#sorry. was reminded that sasha existed and had to say this once again. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ofoceansandtombsanew · 2 years

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My Girlfriend’s Six Friends

tags: short fic, fem!reader, ethnically ambiguous!reader

a/n: another repost this time for porco inspired by that college humor video of the same name. honestly, imagining porco being annoyed by his gf’s friends being cockblockers is something we should all live for

I love my girlfriend. Porco thought as he laid beside you in the grass on a blanket.

It was a lovely day

The sky was a deep blue and the afternoon sun beamed down gently, accompanied by a cool breeze here and there. Birdsong echoed atop the trees and the grass was soft, perfect for resting bare feet and napping without a care in the world. Porco rested his chin on his hand and smiled lazily at you and you gave him a lazy grin back.

Honestly, you were practically perfect.

But her friends. God, her friends. Porco’s smile stiffened as he spread his focus to the moment unfolding around the two of you. As much as he would’ve liked it to be, this wasn’t a date but instead a picnic with your respective sets of friends. And your friends? They were all the bane of Porco’s existence, he thought as his hazel eyes settled on the first offender, Mikasa Ackerman.

THE POSSESSIVE ONE

No one loved you more than Porco.

Well, almost.

Porco was sure that if Mikasa had anything to say about it, his love for you would only come second to hers. He glowered at the tall, dark-haired girl, remembering the fiasco that happened last week when you were making out on the couch.

Porco was just about to unbuckle his belt as you wrapped your arms around his neck when your phone started ringing. “Ignore it.” Porco mumbled as he pressed his lips against yours again

“Porco wait,” you gasped, pressing a hand on his shoulder craning your neck to see who was calling while Porco peppered your neck with open mouth kisses. “I just wanna see who it is… Oh, it’s Mikasa.”

“Mikasa?” Porco groaned with a roll of his eyes, halting his ministrations. “Just call her back later.”

“But what if it’s something important?”

Porco rolled his eyes, “you talk with Mikasa literally everyday, it’s fine.”

“Well…” You still looked unsure, watching as your phone continued lighting up, Mikasa’s name steadily remaining. Then it fell silent and Porco looked back at you smugly.

“Now where were w-” Porco shrieked liked a protagonist of a horror film and nearly flung himself off the couch as your apartment door flew open.

Mikasa stood in the door way with a worried expression, “are you okay? I could hear your phone ringing but you didn’t pick up!”

“Haven’t you heard of knocking?!” Porco glared as you sat up in embarrassment, fixing your clothes.

“S-sorry, Mikasa, we were…” you cleared your throat, avoiding Porco’s eyes. “Busy. What is it?”

“I was supposed to pick you up so we could go clubbing with everyone remember?” Mikasa’s worry turned to exasperation as she realized what had been transpiring, or well, about to transpire.

A look of remembrance struck across your face and you knit your eyebrows apologetically, “I’m sorry, Mikasa, I totally spaced out about that!”

“Should I come too?” Porco stood up to put his phone in his pocket. Even if Mikasa interrupted what was going to be the best sex of his life, a few drinks at the club could get them back on track again later once they got home.

He could’ve tossed Mikasa out of the window when she plainly said, “it’s girl’s night.”

Porco looked at you for some sort of defense but you only smiled sheepishly, “sorry, babe but it actually is girl’s night this time. Don’t worry, it’s just me, Mikasa, Yelena, Sasha, and a few of the others, that’s all.” You looked at Mikasa and Porco felt the irritation surge through him at how the girl lit up when you did, smiling softly at you in return. “Just give me a few minutes to get ready, alright?”

“Take your time.” Mikasa’s smile remained until you were out of sight and in the bedroom you shared together. The room she shares with me. Porco wanted to remind your friend. “You can’t just hog her to yourself.” The serious look Mikasa gave him made Porco throw his hands up in surprise.

“I am not hearing this from you of all people, you crazy friendship pirate!”

“Porco, Mikasa, play nice.” You poked your head from your door with a look of exasperation, dressed in a cute black dress you wore last month for your anniversary dinner. “I’m ready.” Quickly, you pecked Porco’s lips as you grabbed your purse and keys. “I’ll be back late, okay? Mikasa’ll drop me off.”

Fucking Mikasa. Porco glared in the present and Mikasa glared right back. She thought she was so special because you were friends before you started dating.

But at least there was Jean.

THE GAY ONE

“There’s a lot of potential here.” Jean had told him one day when the two of you were out shopping for your birthday dinner.

“Excuse me.” Porco shot the brunet a look.

“Your clothes. You’d actually look better if you knew how to dress in them.” Before Porco could even say anything, Jean was already tossing a pair of jeans at him and a leather jacket. “Try these on.”

“We came here to shop for __’s birthday dinner, not a new outfit for me to where because you hate how I dress.” Porco reminded. All they needed to get right now were some napkins and still Jean had dragged him over to the clothes section of the market. “This isn’t necessary at all.”

Jean pursed his lips, the taller man giving Porco the up down. “Yeah no, I’ve seen the stuff in your closet and I’m not impressed. You’re not embarrassing my girl on her birthday because you don’t know how to coordinate. Now get in the changing room and try the clothes on.”

“No way!” He said, shoving the clothes back in Jean’s arms.

“What?” Jean smirked brazenly. “Afraid that I’m right that you don’t know how to dress yourself and will have to ask Marcel for an outfit to borrow tonight?”

….

Porco snatched the jacket and jeans back, “I’m only trying this on to shut you up.”

“If it’s any consolidation,” Jean called after him as Porco stomped over to the dressing room. “I got stuff that works for any occasion!”

Asshole. That horseface thinks he knows everything just because he’s gay or somet- Porco looked at himself in the dressing room mirror, turning around slowly to give himself a good look over. Hey, this is actually pretty nice.

“Babe, look at you!” You had said gleefully later that night with a look of amazement as you gestured to his entire outfit. “You look amazing!”

Jean wrapped an arm around your shoulder proudly, gesturing to Porco as well. “I told you I would have this man looking great, didn’t I?”

Yeah… Porco smiled to himself, appreciating the way the jeans fit him. He was even wearing the jacket too. What can Porco say, Jean really did grab something that was great for all occasions. Jean is actually kinda cool.

Just not in a gay way. Porco coughed internally, unlike your one friend and the embarrassing way Porco had met him.

THE ONE HE HAS A CRUSH ON

There you are, my soulmate. Porco smiled dreamily as he watched you laugh. You really were the most beautiful person in the room, Porco thought as he saw how your turquoise green eyes sparkled and the messy bun your chocolate brown locks you pulled into a bun and how your chiseled jaw could cut dia-

“Honey, have you met my friend Eren?”

“Hey.” Eren gave a half smile, holding his hand that wasn’t holding a beer out to shake his. “She talks a lot about you.”

Oh.

Oh no.

Porco’s face fell aghast as he looked at you and the man beside you with the turquoise green eyes and messy chocolate bun and chiseled jaw that could cut diamonds that definitely was not your own __ eyes and __ skin tone and your __ textured hair that wasn’t in a bun. Shit, they’re staring. Porco cursed. Say something, anything!

Whatever Porco said you and Eren shot each other a look before you pulled him away, “anyway, you should meet my friend Pieck.” Porco winced as he saw the look you gave him, knowing very well what that suspicious look meant.

Why can’t you have uglier friends?!?! Porco cried as he laid in bed paranoid, wondering when you would ask what you were more than likely thinking.

The question finally came in the morning.

“Porco, do you have thing for Eren?” You demanded the next morning while Porco made breakfast.

Okay, Galliard, think fast. Porco told himself as he braced himself to turn around and look you in the eye. Think Historia Reiss, Ymir Fritz, that one less popular Eldian. Porco finally turned around to look at you. “What? No, he’s just… really attractive.” When your jaw dropped in disbelief, the blond knew he fucked up. “I mean, in a slutty way! Well, not a slutty way- babe, come back I love you I just wish you’d have uglier friends!!”

Porco shuddered at the memory, taking his gaze off of Eren and literally everything that was perfect about him to look at who was probably the worst friend yet.

THE GUY FRIEND

Reiner, Porco said the man’s name like it was poison.

According to you, you and the tall light-haired blond had been ‘bffs forev-zies’ since you were 12.

And still… Porco could not stand the guy as the two of you laughed and shrieked your heads off whenever he came over to watch a movie for your “BFF Movie Night” tradition you’ve had since you were kids.

“HOLY SHIT!!” Reiner jumped as some cheesy cgi ghost appeared on the screen, latching onto your arm and nearly knocking the popcorn bowl over in his fear as you laughed.

“Come on, Rei, that was clearly cgi.” You snickered.

Babe, don’t worry, you had said.

Reiner’s just a friend, you had said.

Honestly, he’s like my brother.

And yeah, she’s right. Porco sighed as he tiredly watched you and Reiner hug goodbye once the movie ended.

Even if you were childhood friends, that didn’t change the fact you were his girlfriend, not Reiner’s. There’s different types of love, right? Sure you’re both very close friends. And Reiner was taller and more muscular and probably knew things about you Porco didn’t with your stupid inside jokes you bother cracked all the time but it wasn’t the same sort of love you gave Porco. It definitely wasn’t the same sort of love you gave Porco. But even if the guy tries, he’s never gonna have the raw physical attraction that we have.

Porco snorted smugly. Damn right.

“Oh I love you, big guy, take care.” Your voice was muffled in Reiner’s shoulder as the two of you swayed side to side. “Try not to piss yourself. Sleep in Bert’s bed or something.”

Reiner chuckled, “I wasn’t that scared.” He said warmly before he suddenly picked you up.

“Woah, Reiner!” You gasped, sounding more amused than surprised as he spun you around. “Quit it before you knock something over!” Your giggles didn’t sound commanding at all.

Porco stood up. Seriously before you knock over a lamp or something. “Okay, that’s enough.” Porco said, stepping forward and all to ready to kick Reiner out of the apartment when the two of you with your giggling and cooing showed no sound of stopping. “Guys. Guys. Okay that’s enough!!”

The spinning stopped as both you and Reiner gave Porco an odd look. “Babe?” You asked incredulously.

The awkwardness only felt amplified when he heard the distant sound of a neighbor coughing through the walls.

And now I’m still the weird one even though he was totally acting all romantic and dreamy like some asshat in a rom com who homewrecks a completely awesome relationship because he likes to put butter on his french fries! Porco had to remind himself to breathe. Those were exactly the type of movies Reiner liked watching best anyway, Porco wasn’t stupid he knew it was a sign that Reiner was up to some evil plan of seduction.

If it wasn’t Mikasa he had to watch out for, it was definitely Reiner.

THE ATTENTION HOG

And then there was Hitch, one of the more catty friends you had although she had certainly chilled out since your college days.

Porco didn’t get the deal with her, it seemed like whenever you guys met up with she was going through some sort of dramatic breakup and fight with a mutual friend.

“So… you and Boris broke up?” You said sympathetically when Hitch finally finished her retelling of something Porco knew could’ve been summarized in three sentences. Boris cheated and Hitch re-enacted the I Should’ve Cheated by Keyshia Cole music video and set off the fire alarm in their house. “Well good riddance, he wasn’t that great anyway.”

Hitch dabbed away at her tears with a crumpled tissue, “first Marlowe, not this.” Hitch sniffled bitterly. “I’ll never have what you guys have. You won’t believe what he said to me afterwards-”

“Hitch, do you have reddit?” Porco interrupted, ignoring how you pinched him underneath the table.

Hitch looked confused at the sudden change of direction, “no?”

Porco grinned, “oh then you are gonna love this.” The blond pulled out his phone as Hitch leaned forward to see what he was talking about. “There’s this subreddit called Am I the Asshole and I just think you need to get more people talking about this and on your side.”

Even if you were unamused the entire time, Porco gave himself a clap on the back. Hitch wasn’t bothering you both with anymore of her arguments. Instead, she was talking to people on reddit getting a surprising amount of upvotes every time.

Porco felt his brow unfurrowing as he looked back at you as you continued reading a book, your eyes wide enough that he was sure that whatever was going on in those pages the words had you hooked by the collar of your shirt.

I love my girlfriend. Porco thought again. Not just because she’s smart and funny and kicks my ass when I’m being an asshole. But because even when Porco was sure he was being annoying and ridiculous to her, she still considered Porco to be her friend as well as her boyfriend. And like any good friend, Porco would do anything for her…

Even putting up with her annoying as hell friends.

I mean, she puts up with mine. You always rolled your eyes whenever Porco ran off for guy’s night at the drop of a hat because Marcel invited him out or whenever he laughed at some meme Pieck sent him (and he was also sure you had a thing for his friend Yelena no matter how hard you vehemently denied it).

But at least his friends weren’t acting up right now.

“Um, Mr. Galliard.” Porco said with a tired look pointing in the direction of his brother Colt who was loudly beginning to sing We Belong Together. “Can you take my brother home? He’s drunk.”

Your lips pressed into a thin line as you looked at Porco with a look of annoyance. “I thought you said Colt promised that he was only gonna drink juice.”

“Babe, he said he could handle it so I just gave him a whiskey.”

“Porco!”

#look she's writing #snk #snk x reader #aot #aot x reader #porco x reader #porco galliard x reader #mikasa x reader #mikasa ackerman x reader #eren jaeger #reiner braun #jean kirstein #don't ask why he is the gay friend #i have no excuse #he just is #hitch dreyse #black writers of tumblr

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letstalkaboutshtufff · 3 years

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A Bad Feeling Pt 1

Levi x Reader

Part 1

Paring: Levi Ackerman x Cadet reader

Warnings: 18+ attempted rape/assault, cursing, mention of injury, violence

Summary: Reader feels uncomfortable around a overly friendly captain. Are they just over reacting? Or is there something else going on. What will Levi do when he finds out?

***************************************************

A.n. ok so I literally wrote this in one go, it's probably trash but I wanted to post it anyway. Please lemme know what you think in the comments! Thank you!

"Y/n! captain Oro is asking for you" you did your best to hide the discomfort Armins words made you feel.

You smiled what you hoped was a convincing one and nodded. With a deep breath you made your way to Captains Oro's office.

Ever since you had been introduced to him those few weeks ago, he had taken a special liking to you. At first you had been excited, having such a highly skilled and well known captain take notice of you was one of the best feelings. Especially since your squad leader, Levi wasn't exactly heavy on praise.

Everyone loved Captain Oro, he was known for his strength and stamina on the battle field. He was both charismatic, and charming. Your fellow cadets practically swooned over him. You couldn't help but also get caught up in his perfection. At first that is..

Over time you noticed things about your meetings that put you on edge. An unnecessary shoulder touch here, a too low pat on the back there. Something was off. And although you had done your best to distance yourself from him, it was hard when your squads often had to work together.

But it was hard to say anything against him because even your cold blooded captain seemed to enjoy his presence.

Once you brought it up to your friend Sasha, about how you felt he was being too friendly. But she waved her hand and basically said you were worrying for nothing, he was just a friendly guy. And you were being dramatic.

Maybe you were overreacting? If captain levi approved of him, surely that meant he was a decent person right? Maybe he was just being really really friendly.

You decided to give him a chance and knocked on his door when you finally arrived.

"Come in" a muffled voice came from the other side.

With a click you entered the candlelit room. It was nearing sundown after all.

"Ah cadet y/n! Perfect, I was wondering if I might ask your opinion on something?" He smiled angelically and gestured towards a parchment on his desk.

"Of course sir" you nodded and approached him, reminding yourself of what sasha said. Just relax.

From the way the parchment was positioned you had no choice but to come to his side of the desk.

"Do you see this area here?" He gestured to what you now saw was a map. "What do you think of leading a squad through here instead of what we originally planned?"

The next 30 minutes you spent completely and professionally discussing strategies. Being the member of your squad that was best at this, made him asking for you completely justified. You felt bad for ever doubting his intentions.

"Thank you y/n, I think I have a better idea of what course we should pursue on our next expedition" he smiled sincerely.

"I'm glad I could be of service" you nodded and allowed a relaxed smile to pass your features. Feeling stupid you had judged him so harshly.

" If you wouldnt mind just one more thing?" You nodded as he pulled out a stack of papers.

"If you could look over this report of the last mission before I send it out? See if theres anything else to add?"

"Sure, I'd be happy to Captain" you grabbed the stack.

"And please if you can, return them to me tonight, I'll need them for the meeting bright and early"

"Yes sir, I'll finish it asap, good evening" and with that you exused yourself.

Tonight? It was already sundown. Well whatever, hes so busy he probably doesn't know what time of day it is.

You found a quiet spot amonsgt the crowds in the common room and got to work.

************************************

"Oi brat, it's passed curfew, go to your room now, we have important work tommorow" the unmistakable voice of your captain rang through the now empty hall.

You looked up in surprise and meet his usual scowl, not even realizing how late it had gotten.

"Hai, s-sorry captain, I'll go now" you gathered the report and quickly left, not wanting to receive another scolding for taking too long.

Oh crap you still had to deliever the report. Changing routes you snuck quietly down the familiar hallways. Not particularly feeling like running into Levi again. Something about him always made you act just a little dumber and it was definitely not because of your non existent crush on him...definitely not.. he was just intimidating is all.

*knock knock*

You waited patiently but there was no answer. Crap did he already go to bed? But he knew I was coming? Ugh what should I do? He needs these reports..

With a sigh you change direction again and head for his personal chambers. There was no way you were getting in trouble for not delivering these reports on time.

You smiled when you saw dim light flood from beneath the door.

Lightly you knocked, "Captain Oro, its y/n, sorry it's so late but I have the rep-" you were cut off abruptly when the door swung open and there stood Oro.

Except he looked nothing like the Oro you were used too seeing. His hair was loose from it's normal slicked back do, and the edges were dripping slightly. His shirt was loosely thrown on revealing a decent amount of skin. He must've just bathed.. you could see why the girls were so obsessed with him. He was, platonically speaking, a very gorgeous man.

You were taken aback but reminded yourself that you did knock after hours so of course he wasnt going to be all soldiered up.

"U-um s-sorry Captain, I have the reports" you averted your eyes and shoved the reports in his direction.

"Ah y/n, thank you, would you please put them on my table? My hands are still slightly wet." He laughed holding them up innocently.

"S-sure" god why were you stuttering so much, you fight goddamn titans for a living?! But somehow you were more nervous now than when a 10meter was clawing at you.

You entered the room and tried to avoid looking around too much.

You always wondered what the inside of the higher ups rooms look-

*click*

You whipped around, alarm bells suddenly back in full force.

"Captain what are you-"

"You're such a good girl, you know that y/n?" Oros whole demeanor changed and you cursed yourself for not trusting your earlier instincts.

"U-um" you really did not know what to say or do as he took a couple steps closer.

"Always so obedient for me, I think you deserve a reward don't you?"

Shit

"That's not...that's not necessary captain, I really should be going" you tried to lunge for the door but he was quicker and much much stronger.

"I don't believe I dismissed you cadet..." he purred pinning your arms to the door in the blink of an eye.

You were by no means weak, but your struggles were useless against him.

"Let me go" it took all your strength not to stutter in fear.

"How adorable, you know I love it when you follow my orders so well, but I think..." you shivered in disgust as you felt his lips near your neck and press down.

"I'd like to see you fight me as well" you whimpered as he sucked and bit down on the soft flesh.

"S-stop it, p-please" he smirked and looked into your fearful eyes with his lustful ones. "Stop? But that's not what you really want is it? You see I know exactly how girls like you are" he chuckled darkly and moved one of his hands to grip both your arms, while the other slid lower. You gasped when he cupped your breast. "S-stop! I'll, ill scream If you don't!" You felt a tear slide down your shaking form.

"Scream?" He snickered like you had told the funniest joke.

"Go ahead and scream doll, itll be very interesting to see what happens"

"W-what?" You were utterly confused.

"Think about it, if someone walks in on us, what would they think? Seeing a cadet after hours in her superiors chambers?"

"B-but I! I was bringing the reports i wasn't-!"

"Do you honestly think theyll care what you have to say? Who do you think theyll believe y/n? You a nobody cadet who's been fighting titans for 3 seconds? Or me, a selfless hero whos saved countless of scouts lives? All I have to tell them is that you came into my room and tried to seduce me. When I tried to restrain you, you screamed. Who do you think theyll listen too? Why else would you be here so late at night?"

"Y-You're..you're insane, you're not a hero, y-you're a coward who-" he grasped your jaw harshly causing you to wince.

"I'd watch that mouth of yours y/n" he squeezed harder. I am your superior after all, and we wouldnt want any nasty rumors going around that would have you suspended from the survey corps now would we?" He bent down and to your horror pressed his lips against yours.

Fuck fuck what do I do?!? Hes blackmailing me now. I cant fight him, hes too strong, think think think.

But your mind was blank when his cold lips pressed against your lips again. "Open your mouth" he ordered in a voice laced with animilistac lust.

You abruptly turned your head away desperate to get away.

"Heh, always such a tease" he traced a finger up and down your cheek, flipping over your lips. "I'll enjoy this-"

"CAPTAIN ORO, COMMANDER ERWIN REQUESTS YOUR PRESENCE IN HIS OFFICE IMMEDIATELY" a voice shouts from the other side of the locked door.

With an annoyed sigh, Oro pulls away slightly, "Did he say why?" He lazily looks over in the direction of the door.

"NO SIR!"

"guess it can't be helped... Alright tell him I'll be there shortly" he yelled out.

"Hai" the footsteps recended and you stood deathly still.

He pulled away from you and you immediately pulled your wrists to you, they were an angry red, and it scared you how much strength he had so effortlessly displayed.

"Sorry doll, it looks like we'll have to continue this another night" he stepped away and began dressing normally as if he hadn't just been assaulting you 5 second ago. You quickly make for the door but his voice falters your step, "Oh and y/n?"

You dont look at him, but fear held you in place until he finished, "If you mention our little moment to anyone, you know what will happen" you nodded quickly, anything to appease him and get out.

When the door shut behind you, you felt the flood of tears break through.

D-did, d-did that really happen?!?

You held a hand to quiet your sobs and quickly dashed through the hallways.

You're heart thumped and you felt the need to vomit. You hadn't felt this way since the first time youd encounted a titan. All you wanted to do was get to the safety of your room, just through the hall.

It felt like a bucket of cold water had been thrown on you when a cold voice shouted out and halted your movements. Please not now, oh god any time but now.

"Oi cadet y/n are you deaf as well as dumb? I asked you a question.

"Why are you out past curfew?" he sounded definitely annoyed and you gathered all your strength to hold the sobs out of your voice.

Without turning around you answered, "I-I had to deliver some r-reports..I'll head to my room now.." you stepped forward hoping he would let you go but you were not so lucky.

"Oi brat, did you hit your head? I didn't dismiss you yet. Not to mention you haven't even addressed me properly, maybe some time cleaning up horse shit will remind you how to respect your superiors" fuck he was definitely angry now.

Still you didn't turn around, you couldn't..."S-sorry Captain Levi, I'll do better in the future.." you barely could even focus on the words coming out of your mouth, your heart was beating a mile a minute. Please just leave me alone!

"Hahh" Levi uttered in disbelief and severe annoyance, even the most novice of cadets turn around when being spoken to by a superior. "Are you trying to piss me off brat?!?"

"No sir..." still you didnt turn around, but gulped in fear when you heard sharp footsteps near you.

"Cadet y/n, you have three seconds to turn around and salute me properly before I throw you into the cells for insubordination" he ordered in his dangerously calm voice, that you never thought would be directed at you.

Having no other choice you slowly turn around, hoping to god the darkness of the room would be enough to hide your current state.

You kept your head down, letting your hair fall over your face, but gave a proper salute. Hiding the Wince that came when the tender flesh of your wrist had to bend.

Your eyes were trained on the floor. And you tried to remember how to breathe normally again.

"At least you remember how to-" abruptly his harsh scolding stopped.

Why did he stop?! Fuck did he notice something. No no calm down, he probably just is coming up with another punishment...right?

Wrong...

Levi was far from being done with dicisplining you but he caught sight of your bruised wrist and furrowed his brows immediately. He knew for a fact the last time you spoke in the hall those had not been there. He was quick to take in the rest of your demeanor and knew immediately that the reason you were acting disrespectful was because something was wrong.

"Cadet y/n.." he said suspiciously slow and not full of anger anymore.

"Y-yes?" Please dont ask me, please dont ask me, please dont-

"Look at me"

*******************************

Part 2 here

Okay so that's part 1! Please comment and lemme know what you think🥰also I'm super sensitive so please no hateful comments. Thanks for reading!

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toshigimmemilk · 3 years

Text

genre: ANGST w/ a lil comfort (clues towards that reader will get better with love and time)

warning: 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭, 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡, 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐝𝐞𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐜𝐲𝐜𝐥𝐞, 𝐜𝐫𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐲 𝐩𝐨𝐨𝐫 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠.

characters: !timeskip iwaizumi x !gn reader (past)

!timeskip osamu miya x !gn reader (present)

ɴᴏᴡ ᴘʟᴀʏɪɴɢ: ghostin by ariana grande ───────────────⚪────────────── ◄◄⠀▐▐ ⠀►► 1:17 / 3:48 ⠀ ───○ 🔊 ɴᴇxᴛ ᴜᴘ: dancing with your ghost by sasha alex sloan - a/n: i hope u guys like this. this was originally supposed to be ushijima instead of iwa. anyways im trying to better my writing so pls lmk what y’all thinking. sorry for the bad writing.

is it fair that you should feel like this, especially at night while lying next to your current lover thinking of a figure of your past, someone you loved so long ago? the tear soaked pillow that muffled each sob would disagree.

iwaizumi hajime was it for you. he was the one you’d been waiting for but some would say, right person wrong time, and boy were they right.

you hate thinking about that night. the night he left you so suddenly, cold and alone and each night you cried, you cried enough to fill olympic sized pools. you wish he had left you for someone else, that would be better than whatever this is, you thought. iwaizumi had left you to get food when the crash happened. it’s all my fault you thought, i should’ve just went to sleep hungry. the trip to the hospital was a blur and all those night spent in the hospital pleading to the celestial beings up above to save the love of your life who was now clinging to life with bare chances of opening his eyes again.

the fateful incident would end up being devastating for you both. a lively household once filled with love and laughter turned into a prison cell where only quiet sobs were the only thing that rang through the house.

the funeral was a haze. soft cries and whispers of sorry’s that meant nothing to you. it won’t bring him back.

every moment and every item reminded you of him. you hadn’t slept in his part of the bed, his reminder from that night still left in the bed, ruffled bedsheets, a used towel on the nightstand and a pillow that smelled like him. you hadn’t even dared to go near that side, too afraid that if you touched that too, it will also leave you.

too afraid to open his closet and see his clothes, his jersey, and his shoes. how cruel, you thought. how cruel was it that you have to be reminded of him constantly and your body and mind didn’t want to do anything to change that.

too afraid to move on and too afraid that he might be sad that you’re moved on from him and his love. it’s what he would want, he would want you to be happy, that’s what they all said but was that really true? you told yourself that there was no one else for you, only hajime. you were so accustomed to his love and now that it’s gone, were you even capable of loving someone else, someone that’s not him? the idea seemed impossible to you.

that fact couldn’t be more true, even years later as you laid in bed with another but still thinking of your former lover. nights seemed to be the hardest, it always is. all those hidden feelings and emotions always seem to pour out at night.

there was nothing you could do to stop the tears, sobbing quietly as you grazed your fingers over the face of the man that laid next to you. his face relaxed as he slept but it felt cruel to torture him like that, it wasn’t fair of him to carry a burden like this and shifting your body to face the other side you couldn’t help but cover your mouth as another sob escape your lips.

osamu miya was a force to be reckoned with. he loved you so hard and proud that the guilt in your heart only increased thinking about it. he’s done so much to fix you, carrying your baggage as if it was his own and helped you so much when he didn’t have to.

you met osamu while running errands, earlier that day, feeling too depressed to even get out of bed you’d finally decided that you should get your life back on track. deciding to go get some groceries to finally start making meals for one, crying some more at the thought that there will be no more shared breakfasts, no more staying cuddled in bed and rush hour in the house but just you and your loneliness.

osamu had accidentally bumped into you causing you to drop your oranges all over the floor, the sight causing your lips to wobble and he took note of this as soon as he looked at your face. “hey hey it’s okay. ‘m sorry. didn’t see ya”. you sighed, just what i needed you thought. you excused yourself from him but chasing you down he convinced you to come and eat at his restaurant, onigri miya but much to your reluctance, he still dragged you there.

from then on, osamu would try to invite you to come to his restaurant. you bumped into him frequently and soon you started to become friends but it was still hard for you to go out there and socialize after what you had been through.

osamu was there. he was there on your worst days. he was there when you told him, how you lost a half of you to date, he was there at nights to hold you while you cried. he was there to wipe your tears away. he was there. he fed you on days when you were struggling. he cleaned you up on days when you couldn’t get out of bed. he sat you down next to the tub and washed your hair. he was there.

you soon started to open your heart to him but you were still afraid to take that small leap, afraid that if you jumped and there was no safety net, who was going to catch you?

he told you about himself, much more than you had ever known and heard about him through his brother. he was funny, kind, very caring and he was just perfectly himself.

you should be moved on by now, osamu thought as he watched you turn over and hearing you muffled sobs. every night he’d pretend to sleep so you wouldn’t feel embarrassed to cry and each night he wanted to reach out and hold you but something in him held him back. he just let you let it all out.

he knows that you know about him knowing how you cry at night. he knows that you wish that iwaizumi was here in his place, and after everything that you both had been through there was so much he wanted to do with you, so much love he wanted to give you and so many things he wanted to show you.

you were so grateful for osamu. he’s been so good to you, so understanding about you and you were guilty and afraid that you were putting him through so much than he signed up for. you knew how much osamu’s heart would break everytime he heard you cry and you wished that he would admit how much it hurts him and how much pain it’s causing him too.

osamu knew you hated yourself so much for putting him through all this trouble but he was okay with waiting. he will be there for you as long as you need him even if you cried for a man that no longer exists in your own shared bed.

he knows that he will be there for you no matter how long it will take, a little bit of baggage is nothing for him compared to how much he truly loves you.

ending notes: this wasn’t that good ik. i promise i’ll get better. also i used the lyrics and references. pls those two songs has me so depressed on bag nights. anyways love y’all 💗

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gilly-bj · 3 years

Text

1: This is not a “why Levi will end up with Mikasa”, at all. I’m not trying to boost our confidence in RM because I don’t want us to get hurt again, okay? Fine. Always remember that those 10 pages might be even worse than 139 but we will never stop shipping RM . Always remember the 138 beautiful chapters and ignore the shitty one.

