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lewishamil10n · 1 year

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here it is finally!!! bday valewis for @milflewis <333 happy birthday once more, i love you sooooo much!! sorry it's late, but i hope you enjoy it anyway <333

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By the end of the second hour, even Valtteri was beginning to get antsy.

“Would you sit still!” Lewis snapped, after the third time Valtteri’s knee accidentally hit him in the side.

“Well, now you know how it feels,” Valtteri retorted. “You are so much more fidgety than I am!”

“I’m not this bad.”

“True… you’re worse.”

Lewis glared at him. Valtteri glared back. The effect was somewhat ruined due to the lack of light in the tiny space.

“For God’s sake,” Lewis said in the end, looking away so he could check his phone. “It’s been two hours!” His foot had been asleep for ages. Any longer and he was genuinely afraid it might fall off.

Valtteri, who was squished beside him, sighed. “Do you think they forgot us in here?”

“I’ll kill them,” Lewis muttered.

He had been in a variety of situations in his life, and he was proud to say he handled them all with some modicum of grace and patience. Occasional yelling and cursing, yes, and the memorable time he poured milk in Nico’s suitcase and let it stew for a night before Nico discovered it — but, for the most part, grace and patience.

This, however, had to be the strangest thing that had happened to him.

“How did we even end up here?” Valtteri said glumly.

“Well, George said you needed me so I came to see where you were, and then it turned out you were for some reason in this stupid little closet, and then we got locked in here, in the dark,” Lewis recapped succinctly.

“I was being rhetorical,” Valtteri said after a moment.

“I wasn’t,” Lewis retorted. Then, softer, “Sorry. I don’t mean to be rude. It’s just ridiculous, isn’t it?”

“Being stuck in a closet? No, this has always been my greatest dream,” Valtteri said sarcastically.

“Wow,” said Lewis after a moment. “Familiarity does breed contempt.”

“We have seen bits of each other very few other people have,” Valtteri pointed out. “It’s not familiarity, it’s the fact that both my legs are asleep and so is my butt.”

“I didn’t even know they made broom closets this small,” Lewis said, choosing to ignore the first part of Valtteri’s sentence for his own sanity. “How many brooms can you fit in this one anyway? Like, three?”

“Three brooms and two men,” said Valtteri dryly. “Have you managed to contact anyone yet?”

“Toto isn’t picking up, George’s phone is off, Mick seems to have tossed his in a lake, and no one is replying to me on the group chat,” Lewis listed off.

“Try Guanyu,” Valtteri suggested, not for the first time.

“I forgot to save his number,” Lewis reminded him, not for the first time.

“Check the drivers’ group chat.”

“Valtteri, I literally only have yours, George’s, Mick’s and Daniel’s numbers saved. And half of them don’t have profile pictures. I literally can’t tell which number is Guanyu’s.”

“Try them all, then.”

“My phone is at 3%, Val.”

“Power bank?”

“In my bag at the garage.”

“So we’re fucked?”

“Pretty much,” confirmed Lewis.

Valtteri sighed again, and then squirmed until he was in a more comfortable position. His elbow hit Lewis in the side, who made a muffled sound of indignation but otherwise decided to be nice about it.

“Better settle in, then,” Valtteri said glumly.

“Already have,” Lewis said.

The closet really was tiny. They were sitting on the floor pressed against each other, with Lewis between the wall and Valtteri, and both of them next to a disgustingly smelly mop. It smelled like someone had used it to mop up broken eggs, and then just not washed it. Lewis had been nauseous for the past hour and a half because of it.

“Who told you I needed you anyway?” Valtteri asked, after a few moments.

“George,” Lewis said. “He said you needed my help urgently.”

“Why would I need your help in the Aston Martin hospitality?”

Lewis shrugged. The movement was difficult in the tight space. “I didn’t question it, Val, all I cared about what that you needed me.” Then, “How did you end up here anyway?”

“Guanyu said you needed my help,” Valtteri replied, and then went still.

Both of them arrived at the same conclusion at the same time. “Oh my God, they played us,” Lewis said.

“This is a plot,” realized Valtteri. “A scheme. A — a conspiracy.”

“For what, though?” wondered Lewis.

“Also, why Aston Martin?”

“Yeah, why Aston Martin? Did you know I had to see Fernando on my way up here?” Lewis made a face. “He’s so annoying.”

Valtteri made a sound of exasperation. “Never mind Fernando,” he said. “Try calling someone else, Lewis. Call Lance if you have to—”

“I told you, I don’t have anyone’s numbers—”

A sad little chime from Lewis’s phone interrupted them. Both of them watched in dismay as the screen turned off.

“Dead?” asked Valtteri, like he already knew the answer.

“Dead,” Lewis confirmed, morose. He shoved it back into his pocket and thumped his head back against the wall. “Now what?”

“Someone must have realized we are missing, right?” Valtteri sounded like he was trying to convince himself. “They’ll find us—”

“Val, it’s been two hours,” Lewis said glumly. “And even if they’re looking for us, why would they look in freaking Aston Martin?”

Valtteri exhaled. “This is terrible,” he muttered, letting his head fall back against the wall too. “We are stuck here, in this tiny space, next to this stupid smelly mop, a dead phone, and no one to hear us yelling or banging the door. What the hell?”

“Well,” sighed Lewis. “If I had to be stuck with anyone though, I’m glad it’s you. I’m pretty sure if it was anyone else I would have killed them by now.”

“Even Mick?” Valtteri asked. “Or Sebastian?”

Lewis shrugged. “Probably,” he said with a little laugh. “Mick because he would take up too much space, and Sebastian because he would annoy me.”

Valtteri snorted at that. “Fair enough,” he allowed. Then, “If it helps, I’m glad it’s you, too. Not glad I’m stuck — but if I have to be, I’m glad it’s with you.”

“Aw, that’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me,” Lewis said after a moment.

“You’re not serious?” In the low light coming in from the slats of the door, Lewis could see Valtteri frown. “Do you really think I don’t say nice things to you?”

“What— Val, no, I’m just kidding,” Lewis said, a little bewildered at the sudden change in tone.

Valtteri seemed to be taking this more seriously than Lewis intended, going by the way he was still frowning. “I know I am not very expressive,” he began.

“Val, you’re fine,” Lewis said. “Swear. You don’t need to, like, say anything, I always know what you mean. I know you, man. I know you care. About — about me.”

“Still,” Valtteri said after a moment. “Maybe sometimes it’s nice to say it.”

“Maybe,” conceded Lewis, “but, you know, you don’t need to say anything you don’t want to just ‘cause you think it’s what I want to hear—”

“I don’t,” Valtteri said. “Say things just because you might want to hear them, I mean,” he clarified.

“I know,” Lewis said softly. “It’s what I like about you. I always know you’re honest with me, even when—” he laughed a little, “even when it’s not what I want to hear.”

“You’ve had enough people try to manipulate you,” Valtteri said after a pause. “I never wanted you to be afraid of that with me.”

“I never was,” said Lewis, and it was true. “With you, I always knew… well, I always knew I could trust you, Valtteri. ‘Cause you’d never lie to me.”

Valtteri didn’t reply to that immediately. In the silence, Lewis became aware once more of their proximity, forced though it was — the way Valtteri’s body was pressed against his, the way he could feel Valtteri’s chest move with each breath he took. It was not the first time they’d shared space like this, but it felt different this time. Something about this entire situation felt charged somehow, and it was not just due to the tight space or the smell of rotten eggs.

“Is keeping a secret considered lying?” Valtteri asked in the end.

“You mean lying by omission?” Lewis considered it. “Why do you ask?” It felt strange to think that there was stuff Valtteri might not have told him. He had always been under the impression they knew each other through and through; that was just what happened when two people who were meant to find each other finally did.

Valtteri exhaled slowly. “You know how I said that sometimes it’s nice to say things you’re feeling, even if you don’t have to?”

“Yeah,” Lewis said.

“Well, I have been hiding something I’ve been wanting to say,” Valtteri said. “Though… maybe it’s not as much a secret as I thought.”

“What is it?”

In response, Valtteri simply reached out and intertwined his fingers with Lewis’s. He didn’t say anything — but then he didn’t need to. It clicked, and it was like Lewis had known it forever. Maybe he really had.

“What, that you like me?” he asked, looking at their joined hands resting on his knee.

“That — that I love you,” Valtteri corrected, haltingly. “I always thought… how could you not have known?”

“I do know,” Lewis said, and squeezed Valtteri’s hand. The revelation did not really feel like one. The only thing strange about it was hearing it out loud — or maybe the situation in which it was being said. In his head Lewis had always imagined it would be during a day out, or maybe a night in, something more pleasant… but then again, anything was more pleasant than a closet and dirty mops.

“You know?” Valtteri sounded surprised.

“Yeah,” Lewis said. “Like I said… you don’t always need to say things for me to understand. But,” he added, “it is nice to hear it.”

“And?” Valtteri asked after a moment.

“And I love you too,” Lewis said simply. “I thought you knew.”

There was another short silence, and then Valtteri said, sounding a little awed, “Yes, I suppose… I think I did.” Then, “Why didn’t you say it?”

“Oh.” Lewis thought about that for some time. “I don’t know, actually,” he said in the end. “If it was anyone else I would have been afraid, but… with you, I never was. So I don’t know, really. Maybe I was just waiting.”

“For?”

“For you to say it.”

“You wanted me to make the first move?”

Lewis shrugged. Their hands were still joined. “It felt important that you should. I don’t know why, Val.”

“You know that I want this,” Valtteri said quietly. “That I want you. That I have for a long time.”

“Yeah,” Lewis breathed out. “And you know that I’ve felt the same for just as long.”

“Then,” asked Valtteri, “what more are we waiting for?”

All Lewis had to do was turn his head towards Valtteri, and then Valtteri’s mouth was on his. He turned his body into Valtteri’s as much as he could, Valtteri mirroring his movement, both of them laughing into the kiss as he accidentally knocked into a bucket.

“Ow,” Valtteri said against Lewis’s mouth, his free hand sneaking under the hem of Lewis’s shirt.

Lewis giggled. “I could kiss it better?” he suggested, and pecked Valtteri’s lips without waiting for a reply.

“That does help,” whispered Valtteri, and Lewis laughed again.

Valtteri’s hand was warm on his skin, leaving goosebumps as it went higher. Lewis didn’t have much space to move, so he settled for trying to put his arms around Valtteri’s body, his weight settling against the locked closet door.

He could hear dim voices just outside, and was vaguely made aware of the fact that someone must have walked into the hallway their secluded little closet was in, but for the first time in a couple of hours he didn’t feel like doing anything about it. He couldn’t feel his legs, but he could sure as hell feel Valtteri’s hand on his chest, fingers ghosting over his nipple, and he could feel the tightness in his own pants, and Valtteri’s hard-on against his thigh—

“There’s people,” he managed to say in between kisses.

“Fuck people,” Valtteri retorted, somehow managing to pull Lewis closer.

Lewis laughed. “No, fuck me—”

Of course, because this was just the kind of luck they had, that was when the door was pulled open forcibly. Lewis, who had no time to brace himself, and who’d had his weight supported by the door, spilled out on the floor, Valtteri on top of him. He only narrowly escaped hitting his head on the hard floor.

“Shit,” he gasped out, wincing as the feeling returned to his legs in a violent flood. His shirt was half rucked up, and Valtteri was red in the face. He was pretty sure it was obvious what they’d been doing.

“Is this a joke?” demanded someone above them, and Lewis groaned when he looked up and saw Fernando standing there, arms crossed. Lance was there too, looking stunned, but Lewis decided to focus on the bigger problem.

“Yes,” he snapped, glaring upside down at Fernando. “I love being locked in broom closets in my free time.”

Fernando looked unimpressed. “Well, I always knew about the closet,” he snapped.

“You’re not funny,” Lewis retorted.

Valtteri sighed, sitting up. He held out a hand to help Lewis sit up too, and then said, “Well, at least we’re no longer in there.”

“Congratulations,” said Fernando dryly. “Why are you here anyway?”

“I told you, it’s my new hobby,” Lewis told him as he got to his feet. “I do the best thinking of my life in small dark spaces, you should try it. It really gets you in the right headspace for driving.”

Fernando looked like he genuinely couldn’t tell if Lewis was joking or not. Valtteri stifled a laugh, and then said, “Well, I suppose we should be on our way then, Lewis?”

“Yeah, sure,” Lewis said, dusting his trousers off. He took an experimental sniff at his shirt, and breathed a sigh of relief when it didn’t smell like a dirty mop.

“Oh,” said Lance, appearing to come back to reality. “So this is what Mick said he needed my help for.”

“Of course he’s in on it too,” groaned Lewis.

“In on what?” Fernando asked suspiciously.

“Oh, the closet thing,” Lewis said. “He wanted to know how I prep for races.”

“I never saw you do this before,” Fernando said, narrowing his eyes.

“Like I said, it’s new,” Lewis said.

“Why a closet here? Why not one in your hospitality?”

“It has to be a really gross one,” Lewis explained. It was getting harder and harder to keep a straight face, especially because he could tell Fernando was listening carefully. “The smelliest one you can find. See, if you can ignore the smell, you can ignore any distraction. Helps with the driving, trust me.”

“I have tried it, it does work,” Valtteri added, and then reached out to take Lewis’s hand again.

Fernando either did not notice or did not care (Lance was back to texting on his phone, probably apprising Mick of the situation). “This closet thing,” he said, and then, “No… you are messing with me.”

“When have I ever done that?” Lewis asked solemnly, making a wounded face. “I’m telling you, it works. Just try it. In the meantime, Val and I have to go.”

“Bye,” Lance said without looking up.

“Bye,” Lewis said, and then thumped Fernando on the shoulder with his free hand. “Later, Fernando.”

“Do you think he bought it?” Valtteri asked the moment they were out of earshot.

Lewis laughed. “Oh, he definitely did. But never mind him,” he added. “I don’t know about race prep, but I can think of a few other things we can do in closets.”

“Must we?” asked Valtteri. “We’ve got two perfectly good hotel rooms, Lewis. I really do not want to be stuck again.”

“Fine,” said Lewis, grinning. “Hotel room it is, then.”

