weren’t for the consequences she would have her way with him in the dirt and the grass. Thorn bushes be damned.

“We should probably take this somewhere else,” he whispered, winded, and she was happy that he wasn’t about to suggest they stop altogether.

She nodded before the last word was out. “Okay. What did you have in mind?”

Jon considered their surroundings carefully, then grabbed her hand.

_______

Their seatbelts were thrown off so hard, Dany was surprised they hadn’t accidentally shattered Jon’s car windows with the force. They’d snuck off into the parking lot and after a heady makeout session, Jon decided they ought to find somewhere a little more private, settling on a nearby park where the only source of light was several yards away.

The second he cut the engine they crashed together, pawing at one another until he dragged her over onto his lap. His hands molded to her ass, but the material of her dress made him growl with frustration that it didn’t allow him the access he desired, so he slid them beneath and his head smacked back against his headrest when he discovered she’d foregone panties with a groan between his teeth.

Dany moaned as his fingers kneaded her bare flesh, and she took advantage of the new exposure of skin down the column of his neck, trailing open-mouthed kisses and tiny bites where the collar of his dress shirts could mask.

Jon shifted his legs and bumped into the steering wheel with a crack. “Ouch, fuck,” he grumbled, and she realized their current position wasn’t very practical if they wanted things to go any further.

“Are you okay?” Dany asked against his clammy skin, reaching behind her to smooth her hand over the offended kneecap.

“More than,” he replied, curling his fingers around to her inner, upper thighs and making her tremble. He was so close to her cunt that she could feel his heat against it, and her forehead fell against his chest, her hips rocking to seek the friction she so desperately needed. But he never gave her it; in fact, he seemed keen on doing just the opposite, skimming his fingers just at the juncture, trailing them down the length of her thighs, squeezing her ass on the way up each time.

Even when she was left a writhing mess and kissed him savagely, popped open the first couple of buttons so she could get more of him, he still refused to touch her there.

For now.

Jon pulled at her bottom lip, his voice a low, husky whisper. “We’ll have more room in the back seat.”

“What are your intentions, Jon Snow?” She inquired with feigned innocence.

With a light smack to her bum, he chewed on his bottom lip. “Get back there and I’ll show you.”

It took some finagling, but soon enough they were in the more spacious back seats, and she quickly unstrapped her heels. Jon’s shoes were next, and then he was helping her out of her dress, carefully rolling it upward until it was off of her, leaving her completely exposed for his viewing. His arms froze in the air, her dress still clutched in his hands as he took her in. The light didn’t illuminate much, but it was enough to see one another clearly.

Since he was so enlightened by her breasts, she giggled and rose onto her knees, taking her dress and letting it drop to the floor whilst she assisted him in removing his suit jacket. Once that was shed, he instantly filled his palms with her breasts, his thumbs sweeping over her pebbled nipples. He was lucky she had enough strength to not buckle under his touch, her teeth capturing her bottom lip in a hasty endeavor to rid him entirely of his clothing so she could return the favor.

Then she stilled, a thought occurring to her. “Are you sure you want to do this in your car? It might get messy…,” she noted as he briefly ceased his fondling to work on shedding his pants, his dark eyes gleaming in the light.

Once he made quick work of them, his jacket was next in the pile they haphazardly tossed up front. “It’ll give me something to think about on my commute,” he rasped, and it took her a beat to understand what he meant, unable to bite back a grin. By now her cunt ached for him and they’d only just started getting things moving.

Her hands slid over his shoulders, taking his shirt with it, the play of dim light and shadows over his sculpted body making her mouth go dry and her tongue thick and heavy in her mouth. Jon shifted up higher to free his arms, her fingers skimming down his chest and over the ebbs of his abdomen, eyes falling to where his cock was straining and hard in the cotton of his boxer briefs. Without anymore delay, Dany slipped her hand beneath the waistband and curled her fingers around the rigid, hot skin, twisting lightly until he was sucking sharp breaths of air through his teeth.

In a flash, he shucked off his boxer briefs and hooked an arm around her waist, ravaging her mouth. As he pressed tighter against her, his thick length nestled between her thighs, sliding along her cunt and forcing her mouth to pop open with a heady moan.

"You're soaked," Jon whispered harshly, his other hand clutched her ass cheek to keep her stationary, his breaths short puffs over her face as he slowly teased the both of them with long, slow strokes of his cock until he was thoroughly coated with her, their clammy foreheads thumping together.

Dany gripped his lats with her hands, trying to be mindful that she didn't score his skin with her nails, but barely had half a mind to care. She rolled her hips with him, her entire body quivering when he dragged his cock over her clit. The sounds erupting from her seemed to drive him mad as he echoed her.

She chanced a glimpse down between the narrow gap between them each time he pulled away, her peak so near the edge already that the sight of his wet, shiny cock disappearing between her thighs had her nearly coming just there. "I need you, Jon," she whimpered, grateful that he was as desperate as she felt. Any other time she would gladly drag it on, but she'd waited long enough to have this with him, and she was far too impatient to wait a second longer.

Carefully, she was lowered onto her back. They shared a few soft chuckles as they tried to figure out the most comfortable position for the both of them. Finally, she settled one leg off and planted the tips of her toes on the floor, the other tossed over his shoulder, while he knelt one knee on the seat and held himself up with the other on the floor.

He allowed himself some time to take her in all sprawled out for him, dragging the soft pads of his fingers down the length of her body just as she did his earlier. His hands stopped to gently massage her breasts, which were beginning to heave with anticipation, and he traced every curve of her body.

Dany swallowed, cuffing her hands around his biceps as he lowered himself to kiss her softly. Lips locked together, he nudged hers open, drawing in her upper lip and suckling on it, one hand braced near her head whilst the other made her squirm as it explored her hips, her inner thighs, until he have her exactly what she was near begging for. He barely glanced over her juices and she was moaning so loudly she was glad they'd gone somewhere more private.

Jon sucked over the soft skin just below her jaw and circled her clit with the flat of his fingers, her legs about as strong as jelly, head pressing into the seat and back arching into his touch. Jon growled at how reactive she was, his lips and tongue leaving a tinging trail down to her chest, not stopping until he pulled a nipple into his mouth and made her a wiggling mess beneath him.

His fingers added a little more pressure, gathering more of her up and ticking up his pace. Dany's mouth was dry from how harshly her lungs were begging for air, stomach sucked in and muscles going taut with the stimulation.

When he plunged a finger into her heat, she gasped sharply, and he paused all movement. "You alright?" He asked sweetly, pecking the corner of her mouth.

Dany nodded frantically, lifting her hips to get him to move again. "I'm...I'm not gonna last much longer," she practically squeaked.

A devilish smirk took over his face. "I'd better get to work then," he declared, then made her pout as he lifted to his knees and stretched himself between the front seats, searching.

It didn't take long for it to click. "I'm on birth control," she told him, and she snorted at his visible relief.

He resumed his position and his head rolled back. "Thank the gods. Pretty sure they don't equip new cars with condoms and mine are all at the house."

Dany giggled and grabbed for him, wanting him closer. "Wait, this is a new car?" Now that she actually thought about it, it did have that lingering 'new car smell', but she'd been so preoccupied with his distinct scent and getting him naked that she didn't notice at first.

"Aye," he responded, nipping her neck, "everyone says cars are the worst investment, but…,” he laved his tongue over one of her nipples and made her groan, “I beg to differ."

Dany smiled with a hum and smoothed her foot over his leg, too pleased and distracted by his attentions to think of a witty retort. Instead, she responded by canting her hips and grinding over his cock, his forehead dropping between her breasts, his curly head lifting to see her out. He took himself in hand and pumped a few times before lining up, and drove home in one slide, making stars burst between her eyes and a cry out into the night air.

Jon’s face distorted with a muffled grunt, giving them both time to adjust. He blew out a few long breaths, but she was too needy and languidly rolled her hips, stretching her arms as far down as she could and filling each hand with his marble-soft cheeks, gently encouraging him to move. She was out of her mind delirious as he set a pace that had them each panting and sweating, the mechanics of his ass under the grip of her hands and the slight burn of his cock pumping from root to tip and filling her entirely.

His responding, wolfish grunt and groans spurred her on, and she could tell he was trying to be gallant and hold back, but by the way his muscles were tensed and his movements became erratic, plus the twisting of his beautiful face, he was ready to let go and she was ready to fall with him.

Dany tilted her hips so that he was grinding over her clit, which sent her in a restless frenzy below him, whimpering and moaning and squirming with the build. "Fuck," he breathed, eyes fixed on hers, his teeth clenching and jaw muscle flexing. Dany lifted her hand above her head and braced it against the door, the other carding through his hair. She gave a soft tug to his damp locks which he seemed to enjoy, if the way his hips were snapping against her was any indication.

“Jon…,” Dany warned, he throat constricting against any more words she thought to utter, but it was enough for him to understand, the corded lines of muscle prevalent in his arms as he steadied himself and ground into her, and she broke in fragmented gasps and pleas of his name, a second wave overwhelming her already tender body as he leapt right after her.

His head fell against her shoulder with throaty grunts and groans, thrusting and then stilling as he spent inside of her. It was music to her ears. Her arms weakly found him, securing themselves over his back and easing his tired body down onto hers. He went without protest, carrying the brunt of his weight on one knee so he didn’t entirely crush her,

Part of her foggy mind wished they'd waited the extra ten minutes and taken this back to one of their houses so they could sleep right then, but the other parts of it were too thrilled by the idea of just going for it. "How am I to get through the work day without wanting to lock you up in my office?” Dany mumbled against his shoulder, pressing a kiss thereafter.

A groggy huff left him, the warmth of his breath tickling up her neck. After a moment and finally evening his breaths, he lifted his head, several damp strands of springy black curls falling over his face. “I know of a few less populated conference rooms with far less windows that we could sneak off to,” he smirked, her hands lifting to smooth away some of his hair so she could get a better look at him. Then, his expression morphed into one of mock sternness. “To go over our presentations without interruptions, I mean.”

With one brow arched and a sleepy giggle, she asked, “and how long have you been dreaming of using said rooms for these particular “work” activities?”

Jon sucked air through his teeth. “Longer than I’d ever admit,” he confessed.

“Sounds like I ought to report you for indecent thoughts,” Dany muttered, her head rising to kiss him softly.

He sighed against her and thumbed away some hairs at her temple, speaking against her lips when he needed air. “S’pose we ought to get out of here before someone finds us and we get reported for public indecency.”

Dany nodded, a tiny motion, pecking his still-swollen lips. “Okay,” she whispered. He pulled out of her with a wince and when he sat up, she bit her lip, getting a fuller view of him. Or, as much as she could in the slightly cramped backseat of his car. He was too much to resist, and she was quickly snatching his shirt out of his hands before he could pull it on over his head. “Wait,” she said, straddling his lap and easing his frown as his hands slid up her ribs. She braced her hands on his shoulders, smiling devilishly while his pupils grew dark and fat with want. “Let’s do it again.”

#jonerys #jonerys fanfic #jonerys quote drabble unquote #to the other anon that sent me two prompts i promise i also didn't forget you #working on that one next! #my drabbles

[anamelessfacelessnerd]

s1 Jonmartimsasha Polycule headcannons (NSFW under the cut)

Tim is the tallest at 6’3, Martin is 6’, Sasha is 5’10, and Jon is the shortest at 5’7

Martin is the first one to say “I love you” to all of them. Tim and Sasha has said it to each other before, as they were together before the polycule got together, but not to the entire group.

They’re all really into board games. Sasha and Jon get super competitive, so much so that they don’t even notice Martin and Tim teaming up to beat them.

They all love music. Any kind of music really. Sometimes they tease each other about the kind of music they listen to, but they will listen to it anyway because music is a great way to understand the deepest corners of someone’s heart and mind. (If they were all alive and well in 2021 they would go HARD to drivers license)

They love dancing too. They have dance parties in their living room all the time. Tim was an assistant dance teacher at his local community center throughout most of university, so he teaches them to salsa and swing dance and ballroom dance and so much more. Jon was a bit grumpy about it in the beginning, but now he’s really good at dancing.

They usually share a bed, but they do have a second bedroom as well for guests if they have them or if one of them is sick or just doesn’t want to share the bed that night. Everyone thought it would be Jon who used it most often, but it’s actually Sasha. In fact, Jon only uses it when he’s contagious.

Sometimes Sasha will go to sleep in the spare bed, then get lonely or cold during the night and have to rejoin the “boy pile” as she calls it.

Jon is basically a clingy cat. He can’t resist cuddles, naps, and warms rays of sunshine. He may even purr if you play with his hair.

Jon is tiny and all the others can and do pick him up, sometimes just to mess with him.

Sasha has an undercut and the boys take turns choosing what color to dye it. Tim actively tries to pick the mose outlandish and funky colors. Martin spends a lot of time thinking about her hair color, skin tone, and the colors of her clothing before he picks a color that would go well with everything. Jon always forgets until they’re in the store so he just picks the first color that speaks to him, and it usually ends up being Sasha’s favorite.

They convinced Jon to dye one of his grey streaks purple once. He really liked it but Elias gave him dirty looks until it faded.

Once when they had all gotten a bit drunk, Tim convinced them all to get matching tatoos. They decided on each getting the symbol for a different suit of playing cards on their ankles. Martin got a heart, Tim got a diamond, Sasha got a club, and Jon got a spade.

Legally they couldn’t get married but after a while they start calling each other their spouses and they even get wedding bands.

They have an elderly long haired cat named “Sargent Fuzzypaws” or “Sarge” for short.

They have weekly movie nights where they take turns picking movies. Martin likes sci-fi and fantasy, Tim likes classic B horror movies, and Sasha likes period dramas or superhero movies. Jon makes them watch documentaries at first, but once he is comfortable that they won’t make fun of him, he reveals his true love of rom coms.

Jon and Sasha are more or less the same clothing size, and they share clothes all the time. Jon especially likes wearing her skirts and dresses. He likes them so much in fact that Tim, Martin, and Sasha buy him some for his birthday.

Jon and Sasha also love to steal Martin and Tim’s clothes because they’re big and comfy.

Every weekend they go out on a date that they take turns planning. Martin tends to take them on walks in the park and nice picnics. Tim drags them to clubs whenever he can (he claims it keeps them young), but will bring them to a pub instead if they’re not feeling a club that night. Jon likes to plan day trips to Calais. It’s a long drive (about 3hrs each way), but they don’t mind as long as they’re spending time together. Sasha plans these fun guided tours of musesums, historical events, old warships, “haunted” buildings and whatnot.

Jon doesn’t have his drivers license. Tim does but he’s a terrible driver, he speeds, he takes turns to sharp, and he practically gives the rest of them a heart attack every time. Sasha and Martin are the only good drivers.

Sasha and Martin were the ones who decorated the flat. Tim’s still a frat boy at heart and after seeing his old apartment, all three of the others decided that he couldn’t help them decorate. He didn’t really mind until they made him throw out his rainbow monster energy can display (“But Sasha, it’s a rainbow! We’re gay! It fits perfectly!” “Idc Tim, it’s ugly”). Jon’s taste was a little too dark for the rest of them. They spent the majority of the week days in a dark basement, they needed a bright and colorful place to come home to.

They all think they’re being really subtle when they first start out, but everyone knows right away. Elias considers talking to them about it, as a relationship between archival staff is strictly against the employee handbook (that he wrote of course) but then decided to leave it be as the closer they are, the easier it will be to use one to manipulate the others.

They have pride flags all over the apartment. Pan, bi, ace, poly, the classic rainbow flag, they even have duplicates of some of them.

Tim is incapable of not buying anything rainbow that he sees. Everytime he goes out for groceries he comes back with balloons, or a rainbow bouquet, or more likely, some sort of candy with rainbow packaging.

Speaking of bouquets, Martin loves buying them flowers. He does it all the time. He’ll pick them up on the way home or even have them sent to the institute, anything to bring a smile to their faces.

The group dynamic changes so much based on who’s hanging out with who. Here is a handy chart:

Jon is pretty sex neutral. He doesn’t tend to engage, but he usually likes to watch or just be in the same room. Sometime he sits with them on the bed and kisses/touches them, though he rarely wants to be touched.

When he does want to be touched, the others spend hours taking him apart completely.

He does love kissing and making out though. Martin in particular loves making out with Jon. Jon will often get him worked up and then turn him over to Sasha and Tim to take care of the rest.

Tim and Martin get so horny when they’re alone together. Tim’s a literal sex god and he loves groping Martin and whispering dirty things in his ear to work him up. Sasha does this to the two of them as well, though not as much as Tim.

When Martin tops he’s sweet and gentle until he gets close, then he pounds in mercilessly.

Sasha’s rough the whole time. She slaps them and bites them and calls them names the whole time.

Tim’s really good at dirty talk. He’ll lean down and whisper beautiful yet filthy things in their ear until they come

Jon is king of aftercare. He’s become so in tune with his lovers’ bodies that he always knows exactly when to put the kettle on in order to have warm tea waiting for when they finish.

#the magnus archives #the magnus institute #tma #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #jon sims #elias bouchard #jonny sims #sasha james #tim stoker #jonmartin #jonmartim #jonmartimsasha #tma s1 #tma s1 spoilers #tma season one

[tomakeitbeautifultolive]

Something I've been wondering about: If Jon comes back as a fire wight like Beric Dondarrion and unCat, will he be able to get it up? Blood won't really be flowing in his body anymore, so would his dick be powered by fire magic or something like that?

I, too, have spent a great deal of time pondering Jon Snow’s dick, Anon. 😏 Jokes aside, I will admit right off the bat that most of what I have to offer is total speculation, but over-thinking the most minor details of ASOIAF happens to be my favorite pastime, so let’s go!

Like pretty much everyone who read the quote, I was totally thrown off by the “fire wight” revelation. Here’s the quote for reference:

“..poor Beric Dondarrion, who was set up as the foreshadowing of all this, every time he’s a little less Beric. His memories are fading, he’s got all these scars, he’s becoming more and more physically hideous, because he’s not a living human being anymore. His heart isn’t beating, his blood isn’t flowing in his veins, he’s a wight, but a wight animated by fire instead of by ice.”

So, an important distinction to make here is that this quote is about Beric Dondarrion specifically, not Jon Snow.

The condition of Jon Snow’s corpse might matter

George can be very clever with how he words things. Note that he goes into Beric’s deaths, describing multiple resurrections and how he’s falling apart before stating that his heart is no longer beating. It could be that a fresh “fire wight” might still possess bodily functions—at least at first. Catelyn, too, was a very sorry looking corpse by the time she was reanimated, therefore not a great comparison, either. Especially since it’s Beric rather than Thoros who, with very little life force to lend, resurrects her.

If nothing else, Jon will be “fresh”, and his location at the Wall means the low temperatures will help preserve his body even if the resurrection takes some time. 

And speaking of the Wall… there happens to be a special lady there who could help Jon, and whose powers happen to be amplified by the magic of the Wall...

Melisandre is profoundly more powerful than Thoros of Myr

Thoros may be a red priest, but otherwise he seems to be a pretty normal human man. We get a clue about when he converted from Jaime:

“Jaime had once heard Thoros tell the king that he became a red priest because the robes hid the winestains so well.”

