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isfjmel-phleg · 3 years

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@marysfoxmask The Secret Garden on 81st Street came out recently, and I thought you might want a review.

The art is the best part! It’s a beautiful graphic novel, rich in detail and expressive characters and inviting settings. There’s a particularly striking full-page illustration of a tree with a robin’s nest that changes with the seasons and visually signals the passing of time. Pictures from the secret garden’s Instagram account (I think?) as run by Mary and Dickon also show the garden’s progress--a nice modern touch. The key to the garden has a distinctive leaf keychain...you know, little things like that. There was clearly a lot of thought and care put into the art, and it’s worth flipping through just for that.

The change of setting to New York City is used well. The Craven house is now a large townhouse with a roof garden, and Mary is urged to go out and explore the city--Central Park, the museums, etc., all rendered in loving detail with the same wonder that the moor holds for Mary in the original. Ben is no longer a gardener but the owner of a bodega (with connections with the garden still), and although there’s a robin pictured in some illustrations, the character’s role is transferred to Ben’s cat Robin (which I would have thought more clever if The Misselthwaite Archives hadn’t done it first, also why are all these recent adaptations so afraid of birds?). The Sowerbys now live in an apartment next door to the Craven house, owned by Mary’s uncle (a good analogue for their being tenants in a cottage on Mr. Craven’s estate in the book); Dickon says there are five of them living there, so apparently much fewer children, and Mrs. Sowerby doesn’t appear at all. I can’t remember if she’s even mentioned, but she does not play any role in the story.

Having Mary be the product of a technology-saturated upbringing makes a lot of sense for this setting, explaining her social detachment, massive entitlement, and complete unfamiliarity with nature. This Mary is fairly close to her book counterpart, maybe a bit toned down and more emotionally expressive (but then everyone in this book is--there’s a lot of crying, a bit much for me). I’ll go more into a couple of issues I had with how she was handled below, but one poignant moment that stuck out for me was on one of her early excursions to a museum. She observes a little girl out with her parents, enjoying the exhibits together, and the girl’s name is Mary. It’s such a painful reminder of what she didn’t have that she’s overcome and has to run out of the museum.

The graphic novel generally follows the basic plot and structure of the book, although the further it goes, the more the thematic emphasis changes. But on the whole there aren’t any dramatic plot changes, like there were in the recent film, for instance.

So...on to my biggest issue with this adaptation. The handling of Colin.

He’s a difficult character to translate to an updated setting. Twenty-first-century adaptations never seem to quite know what to do with him. The Humming Room, The Misselthwaite Archives, the 2020 film, and this graphic novel all take the approach of having the character grieving a lost parent he (she, in TMA) can remember, which significantly changes the nature of the issues at hand. Mrs. Craven’s dying in childbirth specifically is significant, because it means Colin’s birth is inextricably associated with his mother’s death, making it easy for him to be blamed, in a way, for her loss. If he had not been born under such circumstances, if he had gotten to grow up happily with two living parents for a while before disaster struck, his relationship with his father would have started on a completely different foot. He would have the benefit of being associated with memories of happy times as a family, so his father might not be so likely to completely detach from him in his grief. It’s a different dynamic.

Colin in the book isn’t so much grieving a lost loved one as he is suffering the effects of emotional neglect and a lack of proper boundaries, internalizing others’ expectations of his health to an extreme, and generally wallowing in fear and self-pity. This comes across much less in recent adaptations. These also tend to place more of an emphasis on psychological problems than physical ones, which is valid, but this graphic novel takes it to an extreme.

Colin in the graphic novel does not have any physical problems but instead severe anxiety/panic disorder and an unfounded belief that his heart might be weak (an unexpected heart attack in the garden led to his family’s loss). This is a valid modern interpretation, and I have no problems with it as a concept. But this becomes more or less all there is to him. He’s a heavy-handed lesson in what anxiety/panic disorder is, how to respond to people who have it, and how to cope with it. These are useful things to know, but it results in him seeming more like an example from an informational booklet than a character.

All his unpleasant or problematic traits are gone; instead, he’s a generally sweet, soft, pitiable child who eloquently expresses his emotions with a vocabulary a therapist would be proud of. Hardly a match for Mary in brattiness! There’s no evidence of his being ridiculously spoiled (the cause of a lot of his issues in the book) or having an unusually out-of-control temper. The only time he gets significantly angry is a few moments of frustration with his father for being disappointed in him and who can blame him. His argument with Mary results from her ignoring him for a week to work in the garden, which makes his grievance more understandable and her more of a jerk, and this leads to him having not a tantrum but a panic attack after Mary insists there’s nothing wrong with him. So Mary has to be taken aside by Colin’s therapist for a long talk about his disorder and how wrong she was to respond to him like that, and she has to apologize. Which is in completely the opposite spirit from how it happens in the book! This Colin can do no wrong, because he’s a representation of anxiety rather than a flawed person who needs to undergo character development, and this Mary must defer to him rather than assert her power.

Would it have been so hard to make him someone who both lives with anxiety and happens to be a bratty child in need of a reality check? Reducing him to a Very Important Lesson kind of robs him of his complexity and humanity--qualities that makes him and Mary such fascinating characters in the book.

I did appreciate that they allowed him the agency of choosing to go to the garden for himself rather than being shoved there or treated as Mary’s project like some adaptations do. But without the tantrum scene as a turning point, it’s more like he just...changes his mind about going outdoors? Not necessarily unrealistic but not especially climactic. (I also missed his interest in science, which would have been useful in the new setting but is replaced by an interest in cartooning that doesn’t really go anywhere.)

All the adults are Nice and (almost completely) Nonproblematic. Mrs. Medlock is trying to empathize with Mary from the beginning. Ben is extremely friendly, not at all bad-tempered, and doesn’t bond with Mary over shared crankiness because there’s none. Colin’s therapist (a woman unrelated to the family but clearly an update of Dr. Craven) is nothing but wise and understanding, and there’s no indication of anything necessarily questionable in how the adults are raising Colin--they’re just being very, very accommodating of his anxiety. Even Mrs. Lennox, despite not being much present in Mary’s life, is seen at least attempting to parent her when possible, expressing concern about Mary’s vicious tone when interacting in video games (and by the end, Mary realizes she does have a pleasant memory with her mother, which is...nice, but not very reflective of their relationship in the book--oh, and Mrs. Lennox is Mr. Craven’s sister this time, which is a new one). This softened perspective on the adults changes the dynamic. There’s much less reason to keep the garden a secret, with so many kind, understanding adults around, and there’s much less sense of how much the children help each other.

Dickon is close enough to his book counterpart, although they missed an opportunity to move his iconic introduction scene to, say, Central Park (surrounded by squirrels and pigeons and stray cats and dogs?). Instead, Martha brings him to the Cravens’ front door, introduces him as her brother who thinks he’s an expert on plants, and he and Mary just go from there. It keeps the story moving but has much less visual and dramatic effect in setting up an important character. The Sowerbys in general don’t get a lot of development here, I think.

Mrs. Craven in this version is gender-flipped, which I didn’t think added much--not to mention losing us a female character. Her counterpart, Masahiro, died fairly recently of a sudden heart attack, and Colin remembers him well and is grieving him.

And finally, the themes of how to handle and respond to anxiety and how people grieve differently (which...aren’t necessarily the principal themes/main point of The Secret Garden, in my opinion), although excellent points, are treated rather heavy-handedly, I thought. There’s a lot of dialogue that sounds more like a therapist’s advice than how real people talk to each other. And while these are good, valid things to know and to impress upon children, it felt to me more like a lesson that was trying too hard than a narrative with naturally emerging themes. Granted, Burnett herself does this in the last chapter, but through narration, not through the mouths of impressively emotionally aware characters.

On the whole, a well-illustrated adaptation that generally follows the plot and makes some effective creative choices in updating but doesn’t always hit the mark in understanding the characters, at least not for me.

#The Secret Garden on 81st Street #The Secret Garden #once again I have Strong Opinions about these characters

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moth-song-archives · 3 years

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The Insatiable Flow of Time (1/8)

I remembered that I can make posts here too huh! Anyways, I wrote a post-MAG200 fic <3

I’ll reblog it again with the link to ao3 if you’d prefer reading it there :D

Rating: Teens and Up Archive Warnings: Choose Not To Use Categories: F/F Relationships: Georgie/Melanie, Georgie & Jon, Jonmartin (mentioned) Characters: Georgie Barker, Melanie King, Jonathan Sims, the Admiral, Basira Hussain (mentioned), Rosie Zampano (mentioned), Martin Blackwood (mentioned)

Additional tags: Diary/Journal × post mag200 × Post-Canon × Canon Compliant × Rated for swearing and me doing my best to write a fitting epilogue for my most fave story of all time × Bittersweet × Hurt/Comfort × Grief/Mourning × Gentle-Sad-Soft × Fluff × Non-Sexual Intimacy × Tenderness × Generally Hopeful Ending × Ambiguous/Open Ending × Catharsis × You know how TMA is a tragedy? ... yeah × Hope Punk × dealing with the fallout of surviving a literal apocalypse × Moving on and letting go × Trans Georgie Barker × Nonbinary Melanie King × Melanie uses any pronouns but needs to (re)discover this first × and is then mainly referred to with they/them pronouns for diary-simplicity × Melanie is ace in my heart ♡ × Jon is also enby but it only gets referred to in passing × Georgie has a Type™ × Character Study × i love them all so much × Nonbinary aspec author × it's very hope punk and somft BUT ALSO VERY SAD × in like a cathartic way × because i like causing pain :') × pre-written and updates every 2-3 days

I think I might use it to… rediscover myself. That’s what I liked about journaling in the first place, I think. Getting to think about things outside of my own head, putting it out there so I could move on? Maybe it’s time to return to old coping mechanisms and try again. Even if I haven’t really changed. Even if I should’ve changed. Right?

As the world tries to piece itself back together, Georgie grapples with her past, her present, and her future by keeping a diary. She also keeps having this strange, recurring dream that involves Jon. Post MAG200.

Finished at ~12k, will upload over the next couple of days <3

Day 3 - Evening

Melanie is sleeping. Basira is also sleeping, on the sofa in the living-room. She doesn’t really know what to do with herself, these days, so for now she’s staying with us.

I am not sleeping. I’m so far beyond tired that I can’t sleep anymore. It’s been... how long? More than a day, certainly. I’m at the kitchen table and the night outside is darker than any I’ve ever seen. There are no street lights and a million more stars than I could’ve ever imagined. I wish Melanie could see them too :(

Back before everything in my life went wrong, I used to be really good at this. I think I got my first diary when I was... seven, maybe eight? I used to be obsessed with it. I guess I stopped writing in college, after the incident, because it felt... wrong? Like I was lying to myself, trying to fabricate emotions that just weren’t there, keeping up with things that no longer seemed important or note-worthy. Mainly, I couldn’t make myself care about anyone or anything anymore.

I think I want to find that person again, now that it’s over. Try and… move on? And Melanie encouraged me :) I guess that’s the main reason. I found this notebook in one of the domains when we were rescuing people. I don’t know what I originally wanted to do with it, but I did end up forgetting about it until I went through my bag again today. It smells like fire and is a bit singed in places, but I kind of like that? I think I might use it to… rediscover myself. ...that sounds very pretentious, but this is just for me, so...

And I like that it’s just cheap paper scribbled on with a shitty biro. Maybe I’ll just burn it when all the thoughts are on the paper instead of in my head. When I can sleep again. And the prize for the most dramatic way of closure goes to Georgie Barker! But yeah. That’s what I liked about journaling in the first place, I think. Getting to think about things outside of my own head, putting it out there so I could move on? Maybe it’s time to return to old coping mechanisms and try again. Even if I haven’t really changed. Even if I should’ve changed. Right?

But I don’t feel any different. Shouldn’t I feel different, now that they’re gone? The entities, I mean, though Jon and Martin seem to be gone, too.

I keep remembering Martin’s expression when he told us to go early, how upset he was.

Honestly, I can’t say I’m surprised. As long as I’ve known Jon, he’s always done what he thought best. It used to drive me up the walls, but I also admired it, I think? I never would’ve told him that, but… Well. He’s gone now.

It’s over, all of it.

And I still can’t sleep.

And Melanie is still blind, and I still feel empty, and my fear still hasn’t come back. Everyone who died is still dead, and the trauma is still there. There were angry mobs in the streets, and people got killed.

I can’t quite believe that Jon and Martin went with them. I can’t believe they left us behind to explain the entire mess.

We’re back in our old flat. It’s so weird to be back home. Everything looks the same, as though no time passed at all. Nobody knows what date it is. How long were we caught in there?

Outside, it feels like spring. There are birds everywhere, singing their hearts out. Sounds like more birds than there used to be, too. The trees are leafless and dead-looking, but Basira pointed out that they’re getting there... and it feels like spring.

I haven’t slept properly in 3 days because the questions keep me awake. It’s not that I’m worrying, really, just… thinking? I think I could sleep better if the worry had come back, but it hasn’t.

As far as we can tell, all modern devices are broken, too. Computers and phones and such, digital cameras, generators... we don’t even know what the rest of the world looks like. I hadn’t realised how much gets controlled by computers these days, we don’t even have central heating or water access in our flat. Rumours and news are spreading person-to-person, like in the Olden Days. We only have emergency systems that were installed in case of nation-wide blackout. I guess I’m glad we don’t actually have a blackout, we just need to get the computers back to work. (If I understood it correctly.)

Melanie thinks it’ll all come back to life in a few more days. I certainly hope so. I also hope I’ll stop feeling like this. Or rather, not feeling like anything. It’s so strange. Like in the first days after the incident, when I just felt numb?

They’re gone! I want to feel like a person again! What if I never get myself back?

They’re actually gone.

What will we do with our lives now? Basira isn’t the only one who feels uprooted. I think the whole world feels like that right now.

I hope my computer comes back soon. I miss music, and making things. My photos, all those memories.

I don’t want to lose all of that. I want to start fresh, but not without records of the past.

…I’ve had a lot of time to think about that, specifically. Records, and futures.

What the Ghost is done, right? There’s no fun in creepy ghost stories if you’ve been through an actual, living nightmare.

I think I want to start new with that, too. When everything works again, that is.

New world, new future, new podcast. I like that. I think. Make a record of what happened through eyewitness accounts? Or is that too similar to the Statements… then again, it’ll be more like interviews. And I think we shouldn’t forget.

We owe them that much.

I’ll have to talk it over with Melanie tomorrow. Maybe.

We’ll see.

God, I think maybe… maybe I can actually try and sleep tonight. Writing does seem to help.

Note to self: thank Laverne for suggesting it. (Also for being there for Melanie. And listening to us. And stopping with that culty nonsense. She’s the only one we found so far, but she actually listened to us. Strange to think that in this world, I have to be grateful for someone not worshipping me for some dumb reason?!)

Day 4 - Morning

So. Three things.

1) I did manage to fall asleep after all! I’ve always been a bit of an insomniac, especially after the incident, so actually getting some proper rest felt really good.