2: looong post.

3: Constructive hmhmh no criticism to Erem*ka. Now let’s start.

No one ever asked me why I think Levi is the right man for Mikasa (and viceversa); when I interact with non rivamikas, they are too busy hating on me and my ship to show a bit of respect and interest towards my opinions and thoughts. I wrote this post because I think that this question needs to be answered, especially after 139. These are six reasons why I think that Levi deserves to be Mikasa’s man.

(I’m doing Levi version first because Mikasa is the one who’s in a toxic “relationship” with a possessive “man”)

i) He helped her with her development.

Since Season 1, Levi has always helped Mikasa to grow as a person. In fact, Levi was the first one who made her realize that her actions have consequences that sometimes are not very pleasant. She understood that, even if Eren is in danger, the other people around her exist and they might get hurt because of her reckless behaviors. Talking about Eren, only with Levi, Mikasa stopped being Eren’s obsessive mother and became an independent woman, which is exactly the opposite of what she’s now with her “love” Eren. I think that Levi will help Mikasa to move on from Eren once he will return to Paradise, and I also think that she will find someone to love. I remember Armin’s words in 139:

The fact that three years have passed and Mikasa is still single makes me realize that probably this “someone” is a man from her group of friends. They left her alone for three years (clap clap 👏 good job, you too Levi 😒), and she hasn’t fallen in love during those years, so maybe once they will return to Paradise she will meet again this “someone” and they will finally fall in love. Now, we have three candidates for this role:

Jean

Levi

Connie yes im serious

I know that Jean had a crush on Mikasa but, I think that he doesn’t love her anymore. To me, Jean realized that his feelings were not returned so He decided to give up on her, if he had feelings for her, he would have followed her to Paradise, don’t you think? And I think that Jean deserves more; I believe that you shouldn’t wait your crush for years, if you both fall in love then fine but if one of the two as a crush on the other for more than 5 years but the other doesn’t return his/her feelings then the other should say bye 👋🏻

Then we have Levi, and Connie yes I’m serious. I have already said why I think that Levi will help Mika to move on so I repeat myself. And I ship Conkasa 🙃🙂 nahhh im joking but they are cute.

ii) He respects her.

It was confirmed various times trough the story that Levi respects Mikasa, and viceversa. Respect is one of the “rudiments” of a relationship. Yesterday, I was reading this article online about why respect is important in a relationship, and the first point got me in a particular way:

“1. Respect sees through the good and learns to accept the bad. When you are in love with someone, all you see are their best qualities, both inside and out. At the same time, you set aside their flaws and weaknesses, to tolerate these as much as you can. Respect doesn’t work that way.

When you have respect for the person you chose to be in a relationship with, you come to accept the person’s beauty and flaws, the bitter and sweet, and good and the bad. And from the acceptance, you both learn to adjust to each other’s systems and come up with a compromise that you can live with. Toppled with love, respect serves as the fuel to keep any relationship moving”

The last part reminds me of Rivamika; Levi and Mikasa both know that the other has his own beauty and flaws, and they accept each other that way. They don’t set those flaws aside to tolerate each other more, they just accept them and they love each other the way they are. With Eren instead, Mikasa has always set aside his flaws because she didn’t want to see them and she always misinterpreted his actions. I want to see an independent woman and not a girl who doesn’t want to accept that her crush is not perfect. Mikasa has to understand that it’s okay if she says “fuck you” for once. Wake up girl.

iii) He cares for her.

Levi has always cared for Mikasa since Season 1, even if I think that in the beginning, he cared for her just as a simple soldier since they didn’t know each other that much. After their first meeting, things changed on Levi’s side and on Mikasa’s as well; she learned to respect him, and Levi started to understand that gloomy brat, to the point that she became special to him; indeed, the way Levi treats Mikasa is very different from the way he treats everyone else, even the other women (Petra, Hisu, Hanji, Sasha) Please my Mika wake up. It’s sad that many think it’s just simple affection because “oh they are cousins he loves her just like a sister bla bla bla”. Sorry to tell you but I don’t have that much tension with my brother 😏😏 and some blind people still say that he hates when he:

Broke his ankle to save her

Always reminds her to calm down and to not be reckless because she can hurt the others but also herself

Always looks at her from afar to check if she’s okay

Literally cried when she was having one of her headaches (138)

Blind people 😏

iiii) He understands her.

Levi understands Mikasa’s feelings; they are very similar, and Mikasa found herself in situations Levi had already lived, from loosing her friends and family to the awakening of their power. And that’s also why Levi plays a big part in her development; remember in Season 1 when Annie kidnapped Eren and Mikasa lost her mind? Okay so when Levi saw her like that, he reminded of his younger self’s reaction to Isabel and Farlan’s death, and that’s why he acted in a soft way towards her; he already knew that in that situation, she wouldn’t have even looked at him if he didn’t act in a soft way. He knew she was lost so he took control of the situation.

Screenshot from: chapter 30.

iiiii) He’s a real man.

In my personal vocabulary, 139 Eren doesn’t fit the definition of man. Someone that treats a woman like that doesn’t deserve to be called “man” (same with women obviously). To me, a man is someone that’s able to respect his lover, that doesn’t treat her like an object and that thinks about her happiness first (that’s literally what love means lmao) (and more). Saying “I want her to be happy” is not enough when he wrapped the scarf around her again, knowing that she was suffering and she was not able to set herself free. If Eren really loved her, he wouldn’t wrapped the scarf around her again. Levi instead fits my definition of “man”, I’d say perfectly. He has always respected her, and he wants the best for Mikasa. He showed to love her, at least platonically, numerous times, he showed care about her physical and mental well-being. I think that Levi could make Mikasa feel loved, what her “lover” Eren has never done since he always treated her badly. Mikasa doesn’t know much about relationships, and Levi too, but with Levi she would understand what a real relationship looks like. And personally, I don’t want Mikasa to end up with someone like 139 Eren.

iiiiii) He his her ideal type and they share the same life goals.

Two months ago, I wrote this post named “How much are Mikasa and Levi compatible?”. There I listed all the reasons why I believe that Levi and Mikasa are each other’s ideal type. I’m not going to repeat myself, so if you want to read it, click here. Anyway, they share the same life goals, that are: a peaceful life in the middle of nature and a family since they both have a soft spot on children.

What do you think? Do you have other reasons why you think that Levi is perfect for Mikasa? I hope you liked this post and feel free to share your opinions!

#gilly bj #rivamika #levimka #levi x mikasa

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celosiaa · 4 years

Text

you can talk to me

Summary: Jon may or may not be questioning his gender. Either way, Martin is there to listen.

CW: dysphoria, periods, panic, self-deprecating thoughts, food mention

for a prompt from @transcendentalbf! <3 hope you all enjoy!

Sasha: you wanted channa masala, right?

Martin: yes! got it in one!

Sasha: of course I did! be back in 15

Martin: <33

Setting his phone back on the desk, Martin tips back in his chair and lets out a sigh, pressing the heels of his palms against his eyes. Though it’s been nearly three weeks since he’s started living in the archives, that doesn’t mean that he’s gotten used to it—if anything, the long hours of being constantly on the lookout for anything creeping or crawling across the floor has only served to heighten his pre-existing anxiety. It’s so lonely here. The low ceiling of the basement seems so vast when you wander beneath it in the dark—and even now, with his friends promising to return with lunch for him shortly, he can’t help but feel the weight of their absence.

Christ, Martin. You’re pathetic.

Can’t even handle a bit of pain.

As if the thought alone had caused it to happen, the aching roar of his cramps flares up once more, causing him to bend over the desk to breathe through it yet again. It’s just so embarrassing—he’s been on T for years now, surely the bleeding would have stopped—but alas, no such luck to be had. Of course he would be one of the people for whom it gets worse. Of course.

I’ve got to text her.

Martin: hey, do you have ibuprofen? didn’t want to look through your desk without asking!

Sasha: course! middle drawer. you okay?

He wants so badly to lie to her, say it’s fine—but he can’t really do that after asking for pain relievers, can he?

Martin: fine!! just having some cramps is all, it’s okay!

Sasha: aw, I’m sorry, Martin :/ need anything else? I can stop by the store later if you need

Martin: not yet. might soon though

Martin: I’m sorry.

Martin: please don’t tell Tim

Sasha: I would never. and don’t worry about it! it’s no trouble. I’ll get you some stuff later, alright?

You’re a burden you’re a burden you’re nothing but a burden

Martin: thanks, sash. you’re the best!

Sasha: <3

Returning his phone to its place on his desk, Martin has to stop to take a few deep breaths—heart pounding with embarrassment over the entire discussion. He knows it’s alright, knows Sasha means it when she says she doesn’t mind…right?

Jesus, stop it.

Just…take a walk, and you’ll feel better afterwards.

Standing a bit painfully on swollen legs, Martin swallows a few of Sasha’s ibuprofen before he makes his way toward the stairs, hoping for a chat with Rosie while waiting on lunch. At the very least, he could get some sunlight, escape from the windowless basement for a while. He could only hope that the worms aren’t too bad up there.

The lift dings its arrival to the main floor, where Rosie immediately turns to greet him with a warm smile.

“Ah, Martin! How are you, my dear?” she says as he approaches, looking genuinely glad to see him.

“Can’t complain!” he beams, leaning against her desk with one elbow. “You doing alright? Staying out of trouble?”

“You know I’m not,” she laughs, swatting playfully at his arm. “But neither are you, I’m sure.”

“Got me there.”

Martin can’t help but smile back, pleased at the thought of bringing happiness to someone’s day, satisfied to listen to her stories of cats and knitting circles and whatever soaps she’s been watching on telly. It reminds him of his mum, a bit—the nicer parts of her, anyway.

“Oh, that reminds me—“ she bends down beneath her desk to pull out a thin package, handing it over to him. “This was delivered for Jon this morning. Probably listed the Institute on the order form by accident again. Would you be so kind as to take it to him when you go back down?”

Holding it in his hands, Martin can feel the shape of the thing within it—some sort of soft fabric, stamped on top with a return label indicating a very nice clothing brand.

Date clothes.

He’s got a date.

Even as his heart sinks, Martin curses himself for it—it’s none of his business, Jon wants nothing to do with him, has no interest at all—after all, how could he? How could he when he’s…well, him?

“Stop making this about you, Martin,” he hears his mother say, closing his eyes against the memory. “You’ve always got to spoil everything, don’t you?”

“Martin? You alright, love?” Rosie asks quietly, and Martin looks up to see her worried face—hand coming to rest lightly on his arm.

Damn it.

“Oh, ha, of course, Rosie! S-sorry, it’s just—“

He backs away from the desk, pressing the call button for the lift.

“I’d better get back downstairs, then. Don’t—don’t want to keep Jon waiting. For his package, I mean.”

The lines of Rosie’s face only deepen, staring concernedly at him as he steps into the lift.

“Oh—alright, dear,” she says, a bit surprised at his sudden retreat. “Come back and visit sometime, alright? I’ll make us tea on your next break.”

“That sounds lovely,” he replies, forcing a wide grin to his face, flooded with guilt that she feels the need to make tea for him, when that’s supposed to be his responsibility.

“Nasty child, always making things about yourself.”

God, stop it.

“I’ll see you later then,” he continues with a wave, begging the lift doors to close quickly and hide his face.

—

Breathing deeply a few times before Jon’s office door, Martin finally gathers the courage to knock.

“Come in,” comes Jon’s baritone from behind the door, and he swings it open with a gentle creak.

“Hey, sorry to interrupt—Rosie had a package for you at the desk,” Martin says in as cheery a tone as he can manage, holding out the floppy package to Jon.

At once, Jon’s eyes go wide—he snatches it from Martin’s hands, setting it quickly out of sight with a blush rising to color his cheeks.

“Oh, th-thank you, Martin, erm—must have, must have accidentally sent it here,” he stammers, hand reaching up to rub at the back of his neck, no longer meeting Martin’s eyes.

Just get out just get out

“It’s no trouble,” he replies, and it’s far too happy, too sharp, too loud to be natural. “Sorry! Sorry. I’ll just be going, then.”

He closes the door on Jon’s shocked face, clearly surprised that Martin had not kept trying to make conversation, as usual. Stepping away from the door, he tilts his head back against the tears springing to his eyes—Jon was so clearly flustered by the package, confirming what he already knew: he’s seeing someone else.

Stop it stop it stop it

Furious with himself, at the hollow cavern of his chest, he turns toward the break room—determined to at least make this lunch normal and pleasant.

Just be normal.

For once, just do it right.

—

Though the hour is just barely approaching 8pm, Martin is more than ready to settle in for what he hopes might be some half-decent sleep. He’d been on the lookout for worms all day, as usual, but had really found very few—and certainly none within the sealed doors of document storage. Even if the air feels a bit stuffy, it’s nice to have a bit of added security that those things couldn’t possibly reach him in here. Or so he hopes.

It’s as if the cot has its own gravitational pull, beckoning him to just tip to the side, to let it all wash away into sleep—the only problem being that he cannot yet bring himself to take off his binder. To put it mildly, it’s been a day, even with the lovely lunch Tim and Sasha had brought him, even with the warming cup of tea he and Rosie had shared. The idea of kicking his dysphoria into an even higher gear is enough to set his heart pounding again, so much that every time he tries to just take it off, your lungs will thank you—he can’t get past even touching the hem sitting tightly against his ribcage.

Leaning back against the concrete wall, he smacks the back of his head against it a few times in frustration, before ceasing at the pain reverberating through his skull.

Just take it off just take it off just—

He pulls it up just a little higher.

Nononononono I can’t I can’t I can’t—

Bringing it back down against his pounding pulse, he forces himself to take deep, grounding breaths, shuddering and hitching a bit as his frustration builds up to form a lump in his throat.

Pathetic pathetic pathetic—

His thoughts are interrupted by the buzz of his phone against his thigh.

Sasha: hey, Martin—I popped some tampons and pads into your desk drawer. saw your door closed and thought you might not want company right now.

Sasha: and I got you some ice cream. double chocolate fudge. I’ve left it on the top shelf of the break room freezer.

Sasha: hope you’re alright—love you <3

Oh god.

Martin feels his eyes welling up as soon as he starts reading, the tears causing the words to swim almost too badly to see. God, Sasha—she always knows what to say, just what he needs—and he barely had to say a word about it.

Martin: love you too, Sash. you’re unbelievable. I can’t wait to tuck in! love love love you <3

Sasha: good man! I don’t want to see any left by the time I get in tomorrow. goodnight, handsome <3

Oh god oh god oh god

He can’t help but clutch the phone tightly to his chest, allowing a tear or two slip down the side of his cheeks with a soft smile. “Good man,” “goodnight handsome—“ even if he knows she’s saying it because of the dysphoria, it means everything to him that she would even think about it. That she would even notice it.

That she cares enough to want to make him feel better.

Dizzy with happiness, Martin slips out from under the covers and heads into the archives to retrieve his ice cream.

—

Spoon and his wonderful frozen gift in his hands, he makes his way back to document storage—knowing that if Jon were there, he’d be livid to see him take any sort of food or drink into a place where such precious pieces of spooky history are kept. In spite of himself, he lets the corners of his mouth turn up at the thought, imagining how terribly cross he would be, hands on his hips, shouting up at Martin, who stands a foot taller than him—

There’s a light on in Jon’s office.

Surely he’s…not…

Worry pooling in his stomach, Martin pads as silently as possible over to the partially-open door, peering inside just in case, hoping against hope that he’s not going to find more worms, or someone covered in worms, or Prentiss herself—

His heart leaps into his throat at once.

Inside the room, he finds Jon—with no worms in sight, no injuries—staring at the full length mirror on the wall. Hanging from his frame is a loose and flowing dress, thin shoulder straps drooping down into a dark navy ‘v’ across his chest, blue and white striped skirt falling graciously around his hips and to the floor. Slits in the fabric run from the hem up to his knees, giving the entire piece such a feeling of freedom—and the look on Jon’s face says he feels just the same. His eyes sparkle as he moves about in the skirt, feeling the fabric against his legs, reaching up to let his hair hang loosely over his bare shoulders. It’s lovely, it’s soaring, it’s—

Intensely private.

Oh god, I shouldn’t be here.

Desperate to leave as silently as he came, Martin takes a step back—right onto a worm wriggling beneath his foot.

“AAGH!” he yells, dropping the ice cream and spoon at once, scrambling backwards to grab a book from the desk behind him, smashing into the horrible little thing until it is well past dead.

“God, sorry,” he pants, swiping a hand across the sweat of his brow, setting the other to rest over his chest as he bends over to catch his breath. “Sorry, I must have scared you, I just saw the light on, and I—“

When he looks up, he’s greeted with the sight of a man frozen in place—eyes wide with shock, and…fear? He stands with his back pressed against the opposite wall, no breath visible in the movement of his shoulders as he stares back into Martin’s eyes.

“A-are you alright? Jon?” he asks carefully, taking a cautious step forward.

He receives no reply in return—the only movement visible to him the shakiness of his legs.

“You don’t look w—oh, Christ,” Martin yelps, rushing forward to catch Jon as he starts to slip to the ground.

It strikes Martin suddenly that he still hasn’t seen Jon take a breath—and he begins heaving at once, lungs gasping for oxygen.

“God—that’s it, just take a breath, just--just take a breath,” Martin encourages nervously, sweeping his eyes over him for some sort of injury. “Are you alright?”

Jon does not reply for a few moments, eyes still blown wide and wild, before at last turning them up to meet Martin’s gaze as his breaths begin to slow.

“Y-you—“ he begins, before his eyes sweep downwards for just a sliver of a moment. “You’re wearing…a binder.”

Oh, Christ.

With a start, Martin looks down at himself—only just realizing that he’s crouching in his boss’s office, wearing nothing but his boxers and a skin-tone binder.

“O-oh, God, I—“ he instinctively brings up his arms to cover himself. “S-sorry, I just—I didn’t mean—“

“N-no, Martin—that’s not—that’s not what I meant,” Jon assures in a anxious rush, reaching out to touch his arm—before hurriedly jerking it back.

“No?”

“No, I—“ he cuts off again, pressing a hand over his chest as he takes another grounding breath. “I’m really—I’m actually…relieved.”

Now Martin is properly confused.

“You’re…relieved?”

“Yes, I—“ he looks up, laughing a bit wetly before continuing. “I suppose you…you wouldn’t…I suppose you would understand. Perhaps.”

“Understand…”

It hits Martin like a train, now that the panic of a possible crisis has been averted: the dress.

“OH! Oh, I—I’m so sorry I burst in on you, Jon, I didn’t…I wouldn’t…I wouldn’t do that. On purpose. I can leave you alone? Or to change, if you feel uncomfortable.”

“I—I think I would like that. To change, I mean. You can—“

He drops his gaze to the floor.

“You can come back. If you want.”

For a moment, Martin allows hope to swell in his chest—before quashing it rather forcefully.

“O-Okay! Sure, I’ll just—I’ll be back in a mome, I’ll just…put some clothes on. Right.”

Elegant exit made, Martin briefly allows the shock to wash over him before dashing back to document storage—popping on a pair of pyjama trousers and a band t-shirt, sure to grab a canister of CO2 for proper protection this time. On his journey back, he spots the ice cream he’d flung to the floor at the sight of the worm—a bit melted now, perhaps—but if anything warrants some slightly-melty ice cream, it’s the conversation that he thinks Jon wants to have now. Turning on his heel, he grabs two spoons from the kitchen, and by the time he gets back, Jon’s office door has been propped back open. He knocks against it lightly all the same.

“Jon? Alright if I come in?”

“Y-yes—erm, have a seat, if you’d like,” he says from his desk chair, now back in his typical work-day cardigan, hair pulled into a bit of a messy bun.

“Right, sure,” Martin replies, settling in the chair opposite him and offering a smile. “Feels like I’m about to give a statement or something.”

To his complete surprise, the corners of Jon’s mouth actually turn up a bit at this—and though he still will not meet Martin’s eyes, something about the openness of his expression tells Martin to mark this moment as one to remember.

“I suppose it must feel rather like that,” he agrees, beginning to fiddle with a pen on his desk, staring intently at it.

They sit like this for quite a while—letting the silence settle, as Martin tries to intuit whether or not he ought to say something. Worrying at his bottom lip to keep himself from speaking, he tries not to stare at Jon, wanting him to feel comfortable, just wanting him to know that he’s there for whatever he needs to say.

It’s the most unnatural thing in the world for him to do—but it appears to have been the right decision, as Jon at last begins to speak.

“I haven’t,” he begins, before clearing his throat. “I’ve never worn a dress before.”

Ah. So it is what I thought.

Leaning forward against the table, Martin tilts his head in an effort to let Jon know that it’s okay, you can look at me, you’re safe here—but he’s not quite ready yet, and Martin is certainly armed with patience.

“I think that’s great, Jon! I think that’s really great that you tried it,” he begins, hoping that this is what Jon needs to hear in this moment. “Do you want to—I mean you don’t have to, but—do you want to talk about it?”

Brows furrowing, Jon stops twiddling the pen long enough to glance up at him.

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, I just…I mean…how did it make you—feel?” Martin clarifies, and Jon nods in response.

“Ah, I see. I—erm—“ and away he looks again, back to staring at the pen, perhaps more nervous than Martin has ever seen him. “It’s…difficult to say, I suppose. I’m not quite sure yet.”

“That’s okay, that’s perfectly natural,” Martin is quick to assure, running a hand over the bits of stubble that have crept up over his chin.

He remembers this, remembers the doubt, the exploration of what he did and did not want, what he did and did not feel—it was far from easy to do, and he’s starting to think it’s much the same for Jon.

Perhaps I ought to start at the beginning

“Are you—and you don’t have to answer this, but—are you…thinking about your gender identity?” he asks, watching Jon’s body language carefully.

He seems to curl up further into his seat, shoulders hunching in a way that makes Martin’s own hurt just looking at them.

“I don’t—I don’t know,” Jon mutters, hugging his arms tightly across his chest. “I’m…hesitant to say, really, I just…”

He sighs, leaning back into his chair and closing his eyes, arms braced against each arm rest.

“I happened to see that dress a few months ago, and it wouldn’t leave my mind, and I had some extra money to spare, and…and I bought it. I don’t know why.”

All of this spills from Jon in such a rush that it winds him, still not opening his eyes.

“That’s okay, Jon. Really. You don’t need to know why right now, okay? This kind of stuff can be complicated,” Martin soothes, letting out a little huff of laughter. “Believe me, I understand.”

At this, Jon opens his eyes again, bringing them up to meet his ever-so-slowly. Once they land there, though…Martin has a feeling that they will be fixed on him for the rest of this conversation, though he cannot put a finger on why.

“Would you tell me?” Jon asks in a near whisper, leaning against arms which he’s propped up on his desk. “I mean—I would like to know how you found out, if you don’t mind.”

“Ah. Right. Erm…well, I suppose I was pretty young when I started to figure it out. I’d never…I’d never really felt like me in my body, you know? The long hair, the school uniforms, just…it wasn’t right. At least not for me.”

He pauses for a moment, half expecting Jon to interrupt, to tell him he’s heard enough—but Jon still appears transfixed, as if he’s drinking in every word he has to say.

“But I didn’t really understand what that meant until secondary school. I was…well, let’s just say it was an upsetting time for me all around, right? One day I felt upset enough to chop off my own hair in the bathroom. And it was long by that time—nearly down to my waist.”

He laughs briefly at the remembrance, running a hair through his now-shorn locks.

“I cut it off—and it was like some small part of me started to understand. I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I tried to dress in what I thought boys should wear, walked around dressed like that to see what would happen—and the first time that someone called me “Mister Blackwood,” I just…it’s was like a great big wave of relief. It was like someone finally saw me. Like I finally saw me.”

Pausing there, he looks back up at Jon’s face—still reverently focused on his own. It sends a chill up his spine, in not an entirely unpleasant way.

“Thank you, Martin,” he murmurs at last, lowering his hands away from his face to stretch out across the table. “Thank you for telling me. That’s very…insightful.”

“Is it?” he replies, leaning towards him once again. “Can you tell me why?”

He can almost hear the gears turning in Jon’s head—the lines of deep-seated thought clear on his face. After a rather long silence, he begins to speak again, voice more certain than it has sounded all evening.

“The feeling of it. What you said about not being able to get it out of your mind, I just—” he breaks off to sigh, frustrated with the way the words are stringing together. “I’m not saying I understand completely, because it’s obviously your experience and not mine, but…”

He swallows, setting his face with such strength of intention that Martin finds himself bracing for the impact.

“I liked it. The dress. I liked the fabric, I liked the way it…the way it looked on me. I…I liked feeling…feminine, I suppose you could say.”

In this moment, Martin is not sure he has ever felt such a surge of affection for the person before him—which is saying quite a lot, all things considered.

“I’m really happy for you, Jon! Thank you for sharing that with me, I know that’s not always easy.”

Jon’s only response is a curt nod, his penchant for decorum and professionalism shining through even in this moment of relative vulnerability.

“Could I ask you—have you thought about pronouns? Or names? I mean—I’m happy to call you however you want to be called. Or perhaps even to try something new out, if you want. Just to see,” he quirks up a little smile at him, pleased that Jon feels comfortable enough to look back at him.

“Erm—I suppose I had thought about it a bit,” he says as he wraps his arms around his middle again, a gesture that Martin knows to be one of self-comfort. “I…I don’t think I would want to change my name. Not now, anyway. I rather like how it sounds.”

“That’s alright! I…I think your name is lovely, if that matters,” Martin replies—flushing as he realizes what he’s just said. “Erm—anyway, what about pronouns? Do you want to keep using he/him? Or do you want to try something else?”

Again, Jon seems perfectly at ease to think about this in silence for a bit—turning away and twirling a loose strand of his hair with his right index finger. That all-too-familiar twinge in his chest returns with a vengeance at the sight, endlessly endeared to everything about him.

God, stay focused for one moment, Martin.

“I—would you mind to try they/them? I don’t—I don’t think I want to try it around the office yet or, but…would you? Try it?”

“Of course!” Martin breathes at once, hand reaching out instinctively to cover Jon’s own where it rests on the table—and to his utter shock, Jon does not even flinch at the contact, nor try to pull away. “Of course I will, Jon. Do you want me to try it now? I can say some sentences so you can feel it out.”

“I…yes. Yes, that would be lovely, Martin,” Jon replies softly, still not moving his hand away.

“Right. Erm…okay. This is Jon. They work at the Magnus Institute. They’re the Head Archivist, and their work is very important. I like to bring them cups of tea in the afternoon, and they wear cardigans almost every day,” he pauses there, reading the smile creeping up on Jon’s face like the sun breaking through the clouds—and knowing in that moment, that they must have gotten it right.

“So? How did it feel?”

The smile takes on a full-bodied appearance now—eyes sparkling dark and gentle across the table, boring into his own with such depth of meaning that Martin is not sure he could ever fully take in.

“Yes,” they reply simply, smile spreading even wider. “Yes, I—I rather liked that.”

“I’m really glad, Jon! I mean—I would have been glad even if you didn’t like it, of course—the important thing is that you tried it out,” Martin stammers, nervousness somehow creeping back into his words.

“Thank you, Martin. I’ve…greatly enjoyed this talk,” Jon says, at last pulling their hand away from beneath Martin’s to point it at the forgotten tub of ice cream, currently sweating a circle of moisture on the wood of their desk. “I think you might want to get back to this before it melts, however.”

“Oh! Oh, right—I forgot I sat it there!” Martin replies, grabbing it quickly and rubbing a sleeve over the damp spot it created on the wood. “I actually—“

No no no, stop.

Don’t make it awkward

Don’t ruin it don’t ruin it don’t—

“Would you like some?” Martin presses on, against every voice that tells him to do the contrary. “I—I actually brought two spoons, I thought…I thought maybe you could use a pick-me-up. After I barged in on you like that.”

The expression Jon gives back to him now is a mixture of things—incomprehension, confusion, disbelief—and perhaps, just perhaps, a small bit of delight.

“You don’t—you don’t need to do that, I—“

“I insist, Jon. Please have some with me,” he interrupts, handing him one of the spoons. “Sasha told me to have it gone by morning, and there’s no way I can do that myself.”

“Well,” Jon replies, taking the spoon from him with just a whisper of a grin. “I suppose we’d better get to work, then.”

“Let’s.”

