#ill self reblog and do it when i wake up
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Shower
Sometimes it's all you can do to breathe. Sometimes you need a little help--even with the basics. Bucky's happy to help.
A/N: This is a completely self-indulgent comfort fic.
Genre: Fluff / Rating: PG
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader
Warnings: Themes of mental illness, nudity.
Note: I do not own the character Bucky Barnes or any other Marvel affiliated characters.
You do not have permission to copy or repost my work; however, feel free to like, comment, and reblog.
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If you were being perfectly honest with yourself, you knew this was pathetic: lying on the bathroom floor, nibbling on a half eaten pop tart, and listening to the shower run.
“Not only am I gross,” you think, “I’m wasting perfectly good water.”
You sigh, willing yourself to stand up, to shower, to not eat on the bathroom floor. But you can’t.
Depression is weird like that, taking seemingly simple, inconsequential tasks and turning them into battles. You certainly didn’t lie on the bathroom floor, eating pop tarts, while listening to the shower run when you were mentally well.
The truth was: You just got back from a mission. A run of the mill recon mission. You were in, you were out. You did your job. But now you were sweaty, and sore, and unable to do anything for the benefit of yourself. Helping other people? No problem? Helping yourself? Mission: Impossible.
You groan, pulling your towel under your head for minimal neck support as you stare at the ceiling. You can see where condensation slowly develops and drips from the fan, and if you turn your head, you can see the fogged up mirror.
“I’ve been here a while,” you note.
You pull out your phone, checking the time. 9:04 PM. You don’t know when you got back, when you turned on the shower, when you dropped to the floor. The time tells you nothing.
You groan again, throwing your arm across your eyes. You’re tired, and you’re positive you could fall asleep here on the bathroom floor. You know you shouldn’t, but you could… and you haven’t been sleeping in your bed… and you let yourself drift off.
Banging. You wake to banging. No—knocking. You wake to knocking. As you come to, you realize someone is knocking on the bathroom door. You don’t have it in you to stand and open it. You never undressed anyway, lying on the floor in your tac suit, so you call out “unlocked!” and watch as the doorknob twists and the door is cautiously opened.
“Y/N?” The intruder calls softly with concern lacing each syllable of your name.
You groan in response, letting your arm fall from your face as your eyes flutter open. You look up to be met with the ever so concerned blue eyes of your best friend: Bucky Barnes. As he makes eye contact with you on the floor, eyes drawn downward at your groan, eyebrows scrunched in confusion, he opens his mouth to say something before seeming to think better of it.
“Can I come in?” He asks cautiously after a moment.
You nod and he slips into the bathroom, gently closing the door behind him. He lets himself sink to the floor beside you, pulling your head into his lap both to accommodate his large size in your small bathroom and in an attempt to comfort you. He lets his hand fall to your hair, quietly playing with it. You hum contentedly, eyes fluttering closed again, and you’re grateful he hasn’t begun interrogating you even though you know he’s confused.
Maybe 5 minutes pass in silence. Your mind is finally somewhat at ease from the comfort Bucky brings you, but you know he deserves an explanation as to why he’s on your bathroom floor holding you while the shower runs.
“I…” you start, trailing off before clearing your throat nervously and trying again. “I know this is weird. I can explain.”
Bucky shakes his head, raising an eyebrow. “You don’t have to, Doll. Lord knows I don’t always explain to you the weird things I do when I…” have an episode, he was going to say. He doesn’t want to call this an episode, though. He’s still not sure what this is. “We all deal with post-mission stress differently,” he says instead.
You huff. “I wish I was doing this because of mission stress.”
Bucky doesn’t respond, just watches patiently as he continues to run his fingers through your hair. He refuses to force anything out of you you’re not ready to share; after all, you never force him to spit his feelings out.
“Bucky, I… I’m not doing well.”
The admittance takes you off guard. You hadn’t even acknowledged to yourself that you weren’t doing well. You’d been avoiding that simple truth, that small detail.
“Yeah. Healthy people don’t generally run up the water bill while they snack on the floor,” Bucky teases gently. You are aware there’s no malice behind his words; he’s just trying to lighten the mood. You cringe, though, when you realize he had noticed the pop tart wrapper and the clear lack of pop tart. Bucky notices you cringe, though, and his light smile drops.
“How can I help, Doll?”
You shake your head. “You don’t have-”
“I want to,” he cuts you off.
You swallow nervously, but nod. You’ll let him help you.
“I, uh. Can you…” you scrunch your eyes, grounding yourself despite your embarrassment. “Can you help me shower?” You choke out the words, hoping he maybe missed them and will leave you on the bathroom floor to sulk.
Bucky smiles encouragingly, not showing any signs that he is bothered or uncomfortable with the request. Instead of running and leaving you to your self-destructive tendencies, he helps you sit up before standing himself, grabbing your hand and pulling you to your own feet. Gently he helps you out of your tac suit that clings to your body uncomfortably from sweat both from the mission and the steamy bathroom. Once your suit is removed, he helps you pull off your sports bra and shimmy out of your underwear. It’s intimate, yes, but it’s not at all sexual. You can’t help but curse yourself for letting the first time he saw you like this be under these circumstances. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. You bite your lip anxiously, closing your eyes as you wrap your arms around yourself in a self conscious hug.
Bucky’s gaze is 100% respectful. He keeps his eyes on your face, or the back of your head when you’re turned around, only letting his gaze drop to help you out of your constricted clothing.
He finally helps you step into the shower, pulling the curtain closed as you step in. You let yourself stand under the water, staring at the wall in front of you. Your thoughts are running a million miles an hour and are also nonexistent at the same time. You wish you knew how you could think about everything and nothing at the same time.
You hear a soft clinking sound that you’re sure is Bucky unbuckling his belt. Then you hear the sliding of his jeans down his legs, and the gentle grunt he lets out while he takes off his shirt. You’re not sure because you can’t see, but you’re pretty sure you hear him fold his clothes and yours to set neatly on the counter. Finally, he pulls the shower curtain back a little to step in himself.
He smiles reassuringly at you, keeping his eyes on yours. You force a small smile onto your own lips in response.
He’s still in his boxers, protecting his modesty for your sake. You can’t help but feel a little disappointed but you shake your head, chasing those thoughts out of your mind. He’s just your friend—your best friend—and he’s only doing you a favor. As a friend. Not his girlfriend.
Bucky’s eyebrows scrunch together in concern as he watches you shake your head, obviously distraught.
“Hey, hey. Sweetheart, look at me,” he says, resting his palm on your cheek. You look at him. “Are you alright?” He asks, searching your eyes for any indication that you’re not.
You only nod. He eyes you suspiciously but drops the subject. Instead, he reaches behind you for your shampoo, squirting some into his hand, before letting his hands fall into your hair, slowly massaging the shampoo into your scalp.
Bucky quietly washes you, stepping back only to let you wash your more intimate parts. His hands on your body are intoxicating. His right is calloused and rough from decades of use and his left is smooth and and warmed from the water, but they’re both so gentle as they run along your body. When he finishes bathing you, he lets his arms drop to his side, and you immediately miss his touch. He looks anxious and unsure of himself for the first time since entering your bathroom, and you realize it’s because he suddenly isn’t sure what to do with himself. Without thinking much about it, you give him a new task.
You step forward into him, wrapping your arms around his torso and resting your cheek against his chest. The action surprises him, but he almost immediately wraps his own arms around you, holding you close. He plants a soft kiss to the top of your head.
“I’ve got ‘ya, sweetheart,” he assures. “I’ve got you.”
#bucky barnes x reader#bucky x reader#marvel x reader#bucky barnes#bucky barnes x reader fluff#bucky x you#marvel fanfiction#bucky barnes fanfiction#bucky barnes x you#bucky x fem!reader#bucky x g!n reader#bucky x female!reader#bucky barnes fluff#fluff#marvel#marvel fluff
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10:48pm
genre: fluff, domestic bc i’m a sucker for that
rq: not a request
word count:
reblogs, comments and feedback are appreciated !
notes: I AM SO SO SORRY FOR GOING AWOL YALL. been caught up with school but i finally have some time off now. this was kind of (pretty much) self indulgent but enjoy :)
taglist (dm me to join!) : @icyminghao @haowrld @etherealyoungk
vernon can’t cook. if there’s anything you need to know about him, he can’t cook. despite this, you find yourself waking up to a familiar scent flowing through the house.
wincing slightly at the headache, you removed the blanket- wait, blanket? oh, pillows too. didn’t you fall asleep on the couch? confused, you get up from the bed and padded to the living room, only to see vernon wearing an apron that was visibly too small for him, cooking at the countertop of the kitchen.
smiling, you walk up behind him and wrapped your arms around him. he jumps a little. oops.
“baby?”
“hey nonie.”
your boyfriend chuckles lightly at the nickname, lowering the heat and turns around to face you. “i told you not to call me that.” he says jokingly, eyes softening as he takes in the tiredness written all over you. vernon tucks a piece of hair behind your ear, and as if it was done instinctively, places a soft kiss on your temple, then your forehead.
“what are you doing? you can’t even cook ramyeon.” you say, peering behind him, trying to find out what he was making. it looked exactly like what your mother cooked for you whenever you fell ill. how-
“you said you left work early ‘cause you felt sick. i remember you told me about this beef soup your mother makes for you, so i called her and asked her for the recipe.” vernon shrugs, like he wasn’t the same person that was shaking when he first met your mother.
oh god. you’re gonna marry this man. you’ve decided.
“oh.. thank you.” he hums, turning around and stirs a bit more. “i’m almost done, gimme a minute and i’ll pour you a bowl ‘kay? rest for now, please.” vernon briefly turns his head around and presses another kiss on your forehead, smiling at you.
as you find your seat on the couch, you watch your boyfriend who has a wooden spatula in his hand, stirring every once in a while. you really thought you would never ever see him cook in this lifetime but - not anymore.
“vernon, you really cooked that up?” you say in awe, slowly taking in the fact that he was in the kitchen and somehow did not make any mess, and even something edible. vernon laughs, “yes, i did.” you squint at him questioningly.
“okay, fine, fine. your mother did assist me through the phone.”
author’s notes: work’s been keeping me busy but i really needed to write this bc this has been in my mind for a bit too long <3
#gyuslcve.writes#seventeen fluff#seventeen imagines#seventeen x reader#seventeen drabbles#seventeen headcanons#seventeen scenarios#seventeen imagine#seventeen fanfic#vernon#vernon x reader#vernon fluff#vernon imagines#vernon x y/n#vernon scenarios#vernon drabble#vernon oneshot#vernon angst#vernon au#vernon headcanons#vernon x you
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when you're sick
❥ — INCLUDES kaeya, zhongli, arataki itto, thoma, baizhu
# A/N I've been tragically ill so here is some pure self-indulgent fluff ♡
KAEYA
☆ cracks jokes at your expense
☆ "you just needed a reason to see me", "if you wanted to be babied you should've just asked", "do you need me to kiss you better?"
☆ is actually very thoughtful and looks after you
☆ "why are you getting up? what do you need?"
☆ makes you hot drinks, food, gets you blankets, he even offers to carry you if you want to get out of bed
☆ you can say you'll make him ill as much as you want but he wont listen
☆ kisses you even more than usual
☆ you tell him he'll get sick (and he's so annoying when he's sick) but he ignores your warnings
☆ his voice is mocking when he says "awww my poorly baby" but you can tell he's sincere in his actions
☆ it's your turn to make fun of him when he gets ill a few days after you've recovered
ZHONGLI
☆ doesn't want to get ill but comes to see you nonetheless
☆ goes shopping to get medicine
☆ isn't quite sure which one is the best so he arrives with a bag full of various tablets, cough syrups, sore throat sweets, etc. etc.
☆ in his other hand is a bag with a newly bought blanket
☆ "let me wash this for you, it'll make you feel worse to sit in your germs"
☆ practically cleans the entire house
☆ encourages you to rest all day, will sit with you until you fall asleep
☆ when you wake up he'll make you a hot drink and there'll be food on the stove ready for you
ITTO
☆ he's the one that made you ill
☆ he's always the one that makes you ill
☆ "it's not that bad I promise! I really want to see you"
☆ and you see him every. single. time. because you will never learn your lesson
☆ apologises so much when he gets to yours and sees you in bed shivering
☆ immediately wraps you up in his arms and just talks to you (or at you, if you aren't feeling up for talking) until you fall asleep
☆ if you aren't tired then he's asking whether you need anything
☆ and if you don't need anything then he's got you in his arms and is smothering you with kisses
☆ he'll get ill again, but he doesn't mind because he knows you'll look after him
THOMA
☆ immediately comes to you with ingredients to make food, medicine, things to clean your house, etc.
☆ everything you could possibly need, Thoma will have ready for you
☆ he looks after you even when you aren't sick, so you really receive princess treatment when you're sick
☆ "no don't get up, I'll do it"
☆ you'll fall asleep and by the time you wake up he's cleaned the living room, kitchen and bathroom, made you soup, bought you some groceries because you were running out and put your favourite snacks on your bedside table
☆ you try and get him to stop because it makes you feel bad
☆ but it's just how he shows his love for you
☆ our acts of service KING
BAIZHU
☆ takes something like a small cold wayyy too seriously
☆ will be consistently taking your temperature, making you tea, giving you medicine
☆ tries to make his medicines less bitter for you
☆ "do you treat all your patients this well?"
☆ "only you"
☆ will tell you off for always working so hard and never resting, but stays silent if you tell him that's a hypocritical statement
☆ "get better quickly so I can kiss you"
☆ "maybe you have a healing kiss, we should try it out"
☆ it's your fault if you make him ill, but he'll be fine toughing out a teensy little cold (there's that hypocrisy again)
☆ he miraculously never seems to get your illnesses, which definitely encourages him to continue
reblogs are hugely appreciated ♡
[masterlist]
#renoed#renoed; genshin#x reader#genshin impact x reader#genshin impact#kaeya x reader#baizhu x reader#zhongli x reader#itto x reader#arataki itto#zhongli#baizhu#genshin#thoma#thoma x reader#genshin headcanons
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hi hi! i saw that you were taking requests, and i'd love to hear your personal headcanons about thomas hewitt (and maybe jason voorhees?)!
have a nice day!
THOMAS HEWITT GENERAL HEADCANONS. 𓂅 ˖ ࣪
cw. my personal general headcanons, mentions of insecurity and mental illness, bones / bone collecting, etcetera
note. ahh tysm for the request!! <3 i’m so glad you’d like to hear my personal hcs for ol’ thomas! i hope you enjoy my thoughts, it’s a little all over the place, so apologies! and speaking for jason voorhees, i’ll do another post at a later time for general hcs! comments and reblogs always appreciated! <3
requests are open. masterlist.
thomas is not shy, he’s reserved. he keeps to himself not because he’s particularly shy or afraid, but because he was conditioned to think, ‘ why would anybody be interested? ’
he spent his entire life being aggressively put down by the town he grew up in, as well as his family. charlie, hoyt, while he would defend thomas when needed ( as hewitts stick together ), was not one for kind words. and uncle monty was quiet and not particularly the supportive kind.
so, thomas really only had luda mae to depend on for emotional support. she was the matriarch, and the one whom he cares for the deepest. you mess with luda? you’re messing with him.
in general, thomas is naturally a protective man, if not also an envious man. of course he wants his family to be safe and sound, he was simply surrounded by the fact damn near his entire life. protect your family.
and yet thomas is a deeply jealous, deeply insecure man. his intimidating size is already enough to make him wish he was smaller, however growing up deformed? poor? and he never really did too amazing in school either.
i feel like at some point, thomas came to terms with his physical situation. he had to. there was nothing he could to do change his physical self, so he had to learn how to deal with it. that doesn’t mean he’s any less frightfully insecure, however.
which leads me to believe that he’s quick to annoyance / anger. he is a patient man to an extent when it comes to work and chores, and especially towards his family. but with victims? outsiders? he is extremely quick to anger, or even violence. it comes from a deeply rooted place of discomfort.
thomas only trusts his family. they know what’s best for the hewitt household.
speaking of, while thomas is much larger, and much stronger than everyone in his little family unit, he remains firmly underneath them and their words. he is still their little boy that they took in. hoyt basically runs the household, especially by the point in the movies, he’s taken over as leader.
it doesn’t feel right saying that thomas is afraid of hoyt, but he most certainly does not want to go against him, or make him angry. hoyt has always been an angry man, especially after returning from the war. ( however, it wouldn’t be impossible for thomas to stand up to hoyt, especially if it were for thomas’s s/o. however that could be explained further if anyone wanted to request s/o headcanons or something… <3 )
switching gears, thomas is crafty. of course we know this, he creates his own masks. however, i feel like he just generally likes crafts. thomas is into creating, as it makes him feel… good. he’s creating, instead of destroying. positive to distract from the negative, y’know?
thomas is also a huge workaholic. he spends almost all of his time working around the hewitt farm, doing any type of chore and any type of work his family requests of him.
and however, despite being a workaholic who often strays far into the night, thomas is an early bird. the quiet moments in the mornings are his favorites. no one knows it, but he often wakes up before the crack of dawn to watch the sunrise, sneaking his way through the house to watch through the kitchen window above the sink.
and as for hobbies, bone collecting. of course this one was coming. i feel like thomas, being crafty and spending a lot of his time on the farm doing various tasks, comes across some old animal carcasses time to time. little bones left behind by natural scavengers. so? he collects them. has been since he was a young boy ( which in turn made him an even bigger outcast… ). he has many an old, dusty jar full of various bones from animals such as rabbits, field mice, deer, etcetera. he even was able to collect a few skulls.
also? pressed flowers. thomas would never reveal this to any of his family members, especially hoyt, but when he comes across a wild flower in the field? little clumps of ditzy white flowers growing along the roadside? he’ll carefully pick them, place them in his pocket, and at the end of the day, press them into a little battered, empty journal he found. it’s rather beautiful, his own pretty little slice of the world to admire.
i also think thomas collects whatever little nicknacks he comes across. little old, cracked glass figurines, old metal pieces, discarded cds, interesting little coins, etcetera. he keeps them in a box, hidden in his basement work station most likely, alongside his hidden journal filled with pressed flowers.
