#maybe secretly I’m Jon sims

[noodles-and-tea]

Jon just like me for real (neither of us can sit properly in a chair)

[late-to-the-magnus-archives]

Vast!Jon AU - Archivist!Sasha Snippet

AKA: That Moment When you want to scream at characters to get as far away as they can... but it's already too late.

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It’s Eye stuff. It’s got to be.

Sasha lies on the floor, nausea rising, vertigo leaving her unable to do much more than be a slug.

Well. And churn Jon’s words.

Do you know what Elias is?

A boring, letter-of-the-law manager?

Except she suddenly knows he is not.

What this place is?

It’s an archive. It’s an intellectual curiosity, knowledge tucked behind glass and incorruptible.

Except she suddenly knows it is not.

If only her head would stop spinning.

If only she could stop feeling like she was falling off a cliff. 

If only she - 

“Sasha?”

Elias.

“I’m here.” She lies still, eyes closed, digging the heels of her hands into her forehead.

“My, my, he did hit you hard, didn’t he? It was an accident, at least. Sasha, I am going to touch you.”

“Excuse you?” she says, because he’d fucking better not mean what that sounded like.

“To free you from the grip of what has made you dizzy. It will not be inappropriate.”

Sasha laughs. “So appropriate that you have to tell me it’s going to be appropriate? What, I couldn’t figure that out for myself?”

“Lie still.” And he touches her forehead.

There is a snap, a flash of light behind her eyelids, and the vertigo abruptly stops.

Sasha makes a low, breathy sound.

“Take your time,” says Elias, who is not at all what she’d thought, and she grows afraid.

She tries to think. There’s nothing remotely like a weapon in here. Maybe if she got into Artefact Storage, but the things in there would be just as likely to eat her as they would him.

“Relax, Sasha. I am not your enemy. We’re on the same side.”

“What side? There are sides?” She risks opening her eyes, and finds the room has stopped whirling. Carefully, she sits up. Her stomach is still unhappy, 

“This is not how I would have preferred to introduce you,” says Elias, who is seated where Jon had been, out of reach, non-confrontational. “You needed more time to acclimate, but our young Mister Sims accidentally accelerated the timeline.”

Sasha thinks maybe she knows now why Gertrude was always so secretly crunchy. “Forgive me, Elias, but what the actual hell are you talking about?”

Elias smiles.

It is a terrible smile.

It is knowing, and smug, and absolutely eager, as if whatever is happening now is satisfying some deeply creepy need. “It’s very simple, Sasha: Do you want to know?”

And it’s not even a fully fleshed-out sentence, and it’s not even a question that should make sense, but it resonates in her, rings her heart like sympathetic tuning forks, gongs through her skull as if he’d hit her brain like a bell.

She needs to know.

She needs it badly.

She needs it with a hunger she’s never known in her entire life, and it eclipses everything else in this moment.

Vaguely, she’s aware of staring back at him, not breathing, so caught in those five, simple words that she’s lost the thread of herself. “Yes.”

“Perfect. Come join me at the table. We have a lot to discuss.”

#

“Fuck that guy,” Martin says the moment they’re outside, taking out his phone. “I’m so mad I’m getting us a rideshare. And we are going someplace ridiculous, and having substandard ice cream, and maybe some booze. Right?”

“I have to go back in,” whispers Jon.

“Nuh-uh. Simon Fairchild has to know some other guy to teach you how to be a proper monster, because that one is full of bats.”

"I hurt her," Jon whispers.

Martin stops. Grips Jon’s shoulders.  "What?"

And Jon won’t meet his eyes.

“Jon?” says Martin, soft.

“I hurt her.” He’s trembling, and his lashes are wet. “Completely by accident, I hurt her. I… I hit her with the Vast, somehow, and I don’t even know how I did it. I have to go back. I have learn how not to do this, so I never do it again.”

Martin stares at him. His phone buzzes. He ignores it. “Jon… should… should we go help her?”

“She asked me to leave. Twice.”

Ouch. “I know you’d never hurt anyone on purpose.”

“I have to go back.”

Martin’s phone buzzes again. He resists the urge to lob it across the street like a grenade. “Jon. It’s been a crazy few days. Apparently, there are fear gods. We’re going home.”

“Martin, if I hurt you - ”

“You won’t. Jon, you’ve been kipping with me for three days. If you were going to hurt me, it already would have happened.”

Jon glances up at his face and away again, but that was long enough.

Martin gasps. “Jon… your eyes.”

“Don’t look!” Jon tries to pull away.

Martin pulls him in instead, both arms around him, and holds. Jon practically goes limp, face to Martin’s shoulder, and trembles. 

Martin cannot process what he just saw.

Jon’s eyes.

They were galaxies.

Looking into them was looking at those fancy NASA photos, shrunk to a thumbnail size.

Martin was absolutely sure for one irrational second that he could fall into Jon’s eyes and be lost in space forever.

Then he shakes it off, because that is ridiculous, and this is stupid. “Come on. Copious amounts of sugar. No arguments.”

“I don’t think I can. I think… I probably need to be alone. Away from you, especially. I can’t… risk doing this to you. I can’t.”

“You won’t.”

“At least give me a couple of days to be sure I won’t just start… hurling people into the air off the street, or something.” Jon risks a glance again (stunning, stellar, impossible), then gently puts his hand to Martin’s cheek. “I’m not going to do anything stupid. But I… if something happened to you because of  me, I don’t…”

Martin’s thoughts have derailed thanks to that hand. Jon’s never done that before.

After a moment, he puts his hand over Jon’s. “You promise you’re not doing something stupid.”

“I promise.”

“Okay.” He wants to kiss Jon’s hand. “Okay.” He wants to kiss Jon’s lips. “Okay.” He wants…

Jon gives him a tight, desperate hug, face to his neck, breath warm and fluttering, and then he’s hurrying away down the street, head down and hands in his pockets, visibly trying not to look at anyone who might cross his path.

Martin stands there, feeling bereft.

Should he run after him?

Maybe?

No?

Jon had the right to ask to be alone, and they had been together for the last three days unceasingly.

Should he check on Sasha?

Maybe?

Probably?

There wasn't an ambulance coming, or anything, so she was hopefully okay?

This was fine.

Sure.

Completely within reason and all very healthy.

Martin’s phone buzzes a third time.

In a daze, he takes it out.

The first text is an enormous privacy invasion, because he had not given Peter Lukas his number. Had a chance to look at that link yet?

Ugh! He deletes it.

The second text is automated, and expected, reminding him the monthly bill for his mother’s care is due.

But the third text.

The third comes from his shift manager.

Martin, it’s Nicole. Antoine lost it and burned down the kitchen, ranting about “desolation” and “lightless flame” and I don’t know what else. We all got out, and we’re not hurt, but Antoine is dead and the restaurant is ruined. Sorry, Martin, I know you needed the money, but Poisson is closed until further notice. Take care of yourself.

Martin stares.

He pulls up the news, and there it is: wild photos of the blaze, black smoke licking the sky, people gaping from across the street, firefighters in full gear and blasting the building with hoses.

He stares.

It’s just… one too many weird things in a week of weird things, and Martin sits down right where he is on the curb.

Right, he thinks, because he was barely making ends meet even with that job.

Right, he thinks, and tells himself it’s absurd to assume the Lukas thing had anything to do with the fire.

Right, he thinks, because the bill for his mother’s care is due, and without the next paycheck, he won’t be able to make it.

