#and the left is from when jon is falling and gets his statement

[niinnyu]

mike crew 🥺🙏

The most polite of the many Micheals (he's not)

[forgetyoursingalongsandlullabies]

I’m kind of obsessed with the Jonmartin timeline and how Jon slowly fell in love with Martin, mostly off tape over seasons 2 and 3. I wrote a little bit of an essay trying to pinpoint the shifts and moments when we can tell something has changed. I love fanfics but I am just so interested in trying to figure out what happened in canon as close as possible. Of course this does involve speculation of emotions that we have no way of actually knowing because Jon Sims does not talk about his feelings.

Anyway it’s long-ish.

Jon fell in love with Martin over season 2 but didn’t start to realize it until late season 3 just before The Unknowing.

Martin starts the show with a crush on Jon. In MAG 22 when Martin makes his statement about the worms Jon feels guilty over how all of the pressure he’s put Martin under drives him to put himself in danger and he has Martin move into the archives to protect him which may be the first caring gesture he has made towards Martin but it’s a big one. Martin, who had a decent size crush on Jon beforehand, is blown away by this and his crush becomes a real big one.

Jon tries to continue being hard on Martin but he does noticeably soften towards him. His criticisms are half-hearted.

During Jane Prentice’s attack when Martin and Jon are in document storage Martin calls Jon out and properly snaps at him for dismissing the supernatural and Jon actually sees Martin in this moment for the first time. Martin had never talked back to him in such a way and Jon can now see him as not just his assistant who makes a lot of mistakes but as an equal who might know better than him in some aspects. They have their heart to heart and Jon is able to be honest for the first time since taking this job. He admits he’s scared and it’s okay, well it’s not okay because Jane Prentice might be moments away from killing them, but Martin doesn’t think any less of him. And then Jon asks if Martin is a ghost and he’s wrong and it was stupid but Martin makes fun of him in a way that doesn’t hurt and Jon isn’t used to that. And Martin, seeing this open and fragile and slightly dumb part of Jon, starts falling in love.

After Martin finds Gertrude’s body Jon is one track minded and focused on finding out what happened. Martin, giving his statement about the tunnels, is in tears not because he found a body and was scared, but because he accidentally left Jon. Jon was too distracted with finding answers at the moment but he heard it and absorbed it over time.

Season 2 Jon is full of nothing but paranoia and is unwilling to trust anyone but it’s his obsessive observations that lead him to getting to know Martin enough to love him. When Jon tries to come back from leave early Martin forces Jon to go home and rest more. Jon wonders what Martin is hiding but reasons that, no Martin is actually concerned about his health. Jon thinks Martin gave him a fake jar of ashes to calm him down, he doesn’t seem to think this gesture is part of a conspiracy, he genuinely thinks of this gesture as Martin lying to him to make him feel better. Jon notes that Martin has been very attentive to his needs and recovery and that he is interested to hear Jon’s theories about Gertrude. He remarks that he has observed Martin’s competence and cunning. Of course Jon is ridiculously paranoid and interprets this attention as some kind of plot against him to slow down his investigation and sees these positive attributes of Martin as reasons to see him as a threat, but again, Jon is absorbing it all. The lines in Jon’s supplementals about Martin’s attention to him implies that they’re spending a lot of time together off tape, at least more than they ever used to, probably at Martin’s insistence and Jon accepting this time by justifying to himself that he needs to watch Martin.

In MAG 53 Jon mentions that Martin hovers near him when he goes to the canteen and Martin says it’s because he’s concerned (based on Jon’s lie about how he got the cut from Michael). Martin offers to pick up a sandwich from the cafe and bring it back for Jon. He doesn’t ask Jon to come with him and Jon acts like he’s annoyed to be around Martin when he sits with him in the canteen, but Jon decides, No instead of me refusing the gesture for food or saying yes please pick up that sandwich for me, he says “I’ll come with” making another decision to spend time with Martin when he doesn’t have to. Maybe Jon tries to justify this to himself again by saying he’s keeping an eye on Martin but Jon has made no efforts to go spend extra time with Tim, who was an equal suspect, even before Tim was mad at Jon. (And may I add, if Jon tried this tactic with Tim, going out to lunch, watching him by spending time with him etc. maybe Tim wouldn’t have ended up being so angry with Jon.) But Jon is definitely making the effort to spend time with Martin when it frankly has nothing to do with his investigation no matter how he tries to spin it.

In MAG 56 when Jon makes Martin tell him what he’s been hiding and he finds out Martin had lied on his CV he is so relieved that he is giddy. He is smiling, laughing and stuttering. To Jon’s ‘rational’ mind this doesn’t fully clear Martin of suspicion but emotionally this really seems to be a weight off of his shoulders. On a subconscious level he can start to allow the time they’ve spent together to mean something other than just spying.

Meanwhile Martin can see what a hard time Jon is having and he can see him spinning out of control with paranoia and Martin tries really hard to defend him, maybe not the best thing, we know Martin is a bit of an enabler for Jon, but for Jon’s emotional arc of falling in love with Martin it is important that Jon hears Martin defending him to Tim in MAG 58. Martin never stops calling Jon out on his shit like when he tells Jon that he needs to talk to Tim and that Tim isn’t wrong but nowadays it feels like everyone is constantly calling Jon out, not that he doesn’t deserve it, but when Martin calls him out it’s still clear that he cares, whereas anyone else talking to Jon just seems to speak to him with malice.

At the beginning of season 3 Jon is hiding out and staying at Georgie’s place. We know from Season 4 MAG 149 that Jon used to go on about Martin to Georgie “a lot”. Georgie got the full story about The Archives in MAG 93 and Jon decides to move out of Georgie’s place in MAG 99 when he was then kidnapped by The Circus. There’s usually a week of time that passes between episodes unless otherwise implied and 93 and 94 take place over the same conversation on the same day so I’ll assume 5 weeks in which Jon was going on about Martin a lot with full context. He probably talked about him before then too only more cryptically. Importantly though in the Season 4 Q&A Alex asks, Who knew that Jon liked Martin first, Jon or Martin? And Jonny said “Georgie” so even though Jon didn’t know it yet, he was obviously smitten (at least obvious to Georgie who has dated Jon and recognizes signs of affection and romance in him more than anyone else would).

When Jon talks to Martin in MAG 102 there is a very slight almost imperceptible sweetness in Jon’s voice that we’ve never heard before. The way he assures Martin that it’s ok that he didn’t know he was kidnapped. There is a lot of awkwardness and frankly a lot of heavy breathing from both of them for probably just standing there. Their casual talk about the overall institute and Hannah who is having her baby and had that thing with the milk in the break room last year, Jon doesn’t know who she is but Martin knows that Jon knows her probably because they had been around her together since they spent so much time together last year but Jon was too paranoid and she had nothing to do with the plot, it’s just a very normal and domestic moment. Jon tells Martin he knows he’s been reading statements and Martin is just worried Jon will be jealous that he’s taking some of his job but instead Jon is just concerned for him. It’s different and they both know it’s different and they can both feel the conversation is charged with something but they don’t know what. “It’s not too late. Unless the world ends” means a lot in this conversation, yes it does literally mean it’s not too late for them to talk and continue whatever friendship they were stumbling towards in season 2. It’s not too late for them to pick up this weird, oddly charged and tender conversation that may be leading somewhere else. It’s also foreshadowing that it sort of is too late because their world will end when Jon effectively dies stopping the Unknowing.

By MAG 114 Jon says that he has listened to all of the tapes and has therefore heard the gossip about he and Martin. I think something clicked in his brain when he heard that Martin has a crush on him. He probably never considered that idea because things like romance are never on the forefront of his mind especially when he is in active danger, which he has been for the last 2 years, and even more so he wouldn’t expect someone to have feelings for him in general. Being conscious of the notion that Martin has feelings for him lead him to consider all of the strange feelings he’s been having about Martin over the last year and a half in a way that he might not have gotten to on his own until much later. It’s all part of the plan that Jon suggests Martin stay back at the Institute in front of Elias but Jon is genuinely relieved that Martin will be safer there.

In MAG 117 Jon talks about Daisy and Basira’s bond and how he’s been having to do everything by himself. He’s envious of their bond and we can tell he’s been thinking about how things could be if he had someone (Martin) by his side. I don’t think this part of his testament would have played out this way had he not been thinking a lot since he heard the tape. When he addresses the “office gossip” he is flustered. Possibly embarrassed that Georgie, who he trusts, was giving out this personal information to Melanie but I actually think he’s used to that specific type of gossip about him and I think that the nervous stutter and searching for words comes from trying to address the other part of the gossip, which he is still trying to wrap his head around.

It isn’t confirmed but I do think that Jon listened to everyone’s testimony before leaving and he heard Martin’s “I need him to be ok”. Later in MAG 139 Jon says “I need him to be okay. I just do.” I don’t think he’s consciously repeating the same phrase but I think this phrase has lived with him ever since he heard Martin say it and now it’s just organic to Jon too.

I genuinely do believe that at this point, as of MAG 117, all of Jon’s feelings for Martin are already there and internally he has at least accepted romantic feelings even if he wouldn’t have called it love then.

Jon is put in a 6 month coma the next night and is in a full tilt romantic arc the moment he wakes up. Not 20 minutes after waking from his coma he wants to see Martin, he’s surprised that Martin wasn’t there for him the moment he woke up. Maybe if you asked him the next day he’d say it was a silly notion for him to just expect Martin to be there at any given point no matter when he woke up, but a part of him accepted and knew that if Martin could have he would have been there.

Anyway, all this is to say that if he woke up from a coma desperately in love with Martin all of those feelings had to have been present before the coma. I know there was a lot more thought and consideration and emotional work that Jon had to do over season 4 before he could have been ready for his love to literally save Martin but all of the feelings were there by the time he woke up.

[aita-blorbos]

(Spoilers for Magnus Archives)

AITA for burning my childhood house down

Hello, Jon.

Apologies for the deception, but I wanted to make sure you started reading, so I thought it best not to announce myself.

I’m assuming you’re alone; you always did prefer to read your statements in private. (slightly strained) I wouldn’t try too hard to stop reading; there’s every likelihood you’ll just hurt yourself. So just listen.

Now, shall we turn the page and try again?

WIBTA for starting the apocalypse

I hope you’ll forgive me the self-indulgence, but I have worked so very hard for this moment, a culmination of two centuries of work. It’s rare that you get the chance to monologue through another, and you can’t tell me you’re not curious.

Why does a man seek to destroy the world?

It’s a simple enough answer: for immortality and power. Uninspired, perhaps, but – my god. The discovery, not simply of the dark and horrible reality of the world in which you live, but that you would quite willingly doom that world and confine the billions in it to an eternity of terror and suffering, all to ensure your own happiness, to place yourself beyond pain and death and fear.

It is an awful thing to know about yourself, but the freedom, Jon, the freedom of it all. I have dedicated my life to handing the world to these Dread Powers all for my own gain, and I feel… nothing but satisfaction in that choice.

I am to be a king of a ruined world, and I shall never die.

I believe there are far more people in this world that would take that bargain than you would ever guess. And I have beaten all of them.

Of course, this desire did not manifest overnight. When RS (87, M) first gathered our little band – L, S, and the rest – to discuss and hypothesize on the nature of the things he had learned from R, I felt what I believe we all felt: curiosity, and fear.

But as he compiled his taxonomy and codified his theories on the grand rituals, I began to develop a very specific concern. RS was so obsessed with his ideas on balance, even as our fellows began to experiment and fall to the service of our patrons.

I began to worry that if one of them successfully attempted their ritual, then I would be as much a victim as any, trapped in the nightmare landscape of a twisted world.

At first, I attempted prevention, but the cause seemed hopeless. The only way to ensure I did not suffer the tribulations of what I believed to be an inevitable transformation was to bring it about myself. So what began as an experiment soon became a race.

Beyond that, I was getting older, and mortality began to weigh more heavily on my mind. How much in this world is done because we fear death, the last and greatest terror?

I convinced RS to work on Millbank, leading him to design it as a temple to all the Fears in equilibrium, such that my own modifications to the design of the Panopticon went… unremarked.

It. Took. Years. for the dread of the prisoners to fully suffuse the place, and I was an old man before I made my first attempt at the Watcher’s Crown, sat in the center of that colossal eye, the great ring of cells encircling me like a coronet.

It was… flawed, of course, as all RS’s rituals were, and none of the inmates survived as the power I attempted to harness shook the building almost to pieces, and the murky swamp upon which the prison was built consumed it.

But it left me a gift: For sat in that watchtower, I could see everything I turned my mind to.

It was a dizzying power, and one I discovered I maintained even as I found vessels to extend my life. Of course, I had to make sure the location was kept under my control while I worked on revising my plans, and so I moved the organization I had founded to assist in my research down to London, and the Institute as you know it was born.

I’ll not bore you with details of my bodies and failures through those intervening years. Suffice to say I kept busy, both planning my own next attempt, and doing my best to stymie those others who tried versions of their own.

Surely my interpretation of the Watcher’s Crown had been incomplete; there had been some element of the ritual I had overlooked.

It was not until I met G (70, F) that things began to really come into focus.

You see, the role of Archivist has been part of the Beholding for as far back as my research can go. This isn’t uncommon for the Powers; most of the beliefs around them are guesswork and fallible human interpretation, but there are certain throughlines and consistencies that can be spotted, regardless of the trappings.

But G was unlike any other Archivist. She simply did not care about compiling experiences or collecting the fears of others. She was driven to stop those who served the Powers.

More than once I thought she must secretly be of the Hunt – but there was never that sick joy in her, that thrill of predator and prey. She had simply decided that this was her position in life, and went about it with a practicality that even I found disconcerting at times.

I once asked her what drove her, what had started her down that path. She told me the Desolation had killed her cat.

I don’t know if she was joking, and, to be honest, I could never bring myself to look into her mind and find out for sure.

In any case, G’s ruthless efficiency in derailing and collapsing rituals threw into stark relief a question that had been bothering me for almost a hundred and fifty years: In the whole span of humanity, why had nobody ever succeeded?

Perhaps there were a long line of G throughout history, but I found that hard to credit. Could it be, then, that there was something in the very concept of the rituals that meant they couldn’t succeed?

She was clearly having similar thoughts in that last year, all of which culminated with the People’s Church.

When I saw that she was making no preparations whatsoever to stop it, I realized she was putting into practice a theory, and one she couldn’t afford to be wrong. She was going to wait, and see if the unopposed ritual succeeded, or if it collapsed under its own strain as mine had all those years ago.

Knowing G, I’m sure she had a backup plan if she had miscalculated – but she had not. The ritual failed. And all at once, I realized what had to be done.