They were still holding hands as they emerged out into the paddock. Most people looked too busy to care, but the ones that did notice them didn’t look all too surprised. Lewis supposed he and Valtteri had never really been as subtle as they’d thought themselves.

“Is it okay to kiss you?” Valtteri asked.

“For you? Always,” Lewis said, and smiled against Valtteri’s lips when he kissed him.

#valewis #f1 rpf #my writing #remy.txt #niamh #i hope u like the nando cameo !!! also i tagged this fic with the right ship this time asdfgfds #n e way !!! i love you sm!!!

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bagelbright-tok · 3 years

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Aspire To be

Hi honey!! I saw that your request were open and I had an idea. I really liked the imagine about Malcolm Bright and having an aunt. I was wondering if you could do more of that, but maybe this time Malcolm does know her and they actually like each other and maybe she helps him on a case instead or with Martin? If not it’s completely okay, I love your work tho!! Thanks sweets ❤❤

Requested By: @atjafshelby

A/N: Thank you so much for your support! I really appreciate your comments and request! That aunt fiction is one of my least popular fics. I hardly expected anyone to enjoy it and even be inspired by it! Again, thank you! I decided to do a similar thing I did for that last imagine. This is a one-shot and does not really correlate with any other Prodigal Son episode. Hope you enjoy! Thank you for your patience as well! I apologize if it seems sloppy at the end. I just wanted to get this out for you and tended to get sidetracked. _

Finally getting themselves a line of suspects for this crime, Malcolm realizes he might need more than his own profiling skills. Malcolm also has a person in mind who could help… Gil doesn’t agree with Malcolm’s decision, especially when the profiler’s mind has been altered recently. How could Malcolm Bright not go to the person that inspired him?

Malcolm Bright/Whitly x Aunt!Reader [Platonic]

Word Count: 3289 Warning(s): Mentions of murder, mind fog, insomnia, mentions of trauma, attempted murder, drug abuse, swearing, did not double check anything __

Some Good Things in Life __

“Whaddya got kid?” Gil nodded towards Malcolm, hands on hip, and a grin plastered on his already smug face. Gil was already confident in Malcolm’s ability. This would be a piece of cake for the profiler.

Malcolm shook his head. He was confused. This murder took two weeks to have suspects. Even then, they only had four suspects. There was something wrong, though. Malcolm couldn’t get a read on any of them. Their tones and words led Malcolm to many different directions. Malcolm also did not have the right state of mind, having skipped almost a week’s worth of sleep. “Nothing..”

Even he was surprised by his incompetence.

Gil lightly extended his head out towards Malcolm, eyes wide and mouth agape. “What?” He crossed his arms and returned his head to his shoulders. Gil’s eyebrows were now knitted together in concern and were no longer widened. “What do you mean?”

“I… I can’t get a read on them.” Malcolm finally admitted, his shoulders falling down in defeat. He left out a deep sigh and brought his hands to his eyes to rub. Why couldn’t he think straight? “It’s like my mind is just- just covered in fog.” Malcolm motioned to his head, wildly using his index of his right hand to press into his temple.

Gil sighed, looked down at the floor, and unfolded his arms. Taking a few steps towards the NYPD Profiler, Gil placed his hand on Malcolm’s shoulder. “Go home, kid. It’s late and you need to sleep.” Gil was always the father figure that Malcolm needed. Malcolm understood the lieutenant’s concern, but couldn’t help not sleeping. Especially as of late.

Malcolm couldn’t say no. He shrugged his shoulder and peered into Gil’s eyes with his own tired and hazy blue ones. He nodded lightly, closing his mouth and shaping it into a half smile. “Alright..”

*** And with that, the insomniac ventured restlessly to his humble abode. Despite his hazy mind, he drove himself back to his place. On the way over, going through New York’s evening traffic, Malcolm had an idea. Recklessly, he pulled out his phone and scrolled through his contacts until he reached who he wanted. Tapping and putting the phone up to his ear, waiting for them to answer, he shook his leg anxiously. “Hello?” The voice came through, asking curiously.

“Hey! Long time no talk.” Malcolm was smiling, but the person on the other end couldn’t possibly see it. However, it was obvious that they could hear his happiness to be talking to them. “Malcolm? Hey! Where the hell did you disappear to?” They chuckled. “Thought there was a new Bermuda triangle only taking the cool people.” They stated sarcastically.

Malcolm laughed at their joke, shaking his head. “No. I actually got back in New York a couple of weeks ago. Sorry I forgot to tell you.” Malcolm cleared his throat and before the person on the other end of the call could respond, he continued. “Anyways, I could use some help…” “O-Oh? Help? Of course, what do you need?” Malcolm could hear them move from one spot to another. “Some… Some advice. You are still a body language specialist, right?” “Yeah. Need me to do some interrogating?” They chuckled, joking.

“Uh- Yes. Yes, actually..”

“Oh-”

“Could you meet me at my place? I’ll send you the address. If you get there before me, you can let yourself in. There’s a spare key buried in the plant outside.” Malcolm explained, stopping at yet another red light. Traffic had been bad due to another accident happening nearby.

“Of course!” It was obvious that Malcolm and this person were besties and hadn’t encountered one another in a long while. “I’ll get my bag and head out once I have the address.” “Thank you, so much. I’ll see you in a bit.” Malcolm gave a quite breathy chuckle. “Cya!” And with that, the call ended. Malcolm felt a little better. His mood improved, for sure. Malcolm’s shoulders were no longer held up but instead were slouched down. His neutral and tired face was now a happier tired face. Malcolm took note of how he would just have to tell Gil when he got home that he’d be getting some help. Help from someone they both knew. ***

Damn this headache. Malcolm could feel a dull pain in his head as he entered his home. Despite the pain being dull, he felt it making him weaker and even slightly dizzy. Malcolm simply shook the pain away and shut the door behind him. He tried to reach the door, but couldn’t. When he looked behind himself to see why, the door was already shut. His eyes burrowed in confusion. Again, he shook away the confusion and began to text Gil about what he was doing. Now, though, Malcolm couldn’t just shake off whatever was happening to him. He felt nauseous and he felt out of breath. He tried getting back to his phone to call Gil instead. Malcolm instead found that his vision had blurred. He blinked and blinked, even rubbed his eyes, but his blurred vision only got worse. He began to panic now. Something was definitely wrong. Malcolm tried to identify what could be going on, but still, his mind was elsewhere. Malcolm could barely even hear as someone entered his home.

“Malcolm?” The familiar voice could barely be heard as it echoed in his house and in his head. “Malcolm!”

This exclamatory statement of his name was not that of excitement. It was of concern, confusion, and despair. As far as Malcolm knew, he was standing. As far as his visitor was concerned, he was on the ground, unconscious. ***

“What did you do?” Gil asked angrily and accusatorily. He pointed at [Y/N], who responded by leaning back away from his finger. “Me?! Excuse you. I called an ambulance! Maybe next time, I shouldn’t?” [Y/N] argued back, leaning forward into Gil’s finger and raising her hands to her sides, palms up and fingers spread out. Her face was scrunched with anger. Her usual glowing and calm [E/C] orbs were now burning a hole into Gil. Her graying [H/C] hair was standing up due to the sheer frustration she was feeling. This wouldn’t be the first time someone accused her of something horrific due to her past. [Y/N] Bright [L/N]. Also known as [Y/N] Whitly, younger sister to Dr. Martin Whitly. In other words, Malcolm’s favorite aunt and the individual he had called for help in the case. The lady that had found him unconscious in his own home and called authorities. It was because of [Y/N] that Malcolm was in a hospital and not dead. It wasn’t just Gil there for Malcolm, there was also Jessica and Ainsley. Jessica had refused to talk to [Y/N], she never understood how or why Malcolm had taken a favorability to her. Ainsley wasn’t anything but rude to her, and made it clear she did not like her. Summary; All of [Y/N]’s fans were gathered in one place where they were called in an emergency because someone dear to them had almost died. “What were you even doing in Malcolm’s place?” Ainsley’s hollow eyes stared at [Y/N] with pure hatred. Like someone with unlimited darts, trying to get a high score.

“He called me to come over. Sent me his address and told me about the spare key in some weird ass plant outside his place.” [Y/N] swiftly explained herself, keeping her arms open. Her feet however, were closed and pointing away from both Gil and Ainsley. She really did not want to be there, being questioned. “He wanted me to help with some interrogating.”

“You-?” Gil erected his index again at [Y/N], now eyes widened in disbelief. “You’re the help Malcolm called for?” “Why would anyone go to you for help?” “I feel extremely uncomfortable right now!” [Y/N] declared, slapping her hands down to her sides. “I am just here to help with whatever Malcolm needs!” “Just drop it you three!” Jessica finally whisper yelled at them. “My son could have died and you are worried about-.. Her.”

The disdain in her voice as she referred to [Y/N] really set it in for the body language specialist. Nothing she could say would make them think any better of her. Not even if Malcolm were to explain the same thing she did. So, [Y/N] easily decided it would be easier to just sit down and give up the arguing. She felt like a kid once again, forced to keep quiet when faced with authority. She hated it. Gil would never allow for her to help unless Malcolm really made a good pitch to the lieutenant. Then again, when would Malcolm wake up? *** Malcolm was given a diagnosis fairly quickly. Carbon Monoxide poisoning that had been going on for over a week. It was a miracle he had gone so long without anyone noticing the symptoms. Despite the supposed long sleep he was to be put under, Malcolm found a way to wake himself up with his own brain. Waking up with a loud scream as a nurse ran out to get a doctor, and Gil and [Y/N] rushed in with concern. “Malcolm!” Both older individuals shouted at the once unconscious profiler. While the relief was mutual, so was the concern.

“Gil? [Y/N]? Where am I? What happened? How-” Malcolm was confused but mostly scared as well. One moment he was home and the next he was isolated by white walls and repetitive beeping.

[Y/N] made the first move. She steadily and smoothly moved closer to Malcolm’s bedside. She took a deep and obvious breath, straightening her back and lifting her hands with her as she inhaled. A similar action was taken during the exhale; obvious, she lowered herself back onto her feet, and lowered her hands. Although Malcolm was not having a panic attack, it could escalate and [Y/N] wasn’t having it. Gil followed afterwards. Malcolm mimicked [Y/N] in taking deep breaths and calming down. “Are you okay, Malcolm?” [Y/N] asked in a calmer voice.

“Yeah. I mean, I feel okay.” Malcolm buried his face into his hands. “Was I poisoned?”

With his brain working fine, he was able to remember his symptoms. It was unnatural.

“Yeah, in a sense.” Gil responded this time. “A week long exposure to carbon monoxide.”

“A week?” Malcolm removed his hands from his face and peered at Gil and [Y/N]. “Isn’t that around the time this case started?”

Now both Gil and [Y/N] were horrified. What was thought to be an accident, a simple leak in the home, now was a potential case of attempted murder. Whoever was the murderer in their case, knew Malcolm would be a problem and so tried removing him as an obstacle. [Y/N] and Gil took a glance at each other. Despite their… awkward relationship, they knew they had to work together on this one. Malcolm couldn’t leave the hospital, and couldn’t work on the case. His life was in danger and the safest place would be where he was.

***

“I’ll be keeping a close eye on you.” Gil told [Y/N] with a threatening tone.

“Why not two?” [Y/N] chuckled, entering the observation room sat right next to the interview room. Gil just gave a harsh squint. “Not a time for jokes, got it.”

“It was hard to get the suspects back. We’d released them last night because we had them held for too long.” Gil changed the subject swiftly, viewing into the room where they had the suspects. “We were only able to get them back in because Malcolm almost died last night, when he released them all.”

“It’s clear that all of them are upset that they are back. No profiling is needed for that.” [Y/N] noted this behaviour. “All of them are anxious and nervous. Crossed arms, tapping feet, rapid blinking.”

“All of them are suspicious?” Gil pondered curiously.

“Not necessarily. They are just nervous about being back. The idea of being falsely accused looms over them.” [Y/N] continued to scan the room, finally noticing some odd behaviour. She pointed at a man slightly separated from everyone else. “He, however, is a lot more confident than everyone else.”

“His arms are crossed too.” Gil pointed out, looking at [Y/N] with suspicion.

“Yes, but he is leaning against the wall. He is more relaxed. His lips are slightly parted, unlike everyone else’s compressed or pursed lips.” [Y/N] began her analyzing out loud, forgetting anyone was in the room. “His breathing patterns are very alike to everyone’s. Their breathings are picked up due to their nervousness. His picked up pace is because of excitement, though.”

“He’s leaning against a wall. How in the hell did you get all of that off of him?” Gil was just as curious as he would be if it were Malcolm profiling. It was just as mind boggling as when he profiled Carter Berkhead.

“A magician never reveals his secrets, Gil.” [Y/N] chuckled. “Was Malcolm in the interrogation room when they were all interrogated?”

“Yeah. He wanted to be close to profile.” Gil answered, not as confused now knowing that every question and answer would help.

“Splendid. This will make it far easier.” [Y/N]’s [E/C] orbs glimmered in amusement. Her smile was one that Gil had seen before. It was Malcolm’s smile, but it was one he’d seen on Martin’s face too. “I need you to repeat what you did yesterday. Question them in the same order with the same questions.”

Gil nodded. Just as he was warming up to her, some thought came in and set him back to his place. First and foremost, officers came and rounded everyone up. The interrogation began again. This time, it was just Dani, JT, and Gil. Malcolm wasn’t there. If [Y/N] was correct, the one she was suspect of most would give off more of a reaction than the others. Answers would likely remain the same from each person as well. They all want to get out as soon as possible. If Malcolm’s current profile was correct, the killer was arrogant and would show it. If the killer saw that Malcolm wasn’t there, they’d have some sort of mention or bodily reaction to this.

