#*horrific reality downing on jon sounds*

[trans-jon-rights]

This shitpost took way too long lol

Thanks to @chrisis-averted for suggesting this conversation to happen ( the Monster Jon belong to them, from their fic Rewind.Reset.Rewrite )

[mkstrigidae]

Okay so I'm making my way through your masterlist and I'm in love?? Like let's start off with Winter's Child- a masterpiece. You make Sansa a loving and relatable character and interweave the powers into cannon in a way that actually makes cannon make more sense (preconceived biases and such). Jon and Sansa's relationship is SO SWEET and they way they bonded was absolutely adorable (and the backstory with the houses and the powers they have make so much sense) 1/3

(2/3) Neon Rain literally the best Cyberpunk AU! I've ever read. Like what you did with the world building?? The stark class differences (haha see what I did there?), the choices in SOUND, and I could FEEL myself there! I love the family dynamics between the Starks and I'm loving the little details you're dropping with the Greyjoy's , Jon's parentage, and all of the medical procedures. Jon is dramatic af and I love it and Sansa is a bamf AS SHE SHOULD. Nothing but love for this

(3/3) A Past Worth Having has a special place in my heart. You build up this setting like a tapestry, just seeing more richness and depth the longer you look. I'm proud of Sansa for holding her composure, just FEELING in the angst that the older Starks feel at her return, and loving the relationships with Robin and the rest of the Starks + Jon Arryn. The detail that you're putting into the investigation/Oberyn is awe inspiring and I can't wait to see what you do next with the trial + Jonsa

Haha thank you so much!!! This is such a sweet ask to get! My response is under a cut, because this might get kind of long! (lots of my own meta below, bc i accidentally had a lot to say, haha)

With ‘Winter’s Child’ I’ve really enjoyed weaving in fantasy elements to the world because I like to look at stories and pick at loose threads until they unravel and asking ‘what if?’. I thought it would be a super interesting concept to take a character like Sansa, who in ASOIAF is exactly what she is supposed to be as a noblewoman of her class and conforms very well in that role, and put her in a position where she was essentially a societal outcast in a lot of ways! In WC, Sansa has a lot of similar coping mechanisms to ASOIAF Sansa, in that she sort of romanticizes society to avoid thinking about how absolutely awful it is. In ASOIAF, Sansa holds tight to the notion of knights and chivalry and courtly love to cope with the fact that she essentially has no control over her future and, as a woman, is basically property. In WC, I have her really struggling to make herself into that perfect lady and using that as a sort of shield to the fact that, without a gift, there isn’t anything she can do to improve her lot in life. Sansa has these ideas about becoming a perfect lady and hoping that being perfect in other areas will ‘make up’ for what society perceives as deficient about her, but is more jaded than ASOIAF Sansa due to her age and her earlier exposure to the ills of society. So you get a Sansa who gets along better with Arya and Jon as a result, in part because she’s had that exposure to what it’s like to be an outcast in society. I think that the best fantasy has a really strong emotional backdrop (a really great example is ‘Fruits Basket’ which starts by hooking you with this wacky, fun premise about people in a family turning into animals when hugged by a member of the opposite sex, and slowly builds into a point where you can see that the family ‘curse’ is a representation of generational and familial abuse- of bonds that should be broken, and of bonds that may kill us even as we cling to them- it’s extremely complex and rich and if you haven’t read or watched it, I can’t recommend it highly enough), and so while I really love writing about the fantasy aspects, and writing scenes where Sansa does really cool things with her ice powers, the core of the story is really about Sansa coming into her own, and learning that she was a person who was worth something even without any sort of gift. Sort of overcoming societal stigma and realizing your worth and forcing others to see it. It’s so much fun to write, but i’m stuck at the moment, because i need to reread the books, and my roommate is borrowing them right now haha!

God, APWH is like, indulging my inner world-building suspense-narrative loving writer persona. It’s literally my all time favorite trope- which is of someone growing up to find out that they’re a long-lost somebody or have family they never knew about- combined with a lot of research on trauma (which i’ve been doing for academic and other reasons for a while) and a lot of slowly growing psychological horror courtesy of Petyr Baelish (trust me, it’s going to get WAY more intense). There are so many pieces of media that I love, but I think that GRRM has so many characters and such a well fleshed out world that it’s very fun to dive into his worlds and create something there. Inherently, I love a slowly unraveling mystery and morally gray characters, and this is allowing me to indulge in both!!! World-building is my favorite, because i tend to be fairly detail oriented, and i’ve been laying bread crumbs in so many places throughout the story to hopefully build up to a decent conclusion! I know sort of how it ends, and I think people are going to absolutely lose their minds if I execute it correctly. We have a few chapters to go until we get to anything in the semblance of a trial- there’s some more emotional aspects that I think need to get addressed first, and so I’m so grateful that people are so supportive of being willing to wait for the Jonsa, because they really start spending a lot of time with each other during the trial and prior to the trial (i’m a big believer in bonding via long car rides and so there’s a lot of that!). I’m just so humbled and awed by the response to it- I never dreamed that people would enjoy the story this much- when I started it, I was writing a light-hearted family piece that wouldn’t be too long, and, uh, it kind of evolved from there. Clearly, I am not good at keeping things concise haha.

I left Neon Rain for last, because your comments on this one really made me smile! Of all of my stories, oddly enough, Neon Rain is actually the most deeply personal for me, and I’m just so flattered at your kind words! I spend a lot of my time thinking about the flaws inherent in our society, and without getting too detailed, Sansa’s experience with a family member struggling in the medical system is not unfamiliar to me. There’s a weight that comes with the realization that a system that is supposed to care for people is based on capitalistic ideals of profit maximization, and as someone who has experience working in the healthcare system- no matter how bad you think it is in the US, I can promise you it’s actually worse.

Neon Rain actually just started out as a series of mental images from listening to music that I had to get down on paper, and evolved from there. I actually really love the ‘soulmates’ and ‘class differences’ and ‘mastermind art thief’ tropes, but am incapable of writing fun stories without thinking about the reality of those tropes (see APWH for another extreme example of this haha), and so as I was writing and trying to capture this mental image, the rest of the world began unfolding around me. Jon is different because of a different upbringing here, and so is Sansa, and to see the formerly idealistic Sansa become so jaded by the time she meets her soulmate is just catnip for me. You have this interesting dynamic between them, because Jon wants nothing more than to have Sansa in his life, and give her everything she wants and needs, but where the old Sansa (who was arguably middle-class and somewhat naive, as financially secure teenagers understandably tend to be) would have swooned over that, the Sansa who meets Jon when the story begins is seeing the world and all the unfair and unequal systems in it. She can’t just live happily ever after with him right away- there’s a sense of guilt there, of sansa not feeling like she deserves nice things, and there’s also Sansa’s deep sense of compassion and kindness that won’t allow her to just live life as the well taken-care-of girlfriend of a wealthy man, because she isn’t able to just put on blinders and pretend that all the injustice in the world around her doesn’t exist, simply because it wouldn’t affect her that way anymore.

I think that the core to writing Sansa, for me, in any universe, is that she is a kind and compassionate person who is capable of feeling sympathy towards even the people who have done horrific things to her and her family- that emotional awareness and empathy is a harsh thing to have in a world like Neon Rain, and in our own world, honestly. I’m so glad that you appreciate Sansa’s BAMF-ness in the story- I think that her chapters demonstrate that she is capable of doing extraordinary things when she’s doing them for people she cares for, to be kind (The scene where Alayne helps Robin down from the eyrie is most indicative of this I think), and so in this world, I just love having Sansa be a complete badass out of necessity. Also, it’s fanfiction, and I really wanted to give Sansa a cool motorcyle, because no one else was gonna do it!!!

Also, my characters like to run away with me, and before I knew it, Rodrik Greyjoy had a huge adorable crush on Sansa in the story that I immensely enjoy writing. The Greyjoys are fun because they’re all absolutely insane, and i’m a total sucker for ‘gruff dangerous character is completely a sucker for the kind sunshine-y character’ trope.

God, this accidentally got really long??? I’m sorry- thank you so much for such a kind ask!!! I love hearing what people think of my stories, and this was so sweet :)

[ieattaperecorders]

Something's Different About You Lately

Jonathan Sims has been head archivist for just a few months, but he has memories of holding the position for years. Somehow, he'll have to keep everyone safe from what's coming. Meanwhile, his assistants can't understand why their prickly jerk of a boss has gone sappy all of a sudden. 

(I went ahead and started a fanfic inspired by that Jon-sends-his-memories-back-in-time comic by @questbedhead. Not sure whether I’ll add to it, but thought I’d post this much at least.)

Read on Ao3

Jon woke suddenly and bolted from his chair. He made it halfway to the door, stumbling in a blind panic before reality caught up with him and he remembered where he was. The room that was half his flat came into focus. Shadows pooled against the dim light coming from outside.

He breathed slowly as his heart rate returned to normal.

