actually fuck it while we're on the topic, heres some mcyt ive written this year that i'm proud of:
can you extract me from my plastic fantasy (M, 6226 words, e2!Jimmy centric) – i'm really happy with how this one came out. mech/sci-fi AU wherein Jimmy has a bad time
i know i've kissed you before but i didn't do it right (G, 300 words, witchcraft Milo/Scott) – tagged "Desperate attempts at domesticity"; really short piece on how love isnt always the solution, postcanon
the end dripping like a leaky faucet (T, 1k words, "Mumbo"-centric) – i heart mumbo's hc10 finale! im not super happy with how this came out but the point comes across :-)
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Additional Tags: as a wise author once said the presence of [mumbo jumbo] in this fic is a matter of philosophy, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Robots
Summary:
Mumbo successfully uploaded his consciousness, and will live forever.
One month after Mumbo’s consciousness has been in the machine, he starts to wonder.
"You have to tell me what to do," Martyn says, twitchy. Jimmy titters.
"I'm-- OK, sure." He looks over Martyn's body, the way his chest rises and falls. Authority. Jimmy likes that in concept, doesn't he? The idea of being part of a pack, right? Being the one calling the shots, he could have that. He could reach that. The glint in Martyn's eye is hungry, and Jimmy feels like he's being swallowed. "Sit."
Martyn hesitates, for the briefest moment, like he's considering mocking Jimmy. Jimmy braces for it, but then, miraculously, Martyn kneels. Two knees on the floor, head at Jimmy's waist. Jimmy laughs, nervously. "Hardly sitting, innit. You're kneeling."
Martyn's mouth twitches, like he’s going to say something, but he must decide better of it, because he shifts around to put his ass on the floor. He looks up expectantly at Jimmy. "Happy?"
Jimmy huffs. "You don't sound it. You sure you want it like this?"
Martyn frowns. "Don't you?"
"Right," Jimmy says, "I like being in charge," because he does.
"And I like being told what to do." Jimmy doesn't quite believe him.
"Is this how you..." Jimmy starts, and Martyn tenses. "With Scott."
Martyn's shoulders lower like he's deflating. "No, it was-- well. Not quite. It was different. With Scott. We were different from this."
"You weren't like this in the Southlands," Jimmy says definitively, like he's figuring something out. "And I doubt you and Cleo-"
"Timmy," Martyn says, "Give me something else."
"It had to be you and Scott, then, right?"
"I'm- I just like it," he says. "And you like it, so we're doing it." Jimmy frowns at him. "Even if you're shite at it," he says with a smile. He plays with the hem of his pants absentmindedly.
Jimmy scoffs. "Am not."
"Are too," Martyn pushes.
"I am not!"
Martyn stands. "Then what're you gonna do about it?" He steps forward, getting in Jimmy's personal space. Jimmy swallows the lump in his throat.
"Martyn-"
Martyn cuts him off with a hasty kiss, then a bite to the lip. Jimmy pulls back, putting his hand to his mouth.
“You bit me!” Jimmy shouts.
“Yeah, I did,” Martyn teases. “So what?”
“Cut it out!” Jimmy says. “I think I’m bleeding.”
“Cut what out?”
“Cut out the- the bi- you know what I mean!”
“I don’t think I do,” Martyn says. “Use your words.”
“I seriously think you at least did a half heart of-”
Martyn laughs. “And I’ll do it again!”
“Martyn, stop it!”
“Is that an order?”
Jimmy pauses, and looks up at Martyn. His mouth is in a twisted smile, but his eyes are deathly serious. He feels the whole world on his shoulders. Martyn is breathing heavily, like a cornered animal, standing over Jimmy. His eyes dart up to Jimmy’s face, to meet Jimmy’s eyes, and then down. Jimmy must be making some kind of expression because Martyn frowns, and steps back.
“Sorry,” he says, “Sorry, I don’t know what got into me. I’ll go take a walk.”
Jimmy feels his heart skip a beat, and urgency hits him like a wave crashing, all over his body and all at once. “Sit down.”
