#listen. I’m in the archives right now (so Jon sims coded of me I know)

[sentientsky]

(oh newspaper archives my beloved)

[eldritchteaparty]

Chapters: 7/20 Fandom: The Magnus Archives (Podcast) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist Characters: Martin Blackwood, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives), Sasha James, Rosie Zampano, Oliver Banks, Original Elias Bouchard, Peter Lukas, Annabelle Cane Additional Tags: Post-Canon, Fix-It, Post-Canon Fix-It, Scars, Eventual Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, I'll add characters and tags as they come up, Reference to injuries and blood, Character Death In Dream, Nudity (not sexual or graphic), Nightmares, Fighting

Summary: Following the events of MAG 200, Jon and Martin find themselves in a dimension very much like the one they came from--with second chances and more time.

Chapter summary:  Frustrated by his physical condition and his lack of connection to the Eye, Jon asks Martin to visit Hill Top Road with him.

***

Chapter 7 of post-canon fix-it is up!

Read on AO3 at link above or here below.

Tumblr master post with links to previous chapters here.

***

Over the next few days, Jon continued to struggle. He remained insistent on going into the Institute every day, but even with Martin’s encouragement he had trouble finishing entire meals.

“It’s all right,” Martin told him more than once. “I know you’re trying. Just keep trying.”

Jon would nod. If they were at work, he would catch Martin’s hand between his, just below the edge of his desk, and Martin would quietly tell him about his morning. At home, he would lie back on the couch with his head in Martin’s lap. Martin would come up with something to talk about, unrelated to the entities or the archives or anything that had happened to them. He started saving up topics that occurred to him just so he could have them on hand: a movie he remembered, a funny reddit post, a weird bug he found in the stacks. It wasn’t like Jon really cared; he watched Martin talk more than he listened, anyway. He seemed contented, and that was what mattered. Sometimes he was able to eat more afterward, if he didn’t fall asleep.

***

“Are there still more interviews to be done?” Jon asked Martin one morning, late that week, as they were walking to the office.

“I don’t know,” Martin answered. “I imagine there are. I don’t think Tim’s followed up with any since the ones we did. And I think Sasha’s been around the office the whole time.”

Jon nodded.

“Wait.” Martin reached out a hand to stop him; they faced each other on the pavement. “You're not considering doing them, are you?”

“I am.”

“Why?”

“Because I need to do something different.” Jon took Martin by the elbow and urged him to keep walking. Martin sighed, but did as he wanted.

“Is it—” Martin measured his tone very carefully and started over. “Is it because what you’re doing isn’t working?”

The Eye, you mean?” Jon looked up at Martin. “No, that’s not why.”

“But also, it isn’t working. Right? You would tell me, wouldn’t you?”

“Nothing’s changed,” Jon confirmed. “But that really isn’t it. I’ve… I’ve run out of information. I’m just going further and further back, through anything describing events and people involved in all of it, and it’s pointless. There was nothing here before we came. Nothing real.”

“Yeah?” Martin asked, recalling that he had done most of the talking between them that week. “I assume you’ve looked into—well, let’s start with Jonah Magnus. What was his deal?”

Jon shrugged. “Him, Robert Smirke, Mordechai Lukas—I’ve looked into all of them. They all existed, they were obsessed with the same ideas and concepts, perhaps because of the pull from our dimension… but there was nothing on the other side of those ideas. Not here.”

“I see.” Martin nodded. “And you think the interviews will give you more?”

“Maybe. It’s the only evidence we’ve had of real connections with individuals. You met Oliver Banks. Tim’s discussions with his police contacts—it was Callum Brodie, by the way. They won’t officially release his name, but it was easy enough to find on social media.”

“So that’s what you want to do, then—look for avatars?”

“Yes,” Jon answered. “They pose the greatest threat, and I think they require the most—advancement in their patrons.”

Martin considered. “You’ll let me go with you?”

“I won’t even pretend I could manage alone right now,” Jon said. “I could go with Tim, I suppose, but he wouldn’t go if you said no. That means it’s your decision.”

“Jon.” They were coming upon the Institute now, and Martin stopped him one more time. “Can I ask—if you just let go of all this—what would happen?”

“What do you mean? Happen how?”

“To you. What would happen to you? Would you get better? Would you get worse? I know you don’t know, but—what does it feel like?”

Jon considered. “You’re right, I don’t know. But… it also doesn’t matter. I can’t just let go. I need to do what I can to fix it, whatever that might be. Don’t ask me to let it go. Please.”

“All right.” Martin had already assumed the answer would be something like that. “Then we do the interviews.”

“Thank you,” Jon said quietly, as Martin put his arm around him before walking into the building.

***

Martin asked Sasha if they could do the interviews. She seemed surprised, but was agreeable enough, probably because Martin was the one doing the asking—it provided an implicit indication that Jon was feeling well enough to go, and Martin felt a bit like he had lied to her just by asking. Tim was a little more skeptical when Martin asked him for the contact forms. He ignored Martin and addressed Jon directly across the office.

“You know, Martin and I could still go.”

“No,” Jon said. “It’s too—it’s better if I’m there.”

“You sure?” Tim tried again. “Look, I don’t really know what the issue is, but if you’re worried about Martin, don’t be. Frankly, he’s doing much better than you are, and we’ve—”

“That’s not it. I just want to be there myself.”

Now Tim looked back at Martin and raised an eyebrow, and Martin shrugged.

“All right then,” Tim said, and reached for a drawer on his desk. “There’s a couple that will bring you down toward Crawley, if I remember, and a couple more that are spread out up north.”

“Can I look at them?” Jon said. “I’d like to see what they’re regarding.”

“Knock yourself out,” Tim said, handing them to Martin.

There were no names they recognized, and Jon didn’t think any of them looked particularly promising, but Martin was able to get ahold of two of them and set up appointments for that afternoon. The discussions were frustrating for everyone involved. For one thing, Jon hadn’t quite come to terms with the fact that things went very differently when people weren’t compelled to tell their stories, and Martin had to keep reminding him to be patient. For the same reason, it was hard to tell what was what; one of the stories might have been legitimately Corruption-related, but it could have also been a very bad case of health code violations combined with an active imagination.

“How did you know before if they were real or not?” Martin asked, as they were headed back on the train. “Like, in the beginning?”

Jon leaned back in the seat next to him with his eyes closed. “Well, when they were written down, there was the fact that I couldn’t record them except on the—on the tapes.”