In the case scenario that she was wrong, [Y/N] was sure to make note of everyone’s reactions. Most did not even acknowledge Malcolm’s absence. Their moods had remained the same, anxious and nervous. Finally, it came to the man that [Y/N] came to know as James Lukai. Most of his answers remain the same, worded slightly different than before. [Y/N] compared his last interview, to this interview. The first showcased this man as nervous and anxious. Now, he wasn’t as much anymore. He looked around, as if to make sure his suspicions were right. He gave a quick smirk when he saw that Malcolm wasn’t there. His answers had remained mostly the same, but the tone had drastically changed. It was clear as night and day, it was this man. Just to prove a point further, [Y/N] straightened herself out and left the observation room. Much to Gil’s dismay, she entered the interrogation room afterwards.

“Heya Gil! Sorry I’m late. The call to replace Malcolm was just too soon!” [Y/N] announced with a large grin on her face.

Gil looked at [Y/N], only to respond by rubbing his face. “Don’t let it happen again.” He played along.

The man in question- James- was now shocked. “I thought you didn’t have a profiler anymore.”

“And what would make you say that, James?” [Y/N] immediately jumped on it. “Malcolm is just taking a little break. Family business.”

“What? He-?” James caught himself before he could say anything more.

“You’re too obvious, James.” [Y/N]’s smile immediately dropped.

“What’re you doing, [Y/N]” Gil questioned, only to get an answer through the raising of the lady’s hand to silence him.

“Want to know how we know, James?” [Y/N] confidently asked, not waiting a moment for his answer. “You are far too confident for this. You thought you had gotten rid of Malcolm, the only one who would have caught you.”

The man was speechless. He was caught. He rested his elbows on the table and put his hands through his brown hair. He was hunched, unsure of what to say now.

“What the fuck did you just do?” Gil wasn’t angry, but just extremely confused.

“Caught the bad guy. My job, Gil.” As confident as before, she exited the room.

Soon after, James confessed to the murders and the attempt on Malcolm’s life. Another day saved by [Y/N] Bright [L/N].

***

“Did you get him?” Was the first thing to exit Malcolm’s mouth that night when [Y/N] went to visit him. Fortunately for Malcolm, he had gotten the all clear, so was able to return home.

“Nice to see you too.” [Y/N] chuckled, entering his home. “Yeah. It was obvious. That poisoning really fucked with your brain if you couldn’t see it.”

“Speaking of which, the place was aired out and my heater was fixed.” Malcolm shut his door. “Inspectors had a nifty device and gave the okay.”

“That’s great!” [Y/N] clapped her hands together. “You plan on trying to get murdered again any time soon?”

Malcolm chuckled again, and sat down at his counter. “Ah, no. I don’t plan on it.”

“Good. Shouldn’t have to attend your funeral when I’m older than you.” [Y/N] glided over and sat with him at the counter. “So- Malcolm Bright. When did you change your name?”

Malcolm gave a small, “oh,” and nodded his head. “Several years back when I went to Quantico. You know, to become a profiler..”

Though [Y/N] knew the story, Malcolm felt obligated to tell her how much she inspired him.

“Couldn’t think of a name until the lady there suggested going with someone who I aspire to be. Then I remembered.. You.” His smile was soft and genuine.

“Really?” She smiled back, surprised by her effect on Malcolm. “I.. I’d never guessed I’d have that sort of influence.”

“I hardly say this, but you’re probably one of the more normal and stable members of this family.” Malcolm gave a light laugh, instigating a laugh from [Y/N] as well. “You prove to me that there are some good things in life.”

“I think there is more than just me that does that, Malcolm.” [Y/N] smirked. “You have all those folk at the NYPD! You have Gil, Dani, JT, and Edrisa.”

“Of course. They’re my friends. I trust them.” Malcolm explained. “But you were the first. You helped a lot when Dr. Whitly was arrested. I still remember that day. Even when mother yelled at you, it didn’t stop you from helping me.”

[Y/N] could only nod lightly. “Yeah, Yeah.. I- I remember that day too. I remember the days before and after that day too. I felt like I had to apologize for my brother. He couldn’t be there, so I tried to be. But Jessica never had a good opinion on me, even before Martin was arrested.” She chuckled at that sentiment. “Then Gil got caught up in all the gossip that I had something to do with Martin. At least Jess was skeptical towards all of that.”

It was dead silent after that until Malcolm decided to clear the air. “Anyways, you want some water, or something?”

“Sure!”

Boy. What an odd and bizarre family.

___ E N D

A/N: So sorry for taking so long! Hope you enjoyed it. I had a bit of a hard time trying to get an end for it. Sorry if it is abrupt.

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obscureoperations · 3 years

Note

Just make the (sarcastic ass) reader trying to boost martin’s ego bestie 😩

Yesss! He needs this! This is really short, I'm sorry...but I tried fam. Hope ya like!

_____________________________________________________

“Ehh.. fuck him…” You shrug as you push the button impatiently tapping your right foot. “Fuck you too for even acknowledging the words.” You add. Martin had to admit he was taken aback. That morning had been decidedly awful, he dreaded truck days with a passion. He was out unloading the truck at six am all the while Cuda did nothing but bark orders. At least it wasn’t in the high heat of the day, or when the store was open in front of the customers.

“It’s just-- he always says stuff like that even when I’m busting my ass-- I’m apparently still lazy.”

You roll your eyes as the two of you cross the busy street. “Yeah, you were so lazy when you were railing me into the mattress at two am.”

Stray bits of slushie flew out his nostrils and he gags, quickly glancing over his shoulder. You, however didn’t slip a beat. You always had a way with words..exceedingly blunt. Every comment was veiled with a touch of sarcasm. It was difficult to decipher your intentions in the beginning. Were you attempting to flirt, or did you actually hate his guts?

“T-that’s not... “ He stammers, turning beet red. Both from embarrassment, and the fact that you weren’t exaggerating.

“Besides, you’re one of the hardest working people I know. That tree outside of my window’s a killer. The fact that you insist on scaling it every night. I do have a front door, you know.”

He shrugs. “It’s just for… you know...atmosphere”

“Clever. The fantasies. Admit it babe, you just like imagining I’m one of your conquests.”

He opens his mouth to speak but refrains, in his mind he was lucky to have you. You knew all about him and his sickness. He was just surprised you had no problem indulging his fantasies. Everything about you was decidedly perfect, you knew exactly how to make him laugh. How to turn his mood around completely, he could sit and listen to commentary on the world for hours.

You would wait for him to go on break, hovering close to the counter. Whenever a customer was rude or short with him, a snarky comment already rested in your arsenal . One of the most memorable moments was when you left some woman on the verge of tears. Martin kindly tried to explain that her coupon had expired. She was having none of it, claiming that he was illiterate, pointing out the fine print. With a sharp crack of your gum, fingers ghosting over the magazines-- eyes fixed on the tan mark on her left ring finger.

“The sale is over.. Ma’am..much like your marriage. Please leave this kid alone. He’s literally done nothing but point out the fact that you can’t see dates correctly. “

The poor boy actually felt his soul leave his body, he had to bite down on the insides of his cheeks to refrain from laughter. The woman left in such a haste, all un scanned items were left on the counter.

Y/n.. you can’t just say stuff like that...

“Why not? I’m just speaking the truth. I love you Martin, but you’ve got to start speaking up for yourself. It only gets harder from here…”

“Anyways, who cares what the old bastards got to say. He’ll be dead in a couple of years.”

This time he swallows quickly, before any more of his drink can spill. He felt as though you had crossed some sort of line. He should say something. After all, Cuda was family. As soon as the thought formed into his brain, he was already brushing it off. Using your words “Fuck em…”

The two of you were going to the field again. If this was the type of mood you were already in, He couldn’t wait to hear about your day.

#Martin 1977 #Martin 1978 #Martin/reader #Martin/you #sfw #Makes me wonder what Martin would think of half the shit that comes out my mouth throughout the day.

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yellowocaballero · 3 years

Text

He’s Just Not That Into You: Web!Jon and Martin ficlet

Another ficlet written in the same universe as The Convention on Chronographer Lane/The Monster at the End of This Book. As before, you don’t need to have read that to read this. These ficlets are being written as character studies so I get a good handle on the uniqueness of the characters in this AU before I actually write something longer. Which is why they’re...like this.

Very slight content warning for internalized fatphobia and Jon being interpreted as being a creep again. Reverse content warning for Martin’s tasty pasta.

EDIT 2/4/2021: With the release of Sucker’s Bet, which this story was a kind of pilot study for, this story is no longer canon. However, you can still consider it a 15 page summary of that entire story. I’m sad I couldn’t keep the ‘join my spider cult’ thing but we all make sacrifices.

Martin was in the middle of making a delicious pot of pasta when Jonathan Sims crawled in through his kitchen window.

Martin stared at Jonathan Sims, too out of it to even be surprised. Jon halted halfway through his entrance, sitting on the windowsill with one leg swung over it to rest on his floor, one leg on the fire escape above. Martin was on the sixth floor of his flat complex.

“Hullo,” Jon said, as if he was not in his window, “have you reconsidered my offer of -”

Martin threw his spoon at Jon, hitting him squarely on the forehead. Jon cursed, shocked into leaning backwards, and he accidentally topped off the window and onto the fire escape. He landed on the metal grid with a loud crash and a rattle, and the muffled sounds of his cursing echoed through the flat.

After a second to grab a new spoon and turn down the heat on the pot, Martin walked over to the window and wiggled it down again. He looked Jon dead in the eyes as he locked it, before going back to his pasta.

It was good. He should add some pesto and herbs next time.

Martin was in the middle of making a delicious pot of pasta when Jonathan Sims crawled in through his kitchen window.

“Hullo,” Jon said, as if he was not in his window, “have you reconsidered my offer of -”

It was good. He should add some pesto and herbs next time.

***

Martin had never really bothered to learn how to cook, but now that he was unemployed he had plenty of time.

Now that he was unemployed, he had plenty of time for lots of things. He was finally taking up knitting again. Lots of seasons of Jane the Virgin to catch up on. His severance package from the Institute had been pretty good, not to mention the check Rosie had slipped him with a wink that she had worryingly called ‘Hazard Pay’, but this was London and even Martin could only make the money stretch so far. He spent eight hours of his day looking for jobs, touting his five year experience as a librarian and six month experience as an Archival assistant. But there was only so far you could go without a degree, and the market was shit, and really wouldn’t it just be so much easier to list a master’s in library science from some huge, anonymous university…

But Martin had the feeling that line of thought was what had put him on Jon’s radar in the first place.

***

A week later Martin was halfway through a comforting Gilmore Girls rewatch when he heard a knock on his door. He had been fastidiously avoiding answering knocks on the door ever since Jon had pulled his first Jehovah’s Witness impression, but he had ordered a replacement washing machine part and it was arriving that day. He put his knitting down and got up, peering through the eyehole - hair not nearly long enough to be Jon, great - and opened the door.

“Hullo,” the man said in a thick Cockney accent, not looking up from his clipboard, “I got a package here for Mr. Blackwood?”

“Yes, that’s me.” Martin held out his hands to take the little screen and sign for the package. After a second of clumsy fumbling, the man passed the package and the screen over, and Martin boredly scribbled his name. “Thanks, mate -”

But the man was gone, and Martin had realized belatedly that the man had slipped past Martin to enter his flat. He easily slid the cap off, letting his tightly curled hair cascade down to his shoulders, and propped his hands on his hips as he spun in a circle, admiring Martin’s extraordinarily boring and cramped flat.

“Really love what you’ve done with the place!” Jonathan Sims said loudly. “Your sense of interior design is really impeccable, Martin, truly. A man’s home is his castle! Oh, is that vintage chintz? So cute.”

“Get out of my house.”

“Look at this ceramic kitten!” Jon was already in front of his mantle, carefully scrutinizing his little row of ceramic figures. They were fifty pence at the charity shops and Martin found them precious and charming, okay? “Your place has so much personality. My flat has personality too, but I’m afraid that personality just screams a propensity towards arson, so it’s much less impressive. How old is that couch, from the 70s? Very grandmother. Is it inherited?”

Yes. “No,” Martin said, resisting the urge to throttle the man as he dumped his washing machine part on the end table, “and please get out of my flat. I’ve said explicitly I don’t want you where I live -”

“Really, Martin, I’m hardly a vampire,” Jon said, having the gall to look offended as he cradled a little meowing ceramic kitten in his hand. “If I needed permission to enter dwellings I’d never go anywhere.” He paused a beat, something seeming to occur to him. “But I get a lot of permission from many different people of a variety of genders to enter their homes for sex, which I am very good at.” He paused again. “I really am very thirsty. I don’t suppose I could trouble you for a spot of tea…?”

Because Martin was British, he made the tea. But he resented every second of it.

Jon hadn’t started stalking him immediately after he and his weirdo friends had murdered Martin’s boss, but it was pretty close. He had probably thought a week was enough time to emotionally recover from the ordeal of finding out that your boss’ boss was an immortal apocalypse cultist or whatever and that your boss was actually just a plant from a different and somehow creepier apocalypse cult inserted into your workplace to assassinate his boss. He had probably thought that a week was enough time to emotionally recover from the fact that Jonathan Sims - prickly, rude, pretentious Head Archivist with a heart of gold - was an elaborate fabrication, and that the man whom Martin had been falling for had never truly existed at all.

A week had not been enough time.

He didn’t even know Jon’s real name.

“So what is your real name, anyway?” They were, unfortunately, sitting at Martin’s rinky-dink kitchen table, complete with little pock-marked burn scars in the wood and a wobbly leg. Martin had a magazine rolled up and jammed under the leg, which he was uncomfortably aware of as Jon lounged in his hard little wooden chair as if it was a thousand dollar gaming chair. The fake UPS uniform helped make him look like something other than a movie star, but it was hard to disguise the sharp and haughty features and the cold grey eyes. He had kept the ceramic cat, placing it in front of him with its little plainative face turned towards Martin.

“What makes you think it’s not Jonathan Sims?” Jon asked archly, sipping at his PG Tips out of a chipped black mug. He made a faint face. “Sorry, is there cream for this? I hate black tea.”

“You always take your tea black,” Martin said automatically. Jon stared at him until he got it. “Of course. Right.”

By the time he got back to the table with the sugar and cream Jon was going through his mail, with absolutely no shame whatsoever. “Bill, bill, overdue bill. You’re hurting for money, aren’t you? You know, I might know someone who’s hiring -”

“If you’re about to say a giant spider that’s going to lay eggs in my stomach and then burst out of my skin and transform me into a spider person, I have to pass.”