2) I somehow woke up right as the sun went up! I think I’ve never seen a dawn this beautiful? I watched it from the bedroom window and I’ll definitely describe it to her in detail when she wakes up! The Admiral was sleeping on our pillow, right next to her head, snuggled up against the back of her neck and shoulder... it was so cute. I can’t believe my phone and camera still don’t work! Melanie has that old polaroid camera somewhere but we haven’t found it yet, and I wish my art skills were any better. I did draw a sketch of the two of them though. I’ll cherish it forever, no matter how shitty it is :’)

After everything that happened, the Admiral is still a bit weird around us. He started out really aggressive, calmed down a bit, and now… now he’s weirdly skittish? Meows a lot. Keeps walking around the flat. The only thing that even remotely returns him to how he used to be is tuna. It’s weird.

But seeing him like that, with Melanie? I love him so much.

I think he’ll be okay.

But before I forget, and why I actually got out the diary at this ungodly hour instead of trying to go back to sleep now that the sun is up…

3) I had a really nice dream. And... I don’t even know. I think I want to try and hold onto the feeling? I don’t think I’ve felt that… deeply… in a long while. Maybe the last time was before all this, when we decided to move in together. Before all of this happened.

For a moment, I felt like I was whole again :’)

It didn’t even have Melanie in it, which is very rude tbh. I think Jon was there? The Admiral, too. We were just chilling on the sofa, watching netflix I think... It felt so... mundane??? Casual, somehow??? Like it was normal to feel like that and I just... I want THAT. I want to feel like that again, instead of this weird… blank nothingness? I want that all the time, not just when I’m riding a high or feeling so terrible that it pierces through.

I don’t know if that makes sense but this is just for me anyway so I suppose it doesn’t have to.

I think I should feel bad about Jon being gone, but I still don’t even feel relief at it being over. Just this vague numbness.

I hate it so much, except I don’t, actually, I just know that I should?

Melanie keeps saying that I need a therapist but if we’re being honest here, I guess I need one the least? The whole goddamn world needs therapy right now. Including the therapists. And I’ve been dealing with this for a long time now.

I guess I keep hoping it’ll just go away somehow.

Anyways. Enough introspection, I’m going back to bed. I hope I don’t wake them! :)

Day 4 - Evening

It’s night now, the sun went down hours ago. We have a bunch of candles, but I’m trying to use them sparingly, so I just have one lit. I put a glass of water next to the candle so now the light gets magnified a bit more. It’s a weird atmosphere, but I kinda like it? Feels… cozy! :)

I’m still not over how everything looks the same, but nothing works like it did before, and there’s this… burden? This collective trauma everyone went through. It feels so surreal. So many things are still broken… it’s like we woke from a collective nightmare, but pieces of it still remain, floating around.

And we just sent it away with the tapes. I really hope those other worlds are doing better than us, but what else could we have done? I… try not to think about it. I know I should, but I still can’t really bring myself to care, or even feel overly guilty for that? …

Melanie fell asleep with her head in my lap half an hour ago. I was reading to her. She says she loves the sound of my voice, so I’ve started doing that in the evenings. (I still love that we had separate crushes from a distance on each other for ages because of youtube and WTG. We’ve been talking about that a lot, too.)

She still has nightmares, but apparently she’s also been having good dreams, and she looks so peaceful right now. The last few days have been a lot, but in comparison to before, and even before then…

It’s over. We made it out. We get to have a future together. I still can’t quite believe it. :)

I guess I’m writing again (despite already having done so in the morning) because it somehow helped yesterday and I’m hoping to replicate that. And I have a lot to think about. It’s been a long day.

Basira is still out there, helping out where she can. I think she feels guilty. Melanie says she doesn’t because there was no other choice, but I know her, and I know that she’s lying.

There’s always another choice. We just say that to make it easier to bear.

I hope she knows she can come talk to me when she feels ready to tackle it.

I hope I ever feel able to tackle it myself. No. I will talk to her when I’m ready.

We did talk a bit about things, of course. Melanie doesn’t really remember her dreams, most of the time, but apparently she’s been alternating between horrifying nightmares and a really nice, recurring one that sometimes happens after the nightmares. She doesn’t really remember much of it, but she mentioned it after I told her about the Jon dream. Not what it was about, just… in general.

From the way she talked about it, I think her dad might have been in it? I’m actually not sure, but the way she smiled…

She has that little smile on her lips again, even now, dreaming. The soft one she gets when she talks about good things. About him.

About me.

(I still can’t believe she chose me. How impossibly lucky? How did I ever deserve her? But then, it’s not about that, is it? She is mine, and I am hers, and… life will be good. I know it will be.)

She’s been smiling a lot more, these past few days.

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ollieofthebeholder · 3 years

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leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall): a TMA fanfic

Tumblr tag || Also on AO3

Chapter 43: Jon

There aren’t words to describe what being home feels like.

It’s not just the four walls of the house they’ve bought together, or the warmth and beauty of a March sunset, or the sounds of a London evening. It’s Charlie flying down the sidewalk to attack Jon with a hug and a bright smile and a flurry of words about how much they’ve all missed him and then coming back two hours later, pleased as Punch and bearing a “welcome home” cake he baked himself. It’s Sasha calling, not texting, to tell Tim she’s home safe and then asking to talk to Jon so they can reassure each other that they’re both okay. It’s Martin gently tending to the marks on his wrists and ankles, still raw from his desperate attempts to pull free before his strength started to desert him, and singing the song he remembers from when he was a little boy and his father came back from a voyage. It’s Tim cooking Jon’s favorite dinner, but serving him in small helpings so that he doesn’t overstretch his stomach after two weeks while still making sure he eats his fill. It’s the cool, clean sheets and the thick, warm quilt and the weight and security of Tim and Martin on either side of him as he falls asleep, and it’s Tim and Martin soothing and reassuring him, as much with their presence as with any actual words, when he wakes up screaming in the middle of the night.

Going back to the Institute is harder than he would have thought. Only the fact that he knows he can’t be away from it for long gets him to go back—that and the fact that he can’t, won’t, leave his team alone to deal with Elias. Once there, though, he slips back into the routine easily enough. Despite Elias’s snide insinuations, the Archives ran fine without him, but he knows they’re glad to have him back.

They take Tuesday morning to regroup and plan. It’s all very well for both Elias and Jon Prime to tell them to find Gertrude’s notes, but Gertrude was, in Tim’s words, a paranoid old bitch, and it’s not likely that they’ll find a conspicuous notebook with detailed plans on how to stop the Unknowing. More likely that whatever they find will end up being more memory aids than anything, cryptic jottings that only mean something to Gertrude, and sussing it out won’t be easy. But it’s a place to start nevertheless, once they figure out where those notes are.

In the end, Tim and Martin take to looking through the shelves of statements—Tim looking for anything to do with the Stranger, Martin looking for a few of the tantalizing little threads they’ve noticed weaving through the tapestry of their database. Sasha attacks the filing cabinets, with the logic that Gertrude may have pretended to file something important. And Jon takes his counterpart’s advice and goes through his office.

It’s not like he doesn’t know what’s in all the drawers of his desk, but he does his due diligence, pulling everything out of each drawer, tapping for false backs or false bottoms. He does find, stuck in the back of the drawer where he keeps the spare statement forms, a creased and faded concert program printed on green stock from 2003; it doesn’t seem to have any immediate significance, though, so he sets it aside with the intention of looking into it later. Perhaps it’s simply a concert Gertrude attended that she enjoyed, but it might also be a clue to the Unknowing. He’ll have to research.

It isn’t until Wednesday morning that he finds the laptop, hidden along with a key under a floorboard that’s been creaky as long as he’s been working in the Archives. There are scratches on some of the floorboards that Jon’s always hoped aren’t fingernail marks, but several of them are loose and one of them levers up fairly easily, revealing Gertrude’s hidden stash. He digs around a bit but finds nothing else, only the laptop and the key. He sets both on his desk next to the concert program and goes to tell the others.

The laptop is dead, of course. Jon vaguely remembers seeing a charger for it when he was in Gertrude’s apartment, but he didn’t grab it then and it’s far too late to go back now. Luckily, Sasha’s laptop is almost the exact same model, so she simply swaps over the cable and lets it charge while they go over what they’ve found so far. Tim has three statements he thinks might be Stranger ones, but hasn’t looked at yet to be sure; Martin found a third statement involving the Daedalus, which Tim seems positive is a Dark statement, and another statement involving Salesa. Sasha hasn’t found anything in the filing cabinets—yet—but she does have Elias’ schedule, so they’re able to plan their briefings when they know they won’t be observed.

She also kindly hacks into Gertrude’s laptop for him, once it’s charged, and he spends most of Thursday painstakingly going through the files, emails, and Internet history. The latter is by far the most voluminous. It almost makes him laugh to discover the account name “grbookworm1818”—how had he not figured out that was Gertrude, attempting to buy Leitners? She seems to have obtained three, one of them being the copy of The Key of Solomon he found fragments of in the tunnels and the other two being ones he’s never seen or heard of. There are also purchase reports for Archival supplies, airline tickets and travel bookings, and sporadic but suspiciously large orders for petrol, lighter fluid, pesticides, and high-powered torches.

When he comes out of his office at the end of the day, eyes bleary and with no clear plan, he finds a number of dusty boxes scattered about and his assistants attempting to find space for them, but they refuse to tell him where they came from or what they’re for. The next morning, however, Martin and Tim usher him into one of the storage rooms they’ve never really got around to sorting out the second they arrive in the Archives. It’s completely empty, save a table, four chairs, a low set of shelves, a whiteboard, and a corkboard, to which Sasha is tacking a large map of the world. The shelves hold fourteen boxes of the kind designed to hold photographs, a large box of pushpins, three different-colored balls of string, and a laptop cord, ready and waiting.

“We thought we needed a war room,” Tim explains, obviously trying to fight back a grin. “You know, somewhere we can keep everything together and not…get mixed up with the rest of the work we’re doing.”

“Allegedly doing,” Sasha says over her shoulder. “I’m still not sure how much of this job is what was presented to us when we took it and how much is the sort of thing we’re doing right now…can one of you give me a hand here?” she adds as the upper corner of the map flops over onto her head, just above her outstretched hand. Tim comes over to assist.

Jon looks around, surprised and pleased, and opens his bag to pull out Gertrude’s laptop. “Why did you pick this room, out of curiosity?”

Martin pulls the door shut behind him. “The molding.”

“What?” Jon frowns at him.

Tim gives the map a firm stroke to smooth out any air bubbles and presses the pushpin deep into the cork, then turns to give Martin a warm, approving smile. “You know how Elias always seems to know what’s going on in the Archives whenever it’s least convenient for us? Martin realized why the other day.”

“It was an accident,” Martin insists, face turning slightly pink.

“It was brilliant.” Tim claps him on the shoulder. “Those fancy decorations at all the joins in the molding? You know, those elaborate carvings at the top of the fake columns and the corners of all the doorframes and whatnot?”

“Not…I’ve never paid much attention to them.” Jon’s only five foot seven, and since he’s never had to worry too much about clearance or anything like that he’s never really looked too much at anything over his head.

“It’s at the corners of all the shelves, too,” Martin offers. “At least the ones where the statements are stored, the ones that are pretty obviously original to the Institute. You know, with what looks like a medallion in the middle?”

Those Jon has seen. “It’s the Institute seal, isn’t it? Or the Magnus family crest?”

“That’s what I always thought, too, but Martin got a good look at one the other day while he was getting down a statement for me.” Sasha’s eyes sparkle behind her glasses, which instantly puts Jon on edge; these days, anything that excites Sasha is likely to have bad ramifications for them. “It’s an eye.”

“And if he can ‘see through any eye, real or image’…” Tim spreads his hands out invitingly.

Jon sets the laptop down harder than he probably should, eyes wide. “He’s been watching us through the moldings!”

“Yep. It’s anybody’s guess whether or not Gertrude knew about it. I ran it down right after I told them and got a lot of stammering and profanity. Although not from who you might expect,” Martin adds with just the tiniest bit of a smirk. Sasha practically cackles. “Anyway, this room doesn’t have anything like that, we double-checked. So we just…cleaned out all the stuff that was in here and set this up. Give us a bit of breathing room, anyway.”

“At least until Elias comes down to the Archives to figure out why he can’t see us easily,” Tim adds. “But, you know, it’s a head start.”

Jon is six inches shorter than Tim and a full nine inches shorter than Martin, so there’s no way to make it look less than deliberate if he attempts to give either one of them even the most casual kiss on the cheek, but good Lord, he wants to. Instead, he just beams at them both. “God, you’re brilliant. Right, let me get a cup of tea and we can get started.”

“I’m on it.” Martin slips out of the little room.

Sasha smirks at Jon behind Tim’s back, but he does his best to ignore her and focuses on the boxes. “What are these?”

“Tapes. We made copies of all the recordings we’ve done so far of the real statements and sorted them by which fear they belong to.” Sasha taps the lid of one of the boxes and indicates the label on the front. It’s a bright yellow set of concentric circles—no, Jon realizes, it’s a spiral. “Tim did the labels.”

Jon glances up at Tim, both impressed and worried. “You didn’t—”

“Nope.” Tim pulls out a box and shows him the label, simply the word US in a rich, vibrant green. “I don’t know how detailed the ‘image’ has to be, but I’m not risking it. Everything else I tried to do the symbols they described, or…something that made sense. Like antlers for the Hunt.”

“And the ink colors? Is that corresponding to—it’s not the labels we use.”

“No. Those are the colors I’m pretty sure the fears are.”

Martin comes back in with four mugs of tea. Jon takes his with a grateful smile. “Actually, let’s start there. We’ve never really talked about the colors, beyond…”

“What I told Elias,” Tim completes.

“And the little bit you described when you took a look at all of us.”

Tim takes his own mug from Martin, and for some reason Martin’s ears turn slightly pink. Jon’s distracted for a moment until Tim muses, “It’s…weird. Some of them are obvious. Like I said, it’s super obvious the Eye is green and the Stranger is indigo, because I saw that one at the Trophy Room with no other colors interfering. And the Corruption being yellow-green is obvious because of—”

“Me,” Martin finishes.

Tim nods. “And the Spiral being yellow—Christ, that door. The others I…sort of had to guess. Even with…you know…it was hard for me to suss out. The Eye is everywhere. Looking at him is like looking at the shelves in the Archives. The scars are pretty obvious, but not completely.” He frowns. “Like the Hunt and the Slaughter. They’re really close in color. I think the Slaughter’s got a bit more orange in it, the Hunt’s a true red, but especially under the cover of the Beholding, it’s hard to tell the difference. And, actually, sometimes it’s hard to tell the Stranger from the Web at a glance. I mean, until you really start looking at them. The Web is purple, so if it’s not by itself…I mean, it’s a subtle distinction.”

Jon glances uneasily at the carefully-inked purple spiderweb, then turns away. It still bothers him.