Relatively recently, one might guess, as most children aren’t yet drunks. Further, he was never very dedicated to his faith, even questioning it at times.

Melisandre, on the other hand...

“Melisandre had practiced her art for years beyond count, and she had paid the price. There was no one, even in her order, who had her skill at seeing the secrets half-revealed and half-concealed within the sacred flames.”

While we don’t know much about her, this confirms that she spent countless years studying her craft, and no one in her order can match her skill. And no one believes in their faith more than Melisandre. Like in the television series, it’s a safe bet that she’s actually much older than the natural human lifespan, particularly if she managed to lose count of how many years she’s studied magic.

If Melisandre is the one to resurrect Jon Snow, she might not use a ‘last kiss’ method at all, or, if she does, it could be more powerful than anything Thoros is capable of.

Unlike Beric, Jon Snow is probably the prophesied prince

Speaking of Melisandre’s ability to glimpse secrets in the flames… there’s someone she sure seems to see a lot of:

“I pray for a glimpse of Azor Ahai, and R'hllor shows me only Snow.”

“Skulls. A thousand skulls, and the bastard boy again. Jon Snow.”

“The flames crackled softly, and in their crackling she heard the whispered name Jon Snow. His long face floated before her, limned in tongues of red and orange.”

I know. There is some contention about who the Prince that was Promised is. Regardless of whether you agree that it’s Jon Snow, you’ve got to admit that Melisandre is seeing him in the flames for a reason. And if he’s not the prophesied prince, then perhaps his blood has something to do with it. It’s likely that, for some reason, the combination of Targaryen and Stark blood matters. At least, Rhaegar Targaryen seemed pretty convinced...

Whatever Jon Snow’s business is in Westeros… it’s unfinished. And part of that unfinished business might just involve becoming a father.

The emphasis put on Jon fathering a child is notable

Let’s go back to Jon’s first chapter ever. It opens with Jon at Robert’s feast, the author uses Jon’s eyes to describe the setting and multiple characters. And then enters Benjen Stark. This is when we really get to know Jon. When you read this passage, really consider the author’s intent here:

"You don't know what you're asking, Jon. The Night's Watch is a sworn brotherhood. We have no families. None of us will ever father sons. Our wife is duty. Our mistress is honor."

"A bastard can have honor too," Jon said. "I am ready to swear your oath."

"You are a boy of fourteen," Benjen said. "Not a man, not yet. Until you have known a woman, you cannot understand what you would be giving up."

"I don't care about that!" Jon said hotly.

"You might, if you knew what it meant," Benjen said. "If you knew what the oath would cost you, you might be less eager to pay the price, son."

Jon felt anger rise inside him. "I'm not your son!"

Benjen Stark stood up. "More's the pity." He put a hand on Jon's shoulder. "Come back to me after you've fathered a few bastards of your own, and we'll see how you feel."

Jon trembled. "I will never father a bastard," he said carefully. "Never!" He spat it out like venom.

Suddenly he realized that the table had fallen silent, and they were all looking at him. He felt the tears begin to well behind his eyes.

This is how George R.R. Martin chooses to introduce us to Jon Snow. And gods, that always hits me right in the gut. It’s absolutely supposed to. Jon’s trembling, venomous anger is palpable. You feel the deep hurt and resentment in his words, right down to his core. Jon says he doesn’t care—but the bite in his words and the tears welling in his eyes tell us otherwise.

Jon Snow easily embraces his vow of celibacy. At first. And then comes Ygritte. And after getting his first taste of love and later flirting with the idea of becoming a lord when it’s offered to him by Stannis, Jon Snow begins to imagine what it might be like to have a wife...

“I might someday hold a son of my own blood in my arms. A son was something Jon Snow had never dared dream of, since he decided to live his life on the Wall.”

And look what happens the moment he does dare to dream of it...

“I could name him Robb. Val would want to keep her sister's son, but we could foster him at Winterfell, and Gilly's boy as well. Sam would never need to tell his lie. We'd find a place for Gilly too, and Sam could come visit her once a year or so. Mance's son and Craster's would grow up brothers, as I once did with Robb.

He wanted it, Jon knew then. He wanted it as much as he had ever wanted anything. I have always wanted it, he thought, guiltily. May the gods forgive me. It was a hunger inside him, sharp as a dragonglass blade.”

And the feeling transitions into an almost tangible hunger felt by his wolf, Ghost.

Speaking of Ghost…

Grab your tinfoil! ‘Cause Jon’s life might’ve already been ‘paid for’ ...By Daenerys

First… in case you didn’t know, Daenerys is probably a skinchanger:

“The slightest pressure with her legs, the lightest touch on the reins, and the filly responded. As she turned to ride back, a firepit loomed ahead, directly in her path. A daring she had never known filled Daenerys then, and she gave the filly her head.”

Basically, it goes like this:

As Daenerys wanders the Dothraki Sea in search of food after being whisked away by Drogon, she hears a wolf’s howl.

“Will (Ghost) howl for me when I'm dead, as Bran's wolf howled when he fell?”

Feeling lonely yet no less hungry, she eats some strange green berries. Her stomach begins to cramp.

“My flesh will feed the wolves and carrion crows, she thought sadly, and worms will burrow through my womb.”

Unfortunately, Daenerys then experiences some horrible diarrhea. Poor girl! I don’t bring it up to be crass, but because this purge bears striking resemblance to an earthly drug called Ayahuasca—a substance that, aside from emptying your bowels, is often used as a means to ‘open your third eye’ (Just as Bran does in the crypts, and he can finally reach Jon and Ghost…)

Dany falls asleep and begins experiencing trippy dreams about her brother—perhaps even achieving contact with the other side? Then...

“When she woke, gasping, her thighs were slick with blood.”

Assuming it’s nothing more than her period, Dany begins to wonder the last time she bled—hinting that it might’ve been a little while.

“The sight of so much red frightened her. Moon blood, it's only my moon blood, but she did not remember ever having such a heavy flow.”

Maybe a bit of a stretch, I know. But… this wretched and graphic scene of Dany’s loose bowels really made me wonder what in seven hells George was thinking. I was so embarrassed for Dany that I HAD to figure out why he’d do this to her.

And my best guess is that she’s using these latent skinchanging abilities to tap into this strange connection with the “blue rose” over at the Wall of Westeros and the silent wolf who finally howled for help upon his death… And so, Dany’s miscarriage may be the death that will pay for Jon’s life.

I might’ve found some more evidence to back this claim up, this is very new ‘evidence’, so bear with me:

“Fire”, in the world of ASOIAF, often translates to “life”. As is seen here in Sam’s speech following Aemon’s death (thanks, bridge4!):

“He was the blood of the dragon, but now his fire has gone out.”

Further, according to the wiki:

“When a follower of the Lord of Light dies, priests fill their mouths with fire and breathe flame into the deceased”

In the House of the Undying, Dany receives a series of chilling prophecies, one of which happens to be about fires:

“Three fires you must light, one for life, one for death and one to love”

I know, I know. Drogo’s pyre, the Khals, etc etc. But George might be playing with double meanings here… So, if we think of fires as conceptions, this could maybe mean:

One in exchange FOR the Dragon’s lives (Life)

One in exchange FOR Jon’s resurrection (Death)

One conceived (likely with Jon) and carried to term (TO love)

Food for thought! Especially considering that, like Jon, Dany possesses the blood of Old Valyria, and these sacrifices are probably all the more powerful as a result. But even if I’m dead wrong about that prophecy, well, fire still broadly means life, which bodes well for our brooding ‘bastard’, who might just end up as a “fire wight”.

Hopefully something in this drivel has given any Jon fans reading this a little bit of faith that, despite the slight setback of death, Jon will still be able to exercise his, uh, virility when he finally meets Dany. 😅 Thanks for the ask!!

#answered #jon snow #fire wight #resurrection #jonerys #asoiaf theories #asoiaf speculation #my theories #loving the asks since I can't do much else while recovering #keep 'em coming if you got 'em!

[misterghostfrog]

Oh number 3 with jmart pls 👀

So it took me a bit to come up with smtnh for this! but I think it was pretty good. Warning it is. Not edited.

3. A breathy demand: “Kiss me” - and what the other person does to respond. (CW; ALCOHOL USE/MENTION. them bein smashed is the ficlet im sorry)

They’re both drunk, and this is probably all a terrible idea.

It’s not technically either of their faults If you’re arguing semantics, Tim is the one who decided to continue the birthdays-in-the-archives tradition by celebrating ‘Jonny magnet’s’ centennial something. It was more an excuse to bring a bottle of wine into the archives- which didn’t get drunk because Jon had made it clear that while employee birthdays were somewhat acceptable for a small glass. In no way would he condone making up holidays.

It wasn’t actually to celebrate Jonah magnus of course. Things had been so tense with Prentiss looming and Martin living in the archives. Martin thinks he was just trying to lighten the mood.

It did sort-of work though. Mostly because he brought cookies too, and convinced Jon to let them play music over the course of the workday. Which, in comparison to alcohol on the clock was minor enough for Jon to simply ignore. 

Which, now that Martin thinks about it, might have been the point.

But, regardless of the purpose. There was a rather large bottle of wine left in the archives. And Martin didn’t intend to drink it, not in a million years. Tannins and all that. And he certainly never dreamed Jon would touch it. But...

He had a nightmare, the usual fare. And went for a nighttime wander, extinguisher in hand, just- just to be sure. And stumbled on Jon still hard at work at... three o-clock in the morning. A new record for sure.

Jon had been annoyed. And then... sympathetic. A new side to him that still didn’t hesitate to make Martin's incredibly traitorous heart skip in his chest. Jon offered to walk with him, if only for both of their peace of mind.

First they’d stumbled on the bottle, shoved in a cupboard in the breakroom. Then they’d stumbled on the worms. Somewhere on the counter by the fridge. Then the worms were a shriveled pile of filth and foam. And Jon had said the words ‘Fuck it’ out loud, opened the bottle, taken a swig, and offered it to Martin. And Martin, apparently out of his mind. Had taken it.

They’d moved to document storage, away from the worms. Found a good spot on the floor to empty the bottle between the two of them. And they were just... talking. Even getting along quite well, actually.

He’d caught a few glimpses of Jon when he’s not shuffling around as ‘mister-archivist-whos-going-to-staple-these-ancient-documents-no-i-will-not-take-criticism-get-back-to-work’. Particularly after Prentiss. And he’s seen more since, in the little moments after everyone else has gone home. Little jokes, laughter. A wry complaint about the archives themselves. Just... stuff.

But now he’s laughing, loud and openly at something Martin’s said. Martin’s laughing too, and his stomach hurts from it. He can’t even quite tell what they’re laughing about, but he’s leaning into Jon's side and can feel Jon's hand on his bicep as he tries to keep himself upright.

“Good lord Martin,” he says, and Martin can hear the effort to keep his voice steady through the wine “If Elias heard you say that- I think he’d have a heart attack on the spot”

Martin snorts.

“Look, if he wanted to worry less about sources of- of ignition in the archives. He would have- he- he would have put in the bloody CO2 by now” He waves an imaginary lighter in the air “It’s just- it’s um- it’s just motivation. To get us all not killed by a- a bloody worm woman.”

Jon starts laughing again. Loud and raucous. Martin’s not sure he even laughs like that sober. He laughs with him, too. And somehow finds himself pressed even closer into Jon as they both collapse in on their own laughter.

And then the laughter dies down, leaving them both breathless and giggling.

Jon looks up at him, he’s smiling and Martin can feel his own woozy grin prying at his cheeks. He’s almost dizzy from laughing- actually that’s probably the alcohol. He’s never had a good tolerance for it. He’s definitely drunk.

It’s takes him a moment to notice they’re both staring, neither of them have said anything. They’re just looking at each other. It’s quite funny actually, grinning like idiots over absolutely nothing.

Martin giggles. It comes out somewhere between a snort and a hiccup.

Jon's expression changes, he looks almost... perplexed. He tilts his head, ever so slightly.

“Kiss me.” He says, voice hoarse and out of breath from laughter. 

Martin blinks. Not sure if it’s meant as a demand or a request. Not that he actually minds either way. Jon has leaned ever so slightly closer, and he’s looking at Martin with a strange intensity that his hazy mind isn’t sure what to do with.

They’re both drunk, and this is probably a terrible idea. And if Martin were sober he would say as much, probably shuffle Jon off to sleep it off until he’s back in his right mind. 

But he’s not, he’s drunk. And sleep deprived. And a little hopeless.

So he obliges, or tries to.

He misses the mark somewhat, hitting the edge of Jon's lips with his own. Jon snorts, and Martin laughs. And then Jon tilts his head up to Meet Martin's lips properly.

It only lasts a moment. Because Jon's nose bumps into Martins, and Martin starts to giggle again. And then Jon starts to laugh, pulling back and burying his face in Martin's shoulder. Martin wraps an arm around him in turn, only partly because the room begins to spin again and he worries he’ll fall the rest of the way to the floor. And they laugh until they’re breathless again.

Martin leans down and buries his face in Jon's neck. He’s warm, and smells like dust. Which might just be from when he laid down on the floor earlier, who knows how often it gets cleaned.

He feels something move against his shoulder. And then warm lips brush his jaw before Jon's head falls back, nestling once again into his shoulder.

He presses a small absent kiss to Jon's collar in turn. Jon hums.

Tomorrow, he’s probably going to face the consequences of this interaction. And probably need to ask Jon, well. Why, and what the hell just happened actually. But... for the time being it’s just. Nice.

Eventually they end up on the floor, though Martin isn’t sure how. Jon's head still tucked into his shoulder, laying on top of his arm that’s wrapped around bony shoulders.

They fall asleep like that. Tangled up on the floor, an empty wine bottle sitting on the floor nearby. Jon, in his work clothes. Martin in his pajama pants. Both primed and ready for a hangover in the morning. And somehow comfortable all the same.

#tma #the magnus archives #jmart #jonmartin #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #alcohol #alcohol mention #ghostly scribble #ghostly scribbles #Anonymous

[karliahs]

please leave a light on when you go

oneshot - jontim - 2k words

written for @jontim-week day 2, prompts: night out / touch / secret

 “I...might go out for a smoke,” Jon murmurs eventually.

 And here’s where Tim could say sure, wave him off and go back to moping, buy everyone an obligatory round, flex his meaningless chat muscles and be home by half 9. “Mind if I join you?” he asks instead, and to his surprise Jon nods immediately, as if he’d been hoping Tim would say that.

read on ao3! or below the cut:

There’s no reason for Tim to be here. The Institute has some weird policies, including a truly esoteric dress code, but it doesn’t have mandatory team-building night-outs. Tim has no reason to get to know his coworkers, no need to ingratiate himself to them beyond what he can get by smiling, making bland comments about his weekend plans and never microwaving fish in the breakroom. 

The pub they’re in, somehow identical to every workplace-night-out pub he’s ever been to, seems to be having some sort of throwback night. Early-nineties hits play just loud enough to grate, and Tim eyes his new coworkers, trying to muster up some enthusiasm for striking up a conversation. He imagines what they might say if he told the truth. <i>Hi, I’m Timothy. I left behind a career in publishing to be a junior researcher so that I can hunt monsters like fucking Scooby Doo. If you need me, I’ll be chasing answers I’ll never find, and I wouldn’t be able to do anything about them even if I did! Another round?</i>

Maybe that’s why he came tonight. To have these thoughts somewhere other than his flat. His little studio can only hold so much brooding. 

He’s interrupted from his current round of brooding, first by an unsteady grab at his shoulder, then by a cascade of beer, then by a glass clattering onto the floor followed by a hush in the surrounding buzz of conversation. A quiet, posh voice swears, and Tim recognises one of his coworkers bending down to try and clean up the mess, though it takes him a moment to place the name.

“I’m sorry,” Jon says, glancing up at Tim before sheepishly looking back at the mess on the floor. Off to the side, a few tables give a sarcastic cheer and a round of applause. Tim worked food service long enough to instinctively dislike anyone who does this. He grabs some napkins and bends down to help Jon.

“Hey, no harm done,” Tim says, trying to remember how to sound friendly. He scoops up the somehow still-intact glass. “They’re wise enough to make them sturdy around here.”

Jon huffs, somewhat ineffectually blotting at the spreading puddle on the ground. “Did - your clothes, I didn’t, ah-”

“Only a glancing blow,” Tim answers, brushing at the damp spots by his hip. “And after I went to all this trouble to dress up for the occasion.”

Jon looks up in alarm, before registering that Tim hadn’t even bothered to change out of his work clothes. He gives a small, reluctant smile; one of the first expressions Tim’s seen from him that wasn’t some variant of thoughtful frown. 

He’s seen Jon around a bit, in his few weeks at the Institute - about Tim’s age, relatively nondescript, tonight clad in a surprisingly lush leather jacket. Tim had made the mistake of asking him a couple of questions on his first day, when the person actually training him was on lunch. Jon had blustered and prevaricated for a few minutes before admitting it was only his second week in the job, so he didn’t actually know.

That was about the only time they’d interacted, though Tim had noticed a few other things. There were a few loose groups of friendships in Research, and Jon didn’t seem to be a part of any of them. He never seemed that steady on his feet, and he tended to avoid eating in public. He rarely asked for help, unless he needed something that would require him to use one of the library ladders, which he seemed determined to avoid. Tim had wondered idly about vertigo, or mobility issues, before reminding himself these weren’t the questions he was here to answer. 

Tim had always noticed people, collected little details about them in his head whether he intended to or not, but he thinks his observations used to be about happier things, though it’s hard to remember exactly how he was, how he felt, before - it wasn’t the kind of thing he ever tried to memorise, the kind of thing he ever thought he could lose. Now he finds himself taking note of the coworker who comes back from their lunch break with faint puffy red marks around their eyes, or the older guy who checks his phone with something like dread in his eyes. Danny would have called it his older brother instincts (but what good did those instincts do him?).

Tim blinks back to the present, realising he’s been pushing a napkin over the same spot of floor for a while now. Jon offers him a hand up, though he braces himself on the bar with his other hand before he does. Tim takes care not to let Jon take too much of his weight as he’s hauled back up. 

“Ah, thank you. And apologies, again,” Jon murmurs, gesturing awkwardly at Tim’s lightly-beered clothes. 

“Happens to everyone,” Tim says easily. Jon still looks lightly anguished, and Tim silently wishes this could have happened to someone else, someone with the confidence to laugh it off. “I’m always convinced I’m going to drop something when I go in the silent study bit of the library,” Tim offers. 

“Ah...that worry hadn’t actually occurred to me,” Jon replies, solemn enough that Tim can’t really tell if he’s joking. 

Tim finger-guns. “Any other anxieties I can stir up while you’re over here?”

“I’m quite capable of stoking my own neuroses, thank you.”

Jon glances over his shoulder at the tables the rest of the department are occupying, perhaps doing the same thing as Tim and trying to psyche himself up for some more hollow smalltalk. Tim notes that his jacket seems slightly large on him, but in a way that kind of works. The collar of his shirt is slightly out of place beneath it. There’s a lump forming in Tim’s throat, even though nothing is happening - nothing but standing close to someone, noticing the little signs that they’re real and alive entirely independent from him. He’s aware, as he always is, of the hollow pit in his stomach, pain ebbing and flowing but never gone, new flares thrown off from a familiar wound, now pulsing with a kind of loneliness. All this, just from standing close to someone and trying to make them feel better about a mistake that didn’t matter.  