Jon’s dreams were his own now, and in them he was only himself. Mostly they were nightmares, and mostly the nightmares were bad. But he’d still take them any night over the pitiless, helpless consumption of secondhand terror that he knew was the alternative. Still. This one had been awful. He could still see images of it, lingering in his mind. In particular he remembered Martin’s face, twisted in an expression of pain and fear for just a moment before his grimace turned into an unnatural, too-wide smile . . . Jon shuddered as he tried to forget it.

His phone was on the table that served as both desk and eating space, and he checked the time. 8:15. He’d nodded off in his seat and slept for less than an hour.

Jon stared at the phone’s screen and wondered how Martin was doing. There were several months to go before Jane would attack the institute. The table that had held the thing that once took Sasha, the centerpiece of this particular nightmare, it hadn’t even arrived yet. Martin would be fine in the archive, Jon knew that. He’d sleep there without incident for months, unharmed. There was no need to worry about his safety just yet.

The image from his dream remained in Jon’s mind, unmoved by his own reassurance. He found himself wishing, not for the first time in recent days, that he could reach into the ocean of Knowing that had once pressed so forcefully against his mind. That he could just Know if Martin was all right, See what he was doing right now. But the door in his mind wasn’t just closed, it was gone. Not yet built. Never to be built if Jon could help it. There was nothing to reach for and nothing to give in to. It was just as well, he supposed, since he’d promised to give Martin privacy. Lacking the ability to check just removed the temptation to do so.

Without really thinking, Jon ran his thumb over his contacts and scrolled until he found Martin’s name. He tapped it, opening their history. The last message visible was still from Jane Prentis and Jon frowned at the sight of it. Martin had a new phone now, of course, but the number was the same.

Jon could call him if he wanted to. Just check in, make sure he was all right. Reassure himself that nothing terrible was happening.

Sighing, Jon set the phone down. Hadn’t harassing his staff been one of the things that caused so much trouble the first time around? Martin didn’t need Jon bothering him every hour of the day and night with all his worries. He’d have enough of his own after his encounter with Prentiss. No. Jon would go in to work tomorrow, see Martin there, and everything would be completely fine - or at least as close to fine as was possible, under the circumstances. It wouldn’t be that long until morning.

He checked the time again. 8:17.

Of course, if he happened to stop by the institute because he’d forgotten something there, he’d be sure to run into Martin. Then he could see for himself that he was safe. That would be perfectly all right, wouldn’t it? He nodded to himself as he got his coat.

On the train ride downtown, he thought about another Martin. The one in his memories - his new memories - who had tried so hard to keep Jon safe and present and whole. Who’d somehow kept a grip on hope even after everything fell apart, a hope so blind and powerful that it alternately seemed like foolish, sad denial and like a beacon that could rival the dread powers in its brilliance.

In another time, another life, another world, Jon had watched that light grow slowly dimmer as the cruel reality of the new world smothered it. The world he had brought into existence.

Jon had spent so long in despair and resignation by then. He’d even been frustrated at times by what seemed Martin’s unwillingness to face reality. It was really rather ironic how much he had panicked when he began to realize that Martin was giving up as well. The final blow had come after Jonah was destroyed. When they learned that killing him had accomplished nothing except binding Jon to the Panopticon completely. Jon had felt his body go limp, his edges softening, his body merging with with the flesh of the tower as a thousand eyes he hadn’t known he’d had opened at once. He was fairly sure he’d have have accepted his fate without a fight if it hadn’t been for the look on Martin’s face.

So he’d done the only thing he could. He’d drowned his mind in the Knowing that howled at the edge of his consciousness. Dove as deeply as he could, drinking it in, reaching for anything that might give them a chance. Perhaps it had been his regret, his childish desire to go back and undo all of his mistakes that had guided him to the answer. He’d already known that he could force knowledge into the minds of others, just as Jonah had. But Jon was more powerful than Jonah had been and he had now been placed permanently in the center of the Beholding. He could send his knowledge anywhere. Possibly across time itself. He could send all that he knew - his memories, his experiences - back to a time when he might still be able to do something with that knowledge.

It had been a long shot, an unlikely gamble. But as he explained his plan to Martin he’d seen light return to his eyes. Watched a tearful smile bloom in him as he held what remained of Jon’s hand.

If Jon did nothing else good with his life, if he truly couldn’t escape what he was and everything fell apart again this time, he’d still be proud of that moment. When he’d found a way to rekindle that precious spark of hope Martin had carried. If one day he found himself back at that tower, trapped in the knowledge that he could only repeat this horrific cycle over and over and over, he would still have that.

Of course . . . it hadn’t really been him who’d done that, had it?

Jon looked at the smooth, unbroken skin of his hand. His palm was soft, unblemished, and free of pain. His wrist lacked the twisted trails he’d memorized the locations of. He remembered the Carousel and Night Street more clearly than he could recall what must have been last week for him, but what felt like it had happened years ago. But he had never truly been to those places. He only had the memories of them.

What had happened to the man who’d be there? And what had happened to his Martin? Did they exist in some future that was still being unwritten? If Jon could stop this all from happening, would they blink out of existence along with the rest of their world? Or worse, would they continue on in their horrific timeline that could never be changed or erased? And if it became clear that nothing could save them, would that spark in Martin finally die, forever?

Jon shook his head. He couldn’t think about that. There was no way of finding out the answers to those questions, and he had to focus on the world he was in. On the people who were here, still alive, still with him. On the Martin that hadn’t given up. And even if he wasn’t truly the person in his own memories, if his skin was unmarked and his mind was distressingly quiet and still, he still felt like that person. It was one unbroken chain of events to him - from the institute to the safehouse to the tower and back here.

It was harmless, he decided, to keep thinking of himself as that Jon. He had enough on his mind without adding on another existential crisis.

It was 8:57 when he reached the front door of the Magnus Institute, walked in and headed for the archive. His neck still ached from the awkward position of his unexpected nap, and he rubbed it irritably as he walked. He’d gotten so disconnected from his body after the coma. Even pain, which had been his constant companion for a long time, had begun to feel abstract to him. Now every physical sensation was loud and demanded attention.

Maybe it was the distraction of that ache that kept him from noticing the noise coming from beyond the archive door. He barely had a moment to recognize the thing that was hurtling towards him before it came within inches of his face.

Jon’s reflexes were not enviable. He did not leap back gracefully so much as yelp and stumble into the desk behind him. A heavy wrench sailed through the air just inches away as his back hit the desk’s edge. He slid to the floor, arms splayed, trying to get his balance again. Things might have gone quite bad for him if his would-be attacker hadn’t stopped, frozen in horror, to stare at him wide-eyed.

“God! Jon! I’m - - I’m so sorry!” Martin dropped the wrench, hands shaking. “I didn’t hit you, did I? Please tell me I didn’t - -”

Jon’s brain took a moment to catch up with what he was seeing, adrenaline still flooding him as he connected Martin’s expression with the blow to the head he’d just avoided. He’d been defending himself? Had Jon’s fears been right, was there an attack on the archive ahead of schedule?

“I’m so sorry,” Martin looked more distressed by the moment, and Jon heard a crack in his voice. “I didn’t know it was you. Are you hurt? Tell me if you’re hurt, please - -”

“I’m fine, Martin.” Jon did his best to sound calming. “Really. You just . . . startled me.”

“Good. Thank God. Ah. . . sorry.”

Now assured that he hadn’t given Jon a concussion, Martin bent down to hesitantly offer a hand up. Jon took it, the shape of Martin’s palm around his own natural and familiar. He placed another hand on Jon’s back, pushing him gently upwards and holding there for just a moment. The difference in their height and size, the sheer physicality of Martin’s presence was immensely steadying and Jon felt some disappointment as he pulled away. If Martin noticed this he gave no sign, still nervously babbling apologies.

“Martin. Martin,” Jon cut him off. “It’s fine. I’m all right. What’s going on? Were you just . . . lurking behind the door, wielding a blunt object?”

“I just - - I heard - - I don’t know.” Martin rubbed the back of his neck, beginning to look more embarrassed than afraid. “I wasn’t expecting anyone to be here and it’s so quiet at night and I just - just heard something moving around and I thought maybe - - ”

Something finally clicked for Jon.

“Martin . . . .” he said. “Did you think that I was worms?”

Martin’s face flushed and he looked down, muttering. “I mean, you could have been worms.”

“Yes. I suppose I might have been worms.” Jon agreed, biting his cheek to hide an amused smile. “Perhaps a slim chance of that. But given everything you’ve been through I can’t bame you for being on edge about that.”

“I’m really sorry - -”

“No harm done. Let’s not worry about it anymore.”

Jon smiled fondly and reached up to pat Martin’s shoulder. Nothing lingering. Just a few, quick taps, a ‘there there’ motion. Surely that was all right, wasn’t it? That wasn’t too familar? Maybe it was - Martin looked uneasy and confused more than anything else. But he stopped apologizing and nodded, so that was something.

