#let’s see if i end up hating this after two hours like the jon one

[rainybubbles]

How do you meet COD men after your break-up with them ?

Price, Ghost, König, Soap, Alejandro, Gaz, Alex

(Sorry in advance for my mistakes, English is not my mother tongue. So sorry if it's badly written or if they're OOC. )

P R I C E :

-In a waiting room at the hospital with him baring his ass and you in your white coat, that's how you meet after your break-up.

-"I can't believe we're both at the hospital," John sighs in pain.

-"Yeah, I thought this was the trendy coffee shop. Turns out, my navigation skills are terrible," you joke.

-He lets out a small laugh.

-"So how did you end up with your ass burnt, John ? Did you try some sexy wax ?"you ask while you begin to examine him.

-"Do you really need to ask why something is burn ?"

-"Soap ?" you guess.

-Price nods.

-"Shit, I think you have some third degree burns on the right side."

-"Soap wanted to make a firework on the base, to light up the mood of everyone on the base. He tried to test the fireworks before, and I was there at the wrong moment."Price explains while you help him walk towards the surgery room.

-"It must have hurt like hell. Lay down here on your stomach, I'll call my colleague. His specialty is the burns, so you'll be in good hands. Normally your ass will only have scars on the right side."

-"Guess I have the other half to seduce people then." he jokes.

-You smile.

-"You know you have a great ass, John. Don't worry about that."

-"I know, love."

-You both stare at each other when he said the nickname. It has been eight months since you broke up. It was on mutual agreement, because you had a promotion on your job that didn't let you time for a relationship.

-You gulp and nod.

-You leave the room and ask the help of your colleague and continued your job.

-You tried to ignore the tension you had with John when you were talking. You tried to ignore the image of him smiling.

-Hours later when you have finished your duty, you were walking out of the hospital when you noticed John.

-"Someone of the team picks you up ?" you ask.

-"Yes, but they're late."

-You hesitate to wait with him, after all you had nothing to do. But your mind reminds you it would be a bad idea.

-"How's your job ?" Price asks.

-"I...Fine. In fact I was transferred to another service two months ago. So it's calmer and I don't have many 24h shifts now. And you ?"

-"Still busy."

-You nod.

-"I quit smoking." Price says suddenly.

-You raised your eyebrows. Cigars were like Price's identity. Like Spiderman has his mask, Price has his cigars and hats.

-"Why ?" you ask.

-"I know you hate the smell."

-"Oh."

-"I think we made a mistake back then, I wanted to text you but..." Jon starts.

-"But you get your ass burnt and me seeing your naked ass before you could do it."

-He laughed.

-"Yes."

-"So you think we should give us another chance ?"

-"I'm sure. I mean we always managed to find time for us with my busy schedule, so why would it be a bother if you have one too ? Plus you said you were transferred so I guess your schedule is back to normal ?"

-"Yes,"you say.

-"Do you want this, sweetheart ?" Price asks looking at you in the eyes

-"I..."

-"You ?"

-"I missed you," you admit.

-"Me too."

-"And shit, I didn't know what to do when I saw you again, but I'm sure I don't want to give up when eight months later you still make me flustered by just a look."

-John smiles.

-"Then we have another chance."

-You nodded.

-"Yes we have."

-I guess Soap burnt some ass, but also help to light the fire of love.

G H O S T :

-The rain was falling.

-Soldiers were wearing their uniforms, and the silence was omnipresent.

-Nobody dared to move, to speak. Only the sobbings of a widow were heard.

-It was Thomas' funeral.

-Thomas was one of Ghost's men, but also someone you knew as a friend.

-So when you arrived at the funeral, you saw Simon.

-It has been two years since you saw him. After your break-up it was as if you had imagined Ghost.

-There were no traces of him, not even in your shared flat, or in your phone.

-You didn't know what to do now he was here in front of you, so you stayed back.

-You ignored the pain of loss and bitter you were feeling about him and the situation.

-But then he was next to you. Like a shadow who didn't dare to approach you, too scared to burn himself with your lighting presence.

-"Simon," you decided to whisper.

-"Y/n," he answered.

-It was awkward. You didn't know what to do. You were with him during four years, but it was like you were strangers again.

-"I...Had Thomas said something before he died ?" you asked.

-You knew Ghost was the one who found Thomas' corpse on the mission.

-"He talked about his wife. And ask to protect the kid."

-"...I see,"you whispered.

-He didn't add anything else, so you sighed.

-"And you ?"

-"me ?" Ghost asked.

-"Simon, he was one of your men. You have known Thomas for three years, even though you didn't have a bond with him like Soap, I know you're feeling guilty now."

-"I'm guilty."

-You wanted to slap him.

-"Guilty of what, Simon ? You can't save everyone. You can't just sacrifice yourself to save the ones you love. It doesn't work like this."

-"It worked for you."

-"Are you really bringing this up ?"you whispered angrily.

-"You're happier now."

-"No I'm not. I just have tried to live again without you. Shit, you left without any warnings, without...without telling me. I had to guess you were breaking up with me."

-He stayed silent.

-"Simon, say something."

-"Why did you keep pursuing me ?"

-"Why did you let me to ?"you asked.

-"...I couldn't lose you."

-"But you did."

-"I know. But I had told you not to choose me."

-"But I did."

-He stayed silent.

-"And I will always choose you." you added.

-Simon raised his eyebrows.

-"...I screwed up." Simon whispered.

-"You did."

-"It's too late, now," Simon said.

-"It's never too late to make up for it, Simon."

-"It's been two years," Simon added.

-"But I'm here."

-"You deserve better," Simon said.

-"My tastes are shitty, what can I say ?"

-He smiled under his mask.

-"I don't ask a new romantic relationship with you, Simon. I just want to be in your life. I don't care if it's platonic, romantic or something else. Just, let me be here for you."

-"Even though we end up strangers again ?"

-"Yes."

-"You're stubborn."

-"I learned that from my ex," you joked.

-He smiled.

-"Okay," he whispered

-"Okay," you answered.

The next day he texted you.

K Ö N I G :

(/!/TW, Implied panic attack, it's not said clearly but it's clearly implied.)

-You were visiting your grandma when you saw König in the building.

-It was awkward, you both pretended to not have recognized each other but now you were both in the lift.

-Well stuck in the lift.

-Because a lift is not supposed to tremble and let out a ringing.

-"I...I think we can stop pretending we don't know each other since we're stuck for at least two hours now," you said while you sat on the floor.

-"I didn't know what to do. I'm sorry," König whispered quickly.

-"Me too, and when you didn't say anything, I thought it was better to stay silent too."

-He nodded.

-"So...you're here for your grandma ?" he asked.

-"yes."

-"Does she still have chemo or ?"

-"No she's in remission. You remembered that ?" you asked surprised

-"Yes, you talked a lot about it."

-You stayed quiet. One of the reasons for the break-up was your feeling of being alone in this relationship. König was always gone and at home it seems like he didn't listen to you, or avoided you a lot.

-You only talked once about your grandma and it was two years ago.

-"I see" you said

-The silence was awkward. But then you heard König's breath rushed.

-You noticed how his eyes were widen and how hard he gripped his own clothes.

-You know what was coming, so you held his hands like you were used to.

-"König, focus on me."

-"I'm sorry."

-"Don't apologize, focus on me and my voice. Everything is okay."

-"We're stuck in an lift. It's not okay. Scheisse."

-"yes it is, I mean it's kinda cozy ?" you tried to joke.

-He snorts.

-"Okay it smells like piss and it's small, but we're alive and breathing." you said.

-"I'm sorry," König said.

-"Don't apologize for being anxious, König. Just focus and breathe slowly."

-You inhale with him slowly.

-He calmed down a bit.

-"I'm sorry," he continued.

-"You don't have to apologize, I told you. It's not your fault the lift is-"

-"Not about this, about us." König said anxiously.

-"Us ?"

-"Yes, I...I was so worried you would leave me if I made a mistake that I ended up to avoid you and, and I couldn't stop and..."

-"And I broke up with you."

-"Yes if had communicated better with you, none of us would be hurt. I'm so sorry." König said, crying.

-"Shh, don't cry. Just focus on my voice and breathe," yousay "Can I ask you a question ?" you asked.

-He nodded.

-" Why are you saying this, now ? It's been three months since we broke up."

-"Because it felt like my last chance. I...I don't believe in fate but being stuck in an lift with you feels like a big coincidence."

-You nodded.

-"yes. I'm sorry too, König. I should have talked before making suppositions. I know you have anxiety, and I didn't consider it."

-"you couldn't have guessed."

-"yes, but I could have waited for you to explain."

-König nodded.

-"Do you feel better ?" you asked.

-"yes, but don't let go my hand, please."

-You nod. You know physical touch helped him a lot.

-"I still have one of your mask at home." you said.

-"I'm sorry I could take it back and-"

-"And my dog refused to let it go. I hide it, but it seems like my dog always finds your mask and sleeps with it like it's a plush."

-König's heart melted. Your dog was a puppy when you started dating him, he helped you with it for two years so of course your dog still feels attached to him.

-"it's cute."

-"I wanted to send you a picture of it, but it didn't feel right. Because I used to do that when we were together. So I didn't know if it was appropriate."

-"It is appropriate." König said, quickly, "I mean, send them please, I miss your dog."

-"okay, I will," you smiled.

-One hour later the lift was fixed, when you came back home you send him a photo of your dog

and...

-One year later, König was on the photo too. Guess your dog and a lift were just what you needed to have another chance.

S O A P :

-Half-naked in a chair.

-That's how you met Soap after your break-up.

-Both of you stared at each other, surprised.

-"I-" you tried to start.

-"I-" he also said.

-"Maybe you can...put your shirt back on ?" you tried.

-"Oh shit, aye. 'm sorry yer colleague says to get ready and..."

-"It's not a striptease club, Soap. She was only talking about your references," you chuckled.

-He smiled.

-You sat on the chair in front of him.

-"Do you still want to do it, even though you know it's me ? I can call a colleague if you prefer."

-"I always have trusted yer art skills. I want ye," He said without hesitation.

-It was true. Back then Soap always supported you when you confessed you wanted to become a tattoo artist.

-"I guess you didn't know who I was. Or perhaps you enjoy being shirtless at your ex's workplace ?" you joked.

-He smiled.

-"Naw, I didnae ken. Plus there's nae picture o' your face on yer Insta. I liked yer work, so I just booked an appointment, I didn't know yer artist name was that," Soap says.

-"yeah" you said. "so, you're here for a cover. I bet you and Gaz made a bet, you were drunk and a creepy tattoo artist accepted to tattoo you ?"

-"Youknow me, well." Soap smiled.

-"How ugly it is ?"

-"I have a portrait of Price on my chest, but it looks like Michael Jackson and under there is written"no pen, no gain.""

-You tried to not laugh.

-"Price ?"

-"It was to show my respect."

-"You can respect someone without having their face tattooed." You laugh.

-"I know, I was drunk and...I regret it. Dae ye think you can do something ?"

-"Well now, I need to look at it."

-"Ye said it was not a striptease club."

-"Guess I was wrong."

-He laughed and put off his shirt.

-You looked at the horrible piece on his right pectorals.

-"Shit, his teeth are stuck to his noses and one eye is like twice the size of the other,"you noticed.

-"I know."

-"But you're lucky."

-"Why ?"

-"Your terrible tattoo artist use light inks, it's easier to cover than a black and white piece. The more the piece is darker, the more it's difficult to cover it."

-"Okay, so ye can do it ?"

-"I can erase Price and no pen, no gain. Yes. Do you have any ideas about your cover ?"

-"You." Soap said.

-You blinked.

-"smooth, Mac Tavish, really smooth."

-"So it's a yes ?"

-"It's a no for me being the tattoo."

-"But ?" Soap smirked.

-"But yes for a coffee."

-He smiled.

-"but before let's erase Price from your body, I don't want to wake up at your side and see him staring at me."

-Soap laughs.

A L E J A N D R O :

(TW /!/, there's some reference about something put in some food)

-You met him in the street at 1 A.M.

-Alejandro had drinks with Los Vaqueros at a bar to celebrate a successful mission. He was going back to his car when he noticed someone who limped.

-He approached this person, maybe they were hurt and...

-"Y/N"

-You looked up.

-Shit.

-"I can explain," you said.

-"Explain why you're limping in a Patrick from Sponge bob in heels ?"

-"...yes ?"

-"Why does it sound like a question ?"

-"Because I don't know, I- It was a friend's birthday and they love Sponge Bob and I saw that on Tik tok. It was fun but..."

-"You sprained your ankle with your heels."

-"yes, but I came on foot."

-Alejandro looked at you.

-"I can drive you."

-"Alejandro, you don't need to. I mean it's already enough awkward and-"

-"I don't want you to hurt yourself, plus it's dangerous for everyone to walk on streets at 1 AM, hurt."

-You knew how Alejandro was serious and stubborn.

-"okay." you said, but Alejandro started to kneel down.

-"Wow, what are you doing ?"

-"Taking off your heels, your ankle is swollen it musts hurt like this."

-You let him do it.

-"I feel like Cinderella," you said.

-"Except you're in Patrick's costume and near to some piss in a street."

-You laughed.

-"I guess you were celebrating." you said pointing at the bar behind you.

-"yes, we finished the mission." he said and quickly looked away.

-This mission.

-The one which made you leave him.

-Alejandro was too absent.

-You tried to accept this, he warned you before you dated but after four years, you couldn't bear it anymore.

-"I see."

-He put your shoes in his backpack and looked at you.

-"I will carry you."

-"You don't need it, Alejandro I can walk." you said while you tried but you only hissed at pain.

-"No, you can't."

-"You can't give me a piggyback ride. You have a backpack and..."

-"Bridal style, it's only the time we reach my car."

-You looked at him hesitant and nodded. Then he carried you. This man didn't have muscles for nothing and you knew it but you were still self-conscious.

-Once you reached his car, he drove to your flat. But when you were supposed to enter to your building, you stayed in the car.

-"Alejandro."

-"Y/N."

-"Thanks for tonight, I know for you it's normal, but not a lot of people would have helped their ex like this."

-"Not a lot of people have amazing exes."

-"You're a smooth talker."

-"I am." He smirked.

-"How's Rudy ?" you asked out of nowhere.

-Alejandro was surprised.

-"Fine, but why do you ask ?"

-"I don't want to go back to my flat."

-"Y/N..."

-"I...I don't know if it's because I'm tired, but shit, I want to cry. Because you met me again like this. But also because I thought I could....I could forget you, but I can't because I know we broke up because of an impulsion. I was upset, yes. Yes you ignored me when I was telling you about your absence. But I never tried to think with you of solutions, I only shouted and I felt bad about it," you said tears in your eyes.

-And Alejandro noticed how your body language was unusual.

-"Did you drink, Y/N ?"

-"No, but I think there was something in the food at the birthday's party," you said.

-"okay, then I'm staying with you to be sure you're okay."

-"thanks. And sorry I shouldn't have vent like this."

-"you're not yourself, it's okay, mi cielo." He said while he carried you at your flat's door then opened it.

-"I missed this," you whispered.

-"Miss what ?"

-"you speaking Spanish. Did you know I subscribe to Duolingo after our first date ?" you said.

-"You never told me that."

-"I wanted to impress you."

-"But you have never spoken Spanish to me."

-"Because I never went more further than unit one on duolingo, I'm shitty at this."

-(sorry if you're fluent or good in Spanish ;)

-He laughed.

-"I could have taught you Spanish." Alejandro smiles while he helped you to remove the pink paint on your face.

-"I never think about it."

-"Because you always want to carry everything." Alejandro whispers.

-"I have to."

-"No."

-"But if I don't, who will ? Nobody will carry me." you answered.

-"I will, I wanted to."

-You stayed quiet.

-"I let the trainings of cadets to Rudy one month ago, I also started some cooperation with another squad so I would have more time."

-"But I broke up with you." you realized.

-"It's okay, you didn't know. I...I wanted to surprise you, but I forgot how much I let you carry for me, how much I relied on you without helping you back."

-Tears were rolling on your cheeks. Alejandro wiped them with his thumbs.

-"I'm sorry, corazon," Alejandro said.

-"Me too."

-"We both need to talk next morning, okay ?"

-"okay" you whispered.

-Then he helped you to go to bed. The next morning he was on your sofa.

-And you talked.

-Maybe some things were unfinished between you.

G A Z :

-You met because Soap is a fanboy.

-Let me explain.

-You and Gaz were high school sweethearts. But after his enlistment you both decided it was better to break up, because with you beginning university and him being in the military you wouldn't have had time for each other.

-And you didn't meet again.

-But years later, Soap invited Gaz and Ghost to a concert.

-Soap had been talking for months about this band he loved.

-He even played the music during missions or on the base.

-He played it to wake everyone up, at one point where Price had banned this music of the base.

-So as a result Gaz and Ghost knew the lyrics and could accompany him to the concert.

-Gaz said 'why not ?' he liked the music.

-But when the concert started, he realized you were the bassist for this band.

-His heart beat faster; the nostalgia was here.

-He knew you played bass, hell he couldn't count how many time he let his head on your lap while you played with a smile.

-"You look like you have seen a ghost." Soap said.

-Ghost snorted. (he only came because he liked the music and because the band's logo was a skull.)

-Gaz gave them a look.

-"You're not funny, but yeah I..I know the bassist."

-Oh boy !

-Gaz should never have told that to Soap.

-Johnny had sparkles in his eyes and was jumping for joy. He begged Gaz to talk to the bodyguards, so they could go to the dressing room and get autographs.

-Gaz tried to explain, but he could barely open his mouth before he found himself standing in front of the guard.

-So when they were in front of the dressing room after the concert, Gaz was sweating. How would you react? It had been years since he saw you. Even though it was on good terms, you both had broken up, he didn't know if you want to meet him again.

-The door opened and...

-"Kyle ?" you asked with a smile.

-Gaz fainted.

-Ghost caught him, and you immediately helped them seat Gaz in a chair in the dressing room.

-"Is he okay ?" you asked Soap.

-"I don't know, it's the first time I've seen him like that. I mean we have seen worst than someone smiling ?" Soap said lost.

-"I'm sorry, it's the stress." Gaz said, "I'm happy to meet you again, Y/N."

-"Yeah, the bodyguard told me you wanted to talk. I was so happy. I mean it's been a while," you smiled.

-"yeah." Gaz answered.

-A silence fell.

-Ghost sighed.

-"Are you both going to let the sexual tension in the room continue or can we know how you both know each other ?" Ghost asked

-You cleared up your throat at the comment.

-"You were high school sweethearts. Our relationship lasted like 2 or 3 years ? But we broke up when Kyle enlisted."

-Soap had a big smirk on his face.

-"Really, high school sweetheart ?" Soap asked

-He was going to tease Gaz on the base about this.

-"Yeah, but it's been awhile. Well, we won't bother you anymore. You played great, and we were just here to congratulate you." Gaz said flustered, he hated to be exposed like this.

-"and to ask if you were free, I mean we love your music and want to know more now we know about your past with Gaz" Soap asked.

-You raised your eyebrows and laughed.

-"Sure, I'm free. I guess you have a lot of embarrassing stories about Gaz."

-"I like you already." Soap smiled.

-Gaz never survived the meeting between you and Soap.

-It was one of his top ten embarrassing moments, after calling Price 'dad' in a meeting with Sheperd.

-But at least he had your number now, years later who knows what could happen.

A L E X :

-You met him at a wedding to arrest him.

-"When we were called for a fight at a wedding, I didn't expect you, Alex. What happened ?" you said while you helped him with his bleeding nose.

-"The bride thought her fiancé who's my friend, was cheating on her with me." Alex said while he furrowed his brows

-"And ?"

-"I wasn't. Leo had coffee on his suit, so I brought him a new one and when she walked on us, she saw him half-naked, and I red-faced because I had run from the shop to the wedding."

-You laughed.

-"She had quite a punch," you said while you looked at his broken nose.

-"Yes, she could compete with Price honestly." Alex sighed.

-You didn't say anything else while your colleagues calmed the bride.

-"I guess you're no longer invited to this wedding anymore," you joked.

-"I guess there won't be a wedding anymore either." he added while he laughed.

-"Do you want to see a doctor, or are you okay ?"

-"I'm okay, it's just nosebleed, nothing I haven't dealt with before."

-"Well I should go now that the situation is fixed."

-"Yeah."

-You began to leave, when he called out your name.

-"Yes ?" you answered.

-"It was...nice to see you again."

-"Yeah"

-"I'll text you once I'm home."

-"Okay."

-You left.

-Alex hurried home as quickly as he could to his home as fast as he can.

-Maybe some things were unfinished, like this wedding.

If you want more COD : COD masterlist

And if you want more of my works in other fandoms : my masterlist

#cod x reader #soap x reader #alejandro vargas x reader #ghost x reader #gaz x reader #captain price x reader #call of duty x reader #alex keller x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader

[godlesslittlecreatures]

Creature’s Petyr x Catelyn Masterlist, Part I

I've read it all...so you don't have to. 

I was delighted to get back on this app and find that there was demand for something like this. Even in the time since I started compiling this list, I've seen a few other lists going around, which makes my previously-closeted-PxC-shipper heart fucking sing. Y'all, I am not exaggerating when I say I very well may have read every single fic ever written for this pairing. That's both a fool's errand and impossibly easy considering the sheer lack of content, as I'm sure you know yourself if you're reading this post. 

I have stirred the dust at the very edges of the internet in my desperate, months-long search for quality content for this pairing. And believe me you, I'm no stranger to the disappointment of seeing something tagged "Petyr Baelish/Catelyn Tully Stark" (I encounter this issue more on AO3 than anywhere else, really), only for it either be an ancillary detail of the story, straight up nonconsensual, or an attempt by a butthurt ficwriter to punish two characters that so many people in the fandom seem to, at best, grievously misunderstand. Mistagging has caused me many an hour of eventual disappointment and cost me many a precious hour of my life that I will never get back.

But, even after wading chin-deep in all the shit this fandom has to offer, I have found gold. I'm here to prove it exists, if you only know where to look.

But Creature, what makes a fic good? How do you ascribe worth to something so subjective?

I've been told I'm a harsh critic, but this is less about literary merit than it is assessing quality as it pertains to the ship. Of course, many of these DO have some kind of literary merit, or, at least, are enjoyable to read. I grade a fic based on the following rubric, let's call it the Four Commandments of Petelyn Fic :

any acts of a sexual nature MUST - and I cannot stress this enough - be consensual. Do what you do, write what you write - I'm not here to police anyone's work. But don't put a pairing in the ship tag if anything that would earn it that slash between the characters' names is happening against either party's will. I simply will not read it. 

Petyr and Catelyn must have AT LEAST 2 face-to-face, one-on-one conversations. If you're going to use that damn slash, it doesn't have to be the principal element of the story, but it better feature in the foreground of the story, at least. It cannot just be a background detail that's mentioned once, off-handedly, at the end of a 63 chapter fic (true story, y'all). Better yet, it should have significant bearing on the plot, not unlike the way the relationship between the two does in canon - but that's a tall order, apparently. 

I alluded to this earlier. As an extensions of the first tenet - I do not want to feel the heat of the writer's hatred for the two characters through the story. So, SO often will people throw this pairing into some kind of canon divergent something or another and thrust them into each other's arms as a punishment for their Crimes in canon. Cat is Big Mean to Jon, so she gets the boot from Ned and ends up with Caricature of Petyr Who Lacks Any And All Nuance That Made The Character Interesting In The First Place to pay for Her Sins. I'm reading a fic because I like the characters, and I like the idea of them together (or, in many a case, him pining after her), not to stand beside someone on their moral high ground as they punish the two with each other. Again, not here to police anyone's work, so if you hate them both and want to take them to task by forcing them into some kind of relationship, be my guest! But don't expect to find your fic listed here. 

I have my own personal preferences (submissive Petyr, as I am not attracted to dominant men and genuinely don't think he would fill the dominant role in this relationship; I'll always prefer to read something requited, but that's even rarer a find; I'm not entirely crazy about AUs but can make exceptions, etc.) but I am trying to keep this as objective as possible. This list includes a pretty wide range of stuff, all of which I've enjoyed enough to reread at least once.

This may all seem like it goes without saying, but you'd be surprised. 

My credentials? A degree in TV and Film. I've read the books, and have studied the first three seasons of Thrones so closely that if I close my eyes I can watch full scenes in my head. I've been writing fic, fiction, television, and short films for 12 years, and reading and watching for nearly twice as long. And, most importantly, I'm a feral goblin who is batshit insane over these two. 

This list features fic from every corner of the internet - AO3, Tumblr, Live Journal. I unfortunately have been very hard-pressed to find anything that suits my fancy on FF.net, but if anybody has any recommendations (in line with the above), I intend for this list to be a living document.

And no, before anyone asks, I do NOT ship Petyr and Sansa. Respectfully, please keep that far the fuck away from me.

So, without further ado, here's a list of a very picky Petyr x Catelyn girlie's favorite fics.

An EXCELLENT starter kit. This is a three-part series that's currently updating. There are other things going on outside of them, but the relationship is essential to the story, thanks to the Cat POV chapters. This was the gateway drug for me way back when I still felt shame for shipping these two, and I love it still to this day. I love this series so much that, when I received the update notification for a particular Catelyn chapter in the middle of my college graduation, I dropped everything to read it. It moves fast, the political landscape is explored thoroughly, the divergence from canon is both plausible and interesting, and if you're not into smut, it's pretty fade-to-black.

Another one I read just after I'd taken the plunge down the rabbit hole. This is a notable exception to my general aversion to AUs - it works here, the real-world transpositions are not only believable, but clever! It features some pretty complex and subversive relationships between the characters; the PxC is certainly a critical, foreground element, but not always in the most immediately obvious way. Definitely had me Giggling and Kicking My Feet throughout. Refreshing is certainly a word. Obligatory smut advisory on this one, though.

Yes, I know, but hear me out. If you want to sample the best of the PxC wares the internet has to offer, you're gonna have to get down and dirty with Google's 'translate website' feature. This one is WORTH IT. I still tear up every time I read this. I have a particular soft spot for it because it reminds me of a short film I wrote/directed in college about my own experience with rejection and first love.

I believe this one is locked (meaning it requires an AO3 account to access), but making an account is both free and worth it. Yes, I know Winds is never coming out, but in my own delulu canon, this is it, this is the book. End series. Roll credits. 

Short as hell, you get the idea, but still fade-to-black if smut isn't your thing. It's hard to find good, dirty fic for this pairing. I do not currently have the mental bandwidth to be the change I wish to see in the world, but I will gladly support anyone with more patience than I.

Another locked one...oh no, I guess you'll just have to make an account.

Locked, again, but you know the drill. I believe it's by the same writer as the above. Always haunted by things that invoke Ewan McGregor's line in Moulin Rouge! - "thank you for curing me of my ridiculous obsession with love."

Not PWP but smut with themes, a favorite subgenre of mine.

Wholesome fluff to temper the fires of the above.

I think this may have been the very first one I ever read. Short and sweet, I revisit it pretty often.

Unfortunately, Tumblr only lets me add ten links at a time, so this is Part I of a multi-part series. I'll keep this post pinned at the top of my blog and add a link to succeeding parts in the comments.

I intend for this to be a living document - if you have any recommendations, my inbox is always open. Happy reading, my fellow PxC shippers :)

#petyr x catelyn #petyr baelish #catelyn tully #petelyn #asoiaf #game of thrones #aidan gillen #fanfiction #creature's petelyn fic club

[ollieofthebeholder]

to find promise of peace (and the solace of rest): a TMA fanfic

<< Beginning < Prev || AO3 || My website

Chapter 78: June 2017

“I told you to wait until—ugh, never mind. I’ll be there as soon as I can.” Tim’s voice from just outside his office door startled Jon out of his work.

Jon was on his feet before he really thought about it. Once he’d fully woken up that morning and realized the implications of why Tim and Melanie might have been “running an errand” together, let alone one that would make them late to work, his anxiety had gone into overdrive, to the point that he’d almost called Martin—although what Martin could have done about it, he didn’t know. Really it was just that these days when things went wrong, he found himself wanting Martin, trusting him to fix it or at least make it more bearable. The fact that Elias had been hovering—lurking may have been the more accurate term—about the Archives for most of the morning had not helped that, and he hadn’t been able to stop himself from hugging both of them tightly with relief when they finally stumbled in at quarter to eleven, bleary-eyed and strung out. They’d both been tight-lipped about where they’d been—understandable—but promised to let everyone know later.

But what Tim was saying put Jon immediately on edge. Had Melanie gone off on her own? Had she called Tim for backup? He really needed to stop cooping himself up in his office. What good was he if he couldn’t even keep an eye on his team when—

“Give me like twenty minutes,” Tim’s voice continued. “Yeah, yeah, love you too. ‘Bye.” A second later, the door swung open and Tim followed his voice into Jon’s office, clutching his phone in his free hand and looking somewhere between annoyed and worried. “Hey, Jon, hate to do this since I was late this morning, but I need to take the rest of afternoon off.”

“Is everything all right?” Jon looked from Tim’s face to his phone and back, hoping against hope.

“Yeah, it’s—sorry. Nightmares. Not mine.” Tim tried and failed to smile. “It’s, uh, the boyfriend. He called me after a panic attack and…I need to be there for him, Jon. I’m sorry. I don’t want him dealing with this alone.”

Not Melanie. Nothing stupid. Just Gerry having a flashback. Jon slowly relaxed, even as he nodded. “Of course. I—I understand. I’d do the same if…” He cleared his throat. “Go ahead. We’ll, ah, we’ll come…check on you after work?” He glanced at the clock. “It’s only an hour or so.”

“Yeah. Then I can tell you all about the shenanigans I got into last night.” Tim’s smile was a little more genuine this time. “See you, Boss. Don’t work too hard. Oh, and I nailed Melanie’s feet to the floor, so just pry her loose at quitting time, would you?”

Jon had to laugh at that. “No, I thought I’d leave her here as bait for Elias.”

“She’d give him indigestion. Talk to you later.” Tim nodded and withdrew from the office.

As Jon settled back in his seat, he fought back an overwhelming wave of mingled melancholy and jealousy. His own nightmares were still bad, and it seemed like they were worse without Martin there. He didn’t begrudge Gerry for calling Tim after one, or Tim for going, but he still wished he had that as well.

As if on cue, his phone rang. The display read MARTIN (WORK), and Jon grabbed for it immediately, fumbling for the button to answer the call.

“Ha—hello?” he said, a bit breathlessly. Please, oh, please let him not be too late…

“It only rang twice, Jon.” Martin’s voice on the other end of the line was warm and amused. “You had plenty of time.”

The little knot of tension in Jon’s stomach uncurled, and he smiled as he settled back into his seat. “How did you know I was worried I’d miss your call?”

There was a short pause, perhaps two heartbeats. “It was pretty obvious in your voice. Everything okay over there?”

Jon considered how to answer that. “Well. Tim and Melanie were late this morning.”

“Are they okay? They didn’t get caught, did they?”

“Caught?” Jon sat up straighter. “You knew what they were doing?”

Martin’s sigh sounded more resigned than annoyed. “No, but the way you said that implied they came in together. Since Tim is definitely in a more committed, monogamous relationship than either he or Gerry wants to admit and Melanie is about a seven point nine on the Kinsey scale, they weren’t doing anything…like that. Therefore they must have gone off to do something stupid, like investigating a statement. It’s logical to assume they were looking into the Unknowing.”

Jon sighed and slumped. “Probably, but neither of them has said anything yet. They came back intact, though, and neither one seems any worse for the wear. We’re going to debrief after work today. I’d offer to call you, but…”

“Yeah, that won’t work, but text me and let me know what you can. Or I’ll call you…well, later, I guess.”

“What time is it, anyway?” Jon glanced at the widget he’d installed on his laptop, which displayed the time in Beijing next to the time in London. To his surprise, it was close to eleven P.M. in Beijing. “Why are you still awake?”

“I grabbed a nap earlier,” Martin assured him. “My flight’s leaving in about an hour. I got through ticketing and customs, and I was going to text you, but…well, since I had the time, I figured I would call you.”

At that, Jon’s spirits lifted. “You’re coming home?”

“Jon,” Martin said gently. The way he said it, Jon’s heart sank once more, and he knew what was coming, even before he continued, “I’d have led off with that if I were. I mean, I’m coming home eventually, but…not yet.”

“Oh,” Jon said quietly. He slumped a little lower into his chair. “Oh. I…I understand.” He cleared his throat and added, “So where are you off to, then?”