You see, the thing about the Fears is that they can never be truly separated from each other. When does the fear of sudden violence transition into the fear of hunted prey? When does the mask of the Stranger become the deception of the Spiral?

Even those that seem to exist in direct opposition rely on each other for their definition as much as up relies on down.

To try and create a world with only the Buried makes as much sense as trying to conceive a world with only down.

Every ritual tied itself so closely to a single power as to render itself impossible. They could bring their patron close, but never sever it from the others, and eventually it would be violently pulled back into the place next to reality where they dwell.

The solution, then, is simple: A new ritual must be devised which will bring through all the Powers at once. All fourteen, as I had hoped I could complete it before any new powers such as Extinction were able to fully emerge. All under the Eye’s auspices, of course. We mustn’t forget our roots.

And there was only one being that could possibly serve as a lynchpin for this new ritual: The Archivist. A position that had so recently become vacant, thanks to G’s ill-timed retirement plans.

Because the thing about the Archivist is that – well, it’s a bit of a misnomer.

It might, perhaps, be better named: The Archive.

Because you do not administer and preserve the records of fear, Jon. You are a record of fear, both in mind as you walk the shuddering record of each statement, and in body as the Powers each leave their mark upon you.

You are a living chronicle of terror.

Perhaps, then, if I could find an Archivist and have each Power mark them, have them confront each one and each in turn instill in them a powerful and acute fear for their life, they could be turned into a conduit for the coming of this – nightmare kingdom.

Do you see where I’m going, Jon?

It does tickle me, that in this world of would-be occult dynasties and ageless monsters, the Chosen One is simply that – someone I chose. It’s not in your blood, or your soul, or your destiny. It’s just in your own, rotten luck.

I’ll admit, my options were somewhat limited, but My God, when you came to me already marked by the Web, I knew it had to be you. I even held out some small hope you had been sent by the Spider as some sort of implicit blessing on the whole project, and, do you know what, I think it was.

Of course, I had to bide my time, get a measure of you before I began to push, learn how you worked – So I decided I would wait until something came for you, and see how you reacted. Attacks upon the Archives were not uncommon during G’s tenure, and, while she was always prepared, I made sure you would not be.

I reasoned if you couldn’t survive a single encounter, you were unlikely to make it through all fourteen. So, when JP attacked, I watched eagerly, one hand on the gas release from the start.

You acquitted yourself well enough, so I decided to see how far you would get, though I waited until the worms were in you before I pulled the lever. I needed to make sure you felt that fear all the way to your bones.

The discovery that one of the Stranger’s minions had infiltrated the Institute in the aftermath was certainly a pleasant bonus. Even if that sliver of paranoia, that vague wrongness you couldn’t quite place wouldn’t count as a mark, it was only a matter of time before it confronted you in a far more direct and affecting matter.

Admittedly, given the advent of the Unknowing, I needn’t have bothered. But what’s the old saying about hindsight?

More important to me was Sasha’s encounter with the Distortion. If it had taken an interest, then I very much wanted it to cross your path.

So I found one of its current victims and convinced her to make a statement.

Poor H (~20, F). I actually had to put her in a taxi myself, she was getting so lost in those narrow London side streets.

It worked, though.

Between the stabbing and at least two desperate flights into its doors – you’re marked very deeply by the Spiral.

JL (~70, M) was a surprise, of course, and I was forced to improvise. I had no idea how much G would have told him, and he could very easily have derailed everything if you learned too much too fast.

I justified it to myself saying I was going to have to send you out into the world anyway, if you were to encounter more of the Powers, but I can’t honestly pretend it wasn’t a… rather rash move.

Still. I’d requested Detective T (~25, F) be assigned to the case when they found G’s body in the hope that having a Hunter in the mix would eventually lead to a confrontation, and setting you up as a killer certainly hastened that.

Then it was just a matter of feeding you statements to lead you to a few Avatars I thought were likely to harm you – but probably would stop short of actually killing you.

J (27, F) served her purpose exactly as I had hoped, as did our dearly departed Mr. C, marking you for the Desolation and the Vast.

Honestly, I had – nothing to do with M (23, F) and her Slaughter adventure, but when I saw the situation, I made sure to trap her here, so when her rage bubbled over you would be right there, a ready target.

I didn’t foresee the mark coming from surgery gone wrong, but it was a very pleasant surprise.

The Unknowing was a distraction, but not an unwelcome one. For this to work, you needed more than just the marks; you needed power. And that was something the Unknowing served to test, though it posed no actual danger in the grand scheme of things.

And it did serve another purpose, of course. It inadvertently pushed you to confront death, a mark I had been very worried about trying to orchestrate. If I tried too early, you’d just die. Too late, and you might be powerful enough to see the attempt coming, and maybe even understand why.

As it was, it was just right, and once again, you came through with flying colors.

By this point, your abilities were coming along in leaps and bounds, and I was concerned that meeting face-to-face might end up with you – (sigh) – Knowing something you shouldn’t.

I had initially planned to go into hiding, but when your colleagues surprised me with the police, well. It was simple enough to cut a deal.

All that remained, then, were the Dark, the Flesh, the Buried, and the Lonely.

I was a little put out when that idiot JH (???, M) misinterpreted my letters and attacked the Institute too soon, before you were even out of the hospital, but then – Ho, you should have see my face when you voluntarily went to him.

I couldn’t see what happened in there, of course, but given how you came out, I’m very sure it counts as a mark.

I suspected the coffin might turn up again, and once it did, it was simply a matter of getting any, uh… restraining factors you might have had flying off on a wild goose chase, and waiting.

Honestly, Detective T has been proving invaluable through this process. I’d been racking my brains for months about what I could use to lure you in.

And, of course, I knew the Dark Sun was just sitting there waiting. So when it came time, I just whipped up another apocalypse and sent you on your merry way.

Then all that remained was the Lonely.

Poor P (~50, M). He really should have left well enough alone. Or just done what I’d asked in the first place.

Ah well. He knew what I was attempting, and was very unwilling to cooperate until I made him a little wager about M (same age as you, Jon, M).

Of course, he had no way of knowing that, in addition to setting you up for the final mark, he was giving you all the tools you needed to escape from it.

How is M, by the way? He looks well. You will keep an eye on him when all this is over, won’t you? He’s earned that.

And there, I think, we are brought just about up to date. I have enjoyed our little trip down memory lane, but past here lies only impatience.

You are prepared. You are ready. You are marked. The power of the Ceaseless Watcher flows through you, and the time of our victory is here.

Don’t worry, Jon. You’ll get used to it here, in the world that we have made.

Now. Repeat after me.

You who watch and know and understand none. You who listen and hear and will not comprehend. You who wait and wait and drink in all that is not yours by right.

Come to us in your wholeness.

Come to us in your perfection.

Bring all that is fear and all that is terror and all that is the awful dread that crawls and chokes and blinds and falls and twists and leaves and hides and weaves and burns and hunts and rips and bleeds and dies!

Come to us.

I – OPEN – THE DOOR!

[spiral-man]

Hey dudes,

Just wanted to wish everyone a happy-

Hello Jon,

Apologies for the deception, but I wanted to make sure you started reading, so I thought it best not to announce myself.

I’m assuming you’re alone; you always did prefer to read your statements in private. (slightly strained) I wouldn’t try too hard to stop reading; there’s every likelihood you’ll just hurt yourself. So just listen.

Now, shall we turn the page and try again?

Statement of Jonah Magnus regarding Jonathan Sims, The Archivist.

Statement begins.

I hope you’ll forgive me the self-indulgence, but I have worked so very hard for this moment, a culmination of two centuries of work. It’s rare that you get the chance to monologue through another, and you can’t tell me you’re not curious.

Why does a man seek to destroy the world?

It’s a simple enough answer: for immortality and power. Uninspired, perhaps, but – my god. The discovery, not simply of the dark and horrible reality of the world in which you live, but that you would quite willingly doom that world and confine the billions in it to an eternity of terror and suffering, all to ensure your own happiness, to place yourself beyond pain and death and fear.

It is an awful thing to know about yourself, but the freedom, John, the freedom of it all. I have dedicated my life to handing the world to these Dread Powers all for my own gain, and I feel… nothing but satisfaction in that choice.

I am to be a king of a ruined world, and I shall never die.

I believe there are far more people in this world that would take that bargain than you would ever guess. And I have beaten all of them.

Of course, this desire did not manifest overnight. When Smirke first gathered our little band – Lukas, Scott, and the rest – to discuss and hypothesize on the nature of the things he had learned from Rayner, I felt what I believe we all felt: curiosity, and fear.

But as he compiled his taxonomy and codified his theories on the grand rituals, I began to develop a very specific concern. Smirke was so obsessed with his ideas on balance, even as our fellows began to experiment and fall to the service of our patrons.

I began to worry that if one of them successfully attempted their ritual, then I would be as much a victim as any, trapped in the nightmare landscape of a twisted world.

At first, I attempted prevention, but the cause seemed hopeless. The only way to ensure I did not suffer the tribulations of what I believed to be an inevitable transformation was to bring it about myself. So what began as an experiment soon became a race.

Beyond that, I was getting older, and mortality began to weigh more heavily on my mind. How much in this world is done because we fear death, the last and greatest terror?

I convinced Smirke to work on Millbank, leading him to design it as a temple to all the Fears in equilibrium, such that my own modifications to the design of the Panopticon went… unremarked.

It. Took. Years, for the dread of the prisoners to fully suffuse the place, and I was an old man before I made my first attempt at the Watcher’s Crown, sat in the center of that colossal eye, the great ring of cells encircling me like a coronet.

It was… flawed, of course, as all Smirke’s rituals were, and none of the inmates survived as the power I attempted to harness shook the building almost to pieces, and the murky swamp upon which the prison was built consumed it.

But it left me a gift: For sat in that watchtower, I could see everything I turned my mind to.

It was a dizzying power, and one I discovered I maintained even as I found vessels to extend my life. Of course, I had to make sure the location was kept under my control while I worked on revising my plans, and so I moved the organization I had founded to assist in my research down to London, and the Institute as you know it was born.

I’ll not bore you with details of my bodies and failures through those intervening years. Suffice to say I kept busy, both planning my own next attempt, and doing my best to stymie those others who tried versions of their own.

Surely my interpretation of the Watcher’s Crown had been incomplete; there had been some element of the ritual I had overlooked.

It was not until I met Gertrude Robinson that things began to really come into focus.

You see, the role of Archivist has been part of the Beholding for as far back as my research can go. This isn’t uncommon for the Powers; most of the beliefs around them are guesswork and fallible human interpretation, but there are certain throughlines and consistencies that can be spotted, regardless of the trappings.

But Gertrude was unlike any other Archivist. She simply did not care about compiling experiences or collecting the fears of others. She was driven to stop those who served the Powers.

More than once I thought she must secretly be of the Hunt – but there was never that sick joy in her, that thrill of predator and prey. She had simply decided that this was her position in life, and went about it with a practicality that even I found disconcerting at times.

I once asked her what drove her, what had started her down that path. She told me the Desolation had killed her cat.

I don’t know if she was joking, and, to be honest, I could never bring myself to look into her mind and find out for sure.

In any case, Gertrude’s ruthless efficiency in derailing and collapsing rituals threw into stark relief a question that had been bothering me for almost a hundred and fifty years: In the whole span of humanity, why had nobody ever succeeded?

Perhaps there were a long line of Gertrude Robinsons throughout history, but I found that hard to credit. Could it be, then, that there was something in the very concept of the rituals that meant they couldn’t succeed?

She was clearly having similar thoughts in that last year, all of which culminated with the People’s Church.

When I saw that she was making no preparations whatsoever to stop it, I realized she was putting into practice a theory, and one she couldn’t afford to be wrong. She was going to wait, and see if the unopposed ritual succeeded, or if it collapsed under its own strain as mine had all those years ago.

Knowing Gertrude, I’m sure she had a backup plan if she had miscalculated – but she had not. The ritual failed. And all at once, I realized what had to be done.

You see, the thing about the Fears is that they can never be truly separated from each other. When does the fear of sudden violence transition into the fear of hunted prey? When does the mask of the Stranger become the deception of the Spiral?

Even those that seem to exist in direct opposition rely on each other for their definition as much as up relies on down.

To try and create a world with only the Buried makes as much sense as trying to conceive a world with only down.

Every ritual tied itself so closely to a single power as to render itself impossible. They could bring their patron close, but never sever it from the others, and eventually it would be violently pulled back into the place next to reality where they dwell.

The solution, then, is simple: A new ritual must be devised which will bring through all the Powers at once. All fourteen, as I had hoped I could complete it before any new powers such as Extinction were able to fully emerge. All under the Eye’s auspices, of course. We mustn’t forget our roots.

And there was only one being that could possibly serve as a lynchpin for this new ritual: The Archivist. A position that had so recently become vacant, thanks to Gertrude’s ill-timed retirement plans.

Because the thing about the Archivist is that – well, it’s a bit of a misnomer.-

It might, perhaps, be better named: The Archive.

Because you do not administer and preserve the records of fear, John. You are a record of fear, both in mind as you walk the shuddering record of each statement, and in body as the Powers each leave their mark upon you.

You are a living chronicle of terror.

Perhaps, then, if I could find an Archivist and have each Power mark them, have them confront each one and each in turn instill in them a powerful and acute fear for their life, they could be turned into a conduit for the coming of this – nightmare kingdom.

Do you see where I’m going, John?

It does tickle me, that in this world of would-be occult dynasties and ageless monsters, the Chosen One is simply that – someone I chose. It’s not in your blood, or your soul, or your destiny. It’s just in your own, rotten luck.

I’ll admit, my options were somewhat limited, but My God, when you came to me already marked by the Web, I knew it had to be you. I even held out some small hope you had been sent by the Spider as some sort of implicit blessing on the whole project, and, do you know what, I think it was.

Of course, I had to bide my time, get a measure of you before I began to push, learn how you worked – So I decided I would wait until something came for you, and see how you reacted. Attacks upon the Archives were not uncommon during Gertrude’s tenure, and, while she was always prepared, I made sure you would not be.

I reasoned if you couldn’t survive a single encounter, you were unlikely to make it through all fourteen. So, when Jane Prentiss attacked, I watched eagerly, one hand on the gas release from the start.

You acquitted yourself well enough, so I decided to see how far you would get, though I waited until the worms were in you before I pulled the lever. I needed to make sure you felt that fear all the way to your bones.

The discovery that one of the Stranger’s minions had infiltrated the Institute in the aftermath was certainly a pleasant bonus. Even if that sliver of paranoia, that vague wrongness you couldn’t quite place wouldn’t count as a mark, it was only a matter of time before it confronted you in a far more direct and affecting matter.