“Right.” Martin frowned. “Obviously we’re not doing that again, but maybe we could try recording on our phones or something and seeing if it works?”

Jon gave a slight nod of his head. “Maybe. We don’t know if it will be the same, though. We don’t really know why that was. Maybe it was all Web, from the beginning.”

“True.” Martin turned it over some more. “Well, when you were talking to people directly how did you know?”

“I just did,” Jon sighed. “I didn’t think of it as anything more than a feeling until later.”

“And you couldn’t tell today?”

“No. Not even a hint.” Martin was relieved to hear it, although he opted not to share that with Jon.

They rode in silence for a while. Martin was surprised to see Jon had not fallen asleep when he checked on him.

“What are you thinking?” he asked.

Jon opened his eyes and turned to Martin, then to the back of the seat in front of him. Martin prompted him again.

“Jon? What are you thinking?”

“Come to Hill Top Road with me.”

“What?”

“Come to Hill Top Road with me,” Jon repeated.

“Why?”

“I need to know if I can feel anything there.”

“Why there?”

“When we came here—” Jon stopped and thought for a moment. “It’s hard to explain, but it’s where the separation—the barrier between us and them—would be the weakest.”

“Then it sounds like we shouldn’t go there.” Martin turned in his seat, and Jon finally looked at him. “It kind of seems we should actively avoid going there. Like, ever.”

Jon took Martin’s hand in his. “I just need to know. You—you could be right. About the Eye. Maybe it’s not coming back for me. Maybe it’s done with me.”

Martin breathed out slowly, a careful, measured exhalation. “And what if it is done with you?”

“Then…” Jon paused again. “Then I need to accept it.”

“And if it isn’t?”

A little bit of life came back into his voice. “Then it isn’t, and like I’ve been saying, it’s better to know and get on with it.”

Martin wasn’t sure he agreed, but he kept silent.

“Come to Hill Top Road with me,” Jon entreated him again. “Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” Martin exclaimed loudly, and a woman two seats up across the aisle looked back at them. “Oh—sorry. Sorry.”

He waited until she had smiled and turned back to try again, more quietly. “Tomorrow? Really?”

“Yes. In the morning, first thing. Tell Sasha we have therapy.”

“If we go…” Martin sighed. “If we go and you don’t find what you’re looking for, will you—will you try to let it go? I don’t mean everything, we can talk to Tim and Sasha, we can do whatever you want, just—will you try to live without it?”

Jon considered, a troubled look in his eyes.

“I’m not asking for a promise, Jon—I don’t want one. I’m just asking what you’ll do.”

Jon took a deep breath. “I’d like to try. I think I would try.”

“All right.” Jon had won. Martin squeezed his hand, more to reassure himself than anything. “I’ll go with you. Tomorrow morning. I’ll tell them when we get back.”

“Thank you.”

Then next time Martin checked on him, Jon had fallen asleep.

***

Jon’s alarm went off the next morning right around sunrise, before Martin’s usual waking time. Martin was surprised by how much energy he seemed to have; he wanted it to be because he was feeling better, but he suspected Jon was running on fumes and willpower.

“Not going to shower first?” he asked, when Jon stepped out of bed and immediately went to the closet.

“No,” Jon answered. “I’d like to leave as soon as we can.”

“Well, you are going to have breakfast,” Martin grumbled, sitting up and trying to blink away the sleep.

“Martin—”

“That’s not debatable. I couldn’t get you to eat anything last night.” They had ended up taking a cab back from the train station, and Martin had worried for a moment that he was going to have to carry Jon up the stairs. “Use some of that energy to—go pour yourself some cereal or something.”

“Fine.” Jon started to leave the bedroom. “Do you want anything?”

“Nope.” Martin groaned as he started to stand up.

“Well, if I have to, then you should—”

“I ate dinner last night. And part of someone else’s dinner that I didn’t want to go to waste. And it is way too early right now, and—”

“Fine. I get it. I’m going.”

After Martin was dressed, he joined Jon to find him scraping at the bottom of a bowl of cereal.

“How full was that?” he asked, suspicious.

“Overflowing.” Jon regarded him from his seat on the couch.

“Really?”

“No. I don’t know, normal?”

“Look, I’m sorry,” Martin sighed. “I’m still really worried, ok?”

Jon softened his gaze. “No, I’m sorry. I’m—I’m nervous. I just want to get this done.” He put one last spoonful into his mouth, and it made chewing and swallowing look extremely distasteful. “Are you ready?”

“As ready as I’m going to be,” Martin said. “Let’s go.”

The train ride out was long, and they had to switch to a bus line in Oxford. They barely spoke, but it wasn’t a particularly uncomfortable silence. Part of it was probably the early hour, although Jon seemed more awake and alert than Martin had seen him in days. He was probably anxious about what they would find; Martin was, at least, so it was easy to imagine Jon was feeling the same.

When they arrived, they stood together, side by side, staring at the front door. The house that occupied the property was the same as he had imagined it from when the other archive staff had visited it before the apocalypse. Apparently built as student housing, no one had ever actually moved in. The front porch was covered in cobwebs. Martin broke the silence they had maintained during the walk from the bus station.

“I don’t like this.”

“Me neither,” said Jon.

“Yes, but—I mean I don’t want to go in.”

“I understand. You can wait for me out here.”

“No, that—” Martin looked down at Jon, who continued to stare at the house. “I don’t want us to go in. Either of us.”

They let the silence take over again. It went on long enough that Martin wondered if they could just stay on the front lawn indefinitely, if he didn’t say anything; it seemed like it might be the most reasonable option. Unfortunately, Jon did eventually speak again.

“Martin, I really do understand if you—”

“No. If you’re going in, I’m—I’m going too.”

“I am sorry.” Jon started to step toward the house, but Martin caught him by the arm.

“Wait. Where is—where is Annabelle? Where has she been?”

“What?” Jon asked, turning to look at him.

“I know we haven’t talked about it, and maybe this is a bad time to bring it up—but she came here with us, didn’t she? To this dimension.”

“Presumably, yes.”

“Where would she go, if not—if not here? I mean, even without what you said about it—just look at it. It’s got to be crawling with spiders.”

Jon furrowed his brow before responding. “She could be here. It’s possible.”

Martin’s pulse quickened. “Well then—wouldn’t we want to not be here? Isn’t that a good reason to stay out?”