“I...might go out for a smoke,” Jon murmurs eventually.

And here’s where Tim could say sure, wave him off and go back to moping, buy everyone an obligatory round, flex his meaningless chat muscles and be home by half 9. “Mind if I join you?” he asks instead, and to his surprise Jon nods immediately, as if he’d been hoping Tim would say that. 

They duck outside to find dark clouds have given way to an anticlimactic drizzle. They stay close to the pub, shielded from the rain by the slight overhang of the roof. Jon fumbles with a lighter and Tim finds his gaze drifting over the rain-slick streets. It’s been a while since he’s been...anywhere, really, other than work and his flat. Longer than he can remember since he was outside in the never-quite-dark of the city. 

Despite himself, Tim finds himself admiring the buildings across the way, modern painted shop-fronts on the ground floor giving way to weathered brick and occasional stone carvings above. It was the first thing he’d loved about London, how you only had to look up to catch a glimpse of its history, and it almost wounds him all over again, that that love isn’t gone too. It would be easier if he was just one thing, all the way lost. It would be easier if he didn’t still love the world that killed Danny.

Jon lights his cigarette, and silently holds the lighter out to Tim. Tim shakes his head, and Jon doesn’t question him about why he’s come out here if he doesn’t smoke. Doesn’t press about the way Tim must be looking; he knows he’s never had much of a poker face. Danny tried to teach him poker, on a visit home from uni; Tim left for six weeks and came back to playing cards and strategy guides everywhere - his brother, who never sit still even in his own head -

“Where were you, before this?” Jon asks. Tim wouldn’t have pegged him for a smoker, but he looks immediately more relaxed with a cigarette in his hands. Nice hands, too. It would be easier, if he didn’t-

“Publishing,” Tim answers, before he can drift again. He wants to say more, to make sure this undemanding presence isn’t going to leave his side, but his throat is still tight. “You?” 

Jon frowns, as if debating something to himself, then gives a tiny rueful smile. “Tesco.”

Tim grins. “Was it a haunted Tesco?”

“Only by customers,” Jon replies, dry as bone. 

The rain is picking up slightly, and both of them silently tuck further into their little alcove, bringing them shoulder to shoulder. The air tastes of smoke. Tim is watching moths in the streetlights above, partly out of fear that if he looks directly at Jon, he’ll realise how close they are and pull back. 

“You don’t mind, do you?” Jon asks, voice hushed. He gestures and Tim follows the point of light with his eyes. “The smell, I mean?”

“Always kind of liked it,” Tim answers, matching Jon’s tone. Jon scoffs in disbelief. “What? You’re the one who inhales the things.”

“Exactly,” Jon says. “I have a biochemical justification for finding the smell tolerable. What’s your excuse?”

Tim spreads his hands, little spots of rain landing on his sleeve. “I never claimed to make sense.”

In the corner of his eye, Tim catches Jon hiding a smile with his next drag. It’s a good smile, one he wants to get a proper look at sometime. It’s as if now that he’s noticed one beautiful thing, he can’t stop seeing them: the buildings; the rain; the passing pair of drunk students across the way, walking arm in arm, holding each other up. There’s a curl of anger in his chest, that these things still get to exist, but for the moment it coexists with a kind of quiet warmth.

“You want to know a secret?” Tim asks, finally turning to look directly at Jon. Jon doesn’t speak, doesn’t nod, but he stares and waits, lights reflecting in his dark eyes, and for a moment Tim feels as though he must already know what Tim is going to say, that he can look into Tim’s eyes and learn everything he’s ever tried to hide. He can’t decide if it’s peaceful or terrifying. 

Then Jon blinks and the feeling is gone, as quickly as it had come. “I like this party better,” Tim finishes, gesturing to the two of them. The things he could have said hang in the air between them.

Jon doesn’t quite manage to hide his smile this time, and yeah, that’s something Tim needs to see more of, all slow and crooked. 

“Well,” Jon says, still in the same hushed voice, as if they’re sharing secrets. “If you ever need to borrow my smoking habit, get you out of an unpleasant social situation…”

“Knew that was why people smoked,” Tim says, nudging Jon’s shoulder with his own. “I’m not normally…” He trails off, unsure how to explain himself. Normally I’d care at least a bit, about all those people in there. Normally I’d at least have the energy to pretend.

Jon considers this half-finished thought for a long moment. “Abnormality is...rather the Institute’s specialty,” he offers eventually. Tim feels a kind of gratitude he can’t name or voice, so he doesn’t, just stands there listening to the rain while Jon finishes his cigarette, and for a long time after.

Not a bad night out, after all. 

#jontimweek #the magnus archives #tma fic #jontim #new! thing!

[got-gendrya]

Wait I had an idea pt. 3

But wait! There's MORE!

- Arya is a die hard extrovert so my girl is livin it up at the celebration. I’m talking about her learning free folk songs with Jon and Tormund, telling stories with Dany and Sansa, laughing at jokes with Missandei and talking about different fighting techniques with the unsullied in different languages, playing with Rickon’s hair after he falls asleep, etc.

- There’s a knife throwing or axe throwing competition outside after a few drinks and obviously Arya gets invited so she brings Gendry with her but he’s stopped by Dany. Arya leaves because she’s being dragged by Tormund. Gendry gets legitimized and doesn’t really care until he realizes a lord can marry a princess.

- Gendry is actually Gendry Waters not Gendry Rivers so he didn't mess up the proposal. When she goes back to the celebration to tell Jon and Sansa she tells Aegon that she really doesn’t like him. He’s pretty pissed and we were already concerned about his mental state but now we’re just waiting for something bad to happen. Gendry and Arya basically elope while everyone is drunk but anyone sober is there to see.

- Dany's pregnant because why not and you know Jon was relieved to see her okay and vice versa. Arya got pregnant from when they had fun before going off to fight in the Long Night but doesn't know it yet.

- I love the hc that she has frost burned handprints on her neck and left wrist from where the Night King touched her and I'm keeping it.

- Gendry understands that Arya needs to go to KL & he hurt his leg while fighting (really how were none of the characters seriously injured) but he goes with her because he's never leaving his wife again but agrees to just stay and help evacuate people by the city doors.

- Dany never goes crazy because she's amazing, but Aegon is the crazy sibling so of course he makes the armies leave as soon as they can.

- While traveling Arya keeps getting sick, but she just thinks it's because of the food or her head wound. Sandor keeps giving her and Gendry looks like they're idiots, but this slows them down because Gendry is concerned which is why they reach the city only a little bit before Aegon.

- Instead of Dany, it's Aegon who decides it's a good idea to level KL.

- The next bit plays out pretty much like the show, but what really convinces Arya to leave Sandor is him telling her that the only thing better than revenge is living or something along those lines (I am not a writer but I read this somewhere in a fic and I almost cried).

- Cersei & Jamie didn't die by bricks. I haven't come up with a better way for her to die but by bricks?! That's just disrespectful.

Part 1 , Part 2 , Part 4

#jon snow #jon stark #gendry waters #gendry baratheon #gendrya #arya stark #arya stans #house stark #a song of ice and fire #asoiaf #sansa stark #cersei lannister #jamie lannister #game of thrones #got #jonerys #aegon targaryen #daenerys stormborn #daenerys targeryan #tormund giantsbane #No joke why do I think this in depth about these books/show #Is it a response to trauma? Is this mental illness? #Like these are all thoughts I've had while daydreaming and now they're coming together I see just how detailed they are #Please tell me if this is normal #arya x gendry #rickon stark #bran stark

[bluejayblueskies]

ten to one

Words: 2.8k

Fandom: The Magnus Archives

Relationship: Tim Stoker/Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims/Sasha James

Characters: Tim Stoker, Martin Blackwood, Jonathan Sims, Sasha James

Additional Tags: Fluff, Kissing, Alcohol, New Year’s Eve, tim is a sore loser, sasha has cats, martin hates chestnuts, jon just wishes they could drink something other than champagne

Summary:

“You’re going to be sick,” Jon comments, taking a small sip of champagne from his glass and ignoring the way Tim’s lips curl into a pout. He’d said, when Sasha had poured him a glass of champagne, that he’d thought it was meant to be drunk at midnight; she’d assured him that this bottle was one of their pre-countdown bottles.

Given the number of bottles lining her kitchen countertop, he was inclined to believe her.

----

The archival staff counts down to the new year with cupcakes, champagne, and cats.

Read on Ao3

Or read below:

10

.

That’s how many little cupcakes Tim’s eaten, by Jon’s count. When Tim grins at him, his sharp-toothed smile is stained black from the frosting.

 “You’re going to be sick,” Jon comments, taking a small sip of champagne from his glass and ignoring the way Tim’s lips curl into a pout. He’d said, when Sasha had poured him a glass of champagne, that he’d thought it was meant to be drunk at midnight; she’d assured him that this bottle was one of their pre-countdown bottles.

 Given the number of bottles lining her kitchen countertop, he was inclined to believe her.

 “I’ll have you know,” Tim says, sliding closer to Jon on the couch and snagging his glass out of his hand, “that I have a stomach of steel. It’s sick-free!”

 He takes a long sip of champagne as if to prove his point. His lips stain the rim of the glass black.

 “Tim,” Jon says flatly. “That’s disgusting.”

 Tim looks at the glass, noticing the discolouration. “Huh.” Then, a wide grin splits his mouth nearly in two, and before Jon can pull back, Tim presses a quick kiss to his lips, lingering just long enough that Jon can taste the sugar on Tim’s mouth.

 It’s nice, and for a moment, Jon’s irritation melts a bit, softened by the champagne in his stomach and the feeling of Tim’s lips on his.

 Then, Tim pulls back too-quick and squints at Jon’s mouth. “Huh,” he repeats. “Looks like black food dye really does stain everything.”

 Jon looks at the glass, still in Tim’s hand, and then at Tim’s lips, tinged ever so slightly with black. His own still taste of sugar.

 “Tim!”

.

9

.

That’s how old Martin was the last time he spent New Year’s Eve with someone. It had been the first time his parents had let him stay up until midnight, and they’d given him a champagne flute of sparkling apple juice so that when the clock hit midnight he could toast the new year just like they did. He’d barely made it, his eyes fighting a losing battle against exhaustion as the new year inched closer and closer, but he’d done it.

 That had been a long time ago, though. After a while, Martin had taken to treating New Year’s Eve like any other day. No point in forcing himself to stay up late for something that was bound to be disappointing in the end.

 Now, though, Martin’s sat on the couch at Sasha’s house with Tim’s legs across his lap and Sasha tucked into his side, a large container of cheesy popcorn balanced between the three of them. Jon’s somewhere in the kitchen, having squirmed out from underneath Tim long enough to take the chestnuts out of the oven. From the little frustrated noises Martin can hear coming from the kitchen, Jon’s struggling to extract them from their shells.

 Martin’s really not a fan of chestnuts. But he’d rather die than tell Jon that right now.

 So when Jon finally returns to the living room, a steaming bowl of shucked chestnuts in his hand, Martin accepts one with a smile. And maybe it’s something about that night or the way that Jon’s smiling at him, but when he bites into the chestnut, he doesn’t hate it.

 He doesn’t hate it at all.

.

8

.

That’s what time Jon appears at Sasha’s front door, on time to the minute. He’s a good fifteen minutes ahead of Martin, who had sent Sasha a running late! text with a string of apologetic emojis attached to it, and at least an hour ahead of Tim, who has being fashionably late down to a science. Jon seems nervous, shifting back and forth on Sasha’s threshold with a bottle of champagne in one hand and a large bag of raw chestnuts in the other.

 Sasha lets him in with a warm greeting and a smile (and, once she’s taken the bottle out of his hands so he won’t drop it, a quick kiss on his cheek). He sets the chestnuts on the counter, his eyes going to her living room couch, then the kitchen, before finding her again.

 “Am I too early?” he says, eyes wide and unsure, and Sasha wonders briefly how he’d ever managed to convince them that he was stuffy and closed-off. Particularly when he’s standing in her living room, clutching a bag of chestnuts in his arms like a lifeline.

 “Nope,” Sasha says, extracting the chestnuts from his arms with a smile. “You’re right on time.”

.

7

.

That’s how many times Sasha’s caught Tim trying to open the bottle of special midnight champagne, tucked away on the far corner of the counter and labelled with a bright blue sticky note to avoid being accidentally opened. She supposes if she’d wanted to Tim-proof it, she probably should have put it in a locked safe. Though he knows her so well, he’d probably be able to guess the passcode.

 It should be irritating. Somehow, it’s hopelessly endearing instead.

 “Tim,” Sasha says, snatching the champagne out of his hands as his thumbnail begins to pick at the gold foil covering the cork. There’s a rip in it when she extracts it from him, revealing a small strip of cork underneath. “That’s for later!” Her eyes slide to the left, where there’s a half-full, open bottle of champagne sitting on the counter next to them. “What’s wrong with that champagne?”

 Tim gives her the saddest set of puppy dog eyes he has in his arsenal. “Sasha, I have been waiting months to drink that champagne. Months! I don’t want to wait until later!”

 A weaker woman would have folded under the impressive weight of Timothy Stoker’s big brown eyes and pouting lips. Sasha just grabs the open bottle of champagne and presses it into Tim’s hands with a smile and a quick kiss on those same lips. “Later,” she repeats, before taking the bottle to hide it somewhere Tim won’t be able to find it.

 She hopes.

.

6

.

That’s how many letters are in Martin’s name, Tim thinks idly as he runs his hands through Martin’s hair, scratching his nails lightly against Martin’s scalp. Somehow, in the rearranging of the four of them on Sasha’s obscenely long couch, Tim had ended up with Martin’s head on his lap, and he certainly isn’t going to complain.

 Sasha and Jon are bickering about some small detail in the movie they’ve put on, Tim thinks, like they always do—is it pronounced this way or that way, would a wide shot or a close-up be better here, would that specific piece of clothing have been period-typical at the time (yes, if it were dyed with indigo flowers, Jon had said primly, which had then been followed by a hey as Sasha’s elbow connected with his side)—and so he’s got Martin all to himself. Which is such a lovely place to be, he thinks as he continues to massage Martin’s scalp with his fingers.

 “Tim,” Martin says, his voice pinched slightly in that way it always gets when he’s receiving affection—like he’s always surprised by it, half-expecting it to be taken away without warning. “I have to tell you something.”

 Tim hums, a soothing noise, and says, “Okay, but I should warn you—I’m currently seeing someone. Several someones, actually. In fact, I believe it would technically be three—”

 “Okay, okay,” Martin says, one hand coming up to swat at Tim’s. His mouth is curled into a small, amused smile. “No need to be so…” He waves a hand in the air vaguely.

 “Handsome?” Tim suggests with a sharp grin.

 “Cheeky.”

 Tim puts on a comically large expression of shock. “No. Me? Couldn’t be.”

 Martin laughs, a small and breathy thing, and Tim loves him for it. His expression slips into something warmer and real, and he resumes running his hands through Martin’s hair. “Fine, fine, I’m listening. Go ahead, Martin.”

 “Thank you.” Martin closes his eyes, hums gently, and says, without opening his eyes, “You have frosting on your nose.”

.

5

.

That’s how many fingers are on Jon’s left hand as it finds Martin’s on the couch, those same fingers threading through Martin’s with an ease that could be practised had it not been just a few months since working together had turned into getting lunch together had turned into pining had turned into… everything else. Martin had spent a lot of time looking at Jon’s hands, before; the way that his knuckles are wider than the rest of the finger, or the way that he drums his fingers on his desk when he’s bored, or the way that his hands look wrapped around a mug of tea, black and over-steeped just like Jon likes it.

 They’d looked soft, Martin had thought.

 He’d been right.

 The kiss Martin places over the top of Jon’s knuckles is quick and impulsive, his lips still wearing the smile from something Tim had said and his other hand clasped with Sasha’s (her grip is impressively tight, like she’s afraid she’s going to drop him). The soft, surprised smile that Jon gives him is worth the entire world.

.

4

.

That’s how many cards Tim has to draw when Martin plays the Draw 4 Uno card, giving him an apologetic smile that does nothing to alleviate the fact that Tim had one card left and was about to win, goddammit!

 “Martin,” Tim says as he draws painstaking card after painstaking card. “Dearest Martin.” He draws another card. “Lovely, kind Martin.” He draws the final card and gives Martin his best solemn expression. “This is how you ruin relationships, Martin. This, right here.”

 Martin’s face is flushed pink, but his voice is casual when he says, “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Tim. I’m just playing the game.”

 Tim points at Martin, looking back and forth between Jon and Sasha for support. “Do you hear that? Nothing but disrespect. Treachery. A fatal blow!”

 Sasha looks like she’s trying not to laugh. Jon just looks bemused. “I mean, he is just playing the game,” Jon says with a small shrug. “And I believe he’s winning.”

 Tim looks over at the single card Martin’s holding, and before his brain can process the situation fast enough to call Martin out for not declaring it, Martin says quickly, “Uno!”

 “Jon!” Tim says, kind of wishing it hadn’t come out so whiny but feeling altogether too slighted to do anything about it.

 “My turn,” Jon says, and plays a reverse card.

 “Oh, I hate you all.”

.

3

.

That’s how many glasses of champagne Martin has had, which is a lot for him since he doesn’t really make a habit of drinking, especially wine, which tends to give him a headache even if he drinks white. But Jon had assured him that champagne is essentially tannin-free, having minimal skin and oak contact, so the only thing Martin had to worry about was his own terrible alcohol tolerance.

 Well, Jon hadn’t said that last part. That was just Martin.

 Three glasses, it seems, is enough to activate Martin’s least-favourite part about drinking—the complete inability of his brain to keep every single thing that comes across his mind from spilling out into the open. He’s already told Sasha that he accidentally stole the cardigan she keeps in her desk at work and, by the time he realized a week later, was too embarrassed to give it back. (“So that’s where that went!” Sasha had said with an accusatory tone.) He interrupted Tim mid-sentence to tell him, quite abruptly, that whenever Tim wore that black-and-white patterned shirt to work—which was just a bit smaller on him than the others and which he usually wore with the top two buttons unbuttoned—he could never stop staring at it. (“Really?” Tim had said with a smirk. “I suppose I’ll have to wear it more often then.”)

 And now, when Jon shoots Tim a very impressive glare and says, in his best professional voice, “I don’t think that’s quite work-appropriate, Tim,” Martin isn’t able to keep himself from blurting out that he finds Jon’s “archivist” voice really, really hot.

 The silence that blankets the room at that is deafening. Tim looks delighted; Sasha looks amused. And the flush that spreads over Jon’s face is really quite impressive, visible even in the low light of Sasha’s living room.

 Martin really shouldn’t have had that third glass of champagne.

.

2

.

That’s how many cats Sasha has, until now shut away in her bedroom to avoid being overwhelmed by the loud noise or being stepped on. At Tim’s insistence (and Jon’s not-so-subtle glances toward her closed door), Sasha finally relents, but not before pointing a stern finger at Tim and telling him to behave.

 (“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” Tim says innocently, like he doesn’t always end up getting himself bitten or scratched.)