#tma #the magnus archives #tma fic #tma fanfic #jonmartin #hurt/comfort #trans martin blackwood #nonbinary jonathan sims #cw dysphoria #cw periods #cw panic #cw self hatred #cw food mention #my writing #lmao tumblr deleted all the text from the first post #so that was exciting

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damn-stark · 3 years

Text

If Jean found out his s/o was a Titan shifter headcanon

Jean Kirstein x reader

Requested by anon “i saw you wanted jean requests 😏 could you do headcanons when his s/o is a titan shifter, like how he’d react to finding out and also during missions n stuff just go crazy”

Warning- Fluff!!!, a small amount of angst.

———-

If Jean found out his s/o was a Titan shifter he would…

Firstly he found out during a mission, you didn’t want to reveal what you could do so abruptly, you wanted to talk to him first, but there was no other choice, you had to help your friends.

So when you saw the right moment, you broke away from Jean and ran to jump off the wall and turn; Jean called to you and tried to go after you to stop you because he thought you were crazy, but once he saw the lightning suddenly erupt from where you were, and saw you in Titan form he stopped himself and froze where he stood.

Once in Titan form, you turned to face him and saw that his eyes were wide, and his jaw was wide open, and since you couldn’t know what exactly he thought, you had to go based on that surprised-strucken look on his face, one that scared you.

It made you want to explain yourself, but you didn’t have the luxury to explain yourself, or assure him, so you had to continue with your plan and help your friends.

What you didn’t know about Jean in fact was that he wasn’t scared, he had seen Eren turn into a Titan already, plus you had the chance to grab him and eat and you didn’t do it, so he wasn’t scared. What Jean was in fact, was surprised and angry.

Angry that you didn’t tell him, angry that he had to find out first by you turning.

Yet when he saw you fight, he couldn’t help but feel proud and let a smirk tug on his lips. But he didn’t show it, he hid it so you wouldn’t know because he was in fact still upset.

After some time, you got ripped out of your Titan form and thrown away like a rag doll by the female Titan, Jean saw that and the anger left his body, fear instead took over and everything he felt before was replaced by his need to help you. For now.

After he did help and you were all back to safety, he waited for you to wake up by your bedside, in that moment getting reminded of his anger of what you hid.

Once you woke up you were surprised to see him, but you also were concerned about the fear you felt of not knowing what he thought—“Jean, I’m—”

Jean cuts you off before you can explain yourself, “Why didn’t you tell me you could turn into a Titan?”

You look down and feel bad for not explaining to him sooner, but you also knew why. “Because I was scared you'd be afraid of me, that you’d never talk to me. I’m sorry, I should’ve told you sooner and I wanted to, but I was scared.” When you look up at him, you notice his face has lost the anger you saw expressed on his face and saw instead a softer, more reassuring one.

“As long as you don’t try to eat me, I won’t be scared, you can trust me you know that.”

You smile and wrap your arms around his neck, he accepts you as who you are and the fear you felt truly ceased to exist.

After that encounter, Jean wouldn’t hesitate to show you off, to compare you to Eren and say you’re much better.

Jean in missions, if you would have to turn, he would root for you, smile and whoop once you landed a successful hit, he would be a proud boyfriend and be happy if you won, or lost.

And if you did happen to lose, he would say, “well better luck next time.”

And again if you had to turn, while you waited or planned, he would climb onto your shoulder and sit there.

During battle, you would help each other, you would let him grapple onto you to give him a boost, you would protect him and he would try to protect you however he could.

Jean would also ignore the teasing from your friends like Conny and Sasha.

For example if they saw him upset they would say, “oh, careful he’s mad, he’s about to send his Titan girlfriend to eat us.” Jean would shoot back with, “maybe I will!”

Lastly on a mission he wouldn't fail to say, “that's my girl!” For the smallest thing. You wouldn’t hear it, but he loved to say it.

And at the end of day, he worried for you when you were in Titan form, even if he was cocky with you, he would worry.

#attack on Titan #attack on titan imagine #attack on titan imagines #attack on titan fanfiction #attack on titan headcanons #aot #jean kirstein #jean kirstein headcanon #aot jean #jean kirschtein fanfiction #jean kirstein imagine #jean kirstein imagines #jean kirstein x reader #aot imagines #aot fanfiction #aot imagine #headcanon

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rosy-cheekx · 3 years

Note

from the dialogue prompts! 6: “go away” “no, not until i know you’re okay”

Oh boy this one was hard to write for whatever reason, but she’s done! just in time for us to pretend a world in which Jon or Martin’s lives are ever in real danger doesn't exist....right?

AO3 Link in source on OP

On Being Fine, Absolutely Well-Adjusted, and OK

Martin supposed he should count himself lucky. He hadn’t needed to go to the hospital after the Prentiss attack, had come out with only a few worm scars to show for it, god especially when he thought about Jon and all the worms he and Sasha had had to corkscrew out of him, his face and neck and arms and legs—

See? Martin shook his head, clearing his mind’s eye of the silver and crimson kaleidoscope. It could have been worse. He scratched at his calf, where a close trio of scars had begun to heal, skin-tight and shiny, and, at last, remembered he was supposed to be washing his hands. He was glad the unisex Archive lav didn’t have a mirror by the sink; he didn’t need a reminder of how tired he must look.

The return to work had been difficult, but not as bad as he had expected it to be. Knowing Prentiss was dead had made it easier to return home, though he had immediately spent his first pain-free day rearranging the furniture, as recommended by his therapist. (He had lied to her, of course, claimed an attempted break-in + assault had traumatized him. It wasn’t that far off from the truth, anyways.) So Martin had been spending his evenings repositioning, redecorating, cleaning; anything he could to erase Jane Prentiss and those horrid things from his mind. It wasn’t easy, and Martin still spent nights awake, hyperaware of the smallest sound of squelching or the smell of rot. But he was alive, he reminded himself at home in the mornings, concealing eye bags and trying to reassemble his appearance into some approximation of normal, and shouldn’t that be enough? He hadn’t been seriously injured, like Jon or Tim, hadn’t had to risk a lonely end save them all like Sasha. He should be the most well-adjusted of the three of them.

So why was he here, in the Archive toilet, gripping the edge of the sink so hard he might crack it?

Martin released his grip and watched his blood flow back into his fingers, flexing them. He should really go do...something. Work, probably, if Jon ever decided to stop speaking to him like he was a jigsaw with too many pieces. He splashed some water on his face and exhaled deeply. He was fine, he could-

“Oh shit!” Martin yelped as he turned to face the door into the bullpen. In the reflection at the corner of the mirror that hung on the back of the door was a shiny, squat, silver worm. “Fuckfuckfuck!” Martin cursed, backing into the door and pulling his shoe off with one hand. He patted for his beltloop, where had taken to keeping his corkscrew, and huffed to find it gone. Of course. He was trying not to be paranoid.

Picking up his shoe, he threw it at the worm, half-hidden by the rubbish bin. It bounced harmlessly—or, maybe it hit? Martin couldn’t tell. Either way, the worm moved, and that was when Martin’s vision greyed dangerously, heart leaping to his throat. Oh god, he couldn’t breathe? Why couldn’t he breathe? Was it the carbon dioxide? No. The fire alarm wasn’t going off. Martin’s thoughts raced and he desperately jiggled the door handle, only to find it turning against him. Oh god, it was her. It was-

“Martin?”

It was Jon.

“Jon? Jon, fuck, hey, don’t come in, okay? There’s a worm and I don’t want any of you getting hurt.”

…is what he would have said if he could catch his breath. Instead, all he could let out was a raspy, strangled “Jon.”

“Martin, are you alright in there?” Jon’s voice was too calm, too casual for the bile rising in Martin’s throat.

“W-worm.” Martin sputtered as he heard a click of a cane through the door; probably Jon taking a step backward at the word. “Got-gotta kill it,” he babbled, more to himself than to Jon. He could try with the shoe again, but it hadn’t worked the first time, and that would leave him unprotected if he wanted to step on it.

“No! Martin, don’t-”

Oh, he could step on it. Seized in a moment of something, a peculiar blend of bravery, fear, and plain exasperation, Martin crossed the few squares of lino between him and the worm and moved to step on it with precision. To his great surprise, it rolled out from under his foot, glinting against the overhead lighting.

“What?” Martin mumbled aloud, and the realization hit him all at once: this wasn’t a worm at all. Cautiously, he picked up the metal tube and spotted a small label on the bottom. The thin silver tube contained MAC #239: Not Like Other Girls, according to the reddish-brown sticker.

“Lipstick?” Martin whispered to himself, slumping against the wall of the bathroom and letting out a relieved sob. He had been terrified of lipstick?

The realization that should have calmed him down instead sent him spiraling. Martin Blackwood wasn’t always the calm one, but he was always the shoulder to lean on. He couldn’t do this, not have a breakdown in the middle of his workplace, not with—

Tapping came from the door outside. “Martin? Do I need to break the door down?” Jon was still outside, Martin realized with a start.

“Uh-” Martin choked back a sob. “No, no, it’s alright, Jon. I’m fine.”

“You certainly are not.”

“It was just a-a bloody lipstick tube, Jon, I’m alright. Just leave me alone.” Martin shuddered a breath as he swiped at his eyes with the hem of his sweater, praying to anything and everything that for once Jon would just do as he was told.

“No.” Of course not. “Not until I know you’re okay.” Jon’s voice was softer now, a part of Martin realized. The gentleness of his tone struck Martin and he found himself shakily standing and moving to the door. Unlocking and opening it, he saw Jon, leaning heavily on the medical cane he had been given after the incident, eyes a mix of panic and concern, like the way one might eye a wounded animal. Somehow, that look managed to make Martin feel small, protected, loved, and it warmed something in him.

It was that look that broke something in him and Martin felt a taut string inside him snap loose. Tears welled up in his eyes and he desperately swiped at them with the sleeves of his sweater, leaning against the doorframe. “I feel so stupid,” he mumbled, choked laughter mixing with his tears. He held up the lipstick tube, which he had pocketed earlier, and held it up to the light. “It doesn’t even look like them, not really, I-I-I just saw the squat and silver and panicked.”

Jon’s hand was on his arm, but he was quiet, not saying anything until Martin had collected himself, heaving sobs to hiccups to shallow breathing as he brought himself to baseline again. “Martin,” Jon said quietly, flexing the fingers that held his bicep, “I know you’ve had a rough few months.” Martin scoffed. “Fine, okay, maybe rough doesn’t begin to cover it. What I mean to say is, well…” Jon’s mouth floundered for a word properly, lips forming a few different shapes before settling on, “are you, you know, getting help?”

“Yes, Jon, I’m in therapy.” Martin surprised himself with his own honesty. “But there’s not really much I can say, you know? Not without getting carted off to a sanitorium or getting doped up on meds of some kind or another. I mean, evil worms haunting my house and my workplace? A worm woman determined to kill me and everyone I care for? Not exactly something cognitive behavior therapy will fix.”

Jon sighed in assent, nodding. “That’s fair, I suppose. I just-Martin.” The hand squeezed his elbow and Martin felt a jolt of electricity run through his skin. “You’re allowed to hurt, you know?” Martin’s eyes must have given away his thoughts because Jon continued, voice soft and gentle.

“We all suffered, Martin, but you were the one who was locked in your home, and then the basement where you work, for months on end. Just because you’re not-” he shifts to wave his cane idly, “-doesn’t mean you haven’t gone through hell alongside us.” Jon’s voice has taken on a hardness to it, an insistence Martin last remembered seeing when they were locked in Document Storage together, when Jon was so afraid of being forgotten. It made Martin shiver, not from fear but from something in the way Jon’s eyes bored into him. He was determined to make Martin believe him. Who was he to refuse The Archivist’s words?

So Martin listened, letting Jon’s insistence settle in his chest. He had suffered; he had lost months of his life to Jane Prentiss, he couldn’t sleep without a fear of worms crawling into his skin and mouth at night. He didn’t feel safe until he was in the Archives at his desk, the one that surveyed the whole room and had two fire extinguishers still tucked into the drawers. As Jon spoke, Martin let his muscles relax slowly, until he was leaned up against the alcove in which the door to the toilets stood, helpless under Jon’s gaze and yet feeling the strongest he had in weeks, if not months. Tears welled in his eyes and he heard Jon hesitantly break off.

“Ah-Martin? You-ah shit, I’m sorry.” Jon’s voice had lost the severity it had previously held and was back to its quiet insistence. “I’m sorry, you-you didn’t ask for a soapbox.”

“No, no,” Martin shook his head, raking his nails through his hair. “I...I think I needed to hear that.” He smiled; a shaky, fragile thing. He scratched the back of his calf awkwardly, trying not to dislodge Jon from where he was precariously balanced between the hand on his arm and the hand on the cane. “Thank you, Jon, really.”

Jon smiled and shifted his hand from Martin’s arm to his hand, squeezing gently before releasing it and sliding the lipstick tube from his hand before turning to the bullpen. “Anytime. C’mon, let’s see if this is Sasha’s or Tim’s. I think it’s more Tim’s color, hmm?”

#jonmartin #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #jmart #fanfic to a tea #cw panic attack #tma #the magnus archives #the magnus archives fanfic

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supercasey · 4 years

Text

TMA Child Avatars AU

Alright, so ever since I listened to the episode about Agnes’s origins, I keep thinking about an AU where a bunch of the other Entities, after realizing that it’s at least possible to create an avatar from birth, perform their own rituals and make a bunch of the future Archives gang. This AU has a lot of potential for angst, but since TMA is sad enough, I’ll probably mostly focus on the world building and fluffy/funny stuff (‘cus god knows I’m a slut for that shit).

To all my followers, I’m sorry I keep making kid AUs; I got told in like 2015 or so that I sucked at writing kids and it’s Never Left My Mind, so now I always wanna make stupid AUs in order to practice writing kids better (I also have an original story I wanna write soon with a ten year old as the main character, so yeah, I need all the practice I can get).

Anyways, here’s all I’ve got on the AU this far (explanation under the cut; a very long post is up ahead):

Character Backstories

Jonathan “Jon” Sims - Apprentice Archivist of the Eye

Jon is a very complicated story, at least from everyone outside of the Eye’s gaze. It was Elias’s idea to create him, and were it not for Gertrude getting lucky, no one but Elias, Peter Lukas, and Simon Fairchild would have ever known that Jon existed until he was ready to become the next archivist. Gertrude found out by pure chance when she accepted a live statement from one very frightened Delores Sims, who told the archivist about how a strange man had been stalking her ever since she found out she was pregnant. Out of completely nowhere, her husband died a month after she conceived, and even though it looked like an accident, Delores swore that she saw an arm surrounded by fog push him down the stairs. Things only grew worse for her over the next few weeks, as in the midst of her grieving her dead husband, Delores began seeing green, glowing irises out of the corners of her eyes, watching her every move as she lived her life, which was followed by the stalker in question appearing constantly in her dreams, always watching her from afar, an unpleasant and frankly unnerving grin on his face the entire time.

Suspicious, and finding the description of the stalker all too familiar by the end of the statement, Gertrude investigated Delores’s claims on her own time, going so far as to break into Elias’s office in order to dig up more information on whatever he was up to. No matter what her theories may have been, none of them were anything like what she found in his letters to his associates. Somehow, Elias had conspired alongside the Lukas and Fairchild families to find their heirs/avatars together, and Elias was the last person to acquire one of his own. Gertrude was unsure of the details at the time (and she still unfortunately is), but from what she could gather, the child growing in Delores Sims’ body was somehow touched by the Eye because of something Elias had done, and they would be born with the perfect framework to have the powers that an archivist learns over several years of training at birth! With no time to lose, Gertrude got back into contact with Delores, and after much discussion between the two women, she convinced Delores to come to her apartment when she eventually went into labor, and to give Gertrude the baby after they were born so that she could keep them safe from Elias.

The birth was meant to be done in secret, but the second the first contraction occurred, there was a knock on Gertrude’s door, Elias waiting for her on the other side with an unhappy grimace on his face. He came armed with a gun, and threatened to murder Gertrude if she didn’t allow him to claim the child as his own. Aware she still had many rituals to stop in the near future, and that none of her assistants were experienced enough to stop them by themselves, Gertrude reluctantly agreed to let him inside, but on one condition; the child had to be shared between them. Elias was abrasive to the idea of course, but he eventually complied with his archivist’s demands, not wanting to replace her so early on in her career. The sight of her stalker coming into the bedroom to watch her give birth unfortunately sent Delores into a panic attack while she was still very much in labor, making the rest of the birth a rather dangerous thing, but the child survived, leaving his mother terrified and shaking. Gertrude had planned on letting her go on her merry way after the baby was born, but Elias wasn’t taking any chances, and he shot her as soon as he deemed it safe to.

Since then, Gertrude and Elias have had dual custody of Jonathan- the name was Gertrude’s idea, on the grounds that it was a nice, proper name for a young man- trading him back and forth every other week. It’s been hard, especially with the adults he calls his parents wanting to kill each other, but Jon’s oblivious to most of the fighting right now, assuming his folks are just going through a messy divorce.

Martin Blackwood-Lukas - Adoptive Son of Peter Lukas

Peter ended up running very behind in the whole child avatar thing (a first for his family, something Simon reminds him of on a daily basis), and he really struggled with creating a baby avatar that would actually be able to “keep up” with the other young messiahs that were coming to be. Eventually he realized that his family’s usual method would take too long, so out of desperation he went to Elias and Simon for help. It was Simon’s idea that worked; he suggested that since the normal methods weren’t working, and kids usually don’t become lonely until they’re older, that Peter should try his own summoning ritual like the Lightless Flame did with Agnes. Peter was hesitant at first, but he gave in quickly, sacrificing a number of lonely souls to his entity in a well-timed manner, until finally, he found a small, swaddled baby in the midst of the fog; a supposed gift from the Lonely for his loyalty.

Peter was delighted by this discovery, and so were his colleagues, the men relieved that their hard work had actually paid off for once. After naming the little boy Martin- it was Elias’s idea, though he didn’t have much of an exact reason for the name, simply claiming that it “suited” the child- and before long, Peter began raising his newfound son much the same as he was; in almost total isolation, save for a variety of rotating nannies and caregivers. Unfortunately for Peter, this went horribly wrong almost as soon as he got started, as by the time that Martin was six months old he had accidentally forced five different nannies into the fog out of fear of them leaving like the ones before them had. With no other options available, and being able to actually leave the fog if Martin threw anymore fits, Peter was forced to raise his son by hand, which again went wrong, but for very different reasons, as to his shock, he became quite attached to his adopted child.

This evolved into Peter having doubt of the Lonely for the first time in his life, but he refused to acknowledge it for as long as he could. But he was finally forced to when, after Martin turned five years old, the rest of the Lukas family insisted on performing a test on the child to see how well Martin could handle the fog without any guidance. He had been inside the fog before of course, with Peter holding his hand or carrying him through the dense chill, but the family wanted to isolate Martin inside for a full month. This secretly scared Peter like nothing else ever had, but out of fear of what his family might think, he didn’t say anything at the time, simply watching from afar as his son was dragged into the fog and left to fend for himself. The ritual went wrong within the first week, Martin having a full-scale breakdown and nearly hyperventilating to death, and yet the family kept him in there for another week before the intervention.

The results of the test of course disappointed the other members of the Lukas family, who suggested that they simply leave Martin to disappear into the fog and look for a new, more sufficient messiah to serve their god. The news hit Peter incredibly hard, and despite his previous inhibitions and fear, he knew he couldn’t let the Lonely consume his one and only son. So, without telling anyone of what he was up to, he ventured into the fog, rescued Martin, and fled to live with his estranged ex-husband the Magnus Institute. Since then he’s been living with Elias at his house and avoiding his family at all costs, all while young Martin has grown up alongside the other entity kids and has struggled to figure out his role in everything, but at least he has his dad on his side through all of this.

Sasha James - Chosen Daughter of the Mother of Puppets

(Note: I headcanon the Mother of Puppets as a giant spider, so that’s how I’m writing her… sorry if this is inaccurate, but I’m only on MAG 152, y’all. Besides, I think this is cool af.)

Sasha was very much planned, even more so than Agnes was so many years beforehand. The Mother of Puppets had her minions gather hundreds upon hundreds of orphaned infants and bring them to her nest. She swaddled each every one in her webbing and kept them like this for several weeks, allowing them time to adjust to the webbing and adapt. Unfortunately, most of these children weren’t cut out for the Web’s influence, and while a few indeed held their adoptive mother’s mark, almost none of them were marked deep enough to become a fully realized avatar. The unsuccessful batches were subsequently sent off to orphanages across the world and replaced with new babies, this process repeating for years and years, until finally, Sasha was born. There was nothing special about her parents, yet she not only bore The Web’s mark, she seemed to have it embedded into her very soul. This, of course, was met with celebration from the Web, and plans were quickly made as to how to raise her moving forward, as no one wanted Sasha to end up like Agnes did.

Annabelle Cane ended up being the one chosen to home Sasha for the first few years of her childhood, and she was dutiful in her new, rather honorable role, as she not only cared for the child well, but she treated Sasha as her own, though she was careful to be seen more as an older sister than a mother to the girl; that role was, of course, reserved for Sasha’s real mother. When Sasha finally turned five, the Mother of Puppets announced further plans for the young avatar, calling on Annabelle to take Sasha to the Magnus Institute and give her to one of their hidden agents there so that she could learn more about how the Web uses it’s influence over other entities. This worried Annabelle, who wanted to keep the child near her and prove that she was the most loyal of the mother’s children, but she would never disobey a direct order from the being that had given her life such meaning. So, rather reluctantly, Annabelle gave Sasha to another member of the Web, watching from the shadows as this unworthy follower took the blessed daughter into the institute for further training.

This went wrong within only a few months. Gertrude ended up finding out who the Web’s spy in the institute was, as she had suspected that another entity was trying to control her from the shadows, and after disposing of the threat and searching their home for anything useful that she could use against the Web, she found Sasha. The archivist was tempted to kill the supernatural child on sight, but while she can murder her assistants and enemies without much remorse, on the grounds that it’s always for the greater good, killing a child is a very different story. So she took Sasha in, raising the Web’s child as her own alongside the Eye’s own prodigy Jon, all while trying to help Sasha control her slowly budding powers. The Mother of Puppets has been trying to get Sasha back ever since, enraged that the child is so close to her yet just out of reach, but with no luck, though there’s no telling how long that will last.

Timothy & Daniel Stoker - Dancer and Future Ringmaster of the Stranger

Both Tim and Danny are chosen ones of the Stranger, created as soon as their god had gained enough spare power to create them. Tim was born first, being the Stranger’s first attempt at birthing an avatar that might be powerful enough to help lead the Unknowing, but Gertrude interrupted midway through the ritual. By some miracle, Tim survived the ordeal, but he was left “incomplete” to some degree, leaving him simply marked and not fully connected to the Stranger. The entity’s followers ended up keeping him around though, both because Nikola Orsinov was too fascinated by the newborn baby to give him up, and because his parents wanted him to survive, but it was agreed that another attempt would be made, this time with more planning involved. Four years later, Danny was born, and with Gertrude too preoccupied to intervene this time around (and because she didn’t realize they’d try again so soon), the ritual went much better and created a far more suitable vessel for the Stranger’s powers.

After that, Tim and Danny’s parents died, fully succumbing to the Stranger’s transformation and leaving them orphaned. Not that their presence was strictly necessary after the kids were born, as Nikola Orsinov was more than happy to take over in most of the child rearing, genuinely growing quite fond of the two boys, particularly Tim, as despite his lack of supernatural abilities, she found him to be rather endearing, which is probably the closest she can get to genuinely caring about someone. Both brothers were raised more or less the same way, save for Danny being showered with more praise and being trained as a future ringmaster while Tim was mostly ignored and trained to be a dancer. Some followers of the Stranger feared that Tim might harbor resentment towards his little brother and try to kill him someday, but to their surprise, Tim only grew more protective of him over the years, swearing to keep Danny safe as he grew up to fulfill his destiny and help their family mold the world in their image.

Eventually though, when Tim was eleven and Danny was seven, Tim realized what was actually happening behind the scenes, and not wanting his brother to risk being sacrificed for the world’s destruction, he told Danny everything, leading to the young messiah to run away with him to London (they were raised primarily in Russia, but moved with the circus a lot, and were in France at the time that they finally ran away). There, Tim found the infamous Gertrude Robinson, who he knew had the power to stop the Unknowing, as she had once saved him from becoming the Stranger’s avatar, and inadvertently led him to having a little brother. Tim and Danny have since moved in with Michael, and they visit the Magnus Institute whenever they get the chance, as both boys have grown to become friends with the other avatar kids. You’d think that the Stranger’s followers would be furious about all of this- don’t worry, many of their acolytes are- but Nikola has laughed it off entirely and keeps insisting that the boys are just having a “sleepover” or are away at “summer camp” (in fucking January, apparently).

Melanie King - Cadet of the Slaughter

Honestly, the Slaughter wasn’t as into the whole “let’s make an avatar from scratch!” thing that the other entities’ followers were doing, but hey, sometimes child avatars just kinda wind up on your doorstep, ya know? Melanie ended up being found at about four years old, sobbing on her hands and knees outside of a burning hospital and calling for her mommy and daddy to come back to her, but no one answered her cries, and she was left to weep for quite some time before someone found her. The hospital, you see, had been overrun by the Corruption and promptly burned to the ground by the Desolation, neither of which bothered to stick around for some worthless child. Melanie’s parents were both inside when the entities clashed, leaving her orphaned and scared, and while Alfred Grifter, who had been on his way to a show with his bandmates at the time that he found her, had intended on just leaving her be, he saw the overwhelming rage and blood-lust in her crying eyes, and realized in that moment that she was touched by the urge to kill, just like he was.

Melanie was promptly taken in by Alfred Grifter and the band, who honestly had no idea what the hell they were doing. On one hand, Alfred knew that keeping a kid around was unbelievably dangerous for all parties involved, but on the other, he really didn’t want to leave Melanie all by herself, for fear of what she might do if left without any guidance from “people” who knew what she was going through, at least to some degree. That isn’t to say Alfred and his bandmates were all that great at raising her- they mostly just brought her to gigs and let her play on her Gameboy backstage while they started massacres- but they did at least try to give her somewhat of a home. It wasn’t until five years into this that some other Slaughter followers found out about Melanie’s existence, to which they told Alfred to give her to them for proper training. Knowing her life would be horrible with them, Alfred gave his ward a backpack full of everything she ever owned, a kid sized guitar, her Gameboy, and sent her on the run.

Melanie was scared out of her mind at first, having grown to see Alfred and his bandmates as her new family; she had already lost her parents, so why did she have to lose the band, too!? But there were no other options, she had to run, so she did just that, attacking any adult who tried to stop her along the way. She didn’t actually know about the Magnus Institute when she made her way to London, and Alfred didn’t tell her to go there or anything, but she ended up being spotted by Adelard Dekker while she was looking for a place to stay in the area. Seeing that Melanie was an avatar of some kind, Adelard managed to convince her that he was safe, and to let him take her to someone that could help her. He brought Melanie straight to Gertrude Robinson, who agreed to house the child since Adelard couldn’t, though she ended up letting one of her unofficial assistants (*cough* Gerry *cough*) take her to live in his flat so she wouldn’t be as easy for Elias to monitor/get ahold of.

Julia Montauk & Alice “Daisy” Tonner - Children of the Hunt

(Watch as I fuck with timelines so badly that the people who keep track of this shit will order a hit on me) The Hunt found both of their avatars in strikingly similar yet different ways; Julia was first, born from the womb of another entity’s follower, but bound for so much more than anything the Dark could give her. Years after her destined birth, Julia’s mother was viciously murdered by the People’s Church when she was just five years old, her father Robert Montauk going down the path of becoming a fully-fledged Hunter, and in the process he unknowingly marked Julia with his newfound entity, which in turn unlocked an unprecedented potential inside of her, not that it was fully realized until another tragedy struck her. This next tragedy, unfortunately, claimed Julia’s father. Mr. Pitch was mistakenly summoned, and in it’s rage, it destroyed Robert while he was in the midst of a sacrifice. The monster would’ve gotten Julia next, had it not been for the intervention of a nearby Hunter.

Trevor Herbert honestly didn’t mean to get involved, but when he witnessed a little girl screaming as she ran out of a house, a giant mass of darkness chasing after her, and no one willing to so much as call the damn cops, he knew he had to rescue the poor kid. In a flash he ran over, picked Julia up, and ran away with her to safety, managing to get her in his car (which he stole, but that’s not important) and drive as far away from her old home as possible. In the aftermath, Trevor had no idea what to do with Julia, since he had never actually wanted any kids of his own, but… well, he ain’t heartless, and that monster was still out there somewhere, just waiting to sink it’s cursed teeth into this young child’s flesh. Trevor ended up keeping her after that, becoming her adoptive father as he traveled with her around the UK, slowly but surely training her to hunt the same monsters that claimed her beloved parents.

You’d think that would be the end of Trevor Herbert adopting little girls marked by the Hunt, but nope, he just can’t catch a fucking break! He found Daisy about a year later, when Julia was eight and becoming more adjusted to her new lifestyle. Again, Trevor wasn’t really planning on going on any hunts at the time that this happened, he was just traveling through the area, but upon finding a bloodied up, terrified little girl being chased by a boy who looked possessed… well, it wasn’t like Julia wasn’t lonely, and again, Trevor isn’t heartless, and he sure as hell can’t let things go. So yeah, he kidnapped another child touched by the Hunt, even though this one actually had a living parent, and once again he took to traveling the UK with his adoptive daughters, secretly reveling in his new role as a father. Daisy, while scared at first, quickly grew fond of her new family, and even fonder of her new nickname after Trevor patched up her wounds, and noticed a flower-shaped scar on her back, prompting him to start affectionately calling her Daisy.

