#i like to imagine jon shows up to work in all black with a cat ear headband just like ''maybe this will keep tim off my back'' | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

voiceless-terror · 3 years

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would you consider writing me some precanon jongeorgie angst. bc i imagine they probably bonded over their interest in the supernatural but never. you know. actually talked about their personal experiences/trauma. just give me a little of both of them handling that trauma very badly while never admitting their closest brush with the supernatural. or something. idk.

Hello anon! I haven’t written Jon/Georgie yet, but this prompt was too good to pass up. Hope you like!

Being with Georgie was easy. It shouldn’t have been, not for him.

But it was.

She carried herself with the utmost surety: of her opinions, of her feelings, of her place in the world. It wasn’t arrogance, more like confidence and something else Jon couldn’t quite put his finger on. There was a blankness in her eyes sometimes. Not an absence of feeling but an absence of...understanding, maybe. Of empathy. Georgie saw the world in black and white; she knew exactly what was right and what was wrong. She was blunt. She bulldozed over others in conversations, pointed out flaws that polite society knew to overlook and not name. Jon admired it, as much as it made him cringe.

But it was complemented by her fierce capacity for loving, her clever, teasing words, the way her fingers ran through his hair when he was stressed. That black and white view could quiet his mind like no other- ‘yes, Jon’, ‘no, Jon.’ She listened to his incessant rambling, nodding in the right places and adding her own commentary. She filled out the crosswords in the morning, her brow furrowed in concentration, colorful nails tapping at the table. She never wanted help, stubborn to a fault. Her dark skin ethereal in the morning light, the way her voice was low and croaky before her coffee. The ease with which she said ‘I love you.’

He remembered the day she first approached him, all ripped-tights and smudged, smoky eyeshadow. Just leaned against the wall on that chilly fall night and snatched the cigarette right from his hand, an eyebrow flicked upward as she took a drag. He couldn’t get a word out, just silently took her phone when she offered it and typed in a number with shaking hands. A year later and she was still that same girl, though he’d seen her stash of manga and her weird cat memorabilia. She was whole, real. It was comfortable.

“I’m not really sure if I should go.” They’re curled up on the couch, Jon leaning into the warm bulk of her. “All of the others are going, though.”

“It’s not like you’re close, right?” Jon’s petting the Admiral, the new addition to the household fitting in seamlessly. “I’m sure she won’t take it as an insult. You can always say you’re busy. Who was it, again? Her father?”

“Yeah.” Georgie’s shifting against him, clearly uncomfortable with the topic. It’s odd- she’s not usually so awkward about these things. If there’s something she doesn’t want to talk about, she shuts it down right away. This seems...different. “And no, not close. But everyone else is going- they want to show their support, I guess. It would be awkward if I didn’t.”

Perhaps Georgie didn’t like funerals. You’re not supposed to, of course. Maybe it was a phobia, a perfectly valid one. Plenty of people don’t like to see the reminder of death laid out before them. Jon’s been to a few in his lifetime- for his Gran’s friend, for a distant cousin.

For his parents.

He doesn’t remember his father’s, he might not have even gone. He was only two at the time. He distantly remembers his mother’s; it wasn’t well attended, he sat in the front row with his Gran. He doesn’t even remember crying, if he even realized the thing in the box was his mother, dead and gone.

Needless to say, he understands Georgie’s sentiments. “You don’t have to go, not if...not if you don’t like it. Plenty of people are uncomfortable with death-” This was the wrong thing to say, for Georgie tensed instantly, leaning away from him.

“That’s not it at all,” she says, snatching her legs out from where Jon’s leaning comfortable against them. “It’s- it’s the performance of it all. All those people standing around a body, sniffling and moaning-”

Jon tried for levity, bristling at her tone. “People grieve, they need closure-”

Georgie snorted, this time shoving him away on the couch, the Admiral jumping from Jon’s lap at the movement. Her words became impassioned, as if Jon needed to know, needed to understand. “Cremate them, then! Say a few words, scatter the ashes, whatever. But having the body on display like that?” She gets up, starts to pace. Jon’s never seen her like this. “Paint the corpse, dress it up, pretend it’s a person still but it’s not, and everyone’s just standing there around it, praying over it and watching it like it’s not just rotting meat you put lipstick on-”

“Georgie!”

“I can’t stand it.” She stops in front of him, chest heaving and eyes aflame. “What’s so monumental about it? We live, we die- and her father was old, it was bound to happen sometime. No need to make such a to-do. It’s- it’s just disgusting, is what it is.” She didn’t continue, and an awkward silence permeated the room.

Georgie got worked up about things on occasion. But the wild look in her eye, the total sense of incomprehension was...disconcerting. He agreed with her on certain points, of course, but the vehemence behind them- something wasn’t right. But it didn’t feel right to pry, either, and Georgie surely wouldn’t appreciate it.

“You could just say you’re busy, you don’t have to go,” he tries tentatively. She seems to deflate where she stands, looking uncharacteristically vulnerable. So he stands up, taking her hand in his. She lets him, but doesn’t meet his eyes. “But if you do, I can come with you. If you’d like.”

They stand in the very back row of the church after awkwardly greeting her grieving coworker. Georgie’s nails dig painfully into his arm, but he says nothing. They leave after ten minutes and stop at an Indian buffet on the way home. He silently watches her dig into a curry, his own untouched.

___________

When she first met Jon, she thought he was utterly out of her league.

It was her first semester back at school, she was an absolute fucking mess- drinking at all hours, barely present in her classes. She was out at the bar with a few new friends, most of whom she’d already forgotten the names of, and saw him standing there under a single flickering lamp, a cigarette dangling from long, slender fingers, raven hair back in a messy bun. Not many people could pull that off but he looked almost effortlessly cool (a thing she’d later find laughable for ever thinking) in his dingy leather jacket, his eyes far away and shadowed. She wondered what made him lose sleep. He had an odd, crooked little smile on his face and she was filled with liquid courage. The look he gave her when she took that cigarette out of his hand made her knees weak, and he took the proffered phone like he was only a little impressed. She sent a text to his phone and left, so embarrassed she went straight home.

He never did text her. To be fair, she never expected him to.

But she found him not two days later, hunched over a table in the campus library. She did a double take- surely this couldn’t be him, her impossibly handsome, silent figure who she surely dreamed up. But there was no mistaking that hair, those eyes. He was smaller, somehow diminished in his baggy jumper and wire-rimmed glasses, tapping a pencil against his textbook in irritation. Before she knew it she found herself picking up her phone, sending a text to the number with no name. And sure enough, his phone buzzed.

They went out on their first date a day later.

Jon was a ball of nerves, awkward and not at all like the man she thought she met that night. Somehow, the real Jon was better. She liked the way he blushed and stammered, the way a touch of her hand left him flustered and unable to speak. The way he could talk for hours about nothing at all, making even the most dull of subjects seem interesting with that voice of his- a voice surely meant for radio or T.V., something Jon himself endlessly scoffed at whenever she brought it up. They would sit in front of the telly for hours, marathoning ridiculous ghost hunting shows and pointing out the obvious fakes. Jon had a weakness for ghost stories, just like she did. “Most of them are absolute drivel, of course,” he said.

Most of them.

They found comfort in each other, their small island of two, had no need for other company. Georgie had never been able to relate to someone so well, not since Alex, and Jon was never fond of crowds. Three months in he tried to break up with her, saying he could never give her what ‘she needed’ but she stopped that in its tracks- Georgie would be the one who decided what she did and didn’t need, thank you very much. She liked the way he leaned into her on movie nights, like her touch was the only thing that mattered. The sincerity in his eyes whenever he complimented her in that earnest, awkward way of his. He challenged her when he thought she was wrong, sometimes their fights lasted days. But they always came back to one another, each knowing they had no one else who understood them. Was it healthy? Georgie couldn’t answer that, she didn’t know herself. Jon probably didn’t either. But she loved him, in her way.

That night they have a few glasses of wine, and Jon’s regaling her with some ridiculous story from his youth- apparently he was somewhat of a delinquent, wandering about at all hours. She laughs in delight, imagining a small, serious Jon climbing fences and evading the law. But suddenly Jon stops, his eyes going wide and his face growing ashen as he stares unblinking at the table.

It’s a spider- a tiny thing, really. Georgie’s been seeing a lot of them lately, and she really should be better about dusting the place. But Jon- Jon looks absolutely terrified, like the thing’s bound to leap out and kill him. She opens her mouth to tease, an instinctive reaction, but is instead startled by the loud smack of a hand against the table. Jon had smashed it certainly, but he lifts his hand and stares at it in wide-eyed horror, as if whatever he sees is nine times worse than the original thing.

“Jon-”

The chair hits the ground as he stumbles to her bathroom with heavy, labored breathing. She gets up slowly, approaching as quietly as possible to find him hyperventilating against the sink, the faucet on full blast as he washes his hand- scratches it, really. He’s mumbling frantically under his breath.

“...so many legs, get off, get off-”

She makes her presence known as not to startle him, approaching from the side and gently wrapping a hand around his arm once she sees him drawing blood. He starts anyway, his movements jerky and frenzied as he rips his arm away like her touch burns.

“It’s just a spider Jon,” she says softly, lifting her hands to show she means no harm. “It’s okay, you got it, it’s dead now-”

“But what if it isn’t!” He spits, slamming his hands on the marble rim of the sink and leaving bloody prints in his wake. He’s breathing so fast she thinks he might pass out. “What if it isn’t?”

She has no answer to that.

It takes about two hours, a hot shower and a stiff drink for him to calm down. They lay on the couch, watching something stupid, mind-numbing. She runs her fingers through his hair. He always liked that. She doesn’t say a word, he’s exhausted, and she knows from experience that pushing him will just lead to another fit like before. The next day, he brings her Hungarian by way of apology. They eat in a more comfortable silence, Jon gradually warming up as the evening goes on. Still, she doesn’t ask.

She spends the weekend cleaning her flat, standing on a chair and vacuuming at the cobwebs.

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28440474

#my writing #prompt fill #the magnus archives #tma #jonathan sims #georgie barker #jongeorgie #precanon #angst #bit of a relationship study idk what you'd call that #Anonymous

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rosy-cheekx · 3 years

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Make A Wish

Book passage: Elfriede Jelinek, The Piano Teacher

Me? Posting an unprompted fic? 2021 is starting off wild!

AO3 Link here

Summary: Martin knows just how to celebrate Jon’s 35th birthday. It’s soft and beautiful and speaks of a bright future.

Martin doesn’t know how to shop for Jon. He’s the kind of guy who doesn’t really want trinkets or the little gifts Martin would think to buy for a significant other. (If he does want them, at least, he doesn’t say it.) Things he needs, like clothes, he buys himself, doesn’t wait for an occasion. Overall, Martin would not describe Jon as materialistic.

Books are the exception. Books are always the exception for Jon. While Jon is not materialistic, he is usually sentimental. He keeps things for as long as he can, letting them wear and wear til they’re no longer usable, like his shoes. Especially pictures. Jon never throws away pictures. (Martin knows why and snaps as many Polaroids as he can of his partner, himself, their friends, even their cat, hanging them around the house in tiny frames as reminders.) But his books are in and out of the shelves like they run a bookshop of their own. Martin has heard the stories of his partner’s reading habits as a youth, knows that Jon’s reading habits are challenging, to say the least. Before they’d moved in together, though, he hadn’t realized that every time he was at Jon’s the bookshelves were almost entirely unique to the last visit. New titles, rarely the same authors, with no seeming organization to the assemblance. Martin knows this now, knows that once a fortnight Jon packs up all the books he’s read and takes them to their local charity shop. It’s his little ritual, and the bug-eyed look of confusion Martin had received when he had asked him about it the first time was priceless.

“I just--don’t need them anymore?” He says, like it’s a question. “I’m not going to read them again.”

“Really?” Martin raised his eyebrows in surprise. “I took you to be a bit of a hoarder when it comes to books, if the statements in your office were any indication. And it’s our flat, so they’re our books. What if I want to read them?”

“Please.” Jon scoffs. “That’s entirely different. I don’t enjoy- well. They’re work, these are not.”

Still, after this, Jon includes Martin in his ritual, giving him synopses from books he thinks Martin might enjoy and adding the Blackwood-Approved books to the other bookshelf. Martin is quite proud of his bookshelf, identical in structure to Jon’s but entirely more organized: books ordered by genre, then by author, with figurines, photos, and plants acting as weights and decor. Jon’s deviates between sparse and overflowing, books stacked however they will fit, with no rhyme or reason to their order.

Martin doesn’t know how to shop for Jon, but he’s learned quickly that Jon isn’t a Things person. Jon is an Experiences person. The moments he treasures are the ones where he and Martin are happy to be in each other’s presence and experiencing new things together. Ice skating, picnics, hiking, cinemas, all the quintessential cheesy dates, the ones he would’ve guessed, way back when, before he knew the real Jon, this Jon, he would have snubbed his nose at.

Jon’s birthday is coming up. He’s turning 35 and is all too self-conscious about the fact. Martin ribs him a little; he’s older by seven months, after all, “you’re making me feel old, Jon!” Their ritual has become to call off work and spend a day together on Jon’s birthday. No gifts, no fanfare, just a day doing an activity Martin has planned. It’s perfect usually, Jon’s delighted smile and bright eyes when he thanks Martin with a kiss is all the satisfaction he needs. But this is 35, it needs to be special. It needs to be perfect.

---

Martin blinks awake to the steady, calming drum of rain on their bedroom window. He pats out blindly for his glasses, haphazardly set on his bedside table, and pushes them on his face, before rolling back onto his side and tucking an arm around Jon’s waist and nuzzling into his neck. “Happy birthday, love,” he murmurs, carding his other hand through Jon’s tangled curls. He smiles softly as he watches his partner; Jon always grumbles that he looks so much older than he is, but when he’s sleeping, Martin swears he looks timeless, a specimen of perfect beauty against the crisp black sheets. Jon shifts in his arms, turning to face him, and squints blearily at Martin. Jon, for all his sleepless nights back at the archives, is not a morning person.

“Hm-mar’in?” he mumbles, irises stained forever green. He clears his throat and scrubs at his eyes. God, he looks just like a cat. “G’mornin’,” he says, a little more comprehensible, voice rough-hewn from sleep.

“Morning, love.” Martin kisses his forehead, between his eyebrows. “Happy birthday,” His nose, cold from a chilly autumn night. “Ready for a good day?” His lips now, soft and warm. Jon sighs underneath him, presses himself into the kiss, slots himself into the Jon-shaped space in Martin’s arms.

When Martin shifts away to sit up, Jon audibly whines, grabbing at Martin’s hand to pull him back. “You’re so warm, don’t go,” he pleads. Martin chuckles and squeezes his hand.

“It’s half nine. You want breakfast, don’t you? We have an agenda to follow, don’t forget.” But Jon shakes his head and tugs again.

“Birthday Ruling,” he cites solemnly, stretching as he says it. (Again, like a cat, the way he arches his back. Is that on purpose? Martin is pretty sure he’s seen Reggie—Her Regency—do the exact same thing.) “By royal decree, you have to stay here until I’m awake enough to help you with breakfast.”

“Well,” Martin chuckles, shaking his head to himself and tucking himself around Jon’s thin form. “I can’t refuse a royal decree, now, can I?”

Breakfast becomes brunch, and once the pair are awake tea, cut fruit, and omelets are prepared and eaten on the couch. Jon being left-handed and Martin right, they sit on their perspective sides so they can hold hands and not inhibit the other from eating.

“So,” Jon prompts, eyeing Martin from his peripheral as he watches him wash dishes. “What are your secret plans? Am I allowed to know yet?”

“Hmm.” Martin considers his question, running a plate through his hands as he dried it, solemn contemplation on his face. “No.”

“Mar-tiiin,” Martin is almost worn down by that plea, a sound he doesn’t think anyone else who has ever met Jonathan Sims could fathom coming from him. A bloom of warmth in his chest; a reminder he will never feel lonely again.

“But I think you’ll figure it out,” he compromises, grinning to himself. His plan had come to him in a sudden realization at work and Martin did think it was some of his best work yet. “Here’s your hint: you may want to bring a canvas.”

Jon’s face is a measured calm. “We’re going shopping?” Martin just shrugs, winking.

They take a cab and the rain pounds down on the roof, the repetitive noise a balm against the cold and wet. Martin really got lucky today; the sound of rain is one of Jon’s favorites. He sighs inwardly as Jon rests his curls, slightly damp from their wait for the cab, on his shoulder and closes his eyes, basking in the warmth of his boyfriend and the pleasant drumming.

Jon’s eyes opened when he felt the cab pull to a stop, and he took their surroundings in with the quick analytical eye of an ex-Archivist. Martin felt his cheeks growing warm with excitement as they stepped out of the cab and paid. The building before them, like most Scottish buildings, was made of uneven stone. There was a little garden, mostly rocks with some shrubbery dotted between, and the pathway, also stone, though a flatter smoother variety, led to the door, which read The Watermill in blue and white lettering. “Martin?” Jon threaded his fingers through Martin’s, eyes wide.

“It’s a bookshop, Jon. It’s got reading nooks, and a café, and I swear I’ll buy you any books you want. We can stay as long as we like. We can read as much as we want.”

Three short squeezes to Martin’s hand. Oh. He was starting to ramble. He returns the answering four. “Martin, love, it sounds perfect. But it’s raining.” Right. A drop of rain rolls down Martin’s nose, and he shivers. “Let’s get inside.”

Martin is glad he brought a tote, a canvas bag with the name of Jon’s university emblazoned on the sides. He follows Jon through every aisle as Jon analyzes every book like their dogs in show. He scans the titles, covers and authors with precision, sometimes returning them with delicate hands, sometimes reading descriptions or thumbing through the pages, before deciding their worth and either reshelving it or handing it to Martin. Martin is distinctly reminded of being an Archival Assistant, helping Jon prioritize case files, except the expression on Jon’s face isn’t furrowed and grim, it’s near-rapturous awe as he selects and examines the books. There is no evident consistency to the books Jon picks, ranging from YA fiction to historical documentation to travel books of places he knew they’d probably never visit, though he always takes Martin’s suggested reads, nodding dutifully and running his hand down the spine before placing it in the ever-weighing bag on Martin’s arm.

They spend nearly an hour and a half roaming shelves before Jon is satisfied with this first load. Martin is grateful. His shoulder is starting to hurt from the nearly full canvas he’s hoisted on his shoulder. Martin leads his partner to a small corner, something that can only be described as a nook. There’s a small, well-worn sofa, a table with coasters, and a coffee table in front of the sofa. The whole space is cast in warm orange-yellow light, courtesy of the standing lamps, and Martin can imagine this is a great place to curl up and fall asleep.

Curl up they do, Martin sitting with a few books of his own beside him and Jon leaning against Jon’s side, sprawling over the majority of the couch. Martin tucks an arm over Jon’s chest, feeling the slow rise and fall of the space where collarbone meets rib, and they read. They read in silence for most of the morning, Jon flipping through his books at a truly astounding pace (Jon thinks its left over from his Archival Spooky Powers, Martin thinks he’s just a nerd), pausing occasionally to read Martin a line he finds interesting. It’s a yellow paperback now, something about psychopathy, and he begins to read out an interview the author had with a man who claims he should not have been diagnosed as a psychopath.

“D’you think Jonah was a psychopath?” Jon asks, brow furrowed as he reads the qualifying characteristics. “He had the ‘grandiose sense of self-worth’ and ‘cunning/manipulation’ down pat.”

Martin hums, glancing over Jon’s shoulder to read the rest of the Psychopath Test. “Lack of remorse,” he points. “Lack of empathy for sure. Someone with empathy doesn’t implant visions of their dead father into the head of their employee. Speaking of, we should have Melanie and Georgie over soon.” Jon nods against his chest. “I’d call him charming, too, actually,” nudging Jon gently. “Especially with new employees. Remember how he—”

“Called me into his office nonstop and ‘checked in?’ Yeah, I remember.” Jon sighed and smoothed the page down. “Can you call it ‘a parasitic lifestyle’ when your employees are bound under your servitude for eternity or until they die?” Jon scoffs. “I don’t think the DSM is ready for Smirke’s Fourteen.”

“Maybe not. Maybe the sixth edition will be.” Martin presses a kiss to the top of Jon’s head and turns back to his own book.

“Hungry?” Martin asks, nudging Jon as his stomach gurgles for the third time in as many minutes. Jon jumps a little, likely having forgotten Martin was there.

“Erm-I mean, a little.” Even after being together for so long, Jon still hesitates to let Martin buy him food. (“Martin, I have money. You don’t- you don’t have to-” but whatever offending muffin or cone of chips would be pressed into his hand and he would thank Martin, sheepish, and take a bite.)

“Chai latte? Something sweet?” Martin asks, nudging Jon out of his side and feeling the cold spot left in his wake. “Its your birthday, come on.” Jon sighs and relents, and Martin swear he can hear him roll his eyes as he walks away.

Martin orders two chais and a few cupcakes (chocolate for Jon, carrot cake for him) from the café in the front of the bookshop and joins an ever-growing queue of patrons waiting to get their own warm treats. The rain must have driven people in in droves. Never mind it, though, their corner feels empty enough. He thinks he sees a spider on the back of a woman’s shirt in front of him, and flinches before realizing, oh, it’s just a bit of string. He takes a slight step back anyways. He didn’t used to do that.

“Order for Martin?” An American voice, uni student probably. He thanks her and makes a point to drop a few quid in the tip jar, seeing it frustratingly empty for such a busy café.

Martin takes a small porcelain plate in each hand, a mug and pastry balanced on each, and makes his way carefully back to the sofa where he had left Jon. Only, he couldn’t see his curly hair, tied up in his half-bun, over the back of the sofa. Did he go to the loo?

