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luxaofhesperides · 4 months

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For ghost lights prompts: eldritch/creepy/weird Danny + shy/flustered Duke + hand holding

Your ghostlights fics are giving me so much joy RN I cannot express how much, if this prompt doesn't spark a brain worm for it I get it but I'm excited to read all the others you may wind up posting

There’s a new kid at West Robinson High School.

This normally wouldn’t be a big deal. They get plenty of new students, being an average high school; not prestigious like Gotham Academy, but not terrible like some of the schools in the lower South Side. New kids are hardly anything to make note of, but something about this student has everyone paying attention to him.

It’s not charisma. The guy doesn’t talk to anyone. It’s not attractiveness, because no one really knows what he looks like under the tattered hoodie he wears all the time. It’s not curiosity, not really, because the student body moves around him like he’s dangerous, not like they want to pry all his secrets out into the open.

It doesn’t help that Duke sees things around him.

He considers briefly telling someone about it, but then remembers having to argue for returning to West Robinson High School instead of being put in Gotham Academy and decides that Bruce can continue to mind his own business. It’s not like this new kid has done anything bad (yet) and Duke can handle investigating this on his own.

So he watches, catching glimpses of the new kid—Danny Fenton—in hallways during passing period, hiding away at lunch, disappearing into the streets as soon as the school day is over. They even share a class together, French Language and Culture, but Danny is always in the back corner, ignored and made invisible by everyone else.

Well. That’s not quite true.

There are shadowy figures that surround Danny and they never leave him alone. Even when he’s got his arms folded on his desk, head down, looking as if he’s asleep, these figures pull at the hood covering his head or reach semi-transparent hands down to pet his hair. And Danny reacts to them, lightly batting their hands away or turning his head away from them.

Duke has no idea what they are. Ghosts are his best guess, but he can’t confirm it. As far as he knows, ghosts are magic and can only be seen by magic users, which Duke very much is not. They do lead to cold spots, keeping the temperatures noticeably colder around Danny, and make the shadows darker, which only makes other students more nervous about being near Danny.

Through his week of observing Danny, beyond the ghostly figures and visible unease he causes in everyone, what Duke learns is that Danny is lonely.

No one talks to him. People barely look at him. Teachers avoid calling on him when they can.

And Danny accepts it. He fades into the background, keeps out of the way, shrinks in on himself.

No one else sees it. No one else wants to see him.

It’s breaking Duke’s heart, just a little bit.

He’s lucky that he’s not an outcast at school. With his meta gene awakening and his free hours taken up by Bats and fighting crime, it’s hard to have much of a social life, but he still has a few friends during the school hours he can hang out with. Danny doesn’t have anyone, and the more Duke sees how isolated he is, the more upset he becomes.

Which brings him to step two of his investigation: befriend Danny.

So what if he has some ulterior motives! He also just wants to give this guy someone to hang out with! What little glimpses of Danny’s face he’s able to get show him a tired teenager, worn down the way Alley kids are when they’re at the end of their rope and have nothing left to give.

Duke’s first attempts at befriending Danny fail so fast it’s almost funny. It’s as if Danny knows when someone is seeking him out, because every time Duke goes to where he is, Danny up and disappears, hurrying away and vanishing in the crowded hallways, or in the alley a few buildings past the school, or into the fucking restroom, which is always empty when Duke goes in after him. Trying to use his powers to see where Danny goes next doesn’t help either; all he sees is some glowing figure resembling Danny walk through walls, which is either due to Danny being a meta or from Duke’s powers deciding to be unhelpful.

He’s about to resort to Tim level stalking to finally have a conversation with Danny when his French teacher blessedly (and unknowingly) aids him on his mission.

“Find a partner, everyone!” she instructs with a clap of her hands near the end of class. “This is a translation project, and you’ll be doing them in pairs to check each other’s work and decide how to best interpret something into English. If you don’t have a partner in the next minute, tell me and I’ll assign you someone.”

The class is a flurry of movement just as the last word leaves her mouth, friends turning to each other or running across the room to make sure they’re partnered up before anyone else can butt in.

No one looks at Danny. Which means Duke can just skirt along the wall of the classroom until he’s next to Danny, gently knocking on his desk to get his attention.

Danny looks up, and Duke sees a flash of blue before Danny averts his gaze, tilting his head down again. “Yeah?” he says, and his voice is much softer than what Duke imagined. He expected something hoarse and rough, a little deep, intimidating. Instead, it’s gentle and quiet and smooth.

It’s a nice voice. It’s a shame that no one else has really heard it.

“Wanna be partners?” he asks, as if he’s offering a choice. They both know no one else is going to ask Danny, and if he wants to avoid talking to the teacher, then he has to work with Duke.

Danny sighs. “Sure.”

And then he puts his head back down on the desk.

Duke backs off. This is the best he’s going to get right now. Now that he’s got an excuse to spend time with Danny, he can take his time breaking down his walls and getting to know him. He watches as a figure from the usual group that hangs around Danny breaks away and gently brushes a hand against Danny’s arm. Then they turn to Duke and reach for him.

He moves without thinking, stepping out of the way. The shadowy figure fades back, almost invisible even to his eyes, and Danny’s turned his head to lay his piercing gaze on Duke.

…There’s no way that blew his cover, right?

He didn’t just reveal one of his meta abilities from taking a single step to the side. No way.

But Danny’s eyes are a deep blue that seem almost endless as he keeps his attention on Duke. It feels as if he’s staring into Duke, seeing more than what he wants to reveal.

“Alright, looks like everyone’s found a partner! As you head out, be sure to grab a practice packet from my desk to work on some translation. There are due the next time we meet, and I will be handing out your individual passages once these have all been turned in.” Their teacher sets a large stack of papers onto the corner of her desk, then gets to work erasing the whiteboard just as the bell rings.

Students grab their bags and rush to take one of the packets before heading out to their final class of the day. Duke stays behind with Danny, waiting for most of the class to leave before swinging his backpack onto his shoulder and grabbing a packet for both of them.

He hands one to Danny, who takes it with some hesitancy and a quiet, “Thanks.”

He leaves before Duke does, and though it’s only a second between his leaving and Duke stepping out the door, Danny’s already vanished from sight.

As soon as school ends, Duke heads for the Hatch, hoping a quick evening patrol will help clear his mind. It’s a quiet evening, though, so he’s left with his thoughts more often than not, staring out over the city long enough that Oracle asks him if he’s alright.

Against his better judgment, he says, “I’ve been looking into something, but I’m not finding much. Can you do some research on Danny Fenton?”

Oracle is already typing before he finishes asking. “What am I looking for?”

“Anything. He’s… strange. I don’t know if he’s a meta or just lightly haunted. But there’s something up with him.”

“Do we need to be keeping a closer eye on him?”

Duke considers. None of them ask Oracle to look into specific people unless they’re dangerous. But danger is not the sense Duke gets from Danny. It’s more like he’s hiding, shying away from the world, constantly on edge. “No. If anything, he might be in danger. Something happened to him, because no one ends up like that by living an average life.”

“I’ll let you know what I find. Turn in for the night, it’s quiet out and you’re too distracted to patrol properly.”

“You got it, O.” He salutes the nearest camera, knowing she’ll see it, and makes his way back to the Hatch to change back into civies and get started on his homework.

When he next goes into his French classroom, all the desk has been rearranged so they’re all in pairs, side by side. Already, patterns are filling up the desks, so Duke heads for the back and sits down where Danny usually hides away. He’s not here yet, which is making Duke realize that he’s never actually seen Danny walk into the classroom and head to his seat.

Did he just never pay attention? Has Danny always just slipped in unnoticed until attendance was taken? How did Duke miss that?

There’s movement in the desk next to him. Duke goes to say that he’s waiting for his partner, so please sit somewhere else, when he realizes that it’s Danny who managed to sneak in yet again.

“Hey,” he says after a moment, hoping his surprise is hidden.

There’s a pause, and then Danny returns, “Hey, Duke.”

That’s all they have time for before class is starting and their teacher goes around to collect homework. She then hands out new packets, each one a different section of L’Ecume des Jours, and gives them the rest of class to begin working on translating it.

Duke is already dreading it as he flips through the three pages they were given to translate, stapled to each other beneath the two page instructions of how to format the final translation, how to document their previous translation drafts, and what to include in the reflection essay.

There’s no way he can get all of this done in a week.

On the other hand, it gives him a week to learn more about Danny. He needs to make the most of it.

“This is a lot,” he comments, hoping to prod Danny into conversation.

Danny shrugs.

“Can we work on this together after school today? Or do you have plans?”

“We can work on it today,” Danny says, voice barely louder than a whisper. He’s already scanning the pages, underlining certain words and phrases.

Duke hurries to get to work as well, trying to parse out meaning from the text through single words scattered on the page.

Qu’est-ce que vous faites dans la vie, vous?

J’apprends des choses, dit Colin. Et j’aime Chloé.

Duke nods to himself. He definitely doesn’t know French. Well, he knows qu’est-ce que. He knows vous. He know j’apprends and j’aime Chloé. Also dit Colin. Fairly simple, but with the missing pieces to the rest of those sentences, he really doesn’t know what’s going on beyond the fact that it’s a conversation and Colin loves Chloé.

When he glances at Danny’s desk, he’s shocked to see that his partner is already translating the first few lines into something that reads like normal English.

“Oh, wow,” he says, leaning over to get a better look, “You’re definitely better at this than I am.”

“I just like languages,” Danny replies, turning his paper so Duke can read it more easily.

“Have you been hiding your French skills this entire time? I could have definitely used your help before this.”

Danny goes still for a moment, eyes flicking towards his right where a shadowy figure has placed a hand on his shoulder. Then he turns to fully face Duke and says, “Better late than never. What do you need help with?”

“Everything.”

His immediate answer makes Danny smile, and he begins talking in that soft, soothing voice of his. He talks about not trying to translate everything into English immediately, but to understand the French and take it in as a whole language itself. He talks about getting the idea of the text first, the feeling of it, before trying to fit it into English. He talks about splitting up the text into sections to make it easier.

And then he reads the text, entirely in French, and Duke did not have a thing for voices or multilingualism before this, but he sure does now.

“Qu’est-ce que vous faites dans la vie, vous?” Danny reads, reaching the end of the first page. The syllables come to his easily, his French smooth and steady. “J’apprends des choses, dit Colin.” His eyes dart up, off the page, and fix Duke in place. “Et j’aime Chloé.”

Duke has never been happier that he doesn’t blush so visibly with his dark skin because he feels downright romanced. It’s a mix of the French, of Danny’s addictive voice, of their closeness, of how intimate this dark corner of the room feels, tucked away from the rest of the class.

“We can work on the other pages after we finish translating this one,” Danny says, leaning back at bit.

Duke nods, swallowing to chase away the dryness of his throat. “Sounds like a plan!”

They work in silence for the rest of the class period, and once the bell rings, Danny says, “I’ll wait for you by the bus stop down the street,” before he slips out of reach and disappears into the throng of students heading to their last class.

He’s beginning to think that he’s in way over his head. Duke can handle being in the middle of all the action, risking his life, fighting for others. He can handle staring down rogues and criminals and Gnomon. He can’t handle feelings and romance and other such things. Those are much scarier than a criminal shooting at him. At least with the criminal, he knows what to do and doesn’t just freeze up like he did with Danny.

The school day ends faster than he’s prepared for. As promised, Danny waits for him by the bus stop down the street, where other students are also waiting.

They don’t wait for a bus, though. Danny just meets his eyes and begins walking away, leaving Duke to follow after him, matching his pace so they can walk side by side.

The shadows in the alleyway seem to reach towards them as they walk down it. Something about it doesn’t feel right, so Duke tries to quietly use his powers and force them back.

He only has time to think, Oh, that was a bad idea, before Danny is shoving him against the wall, getting them both out of the way as a shadow solidifies and lashes out at them. He’s kept in place by strong hands on his chest, and Danny’s eyes are glowing lightly as he hisses at the shadows, making them rear back and settle down once more.

As if given permission to reveal themselves, more shadowy figures and strange movements in the shadows emerge, surrounding them.

“Danny, I don’t mean to alarm you, but—”

“I know,” Danny says. “I thought you might be able to see them too. Which is not good.”

“Sorry, man, it’s not like I can turn it off.”

“It’s fine. Just be more careful. They like me because I’m like them, but you just register as a threat. Either that, or prey.”

“Great,” Duke replies weakly, “Those are my favorite things to be. Are we… are we safe to move?”

Slowly, Danny steps back, no longer pressed right against Duke. Nothing moves to attack him, but it might be due to the glare fixed on Danny’s face, eyes still glowing.

“They’ll leave me alone, so…” He reaches a hand out, looking away. The hoodie isn’t able to hide the way his cheeks go red. “Don’t let go and we’ll be fine.”

“I hope this isn’t to lead me to my doom,” Duke jokes nervously as he accepts Danny’s hand, holding it tightly.

Danny wiggles his fingers, making him loosen his grip, and then their fingers are lacing together. Duke stares down at their hands, wide eyed, and hopes he doesn’t look as flustered as he feels.

“Not to your doom,” Danny reassures. “Just a coffee shop I thought you’d like.”

“Well, then, lead the way!”

“Allons-y,” Danny replies.

Stealing glances at him as they walk, ghostly figure and shadow shrinking away from them, all Duke can think is that he doesn’t need to worry about Danny being evil. His immediate instinct to protect Duke has proved that. He’ll keep the investigation going, though, to make sure Danny is safe from others that could hurt him.

Strange and unsettling as he may be, Danny’s also a smart, kind person who deserves more.

Duke is determined to make sure he gets it.

And if he gets a crush along the way, that’s his business and his business only.

It looks like Step Two: Befriend Danny is finally complete. He’ll figure out the other steps later. For now, he has an evening of French in a coffee shop to look forward to.

#ghostlights #dc x dp #dp x dc #dcxdp #dpxdc #dc x dp fic #prompt fill #my writing #im glad youre enjoying my ghostlights fics so much!!! im having a blast writing them #thank u for giving me more propaganda to spread for the ghostlights agenda <3 #this could easily continue into a much larger fic that goes into danny relocating to gotham for his protection #and start mixing in dc's spirit world with danny phantom's ghost zone/infinite realms #its kinda two stories in one tbh #1: danny trying to protect his kind classmate from ghosts and gotham spirits leading to supernatural shenanigans #2: duke trying to protect this clearly hurt and lonely person which leads to getting him accidentally roped into superhero shenanigans #both are the protagonists of a ya novel where they stumble into a secret for the sake of protecting one person #idk if im getting that across well but if u know the vibes then u know what im talking abt

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hlvrfreakyfriday · 10 months

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(( so i've decided to repost the Freaky Friday fic here on the blog, to have one other place to read it besides just ao3. here we go! ))

HLVRFF: Chapter 1

It all happened so fast, Benry didn't even detect what was going on until after the fact. And by then, it was too late for him to do anything about it.

Being an eldritch horror from the cosmic void, Benrey had a lot of real fun abilities at his disposal. One of those being the ability to 'astral project' as he'd heard humans call it. He never really used this one too much, though. Until he moved in with Gordon, that is. He'd found that slipping out of his own body to go hang out in Gordon's dreams was a pretty sick way to pass the time at night, when nothing else was keeping his attention successfully. Or when he was feeling lonely. Being the only one in your friend group who doesn't need to sleep at night kind of sucks sometimes.

Gordon was… a little unnerved by the brain-intrusions at first. But he never told Benry to fuck off with that shit, as the night time chats with the entity were much, MUCH preferred over all his PTSD night terrors. Dreams never kicked in right whenever Benry was there, including the bad ones, so it was a win-win situation, really. However, if a dream was already in the middle of happening when Benry jumped in, the dream didn't just automatically stop.

He never thought much about it until tonight.

Benry wasn't really feeling in the mood for any video games, so he decided he'd go see what ol' Feetman was up to in dream land. He got himself laid out nice and comfy in his bed, slipped out of his body and into Gordon's.

And soon came to very much regret it.