“Er . . . what are you doing here?” Martin asked. He fiddled with the hem of his shirt - presumably one he slept in, given the flannel pajama pants that he also wore. It had a cartoon bear on it that Jon was fairly sure was from a video game. “I thought you went home.”

“Ah. I did.” Jon remembered the excuse he’d come with. “Yes, I went home. But then I realized that I’d left something important in my office, and I had to come back for it. Which is why I’m here.”

Don’t ask what it is. Jon thought desperately as he went through the motions of walking towards his office door. Please don’t ask what it is.

“Oh. I see.”

Martin didn’t ask what it was, to Jon’s relief and gratitude. He made some pretense of rummaging around in his desk as Martin appeared in the doorway, hanging there hesitantly. Jon noticed he’d picked up the dropped wrench and was holding it at his side. He paused, looking at it.

“Sorry, but - -” Jon asked “- - were you planning to hit the worms with a wrench?”

“Oh - -” Martin looked at the tool in his hand, laughing nervously. “No, uh. I mean there’d be too many of them for that to do any good, right? I just . . . well, I could tell that it was a person moving around, or at least something person-sized. And I thought if it was Jane, I - - I didn’t want to get trapped again so I was going to make a run for it. But I wanted something in case she tried to grab at me, you know?”

“I see. Yes, that would make a bit more sense.”

It didn’t escape Jon’s notice how tightly Martin was gripping the wrench, or the way his eyes would occasionally dart to the corners of the floor. Or the fact that, despite his apparent embarassment over nearly bashing Jon’s head in while in his pajamas, he was lingering in the doorway rather than returning to the room that he’d been staying in.

He was right to be afraid. Jon knew he was right to be afraid. The worms were most likely already there. They wouldn’t attack for some time, true, but they were still present. Waiting. Martin would sleep safe and unharmed night after night, his worst fear writhing in the walls around him. The thought made something deep in Jon’s stomach squirm.

It was only when Martin shifted uneasily that Jon realized he’d been staring. He fixed his gaze on his desk again, moving some papers around.

“I know this place is unsettling at night,” he offered.

“Yeah . . .” Martin exhaled. “I do appreciate you letting me stay. I’d probably be a lot more jumpy if I was back at my flat right now. At least the archive’s sealed off.”

“Still, if you’d feel more comfortable I could - -”

Jon stopped himself mid-sentence, the offer halfway out of his mouth before he even realized what he’d been saying.

Could what, you damned fool? he thought. Stay here tonight? Sleep in the narrow cot with him? Hold his hand and stroke the crown of his head if he wakes up afraid, the way you used to when he had nightmares? Yes, surely that’s what he wants to hear from his prick of a boss that’s never been anything but unkind to him.

“. . . Could see if there’s some way to . . . enhance security around here,” he muttered after far, far too long a pause.

“I mean, if you think it’s worth looking into.” Martin chuckled nervously. “Not sure if there’s anything a burgler alarm could do about worms. But at least Jane could maybe be kept away?”

“I’ll look into it.” Jon said, insincerely.

“Could convince Elias it’s worth doing just for general security, right?” Martin asked hopefully.

Jon didn’t try to hide the contempt in his voice “I’m sure he’s very concerned about employee safety, yes.”

Martin went quiet at that. Jon had probably been pretending to rummage around in his desk for too long. He pulled a few papers out of his top drawer, tucked them in a file and stuck it under his arm. Then he hesitated. He really didn’t want to leave. These months in the archive had been hard for Martin, Jon knew that. He’d gone to sleep every night afraid that he’d wake up with worms boring into his skin. And more often than not the people around him - Jon especially - had treated his anxieties like an annoyance.

Jon wanted to stay, to give Martin the comfort of another person’s presence. He knew all too well how being alone with one’s thoughts sent them spinning into further extremes of fear and paranoia. He wanted to be there for him this time.

And it wasn’t just for Martin’s sake. It was perhaps absurd for Jon to think that he missed someone he saw daily, but it was true. He’d felt adrift in the week since he’d gained his knowledge of the future. This Martin - truly, the only Martin there was, the only one that was real - didn’t lean into him or laugh when he was annoyed. He was nervous around Jon. He flinched back awkwardly when their hands brushed accidentally, and seemed like he was always waiting for some admonishment.

There was nothing for it, though. He’d just have to stick to the plan. Soon enough Sasha would be approached, and though Jon wasn’t thrilled at the thought - - he knew how sharp those hands were - - he knew Michael wouldn’t harm her. Once the fire suppression system was replaced with CO2, he’d just have to wait until the others were gone, find some excuse to send Martin away, and take care of Jane on his own. Martin would just have to endure a few more bad nights in the meantime.

“Well,” Jon gestured to the file under his arm. “This is what I came back for.”

Don’t ask what it is, he thought. Please don’t ask what it is.

“Oh? What is it?” Martin asked.

I am being punished for my crimes against this world.

“Ah. Just. Hmm. Some things I’ve been working on at home. Statements.”

Martin seemed to accept that. It was probably best not to add any unnecessary details.

“It’s sort of a personal research project of mine,” Jon continued, mouth moving without the consent of his brain. “Trying to work out some patterns I’ve noticed between statements with similar themes.”

Stop, you fool. Jon thought.

“Really?” Martin seemed genuinely surprised. “Honestly, I kind of got the impression you thought the statements were mostly fake.”

“Well, I do. Of course.” Jon fumbled. “But ah, there can be some value in categorizing even the, uh, the ramblings of the delusional. It’s revealing. Teaches you about what people are afraid of.”

“Uh . . . right.” Martin raised an eyebrow.

“I should go.” Jon’s formerly pressing desire to stay was overruled by a need to flee before he started babbling about Smirke’s fourteen and made Martin’s nightmares even worse. He hurried towards the door.

Martin stepped aside to let Jon pass.

“Right. Er, good night.”

Just as Jon reached the archive door, a thought occurred to him. It wasn’t much, and he doubted Martin would take advantage of it. More than likely it would just confuse the poor man even more. But if he was destined to keep doing reckless and foolish things, at least one of them should have a chance of easing someone’s fears instead of feeding them.

“If you hear something again.” Jon said, “or perhaps just think you hear something, you should call me.”

Martin frowned. “What do you mean?”

“You said you were worried that Jane might come here. If you ever have reason to think she might be. . . .”

“I mean . . . thanks, but, shouldn’t I call 999 if that happens?” Martin tilted his head. “No offense, but I mean . . what are you going to do against the worms?”

Emergency services wouldn’t exactly do much against them, either. Jon thought, but did not say.

“You should certainly do that if you’re in danger.” Jon said. “But I imagine you’ll hesitate rather than phone them at every odd sound.”

“I’m not sure I understand.”

“As I said, I know this place is unsettling at night,” Jon shrugged. “A second perspective can be a breath of fresh air. Can . . . help make it easier to tell whether something is a true danger or just in your head.”

Martin stared at him, brow furrowed, looking like he was trying and failing to solve a particularly difficult math problem.

“And I keep odd hours,” Jon continued, waving his hand. He kept his tone stern and dismissive, as if that might disguise the fact that he’d essentially asked Martin to call him if he was feeling scared so he could talk him down. “So don’t worry if it’s late at night. Believe me, it won’t matter.”

“Um. All right,” Martin blinked, an uncertain smile that Jon considered a victory forming on his face. “Thanks.”

Jon nodded. “Sleep well, then.”

He hurried out before he could spoil this rare triumph with more reckless words, then ran to catch the late train home.

[mobius-prime]

212. Sonic the Hedgehog #144

Mobius 25 Years Later: The Die is Cast

Writer: Ken Penders Pencils: Steven Butler Colors: Jason Jensen

We've finally made it to the final installment of this damned arc! Man, that doesn't seem to leave us a lot of time to solve the main conflict of the world ending, does it…? Well, I suppose we have to read the issue first. Knuckles arrives back home after his visitation to Locke's grave, and tells a delighted Lara-Su that he's rethought his stance on training her as a Guardian and plans to start straightaway - after, of course, his current mission with Sonic. When he makes a vague allusion to asking her mother for help on her instruction if he doesn't come back, Lara-Su tries to insist she come along to help, and Julie-Su, who was listening in, becomes indignant.

Aww, that's actually sweet. I think that's the first time we've seen actual, real affection between any of this arc's married couples. Julie-Su sees Knuckles off to his shuttle, driven by - who else - an elderly Harry, and Sally makes him promise he'll bring her husband back to her. He tries to find Lara-Su for a final goodbye before his mission, but is somewhat baffled to not find her anywhere, assuming she was too angry at not being taken along to stick around. The shuttle flies them out through the worsening storms to the "badlands," a horrifically-polluted section of the planet that's so toxic the group has to wear sealed suits as they traverse the terrain and make their way to Robotnik's old hidden base.

