#soveryanon

It’s not a surprise to anyone when Martin Blackwood is the next Head of the Magnus Institute. Well, except to Tom, but Tom is an outlier and only heard about the murder six months after the fact and didn’t even realise they had a new boss. To anyone else, it has been obvious for a year already that the Lukas guy wasn’t really doing much of anything and Blackwood was the one actually sending the memos and signing the forms, behind his PA title. Which is fine! He was good at it. At this point, all that’s asked of a Head Director is not too much murder and if possible preventing any external attack on the Institute, either. Martin smiled benignly and said he can’t promise the latter but he’ll do his best for the former. Which, you know, is better than when Lukas was in charge and he claimed the opposite.

So no one’s surprised when Martin actually gets to officially put his name on the plaque of the Head Director office door (not even Tom, who hasn’t seen it).

And it isn’t surprising, either, that the Head Archivist is more often in his office than not, and neither is the shouting. He’s always been an HR nightmare with belligerence issues towards hierarchy. Rosie says this is happening more often than it did in the time of Elias, as best as she can tell because he’s never learned to book appointments, but hey, that’s only fair, he and Blackwood have always been close.

God, the horror stories about Sims as a boss, can you imagine getting to be his boss now?

It’s not surprising, either, that Blackwood is never heard shouting back. Always had the patience of a saint, Martin. He’s even learned to ease up a bit, seems like: all of Sims’ shouting doesn’t seem to be able to take down Blackwood’s light-hearted smile.

And the only thing surprising about them being seen snogging in a corridor is that Martin was the one doing the pinning. Sonja refuses to pay up the fifty pounds she owes Noor, says it’s got to be an exception, insists that they’ll catch Sims on top. So far the exception has happened three times to general knowledge, but sure, Sonja.

No, there’s nothing actually surprising about Martin Blackwood grabbing Sims by the scruff of his collar and kissing him long and deep against a wall. They’ve always been close, after all, and the door of Martin’s closet has been see-through for the last decade.

It’s just. A bit disturbing, is all. The betting pool had loads of options but everyone was agreed on the assumption that it’d be difficult to know, when (if! Stoker used to insist) it eventually happened, because Sims is such a secretive tight-arse and Martin such a nervous wreck that they would definitely keep it on the down-low. Martin being in charge is one thing, his being this — confident? cocky? preening?, is another.

That’s what directorship does to you, philosophises Kala from HR. Actually, shouldn’t that be grounds for sexual harassment, notes new girl who replaced Hannah whose name no one remembers but isn’t it Ashley or something? No, because Sims hasn’t filed a complaint, pipes in Sonja, probably because he’s the one in charge of this relationship, blah, blah, God, Sonja, just let it go and cough up the fifty pounds.

Martin’s changed, sure. It’s not necessarily a bad thing, especially when it involves this sort of promotion. In fact, there’s a general agreement that he’s looking pretty cute now that he’s taken to wearing nice suits and ditched the nerdy glasses. He might be wearing coloured contacts? It’s a nice touch, makes him look sharper, very professional.

Sims is a lucky guy, really has no business looking so shattered when Rosie congratulates him on the boyfriend. God, some people are just never happy with what they get.

“That’s not,” he tries, at which Rosie gets a pass for rolling her eyes in his face, because, three times, pal. “Never mind. Please, Rosie, tell J— Mister Blackwood that he can shove his assignment up his arse.”

“Uhh, tell him yourself. Please don’t involve me in your private life.” Except for Sonja, they’ve all already seen quite enough of it, thank you.

“Jonathan,” says Mister B. from his door, very gently. Rosie’s eyelashes flutter, also understandably, she’s quite forgiven. Martin’s changed all right. Is your voice turning into velvet also a side-effect of directorship? “Jon. Please, let’s not make a scene.”

Sims inhales and looks up at him, glaring  (smouldering, Sonja will insist later) through his eyelashes. Martin just smiles, the sweet, slightly awkward smile but with the nerves taken out and replaced by slightly patronising charm, get a grip, Rosie.

Sims doesn’t swoon.

No, what Sims does is drop the bombshell of: “I’m getting him back,” to which Mister B. replies mildly, silk whispering over steel: “And when you’re done being a child, I’ll be waiting,” and who the fuck is that about?

J'espère que ça s'est débloqué au final ? é_è (D'expérience, parce que URK, ça m'est arrivé. Hyper souvent. : assez souvent, avoir les choses sur PAPIER m'aide, en fait (et écrire des phrases sur papier, quitte à raturer/refaire constamment aussi, avant de 'lisser' sur ordi). Courage ><

Well, a bit unpopular because too popular - when you say someone is 'pittoresque', it tends to reek a bit of... an add trying to sell you a place/flat/building without taking the effort to tell you why THIS place is great on itself. So 'pittoresque ;))' doesn't tell you much x')

twitter.com/animato… <- Masaaki Iwane (one of the biggest/oldest Anipoke animators) posted this back in JUNE :p

YEAH I REMEMBER THIS it gave me a heart attack the first time i saw it lmfao.......BUT I WANT TO SEE HER IN THE REAL ANIME...LIKE IMAGINE THE CREEPY SHIT THEY COULD DO WITH HER VOICE AND THE DRAMA AFTER ALL THIS BUILD-UP......