“I wasn’t going to say that,” Jon blatantly lied. “I just don’t think you’re hearing me out. Has anybody ever told you that you’re very unwilling to listen to new ideas?”

“When the new idea is joining a spider cult, then yes. Actually, no, because nobody’s ever asked me that before I met you.”

Jon didn’t seem to pick up on Martin’s extraordinarily pained expression, or maybe he just didn’t care. He leaned in instead, easily dropping a grotesque amount of sugar cubes into his tea. “Just consider it. Let the idea percolate in your mind. There’s a lot of benefits. No more worrying about money. No more putting in all that work to manipulate people. It’d be as easy as breathing for you. Anybody you want to like you likes you, and anybody you hate has their life ruined in days.�� Something glinted with light in Jon’s grey eyes, like a spotlight shining off a raincloud. “Anybody you want to fall in love with you does so instantly. Doesn’t that sound like fun?”

“All for the low, low price of selling my soul to a giant spider god,” Martin said sarcastically. Jon nodded fastidiously, as if it really was a low price. “Seriously, Jon? I have no interest in any of this. I don’t even know why you’ve singled me out to stalk. I don’t - I don’t like manipulating people, it’s not some kind of hobby -”

“Liar. You love manipulating people.” Jon sipped his tea, as if bored. “Honestly, Martin, we’re all friends here. I won’t judge. You don’t need to virtue signal. We both love manipulating people, getting what we want, putting on personas. We like to control how people see us, no matter what that perception is. You believe that ends justify the means, I believe that good means result in good ends. We’ve very similar.” Something strange entered Jon’s expression, almost entirely hidden by the tea, and for the first time Martin wondered if this was an expression Jon hadn’t meant for him to see. “You’re the only person I’ve ever met who is exactly like me. We should work together. You’re so well suited for the Mother. You’d be a treasured son. Valued, celebrated, loved. Everything you always wanted, you can have.”

Silence stretched between them. Martin let Jon think that he was thinking it over, staring into his own cup of Earl Grey and letting the slowly wafting steam fog up his glasses. Jon sipped his tea again, still posed casually yet attractively. In a brief yet stupid spurt of nostalgia Martin found himself missing the man he thought Jonathan Sims had been.

Stupid. Loving Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist, had been as real as crushing on a love interest in a dating sim. Instead, Martin leaned in, and Jon leaned in to match him. Martin locked eyes with him, as sincerely as he possibly could. No lies, no artifice. “Stop projecting your insecurity about your own bad decisions on me,” Martin enunciated clearly, and Jon’s eyes widened in shock. “and get out of my house.”

He did, eventually. Maybe that was one of a million surprising things about Jonathan Sims, or whatever his real name was: Martin could always get him to do what he wanted eventually.

***

Martin did not spend time thinking about Jonathan Sims, mostly because he had the feeling that this was what Jonathan Sims wanted.

Instead, he frantically piled more and more projects and work into his free time. Ever since he was seventeen, Martin had always held down at least three jobs. His life was a never-ending rotation of a six am to three pm shift at Papa John’s, then a three pm to ten pm shift at Panera, and then stumbling home to stuff a ready meal in the microwave before doing it all over again only to work his third weekend job on the weekends. It had gotten to the point where he had paid the unemployed downstairs neighbor living on disability cheques to feed and occasionally take care of Mum because he hadn’t had time to do it himself. Martin could have have just dropped a job and scraped by on two so he could take care of Mum himself, but - well, it wasn’t hurting anybody. His neighbor had needed the cheques, right?

In comparison, the Institute had been an absolute dream. Work from nine to five, every day, then come home and crash. There had been benefits, insurance. It probably said something that even after discovering that both of his bosses had been cultists to Lovecraftian horrors who wanted to end the world or whatever, it was still the best job he ever had. He even missed it, sometimes - missed listening to Sasha and Tim joke around, missed the repetitive work, missed harmlessly and shallowly crushing on his persnickety boss who sometimes flashed a smile at him that made his heart melt.

Fucker had known exactly what he was doing.

That was what got Martin, even now. What had been the point? Jon had been there to infiltrate Elias’ plans for a Head Archivist, or so Sasha had confusingly explained after the fact. The skeptic, pissy act was to show himself off as an ideal candidate: willfully ignorant, psychologically vulnerable, and utterly isolated from everyone. What was the point of...of...seducing Martin?

The thought made Martin want to die. Imagine living a life where you woke up in the morning and thought to yourself, ‘Today I’m going to seduce the ugly, fat, high school dropout in my extensive long con to save/destroy the world’. It was like he was a movie star in a heist film or something, only cruel and pointless.

Was it just to make fun of him? Martin had thought it was. But as he...interacted with Jon more and more, he got the sense that his fascination with Martin was genuine. He genuinely saw something of himself in Martin.

Unless that was a lie too, and he just needed something from Martin. Unless Jon knew that Martin knew that he was conning him, and that there was another reason -

Martin had the terrible sense that Jon lived his life like this, always guessing and second guessing and triple guessing. It sounded...very tiring.

He didn’t know how to explain any of this to Tim. They got together every so often for drinks - actually, Tim texted him asking to hang out, playing it all cool as if he went out and got drinks with tons of buddies all the time but was doing Martin a favor. Martin had the sense that he was hiding a deep and pervasive loneliness, but these days whenever Martin went down too deep a spiral of teasing out motivations he felt like Jon, so he quickly cut it out.

“What’s there to get?” Tim said, throwing back his pint. “He’s an asshole who pretended to be our friend for months, and he turned out to be a total creep who leads a spider cult. You know, as happens sometimes!”

Sometimes Martin got the sense that Tim was a little bitter about what happened at the Archives. He didn’t really have a good thread on why yet, but he had the sense it was because Tim had ‘adopted’ Jon as his friend very intensely and that made him react badly to the perceived betrayal - no! No psychoanalyzing! Not today!

“It do be like that sometimes,” Martin said wisely, peeling away the label at his shitty beer. The bar was crowded, noisy, and dim, and it was hard to hear Tim over the noise. “I don’t know, though. If that was all there was to it, he wouldn’t be showing up at my house all the time…”

“Wait, what?”

Martin explained in short order, trying not to feel embarrassed about it. Tim seemed to grow increasingly furious, and Martin found himself trailing off uncertainly near the end.

“He’s doing the same thing to Sasha,” Tim said lowly. “Fucking freak.”

“Wait, what? He’s been bothering Sasha?” Jesus, that really was creepy. Come to think of it, Martin hadn’t seen Sasha around lately - she used to come get drinks with them right after they all got fired, but the last three invites she had begged off and said that she was ‘dealing with a lot right now’ and that she was ‘really swamped’. Martin was pretty sure that she was also unemployed, so he didn’t really know what she was swamped with, but it wasn’t any of his business. Maybe she was depressed. “Like, is he also trying to recruit her into the spider cult, or…?”

Weirdly, Martin felt a weird pang of disappointment at that. He had thought that what he and Jon had was special.

Ha ha. As if.

“I don’t know!” Tim cried, frustrated. He was gripping his pint glass tightly, as if he wished he was wrapping his fingers around Jon’s very slim and attractive neck instead. “First he keeps bothering Sasha, and now he keeps breaking into your house and flirting with you -”

“What!” Martin squeaked. “He’s not -”

“He’s a predator,” Tim said finally, as if he was a judge delivering a verdict. “Fucking freak. Martin, next time he drops by, I want you to call me immediately. I’ll kick his ass for you.”

“I’m a grown man, I can kick his ass by myself,” Martin said lamely, fully aware that he had never kicked an ass in his life and never would.

“Don’t let that bully intimidate you,” Tim lectured, like the overbearing big brother Martin had always kind of secretly wanted. “He’s just a grifter, spider cult or not. Seriously, Martin, next time he bothers you call me. I have more than a few things I want to say to the bastard.”

It was heartwarming, almost. “You haven’t seen him since he killed Elias, right?”

Tim looked away, scowling. “Nope. Dunno why, if he’s hassling you two. I’m the only one with some serious questions I need to ask him, and he hasn’t even - whatever.” He looked back at Martin, forcing a great big smile. “Really, if he wants a hottie, why isn’t he knocking on my door, right? Like, come on, I’m single and ready to -”

“How’s the job hunt going, Tim!”

“I’m trying to get back into publishing, what do you think! Kill me!”

Martin liked Tim. If you had asked him four months ago if they were really friends, he would have smiled and deflected, because he was pretty sure that Tim was just that friendly to everybody. Martin always felt insecure with friendly and nice people, because he never knew if they were being friendly to him because they liked him and considered him a friend, or if they were just like that with everyone.

But they still got drinks when they didn’t have to, and the expression of tight and barely controlled rage that flashed through his face when he thought that Sasha and Martin were in danger from Jon was real. Maybe they really were friends.

Maybe there was something deeply buried and long since repressed in Tim that was destroying him slowly from the inside. Maybe Martin and Sasha had that too, that rot: the way Sasha would carelessly invade privacy to hack inside people’s private files without even thinking about it, the way that Martin would almost instinctively balance impression management with playing down to expectations with always dissecting people in a ruthless search for a weak point without even thinking about it.

Maybe they were all bad people, every one of them. It felt sometimes as if Martin had a corrupt and diseased heart, that infected parts of his body with a sick necrosis. He hurt people when he didn’t want to; he said things he didn’t mean. There was something rotten and evil in Martin, and sometimes it felt as if he couldn’t help but pass it along from person to person.

Man hands on misery to man, Phillip Larkin said, it deepens like a coastal shelf. Get out as early as you can, and don’t have any kids yourself.

Well, Martin had the second part down. He was still working on the first.

***

But Martin was right to worry, because when he woke up at seven the next morning to shamble into his living room, he flipped the light switch to see Jonathan Sims sitting on his grandma couch flipping through his meager collection of books.

“You don’t read very much, do you?” Jon said.

“How did you get into my house.”

“Told the landlord I was the exterminator and needed to get in to spray for bugs.” Jon tossed the book on the battered coffee table - 1984 - and reclined on the sofa. “You really do have quite a bit of spiders, though. Want me to take care of that? Do you want more spiders? I can get you as many spiders as you like.”

The way he sat was purposeful, the way one of his black boots with a low heel was propped on the coffee table, the way his dark and closely cut trousers were slightly splayed, his tight black turtleneck highlighting his figure was slightly hidden by a fine white silk jacket. The small part of Martin’s mind that used to work at a dry-cleaners inanely wondered how difficult that jacket was to keep clean. Most of Martin’s mind was occupied realizing that Tim was right, and that Jon was flirting with him.

“What do I have to say to get you to leave my house,” Martin said, instead of asking why, why, why, why. He knew why - spider cult purposes - but why -

“Lots of poetry collections, though,” Jon said, and Martin knew that he had caught him looking. He had a little half-smile: half encouraging, half shy. “You have great taste. I’m a Yeats fan too.”

Sure. “Name one Yeats poem.”

“The Stolen Child,” Jon said instantly.

Martin narrowed his eyes. “What do you like about it?”

Jon was silent.

“Thought so.” Martin pointed at his door. “Out.”

There it was, a brief explosion, so quick that Martin might have thought he imagined it: grinding teeth, sloping eyebrows, a scowl. A flash of irritation: here one second, gone the next. “I like your poetry, though,” Jon attacked, a different angle. “Your imagery is very vivid.”

What the fuck. “You went through my diary?” Martin screeched.

“Yes?” Jon looked slightly flummoxed. “I was doing research. People like it when you display interest in their hobbies.”

“I am making coffee,” Martin said, voice strangled, “and I am making breakfast. And if you refuse to leave, you are not saying a single word until I’ve had caffeine.”

And then Martin refused to acknowledge Jon any more. Martin quickly realized that Jon hated this very much, used to being the center of attention wherever he was, and it was an extremely effective method of making him throw himself into a kitchen chair and sulk as the coffee pot sputtered out a cup. Martin focused himself on heating up the pan and cracking a few eggs into a bowl, whisking it absentmindedly as he clenched his mobile.

He should call Tim. He had never known Jon to get violent, but that didn’t mean anything. The guy was...he was…

He glanced back at Jon, who had his arms crossed and was frowning down at the stained wood of the kitchen table. He didn’t seem to know Martin was looking, and it occurred to Martin for the first time that this might be the authentic Jon: tired and frustrated and uncertain what he was doing wrong.

The eggs sizzled on the frying pan, and Martin pushed them around with a spatula. “What do you like on your eggs?”

Jon looked up, surprised, before rearranging his expression into something cool and distant. “Surprise me.”

Martin served them cheesy with herbs, just for that. When Jon took a bite he looked surprised, as if he had been expecting something spiteful and received only something good in exchange.

When he put a cup of Early Grey in front of him, with sugar congealing on the bottom and rosy brown from the cream, he looked surprised again too.

“You’re excellent at reading people,” Jon said, carefully directly after Martin had a sip of his coffee. “Mother would -”

“Do you want to make a bargain?” Martin asked.

That caught Jon’s attention. He smiled winningly, leaning in, hair carefully arranged to fall over one shoulder in a painfully attractive way. “I could be convinced.”

“If you knock on my door at a reasonable hour, then I will let you in and we can talk or whatever. I’ll make us tea. I don’t care.”

Jon’s grin only widened, and when Martin felt a foot brush his leg he had to fight the urge to jump a foot in the air. “What’ll I do in exchange?”

“You let up on the sales pitch,” Martin said severely, and physically moved his chair further away from Jon. “And you stop lying to me. And for christ’s sake, stop pretending you’re into me.”

Jon blinked, expression falling in shock.

He scrambled to paste something back on, but it was as if he couldn’t decide. Martin saw him half-cycle through different expressions, different appearances: abashed, eager, flirtatious. It was as if he was frantically guessing which Jon would work best to convince Martin to do what he wanted, but he just couldn’t decide.

Finally, he weakly asked, “What makes you think I’m not into you?”