They manage to get nearly two hours into their discussion, moving from the colors to the Stranger threads they’ve picked up to what Jon’s gleaned from Gertrude’s laptop. Tim is just jabbing a pin into Nairobi on the map when Sasha stiffens and glances over her shoulder. “Incoming.”

Jon’s about to ask what she’s talking about when the door opens and Elias pokes his head in with a patently false smile. “Knock, knock.”

Tim and Martin make nearly identical noises of frustration. Jon clasps his hands behind his back and gives Elias his best I’m-annoyed-at-being-interrupted-but-you’re-my-superior-so-I’ll-be-polite look, which is only partly put-on. “Can we help you, Elias?”

“I simply wanted to see how you were progressing with finding out about the Unknowing.” Elias looks around the room with interest, and Jon has to work hard to use the tricks Jon Prime has been teaching him to keep his excitement from being obvious. Martin and Tim are right; Elias can’t see into this room. “What have you uncovered so far?”

Jon is immensely proud of his team. They manage to weave an incredibly tight explanation of how much they’ve learned, within limits, that doesn’t let on how much information they were given ahead of time, listing steps without revealing that anything other than chance led them to it. Elias completely acts the part of the mildly interested academic and bureaucrat, but he’s also obviously fishing for information. Martin does a masterful job of acting like he’s falling directly into Elias’ traps while neatly sidestepping them, Tim cracks jokes at the appropriate times to distract him while putting just enough bite into them that Elias will assume they’re simply angry and sarcastic jabs, and Sasha throws a flurry of technical terms into the discussion that are certainly relevant to the topic at hand but serve to make Elias change the tack of his questioning. Like Jon, she knows the value of a well-placed info dump.

There is no redirecting him from the map, however. While he must have known about Gertrude’s travels, at least in a general sense, it’s clear he knew little about her actual movements. Jon masks his reluctance with annoyance and gives Elias a clipped version of his findings.

“Is there any significance to the colors of pins you have used?” he asks, gesturing to the map, where they’ve been marking out Gertrude’s travels. “Or is it random? Or for the…aesthetic?”

“We were trying to do it by what year she took the trip, but we only have so many colors,” Jon answers. “We’ve just switched over. Red are trips that were very definitely expensed back to the Institute, white are ones that were not, and yellow are the ones where we aren’t quite sure.”

“Mm…Gertrude did request a rather high travel budget, comparatively. Of course, if the Archivist job was as simple as it is in other institutions, she would have required no travel whatsoever, but in her capacity to stop the rituals…” Elias seems particularly fascinated by the pin on Beijing. “Why is this one in blue?”

“We just haven’t swapped the pin over yet. That’s one of the last trips we have a record of in Gertrude’s laptop.” Tim tilts his head at Jon. “From, what, six months before she died?”

“Closer to nine. Actually, Martin, can you change that one out, please?” Jon gestures at the box. “It’s a yellow one, I think.”

Martin mumbles an excuse me and switches out the pin. Elias purses his lips thoughtfully. “I don’t recall there being a ritual anywhere near Beijing at the time. What could have sent her there?”

“No idea. What’s bothering me is that we don’t know where she went from there.”

That draws Elias’ attention away from the map and back to Jon. “Surely she came back to London.”

“No.” Jon folds his arms over his chest. “Or at least, not that we can find. As I said, we’re largely tracing these trips from booking confirmations sent to Gertrude’s email address, and she largely purchased one-way tickets. Her last flight purchased out of London was to Paris, and then she booked a flight from Paris to Beijing. From there…I don’t know. I suppose she was buying tickets as she went along. It’s not like her credit card statements list where the flights went, only what airlines she flew and when she purchased the tickets. No hotel accommodations, though. Doubtless she paid cash, or else Gerard paid for those.”

“Gerard?” Elias says with interest. “Gerard Keay? Who told you he was traveling with Gertrude?”

Panic strikes Jon. Most likely it’s something he gleaned from Jon Prime—but on the other hand, did the Primes actually mention that? Flustered, he stammers, “I—someone must have—”

“No, no one told you. You Knew.” Elias sounds delighted.

“I probably just—gleaned it from the statements.” Jon glances at the shelves.

“No, Jon, this is a good thing. You’re getting stronger! It’s one thing to be able to—” Elias gestures vaguely and almost dismissively at Tim and Martin “—glean something from somebody in the room, but just Knowing something like that, that’s a big step.”

He sounds like a proud father, and it makes Jon feel incredibly uncomfortable. He balls his hands into fists, gathering up the cuffs of the sweater he definitely didn’t steal from either Tim or Martin, to stop himself from reaching out to one of them for protection. It’s stupid. Elias won’t hurt him, not here, not now; he needs him too much. He knows he’s safe. It just feels…dangerous, and he wants them to make him feel safer. Rather than risk Elias knowing how much he depends on them and doing something about it, he grips the sweater.

Elias practically beams at him. “It seems to me your next step should be obvious.”

“It should?”

“You should start retracing her steps. Are her notes from this trip on there?”

“Ah—no.”

“Then you’ll need to go where she was. Find out where she stayed, what she did.” Elias clasps his hands behind his back. “Where she went from there. How soon do you think you can leave?”

Jon blinks. This is going a bit faster than he expected. He turns to Tim and Martin. “Do you two have a passport?”

Martin looks a bit stunned. “N-no, I’ve never—never needed one?”

“Mine’s still in good standing,” Tim answers. “But if Martin needs one, that’d be—what, four weeks, at a minimum?”

“Jon, I asked when you would be able to leave,” Elias says, mildly enough but with a bit of steel behind it. “Your assistants need to stay here. We do need to get all of this straightened out still, and there’s research that needs to be done from here. You can relay whatever information you find back to the Archives, and I’m sure they can assist you if needed, but really, the Institute can’t spare the funds to reimburse more than one of you for an extended trip.”

Jon is pretty sure that’s a lie, but he knows Elias won’t reimburse them, and he also knows that neither Tim nor Martin can actually afford to pay their own way to come along, not with the house payments and Martin’s mother’s medical bills. He sighs heavily and fights to maintain eye contact with Elias. “I can get a flight out Sunday night or Monday morning.”

“Monday will be fine,” Elias says without batting an eyelash. Jon knows Sunday, statistically speaking, is the most expensive day to fly, so anything to save the Institute a few pence, he supposes. “Well, it seems you’ve all done marvelously well. I think you all deserve to take a half-day today. With pay. Finish up what you need to do here, and you can leave at twelve. Jon, do keep me appraised of your flight information.” He flashes them an absolutely terrifying smile, turns on his heel, and leaves the room.

The second the door shuts behind him, Jon sags, bracing himself against the table. “God.”

Sasha collapses into a chair, looking absolutely wiped out. “Tell me about it.”

“Hold on.” Martin picks up Jon’s mug, then Sasha’s, and slips out of the room.

Tim tentatively reaches out and touches Jon’s arm. “Sit down before you fall down. You look almost as bad as she does.”

“I’m all right.” Jon sits down anyway, grateful for Tim’s concern.

A phone buzzes from somewhere; Jon instinctively reaches for his pocket before remembering that he hasn’t replaced it yet. He spent longer than he should have trying to resurrect his shattered phone after Martin silently handed him its remains, but finally had to give up. “Is that yours, Tim?”

“No, I think it’s Martin’s.”

With that rare sort of timing that almost never happens, Martin comes back in, bearing two brimming mugs of tea; he hands one to Sasha, then one to Jon. He has to bend over to do it, and Jon brushes a quick kiss against his cheek as it comes past before he loses his nerve, then tries to play it off like he didn’t notice he did it. “Your phone went off.”

Martin’s ears are pink, and he goes to pick up his phone rather quickly. He actually snorts with laughter and shakes his head, a slightly amused smile on his face as he taps out a reply.

“Everything okay?” Tim asks with a raised eyebrow.

“Yeah, it’s from Melanie. Just says ‘Jet lag sucks balls.’ I’m guessing she’s back in town.” Martin slips his phone into his pocket and sighs. “What do we do now?”

“Unfortunately,” Jon mutters, “I think we do what Elias said. Finish up what we’re doing here, and leave early.” He looks over at Sasha. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” Sasha manages a smile that even Jon can tell is fake, then drops it immediately and sighs. “I was trying to keep on top of how much he knew, or thought we knew. It’s a weird sort of balancing act…thing. Like keeping just the right tension on a rope.”

“Sasha.” Martin sounds upset. “You were reading his mind?”

“Just—skimming the surface,” Sasha protests.

Jon sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “You have to stop doing that. I know it’s tempting. God knows I know that. But you can’t just—and you knew he was coming. Was that intentional?”

“Sort of. It’s not like I’m constantly trying to read his mind or whatever, but…I don’t know. I just got a sense of…something.”

“All right, Gwen Stacey,” Tim says with a smirk. “Jon’s right, though, you’ve got to quit feeding it or it’s going to start feeding on you.”

Sasha sighs heavily. “I’m…trying to try.”

“Well, it’s a start.” Jon takes a sip of tea.

They get the room straightened up, then head back into the Archives. Martin keeps periodically replying to text messages on his phone, but the others don’t ask. It’s not until Jon, having brought his laptop out to join the others, is finalizing his booking that he frowns at his screen and looks up at the others. “Melanie wants to know if the rest of you’d like to join us for lunch, seeing as we’ve got the afternoon off and everything.”

Jon hesitates. On the one hand, he’d like to decline; he and Melanie tend to prick at each other whenever they interact, despite his best intentions. On the other hand, he admittedly wants to spend as much time with Tim and Martin as he can before he leaves on this trip. Heaven knows how long he’ll be gone and he’ll miss them, he knows that.

“If I’m included in that,” he says at last, “I’d be honored.”

They lock up at twelve and head to the pub Jon has begun to think of as “theirs”, even though they don’t go often. It’s cool and overcast, and there are definite signs it rained earlier, most notably the worms on the sidewalk. Jon notices Martin carefully avoiding treading on them and reaches over to take his hand comfortingly just as Tim throws his arm around his shoulders from the other side. It makes Sasha laugh, which makes them laugh, too, and at least gets Martin to stop watching his feet.

Pat waves when they come in and gestures to one of the tables, and Martin steps forward with a warm smile as Melanie King rises from a chair and meets him with a hug that would probably make Jon jealous if he didn’t know Martin was gay, and also if he had any right to be jealous. “God, it is…surprisingly good to see you.”

Martin huffs a laugh. “I’m not sure how to take that.”

Melanie actually laughs and gives Martin a friendly punch on the arm. Martin laughs in earnest as he reels back in an exaggerated manner, rubbing at his arm. “Ow! Hey, I need that!”

“Sure.” Melanie turns and offers Sasha a smile and her hand. “Sasha, good to see you.”

“Good to see you, too.” Sasha shakes her hand, then turns slightly. “Sorry, don’t think we’ve met.”

Jon turns, too, and his brain pulls up short. She’s changed up her hairstyle and shed her glasses, there’s a tattoo peeking out from under the collar of her t-shirt, and he’s pretty sure there are a couple additional holes in her ears, but the smile is unmistakable to someone who’s spent six years running from it.

“Georgie,” he stammers.

Georgie Barker’s smile gets a bit more uncertain, but there’s at least no hostility in her eyes. “Jon, hello. I didn’t expect to see you.”

“I, ah—” Jon gestures vaguely, either at Martin or at Melanie, he’s not sure which.

Melanie shrugs. “I did say the invitation was open to everyone. Kind of didn’t expect you to accept, to be honest, but—”

“Frankly, it’s been a shit month and we’re an all-or-nothing deal right now,” Martin says. He looks slightly quizzical and slightly worried as he eyes Georgie. “I—did I talk to you on the phone once?”

“Right, introductions. Georgie Barker, Martin Blackwood, Sasha James, and—” Melanie waves at Tim. “I actually haven’t got a clue who you are.”

“There are some who call me….Tim?” Tim quips with an arch of the eyebrows.

It’s the right thing to say to diffuse the tension, especially as Melanie and Martin both let out exaggerated groans as Georgie, who consumed every bit of media even vaguely associated with Arthurian legend during a time when she was obsessed enough to qualify as a minor expert on the subject, bursts into laughter. The six of them arrange themselves around the table as Pat brings over a tray of pints, then takes their food orders and heads off to get them together.

Martin takes a sip of his pint and evidently starts to speak three times before saying in a carefully neutral voice, “I hope you had a…successful trip.”

Melanie lifts an eyebrow at him. “You were a lot less cagey before. Is it them?”

“No, I’m a bit tired,” Martin says. “Like I said, it’s been…a lot.” He hesitates, glancing at Georgie for a brief second, then evidently gives up. “Remember how I said we all had…weird stuff we could do? My thing is that I can make people answer questions when I ask them. And if I’m tired or not really paying attention, sometimes I do it without meaning to, and that’s not fair to you.”

“I don’t believe you.” Melanie folds her arms over her chest. “Prove it.”

Martin hesitates. “Okay, um…what made you so upset when I asked if you wanted to come to lunch with me when we met?”

“If you weren’t a bloke, you’d be exactly my type and I had just a second where I wondered if I was actually a lesbian,” Melanie answers automatically, then blinks. “Fuck.”

Martin’s face catches fire. Tim grins and winks. “That just proves you’ve got taste.”

“Yeah, well, still.” Melanie presses her lips tightly together. “S’pose I can’t get too mad. I did tell you to prove it. Not your fault I didn’t actually expect it to work.” She snorts. “Successful? Yeah, I guess. I found out what I went to find out. And I didn’t die, so…promise kept?” She shrugs. “I owe you the whole story, but maybe not here.”

“Come by the Institute on Monday,” Sasha offers. “We can get your statement—oh, right.” She looks at Jon. “That okay with you?”

“No, that’s fine. Ah, take your pick on who you want to tell it to,” Jon says to Melanie, indicating the other three. “I promise you don’t have to deal with me.”

“I don’t mind all that much,” Melanie says with a sideways glance at Georgie. “You’re not…actually that bad to talk to. At least you’re trying not to be a prick.”

Georgie turns a laugh into a cough. Jon studiously avoids looking at her. “Thank you, I think, but I didn’t mean that in a ‘you can choose to talk to someone else’ way. I meant that as in ‘I’m leaving on a business trip Monday morning, so I won’t even be there.’”

“A business trip—for an Archivist? What, are you going to the Library of Alexandria or something?”

“No, the last one blew that up,” Tim says under his breath.

Jon kicks Tim under the table. “Beijing. My…predecessor traveled there some time before her death, but she didn’t leave any notes behind on what she may have learned there. So, lucky me, I get to follow behind her and try to pick up a three-year-old trail.”

“You can’t tell me the idea of piecing together something like that doesn’t appeal to you,” Georgie says, sounding amused. “What’s your—hang on, what was it called—your PFX count these days?”

“I haven’t—yes, all right, I suppose the idea of the hunt’s not altogether unwelcome,” Jon admits. “I just…would really rather not be doing it right now. For God’s sake, I only just got back from my last—unexpected absence.”