Sonic immediately volunteers himself to go back in time despite the dangers Rotor warns him of, and we cut away to the shuttle for a little surprise - Lara-Su has stowed away in a cargo box, determined to come along and help despite what her father thinks. However, before she can even take a step outside the shuttle, she begins to vanish from reality like that scene from Back to the Future. What could be causing this? Well, back in the base, we might find our answer:

And… that's it! No, seriously, that's literally the end of the arc. No context is given for what we just saw happen. It's not explained if this time travel venture indeed caused the world to end, or if Sonic going back in time erased this timeline in favor of another, or what. This is such an abrupt and unsatisfactory ending that I have to wonder if Kenders was forced to end the story early on short notice, because absolutely nothing is explained here. We spent over a dozen issues building up to something, enduring trite teen drama and old stuffy adults arguing at each other while locked into loveless marriages, and got the most vague and useless ending possible, after all of that. I mean, what was even the point of all this then? Some chapters in this arc had literally no plot or character progression whatsoever! The aversion of the end of time and space was literally the most interesting potential plot hook in this entire arc, and it's basically swept aside in the last few pages with no explanation. This almost makes the actually good writing of last issue seem useless, if this is what came directly afterwards. *sigh* Ah well, we're finally free of this nightmare. And as it turns out, we're very close to the end of Penders as a whole! Those of you who have read the comics before might have noticed that we're rapidly approaching the 160th issue, which is when a certain fan-favorite writer took the reins and started to fix a lot of the messes that the previous writers left him with. So if you're one of the ones who despises everything Penders ever wrote, you don't have much longer to suffer - just a few more issues and we're in the clear!

Love and Loss

Writer: Romy Chacon Pencils: Jon Gray Colors: Josh Ray

This story is a bit of a bizarre one, being very unlike any others we've read so far. There's very little action and a whole lot of solid blocks of text to read, but in a way, I do feel it's interesting and contributes to several characters' arcs in a positive manner. A poor bear is doing his best to sell some newspapers to the denizens of Knothole one Wednesday evening when he suddenly finds himself mobbed by a horde of rabid women all grabbing for a copy.

Now that is quite interesting. No, I don't mean the love advice column - I mean the little signpost in the second panel, the one listing the prices for products at the stand! Now, Jon has a habit of making up things to put on posters and the like in the background of his art, many of which are clearly just meant to be humorous and not to be taken seriously, but this is literally (as far as I can tell) the very first instance we've ever seen of an actual unique currency in this world! "Mobiums", huh? They seem to be kind of equivalent to Japanese yen, in that a single one is barely worth a penny - I mean, I'm pretty sure they're not meant to be like dollars anyway, as $75 for a single comic seems incredibly steep. For now, I suppose we'll have to add "Mobiums" to our list of potentially-canon bits of worldbuilding info about Mobius.

Anyway, as you might expect, several of our favorite girls in this comic have gotten themselves a copy today, and as it turns out, they've all written in their own letters and are eager to see the advice this "Aly" will give them. First up is Bunnie, who writes in under the pseudonym "Feeling Terribly Alone." Obviously, her main problem is with Antoine. She details how they've grown apart and how she feels like she doesn't even know him anymore - and yet, despite all their recent difficulties, she's still in love with him and wishes things could go back to the way they used to be.

Poor Bunnie. One of the things that seems to crop up for her now and again is her well-hidden insecurities about her cyborg nature. From her recurring nightmares, to her concern over the idea of Antoine still being able to be attracted to her despite her robotic parts, it's clear that she struggles a lot more with her nature than she lets on, and her relationship with Antoine boosted her confidence immensely. They were clearly happy together, and just as they were getting past the honeymoon phase and settling into a more steady relationship, he became cold towards her without a clear explanation as to why. It's clearly broken her heart at a time when she desperately needs to be able to hold it together, and the idea of her sitting in her house at night, alone and sobbing to herself uncontrollably, is really sad.

Next up is Mina, AKA "Singing the Blues." Her letter discusses how lately she's feeling torn between old crushes and new relationships. Her new boyfriend, Ash, was briefly shown in StH#134, but apparently they've grown quite close in the year that Sonic was gone. However, with Sonic back, Mina has been feeling the old familiar butterflies around him, and questions whether she truly loves Ash in the same way she cares for Sonic. (Obviously, however, in the usual vein of these kinds of ask columns, everything she says is vague, not mentioning any names.) Aly's letter advises her to not give up on a current happy relationship to chase someone else who may not even be interested, and Mina appears to genuinely take this to heart, deciding to give her boyfriend a call despite the late hour.

Well, good for her! Mina's a sweetheart, and it does seem like she and Ash genuinely care for each other. The third letter comes from Amy, or "Wishing for Love," who lays out her crush on Sonic and how she's tried to get his attention here and there, including going so far as to "look and dress older" (bit of an understatement there, Ames) to catch his eye. However, she's frustrated that she can't seem to gain his affections, and wants Aly's opinion on whether she really is putting too much effort into a silly crush, or whether she actually has a chance. Aly begins by tactfully pointing out that it sounds like she's still young, and it's not a good idea to rush into love too quickly when there's so much more life ahead.

…yeah, that's about what I'd expect from Amy. After all, remember that despite her physical age, she still mentally skipped half her childhood up to this moment, and she's also the hopeless romantic type, so it's not surprising she'd be unimpressed by advice telling her to look away from her crush. The article appears to be winding down, but everyone reading is struck by what they see in the last entry, from someone called "Royally Scared." The writer dives into her story, about her deepest love and how they made a commitment to each other only for her love to be "lost," which broke her heart. When he came back, she tried to get him to walk away from his "job" for a better job in her family's "business," but he refused and they had an ugly break-up as a result. She still loves him, but she's too scared of losing him again, especially because he's so brash and throws himself into danger without a care.

Everyone immediately realizes that this is Sally's letter, and are riveted to the page for Aly's response. Aly admits that she doesn't have a solid answer for this one, but says that it seems like they both have valid points. She points out that Sally's "dramatic confrontation" might not have been very fair to her lover, and urges them to both talk it out like adults after they take some time apart to reevaluate their own priorities, before wishing her luck and concluding the article. I just want to point out that the entire section where she lays it out and Aly responds is masterfully put together, with the heart-filled background slowly transitioning to a deep, tangled mass of purple and black as the letter goes on, interspersed with silhouettes of Sally crying and looking very alone in a dark void. I've pointed it out before, but Sally was very clearly traumatized - badly - by everything she's been through, with Sonic's supposed death being a breaking point for her, and the backgrounds of this issue symbolize this struggle very effectively. But here comes the real twist. After all, "Aly" is clearly a pseudonym, and no one knows who's really running this column. So who do you suppose it is?

God damn. Even in the middle of dealing with severe PTSD, Sally's still got a damn good head on her shoulders. It seems that people were starting to suspect her as the writer, so she deliberately wrote in a letter that was obviously her, and then answered it herself to throw readers off the scent. And her answer to herself was well thought out and reasonable - it's clear that she wrote her entry letter first, then forced herself to take a step back and evaluate her situation as though she were a third party who didn't know any of the finer details. The result is a response that doesn't betray her true identity, and isn't obviously colored by her own biases, where she gets a chance to look at her situation with a clearer head (probably helped out substantially by Nicole as an outside perspective). She flat-out acknowledges that her own actions on the stage the night of Sonic's welcome home party were unreasonable and unfair to him, and calls herself out on it in a public newsletter (even if most people aren't aware of the circumstances behind this entry). I feel like this only supports what I said about The Slap several issues ago, that she wasn't acting rationally that night and needs to be cut some slack on account of her (now-canonically-acknowledged) trauma. And in the end, her Aly persona is right. While she and Sonic still love each other, their differences have made a stable relationship between the two currently impossible, meaning it's best for them to take that time apart to figure out what each of them want before they think about getting back together. I think this is a really good follow-up to what happened in that issue, and gives a lot more insight into just why Sally did what she did, and how she's handling it after the fact.

This issue ends with a single page reminiscent of the Sega Data Files of issues past, this time covering the entire Acorn Royal Family. There's not much info here that we don't already know, but we do find out that Elias and his wife Megan's child has been born by now, a daughter named Alexis. Hope we get to see them all again soon!

[johnnymundano]

The House That Dripped Blood (1971)

Directed by Peter Duffell

Screenplay by Robert Bloch

Music by Michael Dress

Country: United Kingdom

Running time: 102 minutes

CAST

"Framework"

John Bennett as Detective Inspector Holloway

John Bryans as A.J. Stoker

John Malcolm as Sergeant Martin

"Method For Murder"

Denholm Elliott as Charles Hillyer

Joanna Dunham as Alice Hillyer

Tom Adams as Richard/Dominic

Robert Lang as Dr. Andrews

"Waxworks"

Peter Cushing as Philip Grayson

Joss Ackland as Neville Rogers

Wolfe Morris as Waxworks Proprietor

"Sweets to the Sweet"

Christopher Lee as John Reid

Nyree Dawn Porter as Ann Norton

Chloe Franks as Jane Reid

Hugh Manning as Mark

Carleton Hobbs as Dr. Bailey

"The Cloak"

Jon Pertwee as Paul Henderson

Ingrid Pitt as Carla Lynde

Geoffrey Bayldon as Theo von Hartmann

Jonathan Lynn as Mr. Petrich

NB: I watched this via the 2019 Second Sight UK Blu-Ray release and the picture is really fantastic (technical term there). So, if you were wondering, now you know; this is the copy to own.