 Now, one cat—an orange-and-white shorthair named Darwin—is curled up in front of the television, currently being assaulted by Tim and Martin as they spoil him with pets and treats and the little feather on a string that he likes. The other—a midnight-black longhair named Emily with wide yellow eyes—is sprawled across Jon’s lap, her purring loud enough that Sasha can hear it from the kitchen where she’s subtly retrieving the bottle of midnight champagne from its hiding place. Sasha’s pretty sure she’s never seen Jon look at anything like that—with eyes full of love and wonder and the corners of his mouth pulled up into what looks like an involuntary smile.

 Sasha’s suddenly so very in love with him—with all of them—that she can barely breathe. It’s not an emotion she’s very comfortable with—she’s never gotten crushes easily, and the ones she’s had tended to ruin year-long friendships when they sprung up almost overnight, when her brain finally decided that it wanted more. Jon, she’s known for ages, their desks in research being directly across from one another and her persistence knowing no bounds. Martin longer still, having met him when he worked in the library and she worked in artifact storage. Tim is the most recent, technically, but god, it feels like she’s known him her whole life.

 There’s a small shriek from the living room, and when Sasha looks back, she sees Tim with his hand buried in the fur of Darwin’s stomach, Darwin’s teeth nipping at the flesh of Tim’s thumb. “Ow ow ow, sharp,” Tim says, but he’s laughing, and he continues to rub at Darwin’s belly with a smile on his face.

 Really, Sasha thinks as she turns back to the kitchen with a smile of her own, there’s nowhere she’d rather be.

.

1

.

That’s how many minutes there are until midnight. The glass of champagne in Jon’s hand looks exactly the same as all the others, but Sasha had insisted that it was better, Jon, it’ll taste heavenly, I promise, so he holds it and watches the numbers on the television screen begin to count down.

 It strikes Jon, as the seconds pass and midnight draws closer, that he’s never really felt any need to celebrate the new year. The two days—New Year’s Eve and New Year’s Day—were technically indistinguishable from one other, delineated only by the human decision to make them so, and therefore what was the point really of staying up so late just to drink bad wine and stare at a clock? He’d gone to a New Year’s Eve party once with Georgie in uni, and it had been fine, but once they broke up he really didn’t see any reason to attend another. He disliked everything about New Year’s celebrations—the bad champagne, the resolutions nobody kept, the way he always wrote the date wrong for a few weeks afterwards.

 He doesn’t dislike this, though, he realizes, sitting with Tim pressed up against one side and Martin against the other and Sasha on the end of the couch next to Tim, all of them watching the countdown with rapt attention. Maybe the champagne is terrible and the resolutions are silly and having to constantly erase the last number of the year will be frustrating, but this—being together, celebrating together—really isn’t so bad at all.

 The countdown reaches ten, and Tim begins to vocalize the numbers along with it as they flash across the screen, altogether too loudly for this time of night. Sasha and Martin join in at eight, and Jon finally makes up his mind as the counter hits one, his lips shaping the word along with the rest of them.

 Glasses clink and champagne is drunk (not heavenly, Jon thinks, but more palatable than the rest) and kisses are shared as Happy New Year! flashes across the television screen. And, Jon thinks, it’s really quite lovely after all. To bring in the new year with the people you love.

.

0.

That’s how many of them wake up the next morning without mouths full of cotton and pounding headaches, the several empty bottles of champagne making themselves known.

 “Ughhhhh,” Tim groans eloquently, and falls back asleep.

#tma #the magnus archives #tma fic #the magnus archives fic #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #tim stoker #sasha james #s1 polycule #my fic #my writing #i know its not nye anymore but you know.... nye fic

[dany-is-my-queen]

Born To Be Yours | Part III

Sansa Stark x Fem! Baretheon! Reader (Daenerys Targaryen x Fem! Baratheon! Reader eventually)

Season 1-8

Word Count: 1,785

Pt. 1 Pt.2 Pt.4 Pt.5 Pt.6 Pt.7 Pt.8 Pt.9

Another tournament was organized. Your father insisted on participate, luckily Lord Stark convinced him otherwise. Who would dare challenge the King of the Seven Kingdoms?

You were sitting exactly like the first occasion but Cersei was absent. She never really enjoy those kind of events, not that they were your favorite either. This time was The Mountain against one of your best friends, Ser Loras of House Tyrell. A very charming man.

“That is a very pretty dress, Myrcella.” You told your little sister. Your gaze directed to the northern girl.

“You like it?” She grinned contemplating at her golden and costly gown. Yours was very similar.

“I do, my lioness.”

Ser Loras approached the redhead giving her a red rose. She gladly accepted and you remember she told you how much she loved knights. He was way more kind than Joffrey. But you knew the Tyrell boy has an affair with uncle Renly, actually, you were the only person who knew their secret. Although here in the capital people’s secrets are never safe.

After The Hound defended the Knight of the Flowers, Ser Gregor left furious. All the applauses were towards him. Later that day you were on your chambers, sparring on your own.

“Y/N, how many times have I told you I don’t like you to be playing with a sword.” The blonde woman nagged.

“Not enough.” You turned to her.

“It’s dangerous. I don’t want you to get hurt.” You took a deep breath.

“Father says it’s for my own good.”

“You have a lot of him in you.”

“Not the eyes. Mine are just like yours.” You scoffed.

“You have Robert’s stubbornness.” She pointed.

“That bothers you? Where is uncle Tyrion? Have you got a word from him?”

“He is a prisoner of Lady Stark.” How can she say it so casual?

“What?! Why??”

“Conspiracy. They assume he hired someone to murder their little son.”

“That doesn’t make any sense. He is not known for being a child killer. What will happen now?”

“Jaime is trying to get him back. We expect the Starks to return him safe and sound to the capital. Practice your needlework. That is more appropriate for a princess to do.” She declared and walked out. You rolled your eyes, resuming your moves.

“Father, you wanted to see me?” He raised his cup and order you to sit on the small table.

“I’m getting old. You, my daughter, are getting better on your fencing. I am proud to see what you are becoming, a hell of a woman! Not a girl anymore. Never let a man commands you. You were born a leader, not a follower. Always remember that.” He gulped, offering you some wine. You like the taste but not the feeling if you drink too much.

“I have your strength, courage and of course, your charisma.” You admitted.

“Indeed. What about you marry Edd’s son? Robb is his name if I recall correctly. I wanted to join our houses. Baratheon and Stark, finally together. Without a fucking Targaryen getting in the way. But Y/N, I want you to live a happy life. Not a loveless marriage like the one your mother and I have. When you are to be wed, choose your partner wisely and never let anyone take them away from you.” You knew when your father was being serious, sorrow written all over his face.

“I can’t start a war if that happens. Thank you, father. I will listen to you. Joffrey and Sansa will rule someday, I hope it’s in a very long time, though. I’m not able to fully understand what you lost when Lady Lyanna was stolen from you. I can’t imagine the pain and frustration you felt. I am sorry.” You looked at him with a sympathetic smile.

“Not more than I am. The only good thing about the outcome was you and your siblings. Even Joffrey. You are way better than him, in every aspect. Cersei always treated you less. But you are my princess.” The bearded man said with nothing but the truth.

“I don’t know what to do. What is expected of me.” You lower your head.

“Don’t worry, child. One of the seven heavens has a plan for you. You are young, beautiful and smart. You are the princess of Westeros. The world shall be as you desire. Don’t worry about that now.” You stood up and hugged him tightly. In that moment you felt safe from any danger, safe even from your mother.

“Lord Varys. What news?” You were walking at a slow pace outside the Throne Room. “You know I only want to help my father make the right choices.” Lord Bealish is not the only one that whispers in your ear, the Eunuch trusts you. Almost everyone does. You’ve never used the intel they tell you to do something wrong. You could never.

“Yes I know, my friend. Daenerys Targaryen.” He sighed. “She is pregnant with Khal Drogo’s child. She’s a threat along with Viserys. I’m certain it’s not a rumor. The King wants her dead, he insists.”

“Thank you for sharing this information with me, my lord.” He bowed his head, turning to the opposite direction.

“How are things in Highgarden?” You asked your old friend.

“Quiet. My grandmother and sister send their regards. They miss you.” The curled man said.

“I’ll go visit soon.”

“Perhaps you could bring your new friend, she’s quite a beauty.” When you opened your mouth to answer a knock from the door caught your attention

“My Princess. Lady Arya is nowhere to be found.”

“I want every single one of my guards searching out for her. When you locate her take her immediately to Lord Eddard. Please.” The young man nodded.

After a few hours, the little wolf appeared. “Oh, Arya! You are okay. Where have you been?”

“I got lost. Thanks for worrying. I’m fearful... for my father.”

“Why’s that?”

“I’ve heard they plan to kill him.” She almost whispered.

“Who?”

“I don’t know. The King will protect him, right?” She asked with preoccupation in her voice.

“Of course, Arya.” She hugged you. The last Hand, Jon Arryn, he died because the fever took him, or did someone plan it? Now the Lord of Winterfell was in danger? A thousand scenarios began to run in your head.

You just received the jewel you asked to be made to the finest hand-crafter in King’s Landing, a gorgeous silver ring with House Stark sigil. The wolf in the middle was discreet yet visible. A perfect gift for a perfect lady. You were excited to deliver it so you head to find her. Someone got earlier. You didn’t speak right away.

“Would you forgive me, for my rudeness?” At least he was apologizing.

“There is nothing to forgive.” She was stuttering.

“One day we’ll be married. I’ll never disrespect you again. I’ll never be cruel to you again. Do you understand me?” You are my lady now. From this day until my last day.” Your heart ached at the thought of it. But it’s something you already knew. Seeing them together was different.

“My Princess.” You were about to turn around when Septa Mordane greeted you.

“I... I didn’t mean to interrupt. I didn’t know you were with Lady Sansa.” Joffrey eyed you with his usual sulky expression.

“Leave us alone, sister.” He hissed.

“My lady.” You just bowed your head completely embarrassed.

You called for the tall girl to be escorted to your chambers. “I intended to give you this yesterday. I’m sorry for running into you when you were occupied.”

“It’s alright. It’s beautiful!” She had a wide smile as you put the ring on her index finger.

“I see Joffrey gave you a necklace.” You noticed the golden piece. She took it and nodded.

“Yes. It’s like the one you wear.”

“My mother and Myrcella have one identical. It suits you.”

“That’s what he said. I will be his queen someday.” She excited exclaimed.

“Yes, you will.” Your heart was aching again.

“The ring is lovely. Thank you, princess.” The Northerner admired it happily.

“Now you have something to remember the North. I had it made especially for you. You are very welcome.” You smiled warmly at her.

“Y/N, you’ll be joining the hunt.” Your father stated.

“With pleasure.” You’ve always loved to go hunting, it was not a boring activity for you at all. You gather your weapons. Your skills were good, though every time you go to the wild you learn something new.

You were deep in the woods, a bow in your hand. Your father was carrying a spear. Ser Barristan and uncle Renly joined too.

“Father, don’t kill the Targaryen girl. I understand why you need to do it. Don’t see it as an act of honor but of mercy. She’s innocent. They are far away from King’s Landing. You are not a butcher. Don’t send anyone to hunt her down. More so if she’s carrying a baby inside her.”

“You and Ned so honorable. Maybe you are right. Little girls don’t frighten me.” You were relieved when you heard him say that. There is hope for them. “You weren’t a man till you fucked one girl of each of the Seven Kingdoms and the Riverlands. We used to call it “making the eight.” He giggled.

“Those were some lucky girls.” The youngest Baratheon brother said without a bit of excitement.

“Y/N! I suppose it counts for the boys too.” You smirked and nudged your uncle. “Those were the days.” The smile fell from his lips. Now he was angry.

“What days exactly? The ones were half of Westeros fight the other half and millions died. Or before that, when the Mad King slaughtered women and babies cause the voices in his head told him they deserved it. Or way before that, when dragons burnt whole cities to the ground.” He spat.

“Easy, boy. You might be my brother but you’re speaking to the king.” The black-haired man warned.

“More wine, your grace?” Lancel nervously offered.

“Father, you should slow down with the booze, it can make you feel dizzy and to hunt you need to stay focus.” You declared.

“Oh my dear daughter, I’d done this a million times. Wine is my preferred ally.” He said.

It all happened so fast, Robert missed his thrust and was seriously injured by a boar, he was very drunk to be concentrated. When you, Ser Barristan and Renly tried to help it was too late. You arrived from the Kingswood with him almost unconscious. All the way back you were quivering. Fearing for your father’s life.

#sansa stark x reader #sansa x reader #sansa x fem baratheon reader #baratheon reader #house baratheon #game of thrones fic #got

[spooky-z]

The Soulmate AU [2]

Maribat by @ozmav

I didn't get much into the first part about their relationship (of the couple and with other people), so here's a post about it.

DAMIAN:

At 8, Damian, influenced by Marinette, manages to escape from the League to Batfam.

Not before stopping by to finally meet the girl in person. Of course.

Marinette's parents are relieved to know her little girl's soulmate, but also in a panic, as he has no shame in talking about his life with the League of Assassins.

"I don't want to be secret between us, since one day Marinette and I are getting married."

They accept. Bad. But they accept and try to be understanding.

He spends a week living with the Dupain-Cheng before deciding it was time to meet his father.

Marinette is sad. One week was too little and she wanted him safe by her side, not in a place where she could do nothing to help.

She attaches a discreet bracelet to the boy's wrist, claiming to be a lucky charm,and shows an equal resting on her pale wrist.

They say goodbye.

When Damian arrives in Gotham and meets Bruce, the man seems not at all surprised to learn that he had a son and that this son was coming to stay.

(The League and Talia had gone looking for Damian in Gotham, but were unable to find him.)

"Typical. She thinks she can predict my movements. I'm much smarter than that.” Damian snorts contemptuously and Mari laughs softly beside him.

She was by his side the whole trip. Only disappearing when she slept.

His relationship with Bruce and his brothers had a rocky beginning.

Damian was very closed and volatile.

Shoot first, ask questions later.

But our strawberry shortcake aka Marinette, with Alfred's help (even though the man didn't know he was helping her) managed to soften him enough to make things work.

Jonathan and Damian meet for the first time on duty.

Batman and Robin on patrol when Superman appears with Superboy and is dislike at first glance.

What changes after they meet again at school and Jonathan remembers Damian through Adrien's memories.

Best Friends Distributing Chaos Through Metropolis ™

He lives in Gotham with his father and siblings until he is 15, when he decides that living away from his soulmate is no longer working and signs up for an exchange in Paris.

MARINETTE:

Despite having a soulmate trained to be a assassin, she lived a normal, sweet childhood.

She had classmates, but also had her best friends: Kim and Sabrina.

Mari also becomes friends with Adrien at six.

The two know each other thanks to a visit from the Agreste family to the Dupain-Cheng bakery.

It is instant friendship! And families encourage both.

(Gabriel more for not wanting Adrien too close to Chloe).

Because soulmates are rare, she has been harassed by people (other children and adults)

Which didn't last long, because it was no wonder, she was Damian Al-Ghul Wayne's soulmate.

Marinette never depended on Damian for dangerous skills.

Things like steal, act, observe and gymnastics.

She was a very observant child, able to understand things that not even her parents were capable of before she pointed out the evidence.

She still wants to be a designer, this time with Gabriel's support.

But there was also a part (she didn't know if it was because of Damian) that simply wanted to fight off the Paris criminals.

The relationship with her parents is the best. They don't hide anything from each other because trust is a serious thing in this family.

When Damian goes to Paris and they meet in person for the first time, she makes a point of feeding him sweets, since his diet in the League was very strict.

She introduced Damian to Sabrina, Adrien and Kim at a picnic with the families.

(To Adrien's soulmate too and it was a mess)

At 9, she convinces Emilie that Adrien would learn much more from studying at a school like her.

They go to school together and she teaches Adrien some ways to fight that her parents wouldn't approve of, but she knew would be useful in the future.

Mari is fucking smart.

She and Adrien are fucking scary together.

Chloe avoids them even if Sabrina is their friend.

Everyone thinks she and Adrien are soulmates (except Sabrina and Kim, who had already met Damian).

At thirteen, on the first day of school a drunk man broke into the school assaulting one of the teachers who tried to kindly ask him to leave...

That day was marked "Never mess with Marinette Dupain-Cheng."

JONATHAN:

He lived part of his childhood living on his grandparents' farm.

He always knew who his father and mother were, so being half alien wasn't something he didn't know about.

No one really believed that he had a soulmate (even if his eyes proved otherwise) because of his alien heritage.

He learned Kryptonian as he grew older.

As well as his powers and abilities.

After his parents decide to stop hiding, they move to Metropolis and Jon starts studying at a private school.

The signs of his soulmate only became evident after Jonathan recognized the face and model names on billboards.

And he had never been interested in modeling or the fashion world.

Then came the dreams.

Dreams of photo shoot, a green-eyed blonde woman and a stern-looking skinny man. Both French.

The first thought had been that he was going crazy.

The second, that he was developing a new power.

This continued until the "Swap" and he understood what was going on.

He and Adrien become best friends (first).

His classmates liked to tease him that Jonathan spent so much time “talking to himself”

His parents found the boy's innocent joy so cute.

He “introduces” Adrien to his parents and the boy blushes with Lois's attention.

Clark too, since please, it was Superman there.

Romantic feelings only come at 10 (for both), but they only start dating at 13.

Damian is his best friend, since he understands his situation very well.

He is the one who puts the idea in Damian's mind to take the exchange in Paris.

Convince the parents is a little harder than Bruce Wayne, but he manages.

Imagine the disaster that will be Paris in the hands of these four.

ADRIEN:

Having met Marinette much earlier than in canon and becoming her best friend, he has a drastic change of character here.

Although his pacifist side remains firm, it is not as strong as in canon.

Jonathan's bonus for being his soul mate as well, as it directly affects his behavior.

Influenced by Marinette, he is not taken in by Chloe's crazy and childish ideas

He even tries to help the girl, knowing that her bad behavior was more to draw attention, since her parents were far from exemplary parents, but she runs away from him as soon as she finds out that he is friends with Mari.

He makes other friends, but none compare to Marinette, Jonathan and Damian.

Learning to fight and growing a backbone was something he enjoyed, but baking was his passion.

Mr. Dupain really wanted to be able to adopt the boy.

He cried when he could see Jonathan for the first time.

When his mother dies in a car accident, he is 12 years old.

Adrien goes into shock.

He didn't eat, didn't talk, didn't sleep.

Jonathan was panicking that they were in distant countries, different continents.

Adrien did not react.

It went on like this until Marinette decided that was enough of it and broke into the Agreste mansion, sparing not even a glance at Gabriel.

Adrien was forced to shower, put on clean clothes, comb the hair, eat, brush the teeth and cry.

Yes, forced to cry.

Marinette knew that in order for him to get out of the nest of dark thoughts (which Jonathan had warned her), he needed to vent all that was trapped.

The day had been long, the night even more so.

It took months, but he managed to return to normal gradually. With the help of his friends, Adrien was able to suffer his grief in the least painful way possible.

When Gabriel decides it's best for Adrien to be home schooled again and fill the boy's schedule with photo essays, Marinette gets angry.