Martin’s hand tightens on his glass. Tim takes a huge swallow of his. Georgie looks back and forth between the two of them, then frowns at Jon. “So why are you leaving so quickly? If it’s been three years, it’s not like the clues are going anywhere.”

“Yes, but the situation is…somewhat time-sensitive.”

“Critical,” Martin supplies.

“Life-or-death, you might say,” Tim offers.

Georgie’s frown deepens. “You’re an Archivist. Which I’m still wrapping my brain around, by the way. You were a researcher, Jon. I know you don’t just have a degree in library science lying around.”

“No,” Jon says with a sigh. “The Archives at the Magnus Institute are…interesting, let’s put it that way. Library training in the actual Archivist is surprisingly less important than you might think. Besides, we have Martin, and what he doesn’t know about organizing and categorizing isn’t worth knowing.”

“Christ.” Martin buries his face one hand. Both Sasha and Melanie snicker at him. If the two of them are going to be friends, Jon thinks, God help them all.

Only Georgie can manage to frown while simultaneously arching an eyebrow in a knowing fashion. Jon tries very hard to pretend he doesn’t understand what she thinks she knows. “So you have a degree in library science.”

“No,” Martin says, voice still muffled by his palm. “I don’t have a degree. But I worked in the library at the Institute for ten years before I got assigned to the Archives, so I kind of know what I’m doing.”

“Right. Still. What do you have to do, as an Archivist, in China, that is life or death?”

Protect my team, Jon wants to say but doesn’t. The ritual, according to the Primes, can’t succeed; Orsinov’s Unknowing will collapse on itself. They’re probably going to try to stop it anyway, because he doesn’t doubt that Orsinov will survive the ritual’s failure and try again, and they can’t let anyone else fall prey to that. This world tour, retracing Gertrude’s steps, won’t give them any information to help them with that. But Elias doesn’t know they know that, and Jon can’t risk what he might do to the people he loves if he doesn’t obey orders.

“It’s…a long story,” he tries.

Georgie shrugs. “I’ve done my recordings for the week and I’ve got plenty of time for editing. And I thought you got off early today.”

Pat turns up then with everyone’s lunch. Jon waits until he heads back behind the bar to say, “I don’t…know where to begin, honestly. Trust me when I say it’s all pretty unbelievable.”

“You’re an archivist. We left believable behind a while ago.”

“Ha, ha.” Jon gives Georgie his best glare. As usual, she sticks her tongue out at him and rolls her hand for him to continue. “I—really, I don’t know where to—”

“Jon.” Martin sets down his glass, reaches over, and covers Jon’s hand with his own. Jon meets his eyes instinctively. “In thirty words or less, what is the story behind this trip?”

“There are monsters in the world, tied to different fears,” Jon answers immediately. “They’re trying to reshape the world in their own image and basically kickstart the Apocalypse. We’re trying to stop them.”

Martin sits back, looking miserable, and it’s only then Jon registers the wash of static receding from his mind. “Sorry, Jon. I really should have asked first.”

Jon grabs Martin’s hand before he can pull it away and squeezes. “I’d have sat here dithering to the end of time if you hadn’t. Thank you, Martin.”

Martin manages a tentative smile. Georgie’s frown has eased back a little. “Huh. How many of these things are there?”

“Monsters? Or rituals?” Jon blinks at Georgie. “You believe me?”

“Well, yeah.” Georgie waves a hand as if to say duh. “It’s not like I didn’t know there are monsters in the world.”

Sasha’s hand tightens on her fork, and she pushes back from the table abruptly. “Be right back. I—I need a minute.” She strides purposefully for the front door.

“Sasha, don’t—” Jon begins to call after her, but too late; she’s out the door.

“Did I say something wrong?” Georgie looks concerned.

Martin sighs heavily. “I’m going to go out on a limb and assume you’ve seen…monsters before.”

“Yeah? What’s that got to do with anything?” Georgie asks with a deepening frown.

“Oh…damn.” Jon looks at Georgie, and now he can feel it, too—the static building behind his eyes, an almost imperceptible itch beneath his skin. This shouldn’t be happening, he’s taken two statements already this week, first Michael’s and then Tim and Martin’s, and even if Sasha siphoned off most of that one…he can’t possibly need one this badly, not now. But it’s not need, it’s want, it’s a desire at this point, so he can fight it…

“The Institute serves one of those fear things we’re talking about,” Tim tells her, his voice subdued. “In our case, it’s about knowledge and secrets and…hidden information and stuff like that. We usually just call it the Eye, it’s quicker than most of the other names. But one of the ways it sort of feeds itself is with other people’s stories of their spooky encounters. Usually with something touched by one of the other beings.”

“You’ve got a story to tell,” Martin explains. “The Eye wants it. And Sasha and Jon can both…” He hesitates, looking at Jon. “Sense it?”

“Better than saying ‘smell it,’ I suppose,” Jon says softly. He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, forcing the static back.

Georgie blinks. “I mean…I’ll tell you about it. If you want.”

“That…would probably not be a good idea. I can’t—we can’t take but so many statements in any given period of time.” Jon opens his eyes, feeling a bit calmer. “Not without wearing ourselves out, or hurting ourselves. And I’ve had two already this week.”

“And we’ve had one each,” Tim adds, gesturing to himself and Martin. “Right? You just read—”

“Statement of Manuela Dominguez, regarding her unconventional religious beliefs and their intersection with her project aboard the space station Daedalus,” Martin recites. “And you read yours yesterday, it was—”

“Not, as it turns out, a Stranger statement. The Web. Statement of Darren Harlow, regarding a failed psychology experiment at the University of Surrey.” Tim rubs his forehead and sighs. “Actually, I need to talk to you two about that one. We may have a problem.”

Melanie looks back and forth between the two of them, blinking. Jon sighs, too. “Anyway, yes, it’s…there’s a lot. The ritual we’re trying to stop right now is the Stranger’s. It’s—kind of the opposite of the Eye? The ritual’s called the Unknowing. We’re still piecing together what it’s all about, but anyway, that’s what I’m about to go haring off around the world about. Which I would really rather not do, but I don’t have much of a choice. Our boss made that perfectly clear.” He can’t keep the bitterness out of his voice.

Sasha comes back in, looking much calmer, and slips back into her seat with an apology. Melanie looks at Tim. “So what about you, then? If he can ask questions and make people answer, and they can tell when someone’s got a story—”

“It’s not quite that. It’s more—” Sasha spreads out her hands. “Less stories and more secrets. Things people haven’t told. At least, that’s how it is for me. The ones who come to make statements and will talk to anyone, they’re not as interesting to me. It’s the ones who just…don’t want to talk about it, I guess. Or choose not to. Sometimes I know things without meaning to, but I’m trying to throttle that back. Jon is more…all of it.”

Jon nods. “I have the—the question thing, too. And the knowing, although it’s not just hidden things, it’s facts or important information. It’s not as bad as it could be, but it’s getting worse. On top of that, there’s the compulsion to read out the statements, and…it’s just a lot.”

“None of which actually answers my question,” Melanie says. “What did you get out of all this?”

“Oh. I can…look at people, or things, and see if they’ve had anything to do with one of the fear…things,” Tim says. “They glow different colors.”

“You can see auras,” Georgie supplies.

“Not—exactly. I mean, I can’t say ‘oh, you have a calm personality’ or ‘you’re a very troubled person’ or anything like that. But if you’ve bumped into one of the powers, if I concentrate, I can see where it marked you and…usually figure out from there.”

Georgie folds her hands on the table and meets his eye. “What color is mine, then? Or am I making it up?”

Tim hesitates, then takes a deep breath. His eyes go slightly unfocused, and Jon feels the faint crackle of static—not quite the same as when Martin asks questions or Sasha blurts out a secret, but close, like the dial on a disused radio station turned a single click in a different direction. After a moment, Tim’s shoulders relax and he blinks. “White. Bright white. The one you’ve met is Terminus. The End.” He hesitates. “Death. Am I right?”

There’s a short pause before Georgie looks at Jon and says, “You’ve got a good bunch here.”

Jon looks at both Tim and Martin and says, softly, “I know.”

#ollie writes fanfic #leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall)#tma #the magnus archives #jonmartim #emotional manipulation tw #implied blackmail tw #slight misuse of beholding powers

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bubonickitten · 4 years

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TMA fic: where there’s a will, we make a way

New chapter is up on AO3 here!

Summary: Jon goes back to before the world ended and tries to forge a different path.

Previous chapter: AO3 // tumblr

Chapter 11 full text & content warnings below the cut.

CWs for Chapter 11: mild self-harm (brief instance of wrist banging/bruising to distract from intrusive thoughts; mention of scratching/skin picking); some Buried-related claustrophobic memories; mentions of Jon starving himself (wrt to consuming statements, but worth mentioning for anyone who needs content warnings related to eating disorders, restrictive diets, etc.; there will be more going forward of Jon being hungry and restricting himself, and I'll keep warning for it, especially in chapters where it features heavily). SPOILERS through S5.

Chapter 11: Reaching Out

The tunnels are as ominous as they’ve always been, but at this point, Jon just might be growing accustomed to them. The creeping fear he’s always felt down here has faded to the background – an ambient sense of dread. It's almost tolerable, or at least less oppressive than the omnipresent sense of being watched that he’s long since accepted as his normal.

Here, he can compose his letter to Martin without the risk of Jonah Seeing exactly what Jon’s eyes see.

After the Watcher’s Crown, Jonah did not Watch through Jon’s eyes anymore. Whether that was because Jon was stronger than Jonah at that point or because Jonah did not bother to try, Jon doesn’t Know. Once the ritual was completed, Jonah no longer had any stake in Jon’s trajectory, no need to monitor his progress or ensure his survival. Moreover, Jonah’s inflated ego never allowed for the possibility that Jon could pose a threat to his reign. His Archivist – his Archive – had no further interest to him except as a source of entertainment, and he didn’t need to See through Jon’s eyes in order to behold the show. He could See all of creation from the Panopticon.

Jon is stronger now than he was the last time he was here, but he’s still nowhere near as powerful as he was during the apocalypse. He’s tried to Know how he measures up against Jonah now, but the Beholding seems intent on withholding that knowledge from him. Last time he made an attempt, the Eye treated him to a litany of statistics about the interactions between the human body and the venom of various species of spider.

Sometimes Jon thinks that if the Beholding is sentient, it might just be the pettiest of the Dread Powers.

In any case, Jonah Magnus is still as much of a gnawing question mark as he’s always been. It’s safest to assume that he has the advantage until proven otherwise – and Jon will take the tunnels over Jonah’s voyeurism any day, no matter how harrowing they may be. Even if he has to be down here alone – which he is.

Georgie is with Melanie, and Jon is reluctant to ask Basira for any favors right now. He wonders again if this is how Martin felt, living in the Archives, spending sleepless nights with himself and the scratching of a pen as his only companions. Just like Jon, Martin was never very good company for himself, especially back then – and back now. He was primed for the Lonely long before he started working at the Institute.

Speaking of which…

Jon sighs, puts his pen down, and begins to read through what he’s written.

I’m sorry I left you.

…now I’m here, trying to explain things –

– had changed since he left –

– it seemed he was alone –

– as far as I could tell, all alone in the world, and rather unhappy about the fact.

I will admit to taking a dislike to the man when I first met him – but –

– I’d say that – was a foolish act of past me.

Jon is still worried about starting the letter like this, but this is a point in time not too far removed from his early mistreatment of Martin. Jon had made his apologies and explanations at length in his future, but this version of Martin hasn’t experienced that yet. Jon can’t just jump into showing affection before taking accountability for his past behavior – recent past, from the perspective of this timeline.

He can only hope that Martin will read through to the end, and that Jon’s intention – his sincerity – will be understood.

Soon I was giving my account as a full confession –

– trying my best to fit this into a relatively coherent narrative.

It’s plenty of things I’ve done I couldn’t explain to you. I mean, I’m constantly – looking back at my past self and thinking, what an idiot. How the hell could he have done such an obviously stupid thing? How was I surprised it went so badly? What a relief I’m now so much older and wiser.

I’ve never really been the social type – I’ve always just been happier alone. Well, maybe happier isn’t quite the right word. I did get a bit lonely sometimes. I’d hear laughter coming from other rooms in my building, or see a group of friends talking in the sun outside, and maybe I’d wish I had something like that, but it never really bothered me – I didn’t need another people and they certainly didn’t need me.

Jon looks down at the words with a dissatisfied scowl. Does this come off as too self-centered? As more as an excuse than an explanation? This would be so much easier if he could just say what he means. Then again, Jon’s always struggled with discussing emotional matters, hasn't he? He can’t blame it all on the Archive.

These thoughts, these feelings were always in my mind – until – I realized the deeper truth of it all.

I tried to put it into words, but without any real success. Even here, with the time to compose it properly, I’m not sure I’ve caught the essence of what I felt –

– I had a look through my library, and couldn’t find anything that matched it –

– those are musings for poets, among whom I do not number –

– it’s all very well to say ‘write down what you saw,’ but what if you don’t have the words?

I suppose I’ll just have to try.

I’ve always been more comfortable alone –

– had few friends – reluctant to make the sort of connections that might lead to –

– the prospect of being genuinely loved –

– fully and completely known –

– having people be genuinely lovely to me, I didn’t know what to do with those feelings –

– I could never bring myself to try. It felt more comfortable, more familiar, to be alone.

It is the fear of being watched, and judged, and having all your secrets known.

Ironic, in some ways –

– being what I am –

– an Archivist pleading for knowledge –

– to feed the sick voyeur that lurks in this place.

Eventually, I opened my eyes –

– feeling absurd about how terrified I was about being seen –

– kicking myself for having been so stupid –

– it wasn’t natural for people to live in isolation – we were creatures of community by nature.

Soon enough, I could no longer fool myself –

– the man I loved –

– who was by all accounts such a kind and gentle soul –

– when I – saw him standing there waiting for me – I don’t think I’ve ever been happier than in that moment.

He spoke words I thought existed only in my heart, and I loved him as the soil loves the rain –

– and it seemed he felt the same way –

– and together it seemed like we would get past our pain.

Everything about being with him felt so natural that when he told me he loved me, it only came as a surprise to realize that we hadn’t said it already.

…to say – “I love you” – honestly it’s one of the few decisions I’ve ever made that I completely understand.

It’s… woefully inadequate. Too devoid of context. Unlikely to reach Martin through the fog. But maybe it will be enough to at least convince him to talk to Jon. To keep the Lonely at bay, at least for now.

After leaving the hospital, the next thing that is properly clear in my mind is –

– I need him to be okay.

I couldn’t see him or hear him –

– I didn’t even get a chance to speak to him – asked what had happened, he was just gone. And I was alone again.

I wanted to say something reassuring, to reach out and let him know I was still there –

– I wanted to act, to help, to do something, but – I felt helpless to do anything but watch as events progressed.

I think he might be part of something really awful, and I don’t know how to make him see that – of course I did worry. I knew that, secretly, he was as well.