Gordon was having a nightmare about Xen, looked like. From his vantage point, he could see the man fleeing for his life from something. He didn't see what, but whatever it was, it had the poor guy scared absolutely shitless. Benry could feel all the horrible emotions Gordon was having while sharing a headspace with him, and yeah, no, this was not cool. He needed to calm Gordon down, show him he was just dreaming. If he could get him in a more lucid state, the nightmare would be easy to knock away.

Dream-Xen wasn't set up the same way as the real deal was- but thankfully Benry was able to just clip through everything just like the real one, which allowed him to cut Gordon off as the human frantically made his way through the winding tunnels.

When Gordon rounded the corner and came face to face with Benry, the human let out a strained shriek, and looked like he was about to book it back towards whatever he was fleeing from before. Whu..? Oh, shit, right. Benry was playing the bad guy when they were all on Xen, so of course Gordon wouldn't be very happy to see him, even if he wasn't at the same giant size he was back then.

…Wait.

Benry was the main threat to Gordon and the Science Team when they were on Xen.

So… did that mean…

As if to answer Benry's unspoken question, a massive, pale hand came phasing through the roof of the cave, one of its sharp black talons nearly impaling Gordon as it did. Gordon fell to the cave floor and looked on in horror as the monstrous owner of the hand brought their face into view.

Gordon wasn't having a nightmare about Xen. He was having a nightmare about Benry.

The alien's heart dropped like a fucking rock at the realization. Dream-Benry raised his fist, looking like he was getting ready to crush Gordon, and that's when real-Benry shoved down the sanguine and shadow building up in his throat and dove towards the human. He grabbed Gordon, and then sunk them both down into the floor, escaping into another chamber. Gordon thrashed in his grip, desperate to get away, but Benry held firm, and flipped the man around to face him.

"dude, dude, you gotta- you gotta calm down. that thing- that's not me, you're dreaming-" Benry tried to explain, but Gordon wasn't fucking listening, he just kept screaming at him to let go and get away and-

They were both silenced when the sole of a giant combat boot came down hard directly on top of them.

------------

Benry's whole form jolts as he returns to a more corporeal state of being. God, fuck. Dying was never fun, even in dreams. He lets out a heavy sigh and blinks- wait. His eyes are open? Why is it so fuckin' dark, then? He looks around the room, and does see… a faint light, shining in the corner of the room. Focusing on that light, his eyes begin to adjust a bit more to the dark. It's then he realizes that everything is blurry? He moves to push himself up into a sitting position- oh holy fuck he feels so tired and heavy and weak. What the shit. He brings a hand up to his head to rub at his eyes… and finds that his cheeks are a lot less bony than he remembers. Benry blindly gropes at his face some more, and feels what is very clearly a scruffy beard that he very much did not have before.

"yo what-" he says aloud, cutting himself off instantly when he hears himself speaking with Gordon's voice.

That's… new.

And would explain why he can't see shit all. Benry carefully feels over for where he knows Gordon's bedside nightstand is, and turns on the lamp once he finds the switch, to back up the little light from what he now realizes is Gordon's night light. Okay okay, no longer dark, but still blurry as hell. Squinting at the nightstand, he makes out the general shape of Gordon's glasses, and gingerly picks them up and places them on his face. Ah, there we go, blessed with sight once again. Albeit still pretty fucking shitty sight. This isn't how Gordon's eyes are ALL the time, is it? No, no, can't be. That'd be messed up. His sight, and all of his other senses come to think, are probably just all discombobulated from being forced into the wrong body. Yeah. Totally. He just needs to give it a minute.

Suddenly, a scream rings out in the house, in a voice that Benry recognizes as his own.

Oh shit, Gordon.

Welp, 'giving it a minute' is now officially off the table.

Benry quickly hops out of bed (ignoring the foreign ache in his-Gordon's? legs) and bolts towards the door. It's here that he makes yet another discovery.

His usual powers didn't carry over with him into Gordon's body, apparently, as when he tries to clip through the door because it's faster than opening it, he just fuckin' slams right into the damn thing. He groans, both in pain (so much pain…) and embarrassment, before opening the door like a normal human person and books it down the hall to his bedroom.

Flinging the door open and flicking on the light switch, he's met with a very concerning sight.

------------

Gordon lurches up into a sitting position, reflexively throwing his arms up, as if to hold off the massive boot that was trying to squash him like a bug. It was just a dream, he thinks as he realizes that he's not dead or on Xen. Doesn't do anything to calm his residual panic, though. His heart is still going a mile a minute and… and that's not right. His heart isn't beating right.

His brain finally catches up with the rest of him, and he realizes that he's in an entirely different room than he was when he went to sleep. It's Benry's room from the looks of it, but… it's not right, either. Why is the lighting so weird. The light's not even on, but he can see, he can see SO clearly and- the colours. They're all so much more vibrant, and there's ones he doesn't even recognize. He can't even think how to DESCRIBE them, what the fuck.

Ignore that for right now, Gordon, you gotta calm down, he thinks to himself. Closing his eyes, he reaches a hand up to run his fingers through his hair. Doing such has often helped him ground himself during anxiety and panic. But instead of feeling his long, soft hair, he feels a knit beanie. He does not wear knit beanies. His roommate wears knit beanies. His roommate whose room he inexplicably woke up in just now.

Gordon's eyes snap open and he looks at his hands.

They are not his hands.

"What the fuck," he utters, barely above a whisper, in what is definitely Benry's voice.

No. No? No. No! This isn't happening. This is NOT fucking HAPPENING. He's still dreaming, CLEARLY he's still dreaming! He just needs to wake up. C'mon, Gordon, you can do it. Wake up. Wake up, Gordon. Wake UP, Gordon. WAKE UP, GORDON-

A scream rips out of his throat, as he feels something else in his borrowed body rip.

#half life vr but the ai is self aware #half life vr but it's freaky friday #hlvrai #hlvrai fic #benry #benrey #gordon feetman #body swap #fic repost

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bulkyphrase · 7 months

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Halloween Fic Recs 2023 Week 5: Old Favorites

Welcome to the last week of Halloween fic recs! This week the stories are some of my favorites from previous years' lists.

When in Rom(ania), Do As The Ghosties Do by Blizzard_Fire (@superblizzardfire) (Gen, General Audiences, 3,115 words)

Summary: "By the way," says Tony, "I may have bought a castle. In Romania." Steve recognises that look: it means he’s planning something, which is never a good sign. "I got it cheap because it’s one of the most haunted castles on the continent." Vision’s eyes light up. Literally. It’s a little creepy. "Haunted?" Tony passes him the StarkPad. "Here’s your chance, buddy. You up for a trip?" Steve and Vision spend the night in a "haunted" Romanian castle. What could go wrong?

The Old Ones Wait by Sholio (@sholiofic) (Gen, Teen And Up Audiences, 2,231 words)

Summary: Just a little bit of eldritch-horror-hunting in the countryside. Perfectly normal.

Hungry by tuesday (Gen, General Audiences, 1,102 words)

Summary: It's a baby.

The rest are below the cut!

Does not play well with others by usedupshiver (@usedupshiver) (Gen, Major Character Death, Teen And Up Audiences, 11,588 words)

Summary: While sneaking into the Starks' abandoned home, Steve makes the startling discovery that even though no Stark is living in the house anymore, not all of them have actually left.

For Whose Love I Rise and Fall by Yeetmeaway (Romanogers, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Mature, 195,570 words)

Summary: In 1943 Hydra unleashes a deadly virus in its quest to create a new world order-- one that turns its hosts into vampire-like creatures. 75 years later, humanity is on the brink of extinction, protected only by the hunters of SHIELD. Natasha has already lost so much to this-- they are fighting a losing battle and everyone can feel it. But, for the first time in years SHIELD has hope, the possibility of a cure. What else will she give to bring an end to this nightmare?

Sam Wilson: Ghost Hunter by kehinki (SamSteve, Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Not Rated, 1,334 words)

Summary: Sam's stuck in a horror movie cliche. Also available as a podfic read by sisi_rambles

A Long, Lonely Time by asktheravens (Stony, Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death, Mature, 58,567 words)

Summary: Steve returned from the war injured in body and mind- and able to see the dead. At loose ends and desperate to get out of New York City, he accepts a fellowship through the Stark Foundation and retreats to a quiet lake house on the grounds of the Stark Mansion. He's supposed to be there to paint, but he quickly realizes that the house is more than he bargained for. Anthony Stark died here a decade ago, but was it an accident? A suicide? Or a murder? Obadiah Stane still lives in the main house just up the hill, and the past casts a long shadow. When Tony's ghost begins appearing to him, Steve becomes more entwined in the dangerous mystery surrounding his death. Even worse, he finds himself falling for a man who died a decade ago... Features lots of ghosts, murder, secrets, and supernatural revenge. Also Thor and Rhodey.

What Lies Beneath by asktheravens (Stony, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Explicit, 38,726 words)

Summary: All Tony wants is to make amends after a thoughtless reaction leaves him in danger of losing Steve, but a mission intervenes. The Avengers travel to a laboratory in a remote part of Appalachia expecting a routine job, but an ancient evil slumbers within Old Crow Mountain that will test much more than their relationship.

Work of Art by veryvincible (@veryvincible) (Stony, Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Mature, 5,656 words)

Summary: Tony smelled… off. Wrong. He smelled strange in a way that would justify the cold, Steve thought. There was a metallic layer to blood that Steve was used to smelling, and in Tony, that was distinctly not present. So, Steve concluded, Tony must have had an iron deficiency. Something to that effect, at least. He became faint without warning, he was chilly as the dead, and he was as pale as any man Steve had ever seen. - Tony Stark is a vampire. It's common knowledge, at this point.Somehow, Steve isn't aware of that little fact.

Glass Gardens (The Witching Hour Remix) by Woad (Stony, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Mature, 18,692 words)

Summary: The year is 1883. Spiritualism is at an all-time high, "taking the waters" is a popular cure-for-what-ails-you, and sanitariums offer retreats to restore the health. When Tony is shipped off to one, he is convinced his stay will be an utter waste of time. That is, until things take a disastrous turn, and Tony begins to doubt everything about himself.

Dragging You Down by AraniaArt, Kamiki (@araniaart) (Stucky, Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Explicit, 81,016 words)

Summary: In a divergence from the canon storyline, Hydra experiments with occult legends of a more demonic bent. When Bucky is captured at Azzano, something more insidious than a knock-off super soldier serum is done to him, but the full effects take some time to completely set in. Bucky struggles with building impulses and an increased libido while trying to keep his interest in Steve from boiling over and ruining Steve’s chance at the life he deserves.

"Steve"/32557 by Shaish (Stucky, Major Character Death, Mature, 5,431 words)

Summary: His couch pillows are on the floor. His couch pillows shouldn't be on the floor.

Demon Seed by SucculentHyena (@succulent-hyena) (Stucky, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Mature, 92,478 words)

Summary: [Transcript 00:11:48] MS: You were with him the most throughout the course of events, both before and after. Your account could shed light on something we may have missed. JB: What difference will that make? MS: It could make all the difference. Captain Rogers’ case is unprecedented, he’s the most intact victim we’ve ever recovered- JB: [laughing] You call that intact? -Excerpt of Interview with Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes regarding the Incident.

#marvel fic rec

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searchingforserendipity25 · 11 months

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Greetings! Another bored and cheerful person here. 😂 I will submit Garak/Bashir and Glorfindel/Erestor for the ship asks!

hi fellow bored and cheerful! thank you @glorf1ndel!

ages ago, when i was obsessed with garak/bashir, i used to think a lot about what honesty is. they're a pairing that kind of demand it. they're fascinating. the things they try to be to each other and prove to themselves through each other are fascinating. i think they're very messy and very complicated, and the potential for an uncomfortable-but-worthwhile happily ever after while rebuilding cardassia is right there.

but they won't pick it. in 7 out of 10 possibilities, they won't. the thing they are underneath the thing they try to pretend not to be is not someone who trusts easily. and there are conflicting loyalties; and there is history; and there is so much prejudice; and there are enemies to face.

and there is is, always, the question of trust. these two are so desperate to be seen, and so desperate to be unknowable, so that they can bear the world a little more easily by not looking at it directly.

that said, i think they can be that. they can bear it together better together! a stitch in time makes it clear how much garak wants to share himself, make a neat narrative of it all and give bashir something of himself to read. true or false, the will is there.

(and, regardless, that book is one of the most heartbreaking concepts of anything ever. he makes a letter of himself! his whole life! elim the spy! a book like the ones they read together, and analyzed. they know the lenses through each the other sees the world! so much love in there.)

maybe. maybe. depends on the canon you go with and how much i want to suffer on any given day. they could live in the ruins together. hoyden's fics fill my heart with conviction on tha. but it's the leap of fait that is always the hard part with these two.

glorfindel/erestor

read some fics! i like it, but haven't thought much on it. my thoughts on it depend on what erestor's background is. he is of the half-elvish kin of elrond in some texts, and that's so cool, and so curious.

second age peredhel culture vs. newly reborn hero = meet cute. meet ugly? is he one of elros' sons who chose immortality? if he's elured/elurin (the name lonely brother is very intriguing), the return of one of the ancient noldor is even more complicated. glorfindel seems lovely; glorfindel seems terrifying, more eldritch than most elves, the gods' own chosen champion.

what a pair! both more-than and very alone in their singularity. the potential is excellent.

either way, they have all the makings of a great office romance! which is something tolkien does not often provide. i believe in their ability to make unwise decisions at solstice parties and spend the next several thousand years that that one night stand never happened. while being in love and pining, of course.

#garashir #erestor/glorfindel

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van-der-linde-worms · 1 year

Text

Take Your Cigarette From Its Holder, Burn Your Initials On My Shoulder

Pairing: Arthur Morgan/ Mary Gillis Linton

Fic summary: AU in which Mary is wanted for the murder of her husband and that of her father, and Arthur is a bounty hunter going after her.