For one moment, he drowns.

In a daze, he texts Sasha to ask if she's okay.

Then he scowls. “Oh, fuck it,” he says, and fishes Lukas’ card out of his wallet.

The link still works.

“Fuck it,” he says again, feeling reckless, telling himself asking about an opportunity is not tying him down to anything, and it’s at least worth his time to see if they’re serious.

Coincidences happen.

They do.

"Fuck it," he says one more time, and calls the number.

He just wishes he could lose the stupid, obviously wrong feeling that a net was closing around them all.

[thekisforkeats]

Love Languages

Info: The Magnus Archives, JonMartin, rated T probably for swears. Canon-Compliant. Set post-MAG 22, with a coda post-MAG 159. Everyone is ND and everyone is trans because that’s just how my personal S1 Archives gang rolls.

CWs: Mentions of ableism and Martin’s mother. I’d say canon-typical worms but the worms don’t really come up except in passing.

I do not know anything about BSL, so I did not try to describe the signs.

Summary: A love language is not just about how you best show love and affection; it is also about the ways you best receive love and affection. And so, for someone like Martin, who shows love by going out of his way to help others, someone going out of their way to help him, well. What better way for him to realize just how loved he is?

--------------------------------------------

The first time Martin went completely non-verbal after starting work in the Archives, it was the morning after giving Jon the statement about Jane Prentiss.

It wasn’t a surprising development, really. Martin didn’t go fully non-verbal that often, but when he did it was almost always a thing that started in the morning and lasted most of the day. Sometimes it wore off by the time he went to bed, sometimes it lasted until the next morning.

After his mother’s diagnosis, he’d been unable to speak for an entire week. That hadn’t gone over well--as much as his mother wanted him to be quiet, she didn’t like the “silent treatment,” as she called it.

Martin hated that she’d called it that, as though his non-verbal episodes were anything he did on purpose. Some days talking just felt like a chore; those days he could get by only forcing words out when he had to. But some days, the worst days, he just couldn’t talk. He could understand other people just fine, he could make noises, sometimes he could even hum. And he could definitely read and write. But speaking words, aloud? No. He could not speak, on these days, however much he may have wanted to.

As Martin grew older and learned more about himself, he learned words and reasons and coping mechanisms. He realized that some of the problem came from dysphoria and the longer he was on hormones the less often it happened. He realized that he was autistic (even if he never got diagnosed), and learned how to handle the episodes that still occurred. He took sign languages classes because it was a good and useful thing to know regardless, to be able to communicate with more people.

As many Deaf people had learned before Martin, he’d found himself in plenty of situations when nobody around him knew BSL, so he’d found a phone app that let him type out things he wanted to say and repeated them in a tinny, mechanical voice. Feminine, but he found it didn’t cause dysphoria; it wasn’t his voice. It was the app speaking for him, a robot lady translating his words.

Martin was fairly certain he was going to need the robot lady to speak for him today, and he was dreading the whole idea. The app got him a range of reactions from scorn to derision to faux sympathy. The last time he’d done so at work, the Institute library staff had regarded him with such pity that he’d called in sick the two other times it had happened since.

He’d woken early, because he was always awake fairly early, to ensure he looked presentable and got to work on time. He did not want Jonathan “Crisply Professional At All Times” Sims giving him that look again. The particular look that was “I highly disapprove of your sartorial choices but I’m not going to get into it right now because I have so very much else to do. Nonetheless, if I could fire you for what you’re wearing I would.”

Jon had a lot of looks. Martin fervently wished he could stop categorizing them; he very much disliked his boss, and very much wanted to stop thinking about Jon quite as much as he did.

Jon was attractive, that much Martin had noticed the first day he’d come in, with a jawline Martin would’ve loved to trace with his fingers, eyes sharp and deep and intelligent, salt-and-pepper hair that Martin would have tangled his fingers in gladly.

Except, of course, that Jon was also a prick who didn’t like Martin one bit and made that very clear. He’d put down on record that he thought Martin would “contribute nothing but delays.” Martin was not such a sucker for punishment that he would put up with someone who hated him just for a pretty face. The tiny potential blossom of a crush had been, well, crushed five seconds after it had poked its head above ground, by Jon’s declaration that he could dismiss Martin if he didn’t resolve the “dog situation” immediately.

Martin counted his lucky stars every day that Jon had not, in fact, dismissed him, despite having had to deal with a doggy mess. The luck was really in having Tim around, Martin figured; Jon actually seemed fond of Tim, and the other man had managed to smooth the entire situation over.

Martin had fallen asleep last night thinking about the new look Jon had given him yesterday: concerned. Truly, genuinely concerned, which had rather taken Martin aback. He’d been certain Jon wouldn’t believe him, would scoff and roll his eyes at the entire statement, and instead he’d just looked… concerned. 

And then Jon had offered Martin the cot that he’d woken up in this morning.

It wasn’t the look of concern that had Martin non-verbal, though; of that he was certain. It was the stress of the last two weeks, and dumping out the statement yesterday, and all the whirl of figuring out how to live in the Archives. Jon’s insistence on going with him to pick up basics with a toothbrush at the convenience store, and then coming back to be sure he was okay. Jon finding clean sheets and discussing how he’d do his laundry. Jon had expensed clothing bought online to the Institute, including next-day shipping, because he’d “lost access to his flat and thus his wardrobe in the line of duty.” It had all been bewildering and overwhelming and it was no real surprise that Martin was in the state he found himself when he woke.

Martin had known as soon as he’d opened his eyes. It was just there, the feeling of nope can’t talk today. He’d pulled on his binder and the same clothing he’d worn the day before and then fumbled around for his phone. Which… he didn’t have. The damn worm-hive-lady had stolen it from him. Well, shit.

He managed to avoid having to figure out how to talk while he went out to get breakfast, just pointing at a scone in the display and smiling at the guy behind the counter as if he wasn’t secretly irritated by the price of everything in Chelsea. By the time Martin got back, Jon was already in his office, so thank God he’d avoided that awkward interaction. He went to make himself tea, and had his breakfast in the breakroom, and brushed his teeth, and then went to get started on…

Wait. He didn’t even know what they were working on right now.

Well, he wasn’t going to bother Jon about it; however nice he’d been last night it surely must have worn off by now, and Martin had no interest in summoning one of his boss’ looks this early in the morning. Normally he’d still be on his commute at this hour.

After a moment’s thought, he went to go see what they’d recorded in his absence, and soon had a stack of statements on his desk. They’d gotten through five statements in the two weeks he’d been gone. Maybe Jon was right. Maybe Martin did contribute “nothing but delays.”

Pushing the thought aside, Martin focused on listening to the tapes, and was just finishing up listening to the second half of Father Edwin Burroughs’ statement when Tim came into the shared office the assistants used.

“Hey, you’re in early. You get the email?”

Martin raised his eyebrows and shook his head.

Tim snorted. “Jon claims he’s got something to warn us about, something that ‘won’t parse properly through digital means.’” He rolled his eyes. “Which is Jon-speak for ‘it’s a weird thing and I don’t want to admit it’s a weird thing because I have to keep my skeptic hat on to preserve my self-image.”

Martin chuckled in solidarity, then gestured toward the door to Jon’s office, to indicate that’s where their boss was.

“Not coming?” Tim asked, his own eyebrow raised. When Martin shrugged, he said, “Well, I guess if you didn’t get the email…” Tim also shrugged, then said, “Guess I’d better get it over with. Wish me luck!”