It’s when Martin steps over to the side of the couch to set the plates down that he bursts into laughter. Jon is sprawled in a way that seems completely unconducive to reading: his knees are hooked over the sofa, so his socked feet (shoes neatly deposited next to his hips) are on the cushion itself. His torso is stretched on the warm, well-swept wood floor and his head (and his book) are tucked under the coffee table; arms locked over his head so he can read on his back. It looks ridiculous, he cannot fathom what possessed Jon to sit like this and not on his back on the couch.

Jon hears his laughter and arcs his neck, trying to see Martin’s face. “It was…comfortable?” he tries helplessly, giggling awkwardly. “Oh, piss off,” he sighed, inelegantly worming his way out from under the seat.

“Come on, old man.” Martin grins, handing him the cupcake he’d bought for him, with a single purple candle pressed into it. “Make a wish!”

“It’s not even lit,” Jon protested, cheeks flushing.

“Want me to sing instead? I can.” Martin took a deep breath. “Happy Bir-”

“N-no! Martin, no!” Jon pressed a hand over his mouth, though he was giggling madly at Martin’s wild expression. “I’ll blow it out. Just hush.” He took a deep breath, closed his eyes for a moment, and then let out a breath in a sigh. His eyes were soft, smile to match. “I…I don’t have anything to wish for.”

Martin’s turn to blush. “Just-just shut up and eat your cake,” he mumbled, hiding his smile in a sip of his tea.

Maybe its how at-peace he feels, maybe it’s his ADHD (its definitely the ADHD), but Martin has no idea how long he’s been reading. He’s brought out of his reverie, his copy of In Cold Blood almost finished (he’s read it before, but god he loves this book so much), by a low noise he can’t pick out at first. It’s quiet, soothing, its right next to him.

Oh. Oh. It’s Jon. This one, a real compulsion left over from his time as an Archivist, Jon is reading aloud to himself, his voice the sonorous, resonant tone of a man performing for himself. Martin puts his book down carefully, trying not to alert Jon to his awareness, and listens, letting the words wash over him. Jon’s voice has always been able to capture Martin’s attention, even before the Eldritch Spooky Magic that eventually attached itself to it.

“Klemmer stands there, gazing at her. “Erika doesn’t want a silence to develop, so she utters a platitude. Art is platitudinous for Erika because she lives off art. How much easier it is for the artist, says the woman, to hurl feelings or passions out of himself. When an artist resorts to dramatic devices, which you so greatly esteem, Klemmer, he is simply utilizing bogus methods while neglecting authentic ones. She talks to prevent the eruption of silence. I, as a teacher, favor undramatic art – Schumann, for instance. Drama is always easier! Feelings and passions are always merely a substitute, a surrogate for spirituality. The teacher yearns for an earthquake, for a roaring, raging tempest to pounce upon her. That wild Klemmer is so angry that he almost drills his head into the wall. The clarinet class next door, which he, the owner of a second instrument, has been frequenting twice a week, would certainly be astonished if Klemmer’s angry head suddenly emerged from the wall, next to Beethoven’s death mask. Oh, that Erika, that Erika. She doesn’t sense that he is actually talking about her, and naturally about himself as well! He is connecting Erika and himself in a sensual context, ejecting the spirit, that enemy of the senses, that primal foe of the flesh. She thinks he is referring to Schubert, but he really means himself, just as he always means himself whenever he speaks. “He suddenly ventures to adopt a familiar tone with Erika; using a formal tone, she advises him to remain objective! Her mouth puckers, willy-nilly, into a wrinkly rosette; she cannot control it. She controls what the mouth says, but she cannot control the way it presents itself to the outside world. She gets goosebumps all over.”

Martin closes his eyes against the words, a shiver running down his spine, starting at the top of his skull. It’s a feeling he gets so rarely now, the feeling of being so absolutely content in the presence of another person that any fog he may have is physically expunged from him. Not that there is any, but it’s a safeguard; a reminder to himself that he is not Lonely anymore and will never be lonely again. It can’t get him, not here, not with Jon sprawled, almost in his lap, reading and sipping tea and letting the only thing they worry about be whether they fed the cat this morning (Jon did, of course, Reggie is not one to let them forget her morning meal).

“Martin?” Jon’s voice cuts through his quiet contemplation. “You alright?” He’s tilting his head back, almost upside down to look at Martin’s face. “I felt you shudder.” Of course, even deep in his trance of this story he had felt Martin shift.

“Of course, sweetheart,” he smiles reassuringly, carding the hair off Jon’s forehead. “I’m not feeling lonely, not even a little bit.” He used to do it a lot in the safehouse, and fog would roll off him in droves. Jon would hold him through it all. “I think it just happens now like part of an immune system, just checking in when I’m feeling emotional.”

“Emotional?” Jon looks a little relieved, but not entirely. He sits up, glancing down at his page number (Martin could never figure out how Jon did that, remembered his page number instead of using a bookmark) and cups Martin’s face gently, searching it. “What’s wrong?”

“Absolutely nothing, Jon, I promise. That was why I was emotional,” he admits, feeling a little sheepish. “It’s just good to feel happy. It feels good to be with you, to be at peace, to not worry about what is going to happen tomorrow and whether we’re going to die.”

Martin blushes, feeling heat spread through his face. It feels good to say it out loud. “Happy birthday, Jon. I love you.”

They leave with bags full of books, smiles on their faces and the moon casting a faint light on their backs. Martin falls asleep in the cab on the way home, his head lilting onto Jon’s shoulder. When Jon wakes him up, leading his sleepy partner up the stairs,

Jon thinks 35 maybe won’t be so bad, after all.

#tma fic #tma fanfic #the magnus archives #jmart #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #fluff #birthday #bookshop #cafe #good vibes all around #fanfic to a tea

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residentsocialfailure · 3 years

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Thoughts on MAG 190

because I have many, and I’m so excited this show is finally back.

God, hearing that intro again. Gives me chills. I missed this.

Lowri! Helen! For some reason I was thinking they might have only been a part of the trailer, without actually being major characters. I’m so happy I was wrong. Fucking love them. Helen has always been, and always will be, my favorite Rusty Quiller.

“They sometimes go to a side tunnel, for.. private contemplation.” 2 minutes in, and Jonny reveals that wtgfs like to sneak off to go make out. I love it.

First tape recorder appearance. Oh shit. Interesting that they eye doesn’t work super well in the tunnels, yet it still appears. Hmmm.

“First name terms with The Prophets. Bit disrespectful.” Oh, I missed his sass. Jon is so good.

Hiding out in Leitner’s old haunt. Interesting. I wonder if there are any of his books still lying around, and if the fearpocalypse has affected them at all.

“Celia?” Martin recognizes her? Is she the same girl Lowri played in MAG 100?

Oh, I missed Melanie so much. She’s so good, and her disdain for Jon is wonderful. God, I hope nothing bad happens to her.

Helen is Melanie’s therapist! That’s amazing. I love it.

I don’t know why Georgie trying repeatedly to destroy the never-ending tape recorders is so funny to me, but it is.

I’m so glad they’re getting to talk. I missed Georgie, and her not really being there for Jon in S4 always made me kind of sad. I mean, it was totally understandable. and she had to do what was best for her too, but still. I’m glad that she’s acknowledging it though, and saying that she wasn’t really being fair to Jon, and didn’t understand what was really going on. I just love all of these people so much. I feel like this exchange is probably really important for Jon too.

An endless supermarket? That’s super convenient. Just trying to figure out how that would work as a fearscape. Husbands who were sent to the store by their wives and can’t remember what to get? Broke college students who are trying to put together a meal with no money? Feeling judged for your purchases, thinking the employees are watching you and know that you don’t know how to cook. Or something. Or maybe it’s for the retail workers. Feeling like your boss is constantly watching you, waiting for you to make a mistake. Yeah, that makes more sense. Probably some of all of the above.

The Admiral!!! I kind of love/hate that he’s just chilling, going hunting 24/7. Like I’m glad he’s happy. But it’s so sad that he doesn’t recognize Georgie. That must be really difficult. I wonder what specifically he’s hunting. Other cats? Mice? Birds? People who are afraid of cats?

“The Snoop God’s favorite kid”

“Now my therapist thinks I’m the chosen one.” All jokes aside (because it did make me laugh) that must be a super weird dynamic, for both of them. Like, hey, you know everything about me, and how completely flawed I am. You helped me get through some very dark periods, and now I’m apparently the savior of your world or something. And thinking your “prophet” is somebody who you saw in such a way, has to be wild. I’m interested to see if they’re going to delve more into this relationship, because it could be really interesting.

I also really, really, love that Martin and Melanie are able to have this time to just talk. They’ve both gone through so much. And yeah, they were never super close in the before-times. But they still understand each other, in a way I think not a lot of people could, who haven’t worked in the Archives. And they’re just hanging out, chatting about their love lives. It’s so wholesome and good.

“I’m the anti-christ’s plus one.” Oh my goodness Martin. This made me laugh so hard. I feel like that’s going to be A Thing in the fandom.

How weird must that be though, to have people look up to you like that? I can’t blame her at all for lying about the vision. She’s just trying to give them hope, and something bright to look forward to. But it’s also really hard. Because it is a lie, and does put her on a pedestal. It’s a really difficult situation, and there’s not really any good answers on how to handle that. But I can’t imagine the stress that must put on you. Feeling so responsible for these people, who have nothing, and who’s lives you literally saved. And who look up to you like you can solve all your problems, when you have no idea what you’re doing. It must be so hard.

That being said, the cringe I just experienced from “Blind Prophet”. Just. So much no.

I love hearing Melanie talk about Georgie though. She’s so in love and it’s so sweet.

Oh no. Daisy. And the pain is back. The whiplash I’m going through in this conversation. And Spiral Helen. I’m glad that Jonny put that in there though. Helen was just such a good, good, character.. In that her whole point was making you think she was on your side. And she did that to the point that a lot of people, including me, actually started to think maybe she was. This was a good reminder that no. She really was evil, she was just also really good at manipulation. It’s easy to forget sometimes, and to think maybe she didn’t deserve to die, and they could’ve saved her. But it wouldn’t have worked out, Jon knew what he was doing.

Cold baked beans. Delicious. I guess they can’t really make a fire in the tunnels. And obviously no electricity. Seems quite unpleasant though.

”Even if her problems were sometimes... odd.” I don’t remember, did we ever get context for how much she actually told her?

”But you’ve got to have hope in something. Otherwise there’s no point to anything. So, I choose to have hope in them. [...] Times like these, it just helps to believe. I’m not sure it really matters what.”

Anil!! I love him so much. I do wish we got some Arun/Martin bonding time though. I need them to talk about their favorite poets and discuss interpretations of various poems or something. I don’t know, I’m not really a big poetry person, but they both are, and I think they would get along pretty well, if Martin isn’t too put off by the religious part.

He also did sort of bring up a point I had been thinking about. And definitely not thinking this is in any way foreshadowing of anything, or that this is at all something that will come up. It’s just my own personal thoughts. “Maybe your powers feed on hope. On faith, and trust, and hope.” I feel like everything in the universe has an opposite, to a certain extent. And I feel like it makes sense that the fears would have an opposite as well. That there would be some sort of powers of hope or something. Not even necessarily in a good vs evil sort of way, because I feel like that’s an over simplification, and not at all really realistic.Nothing in real life is that black and white. But the fears came to exist because they were something people believed in. Not in like a faith way. But just in a way that it’s something that people thought and focused on enough to give it power. And I feel like that would work for hopes and dreams too. It only makes sense to me that if fearing something so much gives it power to turn into an actual, god-like, entity. Well, people dream about things just as much as they fear other things. I don’t know. I feel like someone smarter and better with words than I am could explain my thought process better. Just an idea that I had, that, as I said, I do not believe will at all come up, or exists at all in this universe. It’s not even really a headcanon. Just thoughts.

Final Thoughts:

This episode was so good? It was much more light-hearted than I was expecting, but in a really good way. I loved just hearing everybody reconnect, and have actual conversations with their friends. I forgot how much I missed these people, and how good everyone is. 10/10, absolutely loved. I’m exited to see what comes next, if a bit nervous. Obviously this was a good episode to ease back in, but the pain will be coming pretty soon. I am curious, there are apparently seven members of the cult, and we only met three, not including wtgfs, so five. I wonder if we’ll recognize the other two, or if they’re just not that important. Also wondering what the plan is for Jon, as he still doesn’t really know what to do. Is he just going to hang out for a bit? Have a chance to relax, like they did at Salesa’s? Wondering if they’re going to leave of their own volition, and decide it’s time to get a move on, or if something will happen to force them out. It’s clearly more dangerous for the cult now that Jon is there, and, ascaves much as Georgie cares about him, I don’t think she’ll let them stay if she thinks they’re an active danger. Anyways, I’m so, so excited that TMA is back, and I can’t wait to hear what comes next.

#tma spoilers #the magnus archives spoilers #rusty quill spoilers #the magnus archives #tma #mag 190 #scavengers

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eldritchteaparty · 3 years

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Chapters: 18/22 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, Melanie King, Georgie Barker, Alice "Daisy" Tonner, Basira Hussain, Allan Schrieber 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, Spiders

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: Spiders. Also some unexpected information gives *some* of the archive staff renewed hope.

Chapter 18 of my post-canon fix-it is up! Read above at AO3 or read here below!

Tumblr master post with links to previous chapters is here.

***

“Martin.”

Martin lay in the bed, bleary eyed. Despite how early it had been, he’d fallen asleep almost as soon as he’d laid down after his conversation with Melanie in the hallway bath; he hadn’t even gotten undressed, just crawled under the covers in his clothes. He stayed still, not sure if he’d actually heard Jon say his name or if he had imagined it.

“Martin,” Jon said again, and this time he knew it was real.

“Jon?”

“I need you to listen to me.”

“What are you doing? Why are you—” Jon sounded like he was somewhere near the bedroom door, and Martin couldn’t see a thing. “Turn on the light.” He started to sit up.

“Wait.” Martin froze. Jon had an edge of concern in his voice that made Martin much more nervous than if he were yelling. “Don’t—don’t move. Just listen.”

“Jon, what’s going on?”

“I—I’d rather not say just yet. It’s probably fine.”

“Oh, god damn it. Can you—can you at least—” He sputtered out. Arguing would make this take longer, and that didn’t seem like a good idea.

“You’ll—you’ll be fine. I’m being cautious. Will you trust me?”

“I—do I have a choice?”

Do I ever have a choice?, he thought, but didn’t say out loud.

Jon sighed. “Yes. If you need me to tell you, I will, but—yes.”

Oh. Martin hadn’t expected that answer, and somehow it made not knowing easier. “It’s fine. I trust you.” He knew it came out sulky, like a child agreeing to a chore, but that was the best he could do in the moment.

“All right. Move to my side of the bed, but—stay under the covers.”

“Jesus.” Martin slowly and cautiously did as Jon said, half expecting to make contact with something in the dark, or to feel a weight on the bed, but there was nothing.

“Now—put your feet on the floor. Try not to move the covers too much.”

He swung his feet around under the blankets, slipping them out until he was sitting on the edge of the bed. He kept his hands in the air, not wanting to touch the quilt.

“You’re doing—you’re doing great, Martin. Now stand up. Slowly.”

The drop in his blood pressure reminded him that he had just been woken from a deep sleep; despite standing slowly as Jon asked, he had to concentrate to make sure he stayed steady.

“Now walk toward me—normal, but—slow.”

Martin sighed.

“Please,” Jon said.

“All right, all right.” Martin walked slowly toward the doorway; his eyes were starting to adjust, and he could see the outline of Jon in the dim light from the hallway.

“Stop.” He was probably about five feet from Jon.

“Jon—what is—" Despite the darkness, he was pretty sure he would have been physically aware of anything between him and Jon at this point.

“One big step. One big step, and then—”

Only partially conscious that he was doing it, he looked down.

“Oh shit.” Although he couldn’t see the floor directly in front of him, the hallway light was just bright enough to see a thin, broken line that cut across the floor near the corner of the door frame.

That line was moving. Crawling, in fact.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.” Martin cleared the remaining distance between himself and Jon in a single leap, heart suddenly pounding. “It’s spiders, isn’t it—shit, shit—”

“Martin, my—”

“Oh. God.” He hadn’t realized how hard he had grabbed for Jon, and he immediately loosened his grip; Jon, still facing the bedroom, continued to hold Martin. “Is that it? Just that? Or is it—”

“I think—I think that’s it. If she were going to do worse, I think she would have done it already.”

“That’s not actually all that comforting.” Martin took a moment to breathe in Jon’s arms and let his heart slow before he looked down at the floor again. Now that he was in the hallway and could see better, he realized the line of spiders was moving away from their room, not into it. He couldn’t help himself; he turned back to the room and flipped on the light.

“Oh.” There were at least a dozen crisscrossing lines of small black spiders moving back and forth across the room; they were on the floor, the walls, the bed. They were walking right over where Martin’s sleeping body had been lying until just now. After a moment he was able to trace their origin to a single spot, a corner of the room where the ceiling and the walls met. They appeared to be coming down from the room above them, although the crack they entered through must have been very tiny.

“Come on.” Jon put his arms around Martin’s waist again, gently pulling him back from the door. He hadn’t quite turned away when they heard a voice down the hall.

“Jon? Martin? Are you all right?” He looked to find Sasha in the hallway, with Georgie not far behind. “We heard shouting and thought we’d—Wait, what is that? Is that—ants?”

Martin noticed that as the line of spiders drew away from their door, they broke off in two directions—one line went into Sasha’s room, and the other went into Melanie and Georgie’s room.

“It’s spiders,” Jon said, in the same calm voice he’d used when waking Martin. “Get everyone else from the—”

“The Admiral,” Georgie said, panicked, and ran to the door of their bedroom. Martin started to shout at her to wait, but Jon put a hand on his chest.

“It’s all right.”

Georgie screamed from inside the room.

“Jon, she doesn’t sound—”

“Georgie?” Melanie burst into the hallway. “Geo—”

“He was eating them.” Georgie came back out, cat tucked under one arm while she brushed furiously at various parts of him with her available hand. “That’s disgusting.”

Martin exhaled, relieved.

“What is going on?” Melanie looked into the room Georgie had just left. “Oh my god. Spiders aren’t supposed to do that.”

“No,” Jon said, continuing to move Martin back toward everyone else. “No, they’re not.”

Elias and Tim had joined the group by the time Jon and Martin reached the middle of the hallway.

“What the hell.” Elias walked past Georgie and Melanie’s room, peering in as he did; he threw open Sasha’s door when he reached it and did the same. He looked back at everyone else as he reached Jon and Martin’s door. “That—that is weird, right?”

“Yes, that’s fucking weird,” Melanie answered. “Jon, this is—this is her, right? The woman that—”

“Annabelle.” He merely acknowledged her name, carefully lending no weight to it. “Yes. Well—I can only assume. She’s—she’s good at concealing herself, but—this seems like a clear message.”

“What’s the message? That she doesn’t like us?” Melanie asked, having turned to swipe at Georgie’s arms as she continued fussing with the Admiral. “Too bad. Let her show her face instead of this nonsense, and we’ll see how she likes us with my boot up her ass.”

Martin stifled an incredulous laugh; the thought was ridiculous. He was reminded that Melanie knew virtually nothing about Annabelle.

“What?” Melanie asked, annoyed. “Did you ever try it?”

“I—I can’t say that I did.”

“Hm. Maybe you should have.”

“Elias.” Everyone looked up when Jon said his name; Elias was walking toward the stairs that went up from the foyer.

“I’m going up to get rid of them.”

“Is that safe?” Sasha asked.

“Well—” Elias spoke more quietly this time. “Allan’s up there too, and since we haven't heard anything from him—I figured it was ok.”

“Yes,” Jon said. “It’s ok.”

“I’ll go with him,” Tim said. They watched as the two of them disappeared up the steps.

“Back to the sitting room then?” Sasha asked. “Until, um—that’s done?”

Martin walked slowly, letting everyone else go ahead so he could have a private moment with Jon. “They really don’t get it.”

“No.” Jon shook his head. “Are you surprised?”

“No,” Martin said, “and I’m glad they don’t. I’m just thinking—that means that message was for you. Us.”

“Yes.”

“Ok, so then—why? What is she telling us?”

Jon shrugged. “That she’s aware of what we’re doing. That she knows where we are, and that we haven’t accepted her—truce.”

“OK, but—” Martin swallowed. He still hadn’t bought into her offer, but Jon’s interpretation seemed otherwise valid. “Why didn’t she do worse? That was—that was almost nothing. From her, that was a joke.”

“I’m not sure she could do worse, actually. Not here. Not without me knowing, and possibly exposing herself. She’s likely still recovering.”

“So you think she’s letting us know that she’s still weak? Why would she do that?”

“Who knows. It’s not like it’s made her vulnerable.”

Martin frowned. “That’s not like her, Jon. She’s nothing if not deliberate—she’s always had a reason for everything. If that’s true—if that’s the best she can do, or even if she just wants us to think that—she’s let us know on purpose.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying—I still think she’s trying to push you.” He rushed ahead, trying to get the words out before Jon could tell him he was wrong. “If you know that she’s still getting stronger, that it will get worse, that might push you to act too soon and—”

“Martin,” Jon said, taking him by the hand. “If that is the case—if she’s pushing me—what would you have me do?”

“I’d have you wait,” Martin said. “Just wait. Don’t do what she wants. Whatever comes out of this—give it time.”

“Wait?” Jon repeated. “Give it time, while she gets stronger and murders all our friends? Or worse?”