Admittedly, given the advent of the Unknowing, I needn’t have bothered. But what’s the old saying about hindsight?

More important to me was Sasha’s encounter with the Distortion. If it had taken an interest, then I very much wanted it to cross your path.

So I found one of its current victims and convinced her to make a statement.

Poor Helen. I actually had to put her in a taxi myself, she was getting so lost in those narrow London side streets.

It worked, though.

Between the stabbing and at least two desperate flights into its doors – you’re marked very deeply by the Spiral.

Jurgen Leitner was a surprise, of course, and I was forced to improvise. I had no idea how much Gertrude would have told him, and he could very easily have derailed everything if you learned too much too fast.

I… justified it to myself saying I was going to have to send you out into the world anyway, if you were to encounter more of the Powers, but I can’t honestly pretend it wasn’t a… rather rash move.

Still. I’d requested Detective Tonner be assigned to the case when they found Gertrude’s body in the hope that having a Hunter in the mix would eventually lead to a confrontation, and setting you up as a killer certainly hastened that.

Then it was just a matter of feeding you statements to lead you to a few Avatars I thought were likely to harm you – but probably would stop short of actually killing you.

Jude served her purpose exactly as I had hoped, as did our dearly departed Mr. Crew, marking you for the Desolation and the Vast.

Honestly, I had – nothing to do with Melanie and her Slaughter adventure, but when I saw the situation, I made sure to trap her here, so when her rage bubbled over you would be right there, a ready target.

I didn’t foresee the mark coming from surgery gone wrong, but it was a very pleasant surprise.

The Unknowing was a distraction, but not an unwelcome one. For this to work, you needed more than just the marks; you needed power. And that was something the Unknowing served to test, though it posed no actual danger in the grand scheme of things.

And it did serve another purpose, of course. It inadvertently pushed you to confront death, a mark I had been very worried about trying to orchestrate. If I tried too early, you’d just die. Too late, and you might be powerful enough to see the attempt coming, and maybe even understand why.

As it was, it was just right, and once again, you came through with flying colors.

By this point, your abilities were coming along in leaps and bounds, and I was concerned that meeting face-to-face might end up with you – (sigh) – Knowing something you shouldn’t.

I had initially planned to go into hiding, but when your colleagues surprised me with the police, well. It was simple enough to cut a deal.

All that remained, then, were the Dark, the Flesh, the Buried, and the Lonely.

I was a little put out when that idiot Jared Hopworth misinterpreted my letters and attacked the Institute too soon, before you were even out of the hospital, but then – Ho, you should have see my face when you voluntarily went to him.

I couldn’t see what happened in there, of course, but given how you came out, I’m very sure it counts as a mark.

I suspected the coffin might turn up again, and once it did, it was simply a matter of getting any, uh… restraining factors you might have had flying off on a wild goose chase, and waiting.

Honestly, Detective Tonner has been proving invaluable through this process. I’d been racking my brains for months about what I could use to lure you in.

And, of course, I knew the Dark Sun was just sitting there waiting. So when it came time, I just whipped up another apocalypse and sent you on your merry way.

Then all that remained was the Lonely.

Poor Peter. He really should have left well enough alone. (cruel laugh) Or just done what I’d asked in the first place.

Ah well. He knew what I was attempting, and was very unwilling to cooperate until I made him a little wager about Martin.

Of course, he had no way of knowing that, in addition to setting you up for the final mark, he was giving you all the tools you needed to escape from it.

How is Martin, by the way? He looks well. You will keep an eye on him when all this is over, won’t you? He’s earned that.

And there, I think, we are brought just about up to date. I have enjoyed our little trip down memory lane, but past here lies only impatience.

You are prepared. You are ready. You are marked. The power of the Ceaseless Watcher flows through you, and the time of our victory is here.

Don’t worry, John. You’ll get used to it here, in the world that we have made.

Now. (cruel, cruel laugh) Repeat after me.

You who watch and know and understand none. You who listen and hear and will not comprehend. You who wait and wait and drink in all that is not yours by right.

Come to us in your wholeness.

Come to us in your perfection.

Bring all that is fear and all that is terror and all that is the awful dread that crawls and chokes and blinds and falls and twists and leaves and hides and weaves and burns and hunts and rips and bleeds and dies!

Come to us.

I – OPEN – THE DOOR!

[bittersweetstargazer]

okay yeah so I made this off of that one post by @frownyalfred about Clark not understanding that human can sense like danger bc he obviously. isn't. so anyways. there's two of them and they're both short– the 1st one is 600 words and the 2nd one is 400 words because I have other things to do with my life currently and I would probably add more to them and maybe I will in the future but this is the best it's gonna get for now (unbetaed as usual)

Untitled by bittersweetstargazer:

1.

Clark stood next to Bruce as Jon and Damian scurried over to the next house in the neighborhood. He chuckled as Jon tripped and almost fell, catching himself only by using his powers of flight. Damian had grabbed him by the back of his costume like scuffing a cat.

"They look so . . . happy." Clark commented, bumping his, shoulder against Bruce's. Bruce snorted, pointing at his own son.

"Damian looks like he's about to stab Jon. I'd hardly describe that as happy."

"Fortunately, he doesn't have his kryptonite sword."

"Oh, I wouldn't trust that. It looks like his sword is covered in lead. To cover what? The world can only dream."

Clark tensed, trying to look through the (supposedly fake) sword Damian brought as part of his costume, jaw dropping when he couldn't.

"You mean he—!"

"No." Bruce snorted. "He made it out of plastic but covered it in a thin layer of lead to mess with Jon."

"Why is your son making empty threats to mine?"

"Did you really expect anything else from him?"

"Like father, like son, I suppose." They both turned to each other and glared.

"Anyway," Clark huffed, "I think it would be nice if we could just have a nice, calm night of no crime-fighting together, right?"

"And with our children."

"Together. And our children, yes."

Bruce shrugged. "Sure."

Clark's left eye twitched. "Right."

They walked off to go join their children just as Damian started scolding at Jon for messing up their innocent act.

"Imbecile!" Damian hissed. "You said the wrong thing! Did you see how many pieces of candy we got? Five! Do you remember how many we got last year? Seven!"

"I'm sorry! My suit was pinching me and I couldn't focus!"

"It doesn't matter about how uncomfortable you are, you must stick to the script!"

"But I—!"

"Boys." Clark cut in. "You already have plenty of candy. And Damian, you're rich. You can buy more candy anytime."

"It's not about the stupid candy!" Damian scoffs. "Half of these aren't vegan-friendly anyways. It's about how much candy we can exploit from these suckers."

"Damian." Bruce raised an eyebrow and his son fell silent. "Although, I must say, your current strategy is quite succe—"

Bruce tensed, falling silent. It didn't escape Clark's notice when Damian also tensed as well. Hm. His earlier statement didn't seem to extend to just murderous tendencies.

"Bruce?"

Bruce shushed him. "Something's not right."

"Not right?" Clark and Jon shared a look. "Everything seems fine. How do you know? Get a report from O in your earpiece?"

Bruce shook his head, eyes looking around sharply. "Someone's watching us."

Before Clark could even begin to think of a response to that, Bruce jumped forward right as a gunshot rang out, covering Damian.

Jon screamed as Bruce grunted, a blossom of red blooming from his right bicep. Damian scowled, pulling out a sword from a hidden sheath on his body. Jon went white.

"You had that on you the entire time??" He whimpered, backing towards Clark. "Relax, dimwit. It's not made of Kryptonite."

Bruce pulled off his shirt, craning his head to inspect his wound. He hissed as the fabric brushed against the broken skin, spreading the blood further across his arm.

"We should get out of here before our mystery sniper takes another shot. We're easy pickings out here in the open."

He pressed his shirt against his arm, attempting to stifle the blood flow. Clark picked him up and tried not to brush against his gunshot wound as Bruce struggled to get back down.

"My arm is injured, not my legs."

"I still don't want to risk any side effects you might get from blood loss. I know you have a high pain tolerance but transportation would be much easier this way. Also, the faster we can get you to Alfred, the better."

Bruce sighed as he settled back into Clark's arms, lip curling as he was lifted into the air. He heard Damian start to curse in another language as Jon attempted to lift him as well.

"Language." Bruce muttered, head sliding down to meet Clark's chest. Clark simply chuckled and flew down the familiar path to Wayne Manor.

2.

Bruce grit his teeth as Clark landed on his balcony, the familiar feeling of his neck hairs rising washing over him once more. He tried to focus back on his book, but he found it difficult with his body desperately trying to warn him about a nearby threat, which happened to not be a threat at all.

"Hey B!" Clark greeted, his smile unnaturally bright, like the sun on the earth, like warmth on a cold day. It made him shiver.

"Hello, Clark." Bruce replied simply. It was always hard to grit out more than a few words in his presence, as he constantly felt like he should turn tail and run. It was one of the reasons why he chooses to communicate with grunts rather than speaking.

Clark walked inside, plopping himself on Bruce's bed. "Busy today? There's a game tonight and Gotham is playing against Metropolis. I got some tickets, if you'd like to come? I've already asked Lois, but she's too busy following her newest Lex scoop."

"Which is?"

"She's convinced that Luthor's been ordering sex toys filled with Kryptonite as a way to avoid detection. After he was caught last press conference, he tried to play it off as a new product they were planning on branching out to, but everyone knows that—"

"That Luthor's bald head is probably the last thing you'd want to get off to? Yeah, I figured."

"Yeah. Anyways, I'm pretty sure that one she finds what she's looking for she's gonna get one for me as a 'souvenir'. God, I hope she doesn't. That would be awkward to explain."

"Mhm." Bruce hummed, placing his book face-down on the table, unable to even continue the farce of reading it.

"So, about that game? I'll pay for everything if I have to." Clark waved the tickets in front of him, trying to tempt Bruce into accepting.

"Clark, you are aware that I'm a billionaire."

"Yeah, I know." Clark huffed. "Can't I just do something nice for my friend every once in a while?"

Bruce shook his head fondly, reaching over to grab his ticket from Clark's hand, trying to ignore the spike of fear he felt while getting closer.

"B, you good?" Clark frowned at him. "I heard your heart skip a beat or two."

"Fine." Bruce waved him off. "Let's talk about the game. I can't let you sit there thinking your team is going to win while I know very well the Knights are."

"Hey!"

[zer0-otheactualnumber]

statement of me regarding to me

Hello jon, Apologies for the deception, but I wanted to make sure you started reading, so I thought it best not to announce myself.

I’m assuming you’re alone; you always did prefer to read your statements in private. (slightly strained) I wouldn’t try too hard to stop reading; there’s every likelihood you’ll just hurt yourself. So just listen.

Now, shall we turn the page and try again?

Statement of Jonah Magnus regarding Jonathan Sims, The Archivist.

Statement begins.

I hope you’ll forgive me the self-indulgence, but I have worked so very hard for this moment, a culmination of two centuries of work. It’s rare that you get the chance to monologue through another, and you can’t tell me you’re not curious.

Why does a man seek to destroy the world?

It’s a simple enough answer: for immortality and power. Uninspired, perhaps, but – my god. The discovery, not simply of the dark and horrible reality of the world in which you live, but that you would quite willingly doom that world and confine the billions in it to an eternity of terror and suffering, all to ensure your own happiness, to place yourself beyond pain and death and fear.

It is an awful thing to know about yourself, but the freedom, John, the freedom of it all. I have dedicated my life to handing the world to these Dread Powers all for my own gain, and I feel… nothing but satisfaction in that choice.

I am to be a king of a ruined world, and I shall never die.

I believe there are far more people in this world that would take that bargain than you would ever guess. And I have beaten all of them.

Of course, this desire did not manifest overnight. When Smirke first gathered our little band – Lukas, Scott, and the rest – to discuss and hypothesize on the nature of the things he had learned from Rayner, I felt what I believe we all felt: curiosity, and fear.

But as he compiled his taxonomy and codified his theories on the grand rituals, I began to develop a very specific concern. Smirke was so obsessed with his ideas on balance, even as our fellows began to experiment and fall to the service of our patrons.

I began to worry that if one of them successfully attempted their ritual, then I would be as much a victim as any, trapped in the nightmare landscape of a twisted world.

At first, I attempted prevention, but the cause seemed hopeless. The only way to ensure I did not suffer the tribulations of what I believed to be an inevitable transformation was to bring it about myself. So what began as an experiment soon became a race.

Beyond that, I was getting older, and mortality began to weigh more heavily on my mind. How much in this world is done because we fear death, the last and greatest terror?

I convinced Smirke to work on Millbank, leading him to design it as a temple to all the Fears in equilibrium, such that my own modifications to the design of the Panopticon went… unremarked.

It. Took. Years, for the dread of the prisoners to fully suffuse the place, and I was an old man before I made my first attempt at the Watcher’s Crown, sat in the center of that colossal eye, the great ring of cells encircling me like a coronet.

It was… flawed, of course, as all Smirke’s rituals were, and none of the inmates survived as the power I attempted to harness shook the building almost to pieces, and the murky swamp upon which the prison was built consumed it.

But it left me a gift: For sat in that watchtower, I could see everything I turned my mind to.

It was a dizzying power, and one I discovered I maintained even as I found vessels to extend my life. Of course, I had to make sure the location was kept under my control while I worked on revising my plans, and so I moved the organization I had founded to assist in my research down to London, and the Institute as you know it was born.

I’ll not bore you with details of my bodies and failures through those intervening years. Suffice to say I kept busy, both planning my own next attempt, and doing my best to stymie those others who tried versions of their own.

Surely my interpretation of the Watcher’s Crown had been incomplete; there had been some element of the ritual I had overlooked.

It was not until I met Gertrude Robinson that things began to really come into focus.

You see, the role of Archivist has been part of the Beholding for as far back as my research can go. This isn’t uncommon for the Powers; most of the beliefs around them are guesswork and fallible human interpretation, but there are certain throughlines and consistencies that can be spotted, regardless of the trappings.

But Gertrude was unlike any other

[rubykgrant]

(Segment of my story, How It Feels, with Jon and Martin recovering at Daisy's cabin after leaving London, and before the Eye Apocalypse happens. This in particular focuses on Martin, how he's changed since being in the Lonely, and how he is also still himself. This involves tooth loss and feelings of depression/disassociation, but isn't gory, and leans more toward being comforting. Inspired by the art of @lonelyslutavatar ~)

Jon is quite proud of himself for responding to Martin in a very calm manner, instead of rushing in and assuming the worst.

The calm quickly shatters when he sees Martin standing in the bathroom, face a mix of embarrassed and worried, holding two teeth in the palm of his hand.