Martin gave him a thumbs up.

When Sasha came in, Martin silently directed her to Jon’s office as well, then heaved a sigh of relief. He hadn’t had to explain being non-verbal at all yet, and it was already nine o’clock. Maybe if he was lucky, Jon would warn them off talking to him and he’d manage to make it the entire day without having to explain the whole “non-verbal” business to anyone he saw on a regular basis.

Alas, it was barely thirty minutes later that Tim and Sasha returned to talk to him, both wearing expressions of mingled concern and guilt. When they spoke it was a flood of the usual, expected platitudes:

“We’re so sorry!”

“We didn’t know!”

“Are you okay??”

And such like.

Martin shrugged and nodded and shook his head in all the right places, and evidently Jon had played them the tape of his statement so he didn’t have to explain it all again (thank God), and he thought maybe, maybe he could even figure out what statement they were working on right now if he just listened to their chatter after they were done with the niceties, but then…

Well. Then Timothy Stoker happened.

Which is to say, Tim actually looked at Martin, and said, “You’re being awfully quiet. You sure you’re okay?”

And then he and Sasha just… sat there, looking at him expectantly.

Martin sighed and reached for a piece of scrap paper and wrote, I’m autistic and sometimes I go non-verbal. Today’s one of those days, but I don’t have my phone anymore, so no communication app.

As he held up the paper so the others could read the words, Martin braced himself for the ensuing reactions. Pity, probably, like those in the Institute library, and he couldn’t even call in sick to avoid it; he’d rather have scorn and derision. At least those reactions were honest.

What he got from them was not pity, however, nor even scorn.

Sasha hummed. “Autism explains a lot, actually. Don’t worry, it’s not a problem.”

Tim grinned and clapped Martin on the shoulder. “Yeah, why didn’t you just say so? It’s fine, you’ve been through an ordeal. And so you know--you’re hardly the only neurodivergent in the Archives.”

Martin blinked at Tim, then wrote: Wait, what? Who…?

“Would you believe me if I said all of us?” Tim said with a grin. “I have ADD, Jon’s… well… he’s Jon, and as for Sasha…”

Sasha sighed in fond exasperation and cut in, “Tim…”

“I contend that you cannot be neurotypical, Ms. James. You fit in too well around here.”

“I am not admitting to anything on Institute property,” Sasha said with aplomb. “And you shouldn't have either, but here we are.” She looked at Martin. “If HR finds out and they give you any trouble, let us know and we’ll figure out what to do.”

Tim, in the meanwhile, pulled out his phone. “Here, go ahead and use mine for now, until your replacement gets here or whatever. What’s the app so I can install it for you?”

Martin’s jaw had dropped open. Tim having ADD made sense; what did he mean about Jon, though? And Sasha? And what did Sasha mean about HR? And… and why were they being so… nice? So… understanding? It wasn’t an act, or at least he didn’t think it was. They seemed… genuinely fine with it. Accepting, even.

It was the strangest thing Martin had experienced in a while, and that was including the worm-riddled woman who’d stood outside his door for two straight weeks.

From there the day just… went on as normal. Tim installed the app on the phone, Martin’s robot phone lady spoke for him, the three of them did their work, and everything was fine.

Until, of course, the nature of their work reared its ugly head. They were discussing the statement of Leanne Denikin, case #0051701, which they had yet to attach a pithy name to; hence the discussion. It had long since become standard practice to attach a name to the “weirder” statements, to make them easier to discuss. (Jon insisted on using the case numbers on tape still, which was annoying, given that was the only place he did that.)

Martin was reading through the statement, and he typed into Tim’s phone: What do you think of this bit? “Be still, for there is strange music.”

What came out of the phone’s speakers, however, was garbled static followed by high-pitched screeching that startled Martin so much he actually dropped the phone.

Jon was walking in just as this happened; he stopped in the doorway, blinking. “What on Earth was that?”

“Martin’s robot lady gave Tim’s phone an aneurysm, I think,” Sasha said, eyeing Martin as well.

Martin scrabbled on the floor for the phone, pulled up the app (which had crashed), and typed, I don’t know what happened!! I was just typing in something from one of the statements!

Jon frowned at him sharply. “What are you doing with Tim’s phone? Are you quite well?”

“No, Martin is not ‘quite well,’” Tim said. “Non-verbal for the day.”

Then Jon did something that stunned Martin: Jon signed at him, specifically, “Do you know sign language?” He spoke aloud as he said this, too, but also raised his eyebrows and gave a quizzical tilt to his head to convey that he was asking a question.

Martin blinked rapidly, then signed back: “Yes, actually. But Tim and Sasha don’t.”

Jon nodded, then said aloud, along with signing, “Why are you non-verbal, exactly?”

“I have autism,” Martin signed. “Sometimes talking is overwhelming and sometimes, especially in stressful situations, I can’t talk at all. Woke up that way today. It should be gone by tomorrow morning.” Why was he explaining so much more to Jon than he had to the others? Maybe just because Jon knew sign, and thus could communicate in a language Martin found much easier than even the typing.

Jon frowned thoughtfully, then nodded again. Then, still speaking and signing both, “What were you typing into your phone?”

“Be still, for there is strange music. From the statement.” Martin gestured to the statement on his desk.

Jon’s frown deepened and he repeated the words. “‘Be still, for there is strange music….’” His expression went slack for a moment, and then he shook himself. “Right. Well. Just… just… I’ll be right back.” Then he abruptly turned and left the room.

Tim and Sasha exchanged bewildered looks. Then Sasha asked, “Do you know what that was all about?”

“I forgot Jon knows BSL,” Tim replied thoughtfully. “Hard of hearing on one side. Not that he’d have agreed to interpret all day or anything.”

Martin shrugged. It’s alright, he typed. This works just fine.

“Well, no, obviously not for some things.” Jon had reappeared as suddenly as he’d disappeared, holding a small brown notebook the size of Martin’s hand. “Here,” he said, thrusting the notebook at Martin. “This will work better, for communicating about the statements. You needn’t use it with me, of course, unless signing is also taxing.”

Martin stared up at Jon. There was an entirely new look on his boss’ face. Not any level of scorn or sneer, nor even concern. He was… nervous. Fidgety. Like he was offering a gift that he was afraid might be rejected.

Something went flip in Martin’s stomach and it was like the entire world turned upside down. Suddenly, in light of Jon’s actions in the last 24 hours, he saw the way his boss had acted toward him the last six months for what it was: a defense mechanism. Armor pulled up around someone fragile and soft and sweet, someone so terrified of rejection that he went about making sure it happened preemptively so he wouldn’t be hurt.

Martin had a sudden, fierce desire to hug Jon and tell him everything would be okay. It was so bewildering a sensation--he didn’t even like the man! At all!--that he just took the notebook with a nod and a signed “Thank you,” eyes still very wide.

Jon nodded in return. “You’re welcome.” He let out a breath, and seemed to relax a little. “Well. Then. I think we’ve found the name for this one, given the way Tim’s phone reacted to those words. ‘Strange Music’ it is.” He straightened himself. “Tim, you said something about the organ reminding you of articles you’ve read…?”

Tim nodded, expression suddenly serious. “Yeah. I’ll see if I can find them for you.”