And the movie promo talks A LOT about... Satoshi&Pikachu. So it's!! so incredibly SWEET and ADORABLE that 'even in an alternate universe where things went différently' (Satoshi doesn't wear his League hat! So things are different *in his pre-travelling story*!), Satoshi and Pikachu... were MTB. ;w;

am YELLING that you sent this in last week and i couldn’t write it satisfyingly and THEN mag160 happened SO here have take number ONE of it which does not completely answer the prompt because take number TWO is coming up ALSO

It feels like ages, walking hand in hand from that grey beach to the tower, down its winding stairs, then back up through the tunnels. But after that, it all goes very fast. When the sun rises, it does so over rolling hills in muted greens and sleepy greys, and Jon watches it through the window of a sleeper train. Martin is snoring softly from the upper bunk bed and Jon doesn’t expect to sleep for himself, but it is a lulling, calming sound. A presence.

A few hours later, he drags a yawning Martin and their haphazardly packed suitcases into a bus, and Martin just drops in his seat and lets his head fall on Jon’s shoulder. His grip is slack but he does not let go of Jon’s hand, and Jon doesn’t, either.

“You know, this is my first time travelling,” Martin says, distractedly. His voice is thick with exhaustion and his eyes still blurry, staring at the landscape without appearing to really take it in.

“I know,” Jon admits. The top of Martin’s head is pressed against his cheek and jaw and he can smell the scent of Martin’s hair. It’s nowhere near freshly-washed wafts of shampoo, but Jon doesn’t dislike it.

Martin hums quietly and doesn’t elaborate, and Jon remains silent as well to let him drift back to sleep. After a few minutes, though, Martin shifts, then sits up straight, pulls away, pressing himself to the window. “Is that,” he says, and gasps quietly. “Is that a cow? Are these cows?”

Jon leans on his back to look over his shoulder. “Yes. Fuzzier than standard, though.”

“That’s — so fuzzy.”

Jon smiles.

“Are those horns?”

“Yes. Cows have horns.”

“What do you mean cows have horns?? Stop— Stop laughing, what are — oh my god there are more, oh my God, Jon, look at all these cows —”

Jon tries to stop, he really does, but he has to smother it in Martin’s sweater, and Martin huffs in offense, but there’s that lilt to the end of it that means he’s not really angry and he knows Jon isn’t really making fun of him, and they’re on the run, fleeing from fear and horror and destruction and people who want them dead and a body-thief who wants worse, but that’s not what’s making Jon’s heart beat so fast.

Tim was ready for this. More than ready, excited. He expected a lot: weird kinks, secret diagnoses, college shenanigans, childhood bullying sob stories, legit supernatural trauma. His uptight boss was bound to have a lot of shameful dark secrets, and Tim would love to know them.

Not on the list of things he ever expected, though:

Jon actually humouring him and willingly imparting some of that dark knowledge

Jon kissing him, much less out of nowhere and without provocation, not to mention in the middle of the archives where anyone could walk in on them, never mind this deeply (2.a Jonathan Sims, Head Nerd of the Magnus Institute, London, being a good kisser at all)

the fleeting but absolutely unmistakable feeling of a tiny nub of metal in the tongue lapping at his.

“Oh my god,” is all Tim’s brain can muster when Jon breaks away, but in his opinion he is absolutely warranted a fucking break in these circumstances.

Jon immediately takes a step back, which is more in line with his character, but then he looks at Tim and honest-to-God licks his lips. “I had a short-lived rebellious phase at uni,” he supplies, and shrugs.

Tim’s throat is dry and he can’t tear his gaze from his weird fucking cryptid of a boss, not even blink. “Why are you telling me this?” he gasps, still reeling.

Jon looks at him, and leans in again, close. Puts a hand on his shoulder, and squeezes. His warm breath blowing on Tim’s ear, he whispers: “Because no one…”, and he’s fucking dropped his voice even lower and deeper than it usually is and Tim’s heart is tap dancing wildly in his chest.

A background part of Tim’s brain notes distantly that he’s lucky that the pure shock is currently keeping on the down-low exactly how turned on he is, though that will absolutely be a problem he’ll need to confront later.

“… will ever believe you.”

Jon steps back away, still looking Tim right in the eye, dead serious. It takes Tim a good second to process enough to just drop his jaw.

… and i came back to post it to find another prompt from anon: “Martin/Jon : reunion ?“, and it fits that too

"No, no, no, no, no,” Martin is mumbling into his hands, “no no no no no,” into Jon’s shoulder, “you’re going to ruin everything,” refusing to look at Jon, but he is only barely struggling, not putting any sort of strength into it, so Jon hugs him tighter. Jon has always been selfish and it never stopped Martin liking him before; he has done so much worse than this, and none of it could stop Martin liking him.

“Jon, please, I have to do this,” Martin mutters, “it’s hard enough without —,” and there’s a strange sensation and for a heartbeat Jon thinks he flickers off — out —, before understanding that no, that’s not it: Martin is simply trembling. Jon can see it, and also feel it; Martin’s shoulders are there, physical, Jon can feel their movement, their warmth, the sharp angles of Martin’s bones, trace them with his eyes and hands.

When Martin says: “I missed you,” it is a sob. The sob is loud but the sentence is quiet, muffled, buried in Jon’s neck, defeated, as if ashamed, and Jon whispers back apologies into his hair: for going against his plans, for not respecting his decision, not trusting him to succeed, for rendering all his efforts null, making all his pain be for nothing —