Martin couldn’t help it: he scoffed bitterly. “Guess someone like you was never asked out as a joke in secondary. Nobody would honestly find me attractive. Everything you do is calculated, Jon, and I’m not vain enough to think the flirting is an exception. It’s obvious.”

“I’m not obvious,” Jon said, physically fighting to keep his expression from twisting into anger. It was...obvious. He eventually forced his expression into something wide-eyed and sincere, reaching out a hand to place on Martin’s arm. It was warm, but it settled oddly on Martin’s skin. Something about it didn’t feel like a human arm. “That’s just your low-self esteem talking, love. When I look at you, I see -”

“A sucker?”

Jon opened his mouth, then closed his. His hand was still on Martin’s arm. Martin didn’t know why he hadn’t shaken it off. “I see someone very kind,” Jon said, almost lamely. “I like that in a man.”

“Yeah, sure.” Martin shook his hand off - disgusted with Jon, disgusted with himself. Someone like Jon - attractive, confident, smooth - could never understand how it felt. He didn’t know why he expected him to. “I don’t know why you aren’t leaving me or Sasha alone, or why you’re trying to recruit us both into your spider cult -”

“I’m trying to recruit Sasha into my vigilante superhero team, actually.”

“Whatever. Point is, if I can’t get rid of you, I don’t want our conversations to be exhausting. These...games you’re always playing,” Martin waved his hand demonstratively as he chugged coffee with the other, “are tiring. Maybe - maybe you and I are similar, Jon. But the difference between us is that I find these games tiring. I don’t like doing it. I - what I want is a relationship where there’s no games. Where I can just be me and the other person can just be them. Don’t you want that too?”

Jon stared at him, eyes wide, almost shocked, almost hesitant, almost hopeful.

Finally, he said, “I only trust three people.”

“I’m not asking you to trust me,” Martin, who trusted nobody, said exasperatedly. What did it say, that the leader of the spider cult trusted more people than Martin did? “I’m just asking you not to lie to me.”

“I don’t know how to do that,” Jon said, before pausing a beat. “I’d trust you if you joined my spider cult.”

“You’re shit out of luck, then. And you’re not going to convince me.” Martin took another sip of his coffee, hiding his trembling hands. “Because you can’t lie to me, Jon. Face it: I’m almost as good as you are.” He smiled wryly. “As good as someone can get without supernatural powers, anyway.”

Jon stared at him, just stared, and Martin let the moment linger in silence as he cut into his eggs. Finally, he said, “You’ll tolerate my presence if I agree to drop the act.”

“Yep.”

“I’m not sure how to drop the act,” Jon admitted, somewhat embarrassed, as if he was admitting to not knowing how to tie his shoes.

Martin rolled his eyes. “Do your best. You must have been normal at one point.”

“When I was normal,” Jon said, “nobody tolerated me at all.”

The shocking honesty made Martin almost gag on his coffee. Jon’s eyes widened again, as if he couldn’t believe what he had just said, as if he had never meant to say it. As if nobody had ever heard it at all.

“Now that we’re actually getting somewhere,” Martin said, tactfully not touching that barrel of worms - er, spiders - with a two meter pole. “Can you please tell me your real name? Unless it was, like, wiped from your mind by your spider mom? Is this like one of those cult things were they rename you for indoctrination purposes?” Something terrible occurred to him. “Is every guy in your cult named John and every woman named Annabelle? It was just a fake name you gave to Elias, right? Right?”

Jon - whoever he was - stared at Martin, completely and utterly dumbfounded.

Then he laughed, long and hard, hoarse and wheezing and breathy, and Martin knew that this, at least, was real.

***

Martin: I think I’ve taken care of the Jon thing

Martin: Probably

Martin: The guy’s kinda hopeless

Tim: ya sash said that hes cool

Tim: apparently shes a vigilante now? or smth? Idk

Martin: Yeah that seems about right

Martin: At least she’s living her best life?

Tim: ya good for her honestly

Tim: ….so does Spider-Man KNOW how to use all eight of those arms ifyaknowwhatimean

Martin: WE! ARE! JUST! FRIENDS!

***

“ - so then after my father passed tragically of brain cancer, I was raised by my emotionally distant and disaffected Gran. I think she’s the one who taught me that if I ever want anything in life, I have to secure it for myself. I’ve been very independent ever since I was a child, and although my social skills have always been naturally lacking I’ve worked to compensate for that by studying the art of social interaction. I guess you could call it somewhat of a special interest of mine, I like to sit in coffeeshops with my sister Annabelle and study passerby -”

“Uh huh.”

“Did you know forty percent of Britons own pets? I think it reveals interesting things about the human psychology. The domestication of dogs has always been fascinating, of course. Did you know that all dogs are descended directly from the grey wolf? There were other wolf species at the time, but they’ve long since gone extinct.”

“Wow.”

“I know! The evolution of what we today determine as dog breeds were only created in the Victorian era. I’m sure Jonah would have had some thoughts on that, if I hadn’t fed him to my mother. Actually, few people know this, but our modern conceptualization of the wolf pack hierarchy has been thoroughly debunked. Alphas and omegas only exist in captive populations. Tell that to the werewolves, huh! Actually, I organize the weekly Avatar poker games - you can come if you’re interested, great way to make some money - and I actually did tell that to the werewolves, and they were not very happy with me -”

“Jon? I can’t hear the movie.”

“Right, right.” Jon passed Martin the popcorn. “So what’s this one about?”

Martin scooped up a handful of the popcorn without shame, feeding it in a steady stream into his mouth. “About a guy who gets turned into a fly.”

“That’s fun,” Jon said warmly. “I turned a guy into a fly once. He got stuck in a spider-web immediately and everything, it was quite entertaining.” At Martin’s horrified look, he quickly followed it up with, “Gerry had found out that he was illegally evicting tenants who were undergoing cancer treatment, asking for rent before it was due and physically intimidating the tenants and everything. He also stole one thousand dollars worth of goods from Whole Foods and everything, which is quite funny if you think about it -”

“How does someone steal a thousand dollars with of stuff from Whole Foods? It’s a grocery store.”

“I know, right!” Jon threw up his hands, accidentally sending some pieces of popcorn flying. “The rich are the true parasites, Martin! I’m speaking as an insect person!”

“Word.”

Martin ate more popcorn, and noticed Jon carefully brush his crossed legs against Martin’s knee.

Well, he was trying. He’d stop pretending to like Martin eventually.

They’d get there. ;

#my writing #tma #the magnus archives #the magnus archives fanfic #tma fanfic #web!jon #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #jonmartin #ME? WRITING JONMARTIN? ITS LESS LIKELY THAN YOUD THINK #tim stoker #feat. tim's protective streak martin's low self-esteem and jon's theater special interest #ftr jon is sex-repulsed and never had any intention of actually going there with martin he just knew martin was into him #offscreen jon was throwing chairs like 'WHY CANT I SEDUCE THIS MAN WHO I SIN LOVE WITH ME'#gerry playing video games: because you actually like him back and you can't handle feelings that are genuinely your own #jon: 'i think ill just flirt harder actually'

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weirdagnes · 4 years

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💄RUDOLF’S DRAG RACE AU 🏁

ALRIGHT SO this AU originally started in our Yeah We Outlasting discord server, artists started drawing the characters in drag and I WOKE HMSHD real shit man. So I'm making a masterpost for drag au on behalf of the server✊✊

Outlast 1 = Season 1

Outlast 2 = Season 2

Whistleblower DLC = All Stars

All of the characters and ideas for the characters were written in collab with @gothivican, @panopt1c0n, @grahaam and the rest of the lads in the server, y’all have such beautiful brains. So anyways.

Here are the judges:

Rudolf Wernicke. Lowkey bias, literally goes to the backstage and tells Miles to beat Billy Hope in a lipsync because Billy can't continue on the show for some reason. Has favoritism towards Blaire, but was forced to sashay him away by the other two judges. Also this bitch is dying, literally has a breathing tank support behind his chair.

Pauline Glick. A very sharp critic. Wore the same shoes? Call out. Oh that's your signature makeup? UGLY tone it down. Sorry, the colors don't match, you'll be in the bottom two for that.

Paul Marion. The kindest judge. He will give constructive criticism in the nicest non-offensive way possible and compliment them after (because he would feel guilty about it).

Alice as guest star. Supportive as f u c k, huge fan, she cries when meeting the queens in Untucked. She can't help complimenting the queens every 10 seconds, she gives off the Leslie Jones’ enthusiasm.

Lisa Park as guest star. Like Alice, very supportive. She’s an artist, and will break down all the reasons why they are so good from an artist’s perspective. Crushes HARD on Wyssle Blower, she might’ve given her number after the show.

Lynn Langermann as guest star. She’s a judge, and she will judge. Gives out well constructed criticisms to all queens fair and square until she saw Angel Fromm (Blake) and just says “Wow what’s there to criticize?” Sallyzekiel hates her, Valentina and Angel on the other hand loves her very much.

Here are the queens:

Miles Upshur as Kill-O-Meter. Primarily an insult comedy and rocker queen, and specializes in dancing. She tends to be criticized for a lack of glamour on some of her main stage looks, and is one of the most dramatic, sarcastic and shady queens of the bunch. Can and will stomp on you in latex boots for money. Besties with Wyssle and Chrisel, gets into a little heated talks with (occasionally) Peacock, (frequently) Ricky and Remy. She adores Cheets’ (Pyro) makeup skills. Winner of season 1 babey!!

Chris Walker as Piggy Chrisel. A punk/grunge queen who seems to specialize moreso in dancing and lip syncing. She's a shy, gentle giant, has a little trouble speaking coherently and it affects her in the acting/impromptu comedy challenges. She will call out whores though, she will kick ass when the situation calls for it. Really good at makeup, makeup girl-friends with Cheeto and besties with Kill O Meter (Latrila vibes). Also a perfectionist and hates mess on her work table.

Rick Trager as Ricky Trix. Whore, that's all. This bitch OBNOXIOUS and shady but she's both a glamour AND comedy queen, the other queens are watching out for her since day one. Horror and '80s inspired queen, extremely good at comedy and acting and will literally stomp the competition with nearly perfect impressions and extremely expressive acting. The downfall for her seems to be glam on the occasion and singing. Rivals with Kill O Meter and Miss Tini, kikis with Remy (they throw shade to other queens the moment they get em)

Father Martin as Miss Tini. The oldest queen but she can still serve the cakes. Generally a kind person, coming from a religious background. She’s takes the drag culture religiously. She gets along with The Twinks.

The Twins as The Twinks. Was recruited as two totally separate queens, but both quit on the first episode when one of the twins were to be eliminated. The queens tell the Twinks apart by who’s bald and who’s not. They don’t vibe with other queens except Miss Tini.

Pyromaniac as Cheeto de LaFlammeo. Queen of Makeup, she has some serious skill range on it. Good in the acting department, always plays as the tragic character. Was rivals with Kill-O Meter before, but one time when she had a breakdown, Kill-O Meter was by her side when no one was. After that, they respected each other.

Billy Hope as Billy Willy. CLOWN QUEEN, huge Crystal Methyd vibes. She’s the youngest queen, very energetic, a ball of SUNSHINE but Wernicke was a bias bitch and sent her home immediately the moment she was in the bottom. She was basically Kill-O Meter and Wyssle Blower's drag child. Hailed as Miss Congeniality, is voted by majority to return for a season 2 for going home a little too early than people feel was deserved. Best at makeup and outfits, her mom Tiffany taught her to sew and make dresses out of rags and other unconventional materials and the skill proved to be helpful. Also she likes puns and everyone likes playing with her name like: Silly Billy Willy, Witty Billy Willy, etc.

....

Waylon Park as Wyssle Blower. The Mom of the queens, the most well rounded queen, and the most 'fishy' one. Probably the smartest and most humble one out of everyone, she can read through people’s bullshit well. Genuinely looks like a girl in full drag, but always does her best on acting. She's serving you a cute, nerdy and quirky style, but can serve horror when need be. Always wins the mini challenges, she's not as loud as the other girls but she does beat Blaire in a lip sync (lowkey badass lipsyncer). Winner of All Stars babey

Jeremy Blaire as Remy Coco Ainée. Pretentious fake ass queen, even her drag name is just Cocaine in fake French. A pure fashion glamour queen, she serves it at almost all the fashion challenges but there's no more personality out of her other than that and her shady attitude (she will not hold back on the shade). Is extremely horrible at singing (her voice cracks) and acting, goes home against a lip sync with Wyssle. This bitch will FLEX her wins. Kikis with Ricky, mainly rivals with Kill O Meter, Wyssle and Peacock but she made everyone her rivals bc of her bitchass attitude.

Eddie Gluskin as Edna Taylor. Fashion queen, specializes in sewing, acting and singing, but is extremely lacking in the dancing department. Has a one-sided endearment for Waylon, and consistently tries to have her attention. Is extremely manipulative too, trying to consistently trip the other queens up. Also everybody hates her mohawk signature wig but nobody says anything about it because they don’t want to be victim to Edna’s mind games.

Frank Manera as Hanni Canni Bahl. Horror queen, best at comedy and dancing. Though it is prohibited, she’s able to sneak in weed, coke (for Ricky) and snacks in the werk room. Very messy when working, her discarded fabrics are EVERYWHERE and Chrisel is fighting the urge to clean it up. She eats while working when the camera’s off, and it stains the dress she’s working on (Pauline notices it).

Dennis as Denise. Mocked as “Edna’s little helper” as she always helps with her dresses. She’s trying too hard to impress Edna, and helps her get Wyssle’s attention. Very talented in acting and sewing, but bland in fashion, lacking in concept. Her inner conflict is what got her eliminated.

Simon Peacock as Julie Peacock. Rebellious, mischievous, and an ex-glam queen gone horror and campy instead. After being insulted much by glam queens (ahemRemyahem), she just embraced it and became a horror queen, serving the judges her horror aesthetic. Best at comedy, lacks extremely on acting and dancing though. No one is safe from her constructive criticism, and she will never stop ranting to Kill O Meter and Wyssle about Remy and Ricky being bad bitches and favored by Wernicke, she thinks it's unfair.

....