“Chicago,” Martin answered. “I—well, I told you I was heading to the Pu Songling Research Center. The librarian there, Zhang Xiaoling, gave me a copy of the statement her assistant said Gertrude had checked out.”

“Anything helpful?”

Martin exhaled. “Yes and no? It—it was a Slaughter statement, not a Stranger one. Also, it wasn’t one she checked out the last time she was here. Apparently she’d visited at least once before, and I didn’t notice until after I’d recorded the statement that she checked it out in 2004, not 2014. It, it had some interesting points, and, um, actually, I posted the tape earlier today. It’ll probably beat me home. It’s coming to the Institute, but it’s addressed to Melanie—and Jon, I need you to make her listen to it. Sit with her if you have to, but it’s one she needs to hear, whether she wants to or not.”

A chill ran down Jon’s spine. Something told him he did not want to hear it, any more than Melanie probably would. Silently, he vowed he wouldn’t let her listen to it on her own. “I will. But if Gertrude was there in 2014…did she not check anything out?”

“Not exactly. She was looking for information—there were a couple of statements she wanted—but according to Xiaoling, or at least according to her assistant, she was in a hurry and couldn’t wait around for them to be dug up. Or someone else had them out at the time. Dunno. I didn’t talk to the assistant, just to Xiaoling. Anyway, Gertrude eventually gave her an address to forward them on to…”

“In Chicago? Why not send them to the Magnus Institute?”

“Because Gertrude was going to be in Chicago. I think she still had it in her mind at the time that the Unknowing was going to happen somewhere in the US.” Martin huffed. “It makes sense, I guess. It’s a big country. If you wanted to do a ritual and you wanted to do it somewhere it wouldn’t be easily located and noticed, you’d probably pick a large one to make it harder to find. The Sunken Sky was supposed to be there. Michael said the Great Twisting was taking place in Russia—or in a place that would have been Russia if it truly existed. I’ve got a hunch the Risen War took place in China, but I’ll have to see if I can find those statements Gertrude asked to be forwarded on to her before I can confirm that, I think.”

Jon sighed. “And then you’re coming home?”

“Depends on what I find, Jon.” Martin was trying to be gentle, but Jon could hear the sadness and frustration mingling in his voice. “Like I said before I left, I doubt I’m going to get all the answers if I don’t follow it through to the end. Which means from Chicago, I’ll have to go on to Pittsburgh, as much as I don’t want to.”

“What’s in Pitts—oh.” Jon remembered suddenly. “That’s where Gerry died, isn’t it?”

Martin exhaled heavily. “Yeah. Which means Gertrude was there. I, I don’t think she came straight back to England from there, but I’m not certain.”

“Right, you—you said once you never talked to her, so…”

“It’s not just that. I…I remember Rosie venting a little to me about not knowing where Gertrude kept the statement forms and her having to give them to people while she was out, and that wasn’t too long before Christmas that year, but…Christ, Jon, I don’t know if that actually happened or if it’s just a memory the Not-Them planted.”

Something in Jon’s chest twisted. His relationship with Rosie had been in passing at best, but Martin remembered her as a friend. From the tape Jon had found, he’d at least had a decent relationship with the original Rosie, but he’d never considered that Martin might be mourning her loss, in at least some small, private part of his mind. And if he couldn’t trust his memories, who was he even sad for?

Martin kept talking before Jon could express his sympathy. “Anyway, I’m…going to see what there is in Chicago, and then what I can learn in Pittsburgh. From there, I might be able to come home, or I might have to make another stop. My real problem is that I’m probably going to run out of money before I run out of leads.”

“Elias didn’t give you an expense account or, or a-a credit card or anything?”

“No, the Institute paid directly for my first flight and the hotel here in Beijing, and that envelope of cash Sasha brought me from Elias via Manal turned out to be enough for the ticket to Chicago plus enough left over to buy myself a drink on this side of the gate, but everything else I have to pay out of pocket and submit a report to the Institute afterwards to get it reimbursed. Which I’m sure is going to be a lengthy process.”

“You don’t think he’ll…deny it, do you?” Jon didn’t know why that idea bothered him more than anything else, except that he knew how much Martin had to pay for his mother’s bills at the care home.

Martin laughed. It sounded more bitter than anything. “Oddly enough, that’s one of the few things I’m not worried about. Elias loves his paperwork. The more I bring him, I think, the happier he’ll be. Like I said, the only real issue is I do need to budget carefully so I can get back home.”

“If you run out, call me and I’ll get your ticket for you,” Jon promised.

This time, Martin’s laugh sounded warmer and more genuine. “Hopefully it won’t come to that, but thank you.”

“Of course.” Jon cleared his throat. “But, ah, but no leads on the Unknowing?”

“Unfortunately not. It doesn’t look like Gertrude checked anything on circuses out at Pu Songling, which could just be because there wasn’t anything in English. I did ask Xiaoling about that.”

“You didn’t check them out yourself?”

“I speak Cantonese. I don’t read it. And I can do fuck all with Mandarin.” Martin paused. “Usually.”

“Usually?” Jon echoed.

Martin was silent again. Finally, he said, “It’s…probably nothing. Or at least nothing major. But Xiaoling used a couple of Mandarin phrases, apparently, and I just…understood them. I’m guessing it’s another aspect of me Knowing without trying.”

Jon swallowed hard, but he tried to make his tone as light as he could. “That could come in useful sometime.”

“If I could do it on command, maybe. After I got the address from Xiaoling and booked the cheapest flight I could get to Chicago, which happens to be a red-eye with a layover in Istanbul—”

“Not Constantinople?” Jon asked before he could stop himself.

“That’s nobody’s business but the Turks’,” Martin said dryly, which made Jon laugh. “Anyway, I asked Xiaoling if I could see one of the circus-related statements she mentioned, but I couldn’t make heads nor tails of it. Which either means it was a random burst that I understood her…”

“Or that the Eye doesn’t want you to have that information that easily,” Jon guessed.

“Or that it wasn’t important. Or…real, maybe? I dunno. It was a fairly recent statement. Since the Unknowing isn’t happening anywhere near China, there’d be no reason for Pu Songling to have any recent statements that had any relevance to it.”

Jon bit his lip. “As much as I hate that it’s happening here…I-I’m glad it’s not happening there. That, that you don’t have to deal with it alone.”

“I am, too,” Martin said softly. “And…Jon?”

“Mm?”

“If you get wind that it’s happening soon…call me. Call me immediately and I’ll be on the next flight to London. I don’t…I don’t need to retrace Gertrude’s steps if we figure out what’s going on with the Unknowing before I finish. We can improvise a plan to stop it on the way.”

Jon exhaled. As badly as he wanted to keep Martin out of it, he knew that wasn’t happening. Of course it wasn’t. “I will. I promise.”

“Good.” Martin exhaled, too.

They were both quiet for a while. Finally, Jon took a deep breath. “I, ah…we still don’t actually have an idea of how to stop it. I think that’s what I’m going to start…working on. It’s more productive than sitting here stressing about you.”

“I agree,” Martin said, and Jon could hear the smile in his voice. “Don’t worry about me, Jon. I can handle myself. I’m—I’m not really worried about you all that much, since I know you’re not alone…mostly…but I do want you all to keep together, yeah? Don’t go off on your own.”

“No, absolutely not. And I think Tim is trying his level best to keep Melanie and me from going off together,” Jon said. It was his turn to make Martin laugh. “Basira’s been helping out with the statements, and Sasha is…I’m going to rein her back from the research, I think. O-or at least redirect her towards the Unknowing. I don’t want her digging into things she’s not asking us about.”

“Yeah, that’s…not optimal,” Martin agreed. “Good. I’m…I’m glad you’re all all right.”

“Are you all right?” Jon asked. “Really.”

“I’m fine, Jon. No ill effects from being away. Apart from missing you, that is.” Martin’s voice softened. “I wish you could’ve come with me. But…I’m glad I can talk to you, at least.”

“Me, too,” Jon said, and meant it. “When are you landing in Istanbul?”

“Ugh.” There was a rustling of fabric, as if Martin was checking either his ticket or his watch. “In about, um, eleven hours? My flight leaves at twelve-ten AM, China Standard Time, which will be five-ten PM in London. I land in Istanbul at five thirty-five AM, Eastern European Summer Time, which will be about three thirty-five AM in London, so no, I’m not calling you when my plane lands.” Jon couldn’t help but sigh. “I’ve also only got about an hour’s layover. Then I pick up a flight to Chicago, which should take about eleven hours, and arrive at O’Hare at nine-forty AM, Central Daylight Time, which will be three-forty PM in London.”

“Tomorrow? Or Saturday?” Jon frowned as he clicked through the buttons to add Chicago to his widget.

“Tomorrow. I’m crossing the International Date Line backwards, which is the closest thing you can get to faster than light travel without spaghettification—twenty-two hours compressed into nine and a half.”

“I don’t even want to begin to imagine what that’s like. The—the long flight across that many time zones, I mean, not the, ah…spaghettification.”

“It is, almost certainly, going to suck.” Martin sighed. “I hate flying. I don’t like heights to begin with. I certainly don’t like heights when I’m not in control of how high I am. And knowing the statistics on crashes and plane safety doesn’t help as much as you might think.”

Jon’s fingers twitched towards the mouse. He curled them into a fist to resist the urge to look them up. “Are they…that bad?”

“Good, actually. Statistically speaking, airplanes have a much lower rate of death per miles traveled than trains do, and the number of crashes has gone down significantly in the last fifty years. The problem comes in both the fact that most airplane crashes happen during takeoff and landing—which are the times I’m least nervous—and in the fact that generally speaking, plane crashes with fatalities tend to be mass fatalities rather than something you can walk away from.” Martin paused briefly. “Don’t look those numbers up, by the way. You’ll just worry worse than you already are.”

Despite himself, Jon laughed again. “You know me so well.”

“I love you, Jon,” Martin said warmly.

Something inside Jon went soft and pink. “I love you, too.”

They fell into another silence. Jon could hear the bustle of the airport faintly over the line; even after eleven o’clock at night, it was still evidently a busy place, or at least busy enough. He watched the second hands tick away on the clock widget and knew, knew, that at any moment Martin was going to say I have to go, Jon and then it would be almost a day before he heard from him again.

God, he was pathetic.

To put off that moment as long as possible, he asked, “You’re going to get some sleep on the plane, right?”

“Yeah, I promise,” Martin assured him. “I bought a little bottle of sleeping pills before I left London. I figure I’ll take a dose right after I get into my seat, and I should be good until Istanbul. At the very least it should help me relax enough that I don’t break something.” He paused, then added in a lightly teasing tone, “Anything you want me to bring you back from the States?”

“Just you,” Jon said quietly. “Just you.”

At that, Martin’s tone grew serious. “I’ll be back, Jon. I promise. I don’t know how many stops I have to make, but hopefully not too many. And I swear to you that I am starting for home by the end of the month, no ifs, ands, or buts. Any answers I haven’t found by then can damn well stay lost, or we’ll figure them out on our own. Hell, I don’t even know if Gertrude found any answers, and the longer I’m away, the more nervous I’m going to be about you lot.”

“That goes both ways, you know.”

“I know, but…somehow, I don’t think it’s the same, Jon. You’re a lot closer to the Unknowing—physically anyway—than I am. Orsinov wanted your skin originally and I don’t know if she’s still going to be after you or if she’s going to find a different, equally powerful skin. And I’m pretty sure the only reason she held off as long as she did with me was because my skin wasn’t in good enough condition for her to use it.” Jon looked down at his ashy, worm-scarred hand and curled it into a fist as Martin continued. “Something powerful is stirring. I’ve only felt this a few times before in my life, but now that I know about the rituals, I’m starting to suspect it’s been the Eye alerting me that someone’s getting ready to try one, and I don’t know how much time we have left before this one goes off. And if I’m not back in time to help stop it, you’ll have to go without me, and I absolutely do not want that. Just…please be careful.”

Jon gripped the phone a little tighter. “I will. I swear it. And…I’m holding you to that promise, Martin. Please come home.”

“I will. I will.” There was a faint noise in the background, and Martin took a deep breath. “They just called my flight. I have to go…look, I know I said I wouldn’t call you, but I will text you when I get to Istanbul if I can, okay? And I’ll call you the second I’m through customs in O’Hare. Cross my heart. I love you, Jon.”

“I love you, too.” Jon swallowed hard. “Have a safe flight, Martin.”

“Good night.” There was a soft beep, and the call disconnected.

Slowly, Jon set the phone down. He suddenly felt colder, lonelier, and more lost than he’d ever felt in his life. The acute, aching loneliness of his childhood had been bad enough, but the truth was that back then he hadn’t known what having friends, family, people who really loved him, was like. Now he did, and it made it so much worse.

It was ridiculous. The others were just in the other room…unless they’d decided to leave for the day after Tim did, under the theory that Jon would be so wrapped up in his work—distraction, really—that he wouldn’t notice. After all, he hadn’t noticed Tim and Melanie were still there when he left the day before…

Suddenly things got too much. Suddenly he was eight years old again, wanting someone, anyone, to be there for him, but knowing he was alone, that no one would want to be around him, that he was too awkward, too pretentious, too strange, too Jon, that he was destined to always be alone. The world was suddenly too big and exposed and dangerous.

He slid off his chair and tucked himself into the space under his desk. It was bigger, relatively speaking, than the space under his nightstand had been, but he was able to tuck himself into the corner, pull his knees up to his chest, and huddle into the jumper he’d pilfered from Martin. Even that didn’t help as much as he would have wanted it to. He closed his eyes and bit his lip and tried not to cry, tried not to start rocking back and forth, tried not to go back to that place he’d been in as a child where he didn’t want to die but didn’t want to exist anymore, that’s still suicidal, Jonathan, it’s not something you should want…

He wanted to be here. He did. He was an adult with a job and responsibilities, he had friends and family and…and he had Martin, even if Martin wasn’t there. He wasn’t alone, he wasn’t, but God, it felt like it and it was all getting too much, and he didn’t even have the comfort of his dream-friends anymore…

There was a bang as the door opened, making him flinch and curl tighter into himself, followed almost immediately by a voice. “I say if we’re not going to get anything else done, we should just call it a day and—Jon? Jon, are you in here?”

Melanie. Jon should have uncurled himself and come out from under the desk, straightened out the jumper and spoken to her brusquely, put the professional mask back on…but he didn’t. He couldn’t. He just stayed where he was, hunched over his knees, lips locked in a tight line.

There was silence for a while, and then a familiar pair of boots appeared just in his line of sight. A moment later, Melanie’s face peered under the desk. “Jon? You hurt?”

Jon shook his head, but couldn’t force himself to talk. He wanted…he didn’t know what he wanted. A lie, he supposed. He knew what he wanted—he wanted Martin—but he didn’t know what he wanted from Melanie.

Surprisingly, she didn’t say anything. She got down on her hands and knees and crawled into the space under the desk, then wedged herself with her back against the side facing him and her feet propped on the lower edge of the drawer next to his hip. With her arms draped over her knees and her head back against the desk, she studied him. “You mind me being here?”

Jon shook his head again. Melanie nodded in reply and didn’t say anything further, which surprised him, in a distant and fuzzy way; he hadn’t thought Melanie was capable of shutting up. Then again, there were people who said the same about him. They fell into silence for several long minutes as Jon struggled to come back to himself.

At last, Melanie said quietly, “I’m going to hold your hand. That okay?”

“Yes.” Jon’s voice was hoarse and ragged, and it cost a lot of effort to force the word out, but he managed it. He tried to uncurl his arms, but Melanie reached over and gripped his fingers where they rested on top of his arm. She didn’t say anything else, but her hand was warm and solid and her fingernails bit ever so slightly into his skin, not enough to leave a mark, not even really enough to hurt, just enough to give him a bit of a sensation. He took a breath, then another, then slowly, slowly began to relax.

Finally, he managed to raise his head and lean his shoulders back against the side of the desk. He gradually uncurled himself until he was more or less matching Melanie’s pose, and he managed to shift his arms so that they now had the fingers of their respective left hands hooked lightly into one another.

“Thanks,” he said.

Melanie shrugged one shoulder and didn’t directly acknowledge his gratitude. “Come over tonight. We can flip the loveseat over and build a blanket fort and, I don’t know, read fairy tales with a torch. Otherwise I’m going to end up doing something stupid. Like going back up to Great Yarmouth.”

“What’s—what’s in Great Yarmouth?” Jon tried to remember if it had come up in any of the statements they had been looking into lately. Had they been looking into statements lately?

“Tell you at the bookstore. But that’s where Tim and I went last night.” Melanie cocked her head at him. “You good to go? Or are we spending the night here?”

“I…think the cats might object to being left alone all night.”

“True.” Melanie hesitated. “What’s…have you heard anything from Martin?”

Jon nodded, glancing up involuntarily at the underside of his desk. “He, he called right after Tim left. We’d sort of just hung up when…” He gestured vaguely with his free hand, encompassing his state, the space he was wedged into, and the universe in general. “He’s on his way to Chicago. And, ah, he’s sending a recording of a statement he wants us to listen to.”

Melanie grunted. “Great. Is he okay otherwise, though?”

“He says so, a-and I believe him. I just…” Jon bit his lip and looked away. “I miss him.”

“Not surprised. I miss him, too.” Melanie squeezed his fingers gently. “He won’t leave you forever.”

Despite himself, Jon chuckled. “Reading minds, Miss King?”

“Do me a favor, Sims. Never play poker.” Melanie smirked. “And if you really want to do me a favor, let’s cut out early.”

Jon managed to twist his wrist and look at his watch without letting go of Melanie’s hand, somehow. “By a whole…seven minutes.”

“Hey, enough time to play one round of a shitty teen party game.” Melanie raised an eyebrow at Jon’s confused expression. “Seven Minutes in Heaven? You never played that one?”

“I…didn’t go to a lot of parties as a teenager. Or any, really.”

“Fair enough. It’s a kind of variant on ‘Spin the Bottle’, except instead of kissing in front of all your friends you’re supposed to spend seven minutes in a closet with the other person, doing…whatever you want, really. Which sucks when you’re playing it with a bunch of horny teenagers, but, you know, I think that’s essentially what we just did here.”

Jon smiled. “Thank you. For…I don’t know. Crawling into my cavern of despair with me?”

Melanie actually smiled back. “You want the truth? You’re the only person in my life right now who gets that. Or, well, I mean, Martin understands on an…intellectual level, I guess, but when I have days where I need to squeeze myself into as small a space as possible he…he’s sympathetic, but he can’t join me. It’s, I get it, he doesn’t do well in tiny cramped spaces, especially after…you know, the Mermaid Inn. Has he told you about that yet?”

“N-no.”

“Probably doesn’t want that to touch you,” Melanie mumbled. “But it’s…yeah. I get you. Sometimes the world is too big and you just wish you could put yourself in a vacuum-sealer or something.”

“How do you usually handle it?”

“Roll myself up in a blanket like an old-fashioned cigarette and sleep under my bed. Or if it hits me too early in the day and I need to go out somewhere, I dig out one of my corsets.” Melanie studied him. “You want one? I’ve got three or four and I don’t really wear a couple of them.”

Jon blinked and turned the thought over in his mind. “I…might not mind that, actually.”

“Great. I’ll hook you up after we get done at the bookstore, then.”

Jon realized that Melanie hadn’t actually asked him to come over—she’d just told him, and assumed he was going to. And the thing was…she wasn’t wrong. “Sounds like a plan. Come on, let’s go round up Sasha…and, ah, I-I think we should try to make Basira come with us. If she’s going to be helping, she needs to know what’s going on.”

“No argument from me there, mate. Right, let’s get going.” Melanie crawled out from under the desk, and Jon followed her.

As he got to his feet, his phone buzzed with a text notification. He picked it up to see that it was from Martin. [Just sat down. About to turn off my phone. I love you.]

Jon sighed and felt the knot in his chest unravel. The ropes were still there, but at least they weren’t a tangled mess anymore. [I love you, too. Stay safe.] Pocketing his phone, he turned to Melanie. “Right. Let’s get this over with so we can start moving things forward. I want to have at least some idea of what we’re going to do to stop the Unknowing before Martin comes home. I have a feeling once he gets here, we’re going to have a very short amount of time to put our plans in motion.”

“I hate your feelings.”

“You and me both.” Jon sighed. “Come on. Lots to do.”

#ollie writes fanfic #tma fanfic #to find promise of peace (and the solace of rest) #jonathan sims #tim stoker #martin blackwood #melanie king #pining #loneliness #nightmares #unreality #grief #panic attacks #mention of suicidal ideation #mention of plane crashes #mention of skinning #no this is not the chapter I was poking with a stick to make it do stuff #that's the next one

[saultnpeppah]

Back to You Chapter 9

It’s time for a truce. Can Diana and Bruce put aside their feelings for one day. 

Reach Back to You Chapter 9 now:

 https://www.fanfiction.net/s/14077571/9/Back-to-You

May 19 - Ten Years ago. 23:33

Bruce

The burn of the alcohol as it slides down my throat is a subtle reminder I'm still alive, still here in a world where my best friend is gone. Still haunted by the memory of her leaving, taking our daughter with her without so much as a goodbye. I hate her for it.

No, that's a lie. I don't hate her. No matter how hurt I am by her leaving, I can't find it in my heart to hate Diana.

Some days I wonder if her leaving was my doing. If I hadn't obsessed over a case like I tend to, if I hadn't stayed out too late, if I hadn't put Gotham before our marriage…..this last year I've been racking my brain with the what ifs. None have brought me any comfort or closure, only more questions.

I take another sip from the glass in my hand, hoping the alcohol will take away the overwhelming heartache I have felt all day. I haven't slept in three days. It's starting to affect business, and today Lucius forced me out of my own building and ordered me to come home. I didn't have any fight left, so I did what he asked, quickly making my way back to the manor to relax with a glass of scotch in my study. I haven't left the room since.

Letting out a large sigh, I turn away from my desk, my eyes meeting those of my younger self in the portrait that hangs on the wall. How far I've fallen. The boy in the photo smiles widely, his eyes sparkling with the hope of a wonderful future. If only he had known his life would change in a matter of mere days.

The phone that has been on my desk since coming home begins to ring. It's the third time in as many hours it's done so, and just like the previous two times, I will let it go to voicemail. I don't have to look at the screen to know it's Lois checking up on me. She and Clark have made it their personal goal to make sure I don't revert back to my old ways, cowering in the dark, building a wall around myself as I push everyone out. And while I admire them for it, I wish they would just leave me alone.

The ringing phone becomes silent, but only for a moment. Within the minute the familiar tune fills the room and I let out a groan. If I don't answer, it'll be a few minutes before one of them is pounding on the front door to the manor and I don't need to see anyone. Not tonight.

I quickly down the last of my alcohol and place the empty glass on the desk, grab the phone, and answer the call.

"Yes?" I ask, placing the device to my ear.

Lois huffs on the other end before she says, "Next time, I'm showing up after the first missed call."

I roll my eyes and fall into the chair at my desk, slouching as I glance at the photos along the wall. "Next time, take the hint when I don't answer," I say.

"Listen here, Wayne," Lois says, her voice raising. "We're worried about you. Everyone's worried about you."

I shake my head although it's no use. She can't see me. There's no use pretending I'm fine when anyone who knows how much I love Diana knows I'm anything but okay. "I'm fine," I lie, scanning the wall, trying to distract myself from the unsolicited advice I know is bound to follow.

"Lucius called."

Clark's voice on the other end makes my stomach drop. They must be sitting in their living room, huddled next to each other as Jon sleeps upstairs, with me on speaker phone. No matter. They're still not going to be able to hold the impromptu therapy sessions they've been trying to get for the past year.

"Did he," I say, not the least bit interested in what my business manager has told the couple. "Seems he's getting bold as he nears his retirement."

"He's worried about you, Bruce," Clark says. He pauses for a moment. "We're all worried about you." I can hear as he shuffles on the sofa before he clears his throat and lets out a small sigh. "You've been ignoring the League, and Tim says you've been burying yourself in cases in Gotham and-"

"The League doesn't need me," I answer, cutting him off before he can continue the list of my apparent wrongdoings. I hear Clark sigh on the other end of the phone, but what I say isn't a lie. The League doesn't need me. As long as I'm still writing the checks, keeping the Watchtower functioning, there is no need for me to be involved. Besides, there are plenty of people now with memberships to the Justice League, my eldest son included.

"And I've been busy with Gotham. Crime is at an all time high and if I don't do anything, no one will."

"Crime is always at an all time high in Gotham," Lois says sarcastically. I don't need to see her to know she has rolled her eyes at her statement.

I let out an aggravated sigh. This conversation is going nowhere, and the longer I'm on the phone with Lois and Clark, the more I want to reach through the phone and punch the latter. I know Lois is the one who has pushed this conversation, but Clark will have to take the heat for his wife.

"I have work to do," I say into the phone, pinching the bridge of my nose as I try to calm my frustrations with everyone. Today is not the day to try my patience. I just want to sit in my study, staring at the wall, drowning my thoughts with very expensive alcohol. Being lectured by a farm boy from Kansas and his persistent wife was nowhere on my list of things to do tonight.

Lois begins to mutter a response, most likely to tell me where to shove it, but I end the call before she can finish her sentence. She'll get over it , and I'm sure Clark will be here to check up on me in the morning, but for tonight, I'll sit by my lonesome and get drunk.

My phone beeps in my hand and I quickly read the text from Lois, rolling my eyes at her choice of words. Maybe it'll take a bit longer for her to get over it, but still, she's got more important things to focus on. I quickly toss my phone onto the desk and slouch back into the chair as I contemplate whether another glass of scotch is necessary. Today has been a tough day. I almost don't blame Lucius for forcing me home.

There's a small knock on the door before it opens and reveals Alfred. His sad eyes meet mine and he shakes his head, not bothering to hide his disappointment in how I've conducted myself the last few months. "Master Wayne," he says as he stares at me. His eyes fall to the empty glass on my desk and I know he is here to lecture me yet again. "Mr. Fox told me you had quite an exciting day."

I roll my eyes and narrow then. My left hand reaches up to scratch my chin, stopping momentarily when the stubble on my face pokes the skin on my hand. When I pull back my eyes catch the silver band on my finger and I let out a sad sigh. It's been nearly a year since Diana left, nearly a year since she took my daughter from me, yet I couldn't bring myself to separate from one of the last things my estranged wife gave me.

"Lucius had no right," I say. I'm angry that Lucius forced me home. So I yelled at a few employees - what employer hasn't? He had no right to lock me out of the biggest business meeting this year. "I should have him fired."

"You should be thanking him," Alfred says, his eyes narrowing as he shakes his head once more. "You should be thanking your lucky stars that he stepped in when he did." I shake my head again. I wasn't going to lay a hand on that intern and they all knew it. He was just a kid and I wasn't that stupid.

"I wasn't going to hit him," I say, defending myself. "I got angry and yelled. Tell me one person who hasn't done that."

Alfred shakes his head. "Master Wayne, you did more than yell. And you know perception is everything."

I let out a heavy sigh and drop my head. Alfred is right, perception is everything. I don't know why I snapped on that poor intern. All he had said was he had forgotten the date and it made my blood boil. I could never forget today's date.

May Nineteenth. PJ's birthday. My daughter is two today and I haven't seen her, haven't heard her little giggle in nearly a year.

I pour another glass of scotch, avoiding Alfred's gaze as I do. I know he's going to make a comment about my drinking but I don't care. Carefully I raise the glass to my lips and take a sip. "It's her birthday," I whisper after the alcohol has burned its way down my throat. "It's her birthday and I haven't seen her."

Alfred nods. He knows what today is. He has the day marked in his calendar in bold lines. "I know, Master Wayne," he whispers, stepping deeper into the room to place a hand on my shoulder. "But drinking yourself into oblivion will not bring her back."

I take another sip of alcohol to spite the Englishman. I can hear him sigh at my side. "I've tried to find them. For months, I've tried to find them. Every clue I've followed until there was nothing left. The island has disappeared, the embassy's portal won't work - they've just disappeared into thin air."

For months I looked for Diana and PJ. I've flown to Greece more times than I'd like to count, searched for the island, but I could never find it.

"Diana just got up and left me. She left Damian, and Tim, and everyone. And she took my daughter. How else am I supposed to cope with that?" I ask, raising the glass, letting the liquid inside slosh around.

"I know," Alfred says. He doesn't seem too distraught. It's strange considering how much he regarded Diana as a daughter. He was the one most devastated by her departure, but that tune changed a few weeks later. He's hiding something - I intend to find out what it is.

The doorbell chimes throughout the manor, forcing Alfred and I to stare at each other, both trying to figure out who could be here at this hour. Tim and Damian are out on patrol. Dick has occupied himself in Bludhaven, distancing himself from me; we've been getting into more arguments than I'd like to count since Diana's departure. Jason has gone off the grid. I haven't heard from him in nearly two months, haven't seen him in nearly twice as long. I fear he's getting caught up in shady stuff once again.

I know it isn't Lucius at the door. He knows better than to come to the manor this late at night, especially before he's even tried to call me. And if Clark and Lois were to make good on their threat, they wouldn't allow a physical door to stand in their way. They would have either been transported into the cave, or walked through the front door without a second thought. No, whoever is at the door is no one that has any business here, especially this late.

"Who could be here at this unholy hour," Alfred says to himself.

I absentmindedly stroke the stubble on my face, mentally reminding myself I need to shave. "I don't know," I say as I take a sip of the alcohol on my desk. "But whoever it is doesn't need to be here. I don't need to see anyone." I give Alfred a look that says I am in no mood for visitors. It is the same look I have been giving him for the better part of the last year.

"Very well," he says as he turns on his heel and disappears out of the room.

With a huff, I turn my chair and stare at the portrait that hangs behind me. How I wish things could go back to that moment, when things were easier. When I had a family that was whole.

I continue to stare at the portrait. The alcohol on my desk goes forgotten as I close my eyes and drop my head into my hands, wondering where I let things go wrong. Maybe if I had been more understanding, more willing to work with Diana, she wouldn't have left like she had. Maybe if I hadn't spent years trying to push her away, I wouldn't have lost her like I did. These thoughts have kept me awake more nights than I'd like to admit.

I hear the door to the study open and Alfred clears his throat. "Master Wayne," he says. His voice is shaky and I can't help but wonder what has my oldest friend rattled. Perhaps it was Lucius at the door ready to reprimand me after all. "You have a visitor."

I let out a sigh and shake my head, letting the small hairs on my face scratch the palm of my hands. "I told you I didn't want visitors."

Alfred clears his throat once more. "Sir, you'll want to see this visitor."

The room is quiet as I take another deep breath. I don't understand why Alfred is pushing this. Whoever has come to see me can wait a few hours and come back in the morning. The study door closes and I let out a frustrated sigh. "Alfred," I say, my shoulders tensing as I feel the air around me change. Something is wrong. Something is different.

Alfred doesn't get the chance to respond before another voice chimes in. A very familiar voice.

"Bruce," she says calmly, her voice quiet, nearly a whisper.

My eyes shoot open and I turn the chair. My heart stops when I see Diana standing alone. She is dressed in armor. The breast plate that sits atop her chest has the emblem I've seen on her for years. She wears the same bracers on her wrists, however the gold cuff on her left arm is a new addition; I'd seen Hippolyta wear one similar many years ago. The white and gold skirt she wears allows me to see part of the armored boots on her feet, coming up to cover her knees. Over her shoulders is a deep blue cloak, keeping most of her right side hidden from my view. I don't need to see her hip to know she has a sword there.

On her head is a golden crown, so intricate I can see only the finest of the Amazon crafters was given the task. She stands tall, her shoulders back as she continues to stare at me in silence. Being Queen suits her, but I can't help but remember what it took to get her there.

"Diana?" I ask as I stand from my seat. I turn to look for Alfred, but he is nowhere to be found. It is only Diana and I alone, staring at each other with conflicting looks on our faces. I can tell the moment I look at her, she's dressed for a war - I'm afraid she's worried she'll find it here with me.

"What are you doing here?" I ask. The question comes out much more harshly than I intend. I watch as she blinks, trying to reign in her own emotions, before she sighs.

"We need to talk," is all she says as she looks toward the closed door. She obviously wants whomever is behind it to stay there.

"I don't want to talk to you," I say. I'm trying to reign in my anger, but seeing this woman across from me, my wife across from me, does more bad than good. For a year I've wondered what I would say to her, what I would tell her if I ever got the chance. I would want to know why, give her a chance to explain everything. But right now all I want is for her to leave.

"We need to talk," she repeats. Her shoulders tense as she takes a step toward her and I can see fear in her eyes for the first time in years.