Rating: Explicit

Genre: Idiots in love, slow burn

~~~~~~

Chapter XIII: Unrequited

Word count: 7980

Last chapter: Chapter XII

“Hey, Arthur!” Mary calls out from the kitchen. “ ‘fore it gets too cold, I was figuring we could head out for a little camping trip. It’s clear out anyway.” Mary pauses for a moment. “You know anything about constellations?”

“Stars? Eh, I know the north star I guess,” he mutters as he stretches his arms. “When do ya wanna go then?”

“What'd you say about today?”

He looks up at her as he picks up his pants from the floor. “Today? Hm, can't blame ya for getting bored, being stuck here all day 'n stuff.”

“So, it's a yes then?” she asks, just loud enough for him to hear her over the sizzling of whatever she is cooking in the pot.

“'course.” He puts on his shirt and makes his way to her. He can hear a faint laughter and his arms encircle her waist, making his heart flutter.

A blissful sigh escapes his mouth as he nuzzles his jaw against her hair. The top of her head is just at the perfect height for his chin to rest on. His arms tighten around her, the soft smell of her hair is almost heavenly to him.

“What's a good time then?” she asks. Arthur lets out a low croon and looks down at the colourless, chunky mix in the pan.

“We ain’t in a hurry. What’re you making anyway? Eggs?”

“It’s oatmeal. I uh, didn’t have coffee so I grabbed the wrong dish. It’ll be fine, just slather some jam on there, it’ll be fine,” she reassures herself. Arthur looks away and shuts his eyes, he could have sworn whatever the eldritch menace in the pot is certainly isn’t oatmeal.

“Looks fine,” Arthur lies.

“I just had a look in the news and I read some comet’s supposed to pass earth around this month!” Mary gushes. “I’ve heard they’re so pretty.”

“It’d be nice to get out with you again, Mary. We ain’t done anything since…” Arthur trails off.

“Yeah, that’s what I was thinking of. I think near that decrepit old ranch would be nice, there’s lots of open space and the view is just gorgeous.”

“Sure.” Frankly it sounds rather romantic, but he doesn’t dare get his own hopes up. She’d been so kind to him, despite the situation. If only it could be anything more.

“So, if we head out around eight, I think we should head out on foot this time. I think it should be safe, no bears or anything.” she twirls around, her skirt hits his shin ever so gently. She stands on her toes and steals a kiss from his lips. She finds one of the jars and quickly pops it open. Arthur nods and moves the pot from the hot stove.

“Ain’t you energetic?” he begins shoveling the odd food onto plates, unsure of whether to add knives and forks or spoons to go beside them.

“Well, I’d just like to spend some time with you again. It’s lonely out there, on your own,” she slaps a spoonful of their sweet jelly on the chunks, trying to mask it. She steadily adds more. Arthur grabs his plate before she can add more.

“Thank you.” Mary stops a spoonful later. The two sit down again.

A look of slight discontent spreads across her features as she prods at the clumps, mashing the jam in with her spoon. The first rays of sunlight twinkle in her dark eyes, a murky orange glow peeks through her lashes. Her lower lid moves ever so slightly, the soft lines around her eyes cast gentle shadows,, her soft crows feet twitch as she takes a bite of the food. She couldn’t be more perfect, she couldn’t possibly be prettier, she couldn’t be any more wonderful and… god, I love her, I love her more than anything, more than anyone. If only.

“I was thinkin’ I’ll go down to the post again today, see if Hosea’s written back yet.”

“Could you check if Jamie wrote back too? They’re getting graded again right about now, they should be getting them back and I want to see how he did this time.”

“Sure, you need anything from the store?” Arthur asks. The porridge isn’t that bad, just weird looking. There’s too much jam to his liking.

“I’d just like the letter, thank you. Oh, there should be some mint around there too!” She notes After a period of silence, she speaks up again.. “Y’know, back in the day I used to be pretty good at finding herbs. Whatever the cattle hadn’t stomped was always good, used to be that we’d dry them out to be eaten.” “You mind pickin’ some then?”

“If we even find any.”

“It’s high time I get moving then, if we ever wanna get out there on time,” Arthur stands up, picking up their empty plate. Mary brings hers to the sink as well. Arthur quickly kisses her again before he steps out.

Arthur rides out to the post, taking his time. The autumn air was unusually warm that day. The ride passes by slowly as he enjoys the fading summer sun.

There were a few letters at the post office, this time . He didn’t often get mail, but this time was different. Mary got one from Jamie, Arthur got one from Hosea, another from John and one from Albert Mason, a photographer he ran into a bit ago. As he checks through the letters, Charles enters.

“Arthur, hey! Haven’t seen you in a while,” he pulls Arthur out of his thoughts.

“Charles. Yeah, been busy with somethin’. How’ve ya been?”

“Same as before, been trying to find you around.”

“Figure we should catch up some time. You think we could go hunting some time tomorrow, catch up?”

“Sure. But I gotta get moving now, got someone to meet in town.”

“I'll see you at the ol' spot in the mornin' then?”

“Yeah, sure.”

*****

The sun is hardly touching the horizon when Arthur arrives home, yet he can already see the ceramic pot steaming on the stove.

“Ain’t it a bit early for dinner?”

“Figured since we're heading out we should eat early. I’m not letting you slip on eating, you’re too thin as is.” She rubs his cheek. His heart skips a bit. I love you.

She notices the letters in his hands, he picks out the one from Hosea, eyeing it as if it were a trap. “Who’s that from?”

“Hosea.” Arthur sits down and tears it open. His eyes scan the text, his expression shifting from concern to an amused chuckle.

“What is it then?” she asks from the stove.

“John got some girl knocked up in town, I did tell ya about John?”

She thought for a while before shaking her head, “Don't think so. What about him?”

Arthur shakes his head, as if in disapproval, though the mischievous grin on his face remains. “He's been heading to the bathhouse a lot. 'm pretty sure Dutch was still alive the last time he took a bath. Apparently a girl there caught his eye and, well, now little Johnny Marston's gonna be a pa.”

She lifts her eyebrows, surprised, “Oh? Send my congratulations to them then.”

“Nah, don't think John's too happy about it,” he says, folding the paper and shoving it into one of the drawers. “'sea wants me to have a talk with him later. Oh, and here's Jamie's letter”

“Thanks,” she says, carefully tearing the envelope open.

He observes her face as she scans the letter. A small smile creeps up her face. Insignificant as it is, her joy is contagious to him. “How’s the boy doing?”

“Did pretty well in his first test; he joined some club in school too. I’m glad he’s finally making more friends.”

“Good for him,” he shakes the strap of the satchel off his shoulder. “Meanwhile I have my brat of a brother.”

“Oh come on Arthur, he’s just a kid. I guess he just ain't ready to be a dad.”

“Him? A kid? Nah, he may be a manchild but he's a grown man, whether he likes it or not.”

“How old is he even?”

“20 or so. I know, barely older than Jamie, but ain’t no kid. He messes around, he gotta deal with the consequences.”

“I guess,” she shrugs, going back to work at the counter. “Poor girl though. What is he gonna do then?”

“Somethin’ dumb most probably. He is John.”

“He ain’t gonna leave them is he?”

“He wouldn’t do somethin’ like that. Think ‘Sea’s pushin’ him to marry her now.” “Well I guess that’s good then, she ain’t just gettin’ left in the dust.” she sighs, measuring out some salt.

“Figure this is the dumbest thing he’s pulled in years. You’re lucky Jamie ain’t like that.”

“That boy's done his fair share of stupid stuff too, believe me.”

“Do I dare ask?” Arthur asks with a chuckle.

“C’mon now Arthur, ain’t like every kid can go running around like John.” Mary scoffs. “Why, it’ll be getting dark soon, we should get movin’ after eating if we wanna catch anything.”

“You got anythin’ else planned?”

“Not really.”

“How do you even pick out them constellations?”

“Well you have to look at em or have someone else point ‘em out. I figure I could make something up too.”

“Y’know, back in the bad old days ‘sea used to teach me about the stars. Thing is he doesn’t know a damn thing about them and there ain’t no thing called an Aphana star or a wolf constellation.”

“Oh, but there is! It’s actually called the Lupus constellation and it should be in view in June!”

“Welp. I think it was back in the winter though, any idea if it’s visible then?”

“Nope.”

“Hosea’s got a way with bullshitting anyway, ain't a surprise. Should’ve asked Dutch, he’d’ve known.”

“What did Dutch know then?”

“Something about astrology, how stars are s’pposed to affect how people are.”

“Hm? Horoscopes?”

“That, yeah. Think he got over it once he got to Marx.”

“Marx? Karl Marx?”

“You know him?”

“I’ve heard of him.”

“Dutch wouldn’t goddamn shut up about him for a year, least it was better than the Greek phase.”

“Greek phase? This Dutch guy was into a lot of stuff huh.”

“All kinds of it, but none of them ever lasted.” Arthur grumbles as he sets the table, the memory of Dutch bringing a faint smile to his face.

She carefully fills the bowl with scoops of stew, filled with chunks of meat and carrots, and waits for them to cool down before placing them on the table. She sits down next to him as he sends the spoon into his mouth.

It doesn't taste too bad, the broth is flavourful and well seasoned, but the meat is tough, probably overcooked.

“How is it?”

“Tastes like rubber,” he teases, laboring his teeth through the meat.

“That's what Barry said. Unfortunately the poor guy didn’t live to tell the tale.”

He raises his eyebrow at her rather dark joke, “What, you're gonna poison me too?”

“Well if I am you would have tasted something, my dear,” she jokes. Arthur chuckles and shakes his head.

“True that. Tastes fine though, you’ve improved.”

“Thank you, means a lot from someone who’s clearly burnt out his taste buds.”

He quickly empties his bowl, despite his complaints. She is still eating as he drops his bowl in the sink.

“Gonna pack for the night, you mind doin' the dishes?” he says, putting on his hat as he unlocks the door.

*****

She potters around the home, gathering things, excitement painted on her face, the kind of innocent glee he had grown to adore. He grabs the bedrolls from where he had put them. Her’s seems rather worn and dirty, something he’d rather take. She’d get cold far more easily anyway. Mary paces into the room, grabbing something from the closet.

“C’mon then! It’s really perfect timing, new moon and all!”

“Comin’”, he answers. “Gonna saddle up Boadicea. You grab something warmer, s’a little chilly tonight.”

She raises an eyebrow, “Oh, now you’re nagging me?”

He shakes his head, though not exactly in denial, “Like you ain’t always cold.”

“None of your coats fit me— here, take this,” she shoves a wool blanket into his arms. “Besides, I know you’ll keep me warm.”

“ ‘ppose we don't need this then,” he gestures to the blanket in his hands.

“Guess we don’t. You’re enough for me.”

His heart skips a beat. He knows all too well that it's only a joke, but to think that he would ever be enough for someone like her… he would never be enough, but, if she really thinks so…

Her voice pulls him out of his stupor, “We better hurry up.”

“Sure,” he mutters, once again leaving the house to load the bundles in his arms onto Boadicea. Making sure that she has brought her compass and matches— even though Arthur has probably got these in his satchel, he's always prepared for everything— she throws a scarf over her shoulder and swiftly ties it around her neck, a simple makeshift cloak to protect her from the cold, before stepping out to join him.

****

The spot she mentioned isn't too far away, and they have got themselves settled in no time. She gathers some errand branches for firewood as he sets up the tent.

Arthur joins her around the fire once he is done. He watches as she gazes into the flames, the light of the fire dancing on her face.

“When did it happen, the thing with John?” Mary asks.

“Last week or so I guess. Why?”

“Well, I just keep thinkin’ about it. Ain’t really fair somethin’ like that could just happen,”

“Really ain’t. Don’t dwell on it too much, ain’t like things would change anyway.”

“I know. Y’know we used to try for kids plenty, Barry and I, and nothing ever came of it. He got sons already ‘n he always blamed me for it.”

Her expression is calm, yet Arthur still feels a needle poking at his heart upon her words. “Oh. Must’ve been a hell of a thing.”

“I guess.” The air between them once again falls to silence, the only sound being the crackling of the fire and the occasional crinkling of the grass as the wind makes its way through their swaying stems. “Heh, well, lucky thing I s’ppose. Never felt more trapped than back then with him in that place.”

Arthur inches his hand ever closer to hers, placing it in her open palm. Perhaps it’s an attempt to comfort her when he lacks the words to do it in any other way. Her skin feels wonderfully soft on his fingertips, the calluses under a delicate silken layer. The warmth emanates from her palm, her fingers are rather cool to the touch. Each wrinkle in her palm imprints itself in his mind, the contour of the muscle operating her thumb, the tiny little scars from a million little accidents over years, burns, cuts, abrasions.

He opens his mouth to say something, but once again nothing comes out.

She pulls him close, placing a kiss on his cheek. He can feel his cheeks reddening, and he knows for a fact that it isn't the heat from the fire. I love you.

She pulls herself onto his lap again, her lips meet his. The soft tingling doesn’t last for long. Mary’s fingers slip into his hair as she lays him down. Arthur feels a pang of sadness as her hands trails down his torso to his crotch. It’s childish, really, hoping that she’d somehow miraculously return his feelings. It‘s just sex to her, he reminds himself, nothing else, nothing more.

Yet he leans into her, pulls her closer until skin meets skin, flesh is inside flesh, thoughts melt into lust.

Just as the fire within them is quenched by the wetness between their legs, the flames before them simmer to red coals. He bites his lip as she lazily rolls down beside him. They both take a moment to catch their breath, and she points up to a bright star as he throws a blanket over them. She sits up to grab her compass, before once again lying down with him.

“That there’s the north star, and try to connect these seven dots, see that ladle? That’s Ursa Minor, the little bear,” she says, trying to map out the constellations before them with her fingers. Arthur feels a smile spread across his face as she connects the stars. “Under it, there’s a bigger ladle– Ursa Major, his mother. Oh, and right next to them!” Mary whispers, leaning on Arthus’s shoulder to align their view, so that she can point out the stars for him more easily. “See that long trail of stars? That’s Draco.”

“Let me guess, it’s a dragon?”

“Good guess, mister. Oh, and look to the south west, near the moon, see that really bright one near the horizon? That’s Venus.”

“Oh, I remember Dutch pointing that one out to me, and the red one, Mars, is it?”

“Think so, I can’t really see it though, if we’re lucky we might catch it around sunrise. You see the hexagon above it? That’s Ophiuchus, the snake bearer.”

“And the line across it s’the snake?”

“Yeah, oh, and right at the top is Cygnus, the swan.”

“It does look like a bird. And what about that one next to it, the bright one?

“I’m not too sure– think that one is lyra. A lyre, y’know?” “A liar? Now that I’m familiar with.” “No, the instrument! You pluck the string like a guitar– well, probably more like a harp. It belongs to this poet Orpheus.”

“S’that feller on the sky too?”

“No, don’t think he is– if anything he’s going underground.”

“What’d ya mean?” “You see, this Orpheus guy who sings so wonderfully, the god of music himself gave him his lyre…”

As he listens to her story, Arthur pulls out his journal to mark down the stars, connecting the lines and writing down the name of each constellation beside it. It’s a bit dark, but the light from the campfire is sufficient.

“...and his song is so beautiful, it moves the king of the dead to tears. So, he agrees to let him and his wife go, on one condition: Eurydice must walk behind Orpheus, and he should not turn around on their way back, until they reach the mortal realm, and if he does, he’s going back to the mortal world alone.”

“That sounds too easy.”

“Things are always easier said than done.”

“He turns around?” “Yeah.”

“That’s dumb.”

“I s’ppose… but, I think I would’ve done the same.”

“Nah, that’s ridiculous, I’d never turn around if I was him.” “It’s a long way up, it’s dark and it’s cold, he can’t hear her footsteps and he can’t see her shadow, her being a ghost. We can’t blame him for doubtin’ if she’s really behind him.”

“He could have called her name if he’s in doubt.”

“Maybe he did and she called back, but he couldn’t hear her.”

“Even if so, he can, y’know, wait until they’re up above before turning around?”

“Well, yes, but doubt got the better of him.”

“Doubt, huh, ain’t no use doubting,” he grumbles as he flips to a new page of his journal. She chuckles, “Now that’s bold of you to say. Surely you won’t say that you’ve never doubted anything before?”

“Well, no, but I’m not letting it hold me back.”

“Can’t really say the same for me. And looking back, I don’t regret a single bit of it.”

“To each their own, I guess.”

“I guess. Oh! Look to the east, that’s Jupiter.”

“Which one?”

“The big one under the cluster of stars, you see it?”

“Oh, yeah,” Arthur replies, as he marks it down on the pages. “It’s right in the middle of Taurus, the bull.”

“Bull? Can’t see it.”

“See that cluster of stars? That’s Pleiades. That’s its body, And there’s the horn– here, I’ll mark it down for you,” she says, quickly outlining the shape of the bull in his journal.

“And what a coincidence– do you know Taurus is the bull that the god Jupiter turned into?”

More stars are mapped out and more stories are told,with the rising and falling of celestial bodies being the only sign of the passage of time, and despite it being well into the midnight hours, Arthur does not feel sleepy at all. To him, the night only seems to be passing too quickly.