“Right. Well, then, Sasha, if I could ask you to look through the Archive like we talked about? I’m certain we’ve had a statement from Jane Prentiss.” Jon then turned to Martin. “And if you wouldn’t mind helping me with ‘Schwarzwald?’ You used to work in the library, right?”

Martin was still staring at Jon in confusion, but nodded.

Jon actually smiled at him. Faintly. “Well, then, I’m certain you must know where to find the German history reference books, if you could go grab whatever they’ll let you bring down?”

The strangest thing about it was, Jon seemed sincere. Like he actually believed Martin did, indeed, know the library well enough to just… go up there and find the German history reference books. The faint, confident-in-his-assistant smile was a new look, at least directed at Martin; he’d seen Jon look at Tim and Sasha that way many times before.

Martin’s stomach was doing cartwheels. There were butterflies taking up residence in his intestines. His heart was pounding. How had he never noticed how nice Jon’s smile was? Soft and small, like he was afraid to let it actually take up residence on his face for too long.

Oh, God, oh, no. Martin could not fancy his boss. Jon hated him. Or, well, no, evidence suggested that perhaps Jon did not hate him, but Jon most certainly did not fancy him. This crush had to disappear, just as fast as it had come. This would not do.

He was going to be writing poetry again tonight, wasn’t he? Crap.

“Martin?” Jon’s tone was concerned rather than sharp, and the way Jon said his name made Martin want to sink into the floor.

Instead, he scribbled furiously in the notebook and held it up so all three of the others could see: Yeah, sorry, was just thinking about where that’d be. I’ll bring them down as soon as I find them.

Jon practically beamed at Martin’s use of the notebook and he nodded briskly. ���Right! I’ll be in my office when you have the books, then.” He started to turn away.

Martin’s heart went pound pound pound because oh wow Jon was really cute when he let that smile take up more of his face. Throwing caution to the wind, he made a noise to get the other man’s attention.

Jon turned around, quirking a brow. “Yes, Martin?”

Martin signed, “Tea?” He, too, raised his eyebrows and tilted his head to indicate the question.

Jon nodded. “Tea would be lovely, yes.” He smiled at Martin for a brief moment, and then suddenly looked flustered. He glared at them all. “Anyway,” he snapped in his ‘boss’ voice, the impact of which was ruined by the flush rising in his cheeks, “there’s still work to be done. So let’s… do it.” And with that, he turned on his heel and left the office.

Had Jon blushed because Martin had offered him tea? Did Jon like his tea that much? Was Martin imagining things? He had to be imagining things. He put his head down on the desk and wrapped his arms over it so he could grab at handfuls of hair. What was happening to him?

Sasha tried to make her voice serious, but couldn't quite manage it past quite clearly holding back giggles. “Mourn for poor Martin, working alone with Jon.” She looked at Tim. “We should call HR preemptively, it’ll be a bloodbath.”

“Nah, I think Jon’s softening on our boy,” Tim said with a laugh. He reached over to ruffle Martin’s hair with one hand while he took his phone back with the other. “Don’t worry, Marto. I told you he’d come around one day.”

Martin looked up at Tim with a stricken, betrayed expression. In the notebook: Is this how you comfort me in my hour of need??

Sasha shook her head. “For once, Tim’s being serious. You weren’t in the room when Jon explained things to us. He’s worried about you, he doesn’t want you to have to leave the Institute alone, he doesn’t want you to have to look for the Prentiss statement in case it’s ‘too traumatic’ for you to run across on your own. He actually asked us if we thought we should avoid any mention of Prentiss altogether in your presence.”

“I told him no,” Tim said. “I hope that was okay. You seem like you’d rather deal with trauma by facing it and figuring it out, rather than avoiding it entirely.”

Matin gaped at them. Really? he wrote. Jon’s… worried about me? Really? As if he hadn’t seen the evidence just now that Jon was, indeed… softening.

Tim gave Martin a very serious look. “I’ve told you before… I’ve known Jon, well, not as long as I’ve known Sasha, but for a long while now. He’s prickly and thorny, even to people he cares about, but that’s a front and I’ve said so. You just didn’t believe me.”

“In Martin’s defense,” Sasha put in, “Jon’s been awfully ‘prickly and thorny’ to him specifically.”

Tim put up a hand. “Oh, I agree. I have had words with our dear boss about the way he treats Martin, largely because I’m one of the few people he might actually listen to.” He looked at Martin. “I don’t want to take the credit, because it’s really been a remarkably fast turnaround, but I’d like to think I helped, a little.”

Martin frowned thoughtfully. Thank you, he wrote. If Jon’s at ‘I can stand Martin’ instead of ‘Martin is the source of all bad that happens in the Archives’ work might be… better than tolerable, for once.

“That’s the spirit!” Tim said with a grin. “Now, then, Jon did say to get back to work…”

Jon gave Martin another of those soft smiles when Martin brought in the tea, a smile which widened on seeing the stack of books he carried in right after. That afternoon, spent sitting and going through books and discussing the Schwarzwald statement, was the first of many they’d spend together, reading and talking and comparing notes.

Martin was feeling verbal again the next morning, but he kept the notebook. If nothing else, it was a good place to jot down poetry. And it came in handy when he found himself unable to speak the morning after Jane Prentiss’ attack on the Archives.

And the morning after Jon confronted him about his CV.

And the morning after Jon disappeared, leaving Jurgen Leitner’s body at his desk. (Martin blamed that on the corridors more than the body, really.)

Funnily enough, he didn’t need it the morning after the Unknowing. But he kept it with him that day all the same, the first gift Jon had ever given him, and one of the few things he had left of him with Jon in a coma.

--------------------------------------------

When they reached Daisy’s safehouse in Scotland, Martin had hoped he’d somehow manage to dodge the threat of going non-verbal. He’d been the one to drive the car, over Jon’s protests; it was something to focus on, to keep him remembering he was alive and real. He’d clutched the wheel and driven north north north with Jon giving directions in the passenger seat.

Martin had finally figured out that it was the chance to stop and think about trauma that led to his being non-verbal, which was why it was almost always a thing that hit in the morning. Adrenaline would keep him running after a stressful event, and then he’d carry himself through the rest of the day trying to clean up whatever mess had been caused. But sleep was enough for his body and brain to both tell him to stop, to process, to deal with whatever he’d run into.

It was possible, in hindsight, that he’d gone non-verbal more than once since the Unknowing and just hadn’t noticed because he’d been barely interacting with anyone. He’d certainly had a bad bout the morning after his mother’s funeral, dealing with so much misgendering and fake smiles. And there had been more than enough trauma to try to process in the past year, so it must have happened before.

He’d just really, really hoped it wouldn’t now, because he didn’t want to put Jon through that. (Why he thought he was putting Jon through anything he didn’t really want to examine. It made him feel Lonely, and that was bad.)

At any rate, the realization of why he went non-verbal had led to him keeping busy in order to hold it off, in order to hold himself together. So he drove, and he puttered about the cabin poking into cupboards, and he talked to Jon, and he talked to the shop lady in the village, and he brought back food and made dinner with Jon, and everything was good and fine.

And then he woke up the next morning, in an unfamiliar bed in an unfamiliar room, and he could not speak.

There was the smell of bacon and eggs and pancakes cooking, and Martin made his bleary way out into the main room of the cabin and peered at Jon, already up and dressed and cooking.

His boyfriend turned to look at him and smiled, one of those soft smiles Martin had come to love so much. “Sleep well?”

"Not really,” Martin signed. “I mean…” He gestured at his throat.