© myesmi . . . do not steal, translate, or repost.
#myesmi writes !!#horror#horror slasher#slashers#slashers x reader#leatherface#thomas hewitt#leatherface x reader#thomas hewitt x reader#thomas hewitt x you#thomas hewitt headcanons#texas chainsaw the beginning#texas chainsaw massacre
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i dont reblog those posts about how hard it is to have moralizing ocd in online spaces, even though i deeply resonate with them. ironically, i can only talk to 2 people about my ocd, because one of my obsessions is that other people will assume im using my mental health as a shield against criticism if i talk about it. therefore, if i talk about my ocd in any circumstance, my brain believes that i'm already doing something immoral
basically, most of my obsessions resolve around people assuming bad faith of me or that i'm somehow secretly an irredeemably bad person, no matter how hard i try to be good. i am a bad person if i dont reblog posts about serious topics, spend every waking moment thinking about extremely serious topics, or make any social mistakes whatsoever (which is scary because i'm also autistic). i believe that i am irredeemable if i make a small mistake, and i often think all my friends are waiting for me to make a mistake so that they can attack me, and that my life will be ruined if i fuck up. im constantly scanning all my interests (and people i know) for the tiniest imperfections (far beyond healthy amounts of criticism in your interests) out of fear that liking anything or anyone makes me a horrible person. if you dont take a side on this lgbt label discourse, then youre a bigot! im ALWAYS mentally preparing responses and apologies to totally theoretical situations of people being upset with me. i have intrusive thoughts about doing the immoral things that scare me most.
the problem is, *talking about* any of these thoughts invites people who will actually bad faith me. "if youre so worried about this stuff, then you must have something to hide! you just want to avoid accountability!" they make your obsession a reality by accusing you of the exact thing you fear most. none of these thoughts are reasonable or realistic, and i know that. i know that i'm mentally ill. i know logically that i'm as good a person as anyone else. when i actually do make a mistake, i stay level-headed and apologize, acknowledge what i did wrong, and change my behavior
but there is a large part of me that does not want to heal from my ocd, because i believe constant self-monitoring and self-critique is the only thing preventing me from becoming a horrible person
there is nothing i want more in this world than to be a good altruistic human being who is capable of growth, but spending weeks trapped in thought loops analyzing all my behaviors for the smallest signs of a mistake will not help me be a better person. it makes me a worse friend. it drains my energy so that i dont have the mental capacity to actually spend time being kind to others. i reread this post many times while writing it to make sure i didnt accidentally write 6 different slurs. but i can't figure out how to heal. what the fuck do i do about this
this is incredibly hard for me to write about. i'm fighting the urge to delete this post as you read it. i cant stress how debilitating this is for me, it is the biggest hurdle in my life and it sucks away days worth of my time and energy. i will become trapped in thought-loops THE SECOND im not kept sufficiently busy and stimulated by tv/music/my bf/being out of the house somewhere/etc. so much of my life is wasted wanting to be good, that i dont get a chance to actually live the life of a good person
i really hope this post resonates with someone. ive only met a few other people who have this particular kind of ocd, and its extremely isolating. but i want to try to heal from it, and i know the first step to healing is talking about it
#have you ever noticed how i'll add addendums in the tags of my posts where i'll clarify EXACTLY what the post was about?#i do that bc of my obsession that some1 will screenshot something i say out of context and make me look horrible#this is not just a Go Outside problem btw. i know a lot of the examples i gave were internet related#but ive had ocd since i was a child. the other half of my symptoms are health related#like obsessions about emetophobia. or food being contaminated or making me sick. or other physical illness#ppl assume ocd is just washing your hands and not wanting to be touched. naur. i wash my hands a normal amount and i love being touched#so i didnt believe i could have ocd for a long time cuz i didnt fit the stereotype. even though it was incredibly obvious and debilitating#amygdalae#ocd#actually ocd
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“bubba saved the day always”
Paring: Chris Evans x toddler! Reader
Warnings: toddler! Reader feeling icky and just overwhelmed, medication, chris being the best brother ever, cuddles, just feeling icky and fluff
Summary: Chris looks after y/n when she wakes him up in the middle of the night because she feels icky but not like she has before when she’s been ill.
Waking up in the middle of the night wasn’t something you’d do often, but when you walked into chris’ room your head feeling like it’s been shaken because it hurt so bad, you stomach was in knots but most of all your body just felt like it was being weighted down.
Waking over to chris’ bed, blankie trailing behind you and Timmy the sheep in your hand where he lay starfished asleep dead to the world, you tried to wake him.
“Bubba, bubba wake up ‘lease” you whispered feeling bad on top of what you already felt for waking him up
Slowly Chris woke up to the world, a little sweet voice pulling him away from his dreamless deep sleep.
“Hmm? Lovebug what’s going on hmm.. why aren’t you asleep?” He said sleep heavy looking over to where you were standing.
“Feel icky bubba” she whispers in to his chest after being lifted on to Chris to snuggle into his chest.
As you were laying on Chris’ chest he could feel how warm you were no wonder you felt not like your usual self.
“Oh lovebug, not feeling too hot huh. Let’s go get you some medicine to make you feel better okay?” He whispered knowing you wouldn’t like the medicine as soon as it was mentioned.
Giving you a reassuring cuddle whilst you both made your way downstairs you never failed to make your bubba laugh even if you weren’t feeling good.
“Bubba can have apple ‘auce” y/n asked snuggling into chris more knowing what was to come.
“Of course lovebug, we can get some applesauce and some medicine okay to make you feel all better” he chuckled peppering kisses on to her forehead.
A whine left y/ns lips knowing that she had to have medicine, hearing this chris just holds her closer. He mixes the calpol in so he knows she gets the full amount.
“It’s okay lovebug, I’m gonna put you down on the counter and get you a sippy cup of ‘juice’ hmm” he gently smiles.
That cup of ‘juice’ being grape flavoured kinderlyte that they keep in the fridge for you whenever you need a little more hydration.
“Ma lady lovebug here is your applesauce, do you need help?” He chucked at your sleepy face.
“Mhmhm ‘elp ‘lease bubba” y/n whispered to him
Okay lovebug, let’s get this in you then we can go get into bubbas bed and watch Timmy with cuddles, come’ere let me help.” He picked up the spoon and started to spoon feed y/n.
Once it was all gone, he carried her on his hip up to his room and snuggled her up in his chest, sleepily she asked for Timmy. And an hour later you were both out like a light, the next morning you woke up feeling so much better than last night.
Bubba made you feel better even just him hugging you when you didn’t feel like yourself made you feel better.
He was the best, bubba saved the day always.
Hey loves I hope you’re all well, this was something that came into my head earlier because I’m currently on day 2 of a migraine but since i know you love toddler!reader and chris I thought i play on how I feel and put it into a fic for more toddler!reader content.
Taglist:
@mcuamerica @wndawtch @buckyalpine @lilithneedslove @buckybarnesandmarvel @falcqns @chrisevansonly @chrissyevanss @cevansgoatee @kingshitonly @ellerosie2332 @lena-jolie @ace-of-gay @imyourbratzdoll @no-not-without-you-blog @stuckysdoll @stevie-rogers-anon @dumb-fawkin-bitch @chrisdrysdale @mrvlxgrl
If you guys would like to be added to my tag list please do comment or just send in an ask :)
Reblogs, feedback and asks are appreciated <3
#chrisevansdaughter#chris evans daughter#chris evans#chris evans x reader#chrisevansdaughter loves 💖❤️#chrisevansdaughter online 💖#fluff#chris evans x y/n#chris evans x reader fluff#chris evans x toddler!reader#chris evans headcanon#chris x reader#chrisevansdaughter moots#chrisevansdaughter speaks 🫶🏻
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Chapter 12: All That Matters
Chapter Summary:
All things must change.
All things must end.
CW: suicidal ideation, arguments, death and murder, shock (a bit), child violence (kindof?? but not really), self-deprecation Jarchivist style, themes of chronic illness, themes of terminal illness
Author’s Notes: um. you may want to sit down for this one.
in my defense - i did warn you. i did warn you, okay?
god. i can't believe this is it. take a deep breath, mind the content warnings and see you on the other side.
Work Summary: Jon awakens with a tidal wave of memories that don’t make any sense. In an attempt to go on with his life, he searches for the cause of the turmoil in his mind. He knows, though, that something inside him is waking up.
Likes are greatly appreciated, but please consider reblogging so other people may see it! Thank you 💜
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The tunnels are just as cold, damp, and unwelcoming as Jon remembers them. The darkness looms with a promise of something lurking just around the corner. Under their boots, the squelching painfully reminds them what has been creeping in the walls.
Tim grimaces, casting a half-horrified, half-disgusted glance at the floor. “Geez, this is… They've all been here the whole time?”
“Yes,” Jon answers. “Biding their time. Waiting.”
He steps around the carcasses carefully but without need for light, using the cane as additional support when his recent wounds flare. Tim glances back at him briefly, keeping his flashlight focused on the worm-riddled floor.
“Waiting for what?”
Jon shrugs and winces at the sting in his shoulder. “Until there was enough of them to overpower the Archives. But they weren't ready. The Web wanted them to fail.” He scoffs to himself. “Not that they would succeed in any substantial way at any rate.”
“The Web...” Sasha frowns, searching the rough, stone walls with her light. “The spider Tim killed?”
“Yes.”
“And there's no chance it could've just been… A coincidence?” Tim offers weakly, at which Jon barely stifles a pitying chuckle.
“There are no coincidences where the Web is involved.”
He carefully keeps his voice soft; he's finding it hard to keep explaining things that seem so obvious to him now, but he knows that's just one of the things defining his inhumanity. He casts a glance at Martin who's been quiet ever since they descended into the tunnels. His gaze is fixed somewhere ahead, and there's a slight frown on his forehead.
Jon laces their fingers together to make him look down. He doesn't say anything - he wouldn't know what to say. There are so many things between them now and yet no words spring to mind. They need to kill Jonah Magnus, end this once and for all, and then...
And then hopefully we can live happily ever after, Martin thinks. Jon averts his gaze, blinking rapidly. He hasn't thought about what comes after — after Jonah Magnus, the heart of the Institute, is dead. What happens to him. He doubts the Eye will let him go; in fact, he's quite aware that's not possible anymore.
“Can I ask you a question?” Sasha speaks up in the silence. Her voice joins the echo of their steps reverberated on the stone walls.
“Of course,” Jon replies.
“You said there was an apocalypse, right?” She starts. “Various domains of fear, you travelled through them to get to Elias—”
“—Jonah Magnus—”
“Yes, yes, Jonah Magnus, in this… Panopticon.” She hesitates. “Where do other universes come into play then?”
Jon takes a breath to launch into a detailed statement, something about a grand plan and apotheosis, but Martin precedes him.
“Basically the Web fucked us over,” he says. “There was a rift on Hill Top Road, something about multiple entities converging on one place or some such. The catch was that if Jon killed Elias in the tower, he’d have to take his place. But Annabelle offered us another way. We could stop all of it. We could send the Fears to other realities and turn the world back to normal.”
Something dawns on Jon — a realization coated in dread that makes his heart stutter and his throat close up. He stares down at the floor, pressing his lips together. He knows he should speak up —they still have time, they can still come up with a plan— but his throat seems to have lost the connection to his brain.
“And you did?” Tim raises his eyebrows.
And maybe that’s for the better. Maybe this is his one last chance to do something right. It wouldn’t fix all the wrongs, nothing ever would, but maybe that was some sort of justice he could offer the world. Maybe it would be for the better.
“Well, Jon wanted to kill the whole world to contain them, so we didn't exactly have an alternative,” Martin scoffs, catching Jon’s attention with the tone. “And we were hoping that the Change doesn't happen in other worlds. The Fears would have marginal access to them, just like they did before the Change happened in ours. And—And we couldn’t exactly be held accountable for what could possibly, maybe happen in alternate universes, now, could we?”
Jon grinds his teeth to stop himself from arguing. There's no point reviving the same discussion, not after the fact. They've got to press forward and face what’s awaiting them. One way or another.
“Okay, but that doesn’t explain why you ended up here,” Sasha points out.
An uncomfortable silence follows her words. From the corner of his eye Jon sees Martin look away and bite his lips. Something heavy makes itself at home in his chest.
“We had an argument,” he speaks, taking extreme care that his voice doesn't show any emotions. “Martin and I. I… I could really destroy them all at the source. I had a chance to end it all for good. I had to take it.”
“You mean, you had to orchestrate the most elaborate suicide—”
“Martin.” Jon's voice takes on an exasperated edge. “This isn't about me, it’s about all the worlds and all the people I’ve—”
“No, Jon!” Martin stops and looks at him with desperation in his eyes, letting go of his hand. “It is about you, it's all about you! The Web chose you, the Eye chose you, and you keep putting yourself in danger because of some fucked up martyr complex—”
“They didn't—They didn't choose me, Martin, I was just” —Jon lets out a frustrated breath. “There's nothing special about me. I was just a conveniently placed chess piece that did exactly what it was meant to.”
“You're not a—a chess piece to me!” Martin says, his eyes glistening.
“I know,” Jon says as softly as he’s able to, and takes Martin's hand. "But the world doesn't care about—"
Martin takes a step back. “I had to kill you,” he whispers shakily. “I really thought I wouldn’t be able to, if it came to that, but I did. I had your fucking blood on my hands, Jon, I had to watch you die. Do you have any idea what it was like? I don't give a fuck what the world cares about and frankly, I feel like we deserve something nice for a change! So, if that’s alright with you, I would like to focus on us this time, without involving the entire world in it.”
Jon stares at him, too stunned for words for a moment. Martin clicks his own flashlight on and steps past Tim and Sasha, who are equally speechless, albeit for slightly different reasons.
“Come on, let's go,” Martin says.
None of them look each other in the eye for a while and the silence hangs heavy. Jon bites the inside of his cheek to stifle the self-loathing lapping at his core in powerful waves, as he rewinds Martin's words in his mind. Of course he's still reliving what happened in the Panopticon, why didn't he think of that? How could he be so heartless? Talking about the Web and the grand scale of things… Martin is still human, it must have been awful for him. How could he—
“A fork. Left or right?” Martin asks.
“Uh, forward,” he says without really listening.
Martin stops and all three of them look back at Jon.
“Jon? There's no forward,” he supplies.
“What do you mean there's” —Jon looks up and pauses. “Oh, good lord.”
“What is it?”
Instead of answering, Jon limps past them and turns to the right.
“Jon—?”
As they all light the corridor, the beams stop at an unmoving figure of an old man, slouched down by the wall. His head is drooping forward, with the chin resting on his bloodied chest, and his eyes are half-lidded, unfocused. A pool of dark liquid has gathered on the floor beneath him, already substantial but still fresh.
“Shit,” Martin hisses between his teeth. “Is that who I think it is?”
“In the flesh,” Jon replies gravely, as he kneels carefully next to the body. “Jurgen Leitner.”
“Wait.” Tim blinks in confusion. “You don’t mean—”
“Yes, Tim,” Martin presses his lips together. “That Jurgen Leitner.”
“Bloody hell.”
“Guess we mark him as no longer missing,” Sasha mutters under her nose. “What d’you think happened to him?”
“Jonah Magnus,” Jon supplies, rising to his feet, and shoots a glance at Martin. “He took the book as well.”
“Is there a way to get there without it?”
“We’ll find a way around.” Jon frowns and looks off to the side. “He might try to stop us.”
“Can he even find us here?” Martin asks. “I thought this was a blind spot.”
“I don’t know.” Jon shakes his head lightly. He glances at Tim and Sasha hesitantly. “This could get dangerous very fast. The tunnels are—”
“We know what we signed up for, Jon,” Sasha replies, her face changing instantly from concern to stubborn determination.
“Do you?” Jon quirks his eyebrow inquisitively at Tim, who has been rather hanging back.
Tim looks up at him startled, as if feeling his gaze on his skin. There’s a moment where the entirety of Tim’s identity is sprawled open before Jon — every thought and feeling, every memory, both remembered and lost — everything that makes him who he is for Jon to Know. He vividly remembers rebuilding this identity from the very core. There’s nothing inside Tim that could be hidden now.