The House That Dripped Blood is a British 1970s anthology horror movie from Amicus, and I make no bones about the fact that I am totally partial to that jam, pal. I grew up watching these movies, from a ridiculously unsuitable age, on Friday and Saturday nights with my mum while dad was down the pub. Their ridiculous delights are fused into my brain by the flame of nostalgia, more thoroughly even than those of ‘70s Jonah Hex comics. (And ‘70s Jonah Hex comics are pretty fused in there too. Tony DeZuniga; he da boy!). You came to the wrong place for impartiality, basically. The House That Dripped Blood is horrortastic.

Putting the lie to the spectacularly enticing title there is no actual blood in The House That Dripped Blood, but there is definitely a house. And it’s around this house that the four fear inducing stories revolve. But every proper portmanteau demands a framing device and so the movie starts with the arrival of uppity Inspector Holloway (John Bennett) who has been dispatched by Scotland Yard to investigate the disappearance of horror movie star Paul Henderson (Jon Pertwee) from The House That Dripped Blood. Obviously the house is never referred to as “The House That Dripped Blood” as that would put prospective tenants off; bit of a real estate tip there for you.

Unlike most police investigations, Bennett’s takes the form of people telling him far-fetched stories about the previous occupants as though this might give him a clue as to Henderson’s fate. It’s an interesting approach to policework. Luckily, Bennett, a copper singularly lacking in ratiocination, at no point even begins to wonder how exactly the people telling him the stories know what happened, since most of the people who could have told them end up dead or insane. The answer would be that these are a bunch of punchy shorts scripted by pulp wonder Robert Bloch and the house is just a big old McGuffin to hang them off. And learning that might be a bit too meta for a common movie plod to handle.

First up is Method for Murder wherein debonair horror author Charles Hillyer (Denholm Elliot) rents the house to get some peace in which to write another of his (apparently terrible) potboilers. Unnervingly Hillyer’s new opus concerning Dominic, a strangler with a bowl haircut and British Teeth©™®, starts to bleed into his reality, and the possibility that he may be losing his mind may not be the worst option on offer. Denholm Elliot (1922 – 1992) was never a star, but he was a fantastic actor all round; his particular forte was a kind of nervy self-assurance constantly on the cusp of crumbling into wild-eyed desperation. The kind of thing it takes a lengthy, poorly constructed sentence to describe in English but in German is probably encompassed by a single word that sounds like someone cheerfully stamping on chicken bones. Elliot’s very good at it, whatever it is, and he gets plenty of chance to demonstrate it here, as Bloch’s plotting turns the screws until he pops. Everyone else is very good, particularly Robert Lang as Dr. Andrews, who is the perfect oily 1970s personification of a psychiatrist. And it would be remiss of me to omit to mention Denholm Elliot’s superb salmon pink shirt. Personally, I find fashion is one of the finest characters in British ‘70s horror movies, and in The House That Dripped Blood fashion is on fine form.

As is soon apparent in Waxworks when Philip Grayson (the always marvellous Peter Cushing) sports a spellbindingly classy cravat and jacket affair. His gobstopper red smoking jacket is also quite special, but it’s the cravat ensemble which carries him through most of the episode and takes the trophy. This eerie creepster is about a retired financier who rents the house to brood while listening to records and looking at a photo of a woman from his past. When he isn’t posing by the weir in a melancholy way Philip walks into town where there are actual shops (this is before the Internet and 10 years of Tory government had reduced the English high street to charity shops, boarded up windows and Gregg’s The Bakers) and finds the world’s most morbid waxworks. Haunted by the display of Salome (who is supposed to look like the lady from his past; you have to take this on trust since the waxwork isn’t exactly life-like) Philip is visited by his old chum Neville (the ever forthright Joss Ackland), who has a penchant for neck scarves that resemble an acid trip made silk. Both men have the woman in common but prefer to elliptically skirt around the troublesome issue and pretend it doesn’t matter anymore; Bloch knows nobody does emotional cowardice quite like the English. Soon Neville meets Salome too and the blokes race each other to the horrific finish. Joss Ackland is great, obviously, but it’s worth noting that, as ever, Cushing puts in a performance far more moving and tragic than the material deserves, and so makes it sting all the more. Fans of ‘70s unconscious misogyny might risk getting all turgid since Waxworks is all about a woman who ruins men’s lives but doesn’t actually feature a real woman. Ultimately though such people will have to go home empty handed as it’s clearly the men doing it to themselves and blaming it on a woman, which is a pretty clever bait and switch by Bloch.

Bloch’s quietly understated intelligence is even better demonstrated by Sweets to the Sweet which looks like it’s about witchcraft but is actually about the damage a lack of love can do to a child. Widower John Reid (Christopher Lee) moves into the house so he can commute to the city and do his business in whatnot and whathaveyou and have his child Jane (Chloe Franks) home-schooled in a controlled environment. Reid is all about control and Christopher Lee is ideally suited to the role, bringing all his not inconsiderable clipped prissiness to bear without totally eliminating Reid’s humanity. Reid loves Jane but he also fears her. But why? (why does he fear her, not why does he love her; c’mon, people, work with me here). It’s a conundrum Jane’s newly appointed teacher Ann Norton (Nyree Dawn Porter) unwisely seeks to solve. Plenty in this one to chew on viz a viz kids, parental responsibility and the need to keep a close eye on candles and razor shavings. Probably enough for a dissertation in fact, but, putting the chalk and elbow patches to one side, it is mostly about witchcraft because that’s spooky fun; no one wants to watch an unvarnished 20 minute segment on the emotional abuse of a child in a horror movie. That’s what Home Alone (1990) is for.

Seeking to send the audience out into the ‘70s night to catch the last bus on a bit of a high, the final terror tale, The Cloak, spoofs about in an enjoyably goofy fashion. Prima-donna horror star Paul Henderson (Jon Pertwee) moves into the house to be near the filming of his new (apparently terrible; probably based on a script by Charles Hillyer) movie. Being a great believer in authenticity and disappointed by the cloak provided by the doddering wardrobe mistress,  Henderson sources a suitably eerie item of attire from Theo von Hartmann (Geoffrey Bayldon), a ridiculously freaky tat shop owner with a suspiciously Teutonic moniker. When wearing the cloak   Henderson’s portrayal of a vampire becomes a little bit too authentic for comfort and he learns a steep lesson in the Hollywood food chain from his comically pneumatic co-star Carla Lynde (Ingrid Pitt). It’s slight stuff but pretty funny with everyone camping it up like a cub scout sleep out will be arriving imminently (camping; tents; scouts; c’mon, folks). I vaguely recall reading that Pertwee claimed the whole movie was supposed to be in this mirthful mode, and that he based his character on co-star Christopher Lee, but didn’t tell Lee (obviously). If I ever get the time to wade through the multitude of extras on the Blu-ray maybe I’ll find confirmation. As it is, watching the movie was pleasure enough for now. But like I said I’m practically marinated in this stuff. Nevertheless I persist in the belief that people who haven’t been knocking about for half a century would still find something to enjoy in The House That Dripped Blood; even if it’s just that cracking picture quality.

[centaurianthropology]

The Magnus Archives ‘Zombie’ (S04E02) Analysis

A statement about the living dead might be a bit on the nose, but there’s more than just a scary story this week.  Things have happened over the six months Jon’s been out, and none of them seem good. Come on in to hear my thoughts about ‘Zombie’.

Aha, so we get a little more clarification about the Archival situation, and it’s … not good. Basira was the only person at this point who was both available and apparently capable of coming to deal with the aftermath of Oliver’s visit.  

It’s been six months.

Shit’s gone sideways.

In spite of Jon being all but dead for six months, he sounded surprisingly okay.  Hoarse, but with it.  Intact memory, fit enough he feels like he should be able to go right back to work, everything.  And after her encounter with Oliver, Georgie did not seem best pleased to find out how rapidly and completely Jon has recovered.  She was already rattled by a man who felt like the End, and now Jon’s apparently back from the dead?  I could definitely see how that had all her instincts up in arms.  The last person she saw come back from the dead was the cadaver, after all, and with an emissary of the End preceding him, I have to wonder if she didn’t think Jon was just the same.

Whatever it was, it was enough for Georgie to leave very quickly, refusing to hear much more than Jon’s insistences that he was fine.  For someone who had been by his side for six months, that’s a pretty strong reaction, and shows just how powerfully Oliver must have affected her. And her comment about this not feeling like a second chance definitely hit close to home.  Because it doesn’t.  It feels too deliberate, like something was holding Jon in stasis until it deemed him ready.  