“I’m not concerned.” Jon shrugged, leaving Martin in disbelief.

“Can I ask why not?”

“It’s just a theory, but—” Jon walked a few paces and sat on the front step. “I think—I think the entities are getting stronger, regaining their power, in the order that the fears evolved and separated from one another. The dates I’ve pieced together from Sasha’s notes, the avatars—”

“What?” Martin was dumbfounded. “What do you mean?”

“Right. When I—after I killed Jonah, there was a, um…”

“A statement?”

“Yes.”

“Of course there was.” Martin shook his head and moved to take a seat next to Jon.

“I’m sorry I didn’t—”

“It’s all right.” It still hurt every time he remembered Jon had gone up to the tower without him, and Jon knew it. “Go on.”

“They were born in our dimension. They grew there, as one being at first. Then, as animals and humanity developed and changed, and their fears became more specific, more distinct, so did the entities themselves. The Hunt, the End, the Dark—they were first.”

“I see.” Martin thought. “And we’ve seen Oliver Banks and now Callum Brodie. What about—”

“I suspect we want to avoid anything having to do with Daisy, if we can.”

Martin’s eyes unintentionally drifted to the scar that still stood out vividly on Jon’s throat before he caught himself. “And where does the Eye fit in?”

“Soon. If I’m right.”

“Ok.” Martin now realized there had been a deeper layer to Jon’s recent desperation. “Why didn’t you tell me this before?”

“I honestly thought it wasn’t important. But now—you brought up Annabelle, and—”

“Right. So where does the Web fit into this theory?”

Jon considered. “If I’m right—if I’m right—we have time. If she is here, she’s likely much weaker than I am. She would have more to fear from us than the other way around.”

Martin sighed. “Any chance we can just burn the place?”

“Tempting.” Jon grinned just enough for Martin to see it. “In the long run, though—”

“Yeah, yeah—it would probably just make things worse.”

“Shall we?” Jon asked, starting to rise to his feet.

“If you have to.”

“I do.”

The front door gave way at a light touch; the knob and deadbolt were completely useless. It seemed like the sort of place that had been broken into so many times that the owners had simply stopped replacing them. The inside of the house was at least as covered with webs and dust as the front porch.

“Well,” Martin said, “I hate this.”

“I don’t love it.” Jon reflexively reached for Martin’s hand. “Come on.”

They walked further into the depths of the house, which was quite large. There were multiple small rooms, which made sense for student housing, and a larger sitting room; it looked like there was a kitchen in the very back. He was so busy looking up to make sure he didn’t accidentally walk into anything, that he jumped about a foot when Jon stomped his heel against the floor.

“Jon, why would you—”

“Spider,” Jon said.

“Oh. Carry on, then.”

“Remember when you used to get upset with me for—”

“Don’t.”

Jon squeezed his hand, and Martin had the odd feeling that he was somehow more comfortable now than he had been for a while. They looked around them from what appeared to be roughly the middle of the floorplan.

“Should we go upstairs, or—”

“Look,” Jon cut him off, and pointed to the floor. Beneath the dirt and footprints of previous trespassers, Martin could see an unmistakable pattern in the wood stain that ran across multiple boards, beyond the edge of the room they were currently in. It gave the appearance of a long, dark, jagged crack. He may not have noticed it if he hadn’t been looking for it, but he couldn’t see anything else now.

“Do you think that’s—where it is?” Martin asked.

“Your guess is as good as mine.” Jon started to pull Martin toward it, but Martin stayed where he was.

“Do you really have to stand right on it?”

“Just give me a moment.” Jon slipped his hand out of Martin’s before he had a chance to protest. Martin held his breath and gave him five seconds, then ten seconds.

“Anything?”

“Wait.”

Twenty seconds. Thirty seconds. He was counting each of them.

“Jon—”

“Wait. Please.” Jon was growing tenser, more anxious.

A minute.

“Jon, I don’t—”

“I told you to wait.” Jon snapped at him this time.

The momentary sting was quickly replaced by concern; that just wasn’t like Jon. He bit his lip, unsure what to do. If he insisted on interrupting him, tried to convince him to leave, Jon might not feel like he really gave it enough of a chance—or worse, he might blame Martin for the failed attempt to find whatever power he was seeking. He’d be too kind to say anything, of course, but they would both know.

He decided to continue waiting, as long as he could make himself. He pressed his hand to his mouth as a reminder. The house was so quiet; it occurred to him he should have been able to hear sounds from outside, but something about the place seemed to be swallowing them up before they could reach them.

In the stunted silence, Martin had the sudden feeling they were not alone.

Before he could make up his mind to disrupt him again, Jon spoke.

“There’s nothing,” he said meekly.

“What?” Martin asked.

“There’s nothing,” Jon said again. “I don’t feel anything. I really thought—” He cut himself off, his expression a mix of loss and confusion and sadness, and Martin was filled with a deep, distressing pity for him.

“Hey,” he said, crossing to Jon, forgetting his trepidation toward the mark on the floor. It seemed meaningless now, nothing more than an ugly accident at the lumber factory. He pulled Jon into his arms. “It’s going to be all right. We’ll figure it out.”

Jon didn’t answer, but he allowed Martin to hold him, eventually letting the weight of his head fall against Martin’s chest.

“I’m sorry,” Martin said quietly.

“Are you?”

“Yes,” Martin answered. “Part of me is relieved, I’ll admit, but I don’t want you to be miserable, Jon. Honestly, I don’t. We’ll do whatever we need to do to help make this better, ok?”

Jon fell silent again, and in that silence Martin remembered the feeling he’d had just before Jon had spoken.

“Jon—can we get out of here? Sit outside? We can talk there. On the porch, even. I just have this feeling like—like we’re being watched.”

“What?” Jon pulled away enough to look up at his face.

“Not like—watched, I don’t think that even feels like anything. I just mean—like, regular being watched. If that’s a thing.”

Jon concentrated for a moment, but quickly gave up. “All right. We can go.”

Martin felt a second wave of relief wash over him. It’s over, he thought to himself, at least for the time being. He released Jon from his grasp, turning him gently toward the door—the faster they could get outside, back to the fresh air, the better for both of them.

A few steps, though, and Jon stumbled. Martin, instinctively reaching to support him, assumed at first that he had stepped wrong or tripped over something—but that wasn’t right. Jon was heavy in his arms, and Martin nearly fell himself trying to stop Jon from hitting the ground.