Or maybe it was Damian. Or both together. Anyway,

When Gabriel decides to be a dick, Marinette threatens to report the man to the police for child exploitation.

He tries to dissuade Marinette by threatening her back, but Adrien supports her and confronts his father.

OTHER THINGS:

Because of Adrien's “rebellion”, Gabriel decides to do nothing at the moment, but devises plans to change that.

What he doesn't know is that Marinette, with Damian's help, Jonathan, her parents, is two steps ahead of him. Waiting for his first slip.

Damian does not introduce Marinette to Batfam, he avoids, but the girl insists until one day she introduces herself and he just stands by his arms crossed and annoyed.

Jason and Marinette become best friends for Damian's chagrin and Bruce's happiness.

(Jason was having a hard time... and Marinette was being the light at the end of the tunnel for Bruce.)

The first time they make the "Swap" at Wayne Mansion, everyone is horrified to watch Damian spin happily around the kitchen, all smiles, while decorating Batfam-themed cupcakes.

Timothy had recorded and sent it to all family friends.

When Gabriel tries to force Adrien to do a late-night photo shoot on a school day, Jonathan curses the man with all the low vocabulary he has learned living on the farm.

His parents are not proud to find the boy at 3am cursing loudly in the kitchen, but understand his frustration.

Adrien is the one who anchors Jonathan's powers, so he doesn't lose too much control.

Alya and Lila will die a slow and painful death in this au.

And I say that not for Damian but for Tikki.

I will make one for the kwamis and soon I will post the fanfiction!

[tag list]

@sassydepression @emjrabbitwolf @actual-disaster-human @mystery-5-5 @thequestionablyhuman @alexresides @officiallyathiana   @interobanginyourmom @2sunchild2 @vixen-uchiha @timetomakeanewwish @ranger-gothamite @thanks-captain-obvious @wargraymon0709 @krispydefendorpolice @chocolatecatstheron @kazjaurelia @lysslovsanime @fandomkitty8 @g-arya @zerotosiki @bananaapplewaffle @graduatedmelon @schrodingers25 @queencommonsense @mindfulmagics @michellemagic @kceedraws @littleblue5mcdork @be-happy-every-day-please @razzledazzle247

#soulmate au #daminette #damian #damian x marinette #maribat #jondrien #ml salt #miraculous ladybug

[ollieofthebeholder]

leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall): a TMA fanfic

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] Also on AO3

Chapter 11: Sasha

They all jump at the sound of the recorder clicking off. Tim sits up straighter and rubs his hands together.

“Well!” he says in what Sasha can tell is a falsely cheerful voice. “I think that’s enough earth-shattering revelations for one night. Who wants that whiskey now?”

“I refuse to get drunk around you again,” Sasha says. It’s a pathetic attempt at their usual banter, but it does get a genuine smirk out of Tim, complete with that unfairly attractive dimple.

Jon exhales heavily. He pulls off his glasses with one hand and rubs at his eyes with the other. “I should…probably get going.”

“The hell you will,” Tim says immediately. “Look at you. If I let you out the door, you’ll fall asleep at the wheel and die before you get to the end of the block. You’re staying the night.”

“Tim, while I appreciate the offer—”

“Nope, not interested in the rest of that sentence. The only thing keeping you upright is the arm of the sofa and the starch in your underpants.”

“And the stick jammed up my ass, no doubt?” Jon raises an eyebrow.

Tim grins. “See? You’re so tired you’re actually joking around with me. Stay the night, and tomorrow we can get answers out of them first thing.” He stands up without waiting for an answer. “One of you can take the sofa, the other one can have the love seat. Unless you want to build a blanket fort on the floor, but it wouldn’t be fair to leave Martin out. We’ll let the old folks fight over the bed.”

“Old folks?” Jon Prime repeats indignantly. He shoots an obviously exaggerated glare at Martin Prime, who isn’t even bothering to hide his snickers. “We don’t look that bad.”

Tim laughs. He’s the only one that doesn’t seem that tired, really. “Come on, you two. I’ll show you where the bedroom is.”

Jon Prime gets to his feet, then hesitates and glances at Martin Prime. Sasha wonders how blind Martin Prime actually is, because he seems to respond to that look; he hesitantly reaches out in Jon Prime’s direction. Jon Prime takes his arm without further comment, and Sasha watches Martin Prime’s shoulders slump in evident relief before the two of them quietly wish the rest of them goodnight and follow Tim down the hall.

Sasha watches them for a moment, then glances at Jon and Martin, who are both avoiding looking at one another. She decides to give them a little space and go gather up the spare blankets and pillows. They probably both need a minute or two to process what they just heard.

Truthfully, Sasha’s not sure what she thinks of it either. She’s impressed that Martin Prime isn’t passively rolling over and taking whatever Jon Prime dishes out, and she’s a little bit in awe of his strength. Could she have survived two weeks alone and blind, let alone in the Archives? That feeling of being watched is creepy enough when she can look over her shoulder and confirm nobody���s actually there; she can’t imagine what it would be like if she didn’t have that option. It must be terrifying, but Martin Prime hasn’t shown it.

She’s also—there’s no denying it—curious as all get-out. She kind of wants to interrogate Martin Prime, find out how he lost his eyesight, if it’s total vision loss or partial, if he thinks it’s temporary or permanent. What it’s like being blind in general, what it’s like trying to maneuver around the Archives blind. How he plans to deal with it if it is permanent.

As she passes the door of Tim’s bedroom, which is ajar, she hears Martin Prime say, evidently mid-sentence, “—put you to any trouble.”

Sasha slows her steps and hovers outside the door, eavesdropping shamelessly. It’s always been one of her fatal flaws, that urge to snoop and spy and pluck secrets out of thin air. It’s part of what drew her to the Magnus Institute over any of the other research or archival jobs she could have taken, the other part being that most of the others would have required her to go too far from London. She hasn’t said anything about that to any of the others, about why she’s so keen to stay in the city. For all she loves ferreting out things about those around her, she’s always been close-mouthed about her own secrets.

“It’s no trouble at all,” Tim says. “Like I said, we were planning to spend the night in the Archives anyway, and I don’t think we’d all have fit on that cot in the back room. My floor’s a lot more comfortable.”

“Yes, but we don’t want to turn you out of your room.” Jon Prime sounds uncertain and exhausted.

“I offered. Look. Martin’s probably going to be asleep before I get back out to the living room, he looks exhausted. And I don’t think the rest of us want to leave him alone right now.” Tim sighs. “Where did we all sleep when we did this before?”

“Hmm?” Sasha isn’t sure which one of the Primes makes that noise.

“You said this happened a lot earlier than it did for you guys, right? If we want to keep an eye on each other like this now, I bet it was even worse two months down the line. Did somebody else put us all up or what?”

There’s a short pause before Martin Prime says, “No, we—we all sort of went our separate ways.”

“Wait, seriously?” Tim sounds genuinely shocked. “No, that’s—if you were hurt—”

“I wasn’t, though. I was the only one who came out of it unhurt.”

“Physically, anyway,” Jon Prime says. “We were all a bit…it was rough for a while there.”

“All the more reason we should have stayed together, then,” Tim says. “Whose idea was it not to?”

“I think we were all just…tired,” Martin Prime says slowly. “You—our Tim, I mean—he was in quarantine for a while, so he just wanted to go home, and Sasha…she wasn’t herself.”

Somebody makes a noise that might be a laugh, but Sasha isn’t getting the joke. Tim has an audible frown in his voice when he speaks again. “And you? What did you do? Go back to the place you’d last seen when you were being toyed with by six thousand worms wrapped in a trench coat and pretend that the idea of sleeping there alone didn’t bother you, then spend the night lying in bed staring up at the ceiling and jumping at every single sound?”

Martin Prime doesn’t answer for a moment. Finally, he says, so quietly Sasha has to move closer to hear properly, “You know, nobody ever actually asked me about that?”

“You know, that doesn’t really answer the question.”

“Martin?” Jon Prime’s voice is soft and laden with concern.

Martin Prime sighs heavily. “No. I went back to the place I’d last seen when I was being toyed with by six thousand worms wrapped in a trench coat and found out that I’d missed the deadline to renew my lease, then spent the night in a waiting room at St. Pancras pretending I had an early-morning train and reading through rental notices.”

Sasha presses a hand to her mouth to keep from swearing out loud. Tim does enough of that for both of them. “When was the lease up?”

“Mid-April sometime? Mrs. Mattson is…I’d been living there for years, but she’s not a sentimentalist. Once that deadline passed, she found a new tenant and arranged to have the place cleared out.”

“Why didn’t you ever tell me?” Jon Prime’s voice sounds ragged.

“It never really came up,” Martin Prime says, sounding a bit tired himself. “By the time I saw you again, I’d found a new place anyway, and I just…nobody ever asked me why I moved and it seemed easier not to say anything. There was kind of a lot going on.”

“All right, I—I suppose that’s fair, but…” Jon Prime trails off.

Sasha hears Tim take a deep breath. “Right, well, we’ll do better than that for our Martin, don’t worry. Maybe you can help us convince him he deserves it. Anyway, you two look like you’re about ready to drop, so I’ll let you get some sleep and finish grilling you tomorrow. Bathroom’s right across the hall if you need it.”

“Thank you, Tim,” Jon Prime says softly. “I mean it.”

“Hey, what are friends for?”

Sasha hurriedly steps away from the door and moves to the linen closet at the end of the hallway. A moment or two later, Tim joins her. “Need a hand?”

“I just thought I’d get the spare blankets and pillows,” Sasha says. “You know, so it feels a little more like we’re really sleeping. How were you planning to handle that in the Archives, by the way?”

Tim has the grace to look sheepish. “Okay, so it was an impulse. Sue me. We’d have probably ended up in a pile on the floor or something.”

“I suppose there are worse ways to sleep than in a cuddle pile with my two best friends.” Sasha nudges Tim, who laughs. “Like…alone, on a cot in the Archives.”

“I still can’t believe we let him do that for so long. We are horrible friends.” Tim glances over his shoulder, his expression suddenly pinched. Sasha wonders if she should admit that she heard his whole conversation with the Primes, but decides, on the balance, nah. “I mean, Jon I understand, he was still pretending he hated us.”

Sasha snorts and pulls out an armful of soft things. “Not very well.”

It at least brings a smile back to Tim’s face. “Well, I mean, you and I already knew it was an act. It’s just Martin who probably didn’t know.”

“Martin would have quit if he really thought Jon didn’t like him,” Sasha says, although she’s not altogether sure that’s true. Between the fact that he falsified most of his credentials to get the job at the Institute to begin with and the fact that he’s the sole support for a chronically ill mother, he probably would have put up with a lot worse than a boss that hated him. “Or at least asked to be transferred back to the library.”

“What, and leave us to the mercies of the Archives?” Tim grins. “C’mon, grab the spare pillows and let’s go make everybody comfortable.”

True to Tim’s prediction, Martin has fallen asleep by the time they get back into the living room, although in a way that doesn’t make it seem like he’s under very deep, or at least that he’s not comfortable enough to stay asleep easily. Jon is kneeling on the floor in front of him, carefully working his shoes off his feet. He looks up when they come in, obviously flustered and embarrassed. “I didn’t notice he’d dropped off until a minute ago,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

Sasha isn’t surprised, considering he was avoiding making eye contact, but she doesn’t say that out loud. “I mean, it’s been a long day, and he’s probably in a lot of pain.”

Tim dumps his load on the coffee table. “Here, you get the lever and I’ll ease the back down so he doesn’t fall too hard. Don’t want to wake him, but sitting upright all night isn’t going to help him.”

Sasha wonders, as she sets down her own burden, how much of this is Tim trying to atone for what their counterparts did to Martin Prime and how much of it is him genuinely worrying about their Martin, but she’s not going to ask because that would mean revealing she was eavesdropping. Instead, she selects a pillow and blanket and starts setting them up on the love seat while she watches Tim and Jon try to ease the footrest out and the back to a reclining position without jostling Martin awake. He must be really tired, though, because although his face screws up briefly and he makes a soft sound, he doesn’t otherwise react. Once he’s lying down, Jon leans over and carefully slides Martin’s glasses off of his face, then folds them and sets them on the end table between the recliner and the sofa.

He turns around, presumably to get a blanket, and starts when he sees Sasha making up a bed. “Here, you don’t have to—you’re taller than I am, you should—”

“Only by a bit,” Sasha interrupts. “Two or three inches isn’t going to make that much of a difference, and I sleep curled up anyway.” She also sleeps like the dead, and judging by the way Tim and Jon are fussing over Martin without making it obvious, she guesses they’re more concerned about Martin than she is. Which isn’t to say that she isn’t worried about him, only that she’s a bit more detached from the situation, for whatever reason. If anything happens to Martin in the middle of the night, she won’t wake up and hear it, and they’re more likely to jump up to do something about it anyway, so there’s no reason for her to stay near him. She doesn’t say that out loud, though.

“I…” Jon hesitates, then glances back at Martin, and his face softens in a way Sasha pretends not to notice so she won’t be tempted to pick at it. “All right. T-Tim, are you sure—”

“Yep. The floor and I are good friends. I’ve done a lot of camping and backpacking and the like, so I’m used to it.” Tim grins. “Pick a pillow and a blanket.”

Jon looks over the offerings on the table, then selects a faded patchwork quilt and unfolds it carefully. Somehow, Sasha isn’t surprised when he drapes it over Martin and tucks him in gently, almost tenderly, before turning back and taking another blanket along with a pillow. The blanket, to Sasha’s eye, looks as if it’s made of fiberglass and horsehair, but Jon runs his fingers over the pattern almost reverently. “Where did you find this?”

“California, I think,” Tim answers. “Maybe Mexico. My grandparents left me a bit of a legacy when they died, with the stipulation that I use it for a gap year in ‘the mountains’. It was that vague. I think my folks expected me to pick the Alps or the Pyrenees, maybe the Sierra Morena if I felt like being different. Something close to home, anyway. But I thought, hey, when am I ever going to get a chance like this again? Spent my whole last year of school planning and budgeting, and two days after graduation I was off to America. The start of the Pacific Crest Trail is right on the border with Mexico, and there was a market there, people selling handcrafts and the like. I figured it wouldn’t hurt to have an extra blanket. I was right, too.”

“Does it mean something to you, Jon?” Sasha asks, curious. “The pattern, I mean?” She’s seen people trace the lines of relics and books like that when touching something that looks familiar but isn’t, and there’s an oddly thoughtful look on Jon’s face.

“Sort of?” Jon looks up. He truly does look tired, which is odd, considering he wasn’t the one running from worms. “I—my mother’s sister married an American. Well, he was Mexican-American. My cousin had a blanket like this on his guest bed, he said his grandmother made it for him.”

Tim begins making up a bed on the floor with the remaining blankets. He does so with a practiced ease that tells Sasha he truly has done this plenty of times before. “You’ve been to America, then? Or does your cousin live over here?”

“No, he’s in New Mexico. Or he was the last time we spoke. It’s been a few years.” Jon bends over and begins untying his shoes. “I didn’t—exactly take a gap year, but I did take some time off and go to visit him. He and his parents, or at least my aunt, used to come over and visit for a week or two every summer, so I thought I’d repay him by returning the visit. Ended up staying through to the end of the year.”

“Didn’t make it to New Mexico when I was there.” Tim turns to Sasha. “How ‘bout you, Sash? Ever been to America?”

Sasha shakes her head. “Closest I’ve come was getting to go onto one of their military bases in Ansbach. My family was on holiday in Germany and a boy asked me if I’d be his date to a holiday party. Evidently I was the only girl his age who spoke English he ran into who wasn’t already going with someone else.”

“We’ll all have to go sometime,” Tim says. “Close the Archives down for a couple weeks, the four of us can fly over and do the tourist thing.”

“I doubt Elias would go for that,” Jon says dryly, straightening up. “I barely was able to convince him to let us have a day or two off while the cleaning crews come in and get rid of the worm carcasses. Unless we manage to somehow convince him we’re doing research and that I need all of you with me, he’d likely insist at least one of us stay back.”

“Then we’ll sneak off,” Tim declares. “Leave the Institute on a Friday night, promise to see him Monday. Slip away under the cover of darkness, take a taxi to the airport, buy tickets under assumed names and catch a midnight flight. By the time he realizes we’re not coming in on Monday, we’ll be well dug in somewhere in America. He’ll never think to look for us there.”

“And then we’ll get fired the minute we set foot back in the Institute,” Sasha says.

“Nah, not us. Who’d take our place? Especially now? He’d have to hire from the outside and lie about the conditions. Worst we’ll have to endure is a lecture. ‘I am sorely disappointed in all of you, leaving the Archives in such a state and going on holiday. We won’t discuss this further, but I will have to refuse any further time off requests you make for the remainder of the year.’”

Sasha presses a hand to her mouth to stifle her giggles. “Shh, you’ll wake Martin.”

“What do you say, Boss?” Tim asks, undeterred. “Team Archives in America? Debunking ghosts and solving mysteries? Rent a technicolor cargo van and adopt a Great Dane?”

The corners of Jon’s mouth twitch upwards in a smile. “Actually, the idea of going on a trip with the three of you is, strangely enough, not an altogether unwelcome one. God knows I haven’t taken a holiday in ages.”

“Your enthusiasm is boundless,” Tim says dryly. He kicks off his shoes and sits down on the blanket nest he’s built. “Hey, maybe the Primes will cover for us. They can pretend to be you and Martin and just Sasha and I can take the time off.”

“I think it’s a bit obvious they’re not us. Especially now.” Jon looks over at Martin. “I—I am sorry. I should have been there. I should have…it should have been me. Not any of you.”

Tim sighs, the smirk melting off his face. “Well, according to your counterparts, Martin was the only one who didn’t get…wormed the first time, so maybe you not being there means fewer people got hurt.”

“While I’m not ungrateful that you and Sasha weren’t hurt, Tim, it doesn’t make me feel any better for not…being there to help. Not even knowing.”

“Yeah, well…it was spur of the moment, sort of. And I deliberately didn’t tell you. Figured you wouldn’t…I don’t know, want to stay? Encourage us to stay? I mean, like you told Martin, it is still technically where we work, even if he was living there for a while.”

Jon looks pained. “I…in truth, I probably wouldn’t have wanted you all to stay, but not…Elias thought I was overreacting anyway, having Martin living there. I’d have probably come up with some ridiculous reason why you shouldn’t stay, but really it would have boiled down to the fear that if Elias found out we were all staying, he might order Martin out, and I—I thought that would put him in danger.”

“Well, if you believe what Martin Prime apparently told him, he wasn’t really what she was after,” Sasha points out. The last couple of words are swallowed by a yawn.

“I don’t know what I believe, Sasha.” Jon sighs heavily and takes off his glasses. “Let’s…table this discussion for the morning, shall we?”

“Sounds good. Tomorrow, then.” Tim yawns and burrows into his blankets.

Sasha curls up on the love seat. She figures she’ll lie there until she’s sure the others are asleep, then get up and do some investigating on her laptop, but to her mild surprise, she drifts off almost as soon as her eyes close.

