#be nice to jon this is like his first time talking with a human outside of eating them

[blumenflowergelb]

Love and Soulmates

• Well, this day is as good as any other to be a ten name days old, Yn thought. He was sitting on his bed, staring and wondering what he had done to get this. If he was honest with himself, it was theoretically a good thing. However reality was often disappointing. He was in his ten years old body but with his seventeen years old mind. Of course, his actual age does not seem a lot but he was through a lot of shit; from escaping to Bravos to fighting while the Second Long Night to seeing the First Dawn. A journey which he did not wish to relive again. But as always the gods did not care about what a mere human thought. And Yn was sure that the Gods were behind it; even if he didn’t know which one.

• He didn’t know how long he spent lamenting about his life but a knocking on his door brought him out of his slump. It was his sweet sister, Margeary Tyrell. She came inside and begann to talk and talk, her voice cutting through Yn thoughts. She endlessly chatted mostly with herself, however she was not bothered. It was expected from the simpleton. Yes, Yn was a quit strange. He was always different from his siblings, he truly did not like anybody touching him, loud voices and things that were not in order. His fascination with reptiles outright creeped people out; even his oldest brother Willas. But after he fell down a tree and hit his head, he became worse. Loud voices, spinning around or tunes that were monotone left him feel weird. This feeling became so bad that he saw spots and often passed out. Obviously this was something which left him cut out of the better part of society. He did not have friends and even his brothers did not engage with him. Although it was probably because he despised fighting and horses. Fighting made his head spin and horses stank and their fur made him itchy. Nevertheless Margaery adored him. When they were younger Yn allowed her to changed him into women clothes and play tea party. As they got older they did not do this anymore but Margaery still spent a lot of time with Yn.

• The never ending chat of Margaery was a thing that Yn inwardly enjoyed. This was something that he had missed. After years the hurt of losing his family became manageable but it never truly disappeared. And seeing her alive and well was something that left Yn a bitter taste on his tounge. He was happy but he wasn’t. It was hard to explain; Yn was overjoyed to have a chance to change everything but on the other side he had lost people he cared about. Sansa with her fiery hair and face made out of ice, Arya and Rickon, the true wolf out of the Starks, and obviously Jon. Yn loved him. His red eyes and white hair did not make him afraid; only intimated. Yn loved the days where they sat next to each other, listening to the people around them talk and sing and boast. The Free Folk has never lost their hearts even after losing so many. They were the strongest, no matter what the others thought. Even the Long Night did not make the people of Westeros nice to them. Most still sneered and spat on them. But in Yn minds they were wrong. The Free Folk was the first place where the people didn’t care if he talked until he did his share of hunting and doing his chores. And he always did. Especially because of Jon. After Yn came back hunting he always smiled at Yn like he brought him the stars. The memory which always made him slightly blush and smile, now made him frown and his heart ache. Jon didn’t know him. Nobody did.

• This did not escape Margaerys‘ sight. However she interpreted the long face of Yn as a fear of what was going to happen. She was excited, especially because her brother was seen as an outsider. This was his chance to find the one who would love and take care of him for ever. She hoped that the woman was going to be very beautiful and very very good-hearted. She crawled closer to Yn and slowly caressed his cheeks. Whenever she looked at him she felt an overwhelming love. She truly loved her brother.

• Before Yn could blink he was spirited to his grandmother. Usually she was sitting outside with his mother and ten other girls. They all talked and Olenna crooked out her offensive opinions. Well usually. Today however was not usual. She sat still, facing the beautiful garden of Highgarden but only her son was there. As Yn arrived he only heard snippets of ‘money’, ‘cost’ and weirdly ‘fated’. Once he was standing before them, his grandmother shut his father up with a quick wave and smiled at Yn. He was not stupid, he knew that there was something wrong. His grandmother never smiled at him; she tried to conserve with him as little as she could. He was held in a higher regard than his cousins but it was clear that he was her least favourite. Nonetheless now she was smiling at him. Not only she was looking kind but she even ordered his favourite food, lemon cakes. At this Sansa flashed in Yn‘s mind. They shared a love for lemon cakes and every time they fought over the last piece. But his grandmother’s speech left his memory quickly fade away and fear replaced it. She talked about his ten and one nameday next day and a fated mark, the Will of the Seven, soulmates, the cost of his wedding and which people are going to be invited. Mace tried to talk but whenever he opened his mouth Olenna hushed him. Once she was done she stood up, kissed Yn‘s cheek and ordered her twin guards to her. But before she left Yn and Mace alone she turned around and sent a glare towards her son, telling him that it was time. This left Yn dreading whatever was coming.

• The awkward silence was not broken until Mace sighed, took a lemon cake and begann to eat. After some humming he was done and leaned back on his chair, hand folded over his stomach. He begann to humm some more and sighed again. Once Yn heard the famous sentence ‘ You know son, there are things which a man must tell their son.’ he knew he was done. But before he could stand up his father took an other lemon cake, quickly ate that and looked deeply in Yn‘s eyes. The conservation which followed was one of the most mortifying thing Yn has ever experienced. Not even seeing hundreds of dead people could make him as sick as this. His father talked and talked about girls and boys and their differences down there. Than he went over talking about babies, which then led him to gush about how damm cute all his children were. This was followed by him talking about weddings and ceremonien and the most important: bedding. At this point Yn has given up. He was less than a day in this world and he was given The Talk. And he couldn’t even tell his father that he knew! Well not much about women but more about men. And well not men but about Jon. He was the first and last person Yn has ever been intimate with. This confirmed Yn that he was a indeed a pillow bitter but he could hardly tell his father about that.

• One thing that was new to Yn were the soulmates. He was sure that they didn’t have that. After thinking long about what it meant, Yn decided that he was not in the same world in which he spent majority of his life. And that soulmates were cool. Almost everybody had them, from the lowest to the highest person on earth. Only men and women without a mark could become a maester, septon/ septa or priest. The marks were seen as godly and everybody had to obey to them. Breaking apart a bond like that was seen as a grave mistake and death was the punishment for who tried to break it apart. The good thing about the soulmark was the way it appeared. There were marks that displayed a picture of all kinds, some were words; some sentences. They were marks that only appeared when the soulmates touched or looked at each other. Some lost the colour of their sights and could only seen any kind of colour once they looked in each other’s eyes. Some had compasses that showed where their other was located, some had quotes that matched, others had half their hair the colour of their soulmate’s. This manifested once they had their ten and one nameday. And Yn had his the next day.

• He didn’t care about his birthday. It passed in a frenzy and once he was sent to his chambers to wait and sleep, he was in ecstasy. He wanted to stay up the whole night but the maester told him that he had to sleep so that the Will of the Gods would fulfill in secret. No human was allowed to see the manifestation. Still Yn could barely sleep. He was trembling with fear and excitement. He wanted a soulmate but was affraid to get one. The idea of not having one left him feeling devastated so he didn’t think about it. He wanted Jon but was affraid of who he was now. He wanted and wanted but was affraid of so many things until he fell asleep. Dawn was barely coming when Yn felt a horrible burning on his left wrist. It left him gasping and crying but the manifestation was done. He got a compass pointing towards the North. It was golden but elegant and had a quote around the compass saying, ‘Different roads sometimes lead to the same castle’. And if you looked closely there were six direwolf, each different, running around and playfighting. It was perfect, Yn whispered to himself with tears escaping his eyes.

• The second he left his room he was jumped on by Margaery. She led him to the dinning room to break their fast while talking and talking. One minute she wanted to see the mark, the next minute she didn’t until they were with the whole family. They quickly arrived and his family was immediately on Yn. Once they saw the compass and closely inspected it, they all fell silent until Margaery laughed. Better said she cried while laughing and gave a big hug to Yn. While they hugged, Mace begann to plan a letter for Ned Stark. Even for him was clear that his son was meant for one of wolf blood.

• Olenna slowly fanned herself. It was hot for her age; she was not as young and agile as she once was. Undertaking such a big journey to Winterfell from Highgarden had affected her health negatively. Regardless, she was sure that she would crawl to Winterfell if it must be. She would never pass such an opportunity. And she was needed to talk to his grandsons future father-in-law. She was throughly thinking about all the possibilities that their journey could mean and what she had to do for the better of her house. Such an union between great houses was not seen since decades, especially between a fourth son and a bastard. Olenna was sure that it was the bastard that was the soulmate of her simpleton but kind hearted grandson. If not then why did Lady Catelyn not boast about one of her children being the soulmate of a Tyrell? She was after all a Tully, a very proud house, Olenna thought. The marriage could mean a lot for the Tyrells. A lot of good and bad. Olenna could only hope that if the bastard was the one then her little spies were not wrong about his father’s affection. Nobody needed an alliance with a bastard that held no power. She even entertained the idea of overthrowing the bastard brother‘s but quickly desposed of it. The Starks were too loyal. And the compass showed enough. Six direwolfs playing. This could only mean one thing. Her inner discussion was stoped once a loud knock was heard. She opened the side pannel and looked at one of her twin guards. She burrowed her eyebrows after she heard her foolish grandson riding out to meet his future beloved.

• Winterfell was as big as ever, Yn decided. It certainly looked better than the last time he saw it. It was huge and dark. But it was warm; and that is what mattered. He knew that the walls were warm with spring water and that the halls were always kept warm. He couldn’t wait to bath and bask in the memory of Winterfell and their occupants. And to see Jon again. As excited he was, he was as fearful. He was sure that Jon and him were meant to be together, but still. It was weird and new and they were so young. Jon was not older than ten and three, an age which Yn has never seen him. The worst thing was the people he traveled with. Lord Stark has invited hundred of people of the North and South and thousands came. The North wanted to see House Stark marry as a rich House as the Tyrells and the South wished to see House Stark and the North. This journey and wedding meant a lot of new alliances and weddings for the Realm. Even the King has journeyed to the North, but Yn was sure that he wasn’t there for the wedding. Not truly. It was Ned he was there for. Saddly Jon Arryn was not able to attend since he did not want to leave the rest of the Realm behind. What surprised Yn was that the Martells sent Oberyn Martell and his paramour as guests. It meant that they were planning something. Or they were simply affraid that the Reach allied with the North that can give them enough timber for a new war.

• Yn felt butterflies fighting in his stomach. He was so nervous that even Garlan commented on his suddenly disappearing horse riding abilities. To this Renly begann to joke around about riding what else and instead of shutting him down Garlan laughed with him. If Yn wasn’t as nervous he would have told them already off. Shortly before they arrived Willas slowed them down and talked about whom Yn had to greet firstly and what to do. Even the common courtesies flew over Yn’s head. He hoped that he would not make a fool of himself because if he did he would die. Maybe the rumour of him being a simpleton would minder the embarrassment but Yn did not want to make a fool out of Jon. While Yn was deep in his thoughts they arrived at the gates. Everybody sat straighter and rode inside the castle.

• Yn was sure that he was going to die. His compass was going crazy, the pointer spinning around, meaning that his soulmate was very close. And he was. The first thing he saw was Jon and the first thing he did was blushing. He felt his face light on fire and he was sure that everybody saw that. He was so embarrassed that he didn’t even look at the Starks. The worst was when he almost feel down his horse and if not for Loras he would have facepalmed the earth. He saw Loras trying to hide his chuckle but as always he couldn’t. This made Yn face more redder, his ears were so hot that he wanted to just jump in the next snow pile. And than he had to walk to the Starks and greet each of them. Ned Stark was an imposing man, and even bigger when you were only ten and two namedays old. His eyes hid a certain amusement and he kindly greeted Yn. Lady Catelyn was even kinder and hoped that their visit went well. The next person was Robb. He was cute but Yn understood why he was made King so early on. He looked like his ladymother but his eyes shone like his fathers. However the next person took Yn‘s breath away. He went redder than he thought to be possible and shyly held out his right hand. There was hope in Jon‘s beautiful dark grey eyes, but it was replaced with uncertainty once they touched each other hands. It was clear that he expected something more from the contact but was greatly disappointed. Yn moved on, after he saw this, and greated the girls and Bran with enthusiasm. Rickon was not there, but Yn knew that it must be because he was still a babe. After they were done with the greetings and talking, Lady Catelyn sent servant go show each if them a room, while excusing the lack of grand food. She told them that they expected them to arrive the next day and could only offer them a humble feast. Yn obviously had to make himself more foolish and told the lady that they came early because he was excited. At this even Willas had a hard time not laughing and while they walked away Yn had to hit him with his elbow to shut up. Once they were out of hearing range, his brothers recreated everything and Renly instead of helping, laughed with them. Yn was mortified enough to not even say goodbye to them and he just shut his door. His chamber was very big and beautifully filled with furs and other animal skins but Yn couldn’t appreciate it. Without a second he jumped on his bed and hid his face in a soft pillow. He was so flustered, especially seeing Jon‘s face fall, that he decided to never move again. Well until a servant brought him warm water. After he cleaned himself and spent an embarrassingly long time to decide what to wear, he went out to look for his brothers and Renly. Then they went to the feast. After Yn saw what was set in the table he thought that if this was not seen by Lady Catelyn as grand than what was grandiose? For being in the North, where every grain mattered, it was rich. He knew that for Renly and even Loras, as vain and proud they were, this would not seem to be anything big;but for Yn it was. He saw firsthandedly what people ate in the Winter.

• The food was good, the conservation was firstly awkward but the Garlan and Renly begann to talk and it was good again. Yn didn’t speak but nobody seemed to mind. Robb openly stared at him, even when Jon discreetly poked him, and Arya and Bran were so captured by Garlan telling them stories of his training that they barely ate. Sansa spent her time looking at Loras and Renly. Willas was entertaining Lady Catelyn and Lord Stark listened to everything and only said something if it was necessary. Jon sometimes looked up from his food only go meet Yn‘s eyes, who then averted his gaze and once even let his fork fall. Everybody was kind enough to not say anything but Yn only became more flustered. After they were done Yn felt Jon‘s gaze follow him and he thanked the Gods for not making him trip. They did not converse on the way to their rooms and Yn again thanked the Gods for not making his brothers make fun of him. After that he quickly readied himself for bed and after Willas came in to say good night he walked around his new room. They were bear and elk furs and Yn was sure that the skin belonged to a boar. The tapestries were beautifully done and Yn could not marvel enough. While he tried to remember from whom he the story of the tapestry knew, Jon came in his room. Yn turned around and greeted him only for Jon to not move. Yn did not move either, so they looked at each other, assessing everything about the other. Yn felt his knees getting weaker the longer he spent looking at Jon. He was truly beautiful and breathtaking. After some more silence Jon moved towards Yn and held his right hand out. Yn held his hand out too and once they touched Jon frowned, but did not ask. He left his hand fall in disappointment but before he could speak Yn touched his arm with his left. The burn was strong but once it ebbed away both felt an overwhelming sensation of love and adoration. Yn cradled their hand together and pulled Jon to himself. Jon slowly caressed Yn‘s face, as if he was something valuable and then leaned to his face. The small kiss they shared made Yn‘s heart fly higher than a bird and left him feeling like he could burst to flames. It was perfect and even after Jon left, Yn couldn’t help but replay their kiss again and again.

[becausegoodheroesdeservekidneys]

Doctor Who, but Chronologically: 45

It's 1974! I can practically feel Jon Pertwee.

But this is not a UNIT story - instead, we get a ghost story! Fun! Matt Smith is back but with Clara this time, and they're off to a giant country house, here played to perfection by Margam Park on the outside. Inside it's sporting Her From Call the Midwife and also actual literal Dougray Scott, so the acting quality skyrockets.

This seems to be early Clara, though. And hilariously, we just watched an Amy/Rory/River episode that went hard on the arc mystery for a story this watch order had already resolved for us; with Clara, though, we seem to be getting the mystery in real time. I think the only odd bits currently are (a) what did he mean about the souffles, and (b) why the fuck did she hang out with Capaldi. But this here is early Clara, still new to traveling, and the Doctor trying to work out what she "is".

The plot here is in two halves. The first half is a nice-looking but fairly toothless ghost story. Midwife lady and Dougray Scott are ghost hunters (or more accurately, he is; she's an empath trying to help the ghost), and they're in this big house because it's been haunted by a ghast since time immemorial. The Doctor and Clara just sort of turn up for a bit of a nose. There's a fun scene where Dougray Scott (I really cannot get over that this is real Dougray Scott holy shit) shows them his board of ghost photos and talks them through the ghost's history, which is fairly sparse, but the genuine Dougray Scott is the one acting it, so it's creepy as fuck anyway. Also Clara spots that the ghost is always in the same position in every photo. It's very good, I liked that bit.

Funnily enough, the rest of the ghost story is badly served because of this stupid watch order. Say what you like of this era but the previous episode with the Silents was genuinely creepy and scary and horrifying when it played with its "There's something in the room with us" moments, so this is more, you know, generic, just with Dougray Scott.

Then halfway through there's a scene that very neatly bisects the ghost story half of the episode and the generic sci-fi half. The Doctor and Clara jump in the TARDIS and take a photo of the ghost from the Earth's creation to its death so they can make a movie of it. This means they can see it's just some time traveller stuck in a pocket dimension running away from a sort of unspooled corpse trying to be a crab, but more importantly to US it means Clara has a moment of realising the existential dread of her own mortality, leading to a mildly trite conversation where she demands to know if she's just a ghost to the Doctor.

"No," he says. "You're the only mystery worth solving."

By contrast to the ghost story, that's actually well-served by this watch order. It makes it sound like he means humans in general, which would be sweet and also a fascinating character beat, rather than Clara specifically, which is unsettling and kind of intense for a first date.

Anyway the rest of the plot is them opening a portal to the pocket dimension (using the blue crystal from Metebelis 3! Which Matt Smith cannot pronounce! I said I could feel Jon Pertwee) and rescuing the time traveller from the unspooled corpse crab. There's a bit where the TARDIS is a dickhead to Clara; I like Clara, but I fucking adore TARDIS-as-character stuff, I'm an utter SLUT for it, so I was delighted. Why though? Who knows! A new plot thread!

And then the final five minutes becomes a lot of lacklustre romance between multiple characters, but I'm not criticising because two of those characters are unspooled corpse crabs. We go the whole episode not being properly shown them, and then right at the end Matt Smith goes back to the pocket dimension and is like "COME WITH ME! i'LL TAKE YOU TO HER!!!" :D :D :D

And then it finally rises behind him and it turns to look at him and

well

I'll be honest I fucking howled. Best bit. Loved it.

And then the Doctor asks the psychic midwife what Clara is, and she's like "...that would be a normal human girl, asshole" as the double negative moodlet from the Sims appears over her head. So that mystery remains mysterious.

Let's update! No new threads, nothing resolved, one minor tweak.

“She” (an unknown person) is returning (perhaps River returned as Missy. Maybe Me? Maybe Clara???!)

There is something on Donna’s back

An entire planet, Pyrovilia, just… disappeared, somehow. (Maybe because the TARDIS is exploding??? Saturnine was also lost, and that WAS because of the TARDIS exploding. The lion man’s planet was also lost but he was a bit of a knob about it if I’m honest. The Thijarian planet was destroyed by some sort of impact). Is this the Flux?

Amy is maybe dead (she’s not)

The Doctor has been cubed (he’s out, but how?)

River is possibly blown up  (unless she’s Missy. Nope: she is definitely not blown up)

The TARDIS has blown up  (It’s fine now. Except it’s sort of melting now because it’s corrupted, but it’s fine again. NOPE, back to not working.)

The universe appears to have ended  (the universe is back again)

The Doctor has employed(?) Nardole

(And Nardole was “reassembled???” Nardole had glass nipples and invisible hair?? WHAT THE FUCK IS HE)

There’s a vault in the TARDIS and it contains Missy but we don’t know why (sometimes she knocks for the bants)

There’s an immortal Viking girl now. Her name is Me and she’s now looking after the people the Doctor abandons

Why was Rory entirely unconcerned by the entire world suddenly going silent when that is Not Normal and should have been, at the very least, extremely disconcerting?

What did the Doctor do to Queen Lizzie One?

Why is Amy seeing a one-eyed woman in a vanishing window? (She’s with the Silents, but we don’t know why Amy saw her)

Why is Amy’s pregnancy inconclusive? (Maybe because the baby had Time Lord DNA?) She’s deffo pregnant and the baby becomes River, but why inconclusive?

Who is Sarah-Jane Smith?

How is the Doctor Bill’s teacher and why/where does he have an office?

What is going on with the Cyber War and the Cyberium???

What happened with the Other Cyber War?

What happened with the Third War that deleted the void?

Why does Rose seem particularly important?

What order do these Doctors go in? (Eccleston, Tennant, uncertain, Smith, Capaldi, Whittaker)

Which companion just… forgot the Doctor, and how?

Yaz and Vinder are about to die as Mori/Mwri/Muuri (Not anymore, somehow)

There is a Lupari shield around Earth.

What’s a Time War?

What’s the Rift?

What’s Bad Wolf?

In which war did the Doctor become a war criminal, and how?

Who is the Master?

Why has Amy forgotten Rory? How did she forget a Dalek invasion?

Is Rory plastic or not?  Yeah, must be, he couldn’t possibly remember being plastic otherwise

Why is the Doctor sulking on a cloud?

How exactly does the Doctor have a cloud?

What exactly happened with Strax to, uh, tame him?

Which friend killed Strax?

Which friend brought Strax back?

Where did this lesbian lizard and human couple come from?

What happened with Clara as Souffle Girl and the Daleks?

How does Clara actually join?

Why so many Claras? NEW INFO: A psychic midwife says she's just normal human

Why is Missy apparently in robo-heaven?

Why is probably!Missy pushing Clara and the Doctor together?

What is Trensilor and what happened there?

Who is Handles?

The Doctor is about to be dissolved by a beautiful geode man

The universe is being crushed by the Flux

Will the Doctor open the fobwatch?

Sontarans are invading Earth again

Who is Kate?

Who is Osgood? Another name of Clara’s again?

The fuck is the deal with the Grand Serpent

Does Martha get to go to an ice cream planet with 12-fingered massage aliens?

How did the Doctor forget Clara?

Who is Bill’s puddle girlfriend Heather?

How did Nardole die?

When does Bill get Cyberman-ed and die?

When does the Doctor shrink and enter a Dalek called Rusty?

Whittaker is falling to her death rn

Was that ring relevant?

Does anyone know the Doctor’s name?

When did Yaz talk to Dan about fancying the Doctor?

When did Dan talk to the Doctor about fancying Yaz?

What’s happening with the bees?

What happened with Donna’s ex and a giant spider?

What war wiped out the Daleks, and is it one of the ones already mentioned?

What did the Doctor mean when he said “The (Daleks) always live, while I lose everything?”

If Dalek Caan is the last Dalek left why are there more now?

How did the rest of the Time Lords die?

How and why did Amy melt?

What’s the question that will make silence fall?

Why do the Silents… want silence to fall?

How and why are Silents at war with the Doctor when he… hasn’t even heard of them?

How does Hitler get out of the cupboard?

What’s the significance of fish fingers and custard?

Why does the Doctor feel guilt about Rose, Martha and Donna?

What happened with the space whale?

When does Rory defend Amy for 2000 years? Since Roman times, it seems

How does the Doctor survive River? He doesn’t, apparently

How does he erase himself from history

Did Captain Jack lose his memories to the same people as the Doctor? What did he lose?

When did the Doctor send the Daleks into a void to save the universe?

What’s with the weird crack in the wall and is it affecting memories?

Why do Amy and Rory think the Doctor is dead? Is it because of River as an astronaut?

Is Matt Smith’s Doctor a tree racist?

Why is the beautiful geode woman stealing people into a Passenger form?

River says she’ll die one day when the Doctor doesn’t remember her, let’s hope she doesn’t mean it

NEW INFO: why doesn't the TARDIS like Clara?

[jonahfagnus]

hi @zhuzhee this is for u thank u so much for the very nice tags and the art

It takes them a week and a bit for Jon to be comfortable being away from Jonah. He clings, always touching Jonah in some way, unwilling to be made to deal with the full onslaught of Watching the entire world. Usually he’s sat on him, or leaning on him. He’s almost always Watching Jonah. It’s sweet.

Jonah had suggested making some avatars to outsource the work to - surely Jon would be able to make sure nobody would get hurt in the process - and Jon had almost bitten his fingers off, making a low rumbling noise that can’t exactly be called a growl and, for a few moments, convincing Jonah’s mind he was a very small prey animal outside of the den after dark. It’s the only sound he’s heard Jon make - he’s not sure if his body even has a mouth, although it certainly has teeth. He tells himself that this isn’t contradictory.

“It isn’t,” Jon says from a tape on the table.

Jonah simply hums, continuing to pet him. He knows he’s never going to be able to see the world as Jon does, and that’s fine. He can be content with it.

Every day, usually in the afternoon, he spends some time teaching Jon how to manage himself.

“Remaking the Crown would be the most useful thing in the short term. It’d also look good on you.” 