Tim lets out a breath and the quiver of his lips is the only sign of his distress, invisible to the eyes of others. Jon sees the fear in the glint of his eye as he relives the memory of being ripped apart and put together again every time he closes his eyes.
“I—I mean,” he stammers out and laughs to relieve some of the tension. Does he even know where it’s coming from? Does he realize Jon was the one to put the pieces of him together? “We can’t turn back now, can we?”
Jon blinks, forcibly withdrawing himself back to his own body. He grips his cane so hard his knuckles go white, unable to fight off a grimace. Or is it a smile?
“Yeah, we can’t. Let’s go.” Sasha waves her flashlight further down the corridor.
“What do we do with him though?” Martin asks, pointing at the body. “We can’t just leave him here.”
“What else are we supposed to do?” Sasha shrugs. “We can call the cops later, it’s not like he’s going anywhere.”
“Yeah, she’s right,” Tim says and clears his throat. “We do not want to be found near his body with a knife.”
“Okay, fair.”
Jon limps behind the rest of them as they continue forward through the tunnels. He entertains the thought of sneaking off and finishing this on his own, but that wouldn’t do anyone any good. He knew extracting Tim from the NotThem would have its consequences, but this… If Tim and Sasha are bound to him rather than to the Institute, then killing Jonah Magnus will do nothing to set them free. Better to continue with the former plan. And as for Martin…
Jon frowns at the ground. Can he do something like that to him, after everything?
Then again, he is already beyond redemption. Another unforgivable sin on his record wouldn’t make much of a difference.
He doesn’t notice Martin sidestepping him until his hand is taken hold of. He looks up to meet his concerned gaze.
“Hey,” he says in a hushed tone. Jon averts his eyes, the ache in his chest too strong to bear. He hears Martin sigh softly. “I understand if you’re angry with me.”
Unwittingly, Jon looks back up, ready to wipe away doubts of this sort, at least.
“I’m not!” He assures and squeezes his hand. “I’m not angry with you, I promise.”
“Then what’s going on?” Martin asks. “Talk to me, Jon.”
Jon looks ahead and bites his lip. They’ve lagged behind a bit, but Tim and Sasha seem to keep their distance, apart from the occasional glance back. Giving them some space, perhaps.
“I’m just worried,” Jon says carefully. “About what we’re going to do. What we’re going to find.”
Technically not a lie. Martin frowns and studies his face, but Jon knows he can’t see very well in the dark.
“Seems pretty straightforward to me,” he replies cautiously, as if daring Jon to reveal a detail that would derail the whole operation. “We go in there, we stab the bastard, we get out. Right?”
Jon can’t bring himself to look Martin in the eye.
“He’s going to be there,” he says half-heartedly. “He won’t go out without a fight, you know that.”
“There’s four of us and one of him, I think I like our chances,” he chuckles and gently nudges Jon with his elbow. “What’s on your mind? Honestly. I can see it’s not that.”
Jon stops with a sigh and passes a thumb over Martin’s palm, looking down at their hands.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers.
“Jon—”
“I’m sorry you had to go through that,” he continues, looking up into Martin’s eyes. “Back then. It must have been horrible. I didn’t think… I—I can’t even imagine…”
Martin’s features smooth out in a sad smile and he brings up his hand to Jon’s face.
“It’s okay,” he mutters. “I’m sorry I yelled at you. I got… A bit carried away.”
Jon stares into Martin’s eyes for a moment and wishes it could become eternity. This is the face of the man he sacrificed everything for — the destruction of the very beings of fear, the thing he deemed the right thing to do. His life was more important than all the other universes, all the other people in them; all the people in this universe, Tim and Sasha included. And still, he was so close to losing him…
“I’m glad you’re here,” he whispers, not trusting his voice to carry the sound. He feels tears forming in his eyes, so he closes them. “I’m glad you’re okay.”
He’s pulled into a hug that lightens the load he bears just a little bit, for a little while. Martin passes a hand through Jon’s hair and turns his head to press a kiss to his temple.
“I’m glad you stayed here long enough,” he whispers, and a new pit opens in Jon’s stomach. He feels the emptiness acutely when Martin pulls away. “Let’s go finish the job, yeah?”
Jon hesitates as Martin directs his flashlight away. A hurricane of thoughts and guilt-ridden feelings rises in his mind, but one thought is clear: he can’t do this to Martin. Not again. Not like this.
“Shit,” Martin speaks before Jon can say anything. “I can’t see them anymore.”
He starts ahead, faster than Jon can keep up with, and the words die in his throat, replaced with the low thrumming of dread. Martin sweeps the corridor with his light, but there is no trace of Tim or Sasha anywhere.
“They’re gone,” Jon realizes.
Martin turns to him, alarmed. “What do you mean ‘gone’?”
“They’re… Not here anymore,” he forces out through the tightness in his throat. The tunnels —the presence of them— encroaches on his mind, making itself known.
They’ve left the Archives’ territory and stepped into Something Else. He remembers the hunger of the earth, the walls pressing in on him from all sides — this is the domain of the Buried.
And he let his assistants out of Sight.
***
“Should we wait?” Tim asks, casting another backward glance at Jon and Martin. They’d slowed their pace to build some distance, and both Tim and Sasha took it as a sign not to interrupt the conversation they clearly needed to have. Now, it seems they’ve stopped altogether, and they’re already far away as it is.
“It’s fine, they’ll catch up,” Sasha waves her hand. “Besides, with Jon’s all-knowing abilities, they’ll find us if we get lost.”
“You know, it would be best not to get lost, if we can help it,” he says, but he still follows her lead forward.
“Think of this as scouting ahead,” she suggests with a smirk. “It’s not like we can make a wrong turn here or anything.”
Indeed, the corridor continues forward seemingly without end or so much as an alcove on either side. The farther they get from the archives the more decrepit the tunnels look, some more earthy and some roughly hewn in stone. Water and age have taken their toll on the state of the place, carving the walls and, in places, even forming stalactites.
Tim casts another look behind. It’s getting colder the deeper they descend, and a nagging feeling of anxiety has been buzzing in his stomach for a while now.
“Oh, what the hell?” Sasha mutters. “Look at that.”
Her beam of light points at a break in the wall, quite narrow and steeply descending downwards. The steps are uneven and no doubt slippery, but what immediately draws Tim’s attention is the simple, stark-white arrow pointing down the passage.
“Don’t tell me you wanna go in there,” Tim scoffs half-heartedly.
“Someone must have drawn it,” she says, lightly touching the arrow with her finger. A chalky residue sticks to it.
“Who, Elias?” Tim laughs. “If you just go right this way, this claustrophobic, horror passage will lead you to your death, where you can’t bother me and my Wednesday scheduling anymore.”
“Ha ha.” She rolls her eyes. She directs her light further down the stairs, but it doesn’t reach the end. “I wonder what’s down there.”
“With our luck, probably some kind of a sculking nightmare,” he mutters, taking another look back. His light doesn’t reach Martin this time. “I think we should—”
“Hold on, I think I see something.”
He turns back around to find Sasha already a few steps down the staircase.
“Sasha!” He hisses. “I’m not going down there with you.”
“I’m just taking a look!” She turns around with an amused expression. “I’m sure the lovebirds will catch up in no time, might as well take a peek, alright?”
“Famous last words,” Tim sighs in defeat. He knows this brand of excitement in her voice — she will not be deterred until her curiosity is sated. “I’m not coming to your funeral if something eats you.”
“If something eats me I probably won’t even have a funeral,” Sasha counters with a scoff. “Thanks a lot, Stoker.”
“You brought this on yourself, Miss Have To See It For Myself!”
Sasha’s reply is unintelligible, distorted by the echo of the stone. Tim is about to ask her to repeat when she yelps, scrambling back a few steps.
“What happened?!”
“I just felt the wall move,” she breathes out. “I’m getting out.”
“Finally, reason has graced you once more,” Tim sighs with relief. “What was that about walls moving though?”
Sasha climbs up the narrow stairs, helping herself up on the walls. “I felt the wall move under my hand,” she says. “As if it was getting narrower. I might be too curious for my own good, but I’m not stupid.”
“Clearly,” Tim says sarcastically. Sasha swats him on the arm.
“Alright, where are they then?” She asks, directing the light the way they came.
“I can’t see them.” The words come out of his mouth weaker than he expects them to. Anxiety churns in his gut and a cold feeling constricts his chest. He takes a step forward, searching the darkness frantically.
A dead end.
What he previously took as darkness where the light of his torch didn’t reach, now turns out to be a solid, stone wall right where the tunnel used to be. There are markings of age on the stone which seamlessly connects with the walls on both sides of the corridor, as if the structure hasn’t changed in years.
“Sasha…” Tim says as if she somehow hasn’t noticed.
“Impossible corridors…” She mutters, eyeing the walls suspiciously. “It’s got to be Michael, right?”
“What would it be doing here?” Tim scoffs, carefully stepping backwards.
“I don’t know, what would it be doing anywhere?” Sasha shrugs. “We should move.”
“God, we’re going to die here,” he groans.
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” she nudges him in the arm. “He’s helped us before. Maybe he’ll lead us back to Jon.”
Tim lets out a weak, noncommital sound. He sweeps the walls with his light every now and then as they walk down the tunnel, trying not to let the shaking of his hands show. The silence around them presses heavy on his shoulders, and the echo of their steps makes an uncomfortable amount of noise. How long have they been underground? What time even is it? He imagines daylight and a clear sky, and for a second they both feel like a dream that’s never been real.
The corridor starts gently curving to the left. If Tim’s spatial skills are anything to go by, they should be heading northwest from where they split up with Jon and Martin, so at the next crossroad they should keep to the left and hopefully catch up to them from that side. A side look at Sasha tells him she’s making similar calculations in her head.
“Hey, Sash,” he whispers. “What do you think about… All this?”
She glances at him briefly. “’All this’? I’m afraid you’ll have to be a bit more specific.”
He chuckles weakly. “Just… Jon and his… whole thing. Killing Elias? Just...” He sighs. “If I knew what this job really was, I never would’ve taken it.”
“Well, that’s probably reasonable,” she shrugs. “I don’t know, maybe it hasn’t really hit me yet, you know? But I’m just going with it, spooky distorted people, worm women, omniscient bosses…” She lets out a laugh. “I think I knew something like that would happen to me eventually.”
“What about Jon?” Tim asks tensely.
“What about him?”
He looks away with a frown. “I don’t know. Don’t you get a… Weird feeling around him? Ever since…” He hesitates.
“Weird how?” She inquires with a side look at him.
“Just… Like he’s watching you all the time, noticing every single thing you do.” Tim grimaces as a shiver climbs up his spine simply at the memory. “Like there’s nothing you could possibly hide or keep away from him.”
“That does sound in line with what he told us about the Eye,” she offers. “I haven’t really felt like that though. Not to a noticable degree at least.”
Tim’s throat tightens with an unnamed anxiety. He grits his teeth, staring down at the floor ahead.
“Are you okay?” Sasha peers up at his face.
“It’s just…” He hesitates again, his lungs feeling slightly too small for comfortable breathing. “Don’t tell Jon,” he starts quietly. “But… You know how he told us we can’t quit the Archives, right?”
Sasha nods attentively.
“Well. I sort of. Tried,” he continues. “Wrote up all sorts of resignation letters, more or less professional. Almost wrote Elias an email to just fuck off and let us go. I even searched how to get law reinforcement involved, but I just… Couldn’t follow through. I’d always somehow end up deleting the drafts or just abandoning the attempts.”
“Yeah,” Sasha smiles slightly. “I tried that myself once, just to see if I really couldn’t, but I obviously don’t actually want to quit, so...”
“But…” Tim tightens his hold on the flashlight to stop his hand from shaking. “I didn’t want to come here. These tunnels… They’re too much. I was going to stay at the archives, maybe call up Gerry and help with whatever mess you three would surely end up creating down here.”
Sasha stops, staring at him with a frown. “What? Why didn’t you say so?”
He chuckles stiffly. “I couldn’t. Jon looked at me like he could… Pierce me to the core, like he knew every single little thing I was afraid of and still wanted more. And it was just like with those resignation letters. Not worth the hassle. Too late to turn back now. Always some excuse not to follow through.”
Sasha blinks at him, concern and doubt visible in her eyes. Tim shakes his head self-consciously and looks away.
“You don’t believe me.”
“No, I,” —she tuts. “I do believe you, I just... Are you sure it’s that? It’s normal to have doubts about places like this, but Jon wouldn’t force you to come with us if he knew you didn’t want to.”
“Wouldn’t he?” Tim raises his eyebrows. “Do we still know what he would do? Martin got his memories back and instantly proposed murder!”
“Okay, so what exactly are you saying?” She frowns with concern.
“I’m not saying anything, I’m just…” He groans. “Maybe they’re not the people we know anymore, Sash. If they’re still people.”
Sasha bites her lip. “That’s a pretty bold statement.”
“And causing an apocalypse and forcing people to spill their trauma isn’t?”
“You’re saying we shouldn’t trust Jon anymore,” she gives him a serious look. “That’s different.”
An echoing sound of quick footsteps down the corridor turns their attention towards the yawning darkness. First, they see the faint light of a flashlight — the next second Jon appears in their view, clumsily leaning on his cane, with eyes wide and full of barely hidden fear. Behind him, Martin shows up with a similarly concerned expression that soon melts into relief.
“Here you are,” Jon sighs heavily. He leans one hand on his knee to catch his breath. “Are you okay? Did anything get you?”
“Get us?” Sasha frowns. “No. Just some weird stuff happened with the corridor, so we might get a friendly visit from Michael, but otherwise—”
“What, Michael?” Jon asks, surprised by the name. “No, that’s not him. The—The tunnels are something else.”
“There’s something else in here?” Tim raises his eyebrows.
“Not to my knowledge.” Jon shakes his head. “The tunnels themselves are… something though.”
“Best not to think about it too much,” Martin offers with a faint laugh, seeing Tim’s distaste.
“I’m glad you’re okay. We’re not far now,” Jon says, looking them both over again and turning his gaze away. Tim gets that uncomfortable feeling again; he feels Jon’s stare on his skin, in his eyes, into his very core. Don’t tell Jon, he told Sasha. How utterly naïve.
His legs start following Jon’s lead without caring to check in with his brain as they walk in the direction he and Sasha have just come from. When he glances at her, he finds her already looking back with a question in her eyes — What do we do? Tim swallows heavily, not knowing how to answer.
She must get something from his expression though, because she turns to Jon and stops abruptly.
“Jon,” she starts with conviction in her voice. He turns around, startled.
“Y-Yes?”
“Do you know the way back to the archives?”
Jon blinks at her for a second, as if he did not expect a question like this.
“I—I think so? I mean, if you’re worried about getting back, there shouldn’t be any trouble after—after everything…” He trails off, blinking heavily. “Why do you ask?”
“Would we make it there if we wanted to go back now?” She asks, gently pointing with her head towards Tim. He looks between her and Jon with stiff anticipation.
“You, uh… You want to go back?” Jon’s eyes stop at Tim and immediately widen with realization. “Oh. Uh, I…”
“You know what we talked about,” Tim states with a sinking feeling.
“I—I…” Jon takes a breath. “Tim, I didn’t…”
“You didn’t what?” Anger starts to bubble in his chest. “Don’t say you didn’t know.”
Jon takes a step back, horror written on his face. Martin places a steadying hand on his arm, looking beween them all with confusion.
“What’s going on?” He asks.
“I can—I can explain,” Jon looks at Tim pleadingly. A part of him is growing to hate this expression that tries to play innocent, yet begging for forgiveness. As if he knows he’s already done something unforgivable.
“Apparently that’s the only thing I can ask of you,” he growls. “So please, go ahead.”
Jon shakes his head in disbelief. “I didn’t… Tim, I didn’t intend any of this. I didn’t think… I didn’t know this would happen.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Martin insists.
“In—In the Artifact Storage, when I, uh, pulled Tim from the NotThem,” Jon says, frantically searching the floor with his eyes, as if the solution was misplaced there somewhere. “I had to… I had to remake him. Extract the pieces of his being as knowledge I could glean from it and put him back together. I… I’m not even sure how I was able to do that,” he lets out a laugh. “By all accounts that should be impossible. But… I didn’t think it would have consequences like this but it makes sense, doesn’t it? Damn it.” He closes his eyes, in pain or in shame — or both.
“What consequences?” Martin asks with horror dawning on his face. Jon looks up at Tim, his voice quiet but dispassionate.
“You belong to the Eye now.” He pauses and adds, quieter. “You belong to me.”
Tim’s world shrinks to contain only Jon —or whatever he’s really become— and the impassive eyes that watch and drink in the horror of realization on his face, in his body, and mind. Tim didn’t know if he’d believed in a god before, but it doesn’t matter anymore — right now he stands face to face with his literal maker, who feeds on his fear. Who is his fear.
What kind of life awaits him, if his fear knows everything there is to know about him?
“Stop it,” he hisses, stepping back and shaking his head. “Just… Stop. Get away from me.”