He steals another glance at her under the starlight. He can see her better now, despite the fading light from the embers, now that his vision has adjusted to the darkness. She looks just as beautiful as she does in the day under the daylight, her features looking all the more softer in the dim lighting. Suddenly he wishes– as silly as it is– that he can lie with her like this always, forever, until their bodies turn to bones, until the last star in the universe dies out.

“You see that board guy over there? Near Gemini?” her voice once again grasps her attention.

“What guy?” he asks, staring at the direction she is pointing towards. “You see those three bright stars? They mark his belt.” She grabs his hand and uses his finger to point out those stars for him. “And over there, that’s his bow. That’s Orion, he’s a hunter.”

“Think I see him now,” Arthur mutters, outlining the feller with his pencil.

“He kinda looks like ya, y’know, big and broad and all.” He lets out a small chuckle, “If you say so, ‘cept I don’t sparkle.”

“Right. Oh, and underneath! Sirius, the brightest star in the night sky other than Venus. It’s not fully out yet, but you can see half of Canis Major.”

“Let me guess, it’s a dog? The hunter guy’s dog?”

“Exactly, and you can see the rabbit running away from them…”

He can tell the sun is going to rise soon by the time the two finally settle down in their bedrolls, as the sky gradually changes from dark blue to pale purple. He pulls her over to the nicer bedroll before she has a chance to protest.

“I've got my own bed,” she says, though she slips under the sheets with him regardless.

“It's old 'n dirty, 'sides, we fit pretty well here don't we?”

“Hm, it's cozy enough,” she mutters mindlessly, resting her head right above his heart. She can hear his heart speeding up the second she lays her hand on the other side of his chest, but pays it little mind.

A small smile blooms across his face as she yawns, she's kind of adorable like this, soft, docile, her usual defensiveness vanished into the night.

“You're so warm…” she mumbles, right before falling asleep, “I can hold you forever like this.”

Please do, it is the last thought he has before he, too, falls into slumber.

****

Arthur heads out shortly after they went home, only to return with another man an hour later. The two are engaged in a discussion as she steps back in, putting down the basket of clean clothes in the corner. Seeing another person in the house is a strange feeling, her heart frantically jumps around her chest. They both look up, she feels she should just run off. Surely he’d recognize her, he’d know, everyone did, he’d instantly know and now she’s trapped in a house-

“Mary, was expectin’ you. Charles Smith, Mary Linton.” She reaches to shake his hand, the two make brief eye contact and engage in the courtesy.

“Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Smith.” she greets, the man nods in response. She steps around the room and looks at them both. The two connected rooms offer little privacy and stepping out would be rather rude.

“C’mon, sit with us,” Arthur invites her over. She sits by him and notices the cups of coffee on the table. There was a chip on one of the cups, a large one. The silence is broken by him yet again. “This is the feller I was tellin’ you about, we ain’t met in a while.”

Charles and Mary look at each other in silence and then glance back at Arthur. “And this is Mary, figure you read about her in the papers a bit ago.” Shut up, Arthur, just shut up. Please.

“Think I did. Arthur didn’t tell me about this situation.”

“Well, i-it’s not really a thing that should get out, in case someone hears, you see.” Mary excuses. Charles shoots a look at Arthur, silently shaming him for every single choice that led up to this. He had caught on the moment she stepped in. The two pillows on the bed, the little stitched on details and his neatened up appearance. A thing Charles hadn’t before noticed was the degree of his idiocy, apparently.

Arthur notices her stilted mannerisms and places his hand on her hand under the table.

“Why then?”

“ ‘s hard to explain,” Arthur squeezes her hand. She gently squeezes back.

“Ain’t really. We share a bed.”

“Oh.”

Arthur chats with the man for a while, before the two get up to leave. Charles raises an eyebrow at him as he pulls a jacket on, questioning the whole situation. He eyes the strange lady observing them.

“You wanna come with us?” Arthur asks, it snaps her out of her trance.

“Well, I won’t be of much help or company. ‘Sides, I have things to do, you go on ahead darlin’,” Mary stands up as they step out.

Darlin’.

Arthur pauseos at the door, turning back to look at her, their eyes meet as she steps forth. The door clolpsllles, the9ootttotototo to to tttttt the 9brief moment ends as the door clicks shut. Arthur lets out a breath he only now realizes he had held in for the time. Something was missing, he thinks, but shakes the thought away.

Should have goddamn kissed her.

He gathers his thoughts for a moment and steps back to meet the younger man.

“What’s going on with you, Arthur?” Charles asks.

“Nothin’, nothin’,” Arthur denies, turning away. Charles furrows his brow.

“At this rate I’d have guessed you married her.” His tone is only half joking.

“Huh.” he feels a flush creep up his face at the thought. It’s a silly, soft thought but… that damned woman seemed to some strange aura about her. She wouldn’t ever, never in a million years even consider it would she, not with me. Fool.

“As a matter of fact ‘m hurt ya didn’t tell me.”

“Ain’t like that, Charles. She ‘n I ain’t involved like that, she’s got her own things goin’ on and she’ll probably leave me any day now.”

“Is that so?” Charles casts him a strange look as they walk into the woods, “I’ve never seen you act like that with anybody.”

Arthur sighs, he can’t help but be ashamed of these…stupid feelings, but it would probably do him good to let it out. It’s just Charles, ain’t like he will judge him for it.

“Well I do like her a bit, she’s been living with me for a while and she…she’s been real nice to me, y’know.”

“…I can tell,” Charles mutters, recalling in terror the way the two looked at each other. “Thought you were tracking her down just a while ago, and now you’re living with her?”

“Long story short, she saved my life, I owed her one, and she needed a place to hide so, we ended up sharing a roof.”

“And you said you like her?”

“Yeah?”

“Arthur,” Charles stops in his tracks, turning to look at him. “She killed her husband.”

“Yeah, that. That feller was a bastard, a child rapist. Can you blame her for that?”

Charles sighs, he can see the reason behind that woman’s action, if what she claimed was true, that is, but he sure can’t see any logic behind Arthur’s thought process. “Still. Of course she’d put him in a bad light in her story.”

“Even if she did lie to me it ain’t like I haven’t murdered anyone before. C’mon, let’s get going,” he urges.

“Fair enough. She does seem sweet on you, gotta say.”

“You really think so?” Arthur asks, his tone almost hopeful.

“That she’s sweet on you? Yeah. I’m guessing she’s why your den finally looks like a house now?”

“Yeah, yeah, she’s been a great housemate.”

Charles wants to point out that housemate seems like an odd choice of word given the way they interact, but he does not comment.“ ‘m glad to hear that, but still, be careful.”

“C’mon, if she’s going to kill me she would’ve done it weeks ago. Enough about me, how have ya been?”

“Same old. There's this beekeeper who moved near me a few weeks ago and his little army has been bothering me ever since. Nothing interesting beside that, really. How’re you two getting on?”

“A beekeeper? Never would’ve guessed voluntarily keep ‘em.”

“Mm, yeah, all sorts of folk out there. What’s she been doing in this time?”

“They live out near the fields? Saw a bunch of flowers there, seems like a nice place for ‘em.”

“Heard there was someone new in town sellin’ knitted things ‘n embroidery”

“Yup. Does he get stung by ‘em often?” “Is it her?”

“Yup, so, how’re you two gettin’ on, other than that?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Hm? Means what I said it meant.” Arthur shrugs.

“Hosea told me you were harbourin’ an outlaw, said it like it had passed. When’s she gonna be gone?” Charles dodges the subject.

“Hope not soon. Charles, I… I think I love her.”

A look of disapproval spreads across the other man's face. “I’m not gona do anythin’ about it, it’d… it’d be dumb.”

“C’mon, Arthur, I can see that, but I don't wanna see you get hurt. Might just be best to let her go.”

Arthur sighs heavily.

“I know, I know. S’gonna hurt anyway. Enough about her, you said you saw a stag ‘round here earlier?”

*******

“Oh, you guys are back,” Mary says, emptying a can of beans into the steaming pot.

“Yeah,” says Arthur, swinging off his satchel to hang it behind the door. “Watcha makin’?” He asks, looking over her shoulders.

“Just put together what I could find, we’re running low,” she says, stirring the mixture of beans, mushrooms, and potatoes. “And nice to see you again Mr. Smith,” she greets as the other man lays down several bundles wrapped in paper on the table.

“Charles’ fine,” he replies. Mary only hums in response.

“Yer staying for dinner?” Arthur asks. Mary secretly hopes he would refuse, not because she dislikes Arthur’s friend. In fact, she finds him a pretty nice feller, but it is just so awkward and unnatural, especially with Arthur being so at ease and Charles being clearly as uneasy as her.

Charles merely shrugs, “Sure.”

“What have you guys got?” she asks, sprinkling some salt over the pot.

“Just some rabbits. What’d ya say if we roast ‘em?”

“I’m fine with it.” Arthur nods as he grabs a knife to skin the rabbits.

“Need any help?” Charles offers.

“No, it’s fine, you’re the guest,” Arthur says.

“A guest? You’re talking like I’m a stranger,” Charles jokes as he sets himself down at the table, slightly more relaxed now.

“You come here often, Mr Smith?” Mary asks, trying to break the awkwardness.

“I used to.”

“Oh?” Mary puts the lid over the pot, before walking over to pour a glass of water for Arthur, then another for Charles. He silently thanks her with a nod.

“Well, then you came.” Suppose Arthur doesn’t want anyone interrupting you two. Charles thinks, though he knows better than to say it out loud.

Mary freezes, trying to think of the implication behind his statement. There is not a single bit of repulsion in his tone, yet his words make her feel like an intruder. She wonders if that’s what she is to his friends and family, someone uninvited, a hindrance to Arthur’s life. They won’t be wrong, she thinks, she has been nothing but a dependent with little contribution.

“I won’t be disturbing him for long,” she explains. “He’s been a great host, but I’d hate to bother him for any longer. I’ll be out of here as soon as I can, right Arthur?”

A sharp metal cling tears through the room before her words fall. Mary turns around and finds that Arthur has dropped the knife.

“…Arthur? Are you alright?”

He shakes his head out of his trance. “Yeah, am fine, my hand just slipped.”

She picks up the knife for him before returning to the stove. Charles watches as Arthur ties a string onto the rabbits.

A silent sigh escapes him. His face falls, the happiness sucked away by those words.

“You alright?”

“ ‘m fine,” he shakily picks the knife up. “These’ll be good.” he smiles, a weakness hidden behind those words.

Charles smiles back, pitying the other man.

Fine. Fine! Completely fine. Just like she’s with leaving. FINE.

“Hey, well. I hope you two had fun out there, the weathers been fine all week!” she continues. FINE, FINE, EVERYTHING’S JUST GODDAMN FINE.

“Could have used you out there too,” Charles tries to break the tension. He notices his friend's hand tighten around the knife. He places a hand on his shoulder and notices the tension in his muscles.

He snakes his hand onto Arthurs and gently places the knife on the table.

“What?” Arthur asks, confused.

“Nothin'. You're done with this, right? I'll take it to wash.”

“Oh, yeah, alright.” Arthur says. Charles drops it at the sink while Arthur kneels down before the fireplace, hanging the rabbits over the pile of logs.

Charles sits back down at the table. He notices how Arthur is still kneeling on the floor, despite having finished his work. He doesn't comment.

Arthur finally breaks out of his haze as Mary turns around, leaving the steaming pot behind. “Yer done?”

“Not yet, gotta let it simmer for a while,” she mutters, grabbing the unfinished needlework on the table. Charles immediately recognises it as Arthur's neckerchief. Huh.

Arthur brushes the ashes off his hands on his pants. “S'gonna take these at least an hour to cook too.”

“I hope you boys are not too hungry then,” says Mary, as she sits down at the edge of the bed, disappearing from their view.

“I can wait,” Charles says. Arthur casts the bedroom door another glance before sitting himself down at the table, opposite to the other man.

“So, what have you been up to, other than getting all enamored and stuff?” Charles asks with a whisper. Arthur really has been a stranger lately. He can sense something has changed in him during the past few months. Though Charles can't really tell what it is, he knows Mrs Linton and Arthur's…feelings for her, have to be the reason for it.

“Eh, nothing much, just the old stuff.”

“Y'know, your house really looks a lot nicer now.”

“Yeah, like I said she's a great housekeeper.”

“You look a lot better than before too, you know that right?”

“Do I?” Arthur gives him a funny look. “How?”

“Hard to say, but at least you don't like you're gonna die in a week anymore.”

“That's a real nice compliment coming from ya,” Arthur chuckles.

“I mean it, you look way happier than before.”

He shrugs, “S'ppose the extra company does me good.”

“...company, huh?”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“So, you said you've got a new neighbor?”

“Yeah, a Jason Brown or something like that. I forgot his name and it'd be too strange to ask at this point.”

“Why? Just say you haven't got his last name or something.”

“Guess I should try that.”

“You said he keeps bees?”

“Yeah, he's given me a jar of honey a while ago. He's a pretty nice feller. His herd, not quite.”

“What'd they do?”

“They were supposed to be heading to the apple farm nearby— he mentioned something about them being pollinators and him having got a fund from the owner— but they kept heading to my house to bug me.”

“You ever got stung?”

“A couple times. Didn't even do anything to them.”

“Huh, what about that Jason feller?”

“Not as far as I know. I've seen him work from a distance before. They seemed to let him do whatever he wanted to their hive. He was wearing this net thing over his head though.” Their conversation is interrupted by Mary shuffling through, she grabs her needles. Arthur’s expression falls again, his gaze follows her out, an odd type of sadness masked behind his eyes.

****

The two men step out, Charles pats Taima’s neck in greeting, the mare nickers as he grabs her reins.

“Hope you’ll be comin’ back some time soon.” Arthur steps closer to the horse.

“Sure. You sure you’ll be alright, Arthur?” Charles asks, swinging his leg over the horse.

Arthur laughs. “ ‘course I’ll be. Just a crush is all, no reason to worry.”

“You sure?”

“Who do ya think I am? She’ll be out ‘before you’re back, it’ll… pass.” he hesitates on the word.

Charles nudges the appaloosa to a trot and leaves, glancing back at the other man, left standing in the dust. Arthur turns his gaze to the window and catches a peek at her, sitting there, working hard on another one of her projects. She tilts her head and her eye twitches.

She’ll be gone soon, she’ll be gone and there isn’t a damn thing I can do.

Arthur steps back inside and she springs up from the spot, tying off two treads and snipping them as she steps over. She pulls him down and ties a black scrap of fabric around his neck. It wasn’t what she was working on before, he notices.

“Did your friend leave?” she asks. Arthur nods as she adjusts it around his neck. “ ‘m glad to see you ain’t a real hermit just a, hm, a hermit of opportunity.”

“Can’t be a real one with ya here.” he forces a chuckle. “ ‘sides, ain’t fun like that, I don’t mind the company.”

“He'll be coming over again soon?”

“Dunno, maybe, why, do you want him to?”

“Not really.”

He gives out an airy laugh, “Oh, he'll definitely be hurt if he hears that.”

“No, not what I meant. He's a nice feller, but it's just a little bit strange with someone else here y'know?”

“What'd ya mean?”

“Guess I'm just used to being alone with you.”

A warm feeling blooms across his chest. Could she really enjoy being here with him?

Arthur swallows, calm down, she just said she was used to it. It doesn't mean anything.

“Huh, thought you'd be getting sick of my face by now.”

“Probably would have if you weren't so handsome.”

Suddenly he doesn't know where he should be looking at, and his hands feel awkward hanging besides his hips, but he doesn't know where to put them. He looks away, hoping she isn't able to see his flushed cheeks under the dim light.

“Flatterer,” he mumbles. She smiles and stands on her tiptoes to give his cheek. He has never told her, but it's his favorite way to be kissed; quick, chaste, but sweeter and more intimate than any other kiss. He can almost close his eyes and pretend it's a gesture of something more than mere habitual affection.

He realizes he's still standing at the door while she has already sat down at the edge of the bed, folding her outer clothes. He slowly makes his way towards the room to join her.

“He's not gonna visit for a while. We'll be getting plenty of alone time,” he says, playing with her hair, which she has just let down. Her curls fall onto her shoulders adorning the outline of her face. He twirls a strand around his index finger, feeling its smooth silkiness.

“Good, more fun with just you and I here, isn't it?”

“How so?” he asks with a knowing smile. The eager hands prying his collar open and the wild kiss that follows it are the only answers his need.

#take your cigarette from its holder burn your initials on my shoulder #mary linton x arthur morgan #mary linton/arthur morgan #mary gillis #mary gillis linton #mary linton #arthur morgan #rdr2 #rdr2 fanfic #our fic

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raichett · 2 years

Note

2 prompts (you don’t have to do both I just couldn’t decide which cause I liked both of these fics lol)

cosmic cat-astrophe: how does Jellie settle into life aboard the Monopoly with Scar and Grian?

it’s not quite narnia: how is the Vex king taking to the new (cute) human gatekeeper?

