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idiopath-fic-smile · 2 years

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thewalrus-said

oh my god, geoff as a werewolf. please. i would read it.

okay, tell u what, i will post what i had, which was more than i remembered.

for anyone who wants to follow along at home:

nicodemus "nic" silver is a fictitious former reporter and current fictitious podcaster, host of the equally fictitious podcast Tanis, which concerns paranormal happenings around a migratory patch of forest. i can no longer remember if it's canon that he has a dog, or if my friends and i simply decided it was so. at one point, he is drugged by enemies, but don't worry, he's fine. he is canonically kind of oblivious, although i don't think he was written this way on purpose. it is, however, definitely In The Text.

geoff van sant is his friend, an interview subject who continues to hang around the edges of the narrative. he was in the military for a while. he mentions in passing talking to a woman named Sheila, which i only mention because it comes up here. he has a very friendly, bro-y energy and is helpful to the point of being a little mysterious. like he canonically lives an hour away but is always 100% prepared to drive out to wherever nic is. the show Tanis (which i did not finish and probably wouldn't recommend [ETA: DEFINITELY would not recommend]) has its reasons for why this is, and i've got mine.

story piece under the cut.

(trigger warnings for fleeting violence, and a brief discussion or two around the fact that nic was canonically drugged against his will at one point. further trigger warning that it happens again here, although geoff finds him and intervenes before anything happens.)

They were sitting on Nic’s front porch, starting in on their second beers and petting Nic’s ridiculous dog (Ness—allegedly a history reference and not some stealth lake creature joke but Geoff wanted proof, man) when Nic said, out of the blue, “Hey, so I have this thing on Thursday, if you—”

Geoff swallowed just this side of too fast and tried to ignore the way Nic had pushed all the words out in one breath, the nervous clench of Nic’s fingers around the bottle, the absence of the audio recorder. None of that meant anything.

For the first, oh, five or six months they’d known each other, Geoff had watched for signs like it was his goddamn job, like he was the noir detective Nic sometimes played at being—looks that lasted too long, smiles that didn’t quite make sense, any clue that the chemistry wasn’t one hundred percent one-sided.

But a year out from that first night at the bar, and none of it had amounted to anything. Nic still didn’t call without a reason, still responded to flirting with the same ducked head and muted laugh, no followthrough. Signs surfaced left and right but Geoff was 0 for about a thousand. False positives, far as the eye could see. Sooner or later, a guy got tired. Took a hint. Moved on.

Or, you know. Stopped jumping on the freeway to Seattle any time his phone rang, but—well. The embarrassing truth was: even more than wanting to suck his dick, Geoff just liked the guy. Nic was fun, easy to talk to. When you told him a story, you pretty much always got the reaction you were going for. Might’ve been a reporter thing, coaxing out the details, but Geoff chalked it up to something less calculated, more basic. Deep down, Nic Silver wanted to be impressed. He wanted to be interested. He wanted shit to move him and change him. It was hard to turn your back on that.

Also, he had a fucking great dog.

The sentence hung half-finished in the air for the space of a full inhale and exhale.

“If I...” Geoff filled in. As conversational volleys went, hardly a gold medal move. No way did it merit Nic falling silent, picking at the bottle label with a thumbnail.

“Do you know Forest Park?” said Nic. “In—that’s out by you, right?”

“Practically my backyard,” said Geoff, keeping his face as neutral as he could. Did he know Forest Park. At this point, all too fucking well.

He’d liked camping, once. He was almost sure of that.

“Because there’s—there’s this cultist,” Nic went on, and Geoff took another long pull of beer, less to hide his disappointment and more a bitter little toast to the universe. Of course there was a cultist. There was always a cultist. Geoff knew that by now. Should’ve known it. “Or, an ex-cultist, really, who said they wanted to meet up and tell me the truth about Paul, whatever that means. And the only place they’re willing to talk is—”

“The middle of the woods?” said Geoff. “Nic, buddy, hate to say it, but have you considered maybe it’s not a renegade but just a couple of true believer girls who wanna have their way with your nubile podcaster body? ‘Cause that is a problem you have in your life sometimes.”

It no longer counted as flirting, Geoff figured, if you didn’t do it with any real intent, any goal beyond the hilarity of watching Nic stumble with his words.

“I don’t really have, uh, any way of verifying what they’re after,” Nic said. “That’s why I was gonna ask if you wanted to maybe come along. Last time, with the thermos and the, the blindfold, that was—that was helpful, so.”

If today was the day Nic Silver admitted that only dumbasses visited super fucking shady mystery locations by themselves—the next mouthful of pale ale suddenly tasted that much brighter.