Jon nodded. “I figured you might feel that way this morning. I, uhh… hold on a moment, I need to….” He grabbed the pan of bacon and moved it off the heat, pulled a pancake off the griddle and deposited it on a plate, then turned off the stove and went to poke around in one of the bags.

Martin chuckled fondly. “What’re you looking for?”

Jon was still digging through his bag. “When I was grabbing essentials at the store, back in London, I was thinking, you’ve been through a lot, and the notebook I gave you before must be full if you even have it anymore. I know you were writing poetry in it, and… oh, here we go.”

Jon came up with another small notebook. This one was not plain and brown, the way the first one he’d gifted Martin all those years ago had been. This one was black, and had silvery stars on its cover that, as Jon held out the book and thus tilted it through the light, shimmered into rainbows.

“Just in case, you know, the shop lady doesn’t know BSL.”

Martin blinked at the notebook.

“It, uhh… I know it’s not your usual style,” Jon said, his voice suddenly nervous. He was looking down at the notebook as he spoke, instead of at Martin. “Not… retro. But… I saw it and I thought of you.” He paused. “That tape, where you were talking to Simon Fairchild. He talked about the ‘cosmic scale,’ and how we’ve never even been alive on that time frame, and you said… what was it? You said, ‘I think our experience of the universe has value. Even if it disappears forever.’ And I just… that was… maybe the most… it was very… you. And there were other options, flowers or cursive writing, o-or… I don’t know, they all seemed so obvious, but this…”

Jon swallowed, and finally looked up at Martin. “I thought, after the Lonely, you might like a reminder that, you have value. That… that to me, you shine as bright as any star.” And then he flushed, and Martin knew it was for him, just as he now knew the flushes about tea all those years ago had also been for him.

Martin was gaping. Oh. Oh. Jon… loved him. Which he’d known, intellectually, but the emotional knowledge of it hit him suddenly, took his breath away. He knew it, all at once, in that “oh we could spend the rest of our lives together” way he’d never really thought he’d ever feel.

Jon had clearly misinterpreted the expression; he started stammering, “I-if… it it’s bad, I can… well, no, I can’t take it back, stupid, I should’ve just grabbed the one that had--”

Martin cut him off by reaching out to take the notebook from Jon and reached out with his other hand to cup the shorter man’s cheek. He smiled, and because he’d realized long ago how well Jon responded to physical touch, he leaned in to plant a soft kiss on his boyfriend’s forehead.

Then he pulled back to put the notebook aside on the counter and signed, “It’s perfect. Thank you.” A pause, and then, “I love you.”

Jon smiled, both speaking and signing, “I love you, too.”

And for once in his life, Martin knew that to be true, and trusted that knowledge. He was loved. He had been loved, and he would be loved for the rest of his life, whatever state his voice was in.

[bluejayblueskies]

eros

n. a natural, passionate love; based in physical touch, such as a kiss to the back of a hand or to another’s lips 

Words: 3.1k Relationship: Jonathan Sims/Tim Stoker Tags: Pre-Archives, First Date, Alcohol, Ace Rings, Asexual Jonathan Sims, Kiss-Averse Jonathan Sims, Sex-Repulsed Jonathan Sims Warnings: internalized acephobia (throughout), mention of past acephobia (brief), fear of poor reaction to finding out a character is asexual (doesn’t actually occur), brief mention of unsafe food

|| Ao3 ||

.

In retrospect, Tim probably shouldn’t have begun their very first conversation on their very first date at the very nice bistro by the Thames (which he’d chosen because he’d panicked and picked the place that was the least likely to earn Jon’s disdainful expression) with, “I really, uh, like your ring?”

 It had seemed innocuous enough. But from the way that Jon froze up, his eyes affixed to the menu in front of him with suddenly rapt attention, it was painfully apparent that somehow, somewhere, Tim had fucked up. It had barely been five minutes since they’d walked through the doors of the restaurant and their date had officially started, and he’d already managed to ruin it. God, it had taken him months—months—to work up the courage to ask Jon—beautiful, prickly, awkward, and completely oblivious Jon—out on a real, actual date—no, not a lunch date, not a coffee date, a would you like to get dinner with me date?—and he’d already somehow crossed a line he hadn’t known not to cross.

 “Or, uh. Not?” Tim’s mouth says all on its own, which is worse, so much worse, just shut up Timothy Stoker. In an effort to do some—any—kind of damage control, Tim says, “Sorry, just- just forget I mentioned it. The, er. The mushroom ravioli here is good?”

 Tim’s never had the mushroom ravioli. It just seemed like a good thing to say.

 Fuck.

Jon still hasn’t said anything. One of his hands has gone to the shining gold ring holding the cream-colored fabric napkin neatly wrapped and is twisting it back and forth, like Tim usually sees him do with the black ring that sits on the middle finger of his right hand. The ring that Tim had seen ages ago, back when Jon had first joined Research, a stripe around the base of his finger that was fractionally darker than the skin around it. It was something he never took off, and Tim found his gaze going to it every time Jon would hand him a book or a file folder or a cup of coffee. He’s held Jon’s hand only once, and the ring had been cool against his fingers, worn smooth from how often Jon’s hands went to it during the day to twist it back and forth, an absent-minded motion done whenever Jon was stressed or anxious or nervous or just deep in thought.

 Jon’s fingers twitch around the napkin ring, just for a moment, like they’re itching to reach for something else, before stilling, and now Tim just feels guilty. Before he can stop himself, he says, “I- I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable, Jon. I’ve just. I’ve always thought it was nice?” Oh god, stop talking, just stop—

 “It looks good on you.”

 Finally, Jon looks up from his menu, his eyes blown wide with surprise. “What?” he says, his voice just a touch rougher than normal, and Tim isn’t sure whether or not to find that incredibly concerning or incredibly hot.

 Focus, Stoker.

 Well, in for a penny, in for a pound, he supposes. So, with a shrug that’s meant to seem casual but really, really isn’t, Tim says, “I’ve always thought so. The way you fiddle with it sometimes, it’s- it’s, I don’t know, cute.”

 “Cute?” Jon says, that same roughness scraping the edges of the word raw.

 Fuck it. “Yes, Jon, cute. I asked you on a date because I think you’re cute and because I want to spend more time with you and because I like you. And I just- I don’t know, it just seemed like the ring was something special to you? Maybe should have gone for something like favorite movie first or something, but I already know a lot of that stuff, and I guess I just. Wanted to ask?”

 Tim’s thrown all semblance of this being a put-together, normal date out the window. Not that anything has ever been normal, or easy for that matter, with Jonathan Sims. Still, he wants this to work. He wants it so goddamn bad he aches. So he bites his tongue, watches Jon’s face, and waits.

 The waiter comes to their table suddenly and without any preamble, with quite possibly the worst timing ever. Tim has no idea what Jon orders. He just blurts out mushroom ravioli on instinct and orders a mid-priced bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon because if this conversation turns any more sideways, at least he’ll have wine to drown his sorrows in.

 There’s a brief pause after the waiter leaves, during which Tim can’t help but notice that Jon’s hand has gone back to his ring, twisting it back and forth on his finger with what now seems like an intentional focus, a way to ground himself in the feeling of it against the pads of his fingers. Then, Jon lets out a small exhalation and says, “I’m… I’m not upset that you asked, Tim.”