Several teeth-related horror stories from past statements flash into Jon’s mind (the apple, a few dozen about some sort of “evil tooth fairy” that were probably not real but still upsetting, and several connected to the Flesh and the Hunt). Jon nearly starts to panic as well, but somehow he composes himself, and moves slowly, helping Martin sit down on the lid of the toilet, and begins trying to figure this out.

Martin has some pain in his jaw, but nothing feels “broken”, and there isn’t any blood. The teeth look “fine”, except for the fact that they aren’t where they should be. Jon asks Martin to open his mouth, and it doesn’t appear as if anything is infected or irritated. To be thorough, Jon runs to get a small torch.

“I’m VERY close to freaking out! Just so you know!” Martin says, loudly.

“Yes, I’m- I’m sorry, I’ll be there in a-”

“ANOTHER ONE JUST CAME LOOSE!” Martin is able to spit it out before yelling the news to Jon. He does NOT want to swallow any of his teeth.

“I’M COMING BACK! HERE! HERE I AM!” Jon stumbles to a stop at the small door, and walks back in carefully.

This time, Martin opens his mouth WIDE, and Jon shines the little light to see properly.

“Oh,” Jon says after a moment.

“Oh? Oh, WHA?” Martin asks, making sure his mouth doesn’t close.

“Oh, um… I sort of see the- er, the issue?” Jon answers, without actually giving Martin a real answer.

“Wha ih ih?” What is it?

“Well, I can see the empty areas, where your teeth were, and… it looks like something is, er- pushing them out?” Jon elaborates. Martin finds this description unhelpful and worrisome.

“UH HUH UH AH EEE?!” The fuck does that mean?! Good God, what was in his mouth?

“Sorry! There are NEW teeth coming in! Like- like when we lose our baby teeth, and-”

“I AREHEE AH I AHEE HEE! HOW OOH I HAH OR!?” Martin demands, and after a brief second of trying to translate it in his head, Jon realizes Martin has just said- “I already lost my baby teeth! How do I have more!?”.

“Uhh…” before Jon can say anything else, two more teeth fall out, helped by Martin’s attempts to talk. These were from his top row, on the left side. They completely leave Martin’s mouth, and land in his lap. Martin groans, irritated. Jon tries to speak again, before something else distracts him. “If- I had to guess, which is all I’m doing, I’m sorry, this- this might be like your OWN spooky puberty?”

Martin groans again, giving Jon a glare.

“You were working with- hell I’m just saying his name, Peter, you were working with Peter for a while, and before that you were working at the Institute. That changed all of us, a little bit, but Peter really pushed you along, and… what finally made me change and become something more than just human was- I died. Sort of. When I was in that coma, I was pretty close to being dead, but then I came back. You were… you were almost ready to fade away when I finally found you, and then you came back. I think you might have become something more than just human,” Jon pauses a moment, to let Martin have a chance to understand what he’s saying… and because another tooth falls out. “And we saw what happens to ME when I don't feed on any statements, so… you haven’t been doing anything at all when it comes feeding what you are connected to,”

Jon places his hand on Martin’s cheek and turns off the torch, letting Martin know he can close his mouth again. Martin does so, and then immediately gives an angry huff, spitting still another tooth into his hand. He gathers up the rest in his lap, so he’s holding all of them together.

“What the hell. The isn’t FAIR. Your- your eyeballs didn’t fall out when YOU changed! And why my TEETH?! Am I supposed to start eating people? Peter didn’t even do that!” Martin blinks a few times, uncertain. “I mean, I never SAW him to that…”

“This might not be so LITERAL. I doubt this is a sign you need to actually eat anybody-”

“Pff, whatever, you don’t KNOW…” Martin scoffs.

“What I mean is- sometimes when people like us change, it isn’t always straight-forward. This might be more… like it symbolically represents the way loneliness can, er- consume you? Eat you up?” Jon is leaning back against the wall opposite Martin, arms crossed anxiously. He hunches his shoulders up, as if to shrug in a way that asks for approval.

Martin does not exactly “approve”, but unfortunately, he’s beginning to see that Jon may have a point. He also remembers that nightmare he had, as if it had been some kind of “punishment” for rejecting the Lonely. The fact that Martin can now remember Peter purposefully pulling him into the Lonely to avoid true and permanent death added up as well. Did the Eye punish Jon when he wouldn’t feed it new fear? Yes, he supposes so.

“Wonderful. So my teeth are falling out as a METAPHOR. And what am I even supposed to DO about it? Read statements that are relevant to feeling forlorn and isolated?” Martin now feels THREE teeth pop loose. Great. More to add to the collection in his hands.

“Perhaps not…” Jon ventures another guess. “That’s sort of the specific thing I’m stuck doing. And it started even before the coma, remember? So maybe- was there anything you did while working with Peter that might have been related to feeding this particular kind of fear? It might have even been something that seemed almost normal, but the more it happened, the more it had an affect on you, and when you stopped, you felt strange?”

Martin’s first reaction is to just say NO, because he’s in an ornery mood (Why shouldn’t he be moody? His teeth are falling out! He has a right!). Instead, he tries to give Jon’s question some real thought…

When Jon was still in the coma, and Peter first became the “new boss”, Martin had initially tried to take on more responsibility as a way to shield other people from the problems that came from working so closely with… a man like that. The most unnerving part was how pleasant Peter seemed. He often asked Martin to come along as his personal assistant when he went on various errands; some were clearly for meeting with other unusual people part of the whole Fear situation, while others were part of the more normal side of business for the Magnus Institute.

These people, in either situation, would usually not even acknowledge Martin at all until Peter made a point to turn to him, ask a question or make a request, and then they’d startle to see there was a WHOLE man there beside Peter. When Martin got more used to it all, he’d speak up on his own, blatantly pointing out when somebody was giving Peter incorrect information or outright lying. In those moments, they were not only surprised that Martin existed, they were suddenly INTIMIDATED by him.

Peter was very amused by this, and proudly complimented Martin on being so “accomplished”.

Yeah, that may have been how this started.

Martin was well practiced at going unnoticed, keeping quiet, fading into the background. That was a good way to keep yourself safe. It was also a good way to be lonely. The shock of suddenly being given attention no doubt fed Peter’s patron Fear plenty of Martin’s own nervous energy… and when Martin did it on purpose, making himself known with an aloof sort of confidence, it caused unease in other people. The Lonely probably loved feeding on all that.

That was the start… but what turned it into a pattern, something that Martin had to continue doing, and also something that he did without thinking about it?

It finally occurs to Martin that what was happening when he first left the Lonely might be a hint; the sleepwalking. That never happened back in London, not exactly. However… very often, when Martin left the hospital after visiting Jon, or took a break in the evening in the middle of working late, he would walk through the city and let his mind wander.

No, that was putting it mildly. He’d feel a growing disconnect from his own feelings and thoughts, and whatever remained gave him a sense of bored contempt, if anything.

He blended into the crowds, but still wasn’t “part” of it all. Martin remained separate, even in the shared experience of riding the bus or waiting for a light to change.

Occasionally he would pop into a store and use the self check-out lane, or even a bar with no intention to mingle or drink, and he would go unnoticed.

All around him, he would see people talking to each other, or chatting on calls, crying over break-ups, getting into arguments, lying about what they were doing, waiting to meet somebody who wasn’t coming, staring at displays in stores of things they longed to buy but couldn’t afford, getting frustrated after searching for a job all day, trying to be funny for friends or deal with a stressful visit with family… Martin could nearly picture himself, as if looking on from another point of view, and he was nothing but a nameless face on the street.

Obscure and forgettable. Martin would walk on, automatically, no effort in reaching his destination. It was eventual and certain. He may as well be a memory, instead of somebody who was still there.

Then he would be back at the Institute, or at home, and his thoughts would click back into place. Maybe he’d take a shower, or have something to eat. If it wasn’t too late and he was done with research or paperwork, he’d watch something on TV. It was alright. Mostly.

In the current situation, with Martin sitting on the toilet in a bathroom of a safehouse in Scotland, trying to figure out why he’s losing his teeth… he thinks that he’s finally connected some dots, and sees the bigger picture.

“Yeah… well, um- I guess maybe when I would walk around London and sort of lose myself in groups of people, without interacting with anybody, that was possibly like feeding on loneliness. So. Maybe I just need to do THAT again,” Martin looks up at Jon again, now the one checking to see if what he’s saying makes any sense.

“Hmm… it might work when you go out to buy us supplies. You’ll be around people again, and- whatever lonely feelings they have,” Jon nods, though he doesn’t look happy about it. That’s fine. Martin isn’t happy, either.

“What if I… Jon, when you got REALLY bad, you compelled people to talk about things when they didn’t want to. What if I VANISH somebody? What if I can’t control this?” Martin asks, and as soon as he closes his mouth, he has to spit three more teeth into his hand.

“That is upsetting, I know…” Jon replies, reaching out one hand to place on Martin’s shoulder. “But, listen- a few days after I started to really try and rein myself in, one of the people I compelled actually showed up at the Institute again. I was… well, I- erm…”

“You were outside, sneaking a smoke,” Martin guesses.

“Yes, FINE. Anyway, I thought they were still having problems because of me, and I immediately apologized and assured them it wouldn't happen again. I was honestly sort of distressed about that, I didn’t want to go find everybody I had compelled, because seeing me might just make them even MORE afraid, but I still wanted to say I was sorry… well, this person told me they only came there to explain they weren't angry with me. They didn't forgive me exactly, but-,”

“What, they wanted to rescind what they said before? Like, withdraw the complaint?” Martin raises his eyebrows at this.

“Something like that. They told me… they weren’t having nightmares anymore, about me OR what I made them talk about. It had faded after a while. They also told me that it sort of helped, in a weird way, to finally confront something they’d been ignoring for so long. And now they knew, the world had scary things in it, that was REAL, and they weren’t crazy for wanting to be careful…” Jon sees Martin wants to jump into the conversation, but has to pause to catch another tooth that has escaped. Jon continues talking, knowing what Martin was going to ask.

“The reason I didn’t say anything at the time- I didn’t want it to seem like I was making excuses. Oh, this person says the nightmares stopped and they faced their fears, this means nobody should be mad at me anymore! Hell, no. I still forced people to share private thoughts and experiences against their will, and that wasn’t right. I’m only telling you this NOW because I’m hoping that you being around people in public, absorbing whatever you need, THAT will be more like when I read the statements. The fear and the hurt already happened. You aren’t making it worse. If you keep ignoring this hunger, then… it will most likely get more intense, but even if that happens, you still might not vanish somebody to death. People even escaped from what Peter did, occasionally. I just don’t want you to feel… hopeless,”

“OK… yeah, OK. This is still pretty fucked, though,” Martin says, trying to steady his breathing.

“Yes. And it will probably continue to be fucked. But we can try to help each other feel better,” Jon smiles down at Martin, and somehow, that makes a tense knot in his chest loosen.

Jon waits with Martin as the last few teeth come loose, and gets a small glass jar for them. After some “Should I leave them under my pillow?” jokes, Jon grabs the small torch again to see what the situation is with Martin’s new set of teeth…

“You really don’t feel them growing in?”

“Uh-uh,” Martin may not physically feel the teeth coming into place, but he has noticed that the ache in his jaw is gone, and the weird grinding has stopped (that was probably his weird new “spooky” bones making room for his weird new “spooky” teeth. This sounded like such a stupid problem when he thought of it that way, but there just wasn’t a better term unfortunately).

“Well, they’re almost all here, and- they’re sharp! Martin, your new teeth are POINTY!” Jon uses his hand not holding the torch to tilt Martin’s head back slightly.

“WHA? LIE A HA-HIRE?” What? Like a vampire?

“No, not like that… you don’t have fangs, exactly… oh lord, I can see them rising up!” Jon says, and now Martin is starting to get annoyed that he sounds EXCITED about this. “They’re wider, and sort of flat… Martin, I think these are like- like shark teeth!”

Jon has set the torch aside, and is now holding Martin’s head with both his hands, leaning him back even more so the light from the ceiling shines into Martin’s mouth. Jon is pushing aside Martin’s upper lip to see the teeth as they move through the gum better, and that is IT, Martin is DONE.

“GEH YER FEE-HERS OW UH I OW!” before Jon can translate that into “Get your fingers out of my mouth!”, Martin actually SNARLS as a final warning, Jon whips his hands away, and just to be dramatic, Martin CHOMPS his mouth shut.

His new teeth are officially finished growing in; all the severe ridges fit together. Sharp, solid, and strong.

Shark teeth... really? Was that just the Lukas Brand? Martin has to turn half-way into a SEA MONSTER? For the aesthetic?

Jon knows Martin wasn’t actually going to bite him… and Martin knows that Jon knows this. Which is why Jon still looks more fascinated than afraid of Martin’s new MONSTER TEETH, and that just makes Martin want to try and snap at him again. Jon can see that as well, and he starts to snort laughter. Martin wishes he was strong enough to stay furious, but the corners of his mouth betray him, curving into a smile.

Yep. All his human adult teeth fell out, he’s got weird spooky shark teeth now, he’s damn near close to laughing about it. He must be mad. Oh, well. So is Jon.

[pan0pticonn]

A report on the Archives inevitable end - prologue

Mag 200 - Jon succeeded in his plan to take over Jonah’s place

——————————————

“I didn’t think you’d go through with it! Not without me! I can’t believe you’d do this! That you’d leave me like this! You swore to me! You swore to me, you bastard” the one that had followed The Archive all the way here had said before he left, tears running down his flushed cheeks as he descended the stairs he’d followed The Archive up because he’d been the only one who had ever truly known the person that ceased to exist more and more by the second and had, against his better judgment, believed that, maybe that would be enough to stop what he’d known would happen if his loved one took over Jonah Magnus’ throne.

He, of course, had been wrong, and though losing the one he loved had broken his heart, eventually he left as the person he’d known drifted away and started becoming The Archive, the pupil of the Great Eye That Watches And Knows All, the Prince of the fallen world and the Vessel that drinks in all that is fear and terror more than It had ever been during it’s false pretenses of being human.

The Archive had been sorry, of course. But it Knew it’s Love would do better with those that were waiting down in the tunnels than at the Archives side as it drives every soul towards The Waiting End That Comes For All And Cannot Be Ignored, until finally - this wretched world may rest in the absence of life and fear. Even if the distant part, that had been stronger when the one that loved it had first arrived at the Archives throne, that remains more man than the record of fear that the Archive now so fundamentally and undeniably has become, had longed for the touch of the love that had never truly been allowed to exist in peace and bliss and had instead been forged on the ashes of normality and comfort as the two that had loved each other tried growing a delicate flower on the cold and unforgiving cement that flowed down both of their throats and tried to choke out their humanity.