Ok. Martin collected his thoughts as quickly as possible as he gently set Jon down. He’s fainted. That wasn’t great, but it wasn’t entirely unexpected, given how he had been feeling and his inability to eat. I just need to give him a minute and he’ll come around.

That wasn’t right either, though, Martin quickly realized, because Jon had stopped breathing.

Shit, shit, shit. He had taken a CPR class many years ago, but he hadn’t thought about it in almost as long. What were the steps? He knew Jon wasn’t choking, and he remembered something about checking for a pulse, although he didn’t remember if you were supposed to do that right away or—

Do something.

He reached for Jon’s neck, pressing two fingers against his carotid artery. He waited.

I’m doing it wrong.

He readjusted. Still nothing.

“Shit.” Panic started to well up inside him again. Breaths? Chest compressions?

Call for help.

He pulled out his phone and started to dial, but quickly realized he had no reception. He held it up, moving it around, even standing again to see if he could get a signal, but no matter where he moved he couldn’t get a single bar of service. He thought about going outside to try there, but couldn’t stand the thought of leaving Jon alone in this place.

Chest compressions.

He knelt next to Jon, placing one hand on top of the other the way he thought he remembered. He pressed the heel of his palm against Jon’s sternum, just inches away from the scar he had put there only months ago.

Don’t.

The scar where he had driven a knife through muscle and maybe bone—he didn’t think it was supposed to be so easy to do that, but the cracking sound—

Don’t, not now.

—the cracking sound and then suddenly it had been so much easier, the knife went in and there was that single gasp of pain, and then he’d pulled the knife out because he couldn’t stand to leave it in, but all the blood came with it—

I killed him.

Jon was dying. The tape unspooled; the tower crumbled around them, and Martin held on. Jon lay dead in his arms as the world disappeared around them, and he held on. He held on for so long.

God, it hurts.

“Martin—”

I’m so sorry.

“Martin, let go.”

Martin opened his eyes and tried to remember where he was. His pulse was racing.

“Martin.”

He was sitting on the floor with Jon—Jon needed him to let go. He did, and Jon immediately took a deep breath. Martin still couldn’t quite remember where they were.

“You were dead.”

“No,” Jon answered, still breathing hard. “No, I just blacked out. I think I’m ok.”

“No. I killed you. There was—there was the knife—where did it—”

Jon, understanding, reached for Martin’s face. “Look at me. We’re at Hill Top Road. We came here together.”

“What?” Martin tried to remember, and eventually the details of their current situation came back to him. He looked around at the house. Jon was so pale. “Oh god. Jon, are you all right?”

“I think so. I think I just blacked out.”

“You weren’t breathing. I swear you weren’t breathing, and I couldn’t find a pulse—”

“Are you sure? Or were you…”

“I—I think so?” Although now that he thought about it, Martin realized he couldn’t be completely sure. “Maybe?”

“It doesn’t matter. I’m—I’m ok now. I’m breathing.”

Martin looked around again. He hated this place. “Let’s leave. Please. Right now.”

“Yes. Yes, of course.”

It was harder to help Jon to his feet than either of them expected. His energy from earlier in the day had vanished almost entirely, and he leaned hard against Martin as they walked toward the door. The porch, which had previously seemed as dreadful as the house, now felt like a sanctuary as the sun streamed onto it through the support columns. It was almost unbelievable that nothing stopped them from reaching it, and Martin collapsed onto the wooden deck as soon as they did.

He made sure Jon had a relatively comfortable spot to lie, and then dragged himself to the steps, pulling his knees into his chest and blocking the light from his eyes with one arm. He stayed like that until he’d relaxed enough to reach into his pocket for his phone again. He had a little reception out here, at least. He scrolled through his contacts until he’d pulled up Sasha’s number.

“Hi Martin,” she answered cheerily. “Everything going all right?”

“Sasha, hey,” he said, trying to keep his voice calm. “Listen, I’m sorry to do this—”

“Martin, I can barely hear you. Is everything all right?”

“Yeah—it is. Mostly.” He was too miserable to think up an actual lie. “Jon’s not feeling well today. I think—I think we’ll need the whole day off.”

“Did you say—is Jon ok?”

“He’s—” He looked at Jon where he lay in a patch of sunlight, eyes closed, taking shallow breaths. “He’s—I don’t know. He’s not great.”

“I’m—I’m sorry to hear that. Do you need anything?”

“No. We’ll manage.” He wasn’t sure that was true, but he had no idea what kind of help he could even ask for.

“You’re breaking up, but—please keep me updated? I’ll check in later.”

“All right.”

Martin ended the call.

[somuchbetterthanthat]

i’m highly embarassed at a misread I’ve made of a post, so now i’m just distracting myself by diving into @sceptiqueveille ‘s challenge for me (sorry love, it’s three not five). 

This story is very much about Jon being pinned to walls. 

[warning for absolutely not-discussed-properly-unealthy-bdsm-practice/kinks-in-the-middle]

“This is such a bad habit and you know it,” Georgie tells him; 

She’s a little bit drunk, and it takes her several seconds to light up Jon’s cigarette; Jon takes a puff and leans against the wall; Georgie puts the lighter back in his jacket, and then keeps her hand right there, seeking some warmth into his pocket. He offers her the cigarette. She takes it, hums around it more than anything, and then she repeats: “A terrible habit. You’re quitting tomorrow.”

“Right until Harry’s next monologue about his incredible adventures in the States,” Jon agrees dryly, and Georgie snorts.

“God he’s awful, isn’t he?”

“I could smoke my whole pack of cigarettes and I’m sure he’ll still be on and on about the freedom and peace that comes with endless deserted roads.”

“Mmm.” Georgie leans in and lets her other hand rest of Jon’s stomach, warm and firm. “You could do something so much more pleasant than smoking, you know.” 

Jon’s eyes flutter as she stares up at him, her lips curled into a teasing smile that he’s learnt to read as flirting over the past few months. He feels his heart skips a beat; it’s not new anymore, Georgie and him being a thing, but it still randomly hits him that he loves her, and that for some absurd, uncanny reason, she seems to like him back. 

“Is that so?” he asks, and tries to keep his tone cool and collected, as though he could manage to hide anything from her. 

“Mm-mm,” she nods, and steals the cigarette from his fingers; she crushes it before he can protest (those things are getting expensive, and he’s not even nearly done -) and throws it with rather exceptional precision into the bin a few meters away before bringing back her hands, both of them this time, on Jon’s chest. 