Went with the first prompt as I have another asker after more "Well It's Not Quite Narnia, But -"

This flash fic can be found as the second chapter in my fic Cosmic Cat-astrophe on AO3.

–

NEST

Jellie, despite looking very much like a slightly-too-large domestic cat, is not, in fact, a cat. Like, at all. Scar knew this, of course – the sight of her eating that giant rock snake thing whole is kind of hard to forget – but sometime between bringing her on board the Monopoly and now, he’d managed to get comfortable enough that the sight before him is throwing him a little.

“I think it’s a nest,” Grian remarks, poking at the edge of it. Jellie, curled proudly in the centre, rumbles a sound that’s a bit too growly to be a purr, but is pretty much the same thing. Not aggressive, at any rate.

“I liked this waistcoat,” Scar says, sadly, tugging at the edge of a rich red velvet number he’s had for years, now twisted and entwined in the nest made of clothes Jellie has built in the back of one of the storerooms. It doesn’t pull free, and Scar gives it up when Jellie’s eyes flash, unwilling to make her unhappy.

“Yeah, well. I don’t think you’re getting it back.” Grian reaches out and strokes Jellie’s soft head. “You had us hunting for weeks for our missing things,” he accuses her. “We would have gotten you fabrics and stuff at the last spaceport if we knew you wanted them.”

Jellie butts her head up into his palm, kneading her little claws – black, not pale like an Earth cat – into the nest contentedly. She leans down to bite at one of the sleeves in the bottom of the nest, pulling it up and across her front paws, burying her nose in it.

“Is it the scent?” Scar wonders. “Like, she wants our things ‘cause they’re ours?”

“Maybe.” Grian scratches behind Jellie’s ears. “But this is definitely a nest – she’s not a bird, though. I think some mammals make nests; mice and the like.”

“Gri, I don’t think Jellie can be called a mammal,” Scar replies, lightly teasing, watching Jellie yawn at the scratches and expose teeth that really aren’t quite… right. “In fact, I distinctly remember lots of tentacles. You know, I don’t think it really matters; she’s got a nest and that’s that. We’ll just have to go clothes shopping when we meet up with Scott and Jimmy again.”

“Oh, goodness, Scott and Jimmy,” Grian groans. “This is going to be one heck of a tale. Okay, okay – Jellie? In the next few days we’re going to meet up with a couple of friends of ours, and I’m going to need you not to eat them. I know Jimmy looks tasty, and he squeals a lot, but he’s not prey, okay? You got that?”

Jellie mrrows in response. Scar rubs the underside of her fluffy chin with one finger, watching as she leans into him, her eyes slipping closed, as close to blissed out as a cat – or cat-like being – can get. “I think that’s the best we’re gonna get,” he says.

“Jimmy’s gonna freak out no matter what,” Grian sighs. “They were talking about getting a cat – a real one – next time they ended up near Earth. He loves them – they both do.”

“Perfect!” Scar beams. “Jellie can make a friend. You know, I’m still pretty sure she came with us because she was lonely on that asteroid. The giant space rock snake things were not the best conversationalists, she tells me.”

Grian rolls his eyes. “If she starts actually telling you anything, I would be – something. Don’t know what, but something.”

“You’ll be the first to know if Jellie starts revealing eldritch knowledge,” Scar promises. “But until then, I think I should go get her dinner. She’s developed a liking for toast and scrambled egg. She’s becoming a lady of culture.”

“Toast and scrambled egg is culture?” Grian asks, sceptically. “It’s just standard breakfast food.”

“When we next get the chance I’m seeing if she likes salmon, too,” Scar says. “Then it really will be cultured.”

“Change the eggs from scrambled to poached and you’re on the right track,” Grian retorts. He stands up from his kneel on the floor next to Jellie’s nest, popping his back and rolling his shoulders. “Happy to hear she’s expanded from eating all of our raw meat, though.”

“Variety is the spice of life.” Scar stands up, too, slower than Grian and more carefully. His knees ache something fierce and he thinks longingly of the painkillers in the medicine box back in their quarters. “Stay here and take a nap, Jellie,” he coos down at her. “We’ll see you later.” It’s likely, at least: Jellie has grown fond of sleeping at the end of their bed.

She purrs at them in agreement, low and growly and content, and Scar and Grian leave her to her nap.

#flash fic #my writing #scarian #hermitshipping #ask

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yellowmagicalgirl · 2 years

Text

eyes always seeking (just put your sweet lips on my lips)

John is in a fear god-induced coma. Martin wonders if true love's kiss could be real.

I wrote this for crescenttwins for the 2022 Fairy Tale Exchange. Title comes from "Like Real People Do" by Hozier. The first line of the fic is a direct quote from MAG 111: Family Business.

AO3

FFN

“There aren’t any god-like powers of hope, or love, or indigestion, or whatever. At least not that I’ve seen.”

Martin paused the tape. For two and a half months, he’d been listening to old tapes just to hear John’s voice. The fact that Gerard – Gerry, as John had called him the last time Martin had listened to this tape – Keay had been speaking on this one was unintended.

Gerry hadn’t seen any god-like powers of hope or love. Neither had Martin seen any. But they both served the Eye. The Eye, which wasn’t letting John wake up just so that John could be some sort of weird nightmare voyeur, if Elias’s tape was to be believed.

If there were god-like powers of hope or love, the Eye would probably hide the information. But Martin was trained to research.

Melanie and Basira seemed a little surprised to see him going into the office the next day. It was, technically, his day off, which meant he would have normally spent the whole day by John’s bedside. He went off looking for statements, gnawing on his lip as he ignored the feeling of pressure behind his eyes. These probably weren’t statements the Eye wanted him to read.

Good.

Statement of Clotho Fudge. An odd case of the Buried; xe had fallen into a vat of concrete and come out a statue, only for xyr drunk boyfriend to find and kiss xyr statue a year later. That made xem return back to their normal self.

Statement of Flora Graves. Victim of either the Vast or the Lonely or maybe both. Kissing a then-stranger, now-wife at a bar had anchored her enough to heal.

Statement of Oswald Renshaw. After he met a being that had probably been Michael, he had spent three weeks in a coma only to wake up when his wife pressed what was supposed to have been a final goodbye kiss to his mouth.

Three people, awoken by a lover.

It was absolutely incredulous, but Fear Gods exist. Why not this?

Could there be such a thing as true love’s kiss?

Martin had been infatuated with John from the moment Martin had asked for John’s help in finding the dog. The infuriating asshole part of John had worn away at that infatuation over the next several months.

And then John had been oddly kind to Martin after his encounter with Prentiss. And the infatuation had turned to an actual crush. No longer was John just Martin’s handsome jerk boss. He was now someone Martin truly cared about. And those feelings only got stronger. Martin had finally admitted to himself he was in love with John half a week before the Unknowing. There had been no time, of course, to tell him before the Unknowing.

Could there have been? Could there be an eldritch god of love somewhere, who would have intervened had Martin only confessed?

Could there be such a thing as a true love’s kiss?

Martin packed his things and went straight to the hospital.

The woman’s lips bled from where the jagged pieces of her keyboard had cut them. She glared at the Archivist. He merely stared back. She lifted another key to her mouth, sparing a glance to the endless lines of command line text scrolling across her monitor. The edges of the Archivst’s vision blurred, and he found himself standing outside of a flat, knocking at a door. This was odd. The Archivist Knew he did not witness the statement-dreams of the servants of the Eye. Stranger still, the Archivist Knew that this particular statement giver was awake.

The part of the Archivist that was still John wondered if Martin was nearby, even if John hadn’t seen Martin in…

How long had it been? John neither knew nor Knew.

But here, knocking at the door to Martin’s old flat, John felt safe. He felt safe in a way he had come to associate with Martin. The earliest time John could pinpoint definitely feeling this way was when Martin admitted to having lied on his CV. John couldn’t trust anything else, but he could trust Martin.

And that feeling had grown from mere safety to…

One lonely morning in America, John had finally been forced to admit to himself that the feeling had grown from mere safety into love. He loved Martin, and not only as a friend. John was happy with the unlikely friendship he had forged with his assistant, but he wanted more. He had wanted to wake up to Martin’s face instead of the impersonal hotel room. John wanted to kiss Martin good morning.

He had planned to ask Martin on a date after they successfully escaped the Unknowing and Martin and Melanie had taken care of Elias.

Of course, things hadn’t gone they way they were supposed to.

And why would they? Neither John nor Gerry had seen any evidence of a god-like powers of hope or indigestion or anything like that.

The Archivist Knew there were no god-like powers of love.

And then John stopped knocking and put his hand to his mouth, trying to find the source of that wonderful warmth that had touched his lips. But the Archivist Knew there was no escape from the Eye. John knew good things just didn’t happen to him.

What new horror was this?

Martin supposed he was lucky that John hadn’t been intubated. There were oxygen tubes running into his nose, but not his mouth. Nothing could obstruct the kiss.

He supposed he was lucky that nurses rarely came to John’s room. With shaking hands, Martin applied chapstick before he leaned over the sleeping man he loved. If this woke John up, it would be worth it, even if John never wanted to be near Martin again. John would be awake.

Gently, Martin pressed his lips to John’s. John’s lips were cold against Martin’s own.

And then they were warm.

John’s lips were warm and making a startled noise.

Martin pulled away as John’s eyes snapped open. He looked scared. And why wouldn’t he be?

“Sorry, sorry, I mean, I’m not sorry for waking you up, and I didn’t know any other way to do this,” Martin stammered. “I read statements, and it’s been months, but I’m sorry that, er, look. I know we’re both tied to the Institute, but I can try and get transferred to another department? Become Peter Lukas’s personal assistant or something? I’m sorry.”

John looked at Martin for a painfully long moment. “It’s alright, Martin,” he rasped.

“No, it’s not. I mean, I’m glad it worked, but I’m sorry for kissing you. I know that you, er, Basira said that Melanie said that you don’t –“

“I don’t do sex. That’s all. I, um, I enjoy kissing the right person.” John looked away from Martin. “If there’s anything I’m mad at you about, it’s because I won’t remember our kiss because I was asleep for most of it.”

Our kiss. Not our first kiss. Did John think Martin had only kissed him to wake him up, and not also because Martin had been wanting to kiss John for so very long? Did he think that Martin wanted that to be their only kiss?

Martin was in love with such a ridiculous man. It was hard to stop himself from laughing with joy, but he didn’t want John to think Martin was laughing at him.

“Well, um, I’m sorry but I won’t be able to make you be awake for our first kiss,” Martin said. “But want to try a second time, now that you’re awake?”

#jonmartin #martin blackwood #johnathan sims #the magnus archives #jonathan sims #my writing #probably gonna go on hiatus again now that i've posted this

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glitchyred · 1 year

Note

God I feel you about missingno. I've grown so sick of pokepastas and general edgy fan works depicting missingno as an evil eldritch horror that I've made an entire pokemon AU where missingno is just a lonely lil guy looking for a friend.

YEAH exactly. I mean I definitely get it, MissingNo. was terrifying back in the day due to even Nintendo themselves contributing to the fearmongering, even I used to be scared of it when I was a little kid, but after like. a couple hundred pieces of edgy fanart and fic portraying it as this murderous all-consuming force (which it REALLY isn't) it gets kinda old. I don't think it's as bad as the Raticate theory showing up everywhere despite being thoroughly debunked but it's still Tiring. There's nothing wrong with portraying MissingNo. and 'M as scary, because to an extent they are, but there's more to horror than just "evil fucked up alien thing wants to kill you" over and over. It even gets blamed for problems other glitches cause, just because it's more recognizable. I want to learn about niche glitches! Write horror stories about the niche glitches!! /lh

ANYWAY I love more realistic/softer MissingNo interps. I had an old Gameverse AU where Red was a cryptozoologist studying glitches and he had a pet aerodactyl skeleton missingno so hearing about them makes me think of that HDJWHDJS. The world needs more MissingNo interps that are just vibing

#ask

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the-hs-etaverse · 2 years

Note

I'm not sure if this is the place for this but I'm trying to figure out SCP-085's classpect and I'm wondering if you had any thoughts on that

I'm not super knowledgeable about the SCP lore (though I'm familiar with the Foundation), but hey, I can give it a look! I'm not a classpect-specific blog, but I do want to post my opinions on the matter here. (Still working on those masterposts :3 )

Okay before I read the 085 article I just wanna say: Classpecting is determined mostly by the character's role in the narrative. SCP classpecting can be challenging because, at least initially, there's little to no narrative, just an anomaly with containment procedures (which may in themselves contain the narrative but you know what I mean).

...

Christ, they're ALREADY at SCP-7000? (okay it's just the contest but !!!)

...

Oh. OH OH THIS IS THE GIRL THE DRAWING OH I LOVE CASSY

Cassy is very lonely, so I'd say Space is a relevant aspect for her. (There's a seeming trend that Space players have to contend with loneliness, re. Jade's seclusion, Calliope's whole deal, etc.) I'd also say Space because of the nature of her existence: she is a two-dimensional drawing.

You know, a couple years ago, I wrote a sketch of a fic (haha) in which Cassy and Fred (SCP-423) met and became friends. That doesn't matter really, I just wanted to mention it

...

All right, just finished rereading the article. It's here, if you want to read it yourself.

I'm mostly inclined to stick with my initial assumption that Cassy is a Space player, but at the same time I would like to take into consideration the metanarrativial circumstances of her existence. See, Cassy was one of the first SCPs. Back in 2008-2010? Whenever the Foundation started? Back then, there were fewer restrictions on SCPs, and the Foundation wasn't as firmly dedicated to the Secure | Contain | Protect protocol as it is now. So interactions with the SCPs would extend beyond simply that and the scientists trying to understand them; they were treated in the Foundation... I hesitate to say more humanely? But yes, they were treated more humanely. I believe some of the more "stable" humanoid SCPs (like Abel before the rewrite, Cain, and Iris) were used as sort of a task force and were sent on missions. But as the Foundation stabilized to what it is today, backstories were rewritten, articles were revamped, policies were put in place, more narrative consistency was implemented, so on and so forth. One of the examples that troubles me the most is the rewrite of SCP-166 from the rather fascinating concept of a devoutly Catholic succubus to a still Catholic but otherwise weird eldritch demigoddess who partially exists to fuel Dr. Clef's manpain. There are still little standout inconsistencies of sorts that hearken back to the old days of the Foundation, like how Cain (SCP-073) is allowed to "freely wander the facility and eat in the main canteen". But the biggest hallmark is Cassy herself.

TV Tropes's character entry on SCP-085 says "The Foundation in its entirety is startlingly protective of her". I agree, although when she accidentally learned of her true nature, she was nominated for destruction, and although the O5 (overseer) Council voted that she not be destroyed, it was not by an overwhelming majority. (Okay I'm kind of defeating my whole point here) The Foundation has let her build and fuel her own car and interact with Escherian impossible constructs. Most notable, in my opinion, is how she is referred to within the article. Most SCPs are referred to with it/its. Cassy is mostly referred to with she/her.

Ultimately, the point I'm trying to make is, the SCP Foundation is unusually kind to Cassy, while it is usually clinical to other SCPs. I feel like her aspect should reflect that. Maybe she should be Hope or Rage? Those both relate to the metanarrative. Hope would be more suitable, I think, as Cassy is fictional to the fictional universe of the Foundation, and since her presence seems to trigger a protective instinct in others, even in the meta-Foundation.

So I'm torn between Space and Hope. Likewise I'm torn between Witch and Mage as her class. Cassy is a Witch in that she creates her own living space just by being on a page, and it seems she creates Hope (compassion?) in others. On the other hand, Cassy is a Mage in that she always conforms to her spatial habitat even when in different artistic media, and she is born in loneliness and depression and love.

To give my perpetual classpect caveat: nobody perfectly inhabits any one classpect, not even fictional characters. It's like trying to put a tiger in a shoebox.

So I'll leave it up to you:

Cassy is a [Witch/Mage] of [Space/Hope].

#classpect #scp #scp-085 #ask #queue #long post #forgive me for the stream of consciousness rambling at the beginning #that is simply how my brain processes

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carminite-wyrm · 2 years

Text

So I found @chrisrin 's Hermit Archives AU, promptly went a little bit insane for a couple hours, and ended up with this little fic.