Yep, things were going pretty good for the family of three, but of course, shit eventually caught up with Trevor, not that he thought he could avoid it forever.

The police eventually caught wind of “Trevor the Tramp” traveling with two little girls who looked an awful lot like the missing thirteen and ten year olds Julia Montauk and Alice Tonner, and in his desperation to keep from getting arrested and having his children taken away, Trevor fled to downtown London in order to lie low for awhile and raise his daughters in relative peace, only ever going out for food runs and the occasional hunt. It was through one of these hunts that he ended up meeting Gerard Keay, the two of them chasing after the same book that had been summoning shadow people to wreck havoc on the city, and after a bit of back and forth banter over the campfire that was once a Leitner, Gerry convinced Trevor to move in with him so that the girls and him would be safer and actually have a home. Although he was hesitant to accept an offer he thought was too good to be true (also, he’s not gonna lie, he thought Gerry was a vampire when they met), Trevor agreed and moved into Gerry’s flat with his daughters, and has since helped Gertrude and her assistants with monster hunts.

Oliver Banks & Georgie Barker - Fetchlings of The End

Georgie and Oliver are an odd story, with the latter of the two having gained his powers as a mere toddler, being plagued with horrible, ghastly dreams that would keep him awake through the night, leaving him absolutely haggard by morning. His father tried everything to help Oliver through this torment- counseling, medication, bedtime rituals- but nothing worked, and before long, Oliver’s beloved father was claimed by his nightmares, dying of a heart attack that he couldn’t stop. Alone and misunderstood by everyone who tried to raise him, Oliver ran away countless times, coming across Georgie during his last attempt. He found the little girl to also be on the run for similar reasons, but unlike him, she wasn’t the least bit afraid. She wasn’t exactly happy, but she wasn’t a bawling mess like he was. Together, the two of them struggled to survive, relying on kindhearted drifters for support while they avoided the police until, at long last, something took pity on them, that something being a large, fat tabby cat.

As it were, the tabby cat- dubbed The Admiral by Georgie- wasn’t a normal cat in the slightest, and although it couldn’t speak, it’s intentions were clear; it was there to help these lost, orphaned children. Oliver was skeptical of course, but Georgie wasn’t about to look a gift cat in the mouth, so Oliver reluctantly followed the cat and his little sister to an apartment building, and from there, into an unoccupied flat. Since then, the two children have been living with Admiral in that very same flat, the cat providing them with a fully stocked fridge, warm beds, and running water. It’s still unclear what the Admiral is, but he seems kind enough, and is obviously quite protective of his newfound children, accompanying them on their outings and occasional visits to the institute.

Michael Crew - Prodigy of The Vast

Out of all avatars to be raising children for their entity, Simon Fairchild absolutely has had the most fun with it all, treating it almost like a fun game or pastime. He was the first (save for the Lightless Flame having Agnes, of course) to “create” an avatar child, and from minute one he was overjoyed with the results. A few years after news broke of Agnes’ origins, and the followers of other entities were all arguing over whether or not to follow suit, Simon didn’t bother waiting for anyone’s input or permission, simply throwing himself into the deep end and praying he could make his plan work. Seemingly overnight, Simon somehow acquired a baby later identified as the missing and presumably dead infant Michael Crew, who he referred to as Mike when he finally introduced him to his friends/associates. He still hasn’t told anyone how he even got the kid- not even Peter or Elias know what he did!- but by some means, he illegally adopted Mike and took to raising the kid like a duck takes to water; a bit unsure at first, but growing to love it fast!

When Mike was introduced to the rest of the entity followers community, many were shocked (excuse the pun) to see that the infant had a long, frightening Lichtenberg scar running down his right arm, his back, and his right leg, the scars glowing a bright blue whenever he took to the sky or, as Elias learned the hard way after accidentally annoying Mike by bouncing him on his knee for too long when he was a toddler, used his powers to electrocute people. Even with his child being such an oddity, even among other avatars, Simon took it all in stride, proudly bragging about Mike to anyone who would listen, most of these people being victims of the Vast, who were hardly able to hear Simon’s excited rambling over their own shrieks of terror. He usually also insisted on bringing Mike with him, even when he was a mere infant, though he at least kept the kid in a tight harness on his chest. In all honesty, Simon being such an excited parent was what kick-started a lot of other avatars to start acquiring their own child avatars, as he made it look so easy!

However, things weren’t always perfect, especially on Mike’s end as he grew older. Being the eldest and more or less “firstborn” of this new generation of entity-made avatars put a lot of pressure on him at a very early age, pressure which Simon tried to help him deal with by not acknowledging it, which unfortunately didn’t help in the slightest. Thankfully Mike started to feel less unsure of his place in the world as he reached his teen years, seeing as the younger kids were now getting all the attention and giving him a chance to breathe. Even now that he’s an angsty teenager, Mike loves Simon like a father, referring to him as such without hesitation. This, of course, delights Simon to no end, and makes all his peers low-key high-key jealous of the awesome relationship he has with his son.

Helen Richardson - Droplet of The Spiral

Not much was known about Helen when Michael first found her. After being sent into The Spiral by Gertrude on what he thought to be a suicide mission for the greater good, Michael was half certain he wouldn’t find anything but his end in that place. Instead he found a small, strange toddler where he was meant to find… well, he didn’t actually know what, but certainly not a baby, that’s for sure! With no one watching baby Helen, and therefore making him believe that she had been abandoned by The Spiral’s other creations, Michael had no reservations against scooping her up and taking her back to the physical world with him, where he was met be a very confused Gertrude Robinson. Michael wasn’t exactly keen on killing/abandoning a baby after he got out, so he and Gertrude brought her back to London with them in hopes of finding out more about the odd child. Along the way, it became clear that the baby was gifted with The Spiral’s powers, the giggly toddler continually screwing with reality, though she wasn’t aware she was doing so.

Back home in London, it took another three weeks of research, but Gerry eventually found out more about the child Michael had more or less adopted. Her name was originally Helen Richardson, and her father, a rookie paranormal investigator who had once been marked by The Spiral, was obsessed with the distortion, and was willing to do anything to become more than simply marked by it. He ended up finding a map similar to Gertrude’s, and a few years before she even knew it was possible, the father went into The Spiral and used his own daughter as a vessel for the entity, hoping she would be a good enough sacrifice to earn it’s favor. This of course ended in disaster, with the father “disappearing” while Helen absorbed The Spiral’s power, but seeing as she was so young, it couldn’t manifest properly, even after two and a half years spent trying to “raise her” within the deepest depths of it’s domain.

With research still being done on what to do about the child, and whether or not the team can remove her powers without killing or permanently injuring her in the process, Michael has agreed to take Helen in, secretly delighted to be raising a baby. With the Stoker Brothers already under his roof, Michael has his hands rather full with them and baby Helen, but the boys take her antics in stride, having learned quickly how to deal with the apartment they live in occasionally “growing” some new doors and changing color at random. Luckily for Michael, he has back-up in the forms of Gerry and Gertrude, who occasionally take Helen and the brothers off his hands for him so he can take a break/fix whatever Helen may’ve accidentally broken with her powers.

Character Roles in this AU

(Feel free to add your own OCs/other characters if you wanna do stuff with this AU, I’m just naming characters I know about/remember!)

Avatar Kids: Jonathan “Jon” Sims, Martin Blackwood, Sasha James, Timothy “Tim” Stoker, Daniel “Danny” Stoker, Melanie King, Julia Montauk, Alice “Daisy” Tonner, Oliver Banks, Georgie Barker, Michael “Mike” Crew, and Helen Richardson.

Avatar Kids Semi-Reluctant PTA Group: Elias Bouchard, Gertrude Robinson, Peter Lukas, Gerard “Gerry” Keay, Trevor Herbert, Michael Shelley, and Simon Fairchild.

PTA Allies: Basira Hussain (Daisy’s best friend and the local Normal Child™), Agnes Montague (Everyone’s emergency number for avatar child advice), Alfred Grifter (Just shows up to hang out with Melanie and cause problems on purpose), The Admiral (Guardian to Georgie and Oliver and occasionally the other kids; best babysitter), Adelard Dekker (Comes around the archives sometimes and always brings presents for the kids + assistants), and Rosie (Elias’s assistant and the only sane and sensible adult in this Chili’s tonight).

PTA Enemies: Nikola Orsinov (Tim and Danny’s “Mom” who keeps kidnapping Jon on accident), Annabelle Cane (Hates the institute and wants Sasha back), Jude Perry (Hates the kids but loves Agnes; worst babysitter), and Jared Hopworth (Nightmare flesh man that needs to fuck off; mediocre but funny babysitter).

Character Descriptions

(Feel free to tweak the physical designs if you want; I’m just going off my own headcanons, and seeing as my drawing skills are pretty shit, it’s not like I’m gonna be doing much art for this outside of writing. So yeah, go off with your own headcanons if you want to!)

Full Name: Jonathan “Jon” Sims-Bouchard-Robinson Age: 7 Birthday: October 26th (Scorpio) Entity/Mark(s): Avatar of The Eye, Marked by Literally Fucking Everything Guardian(s): Alexander Sims (Biological Father - Deceased), Delores Sims (Biological Mother - Deceased), Gertrude Robinson (Adoptive Mother - Current), Elias Bouchard (Adoptive Father - Current) Appearance: African heritage with dark brown skin, worryingly short for his age, dark brown eyes that glow bright green when he’s using his powers, long black hair with a few green and grey hairbands tied in, constantly “borrows” Martin’s sweaters to wear, occasionally wears skirts but most of the time he wears slacks, constantly looks sleep deprived, has a very intense stare, and occasionally he can be seen carrying his stuffed moth around. Personality: You’d think he’d be a quiet kid, considering his entity, but no, he has Questions and he wants them Answered, goddammit! He wasn’t raised around many kids his age, being home-schooled by Elias and Gertrude all his life, so he struggles to connect with the other avatar kids. Is only close to the S1 gang at first, but he gets closer to everyone else over time. Idolizes Gerry and thinks he’s the coolest guy ever. Appears rather cowardly at a glance, but he’s braver than most people give him credit for. Would die for his friends/family.

Full Name: Martin Blackwood-Lukas Age: 8 Birthday: February 29th (Pisces) ((This one’s for you, Dane)) Entity/Mark(s): Avatar of The Lonely, Marked by The Eye Guardian(s): William Blackwood (Biological Father - Uninvolved), Edna Blackwood (Biological Mother - Uninvolved), Peter Lukas (Adoptive Father - Current) Appearance: Polish heritage and pale as a fucking ghost, average height for his age but growing fast, pretty chubby, covered head to toe in little red freckles, short and curly red hair, bright brown eyes, wears big round glasses, wears sweaters and comfy trousers almost 24/7, carries a backpack full of “emergency tools” wherever he goes, usually has a cup of tea in-hand, and sometimes wears a small sailor hat that Peter gave him. Personality: Incredibly reserved, much like Mike, but he’s been trying to come out of his shell more. He’s “Best Friends Forever” with Jon, and gets along well with Tim and Sasha as well. Fears Melanie and Daisy. He likes hanging out with the other kids, but he often gets talked over, leading him to withdraw for awhile if it’s bad enough. Adores his dad, and is so much braver than anyone knows. Incredibly snarky when he feels like it.

Full Name: Sasha James Age: 10 Birthday: November 18th (Scorpio) Entity/Mark(s): Avatar of The Web, Marked by The Eye, Marked by The Stranger Guardian(s): Francis James (Biological Father - Deceased), Patrick James (Biological Father - Deceased), Annabelle Cane (Adoptive Mother - Uninvolved), Gertrude Robinson (Adoptive Mother - Current) Appearance: Mixed race heritage of African and Caucasian with dark brown skin, slightly taller than average for her age, long dark brown hair, wears big round glasses, sometimes wears a little make-up if she can get away with it, wears a lot of turtleneck sweaters and long skirts, always has at least one cobweb on her, carries around a stuffed spider that she brings with her to the archives every day, and she wears a headband most of the time. Personality: Easily the most level-headed of the kids, as she’s been raised around paranormal stuff the longest and is rarely bothered by the stranger things that happen. She hates Artifact Storage with a passion, but other than that, she loves exploring the institute and occasionally stealing Gertrude’s laptop to mess with it. Very tech savvy, and even more curious! Incredibly smart, to the point that she can even outclass Gertrude and Gerry with her quick-wittiness.

Full Name: Timothy “Tim” Stoker Age: 12 Birthday: August 3rd (Leo) Entity/Mark(s): Marked by The Stranger, Marked by The Eye Guardian(s): Markus Stoker (Biological Father - Deceased), Olivia Stoker (Biological Mother - Deceased), Nikola Orsinov (Adoptive Mother - Uninvolved), Gerard “Gerry” Keay (Adoptive Guardian - Current) Appearance: Mixed race heritage of Latino and Korean with dark tanned skin, slightly on the taller side for his age, messy/spiky black hair that looks impossible to comb, dark brown eyes, is described as a “handsome young man” by strangers, has a very charming smile, wears a lot of Hawaiian shirts and shorts (even during the winter), needs to wear glasses but he refuses to wear them in the archives out of self-consciousness. Personality: Probably one of the brightest personalities of the avatar kids, Tim comes off as very cool and funny, but underneath all of that he’s rather paranoid, afraid that the circus will come and force his baby brother into becoming a monster. Protective of his little bro and the archive kids, but he still teases them to no end. Smarter than he looks, and isn’t afraid to break his cool guy persona to tell someone off.

Full Name: Daniel “Danny” Stoker Age: 8 Birthday: August 1st (Leo) Entity/Mark(s): Avatar of The Stranger, Marked by The Eye Guardian(s): Markus Stoker (Biological Father - Deceased), Olivia Stoker (Biological Mother - Deceased), Nikola Orsinov (Adoptive Guardian - Uninvolved), Gerard “Gerry” Keay (Adoptive Guardian - Current) Appearance: Mixed race heritage of Latino and Korean with dark tanned skin, about a head shorter than Tim, somewhat neat black hair that sticks up in odd places, eyes are impressively dark and glassy looking, slight gap between his front teeth, is described as being a “handsome young man” by strangers, wears a lot of tank tops and shorts as well as the occasional hoodie if it’s cold, and loves running around barefoot. Personality: A lot of people describe Danny as being a “smaller and cuter Tim”, but that’s just not true. Danny is a lot like his older brother in many ways, but he has a much more refined taste for adventure, constantly getting himself into trouble with Jon on the grounds of “exploring” or what have you. He idolizes his big bro to the moon and back, and loves hanging out with him alongside the other kids. More of a follower than a leader, but he doesn’t mind. Secretly fears the day that the circus will come back to make him into their future ringmaster.

Full Name: Melanie King Age: 9 Birthday: June 7th (Gemini) Entity/Mark(s): Avatar of The Slaughter, Marked by The Corruption, Marked by The Desolation, Marked by The Eye Guardian(s): Boris King (Biological Father - Deceased), Carrie King (Biological Mother - Deceased), Alfred Grifter (Guardian - Uninvolved), Gerard Keay (Guardian - Current) Appearance: Irish heritage but not terribly pale, rather short for her age, incredibly thin from malnutrition, short brown hair with the ends dyed bright blue, bright brown eyes, brings her leather jacket and her guitar with her everywhere she goes, wears a lot of pink/blue skirts and band t-shirts, wears black leather boots, has a lot of bandages on her knees and knuckles, and always has a camera ready to record things. Personality: Melanie is probably the most disconnected of the avatar kids (save for Helen), seeing as she only just recently joined the group, but already she’s beginning to befriend Sasha and Basira. She’s very protective of the other girls, and she keeps challenging the boys to fight her (only Danny ever agrees; he always loses). Secretly idolizes Julia and Daisy, but will never admit it. She sees Gerry as her big bro and Alfred Grifter as her adoptive dad; she misses Alfred more than she let’s on. Would stab as a warning.

Full Name: Julia Montauk Age: 13 Birthday: April 19th (Aries) Entity/Mark(s): Avatar of The Hunt, Marked by The Dark, Marked by The Eye Guardian(s): Robert Montauk (Biological Father - Deceased), Linette Montauk (Biological Mother - Deceased), Trevor Herbert (Adoptive Father - Current) Appearance: Indigenous heritage with dark tan skin, tall for her age, skinny enough to look malnourished, close-cropped red hair that gets her mistaken for a boy a lot, metal grey eyes, a scar runs diagonally across her right eye, often wears medium length skirts and oversized t-shirts, always wears athletic shoes, has a lot of scrapes and bandages on her knees most of the time, and has abnormally sharp canines. Personality: Before the deaths of both of her parents, Julia was considered rather normal for her age, being interested in horses, dolls, and dress-up games. After her mother died, she became more tomboyish, which only became more extreme after her father’s death. Since being taken in by Trevor, Julia’s been trying to act more like an adult in an attempt to seem less vulnerable, to varying degrees of success. She adores Trevor to the moon and back, and sees Daisy as her little sister. A bit standoffish around other children, but she’s got a good heart.

Full Name: Alice “Daisy” Tonner Age: 10 Birthday: March 15th (Pisces) Entity/Mark(s): Avatar of The Hunter, Marked by The Slaughter, Marked by The Eye Guardian(s): Greyson Tonner (Biological Father - Deceased), Antoinette Tonner (Biological Mother - Uninvolved), Trevor Herbert (Adoptive Father - Current) Appearance: Welsh heritage with cream colored skin and a light tan, average height for her age, short and shaggy blond hair, has a number of tiny scars all over her face and hands, has a huge scar on her back that Trevor has told her looks like a daisy, striking green eyes, wears a lot of sleeveless shirts and shorts, refuses to wear dresses or skirts, prefers to be barefoot, and has abnormally sharp canines. Personality: Is already rather hot-headed at her age, especially after her encounter with Calvin while he was being possessed by a spirit of the Slaughter. Even so, she’s protective of her newfound family of Trevor and Julia, and while she misses her mother, she believes it’s best if she stays where she is. She loves playing outside whenever she can, and will spend hours chasing after squirrels and rabbits if left alone for too long. A bit argumentative, but she gets along really well with Julia and Basira.

Full Name: Oliver Banks Age: 10 Birthday: June 14th (Gemini) Entity/Mark(s): Avatar of The End, Marked by The Hunt Guardian(s): June Banks (Biological Mother - Uninvolved), Isaac Banks (Biological Father - Deceased), The Admiral (Adoptive Guardian - Current) Appearance: African heritage with dark skin, has an array of pitch black freckles on his face, short and neat black hair that reaches just below his ears, ghastly grey eyes that look almost clear and turn black when he’s using his powers; used to be dark brown, worryingly thin from years of malnutrition, wears a lot of baggy and long-sleeved shirts, wears sweatpants, has boots on everywhere he goes, and he’s almost always shivering. Personality: The more distrustful of the “End Siblings”, the only person Oliver even sort of likes is Jon, and even then he’s still scared of him. Constantly fidgeting and yawning from both his paranoia and fatigue. Is protective of Georgie, but more out of obligation than friendship. Prefers to be alone, and rarely visits the archives. He knows something bad is coming, but he’s too scared to do much about it. In the end, he knows he’ll do the right thing, but for now he’s hiding until the bombs finally fall.

Full Name: Georgie Barker Age: 7 Birthday: December 9th (Sagittarius) Entity/Mark(s): Avatar of The End, Marked by The Hunt Guardian(s): Georgie Grounding Sr. (Biological Mother - Deceased), Sarah Grounding (Biological Mother - Deceased), Jason Barker (Adoptive Father - Deceased), The Admiral (Adoptive Guardian - Current) Appearance: Mixed race heritage of African and Indian with dark brown skin, fairly chubby, has an array of light brown freckles all over her arms, back, and face, has long and curly black hair done up in poofy buns using colorful hair bands, paints her nails all the time with different colors every week, cutest little smile you ever did see, wears a lot of ghost-related clothing (mainly t-shirts and jeans), and she brings her ghost backpack with her everywhere she goes (it has her stuffed leopard inside). Personality: Despite being an avatar of the End, Georgie has a very upbeat personality, having no time for her adoptive brother’s endless worrying and fearfulness. In fact, all her fear has been gone since she was little, so she’s never scared to explore something new and parade into danger! She’s very close friends with Jon (even if he’s distant sometimes) and best friends with Melanie, though she gets along with most everyone else as well. She may be a chipper person, but look out, she’s carrying more baggage than she let’s on. Loves The Admiral more than life.

Full Name: Michael “Mike” Crew Age: 14 Birthday: May 13th (Taurus) Entity/Mark(s): Avatar of The Vast Guardian(s): Ramsey Crew (Biological Father - Uninvolved), Whitney Crew (Biological Mother - Uninvolved), Simon Fairchild (Adoptive Father - Current) Appearance: Caucasian and pale as a ghost, shaggy white hair that’s almost always wind-swept, strikingly pale blue eyes, smells of ozone and burnt hair, incredibly short for his age, very bony and thin, tends to wear a lot of oversized hoodies on the grounds that they make flying more fun, clothes are almost always pristine and clean, his back, right arm, and right leg are covered in a Lichtenberg scar that glows bright blue when he’s using his powers, permanent bags under his eyes. Personality: A very, very quiet kid, at least around strangers. He’s much bubblier around Simon, but otherwise he’s viewed as an “old soul” by most adults. He does have a sense of humor though, taking a bit too much pleasure out of sending people soaring into the air against their will, especially if they insulted or annoyed him beforehand. Secretly a bit protective of the other avatar kids, and has been known to take them flying if they promise not to let go of him when they do so. Nice kid, but don’t make fun of his height or he might just electrocute you out of spite.

Full Name: Helen Richardson Age: 3 Birthday: February 23rd (Gemini) Entity/Mark(s): Avatar of The Spiral Guardian(s): Tiara Richardson (Biological Mother - Uninvolved), Dexter Richardson (Biological Father - Deceased), Michael Shelley (Adoptive Guardian - Current) Appearance: African heritage with dark brown skin (has the beginning patches of vitiligo on her face and hands), fairly chubby but Michael swears it’s just baby fat, has bright purple eyes with swirling yellow irises, has short but frizzy black hair that cannot be tamed, is often dressed in very colorful onesies and footie pajamas alongside the rare dress, and occasionally she’ll have a child leash vest on (though it often disappears because of The Spiral). Personality: She honestly doesn’t have much of a personality yet, being a toddler and all, but she’s a very giggly child, and loves nothing more than making Michael “be silly” with the use of her powers. Speaking of which, she has very little control of her abilities, and although she’s too young to understand their impact on the world, she still feels bad when she accidentally goes too far and gets Michael hurt. She adores Michael and Jon, and loves it when Michael brings her to the institute with him. Very playful and mischievous.

And that’s all I’ve got for now! I wanna write some fics for this at some point (particularly I wanna write a fic that has all of the kids’ origin stories in better/more detail), but for now anyone is free to fuck around with this AU, so long as you’re not doing too much shipping between the kids (hints at ships are fine, but they’re still kids, y’all) and ESPECIALLY not any shipping of the kids with the adults/guardians. Feel free to PM me or scream about this AU in the notes/tags; I’d love to hear people’s thoughts!

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bruh-haikyuu · 4 years

Text

REQUEST: Can you do a scenario where lev meets his s/o because she playing the piano or singing. Thank you. Love your writing.❤️

A/N: Thank you for requesting!! Ok Sasha storytime 😳😳 I used to be in a piano class since I was 5 (I quit, but I still play just for fun). And I joined this competition when I was 9 and got selected as one of the finalists - and I was so fucking surprised bc jesus, I play averagely for all I can say... I’m not the best, but I’m definitely not the worst. But there was this messed up system where more familiar faces/winners would definitely be chosen. And despite some other kids messing up a lot, the MCs removed me first bc “Sorry, no one knows you around here. You played better than some others, but maybe if you talked more, you could win. No one really wants a winner they’re not familiar with.” I couldn’t really say anything. I knew they were right. So I left with a Certificate of Participation and not even proof that the judges chose me as a finalist. THIS particular event got me so fucked up for so long that I tried to get myself sick/injured so that I wouldn’t have to go to my piano classes for 4 weeks straight. Eventually, I pulled out after my exam and started playing for myself, with the songs that I enjoy, whenever I want. So,,, fuck those MCs and my teacher, I’m a bad bitch you can’t kill me 😎 *plays Superbass by Nicki Minaj* FEM!READER BELOW

duende. | haiba lev

summary: in which lev has no sense of direction, but finds a lone sugarplum fairy along the way.

word count: 2438

warnings: none

(n.) the feeling of profound awe experienced when viewing a piece of art, watching a performance or listening to music that has deeply moved a person

It’s difficult to tell precisely... but Lev was definitely lost.

It wasn’t his fault the school had to be so large! What’s the point of having so much staircases when they weren’t going to lead to one conjoined hallway? It was like a maze, except Lev knew he wasn’t getting anywhere near a familiar area.

Crap! he cursed, pawing nervously at his empty pant pocket. I left my phone in the clubroom.

Light was already fading from the west-side window and he hadn’t come across anyone for the past 15 minutes. He recalled something Taketora said about a part of the school being dead deserted. Was this that place? He couldn’t tell.

He was getting impatient. If Lev didn’t hurry up and submit his additional worksheets to Sakamatsu-sensei before sundown, it was over. Goodbye to the club’s training camp. Goodbye to becoming the greatest ace Nekoma has ever had. Goodbye to everything he ever cared about.

Instinct taking over, he ran as fast as his legs could carry him and called out to the empty hallways for someone. Anyone. “Hello?! Sakamatsu-sensei...?!”

And when the vacant corridors replied back to him, Lev stilled, frozen.

“...Piano?”

Alisa had told him something about ghosts once. It was right after she’d gone out to watch some horror movie with her friends. Lev couldn’t remember exactly her words, but his sister had “slept” with her eyes open that night and he wondered if he should be taking her advice seriously.

But this didn’t sound like a ghost. Something that sounded so beautiful wouldn’t have any murderous intention behind it... right?

The melody reminded Lev of those old ballets his grandmother would play on TV when she visited. Every glissando a delicate spin by one of the performers, and every perky note a tiny leap. He could almost see them, those beautiful dancers, and Lev wondered—if he were to trace the music to its source, would he find a charming sugarplum fairy waiting for him?

His feet were already ahead of his thoughts. Lev couldn’t even tell where he was in the gallery of clubrooms. His senses of direction numbed, he relied on his ears and the sweet, sweet melody of the piano that was getting warmer. And warmer. Warmer.

Hot.

“Or...chestra Club?” he read out, the placard’s kanji wrapping itself around his head. Peering through the rectangular window of the doors, Lev zeroed in on the bareness of the room, save for the large grand piano settled in the center.

This is the place... right? he thought, retreating slowly. No one’s here.

Looking around for good measure, Lev scratched his head. Ah, geez, I don’t even know where I am anymore. He reconsidered throwing away his curiosity and return to his quest for the third year’s Teacher’s Room before his Biology teacher could scold him for his incompetence. But the little fluff of hair peeking out from behind the piano swayed him over and he didn’t even stop to think when he barged through the doors.

“Fairy!”

The girl who squeaked in shock really did convince Lev for a millisecond that she was a fairy. Straight out of that stage his TV had replayed for him. Tiny in stature, eyes shining like morning dewdrops and fingers pressed again the white keys, thin and graceful as if you were producing magic. All excluding the lack of a pair of shimmering wings sprouted on her back, you were an enigma in this barren universe.

“I’m human,” you said, voice like air. Breezing and pushing like wind.

Lev approached the center of the room, speculating if your glamour would disappear if he were to come closer. “T-That song you played. That was from a ballet, right?”

“It’s Tchaikovsky,” you replied bluntly, grinning. “I feel like I’ve seen you somewhere before, can’t recall... We’re not too familiar, but you’re awfully rude for a first year, aren’t you? At least address me with the proper suffixes if you’re going to assume my species like that, Giant-kun.”

Speak for yourself! he thought, becoming more and more amused by this fanciful person. “I mean, you don’t look like a high school student either—”

You, completely ignoring him, returned your attention the piano, playing another song. This one faster, more fluid. Seeing your hands up-close, Lev eyed the muted details of your hand. A gentle blush on its skin, illuminated by the sunlight from the large window sitting ajar. His sister would kill to have a hint at your manicure routine.

So this is what a pianist’s hands looks like.

“Oh, I remember now,” hands coming to a rest on your skirt, the fairy girl turned to him, as elegant as ever. Now that the room was silent, there was a nervousness that lingered in the air. “You’re one of Kuroo’s boys, aren’t you?”

Hearing the familiar name of the no-nonsense captain of the Volleyball Club, Lev perked up, “You know Kuroo-san?”

“Of course, we’re in the same class after all.”

Same class. That would mean—no way!

“Y-you’re older than me?!”

You gave him a bright smile. Added to your fairy-like personage, Lev couldn’t help but to notice that this upperclassman of his was aware of his existence. There was actually a girl—who was awfully cute and just his type if he thought about it—in this godforsaken school who knew about Nekoma’s ‘ace’, Haiba Lev.

This was a dream, right? No, he shouldn’t be saying such a thing. In fact, Lev had gotten so engrossed in this reality that he didn’t realize how much he was staring into your beautiful face before you piped up again.

“Oh, it’s almost time for me to lock up. I forgot to ask, did you need anything when you came in here?”

Wait, what time is it?!

Lev let out a strangled noise between a dying boar and a tearful sob. Collapsing on the floor before his worried senpai, he squeezed the papers in his hand. Oh, it was over now. Over, over, over. Hello wretched make-up exam, goodbye glorious training camp...