I know how that sounds – but – I ask you to read on.

For a split second, the memory of the ritual flits through his mind – Apologies for the deception, but I wanted to make sure you started reading … – and Jon brings his wrist down on the side of his chair, hard. The pain jolts him out of the recollection and brings him back to the present. He watches halfheartedly as the discoloration fades before his eyes, frustration with his overreaction itching in the back of his mind. Stupid.

With a longsuffering sigh, he rereads the previous section again. The borrowed words sound patronizing, without the qualifying context he wishes he could provide more explicitly. He isn’t just nitpicking – it’s crucial that Martin knows that Jon isn’t underestimating him, despite a history of doing exactly that for far too long.

The first time around, he trusted Martin – more than he trusted anyone, including (perhaps especially) himself – and even knowing what he knows now, he doesn’t regret it. He heard the tapes.

“But if I could just explain,” Martin had said.

“And how do you think Jon’s going to react to that explanation, hm?” Peter had replied. “You think he’ll accept it calmly? Come through with a well-considered, rational response?”

“That’s not fair.”

“Or would he assume he knows better than you and do something rash?”

“I don’t like being manipulated.”

“That’s fair. But I’m not wrong.”

“No.”

In Jon’s original timeline, he had proven Peter wrong. He had trusted Martin, respected his boundaries, followed his lead. This time, though… Jon won’t be able to demonstrate that with non-interference, and not being able to use his own words doesn’t help him explain that this isn’t just another instance of Jon just assuming he knows better than everyone else, that he actually does have special knowledge, and – well, truthfulness aside, that sounds condescending, too, doesn’t it?

He doesn’t blame Martin for agreeing with Peter. For a significant portion of Jon’s life, it would have been a fair assessment. He didn’t trust people. He didn’t trust himself, either – not really – but at least he knew his own intentions. That bone-deep fear of being manipulated, of being rejected, of not having control… it never played well with the concept of trust.

And when they first started working together, Jon made no secret of his knee-jerk judgment of Martin as being incompetent, clumsy, and unreliable. In retrospect, he couldn’t have been more wrong – and he knows now that he was only seeing what he wanted to see, projecting his own insecurities and fear of failure onto Martin to distract from his own floundering.

After learning that Martin had lied on his CV, Jon readjusted his initial opinions. He was impressed. Martin was remarkably capable for someone with no prior qualifications, no experience, no degree. What he lacked in experience he more than made up for in effort. He was clever, and resolute, and dependable, and genuine, and… and god, wasn’t Jon a fool for taking so long to notice? And then for never saying as much until it was almost too late?

This version of Martin hasn’t heard that apology just yet – or the corollary apology for waiting so long to apologize. Georgie had told him years ago that he needed to use his words, that people needed to hear directly that they were acknowledged and appreciated. Jon himself struggled with reading between the lines. Just because he had low tolerance for receiving direct praise – despite craving it deeply – didn’t mean that other people had the same hangups.

He’s since taken that advice to heart, but he should have done sooner. Georgie had been right about a lot of things.

Jon did eventually say as much and more, during those brief few weeks they had in the safehouse. Peter hadn’t been all wrong when he questioned how much they really knew one another. Between Jon’s early irascibility and the distance he felt obligated to keep given their employee/boss relationship; between preventing apocalypses and being in such constant life-or-death peril that it started to feel normal, so normal that Jon didn’t know what to do with himself when he wasn’t being chased or held captive; between the coma, and descending into inhumanity, and the Lonely… they hadn’t had a chance to get to know each other outside of a crisis situation.

Jon didn’t even know himself anymore. He wondered if he ever had.

For the first time, they finally had the time and space to remedy that. Both of them were changed and would never be the same, but they had each other. They were both willing to put in the effort, to learn how to communicate and accommodate and navigate boundaries, despite neither having much experience with a healthy relationship. And for a little while, it had seemed that they could both learn how to be present in the world again – starting with their own microcosm, one day at a time, encouraging one another to be more patient and kind with themselves.

It wasn’t fair, how abruptly that hesitant, hopeful attempt was stolen from them. Jon didn’t feel like he deserved comfort and contentment – he still doesn’t – but Martin… Martin deserved – deserves – to be safe and cared for and loved. Martin deserves to be happy.

Jon desperately wants to help him See that.

Don’t… misunderstand me, please –

– I trusted his instincts almost as much as I trusted my own.

More than I trusted my own, Jon amends in his head – but the Archive isn’t cooperating.

But I knew that I – knew the future –

– the promise of secret knowledge, of seeing something that no one else was privy to –

– there was – a lot – we were missing.

Please. All I ask is that I be allowed –

– a chance to express myself –

– said something about knowledge being a good defense here –

– so here I am, pouring out my lunatic story on paper in the hopes that you might eventually read it.

Statement of Georgina Barker regarding –

– travel through time.

Jon still has to ask Georgie if she can explain the situation to Martin, but he doesn’t think she’ll mind. It won’t be as comprehensive as Jon wishes it could be – he still struggles with explaining the fine details of the apocalypse to the others given his current limitations – but he’s done his best, and he can trust Georgie to do the same.

Some fears can only be endured for so long. I remember every second of that fall. Like it was happening in slow motion. I was certain I was about to watch him fall like I had.

That knowledge I had gained – could finally be put to use.

I shall do my best to explain, and hope that any revelations contained here in me sway you from the path you have started upon.

I wanted to tell him to stop, to warn him – because I knew –

– the Extinction – while I have seen evidence of its influence in other powers –

– there was no sign of – imminent arrival – I resolved –

– its emergence as a true power of its own –

– wasn’t a threat.

Whatever he was planning –

– to try and rescue those trapped –

– trying to protect me –

– defending the world from the darkness…

…I know – to talk to other people about it –

– desperately wishing for another human being to talk to –

– to take too much comfort in – people – would go quite strongly against the spirit of the experiment – had to really feel alone. That at least didn’t take too long to set in.

All that remained was the fog – could wander there for years, and never meet another – utterly forsaken – there seemed to be no end to it.

But it didn’t need to be forever, did it?

“This too shall pass.”

I tried to explain but all I could manage to get through the shaking sobs was, “I love you.”

By then it looked like he was on the verge of tears,

Jon stops reading for a moment, realizing that, aptly enough, he’s on the verge of tears right now. He swallows them back and continues.

By then it looked like he was on the verge of tears, but I couldn’t leave it alone – just couldn’t let it go.

I have tried to write it down, to put it into terms and words you could understand. And now I stare at it and not a word of it is even enough to fully describe the fact that –

I cannot lose him.

I – cared deeply about his well-being.

I know he didn’t deserve what happened to him.

He deserved to –

– to be – beloved –

– cared for – trusted –

– being wanted and appreciated –

– being genuinely loved –

– no matter how wrong it might feel –

– when you’re at your lowest point, when you’re your most emotionally vulnerable.

I need him to be okay –

– and the world is so much better for –

– the easy, charming man I’d fall in love with –

– being in it.

Please. All I ask is that I be allowed to –

– talk to you, before it all comes to an end –

– and I swear to you that –

– if you decide to do it – if –

– you want to be alone – and –

– didn’t say much to me after that –

– I made sure to keep – distance.

There’s so much more Jon wishes he could say; so much that he wishes he could say in his own voice, rather than the stolen words of survivors recounting the most traumatic moments of their lives. It still feels perverse, to use their statements like this. It might not be as bad as feeding directly on a victim, but it still falls on a spectrum of appropriating the torment of others for his own use.

At the end of the day, it really doesn’t feel all that different from Jonah’s brand of dehumanization. It’s just one more way Jon is complicit in the evil that thrives in this place –

“Hey,” comes Georgie’s voice from just a few yards away. Jon startles, sending his pen clattering to the floor. He had been so lost in his own thoughts, he hadn’t even heard her descending the ladder. “Sorry,” she says with a wince. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

Retrieving the fallen pen, Jon waves the apology off – it’s okay – and Georgie comes to sit next to him.

“Finished with your letter?”

“…I’m vague on the details,” he says. “I have to be.”

“Want me to take a look?”

Jon nods; he had been planning on asking her to read it through. Even if it was in his own words, he would likely run it by her. He trusts Georgie’s judgment regarding relationship matters far more than he trusts his own, and he knows she’ll be straightforward with him if he’s said something… well, stupid. He’s gotten better at communicating, but that doesn’t mean his tendency to put his foot in his mouth has disappeared entirely.

He jiggles his leg restlessly as she reads, increasingly self-conscious the longer the silence goes on. He resists scratching at his hands – Georgie is sure to reprimand him if he starts that up again. It isn’t that she has a problem with his fidgeting; she was actually one of the first people in his life to tolerate it. Encouraged it, even. She pointed out quite bluntly once that whenever Jon tried to force himself to sit still, his restless energy didn’t go away, it just came out as waspishness instead.

But she had a rule: no self-harm, no matter how mild. Personally, he didn’t categorize the scratching as self-harm, but she was firm about it. Lately, the scratching is limited mostly to his burned hand, and he’s tried explaining to her that it doesn’t even hurt – the scar tissue doesn’t register much sensation anymore – but she won’t hear it. For the past couple weeks, whenever she catches him at it, she gives him a look until he stops.

“I think it’s good,” Georgie says. “But…”

Jon tenses, but then he glimpses Georgie’s playful grin.

“It’s nothing bad! It’s just… well…”

He can hear the spark of mischief in her tone and somehow that makes him more apprehensive than the prospect of criticism.

“See, you say you’re not a poet,” she says, pointing at the letter, “but this part here…”

He spoke words I thought existed only in my heart, and I loved him as the soil loves the rain –

– and it seemed he felt the same way –

– and together it seemed like we would get past our pain.

“You go and use a sappy metaphor – and I know,” she says, seeing him ready to protest, “they’re not your words and you’re using what you have available.”

Yes, he wants to say, and my vast library comprised solely of people’s retellings of their supernatural trauma isn’t exactly forthcoming with declarations of love, Georgina.

“But,” she says, goading now, “then you go and rhyme the first and last lines.”

Jon squints at the letter, and…

Fuck. It does rhyme.

He moves to snatch the paper away and Georgie stands and holds it out of reach, dancing backwards.

“No, nope, absolutely not,” she says, laughing. “Jonathan Sims, I refuse to let you change it. You’re leaving it exactly as is.”

“…being used against me in a cruel joke,” he huffs, glowering at her – but her laugh has always been infectious, and he can’t fight it as his lips twitch into a smile.

She hands the letter back to him after a minute, still grinning when she takes her seat again.

“I’m teasing you. You can change it if you want, but I think it’s adorable and you should leave it. Besides, Martin’s a poet, isn’t he? He might get a kick out of it.”

Honestly, it doesn’t bother him enough to rewrite the entire thing. And if there’s a chance of it coaxing a smile out of Martin…

“On a more serious note – this part here, ‘statement of Georgina Barker’ – I’m assuming you want me to try to convince him that you actually are a time traveler here to stop the apocalypse?” Jon nods. “Probably easier than trying to write it all out. I don’t mind, but are you sure he’ll listen to me?”

Jon shrugs. He has the same worry, but…

“As for myself, I must cling to –”

“– that most insidious of emotions: hope.”

“Somehow both unexpectedly sappy and predictably ominous,” she replies, “but I’ll take it. Better than despair, anyway.”

Despite the light teasing, the smile she flashes is genuine. Fleeting, though, as she continues.

“Oh, and one more thing – that one bit, capital-E Extinction? One, don’t like the sound of that, and two – should I know what that is? Melanie hasn’t mentioned anything like that before.”

“I’m sorry – it won’t let me say the words,” Jon says with a frustrated sigh.

“Will Martin know what it means, though?” Jon nods. With any luck, Martin can be persuaded to fill the others in on it. “Good enough.”

She watches him for a few moments as he chews at his thumbnail, leg still shaking, staring at the floor.

“Something’s on your mind.”

Jon sighs and closes his eyes.

“I could feel hunger gnawing at me.”

“You still haven’t had a statement?” Georgie says, frowning at him.

“Something he could salvage from the whole situation,” he mutters, not looking up at her. “Just a way of getting some control over his life, you know?”

“Jon, you can’t just starve yourself –”

“Running was pointless,” he agrees sullenly. “To try to escape from my task would only serve to fulfill another. I finally understood what I needed to do –”

“– some hungers are too strong to be denied –”

“– you have to feed it – or it will feed on you.”

“So why haven’t you?”

“Even as I did so, in the back of my mind I hated myself –”

“– to feed the sick voyeur that lurks in this place.”

“I’m not saying you should… go hunting, or whatever you want to call it. This is an archive, there are plenty of statements lying around.”

“…you’ve got all this… all these people’s experiences listened to and filed away.”

“Right. They’re already given. They can’t be taken back. You’re not going out and hurting people, you’re just… reading what’s already here.”

She thinks he was just agreeing with her, he realizes – she didn’t comprehend his true meaning there. How could she have? He hasn’t properly explained to them that he is the Archive. He already Knows all of the statements housed here. Old statements were stale even when he hadn’t read them yet. Now, they’re even less fulfilling.

As a child, he hated reading anything that he felt like he had read before. It seems morbidly fitting that the Archivist in him is much the same way.

“Think of it like… like harm reduction,” Georgie is saying now. “From what I can gather, abstinence just isn’t an option for you, at least not right now. The next best thing is to meet yourself where you are. Even if you can’t stop, you can still take steps to minimize the harm – and that includes harm to yourself. Reading the statements that are already here – I think it’s justifiable, if the alternative is starving to death.”

“I am not sure how long this might continue for. Maybe years. Maybe forever.”

“Maybe. But right now, you need to take it one step at a time. You’re getting ready to hurl yourself into danger. You should be at full strength for that. If you aren’t going to sleep, you at least need to eat something.”

She has a point. There is one other concern, though.

“It seems I cannot avoid the ceaseless gaze of – Jonah –”

“– still there, still watching me –”

“– eyes were always focused on something, always watching. And – I always felt afraid –”

“– being under constant scrutiny and observation –”

“– it may be worth your while to keep an eye on the statements – in case he finds his way here –”

“– my mind has always been receptive to the thoughts that lurk in the written page –”

“– that throw out strange or sometimes even dangerous things –”

“– a simple ruse or deception –”

“– quietly waiting for you to lose your footing, to slip up and fall.”

“You’re afraid of getting tricked into reading the wrong statement again.”

Jon nods, not quite meeting her eye. All of the statements housed here are already catalogued in the Archive. He can recall them on his own word for word, if he concentrates. But something about that doesn’t feel right. Physically reading the statement, speaking it into the tape recorder… it’s like its own little ritual – like there’s an order of operations that has to be followed or it doesn’t count, somehow.

“…I outlined basic checks in due diligence –”

“– checking and double checking –”

“– before I finally felt safe enough –”

“– to read a statement – hitting record and speaking it aloud.”

“Well… we can probably vet them before giving them to you?”