Blake Langermann as Angel Fromm. Singing queen!! Good at singing, but otherwise is moreso well-rounded, she might've been eliminated earlier, hadn't it been for her also low-key successful and iconic lip syncs. But the lucky winning streak didn't last forever, she goes home later in the season because she's slowly falling behind the other queens and can't keep up anymore. Has Rococo aesthetic, unfortunately the outfits can't make up for the lack of character as a queen. Though she needs a lot of improvement, the guest star Lynn adores her very much.

Val as Valentina. Queen of SEX or moreso impersonations and comedy. She’s a terrible tailor, but likes unconventional and simple fashion designs. She’s trans and lowkey Pauline has a crush on her the moment she walked on that stage. Pure rivals with Sallyzekiel, you know that iconic Aja vs. Valentina in Untucked? They had that moment. Probably goes home earlier, not entirely prepared, but still was a season icon. Definitely dropped it low about 10 times on her lip sync.

Marta as ImMartal. GOTH QUEEN, survived about early mid season. Best at her makeup and looks, glam queen, but the judges criticize her for wearing the same wigs/having the same hairstyle for almost every looks.

Nick Tremblay as Nicky Lanterns. Another gentle giant. Very introverted, she has a difficult time socializing with other girls because she’s generally not a very loud person. Really bad at makeup, her fashion sense is somewhat okay but it’s always on the ‘safe’ level. Pretty good at slapstick comedy, writing and concepts tho. It’s a wonder how Nicky and Lard Imp became “friends,” they’re complete opposites.

Laird Byron as Lard Imp. Whore, Exhibit B. Extremely rude, louder than Remy and Ricky themselves, and has a weird love/hate obsession with Angel for some reason. Everyone hates her, even Rudolf himself, and Lard Imp isn’t her original drag name but ultimately they came to a point where they just called her Lard Imp. Constantly denies the judges’ and the queens’ critiques, very delusional about winning the season and that’s why she’s the first one eliminated.

Sullivan Knoth as Sallyzekiel. The Big Bad Bitch of the season. Ultimate rivals with Valentina, constantly bullies Angel. Marta used to be friends with her, but after talking shit on Valentina, she says fuck you and defended Val. Glam queen, has an affinity for shoes but damn girl terrible makeup and padding. Really good with speech, acting and impromptu.

So far, here are the character designs we have made!

(1) Blake and Trager by @/pan0pt1con

(1, 2, 3, 4, 5) Waylon, Chris, Simon, Eddie, Miles and Jeremy by @/gothivican

(1) Billy, Miles, Chris, Wernicke, Pauline, Paul and Alice by @/weirdagnes

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fuckyeahgreenwing · 4 years

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Mac and Caroline’s timeline - Series 1

thisisntwaterstones asked:

do we think mac asking guy, "so have you given up on her?" at the party is maybe our first hint that he's pining for caroline? can we work out a timeline of mac falling for her? and/or of the scenes when he's looking for ways to get closer to her? or when he's testing the waters or working out whether she's into guy? they're like the ultimate angst/fluff fic and i need something cute to occupy my head aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

Note: For some reason I wasn’t able to answer directly to your ask and had to make a text post as HTML kept messing up and wouldn’t allow me to do a “read more”.

1x05 - “Housewarming Party” was a true blessing for Mac and Caroline shippers as this was really the beginning of Mac and Caroline’s romantic journey. This is what I deem to be as Mac’s timeline in series 1.

I have put this under a cut as naturally I decided gifs should tell the story, so this is a looong and very image-heavy post. May not be app friendly, best viewed on a browser!

Let us thank the student in 1x05 during their hospital tour for “sowing the seed”.

And so our tale begins!

It was no secret that Guy had been attempting to sleep with Caroline since her first day at the hospital. He even spread rumours about being successful to the staff which resulted in Caroline making him sign a confession which stated the truth.

At Caroline’s housewarming party, Mac asks Guy the following question.

Guy replies with, “Far from it. It's all part of the grand scheme. Anyway, she's TDTF.” Guy then approaches a drunk Caroline as she’s dancing with attempts to “woo” her and leaving her wanting more.

This resulted in these looks from Mac as he watches on. This is the moment he realises he has feelings for Caroline.

Fast forward to later during the party and Caroline has been enjoying a few too many shots of tequila with Martin (whilst he has been enjoying shots of undiluted orange squash, bless him).

Mac catches Caroline as she falls and does the moral thing and takes her to the bathroom to look after her as those many shots of tequila make a reappearance.

Caroline confesses to Mac that she has only eaten Hula Hoops that day and also tells him, “You're a very attractive man, aren't you?”.

Cue the romantic music.

Ah, romance. But he doesn’t seem to mind as they go in for round two, until they are interrupted.

1x06 - “Tests” brings us to the next day.

And Caroline is currently the “brave explorer returning from the uncharted regions of drunkenness”. Seeing her suffer, Mac tries to help.

It seems to work and Mac seems pleased with himself.

Now that Caroline has recovered, slightly, she wants to discuss the previous night, which we find out later she has difficulty remembering fully.

Knowing that Mac finds it difficult to express his emotions, and possibly not knowing how Caroline really feels about him, he sees Martin as a chance for a distraction and a way out of a potentially serious conversation.

After surgery, Caroline wants to discuss what happened at her party, again, and wants clarification on a certain “incident”. Mac teases her by not knowing what she’s talking about.

Caroline ends up describing how she kissed Guy, getting her drunken memories confused, as well as remembering that she kissed Sue White. Mac continues to tease her and finds the situation humorous until she says, “First you say you don't remember any kissing at all and now you're saying there was kissing in the toilet, which one is it?“

And before Mac can answer, they are interrupted by a certain Swiss anaesthetist.

Caroline, again, goes to Mac to find out the list of everyone she kissed at her party. Mac smiles as she mentions him and that smile soon fades as she mentions Guy. A pang of jealousy, perhaps?

Later, Caroline manages to pull Mac somewhere private and demands to know how the kiss happened between them. Again, knowing Mac struggles with being “serious”, he teases Caroline again by beginning to jokingly act out what happened. Things do finally get serious and there is some strong flirting and tension, although both try to act like the kiss was an “accident”. (Ha!)

Mac pulls away before they can fully re-enact the kiss, leaving Caroline hanging a little. She tries to play it “cool” and acts like she only kissed him because she was drunk. Hm, does she actually like him?

Mac watches on as Caroline leaves. She falls against the wall, weak at the knees...

Next episode! 1x07 - “Tangled Webs”

"Mac, do you think you'll ever have kids?” asks Caroline. Again, this being a “serious” question and his history with “Holly, the tear-your-life-apart baby-killer”, Mac manages to deflect using a pair of random glasses he finds.

“Oh, Nurse Todd, but you look beautiful with your glasses on.“

There is some playful teasing going on here.

“See you later, smelly four-eyes.“

“Oh, I always wanted one of those.” “What's that, a small boy?” “No, a remote-controlled car.”

And so Mac bribes a child, with a lighter, to use the remote-controlled car, and then passes the remote to Caroline.

“Ready? Live the dream.”

To mimic Mac’s words in the previous episodes “there was a lot of looking going on.” And again, more tension.

Mac pays a visit to Sue. He is not happy with the shift pattern which allows Caroline and Guy to be off at the same time, obviously knowing about Caroline’s date with Guy. Mac, in a roundabout way, admits aloud his feelings for Caroline.

The plot thickens in 1x08 - “Slave Auction”.

After her unsuccessful date with Guy, Caroline realises she loves Mac. She tries to set up a date with him, not knowing that Mac is now seeing Emily, or as Caroline calls her, “Emilily”.

(Note: At this point, this is where I get a bit ??? I’m not sure if Mac is aware that Caroline’s date with Guy ended sour. We also find out later in the episode that a hospital in Sheffield offered him a consultancy and that Emily is going with him.

Does Mac think he lost Caroline to Guy and thus stared seeing Emily? Did Caroline take too long to admit her feelings? Or knowing he’s moving does he not want to pursue Caroline as it would be easier not to? Questions, questions, questions.)

Anyway, Caroline pretends she doesn’t like Mac and was doing an early April Fool’s joke... In September...

Mac whisks Caroline away as she becomes increasingly catty towards Emily.

Later, Caroline talks about “Emilily”, bitterly, with Mac.

“No disrespect, but she is a bit posh.”

They spat back and forth before Caroline leaves, sarcastically saying, “She sounds great.” This leaves Mac looking a little puzzled.

Later, Martin goes to Mac for advice. He has “bought” Caroline at the hospital’s charity slave auction and they are going to go out for dinner. The advice Mac gives is... questionable. Is he jealous that Martin is going to dinner with Caroline? (Even though he most likely knows Martin doesn’t stand a chance with Caroline.)

And finally, we get to 1x09 - “Emergency”

It’s Mac’s last day at the hospital and a certain “scatterbrained floozy” isn’t too thrilled.

“This is stupid. You've got to tell him how you feel. What have you got to lose? You're never going to see him again. The worst that can happen is that he rejects you, totally humiliates you.“ Angela advises Caroline. Ah, friendship.

Caroline finds Mac and tries to put him off going to Sheffield, with reasons such as flesh-eating spiders up to six feet in diameter. (Hell no.)

She then tries to speak to him seriously. Mac tells her why he acts the way he does. (#Realness)

He finally agrees to be serious for one minute and Caroline speaks to him about how they failed to get on at first.

"You thought I was some sort of incompetent neurotic who went to a boys' barber, and I thought you were a rude, offhand bloke with lady's hair.” "Being serious, maybe I would have said that, but I wouldn't say that any more.”

Hm...

Caroline spends her day searching the internet, “trying to find fault with Sheffield”. She approaches Mac, who is with Emily, at his leaving drinks. She reads from a print out of her findings on Emily, accusing Emily of being a “fraudulent little tart”. This turns out to be a misunderstanding and Emily puts Caroline in her place, causing her to leave. Mac’s reaction to Caroline’s antics speaks volumes.

Instead of jumping to Emily defense, Mac doesn’t and he finds what happened incredibly humorous. This results in beer being poured over his head.

Mac goes to look for Caroline, who he finds upset in the hospital lecture theatre.

“Go away.” “Shan't.”

And now the two are alone and are able to finally admit their feelings for one another. (About bloody time.) I’ll let these gifs speak for themselves.

And then Mac makes the move. CUE THE DAMN ROMANTIC MUSIC.

After the long overdue kiss and finally getting together, they leave the hospital and some very suggestive flirting takes place.

And then everything was fine and lovely and nothing else happened after - oh wait, this is Green Wing we’re talking about here.

PLOT TWIST!

Their night is ruined as they get interrupted by Sue, who informs them that there’s been an accident at Guy’s flat. They head over in an ambulance. A very drunk Guy then decides to steal said ambulance with Mac and Martin in tow, leaving Caroline with very shell-shocked Joanna Clore...

And then the series ends on an actual cliffhanger.

But not before Mac smiles at the thought of finally getting together with Caroline.

#thisisntwaterstones #ask #green wing #mac macartney #caroline todd #well this was a huge trip down shipping memory lane

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nothing-stupid-buck · 5 years

Text

Band Of Brothers Character Guide

Band Of Brothers CHARACTER GUIDE

To All You New BoB Watchers Out There...

First of all, WELCOME. We are happy to have you as part of Easy Company.

When I first watched the series, I had a lot of difficulty keeping track of who was who and it made it hard to follow the storyline until the 3rd or 4th round watching it through... so I thought I’d make a bit of a guide for those who have had the same struggle.

(Keep in mind, you may want to read this after you’ve watched it at least once, as many of the characters’ significant plot lines are outlined in spoilers.)

Throughout the series there are different episodes based around different characters’ points of view. As you watch each episode you learn more characters but because it is so accurately portrayed, they had to include as many of the characters as possible so each of them get a little bit of their story shown.

I myself have watched the series over 10 times and still pick up on things each time I watch it. It’s not a series to be watched once if you want to enjoy it to its full extent and understand it thoroughly (which I highly recommend because it is such a great series anyway).

Here is a list of some significant traits about most of the main characters (WARNING: Spoilers May Be Present Ahead):

Major Richard Winters: leader of Easy from D-Day, assumed main character, episodes 1, 2, 5, 10 bases around him.

Captain Lewis Nixon: Winters’ best friend, shortly promoted to an intelligence officer after enlisting (as seen in the first episode), often sarcastic, an alcoholic and loves Vat 69, episode 9 is based around him.

Lieutenant Harry Welsh: platoon leader and officer, replaces Nixon in easy Company in the first episode, noticeable tooth gap, is saving his reserve chute to bring home to his fiancé Kitty (SPOILER: hit by shrapnel in Bastogne at the end of episode 6)

Lieutenant Lynn “Buck” Compton: platoon leader, white blonde hair, first appearance near the end of the first episode, is known to see himself amongst the men rather than as a superior (SPOILER: shot in the behind during the holland campaign, is evacuated after seeing Toye and guarnere lose their legs and suffers battle fatigue, returns in episode 10)

Captain Ronald Speirs: starts off in D company, basically takes the fourth gun by himself on D-Day, rumoured to have shot POW’s on D-Day (although never confirmed), (SPOILER: takes over as the leader of Easy Company in episode 7)

Lieutenant C. Carwood Lipton: can be seen shooting from tree on D-Day, goes out of his way to look after the men, episode 7 is based around him. (SPOILER: gets hit by shrapnel in Carentan in episode 3, becomes the Company first sergeant shortly after, gets promoted to lieutenant at the end of episode 7)

Sergeant Don Malarkey: Sobel calls him ‘Private bulls*it’ in the first episode. Notably said, ‘really? It’s hot in Africa?’ In the first episode while on the boat to England. Runs through an open field on d-day to get what he thinks is a Luger, but he is wrong. Makes friends with a german POW in episode 1 after he discovers they came from the same state back home. (SPOILERS: loses his best friends Muck and Penkala in episode 7 after they are blown up together in their foxhole, is clearly suffering from battle fatigue in episode 8.)