Kneeling down next to him, you peeked at his wincing face. “H-hey, are you okay? Is there anything I can do to help?”

Raising his head to look into your swirling eyes, Lev pursed his lips. Damn, you were totally going to think he was uncool after this. Grabbing you by the shoulders, he lowered his head in a bow.

“Senpai, could you show me the way to the third year’s teacher’s room? I’ve got an assignment to submit before 5 pm and I don’t know where I am! Please, senpai, I need to—”

No more words were exchanged when you grabbed Lev’s collosal hands in your delicate ones and dragged him through the door. You sped and hurtled down the corridors, bringing him along with you in this strange joyride. It was a funny sensation, similar to being towed around a park by a wild dog on a leash—except you weren’t a dog, but simply a shorter person whose size reminded him a bit of Yaku-san...

“S-Senpai—?!” he wheezed out, long legs pedalling in front of him. For someone nearly half his height, you were really fast; he wondered if you should’ve went for the Track and Field Club instead of the Orchestra Club.

Just as he had thought of letting go before you became a physical hazard to him, you skid to a halt in front of a door. Panting, you smiled up at him. “Here we are. Y-You’re not late, right?”

Eyes darting between the doors to the teacher’s office and you, the burning intention of a hug fuzzed out Lev’s brain—unfortunately, that would have to wait until later. Shoving the door open, he dashed inside the near-empty office and handed over his pile of crumpled assignments to the jaded Sakamatsu-sensei, face red.

Filing through the papers, the Biology teacher griped. “Well, all the assignments I asked for you to do are here... I’ll inform the Volleyball Club supervisor that you’ll be able to join the training camp this weekend.”

Saved. He was saved.

Exiting the office, he bowed before you—his fairy godmother—and murmured. “Thank you, senpai! You saved my life... ”

“Y-You’re welcome,” you said. “But I don’t think I went as far as “saving your life”, um... what was your name?”

“Haiba! Haiba Lev. Thank you so much!”

When you giggled, Lev heard the choirs of angels fill his head. God, he really wanted to hug you, stuff you in his pocket and bring you home with him to coo at and cuddle.

“The pleasure is mine, Haiba-kun. You’re an interesting person, you know? I’m glad we met.”

Lev really felt like he’d won the lottery. Was this finally his chance? Was he going to get a super cute, older girlfriend before his intolerable seniors? Unthinkable! Yet here he was, indulging in the soft smile of Nekoma’s resident sugarplum fairy, as if his entire gag reel of clumsy flukes never existed.

“Ah! I forgot to lock the doors to the clubroom!” you yelped. Even in panic, Lev thought you looked cute. “It was nice getting to know you, Haiba-kun. The main staircase is right over there, so you’ll be able to get back without getting lost. Be safe!”

Before he could offer his hand in accompanying you—at least being next to you for as long as possible—you had already sped off into an indistinct corner, the amber light of sundown fading with your shadow. And once again, Lev was alone.

Damn. He didn’t even ask for your name.

══════ ⋆★⋆ ══════

“You’re asking me... if I know a girl in my class called ‘Fairy-senpai’?”

The gaze in Lev’s green eyes were resolute. “Yes.”

Kuroo sighed, wiping off his sweat with a towel. Day by day, he swore, the first-years were getting more and more difficult to deal with. “Someone named Fairy who hangs around in that derelict part of the third floor sounds shady as hell. And what club did you say she was from?”

“Orchestra Club.”

“We have an Orchestra Club?”

Lev was getting nowhere with the rooster-headed captain; it was either that, or Kuroo was intentionally leading him to a dead-end out of sheer mischief. Anything could happen with him.

It had been a total of 18 hours since he’d last seen you, and Lev’s head had never felt any emptier. He’d startled his parents and Alisa enough by playing one of his grandmother’s ballet DVDs once he’d arrived home. But it wasn’t the same. Even the visual movements of the ballerinas and the skill of the ensemble didn’t amount to your solo rendition.

Yours was more natural, more sturdy. Something he could feel and see without opening his eyes or reaching out to it. Smitten with your performance, Lev slept that night, head filled with the thought of seeing you again, his little sugarplum fairy in the maze of doors and desolation. And maybe, he’d even get your number this time.

“She’s really good at the piano and has a twinkly smile. Fairy-senpai is a bit short too, really tiny,” Lev hesitated to continue, looking around for safety “... A bit like Yaku-san’s height.”

“What’s this I hear about my height? Hey, Lev! Why aren’t you practicing your digging receives?!”

Wincing at the stinging kick thrown at his back, Lev pouted miserably. Watching the poor behemoth being dragged away by the demonic upperclassman, an implausible feeling of pity struck through Kuroo, and he called out for the libero.

“A cute girl who looks like a fairy, can play the piano and is in the Orchestra Club? In our class?” Yaku repeated after Lev and Kuroo’s explanation. Tapping his chin in deep thought, he replied dubiously. “Doesn’t that sound a bit like L/N-san to you?”

“Ehh? L/N-chan can play the piano? I never knew that.”

Yaku clicked his tongue indignantly. “That’s because you barely talk to her. Maybe if you attended cleaning duty properly, you would’ve realized that when you’re paired up with her.”

The sound of his seniors bickering was already white noise to him. L/N. Repeating the syllables on his tongue, Lev tasted a sugary relish linger in his mouth. What a beautiful name. A fitting name, and suddenly, he already sensed that your first name would be just as wonderful.

“Though I’m impressed that you managed to get a full conversation out of L/N-san. Did you scare her or something?” Yaku snickered at Lev’s unappreciative scowl. “It’s just that L/N-san only says something when she’s required to. Otherwise... she’s really quiet. I’ve only heard her say ‘thank you’, ‘I’m sorry’, ‘yes’ and ‘no’ for the past three years, everything else we know about her comes from gossip.”

Lev’s chest swelled up and he smirked. “Maybe she likes younger guys like me.”

“I think she likes you because you’ve got nothing going on in your head at all,” the team captain scoffed attracting the giggles of his surrounding teammates. “You are right though, Lev. L/N-chan is a really cute person... I might get interested one of these days.”

“H-Huh?! C’mon, Kuroo-san! I’ve got dibs on her first!”

Nearly there, the captain thought. Lev’s ears were already burning red, a clear sign of his impulsive outburst. And when the timing was right, the Volleyball Club loved to use his recklessness for profit.

Crossing his arms in faux doubt, Kuroo shrugged. “I don’t know... I highly doubt you’ll attract her attention if you’re not even a regular on the team...”

Furrowing his brows deeply, Lev snatched a ball from the ground and stared deeply into the captain’s lacklustre eyes. “I-I’ll show you! I’ll become a regular on the team and the ace! That’s why I’m going to go practice right now, right, Yaku-san?!”

Even Yaku, completely amused and alarmed, had to do a double take. “R-Right... Do your best then.”

“I will!”

Chuckling at Lev’s shrinking back, Kuroo patted himself on the back for a job well done. Kenma, who had watched the entire nasty exchange go down, was stuck between a rock and a hard place.

Weakly punching his childhood friend on his shoulder, he grumbled. “Great... Now that he’s fired up about some girl, he’ll keep asking me for more tosses. Kuroo, if I pass out because of your ‘encouragement’, you’re paying for my health insurance.”

Lev couldn’t hear the new conversation happening between the team’s setter and the captain, but that didn’t matter right now. He was going to practice, become better, then the best. Then ask you out, his sugarplum fairy in the third floor’s Orchestra Club clubroom. Lev felt invincible.

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eldritchteaparty · 3 years

Link

Chapters: 7/20 Fandom: The Magnus Archives (Podcast) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist Characters: Martin Blackwood, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives), Sasha James, Rosie Zampano, Oliver Banks, Original Elias Bouchard, Peter Lukas, Annabelle Cane Additional Tags: Post-Canon, Fix-It, Post-Canon Fix-It, Scars, Eventual Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, I'll add characters and tags as they come up, Reference to injuries and blood, Character Death In Dream, Nudity (not sexual or graphic), Nightmares, Fighting

Summary: Following the events of MAG 200, Jon and Martin find themselves in a dimension very much like the one they came from--with second chances and more time.

Chapter summary: Frustrated by his physical condition and his lack of connection to the Eye, Jon asks Martin to visit Hill Top Road with him.

***

Chapter 7 of post-canon fix-it is up!

Read on AO3 at link above or here below.

Tumblr master post with links to previous chapters here.

***

Over the next few days, Jon continued to struggle. He remained insistent on going into the Institute every day, but even with Martin’s encouragement he had trouble finishing entire meals.

“It’s all right,” Martin told him more than once. “I know you’re trying. Just keep trying.”

Jon would nod. If they were at work, he would catch Martin’s hand between his, just below the edge of his desk, and Martin would quietly tell him about his morning. At home, he would lie back on the couch with his head in Martin’s lap. Martin would come up with something to talk about, unrelated to the entities or the archives or anything that had happened to them. He started saving up topics that occurred to him just so he could have them on hand: a movie he remembered, a funny reddit post, a weird bug he found in the stacks. It wasn’t like Jon really cared; he watched Martin talk more than he listened, anyway. He seemed contented, and that was what mattered. Sometimes he was able to eat more afterward, if he didn’t fall asleep.

***

“Are there still more interviews to be done?” Jon asked Martin one morning, late that week, as they were walking to the office.

“I don’t know,” Martin answered. “I imagine there are. I don’t think Tim’s followed up with any since the ones we did. And I think Sasha’s been around the office the whole time.”

Jon nodded.

“Wait.” Martin reached out a hand to stop him; they faced each other on the pavement. “You're not considering doing them, are you?”

“I am.”

“Why?”

“Because I need to do something different.” Jon took Martin by the elbow and urged him to keep walking. Martin sighed, but did as he wanted.

“Is it—” Martin measured his tone very carefully and started over. “Is it because what you’re doing isn’t working?”

The Eye, you mean?” Jon looked up at Martin. “No, that’s not why.”

“But also, it isn’t working. Right? You would tell me, wouldn’t you?”

“Nothing’s changed,” Jon confirmed. “But that really isn’t it. I’ve… I’ve run out of information. I’m just going further and further back, through anything describing events and people involved in all of it, and it’s pointless. There was nothing here before we came. Nothing real.”

“Yeah?” Martin asked, recalling that he had done most of the talking between them that week. “I assume you’ve looked into—well, let’s start with Jonah Magnus. What was his deal?”

Jon shrugged. “Him, Robert Smirke, Mordechai Lukas—I’ve looked into all of them. They all existed, they were obsessed with the same ideas and concepts, perhaps because of the pull from our dimension… but there was nothing on the other side of those ideas. Not here.”

“I see.” Martin nodded. “And you think the interviews will give you more?”

“Maybe. It’s the only evidence we’ve had of real connections with individuals. You met Oliver Banks. Tim’s discussions with his police contacts—it was Callum Brodie, by the way. They won’t officially release his name, but it was easy enough to find on social media.”

“So that’s what you want to do, then—look for avatars?”

“Yes,” Jon answered. “They pose the greatest threat, and I think they require the most—advancement in their patrons.”

Martin considered. “You’ll let me go with you?”

“I won’t even pretend I could manage alone right now,” Jon said. “I could go with Tim, I suppose, but he wouldn’t go if you said no. That means it’s your decision.”

“Jon.” They were coming upon the Institute now, and Martin stopped him one more time. “Can I ask—if you just let go of all this—what would happen?”

“What do you mean? Happen how?”

“To you. What would happen to you? Would you get better? Would you get worse? I know you don’t know, but—what does it feel like?”

Jon considered. “You’re right, I don’t know. But… it also doesn’t matter. I can’t just let go. I need to do what I can to fix it, whatever that might be. Don’t ask me to let it go. Please.”

“All right.” Martin had already assumed the answer would be something like that. “Then we do the interviews.”

“Thank you,” Jon said quietly, as Martin put his arm around him before walking into the building.

***

Martin asked Sasha if they could do the interviews. She seemed surprised, but was agreeable enough, probably because Martin was the one doing the asking—it provided an implicit indication that Jon was feeling well enough to go, and Martin felt a bit like he had lied to her just by asking. Tim was a little more skeptical when Martin asked him for the contact forms. He ignored Martin and addressed Jon directly across the office.

“You know, Martin and I could still go.”

“No,” Jon said. “It’s too—it’s better if I’m there.”

“You sure?” Tim tried again. “Look, I don’t really know what the issue is, but if you’re worried about Martin, don’t be. Frankly, he’s doing much better than you are, and we’ve—”

“That’s not it. I just want to be there myself.”

Now Tim looked back at Martin and raised an eyebrow, and Martin shrugged.

“All right then,” Tim said, and reached for a drawer on his desk. “There’s a couple that will bring you down toward Crawley, if I remember, and a couple more that are spread out up north.”

“Can I look at them?” Jon said. “I’d like to see what they’re regarding.”

“Knock yourself out,” Tim said, handing them to Martin.

There were no names they recognized, and Jon didn’t think any of them looked particularly promising, but Martin was able to get ahold of two of them and set up appointments for that afternoon. The discussions were frustrating for everyone involved. For one thing, Jon hadn’t quite come to terms with the fact that things went very differently when people weren’t compelled to tell their stories, and Martin had to keep reminding him to be patient. For the same reason, it was hard to tell what was what; one of the stories might have been legitimately Corruption-related, but it could have also been a very bad case of health code violations combined with an active imagination.

“How did you know before if they were real or not?” Martin asked, as they were headed back on the train. “Like, in the beginning?”

Jon leaned back in the seat next to him with his eyes closed. “Well, when they were written down, there was the fact that I couldn’t record them except on the—on the tapes.”

“Right.” Martin frowned. “Obviously we’re not doing that again, but maybe we could try recording on our phones or something and seeing if it works?”

Jon gave a slight nod of his head. “Maybe. We don’t know if it will be the same, though. We don’t really know why that was. Maybe it was all Web, from the beginning.”

“True.” Martin turned it over some more. “Well, when you were talking to people directly how did you know?”

“I just did,” Jon sighed. “I didn’t think of it as anything more than a feeling until later.”

“And you couldn’t tell today?”

“No. Not even a hint.” Martin was relieved to hear it, although he opted not to share that with Jon.

They rode in silence for a while. Martin was surprised to see Jon had not fallen asleep when he checked on him.

“What are you thinking?” he asked.

Jon opened his eyes and turned to Martin, then to the back of the seat in front of him. Martin prompted him again.

“Jon? What are you thinking?”

“Come to Hill Top Road with me.”

“What?”

“Come to Hill Top Road with me,” Jon repeated.

“Why?”

“I need to know if I can feel anything there.”

“Why there?”

“When we came here—” Jon stopped and thought for a moment. “It’s hard to explain, but it’s where the separation—the barrier between us and them—would be the weakest.”

“Then it sounds like we shouldn’t go there.” Martin turned in his seat, and Jon finally looked at him. “It kind of seems we should actively avoid going there. Like, ever.”

Jon took Martin’s hand in his. “I just need to know. You—you could be right. About the Eye. Maybe it’s not coming back for me. Maybe it’s done with me.”

Martin breathed out slowly, a careful, measured exhalation. “And what if it is done with you?”

“Then…” Jon paused again. “Then I need to accept it.”

“And if it isn’t?”

A little bit of life came back into his voice. “Then it isn’t, and like I’ve been saying, it’s better to know and get on with it.”

Martin wasn’t sure he agreed, but he kept silent.

“Come to Hill Top Road with me,” Jon entreated him again. “Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” Martin exclaimed loudly, and a woman two seats up across the aisle looked back at them. “Oh—sorry. Sorry.”

He waited until she had smiled and turned back to try again, more quietly. “Tomorrow? Really?”

“Yes. In the morning, first thing. Tell Sasha we have therapy.”

“If we go…” Martin sighed. “If we go and you don’t find what you’re looking for, will you—will you try to let it go? I don’t mean everything, we can talk to Tim and Sasha, we can do whatever you want, just—will you try to live without it?”

Jon considered, a troubled look in his eyes.

“I’m not asking for a promise, Jon—I don’t want one. I’m just asking what you’ll do.”

Jon took a deep breath. “I’d like to try. I think I would try.”

“All right.” Jon had won. Martin squeezed his hand, more to reassure himself than anything. “I’ll go with you. Tomorrow morning. I’ll tell them when we get back.”

“Thank you.”

Then next time Martin checked on him, Jon had fallen asleep.

***

Jon’s alarm went off the next morning right around sunrise, before Martin’s usual waking time. Martin was surprised by how much energy he seemed to have; he wanted it to be because he was feeling better, but he suspected Jon was running on fumes and willpower.

“Not going to shower first?” he asked, when Jon stepped out of bed and immediately went to the closet.

“No,” Jon answered. “I’d like to leave as soon as we can.”

“Well, you are going to have breakfast,” Martin grumbled, sitting up and trying to blink away the sleep.

“Martin—”

“That’s not debatable. I couldn’t get you to eat anything last night.” They had ended up taking a cab back from the train station, and Martin had worried for a moment that he was going to have to carry Jon up the stairs. “Use some of that energy to—go pour yourself some cereal or something.”

“Fine.” Jon started to leave the bedroom. “Do you want anything?”

“Nope.” Martin groaned as he started to stand up.

“Well, if I have to, then you should—”

“I ate dinner last night. And part of someone else’s dinner that I didn’t want to go to waste. And it is way too early right now, and—”

“Fine. I get it. I’m going.”

After Martin was dressed, he joined Jon to find him scraping at the bottom of a bowl of cereal.

“How full was that?” he asked, suspicious.

“Overflowing.” Jon regarded him from his seat on the couch.

“Really?”

“No. I don’t know, normal?”

“Look, I’m sorry,” Martin sighed. “I’m still really worried, ok?”

Jon softened his gaze. “No, I’m sorry. I’m—I’m nervous. I just want to get this done.” He put one last spoonful into his mouth, and it made chewing and swallowing look extremely distasteful. “Are you ready?”

“As ready as I’m going to be,” Martin said. “Let’s go.”

The train ride out was long, and they had to switch to a bus line in Oxford. They barely spoke, but it wasn’t a particularly uncomfortable silence. Part of it was probably the early hour, although Jon seemed more awake and alert than Martin had seen him in days. He was probably anxious about what they would find; Martin was, at least, so it was easy to imagine Jon was feeling the same.

When they arrived, they stood together, side by side, staring at the front door. The house that occupied the property was the same as he had imagined it from when the other archive staff had visited it before the apocalypse. Apparently built as student housing, no one had ever actually moved in. The front porch was covered in cobwebs. Martin broke the silence they had maintained during the walk from the bus station.

“I don’t like this.”

“Me neither,” said Jon.

“Yes, but—I mean I don’t want to go in.”

“I understand. You can wait for me out here.”

“No, that—” Martin looked down at Jon, who continued to stare at the house. “I don’t want us to go in. Either of us.”

They let the silence take over again. It went on long enough that Martin wondered if they could just stay on the front lawn indefinitely, if he didn’t say anything; it seemed like it might be the most reasonable option. Unfortunately, Jon did eventually speak again.

“Martin, I really do understand if you—”

“No. If you’re going in, I’m—I’m going too.”

“I am sorry.” Jon started to step toward the house, but Martin caught him by the arm.

“Wait. Where is—where is Annabelle? Where has she been?”

“What?” Jon asked, turning to look at him.

“I know we haven’t talked about it, and maybe this is a bad time to bring it up—but she came here with us, didn’t she? To this dimension.”

“Presumably, yes.”

“Where would she go, if not—if not here? I mean, even without what you said about it—just look at it. It’s got to be crawling with spiders.”

Jon furrowed his brow before responding. “She could be here. It’s possible.”

Martin’s pulse quickened. “Well then—wouldn’t we want to not be here? Isn’t that a good reason to stay out?”

“I’m not concerned.” Jon shrugged, leaving Martin in disbelief.

“Can I ask why not?”

“It’s just a theory, but—” Jon walked a few paces and sat on the front step. “I think—I think the entities are getting stronger, regaining their power, in the order that the fears evolved and separated from one another. The dates I’ve pieced together from Sasha’s notes, the avatars—”

“What?” Martin was dumbfounded. “What do you mean?”

“Right. When I—after I killed Jonah, there was a, um…”

“A statement?”

“Yes.”

“Of course there was.” Martin shook his head and moved to take a seat next to Jon.

“I’m sorry I didn’t—”

“It’s all right.” It still hurt every time he remembered Jon had gone up to the tower without him, and Jon knew it. “Go on.”

“They were born in our dimension. They grew there, as one being at first. Then, as animals and humanity developed and changed, and their fears became more specific, more distinct, so did the entities themselves. The Hunt, the End, the Dark—they were first.”

“I see.” Martin thought. “And we’ve seen Oliver Banks and now Callum Brodie. What about—”

“I suspect we want to avoid anything having to do with Daisy, if we can.”

Martin’s eyes unintentionally drifted to the scar that still stood out vividly on Jon’s throat before he caught himself. “And where does the Eye fit in?”

“Soon. If I’m right.”

“Ok.” Martin now realized there had been a deeper layer to Jon’s recent desperation. “Why didn’t you tell me this before?”

“I honestly thought it wasn’t important. But now—you brought up Annabelle, and—”

“Right. So where does the Web fit into this theory?”

Jon considered. “If I’m right—if I’m right—we have time. If she is here, she’s likely much weaker than I am. She would have more to fear from us than the other way around.”

Martin sighed. “Any chance we can just burn the place?”

“Tempting.” Jon grinned just enough for Martin to see it. “In the long run, though—”

“Yeah, yeah—it would probably just make things worse.”

“Shall we?” Jon asked, starting to rise to his feet.

“If you have to.”

“I do.”

The front door gave way at a light touch; the knob and deadbolt were completely useless. It seemed like the sort of place that had been broken into so many times that the owners had simply stopped replacing them. The inside of the house was at least as covered with webs and dust as the front porch.

“Well,” Martin said, “I hate this.”

“I don’t love it.” Jon reflexively reached for Martin’s hand. “Come on.”

They walked further into the depths of the house, which was quite large. There were multiple small rooms, which made sense for student housing, and a larger sitting room; it looked like there was a kitchen in the very back. He was so busy looking up to make sure he didn’t accidentally walk into anything, that he jumped about a foot when Jon stomped his heel against the floor.

“Jon, why would you—”

“Spider,” Jon said.

“Oh. Carry on, then.”

“Remember when you used to get upset with me for—”

“Don’t.”

Jon squeezed his hand, and Martin had the odd feeling that he was somehow more comfortable now than he had been for a while. They looked around them from what appeared to be roughly the middle of the floorplan.

“Should we go upstairs, or—”

“Look,” Jon cut him off, and pointed to the floor. Beneath the dirt and footprints of previous trespassers, Martin could see an unmistakable pattern in the wood stain that ran across multiple boards, beyond the edge of the room they were currently in. It gave the appearance of a long, dark, jagged crack. He may not have noticed it if he hadn’t been looking for it, but he couldn’t see anything else now.

“Do you think that’s—where it is?” Martin asked.

“Your guess is as good as mine.” Jon started to pull Martin toward it, but Martin stayed where he was.

“Do you really have to stand right on it?”

“Just give me a moment.” Jon slipped his hand out of Martin’s before he had a chance to protest. Martin held his breath and gave him five seconds, then ten seconds.

“Anything?”

“Wait.”

Twenty seconds. Thirty seconds. He was counting each of them.

“Jon—”

“Wait. Please.” Jon was growing tenser, more anxious.

A minute.

“Jon, I don’t—”

“I told you to wait.” Jon snapped at him this time.

The momentary sting was quickly replaced by concern; that just wasn’t like Jon. He bit his lip, unsure what to do. If he insisted on interrupting him, tried to convince him to leave, Jon might not feel like he really gave it enough of a chance—or worse, he might blame Martin for the failed attempt to find whatever power he was seeking. He’d be too kind to say anything, of course, but they would both know.

He decided to continue waiting, as long as he could make himself. He pressed his hand to his mouth as a reminder. The house was so quiet; it occurred to him he should have been able to hear sounds from outside, but something about the place seemed to be swallowing them up before they could reach them.

In the stunted silence, Martin had the sudden feeling they were not alone.

Before he could make up his mind to disrupt him again, Jon spoke.

“There’s nothing,” he said meekly.

“What?” Martin asked.

“There’s nothing,” Jon said again. “I don’t feel anything. I really thought—” He cut himself off, his expression a mix of loss and confusion and sadness, and Martin was filled with a deep, distressing pity for him.

“Hey,” he said, crossing to Jon, forgetting his trepidation toward the mark on the floor. It seemed meaningless now, nothing more than an ugly accident at the lumber factory. He pulled Jon into his arms. “It’s going to be all right. We’ll figure it out.”

Jon didn’t answer, but he allowed Martin to hold him, eventually letting the weight of his head fall against Martin’s chest.

“I’m sorry,” Martin said quietly.

“Are you?”

“Yes,” Martin answered. “Part of me is relieved, I’ll admit, but I don’t want you to be miserable, Jon. Honestly, I don’t. We’ll do whatever we need to do to help make this better, ok?”

Jon fell silent again, and in that silence Martin remembered the feeling he’d had just before Jon had spoken.

“Jon—can we get out of here? Sit outside? We can talk there. On the porch, even. I just have this feeling like—like we’re being watched.”

“What?” Jon pulled away enough to look up at his face.

“Not like—watched, I don’t think that even feels like anything. I just mean—like, regular being watched. If that’s a thing.”

Jon concentrated for a moment, but quickly gave up. “All right. We can go.”

Martin felt a second wave of relief wash over him. It’s over, he thought to himself, at least for the time being. He released Jon from his grasp, turning him gently toward the door—the faster they could get outside, back to the fresh air, the better for both of them.

A few steps, though, and Jon stumbled. Martin, instinctively reaching to support him, assumed at first that he had stepped wrong or tripped over something—but that wasn’t right. Jon was heavy in his arms, and Martin nearly fell himself trying to stop Jon from hitting the ground.

Ok. Martin collected his thoughts as quickly as possible as he gently set Jon down. He’s fainted. That wasn’t great, but it wasn’t entirely unexpected, given how he had been feeling and his inability to eat. I just need to give him a minute and he’ll come around.

That wasn’t right either, though, Martin quickly realized, because Jon had stopped breathing.

Shit, shit, shit. He had taken a CPR class many years ago, but he hadn’t thought about it in almost as long. What were the steps? He knew Jon wasn’t choking, and he remembered something about checking for a pulse, although he didn’t remember if you were supposed to do that right away or—

Do something.

He reached for Jon’s neck, pressing two fingers against his carotid artery. He waited.

I’m doing it wrong.

He readjusted. Still nothing.

“Shit.” Panic started to well up inside him again. Breaths? Chest compressions?

Call for help.

He pulled out his phone and started to dial, but quickly realized he had no reception. He held it up, moving it around, even standing again to see if he could get a signal, but no matter where he moved he couldn’t get a single bar of service. He thought about going outside to try there, but couldn’t stand the thought of leaving Jon alone in this place.

Chest compressions.

He knelt next to Jon, placing one hand on top of the other the way he thought he remembered. He pressed the heel of his palm against Jon’s sternum, just inches away from the scar he had put there only months ago.

Don’t.

The scar where he had driven a knife through muscle and maybe bone—he didn’t think it was supposed to be so easy to do that, but the cracking sound—

Don’t, not now.

—the cracking sound and then suddenly it had been so much easier, the knife went in and there was that single gasp of pain, and then he’d pulled the knife out because he couldn’t stand to leave it in, but all the blood came with it—

I killed him.

Jon was dying. The tape unspooled; the tower crumbled around them, and Martin held on. Jon lay dead in his arms as the world disappeared around them, and he held on. He held on for so long.

God, it hurts.

“Martin—”

I’m so sorry.

“Martin, let go.”

Martin opened his eyes and tried to remember where he was. His pulse was racing.

“Martin.”

He was sitting on the floor with Jon—Jon needed him to let go. He did, and Jon immediately took a deep breath. Martin still couldn’t quite remember where they were.

“You were dead.”

“No,” Jon answered, still breathing hard. “No, I just blacked out. I think I’m ok.”

“No. I killed you. There was—there was the knife—where did it—”

Jon, understanding, reached for Martin’s face. “Look at me. We’re at Hill Top Road. We came here together.”

“What?” Martin tried to remember, and eventually the details of their current situation came back to him. He looked around at the house. Jon was so pale. “Oh god. Jon, are you all right?”

“I think so. I think I just blacked out.”

“You weren’t breathing. I swear you weren’t breathing, and I couldn’t find a pulse—”

“Are you sure? Or were you…”

“I—I think so?” Although now that he thought about it, Martin realized he couldn’t be completely sure. “Maybe?”

“It doesn’t matter. I’m—I’m ok now. I’m breathing.”

Martin looked around again. He hated this place. “Let’s leave. Please. Right now.”

“Yes. Yes, of course.”

It was harder to help Jon to his feet than either of them expected. His energy from earlier in the day had vanished almost entirely, and he leaned hard against Martin as they walked toward the door. The porch, which had previously seemed as dreadful as the house, now felt like a sanctuary as the sun streamed onto it through the support columns. It was almost unbelievable that nothing stopped them from reaching it, and Martin collapsed onto the wooden deck as soon as they did.

He made sure Jon had a relatively comfortable spot to lie, and then dragged himself to the steps, pulling his knees into his chest and blocking the light from his eyes with one arm. He stayed like that until he’d relaxed enough to reach into his pocket for his phone again. He had a little reception out here, at least. He scrolled through his contacts until he’d pulled up Sasha’s number.