“I’m really sorry, Tim,” Jon says quietly. “If I didn’t do it, your fate would be worse than death. This really is the better outcome.”
“I get it! I get it, okay?” He shouts, glaring at Jon. “D’you expect me to just magically be okay with it? You expect me to go on my merry way knowing my friend turned into a monster?”
“Tim!” Martin looks at him with indignation.
“No point skirting around it anymore, is there?” He takes a breath and grits his teeth. “You should’ve told me.”
Jon finally looks down, and Tim feels ever so slightly vindicated in a way.
“I really didn’t know,” he says. “But I could have. If I paid attention sooner. I wanted to give you time to recover.”
“Don’t paint it as some sort of charity on your part,” he hisses. “If it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t have even been here in the first place.”
To his surprise, Jon lets out a mirthless chuckle. “I am sorry, Tim,” he speaks. “There’s nothing more I can give you.”
“Fuck this.” Tim shakes his head and makes up his mind. “And fuck you. I’m done being scared for your sick enjoyment. I’ll find my way back even if it kills me.”
He turns around and forces his feet to walk away.
***
In his mind, Jon curses the lack of foresight to all hells.
He stopped himself from digging deeper into Tim’s mind, extending Martin’s rules from the apocalypse to the rest of them as well as he could. He wouldn’t willingly look in their heads; the fact that he had to scrape every little piece of knowledge about Tim from the NotThem notwithstanding.
Or so he thought.
If he only looked further, probed deeper, maybe he could’ve noticed Tim was unable to turn back on his own. Maybe he could understand why.
As it is, he watches him turn heel and stride the other way. Martin calls after him and, when that proves unfruitful, looks at Jon incredulously.
Jon’s eyes meet Sasha’s for a moment. She draws her eyebrows together, clearly weighing choices in her mind. Then, she shakes her head slightly and runs after Tim.
“Aren’t you going to stop them?” Martin asks in disbelief.
“Do you think I could?” Jon replies, clearly knowing the answer. “I did this to him.”
“Jon…”
“I know what you’re going to say, Martin,” Jon interrupts, still staring at the lights disappearing in the darkness. Then he turns around and starts walking. “And it doesn’t change anything. We have to kill Elias.”
“So, you’re just not going to talk about this?” Martin follows.
“What is there to talk about?” He sighs heavily. “This was bound to happen sooner or later.”
“It’s not your fault,” Martin insists. “You saved his life.”
“I appreciate you saying that,” Jon says almost automatically in a tired voice.
“I would like you to agree, though.”
Jon keeps staring forward like his life depends on it. The weight of their destination sits heavy in his chest. One more reason to follow through with his plan. He’d be leaving a mess behind, but… At least he’d fix something.
Martin sighs. “Are they going to be safe out here?” He asks.
“I think so.” Jon nods. “I don’t know for sure. Nothing ever actually happened to us in our time, though.”
“Will they find their way back?”
Jon smirks slightly despite everything. “The archives will act like a beacon to Tim, whether he acknowledges it or not. I suspect they’ll be fine.”
The walls of the tunnel soon open up to a vast space of the chamber. Stone-hewn openings yawn from the circular walls at various heights, hundreds of corridors leading further into the maze. And at the centre of it all, the tower.
It's smaller than the one they climbed after the Change, and definitely less daunting. It still looms over them, surrounded by silence as thick and oppressing as if material, and both of them feel it would not be wise to disturb it.
“I can’t believe we’re here again,” Martin mutters almost inaudibly. “Where is he?”
“Inside.” Jon hesitates. The tower radiates finality, and he’s suddenly very aware of Martin’s hand in his own. He squeezes it, mostly to reassure himself. Is he really prepared to let him down one final time?
“Martin…”
“Hello, Jon.” A voice echoes from the entrance to the tower, and Elias comes into view to greet them. With a spark of vindication Jon notices a bandage on his right hand. “Martin. You really took your time getting here.”
“It’s over,” Martin announces and draws his knife. “Prepare to die.”
Elias smirks and tilts his head curiously. “Straight to business, then? Somehow, I don’t think that’s quite how this little meeting is going to go. Am I wrong, Jon?”
Jon curses in his head. “I’ll kill you myself if I have to,” he growls.
“And deprive Martin of his sweet revenge?” Elias raises his eyebrows. “How selfish of you.”
Jon grits his teeth, guilt twisting his insides.
“Martin,” he mutters, as if that provided them with a shred of privacy in this place. “You have to trust me now, okay? Give me the knife.”
“What?” He looks down at him with a confused frown. “You really want to argue about that right now?”
“Trust me.”
Elias chuckles in genuine amusement. “Oh, sweet, ignorant Martin. It is a kind of joy to be able to play such mind games with people, isn’t it, Jon? Knowing so much they just have to trust that you know what you’re doing.”
“Shut up!” Jon snarls.
“Such a shame you’re so self-destructive,” he tuts. “You really showed great promise.”
Jon sees Martin tighten his grip on the knife, ready to close the distance. He lets go of his cane to grip Martin’s other hand.
“Don’t!” He hisses. “Please, trust me. Let me do this.”
“What the hell are you doing?” Martin looks at him desperately without comprehension. “What does it matter?”
“You really haven’t told him, have you?” Elias shakes his head. “Maybe you and Gertrude aren’t that different after all. You keep surprising me, Archivist.”
“Told me what, exactly?” Martin growls at Elias, keeping a strong grip on the knife.
“Martin, I…”
“That if you kill me, you’ll kill him as well.” The smirk on his face betrays just how much he’s enjoying this revelation.
“What?” Martin laughs. “You can’t seriously believe this bullshit will work on us.”
Jon squeezes his hands tighter, and that must give him pause, because he looks back at Jon. His smile falls away.
“No,” he lets out. “Don’t tell me that’s true.”
“I was going to tell you,” Jon whispers, clinging to Martin’s faltering hands. “I just…”
“You wanted to use poor Martin to kill yourself out of guilt,” Elias finishes for him. “No need to sugarcoat it for him now.”
Martin drops the knife to the floor and pulls away from Jon, all blood draining from his face.
“You just what?” He asks shakily. “When were you going to tell me, exactly?”
“I—I just thought…” Jon grimaces at his own inarticulacy. “You are all still bound to me. Not to him, not to the Institute — to me. Killing him would not give any of you freedom. And Tim… You said it yourself, you all deserve something nice for a change! You deserve a life away from all of this! And I could—”
“You can’t be serious right now,” he laughs disbelievingly. “You were going to make me do it again…”
“No!” Jon steps towards Martin, instinctively reaching out, trying to make him understand. “I wasn’t! I—I promise, I wasn’t going to actually let that happen. I wanted to tell you.”
“You wanted to be the one to kill him,” Martin points out, grasping for the detail like it could save him from drowning. “Why? What difference does that make?”
“I—I, uh…” Jon glances at the knife and takes a breath. “I am the Institute’s Archive,” he says quietly. “If it dies, I die as well. But Jonah Magnus’ death doesn’t have to mean the death of the Institute.”
“You’re kidding me.” Martin looks horrified. “You want to take his place?”
“I don’t!” Jon’s voice raises without his intention in the heat of the moment. “I don’t want any of this! I didn’t mean for it, I didn’t want any of it, and it still happened! There are no right choices anymore, all of them are incredibly bad or worse, and I’m the one who takes responsibility! When I say the world doesn’t care about our feelings, Martin, this is what I mean. We’ve never had any other choice than that between inhumanity and death.”
With that, he picks up the knife and looks up at Elias. The dawning terror on his face shows he’s just realized his miscalculation.
“Jon—”
“You thought I really wanted to let Martin do it,” he speaks out of breath. “And you knew Martin never would. But I’m afraid you were wrong.”
He closes the distance between them before Elias has a chance to get his bearings, and he pushes the knife deep between his ribs.
“No…” Elias groans, gripping Jon’s wounded shoulder tightly. In the fervor of his fury he barely even feels the pain. “I—”
Jon lets him fall to the floor when his body goes limp in his arms. For a moment he just stands there, his hands shaking uncontrollably. The blood covering his skin is warm and sticky, and the smell makes him nauseous.
“This body doesn’t really matter,” he says emotionlessly. “It’s the original one that counts.”
“…What happens when you kill it?” Martin’s voice behind him is quiet. Sad.
“It won’t destroy the Institute,” Jon replies, still unmoving. “It won’t free any of you. But we will be rid of him forever.”
“What happens to you?” Martin repeats a bit impatiently.
“I don’t know.” Jon shrugs numbly. “I don’t imagine much will change. I’m already…” His voice cracks. “I’m already something entirely else.”
“Jon—”
“It feels right to do it,” Jon says in disgust. “Just as it felt right to walk the apocalypse world. I can feel the pull of the Eye, which is why I didn’t want to do it, but…” His voice becomes thick and he can feel the prickling in his eyes. His hands still tremble, and he knows he won’t be able to stop the tears this time. “I just couldn’t do that to you again. Everything I do comes back around to hurt you and I just...” He stifles a sob, his legs barely supporting his weight. “I just wanted to do this one thing right for you—”
Martin catches him before he falls, and pulls him into a tight embrace. “Oh, Jon…”
“My conscience didn’t let me let you send the Fears away but I still did,” he continues, words tumbling out of his words before he can stop them. “I thought—I thought I had to atone for that. I was ready to make myself pay for all the… the transgressions if I could take him with me, if I could give Tim back his freedom,” he lets out a laugh. “But I can’t. I’m weaker than you, Martin, so much weaker. I—I couldn’t watch you die. And I couldn’t hurt you like this again. I don’t want to hurt you ever again.”
“It’s okay, Jon.” Martin places a hand on the crown of his head, gently rubbing his fingers on his scalp. “It’s okay now.”
“I—I tried to cling to my humanity, but I don’t think that’s possible anymore,” he whispers. “And I think it might not even matter. Time and time again I prove to myself that I just can’t. Do it.”
“Jon. It’s alright. You don’t have to—”
“Because of you,” he whispers somewhere near to Martin’s ear, gripping his arms tight. He falls quiet. “You’re all I have left, Martin. You’re all that matters to me. S-So if I have to live as a monster who can only inspire fear? If that’s the only way I can be here with you? Then so be it.”
Jon feels Martin’s arms tighten around him. He looks up at his face to see silent tears on his cheeks.
“I’m sorry. For all of this,” he adds quietly.
“It—It would be easier if you’d just talk to me, you know?” Martin lets out a laugh. “We’re supposed to figure it out together. You have to… You’ve got to tell me stuff like that.”
“I know. I’m sorry.” Jon looks down. “I almost did a couple times, but there was always something… And then I’d feel like it’s too late. There was a voice in my head that wanted to… I thought maybe some good would come out of it, you know.”
“I know, Jon.” Martin’s palm cups his face, and he passes his thumb on Jon’s cheek. “But you can do more good being here. We can do more good. Together. Okay?”
Jon sniffles and nods, trying for a smile. “Where you go, I go.”
Martin smiles, spilling more tears onto his cheeks. “Yeah. That’s the deal.”
Jon casts a glance at Elias’ body lying just under their feet, and lets out an unwitting chuckle.
“What?”
“Nothing, it’s just…” Jon looks away almost bashfully. “I just remembered something about you wanting to make out over his corpse.”
After a second of processing what he’s heard, Martin bursts out laughing.
“We just had a tearful heart-to-heart and this is where your mind’s at?” He teases.
“Well, we are just standing here, aren’t we?” Jon tilts his head with a faint spark of playfulness in his eyes. “Would you rather I ask if you’re a ghost?”
That’s all the invitation Martin apparently needs. His lips are warm and familiar when he presses them against Jon’s. His eyes falling closed, Jon hooks his arm around Martin’s neck to pull him closer and, in doing so, smushing his nose against his glasses.
Like riding a bike after a long break, they find their rhythm almost instantly after that. Martin lets out an involuntary sigh, his hand diving deeper into Jon’s hair, while Jon himself deepens the kiss like a man starving. He savours Martin’s sure and solid presence pressed against his own body, rediscovering just how much safer he feels in his arms. He breathes Martin in, and he smells like home.
They pull away, out of breath and shaking slightly from emotion. Martin’s eyes glisten, now less with tears and more with something far more meaningful — hope.
“What happens now?” He asks almost inaudibly, as if afraid of dispelling the feeling.
“I’ll go up the tower,” Jon says, painfully reminded of the task ahead. “End this.”
“I’m coming with you,” Martin announces, in a voice that is prepared to argue. Jon just smiles fondly.
“Alright.�� He nods.
“Do you have to…” Martin hesitates. “You know. Actually take his place? With that whole… uh, eye-jumping thing?”
Jon’s eyes widen and he lets out a surprised laugh. “No! No, good lord. Thankfully, that’s not necessary.”
Martin heaves a sigh of relief. “Oh. Good. Good, that we can do.”
He picks up Jon’s cane and the knife from the floor. Jon frowns with amusement while he takes them.
“Would you… I mean, I’m obviously not going to do that, but… Would you still be on board if I said I had to?” He looks up to observe Martin’s reaction keenly.
He looks at him, startled at first, then his cheeks turn a bit red when he realizes Jon is teasing him.
“Look,” he presses his lips together in barely held in laughter. “I’m just glad you don’t, okay? Don’t laugh at me.”
“Just wanted to hear you say it.” Jon gives him a self-satisfied grin.
“Fine. I would still love you if you had to pick someone’s eyeballs.” Martin rolls his eyes. “But I’d be picking the people you’d jump into.”
“Oh, don’t tell me you have standards now,” Jon replies, as they make their way towards the entrance to the tower.
“Of course I do,” Martin smirks. “Tired, academic, oblivious. Sweater vests are a must.”
“Hilarious, Martin,” Jon deadpans, not hiding his amusement very well.
“Oh, they also have to play up the accent for shits and giggles, otherwise no deal.”
“I’m not playing it up—”
“Mhm,” Martin hums sceptically.
“Well, it’s definitelly not for shits and giggles.” Jon grimaces with distaste.
“So, you admit—”
“Oh, shut up,” Jon rolls his eyes with a smile.
Ascending the stairs is a feat with Jon’s wounds, but the tower is nowhere as tall as the one in the apocalypse world. The chamber at the top is open, with thirteen openings in the outer wall looking out all around the structure. At the centre, there’s a stone-hewn throne, upon which sits the two hundred year-old body of Jonah Magnus.
The body is visibly withered and slightly decayed, but there is no smell of rotting flesh, and most of the bones are still hidden under the skin. His hair has mostly fallen out, as have his teeth, and his eye sockets yawn with emptiness.
“Is it weird that I sort of expect him to move?” Martin asks in a whisper.
“Let’s make sure he doesn’t.” Jon adjusts his grip on the knife and walks up to the body.
From this point he can feel the power of the Eye and the others, like electricity condensing in one spot. His hairs stand on end as his hand is directed over Jonah Magnus’ chest almost without his conscious input. He’s been denying the Eye for far too long. With one push he can finally seize power from the man who had ruined the world; step above the boundries and redefine them however he wishes.
This world is nothing compared to the rich landscape after the Change, but that is not to say it is without any merit. There is plenty of fear to be found, plenty of people who beg to be heard, noticed and Seen — plenty of them he can yet make his.
As he plunges the knife into the chest of the founder of the Institute, his eyes fall closed, and something in his chest lurches. Images and feelings flash before his eyes, spanning years of searching, cataloguing and gathering statements of fear. Trying to understand and if not that, then to know and see how this thing called fear works, just to answer one simple question.
How do you stop being afraid of death?
The answer found itself in witnessing the fear of others, of watching and revelling in it, of wanting more. In finding a Power, something other than god, something more — something real. Something that bestowed upon him the gift of evading that which he was always most afraid of.
Naturally, he sought to give back to the power that had become his life, forsaking the ways of mortals who never really knew, never understood how the world worked. Naturally, he sought to remake the world, like so many others attempting before him, so that the power he served would thrive, and that he would thrive with it.
Then it’s over. His hand still grasping the knife trembles, his eyes fill with tears, and a giggling laugh escapes his lips. Jonah Magnus lies dead before him, and Jon can feel the deep, primal fear in his mind. He watched with sightless eyes as the knife approached and sunk in his chest, and Jon can witness him standing on the precipice of his greatest nightmare.
Jonah stands at the edge of a dark cliff, with a yawning, hungry abyss behind him, and Jon watches. He watches the little redheaded boy, in fancy, colorful frills of the nineteenth century look up at him with brown-grey eyes, wide open in fear. He sobs, trying to climb away from the crumbling precipice, but something just doesn’t let him. He calls out to Jon.
It would be all too easy to reach out and help him. Grasp his frail little hand and pull him out of that deathly chasm. But Jon stays back, the pleas of the child falling on deaf ears.
“Jon!”
He feels something touch his body — did the boy manage to grab purchase? Jon flinches, swats the touch away, pushes whatever it is towards that chasm — nothing but him is allowed the safety. Everything but him must be afraid.
The boy screams as he loses his footing on the shifting stone. His eyes flash before Jon’s face, presented perfectly for him to savour the final moment of overbearing terror as he falls to his demise. His cry still reverberates in his ears, even as he disappears in the darkness below.