#ollie writes fanfic #the magnus archives #tma #leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall) #in which a whole lot of nothing appears to happen #enjoy the mental image of Team Archives as the Scooby Gang #Jon is Shaggy #Tim is Fred #Sasha is Daphne #Martin is Velma #I will fight you on this

[schrijverr]

A Familiar Face

Martin is a fan of Jons band, the Mechanisms. He goes to a lot of their shows and Jon knows his face. They come face to face at work, Jon recognized Martin from the crowds, but Martin does not make the connection. 

On AO3.

Ships: JonMartin

Warnings: none, really, but if you want me to tag something just send an ask or something and I will do so without question!

~~~~~~~~~~

During his days at university Jon had been in a band called the Mechanisms. They were pretty successful and had a dedicated audience that would come to their gigs. There were a few faces he had come to recognize throughout the years of fans that turned up time and time again.

He liked knowing the regular faces. It made him feel better, knowing that people liked what they did enough to come time and time again, that people didn’t come to a show and then abandoned it, finding it wasn’t for them after all.

What he hadn’t expected was to see one of those familiar faces at his workplace.

The man in front of him was one of the faces he knew best. He had been there since one of their very first performances, he always stayed in the back and never came up to them after shows, but he was always there.

Jon had started looking for him in the audience, making sure to make at least a comment or gesture in his direction whenever he could. (He also might have a small crush on the man, but he couldn’t help it. He was tall and soft and his smile was adorably radiant.)

But now he was standing in front of him in a completely different setting, where Jonathan was just Jon not Jonny. He didn’t have that bravado in real life nor the confidence. He also didn’t want that part of him known at work, he had just gotten a promotion and he had worked for that. He didn’t want anyone to see him as unprofessional.

This is all backstory to explain why he didn’t say anything, but instead just looked at the other. The man shuffled awkwardly and stuck out his hand as he said: “I, uhm, I’m Martin, Martin Blackwood. I’m one of the assistants assigned here. It’s nice to meet you.”

Snapping out of it, Jon introduced himself as well: “I’m Jonathan Sims, the archivist. Pleasure.”

Martin, as he now knew the man was called, didn’t seem to recognize him and he was glad for it. On one hand he wanted to get to know the Martin, but keeping him at a distance so that he would never make the connection was a very tempting possibility.

He did the latter.

He knew it was the cowardly choice, but he had soon realized that although Tim was a good worker, he also lived to tease Jon and Jon could not just hand him that ammunition. But it was also hard to keep Martin at a distance. He was naturally caring and friendly, always ready for some chattering or making Jon some tea.

Yes, Martin made it very hard to not love him.

Still, Jon tried. He didn’t know when it had become so important none of his assistants made the connection between him and his musical past, but it was and Martin would be the first to do it. This was why Jon had started to actively try to push him away.

Jon wasn’t dumb. He knew Martin didn’t deserve it, but Jon had never claimed he wasn’t stupid. He had convinced himself this was the best course of action. He wasn’t someone anyone would love and letting Martin make the connection would only end in heartbreak for him and disappointment for Martin.

Martin liked the Mechanisms, he liked Jonny d’Ville.

Not Jon.

Jon was nothing like Jonny d’Ville. No, pushing him away was better for the both of them.

He kept believing that for a long time, but then Martin disappeared. Martin texted him he was sick with stomach issues and Jon believed him of course, but that didn’t stop the unease from crawling up his spine as the days turned into weeks and Martin still wasn’t back.

He blew up Martins phone with messages, hoping the other wouldn’t mind and Sasha and Tim would never find out. He also lashed out more at Martin, to release stress and hide the worry he felt. Not excusable, but the truth.

Then Martin returned and Jon felt sick as he gave his statement. Martin, kind and sweet Martin, who never got mad at anyone, had been stuck inside while he got attacked and no one had noticed.

Jon wanted to invite him to stay with him, safe and far away from anything paranormal that was hunting him, but that would be a dead give away with all the Mechs stuff there and highly unprofessional, so instead he just offered him a place in the archives.

Martin seemed so relieved he believed him, telling him about the worm he had taken with him to show to Jon he wasn’t lying. Jon had to swallow at that, the fact that Martin had put himself in extra danger just to prove to him he wasn’t a liar. So, Jon resolved to do better.

It was after a few months since Martin had returned from the siege on his flat. He had been living in the archives not really leaving the safety of the walls, but Jon knew he’d leave this weekend. He knew, because he was going to perform with his band this weekend nearby.

He was sure Martin wouldn’t miss it and he hoped he would have a good night, he deserved it, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t terrified that after being in close proximity with Jon for so long would make it easier to make the connection.

He stood backstage in full get up, peering through the curtain into the audience in search of a familiar face. From behind him Jessica asked: “Who are you looking for, Jonny?”

He startled and looked around. Then he blushed and admitted: “Uhm, Martin, a coworker.”

Getting some questions about Martin, he hurriedly said: “Oh no, he doesn’t know it’s me, or if he has he hasn’t said. We’ve seen him before, he’s almost always there. He’s the tall one, with the light brown hair and the nice smile? I don’t want him to make the connection, but he’s been having it rough lately, so I hoped I’d see him here and I could rest knowing he at least had one fun thing.”

“Ahw, does little Jonny have a crush.” Tim teased him.

Jon blushed some more and told him to shut up. Then it was time to go one stage and he didn’t have time to look again as he started the show:

“Like whiskey laced with gasoline, we’ll get you stinking drunk So shut your face and settle down, you sneering little punks For space is vast and you are small, it’s black and bitter cold The book is lying open. There are tales to be told.”

It was only when they were partway through Once Upon a Time (In Space) he managed to locate Martin in the crowd. He was in the back like usual and although he looked more tired than normal, his smile was as bright as Jon remembered it.

The show went on and Jon couldn’t help his gaze from gliding over to Martin. He was clapping along and having a good time. Once Jon made direct eye contact with him and winked. He was silently a bit mortified at the gesture, but he thought he saw Martin blush and smile wider, which made it worth the embarrassment.

His fellow Mechs noticed how he was mostly focused on the one corner, but none made fun of him, mostly. At one point he didn’t fill a silence between the works in favor of checking up on Martin and Tim ribbed: “The corner interesting, Jonny?”

He shot him a glare and gave him the finger as he told him: “Fuck off, I was just speechless by the ugliness of these people. I mean, really? Even you’re pretty in comparison and that is saying a lot.”

Falling back into his character and paying more attention to the flow of the show.

After what felt like a week that passed in a second the show was over and the band went backstage to take a breather, before returning to mingle with the audience. Jon talked to people left and right, just enjoying the feeling that came with a good show.

What he hadn’t expected was to come face to face with Martin. As stated before, Martin usually stayed in the background and never came over after a show, normally choosing to leave right away.

Jon didn’t know what to say, just blinking stupidly at Martin for a second. When he realized how awkward it was he quickly smiled and said: “You stayed! Sorry, I recognize you, you’ve been to a lot of the shows, but you never stayed, so I was kind of surprised. Apologies.”

Martin blushed: “Oh, sorry. I didn’t think, you’d seen me. I didn’t mean to be rude.”

“Oh, it wasn’t at all. You’re not required to stay.” Jon said, it was clear that Martin had not recognized him yet and to keep it that way he stayed as far away from how he was at work. Besides, this was the perfect opportunity to just talk to Martin, no history or barriers.

“Ah, okay, thank you.” Martin replied, “I never had the time, but I just had to be outside tonight just all bad right now, sorry, no need to say that. Anyway, I thought why not come over, you know?”

“I hope we were a suitable distraction.” Jon told him.

“You were.” Martin said warmly, “It was a great show, like usually of course, but somehow you’re better each time. I had a lot of fun, thank you.”

“And thank you. I’m glad.” Jon smiled at him, his cheeks were hurting a bit, but he would keep smiling to make Martin happy and comfortable.

It was silent between them then and Martin blushed: “I, uh, I never thought of what to say when I actually worked up to courage to come over.”

“That’s alright.” Jon said, before he realized he wasn’t good at small talk at all, the only starter he had was asking about someones job and he knew that wouldn’t be smart. He floundered for a second, then said: “I could introduce you to the others. We’re just drinking a pint at the bar right now.”

He immediately face palmed internally. He hoped none of the others would throw him under the bus and ruin this as he lead Martin over to them.

When they got there he said: “Hello, this is, uhm, sorry never got your name.”

“Martin.” Martin told him.

Jon nodded and repeated: “Martin, yes. He’s a fan of ours and has had it bad as of late and needs a drink.”

He guided Martin to a seat as the others introduced themselves. Ben, god bless his soul, shot him a questioning brow and Jon shook his head behind Martins head, indicating Martin had not realized. The others saw and decided to have mercy on him as they drank their pint in peace, just chattering among themselves and with Martin.

It was a good night and Jon just knew that this would keep him going for weeks and help him sleep when the unease and stress got to be too much. Martin seemed happy as well, which was a good sign. Martin deserved something nice right now.

At work that Monday, Jon overheard Martin and Tim chatting in the break room when he walked past on his way to get a statement. Tim asked: “So how was your weekend? Not too lonely in here, I hope.”

“Not at all.” Martin said and you could hear the smile in his voice, “I went to see a band, the Mechanisms. They’re not household names and not everyones taste, but I like them and it was a good show. I actually drank a pint with them after the show and they were lovely people.”

“Good to hear, man.” Tim said.

“Yeah.” Martin replied.

Jon didn’t hear what was said next, because Sasha came round the corner and Jon hurried off to avoid suspicion.

It wasn’t really mentioned again after that. Jon could sometimes hear Martin hum a familiar tune under his breath or hear his own voice float down the halls when he left or came into work.

But a lot happened, they got attacked by worms, found Gertrude's body and Jon went down a path of paranoia his relationships and mental health never really recovered from. He and the Mechs rarely did gigs anymore and after Sasha was revealed to be not Sasha and he has to flee from the law he decided that enough was enough. He’s had enough stress as it is.

Which is why, a month after his name was cleared, he returned to the stage for one final performance: Death To The Mechanisms.

It’s bittersweet, the end to an era of innocence and fun that Jon is no longer allowed to take part in, not with everything that has happened, will happen. He has to give everyone who supported him and his friends a good ending, they deserved that much at least.

He’s mostly lucky his face wasn’t splattered all over the news, since the police didn’t want any questions about The Magnus Institute.

The venue is packed with excited and sad fans, who have come to wave their band of immortal space pirates goodbye once and for all. Jon is looking from behind the curtain as Reesha played. He was supposed to introduce her, but he had chickened out and asked Tim to do it instead.

The past years hadn’t been kind to him. His body was littered with scars, his hair had gotten even more grey and the bags under his eyes were larger than the eyes themselves. He hoped none of the fans would notice too much or had any questions, god knew the other Mechs had had them when they got together to write the ending.

He had managed to avoid most of them, telling them that his new job was kind of strange and when he has asked them to just drop it, they had.

Reesha was now almost done and the Mechs had to go on stage. Jon tried to loosen his shoulders and clear his mind. He could stop thinking for a moment, stop being Jon with the stupidly hard life and just be Jonny, who let the punches wash over him like it was nothing. Taking a deep breath, he opened his eyes and stepped onto the stage.

Trying not to look at the crowd he slipped into his character as he started counting if everyone was there. He didn’t need to see the questions in their eyes or the nervousness it would give him. He was glad they’d chosen The Bifrost Incident to perform, since he didn’t have a big singing roll in it.

During the break he checked the comments on the livestream. The not knowing was more torturous than what anyone might have to say about him. He let out a relieved sigh when most thought it was makeup that had something to do with his death. That was good, they didn’t question it so far and when they would start he’d be already off the stage and far away.

He was more confidant after that and walked onto the stage with renewed energy, which would be needed if he were to preform Hellfire for example.

It was all going well so far. Jon was happy with their performance and the fans seemed to love it. When he started with his own death, he saw surprised and concerned faces that it has nothing to do with the scars they had presumed were makeup, but this was something special that they’d been waiting for, so when he moved on the Ashes, so did the crowd.

But they went out with a bang and it wasn’t until they’re waving their last goodbye to everyone, who had supported them so much that he spotted Martin in the back of the crowd. He had honestly forgotten he was a fan of the Mechs with everything that had been going on, but as their eyes met over the crowd he saw Martin mouth: “Jon?”

He winced and looked away, before he fled from the scene, saying a quick goodbye to people he knew he wouldn’t see again from the moment he hadn’t trusted them enough to go to after he was framed. He didn’t want to drag them into this anyway and he’d rather they believe him an asshole than that they’d be dead.

Jon feared the confrontation that would come with Martin when he’d come into work the next time, but alas there wasn’t a next time for a while. He got kidnapped and then there wasn’t time and, who was Martin to seek a fight with a comatose man.

By the time he had woke up, Martin was in the clutches of the Lonely, but unknowingly to Jon, he still had his voice to keep him company on old albums.

In fact the whole thing wasn’t brought up again till they were safe in Scotland and had been for a while. When the fear of being followed or discovered had faded and they’d allowed themselves to relax. It was quite domestic, Jon had to admit, but it was what he had craved, what he had needed.

It came up again, while Jon was doing the dishes off all things. He was just drying the plates and humming under his breath, after a while he started to mumble familiar lyrics of the first couplet that turned into soft singing with the second once:

“And when the giants, they come a-rolling Well, we will fight, we will fight, fight for our boy Jack When the giants, they come a-rolling If he can slay them, so can we”

He didn’t get to move on to the next one, because Martin, who had been in the living room adjacent to the kitchen, had heard and suddenly a revelation he hadn’t taken the time to process came back to him.

Martin stumbled into the kitchen, startling Jon into dropping a plate, as he pointed his finger at him and yelled: “You were in the Mechanisms!”

With wide and fearful eyes Jon looked at him. His brain caught up with the situation and he slowly said: “Oh, yeah, I was.” he paused, “You were there, right? I assumed you knew, sorry.”

Dropping the finger Martins shoulders sagged and he said: “I did, I just hadn’t really taken the time to think about it, you know, with everything that happened after it.”

Jon winced, but Martin went on: “You talked with me for an entire night without mentioning that I knew you! God, that is so embarrassing. I totally made a fool of myself.”

He was blushing with the accusation and Jon winced again, then he reassured Martin: “You didn’t, it was cute.”

“Cute?” Martin exclaimed, bordering on hysterical.

“Yes,” Jon said, “it felt really nice to just talk to you without the whole thing at work and you’re really cute when you’re excited. Besides, you deserved to have one nice thing that wasn’t touched by work. I wasn’t about to ruin that for you.”

“But you hated me back then.” Martin stated, totally confused.

Jon rubbed the back of his head and twisted his fingers. He bit his lip as well and opened his mouth to start a sentence, but then didn’t dare and stopped. Martin saw this, picking up every clue of a nervous Jon, who wanted to say something, but also didn’t. He put his hand on his hip and said: “Spit it out, Jon. I know you want to and I want to know. Please?”

It was the please that did it, Jon was weak for that please, so he admitted: “I never hated you.”

“You didn’t?” Martin asked.

Jon shook his head and explained: “No, I, uhm, I recognized you the moment we met in the archives and I was scared you would tell the other and find out and ruin my reputation of professionalism along with giving Tim teasing material for years, so I tried to push you away, but you’re too nice to push me away and I had a crush on you that I had to hide and the only way I could manage to get that under control was to push you away. Sorry, I’m so sorry about that, Martin.”

Martin was silent for a moment, then he softly stated: “You had a crush on me.”

A scarlet blush went over Jons dark features as he realized he had admitted that. He swallowed and nodded: “Yes, I’d see you in the back and you caught my eye. I, uhm, I never dared to try and talk to you and you were almost always gone by the time I had the chance, so I nothing ever happened. I was pretty surprised to see you suddenly in front of me at work.”

“I can imagine that.” Martin chuckled, a small happy bubble forming in his chest when he realized he wasn’t the only one, who had walked around for too long with a silly crush. He shook his head and said: “I still can’t wrap my head around the fact you’re Jonny d’Ville.”

Jon blushed some more and groaned slightly in embarrassment as he buried his head in Martins chest. They stood like that for a moment, in each others arms. Then Martin kissed his head and asked: “Can you sing something for me?”

Looking up, Jon didn’t have to think twice about agreeing. He’d do anything for Martin and something as simple as just singing something, which would remind him of better times, wasn’t really a sacrifice.

“What do you want me to sing?” he asked.

Without hesitating Martin answered: “The part where you come in in Sleeping Beauty. I always loved that part, I thought it was very funny how you just went straight over the sad song.”

Jon smiled at that, he liked that part as well. He untangled himself from Martin and took a deep breath:

“Take Aurora in gently, Nastya, let’s see what these Rosies can do Gotta say I’m in the mood for violence and I reckon you might be too Let’s get this party started the only way we know Gunfire and explosions, that’s our cue

Fire ‘til your guns are empty, ‘til your ammunition runs dry If you’re finished playing at soldiers you might have noticed we cannot die I suggest you beat a fucking tactical retreat Or we’ll let slip the dogs of war and havoc cry”

Martin clapped in his head excitedly. He smiled broadly and he said: “It’s just like in the shows.” then more bashfully he asked: “Would you mind singing some more? Or is it making you uncomfortable? It’s alright if you don’t want to.” Jon gave him a soft and warm smile and answered: “I would sing for you even, if the world ends if that would make you happy.”

And that promise he kept. Even if there was only despair around them, he would hum and sing softly to remind Martin he was here and he was real and they would make it.

#RR writing #jon sims #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #martin x jon #jonmartin #jonathan sims x martin blackwood #the magnus archives #the magnus pod #tma #tma the mechanisms #jarchevist was a mechs #martin blackwood is a mechs fan

[sunsetinmyvein]

CLOSED (for now)

All right, all right, ALL RIGHT. PEOPLE. For the first time, I am taking requestsssss (so, let’s see if this goes well or not lol). @aphxsia‘s taking requests, @dot-writes is taking requests, everyone is taking them and I just felt a tad left out, y’know? I’ve chopped up a bunch of other prompt lists to throw together this lovely prompt list below at the suggestion of Dot. My general idea is: send me a character, and one prompt from the “dialogue” side as well as one prompt from the “context” side (or more if you have more that fit together in an idea, I suppose. But I need one of each to get a VibeTM) and Iiiiii’ll do my best to make it work within a character x OFC/Reader sorta thing. Oh, and send me an album era for added flair, if you’d like. Deets below the cut.

 I’ll write for:

-          The boys of Fall Out Boy

-          The boys of Panic! At the Disco (we’re talkin’ Ryan and Jon days)

-          The boys of The 1975

-          And, if you’re incredibly ambitious, also willing to give Alex Gaskarth of All Time Low a whirl

 Rules:

-          Can’t do smut (sorry, it’s just awkward and clunky for me to write and nobody wants that)

-          Won’t write characters under 18

-          Won’t write slash

-          I just kind of reserve the right to be like “I dunno what to do with this, sorry” (But I’ve curated this prompt list, so I should be okay lol)

-          I’ll get around to them when I get around to them - I’ll be writing them around The Radio Station being posted as well, so you won’t be starved for content.