 Oh. Tim searches for something to say and comes up with nothing. Relief and confusion curl in his chest in equal measure, and he settles for just nodding, giving Jon what he hopes is an encouraging smile—though it feels decidedly more like a grimace than he’d like.

 In the interim, the wine arrives at their table, their glasses filled by the waiter and the bottle set near the candle flickering in the center. The firelight refracts off the dark glass and Tim swears he can see it reflected in Jon’s eyes, a repeating reflection of flames in Jon’s pupils that goes on for eternity. Tim takes his glass, feeling the desperate need to have something in his hands, and takes a long sip of the wine. It’s nicely bitter on his tongue, briefly chasing away the salty, nervous taste that had filled his mouth.

 Jon takes his own glass in hand and tilts it back and forth, watching the red liquid within swirl around and around. After a long moment, he says, “I wear it for a reason, and I… I suppose I’m afraid that you won’t care for that reason.”

 What? Tim sets his glass down more heavily than he intends to and reaches across the table. When his hand meets Jon’s, Jon flinches ever so slightly.

 “Sorry, sorry,” Tim says, hastily retracting his hand. Before it can retreat more than a few inches, however, Jon shakes his head and reaches forward, grasping Tim’s hand firmly in his. His fingers are warm and dry against Tim’s, and the ring on his finger is cool to the touch where it presses against Tim’s palm.

 “Please, don’t- don’t apologize.” Jon looks down at the table, catching his bottom lip between his teeth and worrying it for a moment before continuing, softly, “I just don’t want to mess this up before it’s even begun.”

 Tim says, with more certainty than he’s ever felt about anything, “You aren’t going to.”

 Jon sighs, exasperated. “Tim, you can’t possibly know that.”

 “Yeah, I can. Because whatever horrible reaction you’re expecting from me isn’t going to happen. Unless your big secret is that you’re secretly a mass murderer, or- or that you’re only dating me to use me for some big master plan—neither of which seem likely explanations for the situation at hand—I’m not going to hate you for telling me. If you don’t want to, I won’t pressure you to, but I don’t want you to not do it because you think I’m going to like you any less for whatever it is. I’ve had a year and a half to pine over you, Jonathan Sims—believe me when I say that I want to be here, with you, more than I’ve wanted a lot of things in my life.”

 Tim really hadn’t meant to say all that, but there it is, and he finds he really doesn’t regret any of it. Well, maybe the pining bit, if only to scrape back together at least a bit of his over-confident and charismatic reputation. Jon’s eyes are wide with shock again, and his mouth opens and closes a few times before he finally says, in a punched-out voice, “A year and a half?”

 Oh. “Ah, yeah,” Tim says sheepishly, rubbing his free hand on the back of his neck. “Didn’t really think I was being all that subtle, but. Yeah.”

 Jon looks scandalized. “Tim, that’s the entire time I’ve been in Research! This whole time, you’ve—”

 He breaks off with a strangled noise, and if Tim squints, he thinks he can see the tips of Jon’s cheeks darkening, though that could just be the flicker of candlelight across his face. “You didn’t say anything,” Jon says finally, after several seconds of silence during which Tim decided to stop pretending like he’d ever been anything other than completely enamored with Jonathan Sims.

 “Sure I did,” Tim says with a shrug and a sliver of a teasing smile. “Three days ago, when I asked you out to dinner. And now, of course, can’t forget that.”

 “Tim!” Jon’s hand retreats from Tim’s and he pinches the bridge of his nose between his fingers. “Christ, and I thought six months was a long time.”

 “Six months?” Tim echoes, a wide grin splitting his face in two. “Wait, wait, have you been—”

 “Tim—”

 “—for six months?”

 “Well, it’s better than a year and a half!” Jon snaps, taking his hand away from his nose and shooting Tim a glare that contains about as much heat as a block of ice.

 Tim laughs and reaches for Jon’s hand again; when Jon sighs and allows him to take it, Tim runs a thumb along the back of it, feeling the smooth texture of Jon’s ring as his thumb passes over it. “Mm, perhaps I should have said something sooner,” he relents, his mouth still curved into a smile. “But I didn’t want to mess things up. I like you so fucking much, Jon, and right now, I can hardly think of anything in the world that could change that. All right?”

 Jon’s staring at their hands, his forehead creased with lines of mild irritation. When he says, “All right,” there’s still a touch of petulance to it, but there’s something softer behind it as well. Something warmer.

 “All right,” Tim repeats.

 They talk about everything and nothing as the evening stretches on, and Tim doesn’t mention the ring. He can tell that Jon’s still thinking about it by the way that his hand goes to it every so often, twisting it around his finger as he talks about the proper types of grass for each climate and the fermentation process for the wine they’re drinking and the food safety protocols put in place to ensure that things like insect legs and metal shards don’t end up in their meals.

 (“Ew,” Tim says, spitting his wine back out into his glass and giving Jon a look that he hopes fully communicates his disgust.

 “Sorry,” Jon says with a wince. “Um. But it’s safe? Because of the protocols.”

 Tim is not convinced.)

 Despite all of that, the meal is lovely, and the tingling warmth the wine is sending throughout his body is lovely, and Jon is lovely. Tim can’t stop staring at him—at the few curls that have slipped loose from his braid and that now frame the sides of his face, at the crisp cut of the emerald green suit he’s wearing that Tim had almost made a joking remark about before he realized that he found it really, really hot, at the way that Jon’s nose wrinkles and his hand flies up to cover his lips when he laughs, like his joy is a secret to be kept hidden. Tim has to take another long drink of wine to keep himself from blurting out right then and there that he loves Jon; he doesn’t think that an hour into their first date is quite the right time to lay his entire heart bare.

 They haggle over the check for an embarrassingly long time until Jon finally relents when Tim pulls out the a year and a half is a much longer time than six months, Jon, and also I asked you card. The night is cold and biting when they step out of the warmth of the bistro, and when Jon gives a full-body shiver as they’re walking to the tube station, Tim doesn’t think twice before shrugging off his coat and wrapping it around Jon’s shoulders.

 “Tim, I can’t take this.”

 “Oh? Seems to me like you already have it. Would probably be more trouble to give it back at this point.”

 Jon looks at the ground sullenly, gripping the edges of Tim’s coat with thin-fingered hands and pulling it tightly around him. “Must you always be so- so chivalrous?” Jon mutters, like it’s somehow a crime now to be nice to people.

 “Only on days that end with ‘y,’” Tim quips, and he wraps his arm around Jon’s shoulders. His fingers brush against the ring on Jon’s hand, settling there as they continue on their way.

 Tim doesn’t really live near Jon, but he still walks with Jon to his flat, his left hand at some point having slipped into Jon’s right. The ring cuts gently into the flesh of Tim’s palm as they walk, and Tim wonders if Jon finds the pressure of it between their hands as grounding of a presence as Tim does. Then, they’re at the door to Jon’s flat, and Jon lets his hand slip from Tim’s as he fumbles for his keys, narrowly avoiding dropping Tim’s coat onto the ground as he catches it with one hand and retrieves his keys with the other.

 “I…” Jon hesitates, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth, before continuing, “I had a nice time tonight. I… that is to say, if… if you would like to do it again, I… I wouldn’t be opposed.”

 Tim chuckles, a soft, quiet noise, and throws caution to the wind, placing a gentle hand on the side of Jon’s face and feeling the prickle of stubble against his palm. It draws a surprised, breathy noise from Jon’s mouth, and when Jon’s eyes find his, Tim sees in them those same nerves from before, when Tim had finally tripped his way into It looks good on you. “Well, I certainly wouldn’t be opposed either,” Tim says with an audible smile in his voice, running a thumb softly over the curve of Jon’s jaw.