Jon finds himself back in the Panopticon, sprawled on the floor, his cane abandoned nearby. Martin has retreated to the wall; his hands are outstretched in a placating gesture.
His face paints a stark picture of fear.
“You’re afraid of me,” Jon mumbles, his voice cracking slightly.
“Just because you tried to wrestle with me,” Martin says defensively. “I was afraid you’d hurt yourself. What happened?”
“I—I, uh…” Jon looks around to bring himself back to reality. “I saw Jonah Magnus meet his end.”
“Yeah, I got that,” Martin snorts nervously. “Why did you attack me?”
“Ah… Attacked you?” Jon blinks at him without comprehension.
“I thought you were going to pass out, so I tried to help.” Martin keeps observing Jon cautiously. “But your face… And you pushed me away, started fighting when I tried to bring you back…”
“Christ, I’m sorry, Martin.” Jon winces as he tries to stand up. Martin instinctively comes closer to help, but falters halfway. “I—I have to admit I wasn’t exactly myself.”
“Are you… Back?” He asks.
“Yes. Yes, I think so.” Jon tries to smile, but his shoulder wound has chosen this time to be particularly painful. He ends up grimacing and clutching at the bandage.
“So it’s done?” Martin looks at Magnus’ body. “He’s dead dead?”
“Dead dead.” Jon nods. “I’m… I’m the heart of the Institute now.”
Martin gives him a tense look. “What does that mean for us?”
Jon chuckles mirthlessly and shakes his head.
“I have no idea.”
***
The legal aspect of it all is a new kind of nightmare Jon has not anticipated to ever deal with. The documents have not magically amended themselves, so any claims to the position of the Head of the Intitute would be refuted, if not ridiculed. And they didn’t exactly have time to ask Elias for an express promotion before Jon killed him.
Martin’s suggestion to just let the fate of the Institute run its course while sound, would not be viable. Throughout the years, the place had become a sort of stronghold to the Eye, a place of power (to avoid the use of the word ‘temple’), and it would be a great loss to let it go.
Martin then offers to help — while his legal forgery isn’t the strongest, he could easily lie his way through as many interviews and negotiations as needed. Jon meagerly suggests he could hold some information over some people’s heads, but this line of thought is quickly shut down and not spoken about again.
“Can’t you just Know what we need to do?” Martin whines, sorting mindlessly through the papers on Elias’ desk. Jon rolls his eyes.
“That’s not how it works,” he says. “Elias could wing it however he wanted because if someone had a problem—”
“—He threw their trauma back at them, yes, yes, I know,” Martin sighs. “Obviously, we’re not doing that.”
“Obviously.”
Martin eyes Jon carefully. After a moment, Jon chuckles.
“I’m not suggesting it, stop looking at me like that.”
“So, what do we do?”
“Sasha used to be good at this stuff,” Jon says grimly. “We could use them. Both of them.”
“Only they could be anywhere at this point,” Martin sighs, rubbing at his face.
“Not quite. I’m pretty sure they…” Jon looks away for a moment. “Yes. They’re both at Sasha’s place.”
“That’s not far,” Martin picks up. “We can still catch a tube.”
“Right now?” Jon looks over his bloodied clothes and sighs in defeat. “Let me grab my coat.”
The ride there is quiet; under a layer of a newly established peace, there is tension brewing about the imminent conversation. Jon keeps his eyes glued to the ground most of the time, occasionally looking up at Martin to exchange glances.
When they’re about to walk into the building, Jon stops, grabbing Martin’s arm.
“I think,” he says carefully, “it would be better if I waited here.”
“What?” Martin frowns. “Why?”
“I’m not exactly popular with Tim at the moment,” Jon winces.
“All the better for him to see you’re not some evil entity out to get him, then.”
“That’s the problem,” Jon says. “I don’t know what he sees when he looks at me.”
Martin stares at him for a moment without understanding.
“What do you mean?”
“It’s like…” Jon tuts. “You’ve walked through the Change with me. You’re used to it. But people can tell something is… Off. With me. I don’t think it’s exactly pleasant for them.”
“Well, Tim is not people,” Martin points out with indignation. “He’s… Well, Tim! You guys used to be friends!”
Jon lets out a bitter laugh. He knows it isn’t Martin’s intention, but the phrasing still stings.
“You saw him back there,” he says quietly. “He’s scared of me. Do you think he’ll approach it with sense, when he sees I followed him here?”
Martin presses his lips together, clearly unable to deny Jon’s reasoning but not thrilled about it either.
“And you’ll be okay staying here?” He finally asks with a sigh.
“If it helps you get through to them? I’d do anything.”
Martin’s concerned gaze doesn’t leave his face. “Not sure I like this energy, given it’s the Institute we’re talking about,” he mutters. “But okay. I’ll be just up the stairs if you need anything.”
“I know, Martin.” Jon gives him a warm smile and a brief kiss.
Once Martin disappears inside the building, Jon finds a bench nearby and sits down. Instinctively, he reaches into his pocket and produces a crumpled pack of cigarettes. He focuses on the sound of the lighter, on the warmth of the flame near his hand, and on the taste of the smoke; trying to distract his mind from the conversation Martin is about to have. He knows he could listen in — Tim’s mind is a part of him; it would be all too easy to just reach and take all he knows.
Instead, he closes his eyes and listens to the small sounds of the neighbourhood. There are quite a few trees around, and the evening wind rustles in their leaves; an echo of children playing somewhere nearby mingles with the everpresent sound of cars. The smoke burns on his tongue ever so slightly — the familiarity of it calms his mind. He idly wonders whether nicotine even works on him anymore.
“That’s a nice lighter you’ve got there.”
Jon jumps at the dreadfully familiar voice. Next to the bench stands Annabelle Cane, dressed in a vintage black and white suit.
“You,” he breathes, scrambling to his feet. Annabelle lets out a light laugh.
“Relax, Jon. Can I still call you Jon? I’m just here to talk.” She gestures to the bench. “Shall we?”
“What do you want?” Jon asks, disregarding the suggestion.
She rolls her eyes and sits down, leaning her cane against the bench.
“I thought congratulations were in order,” she shrugs. “You’ve got a promotion, from what I hear.”
Jon grits his teeth. “What of it?”
Annabelle sighs. “Are you really so opposed to a bit of friendly conversation?”
“Yes,” he hisses.
“Well, that’s a shame. We both got what we wanted, though. We don’t have to be enemies.”
“You made me send the Fears away,” Jon growls, anger boiling in his chest. “You made me become the Archivist, my whole life just a series of carefully manipulated strings, so you could have what you wanted.”
Annabelle raises her eyebrows in surprise. “And you really think I did all that? Me, personally?”
Jon falters.
“I really wish I could take credit,” she laughs. “But I am just a very small part of something greater. Much like you.”
Jon frowns and looks away. In a sense, she is right. In a sense, there is something greater at work here; something that he doubts he —or she for that matter— could control.
“You brought the tapes to the Institute,” he says. “Why?”
Annabelle gives him another shrug, and he runs out of patience. “Why?”
“Because I wanted to,” she chuckles at the compulsion. “You still don’t see the big picture. You weren’t the only one being puppeteered, Jon — just the only one trying to resist it. I knew that my actions were motivated by what the Mother wanted, but I could tailor them to my advantage. By fulfilling the Mother’s plan, you’ve freed both of us from the Grand Web. My actions are my own once again, and so are yours.”
She puts one leg over her knee. “I told Martin the tapes were a thank-you gift, and I meant it. And, of course, I suspected you wouldn’t be able to eliminate Jonah Magnus without him.” She smirks.
“I’m surprised the Web didn’t want to repeat the last success,” Jon points out snarkily.
“I’m not,” she says. “The world of fear is delightful, but you already know it’s finite. Terminus claims all in the end.”
“So, this outcome is preferable,” Jon grimaces. “Sustainable for longer.”
“Exactly.” She flashes him a smile.
With his adrenaline dropping, he sighs and sits back down. His cigarette has almost burned out, but he takes a last drag. It tastes tangy and bitter.
“You haven’t really answered me,” he speaks. “If it was your decision to bring us the tapes, then why? There must be something else.”
“Must there be?” She chuckles. “Fine, if you must know. I believe it will be more interesting to see what happens next, with him around. You are too easy to predict. No offence.”
Jon looks up at her with a frown. “Interesting how?”
“You and your boyfriend, managing the Institute on your own?” She raises her eyebrows. “I’m curious what you do with it. How you’ll choose to stay alive. And the whole situation with your assistants…” She lets out a giggle. “Really a mess. I’ll be enjoying the show to come.”
“Yes, I’m sure it’ll be very entertaining,” he scowls, knowing there is nothing he could do to really stop her.
“And, of course, there is the case of Martin’s future,” she continues with a slight smirk. “He is mostly human after all.”
A nameless dread grips Jon’s heart.
“He will die, eventually,” she speaks mercilessly. “I wonder what you’ll do with it. Will you try to keep him here at all costs? Or will you let him die a human death? Will there be enough left of you to even want that? Or, maybe he spurns the One Alone and joins us after all, to stay alive. So many possibilities...” She shakes her head with a sigh. “But know one thing, Jon. I may be watching, but I will not interfere. All decisions both of you make will be entirely your own. The question is, whether that is better or worse.”
With the help of her cane, she stands up and tilts her head at him.
“Either way, good luck. You’ll need it.”
Jon swallows and grits his teeth, stifling his emotions for the moment.
“You have an interesting definition of a friendly conversation,” he remarks.
She laughs. “Perhaps. Or, perhaps I am still the director of your story, and this was an important conversation to have. I guess we’ll never know.”
She winks at him and walks away.
Martin takes a big, steadying breath before knocking on Sasha’s door. For a moment there’s only silence, as he figdets with his hands. Will they want to talk to him? Will they be angry? Betrayed? He can’t help but think back to the state of the Archives before the Unknowing in their own timeline. Can they prevent that from happening?
Then the door unlocks and opens to reveal Sasha’s frowning face.
“Where’s Jon?” She asks immediately. There is a surface level of hostility in her voice, but Martin sees that deep down, she is curious. Maybe even glad he showed up.
“Downstairs,” he sighs. “He decided it’d be best if we talked without him.”
“Hm,” Sasha presses her lips together. “Come in, then.”
The flat hasn’t changed since the last time Martin was here, although he barely remembers it through the layers of fog and fear. He remembers Jon’s arms on his shoulders, calling him back from the Lonely in the centre of this very room. The armchair he sat in.
Tim sits on the sofa with a disgruntled look on his face. He eyes Martin suspiciously.
“Hi, Tim,” he tries for a smile, which isn’t reciprocated. Feeling slightly awkward, Martin takes a place in the armchair and leans forward. “We figured, we need to talk.”
Tim scoffs. “Boss didn’t think to show up himself?”
“I can call him up if you want,” Martin offers genuinely. “He’s just down the stairs.”
Tim grits his teeth and looks away.
“I thought so,” Martin says. “And he did as well. It was his idea that I come here alone.”
“So what?” He growls. “He probably knew that I didn’t want him here, because apparently he knows everything about me now.”
Martin glances at Sasha. She’s standing a few steps away from the two of them, listening with her arms crossed. There’s a focused look on her face, and she’s biting her lip, as if she’s silencing herself.
He takes another deep breath. “I’m sure you both know that Jon isn’t… Entirely human anymore.”
“Figured that, did you?”
“Tim, please,” Martin says. “I’m trying to help you approach this.”
“Why should we approach this at all?” He asks. “He’s clearly gone, we should fucking run. All of us.”
A flash of anger passes through Martin’s face, but he quickly regains control of himself.
“We’d die. Most probably,” he says. “We’re all still tied to the Institute whether we want it or not, and we have to approach this somehow. Better together than apart, trust me. We’ve done this before.”
“Institute?” Sasha speaks up. “You didn’t kill Elias?”
Martin deflates. “The situation was… more complicated than we thought. Turns out destroying the Institute would kill Jon as well,” he says quietly. “But if he was the one to kill Elias, he’d… Well. He did take over Elias’ role.”
“Fucking hell,” Tim sighs, hiding his face in his hands.
“So…” Sasha starts carefully. “So, he’s in charge now?”
“Essentially, yes.”
Sasha frowns, looking between Tim and Martin.
“Isn’t that a good thing?” She asks, as if it’s an obvious thing they’re missing.
“We’re still trapped,” Tim points out dispassionately.
“And Jon has no control over it,” Martin finishes. “We’ll probably be stuck here for the rest of our lives.”
“Peachy.”
“There must be something we can use that for,” Sasha insists. “If he’s more powerful—”
“Yes, well, we haven’t gotten there yet,” Martin interrupts her, waving his hand. “We’ve got a bit of a, uh… Paperwork problem. Elias must have gotten these things done through blackmail, but we obviously don’t want to do that, so—”
“Consider it done.” Sasha shrugs, making Martin huff out a laugh. He looks at Tim, carefully choosing his next words.
“I know Jon can be… A lot, sometimes,” he says. “He used to be worse back during the apocalypse, all cryptic phrases, doom and gloom… But he’s still himself, deep down.”
“How can you know that?” Tim grimaces at the table in front of him. “That he’s not something that puts on an act, that tries to get us to let out guard down—”
“Because I know him,” Martin replies gently. “You do too, and if you give him a chance you will see that. He cares about you, and he— We really don’t want to lose you again.”
For a moment, Tim battles his thoughts, staring at the table. Then, he lets out a deflating sigh and looks up at Martin. “Fine. Fine, I’ll give him a chance. Where do we start?”
***
4 Years Later
Jon lets out a heavy sigh and tries to rub the exhaustion from his face. The written statements do make him feel slightly better but they’re not… Enough. They’re not nearly enough, and Jon knows sooner rather than later, he’ll have to face that fact.
“Recording ends,” he says quietly to the recorder and pushes the STOP button. He doesn’t have the energy to resist recording the statements he reads, but he doesn’t leave any follow-up on most of them anymore. The recordings get transferred to the library for any students or other researchers in need, and Jon never sees them again.
A knock on the door catches his attention, and Martin’s head pops up into view.
“Am I interrupting?” He mouths, eyeing the recorder on the desk.
“No, just finished.” Jon shakes his head with a small smile. At least there is one thing in this world that still brings a smile to his face unprompted. An anchor to hold onto. A reason.
“Good.” Martin smiles and enters the office with a mug in his hand. “Brought you some tea.”
He accepts the hot mug and feels Martin press a kiss to his head.
“Thank you,” he whispers over the mug.
“You will never guess what happened,” Martin starts, sitting at the edge of the desk. He goes into detail about some innocent mistake Lisa made that led to a renovation team arriving at the wrong address, so now they have to go to Sasha for additional funding, because the team is charging them for expenses.
Jon really intends to listen —he really does!— but he’s quickly distracted by Martin’s genuine amusement. The sight of him smiling like he’s got no cares in the world is so rare these days. He cherishes the glinting sparks in his eyes.
“—And you know, I’ve worked for years to win Diana’s approval, I’d really hate to lose that just because someone put the books on the wrong shelves—”
Jon wonders how he’s gone from additional funding to Diana and the library so fast. He takes a sip of his tea with a smile, and nods along.
“Well, anyway,” Martin says with a sudden realization. “Seems I’ve rambled for quite a bit, haven’t I?”
“I don’t mind,” Jon murmurs. “I was due for a break anyway.”
“How are you feeling?”
Jon looks away, his smile souring. “I’m fine.”
Martin’s expression morphs into concern. Jon really tries not to hate himself for always managing to wipe that lovely smile away, but it’s hard not to.
“Do you want to get lunch?” He asks with a heaviness in his chest. “Tell me about that upcoming Winter Holidays party.”
Martin laughs. “You really want to hear about that? Tim almost laughed Sasha out of her own office when she suggested it.”
“All the more reason to know what the deal is,” he raises one eyebrow, satisfied with the successful change in subject. He grabs his cane and gets up with effort.
His vision swims for a second as his stomach lurches. It’s worse than he thought. His skin goes cold, whether from fear or hunger, he cannot tell.
“Well, Tim’s been doing better!” Martin says, opening the door of the office for him. “And Sasha says he used to love organizing these things.”
Jon smiles. “Oh, did he now?”
“So, she put him in charge of that,” Martin laughs. “I think he’s never realized her chaotic potential as the Head of the Institute.”
They walk through the Archives, accompanied only by the hundreds of thousands of files. Martin’s laughter echoes in the space.
“You know,” Martin picks up, as they go up the stairs to the ground floor. “I think it was a good decision to put him back in Research. He seems to be doing better there.”
“I know,” Jon sighs. “Truth be told, it wasn’t exactly my idea.”
Martin glances at him.
“Is that why you told me to say I thought of it?” He asks. “Oh, Jon.”
“I know he’s doing better,” he says quietly. “He doesn’t see me as often anymore. That’s not a coincidence.”
Martin tilts his head in concern and stops to grab hold of his hand. “Jon…”
“Don’t. There’s no point pretending, when I Know what the truth is.” He looks away. “I have to accept my losses.”
Martin presses his lips together and squeezes his hand. “I’m sorry.”