I lean against the desk as I stare at her. How dare she come back after all this time. Even worse, how dare she come back and not bring my daughter. "Where's PJ?" I ask, my eyes scanning Diana's face for any indication that my daughter is alright.

Diana sighs and calls for Alfred. He opens the door and walks in the room, his hand curled around the small hand of the little girl I thought I'd never see again. She rushes up to Diana and hugs her, her small arms wrapped around Diana's leg with all her might. Diana places her hand on top of PJ's head, and gives her a reassuring smile, watching as the toddler releases her leg. She kneels beside the child and I mirror her movements.

"Bruce, this is Penelope," she says, placing a hand on the child's tummy.

I watch as PJ looks down at Diana's hand, a smile on her face as she pats the woman's hand. She looks up at me and I realize those are the same eyes I stared into for a year each night as I rocked her to sleep. Those are the same eyes I saw every morning as she greeted me in Diana's arms.

"Penelope," Diana whispers, "there's your daddy."

PJ's eyes light up as she looks at me. "Daddy," she says as she runs toward me, her smile wide.

She's in my arms in a second, and my guard drops as my arms close around her. I never thought I'd see her again, much less have her here giggling as she hugs me, her small head on my chest as she mumbles incoherent things.

I realize Diana has tricked me. She knew I would speak out of anger, but the moment I saw PJ I would forget all that. I should be more angry, I should want to yell at this woman until every living soul in Gotham can hear me, but with PJ in my arms that all goes to the back of my mind. Eventually we'll talk. For now, I want to hold onto my little girl and never let go.

XXXXXXXXXX

I watch as Alfred and PJ continue to giggle with each other as they lay on the sofa, their eyes focused on the ceiling above them as Alfred tells PJ a bedtime story. Each minute that passes, the little girl's eyes begin to droop more and more, and I know it's only a matter of time before she's asleep.

In the two hours since Diana and PJ have been here, I haven't been able to tear my eyes away from her. I can't risk blinking and missing another moment of her life - I've already missed a year.

Diana stands beside me, leaning against the door as she watches Alfred and our daughter. She knows she can trust the older man with her, so her guard is down, at least for now. I can't say whether it will be in a few moments when we have the talk I've been postponing for over an hour.

"We need to talk," I finally say when I see PJ has fallen asleep, her breathing even as she curls up next to Alfred. I'm only repeating what Diana has been saying for the last hour, but I need her to believe it's on my terms. I need some kind of control in this situation.

Diana nods. She doesn't say a word as she follows me out of the room, down the hall, and into my study. She watches as I take a seat behind my desk, the desk she gifted me years ago, and closes the door, before she takes a seat herself.

"Why?" is all I can ask. "Why did you leave?"

Diana closes her eyes and sighs. "You know why," she answers.

No, I don't know why. I don't know why she felt the need to leave when we could have come up with a solution together. I don't know why she took my daughter. The answer leaves me with more questions, and more anger.

"Are you back for good?" I ask. I know the answer before she even lets out the breath she's been holding. Of course she's not back. If she had been, she wouldn't be wearing all the armor. She wouldn't still be wearing the crown.

"Themyscira needs me, Bruce," she answers.

I scoff. "I needed you," I say. I watch as shock flashes on her face. I've always needed Diana, even before we were romantically involved, but I was too stubborn to admit it. "I needed you, and PJ to stay here."

"I know," she says. It doesn't change anything though. The damage has already been done.

I look away from Diana and allow myself a few moments to collect my thoughts. If we continue this way, we're both going to get emotional, and nothing is going to be resolved. I can't afford that. I can't afford Diana getting upset and leaving with PJ again.

"Why come back then, if you're not staying?" I ask as I return my focus toward the woman seated across from me.

She shifts in her seat and fidgets with something on her finger - I realize she's still wearing the rings I gave her.

"I," she begins, her voice cracking. "Every morning, I would look into Penelope's eyes and would see you, Bruce," she says. "I never grew up with a father, and even though I loved my mother, I always felt like I was missing something. I don't want that for her. I don't want her to question where she's from. I want her to know her family …..all of her family."

I give her a small nod. "She knows me?" I ask. After all, the last time I saw PJ, she was still in diapers and barely able to walk on her own.

Diana nods. "I've never kept you a secret from her, Bruce. She knows who you are. She knows Alfred, and the boys. She misses all of you."

"And I've missed her. But what are we supposed to do? You don't want to leave her here in Gotham. I don't want you to take her to Themyscira. You had to know this was going to end it as an argument."

Diana sighs. "It doesn't have to, Bruce," she says. Obviously her time as Queen has made her believe some solutions can be reached by only talking.

"And what do you suggest?" I ask. My arms fold across my chest as I lean back in my chair. I'm prepared to fight to keep PJ here with me. Now that she's not on the island, hiding away from me, I'm prepared to do whatever I can to make sure my daughter is a part of my life. As I look up and notice Diana adjusting the band on her arm, I realize she's come to Gotham just as prepared to fight me.

"I'm here for a compromise, Bruce," she says. Her eyebrows furrow and she shifts in her chair. It's not going to be easier convincing either of us what to do, but the two of us need to come up with a solution quickly.

It takes nearly an hour of bickering to come down to a compromise. We will split custody of PJ, whether we like it or not. We're both her parents, and even if I don't want to admit it, even if I want to be selfish and keep her to myself, she needs her mother in her life. Diana knows this as well.

"This is a terrible idea," Diana says as she chews her bottom lip. Her arms are crossed over her chest and I can see she is starting to second guess coming here. But we've already reached a decision. To go back now on it would mean another hour of arguing, and neither of us want that. Besides, Tim and Damian will be back soon, and I suspect she doesn't want to have to face either of them just yet.

"It is," I say, agreeing with her. "But there doesn't seem to be any other way we're going to get what we want." I watch as she rolls her eyes and leans back in her chair, pouting. "What are we going to do when she decides she doesn't want to move back and forth?" I ask. It's a question I know we've both been thinking about, both knowing eventually PJ is going to grow tired of living in two places.

Diana shrugs. "When she is old enough to make that decision, she'll make it. And both of us have to take her wishes into account."

I let out a sigh and nod. Hopefully that will be long into the future. Hopefully I won't have to live in a world where PJ doesn't live with me. I know Diana is thinking the same thought.

The room is silent for a moment as we both realize what has just happened. By setting up this custody plan we've both acknowledged that things between me and Diana are over. There's no going back to the way things were. No going back to the partnership we built over the years. The thought alone is nearly as heartbreaking as Diana leaving the first time.

This whole night, the whole time Diana was here, I've tried to hold back my anger, hoping by some miracle she'd change her mind and come back to me, to us. Now that I know it's not a possibility, there's no point in me getting angry anymore. No point in pointing out the obvious. She hurt me. In her mind, I hurt her. We're both to blame for this. There is no use dwelling on past mistakes, trying to fix the problems that have obviously been there for years.

Diana clears her throat and shakes her head, drawing me out of my thoughts. Again she fidgets with her hands, stopping when she realizes what she's been doing. "I should go," she says, standing from her seat.

I say nothing, because I don't agree with her statement. She shouldn't go. She should stay, but nothing I say will convince her otherwise. I watch as her eyes focus on me, her face twisting into something I can't quite put my finger on. Regret? Sadness? A little of both. I should say something. I should tell her she needs to stay. But there is no point. Diana is stubborn.

She lets out a small sigh and walks up to the desk I sit behind, placing something down in front of me. "Goodbye, Bruce," she says as she walks out of the room, out of my life for what will probably be the last time.

I listen in silence until I can no longer hear her boots on the floor, letting out a sigh when I realize I've made the same mistake and let her leave again. I push the chair back and stand from my seat, my eyes falling to the desk to see what Diana has left.

The engagement ring I gave Diana years ago shines on the desk, too bright to be ignored. Seeing the ring makes me realize it's finally over. Our relationship is over.

XXXXXXX

Present Day

My hands grip the steering wheel as I try to maneuver through the parking lot, around the excited kids that line the packed stalls and parents trying to reel their excitement in long enough to get to the front gates. To my right, Diana sits in the passenger seat. She's staring out the window, trying to keep her focus off of me.

I glance up in the rearview mirror and see PJ staring out the window at the large roller coaster track we can see from the parking lot. Her eyes are wide as she bounces in her seat excitedly. It's been years since I've taken her to the amusement park, the last time she was barely able to get on the children's coaster. I worry she's going to let her brothers persuade her to go on something she's not ready to handle.

I quickly pull into an open spot by a familiar car. When I cut off the engine, Dick and Jason open the car doors and step out. "Where's Alfred?" Jason asks when I step out from behind the wheel.

I give my second eldest a glare and shake my head. "He said he's way past his prime to be here," I answer. I watch as Diana gets out of the car and closes her door, her lips curling into a smile when she sees the two men. "Where are Tim, Damian, and Jon?" I ask, noticing Damian's car on the other side of Dick's.

"They went to get the tickets," Dick answers.

He watches as PJ opens the rear door of my car and braces himself for one of her running hugs, catching her in his arms.

"What am I, chopped liver?" Jason asks from beside Dick.

"Yes," PJ and Dick say in unison, before they burst into a fit of giggles. She would deny it if you asked her, but Dick is PJ's favorite brother. Barbara once told me it had something to do with the oldest/youngest child dynamic, but I think it's because he's the closest. With Tim being in San Francisco, and Jason doing whatever he does around the world, and Damian never speaking to her, Dick is usually the first PJ calls when she needs someone to talk to - other than Alfred of course.

"Well that's just rude," Jason says as he crosses his arms over his chest, pretending to be hurt. PJ only giggles once more before she hops out of Dick's arms and wraps her arms around Jason's waist. "That's much better."

Dick turns to me and Diana and gives us both a smile. "Just like old times," he says with a smirk. He glances over his shoulder at the coaster, watching as a train carrying screaming riders flies by, before he looks back to PJ. "Let's go!"

The five of us walk toward the front gate where we meet up with Tim, Damian, and Jon. Tim quickly hands everyone their ticket and we walk into the park, getting past security with fairly little attention drawn to us. A few attendees notice Diana, even though she remains in a casual tshirt and shorts, her hair pulled up in a braided ponytail, but they say nothing to draw more attention to her.

When we make it past all the souvenir shops, into the center of the park that branches off toward the dozens of rides, we stop. PJ turns to me and Diana and smirks. "So, we've all partnered up, and we'll meet here in two hours," she says. She grabs Dick's hand and pulls him to the right, down the cobbled path that leads to a few of the new roller coasters. The rest of the boys follow her, leaving Diana and I alone in the center of the park.

"That took surprisingly less time than I thought it would," Diana says from behind me.

I turn to look at the woman and nod. I knew PJ was being sneaky and planning something with the boys when I walked into the room and she and Tim were speaking in hushed tones, but this is beyond what I expected.

"I suppose you're my partner for at least the next two hours," I say, giving her a shrug.

Diana nods. "It appears so," is her response.

She turns and begins to walk down one of the paths lined by neatly trimmed hedges. I follow her, quickening my pace until we are walking side by side. I watch as Diana says nothing as she continues to walk, her sandals creating a small clapping noise each and every time they hit the pavement.

We walk until we come to another clearing, a few coasters in front of us. All of these are newer, neither of us having ridden on them before. "You ready?" I ask as I point toward the one furthest away. Judging by the longer line, I can see it is the newest coaster in the area.

Diana glances at the coaster, watching the track with wide eyes. It's been a while since she's been on anything like this and her hesitation is evidence that she is rethinking this whole day.

"I mean, if you're scared we can just go play the arcade games," I tease. I know she's not going to back away from a challenge, especially if it comes from me.

As expected, Diana turns to face me. The scared look on her face disappears as her eyes narrow. "Let's go," she says in a huff, walking into the line.

I follow her, a smirk on my face. I don't even know what this ride does, but that doesn't matter. I was able to convince one of the most stubborn people on the planet to go on with me. That is a feat in and of itself.

We stand in line for what seems like an eternity, but in reality is only about twenty minutes. We watch as other riders talk happily amongst their parties, each excited to experience what has been advertised for months. The closer to the front of the line we get, the more Diana tenses. I can't help but smirk when I realize I finally have the upper hand.

"Don't tell me Wonder Woman is scared of a little roller coaster," I tease when we make it to the front of the line.

One of the attendants walks along the edge of the coaster, testing each rider's harness. He stops when he sees the two of us standing behind the gate, waiting to be seated on the next train, before he shakes his head and continues his job.

Diana begins to nervously ring her hands as she watches the train take off and begin its steady incline up the track. "It's just been a while," she confesses. She turns to face me, her breath catching in the back of her throat when she realizes how close I am - not like I had a choice. The teenagers that are lined up behind me are all too eager to get a glimpse of the ride before they jump on, pushing me closer to the woman than I feel comfortable with.

Diana clears her throat and continues, "Although I'm hoping it may be a little easier than this emotional rollercoaster," she says in a whisper.

My eyebrow raises as the gate in front of us opens. Diana walks toward the empty train, leaving me to rethink her last statement. Emotional rollercoaster? Does that mean what I think it means? Could Diana be having as hard a time being here as I have been?

I quickly follow her, stepping into my seat, pulling the harness over my chest. It locks in place. The ride attendant from before comes over to check everyone's harness, before we're off and climbing up the track.

Beside me Diana is gripping the bars to her harness tightly. It makes me giggle, seeing as how she would be the only one to survive if something malfunctioned; I think she sometimes forgets she's nearly invulnerable and can fly.

When we hit the peak I turn to my left and steal a glance from Diana. As we rush down the track I watch as Diana lets out an excited scream. Her hand comes up and grabs mine, gripping it tightly as we continue down the track, up small hills, through two loops and down a false drop or two. By the time we make it back to the loading dock, the both of us are laughing, the awkward feeling in our stomach subsiding for the moment.

The train stops and the harnesses release their locks, however ours stop when they hit our still joined hands. "Sorry," Diana mumbles as she lets go of my hand.

The harnesses raise completely and she gets out of her seat, steps out of the train, and toward the exit. I follow close behind.

"That was exhilarating," Diana says with a wide grin as she steps into the open clearing. "Sorry for grabbing your hand."

I wave away her concern. "Don't be," is all I say as I look up at the line in front of us. "How about a truce?" I offer. I watch as Diana's eyebrow raises in confusion. "Things between us are awkward, but today let's at least have a truce so we don't ruin the day." I offer Diana my hand.

She takes a moment to think over what I've offered. Without a word, she reaches across and shakes my hand. "Fine, truce," she says. "But I get to pick the next ride."

I don't even have time to nod before Diana is pulling me to the far end, toward the hanging roller coaster that has been a staple at this place for years. We quickly join the smaller line, a smile on both of our faces when I realize, maybe this was a good idea after all. I only hope PJ is having as much fun as Diana and I are.

#Back to You #Fanfiction Friday #WonderBat #BrucexDiana #slowburn #my OTP

[dani-the-mark]

A Slept-On Review - AEW Dynamite 08/17/2022

I'm back!

CM Punk and Jon Moxley Promo

I think my notes say it best: “Holy shit fuck fire”. This was amazing. Punk and Moxley destroy each other back and forth and include a multitude of callbacks and easter eggs to each other’s careers. This is going to be a controversial statement, and I will get into it later, but this was the best part of this week's episode. 

After a Powerhouse Hobbs threatening promo with Tony… 

Bryan Danielson vs Daniel Garcia -  Two out of Three Falls

Ricky Steamboat is the guest timekeeper! I'm so happy he's here, and it’s so nice to see him doing well. He looks very happy and healthy. Chris Jericho also joins for commentary and actually lets the crowd finish singing Judas. Now if only he can free Daniel Garcia, but I’m getting ahead of myself. It's a Danielson match, so of course, we start out grappling. Danielson lands a punch that sends Garcia into the mat early on, and we are getting some LOUD hits from both sides. I was awestruck by the juji gatame (thank you for the commentary for helping me spell that) from Garcia. Danielson is able to slip out a dragon tamer, but overall the beautiful reversals in this match are coming from Garcia. 

The first fall goes to Garcia via knockout 

We come back from commercial to a bloody Danielson, and rather quickly, the second fall goes to Danielson via a sneaky pin. 

They end up in the corner and get some Yes kicks (I will not call them anything else) to an upside-down Garcia. Then we get a suplex off the corner, and Danielson is officially dominating the offense. Both men end up out of the ring. Danielson did not make the cleanest dive, and I'm not saying that because he left marks on the floor. 

With creativity all over, both men are now bleeding. Time to paint the mat! I have to admit, the head rubbing was weird, but I liked the long segment of interlocking. We somehow get ANOTHER beautiful reversal from Garcia. Unfortunately, Garcia can't beat the LaBell lock.

The third fall and win to Danielson. Jericho attempts to stop an implied BCC recruitment from Garcia, but the writing is on the wall. Garcia is having second thoughts about the Jericho Appreciation Society. As he should. 

Tony Neese vs Just Kidding it’s another Punk/Moxley segment

Mox ambushes Neese’s match and demands an immediate match from Punk. Everyone backstage manages to keep them apart…mostly. These men are on fire and they know it. 

Gunn Club vs. The Varsity Blondes

A SQUASH! It was a squash! Honestly, I'm insulted. Sure, we get a really interesting moment where Billy Gunn is turned on by his biological sons and is saved by his adopted sons, The Acclaimed. But, still, why did it have to be blondes?

Jungle Boy Promo 

Or, should I say, Jungle MAN. He tried to say pussy and the whole show glitched, and I think that was a perfect artistic representation of his promo. Jungle Boy loathes Christian. Christian comes out to respond and continues to be so good at making you hate him. I’m always just waiting for him to say something horrible. Christain attempts to reconcile and seek forgiveness from Jungle Boy, even referring to him by his real name Jack. However, there is no forgiveness, just murder. Jungle Boy beats Christian with everything available, including bashing his head into the ring steps. 

KiLynn King vs Toni Storm

I'm tired and we’ve reached the death slot! We get a solid slam of Storm into the ring and barricade as the first real moment of interest. These poor women. No story, no real emotional investment, but objectively good wrestling 

Andrade El Idolo , Rush, & Dragon Lee vs The Young Bucks and Kenny Omega

Okay, we’ve made it to my controversial take. This match was…fine. Objectively. The fire and excitement of Omega's return blew up the excitement for this match, but also undermined the rest of the wrestlers in my opinion. What do I remember twenty-four hours removed from this match? A V-trigger and a One-Winged Angel. Otherwise, we get a typical, maybe slightly above average match. 

Andrade attacks Dragon Lee after the loss, which adds a bit of intrigue before their team is completely lost in this story.

#aew #aew dynamite #dynamite lb #aew wrestling #aew spoilers #bryan danielson #all elite wrestling #writing #cm punk

[ghostbustermelanieking]

7 or 11 jmart for the kiss prompts??

thank you so much for the prompt!! asdfgghjkll i swear i didn't mean to post a post 200 separation fic on the same day as you (i was actually working on this last night).

this is a version of the scenario i wrote in love letters where martin and jon are separated after 200. but there is absolutely no need to read love letters to understand this.

warning for discussion of the panopticon scene in 200, and for a moment of jon wishing for the Eye to return (limited to the first section).

7. “I’ve missed you” kiss & 11. “I almost lost you” kiss

Waking up without Martin almost feels like dying all over again. That horrible moment where Jon opens his eyes in the hospital, on the other side, and doesn't see Martin… he'd take being stabbed a dozen times over this. 

When he wakes up and finds Martin gone, he thinks he's lost him. That Martin's died, that he's trapped on the other side buried in rubble, dead because of Jon, and Jon's survived somehow when he really doesn't deserve to… or that Martin's alive, maybe, just maybe, but he's somewhere else entirely. One of the other worlds Annabelle spoke of, or their original world—which maybe Jon should hope for; Martin would have the others, assuming they survived, and he'd be safe from the fears, safe from whatever horrible things they've unleashed on this world with one quick motion of a knife.

Jon should hope for this, that Martin is safe and that he has the others. But he's selfish, and they promised together, and he misses Martin with everything in him. 

He's at a hospital in London, he figures out eventually. The hospital closest to where the Magnus Institute was, in another world. The nurse reports that they found him on the site where Millbank Prison used to be, and isn't that weird? And that they found him there alone. (Jon's throat closes up at that, his eyes stinging, and he pretends he's tired so the nurse will leave, so he can cry in peace.) Martin wasn't with him. Martin didn't come through.  

But after a few days lying in the hospital with nothing but his thoughts, nothing else to do, Jon starts to question this. They have no idea how this all works, the tapes and the Web and the crack between the worlds… Surely he wasn't the only one to come through. Annabelle Cane thought she'd come through or die, and if Jon came through… and they didn't find her where they found Jon, either. (Of course, maybe Annabelle ran off before Jon was ever found, but somehow Jon suspects she wouldn’t. She strikes him as someone who likes to be at the center of things.) 

If there's a possibility that Annabelle came through, and landed somewhere differently than Jon, then there is a possibility that Martin came through, too. That he is somewhere, here, and maybe he is alive. 

It's a small possibility. But Jon clings to it with everything in him. 

He can't Look for Martin ( or for Annabelle, really). The Eye is gone. If it is here in this world, it has left him. Jon tries to be grateful for this, and a part of him is—he's been reaching for humanity for so long, all while sinking further and further into something he never wanted, he should be beyond grateful that it's gone, that he is alive and can live, without fading, somewhere else. (Although a part of him insists it doesn't matter if Jon hasn't made it.) But after so long with the Eye as a captor, a safety net, a part of him he thought he couldn't cut away… trying to live without it is strange. It hovers like a phantom limb, something severed by the gaping scar in his chest. He keeps reaching for it, for the horrible comfort of Knowing, and he hates it, but he wants it back deeply. Wants it because he knows he could find Martin with it, just maybe. He keeps thinking, Give it back, just for a moment. Thinks, I'll use it to find Martin and then I'll let go, I won't ever again, I hate it but I need it, I NEED to find him…

It doesn't come back. If Jon is ever going to find Martin, he'll need to do it on his own. 

He asks all the nurses and staff, anyone he comes in contact with, if they've ever met a Martin Blackwood. Asks if there's anyone in his files with that name, or a name like it, begs the nurses to please look around for anyone like that. No luck there. Jon asks for a phone book and gets an odd look; he guesses phone books are out of fashion in this 2018, too. He can't do much while he's in the hospital, and he's about to give up hope on making any progress until he's been discharged. 

But then he manages to get a hold of a laptop. After days of asking, a nurse offers to lend him one, if he promises to keep it quiet, and not to exert himself.  

Jon searches the Internet for hours. There are dozens of Martin Blackwoods, actually, more than he ever could've guessed, and none of them seem to be Martin. He has to consider the fact that Martin may not have existed here—just like Jon didn't exist here, or doesn't seem to have, before they woke up. Which will make it nearly impossible to find him using the Internet—using anything, until Martin has been here long enough to establish a paper trail—if Martin was ever even here in the first place… 

Desperation. Panic. Jon's last resort is to write a letter. To write down every single thing he's wanted to say to Martin, the things in his head when he woke up, the things in his head when he realized Martin wasn't here. He writes it all, says the things he knows only Martin would know, so Martin will know it's him if he ever reads it. And then he spreads it across the Internet. Posts it every single place he can think of. Every social media site. A lot of forums that are frequently visited. Comments on blogs he thinks Martin might read. Anywhere he can think of. He even prints off copies and mails them to every address he can think of that Martin might be at: his Prentiss flat, his post-Prentiss flat, his mum's care home, Upton House, the safehouse. He puts his real name on it, at the very top, and Martin's, hoping that if Martin is searching on the Internet, it might come up…

Jon's desperate. He'll try anything,  any desperate, silly scheme like spreading a love note all over the Internet. Anything to get Martin back.

-

By the time Jon leaves the hospital, his letter has gone viral. Plastered all over the place. There's people picking it apart, speculating about whether it's real, calling it an excellent work of fiction, speculating it's all a joke. There's even some commentary from other Jonathan Simses and Martin Blackwoods, swearing it's of no relation to them. 

None of it is what Jon needs. He checks every iteration obsessively: every comment, repost, retweet. None of it is Martin. None of them are Martin. 

He's still looking. Every single day, he looks, in places beside his letter and its hundred iterations. He searches as far as he can, in every record he can think of. He tries to find places in London that he and Martin frequented—the ones he can find. He even goes back to the Institute, or where it should be. It isn't there, of course. Probably never was. Jon can't decide whether to be relieved or disappointed. 

It's all he can do, to look and to keep hoping. It's all he can do. 

It's hard, being alone again, after so long always being at Martin's side… They'd craved space sometimes, and they'd had it, he supposes, but now… Weeks without Martin, one, two, three weeks, and it's excruciating. Jon had said together at the end, he'd promised , and he'd tried so hard to believe it, and now he's here, impossibly, alone. 

He has nightmares almost every night. Nightmares of the Panopticon and the end of the world, the ritual, words forced up through his throat—being at the center of the Eye, at the center of the world with Jonah Magnus at his feet and Martin dying in his arms. Martin forcing the knife into his chest. Jon hasn't dreamed of anything but the statements of others for so long, and he'd thought he missed it, but now… He wakes up almost every night shaking and crying, reaching for Martin. Like clockwork. He thinks he'd do anything for a dream that isn't his, a dream that's not an endless reminder of what he's done. 

He checks the forums. He searches in familiar places. He lies in bed and thinks of Martin, tries to look for Martin, silently begs for help from anyone who might be listening (the Web, the Eye, anyone). Nothing works. Nothing.

The reminders come like clockwork: Jon might be looking for no one, might be shouting out to someone who isn't there. Martin might be dead. It might be too late to get him back. 

-

Three weeks in, Jon finds a comment on the original forum, the original place he posted the letter on that first day. A comment from an m.blackwood . 

Jon reads it with his heart in his throat. Trembling with hope. Unable to hope completely. There's a dozen different things it could be besides him. 

The comment says I thought you were dead. It says, I'm sorry. It says, I love you, says, I'm coming. 

Jon's chin trembles, his eyes stinging. He fumbles at the keyboard with shaking fingers to instant-message m.blackwood, types out his address immediately, without thinking. (He has to type it out three times before he gets it right, his hands are shaking so hard.) And after that, I miss you. Even though he said it in the letter, even though it might not be Martin—it could be someone else fucking with him, a troll or whatever it's called; it could be the Web or the Stranger, luring him into a trap. But Jon doesn't care. He doesn't care. If there's any chance, any chance it's Martin… 

The reply comes a few minutes later: I'm coming. I'm so sorry. I miss you too. I'm coming right now. And Jon wipes his eyes, presses his face into his hands, and allows himself to hope. 

-

An hour and a half later, someone is buzzing for his flat. Jon runs so fast to the door that he almost slips and falls in the hall, hits the button with entirely too much force and breathes, " Martin? " into the intercom. 

Silence for a moment, long enough that Jon starts to wonder if this is just some random person he's practically sobbing down the line at. And then a voice answers, tear-choked: "Jon?" 

Jon nearly collapses with the weight of this voice, Martin's voice. He leans hard against the wall, his eyes burning, and says, "Martin, I-I'm buzzing you in," wiping his eyes frantically. 

He doesn't move from the door, stays leaning against the wall like it is the only thing keeping him up, until he hears a tentative knock on the other end. And then he's yanking it open, as hard as he can, and on the other side is Martin. Not something pretending to be Martin, not another Martin Blackwood, but his Martin. His Martin, standing there with the faded marks of bruising, his left arm in a cast and a new scar across his forehead, tears pooling in his eyes. Martin. Jon can't breathe for a moment, can't move, can't go to Martin because it doesn't feel real, none of it. 

And then Martin's saying, "Jon?" and bursting into harsh, frantic sobs. And Jon's rushing forward. He's rushing forward and letting Martin collapse in his arms, gripping Martin tightly, his fingernails digging into Martin's shoulders, his face pressed into Martin's neck. He's trying to hold on without squeezing or holding too tight, in case Martin's hurt worse than he knows—he's saying Martin's name over and over again, a senseless litany into Martin's skin: Martin, Martin. He's crying, too, hot tears dotting the fabric of Martin's shirt. He's burrowing as close as he can, pulling Martin into him, desperate to feel every part of him—it's him, he's here, it's Martin, they haven't lost each other. 

Martin's holding on just as tightly, trembling in Jon's arms where they've sunk to the ground, right in Jon's doorway. He's crying so hard, it's difficult to understand what he's saying, but eventually Jon begins to make it out. He's saying I'm so sorry. Again and again, muffled into Jon's hair: I'm so sorry.  

"No," Jon says, suddenly desperate. " Martin. No." He pulls back to look Martin in the eye, to try and wipe the tears off of Martin's face (even though he is crying, too). Leans up to press a kiss against Martin's forehead. "Martin, please, please… p-please don't apologize, please…"

"I killed you," Martin chokes out, his eyes shut, his dark lashes wet against his cheeks. "I killed you, Jon, I hurt you, a-and I… I thought you were dead, wh-when I woke up here, w-without you, I thought I'd never see you again, because of me… "

"I thought I'd lost you, " Jon says, quietly, through his own tears. He wipes the tears from Martin's face again and again. "A-and it really would've been my fault, because I lied to you, I-I was the reason you were up there… Martin, please. " 

" Jon. " Martin tugs him a little closer, burrows closer still, his face pressed into the juncture between Jon's shoulder and his neck. 

"It's okay." Jon kisses Martin's forehead again, his temple, his cheek, the top of his head. "Martin. Martin, it's—you're here, it can all be okay now…" 

Martin leans up abruptly to catch Jon's mouth with his. It's salty and lingering and desperate, every single thing Jon has felt in these long horrible days without Martin, every single kiss he wanted to give Martin while he was gone. Jon sinks into it, gripping Martin as tightly as he can, gripping onto his shirt, kissing Martin fiercely, with the panicked relief of being alive, of finding each other again. 

Even when the kiss finishes, they don't let go. They stay there, clinging to each other in the doorway, leaning against Jon's open door. Martin's still crying, still trembling in Jon's arms; he says, I missed you too, I missed you so much; Jon says, Martin, I missed you every single day. Every single moment. 

Martin whispers I love you against Jon's hair. Saying it back is as easy as breathing.

#tma fic #mag 200 #jonmartin #the magnus archives #post 200 #i wrote this #i might write more fics in this specific 200 scenario. like especially if i wanna write something where they talk things out

[blue-broken-heart]

19+ New Era; InterPlay-Yuuta Nakamoto X fem! Reader 19+

!Remember this is a work of fiction! !Remember this is a work of fiction! !This is a work of fiction ! !This is a work of fiction !

Okayokay a Yuuta series on AO3 but I'll switch up the names here...?

SO okay if yall get the song references Ily<3 but if it's purely because of yuuta....just my yutee~ what are you doing with your life?? I am in no position to judge sksksksk

This Yuuta(But make it red cause I can't find the specific gif--):

This Vybe:

Warnings/Triggers; Knife Play, blooood kinks, blood licking/drinking, sex(Obviously..this is smut) cigarettes, eddibles and alcohol consumption in the wrong situation(Come on people we know that we have to be sober at time

.

.

.

Side RANT: I LIVE FOR HYDE AND OML THIS MAn IS JUST SO MAJESTIC!!! My parents were right to grow my siblings and I with l'arc en ciel N just--<3

!This Is A Work Of Fiction!

!This Is A Work Of Fiction!

!This Is A Work Of Fiction!

!This Is A Work Of Fiction!

“Fucking Down it!” JohnJohn yells. Amazed he still had energy after destroying the stage a mere minutes ago. The leather clad man was like a demon. Sitting with your friends and you playing some drinking games, since alcohol wasn’t allowed in the venue.

Wincing as you down the sriracha-milk-don juli mix. Coughing as his thick hand covers your mouth to keep you from spitting it out, “If you spit it out we’ll drag you to that pop rock guys’ concert next month!”

“Uuck Wooo~” You muffle out, swallowing the mix when JohnJohn matters into your ear.

“Of course you like to swallow,” Lips pulling your lobe back a bit. As he moves away and grins seeing Belle and JaeHyun leave the room under the guise of going to the washroom. People called you and your friends groupies because you got to hang with the band…and that sometimes led to some… explicit situations but you were exclusively with John Suh. His Stage name Johnny but you liked to call him JohnJohn or Jonjon because it was easier to moan.

“Pay attention okay?” Jon said into your ear. About an hour after that shot… it was hitting now, as your head spinned, with Johnny’s hard cock pressing at your stomach, your face pushed into the mirror or his rooms’ emptied vanity.