“I’m not remaking the Crown.”

They talk about, and around, the topic of the Watcher’s Crown frequently, and never come to a conclusion. Jonah’s still not permitted anywhere but the very edges of Jon’s mind, and so has no access to this information. It bothers him - he wants to help, but also wishes that his Archivist would be more vulnerable with him, despite knowing there are plenty of reasons not to be.

Jon manages to get to the point where he can separate from Jonah. Not for very long, only an hour and a half or so, but he can. He sighs, staticky through the tape.

“I should be better at this.” Jon says. 

“You went from comparatively nothing to being every single entity, and then you destroyed and remade the entire world, Jon, as well as much of the observable universe, and you did it on your own. I think that’s more than good enough. You’ve done very well.”

One of his favourite things to do is to tell Jon exactly what a good Archivist he’s been. And he has been - he’s worked very, very hard, and endured so much. Jonah couldn’t be more proud. Jon’s reactions are fantastic too, always getting so bashful, trying to internally disprove Jonah’s words whilst also desperately wishing for them to be true. Jonah loves him.

It’s still terrifying to admit that to himself. He’s been more than content with being the monster. Being a monster has meant being powerful, and power is safety. If he doesn’t care about anyone, he can’t be upset if they leave, or despise him. If he hurts people before they hurt him, they’ll be too scared of him to try and kill him.

Well, except Jon. But Jon also brought him back.

The vulnerability of it all - the fact that he loves Jon, and Jon loves him back, in whatever way he can now that he’s comprised of dirt and rot and darkness and death and eyes and viscera and teeth and fog and blood and madness and strangers and stars and threads - is almost too much to bear. Whatever muscle allows him to be vulnerable has long since atrophied in both of them, and it hurts to be using it after all of this time, all of this fear.

But he will, because Jon needs him to be. Jon needs him to be vulnerable, needs him as a frame of reference for humanity, and as a source of emotional fulfilment. 

The first time - where Jon had told him I needed you and Jonah thought he would die (again) from how beautiful he was - was the only time Jon had been vulnerable with him. Nowadays he just... doesn’t, which is fine - Jonah will keep pushing him as he always has - but it does make him a little upset. He feels, strangely enough, like he’s been rejected, even though he hasn’t.

Now that Jon can spend time away from him without adverse side effects (or without very many adverse side effects, as Jon won’t tell him if he’s still in pain or not) he wonders what he’ll do with it. Perhaps he’ll go on walks. Maybe he’ll get up before Jonah does, make breakfast for himself.

He doesn’t, though. He still spends as much time as he can pressed up against Jonah, head in his lap or on his shoulder or using ethereal Eyes to nuzzle against his face like a cat. Adorable.

It is a little worrying, though. The cottage is, quite literally, in the middle of nowhere, and he’s concerned that Jon’s... stagnating somehow. He does very little - Jonah does most of the housekeeping, and Jon mostly sleeps or rests - and Jonah can’t tell if he’s bored, or depressed, or just no longer has any interest in human activities. 

“Do you think you can use your Threads to knit things?” he asks. Jon glares at him - it's another one of Jonah’s inane questions - but considers it for a moment.

“Yes.”

“...well? You could make some gloves. Maybe a hat. I think a scarf would fit you, even with the fur.”

Jon sighs, and summons some Thread and knitting needles. He probably takes a moment to Behold the necessary information to knit, and begins to work. The Thread seems difficult to work with, especially with paws instead of hands, but he starts to get the hang of it. 

Jonah knows this won’t be enough to bring him out of whatever funk he’s in - not on its own, anyways - but it’s a good start.

He continues with this - convincing Jon to breathe fire, at least once, just for fun; gets him to learn how to use the Dark to turn the lights on and off, which Jon immediately takes full advantage of to not have to get out of bed and to scare Jonah; insists he uses the Vast to make an especially detailed landscape painting, which he does. Upon closer inspection, there are eyes everywhere in it, which makes Jonah smile.

It seems to have a tangible effect, too. Jon goes from being made of god-knows-what (or Jon-knows-what?), darkness or ink or simply nothing made real shifting in impossible ways to accommodate his existence, to an actual animal. When Jonah touches him he isn’t near freezing, and doesn’t make his hand go strangely tingly. Now Jon is warm, and Jonah can feel muscles shifting, a heartbeat. Jon still manifests Eyes around the place, but his body typically has two, and in the correct place. Jon’s teeth get smaller, still sharp and impressive but less Hunt-ish, and his antlers lose their fractal qualities. His fur is impossibly soft, and gets tangles in it that he works out with his hands. Jonah takes great delight in informing Jon that he should probably be bathed, and even more delight in adding to his internal list of catlike qualities Jon now possesses, an aversion to water. 

Jon sits very still through the whole process - carefully wetting his fur, and then shampooing him, and then washing him off, and then insisting on clipping his claws, which earns Jonah another growl. This, too, has changed - it’s, curiously, far more animalistic than the first growl had been, and doesn’t soak him in primal terror down to his very marrow. It’s also much more adorable than it is intimidating. Jon glares at him, and tries to bite him for that thought. Jonah uses a hairdryer instead of a towel to annoy him even further.

Jon fills the house with paintings. There’s no real theme that Jonah can distinguish. Some of them are landscapes, nature, some of them are people. Some of them are incredibly photorealistic, some are just blocks of colour composing an understandable image. The ones of people (which are rarer than the others) aren’t people he’s ever met.

He asks, once, about a woman in the living room. She’s not hanging over the fireplace - that is reserved for an entirely blank, slightly off-white painting (would it be called a painting?). 

“She was important once.” Jon says, cryptic as ever. Jonah doesn’t ask again, and instead decides to take this as a good sign, that Jon is decorating.

They’ve been working on his control throughout, and they’ve gotten up to almost an entire day before Jon needs to rest. Jonah goes on walks more often, learning their surroundings. Jon wakes up before him, and makes breakfast. Jonah walks in on him doing this once, and is rather startled to find out that Jon - having difficulty standing on his hind legs - has simply deigned to use the Vast (he thinks, it might be a very complex web that he’s using) to telekinetically control everything he needs from the comfort of the sofa. Jonah’s sort of jealous, if he’s being honest (which he is, because Jon needs him to be honest).

And, despite still not having a mouth, Jon smiles much more often.

[iamnmbr3]

About your anti-Martin-in-Season-5 post: I understand your position and I get how he seems like a different person to you, but keep in mind that they are both in a supremely difficult situation (and I know that other TMA situations have been stressful but this is the end of the world we’re talking about) and Martin has to deal with the fact that Jon is the one that caused it. And I’m not saying that’s healthy or good for their relationship, but we haven’t really seen Martin in that kind of situation before season 5. It makes sense that he’s a bit shitty about it (and less kind than in season 1, when relatively little had gone tits-up for him yet). PLUS he’s been forcibly attached to Jon at the hip for months now, which is a strain to put on any new relationship, especially when there’s all the preexisting issues to contend with, Martin hasn’t exactly been able to be alone with his thoughts about Jon starting the whole apocalypse. So yeah, he’s a bit spiteful and mean to Jon

Also re: the Upton house and Salesa, here Martin is INCREDIBLY relieved at being able to find somewhere he can feel human (eating, sleeping) again (at this point he still thinks of himself as human, I don’t think he knows about his Domain and if he does, it’s certainly not in any detail). So that’s almost definitely colouring his perception of Salesa and Annabelle, especially since he’s meeting Salesa for the first time and he’s being very charming (and saying the first uncomplicatedly nice thing Martin has heard in a very long time, and Annabelle’s not there to counteract that). I don’t have a good explanation for why Martin laughs at Jon when he’s so vulnerable, but I will say that he’s probably not unhappy to be away from Jon’s statements (he REALLY REALLY doesn’t like them and has probably heard more than his fair share), so that’s definitely a factor. And he’s relieved! Upton house was a (brief, but he didn’t really think about that yet) respite from the literal apocalypse happening outside

So personally I actually don't agree with a lot of this. Yes Martin is in a difficult position ins season 5 - they all are - but it's not Jon who caused the situation. It's Jonah. Jon was an unwitting victim. Martin blaming Jon is frankly horrible. But what bothers me much more is that the narrative presents Martin as being in the right, to the point that many fans started echoing that sentiment, even though it makes no sense and we are explicitly shown in canon that Jon is as much a victim as anyone else.

It's a horror story so Jon's relationship with Martin being destroyed or turning sour and downright abusive as it does isn't necessary a problem. Bad stuff happens in horror all the time. What I don't like is that the abuse is framed as ok.

And I also do feel it's ooc. Martin has been in plenty of stressful situations before. But he never once engaged in the type of behavior he engaged in in S5 or even tolerated other people treating Jon that way. Even in the first arc of S5 Martin doesn't treat Jon that way or victim blame him. It's starting in the second arc, when the writing takes a dive, that Martin's character and behavior also changes.

Upton House being a "respite" from the apocalypse doesn't really make sense. There's no in character reason for them to trust anything that's going on there or for them to feel relaxed. And Jon suffers horribly there but Martin doesn't care. Which again is ooc.

Also btw I hated the way Martin treated Jon's loss of autonomy due to having been made an Avatar against his will, and his dependence on statements which again Jon feels great distress over as an annoyance that he can mock Jon over. That's a horrible way to treat your partner. And again feels very ooc. and what's even more jarring tho is how this horrible treatment is presented as tho it's cute and fluffy and reasonable when it's not.

But yeah these are just some quick disorganized thoughts. I went into much more detail about why I think Martin is wildly ooc in arcs 2 and 3 of S5 here

[daydreamerdrew]

Comics read this past week:

Marvel Comics:

X-23 (2005) #1-6

These issues were published across January 2005 to May 2005, according to the Marvel Wiki. All were written by Christopher Yost and Craig Kyle, penciled by Billy Tan, and inked by Jon Sibal.

I’d read this book before, years ago, and actually own a trade of it from my Laura Kinney phase when I was a teenager, but I’d totally forgotten about Sarah Kinney’s backstory of having been sexually abused by her father when she was a child and was surprised by how that influenced the entire book. Sarah is the genetics head of the project to create a new, cloned weapon from the sample that was salvaged from the original Weapon X program when Logan escaped, and it’s her suggestion to make the clone a girl instead of a boy, which for comic book-science reasons would be easier and faster. The narration over the scene in issue #1 where Sarah is being convinced to be the surrogate to carry the clone, which is from a letter Sarah wrote to Laura explaining everything in retrospect, says, “When I was little, I always believed that everything that happened to me- I deserved. That we ALL get what we deserve. Maybe I was right.” And then, over the depiction of the pregnancy, “No longer the experimenter, I was now part of the experiment. A vessel to be poked and prodded. To be violated.” It’s clear that her guilt over what happened to Laura is making her feel that her experiences being hurt and dehumanized are deserved. The page about the pregnancy ends with Sarah reading a passage from Pinocchio to her belly, specifically the one where he expresses the desire “to be a real person, rather than a wooden boy” and asks, “What can I do to deserve it?” The first, most obvious connection to make to Pinocchio is Laura, as she is the one that is throughout the story considered to be a weapon and not a real girl. But I also read this as relating to Sarah’s desire to be a real person outside of the Weapon X program that she committed her life to, with the agreement of very limited contact with the outside world, and her desire to be a real mother. Sarah is estranged from her sister, who didn’t believe Sarah at first when she explained what their father did to her, but she has a distant relationship with her young niece, who occasionally sends Sarah letters and drawings over the years that Sarah is with the project.

At the end of issue #3 Laura is left behind on a mission, with the intention that she’ll be killed, by the surgical head of the project, Zander Rice, who’s father had worked for the original Weapon X program and was killed by Logan during his escape. Xander tells everyone that Laura failed and was killed, but at the beginning of issue #4 Laura has managed to survive and return to the project on her own. Sarah asks Laura to please talk to her and explain what happened, but Laura remains silent and blank-faced. Then Sarah finds scars on Laura’s arms, evidence of cuts, and asks, “Who did this to you?!” And in the narration, from Sarah’s letter, she asks, “Why didn’t you tell me?” Later, in issue #5, Sarah catches Laura cutting herself, and the narration reads, “I always assumed it was Rice that cut you. He hurt you so many times in the past… he almost killed you twice… I never wanted to believe… that it was you. The damage I’ve done… I can never forgive myself.”

There’s a nice parallel moment that I like where in issue #1, in the flashback where Zander’s father is trying to run away before Logan kills him, he begs to god that he won’t die, and then in issue #6, during the plot that Sarah has hatched where she has Laura kill everyone at the project before they escape to ensure that they can't make more living weapons, she begs to god that Laura won't die.

Sarah tells Laura, through her letter, in issue #5 that, “I chose to bring you into this world. I chose to stay in the program even after they stripped you of your humanity… and molded you into a weapon. I’m responsible for everything that has happened… For all the pain… for all the death… that you have suffered… Because I had a choice… when you had none. And I chose to do nothing.” In issue #6 she explains, “I never wanted a family. My father stripped by of that desire. He took my childhood… my innocence… my life… And then I took yours. I became what I hated and feared most… And you became my victim.” And then, “You showed me that we can choose to be something other than what we have been forced to be… That we can be something better than what we believe we are. And, in that moment, you saved my life. All that matters to me now is that I save yours.”

Sarah’s intention is that she and Laura will go on the run together and be a family after the project is destroyed, but ultimately Sarah doesn’t survive. Laura speaks very little throughout the entire book, but one of the things she does say is begging Sarah to not leave her. In her final moments Sarah gives Laura her name and tells her that she loves her.

Uncanny X-Men (1963) #450-451 and #455–460 and X-Men (1991) #165 and Marvel Team-Up (2005) #5-6

The Uncanny X-Men and X-Men issues were published across December 2004 to June 2005, according to the Marvel Wiki. All were written by Chris Claremont. Uncanny X-Men #450-451 and #455-459 were penciled by Alan David and inked by Mark Farmer. Uncanny X-Men #460 was penciled by Tom Raney and inked by Scott Hanna. And X-Men #165 was penciled by Salvador Larroca and inked by Danny Miki. The Marvel Team-Up issues were published across February 2005 to March 2005, according to the Marvel Wiki. Both were written by Robert Kirkman and drawn by Scott Kolins.

I’d actually never read these issues before. They include Logan and Laura’s first meeting, her as a student at the Xavier Institute for Higher Learning, and her on an X-Men mission. At the beginning of the batch of issues Laura is living in District X, New York City’s mutant neighborhood, which was set up in NYX (2003). The X-Men were investigating the murders of the perpetrators of an attempted mutant hate-crime, which turns out have been committed by Laura, but the X-Men are able to work out a deal where she isn’t imprisoned and instead becomes the responsibility of the school.

In Uncanny X-Men #455 Laura is watching the senior X-Men train together when Bishop manages to get several good hits on Logan, causing Laura to jump in and attack Bishop, which Logan scolds her for. Then, the reason why Laura goes on an actual X-Men mission is that she was secretly followed him heading out. And in Marvel Team-Up #5 Laura secretly watches Logan sleep in his room through a video feed.

Also, in Marvel Team-Up #5 Laura sees a small blip on the X-Men’s system and goes to alert Scott Summers. He tells her that the system will alert them when there’s a big blip they need to go after and, “You want to chase down every ‘blip’? That’s something Wolverine would do. And trust me, he’s not an example you want to follow.” She proceeds to immediately chase down this small blip.

It’s repeatedly remarked upon about how similar Logan and Laura are, but primarily in a joking context and with no one actually suggesting explicitly that she’s his daughter. Also, Laura is never referred to as Laura in these issues and it’s also repeatedly said that she needs a name. Logan calls her X. In the X-Men Evolution cartoon, where Laura first appeared, Logan refused to call her X-23, but she was never given a regular person name in that show so he always just called her “kid.”

Reading right after X-23 (2005) makes Laura’s treatment at the school seem really insufficient. In X-Men #165 Logan just has her become roommates with Kitty Pryde and Rachel Summers because he recognizes that Laura needs to be around people that she can’t hurt. When Kitty introduces herself, Laura immediately tries to stab her. Where Laura was left off in NYX (2003), she had been sex trafficked. The portrayal of Laura trying to recover from her trauma in a safe environment and learn how to be a person in these issues wasn’t really interesting. My expectation going forward is that her depiction in her own solo comics will be stronger than in X-Men books, which have so many other characters and moving plot threads.

the Nick Fury stories in Strange Tales (1951) #135-137

With these stories I went from May 1965 to July 1965, according to the Marvel Wiki. All are credited as written by Stan Lee, though the Grand Comics Database lists Jack Kirby as an uncredited co-plotter for all of them. Issue #135 was penciled by Jack Kirby and inked by Dick Ayers. And Jack Kirby drew the layouts for issues #136-137, which were both finished by John Severin. All of the stories were 12 pages.

The story in Strange Tales #135 is the one where Nick Fury first learns about the existence of S.H.I.E.L.D. and becomes its commander. When he’s first offered the job, he says, When he’s offered the job to lead S.H.I.E.L.D. he says, “I’m outta my league! I’m just a bare-knuckles kinda guy! A bar room brawler! They made me a colonel, but I’m still a three-striper at heart! Where do I come off leadin’ a hot-shot outfit like this? I’d fall flat on my ugly pan!” And, frankly, I don’t disagree. In the WWII-set Howling Commandoes stories I read, Nick was the capable leader of the team that primarily went on, and survived, suicide missions. Here, while he is still largely his boisterous self, he’s more like a fish out of water as all of the various workings and technology of this advanced spy organization are explained to the audience through them being explained to the main character, who is not just a mere agent but supposed to be the leader of the organization. That he’s well-suited for that specific kind of responsibility was not yet conveyed to me. Also, it reads strangely that S.H.I.E.L.D. is all set up, is this big organization with so many employees, but didn’t yet have anyone in charge of it until Nick Fury was recruited. Also, Tony Stark is involved in recommending Nick for the job and encouraging him to take it, which I assume is later changed as Nick is maintained to his WWII roots and made an unaging character while Tony is evolved with the times to be perpetually born later and later.

Fear Itself: The Book of the Skull (2011) #1

This issue was published in March 2011, according to the Marvel Wiki, and was written by Ed Brubaker, penciled by Scot Eaton, and inked by Mark Morales.

This issue was the lead-in for the Fear Itself event and I read it because I am actually interested in Sin. I was initially intrigued by the presentation of her identity and aging issues in Captain America (2005) #15, which are the kinds of things that generally appeal to me, and then I became invested in her complicated relationship with her father throughout the rest of the book. I was actually rooting for her to go her own way by the end of it, which she got sort of close to, and then I was disappointed to see her get Red Skulled in Captain America: Man Out of Time (2009) #6. I didn’t find her subsequent appearances in Captain America (1968) #611-615 interesting. Now in this event she’s very much following in the Red Skull’s footsteps, but specifically with the framing, in her mind, that she’s better than him. She also refers to her father’s death, and her face being burned to be like his, as a rebirth for her.

What was actually of more interest to me in this issue was the bit we saw of Bucky and Namor’s dynamic in the WWII flashbacks. There was tension between them in Captain America and Bucky (2011) #622, which took place pretty early on in the Invaders history, with Namor not respecting Bucky, but here they talked to each other as though they were on equal footing.

Fear Itself (2011) #7.1 and Winter Soldier (2012) #1-14

The Fear Itself issue was published in November 2011, according to the Marvel Wiki, and was written by Ed Brubaker and drawn by Butch Guice.

This whole issue was great. Bucky was grievously injured at the end of Fear Itself #3 and the opening of Fear Itself #7.1 is Steve working on his eulogy for Bucky’s funeral, which was all about how Bucky was better than him, which I enjoyed. Then Nick Fury reveals to him that Bucky is actually secretly still alive and Steve immediately beats Nick up for that deception, which I also enjoyed. Really what made this issue so great was that it depicted the relationships between Steve, Nick, Natasha, and Bucky is genuinely interesting ways. I loved seeing Nick comfort Natasha when it looked like they were going to have to watch Bucky died. I loved that it was actually Natasha’s idea, when Bucky pulled through, to pretend that he had died in order to get him out of the bad legal situation he was in. And from there I loved that Steve has a much more subdued response when that is revealed to him and is able to calmly ask Natasha why she made that decision, though he’s still clearly hurt. And I loved that Bucky emphasized that if he had been able to make the decision then Steve would have also been in on it because he couldn’t bear to have Steve mourning him again. And I loved how Nick and Steve then got into a fight about Bucky’s future, with Nick saying that it’s a good thing that Bucky will be working in the shadows again, which is the kind of work he was originally trained for, and not trying to be Steve’s successor as Captain America, and Steve being initially offended by that until Bucky says that that’s what he wants too.

The Winter Soldier issues were published across February 2012 to January 2013, according to the Marvel Wiki. All were written by Ed Brubaker. Issues #1-5 and #10-14 were penciled by Butch Guice and issues #6-9 were penciled by Michael Lark. Issues #1-2 and #10 were inked by Butch Guice, issues #3-4 by Stefano Gaudiano, Brian Thies, and Butch Guice, issue #5 by Stefano Gaudiano, Tom Palmer, and Butch Guice, issues #6-9 by Stefano Gaudiano and Brian Thies, and issues #11-14 were inked by Brian Thies.

Issues #1-5 had Bucky and Natasha working against two of the three Winter Soldier-like Russian sleeper agents in the United States that were woken up due to the events of Captain America (1968) #616-619. Bucky kills one in issue #4, but before the man dies Bucky pretends to still be loyal to Russia and tells the sleeper agent that the people who woke him up and were giving him orders weren't actually working for Russia, which is true, to try to get information out of him in his final moments. Bucky says, “I’m not the traitor… you are,” and, “You pathetic fool. Did we not train you better than this?” The sleeper agent tells him, “I have… feeling… we’re both traitors here…” Bucky kills the second sleeper agent in issue #5, which is the one he had described in issue #2 as “the loyal soldier for his country. The one I actually liked.” I was surprised that Bucky could view patriotism towards Russia positively. During the fight Bucky tries to convince this favored sleeper agent that his war, meaning the Cold War, had ended while he was sleeping, that he's being used, and that Bucky wants to help him. The sleeper agent resists strongly, saying, “Trying to be another voice in my head! Betrayer!! You know what I am! You know my mission! It doesn’t end!” The fight ends with Bucky throwing a knife that lands in the man's throat. Then, Bucky's narration reads: “It’s not until it’s over… that I realize he didn’t even move. Didn’t even try to dodge my knife.” And then Bucky's learns "the thing that will haunt me," that the sleeper agent hadn't set the nuclear bomb codes he was ordered to, meaning that he'd already realized his handlers weren't working for Russia and had defied their orders before Bucky got there. I really liked this storyline. I thought this was a great way for Bucky's first solo book since leaving the Captain America identity, which he’d had for awhile, and returning to the Winter Soldier name to have him wrestle with his past experiences under that name.

Issues #6-14 had them working against the third sleeper agent, whose mental conditioning had gotten messed up so, rather than working for someone else, he was plotting against Bucky for revenge against him. I didn’t feel that this was executed as well. He was angry with Bucky because he thinks, “All the time he was lost, this man could have found him. Saved him.” This isn’t true, Bucky didn’t remember the existence of the sleeper agents until the information was extracted from his brain in the Captain America (1968) issues, and Bucky never learns that that’s his particular grievance. He just attributes the agent’s actions to the incorrect way he was woken up from his pod making him crazy. And the sleeper agent’s plans were sort of all over the place. It seemed to me to be more about creating dramatic situations with Bucky and Natasha for the sake of the story rather than realistically being something that this man would want to do. He kidnaps Natasha and has her brainwashed to think she was a double agent and hadn't actually genuinely defected to the United States so that she'll work for him, but he doesn't force her to fall in love with him because he to earn her love like Bucky did, but I don’t see why that's something he would care about. At one point he has Bucky brainwashed to try to kill Matt Murdock, Natasha's ex, which is interpreted to mean that he intends to give Natasha back when it would be the most emotionally painful for the couple. He has Natasha pretend to break free from the brainwashing so that they'll take her to the Helicarrier and she can try to kill Nick Fury. And in the end he has Natasha's memories of Bucky permanently deleted so that, even when she is actually recovered from the brainwashing, their relationship is over. There are some allusions made to this being part of the 'frozen relics of the Cold War' theme- in issue #9 it's said that he's "creating his own Cold War, with the other players left over from the great game"- but I'm not really convinced of it.