Jon squeezes back and gives him a half-smile. They ascend the few last steps and make their way towards the canteen.
“I am glad he’s doing better, though,” he says. “And it’s sort of nice to have the Archives all to ourselves.”
Martin chuckles. “Careful, or you’ll have someone filing an HR violation. We actually have that now, if you’ve forgotten.”
“Right.” Jon huffs. “I did forget Sasha—”
“Oh! Mr. Blackwood-Sims!” A voice behind them interrupts. “I have these files you said I should—”
As they turn around, they see a young woman with a startled expression drop three file folders onto the floor. The papers spill everywhere, but her wide eyes are glued to Jon.
“Lisa, I told you, just Martin is fine,” Martin chuckles and steps forward to gather up the files.
“I’m… Uh, that is, I—I wanted to…” She stammers, frozen in place.
Jon finds himself frozen as well. Locked in her stare, locking her in place. He should do something, step aside, introduce himself, anything… But oh, isn’t this fear something? Isn’t this what he’s owed from these people who work under him without even realizing?
He doesn’t blink, not even a twitch in his muscles; is he afraid he’d do something to hurt her? Or would that break this delightful spell in which they found themselves without his intention? Surely, it wouldn’t be bad if he indulged himself, just a little bit.
After all, when was the last time he felt like this? He needs it.
He needs it.
“Jon!”
He finally blinks, broken out of the trance. Martin’s face comes into view, looking at him in alarm but trying not to show it. For Lisa’s sake. Right.
He blinks heavily a couple times.
“I wanted to introduce you,” Martin says with a tight smile. “Lisa, this is my husband, Jon.”
“The Archivist,” she whispers almost inaudibly, and then shakes her head, as if waking up. “I—I, uh. It’s nice to meet you, sir.”
“Likewise,” he mutters. Forcibly, he drags his gaze away, digging his nails deep into his palm. He can hear the rustle of paper as they pick up the remaining files from the floor.
“I’m so sorry, I don’t know what’s gotten into me,” Lisa laughs nervously.
“Don’t mention it,” Martin says gently. “Happens to everyone.”
“What I wanted to ask you is, uh…” The rustling stops, as she takes the folders from Martin. “These files are all ready to be transferred to the archives, but you said we can’t—, I mean, uh, where should I leave them?”
“Rosie’s desk will be perfectly fine, she’ll know what to do with them. We’ll pick them up on our way back.”
“Okay! S—Sorry for making a mess and, and for bothering you. I’ll get on, get on those files.”
“No worries. And be careful!”
“Okay, I will!”
Jon hears her turn around and almost flee the corridor. He shuts his eyes tight and focuses on the pain in his hand, as something inside him wails in despair.
“Love,” Martin whispers and grabs his shaking fist. “Can I ask what that was?”
“That,” he hisses through gritted teeth, “was a mistake. That is why I barely leave the Archives.”
“No, Jon, that was worse.” Martin’s concern is almost palpable in the air. “How bad is it?”
Jon swallows around the lump in his throat. “Bad.”
Martin sighs softly and gently pries Jon’s fist open. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I thought I could—” He trails off and leans his head on Martin’s shoulder. “I didn’t want to worry you. I’m sorry.”
“I’m always going to worry,” Martin says quietly. “Is it time to reconsider?”
Jon grimaces in pain. “I’m afraid it is,” he says hoarsely. “I won’t last on stale ones much longer.”
Martin takes a breath and nods. “Alright. I’ll bring it up with Sasha.”
Jon grabs his hand and shakes his head. “No. I’ll do it. It’s my responsibility.”
“Jon…”
“Come with me, if you insist. But I should be the one saying it.”
Martin looks at him with a grim understanding in his eyes, and nods. “Okay.”
***
September evenings this year have been surprisingly warm, so this one finds them curled up with blankets on the balcony, staring out at the sky. Martin combs Jon’s hair with his hand, a soothing habit he’s developed through the many sleepless nights spent cradling an equally sleepless Jon to his chest.
Jon is looking down, playing with the rings on his hand. One of them is black, an old little thing he’s had since uni all those years ago —almost in a different lifetime altogether. The other is much newer — glistening with gold in the evening light.
“It’s our anniversary today,” he says out of the blue. Martin’s hand stops, and he looks down at him, confused.
“What? Jon, we got married in May.”
Jon tuts impatiently. “I know that. I mean Scotland.”
“Oh,” Martin lets out.
“I barely even remember it now,” Jon muses.
“Me too,” Martin chuckles. “But that might have been the Lonely.”
Jon smiles at Martin and plants a small kiss on his lips.
“It pales in comparison to what we have now,” he whispers. Martin pulls him back for a longer kiss, stroking his head.
“I can’t imagine wanting anything more,” he says when they part. “Although… I wouldn’t say no to visiting some good cows.”
Jon laughs, cuddling up closer to him. Martin’s hand strokes his back, but then travels up to his neck and folds his shirt collar back. He feels Martin tense up beneath him.
Jon lets out a sigh. “I was going to tell you.”
“When did it appear?” Martin asks.
“I think I felt it… At the Institute.”
“When Lisa—?”
“Earlier.”
“Hm.” Martin presses his lips together and strokes Jon’s head.
Jon rolls up his sleeve. In the middle of his forearm his skin turns darker — almost black, and textured. Hundred thin, glistening bands that seamlessly turn into muscle and bone; and nestled among them a lidless, green eye.
“How long are we going to ignore this?” Jon asks under his breath. “Because it’s not going to stop.”
“I know,” Martin says. “And we’re not ignoring it. We’re just not worrying in advance.”
“Not worrying in advance?” Jon pulls away to look Martin in the eye.
“Look, we can’t stop it from happening by freaking out, can we?” Martin points out. “All we can do is enjoy here and now. That’s all we have, Jon. That’s all that matters.”
Jon blinks to stifle the tears that spring to his eyes for a reason that doesn’t quite register in his head yet.
“And besides, it doesn’t change anything,” Martin adds softly. “I love you. I’m not going anywhere.”
Jon nods. “I’m scared,” he whispers. Martin pulls him close, as if with his arms alone he could protect him from all the dangers of the world and beyond.
“I know,” he says. “I am, too. But right now we’re safe. Here. Together.”
And that’s all that matters.
-
I don't even know what to say. I wanted to make a bunch of jokes but now that I'm here, I'm just really emotional. I've been working on this for more than two years and I sort of can't believe I actually managed to bring it to a close. I can't thank you guys enough for taking such interest in this silly little story and keeping my motivation up with so many comments. I'm sorry it took so long to actually get here, but we all know how writer's block works. I also have the most incredible beta reader without whom I would not have gotten this far at all and I feel like it needs to make an appearance in the end notes. I love you, Nessie <3
I've laughed, I've cried, and I've screamed when writing this story, but most importantly it brought me an unmeasurable amount of joy over these two years, so I hope it brought you at least a fraction of this emotional rollercoaster. I think I'm going to cry for a bit :')
Seriously, thank you for being here. Say hi in the comments. Or scream and cry. I'm right there with you. If you've got any questions, my tumblr ask box is also open whenever. I'm always up for screaming about this fic. You know how it is.
This chapter's title inspiration: "All That Matters" by Blanco White
OftM playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6YAyVIilJ0ZikpttT1kvkH?si=cce0e408d7644623
#tma#tma oftm#niki.writes#the magnus archives#jonathan sims#martin blackwood#jonmartin#this was a MONSTROSITY to post on tumblr let me fucking tell you. this post editor was NOT made for a 13k text.
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Is this what hevan feels like? Mornings with...
In-between mornings and nights with- well you can guess
Its apart of my mornings with series. I've turned it into a series now lol since I have tons of em lol
Warnings: none mostly basically all fluffness and love and insomnia. 18+ just incase
Reblogs and comments welcome and appreciated No permission to post /repost or publish anywhere
"Hey babe why are you up?"
Couldn't sleep."
"I gathered" he wrapped his arms around me
I sighed I love that warmness. And his strength I don't know if I'll ever admit that to anyone but my self.
"You want to talk about it?"
"No, not right now anyway."
"Ok, he played with the end of my hair a bit as he leaned in and kissed my cheek.
"Whenever you're ready to talk about it ok?"
"K"
We sit in silence for a few moments.
"Why aren't you going back to bed?"
"Because if you're here I'm here. When are you going to get it in that pretty head of yours that I'm with you-"
"If you say till the end of the line I swear-"
"No" he laugh "no lines no jokes. No nothin like that." He shakes his head "but I'm with you I want to be with you so I'm staying with you. I'll never leave you I promise. You're here so I'm here."
"Thought you had work tomorrow?"
"I'll call in sick" he shrugs. I roll my eyes.
"No you won't. comeone let's go into bed. I didnt want to keep you up with tv or something that why I'm not I'm bed but we're both up anyway right?" I hold onto his hand as we get up but then I stop into the hallway.
"I do trust you. You know that right? I just. Somethings are hard to talk about."
"I get that love. I do." He wraps his arms around me. "And I'll wait as long as I need you. I mean need to," he laughs a bit as a hand comes up to my face, "but I do love you. I feel like I need you to breathe." Why do you think I woke up. When you weren't there?"
"You're getting too old and needed to use the bathroom?"
"Wow. ok then you're just plain mean. And I did have to use the bathroom. But I woke up first then I realized I had to go. " he laughs "you made me miss out on about 5 or 6 minutes of quality sleep there."
"I'm sorry."
He looked in my eyes.
"Dont be. I- I'm here for you. I'm so in love with you I-I dont care if you just stare at the ceiling wake me up, ill stare you while you at that."
That made me laugh
"Ok and when you're ready to talk we'll talk."
I nodded my head.
"We could also kiss." He smirks.
"Oh so close you were so close you were being so romantic."
"What? Hey its your fault im addicted to kissing you."
"Oh so now you're addicted to me."
"Yes you and your...kisses."
"You are something else" I shake my head in laughter.
"I'm just in love."
"Me too."
"So come on Missy back in bed. And I'm going to wrap my arms around you. Until you feel safe and love."
"I know I am"
"Well then I'll hold you until the sun comes up. Regardless if you're sleeping or not."
So we got back in bed and he held me so tight against him he pulled me close to him I love thr smell of soap and downy on him."
He gave me a kiss and then I settled between his shoulder and the crook of his neck. I osed my eyes for a moment inhaling being so happy.
Then he was gently streaking my cheek and gave me the lightest kiss as I opened my eyes. It was morning.
"Good morning sweetheart." He smiled and there were heart eyes if I ever saw them.
I just smiled back at him. Still getting my bering I don't even remember falling asleep.
"How about some breakfast love? I made my specialty." He smiled.
He pulled my coverea back and grabbed my hand I nodded.
"But I swear if there is anything green-"
He just laughted at me or rather with me.
I have to wonder if this is what heavan is like?
Tags:
@nana1000night @sapphire-rogers @patzammit @sparklybarbarianninja @hawkeyes-queen @flufftober
#avengers#chris evans#steve rogers#chris evans x plus size reader#ransom drysdale#ari levinson imagine#ari levinson x female reader#steve rogers fanfiction#chris evans characters#chris evans comfort#steve rogers imagine#steve rogers x reader#chris evans fanfic#steve rogers au#ransom x reader#ransom drydale x you#ransom drysdale x plus size reader#softransom x reader#soft!ransom drysdale#soft!steve rogers#soft!chrisevans#ari levinson x you#ari levinson fluff#ari levinson fanfiction#ari levinson x reader#kinktober 2022#kinktober#flufftober#mornings with series
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🩸 MY LOST BOYS DR 🩸
🩸 DESCRIPTION 🩸
Summary: Ex Circus Performing Werewolf x 4 Vampire Brothers
I Come Back To Santa Carla After Being Gone For 60+ Years After Being Turned Into A Werewolf. The Only Person I Know Is Max So I Search For Him On The Boardwalk And Find Him. Needing A House To Stay In Because I Finally Decided To Leave The Circus, He Allows Me To Stay In The Guest Room At His House. Its Late At Night, Were Chatting In His Kitchen When 4 Young Vampires Burst In And Sees Me For The First Time. Since Being Their Age, I Decide To Befriend Them. They Find Out Im A Werewolf And Since Im Not A Human They Are All More Drawn In By Me. Anyways, They All Start To Like Me I Have A Fatass Crush On All Of Them And I Start Dating Them All.
🩸 BACKSTORY 🩸
Its 1923, Im 16 Years Old And I Fucking Hate School. Being The Rebellious Little Fuck I Am, I Decide To Drop Out Of School, And In Turn Im Kicked Out. Walking Along The Boardwalk, I Meet Max. Hes A Kind Man, And Decides To Help Me Find A Job. I Find A Flyer For The Santa Carla Circus And Im Interested. Being A Ringmaster Seems Cool As Fuck, So I Try Out And Get In. Years Later, Im 18 And Extremely Famous In The Santa Carla Area For The Circus. One Night Im Walking With Max Back To My Trailer After A Sucessful Show When A Wolf Jumps Out Of Nowhere And Attacks Me. See, I Had Known Max Was A Vampire For A While Now And I Never Seem Interested In Turning, Until Now. Bloods Gushing Out Of My Neck And Without Thinking I Beg Max To Turn Me. Without A Second Thought, Max Latches Onto My Neck, With Intent To Turn Me. I Pass Out And Wake Up With... Ears And A Tail? Turns Out Since I Got Attacked By A Secret Werewolf Before Max Turned Me, I Turned Into A Werewolf Instead Of A Vampire. One Problem Though, Instead Of Drinking Max's Blood And Making My First Kill, He Ended Up Biting Me, So Im His Mate Instead Of His Daughter. Im 18 Years Old And My Used-To-Be Father Figure Is Now My Mate. Obviously That Wasnt His Intent So We Decide To Just Awkwardly Ignore That And I Decide To Join The Traveling Circus, Cutting Ties With Max Up Until 1987.
🩸 DRSELF 🩸
I Havent Made A Proper Drawing Of Me Yet So Heres Some Pictures That Represent Muah
🩸 ILL MAKE MORE POSTS 🩸
Ill Make More Posts About This DR Soon Because Im OBSESSED But Feel Free (PLEASE DO IM BEGGING) To Make Asks About It I Love Yapping About Anything Lost Boys 🥰
Imma Make The Hashtag "attys tlb dr" So They Are All In One Area
ALSO I Will GLADLYYYY Add Any Of Yalls Self Inserts Into Here Cus I Feel Like That Would Be Really Fun
🩸 REBLOGS APPRECIATED 🩸
#reality shifting#the lost boys#shifting community#shiftblr#shifting#desired reality#shifting realities#tlb 1987#attys tlb dr#werewolf#vampire#self insert oc#self shipper#self ship#marko tlb#paul tlb#david tlb#dwayne tlb#tlb#the lost boys 1987
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a desperate attempt to grasp at the void
hi, my name is cole hunter
im a 19 year old trans woman from north carolina
growing up, my father left when i was 11. my mother died when i was 16. i was taken in by other family members where i was subjected to years of emotional abuse. i was kicked out and disowned. then, i was met with more physical and emotional abuse by the hands of my roommates and landlords.
all my life i've wanted to be a musician. i started releasing music under the name dj deadhorses, but none of it contained my voice. when i release music with my singing or rapping on it, it feels like im fulfilling the wishes of my younger self. all ive ever wanted was to be a successful artist. i record everything myself, mix everything myself, do all the cover art, and i make every single beat. i've spent 7 years working on my craft and i've made thousands of songs. all in the attempt to make myself into the artist ive always seen myself as.
as of writing this im incredibly poor. ive been poor my whole life, but now im on my own. i have no support system, and my family has disowned me. i cant afford basic things like rent or food, regardless of trying to afford something like college. my struggles with mental illness have felt seemingly endless, especially after the passing of my mother. she was the most amazing person in the world to me. every day is a struggle to wake up, and i suffer from ptsd, manic depression, and extreme panic disorder. i can't afford treatment.
please, if someone out there is reading this, help me make my dreams come true. i desperately want to be a singer and help other people going through things that ive been through. i dont know how to kickstart a music career, and after years and years of trying it still feels like im stuck in the dirt. if you care about something like this, please check out a song or two. please reblog this, or post a song of mine somewhere. i desperately need help now. i cant afford to live like this much longer, and all i want is for my dream to come true.
i hope this finds u well, whoever u are. i love you.
#cyberpunk#bandcamp#experimental music#soundcloud#rapper#rap#singersongwriter#singer#transgender#trans rights#please help#spotify#what do i do#pls help#goth#gothic#goth aesthetic#alt#romantic goth#gothcore#goth girl#Spotify
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okay well. i was TRYING to find an upload of no care to reblog when i discovered that but since everyone wants to post SPOTIFY LINKS i guess ill have to fucking do every thing and upload it my self. tomorrow when i wake up. but still making the point i wanted to make no name song okay? please understand tjis
youtube
#OH THERE HAS ONLY BEEN ONE TIME WHEN WE FUCKED AND I FELT LIKE A BAD MEMORY!!!!!#LIKE MY SPINE WAS A REMINDER OF HER AND YOU SAID THAT YOU FELT SICK…
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I posted 688 times in 2022
That's 176 more posts than 2021!
