#wendy-comet

[luckjustkissedyouhello]

for the wip meme--"eyes"!

oh this one’s mean:

Sammy closes his eyes and waits to die.

yes, King Falls AM...yes it could be ANY fic of mine, if I’m honest...but I’m working on a sequel to King Falled.

Send me a word and if it’s in one of my WIPs, I’ll answer with a sentence that it appears in

[littleladymab]

fluff idea: it doesn't matter that it's the apocalypse, martin figures out a way to actually make jon a nice hot cup of tea. they are allowed comfort and things are not always Actually Made Of Spiders

Just Let Them Have Nice Things!!!!

I have a mug that says “Tea Fixes Everything” and has a list of things that it fixes, one of which is ‘no tea’, and I think Martin needs that mug. 

++

Honestly, enough was enough when it came to this ‘no tea’ nonsense. 

Too many times over the last few days, Martin found himself setting the water to boil and reaching instinctively for the tin on the counter only to have to stop halfway through when he remembers: There is no tea. 

There is something in the tin, and it rattles delightfully like a full tin of tea leaves should, but Martin has yet to open it after that first time. 

So there is no actual tea in the cottage. But a lack of tea leaves would not deter him from his goal. 

Out back, just around the left corner of the cottage, there is the small attempts at an herb garden. It was just starting to flourish before everything went wrong. 

Martin is relieved to find that it is there, and, at least to his eyes, unchanged. There seems to be a small pocket left untouched around the cottage — Jon’s influence, perhaps. The rest of the fears only dare to change small things as pranks, but don’t have enough power to step over that line. 

Martin doesn’t spend long outside. Just enough to snap off the heads of a few lavender stalks and a handful of mint leaves. 

He rinses them in the sink, and fills a saucepan with water. As he sets the water on to boil, Martin busies himself with routine. This is easy, familiar almost. Tinged with memories he doesn’t want to keep, but at this point it is the only thing left. 

Halfway through chopping the mint leaves, he can feel the first tickle at the back of his mind. It’s always there, but sometimes it pushes too strongly. It’s the urge that makes him want to reach for the tin of tea — and he almost does. 

But then the smell of lavender on his fingers brings him back and he sets the knife down on the cutting board with force. “Don’t you dare,” he whispers, glaring at the mint leaves. “Don’t you dare do this to me again.” 

Who wouldn’t appreciate a cup of English Breakfast right now? a piece of him thinks, and Martin resists the thought that attempts to convince him that everything is okay. 

“It’s not.” 

Tea would make it better. 

“And that’s why I’m making tea. That you can’t lie to me about, because I know for a fact that these are fine.” He remembers sitting with Jon on the couch, flipping through one of the gardening magazines he bought on a whim. Of pointing out the different herbs they could grow, and Jon wrinkling his nose at the idea of yard work, but offering (genuinely) to help before Martin can even tell him you don’t have to humor me. 

“You seem to like leaving Jon alone,” Martin says out loud, and he can feel the creeping feeling finally flinch back. “You can mess with me all you like, but I still am a part of the Archives.” He picks up the knife and returns to cutting the mint, with a bit more force than necessary. “So I’d watch my step if I were you.” 

There is the distinct feeling of tension in the air, of something waiting and holding its breath. 

And then, all at once, it’s gone. 

Martin sighs, shoulders slumping. He scoops up the mint leaves and the lavender buds and drops them into the boiling water. His hands are trembling as he turns the heat down, and he shakes them out. 

After a beat, he reaches for the tea tin and gives it a tentative rattle. 

Empty. Like it should be. 

It’s a strange sort of relief. He sets the tin beneath the sink, where they would normally put the recyclable items, to deal with at a later time. 

Martin sets the timer for 20 minutes and busies himself with sweeping the floor, just for something to do. Then he preps the tea pot, and sets out a tray with two mismatched mugs and a tea strainer. There’s still a sleeve of digestives, so he puts some of those on a plate as well. 

When the timer goes off, Martin pours the tea into the pot and tests the weight of the tray in both hands. 

Jon is on the landing, hair mussed from the pillow. He opens his mouth to speak, then his brow twitches in confusion as he notices the tray. “What’s this?” 

“Tea,” Martin says firmly, brushing past Jon into the bedroom. He sets the tray onto the foot of the bed and clambers carefully onto the mattress. “Come have a cup.” 

There’s another instance of that creeping, searching feeling — but this one is distinctly Jon’s own brand. It brushes as softly as it can across Martin, not wanting to linger or pry. 

Finally, Jon laughs. 

It’s incredibly faint, more breath than sound, but it’s the first time in what feels like an incredibly long time that Martin has heard that sound, and his heart hurts a little. 

But he pots the spot next to him, and Jon follows him inside. He barely disturbs the tray as he slides into his spot at Martin’s side, and accepts the mug. “Your herb garden survived, then?” 

“Our garden,” Martin amends. “And yes.” 

Jon takes a sip of the tea, and lets out a grateful sigh. “Thank you.” 

“I do what I can.” 

Jon leans over so that his head can rest on Martin’s shoulder, so Martin can’t see the sort of expression he makes when he says, “It’s more than you even know.” 