“Ugh~” You moan, shaking your hips a bit as he pulls back your hair.

“Pay the fuck attention- I'm only gonna show you this once,” His strong hands clamped your waist, guiding you up and down on his hard length, “One, two,... three…., and four okay now your try.”

He guided you, slamming hard on one and Two, easing three and pushing his entire length at four. It was hard to keep yourself up as you pushed back, taking in his thickness. His dirty words flooded your ears as you felt static.

“Okay now bounce,” Jon said, watching you grip the ends of the vanity and push back onto him, his hips matching your pace causing him to fuck deep into you dripping cunt.

Gods you felt like you were on fire as he never let his tip slip out to give you a break, the slimy condom rubbing your smoothly as you couldn’t feel his warmth properly, and you hated it. He never touched you without wearing one first and you hated it so much. Of course he had other women in different status and country’s but when he came to Imgondak in Kainan he was yours and you were his.

_______________________________

“So you’re gonna be there right?! I got the tickets already, Hey Yuuta’s concerts are fucking expensive ‘cause of all his little fans!” Belle yelled into your ear.

“I already said I don’t like his sound!” You complain as Kryatal rubbed your back the pretty woman only liked MILF’s and you could see why. SHe only seemed to attract rich old women who wanted to live their lives after their husbands died.

“COme fucking on! ____+ you can’t do this too me now! You only go to JC concerts! He isn’t your fucking boyfriend! He has hundreds of bitches like you creaming his cock when he goes on tour!” Silla yelled behind Belle.

“Fine!? But I’m taking my flasks!” You shout, patting Krystal's thigh to get off of you as the pair exclaim in glee.

“We’ll pick you up at five! And don’t fucking wear those JCC colours! Yuuta’s fans will kill you,” Silla shouts before the line is cut. Rolling over to see Krystal looking around you closet for an outfit, clearing aside all the black-shimmery stuff and pinks, cause Jon always said his girls wore baby pink. Obviously all of his fangirls did and his fanboys wore the black-ish leather stuff that boiled down to leather jackets and little pins.

For Johnny you wore both colours and his marks, Along your hip tattoo of your hometowns cross roads to your old house, you got a special addition for him; a pretty ‘J’ over the stadiums’ location. Given that the spot was very close to your mound Jon was pleased to find it the day after. Kissing the spot lightly as he made love to you cause in his words ; “Doing things like this for me doesn’t deserve a quick fuck.”

And by the Gods did he make true to his word. The older man was indeed a master at his craft…. His music struck all the chords you wanted, every melody he sang so perfectly was like a drug. Speaking of which, you glanced at Krystal absorbed in matching a skirt to the little crop top she’d picked out. You grabbed the alt-ois container at your side and popped an edible chewing gum into your mouth. Relaxing as you had time.

Krystal soon settled on a tight fitting denim skirt, a light pink crop top with it’s lettering fading and a leather jacket… its shoulders littered with patches from all the stuff you and your friends did together.

A little glow in the dark pin from the time you’d broken into Neo-N club during a black out and pissed Kun’s parents off. When they found the group of you passed out on the floor. A little mountain from the time Tae took you all hiking and the group got lost for about two or three days. A claw slash from the time Mark got drunk and tried to kiss a beaver. A needle from a weekend long drug bender some of them tried and you really didn’t want to so you had supervised and half of the group of 8 ended up in the ER from blood poisoning. Among tons of other impulses or stupid decisions including or excluding alcohol.

After the pre-concert drinking session Belle said she had to induct you to Yuuta’s music. The soloist really wasn’t your style with his hyper pop screamy sound you often heard on the radio and switched. You much preferred Jon’s Hyperscream, heavy riff sounds that alway had a dark bass undertone that just called you.

The odd words of Yuuta filled your tipsy ears as Belle screamed the lyrics with Jeno, JaeMin, Chenle(who really didn’t want to go since his politician father was in town to check on his politics hating son), and Alice. The other car was less packed since you all drew bad lots.

“Screamin never gonna quit-Nothing wrong with it-” The car yelled as you gave in and danced about with them. The man’s style wasn’t your as it was too generic but hey if its a bop its a bop.

Groaning at the traffic to get into the venue was another headache. You had to pee and half of your edibles were gone because of Jeno’s fast hands. The car was sufficiently high as it wasn’t that strong but fuck did it make the wait time longer.

“Fuck it- lets’ leave Lele,” JaeMin groaned taking another gum before handing the old metal tin back to you, “Open-open-open! We’ll meet you inside.”

The white t-shirt boy said pushing Jeno out and moving to stand on the pavement.

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

The security of this concert was out of hand. Pat downs, scanners, full body and the small hand held ones. The double checking of tickets, and links to make sure they weren’t fakes was amazing. What the fuck went on at Yuuta’s concerts? The best was the sniffer dogs. Who clung to you because of the alt-ois in your pocket… you got it passed of as gum as you petted the dog smiling to the uniformed officers, “I have a dog at home… they probably smell her?”

Jeno kicked you when everyone had gotten in finally after Min was taken aside and almost strip searched because of an inner pocket in his jacket that had pain meds, contraceptives and condoms. Making you all snicker at the man who came back shaky legged and handing the little baggie to Alice who full blown laughed at him, placing the bag in her purse.

“You forgot you had condoms? And birth control? Who’s-” You snort holding your stomach as Min leaned against the wall.

“Hers- she gave them to me before we drew lots earlier-” Min pointed to Belle who looked away.

“What- if I get the chance to sign A ‘Y/N’DA,” Belle put air quotes adding the fanfiction trope into the contract’s name, “I’m gonna fucking take it and keep that man on his back until I make him late for his next show-”

“Woman do you really think HE of all rockers hook up with fans?” Mark asked suddenly, biting his thumb in the dorky way he always did when he though of something dirty.

“I mean NDA…exist for that reason…right?” Alice said as the seating doors opened and people began rushing in.

“Hold back- we’ll enter after-” Min shouted over the sudden crowd pushing about. Grabbing your wrist as he dragged you wherever Belle was dragging the long chain involving the entire group.

“Jeno- don't let-” You tried and the buff baby was swept away by some teen girl grabbing his hand and pulling, “Bye!”

“___+! Fuck yooooo-” Jeno’s voice called across as he disappeared.

—---------------------------------------------------------->

Thankfully when everything settled you guys had middle floor seats… above the stage but directly in line to see everything… expensive seats like this… shouldn’t be wasted on the dislike-r like you.

Yelling and chattering among the group was evident as Mark pointed and asked about one of your pins… one that Jon had gotten you… he loved the idea of a jacket with memory pins and he’d gotten one as a gift, given last month.

It was a little telephone in a pretty red-pink colour with its phone cord twisting into a ‘J’ and the first letter of your name. How were you gonna explain that?

“It looked cute at the snow inn,” You shouted, defending some accusations about you lying before the lights dipped and everyone began screaming, you were confused as you saw the little figures glittering about taking their places before you heard him.

“There’s an ordinary world out there-,” The hall began lighting up, strobe light flashing around looking for the source of the voice.

“And here we are now- together, with our Broken hearts and battle scars,” The smooth voice spoke again as lights floods the crowd, momentarily blinding everyone as it went black again, “In the shadows here we are, As falling angels in disguise,” His voice resonated around the arena.

A loud boom as the soundtrack rose up and a figure was launched out from the wide set stage. An axe..? In hand as he posed, holding it high speaking into his mic, “We’re waiting for the right time, My back’s against the wall now-”

He spoke as you heard loud screams calling out to him when he waited for his cues. Jeno clutching your arm in excitement you thought he’d break it, listening to his words until he swung the axe into the crowd and your eyes widened as it hit a wooden partition blocking out some people. It landed right in the middle of a picture of himself as the bass heavvy guitars started; “Hands Up! It’s going down~”

He screamed into the mic as the concert’s pre show began. Fuck this was another level of showy but the red streaked man with his black and white bandana was drawing in everyone as the arena chanted the words with him.

Strobe light as he came to the end of his opening song, and a small fire show as he held a fucking stable note that would strain anyone you voices easily, “Who’s gonna save us- Noooooow~”

The lights blacked out leaving the crowd breathing hard, and dizzy with excitement… even you… maybe Yuuta wasn’t such a generic singer as you’d thought?

“Holy shit-” You speak as Jeno shakes your entire frame.

“He’s prefecctt~” Jeno whines, as you nod from his whole body shaking. Hearing Belle’s voice screech out ,”Yuuta I LOVE YOU~”

Min screaming, “Save ME YUUTA!~” Alice: “FUCK IT UP KINGGG~”

You’re friends were mad and you were slowly agreeing with them as the lights came to shine on his lonesome figure, looking up and around the area.

“Hi Everyone~ I hope you all got in safe,” Yuuta spoke into the mic as the crowd cheered a yes, “Can we keep this energy?” The agreed, “Well I gave you a taste of the show to come… but I do have some other performers that I absolutely adore right now, can you guys show them some love?” they agreed again, “Well EVERYONE! MAKE SOME NOISE FOR  EGGMIESER!”

Yuuta yelled as the lights dipped on him and illuminated a band further behind him. A gorgeous black haired man in dark clothes and silver chains as he spoke. Maybe this concert wasn’t going to be so bad?

—----------------------------------->

“I need to pee, let me go,” You stumble out to Min who’d replaced Jeno to hold Belle and Scream. Don’t these men cut their nails???

“Fuck your weak bladder! Hold on!” Min yelled. Knees touching as he seemed to have a melt down from excitement. Hitting and forcing his hand off you make your way through the rowdy crowd. Being pushed and suffocated as you leave the roaring arena, into the stadium to find a toilet. Fuck, Yuuta’s music was totally different from what you’d heard.

The Joker makeup man was somehow undoubtedly sexy in your head as you thanked the staff lady who pointed you through the empty grey halls that rattled with tremors from the ongoing concert.

Fuck was it hard to pee while the area seemed to shake, you had hiked your skirt up around your waist careful you pocket knife didn’t flip open. The old thing was rusty enough to kill someone with tetanus on spot yet still sharp enough to cut into your leg by accident. Undoing the flask from the inside of your foil coated pocket you took a swig.

Enjoying the burn as you finish up. Holding the flask’s mouth between your teeth as you stood in front of the empty bathroom’s mirror. Washing your hands while chugging away some more.

Taking another of the edibles as you sat on the sink waiting a bit until you were sure you could walk. Pushing off as you wobbled with the base, taking down the empty halls that were so alike you were clearly lost. Where the fuck were you? You couldn’t see anything noticeable deeming yourself to still be in the stadium, Yuuta’s music somewhat more muffled as you saw…?

Guessed a break room or another washroom? Leaning against the little table as you tried to calm yourself down. Feeling the paranoia from the quakes in the building as you guessed your trip wasn’t going to be as fun as you thought. Moving to the little fabric chair you dropped down. Eyes drifting shut as the man who’d image changed in your head screams, “In the moment would you feel the same if I’d said we’d live forever?”

“Woahhh ohhh! Ooooh ohhhhh,” the pleasant sound was light and filled with emotion as your head drowned the noise out. Your head dipped back, stretching your neck muscles as you knocked out cold.

“Fuck the hell off-” a voice yelled, “I don’t give a shit if CEO ma wants- give me the fucking phone- don’t-don’t.”

You were surprised as you didn’t recognise your surroundings, moving to stand, leaning on the vanity? As you tried to sober up. Hearing a man scream, “Ficking kill youself CEO Ma! I don’t FUCKING CARE IF SHELBY”S YOUR ONLY HOPE-just Get the fuck out of my fucking life! I’ll get my own company- Fuck off with the money and see what I fucking care! I’ll file a lawsuit against you- you’re fucking- Oh really? Let me see your shitty face in public- I don’t care what fucking image you made me- I’ll rip your heart out and fucking force it down your- Hey! Manager Lin!”

“Go in your room and calm the fuck down Yuuta! You’ll regret all of this- please dude you can’t-___+’ll come over and you can calm down.” Another spoke to him… ___+? Were they talking about you?

“FUCK!” The first angry voice yelled as the door slammed open making you jump in surprise. Seeing the sweat ridden redhead. Scowl at you, white contact eyes narrowing as he closed the door, locking it as he walked closer to you, sitting on the previous chair you’d slept on.

“Are you ___+?” He asked, it sounded similar to your name you guessed so you nodded.

“Yeah,” You blink hard watching him take out his contacts, and wipe off his stage makeup. The black and white patterned shirt running low and undone almost completely showing his body.

“How much did Lin pay you?” Yuuta asked.

“Yuuta…right?” You blink at his tired figure?

“Mmh,” He nodded running the make up wipes on his lips, “How much?”

“I didn’t get any money?” You frown…money? By all means you’d love to increase the balance in your bank account, but it was the weekend and you didn’t have work at that ordinary marketing job you did.

“So you’re a fan?” Yuuta asked, leaning back, glancing at you.

“Of you? No… not really… I like Jonjonn’s group more,” You grin head tiling thinking about how Jon would finger your hot clit with those thick fingers of his. Raw power and lust in every strike or rub.

“Then what are you?” Yuuta asked.

“I- I work in marketing?” You offer. As he took his phone out calmly dialing for security making you stop him, “It’s a joke! DOn’t call security- I’ll leave if you want!”

His phone rang, “____+?” he said.

You couldn’t quite focus on his words as one of his closing acts spoke. Assuming it was your name as you nodded again. Maybe you shouldn’t have eaten three edibles? In total the amount of MaryJane in your system was wayy over the legal 60mg.

“ You’re her?” He asked, looking at his phone, then you.

“Me?” You groan head killing you.

He said something close to your name and you nodded. Suddenly surprised as he moved between your legs lifting you off the vanity as he moved you to the little couch behind him.

“Though you’d be more resistant,” He smirked, moving to kiss your neck, “Salty.”

Mumbling as his lips took your skin, pulling and nipping hard, making you grumble out. Wrapping your arms around his head as he forces your top off your head.

“Fuck,” You curse reaching for the cold flask pressing into your hips from under your skirt. Moving to get it as the redhead in front of you assumes something else, biting his lips as you hike your skirt around. Uncapping the flask as you tip your head back, letting the fire burn your throat. Wiping all your fears away, “Now let’s do this.”

You nod wrapping your legs around his waist, rolling your hips on his crotch lightly as you cap and drop the flask. Moving to suck a mark onto his chest. The thin fabric falling aside as it was already so loose.

His fingers slipped down gripping your ass, then brushing your underwear. Suddenly skipping all formalities as he pushed you back and began sucking your clit, long fingers pushing into you as your legs buckle. The odd zing in you as he lifted you into a high that struck hard like lightning.

Playing out as you wanted the quick stem teasing to stop as you pulled his pants down, forcing yourself onto him. Digging your hand over your cunt to move your slick over. Listening to his broken moans tired from performing. Sinking onto him as he thrusted up. Making you falter and scream out.

“You have a stable voice- where are you from?” He groaned, hands rubbing your thighs as he breathed hard.

“I-aaah-,” You fumble as he switched to sit leaving you to straddle him, “Imgondak,”

“That’s close,” Yuuta says as you begin pushing up and down using his thighs, as you nod.

“About 30 minutes to an hour away,” You pant, trembling as you pleased yourself in the stinging inside you. The way the red hair in front of you just sat and spoke simply as you did what you wanted irked you as he wasn’t even fully erect in you, “Wh-why?”

“This,” He spoke finger trailing over the road map line on your hip.

Tracing it lightly to your stomach and moved a bit as you push his hand down to rub your clit. Enjoying the little moment of talking as he seemed to have gotten to know you. Eyes digging into you as he got your flask again, sniffing the mouth before taking a swing. As you moan out, reaching for it as he moves to put it on the table.

“Never forget where y-yo~u come f-fuck-from,” You wheeze. Breaking down as you drop your head to his shoulder.

Cumming hard and crying out. As the rockstar in front of you looked blurry, though able to meet his lips with yours…the spiky taste of vodka reminisced on his lips as you felt him smile against you.

“R-ready for real sex?” Yuuta asked, watching as the liquid leaked down your jaw. His lips attach themselves as you nod. Listening as he spoke softly, “I’ll play and you’ll obey… okay?”

Fingers speeding up as he bit down on your shoulder. Sucking the spot as his movements became rough. You weren’t ready for more but the slight tremble of the building as the next act went up it bubbled in your ears as the man’s voice seemed to make your pussy quiver.

Yuuta pushed you to lay on the little couch, his hands moving around your waist grazing your skirt clad stomach, groping your ass as he pushed you against him, skin rubbing against one another as he smirked down at you.

“Fuck~” You groan out wondering what he was doing.

As much as JohnJohn could rock your body this man wasn’t him… he felt primal… and darker… somehow unhooking the little items you kept with you. Your pack of cigarettes from the little pocket over your breast. The alt-ide container that you reused with something a little more…exciting… his voice shouted in joy when it slipped into your bunched skirt pulling your pocket knife.

“Aww~ baby, did you really think that you’d need this?” Yuuta asked, flipping it open, pressing the flat of the cold blade to your stomach as you gasp into the sudden feeling.

“You like thaT?” He mused, moving to run the sharp edge up your sternum. Biting back a cry as he pressed it in drawing a small bit of blood as you saw his eyes light up. Moving down to lick it off you. The feeling when the man's tongue caressed your skin had you arching into his touch, the slick saliva moulding with your blood was thrilling.

“Do that again,” You moaned out as he kissed your jaw roughly littering your chest with blots of blood.

“You want to?” He asked, watching as you nod under him, reaching up to undo the last three buttons on his shirt. Holy fuck you didn’t listen to his music but gods Damned it, his body was arousing.

The way his hands flexed as he moved to, trail the blade on your legs, following the light pools of crimson that followed with his lips. Free hand moving to smear the life around. It was thrilling to say the least.

Blood and knives were something JohnJohn would never venture into because he didn’t want to push you to far… which contrasted to how he fucked you into the mirror, couched, chairs or other furniture of his dressing room then took photos with you after like nothing had happened but Yuuta was completely different.

Pushing you to the edge with his antics, eventually forcing your skirt always he kept you bare in your bra under him. Teasing your cunt with your blade as he looked to you. Sharp eyes digging into your skin as he slipped it into your lips, gently opening you to the air as you shivered.

“Can I go this far?” He asked, fingers replacing the metal object as he scraped your cum onto it and took his hand to your stomach. Your slight cries from the odd feeling rubbing into you.

“P-please,” You stumble out grabbing at your hair as Yuuta licks his lip.

Watching closely as Yuuta flipped your knife a few times at his side before placing it under your chin. The lust showing in your eyes was only matched by his. Smiling mischievously, knowing you’d enjoy what he had in mind.

Slowly, pulling the knife from your throat and gently slid it down your neck and over your shoulders until he reached your breasts. He circled one nipple, then the other. The cool metal made them harden and left you even more turned on. Yuuta then slid the knife under your breasts and over your stomach.

When the knife reached your clit, twinges of arousal shot through your core. Yuuta chuckled, knowing exactly what you were feeling. He flipped the knife so that he held the blade, and pushed the handle into your cunt. You whimpered.

“Oh, you like this then? Let’s see how fast you can cum like this.”

The cool metal edges between the plastic handle rubbing you sweetly as it went lightly into you. Yuuta’s thumb brushing the head of your clit ever so lightly as it sent chills striking into your chest. Arching high into the air as your eyes rolled back whining your hips against the handle.

It wasn’t long before it shattered your brain, moaning out as your cried out, his lips catching yours as he ate your screams of pleasure. The bulge of his cock is noticeable.. And you tense, the slightest hitch of your breath at the bite of a cool blade against your collar again.

It’s unbearably sexy. Stiffled as he slices through your bra. The sound of a blade snapping the tight fabric forced your moan. The sudden realization of being in his dressing room where anyone could come in to see him made you nervous…but what he wants is for someone to see. The thrill of being caught, the excitement of being found, desiring to show the pretty woman as his plaything crying for him to fill you.

Yuuta groans as he helps you stand returning to the previous position; hard chest to cushion your back with his hands holding your hips. The blade of the knife stuck to the base of your throat. Then moving his cock, deep in your wet heating cunt as he laboured into your ear..

“That’s right, pretty girl, ride my cock. Cum for me-- maybe I’ll fill you up until you’re dripping with it.”

Fucking Gods you feel satiated all over, desperately as you rock in his lap trying to let him feel the same bliss he had you in.

Head tossed back on to his shoulder. Feeling as he trailed it along your body as you found his happy rhythm blade sharp against your nipples. You’re full of him, stuffed to the brim and somehow still needy for more. The pulsing of your walls was his new favourite thin. Breathlessly biting his name out as you drench him with your release.

“My Rockstar~” You seized out falling forward over the table that held your flask.

Ears filling with a deep guttural sound, punishing thrusts making you cry out as your head limply moves with him. Blade flattening against your clit. As he trailed it out until it’s under your breast, tugging at your skin as it circles to your nape. The thought has you crying out in pleasure. It’s what finally tips him over the edge. The seconds that follow are filled with weak pants.  You whine out as your left propped against the table.

Yuuta leaning back erotically as he watches his love leak out of you. Biting his lip hard as your legs tremble and your cunt clenches at the though of his lips on your clit. Sucking the life out of your limp body, crying out for him to go longer and longer, until you could feel him. Phantoms of his thrusts in your pussy in the days to come, that'll make you weak at the knees and and needing to sit only to fidget around in arousal as you recall riding his cock through your highs.

Hips faltering from your straight legged position as you assume he isn’t starting again. Weakly reaching for the pack of cigarettes that fell from your bra cup, and the lighter in your skirt pocket. Sinking to your knees as you sit back leaning your head next to his leg as you light the bud lodged between your lips. Heavy breaths as your eyes roll back, moaning as the nicotine filled your lungs.

“Ah- you’re one of Johnny’s girls!” Yuuta suddenly say raising up next to your head, looking down at your fucked out figure, “Are you?”

“Who?” You grunt out, reaching for your top. You shouldn’t talk about JonJon… Belle said you’d be in trouble.

“JC- you know that band?” Yuuta asks, “The lead singer John Suh?”

“Ohh yeah,” You nod slipping on your underwear wiggling your hips from the slick dripping from your legs, “I listened to them a few times.”

“No, no, no you mean you rode Jon a few times,” Yuuta grinned reaching for his phone as he pulled up his boxers and redid his pants. Leaving his shirt loose and open as he stood up. Grabbing a bottle of water.

Flashing you a private picture JonJon took of you dripping after cumming from riding his face at his hotel. Biting your lips as you leaned closer to see your tattoo… his thumb pointing to the ‘J’ on your hip.

“That’s not me,” You deny, hurt that he’d sent the photo around. Conscious of Yuuta’s presence moving behind you, standing without your skirt. Hand creeping over your hips as his thumb brushed the same spot.

“Then you won't mind if I take a little picture of you?” He spoke into your ear. Lips kissing your neck as you tilt your head back. Coming to your senses as you heard the shutter of his phone. The last kiss he gave you before moving back to his chair.

“You can see yourself out,” Yuuta said, glancing at you in the mirror.

His lazed look makes you frown as you bite your lip, looking for your skirt. Not gonna lie you felt used, the bubbly high headspace sufficiently sweated out as you pulled up the now hard to wear denim skirt.

“Where’s my phone?” You ask suddenly, not able to find some of your stuff.

You could hide not wearing the bra with your leather jacket. The cuts he made weren’t low enough on your thighs to be seen and most were light enough to have already closed.

“Here,” Yuuta called, making you notice the second phone in his hands, loosely hanging as he held it behind him. Walking over as you pulled at your skirt to put your cigarettes and flask.

“Thanks,” You smiled, tucking it into your jacket pocket, glancing down at his phone, “who did you send that too!?” You panic seeing your stomach piercing with his hand holding your waist.

“Fuck- Don’t yell in my ear,” He grimaced, “Check your phone.”

Seeing the photo in your chats from an unsaved number, you muttered a little oh.

“I’ll call you if I’m ever in the Il-am area again,” Yuuta grinned.

“I-wait,” You shook your head, “I’m not a call girl.”

“What?” Yuuta asked, eyes widening, “Aren’t you {insert similar name}?”

“Oh shit- Yuuta…my name is ___+” You say slowly watching him shoot to his feet, running out the door to drag a buff man into the room who was stumbling out.

“-fuck, {similar name} left since you weren't in your- who’s she?” He asked.

“That’s what I’m asking!?” Yuuta fretted.

“She’s-did you- Yuuta fuck,” The man groaned, walking over to you, “Miss, look was there a mix up…how’d you get in here?”

“I-the door…I don’t know..” You said thinking hard back to how you’d gotten in here.

“What?!” Yuuta asked, almost yelling, “This fucking-Ma- I’m gonna-”

His anger reminding you something about a CEO Ma. Watching the fucked out redhead crack his knuckles before stepping closer to you making you guard up. You'd been in enough fights to know where this was going.

“Don’t fucking touch me-” You say as he simply lifted you over his shoulder and placed you into the corner of the room.

“Shut up and stay still for a moment,” Yuuta placed his hands to his lips as someone knocked the door. And he opened it. A small interview happened before he shut the door.

“Okay miss, just- are you a stalker? Or some crazy fan?” The man asked.

“I-no… I think I drank too much- I’ll just be on my way…I don’t worry about me,” You said seeing the alt-oi pack on the floor grabbing it as you walk to the door, “So ‘m sorry don’t-don’t worry about m-me…I- i’m totally cool no need for any security cause I really don’t need to be on their blacklist again…”

“Where the fuck you think you’re going?” Yuuta asked, caging you to the door.

—------------------------->

Sitting outside the stadium with your entire lower body paining as you waited to see when Belle and the others came out… your little situation ended with a NDA… and Yuuta’s phone number. Basically making you an ‘in the area booty call’ for him. Fuck… would you hate that if the idea of him fucking you all night didn’t make you wet.

Pressing you knees together as you felt the phantom pull inside your cunt arousing you again. About half an hour after the entire concert ended you were still waiting. Trying to call anyone but there was no answer.

Two hours later you saw the celebrity car pass to leave the empty venue, stopping in front of you as the front window rolled down, “____+!”

Yuuta called, making you look up, red eyed and sitting curled up on the pavement.

“Why are you sitting there?” He asked. Manager Lin at the wheel smiling forced.

“I can’t find my friends,” You spoke out, frowning. Where the fuck did they go?

“You need a drop back?” Yuuta offered, eyes darting behind you as he pulled his bucket hat a bit lower.

A hand smacked the back of your head hard making you yell out and look back at Jeno. He was looking frantic as he lifted you to your feet. Happy as you jumped and wrapped your legs around his waist.

“Fuck-dont hold there,” You scream out feeling Yuuta’s marks throb, “Where the fuck did you guys go?”

“___+ Holy shit I thought I actually lost you to some psycho-” Jeno sighed, “Hi?”

“Oh fuck-” You turn, remembering Yuuta, smiling at him you apologize, “Ah…yeah… thanks for the offer but my ride’s here.”

“Cool,” Yuuta said, dropping back into his seat gruffly, “Later,” Simply said as the window rolled up and then they drove off.

“Was that…?” Jeno started, cutting himself short as he leaned away from you a little to look at you.

....

...

..

.

I understand if you wanna yell at me after reading this....I'll take a scenario or request to make up for it <3 Requests: Normal: https://blue-broken-heart.tumblr.com/ask Anon: https://blue-broken-heart.tumblr.com/submit

Short bits welcomed too~ I won't drag it out like these dw-

#nct imagines #nct smut #smut #nct #nct 127 #yuta #yuta angst #yuta scenarios #yuta x you #yuta nct #yuta x reader #yuta nakamoto smut #yuta smut #rockstar Yuta #yuta imagines #yuta nakamoto

[ivyontheholodeck]

In honor of the MAG200 anniversary, here’s the opening of the fic I wrote beginning to end in a grieving haze in the 24 hours after the final episode dropped, then left sitting in my google docs for a year. Lmk if I should post the rest 😅

This time, Annabelle is the one who knocks.

Mother would have liked that. Circular narratives make for satisfying endings, and Mother always loved a performance. It’s unsurprising that Annabelle still plays her role, even when her audience has left the theatre of their world for all the realities beyond. Even if she’s no longer a titanic beast made of millions of spiders and the tatters of her human form, Annabelle cannot help but dance on Mother’s strings. It’s all she’s ever done. Anyway, it’s not as though the safehouse has a buzzer. While the building may be close enough to the nearest village to receive weak cellular reception, its walls stand unblemished by electronics in the shadow of the treeline.

She knocks again. Martin Blackwood opens the door, takes one look at her, and slams it shut.

“That’s a bit rude,” she calls after him.

“Fuck off!”

Not the most auspicious of openings, but Annabelle is patient. Her new housemates will need time to adjust to her presence. While she’ll be sorry to lose her banter with Martin for a while, she isn’t surprised that taking him hostage put a damper on their blossoming friendship. He’ll come around eventually. “Glad to see your comebacks haven’t improved since the end of the world. I’d hate for Arun to think he has competition in the poetry department.”

“I have bug spray in here,” Martin threatens.

She raises her brows. “Won’t do much good, will it? Not now you two have banished our patrons.” Though that’s bound to be a touchy subject. Speaking of which… “How is Jon, anyway?”

“I also have a knife.”

Annabelle pauses. She doesn’t doubt he’ll use it, especially if Jon is in bad shape. It would be embarrassing to get herself murdered within a week of the world being saved. Not that she’ll survive much longer in the post-apocalyptic world without help.

“Could you at least lend me a hat?” Annabelle asks. “Bit challenging to hide that I’m missing half a skull.”

A beat, and then the door wrenches open. A knit cap hits her in the face.

“Appreciate it!” she calls cheerily.

“Just leave us alone.”

She ignores his voice cracking. “I’ll be back in a few with supplies. Any special requests?”

“Yeah, I told you, I request that you fuck. Off.”

“Sorry, I can’t hear you, there’s a door in the way. Be back soon!” Annabelle counts the strangled noise of frustration as a win. She stuffs enough grass in the cap to disguise the hole in her cranium and heads into town.

Tracking Martin down was a stroke of good fortune. She hadn’t been sure she’d find him up here. It’s a long journey from London up to Scotland, but given this was the one place he and Jon had ever known safety, she’d put her money on them retreating to the safe house. Now she just needed to convince them to let her inside, too.

#tmanniversary #tma spoilers #mag 200 #the Magnus archives #jonmartin #Annabelle cane #that’s right folks it’s the roommates au #also featuring #Oliver banks #(eventually) #and good cows

[nat-20s]

fill of @jonmartinweek day 6 prompt- flirting AND jealousy, though much heavier on the jealousy than the flirting. Set in a classic “season 5 jmart time travel bac to season 1″ au

~*~

“Mr. Blackwood-Sims, if I didn’t know any better, I would assume you’re trying to proposition me.”

“Mr. Sims-Blackwood, I would never. For one, neither of us are inclined towards those sorts of activities, for second, we’re both married men. What would my husband say?”

“I believe your husband would say he never specified exactly what you were propositioning, and he would be more than amenable to kissing, preferably sometime in the next few seconds.”

“Mmm, suppose I’ll have to find him and take him up on that, then. If that’s really how he feels.”

“Trust me, it most certainly is.”

Christ, would those two shut up already? Granted, it’s late enough that they probably think they’re alone in the archives, but, still. This is, technically, a work place, and Jon would’ve preferred not to have accidentally gotten an eyeful as he made his way past the open door in the breakroom. Now, the image of (supposedly) a future version of himself sitting on the couch, with (supposedly) a future version of Martin straddling his legs, using one hand to cup his face, and the other to run his hands through that Jon’s longer hair, was seared into his mind, and he hated it. Look, contrary to what people who don’t know him very well seemed to believe, he’s hardly a prude. He’s more than fine with descriptions of physical intimacy, as well as public displays of affection. If he’s being honest with himself, deep down, he doesn’t even care all that much about professionalism, especially considering it is after hours.

But of course, he’s not being honest with himself, because then he’d have to admit that it bothers him that it’s them. He doesn’t know what to call the acrid burning in the pit of his stomach, the too tight ache in his chest, that’s present whenever the fun house mirror versions of himself and Martin are besotted with each other, but he knows it’s there. It doesn’t help that he’s the only one that seems to be bothered by it, the only one that frowns at the flash of wedding rings or the orbit those two always seem to occupy around each other.

Or, no, he’s not the only one. Occasionally, while witnessing the two of them being...the Two of Them, he can’t help glancing over to Martin. Lo and behold, Martin also doesn’t look thrilled about all of this, usually skewing more towards confusion or, oddly enough, resignation. At least, that’s what Jon thinks he sees there, it’s one of the few times where he can’t fully get a read on Martin.