Martyn pauses. “What?”
“I said, sit down.”
Martyn doesn’t hesitate this time, lowering himself to his knees slowly. Jimmy’s heart races in his chest.
“Good?” Martyn says.
“Yeah,” Jimmy says. He feels like he’s about to throw up and he doesn’t know why. “Good for you?”
“Sure,” Martyn says slowly. Jimmy feels like he’s defusing a bomb.
“I don’t… know what else to say.”
“Anything you want,” Martyn offers.
“Um. Lie down?” Jimmy laughs nervously. “No, that’s stupid.” Martyn starts lowering himself all the way down. “Yeah, lie down. Great. Good.”
The room is uncharacteristically quiet. Jimmy breathes in and out, and watches Martyn do the same, lying on the floor on his back.
"It wasn't about the banner." Martyn stared up into the sea of stars, as if every twinkle were a winking eye. Not one person who took a breath made a sound, the quiet earth soaked with midnight dew dampening the sighs of sleep. A soliloquy it was, then. "I might never say it to him. I just wanted someone to hear."
Next to him, Ren stirred, if only slightly. Martyn took the opportunity to examine the long scar upon his liege's neck. He laughed a small, breathless laugh, careful not to wake up the self-made King. "No, I definitely won't."
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
He turned back to look at Ren, the rays of the afternoon sun just starting to lick onto the stage. He was reclining, head resting on a second amp, eyes closed as his sunglasses dipped down his face. Shit, he was so fucked. He kicked the side of the amp to get his attention and mouthed, “You’re gonna go deaf, dumbass.” Ren flashed him a sheepish smile, and sat up straight.
“That’s fine,” he said, voice drowned under the sound of the crowd. “I can just watch, then.”
--
Ren and Martyn, like ships passing in the night, play Crimson Tour together.
my piece for @treebarkzine!! a band au written with love from an ex- bandom. go download the zine now :D
chapters: 3/3
words: 6,225
rating: M
tags: Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Alternate Universe - Robots & Androids, Empires SMP Season 2, Redemption, Jimmy | Solidarity-centric, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Suicide Attempt
Summary: In a desperate attempt to protect Tumble Town, Jimmy, an android, modifies himself to be able to take on the God of Stratos. Things quickly get out of hand.
This is a story about bodies. This is a story about what makes a person up.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
general: g rated, "M"/F, 3510 words
relationship: March 7th/Evernight/Wonweek/Sunday
summary: Sunday and March, or maybe Sunday and Evernight, or maybe March and Wonweek, or maybe Wonweek and Evernight, or maybe a million fractal permutations and reflections of light on a frozen lake.
sunmarch/daynight manifesto fic. talking a lot about trauma and DID and love and recovery or not. part 1/2.
Sunday grabbed the sides of his chair, digging his short-cut nails into the hardwood, watching as Stelle sneakily tried to eat a whole piece of toast with only their mouth off of March’s plate while she was distracted. He agreed to breakfast because, according to the book he’d read, routines are a healthy way of regaining control over one’s life. This breakfast environment did not seem controlled at all, but he was determined to make it work. The creature–Pom Pom, he’d been told–was staring at him expectantly. Sunday met their gaze with what he was sure was a controlled expression.
“Are you gonna eat that?” Stelle said, pointing at the runny eggs on Sunday’s plate.
Sunday took a sharp breath in. “Yes, I-”
“Darn,” they said, and slumped in their chair. “Dan Heng, are you gonna eat-”
“Go ahead,” Dan Heng said distractedly, looking down at the book in his lap, and Stelle practically pounced on his plate. Himeko hid a laugh behind her napkin. The eggs on Sunday’s plate continued to be wet. Pom Pom made a loud huff and wobbled away from the table. Sunday felt very much like he was doing something wrong. Dan Heng flipped a page in his book. March noticed her missing toast and turned to chide Stelle. Sunday wasn’t hungry. He ate the eggs anyway.