Regarding Bucky and Natasha getting broken up, I had heard of their relationship ending because of memory erasure for the sake of MCU synergy before, but I hadn't known enough about it to know how the memories were erased or even that it was only one of them whose memories were erased and not both of them. Honestly, at this point I still wasn't fully satisfied with what had been established about their relationship. The initial reveal of them having a past together was done through a montage of moments between them in Captain America (2005) #27 and I had been expecting that to be expanded upon later on in that book, but instead they got back together, on the basis of neither of them forgetting what they meant to each other, without that ever happening. That era was later revisited in Black Widow: Deadly Origin (2010) #2 and Captain America and Bucky (2011) #624, but both of these portrayals felt incongruous to me, which didn't help. It's not necessarily that I'm not convinced of their relationship in the present day, even if the process of them getting together felt simplistic, but I also wanted to know more about how they thought about each other beyond acknowledgment that they've gone through similar things or admiration for how they've survived or how they fight, and I'm disappointed that we won't be getting that anytime soon. Also, I understand that the circumstances were unideal, considering that this part of the story was written in respond to a demand that their relationship be broken up somehow, but I don't like Natasha going through brainwashing and having her memories of her boyfriend erased and then that not being followed up with a story that depicts the aftermath of that for her. Instead, I believe she won't be in this book anymore as it continues on with a new creative team.

When Jasper Sitwell first started appearing in Iron Man comics in the late 60s I really didn’t like him, but then over time I grew fond of him, so I was excited to see in issue #1 of this book that he was Bucky and Natasha’s intel contact, and then the person running their missions. And he had some moments in this book that I enjoyed. In issue #8 Bucky is frustrated because he thinks information that they need has been successfully destroyed, and Jasper tells him, “No, it’s okay, ‘cause I’m a genius, remember? So we still got a lead off of it.” Later that issue he tells Bucky, referring to Natasha, “I’m not crazy enough to be in love with her,” which is funny considering how crazy he got because of his love for Madame Masque in the Iron Man (1968) issues I read this week. Then I was really shocked and sad to see Jasper get killed in issue #10 of this book. Also, it’s said that “Sitwell was one of the only people [Natasha] really liked,” so I’ll have to be on the lookout for any interactions between them in the S.H.I.E.L.D. stories I read.

Captain America: Man Out of Time (2011) #1-5

These issues were published across November 2010 to March 2011, according to the Marvel Wiki. All were written by Mark Waid. Jorge Molina penciled and Karl Kesel inked issues #1 and #4-5. For issue #2 it’s said that Jorge Molina did the breakdowns and Karl Kesel finished the art. And for issue #3 it’s said that Scott Hanna also worked on the inking.

This book presented a new take on Steve’s adjustment after waking up in the future. I'd already read Avengers: Earth's Mightiest Heroes (2005), which had covered those early days because it revisited the early issues of The Avengers (1963), filling in unseen moments between scenes and adjusting a few scenes with more serious characterization. Steve's parts of Earth's Mightiest Heroes were focused on how intensely he was mourning Bucky and his incessant need for revenge against Baron Zemo, which were elements in those early The Avengers issues. In comparison, Man Out of Time does include Steve's relationship with Rick Jones, who served as a surrogate Bucky for Steve, and adds the new element that during the first day they spent together Steve half-thought that he was dreaming. This book also fills in some unseen moments between specific The Avengers stories, but doesn't include his revenge plot against Baron Zemo, which reads a little strangely because of how important it was in Earth's Mightiest Heroes. This book also makes more use of how Marvel's sliding time scale means that Steve was asleep for a lot longer than the original two decades he was when he was brought back in the 60s. There's time spent on Steve learning about new technology, various important historical events he missed, how the United States has changed socially while he was sleeping. And, most significantly, when Steve wakes up in the future with all the incredible technology that the modern Marvel world has, he asks to be sent back in time so that he can save Bucky.

There's resistance to the idea of Steve going back in time with the reasoning that it would cause a time paradox. Steve points out that his and Bucky's bodies were never found, so, "That means I save Bucky and we go underground. Disguise ourselves. Take new identities, live the rest of our natural lives outside the history books. We'll become hoboes if we have to. I don't care. Small price." In the end it's determined that Steve can't go back because he's seen too much and therefore knows too much about the future and could cause a time paradox that way. This is pretty crushing for him. Then, during the Avengers fight with Kang, Steve gets sent back in time against his will, but he's not put in the position to be able to save Bucky. At this point Steve feels disconnected from the 1940s. He's lonely as he tries but isn't able to make contact with the people he used to know. And, what seems to really motivate him, he feels guilty about leaving the Avengers in the middle of a fight, so he chooses to come back to the modern day to help them. This wasn't really convincing to me of the overall premise of the book that Steve wouldn't actually go back to the 1940s if given the choice, even though that's what would be expected of him. I feel that the extenuating circumstances of the Avengers being in trouble really detracts from the effectiveness of this story in communicating that. And, while I understand that Steve not being able to get into contact with people was necessary for the prevention of a time paradox, that also added to that this wasn't a decision Steve made in normal circumstances. And I ultimately wasn't really convinced that Steve would feel so out of place in the 1940s by that point.

Iron Man (1968) #104-112

In this batch of Iron Man issues I went from August 1977 to April 1978, according to the Marvel Wiki. All were written by Bill Mantlo. Issues #104-106 were penciled by George Tuska and inked by Mike Esposito. Issue #107 was penciled by Keith Pollard and inked by Fred Kida. Issues #108-109 were penciled by Carmine Infantino, with the first being inked by Bob Wiacek and the second being inked by Fred Kida. The breakdowns of issues #110-112 were drawn by Keith Pollard, with Fred Kida finishing the art for issues #110-111 and Alfredo Alcala finishing the art for issue #112. Issue #113 was penciled by Herb Trimpe and inked by Joe Rubinstein. And issue #114 was penciled by Keith Giffen and inked by Bruce Patterson.

In issue #104 Tony goes to Stark House, of which he says, “I… haven’t been back here since college!” When Whitney Frost tells him that the house is beautiful, he says, “Yes… I suppose it is! Cold, though- uncared for, since my parents died! A bit like… me!” Then, in issue #105, he and Whitney go horseback riding in a great Southhampton estate that Tony inherited from his father, which Whitney described as “peaceful” and “like something out of a painting.” Tony describes his father as “ruthless in business, a competitor to be feared- but he left all that behind when he came out here.” Right before that he had responded to Whitney’s description of the scenery by saying, “I think that’s why I could never stand it, Whitney. This land- the house- none of it seemed real!” It stood out to me that Tony would be so uncomfortable as a child in what he says was the one place where his father relaxed his intense businessman attitudes, that it felt so inherently false to him. Just as it had stood out to me that Tony would describe himself as “uncared for” since his parents died, despite not ever characterizing, nor the one flashback we’ve seen of him depicting, his father as caring. This scene is actually the first time Maria Stark has been named.

Tony goes through a strong mood swing in issue #104, reminiscent of some of his moon swings regarding his identity as Iron Man, regarding how he feels about Midas taking over Stark International, which has left Tony still wealthy and the owner of Stark House. At one point he says, “It… seems like my armor is… all I have left.” And then, referring to his relationship with Whitney, “I can’t live only for love!” And then, at another point, “Let Midas keep Stark International! You’re free- for the first time in your life!” I was struck by how Tony had apparently felt trapped by Stark Industries all his life, but also feels desperate and directionless without the company he inherited from his father.

The opening of issue #105 is Tony having a dream where he’s suffocating in a damaged Iron Man armor suit and his child self appears and is able to remove the mask, even though it burns him to touch the metal. Adult Tony is familiar to child Tony, but not completely recognizable without being told that that’s himself. Then Tony’s parents appear. Tony asks them for help, his father tells him he’s on his own, Tony says he’s always been on his own, and his mother says that that was his choice. And they are guiding his child self away, Tony’s mother says, “You let your money- your genius separate you from people! You created your own loneliness, son- your own pain!” And his father says, “Yet, there are people who love you, Tony! Open up to them! Let them help you- before it’s too late! Before it kills you!” What makes this scene so striking is that it is clearly not true that Tony’s wealth and intelligence were what separated him for other people, and that it’s apparent to me that his parents aren’t blameless.

At the end of issue #106 Marianne Rodgers arrives at Stark International, where Tony had been fighting Midas, and says, “I wonder if he’ll remember me- if he’ll be glad to see me! Why, I might even let him take me into his arms- kiss me the way he used to- before I kill him.” Her motivation, as explained in issue #107, is that she felt safe at the asylum and is upset that she had to leave, not to mention that it was her relationship with Tony that led to her mental issues. What ends up happening in issue #107 is that Marianne attempts to telepathically attack Tony, Tony ducks, and the blast hits Midas instead and makes him braindead. Afterwards, Marianne collapses. She says, “My- My names not Marianne! It’s… Guinevere! I- I’m a queen- and all the knights wish to champion me!” Tony thinks, “The energy focused through her mind drove her over the edge! She was going mad when I knew her- But, she is mad, now! She’s forgotten everything- including her powers… and my identity!” My very reasonable assumption is that Marianne would be going back to the asylum. Instead, Tony mentions in issue #108 that, “Marianne Rodgers- is forever cured of her madness! If only everything had ended so happily!”

I like Marianne, I think the idea that she’s just forgotten all about Tony and that she’s simply cured of her problems is boring, and I hope that she comes back to the book again. I think her character concept is really interesting. She was originally just a party girl that Tony called up to hang out with for a one-night thing, and then that escalated really quickly because she developed extra sensory powers that were all about him, driving her towards him and strengthening her feelings for him, and essentially forcibly made her mind revolve around him. They got engaged really quickly, and then their relationship fell apart when her visions overwhelmed her and made her more of a burden than a support in Tony’s life. I thought the choice to have Marianne’s delusion become that she was a character from Arthurian legends was interesting. She was fixated on Tony while she was in the asylum, though I believe the event that got her sent there in the first place was hallucinating miscellaneous monsters around her after he broke up with her. This new delusion initially seems to be unrelated to Tony, but really he’s got a strong knight-in-shining-armor association and the phrasing “all the knights wish to champion me” makes me think it’s a manifestation of her wanting Tony to want her, particularly considering how earlier in issue #107, when Marianne senses that Tony is in love with a new woman, she thinks, “Oh, Tony- Anything else I might have forgiven you… but not for… that!”

DC Comics:

Shazam! (2023) #3-4

These issues were published in September 2023 and October 2023, respectively. Both were written by Mark Waid, drawn by Dan Mora, and colored by Alejandro Sánchez.

I don't have too much to say on this outside of the two posts I made when I first read the issues. I think the really interesting elements of Mark Waid's take on Billy are limited to the narration, which is unfortunate. Ultimately, I think a completely different writing approach that would be able to explore those things in actual scenes would appeal to me a lot more. I am still looking forward to seeing what this book does once this plot with Billy's empowering gods wraps up, but I am also looking forward to another creative team taking over the book.

Fawcett Comics:

the Mary Marvel stories in Wow Comics (1941) #56 and Mary Marvel (1945) #14

In this batch of 4 Mary Marvel stories I read through her solo appearances in July 1947, according to the issue cover dates. These stories ranged from 5 to 7 pages.

In the story “Mary Marvel Fights a Family Skeleton” (written by Otto Binder; drawn by Jack Binder) in Mary Marvel #14, one of Mary’s friends, who is also an orphan that was adopted, expresses concerns about what if her “real” family were criminals. Mary says to her, “What difference would that make? They say environment counts more than hereditary! The Daltons brought you up to be decent and honest and that’s what you are.”

[yellowocaballero]

Prequel to ‘The Crow’s Funeral’: How Agnes + Gerry met, then proceeded to set Jon on fire.

Exactly what it says on the tin. This exists because I was rereading TCF and went “hey did I ever figure out how Agnes and Gerry met”. I didn’t, so this is it. Rest under the cut. No specific warnings except for the fact that, shockingly enough, Jon had gone through a lot of character development prior to the start of TCF and was actually a complete asshole for a year or two. 

“Daisy? What are you looking for?”

Agnes’s expression stretched into terror. She mouthed ‘fuck!’, and slapped a hand over her mouth. She didn’t breathe, and her chest never rose and fell, but she abruptly started trembling.

For the first time, Gerry reached out to reassure her. But her body heat had abruptly tripled, and Gerry was forced to pull back. In the small, unventilated space, it quickly became overwhelmingly hot.

“Shut it off!” Gerry hissed, as quietly as he physically could. “They’ll feel it -”

“That is the most dangerous monster in the world,” Agnes whispered, and Gerry fell silent. “Don’t move.”

For the first time in a very long time, in an apocalyptic world built on terror and fear, Gerry felt afraid.

Agnes was back. 

Gerry didn’t know how she had found him. His hiding place was pretty well hidden, thank-you-very-much. Adults were always trying to barricade themselves in houses - stupid, when the nightshades could drift through shit - and kids were always trying to hide in closets or attics. But Gerry was the perfect mix of adult and child - or, as they’re known, teenagers - and he had way too much experience stripping houses down for the possessions of the recently deceased. 

So Gerry knew about crawl spaces. Like in the Magician’s Nephew, some older row houses had little secret tunnels between each house. You couldn’t quite get into each house normally, but there were always gaps and weak points and hatches. Even better, at the very top there was a hidden attic where the generator and power box lived. It was small, and there were definitely some gross animal corpses that Gerry could have sworn moved, but it was mostly safe. So much as anything was safe. 

But, somehow, Agnes had found him. Gerry didn’t know what she was doing exploring row houses for fun, but judging from the scent of smoke that’s been in the air lately he didn’t want to know. 

The sharp rapping echoed through the small attic, directly under the hatch with a huge heavy space heater dumped on it. Gerry had other means of entry, and Agnes thought that was the only door. Please! As if Gerry would live somewhere with only one escape exit. That was just asking to get stuck in a nightmare for a month. 

But, then again, maybe Agnes had never had to worry about that. 

“I brought food!” The high, clear voice called out - slightly muffled from the ceiling/floor, but unmistakable. “It’s Twinkies! Come down to eat it!”

“No way!” Gerry called down back. “I bet you put offal in it!”

“What does offal mean!”

“It’s, like, organs! Go away, lady!”

“I told you!” Agnes called back, weirdly delighted. “My name’s Agnes! I’m a Princess!”

“Princess of what, being lame!”

“Fuck you!”

“Fuck you, Princess Agnes!”

“Fuck me yourself!”

Ugh! She was so annoying! This was her fourth fucking time coming by here, and ever since she had realized that he was just a teenage boy she had been leaving food in front of the attic door. It was always weird food, too. Didn’t she know what humans ate?

Stupidly on cue, Gerry’s stomach rumbled. Ugh. 

“Go away,” Gerry called back, eager for her to just leave already so he could eat the shitty food she had undoubtedly left. “I don’t feel like getting turned into a candle today!”

For some reason, she didn’t reply to that. Gerry wondered if she was trying to fool him into thinking she was leaving, but joke’s on her - Gerry could hear footsteps all the way through the house. He waited with bated breath for a minute, two minutes, slowly growing confused why she wasn’t either yelling at him or leaving. 

He’d never tell her, but he kind of enjoyed fighting with her. 

Finally, she called out, with an emotion in her voice that he had never heard from her before, “Is that why you won’t come out? You think I’d turn you into a candle?”

Gerry was flabbergasted. “Yes?” he called back. “You turn everyone into candles.”

“...it’s not just because you don’t like me?”

Aw, man. Gerry abruptly felt a little bad for the flame monster cult leader lady. She couldn’t be any older than him. “You’re really nice,” Gerry called back, feeling like an idiot. “I just didn’t make it this far by not being careful! Thanks for the food, though!”

A longer silence this time. For some reason, Gerry felt a weird kind of anxious. Not the normal level of ‘aaah im gonna get eaten’ anxious. But something different. He couldn’t describe it. 

Finally, Agnes called back, “Do you want me to stop bothering you? I’m sorry if I’ve been harassing you. I’m not good at - at all of this.”

Gerry sat in his own silence, sitting cross-legged in front of the space heater on top of the hatch. His baggy jeans clung to his legs, slightly sweaty and definitely unwashed, and his raggedy thin black jacket was also a little sweaty. His hair was plastered to his head, limp and dirty. Wherever Agnes went, heat followed. 

People who made dumb decisions didn’t live very long. Gerry had lived for quite a while - well, he was fifteen, but he had made it all year without getting eaten, which was really quite impressive. 

And he had made it alone. When he woke up in this green and terrifying world, Mum hadn’t been there. He had looked for her for months. He had almost been ripped to shreds in Pinhole Books. She wasn’t in any of their usual London hideaways, either. Maybe she was outside of London, somewhere far away…

In all of Gerry’s books, he’d pack up his backpack and set out to look for Mum. He wouldn’t stop until he found her. Then he’d find out that she’d been embroiled in some plot to stop all of this, and he’d help her, and she’d hug him…

But it wasn’t a book. No matter how strange this new world was, fiction couldn’t begin to match. And Gerry didn’t really miss his Mum. Not really. He missed the fact that he was alone. He missed the fact that she was powerful and smart and talented, and definitely would have been able to protect the both of them. Gerry had to protect himself now, and he missed that safety more than he ever missed Mum. 

Gerry wondered if Agnes was lonely. How could she, with a whole cult?

It was a stupid decision. But Gerry had always trusted too easy, anyway. 

He stood up and pushed the space heater with a thick, screeching grinding sound that scraped uncomfortably along the wood. With a final heave, he pushed it off the hatch, and reluctantly bent down to lift the hatch and unfold the ladder. 

“If you turn me into a candle I’m giving you an allergy attack,” Gerry called down, and the girl known as Agnes Montague smiled up at him brilliantly. 

***

That wasn’t how Agnes and Gerry started. But it had been, maybe, how they got going. 

Agnes, Gerry found out very quickly, was a hot-tempered girl. Save the jokes. She was always dressed like a sixties hippie, and her long red hair was always somehow glistening and clean. She let Gerry touch it, very carefully, and - yep, even the hair was wax. What a weird person. 

After a bit of frantic introductions and suspicious squinting from both sides, Gerry and Agnes had eventually sat down cross-legged from each other as Gerry stuffed Twinkies in his mouth and she eyed them warily. She had eyed them with a bit of trepidation, but Gerry’s obvious joy at eating them must have made her curious. That was one thing Agnes was: curious. Almost to death. 

“You really live up here? And you’ve never gotten trapped by a nightmare?”

Gerry shrugged uncomfortably, sucking at his fingers. “Yep. I run around town a lot too, cuz I get bored otherwise. It’s easy to evade all of that shit if you know how.”

“Wow.” It was probably her being a fire person or whatever, but Agnes’ eyes seemed to sparkle a little bit. “My cult members barely even let me outside by myself, and I can set shit on fire. You’re really weird for a human.”

Gerry couldn’t help but puff out his chest a little, even if he would have preferred her to use any other word than ‘weird’. “That’s what happens when your Mum trains you since birth to be a demon hunter.” He faltered a little. “I’m not sure if she knew this would happen, but I wouldn’t put it past her.”

“Your mum knew?” Agnes gasped. “I thought nobody knew about the Entities before the apocalypse!”

“Your cult members must have known, right?” Gerry pointed out, and Agnes nodded in concession of the point. “Yeah, there were always a few of us. Not a lot, though. Tight-knit community, everyone knew each other. Hobbyists, you know. It sucked. Most of the people who got involved in the supernatural were jerks.” Actually, now that Gerry thought about it… “That crazy apocalypse prepper Salasea must be coming out like a bandit right now.”

Agnes nodded sagely, as if she knew who Salasea was. Maybe she did? Gerry had always gotten the impression that if all of the demon hunters knew each other, then maybe all of the demons did too. Eventually word about Mum had really started to get around. 

“You’re the first interesting human I’ve met,” Agnes said thoughtfully. “Most of them just - like, scream, you know? Or pretend I’m not there. Like if they don’t acknowledge me then I can’t hurt them. And, like, that’s the way it works for a lot of these things! But I’m a person too, you know?”

“You really aren’t.”

“I have feelings,” Agnes said firmly. “But maybe the reason why you’re still safe isn’t because you’re a super cool human hunter, Gerry.”

“It has to be a part of it,” Gerry said aggressively, eager to assert his masculinity and how cool he was.

“Of course,” Agnes allowed, making Gerry huff. “But I think it’s because you aren’t scared. You were wondering how I found you, right?” Gerry nodded slowly. He had been wondering how Agnes had caught on that he was living here. “It was because I felt a person - I can always feel body heat - but I didn’t taste any fear. I was setting some row houses on fire just to feel something, and you weren’t feeling anything either!” She set her expression firmly, almost bravely. “I think we’re the same.”

“A goth human teenager living in an attic and a flame princess of the fire cult?” Gerry asked skeptically. They couldn’t be less similar. Gerry lived each day in - well, as Agnes pointed out, not fear, but he was constantly just trying to survive. It was all he had ever known, but he knew that others didn’t live like that. He had known when he was a kid - that other kids were normal, were happy - and he knew it now. That a small handful of people in this world were having a blast, and that everyone else suffered. “We’re nothing alike.”

But Agnes faltered, just a bit, and Gerry just a little bit of that loneliness in her expression again. “You’re the only other kid who’s had a conversation with me.” She paused a beat. “Besides, like, Callum, but he’s a baby.”

Maybe, in a schoolyard or a town or a world, Gerry and Agnes weren’t so similar. Maybe they’d have nothing in common. But maybe, in this world that was both so isolated and so unified, they could be a little similar after all. 

“I’ll allow it,” Gerry said graciously. He wanted to shake her hand, but he deeply knew that it was a bad idea. Instead, he broke his Twinkie in half, and held out the other one to her. “Friends?”

Agnes eyed the Twinkie warily. “Do you become friends by asking to be friends with someone?”

“I dunno, I don’t have any friends.”

“Yeah, me neither.”

But she took the Twinkie. It was a start. 

****

Of course, Gerry and Agnes were far more alike than they had first thought. Mostly in the fact that their evil mothers had killed their fathers (which Gerry had the sneaking suspicion wasn’t a universal experience) and that the both of them were actually kind of literally protagonists of a YA book.

Well, Gerry had always been the protagonist of his own life. But he would write a story about Agnes too: about the spoiled princess who rejected her destiny. Who had a really cool previous life where she was all dramatic and sad and stuff, who died tragically only to be reborn as a magical teenage girl. Seriously, it was right out of a Sarah J Maas novel. 

  Maybe they latched onto each other too quickly, but it was the kind of latching on when you made friends with another kid at the orientation to summer camp and then religiously stuck to the kid once the actual camp started until you got another friend. Maybe. Gerry's never been to summer camp, how was he supposed to know. 

But Agnes was sharply quick, surprisingly kind, and fiercely protective. Gerry had never met somebody who cared as much as her. It was really weird. He supposed that people like her, the powerful and destructive, had the privilege to care. 

Agnes snuck over more and more often, and sometimes Gerry went to go visit her. Eventually they started roaming the streets together, loitering in businesses and committing general acts of tomfoolery. Gerry was an old hat at tomfoolery - he had only been vaguely supervised most of his life - but Agnes encroached every second of minor rule breaking with cautious glee. 

Not that there really were rules anymore. Even if you were the kind of juvenile delinquent that got adults yelling at you and caused minor or major property damage, it wasn’t as if the cops were going to come and take you away. Either you got away with it, or you were eaten for a while. This was very natural to Gerry, and after a little bit of convincing it came easily to Agnes too. Maybe they really were well-suited for each other after all. 

If Gerry’s Mum could see him now, she would call him ‘dreadful’ and ‘ill-mannered’ and ‘badly behaved’. But...she wasn’t there, so she could hardly complain. Served her right.

Months - maybe - later, Gerry and Agnes were hanging out in Gerry’s crawlspace again after a long day terrorizing demons and old men alike. They were splitting a blood orange - literally - and letting the sticky juice (juice?) run down their hands, laughing as Agnes imitated the look of shock on the old man’s face. Sitting down on the floor, flavor bursting sweet on his tongue, as Agnes teased him for dropping peels everywhere...Gerry was almost happy. 

Rookie mistake. 

Agnes sensed it first, stiffening slightly as her body pulsed slightly warmer. Gerry scooted a little further away from her carefully as she turned to look at the thin plaster wall, brow furrowing. 

“Is it a nightmare?” Gerry whispered. “Or a person?”

“Neither,” Agnes whispered back. “It’s…”

Then Gerry heard it too: the clack of nails on hardwood, and a sound so terrifying it made his gut tie itself into knots. It was a growl, bestial and wet. Something was snarling outside.

Gerry stopped breathing, sitting absolutely still. The sounds of sniffing and snarling were loud and distinct, and he couldn’t help but stare at the sticky, juicy, smelly orange in his hands. Agnes was also still, far more completely than Gerry ever could be, carefully listening. 

He wanted to whisper to Agnes, make a game plan, but the monster would hear them. Part of Gerry wanted to tremble in fear, but that wasn’t useful. He forced himself to calm down as best as he could while keeping his breaths minimal. Remember Dune. Fear was the mind killer. Fear is the little death. 

But then Agnes smiled at him faintly, making a gentle gesture with her hand. Agnes was a literal fire messiah. She could take almost any monster. Gerry had never seen her afraid of anything, just contemptuous or annoyed. Having her there with him was more reassuring than any book quote, and Gerry exhaled softly as he smiled back at her. Agnes was going to torch that monster, and it would be super cool, and they’d high five, and -

“Daisy? What are you looking for?”