“How many more times do I play bodyguard for you before I start asking for benefits and dental?” Geoff said with a grin.

Nic coughed. “I thought maybe I could cover dinner beforehand,” he said. “If that, uh, works for. you.” NO HOMO, screamed his hunched-up shoulders, his downcast eyes, his thumbnail still doing damage to the beer label.

“Sure,” said Geoff, light as he possibly could. He nudged Nic in the side: Hey, just a pair of dudes being bros being pals, nothing to worry about. “Steak and lobster’s on you, then, man.”

“You don’t like lobster,” Nic reminded him. “You said the idea of it grosses you out, that it’s too close to eating a giant chewy bug.”

“Sounds like something I’d say,” Geoff agreed. Nic smiled at him, nudged him back for no clear reason. Geoff opened his mouth to point this out and then didn’t.

“So,” said Nic, reaching across him to pull Ness back by the collar before she could knock over the empties. He straightened back up, pushing the hair out of his eyes. “Uh, day after tomorrow at 7:30?”

“Sounds great,” Geoff mumbled, distracted. Did Nic usually smell that good? Then again, everything from the beer on his tongue to the line of the sky against the ground felt sharper than usual. More vital.

Pieces started to slide into place just then. Shit. Geoff reached into his pocket, unlocked his phone, opened the app he’d downloaded two months ago and checked the calendar.

Yup.

“Shit, sorry,” Geoff said, running a hand through his hair. “I actually—I can’t, I’ve got something that night.”

“Like what?”

“Plans.” He slipped his phone back into his pocket. With any luck, Nic would drop it.

“What type of plans?” said Nic, and okay, Geoff could’ve seen that coming.

“It’s not—people make plans sometimes.” At the end of the day, Geoff was not great at lying, but he’d gotten decent at muddying the waters. He tried for a grin. “Feels like I should be insulted you’re this surprised I might have friends outside of you.”

Nic’s lips thinned, almost imperceptible. “Plans with Sheila?”

It took a second to even understand what he was getting at. “What,” said Geoff, laughing, “with my sixty-year-old dental hygienist? I’m sure Sheila parties hard, but—” He shook his head. “Not so much.”

Could’ve been his imagination but he thought he saw Nic’s shoulders settle.

Nic had a whole social circle of his own. He had no right to be possessive of Geoff’s friendship. Nine out of ten days, it would’ve pissed Geoff off. Probably better to blow right past whatever part of his psyche was all but wagging its tail right now at the thought of Nic being possessive of him. Wagging its tail, or curling up at Nic’s feet.

“Is it a military thing?” Nic said at last.

Geoff breathed through his nose. “Ex-military,” he said. “But yeah.” You could argue that wasn’t even a lie. “Like, a recovery treatment kind of thing.” Okay: complete and utter horseshit, but in a ‘necessarily evil’ kind of way. At Nic’s furrowing brow, he added, “It’s ongoing.”

For some reason, that was the word Nic seemed to really find reassuring: Ongoing. Geoff’s plans were ongoing, alright. Ongoing for the rest of his fucking life, however long that was. He took another swig of beer. Here’s to you, universe. At least you know your way around irony. Kudos, asshole.

“Well, I don’t want to keep you from that,” said Nic.

“Can’t you reschedule?”

“I don’t have a way of contacting them,” said Nic, because of course he fucking didn’t. Of course. “Look, we’re meeting up right by the parking lot. It’s a well-traveled area. I don’t really think anything will happen.”

“Historically, how’s that worked out for you?” said Geoff, without thinking about it. He always forgot how spotty his impulse control got until it was too late.

Nic frowned.

Maybe, thought Geoff, it wouldn’t all be a fucking shitshow.

A guy could dream.

***

A guy could dream. He could. Didn’t mean Geoff was surprised when it all went to hell.

In the end, there wasn’t time for surprise, bounding into a moonlit clearing to see three strangers trying to drag Nic’s limp body across the ground. Geoff didn’t think. He lunged.

It was nothing like Afghanistan. There was no calculation, no strategy. He didn’t need one. Instinct pulled at him like an undertow, drove him forward. None of the men had thought to bring a weapon. Stupid. He threw his full weight at them, reared away when one man kicked him hard in the side, bared his teeth, and lunged again.

In his peripheral vision, a flicker as Nic lifted his head. Conscious, then. But sluggish, distant, a chemical tang underlying his usual smell. They’d drugged him.

Geoff wheeled back to face the strangers. All three had heavy boots, clenched fists, some amount of combat training. Fighting to stand their ground, but their nervous sweat carried on the wind. They were afraid of him.