“Hi Martin,” she answered cheerily. “Everything going all right?”

“Sasha, hey,” he said, trying to keep his voice calm. “Listen, I’m sorry to do this—”

“Martin, I can barely hear you. Is everything all right?”

“Yeah—it is. Mostly.” He was too miserable to think up an actual lie. “Jon’s not feeling well today. I think—I think we’ll need the whole day off.”

“Did you say—is Jon ok?”

“He’s—” He looked at Jon where he lay in a patch of sunlight, eyes closed, taking shallow breaths. “He’s—I don’t know. He’s not great.”

“I’m—I’m sorry to hear that. Do you need anything?”

“No. We’ll manage.” He wasn’t sure that was true, but he had no idea what kind of help he could even ask for.

“You’re breaking up, but—please keep me updated? I’ll check in later.”

“All right.”

Martin ended the call.

#the magnus archives #tma #mag pod #tma spoilers #jonmartin #tma fanfic #my writing

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theotherackerman · 3 years

Text

My Mind Turns Your Life Into Folklore

NOTES:

Saturday, January 16th

song credit: all too well-taylor swift

chapter eighteen: all too well

Niccolo and Zeke were chatting most of the drive.

Eren just stared off into the distance.

Was he waiting too long to give Mikasa his answer to the song she wrote?

It had been his plan to play this song for her before he even heard the song she had written.

He had dragged all of their friends and Levi in on it too.

It had been a week since then.

Their texting wasn’t anything important. Just little messages here and there.

How many times had he pulled out his phone ready to call her?

Was it too soon?

Was it too much?

Or was it too late?

Why was he a sixteen year old again?

“I want to play the song tonight,” Eren finally said.

“What?” Niccolo asked.

“We don’t have a bassist anymore. As brilliant as Pieck is, she probably also has plans tonight. You know her and the Galliard brothers hang out on Saturday nights,” Zeke reminded him.

“Well, it’s a good thing we’re going to a house with a bassist, isn’t it?” Eren remarked.

“Alright. It’s your song, Eren.”

The arrival at the Ackerman house was anticlimactic.

Levi hadn’t been expecting Zeke to stop off. He just simply handed over the file, saying it was a copy and he’d be keeping the original. Then Zeke had decided to leave to check up on Grisha’s old house. There were still no offers on it.

Ymir, Historia, Sasha and Niccolo were talking about music in the sun room while Hange and Levi were talking in the living room.

Mikasa had been helping Armin move the few things he had left behind when he headed back to the dorms into Annie’s room.

“We should move this bed into Annie’s room too. It’ll give you a bigger bed if you push the two together,” Mikasa suggested.

“Or you could just buy a new one,” Eren suggested from the doorway.

“Eren! When did you get here?” Armin asked.

“About five minutes ago. Zeke had to pick up a file from Levi. I guess Levi is Zeke’s patient? I don’t know. It was weird,” Eren shrugged.

“That is weird. But I suppose that makes sense,” Armin said as he sat down on the bed.

“What happened to your face?” Mikasa asked.

The red marks were still there.

“Uh...I got into a fight with Floch,” Eren looked down as he rubbed the back of his neck.

“Good,” Annie said as she pushed past Eren and came into the room.

“Hey Annie,” Eren said.

“That guy is a dick. I don’t like him,” Annie sat down next to Armin.

“Well...I....can’t disagree.”

“Are you staying in town?” Mikasa asked.

Eren shook his head. “Check in on the house. We’re going back after Zeke comes back.”

“Oh,” Mikasa said before she looked down.

“Yeah but you can call me tonight, if you want,” Eren suggested.

“It’s like watching paint dry,” Ymir said as she passed by Eren.

“Give them a break, Ymir,” Historia said as she also passed by them.

“EREN! YOUR BROTHER IS HERE!” Levi yelled from downstairs.

“I’ll see you, okay?” Eren said before he left the room.

When Eren came downstairs, Levi and Zeke were talking.

“Everything all set then?” Eren asked.

“On my end, yeah. All the extension cords have been put out. You should be good to go tonight,” Levi replied.

“And Ymir agreed to fill in for Floch,” Niccolo said as he came into the living room.

“Good. So now we just need to grab our equipment.”

“Now I just have to get Mikasa out of the house,” Levi pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Historia is going to do that. She plans on dragging Mikasa out. Everything is set, Eren. It’s just up to you not to fuck up,” Niccolo said as he clasped Eren’s shoulder.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence there,” Eren mumbled.

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

How many stores had Mikasa been to?

She lost count.

Historia had dragged her out to go shopping for this limited edition perfume for Ymir’s birthday.

Thankfully, Levi had let them borrow the car so it wasn’t too bad.

But Mikasa had to walk into one more department store to look for a bottle of perfume, she was going to scream.

Ymir’s birthday wasn’t even for almost a month!

Mikasa didn’t once complain.

She knew giving Ymir the perfect gift was important to Historia.

So the search continued.

How were there this many department stores around here? They drove towards the city. Historia asked to stop for lunch. Mikasa agreed. Then the search continued.

Mikasa was starting to believe that this perfume didn’t exist.

No matter where they went, they couldn’t find it.

“It’s just super limited,” Historia had told her.

So it was more department stores. Mikasa had looked at so many bottles of perfume at this point.

She never wanted to see another.

They grew hungry again.

It was almost time for dinner.

They stopped at a drive through before heading to the last store.

Mikasa hated driving at night but this wasn’t about her.

Finally, Historia gave up.

“It looks like we’ve gone everywhere possible. I’m sorry, Mika for dragging you out with me,”

Historia had said as they pulled into the driveway.

Mikasa shrugged. “It’s okay.”

When they entered the house, no one was in the living room. It was strange. She pulled her shoes off.

“Hey! One of those bugs from the basement is loose in Levi’s room!” Annie shouted from the stairs.

“Where’s Levi?” Mikasa asked as she climbed the stairs.

“Out on a date with Hange. Can you just kill it for me? All those legs are freaking me out. I’m afraid it's going to get into my room,” Annie said as she led Mikasa to Levi’s room.

Mikasa went in and realized something. “You never saw the bug in the basements.”

The door slammed behind her.

It was a prank.

She pulled on the door as hard as she could but it wouldn’t move.

Why was the room so cold?

It was then that Mikasa realized the balcony doors were open.

She could hear the soft music of a guitar playing.

Mikasa walked out onto the balcony.

There was Eren Jaeger, in a single light that seemed to be coming from the roof.

“{lyrics redacted due to copyright}, ” Eren sang.

Mikasa heard the rest of the band kick in.

“ {lyrics redacted due to copyright} ”

Mikasa knew exactly the memory Eren was singing about.

It had been back when they had taken a road trip to nowhere.

They had just one day decided to run out of town.

“ {lyrics redacted due to copyright} ”

They did always end up back here, together.

“ {lyrics redacted due to copyright} ”

He had taught her to drive. Mikasa had been easily distracted by him back then.

“ {lyrics redacted due to copyright} . ”

Mikasa went red at the memory.

She had gone through a brief phase at five where she wore fake glasses everywhere.

Her dad let her join a tee ball team at that time so Levi still had the pictures from that.

“ {lyrics redacted due to copyright} .”

The single light went out and the backyard lights came on to reveal Niccolo, Ymir, and Zeke playing the instruments as back up to Eren.

“ {lyrics redacted due to copyright} ”

One of the many nights Mikasa had stayed with Eren after Grisha died.

She could see it.

She remembered it.

Mikasa stood there, just listening to the music for the moment.

“ {lyrics redacted due to copyright} .”

Mikasa started crying.

She blamed herself for not seeing what was wrong with Eren sooner.

She should have known he was lying back then.

She should have talked to him about his drinking, about his father.

“ {lyrics redacted due to copyright} .”

Mikasa held onto the scarf that she was wearing.

Ever since Historia had dug it out of her closet, she found herself putting it back on every time she needed to go out into the cold.

“' {lyrics redacted due to copyright} .”

The lights around the backyard faded until one again, it was just Eren standing in a single light that was coming from the roof.

Then the backyard went dark.

She closed the balcony doors and sat down on Levi’s bed for a moment.

What had just happened?

Had Eren answered her song with his own?

No.

This had to be something he had written long ago.

The pain in it was the same as the song she had written.

There was no faking that.

She sat and processed what had just happened for a while.

Then she stood up.

Mikasa headed back towards the doors which to her surprise, opened when she tugged on them this time.

She ran downstairs.

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

Levi climbed down the ladder off of the roof.

“Where’d you get that light from?” Zeke asked as he lit up a cigarette.

“Amazon. It was twenty dollars. We use them when we have cookouts in the summers. Lights up the whole neighborhood,” Levi said simply.

“I need to get one of those. Well, Niccolo and I should be leaving. If this blows up, call me,” Zeke said as he walked towards the van.

“You girls pack up equipment so much faster than us! Thanks!” Niccolo said before he climbed into the passenger seat of the van. “I’ll call you later, Sasha!”

Mikasa finally made her way into the backyard, her face clearly stained with tears. She had no shoes on.

Everyone stared at her and Eren.

None of them moved to do anything.

“Alright, everyone inside. Mikasa and Eren go upstairs. The rest of you are going to come with me. No spying,” Hange ordered. “No getting sick either. Come on.”

Everyone did as they were told.

Eren followed Mikasa into her room.

Once the door was closed, Mikasa threw her arms around h im.

“Can’t breathe. Too tight,” Eren croaked out.

“Oh. Sorry.” Mikasa loosened her grip on him and Eren hugged her back.

“So you liked the song then?” Eren laughed.

“Yeah,” she muttered as she rested her head on his shoulder.

They stayed like that for a while.

Mikasa could hear his heart beating.

She had taken to just listening to it.

Eren had no complaints.

Finally, they broke apart.

“You really remember those pictures of me?” Mikasa finally asked.

Eren laughed, “yeah, I do. I remember how you were obsessed with wearing glasses.”

She started to turn red again. Eren sat down on her bed. Mikasa watched him for a moment before she sat down on the end of the bed next to him.

“Why do you love that thing so much?” He asked her before tugging on the scarf.

“You gave it to me. On the first day we met, you gave it to me.”

“I remember,” he smiled at her. He released the scarf.

“I..I don’t want you to leave again. I won’t be able to handle it.” She teared up again.

She was sick of crying because of Eren, for Eren.

She wanted nothing more for things to go back to normal but she didn’t have the first clue about how to do that.

“I won’t. I was just as miserable without you. I didn’t play that song just to win you back...I didn’t know how to say it to you. I wrote most of that right after the break up. I didn’t know how to deal with it either. So I came up with this plan to play it for you. Got everyone involved. Levi was up on the roof with one those spotlight things and Hange plugged in the lights in the backyard. Annie and Armin held the door closed. You saw Historia and Ymir’s roles. I wanted it to be big, special. I just didn’t want to play it for you but I didn’t want to play it in front of a crowd either. Well, besides your family. They don’t count. Then I got into a fight with Floch about you and I didn’t want to wait anymore.”

“That fight with Floch was about me?”

Eren nodded before he looked away from Mikasa. “Look, Mikasa, we both suck at communication and I know a song isn’t going to fix anything. I know I still have a long road in front of me but I want the end of that road to end with you.”

“It won’t,” Mikasa said.

Eren’s heart began to break.

He nodded.

He understood.

“It shouldn’t be like that. I’m not a goal, Eren. That was the problem before. I want to be beside you while you’re going down that long road.”

They made eye contact again.

“Yeah?” he asked quietly.

“Yeah, we should be equals, remember?”

He stared at her.

“I still love you,” Eren finally said after a moment.

“I know,” she smiled at him.

“Did you just Han Solo me?” Eren asked her.

Mikasa laughed.

“Maybe,” she said before she bit her lip.

“I showed you those movies! I should get to say I know. I can’t believe this,” he teased her.

“You broke our date so you deserve it.” Mikasa picked up a pillow from her bed and hugged it. She finally noticed Eren’s backpack was on the floor. “So I take it you’re staying here? What if I received the song badly?”

“I knew you wouldn’t. I do know you.”

“Not well enough to know you should just tell me shit.” She took the pillow she was holding and gently hit him with it.

“Really? What are you? Nine again?” he scoffed.

She hit him again.

“Okay! Now it’s on!”

Eren grabbed a pillow off of Mikasa’s bed and hit her back with it.

She ran and threw the door open to the bedroom.

Eren continued to chase her.

They ran past Levi and Hange in the living room as they swung pillows wildly at one another.

Levi just sighed as Hange laughed.

Their chase continued.

Armin was talking with Sasha in the kitchen as Mikasa ran around the table.

She had hoped to lose Eren that way.

It wasn’t effective.

He stayed right behind her.

She swung at him again and accidentally hit Sasha with the pillow.

“Hey! That was me!” Sasha yelled as Mikasa retreated from the kitchen.

“Sorry!” Mikasa yelled back. Eren was too close now.

Sawney and Bean gave into the nonsense as they chased Eren and Mikasa.

Levi sighed louder as they passed him and Hange’s laughter grew too.

Mikasa ran towards the sun room and quickly made a turn towards the basement at the last s econd.

Ymir, Annie, and Historia poked their heads out of the sun room.

“Are they running with pillows?” Annie’ asked.

“Yeah, looks like it,” Ymir answered.

“That’s cute!” Historia squealed.

Mikasa ran down the stairs and just as she was about to step down on the bottom step, Eren grabbed her by her waist. He threw her over his shoulder, causing her to drop the pillow. He held her with one arm before grabbing the dropped pillow. He held two pillows in one hand while keeping Mikasa on his shoulder with the other.

Mikasa was impressed.

“Did you get stronger?” She asked as Eren climbed the stairs with her draped over his shoulders.

“Physical therapy. I started going to the gym more afterwards too.”

“Remember that time I threw you over my shoulder?” She asked as he walked from the basement stairs to the upstairs staircase.

“Yeah, this payback.”

“Only it’s what….seven years late?”

“That is besides the point.”

“I can still pick you up though.”

“Oh, I’m well aware.”

“You still don’t have a butt,” she remarked as she poked him in the back.

“I’m glad to know you’re looking at my ass right now.”

“You should stop skipping leg day.”

“I don’t skip leg day!”

They arrived back at Mikasa’s room.

Eren gently sat her down on the bed.

“I thought about dropping you but that would have been mean. You’re more of the one to do that,” He teased her.

“Hey, you deserved it. You were trying to pick a fight and I put an end to it.”

“Yeah, by picking me up like a toddler,” he scoffed as he sat back down next to her.

“Then don’t act like a toddler.”

“Well, don’t make other guys be interested in you!”

“Wait...is that why you always picked a fight with Jean?”

Eren went red before he scratched the back of his head. “I thought that was kind of obvious.”

“Wait, Eren….how long did you have a crush on me?”

Eren turned a new shade of red.

This was not a conversation they had had before.

“Uh..um...a while?”

“Eren….”

He sighed for a moment before he looked away from her. “Same day that I gave you that scarf,” he finally answered.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, I could tell you didn’t feel the same. I mean we were nine. It didn’t really matter.”

“I thought you were a prince, saving me for Daz. I...I felt the same way.”

Eren looked back at her. “We’re really bad at this.”

“Yeah, but we’ve got time. Besides, maybe instead of just writing songs we should talk. I just...I don’t want to annoy you.”

“You never annoy me. I mean sometimes I get mad because I thought you saw me as this child who couldn’t do anything. I thought you thought I was stupid and useless. I don’t know. I just wanted to prove myself to you back then. So I’d get mad.”

“I’ve never thought you were useless. I thought you were stupid for what you did and how you couldn’t see my feelings for you.”

“We’ve wasted a lot of time, huh?” Eren asked.

“Doesn’t matter. Maybe it’s better that we’ve had to go through all that. Now we can try again.”

“So, how do we do this?”

It felt all too familiar.

“I don’t have the slightest clue,” Mikasa laughed again.

“I really missed hearing you laugh,” he confessed.

Mikasa blushed.

“I guess...we do it right this time. But you...you need to read the letter and look at the flash drive. Just not while I’m here.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s embarrassing.”

“Okay, I’ll wait then.”

“Then you can call me and we’ll go from there.”

Mikasa nodded, “what about tonight?”

“Tonight….I’m going to kick your ass in video games,” Eren said before he switched on the tv and console. He grabbed a controller and handed her the other one.

“Hey! I’ve got better. Do you not see my rankings?” She asked.

“Yeah, yeah but that’s not against me,” he smirked as he sat back down on the bed.

“Bring it on,” she said.

The game began.

#mmtylif #my writing

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banashee · 3 years

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i"I have way too many stories already planned" I said. “I can’t write in multiple fandoms at once, it will throw me off” I said. “OK so I’ll just get this out of my system real quick” I said. “Well shit, I’ve gotten more ideas now that I’ve started…” I said, determinded to face it - I have a problem. Just a small one… Who am I kidding. Send help.

Also, this is the first time I’ve written for this fandom. I’ve loved and enjoyed TMA for a while now, not just the pod but also fanworks. And now I’m joining in on the fun and you folks will have to deal with it :D ♥

This story got inspired by a conversation on Reddit with Swiftysmoon. Thank you very much for the inspo! This one is for you :)

edit. sorry about the missing ReadMore cut, Tumblr is programmed like a pile of garbage and removed it after I edited a typo...I’ve added it back in now.

please mind the tags and warnings

Into the Void

Truth be told, Jon never planned on this to happen. Of course not - it is ridiculous and more than a little embarrassing, but he can’t help himself.

See, the thing is, Jon is a restless, anxious person in general. He’ll hide away in his office for hours, typing away or recording statements in solitude, only interrupted when someone actually wants something from him. That, or when Martin brings him yet another cup of tea, checking if he’s still alive or starved to death on his desk.

No kidding - Martin had told him this, once, and although he’d been half-joking at the time, the underlying message had been very clear.

‘Please take care of yourself, you worry me.’ - it had been oddly sweet, and Jon still has no idea how to even react to this kindness.

But the thing is - Jon has nervous habits. While his mind is wandering and he is buried neck-deep in his work, he tends to fiddle. Mostly with pens, or anything else he can reach on his desk. That would be fine - no one notices it, unless they stand right next to him. But Jon had almost choked on the pen he’d been chewing on, lost in thoughts while reading his notes, omn more than one occasion. Mostly thanks to Tim bursting into the room like the whirlwind he is.

For one, Tim Stoker just doesn’t knock. Ever. He enters a room as loud and cheerful as he does anything else, and it can be a bit unnerving. Still, he somehow manages to be a professional and be really good at his job. That and the fact that there is ‘Chaos’ written all over him makes for an odd combination sometimes, but they’re all somewhat used to this.

So, when Tim suddenly sticks his head into the room with a cheerfully casual

“Hey, Boss!”

Jon startles and nearly stabs himself in the throat with a pen while he scrambles to make it look like he didn’t chew on it the entire time. He needs to preserve some sort of professionalism around here, even though he feels a little bit lost sometimes.

He glares halfheartedly, trying to keep whatever is left of his composure in place. Tim shoots him a bright smile with finger guns, then he rattles off the information that Jon had asked him for not long ago.

Thankful that he doesn’t have to explain himself, Jon launches onto it.

As time goes on, things around the institute get more and more weird. One thing adds to the other, and suddenly, they’re at war against worms all over the place. They spend their days at the institute armed with fire extinguishers and in Martin’s case, a corkscrew. Martin even lives there now, which adds a whole different level to it all.

Really, it is not surprising that they rarely ever get any outside visitors down in the archives. They have a bit of a reputation for being weird, and truth be told, Jon can’t find any fault in the people who assume that. If he wasn’t involved - if he didn’t know what lurks out there, in the shadows, he’d have thought the same.

Pushing his own dismissive, sceptic act is getting harder and harder these days, but it doesn’t stop Jon from trying.

Even after Jane Prentiss’ attack, Jon tries to keep up that act. It’s clearly faltering now, though, which may or may not be partially due to the fact that he confessed to Martin that yes, he does believe and he is terrified. It’s been an awkward conversation, to say the least, and not just because Jon pretty much asked if Martin was a ghost and despite Martin stabbing him with the corkscrew. To be fair, he’d apologized profusely for that, and while Jon is not happy about it, he is thankful for his attempt to get the damn worms out of him. Just thinking about it still makes him shudder, makes him lay awake at night.

On the plus side, their team in the archives has grown much closer to one another - it eases the anxiety and paranoia, just a bit.

Jon finds himself busy, not to say, utterly distracted. Time flies, and he takes even less care of himself than he did before. He practically lives off tea, and whatever food is offered where Martin, Tim and Sasha drag him along to.

Jon acts prickly and annoyed as always, but in reality, he appreciates their efforts. Lord knows, he isn’t sure he deserves this kindness, but he still makes an effort. These three people are all he’s got, after all. They’re the only group of allies who have any sort of idea what is really going on in the archives, and that alone is enough to have him lower his walls just a bit.

One day, Jon keeps blowing an annoying, grey-streaked strand of his otherwise dark hair out of his face. He didn’t have the time or energy to get a haircut lately - there are much more pressing matters to take care of. But his hair is currently at the awkward in-between length that he hated years ago, when he decided to grow it out. He’d kept it long, up until shortly before his promotion to head archivist. Only then he parted with the shoulder length ponytail in an attempt to be perceived as more professional.

It doesn’t feel right - never did. And as much as he hates the annoying strands falling in his face, it makes him feel like he is back on the way to himself. Or at least as much as he can these days.

Especially in the face of, well, everything else, it is a small comfort. Right now though, Jon is annoyed - he takes a pen from his desk, and sticks it behind his ear to hold back the constantly falling piece of hair - it works.

Jon only notices the pen again when he is about to go to bed that night - he huffs, places it onto the small desk in his bedroom and then crawls under the covers. Once he is in bed, Jon is waiting for the insomnia and the nightmares to keep him awake, despite his best attempts to fall asleep.

He is long used to both, but the last few months have been significantly more stressful.

The next day, Jon is exhausted. He barely makes it into the kitchen for some coffee, then he drives to the institute, the pen forgotten back home. Oh well - he’ll bring it back in another day - no big deal.

Except, it becomes a Thing, with a capital T.

Jon is chewing on and fumbling with his pens as usual, recording statement after statement and doesn’t exactly realize what he is doing. He hides away, until one of the others drags him away from the desk for inconvenient human needs like food and company, but really, he goes willingly now. All he needs is a small reminder.

The bit of human warmth and company means a lot to Jon, and he soaks it up as much as he allows himself to. Trusting people is a struggle for him. His relationship with each and every coworker is definitely a work in progress, but he is willing to try, anyway.

One night, Martin points to the side of Jon’s neck in quiet amusement.

“Oh, you’ve got ink on you - yes, right there.” he touches the spot behind his own ear. Jon blinks, and when he tries to wipe it away, his hand comes away with yet another goddamn pen.

It joins a small pile of accidentally stolen pens on Jon’s desk back home - he’s been meaning to bring them back ages ago, but he keeps forgetting. At this point, he refuses to drop them all off at once, because that would definitely catch someone’s attention - and attention is the last thing he wants right now. Add in the fact that this is, well, ridiculous and embarrassing… No. Just no.

Jon looks around the room, heat creeping up his face even though there is no one around to look at and judge him - then he opens an empty drawer in his desk. The pens disappear with one swift movement of his arm before Jon slams the drawer shut. There - done.

And this is how, what Jon secretly calls his “Desk Drawer of Shame”, comes into existence.

Occasionally, a small handful of pens will make its way back into the archives. But at this point, they’re way, way too many to bring back at once, at least not without pissing off Elias. That is, if he isn’t chuckling at the ridiculous and mysteriously high cost of office supplies in the last few months.

At the very least, Jon would be at the receiving end of some good natured ribbing from his coworkers in the foreseeable future.

Jon is reading the last few lines of a statement, when the door to his office opens up after a quick knock. He looks up with a frown, which is more habit than anything at this point, and quickly drops his feet back on the ground. At least, he isn’t chewing on a pen this time.

Standing in the doorway, shooting him a small smile, is Martin and he is waiting for Jon to finish recording the last few lines. Only when the familiar

“Statement ends.” marks the end of the recording session, he starts talking.

“Hi! Uh, did you have lunch yet?”

Jon didn’t, and Martin knows it, but he is trying to go the polite route before his motherhen-mode is activated and he physically drags the man away from the desk in an attempt to make him take a break.

So, Jon smiles back, which still feels a bit foreign in a work context, but he secretly enjoys the spark of happiness on Martin’s face when he does. Not like he focuses on that or anything…

“No, I- I didn’t. Did you have something in mind?” he asks as he gets up and pulls his jacket from the back of his chair. It’s a welcome distraction from his work.

Jon didn’t sleep, again, and he can tell that he is getting sloppy and way more irritable than usual. Chances are, getting a bite to eat and spending some time out of the institute with a friend will do him some good.

On the way out, Jon falls comfortably into step with Martin. Plenty of thoughts cross his mind, and he chooses to ignore all of them. In fact, he’d been so busy staring up at a cluster of freckles on Martin’s cheek that he doesn’t even notice what he tells him about the little café that he was planning to visit. Only when he stops talking, obviously waiting for an answer, Jon nods, hoping that Martin actually asked him a yes-or-no question.

For now, it seems to be enough, and they enjoy their lunch break. Jon is still lost in thoughts though.

That night, he is unable to sleep once again, as his mind keeps him wide awake and Jon is shaking apart under the blanket. There are two new pens on his desk, and it feels like they’re glaring at him. It’s ridiculous - they really are the least of his worries. Jon is just distracted, that’s all.

There is ink on his neck. Again. Jon swipes at it in mild annoyance, inwardly cursing himself for being so careless. His movement catches Tim’s attention, and then his eyes wander to the pen that is stuck halfway to Jon’s ponytail - it’s for convenience, really - but it’s clearly the cause for the ink scribbles on his skin.

Tim puts the pieces together and grins. He is way too easily amused about this, but to be fair, they get their laughs whenever they can these days. And this is still much better than the silent, angry version of Tim that tends to come out more and more and the last few months. At least, when he’s laughing, he isn’t that.

Small favors.

The more distracted Jon grows, and the longer his hair gets, the more pens he keeps losing - or more like, forgetting - in it.

He doesn’t realize that he is doing it, really, until someone - mostly Martin or Tim these days, because Sasha is (gone) (different ) absent - walks up and plucks one of the pens right out of his hair in order to use it. Jon should be annoyed, but he can’t bring himself to be. It’s oddly comforting that the two of them are still willing to seek him out. Because that’s what this is - there are plenty of pens around, of course.

There is no need to come into his office, to come close to him just to get office supplies. They’re here because they want to, and that honestly means the world to Jon.

As much as he’d tried to keep them at arm’s length, he’s failed miserably. Thankfully so - things would be much, much worse if they had to deal with everything on their own.

“Hang on - how many bloody pens are in there?” Martin asks one day, calling over from the other room. He looks up in utter confusion while already cracking up with laughter.

“Wait, are those-?”

Oh goddammit.

Apparently, that’s what happens when Jon answers absentmindedly when asked for the location of a pen in his apartment.

He needs to renovate his kitchen, because the landlord just won’t do it in any reasonable amount of time, so Jon is in old jeans and an even older T-shirt, packing dishes and kitchenware into boxes with Martin and Tim. The two of them had been kind enough to offer help, so that’s why they’re all piled in Jon’s small apartment on a Saturday morning.

Partway through, they realize that they should probably label the boxes, and soon after, Martin stands in the bedroom, opening not the stationary drawer, but The Secret Drawer of Shame With Accidentally Stolen Pens From The Institute.

“Oh, good lord.” With an audible ‘thump’, Jons forehead collides with the kitchen table. His glasses sit crooked now, and he doesn’t lift his head up while he tries to explain, and despite being flustered, he manages to keep that certain tone of voice that’s usually reserved for work hours.

“I, yes. I may have accidentally taken a pen or two with me and only realized it here. Coming back into work with all of them at once seemed… well. Not ideal at the time.”

“No wonder when you keep storing them in your hair.” Martin comes back, with a handful of pens and a bright smile.

While walking past, he pulls another pen out of Jon’s bun, just to prove his point. A long strand of hair slips forward and falls back into Jon’s face. Meanwhile, Tim has snuck off to peek into the other room out of pure curiosity, then he proceeds to laugh his arse off for the next few minutes.

“You know, we should make it a sport at this point. How much stationary supplies can we steal until Elias catches wind of it?” Tim offers, because of course he does.

It is ridiculous and childish, so naturally, it quickly becomes A Thing.

Anything to get a tiny bit of satisfaction is a valid option at this point, and besides, it’s not like Jon is trying to be sneaky or anything. It just happens , like so many things these days.

As it turns out, Elias doesn’t care. None of them is stupid enough to assume he doesn’t know - the bastard knows everything, that’s part of their problem. He just never calls any of them out on it - if it is because it’s too unimportant or if he is getting a chuckle out of it as well, they never find out.

At some point, late at night when all three of them had a few drinks, they’re brave enough to joke about what fear entity would be responsible for a never ending void filled with pens (“A.K.A you desk drawer of shame, Jon. Have another drink, you’re annoyingly sober for this conversation.”)

It’s a half-serious debate, and one which they continue every once in a while. Most notably so at the institute’s christmas party, huddled in a corner where they’re mostly being left alone. And if that is mostly due to Jon glaring holes through anyone daring to come close, just a hair away from actually hissing and snarling, well. He didn’t get his reputation of being rude and prickly for nothing.

All of this turns into fond memories, once everything has gone to hell.