“No.” Martin tried to sound confident, although he could feel his argument slipping. “No. We’d protect them. You’d protect them.”

“How?” Jon asked. “I can’t. Not after a certain point.”

“But—”

“Never mind. Let’s say we could protect them,” Jon continued. “What about everyone who isn’t them? Everyone she can already reach? Well, her and the Web and the other fears. What about Carlos Vittery and Oliver Banks and—”

“Bad things happen,” Martin said. He knew now that he had lost, but he kept talking. “No, it’s not good. It’s wrong. It’s still terrible. But bad things happen even in a world with no entities, with nothing to live off the fear, with just—”

“Not these things.” Jon turned Martin’s hand over, enveloping it on both sides with his own. “These things—they’re my fault.”

Martin lowered his head. There it was—the conviction he could never shake.

“Martin, look. I don’t know that we have an option other than waiting. I have no intention of—of ending things, not right now. It doesn’t solve anything. It doesn’t stop anything. It doesn’t save our friends, not in the end. It doesn’t save you.” Jon traced the tendons on the back of Martin’s hand lightly with his fingers. “But I will never—never—let them out again. And when it comes to that—when it’s time to choose—”

Martin nodded, but did not look up again.

***

As it turned out, it was incredibly easy to destroy the spiders. Tim and Elias had discovered a massive nest in the room above the one Jon and Martin were staying in. Elias had grabbed a supply of insecticide from the attic and they had started to spray, prepared to run when spiders inevitably scattered, but that didn’t happen; they hadn’t diverged from their path at all. That was when Tim and Elias had realized the spiders weren’t just walking out of the nest, but also into it. They were coming back to the second-floor room from one of the bedrooms below, re-entering the nest, and waiting until they received some silent cue that it was time to leave again. The two of them had then stopped and watched as every single spider, without fail, returned to the nest to die in its turn.

“Fucking creepy,” Tim said, after he had recounted it, “but it did make things pretty easy.”

“So,” Sasha said, as they once again found themselves on the floor of the great room. “I take it no one wants to go to bed just yet.”

“Not anymore,” Melanie said. She leaned over Georgie’s shoulder to rub the Admiral’s ears as he sat contentedly in her lap.

“Martin, are you ok?” Sasha asked. His face reddened as everyone turned to him.

“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I think so.” He’d almost forgotten about the way he’d left the group earlier that evening.

“Do you mind if I ask some more questions, since we’re here?”

“We’re fine,” Jon said, and she redirected her attention to him. Martin was grateful.

“All right. Let’s start with Annabelle. She came here from the other dimension, right?”

“Yes.”

“And so did you—part of you, and Martin, also.”

“Yes. That’s—yes.” Close enough.

“And that’s it? Other than the entities?”

“Yes. I—I believe so. Well, also the—the body.”

“Right. Do you know how that all worked?”

Martin recognized Jon’s expression; it was the one he made while trying to simplify something complicated that already made complete sense to him. “We were connected to them—the entities—us to the Eye, Annabelle to the Web—in such a way that when they were expelled, we were too. Or really, they were expelled, we were dragged along with them.”

“Just the three of you were connected like that?”

“Yes. Our connections were—very strong.”

Sasha nodded. “What about the dimensions themselves? What do you know about them?”

“Not much. I only—saw them, for lack of a better word—for a moment. Or—the equivalent of a moment. Time doesn’t really—never mind. It was—it was a lot. Even for the Eye.”

“So there were very many of them. Dimensions, I mean.”

“Yes. More than I can attempt to describe. Infinite doesn’t—it’s too simple.”

“Are they all like this one? With versions of us, I mean, and—”

“No.” Jon clearly found the idea absurd. “Well—some of them are. But so many more are—different. I think. Different people. And—not people. And then—”

“You know who loves this shit?” Elias sat back on his hands, oblivious to his interruption.

“Um—who?” Sasha asked, after realizing he was waiting for an answer.

“Allan. Allan loves this. He can talk about it all day.”

“Talk about what exactly?”

“You know, alternate universes, wormholes, interdimensional travel—I mean, this is pretty much his thing.”

“Oh my god.” Tim smacked his own forehead with an open palm. “Go get him.”

“Right now?” Elias grew hesitant. “It’s pretty late. Maybe we could—”

“We both know what kind of hours he keeps, and anyway, his light was on when we were upstairs. He’s awake. Just—go get him.”

Elias looked at Jon, who shrugged. “It’s entirely up to you,” Jon said.

Elias hesitated a little longer, then stood up. “All right. Ok.” He disappeared up the stairs.

Sasha turned to Tim. “Care to explain?”

“Allan’s a physics professor. Theoretical physics. And he’s brilliant, and he does love this shit. I mean, he doesn’t really do it at work, it’s not the sort of thing that gets funding unless you’re Stephen Hawking, but—anyway, he’s obsessed with it. Manages to bring it up every time I’m around him. I can’t believe I didn’t think about it.”

“Oh. I suppose maybe he could tell us something helpful. That is, if he doesn’t think we’ve collectively gone mad.”

“Oh, he absolutely will, but he’ll pretend he doesn’t,” Tim reassured her.

Several minutes later, Allan was there. He fit a certain academic stereotype almost perfectly, at least in appearance; roughly the same age as Elias, he was completely grey, and had several days’ worth of beard growth that would have driven Martin crazy. Although barefoot, he was still dressed from the day in a pair of khakis and a rumpled polo shirt, and Martin suspected he might end up wearing them the next day as well if nothing interfered.

“Hello, everyone.” He stood outside the group, awkward but cheerful enough, given the time and circumstances.

Elias stood next to him and pointed out each of them in turn. “So this is Jon, Martin, Georgie, Melanie, Sasha, and—you know Tim.”

“Wonderful,” Allan said, following Elias’s lead in stepping carefully between Jon and Martin to join the semi-circle they had formed on the floor.

“So what has Elias told you?” Sasha asked.

“Not much, only that you are all engaged in a deep conversation regarding the nature of the universe itself, and I thought, it’s only 12:30 in the morning.” He smiled, but the expression quickly faded as he looked around again at the group. “I see we’re tackling the easy questions tonight.”

“Here’s the thing,” Sasha said. “We’re dealing with something that—well, frankly, isn’t all that believable, unless—unless you’ve experienced some part of it.”

“I’ll play along.”

Sasha took a few seconds to gather her thoughts. “All right, here goes. Several months ago, a number of very powerful entities from another dimension entered ours, and—they live off our fear. And Jon and Martin sort of—well—versions of them came here, too, and now they’re both of themselves, and they experienced all of this in that other dimension and—well, if we don’t find a solution, then—um—humanity is doomed.”

Allan looked around at the group again; he had a very different look on his face this time. “I’ll admit that’s not exactly what I was expecting—” He looked at Elias, who nodded slowly and then shrugged. “All right. Let’s start with these entities. Tell me about them.”

“Jon, you’re probably the best one to—”

“Yes, all right.” Jon cleared his throat. “Like Sasha said, they are extremely powerful. Just to give you an idea—some people in the other dimension thought of them as gods. They aren’t, of course, but—they aren’t exactly part of our reality, either.”

“So—they had their own dimension as well?”

“No. They were from our dimension—the other one. They were born there, and they co-evolved with us, I suppose. But not really with us, it was—it’s hard to describe. They weren’t—physical, maybe that’s the way to say it. Not in any sense I’m aware of.”

“Hmm.” Allan furrowed his brow. “I assume you mean you couldn’t see them, or touch them. In that case, how did you—well—know about them?”

“We didn’t, for a long time. Most people never did. They acted through things—people, animals, objects—and then, later, I—”

“Jon communicates with them,” Tim interjected.

“One of them,” Jon corrected him. “Insofar as they are separate. And—sort of.”

“Really?” Allan asked. “What’s that like?”

“It’s, um—” For a moment, Martin really understood what Jon had to accomplish when asked to explain things; he could not imagine any single way to sum up Jon’s relationship to the Eye. “Well, for one, I can—I can know things. Things I couldn’t know otherwise.”

“Really?”

“Ask him something,” Elias said.

“All right. Is my research assistant going to show up in the morning?”

“Oh—well—that’s the future. I can’t know that because—well, I assume because it hasn’t happened, and therefore doesn’t actually exist. But”—he thought for a moment— "she didn’t show up today. In fact, the last time she came in was Monday.”

“Ok. From the past, then—what street did I grow up on?”

Jon paused, concentrating. “Technically there were several, but you’re thinking of Church Street. You stayed there a bit longer than the others, and it was the one you liked best. There was a park nearby where you learned to ride a bike.”

“And what was the name of our dog when we lived there?”

Jon concentrated again, a little longer this time. “There wasn’t one. But you had—rabbits. Hm.”

Martin decided to intervene, as he was pretty sure Jon would keep going until he hurt himself. “Ok, look, this does take a toll on him, and tonight’s already been hard enough.”

“I’m fine.” Jon looked at Allan, who was regarding him with renewed interest. “Anything else?”

“That’s more than enough. I’m—I’m quite impressed.”

“Oh,” Elias said, “also we found my body in the tunnels under the Institute the other day. Well, not my body, but—you know, my body from the other dimension.”

Allan looked at Elias with concern. “Ok, I’m—I’m not sure what to do with that, but—ok. We’ll come back to it. So these beings, they’re not from another dimension, and you can’t physically interact with them—not directly. But you—and maybe others—can interact with them, say, mentally, and they can influence the physical world.”

“Yes,” Jon said. “Yes, I think that’s fair.”

“What I’m getting at is that everything that makes up the universe—everything we are aware of—is classified as either matter or energy, and the two are equivalent in a sense. Well, there’s also evidence of dark matter and dark energy, but—never mind about that for now. And although there’s been no evidence of it, it isn’t impossible that there could exist some sort of life form that, rather than being made up of physical matter, is made primarily of energy.”

“Oh. That’s what a lot of people think ghosts are,” Melanie said.

Allan nodded. “Of course, there are some problems with the idea of energy beings. For one thing, energy, as we define it, is always associated with motion and change. Light, for example, which has no mass, transmits energy as a function of its momentum alone—but it must always be moving. Or we can define potential energy, which does not require momentum, but is always associated with a physical body. And for energy itself to be sentient in any way—well, it’s not clear how that would work. If there were sentient energy beings, they would be so different from us that it’s unlikely we would recognize them at all, except through the ways in which they interacted with the physical world. That sort of goes along with what you’ve said so far, as I think about it, but—tell me, when they left the other dimension and traveled here, was there any sort of medium involved? Some sort of physical matter?”

“Yes,” Martin said, surprised that he knew an answer. “The tape.”

“The tape?” Tim asked. “What tape? Like—sellotape?”

“No, like cassette tapes. The actual tape inside them. There was—”

“You didn’t mention that before.”

“Well look Tim, there was a lot to explain, ok? And that was—”

“It’s fine,” Tim said. “Go on.”

“I’m not sure I follow,” Allan said.

“Yes. Tape. Um, so—there was a crack, a gap, in our reality that led to the—the space between the dimensions, so to speak. That seems to have been a natural occurrence—”

“It’s possible,” Allan said.

“—but the tape, that was—that was something Annabelle did. The recordings on the tape were—relevant to the entities. It allowed them to bridge the gap without destroying themselves. It was—I honestly don’t know how she—”

“Annabelle put spiders in our upstairs guest room, by the way,” Elias said. “That’s why Tim and I were up there earlier.”

Again, Allan looked at Elias with concern. “You’ve been having a time of it, haven’t you?”

“Pretty much,” Elias said. “Sorry for not mentioning it sooner.”

“Quite all right,” Allan said. “This does explain some things. Just so long as you know you could have told me.” He looked at Elias a little longer before turning back to Jon. “Annabelle, she’s—one of them?”

“No, but she—she serves one of them.”

“So she is a physical being that they act through.”

“That’s—yes.”

“All right. So let’s see—this gap existed, the physical medium of the tape was placed there—how did they get to it?”

“Well—I suppose—we destroyed their other physical means of attachment to our world, and they were forced out the only way they could go. Into the gap.”

“How did all of that happen, exactly?”

“Well—you have to understand, there was an apocalypse, things had shifted, time and space didn’t necessarily—” Jon sighed. “Gas main. We blew up a gas main.”

“Oh.” He now gave Jon the same look of concern he had given Elias earlier, and the conversation momentarily quieted.

“This is—this is good,” Sasha said. “I mean—it’s good to have another perspective on this. Thank you.”

“Well, quite honestly, I’m not sure what to make of it, but—” He stopped. “You all really believe this, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Sasha said. “And if you don’t mind humoring us a bit longer—well, the reason we’re all in your house, and perhaps this is obvious, but—given that we do believe these entities are here, we’d like them not to be here.”

“Understandable. It would be bad for us, wouldn’t it?”

“Yes. So let’s say that we were able to—push them back toward this gap again, somehow. Would there be a way to—direct them? Make them go somewhere specific?”

“Hm.” Allan rubbed his hand over the stubble on his face. “Without really knowing more about them, but assuming we’re on the right track—I’m guessing we’d need access to the tape. Think of the way a wire conducts electricity. If they are sentient in some way, maybe they could choose their path along it, but—”

“I see.” Sasha frowned. “Jon, is that—is that even a possibility? Getting to the tape?”

“No,” Jon said. “I don’t—I don’t think so. Not for us.”

“Right.” Sasha, who had been crossing her legs, moved to stick one of them out in front of her. She took a moment to flex her foot, and then straighten it again. “Ok, what about this? And please understand, I have no idea how any of this works and I’m only throwing out ideas—could we move everything else? Like us? And leave them here? I mean—Jon and Martin came here, and Annabelle came here, and—the body.”

“Maybe,” Allan said.

“What—really?”

“Well—assuming this is all true, then it’s already been proven that physical matter can be transported from one dimension to another, because—like you said, it’s been done. Of course, the situation would be reversed from what we were just talking about. If energy requires matter to move across dimensions, matter most likely requires energy. In fact, I’m certain it would. Moving across dimensions is not the same as moving across space, of course—but the principle would be the same.”

“How much energy?”

“I can only assume enormous amounts.”

“Like—I don’t know, a nuclear bomb?”

“Well, how much mass are you talking about?”

“Humanity. The world.”

“A nuclear bomb would be a mere drop in the bucket. It would barely register.”

“Hm.”

The group fell silent again. Martin didn’t really know how to feel about any of this; he imagined the others were feeling the same. Allan’s thoughts on all of it made sense, at least as far as he understood them. In the end, though, it didn’t really present any new options, did it? Messing with the tape was almost certainly impossible given that Jon, even when his power had been at its height, was lost within seconds of trying to know its path. And the way Allan had described the amount of energy required to move everything else and leave the entities behind—even if they had some idea of how to do it, that was just too much, right? Could that much energy even exist?

“I might have a way,” Jon said quietly.

It only took Martin a moment to understand what Jon was suggesting.

“No,” he said firmly. “No. Absolutely not.”

“What just happened?” Tim asked.

Neither of them responded.

“Please,” Sasha said. “If there’s something—obviously we need to consider anything very carefully, but—if there’s a possibility—any possibility—”

“I could start another apocalypse.” He met Martin’s eyes; Martin looked back at him in disbelief.

“Ok,” Sasha said. “I have to say, I’m not sure how that helps.”

“When I—started it, before—when I said the words, and they—” Martin could see how hard Jon was working to hold back the misery of it, to hide the guilt and the torment he’d carried with him since that day. Martin’s instinct was to reach for him, to stop him before he crumpled under the weight of it, but at the same time he wanted it all to come out. It wasn’t that he wanted Jon to hurt; it was that he wanted them to see it, to understand how stupid this was. He wanted Jon to break now, just a little, so he wouldn’t destroy himself later. “When they entered our world, in that moment, the sheer amount of power they brought with them—it was—”

Martin lost it. “And what, you’re going to control it? Jon, that’s insane. Even the idea is—”

“Jonah did,” Jon answered. “Jonah controlled it, before he—where do you think that ridiculous tower came from? Jonah Magnus, king of a ruined world. Do you think the Eye gave a shit about his ego? Jonah made that world, Martin. He laid out the domains, preserved his own place in them just so he could—”

“Jon—"

“—and if I take his place in the ritual and retain the role of the Archivist, I believe I could—”

“No. Don’t even say it. It is way, way too—”

“All right,” Sasha broke in. “Stop. I’m sure I’m not following all of this, but you are talking about deliberately starting an apocalypse and—somehow using it? I take it the apocalypse wouldn’t actually take place, then?”

Jon considered. “Well, it would, but everyone would be—somewhere else. If I succeeded, no one would ever know it happened. And the entities would be left here to burn themselves out.”

“And if it failed?”

“If I failed, then that would be it,” Jon said. “There would be no going back. The opportunity would only exist for a moment.”

“That does sound incredibly risky.” Martin was briefly relieved; surely that would be the end of it. “But on the other hand—”

“What?” Martin’s desperation tumbled out of him. “You can’t be serious. It’s too much. It’s too dangerous.”

“Just—listen, Martin. Please. No, actually—all of you, listen. We are making no decisions tonight. We don’t understand this well enough. But if this is even a possibility, I think we have to consider it. It’s the only option we’ve come up with so far that doesn’t end with spreading the fears or sacrificing literally everything in our world. Everyone else—what are your thoughts?”

Uncomfortable silence pervaded the group; Melanie was the first person to speak. “I don’t know. It sounds like a lot could go wrong. And don’t take this the wrong way, but—it puts an awful lot of— pressure on Jon.”

“Yeah,” Georgie said. “I agree. I’d want to be a little more certain about—well, a lot of things, but like— what does that even look like, moving everything to another dimension? I mean, given what happened with Martin and Jon—well, if we didn’t just blow ourselves up or something, we wouldn’t want to crash land on top of a world filled with our own doubles, for example. Or end up somewhere worse.”

“Yes,” Sasha said. “We’d need to know a lot more—as much as we can. Allan, is there—is there any way to—I don’t know, check on any of this?”

Allan looked like he had been run over. “Keeping in mind, of course, that this is all very—um—”

“Yes. We know.”

“—I’m willing to do what I can. It sounds like the place to start would be wherever this supposed gap is. Do you happen to—”

“Yes,” Jon answered. “Hilltop Road. In Oxford.”

“All right. I’ll go in the morning. I’ll cancel my classes for tomorrow. I’ll take anyone else with me who wants to go. We’ll stop by the university and pick up some equipment on the way out. Let’s say 8 am.”

“Thank you. That’s—that’s very helpful. Anyone else? Any thoughts?”

Elias shook his head.

“Tim?”

“Well, just that—” He looked around at everyone, then shook his head once. “Never mind. It will wait.”

“Fair enough. All right. I know tonight has been a lot for everyone. Too much, really. We should sleep. Is everyone comfortable going back to their rooms?”

There was another bout of silence, and again Melanie was the first to speak. “I am if Georgie is.”

“Why not,” Georgie said, standing as she carefully balanced the Admiral in her arms. “I sort of doubt this one would let us sleep through another midnight buffet. Ugh.”

“Jon? Martin? What about the two of you?”

Jon reached for Martin’s hand; he didn’t pull it away. “We’ll be all right.”

“Martin, I’m sorry for—”

Martin turned away, and Sasha let her apology drop off. He heard Jon say something quietly to her, then accepted Jon’s encouragement to get to his feet. Sasha would have to forgive him later. He could tell they were still talking, although their words had become indistinguishable to Martin. He could hear Tim’s voice; somewhere behind him, Allan and Elias were having an exchange.

“Come on.” Jon’s voice, close to him. Martin’s body ached as if from a low-grade fever as they walked. It was a relief when Jon shut the door of the bedroom behind them, turning off the light that had been left on earlier. They faced each other in the dark.

“Martin—"

“No.”

“I know how you feel about this.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I guess you do. It just doesn’t matter.”

“Please.” Jon reached for him; Martin allowed him to turn his head, but would not let his eyes follow even though neither of them could see. “What if this—”

“Don’t. Don’t you dare. Not you.”

“All right.” Jon kissed him. Martin responded simply because he needed it; he needed the comfort. He wanted Jon close to him, and always would. He was too exhausted to fight it.

“Can you sleep?” Jon asked.

“I don’t know.”

“Just lie with me, then?”

He nodded, his forehead pressing against Jon’s in the dark.

Jon held him, and Martin lay awake for a long time.

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

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thanks-captain-obvious · 4 years

Text

How Damian Realized He Loves Marienette: Part 2

Okay. First off, I watched Frozen 2 yesterday and attended gazillion parties this past few days soo the update is late l. Apoarently, a lot of people I know just turned 18. Wow. I feel so ancient.

Anyway, here's the tag's list :)

@maribat-owns-my-ass @bluerosette23 @novicevoice @vixen-uchiha @ladysblackcat @vivilakitty @elspethshadow @dawnwave16 @jardimazul @schrodingers25 @theyellowfeverexperience @derpingrainbow @mikantsume

———

Its been a week since Damian woke up at the manor after that fateful night. Bruce grounded him for acting so foolishly. Thus, no night escapades for him for a month.

Damian didn't really care. He does what he wants.

Meanwhile, Jon is telling him about this cute girl who works at a massage parlor his mother frequents to. Her name is Adrienne Wang.

Damian, after much begging, pestering, convincing from Jon decided to share the story about "Blue", as he dubbed the girl at the park.

He shared about the graceful way she move along with the wind as she owns it, and the blueness of her eyes that could rival the oceans and sky.

Anyway, Jon introduced "Adrienne" to Damian. Damian immediately sensed that there's more to this Adrienne than meets the eye.

And he hates secrets. Secrets are unoredictable. They could harm you, so he immediately warned Jon about Damian.

Jon looked at him funny when he said that.