Good.

***

Geoff came to with the first weak rays of sun streaming through the nylon of his tent. Every muscle ached. His arms and legs felt out of joint, like his whole body had been broken and then jammed back together in the dark. Go figure. He stretched as well as he could in the narrow space. Geoff didn’t need much room on his own—morning after an outing like this, and all he generally wanted to do was shut his eyes and lie real fucking still.

Not in the cards today, though. Not after last night. Fuck.

Could’ve been a lot worse. He’d managed to run the men off, no other witnesses in sight. Nic had been docile to a degree that was honestly frightening, but with-it enough to let Geoff guide him to safety. Unharmed, far as Geoff had been able to tell. Now he was sleeping, judging from the steady, even breaths. Thank god for that.

Geoff shook himself, trying to unstick the urge that tugged at him to crawl over and fit himself against Nic’s side, bury his face in Nic’s chest and drink in the tick of that heartbeat. Objectively, it was creepy as fuck. Geoff knew that. Most of Geoff knew that.

Point was, Nic would be up soon, and that meant Geoff needed to pull himself together. Act fast. Come up with a cover story. What had he been doing in the woods? How had he found Nic’s attackers? Could he chalk that up to the military background, too? Sooner or later, it was bound to wear thin.

Inside of his mouth felt thick and sticky, bitter but not metallic. Probably not blood, then. Just dehydration. He’d stashed a water bottle in the tent someplace, but—he scratched at the hinge of his jaw. Something dark flaked off under his fingers. This time, it might’ve been blood. Not his.

So, there was that.

He really, really had to get moving. He knew this. He turned to squint at the tent flap, wondering if he could make it out and back in time to—

“...Geoff?” Nic mumbled.

Shit.

“Uh, yeah, buddy?” Geoff twisted his neck back around, trying to keep his voice level.

Nic stared up at him, pupils too wide, even for the dim tent. Still flying high, then. Probably for the best, although seeing him like this made Geoff’s skin crawl.

“You were right,” Nic managed. “I think that was a set-up. With the—but after the guys, I thought I saw—makes no fucking sense, because it seemed like it had, uh, human cognition, awareness, but it was a—”

“You’re fine,” said Geoff quickly. Too quickly. Nic tilted his head to one side, slow, like a cartoon deer and Geoff looked back at his open, trusting face and cast around for the least disturbing explanation. Whatever the hell that was. “It’s nothing,” he heard himself say. “Just a dream.”

If they were both very lucky, Nic would forget this conversation by morning.

“I’m dreaming?” said Nic.

Geoff took a deep breath, pinned all his hopes to Nic’s skeptical streak. “Doesn’t that make more sense than whatever wild shit you thought you saw?”

Nic mulled this over. He craned his neck to fix Geoff with a long, considering look. “Is that why.”

“Is that why what,” Geoff prompted, itching at that spot on his jaw again. What were the odds he’d have time to wash his face before Nic woke up for real?

“Is that why you’re naked,” said Nic.

Geoff froze. He was naked because, far as he knew, there was no way to hold onto your clothes through a full—shifting, transformation, whatever. Fuck, did he wish there was. Never more than right now, with Nic blinking up at him.

Well. People’s subconsciouses came up with all kinds of weird shit every day.

“Uh, yep,” he said. “It’s, uh—Look, doesn’t mean anything, don’t worry about it.”

“I’m not,” said Nic. He swallowed. “Not worried.”

Come to think of it, Nic really should’ve been. If Geoff had been drugged against his will and then woke up in a tent with a naked guy, he would’ve punched that man in the teeth and ran for the hills, no matter who it was. Then again, maybe Nic was just too high to put it all together.

“It’s cool,” said Geoff. “I’m just gonna stay on this side of the tent, and—”

“No,” said Nic. "C’mere.” He—”beckoned” was way too precise for his sweeping, noodly arm motion, but it had that general shape. When Geoff didn’t jump to follow, he waved his arm again. “Geoff,” he said, louder, insistent.

Geoff looked around sharply, out of habit. Forest Park had trails and stuff, but camping here wasn’t technically allowed. Geoff only went because it was closest, and driving could be a problem around this time of month. Slipping under the radar was the name of the game.

“Shh,” said Geoff.

“C’mere.” Even louder.

Mentally, he weighed the pros and cons. He would’ve rather kept his distance, for a lot of reasons, but priority one had to be keeping Nic safe, which meant keeping him calm. Priority two was dodging an arrest for vagrancy. Last thing Geoff needed was a record. Priority three—well, priority three was everything else, including how bad it hurt to move.