With the only remaining part of it’s life before gone, it’s reason, The Archive rests there. At the center of the great panopticon, it Sees and Knows all the terror in this wretched broken world. It drinks in billions of nightmares that choke and know and fall and die and for a moment it lets itself revel in the twisted yet beautiful suffering of the world.

But of course, The Archive has not always been The Archive, for such a thing would have been impossible in the world Before. And the part that still believes itself to the Archivist claws and digs and bites through the Archives instincts that want it to Know and Drink in the ecstasy of the endless fear, to use it‘s rightful place as the pupil of The Great Eye That Watches And Knows All and rule this terrible new world.

And so the Archive remembers why it is here, what it’s plan was and what it has to do. For it’s love that it is sure it will never see again and can therefore only try to protect from afar. It Knows that rushing every soul towards The Waiting End That Comes For All And Cannot Be Ignored may take some time though. And so the Archive shall drink in The Horrors for one last hurrah until finally, it will cease to exist and be released from the terrible joy of being The Archive and the distant thumping of a dull heartache that the part that remains The Archivist feels so deeply and cannot get rid of.

The Archives inhales and takes in all the nightmare landscapes that the great panopticon Watches and Sees as it speeds up the process of ending those lost souls suffering in the domains of the End. And in the meantime… well, it rather thinks it is time for a statement. After all, there’s so much fear it needs to drink in and preserve

[animsid]

Alright, here’s my thoughts on Magnus Protocol’s first season as someone who hasn’t listened to Archives.

[No Archives Spoilers. Spoilers for Magnus Protocol Season 1 Finale.]

Initially I was unsatisfied with the ending. At first I was engaged with everything, but I felt a lot of questions I wanted to know weren’t answered. Like “What is the Archivist and their deal?” or “What is FR3-D1 up to? Why is Colin so afraid?” So that felt a little bit of a downer.

But after thinking about it, it was a really big and amazing finale that leaves me wanting more.

I got to admit The Custodian was the biggest surprise but also not really. Magnus Protocol has kept this formula of having a statement in the episode, and a lot of my IRL friends were doubtful there would be one but I knew there would be one.

What really surprised me about The Custodian was how he was turning to stone after he finished his statement. Every non-main character statement The Archivist took ended in death, but the death was a result of resisting the Archivist (25) or they were already dead (15/18). So to see what happens to someone in perfect health from start to finish of the Statement.

Celia was a big star in this finale, and it feels like this was the “secrets revealed” moment for her. Unclear if she has more secrets, but it feels like her biggest ones are out there now. Explains her reaction to the Doppelgänger case (17), why The Hilltop Centre has been so prominent in a variety of cases, and why she’s been teleporting to Oxford.

The only question I really have about Celia is how much does she actually remember? Throughout the season we’ve clearly seen her reference things from what I’m assuming is Archives, but in the finale she says “The Fearless One” tore her who from her what and “left her story to fall like autumn leaves.”

Is her name actually Celia in Archives? Who is “The Fearless One”? Feels like her memory is blurry, but she remembers vague details of people instead of story events in Archives (my Doylist answer is this is a way to make the story accessible to viewers who haven’t listened to Archives) and that’s why she remembers Jon and Martin?

Overall, really great work from Celia this season.

Sam wouldn’t think so though.

Sam is an interesting case. He’s been dying to know what happened with The Magnus Institute and when we finally found out (28) it made a whole lot of sense why he’s so adamant about the institute.

Initially when Sam exploded at Celia for her secrets I was like “Sam! Buddy! Now’s NOT the time.” But actually, that was the right time.

He’s been really patient with Celia not feeling ready to explain her backstory, and consistently reassuring her she doesn’t need to reveal anything until she’s ready and actively reassuring yet making her aware it’s important to share at some point. Here he is, in front of what is potentially the biggest supernatural secret he’s ever seen, and Celia has turned out to know this was here the entire time!

And Celia (in his perspective) determined to sacrifice Sam to the Rift was a really big twist I didn’t see coming. The idea that Celia has disrupted the rift between the two worlds is incredibly devastating and she wants to stay in the Protocolverse for Jack makes it heartbreaking that she has her own selfless/selfish motivation for sacrificing Sam.

Then Alice-

Oh, Alice.

I think this finale was the hardest on her. She had Teddy trying to bring something up (29) and she rushed to Sam. She had Colin terrified asking for help while she was trying to get the last train to Sam and Celia. She’s been the most connective person in their whole group trying to look out for everyone, and then everyone desperately asking for help at essentially the same time is heartbreaking.

It’s incredibly fascinating that out of the three groups (Sam/Celia, Colin, Teddy) she chose Sam every time there was a chance. It does make sense. She’s fully aware Sam and Celia are going to be encountering something supernatural, and she needs to make sure she’s there to either stop or help them. Teddy and Colin might vaguely have something affecting them, but the urgency for Sam clouds her vision so Teddy and Colin were turned away. Who knows if they’ll even be alive when they get back?

And speaking of when they get back!

Gwen, my love, you have girlbossed far too close to the sun.

There’s no way she’s surviving this. She’s assumed this whole time that Lena was trying to keep responsibility from her because maybe Lena didn’t believe in her or because of her nepotism, and Trevor Herbert was the one calling all the shots. But she found out too little too late that Lena was the one in charge and she’s been the one focused on keeping the Externals at bay. Trevor Herbert has no fucking clue what happens at the OIAR as long as it gets the job done.

I do wonder why Gwen got those files. I’m assuming it’s Jon/FR3-D1 after Sam got that email (7) but why did FR3-D1 decide to give it to her? What’s the purpose of getting Lena out? Is it for the Externals to be loose? What’s FR3-D1’s goal here? Is it somehow tied to being set free?

After this finale, I have so many questions, and while I am still kinda unsatisfied with how it ended I do have to admit this season was such good fucking food. The workplace dramadey combined with horror statements and the slow merging of the two storylines was so seamless I almost didn’t notice until the end. I’m really excited for season 2.

[rheanyraaaa]

After School Activities

Modern Elite High School AU with Mutual Pining, Angst, and Healing Romance - Part 2

main pairings: robb stark x reader, jon snow x ygritte, theon x random girls & flings, margaery x robb (inconsistent) reader x Lancel (past)

was not proof read i’ve changed some bits now

❛ ━━･❪ ❁ ❫ ･━━ ���❁ ≖≖✿❁ ≖≖ ❁❛ ━━･❪ ❁ ❫ ･━━ ❜

The text from Margaery comes in during lunch, while Theon’s balancing a football on the back of his neck and Robb’s sprawled beside you, tapping out a rhythm on your thigh like you’re a drum.

Margaery: CLUB NIGHT. NO LOSERS.

Renly: Drinks on me.

Theon: I will end the night shirtless and banned.

You: i’m literally 16.

Margaery: wear falsies and lie.

You: i still look like a child in falsies.

Robb: i’m out. ally’s going.

Margaery: so? that girl’s been done since spring.

❛ ━━･❪ ❁ ❫ ･━━ ❜❁ ≖≖✿❁ ≖≖ ❁❛ ━━･❪ ❁ ❫ ･━━ ❜

You glance up at Robb, who’s already watching you with that unreadable look he gets sometimes, like he’s figuring something out and doesn’t want you to know it.

“Go,” you tell him, casual. Shrug. “It’s the club. You’re allowed to have fun.”

“I won’t even get through the front door without getting cornered by Ally and whatever perfume she thinks smells like money.”

“She’s over it.”

“She’s never over it.”

Still, he’s considering it. You can tell by the way his fingers stall on your knee, absentminded.

You don’t say what you’re really thinking, that the idea of him standing next to Margaery in a dark club, her whispering something too close into his ear, makes your chest feel tight in a way you can’t explain.

So instead you say, “Go. I’ll be home throwing clay at a wheel like the sixteen-year-old I am.”

He raises a brow. “You sure?”

“Promise not to fall in love with Margaery mid-shot, and I’ll allow it.”

He smirks. “We both know I don’t like girls who think they’re the main character.”

You bump your shoulder into his. “You like girls who are quiet and secretly insane.”

“You say that like it’s not my exact type.”

❛ ━━･❪ ❁ ❫ ･━━ ❜❁ ≖≖✿❁ ≖≖ ❁❛ ━━･❪ ❁ ❫ ･━━ ❜

You’re elbow-deep in a pottery apron, half-singing to yourself with your playlist on low, when your doorbell rings just after 10.

You peek through the peephole.

Robb Stark.

You open the door.

“I thought you were clubbing with Margaery and your ex,” you say.

He shrugs, hands in his hoodie pockets. “Didn’t even make it past coat check.”

You step aside.

“Ally was already drunk,” he continues as he toes off his shoes. “Margaery was… being Margaery.”

“Flirting?”

“Lightly,” he says. “Mostly just asked if I still sleep in boxers or briefs.”

You scoff. “She’s subtle.”

“She also said I smelled good enough to eat, so take that as you will.”

“Robb—”

“I left.”

You study him for a beat. His hair’s slightly messed up like he ran a hand through it too many times. He smells faintly like cologne and rain. His eyes are clear though, no gloss of shots or regret. Just… here.

“I made lopsided pottery,” you say finally.

He grins. “Show me.”

❛ ━━･❪ ❁ ❫ ･━━ ❜❁ ≖≖✿❁ ≖≖ ❁❛ ━━･❪ ❁ ❫ ･━━ ❜

You sit cross-legged on your bedroom rug, pottery wheel long abandoned, clay under your nails. Robb’s lying on his side, propped on one elbow, watching as you proudly show him a tiny bowl that could either be minimalist or a total accident.

He doesn’t mock it. Doesn’t even try.

“Is that supposed to be a mug?”

“It’s a statement piece.”

He taps it gently. “It’s perfect.”

You look up at him.

And for a second, the club, the ex, the flirty girls in expensive dresses, they all disappear. It’s just the two of you, sixteen and eighteen, in a room that smells like sandalwood and safety.

You didn’t dress up tonight.

You didn’t wear gloss or heels.

You’re not the kind of girl they let into velvet-roped rooms.

But Robb Stark came here anyway.

And stayed.

❛ ━━･❪ ❁ ❫ ･━━ ❜❁ ≖≖✿❁ ≖≖ ❁❛ ━━･❪ ❁ ❫ ･━━ ❜

haven’t posted from this series in a long time, all my fanfics come out automatically unless stated otherwise. I pump shit out like a damn machine.

school has started pray 4 me

fanfics may be slow at first since i’ll be a little distracted but give me a second and things will be back to normal. Water Lilly has 6-7 chapters left, then that one’s done, will finish by mid June if I remember, then others will start to be auto

thank you x

[crimsonbluuu]

It's kind of cold, man - Damian x Jon

Damian is cold, and he’s sick. Not sick enough to the point he’s bedridden, but sick enough that he doesn’t feel like getting in and out of bed.

He does anyway, and makes most of the rest of his time; then Jon comes back to the apartment and makes everything just a tad bit better.

(1,903 word count)

Warnings!

< Grammatical errors

< May or may not be somewhat ooc

read here, or on ao3!

Damian coughs into his hand for the seventh time this morning, still wrapped underneath the red duvet on Jonathan’s bed. The sun was setting slowly, its evening glow shining through the curtains in the small room. Damian shivered, snuggling farther into the covers. Jonathan had left hours ago, rambling about something to do with school.

And while his boyfriend was out doing God knows what, with God knows who, Damian was stuck in the other’s small apartment building that was a nice fifteen-minute walk away from the university he attended. Besides, Damian was content with lying down underneath the covers that provided warmth, unlike the rest of the apartment.

For some damned reason, Jon’s apartment was as cold as the Arctic; his heat refused to work. Damian blames it on the landlord, and Jon blames it on no one.

Why? because Jon is a saint, even though it’s obvious the landlord hasn’t updated the heater, Jon refuses to acknowledge it. So yes, Damian would much rather be in his very warm, insulated penthouse, with his silk covers and blackout curtains.

Despite his previous statements, he's very tempted to throw the covers off, dress in something warm, and leave the apartment as quickly as possible for his penthouse two hours away in Gotham. But he doesn't; instead, he throws the covers off of himself and throws on the closest thing he can find—a sweater and sweat pants.

He would hate to admit it, but the only thing he practically feels like doing at the moment is crashing down on Jon's hand-me-down couch and watching reality TV shows. Dick has rubbed off on him way too much. So he does exactly that, in that exact order.

Time flies by when you're being lazy and doing nothing. Especially when The Housewives of Atlanta plays in the background and the only thing Damian is "getting" from the show is a loss of brain cells, suddenly it explains why Richard originally thought that fish didn't have mouths.

And it just happens that when he's on the verge of going to sleep, after ignoring his soar throat and pulsing headache, he hears the familiar jingle of keys from outside the door and comes walking in a ball of sunshine.

The sun has already set, and the moon rises in its absence. Jon comes in humming some old country songs that he undoubtedly picked up from Jonathan Sr. He walks a short distance from the front door to the makeshift living room and collapses onto the couch, directly on top of Damian.

"Get off of me, you fat lug," Damian says, almost on instinct, since whenever Jon comes home and he just happens to be relaxing, not bothering him, he prefers to literally fall on him when he walks in.

"What happened to Hi, Hello, How are you?" Jon laughed, wrapping his arms around Damain's torso like an octopus. Damian sighed, rolling his eyes, but made no noise in protest as Jon did whatever he was doing.

Jonathan glanced up at him, smiling. His stupid glasses making him look dorky, with his dopey smile and doughy eyes, and the way his arms held tightly around Damian, as if he didn't want to—as if he wasn't going to let the other go.

"Missed you, dames." He smiled, gently kissing the other on his cheek, his lips lingering just for a moment before he laced his head back down on Damain's chest. Damian patted his head, lowering his head just a bit to give a soft kiss on the crown of Jonathan's head.

"Hm." Damian replied, not worrying about his lack of speech. Jonathan knew how Damian felt about him; words weren't a necessity in their relationship; they fit snuggly like a puzzle piece, like a dopey couple costume, like grapes to fine wine.

"What's this even about?" Jon questioned, watching the TV screen with a confused gaze. Damian shrugged; he'd lost focus from it the second he saw Richard watching it in the manors den at a quarter past five in the morning. At this point, he just turned it on for background noise.

"I'm not sure, though I think Richard would gladly discuss the meaning of the show with you." Damian smirks, and Jon quickly dismisses the idea. Everyone knows, or at least everyone who has ever had the grace of meeting Richard, that when he's passionate about something, whether it be a TV show or a new fighting technique, he won't shut up about it.

It's certainly not a bad thing, either. It just goes to an extent that no one expects overtime. Damian vividly remembers briefly mentioning that he appreciated the art of music, and the very next day there were a dozen books on the art of music stacked near his bed and several guitars.