Imagine his surprise when he got home one day and found Adrienne wandering around the manor.

His immediate thought is: Did Father adopted.... her?

He found out later that he didn't. And thank goodness he confronted his father about it, Bruce admitted he's seriously considering it. Damian revealed his suspicions of Adrienne.

But Bruce dismissed him, saying that Adrienne is an orphan from China, and will be Alfred's personal physical therapist from now on.

Damian couldn't believe his father so he turned to his siblings, turning to Jason first.

Jason adores Adrienne from head to toe.

So is Tim.

And Dick. Who is not surprising because he adores pretty much everyone.

So Damian felt that it is up to him to find out about this Adrienne Wang.

He made no secret of his distrust to Adrienne. Which the girl ignored.

Meanwhile, Damian decided to investigate about Blue as well. For research purposes. Its not like he's undergoing the usual stalking your crush phase. No sir. He is a Wayne and an Al Ghul. Stalking like that is not his thing.

One night, however, during patrol, the Joker decided its too quiet in Gotham and a good shaking the neighborhood is in proper order.

Robin sensed it before he saw it. A crowbar to the head, aimed to give him a painful but instant death.

He glanced around and saw his father running towards him. Damian knows Batman will not make it right on time to save him.

His brothers staring in horror, as absolute dread loomed on their chests.

He turned around and close his eyes, accepting his death.

Which never came.

Because in a blur, a figure tackled the person trying to kill him. He saw as his savior and attacker fall on the floor.

In a jolt, he recognized the petite figure of Adrienne Wang.

He rushed to get the girl on her feet. Though still shaken up, he made sure that the girl is safe and away from the chaos. He gave her a curt "Thank you." before leaving.

Later, in the manor, the Batfam discussed what happened and his brothers and father agreed to offer a room for Adrienne at the manor.

To their surprise, Adrienne refused and almost scurried away from them as if they threatened her life.

Bruce decided to give her a pay raise at least.

It still changed a lot of dynamics in their circle though. Damian, not understanding her and feeling guilty for being suspicious of her before, started to pick more fight with her.

Jason is strongly on Adrienne's side, thus sowing a resentment between the two.

Blue completely disappeared from Damian's mind as his full attention has been focused to finding out the truth about Adrienne.

Damian has been seriously grounded after a big fight with Adrienne. He said something that the usual calm and poised Adrienne took offense to, and run off on the verge of tears from the manor.

He realized he's been such an a-hole to Adrienne and decided to make peace with her the next time he see her, and wait for her to open up about her past instead of going behind her back.

Adrienne did not show to the manor for a month. Jason keep shooting glares at him and even though the others does not do it openly, he still felt their disappointment to him.

Somehow, the next time he saw her is while Scarecrow is wreacking havoc on Gotham.

And once again, Adrienne saved Damian Wayne.

He watched in horror as Adrienne fell oh her knees, after inhaling Scarecrows fear toxin, and sob. No tears leaked out of her eyes but the empy blankness in her eyed, sent him in panic.

Just what is Adrienne's worst nightmare?

She kept whimpering and muttering under her breath. When he strained his ears to focus on it, he heard her say... Adrienne over and over again? Why was she muttering her name.

The Batfam found them later and Bruce gave her an antidote.

Adrienne remained shakened up. The Batfam is in panic.

While sleeping, Adrienne screamed. Everyone quickly dashed on her room and saw the most heartbreaking sight they saw.

Vases broken, everything trashed on the room, and in the middle of it is Adrienned who keeps screaming "Chat Noir please wake up."

Bruce investigated who is Chat Noir and saw articles about a young black cat-themed superhero who died fighting a villain, and his partner who disappeared after the villain is arrested.

At the same time, he found out about the missing child of Gabriel Agreste, who is the villain otherwise known as Hawkmoth.

And on one of investigation, he saw a picture of a girl who looks exactly like Adrienne— and her name is Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

Bruce then managed to put two plus two together. Chat Noir is Adrien and apparently, Adrienne, or Marinette should he say, is close to the superhero.

He tried to investigate about the whereabouts of this Marinette, and found nothing. The last he saw is her application for passport to America— specifically, Gotham.

Alfred convinced him not to mention it to the girl in the meantime.

Damian heard his father and Alfred discussing and thus, finding out the truth as well.

He then vowed to himself to protect Marinette, the girl who became a sort of guardian angel with the amount of times she saved him.

When she woke up, he would keep checking on her and attending to her needs. He even started calling her Angel.

A few days later, Adrienne come clean to the Batfam about her real name. She explained everything to them, minus she's a superhero part. She felt that revealing her real name to them is too much as it is.

Anyway, the bond between Marinette and Damian formed and over the course of few weeks, everyone can't help but notice how Damian will light up (which spook his brothers at first) upon seeing Marinette.

Yo pips that's all for today. I'm tired again. Lol.

#damian al ghul #damian wayne #marinette x damian #daminette #marinette cheng #marinette dupain cheng #ml marinette #maribat #daminette fanart #daminette sort of fanfic

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shieldofrohan · 4 years

Note

I was struck by your idea that there may be a Jonsa political marriage in TWOW or early in ADOS because I could NOT figure out why they made all those parallels between them and Ned/Cat in the show without addressing it. But, your idea worries me because in s7 they compared J/D to Rhaegar/Lyanna, and while I can't imagine Jon being unfaithful, Dany falling in love with Jon was what brought her North. So how does that/the love triangle we saw on the show play out if Jonsa is already married?

Hello @esther-dot! First of all thank you for your ask, people don’t ask me anything usually so your ask made me really happy.

I wrote a long answer I guess, sorry :

First let me say that: I think we are giving too much credit to show. After S4 the show kind of stopped following the books. I mean look at the S5 Ramsay/Sansa nonsense. D&D made it clear that GRRM gave them some important scenes for them to work with so I see the show as a slide-show of some scenes from books tbh. For example the arrival of the Knights of the Vale was sth you can find the hints of it in the books. Or the trial and death of Baelish by the hand of Sansa. Even the death of Daenerys was foreshadowed in the books. But the plots to get to those scenes were all D&D if you ask me. So they had to fill the gaps and they did it how they wanted.

At this point I really can’t see a version of Asoiaf without a jonsa plot. Jonsa is the most foreshadowed plot in the books. The hints are starting in the prologue of the AGOT and they keep going in the AFFC and ADWD, and you can even find hints in other books of GRRM. Jonsa foreshadowings are surrounded by marriage and children imagery. So not having a jonsa marriage or kids seems unlikely to me.

I am looking at the j*nerys foreshadowings and they are all about them being enemies. For example these two chapters that follow each other:

“No. Dany shivered. No, no, oh no.“Are you deaf, fool?” Reznak mo Reznak demanded of the man. “Did you not hear my pronouncement? See my factors on the morrow, and you shall be paid for your sheep.” “Reznak,” Ser Barristan said quietly, “hold your tongue and open your eyes. Those are no sheep bones.” No, Dany thought, those are the bones of a child.”

[A Dance with Dragons; Daenerys]

Burning dead children had ceased to trouble Jon Snow; live ones were another matter. Two kings to wake the dragon. The father first and then the son, so both die kings. The words had been murmured by one of the queen’s men as Maester Aemon had cleaned his wounds. Jon had tried to dismiss them as his fever talking. Aemon had demurred. “There is power in a king’s blood,” the old maester had warned, “and better men than Stannis have done worse things than this.” The king can be harsh and unforgiving, aye, but a babe still on the breast? Only a monster would give a living child to the flames.

[A Dance with Dragons; Jon]

***

The next morning Xaro’s galleas was gone, but the “gift” that he had brought her remained behind in Slaver’s Bay. Long red streamers flew from the masts of the thirteen Qartheen galleys, writhing in the wind. And when Daenerys descended to hold court, a messenger from the ships awaited her. He spoke no word but laid at her feet a black satin pillow, upon which rested a single bloodstained glove. “What is this?” Skahaz demanded. “A bloody glove …” “… means war,” said the queen.

[A Dance with Dragons; Daenerys]

As they did their count, Jon peeled the glove off his left hand and touched the nearest haunch of venison. He could feel his fingers sticking, and when he pulled them back he lost a bit of skin. His fingertips were numb. What did you expect? There’s a mountain of ice above your head, more tons than even Bowen Marsh could count. Even so, the room felt colder than it should.“It is worse than I feared, my lord,” Marsh announced when he was done. He sounded gloomier than Dolorous Edd.Jon had just been thinking that all the meat in the world surrounded them. You know nothing, Jon Snow. “How so? This seems a deal of food to me.”

[A Dance with Dragons; Jon]

***

Dizzy, Dany closed her eyes. When she opened them again, she glimpsed the Meereenese beneath her through a haze of tears and dust, pouring up the steps and out into the streets.The lash was still in her hand. She flicked it against Drogon’s neck and cried, “Higher!” Her other hand clutched at his scales, her fingers scrabbling for purchase. Drogon’s wide black wings beat the air. Dany could feel the heat of him between her thighs. Her heart felt as if it were about to burst. Yes, she thought, yes, now, now, do it, do it, take me, take me, FLY!”

[A Dance with Dragons; Daenerys]

Jon clasped the offered hand. The words of his oath rang through his head. I am the sword in the darkness. I am the watcher on the walls. I am the fire that burns against the cold, the light that brings the dawn, the horn that wakes the sleepers, the shield that guards the realms of men.

[A Dance with Dragons; Jon]

***

I really try to see some romantic hints in those but I can’t find them. So why did D&D choose to do j*nerys instead of jonsa? Let’s face it: Their main audience are locals and Dany lovers. People were waiting them to bang... (ew). And when he was asked about Grrm’s intentions about Jon and Dany, Alan Taylor (director) said that he can’t tell what Grrm said because it is a S8 twist. So even the most j*nerys shipper director couldn’t confirm that j*nerys was sth Grrm told them about. What Grrm told them was a S8 twist, which turned out to be Jon killing Daenerys. I bet they chose the route of a romance instead of them being enemies (Dance of Dragons 2.0 ?!?!?!) so they could shock the audience with the final twist (a poor choice i must say).

So what I am trying to say is that: j*nerys is probably not a book thing. Or at least it can only be one sided in the books. Look at the S7-8 Jon Snow.. they made him so OOC to be in love with Dany... I am sure that Book!Jon won’t be in love with Dany. To be fair, I even can’t see Jon in Dragonstone or etc. Traveling during a White Walker threat is not a good idea. He won’t have such a time to go to DS and fall in love with someone like Dany. Dany is a combination of Cersei, Joffrey, Stannis, Selyse and Melisandre... Can you imagine Jon falling for those? No I don’t think so. I mean there is even dragon glass in Skagos... why would he bother to go DS? And we know that Dragons don’t like North and I can’t image using the fire threat to beat the ice threat... So her dragons won’t be the main forces against the Others.

I tried to explain why Show!J*nerys was so forced to please the audience and how it was a fan service plot. But still an one-sided j*nerys can happen in the books. There are more foreshowings for this tbh. I am imaging an Aerys-Joanna-Tywin kind of triangle in the books.

I mean look at this: (I have examined the Jon chapters that follow Dany ones in the ADWD and there were some interesting things. Maybe i’ll write a meta about them one day but for now let’s focus on one hint that I found interesting)

“I want to know. I never knew my father. I want to know everything about him. The good and … the rest.” “As you command.” The white knight chose his words with care. “Prince Aerys … as a youth, he was taken with a certain lady of Casterly Rock, a cousin of Tywin Lannister. When she and Tywin wed, your father drank too much wine at the wedding feast and was heard to say that it was a great pity that the lord’s right to the first night had been abolished. A drunken jape, no more, but Tywin Lannister was not a man to forget such words, or the … the liberties your father took during the bedding.” His face reddened. “I have said too much, Your Grace. I—”

[...]

How beautiful, the queen tried to tell herself, but inside her was some foolish little girl who could not help but look about for Daario. If he loved you, he would come and carry you off at swordpoint, as Rhaegar carried off his northern girl, the girl in her insisted, but the queen knew that was folly.

[A Dance with Dragons; Daenerys]

This is Daenerys’ wedding chapter and she learns about her father’s jealousy about Tywin and Joanna’s marriage.

And bonus: she also wishes that Daario to take her away like Rhaegar did with his Stark lady. So in her wedding chapter she mentions the love between a Targaryen prince and a Stark lady.

But she also knows that no one is coming for her.

And Jon chapter follows this chapter. And he talks about: his dislike for Selyse and Melisandre, kinslaying, daggers in dark, the grey girl. So he won’t like Daenerys either, kinslaying is an important hint (both for Dany-Viserys and Jon-Daenerys) and I bet that Grey Girl is Sansa.

Now we know that Dany is Aerys 2.0 with dragons and she will end what her father has started by burning down KL. So in this triangle Dany is Aerys.

And who are Joanna and Tywin?

The first J+T pair she’ll meet will be Aegon and Arianna probably. They are cousins too and Aegon chose not to be just a consort to his aunt by marrying her, so he’ll probably choose Arianne to gain Dorne’s support. I always consider Aegon (fake or not) and Arianne as a warning for Daenerys about Jonsa. Aegon has parallels with Sansa and Jon (secret identity with different hair color and secret Targ parentage etc). And Arianne has parallels with Sansa (The girl in the tower trope). So those two will be a test for Daenerys before she meets with Jon and Sansa. But her main test will be with Jonsa.

Jonsa fit into Joanna/Tywin pair more. They are cousins and they grew up together and after them being reunited they will be very important for each other.

And let’s not forget about the fact that Tywin was the Hand of Aerys and he betrayed him and his son Jaime killed Aerys in the throne room... We are all aware of the parallels between Jaime and Jon already. But Jon was also her adviser and she wanted to rule the 7K with him. But in the end he betrayed her. I believe that Jon’s Ygritte arc might be useful for him to lure Dany into some false trust. But him sleeping with her and loving her and later lose her in his arms sounds like a cheap copy of Ygritte/Jon plot and it makes no sense.

I think Dany will be taken with him and he’ll use this but it doesn’t mean that they will be lovers. Because it seems like Grrm is going to use RLJ in Jon’s romantic life (like he planned in the original/first outline with Jon-Arya romance). And RLJ has no effect on j*nerys. They can still f*ck and marry...

I mean Grrm even put an uncle-niece marriage (Jonnel-Sansa Stark!!) in the Stark family tree to show that Starks have no problem with marrying with their uncles/aunts etc. Grrm only considers the marriages between siblings and parent-children as incest. So j*nerys is not a doomed love. But for jonsa; RLJ makes everything smooth. Therefore RLJ must be used in jonsa plot.

So Dany is the Aerys of the triangle and no Targaryen prince will come for her because they are busy with their Stark ladies. (Rhaegar- Lyanna and also maybe Jacaerys and Sara Snow?)

To explain the early Jonsa political marriage, I must say that I was inspired by the Grand Northern Conspiracy. According to this theory, Howland Reed is the keeper of Robb’s Will about Jon and he is also the one who knows about RLJ.

It does not go north with Galbart Glover and Maege Mormont, who expressly carry false letters, and is often feared lost at the Twins in the chaos following the Red Wedding. Another possibility, however, is that the document was secreted away in Hag’s Mire and has now been retrieved by Lady Stoneheart. Who in turn, for a real kicker of an ironic twist, delivers the suspected proof of Jon’s kingship to Greywater Watch for safekeeping, care of Howland Reed, who then knows more of the crowns Jon’s entitled to than any other man living in the world of ASOIAF.

https://zincpiccalilli.tumblr.com/post/52748381148

Let’s accept this theory and say that Howland has the Will. Without his proof other lords can’t just announce Jon as the KITN. I believe that Howland will be present at Winterfell to show the Will. But Howland was also a friend of Ned Stark. And he is loyal to House Stark. He kept RLJ as secret for years to protect the Starks and Jon from Robert’s wrath. But Robert is dead and he has no reason to keep this secret anymore. And I can’t imagine him sitting quietly while other lords declare Jon as the King while a true born Stark (Sansa) is sitting right there. He wouldn’t betray Ned’s memory like that. So he’ll spill the tea with RLJ too. And after that maybe Sansa will finally have some agency for her choice of husband. So them together will be the one answer of North’s all wishes.

And let’s not forget that GRRM said he knows which characters will end up married. But in the show there was no marriage. So I am still waiting a marriage.

And even with an early Jonsa marriage, Jon and Dany might still meet. Imagine S7 with a married Jonsa. Jon leaves Sansa to fight a battle. It would be a great parallel with NedCat. Ned left Cat while she was pregnant to go to war. And maybe there will be rumors about Jon and Dragon Queen just like how Ned betrayed Cat. But like Ned, Jon would be loyal to Sansa and North too in truth.

Maybe Jon will gain Dany’s trust and help her against Aegon. And return she’ll accept to help North. But in the end I don’t think that Dany will come/or stay in North. Also in the Jon chapter that comes after Dany one, Jon was warned against Dragons:

“Salladhor Saan?” “The Lysene pirate? Some say he has returned to his old haunts, this is so. And Lord Redwyne’s war fleet creeps through the Broken Arm as well. On its way home, no doubt. But these men and their ships are well-known to us. No, these other sails … from farther east, perhaps … one hears queer talk of dragons.” “Would that we had one here. A dragon might warm things up a bit.” “My lord jests. You will forgive me if I do not laugh. We Braavosi are descended from those who fled Valyria and the wroth of its dragonlords. We do not jape of dragons.” No, I suppose not. “My apologies, Lord Tycho.”

[A Dance with Dragons; Jon]

Maybe Dany will want sth more from Jon and will be jealous of Jon and Sansa just like her father was jealous of Tywin and Joanna. Maybe Jon will betray her in most unexpected time just like Tywin betrayed Aerys.

Btw I am still waiting for a battle between Daenerys and Jon in Trident after he betrayed Dany. (You know Dany dreamed about a fighting against an usurper in ice armor in Trident... Jon will be the Usurper because he’ll be the King of North and Dany will see North as a part of her Kingdom.)

So my timeline would be like this:

- Jon and Sansa reunite and take North back

- The Will and RLJ happen and they unite their claims by marriage

- A dance between Aegon and Daenerys and she loses a dragon

- Jon gains her trust only to use her and pacify her to protect the North during the Dance

- Him refusing the bend the knee and them becoming enemies

- Daenerys loses one of her dragons

- Daenerys and Euron being a chaotic duo for Westeros

- Daenerys burns down KL and marches to North for revenge

- North (aka Jon) vs Daenerys in Trident

- Daenerys dies and Drogon gets hurt

- Jon refusing the throne so he can go back to North (the Duncan of Dragonflies jumped out)

- Bran becomes King

- Jon returns North to fight against the Others etc. (I refuse believe that he’ll be punished and sent back to Wall? Grrm literally has to kill him to free him from Night’s Watch so I don’t see him returning there)

- Epiloge.

***

Well I talked too much about too many things but I hope my answer was not such a bullsh*t :)

Thanks again for the ask. Let me know your thoughts.

#ask #answer #@esther-dot #jonsa #grrm #asoiaf #aerys targaryen #joanna lannister #tywin lannister #jon snow #sansa stark #dod2.0 #anti got #actually jonsa #reply #mine

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brokenbuttonsmusic · 3 years

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Eleni Mandell: L.A. Singer-Songwriter with Smoky Chrissie Hynde Vocals and a flair for Tom Waits’ Influenced Experimentation

This post is a near- transcript of the Broken Buttons: Buried Treasure Music podcast (episode 5, side A). Here you’ll find the narration from the segment featuring the L.A. singer-songwriter, Eleni Mandell, along with links, videos, photos and references for the episode.

Listen to the full episode on Spotify, Apple, Anchor or Mixcloud.

Have you ever bought the wrong record? Like, you intended to buy something that sounded like one thing and you accidentally grab something that sounds very different.

I don’t know if this happens anymore, but I believe it was quite common years ago. Imagine hearing an artist on the radio and being blown away. You go to the record store, find the plastic divider with the name of whom you’re looking for, but you can’t remember the name of the album, or even the song. Remember, you don’t have a tiny computer in your pocket. You’re too nervous to ask the store clerk for fear of looking stupid. So you roll the dice.

“I know it was someone called Neil Young, but there are a thousand Neil Young records here.”

“Hey, this pink one looks cool.”

That exact scenario didn’t happen to me, but that album, Neil Young’s Everybody’s Rockin’, happened to be the most played Neil Young album in my house growing up, so for years I thought Neil Young was a rockabilly revival act. In reality, that was one of several oddball records Young released during a tumultuous period with his record label to fulfill his contract demands. I still love that record.

Eleni Mandell did live out the scenario of buying the wrong record though. She shared the story during a segment of the show Bullseye with Jessie Thorn, where she describes seeing Tom Waits on MTV late at night—back when MTV still cared about music. It was either 120 minutes or IRS’ The Cutting Edge. This would have been around 1984 or 1985, so right around the time of Wait’s masterpiece Rain Dogs. When she went to the record store though, she picked up the 1976 Tom Waits’ Asylum release, Small Change instead. Now Small Change is still a great Tom Waits album, but it sounds nothing like the drastically reimagined sound and musical approach he had begun to employ starting with 1983’s Swordfishtrombones. Something Tom Waits called his “junkyard orchestral deviation.” The spare, off-kilter percussion. Moaning trombones and muted trumpets. Marimba. Plenty of marimba. Experimental instruments mixed in everywhere. Megaphones and CB radios. Trash can lids.

This is the sound Eleni was looking for.

Instead she got lush strings. Delicate piano. Cinematic swells and a melancholy wail.

She got this.

Still awesome, but not the same. She credits the experience with changing her life. She grew to love both sides of the Tom Waits coin. The jazzy piano man in the smoky, whiskey-drenched nightclub and the eclectic, experimental carnival barker that she had her first encounter with on late night MTV.