Geoff gritted his teeth and picked his way over to where Nic lay curled on one side. “Hey,” said Nic with a vacant smile. He gave another noodly arm wave. “C’mere.” It was hard to get much closer. Not without bringing his naked body uncomfortably into Nic’s space. Geoff levered himself back to the floor of the tent until they were lying side by side, faces level, like two kids on a camping trip. One with more s’mores and singalongs, less blood and claws and trespassing. “Nic,” he said, “Man. Bad news. If you’re about to tell me the secrets of the universe, none of it’s gonna make any sense to you tomorrow.” Nic’s flailing hand landed on Geoff’s bare shoulder. Geoff watched his eyebrows knit together, unable to take in the fact of flesh and muscle and bones. Just as well that Nic was visibly still tripping. He was barely here right now, not in any way that mattered, and that made it easier not to give in and wrap both arms around him, breathe in the smell of coffee and ginger shampoo. That constant ache to reach out went beyond a pang in the chest. It weighed on his skin, crept into his joints, ground at the back of his throat like little pieces of glass. But it wasn’t so bad like this. Geoff lay still, let Nic marvel at the texture of his shoulder or what-the-fuck-ever, counting the seconds until Nic lost interest, lost consciousness. Couldn’t be long. His eyes were already almost at half-mast. Nic would let go and nod off, and then Geoff would be able to crawl out of the tent, retrieve his nearest stash of clothes, get dressed and make a plan. Wasn’t so bad. Nic dragged his palm up the nape of Geoff’s neck, threaded his fingers into Geoff’s hair. Geoff swallowed. “It’s so soft,” said Nic. “That’s—that’s really just the nature of hair, buddy,” Geoff told him, level as possible. Nic hummed and swept his fingertips across Geoff’s scalp again, slower. “Like petting a spaniel,” he mumbled. Geoff dug his nails into the meat of his palms and counted to five, trying not to close his eyes against the feeling of a hand in his hair. How long since anyone had touched him like this? Impossible to say. It’d been a rough night, a rough week, a rough decade, and Geoff hurt all over, just wanted to sleep, just wanted to cuddle up to Nic and stretch this moment out, make it last as long as he could. His willpower was always the weakest the morning after a change. Every craving felt like a good idea. He felt his head tip forward. Nic laughed, seemingly at nothing, the way very stoned people did sometimes, and Geoff’s stomach curdled. No way around it: this was a fucked up thing to do with a guy too out of it to remember his own phone number. He started to pull back. Nic tugged on a fistful of hair, just hard enough to make Geoff’s nerve endings sing. Nic did it again, and Geoff’s mind went so blank that he did a very stupid thing: he let his eyes slip shut for a second, long enough to catch his breath.

Also long enough, it turned out, for Nic to press their mouths together. Geoff shoved him away. Nic tried to grab at him again, but it was no contest. Weak and shaky as Geoff was, it still felt like wrestling a kitten. Took about two moves to capture both Nic’s wrists, pin them to the ground. Nic looked slowly from Geoff’s face back to Geoff’s hands wrapped around his wrists and beamed like it was Christmas morning. Shit. Geoff let go in a hurry, scrambled to the other side of the tent. “Not happening,” Geoff told him firmly. “Absolutely not fucking happening.” Whatever they’d dosed him with, it must’ve had ecstasy in it or something. Geoff tried to force the bile back down his throat, tried to focus on something else. Anything else. The rush of blood in his ears. The birds resolutely chirping outside. The steady rise and fall of Nic’s breathing, finally starting to even out. Just before Nic went under again, Geoff thought he might’ve heard him mutter, “This dream is disappointing.” ‘Fucking tell me about it,’ thought Geoff.

#the great pacifica garbage patch

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idiopathicsmile · 8 years

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Alright, Smile! Alright. I just started Tanis. Right this moment. 5 minutes in. Talk to you later.

good luck, anon.

and i’m sorry in advance. if it gives you feelings and you need the tanis dumpster crew to process some shit, you know where 2 find us

#the great pacifica garbage patch #god i am some sort of terrible pied piper #pls enjoy your stay in this pile of warm trash

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idiopathicsmile · 8 years

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current mood: let’s all just pretend like i didn’t think to myself at some point, ‘man wouldn’t it be funny to write a richard siken and tanis mashup called “you are geoff”’

or at the very least let’s all pretend that i didn’t immediately proceed to write it.

we can pretend that, right? um.