Jon is freshly awake from six months of coma, and the world around him has changed. Martin is barely around and Tim is dead . So is Sasha, even though they never knew, for the longest time.

All of this hurts badly enough to stop him from breathing every once in a while, and after a series of even more tangled and unfortunate events, Jon finds himself huddled close to Martin on a train.

They’re on their way to Scotland and neither of them talks much, but they’re unwilling to let go of the other’s hand. The air is chilly, even inside the wagon, and Martin is still shivering under layers of jumpers and jackets.

The Lonely has settled deep into his bones, and sometimes, it’s like he is fading away again. Every time this happens, the steady warmth of Jon keeps pulling him back.

Jons hand is smaller and bonier in Martin’s own large, soft hand, but it’s grip is steady and warm. His thumb keeps stroking gently over the back of his hand while he is holding it, and it is the most loved Martin has felt in a long time.

Eventually, he manages to relax enough to doze off for a bit. While his head find’s it’s way down and onto Jon’s shoulder, he can feel the slight poke of a plastic pen that is sticking out of his hair.

Martin almost smiles, and squeezes back when Jon tightens the grip around his hand and settles against him.

They keep finding the damn things around the safehouse, because frankly, they’re everywhere. And that’s just whatever Jon had on his person out of sheer habit. Lord knows, his hair has grown way past his shoulders by now, and more often than not, he keeps it up and out of the way with whatever is around him at the time.

Mostly, it’s pens.

At first, they’re just there , and both Jon and Martin have about a million other things to think of and to deal with than a few too many office supplies laying around.

The exhaustion, both physically and emotionally, leaves them absolutely drained and dead to the world.

It is bad enough so that they crawl into bed almost as soon as they have arrived and inspected the small cabin. The question of whether or not they’re going to share the bed isn’t even raised - neither of them is willing to let go of the other. All the way from London to up here, they’d held hands to reassure themselves that they wouldn’t lose each other, and they’re not about to stop now.

It is a lot easier to remind each other that they’re not alone when all they need to do is focus on the breath and heartbeat of one another. Focusing on the heat radiating under the blankets, where they are embracing throughout the night to keep the nightmares and the ever growing anxiety at bay.

They have plenty of bad days when everything just creeps up at them and even talking is too much. Those days, they spend curled up in front of the fire or in bed, holding on tight for as long as they need to in order to feel more alive again.

After a while, they’re able to relax more. Martin is much warmer and solid now, doesn’t fade away into the fog without noticing. It’s happening less and less now - whether or not he will be able to shake off The Lonely entirely, neither of them knows, but he is happy about every step in the other direction.

Jon is just as happy to see him doing better, and he tells him as much over breakfast, smiling as he tangles their legs under the table.

There are two pens already stuck in his hair, holding it up in two buns. It’s probably from when he read a statement from the stack of files and tapes that Basira sent over the other day.

The statement has definitely taken the edge off of things for Jon. Now he can sit at the kitchen table with his boyfriend and enjoy a cup of tea instead of growing weaker and weaker with hunger for statements. As ironic as it is, it makes him feel more human, even though he is no longer fully human. He’s pretty sure of it.

“I love you.” Martin tells him, because it is true and he likes saying it as often as possible, now that he can. It sends a spark of warm happiness through his chest, and it is bright enough to chase away the cold fog that’s still lingering sometimes - just for a bit.

“I love you, too.”

He’ll never get tired of hearing this.

“I love you” they say, as they drink tea in the morning and eat freshly baked bread, still warm from the oven.

“I love you” they say, as they walk hand in hand through the cobblestone streets down in the village, on their way to buy groceries and look at the little local shops.

“I love you” they say, as they step around each other in the tiny kitchen while cooking dinner, distracting one another with kisses until one of them remembers the food or notices the charred smell of something burning. It’s only then that they break apart, cursing and laughing all at once.

“I love you” they say, as they spend nights wide awake, holding on tightly through their grief and fear. They say it out loud or whisper it into the darkness, comforting one another as best as they can.

“I love you”, they whisper through silence and tears, but they say it just as much through smiles and laughter.

“I love you” they say, after every single argument. Their love for each other is strong, so much so that they’re certain they will be able to figure out the rest. Whether that’s the end of the world as they know it or anything else doesn’t matter.

“I love you” Martin says, after he walks up behind Jon and plucks one of the pens out of his hair. There are at least two more, and besides, Martin woke up this morning with a few lines of poetry in the back of his mind. He wants to write them down before he forgets - maybe, just maybe, he can turn them into something beautiful.

“I love you.” Jon says, and he pulls Martin closer by the front of his pyjama shirt, turning around just enough to be able to press a quick kiss to his lips. The movement leaves them both in an awkward position, hanging over the back of the sofa with their glasses askew.

Martin has one of his arms wrapped around Jon, who is holding on tight, happily leaning into him with a quiet, happy satisfaction on his face. Clearly, he is enjoying this an awful lot.

No doubt, if it wasn’t for the hold onto the sofa Martin has with his other, he’d have toppled over and fallen right into the smaller man’s lap. And maybe that’s exactly what Jon is trying to do - who knows. He is way more affectionate than either of them would have thought possible, really.

They remain wrapped up in the tight hug, and neither of them wants to let go yet.

Notes:

Warnings: - Off-screen canon character death mentioned - insecurity - Loneliness - Trust issues - if you want me to add anything please let me know

#banashee writes #tma fanfic #the magnus archives #the magnus archives fanfic #JonMartin #mentioned character death

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ghostmartyr · 3 years

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how a life can move from the darkness [6/?]

| 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 |

Summary: Two drug addicts (Eren and Historia) meet in group and decide to be roommates to make their living situation slightly less weird. From there we do the slow burn found family dance mixed in with the struggles and agonies of recovery. Heavy on friendship feels, especially EMA. Eventual yumikuri.

“What the fuck did you do to this thing?”

Eren was in Reiner’s house for breakfast.

He’d been in Reiner’s house earlier, before they left, to drop off Ymir’s book on the dining table. It had felt like the safest way to handle it. He didn’t see how sharing either of the experiences of Ymir’s latest readers with her would do anything good. Ymir was socially aware enough to get what a silent return meant. She didn’t spend hours staring at her phone to send off a, “did you get home ok?” text that arrived when every possible recipient was asleep. She could read between the lines.

The only lines Ymir looked to be caring about were the gouges marking the formerly neatly divided pages. Where they had collided with a door.

There were a few other suggestive wrinkles Eren had not asked about.

Ymir wasn’t interested in that kind of tact.

“It ran into a door,” Eren said, reaching around Bertolt for the orange juice.

“If you were going to use that excuse, you should have spent it on your face. Let the tennis ball take the fall for this.” Ymir was flipping the pages back and forth in disgust. She hadn’t looked at him once after confirming that he had made it inside complaining range.

Reiner had snatched some bacon off the frying pan, and was munching on it happily by the sink. He hadn’t seen anything wrong with the book. Eren didn’t, either. He was surprised she’d noticed. After a day in his backpack, most of his borrowed books from Armin looked about the same.

“It isn’t an excuse,” Eren said around his glass, “it’s what happened.”

Ymir turned the book over and inspected some less explainable marks, about the size of a very tiny human’s fingernail, on the cover. “I suppose this time it’s also your roommate’s fault.”

Eren chose not to answer that.

Ymir chose to use her seventh or eighth sense of mind reading and finally took her eyes off her book long enough to run a scan on Eren.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Eren put his glass down with more force than he intended to, drawing a pointed look from Bertolt. “There are only a few marks on it,” he said. “Everything’s still legible.”

Ymir went on pretending Eren wasn’t in the room while aiming conversation at him. “Has she considered an anger management class? Or sticking to throwing things at you?” Ymir mimed taking aim at him with enough irritation that Eren had to stop himself from ducking. “Why’d she even have it?” she asked. “I thought Reiner gave it to you to stave off your raving curiosity about the wild world of fuzzy hand-holding feelings.”

“I was trying to keep busy,” Eren said.

Ymir flopped the book down on her lap. “Then how did Lady Throws-a-Lot end up with it?”

Eren retrieved a plate of toast for himself, and set to work buttering it.

“…You didn’t read it, did you?”

Bertolt, in some misguided attempt at help or more misguided attempt to make Ymir feel some sort of guilt for forcing her work on people, said, “That’s allowed.”

Ymir ignored him the way none of the rest of them managed with her. “So you tossed it off on your roommate, and she threw it into a door.” She draped herself over the back of the couch, a very deep scowl etched in her face. “Nothing like knowing your art’s appreciated.”

Eren might have felt bad. Only the book had reminded him and everyone who lived with him of some of the worst moments of their lives. Ymir could figure out how to suck up two people not liking her book. Bertolt didn’t exactly keep how he felt about her writing a secret, and they got on fine.

“Wait,” Ymir said suddenly, “is she the one who left that bitchy review on Goodreads?”

Eren didn’t know what Goodreads was. He also didn’t think any of Historia’s thoughts on Ymir’s book were printable.

“She is.”

Eren swallowed his toast. “I have no idea. Is it that weird for you to get a bad review?”

“It’s weird for her to care several days later,” Bertolt muttered.

“It was a pretty bad one,” Reiner interjected. “Most of the people who don’t like her stuff drop her star average and leave it at that. This one went on for paragraphs about where the book went wrong. Being bothered by that isn’t so weird.”

“I’m not bothered,” Ymir said loudly. “Except by Eren’s bad taste existing in a second person on this bitch of an earth. Is that how you ended up living together? ‘Help, keeper wanted. Must have no standards.’”

There was something wrong in the world that in all their time knowing each other, Eren was the only one who’d had something thrown at him. “…That isn’t what happened.”

“Say that again, but in your believable tone of voice.”

Eren crammed the rest of his toast in his mouth and chewed as slowly as he could, keeping his only eye contact with the stove and Bertolt’s tiny, oddly encouraging smile.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Ymir slide the book over the coffee table and yank out her phone from her pocket, tapping faster than Eren did when he was successfully holding back from throwing his at something.

Reiner, dipping his head in the sink, looked over at her. “What are you doing?”

“A public service,” Ymir said mildly.

“The last one of those you did put you in jail,” Bertolt said.

Ymir’s fingers stopped moving, and the cloud of irritation surrounding her took a dip into something Eren didn’t think he’d want to handle after a full three meals, forget the middle of the first one. The house suddenly felt too quiet for four people. It was the kind of quiet that fell at meetings after someone opened up more than anyone was ready for.

Reiner had turned the water off, but didn’t grab a towel for his head. He stared down the drain, dangerously pale after the heated flush his workout had treated him to.

“Juvie,” Ymir corrected, tapping a full word out. “Court says I’m a delinquent, not a felon.”

Reiner let out a loud laugh they could all hear the panic in as Eren silently handed him a towel. Bertolt didn’t turn around from his place at the stove.

Eren finished his toast.

He’d never be able to tell Armin, and it wasn’t a good idea to bring it up, anyway.

But like he was about everything else in the known universe, Armin had been right. Moving out was the right call. He had too many ghosts in his head to keep sharing rent with the others.

He didn’t envy Reiner.

----

The thing about Mikasa, the thing that had driven him up the wall for years and years and still could kick off a good sulk if it happened at the wrong moment, was that she was the most amazing athlete Eren had ever met. There wasn’t a sport she couldn’t star in. There wasn’t a race she couldn’t win. There wasn’t a tournament she’d been in that hadn’t handed her some kind of trophy.

Zeke wasn’t going to just pass up on that.

Which was fine. Zeke cutting contact with Mikasa because Eren did had always been an unexpected help, so having it ripped away just as unexpectedly was fine. Zeke hadn’t exactly promised to help pace out Eren’s return to his friendships. Or ever brought it up at all.

All that meant was they were a trio today. Eren, Mikasa, and Historia. Playing catch until the inevitable moment where batting practice started and Mikasa would look at him wondering why his favorite part of practice had turned into something he didn’t make an attempt at.

Eren had done too many pathetic things for lurking behind the park bathrooms on his cellphone to rank anymore. That didn’t mean he was impressed with himself over it.

“You sure you can’t make it?” he asked, pressing his palms into the coarse cinder block wall. “Zeke runs his practices pretty long.”

“The test’s tomorrow,” Armin was saying, sighing. “I don’t want to spend all this time tutoring her only for nerves to ruin it. Sasha thinks she focuses better when I’m here, and…”

He trailed off, guilt and embarrassment saying what he wouldn’t. “She does?” Eren finished for him.

“I’m really sorry.”

“No—don’t—” Eren bit down on his hand to keep from shouting in frustration. He didn’t think he’d ever be able to take Armin apologizing normally again. “No one’s going to drag you out of tutoring to make you watch some boring practice. You’re where you should be.”

The other line stayed quiet for a stretch, catching the hum of the bus Armin was on. Eren made himself not think about that, and didn’t fail completely. That was basically a success.

“Eren, if you need me to be there… for whatever reason, you know I’ll be there.”

Eren’s heart clenched. “I’m fine, Armin.”

Wait, crap, he’d said that before.

“For real, this time.”

Phones were okay, sometimes. He couldn’t see all the memories darkening Armin’s face before he took his breath and changed the topic.

“Maybe we can see a movie to make up for it. If Mikasa gets you to herself, I should too. There’s a new zombie one that just came out. We could go?”

“You hate zombie movies,” Eren said flatly. “You don’t need to baby me, Armin.”

“…I know. Part of me…” Eren braced himself for the hit, but it still hurt. “Part of me is still scared you won’t pick up when I call. I just…” Armin sighed again. “I wish Sasha didn’t have a test tomorrow,” he said. “I don’t want to miss being with you.”

Eren had his forehead against the wall, and his heart hurt better than anything had in a long time. Even when Armin’s embarrassment caught up with him and he started stumbling through his words instead of reciting them off the script in his head.

“So I mean it on the movie. Any time I’m not in class. Or, well, if you wanted, Thursday’s professor isn’t very engaged with the material, so I wouldn’t mind—”

“A movie sounds great,” Eren said.

“…It does?”

“Yeah. It does.” Eren swapped hands. “Only I probably don’t want to watch zombie flicks either. Blood is…” Too much like the images flying through his head whenever he tried to pick up a baseball bat. He pressed harder against the wall, probably scraping his forehead and creating more questions for Mikasa to ask.

“We needed to update our movie list anyway,” Armin said.

Eren frowned sourly. “There’s nothing wrong with our list.”

“There’s a lot wrong with our list.”

He said that every movie night. “Bad special effects are fun, Armin.”

“They’re bad, Eren. Every time we rent one we’re encouraging them to be lazy.”

“Name one movie that’s come out in the last five years you approve of.”

“High standards aren’t a bad thing!”

“If we followed all of them we wouldn’t have a list.”

Eren could hear Armin’s near-silent sigh, and his mouth hurt from smiling.

“You’re sure you don’t need me?”

“Yeah,” Eren said. “Not with this, anyway. You’re still good to have around.”

“Do you want to—” Armin audibly cut himself off.

Talk about it?

This it?

No. Never.

Eren wasn’t looking forward to finding out when that absolute turned out to be just as wrong as all the other ones he’d snapped off during recovery.

Armin would always be Armin, but Eren was only now coming back to being Eren. He couldn’t float on that expectation. He closed his eyes and bit out the truth. “I’m not sure I’ll handle Mikasa worrying about it. It’s nothing huge, but it… it’s a change from before.”

A change he didn’t want to go over with just one of them around. Armin wouldn’t say anything. Eren wasn’t sure Mikasa could resist. Then if she could, it would only be because Eren had lost it on her the last time she’d tried to be good to him, and he wanted that even less than he wanted the questions.

He wasn’t a fan of baseball. Batting practice had always been the thing that made up for it. He couldn’t just hide that falling apart.

He couldn’t come up with a polite way to ask Mikasa to stay out of his problems. That sounded like half their normal arguments from the first note, and they were too far from normal to survive bringing that fight back into the ring now.

Armin’s voice brought him back from his brooding. “I think you know more about change than we do, Eren. Just… try not to yell at her. It will be okay.”

“You think?”

“…Try really hard not to yell at her.”

“Right.”

----

Eren didn’t yell.

He didn’t even get a chance.

Mikasa’s eyes, fragile and dangerous like broken glass, followed him on his way to put his glove in the dugout. Historia, trying to be a good friend and not having any more of a clue than Eren did, had briefly attempted to walk between them, but she seemed even weaker to Mikasa’s aura than Eren was, and broke off on her own before any real difference was accomplished.

She’d stopped pulling down her sleeves. Shadows of track marks slid open with every throw she’d lobbed his or Mikasa’s way, and nothing fell to pieces. Better yet, off in their own triad in the outfield, no one asked invasive questions about it.

After the conversation with Armin, he’d been more jealous than happy for her, but that had to be some kind of good sign.

Then Yelena had signaled them for batting practice, and Eren hadn’t hid his furtive look at Mikasa well enough, and that had snapped Historia’s worried eyes to both of them, and there was something fucked about wanting the people he lived for to just go away and be gone for a second, but he didn’t yell.

Leaving Mikasa watching him in silence, weighing her worry against all of the horrible wrongs he’d put her through once and could easily drag both of them back into if they didn’t keep their mouths shut around each other.

Worry was winning out. It was written all over her face, worse than with Armin. Because worry always won because she was the responsible, good one, and Eren wasn’t going to yell but his head was screaming, wanting his pills like he hadn’t in weeks—when Zeke walked over and lobbed a helmet Mikasa’s way.

“Eren’s out for batting practice. You’re up first, Mikasa.”

Worry turned to annoyance like only Zeke could bring out in her, and Eren’s fists relaxed enough for him to feel his hands again.

She put the helmet on and took up a bat, looking back at him one last time on her way out, but not broaching the unspoken topic further.

“She reminds me of Frieda,” Historia said, technically sitting next to him, but leaving enough space that anyone else who wanted to sit next to Eren still could.

“Wow,” Eren said. “High praise from you.”

Zeke started with a fastball. Mikasa fouled it off. The crack of the bat hurt Eren’s ears.

“She worried too much. I could never make it go away.”

Another fastball, another foul. Zeke didn’t usually throw that hard for the first batter.

“I still can’t.”

Zeke was going to go for a curveball after he worked Mikasa into a rhythm with her swings. Zeke liked the game part of the sport, and he’d liked winding Mikasa up ever since her cousin had punched him in the face. Mikasa would get the hit in the end, though. Batting practice, not pitching practice. Zeke took his baseball seriously.

“Armin told me to try not to yell at her,” Eren said.

Historia didn’t comment. Her fingers were digging silently into her scarred arms.

“It was never just that,” he said, “but trying not to yell at her used to take a lot of pills.”

Zeke finally threw his curveball, and Mikasa sent it flying back over his head. Colt sprinted back to the center field fence, but he’d need to be several yards taller for that to matter any.

She ripped off her helmet so fast she probably ripped out some of her hair, and she didn’t spare Zeke any attention on her way back to the dugout, Eren being personally rewarded all of it. She slipped into the space Historia had left her without question and stared at him. He stared over her shoulder and thought about a life where it didn’t make him think of orange bottles that didn’t belong to him.

Historia leaned back against the splintery planks walling them all together, a tiny—sympathetic when she noticed Eren’s irritated scowl—twitch that could have really been a smile on her face.

Mikasa spoke, and it wasn’t what he expected.

“Are you still okay?”

It was the highest mark of Mikasa’s approval that she didn’t lower her voice out of Historia’s range to go with the rest of the dugout’s, and Eren would love her for that if he ever stopped feeling like an inadequate idiot whenever Mikasa unveiled herself in all her steady perfection. Eren kept his mouth shut because all he could think of was ways to hurt her, and she opened hers up and actually found a thing that could keep him from wanting to yell.

He would never deserve these people.

He could still try.

“It’s a Dad thing,” he said, the truth making his mouth itch and the lightning bolt of surprise Mikasa couldn’t hide making his heart and knuckles ache. “Not a drug thing.”

They all quietly watched Yelena step up to the plate, not-so-casually looking back at their shadowed corner before she hefted the bat over her shoulder. Eren thought about glaring, but Historia hadn’t noticed anything about Yelena’s overt curiosity, and Historia not noticing was fine for their stabilizing sanity.

“Does Zeke know?” Mikasa asked.

“I don’t think he’d want to.” The funeral was one of the clearer memories Eren had from afterwards. Zeke was a blur in it. He’d asked once how Eren was feeling. Then he’d left. Then he’d taken him to rehab.

Historia caught his eye sharply.

Eren shrugged at her and watched Yelena hit a clean line drive. There wasn’t much to say about it. Historia had been right. That wasn’t what she’d been getting at, but it was what was there. Mikasa was his Frieda. Zeke was just his brother.

His big brother, who watched bad movies with him when he had a lousy day and never talked about feelings. Not his, not Eren’s, not…

Not their dad’s.

Zeke wouldn’t want to hear about why his death took away pitching for his little brother.

----

“Frieda never wanted to talk about it either.”

Eren was eating his cheerios with what Armin used to call his morning glower when Historia plopped across from him with her bowl. Neither of them was having a cooking morning. Eren had stayed in his room the whole night, but Historia had already been up when he walked out, texting someone under Benjamin’s tank. He would have assumed Frieda, but Frieda kept some strange hours that didn’t include sunrise.

“I didn’t know you had friends,” he’d said, waving good morning to Benjamin.

Historia had stopped typing mid-sentence, stared at him long enough for Eren to wonder if maybe the reason she was up was because she’d never gotten any sleep, and said, “I don’t.”

It wasn’t a talking morning, either. He’d thought.

Historia, stirring milk into the cereal she wasn’t eating, had maybe changed her mind about that.

“Talk about what?” Eren asked.

“How I killed our father.”

The crunch of the cheerios in Eren’s mouth sounding like steel grinding on steel. He swallowed and dropped his spoon back in the bowl.

He sometimes thought the reason Historia didn’t talk during group was because her head couldn’t figure out when it’d been given the okay to talk about things, so she just took random guesses that landed these conversations wherever there was space for them. With some weird definition of space that included the other person being in an entirely different ballpark when she started swinging.

He was spending too much time near Zeke.

“She saw the police report, and everyone told her,” Historia said, “but I think she wants me to forget so badly she pretends she doesn’t know.” She poured more cereal out of the box on top of what she already had, not taking a bite. “I never wanted to talk about it with her, so I didn’t mind.”

“I don’t want to talk about it with anyone,” Eren said, morning glower in full bloom.

Historia closed the box. “You want Zeke to want you to.”

“Zeke had a bad relationship with our dad.” Eren jammed another spoonful of breakfast in his mouth and crunched through it on sheer will. “He doesn’t want to hear about it.”

“If he thought it would make you join batting practice he might.”

Armin used to flick cheerios at him in the morning when he thought Eren was starting the day with too much gloom. Eren thought about dumping his entire bowl on Historia’s head. He couldn’t do that, because she’d retaliate, and he had work. There wasn’t time for a second shower.

Following the spirit of belligerent aggravation anyway, he asked, “How’d you do it?”

“I stabbed him in the neck with a syringe of morphine.”

Eren stopped eating.

“Father had a drug problem,” Historia said. “He was an alcoholic, too, but none of the bottles would have worked unless I broke them ahead of time. The morphine was already set up.”

This was the problem with throwing his fists at one of Historia’s walls. There was always something ready to climb on through the crack and sink its teeth in. Eren let his hands rest on the counter. It made him feel less like he’d eaten an icicle instead of cheap cereal.

The marks on her arms were like tractor beams. Historia could glare at him all she wanted for it, she was the one who had death tattooed all over and kept talking about it. “…So you decided to kill yourself the same way?”

Historia contemplated her first spoonful of breakfast. “Petra says avoidance is only one coping technique.”

The snort that brought out wasn’t what Eren expected from himself. The icicle cracked, melting into something like the soup all of Historia’s stirring had turned her bowl into. He looked away from her scars and out the oversized windows that walled their apartment off from the rest of the world. Light was creeping in through the curtains, and they both should have finished eating by now.

He shoveled in another mouthful of cheerios. “Zeke gave it to me.” He swallowed and thought of blood drowning his hands and lost heartbeats and ticking anniversary watches and pills. “He’s the older one. I get all his hand-me-downs.”

Eren took another bite.

“I don’t want to talk about it, and he doesn’t want to hear about it,” he said. “We’re finally synched up.”

Historia’s phone buzzed across the counter with whatever notification it had from the person who wasn’t her friend. She snatched it up with a spark of annoyance so profound Eren was pretty sure she forgot all about him for a second. But she remembered to look up and give the conversation an option of ending.

“Okay,” she said.

Eren took it. Before he actually ended up late for work.

----

Ymir did not text Eren. She mocked him, she prodded every hole his t-shirts had and several they didn’t, she stole his jacket and wore it for a week when he accidentally left it at Reiner’s, she routinely told him how he was running his business wrong—but she didn’t text him.

Eren wouldn’t have guessed that she had his number.

Until he thought about what he knew of her as a person, which he tried not to do when she wasn’t in the room making him.

Ymir had texted Eren. In the middle of the night. With all of one sentence, followed by a series of tweets that Eren could feel a migraine building over.

Ur roommate’s a dick

Crystal Wick @Crys_Wickiland34 Replying to @distrustfund500 It’s a grand romantic gesture, sorry it went over your head.

distrustfund500 @distrustfund500 Replying to @Crys_Wickiland34 It’s idiotic.

Crystal Wick @Crys_Wickiland34 Replying to @distrustfund500 This from the person who throws tennis balls at people?

The last attachment was just a screencap of what Eren had to assume was Historia’s username.

tennisbomber500 @distrustfund500

No one had ever given Historia the Ymir 101 advice of ignoring Ymir. Because Historia had never been under any threat of meeting Ymir, and that should have been enough to save her.

Constructive emotional expression had come up at the last meeting. Petra probably wouldn’t call yelling at Ymir over a romance novel constructive or productive or healthy, but she’d never met Ymir either. Or watched Historia fall to pieces over things she never talked about. Unless the black eye counted, but that had been Eren on the ground.

Eren blinked at his phone for a second. The words were starting to blur. With a soft click, he gave up, closed his messages, and rolled over to go back to sleep, smiling a bit at the afterimage of the last text Armin had sent, demanding a blood oath promise to not name Benjamin’s new eel friend (if they got him one) Murray.

Ymir could stand to have someone annoy her for once in her life.

[next]

#drug au #fic #mine #long post

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artificialqueens · 4 years

Text

Duality, Chapter 3 (Crygi) - Metaluna

Chapter summary: *Stefon from Saturday Night Live voice* this chapter has everything, awkward morning afters, time jumps, anniversary sex, and fluff

A/N: I am SO sorry that I keep forgetting to submit to here, especially if you only read fics on here, but as a reminder all of my fics on ao3 (this has two more chapters oops)

When Crystal woke up, there was a quilt delicately draped over her body. The events of the previous night were foggy. As she thought about it further, she wasn’t sure if she was remembering correctly. Crystal remembered going home with Gigi, and remembered having sex. Amazing sex. But, halfway through, she could have sworn that Gigi bit her leg, and upon thinking even further, could have sworn Gigi said she was a vampire.

Impossible.

Crystal sat up and looked around. It was still dark outside, meaning she could probably step away, unnoticed, and could try her best to forget about the fact she may or may not have slept with a fucking vampire. She carefully put her dress on, looking at the torn-up thong on the ground, with a sigh. It was her favorite. Crystal realized Gigi was nowhere to be found, but the door was shut, and she could see the light coming from underneath.

Crystal knew her plans of sneaking out without Gigi noticing were slim, but she tried to formulate a game plan. She looked out the window, but then remembered they were on the third floor. For a second, Crystal tried to determine how injured she would get if she jumped out of a third story window.

There was no other way than to just walk through the front door. It was a one-night stand, what did Gigi expect?

She slowly opened the door, and saw that Gigi was sitting on the couch, petting a cat, watching a movie. Crystal knew it was stupid, but she tried her best to sneak behind Gigi, who appeared to be engrossed in the movie

Gigi turned her head as Crystal swore silently. “You’re awake.”

“Uh-huh. I was just leaving…”

“Why?” Gigi asked, genuinely curious.

“You’re joking, right?” Gigi raised an eyebrow. “You don’t have a lot of one-night stands, do you?”

Gigi shook her head.

“Well, generally, one doesn’t stay and chat afterwards. In fact, ideally, the person who the apartment doesn’t belong to can wake up before the other person, and can leave, never to be seen again.”

“What do you remember about last night?” Gigi asked.

“I remember you tearing my thong off of me. I remember that the sex was incredible . But, I remember something weird… But I probably just had a dream or something.”

“What do you supposedly remember?”

“You had… fangs… You asked for me to consent, like, a lot, which is great. Consent is key. Anyway, you said you were… a vampire. Which, like, isn’t possible. Vampires aren’t real.”

“They’re not?”

To Crystal’s surprise, after Gigi smiled as two fangs slid down from where her canines were.

“What the fuck?” Crystal whispered.

“If you’d like, I can make you forget about everything. This past night, my vampirism, me as a whole…”

Crystal bit her lip as she weighed the pros and cons. The pros included she’d forget about vampires existing. The cons were that she’d forget quite possibly the best sex she’d ever had, and that she’d forget about vampires existing.

“No…” Crystal trailed off.

“Are you certain?”

Crystal shook her head. “But uh, I think I’m going to leave to process this.”

“That’s understandable.”

“Do you uh, want my number? Honestly that was great sex. I’m down to fuck again.”

Gigi smirked. “I’m glad to know that it was good. I’ve unfortunately been in about a twenty-year dry spell.”