You can hear that deep appreciation and influence for the full Tom Waits spectrum injected and swirling through Eleni Mandell’s own spectacular catalog that spans more than 20 years now.

She’s got plenty of experimental Waits, especially in her early catalog.

And quite a bit of the jazzy nightclub vibe.

There’s also plenty of folk-y Eleni mixed in, and even some country.

You’ll notice that Eleni’s voice doesn’t sound like Tom Waits though. Did you notice that? It’s less of a deep, gravelly howl and more of rich Chrissie Hynde croon. Spin compared her to Chrissie Hynde and PJ Harvey. Rolling Stone compared her captivating melodies and witty lyricism to early Elvis Costello.

While she doesn’t have the Tom Waits’ wail, she does specialize in his particular brand of character song-study. Like this first song we’re going to hear. The first track off of Eleni Mandell’s second album Thrill. Released in the year 2000. This is Pauline.

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Pauline, from Eleni Mandell’s second record, Thrill. So how did this remarkably unique singer-songwriter get her start and pull together so many interesting influences to create the sound we just heard.

Eleni grew up in the Sherman Oaks region of the San Fernando Valley, Los Angeles. She started playing music when she was just 5, beginning with the violin and then piano. Eleni didn’t love playing either, but continued to take lessons until she was thirteen. She remembers wanting to learn to write songs early on, but didn’t have the first idea of how to approach it, especially on violin. She jumped from violin and piano to guitar as a teenager. Her parents exposed her to a variety of musical styles. Her mom would take her to musicals and her dad, a serious record collector, played her Hoagy Carmichael and plenty of jazz standards. She loved the Beatles and remembers Diana Ross making an early impression.

Another early life changing moment came when she discovered the Los Angeles punk band X.

X were huge in LA, and their first album (called Los Angeles) was the first record Eleni ever owned. Or maybe the first she asked to own. The first record she was ever given was Shaun Cassidy’s greatest hits for her 4th birthday. The first she ever purchased with her own money was X’s third release, Under the Big Black Sun. She tells a story of when she was out record shopping at a place called Aron’s Records, located on Melrose, and to her utter befuddlement came face to face with John Doe, lead singer of X. He was shopping for records too. She quickly snapped up a copy of the band’s third album and asked John to sign it. He did. She still has the signed album, which reads “Yours” complete with a big X “-John Doe.” That was the last autograph she ever asked for. It was not, however, the last time her path would cross with that of the band X.

When she was a little bit older, she met Chuck E. Weiss, songwriter, rock n’ roller, beat poet and peculiar Tom Waits associate. Also the subject of the song, Chuck E.’s in Love.

Yes, that Chuck E. Weiss. Waits was in a relationship with Rickie Lee Jones. Waits, Jones and Weiss all lived at the seedy Tropicana Motel in Los Angeles. One day Weiss up and left out of nowhere. Some time later Chuck E. called the apartment where Jones and Waits were living. He explained to Waits that he had moved to Denver because he had fallen in love with a cousin there. Waits hung up the phone and announced to Jones, “Check E.’s in love. Rickie Lee Jones liked that so much that she it turned it into the song we just heard.

Who is this episode about again? Oh, right. Eleni Mandell. Anyway, Eleni Mandell met THAT Chuck E. Weiss when she was not yet 21. Still, she had a friend who was able to get her into The Central, a Sunset Strip club that would later become The Viper Room. This would’ve been around 1990. Weiss was playing there every Monday.

Here’s how the write up on Eleni’s original website describes her first encounter with Weiss.

“The first time she ever saw Chuck E. Weiss perform, he walked right up to her and smiled like a cross between The Cheshire Cat and an escaped mental patient. She met him a month later at Musso and Frank’s.”

Eleni says she was at the famous Hollywood restaurant and recognized Weiss. She worked up the courage to approach him and told him how much she loved his show. He asked if she wanted to accompany him to meet up with a friend at Canter’s Deli. She agreed. When they settled into one of the landmark eaterys iconic red, vinyl booths in walked her hero. Tom Waits. What a night. Tom asked Chuck how he and Eleni had met.

“Hebrew school,” he declared.

Here’s a tune from Eleni’s debut album, Wishbone, released in 1999. This is Sylvia.

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From Eleni Mandell’s first album, Wishbone, that was Sylvia.

Under Chuck E. Weiss’ mentorship, produced by Jon Brion and self-financed by Mandell, Wishbone, as well as her next several records, received strong reviews and drew comparisons to Waits and PJ Harvey in style.

Before Weiss mentored Mandell, he hired her as a door person at his club. She said he would test her to see how tough a door person she was by trying to grab money out of her hand. Weiss would continue to mentor Eleni over the years and they’re still friends to this day.

For her fourth album, Mandell shook things up by diving into traditional country. A mix of covers and originals, 2003’s Country For True Lovers is an exciting update to her sound. And one of her life changing moments came full circle. Weiss introduced her to former X guitarist Tony Gilkyson, who produced the project. She also stacked the sessions with all star players, including Nels Cline from Wilco, and another X hero, drummer D.J. Bonebreak.

Eleni continued to mix and mesh genres on her next release, 2004’s Afternoon.

From the No Depression review of that album:

“Last years Country For True Lovers found Los Angeles chanteuse Eleni Mandell turning her sights on twang rather than her previous more PJ Harvey-oriented material, and she received plenty of critical acclaim in the process, sharing the LA Weekly 2003 songwriter of the year award with the late Elliot Smith.”

“On Afternoon, her fifth album, Mandell combines her love of various genres, including country, pop, jazz and rock, to stunning effect. Produced by Joshua Grange, who also lends his considerable talents on guitar, pedal steel, Hammond organ and piano, Afternoon mostly takes the slow and sexy approach. I’ve Been Fooled and Can’t You See Im Soulful give Mandell the chance to show off her breathy but passionate alto, which can devastate in a heartbeat.”

“Mandell does rock out from time to time, as on Easy On Your Way Out, which has a grungy Elvis Costello-gets-on-with-Liz Phair feel to it. I wanna be your afternoon/I want you coming back for more, Mandell sings on the sorta fun/sorta sad title song.”

She can also write catchy singles. Like this song from Afternoon, “Let’s Drive Away.”

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That was Let’s Drive Away from Eleni Mandell’s fifth album, Afternoon, released in 2004. That song was also featured on the TV show, Weeds.

And here comes the challenging part of covering an artist like Eleni Mandell, who’s put out consistently solid albums for over two decades. There’s not enough time to feature all the good stuff she’s produced, but trust me, over her eleven albums, she always delivers. From the diverse shifting sounds of Artificial Fire [play clip] to the smooth and breezy Dark Lights Up [play clip], Eleni whirls a magical combination of jazz, folk, pop, country and rock, with just enough experimental twists to keep everything fresh.

She’s also branched out from her solo artist gig to release two albums with her band The Grabs. The Grabs allows her to exercise more of her pop side and features Eleni on vocals, Blondie bassist Nigel Harrison, and Silversun Pickups’ drummer Elvira Gonzalez.

And, she’s also released records with the Andrews Sisters inspired supergroup, The Living Sisters, with Inara George, Alex Lilly and Becky Stark.

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I’d recommend checking out all of this.

So now that we’ve established that the Eleni Mandell road is paved with the goods, let’s skip ahead to focus on her most recent album: 2019’s Wake Up Again.

Here’s what Eleni and her website have to say about the latest release:

“For two years or thereabouts,” Mandell says, “I taught songwriting at two colleges and a women’s prison.”

The prison gig came about via Jail Guitar Doors, the organization founded by Wayne Kramer, guitarist of the vaunted Detroit band MC5, in partnership with English musician Billy Bragg. “I don’t know why exactly I was drawn to that work,” Mandell says. “But I had a family member who had been in prison in the 1940s. He wasn’t around when I was growing up, but that sort of fascinated me and I was always curious about what kind of person disappears and what kind of person commits crimes — what are they thinking?”

Working with the inmates also provided many epiphanies for her as a person, and proved fertile for her as an artist, as captured in the 11 songs on this album, her 11th studio release. In many ways it’s the culmination and fulfillment of all the strengths as a writer and performer going back to her start under the tutelage of Chuck E. Weiss, Tom Waits and other top chroniclers of people in the shadows.

“I really enjoyed it,” she says. “I was inspired by the stories, and surprised by the laughter I heard there. And I shouldn’t have been surprised, but I was, by how many different kinds of people were there: teachers, lawyers, nurses, and also people who grew up in poverty.”

Here’s a song about one of the woman she met during those songwriting classes she taught. This is Evelyn.

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Evelyn from Eleni Mandell’s most recent album, Wake Up Again. Another great addition to her expansive, impressive catalog. The album is filled with rich character studies and deeply personal self-examinations.

Her early Tom Waits inspiration continues to ignite and propel her, even after 11 albums. Only now she can call Tom a longtime friend.

And she went from obsessive punk rock X fan to counting a member of X as a member of her own band. What a cool, thrilling ride she’s had so far. Eleni Mandell.

References and other stuff:

Eleni interview with Luxury Wagers

Eleni interview with Mr. Bonzai

Eleni interview with Tyler Pollard on Timeline

The bio from Eleni’s current website has a great write up on her most recent album and I quote from it in the episode.

No Depression review of Afternoon that I quote in the episode

Here is the original bio from Eleni’s old website that is now archived. I also quote from this

Eleni has been featured on NPR segments over the years. I did not use anything directly from these, but they are good and informative

Pop Matter review of Dark Lights Up

Good L.A. Times article about Eleni teaching songwriting to female inmates and her latest album

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athina-blaine · 4 years

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“But squid is good, right? Want to get the calamari as a start?”

“Yeah, squid’s okay.” Mia’s phone buzzed and she glanced at it. She sighed, a sound that spoke of endless suffering. “But I think I’d rather have the cobb salad.”

“Is that your dad? What, is the squid going to give us food poisoning?”

“Yeah.”

Natalie laughed, but Mia hadn’t looked up from her menu.

Natalie Wilson just wanted her date to go well.

For @there-is-no-right-way

Chapters: 1/1 [Complete]

Words: 3,505

Tags: POV Outsider, Parenthood, Fluff and Humor, Dating, Cryptid Dads Cramping Their Teenage Daughter's Style

Taking one last moment to fix her hair in the mirror, Natalie leaned back in her car seat with a haggard sigh.

It was just dinner and a movie. Her and Mia literally ate at a Red Lobster and watched the new Magician’s Crescendo just last week. This was the same thing.

She pressed her face into the steering wheel.

Except that it wasn’t.

They were girlfriends now.

It wasn’t the same thing at all.

Without giving herself time to put the car in reverse and speed into the nearby pond, she shouldered the door open.

Relax. This was Mia they were talking about. Even if the date ended in Natalie absolutely humiliating herself, Mia would just take it all in with that adorable, secret smile of hers. They’d be fine. Their friendship would be fine. It’s fine. Natalie was fine.

She pressed the doorbell, trying to focus on its pleasant chiming as opposed to the panicked dance of her heart. The door opened and Mr. Sims was there.

“Right on time, Miss Wilson.”

Some of the stiffness left her shoulders. Miss Wilson. So posh. Pip pip tickety whatsit, and so on. A hoot and a half.

Mr. Sims smirked, and a heat rose to her face. Was she being obvious?

“Is, uh, Mia ready?”

“Just about. I believe she’s finishing up her hair. Come in.”

Mr. Sims led them through their tidy living room and into the kitchen where Mr. Blackwood was crouching over a pan. Looked like fish. The smell of garlic and spices wafted over her and her mouth watered. Man, she was starving.

“Smells good, Mr. B.”

Mr. Blackwood looked up from the pan and smiled. “Thank you.” Lowering the heat of the stove, he turned towards them, wiping his hands on his apron. “You look beautiful tonight.”

“Aw.” She futzed with her short black skirt, which still had traces of cat hair, despite her efforts with the lint roller. “Thanks. The earrings are my mom’s, though. She’s letting me borrow them.”

“It suits you, love.”

Mr. Sims nodded his agreement. “Your mother was telling us about your violinist audition. How did that go?”

“Oh, man.” Her fingers had gotten completely tangled in the last bar and when the scout had said, Good luck on your performance, she had said, Thanks, you too. “I think it went okay. I don’t know, the scout was kind of standoffish. I don’t think she like the song I played.”

“You did fine. She was just battling a bout of indigestion.”

Natalie chuckled, but Mr. Sims’ expression didn’t change. He did that a lot, actually. Just saying these strange things, confident in stuff he shouldn’t be confident in. Perhaps it was just an unusual style of British humor?

Mr. Blackwood nudged his husband’s side.

“Go check on Mia, Jon. She won’t want to keep her date waiting.”

Thoughts of Mr. Sims’ oddities fled her head. Her date. That was Natalie, Natalie was Mia’s date. They were talking about Natalie and Mia. And their date. Their date.

She was so absorbed in the comment that she only somewhat processed the look Mr. Blackwood gave his husband. Something akin to the look her mom gave her when she rambled on too long about her true crime podcasts. Mr. Sims scrubbed the back of his head, the closest she’d ever seen him to looking sheepish, before making his way up the stairs.

Natalie prepared herself for more small talk with Mr. Blackwood, but there was a thumping sound, a yelp, and a moment later, Mia came charging down the stairs.

“I’m so sorry!”

Natalie was incapable of responding at first. Mia had curled her soft brown hair into ringlets and her eyes sparkled. She was wearing the necklace Natalie had gotten her for her birthday last year.

“So,” said Mr. Blackwood, “dinner and a movie, is it?”

“Yep,” Mia said as she rounded the corner, throwing her arm around Natalie’s shoulder. Natalie’s stomach swooped.

“Yeah, uh, we’re going to see that new Haunting’s Row movie.”

“Sounds like fun. Did I ever tell you where my husband took us on our first date?”

“Dad.”

“A library. And not even to the parts where everyone went to make out.”

“Dad.”

Mr. Blackwood laughed, either not noticing or choosing to ignore his husband’s scowl. “Well, you two have fun. Try not to stay out too late.”

“We won’t,” said Mia, herding Natalie towards the door. As Natalie walked down the drive towards her car, though, Mia turned to her fathers in the doorway.

“Be cool tonight, okay?” she said, her voice low. “Especially you.”

“Why especially me?” Mr. Sims asked. The glare he received from both his daughter and husband was enough to scorch Natalie ten feet away.

“I’ll make sure he behaves,” Mr. Blackwood said, clapping a hand on his husband’s shoulder. “Have fun, sweetie.”

Mia pouted scornfully for good measure, before leaning up to plant a kiss on both their cheeks and turning with a wave. The two of them loaded into the car and Natalie flipped on her selected playlist for the evening before backing out of the driveway.

“Oh, I love this song,” Mia said, and Natalia flushed at the praise, having carefully curated this playlist over the course of the last five days. Everything had to be exactly right, after all.

“So,” Natalie started once they reached the highway. “I was thinking of that Thai place over on Victoria and 8th. What do you think?”

Mia was about to answer, but her phone dinged.

“Oh, just a sec.” Her phone clicked at she unlocked it. In the corner of Natalie’s eyes, she could see Mia’s nose scrunch, just a bit, the way it did whenever she was irritated.

“That your old man?”

Mia put her phone away with a sniff. “Yeah.”

Natalie raised a brow, waiting for an answer. Texts from Mia’s dad that got her to make that face were always interesting. Seeming to sense her expectation, Mia huffed.

“Giovanni’s place is doing free cannolis with a large pizza.”

“Oh, awesome,” Natalie said, flicking on her blinker to turn right at the next exit. “Your dad always knows the best deals in town. I don’t know why you get so grumpy about it.”

“I guess it’s not impossible he could have found it online or something. He's way too lame for that, though."

Well, yeah, where else would he have found it? The newspaper? Actually, Mr. Sims seemed like the type to still read newspapers.

“Your dads are awesome. My mom still shows off the doilies Mr. Blackwood made for her last Christmas. I love it when he calls me love, too. It’s so,” she tried to find the words and failed, “British.”

“Why, yes, British people in Britain.” Mia looked out the car window. “Have we moved countries since last I checked?”

“You know what I mean. You Englishmen with your adorable little accents.”

“We don’t have accents. You have an accent.”

“Don’t be silly.”

“Say aluminium.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Say it. A-lu-min-i-um.”

Natalie made a face. “A-lu-min-um.”

“You’re missing an entire I.”

“I am not. Americans don’t spell it with that I. We’re efficient like that.”

Mia settled back in her seat with a terse sound. “Efficiency, bastardization, whatever you want to call it.”

They both only lasted a few moments before bursting out into giggles. Their exit was fast approaching, and Natalie checked if the lane was clear.

“So, Giovanni’s?”

“Yeah, it’s hard to say no to a free cannoli.” Then, she added in a low grumble, “Even if it’s cheating.”

Natalie shook her head. She just didn’t get Mia sometimes.

As she drove down the darkening road, she glanced cautiously to her side. Mia’s hand was resting on the center console. Just sitting there. Probably cold, you know?

Holding her breath, Natalie crept one hand off the steering wheel and over to Mia’s (doubtlessly cold) hand. When she touched her wrist, Mia startled, and Natalie flinched back. Dammit. She should have asked first.

Then, Mia smiled and took Natalie’s hand, interlocking their fingers together. Oh, that was smooth. Mia was so smooth. Her heart pounded in her ears as her world shrank to the single point of their joined hands.

“Slow down!”

Whoops.

Natalie’s only ever been to Giovanni’s once before, when she and the gang were skulking around downtown for carbs after Mia’s soccer practice. It was nicely decorated, and the lowlights set the intimate mood Natalie wanted.

However, the place was nearly empty, on a Friday night, no less. While it suited their purposes, she suspected there was a reason why the desserts were free.

The hostess jumped at the sight of them but led them both to their seats.

“So,” Natalie began, flipping through the menu. “Toppings.”

“Definitely green peppers. Onions, too.”

“No onions.”

“What? You love onions.”

“Yeah, but, you know,” a damning heat rose to her face, “for later.”

“Oh.” Mia’s lips curled as she stared at her menu. She cleared her throat. “I brought mints, okay?”

Oh, mints. Genius. Why hadn’t she thought of that? “Okay, onions. Pepperoni?” Mia scrunched up her nose. “Oh, right. Miss I-Don’t-Like-The-Best-Pizza-Topping.”

“Look, you wouldn’t be so hot for it either if your dad was telling you about all the crazy butchers he’s run into as a bedtime story.”

“Right, right. The, uh, what was it? Bonepuller?”

“Boneturner. And he was a dickhead. Turned my dad’s bones right out of him.”

“My mom wouldn’t even let me watch that Disney movie about the kid vampire. You ever thinking about writing down some of those spooky stories? You and your dad are so imaginative with that sort of thing.”

“Nah, that stuff’s boring.”

Like a story about an invasion of parasitic flesh worms was boring. No accounting for taste. Perhaps Natalie would have to take it to paper herself someday. “But squid is good, right? Want to get the calamari as a start?”

“Yeah, squid’s okay.” Mia’s phone buzzed and she glanced at it. She sighed, a sound that spoke of endless suffering. “But I think I’d rather have the cobb salad.”

“Is that your dad? What, is the squid going to give us food poisoning?”

“Yeah.”

Natalie laughed, but Mia hadn’t looked up from her menu.

She took after her old man far too much, in Natalie's opinion.

The movie theater, unlike the restaurant, was packed. They waited in line for fifteen minutes and when they entered the auditorium, only a few scattered seats remained.

How hadn’t Natalie seen this coming? It’s not like Haunted Row 3 wasn’t the most highly anticipated horror event of the summer! She shouldn’t have insisted on that cheesecake alongside the cannoli, but Mia loved cheesecake. What were they going to do now?

Mia’s phone chimed again. Natalie turned, hopeful, like a dog to a bell. Yanking her phone out, Mia scanned the text, lips puckered like she was sucking on sour candy.

“There’s some seats over there.”

Natalie turned around, and, yeah, there they were. Two seats shoved in the far back. Not ideal, but better than nothing. She was equal parts relieved because the night wasn’t ruined, and stunned, because how? She glanced around the movie theater, not sure what she was looking for, but sure, whatever it was, was looking right back at her.

“I’m going to make a call real quick,” Mia said as they claimed the seats. She brought the phone to her ear, turning away from Natalie and lowering her voice to a waspish whisper.

“Hello? Jon! You said you wouldn’t— It was implied— Give Dad the phone. Do it. Dad? Yeah.” Mia nodded. “Yeah. Bury him in a board game or something. Okay. Yeah. Yes, Jon, I love you, too. Okay. Bye.”

She turned back to Natalie with a smile, a smile Natalie tried to return, but she felt it came out rather shaky.

“You said your dad worked with security cameras or something, right?”

“What? Pft. No, he’s a teacher at Frederickson. Where did you get an idea like that?”

“Uh—”

The movie started. Mia shushed her and Natalie glared, but settled in.

They only got halfway through the before Natalie fled the auditorium with trembling legs and a pounding heart. She splashed her face in the bathroom, trying to control her breathing. The door opened, and Natalie looked up to see Mia in the mirror, and she groaned.

“I told you to wait. You’re missing the movie.”

“It’s Haunted Row. Everyone dies but the virgin and the dog, the end.” Mia put a hand on Natalie’s back, rubbing in soothing circles. “I don’t understand why you take us to these horror movies when you get scared so easily. They always give you nightmares.”

“They don’t always give me nightmares.”

Mia lifted a brow. With a frustrated sigh, Natalie shook off her hand.

“I mean, I guess I just like it.”

“How can you like it? You were about to burst into tears.”