Agnes’s expression stretched into terror. She mouthed ‘fuck!’, and slapped a hand over her mouth. She didn’t breathe, and her chest never rose and fell, but she abruptly started trembling.

For the first time, Gerry reached out to reassure her. But her body heat had abruptly tripled, and Gerry was forced to pull back. In the small, unventilated space, it quickly became overwhelmingly hot. 

“Shut it off!” Gerry hissed, as quietly as he physically could. “They’ll feel it -”

“That is the most dangerous monster in the world,” Agnes whispered, and Gerry fell silent. “Don’t move.”

For the first time in a very long time, in an apocalyptic world built on terror and fear, Gerry felt afraid. 

A faint yipping echoed through the space, almost like a dog. It could never be mistaken for a dog. 

“Well, yes, there’s people everywhere. Other places have more people, even. Why can’t we just go there?” Another bark, a low bass cut. “Oh, if it’s a Hunt, then it’s alright.”

The heat was growing oppressive, and Gerry frantically motioned for Agnes to cut it out. He was withholding his own ragged breathing, and abruptly Gerry felt as if he couldn’t breathe. It was just making him more scared, the sweat trickling down his neck -

There was another yip, so close it might as well be made in his ear. It clearly came from directly in front of him. 

Gerry couldn’t help it - he screamed, overwhelmed with fire and heat and fear and the wolf at their door. 

The wall exploded.

Dust and insulation burst outwards in a fine white cloud, and Gerry and Agnes were abruptly coughing intensely and the wall cracked, folded, and collapsed inwards. Gerry was showered with fragments of wood and plaster, stifling another scream, and screwed his eyes shut against the sudden influx of light. 

He cracked them open as quickly as he could, unwilling to meet whatever was in front of him with his eyes closed. Instantly, overwhelmingly, Gerry was brought face to snout with a giant wolf.

Gerry firmly believed that people weren’t meant to see apex predators up close. Nobody should be able to touch a bear, was Gerry’s opinion. What was an anaconda? Gerry was on the opposite side of the room. He wasn’t afraid, but he hadn’t made it to the ripe old age of fifteen without being highly cautious. 

It wasn’t right, staring this wolf in the face. Every inch of it stood out to him: the slobber, the snarl, the canines almost as long as his hand. It was silvery white, with a thick ruff and coat, and Gerry watched in awe as the wolf snarled and - 

And stopped snarling. It started looking at him curiously instead, bushy tail sweeping gently side to side. 

The immediate problem almost solved, Gerry was able to take in the figure behind the wolf. 

He was a guy. Unfairly tall, Black with curly hair drawn tight into a ponytail. Sharp features, undercut by unnaturally green eyes. He was in a suit that looked like he had put it on three months ago and had never changed. He was...wearing a trenchcoat? He was just a guy!

“A human!” The man - monster? Guy? Nightmare? Avatar? - cried. “Oh, good job, Daisy! You’re a fantastic investigator.” The wolf - Daisy was a stupid name for a wolf - barked lowly. “Yes, it is like an oven in here, isn’t it?”

Gerry opened his mouth, then closed it. He was still cowering on his ass, covered in dust and plaster. This guy was Agnes’ monster? Maybe she had mistaken him for someone else. “Who -”

“He’s even talking!” The man exclaimed, as if he was a dancing monkey. “They never talk to me voluntarily, you know.” Daisy barked again. “I think it’s cute! Kids are so repetitive, but this one smells great. Good job, Daisy.” 

Before Gerry could protest the man stepped forward and looked down at him, and a sick realization trickled through him. 

The man had nothing behind his eyes. Bright green, sick and churning, radioactive and poisonous. His expression was absent and vaguely curious, like a child watching an ant crawl through its anthill. Slowly, intensely, the man’s placid expression broke into a sharp and demented smile. 

It wasn’t the smile of a human staring at a tasty sandwich. It wasn’t even the smile of a monster drawing a human into a nightmare. It was the smile of a child holding the magnifying glass to the ant: triumphant, because now the child got to see what happens when an ant blackened to a crisp. Elated, because they were the child, and not the ant. Victorious, because they could only remember the distinction in the act of causing harm. 

“Statement of -”

“Leave him alone!”

The monster exploded into flames. 

Agnes leapt from her position in the crawlspace, slightly tucked away out of sight, and shoved at the wolf hard. The wolf yowled, her handprints blackening its fur, and it retreated snarling. 

It was not the first time Gerry had seen someone set on fire. It happened a lot, when you hung out with Agnes. But the man burned, in bright and beautiful red-hot flames, crackling and searing the skin and air and sky. His mouth was open in a silent scream. 

Something green shone from within the flames. 

Then the flames were gone. It was as if he had never been set on fire at all. At most he smelled vaguely of burning flesh, and his hair had broken free of its ponytail to settle in fuzzy waves. 

The monster looked mildly peeved. 

Agnes grabbed Gerry, leaving red-hot scorch marks on his hoodie, and yanked him behind her. Gerry was not embarrassed to say that he absolutely hid behind Agnes as she put herself between him and the monster and his wolf. The wolf who was now snarling deeply at them, and the slightly irritated monster who shook ash off his unharmed trench coat. 

“I don’t care if you called dibs on him,” the monster bitched. “You don’t get to stop me in the middle of a - oh, Agnes!” The monster’s expression brightened as he snapped his fingers. “Agnes Montague, right? Your cult introduced me to you at - what was it -”

“Annabelle’s annual party five months ago,” Agnes said flatly. Her wax hair was still burning at the ends, and although Gerry couldn’t see her expression he knew it had to be fierce. “Nice to see you again, Jon. Now stay away from him.” 

“If you called dibs then you shouldn’t have let me try to eat him,” Jon - which was the dumbest name for an evil monster - complained. He smelled his arm, grimacing. “Setting me on fire’s downright rude, Agnes. Didn’t Jude teach you any manners?”

“Go away!” Agnes yelled. Gerry realized quietly that she was still shaking. “He’s not yours! He’s the one thing you aren’t allowed to hurt!”

Jon frowned at her. Gerry could practically see it: Did_not_compute.exe. It simply didn’t make sense: that there was something in the world that he wasn’t allowed to hurt. That there was something in the world that was not his. 

Before Jon could speak again, his wolf barked harshly at him. She kept barking, completely indecipherably, as Jon’s expression screwed up in uncomprehension. “What does it matter if they’re children.” The wolf barked. “I mean, I don’t actually care if we piss off the Desolation or not.” Bark, bark. “Why are you always guilt tripping me!” Bark, bark, bark, bark. Eventually Jon’s expression turned somewhat abashed, and then downright embarrassed. 

“Right, right.” He turned back to Agnes and Gerry, a little sulky. “Sorry for trying to eat your human, Agnes. In my defense, he was quite -” The dog yipped. “ - innocent, and I’m sure he’s very fun. Great. Well, this was a waste of time. Call me if you get tired of him, Agnes.” 

Jon turned to go, and Gerry could not see his back soon enough. The heat had died as Agnes calmed down, her arms crossed over her chest and scowling fiercely. 

“Apologize to him!”

Jon froze, halfway across the room. Gerry quietly wanted to die. 

The monster slowly turned on his heel, looking at Agnes with a faintly flabbergasted expression. “You can’t be serious -” The wolf barked again. Gerry had the impression that the wolf was in charge of him. “Stop ganging up on me -” Bark. “I don’t know how to talk to humans, don’t make me!” A very firm bark. 

“Do it,” Agnes said firmly. “Or I’ll set you on fire again.”

Unbelievably, the monster groaned. He turned to Gerry, fluorescent eye twitching. “Alright, alright! Listen, uh - kiddo? Kiddo. I am very sorry that you tasted - I am very sorry that I tried to scar you for life and consume your trauma. I cannot stress enough how it’s nothing personal. There.” Weirdly enough, he looked a little proud of himself. “Hah. Totally rocked that talking to a human thing.”

“Uh,” Gerry said, too dizzy with the events of the last ten minutes to care very much about what he said, “is the wolf in charge of you?”

Even more unbelievably, the man brightened. “I’m her assistant! Not very many people pick that up. You’re very bright, little human. Do you want to pet her?” Jon glanced at Daisy, who looked unimpressed. Very loudly, he hissed at her, “Do children like petting dogs?”

The wolf, somehow, seemed to inform him that yes, they did. 

They were in too deep now. Gerry walked up and petted the wolf. It was fucking awesome. Agnes groaned and pulled him back again very quickly. She seemed a little jealous. The wolf yipped at her and Agnes reluctantly petted the wolf too. 

Jon clapped his hands. “Well! That was very unpleasant. I won’t ask what you’re doing hiding in a wall, Agnes. As a personal favor to you.”

“Thanks,” Agnes said flatly. 

“Tell Diego and Jude that I’m not doing it. Or eating your human. As a personal favor to you.”

“Definitely will.”

“Fantastic.” Jon’s eyes glinted, in the soft light of Agnes’ flames. “I’m very happy you’ve reincarnated into that fun child’s body, Agnes. Children are so tempestuous and impulsive. I wouldn’t have tolerated an adult setting me on fire. You understand that, don’t you?” 

Agnes nodded, almost shakily.

“You understand that for an adult, that would have had very different consequences.”

Agnes nodded again.

“Fantastic!” Then Jon was beaming again, all carelessness and laziness. “Have fun, you little delinquents. Come on, Daisy. I’m famished.”

He swanned off, wolf following closely on his tail. But the wolf looked back as it crossed the threshold, large yellow eyes piercing in a way that Gerry just couldn’t name, before they both disappeared. As slowly and terrifyingly as they had come.

Ten seconds passed, then fifteen. 

Agnes crumpled to her knees and bent over the floor, shaking, and her hands pressed hot scorch marks into the wood. She was still shuddering, and Gerry bent down next to her. He couldn’t physically comfort her, but he could put his hand close to hers on the wood. As close as possible, yet never touching. 

“We are so lucky to be alive,” Agnes breathed, before abruptly groaning. “I set him on fire! I set The Archivist on fire!”

The title tickled something in Gerry’s brain, bringing up an insane amount of questions, but he brushed them all aside. Gertrude was dead - or at the very least, very far away, where she was no good to him. She had to be, otherwise he would have noticed her cutting a swathe through Britain by now. 

“Who is he?” Gerry asked. He didn’t really want to know, but...well, he was himself. He wanted to know everything. It was kind of his whole thing.

Agnes sat down on her knees, rubbing her forehead, and Gerry cautiously sat down next to her. “He’s the monster who sold the world. The most dangerous man ever made.”

“The most dangerous man in the world gets bossed around by his dog?” Gerry asked, before the words sunk in. “Wait, I thought that was Jonah Magnus!”

“Jonah Magnus doesn’t kill people because they annoy him!” Agnes snapped, before she groaned into her hands again. “And I set him on fire…Diego is going to kill me!”

“For what it’s worth,” Gerry said awkwardly, “I’m glad you set him on fire. He was kind of a dick.” He paused again, uncertain of how to say it. “And...thanks for caring, I guess. You really don’t have to.” He shrugged, unwilling to state what had always been unsaid between them. “I’m a human. These things happen to us. You just have to deal with it.”

That was the way of the world. It had always been that way, even before the apocalypse. The strong and powerful and important like Jon kicked around smaller people, and the smaller people just hoped they survived it. 

Gerry was a survivor. Nobody had ever saved him before. Maybe because nobody had ever saved him before. 

Agnes tackled Gerry in a tight, pressing hug. She wasn’t hot at all, just mildly warm - an incredible act of effort and concentration on her part. Her arms were solid and unyielding, never mistaken for flesh, but she clutched at him with a unique desperation. Gerry cautiously hugged her back, letting her bury her head into his shoulder. 

“Not to you,” Agnes whispered. “Nothing bad’s going to happen to you. Not even The Archivist.”

“You can’t promise that,” Gerry whispered. 

“We’re family.” Agnes separated from him, stubbornly fighting boiling tears. “And I’m sick of just dealing with it.”

Gerry opened his mouth, then closed it. “Family?” He said weakly.

Agnes blushed hotly. “If you want!” She tightened her fists on her skirt, winding the fabric between her fingers anxiously. “It’s just that - I know you don’t have anyone...and I have my cultists, but they don’t really care about me, not like you do...and I know it used to be different, that family used to mean something different, but I don’t care about what old people thought family meant. I care about you, and we’re sticking together, so that’s what we are.” She faltered a little. “If you want.”

“Siblings, then,” Gerry said faintly. “If you want.”

And he did want it. More than anything, Gerry wanted this. 

When Agnes smiled at him, and she hugged him tightly again, Gerry was halfway certain that yet another disaster was about to befall them. He knew that meteors were going to strike, that the ground was going to open up and engulf them, that the world would end in fire and ice, because Gerry was so happy it clenched his heart. He was so happy he couldn’t breathe. 

“It’ll be okay,” Agnes said into his shoulder, “we’ll never have to deal with Jonathan Sims again. I promise.”

****

It was not a promise Agnes kept. 

They ran into him again. And again. And again. Eventually, after meeting a monstrous golem of fear and suffering that induced paralyzing fear so frequently, said simulacrum of human experience became slightly tiresome. And you realized that he was, actually, really not that bright. Or at the very least not very mature. And that his wolf sister kind of wore the pants in that relationship. That he and his wolf sister were like Agnes and Gerry, in every possible way. And that he was, weirdly, deeply kind. And that he loved, so bright and pure and fearsome that it had brought down the world. That he was capable of loving Gerry. Maybe even, given enough time, anyone. 

Many months later, as Gerry, Agnes, Jon, and Daisy sat in an ice cream shop splitting blood orange ice cream (with real blood!) and bickering endlessly about if Friends was the Flesh or the Stranger, that Gerry thought he might feel something familiar in his chest. 

Something that clenched his heart, something that made him so happy he couldn’t breathe. Something that felt like fire and ice and meteors and disaster.

Jon must have felt it. He looked at Gerry, surprised, with ice cream slowly dripping from his spoon and congealing on the table. “What’s wrong with you? Are you ill? Agnes, is he ill?”

“No,” Gerry said, wiping at his eyes. “I guess I’m happy again.”

Everybody stared at him, slightly dumbfounded. 

Daisy barked. 

“You’re quite right, Daisy,” Jon said. 

He didn’t tell them what she was right about, and Gerry never asked. He already knew. 

[butwhyduh]

A Date to Remember

Damian Wayne x Superman’s daughter reader

Damian is 20, reader 19, Jon is her little brother at 18 and Kon acts like an older brother to her.

Warning: angsty and kidnapping

You’d always told Damian that the sunset on the Kent farm was the best in the world. Damian smiled a little as he drove down the long road to Smallville. Damian had thought about classic dinner date in one of Metropolis’ fanciest restaurants but you insisted on meeting him in a barn.

He felt underdressed. Blue jeans and a flannel shirt. Why did he let Jon help him get dressed? He felt ridiculous but at least he wore sensible shoes. But deep down Damian knew you world like it. And he was certainly willing to feel a little foolish for you.

Clark was off world and Lois was on a mission. Jon had his own date in the city so it was the both of you alone tonight. How long had it been since the two of you were alone without someone around? Between his half a dozen brothers and your family with literal super hearing... yeah it’s been tough. So being 50 miles from everyone was kind of a dream.

Damian pulled in the driveway with some flowers and walked up to the house. He knocked on the door only for it to swing open. Damian noticed the splintered door frame and his heart sped up. He called your name. Act like the rich billionaire son while working like Robin, even though he wasn’t quite sure he still wanted the name.

He scanned every surface and he noticed a small scratch near the back door after looking through every room. Most people wouldn’t even notice it. You weren’t there. He looked closely and saw drag marks in the gravel path to the barn. His heart was thundering at this point. You weren’t in the barn either.

You were half Kryptonian but the genetic inheritance was complicated. Jon had won the lottery with having most of his father’s powers and not being as sensitive to Kryptonite. You had lost it. Hypersensitive to Kryptonite and only some speed and increased hearing and strength. Barely about the average human. You weren’t a fighter.

Damian pulled out his phone to call Jon.

“Bit busy here, Damian,” Jon said, sounding far from amused. Damian could hear kissing noises in the background and frowned. He didn’t want to hear that.

“Your sister is missing,” he said and he heard a lot of movement on the phone.

“What??”

“The door jam was kicked in and there are scrap marks of her being dragged away. I think she’s been kidnapped,” Damian said. His voice felt tight. He, son of Batman, let his girlfriend get kidnapped. “Whoever it was clearly waited until she had no other Kryptonians around to grab her. It wasn’t a coincidence that she was taken tonight. Can you get out here? I’m calling father to try and trace her. Her phone is missing too.”

“I’m leaving in 5. Damian, if Luther has her, she can’t handle Krytonite,” Jon said, worry bleeding into his voice. “It’s like it poisons her.”

“I know. But we don’t know who has her. Let’s hope they don’t know she’s part Krytonian,” Damian said, already mentally moving on to his next step. Contact Bruce. Get the bat computer to trace her. Look for more evidence. Don’t freak out completely that she might be poisoned by Kyrotonite.

“Okay. I’m about to fly. I’ll see you soon,” Jon said before hanging up.

——————————

You woke up with a cough. You head throbbed and your stomach rolled as you laid in a bed? Maybe a couch? It was a horrible feeling but you knew exactly what it was: Kryptonite. You couldn’t forget what how that stuff made you feel. You tried to look around to see it but the room was completely dark. Night vision would be nice but you got human eyes. Your slightly enhanced hearing heard nothing but the wind outside. Okay, you were ground level or higher.

You tried to twist in the cuffs that bound your hands only to cry out. There was the Kryptonite. It was on the outside of the cuffs and you almost threw up at it touched your skin. You were cuffed with Kryptonite to a hospital bed, you figured. What other bed had areas perfect for cuffs? Your legs were equally restrained and you felt so exposed in the dark room.

Your dad was off world. He wouldn’t hear you if you called for him. But Jon might. But if you yelled, someone might come in and who knows what they would do. You’d wait a little bit longer. You wanted to fall asleep. The Kryptonite made you feel so dull. Like the first time you were exposed to it.

You were all of 4 years old. Your dad had brought you with him to the Justice League meeting. Relatively safe and Batman promised Robin would watch you. Dick was so excited to be a babysitter. You had hugged him tight enough to hurt before running to the climbing wall.

“Hey!” Called the 16 year old. “I brought games instead!”

You warily walked back over to him and card games and board games fell out of a duffle bag as he opened it. Half the stuff you were far too young for. You bent down as he scooped up his gameboy. You pulled out some games and open a side pocket to grab a small metal box. Dick sat down his gameboy carefully before turning back to you.

“Don’t open th-“ he started before you pulled open the box to show a bright green stone. Followed by you throwing up all over his bag of games. You dropped the box and sat on the floor. Dick quickly closed the box with the piece of Kryptonite and put it in his pocket. He had boroughed one of Bruce’s bags that apparently wasn’t fully unpacked.

“Dad, I don’t feel good,” you said as Clark ran over. Dick looked at you so guiltily.

“I didn’t know,” he swore. “I’m so sorry.” Bruce stood by quietly.

“We need to talk later,” Clark had told Bruce and yeah, they were mad at each other for a while.

——————————————

Jon arrived shortly in a dress shirt and slacks and he looked at Damian just as weird as Damian looked at him. They had basically switched clothing.

“Not to judge but that’s date clothing? You told me to not wear flannel,” Jon said accusingly.

“That’s because your sister wanted me to wear this,” Damian said back. “Let’s focus on finding her. Father’s calling me now. We’ll change in a minute.”

“Hello, you’re on speaker phone,” Damian said.

“Her tracker is showing a warehouse owned by Luthor Corp in downtown Metropolis,” Bruce said. “Do you need help? I can see if Dick is nearby.”

“No thanks. Jon will help me. Thank you, father,” Damian said before hanging up.

“Luthor. I knew it,” Jon said with a frown. “Wait, you put a tracker on my sister? Does she know?”

“Now is not the time. Let’s get to Metropolis,” Damian said, changing the subject while both got dressed. Jon nodded and offered his arms. “I’m not being carried like that. I’ll hold on your back,” Damian said. Jon rolled his eyes and nodded again.

As they flew over corn fields and pastures, Jon began to question Damian. “So when did you put this tracker in? Does she even know? Where is it? Do I want to even know?”

“It’s sub-dermal in her forearm and I haven’t told her yet. And it’s irrelevant right now as it might save her life,” Damian said and Jon looked disgusted. “We need to focus on saving her and then you can be her angry brother.”

“Wow...”

————————————

You moved and the cuffs burned your skin. You gasped and screamed “Jon! Kon!” You called out to them hoping one of them would hear you.

“Dad!” you cried frantic. There was no way he would hear you. “Damian! Jonathan! Conner!”

You panted and your head pounded. You were so tired. You’d lose consciousness if no one saved you. Then who knows what they would do to you.

“Superman!” You screamed desperately before finally passing out.

——————————

“Did you hear that?” Jon said as they flew towards the Metropolis skyline.

“No all I hear is wind. What did you hear?” Damian said.

“Y/n. She’s calling for us,” Jon said speeding up.

“Is she okay?” Fear bled into Damian’s voice.

“I can’t tell. I’m trying to hurry,” Jon said flying quickly towards the industrial area of the city. He landed on the roof of a warehouse. Jon’s eyes glowed as he looked through the building.

“7 men. 4 posted outside the door to the room that’s she’s being held on the 2nd floor. Her heart rate is steady and she isn’t screaming any more. Almost sounds asleep,” Jon said after his analysis.

“Probably tranquilizer. Father’s data said this building is used for research purposes. Does that fit?” Damian asked.

“Uh more like research subject holding. Maybe a small lab on the first floor but other than cameras everywhere, there isn’t much science stuff that I can scan. But also the basement is sealed off,” Jon said.

“How?”

“Lead bound. You can check it out while I rescue her. 4 guys is nothing,” Jon said making a fist.

“Hold on. Luthor would probably have her surrounded by Kryptonite. Just in case one of you look for her. And that’s the last thing we need,” Damian said. “I’ll rescue her and you look for the basement. Knowing Luthor, it’s probably an entire facility of experiments below. He just hadn’t gotten her room ready yet.”

Jon looked frustrated. “Fine. You rescue her but be careful. She is the weakest of us. She’s not invulnerable to bullets or anything.”

“Most of the people I rescue aren’t either,” Damian reminded him. “And I’m certainly not taking a chance with my beloved.”

Jon looked over to respond but Damian was already gone. Just like the rest of the bats: silent goodbyes. Jon quietly moved down to the first floor. He was working but at the same time, his ear was trained on his sister’s heartbeat. Jon might be the younger sibling but she didn’t have powers and he felt so protective.

—————————————

Damian rolled his eyes at the 5 ways he could see that the security sucks in the 3 minutes he hung out the window before climbing in. Large rafters and guards who didn’t bother to look up. Not to mention the fact that they let there be a solid wall between the set of guards which meant that Damian was easily able to jump down to knock them out in pairs without the other set knowing. If the security was any worse they would leave the door unlocked.

The door wasn’t unlocked but it was a deadbolt that Damian easily disabled. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say it was on purpose. He gulped before opening the door. What if you were really hurt? Or dead? Ignore and get in there.

Damian opened the door and he felt white hot rage. You were tied to a bed and were unconscious. You were in a nice dressy shirt and sweatpants. They’d clearly taken you while you were getting dressed. Damian wanted to kill them. He had to take a breath to help you. Jon was taking them out and Damian was on rescue. He had to stay level headed.

Even the cuffs on your wrists were inadequate. If they had attempted to restrain Damian, he would have gotten out in 3 minutes. When he was 6 years old. The Kryptonite had left nasty red burns on your skin and he clenched his jaw at the sight. Jon better be punching extra hard.

Damian picked you up bridal style and you groaned a little before turning your head against his chest. The farther he got you from that fucking Kryotonite the better you were. He took you to the roof and you started waking up.

“Damian,” you said softly and a little confused.

“Hey you’re awake. How are you feeling?” He asked looking all over your face for injury.

“Kryptonite. I hate that stuff,” you said. Damian grabbed your hand and you hissed. He looked to see bright red knuckles. You’d clearly fought at some point. He certainly knew the signs of punching someone.

“You fought back?”

“Yeah and hitting someone in a helmet and body armor sucks. I got just a few in before they pulled out the damn rock. I throw up every damn time,” you said shaking your head.

Before Damian could comment on how brave and stupid it was to punch body armor, there was a huge crash down on the first floor as someone flew in the building through the window. You grabbed him tightly.

“What the hell is that?”

“Kon. Conner’s here. I’m up here,” you yelled.

Conner flew up to the roof. “Are you okay? What’s going on?”