1 You are Geoff, the younger brother, born eleven years late and hungry, and you are Geoff, the surviving brother, which is to say that in another twelve years you will be the older brother, too. You are your own brother now and if there was ever a joke here you have forgotten the punchline and remembered only how to smile through it, lips stretched wide, white teeth flashing in the dark.

2 There is you, and the thing you want, and the space between you and the thing you want. Fix your eyes on the thing and you will go mad. Fix your eyes on the space and you will go mad. You were told that once. There is no version of this story you have ever heard that does not end in madness. Set that aside. It is of no use to you now.

3 You wanted a party but not like this, everybody in black, nobody quite talking out loud. Did he die because he couldn’t look away from the thing he wanted, their eyes ask, or because he couldn’t look away from the space? Neither, you say. He died because he was fucking crazy. Christ, not everything is a riddle.

4 A partial list of non-riddles, compiled in the early hours as the corners of your bedroom ceiling tremble and blur: the sun setting precisely when it’s supposed to. The smell of fresh new planks, like dust suspended in a streak of light, like possibility. Your favorite song on the radio, unexpected. The crystalline swish of snow falling on top of snow. The face of the first person you ever kissed. The face of the second person you ever kissed. Sleep, Geoff. You can do it. I swear you haven’t forgotten how.

5 Fucking crazy, you say. He was fucking crazy. The words taste sour but clean, like abnegation, like lemon-scented detergent. Feel the words in your throat. Push them onto the wet muscle of your tongue. Force them through your teeth, mantra or prayer or incantation. Fucking crazy. What you mean is, not me, not me, not me.

6 Another list: a perfectly cooked hamburger, juices just starting to seep into the bun. The beginning, but not the end, of any road trip. The moment you know you will come out on top of a bar bet. Your body slightly aching from a job well done. The earth pulling away as the plane lifts off, the dizzying swoop of it. The knowledge there is nobody in your head but you. Sleep now. You still know how, I promise. Just close your eyes.

7 You are sitting in the booth of a bar, poorly lit, with a beautiful man. The man has soft hands, a soft voice, soft eyes. You want his tongue in your mouth. He wants the email password of your dead brother. His smile is nervous and polite. On the radio, an old tune about longing. In your head, an old equation. They operate in the same key, the math and the song. One of you will get what you want tonight, at least, and hey, isn’t that good news?

8 Cold beer sipped directly from the bottle. A game of darts you are about to win. A shoulder brushing against yours, which is no kind of promise. One of you will get what you want tonight, Geoff, but to be honest, my money’s not on you. Set that aside. Don’t look at the thing or the space. Look at the bar counter instead, the bowl of pretzels, the list of drink specials, the bare ring worn into the wood—thoughtless damage, and thus forgivable. In the end, isn’t all damage thoughtless? The thud of artillery, the burn of antiseptic, a silence in the first gasp of morning more terrifying than any sound: blows landed but you were never the target. Keep that certainty. Cradle it in your palm. Swallow it down.

9 The odds keep stacking themselves against you, Geoff, but you spent the stupidest years of your life carrying that gun around and here you are, so at some point numbers lose meaning, resolve into shapes and sounds, music. Your favorite song is playing on the radio and there is no equation, no guarantee of balance or resolution or even failure. He has many questions for you. You have only one answer but, small mercies, he doesn’t seem to notice. The beer is cheap, the bottle sweating in your hand. Why yes, you will both have another.

#the great pacifica garbage patch #spoiler: it isn't funny at all

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idiopathicsmile · 8 years

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memo to all my tanis trashbuds, @galacticdrift had the smart idea of setting up a groupchat, so that we can collectively have a cozy, private-ish place to really burrow down in that dumpster and get comfy. accordingly, there is now a slack channel!

if you are a garbage pal who wants in, chat or message me yr email and i will send you an invite! grab some snacks and hey, bring the raccoon along! all are welcome in our treehouse of shame and poor decisions. *sunglasses emoji* *fingerguns*

#the great pacifica garbage patch

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idiopathicsmile · 8 years

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hello I have ALSO been pulled down the tanis rabbit hole and even tho it's completely ridiculous I can't help picturing MK as an -Actual Meerkat help

hi! should i start a support group for y’all, or is that what my tumblr itself has already morphed into

on the subject of mk, one of my main headcanons about her is that she came up with the alias/screenname meerkatnip as a young teen and at the time thought it was SUPER CLEVER. this gradually wore off but she couldn’t be bothered to think up a new one and then at seventeen/eighteen she pulled off some incredible hack that was about half random luck, half jaw-dropping amounts of practice and skill. when she was done, she left behind her calling card at the time, which included a funny gif of a meerkat appearing to use a computer keyboard

these days meerkatnip is not necessarily the handle she’d choose, but she’s had to double down and own it because within the super niche circles she runs in, that particular hack is kind of a legend and she wants the credit.