“…they were also there as a backup in case something went horribly wrong – in case –”

“– it tried to read me back.”

“Okay,” she says after a moment’s consideration. “I’ll let Basira know.”

Her expression is concerned, but there’s something else underneath it. It doesn’t seem like judgment, or suspicion, or any of the other reactions he’s come to expect when discussing his reliance on the statements. It’s definitely not fear; this is Georgie. Pity, maybe?

Whatever it is, it makes him feel small and exposed and uncomfortably seen.

“Jon, look at me.” He does, with hesitation. “I know things are bad, and I’ll admit I was skeptical when you first said you wanted to change, but based on what I’ve seen over the past few months? I believe in you. It’s okay to have a little faith in yourself, too. I think you’ll need to, if you want to get through this.”

His gaze drifts to the floor, self-conscious.

“Anyway, it's probably best that Elias doesn’t see us pre-screening statements for you, right? Might make him suspicious. I can just gather a box of them and bring them down here. I’ll bring Basira with me, and we can explain the situation.” She stands and starts to walk toward the ladder, then stops abruptly. “Wait.”

She does a half-turn, not quite facing him, watching the floor pensively.

“I don’t know what I’m looking for. Is there something particular – like, do you have preferences, or – are there… nutritional requirements or something?” Jon can’t help it; he smiles at the absurdity of it all. “Do you need variety? Does a balanced diet even apply in this –”

Realizing he isn’t replying to any of her questions, she finally looks up, sees his amused smirk, and pauses mid-flustered gesture. He chuckles softly and shakes his head, mortified by the idea of cultivating a preference for statements as if choosing from a menu, but also just a bit shamefully, morbidly endeared at her thoughtfulness.

“Well, I don’t know!” she says indignantly, but she grins back. “Fine. I’ll grab a bunch at random then, and you can just deal. Ass.”

God, he missed this easy, playful banter even more than he had realized.

Jon watches as she climbs the ladder, preparing for the customary anxiety that tends to hit him whenever she leaves his presence – that conviction that it will be the last he sees of her.

When she pulls herself up through the trapdoor, though, he’s pleasantly surprised to note that the fear doesn’t come. He’s even more surprised that a half-hour later, when Georgie sends Basira with a box of statements but doesn’t accompany her, the fear still doesn’t overwhelm him. It shouldn’t be that surprising – he does trust Georgie – but intellectually understanding something isn’t the same as emotionally assimilating it. It seems that for once, his emotions have caught up with reality.

“Melanie needs company right now, so Georgie couldn’t come with. She didn't say exactly what you needed help with, but I think I have an idea.”

“…to keep an eye on the statements –”

“– they were also there as a backup in case something went horribly wrong.”

“Figured as much. Anyway, Georgie said she’ll come see you before she goes home today.” Basira drops the box on the floor in front of him. “I told her you probably wouldn’t want her present for the statements anyway. No need to expose more people to them if we can help it. I thought you’d agree.”

Jon nods, thankful that Basira is on the same page and he didn’t have to bother explaining it himself.

“So, any stand out to you?”

May as well get it over with, Jon thinks with a heavy sigh.

He leans over the box and sifts through them, eyes skimming over the case numbers until one catches his eye. CASE #0020312, the label reads. Figures, he thinks to himself with a grim, humorless smile, and he hands it over to Basira for her to inspect.

She skims through it quickly – she’s a fast reader, Jon notes – and at several points her eyebrows raise and furrow.

“Seems normal enough – for a statement, anyway,” she says, handing it back to him. Then, meeting his eyes: “A bit on the nose, though.” Jon shrugs. “You want me to stay while you read it, right? Go on, then.”

The tape recorder clicks on in his pocket, as if to voice its agreement. Jon removes it and takes a moment to glare at it before turning his eyes to the statement, clearing his throat, and beginning his monologue.

“Statement of Tova McHugh, regarding their string of near-death experiences. Original statement given December 3rd, 2002. Audio recording by Jonathan Sims, the Archivist. Statement begins…”

The Coffin sits where Breekon dropped it, hungry and waiting. It’s the densest, most solid thing in the room, as if it has its own gravity, a sort of metaphysical black hole. It’s not as bad as the rift at Hill Top Road, but it has a similar feel to it: oppressive, wrong, its existence impossible but unavoidably present all the same.

Jon stands at the threshold, blocking the entrance, Basira and Georgie standing behind him.

“So this is it, then,” Georgie says. “You’re sure you know what you’re doing?”

“…as you can imagine, getting out of there proved – difficult –”

“– but they did return.”

She still looks uncertain, watching the Coffin as if it might move on its own.

“…try to keep you far away –”

“– didn’t want a good look inside that room – stopped at the threshold –”

“– make it very little distance over the threshold before – swallowed –”

“– you must trust me on that and not come looking –”

“– supervise from a distance –”

“Jon,” Basira says, cutting him off, “we get it. It’s dangerous, stay away, et cetera. I can feel the compulsion from here; you really don’t need to tell me twice, let alone five times.”

Jon barely hears her, his mind already entirely occupied with what he’s about to do. He stands paralyzed, knees locked, hands trembling just slightly, pulse thundering in his throat. Already his breath feels constricted, and he hasn’t even opened the thing yet.

“Do you need more time?” Georgie asks gently.

Jon shuts his eyes, swallows around the lump in his throat, and shakes his head no. The longer he puts it off, the harder it will be to take the plunge. And Daisy has waited long enough.

“Hey. Look at me.”

Jon breathes out, opens his eyes, and turns to face her. She opens her arms slightly, offering an embrace – but he shakes his head, giving her an apologetic look. Pressure is usually good, grounding him, but right now – well, he’s about to have all of creation pressing in on him, and any reminder of that is only going to send him spiraling.

“Okay. You have everything you need?”

He nods, trying to project whatever thin veneer of confidence he can muster – more for himself than the others, really. He holds up the tape recorder with Daisy’s statement tape in it, then gestures vaguely at the tape recorders littering his desk.

“…like breadcrumbs taking us home. Home, in this case, was –”

“Martin,” Georgie says with a knowing smile. “I’ll make sure he gets your message – and yes,” she says, seeing him about to interject, “I’ll make sure he doesn’t read it outside the tunnels. And I’ll explain… the situation. Don’t worry about things over here. Just focus on what you need to do on your end.”

Jon nods again, clenching and unclenching his fist at his side, stuffing the tape recorder back into his pocket with the other hand.

Time to stop dithering, he tells himself firmly.

“Tell Daisy I –” Basira blurts out, then pauses, struggling for words. “Tell her…”

She breathes out a short exhale and looks up at Jon. He nods at her: I understand.

“Tell her I’m waiting.” She pauses, biting her lip. “And Jon?” He makes a questioning noise. “Come back safe,” she says, then turns on her heel and walks briskly away down the hall.

“We’ll see you home soon, Jon,” Georgie says. She pours every ounce of reassurance into it that she can manage, but he can feel that she’s still apprehensive. “Don’t get lost.”

“…I’d – get out of there as soon as possible,” he says, trying to mirror her composure.

“You’d better. I doubt I’ll be the only one cross with you if you stay away too long.”

The tape recorders fill the room with a low, static-leaden murmuring – dozens of overlapping tones, unbroken streams of phonemes rendered nearly incomprehensible, discrete parts unable to compete against the cacophony of the whole. Although it sounds like the background noise of a crowd to Jon, he Knows every word being said: a litany of horror and dread unspooling in the air around him.

He also Knows that they will continue running, replaying each statement on a loop until he returns, no batteries required.

A notebook sits on his desk, battered and careworn. It’s Martin’s, half-filled with poems and works-in-progress, many of them from the weeks he was living in the Archives. He left it here when he went to work for Peter. Whether it was meant as a deliberate symbolic gesture – leaving the past behind him, sacrificing this sentimental part of himself in order to become what Peter’s plan required him to be – or was simply an oversight after months of having no time or mind for writing, Jon still doesn’t Know. He never asked. In the future, after Martin started writing again, Jon felt it was best not to reopen old wounds for the sake of satiating his own curiosity.

If only he could have learned that lesson earlier in life.

Jon has never been a fan of poetry. It’s never really resonated with him; he’s never understood it, and he… doesn’t have much patience for things he cannot understand. But then, Martin went to work for Peter Lukas – and the last time Jon was here, he had burned every other bridge between himself and humanity.

When he was a child, he had convinced himself that he didn’t need friends, didn’t need affection. He found human connection in books, and he told himself that it was enough. It wasn’t, in retrospect: he entered adolescence and then adulthood with stunted social skills, and practicing didn't seem worth the risk of failure. Between that and being the Archivist, it was no wonder he had chased everyone away.

By the time he woke up from his first coma, he knew that books would be no replacement for actual companionship, but he thought it might at least take the edge off, like it used to when he was a child. It backfired terribly. He would always Know how the story ended before even finishing the first chapter, and it would demolish any motivation to continue reading. It wasn’t just that his reading habits now tend to be as particular as they were when he was young, having little patience for anything that felt like he had read it before. It was that he couldn’t have a moment of peace from the knowledge of what he had become.

One day he stumbled across Martin’s notebook in Document Storage, along with some spoken word recordings that Martin had made while living in the Archives. At first, Jon didn’t know what the tapes were, and listening to any tapes that turned up had long since become automatic for him. Once he realized what was on them, he probably should have stopped, but he listened to every second of that handful of tapes, over and over and over again. He felt guilty – he had already violated Martin’s privacy once before, when he was deep in the throes of paranoia – but he justified it to himself because he… well, he'd needed to hear Martin’s voice.

The poetry was… well, Jon still didn’t get it, not really. But he found himself liking it anyway, because it was Martin’s voice and Martin’s words and Martin’s story, and Jon didn’t have to understand it for it to have meaning and value and warmth. He should have been content with the tapes, but he kept stealing glances at the notebook, itching to open it and start reading. Part of it was that simple curiosity that was always leading him astray, but for once, that wasn’t the loudest part of him.

It wasn’t a need to Know. It was a need for closeness.

So, he pushed that guilty voice in his head aside and… he read. Unlike the fiction stories he had been trying to lose himself in, he never once Knew anything about a poem before he finished reading it. He rarely Knew anything about it even after reading it, and then rereading it, and then rereading it again. For the first time in his life, not having answers was… refreshing. Freeing, even.

It didn’t take long for Jon to memorize every word, cover to cover – and he never grew bored of them, despite their familiarity.

Gingerly, almost reverently, Jon turns the pages. There are a handful of poems in here about him, and even now, indelibly etched into his memory, reading them on the page still makes him feel seen in a way that is all at once terrifying and comforting. Affecting, certainly, but in a way he could appreciate, once he gave it a chance.

You’re stalling, Jon tells himself, closing the notebook and placing one last tape on top of it.

He closes his eyes and forces himself to take several deep breaths – it’s the last chance he’ll have for the next few days – and he checks his pocket for the tape recorder with Daisy’s statement in it. Pointless, really; he already Knows it’s there, same as it was the last dozen times he checked.

Swallowing hard, he finally turns to look at the Coffin. The moment he lays eyes on it, the static rises in his mind.

Oh, shut up, Jon thinks tiredly. The Dread Powers are like cats yowling at overflowing food bowls, insisting that they haven’t had supper yet. At least cats are endearing. The Fears are noisy and intrusive with none of the charm. You’re all so goddamn needy, you know that?

The Coffin carries on, and Jon rolls his eyes. Wrapping himself in annoyance does little to drown out the fear, but it offers a slight buffer. He’ll take it.

You’re still stalling, he reprimands himself.

With trembling hands he picks up the key, fits it into the lock… and he opens the lid. It lifts easily with only a slight creak, no heft or resistance to it: it wants to be opened, like so many of the other hungry doors lurking around this world, bear traps and snares and spiderwebs all lying in wait for somebody foolish and curious enough to ignore all the alarm bells for just one… peek… inside.

Knock-knock, comes the intrusive thought.

Shut up, Jon shoots back.

The tape recorder clicks on, whirring impatiently in his pocket, as if to urge him onward.

You too, he snaps – but as much as his knee-jerk impulse is to be contrary, he has put this off long enough.

Jon steels himself, takes one last deep breath – savoring fresh air, full lungs, airways clear of dirt and grime and debris – and he begins his descent.

Martin is in Peter’s office, tending to some tedious administrative tasks. His brain feels fuzzy, thoughts sluggish and stunted from the lack of stimulation. The tick-tock of the wall clock drones on and on. He’s considered removing the batteries, but it’s the only company he’s had in days. Complete silence might be worse. Besides, the longer he sits here, the less and less the noise scrapes against the edges of his consciousness – and even when it does penetrate the fog filling his head, he can’t bring himself to care.

If Peter intends for the monotony to highlight his isolation and desensitize him to the absence of… well, everything, it’s working.

Then, between one moment and the next, there’s a shift. It crashes into him, tears through the quiet, and the world around him comes rushing back in, a sharp and blinding and cacophonous flood of sensory input.

There’s a palpable void where one shouldn’t be, and he knows with certainty that it’s distinct from the general sense of absence that he’s grown accustomed to over the past few months. The Lonely feels soft, quiet, gentle – natural, like a cocoon tailored specifically for him. This feels like a knife to the gut, a gaping wound, alarm bells screaming in his mind that something is wrong, wrong, wrong –

“Something’s happened,” he says to himself. He flinches at the sound. It’s jarring, hearing his own voice, raspy as it is with disuse.

Before he even realizes that he’s moving, he’s out of the office and hurrying down the hallway, not bothering to close the door behind him.

“Jon,” he whispers with a passion and urgency that feels alien to him now, thoughts no longer muffled and detached. He doesn’t know how he knows, but he does: Jon’s done something drastic, and given his track record, it can’t be good.

The only thought running through his mind is Jon, playing on a loop like a stuck tape; like the nervous stammering of the person he used to be, intimidated by and enamored with the man in equal measure; like a – like a prayer: Jon.

Martin picks up his pace, making a beeline for the Archives.

End Notes:

The Buried, Round Two: BEGIN.

I might not have much free time to write this weekend, so the next chapter probably won't be ready until next weekend at least. It will have some Martin POV though, FINALLY. This story hasn't had enough Martin screentime yet and that is entirely a hell of my own making, but I WILL remedy it. Also: ACTUAL DAISY CONTENT SOON, I SWEAR.

Citations for Jon's letter to Martin are as follows: MAG 040; 112/007/029/102; 007/150; 020/019; 150; 013; 135; 048/144/007/021; 021; 013/002/032/147/153/013; 161/091/101/089/135; 048/028/067/013; 143/150/008/013; 135/048/009; 013; 150; 013/117; 085/052; 063/124; 123; 011; 123/133; 070/154/123; 133/019/036/011; 094/088; 075; 135; 127; 124/157/050/157/130; 143/107/012/056; 122/012/057; 013; 145/121; 150; 042; 042; 032; 037/136/110; 152/008/101/153/032/129/153; 117/155/013/155; 133/112/152/154/013/051/049.