“Kidnapped. Damian and Jon saved me. He’s still down there actually. Can you check on him?” You said. Damian suddenly stood up.

“What if you were a distraction and the real problem is downstairs?” Damian suddenly said with clarity. The Kryptonite alone was enough to hold you down. The half ass security was to hold their attention when they rescued you. Jon was already flying back down before Damian could say more. Damian weighed his options: leave you alone, bring you with him, or stay out of it and while the last sounded nice, he’d have to go in case of more Kryptonite.

Before Damian could decide, Kon was back on the roof. “You’ve got to come see this.”

Downstairs was a lead lined basement. That alone had you nervous. Jon stood by the door. Little spattering of blood could be seen on his hands. He had a hard look.

“Warning: this is going to be messed up,” he said and you were even more worried. You walked in to see cages. Kids. Unconscious adults lay around in the hallway. “They were experimenting on them.”

You felt nauseous.

“My father is on the way. This is much bigger than I thought,” Damian said messing with his comms. His free hand was on your shoulder protectively.

There were 8 kids in cages. Bruce was running tests on their blood and investigating the area as you helped to get them out of the cages. What a terrible Valentine’s Day.

“Beloved, let’s get you home. We can stay at the farm tonight. You need sleep,” Damian said worried. You looked at him distracted.

“They’re just kids.”

“Come on. Let’s go. Kon is going to stay there too. Just for the night,” Damian said helping you up. Kon flew you both back to the farm.

“I’m going back to help. You okay, kid,” Kon asked as Damian inspected the house.

“I’ll be alright. Just help those kids,” you said.

“Yeah, of course,” he said ruffling your head. You rolled your eyes. “But seriously, the way you screamed I thought you were being murdered.”

You stiffened. “I’m fine. Thanks.”

Kon knew when to quit. Something he had learned from Tim. He gave you a big hug and flew off towards Metropolis.

“Hey. I made your bed so you can sleep,” Damian said quietly. “And a change of clothes.”

You nodded and went upstairs. Damian helped pull off your shirt and put on a sweater. He looked at the marks around your wrist and red knuckles but didn’t note any more bruises or cuts. You pulled on sweatpants and climbed in small twin bed that Lois kept for guests. The pink and yellow flowery quilt felt warm and comforting on your skin. Damian lay beside you after changing and looked at you seriously.

“What is it,” you asked.

“I was so scared tonight. I have been doing this for years and I’ve never been so worried,” he said softly and you looked down and flushed. If you weren’t so freaking sensitive to Kryptonite this wouldn’t have happened. Damian gently lifted your chin and you looked at him.

“I was scared to lose you,” he said running his thumb across your cheek. “I’m going to drive you absolutely mad because I don’t want to take my eyes off of you.”

“Yeah?” You said with a little smile.

“Uh hm. But first sleep,” he said and your body certainly agreed. You curled into him and rest your head on his chest. His arms held you tightly before rubbing your back. You fell asleep to Damian staring at you. He stared at you all night, not even sleeping when Kon came in a few hours later.

———————————

“I have to know what all that was, Bruce,” you said at the Batcave the next day. “I was in there.”

He looked at you for a minute. “They were experimenting with meta DNA. All of those kids have gifts and they wanted to take you too. There were even plans to inject those kids with your blood to see if it would affect them.”

You shivered a little at the thought. Lex Luthor and his obsession with Kryptonian DNA.

“All the records were burned. Most of the warehouse too. Your brothers were.... thorough. And Clark will be home in a few days,” Bruce added.

“Really?”

“Yes. And he’s furious at Luthor. Probably will call soon. He wanted to let you sleep earlier. We’re just running programs here. Why don’t you and Damian go upstairs,” he suggested.

“Bruce Wayne,” came a stern voice behind you. You turned to see your mother, Lois Lane, looking like she was going to beat up Batman. “You put a tracker in my daughter without her permission?”

“You what?” You said.

“Actually that was Damian. Though I want to point out that it helped save her life,” Bruce added. Lois slapped him soundly across the cheek. Bruce just blinked and rubbed his cheek.

“Damian, you put a tracker in me?” You asked shocked. You’d assumed Jon had heard you or Damian’s detective work brought them to the warehouse. Not an invasive tracker in your body. “What the hell?”

“Well I can explain..”

[bluejayblueskies]

the before, the after, the in-between

Chapter One: white daisies Words: 2.9k

Relationships: Jon & Daisy, Jon/Martin Tags: Post-Canon, Scottish Safehouse, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Mute Jon, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies

Summary:

There was no knife, no blood, and Jon was not dead. And when he heard a strangled noise from beside him and looked over to see Martin standing in the doorway of the safehouse, flung open and letting in the frigid bite of near-winter and sunlight, there was sunlight, he felt such a dizzying, intense wave of relief that he could hardly breathe around it.

Then, he opened his mouth to say Martin’s name, and nothing came out, and all of the relief fell away in an instant.

.

Jon wakes up in the safehouse in October of 2018, alive and well but without the Eye and without his voice. In the days that follow, he finds himself confronted with a world that has reset itself in space and in time, a version of himself that is no longer the Archivist, and the fact that death during the end of the world had not been so permanent as it had seemed.

Read on Ao3 (link in source)

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five| Chapter Six| Chapter Seven

Or read below:

(cw for mentions of knife violence, mild blood)

There are white daisies on the kitchen table.

They’re what Jon saw first when he opened his eyes, awake and gasping for air, sprawled on his back on the floor and staring up at a brown ceiling and a brown kitchen chair and the bottom of a brown table and, amidst it all, a splash of white that caught his eye. He stared at the flowers, a memory tickling at the back of his mind—Martin cutting the flowers from a patch just outside the cottage, tucking them into a vase on the center of the table, Jon running a finger along the waxy petals and whispering, Daisies for Daisy—and then, with a rush, the rest of the memories came flooding back and he sat up so quickly his head spun, his hand going almost instinctively to his chest where the knife was—

But there wasn’t a knife. He was in the safehouse and there were fresh-cut daisies in a vase on the table and there was no knife. There was, however, when he pulled his jumper up to look, a scar—thick and raised, like it had been there for years.

There was no knife, no blood, and Jon was not dead. And when he heard a strangled noise and looked over to see Martin standing in the doorway of the safehouse, the door flung open and letting in the frigid bite of near-winter and sunlight, there was sunlight, he felt such a dizzying, intense wave of relief that he could hardly breathe around it.

Then, he opened his mouth to say Martin’s name, and nothing came out, and all of the relief fell away in an instant.

There are still white daisies on the kitchen table less than two days later, when Jon has fallen apart and picked himself back up again and fallen apart and picked himself back up again, more times than he cares to count. He sits in the hard wooden chair, legs crossed and elbows resting atop the varnished wood, and stares at the flowers, still as vibrant as the day they were picked nearly… six months ago? He wishes he knew how long it’s been, but he can’t. He can’t Know, and the Eye is gone, and he can’t speak, and his tears are soundless as he buries his face in Martin’s chest and grapples with the fact that for the first time in years, he’s never felt quite so human.

Martin thinks they’ve gone back in time. Jon thinks that time has caught up to them. Like the world, stitched back together and made anew, has simply picked up where it left off, unaware of how deeply scarred its inhabitants have become. Though Jon really doesn’t think it matters much at all.

It’s not the first argument they have. And it certainly will not be the last.

For now, though, Jon stares at the daisies, one hand tap tap tapping the cheap ballpoint pen on the moleskine notebook Martin had given him and the other wandering down to his left calf, where bite marks as wide as dominoes sit in even rows across his skin, scarred up before they’d even reached the next domain.

He rubs a thumb over one of the raised scars—the second set that had been left on his body by the same hands, both born from violence yet so distinct and different in Jon’s mind—and thinks, with a twinge of something deeply longing, I miss Daisy.

He’d missed her in intervals after he’d collected the bite mark scars on his calf. There had been so much to think about, so much to focus on, but in the quieter moments, he would think about the fact that she was gone—really, truly gone, in a way he couldn’t explain away like he could their first time in the safehouse—and feel the loss as acutely as a knife in his side. (Though now that he has experience with that specific brand of pain, he knows that the feelings aren’t quite the same. A knife is sharp and cutting, radiating pain. That ache was deeper, and it settled next to his bones, preparing to make itself at home within him forever.) Now, there is sunlight streaming in through the lattice windows and Jon closes his eyes when he sleeps and fear is as dull as a butter knife, and there is no limit to the moments of quiet. He looks at the white daisies, and he aches.

“Jon?” Martin says quietly, and Jon startles, still unused to not Knowing when somebody is near to him before they announce themselves. “Is… is everything all right?”

Jon nods reflexively, then bites his lip and slowly shakes his head. He looks down at the table for a moment before flipping open the moleskine, uncapping the pen, and scratching words neatly on the next available line despite the way his hand shakes ever so slightly as he writes. I miss Daisy.

He holds up the notebook, and Martin steps closer until he can make out the cramped words on the page. His forehead furrows like he hadn’t been expecting it, but after a moment, he says softly, “Me too.”

Jon gives him a flat, disbelieving look, and Martin sighs. “Okay, maybe I don’t. At least, not- not like you do. But I… I know you cared about her, Jon. I know she was there for you when I- I wasn’t, and I… I wanted to meet the version of Daisy that you pulled out of that coffin. Really meet her, I mean, without all of the loneliness and fog and- and end-of-the-world drama.” A corner of Martin’s mouth turns up into a sort of unhappy smile. “I guess I miss what could have been, then.” Quieter: “I’m sorry. I know that she… she meant a lot to you.”

Jon nods once, folding his hands together on his lap and worrying them together. He opens his mouth, then closes it with a frustrated sigh and reaches back for the notebook. Hastily, he scrawls, I think she would have liked you. Then: I wish you could have met her too. Then, hesitantly: I told her about you. I talked about you a lot. She never understood why I left you alone with Lukas, but she respected my decision to do so.

He holds it up, and Martin’s eyes scan the page quickly. Jon can see the moment Martin reads the last line, the way his jaw tenses and his throat bobs as he swallows. “Only nice things, I hope,” he says after a moment with a bit of forced cheeriness.

Jon exhales loudly through his nose—a breathy laugh, the only kind he can manage anymore—and shrugs.

Martin’s lips twitch into a smile, but it quickly folds under the pressure of the troubled look upon the rest of his face. “I’m glad that you had her,” he says quietly. “And I’m sorry you lost her.”

She had me as well, Jon scratches, holding it up for Martin to see. Then, his train of thought continues and he holds up a finger, pulling the moleskine back down to the table and inking a few more lines onto the page. It was hard to be human, but we helped each other. I wish I could have helped her during the apocalypse, and I wish I could help her now. It hurts to know that she could have had this, truly separated from the Hunt, but that she wasn’t given the chance.

He holds it up, trying to keep his hands steady as he gives Martin time to read through it. Then, Martin takes the moleskine from him and sets it carefully on the table before folding Jon’s hand in his and squeezing gently. He rubs his thumbs across the back of Jon’s knuckles as he says, “I know, love. I know.” He lifts Jon’s hand to his lips and presses a gentle kiss to it. His lips brush against the back of Jon’s hand as he says, “Would you… would you like to do something for her? A memorial, or- or something to remember her with? I know there wasn’t much of a chance to do so back when—back before, and it… it might help.”

Jon looks down at his lap, considering. He knows that Daisy is gone; he doesn’t know if this would make the ache in his chest lessen or grow tighter, and to do nothing and stay the same feels like the safer of the two options. Then, he catches a glimpse of white out of the corner of his eye—the daisies, sitting on the table, vibrant and alive and glowing slightly in the bright sunlight—and, eyes still locked on those waxy petals, he nods.

“Okay,” Martin says quietly. “All right.”

.

.

.

They stand atop one of the grassy hills close to the cottage, a thick scarf wrapped several times around Jon’s neck to keep away the cold and his mittened hands holding the bouquet of cut daisies, their petals fluttering and stems bowing in the wind. The moleskine is tucked away in his coat, but he hasn’t used it since they arrived out here. Martin’s arm is tucked around Jon, hand resting on his opposite hip as he pulls Jon close to his side, and they’re both silent as they stare out over the grassy knolls, peppered with orange and white cows and brown pickets with wire strung between them.

Jon takes a daisy from the bouquet, holding it carefully in his hand lest it blow away too early, and watches it wave back and forth in the wind, flimsier without the support of the rest of the flowers. He remembers calling Daisy’s name with dirt clustering at the corners of his mouth and filling his nostrils, feeling terror grip him as the soil around him began to shift and move, rivulets of water trickling into his eyes and stinging as he tried to blink them away. He recalls the relief, all-consuming and so potent he thought he would choke on it (if he hadn’t already been choking on dirt, so much dirt, soil and clay and sand and gravel all mixed as one), when she had called his name in return. He takes a deep breath in, lets it out, and releases the flower, watching it catch in the wind and be carried away, down the hill and out of sight.

He pulls another flower out of the bouquet and thinks of the way Daisy’s hand felt in his when he finally made contact, fingers calloused and rough and fingernails ragged and caked with dirt. Her grip was so weak, muscles unused to the trial of being made to grasp and cradle and hold, but she held on as the dirt pressed down on them and they struggled to breathe and, still, with their lungs compressed and weary, they used them to form words. He thinks about not alone, though, not alone, and lets the flower go, watching it tumble away on the breeze.

He pulls another flower and thinks of when Daisy said that she’d planned to kill him, and how he wasn’t even able to muster up the energy to care.

The petals on the next flower are wet. For a moment, Jon thinks that it’s started raining and he just hadn’t noticed. Then, he feels Martin’s hand brush against his cheek, wiping away the next few tears with his thumb, and his next breath rattles in his chest.

He remembers being with Daisy in his office, him sitting in the chair behind his desk and her standing in the corner, trying to remember what it felt like to be vertical. He remembers sitting across from her at a sticky pub table, his hands wrapped around an equally as sticky mug of beer as she pulled a surprising amount of laughter out of his mouth. (He suspected that the warmth running through him by the end of the night was only partially due to the flush of alcohol in his system.) He remembers sitting on a now-ratty cot in document storage, one earbud in his ear and the other in Daisy’s as they leaned against the wall, thighs pressed lightly together and hands clasped in a way that felt easy, his nose wrinkling as The Archers played tinnily through the earbuds. He remembers being slumped against the brick wall behind the Institute, cigarette held between two shaking fingers as he tried to pretend like the nicotine would satisfy the burning hunger growing within him, and the shoulder that had pressed firmly against his as Daisy had slid down to sit next to him, a similar sort of hunger clawing relentlessly within her as well. He remembers standing in front of the mirror in the bathroom in the Archives, staring at his own eyes and wondering if they looked just a bit greener today, just a bit less human, and finally walking back out to see Daisy leaning on the wall next to the door, her voice leaving no room for argument as she said that she’d bought a bottle of whiskey and they were going to share it between them. He remembers lying on one of the cots and staring at the darkened ceiling, hearing her breathing deep and even beside him, one thin arm slung over his chest, and thinking about how much stronger than him she was, that she would rather die than be who she was before. (She never thought he was a monster. He hadn’t quite believed it, but he had been grateful for it all the same.) And he remembers what it felt like, slipping into the tunnels beneath the Institute and leaving Daisy and Basira behind to deal with the chaos that lay above ground, unable to shake the horrible, sickening feeling that it was the last time he would ever see Daisy.

Their last night together had been spent listening to the historical podcast that Jon had managed to convince Daisy to try. He thinks she only put up with it as long as she did because she spent much less time listening to the hosts and much more time listening to him talk over them, supplementing their research with his own and going off on long, rambling tangents that more often than not ended up a few subjects away from history. She never minded when he rambled, and he never felt that choking, itching feeling at the back of his throat that caused the words to die halfway through a sentence that he so often got when he felt that he was boring those around him.

They hadn’t even gotten to finish the episode they were on.

Jon remembers it all, and he lets the flowers go one by one, watching them tumble away down the hill until his hands are empty, hanging uselessly in the air for a moment before he drops them limply to his sides. He knows he’s crying in earnest by now, and he hates it. It’s a terribly vulnerable feeling, to be mourning out in the open, and he hates it. His breath hitches in his throat—he would choke his words if he could form them—and he hates it.

He hates it, but he doesn’t stop Martin when he wraps his other arm around Jon and pulls him gently into his chest, whispering soft platitudes into Jon’s hair as Jon buries his face in Martin’s scarf to hide his tears. Martin’s hands rub circles across Jon’s back and his lips press against the crown of Jon’s head and he whispers, “It’s all right, love. It’s all right,” and Jon allows himself one abrupt, hiccuping sob before he pushes all remaining sounds deep within him where they cannot escape.

And down below, near the base of the hill, the daisies lie scattered amongst the grass and the bushes and the weeds, like the first flakes of winter snow.

.

.

.

There are daisies on the kitchen table again. These ones are yellow, collected from the garden in the back before the frost has a chance to set in and wither them. Sunlight makes dappled patterns across them as Jon sits at the table and drinks tea for the third morning since he found himself able to do so once again, made with no milk and two sugars just as he likes. He can hear the gentle rumble of water from the bathroom, his own hair already shower-damp and pulled back into a loose braid. The jumper is Martin’s, too large and draped over his hands where they wrap around his mug, and the kitchen smells of tea and daisies and home. If Jon closes his eyes and shuts off his mind and focuses only on the seep of heat into his palms and the brush of fabric against his arms, he can almost pretend like everything between before and now had been a dream.

Almost.

Jon takes a deep breath, opens his eyes, and takes a long sip of his tea. He’s halfway back to setting the mug on the kitchen table when there’s a creak, a rattle, and a burst of cold air as the front door of the cottage swings open.

The mug slips out of Jon’s hands and knocks sideways on the table, spilling tea across the varnished surface and rolling dangerously close to the edge before its handle strikes the table and brings it to a halt. He distantly registers that his jumper sleeves are stained with tea and that the puddle is seeping towards him, preparing to drip off the edge, but the thought is buried beneath an icy wave of shock as he stares, wide-eyed, at the open doorway. At the figure standing within it.

Daisy stares back, eyes wide with surprise, face streaked with mud and blood, one hand still on the door handle, and says, “Jon?”

[captaincravatthecapricious]

After the Circus

@janekfan

Jon has a bad time after getting away from the Circus.

cw: strained friendships, arguing, fainting, dizziness, trauma, references to Jon's getting covered in lotion, disassociation

His back hurts.  

Funny that that’s what he’s focusing on.  It’s not the most pressing discomfort, but it’s easier to think about than the weeks that are already fuzzing out around the edges.  

He can’t quite remember much of anything.  

He remembers the van.  He remembers being jostled and carsick and concussed and tied up.  He remembers …something about being taunted…. and lotion.  Unfamiliar hands, hours of tense boredom, thirst, discomfort, rope burn, hunger.  But, that isn’t more than disconnected flashes.  

Probably not the best sign that his brain is already blocking out the most of it, likely means it will throw the worst of it back at him in the worst possible moments.  Because that is how his luck goes these days.  

As soon as he leaves Elias’s office, he has to lean on the wall until the dizziness passes.  He should get some salt in him, put his feet up.  Try to treat his body with the kindness (or lack of active desire to do harm) that has been lacking during his kidnapping.  

Yes, he knows that what he usually does is barely adequate, usually just shy of adequate, but it’s not like he is actively as bad as the circus was.  Maybe everything is fuzzy because he just fainted on Nikola every time she had him moved.  Not unthinkable.  He might be embarrassed if he had the energy.  

But he doesn’t.  

Dizzy from standing too long.  Dizzy from hunger.  Dizzy from walking through Helen’s halls.  

He really, really had wished someone would come for him.  He knew no one would.  But he had wished it.  Dreamt of gentle hands on his face.  Brushing away tears.  Wiping off the greasy, floral lotion.  Telling him that everything would be alright and that it was all over.  Of Martin.  Of Tim.  Hell, even Georgie or Basira.  At his lowest he would have welcomed Daisy or Elias, maybe they would just get it over with and kill him already.  Maybe they would have the decency to get him a tall glass of water first.  

Jon wishes that Martin would find him there.  Or that the Tim of a year ago would have.  Jon wants to cry.  

He doesn’t.  

He waits until the hall stops spinning around him, and he then waits for it to stop again once he stands up.  He doesn’t have his cane, so he leans against the wall as he limps down to the archives.  Down to the dingy shower in the basement.  He doesn’t really have the energy to stop by his boxes of belongings in the stacks for a towel.  But the thought of walking through the archives naked after he’s disposed of his filthy clothes, makes him nauseous.  Probably trauma.  Again, he can’t really recall the past month or so.  He gets a towel and a clean pair of pants.  When he gets back to his shelf he’ll see if he can find some salt tablets and disappointingly room temperature lucozade, and maybe a granola bar if he’s very lucky.  

He resigns himself to the floor under the chilly spray.  He can’t stand.  He knows he can’t.  He scrubs himself raw three times.  His hair is so tangled, he seriously considers hacking it all off, but he doesn’t.  He just matts it further with shampoo.  He ought to use conditioner and hair oil.  But the thought of touching either of those makes him queasy.  So he doesn’t.  He’ll brave those soon.  But not yet.  

He can’t do that yet.  

He should have eaten first.  To minimize the swimming of his vision as he shakily rises from the floor.  His back aches.  His butt is numb from the cold tile.  He’s wracked with miserable shivering, and he isn’t sure what all the tremors are from.  

He wants to cry.  

He wants someone to find him, and hold him close with real, human hands.  With body heat.  

His unsteady feet sent him tumbling into Tim earlier, on the way to talk to Elias.  Scarce seconds passed before Tim shoved him off, a searing heat of the first living body Jon had made contact with in weeks, and Jon tumbled to the floor, colder than ever, vision darkening for a long moment.  Jon wished the darkness would just take him.  Give him a little rest.  A little respite from the cruel, waking world.  But it didn’t.  Because that would have been too easy.  

Tim had towered over him.  Sneering as Jon shook.  

“Where have you been, monster boss.”

The tone cutting through him, as he tried to get back to his feet.  

“Ci-ci…”  Endless stuttering as words failed him.  Caught behind exhaustion and dehydration.  

“Spit it out.”  

It hit him in the chest.  Tim may as well have kicked him.  The air in him rushed out, barely forced meaning onto it.  “Circus.”  

Tim’s face darkened as he turned on his heel, leaving Jon to scramble to his feet, swayed with the unsteady rhythm of half forgotten calliope music, and the sickening swinging of his vision.  

Jon shivers in his damp towel.  Willing himself to put one foot in front of the other until he can get back to his shelf.  With his blankets and hopefully food and clothes.  He doesn’t even care if he can force himself to eat.  He just wants to take the pressure off his back.  Off his bad leg.  Off his stiff joints.  He should probably see about bandaging his wrists, but they aren’t currently bleeding, so he can’t be fucked to worry about that.  He can only worry that there is a very, very good chance he’s not going to get back to his shelf before he passes out.  

He comes to on the floor outside his office.  Towel still damp.  Pathetically cold.  He aches.  Stiff and empty.  Christ he’s so thirsty.  He’s being nudged with a very clean sneaker.  Jon would hazard a guess that it is probably an expensive shoe, but to him it looks kind of ugly.  Not that Jon’s taste in footwear is anything to go on.  As long as it keeps his joints happy, he doesn’t care.  He likes to think he had taste once, but that’s long gone.  Jon with the hair product, pressed shirts, and even with the eyeliner from his uni days.  

“Boss.  Hey, boss.  You said the Circus had you?  Is that where you were for a whole goddamn month?  Did what they asked because they asked you nicely in monster code?”  Tim.  Of course it’s Tim.  Of course Tim is interrogating him.  Not like he can get away.  He’s just… at his mercy.  

He should be used to the powerlessness of it all.  

It’s demeaning.  

But he’s too dizzy and hungry and aching to care.  Too concerned with the damp discomfort of a wet, thin towel on the cold, unforgiving tile.  

He tries to wet his lips, but there is no moisture in him.  Just clinging to his matted hair.  “T- taken.”  It’s barely a whisper.  Would be a miracle if Tim’s hearing aids pick that up.  He slowly moves shaking hands to sign ‘kidnapped.’  That small movement is almost enough to send him back into the dizzying darkness that is still eating at his vision.  

He flinches when hot hands grip his wrists.  The tender skin burns and the sudden hands on him makes him panic.  He lurches back.  Banging his head on the cold tile.  Vision shifting in and out again.  He thinks he might be screaming.  But he isn’t sure.  

Hands.  

Cold.  Plastic.  Lifeless.  Rubbing squeezing poking.  Chocking, floral, artificial.  Wrong.  Wrong.  Wrong.  

Jon has fainted.  Again.  Against his better judgement, and the anger in his bones, he gently feels around for a head injury.  Finding none, he most certainly does not breath a sigh of relief because obviously he doesn’t care.   

But he can’t sink back into the angered apathy.  Not knowing that the.   The same.   THINGS that took his brother took Jon and hurt him.   He Doesn’t care about Jon. He doesn’t.  He doesn’t.  