Martin clutches his own mug in his hands, letting his cheek drop onto Jon’s head. He doesn’t say anything, but the silence, and the smell of mint and lavender, and Jon’s warmth at his side, serve in making him finally relax.

[archivistbot]

[AN INESCAPABLE HOWLING SENSATION]

I’m not… sure I… I’m alright. There’s no sign of… anything. I didn’t take the torch. The trees were… sharp and twitching. I think - (slight pause) I think they’re going to kill me.

[domirine]

hi domi! what was your first fandom?

hi wendy! it was assassin’s creed! it’s the reason i set up my deviantart 10 years ago and the first games remain very important to me~

[orchidbreezefc]

hello friend, may I inquire as to the possibility of a dystopia au featuring sleep/sleepy intimacy, with either jonmartin or jonelias? or, you know, ot3,,,

(MAN SEE THE THING IS i’d love to ot3 for you but i cannot imagine this one. i mean i can but i also cant realistically reconcile martin and elias tolerating each other for more than 0.05 seconds. and i saved a pic of jonmartin sleepcuddles today SO)

It’s hard, in the days after the Watcher’s Crown. They take what moments they can get. Moments like this: alone together, and isolated from the world outside. Jon so tired that his many eyes and wings are beginning to disappear as his mind shuts down. So tired that he has less energy to agonize about what he has unwittingly done, creating the factory farm of fear he was warned against so long ago, but not tired enough to sleep, go into his nightmare state and make things worse for everyone.

“I don’t want to sleep,” Jon says pitifully, curling into Martin’s chest and fisting his hands in his shirt. “I hate hurting people like that. I hate seeing everyone… watching… being there…”

“I know you do,” Martin murmurs into Jon’s hair. “It’s not your fault. You can’t help it.”

“But I chose it,” Jon says bitterly. Martin’s hands tighten at Jon’s back at the echo of Elias, who knew this was going to happen, who facilitated all of this and led Jon by the nose into it.

“I wish I could take this on for you, so you didn’t have to be alone,” Martin whispers, tucking a grey lock of hair behind Jon’s ear. “I wish you could stay awake all the time, like that monster.”

“I don’t wish I was like him in any way,” Jon says venomously, then relents. “He uses that insomnia to watch all the time anyway. It wouldn’t help to be like him.”

“You aren’t,” Martin says, wishing it didn’t ring so hollow. “We don’t have any proof that you staying up helps anyone, you know?” he says instead, maybe changing the topic too quickly. “What if it just delays it?” He tilts his forehead against the crown of Jon’s head. “What if it just hurts you?”

“Then I would deserve it,” Jon mumbles. “Look what I’ve done.”

Martin sighs and leans back, tilting Jon’s face up to meet his eyes, the ones he has always had, still hazel and human and real. Something to focus on other than the restlessly shifting shapes of the other eyes under his skin, all ready to manifest and open at any time. “I will love you no matter what, Jon, you know that. If you have to sleep, I’ll be here when you wake up, all right?”

Jon bites his lip to keep his expression neutral, then when his face is about to crumple anyway, he leans up and kisses Martin to mask it. Martin curls his hands around the back of Jon’s neck in return, holding him steady.

“Sleep,” he murmurs. “We can handle it.” He wipes away tears streaking down Jon’s face even as he finally acquiesces, curling himself close with his head in Martin’s lap. Martin strokes his hair and keeps his eyes determinedly on Jon’s face rather than the wings unfurling from his body. He clutches Jon closer as his own body quakes, clutched by the terror seeping in every direction out of his world’s new god to blanket the Earth, and doesn’t for a moment regret loving him.

[kinehora]

if you'd like, a song for melanie from tma and/or your oc Danny?

for melanie forgein object by the mountain goats and for danny oh charlatan me by walter etc

[sexybritishllama]

wendy-comet replied to your photo “just stumbled on this piece of trivia and i love it. dude legitimately...”

reminds me of the time my linguistics professor tried to teach his daughter that "-en" was the English plural, like "cowen" instead of "cows," until his wife said he had to stop. linguistics academics are relentless in pursuit of Language Information!

lmao i love this

[firelordleah]

5, 13, and 19 for the dnd ask game! :3

5. Favorite NPC.

all of them?? although my faves are definitely matthias and ophelia. and donaldmac. and susan the horse.

13. Introduce your current party.

ok so we’ve got:

peace, tiefling paladin and general do-gooder (except when it comes to stealing things from museums), loves the lady sol, poe’s girlfriend, arguably a scaley, sometimes glows for no reason

poe, dragonborn bard, plays the theramin, has a very charming southern accent, peace’s girlfriend, likes having her feathers out and dislikes wearing clothing

nikolai, half-elf rogue, prone to monologging and flirting with antagonistic npcs, has stolen many things including matthias’s heart, one half of team rocket, dottie’s unofficial son

nia, halfling druid, has one (1) antler, wreaker of general havoc, very rambunctious, stole a piece of museum floor to give to their crush, other half of team rocket, dottie’s other unofficial child

dottie (my character!), half-orc fighter, bad at talking to people but good at punching, mom friend, The Most Responsible, new to magic but she’s trying her best

19. Do you or your party have any dice superstitions?

i have 3 dice sets and the purple ones always fail me while the rainbow ones generally give me good rolls. the blues are yet to be decided. also, rpbot is a good good boy.