  Dialogue:

·         “You’re not in love with them, are you?”

·         “I could literally strangle you right now and no one would stop me.”

·         “It’s not as bad as it looks.” - “You’re not very convincing.”

·         “You need to relax.” - “Relaxing is for the weak.”

·         “How long has it been since you’ve slept?” - “A week?”

·         “How the fuck are you still alive?” - “It’s a special talent of mine.”

·         “Can you please just listen to me for once?”

·         “I think this is a bad idea.” - “You think all of my plans are bad ideas.”

·         “You should really listen to me more.”

·         “Do I even want to know?”

·         “You have the cutest smile I’ve ever seen.”

·         “Just take care of yourself, okay?”

·         “Please don’t use cheesy pickup lines on me.”

·         “I like it when you’re romantic.”

·         “I’m going to be pissed if we get murdered.”

·         “How could I resist?”

·         “I’m sorry, I don’t speak dumbass.” - “Real mature.”

·         “You’re worth every scratch.”

·         “I could name about 110 things I love about you.” - “That’s oddly specific.”

·         “We can raise hell together.”

·         “Partners?”

·         “Don’t get too cocky now.”

·         “Fuck me.” - “Really?” - “No.”

·         “I can’t tell if you’re being sarcastic.”

·         “Do you trust me?” - “Should I?”

·         “Do you have any idea on how frustrating you can really be?”

·         “I really, really want to kiss you right now.”

·         “I think we got off on the wrong foot.” - “You think so?”

·         “I don’t think that cancels out.” - “It does in my book.”

·         “You’re being dramatic.” - “I’m not being shit!”

·         “Take a break.” - “I don’t need it.” - “You look like a fucking zombie.”

·         “Then we’ll leave. Just you and me.”

·         “Do you need help? - “No… yes.”

·         “I hate you.” - “I love you too.”

·         “You have something in your hair, umm… Do you want me to get it out?”

·         “It’s nice that your voice was the first thing I heard today.”

·         “No, like…. It’s just, I can’t believe you’re actually wearing my clothes.”

·         “Would it be too cliche if we matched clothes a little?”

·         “My friends get so annoyed by how much I talk about how sometimes.”

·         “Wanna, like– I mean, if you’re not busy… We could get lunch? Or even just coffee if you don’t have a lot of time?”

·         “Quit smiling at me, I can’t stop messing up my sentences when you look at me like that.”

·         “What are you smiling about?”

·         “What’s in it for me?”

·         “Could you say that again?” “Were you not listening?” “No I was, I just like hearing your voice.”

·         “You’re an idiot.” “But you love me.”

·         “Is that my shirt?” “You mean our shirt?”

·         “You come here often?” “Well considering I work here, yes.”

·         “Are you blushing?”

·         “Your hair is really soft.”

·         “You’re really warm.”

·         “You owe me.” “Fine, whatever you like.”

·         “I love you.” “Tell me that when you’re sober.” 

·         “I wasn’t lying when I told you that I loved you.”

·         “It’s pouring rain why are you here?”

·         “Is that blood?” “Yes, but that doesn’t matter right now, what does matter is-” “You are literally bleeding.”

·         “Cheers, I’ll drink to that.” “You drink to everything.” “Cheers!”

·         “Why is there a deer in the room?” 

·         “Is that vodka? At 7 in the morning?”

·         “Wake me up when it’s over.” 

·         “Why is arson always your first answer?”

·         “Are you flirting with me?”

·         “Are they really ‘just a friend’?”

·         “Is there a reason you never say my first name?”

·         “Shh… listen… that’s the sound of me falling in love with you.”

·         “I have to tell you something really important and if I don’t tell you now, I won’t get the chance.”

·         “Whatever he’s saying, he’s lying!”

·         “I play a mean air guitar, if that’s what you’re asking.”

·         “I thought you knew?”

·         “We can, y’know, go together? If that’s a thing you’d like.”

 Context:

·         I remembered it was Valentine’s Day late on my way from work and the only place still open was McDonald’s, is bringing you a cheeseburger acceptable?

·         I accidentally punched you in the face when I was too overexcited about something

·         The library’s pretty empty save for you and me and, OH that couple making out loudly in the shelves somewhere

·         You’re overdue on this book and I want it so I’m tracking you the fuck down

·         You give me a different fake name every time you come into this coffee shop and I just want to know your real name because you’re cute but here I am scrawling “batman” onto your stupid cappuccino

·         We live in the same block of flats but haven’t ever talked and Sunday morning we were both doing the walk of shame and had to stand in the lift together

·         “My shower’s broken but I’ve got a date tonight could I possibly use your shower please?” “Oh sure (neighbour that I’ve been crushing on for the past six months) of course you can use my shower to get ready for your date (fuck fuck fuck)”

·         You’ve got a date tonight and you asked for advice on what to wear but I’m so in love with you and damn you look good in the outfit I picked out for you

·         It’s my high school reunion and I need a hot date so I can rub it in the faces of the people who hated me

·         There’s a person who won’t stop bugging me will you pretend to be my partner so that they’ll fuck off?

·         I wanted to go on the Ferris wheel but there has to be two people to a cart come on random person let’s go – oh, wait, are we stuck at the top? Fuck

·         It started to snow and I’m the only one of our friends who would go outside with you – I soon found out why none of the others would go out in the snow with you when you shoved a handful of snow down my back and declared snow war

·         It’s nowhere near Christmas it’s literally still November would you calm down about Christmas wait no why are you getting the tree out – no, stop, please stop

·         You were waving at your friend behind me but I got confused and waved back at you and now I’m dying of embarrassment but you think it’s cute

·         I’m a waiter at this wedding and you’re a drunk guest who will not stop hitting on me please I’m trying to work no I can’t dance with you omg let me find you some water

·         You’re pretending to be your friend’s lover for the sake of the friend’s family. But, I’m their sibling. And I know you’re not dating.

·         You had an assigned seat next to them at a wedding for a mutual friend.

·         You accidentally sprayed them with yogurt when you opened the lid the wrong way.

·         They mistook your bowling ball for theirs in the shared ball return.

·         They caught you when you slipped on ice and nearly fell over.

·         Accidentally stepping on their heel in a crowded room.

·         Tripping while getting into your seat in the theatre and spilling your popcorn on them.

·         Accidentally opening a door on their face.

·         They cover the small amount of change you are short on for a purchase.

·         They see your ice cream drop to the ground and buy you a new one.

·         You walk out of a dressing room asking if the outfit suits you, but it’s not your friend waiting outside the room like you thought.

·         Sharing an umbrella at a bus stop as it rains.

·         You help catch their dog when the leash slips from their hand.

·         Texting the incorrect number but continuing the conversation.

·         Getting paired up on an amusement park that requires even numbered riders.

·         A friend of a friend needs a place to crash because they got evicted

·         You’re so sunburnt you can’t even more, do you need help?

·         I admit that sleeping on the beach wasn’t the smartest idea but someone buried me in sand please help me

·         I met you last night when you were drunkenly patting my dog in my backyard at 3am and when I asked you what the hell you were doing, you slurred something about dogs being great and then you threw up on my feet. Fifteen minutes later you were passed out on my couch so that’s why you’re here right now. What the fuck is your name.

·         I always see you eat breakfast on the train and you always offer me some

·         I’m waiting for the train and the only open seat is on a bench next to you. Okay, sure, I’ll sit down next to the very cute person and I JUST SPILLED MY DRINK ALL OVER YOU I’M SO SORRY.

·         I don’t know you, but I fall asleep on the train every ride home and you always wake me up because we have the same stop, but we’ve never actually talked. Then one day you’re the one falling asleep and I got so excited for my comeuppance I made us get off at the wrong stop.

·         My cat steals underwear and I come home to find you chasing my cat to get your underwear back.

·         We’re always making stupid bets like ‘bet you can’t drink this whole bottle of BBQ sauce’ but then you did and now you’re sick and I feel really bad. Let me look after you

·         Did you actually just blue shell me on our date you fucker

·         I beat you at Mario Kart and now I’ve been banished to the couch for the night

·         I’m calling to cancel our date because I’m actually in the ER right now, sorry. I mean… sure? I guess you can come down here but- okay…

·         I asked a staff member and they said you’ve been coming to the pound every day to play with the dog I’m taking home today and that’s why you’re getting weirdly emotional

·         It’s my turn to open up the café today and you were sleeping under one of the tables when I came in, and I don’t know what to say so I’m just awkwardly sweeping around you

·         I’m drunk on public transport and you’re high and we both keep looking at each other knowingly.

·         You’re mowing your lawn at 5am and that is completely unacceptable and I’m going over to your house to yell at you about how unacceptable that is.

·         It’s like 3am and my roommate locked me out of the house and I forgot my keys and I’m really drunk and please take pity on me and let me crash at your place for the night o’neighbour of mine

·         We decided it would be fun to go camping and now it’s raining and we can’t figure out how to set up the tent.

·         I know it’s probably poor taste to ask you out during your relative’s funeral but I don’t know if I’ll ever see you again, so…

·         It’s raining. I’m walking home in this downpour and have no umbrella. I’ve taken shelter on a random porch in the hopes that the rain will let up, but the door behind me had just opened

·         You’ve got a big, lush pool and I overheard you say you were going out of town, so I snuck over to use it but you came home early

·         You’re having a BBQ in your backyard and it smelled really good so I crashed the party

·         Not trying to make a scene here, but you took the last pool floatie and I want it

·         This is a big beach, why do you have to build that sandcastle right next to me?

·         You tried to grab the exact Halloween costume I want and it’s the last one and I want it.

·         I pranked the wrong person on accident, I’m so sorry I thought this was my friend’s car.

·         We just wanted to do one of these awful, fake ghost hunting shows but now shit is happening and we don’t know what to do.

·         I tried to take a shortcut and ended up stuck in this damn fence and you just happen to pass by and after poking fun at me for a million years you finally help me.

·         Two strangers locked inside the store at 3am together.

·         I accidentally broke your nose in a moshpit, sorry.

·         You’re the bastard who keeps parking in my spot so I retaliated by keying your car and you caught me

·         This is a long plane ride. You’re stuck next to me, and apparently afraid of flying.

#Posting this now because I am impatient #even though I probably won't have time to work on any until Sunday #hoping that I don't get overloaded with prompts and then stare at them blankly with no ideas #if I do #sorry in advance #definitely not mildly nervous about taking requests for the first time #dunno what you're talking about #sunsetinmyvein prompts #sunsetinmyvein requests #sunsetinmyvein

[aion-rsa]

Critters: The Making of a Comedy Horror Cult Classic

https://ift.tt/eA8V8J

Rupert Harvey knew he was on to something with Critters after one memorable test screening.  Specifically, it was the scene where the Critters, who had already been terrorizing the Brown family, were standing on the doorstep of the family’s home talking in their guttural language with subtitles translating for the audience…until one of them is blown to gooey bits by a shotgun blast (wielded by none other than E.T. mom Dee Wallace), and the other lets out a subtitled “Fuck.”

“It totally destroyed the audience,” Harvey recalls. “They just howled. We lost the next scene because they were laughing so hard and I thought: ‘Okay, this is probably going to work.’” 

It had already taken a lot of work for Critters to get this far. 

Bringing Critters to Life

Released on April 11, 1986, the horror comedy about a small town and farm-dwelling family under attack from little furry space aliens with a taste for human flesh was unfairly dismissed by some as a Gremlins knock-off. 

But that did a disservice to the unique tone of Critters; a sci-fi comedy featuring belly laughs alongside genuine moments of terror. A film that owed as much to 1950s sci-fi B-movies as it did anything else, with its tale of picturesque Americana under attack from aliens. 

It also overlooks the film’s quirkier narrative aspect like the pair of shapeshifting alien bounty hunters who arrive on Earth to hunt the Critters down, with one of them assuming the form of a popular Jon Bon Jovi-esque rock musician. 

This surreal sci-fi tone, coupled with the copious violence, occasional bad language, and general unpredictability of it all helped give Critters the feel of a rebellious younger brother to the more mature Gremlins.  

To many, it was the cooler, edgier movie and one that boasted underlying themes that remain universal to this day. 

More importantly, the accusation of imitation was incorrect. If the two films were related, it wasn’t by design with screenwriter Brian Dominic Muir first writing the script for Critters back in 1982, two years before Joe Dante’s film hit cinemas.  

“I don’t think I saw Gremlins until we were in post-production,” Harvey, who produced Critters and worked on two of its three original sequels, tells Den of Geek. “It was certainly not something we were thinking about very much at the time, if at all. 

We were dealing with very different creatures and the fact that they were so different in concept meant I wasn’t terribly bothered by it. Gremlins were these mythical, earthbound, magical beings whereas Critters were extraterrestrial. People who say there are similarities are just influenced by the fact Gremlins was such a huge success, but it was a much bigger budget movie.” 

Muir’s script didn’t see the light of day for nearly three years before he showed it to friend and fellow budding filmmaker Stephen Herek who developed it further. That was where Harvey came in. 

The three men met while working on Android, a distinctive low budget sci-fi film Harvey was producing alongside independent movie trailblazer Roger Corman.  

“Brian gave me Critters to read and l loved it,” Harvey recalls. “It was an archetypal American story about foreigners invading the homeland. It’s quite prescient given the current state of politics in America. There was this quintessentially American setup with this almost pioneering family struggling through adversity to come out the other side.” 

35 years on, that notion of protecting the homeland is one Harvey feels is reflected in the inward-looking politics increasingly prominent in America and the UK today. That sentiment was already bubbling under the surface when Critters came out in the Reagan-era of the 1980s.

“It was novel to look at that then through the lens of Critters,” he says. “No one was seeing the film in those terms but that human fear of outsiders coming in has always been there and has been a fundamental part of cinema and drama since forever.” 

Harvey agreed to develop the film under his production company, Sho Films. Though he mulled over an offer to produce a low budget version of Critters with Corman, everything changed when Bob Shaye and New Line Cinema came calling. 

Writing Critters

“New Line was really a mom-and-pop operation at that point. They hadn’t made A Nightmare on Elm Street yet. They weren’t the New Line of today, but Bob offered to double our budget, so I did the deal.” 

Even so, Shaye took some convincing on the choice of director. 

Herek would go on to helm Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure, Don’t Tell Mom the Babysitter’s Dead, and a string of big budget Disney movies in the years that followed but had never directed prior to Critters, having previously worked as an editor. 

“Stephen, to his credit, even though he had no leverage other than a script we wanted to make, absolutely insisted that nobody would direct it but him and if he didn’t it wouldn’t get made,” Harvey says. “He stuck to his guns and there was never any shift in that position on Brian’s side. I had to convince Bob on several occasions to go ahead with us and, even during production, to actually stick with Steve. But we were all very glad that he did.” 

On the writing side, Harvey enlisted Sho Films’ in-house writer Don Opper. A fellow Roger Corman acolyte, Opper had written and starred in Android where he also worked with Herek and Muir. 

He was seen as the ideal candidate to work alongside Herek after Muir became unwell. 

“Brian, unfortunately, became quite ill not long after we started making Critters,” Harvey says. 

Muir was reportedly battling Hodgkin’s disease at the time. Though he recovered, the writer, who often wrote under the pseudonym August White for Full Moon Entertainment later in his career, sadly died from cancer aged 48 in 2010.  

“He was a very sweet, nice man,” Harvey recalls. “In Brian’s absence, Don worked with Stephen on polishing the script. One of the ways was to enhance the family and their relationships.” 

By then the distinctive looking Opper had also been cast in the pivotal role of Charlie McFadden, the town drunk and a conspiracy theorist convinced the fillings in his teeth are picking up signals from outer space.  

Like a cross between Randy Quaid’s deranged pilot from Independence Day and Billy Bob Thornton in Sling Blade, Charlie would eventually emerge as a fan favorite, appearing in each of the three Critters sequels. 

He was one of several quirky locals introduced early on in Critters with much of the first third of the film dedicated to establishing the Brown family, their farm, and the characters of the fictional Kansas town of Grover’s Bend where the Critters land.  

In one picture postcard scene of the perfect nuclear family, the Browns gather round the breakfast table in a primary colored kitchen, blissfully unaware of the approaching danger and disruption to follow. 

That slow build-up may be less commonplace today, but it’s something Harvey believes was crucial to the success of the film. 

“That was one of the things that appealed to me about the script,” he says. “If you set that up properly and the audience is in there with you. They gain an understanding of the family dynamic right away and they are engaged. It helps you then feel for each one of them subsequently…The rules are the same, and they have been since the first Greek dramas; storytelling is still about humans and the human condition. Just making stuff about what the monsters are doing has no appeal.” 

Critters came during a time when horror comedies were commonplace in multiplexes.

“Studios started to notice in test screenings that the audience response was often bigger when you capped a scare or moment of high tension with a bit of wit or humor,” Harvey explains. 

Post-screening surveys bore this out; using humor to emphasize or punctuate a terrifying moment drew a bigger response from the audience. Regardless of the visceral impact of the scare itself. It made it more memorable to viewers.

The Cast of Critters

It helped that Critters boasted an impressive cast to bring the script to life.  

Blade Runner’s M. Emmet Walsh appeared as the grouchy local sheriff while Dee Wallace, who had starred in E.T. only a few years earlier, was also convinced to sign on as the Brown family matriarch Helen. Billy “Green” Bush was cast as the hardworking man of the house Jay Brown with Nadine van der Velde as his high school teen daughter April. 

Despite some impressive names, Harvey ranks the casting of future Party of Five and ER star Scott Grimes in the role of mischievous central teenage protagonist Brad Brown as the most significant. It’s Scott who first discovers the Critters and Scott that begins to fight back against them using his slingshot and potent firecrackers coming off like a hellish Kevin McCallister from Home Alone. 

“Scott was tailor-made for the role,” Harvey says. “He was at the center of the craziness and he had the audience’s sympathy and support because no one was paying attention to him.” 

For all the acting talent on display, however, much of the movie’s success rested on the tiny shoulders of a few hedgehog-like puppets. 

“The biggest challenge was making the Critters appear to be a viable threat as the antagonists,” Harvey says. “We were really fortunate that we found the Chiodo Brothers.” 

A trio of siblings who specialized in stop motion and animatronic work, the Chiodos were relative newcomers to the movie business and would go on to projects like Elf and Team America: World Police. 

“We knew from the script we were dealing with a fur ball that got around fast by rolling around and was all teeth and voracious,” Harvey says. “That was the extent of the design parameters. They came up with the drawings and the details as to how they would work.”

Harvey cites the Critters’ distinctive, almost limbless design as both a blessing and a curse.  

“From a construction and manipulation point of view, they were relatively straightforward,” he says. “But from an action perspective, there was not a lot you could do with them.” 

While other projects, like New Line’s later Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles movies, would struggle with glitchy animatronics, there were no such problems with the Chiodos’ creations with each running impressively well thanks to a crack team behind the scenes.