“I don’t know.” It was hard to put into words, how being afraid made her feel. “You know how you like spicy foods, right? It hurts to eat, but it still feels good?”

Mia nodded.

“Well, it’s like that. I just like feeling that way.” She turned to the mirror with a sniff, grabbing a bundle of paper towels. “The bit with the spider was a bit much, though.”

“Don’t tell my dad. He’ll go on for hours on how adorable spiders are and that everyone else is just mean.”

Oh, Natalie was aware of the monologue. With a wet chuckle, she patted her face dry, thankful her mother had suggested the waterproof makeup that night. “Well, let’s go back.”

“You sure? I think they’re playing that new superhero movie further down.”

“I’m fine. I want to see the dog live.”

They took their seats back, and as the movie continued, dread slowly slunk back over her. If she curled up a little tighter into Mia’s side, however, well, that was okay, especially when Mia wrapped her arm around her shoulders and pulled her in close.

Things weren’t so scary after that.

Natalie pulled up into the driveway, and that was it. Date over. But her shoulders were still stiff with tension.

She knew what she wanted to do, but how did you go about actually doing it? None of the articles were clear on that tidbit, in her opinion.

“Here we are,” she said.

Mia hummed, making no effort to leave. That was a good sign, right? But Natalie was still frozen in place. Oh, god, this was a nightmare.

“Don’t move.”

Natalie jumped. Mia was reaching towards her with both hands and gently brushed her shoulder. Her face became hot, but when Mia pulled back to reveal a spider in her palm, she leapt back with a shriek.

“How can you just hold it like that?”

“Dad used to have a pet tarantula when I was a kid.”

Oh. Yeah, that made sense. She wasn’t expecting an actual explanation.

She slumped in her seat. The hysterical giggles started small at first, before they began wracking her entire body. “You’re so cool. I can’t believe …” Sobering, she swallowed down the words. “Well, I’m just glad you wanted to, you know. Do this. Together.”

“Yeah, I, uh,” Mia ran a hand through her ringlets, which had slowly relaxed and fuzzed over the course of the evening. “I’ve been wanting to do this for a while. I think you’re pretty cool, too.”

Mia was still leaning over the console, much closer than before.

“Is it alright if I kiss you?”

Natalie could just barely manage a jerky nod. They had forgotten the mints, but that was okay. It was simple, just two mouths gently pressed together, but it was Mia, therefore, it was perfect.

“I should probably get you inside,” Natalie said when they parted, her insides warm and gooey.

"Yeah, maybe."

Natalie was halfway up the sidewalk when she turned, expecting to find Mia by her side, but Mia was by the car. With her hands still cupped, Mia was furiously whispering at the little speck of a spider. Good grief, she could be a strange one, at times.

Gently depositing it on the ground, Mia straightened, clapping her hands clean. When their eyes met, she smiled, before gesturing to the house.

Strange, yes, but there was something oh so loveable in that strangeness.

“We’re home,” Mia announced as she burst through the front door. Her parents were crouched over the living room table, playing a game with cards and dice. Mr. Sims was so absorbed, Mr. Blackwood had to nudge him with his elbow, and he reemerged with a confused mumble.

“Did you have a good time?” Mr. Blackwood asked.

Natalie nodded. “Yeah, we had a great time.” She turned to Mia. “I should probably head out, I promised my mom I'd come home right away. Study group tomorrow?”

"Yeah, sounds good," Mia said, dropping a kiss on Natalie's cheek. "Remind Greg it's his turn to bring snacks, okay?"

Natalie was too flustered by the kiss to come up with a response, and Mia waved as she raced upstairs. Mr. Sims got up from the table to walk Natalie to the door.

“I’m glad you had fun.”

“Thanks. And thanks for all the, uh, tips. They really helped us out.” She glanced down at her fidgeting fingers. “I really wanted tonight to go well.”

“Oh, don’t thank me. I’m rather in the doghouse for it. Nothing less than what I deserve, I suppose.”

“Yeah, I was wondering, though. About the, uh, movie theater seats?” She scrubbed her arm. How to phrase it? “Were you …?”

Mr. Sims stared. His eyes were so piercing.

“Never mind, it’s nothing. I should probably get going.”

Mr. Sims smiled, and there was a peculiar quirk to his lips. “Drive safely. And, again, don’t worry about the audition, I’m sure the scout loved what you played. Who doesn’t love Adele?”

He always had kind things to say. As he closed the door and Natalie turned to leave, she had a thought.

She hadn’t told anyone she was playing a pop song, not even her mom. It had been too embarrassing deciding to play such mainstream music, but it had been the only song she was confident in playing.

She turned, wanting to know who had told him, when she saw it.

Eyes.

Dozens and dozens of eyes.

The door closed with a definitive click!, but she could still feel it. Her legs were glued to the ground, waiting to be pushed into a fight or a flight. Forcing herself to move, she stumbled back to her car, and she had the most peculiar sensation that she was standing in front of an audience waiting to laugh at her.

Her hands shook on the steering wheel as her chest effused with fear. Real fear, not the pre-packaged popcorn fear from a scary movie, although she wouldn’t have even been able to make that distinction ten seconds ago.

A text tone pulled her out of her stupefaction.

>call me if u can’t sleep tonight, ok? <3

The tension hissed out of her body like a steaming kettle. She looked up and, in the window, she could see Mr. Blackwood and Mr. Sims arguing over something on the table. The board game, probably. Mr. Sims wasn’t looking at her. In any sense.

An old memory came back to her. It was only a few years ago, just before she started high school. Her dad had come to visit, and it had ended badly, as it usually did, and she had stormed out of the house, as she usually did.

She had walked and walked and walked until her legs hurt and the clouds turned from white and fluffy to dark and menacing. The road had stretched on and on behind her. She couldn't make it in time.

Then, a familiar car had rolled over the horizon and stopped just in front of her, and her mom's head popped out of the open window, crying and spitting fury and fire and ‘what-were-you-thinking’s. Mr. Sims was in the driver’s seat, watching her. Seeing her. His eyes had been soft and concerned.

She blinked. Mr. Blackwood and Mr. Sims were still in the window, only they were laughing now. Mr. Sims kissed the side of his husband’s head before they moved inside and out of sight.

She didn’t know what she knew, about Mia or her fathers or any of it. But there were a lot of things she didn’t know, right? The ocean was the epitome of unknowable, but she and Mia were still planning a trip to the beach at the start of summer vacation, you know?

Snapping the car in reverse, she craned her neck to make sure no one was coming down the lane.

And hey, her mom used to be in a cult when she had been a teenager.

Every kid’s parent had something weird about them, right?

#the magnus archives #tma #themagnuspod #jonmartin #fanfiction #fic #my writing

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ladyaryawolf · 4 years

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Why Jonsa does not work in the books.

This post is where starts the conflict. Jonsa thoughs. My toughts.

What makes a lot o people ship Jon x Sansa is because of the show, and I can understand it. Ship what you want. It's your right.

It does not mean that people can lie about what happens in the books, or what is cannon by GrrM himself.

D&D gave part of Arya's history and traits to Sansa in the show. Fact.

Jeyne Poole was using Arya's name. She was the one that was abused by Ramsay Balton. This false Arya was the one that the North went into a War, and the one that made Jon Snow break his vows. It was not Sansa who Jon fought and died for.

Ship what you want. You are free to ship. Making paralelles about Cat and Ned with Jonsa. Okay. I am a Jonrya shipper. I make parallels of Jonrya and Lyanna/Rhaegar and Alyssane/Jaehaerys. We are passionate shippers after all, in a fandom where morality is not a big deal the most part of time. You have a mean to make your point, then use it.

But whatever. GrrM said that the show and the books are like different universes. Words of the author. You can't discuss that.

What I can NOT take is people lying about canonic things, and my mind explodes when I read a lot of lies of the books to justify Jonsa.

Like Sansa is Jon's type. Like Jon remembers of Sansa when he met Ygritte. Like Jon and Sansa were always close. Lies!

He compares Ygritte to Arya, tought he addmit they don't even look alike, he never, never tought about Sansa while with Ygritte. He compares Val to Arya.

"They had always been close. Jon had their father’s face, as she did. They were the only ones. Robb and Sansa and Bran and even little Rickon all took after the Tullys, with easy smiles and fire in their hair. When Arya had been little, she had been afraid that meant that she was a bastard too. It had been Jon she had gone to in her fear, and Jon who had reassured her." (Jon, A Game of Thrones).

"And Arya … he missed her even more than Robb, skinny little thing that she was, all scraped knees and tangled hair and torn clothes, so fierce and willful. Arya never seemed to fit, no more than he had … yet she could always make Jon smile. He would give anything to be with her now, to muss up her hair once more and watch her make a face, to hear her finish a sentence with him." (Jon, A Game of Thrones)

"The memory of her laughter warmed him on the long ride north." (Jon, A Game of Thrones)

"Gods of my fathers, protect these men. And Arya too, my little sister, wherever she might be. I pray you, let Mance find her and bring her safe to me." (Jon, A Dance with Dragons)

"Bring her home, Mance. I saved your son from Melisandre, and now I am about to save four thousand of your free folk. You owe me this one little girl." (Jon, A Dance with Dragons)

“I have no sister.” The words were knives.

"The girl smiled in a way that reminded Jon so much of his little sister that it almost broke his heart." (Jon, A Dance with Dragon)

"What do you know of my heart, priestess? What do you know of my sister? "(Jon, A Dance with Dragons)

The Ygritte comparation:

“Jon could see fear and fire in her eyes. Blood ran down her white throat from where the point of his dirk had pricked her. One thrust and it’s done, he told himself. He was so close he could smell onion on her breath. She is no older than I am. Something about her made him think of Arya, though they looked nothing at all alike. “Will you yield?” he asked, giving the dirk a half turn. And if she doesn’t?” - Jon VI, ACoK

“Ygritte watched and said nothing. She was older than he’d thought at first, Jon realized; maybe as old as twenty, but short for her age, bandy-legged, with a round face, small hands, and a pug nose. Her shaggy mop of red hair stuck out in all directions. She looked plump as she crouched there, but most of that was layers of fur and wool and leather. Underneath all that she could be as skinny as Arya.” - Jon VI, ACoK

“Ygritte trotted beside Jon as he slowed his garron to a walk. She claimed to be three years older than him, though she stood half a foot shorter; however old she might be, the girl was a tough little thing. Stonesnake had called her a “spearwife” when they’d captured her in the Skirling Pass. She wasn’t wed and her weapon of choice was a short curved bow of horn and weirwood, but “spearwife” fit her all the same. She reminded him a little of his sister Arya, though Arya was younger and probably skinnier. It was hard to tell how plump or thin Ygritte might be, with all the furs and skins she wore.” - Jon II, ASoS

“If you kill a man, and never mean t’, he’s just as dead,” Ygritte said stubbornly. Jon had never met anyone so stubborn, except maybe for his little sister Arya. Is she still my sister? he wondered. Was she ever?” - Jon III, ASoS

When he received the letter of Ramsay

"Jon saw no reason not to tell him. “Moat Cailin is taken. The flayed corpses of the ironmen have been nailed to posts along the kingsroad. Roose Bolton summons all leal lords to Barrowton, to affirm their loyalty to the Iron Throne and celebrate his son’s wedding to…” His heart seemed to stop for a moment. No, that is not possible. She died in King’s Landing, with Father."

"Jon could almost see her in that moment, long-faced and gawky, all knobby knees and sharp elbows, with her dirty face and tangled hair. They would wash the one and comb the other, he did not doubt, but he could not imagine Arya in a wedding gown, nor Ramsay Bolton’s bed. No matter how afraid she is, she will not show it. If he tries to lay a hand on her, she’ll fight him."

"His fingers closed around the parchment. Would that they could crush Ramsay Bolton’s throat as easily." (Jon, a Dance with Dragons).

"Jon felt as stiff as a man of sixty years. Dark dreams, he thought, and guilt. His thoughts kept returning to Arya. There is no way I can help her. I put all kin aside when I said my words. If one of my men told me his sister was in peril, I would tell him that was no concern of his. Once a man had said the words his blood was black. Black as a bastard’s heart. He’d had Mikken make a sword for Arya once, a bravo’s blade, made small to fit her hand. Needle. He wondered if she still had it. Stick them with the pointy end, he’d told her, but if she tried to stick the Bastard, it could mean her life." (Jon, A Dance with Dragons).

• In books the quote “Love is the death of duty” by Maester Aemon is used when Jon decidesld break his vows from nights watch to save “Arya”. Arya is the character Jon loves the most and he thinks on her in every moment.

He dies thinking about Arya:

"Jon fell to his knees. He found the dagger’s hilt and wrenched it free. In the cold night air the wound was smoking. “Ghost,” he whitspered. Pain washed over him. Stick them with the pointy end. When the third dagger took him between the shoulder blades, he gave a grunt and fell face-first into the snow. He never felt the fourth knife. Only the cold…" (Jon, A Dance with Dragons).

George's Interviews:

“At some points, when [Game of Thrones showrunners David Benioff and Dan Weiss] and I had discussions about what way we should go in, I would always favor sticking with the books, while they would favor making changes,” he said. “I think one of the biggest ones would probably be when they made the decision not to bring Catelyn Stark back as Lady Stoneheart. That was probably the first major diversion of the show from the books and, you know, I argued against that, and David and Dan made that decision.” - Time Magazine, 2017

“You have to remember that I started writing this story in 1991 and I first met David and Dan in 2007. I was living with these characters and this world for 16 years before we even started working on the show. They’re pretty fixed in my mind and I’m not going to change anything because of the show, or reaction to the show, or what fans think. I’m just still writing the story that I set out to write in the early 1990s.” - Time Magazine, 2017

My conclusion:

Like I said before. You are free to ship everyone, but not lie about Canon things written by George RR Mantin himself. This is the canonic verse. Jon and Samsa rarely think of each other. Sansa was always distant from him, she regreats it later, but still is a fact. I am not an anti-Sansa. She is not my favorite, i addmit, but anti, for me, is somente idiot that says stupid arguements with insults just to put another character in glory, only because they dislike another, and even refuse to aguement as adults. In another words, those antis are childsh.

There is a lot of people saying that Jon would be good for Sansa and take him out of her is something cruel, as everything that is good for her is fanservice. We agree in disagree. There is no way we could try taking Jon from Sansa, if he was not hers in first place. Like I said, they rarely think of each other, she bullied him when they lived together, she kept distance following Cat's personal opinion. Sansa's fault? No. She was a child seeing her mother's opinions, and following it. It does not change what she have done. Don't get me wrong. I am not saying that Jon hates her, but the memories he shares with Sansa during his childhood are not the best. It doesn't mean they won't get along. They will! Of course they will, by all they could know, they would be the lasts of the Starks alive. Sansa might go to Winterfell in TWoW before Arya. Would they get closer? Probably. Will they share the same bond showned on TV show? No. This is bad for her? No. She would be home, with her family. This is bad to you? Sounds terrible? Does it sounds harsh?

Like, other thing that I hate about Jonsa-stans (just a part of them) justifies that she needs someone to make her happy. With all respect, if you think this way about Sansa, you do not like her. Not really. Sansa is much more complex of a character to say that only a romantic relationship with a man could make her happy. She does not need someone else in a romantic way to make her happy. She passed through a hell in King's Landing, and Petyr actions with her can be described only as disgusting. To say the only good thing that could happen to her is a man, you are reducing her character to a simple one. Everything she wants it's to go home. She is smart, kind and clever. Sansa is making Petyr Baelish play in her hands. I don't want Sansa to end up alone. She deserves a lot. She is really strong, in so many ways. Her strengh is not like Arya, Ygritte or Val. It's subtle and delicate, like Margaery in someway. Sansa deserves a man who respects her, a man who loves her with all his heart, a man that carries for her the same way Jon carries for Arya. Uconditionally.

Other thing that I hear is that Jonsa stans always says that, we, Arya-stans, look to Jonsa as threat to Arya, and we all get mad about it. I can't talk in the name of the others. For me, fuck the show. I don't care. I don't even look at the show as part of GrrM work anymore. But what gets me mad as an Arya stan, and a Jonrya shipper is not Jonsa itself. They had chemistry on screen, but in the books they don't have any of it. This is what gets me mad.

It's trying to stole something that belongs to Jon and Arya alone that gets me mad. One of the strongest and purest bonds I have ever seen in books or screen. It doesn't belong to Sansa all this devotion. It's not canon in the books, and annoys me to see tons of people lying and self inserting Sansa in Jon's heart just because they want the books to happen the same way in the show. Forget it. It's not going to happen. A lot of other characters and relationships have been destroyed by D&D, not only Jon & Arya. Write and read fanfics. Ship whatever the hell you want, but don't lie about cononic things. If Jon and Arya get along as a romantic couple or not, does not change that this bond is theirs. Sansa has her own history in the books. Her own importance. She wil be part to take Winterfell back, not the same way she did on the show, but she will be a big part of it. And she is a Stark! The end! Sansa is a southern lady in many ways, but she is Sansa Stark and a princess by her own right, dammit! She says it herself that her strengh comes from the walls within Winterfell!

Thank you to read. I have to be greatful to another posts that helped me to write it. I have to say sorry about my grammar. English is not my first language, but I hope what I wrote was clear to understand. See you soon.

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queensdivas · 4 years

Text

Wildest Notes Chap 2

Ya know what I love about this movie? The fact that it goes day by day instead of trying to cram it in one singular day. So this makes writing this fic so much easier and way more fun to write!

Was this my best chapter? Probably not. Is it cute? YES!

Will I start chapter 3? Not yet cause I have to catch up on Thistle and For Gods Sake. So y’all be patient with Gardner. Trust me I would love nothing more than to write out this entire fic in one day. But freakin Eugene and Samuel need their moments as well.

So if ya liked to be tagged please let me know. And I’ll see you guys in the next chapter of whatever gets updated next!

Next Chapter

Previous Chapter

Masterlist

What’s the best thing about Jazz? Besides it becoming very sexualized due to the fact that the Saxophone and Clarinet for some reason turn people on. I think the best thing about jazz is that it can cover so many different genres. Want some latin jazz funk? Here’s some jazz funky latin. I think this is my brain trying to calm down as my first performance with making money.

Standing in front of the club as I was debating on whether to make a run for it or just too bite the bullet. Ahhhhh crap. I always get these jitters before a performance like this and even at just private concerts in school I was a train wreck.

“Hey. You Cora?” Someone yelled as I held my binder tighter.

“Umm yes. And you?” He flicked his cigarette and approached me with his instrument.

“Theo Rivers. You’ve come to join our merry troop?” He opened the door and motioned for me to go in first.

“Yes I have.” He closed the door behind me as it was a small dark hallway. We reached onto the club floor as there were a bunch of people on the wide stage warming up, and talking amongst themselves.

The room was much bigger than I imagined as it sparkled with a large chandelier that dangled down from above. You could see the doors to and from the kitchen as they were painted black. The bar was long and filled with so many different types of alcohol I wasn’t sure what was from where. The hardwood floors were this lovely dark red that made the black tables look to grande.

“Just play it cool little thang.” Ew. Thang? Really? I stopped in the middle of the dance floor as Lucas approached the stage in front of everyone.

“Alright everyone calm down I know that we’re all excited for the new pianist whenever she gets here. Trust me you guys are going to love her!” That would be Mr. Lucas Puzo. I found him in a local music shop as I was trying to find some sort of cheap good piano. (Which is harder than it sounds.)

“Would that be her Lucas?” Someone pointed out as I was standing in the middle of the dance floor.

“Ah yes. Ladies and Gents this is our new pianist Cora Lister!” He popped down from the stage and walked over to me. I gave them a small wave as he placed his hands on my shoulder to usher me over to the stage.

“Hello.” I said softly as everyone was smiling and waving.

“Now we open in twenty minutes so get yourself warmed up missy! Alright make sure you guys give her the lineup so she’s not improvising too much. Ima go to the jon so give me five minutes.” He walked away as I stood in front of everyone as they stared back.

Not saying a word I dashed over to the piano to get comfortable on my bench. The drummer got up from his set to stand on the end of the piano as he slid over a piece of paper. I grabbed it to look at the two sets we were doing tonight. A good mixture of swing, ballads, latin, and funk? Hm. Love it.

“Felix by the way.” He smiled as I nodded. So we’re starting off with Give me a simple life? A Little cliche but it’s a good warm up song.

“You don’t talk much do you?” He asked as I placed the sheet on my stand.

“Sorry just trying to get ready.” I told him as he shook his head.

“Leave her be Felix. He’s more wild than a dog in heat when it comes to new members of our troop. Kobi the bassest.” He stood on my left as I waved at him.

“Then Kobi tries to be all smooth and act like he’s innocent. Y’all are not as smooth as you think. Krista I’m the best trombone there is.” She sat down next to me as I placed my binder on the piano stand.

“And then she acts like the superhero for women when in reality she is also trying to get into your pants. As you can see Cora you’ve attracted the dogs of the band on complete accident. For the record she’s fourth chair as I am first. Chandler by the way.” He sat on the other side as I was completely confused on what was happening. So four people are trying to get in my pants and the only few words I said were hello and sorry just trying to get ready. How the flippin’ heck does that happen?

“I should get a squirt bottle to back off against Cora! Bad bad bad!” Lucas yelled as everyone laughed to sit back in their seats. Thank Goodness. I’m not quite sure what the heck just happened but that felt like my first ever college frat party I attended. Like a penis magnet, then I left two minutes later to go home and binge watch SVU.

“Cora please tune everyone before they go mad.” Lucas ordered as cracked my knuckles real quick. I played B flat and everyone began tuning. Quickly running up and down a few scales as some random man came running out of the kitchen.