She pushes him lightly, without any proper force in it, but he lets himself fall more against the wall and bends his head obligingly as she gets on her tiptoes to kiss him. Her lips are warm and sweet and familiar; Jon closes his eyes for a moment and raises his hands to put them on Georgie’s hips. Before he can do that though, she moves herself and grasps his wrists, pinning them back to the wall. 

“Georgie,” he breathes out against her mouth, flushing brightly. 

His heart has skipped another beat, for a whole different reason. She laughs as he hisses ‘we’re in public’ 

“Do you feel indecent, Jonathan?” she grins up to him, her thumb gently caressing Jon’s wrist. 

“I - I mean, you can’t just -”

“I thought we said I could,” she sing-songs. 

“We’re in public,” he repeats, faintly. 

“Relax, Jon,” she tells him; she presses another kiss on his mouth, and he does, instinctively, eases up into it. “I’m just kissing my gorgeous boyfriend. Nobody can be shocked about that. Besides, they’re all riveted by Harry’s stories, remember? Or drunk out of their minds.”

She steps closer still; her hands are firm, but her grin is bright and happy and soft and Jon forgets to worry, because he really wants to kiss her some more. 

“Okay,” he says and his cheeks are a bit pink when she laughs again and says you’re so easy for me Jonathan Sims. He doesn’t try and deny it, just grins back against her mouth and lets himself be kissed.

*

Jon doesn’t expect Elias to get up; to be fair, he’s past any fancy idea of Elias doing anything at all, apart from sitting at his desk and listening to him rage on with a mild and patient air that makes Jon even angrier. Today is in no way different, only there’s something thrumming in Jon’s skin, skittering at the edge of his brain and he can’t bear to be down at the Archives where guilt eats at him every time he crosses path with his assistants, and there is usually something satisfying about yelling at Elias about his uselessness. 

But Elias rises up and, more than that, takes off his jacket and takes a few steps towards Jon. Jon - because he has some sort of self-preservation - takes a few steps back.

“What are you doing?” he snaps; Elias hums at the compulsion; doesn’t answer, of course, though his lips twitch with the hint of a smile that Jon refuses to admit makes his mouth dry.

“You’re on edge,” Elias says after enough time has passed that they’re both sure it’s not forced out of him. “You haven’t slept in days, you’re angry and worried and needy.”

“I -”

“You want answers I won’t give,” Elias continues; he takes another step - Jon’s self-preservation battles with his curiosity at the change in their usual scenario. He wavers on his feet. “Fortunately, you’re also seeking some sort of control, and that I’m more than ready to help with.”

“Wha -” Jon begins, but then Elias’ hand is suddenly resting on his throat, firm and heavy.

He doesn’t squeeze, but Jon stills all the same, eyes darting up to meet Elias’; it feels like falling; the intensity of his piercing, burning blue eyes hits Jon like a slap and he gasps; it feels like the entire world is watching them and the pressure is terrifying and - slipping from him, already. His mind arches towards it and Elias offers him a sharp, fond smile, his thumb rubbing over his skin before his grip tightens. Not long nor hard enough as to entirely stops Jon from breathing, but enough that Jon shudders violently.

“Just a tad too soon yet, Jon,” Elias says, almost gentle. “But you’ll get there. And I’m sure it’ll be as magnificent as promised. But for now, we’ve got other matters to address -”

Jon tries to think of something to snark back at him, but Elias starts walking again, his grip of Jon’s throat still strong, and Jon finds himself stumbling backwards clumsily until his back hits the wall; it occurs to him he should fight, raise his hands, or do - something. Anything. But he just watches Elias watching him, studying him, until Elias nods and says: ‘well’ and starts squeezing. 

Jon’s instinctive reaction is immediate; his hand jerks up to grasp at Elias’ wrist but Elias just squeezes harder, and Jon’s mouth opens hopelessly, seeking air and failing to get any; his legs buckle underneath him as Elias’ other hand comes to rest upon his chest, right onto his heart, which is beating wildly and loudly. He doesn’t know how long it last; he knows that Elias’ grip tightens and tightens until he can’t think of anything else but that, until his whole brain screams for air, all other thoughts forgotten or discarded; he knows that even this disappears, until all that’s left is the pressure and the pain and the utter, impossible peace that comes from it; (and, underneath it still, beyond his blurry vision, and the black spots that color it, beyond Elias’ piercing blue eyes he hasn’t stopped looking into, something else is watching, something that’s -)

The pressure decreases; Jon is weeping; breathing hurts as much as being forbidden to; Elias moves closer, his hand leaving Jon’s throat to gently wipes away a few tears, and he lets his forehead fall against his. Jon blindly grasps at his shirt.

“Very good,” Elias murmurs. “You’re doing so very good Jonathan.”

They exhale together the same shaky, reverent breath. 

*

Martin doesn’t push him against the wall, exactly; he guides him there, hands on Jon’s shoulders, firm and gentle at once, and once Jon’s back is against it, he doesn’t move for a while; Jon knows he’s waiting to see if Jon will try to move or not. It happened, before; Jon wants to be good for him, most times desperatedly so, but his will is not - what it used to be. Sometimes, he is too hungry; too on edge; even now, he can still feel it, the bright minds two floors up, full of stories that he hasn’t gotten yet, but he stays very still, because he is downstairs with Martin, and that’s more important. 

“That’s good,” Martin smiles, sounding pleased, and Jon breathes out, tension uncurling slightly in his stomach. “I’m still going to tie you up a bit, alright? Not because I don’t trust you,” he adds, very seriously, raising a hand to gently caress Jon’s cheek. “Just because it sounds nice, right now.”

Jon nods slowly; he doesn’t trust his voice right now; he’s too curious as to what Martin wants to do. Instead he watches him. Martin looks a bit tired, but he always does these days - lots of pression comes with being the head of the Institute’s assistant, as well as, well, Jon’s... manager, if that’s the world for it - but his eyes are soft, his expression calm and confident and that’s always lovely to lean into. Jon wants to pry into his head, wants to know him, understands everything he’s feeling right now, even as his hands slides down Jon’s arms, careful and slow, spinning web around them, but he restrains himself, as always.

Martin doesn’t like that and anything Martin doesn’t like him doing he assumes to be wrong these days. He has to have some sort of moral code. Martin and him both agree on that. 