#the great pacifica garbage patch #also i really hope that we never find out what her initials stand for #bc if she doesn't have a super WASPy name it makes it that much easier to headcanon her as nonwhite #(i mean obvs best case scenario in this regard would be if we learn her name and it's def not a white name)#but this being the great pacifica garbage patch we're talkin about my hopes are not high #Anonymous

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idiopathicsmile · 8 years

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galacticdrift replied to your post:I feel down the Tanis rabbit hole bc of u 2 and...

I also definitely think Nic is good in bed.

amalia wouldn’t lead us astray!

...about this, at any rate.

um possibly she would about some other stuff.

#galacticdrift #the great pacifica garbage patch #amalia i really wanna believe it's gonna turn out ok for you #oof #although as long as we are both in the garbage bin back to the topic at hand:#this may dovetail back into how i am determinedly framing this story differently than the creative team is BUT #when someone as Public Radio as nic is apparently canonically good at sex #i tend to interpret that less in a winking 'oho male virility' way #and more like 'he's probably gone down on amalia for like an hour and a half before #just to relax'#anyway this has been Dumpster Thoughts With Smile #tune in tomorrow when we're joined by our special guest Too Many Goddamn Feelings about Geoff Van Sant #...yet again #(closing credits music plays)

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idiopathicsmile · 8 years

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I feel down the Tanis rabbit hole bc of u 2 and thi I haven't finished s1 feel compelled to add my own theory: Nic is a ridiculously, disproportionately hot person. everyone he interviews end up talking to him for like, 3+ hours. MK mentions "he's not bad on the eyes" which I feel like, she's not the kind of girl to just comment on a dudes hotness casually, you know? And of course Geoff. but actually, I started listening to the podcast with the shipper googles and I can't stop

holy shit how many of you have i dragged down with me, pls let me keep an accurate count bc one day i will need to atone for each and every one of you

you know it’s funny you should mention it because actually this post has a postscript:

my rl best friend, several episodes later: mk tells nic, like, “you’re lucky that you’re cute” and suddenly everything makes sense

rl best friend: nic silver lives in the 30 rock hot guy bubble. he is forever insulated from the consequences of his blind spots because nobody can stay mad at that face. ‘hey, can you do this favor for me?’ ‘oh, of course, nic. of course.’

rl best friend: the bubble, jess! it’s all the bubble!

(all kidding aside, i mostly try to suspend disbelief and imagine that tanis operates in a parallel universe in which the rules and practices of journalism are very different and somehow nic silver doesn’t totally suck at his job.)

although technically i guess the matter at hand here is not “hey smile, how does someone with such a competency kink deal with a reporter protagonist who seems to really struggle at this whole reporter thing” but “can we agree nic silver is probably super attractive” which is tbh a much simpler matter: yes. yeah. sounds good.

(my own hyper-specific preferences being what they are, i prefer to imagine that a lot of his appeal also comes from an unassuming, lowkey charisma: a good listener, earnest, etc. but yeah, safe to assume he is good-looking beyond “handsome for public radio” which is itself A Whole Thing)

#the great pacifica garbage patch #maybe i should cut nic silver a slack at least outside of where his job is concerned #in the oblivious department #bc to be honest on a bad day i am probably only about 10 percent less oblivious than nic silver #'is this person i've never met before flirting with me #or is all the hand-holding and significant eye contact #and dancing and repeatedly getting into my space for more eye contact #because they really wanna be BUDS' — an actual thought i had this weekend #(although maybe they did just wanna be buds! who knows!)#anyway i'd also like to think that for all his foibles nic silver is also pretty good in bed #a combo of really attentive to his partner and lack of self-consciousness #also open-minded #i mean canonically amalia had a good time w him and has been noted she doesn't seem one for pity hookups #Anonymous

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idiopathicsmile · 8 years

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there are only EIGHT pieces of work in the geoff/nic tag on ao3, EIGHT, and you have made me emotionally ATTACHED WHY WOULD YOU

oh anon. oh dear sweet anon. look, i’m not a monster. i really do feel bad about it.

on the other hand, when you are this deep into the dumpster, your only hope is that you can drag enough other people down with you that the sheer collective mass starts to generate gravity, and then that gravity pulls in others until you are looking at a fandom that’s got more than 8 fics in it, and until then do you think i’m not suffering here too anon?

if it’s any consolation, @galacticdrift and @thischarmingand are both writing new stuff. @passiveaggressivegummybear is available to beta should you decide to write anything. i don’t have any real serious in-fandom fic ideas right now, but i have a great many Tropes I Am Weak To and i am notoriously impressionable so in all likelihood i’m not yet tapped out either.