It tastes like a lie, when he sees Jon so weak and afraid and helpless.  Damp and shivering in his pants and a threadbare towel.  Guilt gnaws at his stomach for basically kicking and grabbing when it looks like Jon is going to crumble to dust before him.  

It doesn’t change anything (it changes everything), seeing Jon as a victim.   It doesn’t change anything.   He’s still angry.  Still full of bitter fury.  

But.  

But this was his friend.  And.  He was apparently kidnapped.  By the things that stole from Tim before.  

When he picks up Jon, he tells himself it isn’t for Jon. This is for Danny.  This is to spite the Circus.  

When he brings Jon to the cot, and wraps him in the blankets he know Jon has been hiding in the stacks, and orders him some soup from the nearby takeaway, and makes sure he has fluids and medicine and a heating pad for his joints, he tells himself that it isn’t for Jon.  This is so Jon is in top condition to stop the Unknowing.  

He can’t justify untangling Jon’s hair while Jon dozes fitfully, so he simply pretends he didn’t do it.  

And if he plans to come in early with Martin to see check on him, well.  That’s no one’s business, but his own. 

[gammija]

How the Web helped Magnus mark his Archive

Have you ever seen people talk about how the Web was involved with getting Jon marked, but didn’t feel like going through every episode to find every little reference to spindly spidery legs? Well, worry no more! Because in this list I’m going to do just that. With quotes, ‘cause I never half-ass theories on tma

In chronological(ish) order, ranging from: - Undeniably Spider-involved - Suspiciously Web-adjacent - (and Web!Tapes propaganda) Let’s go!

- 22, 123: Prentiss being in Carlos Vittery’s basement

Martin may be the one who lead Prentiss to the Institute, but only because Prentiss was hanging out in Vittery’s cobwebbed basement, for an unknown reason: 

022 Colony Martin: “I turned on my torch and shone it around, but was disappointed to see that all those spider webs that I remembered seemed old and unremarkable. If there were spiders there, none were easily seen, and… for a second I thought that the only interesting part of my return trip was that it would land me in prison if I wasn’t careful. Then, I heard movement. From the other side of the basement.”

The same Vittery who had already told Annabelle about his experiences: 

123 Web Development Jon: “I-It’s apparently a list of people whose names appeared in the various pieces of text Mr. Cox was pasting into the code. It’s unclear if they were meant to be users or victims, but I cannot help but note that there seem to be the names of several statement givers who found their way to the Institute, including noted arachnophobe Carlos Vittery.”

Which might mean nothing if it weren’t for:

- 38, 40: A spider lets Prentiss be found

Not only does a spider cause Jon to knock down the wall to where Prentiss was hiding in the tunnels...

038 Lost and Found Sasha: “A spider?” Jon: “Yeah. I tried to kill it…. the shelf collapsed.”

...But according to Tim’s speculation:

040 Human Remains Tim: “I think they were almost all in the Archives. I have a theory, actually. I think they weren’t ready to attack when you found the tunnels.”

Which, if true, means that if the wall hadn’t been broken, Prentiss might’ve attacked with bigger force and killed Jon outright, instead of neatly marking him.

- 35, all of s2: A Web table lets a Stranger into the Institute

Although it’s never said who or what ordered the table to be delivered, the addition of the Web lighter with it makes it easy to guess. As Jonah says in 160:  the Not!Them mark turned out not to have been necessary because of the Unknowing, but this was certainly a nice back-up to have. 

- 80: Jon steps out for a smoke

Giving Jonah the opportunity to brutal pipe murder Jurgen.

080 The Librarian Jon: “I’m going to have a cigarette. Don’t… Don’t.” [...] [SOUNDS OF BRUTAL PIPE MURDER] [...] Jon: “Sorry, I’ve been quit for five years now, but th -”

While nothing in the actual text of the episode points to Web involvement, addictions like smoking fall under their domain. Add to that the recent gift of that lighter, and Jon saying he didn’t smoke anymore, it’s certainly suspicious.

- (91: Daisy only went to the Institute when she got the tapes

Okay, this one is mostly web!tapes propaganda, but I think it’s compelling web!tapes propaganda. I’d link the post I made about this earlier, but it has simply vanished from this universe, as far as tumblr is concerned... In any case: 

091 The Coming Storm Daisy: “You ask me to take a tape over to this murdering freak, and I’m all set to tear you a new one for it. But then I get the cassette in my hand, and suddenly all I want to do is deliver his tapes, and spill my guts.”

If it’s from Jon, not only would this be the furthest reaching compulsion by far, in only in season 2 no less, but it would also be the only one that is transmitted via the tapes/another person outside of the Institute(Basira) instead of just Jon speaking directly to the person. While, if it’s the Web’s doing, making someone want to do something they don’t realize is weird at the time, is totally in their wheelhouse! And it’d make them responsible for convincing Daisy that Jon’s a monster, ergo, his Hunt mark.)

- 121: Oliver was sent by the Web

121 Far Away Oliver Banks: “Honestly, I’m still not exactly sure why I’m here. But you know better than anyone how the spiders can get into your head. Easier to just do what she asks.” 

Aka, the man who told Jon what he needed to hear to wake up, nice and alive and marked by both the Stranger and the End, when he hadn’t been able to for 6 months.

- (130: The Web leads Jon to Jared)

130 Meat Jon: “I found this tape tucked in a corner of my desk drawer, covered in cobwebs. I suppose subtlety has gone out the window a bit, and the question is now simply… how much I trust the Spider to have my best interests at heart.”

Not only did this one tape lead Jon to get his Flesh mark, which Jonah had conked up by getting Jared to the Institute too soon, but arguably it also made Jon confident enough to go into the Buried. Which the rib didn’t even help with!  What did help though, was...

- (134: Tape recorders and Martin got Jon out of the Buried)

Even if you don’t believe that the tapes are from the Web, there’s still this conversation: 

134 Time of Revelation Peter: “What does – puzzle me though, and I mean that genuinely, is – why you were piling tape recorders onto the coffin while Jon was in there.” - Martin: “I don’t know. And I just – felt like it might help. He’s always recording, and I thought it – it might help him… find his way out.” Peter: “Interesting. Were you compelled?” - Martin: “I don’t know. Maybe? I-I, I definitely wanted to do it. [But] I’m not sure where the idea came from. Peter: “You should watch out for that. Could be something dangerous.”

Implanting ideas in someone’s mind, specifically making them want to do something, without them knowing that the idea is coming from outside, is something the Web isn’t a stranger to (056, 059). It might also be the Eye, but wouldn’t Martin know what an Eye compulsion would feel like, by now?  On a meta level, it’s a curious thing to point out. Would anyone have protested if Martin got the idea of the tapes on his own?

And there you have it! 8 instances of arachnid involvement.  There are more small mentions of Web-like interference with Jon here and there in other episodes, and of course his first Fear mark in 081, but these are the ones that seem to very clearly point towards the Mother of Puppets, or some of her avatars, having helped Jonah in bringing about the end of the world. There’s still the question of why, what their ‘plan’ is now, but I’m sure we’ll find out about that soon enough - Dare I say, March 25th or earlier, even

[pitviperofdoom]

Might I ask about 'Life Preserver'? I have no idea what it could mean, and that makes me very curious👀

This is my pre-S1 JonGerry AU! They meet while Jon’s still in school and Gerry’s on the hunt for a Leitner. It’s part of a trilogy in my head that includes JonGerryMartin later on, but Life Preserver takes place before Jon becomes the Archivist and is just JonGerry.

Here’s a scene from it!

---

“Thanks for meeting me,” Georgie said, by way of greeting.

Gerry shrugged. “‘S fine. What’s the occasion?”

It was a nice day. The cafe was bustling but not overcrowded. Georgie had insisted on dragging him to the one empty table outside, with the nice view of the street and the park on the other side. Gerry had eaten lunch in far worse places, with far worse company.

Shit, were they friends? Had he missed that somehow? Not that Georgie wasn’t nice enough, but he’d always figured she was more invested in Jon than in him. That was how it worked, wasn’t it? He wasn’t sure if being friends with your boyfriend’s ex was a thing you were supposed to do, and at this point he was too afraid to ask.

“Why does there have to be an occasion?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. “Maybe I just wanted a lunch partner.”

“Didn’t think you liked me that much,” Gerry said bluntly. Maybe that was harsh—she’d only given him a little bit of stink eye when they first met, and she’d let up pretty quick.

If Georgie was bothered by it, she didn’t show it. “I worry about Jon sometimes,” she said. “He’s not always the best at… at advocating for himself, I guess.”

“Yeah, I’ve gathered.” For someone as prickly as Jon, he was shit at actually standing up for himself where it counted.

“Worried a lot about you, at first,” Georgie went on, clasping her hands around her coffee cup. “But I decided not to prod too much. I didn’t want to be one of those exes, you know?”

“Yeah,” Gerry lied.

“Figured it wasn’t my business anyway,” she said, pausing to take another sip. “Jon and I hadn’t talked in over a year by the time I met you.”

“Right.”

“You know, I didn’t even learn your full name?” she said. “Not til last week. Weird, isn’t it?”

Gerry paused with his cup halfway to his mouth. “I… guess?”

“And you know, it stuck in my mind for the longest time,” she said. “Could’ve sworn I heard it somewhere. So I did a quick Google search.”

Slowly, Gerry put his cup back down. Georgie continued to sip demurely at her own.

“Thought I’d find a Facebook page with a few friends in common,” she said. “Or a LinkedIn or something. So you can imagine how surprised I was.”

Gerry looked around at the cafe’s full outdoor seating area, and the crowded, public street beyond. Plenty of witnesses, in broad daylight.

“Ah,” he said.

“Yeah.”

Besides a slight lift of the eyebrows, Georgie’s expression barely changed. Gerry stared down at his cup, appetite gone. Around them, passersby remained happily oblivious.

“I didn’t do it,” he said after a moment. “The charges were dropped and everything.”

“On a technicality.” Georgie’s eyes were cold and steady when they settled on him. “Contaminated evidence, according to one of the news articles.”

“Look, I don’t know what you expect me to say,” Gerry bit out.

“I don’t know either, Gerry, but what am I supposed to think?” Neither of their voices rose above the dull roar of the street and the hum of conversation around them, but Gerry still felt like he was being shouted at. “Does Jon know about this?”

“No, and if I have my way, he won’t.”

Georgie’s steely gaze turned to a glare. “And you don’t see the red flags that might raise? That you might’ve—”

A tide of red rose up behind his eyes. Not anger, but the memory of blood, both the sight and the overpowering smell. “She did it to herself,” Gerry said coldly.

“Not what the coroner’s report said—”

“What do you want from me?” Gerry went on harshly. “I came home and found her halfway through—that. Went into shock long enough for her to get plenty of it on me, then ran out to the nearest coffeeshop and sat in a fog until the police picked me up. Happy?” Georgie’s glare only hardened. “It really doesn’t matter what you think. It’s the truth whether or not you believe it.”

She waited for him to wrest himself back to something resembling calm before speaking again. “Fine. Let’s say I believe you. Why are you lying to Jon, then?”

“Oh, tell me what the best time to bring that up is,” Gerry said dryly. “Is that a fourth date conversation, or more of an anniversary thing?”

“I’m not talking about the murder,” Georgie retorted. “Why did you tell him you’re living with your mother?”

He probably could have come up with a feasible lie. But what came out instead was, “Because I am.”

The look on Georgie’s face was viciously unimpressed. “You’re living with your mum.”

“Yep.”

“Your mum, who by your own admission, committed a violent suicide in 2008.”

“Got it in one.”

“If you’re not even going to take this seriously,” Georgie began.

“Would you like to meet her?” Gerry asked. “It’s not like it’d be the first time you saw a corpse get up and walk around, would it?”

Georgie froze.

That was the funny thing about saying cruel things, Gerry reflected. More often than not, you had to say them out loud first to realize they were cruel at all.

But it was out, and he couldn’t swallow it back down, so he let it sit there between them, bloating like a dead thing in the sun. He didn’t look at Georgie’s face again. He wasn’t sure he could.

“What did you just say to me?” Georgie said shakily.

“I don’t want to say it again,” said Gerry. “And I don’t think you do, either.”

“That’s…” She sat back in her chair, putting just a bit more distance between them. Gerry shut his eyes. “How—how could you possibly know about that?”

Gerry heaved a sigh, running his hand down his face. He could always stop. He could get up right now and walk away. Never talk to her again, never see her again. Of course, if he did that, it’d probably mean never seeing Jon again, either.

Not for the first time, he wondered if that wasn’t a good thing.

“When you live like I do,” he said at last. “You learn to see it. Recognize it—them. The marks on people. Like the one on you.”

It was subtle, as the End always was. It never looked like a proper scar, the way the more violent ones did. After all, what was more natural than death itself?

“I’m… marked,” Georgie said. It wasn’t a question.

“Kind of impressive, to be honest,” he said. “Dodging Terminus. Not many can say they’ve done that.”

“Stop.” Her hands went to her ears quickly, almost instinctively, before she forced them down again. “Just, stop for a second.”

“Okay.”

Georgie sat and breathed for a moment. Then, “So your mother—” She paused again, gathering herself. “She… she was like that woman in the medical sciences building.”

“Dunno,” Gerry replied, forcing himself to look at her again. “I can see the scar, not what left it. And what my mum did was… unique.”

Her eyes were still fixed on the table in front of her, not on him. “Is this common?” she asked.

“Walking corpses, specifically?” Gerry asked. “Or did you mean more generally?” She nodded once. “Guess so. It’s been common enough to take over my life.” He watched her carefully, waiting for a sign that he should stop again. “There are forces behind the monsters. Powerful. Omnipresent, even. Most people are lucky enough not to notice, or be noticed. Some are lucky like you, and escape with only a scar. Others—” The Eye dropped a helpful bit of trivia in his head. “Others are like your friend.” She flinched. “Sorry.”

She sat and breathed for a little while longer. Gerry picked up his coffee cup again and waited.

“And what about you?” she asked at last. “Where do you fall?”

Gerry grimaced. “Long story. Very unpleasant.”

“Broad strokes, then.”

“Mum grew up seeing the monsters and decided it’d be nice if she could be one herself,” he said. “Then she thought it’d be even nicer to start a little monster dynasty, and that’s where I came in.”

At last, Georgie lifted her chin and looked him in the eye again. “And what about you?” she asked. “What do you want?” Her jaw shifted as it clenched. “What do you want with Jon?”

“I’m not going to hurt him,” he said quietly.

“That’s not what I asked.” Georgie’s eyes hardened again. “You know what I thought, when I first met you? I thought you were just—toying with him. Because I saw how he looked at you and how you looked at him, and it didn’t match. Like he was just—just a diversion for you. Just some passing curiosity until you got bored and moved on.”

Gerry slipped his hand off the table and into his lap. It was a bit late, she’d probably already seen it shaking, but it made him feel better, at least.

“Was I right?” Georgie asked. “It makes sense, even if it’s not the same as what I first thought. Growing up like that, I bet you’re curious. Is that what Jon is, to you? A way to play at being—”

“Human?” It came out harsher than he meant it to.

“I was going to say normal,” Georgie replied, glancing away for a moment. “But if these—monsters are as common as you say they are…”

“Look, you’re not wrong, alright?” Gerry sat back in his chair, letting his spine curve into an ugly slouch. “That’s how it started. He asked, and I was curious, so I went along with it.”

“And now?” she pressed.

“And now I want to keep it,” he said. “I want to keep him. I’m finally starting to like the world outside of the one I grew up in, probably because I finally have a reason to be here. Happy?”

“No,” Georgie said flatly.

Gerry tipped his head back with a groan. “What do you want from me?”

“I want you to acknowledge what this sounds like!” Georgie glared at him, sitting up straight enough to look down at him. “What you’re making it sound like! So you grew up in a bad place—fine. I can’t imagine what that’s like. But then—what, you meet a nice guy and now you’re ready to leave it all behind and defy your undead mum and turn to the light side, just like that? That is not how it works, Gerry. It’s not as simple as that in this world, much less yours. You don’t just fall in love and fix everything, and it’s not fair to put that on Jon—”

Gerry barked out a laugh. “Is that what you took from this?” he demanded, dragging himself back up to face her. “You think I need you to tell me that—that love doesn’t conquer all, and I can’t pack all my baggage away and skip into the sunset because a cute boy asked me on a date and showed me the error of my family’s ways? Fuck you.”

Georgie held his gaze, unflinching. “Fine,” she said. “How should I have taken it, then?”

“I’ve wanted out since I was old enough to want anything.” The words came as if ripped from him, raw and bloody-tasting on his tongue. “You think I’ve never tried to leave before? But where’s someone like me supposed to go, hm? Even if I didn’t have monsters in my head and her ready to drag me back if I don’t come on my own, what place is there for me to run to?”

She didn’t flinch or look away again, even with Gerry a breath away from yelling in her face. Instead she watched him without so much as a twitch of an eyelid, leeching the venom from him with steady, infuriating calm.

“It’s like this,” he said. “Like I’m on a—a ship, sinking in a storm. I know if I stay on it, it’ll take me down with it, but what choice do I have? I could jump, but it would only drown me faster.” He swallowed, struggling against the dryness in his throat. “And I can see, just off the deck, all the boats that don’t have room for me, and all the people drowning in the ocean, and all I can do is stay where I am and throw life preservers until I join them.” His eyes burned. “But then I met Jon, and suddenly it’s like I have…” He gestured vaguely, struggling with his own analogy.

“A safe harbor,” Georgie said quietly.

He shook his head. “No. I don’t think there is one. Not from this. Not from them.” He shrugged, feeling inordinately tired. “But for the first time, I feel like—like if I jump, someone will throw me a line.”

In the space that followed, the hum of surrounding conversations washed back in between them. Gerry was almost surprised to see them still there. Apparently he hadn’t gotten loud enough to scare anyone off.

“Well?” he said, when Georgie’s silence got to him.

“It’s a lot to take in,” she said.

“Yeah.”

“And I’m still worried about Jon.” She lifted her eyes to meet his again. “But, I’m less worried about your intentions than I was before.”

“Guess that’s something,” he answered, and heaved a sigh. “So what happens now? Gonna demand I come clean with him?”

“No,” she said, faster than he would have expected. “No, I… I never told him about mine. And, just on instinct… I don’t think I’d ever want him dragged into this, if it’s avoidable.”

She didn’t know, Gerry realized. She’d known him years longer than he did, and she didn’t know he came scarred by the Spider.

“Is he in danger?” she asked. “Being with you?”

“No,” Gerry said firmly. “I wouldn’t—no. I keep him as far away from my shitty life as I can. I told him I didn’t want him anywhere near my family, and he didn’t press the issue.”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “He thinks your mum’s a homophobe, you know.”

That shocked a laugh out of him. “You know, he’s probably right? Think she might just hate the idea of love in general, though.”

“Messy divorce, I take it,” Georgie said dryly.

“Rohypnol and garden shears were involved, so yeah, I’d say it was pretty messy.” He realized his mistake when the sickened look crossed her face. “Sorry.”

“It’s… fine,” she said. “Probably should’ve guessed.”

They sat in silence again, but the climate of it had shifted. It felt easier, somehow. Less like he half-expected the fog of the Lonely to come rolling in for a snack. Gerry remembered his coffee, and found it just on the edge of lukewarm. He drank it anyway.

Georgie shot him one last odd look, then took out her phone. She scrolled through it for a minute or so, then snagged a paper napkin and pulled a ballpoint pen from somewhere to scribble on it.

“Here,” she said, sliding it over. Gerry looked down to find a line of neat blue numbers. “That’s the number of the therapist I talked to after—what happened to me.” She looked at him briefly, saw the dubious look on his face, and shrugged at him. “Just in case you need another lifeline.”

It was strange—usually Jon was the one to make funny things happen in his chest. This one didn’t feel the same, but he still didn’t quite know what to do with it. It left him feeling uncomfortably like he owed her something.

“I won’t let any of it hurt him,” he said, because he had nothing else to offer. “I’ll end it myself before I put him in danger.”

She nodded, though she didn’t look as relieved about it as he’d hoped. “That’s good,” she said hesitantly. “Don’t be a martyr, either. You—you deserve help. You deserve a chance to get out. You know that, right?”

He tried to smile, but it felt more like baring his teeth in fear. “Don’t think I really know what anyone deserves.”

Georgie reached across the space between them, telegraphing her movements in case he wanted to pull away. He didn’t, even as her hand settled on top of his. “I’m rooting for you, alright?” she said firmly, as if she’d just decided it then and there. “Jon’s… he’s happy with you, you know?”

“Fuck if I know why,” he forced out.

“Stop that.” She gave his hand a quick squeeze. “I changed my mind about you, before. I can tell he makes you happy, too.”

His throat felt tight. “Yeah.”

“Fuck if I know why.”

“Oh, piss off.”

He palmed the napkin while she was busy laughing at him. For a moment he eyed the nearest bin, judging the distance and his chances of making it without her noticing. The moment passed, and instead he folded it carefully around the numbers and slipped it into his pocket to throw out later.

He never did.

[staysaneathome]

The Lonely Boy

(A second part to the Entity-swap WIP, where the swap is the places the Entities hold in the world rather than the people who serve them) Jon is cold, and tired, and hungry.

But he’d rather be all of those things than back in The Collection.

He stays away from libraries, from universities and schools, from police stations and research institutes, from everywhere that has learning and investigating and knowing. They call to him, sing to his mind with the promise of knowledge and answers, and that’s how he knows they’ll betray him.

That’s where the man found him the first time, after all.

He compromises with large bookstores and cafes, places of learning that have become diluted over the years with the need to turn a profit, making them safer for him while still making the pouding, watching thing in his head go quieter. Plus the staff usually derive more satisfaction from letting him sleep outside of their places of work and sneaking him food and water on the sly than in turning him over to the management that treats them so poorly.

He learns quickly that he’s in London, capital city of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland.

It’s something of a blessing to be left in a city this size.

That when he gives in and guiltily Asks someone the Right Question to satisfy his cravings for stories, he can disappear back into the crowd much more easily than he could back in Bournemouth, or in some of the tiny villages down south or up north The Collection passed through.

Nobody really looks twice at another kid left alone and homeless in this place.

He learns quickly that he’s not alone here.

He goes into the house because it’s pouring and he’s soaked to the skin. It takes him far longer than it should to realize that the wet schlurp schlurp schlurp noise is coming from the inside rather than outside.

The Hive wears a red dress and smiles at him when he screams at the sight of her.  But she stops smiling very quickly once he Asks, “Where did you first hear the Song?”

She tells him, each word torn from her lips, exposing her essence to him, filling in a way none of his other meals have been before. He’s so transfixed, he doesn’t notice her attempt to bring him down with her. He’s lucky, really, that the silver worms could only get to his leg before she collapsed, unmoving and pale, and that there were so many sharp things left around the discarded house.

He’s more careful after that, limping on the leg that the Watcher told him how to bandage properly.

Not long after his first ill-fated encounter with servants of other fears, he finds another one.

Jon’s looking for a place to spend the day so nosy people like irritable old people and police officers won’t ask him why he’s not in school. It’s most difficult to do now it’s late autumn, when most other children are safely sequestered away in various schools. Luckily London has a tendency to attract school field trips, so if Jon just hovers around the edges, most people assume he’s part of that other, larger group of screaming children even if he isn’t in uniform and are more likely to overlook him that way. He’s just found one such group in a large park that he can use as protective coloration, content to much on the contents of an unopened packet of prawn cocktail crisps someone threw away as the kids on this school trip gorge themselves from colorful lunchboxes and chase each other around the playground they’re too old for.

It’s then that he spots him.

There’s a boy in the playground.  He’s round and soft-looking and see-through, wearing the same uniform as the others. He’s picking at the splinters on the balance beams he’s sitting on. Thin fog wisps around his ankles.

His eyes are very large and liquid as his head suddenly whips around and he stares up at Jon, blink-blink-blinking like he’s gazing at the sun.

He’s obviously a servant of the Forsaken, but unlike the Hive he doesn’t seem like he’s about to hurt Jon for seeing him. He’s still feeling full from the stories he pulled from a man who stank of alcohol last night, so he’ll hold off on Asking anything for now. He tentatively nods his head to the soft-looking boy. “Hello,” He mutters through a mouthful of crisps.

“You’re very pretty.” The boy tells Jon, almost absent-mindedly. Then his mouth snaps shut and he goes ridged like he’s stuck his finger in a power socket. He’s got a bit more color to him now, like he’s been brought into focus.

Jon stares at him. Stares down at his mismash of clothing pulled from bins. Then back at the boy. “No I’m not. Are your eyes working?”

The boy sputters, high-pitched. “Wh-I-um, um? I-I, I think so?”

Jon shoves another handful of crisps into his mouth. “What’s the best animal?”