It’s odd, being pinned to the wall by Martin’s thin strands of web. It isn’t heavy like chains or rope, or even ribbons, but it’s stronger, somehow; Once Martin has reached his hands, Jon gives a soft, experimental tug, and finds he’s completely immobilized. His heart flutters, He licks his lips, 

“Good,” repeats Martin. He caresses Jon’s cheek again, and Jon instinctively leans into it; that makes Martin grin, soft and happy. “How do you feel?”

“Fine,” Jon breathes out. 

“You know I need more than that,” Martin points out. His voice is still gentle, but Jon can feel the way he pulls at his string; it makes him shiver. 

“I’m hungry,” he says, more honestly. “There’s someone upstairs I need to hear the story of. They’re really -”

“You read a statement this morning, Jon,” Martin comments lightly. Jon wants to protests that it’s nothing comparable, but he knows Martin is already aware of that. So he breathes out, slowly, and says “right.” and it’s worth it for the way Martin’s smile widens again, and his thumb passes across his lips. 

“I’m happy being here with you,” he concludes then, stiff and honest too, and Martin’s thumb stills on his mouth. Jon presses a light kiss on it. He knows he’s supposed to wait but surely that barely counts. 

“You know the rule,” Martin says all the same, almost instinctively, though his gaze is so full of love that Jon’s legs feel very weak. He’s grateful for the web, suddenly. 

“Please,” he manages to say, all the same. “May I have a kiss?” 

“As much as you want,” Martin answers and his hands are tender on Jon’s face when he bends down to kiss him. Jon doesn’t try to go against his bonds again, just hums against Martin’s lips, and it’s already hard to think of anything else than the warmth of his mouth when Martin murmurs, several kisses later: “I’m so happy you’re here with me too.” 

[statementends]

Characters: Jon, Georgie, Martin, More to be added

Relationships: Jon/Georgie,  More the be added

Rating: G

Warnings: Mention of canonical character deaths (Gertrude), The Stranger, The Web, The Corruption

Summary: Georgie and Jon have a podcast. It's been getting a lot of attention recently.

Shifting POVs of different people interacting with the WTG podcast and crew and how it ties in with the Magnus Institute.

AO3: Link

Chapter One: Martin

A woman starts out by speaking in a somber tone.

“This podcast contains disturbing material. Triggers for the episode can be found in the description. View discretion is advised.”

Creepy music begins to swell and a low masculine voice fills the headphones.

“Carlos Vittery doesn’t like spiders. It’s not their long spindly legs, or their large hairy bodies. It’s the knowledge. The knowledge that they are there. Waiting in the shadows ready to crawl on his skin without warning. But what if it’s not only the living spiders he needs to worry about? What if they can come back? Haunt him for past transgressions? We’ll be looking at Carlos’ story and his claim that the ghost of a spider he killed as a child lurks in the shadows of his every step, on:”

“What the ghost!?!?!” The woman’s voice again, energetic now. The creepy music echoes a bit and comes to an end.

“A ghost spider.” The same male voice again, but now deadpan and derisive.

“Now, Jon,” The woman began.

“A spider. That is a ghost.”

“Jooon.”

“Absolute rubbish.”

“Alright everyone, take a shot.” The woman laughed.

“Georgie…” Jon sounded pained.

“For those not in the know some fans on twitter have been circulating a drinking game to go along with our show. One of them is: Jon immediately dismisses the topic as nonsense.”

“A ghost spider.” Jon repeated.

“Welcome to the What the Ghost!?! Podcast. I’m Georgie Barker.”

“And I’m Jonathan Sims.” A put upon sigh from Jon.

“Today we’re looking at … a Ghost Spider. Much to my co-host’s despair.”

“Georgie, when you asked me to be your co-host--”

“Two years in March if anyone’s wondering.”

“--You said we’d take things seriously, not go with sensationalism or preying on people that need medical expertise.We would look at the facts. Look at things that actually have--”

“Teeth? Oop mentioned teeth. Take a shot.”

“I’m just saying this is a … stretch.”

“What if I told you that Carlos Villery died?”

“I would say that that is a sad coincidence…”

“Covered in spider webs.”

“...How long did it take to find him?”

“A week.”

“Well then, there’s probably some natural explanation for that that goes further than ‘ghost spiders.’”

“But--natural explanation take a shot--”

“Please don’t do that all show…”

“--Here’s an interesting thing. His name shows up in the code of Chelicerae, and he also went to the Magnus Institute to make a statement before his death.”

“Them again,” Jon’s voice got quieter. “...I assume people at home should take a shot for the mention of the Magnus Institute?” He sounded grim. “They have been coming up a lot lately, haven’t th--”

“Do you have a moment Martin? I wanted to talk to you about something.”

Martin shot up quickly pulling the earbuds out of his ears.

“I! Sorry! Yes! Ah… sure. Yes. Of course.” He quickly slipped his phone in his pocket and stood. He followed Elias to his office feeling a bit of trepidation. What if he was getting fired? He always felt that plunge in his stomach whenever he had to talk to his boss.

Elias gestured for him to have a seat. He did, clasping his hands so that he wouldn't fidget.

“I know things have been hard after the… infestation,” Elias said slowly.

“Oh--well I… uh… I mean… Tim got the worst of it. I was… I was fine,” He lied. He didn’t want to talk about this. Elias was a good man, but in a manager sense. Opening up to him wasn’t what he wanted. He’d just as soon try to forget the whole thing… well except he couldn’t. He couldn’t forget Gertrude’s body alone in the empty room with the boxes of tapes.

“Martin?”

“Sorry--sorry Elias I--It’s been… I’m fine. I just… I just want to get back to normal.” If that was even possible at this point. He woke up screaming every night remembering Jane Prentiss’ face, full of holes. Full of worms.

“That’s good, something to focus on,” Elias offered a weak smile. “I was actually wondering if you might help Sasha with some of the recordings for the archive project.”

“The recordings?”

“I know Tim and yourself have been focused on research with Sasha heading up organization and archiving, but she’s said herself that it’s a bigger task than we had estimated. Gertrude … had her own system. I’m going to ask Tim to help as well, although I thought giving him a bit more time might… be for his benefit.”

He hadn’t noticed before, but Elias looked as exhausted as the rest of them. A bit paler than usual, his eyes less patient. The attack must have affected him too.

“Right…well. I can do that,” Martin nodded. “If it helps.”

Elias’ smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Good. And Martin?”

“Er, yes?”