Still, as much as Martin might share in being somewhat perturbed, as anyone who meets their “future selves” should be, Martin doesn’t seem nearly as upset as Jon is. That brings him back to his current predicament of feeling that level of upset, but not being able to determine the root cause of it.

It is not that he’s jealous. It’s not! He does not feel a pang of envy at seeing someone who looks extremely similar to himself loving openly, and being openly loved in return. He doesn’t find his thoughts drifting to the imagined feeling of lips pressed to his temple or arms around his waist or fingers running through his hair. He certainly hasn’t looked down at his left hand and been disappointed by the fact that its bare. He doesn’t even want those things, as he’s been telling himself for a number of many lonely years. One of these days he might even believe it.

Fine. Fine. Maybe, but only maybe, there’s a part of him that’s jealous. Maybe there’s even a part of him that despairs, because try as he might he can’t connect point A to point B, can’t see the steps he would have to take to be like that other version of himself, and he knows his Martin (well, not his Martin, but..) will never look at him like that, will never see him in that light. And, damn it all, it hurts, so if they could kindly stop ru-

Oh. Wait. He can’t hear them outside his office door anymore. Huh, perhaps they-

“Knock knock.”

Startled out of his...contemplation, Jon looks up to find himself looking back. Sims is leaning against the door-frame, with mussed hair, swollen lips, and pupils blown wide. Jon loathes him and wishes to be him in equal measure. In a move he usually would’ve thought more characteristic of Tim, Sims doesn’t wait for a response, instead sitting himself across from Jon and saying, “Figured you’d still be here.”

Trying not to sound too much like he’s speaking through gritted teeth, Jon asks, “Did you now?”

Sims gives a lackadaisical shrug. “With any luck, you’re not going to become me. I not sure you can become me, at this point, diverging paths and all that. However, we do share the first 28 years of our lives, and I certainly didn’t believe in the concept of a work life balance, so why would you?”

“Is there something you wanted?”

“Yes, actually. I want you to ask out Martin, your moping is getting insufferable, and considering how much of our misery has been entirely outside of our control, you shouldn’t put up with what is in your power to fix.”

Jon blinks. Jon processes. Jon stammers. “I-what?! I am not, you can’t just-. Martin doesn’t even like me, and if you really were the same person as me, you know I’m not all that keen on him either.”

“Uh-huh. Is that why you can’t stop thinking about his hands?”

“I do no-”

Sims puts a hand up in surrender, though the smirk doesn’t entirely drop. “Sorry, sorry, I know that’s rather unhelpful. What I mean is, you’re already loved, right now, as you are. No, that love is not coming from Martin, but it could be,t because he doesn’t dislike you.  He doesn’t know you, because you have done everything in your power to make sure he doesn’t. You also don’t know him, even though you’re interested in him, because you’ve been trying not to be. It’s stupid. Get to know each other. It’ll probably work out.”

“I...is that how you did it? Because this seems like an objectively terrible idea.”

Sims snorts. “God, no. It took a coma before I was able to untangle my own feelings. The whole point is that you won’t have to take the same looping, painful path that I did.”

Jon wants to reject it outright, almost does, and yet. “Fine.”

“Wait, really?”

“Yes, really. Why?’

“Nothing, just. We’re usually a more stubborn on these sorts of things. I was expecting more of a fight.”

“Mm. Normally, I would be, but I’ve been forced to watch two rather obvious proof of concepts waltzing around in front of me, and agreeing will hopefully get you the hell out of my office.”

Sims studies him for a moment, then a surprised smile spreads on his face. “All right then.”

Jon makes a dismissive hand wave, and Sims obliges, and he spends the rest of the night trying not to think about what he’s agreed to.

~*~

The next day, about half an hour before the end of the work day, Jon calls Martin into his office. From his tight shoulders and carefully blank expression, it’s clear Martin very much does not want to be there. Great. This is going to go so well.

Jon gestures for him to sit, Martin does, and he dives in. “As we both now know, I don’t have the ability to fire you. In all reality, even though I am, on paper, your boss, I truly don’t have any power or authority over you.”

Martin leans back in his seat, letting a heavy pause fall between them before saying a stilted, “Okay?”

“So, I want you to know that I am about to ask you a question, and you have complete freedom and choice over your response, without fear of any negative consequences. Alright?”

“Um. Sure.”

Jon takes a breath, slowly lets it out, and bites the bullet. “Would you like to get dinner sometime?”

Martin stares. Then he squints. Then he studies. “Oh. Jon, you...we’re not them, you know that, right?”

“I’m aware.”

“So..why?”

Jon lets out a sigh, and tries to gather his thoughts in a way that makes sense to either of them. “Well, though I myself have some trouble with the concept, they’re not..entirely removed from who we are, and there’s enough foundation there that I have reason to believe we might...get on? Maybe we don’t, maybe we end up being friends, maybe we end up like them. That’s already enough to pique my own curiosity, but, alternate future versions of us aside, I mostly would just like to get to know more about you, and I’m hoping you might like to get to know me better as well.”

Martin’s shoulders relax, and he chews on his bottom lip for a moment before replying, “Okay. Yeah, why not?”

“Oh. Oh! Great! Does this Saturday work for you?”

“Works perfectly. Let’s give a shot.”

The first date is..fine. A Bit of a mess, but fine. The second date, however, is the best Jon’s ever been on. It’s so wonderful, in fact, that he doesn’t even mind when he catches Blackwood passing a fiver to Sims the day he can’t stop smiling at work.

#jonmartinweek2021 #jonmartin #jon sims #martin blackwood #tma #the ending is literally 'we wouldn't be compatible without trauma' 'oh bet?' #ALSO GOD THIS IS SO LONG FOR A FICLET HH

[grahamfolgersdeliciousnotebooks]

Chapter 2 of my Fake Dating au is up! Read the latest chapter below, or check out the whole story on AO3!

For the second time in two days, Martin lay awake in bed, far too early in the morning, regretting his decisions. He envied the Martin of 24 hours ago, whose only concern had been the prospect of lying to his entire family. That was, in retrospect, infinitely preferable to his current position.

He tried to tell himself it wasn’t so bad. He did genuinely enjoy spending time with Jon. It was an opinion that confused Tim and Sasha to no end, but one he nevertheless held. Jon could be nice, sometimes, in his own stiff, awkward way. And funny. And really, really cute.

And that was the real problem. Jon was cute, and Martin knew it, and so far Jon was oblivious enough not to notice that Martin knew, but there was no way that state of affairs would survive the two of them pretending to date. Martin was going to slip up, and Jon was going to realize how he felt, and then, best case scenario, Jon was going to give him a lecture on appropriate workplace relationships before choosing to never speak to him again, and worst case scenario, he was also going to find out that Martin had lied on his CV, and fire him.

Martin knew that laying around and wallowing wasn’t going to help anything. He’d have to face Jon eventually. Still, he took his time getting dressed, staying in the safety of Document Storage for as long as he could.

By the time he entered the bullpen, Jon had left his breakfast on his desk and disappeared into his office, allowing Martin to preserve the fantasy that he hadn’t actually asked the boss who hated him - who he secretly (or, well, not so secretly, if Tim and Sasha were to be believed) wanted to date - to pretend to date him. Perhaps it had all been some strange stress dream. Maybe he hadn’t lied to his mother. Maybe his cousin wasn’t even getting married.

That fantasy was able to last right up until Tim and Sasha came into work.

“So,” Tim asked immediately, “How’s the fake boyfriend?”

“Morning, Tim,” Martin replied tetchily, choosing to pointedly ignore the question. Tim didn’t let it go.

“What’s wrong? Fake trouble in fake paradise?”

“Already?” Sasha asked, “You didn’t even get to enjoy the fake honeymoon stage!”

“Do we have to do this right now?” Martin groaned.

Tim and Sasha looked at each other, coming to a silent agreement, then back at Martin.

“Yeah.”

“Yeah, we do.”

Martin sighed. He was going to have to play the I-almost-got-eaten-by-worms card. “Look, guys, things have been really hard lately - I lost my apartment, my favorite jumper got covered in worm juice, and yes,” he dropped his voice, keenly aware that Jon was in the next room, “I agreed to fake-date the one person that I would most like to real-date. Who is also my boss. Who also hates me. So can you please not make things any harder than they already are? Please?”

Tim visibly deflated, puffing a sigh out through his cheeks. “Alright, you’re right. I’m sorry. I promise I’ll limit myself to one joke a day.”

“That’s a pretty big concession, coming from him,” Sasha pointed out. Martin fixed her with a halfhearted glare that prompted her to add, “And I promise to only make jokes if they’re going to be really, really funny.”

Martin let his head fall to his desk with a thunk, groaning into the wood, “You two are the worst.”

They were the best, and Martin knew it. He didn’t know what he would’ve done without them, after Prentiss. They’d gone with him (along with Jon) when he went back to his apartment to see what clothes and toiletries he could salvage, they dragged him out of the Archives at least once a week to make sure he was getting some fresh air - taking him out for dinner, or drinks, or, occasionally, just a long walk - and though neither of them would admit it, someone was making sure there was always a box of Lady Grey in the breakroom. They were wonderful. They were absolutely invaluable. But they were also, sometimes, the absolute worst.

Like, for instance, when Sasha mused, “You know, I think we’ve all been too focused on the fact that Martin has a crush and not enough on the fact that Jon cannot lie. I mean, remember the Game Night Incident?”

“What Game Ni- oh,” Tim said, suddenly bursting out laughing, “Oh, Martin, you are so screwed!”

“What are you talking about?” Martin asked.

Tim stifled his laughter just long enough to say, “Remember? Game night at Sash’s? We played that spy game?”

“I don’t-” Martin started, before the memory slotted into place.

Oh. Oh no.

***

Jon almost hadn’t come to Game Night. It had taken a lot of cajoling, plus a few articles about Team Building and Employee Morale and Workplace Cohesion sent to his work email before he’d agreed that it might not be the worst thing in the world.

And it wasn’t. Even Jon had seemed to enjoy himself as they all sat around Sasha’s flat drinking wine and playing board games. Jon had been surprisingly good at Jenga and surprisingly bad at Cluedo, and it was a welcome relief from the tension that had pervaded the Archives, even back then. Martin, for his part, had decided to risk a headache, just this once, and was well on his way to getting wine-drunk for the first time in years when Sasha explained the rules to the next game.

“This one’s a hidden role game,” she’d started, “We’re each going to get cards that have a location and a role on them - so, for instance, if the location is Pirate Ship, my role might be ‘Captain,’ and Jon’s might be ‘First Mate’ - but one person’s card is just going to say ‘Spy’ - no location, no other information. We’re going to take turns asking each other questions and answer in character, and the spy’s goal is to figure out what the location is without giving away that they’re the spy. Everyone else’s goal is to figure out who the spy is without giving away the location. Does that make sense?”

They’d all nodded and looked at their cards. It ended up being quite fun. Tim had, predictably, gotten way too into the roleplaying aspect, while Jon stubbornly refused to roleplay, causing the two of them to spend most of the game slinging accusations at each other. Meanwhile, Martin had been the spy three times in a row, and won each time, leading Tim to proclaim that he was “worryingly good at lying.”

When the fifth round started, Jon had been riding high after finally successfully unmasking Tim as the spy. Tim, as the spy from the previous round, got to ask the first question of this round, and he turned to Jon with a spiteful grin.

“Well, howdy there, sir,” he’d said in an awful imitation of a Southern American drawl, sending Martin and Sasha into a fit of hysterics. Tim’s fake accents had gotten progressively more ridiculous over the course of the game, and Martin and Sasha (helped in no small part by the wine) had gotten progressively more giggly in response. “Say, do you work here all year?”

The grimace Jon had made in response to Tim’s accent fell away, replaced by wide-eyed, deer-in-the-headlights panic. He opened his mouth. He closed it. He opened it again, throat working but no sound coming out. Finally, he blurted out, “I’m the spy!”

Tim, Sasha, and Martin had erupted at that, laughing until they couldn’t breathe, laughing until it hurt, all while Jon tried tipsily to explain himself.

“You were obviously looking for a specific answer, and I just, I couldn’t- How was I supposed to answer that?” When the others kept laughing, Jon folded his arms across his chest and glowered at them with all the seriousness he could muster - which wasn’t much, all things considered - and muttered, “Where were you, anyway?”

None of them were recovered enough to speak, so Tim simply flipped over his card to reveal that they’d been at the Amusement Park.

That had effectively ended the game, as they all knew Jon couldn’t lie to save his life, and they’d moved on. One hour and several glasses of wine later, the four of them were sitting on the floor around Sasha’s coffee table playing Settlers of Catan . While Tim and Sasha debated the terms of a sheep-and-wheat-for-brick trade, Jon had turned to Martin very abruptly, eyes wide, voice stricken, and moaned, “I could have just said, ‘I don’t work here!’” His voice was low enough that the others didn’t hear him, and his eyes were just a bit unfocused with alcohol, but the expression on his face was so open and sincere and so obviously pained, and that was the moment that Martin had started to fall for him.

***

“I should just call this off, right?” Martin asked, “There’s got to be a polite way to say, ‘You’re a terrible liar and I don’t trust you with this.’ I mean- I mean, that’s obviously not the polite way to say that, but there must be a polite way, right?”

Before Tim or Sasha could answer that question (presumably in the negative), Jon came out of his office.

“Martin, do you have a moment?”

“I’m a-actually a bit busy,” he said, frantically tapping his keyboard to wake up his monitor before Jon could come over and see it.

“Right.” Jon fidgeted, glancing at his watch. “Look, it’s almost noon. After you finish what you’re working on, what do you say we discuss logistics over lunch? I seem to recall you liking the cafe across the street.”

“Oh.” Most days Jon barely remembered to even eat lunch, so the fact that he’d agreed to put his work down long enough to take a proper lunch break startled Martin so much that all he could think to say was, “A-Alright.”

“Good.” Jon nodded to himself, and the frown of concentration he’d worn since he came out of office faded slightly, as if this conversation were a difficult task that he was happy to tick off his to-do list. “Let me know when you’re ready to go.”

With that, Jon left. Tim opened his mouth to comment, but Martin warned him in a whisper, “You already used your one joke for the day.”

***

Jon brought his bag to the restaurant. Martin hadn’t really noticed it when they left. If he’d thought about it, he would have guessed that Jon kept his wallet in the bag, or perhaps that he didn’t want to leave his laptop in the Archives unsupervised now that he’d caught on to Sasha’s disregard for privacy and her, as he dubbed them, “hacker tendencies.” He wasn’t expecting Jon to pull out a notebook as soon as they’d taken their seats and open it to a page scrawled with what appeared to be extensive notes. He dug a pen out of his bag as well, and tapped it restlessly against the paper.

“So.” He said it as a statement - not a segue, but a sentence unto itself. “When is the wedding?”

“The 7th of May.”

Jon hummed and made a note in the notebook. Then paused, apparently doing some mental calculations. “That gives us, what, 6 weeks?”

“Give or take.”

“Right.” Jon flipped through his notes. “I had some thoughts about our backstory, though of course I’d like your input.”

“Okay?” Martin wasn’t sure exactly what he’d been expecting, but it certainly wasn’t this level of preparation.

“I think it would be best to stick as close to the truth as possible - we met through work, we’ve known each other a little under a year, et cetera et cetera.”

“Fair enough.”

“Now. Who asked who out?”

Martin’s mind blanked. He’d been so worried about the general idea of pretending to date Jon that he’d never considered the specific horror of crafting the entire alternate history of their imaginary romance.

“U-um.” He took a breath, steeled himself. He could do this. “I did. After my birthday party. I found your lecture on emulsifiers endearing.”

Jon looked up, opening his mouth as though to say something, then snapping it shut into a tight frown. “Right.”  

Martin realized belatedly how sarcastic that last comment might have sounded, but he wasn’t eager to explain exactly how un-sarcastic it was, so he kept his mouth shut and watched as Jon wrote that down with a bit more ferocity than was necessary. After a tense moment, Martin added, “A-and that would have been about - about four months ago, which I- I think is a good timeline. Y’know, long enough to be serious, but not so long that I’m a horrible son for not mentioning you.” I’m a horrible son for other reasons, his brain filled in for him.

A waitress dropped their food off at the table. Jon ignored it in favor of pouring over his notes.

“How do you feel about physical affection?”

Martin was very proud of himself for not choking on his water. He swallowed, then asked, “What?”

“Well, if we’re impersonating a couple, we'll probably want to appear at least a bit physically affectionate. And it’s important to set boundaries in these things.”

“R-right.”

“I can start, if you like. Hand-holding is fine.” Jon’s voice was business-like, almost bored, as though this were a very strange performance review. “I also have no problem with you putting your arm around my shoulders or waist. As for the rest…” he broke off delicately, and his professional affect cracked just slightly. “I am… open to the prospect of kissing. But I’d need advanced warning.”

Martin’s mouth went dry. “Right. W-what kind of advanced warning?”

“I’ve been thinking about it,” Jon said, and yeah, by the state of his notes he’d been thinking about it a lot, “We need some sort of non-verbal signal. The best I could come up with was this.” He reached out and tapped two fingers once, twice against the back of Martin’s hand. “Do you think that would be discreet enough? A-and distinct enough?”

“Yeah, that should work. But, how- how would you signal whether you’re okay with it or not?”

“I suppose I could tap back?”

“So, like…” Martin reached out and tapped the back of his hand once, twice, and Jon turned it over and tapped once into Martin’s palm.”Yeah, I think that - that should be good. It’ll be more subtle when we’re not sitting on opposite sides of a table.”

Jon made another note. “And what about you?”

“Oh. My b-boundaries are, erm, similar I guess? I’m fine holding hands and- and hugging, but I’ll definitely want some warning before you kiss me.” A few seconds later, when his brain finally caught up with the words his mouth had spoken, he added, “I-If you kiss me, that is. We’re not - we don’t- ” Jon looked to be too busy writing this down to notice Martin’s distress. Probably for the best, that.

Jon nodded to himself. “Right. Right, that all sounds good.”

He had barely glanced at his plate, and Martin was about to mention that his food was almost certainly getting cold when he turned the page, revealing yet another page of notes.

“Another thing that occurred to me during my preliminary preparations,” he said, and Martin was briefly distracted by the revelation that these were only his preliminary preparations, “Is that it might be a good idea to practice before the event itself.”

“Practice?” Martin asked, mind whirling with the possibilities of what that could entail.

“Go to events posing as a couple,” Jon clarified “Preferably events where we don’t know anyone and wouldn’t be too embarrassed if we were found out.”

Martin couldn’t imagine a situation in which he wouldn’t be embarrassed by other people to find out that he was lying about dating his boss, but he let Jon go on.

“I noticed that a flat not far from the Institute has gone up for sale and is hosting an open house. We could attend, pretend we’re interested in moving in together…”

“Look, Jon, I really appreciate that you agreed to do this - and-and all the preparation you’ve done,” Martin interrupted him, “But I think this might be taking things a bit too far. I should just tell them that something came up and my boyfriend can’t come-”

“No, I can do this!” Jon protested, his usual dry demeanor giving way, momentarily, to something oddly fierce. He reigned himself in quickly, and his next words were perfectly professional. “I think practice would do us both some good. And, in any case… It might not be the worst thing in the world for you to spend more time out of the Archives.”

“You’re one to talk!”

“Yes, well,” Jon waved a hand at himself, “Another advantage of my plan. I know that periodically going out and lying to strangers with me isn’t anyone’s idea of an ideal social lie, but given the circumstances…”

“I could do a lot worse,” Martin agreed. He pushed what was left of his food around on his plate, taking a moment to process the conversation. They were doing this, apparently. Jon was… oddly dedicated to the plan. And, though Martin still couldn’t shake the feeling that this would be a trainwreck, having things work out was starting to feel a bit more like a possibility, however faint. “Well, if that’s everything…”

“Not quite,” Jon said, flipping through his notebook until he reached a page covered in questions, with space left beneath each one. What followed was a delirious half-hour in which Jon asked him questions ranging from “What’s your favorite color?” and “Do you have any siblings?” to “Would I be jealous of any of your exes?” and dutifully jotting down his answers. As their waitress came back several times to refill their glasses, Martin couldn’t help but wonder what she thought they were doing. It must have looked, from the outside, like a very strange first date.

When the check came, Martin reached for it.

“Let me,” he said, but Jon was already pulling it towards himself.

“No, no, I’ll pay. I was the one who asked you.”

As they gathered their things and left the restaurant, Jon said. “We should, um. We should do this again sometime.”

And Martin knew he was saying that because they hadn’t gotten through all the questions on his list, but he still felt his cheeks warm just slightly as he said, “Yeah, we should.”

#tma #the magnus archives #tma fic #jonmartin #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #jonmartin fic #jmart #jmart fic

[bluejayblueskies]

can i be gentle?

Words: 7.1k

Relationships: Jon & Tim, Tim & Martin

Tags: Canon Divergence, Tim Lives, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Whump, Post-Unknowing, Injury Recovery

Warnings: suicidal thoughts/ideations, blood, injury, hospitals and hospitalization, survivor's guilt, body horror, minor gore, gun and knife violence, mentions of death, mentions of canon-typical worms, implied child abuse, meat, alcohol, swearing, crying, smoking

Ao3 link in source

.

Tim aches. It’s full-body, radiating through his arms and back and legs, and he wishes more than anything that he could go to sleep, to chase away the pain for at least a little while. It feels like he’s been hit by a bus.

 Or been on the receiving end of several kilos of C4 igniting all at once. But that metaphor’s a bit too on-the-nose, in his opinion.

 He should be dead. He should be dead. 

 (Does he wish he were dead? He hadn’t cared, in those few moments of clarity before he pushed the button on the detonator and the colors solidified into black nothingness, whether or not he would wake up when the smoke cleared. It’s hard to tell. He’d attached so much of himself to revenge, before, when it was easier than feeling everything else bubbling up underneath, and now that it’s been ripped away from him, he doesn’t know what emotion should be filling the gap. Probably relief.

 He doesn’t feel relieved.)

 The nurse is speaking to him. Her lips are moving, but he can’t hear her. His ears ring and ring and ring, and it sounds like spirling, mocking laughter.

 They do some tests. Blast-induced hearing loss, the pamphlet they give him proclaims. Prognosis is good. Most patients recover in 6 weeks. Hearing aids can help with high frequencies.

 His ears ring and ring and ring, and he’s alive.

 He’s alive.

 Jon is not.

 .

.

.

 “It’s because of him, you know.”

 Martin startles badly at Tim’s voice. Tim wonders if it had been too loud; the ringing in his ears is incessant, and every word spoken sounds as if it’s coming from a very, very far distance. He moves a bit further into the room that they’ve placed Jon in, his hands shaking where they grip the wheels of the wheelchair they’d given him. Hard to walk when your leg is shattered. And some ribs as well. 

 Martin says something, Tim thinks, as he’s turning. His eyes are wide and rimmed with red, and he’s looking at Tim expectantly. Tim sighs, then winces as the motion sends tendrils of pain through his ribcage. “I can’t hear you, Martin. Either speak up—way, way up—or just… move your lips more or something. I don’t care.”

 “What?” Martin enunciates, and it’s so ridiculous, Tim wants to cry.

 He answers anyway.

 “Me. Being here. I’m alive because… because of him.”

 It was stupid, thinking he could protect Tim from an entire building collapsing on top of them. But his hand had gripped Tim’s wrist and he’d pulled him to the floor and he’d covered Tim’s body with his own, so when the shock wave had hit, Jon had gotten the worst of it.

 Tim refuses to feel guilty about it. He does anyway. Because they’d argued, and Jon had stalked him, and Tim had cultivated his anger and fear into a simmering ember deep in his chest, but at the end of the day, Tim wasn’t supposed to survive.

 Jon was.

 Tim swallows, hating the bitter taste in his mouth, and says, “Do you… do you think he’s going to wake up?”

 Martin says something, too softly for Tim to hear. His mouth twists into something small and pained, and he looks at the floor.

 It’s answer enough.

 Tim doesn’t ask again. 

 .

.

.

 They arrest Elias a few hours later, after Martin’s collected himself enough to bring his plan to completion. Tim’s only regret is that he isn’t able to see the look on Elias’s face as he’s dragged away.

 Knowing Tim’s luck, he’d probably have just looked smug.

 The name Peter Lukas crosses Martin’s lips, spelled out in exaggerated motions when he visits Tim again. Tim thinks, absurdly, of the hydra. Cut off one head, two grow back.

 Lukas probably won’t be better. Knowing their luck, he’ll be much worse. But Tim thinks of the way Melanie had shaken after she’d come out of Elias’s office, of the haunted look in Martin’s eyes when Tim had asked how his plan went, and can’t find it within himself to care.

 .

.

.

 They release him from the hospital with a hefty prescription of pain meds, small plastic hearing aids tucked in each ear, and a thick folder of discharge papers. Martin’s there when they do; the bags under his eyes are dark and smudged, and he nods mechanically as the nurses talk to him, outlining Tim’s care regime for the next few weeks. His eyes keep flicking to the side, to the corridor that leads to the long-term care section of the hospital. Wordlessly, Tim reaches over and takes Martin’s hand in his, giving it a single squeeze before holding it tightly.

 Martin lets out a breath through his nose and squeezes back.

 “Do you want me to, er. To take you back to yours?” Martin asks once they’re out, his voice on the softer side of muffled and overlaid with that constant ringing but audible enough now that he doesn’t have to shout. 

 Tim feels something almost like embarrassment curling in his stomach. “I, uh. I don’t have a place anymore.” Tim drums his fingers on his thighs, looks at the ground, and says, “I canceled my lease. About a week before we left for Great Yarmouth.”

 There’s silence between them—or at least, as close to silence as Tim can get right now. Tim thinks Martin says something, a word or two brushing up against the edges of what the hearing aids allow him to hear, but he can’t grasp any of it. So, Tim looks up at Martin, at the pinched, pained expression on his face, and says, “Don’t pretend like you didn’t know.”

 “Know what?” Martin says bitterly. “That you never expected to come back? Yeah, I got that part. I even got why, you know? Doesn’t make it better, though. I didn’t want to lose you, Tim.” Martin pauses, then says, so quietly Tim can barely hear it, “I didn’t want to lose anybody.”

 “Yeah,” Tim says. But that’s not how this works. We were never going to all survive. Everything is fucked, and it still is, and it always will be.

 “I’m sorry,” he says and finds he means it. Then, to clarify: “For hurting you. And… and for Jon.” He doesn’t elaborate on that point. He doesn’t know what he would say even if he tried. “But I’m not sorry for going, and I’m not sorry for pressing that button. If I would have died, I wouldn’t have been sorry for that either.”

 “Right,” Martin says slowly. “But you didn’t. And the Circus is gone now, so do you…?”

 “Do I still want to kill myself?”

 Martin winces.

 “Hey, your question, not mine,” Tim says, holding his hands up in a defensive gesture. After a moment, his hands drop back to his lap, and he gives a small shrug. “Don’t know. I knew I would do what I needed to in order to destroy the Circus, and I did. Thought I would die in the process, but I didn’t. I’m still trapped in the world’s shittiest job, and I don’t really…”

 Tim shrugs again. “I don’t know,” he repeats. Then, because it feels true: “It was never… it was never the dying bit I was chasing, you know. I didn’t do this because I thought it would be a good way to get killed. I did it for Danny, and that’s it. Plain and simple. So if you’re asking if I want to die, the answer is no. But I can’t guarantee that I won’t make the same decision again if I have to.”

 Martin’s quiet for a long moment. Then, calmer than Tim expects, he says, “Okay.”

 “Okay,” Tim echoes. Then, with a levity that only feels slightly forced: “I suppose it’s back to your place, then. Just be sure to buy me dinner first.”

 Martin doesn’t smile at that like he used to, but his face does soften a bit. His voice is lighter when he says, “Oh, I will. Within your dietary restrictions, that is. Which means no alcohol.”

 Tim groans. “You’re no fun.”

 “Uh huh.”

 They begin the commute back to Martin’s flat, and the atmosphere between them grows more lighthearted than it’s been in months. Tim feels something warm and familiar curl in his chest, and he realizes just how much he’s missed this. It’s not quite easy conversation, not like it used to be, but it’s nice all the same.

 Tim’s ears ring, and his entire body aches, and he still feels a numbness in his core in the shape of suspicious glances and calliope music and a face he can’t remember, but for the first time in a long, long time, he allows himself to smile.

 .

.

.

 Tim doesn’t visit Jon often. At first, it’s the guilt, acute and cloying and weighing him down. Then, it’s old hurt and stale anger, resurfacing and driving away any passing thought of Jon that isn’t tinged with bad memories and broken trust. After that, it’s just habit.

 It also hurts, if he lets himself admit it. To see Jon lying there, motionless and clad entirely in white, the heart monitor attached to him reading out a constant horizontal line even as his eyes move in small, jerky motions behind his eyelids. 

 See? a part of him whispers. He’s not human. Maybe he never was. Maybe he was always a monster, and you just never noticed. It wouldn’t be the first time.

 A newer part of him, one that gets more prominent by the day, recognizes that even if Jon isn’t human anymore, he never would have chosen this. This stasis, this half-death. Not what came before, either. That part of him remembers the way Jon’s hand had gripped his tightly as they’d opened that trapdoor, and how it had continued to do so even as the worms had begun to bite into their skin. He’d tried to protect Tim then, too, putting himself between Tim and Jane Prentiss. For all the good it did, when the worms began to come from all directions. But Tim remembers the way the terror and pain in Jon’s eyes had been tinged with sadness, with a silent apology as he gripped Tim’s hand hard enough to bruise and they both accepted that this was it.

 It hadn’t been, in the end. And now it is, with Jon all-but-dead and Tim still here, wheeling his way into Jon’s hospital room for the first time in weeks. 

 He’s halfway in before he realizes he’s not alone.

 “Oh,” he says. “I… I didn’t know you’d be here.”

 Martin lets out a sharp, jagged laugh. “Where else would I be?” he says, and it’s tinged with something bitter and broken that takes Tim a bit off-guard. It’s become almost routine now, for Martin to visit Jon, and usually, he comes back looking drained but otherwise fine. Sometimes, when Tim asks him for status updates on our resident medical mystery, Martin even manages a small smile and responds, still dreaming.

 Martin scrubs a hand across his face, and Tim realizes belatedly that he’s crying.

 “Martin?” Tim says carefully, moving a bit closer to where Martin’s sitting. “Are you… did something happen?”

 “No,” Martin says, his voice catching in a way that indicates that something very much did happen. “It’s fine.”

 “Is it…?” Tim pauses, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. “Is it about Jon?”

 Martin’s laugh this time is more like a whimper. “Nope, he’s- he’s the same as always. Still asleep.”

 Tim moves closer but doesn’t say anything. The clock ticks rhythmically in the background, and he waits. Patience has never been his strong suit, but it’s been something that’s been required of him as of late, and he’s getting better at it.

 He likes to think he’s getting better at a lot of things.

 Martin doesn’t speak again for a few minutes. He stares at his hands where they rest just shy of one of Jon’s, his fingers restless against the sheets, coming up occasionally to fiddle with the thin black ring that rests on the middle finger of his right hand. Then, so quiet Tim almost can’t hear it, he says, “My mother died today.”

 Oh.

 “I’m sorry,” Tim says. They’re empty words, but they’re better than the good riddance and about time and you’re better off without her sitting on the back of his tongue, begging to be released. He doesn’t think they would be appreciated right now, no matter how true they might be.

 “Yeah,” Martin says. He’s still staring at his hands. “They called me a few hours ago. She… she passed away in her sleep. Natural causes. From- from her illness.” He falls silent for a few moments, his fingers twisting in the sheets. Then: “I… I think I should be sad?”

 Tim studies Martin’s face—the tear tracks down his cheeks, the unhappy set to his mouth, the way he’s shaking ever so slightly where he sits. His face is one of grief, but Tim doesn’t ask. He waits for Martin to continue, and after a moment, Martin says, “She was the only family I had left. She- she was my mother. I took care of her, I- I did my best to be a- a good son.” He takes in a shaky breath, curls his hands into fists, and says, “I haven’t seen her in months, you know. I- I visited at first, but she… she never wanted to see me. So I just stopped going. I’d call, every Saturday, but it was the same every time. She’s resting. She doesn’t feel up to talking right now. Call later, and we’ll see what we can do.” 