Etho is not oblivious, despite what the other inhabitants of this community might believe, and go to apparently significant lengths to maintain.

He is not oblivious to the fact that the others here, his friends, his acquaintances, his associates, follow…entities, as it were. Entities that feed on fear, that generate it and play with it all of the sake of a better meal.

He knows that the way in which Scar falls from up high with a scream, hits the ground, gasps, and walks off with his limbs still cracking their way back into position, cannot be anything other than the work of That Which Falls Forever and The Inevitable Finale. He knows that the wings shadowing Grian’s back, as he rushes after another one of Scar’s mishaps, are a gift of the Great Voyeur, although Grian is more Chronicler and Storyteller than pure Watcher.

He does not mind though.

Does not mind the way in which the vines will always call Bdubs back to them, even if they now more resemble carpets of woodland moss than the strangling vines of the jungle.

Does not mind the fact that it’s very difficult to keep Zedaph in view, and his machines are often beyond the average understanding.

After all, they don’t pose any direct and intentional danger to him, and well, Etho isn’t one to shy away from danger in the first place. Not ever, and especially not now.

Etho is human, is the thing. He may have been touched by the Entities, in times long past, in a world he rarely returns to, bearing more than a few marks, the most obvious of which belong to the Voyeur and the Always Alone.

He is human. And he is fearless.

What does he care if his friends occasionally burst into gibbering eldritch horrors that traumatise more than a few villagers, and consume even more? At the end of the day, they’re still more pleasant company than the servants and acolytes he knew before them. They still endeavour to be his friend, and in a sense, he imagines that they somehow all anchor each other, this community of avatars and monsters and one lone man. They respect each other, understand each other, and above all, want this land of theirs to remain as their safe haven, despite all that comes from serving an Entity, however unintentional that servitude may have been.

That isn’t to say he’s unprepared, though. No man living with horrors beyond the usual mortal comprehensions would not walk anywhere without at least a few contingency plans, after all.

A candle in every corner of his house, and a matchbox in his pocket, for That Which Blinds And Obscures All.

A painting under his bed and in his pocket, for the False Reflection.

Blackout curtains that double as fire-suppressing blankets if necessary, for both the Voyeur and the Everburning Spark.

And many others options, if Etho were of a mind to list them all.

He doesn’t though. Doesn’t quite need to bother listing them all out. Not because the Administrator might decide to see if he isn’t as oblivious as he seems, after all, his last encounter with the Lying Labyrinthian did make things…a little bit less easy to read, though his eye does help mitigate that particular side effect. Not that fear can affect him, not anymore.

But because, despite the inherent dangers of the world around him, of his fellow Hermits, he does not think that they will be completely necessary. Not against the other Hermits, at least. Even if he had any fear left to give, watching Scar trip and fall into a near-bottomless pit for the fourth time is actually quite funny, and really just takes away from any possible spookiness he could be having, amongst the Hermits. And the way that Tango, Impulse, and Zedaph endlessly rib at each other without coming to blows or anything that could be construed as lasting enmity, despite the typically dangerous and quite possibly insane nature of their engagements. And the way that X looks after the Hermits, makes sure that any of their problems are dealt with, any issues and threats taken into account…even if he wasn’t human, Etho would confidently call it a human-enough emotion for him. The caring, the kindness, the compassion.

Etho knows what makes a monster, in truth, and the Hermits?

He’d be hard-pressed to call them monsters, in any sense of the word.

And well, their presence does ward off any other would-be predators into their territory.

Not that Etho’s concerned about that. He’s got nothing left for fear, after all.

#hermitcraft fic #hermitcraft au #the hermit archives #ethoslab #carminite writes #me: it would be absolutely hilarious if etho is just the one Just A Human Guy amongst all the spookified hermits #also me: what if i implied Etho 'Token Human' Slab has also Seen Some Stuff #did he get his fear nommed via End shenanigans? who knows. i sure dont.

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storytellerofuntoldlegends · 3 years

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and the void looked back to say i love you (Part One)

A/N: did i write a whole fic inspired by the time phil surfed the void in osmp and then soon after that kristin sent in a tts saying "i love you"? yes. yes i did. (I'm aiming to update this every saturday until its done)

Warnings: brief violence mentions, implied/referenced character death (none of the osmp members, just random people), kristin has some mild eldritch horror moments (but it’s barely that she’s just a spooky lady)

Summary: All Kristin had known was all-consuming darkness. Not that she particularly minded it, the Void was her domain. But then along comes Philza, and her life is filled with light in the form of laughter and twinkling eyes. (Alternatively, five times Phil visited Kristin in the Void and one time she came up to the Overworld.)

Masterpost

The first time Kristin met Phil, he was flying along the roof of her domain, laughing and cheering as a murder of crows flew close behind him, cawing in a cacophony of distress and elation. She was confused by the birdlike man- not by the fact that he seemed to be part bird, but by the fact that there was someone even near the void at all.

"Why don't we dip down and touch the void? Just for a second," she heard the man say to his crows, who responded with squawks of terror. She watched, intrigued as the man began to dive down with a hand outstretched, the crows cawing their dissent all the while. His fingers brushed through the inky nothingness, the darkness of her domain creeping up his wrist- and then with a powerful flap of his wings he wrenched himself free of the void's grip. Taking on a physical form, she poked her head up out of the void to gaze at the man with wide eyes. She had never seen someone escape the grip of her domain before. And if she hadn't been intrigued before, she was certainly intrigued now.

“I’m fine guys, see? The void didn’t-” the man stopped midway through consoling his crows as he turned midair and locked eyes with Kristin. He looked just as surprised to see her as she was to see him. He nearly started falling towards the void again, but quickly caught himself and hovered above Kristin. The crows circled around the man, cawing in a mix of alarm and excitement.

“Hello,” Kristin called out, a little unused to speaking but excited to have the chance to. The man let out a startled squawk in response, nearly unbalancing himself in the air but still managed to stay aloft.

“You can talk?!” the man cried out in surprise. Kristin tilted her head to the side in confusion.

“You can talk,” she said pointedly. The man let out a laugh, shaking his head in mild embarrassment.

“Good point. I just… didn’t think you were real. Thought my mind was playing tricks on me or some shit,” the man replied, still chuckling a bit. Kristin laughed along with him, and the man’s expression turned into something both mildly terrified and hopelessly endeared.

“What’s that look for?” Kristin asked, head tilting to the side in confusion. The man flushed slightly, and the crows’ caws took on a more teasing tone.

“Your laugh is uh- kind of unsettling, echoing through the void and all. But it’s also kinda charming in a way,” the man said with a bashful smile. The crows’ caws grew louder as they seemed to heckle the man, and he swatted at them in annoyance, muttering something about how he was not blushing.

“I think you’re kind of charming too,” Kristin said sweetly. That sent the crows into a tizzy, and the man’s expression lit up with a grin. Kristin decided she liked seeing the birdlike man smile.

“My name’s Philza, most people call me Phil though,” he said, reaching out his hand for half a second as if he intended to shake Kristin’s hand, but then promptly realized that he couldn’t even see Kristin’s hands. She chuckled good-naturedly, then drew herself up from the void to be more level with Phil. He was much smaller than she had thought, in fact her hand was bigger than his whole body.

“I’m the Queen of the Void, but if I were to know any people, they’d call me Kristin,” she replied, holding out her hand to Phil. He flew back a bit in surprise, then gave a sheepish smile and reached out to awkwardly pat her finger instead of attempting to shake her hand.

“It’s lovely to meet you- hold on, let me find an opening up there to rest on, my wings are getting tired,” Phil said, beginning to glide away.

“You can rest on my hand if you’d like! I promise I won’t pull you into the void, you’re the first person I’ve spoken to in… well, ever, I think,” Kristin offered, holding out her hand palm up. A few of Phil’s crows flew to rest in her hand, cawing up at her in greeting. Phil looked a little skeptical still, but seeing as his crows were alright, he flew down to sit cross-legged in her palm.

“Thank you. I get tired a little quicker when I’m away from the sky,” he explained.

“Then why come down here at all?” Kristin asked. Phil shrugged.

“I was exploring, saw an opening to the void and decided to explore. In all my traveling, I’ve never seen access to the void through the Overworld,” he replied.

“But you’ve seen the void before?”

“Yes, when I was very young. The place I came from was just an island in the void.”

“Then why are you here? In the ‘Overworld,’ as you put it,” Kristin asked. Phil frowned in thought, a dark, mournful expression taking over his face for a few moments before he shook his head. “It’s… a long story,” Phil said, something dark taking over his previous cheerful tone.

“You don’t have to explain if you don’t want to, I didn’t mean to pry,” Kristin said hurriedly, something in her stomach twisting uncomfortably at making her new friend upset. Phil patted her hand reassuringly, giving a weak smile.

“It’s alright, I just don’t talk about it much… mostly because I don’t have many to talk about it to. Anyway, something… bad had happened, on the island. I don’t remember much, but what I do know is that people had come in big ships and attacked my home. Myself and some others managed to fly away to try and escape through the portal the people had made to get to our world… but I was the only one that made it out before something happened on the other end, and the portal shut down,” Phil explained, the smile he had managed before slowly slipping off of his face as he talked. One of his crows resting on his shoulder hopped over to nuzzle his cheek, and Phil gently scritched the bird’s head with a wistful smile.

“I’m very sorry to hear that. It’s terrible, what happened to you,” Kristin said, wishing there was something more she could do than just offer condolences. Phil merely shrugged.

“Not your fault, not mine either. It just… happened, I guess. For a while I tried to find a way back, tried to relight the portal or find a different one- but no luck. Decided to just travel and explore instead,” Phil said.

“Sounds like a rather lonely adventure,” Kristin replied.

“Oh it’s not that lonely, I’ve got my crows after all. They just sorta started following me around- I’m pretty sure they think I’m a giant crow, since they call me ‘Dadza’ sometimes,” Phil said with a chuckle. The crows squawked indignantly, seemingly arguing among themselves and with Phil.

“They talk?” Kristin asked, frowning as she listened to the crows a little closer, but couldn’t make out any words amongst the chaos.

“I mean… not exactly, but I do understand what their caws mean,” Phil explained. Kristin raised an eyebrow.

“So… you are a giant crow, then,” she said with a wry smile. The crows ceased their argumentative cawing for a moment to look at Kristin, then back at Phil, before they started a ruckus of excited caws.

“Look what you’ve done, you’ve gone and encouraged their chaos,” Phil huffed, crossing his arms and looking very disgruntled as a murder of crows hopped and fluttered around him, cawing in excitement all the while. Kristin couldn’t help it- she laughed.

“Sorry. I did think you were a bird when I first saw you down here,” Kristin said sheepishly.

“Well… you’re not wrong, I am birdlike in some ways, but I think a giant crow is a bit of an oversimplification,” Phil replied.

“But an accurate oversimplification,” Kristin countered with a grin. Phil threw his head back and groaned, although it morphed into a laugh at the end, and Kristin couldn’t help but join in and laugh as well.

#mcyt #osmp #mcyt fic #osmp fic #philza #osmp philza #mumza #void!kristin #fluff #sage writes

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ghostbustermelanieking · 3 years

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tma fic masterpost

love letters (of a sort)

(jonmartin, seasons 1-5, fluff, angst, wc: 13k)

Want to grab dinner later? I know you're going to be working absurdly late anyway, and there's a new Italian place I've been wanting to try. — M

Yes, that sounds nice. I'll try to be finished by 7:00. — J

Oh, yes. God forbid you don't work absurdly late. ;) — M

Or: The notes and letters Jon and Martin have written each other, through the years.

cracks

(post mag 200, tim & sasha, jonmartin, wc: 1k)

Sasha finds a tape on her kitchen table. A new one. The last one. She doesn't even need to listen to it to know it's the last one. And she has a voice-mail on her phone from Annabelle Cane.

She calls Tim first, right then, at one a.m., and he picks up. She knew he would. She knows he felt the change, too. "We have to go," she says. "Right now. We've got to go back. Something's happened."

microfics: tender, trembling hands, drastic

in the moonlight

(wtgfs, pre-canon, fluff, wc: 2k)

6. things you said under the stars and in the grass

Or: Georgie and Melanie on a late-night ghost hunt (in an "unromantic" field).

after words

(jonmartin, mag 102 au, hurt/comfort, wc: 3k)

things you said prompts: "13. things you said at the kitchen table."

Or: After Jon's escape from the Circus, Martin offers for Jon to stay with him.

warm

(jonmartin, scottish safehouse period, wc: 2k)

things you said prompts: "1. things you said at 1 am"

Or: Huddling for warmth after the Lonely.

reunions

(post mag 196, canon divergent, jonmartin, wc: 2k)

Martin and Jon find each other again at the remnants of Hill Top Road.

cursed grounds

(bly manor au pt 1, jonmartin, ensemble, slow burn, wip, wc: 14k)

When there's a lull, Martin speaks up, because he has to, he knows he does, he won't get a better opportunity. He says, "I've got a story," and when they look at him with interest, he adds, "A… a statement, really. It might be hard to hear, but… I think we all need to hear it again."

He shifts in his seat, sits up straighter, clears his throat and looks out at the lot of them and begins. "Statement of Martin Blackwood," he says, "regarding the Magnus Institute, and everything that happened there." He takes a breath, hears the familiar words in their familiar cadence rattle through his mind: the Archivist is taking a statement. He says, "Statement begins."

Or: In 1985, after the disappearance of Gertrude Robinson from the reclusive grounds of the Magnus Institute, Jonathan Sims is brought in as a replacement. As he adjusts to the new job, and begins to bond with his new coworkers, the strange happenings on the grounds that the Magnus Institute sits on become harder to ignore.

Years later, Martin Blackwood makes a statement.

variations on a death scene

(ensemble, jonmartin, wtgfs, aus, revenge stories, wc: 6k)

Or: Eight times Jonah Magnus was killed, and everything was fixed.

tapes winding forward

(jonmartin, time travel, season 1/season 5 au, word count: 48k)

Chapters: 6/6

Martin gets a closer look at the calendar, and his breath catches in his throat. He's gotten a look at the year, and it's wrong, it's all wrong. 2018. October, 2018. Right there, in Martin's own handwriting, on a Saturday, he's written things on little dates that Martin can't read, because he can't take his eyes off the year. 2018. 2018. They look differently. They have scars they don't recognize. Their hair is longer. 2018.

Martin seizes the calendar off the fridge and goes back into the living room. Jon's still at the coffee table, poking through the tapes piled there, but he looks up when Martin comes back in and says, "Martin, where…" with a familiar bite in his voice.

Martin ignores him, stops him mid-sentence to say, "Jon, what have you heard about time travel?"

---

Martin and Jon wake up two years in the future. It goes about as well as can be expected.

cat's cradle

(georgie & jon, wtgfs, the admiral, s5 au, cat angst & fluff, mag 189/190, word count: 5k)

Jon and Martin go out one day, on a trip to the eldritch horror-trap grocery store, and show back up in the tunnels after a few long hours, longer than any of the trips to the store that Georgie has been on. Martin has a bag of horrible spooky food, and Jon has a bag shut at the top that is wriggling suspiciously in his arms. "Oh, great," says Melanie, when Georgie fills her in. "What monstrous thing has he brought home now?" Georgie would giggle if the situation wasn't at least a little potentially dangerous, Jon could have anything in there, really.

---

Or: an exploration of the fate of the Admiral, after the end of the world.

rising static

(archivist!martin, jonmartin, s5 au/canon divergence/spec, word count: 14k)

Martin forces his eyes open to look at Jon, bruise blossoming at the top of his forehead, eyes red and wet. "Wh-what's gone?" he asks softly, almost afraid of the answer.

"It. All of it, or at least some of it, I don't know… I can't feel it anymore. The statements, the Beholding, it's—it's…" Jon breaks off mid-sentence, shaking his head. He leans forward so their foreheads are together, and Martin can feel him trembling all over. He says, voice low and thick with fear, "I'm… not sure I'm the Archivist anymore."

---