Citations for Jon's dialogue are as follows, broken down by section: Section 1: MAG 064; 019; 138/139; 019; 058; 148; 121/014/089; 066/135; 043; 096; 138/060/154/060/113/017/005/116/121; 054/022/054/147; 057/091; 155. Section 2: 150/096; 095/006/023/157/139; 125; 047. Section 3: None. Section 4: None.

The cited dialogue between Peter and Martin is from MAG 126. And it probably goes without saying but the Jonah/Elias statement quote is from MAG 160.

As always, you can also just ask if you want to know where a particular line comes from. c:

#tma #tma fic #the magnus archives #long post #tma spoilers

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captain-ozone · 4 years

Text

okay okay, guys, so I know we’ve seen HP/Batman and ATLA/Batman mashups and crossovers, with numerous discussions about which Houses the Batfam would be Sorted into as well as which elements they would bend.

I raise you: the Batfam in the world of The Magnus Archives. Which Fear Entities might they serve? Which would they abhor? Which might they have been victims to?

Let’s discuss.

(If you’re unfamiliar with The Magnus Archives, it’s a horror/tragedy podcast. Highly recommend. For context, though, here’s some info on the Entities I’m talking about)

Bruce: He’d likely develop an association with The Web, The Eye, or possibly The Dark with an absolute loathing of The Corruption, The Extinction, The Desolation, and, of course, The End. He fights to keep these last four entities out of Gotham while utilizing his association with remarkably contradictory Entities (i.e. The Eye and The Dark) as both a detective and a cowled vigilante. If anyone could pull it off, he could. And does. I mean, Bruce goes out of his way to investigate and reveal corruption, crime, and other plots against the good people of Gotham, which The Eye loves, AND he skulks in the shadows and makes common criminals piss themselves when he comes to get them, all of which The Dark would thrive on. In any case, I imagine he’d resent any favor given to him by ANY of the Entities. The Hunt enjoys Bruce, too, as it would all the members of the superhero community, actually, in some capacity. Another point for The Web? For all the plans and contingencies he makes, he never plans to make a family. Kids just fall in his lap, somehow in the right place and the right time. The Web undoubtedly has a blast with Bruce. It gives him all sorts of plots to unravel while ultimately playing him like a fiddle.

Dick: THE VAST OMG. He’d both be a victim and servant, and I will not take criticism on this point. The Vast is fickle, I think, and Dick would be a perfect plaything for it. As we all know, this poor boy lost his parents due to a fall from the trapeze, and he might have fallen himself, had things been different (*cough cough* I see you, Mother of Puppets). I love fics that put Dick’s love of heights at odds with his trauma (again providing some evidence for a love-hate relationship with this particular Entity), but of course, Dick overcomes the trauma associated with his parents’ fall and rarely leaves his feet on the ground. Heights and open spaces are his heroin. They’re in his blood. He shares this love with the Robins who follow in his footsteps as well as other colleagues in the superhero community. The Vast feeds off their initial fear of heights/grappling/free-falling, or perhaps each heart-stopping reaction they have when they watch Dick do all these wild acrobatic things from high heights. But The Vast isn’t just about heights, is it? It also has to do with a fear of falling into obscurity or feeling insignificant in the grand scheme of things. And we also know Dick has this fear in ABUNDANCE (see as, his oftentimes rocky relationship with his mentor, as well as his desire to be That Shoulder To Lean On in literally every team he’s been a part of). So. Yes. The Vast.

Babs: THE EYE. Her code name is Oracle. She oversees the entire Batfam operation. And is also an information hub for THE BIRDS OF PREY AND THE JUSTICE LEAGUE. Like???? This needs no explanation or further discussion.

Jason: Oh god. This boy. Okay. So. He is fascinating, and he’d be fascinating to pretty much every Entity out there, for both good and bad reasons, too. They’d have a field day with him. Let’s look at his death first. He technically escaped The End as well as The Corruption and The Buried when he was resurrected, bodily restored, and forced to dig his way out of his grave. I cannot decide if these three Entities would target him specifically afterwards for having escaped their clutches or if they would be sated knowing how afraid he was at the time of his resurrection. Either way. The Web, also, would have had a hand in pretty much every convoluted part of DC’s many Crises, one of which triggered Jason’s resurrection in the first place. BUT WAIT THAT IS NOT ALL. Jason’s been touched by The Spiral (because who else would the Joker serve???? Actually... lies. I might argue the Joker shakes hands with The Stranger sometimes too, but idk how well those Entities would work together). Outside of his death at the hands of an avatar of The Spiral/The Stranger (which Jason would experience intense fear/loathing toward), the Lazarus Pit is probably a co-instrument of The End (because the fear of death does drive men to seek immortality, does it not?) and The Slaughter (for obvious reasons). During his crime-lord phase, he may have some association with The Hunt and The Desolation in addition to The Slaughter. The Flesh would have loved his duffle bag of heads. Prior to forming a team of Outlaws, he’s likely also been touched by The Lonely. And ALL THIS after being mentored by someone who has an association with The Eye/The Web/The Dark. And having a brother so closely tied to The Vast. In the end, after the Pit Madness has worn off, Jason might have unintentionally found himself an avatar of The End, but I imagine all of the Entities would love or hate him (and possibly even consider him with the same fondness they would a pet that gets passed around between distant family members). He...has a unique relationship with each of them, in any case.

Tim: WEB TIM WEB TIM WEB TIM WEB TIM. This boy was born to serve The Web. Though he very nearly fell prey to The Lonely, on account of his parents’ neglect. Prior to becoming Robin, he had to fight every day to keep himself from being consumed by it. Continuously lying and tricking his caretakers (as well as his parents) into believing he was alright by himself specifically to sneak out and get pictures of Batman was what initially drew The Web to him. After becoming Robin? Whoooo boy. He had free reign and excelled as a master strategist and manipulator. He violently rejects The Lonely, no matter how often it tries to draw him back.

Cass: Like Tim, she’s been touched by The Lonely. Unlike Tim, I like to think she’s made her peace with it and has learned to live in harmony with the mark it left behind. I mean, her father isolated her for most of her childhood and denied her the opportunity to learn how to speak and read. She had no connection to anyone beyond that. The Lonely adored her. Once choosing to join Bruce, she casts off her larger association with The Lonely, obviously, and learns to become a part of a family. Unlike the others in the family, though, she does not serve any other Entity and makes a point not to get too close to any of them, though she does have an uncanny understanding of each of them (and can identify their avatars, victims, and associated artifacts on sight), which puts her closer to The Eye than she likes to acknowledge. Her hatred of The End surpasses Bruce’s.

Stephanie: she’s the hardest for me to decide upon. Tbh, she’s probably a lot like Georgie Barker in TMA. Perhaps her shameless lack of fear/ability to focus beyond her fears makes her uninteresting to the Entities, maybe??? Will come back to her later. And will definitely accept any further thoughts on her.

Damian: The League of Assassins is all about new world order, right? Ra’s al Ghul’s main motivation is to save the world...while also destroying a good portion of it to do so. So we know Damian has grown up around ideals of The Extinction, The End, and The Desolation. After meeting Bruce and moving in to Wayne Manor, it’s hard to shake any loyalty to these Entities. His death and resurrection, like Jason’s, ties him further to The End, but after meeting Jon Kent, Colin Wilkes, Maya Ducard (etc etc) and actually allowing himself the opportunity to be a kid, he doesn’t really serve any Entity, does he? I mean, he probably defers to Bruce’s loyalties in the beginning and continues to do so while learning from his other family members, but he’s probably made no such commitments to any of the Entities himself. Dick’s tie to The Vast may have some impact on him, especially considering how close Dick and Damian are, but I doubt The Vast would have an interest in Damian solely because of it. The kid’s personality and The Vast don’t mesh. I bet Damian may, later, genuinely follow in his father’s footsteps and be a dichotomy by allying himself with The Eye and The Dark. For now, though, he’s a kid and deserves freedom from any Fear Gods.

Duke: you see the state the Joker’s toxin left this kid’s parents in?? Victim of The Spiral/The Stranger, without a doubt. I’m not as up-to-date on his current arc, unfortunately, so I’m not sure which Entity he would end up leaning toward outside of The Eye (by association to the others and due to his own detective skills) but his powers with light put him at distinct odds with The Dark.

#batman #dc comics #the magnus archives #tma au #batman au #mashup #may add more later #but damn please talk to me about this #i need to see what other fans think #despite what i say i actually will accept criticism #and will happily discuss and hear all theories both agreeing with and contradicting me #this is an unedited mess i apologize #but i needed to get these thoughts out of my head

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karliahs · 3 years

Note

1, 3, and 48 for the fanfic author ask meme? ^_^

1. What was your first fic and could you stand to reread it today?

ooh, this sounds like a challenge. located my old ff.net account, which tells me my first fic was a 1.5k merlin oneshot back in...2011? when i would have been 15

observations:

already wild that my author’s note says “Reviews would be very much appreciated especially if it’s constructive criticism.” how times change

this has a hurt/comfort theme! specifically characters having nightmares and other characters comforting them. on brand for sure

“Merlin was to be condemned, murdered and forgotten because of one thing about him. The one thing he could not change.” bless this sweet closeted teen version of me who very clearly latched onto merlin for a reason

grammar/formatting/spelling errors are scattered around. 15yo me does not know how to punctuate dialogue and would not for a long time. there are more epithets that i’d use now, for sure. this child clearly has a fear of commas

i’m trying to figure out if i read this now, if i was searching for hurt/comfort fics with a specific scenario in a fandom without an abundance of them, if i’d close this before finishing? and honestly it might have been a “keep going to search for nuggets of good stuff” or a “yeah, never mind” depending on the day

so clearly the answer is yes, i can stand to read my first fic. it being nearly 10 years ago means i don’t feel much about its reflection on my writing abilities today. mostly it just makes me very glad and grateful that this long-ago person wrote this, so that i could write the things i’ve written since

3. In your opinion, what’s your best fic?

that’s.....such a difficult question somehow. if you go by the numbers, the one that’s meant something to the most people is overwhelmingly darken your door, but who can tell how much of that is the tropes involved (bnha fans just love midoriya’s dad fics) or it just gathering momentum after getting popular enough

the one that’s brought me specifically the most joy is probably remedy or, from pre-bnha days, the art of distraction - which i overall still think is really fun! there are ones that involved more originality/creative thought on my part because i was writing characters who either don’t get as much canon characterisation or are au past versions etc, like my first bnha series oh, the places you’ll go or quintet (if i could cause one of my fics to suddenly get more attention, it’d be quintet for sure). i also kind of want to say enemy of my enemy, since it’s the most recent thing i’ve written and i’d hope that i’m getting better at this as i go

i hope this isn’t too egotistical, just...i find it interesting realising how there’s something different i like or am proud of in everything i’ve written

if i had to choose, i think i’d say something else to pretend. it was deeply felt, and it seems like a lot (a lot!) of people really needed to hear a validation of something other than immediate forgiveness

48. Does anyone you know from outside of fandom know you write fanfic? Are they involved in the same fandom too?

yes! a number of irl friends know, either because i’ve talked to them about it or because they follow me on tumblr and i link/talk about my fic here

i don’t know anyone else who’s into my most recent fandom (tho honestly i think i’m shifting out of tma mode anyway), but i do have a friend who’s read several of my fics despite not watching the show they were written for, which is the greatest gift of all

thanks for asking!!

#talking #asks #prince-liest #long post

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marlasomething · 2 years

Text

A Tight Weird Family 5: Gerry

Last October I wrote a TMA fic and posted it on AO3. However, I know it is veeeery long and only two chapters so…I decided to repost it on Tumblr chopping it off per character.

I poured my heart into this tale that I wrote because TMA, as silly as it might perhaps sound, helped me to actually be FAR MORE BETTER now at all levels that I was before I discovered it and…I cannot be thankful enough.

This takes place in my main AO3 TMA AU universe, but can be read separately (just: they brought their consciences back in time and had created a completely alternative timeline, the Institute now also serve as a refuge for runnaway kids because I have issues and Gerry is alive because I love him too much).

This is dedicated to Nadia and Paloma, thank you for being there and indulging all my writing.

Characters in this chapter: Gerry Keay Delano, Tim Stoker, Alice ‘Daisy’ Tonner

TW: smoking, mentions of death and illness, trauma, shitty families

Words: 1007

Previous chapter: Daisy

Next chapter: Basira

Gerry was at the small terrace outside one of the rooms filled up to the tops with books he knew for a fact were in their majority rather… useless.

He took another drag from his cigarette and contemplated coming back inside, as it was beginning to get cold outside.

In earnest, cold was an understatement: it was fucking freezing and still…

…That winter hadn’t been exactly as crisp as he had expected and this was the first time in years he got to actually feel his skin get slightly burned by the unhealthily low temperatures. The first time in years he had a skin to be anything, actually.

So he stayed, toying with the chances of getting a completely different type of cancer this time…

That is very optimistic of you, Gerard; do you really think your brain is now magically safe? Why, did you decide to start believing in the power of companionship?

The voice in his head was just a mix of his own and his mother.

He hated it.

“Those things will kill you!” he smiled a bit; he had learned to recognise everybody’s voices much quicker than he had expected.

“Hello, Tim.”

“Hello, Gerard” he smirked, he had insisted that only his friends could call him Gerry and, though Stoker had managed to get said title in a surprisingly short amount of time (especially taking into account that half of the time he isolated himself from the rest until he had managed to control the part of him still living in the past/future-never-to-be), he had found it amusing to see the man’s frustrated face when he still acted hostile towards him, and him exclusively.

It was curious that he had found out how entertaining toying around with people without any out-of-this-world reason could be at his…Honestly; he didn’t know what age he should consider himself.

But, as much as he believed in no God (not even the Fears; ethereal monsters that were just parasites of humans at their worst shouldn’t be considered anything close to Divinity), with special remark on the 3x1 Christianity that loved to use religion as a constant excuse for bigotry all through time and space, he thought that, since tomorrow was Christmas, he might as well give the other man a present.

“It’s Gerry for my friends.”

“I knew it!” he said, with a cocky smile.

He tried to give the smile back, but it had only been a few months back in the land of the living (for reasons nobody will ever understand, but that he was not going to criticise in the slightest) and it wasn’t exactly a gesture he used to perform beforehand, so he just smirked a bit, just in case his smile was wrong.

Very mature thought, Gerard.

“What are you doing here? I thought you were with the kids.”

“I was but…”

“…the hyperactive girl that had accumulated four foster families before dropping INSIDE the actual Archives said something that reminded you too much of your brother?”

“That was quick” he didn’t want to say it, but there were very few things that could make Tim abandon something that he was doing willingly. One was getting back momentarily at his previous life (which would mean him becoming extremely hostile, thing that he wasn’t being at the moment, so it was discarded), Sasha (who had asked for some time for herself that evening) and…Danny.

Way easier to read than a book. Specially, the books Gerry had been so used to.

“Want to talk?”