Crystal was taken aback. “When I process this can we maybe talk? About… things? If you want? Or you can just fuck me again… If you want.”

“Are you serious?” Gigi asked incredulously. “You’re asking me to fuck you again when you passed out once you came last night?”

Crystal flushed. “You’re right. Do you want my number or not?”

“I wouldn’t be opposed,” Gigi said, petting the cat next to her as she handed Crystal her phone.

As Crystal handed back her phone, Gigi stifled a laugh. “Your name is not Crystal Methyd.”

Once again, Crystal flushed. “My parents hate me… Anyway. This was… something. Call me. If you want. Or don’t. I’m sure you’re busy… With whatever it is you do.”

“Servicing dead bodies?” Gigi smirked, repeating Crystal’s comment from the previous night.

“Yeah. That. Okay, bye.”

Gigi didn’t know how a human was going to react when told they just had sex with a vampire. She thought she was going to have to glamour the girl, thinking that she would be traumatized. To Gigi’s surprise, Crystal not only was calm about the entire situation, but also seemed intrigued. Again, proving Crystal was not like other humans.

Akasha meowed as she rubbed her head against Gigi’s hand.

“I know, Akasha. For the first time in nearly a century, I’m at a loss.”

In an attempt to get her mind off of Crystal and the events of the night, Gigi decided to watch The Lost Boys . She began thinking more about Crystal, not realizing that the movie had ended.

Shutting the TV off, she looked at her phone. It was still on the contacts screen. Crystal wrote her name as Crystal Methyd with the blood drop emoji after it. She decided to text her so Crystal could save her number, at least that’s what she told herself, even though she didn’t fully believe it.

Hello. This is Gigi. I just figured you would want to have my number, too.

Checking the time, it was only five in the morning, meaning Crystal was probably asleep. Considering Gigi drank enough blood to nearly kill Crystal, she more than likely would need to sleep it off.

To Gigi’s surprise, Crystal texted back ten minutes later.

oh hi! it’s good to hear from you! tbh i thought you were gonna ghost me

Gigi wasn’t sure why Crystal didn’t capitalize anything in her sentences. Why wouldn’t anyone use proper grammar? It’s not like it was hard.

Are you feeling okay? You should probably get some sleep. If I’m being honest, I took a little bit more blood than I intended. Heat of the moment.

omg i cant believe a hot vampire almost killed me purely from being too horny. anyway yea i just happened to wake up for a sec and saw the notif

I… honestly don’t know how to respond to that, because you are 100 percent correct. Which I hate.

lmaoo usually i take at LEAST two days to text a girl, and at minimum three to ask her out. but, do you wanna meet up later?

Gigi was genuinely shocked at Crystal’s confidence.

That sounds wonderful, I had nothing planned today.

how about the park? what time is good for you? also wont you like burst into flames or something if it’s daytime?

…I don’t sleep. Also, you can’t believe every myth about vampires you hear in popular culture. I don’t particularly enjoy the sun, but I’ll be fine.

omg, good to know. so, i feel really tired which now i know is because your horny vampire ass lost control. can i text you when i wake up?

Gigi rolled her eyes.

I’m choosing to ignore the middle part of that sentence. Yes, text me when you feel up to it.

Part of Crystal didn’t want to text Gigi once she woke up. When she thought about the fact that she had sex with a really fucking hot vampire, she couldn’t believe it. It sounded insane. Another part of Crystal wanted to text her back asking her to Men in Black her so that she couldn’t remember the night. The last part of Crystal wanted to text Gigi back, talk to her, and hook up again. The sex was incredible, and she felt selfish for falling asleep before she could fuck her back. It was only fair for them to hook up at least one more time.

She wasn’t going to do it. She was going to just try to forget the one-night stand and go on with her life. Crystal had work to do for the museum, especially if she was going to impress her boss, Sasha, enough for a promotion. Becoming the creative director of the Chicago Museum of Visual Arts was more important than sex could ever be.

Just as she decided she wasn’t going to meet up with Gigi, she overheard her roommates argue about dishes. It wasn’t arguing, it was more of a screaming match. Crystal rolled over in bed and used her pillow to muffle the sound, which didn’t work.

She sighed as she picked up her phone.

hey! just woke up, i feel like i have the world’s worst hangover. anyway, do you wanna meet up in like an hour?

Gigi texted back quickly. Crystal was always impressed with the perfect grammar and capitalization Gigi used. Who had the time for that? Definitely not Crystal.

Yes, that’s the after-effect of having been fed on, unfortunately. I hope that it was worth it, though. I’ll see you in an hour.

Usually, Crystal was an extremely confident person. She had to be in order to move up at the museum as quickly as she did. But, while she was getting ready to meet with Gigi, she felt like crawling into a hole. Everything in her closet was suddenly ugly, and every way she did her makeup looked bad.

Eventually, Crystal gave up and wore minimal makeup and a flannel.

The park was walking distance from her apartment. Since it was September, the city was cooling down, not enough to be freezing, but enough to need a jacket. Crystal thanked herself for wearing a flannel.

Because she lived so close to the park, she got there before Gigi did. She almost sat on a bench directly in the sun to warm up, but then remembered Gigi saying that she didn’t like the sun, so she decided on a bench under a large tree.

Crystal checked her phone. It was noon. Where was Gigi?

Just as she started to feel discouraged, her phone vibrated.

Hello, sorry. My cat decided to vomit on my rug, so I had to take care of it. Be there soon.

Gigi made good, and showed up to the park ten minutes later. She found Crystal, and sat down on the bench next to her.

“Is your cat okay?” Crystal asked.

“Yes, she’s fine.”

“Good.”

There was an awkward pause.

Gigi began running her fingers up and down the necklace she was wearing. “I’m sure you have a lot of questions.”

“I don’t really know where to start,” Crystal said.

“Nothing is off-limits, if it gets too bad I’ll just glamour you, and we can start over.” Gigi waved her hand in front of Crystal’s face.

Crystal didn’t say anything.

“I’m kidding.”

“Oh.” Crystal could appreciate a dry sense of humor, but damn. “Okay, first question. Do you do that with all the people you… eat?”

“Well, to start, I don’t eat people, I feed from them. Secondly, no. You’re the first.”

Crystal felt an odd sense of pride. “Really? Why?”

“Honestly, I have no idea,” Gigi admitted. “I don’t know what came over me. Usually, I bring people back to the funeral home, feed off of them, kill them, and dispose of the evidence.”

Crystal was shocked by how freely she was talking about murder. “Oh! That’s another question. Why do you work at a funeral home? Like, why work at all? Don’t vampires just brood about their existence, or something?”

“It may not seem like it, but brooding for nearly a century gets old after a point. Back in the eighties, I decided I was too bored brooding, and a funeral home just seemed like a good fit. Having the blood from the bodies is a plus, too.”

“Wait. How old are you?” Crystal asked.

“I was born in 1905.”

Crystal was shocked. “I know I like older women, but goddamn.”

“Thanks,” Gigi said dryly. “If it makes a difference, I was twenty-two when I transformed.”

“Well if you look at it like that, I’m older than you. By four years. Random one, but can you read minds?”

“I can’t personally, but it’s possible, yes.”

“Wait, what?”

“Vampires can form a psychic bond between themselves and a human, but it’s not very common. I don’t personally know any vampires who have done it. We tend to not get that close to humans, myself included,” Gigi said looking away from Crystal.

“Next question. What was so different about me? Like, you say you don’t get close to humans, but here we are, in the middle of this park, talking about how you’re…” Crystal realized she raised her voice a little too loudly causing a woman who was walking her dog to look at them.

“A funeral director?” Gigi said, trying to recover. “I’ve tried racking my brain around everything that happened, and I have no idea why I took you back to my apartment, and I don’t know why I let everything else… unfold.”

“Oh,” Crystal said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Not that I regret it, not by any means.”

“You did say you lost control in the heat of the moment. Let’s just say that I’m so intoxicatingly attractive, you had no choice but to be engrossed by me.”

Gigi rolled her eyes. “Sure. Let’s go with that.”

“Can you turn into a bat?”

Gigi sighed and rested her head in her hands. There was something special about this girl.

One year later

Crystal rubbed her hands together as she blew in them in an attempt to create heat. It was late, past midnight, but it was she and Gigi’s favorite time to walk in the park. It was almost always empty, which they appreciated.

“It’s so cold,” Crystal complained. “You’re lucky you can’t get cold.”

Gigi rubbed her own hands together and rubbed Crystal’s upper arms.

“Stop! You aren’t helping. You’re always cold, and you’re making it worse.” Crystal led the two of them to a bench.

“This is the bench where I told you everything,” Gigi mused.

Crystal rested her head on her girlfriend and smiled. “I can’t believe it’s been a year.”

“Happy anniversary, darling,” Gigi said kissing Crystal’s forehead.

“Happy anniversary, baby.”

Since there wasn’t an official date that Gigi and Crystal started calling each other girlfriends, they decided to go with the date Crystal learned everything.

“You were just complaining about how cold I was, and now you’re pressed up against my body.”

Crystal held her hand up as she shut her eyes. “Shh, don’t ruin the moment, babe.”

Gigi rolled her eyes as she held Crystal’s hand. “I never in my undead life thought that I would be in love with a human.”

“Not trying to be gay, but I’m so proud of how far you’ve come this past year.”

“How so?”

“Well, the second time that we hung out you went on a tangent about how you hated basically ever human you’ve ever met but me. Oh, and in general, you’re just a lot nicer to humans that aren’t me. Like, remember that time we went to the mall and that lady cut you off and you looked like you were going to kill everyone in the mall? Like, fangs out and everything?”

Gigi rubbed the smooth pendant of her necklace. “I don’t recall what you’re talking about.”

“Liar. You’re playing with your necklace. I know you, baby.”

Pursing her lips, Gigi tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “You do.”

“Crystal! Fuck! ” Gigi moaned as she reached climax, her hips rocking as she sat on her rightful throne, Crystal’s face. As Crystal skillfully flicked her tongue over Gigi’s clit, it took everything in her power to not crush her girlfriend’s face with her thighs.

Coming down from her climax, Gigi adjusted herself so that she was straddling Crystal.

“Do you want to go for round six?” Gigi’s tone was innocent, but her smile was sinful.

Crystal shook her head. “I want to be able to walk tomorrow.”

“Fair enough,” Gigi said as she laid her head on the pillow next to Crystal. “I love you, darling. Happy anniversary.”

“Happy anniversary,” Crystal said tenderly kissing her girlfriend.

Gigi bit her finger and drew blood as she rubbed it over Crystal’s neck where she’d fed from which caused the puncture marks to disappear as if they’d never been there. “I know you like having the marks on your thighs.”

“They’re like souvenirs!” Crystal said happily tracing one of the marks on her left thigh.

“You are so strange.”

“You love me.”

“You’re right,” Gigi said, kissing her girlfriend.

Crystal yawned. “How much blood did you take tonight?”

Gigi looked away, licking her finger.

“Baby!” Crystal whined.

“You certainly weren’t complaining when my head was between your legs, darling. Especially during round three.”

Crystal yawned again, nestling into Gigi’s arms. “True. I love you.”

“Love you, too.”

Gigi usually only waited for Crystal to fall asleep before she went into the living room. But, Crystal looked so peaceful so she stayed a little longer, just taking in the sight of her beautiful love. Eventually, she carefully crept out of the bed and kissed Crystal’s forehead. Ensuring the blankets were on just as Crystal liked, Gigi quietly shut the door.

It’s not that Gigi particularly liked watching TV and movies as much as she did, but she had nothing better to pass the time. Scrolling through Netflix, she settled on The Haunting of Hill House.

Silently critiquing inconsistencies in the funeral home in the show, she heard Crystal open the bedroom door.

“Darling? Could you not sleep?”

Crystal didn’t reply, but instead ran into the bathroom and shut the door. Gigi heard Crystal turn the bathroom fan on. Try she may, Crystal couldn’t silence the sound of her vomiting from her girlfriend’s heightened hearing.

Gigi knocked on the bathroom door lightly. “Crystal?”

No response.

“Crystal, are you okay?”

Crystal only groaned in response.

“Can I come in?”

No response.

“I’m coming in.”

Gigi had seen a lot of things in her life that should have made her sad that didn’t. Seeing her love laying on the bathroom floor resting her head against the toilet seat was extremely upsetting. Crystal groaned again, which caused Gigi to kneel down by her.

Stroking Crystal’s hair, Gigi said, “What do you need me to do?”

Crystal groaned again before looking at Gigi. “Heidi was out sick with the flu the other day, and I’m just remembering now that we shared a sandwich.”

“Oh, darling, that’s probably why you’re so exhausted.”

“I’m sorry I blamed you,” Crystal mumbled.

“Shh, it’s okay.” Gigi effortlessly picked Crystal up and carried her to bed.

“My hero,” Crystal said, swooning dramatically.

“Do you need anything?”

“Water.”

Rarely did Gigi use her vampire speed. Most of the time, it wasn’t necessary, especially recently. But, this was necessary. She returned before Crystal could blink.

“That’s new,” Crystal said as she graciously took the glass.

“I don’t do that often. It’s not needed.”

“Getting your girlfriend water was a circumstance of needing to become The Flash?”

“Yes,” Gigi said as she got into bed with Crystal and covered them with the blankets.

Crystal sat the glass on the nightstand as she fell asleep in her girlfriend’s loving embrace.

It took Crystal barely ten minutes to fall back asleep. It was six in the morning, and Gigi knew she wasn’t going into work. She had a sick girlfriend to take care of.

Gigi scrolled through her contacts until she found Jackie’s number.

Jackie answered the phone instantly. “Gigi? Is everything okay? Do you need me to come in early?”

“Everything’s okay, no not unless you want to. But that’s not why I’m calling. I’m calling because I have a very sick girlfriend who I need to tend to. I’m not going to be coming in today. Do you think you can handle yourself?”

“As long as there’s no one that needs any reconstruction work.”

It was enduring to Gigi that Jackie referred to the bodies as people.

Gigi sighed. “Okay, if that happens, call me and I’ll come in.”

“Tell Crystal I say feel better soon!”

“Of course.”

Now that work was taken care of, Gigi had to go to the grocery store. Before she and Crystal started dating, Gigi hadn’t stepped foot in a grocery store in nearly a century. In the past year, she’d become well-versed on where everything was kept. After picking up all the ingredients she needed, she returned home, hoping she still knew how to be a good little housewife-to-be.

Before becoming a vampire, Gigi already had an incredible memory. Vampirism only heightened it, meaning Gigi could remember almost every recipe that her mother taught her how to make. Even though Crystal didn’t cook often, she still had a nice collection of pots and pans.

Gigi was so engrossed in cooking, she didn’t realize Crystal had migrated from the bed to the couch.

“Babe, what are you doing?” Crystal asked as she sat up on the couch.

“You need to eat.”

“It’s only eight, and the last thing I want to do is eat.”

“It’ll take some time for the soup to cook.”

Crystal raised an eyebrow. “Baby, I love you, but you haven’t cooked anything in like ninety years, and now you’re making me soup from scratch?”

Gigi sat on the arm of the couch as she stroked her girlfriend’s hair. “I think that you’re forgetting I was in training to be a housewife.”

“God, I can only imagine how adorable you must have looked in a poofy dress and apron,” Crystal said before she fell into a coughing fit, somehow still managing to laugh.

“You’ve called me many different names this past year, but I think ‘adorable’ is a first.”

“Honestly, I’d pay a lot of dollars to see what you looked like as a human.”

Suddenly, Gigi got an idea. “Hold that thought.”

Gigi went into the bedroom and laid on her stomach. Using her phone’s flashlight, she first saw her and Crystal’s box of sex toys, but deeper under the bed was a much smaller box. Stretching as far she could, Gigi reached the box.

Before leaving the bedroom, Gigi made sure to take one thing out of the box before returning to Crystal.

“You said you wanted to see what I looked like as a human?”

Crystal nodded. “I’d literally pay to see it.”

“Well, pay up, love.” Gigi handed Crystal three framed photos from when she was a human.

“How did you get these?”

“A few months after I was turned, I snuck into my parent’s home in the middle of the night.”

Crystal gasped and put her hand over her mouth. They were definitely her girlfriend. Her facial expression mirrored when she had to interact with humans she found annoying. Gigi’s eyes were what were the most unmistakable part of the photo. Even though they were in black and white, somehow Gigi’s eyes still had the sparkle that Crystal adored. Despite the photos being in black and white, it was still easy to see that Gigi was wearing light colors, something that didn’t normally happen.

The first photo was Gigi and a girl who looked just like her.

“Is that Nora?” Crystal asked. It had taken Gigi quite some time before she talked about her human life, but one night, Gigi and Crystal spent the entire night up until the early morning talking about her human life.

Gigi nodded.

“She’s beautiful.”

The next photo was a family photo. Crystal smiled as she saw that Gigi looked just like her mother. “You all look like each other.”

“That’s what everyone always told us.”

The final photo made Crystal gasp audibly. “Holy shit.”

Crystal wasn’t entirely sure if she was seeing what she thought she saw. The man in the photo with Gigi, who she presumed was her fiance, was a face she’d seen in her middle school history books.

“What?”

“You were engaged to James Rossini?” Crystal asked incredulously.

Gigi nodded.

“Did you know he was one of Chicago’s biggest mobsters back then?”

Gigi shook her head. “He and his father were always very secretive about what they did for a living. Nora ended up marrying his cousin. He mainly kept the books and didn’t kill anyone, which is why you’ve never heard of him.”

“God, I can just see you as a fancy schmancy mob wife, babe. In a huge mansion surrounded by nice things,” Crystal said.

“Well, now I buy myself nice things,” Gigi said looking around their apartment.

Crystal couldn’t stop staring at the photos. It was as though she saw a side of her girlfriend that she never thought she would ever get to see.

Crystal managed to doze off again, but was woken up by the sound of the oven timer. She peeked over the couch and saw Gigi was smiling at the photos before she got up to check on the soup boiling on the stove.

Every so often, there were moments where Crystal could see her girlfriend’s vulnerability. They were extremely rare, but when they happened, it was as though she was looking at a different person. Gigi’s coldness towards most people was an act that Crystal could see right through, even if Gigi wasn’t aware of it.

“Are you hungry, darling?”

“A little,” Crystal said sitting up on the couch.

Gigi brought over a bowl and the ginger ale that Crystal swore could cure cancer.

“I used to make this all the time when my family members were sick. I’m sure it’s not nearly as good as it was when I used to make it regularly.” Gigi took the seat on the couch next to Crystal.

Crystal blew on the soup on her spoon to cool it down. She was nervous, since she had absolutely no idea what to expect. Gigi watched in anticipation as Crystal had her first bite.

“Oh my God, babe, it’s so good.”

Gigi’s face lit up. “Really?”

Crystal nodded. After finishing the bowl and setting it on the questionably assembled coffee table, she kissed Gigi. “I’m glad you can’t get sick.”

“Me, too.”

“I love you, my good little trophy wife.”

Gigi rolled her eyes. “I am not.”

“Wife” was a word that Gigi never thought of when she looked at Crystal. Anytime it would come up on accident, the subject would be changed.

“You’re pretty good at taking care of the living, too,” Crystal mused. “Who would have thought?”

“Not me.”

In that moment, Gigi swore her life was perfect. If only it would last forever.

#rpdr fanfiction #crystal methyd #gigi goode #jackie cox #crygi #lesbian au #vampire au #duality #metaluna #s12

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iwillsithereandtrytocontribute · 4 years

Text

Solus

Pairings: None

Warnings: Nightmares, parent death (past, not described in detail),

Masterlist Ao3

Spoilers for the Rome Arc

I’ve been having a lot of Feelings about Sasha, Rome, and the letters so have this. I’m planning on having a sort of series follow-up, but we’ll see how I much I get done of that.

Some quick notes:

1. The title "Solus" is Latin for alone. 2. There's some Latin interspersed in the text, it should be translated right after. If not, please let me know. 3. My personal headcanon is that Sasha did name a kid Brock and just didn't mention it because none of the people receiving this letter actually knew Brock.

Enjoy :)

Sasha Rackett has had her life torn apart a thousand times, a thousand ways. She’s lost her parents, her friends, her rivals, her mentors, and everyone in between. Growing up in Other London though, you learn to be tough. To have a thick skin so that if you can’t dodge the knives they still can’t leave a mark.

Nothing could have prepared her for this. So much has happened in the span of three days. She went to Rome, saved Beaming Gusset and the other hostages, time traveled, lost her friend, and watched the fall of Rome in real time. And here she is trudging along in the countryside that surrounds what was once Rome. The gutted empty shell she’d seen 2,000 years in the future now that the dragons had had their fill of revenge.

Sasha is not alone for once, though sometimes she can’t quite decide if it’s a blessing or a curse. She thinks maybe somewhere in the middle. She’s grown used to being around company, even just those few friends, the past couple months. Gods, it’s only been a month or two since she left London behind, likely forever. Does London even exist now?

Cicero follows doggedly behind her. It’s his turn to hold the kid. Sasha couldn’t save everyone. Hell, she could barely save anyone, but they couldn’t ignore the child they found, half buried under the rubble. Somehow he had survived. And somehow they had found him. Sasha couldn’t save everyone, she couldn’t save Grizzop, but she could save him.

Cicero looked up to catch Sasha’s eye and she realized with a start that she’d been staring at him. She nodded at him awkwardly and he nodded back.

“Water?” Sasha asked, forgetting where she was for a minute. “Um, right sorry,” she continued seeing Cicero’s confused expression. “Right. Á-áqua? Right? Or is that Spanish,” Sasha mused to herself. Judging from the change in Cicero’s expression she’d gotten it right. He carefully laid the kid down and took the water skin as Sasha offered it.

As he drank, Sasha took stock of their combined injuries. Cicero is looking a lot better than he did yesterday, even going on with no sleep as they are. His main injuries were healed by the potion and he had gotten over the shock well enough. Sasha had had worse. And the kid probably had some head trauma, fading in and out of consciousness like he was. So all in all, they might look like hell, but they were surviving.

“Témpus?” Sasha tried in her broken Latin. The potions they’d taken back in Rome had long since worn off, leaving a language gap with a thin bridge across, held up by the few Latin lessons she had taken back when Barret had sent her to Upper London for “an education.”

Cicero held up 4 fingers. “Quáttuor hóra.” 4 hours. Sasha nodded and took a deep breath. She took the water skin back and hooked it onto her belt. She counted her daggers obsessively, checking and double-checking that her spring-loaded wrist sheaths were loaded. Finally satisfied, she lifted the kid as gently as she could, muscles screaming in protest as she lifted him, and continued in the direction Cicero had pointed in as they left the destruction of Rome.

“I know a place,” he had said. “This way.” Sasha had followed because what else could she do? She was alone, alone, as out of her element as it was possible to be. So she followed.

It took them just over 5 hours to reach the house. The villa really. It was large, with wide sprawling grounds and tall pillars that surrounded the courtyards. Sasha slumped slightly with relief. Here was a place to rest, if only for a little while.

Cicero gestured her inside, staggering in behind her, his legs weak beneath the kid’s weight. He wasn’t particularly large, but they had been trading him off for hours with little to no rest. They had been too anxious to get away from Rome. Sasha didn’t know much about the fall of Rome, and certainly if the dragons had decided to pick off the few people who had escaped the city no one would have known about it regardless. Cicero seemed to share her anticipation if not her thought process, and had agreed without question not to sleep for the night.

Sasha sighed, rubbing her forehead. She was going to have to learn Latin wasn’t she?

She made sure the kid was taken care of. The villa seemed pretty empty, but she trusted Cicero a moderate amount at this point. Something about living through an apocalyptic event with someone makes you want to trust him. Sasha would not be surprised to learn later that the villa was owned by a rich family. All of whom were in Rome at the time of its fall. At its center. The chances of their survival were slim to none. They did not turn up to reclaim their home.

Finding a room for the kid, she’s started calling him Brock in her head, was easy. Sasha sits in a chair across from the bed, intending to keep an eye on him for just a little while. It wouldn’t do for him to wake up alone. Sasha has woken up alone before.

The dark she loves so much, suddenly pressing in close. The bedsheets, blankets, her own clothing, suddenly tight and strangulatory. Her panicked heavy breathing as she pads down the stairs to her parent’s bedroom, silent as ever, only to find a pristine, empty bed. Huddling, knees close to her chest as she instructs herself over and over not to cry. Failing.

Sasha wakes up with a start, knife immediately in hand and held to her attacker’s throat. Cicero blinks uncomfortably, shaking slightly as he carefully removes his hand from Sasha’s shoulder. Sasha wrenches her dagger from his neck in a motion so quick it looks as though she was never holding a dagger at all.

Looking outside she can see the sun setting. She must have fallen asleep. She’s no stranger to nightmares, though that one’s worse than most. Sasha rubs at her eyes as Cicero tries to lead her out of the room.

“No. No, wait. We shouldn’t leave him alone!” Sasha pulls away, only to be caught by Cicero again. “Um, um.” Sasha racks her brain. “Solus,” she says, pointing at the kid. Alone. Cicero nods, pushing her towards the door again. Sasha tries protesting again, when he lets go of her to sit in the chair he had found her in.

Sasha nodded with understanding. “Grátiās.” Thanks. Cicero returns the nod with a tired smile.

“Sómnus.” Sleep.

Sasha understands. And she sleeps.

Not without nightmares.

There’s the usual contenders; losing Brock, losing her parents, Barret’s manipulation, a particularly gory end to a co-conspirator from an Other London heist. But over the last months, she’s gained oh so many more. In her dreams she listens to Mr. Ceiling tear her mind and body apart, feels her humanity slip away, sees Zolf leave, and Grizzop die. Over and over she sees and feels spears plunge, needles prick, knives slice, and magic burn. Sasha does not remember the last time she slept through the night without waking up in a cold sweat, but the dreams have only increased in number and intensity.

Sasha does not remember the last time her eyes were clear of their deep circles, that against her pale skin give her a sickly glow even when she’s not mostly undead.

Sasha wakes up, and stays awake when the sun rises over the gently sloping hills surrounding the secluded villa. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she gives a small smile at the beautiful scarlet red sunrise. Her smile fades when she sees the thick wall of smoke at the edge of the horizon, assisting the sun in painting a blood red sky.

A painful reminder that Rome has fallen and Sasha was here to see it. Alone.

Years later

They went back. Back to the city once they were sure the dragons had had their fill of it. They found so very few to save. Mostly children. So many children. Sasha’s heart broke to hear their cries, to see them clutching at the torn clothes of their parents as they came to save them. They aren’t alone anymore.

Some were too young to know their names, too young to remember their families in a couple of years. Sasha gave them names. Amidus, Wilde, Brock, Azu, Grizzop, Sagax for Zolf, even Bertus. It took a couple years for the sad smile she had whenever she said their names to turn genuine, but it did happen eventually. It was as much a way to remember her friends as her yearly trips to the temple of Artemis in the nearest city were.

She taught them everything she knew. Acrobatics, stealth, throwing daggers, how to detect traps, the whole lot of it. Cicero covered the more academic side of things, the villa had a decent library, and all things considered he was a good teacher.

Sasha had never expected to live long. It just didn’t happen in Other London. Before she left, Barret was the oldest person she had ever seen and he wasn’t far past fifty. Besides, her line of work was dangerous. Yet, here she was, living. Passing down a legacy to these kids. She hadn’t realized how much she had wanted someone to learn what she knew, how much she wanted to pass down her knowledge.

She found that fulfillment in the children and teenagers they rescued from the still-smoldering ruins of Rome. And they found new lives with her and Cicero.

Still, on the days she felt like she was forgetting her old life, Sasha would slip away. To a secluded spot in the orchard that only she knew about and slide on her old leather jacket, and she would just take a moment to remember.

Remember gruff Zolf, with more rough exterior than a ship covered in barnacles. The first to make her a partner rather than someone to order around. Flighty little Hamid, gods Sasha missed his hugs. Out of all of them, he was the one who’d stuck around the longest. The soft, kind Azu and her complete understanding. It was rare that Sasha could find someone to be silent with, and yet there Azu was. Grizzop, who practically vibrated whenever he got angry. Sasha always started crying by this point. Grizzop, who had given everything to protect her. And Wilde. After all their time spent together, Wilde had grown on her. Sasha still thinks of puns he would like sometimes. She writes them down on a sheaf of paper. Maybe he’ll get them one day. Even Bertie’s sharp edges have been softened with time, and memory always puts a hazy glow on the past. Sasha knows he was horrible, but he’s still a part of the best and worst months of her life, so she can’t just forget him.

One day, many many years after Sasha has been trapped in the past she sits down to write a letter. One that she hopes might someday reach her friends. Her only way to say goodbye.

She’s been writing them letters for years. Hamid, Azu, Wilde, even Zolf in the vain hope that they will find them.

They are a mix of English and Latin, it’s been so long since she’s spoken or written in her native language, she can hardly remember it anymore. As time passes, they become almost entirely Latin. Sasha knows they’ll find a way to read them.

She’s getting on in years now, so much older than she ever dreamed of being. So she writes each letter knowing it might be her last, not that she ever believed any different.

She signs each one with the name her family gave her. Both of them.

Whosaskinus “Sasha” Lolomg

So... Here. Like I said, I have plans to make a short series with some letter Sasha writes to the party (because there’s no way it was just the one) and I really like writing in her voice. If you’d like to be tagged in that when I post it please let me know. If you just want to chat my inbox is open. Stay safe :)

#rqg #rusty quill gaming #sasha rackett #rqg cicero #rqg spoilers #rqg fic #jasper writes

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