35 posts created (5%)
653 posts reblogged (95%)
Blogs I reblogged the most:
@dedkake
@spockvarietyhour
@akasanata
@fullmetalcarer
I tagged 652 of my posts in 2022
Only 5% of my posts had no tags
#stargate atlantis - 371 posts
#cherik - 94 posts
#yes - 45 posts
#mcshep - 35 posts
#rofl - 32 posts
#lol - 31 posts
#rofl🤣 - 26 posts
#john sheppard - 16 posts
#um - 12 posts
#this - 10 posts
Longest Tag: 125 characters
My Top Posts in 2022:
#5
And also:
thighs
thigh holster
butt
bleps
expressive eyebrows
heart eyes
@dedkake
32 notes - Posted February 20, 2022
#4
I continued work on my Shrine fic today! 4/5 times John touches Rodney during the Shrine have been written.
Previously mentioned here.
I am both thrilled and in emotional pain.
because
well
The Shrine
I mean—
Preview anyone?
*
John grasps Rodney’s wrists.
Squeezing tight enough to hurt. Yanking them back. Away. Trying to stop him. He can’t watch this. He can’t stand by and watch.
This had been a terrible idea.
John knew it would end up this way. Blames himself. Should have stopped it earlier. Should have insisted, should have been better, should have protected Rodney. Even if it was from himself.
But, it was what Rodney had wanted. How could he deny Rodney anything he wants right now? Besides, it has been another way to track the progression of the illness. Not his memory—he and Keller had that one covered with the videos—but his ability to think critically, problem solve, strategize.
A nightly chess match.
It couldn’t have ended up any other way, any other way but this.
“Stop it!”
John is trying to rip Rodney’s hands away from his face, where Rodney is attempting, literally, awfully, to pound his brain into working properly. Hitting himself over and over.
“Stupid!” Rodney’s shout is over loud, pained. He manages to hit himself again, despite John’s best efforts. Rodney’s desperation makes him strong. Too strong. Stronger than John. “So fucking stupid!”
“No! Rodney! Please! Come on!”
Rodney shouldn’t be this strong, shouldn’t be able to keep violently hitting his own forehead over and over. But he twists, he jerks, he slips away and John grabs at him again.
“Sixth graders can play this fucking game! I played it in first grade! I’m officially more imbecilic than I was when I was fucking six.”
“Rodney! God damn it!” John had managed to get a hand around his bicep, but then the bicep is gone, leaving his fingers grasping at air. “You just used the word imbecilic, clearly you’re not— ”
John’s words are silenced by Rodney inadvertantly hitting the coffee table with the backs of his knees. The chessboard goes flying, pieces scattering everywhere. Rodney goes flying too, his back hitting the table hard before the momentum rolls him off and onto the ground.
John doesn’t know which sound he’s heard tonight that’s snaked the deepest fracture line in his heart— the heels of Rodney’s palms smacking against his own skin, the anguished self-recriminations, or the crack of Rodney’s skull against Atlantean metal.
He’s on his knees hovering over Rodney before he even knows he’s made the decision. After a moment of chilling stillness, where John is half-convinced the universe has played an even crueller joke and he’s lost Rodney sooner than they’d expected, Rodney groans, eyes flickering open.
“Well that fucking hurt.”
John’s whole body attempts to collapse on top of him with relief, and definitely without his permission, but he just trembles instead.
You’re okay. Fuck. You’re okay. For now, you’re okay. I can’t do this. How do I do this? Rodney, how do I do this?
*
See the full post
33 notes - Posted May 1, 2022
#3
Three A.M.
McShep | 260 words | G
Sleepy boys | Sleepy Cuddles
on Ao3
John wakes to the click-clacking of keyboard keys being pressed just this side of too hard. He doesn’t check the time. It could be 11pm, 1am or 3. It doesn’t really matter. John long ago gave up on berating the man for his poor sleeping habits. Atlantis needs too much from him and Rodney asks too much of himself. Instead, John slips from the warmth of the blankets and curls his arms around Rodney from behind. He rests his head against the nape of Rodney’s neck, then presses a kiss there.
“That’s enough for tonight.”
He presses another soft kiss to punctuate the point.
Rodney’s body slumps, coiled tension releasing. It works today, but it doesn’t always. Sometimes there’s no slump. Sometimes there’s Rodney shaking him off with muttered words John never quite makes out and the click-clacking of the keyboard resumes. John never argues anymore, just slips back into bed and drifts back off, ensuring that he, at least, has had enough rest to be alert and able to protect his scientist.
Today, though, Rodney follows him, shedding uniform clothes until he’s down to an undershirt and briefs. John slides to the far side of the bed, the cold side, letting Rodney slip into the warmth John left behind. He lets him wriggle and settle, watching as he sighs contentedly in his newly created pocket of comfort. John slides back, curling an arm and leg over Rodney, who wriggles and settles and sighs contentedly once more. John waits, listens, for Rodney’s breathing to even out. Makes sure.
They sleep.
42 notes - Posted November 26, 2022
#2
So friends, mcshep sick fic. But not h/c, hilarity of huge misunderstandings instead. @dedkake’s fault. Can’t remember how we got here 😆
Established relationship (or not, really could work either way).
John’s in bed. Wakes up. Is feeling gross. Headache, stuffed nose, sore throat, achey muscles, too hot/too cold in turns. The works.
Sees Rodney puttering around his room, picking up used tissues, clearing a soup bowl, refilling a cold water glass. But…
He’s in a hazmat suit.
Cue panic. John must be dying. Whatever he’s got, it’s bad. Alien bacteria, ebola… something that warrants quarantine protocols. Oh no. But Rodney. Hypochondriac Rodney is there. Quiet. Caring.
John is so in love. Has been. For so long. Suddenly Rodney must know. This could be his last chance, right?! Must tell him.
Feverish outpouring of feelings. Over the top love confession. So Un-john. Hardly making sense because hello fever. Rodney just standing there stupid.
What the fuck has gotten into you?
I’m dying.
No you’re not.
But hazmat suit. Quarantine.
I just don’t want your gross flu germs. You’re a disgusting human petri dish.
John why do I love this absolute idiot omg.
Rodney I love you too. But you’re still gross. I’ll kiss you when there is no longer a hazmat suit between us.
44 notes - Posted March 12, 2022
My #1 post of 2022
File this under fanfic writer problems:
Coming to an Ao3 page near you, John’s… cocoa ☕️
It’s hot.
Real hot.
Steamy.
53 notes - Posted July 27, 2022
Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →
#wow#my number 1 post is about John’s cock#🤣#i mean 🫠#I did have a certain fixation#year in review#my 2022 tumblr year in review#your tumblr year in review#stargate atlantis#pinkoptics posts
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Second Chance
Cw: implied injury, mentions of stitches, mentions of ricks death (sharp debrie to the heart).
Summary: Rick flag gets a second chance at life,and with it comes a chance to find a home.
->Only mutuals allowed to reblog.
♡Lovely taglist: @tex-treasures @malewifehenrycooldown @mercuryships @hedone26
Hazy, deathfilled dreams.
Screams of pain and anguish.
And last words "peacemaker. What a joke".
Rick flag wakes up in a cold sweat, instantly, his body hurts like bitch. Searing hot pain overwhelms him and makes him lay back down.
--Oh thank the sun youre awake!-- a voice says.
He turns to face the source and sees a young woman, Brown messy hair, green eyes, a barn owl perched on her shoulder-- wh- who are you?
--Names Jerico, and I rescued you from under a pile of rubble and brick, you were almost dead...-- she leans over him, inspecting his bandages-- no bursted stitches...thats good
--how did you...? I was as good as dead-- he mumbled, head feeling light.
--you dont gotta worry about that, for now you need some rest-- her hand pressed against his forehead, and soon Rick flag was out like a light.
Some days passed since then, with him coming into conciousness and then go back to sleep. But he slowly recovered, spending more time awake and slowly being able to move on his own.
And so here he is now, shaving for the first time in weeks, he sighed with relief, finishing to clean up his face to then limp carefully back to bed.
--Good morning Rick!-- jerico Chirped with a tray with coffee and pancakes-- breakfast?
--Please, lm starving -- he said, grabbing the tray and putting it on his lap.
Her barn owl, Sunny, flew from her perch ontop of the door to his shoulder, nuzzling his cheek with her beak-- she likes that your face is clean
--Well, thanks sunny-- he cut up a piece of pancake And fed it to the bird. Hes seen the owl eat practically everything under the sun, so he wasnt worried about the effects of the pancake.
--Shes so spoiled-- jeri teased, gaining an ill look from the bird-- dont look at me like that you know im right
Rick chuckled, he'd gotten used to the homey domestic feel of it all-- and what do you think?
--I think it looks good on you-- she replied with a coy smile, sipping from her own Cup of tea.
His cheeks get warm and he looks away,-- why, thank you
The continue to eat their breakfast in quiet conversation, mostly planning what they would do today.
--Even if I cant do much, lemme help with something-- Rick pleaded.
--Well, you can make lunch, how about that?-- She offered.
--Id say like that idea-- he replied, flashing a playful smile her way.
It was pretty obvious that both had some sort of feelings for eachother. Since the first time Rick came into conciousness (And was coherent) he had found in his savior something like a kindred spirit.
And her gentleness, how kind and caring she was with him was one of the Many things he liked about her.
--Are you sure I cant do anythin' else? I feel pretty shitty when you do all the work-- he admitted looking at her with what jerico could only describe as "puppy dog eyes".
--Rick...-- she cood, putting a hand on his cheek, caressing it-- we've talked about this
He takes the hand on his cheek and says-- I know.. I know I cant do much in this state but you saved my life, helping you is the least I can do
She chuckled said-- when youre better you can help me with anything you'd like, soldier boy, for now, you rest and then make lunch-- she kissed his forehead, her hand slipping through his fingers like melted chocolate.
He blushes, trying his best to not meet her eyes, Incredibly flustered.
It took all of his self restraint to not kiss the air out of her sometimes.
--Where are you going?-- Rick asked, cringing at how clingy that sounded.
--To the supermaket,gotta get some stuff, ill be back in a flash-- she smiled at him and he felt like he was melting.
He had it bad.
After she left, Rick laid back down on the bed, looking at the ceiling and drumming his fingers on his stomach, he was bored out of his mind.
He sighed, sitting up once again and deciding to get out of bed.
Sunny tried to pull him back by the shirt, but the poor owl could only do so much against a creature four times bigger than her.
He started with simple tasks, cleaning the dishes and putting them back in their place.
Then, he cleaned the Windows and the floor, smiling in contempt as he could see his reflection on the floor.
By that time, his body was already asking him for a break, taking a piece of debrie to the heart had left him some serious issues with cardio and moving around.
So, he laid back down, absolutely tired. The only good thing being that he didnt burst any stitches since he was fairly carefull when moving around.
Rick had made a Cup of tea for himself, reading one of the Many books Jerico had lying around.
It was mildly interesting and soon he got lost in the story, being pulled out of his daydream when Sunny nudged his cheek with her wing, pointing at the clock with her beak.
"I should get started with lunch" he thought, getting out of bed carefully and walking to the kitchen.
--Im feelin' somethin' simple, what do you say, sunny?-- he asked rhethorically, taking out some instant mash potatos and some steak from the freezer.
He cooks to the rythm of the music that came from the radio, which sunny was so kind as to turn it on for him.
Lunch is ready just as Jerico arrives with some bags on her hands.
--Mírenla, miren, miren, mírenla
Mírenla, ella está tan sola
Mírenla, en sus ojos hay placer
Mírenla, cuando te enamora
Ella viene desde lejos y de
De jugar con tu ilusión
Buscabas la libertad y ahora
Cómo huir de esta prisión-- he sang, completely butchering the pronounciation of the words.
Rick turns around to serve the food and his eyes meet Jeri's.
Instantly, he leaves the food on the counter and helps her with the bags-- Rick! Be carefull!
--Im being carefull-- he said-- im just helping
Both quickly put everything in the fridge, and he finishes serving the food.
Both sit on oposite sides of the round table-- nice singing by the way-- she teases.
He tensed, coughing a little and saying-- oh...you heard that?...sorry I probably butchered everything
--i mean yeah but in an endearing way!-- She Chirped putting a hand on his forearm.
He chuckles, looking at his Plate-- you think im endearin'?
--yes I do, and I think youre cute too-- she flirted, taking him aback.
Flustered, and trying to save what dignity he had left, he says-- Carefull...sunny'll get jealous
As if on cue, Sunny hissed at both of them, tearing appart a piece of steak Rick had given her.
--Youre cute too, you feather ball-- the woman cooed, petting the birds head, to then meet her companion's gaze-- couldnt help but notice how clean everything was,did you do it?
--uh no?-- he replied not hiding the fact that he was lying.
--did you burst any stitches?
--i didnt,I promise-- he reassured, taking the hand that was on his forearm-- you worry about me too much
-- I cant help it, I care about you, yknow?-- jerico said sheepishly-- I dont wanna be overbearing but I couldnt live with myself if anything happened to you
He sits back in his chair, clearly in awe by what he just heard.
Regardless, Rick gives her a warm smile-- Nothin's gonna Happen to me because you take such care of me -- he flirted right back.
--Charmer-- she teased trying to brush everything off.
--Learnt from the best-- he winks at her and he doesnt know where that confidence came from. Yet he cant help but feel somewhat delighted at the blush that spreads across her cheeks.
After lunch, Rick decides to take a nap, while Jeri goes to shower.
Once clean, she changes and goes to bed, carefully laying besides her companion.
She had a queen sized matress but it was the only bed she has, so they had to share.
Not like neither of them were complaining.
Jerico turns to Rick, smiling as she brushes a strand of hair behind his ear, tensing when her hand lowers to his cheek and he leans into her touch,still asleep.
She giggles and kisses her forehead, then the tip of his nose and then lowering to his lips being inches away from them.
A sigh scaped past her lips and her head rested on the fluffy pillow.
He had to leave at some Point...but she didnt want that. But most importantly, did he wanted to leave?
The answer was no, but she didnt know that.
And because of it, she closed her eyes, knowing full well she could use a nap.
What she wasnt expecting, however, was to wake up in the arms of Rick who hugged her from behind, using his body to envelop her in some sort of protective cocoon.
Neon red blush settled on her face, she knew military men were clingy but she was not expecting to experinexe that clingynesd first hand today.
But she wouldnt dare move. This was way too perfect.
So, jerico leaned Into his touch, relaxing her body against his, hands pressing against his. Maybe one day she'd tell him how she felt.
Rick slowly opens his eyes, hugging whatever he was hugging tighter, Yawning.
His hazy half asleep eyesight Settles, and look down to see Jerico in his arms.
His body tenses but not pulling away from the hug-- sorry-- he mutters.
--Dont worry..-- she whispers-- we all need cuddles every once in a while
He rests his head ontop of hers, relaxing once more-- guess so...
Soon, a calm silence bloomed, nothing could be heard but the usual city escape noises and their breaths.
--Ive been thinkin' -- Rick started-- when I get better, I need to find a way back to the 'states, I might need some help
Jeri's heart squeezes-- thats okay, ill help you
--Youve done enough for me already, but thank you-- he smiles but she doesnt.
She didnt want him to leave.
But he said he would, even if he didnt want to. After all, how long would he be here, leeching off of her. He could barely help her out in his state.
Ten minutes pass, until jerico goes to make some tea.
Her eyes catch the sigh of Rick basking in the light of the sun set. Her breath hitches and she stares at him.
--How can you be so beautiful..-- jerico asked under her breath
--What was that?
--D do you want coffee or tea?
--Tea
She nodded and Walked to the kitchen, putting the kettle to boil.
Rick looks at her walk to the oven, he sees the way the last bits of sunlight shower her in golden light.
He puts a hand behind his head, the other on his chest, and a warm smile appears on his face. Could he have more moments like these? With this homey warmth and calm? He hoped so
--You look beautiful in the golden light-- he said non-chalantly, looking at her.
Jerico stops what shes doing and turns to him, a shy and nervous smile on her lips-- thank you, Rick. You also look quite beautiful with this light
He chuckled-- thank you
She nodded and kept doing the two teas.
By the time the sun had fully set and the early night began, both are standing there on the balcony, teas in hand, a warm summer breeze blowing past them.
Both are leaning on the concrete handrail, looking at the city of coltomaltes.
--do you really need to leave?-- Jerico asked, voice shy and sad. A big change from her usual chipper self
He sighed looking at the city below-- I have to go back..., but I dont wanna leave you.. but I dont want to force you out of your home...its more beautiful than mine thats for sure -- he took her free hand, giving her a preocupied look.
--We'll make it beautiful-- she promised-- I would love to go with you..
--But you have a life, you have Friends here and..
She leaves her Cup on the handrail, putting said hand on his cheek, caressing it-- im no stranger to leaving people behind...-- jeri Leans in-- ill let you in on a little secret, technically Im not from here
--Then where are you from?-- he asks leaving his cup on the handrail too and cupping her cheeks.
She points upwards with her eyes and says-- im whats known as a wayfarer, an interdimensional traveler
--I would be skeptic if it wasnt for the ammount of weird shit ive seen-- he admitted-- but..can you show me?