“We’re about to open! Go ahead!” He yelled as Lucas shrugged and began clearing his throat. Wait he’s singing? Would’ve loved to get a chance to practice with him so I know exactly how this band rolls!

“For your sake. Just follow me and you’ll be just fine.” Kobi told me as I nodded. I just do what I usually do when playing. TRYING NOT TO PANIC!

“One..two..a one two three four!” Immediately on a roll!

My left ear listening to the bass as my other one was focusing on the tempo Felix was giving off. A little faster than normal versions of the song but I kind of enjoy it. Definitely features a lot of me but as long as I stay calm and keep my focus on the tempo I’ll be just fine.

People began coming into the club, sitting around the small tables and waiters already serving them. I’m assuming this is a regulars club most likely. Because how many people do you know regularly enjoy listening to jazz?

I noticed my piano solo was coming already as I cracked my neck and thought of a good improv pattern for myself that would match nicely with the song. Maybe something a little spicy but not too spicy.

My fingers bounced up and down the piano as my attention went towards Lucas who was nodding at my improv solo. I’d known he was impressed with me when I played at graduation.

Another glimpse into the crowd as everyone was talking amongst themselves or watching us up they're playing. Ya know I was expecting a lot less people but the turnout was pretty great for my first night.

Is it weird that I’m a little shocked that Gardner didn’t show up? I mean I knew he was tightly rounded but thought getting him out of his house would do him some good. But that’s what happens when I try to be nice in my life. Everyone ends up shutting the door in my face but somehow I still stand..ah ya don’t need to hear me.

The song finished as the crowd began softly cheering as Lucas bowed to everyone. He fixed his tie as he clapped his hands. He began kissing up to the crowd as I flipped the page to the next song in the set. Which should be You Belong to Me. Not the Taylor Swift version obviously. I believe it’s the Jo Stafford version. Luckily it’s not a big piano song so I’ll be nice and cozy back here this time.

“PST Cora!” He was trying to be quiet but that obviously wasn’t working.

“What Kobi?” I asked as he leaned over to the piano and tried to say something to me. But I barely could hear out of choice. I think I’m just going to bust through the sets here and then go home.

A waitress approached me as she held up some sort of blue drink up to me as I shook my head. Me? Getting drunk on the piano? Never in my life! She shrugged as Lucas began counting us off again softly.