Ready for what?  Well, that became quite quickly and horribly clear. Jon was barely awake five minutes before asking for the Statement that Basira conveniently thought to tuck into her bag.  Far too conveniently, to my mind, and yet another sign that the Beholding used Oliver as the catalyst to get Jon over the final hurdle, and to make him make his choice.

And when he started to record his statement, his sign-on had changed: “Recorded by Jonathan Sims, the Archivist.”

Not “Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London.”  Just the Archivist.  

Jon, prompted by Oliver, made his choice.   I don’t know if he realizes it yet, but he chose the Archivist.  He chose to be monster enough to live.  He fell into the Eye, and he gave himself over completely. What that means from here on out is anyone’s guess, but he knows when he’s near a statement.  He’s potentially even less interested in those around him than he was before.  What came back isn’t nearly as human as what went under six months ago.  Is there still enough of Jon in the Archivist to give him a fighting chance?  Damn I hope so.  

And to his credit, I think Jon hopes so too.  And it’s difficult to gauge how human Jon is just off interactions with other people, because Jon’s always been a self-centered prick.  Demanding the statement before he asked after the wellbeing of his coworkers could be down to Jon being Jon.  But the fact that his addiction’s been growing, and the fact that he only woke up when Oliver insisted he make a choice has me worried.

The statement itself didn’t help my concerns.  Having the statement come from someone who has great difficulty empathizing with others or understanding that they might feel and exist as deeply as she does seems to strike awfully close to home for Jon, whose defining character trait is his self-centered coldness.  I think that Jon likely also has difficulties empathizing with others, though he may also have difficulty empathizing with himself.  I think Jon has always been at a remove from the world, and the Beholding is tugging him further out.  Playing on natural tendencies.  He watches people, but he’s increasingly not a part of them.

But it’s also true that Jon’s not nearly as bad as the statement giver.  While he forgets to think of others, and tends toward stand-offish even when he’s trying to be kind, she has what feels a lot more like a disconnect that blossomed into a fixed delusion.  Fixed delusions are a single, delusional thought that someone gets into their head and they can’t make it leave.  In her case, it’s the shift from a difficulty in empathizing with others to a true belief that they are all philosophical zombies.  That she is the only person in the world who’s truly real, who can feel and experience life.  Even when she hurt people around her, she felt nothing, because they weren’t real enough to make her care.

That’s already a horrific mental place to be, but it seems that delusions are a siren song to the Spiral, because her stalker felt like something entirely different to her delusion. This was visual and auditory hallucinations (the Spiral’s stock in trade).  The horror of this comes not from the delusion, but the thought that something could prey on that delusion, making it more and more real until the person’s entire reality is consumed by it.  The Spiral would be just the sort to amp up her paranoia, convincing her that there truly was no life behind anyone’s eyes, and that the hollowness of the stalker was just the final touch to prove it.

Jon’s master, though cruel, at least isn’t playing on his perceptions so directly.  He’s able to assess himself to a certain degree, and he’s lucid enough to acknowledge that his self-assessment might well be skewed. He has no way of telling if he really is the same man who fell asleep six months ago.  He certainly seemed to go from half-dead to fully functional after the statement, which continues to bode ill.

That his first question to Basira was what had happened to him rather than the others also bodes ill. Particularly since he then answered his own question.  Interesting that he does remember the dream, which is disturbing.  

His reactions to the news about the others was also not terribly encouraging.  He seemed merely resigned and slightly, distantly sad that Tim was absolutely dead (they found a body), and that Daisy was likely dead (definitely not; she’ll be back, and I worry that Basira will wish she wasn’t). Even his reaction to Basira refusing to talk about Melanie barely rose to the level of distress.

The first real, emotional response she got out of him was with the news that Peter Lukas had potentially done something to Martin.  Finding out that Martin is no longer around the Archives much, but is instead stuck with Peter for unknown reasons got our first glimpse of something more than tired, sad Jon.  

We got anger.  His “What did he do to Martin?” was a proper growl, and his denial that Martin could be in league with Lukas seemed equally genuine. I’d like to say that I found it encouraging that at least Martin is still getting real, visceral reactions out of Jon (my stupid shippy heart would certainly appreciate it), but I’m worried it’s less a true attachment, and more the Archivist getting territorial.

Because Martin’s been bound to the Beholding for a decade.  He’s comfortable and happy with it in a way even Jon might not be.  The idea that the Lonely would try to steal him is an affront to the Beholding, and I worry that it’s the affront and not the caring driving Jon’s anger.

Finally, an odd note, but one that I found somehow even more concerning than Jon’s disconnect.  There was something in the way that Basira refused to let him see his old clothes and said that she’d get him new ‘better’ clothes that had me inexplicably on edge.  Maybe it was just that Basira never seemed the sort to care about fashion. Maybe that sort of snip would seem better suited to Melanie.  Maybe it’s the fact that, in telling him all this, Basira was absolutely and completely evasive about herself.

But it all left me with the sense that something is very wrong with Basira.  Just as wrong as things are with Martin and Melanie.  It’s true that she’s never talked about herself much, and she lost Daisy which will inevitably leave deep scars, but I get the feeling this goes deeper.  I just … really don’t like the notion that she wouldn’t let Jon have his old clothes. It makes me feel like there’s way more going on than meets the eye (no pun intended).  I can’t explain it better than that.

Conclusions

I’m now officially worried about everyone.  I’m worried that there’s more wrong with Basira than she’s letting on.  I’m worried that Melanie has gone to the Slaughter with a willing heart.  I’m worried about what sort of deal Martin’s made with Peter Lukas to keep everyone safe.

And I’m worried that Jon secretly doesn’t care about any of it.  I worry that he’s as numb as the statement giver was, and just trying to go through the motions of attachment.  The only hint we got from him that was anything more than tired sorrow at the fates of everyone involved in the end of last season was his “What did he do to Martin?” when he found out about Peter Lukas, and even that seems suspect.

I hope I’m wrong.  I hope that Jon is just being Jon, and that he does care, even if it’s at a remove.  I hope that he’s in shock from how wrong everything has gone, and it was just the news about Martin that was the first thing that really snapped him out of it.  I hope Jon comes into the Archives fighting mad and wanting to get those few people left to him back.  Whether it’s the Archivist or Jon himself, those people can only help, and he can help them.

I don’t know what’s gone wrong with everyone, but I get the feeling we’ll be spending the first good chunk of the season finding out, and dealing with it.

[screwcool-a]

"barbara's blood is on your hands."

SHE   KNOWS .                        she  can  see  it  when  she  looks  down ,  feel  it  dripping  from  her  own  fingertips .  it  lingers  there  still   –––   she  knows ,  she  knows .  she  nods ,  eyes  straining  as  she  tries  to  keep  herself  steady ,  a  hand  moving  to  grab  onto  jonathan’s .  it’s  instinct  which  pulls  her  towards  him ,  so  much  so  she  forgets  herself  for  a  moment .  forgets  where  they  are .  NO ,  not  forget  ––––  she  couldn’t  forget .  she  couldn’t  escape  the  reality  of  an  empty  casket  being  lowered  before  her .  she  couldn’t  escape  the  sound  of  mrs.  holland’s  muffled  sobs ,  the  same  kind  of  noise  nancy  had  heard  a  few  times  before  when  her  and  barbara  stayed   up  late  just  talking  and  crying  about  the  cruelty  of  teenage  boys .  it  was  the  very  same  –––  she  never  noticed  that .  she  wondered ,  briefly ,  mind  floating ,  whether  herself  and  karen  cried  in  the  same  way ,  but  left  the  thought  alone  after  a  short  second ,  and  settled  once  again  in  the  current . 

she  wouldn’t  cry .                it  wasn’t  that  she  couldn’t ,  but  she  wouldn’t .  she  felt  it  once ,  the  urge ,  but  it  was  a  quick  swallow  and  a  curt  breath  in  that  solidified  her  stance  and  she  continued ,  then ,  to  breathe  steadily .  it  helped ,  now ,  that  she  felt  his  hand  against  hers .  but  she  didn’t  want  to  do  that .  she  felt  silly  for  it .  but  more  than  that  ––  it  was  sharp ,  the  sudden  fear  that  sprung  through  her  chest .  she  let  go  of  his  hand  as  the  thought  slapped  her  :  YOU’RE  THE  REASON  HIS  HANDS  ARE  BLOODY ,  TOO .  you’re  only  pulling  him  down  with  you .  like  you  had  steve .  the  things  you  touch  turn  red .  red .   your  touch  is  rotting . 

that’s  what  had  happened  to  barbara ,  too .  only  she  paid  her  price  ten  times  over .  she  was  reminded  of  that  now ,  as  she  stared  at  her  best  friend’s  gravestone ,  at  the  grass  which  withered  to  a  yellowish  color  beside  it .  her  lip  quivered  but  she  bit  it  back  once  again ,  deep  inhale .   she  wouldn’t  steady  herself  with  jonathan’s  hand  again .  not  again .  she  couldn’t  let  him  wrap  himself  up  in  her  grief ,  which  was  spreading ,  which  was  a  disease   –––––––––––   i’m  sorry ,   barbara .  the  words  asked  to  come  out  but  she  kept  mute .  i’m  sorry ,  steve .  she  had  caught  a  glance  of  him  before  but  couldn’t  tear  her  gaze  to  look  towards  him ,  now .  she  felt  the  return  of  jon’s  hand ,  some  action  taken  by  him  that  turned  her  head  ever  so  slightly  towards  him .    it  was  such  bad  news ,  then .   i  think  i  love  you ,  jonathan .     /      i’m  so  sorry ,  jonathan  . 

the  last  one  came  with  a  putrid  bitterness  to  it .  she  knew  she  was  going  to  ruin  it .  soon .   she  wasn’t  sure  how ,  but  she  was  sure  of  it .  that  the  people  she  loves  should  be  stained  by  her  own  horrific  fingers  was  a  given ,  by  now .  there  was  no  doubt  to  it .  BARBARA’S  BLOOD  IS  ON  YOUR  HANDS .   she   knows .           ––           she  knows .