 Jon lets out another little noise, and all in a rush, Tim thinks, I want to kiss him.

 So he takes a step closer to Jon, lets his eyes fall to Jon’s lips, and says, “Can I kiss you?”

 The nervousness in Jon’s eyes multiplies tenfold, and in a quiet voice, like he’s admitting to something overwhelmingly tragic, he says, “Is it okay if I say no?”

 Something sharp shoots through Tim’s chest at that, and he only recognizes it as concern after he’s taken a small, shuffling step back in some instinctual effort to give Jon more space. Tim can see a million thoughts flashing across Jon’s face, none of them good, so he says before Jon can think to- to apologize again or something, “Of course it’s okay, Jon.” He hesitates only a moment before allowing himself to give in to the confusion nagging beneath the concern (and ignoring the hurt below that) and saying, “Is… does this have something to do with the ring?”

 Because Tim can put two and two together like any researcher worth his salt. And by the way Jon’s hand instinctively flies to his ring when Tim says it, he knows that he’s right. He just doesn’t know why.

 “I said you wouldn’t like it,” Jon says quietly, and Tim’s heart breaks at the certainty in Jon’s voice. Even though Tim hasn’t said anything yet. Tim gets the horrible, sinking feeling that this has happened before and that whoever had been standing in his shoes then had not been nearly so kind.

 “Jon,” Tim says firmly, his hand dropping from Jon’s face and finding Jon’s hand instead. He tangles their fingers together and squeezes tightly, hoping that the sensation will ground Jon enough that he’ll be able to hear what Tim has to say and that he’ll believe it. “It’s okay. If you don’t want to kiss me, then we don’t have to kiss.” He hesitates, only for a moment, before continuing carefully, “If you don’t want to do… any of that with me, that’s also okay.” He bites back the need to make a joke to dispel the awkwardness and says instead, straightforwardly, “Kissing, sex, all of that—I like them, sure, but I like you more, Jon. So if you don’t want to do any of that, then we don’t have to, okay?”

 Jon’s hand is stiff in Tim’s, but his eyes when they meet Tim’s are wide and watery and full of a raw uncertainty, like he thinks that any moment Tim will admit that it’s all too much, that Jon isn’t enough, that it just isn’t working out. Whatever he sees reflected back in Tim’s eyes, however, is enough to cut through that uncertainty and leave behind something cautiously hopeful. “You… you really mean that,” Jon says, a strange sort of wonder in his voice, like a child staring up at a truly clear sky for the first time and witnessing the full scope of the stars above.

 “I do,” Tim says resolutely, leaving absolutely no room for misunderstanding.

 Jon looks down at where their hands are joined and says, quietly, “Okay.”

 That same rushing, swelling feeling overtakes Tim in a tidal wave of affection, and he says, “Are hugs okay?”

 Jon lets out a little huff. “Yes, Tim, of course hugs are—”

 His sentence ends in a punched-out noise as Tim wraps him tightly in a hug, feeling Jon’s hair tickle the side of his neck and the rapid-fire hummingbird beating of Jon’s heart against his chest. “Good,” Tim says into Jon’s hair. He takes a chance and presses his lips to the crown of Jon’s head; from the way that Jon shivers and presses himself closer into Tim’s embrace, it was the correct choice. So he does it again, holding Jon close and trying to communicate with the press of his arms and the pressure of his lips against Jon’s hair just how much he wants this. How much he wants Jon.

 “I really should get inside,” Jon says finally, his voice slightly muffled from where his face is buried in the fabric of Tim’s shirt. “It’s gotten to be quite late.”

 “Mm, just give me a sec,” Tim mumbles into Jon’s hair, holding him a bit tighter to accentuate his point.

 Jon’s laugh is light and breathy, rumbling against Tim’s chest like the purring of a cat. “Okay,” he says, his smile hidden by Tim’s shoulder. “Okay.”

[see-arcane]

Helen, Annabelle, and Human Monsters

Time for another essay I guess

I was putting this off for as long as I could. I really was. I am a massive sucker for trickster archetype characters. Helen is peak Cheshire Cat, all grins and twisty-turns and chumminess. Annabelle is made of ominous scheming with friendly patter and an army of fucking SPIDERS. I love, love, love them as characters. As villains.

But I’m going through the mountains of season 5 fan content and every time I see Helen being touted as the New BFF for Jon and Martin, or Annabelle and the Web secretly masterminding Elias’ downfall all along~, I’ve felt my guts curdle. 

I get why the POV is there. Most of it is for laughs, trying to wring some humor out of an Extremely Disturbing+ podcast. But some of it smacks so much of genuine faith that Helen and/or Annabelle are going to turn out to be antiheroes all along, or that, in all their eldritch ‘logic’, genuinely want to befriend the Archivist and his beau, that it makes my teeth hurt.

It would be great if Jonny Sims came out of left field and really did make them pseudo-good, anti-villains, antiheroes, whichever-whatever. I’d get to lose the bitter aftertaste I get every time I try to frame them as such in the current setup.

But I just don’t see it now. I don’t see how anyone can see it considering all we’ve seen of these two since season 5. Or, hell, since MAG 147 and MAG 157.

In 147, we get Annabelle’s first real ‘dialogue’ directly to Jon.

Of course, that’s not the real crux of the free will question that’s bothering you at the moment, is it? I think that one probably comes down to whether or not you’re choosing to continue reading this statement out loud.

You didn’t mean to, did you? No, I’m sure you told Basira and Melanie that you were going to glance over it and report back; perhaps they asked you if you were going to record, and you shook your head: maybe later.

That sounds like the sort of thing you’d say.

But think about it, Jon; when’s the last time you were able to read a statement quietly to yourself without instinctively hitting record and speaking it aloud? Is it just instinct, habit? Or is it a compulsion, a string pulled by the Ceaseless Watcher or the Mother of Puppets?

Or both?

I know the summaries have started to confuse you; where did they come from, when you read a statement fresh? How do you just - know what it’s about, before you even start to read it?

But by then you’re away; the roller coaster is dropping, and you’ve no real choice but to hold on and hope that - I don’t crash you.

Fast forward to

perhaps I am simply telling you what you need to hear in order to ensure you behave exactly as the Mother wishes you to.

Extrapolation: She was aware from the start that Jon was being conditioned. Making sure that the day he read ‘Hazel Rutter’s’ statement, he would be trapped. As for the pondering and hemming and hawing about whether he had free will or not? Choices that were his own? 

She was bullshitting him. 100%. Again, see ‘Hazel Rutter.’ Jon was effectively possessed by Jonah’s statement, unable to stop no matter how he fought it.

Now we look at his last s4 chat with Helen in MAG 157

HELEN

Because I have a good enough sense of what’s going on to know that it will be much more fun without my involvement! (begins laughing)

ARCHIVIST

What? You - you said you were going to help!

HELEN

I am.

ARCHIVIST

I don’t have time for this. What is at the cen–

HELEN

No. We’re not playing your game. Now don’t forget how sharp I can be, Archivist. Perhaps here now you’re powerful enough to learn what you want from me, but if you try, I promise you I will resist. And only one of us is going to survive the attempt.

ARCHIVIST

(out of breath) Fine. can you take me there? To the center?