“That podcast you were listening to. While it doesn’t hurt to get a sense of the competition I would prefer that you do it in your own time.”

“Oh.” Martin blushed. “Sorry. Yes. Com--Competition?”

Martin was sure he sensed annoyance although Elias’ expression didn’t change.

“A lot of people that might tell their stories here get drawn in to send in their stories to that podcast instead. It’s a shame they have no interest in real academics. They might be assets.” He stopped. Seemed like he was going to continue, but didn’t. “Nevermind. Why don’t you get back. I’ll send you a few statements I’d like you to archive.”

“Right.”

Martin left Elias’ office, quietly kicked himself that he didn’t ask if this meant he’d get a raise and headed back to the archives and his desk. He slipped his earbuds back in as he walked down the halls.

He had started listening to WTG in the months following Prentiss showing up at his doorstep. They had an episode on her. It was talked a lot about on social media because it was one of the few episodes Jon wasn’t scathingly skeptic. He didn’t say the word monster, but he did admit that whatever she was she existed and she was dangerous.

After that Martin had kept listening. Catching up on all the backlog. Jon and Georgie were a point of light in the darkness of being hidden in the institute while worms kept showing up on their doorstep.

He was relistening now because… well… some of the statements matched up with their episodes, but they had made connections the Institute hadn’t. Martin had even dug up a few statements that had connected with their episodes they hadn’t known about yet. Sasha had encouraged this at first, but after the attack… she had gotten …

Possessive? She had taken all the tapes she had recorded. Told them she was organizing them in a particular way and that they were off limits now. He thought she was going to hit him when he had tried to take one to cross reference with the WTG episode on garbage collectors.

In retrospect she probably wouldn’t like Tim and Martin doing recordings. He mentally sighed. As if the archives needed more tension.

Something was going on. Something that went beyond post-traumatic stress and supernatural worms. It was like there was a secret in the air that no one was saying.

And they couldn’t go back to normal.

Tim radiated unspoken anger, and Sasha kep breaking her computer and going on long lunches. Martin… he just wanted … the sense of unease to lift.

Gertrude’s body hung over his head. All those tapes the police had confiscated. They probably had answers, but what was he going to do? Phone up the police and ask if he could listen to them? Maybe Tim could do that, but he wasn’t Tim. He’d look crazy, or guilty.

But maybe there were answers here, in this podcast. It seemed like they focused on the same things. Maybe there was even something about Gertrude. At this point it wouldn’t surprise him.

He needed help. And maybe just listening wouldn’t be enough.

[ncfan-1]

ncfan listens to The Magnus Archives: S4 EP123, ‘Web Development’

We have further insight into the way the Archival staff is just completely falling apart, my suspicion that the other Powers were taking shots at the Institute (specifically, the Archival staff) is confirmed, and we have the third statement in a row to provide us with a parallel to Jon. I begin to suspect some sort of external influence on the kinds of statements he’s getting his hands on.

- We open with Jon grumbling to himself about his office has been rearranged while he’s away, only to hear Melanie out breaking stuff in the hallway.

- That Melanie responds so poorly to Jon, his return, and just… him in general, doesn’t really shock me. She’s just so badly destabilized, and the idea that Tim and Daisy both died* while Jon gets off incredibly, implausibly lightly by comparison, suffering apparently no ill effects from having been in a coma for six months, would upset someone who wasn’t already halfway down the slippery slope into Slaughterville. Just… what are consequences? Something that matters very much to Melanie King, and rather less so to Jonathan Sims.

And Jon is just thinking very shallowly about Melanie’s situation when he thought that getting Elias out of the picture would make everything be hunky-dory with her, because Elias is a big symptom of Melanie’s problem, but far from being the root cause. If Melanie is falling apart, I think that is happening in large part due to the fact that she is still bound to the Institute. She’s still trapped. She can’t leave. She’s a prisoner in a supernatural box, and in the absence of Elias, I’m honestly not surprised that she’d zero in on Jon as being to blame for everything, especially everything that’s going on with her.

Because if you think about it, Melanie wouldn’t be in this situation if not for Jon. She would never have crossed paths with the Magnus Institute in any meaningful way if Georgie hadn’t pointed her towards Jon. I don’t think it’s entirely fair to blame him for the breakdown of Melanie King’s life, because she would have become a laughingstock in the paranormal YouTuber/podcaster community with or without him, and would likely have had to find a different line of work anyways. But I don’t need to be halfway to Slaughterville to see where she’s gotten the idea that Jon is to blame for everything. Jon is a symbol; that part of what being an avatar is. He’s a symbol for the Archive, a symbol for the Beholding, and a symbol for the forces at work that have destroyed Melanie’s life.

And the worst thing is, it sounds like Melanie, even if she wanted to, wouldn’t have had the luxury of trying to pull herself back from the influence of the Slaughter. Because as I mentioned up above, the other Powers have been taking potshots at the Eye, and the Archival staff have needed someone a halfway-to-Slaughterville skillset just to stay safe. So we have Melanie, having to sacrifice bits and pieces of her sanity just to stay alive, just to keep Basira and Martin safe, and as I’ll talk about more in just a little while, I wouldn’t be shocked if she thinks Jon has had it entirely too easy by comparison.

*I still say I’ll believe Daisy’s dead when I see a body. I honestly think that by the time she killed whichever half of Breekon & Hope she killed, she had become like Jon: too inhuman to die. And when the explosion happened, I think that she, like Jon, made a choice, and walked away from it changed.

- That said, I also think Melanie is justified in her distrust. As I have emphasized before, it is not natural to walk away from a six-month coma as cleanly as Jon did. “You don’t know me, and I don’t know you.” He just waltzes back into the Archive, apparently completely fine after having been in a coma for six months, that just screams supernatural bullshit. As Georgie said, we can think that this is a miraculous second chance for Jon all we like, but it is probably not anything so positive.

- I no longer think Basira’s behavior is just a matter of her not being sure she can trust Jon. She’s so detached, so impersonal. She defends Melanie to Jon, but even when she’s talking about how she was attacked and almost killed by the Flesh, it’s like it was happening to another person, and she was just an observer. In any other series, I’d say that’s down to trauma, but here? That’s got the fingerprints of the Beholding all over it.