[shazyloren]

The Dragon Club: Chapter 20 - Nerves and Clothes

Link: http://archiveofourown.org/works/12018519/chapters/27749457

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Jon's stomach was in a knot as he arrived once again at Valyrian headquarters. You got this, he kept telling himself, a sense of deja vu creeping into him as he remembered the first time he ever came to this building. Daenerys had been unknown to him; someone he'd never thought about, and now everything was so different. His whole life had changed in a matter of six weeks. He'd come to find such compassion and kindness in her; and it scared him slightly at how easy he'd reached this conclusion.

"By the Seven" He muttered as he parked his car in the underground parking and turned the ignition off. Leaning his head against the rest he closest his eyes for a moment, it had seemed a lifetime since he last saw that silver hair, those violet eyes and that small frame. But in reality it had only been ten days.

Muttering to himself he got out the seat and began retrieving the stuff out of his car boot. His camera and lighting equipment, hauling it all onto his shoulders before locking the car door. With two bags in his hands he made his way into Valyrian building and signed in with the receptionist (who shamelessly flirted with him for the duration of his short stop there). He entered the lift and waited.

He took a deep breath, in and out. He'd longed to see her, to be around her wit and intelligence. Inhaling sharply, he held onto the memory of his fleeting kiss on her cheek. He let it feel his sensed, remembering the smell of coconuts. The faint whiff of alcohol, all mixed together. She had tasted sweet too.

As his brain decided it needed to stay calm or it wasn't going to function properly, the elevator arrived on the top floor. The doors open and there she stood, waiting for him. He felt his confidence leave his body, she was steely gazed, a small smile starting to form on her mouth. "Jon"

"Daenerys" He stepped out of the elevator and walked to only a feet or two between them. "You ready?"

"Always" She beamed. She signed for Jon to follow her as they went into her office, a scene he knew all too well. This was where she'd decided she'd wanted her photos taken, it was more homely she'd told Jon. He'd noted that the office had changed slightly, a new bookshelf had been installed next to the violin with a few novels and decorative pieces on it. There was a few more paintings too; Jon liked it. A lot less surgical. "Well, I need to go get ready in the next room; I'll leave you to set up"

"One thing" Jon said stopping her from going away. "About our... date" She raised an eyebrow. "Tomorrow?"

"We'll see, Jon Snow" She had a glisten in her eyes which one again made them look like they were purple flames dancing in the night. Jon could get lost in them. Daenerys promptly winked at him before walking out of the room.

Wondering whether Daenerys would end up being the death of him, Jon set up his lights in the far corners opposite the desk. It was a spacious desk and Jon had to chastise himself for a small image of Daenerys laid across the desk. This is neither the time or place for that Jon, he bitterly thought. Another half an hour and he was all good to go; that was when both Missandei and Daenerys entered the room. Jon felt his throat tighten at the sight of her.

A floral bustier that fell into a dress with a slit up the side. There was a brown belt with gold studding and black heels which looked so shin it was as if they'd been polished on her feet. Her hair fell into loose curls all around her but one side, her left, was tucked behind her ear. It was a heavenly sight. Missandei looked great too. A maxi skirt of different colours and a yellow and black camo crop top. Her hair was in it's natural afro. His eye kept glancing at Dany's physique in the dress, he couldn't get over how good her legs looked.

He had to shake his thoughts however, it was photo time. He took several good pictures over the next hour, some of Dany leant against her desk, some of her looking out of her window, even one of her playing the violin. Missandei was a natural, while he had to be a little more encouraging with Daenerys. She glowered at him a few times which only made him laugh. He then caught the photo he'd been looking for; the light from the early spring sun seeped through the window and illuminated her silver hair, she was smiling and looking down. Missandei was stood next to her, throwing her head back, shoulders shaking as Jon made a horrific pun to set them off. That was it, that was the cover shot he'd been waiting for.

"That's great, ladies" Jon clicked away on his camera, praying they would look good. "I do have something to ask..."

"No more horrendous puns!" Missandei demanded as she held her sides from laughing.

"My puns are great" Jon said pretending to be offended. "I don't want my photos retouching or photoshopping or airbrushing. My work is my work and I've never photoshopped any of my photos and nor do I want to"

"But, my smile lines..." Missandei said with a sour face.

"Are beautiful as they are and your millions of readers will agree" Jon shrugged. "We all smile"

Daenerys hadn't said anything, she was just staring at Jon, confusion creeping on her face. Jon shrugged again before he began to pack away some of his equipment, he still had the interviews to do and that would take another hour (providing Daenerys didn't kick him out). Missandei nodded, understanding. He hoped that when she saw them she'd understand. Missandei went to get some water as people came and went from the room now the photoshoot was over, letting dany know certain issues. She still had a business to run even with the cover shoot.

It gave Jon time to think about what he was going to do on a date with Daenerys; something that excited her. Not too romantic, she wasn't the type and a first date wasn't the place for a steamy one to one (not that Jon wouldn't like that). There was a place he took Ygritte sometimes, Rhaenys hill, near the ruined Draguna amphitheatre where you could see the whole of King's Landing.

"You continue to be a surprise, Mr. Snow" Jon looked up to see Dany stood smiling.

"I try not to be" He said, folding light stands away and winding up cables.

"A man who is okay with our flaws" Dany grinned. "Perhaps you're a keeper"

"Perhaps" He grinned too. "You ready to be grilled?"

"In a second, I wanted to talk to you first" Daenerys said getting a little closer, Jon struggling to concentrate on anything but her leg which was peeking out of the slit in her dress. Jon tore his eyes away and stood up to meet her gaze. he felt the connection and now knowing she did he couldn't help but feel his chest swell. "What made you invite me to that wedding?"

"I'm sorry?"

"I've been trying to get my head around it" Daenerys said honestly. "You probably have women swarming you, yet you asked me"

"I don't have women swarming me" Jon blushed. "And I didn't necessarily ask you, my sister and her husband coerced me into being a man that leaves the house on the odd occasion" He felt a heat flush his face. "I'm a quiet man, but when I'm around you, it's like I'm this whole other person. Arya recognised it and said I had a plus one and should invite you, I think they knew before I did that I liked you. I was unsure, thought you might reject me, thought perhaps... you'd not want any further contact, I don't know"

"Do you have no self confidence?" She asked quietly.

"Sometimes, sometimes I hate myself" He smiled. "I hate myself for not keeping my damn mouth shut in our first interview"

"Believe me, I'm over that" She said, putting a hand on his shoulder. "You're a good man, my life was just the daily grind until you walked this way. You've flipped my life on it's head, I'm doing things I've never done before. I went food shopping in a gown for god sakes!"

"That wasn't really my doing" Jon chortled.

"No, but you make me think outside the box, think of something different" Dany's lips were very pink, Jon's thoughts turned very raunchy as he imagined them doing many things... but he needed to stop it, he couldn't do the interviews while fantasizing about her.

"I'm glad I can help" He whispered softly, almost just a small breath. Dany shivered notably and Jon couldn't help but smirk. "I wasn't going to come to your dinner, then sansa persuaded me, I think you may have to thank my sisters for stealing my phone at every opportunity"

"Stealing your phone?" she asked, her brow creasing.

"Yeah" Jon didn't know how to say what he wanted. "I'm not the most... ever since Y-Ygritte I've not been able to, communicate with women well. I just get nervous and ultimately never bother texting them if I get their number. I think they'd had enough of me feeling sorry for myself all the time, they want me to move on from her but it's hard you know. So they stole my phone and helped craft a text to you that didn't sound stupid or... conceited or weird"

"Jon Snow" Daenerys laughed. "You're an adorable puppy, having your sisters text me for you"

"Not by choice, by force" He laughed.

"what happened to the confident reporter that came into my office the day we met?"

"When I'm doing my job it's different. But when I'm falling for someone..." Jon trailed off as if he had said to much. Daenerys had a shocked look on her face, her eyes alight with surprise. He hadn't even wanted to say that, it had just slipped out. Well done, idiot, now she's gonna think you're madly in love with her!