#basically i am just another mermaid swimmin around #the great pacifica garbage patch #specifically the kind of mermaid that tries to drown unsuspecting travelers and make them mermaids too #c'mon in the water's great ;)#Anonymous

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idiopathicsmile · 8 years

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geoff van sant, presumably at some point during the events of 204: hey, sheila! how’s my favorite dental hygienist?

sheila: oh you know. cleaning teeth. just—cleaning a lot of teeth.

geoff: yeah, great. listen, i will totally owe you on this one, but if you get a chance can you maybe x-ray this mysterious keychain for me?

sheila: uh why, geoff. do you think there might be teeth inside?

geoff: ...probably can’t rule that out?

sheila: (squints at the keychain, squints back at geoff)

geoff: it’s not as shady as it sounds! unless it is. which it might be, i don’t really know what’s going on with this thing. but i offered to do a favor—

sheila: uh-huh.

geoff: for a friend—

sheila: uh-huh.

geoff: ...sheila did you just skeptically ‘uh-huh’ me having friends?

sheila: how good of a friend is he, geoff?

geoff: (pauses slightly too long)

sheila: (sighing, takes the keychain from him) if this winds up having teeth in it, i get to borrow your buzz saw all weekend, no questions asked.

alternately:

geoff: hey, sheila, when you get the chance can you x-ray this mysterious keychain for me and email the results to a guy named nicodemus?

sheila: sure geoff this is 100% in keeping with all our interactions thus far and i have zero follow-up questions.

#the great pacifica garbage patch #fun fact: that phone call came out of nowhere so abruptly i didn't notice it was geoff at first listen oops #passiveaggressivegummybear spotted it and confirmed it via the show's twitter #so now we can probably assume that geoff is a dentist i guess #or that he's gone to the same dental office for years and once saved the life of a hygienist thus forever earning her aid and discretion #haha don't even get me started on nic's weirdness when geoff mentions 'sheila' with no context #i assume the show was going for 'geoff has never mentioned sheila to nic before and is just being a goofy bro'#but uh #points for effort i guess

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idiopathicsmile · 8 years

Link

Summary: Nic Silver loses at air hockey, throws himself into an ill-conceived hookup, pets a cute dog, and maybe just maybe just maybe finally starts to pick up on some subtext.

#WOO IT'S DONE HOORAY #the great pacifica garbage patch #there is not much literary merit to be had in these 11k of words but i will say this:#the air hockey tips are the result of actual research i did and came from actual air hockey champions #so instead of apologizing for my life choices here i'm gonna say YOU'RE WELCOME for probably improving your air hockey game #alcohol cw

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idiopathicsmile · 8 years

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my rl best friend, who decided to give tanis a try after hearing it described as “a trashy but fun x-files-type podcast about a hapless npr guy” and who is five episodes in: nic silver is so great, like, he’s got all these blind spots but they’re such endearing blind spots

me: (laughs and laughs and laughs like an increasingly deranged greek chorus)

#tanis #the great pacifica garbage patch

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idiopathicsmile · 8 years

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of course, if i was really trying to capture the feel of Tanis, i would interrupt the middle of this fic with an ad for squarespace

#the great pacifica garbage patch #man if anybody ever writes a parody or a crackfic or something #pls pls have nic pause in the middle of his narration to reflect on how hard it is to code a website or find good socks #and then jump right back into the story like it never happened #tanis

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idiopathicsmile · 8 years

Note

today I listened to 8 episodes of TANIS please send help how do i sleep?

hi! welcome! sorry!

in all seriousness, self-hypnosis is supposed to be good for insomnia?

#the great pacifica garbage patch

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idiopathicsmile · 8 years

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update on that tanis high school au that i swore up and down i wasn’t gonna write: i’m still not-writing it

mostly

but i’m stuck on my other fic (sorry @passiveaggressivegummybear) and thus experienced a brief lapse in not-writing

(continued pretty directly from here)

If you factored out the hair, Geoff Van Sant was not all that much taller, Nic thought, trailing behind him as they trudged up a hill. The main difference was that Geoff could navigate the narrow forest path with confident, assured strides, and this made his legs appear longer than they actually were. It was basically an optical illusion.

“Do you mind if I record our interview,” Nic panted.

“Why,” Geoff called over his shoulder, “are you filming this?”