“Even though the Critters were fairly simple creatures, there were times for some of those shots, when we had 10 guys running different cables and things to them to get them right,” Harvey recalls. “They had eye movement, mouth movement, lip movement even their little arms and legs move because these things needed to look as believable as possible. But it was still tough to make these things that rolled around something scary and frightening rather than cute and laughable.” 

That was where Billy Zane came in. A good horror villain needs a good victim. Cast in the role of April’s unsuspecting boyfriend Steve Eliot, the then unknown Zane ended up falling afoul of the Critters in arguably the film’s standout gory death after encountering the furry fiends while enjoying a makeout session in the family’s barn. 

“It was the first thing he’d ever done. I think he’d arrived in L.A. a week before,” Harvey says, recalling how uncomfortably hot that barn scene was for everyone involved. “It was 100 degrees in the barn. He had little furry creatures stuck to his stomach and was covered in fake blood. It was so hot and sticky. We stayed there for the whole day, getting all the inserts and various other bits and pieces to make the scene…But that setup in the claustrophobic space of the barn helped to make the scene much scarier because we could set it up in a kind of way that made the punchline, the payoff, much more visceral.” 

The Bounty Hunters

For all the machinations of the Critters themselves, it’s their pursuers from outer space, the two faceless bounty hunters, who almost steal the show.

Especially after one decides to take the form of fictional hair metal superstar Johnny Steele, the singer of “Power of the Night” a song so pitch-perfectly cheesy, you had to wonder if Steele is a real artist rather than musical theater actor Terrence Mann. 

“I went to see Terrence who was appearing in Cats on Broadway. He’d been suggested by a friend and was seriously interested in doing the film,” Harvey says. “We had a friend in New York who was in the music business and had a recording studio. He put together some tracks and we created this imaginary band that he stole the identity of the lead singer from.” 

Despite some striking similarities to artists of the time, Harvey insists Johnny Steele wasn’t set up as a deliberate lampooning of any one artist.

“The band was generically inspired by particular bands of the time,” he says. “There wasn’t any one group or individual. We were post punk and before real heavy metal. There was more of a glam goth influence.” 

Teaming up with Charlie and Brad, the bounty hunters eventually destroy the Critters though it comes at a cost to the Browns, with the family home blown-up in the process. It was a powerful symbol of the way these invaders had shattered their lives but not their spirit. Unfortunately, New Line Cinema didn’t like it as an ending. 

“Bob wanted it changed so that the house was rebuilt in the end but I was against it so we had a few arguments about that, but it was Bob’s money, and we did it and it came out very successfully.” 

Shaye and New Line would occasionally prove tricky customers, with Harvey often forced to traverse the familiar pitfalls of independent filmmaking.

“We were in production and things were really tough and there was one point in time when Bob and I sat down in the trailer and he explained to me some things that I won’t go into,” Harvey says.  “Things were very tricky for a week or two financially, but they sorted themselves out. That was a typical attribute of an independent movie. ‘Oh God you’re spending $150,000 dollars a day, can you spend $100,000?’. Not unheard of but no fun at the time.” 

For all the trials and tribulations of the film, cast, and Critters themselves, however, he has fond memories of working on the film.

“We weren’t stuck in Los Angeles in some smoke-filled space,” he said. “The set was built on Newhall Ranch, this huge bucolic area of land outside of L.A and there we were for five weeks shooting in relatively hot temperatures.” 

Critters Sequels and What’s Next

After a quick turnaround in editing, Critters was released in cinemas, proving to be a hit with over $13 million made at the box office off a budget of $3 million. This kind of success made sequels inevitable.

Though Harvey was unavailable for the second film, he returned for the third and fourth movies, which were filmed back-to-back and released direct to video.

“By then video cassettes were a huge component to New Line’s early success and helped finance the Nightmare on Elm Street and Critters sequels and all of the other movies that they then started making in order to become the powerhouse they became,” Harvey says. “I think it funded something like 40 to 40 to 50 percent of New Line production for that period of time.”

Harvey was initially hesitant to get involved, citing Shaye’s wishes to make the sequels for even less money than the first film. However, he ultimately relented after agreeing to film them back-to-back.

Harvey has mixed feelings about the two sequels, particularly the third movie, which he had conceived as being “much darker and much more violent” than what eventually made it to the screen.

“I wanted to do a George Romero homage for the third film,” he says. “I was very much interested in the claustrophobia of the tenement building in New York City, that kind of atmosphere. Boy, did it ever turn out differently.”

Having also agreed to direct the fourth film, which was set in space and wrap up the franchise, he found himself too busy to oversee work on the third movie.

“It was different. I didn’t have as much to do with Critters 3 because I was directing the fourth film. We were shooting back to back. We had a week down in between the two. All the time we were shooting Critters 3 I was prepping Critters 4.”

While the fourth film featured both a young Angela Bassett and Brad Dourif on top scene-chewing form, the third entry has become among the most noted in the years since thanks to the presence of a young Leonardo DiCaprio in the main role.

“It’s the movie that shall remain nameless on Leo DiCaprio’s resume,” Harvey jokes.

He doesn’t have a lot of memories about DiCaprio on set though there was already a sense he was destined for big things.

“One day he told me he needed some time off. He had to go and audition for this movie. After he came back I asked ‘How did it go?’ and he said ‘Robert De Niro is really great’. he’d been off auditioning for This Boy’s Life…And of course, when he did that movie, it was like, ‘Holy shit. Well, where was that actor when we were making Critters 3?’” 

While Leo is unlikely to return to the Critters franchise anytime soon, Harvey, who had no involvement in a recent TV revival, believes that there is life in the old furballs yet.

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“It’s not a franchise that’s going to go away,” he says cryptically. “Whatever comes next needs to be something that is responsive to contemporary sources. I can’t really say too much about it, because nothing is final. All I can tell you is that I don’t think this is the end.”

The post Critters: The Making of a Comedy Horror Cult Classic appeared first on Den of Geek.

from Den of Geek https://ift.tt/2RHGEEI

#aion-rsa #Den of Geek

[katrandomwrites]

Wierdly Human

Alternate title was "Jon the Archivist is Kinda Hot"

Little in between snippets from the assistants and their impressions of Jonathan Sims.

I declare this a fluff and humor only zone! Episode 160 can kiss my butt.

You can also find this on AO3 under the same title.

I got the inspiration for this from a tumblr post about Jon being a clean boy despite crawling through hell and back but I think the writer deleted it because I spent forever looking for it and couldn't find it :n: Also 2 Drink Jon is a reference to 2 other fics I've read so his wild ass is not mine.

Supplemental Headcanons at the end.

--

Pre-Show

There was somebody new at the Institute. 

He was short and dark with black hair neatly trimmed and styled. A pair of browline glasses perched in front of wide brown eyes that seemed to absorb everything around him.

“Hey, uh, Tim,” Martin whispered as he leaned over to where his coworker was digging through a drawer, “Who’s that?”

“Hm?” Tim’s eyes widened as he looked up, “Oh shit, he’s cute.”

“Not helpful, Tim.”

“Um, I think he might be Daniel’s replacement. I think his name is Joe or something,” Tim swallowed, “I wonder what modeling agency Bouchard raided for him.”

Martin elbowed him in the ribs hard, his face going as red as his hair, “Shut up!”

“But look at him, Martin! He has to have a skincare routine an hour long and don’t tell me you didn’t notice that those trousers are bloody tailored. I see you looking at his arse!”

“SHUT UP!”

”What are you two fighting about now?”

Both researchers jumped away from each other as Sasha popped up behind them.

“Hot new guy,” Tim said, earning another jab and a hiss.

Sasha looked at Martin and grinned, “Short, scrawny, Persian, and angry?”

“He’s Persian?” Martin stuttered before slapping a hand over his mouth.

“Yeah, I got to talk to him during his follow up interview. Smart guy but kind of grumpy and super awkward. We got talking about foriegn food and he offered to give me his grandma’s recipe for chelow kababs,” Sasha said.

“What’s his name.” Tim asked, looking back at where the new guy was glaring at a row of filing cabinets with several drawers ajar.

“Jonathan Sims.”

--

Pre Episode 44

Basira watched as Sims limped away with the tape clutched to his chest like a lifeline before sighing and heading out to the car where Daisy was waiting.

“Well?” Daisy asked, “How’s our favorite murderer?”

Basira swatted her feet off the dash, “He looks like he hasn’t slept in 3 weeks and recently got hit by a car.”

“I wasn’t asking about his nasty, worm-eaten face, Basira,” Daisy said, “Does he know we’re watching him?”

“I don’t think so -put your seatbelt on- it seems like he’s more invested in what’s on those tapes for now. I get the feeling he’s more worried about watching the people he works with than us.”

“What a sad little librarian. I’m looking forward to how he managed to kill Robinsen without getting his ass whipped.”

“She was old.”

“Yeah, but Sims looks like he’d get knocked out by a light breeze even before he got munched on by some nasty fucking bugs. Did you see the surveillance from Robinsen’s initial investigation? I went back through to track Sims and watched him struggle move a box that was in front of a filing cabinet for a solid twenty minutes; the big ginger guy had to move it for him.”

“That’s-” Basira snorted, “That’s pathetic.”

Daisy grinned, “He has to be one manipulative bastard to get anything done.”

“Is that your theory?”

“I mean look at you.”

“What about me?”

“He gives you the puppy eyes once and now you’re smuggling him tapes from the evidence locker? I have never known the great Basira Hussain to ever cave to a suspect’s wishes in my life- and don’t say it’s to keep a closer eye on him. We have less illegal tactics for that.”

Basira opened her mouth to argue but found that Daisy had a point. She really only gave into suspects if the circumstances were dire. This was technically classed as a low priority case.

What was going on here? 

--

Post Episode 76

Melanie flopped dramatically onto Georgie's couch and let out a long winded sigh.

"Oh?" Georgie asked from the kitchen door.

Melanie sat up slightly to let her sit down before plopping her head down on Georgie's thigh, "I had to go talk to Sims at the Institute again."

"How's Jon?"

"A fucking bastard is what he is."

"Well I knew that," Georgie laughed, gently beginning to brush through Melanie's hair with her fingers.

"I don't know, he's was wierdly defensive and I think he was trying to gaslight me about one of his new assistants."

Georgie paused her brushing, "I haven't seen Jon in a while but that seems… out of character for him. He's a grump, sure, but I've never known him to be a bully -on purpose that is."

"Yeah, well…"

The pair lapsed into a tense silence.

"Would it make you feel better if I show you a picture of Jon in university that he is very embarrassed about," Georgie ventured after a few minutes, "He's still mad I have it.~"

Melanie twisted her head back and grinned, instantly breaking the tension and sitting up to look at the phone screen presented to her.

On it was a picture of Jon passed out, mouth wide open and drooling, on the ugliest couch she'd ever seen.

"He still owns that couch by the way," Georgie said. Melanie waved a hand in her face to silence her as she took in the details.

Jon was in a pink crop top that Melanie was sure she'd seen in Georgie's closet, union jack boxers, gladiator sandals, and The Admiral was planted square on his chest, though he was about half the size of the fluffball that roamed the flat now. Surrounding them where piles of papers and books on the paranormal.

Melanie began to cackle.

"Our friend group used to call him '2 Drink Jon' and this was after he'd done four shots in the kitchen and decided to lecture us on how ghosts are bullshit and he could beat one in a fist fight," Georgie elaborated, "I'm still not sure when he ended up in that outfit but honestly, if we had recorded his rant he probably could have used it for his Masters thesis."

Melanie wheezed into her shoulder as tears began to stream down her face.

"2 Drink Jon was actually a lot more charismatic than sober Jon. This one time he almost had us convinced that he could talk to plants after two gin and tonics, granted we were also drunk but-,"

"Stop, please," Melanie wheezed, "I'm dying."

"Gosh, one of these days I'll have to tell you about tequila and the alien conspiracy. Randall could almost recite the whole speech from memory."

Melanie fell off the couch.

--

Post Episode 109

Julia and Trevor exchanged a look as the Archivist powered through the spiciest Thai food they could find without even breaking a sweat. 

It was supposed to be a joke, spiking Jon's food, the cashier had even given them a panicked look at the restaurant and Trevor's eyes had been watering the whole way back to the safe house. They'd even waited by the door in case Jon tried to make a break for the case of water bottles in the car but he just unwrapped the plastic fork and dug in without even asking for a drink.

Julia picked at her own food but couldn't quite manage to eat it and glanced back at Jon, "Are you sure you don't need a water or anything?"

Jon looked up for a moment, his eyes were more alive than they had been all day and practically sparkled in the shitty fluorescent light. He shook his head and instead reached for another packet of chili sauce to add to his food.

"What the hell is he," Trevor whispered to Julia in horror.

"I don't know but he's definitely not normal."

--

During Episode 132

Daisy had misjudged Jon. She'd grossly misjudged him.

She flexed her fingers around his, ignoring the way the sand dug into her skin, and gently pulled him closer. The man she'd called prey gave her a soft smile and compiled, pressing against her side like she'd never held a knife to his throat, like she hadn't just admitted to planning his murder before she was trapped here.

Daisy turned her head awkwardly and dug her face into his shoulder savoring the human contact, her tears soaking into his shirt.

The Hunt in her blood tried to sing, tried to fight the Buried, "Safe, Mine, Pack, Protect", it echoed faintly.

Jon said something and began to move, pulling Daisy forward along with him.

"Safe, Mine, Pack, Protect"

Hours past as they shimmied through the coffin, the pain of being scraped and crushed was overpowered by the sheer ecstasy of moving more than an inch every few days.

"Safe, Mine, Pack, Protect"

There was a door, Jon tucked himself under her arm and pulled her up the stairs to the blinding lights of the institute. She ducked her head down to his shoulder again and grimaced as her joints popped and groaned.

"Jon, you stupid idiot! What did you think-"

Daisy looked up to the person she thought she’d never see again and smiled.

"Hi."

--

Post Episode 132

Martin had horrible timing really. He just needed to pee, was that really too much to ask?

Of course it was. The universe hated him.

So instead of slipping into the private bathroom upstairs which was magically broken, he had to go down a level and walk in on Jon shaking dirt out of his clothes.

Martin was going to die here but at least he'd die happy.

Jon didn't even seem to register that someone else had joined him (thank the Lonely) so Martin took a second to sneak a guilty look before darting back out and hiding for 40 years.

Jon was painfully thin. Martin got the idea that he could count every vertebrae and rib if he was allowed and even at a glance he could spot the sunken area where at least one rib was now missing.

Worm scars and burns were peppered up his back along with a few moles and freckles. Little red marks circled his chest in a way that Martin immediately recognized as being from the black fabric crumpled at Jon's feet.

And to top it all off, much to Martin's delight, were a set of three black gears tattooed down Jon's right shoulder blade. Sasha had mentioned once that she had gone out for drinks with Jon when he first started and they'd managed to get on the topic of tattoos. Tim had spent months trying to get Jon to show it to him before 'giving up'.

Martin stepped out and stood in the hall for a moment, red faced and giddy, before stumbling off in search of another bathroom.

--

Somewhere between Episode 132-154

"Hey, guys?" Melanie called.

Daisy and Basira glanced up to see Melanie holding a giant plate of the best smelling food they'd seen in weeks. Steam wafted up into her very confused face.

"Did either of you make this? I went to ask Martin and I can't find him."

"I didn't make it," Basira said, "Daisy?"

"I once made spaghetti and lit it on fire.

Basira grimaced and walked up to Melanie, "Kebabs, Tahdig rice, flat bread, and jam cookies. Those are Iranian dishes, or Middle Eastern at least.”

Daisy looked at Basira, "How do you know that?"

"Took a foreign cuisine course focused on middle eastern food a few years ago," Basira said as she made her way to the kitchen area with the group in tow.

Sitting on the table were three more huge plates of food and two empty plates sitting in the sink. Martin was standing next to the table with pure confusion on his face.

"Did you make this?"

Martin jumped and looked at the group, "Uh, no? I really only do pastas… this is a little outside my skill set. I think-"

"It could be a trap," Daisy interrupted, "Maybe it's laced with something?"

"No, I'm pretty sure-"

"Could be, but who would go to this effort, the Web?" Basira said.

"Guys, it was probably-"

"It was the Archivist!" Helen exclaimed from behind them, somehow having opened her door without making a sound and scaring the shit out of them, "He is an excellent cook."

"Bullshit," Melanie wheezed, setting her plate down before she dropped it.

"No, she right," Martin sighed, "Jon actually cooked something similar a few years ago for a company thing. He gave this whole speech about how grandparents immigrated here from Iran, well Persia at the time, and his grandma made him learn to cook what she called 'real food'."

"You mean to tell me that Jonathan Sims, the skinniest guy I have ever met, can cook like this," Basira said in disbelief before cautiously sitting down at the table with the rest following suit.

"He called it his grandmother's curse," Helen provided cheerfully, "He said that no matter what he does,  he always makes far more than he needs and never has people around to give it to. So he just never cooks."

"You talked to him?" Melanie asked. Daisy began to pick at a plate and made a sound of confusion and delight at the taste.

"Oh yes, he even let me help by getting things off high shelves!"

"This is amazing," Daisy said in disbelief before grabbing a fork and beginning to eat in earnest.

"It is! Jon and I had a lovely chat and I'm not much for 'real' food these days but he really convinced me!" Helen declared, spinning back around to re enter her door, "And I must say it was delightful."

"Huh," Basira shrugged and began to eat.

Not bad.

--

Post Episode 159

For the second time since he woke up, Martin pinched himself. He had to be dreaming, the smaller body smooshed up against his chest and the boney limbs clinging to him had to be a figment of his imagination.

Jon huffed in his sleep and burrowed deeper into Martin before settling again. A few stray rays of the morning sun slipped through the blinds highlighting Jon’s gray hairs and the raised edges of scars that trailed along his skin.

Gently, Martin carded his hand through the wild mess of hair, marveling at how soft it was despite everything. Jon sighed, leaning into the touch without stirring.

He could stay like this forever, with Jon safe in his arms and the dangers of the world outside, away from his happiness.

"Wha' time?" Jon mumbled, stretching before re-draping himself over Martin. He looked up and the light caught his eyes in a way that Martin could see all the blue heterochromatic spots in Jon's left eye through dark, heavy lashes. 

"Doesn't matter," Martin whispered as he pulled him closer, "We have all the time in the world."

--

Supplemental Headcanons: - Jon is a 3rd gen Persian/Iranian immigrant. His grandparents on his dad's side moved to England post WWII. (Persia became Iran in 1979) They took the last name Sims during immigration. - His mother was full blooded English. - He can out cook 87% of the local grandma's when he really gets into it - He built an unnaturally high tolerance to salt and spice as a kid to keep people from taking his lunch or trying to mess with his food and now thoroughly enjoys spicy foods. - Jon does care a lot but his grandma never taught him to show it in any other way but tolerance and mute acceptance. It's hard to know where you stand with Jon because of this. - Was a runner while in school. - Was forced to take violin lessons as a kid and Georgie taught him some piano in University. - Jon is and always has been feral little man though he is more bark than bite (unless he's under the influence of something). He learned it from his grandma. - He's one of those drunks that often wanders/ runs away from his drinking group. He has strong drunk college girl tendencies. - He changed his middle name to Ulysses when he got his first name legally changed because he’s a nerd. - Jon has had the same pen pal since he was 10. They are one of the few points of normalcy he has left. - Jon and Daisy are trans mlm and wlw solidarity. Fight me.

Fun Fact: Sims means "the Listener" which seems almost too on the nose.

#the magnus archives #tma #jonathan sims #jon sims #martin blackwood #daisy tonner #basira hussain #melanie king #georgie barker #my writing #fanfiction #jonmartin #spoilers #dasira #what the girlfriends