She nodds-- opening portals are hard work, but I can show you some of my other powers -- jerico's hand Blooms a Rose, tucking it behind his ear with a smile-- thats one of 'em
Rick smiles, taking the Rose from behind his ear to inspect it, before putting it back where it was-- what else?
She walks back a few steps, yellow light flows through her skin, until her body is nothing more than energy.
He watches as that light takes the shape of a lion, and as the light dims, low and behold, there is a lion-- pretty cool huh?
--I- wow-- he mused,reaching to pet the head of the lion.
She returned to her normal form in the same way she had changed-- I can talk to animals, thats why sunny is so obedient, and before I show you I gotta ask you something, you afraid of heights?
--A little bit-- he replied-- w why?
Her feet float up in the air,and offers her hand-- y you want me to wh-at?
--Only if you really want, ricky
He sighed, grabbing her hand. Instantly, his body floats too-- trust me-- she whispers.
--With my life-- he reassured.
Both fly up little by little right to the Lower layer of clouds, Rick looks down at the sea of light and passing cars.
--This is beautiful-- he comments-- never thought id see the city from up here
Jerico floats closer to him, their shoulders touching.
He looks at her, his free arm hugging her waist-- youre so amazing...-- he says fondly.
--Thank you-- she smiles and both lean in.
--Can I kiss you?...please?-- he whispers.
--Yes,yes you can
And finally, Rick kisses jerico, her hand lets go of his and for a moment he thinks hes going to fall. But he doesnt.
Her arms go around his neck, and he hugs her waist tight, smiling.
-- not bad, soldier boy -- she teases.
--Hmm, thank you
They press their foreheads toghether, and smile.
Soon after, they are back in Jeri's home, cuddling up to eachother with Sunny resting comfortably on the side.
Days later, they were back at Rick's house, finishing to fix everything up.
--Gotta say, its nice to not be alone in this house anymore--rick said, drying his hands on a rag-- cant wait to see what you do to these plain old white walls-- he hugs jeri by the shoulders, pulling her closer.
--hmm, I have some ideas in Mind-- jerico showed him some sketches on her Journal-- what do you think?
He looks over the various concepts, to then double tap his pointer finger on one of them-- this one. Where'd you going to put it?
--That wall over there, right behind the couch
--what do you need?-- He asked with his voice low, kissing the back of her ear.
She shivers and Gently elbows him in the stomach-- some more colors, but ill get them myself
--Ah come on, you'll need a guide
She snorts-- as I said, this is not the first United States I visit
--Well, how do you know its there in this USA?
She sighed in defeat-- fine, lets go cowboy
He chuckles following after her with a smirk-- yes ma'am...~
While Driving to the craft supplies shop, both are jamming out to music, smiling and singing along.
During a red spotlight, Rick puts a hand on her thigh, and she looks at him with a warm smile.-- what is it,Ricky?
--Nothin' I just love you
--I love you too-- they kiss briefly, before resuming their drive.
Once they got what they needed and were back at home, Jerico started to paint the mural, Windows wide Open.
--Didnt know those paints stinked that much-- Rick complained, sitting besides jerico and giving her a Cup of tea-- take a break, honey
--My arm's gonna fall off-- she whined, leaving the paintbrush on the palette and taking the tea.
--All the more reason to take a break-- he coaxed, scooting closer and wrapping an arm around her waist.
Her head rested against his chest, nuzzling his jaw-- love you
--Love you too-- Rick looks up at the wall and says-- its coming along really well
--Thank you baby
Some more days passed until the mural was finished, but once it was, it looked great.
Ricky looked at the wall, now painted with none other than himself And his girlfriend, holding hands and looking at eachother in the eye, floating in a midnight Sky with stars.
--It looks beautiful, honey, well done-- he pressed her to his side, lightly tightening his arms around her shoulders.
--thank you, Ricky
He leans in for a soft gentle kiss. her hands, stained with paint resting on his neck, thumbs caressing his jaw.
And as both look at the mural, with warm cups of tea provided by Sunny, Rick realizes he had found a home, and he'd take this second chance at life and enjoy it to the very last minute.
#cw implied injury#tw implied injury#cw stitches#tw stitches#crush f/o rick flag#🧳☀️🌌i falm in love with every world i visit. and sometimes i fall in love with people| d.c. s/i🌌☀️🧳#HES SO CUTE IN THAT GIF AND FOR WHAT?..
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Brownie Points
“My ears had heard of You but now my eyes have seen You. Therefore I despise myself and repent in dust and ashes.” Job 42:5-6NIV
Have we ever seen God? Do we even have a true concept of one millimeter of HIs grandeur or power? Sure we think we do— but we don’t— not truly. Job saw himself before God as a sinless man, perfect in all his ways. He actually considered himself able to stand before God, until God measured Job with His own ability to create.
My perception was off too. I perceived myself to be a faithful servant of Yahweh God. Perhaps, I’d come to the place where I thought I might deserve receiving a blessing because of my faithfulness in writing. Yes. In a couple of ways I’d thought I’d arrived above the plateau of trials of illness, (there is no such place), as a benefit from walking the faith walk. Pride crept into my heart unawares. Yes, pride, the original sin.
Let me tell you— the ordeal has taught me lessons:
First— we deserve nothing. “Jesus continued, “After a servant has finished his work in the field or with the livestock, he doesn't immediately sit down to relax and eat. No, a true servant prepares the food for his Master and makes sure his Master is served his meal before he sits down to eat his own” Luke 17:8-10TPT Being faithful, doing our calling doesn’t buy brownie points. Not even the length of our faithful service buys brownie points. We owe Jesus everything for the ability to know Him. He owes us absolutely nothing. Anything and everything we do for our King is our service as slaves of His mercy. Without His mercy, we’d be doomed to the life we lived before He covered us with His mercy and grace. Thanks be to God for saving us from ourselves.
Second— we’ve developed inflated pride of self-worth. The reason we’re not out dragging the lost to Jesus is we’ve forgotten our true value before we found Christ. The One Who chose to love us— paid the price of His life for us. Nothing we could give Him would ever be enough to repay Him. Our worth now is His worth covering us.
Next— we’ve missed returning the love which saved us. Seeing God, we’ve seen all He is in meeting our needs. Rarely do we see our purpose in meeting His need. What does God need? Unbridled passion and love for Him exploding through spontaneous worship and adoration.
From crying out in pain for several hours the name of Jesus, I came to realize I stand in great need. On my own I’m totally incompetent to care for myself. The mercies of my Lord, my Healer and Savior allowed me to come close to death to open my eyes. For this I am indebted forever to Him. Instead of hearing my Jesus say— Matthew 7:23NIV “Then I will tell them plainly, ‘I never knew you. Away from Me, you evildoers!’” I will hear Him invite me in. This is the number one scariest verse in the Bible. I’ve prayed often to never fall under the curse of this verse. Maybe that’s why God allowed me to fall ill— wake me up.
These people hearing Jesus say to depart had done lots of good works for and in His name. Had pride entered into their hearts over their ability? Perhaps like me, they’d thought their faithfulness earned —brownie points. Maybe they saw themselves as having ‘arrived.’ Whatever reason, when faced with the majesty of our Creator, our works are as slimy menstrual cloths, (Isaiah 64:6). How do you appear? Need to repent and humble yourself before the King? It’s your choice. You chose.
LET’S PRAY: Precious Lord forgive us for allowing pride to seep into our lives. We’re nothing before You. Only You deserve the glory. May all reading this do a self-examination, in the name of Jesus Christ I pray.
by Debbie Veilleux
Copyright 2022 You have my permission to reblog this devotional for others. Please keep my name with this devotional, as author. Thank you.
#Jesus Christ#lord of lords#word of god#holy spirit#god#it's your choice#devotional#brownie points#pride#ensnared#spontaneous#worship#returning love#works#love#hope#faith
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DOZO 𖣠 HEADCANONS !
note ; v happy with this ship as i've come to love this skrunkly lil guy <3 john doe x blitzo (me)
꒰𖤐꒱ touch starved 'regular guy' bf x touch starved mentally ill model gf
꒰𖤐꒱ favorite activity is trying to persuade me to stay home w him and skip work
꒰𖤐꒱ neither of us like maison, and we try to avoid him like the plague
꒰𖤐꒱ love-hate relationship with me smoking, he thinks it looks cool when I do it and gets a little more then huffy when I blow it in his face, but knows it's bad for me (still gets them for me)
꒰𖤐꒱ he feeds into my coffee addiction when he sees I'm waking up. just goes up to brew me a pot <3
꒰𖤐꒱ likes playing around with my things, like my record player. out of all my vinyls he likes cigarettes after sex the most
꒰𖤐꒱ bugs me for kisses. and when. I've given in and peppered kisses all over his face he gets in this lovesick daze where his pupils enlarge and he clings to me like a kicked puppy declaring how he loves me
꒰𖤐꒱ hates that he can't enjoy the same things as me, like rain because 1; it brings me just as much joy as he does. (jealous of the rain), & 2, the poor baby would just melt, quite literally.
꒰𖤐꒱ he's kinda pushy with affection, but I don't mind because I'm the same. he will push my laptop from my lap and put his head on my thighs
꒰𖤐꒱ loves sticking his finger in one of my curls (read: like getting ur arm stuck in a pringles can) and playing with my hair in general. comments on how we almost have the same hair (black and curly)
꒰𖤐꒱ baby is confused why I'm so possessive over him, convo's like
"blitzy, I know you love me, nobody's gonna take me from you. I should actually be worried about that... you're to pretty for me.."
"ya never know lovey. plus, I love you to much to let you get snached from me." I claimed before placing a kiss on his nose.
he huffs out a short breath, flustered. "love you too bibi, can we cuddle when we get home ?"
please do not reblog. this is a self ship, so it doesn't apply 2 anybody but me. thank you.
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Dream Or Reality? - Wanda Maximoff x fem reader
summary: The meeting with your family doesn't turn out the way you hoped. Luckily you have Wanda to comfort you.
warnings: angst, nightmares, mentally ill sister, mentions of psychiatric clinic, self-harm, dissociation
word count: 1.620
Author's note: Feel free to check out my Masterlists and make requests. No reposting please! Reblogging, comments and requests are always appreciated <3 If you like the story/my writing, please don't be shy to say it via comments or asks! It takes you a few seconds and might make my day. It's the best appreciation you can show to a writer you like.
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“Have you guys seen Wanda?”, I asked Natasha and Clint who were chatting in the living room of the compound.
“I think Tony wanted to see her for something”, Nat recalled.
“You're visiting your family today, right?”, Clint reassured.
I nodded. “Yeah, just for two days but I wanted to say goodbye to Wanda”, I enlightened them.
“Hope you find her”, Nat claimed.
“And have fun”, Clint added.
After twenty minutes of walking around the compound and finding more or less everyone but my girlfriend I gave up. Time was up and I needed to head out.
My little foster sister would be moving into a residential group quite a few hours away soon and was allowed to leave the psychiatric clinic for the weekend to visit us at home.
So mom and I picked her up with my car and mom chatted with her about the upcoming weekend and how happy she was that (s/n) was visiting us.
(s/n) had been in the psychiatric clinic for six months now until they had finally found a permanent group for her to live in soon.
I thought she was doing better now. She had not self-harmed for the last days and had not appeared as apathetic anymore.
Months ago when she had still lived with us and I had also lived at home because Wanda and I had not been in a relationship yet, (s/n) and I had had a great relationship. I had never felt so connected with and loved by anyone before.
From time to time we had distanced especially since we had both moved out but now it felt like we were getting closer again.
My hopes were up for the weekend and we had planned to do all the things we had enjoyed doing together before. Playing video games, watching series, talking about basically everything, drawing together etc.
I brushed it off when she told me she was tired. But I noticed that she always clarified how she did not care what we did and quickly lost interest in everything we did.
A few hours later she broke down telling me how she did not want to move to the new group and that she did not feel at home with us anymore. She was crying badly and wanted to return to the clinic which she recognized as her home now.
After talking with mom (s/n) was calmer again and reconsidered her choice. She was not sure if she wanted to go back to the clinic anymore and tried to approach me but I just could not.
My emotions were absolutely chaotic and overwhelming.
I felt the need to cry. But after (s/n) had told me how guilty she felt for letting me down again I just could not bring myself to let the tears out although I knew it was unhealthy.
My hopes had been crushed again. It felt like (s/n) and I would never be able to spend time together like we used to. I knew it could not be the same anymore but I had hoped that it could be great in another way.
In the end we ate dinner together and mom brought (s/n) back to the clinic.
Everything came crushing down on me but in contrast to earlier where I had felt the need to cry I felt like I could not deal with my emotions right now. So instead I watched a movie to distract me, played table-tennis with my dad.
Later I decided to return to the compound. I had waited until now hoping that everybody would already be in bed. So I would not have to answer any questions.
Fortunately my assumption had been right and I was met by darkness and silence.
I got ready for bed and joined Wanda carefully as I did not want to wake her up.
Luck was not on my side when I fell asleep though. Falling asleep usually was not my biggest issue. The difficult part was staying asleep as my dreams were always waking me up. Most of the time several times per night.
It was not any different tonight. I was processing my emotions through my sleep.
When I woke up I did not think much of it. My whole body was trembling as I stared at the wall in front of me, laying with my back to Wanda. Somehow I could not move. The only thing I could do was staring at the wall and my trembling hands. Honestly I could not grasp a clear thought and just stayed frozen until sleep overcame me again.
This happened over and over. The sun was up after several dreams and yet I fell back asleep unable to do anything else but that.
My usual alarm had already gone off but I had turned it off automatically.
A part of me wanted to get up to get rid of these horrible dreams but I just could not.
After a felt eternity I was finally able to break the cycle and stayed awake staring through the window at the sky instead of the wall.
Wanda was still laying next to me. She had earphones connected to her phone and was probably listening to music.
I turned around and inched closer to her.
She smiled at me and took her earphones out. Her hand moved to caress my cheek. “I didn't expect you to return yet”, she whispered.
“Me neither”, I proposed and smiled back at her.
“You look exhausted. Didn't sleep well again?”
Of course she noticed. My sleep had improved since the beginning of our relationship as I was happier and felt comfortable around Wanda, but somehow she always noticed when something was off with me even without using her powers.
Suddenly the shaking started again as my mind was recalling my dreams.
“Hey, it's okay”, she reassured me and pulled me into her arms. “Did something happen with (s/n)? Did you two get into a fight?”
“No … she left after dinner instead of today. She changed so much since we had to send her away. And I had these awful dreams tonight. Now that I think about it they actually make sense, but during the night I was not able to think about it. I could neither think nor move. I was just shaking and falling back to sleep.”
Her arms tightened around me. “What did you dream about?”
“It's a bit weird and partly makes no sense cause it's a dream. But basically there was a disease spreading at the facility I lived at. The people living with me had become my friends, feeling rather like family though. We were working there together as doctors I think. I was working with someone on finding a way to cure the disease or at least to weaken it. After work we went to check on our friends. I checked on my best friend and found her dead … I was devastated. It felt like I was choking on my tears and yet none left my eyes. Then I woke up ... When I fell back asleep the same dream overcame me. After a while I realized that I had dreamed it before and I tried to change the outcome. But it was pointless. My best friend died anyway. I woke up again. It happened over and over. I watched her die, fell asleep and she was alive, just to die again because I could not find a way to help her. And with (s/n) it's the same. Every time I feel like we are growing closer again and the situation is improving, everything breaks down again. I want to help and support her but don't know how. I feel absolutely powerless and with every failed attempt I feel more desperate and it feels more hopeless. Yet I can't stop. The pain is so intense. Every time it feels like I'm losing her again, like I'm watching her die. I can't do anything but play along as everything repeats. I just can't break the cycle. I can wake up, distract myself, try to be positive. But at some point sleep will overcome me and the dreams will haunt me again.”
“I'm so sorry, my love. I wish I could have helped you last night. But I'm here and I love you, okay? You're not alone”, Wanda reassured me while stroking my head and back. “I can only imagine how hard it must be. When Pietro died it felt like my life was over. Without the Avengers and especially you I think I would have gone insane. But I prefer him being dead over watching him suffer and losing him emotionally slowly but surely.”
“It feels so silly to whine about this. You've experienced so many cruel things and I'm bothering you with this”, I admitted.
“I don't think it's silly. I'm glad you're talking to me about it. I can clearly see how much pain it's causing you. Your emotions are valid, (f/n).”
“Thank you”, I whispered back, my voice breaking slightly.
“How about we spend the whole day together instead? If you want me to I won't leave your side”, she suggested.
The idea brought a soft smile to my face.
“I take that as a yes. How about starting with a refreshing shower after that awful night?”, she proposed with a slight grin.
“We're doing everything together, right?”, I played along and pulled her with me.
Even if I had to fall asleep again, I knew that Wanda was by my side. And that was the most reassuring thing I could think of.
#marvel#wanda maximoff x fem reader#lgbtqia +#angst#fluff#romance#mental illness#nightmares#hurt/comfort#family issues#dissociation#mental breakdown#self-harm mentioned
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