 Finally, Martin looks at Tim, and the guilt in his eyes is so acute Tim can feel it cut through him to his core. “I should be sad that she’s dead, but… but all I can feel is relief. And that hurts. I- I don’t know… why am I relieved? God, she was right, I- I’m horrible, no wonder she- she never wanted to see me, I- why can’t I- I can’t—”

 Martin cuts off with a wet sob, and all at once, Tim understands.

 “It’s okay,” he says, and he collects Martin’s hands from the sheets, holds them tightly in his own. “You can feel however you like, it’s- it’s okay.”

 He squeezes Martin’s hands, just once, and repeats, “It’s okay.”

 He knows Martin won’t believe him. But still, he sits, and Martin cries, and he says, It’s okay.

 It’s okay.

 .

.

.

 The hearing aids are a permanent fixture in his ears now, as most people have full hearing restoration after six weeks apparently doesn’t include him. The tinnitus is still particularly bad some days, but they help with everything else. It’s not perfect, but it’s a small price to pay for living, he supposes.

 He’s not sure when, exactly, he decides that he’s glad he’s alive. But he does. 

 He wishes he hadn’t been able to hear at all, when the Flesh attacks. He wishes he hadn’t been able to hear the wet, sticky sounds of things that shouldn’t be able to move without bones slipping through the vents, shattering the relative peace they’d begun to cultivate. He wishes he hadn’t been able to hear the pops of Basira’s gun, bullets burying themselves in things that barely flinched at the contact. He wishes he hadn’t been able to hear Melanie’s screams of anger, the responding screams of pain from things with too many eyes and teeth and limbs as her knife carved a violent path through them.

 There are yellow doors and hands slick with blood and a sudden quiet as the last of the twisted, mangled creatures falls, sliced neatly in two in a way that’s just a bit too clean. 

 Melanie is breathing heavily, but her hands are steady and her eyes are hard with something raging and violent. When Basira reaches tentatively for her knife, saying, “It’s over now, Melanie. We’re- we’re safe,” Melanie stiffens but doesn’t resist.

 “This isn’t right,” Tim says after Melanie comes back to herself in bits and pieces, enough to shudder at the blood coating her arms up to the elbows and mutter something he can’t quite catch before disappearing into the toilet. “None of this is. God, can we ever catch a fucking break?”

 “We can deal with it later,” Basira says. She’s calm, but she can’t quite hide the tremor in her voice. Her Al-Amira is splattered with viscera. “Right now, we need to make a call. Get this cleaned up.”

 “What,” Tim says bitterly, “so we can continue hiding away in the Archives? You’re the one who said we should start sleeping here. Should have known it wouldn’t be safe. It’s not like it was before.” 

 He rubs at one of the small circular scars on the back of his left hand, his skin crawling with a phantom itch that makes him vaguely nauseous. 

 “We stay here,” Basira says, leaving no room for debate. “We make the call, and we stay here.”

 Tim makes a low, frustrated noise, and bites out, “Fine. Because Basira always knows best. Whatever.” He unlocks his wheelchair and says shortly, “I’m going outside for some fresh air. The smell of rotting meat is making me sick.”

 Basira doesn’t follow him.

 Martin does.

 They situate themselves just outside the glass doors, and they don’t say anything for a long time. Martin still looks vaguely ill. His face is pale, and his hands are fidgeting at his sides. His fingers are resting on his ring, twisting it back and forth, agitated. His shoes are stained a glistening red.

 Finally, Martin tilts his head back so it hits the wall behind him and says to the air above him, “Is it horrible that I wish Jon were here?”

 Tim snorts, anger still bubbling under the surface of his skin. “Because we’d have done so much better with our own flavor of spooky bullshit?” He bites out a bitter laugh. “Maybe he could have compelled them to explain exactly why every single monster out there has a personal vendetta against us. Working for an eldritch horror of voyeurism doesn’t give you much in terms of an offense.”

 “Stop,” Martin says sharply. “You know what I mean.”

 Tim does. He’s just not particularly inclined to wax nostalgic about the power of friendship and comradery when he’s got bits of meat stuck in his hair. 

 Still, he finds that he means it when he says, “I wish he was too. For what it’s worth. Which isn’t a fucking lot, but it’s what we’ve got.”

 “Yeah,” Martin says. His hand brushes against Tim’s, and they fall back into silence.

 The police arrive, followed closely by the ECDC. It’s a messy affair, even messier than the last time Tim had been in this situation, and Tim wants nothing more than to get away. Forever.

 He doesn’t make any jokes this time. He just nods in the right places, and when they’re finally released and he and Martin return to a flat they haven’t seen in weeks, he can feel weariness cutting through him to the bone.

 When he wakes the next day, Martin’s gone. His note, stuck to the door of the fridge, says, At the hospital. Be back around noon.

 It’s ten in the morning, and the sunlight is bright as it streams in through the kitchen window.

 Tim digs out the bottle of rum that Martin keeps tucked in the back of his cabinet and pours himself a drink.

 .

.

.

 “Peter Lukas wants me to be his assistant.”

 Tim looks up from what’s turning out to be quite an impressive doodle of the little figurine of a frog in a top hat he’d purchased back in research from a charity shop and says, “Absolutely not.”

 Martin sucks his bottom lip between his teeth, holds it there for a moment, and then says, “I don’t know if I have a choice in the matter, really. It’s… it’s not safe here anymore.” Quieter: “He said he can help. Off- offer protection.”

 Tim audibly scoffs at that. He sets down his pencil and notepad and crosses his arms across his chest. He can already feel a headache coming on. (More than the usual, that is. He’s almost able to tune out the constant ringing in his ears now.

 Almost.)

 “What’s he going to do, isolate them to death? It’s not like the Lonely’s any better of an offensive force than the Eye. We’re doing just fine without involving him.”

 “Are we?” Martin’s voice is hard and a bit choked when he continues, “We’re living down here because it’s not safe to stay outside for too long. We’re still finding bits of- of flesh in- eugh.” Martin shudders and folds inward on himself. Quieter, enough so that Tim has to watch the motion of his lips to make out the words, he says, “Jon’s not waking up.”

 Tim feels something inside of him twist. “We don’t know that. We don’t know what’s happening with him.” A touch bitterly—old habits die hard, he supposes—he says, “Maybe he’s just not done going through his monster metamorphosis yet.”

 “Tim.”

 Tim sighs. It’s a profoundly weary sound. “Yeah, yeah. I… I miss him too, you know.”

 He’s surprised to find that it’s not a lie.

 “Right.” A small, shaky smile crosses Martin’s face, and he says, “I- I suppose they’re right, then. Distance does make the heart grow fonder.”

 “Somehow,” Tim says, “I don’t think whoever coined that phrase had this situation in mind.”

 Martin’s smile fades as quickly as it had come, and Tim feels a pang of guilt. “Sorry,” he says, pushing away from the desk and wheeling across the room to where Martin sits. He hesitates, just a moment, before placing his hand on Martin’s where it rests on his knee. “I… I suppose I’ve forgotten how to be lighthearted about all of this.”

 Martin nods. It’s a small motion. He’s silent for a long moment; Tim squeezes his hand and says nothing. Finally, Martin looks down at his hands and says, “It’s been four months, Tim. Nothing’s changed.” He pauses again, his mouth pinching around the edges. “I… I visited him today. I begged him to wake up, to- to do anything to indicate that he’s even still there. I don’t know why I expected him to answer. It’s not like anything’s different now. He- he’s never going to wake up, Tim.”

 Martin’s voice cracks, and he repeats, wetly, “He’s never going to wake up.”

 Then, Martin’s crying, heaving sobs that overtake him completely and have him hunched over, dripping salty tears onto the back of Tim’s hand. “Hey, hey, hey,” Tim says, leaning forward as far as he’s comfortably able to and wrapping Martin in as hard of a hug as he can manage. He rubs his hands in circles across Martin’s shoulderblades, feeling Martin’s shaky breaths against the side of his neck, and says, “It’s okay. It’s okay.”

 He repeats it, again and again, as Martin cries into his shoulder and says, over and over, words thick with grief, “He’s dead, Tim. He’s dead.”

 “It’s okay,” Tim says. Maybe if he says it enough times, he’ll start to believe it.

 Eventually, Martin’s body stops shaking and he pulls back, the tear tracks on his cheeks already beginning to dry. His eyes are red-rimmed and glistening, and he looks tired, grief apparent in every line of him.

 “I said I’d think about it,” Martin says, in a voice rubbed raw and hoarse. “When Peter called me. I- I said I’d think about it. I- I don’t know why…” He cuts off, makes a small, distressed noise, and says, “What do I even have left? If- if this can help, what- what do I have to lose?”

 Tim feels a pang of hurt flash through him, but he suppresses it. He squeezes Martin’s hands, gives him as wide a smile as he can without breaking, and says, “You have me. And I’m not leaving—you’re stuck with me. So don’t think for a second that if you take Peter’s deal, I won’t be there still. I’m like a bad penny, or, I don’t know, a- a fungus or whatever. The point is, you’re not going to get rid of me. Whether or not you decide to work for Lukas—which you shouldn’t, by the way, in case I haven’t made that abundantly clear—you’re not going to be lonely, okay? Not on my watch. I can be very persistent when I put my mind to it.”

 Martin looks at Tim, eyes wide, and another small, hiccuping sob escapes him. “You really mean that?”

 “Yes, Martin,” Tim says, exasperation and fondness filling him in equal measure. “Christ, just because things got… rough for a bit, it doesn’t mean I stopped caring about you. Honestly, don’t know if I could. You’re a very lovable person, you know. It’s not like being your friend is a hardship.”

 Martin laughs a little at that, his voice still thick with tears. “Well, when you put it like that…”

 Tim gives him another smile, and this one feels easier. Like it would be harder not to smile. Still, he’s careful with his words when he says, “So, then. What are you going to do? I’ve made my opinion more than known, but…” Tim swallows around the lump in his throat and continues, “It’s your decision.”

 “Yeah,” Martin says, barely more than a whisper. “Yeah.”

 Peter calls again. And when Martin hesitates for a long moment before giving a quiet yet firm no, the relief that sweeps over Tim is enough to make him feel weightless.

 .

.

.

 Two months later, as a man who smells of death shuts the door behind him, Jon takes a rattling breath and finally opens his eyes.

 .

.

.

 “Tim?”

 Tim raises the hand that’s not holding a rather large bouquet of white daisies and baby’s breath in a half-wave. “Hi, boss. Been a while.”

 The look Jon gives him is half-shocked, half-nervous. “I… I suppose it has. Six months, apparently.”

 Tim makes a sound of affirmation before wheeling himself fully into Jon’s hospital room and letting the door swing shut behind him. “You know,” he says, allowing a blanket of levity to fall over him, “when we said you should get more sleep, this isn’t exactly what we meant.”

 Jon just stares at him for a moment, face blank and eyes wide. Then, a laugh escapes him, a small hiccup of amusement. “Yes, well. I can’t say that I feel particularly well-rested.”

 Tim imagines what it must have been like, to be locked in a dreamscape stasis for six months. He can’t say that the idea sounds particularly relaxing. “Yep, sounds about right. Guess we can cross ‘spooky coma’ off our list of possible cures for sleep deprivation.”

 Jon folds inward on himself a bit, hugging one arm to his chest and gripping the other tightly. “Right,” he says, his voice small. He looks away from Tim, focusing on the small window in the corner of the room, and says, “I… I’m sorry, Tim.”

 Right. Jon still thinks Tim hates him.

 Tim lets out a long, weary sigh and makes his way to Jon’s bed. He practically shoves the flowers into Jon’s hands; Jon takes them, more out of surprise than anything, white petals tickling the bottom of his chin. “It’s been six months, Jon. You’ve been… honestly, a bit dead? No offense. And I’ve been alive. And we both know it was meant to be the other way around.”

 Jon opens his mouth, and Tim holds up a hand. “Don’t. I know. I already hear enough about it from my therapist, I don’t need to hear about it from you too. The point is that I’ve… I’ve had time to think. And some of the things you did, I can’t forgive you for. But some of it…”

 Tim shrugs. “Martin would always go on about how it wasn’t your fault. About how you were suffering just as much as us. And maybe I didn’t believe it because I was already angry, or maybe I didn’t believe it because all I could think about was finally getting a chance at the revenge I’d chased after for years. But then you were gone, and the Circus was gone, and I just… didn’t have anything left for the anger to hold on to.”

 Jon clutches the flowers tightly in his hands, looks down at the petals. “But you were right,” he says quietly. “A- about me.”

 Tim casts himself back six months and sifts through a metric ton of bitter remarks and angry assumptions. “You’re going to have to be more specific.”

 Jon lets out a slow, shaky breath. “About me not being human.”

 Oh.

 “Jon—”

 “Do you know what I was dreaming about?” Jon cuts in before Tim can say anything else. “I- I don’t remember, not really, but… but I can guess. I… I Know, somehow, that- that they were the same dreams, over and over and over again.” Jon takes one of the flower petals between his fingers and rubs it back and forth, a nervous gesture. “I started having them soon after I took this job, you know. Naomi Herne was the first one, and I- I didn’t understand why. Every night, she was trapped in the fog, forced into her own grave, and I would try to move, because it- it felt like I should have been able to, but it- it never worked. So I… I stopped trying after a while. I would stand and watch as she relived one of the worst experiences of her life, every night, and I- I couldn’t do anything to stop it.”

 Jon crushes the petal between his fingers. “She was the first one, but- but there are so many more now. Lionel Elliott and Jordan Kennedy and- and, Christ, Georgie—”

 Jon makes a small, unhappy noise. “I don’t know when I realized that they could see me in their dreams too. That in trying to help, I- I’d just made myself another source of terror.”

 Jon falls silent for a few moments; the quiet is filled by the familiar tick tick tick of the clock in the corner. Then, so quietly Tim has to focus on his lips to catch the words, he says, “I… I think I made a choice. Before I woke up. I don’t… I don’t know what it means for me, not really, but I know it means that I’m worse than I was before.” He lets out a bitter laugh, devoid of any humor. “So, you were right. I’m just- just even less human now.”

 Jon falls silent again, and for a few moments, there’s just tick, tick, tick. Tim rolls the words over in his mind, looks at Jon’s pinched, unhappy expression, and says, “Okay.”

 Jon looks at him then, his brow furrowed in confusion. “Okay?”

 Tim shrugs and repeats, “Okay. You’re not human. I’m not going to pretend like that thrills me or whatever, but it’s… honestly, it’s a lot less of an issue for me now than it was back then.”

 “I- I don’t…” Jon trails off with a frustrated noise. “What?”

 Tim sighs. “A lot’s changed, Jon. Things have… well, things have kind of gone to hell. Honestly, we could use a few monsters who are on our side for a change.”

 Jon blinks at him in stunned silence for a few moments more before saying, bewildered, “... Right. Uh, I- I suppose I shouldn’t ask how you’ve been, then.”

 A wry smile cracks across Tim’s face. “I’ve been just peachy, thanks for asking. Blow up one Circus and suddenly every spooky monster out there wants to kill you. It’s been one big, long, horrible sleepover in the Archives. But hey, at least Elias isn’t there! Now we’ve just got Lukas, and if one or two staff members disappear every once and a while, well—that’s just how it is at the Magnus Institute. Nothing to be concerned about. Sometimes, we still go out for drinks.”

 “Tim,” Jon says flatly. The exasperated expression on his face is so familiar—so Jon—that Tim feels a tension he hadn’t known he’d been holding slip away. 

 “Yeah, yeah,” Tim says, waving a hand absently in Jon’s direction. “Point is, I’m not disappointed or angry or whatever that you’re back in the land of the living.” He pauses, and then, more sincerely: “Martin’s not the only one who’s missed you, okay?”

 Jon’s lips part into an O. Then, his mouth twitches up into a smirk, and he says, “Mm, you’re right. Basira did stop by earlier, and then of course Georgie, and I bet even Melanie—”

 “Unbelievable. And here I was nice enough to come all the way over here, to bring you flowers.”

 “Mm, they are very nice flowers.”

 “Damn right they are.”

 Jon smiles then, a fragile thing, and says, “Thank you, Tim. I… I’ve missed you too.”

 Tim could point out that Jon had been asleep for the majority of the time in question. But he knows that’s not what Jon means. So instead, he offers Jon a smile in return and says, “Be honest: more or less than the Admiral?”

 Jon shoots Tim a flat, unimpressed look. “Tim, don’t be ridiculous. Of course less than the Admiral.”

 .

.

.

 Tim’s been out of the wheelchair for a week when he finally manages to make his way to the roof of the Institute, still learning how to maneuver the crutches he’s moved on to. He swears he can feel every motion of the pins and the rods in his leg—skin covered with even more scars for the collection—as he finally heaves himself through the door and into the cool night air. 

 The view is just as good as he remembers.

 There’s the faint smell of cigarette smoke hanging in the air, and Tim’s entirely unsurprised to see Jon silhouetted against the glow of London, leaning against the wall that rings the roof with his back facing Tim. The cigarette glows a dull red as he raises it to his lips and breathes in.

 Jon doesn’t say anything, even as Tim painstakingly makes his way over to where he’s stood. Tim props his crutches against the wall before leaning his weight heavily against it, arms crossed atop the wall in a mirror image of Jon as they both look out onto the city below, humming with life and light.

 Finally, after a particularly long drag of his cigarette, Jon says, “I’m going to get Daisy.”

 There’s no room for argument in his voice. But that’s never stopped Tim from trying anyways. 

 “I thought you were done doing stupid shit that’ll get you killed,” Tim says, turning his head to look at Jon. Jon’s staring forward, but Tim gets the distinct impression that Jon isn’t looking out at the city at all.

 “It won’t kill me,” Jon says quietly. He moves his hands as he talks, surprisingly competent sign language that he’s begun using tentatively in his conversations with Tim. When Tim had asked him where he’d learned it, Jon had been quiet for a long moment before telling him that he hadn’t.

 Well. At least the Eye was being useful for once.

 “Yeah, whatever,” Tim says. “Dead or not, you’ll still be gone. You know people who crawl into that coffin don’t come back.”

 “I don’t—” Jon cuts off with a frustrated noise. After a moment, he continues, “I have a plan. I- I read a statement, and it said that I would need an anchor. A- a piece of myself to keep here. I can find it when I’m down there, and- and use it to guide me back.”

 “Right,” Tim says dryly. “Because our plans have always gone so well.”

 “What would you have me do, Tim? I- I can’t just do nothing.”

 “Why not?”

 Jon affixes him with an expression that’s half-affronted, half-stunned. “Tim.”

 “What? Jon, we barely know Daisy. She tried to kill you. No, don’t give me that look.” Tim jabs a finger in Jon’s direction. “You know I’m right.”

 “I…” Jon trails off. After a moment, he hugs his arms to himself, his snubbed-out cigarette still smoldering slightly on top of the wall. “I know. But I… I still have to go. I… I’m still going to go.”

 Tim exhales slowly and says, “Right. Suppose I should have expected that.”

 There’s silence between them for a moment. Then, Jon removes his hands from his arms and signs as he says, quietly, “Why don’t you hate me?”

 Tim stares at Jon for a long moment before saying, “What?”

 Jon sighs and repeats, the motions of his hands larger and more emphatic, “Why don’t you hate me? Basira and Melanie, they- they keep looking at me like I’m some… thing, and- and maybe I am. No, not… not maybe. I’m not… I’m not human anymore, and I- I know what you said, but what happens when I—?”

 Jon cuts off with a small, choked noise, like the air’s been sucked out of him all at once. Weakly, he signs, “I’m so hungry, all the time. What happens when I… when I can’t take it anymore? When I- I become dangerous, a- a monster, will you—?”

 Jon’s fingers curl into fists, and he drops his hands to his sides, angling himself away from Tim and staring at an arbitrary point in the distance. “It’s better this way,” he says, loudly enough that Tim can make out the words above the hum of London at night and the ever-present ringing in his ears. “I… I don’t want to go. I don’t want to lose this, to- to lose you and- and Martin. But maybe it’s better than becoming something that will hurt you.”

 Jon won’t meet Tim’s eyes. Carefully, Tim reaches across the space between them and takes Jon’s hand in his, uncurling Jon’s fingers gently in an attempt to release some of the tension. Slowly, he says, “You know, I… I shouldn’t be alive right now. Back after the Unknowing, when I woke up in the hospital, I… I didn’t want to be. It was supposed to be whatever it takes, and to me, that was always going to mean my death. Revenge and poetic justice and all of that. I should have died, but I didn’t. And… and you did. And it’s not something I feel guilty about, because we both made the same choice in the end, but that… that doesn’t stop me from feeling, sometimes, like it was my fault somehow.” He lets out a sharp laugh and says, “Well, I was the one to actually blow the place up in the end, but, you know.”

 Tim holds Jon’s hand carefully in his like it might break otherwise, the mottled texture of the scar tissue firm against his fingertips. His eyes find the thin white line slashed across Jon’s throat, the stark white bandage poking out from the collar of Jon’s shirt where it covers a fresh scalpel wound in his shoulder, the pale pink spots that pepper Jon’s skin in a mirror image of his own. He can’t see the splash of jagged scars across Jon’s back, a memory of shrapnel and white-hot explosions, but he knows they’re there. “You asked why I don’t hate you?”

 When Jon nods mutely, Tim says, “I just… ran out of reasons why I should. I still wanted to, but…” He shrugs and gives Jon a wry, humorless smile. “We’re all just stuck in the same shitty situation. And I guess at some point, I just decided that you hadn’t chosen to be here any more than I did.”

 “Oh,” Jon says, barely audible. 

 Tim takes Jon’s other hand in his, squeezes them firmly, and says, “And I’m sorry. Not for- for how we used to be, because I think the blame for that falls pretty evenly onto both of our shoulders, but… but for everything else. For what’s happened to you. Figured I’ve spent enough time feeling sorry for myself, I might as well extend you the same courtesy.”

 Jon’s fingers tighten around Tim’s, and he mumbles something Tim can’t quite catch. Then, he extracts his hands from Tim’s and signs, shakily, “I’m sorry too. For everything. But for what it’s worth, I… I’m glad you’re here. That you’re not dead. I- I know it’s been bad and- and I wish I could fix that, but I… I don’t know if I can.” Jon’s eyes when they meet Tim’s are sad but determined. “But I can fix this. I- I can get Daisy back. I can find my way out.”

 Tim looks at the firm set to Jon’s mouth, the furrow of his brow, and says, “Okay. But I’m going to hold you to that. Otherwise, I might have to go in after you.”

 Jon looks horrified. “Tim.”

 Tim holds his hands up in a placating gesture. “Hey, come back in one piece and we won’t have to worry about it.”

 Jon opens his mouth, then closes it again. There’s a long pause before he finally says, decidedly, “I will. I- I promise.”

 Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Tim wants to say. Instead, he shuffles closer to Jon and leans against the wall again, crossing his arms on top of it and looking out over the city. “Good,” he says softly. 

 After a moment, Jon shifts to face the city as well. His arm brushes against Tim’s, and Tim lets that point of contact ground him as he looks up and up and up at the stars above, pinpricks of light on a satin black sky. 

 “Thank you,” Jon says, just loud enough for Tim to hear. 

 Tim moves his hand to cover Jon’s where it sits on the wall and squeezes once. “Yeah.”

 They stand there until sunlight begins to tickle the edges of the horizon. And when Jon gives Tim’s hand one last squeeze, the other holding the lid of the coffin open, and says, “Be back soon,” Tim believes him.

 .

.

.

 Three days later, Jon climbs out of the coffin with dirt caked underneath his fingernails and a thin, sharp hand clutched in his. “Tim,” he says, and Tim ignores the pain in his leg as he lets his crutches drop to the floor and hugs Jon tightly.

 “Looks like I’m staying above ground after all,” Tim jokes, his voice light even as his words come out wet and choked.

 Jon’s laugh vibrates against Tim’s chest. “Yeah,” he says, burying his face in the fabric of Tim’s shoulder to hide his smile. “Yeah.”

#tma #the magnus archives #jonathan sims #tim stoker #martin blackwood #creators are revealed now so i can post this! #very exciting #blood cw #body horror cw #injury cw #hospitals cw #suicidal ideations cw #more cw in the body of the post as well #my writing #my fic

[the-king-andthe-lionheart]

A Dream is a Wish Your Heart Makes - Arya Stark and her Cinderella Motifs

In A Song of Ice and Fire, GRRM often uses fairy tale motifs to help tell a character’s story.  Sometimes this motif spans all throughout the characters arc while other times it will only be used for one or two scenes, or anywhere in between.  And often one character can have several fairy tale motifs at different times in their arcs or even running concurrently.  For Arya, she has quite a few fairy tale motifs in her arc, but for now I’m going to focus on her Cinderella motifs that are mainly prevalent in A Clash of Kings but do show up at other times all throughout her arc as well. I’m going to focus primarily on Arya’s A Clash of Kings arc, but we will be stopping by A Storm of Swords and A Feast for Crows a few times too.  And I am going to use several versions of the retellings of Cinderella, including the Disney version, but only the 1950 original and none of its sequels.  I also want to note that not all the parallels are obvious due to things being more metaphorical or symbolic, while other times being whatever subversion that tickled GRRM’s fancy at the time.

There are many common aspects across the board when it comes to Cinderella retellings.  Often it entails the heroine losing one or both of her parents, being oppressed by her abusive stepmother and stepsisters and being forced into menial, backbreaking labor that leaves the heroine dirty and often covered in ashes.  It usually entails a magical guardian who helps the heroine, magical transformations, ballgowns and a ball where she falls in love with either a Prince or a King. An identifying item is also involved, usually a slipper made of gold or glass, where one of the pair is lost when the heroine is running from her beloved.  And the Prince/King almost always searches the realm for the woman that identifying item belongs to, and when he finds the heroine they usually marry.

Written out like that it’s hard to believe that this is a motif used for Arya.  After all she’s not in the position to be going to balls and she’s just a child so it seems unlikely at the time she’s at Harrenhal she’s going to fall in love.  However, this motif appears all throughout her arc in various and creative and subversive and repetitive ways, and motifs don’t have to be all or none and they don’t have to be in the order the original stories were laid out.  A lot of people also don’t like the idea that Arya has an actual Disney Princess motif in her story because she’s a “tomboy”, but the fact is that Arya is a Princess at the time she’s at Harrenhal, it’s even explicitly stated in Arya X ACOK, whether people acknowledge it or not, where a lot of these motifs take place.  I know some people will be dismissive of this and think I’m reaching, but I hope upon reading this I’ll have convinced you of this motif being present. :)

Step-Mother and Step-Sisters

Some of the two most common features in any variant of Cinderella is the “Persecuted Heroine” and the “Female Persecutor”.  Often this manifests as the wicked stepmother and the evil step-sisters, but in some versions a stepmother does not appear, and it’s the heroine’s older sisters who confine her to the kitchens instead.  In the opera, La Cenerentola, Gioachino Rossini inverted the gender roles where the heroine Cenerentola is oppressed by her stepfather.  And in some retellings at least one of the step siblings is somewhat kind to the heroine even.  We symbolically see these archetypes many times in Arya’s narrative with various types of inversions.

When we enter ACOK, we find a dirty and disguised Arya traveling with Yoren and the Night’s Watch recruits, having just lost her father (a subversion of the prevalent theme of Cinderella losing her mother very young).  She is also being bullied by two older boys, Lommy and Hot Pie:

At Winterfell they [Sansa and Jeyne] had called her “Arya Horseface” and she’d thought nothing could be worse, but that was before the orphan boy Lommy Greenhands had named her “Lumpyhead.” - Arya I ACOK

That wasn’t the hardest part at all; Lommy Greenhands and Hot Pie were the hardest part. - Arya I ACOK

“Look at that sword Lumpyhead’s got there,” Lommy said one morning […] “Where’s a gutter rat like Lumpyhead get him a sword?”

[. . .]

“Maybe he’s a little squire,” Hot Pie put in. […] “Some lordy lord’s little squire boy, that’s it.”

“He ain’t no squire, look at him.  I bet that’s not even a real sword.  I bet it’s just some play sword made of tin.”

Arya hated them making fun of Needle.  “It’s castle-forged steel, you stupid,” she snapped, turning in the saddle to glare at them, “and you better shut your mouth.”

The orphan boys hooted.  “Where’d you get a blade like that, Lumpyface?” Hot Pie wanted to know.

“Lumpyhead,” corrected Lommy.  He prob’ly stole it.”

“I did not!” she shouted.  Jon Snow had given her Needle.  Maybe she had to let them call her Lumpyhead, but she wasn’t going to let them call Jon a thief.

“If he stole it, we could take it off him,” said Hot Pie.  “It’s not his anyhow.  I could use me a sword like that.”

Lommy egged him on.  “Go on, take it off him, I dare you.”

Hot Pie kicked his donkey, riding closer.  “Hey, Lumpyface, you gimme that sword.” […] “You don’t know how to use it.”

[. . .]

“Look at him,” brayed Lommy Greenhands.  “I bet he’s going to cry now.  You want to cry, Lumpyhead?” – Arya I ACOK

In the first two quotes we have Arya likening the behavior of Hot Pie and Lommy to that of Jeyne Poole and Sansa. In AGOT, Sansa and Jeyne took on the “evil step-sister” archetype (and before anybody attacks me, I don’t think these two are actually “evil”, just children who think it’s okay to bully someone who is different from them), but now we are shown that this archetype has temporarily shifted onto Lommy and Hot Pie, with some subversions.  These two are now male and they aren’t related to Arya in any way.  Some variants of the Cinderella story do portray male siblings mistreating the younger “Cinderella” sibling though.  One of the stories in One Thousand and One Nights depict a story called “Judar and his Brethren”, in which the main character is poisoned by his biological brothers in the end, depicting a rare tragic ending for this retelling. However, these subversions are completely fine because either way, they took on the role of the “bully” to Arya’s Cinderella archetype currently in the narrative.  

Furthermore, while Septa Mordane was the obvious “wicked stepmother” archetype to Arya’s Cinderella archetype in AGOT, I think arguably this has fallen to Cersei now (and the Lannister’s as a whole).  Cersei may not be present, but she is the reason why Arya is in the situation she is in right now.  After all, Cersei takes on the role of “Evil Queen” for Sansa and Jon (they both share Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs motifs) so I do think she is the metaphorical “wicked stepmother” in this equation regardless of the fact that Cersei isn’t anything remotely close to a stepmother to Arya in the narrative, but she fits the general archetype of “female persecutor” the most in the current situation.  For the case about Septa Mordane being a “wicked stepmother” archetype, I want to point to Cenerentola by Basile, in which the “wicked stepmother” started out as being the heroine’s governess, and Septa’s are the closest substitute to a governess in the universe of ASOIAF.

This isn’t the end to these archetypes being in play.  As the early chapters of ACOK go on we see the animosity between Lommy, Hot Pie, and Arya disappear to the point where they become allies and then friends. With this shift in dynamic we see the archetypes disappearing with some of these same characters taking on entirely new Cinderella archetypes, while the “wicked stepmother” and “evil step-sibling” archetypes move onto other characters as well.

At Harrenhal we are introduced to two wicked women who next take on the “evil step-sibling” archetype, Goodwife Harra and Goodwife Amabel.  These two even comment on Arya’s feet:

When Arya's turn came round, Goodwife Amabel clucked in dismay at the sight of her feet, while Goodwife Harra felt the callus on her fingers that long hours of practice with Needle had earned her. "Got those churning butter, I'll wager," she said. "Some farmer's whelp, are you? Well, never you mind, girl, you have a chance to win a higher place in this world if you work hard. If you won't work hard, you'll be beaten. And what do they call you?"

Arya dared not say her true name, but Arry was no good either, it was a boy’s name and they could see she was no boy.  “Weasel,” she said, naming the first girl she could think of.  “Lommy called me Weasel.”

“I can see why,” sniffed Goodwife Amabel.  “That hair is a fright and a nest for lice as well. We’ll have it off, and then you’re for the kitchens.”

“I’d sooner tend the horses.”  Arya liked horses, and maybe if she was in the stables she’d be able to steal one and escape.

Goodwife Harra slapped her so hard that her swollen lip broke open all over again.  “And keep that tongue to yourself or you’ll get worse.  No one asked your views.”

The blood in her mouth had a salty metal tang to it. Arya dropped her gaze and said nothing. If I still had Needle, she wouldn’t dare hit me, she thought sullenly.

“Lord Tywin and his knights have grooms and squires to tend their horses, they don’t need the likes of you,” Goodwife Amabel said. “The kitchens are snug and clean, and there’s always a warm fire to sleep by and plenty to eat.  You might have done well there, but I can see you’re not a clever girl.  Harra, I believe we should give this one to Weese.”