"No- no thanks. I remember the last time I talked about something I liked with Dick, and at like three in the morning he was standing outside the window with a koala bear." Damian couldn't help but furrow his brows in confusion at Jon's experience.

"What now?" He questioned, slightly sitting up on the couch; his expression was the pinnacle of confusion, and he made sure Jon realized this.

"I know it sounds crazy, but I swear to baby Jesus that your brother showed up with a koala bear," Jon swore, and he sounded like he was on the verge of laughing and crying at the same time as he looked at Damian's expression.

"It's illegal to own a Koala Bear; how'd he manage to bring one here? Especially in the dead of night?" Damian seemed genuinely baffled with what Jon was telling him, and he had a hard time believing Dick scaled up a forty-foot building with a possibly rabid Koala hanging onto him, then again...

"That's the thing; I have no idea! And then, when he offered it to me and I said no, he just left, and I've never seen the koala anywhere, ever again." Jon said, laughing. Damian furrowed his brows again.

"Man, your brothers sure are weird." Jon let out an exasperated sigh, a soft laugh drawing itself from his throat as Damain's bamboozed expression stayed on his face.

"I need to contact someone." He said, narrowing his eyes. Jon looked up at him again, raising a brow.

"I need to know how I can steal a Koala bear, Jonathan; this is important information." Damian said, his eye narrowing as he scanned the room for his phone, Jon let out a sigh.

"Damian, please no."

[forgetyoursingalongsandlullabies]

TMAGP 31 Thoughts - Spoilers

- Severed hand! No blood!

- Cables running through it?!!

- Oh my God the hand just disappeared

- Gwen please call Lena

- Administrator privilege REVOKED

- Discard Data OH FUCK! All his elements?! Oh my God Colin you poor bastard

- ^^ My jaw was on the floor in horror and joy

- It sounds like the system was provoked! Lmao Gwen

- Oh is that the sound of a whimpering Sam?

- It sounds very muddy and gooey where he is

- “Sam will be okay. Mommy was okay so he will be too” she’s really hoping but damn

- Choose not to get involved. Wow Celia now you don’t want to get involved

- Celia keeps saying stuff she knows is from a case. When will someone ask to see the cases she’s referencing? If I were Alice and Celia has way more info than me that she claims to have learned from a case I’d want to read it too.

- It’s using the photocopier and printing Colin’s face

- Circus music! Oh, Sam

- Georgie is an MVP as always

- Oh Georgie is Captain here! Of course she is. Georgie the badass that you are

- Got a ride in Gertrude. They named a car after her

- Georgie doesn’t seem caught by the name Celia

- Keep investigations off the books. Gwen you’re making choices..

- Archivist is here!

- Ah a good ol’ Eyepocalypse statement

- “the archivist died, his face still burned into my mind” so did everyone know what Jon looked like? Like was everyone dreaming him? Because some people that met him had no clue who he was while some people did kind of automatically know who he was. I just wonder how that worked. Who and why. Unless she gave a statement before? But it doesn’t sound like she did. I just want to know how his face was burned in her mind. Did everyone “see” the pupil fall?

- “There is no place left for monsters. We will be your end and I will watch” 👏🏼 RIP Heidi a short lived icon.

So, that was a lot. I’m really just dwelling on why Heidi said The Archivist’s face was burned in her mind. Wondering the logistics. I’m also wondering about the car named after Gertrude, just, who is left that knows about her enough to have enough affection for her to name a car that? Probably Basira as she handled Gertrude’s murder case and would have known the most. There is some spark in my mind that maybe this isn’t our Archives-verse but that would mean The Eyepocalypse happened in multiple universes in the same time period. That’s way too complicated. It 99% probably is our Archivurse.

Many questions. Many many questions.

[the-delta-42]

Damn

A/N: Had to repost because I forgot to do a few things.

Damn

Marinette exhaled quietly as the last customer left the Bakery, three hours non-stop, which was preceded by another three hours before she was forced to take a break. The usual help hadn’t shown up that morning and both Marinette and her mother had been swapping over at set intervals, while her father kept an eye on the oven.

Marinette had recalled hearing her parents complain about Jonathan before, but this was the first time he hadn’t shown up for work. Marinette heard the bell over the door go, before putting on her ‘customer service’ face, which quickly broke when she spotted her grandfather.

“You look dead.” Came his blunt statement.

“Jon didn’t show up this morning.” Said Marinette, “Normally, we’d contact his wife, but neither are picking up.”

Rolland was quiet, “He’s the one that’s older than me.”

“Yeah, I think he’s supposed to be retired.” Remarked Marinette, “Papa and Maman are in the back, I think I heard them arguing about the consistency of some icing for a cake.”

Rolland shook his head, before walking into the back. Marinette sighed, before the bell over the door rang again. Marinette took a deep breath in and looked ahead.

“Welcome to Tom and Sabine’s Bakery, how may I help?” Said Marinette in her ‘customer service’ voice.

“You didn’t turn up for Orange Juice.” Said Kagami, making Marinette slump forwards.

“I knew I forgot something.” Groaned Marinette, “First Jon didn’t turn up and now I forgot about our drink, what’s next, Adrien telling me I forgot some project?”

There was a stiff silence, before Kagami looked to the side. Marinette groaned and dropped her head against the counter.

“Kill me now.” Groaned Marinette, “Of course things are going to shit, Jon doesn’t turn up, then I forget about our drink date and the class project and Luka saying that we ‘need to talk’ tomorrow.”

Kagami frowned, her head tilting slightly, “Is wanting to talk a bad thing?”

“Kagami,” Said Marinette, through her hands, “when one party in a relationship says, ‘we need to talk’ nothing good is going to come from it.”

Kagami was silent.

“Whenever Adrien says we need to talk, he shows me cat pictures.” Said Kagami, Marinette stared at her friend.

“Either Adrien is adorably naïve, or he doesn’t know what that phrase is used for.” Said Marinette, after a second.

Sabine poked her head out of the kitchen, “Marinette, go upstairs, you’ve done enough for today.”

Marinette smiled, until she decided to stand up, when her legs couldn’t take her weight and promptly collapsed onto the ground.

“Are you okay?” Asked Kagami, as Marinette hauled herself back up.

“I’m. Fine.” Grunted Marinette, as she made her way to the stairs.

Kagami watched her fall three more times before walking over, picking her up and carrying up the stairs.

D

“Can I have a kitty, Maman, pleeease?” Pleaded Manon, giving her mother the puppy’s eyes

“No, Manon,” Sighed Nadja, looking away from her computer, “having a pet is a big responsibility, and you can’t have one until you’re older.”

“B-b-but,” Manon whimpered, getting a sigh from Nadja.

“Manon,” Said Nadja, firmly, “I’ve said no.”

Manon burst into tears and ran off, getting a dejected sigh from her mother.

‘Stupid Maman,’ Thought Manon, not noticing the Akuma, ‘I am old enough.’

“Grown Up, I am Monarch. Your Mere believes you are too young for any responsibility, if you bring me Ladybug’s and Chat Noir’s Miraculous and you’ll get what you want.”

“Okay.”

D

Marinette stretched as she stood up, carefully adjusting the table. Kagami glanced at the clock.

“I have to go, Mother is expecting me home soon.” Said Kagami, getting up, “Same time next week?”

Marinette nodded, “Want a lift? I’ve told Maman I’d deal with some of the deliveries today.”

“That would be nice.”

Five minutes later Marinette was driving her moped with Kagami and some deliveries.

“Why’d you retry things with Luka?” Asked Kagami, as they rounded a corner.

“I thought I needed to work on me,” Called Marinette, “I thought if I became a better version of myself, things would be easier with Luka.”

“Are they?”

“Nope.” Answered Marinette, as they stopped at Kagami’s home. Frowning, Marinette looked at her phone, “Hold on, did your Maman order from my parents?”

“She tried one of your family’s pastries and enjoyed them.” Answered Kagami, as Marinette pulled a bag from the case on her moped.

“Right, give me a moment.” Marinette hopped off the vehicle, and walking up to the door with the bakery bag.

“I’ll take it, Mother’s going to be in a meeting.” Said Kagami, taking the bag from Marinette, “See you next week.”

D

Marinette sighed, rolling her shoulders as she remounted her moped. She’d just finished her deliveries and was about to head home, part of her wondered why it was so quiet, before she shook her head and drove home.

Meanwhile, Grown Up ran across the rooftops, revelling in her freedom.

D

Yawning, Marinette looked around, before crossing the road. She smiled as Alya waved at her, before she heard someone shout.

“I AM GROWN UP, I WANT THE MIRACULOUS!” Alya and Marinette were hit by a beam of light, before Grown Up ran away.

“What the hell?” Asked Alya, before looking at Marinette and gasped, “Girl, look at you.”

“Look at me?” Marinette pointed at Alya, “Look at you!”

Both girls were at least ten years older, Alya was wearing a suit like the one Nadja Chamack wore when she was working, while Marinette was wearing a dark blue pant suit.

“Whoa.” Said both girls.

D

Adrien gulped as he looked at Marinette, thanks to the Akuma that aged anyone hit by their ray, Marinette and Alya had been hit and aged up to at least 25.

Adrien was quick to notice that Marinette looked 'smoking hot', as Kim put it, and had certainly gotten bigger in the chest and hips. He didn’t look at Alya, but he felt Nino was thinking the same thing.

It certainly didn't help when Adrien suddenly blurted out,

"Please step on me." Blurted Adrien, before he clapped his hands over his mouth. Adrien just wanted to die. He decided he would do it himself if he had to.

“Please do it. I wanna see what happens.” Said Kim, laughing as Adrien and Marinette’s faces went red.

“Shut up, Kim.” Said Alya, taking control of the situation. She removed her blazer and dropped it on top of Marinette’s, “We need to focus on more important things.”

Adrien thought he saw Nino covering his nose, while Marinette folded her arms across her chest.

“Yeah,” Said Alix, pointing at Nathaniel, “Like why does Nath look homeless?”

They glanced at him, Nathaniel was hit by Grown Up as well, but while Marinette and Alya looked healthy and well dressed, Nathaniel was filthy and unnaturally skinny.

“I don’t know.” Rasped Nathaniel, before he hacked up a cough.

“Hold on.” Lila, who’d also been hit by Grown Up, grabbed a torch from her pocket, she had a doctor’s coat on and a hospital ID, she crouched in front of Nathaniel, “Open up.”

Nathaniel grimaced, but slowly opened his mouth, Lila visibly recoiled and nearly dropped her torch.

“Well, that’s something you don’t see that every day.” Muttered Lila, as Marinette crouched next to her.

“Is that a…” Marinette tilted her head to the side.

“There are a couple of masses, one at the back of your throat and another on your gums along your molars.” Said Lila, frowning, “But…maybe you should cut back on the cigarettes.”

“How can you tell he smokes?” Asked Marinette, as Alya joined them.

“Staining on his fingers, his cough and the state of his teeth and gums.” Answered Lila, before stiffening, “How the hell do I know that?”

“I’ve got some news headlines on my mind and Marinette’s got some meetings on hers.” Said Alya, before glancing at Nathaniel.

Marinette groaned, “We’re getting off subject, sorry Nath, but I think we can focus on our future problems when they actually happen.”

“Right.” The others nodded, as Nathaniel reached into his pocket for a pencil, before he frowned and pulled out a syringe.

Lila quickly took the syringe from him and put it on Bustier’s desk.

“We need to find the Akuma, get all this fixed and go back to hating each other.” Marinette glanced at Lila and Chloé, who’d also been hit by the beam, “So, what do we know?”

“She calls herself ‘Grown Up’.” Said Lila, “So, it’s likely that she’s a small child that’s been told she’s too young for something.”

“Okay, so if we can figure out what she wants, we could distract her with it.” Said Alya, shifting.

“But, to do that we’d need to know who she is.” Said Marinette, getting a scoff from Chloé.

“Out of everyone in the city, the first two she targets are you two.” Said Chloé, “Most people target people they know, so, do any of the brats you baby sit want something they can’t have?”

The class watched as Marinette frowned, before her jaw dropped, “Oh my god.”

Marinette ran out the room, leaving everyone at a loss.

D

Marinette carefully put the box on the table, getting frowns from everyone.

“What’s that?” Asked Alix, as Marinette reached into the box and pulled out a kitten.

“Someone dumped an entire litter in my family’s bin.” Said Marinette, as the other kittens started mewing, “I showed them to Manon and she’s been besotted with Tiny since she met her.”

Alya raised an eyebrow, “Tiny?”

“Because she’s small.” Answered Marinette, before heading towards the door, “Hopefully, finding Manon will be easy.

D

Grown Up was running around the park, despite her name, she looked more or less the same, with ‘grown up’ make up on her face. Marinette wanted to coo at how adorable it was, while another part of her wanted to roll around laughing at how ridiculous Manon looked.

“Manon.” Said Marinette, getting the Akuma’s attention, “Come here.”

“Marinette!” Grinned Grown Up, running toward Marinette, “Have you got Kitty?”

Marinette nodded, “But, if you want her, you need to give me the Akuma object.”

Manon rapidly nodded, all but throwing a sheet of paper at Marinette. She handed the kitten to Manon, prompting the animal to start purring. The sound of someone skidding got Marinette’s attention, turning, she found Chat Noir. She smiled and held the piece of paper out to him.

“You might want to get this to Ladybug.” Said Marinette, before heading off, “Could you watch her for me, please? I need to do something.”

Chat absently nodded, allowing Marinette to slip into an alley way, she saw a guy sitting amongst some bins, but quickly noted that he was asleep.

“Tikki,” The Kwami appeared out of Marinette’s pocket, “Spots on!”

A flash of light woke the man from his sleep, seeing an Adult Ladybug swing out of the Alley, he looked down at the bottle of whiskey and started to pour it away.

Ladybug landed next to Chat and took the piece of paper from him, “Thank you.”

Chat stared at her dumbstruck, as Ladybug tore the piece of paper and purified the Akuma. Pulling up a lucky charm and casting the cure, Ladybug found herself back at her normal height. Chat almost looked disappointed.

“We better get going,” Said Ladybug, drawing her arm back, “I’ll make sure to point Marinette back this way.”

“Okay.” Said Chat, quietly as Ladybug left, “I’ll see you in a minute.”

Marinette skidded to a stop in front of Chat, “Sorry, I had to move my moped.”

“Okay, M’Lady.” Marinette’s eyes got impossibly wides.

“Wha-” “Marinette!”

Marinette looked at Nadja, who was running up to her, “I can’t find Manon! Her father thought she was with me and I thought she was her and…”

“She was Akumatized.” Said Chat, pointing toward Manon and Kitty, “It was dealt with.”