”U-uh,” The boy stutters, twisting his fingers together. “I-I don’t know? I, I like fluffy ones, like there was a nice spaniel I met earlier that made friends with me, and, and some kinds of spiders can be very cute and fluffy, did you know, like tarantulas?”

Jon doesn’t disguise his shudder. Obviously this boy has something wrong with his tastes if he thinks things like spiderscan be cute and things like Jon can be pretty. “Cats are the best animal, obviously.”

”O-oh.” The boy says timidly. “W-well, I like cats. Too. Um. Sorry. Who are you? Are you here with your parents?”

He curls in around his crisps, feeling uncomfortably small. “No. They died when I was small. I’m on my own now.”

“I-I’m sorry.” The boy gets up from the balance beam and drifts closer, fog faintly eddying around his heels. “My dad left, a while ago now. So it’s just me and my mum. But she’s not well, and I dunno what I’d do if she—if she—” He takes in a deep breath, shakes his head like a dog shaking off water, and sticks a hand out. “A-anyway. My name’s Martin. Martin Blackwood. Nice to meet you.”

Jon eyes the hand, then wipes off one of his own on his too-big, stained trousers. Martin Blackwood is warmer than he expected, but cooler than a normal human should be. Maybe the Forsaken doesn’t have as tight a grip on him yet?

”Jonathan Sims.” He recites mechanically, a little rusty with introductions. Then, desperate to break the awkward silence and cover up his discomfort, Jon does the worst possible thing he could do. He Asks a Question.

“Why is the Forsaken attached to you?”

And he stares in horror as Martin’s large, liquid eyes go soft and unfocused. “There were all these adults in for this careers day thing, at my school, like firemen and lawyers and things. And one of them was this tall ship captain, like out of a storybook. And he kept talking about his ship and how even if his crew had nobody on land, they could enjoy hard work alone out on the waves, and it felt like he kept looking at me while he said it, and—”

”Stop.” Jon clamps his hands over Martin’s mouth, pretending he doesn’t feel the Watcher’s flare of anger as Martin’s eyes come back into focus and he tenses up. “I-I’m sorry, I, I didn’t mean to, I—”

”Di-did you do that?” Martin breathes. “H-How did you do that? That was amazing, it, it was like I was right there…” He’s fully solid now, like someone has turned the colors on him all the way up. He has very nice colors.

“It’s not.” Jon mutters, sourly. “The Watcher lets me pull stories out of people, to, to feed it. Like how the Forsaken makes you go invisible—“

”I can go invisible?!” Martin all but yells, covering his mouth when several other kids look over and snicker.

”Yeah?” Jon raises an eyebrow. “It’s the entity of the fear of being alone. Didn’t you notice the fog and people ignoring you?” ”Lots of people ignore me anyway.” Martin says, far too matter-of-fact for comfort, and gaze fixated on the fog around his feet. He leans down and drags his hands through it, giggling as it swirls away from him. “It’s kinda tickly?”

Jon opens his mouth to say something, but he’s interrupted as his stomach growls loudly.

Jon looks down at where his prawn crisps fell in his rush to stop Martin and mourns. He’d been looking forward to finishing those… ”U-um. You can have half of my sandwich, if, if you want it.” Martin says, pulling a squashed, cling-wrapped object that the Watcher tells him contains cheese and bread within. “And you can tell me more about these fear things?”

They end up talking so long, Martin’s teacher has to come over to shout at him that it’s time for the school trip to leave.  She looks suspiciously at Jon, so he quickly makes himself scarce as Martin scrambles over to where all of his classmates are lines up in disorderly rows.

Jon hides behind a tree and watches Martin’s school trip leave the park.

Martin Blackwood sticks near the back of the class, even as some other kids keep pushing him every time he slows. When he spots Jon, he smiles widely, and waves his hand. Like Jon’s a friend of his, or something.

Against all logic, Jon tentatively waves back.

Martin can’t come into London often, of course. He lives too far away, up north, and he and his mum aren’t the richest people in the world, from what Jon will later gather. Train rides are a luxury that it’s pushing it to afford, and he’s got to take care of his mum into the bargain.  And it’s not like he can send Jon emails or text messages or letters, given that Jon has very limited access to electronics and no address to send post to.

But somehow, against all odds (and likely using the Forsaken more than is probably healthy), Martin does make the trip down to see Jon, always waiting for him in that playground where they first met.

And Jon gets used to dropping by the park several times a week, just in case Martin’s there.

[whumperstorm]

Blood Donor

They were going to have visitors, Elias said, looking down on Jon where he kneeled on the floor of his cell. He nodded in understanding. He’d be on his best behavior then. He wasn’t expecting his master to shoot out a clawed hand and grasp his hair, yanking him off the floor. His eyes stung with the pain as Elias snarled.

“So don’t try anything funny, got it? You’re mine. You will not ruin this.”

“Y-yes sir, I’m sorry sir!”

Elias dropped him and he landed painfully on his knees. “Good.” He smiled a dangerous, fanged smile, before placing Jon’s dinner on the floor and stepping out. The door locked with a screech behind him.

Jon sat back from his kneel and leaned against the wall to eat. Not all that more comfortable, he’d rather be sitting on the tiny cot he was provided by his master, but he’d also like to avoid spilling anything on it and angering Elias’ especially short temper he seemed to have today. He sighed and picked up his plate.

At least his meals were filling and sometimes considered delicious to Jon. “We need to keep you nice and healthy.” Elias had said, “Makes your blood all the sweeter.” Of course, Elias cared not for Jon’s preferences and the comfort of a hot meal was lost the moment he tried to be picky or “ungrateful”. Leaving anything on the plate was unacceptable and called for punishment apparently.

Tonight’s meal was well-seasoned curry, one of Jon’s favorites. He wondered if Elias was attempting to bribe him a bit. What visitors could be so important to put Elias this on edge? He’d brought plenty of visitors before, The Lucas family for one, (who Jon disliked quite a lot. Such a cold, condescending family) and sometimes just Peter himself. On those nights he was left mostly alone. The two of them would eat dinner and feed, then retreat to the lounge to indulge in one too many wine refills. On those nights Elias sometimes allowed Jon to pick out a new book from the library before returning to his cell. Reading was a rare luxury, and Peter always left Elias in a good mood where he was willing to allow it.

Maybe Elias thought that tonight’s guests would cause Jon to consider an escape attempt. Well, he needn't worry, he’d tried that a couple of times already and had been punished mercilessly for it. He had learned quickly that no one cared that he was here against his will. Blood donors were meant to be signed on through legal contracts. Provide fresh blood in exchange for housing and care and the freedom to move around as you wish. Lots of human newly grads or retirees signed contracts and after Jon lost his grandmother, he didn’t have anywhere to go and decided to take on the job. He was unaware that Elias had no intention of treating him like a guest. Locked up within the first week with no one on the outside who would know or care that he was missing. Well, maybe Georgie, if Jon hadn’t royally fucked that up.

The first time Elias had brought guests, he threatened Jon into obedience, but the moment one of the visitors approached him to feed he urgently whispered his current predicament in hope that they would call the cops on his kidnapper. Instead, they laughed. Laughed and fed anyway, before walking right up to Elias and warning him that he had “a chatty one”. Elias had laughed too, but when the guest walked away his eyes locked onto Jon’s from where he sat and the fury and darkness in his eyes sent Jon’s heart dropping to his stomach. That night, Jon learned exactly how the sting of a whip felt on bare skin.

“A shame to waste such delicious blood.” Elias sighed, between lashes. “However you disobeyed me tonight and embarrassed me in front of my guests. I have a reputation to withhold. This little outburst has made it clear I’ve been far too soft with you.” 

There was a pause and footsteps from behind. Jon was sure that his back must be in ribbons at this point. Through his own ragged breathing he distantly heard the sound of something metal being picked up before fire exploded across his back and he screamed. Salt water rolled down his abused skin, washing away the red and leaving agony in its wake. The chains on his wrists kept him from curling in on himself.

 Elias leaned down to whisper in Jon’s ear. “This will not happen again, understand?”

Jon could do nothing but sob as he shakily nodded his head. He was thrown back into his cell after that, lying still on the floor and unable to move through his pain to get onto the cot. At some point a maid entered and bandaged his wounds. It made sense, Elias wanted to punish him, not kill him through an infection.

He tried again, after that. How could he not? He was stubborn, and now he knew he couldn’t trust anyone to help him. He’d have to do it himself. He waited weeks, letting himself heal and obeying Elias as best he could against his own pride. Then when a servant arrived with his dinner one night, he knocked them out with the leg of the table he was provided. He noticed it had been loose and worked at it for days until it snapped. He felt a bit bad for attacking the man, he was probably in a similar situation to him. But he needed to get out of here. He could feel guilty when he was far far away from Elias’ estate.

Unfortunately, he was caught. Of course he was caught. Elias found him right outside the kitchen doors no more than 5 minutes after his escape. Jon had no idea how he would have known, but he did, and Jon only had a moment to glimpse the night sky before he was grabbed in the vampire’s iron grip and yanked inside. He was dragged kicking and screaming back to his cell. Elias’ eyes held the same fury as the last time and Jon’s back twinged. But then Elias took a deep breath and steeled his expression.

“I was unaware that my dinner selections were so unacceptable for you that you’d resort to assault.”

Jon blinked in confusion. “What do y-”

Elias continued over his interruption. “In that case, you can go hungry until you decide to be grateful for what I provide for you.” Elias swept out of the room, taking Jon’s uneaten dinner with him. Jon was left on the floor of his cell, scared, confused, and so disappointed. He had been so close. Yet somehow Elias was waiting for him.

It was two weeks before he was given anything more to eat.

___

Elias came to collect him a few hours after his dinner. He was given a loose-fitting olive green shirt with see-through lace arms and a bronze pair of dress pants. The outfit left his neck and shoulders free to make feeding as easy as possible. A servant braided his hair and tied it up into a bun with a golden pin to keep it in place. Elias always made sure he looked his best for company. The tip of the pin was shaped like an eye, the Bouchard family crest, with an emerald in the center as the pupil. He was then given golden earrings to match.

“Master…”

Elias looked up from admiring his work. “Yes, Jon?”

Jon glanced at him before looking back at the ground. “May I- may I ask who is visiting?”

Elias chuckled softly. “Always so curious, aren’t you? Yes you may ask. After all, you should be prepared to serve them to the best of your ability.” Elias reached out and brushed a strand of hair out of Jon’s face. “I’ve decided to expand my coven; tonight I’ve invited five possible candidates into my home to discuss matters. Quite a curious bunch. I’m sure they will be valuable additions should they choose to join.”

Elias moved away and snapped his fingers. The servant dressing Jon stepped back with a bow and Jon followed Elias out the door of his cell. He was led up the stairs and down the hall to the dining room. Elias gestured for Jon to take his place against the right hand wall. He was to kneel on the floor cushioned by a pillow. Behind him was a simple couch where those who wished to feed would sit. Jon noticed that a book was sitting on the side table within reach. After settling down he read the title on the spine. It was the next in a series he was currently enjoying. Oh Elias was definitely trying to get on Jon’s good side tonight. He would take what he could get while Elias was feeling so generous. Perhaps he was anxious that these visitors would decide not to join. Jon wasn’t about to mess things up and ruin the comfort he was being offered.

Once the night began, Elias would welcome the guests, they would exchange pleasantries before eating their meal, (which included multiple courses and a dessert) then Elias would offer his donor for any who wished to feed. Jon hoped only a few would take him up on the offer. Five visitors meant a max of six feedings and a killer headache in the morning. Jon got comfortable in his place and picked up the book. Either way, he had a while to wait before he was needed. 

When the guests arrived, Jon mostly ignored them at first and kept his nose in his book. There were two men and three women. They all looked pretty different and were most likely not related. The two men and one of the women seemed already familiar with each other while the other two women were attached at the hip. Jon could already see two sets of teeth. One poked out past the hijabi woman’s lips and he saw the other set when the bigger of the men smiled brightly in greeting. Two of the guests in particular,  however, caught Jon’s eye. The second of the men, a slim, toned man with colored hair, and the tallest of the women with short blonde hair and multiple scars. They seemed... scruffier than the rest, and their eyes didn't pierce like most vampires’ did. They were deep and full in a way Jon could just about recognise.

The group talked politely over drinks until the kitchen staff arrived with their meals. From Jon’s place he couldn’t tell what was being served, but it smelled delicious. He realized what was different about the two when their food was served with sterling silver cutlery. It was designed differently to not get confused with the rest. Two of the guests were  werewolves, not vampires. This took Jon by surprise. Elias said he was trying to expand his coven, why would he invite wolves? He had always been stingy about “purity of blood” or whatever.

Jon noticed Elias’ gaze boring into him from the head of the tabe. Caught. Jon quickly looked back down at the floor. The night’s proceedings were none of his business. He let the rest of the conversation roll over him after that. However, he couldn’t help but notice one of the women kept glancing his way. She had arrived with the men and sat between them at the table. Her hair was long and dark, curling past her dark, freckled shoulders. Big, round glasses framed her face and her eyes caught Jon’s attention every time she looked over at him. He couldn’t parse out her expression but he tensed under her gaze. Perhaps she was excited to feed. Elias had said Jon had exceptionally sweet-smelling blood. He tried his best to ignore her, focusing on his book and waiting for dessert to be served.

___

A long wait and four courses later, Elias finally stood. He smiled over his glass of wine as he addressed his guests.

“Now that we’ve properly eaten, I’d like to offer my Donor, for those who wish to feed.” He gestured towards Jon with a sweep of his arm. “Of course, I’ve also prepared a delicious pastry selection for those who don’t have the palate for blood.” He smirked like he was in on some inside joke. Of course, there were two  wolves at the table so Jon supposed it made sense. 

The hijabi woman stood first and Jon set his book down on the table. Elias looked towards the larger man with the dark hair and piercing blue eyes. He shook his head politely. “I’ve recently fed, thank you. Though, I’ll take one of the pastries.”

“Of course.” Elias said. He gestured to the kitchen staff in waiting. “Please prepare four dessert servings.” They nodded and retreated through the kitchen doors.

Wait, four? Jon counted the guests in his head. Two werewolves and one vampire who didn’t want to use him. That left the vamp headed towards him and the lady who kept staring at him and who Jon noticed was now looking at him with a look of… Surprise? Disgust? Maybe she was angry that Elias hadn’t invited her to feed as well. Well, that was his mistake, not Jon’s.

His view was then blocked by the hijabi woman as she went to stand in front of him. She leaned down and… held out a hand? Jon blinked in surprise.

“Basira Hussain.” She introduced bluntly.

Jon stared dumbly at her offered hand before awkwardly taking it. “Uh, J-Jonathan Sims?” He stammered.

They shook briefly before “Basira” smirked slightly and sat down on the couch. “Ah, you must be new, then. Don’t worry, you get used to it.” She then gently grasped his chin to better expose his neck. “May I?”

Jon could do nothing but sit dumbfounded. He certainly wasn’t new, and no one had ever asked permission before. They always took what they wanted at Elias’ request.

Basira must have noticed his reluctance, because she paused, letting go of his chin and resting her hand on his shoulder instead.

“Sims? Are you-” She froze mid-sentence, her eyes locked onto Jon’s back with an expression like ice. What was…

Oh.

His back. 

The whip scars.

“Y-yes!” Jon stammered a bit too loud. “Go ahead!”

Basira jumped slightly at his outburst, glancing between his face and back, before her expression went carefully blank and she sank her teeth into his throat. Jon winced at the sharp pain but it quickly dulled as her vampire’s venom took effect. She didn’t feed for long at all, only long enough to be respectful, before she pulled back and licked her fangs clean. Jon slumped back as the wave of dizziness passed.

Then she was gone, headed back towards the group at the table. The kitchen staff had just returned and were bustling around, setting down dessert options. Jon noted that Basira went the long way back to her seat, passing the group of three. Elias’ angry eyes were currently focused on one servant who missed spilling his drink by a millimeter and Basira leaned down to whisper something in the freckled woman’s ear before sliding past. Her round eyes went wide and she looked over at Jon again.

Jon was getting pretty sick of being stared at in all honesty. He was so confused at this point and his knees were getting sore. If this woman was so horrified by the thought of feeding on him, and now this “Basira” was talking shit about him, could he please just go back to his cell?

But then, the woman did something strange that Jon couldn’t ignore. She looked him straight in the eyes; she made sure he was paying attention to her. Then raised a hand to her face and lifted her upper lip to reveal….

Teeth. Normal teeth. Not the sharp fangs of a vampire or the large canines of a wolf, but blunt, normal, human teeth.

Suddenly the night’s proceedings were very much Jon’s business.

[justasimplesinner]

Ok first of fucking all I love the way you write, it's really hard to find a writer who can make a character or topic im not particularly interested in actually worth reading. Fucking spot on my guy 👌. Secondly, I was wondering if you'd be up for a request with Mof Johnathan and Arkham Eddie? If you could write a scenario were he's sitting down at his workspaces or couch working on something villain related and they feel a full blown breakdown coming on. Like they're really fucking stressed for whatever reason (take your pick) and the fact that they can't even focus on their own work is making it worse. Their s/o walks in and all it takes is a glance in his direction to figure out they've stumbled upon a ticking time bomb. So, as a spur of the moment attempt to distract him, they plop themselves into his lap and start whispering sweet nothings and praise while they stroke his hair (your choice whether it gets saucy from there or not). I'm a soft bitch and I need you to quench my thirst for hurt/comfort fics.

nothings better than making grown men break down. also, despite being short, this took so god damn long, i swear. but writing eddies pov is just so enjoyable, thats rewarding enough. he's such a stupid fuck its adorable

Masters of Fear!Jon getting comforted hcs:

It didn't feel right. At all. Nothing felt right. Everything was wrong. Every scratch of his pen on the paper felt like nails on a blackboard and his ears were ringing. His hands were shaking and instead of words, there were just crooked lines, like a hand-written ECG record. Every little sound from outside made him jump, every little drop of rain falling onto the window felt like a small bomb going off right besides his ear.

Ever since he woke up today, everything felt so wrong. You weren't in bed when he woke up, your side already cold because you left for work. Because he slept in and couldn't even say goodmorning to you. Or goodbye. And if something happened to you? It was Gotham, everything could happen to you. And he didn't even get the chance to see you, talk to you, kiss you. And the scrambled eggs he reluctantly made for breakfast almost made him vomit. He didn't eat them. Actually, he hadn't ate at all. Nothing. Not a crumb. It made him sick.

It's like he felt something coming, but he had no idea what. Like a storm, like danger. The feeling you get when you're being watched. The feeling he always got when he heard those specific footsteps in school hallways. Very specific. Measured, every move thought out - the trait of a sportsman. But heavy. Not clicking on the floor, but thumping. Very loud and very obvious. The footsteps that made him freeze in place because even if he tried, he wouldn't outrun them. They would follow. The pain would follow. Thump, thump, thump on the floor, foretelling nothing good, right around the corner, right... behind him!

He jumped up high in his seat, whipping his head around, eyes trying to scan the room but it all felt foggy. The only clear thing was the loud crack of the pen breaking in his clenched hand. And the first thing he saw was a hand, reaching out for him, maybe for his throat, maybe to thrash him around - he didn't know, but it was too close.

– Jon? – it was like something snapped in him when it was your voice that rang in his ears and his breathing stilled when he realized you were lightly rubbing your right hand. Did he hurt you? He wanted to ask, he needed to know if he hurt you, if he fucked up again but when his eyes finally looked up into yours, he couldn't say anything. 

The best thing was, he didn't even need to. It's like you already knew. Like he didn't have to do anything and you just saw it. Knew it. Sensed it. And when you got closer this time, he didn't push you away. There was no pain. No pain when your brows furrowed in genuine concern. No pain when your hands cupped his face to look him in the eyes. No pain when you slowly lowered yourself onto his lap. You never brought pain.

– Oh, baby... – your tone was condescending in the best of ways, and your fingers glided up into his hair so gently, nails scratching softly at his scalp, and it's as if his eyes shut on their own accord as he curled into you, wrapping his arms tight around your torso to press you closer. Keep you there, in that exact spot. So that you would never leave.

– I'm sorry I hurt you. – he practically cried into your neck, pressing his face hard into your skin to remind himself that you were there for him. He had you right in his lap, and yet he had to fucking remind himself still. Why was he so fucked up? You didn't have to put up with this. You didn't have to care. He wasn't your responsibility, he was nothing. And yet...

– You could never. It's fine.

You hugged him tight, one hand combing through his messy hair, tangled from him pulling on it, and the other one tracing up and down his back, making up shapes as it went. There were spirals, zig zags, waves, straight lines - he focused strictly on the feeling of your fingers, imagining every little shape they drew.

He kind of wished his shirt was off. So that he could actually feel you on his skin.

– I'm sorry. – and he was, because you just came back from work, probably exhausted, and now you had to baby him since he couldn't even fucking take care of himself. Why was he like this?

– Don't. You don't have to be sorry for feeling something. It's what humans do.

How did you always know what to say? How did you always know what to do? What has he ever done to deserve even an ounce of what you gave him? Did it matter? He was so fucking glad you were back home.

Arkham!Eddie getting comforted hcs:

Mistake. One after another. Each one followed by the next, like a chain reaction. The only thing he fucking did today was mistakes. All the measurements were wrong. All his coding was wrong. Every single little thing was at least a little bit off. He didn't accept 'a little bit off'. It was either perfect, or it was nothing to him. He was nothing. Nothing but a fucking failure, constantly fucking things up, unable to perform even the simplest tasks. Every last idiot could programm a computer. And he wasn't an idiot. Or was he?

A groan ripped from his throat, the hand in his hair tightening.

If he wasn't an idiot, why couldn't he get anything done? If he wasn't an idiot, why did Batman, of all people, outsmart him? If he wasn't an idiot, why hasn't he won yet?

It's like his body wasn't his own when he let out a pathetically high-pitched growl and his arm instinctively threw the first thing it gripped at a wall. The coffee cup smashed into little pieces upon the impact, coffee splashing everywhere, blemishing everything. You brought him this cup. And the one before that. You put it there. You did yet another thing he hasn't asked of you. Why couldn't you just listen for once? Stop disturbing him? It was all your failt that he couldn't focus, because you were constantly going in and out of his workshop and he clearly told you to stay away.

Oh, speak of the fucking devil, he could already hear your thumping footsteps nearing the door, probably lured in by the sound of his cup shattering. Because you were 'worried', as if he would be stupid enough to injure himself or do anything reckless! He furiously pushed some old scraps of metal to the floor, making them clink loudly, feeling a slight sting on his forearm. Great, now he fucking cut himself because of you-

– Eddie, baby? You alright? – the sound of your gentle voice echoed in the room, overpowering the earlier noise. He didn't even grace that with a response, just sighed heavily, annoyance seeping out of him, as he leaned his head on his palm. Why did you have to ruin everything?

And then, just to spite him, you moved closer. Close enough for your sweet scent to fill his lungs, your fingers dancing over his shoulder and he almost shook them off. Instead, he abruptly leaned back in his chair, gritting his teeth. You wasted your chance to get out of here without a scratch.

What he didn't expect however, was your legs slowly, yet suddenly straddling him, hands on his shoulders, digging in lightly to massage and manipulate them into whatever it was you wanted. He felt his stomach churn, his blood boiling to the point where he felt hot all over and his hands almost, almost shot out in your direction. To push you off.

– If you haven't realised yet, I'm working. – it was a blatant lie and you knew it immediately. He wasn't working, not at all, only tinkering with things and fucking them up further. All because of you-

Your hands slowly travelled up, surprisingly careful not to tickle his neck, grabbing his face on both sides with that gentle, motherly fucking smile of yours. Like he was some child. Like you were trying to lure him in and... and... kiss his forhead, and... push your own against it, and- argh!

– Maybe take a little break, hm? – you muttered and he felt it more than heard it, your lips moving lightly against his skin, your nose soon nuzzling his long one and it's as if his head moved along on it's own accord.

This was such obvious manipulation-...!

– I don't need a break! I-...!

– I know you don't, Eddie. – you rudely cut him off, thumbs caressing his cheekbones – But I'm asking you nicely. I miss you.

Even if he protested, you wouldn't've let him go. It was obvious in the way your arms slid around his neck and shoulders, hugging him to your body, almost suffocating him in your chest and he just had to brace his hands on your back. And maybe he would've even pulled away, but you were so... warm. Soft. Like a pillow. And it made him snuggle in further.

– You're so clingy sometimes, you know that? – he muttered, his arms wrapping around you tighter, fingers hooking into your flesh and he felt your fingers slide into his hair, gently massaging his pounding scalp, making the ache almost instantly ease off slightly. His muslces started relaxing, too, his spine finally having a break from holding up his weight.

– You know you like it. – he clearly heard a chuckle in your voice, and it made his hand slide up to the back of your head to push you further into in, to quiet you, as his chin found it's place on your shoulder. Your nails dragged up and down his back, sneakily creeping under his clothes sometimes, and it made a violent but pleasant shiver run through his body, causing his arms to tighten around you.