But I think another part of it may be that Basira is just done with Jon? Because let’s talk about what I just mentioned: the Archival staff were attacked by the Flesh. Like, some of my favorite episodes are the ones with the Flesh, because they’re so entertainingly weird, but the Flesh is probably the worst Power you could ever be attacked by, because unless you’re being attacked by cannibals, it’s just going to be something so bizarre, so alien, that you just have no frame of reference for what you’re dealing with. You can’t discern pattern or motive, and that makes it very difficult to find a way to effectively deal with it, unless you have a Hunter with you, or someone in the process of succumbing to the Slaughter. (Since the Hunt and the Slaughter seem to derive from the same source, is a human agent of the Slaughter able to kill monsters like Hunters can? I’d be interested to know. I’d also be interested to know whether or not it’s true that only Hunters can kill monsters.)

Though this was the worst incident, Basira (to me) implies that it wasn’t the only one. I think it would have taken more than one attack to convince Melanie, of all people, that she needs to stay in the Institute most of the time for her own protection. And meanwhile, we get no indication that Jon was ever in any danger from agents of other Powers for the entire six months he was in the hospital. He was comatose on a hospital bed for six months, and doesn’t seem to have been in danger from any of the other Powers even once. If I was Melanie, or Basira, or Martin, for that matter, I would probably have a hard time looking at Jon and not thinking about how much better he seems to have had it. And now he’s come back, only dubiously human? I’d be ready to be done with him, too. I mean, I love Jonathan Sims the Disaster Man, but if I was occupying the same universe as him, at this point I’d have serious reservations about whether or not I’d still want to be associated with him.

- I’m at the point where I think I can construct a timeline of events regarding the teaser. I think the teaser took place right after the attack by the Flesh two months prior to this episode. Martin’s been made an offer by Peter Lukas: work for me more closely, and I’ll guarantee you and your coworkers a certain level of protection. He’s thinking it over at Jon’s bedside, Peter calls, and Martin accepts the offer. Martin, like Melanie, makes a choice (though probably more consciously than Melanie’s choice, since it is to me at best unclear as to how much Melanie understands about what’s happening to her) to work outside the system of the Eye to protect his coworkers. And if it doesn’t bite both of them in the ass, I will be amazed.

- Peter Lukas being an absentee boss does not surprise me. Peter Lukas disappearing staff does not surprise me. Whoosh makes me snicker.

- Can we just stop with the assumption that all laughter is a response to finding a situation humorous? Seriously, I think laughter as an involuntary response to culturally-inappropriate stimuli is a widely-known enough thing that we can stop snapping at people to stop laughing and take something seriously if they suddenly burst into laughter at the wrong time. If you snap at someone that “it isn’t funny,” you just look ignorant. Just. Saying.

- Here’s something from my notes: “Tape recorders really do just pop up out of nowhere; I begin to understand why we meet so few human agents of the Beholding.” Like, seriously. It fits pretty well with the Beholding, which is cruel, voyeuristic, and honestly kind of ineffectual, to just spawn tape recorders instead of putting too much effort into growing a large body of human/monstrous ambulatory agents. It’s almost funny, it’s so pathetic.

- Basira’s “play dead” is another reason I think she may just be done with Jon.

- I won’t go into quite as much detail about the statement. It is pretty distinctive for a few reasons. One is that the statement subject (but not the giver, since the subject is too passive a guy to even take the step of talking to the Institute), Gregory Cox, provides another parallel for Jon. This time, we see a parallel for Jon in the form of a man who got sucked into supernatural shenanigans unawares and was after that point unwilling to really think about what that meant, and what he was involved in. Even when confronted with someone in the process of turning into a spider and begging him for help, he seriously tries to play it off as the person having had “an unfortunate condition.” That’s Jon’s S1 “willful ignorance that flies in the face of all logic” to a tee. And Jon, as best as I can tell, hasn’t really thought much about what it means that he’s involved with the Beholding, that he’s responsible for hurting people in the name of the Beholding. He’s quite like Cox, in that respect.

- So anyways, Cox is an incredibly passive man who is hired by a woman who, from her description (very thin, has clearly suffered grievous head trauma at some point in her life) and her association with the Web, is almost certainly Annabelle Cane, to make a website. A very basic, very simple website with weird coding that includes strings of people’s names, and a very long, impossible to memorize url name that changes every few weeks. A website called ‘Chelicerae.’

@agnesmontague and @flo-nelja have clarified both the spelling of ‘chelicerae’ and what they are. They’re the mouth parts of a spider. They’re the jaws of a spider. So when you enter this website, you are entering the jaws of the spider.

You tell a story to the “story-spinner”, about the worst event of your life. And if your story satisfies the story-spinner, you will be rewarded with the death of someone you have singled out. We don’t know what happens if your story doesn’t satisfy. It probably isn’t anything good.

Every few weeks, Cox was asked to code strange things into the website. Strings of meaningless words, bits and pieces of poetry, and a different name, every time. With everything taken in context, I don’t think it’s unreasonable to assume that he was literally coding someone’s horrific death into the website.

Eventually, it gets out that Cox has some involvement in this lethal urban legend, and he starts to get emails begging him to make it stop, demanding to know what’s happening to them, pleading for forgiveness and mercy. The “Bring them back” especially stuck with me. Cox has become the instrument of so many people’s suffering, and he refuses to face it, refuses to face up to what it means that he’s become involved with something very weird, and very dangerous. Like I said, he’s very like Jon, in this way.

- Cox has since vanished, almost a year after the statement was given. As this statement took place before Gertrude died, and would have been fairly current and potentially urgent, I do wonder at her not doing anything about it—especially since the presence of a story-spinner potentially suggests an overlap with the Beholding. I guess it may be like Jon thinks, and Gertrude never knew it had been given.

- The real kicker of this statement, though, is the supplementary document attached to it: a list of the names of the people Cox added into the website’s code. Several of them are the names of statement-givers, including Carlos Vittery. Yeah, suddenly what happened to him doesn’t seem nearly as random as it used to.

- Jon is finally facing up to the fact that he was always a bit of a shitty boss. Whether or not he actually learns something from it is anyone’s guess.

- My verdict: unless whatever Peter Lukas and Martin are working on is literally a plan to stop the Watcher’s Crown, these people do not have a chance in hell of stopping the Watcher’s Crown. They literally cannot pull themselves together fast enough. The Watcher’s Crown will go through, and we’ll see what the world is like when one of the Powers has come through the interstice—and dragged hangers-on with it. Then, the Archival staff, if they’re still in any state to do so, will go about trying to mitigate or reverse the effects. Should be fun.