“I should’ve said,” Said Marinette, “we had some low-life dump a litter of kittens in our bin. I’ve been cleaning them up and nursing them until we can rehome them. Manon saw Tiny and, well, fell in love with her.”

Nadja gnawed at her bottom lip, watching Manon play with the kitten.

“She’s helped me with feeding them and playing with them.” Continued Marinette, “She’s also calmed down easier when the kitten’s with her.”

Nadja walked up to Manon and looked at the cat, before looking at Marinette, “She is house trained, right?”

Marinette nodded, “They know to use a litter tray or to go outside. I’ve actually had to go on my balcony wearing gloves because of them.”

“What does she eat?”

“Normal cat food, but she is partial to a piece of salmon every so often.” Answered Marinette, “Of course, she still needs to be chipped and spayed.”

“I’ll handle that.” Dismissed Nadja, as she picked Manon up, “I’ll drop around later to hash things out.”

Marinette smiled and waved Nadja, Manon and Kitty off, before whirling around on Chat, “How do you know?!”

“Both you and Ladybug were older.” Answered Chat, as Marinette gaped at him.

“So was Alya!”

D */Ten Years Later/*

Marinette quietly hummed to herself as Felix and Noir rolled around the room, she heard Hugo and Louis fighting over a toy and Emma gurgling up at Adrien.

“How’re things turning out with Nath?” Asked Adrien, looking up from their daughter.

“Lila’s managed to get him the medical care he needs,” Answered Marinette, as she flipped through her designs, “I think Alix is trying to get in contact with Marc, and Chloé and Sabrina are trying to get access to his home.”

“What about his problems?” Asked Adrien, as Noir barrelled into his leg.

“They’ve confiscated all the drugs he had on him,” Marinette sighed, “but he might have to be admitted to a Rehab facility.”

Adrien sighed through his nose, looking down at the cat clawing his way up his leg, “Plagg, a little help?”

“I keep telling ya, Kid, I don’t speak Cat.”

[rookfeatherrambles]

tonight I have come up with some real. good stuff for Angel that Cries Ink. Whew. Here's a yummy chunk but know that there's at least 3 pages of this and its only getting hotter. :)

“Will you let me touch your wings, darling?” Elias asks, and that’s the true test if Jon has forgiven him or not, as Jon’s wings might very well be the most sensitive part of his ethereal body, and he can be extremely tetchy where they are concerned. Elias gets nothing from Jon for several moments, the only sound in the room, the gentle drip-plip of the faucet into the full bath, but then Jon moves his arm to the side, using it to brace himself as he stands. Elias takes a moment to stare at all his lovely curves and edges from behind, a familiar awe falling upon him as those lovely gray wings slowly unfold themselves from the hollows in his back, shaking themselves, and spreading. Jon is a beautiful creature. Elias hears him exhale through his nose, and so instead of going right for the wings as Jon obviously expects, he reaches for the other bottle he brought with him. The scent of bergamot and sandalwood fills the space as he squirts a palmful into his hand before starting at Jon’s calves, rubbing the massage oil into his supple skin until it's all soaked into his pores and he’s soft as a newborn. He takes his time, and Jon doesn’t make a move to stop him, even as his hands trail further upwards, squeezing, sliding his thumb over the unmarked brown skin. “Is this alright?” He asks, and finally, Jon responds, just nodding his head. There’s no books nearby, which explains why he’s not speaking right now. Elias makes a mental note to restock Jon’s supply when he has time. It wouldn’t do for his lovely angel to have to consume stale literature. Perhaps he’ll bring down a few statements, too, as a treat. He’ll have to go through the mess Gertrude left behind and find one or two he doesn’t mind losing. Nothing personal, of course, some two bit accounts of terror will satisfy the mouth of Beholding well enough for his purposes. Elias’s fingers graze over the slight curve of Jon’s ass, and he feels the way a shudder passes through his body. It seemed Jon wasn’t angry with him at all anymore, if that was his reaction… Elias takes note, but focuses on moisturizing Jon fully first, though he’d be lying if he said he didn’t take pleasure in kneading his buttocks and making him gasp softly and squirm a little.

[ollieofthebeholder]

And If Thou Wilt, Forget: a TMA fanfic

Read from the beginning on Tumblr || AO3 || My Website

Chapter 47: Thou hast seen, judge Thou

“Are you sure you’re up for this?” Gerry asked anxiously as he put the car in park. “Maybe you should stay home a day or two.”

“I’m fine,” Tim said. The exhaustion and feebleness in his voice definitely made a lie of that, but he gave his partner a cheeky, cocksure grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Have to see what bullshit is going on in there, right?”

“You really don’t, Tim. It’s got on without you this long. It can manage a bit longer.”

“Yeah, but…I don’t know that I can,” Tim admitted. He squeezed Gerry’s hand briefly. “Let me know when you get home, okay? I’ll see you later.”

Gerry still looked worried, but he sighed and nodded. “Call me if you need a ride.”

Tim half climbed, half fell out of the car, shut the door, and staggered the block and a half from where Gerry had parked to the door of the Institute.

He’d left the keys to the Archives on Martin’s desk, just like Gertrude had him, before heading out of town, so he couldn’t let himself in that way. If Martin wasn’t in yet, he wouldn’t be able to get into the Archives from the outside, and it was honestly a crap shoot if he’d be able to get in from the inside either, but it was at least the more likely. Still, the earlier he got in, the less likely he would be to be observed by the entire Institute. Not that people paid that much mind to them at the best of times, but the last thing he wanted was to draw undue attention to the Archives his first day back.

He stumbled up the front steps, catching himself hard against the solid wood door. His hands shook so badly that it took him two tries to fumble with the knob and actually get it to turn. At last, though, he managed to get the door open and make his way into the Institute.

The building didn’t feel empty, not like it had when he’d come in to give his statement to Detective Tonner, but there was an absence he noticed more sharply than he had the last time he’d come in after an extended time away—the lack of Archivist. It didn’t feel like a hole waiting to be filled, more like a space being saved; he wasn’t gone, just absent. There also weren’t a lot of other people in the building to witness his lurching, reeling progress across the lobby.

“Oh—Tim!” Rosie’s shocked, horrified voice gasped out from the direction of her desk. Tim didn’t look at her, merely gave a desultory, almost drunken wave and continued his progress towards the Archives steps.

He concentrated incredibly hard on the steps to the Archives to make sure he didn’t fall. They were, like most stairs to basement level in this part of London, narrow and steep, easy to tumble down if your coordination was off, and the years had worn slick grooves where countless footsteps had passed. The carpet runner that had gone up the middle of the staircase when Tim started at the Institute was long gone, probably a victim of the worm infestation or perhaps torn up by the Not as it bulldozed through the Institute after Jon, making them all the more precarious. Finally, he made it to the bottom, found the door to the Archives, and tried the knob. Mercifully, it opened easily, and Tim returned.

They were, once again, just as he’d left them. The door to the Archivist’s office was firmly shut, as was Document Storage; Mister Megabytes was switched off and dreaming of whatever electronic archives dreamed of; the shelves and boxes and files were still in varying states of chaos. A small stack of files waited on Martin’s desk, another pile on the desk that had probably been given over to Melanie, and there was…something sitting on his desk. Tim’s stomach flipped as he slowly made his way over to the cluster of desks. He reached out a trembling hand, then slowly palmed the keys…the ones he had left behind for Martin. Pointedly left on Tim’s desk, as if he’d be back to get them any minute.

Okay. Maybe he felt a little guilty about that.

Melanie had decorated her desk, he noticed. Nothing ostentatious, just a few novelty pens and a bisexual pride flag jammed in a coffee mug that had a crack in it that made it useless as anything but a pencil holder. Tim vaguely recognized the logo on its side as belonging to Georgie Barker’s What the Ghost podcast—a cartoonish outline of a ghost rising below the bold black letters W. T. G. As he made eye contact with the tiny dots representing glowing pupils in the black eye sockets, the ring on his finger tightened slightly, and he made a feeble effort at throwing up his usual mental barriers. He noted the angle the mug sat at with a flicker of his gaze and wondered if the logo repeated on the far side.

Only one way to find out. He made his way slowly and carefully to the Document Storage room, his steps getting surer and his back straightening as he walked, until he stepped through the door, shut it, and sat on the chair behind the desk. He took several deep, even breaths, until they were steady and regular.

At which point the door opened, and Tim felt rather than heard the tape recorder click on. “Tim?”

“Hey, boss,” Tim said with as much sarcasm as he could muster, rolling his head around to face Elias, who had indeed just come into Document Storage. He didn’t shut the door fully behind him, and through the window, Tim could see, a few feet away, Rosie standing with a look on her face somewhere between anxiety and hungry curiosity, not really hiding that she was trying to hear what was going on. Bingo. “What brings you down to the dungeons? Your office just too full of joy?”

“Not quite.” Elias’s expression was unflappable. “I heard you’d had some absences. Some unauthorized leave. I just wanted to talk it through with you.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet you did,” Tim said. He rose to his feet and folded his arms over his chest, looking Elias in the eye as he did so. His mental shields were up a lot stronger than they had been when he first felt the ring tighten, and he could feel the weight of the statements around him shoring him up.

“Were you sick?” Elias prodded. “If you’re sick, you really need to call in.”

Tim narrowed his eyes and let himself smirk, just a little. “Nope. Wasn’t sick. Try again.”

“I don’t suppose you were…on a bender, as it were. Rosie was concerned about you when you arrived, she said you seemed…unsteady on your feet.”

“Miss number two.”

Elias’s brow furrowed in annoyance. “Well, you hadn’t booked any leave.”

“No, I had not,” Tim agreed.

For just a second, Elias tried to stare him down, but even at less than full power, Tim was more than a match for him. And this was his territory, his…pasture, if you will. His to protect. Even with nobody else there—yet, anyway—he could withstand just about anything. The moment passed, and Elias continued pressing. “Under any other circumstances, I would have thought you were sent on an errand by the Archivist, but Jon has not been in touch with you, has he?”

“Not since he went to ground, no.” Tim was fairly certain Jon no longer had his phone with him anyway. Even if he did, Tim would be the last person he’d reach out to; Martin would undoubtedly be the first. If he thought it was safe to reach out. If doing so wouldn’t put both of them in danger.

Elias pursed his lips. It was clear he was trying not to blow his top, or let on to Rosie what was really going on—or that he knew Tim knew what was going on. If it hadn’t been for her presence, this would undoubtedly be a very different conversation. “So, what happened?” he finally asked.

Tim shrugged one shoulder. “I hopped a plane to Malaysia. Found myself a hotel. Waited for the partner.”

There was clear suspicion in Elias’s expression, and Tim felt him prodding at the wall in his mind, even harder than before. And, being as…experienced as he was, of course he found the tiniest chink in the wall. Tim hastened to spackle it up, so to speak, but he could sense Elias’s triumph, even as he pulled back. When he spoke, however, it was just as mild and professional as before. “I see. You were trying to leave us?”

“Yeah.”

“But you’ve returned?” The gleam in Elias’s eye, just for a flash, said he already knew why, but he was waiting for Tim to say it.

Tim licked his lips. “I…I got sick. The longer I was gone…I felt weak, like, like I was losing myself. I was too far from the Archives. Too far from the Archivist. I…I guess the connection was too strained.”

“Yes,” Elias said, almost sympathetically. “I believe Gertrude warned you that might happen?”

“No, actually. She said I was stuck here for life, but not…” Tim gestured at himself. “I mean, Rosie saw what I was like when I got here. Feeling better now, though.” He folded his arms again. “You planning to terminate me, boss?”

Elias raised an eyebrow, and for a second he looked almost tempted, but he shook his head. “No. I don’t think that’ll be necessary.”

“Of course not,” Tim agreed dryly.

“But let’s be sure it doesn’t happen again, hmm?”

Tim sighed heavily. “Don’t worry. I’m not entirely stupid. Someone’s got to be here to serve as a horrible warning to the others, right?”

Elias sighed, too. “This is a very old place, Tim. It has all sorts of…idiosyncrasies, and not all of them are good for the people who work here.”

“Yeah, just ask Gertrude.” Tim rubbed a hand over his face. “I think I’d prefer asbestos.”

“I’ve always found the best way to deal with it is to lose yourself in the work,” Elias said. “You’re quite good at that under ordinary circumstances, and I’m sure there’s a great deal of filing and…data entry that’s gone by the wayside lately. You know how difficult it is to keep up with everything with only two people, and Melanie is still learning the ropes. I’m sure she would benefit from your…expert guidance.”

Tim almost laughed at that, but caught himself just in time. “Yeah. I mean…I guess maybe you’re right.”

“I’m sure I am. And no more unauthorized absences, okay?” Elias raised an eyebrow like he was scolding a puppy that had just peed on the rug.

The door opened the rest of the way, exposing Martin, who didn’t look like he’d been sleeping. He started and looked back and forth. “Oh, er, is everything okay in here?”

Elias turned the same expression on Martin, and Tim bristled a little. “Yes, Martin, very much so.” With that, he stepped past him and left, shutting the door behind him. Tim could just hear him talking to Rosie outside.

Martin stared at Tim as though he couldn’t quite figure out where he’d come from or why he was there. Finally, he said, “Right. Um, I was actually going to record a statement…if that’s all right with you, Tim?”

It wasn’t, and Martin probably knew that, but Tim had left him alone for a week and a half to handle the work and Melanie on his own with no warning or explanation, so he didn’t really have much room to object. He decided, just this once, to bow out gracefully. “Yeah. It’s already running.”

Martin started and looked at the recorder. “Oh. Oh, so it is.” He blinked up at Tim. “Why—why did you turn it on?”

Tim shrugged. “I didn’t. Let me know if you need me.” With that, he stepped out of the office and shut the door behind him.

With Sasha—real or otherwise—gone, he felt less concerned about leaving his laptop somewhere anyone could snoop through it without his noticing, so he set it up and then went to investigate the shelves. Martin had been busy; there were quite a few files newly organized on them. A quick flick through the floppy disks told him that no one had bothered digitizing them, though. He could—he should probably take care of that, but…

He glanced back at the piles on Martin’s and Melanie’s desks from deeper within the Archives. They looked like they hadn’t been picked through yet—as though they’d finished their research and someone, probably Martin, had pulled several stacks out of a box and divided them up without rhyme or reason. Deciding that was his first step, he pulled all of the files together and started redividing them into three separate stacks.

It was moot, really. They largely worked the files together, especially these days; they each had specialized research abilities that complemented one another and made for more complete information. But they had to start somewhere, and if they each took point on a different stack they could just swap whenever they got stuck or needed a change. Besides, this way Tim could filter out the real ones and make sure he wasn’t letting one of the others go into a dangerous situation.