“Not really…uh…if we go inside, would you mind to be blessed with my silent presence next to you? I could use a goth friendly company while I dwell in my own misery.”

He pushed the cigarette onto the wall and then threw it into the bin of the terrace and headed inside.

“Let’s go, I have to revise something anyway. Just…” he went deadly serious for a second. “Don’t call me goth friendly presence ever again. It’s not even exactly right; it should be friendly goth presence. Not that you can use that one, either.”

Tim, though completely conscious he wasn’t serious, rolled his eyes.

“Jeez, I see why Jon and you hit it off so easily.”

Once inside, Gerry extracted a pile of documents from the bag he had found still hidden in the same spot he had left it before…

…well, before getting too sick to hide anything anywhere.

The documents, on the contrary, were quite recent.

It had cost him some weeks to final get ready to start assuming he did really wanted to do this; but now he was certain about it: goodbye Gerard Keay, welcome Gerard Delano. He knew it wasn’t such a big deal (especially after actually having managed to put himself back in all legal records and erase his death from said archives; THAT had been a big deal) but, for him, it was going to be the final ‘screw you, mother’ he had always wanted to give Mary.

Her legacy would be gone in a question of weeks.

He smiled to himself and corroborated again everything was in order.

After being studying cursed books since before his age had had two digits, getting acquainted with legal documents and, basically, becoming a degreeless Law expert was like a walk in the park.

“So, you are finally doing it, aren’t you?”

“Uh?” he turned to Tim; he had forgotten he had told them, he still tended to forget he actually had people to tell things to. “Yep. It’s not that hard…” Tim started to raise an eyebrow. “Ok, it might be that hard, but not for me. Actually, I was thinking about helping the two kids that wanted to change their legal name too. Their reasons are kind of a bit more important than mine.”

“Well, yes. Not to make shitty parents any less important, of course.”

He chuckled a bit.

“Of course” he was going to add something else when Daisy appeared, her eyes filled with everything but good omens.

“Gerry, I need you.”

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centaurianthropology · 7 years

Text

The Magnus Archives ‘The Librarian’ (S02E40) Analysis

Sims gets help from a VERY unexpected source, and in fact the entire episode was … not what I had expected after last week’s setup. That’s not a bad thing, it’s just not the directly expected shit-show from last week. Crises I thought we would face were totally avoided, and crises I never expected came slamming into our cast. It was exciting in a very unexpected way, terrifying and revelatory, with information coming fast and thick. And it was all topped off with a confrontation that sent every surviving character flying into disarray. No matter what else you think about ‘The Librarian’, after this episode, everything and everyone will be changed. We’ve got A LOT to unpack.

SIMS GOT RESCUED BY JURGEN LEITNER! Holy shit, that was one none of us saw coming. We were all speculating about Adulard Dekkar, or Gerard Kaey, or even Jonah Magnus. But precisely no one I talked to even considered that the mystery man in the tunnels, and apparently their very long term inhabitant—a man who was hiding from hundreds of enemies and had been Gertrude’s confidante and collaborator—was Jurgen fucking Leitner.

This revelation led to some nice confirmation about my biggest writing quibble of the season: how Sims went from totally confused and terrified by the tunnels to navigating them like a pro within weeks. Leitner was actually remapping all the upper levels into something more navigable and rational, keeping Sims contained so Leitner could watch him. Leitner also stated that he thought that the chalk arrow was placed there by Not-Sasha, who was navigating the tunnels as well, hunting for Leitner (a popular man to hunt, by all accounts). He was the presence steering Sims through the tunnels, hidden by one of his books. Leitner had, during his hiding, started using quite a few of the safer tomes to basically turn himself into a wizard.

Through his very unexpected statement, Leitner himself finally gets considerably more backstory. He thought of himself as a guardian, containing the worst books in the world in his library. In order to explore them, he used the services of a string of assistants, the vast majority of whom are now dead or insane. He thought of himself as doing something great for the world. Hubris, thy name is certainly Jurgen Leitner. And despite his stated remorse and regret, Leitner still speaks of the trail of bodies and insanity he left behind him with a clinical detachment, as though he had no attachment to them and certainly no responsibility for them. Even when Sims accused him of being irresponsible and terrible, Leitner had excuses. He never fully owned what he did.

Contrast that with Sims, who has just found out that Sasha is dead, and all of Gertrude’s assistants met gruesome ends. He has to be afraid for Tim and Martin, and glad he sent them away when he did (more on them later). Sims has spent all year trying to distance himself from them, but still feels a very clear connection to them and responsibility for them. We didn’t get to hear his reaction to them getting taken by Michael, but we could easily guess how badly he’d react to the news that Michael had taken them, so soon on the heels of getting the definitive answer about Sasha. Sims is not a man who owns his mistakes easily either, but last episode showed that he did get there in the end. He took responsibility and he took the blame for what Tim and Martin had gone through. And he earned back a lot of my respect because of it.

Leitner never had that moment. He continued in his delusions that what he did was the best possible course of action right up until the end. He claimed regret that he didn’t destroy the books, but was clear that he prioritized his role as their ‘guardian’ over any safety concerns beyond those that would protect him from them. He studied the architecture and writings of Robert Smirke (who still seems to function as the perfect balance point and neutralizer in the TMA world). His house was built off Smirke’s theories, and his efforts to gain access to Smirke’s buildings weren’t confined to his efforts under Pall Mall. His library eventually encapsulated 978 volumes in his house.

The attack that destroyed his library came shortly after he gathered all the books, and is one of the most interesting revelations of the episode. I think we had all suspected that some group or individual had torched the library (up until now, my money had been on Gertrude herself), but it was no ONE person, it was EVERYONE. The beings that attacked him seemed to represent every faction of the supernatural that we have yet been introduced to. There were the people who showed up, their bodies and speech wrong, perhaps the same students we encountered in ‘Anatomy Class’. When the attack hit, there was the meat pile (‘The Man Upstairs’), Michael and his doors, the endless sky (‘Freefall’), the Closed Eye, the Lightless Flame, and the mouth in the floor (‘The Butcher’s Window’). Beings that have been diametrically opposed all laid aside their differences to decimate that library.

So this begs the question: what the actual hell did Leitner do? Leitner described his books as the purest descriptors possible in this world of beings that defy comprehension, beings that we experience as various manifestations, but thematically linked and creating projections and simplifications of something too vast to understand or perceive. They do not exist in our world, and can’t exist in our world, but bits of them do, like fingers worming their way inside an ant colony. They really do seem to be an equivalent to Lovecraft’s Great Old Ones, so vast and strange that we cannot comprehend them, but we see their effects. And in TMA, you see pieces of them as monsters. Michael and the fractals are different expressions of something that Leitner called the Spiral: a being of confusion, illusion, and madness. I would suspect that all expressions of the insects spring from the Hive, a being best described by Jane Prentiss in her own statement. These books encapsulate some fundamental truth about these unknowable entities, and these books potentially even have power over them. Destroying those books and removing that power would be something that the beings, even those often diametrically opposed to one another, might work together to accomplish.

Jane Prentiss is also relevant to this statement in another, oblique way. She was the first to give name to the being that holds the Institute, and all the Archives before it: the Beholding. This is a being of knowledge and comprehension, so far as we can tell, but just like any of the other great beings, we can perceive themes in their behavior, but trying to ascribe human motivations to them, or even simple categories is likely a pointless endeavor. We can surmise that the Beholding thrives on the accumulation of information and knowledge, and who probably channels that information through the voice of the Archivist.

But while the Archivist lies at the heart of the Beholding’s power, its true believer and high priest in this world, the man who has killed for it before, who killed for it (very violently) again this episode, and will almost certainly continue to kill any who threaten the Beholding, is Elias Bouchard. Elias killed Gertrude before she could destroy the archive. Elias is a true believer, and as many of us suspected, has far greater power than we expected, and is far deeper into the Beholding than anyone else. So he left Leitner in Sims’ office, causing Sims to flee and Martin and Tim, sprung rather abruptly from Michael’s clutches for reasons unknown, to discover Leitner and jump to all the wrong conclusions.

Of course, I’m still not clear why Leitner and Gertrude wanted to destroy the Archive in the first place. Is it that the Archive could be considered the largest, most dangerous book in existence, beyond even Leitner’s ability to contain? Was Gertrude horrified by the fact that she had been caught and held by the Beholding, which eventually killed all her assistants? She did meet Leitner shortly after their loss, and her anger and resentment could have easily turned toward the destruction of her ‘master’. But would that accomplish anything? Would destroying the Archive be a good thing or a bad thing? Or is that the wrong question entirely? Just as ascribing human motivations to the Beholding may be impossible, assigning morality may also be impossible. The Beholding IS, and it will always live in this world through the Archive. The Institute is its current defenders, and even its inadvertent worshippers. Much like the People’s Church of the Divine Host or the Lightless Flame, the Magnus Institute consists of people, unwitting or not, who have aligned themselves with one of these great beings, and act on its behest. Does that make Elias the main antagonist of this series? Does it make him a very complicated shade of gray that may help or hinder Sims in turn? Is Elias any more comprehensible than the Beholding at this point?

No matter his morality or his allegiances, Elias’ actions have set in motion a massive change in the direction of the series. Sims has run away, and Elias and Leitner implied that this was fairly customary for Archivists: they all leave and explore and comprehend the world better for it, or they die.

And as for Martin and Tim, they are left behind. Michael apparently released them just as quickly as he took them (for reasons that I’m guessing will be detailed more later), and they stumbled on Leitner’s body, still dripping blood. Tim has jumped to the conclusion that Sims murdered him, and even Martin seems to be wondering what Sims has done. The question is, does Martin believe Sims is capable of murder, or was his vague statement less of a condemnation and more of a wondering how he got so deeply enmeshed in whatever catastrophe he was involved in. They both also seem to have accepted that something happened to Sasha, and that Tim is insisting they couldn’t have saved her. Did they accept that Not-Sasha was Sasha, perhaps thinking her transformed?

Where are Sims’ tapes? If he’s fled, are they still hidden, or did Elias know all along about them, and was just waiting for Sims to accidentally drag Leitner out of hiding? If they are still hidden, could Tim or Martin stumble across them and discover the truth? Would Sims ever reach out to them of his own accord?

We won’t know for a while, because TMA is officially on a season break until late this year. It’s going to be a long few months.

The Future

Rather than just talking conclusions, I thought it might be more useful if I talked about my own personal predictions for season 3. I’d love to hear other takes on where season 3 might go, and whether I’ve forgotten anything crucial.

I suspect that, while we got Gertrude’s statements this season (played by Jonny Sims’ mom, I do believe, just as Leitner seems to have been voiced by his dad!), I suspect next season might be split between Sims’ statements from wherever he’s running or hiding, and Martin’s statements as he settles back in as Interim Head Archivist. I think, at first, these will be separate, with both of them dealing with their new circumstances. But I think that, at some point, Sims will reach out to Martin, and start sending him tapes. Some will be statements, some will be investigations or theories or fears. I think that it’s going to become some weird one-way penpal arrangement, with Martin frantically trying to locate Sims on the sly, not letting Tim or Elias know because he’s convinced they would try to hand Sims over to the police.

And I believe Tim would want to, especially at first. Tim ended the season in a very bad place with Sims, and I imagine he’d believe Sims capable of just about anything. At first. But Tim is also smart, and he has a good sense for when he’s getting conned. I think he’ll be a later ally, but that he will end up coming through for Sims and Martin by the end of the season.

And I suspect that Elias will keep pulling strings from a distance. It wouldn’t surprise me at all if he was well aware of where Sims was (likely informed by the Beholding), although he might not know that Martin is working with Sims. I think that Elias won’t even press charges against Sims for the murder, as he does eventually want Sims back, but that he will start drawing Tim closer. He needs eyes inside the archive, and with Martin acting as Archivist (I think this will happen, given that he was the stand-in archivist at the beginning of this season, and because it would be easier for Alexander Newall to do voice work than the guy who plays Tim, given that he’s already directing the episodes anyway), and Tim would be ideal. They already have some degree of rapport, and though Tim’s opinion of Elias has certainly soured, it wouldn’t take much to rebuild some of that trust.

But even if Elias isn��t actively pursuing Sims, content to let him explore and become, I really doubt that Sims is in the clear for Leitner’s murder. Specifically, I think Sims may acquire a rather implacable foe and stalker in Daisy Tonner, who was eyeing him for some time as a danger, and may well be the officer called into the Institute to take the body away. If she thinks Sims has gone from insane and a potential suspect in Gertrude’s murder to a guaranteed murderer of Leitner, she’s going to take the law into her own hands. She will hunt him, and she might not even be the only one. Who knows what great beings, and the monsters that act as their extensions, will want a piece of a runaway Archivist? And even if they don’t want to hurt him, how many others might want to use him, or tempt him?

This has opened up a whole new world of possible stories. Direct statements from very dangerous or difficult individuals become far more possible for an Archivist on the run than one stuck in his ivory tower. I have a feeling Sims is not only going to collect some very impressive statements, but that he’ll be getting a sharp lesson in supernatural politics.

With all these beings and their servants hungering after Sims’ death or his conversion, who might he be able to rely on? His list of potential allies is … slim, and reaching out to anyone would put them in danger. I’ve already stated that I think Martin will be his biggest ally inside the Magnus Institute, and maybe even his closest confidante. Also, until someone reports on his autopsy and cremation, I’m going to keep on believing that Gerard Kaey is still alive, and will appear to save Sims at any time. Trevor Herbert and his friends are out there somewhere, fighting whatever supernatural horrors they stumble across. The Lightless Flame might be in a position to at least not be openly hostile to Sims, as the Open Eye may well be servants of the Beholding as well, if a different aspect of it. Melanie may be in India right now, but she could be of great assistance.

Then there’s Basira. And I worry a lot about Basira. Not that something bad is going to happen to her, but that Basira is going to accidentally bring Daisy down on Sims’ head. If Daisy tells Basira that Sims has snapped and murdered someone, I’m not sure at all that Basira would believe the crazy and self-centered archivist over her own partner. I might hope she would give him a chance to explain himself, but in all honesty, I think there’s an even greater chance that if he reached out to her, she would reach out to Daisy, and that could well end with Sims staring down the barrel of a gun. Could she still be an ally? Hell yes. But she’s easily the ally with the greatest risk to Sims’ health, if he decides to reach out to her.

Of course, I could be completely wrong in my predictions, or right in some but not in others. Either way, everything has changed, everyone is scattered and scared and alone. I can hope they come back together, and that Sims learns enough about the Beholding to work within its sphere without losing himself, or Martin, or Tim. I hope he finds out why Gertrude was so insistent that the Archive be destroyed. I hope he reaches out to Martin first, and that their statements can slowly start to build off one another. I hope that Tim eventually forgives them both, and becomes the other, equally necessary component of their dynamic. And I hope that they can all come together after losing Sasha. All of Gertrude’s assistants died. Sims has to protect and work with the two he has left.

#The Magnus Archives #analysis #lots of analysis #so much to unpack

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