“If you think so, Amabel.”  They gave her a shift of grey roughspun wool and a pair of ill-fitting shoes and sent her off. – Arya VI ACOK

Later Goodwife Amabel even threatens to rape Arya:

Three Frey men-at-arms were using them that morning as Arya went to the well. She tried not to look, but she could hear the men laughing. The pail was very heavy once full. She was turning to bring it back to Kingspyre when Goodwife Amabel seized her arm. The water went sloshing over the side onto Amabel's legs. "You did that on purpose," the woman screeched.

"What do you want?" Arya squirmed in her grasp. Amabel had been half-crazed since they'd cut Harra's head off.

"See there?" Amabel pointed across the yard at Pia. "When this northman falls you'll be where she is."

"Let me go." She tried to wrench free, but Amabel only tightened her fingers.

"He will fall too, Harrenhal pulls them all down in the end. Lord Tywin's won now, he'll be marching back with all his power, and then it will be his turn to punish the disloyal. And don't think he won't know what you did!" The old woman laughed. "I may have a turn at you myself. Harra had an old broom, I'll save it for you. The handle's cracked and splintery—" - Arya X ACOK

Menial, Backbreaking Labor

When Arya is enslaved and forced into the oppressive walls of Harrenhal, she is forced to scrub floors and do other menial, backbreaking work from sunrise to sunset, just like Cinderella:

Weese used Arya to run messages, draw water, and fetch food, and sometimes to serve at table in the Barracks Hall above the armory, where the men-at-arms took their meals. But most of her work was cleaning. The ground floor of the Wailing Tower was given over to storerooms and granaries, and two floors above housed part of the garrison, but the upper stories had not been occupied for eighty years. Now Lord Tywin had commanded that they be made fit for habitation again. There were floors to be scrubbed, grime to be washed off windows, broken chairs and rotted beds to be carried off. The topmost story was infested with nests of the huge black bats that House Whent had used for its sigil, and there were rats in the cellars as well . . . and ghosts, some said, the spirits of Harren the Black and his sons. – Arya VII ACOK

She spent the rest of that day scrubbing steps inside the Wailing Tower. By evenfall her hands were raw and bleeding and her arms so sore they trembled when she lugged the pail back to the cellar. Too tired even for food, Arya begged Weese's pardons and crawled into her straw to sleep. – Arya VII ACOK

Magical Transformations and Mice

In Disney’s Cinderella, the fairy godmother transforms mice into different creatures.  On the road to Harrenhal, Arya not only likens herself to a sheep, but a mouse and continues her time at Harrenhal referring to herself as a “mouse”.  This is also a subversion, while Cinderella in the Disney incarnation befriends mice, in our story Arya becomes the meek mouse:

On the road Arya had felt like a sheep, but Harrenhal turned her into a mouse.  She was grey as a mouse in her scratchy wool shift, and like a mouse she kept to the crannies and crevices and dark holes of the castle, scurrying out of the way of the mighty. – Arya VII ACOK

He does not know me, she thought.  Arry was a fierce little boy with a sword, and I’m just a grey mouse girl with a pail. – Arya VII ACOK

She was very small and Harrenhal was very large, full of places where a mouse could hide. – Arya VII ACOK

Even Jaqen calls Arya a mouse:

She crept up quiet as a shadow, but he opened his eyes all the same.  “She steals in on little mice feet, but a man hears,” he said.  How could he hear me? She wondered, and it seemed as if he heard that as well.  “The scuff of leather on stone sings loud as warhorns to a man with open ears.  Clever girls go barefoot.” – Arya VIII ACOK

However, through Jaqen, Arya begins to feel more in control of her situation, stronger and is transformed, if only for a short time.

“…Some are saying it was Harren’s ghost flung him down.” He snorted to show what he thought of such notions.

It wasn’t Harren, Arya wanted to say, it was me. She has killed Chiswyck with a whisper, and she would kill two more before she was through.  I’m the ghost in Harrenhal, she thought.  And that night, there was one less name to hate. – Arya VII ACOK

I was a sheep, and then I was a mouse, I couldn’t do anything but hide.  Arya chewed her lip and tried to think when her courage had come back.  Jaqen made me brave again.  He made me a ghost instead of a mouse. – Arya IX ACOK

Lucifer the Cat

In Disney’s Cinderella, Lucifer is Lady Tremaine’s cat who is described as being a sly, wicked, and manipulative mouse consumer.  He spends the whole film trying to torment and catch the mice.  I feel that Weese takes on aspects of this feline character, and I think this because of certain descriptors that are given to Weese to make him appear almost catlike:

“Weasel,” Weese purred, “next time I see that mouth droop open, I’ll pull out your tongue and feed it to my bitch.” – Arya VII ACOK

In his own small strutting way, Weese was nearly as scary as Ser Gregor.  The Mountain swatted men like flies, but most of the time he did not even seem to know the fly was there.  Weese always knew you were there, and what you were doing, and sometimes what you were thinking.  He would hit at the slightest provocation, and he had a dog who was near as bad as he was, an ugly spotted bitch that smelled worse than any dog Arya had ever known. Once she saw him set the dog on a latrine boy who’d annoyed him.  She tore a big chunk out of the boy’s calf while Weese laughed. – Arya VII ACOK

So here we have Weese purring, strutting, being compared to the Mountain who swats at peoples, and being watchful and observant, very much like a cat.  And like in the movie, a dog attacks him.  Now Weese didn’t fall from a tower window, but Chiswyck fell/was pushed. Considering these two are the two people Arya had Jaqen kill, I wouldn’t be surprised if they are meant to make up two halves of a whole in this regard.  After all, they are both wicked creatures who prey upon the weak, just like Lucifer and they both got their just desserts for it.

Jaq the Mouse

In Disney’s Cinderella, Cinderella rescues mice from traps, as well as from Lucifer, and dresses and feeds them.  They perform favors in return.  At the beginning of the film, a mouse named Gus is trapped in a cage, and the leader of the mice finds him and retrieves Cinderella to free him.  The leader of the mice is a mouse named Jaq, and he was also a mouse that was saved by Cinderella from a cage.  This sounds awfully familiar…

Rushing through the barn doors was like running into a furnace.  The air was swirling with smoke, the back wall a sheet of fire ground to roof. Their horses and donkeys were kicking and rearing and screaming.  The poor animals, Arya thought.  Then she saw the wagon, and the three men manacled to its bed.  Biter was flinging himself against the chains, blood running down his arms from where the iron clasped his wrists.  Rorge screamed curses, kicking at the wood.  “Boy!” called Jaqen H’ghar.  “Sweet boy!”

[. . .]

“Good boys, kind boys,” called Jaqen H’ghar, coughing.

“Get these fucking chains off!” Rorge screamed.

[. . .]

Going back into that barn was the hardest thing she ever did.  Smoke was pouring out the open door like a writhing black snake, and she could hear the screams of the poor animals inside, donkeys and horses and men.  She chewed her lip, and darted through the doors, crouched low where the smoke wasn’t quite so thick.

A donkey was caught in a ring of fire, shrieking in terror and pain.  She could smell the stench of burning hair.  The roof was gone up too, and things were falling down, pieces of flaming wood and bits of straw and hay.  Arya put a hand over her mouth and nose.  She couldn’t see the wagon for the smoke, but she could still hear Biter screaming.  She crawled toward the sound.

And then a wheel was looming over her.  The wagon jumped and moved a half foot when Biter threw himself against his chains again.  Jaqen saw her, but it was too hard to breathe, let alone talk.  She threw the axe into the wagon.  Rorge caught it and lifted it over his head, rivers of sooty sweat pouring down his noseless face.  Arya was running, coughing.  She heard the steel crash through the old wood, and again, again. An instant later came a crack as loud as thunder, and the bottom of the wagon came ripping loose in an explosion of splinters. – Arya IV ACOK

So here we have Jaq who is leader of the mice, who also helps Cinderella by doing her favors.  Then we have Jaqen H’ghar who is the leader of Rorge and Biter (this name seems even more fitting now) and who is performing favors for Arya, which leads me to Jaqen’s dual Cinderella archetype: Fairy Godmother.

Magical Helpers

Some versions of Magical Helpers come from fairy godmothers or talking animals or genies.  In other versions this help comes to the heroine through her dead mother, often manifesting through animal aid.  In One Thousand and One Nights, in the story of “Judar and his Brethren” Judar is our Cinderella figure, whose own brothers betray and poison him, but before that he was gifted a genie named Al-Ra’ad al-Kasif who granted Judar’s wishes.  In the passage below Jaqen grants Arya three “wishes” which is typical for genies to grant in our popular consciousness:

She remembered that she hated him.  “You scared me.  You’re one of them now, I should have let you burn.  What are you doing here?  Go away or I’ll yell for Weese.”

“A man pays his debts.  A man owes three.”

“Three?”

“The Red God has his due, sweet girl, and only death may pay for life.  This girl took three that were his.  This girl must give three in their places.  Speak the names, and a man will do the rest.”

He wants to help me, Arya realized with a rush of hope that made her dizzy.  “Take me to Riverrun, it’s not far, if we stole some horses we could—”

He laid a finger on her lips.  “Three lives you shall have of me.  No more, no less.  Three and we are done.  So a girl must ponder.”  He kissed her hair softly.  “But not too long.” – Arya VII ACOK

Later, we also see that “wishes” have consequences, which is also prevalent when genies are concerned.  GRRM himself is a big fan of consequences and unintended side effects.  

Jaqen is not Arya’s only form of Magical Help at Harrenhal however.  Jaqen may take on the role of Fairy Godmother/Genie, but we also see Arya experiencing the help of not only an animal aid, but from a dead parent.  For instance, the heroine in Aschenputtel, by the Brother’s Grimm, is given a hazel twig by her father that she plants over her mother’s grave.  She waters it with tears and over the years it grows into a glowing hazel tree.  The girl prays under it three times a day, chanting, and a bird emerges from it that grants her wishes.  There are two instances of something similar happening in the books:

In the godswood she found her broomstick sword where she had left it, and carried it to the heart tree.  There she knelt.  Red leaves rustled.  Red eyes peered inside her.  The eyes of the gods.  “Tell me what to do, you gods,” she prayed.

For a long moment there was no sound but the wind and the water and the creak of leaf and limb.  And then, far far off, beyond the godswood and the haunted towers and the immense stone walls of Harrenhal, from somewhere out in the world, came the long lonely howl of a wolf.  Gooseprickles rose on Arya’s skin, and for an instant she felt dizzy.  Then, so faintly, it seemed as if she heard her father’s voice.  “When the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives,” he said.

“But there is no pack,” she whispered to the weirwood.  Bran and Rickon were dead, the Lannisters had Sansa, Jon had gone to the Wall.  “I’m not even me now, I’m Nan.”

“You are Arya of Winterfell, daughter of the north. You told me you could be strong.  You have the wolf blood in you.”

“The wolf blood.”  Arya remembered now.  “I’ll be as strong as Robb.  I said I would.”  She took a deep breath, then lifted the broomstick in both hands and brought it down across her knee.  It broke with a loud crack, and she threw the pieces aside.  I am a direwolf, and done with wooden teeth. – Arya X ACOK

Here we see an inversion. Arya’s mother isn’t dead at this time, but her father, Ned is.  He is who we hear through the heart tree giving Arya this empowering “Mufasa” moment that gives way to Arya’s true transformation in this arc, she reclaims her identity.  And as soon as Arya asks the old gods for aid, a wolf howls in the distance as if in answer.  It’s not confirmed but I do truly believe that this howl came from Nymeria, by way of the Old Gods/Greenseers, who somehow helped strengthen their bond.  It is after this moment that Arya starts having full on wolf dreams in earnest and it’s through her first wolf dream that we see that Nymeria may have become Arya’s animal aid:

Her dreams were red and savage.  The Mummers were in them, four at least, a pale Lyseni and a dark brutal axeman from Ib, the scarred Dothraki horse lord called Iggo and a Dornishman whose name she never knew.  On and on they came, riding through the rain in rusting mail and wet leather, swords and axe clanking against their saddles.  They thought they were hunting her, she knew with all the strange sharp certainty of dreams, but they were wrong.  She was hunting them.

She was no little girl in the dream; she was a wolf, huge and powerful, and when she emerged from beneath the trees in front of them and bared her teeth in a low rumbling growl, she could small the rank stench of fear from horse and man alike.  The Lyseni’s mount reared and screamed in terror, and the others shouted at one another in mantalk, but before they could act the other wolves came hurtling from the darkness and the rain, a great pack of them, gaunt and wet and silent.

The fight was short but bloody.  The hairy man went down as he unslung his axe, the dark one died stringing an arrow, and the pale man from Lys tried to bolt.  Her brothers and sisters ran him down, turning him again and again, coming at him from all sides, snapping at the legs of his horse and tearing the throat from the rider when he came crashing to the earth. – Arya I ASOS

We see here that Nymeria and her pack protected Arya, Gendry, and Hot Pie against their pursuers after their escape from Harrenhal.

Here is another instance of Arya praying under the heart tree:

Arya went to her knees.  She wasn’t sure how she should begin.  She clasped her hands together.  Help me, you old gods, she prayed silently.  Help me get those men out of the dungeon so we can kill Ser Amory, and bring me home to Winterfell.  Make me a water dancer and a wolf and not afraid again, ever.

Was that enough?  Maybe she should pray aloud if she wanted the old gods to hear.  Maybe she should pray longer.  Sometimes her father had prayed a long time, she remembered. But the old gods had never helped him. Remembering that made her angry. “You should have saved him,” she scolded the tree.  “He prayed to you all the time.  I don’t care if you help me or not.  I don’t think you could even if you wanted to.”

“Gods are not mocked, girl.”

The voice startled her.  She leapt to her feet and drew her wooden sword.  Jaqen H’ghar stood so still in the darkness that he seemed one of the trees.  “A man comes to hear a name.  One and two and then comes three.  A man would have done.”

Arya lowered the splintery point toward the ground. “How did you know I was here?”

“A man sees.  A mean hears.  A man knows.”

She regarded him suspiciously.  Had the gods sent him?  “How’d you make the dog kill Weese?  Did you call Rorge and Biter up from hell?  Is Jaqen H’ghar your true name?

“Some men have many names.  Weasel.  Arry. Arya.”

She backed away from him, until she was pressed against the heart tree.  “Did Gendry tell?”

“A man knows,” he said again.  “My lady of Stark.”

Maybe the gods had sent him in answer to her prayers. – Arya IX ACOK

In Cenerentola, the heroine’s (Zezolla) father is given a date seedling by a fairy and he gives it to his daughter.  Zezolla cultivates the tree in which a fairy lives.  This fairy gives Zezolla magical aid.  When Arya prayed beneath the heart tree in the above quote it almost seems like Jaqen appeared from the trees, leaving Arya to question if the old gods sent him.

And like in Aschenputtel and Disney’s Cinderella, Arya spends time at Harrenhal singing/chanting to herself as well:

Barefoot surefoot lightfoot, she sang under her breath. I am the ghost in Harrenhal. – Arya IX ACOK

This is very strange for a couple of reasons.  When we first meet Arya she claims not to like songs and doesn’t sing.  She continues this up until she goes to Braavos. There she discovers that she likes the bawdy songs when she is using the name, Cat of the Canals.  The only exception to this is when Arya is at Harrenhal. Another reason this is odd is because of where Arya is at physically and mentally.  So either Arya was always lying about not liking songs, or Arya singing here is supposed to tell us something.

And while this might not mean anything, I found it interesting that Arya spends a lot of her time in ACOK barefoot.  Now Cinderella isn’t really said to be barefoot in the stories, but she did usually lose a shoe when running away from the Prince/King, hence making her barefoot. When Arya decides to escape Harrenhal, she does don a pair of shoes again and from then on out she mostly wears them.  This also leads to a fun bit of subversion.  In the originals tales it’s always the Prince/King saving Cinderella from further oppression.  But in Arya X ACOK, not only did she (a princess) plan the escape, but she saves Gendry, a lost (albeit bastard) prince, along with Hot Pie, from further oppression (and torture and death) by their slavers in their prison camp.  (Hot Pie definitely reminds me of Gus Gus as well by the way :D)

From Rags to Riches

In many versions of Cinderella, we also see the heroine become physically transformed.  The heroine is usually dirty, covered in ashes, and wearing “rags” before they are made over.  In the most popular version, Disney’s Cinderella, the Fairy Godmother magically turns her from dirty household servant to highborn lady, adorning her in a silver ballgown and glass slippers.  In Ye Xian, magical fish bones, help the heroine dress appropriately for a local Festival, including a light, golden shoe.  And in Aschenputtel, the doves that emerge from her hazel tree, that grant the heroine wishes, drop a gold and silver gown and silk shoes down to her to wear to the ball.  Also, noticeably, this is the time the Prince/King notices Cinderella and finally “sees” her.

While we didn’t get anything like that in ACOK, we don’t have to look much farther than ASOS, when Arya goes to Acorn Hall and meets Lady Smallwood, who puts her in two different dresses:

And afterward, they insisted she dress herself in girl’s things, brown woolen stockings and a light linen shift, and over that a light green gown with acorns embroidered all over the bodice in brown thread, and more acorns bordering the hem. – Arya IV ASOS

It was even worse than before; Lady Smallwood insisted that Arya take another bath, and cut and comb her hair besides; the dress she put her in this time was sort of lilac-colored, and decorated with little baby pearls.  The only good thing about it was that it was so delicate that no one could expect her to ride in it. – Arya IV ASOS

And while there is no ball, Arya and Gendry spend their time in the forge together.  This is the very first time Gendry has seen Arya look like a proper lady.  Cinderella and Arya are no longer dirty and in rags and they are now in gowns looking their place in society, despite Arya’s dress not being nearly as grand.  However, it’s enough of a change for Gendry to finally realize just who Arya truly is when it comes to her place in the world.  And judging by his behavior after this event, he also begins to acknowledge that if he continues to stay by her side he could potentially love her romantically in the future as well:  

Gendry reached out with the tongs as if to pinch her face, but Arya swatted them away.

[. . .]

Gendry put the hammer down and looked at her.  “You look different now.  Like a proper little girl.”

“I look like an oak tree, with all these stupid acorns.”

“Nice, though.  A nice oak tree.”  He stepped closer, and sniffed at her.  “You even smell nice for a change.” – Arya IV ASOS

Runaway Princess

Now we may not have had a ball, but while taking shelter in a stone stable with the Brotherhood Without Banners, Arya does run outside, trying to get away from everyone:

His words beat at her ears like the pounding of a drum, and suddenly it was more than Arya could stand.  She wanted Riverrun, not Acorn Hall; she wanted her mother and her brother Robb, not Lady Smallwood or some uncle she never knew.  Whirling, she broke for the door, and when Harwin tried to grab her arm she spun away from him quick as a snake.

Outside the stables the rain was still falling, and distant lightning flashed in the west.  Arya ran as fast as she could.  She did not know where she was going, only that she wanted to be alone, away from all the voices, away from their hollow words and broken promises.  All I wanted was to go to Riverrun.  It was her own fault, for taking Gendry and Hot Pie with her when she left Harrenhal.  She would have been better alone.  If she had been alone, the outlaws would never have caught her, and she’d be with Robb and her mother by now.  They were never my pack.  If they had been, they wouldn’t leave me.  She splashed through a puddle of muddy water.  Someone was shouting her name, Harwin probably, or Gendry, but the thunder drowned them out as it rolled across the hills half a heartbeat behind the lightning.  The lightning lord, she thought angrily.  Maybe he couldn’t die, but he could lie. – Arya VIII ASOS

Now it’s not explicitly clear that it was Gendry who ran after Arya, calling her name, but due to the possible symbolism in the scene, and also his behavior in AFFC, it makes me think it was him.  But whether he was or not I believe just Arya believing it might be him makes this applicable enough as a loose parallel for the Prince chasing after Cinderella, only for Cinderella to disappear like in many of the Cinderella retellings.  

Searching the Realm

At the end of ASOS in the epilogue we learn that Lady Stoneheart and the Brotherhood Without Banners, who Gendry is a part of is actively searching for Arya:

The outlaw gave him (Merrett Frey) an encouraging smile. “Well, as it happens, we’re looking for a dog that ran away.”

“A dog?” Merrett was lost.  “What kind of dog?”

“He answers to the name Sandor Clegane […] Did you see him at the wedding, perchance?”

[. . .]

“He would have had a child with him,” said the singer.  “A skinny girl, about ten.  Or perhaps a boy the same age.”

“I don’t think so,” said Merrett.  “Not that I knew.” – Epilogue ASOS

In many retellings of the Cinderella story, the Prince/King searches the realm looking for the heroine with an identifying item, and typically that item is a shoe of some sort.  Once the shoe is placed on the heroine’s foot it symbolically means the heroine is reclaiming her identity.  Arya, however, didn’t lose a shoe, and I’d argue that when Ned/the Old Gods/the Greenseers spoke to Arya through the heart tree, empowering Arya, that’s when Arya reclaimed her identity, at least for that time as Arya must reclaim her identity multiple times in her arc.  I’d argue that Arya’s connection to the North and her family is her overall identifying item. But I fully believe Gendry himself might be another “identifying item,” along with him still taking on the archetypal role of “prince”.

Why do I say this? Because in AFFC Gendry is stationed at one of the last known places Arya was sighted at with the Hound, the Crossroads Inn, where he is blacksmithing while also helping to look after orphans. He was likely stationed there by Lady Stoneheart and the Brotherhood Without Banners because he knew Arya the best out of everyone (remember LSH would probably have a hard time recognizing Arya after two plus years and a resurrection).  So if she returned, he would not only have a better chance at recognizing her, but also possibly a better chance at keeping her there compared to anyone else.  If people are doubting that this is Gendry’s role, just remember that the BWB is actively looking for Arya, and also note Gendry’s personality shift post-ASOS. Gendry has always been rude and moody, but in AFFC it has been taken to the extreme.  He is absolutely furious and instead of being just plain rude, he’s actually become mean and more violent.  He also seems to have something against the Hound now, someone who he previously had nothing against during the Hound’s trial by combat earlier in ASOS:

…The boy came and stood beside her, his hammer in his hand.

Lightning cracked to the south as the riders swung down off their horses.  For half a heartbeat darkness turned to day.  An axe gleamed silvery blue, light shimmered off mail and plate, and beneath the dark hood of the lead rider Brienne glimpsed an iron snout and rows of steel teeth, snarling.

Gendry saw it too.  “Him.”

“Not him.  His helm.” Brienne tried to keep the fear from her voice, but her mouth was dry as dust. – Brienne VII AFFC

That “him” was very pointed and because of the symbolism in the scene surrounding that “him” and the overall change in Gendry’s behavior I definitely take it to mean Gendry does have a problem with the Hound now.  So what changed?  The Hound kidnapped Arya.  I think it’s safe to say that Gendry is just as invested as the rest of the BWB, if not more so, to finding Arya again, hence making him the “prince” searching the realm for his lost Cinderella.

A Dream Is a Wish Your Heart Makes

In Disney’s Cinderella, songs like “Bibbidi-Bobbidi-Boo”, “So This Is Love”, “Cinderella”, “A Dream Is a Wish Your Heart Makes”, “Oh, Sing Sweet Nightingale”, and “The Work Song” are included into the film.  This isn’t the first time we’ve seen something like this in the previous retellings however.  Like I mentioned earlier the Brother’s Grimm, Aschenputtel, features this as well to some extant.  In Aschenputtel, the heroine would “sing a chant” to call upon the white doves that came from her glowing hazel tree.  These birds would help her grant wishes and help her complete tasks, and it was most likely the inspiration for why birds were included in the Disney version, although birds have featured in more than just Aschenputtel.  I mention this because GRRM wrote Arya a song in the novels:

“My featherbed is deep and soft,

and there I'll lay you down,

I'll dress you all in yellow silk,

and on your head a crown.

For you shall be my lady love,

and I shall be your lord.

I'll always keep you warm and safe,

and guard you with my sword.

 “And how she smiled and how she laughed,

the maiden of the tree.

She spun away and said to him,

no featherbed for me.

I'll wear a gown of golden leaves,

and bind my hair with grass,

But you can be my forest love,

and me your forest lass.”

This is very clearly a love song also and we know it’s most likely about Arya and her foreshadowing a possible future relationship with Gendry.  And it’s very clearly about them as Gendry is a bastard Baratheon “prince”, hence the mentions of “yellow silk” and a “crown”, and also because Arya quite literally is dressed as an oak tree at this time and almost a maiden and will be a maiden when they reunite later in the series.  We also know the song is meant to foreshadow them because of the context.  Tom O’Seven’s specifically winked at Arya as he sang this song, and after the song was sung Lady Smallwood, when taking Arya to get changed into a different dress, said to Arya, “I have no gowns of leaves,” which further tells the readers that this song is Arya’s song, her future love song.

A Mother’s Legacy

In the Magical Helpers section above I mentioned that a dead parent may be the one to help the heroine instead of the typical fairy godmother, by either sending an animal to aid the heroine and/or granting wishes, or by the heroine’s mother transforming into an animal.  In some Greek versions, in “the Balkan-Slavonic tradition of the tale”, and in some Central Asian variants, the heroine’s mother comes back as a cow who is then killed by the heroine’s sisters.  The heroine eventually gathers the bones and from her mother’s grave the heroine is gifted wonderful dresses.  In other variants, the heroine’s dead mother comes back as a fish or a female dog. These animals represent the heroine’s mother’s legacy.

Jon chuckled. “Perhaps you should do the same thing, little sister.  Wed Tully to Stark in your arms.”

“A wolf with a fish in its mouth?” It made her laugh.  “That would look silly…” – Arya I AGOT

That night she went to sleep thinking of her mother, and wondering if she should kill the Hound in his sleep and rescue Lady Catelyn herself.  When she closed her eyes she saw her mother’s face against the back of her eyelids.  She’s so close I could almost smell her…

…and then she could smell her.  The scent was faint beneath the other smells, beneath moss and mud and water, and the stench of rotting reeds and rotting men.  She padded slowly through the soft ground to the river’s edge, lapped up a drink, then lifted her head to sniff.  The sky was grey and thick with cloud, the river green and full of floating things.  Dead men clogged the shallows, some still moving as the water pushed them, others washed up on the banks.  Her brothers and sisters swarmed around them, tearing at the rich ripe flesh.

[. . .]

The scent was stronger now [. . .] Only the scent mattered.  She sniffed the air again.  There it was, and now she saw it too, something pale and white drifting down the river, turning where it brushed against a snag.  The reeds bowed down before it.

She splashed noisily through the shallows and threw herself into the deeper water, her legs churning.  The current was strong but she was stronger.  She swam, following her nose.  The river smells were rich and wet, but those were not the smells that pulled her.  She paddled after the sharp red whisper of cold blood, the sweet cloying stench of death.  She chased them as she had often chased a red deer through the trees, and in the end she ran them down, and her jaw closed around a pale white arm.  She shook it to make it move, but there was only death and blood in her mouth.  By now she was tiring, and it was all she could do to pull the body back to shore. As she dragged it up the muddy bank, one of her little brothers came prowling, his tongue lolling from his mouth. She had to snarl to drive him off, or else he would have fed.  Only then did she stop to shake the water from her fur.  The white thing lay facedown in the mud, her dead flesh wrinkled and pale, cold blood trickling from her throat.  Rise, she thought.  Rise and eat and run with us. – Arya XII ASOS

“So you sewed his head on Robb Stark’s neck after both o’ them were dead,” said yellow cloak.

“My [Merrett Frey] father did that [. . .] I only drank some wine…you have no witness.”

“As it happens, you’re wrong there.”  The singer turned to the hooded woman.  “Milady?”

The outlaws parted as she came forward, saying no word.  When she lowered her hood, something tightened inside Merrett’s chest, and for a moment he could not breathe.  No.  No, I saw her die.  She was dead for a day and night before they stripped her naked and threw her body in the river.  Raymund opened her throat from ear to ear.  She was dead.

Her cloak and collar hid the gash his brother’s blade had made, but her face was even worse than he remembered.  The flesh had gone pudding soft in the water and turned the color of curdled milk. Half her hair was gone and the rest had turned as white and brittle as a crone’s.  Beneath her ravaged scalp, her face was shredded skin and black blood where she had raked herself with her nails.  But her eyes were the most terrible thing.  Her eyes saw him, and they hated.

“She don’t speak,” said the big man in the yellow cloak.  “You bloody bastards cut her throat too deep for that.  But she remembers.”  He turned to the dead woman and said, “What do you say, m’lady?  Was he part of it?”

Lady Catelyn’s eyes never left him.  She nodded. – Epilogue ASOS

In the Chinese retelling of Cinderella, Ye Xian, the heroine befriends a fish, which is the reincarnation of her deceased mother.  In The Story of Tam and Cam, a Vietnamese version, the heroine Tam also had a fish which was killed by the stepmother and the half-sister, and its bones also give her clothes.  And a typical scene in Kapmalaien tales is the mother becoming a fish, being eaten in fish form, the daughter burying her bones and a tree sprouting from her grave.

So not only is Lady Catelyn a symbolic fish, a daughter of House Tully, but she’s also been resurrected (reincarnated), and is looking specifically for our heroine, Arya, who I believe will be gifted several various things (both good and bad) by this incarnation of her mother, but we shall see if the parallel continues when TWOW and ADOS come out.

Conclusion

I really hope that after you read this monster you were as convinced as I am that Arya indeed has Cinderella motifs, and an extensive amount of them as well. Whatever it may mean I don’t rightly know, but what I do know is that at the end of the day, the many stories of Cinderella are an analogy.  An analogy about someone “who unexpectedly achieves recognition or success after a period of obscurity and neglect”.  Of someone whose attributes were unrecognized in their society, only for them to be recognized.  And I don’t know about you, but that sounds pretty hand in hand with one of her other biggest fairy tale motifs as well that runs concurrently with the Cinderella motif, and that is the story of “The Ugly Duckling”, who after years of neglect, finds acceptance within society, as well as self-acceptance within themselves. :)

#arya stark #gendrya #asoiaf

[astradrifting]

GRRM really created so many parallels and foreshadow using the DoD characters that honestly we could just figure the asoiaf ending by analyzing it. My favorite is the Aegon III-D@ny parallels, the fact that one of his closest allies was a face-scarred Master of coin Lannister who ended as Hand to Bran' parallel character just make it so obvious its funny.

Oh my god I didn’t even realise Tyland Lannister was initially on the greens’ side! I’m not super fond of Tyrion ending up as Hand, but you’re right that it’s so obviously meant to reference him. There’s so many parallels that it’s a little crazy. I don’t want to say that the second Dance will end exactly as the first did, it’d be a little too neat if history repeated entirely, but you can see so many echoes of it even in the show’s bastardised ending.

“The broken, shattered realm suffered for a while yet, but the Dance of the Dragons was done. Now what awaited the realm was the False Dawn, the Hour of the Wolf, the rule of the regents, and the Broken King.”

(TWOIAF, Aegon II)

I’m not sure what the False Dawn is going to parallel to, it refers to the period of time after Aegon II’s death but before Lord Stark got to King’s Landing, when people thought that peace had finally come. It kind of brings to mind the War for the Dawn, though personally I think that the threat of the Others will be resolved before the Dance is over. The Hour of the Wolf is obviously about House Stark’s rise back to power, and the Broken King is Bran - though if he actually becomes known as Bran the Broken I might end up committing violence ¯\_(ツ)_/¯. 

The parts about Lord Corlys Velaryon are why I’m so hopeful that Jon’s book ending will be completely different from the show’s. He’s arrested for Aegon II’s death by Cregan Stark, even though Cregan had previously declared for Rhaenyra, because as TWOIAF puts it, “to kill a cruel and unjust king in lawful battle was one thing. But foul murder, and the use of poison, was a betrayal against the very gods who had anointed him.”

Corlys didn’t deny his guilt, and expressed no regret. “What I did, I did for the good of the realm. I would do the same again. The madness had to end.”

Cregan Stark declared him to be guilty of murder, regicide, and high treason, and he was sentenced to execution. But many spoke in his defence, even people who had fought against him in the Dance. Baela and Rhaena Targaryen, Corlys’ granddaughters and Aegon III’s half-sisters, convinced Aegon to issue an edict pardoning Lord Velaryon, which Alysanne Blackwood then convinced Cregan to let stand. Lord Velaryon was pardoned and even restored to his offices and honours, made one of the king’s regents and given a place on the small council.