His phone buzzed a moment later with a message from Gerry: [Home safe. The package you were looking for is here.]

Tim tapped out a quick reply: [Thanks. I’ll check when I get home to make sure it’s what I thought.]

[The usual time? Or do you need to leave early?]

[I think I’ll survive the workday. See you later.] Tim hit SEND and turned his phone face down.

Bang on time, the door to the Archives opened and Melanie came in, wearing a pair of sunglasses and clutching a large thermos. She raised the sunglasses and gave him an unimpressed look. “Decided to come back to work, have you?”

“Yeah, turns out if you’re not working for the government it’s harder to get paid to sit on your arse and do nothing,” Tim shot back. Her limp had largely disappeared, but she still had the Slaughter mark and she didn’t look like she was tempering its effects any. “Besides, Elias seems to think you’d benefit from my dramatic pause expert guidance.”

That actually surprised a laugh out of her, albeit a brief one. She immediately scowled at him, though. “Oh, yeah, I’m so looking forward to working closely with someone who blames me for all his problems.”

“Oh, is Jon back?” Tim said acidly.

“Hah! You wish.” Melanie thumped down in her seat. “What are you doing, anyway?”

“Reassigning the work. Easier to get through the files if we go one box at a time, so rather than break into a new one, I thought I’d just shuffle these so I have something to do.” Tim waved one of the files at her. “And until I get the list of what files you guys worked while I was gone, I can’t really start putting them in the computer, now can I?”

“We can’t get into it. Something about a pass code?” Melanie shrugged. “Martin tried the other day and gave up. Dunno if he called IT yet.”

The door to Document Storage opened just then and Martin came out, looking tired, a folder in one hand and the tape in the other. He balked at the sight of Tim. “What are you doing?”

“What’s it look like?” Tim gestured to the three piles. “Did you think I was going to turn back up and just sit here watching you two do all the work while I fucked off?”

“Kind of?” Martin blew out an exasperated huff of air. “Honestly, I was shocked you came back at all.”

Part of Tim thought he probably deserved that. A tiny part of Tim groveled, dropping to its metaphorical belly and whining piteously as it crept towards Martin, like Rowlf did when Gerry scolded him for running off with one of his paintbrushes. The vast majority of Tim rose up in a swift, sudden swell of anger at the implication, so abrupt that it got past his ability to keep in check and yanked him to his feet, teeth gritted and lips curled back in a snarl, as the chair scraped back violently and he slammed his palms down on the desk.

“The more fool you, to think I would abandon my charge and leave my Archives to the mercy of the Wolves,” he growled.

Both Martin and Melanie had flinched back at his first abrupt movement. Melanie yelped and tried to both stand and shove back from the desk simultaneously, resulting in her chair tipping over backwards with a clatter and a curse. Martin, for his part, jumped backwards, clutching the folder and tape to his chest like a shield, his eyes wide with surprise and—fear. Tim could taste it, feel it thrumming in the air, hear it it singing to him like a siren call. They weren’t just startled, they were afraid, and it was he who had made them so, their fear was his to take and—

No. No! Fuck, that wasn’t—no. Tim closed his eyes and sucked in a deep breath, held it for a moment, and swallowed hard, forcing down the static, forcing down the snarl, forcing down the thing that had seized his throat and tongue and voice.

They’re ours, he told the part of the Ceaseless Watcher that resided in his very blood. Ours to protect. We only attack if they don’t heed the warning. Let them be.

Slowly, he felt the static settle, the anger retreat. He took another deep, slow breath, then opened his eyes and looked up at Martin as he backed slowly away from the table, shoulders slightly hunched, hands loose at his sides. “Sorry. I’m sorry. That was…uncalled for.”

“It’s…fine,” Martin said, a little uncertainly. He still looked afraid, and maybe a little upset, but he also seemed to recognize that pushing the issue right then wouldn’t help either of them. He took a deep breath, too. “Um, I guess…I guess we should get started on these files, then.”

“Yeah.” Tim ran a hand through his hair. “Melanie said something about you guys not being able to get into Mister Megabytes?”

“Yeah, I—I was going to call IT about that, but, you know, they don’t really talk to me.” Martin flapped a hand helplessly.

Tim nodded. “Tell you what. Let me finish parceling out this crap, and then I’ll run up and find Chad. He tends to be slightly less of an arse than the rest of them.”

“Takes one to know one,” Melanie grumbled, not quite under her breath.

Tim decided to ignore her.

He ended up taking the time to look at the computer himself before he went up to find the IT department—not that he didn’t trust Martin, but he didn’t trust Melanie, and he also knew this computer better than just about anyone in the Institute. After a couple of minutes poking at it, he realized that someone—probably the Not-Sasha—had altered some of the code and fundamentally fucked up the system. Luckily, Tim had done most of the initial programming on the computer way back when, and he also had a small fragment of the embodiment of awful and fearsome knowledge embedded in his soul, and it had tried to hurt his people, so it owed him. With only a little assistance, he was able to fix the DOS and get the computer up and running.

It did mean he’d used the Eye’s power twice, even if the first time had been inadvertent, which meant he needed a bit of perking up. So after lunch, while Martin showed Melanie the basics of the computer, Tim ignored the periodic interjections of “you’ve got to be fucking kidding me” from that side of the room and selected a particularly juicy statement to start sinking his teeth into. The first one he pulled was one he could probably leave to Martin; it was pretty obviously the Dark, and they weren’t doing much these days, but Tim was still pretty sure they’d had at least something to do with Gertrude’s death, since she’d been trying to stop the Extinguished Sun at the time. It was as good a target for his anger as any.

Two hours and a handful of phone calls later, and Tim felt a lot better. There was still more to research—obviously there was still more to research—and he would definitely have to do a bit of in person legwork, but he’d been right to choose a statement almost as old as he was, belonging to his second least favorite entity these days. It made it easier to get along with the others for the rest of the afternoon.

At the end of the day they all packed away their things, shut down Mister Megabytes, and tidied up the folders. Melanie skipped out without much of a farewell; Martin, at least, went round with Tim to make sure everything was buttoned down for the night before leaving. Tim carefully locked both doors and hurried after him. They didn’t speak on the train ride home, but at least Martin didn’t pointedly sit as far from him as possible.

It was a cool evening, but it was warmer enough than Siberia that Tim barely felt it. He strode the few blocks home, let himself into the flat, and was immediately greeted by a very enthusiastic spaniel. Laughing, he bent down and scruffed his ears. “Hey, buddy. Daddy still down in the studio?”

He knew he was. He’d seen the lights downstairs when he arrived. Tossing the keys to the Archives into the bowl, Tim unhooked the lead from the wall, clipped it to Rowlf’s collar, and took him for his evening walk. They arrived back at the flat just as the studio lights went off, so Tim wasn’t remotely surprised when Gerry walked in before he’d even had time to get all the way to the kitchen.

“Hey,” he said, catching Gerry around the waist and giving him a quick kiss. “Productive day?”

Gerry hummed against his lips. “Interesting. How’s…” He squeezed Tim’s hand lightly.

“We’re good. Nobody’s been watching me since this morning.” Tim squeezed back.

“So he bought it, then?”

“Hook, line, and sinker.” Tim smirked as he stepped back to look Gerry in the eye. The amusement on Gerry’s face said he was enjoying this almost as much as Tim was. “He was thoroughly convinced I actually tried to leave, and that it actually made me weak until I made it to the Archives and safety. You didn’t have any problems?”

“Nope.” Gerry popped the P sharply. “Cameras are all in the same place as usual, and since the nosy broad at the front desk either was worried about you or thought she was going to get to watch you get fired for showing up to work trashed, there was no one to see me. And it was right where you said it was. In and out, no sweat. Good call on the dimensions, too.”

Tim wrinkled his nose. “I don’t know if that was a good call or if I had help, but…you know, not complaining. Did you look inside?”

“No, but the weight was about the same, so I trust you.” Gerry cocked his head. “Let’s do that now. Otherwise you’re going to be distracted all night.”

“I love and hate that you know me so well.” Tim kissed Gerry on the cheek.

They headed into the small, windowless room that had once been Gerry’s, little more than a closet but undecorated and—they had discovered—slightly muffled from the Eye. Gerry shut the door for good measure, then reached up to the shelf and pulled down a square cardboard box—the one Tim had seen in Elias’s office. He held it out to Tim. “You work there. You do the honors.”

“You just don’t want whatever’s in here to attack you.”

“How likely do you think Jonah Magnus is to booby trap it?”

“He’s too overconfident. Who’d be stupid enough to raid his office?” Tim sat on the floor, box in his lap. Gerry slid down to sit beside him as he fumbled with the carefully interlaced folds of cardboard and prised them apart. He purred contentedly at what he saw. “Hello, lovelies.”

Thankfully, nothing answered him. Gerry glanced up. “Where do we start, then?”

Tim reached into the box and plucked out the first tape. He held it up and studied the label—Gertrude’s distinct, precise handwriting, with one of her file numbers and two words that provided almost zero context, in blood red ink. “We need to find something to help with the Unknowing, but I think I need time to get things settled at the office before I really dig into this, just in case it has an effect. And I need to give Jonah a day or two to not suspect I’m the one that took them, if he’s even figured out the box has been swapped out yet. I don’t even know what he had all the tapes for. Let’s give it until Friday before we start digging through these.” He replaced the tape and folded the flaps shut again. “Come on. Let’s go have dinner and then I can tell you about all the different ways I fucked things up with Martin.”

[sailorshadzter]

ive been writing a lot for other ships lately.

so here's some jonsa ft. sansa making the move on her man

She wonders when the knock comes to her door, if this interaction will save her soul, or simply break her heart. 

Eyes shift towards the door and for the briefest of moments she thinks she won’t open it; she thinks of him out there, palm pressed against the wood, gray eyes downcast, a hitch to his breath he probably doesn’t even recognize. Waiting, hoping, just as she’s been. But, she rises up a moment later, a sigh escaping as she takes hold of the knob and pulls the door open. Of course, there he stands, eyes widening slightly with his surprise, softening at the sight of her. “Sansa…” His husky vocals speak her name in a way that sends shivers down her spine and she steps back, silent, allowing him to slip inside. 

Just like that, they were as they once were, trapped between a moment of what was and what could be. Neither of them speak, for there’s no words to be said, not now, perhaps not ever. He knows he should speak the truth, should tell her all that has happened since the day he last left Winterfell, but she’s glaring daggers at him, making him wonder if coming to her rooms had been nothing more than a mistake. “Well, you’ve come for a reason haven’t you?” She finally asks, the fight fleeing from her with another sigh. She returns to the chair she once occupied, reaching for the pitcher of wine when she sits, two goblets there at the ready. When she turns back to him, Jon nods. “Well, come on then,” she says, exasperated, pouring the first goblet, which she pushes across the table, so he might take hold of it when he sinks into the chair opposite her. She pours herself the next goblet and doesn’t bother to recork the pitcher, as if she knows more will certainly be poured. 

“I don’t know where to begin,” he says, speaking honestly, his admission bringing a chuckle from her lips. 

“Just the truth.” 

They’re both thinking the same thing then- of the moment they had shared early that day, neither getting the answer they truly desired. Back then, the truth had been closer to the tip of his tongue then it was even now, for the sight of her distress then had been enough to nearly undo him. But now, she’s quiet in her calmness, the goblet of wine at her lips as she takes her first sip. “I’m afraid you won’t believe the truth,” he admits, softly, the words changing her. Her hand stretches out across the table top, as it’s done before, to take hold of his, giving it a small squeeze. 

“I’ll always believe you, if only you just told me,” she says quietly, not withdrawing her hand. 

Jon lets out a shaky breath, his other hand falling into place over hers; she’s soft and warm, something he’s missed all these months without her. He knows he owes her this much, the truth of it all, but he had thought… Had hoped… That sparing her the truth would keep her safe. The less who knew, the better, but then again… Swallowing against the agony of it all, he opens his mouth and begins to speak, weaving for her the tale of the time he’s been away- of what he’s had to do and why. And of course, that’s not it. There’s the other truth as well. 

By the time he’s finished, the pitcher of wine is nearly empty and she’s drawn her chair around the table to sit beside him instead. “It changes everything,” he says, dejected, but somehow relieved now that the truth is out there in the open. “It’s as I’ve always said, I’m not a Stark.” 

“You are,” she shoots back without hesitation, the clarity of her statement forcing his gaze back up. Her blue eyes are gleaming in the firelight, her shoulders squared, the look upon her face one he’s only seen when he dares not argue back. “Your mother was a Stark… And so was your father.” He opens his mouth, as if he means to protest, as if he thinks she’s not come to understand what he’s just told her. “Ned Stark was your father, Jon. He raised you, fed you, clothed you, protected you. He was your father as much as he was any of ours.” Jon feels tears stinging in his eyes at her passionate words and he closes his eyes against them, opening them only when once more, he feels the touch of her hand to his own. “I’m sorry Jon, for not believing in you as I should have.” 

“I didn’t exactly make it easy for you,” he admits, forcing away the need to take her hand as well; his fingers ache with it. 

She smiles, tilting her head, red hair falling across her shoulder. “It wasn’t just about giving up your crown, I was jealous, in truth,” she speaks freely, perhaps thanks to the wine, perhaps thanks to his own honesty. When Jon arches a brow in surprise, she chuckles in spite of herself. “Jealous of her. Of you being with her.” His breath catches, heart skipping a beat, the realization of her words dawning as quickly as she says them. Jealous… She was jealous? “She is quite beautiful.” 

“Not as beautiful as you,” he says quickly, more honesty. 

A blush stains her cheeks and she stands up, closing the small gap between them so she can sit down on his knee, the weight of her both warm and comforting. His heart is beating so fast he wonders if she can hear the sound of it as she leans in, close enough to kiss, close enough to taste. “When you were with her… Did you think of me?” She asks so quietly he wonders for a moment if he’s only just imagined her speaking at all. He blinks, trying to find the words to stutter as a reply, uncertain if he should tell her that truth: that yes, of course he had. All he can do is give a single nod and it’s all he needs because her lips are on his then, the feel of her hands sliding into his hair sending shivers down his spine. 

His arms twist around her hips, drawing her in, the kiss only intensifying with this new placement. Jon feels her hand unbind his hair so she can run her fingers through his curls without fail and one of his hands is stroking the long length of her hair, the other pressing against the small of her back. How long has he wished for this moment to happen? “Sansa, I…” He rasps when they break apart, breathless, but longing for more. The sound of his voice saying her name in such a way melts her and she sinks into him.

This was where she’d wished to be for so long, now that she was here, she can barely believe it. But he’s kissing her this time, long and true, his hand tangled in the locks of her hair, his other palm still warm against her lower back. 

This was a place she would stay forever.