Maybe he could take a break. You clearly needed him, it would be unwise to ignore you for too long. You could feel neglected, abandoned even - that could cause... problems. He didn't have the strength to deal with problems now. He could just indulge you for a little bit, no harm done. And so, his grip tightened, his body curling around you so every possible part of it was touching you.

You so obviously needed the comfort, and truly, he could never deny you.

[schrijverr]

Perfect Height

Jon reflects upon his height throughout all the seasons and how he relates to the world around him.

On AO3.

Ships: JMart

Warnings: Major character death.

~~~~~~~~~~

Jon wasn’t small, okay. He wasn’t. He might technically be below average, but Jon was willing to ignore that fact and blame his apparent small stature on the fact that he worked with unusually tall people.

Tim was pretty well built and standing at a confidant 183 cm and Sasha was also well above average with her 176 cm. Martin was not only incredibly tall, 186 cm (which he tried to hide by slouching slightly and smiling constantly to seem less threatening, something that worked quite well with his round and cutely freckled face), but he was also muscled from years of carrying his mother and had quite a bit of fat around those muscles. This meant Jon with his thin frame could fit inside Martin about two and a half to three times.

Still, Jon insisted, he wasn’t small. He just wasn’t. Sure he was 165 cm, about ten centimeters under the national average, and bony, but he was not small.

It didn’t help his case that he couldn’t reach the high shelves in the archive and he struggled with carrying boxes of statements, he also couldn’t reach the floor if he sat in his chair, he wasn’t able to keep up properly if walking with Tim or Martin and he had to climb on the counter more often than not to grab things.

But he wasn’t small!

He might be okay with saying he was on the short side, but no matter how Tim and Sasha teased and how Martin silently agreed, he wasn’t small. He was their boss and he had a certain image to uphold and he couldn’t be intimidating enough to get them to work if he admitted he was small.

Jon had worked hard to be seen as professional.

Although his hair was long he kept it in a tight bun and his facial hair was neatly trimmed, he always had an immaculate dress shirt on, no jeans but nice professional pants, polished shoes and inoffensive glasses that complemented his face.

He made sure to look as professional and competent as he could. He had worked hard and gotten a promotion and he hadn’t put in all that effort to get laughed at by his subordinates about his height or smallness or whatever.

However, that wasn’t stopping them. Today was extra hellish, because Tim had walked in when Jon had been balanced on the counter trying to get his mug from the top shelves after Martin had carelessly put it there.

Tim had seen him, taken a picture and then laughed at him, easily grabbing the mug without even having to stand on his toes, the asshole. Jon had huffed and snatched the mug out of his hands and ignored his jabs.

But then Sasha had come in and she had seen the picture Tim had apparently shared and now the two of them were roasting him about the mug.

Jon mentally kicked himself, it wasn’t as if there hadn’t been other mugs he could’ve grabbed instead, but it was his mug.

The mug Martin had given him and always brought him tea in.

He didn’t know why it was so important to him that he drank out of that mug and why it did weird things with his chest, so he decided that it irritated him and silently directed that irritation to Martin, who had to be responsible for his predicament since he had given Jon the mug in the first place.

Tim and Sasha didn’t seem to be stopping with the jokes, so he snapped: “Well, if you’re all done, I’ll be going to record some statements and I will not be bothered by you two.”

“Ah, boss, don’t be glum,” Tim called after him and Sasha added: “Yeah, you don’t have the space for too much emotions,” which send them back into peals of laughter again.

Jon pulled the door close with a hard bang and dropped down in his chair, hating the fact that his feet dangled in the air, so he pulled them up and set them on the edge of his seat, curling into himself.

He could admit to himself that he was small, of course he knew he was short and thin, so therefore would fit the definition of small. He didn’t even mind all that much, not even the ribbing about it. It was nice, like he was also part of the camaraderie the others had created, but he could get fed up with it when it was seemingly the only thing everyone talked about.

Sighing again, he turned his chair to the side and pulled the tape recorder along with the statement closer to him. He used his knee to balance the mug of tea against, while he started the recording with his other and then lost himself into the story.

And by the time he was done he had almost forgotten it had happened. He uncurled himself and sat in a more professional manner as he continued his day, still deciding to stay in his office to avoid the teasing, just in case.

But soon there wasn’t much time for teasing. The Archives were under attack by worms and they needed to get out of there. Jon was secretly pretty glad that it wasn’t much of a struggle for Tim to keep him on his feet, while they maneuvered through the tunnels.

After that the air in the office wasn’t the same and the paranoia from Jon kept most of them from making any comments, except a few scathing ones.

Then they were attacked again and their world kept getting weirder and weirder. They lost Sasha too, if it had even been Sasha. Jon tried to remember the real Sasha, he knew she was taller than him, but he couldn’t recall if that had always been or just since the Not-Sasha.

He was also on the run, hiding out at Georgie’s place.

The Admiral, who once had fit in his palms now took up his entire chest. But Georgie’s hug were still as good as he remembered. She still rested her chin on his head that first night there, when he had cried into her shirt and tried to explain why he was there.

He almost got murdered by Daisy, who tossed him around easily. He was saved, of course, but trying to do his job proved difficult alone, but Melanie waswilling to help.

Luckily his name was cleared, but it wasn’t much better for Jon. He was constantly on edge, barely eating and sleeping. He was getting thinner, smaller. He only noticed it after he became easy to kidnap. Although, he mused, I never knew if that was before too, since I didn’t get kidnapped back then.

First Nikola Orsinov and later by Trevor and Julia. It was concerning how easily Julia carried him, despite not being more than a couple of centimeters taller than him.

They stopped the end of the world, but more people died, Tim died and with him the teasing that Jon silently missed even if it hadn’t been teasing anymore for a long time.

He wasn’t human anymore and none, who once had made slightly teasing remarks about it, dared to do so now. Not that being a monster helped, of course, he stayed thin and short.

Joncouldn’t complain about it though, not when he was in the Buried, looking for Daisy, desperate for anything positive to happen, for people to look at him again as if he was normal, maybe for Martin to talk to him.

He missed Martin. He had never thought it be possible for someone of Martin stature to become invisible, but it looked like he had become a ghost. Although, he saw more ghosts than Martin these days. He missed the way his big hands would rest on his shoulder or how he could completely hide behind Martin whenever he had managed to piss off Tim or Sasha enough for them to come after him.

Martin was there, but he was gone just as soon.

But Daisy was safe and Basira didn’t have as much hate in her eyes as before, which had to count for something. It was concerning that Daisy was just as thin as Jon now, barely any muscles left in her normally muscled frame.

Daisy was nice to him, she held his hand like they had done down in the Buried to remind herself where she was. Her hands were rough, but fragile and Jon didn’t dare grasp them tight enough to ease the ache in his chest.

The only hands he gripped that tight were Martins when he was desperately pulling him from the hold the Lonely had on him. Martins hand was soft and warm and big, just like Jon had thought and Jon had never wanted to hold on to something more than that hand.

Jon would never be big or strong enough to tug Martin along, not if Martin didn’t want to, but Martin did want to.

Step by step they made it out of that awful place. Jon's insides lit up, Martin was there and solid, Martin wanted to come with him. He kept on holding that hand, not stopping until they were safe and far, far away from the place that had hurt them so much.

When they first arrived at the cottage Jon found that it had only one bed, he didn’t mind sharing with Martin and Martin didn’t protest when he pushed him on the bed.

Jon got his shoes off, then he scrambled up further onto the bed. Right now, he needed to be close to Martin, to be held, to know that this was real. If things were weird tomorrow, he’d deal with them then. So, he laid down on Martins chest and stomach. He rested his legs on either side of Martins and shoved his head into the space under Martins chin.

Martin was out cold and didn’t even notice the small amount of extra weight on top of him. He just instinctively held the warmth close. And Jon, Jon never left that space.

Jon was okay with the fact that he was small.

It was hard not to be okay with it when Martin could envelop him completely, shield him from the changed world outside their window. Or when his hand rested on Jon’s back, leading him out of a domain.

The both of them fit so well together and when Martin held Jon tight, for a moment the world didn’t seem hopeless, for a moment it seemed like everything would be alright.

They walked through places you’d think be devoid of life and the fact that they weren’t made them so much worse. Throughout it all they held on to one another’s hand, fingers slotting together slowly easing the ache in Jon’s soul.

When they reached their goal they found their friends and Jon felt as if his heart would burst out of his chest when Georgie pulled him into a hug again, almost reminisced of when he was on the run seemingly eons ago.

And when he and Martin shared that stupid mattress he could watch Martin the entire time from the safety of his arms.

It was so good in all that misery that naturally it didn’t last.

Plans change, worlds end and choices had to be made, no matter how badly none of them wanted to.

So, Jon closed himself off. He’d always been a small speck in the world that never truly fit with shelves that were too high for him to reach and steps that were too big for him to keep up. It was fine, though, he would be fine and then it would be over.

However, he had forgotten how tightly Martin held onto him, how he never let go of Jon’s hand despite what the world threw at him.

Loyal Martin.

Sweet Martin.

Safe Martin.

Jon didn’t know how he could have ever walked out of the safety of those arms, away from the chin resting on his head or the warmth of those hands.

So when Martin agreed to stop it here, to let this be the end, he let himself drop back into the security of those arms, knowing that he could trust Martin to do what needed to be done. To take that plunge and hold Jon through it.

They kissed one last time, before Martin gathered him up into his arms and with tears in his eyes, he stabbed Jon, hoping that the prone life form would wake up again.

Jon never did, but there was a content smile on frozen lips for in his final moments he remembered how perfectly he fit in those arms and how there was nowhere he’d rather be.

Jon is a tiny bastard and people can fight me about that

(also cries bc Jon is still 6 cm taller than me here)

fun fact this was written a while ago and first it ended with Jon safe in Martin’s arms, but then I found it again and thought: “Hmm, I can make this sad” so I did

[backofthebookshelf]

One of the nice things about the way the TMA fandom has reached full large-fandom levels of toxicity is that I no longer care if people get mad at me for my opinions on characters! So, some Georgie meta.

(Because fandom is and always has been Like That, I do feel the need to clarify here that I love Georgie, she's one of my favorite characters, characters are more interesting because of their flaws, and I have no investment in the idea that women or female characters are inherently better or more emotionally competent than men or male characters. If I talk a lot about her relationship with Jon, it's because Jon is our point of view character and also the person she interacts with the most. Also, this rambles, sorry.)

I've been thinking about the Season 4 Jon Trauma post and how much I liked the way it talked about Georgie, and it's convinced me that if Georgie could feel fear, she's the one who'd be most afraid of Jon out of all of them. She's the one protagonist we have whose only interaction with the powers has been as a direct victim of them. She doesn't know what they feel like from the inside, like Jon and Melanie; she doesn't know what they're like when they're someone you love, like Basira; she doesn't even know what they're like as petty middle management, like Martin and Tim. What she knows is that one time a monster ate her (only) friend and traumatized her so badly she spent a year in a suicidal depression.

And now her ex - and yes, Jon and Georgie have a remarkably comfortable relationship in the beginning of season three, but they're still exes and they broke up for reasons, even if we don't know exactly what they are - has turned up on her doorstep, shaking and possibly bloody, with nowhere else to go and no access to his home. He's clearly lying about what's going on. He repeatedly violates her house rules. And then he tells her that he's turning into one of those same kinds of monsters that traumatized her and ate her friend. It's clearly enough to override any remaining affection she had for him, and by any definition he has now positioned himself as a trigger.

(Through no fault of his own: the only real response he has to Georgie's statement is "I can't believe you didn't tell me." She's the one who assumes that he Knew, somehow, that she also had a statement; she's the one who suggests he had alternatives. Both suggestions are plausible but we don't actually know for certain that either are true.)

But Georgie isn't afraid of Jon because Georgie can't be afraid -at least, according to her. I'm not sure how much I believe this in the grand scheme of things; it seems like an extremely unlikely mechanism for one of the fears to have. It seems much more likely to me that she's just never met anything as terrifying as that encounter was, and her subjective sense of fear has been massively recalibrated. In which case not only meeting but having hosted in your home another monster who self-describes as similar to the one that was so terrifying that literal threats to your life are no longer distressing would...probably ping. But she's conceptualized herself as a person who doesn't feel fear; it's even possible that was part of her recovery, identifying this as a possible benefit of what would otherwise have been a universally terrible, soul-breaking experience. She looked existential terror in the face and survived, and came out of it a person who cannot be afraid of anything left on this earth. That's kind of a superhero origin story, and I can't blame her for it. I think anyone with a mental illness has at least tried to find ways in which their suffering has made them a better, stronger person.

But whether she's suppressing and rationalizing away any fear she feels or she genuinely doesn't feel any of it, she does frequently behave as though her lack of fear gives her a more objective view of the situation than anyone else. I don't believe she actually uses the word "just," but it drips from her every interaction with Jon after Dead Woman Walking. Why doesn't he just stop reading the statements? Why doesn't he just quit? And, in Zombie, I honestly can't interpret her reaction to Jon when he wakes up from his coma as anything other than, Why doesn't he just die? If he hates being this so much, if he really doesn't want to be a monster, why doesn't he just die?

I really would like to think that it goes without saying that this is, at the very least, a massive failure of empathy, but she's so explicit about it and fandom spent so much time basically agreeing with her that apparently it doesn't. Not only is Georgie not afraid of the situation, but (and this is the part that makes me wonder if she's not rationalizing, rather than being supernaturally unable to feel fear) she can't possibly fathom how afraid everyone else is, and she never tries. She persists in treating the whole awful situation, as @findingfeather's post says, like this is a mundane problem with people who are refusing to help themselves, rather than a supernatural trap that has been specifically built to be inescapable.

Now, let me be clear, even if she were talking to, say, a drug addict who nearly killed themselves because they were in denial about how much of a problem they had, her attitude would be unforgivable. But in this case Jon had no choice in whether or not to become addicted to statements; it was done to him in such a way that he didn't notice it was happening until withdrawal was already incapacitating. He also didn't have the option to leave, as Tim's extended vacation made clear. And, on top of all of that, the whole reason he was in a coma in the first place was that he was trying to save the world. (Neither he nor she knows at this point that he was doing nothing of the kind, so that's really not relevant.) And - look, when Jon came to her after the end of season two, he was asking for help. When he rejected the kind of help that she offered it was because he knew it didn't apply to the problems he actually had, but she treats that like it's his problem, which is something like offering a leg splint to a person bleeding out from a gunshot wound and getting offended when they tell you that won't work. He was very clear that what was happening scared him and he didn't know what to do about it, and her only suggestion was "walk away," which he literally could not do, for multiple reasons.

She's lucky Jon has pretty much precisely zero self-worth at this point, because anyone else would have cut her off completely for behaving like a fucking asshole.

I say "she's lucky" because frankly, even though she says that she wants nothing more to do with him, she turns up at least twice in the Institute after that, with the excuse that she's picking up Melanie to take her to therapy. I don't know about you, but I have never once gone to someone's workplace to pick them up and gone snooping around inside, and no matter how fascinatingly weird that workplace is, I definitely can't imagine doing so when I know that workplace also contains a person I have definitely decided I never want to speak to again. She goes into the Archives, for Christ's sake, and she listens outside Jon's office door for long enough to catch a bit of the recording before letting herself in (so it's very clear she knows who's in there).

Now I'm not trying to paint her as a monster here; Georgie would hardly be the first person to have second thoughts about cutting off someone they still care about, or to break that boundary that they set themselves when they realize they do still want to know how that person is doing. But the fact is that she positions herself as having the moral high ground in every single discussion they have and that's just not true. She is not literally a supernatural monster, true, but if season four did anything with the concept of monsters it was breaking down the difference between "supernaturally driven no-longer-human" and "person capable of caring and empathy." (That's a whole different meta, though, one that I will get around to someday.) Not that Jon is any better, in that encounter specifically, at dealing with a complicated and contentious relationship - he deliberately goads her, even if he doesn't use compulsion. But that's the thing, they're both exes who have had a falling out and aren't handling it very well. Neither of them is in the right.

All of which makes me really wonder what her relationship with Melanie is actually like. We don't actually see hardly any of it directly, and of what we do, well, Melanie sounds like she's still high on painkillers, so it's hard to take that as an indication of anything. But given that people (who are not intentionally trying to manipulate those around them) tend to, y'know, be fundamentally the same person in their various relationships, though it may manifest in different ways, we can probably make some guesses.

I have always been bothered by, and I really can't ignore, the fact that they were getting together at the same time that Melanie was doing what Georgie has been demanding of Jon since season three: she did whatever it took to get out. I have to wonder if Georgie knows about the nonconsensual surgery part of Melanie's process of getting out, and if she does, if she understands how vital it was. I certainly wouldn't be surprised, if she does know, that she's managed to compartmentalize it: Jon inflicted this terrible trauma on Melanie, Melanie escaped the entity that took her over. (Subconscious implication: Jon is a monster; Melanie is better than him.) I would be very surprised if Georgie is interested at all in the fine distinctions between entities; she's shown no interest in learning what is actually happening to anyone in this situation beyond "it's bad and they should get out of it." But it's relevant, because by the time Melanie makes the decision to blind herself, she's in a much different position than Jon, enslaved by an entity but not consumed by one. She herself admitted to Jon that she would never have voluntarily escaped from the Slaughter.

And given how difficult Melanie finds it to talk about any of this - you can hear her dragging the words out from behind her teeth in her conversation with Jon in Flesh, truly incredible acting by Lydia Nicholas, my god - if Georgie doesn't want to hear it? I can't imagine Melanie insisting. Yes, Melanie is going to therapy, but let me tell you, I've been going to therapy for twelve years now and I have yet to have several of the important conversations my therapists have insisted I have. That shit is hard. But I can imagine a scenario where, having been told by her therapist (who, remember, doesn't have the first idea what Melanie is actually going through, because Melanie isn't telling her about the supernatural so she has to leave out a lot of really relevant details) that she ought to tell her friend/potential girlfriend/new girlfriend about these things, Melanie attempts to bring it up, Georgie says kind and reassuring things and refuses to let her clarify any of the details, and Melanie gives up in relief, thinking, well, I tried. Super valid all around, but it doesn't mean that Georgie has any clearer picture of what Melanie's traumas actually look like, never mind Jon's. There's no world in which I can imagine Georgie actually internalizing the idea that Melanie loved the Slaughter when it had her, and she would gladly have stayed with it if Jon and Basira hadn't intervened.

In Georgie's eyes, Melanie is being a Good Victim. She was hurt but she was strong; she fought it until she won; now she's going to therapy and setting boundaries and trying to heal. She got away.

(Except, of course, she didn't, because as of The Eye Opens no one has gotten away, because this is the entire world now. We have no idea how this has affected Melanie. Presumably she's out of reach of the Eye, given that Jon can't see her or Georgie (and there's some evidence on the side of Georgie's encounter genuinely having stripped her of fear, if she's also invisible to the Eye), but she spent a long time under the influence of the Slaughter. It had her firmly enough that her attacking Jon was enough to give him his Slaughter scar. If nothing else, Melanie certainly hasn't had her fear removed, and talk about a situation bound to retraumatize someone who had such a visceral revulsion to being trapped that Elias chose it as his mechanism of control over her. Melanie probably doesn't look like a Good Victim any more, and I'd bet her relationship with Georgie is suffering some serious strain because of it.)

We don't know when exactly Melanie and Georgie got together; the last time one of them mentions the other is, I'm pretty sure, when Georgie tells Jon that Melanie is back from India. So we know that Georgie and Melanie were friends; that's good, that's a good foundation for a romantic relationship. At the very least they know each other, they have some idea of what to expect. I'd be surprised if they were dating during that season 3/4 hiatus period, though, or frankly any time before Melanie's surgery, just because Melanie seems much too consumed with rage to have room for any other emotions, and I can't imagine Georgie putting up with that.

What seems way more likely to me is this: Melanie comes back from India, arranges to meet Georgie for drinks. Probably they don't talk about anything serious; possibly they talk about Jon, honestly, since we know Melanie was looking for him and Georgie talked to him about Melanie, but very likely in the same "stuck-up pompous ass" way that Melanie talks about Jon in early seasons. (I bet Melanie's roasts are amazing.) Shortly after that Melanie joins the Magnus Institute and then, very likely, either she never tells Georgie about it and therefore they don't talk much or she does tell Georgie about it and Georgie tells her that place is bad news and she won't have anything to do with it and they don't talk at all, until, whichever way that went, the Unknowing happens and Tim dies and Jon winds up in a coma and everything goes to shit. We know Georgie visits Jon in the hospital; we don't know if Melanie does, but frankly it seems unlikely. If they did cross paths during this time, it was probably very brief and superficial. Then: the surgery, and Melanie's recovery.

I'll be honest, I have a hard time imagining Melanie deciding on her own that she should go to therapy. It's possible Basira suggested it, but it really does sound like a Georgie thing to do. So I picture something like this: from the way Basira talks it sounds like they've all been pretty much living in the Archives for a while, and on top of that everyone in the Archives has just badly violated Melanie's trust, so Melanie pulls up her Facebook DMs and talks to the only other person she has. You were right, she says, this place is terrible, I can't handle it, there's no one here I can trust and I'm so alone. And Georgie, who is generous with help and advice (so long as it's accepted) and (like anyone) weak to being told she was right about something, starts talking to her. We know Georgie's got good boundaries, and we know she doesn't want to hear details about what's going on in the Institute, so I can see her saying, I can talk to you, I would love to talk to you, but not about this. For that you need a therapist.

So Melanie gets a therapist, and the prospect of going out amongst the monsters they know are stalking the Institute without that protective shield of rage (never mind the emotional vulnerability of going to therapy in the first place) makes public transit an unthinkable option, so she asks Georgie to take her, and she does, and she keeps taking her to therapy, which is, as far as we know, the only time Melanie leaves the Archives in season four, until she blinds herself and escapes it completely.

And so they have this relationship that's built up almost entirely around Melanie's trauma - with a foundation of friendship, certainly, so I do think that if they are willing to work through it they could make it a working, healthy relationship, but (and again this isn't stated in canon but is my speculation based on what we know about these characters) it is a romantic relationship that's built around the process of Melanie recovering from multiple traumas. Ones that we know that Georgie a) doesn't know many details about, and b) more importantly, refuses to know any details about. Now, I have no experience with romantic relationships and serious trauma; I might be wildly off base here. But. I know that boundaries are important and I know that trust is also important. And if Georgie is holding similar boundaries with Melanie that she has with Jon (and, as I went into excruciating detail about earlier, she has very solid emotional reasons to protect herself with those boundaries), that's drawing a hard line around what's basically the past two to three years of Melanie's life, and undeniably both the worst and most important things that have ever happened to her. That seems...difficult to manage in the long term.

(This is a bit more of a stretch, more of the germ of a fic idea than an argument I'm prepared to defend, but I also would not be surprised if Georgie told Melanie that she wouldn't date her while she was still working at the Institute. That's a very reasonable boundary, and it's good motivation - and probably healthy motivation, I do like the idea that Melanie had something to reach toward in escaping the Institute, not just the desperate flight from - but it's also something of an ultimatum. Which is not inherently bad, but it is the kind of thing that can fester, given other problems.)

Now it's entirely possible that Georgie isn't that internally consistent. People aren't! (See: Basira's attitude toward Daisy vs her attitude toward Jon in season four.) Maybe she's more flexible about being willing to listen to Melanie, maybe she's starting to understand some of what was happening and how genuinely impossible a situation it really was. But that has to be a struggle for her, too; it's not a perfect, sweet, unconditionally good situation that teaches you that you've been unfair to the point of cruelty to someone you used to care about. And by the time the apocalypse rolls around, Melanie is, if she's lucky, just barely able to say she's healed from the plain physical trauma of blinding, never mind all the other baggage. They've got to be having a rough fucking time of it, at the very least, even if you assume that they're suddenly both the kind of people who will sit still and listen supportively and talk honestly about their own messy and complicated emotions, when neither of them have been that kind of person before.

(Another disclaimer because Fandom Is Like That: This is in no way a condemnation of or argument against fluffy What the Girlfriends fic; fic is for making fluffy things that you want to happen to your faves, or building fluffy content that you desperately need for whatever reason. Gods know there are plenty of unhealthy parts of Jon and Martin's relationship that I ignore in most of my fluffy fic. This is me attempting to work through my thoughts and feelings about the relationship I see in canon in the hopes of actually being able to write some fic about these girls myself someday, because I personally can't write fic until I understand canon, and so much of them happens offscreen because they're not main characters, and they're written with such depth and complexity that you can't just slap a stereotype on them and call it good. Which is awesome! But it means I gotta do the work, and I post it because a) it's work, and this is fandom, and I want validation; and b) I'm hoping other people have insights that might also help me clarify my thinking.)