Sergeant Bill Guarnere: discovers his brother has been killed in action a day or two before D-Day, shoots Germans before winters’ command on D-Day, nickname is Gonorrhoea, has a fantastically shaped jawline (literally cracks me up every time he looks around a corner or something) (SPOILERS: tries to drag Joe Toye back to a foxhole during an artillery barrage in episode 7 and gets his right leg blown to bits, remains best friends with babe Heffron until the end of his life)

Corporal George Luz: impersonates Major Horton during training while Sobel is lost, which then results in Sobel cutting a barbed wire fence, often seen imitating either superiors or other easy men, most notably dike and sink, best friends with Perconte, (SPOILERS: never gets hit)

Corporal Eugene “Doc” Roe: called Doc by almost all of the men, heroic medic of the company, episode 6 is based around him, always seen rushing around to help soldiers who have been wounded.

Sergeant Joe Toye: lists everything he has to carry whilst preparing his gear for D-Day, has two grenades go off next to him on d-day but doesn’t get hurt (notably says: Jesus Christ, f*cking twice), (SPOILERS: is in the aid station probably more times than any other easy man as he manages to get hit in just about every battle, gets his right leg completely blown off during an artillery barrage in episode 7)

Corporal Frank Perconte: literally never stops brushing his teeth, quite a bit smaller than most of the others, best friends with Luz, (SPOILERS: gets shot in the behind during the attack on Foy in episode 7, is seen being carried away by Bull Randleman, returns very shortly afterwards)

Sergeant Floyd Talbert: often called ‘Tab’ is seen with a dog in the beginning of episode 5, (SPOILERS: in episode 3 he is stabbed by Smith for waking him up dressed in a german poncho, but recovers, and Gordon writes a poem about the incident, resigns as company first sergeant in episode 10 as he wanted to be back amongst the men)

Private David Webster: episode 8 is based around him, (SPOILERS: gets shot in the leg in Holland in episode 5, and missed the Bastogne campaign, earning resentment from a lot of the men as seen in episode 8)

Corporal Joseph Liebgott: it’s established that Liebgott is Jewish pretty early in the series (he gets into a brawl with guarnere on the boat to England in episode 1) which becomes important later, has a stronger hatred for the Germans than a lot of the other men, (SPOILERS: translates at the Jewish camp, and is seen crying after having to tell the prisoners they are to be locked up again so they can be monitored)

Sergeant Warren “Skip” Muck: best friends with malarkey and penkala, and usually seen beside them, is notably eating ‘kraut cheese’ from a tube in episode 3, and then proceeds to describe the rumours about Speirs to the men, sings a song about having enough socks in episode 5, one of the main jokesters in the group (SPOILER: is blown up and killed in his foxhole with penkala during an artillery barrage in episode 7)

Private Alex Penkala: usually seen besides malarkey or skip Muck, also a jokester, (SPOILERS: gets shrapnel in his arm in episode 6, is blown up and killed in his foxhole with Muck during an artillery barrage in episode 7)

Private Edward “Babe” Heffron: replacement and debut episode is episode 3, almost immediately taken under guarneres wing, (SPOILERS: loses his friend Julian in episode 6 after not being able to get to him through german Fire, and is forced to watch him die, remains best friends with guarnere for the rest of his life after the war)

Private Albert Blithe: episode 3 is based around him, can be seen terrified in his foxhole during the battle of the bloody gulch in episode 3, suffers hysterical blindness, (SPOILERS: is shot in the neck on a patrol at the end of episode 3, and the show incorrectly states the year of his death, he recovered from his neck wounds but died around 20 years later)

Sergeant Denver “Bull” Randleman: can been seen chewing tobacco often, close friends with Martin, speaks up about Sobel hating easy Company during the march in episode 1, to which winters jokes that Sobel just hates bull, episode 4 is based around him, is seen looking after the replacements when some of the other men turn a blind eye, notably bigger than a lot of the other men in the company (SPOILERS: gets a piece of shrapnel to the shoulder and also gets lost in episode 4)

Sergeant Johnny Martin: is the one who receives the letter about guarnere’s brother being killed in episode 1 and purposely swaps their jackets so guarnere will see the letter, is often called ‘Pee Wee’, close friends with Bull Randleman, spots a tank and tells a British soldier in episode 4, leads a patrol in episode 8, often appears annoyed or serious

Corporal Walter “Smokey” Gordon: wrote ‘the night of the bayonet’ about the incident between talbert and Smith, has multiple Purple Hearts, always on a machine gun, (SPOILERS: is shot in the arm in episode 6 and is paralysed)

Other Characters (brief significant traits)

CONTAINS SPOILERS:

Sergeant Darrel “Shifty” Powers: best shot in the company, never misses

Sergeant Robert “Popeye” Wynn: shot in the behind on D-Day, returns shortly after for holland campaign

Sergeant Wayne “Skinny” Sisk: is seen with multiple wood chunks stuck in his leg in episode 6, notably says ‘Im real sorry frank’ to Perconte after Perconte tells him he got blood on his trousers

Private Alton More: takes the photo album from the eagles nest

Sergeant James Alley: is hit by a grenade and is seen being carried in covered in blood and badly injured at the beginning of episode 5

Sergeant Chuck Grant: shot in the head in episode 10 by another American officer

Colonel Robert Sink: commander of the 506th infantry regiment

Sergeant Pat Christenson: drinks from his canteen on the Friday night march in episode 1 and is forced to repeat the march with no water, usually operating a machine gun

Corporal Joseph Ramirez: knocks down a fence after trying to jump over it in episode 3

Private Roy Cobb: shot in the plane on D-Day, is outwardly hostile to the new replacements, is rude to his superiors while intoxicated in episode 8

Corporal Donald Hoobler: often mentions how he wants to find a Luger to take home, when he gets one in episode 7 he leaves it in his pants and it accidentally fires and hits the main artery in his leg, killing him very quickly

Private Lester Hashey: a replacement in episode 3, best friends with Garcia, gets shot in the arm in episode 7 during the artillery barrage

Private Tony Garcia: best friends with Hashey, replacement at the end of episode 3

Lieutenant Norman Dike: also known as ‘foxhole norman’, takes over easy Company after moose heyliger is accidentally shot by a fellow American soldier, notably useless and makes no decisions, disliked by most of the men, and poorly leads easy Company during the battle at foy, but is relieved by Speirs before the battle is over

SIDE NOTE: some of the ranks may be incorrect or outdated, and I do apologise, I either could not find the correct rank or have remembered it incorrectly.

#band of brothers #bandofbrothers #hbo #hbowar #war #wwii #characters #character guide

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jmeelee · 5 years

Text

CHAPTER 2 [Read Chapter 1 here]

As soon as the sun kisses the shore of the Black Lake, Derek and his pack simultaneously rise from their seats around the common room, heads cocked in a distinctly lupine way, bodies answering a supernatural call Stiles and Lydia can not hear.

“I’d give anything to shift again,” Erica whines. Her body screams run: balled fists, hunched shoulders, muscles taut.

“It’s alright,” Boyd consoles. He reaches out, plants a huge hand on the back of her neck, blunt fingertips rubbing gentle circles into the fine blonde hairs at her nape. Isaac sways closer to her, brushing her sweater-clad shoulder with his own. Derek places one hand on Isaac’s forearm, below the rolled-up sleeve of his white button-down, and the other hand on Boyd’s broad back, completing the circle. Erica closes her eyes, whole body relaxing with a soft exhale. Everything, from their silent, comforting gestures to Boyd’s tender tone, broadcasts their connection, the bonds of devotion and friendship between them. Jealousy rears its monstrous head, spitting fire and scraping talons along the inside of Stiles’ rib cage, hoarding every affectionate gesture. You used to be that close to Derek; you should have Derek’s trust and love.

He buries the feelings and memories unearthed by the intimate scene, and falls back on his standard, reliable line of defense: being a sarcastic asshole. Stiles leans into Lydia’s personal space and mock whispers out of the side of his mouth, “That was kind of creepy.”

Lydia smacks him in the chest, hard, without sparing him a cursory glance.

Derek drops both hands from Isaac and Boyd like they’re on fire, and crosses his arms over his chest, directing angry eyebrow at Stiles. “You always knew how to ruin a moment, Stiles. Glad to find nothing has changed.” Derek is a sarcastic asshole, too, a trait Stiles likes to imagine he is at least partly responsible for. Derek stalks to the common room door, throwing it open for his friends to pass through. “Everyone knows the plan?” Five heads nod. “Good. It’s time to go.”

Derek’s decision to shed his skin and become something other never surprised Stiles; Derek had been questioning his place in the magical world before he’d ever received his Hogwarts letter. He hadn’t minded listening to Derek bemoan the lengthy, arduous process—mandrake leaves, electrical storms and all sorts of impossibly unique tasks. What he did mind was Derek’s new transformation skill came with more than additional body hair; it came with Erica, Boyd and Isaac, who, in Stiles’ loudly-voiced opinion, embodied the worst aspects of Ravenclaw House.

“You don’t even know them.” Derek had spit the words at Stiles’ feet in the Entrance Hall. Scores of voices, distorted and distant, filtered through the heavy doors of the Great Hall, a chaotic soundtrack to the dissolution of their friendship. “As if your Gryffindor girlfriend is any better?” Derek jeered. “Or Scott McCall?”

Stiles saw red. “Scott’s more puppy than snake, and you know it! And for the last time, her name is Lydia and she’s not my girlfriend!”

“Whatever.” Derek had run a thick-fingered hand through his hair, pulling at the roots in frustration, causing it to stick up in all directions. Stiles took grim satisfaction in the chaotic locks, so opposite from Derek’s usual polished exterior. “If you have a problem with my friends, than you have a problem with me.”

“Fine! If your obnoxious, revolting Ravenclaws are so important to you, go sprout a tail and piss on trees with them, and leave me and my friends the hell alone.” Stiles sneered, and uttered the words that would haunt him for almost two years. “That way I won’t have to see it.”

Derek sucked in a breath, turning hurt, wild eyes on Stiles’ stone-cold face. He’d clutched his Charms textbooks to his robe-covered chest. “So much for always. You were full of shit, as usual.” He’d spun on his heels, and marched away.

Now, as everyone drifts out of the common room, Stiles is rooted to the spot, a terrifying stray thought freezing the blood in his veins; if they fail tonight, Stiles will never get the chance to see Derek in his wolf form. Lydia heads for the door Derek holds open, but pauses when she realizes Stiles isn’t following her.

“Stiles, what is it?” she asks, raking shrewd eyes over his immobile form.

Even half hidden by a mask, Stiles can tell two bushy eyebrows are raised in question above Derek’s green-gold eyes, his fingers grip the door so hard they turn bone-white. Derek’s face will always be a Marauder's Map to Stiles, spilling secrets, no matter how much time passes. Derek thinks Stiles has second thoughts about helping him, but that isn’t the case. The brick wall Stiles erected around his heart to keep Derek at bay has been cracked and crumbling from the start, patched together with stubbornness and spite, and tonight, regret for all the time he’s wasted claws at the mortar.

Stiles looks to Lydia, blinking fast, mouth gaping but no words spilling forth to express all the what if’s bottle-necking in his throat. “I know,” she says, firm but gentle, and the rare softness in her voice dispels his panic, “but you’ll get the chance.”

Derek glances between them, mouth tight. His shoulders fall. “Come on, guys. We have a long night ahead of us.”

*****

They tiptoe through hidden corridors, avoiding detection from portraits and professors, and skirt along the outer walls of the castle, flying past Hagrid’s hut on fleet feet. It amazes him there isn’t a path worn permanently in the grass leading down the hill past the Whomping Willow. He and Derek traipsed this exact route countless times, courting adventure—and a fair share of trouble—over the years. They broach the shadowy tree line as sunset slips from the sky, where thick spring foliage swallows the last of the warm, dying rays. Stiles shivers, partly from the temperature drop under the leafy canopy, and partly from the ominous feeling of the Forbidden Forest settling into his bones. The reasons this place is off limits to students have never felt more consequential.

Boyd and Isaac lead the way down the dark path, conversing quietly, dead leaves and twigs snapping under their loafers. Derek and Lydia walk together, heads bent close, rehashing the plan yet again. The familiar scents of damp earth and Lydia’s perfume wafts toward Stiles on a cool, fragrant breeze. Glimmering eyes follow their progress from hollow tree trunks, as Stiles lags behind the group, with Erica keeping pace.

“I stand by what I said,” she declares, boldly.

Stiles rolls his eyes, side-stepping a gnarled tree root. “And what was that, exactly? When you told me I looked like a wart-faced toad during the Yule ball?” Stiles smirks. “Or was it when I scored higher than you on all my O.W.L.’s, and you told me to eat slugs?”

Derek quickly glances back when Erica laughs, loud and carefree. Be nice, he mouths. Stiles isn’t sure which of them he’s admonishing.

“Neither.” She playfully punches Stiles in the shoulder, with a bit more force than necessary. “In the common room tonight, when I said you were supposedly the best wizard Hogwarts had seen in ages. I still can’t believe someone so clever could be dumb enough to drop his best friend like a sack of potatoes.”

Stiles bristles, eyes grimly focused on a lone grey squirrel scampering up the bark of a tree, loudly announcing to the world that it’s late for bed. “I’d call it a ‘mutual dropping’.” He makes air quotes. “Derek didn’t like Scott and Lydia, and I didn’t like you three. Still don’t.” Stiles bites the inside of his lips. “It was better to part ways,” he says in a softer voice. “Not all childhood friendships last.”

A rude noise escapes from under Erica’s mask. “Well that’s bullshit. Did Derek actually say he hated Lydia or Scott? Did he ever utter those words?”

“Well no, but—”

“Because he didn’t. He doesn’t. He resented the time you were spending with them. He’s not like you, Stiles. Derek doesn’t make friends easily. People don’t flock to him like they do to you.” She appreciatively eyes Derek's pert backside. “Despite how good looking he is.”

“Don’t try to distract me with Derek’s perfect butt. We hate each other, and Boyd and Isaac don’t tolerate me either. There was as much bad blood on your end as there is on mine. You three think you’re better than me, better than everyone.”

She scoffs. “Don’t tell me you buy in to the rubbish about our house placements determining our personalities. If someone has shown me kindness, I return the favor. You’re not my favorite person at Hogwarts, I’ll admit, but that wasn’t always the case. In third year, I tried to be your partner in potions.”