The initial confrontation with Jonah Magnus goes badly, and Martin wakes up outside the Panopticon to find Jon missing. In the wake of this initial loss, something about Martin starts to change.

northern-bound trains

(safehouse fic, jonmartin, post mag 159, pining, word count: 6k)

Martin rides with Jon to the train station. He insisted. Said he shouldn’t have to go there alone. “Nothing worse than leaving on a trip with no one to send you off,” he’d said. Jon had nodded, gratefully, and swallowed back the burning lump of what he wanted to say—Come with me, come to Scotland, I don’t want to leave you alone again. He kept hearing Martin’s words in his head: I really loved you. And he couldn’t ask Martin to do that, to leave his whole life and everything behind to become a fugitive, cower in Scotland and throw his whole life away. It’s too much. And Martin has already sacrificed so much for him.

He’ll be content with Martin seeing him off. That can be enough. That will be enough.

knowing

(s1 archives crew, timsasha, season 4 au, word count: 3k)

Jon falters, looks at the ground, one hand over his mouth. "You… you were both in the same place. In a… domain. D-Daisy was in one, too, a different one. I got her out. And I… I thought, afterwards, that maybe I could get the two of you back, too."

---

Or: After the Unknowing, after the Buried, Jon finds Sasha and Tim again.

journeys at the end of the world

(wtgfs, melanie king, season 5 au/spec, word count: 8k)

Melanie doesn't remember what happened after the world ends.

(Or: Melanie searches for Georgie in the wake of the apocalypse.)

a hidden statement

(season 1 au, s1 archives crew, jonmartin, timsasha, wc: 100k)

Chapters: 5/15 (wip)

Martin finds the tape in the wall. Specifically, in a small hole in the drywall, tucked behind boxes and stuffed with so much crumpled paper and tissue that it's almost impossible to see anything else in there. It's a cassette tape, the sort Jon uses to record statements, labeled on the front with a brown strip of tape. It's addressed to the Head Archivist in a spidery handwriting.

Or: Gertrude Robinson made a tape as a warning to the next Head Archivist. What if he had gotten it?

#for organization purposes lol... mastered after an xf fic masterpost from ages ago #tma fic #the magnus archives #archivist martin #timsasha #wtgfs #jonmartin #i wrote this #long post

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shelobussy · 3 years

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ASH’S TOP 10 TMA FIC RECS

For @damcrows who is Suffering. (I’ll make a second rec list with only fluff fics I promise <3)

immortal with a kiss by yellow_ caballero

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

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

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

Maybe she should be.

1000/10 the best fanfic in this fandom. It’s got everything: QP Jon/Georgie, Teen!Gerald, Beholding lore, and everyone bullies Jon. (Head trigger warnings)

daisy time travels and jon suffers au by paper_dream

In which Daisy time travels back from the apocalypse, saves Jon from herself, and just kinda forgets he has no idea what's going on.

Daisy timetravels to pre-Buried. Jon suffers.

The Magnus Institute vs the 21st Century: a series of emails and IMs by shinyopals

I'm sure given your position you already know about the advent of the General Data Protection Regulation next year, wrote Peter Lukas, to Elias Bouchard. However, the Lukas family wishes to be crystal clear that our continued investment is contingent upon the Institute taking its responsibilities with regards to privacy and confidentiality seriously.

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

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

10/10. Fun take on the texting/email trope. Jon pines and destroys laptops. IT suffers.

ceylon, assam, and darjeeling by sciosa

People do not bring Jonathon Sims tea. Martin Blackwood, newly-minted archival assistant, has apparently not received this memo.

It’s about the pining.

ways to save the world by Wildehack

“I left you,” Martin says softly.

Really REALLY good pining, Jon in the Lonely and brief amnesia.

from the highways to the hills, our love has never had a leg to stand on by blackwood (transjon)

She always forgets how observant he is because digging anything meaningful out of him can be a chore. He looks at things. He observes. He catalogues. Georgie is like a library patron trying to check out a book labeled REFERENCE ONLY with a bright red piece of tape wrapped around the spine.

Pre-canon canon compliant character study of Jon/Georgie.

same as it ever was by ajkal2

It’s a nice dress. Classy, if also a little risqué. Set off against dark skin, it looks very good. It would probably work on Jon, actually. He wonders where she got it. Then he remembers he’s at work, and abruptly derails that train of thought.

The women of the Magnus Institute are holding a protest against the sexist dress code of their place of work. Jon is conflicted, and also has a gender for some reason. What's up with that?

THEE they/them fic. Nonbinary Jon? Check. Trans Martin? Check. The Anti-Elias Agenda? Check. Tim in a cocktail dress? Check check check. This fic has everything.

remind me how to smile bytamerofdarkstars

Jon is probably fine, just hiding out somewhere while the whole murder thing blows over and that's... fine. Martin is fine with that explanation. Really. He's got plenty to distract himself - like listening through the entire What the Ghost episode library, for example. Or watching Georgie Barker's Instagram livestreams.

A oneshot during Jon’s stay with Georgie. Tons of fluff.

Milk After Spiders by chewsdaychillin

Warm milk is all he gets.

After that door closes and the world is eerily slammed back to normal, Jon’s legs unfreeze and he stumbles back off the step. Makes the journey home alone and wobbly, no desire left for exploring (it won’t return for a long time).

basically sad jon childhood and adulthood hurt/comfort but the comfort is mad delayed :/

Jon suffers. That’s the fic.

Family, Found by Dribbledscribbles

It’s Basira who catches onto it.

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

The point was: making life worse for Jonathan Sims.

JON SUFFERS. THAT’S THE FIC.

#tma #tma fic recs #tma rec list #the magnus archives #jonathan sims #jon sims #martin blackwood #jmart #jmartin #fanfic #ash recs

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musical-shit-show · 3 years

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Two Sides: Chapter 4

Previous Chapters: (1) (2) (3)

Characters: Musical!Beetlejuice, Female!OC, Lydia Deetz, Barbara Maitland, Adam Maitland

Warnings: anxiety, supernatural elements, cursing, kissing, sexual references, strange dreams (?), mentions of death

Word Count: 1,878

Author’s Note: So it has been a while since I posted this fic...I’ve honestly been distracted by other writing ventures but I forgot how fun this story was to write, so I will be updating more frequently (if anyone is reading, that is). As always, comments and constructive criticism are welcome! Enjoy :)

Chapter 4

“Oh, fuck oh fuck oh fuck what did I do—” Cassandra started to panic, all blood draining from her naturally rosy face. She checked the business card again, frantically scanning it for any more information on the frightening being that had suddenly appeared in her room. Beetlejuice looked absolutely elated. He straightened his tie as he eagerly crossed towards her, his hair still glowing a vibrant green that illuminated the entire room.

“Shh, hey, hey, hey, new girl, listen,” the demon cooed, fostering a false sense of security to quell her anxiety, “I just wanted to show my appreciation, what with you saying my name and all.” He extended his hand. Chipped black nail polish accented his fingertips. “Put her there.”

Cassandra had barely extended her hand towards his when, like lightning, Beetlejuice yanked her forward, causing her to stumble. In one fell swoop the demon caught the living woman, dipped her clumsily, and placed an entirely non-consensual kiss on her lips.

The ever-present smell of decay was increased exponentially now that Cassandra had come in direct contact with its source. She held her breath, paralyzed by the sudden and rather forceful kiss. When he finally released her, Beetlejuice sported a smug smile, licking his lips in what he thought was a seductive manner. Cassandra wiped off her mouth with the back of her hand, using every bit of strength in her to keep from vomiting at the taste of filth on her tongue.

“I can’t thank ya enough for setting me free, doll,” Beetlejuice said, running his hand through his sickly green hair. His frantic energy made Cassandra even more anxious, “Being dead is fun and all but sometimes a guy’s gotta stretch his legs back into the world of the living, ya know?”

Cassandra’s head was spinning. ‘So, this guy is dead?’ she thought at lightning speed, ‘And I somehow set him free—whatever that means—by reciting some word from a fucking business card?!’ Beetlejuice noticed her slack jawed expression and grinned coyly.

“I take it you don’t know who I am, do ya?” he said, knowing the answer. If she had known who he was, she would’ve never been naive enough to read the card out loud.

“No,” she said quietly, feeling a slight quiver in her voice as she spoke to the specter, “I mean, I’ve already met two dead people today, but they didn’t look anything like you. Who exactly are you, again?”

“I’m the ghost with the most, babes,” he replied, adjusting his coat, as if smoothing down the ratty suit jacket would make him look even the slightest bit presentable, “That word you so generously repeated three times is my name. Don’t wear it out.” The man grinned, and Cassandra scanned him again, noticing he had what appeared to be light green moss growing on his face.

The striped suit, the green hair and moss…it triggered a strange sense of déjà vu. Suddenly, her mind flashed back to her eerie dream from the car ride. A look of dawning realization crossed her face, causing the demon to smile as if he were reading her mind.

“Yeah, that little vision you had earlier?” he said, smiling proudly, “That was all me. Breathers make it so easy to get into their heads, especially when they already have an affinity for the strange and unusual.” He quirked an eyebrow, studying her confused expression, “Though, not strange and unusual enough to see me when you arrived.”

“So, you’re invisible to everyone unless someone says your name three times?” Cassandra questioned. The specter nodded his head, “And I ‘set you free’? What exactly does that mean?”

“It means I can affect the human world again,” he said with casually, whipping out a cigarette and beat-up purple lighter, “Lyds banished me a couple of months ago because I might’ve accidentally set fire to some shit around the house. Major bummer. But thanks to you, BJ is back, baby—”

“Whoa whoa whoa,” Cassandra said, cutting him off, “You know Lydia too?” She felt her blood begin to boil as another secret her roommate kept from her was revealed.

“Oh yeah, ‘course I do,” the demon said as he silently held out his pack of Marlboros, totally oblivious to the woman’s anger. Cassandra waved them away and he shrugged, taking a long drag of the cigarette wedged between his wide fingers, “She and I go way, way back. Adam and Babs too. In fact, they—” Suddenly, the door swung open, causing the demon’s mouth to clamp shut. Lydia stood in the doorway, her thin frame heaving with fury.

“Hey, asshole,” she said, her voice quiet and controlled, “How the fuck did you get back here.” Lydia marched up to the ghoul through a cloud of cigarette smoke, grabbing his tie and pulling him downward a few inches to meet her eyeline.

Though Beetlejuice presented himself as a terrifying demon, Lydia’s rage had him shaking in his striped suit, the cigarette that hung loosely in his mouth moments before falling lightly thumping onto the hardwood floor. He silently pointed at Cassandra, who had her arms folded across her chest, her fingers gripping her arms tightly as she stared at her roommate. Lydia’s expression softened, and she let go of her ghostly companion and crossed to her roommate, who was growing redder by the second.

“Cassie, how—”

“Oh, I don’t know, Lydia,” Cassandra snapped before the question could even be completed, “maybe if you didn’t leave weird summoning cards around, I wouldn’t have accidentally met another one of your friends. I take it that he’s a ghost, too?”

“Well, technically I’m a demon, but—” Beetlejuice started, thoroughly loving the drama. Lydia held up a hand to silence him once more. She pointed to the door.

“You,” she said, her blood still boiling from his shenanigans, “Out. Now.” Beetlejuice narrowed his eyes, and with a snap of his fingers, he vanished.

“Look, Cass,” Lydia said, pinching the bridge of her nose, clearly overwhelmed, “I had nothing to do with the card. Beej did. I didn’t think I’d have to tell you about him because I assumed he was still good and banished. I’m really, really sorry.”

“Just, please tell me what’s going on?” Cassandra said, a clear strain in her voice, “I honestly don’t think my heart can take any more surprises today. Full truth, no secrets.” Lydia exhaled deeply and sat on the edge of the bed, motioning for her roommate to follow.

She recapped as much as she possibly could in a short amount of time. Lydia told Cassandra all of the important points: meeting Barbara and Adam after moving in, running into Beetlejuice on the roof, wreaking havoc, travelling to the Netherworld.

“He tried to do what—?” Cassandra blurted when Lydia mentioned Beetlejuice’s scheme to become human, “Were you not, like, 15?” Lydia shrugged.

“It was a green card thing,” she deadpanned. Cassandra cracked an incredulous smile, and Lydia broke into a giggle, “Seriously though, I weirdly understand why he did it. He wanted to be alive again so badly, and I had a plan to get rid of him. Turns out ‘marrying’ him gave him a dose of reality and me a chance to send his ass back to the Netherworld.” Cassandra raised her eyebrows in agreement, still trying wrap her mind around how marrying a ghost (demon? spirit? eldritch horror?) would bring them back to life.

“So why did you let him back, after all the shit he pulled, I mean?” Cassandra asked. Lydia picked at her black nail polish, which began flaking onto the bedspread.

“I, well…I saw how lonely he was,” she confessed, “That’s what made us such good friends in the beginning; we both felt invisible.” Casandra smiled sadly, thinking to her own feelings of isolation; Lydia had partially saved her from those feelings. Although her loneliness had manifested in other ways, she understood how comforting it must’ve been to find someone who shared that feeling, even if they happened to be a dead guy with green hair dressed in an obnoxious striped suit.

“So, even after I killed him,” Lydia added casually, “it only took him a few months to show up again. Came topside again for some bio-exorcism a few towns over, and jumped at the chance to bury the hatchet.” She smiled fondly. “I didn’t mind, either. He’s a pain in the ass, but he’s my pain in the ass.”

“Did someone say ‘pain in the ass’?” Beetlejuice materialized once more, this time with a bag of popcorn and a ‘Go Lydia’ pennant. “So, did I miss the catfight?” he asked gleefully, waving the small flag eagerly. Lydia pinched the bridge of her nose and Cassandra stifled a laugh. Her life had truly taken a turn to the ridiculously absurd over the course of one afternoon.

“Get off her bed, weirdo,” Lydia scolded, “I was just catching up Cassie on everything, since someone decided to be a dick about me banishing them for scaring the daylights out of some very important clients—”

“Now, now, Lyds, let’s not point any fingers here,” the demon retorted, brushing the dust off of his ancient suit, “You wouldn’t want to embarrass me in front of our guest, would you?” Lydia stuck her tongue out at him, and Beetlejuice sneered, the two of them acting like annoyed siblings. Cassandra suppressed another giggle, not wanting to encourage any more bickering.

“Cass, this is Beej,” Lydia said, turning to her, “Or BJ. Don’t call him by his full name unless you want to banish or summon him. If you wanna get rid of his stupid ass, just say it three times in a row again. Really works when he’s being a prick.” She smirked while Beetlejuice still pouted. Cassandra was still studying him intently, fascinated with his entire being even after Lydia had explained his presence. As ghosts, Barbara and Adam were interesting to say the least, but Beetlejuice was something completely different.

Lydia gave an exasperated sigh, also feeling quite overwhelmed by the day’s events “Also, we were gonna maybe play a board game or watch a movie or something soon. You in?” Cassandra nodded, still trying to absorb all of the information that had just been thrown at her. She decided it was in her best interest to act as normal as possible now so she could bombard her roommate with even more questions after the weekend was over. Lydia then turned to Beetlejuice, who was oddly quiet, “You’re more than welcome to stick around too, Beej. If you behave yourself, that is.” He rolled his eyes, muttering something indistinct to himself.

“What was that?” she asked, her tone far more threatening. The faintest streak of white appeared in the ghoul’s hair, indicating that he was actually afraid of her.

“Nothing, oh best friend of mine,” he said dully.

Lydia smirked again, and glided towards the door, turning her attention to Cassandra, “Seeing as you’re the one who summoned him, it might be in your best interest to get to know our little demon friend a little better while I set up tonight’s activities, eh Cass?”

“Lyds, I don’t—”

“Hey, what do you mean by little—?”

--------

Thanks for reading! Like/reblog/comment if you enjoyed or have any comments/suggestions!

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pensivetense · 3 years

Text

A List Of (Mostly TMA) Fic Recs Sorted By Vibe

Not an exhaustive list by any means, just a few favourites that caught my fancy. I shortened many of the summaries for space.

I’m going to pin this here and update it as I go.

Also, I’m pensivetense on ao3

MELANCHOLY VIBES

for when you want to feel comfortably muted

(sad but not utterly bleak endings here)

Hope, Etc. (Dickenson, et al.) by yellow_caballero

Jonathan Sims, six months after the Unknowing, wakes to find himself without a daemon - without humanity, without a soul. It’s a cursed half-life, but existence as a shell without a heart isn’t so bad: between solving the mystery of a persistent illusion cast over his friends and some light pseudo-cannibalism, a life as a monster is better than no life at all. At least, it would be, if it wasn’t for the fucking Owl.