Definitely business till I can get used to this sort of environment.

~~~

“YOU BETTER GET BACK! HONKY CAT! LIVING IN THE CITY AIN’T WHERE IT’S AT! IT’S LIKE TRYING FIND GOLD IN A SILVER MINE! IT’S LIKE TRYING TO DRINK WHISKEY FROM A BOTTLE OF WINE!” I danced around my kitchen as I placed the last plate from lunch away. Angus was sitting in the entrance between the kitchen and living room.

“Well I read some books OW! And I read some magazines! C’mere Angus!” I told him as he trotted over and jumped up into my arms.

“About those high-class ladies down in New Orleans.” He was annoyed as I was moving him back and forth. He should be used to it by now at this point.

“AND ALL THE FOLKS BACK HOME..WELL...SAID I WAS A FOOL!” Angus plopped down to sulk himself back into the living room and laid down on the floor with the sun shining through the window on him.

“THEY SAID OH BELIEVE IN THE LORD IS THE GOLDEN RULE!” I danced my way over to the record play to turn it down a little due to the fact my neighbors probably don’t want to hear me screaming Honky Cat lyrics. I mean I can sing but when Elton comes on it’s like a party.

It was just low enough I heard that creak of a front gate open as the tip toed over to the front door and was ready to pounce and scare him. No that’s too mean. Maybe another time when he’s not carrying a package of mine. He quickly knocked on the screen door as I opened my front door and he was off.

“Hiya Gardner.” It was like a car break on how fast he stopped. I looked down to see how huge this box was and saw it was from Eureka. Mom?

“Mind giving me a hand?” I asked him as he turned around and looked down at the ground.

“Sure.” He came up the porch as I tossed the mail into the music room as we bent down to pick up the box.

Well..a slip and a fall. That big bulky box landed straight on my left foot. If you think stubbing that little toe of yours was bad. This was a whole lot worse.

“Son of a biscuit!” I tried laughing it up as Gardner had his hands over his mouth.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” He panicked as I smiled at him. One of those painful smiles that’s trying to cover up that I’m screaming in pain internally.

“It’s fine. Just let’s get this in here!” I said through my teeth as we tried lifting it again and carrying it inside. We walked into the living room for Angus to move quickly out of the way.

“Now please don’t crush my foot again.” I told him as we slowly lowered the box onto the rug. I sat down on the couch to then look at my left foot making sure it wasn’t broken. Luckily we’re all good.

“Is your foot okay?” He chirped as I nodded.

“Yeah it’ll be fine. You often drop boxes on people's feet?” I tried to lighten the conversation but I could tell he was not interested. Might as well see what’s in the box.

“Give me another hand into the kitchen.” I got back up from the couch as he looked at the door.

“I really don’t have time.” I placed my hands on my hips with one eyebrow raised at him. We reached down again and carried it into the kitchen and placed it on the counter. He took a step back and grabbed a small knife to open the box.

“Well if that’s everything Cora.” I placed the knife down and tossed an apple to him. He barely caught it as I reached into the box.

“You look a little famished. An apple always helps.” I pulled out a rolled up bubble wrap to see it was Mrs. Seymours old collection of her Elvis Presley China!

“Oh my gosh!” I laughed as The King was painted on the plate.

“Ya know I love people’s obsession with the weirdest things in the world. Mrs. Seymour loved Elvis Presley China.” I pulled out the second dinner plate that had him in his big red glittery suit.

“Why Elvis?” Gardner asked as I handed him the plate.

“She loves Elvis. Oh my god it’s like her passion before opening a home for all of us and locking it down.” I reached in to pull out the all white suit Elvis but it was cracked in half.

“Well. You broke Elvis Gard. Now you gotta fix him.” I told him as a wave of panic rolled on his face.

“Ya know..I...I..can’t. Uh..I really really..” I think the glue is in the junk drawer. I opened the drawer to see super duper glue. Perfect! He placed down the apple he didn’t even take a bite out of and stand in front of the broken plate.

“Now just be gentle with the King.” I began squeezing the glue along the crack as he kept trying to check his watch. If he doesn’t stop checking his watch I’m gonna throw it in the backyard!

“Alright now just hold it still.” I told him as we pushed the plate back together for the glue to start sticking.

“Now I’m going out to lunch if you could just stand here till I get back.” His eyes widened as I looked at him dead seriously.

“Wait what lunch!?” I lost it as he sunk back into himself.

“I’m..I’m sorry. I..I generally don’t hang out with civilians this much.” Civilians? Do I look like I’m in the army? Do I need to salute him or something?

“Just messin’ with your Gard. You need to lighten up a little bit sir. Us civilians aren’t all horrid people.” I told him as he looked down at the plate as I gently took it from his hands. He put his white hat on his head as he began becoming uptight again.

“I’m sorry if I broke your foot.” He blurted out as I looked down at it. I imagine I'll be getting some sort of bruise. Not really a problem due to the fact I use my right foot for the petals anyhow.

Angus came strolling into the kitchen as he sat down in front of Gard waiting for him to scratch the top of his head. He looked down at him as Angus was beginning to whimper at Gard.

“If you’re going to bail on me without saying goodbye. At Least say goodbye to Angus.” Angus licked his lips as Gard quickly scratched the top of his head.

“Goodbye Cora. This was interesting again.” Turning around like a bat out of hell as Angus and I watched him leave the kitchen through the living room and shutting the front door.

Why do I find him so adorable?

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#Gardner #gardner langway #gardner x reader #Gardner Langway x reader #Gardner Langway Fic #Dear Sidewalk #Dear Sidewalk x reader #Dear Sidewalk Fan fic #joe mazzello #joe mazzello fic #joe mazzello fanfic #joe mazzello x reader

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madamebaggio · 4 years

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Notes: Previously...

More fluff!!! Cat is in Camelot and it’s time to see about that marriage ;)

***

When Arthur got a letter telling him that the Warden of the North was coming to visit, he couldn’t believe it.

He drove his advisors, friends and servants absolutely mad with the preparations. It wasn’t intentional, but Cat was coming and he wanted everything to be perfect.

Bedivere and Bill were also interested in the visit, but for completely different reasons.

“Lady Stark isn’t married, is she?” Bedivere commented nonchalantly.

Arthur might have bought it, if he didn’t know that Bedivere was way too well informed to be asking that type of question.

“You can join forces with Lady Cat.” He informed the older man. “She wants me to marry her mother.”

Arthur chuckled imagining his advisor and Lady Cat talking about it.

Finally -to everybody’s relief - Winterfell’s party was seen close and they went to receive the Starks.

“Stand still.” Maggie told Arthur softly. “You’re bouncing on your feet.”

“I’m sorry.” He cleared his throat.

“You really like this girl.” She realized, a warm smile on her face.

“I do.”

The party crossed the gate and the first person Arthur saw was Ser Brienne. She was followed by two people he didn’t recognize, a man and a woman. And there was… Yes, that was a direwolf, which probably mean the man was the famous Jon Snow.

The three riders reached them first and Arthur greeted Ser Brienne; she then introduced him to Arya Stark and Lord Commander Jon Snow.

“It is an honor to meet both of you.” He told them honestly.

“Your Majesty.” Commander Snow bowed.

“Cat won’t stop talking about you.” Arya observed, clearly trying to understand what could possibly be so interesting about him.

Jon gave her a warning look, but Arthur didn’t mind it. “I’m extremely charming.” He informed her, making Arya snort.

Finally, the carriage stopped and one guard opened the door, and helped someone out. It was Lady Cat.

She saw him and took off running, ignoring her mother calling her name and everything else around her. She just ran straight at him and Arthur could do nothing, but kneel so he could hug her when she was close enough.

Cat leapt to him, throwing her little arms around his neck. It was as if a weight had been lifted from his heart. It’d been almost four months since he left Winterfell, and she was so young… He feared she wouldn’t care as much about him after so much time.

But, as he knelt there, with her in his arms, he felt happier than he had in months.

“Arthur!” She was saying by his ear. “We’re here!”

“You are.” He smiled at her. “Are you taller?” He teased.

“Mom says I grow up everyday.” She informed him.

“Your mom is always right.” He informed her.

“Aunt Arya says the same thing.”

“Yes, but it’s called sarcasm.” Aunt Arya spoke.

“Your Majesty.”

He’d completely forgotten about Lady Stark for a second, but that was until he saw her.

It was spring, and it worked perfectly for him, because he wanted Cat to see it. He hadn’t known that seasons in Westeros lasted for fucking years. Cat had been born at the beginning of winter and only knew snow; he’d be the one to show her everything else.

What hadn’t crossed his mind was how that would affect a very peculiar thing: their clothes.

Lady Stark was wearing a blue dress. No fur, no black, no gloves, just… Her hair was still in that same northern style she favored, but under the sun it shone like a jewel.

Lady Stark looked like a princess; a fairy, if he were to be honest.

Oh no.

“Lady Stark.” He got up, bringing Cat with him. She remained happily perched on his arms. “It’s an honor to receive you.”

“Thank you for having us, Your Majesty.” She told him respectfully.

“Arthur, we saw so many green trees!” Cat told him excitedly. “And birds! Aunt Arya let me put my feet on a stream!”

“You were not supposed to let your mother know that.” Arya groaned.

Arthur chuckled. “You’ll see many more.” He promised. “We can even go swimming if your mother allows it.”

Cat immediately turned to her mother. “Mom, can we swim?”

“I don’t think King Arthur means now.” She pointed out. “But we’ll see.”

“I can take her.” Arya said. “You never liked swimming much.”

“We’ll see.” The other woman repeated.

***

Arthur and Lady Stark took care of all the formalities, introductions, then they were shown to their rooms.

“Arthur.” Cat had asked to sit on his lap during dinner, and he’d obviously let her.

“Yes?”

“Mom said there’s a ball tomorrow.”

“Yes. It’s to welcome you all.”

“It’s perfect.”

Arthur didn’t think Lady Stark would let her stay that much, but if she was happy…

“You can dance with my mom, then you can fall in love.”

Arthur choked on his ale. “What?”

“So you can marry.” She told him impatiently, like he wasn’t the smartest person she knew.

“Right…” Arthur drawled, not knowing what to do.

“I talked to aunt Arya about it.”

Fuck.

“And uncle Jon too.”

Oh fucking fuck.

“Aunt Arya says that mom doesn’t want to get married.”

“So…”

“But she thinks it’ll be fun to see you trying.”

He didn’t want to be the one to explain to her what sarcasm was.

“She told me to tell you that mom likes lemon cakes, songs and pretty things. Uncle Jon told that mom once told him to tell a girl her name is pretty.” She diligently informed him.

What was he supposed to do?

“You want us to dance tomorrow?” That he could promise her.

“Yes.”

“Fine. I can dance with your mom.”

***

“I know about Cat’s plan.”

Arthur froze, his quill paused above the parchment, dripping ink on it. “Shit.” He saw the mess he’d made. Arthur cleared his throat, unable to believe he’d cursed in front of Lady Stark. “I beg your pardon?”

“She wants you to marry me, doesn’t she?” She looked beyond amused by it.

He really wanted to escape this conversation. They were supposed to be discussing business.

“Yes…” He admitted. “How did you know?”

“I had my suspicions when she asked me if our marriage would make you her dad.”

Arthur couldn’t contain a smile.

“What did she tell you?” Sansa pressed.

“She wants me to dance with you tomorrow so we can fall in love.” He confessed. “And I think I’m supposed to tell you your name is pretty…?”

“Jon and Arya told me she asked for their help.” She laughed.

“I just… I never know what to say to her when she brings it up.” He sighed. “I never want to disappoint her, you know?”

“I do; I understand it perfectly.” She became a bit more serious. “However, as her mother, I have to make the best decisions for her. Unfortunately, sometimes it means that I have to disappoint her.”

“I know.” He scratched the back of his neck.

“So don’t promise her anything.” She asked.

“I won’t.” He assured her. “But we can always fall in love.”

It was her turn to freeze, he could see he’d caught her completely by surprise.

“I…” She cleared her throat. “I don’t intend to fall in love.”

“I didn’t either.” He pointed out. “And yet, I’ve fallen for her. There’s nothing to stop me from falling for you too.”

“Besides common sense.” She told him dryly.

“Highly overrated.”

“Clearly.”

Well… Fuck.

#madame baggio #crackship #CrossOver #Crossover Pairings #gifs not mine #game of thrones #king arthur legend of the sword #Sansa Stark #Arthur Pendragon #Sansa x Arthur #every piece of my heart

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patricianandclerk · 4 years

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Complete. 6k. Set pre-160, after they're settled into the cottage together.

Jon looks... hungry. Martin can't stand it.

Jon had been skinny when Martin had met him. Well, not— Was skinny the right word? He’d been small, that much was certain, except he was really only small in comparison to Martin and to Tim, because when Martin saw him out in the street, around other people, he did seem a little bigger than the average, but he was skinny. Square and angular, and sort of thin, with the bony bits of him seeming exaggeratedly bony, but not so skinny that you noticed it on the parts of him that were meant to be meaty – his forearms, his legs, his chest.

Meaty.

Bad choice of words. Bad choice of words, now, now that the actual meat on his body was pockmarked over the arms and the hands where the worms had burrowed in, and when the burn covered shiny-slick up his left hand, and there was a ragged cut at his neck, too, one that only showed when he let his shirt get unbuttoned…

Skinny was the wrong word, and little didn’t seem right either, when Martin really looked at him, but when you weren’t looking at Jon, it was easy to think of him as little. He just had that sort of personality, except that maybe it wasn’t his personality, and maybe he’d used to seem bigger, before he started—

That isn’t a helpful train of thought, and it makes Martin feel a bit sick.

He’s watching Jon in the little cottage, his arms crossed tightly over his chest, his knees drawn partly up to his chest, and he’s managed to cram himself onto one of the windowsills like a cat. Folded up like this, he looks like he’d be bigger, once you unfolded him, and Martin again gets the weird, uncanny sensation that Jon should be bigger in his mind than he is, and he doesn’t like it. Doesn’t like the idea that when he isn’t looking, whatever magic there is might make Jon fade away to nothing, might make Martin forget.

The cottage is small. It’s only three rooms – the living room and kitchen, which is sparsely furnished with an electric fireplace, some dressers, and a few bookshelves which are mercifully crammed full of books; the bedroom, which has one queen-sized bed with what feels like a fifty-year-old mattress, and two chests of drawers which had at least been full of blankets; and the bathroom, which has a bath but no shower, and is so small, with a slightly slanted roof, that Martin has to bend his head slightly if he wants to use the sink. The books on the shelves are varied, and Jonathan had wryly commented as they’d started clearing all the dust off everything that she’d just bought some boxes from a car boot sale to fill them, so that they would be harder to move.

There’s ammunition and weapons behind them, the bookshelves, buried in the wall. Jon had known that when they’d come in, and then gone sort of quiet, like he felt guilty, but it wasn’t as though it was his fault, just for knowing.

There are a lot of blankets, at least, although honestly, Martin hadn’t expected the cottage to hold the heat as well as it does, but it really does – the windows are thickly glazed, with that cross-hatching that some windows have (“It means if someone shoots through it, it won’t shatter too explosively.” More guilty silence.), and the walls are tightly insulated, the roof not seeming to let out too much heat. There’s an attic you can get into from the outside, but Jon had put his hand on Martin’s and said quietly that he didn’t want to go up there, and that he didn’t want Martin to go up there either.

Martin had been distracted by how cold Jon’s hand was, and immediately clasped it in his own to try to warm it up. Jon had gone quiet then, too, but he couldn’t really tell at the time if it was guilty or not. He still couldn’t.

Martin has a copy of Ballantyne’s The Coral Island in his lap, but it’s very old and the font is very small, and when he looks at the etchings of the ocean and the boats, he thinks of Peter Lukas, and it makes him feel sad, and lonely, and sort of yearny, in a way he doesn’t really like, and when he feels like that he doesn’t much want to go for a walk around the area.

Jon doesn’t seem that small, when they’re in bed together. He folds out instead of inward, and although he doesn’t sprawl – Martin doesn’t think Jon is capable of sprawling, even if he’s trying to – he sort of spreads out a bit more, a bit longer. Martin can tell he isn’t used to sharing a bed with someone, but that he isn’t self-conscious enough to apologise if he brushes Martin accidentally, and the night before, Martin had woken up with his nose pressed into Jon’s black-and-grey hair, Jon’s stubble scratching at Martin’s neck, and he’d been amazed at how much his head had spun with it, when he was only just awake. He likes… Once they start touching, it’s so easy to touch one another all over, but when the gap between them is like this, it’s hard to bridge it, to start with.

It’s easier to touch Jon than he expected, though. When he fantasied about it, when he first started having a crush, he’d always thought it would be hard to touch him – he used to imagine that Jon would take charge, that he’d maybe tie Martin down and take control, or tell Martin when and where he was allowed to touch.

That was before he knew Jon wasn’t really interested in sex, of course. He wonders if it’s bad to think about having sex with someone you know isn’t interested.

“I’m sorry,” Martin says.

Jon glances at him. He looks tired, and thin – thinner than he used to, definitely, and not just because of the new Archivist thing. Martin is certain of that, certain, because when Jon had sat up this morning it was easy for Martin to see that he was missing two ribs, because he could count them all easily, and no one’s thighs should be as thin as Jon’s are. Jon doesn’t look emaciated, not like Daisy had, does, does, but then she mustn’t look quite the same now, it’s been weeks—

“What?” Jon asks softly.

“I don’t mind getting you cigarettes,” Martin says. “Just— I didn’t mean, I didn’t want to, um, to stop you, just that I don’t like the… but it would be fine if you smoked them outside. I can get you some.”

He’d asked for them. When he’d seen Martin’s face, he’d actually recoiled a little, although Martin wasn’t sure what his face had looked like, although he had said that he wouldn’t let Jon smoke in the house, and he’d been stern, almost, and assertive, and he hadn’t meant to be like that, it wasn’t the sort of person he was – but maybe it was, now, maybe he was assertive, maybe he could be. He was trying to be.

“I don’t mind,” Jon says lowly. “I’ve been smoking too much the past few months anyway. More than I used to.”

“They’re appetite inhibitors,” Martin says. “Like chewing gum.”

“Yes,” Jon says. His tone is a little more tight, and he isn’t looking at Martin, but instead on some fixed point out over the drably green fields outside. Martin wonders what he’s looking at, who he’s looking at, if he’s looking at something other than damp grass and uneven fenceposts and a dank, grey sky. “My grandmother used to tell me that, too.”

“I was going to cook a chicken for dinner,” Martin says. “And potatoes, and carrots, and there’s… I got some, um, gravy. Bisto.”

Jon smiles at him. It’s drawn, and haggard, and it makes one of the scars on his cheek seem longer.

“You’re a good cook, Martin,” he says quietly. “You’ll have to tell me what to do, if you want things chopped a certain way.”

Mum used to tell him he was a good cook. Martin didn’t think that it was true – he just cooked things, and they tasted fine, but he wasn’t a chef or anything, and he wasn’t really that into recipe books, or interesting things. Tim had liked interesting things, Tim had cooked all this creative stuff, and Basira seemed to know how to cook everything, and Sasha had known all kinds of things about cuts of meat and wine and mushrooms and ingredients and… And Martin didn’t know any of all that.

Mum used to tell him he was a good cook because he was the one cooking, and she didn’t like that, but felt that she should say something, he supposed. Jon at least seemed like he meant it.

“Are you hungry now?” Martin asks, and he watches Jon’s face, watches the little twitch of his mouth, the hesitation. Martin is a good liar, because his mum was a good liar too, and he had to get good – Jon isn’t great. He’s fine, he’s decent, but he’s not good, not like Martin is.

The pause before he says, “I could eat,” is revealing in a way a “No” never could be.

“Jon,” Martin says.

“Martin,” Jon replies.

He’s already said thank you. He said thank you a hundred times, in his head, and then once they were alone together in the cottage, he’d actually said it out loud, and when Jon had turned his head away, Martin had grabbed him by both cheeks and made Jon look at him, and Jon hadn’t felt small then – he hadn’t looked small, or felt small, or fragile. He’d felt gigantic, like Martin was holding a star between his palms, and when Jon had reached up to loop his fingers around Martin’s wrist – and those were skinny, Jon’s fingers were long and skinny and scarred, whereas Martin’s fingers were shorter, plumper, and scarred – Martin had felt his stomach drop out of his chest, expecting Jon to push his hand away, but he hadn’t.

He’d just squeezed, gently, and then pressed his cheek more tightly against Martin’s palm, and Martin had been so overwhelmed he’d felt like crying. “Thank you,” he’d said a second time. “For saving me.”

“Martin,” Jon had said, “it was just one favour for… I don’t know, a few hundred others.”

And Martin had laughed, a kind of giggly laugh he didn’t like that he actually did, and he’d made to pull away in case he was making Jon uncomfortable, but Jon had hung onto his wrist and kept his hand on Jon’s cheek as though—

Not as though. Because he wanted Martin to touch him, just like that, and so they’d sat down together on the dusty couch and Martin had just touched his face, just touched it, just traced the scars there and the threat of shadow that hadn’t come true yet, and stroked Jon’s hair and traced his teeth and his bones through the skin, and he hadn’t felt all that skinny, not really—

“Martin?” Jon asks again.

“We had a cat, when I was a little boy,” Martin says. “He never let me touch him, but when he got hit by a car, I went and I picked him up, because I needed to carry him home. He was already d— He was already dead, but he was still warm, and I think it was, um, fast.”

“Spock,” Jon says. “It was fast. The wheel snapped his spine, so he didn’t really feel it.”

Martin swallows, and he watches the guilt on Jon’s face as he turns his face away. “Yeah,” Martin says. They’ve been trying to keep things light, trying not to talk about hard things, but it’s hard, he thinks, because Jon is such a hard person, and Martin isn’t as soft as he used to be, as he used to want to be. “I didn’t realize how skinny he was until after I touched him. He was an old cat. They get skinny.”

Jon seems to understand where this is going, and he presses his lips together, but then tries a weak smile, tries to joke. “I’m not that old, Martin. You can touch me whenever you want.”

They’ve been trying to keep things light.

“Just— Basira will send the statements soon. As soon as the Archive isn’t a crime scene anymore, really.”

“I’m fine,” Jon says, and he smiles in a way that Martin supposes is supposed to be comforting. “Really.”

“Is it—” Martin starts, leaning forward, setting The Coral Island aside, and then he stops, because he feels guilty, and weird, and… “Is it hard?” He asks anyway, because he’s meant to be not quite so soft, he’s meant to be harder, and that means being more assertive, and not just rolling over on anything, everything, that means…

“Is what hard, Martin?” Jon asks in a low voice.

“You’re hungry,” Martin says. “You look hungry. You look thin – not as thin as Daisy, maybe, but thin, like you’re not eating properly. You tell me everything I cook here tastes good but I don’t really know if you even taste it.”

“I do,” Jon says. “Your cooking’s nice, Martin. When I have the statements, I’ll be—”

“But the statements aren’t the same, are they?” Martin asks, demands, which is too hard, too assertive, but he can’t stop, the words flow out of him like they’re rushing to get off his tongue. “It��s more like the ghost of a meal, isn’t it? Or a snack, like it’s not something with enough substance? And two weeks have gone by and you haven’t even had that.”

There’s a long silence. This one is very guilty, Martin thinks, and Jon looks small in a way that has nothing to do with being the Archivist, or being skinny.

“Maybe we should go for a walk,” Martin suggests, trying to soften his voice.

“I don’t want to come across anyone by accident,” Jon murmurs.

“Because you’re hungry,” Martin says.

“Martin, I’m always hungry,” Jon says exhaustedly, and then winces, like he’s just heard what he’s said and hates himself for it, and he stands to his feet. “I’m going to… I’m going to take a nap, I think. I’m… sorry. I know this is difficult for you, I don’t mean to—”

Martin doesn’t mean to lunge, per se. He isn’t really the sort of man that does lunging, he’s not really big in an athletic sense, and his mum used to describe him as lumbering, he’s not that fast, but he does lunge, now, and he shoves Jon up against one of the walls, covered over as it is with a blue wallpaper that must have been here before Daisy bought the place.

Jon’s head tips back against the wall, his jaw set, and he doesn’t even look surprised – had he seen it coming? Did he know it was coming, like Elias, like Magnus, always did?

“I’m sorry,” he says again. “I know this probably isn’t what you wanted.”

Martin stares at him. “What? You think that I didn’t, that I didn’t want for you to become the Archivist and have to be hungry all the time because you can’t— because you have to read statements, because taking them from real people is too traumatic for them, because— you think that’s what I don’t want?”

“I can’t imagine you wrote it down in your wish list, no,” Jon says. “But I just mean… Martin, I’m not very… Even before all this, people used to think that they wanted me, sometimes. And I’m not…”

“What, you think I’m disappointed?” Martin asks, surprised by how hard it hits him, like a punch to the gut. “I knew what you were like. You’re not disappointing. And I don’t mind that you don’t like se— that you don’t want… I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but out of the two of us, I’m not exactly the hot one.”

Jon’s head tilts, just slightly. “Aren’t you?” he asks.

It hurts, actually, because it feels like he’s making fun, except that Jon isn’t a good liar and he isn’t good at making fun either, so Martin knows that he isn’t, knows how genuine it is, but then that just hurts more, compounds the hurt and spreads in a layer of guilt like it’s jam between slices of bread.

“I could give you a statement,” Martin says.

“What?” Jon asks. “Don’t be ridiculous.” It’s the first time he actually starts to pull away from Martin’s grip, tries to struggle out from between his hands, but Martin holds him fast in place, and the Eye doesn’t exactly give its people super strength, does it? “Martin, even if I wanted to do that, even if I wanted to hurt you like that, I already know—”

“Only stuff that happened to me after I joined the Archive,” Martin says. “Not from before.”

There’s a sort of sheen that appears in Jon’s eyes that makes a shiver run down Martin’s spine, but it’s only there for a second before he shakes his head, turning his face away and trying not to look at him.

“No,” Jon says. “No, I don’t… I already— I’ve taken far too much from you, Martin, do you really think—”

“What have you taken off me?”

“What have I…?” Jon laughs, a sort of indignant, huffy sound, gasping.

“What, I’m such a stupid child now I can’t even decide who I like and who I want without you deciding—”

“That isn’t true! That isn’t what I’m saying at all, Martin, you’re being—”

“Oh, harmless Martin, he’s got this big crush, can’t possibly be because he can actually decide who and what he likes, obviously he’s just an idiot who—”

“I didn’t say you were an idiot! I just—”

“— must have been tricked into liking me, and is only staying out of guilt or something—”

“Well, are you? Because, Martin, I know I’m not exactly a catch, and—”

“Jon, you’re so arrogant, usually, and when you come across as all self-deprecating to someone who’s really self-deprecating, it sort of feels like you’re trying to steal my act. So. Stop.”

Jon stares at him, his mouth ajar. It’s not exactly keeping things light, but it’s closer, and Martin gives him a small, shyer smile than he means to. Jon laughs, in a small way, a tiny way, a breathless way.

“You don’t want to take live statements from strangers because it’s awful to just go up to somebody and rip things out of their head,” Martin says. “I get that. But I’m not some stranger, and I know what it’s like. You’re not ripping anything out, I just… I’m, you know. Feeding you.”

“Like your dead cat,” Jon says.

“Well, I haven’t fed Spock in decades, Jon. Frankly, it’d be weird if I did,” Martin says, and Jon actually laughs, properly, a little chuckle instead of a nose exhale and a huff, and this time his head falls forward so that his forehead touches Martin’s plushly cushioned sternum, his fingers brushing the side of Martin’s waist. “I don’t get why you think you’re so hideous. I mean. Not because of the monster thing, I get that, but that doesn’t bother me, I just mean, you know, you, as a person. You’re not that bad.”

“Martin, everyone we know thinks I’m a prick.”

“Well, yeah, you are a prick,” Martin says. “But people marry pricks all the time.” That’s a bit weird to say, isn’t it? That’s very forward. He’s made it awkward, talking about marriage, and he tries to make it less so by adding, “And date them, and kiss them, and find them attractive,” but he thinks he just makes it worse.

“I don’t like sex,” Jon says to Martin’s chest.

“I like to wank,” Martin says in the same tone, and then feels himself blush, as if someone’s just lit two matches in his cheeks. Jon slowly leans back, looking up at Martin with his eyebrows raised as highly as they’ll go, and Martin coughs. “I mean, that is, er, that is to say, that I like to— to… What I mean is…”

“Yes?” Jon asks, looking as though he’s trying not to laugh. Martin’s pretty sure his cheeks are glowing right now.

“It doesn’t bother me,” Martin says more seriously, trying to come off as genuine. “It’s not like I haven’t… You know, I’ve had sex. But wanking is… It’s fine. I’d rather have you and not have sex then go have sex and leave you all alone.” Jon’s face shifts, and Martin says, “No, no, it isn’t just that. It’s not obligation. I… like you. I want you. For some reason, Jon, I actually enjoy your company.”

“Really, why?” Jon says. “I don’t.”

“I know,” Martin murmurs. “But you’re… You’re funny, and I know that you’re acerbic, and sharp, but you do actually care underneath all that, way more than you like to admit. And I’ve always had a weakness for prematurely grey hair.”

Jon’s fingers spread over Martin’s chest, gently pressing on the flesh there. “I don’t deserve… you.”

“What do I do?” Martin asks. “It was when I was… when I was nineteen, I think. With the Hunt.”

The glint comes back into Jon’s eyes, but Martin can see him trying to hold it back, trying to keep himself reined in. He shakes his head, but Martin inhales slowly, keeps Jon framed in between his hands, and says, “I think it was the Hunt, anyway. I knew it wasn’t, um, that it wasn’t normal… I was working in Kwik Save at the time, back when there was still Kwik Saves about, and I’d been working there a year, got invited to a party. A lot of them were uni students, and I wanted to be impressive, you know, show them—”

“Martin,” Jon says, urgently, and Martin pulls him slowly back toward the sofa, trying to move slowly and deliberately. He all but drags Jon into his lap, and he can feel the warmth that radiates from him, can feel the way Jon stiffens slightly, looks at him. He doesn’t know why it’s so easy to touch Jon, but it’s easier than talking, somehow. “You hate— You don’t like it when I…”

“I don’t like hearing you read statements,” Martin says. “But because you get so… You get so into them. The whole empathy thing. You don’t just read them, you experience them.”

“So why—”

“Jon,” Martin says. “Let me make a statement.”

He doesn’t know where the tape recorder comes from. It’s just there, whirring away on the coffee table and Jon says, lowly, “Statement of Martin Blackwood, regarding an encounter with a believed agent of the Hunt on the night of the 19th of July, 2010. Statement recorded the 13th of October, 2018.”

Jon licks his lips. Martin’s throat feels thick and full, a sort of nausea stirring in his gut – he doesn’t know why he’d never committed this one to tape. Because he wasn’t the real victim, he supposes, because he was just at the edge of it, but also because it always seemed… unrealistic.

“I’d been working at Kwik Save for nearly six months,” Martin says, and it feels different, somehow, the way that the words come out of his mouth, perhaps because of how intently Jon is focused on him, how unblinking his eyes are, all of a sudden. Elias used to look at Martin like that, sometimes, but that doesn’t matter now. “And I wanted… I wasn’t very popular at school, and it wasn’t that I was unpopular at work, I just knew that I wasn’t… You know, people didn’t really want to hang out with me. I didn’t really have friends. I’ve never had friends.”

It’s too honest, but it flows out of him so easily – and it isn’t comfortable, exactly. It reminds him of being a kid, when he’d messed up trying to tie a piece of thread around a loose tooth and had swallowed a little ball of it, had had to pull it out of his throat bit by bit. It feels inevitable to tell him this, sort of a relief, but not comfortable, not natural.

“So when Jonathan Radley, this guy who was working part-time, he was a student, invited me to a house party, I jumped at the chance. I knew it was just because he was inviting everyone else, that he probably didn’t care all that much about me particularly, but it was a party, and I’d never been to a party before, not… not since I was a kid, and back then, people would only invite me because their parents made them invite everyone. But it was like… I don’t know, people were nice. They weren’t cruel or anything, I wasn’t even bullied that much at school, really – I was too big for that, I think. People didn’t want to say anything too bad because I was big enough to be bad back, even if I chose not to.

“It was busy. There was loud music playing, but I ended up in the kitchen, and this girl, her name was Anna, and her boyfriend had walked out on her. She sort of, um, I don’t know, adopted me? She kept grabbing me by the hand and leading me around, introducing me to people. I don’t know what it was she saw in me specifically, I think she just wanted someone to look after, and because I’m so broad and tall, if anyone came over, I could just stand in the way. We looked after each other.

“That was why I got as drunk as I was, I think. I didn’t mean to drink that much, because my mum was at home with my grandmother, and I was only going to be out for the night, but I didn’t want to be too hungover because I knew my mum would… She hated it when I got drunk. I think she was bitter about it.

“We did shots. I drank a lot of vodka, a lot more than I’d ever drunk before – I usually got drunk off, you know, cider and sours and cocktails that were more mixer than anything else, not spirits.

“And then this guy came in. He was… He was my height. Which is tall, right? That’s tall. He was tall, with really broad shoulders, muscular arms. A bit like Tim – he was a… He was a bodybuilder, I think. Handsome, too. He had dark hair, and this jaw that was, you know, when people say chiselled I don’t always see it, but it did look chiselled, like someone’d made him out of marble and then painted him, and there was this cleft in his chin. He was… He was hot. Handsome, but handsome like a model, handsome like an actor. It was unreal, overexaggerated, like he couldn’t really be real – and I thought at the time it was just because I was drunk.

“He started talking to me. I was sat down, and he came in and I still remember the way his fingers felt when he touched my neck – he traced up from my throat up to my chin, and it was as though he… I don’t think I’d ever been as suddenly desperate for a man’s attention. It just felt so good, to have him look at me – not even touch me, just look at me, just be in the spotlight. When he smiled, I felt like the world could end and I wouldn’t even notice.

“It was ridiculous! Stupid! As soon as I got home, later, it faded right out, I couldn’t understand why I’d been so into him. It was like he stopped being so intoxicating, when I wasn’t in his presence anymore. Pheromones, maybe.

“He started talking about… I don’t even know. I wasn’t really drunk anymore, all of a sudden, but he was still stroking my chin like I was a dog in his lap, like he didn’t… I remember he was talking about exercise. He was asking me what sort of exercise I did – he said I looked like a strong guy, asked if I’d done any sport, and I said that I had, that I’d played rugby at school, but that I didn’t like how rough it was. That I liked to walk in the countryside, that I liked to ride my bike, sometimes. He asked me how much I could carry, and it was…

“It was a bit like you, or Eli… Like Magnus. It didn’t feel like he was compelling me, exactly, just that before I even realised what I was doing, I was telling him that I could lift my mother up and carry her up and down the stairs, how much she weighed. He asked me how fast I could run. I told him I didn’t know, that I was more of a slower and steadier guy than a sprinter, you know?

“He asked me… He asked me what I’d scored on my last beep test, at school, and I told him I couldn’t remember, but that I’d been in the third to last level. He sort of… I remember the look he gave me. He kind of pouted, you know? Actually stuck out his lips and pouted a bit, and patted my chest as if he was consoling me.

“He said, “I suppose you’ll do,” he said. “Maybe you’ll surprise me.” But then Anna came over, and she was a track runner. She jogged 5k every day. You know, he went through the same interrogation with her, and the whole time he kept just… just stroking my chin, and I let him, it was… It felt normal.

“I fell asleep. I remember that, that I fell asleep, and when I woke up the party was still going, but I was nearly completely sober, or I felt it, anyway. I got a lift home with someone who was going the same way, but Anna, she was… She was gone.

“It was in the paper. It was in one of those freak stories, that she’d gone for her jog in the morning, but that she’d sprinted, that she’d… They found her out on the moor. She’d had a heart attack. Her clothes weren’t torn or anything, but she’d just run herself so fast, for so long, that her heart gave out.

“I remember his eyes. I used to dream about them, sometimes – they weren’t yellow or green or anything bright. They were a silvery blue, like shallow water in sunlight. I thought back on how it felt, once I started at the Archive. I didn’t remember it being frightening. It didn’t feel like he was going to do anything dreadful, or even… It didn’t even feel sexual, at the time. I didn’t even think about having sex with him – I just wanted to be close to him, and I wanted him to like me. To pick me.”

He looks at Jon’s face for the first time since he’d started, and he looks…

The bags have faded a little from under Jon’s eyes. His skin doesn’t look so pallid and chalky as it had before, and there’s a brighter light in his eyes, and even his lips seem less chapped. He looks… healthier. Not as thin.

Martin’s done this.

Martin’s made him… better. Healthier. He’s nurtured him, and he looks…

This shouldn’t be quite as sexy as it is. It shouldn’t turn him on, he shouldn’t feel…

“End statement,” Jon says hoarsely.

Martin waits for the tape recorder to click off, and then hauls him closer by the front of his shirt, crushing their mouths together. Jon lets out a low noise, but when a sudden wave of guilt makes itself known, Jon opens his mouth wider and kisses Martin back. He’s a good kisser, better than Martin – he kisses like he doesn’t like being in charge of them, but like he enjoys them, and when they kiss, Martin is aware of how loud the noise is, the wet smack of their mouths—

When Jon pulls back, his eyes are heavily lidded, and h looks blissful – Martin’s done that, too, Martin’s made Jon feel like this, Martin’s taken care of him…

“Do you feel better?” Martin asks.

“Yes,” Jon says. “I didn’t… Why did you kiss me?”

“You look good,” Martin says. “Better.”

“Oh,” Jon says, looking relieved, and Martin drags him closer, bundling his legs up against Martin’s chest, so that he can hold all of Jon’s body in his arms at once. “I feel… I feel better. I should feel guilty, I suppose, but—"

“You need to eat,” Martin says.

“But you don’t have to be the one feeding me,” Jon says. “Except that you… I’m not imagining it, am I? You liked it.”

“I like taking care of people,” Martin says. “I like taking care of you.”

“This is a bit more direct than handfeeding me dog treats at the dinner table.”

“God, how did you know I wanted to do that too?” Martin asks, and Jon laughs, breathlessly. Martin puts his fingers up and into Jon’s hair, running it through his fingers again. Jon’s hands come over Martin’s own, loosely gripping his wrists, guiding them up higher, to touch his scalp. “I like touching you. You… You come off as someone who isn’t used to being touched. I like being the one to touch you.”

“You can do whatever you want to me,” Jon says. “I trust you.”

It’s a hundred thousand miles away from the fantasies of Jon telling him he couldn’t touch, of being all stern and in command – it’s everything Martin never realised was impossible, back in the beginning, and yet somehow… “I— Are you trying to make me hard?”

Jon grins at him, shows his teeth, tips his head back slightly, looks for a moment like he’s completely energised, and Martin laughs. He knows it won’t last. He knows he couldn’t see Jon like this all the time – he knows that it comes with nastiness, and horror, knows that most of the statements are horrible, traumatic, much worse than this one. He knows that would be the payment, for Jon to be like this.

But—

“Yeah,” Jon says, tone teasing. “Maybe a bit. What, got a problem?”

“Pretty big problem, actually.”

“Oh, is it big?” Jon furrows his brow down low, twisting his lips – it’s more Carry On than seductive.

Martin laughs. “As if you’d know. As if you’d even have a frame of reference.”

“I’ve had sex! I’ve seen penises! Tell you what, Martin,” Jon adds, and he lowers his voice, “I’ve even got one.”

“Is it in your desk drawer, next to your rib?”

“Yeah. Different box, though.” Martin’s never seen Jon smile so much – it’s still a tired smile, but he looks… sated. It’s nice. Martin likes it.

“I used to think you didn’t have a sense of humour.”

“That’s in the third box. Rib, sense of humour, penis. Ranked in order of importance.” Jon’s fingers trace down the inside of Martin’s wrists, and the sensation is ticklish, but not unpleasant. “I never used to have friends either.”

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” Martin says. “With… Sex.”

“I’m not uncomfortable. I don’t mind that people have it, that they want it. I just don’t really like the idea of participating, but I don’t mind… I don’t mind teasing. If it doesn’t bother you.”

“It doesn’t bother me,” Martin murmurs, feeling his cheeks burn with a slight blush. “Sort of the opposite, actually. Do you still want to nap?”

“We could take that walk, if you want,” Jon says. “I feel a bit more up for it.”

“Yeah,” Martin says. “Me too, funny enough.”

Jon smiles, and he hesitates, but then turns his head, slowly, and presses his mouth to the inside of one of Martin’s wrists. His lips are surprisingly soft where they press against the pulse point there, and Martin’s mouth feels dry.

“Let’s take that walk,” Martin says, and Jon nods.

They hold hands. Martin’s never walked with someone and held hands with them before. He’s never even fantasied about it, never even dreamed of…

It’s nice.

It’s really nice.

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