“What?!” Stiles’ incredulous eyebrows can rival Derek’s. “You did not. I’d remember.”

“I thought you were smart and funny. I thought we could get top marks in class if we worked together. I certainly didn’t think I was better than you. You didn’t even notice me. So I thought, why waste my time liking this guy if he only cares about himself?”

Stiles stops walking, turning to face her fully in the feeble light of green glowing insects and a waxing crescent moon. Overhead, branches bang against each other like drumsticks in the hands of a giant. “I don’t only care about myself.”

Erica pauses, contemptible smile full of sharp white teeth beneath her gold mask. “Oh, sorry. You, Lydia Martin and Scott McCall. Derek Hale didn’t make the cut.”

He sucks in a noseful of wild herbs and rotting wood. “That’s so unfair.”

She takes one step closer, a pine cone splintering under her foot, chin jutted high and feet planted wide. “When we all started to spend more time together, I asked Derek why he hung around with you; you were so self-involved. Do you want to know what he said?”

“Not really, but I’m guessing you’re going to tell me anyway.” All around them, the cacophony of the forest falls silent; no buzzing insects, no hooting owls or the flutter of unseen wings, no foraging of animals in the detritus. The eerie silence lends itself to Erica’s ominous admission.

“He told me, Stiles is the most loyal friend in the world.”

Stiles stares at Derek’s back, growing further away with each heartbeat. His fingers itch for his wand, for the orange and purple ropes of a Carpe Retractum, something to force the distance between them to close. “It was a mistake.” The whispered confession loosens something in his chest. “I’ve missed him every day.”

“Hey guys!” Boyd pivots, squinting in the low light and yells, hands cupped around his mouth. “Hurry up! It’s right here.” He points to a trailing canopy of moss.

Erica pushes Stiles forward. “Maybe tell the guy? Before we all get trapped in the Faerie Realm and dance ourselves to death.”

They march on, but a few yards from the rest of the group Erica grabs Stiles’ shoulder, halting his progress. “And Stiles?”

“Yeah?” He doesn’t think he’s imagining the softening of the hard lines around her mouth when she looks at him. It’s minute, but a spark of hope ignites in his chest.

“Derek missed you too.”

*****

Lydia digs the invisibility cloak out of her satchel. “You don’t have to do this,” Stiles tells her, grabbing hold of her forearms and bending down slightly to peer into her eyes. They’ve been over the plan a hundred times, but he still needs her to know. “You could stay out here, go for help if we don’t return.”

She shakes her head, strawberry-blond tresses trailing along her shoulders. “Who else is going to save the day if you fuck this up?” She throws her arms around his shoulders and squeezes him tightly.

The cloak falls over her head, removing her from sight. “So, Stiles?”

“Yeah?” He answers the disembodied voice in front of him.

“Don’t fuck up.”

Isaac reaches out, pushes through a thick canopy of vines hanging from an old, tall oak tree, and Stiles shudders as he steps over the threshold of a world outside their own—a strange and wonderful twilight kingdom. A reverent hush falls over their entourage.

Stiles has never witnessed anything like it—and he’s grown up with magic. A silver forest stretches ahead of them, as far as the eye can see. When they’d been in the human world, the moon was almost new, a sliver of pale yellow light, but now a full moon leads them down a narrow footpath. Under the moonlight the pure silver leaves sparkle and dance like musical chimes. Stiles hears the sound of violins far in the distance, so faint he wonders if he’s imagining them. Stiles spins in circles, eyes darting from one gleaming branch to another.

A warm, fragrant breeze scented with jasmine fills the air when they draw clear of the silver trees, and come to a dazzling forest of gold. Thousands of gold leaves catch the light of the moon, turning the world to bright golden day instead of silver night. The music is clearer now, closer, and Stiles catches the sounds of many different instruments playing a beguiling tune.

“I’ve never seen anything so beautiful,” Stiles says, fighting a euphoric smile.

Derek steps beside him. “Just wait.”

Finally, they cross into another forest, far more stunning than the others, where glittering diamonds cluster on every leaf. It’s as though all the stars in the heavens rained down to rest on the leaves.

Stiles can’t help himself; he laughs, overcome with delight. Every time a diamond catches the light the moon shatters hundreds of tiny rainbows over the entrancing world they’re traveling deeper and deeper into. Stiles stretches out his arms, watching them play on his skin.

He cups a few in his palm, holds them up for Derek to inspect, like they’re kids again, discovering magic together. “Look.”

Derek never takes his eyes off Stiles’ face. “Beautiful,” he says.

Stiles drops his hands to his sides, sobering. “Derek, I owe you an a—”

“I need to tell you something,” Derek says at the same time.

They blink at each other. “You first,” Stiles says.

Derek reaches up and plucks a sprig of diamond off a low-hanging branch. “What if… I think I…”. He sighs, tossing the priceless jewels away. “When we came here, the first night, I felt like you do right now; overcome. I try my best, all the time, everyday, not to think about you, but when I saw this I…”

His rainbow-dappled mask turns toward Stiles. “I wished you could see it. I wished you could be here with me. I swear, I never said it out loud but… here you are, all the same. What if my wish brought you here? Put you and Lydia in danger? If something happens, and we can’t leave, I’ll never forgive myself.”

“Derek.” Stiles steps closer. “You didn’t bring me here. I brought me here. And I should have been here”-he gestures between them-“all along.”

The music grows stronger, drowning out Stiles thundering heart, and all at once Derek and his pack turn toward the sound, the same unsettling hive mind behavior from earlier in the night.

One second, they’re alone, then Stiles blinks and a handsome man stands before him.

At first, all he can register is silky black hair, a strong jaw, gentle, piercing eyes a kaleidoscope of green-gold-blue, but the harder Stiles looks, the more his appearance changes. Every time he blinks, it’s like starting all over again. Stiles shakes his head, trying to clear it, as the man steps up to him and bows deeply, taking one of Stiles’ hands between his ice-cold fingers. “Ah, you’ve brought a guest tonight,” the King says, eyes playful but shrewd. He kisses the captured appendage with plush lips, and the feeling of a thousand tiny ants crawling beneath his skin ripples out from the spot.

“You must be Stiles.”

#sterek #eternalsterek #haleinski #stiles x derek #sterek fanfic #the link to the story on AO3 is in the comments #sorry if I put an outside link on my posts they won't show up in tags

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biskyenthusiast · 6 years

Text

Steady Downfall || Part 1

Rating: Mature

Warnings: It’s really fluffy and cute at the beginning but prepare for it to spiral into dark territory quickly. Language, death, anxiety, derealization, depersonalization, panic attacks, isolation and angst.

Pairing: Nursing assistant!Tom Holland x reader

Word count: 1,342

Summary: Your grandmother lives in a nursing home due to her slowly becoming paralyzed. You visit her everyday because you’re the only one left in your family who lives near her. All is fine until a certain nurse stumbles into your life.

A/N: So I know at first this might seem really stupid but I promise you, I’m trying to make it good! This whole series was inspired by what has happened in the last seven years of my life and this fic is supposed to help me vent and let go. I’ve experienced a lot of the things that Y/n will in the story and it’s hard to explain to people so why not write it out for them to see what went on in my head at the time (and a bit still today). The first chapter is for you to see what kind of relationship the reader and her Grandma have. Tom will play a bigger part later. It's a bit messy and obscure so be kind but criticism is apreciated. I’ve never posted a series on tumblr before so I may need help when it comes to linking and all that jazz, but I’m sure I’ll get the hang of it! This took me a lot of time and effort so I hope you enjoy!

When one door closes another door opens, when a death occurs a new life is born.

Waking up to a beautiful quote from your own Grandma like that should be a peaceful wake every morning. Except when you have a new spring friend who hates you.

You woke up to the deafening croak of the mocking bird that sat at your window sill daily. God I want to shoot that thing, you thought. You had had a rough week one could say. You had been denied a job twice and you were exhausted from trying to find any interview. After lying there for two minutes trying to ignore that fucking bird, you finally cracked.

“JUST SHUT THE FUCK UP!” You exclaimed as you threw your pillow at the window in an attempt to scare it off. To your demise it stayed in the exact same spot and continued happily annoying you.

I need to get a new apartment, you rolled out of bed to shut the window.

Padding over to the kitchen to grab breakfast, you spot a familiar short figure making a bowl of cereal, you join her, mumbling, “Morning, shortstack.”

“At least be creative.” She looked up teasing right back.

You hummed, “Maybe next time Jamie.” Patting her blonde messy bun before making your way to the table.

“Babe! Have you seen my toothbrush?” Christine asked while walking into the kitchen.

“I used it to clean the toilet and because I love you, I threw it away.” Replied Jamie.

Chris shook her head, “Why did you have to use my toothb- whatever, we’ll get a new one while we’re out.”

“Wait, where are you guys going?” You questioned.

Chris turned to you “We’re helping out at the county fair, you can come if you want.”

“Can’t, I’m going to see Grandma.” You stated.

“Right, like always.” Said the short blonde.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well it’s just, you don’t have to visit her everyday. Visit her every other day, so that you have time for a job and friends.”

“But she needs me, and I care about her so I’m going to be there, ready, at every moment of the day.”

Christine butted in, “They have people in the home who are there to take care of her. That’s their job.”

“Yeah but she still needs company, she’s very lonely.”

Jamie stood up to put her cereal bowl in the sink, “Whatever you say… listen, we’ll probably stay over at a friends house tonight so the appartment’s yours.”

“Oh goodie! I can have that twenty person orgy I’ve been itching to host.” You sarcastically cheer making your way to the sink to put your dish in then slowly backing out to your room.

“HAVE FUN ON YOUR DATE WITH NETFLIX!” yelled Jamie.

You give her the bird, “WILL DO!” before disappearing into your room.

***

Entering the home that your Grandma had lived in for almost two years, you waved to the secretary who was on a call, stopped at the doors put your pin in and made a beeline for the room labeled ‘Marjorie Y/l/n’.

You opened the door just a crack to see if she was awake, glad to see that she was in her wheelchair and looking at her orchids on the window sill, you spoke up.

“Morning Grandma.” You stepped in and allowed her to turn around before giving her a hug.

“Y/n dear, could you do me a favour?” She quickly asked in her thick Burnley accent.

You mimicked her accent, “What would that be?”

“Could you please get one of the nurses that isn't busy and ask them if we’re having tea with breakfast? They haven’t had tea at any meal in the last three days.” She looked up and smiled.

“Alright I’ll be right back” You replied while exiting her room with the light click of the door, trying to find a nurse that wasn’t busy.

You walked down the hall to find someone, and lo and behold the was a nurse sitting at the ‘second front desk’ to the next section of the home.

They were looking some files very calmly and you hoped that you weren’t going to bother them.

“Excuse me?” You softly spoke.

The nurse jumped and dropped the files on the floor.

You peered over the counter, “Oh! I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It’s alright love, I’m clumsy anyway.” He chuckled nervously and looked up.

Wow, was your first thought.

The cute guy had light copper hair that had a bit of a curl to it. He was wearing sky blue scrubs and his eyes were like melted chocolate with dark circles around them that made him look exhausted.

He smiled at you attempting to make the silence a bit less awkward.

You shook your head quickly losing your train of thought while turning a light shade of pink.

“Right...uh I was just here to ask, are you serving tea at breakfast?” Learn how to speak dumbass.

“Yes we will be, and just in time too, it’s getting cold out there.” He gestured to the window behind him.

“Yeah, it’s crazy to think that it’s almost November.” You bit your tongue hoping that nothing stupid would come out because for once you were having a coherent conversation with someone attractive.

“Right? It feels like only yesterday summer just started…”

You smiled and nodded “Yeah…” silence “Right, thank you..-"

“Tom.” He he replied to the unasked question.

“Tom, thanks tom.” You gave him one more small smile before disappearing around the corner.

Re-entering your grandma’s room you gave her what she was looking for.

“They’re serving tea.”

“Oh thank goodness. I thought they were going to leave me here to freeze!” she smiled.

You chuckled, grabbing her little watering can and walking to her sink to fill it up, then you started watering her orchids. After about a minute of silence, out of the blue, she asked;

“So how are you?”

You looked at her confused. She gently hit you with the back of her hand, “Oh don’t give me that look. I’m aloud to wonder how my grand daughter is doing.”

“Yeah but I usually ask how you’re doing then you ask how I’m doing. What’s got you to switch it up?”

“Well I’m just a bit concerned about you.” Her brows knit together.

You cocked your head to the right while putting the watering can back and sitting down “Why’s that?”

“You visit me everyday which makes you unavailable for a full time job because I’m your priority and I feel like that needs to change. Visit me every other day or even once a week, I don’t mind sweetheart. I just want you to be stable and happy.”

“I-" she cut you off.

“Just promise me that you will start to take care of yourself before I go?” She looked up at you with pleading eyes.

“I-... I promise.” You allowed the ends of your lips to curl in an attempt to comfort her. She smiled back. The door opened,

“Morning Marjorie, time for breakfast.” The nurse said sweetly.

“Oh yay I get my tea!” Your Grandma stated excitedly as you started wheeling her out, giggling.

***

After breakfast you wheeled her back into her room,

“Y/n I know this sounds rude but I want you to leave. It’s good to start now.” That concerned look returned to her face.

You sighed. “Okay, I’ll see you Wednesday.”

You kissed her forehead, grabbed your jacket and purse and before you could touch the door knob, she called out to you.

“Before you go, could you please turn on my music?” She pointed her frail finger to the CD player on her nightstand.

“Sure thing, do you want The Stones or Dean Martin?” You smiled fondly at her fantastic music taste.

“Surprise me.” She smirked.

Satisfaction by The Rolling Stones began to play quietly and your grandma seemed at ease.

“Thank you.”

You had one foot out the door when you heard,

“I love you.”

You smiled.

"I love you too."

So if you want to be tagged, just let me know, and like I said earlier, criticism is apreciated. Thanks for reading!

#tom holland x y/n #tom holland x reader #tom holland x reader series #tom holland #peter parker x reader series #peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #peter parker x y/n #tom holland x you #marvel #mcu #marvel cinematic universe

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