A freaking. Amazing. Daemon au. Ties the lore of Dust with TMA lore very satisfyingly, but is mostly about Jon navigating what it means to be human, or, in the absence of that, a person, and doesn’t require prior knowledge of His Dark Materials. Cannot recommend highly enough.

after one long season of waiting by nuinuijiaojiao

Annabelle is not used to having nice things. or, Annabelle heads to Upton House, muses a little, and gets some well-deserved rest

I love survivalist Annabelle and also the concept of the Web as kind of a horrible Patron, actually.

i love you. I want us both to eat well. by SmallishWormMasterOfTheUniverse

At the safehouse with Martin, Jon decides it's time to quit statements once and for all. The Eye disagrees. Martin just needs Jon to be okay. It's quite possible that nobody is going to get what they want.

Scottish Safehouse Era, Jon and Martin coping with their respective Entities... really, really good.

the friend by doomcountry

He always greets a new spider when he meets it. It’s instinct, born in childhood, the same way he instinctively counts magpies, or flicks salt over his left shoulder. A little harmless superstition. A bit of politesse.

A great Martin character study with eldritch spider horror included. The imagery regularly haunts me (in a good way).

autumn’s rare gift by bee_bro

Annually, the two meet, renewing the binding ritual where it had all started. The procedure simple: a waltz.

Singlehandedly made me ship Gertrude/Agnes so there’s that. It’s so bittersweet and bee_bro’s writing is, as always, incredibly poetic. (I’d recommend everything they write, actually.)

smile, you’re trending by Goodluckdetective

During an encounter with another Avatar of the Eye, Jon faces his past, Martin takes a turn at playing Kill Bill and Basira has a second look at the monster she’s determined to see. For three people associated with the Eye, they could all use some perspective.

Features an original Eye Avatar character who’s a YouTube personality; she is infuriating and inspired and genuinely frightening and I cannot say enough good things.

Humility by The_Lionheart

have you no idea that you're in deep?/i've dreamt about you nearly every night this week,/how many secrets can you keep?

An OC centric story but don’t let that put you off, it’s amazing. Very heavily focused around Jonah Magnus and the other Avatars as they change through the years. Also, I’d die for the OC.

oh, for one sweet second without the eye series by faedemon

Beholding does not like in the way humans do, but it likes its Archivist all the same.

I’m just so fond of the way this is done stylistically. I have a great weakness for dialogue only/dialogue heavy writing, not to mention all of the wonderful character beats and interplay of humanity/inhumanity for Jon and Melanie.

Rewind by WhyNotFly

It takes eight days of forced confinement for Jon to start hallucinating. [...] It’s Martin, though, that his exhausted brain conjures, because of course it’s Martin. After all this time, of course it’s Martin.

Jon willingly allows himself to be confined rather than hunting for statements, and examines his relationship with Martin.

for a firmament series by supaslim

There is beauty in destruction. There is art in becoming. In which Jon becomes the Archive, and the Archive becomes Jon.

Part two posted this morning and uhhh. Good. Also if you’re here for weird eldritch body horror (I am), this one’s for you.

ONES THAT JUST HURT

for when you want to feel sad

(somewhat bleaker endings here/everyone is NOT okay)

Feste by yellow_caballero

If asked, Martin would say that he became the shadow director of the Magnus Institute by accident. But nobody ever asked, and nobody ever cared, and it was in this way that Martin stopped lying to himself. Or: break free, Martin. All you have to lose are your chains. And your sanity.

Oh, this one totally didn’t go the way I expected it to. A study in isolation. Could go into the category above, as the ending is not bleak, but the tone of the whole is somewhat more depressing than most there.

Ghosts of Love by RavenXavier

Nothing made Martin more grounded in the world than yearning for Jonathan Sims.

Lonely!Martin that really captures a sort of visceral ache. Hurts me and yet I keep rereading.

i do desire (we may be better strangers) by godbewithyouihavedone

For ages, it only knew how to worship, taking human bodies and living off the fear of those who remembered. It never knew love until it became Jonathan Sims. Now it must fight against every instinct to save Martin Blackwood. Archivist Sasha, Not!Jon/Martin, and the worst kind of Fake Dating AU.

Oh, this one just made me sad. The poor not!them, which is something I never thought I’d say.

Apple Of Your Eye by fakeCRfan

In which the Eye is fond of Martin. Perhaps a little too fond for comfort.

Somehow manages to be both sweet and horrifying—the characterisation of the Eye is incredible. ‘The Eye loves Martin’ is a scenario that’s so utterly doomed to failure and yet the writing is packed with so much pathos that I just want them all to be happy. A fantastic use of themes of agency and choice, and the single best use of Beholding as a source of horror I’ve read.

The Last Press by copperbadge

Jon Sims is awake, and has begun preparations for the Rite of the Watcher's Crown. Peter Lukas, who woke him, would be content to rule at his side. Martin is very upset about all of this, and the Lukases aren't thrilled with it either.

I really can’t say anything without spoiling the end and it’s so good. An alternate take on the Watcher’s Crown. Not a pairing that I ever thought would work for me, but this made it work.

watch the blood evaporate by 75hearts

It starts, like so many things in Jon’s life have started, with a nagging itch of curiosity. Jonathan Sims uses his healing abilities throughout s4. Read the tags.

Dear God please read the tags. But this is some high quality pain if it’s for you.

the lighthouse series by low_fi

Peter Lukas is a lighthouse keeper. One evening, he gets a call from a cryptic overseer tasked with monitoring his work.

This is such a vivid and yet subtle story—from the setting to the emotions portrayed, it creeps up on you slowly. The ending was like the gentlest possible gut-punch. The sequel just completed, and yeah, just as wonderful. This one is very much LonelyEyes but I listed it here because it is just exquisitely painful.

SATISFYINGLY HOPEFUL VIBES

for when you want to feel cozy

Clutching Daffodils by Gemi

Martin has always liked the idea of love at first sight. It’s such a romantic idea, the whole thing of it. Seeing someone and instantly feeling that strange, twisting feeling deep inside that every single media likes to obsess over. Of knowing you are in love within the day, petals falling from your mouth and warmth filling your chest as love burrows deep, vines twisting through your lungs. He always liked the idea of it. And then Jonathan Sims starts working at the Magnus Institute.

Somehow manages to be lighter and fluffier than most hanahaki fare, despite the setting. I’ve reread this one a lot.

the least he could do by Prim_the_Amazing

Martin should in fact not pick this man, specifically because of how attracted he is to him. It would be the responsible thing to do. Except he’s already following him. And he’s hungry.

Fluffy vampire au which everyone’s probably already read, but was too good not to mention.

rather interesting by bee_bro

Jonah Magnus realizes that, for some reason, when he comes in contact with weed, Elias Bouchard's consciousness will come into his life banging pots and pans.

Oh boy. So these are all favourite fics but this one is a favourite amongst favourites. The way Jonah is characterised (i.e. incredibly sensitive to scrutiny) is my favourite depiction of him, and the slow-burn between him and Elias is far sweeter than it has any right to be. Also, it’s hilarious.

The Magnus Records series by ErinsWorks

In a world parallel to that of the Archives and the Institute, a supernatural sanctuary stands against a cruel and uncaring world: A world of bureaucracy and tyranny, of murder and carnage, of loneliness and surveillence, of plague and death. But in this world of fear and misery, 14 entities born of the hopes of the world have emerged. And one of them has made their home here, at The Magnus Sanctuary. Perhaps, the employees within may lead happier lives than their counterparts did in the Archives.

This is just so goddamn pure. The author writes a really imaginative, fleshed-out alternate world and alternate Entities with engaging, well-written short statements. All of the character voices are absolutely on point, and it’s overall absurdly hopeful without ever feeling overly saccharine. I love this series so much, you guys, you don’t even know. I want to print it out and paste it on my wall. I love it.

HARD APOCALYPSE

for when you want to feel dark and angsty (and eldritch)

Most of these are shorts/oneshots because it’s just that kind of genre, y’know?

Ashes to Ashes by marrowbones

A conversation at the end of the world.

Oliver Banks is one of those minor characters that I am overly attached to. Love him here.

Employee Benefits by equals_eleven_thirds

The Magnus Institute offered some normal employee benefits: a pension plan, holidays, travel subsidies, free lunch on the last Friday of each month. Rosie makes it work.

This manages to hit that perfect sweet spot of satisfying and hilarious. Rosie gets to torment Elias, as she well deserves.

a rose by any other name by Duck_Life

Part of Jon blooms in Jared Hopworth’s garden.

This one was sad and honestly too gentle to really belong in this category, but I love it.

Eye to Eye by Dribbledscribbles

In which Jonah Magnus attempts a post-apocalyptic pep talk.

Unreliable narrator at its finest, and the implications are suitably horrific.

commensalis by doomcountry

The tower is endlessly, impossibly tall, but Jon’s work is taller.

If you’re here for the eldritch imagery, then this has some of the best.

SOFT APOCALYPSE

for when you want to feel gently triumphant

apocalypse how series by sunshine_states

Humanity adjusts. The Entities have Regrets.

Some nice vignettes set in a kinder apocalypse.

ceylon series by Sciosa

The one in which Jonathan Sims decides that no, actually, he isn't going to let the world just end.

I include this only for the sake on completeness, as everyone has no doubt already read it.

rituals by doomcountry

Martin is the first person to knock on the Archivist's door since it arrived, fully, into its little waiting temple. The Archivist saw him coming from down the hall, but decides to feign interest when the knob turns, and Martin—still a little bit smaller, a little more translucent than before—stands uncertainly just outside the room.

This one’s a little less focused on the world at large and more on JonMartin specifically.

we raise it up by savrenim

Jonathan Sims reads a book and saves the world; although maybe the real salvation is the friends he makes along the way; (although perhaps the world itself and the darkness that exists behind it isn't quite as out to get everyone as it seems).

More ‘soft revolution’ than ‘soft apocalypse’, but has the same vibe. A time travel fix-it. Incomplete but worth it if this is a mood that appeals to you.

Scarred Ground by DictionaryWrites

“You see," Elias said softly, "people always have this idea that only living things can be scarred - and they're right, of course. But a building is a living thing, Martin. And the ground can be scarred, too." "I don't have any scars," Martin said. "Yes, you do," Elias said. "You just need the right light to see them.”

Falls somewhere between ‘Apocalypse’ and ‘Soft Apocalyse’ but I’m putting it here because I feel like it. Also technically a LonelyEyes fic. I found it hard to follow at first but it’s worth sticking with; things will eventually begin to make sense and come together.

LONELYEYES

for when you want to feel lonelyeyes

marrying anguish with one last wish by procrastinatingbookworm

In which Elias isn't Orpheus, and Peter isn't Eurydice, but Elias brings Peter home anyway.

Lives in my head rent free forever. My favourite lonelyeyes fic.

ouroboros by Wildehack

“You know,” Jonah says, a muscle in his calf quivering agreeably where it’s slung over Mordechai’s shoulder, “it’s really quite--fortunate--that I don’t care for you at all.”

Oh, this one hurts in the best possible way. The endless cycle of their relationship, the way it comes full-circle... yeah, good. Actually, no, this one might be my favourite. It’s a tie.

Breaking all the Rules by Thedupshadove

Elias proposes a somewhat...unusual wager.

Soft lonelyeyes? In my recs? It’s more likely than you think. Short, sweet, and... sweet.

Threefold by Sprinkledeath

Peter Lukas breaks three rules.

I’m just a slut for mythology allusions I guess.

Luck Be A Lady Tonight by prodigy

In 2014, Elias Bouchard takes a rare trip outside of his comfort zone. Peter Lukas wastes a bunch of money. You'd be surprised how many things can go wrong for two beings of cosmic power.

I love the sense of the history of them you get while reading this.

love is just a word (the idea seems absurd) by kaneklutz

"Something's wrong. It's stopped hurting" An avatar of the Lonely and an avatar of the Beholding walk into a bar relationship. It was bound to blow up in their faces.

Short, sweet, painful. Excellent exploration of their priorities.

Victor by penguistifical

elias tries something with his powers that he hasn't attempted before

The one where Elias tries to raise the dead. Not incredibly LonelyEyes centric but that’s still the pairing.

Simon Says by penguistifical

“Peter asked me to drop by and have a word with you, and, so, here I am.” Simon chuckles at Elias’s disbelieving stare. “Well, he asked in his own way. He’s not a complicated man, you know. He either comes from your arms looking like a stroked cat that’s been given a dish of cream or looking like he’s been in that toy boat of his out in an unexpected storm. He was far angrier than normal, so I daresay you weren’t cream today.”

I mean personally I’d just go ahead and rec all of penguistifical’s LonelyEyes fics but this is a standout for me.

AROMANTIC AND ASPEC MOODS

for when you want to feel Seen

The Aro Archives series by WhyNotFly

These are all just really really good. From Aro!Peter to two different aro-spec versions of the Scottish Safehouse to a long and beautiful aro hanahaki fic, this series is uniformly wonderful. The two Scottish Safehouse ones (Torn Edges and Murky Water) are my comfort fics.

and now all fear gives way by j_quadrifons

Before he can think it through, he murmurs, "Is that what it feels like? Being in love?" Martin's hand stills in his hair and Jon's stomach drops.

This one just. Wow yeah this is how it be. Another absolute comfort fic of mine.

Sweet As Roses by Prim_the_Amazing

Jon takes Martin by the shoulders, leans up on the tips of his toes, and kisses him.

I’m going to be honest—I didn’t know where to put this one. But it ended up here because the real standout of this fic for me is the portrayal of Sasha, and especially her portrayal as an aro character. So I’m putting it here. Mind the content warnings with this one!

HUMOUR

for when you want to feel delight

The Torment of Sebastian Skinner by Urbenmyth

After the Eye's victory, the statement givers are trapped in their horror stories, living them over and over again. Naturally, this works out better for some then for others.

Premise? Delightful. Execution? Fantastic. I read this one to cheer myself up when I’m sad.

Unlucky by VolxdoSioda

Jon’s dice betray him

Short, sweet DnD au, and the reason I cannot get DM!Elias out of my head now.

Voracious by beetl

A bird hits the window. Jon experiences The Flesh's thrall.

“Dead Dove: Do Not Eat” but make it literal.

The Stupid Endings by Urbenmyth

There are a lot of very deeply thought out and creative AUs on this site. These aren't among them. These ones are how the story could have ended, if Jonny Sims was a dumbass.

These are just uniformly hilarious, I cannot recommend them highly enough.

PODCAST CROSSOVERS

for when you want to make one of those “if I had a nickel for every time...” posts

The Sabbatical by morelikeassassin

Nicholas Waters is in need of an all-knowing eldritch entity beyond the confines of human imagining to help with his latest ritual. He'll have to settle for Jonathan Sims, who happens to have nothing better to do.

Crossover with Archive 81 (s3, specifically). Both fun and bittersweet.

The City And Its Sorrows by cuttooth

“What makes you think your friend is in Eskew?” David asks. He feels he can risk the scrutiny of the city that far. “I read that this is a place people end up when they get lost,” says the man. “This is a place people end up,” David agrees./The Archivist comes to Eskew.

Contemplative piece, and I love the way it presents David’s relationship with Eskew, the way he finds it horrible and hates it and yet belongs to it, is almost proud in the way he shows to to Jon. Great little vignette of two people oppressed by eldritch powers, intersecting.

Hiatus by bibliocratic

My name is Jonathan Sims, and I am in Eskew. (Jon gets lost in a Spiral city. It is not as easy as escaping.)

This one is far more focused on Jon than David, and is honestly more Eskew-weird than Spiral-weird. In the best way. Told in Eskew episode style, and is very good.

Sweet Music by Shella688

Eskew has a music to it, if you know how to listen. The percussion beat of thousands of footsteps, the melody in the squealing of the trains overhead. Today, the music of Eskew comes in the form of nine musicians, playing outside my office. My name is David Ward, and I am in Eskew.

Not TMA, but since a lot of Mechs fans go here—this one’s a Mechs/Eskew crossover. Short and simple, mostly David Ward centric, just a little well-written one shot I had to mention because I enjoyed it but it doesn’t have much traffic. Nice portrayal of the Mechs from an outsider’s perspective, and how genuinely strange and frightening they’d come across (especially if you’re already being haunted by and eldritch city). If you like Eskew-style storytelling, check it out!

NOT TMA

...but good enough that I physically cannot make a recs list without including them. Here!

#tma #the magnus archives #fic recs #long post #i'm not kidding you guys it's long #so be warned before you click read more #pinned on my blog

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