"Jon, I don't..."

"Don't say anything, I get it. I shouldn't have opened my mouth, sorry" Jon sighed as he looked down at his own feet. She didn't feel for him in that way, she liked him, but it wasn't as intense as he liked her. Jon felt disappointment and self pity surge through his body. "I should get this interview done, so I can write your article"

And without looking at her directly again, he conducted the interviews before packing his stuff away and muttering a small 'bye' before getting in the elevator and leaving his feelings behind in the office of Daenerys Targaryen.

[centaurianthropology]

The Magnus Archives ‘Web Development’ (S04E03) Analysis

A spooky Web in the web, and a return to anything but normal.  Something tells me that the journey of the Archival staff is going to be a long one from here, and none of them are in a good place.  Come on in to hear what I have to say about ‘Web Development’.

So we got a little more context for what’s happened in the six months Jon’s been in a coma.  It seems that, given that the Beholding has NEVER taken a shot at a ritual (really?), and may be one of the few that hasn’t at least made the effort, every other power sat up and took notice. Which meant that the Archives specifically, and the Magnus Institute in general has been under siege.  The Flesh at least has made one attempt on the Archives, largely defeated by Melanie.

And Melanie really isn’t doing well at all.  She’s unstable, furious, disbelieving that Jon could possibly be himself, and seemed to barely keep from killing him outright.  Her fall to the Slaughter seems to be progressing very fast indeed, likely egged on by the necessity that she do any monster headed their way violence. Losing Tim and Daisy also hit her hard, and she’s jealously guarding the few people she has left.  And it seems like she views Jon as a threat as well.

And Melanie isn’t the only one giving themselves over to another power in order to keep the Archives safe.  I would imagine that even the ‘safety’ they’re afforded now is being bought by Martin’s continued work with Peter Lukas, who has extended the Lonely’s protection over the staff of the Institute in Elias’ absence.  

But in turn, not only are the various departments being put into less and less contact with one another—effectively isolating the Archival staff even more—but Martin himself is being taken away.  He’s the only direct emissary to Peter, and all other communication is done through email. It’s interesting that, when we recall Peter’s appearances in the show thus far, they have been exclusively around Elias or Martin.  I think Peter marked Martin out as an easy target well before his takeover, and I wouldn’t be surprised if Martin wasn’t part of the arrangement between himself and Elias.  

Martin might not even know Jon is back yet, or could know, but may have been instructed to stay away from him lest dire consequences happen.  It’s good to know that Basira, at least, doesn’t blame Martin for what’s happening, and even seems to understand that he and Melanie are doing very similar things to keep her and Jon safe, albeit in very different ways.

And speaking of Basira, it was worrisome exactly HOW detached she really seems to be.  It may be the grief of Melanie’s death or the shock of so much horror happening at once, but her equanimity is setting off alarm bells in my head.  The fact that she doesn’t know what to do about Melanie, and isn’t bothering to try, that she’s essentially holed herself up in the Archives and seems willing to let whatever horrific things might play out to those around her proceed without interference is also worrisome.

She’s been around the Beholding for a while, with a natural affinity for the power.  And I worry that Basira, like the others, is succumbing to a Power, but hers is the Beholding.  It’s urging dispassion, observation, standing back and letting things play out with as much emotional involvement as a scientist watching bacteria grow and die on a plate.  I don’t even know if she realizes that’s what’s happening to her, but I’m almost 100% convinced that it is.  Because she’s always been self-contained, but this detachment?  It reminds me of Gertrude.

Jon, at least, seems fully emotionally engaged, which is a relief after last week.  His consternation that Melanie would be angry at him for a six-month coma, his shock that she would hate him so much she would threaten him physically (something even Tim never did), and the growling anger that Martin seems to be voluntarily working with Peter Lukas all do speak to emotional engagement, albeit that very specific, very selfish engagement that is Jon all over.

After my worries last week that the Archivist is stronger in him now, this is at least somewhat comforting. His jealousy over Martin’s current predicament might still also be influenced by the Archivist, and the Beholding’s possessive attitude toward Martin.  Because while Jon certainly seems concerned about Melanie’s state of mind, he doesn’t seem jealous that she’s being stolen by the Slaughter.  The jealousy seems far more related to Martin. Maybe that’s because the Beholding’s had Martin for a decade, while it never really had its hooks into Melanie properly.  Maybe it’s because Jon is just realizing he has more of a personal connection with Martin than he thought he did, and Melanie he just doesn’t know as well.  I think it’s mostly likely a bit of both. Jon and the Archivist are blended in a way they weren’t previously, so much so that its influence on him will be insidious.  Change him in subtle ways rather than obvious ones.  

But Melanie knows he’s different.  Georgie knew it too.  This is Jon, but it’s Jon with new bits tacked on, and for those people who either knew Jon before or who are primed to sniff out the differences, this man who’s come back is pinging all of their alarms.

We’ll have to see how everything plays out, because it seems that the team is stuck together for the long haul.  If these attacks on the Archives are as common as Basira implies, they won’t be going home often.  Jon and Melanie’s conflict can’t possibly be dealt with so easily, if only because they can’t help but remain in proximity.  And if Basira isn’t interested in helping them sort things out, it may be down to Jon to be diplomatic and empathetic.

Because that’s not guaranteed to end in disaster.

As for the statement itself, it’s classic web, though it’s interesting that it seems to also be a bit of technology too.  The notion that the next fear will be technological isn’t confirmed by any means, but I still thought of it, given the context.  

But this is almost certainly the Web, given the secretive website that moves around with gibberish in its code, its demand for stories to be spun and given to it in exchange for killing someone—and apparently those who fail to satisfy whatever entity receives the stories will mete out a cruel fate to those who wrote the story.  At least, that is if the thing that Angie and Greg encountered under the street lamp, filled to brimming with spiders and screaming in pain, is any indication.  It also very much sounded like the person who hired Greg may have been Annabel Caine.  

And of course, Carlos Vittery, he of the spider that wouldn’t go away, is back in the story, as his name appeared on the list.  It’s very possible that he died because someone submitted his name and a story that met with the approval of the ‘story-spinner’.  

And much like previous victims of the Web, once snared Greg couldn’t help but go deeper and deeper, his own passivity lending him excuses, but the compulsion to serve also still there. This almost-hypnosis is very much another hallmark of the Web.

But what really interested me was the demand for stories.  This doesn’t feel like a Web thing so much as a Beholding thing.  That got me wondering if the spiders don’t live in the tunnels under the Institute because they also feed on stories, albeit in a very different way.  For one thing, it doesn’t sound like the Web requires a story to be true to feed on it. In fact, given the Web’s nature, I would wonder if the ‘discredited’ stories that we don’t hear on the podcast are actually what are feeding the web.  All those lies and half-truths and delusions are feeding it.  It makes the Web a bit of a scavenger, which I think also fits its tendency to play all other Powers off and against one another.

Of another interesting note, I tried looking up Calisari, but the best I could find online was Călușari, a Romanian secret society that performed a dance called the căluș which involved the impression that they could fly.  This was to imply the flight of fairies, and their leader was called the Queen of the Fairies.  Despite this name, the group was apparently male-only, and often thought of as disturbed. I’m not sure if this ties into the name or not, but that’s what I found.  I couldn’t find information during my brief Wikipedia foray on their beliefs or reasons for being a secret society.  Just that they were dancers who liked to imitate flight.

What this has to do with the Web, if anything, is a mystery to me.

Conclusions

“I wish I could talk it through with Martin … or Tim, or Sasha.  But we never really did that, did we?  Everything’s changed.  Two days out of a coma, and I’m already tired.”

And in one line, I was destroyed.  Thanks Jonny, I didn’t need those feels anyway.  

While the statement was a solid bit of spooky fiction, Jon’s reality seems more and more desolate. Everyone he used to rely on isn’t available now.  Georgie’s stepped back, Basira seems to only want to interact with him at a great emotional distance, Melanie wants to hurt him if he’s in the same room as she is, and Martin’s just … gone.  I would say that last one is Jon’s best hope for reestablishing a connection, but we don’t know what the Lonely has done to Martin at this point.

But he is the person Jon keeps mentioning first.  He’s the one that Jon shows real anger about losing, even moreso than Tim or Daisy. The reasons for this are probably tangled up in the Archivist, but a part of it is also clearly that Martin is the last speck of Jon’s life before the horror he’s got left.  Martin, who was always sweet and considerate, who brought him tea and sandwiches.  Martin, who Jon must know by now was in love with him.  May still be in love with him.

And as for Jon’s feelings on the matter, I doubt he knows.  As much as Jon knows his wants and needs, he’s almost at the same remove from his emotions as Basira is to everyone else’s.  But he does dwell, and so I would think that would be the relationship he wants to start with rebuilding.  Tracking down Martin is likely not to be easy, but given Jon’s depression and isolation, I think it’s necessary.  After that, trying to break through to Basira and Melanie might be easier with two people working at it.