“No, just audio on my pocket mic. I figured I’d ask, you know, for journalistic integrity.” Nic peeked out from under his bangs to see if Geoff looked impressed by this.

He didn’t. Nobody ever was.

“Knock yourself out.”

In the interest of being prepared, Nic had brainstormed a lengthy list of questions for Geoff beforehand. He’d written them down on his mini spiral-bound reporter’s notebook—a notebook which was currently lying somewhere on the floor of his room. Probably. It could’ve also been in his locker but most of what he owned ended up on his floor sooner or later.

With any luck, he could improvise his way though this.

“So, why did you found geocaching club?”

Geoff shrugged. “Wanted something to do after I quit scouts.”

“And why did you quit scouts?”

“Oh, because it’s a load of fucking horseshit?” said Geoff simply.

Nic felt a small thrill of—jealousy, or something, both at Geoff’s offhand conviction, and also at how naturally he swore. MK dropped f-bombs like they were any other part of speech but Geoff let the vowels drag just a little, a slight drawl. Not showing off, more like he was enjoying himself.

“Do you want to elaborate on that?” Nic suggested.

“Nothing against—camping, or or whatever. Earning patches. Selling popcorn.” Geoff’s strides didn’t slow as he talked. Nic wished he’d waited until they were at the top before starting the interview; he would’ve liked to see Geoff’s face. “They just—talk a lot of shit about gay people.”

“So you left because you had moral objections,” said Nic. He had a sudden mental image of Geoff as a crusader for justice, eyes blazing, tossing his neckerchief defiantly to the ground. Burning it in a campfire.

“No,” said Geoff. “I left because I’m gay.”

“Oh,” said Nic. They walked in silence for a few steps. “Yeah, I guess in that case, staying would be—”

“A fucking dumbass move, yeah,” Geoff filled in, nodding. Nic watched the back of his head bob, still impressed by his easy command of profanity but also hoping that at some point Geoff would manage ten words in a row that were safe to print in the school newspaper.

“Well, uh, I’m sorry that you didn’t really have the option,” said Nic.

Geoff paused mid-step, as if noticing how far ahead he’d gotten. He looped back until they were side by side again. “It’s alright,” he said. “I pretty much got out of it what I wanted.”

“Badass survival skills?”

“Yep,” said Geoff. “I can ID a bunch of plants, gut fishes, start a cooking fire. Tie knots.”

It wasn’t a bondage joke or anything—he didn’t say it in a dirty way—but Nic felt his face heat nonetheless.

Geoff of course chose that moment to shoot him a sideways glance. “Not much farther,” Geoff said. “Lemme know if you need a break. I’ve got a water bottle.”

“And we’re following a, um, we’re following a geo-signal right now?”

Geoff shook his head. “No, I figured we’d start by hiking high enough to get our bearings, figure out the lay of the land.”

“And is that standard geocaching club procedure?”

“We’ve only done three outings so far,” said Geoff. “There is no standard yet.” He coughed. “Anyway, it’s supposed to be, uh, a really nice view or something.”

“Cool,” said Nic. Maybe there would be benefits to this whole outdoors thing. So far the experience was light on the majesty of nature, heavy on the mosquito bites. “So how many other members do you have?”

“Four of them,” said Geoff. “But most of them are football guys so they’re busy every day after school but Friday. And I couldn’t do Friday this week because of cross-country. We’re pretty good this year,” he added. “Got a meet Saturday morning if you wanna go.”

“And cover it for the school paper?” Nic guessed with a smile. There was something almost charming about the sheer obviousness of Geoff’s ulterior motive.

“I mean,” Geoff said. “Wouldn’t stop you if you did.”

“Local sports hero Geoff Van Sant,” said Nic.

Geoff grinned. “Come on,” he said, “we want to get up there before dark. Oh, and watch out for giant hogweed, the sap can burn your skin. Like, permanent scars.”

“What?” Nic stopped in his tracks.

“Don’t worry, you can’t miss that shit—thick stems, white flowers, taller than us.”

“It can’t always be taller than us if it grows up from the ground,” Nic pointed out.

“You’re fine,” Geoff assured him. “Just—stay on the path.” He grinned again, as if relishing those badass survival skills. “And, y’know, stick close.”

“This view better be worth it,” said Nic.

“It fucking will be,” said Geoff.

Nic really, really liked how Geoff swore. He couldn’t explain it any better than that.

#the great pacifica garbage patch #*resigned jazz hands*#things i am STILL MOSTLY NOT WRITING #my not-writing success rate is pretty high even if it's not 100%

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