Corlys’ words definitely could be Jon’s as well, a much more in-character declaration post-D@ny’s death than the drivel GoT tried to feed us. I was worried for a bit that this would be how Tyrion is let off scot-free, but Baela and Rhaena, who were vital to his release, are such obvious Arya and Sansa stand-ins, and they’re certainly not going to expend any effort in helping Tyrion. So Corlys’ circumstances more likely lays the groundwork for how Jon will be freed and remain in political power, while Tyland frankly inexplicably becoming Aegon III’s Hand after he was in favour of brutally killing him parallels Tyrion managing to fail up, as a way of reconciling the old regime with the new one.

This makes Tyrion becoming Hand more palatable IMO. Either Jon and Tyrion both should have been punished or neither should have been punished, not the travesty where Tyrion gets everything he’s ever wanted while Jon is exiled to a Watch with no purpose and a Wall that’s already half-collapsed, so what exactly can it protect against? I suppose they were afraid of seemingly rewarding Jon for killing d@ny, especially if pol!Jon had been revealed, but most people noticed how nonsensical his ending was, and it just led to ‘Bloodraven/Bran is the real villain’ takes anyway.

(Side note: Asha/Yara basically still being loyal to D at the end annoys me so much, and made no sense. Jon did more to help save her by giving Theon that pep talk than D@ny did. Maybe it was a leftover from her taking Victarion’s role in the story, but in no reasonable world is anyone going to listen to the Ironborn who brought the Fire threat over in the first place.)

Of course Tyland Lannister isn’t actually Hand for long, given that he dies barely two years later from Winter Fever, feared and hated, alone except for a maester and King Aegon. It might be an indication that Tyrion will face a similar fate, that he’ll die after he’s seemingly won, exactly what he threatened Cersei with:

“A day will come when you think yourself safe and happy, and suddenly your joy will turn to ashes in your mouth, and you'll know the debt is paid."

(ACOK, Tyrion XII)

So that I can stop talking about Tyrion, here’s some facts about Rhaena and Baela that are obviously meant to reference Sansa and Arya, so much so that it feels a little bit like GRRM is winking and going “See what I did there? Huh? Huh? Did you see??”:

- their descriptions: “Rhaena was slender and graceful; Baela was lean and quick; Rhaena loved to dance; Baela lived to ride...” + “Baela was wild and willful”, “more boyish than ladylike”, and kept her hair cropped short as a boy’s

- Rhaena spent most of the Dance in the Vale, where she lived in relative comfort as the ward of Lady Jeyne Arryn. Baela was a dragonrider and so moved between Dragonstone and Driftmark, but was captured on Dragonstone when Aegon II descended upon it

- Rhaena was favoured to be queen after her brother, considered more qualified than her wild sister

- Baela liked to spend time with “unsuitable companions” she would bring to the Red Keep - including a comely juggler, a blacksmith’s apprentice whose muscles she admired (!!!), a legless beggar, a pair of twin girls from a brothel, an entire troupe of mummers once

- After her brother’s regents tried to marry her to a lord 40 years older than her, Baela escaped the Red Keep by climbing out of a window, trading clothes with a washerwoman, then walking right out of the front gate. She ran away to Driftmark and married her supposed cousin (though more likely he was her half-uncle), the legitimised bastard Alyn Velaryon, which might have had me worried about j0nrya if Alyn weren’t best known for being a daring sailor who went on many voyages, including sailing the Sunset Sea, until he was finally lost at sea during Aegon IV’s reign. Alyn’s mother was also called Mouse, for being “small, quick, and always underfoot.”

- another fun fact about Alyn: he’s a bad haggler, and had to agree to a high ransom and many concessions in order to get Prince Viserys returned to Westeros. This automatically disqualifies him as a Jon stand-in, because as we all know, Jon Snow can haggle like the best of fishwives.

- My absolutely favourite detail that has my jonsa heart singing - Rhaena was more dutiful than her sister and would have married a man that the king and council chose, saying that as long as he was “kind and gentle and noble, I know that I shall love him.” She was able to marry her first choice, whom the regents didn’t immediately approve of but that they ultimately accepted  - Ser Corwyn Corbray, the brother of the Lord Protector of the Realm, a second son (!) whose late father had gifted him the Valyrian steel sword Lady Forlorn (!!!)

And as a treat for @istumpysk, some similarities between Rickon and Viserys II!

- the youngest child of their family

- separated from their older brother after they were forced to flee their home, trying to get to safety while their other brothers and mother were at war

- worshipped their oldest (half-)brothers, but were closer to the brother nearest their age

- spends the war stuck on an island, populated by people closely linked to their family’s origins - Skagosi are descended mostly from the First Men, while Viserys was on Lys, where the blood of Old Valyria still runs strong

- sought by/held hostage by a powerful and wealthy family, who will treat them well but whose intentions are dubious

- will be brought back from exile by an upjumped bastard/commoner from a port town who was raised to lordship and became their monarch’s chief admiral

- after they are returned, long after the wars and crises, is happily welcomed as the heir to their older brother’s throne (shhhhh just let me have this, let the baby live)

Thanks for the ask!

#astra rambles #asks #its not quite 5000 words but i got it in under the deadline stumpy :P #half speculation half 'my wildest dreams and hopes' #anti tyrion lannister #kind of #rickon stark #jon snow #sansa stark #arya stark #anti got #speculation #meta #dod 2.0 #dod parallels

[robinofgothamcity]

♡ prompt: "don’t leave me. don’t you dare leave me.”

♡ pairing: jason todd (redhood) x fem reader

♡ lyric inspiration: "everybody loves somebody sometime. everybody falls in love somehow." 

♡ note: not checked for grammar or spelling mistakes / i wanna note that this doesn’t follow TITANS Jason Todd. you can use whatever version you want. the reason i say this is because the lack of gifs for Jason that Tumblr provides is w a c k.

“don’t bullshit me Jason, I really don’t need you coming up with any kind of excuse on the spot,” you told Jason. he could tell you were being completely serious. you weren’t feigning anything as you looked him straight in the eyes, “i’m done with the excuse and i’m personally done with waiting for someone who doesn’t make time for me.” 

Jason tried grabbing your hand but you immediately took it back. not caring if you were making a scene or not. 

Dick and Tim were in the unfortunate situation of being present for you argument and although they felt kind of awkward being around, they low key wanted to hear the rest of the argument. they felt awful for you but Jason had it coming. 

“don’t leave me. don’t you dare leave me!” Jason screamed. you shook your head, “you did this to yourself, Todd. you don’t get to play the victim in this situation,” you stated before grabbing your bag and exiting Jason’s apartment. 

Tim as well as Dick stood in awkward silence. not knowing whether to comfort Jason or leave. this was the first time in what felt like ages that they have seen Jason so vulnerable. 

you were Jason’s version of normal. although you weren’t a hero or any kind of sidekick, you did help out any of the teams that needed an extra hand at their respective lairs. you had a flair for working computers and knew your way around them when Tim wasn’t available. 

-

a few weeks had passed since your ‘break up’ with Jason. you had helped out the Bat’s a few times within the weeks but you made sure to keep your distance with Jason. whenever he appeared, you went to another section of the Batcave or moved completely to the second level so you wouldn’t even have to run into him. 

today, however; you were hanging around Tim’s team. you were in the mood to bug Connor as you were helping Jon with some of his schoolwork and decided to stick around. you weren’t particularly close with Connor but he did have a soft side with you so you messing with him didn’t necessarily upset him. 

“Tim or Connor, how much would it cost for you to bring me food from the chicken place around the corner?” you asked the two boys. “Connor could probably take you. I don’t think Tim’s moving from his computer anytime soon but I don’t mind piggybacking you there,” Wally said from the other side of the table. 

you huffed, smacking Tim on the side of the head and getting up. 

“well if that’s the case, come on West, you’re taking me,” you said grabbing his shoulder. Tim from the corner of his eye examined your interaction with Wally. you were getting a bit closer to the redhead and he found it a bit weird considering you weren’t close with him while you were with Jason, “hold on,” Wally smirked as he hauled you over onto his back. 

you laughed, holding on tightly as he zoomed out the door. Tim knew it wasn’t any of his business to get involved in relationship drama. he wanted nothing to do with it personally but seeing you close with Wally rubbed him the wrong way for some reason. maybe it was the idea that he still had hope for you to that made him text his adoptive brother. 

“your girl is going out with Wally. they’re going to be at the restaurant by my place if you’re wondering.” 

Jason had been moping around when he wasn’t going on any missions so when he saw Tim texting him, he found it weird within itself. he hardly messaged any of his brothers so receiving one from Tim no less was pretty odd. 

his heart dropped a bit reading the text. he had no idea you were even close with the speedster so to be going on a date with him put him on edge. Jason immediately ran out of his door and booking it on his motorcycle to the restaurant. 

had any police been on the streets, Jason would’ve received copious amount of tickets by the way he was speeding but he could have cared less. he arrived to the restaurant in due time. he saw you sitting down, eating with Wally as the two of you were basically scarfing down the food in front of you. 

Jason felt a pang to his chest as he watched you talk with Wally like nothing was wrong. he had never seen you so care free before. even when the two of you went out for a date or something, he felt so on edge thinking that something could happen to you. 

Jason didn’t want to sound more problematic than he already was but he felt a feeling of possessiveness hit him seeing you with Wally. like he didn’t want you going out with anyone that wasn’t him. his eye twitched every time Wally made you laugh or whenever you reached over to smack or touch him. 

eventually, he saw you and Wally getting up from the table. he quickly hopped on his motorcycle and drove back to his place, more upset than he thought he would be. 

he shot Tim a text back, thanking him for letting him knowing. 

Jason had heard a few days ago that you were planning on going out with a few of your friends with a club in Gotham and that happened to be today. he knew that following you to whatever club you were going too would be wrong but with the way he was feeling, he didn’t care. he was coming along..even if he had to hide in the crowd. 

he inched his way back to your place a few hours later to see you already getting dressed. you were wearing one of Jason’s favorite outfits and that alone made him want to go over to you and remind you that you were his. (WHY DID THIS GO SO YANDERE ALL OF A SUDDEN PFT).

the funny thing in all of this was that he saw you slip in some crocs into your bag. he knew you hated wearing shoes let alone heels so to see you probably change into them through the night made him chuckle. 

once you got into your car and made your way into Gotham to the club you were meeting your friends at, he walked in through the side and stood in the corner as he watched you get ID’d and walk inside. all of you were sitting at a table and ordering your first round of drinks. you downed a shot of whatever you had ordered before grabbing your friends hand taking her out into the dance floor. 

Jason walked in a bit closer but making sure to stay hidden. he saw you just dancing with your friend and couldn’t help but gulp. the way you were dancing and grinding up against your friend would have had him dragging you to the nearest bathroom for getting him riled up. (insert gif above)

he remained watching you until he noticed a guy approaching you. the guy was on the taller side, greasy hair flopping to the side of his face, and his clothes looked like he hadn’t changed out of it in days. 

“really, I’m fine. I don’t dance with people I don’t know,” you stated as you friend pulling you away. the guy quickly grabbed your other hand, “c’mon, one dance?” you shook him off, stating once again that you weren’t interested before walking back to the table. 

Jason, although the interaction was minor, was seeing red. he waited until the guy left to catch him in the single bathroom, leaving him bloody and bruised. he looked down to the guy before chuckling, “you should really learn what no means,” he spat before leaving. 

by the time he entered the floor again, you were already back on the floor dancing. you were dancing with another friend as you sipped on a drink and minded your business. it took a few internal screams to remind himself that he couldn’t just walk over to you and take you by the hand but almost after that, he heard commotion coming from the other end of the bar. 

closer to where you were.

Jason walked slowly to make sure shit didn’t get out of hand. you didn’t even realize that an entire fight had broken out by you as you were too busy singing to the song that was playing. it wasn’t until you heard gunshots that made you flinch and realize that shit was going down. 

you grabbed your friend, screaming at them to forget their things as you took everything the Bats had told you about situations like this and basically run for your life. you ran to the nearest exit before hearing gunshots going off again. this time, you tried ducking but it was far too late. you felt an impact against your left shoulder blade.

the gunshot immediately made you fall onto the ground as Jason practically sprinted to you. you weren’t even conscious enough to realize what was going on anymore but as you tried to get up to run once again, you felt yourself get pistol whipped on the nose as you fell again. 

Jason finally made it towards you after he signaled the Outlaws and even the some of the Bats to make their way to the club. you were trying your best to keep your eyes open but they were slowly starting to fall shut. 

“hey! hey! don’t fall asleep on me,” you heard Jason’s panicked voice. you laughed, leaning against him, “of course you would’ve followed me here but Jay, I’m kinda tired,” you whispered as your eyes fell completely shut. Jason shook you again as he tried to make sure you stayed awake, “don’t leave me. don’t you fucking leave me!” he screamed. 

it took a few minutes but eventually, the paramedics came in and got you onto a stretcher as Tim, Roy, and for some odd reason, Damian walked inside. they saw your state of being and looked to Jason. 

“a fight broke out and one of them shot off with gunshots. she got shot on the shoulder and hit with the gun to the nose,” he explained as he watched the ambulance put you inside. he knew...he hoped that you would make it out okay because he had some business to take care of before he went to visit you in the hospital, “I’ll be back,” he growled, getting up and running out the door. 

Roy, Tim, and Damian looked at each other realizing what he was about to do. they quickly followed him out the door but by the time they reached him, he was already running down the darkened ally, trailing what they assumed were the people that hurt you. 

Jason managed to tackle them to the floor, getting the ring leader as he stepped on the guys throat. he made sure not to make him pass out as he wanted the guy to feel his punches. Jason was big. size comparison to Superman so the punches to the face felt unearthly. 

“JASON STOP!” Tim screamed as Roy grabbed his best friend along with Damian, “if you get caught up in all this, you won’t be able to visit her. stop!” he yelled as he asked Roy to keep him calm, “go to the hospital. Roy can even take you but Robin and I have this,” he continued. 

he wanted to argue but for the first time in his life, Jason actually listened. he knew that he would get nothing by spending the night in a jail cell. Roy let him go when he realized that Jason was calm enough and let him to his motorcycle to follow you to the hospital. 

Jason got to the hospital about a half hour later. he immediately ran to the front desk, screaming your name to the receptionist who flinched back in fear. she walked him slowly to the room where you were at and informed him that you weren’t severely injured and most of the damage was on the nose. the blood you had lost was already getting pumped back into you. 

he saw you asleep on the bed as he pulled the chair up to your bed. Jason had never saw you this way before and frankly, it scared the shit outta him. he never wanted to see you this way again. 

without realizing, Jason had fallen asleep on the chair with his hand holding yours. it wasn’t until you actually woke up to see Jason asleep that you slowly shook him awake. Jason jumped up in fright and when he saw that you were awake, a sigh of relief was released. 

“how are you feeling? do you need anything?” he asked as you shook your head, “why did I know you would follow me to the club tonight?” you said with a tired smile. Jason shrugged, “you know how hard it is for me to quit you,” he confessed. 

while you did want to keep up your anger towards him, you weren’t even in the mood to start arguing with him. “Jason, seriously?” you said, not knowing what to say. Jason checked the door to make sure it was closed before basically hovering over you, “I can’t lose you. I just can’t. you’re the only thing that makes me feel normal. I know I wasn’t prioritizing you but I just can’t see you with anyone else. seeing you with Wally earlier almost made me want to kill him. I swear, I’ll start being better. I’ll make sure to make time for you but please, don’t leave me,” he yelled but softly. 

you had never heard Jason so vulnerable before, “wait, how did you know I was with Wally earlier?” you asked. Jason smiled sheepishly, knowing he was about to rat Tim out, “Tim might’ve told me,” he said. you squinted your eyes, “that asshole,” you said. 

“Jay, it’s hard to believe that when this isn’t the first time its happened. I just, I can’t be put in third or fourth place anymore. I see the way Dick and his girlfriend are and he still makes time for her and I always question why can’t you do the same!” you replied. Jason nodded understandingly, “I know but please, please trust me. one more chance and if I screw this up, you have every right to leave me for good,” he said almost immediately. 

you sighed, thinking for a few moments, “fine. one more chance and if you ruin it, it’s over. I won’t care what you say or do to try and get me back,” you threatened as Jason sighed in relief. 

he bent down for a kiss that had went longer than usual. it was getting steamier by the second but before you could continue, you heard a knock on the door indicating that the nurse or a doctor realized you were awake, “later, I promise. you’ll have enough time for this when you nurse me back to health,” you whispered making Jason laugh, “good because the way you were dancing with your friend might’ve turned me on more than I want to admit,” he said. 

you rolled your eyes as Jason sat back down on the chair as the doctor walked in. 

#DC comics #DC imagines #dc imagine #dc #dc x reader #jason todd #jason todd imagine #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x reader #red hood #red hood imagine #red hood x reader #red hood x y/n

[maanae]

Holidays

I would like to thank you all because by the gods, I didn't have that much notifications since way too long, love you all ♥

(and warn you because I don't have a rythm. At all. It's 2 OC in 10 days, it'll probably be wayy much before the next one :'))

I didn't find any real fanfic on Daminette x Teen Titans and I really think it can have a lot of potential (and I like the Titans) so here a little thing. It's more of a "throw all ideas before I forget them" so it's not really organised but I think it's sweet, so enjoy! (like last time, make what you want of it, if you want to write it just @/me I want to see!)

.

Aged-Up Characters! Marinette 17 years old more or less and Damian 18 I suppose. I'm not really up to date on the ages of all the characters but they're close to be or are adults.

.

.

.

Marinette is tired. Really really tired. She needs holidays. Far away from Paris, from Hawkmoth, from Malizia, from Lila Rossi and her court of lies, from her Order and her responsabilities and just... holidays. And her friends know that. Even the new members of the Order who don't know her very well know that. So they scheme. (Because she needs it but she won't take holidays obviously. Self -sacrifiyng and way too hard-working demoiselle.)

She'll keep the Coccinelle because she's one of the two persons who can wield it and the Chat isn't a good idea for holidays (like yeah okay he's fun but he's also chaos and Marinette needs rest. So Ladybug it is). She also has the Cheval, in case of akuma or amok or mirage or idk what they want to throw at her. All of her Gardians duties will go to Adrien and Nino, her fellow gardians-in-training (because there is no way she can be a full-fledged Gardian without much guidance, even X years after, don't fight me). And yeah, it's not perfect but it's something and it's way better than what she has now.

That's good, all good. They just need a location now.

It was an idea from Alix, with her weird smile they learn to not ask about. But it's Adrien and Chloe who talk to Jon and Damian. And it's Kor'i who concretises it by inviting Marinette at Jump City, in the Titans Tower.

And she accepts, because she knows she needs holidays and she wants to see Damian and to meet his friends (just coworkers dixit himself and she doesn't believe him at all).

So she goes.

.

Of course, Damian haven't let the Titans know who their guest would be and Kor'i wanted it to be a surprise (and a little mischief, maybe, it'll be fun). So when the car parks in front of the tower, they wait for an hero, or a celebrity, or someone they know, or or... anyone really. Not an asian girl with dark rings under her eyes, half-asleep and clinging to Damian. Nor the ease of Damian when he takes her bags with his arm around her waist.

... Damian has a girlfriend !?

(Kor'i was right, it's fun.)

Damian has indeed a girlfriend but she just says hello and then go crash on the bed. Damian's bed in fact. In his room. Where he takes her bags. The Damian. Who doesn't like anyone in his venicity or in the venicity of his things (and okay, he's more... less... than in the beginning but still it's a huge thing for him!). The following hours are eventful for the Titans who doesn't get what the fuck is happening, Kor'i who just wants popcorns and Damian who hides in his room. With his girlfriend. (The Titan have a hard time swallowing that).

Marinette wakes up in the middle of the night and finds Rachel in the kitchen, in front of a cup of black coffee. She smiles, a little shy and a lot eager and buzzes with energy. Her dark circles are a little less pronunced but she takes a double coffee with enough sugar and creme to wake the dead. Heh. The girls bond across coffee, late nights, Damian and art. It's cool. And when the sun rises and the boys and Kor'i wake up one by one, they're friends. And Marinette makes divine coffee and all the boys are enamored in a minute.

(Damian is Not jealous. But he keeps close to Marinette. Just in case.)

Marinette is all smiles and flowers, adorable in this not-naive way of helping others like it's a second nature and asking if she oversteps, always cautious of the boundaries. She has the look of heroes, mature and wary, but her eyes shine when she talks and she's sunshine, lighting up all that she sees. Damian is at ease when she's at his side, hands fluttering around to explain her last idea, he rolls his eyes when she hits walls and furnitures and apologizes and smiles when she lits up in joy and passion. He looks like his dad when Bruce gets out of his multiple costumes, serene in a way they never know him to be.

Sometimes she disappears and she explains she's a hero at home and they can't know her alter-ego without being banned from her city. They look at the thundering look on Damian at that and understand that he hates that truth. When she reappears, she looks dead on her feet and the first time they couldn't do a thing - too surprised to see Damian fuss over someone. After, they learn that she needs distractions so Garfield and Victor organized video game contests and they discover someone who can, in fact, stand up to Cybord. Sometimes the enemy is too much and Rachel comes to meditate with her, her calm a great help for the buzy mind of Marinette. Other times she just sleeps on Damian and they keep quiet (with pictures because they're cute and it's Robin).

Another time, it's their turn to go on mission and Marinette waves them with a smile and hopes of good fortune. And, okay it's a little weird but hey she's nice, let her have that. (And she's French so maybe she had a case of weird translation of a French saying even if she's bilingue). They're weary when they return and Marinette regards them with something grave in her eyes, like she can see more, like she knows somehow. They advert their eyes first, except for Damian who goes to her and she stands on her toes to kiss him on the forehead and there is a weird shimmer. When Kor'i goes to her after him and receives the same treatment, Garfield asks if it's a cult thing of something and Marinette smiles but her eyes are still too deep, too obscure and explains that she can heal them a little, if they want. Raven is the first to accept and the weight on her shoulders is lift a little when Marinette delivers. At the very moment her lips touch her forehead - just beneath her cristal - she knows the healing is not only physical even if it's not really psychological either.

Damian's girlfriend is adorable and hero but she's also magical in a way so very different of what she saw before.

.

When Marinette's holidays come to an end, she has new friends, knows new people she can trust to have her back, and her smile is much more genuine than two weeks ago. And Damian is teased relentlessly (but also a little enviously, she really is too good for him! Even Raven said it).

.

.

.

(or the AU where the kwamis doesn't exist so Marinette is Magic. I love Tikki and Plagg and all the others but I really love a good kwamiless AU, it's so much magic. So here it is.) (btw it's the DCMAU version of Teen Titans, sometimes in the future, it's the only one I know enough to write about. and I don't even recall how the Judas Contract end so.)

#maribat #daminette #teen titans #dc #damian #marinette #titans #kwamiless AU

[cellsshapedlikestars]

If you are accepting prompts--how about Sansa and Jon being on opposite sides of a political contest? Prime Minister Rhaegar Targaryen is forced to call a referendum for Northern independence, as demanded by the Northern Nationalists party. He is campaigning in the North for a United Westeros, taking his second wife Lyanna Stark and their son Jon along, toshow how hollow all talk if Northern independence is. However, this means that Jon keeps running into his Stark cousins, particularly Sansa Stark, who accompanies her parents to every debate and campaign rally...

I've been sitting on this for a while (and yes, I do see all the anon prompts, I promise!) and I've sort of been writing this on and off since I got it. The thing is, I have no point of reference for these politics, I'm assuming you wanted something like the Scottish independence movement, which I have almost no knowledge of as I am a dumb American who can barely handle American politics without spiraling into anxiety and depression. So, I've sort of talked around the specifics and hopefully I haven't gotten anything too crazy wrong.

Also, you mention his Stark cousins, but... well, I cannot do modern incest. I can handle them being cousins in olden times where it was acceptable & common (I can't even handle the sibling incest aspect in any time period), but I was writing this modern and that's a hard nope for me. I know it's a fairly predominant part of this fandom and if it's your thing, absolutely have at it! There is no kink shaming in this house. It's just not for me and I couldn't write it, sorry!

Also, as usual, this turned out longer than I intended since these are supposed to be drabbles mostly. But 'drabbles' for me always end up like 2k words

.

Jon sits in the window seat of the jet, headphones on and turned up. Somewhere behind him, he knows his parents are sitting, likely talking strategy. He knows dad wants him to join in, but Jon's in no mood to talk politics. It's what got him in this situation to begin with.

That stupid reporter. Jon's stupid response.

Jon! How do you feel about Northern Independence?

I say let them.

It's what he believes, honestly – if the North wants independence, why not? The rest of the SK treats them like shit anyway, why not let them break off, like Dorne did? It's not a naming issue – they're still called the Seven Kingdoms despite losing Dorne decades ago, so what if they're technically only six now? Jon knows it's about more than that – it's economics and politics and... well, pride. The SK can't lose another piece of their kingdom – nevermind that piece has been conquered and beaten down multiple times over hundreds of years. Northern Independence isn't a new concept – it's just been met with military resistance every time and stamped out. But they aren't in the middle ages anymore.

For a moment he turns his head to look behind him – to see mom with her head bowed in conversation with dad and something ugly twists in Jon's stomach.

He knows dad only married mom because she got pregnant – because his political career was just taking off and a mistress and bastard would have ruined him. And mom, she'd been so young, she's convinced herself he married her for love. Jon swears that mom used to be different. She used to argue with Rhaegar all the time about politics, he even remembers her bringing up Northern Independence when Jon was just a kid. But over the years she's had to play the perfect wife for him and somewhere along the way it just... stuck. Mom isn't his mom anymore. No, mom is what Rhaegar's political advisors want her to be.

So even though Jon had wanted to protest this trip, there's also a part of him desperately clinging to the hope that when they get North, mom will snap out of it. When she's home, maybe she'll be his mom again.

Especially since the leader of the opposition is an old friend of hers.

Ned Stark.

Dad doesn't react to much, he's a politician to his core, so seeing him get riled anytime Ned Stark is on TV is notable. In fact, there's a rebellious part of Jon that already likes Ned Stark simply for the fact that dad hates him so much. There's more to like than just that, Jon knows – Ned Stark seems like one of those politicians that's doing the job because they want to make a difference. They're rare, nowadays, but Jon's been surrounded by politicians his whole life and he can spot the do-gooders from a mile away.

He thinks it's partly why dad hates it – Ned Stark doesn't use the same underhanded tactics Rhaegar's used to, and from everything Jon's heard, there's nothing to use against Ned. The only skeleton dad's advisors had ever found tucked away in Ned Stark's closet had been that his wife, Catelyn, had originally dated his older brother Brandon, who died in a car accident. They'd begun dating and married shortly after - a minor scandal that hadn't gained any traction, considering they've been married for over twenty years with five children.

Dad was hoping to get somewhere with the youngest daughter, Arya, who always seemed more wild than the rest of her siblings (except maybe the youngest, Rickon). The problem is that she's never done anything really wrong and the North loves her. The oldest son Robb is as perfect a son as any politician could hope for and Jon sometimes wonders if dad would rather have Robb than Jon.

The other two sons are still fairly young and going after them would only make dad look like the bad guy. Then there's Sansa.

Jon remembers her from growing up – not that he'd ever met her, but they're both kids of prominent politicians and he's seen her in photos since she was old enough to walk. A proper lady, he remembers even the southern press naming her. Perfect, just like her older brother.

A hand on his shoulder jolts him out of his thoughts and he turns to see mom, who motions at him to take off his headphones.

“We're landing in a half hour and your father would like to go over your role,” she tells him with a perfect, bland smile. (She hasn't been his mother for a very long time.)

“I know my role,” he says and he can't help the bitter tone to his voice. “Stay quite, don't talk to the press. Pretty easy to remember.”

“And yet you still managed to nearly undermine my entire campaign with one flippant remark,” dad's voice calls over from his seat, low and smooth, though Jon absolutely hears the annoyance underneath it.

“Oh, he's just a child,” mom says, trying to play the peacekeeper like she always does.

“He's twenty, he's hardly a child,” dad starts, but Jon doesn't listen to the rest. He pulls his headphones back over his ears and looks back out the window and tries to pretend he's anywhere else.

…

By the time they reach Winterfell Castle, Jon is in a bad mood.

Not that he hadn't been before, but he's not allowed his headphones in the limo and so he'd had to listen to dad talk nonstop about his two favorite topics: Jon's failure as a son and how much he hates Ned Stark. And the way mom doesn't even try to defend Ned Stark like she used to infuriates Jon even more.

Jon hates his tuxedo and he hates that they barely had any time between landing and having to get ready for this dinner and he hates that he's going to have to smile and shake hands with a bunch of people who hate him on principle, simply for who his father is. For what his father represents.

When he does step out of the limo, he ignores every photographer and reporter that shouts his name, eager to get any sort of scandal out of him.

He doesn't blame them for this, he's given them enough over the years – not just his apparent support of Northern Independence, but everything else he's done to gain his notoriety. His reputation as a heartbreaker and a playboy that's mostly over-exaggerated, that time he punched a teacher (though to be fair, Thorne deserved it)... Teenage rebellion, they'd written it off as, but he's no longer a teenager and he knows he should grow up and stop doing things to piss off his father at some point.

(His favorite one had been sleeping with that investigative journalist when he was seventeen. She'd been older than him by a good few years and he'd known she was using him to write an article, but he was using her just as much to infuriate his father. His only true regret is that Ygritte's article hadn't done any real lasting damage to Rhaegar's reputation.)

Inside, there aren't any reporters but there are politicians everywhere and that's worse. He does the bare minimum to not cause an issue – he shakes hands and says hello, though he refuses to smile while doing it. They already hate him for being Rhaegar Targaryen's son. They already hate him for being Northern-traitor Lyanna Snow's son.

He keeps an eye on mom to see how she's doing and his heart twists painfully in his chest when he sees her. She has a bright smile on her face and anyone who didn't know her would think she's fine, but Jon can see how pale she is under her makeup. This is the first time she's been back in the North since she married dad and he has a sudden, sharp pang of hatred for Rhaegar – for getting her pregnant, for marrying her, for never letting her go back. For turning her into this.

He can tell the moment Ned Stark enters the room because mom freezes. And sure enough, there he is – beautiful wife at his side, the three adult children with him. Robb, Sansa, Arya. Jon's eyes scan over them – Robb with his perfect hair and smile, an easy way about him that's always come through even on camera. Sansa standing poised and almost too beautiful to believe – Jon's only ever seen her on film and somehow she's even more unreal in person. Arya, who by all accounts hates politics as much as Jon does, stands firmly by her family and Jon gets the sense she only hates the system, not her dad. Not like Jon.

As Jon scans the room, he can see other families here that he recognizes – the Greyjoys, including Robb Stark's best friend Theon. The Manderlys, the Karstarks, the Ryswells, the Boltons, the Mormonts. More families than Jon cares to remember.

There's a sense of someone behind him and he turns just enough to see that dad has come up to stand next to him. For a moment, dad just stands there before turning his head ever so slightly and bringing his mouth close to Jon's ear and he says so low Jon can barely even hear it - “if you do anything to embarrass me tonight, there will be consequences. If you do anything that makes it seem like you support this pathetic independence movement, there will be consequences. Do you understand me?”

Jon feels blind rage that winds so hot in his chest it makes him shake and his vision narrow. He has to close his eyes and take a deep breath before he can answer, and he grits out, “of course.” Dad nods and moves away, putting on his best politician smile as he goes to greet Howland Reed.

Mom shoots him a concerned look, but Jon ignores her. He can feel it building in him – that rebelliousness the press likes to talk about so much. He wants to hurt Rhaegar. For everything – for his mother, for all the people dad's stepped on and hurt. He wants to embarrass him, consequences be damned.

Just as he's thinking this, his eyes catch on copper hair and bright blue eyes.

Sansa Stark.

Darling of the press. Perfect Northern princess.

It takes root in his mind, against his better judgment. What would make Rhaegar more furious than an affair between his son and the daughter of Ned Stark?

Jon can't imagine Sansa would be amenable to the suggestion, not like Ygritte had been – there is no mutually beneficial agreement here. She would never agree to do something that might embarrass her father (and once again, Jon is reminded of the, pun intended, stark difference between his relationship with his father and the Stark children's relationship with Ned. Jon has never even met them in person and he knows this).

So he can't approach her with any sort of offer or plan. No, he'd have to pretend it was real.

He's going to have to seduce Sansa Stark.

#jonsa #prompt fic #ask #oooh boy do i know nothing of politics #and political families #do not @ me #is this boring? #probably #jonsa fic