HELEN

I honestly don’t know. But I’m not inclined to risk it.

ARCHIVIST

Damn you!

HELEN

Run home, Jon. Find a victim on the way. Chaos is coming and I think you’d best be ready.

ARCHIVIST

Just tell me what’s going on. Please.

HELEN

(gleefully) Bad things, Archivist. Really bad things.

And, of course, we find out later in s5 that she had suspected what was coming for Jon all along. If the Distortion really is even partially Helen Richardson anymore and not just her skin. 

ARCHIVIST

Like you said, I can know everything now, including how much of a lie that really is.

HELEN

Don’t mistake complication for falsehood, dear Archivist. And remember, that knowledge is not the same thing as understanding!

Fast forward to

HELEN

(picture of innocence) What would I have to gloat about? Much as I am delighted by this brave new world in which we find ourselves, I can take no credit for it. This was all - you!

ARCHIVIST

(immediate) You could have - (inhale, reigning in) You knew what was happening.

HELEN

I suspected. But all I really did was refuse to help! And that is hardly a unique quality.

[ANOTHER SIGH FROM THE ARCHIVIST AT HER WORDS.]

HELEN (CONT’D)

If that makes it my fault, then surely this is Georgie’s fault as well, and Melanie’s-

ARCHIVIST

Leave them out of this, they didn’t know!

HELEN

There it is again! Knowledge! It’s so very important to you, isn’t it? These fossilized nuggets of pretend comprehension, weighing you down, stopping you thinking or feeling! What about hypotheticals? If they had known, what would they have done? Is that something you can see?

ARCHIVIST

What. Do. You. Want!

HELEN

To be friends again! All three of us. Look at this place, look at this - (inhales deeply) Wonderland.

This is the world, now, and we are strong and free! There’s really no reason for us not to hang out.

[A PAUSE, SILENT BUT FOR THE HOLLOW RING OF HELEN’S TONE AND STATIC.]

HELEN (CONT’D)

(to Martin) (exhale) Goodness, he is in a mood. Has he been like this the whole time?

MARTIN

Not the - whole time.

HELEN

Thank goodness.

ARCHIVIST

Martin…

MARTIN

In fairness, he’s had a lot on.

HELEN

(sympathetic) Oh, I’m sure.

Extrapolation: Helen left Jon out to dry to further doom him in the direction of opening the Door. Now that the world is run by the Fears--specifically the Eye, with Jon being a ‘very important part’ of it--she’s trying to schmooze back into Jon’s good graces, as if nothing had happened. 

She’s doing so indirectly thru buddying up to Martin. Martin, who only remembers ‘Michael’ menacing him, who wasn’t there to see her blow off Jon pre-Panopticon, who is himself conditioned to politely banter/barter with monsters as he’s one of the few characters without any power on his side.

Speaking of having no power? No guesses as to what Annabelle Cane’s chatting is going to lead to. Those phone calls have been made out of Jon’s earshot for a very don’t-let-the-Archivist-catch-me-at-this reason. She’s aiming to groom Martin into something for her benefit. Maybe offer assistance via making him a full-fledged avatar, the better to not feel ‘needless’ beside Jon, perhaps a puppet, who knows?

But she wants those talks while Jon is busy. Bad Sign+

Long story short, both characters, while interesting and entertaining, are absolutely not operating on ‘monster logic.’ They aren’t eldritch, they aren’t surreal or unknowable. No more than they were pre-s5.

Helen is the picture of the two-faced, ladder-climbing ‘friend’ who wants to strut around, pretending to be chummy with you once you’ve got influence on your side, acting as if they aren’t gaslighting and double-crossing you whenever it’s convenient. 

Annabelle is manipulating from a distance, as she apparently believes/knows is safe concerning exposure to the Archivist. She’s a plan-for-the-future ‘acquaintance,’ who’s arranging people to be used/abused at a later date for hers/the Web’s benefit, whilst barely covering it with a facade of a Good Friend calling to check in~

People exactly like them exist in the real world, preying on their friends and social circles, manipulating and stepping on them to climb a little higher. And you know who that reminds me of? 

Elias fucking Bouchard aka Jonah fucking Magnus. 

Different patrons, different gimmicks, but all the same type of slimy, shady, self-centered pseudo-friend as the next. 

So, yeah. I get the jokes. I get the AUs. I get the crushes (Annabelle, feel free to call, you evil fuckin arachnid  👀 🕷️ ). I get it.

But I’ve known too many human monsters exactly like these false friend assholes to get entirely on the hype train. I’ll drive parallel to it, but I won’t get in.  

tl;dr: Cool monsters! Still very humanly manipulative, two-timing assholes.

[seachanqe]

Maybe this is just a salty opinion, but I’m curious if you share it: all of the “what if Martin is secretly evil” theories (fake/replaced!martin, web!martin, etc) fall way to close to the “queer person (Jon) gets fundamentally betrayed by someone who claims to love them” trope for me, and imo it’s a bit insulting to Jonny “we aren’t going to use these horror tropes bc they’re uncomfortable in the wrong ways for this show” Sims to suggest he would write something so cheap (-vast)

I don’t think its a salty opinion at all, and I 100% agree! You’re absolutely right that it would be just a cheap “gotcha!”, and is a huge disservice to Jonny’s careful, thoughtful writing in favor of being unnecessarily grimdark. A plot twist like that would be so tonally inconsistent with everything Jonny’s set up for Jon and Martin’s relationship, and would render everything between Jon and Martin in season 5 hollow and meaningless (and maybe even before that depending on what theory you listen to).  This means the “I love you”, every time Martin expressed his boundaries to Jon, every caring word shared between the two, all of the “couples” comments by Helen, and anything else to come in future eps. It would poison all of this. I have enough faith in Jonny that he would never do that to us. He knows how important queer rep is, and how meaningful Jon and Martin’s relationship is to all of us, especially after he and Alex worked so hard to develop it when workshopping the show.

(Personally, I don’t really see the OOC Martin everyone else is claiming anyway?  But I think I’m in the minority here...)

(Also, I think web!Martin can happen in other ways that still respect everything Jonny’s built-up so far ::::)   )

[bubonickitten]

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

Previous chapter: tumblr // AO3

Chapter 7 full text & content warnings below the cut.

      CWs for Chapter 7: panic attack/shutdown; hospital/ICU imagery. Jon meets his apparent quota of one (1) allowed swear per chapter. SPOILERS through S5.

      Chapter 7: Zombie, Redux

     There are hushed voices coming from somewhere deep below the unbroken whine of static filling his ears. Nearer, Georgie is saying something, but her words are too garbled for Jon to wring any meaning out of them. He isn’t sure exactly how long it’s been since he woke up, but he can feel his muscles cramping from holding the same position for awhile now, curled tight and taut and small.

  …catatonia: a state of…

  Fuck off, Jon thinks dully.

  At least he’s not crying anymore. That stopped some time ago, all of a sudden between one moment and the next, and now he just feels hollow and raw. He knows what he would see if he looked in the mirror: puffy, reddened eyes, so reminiscent of a human – but with a glint of something hungry and monstrous behind them. Any sympathy or concern that anyone might feel at first glance would be quashed with one long look into those eyes, leaving only fear and revulsion and hostility in their wake. And they would be right to flee or freeze or fight, just as they might when confronted with any other predator. 

  Jon keeps his eyes closed.

  “– a sedative,” comes an unfamiliar voice, finally reaching him through the haze.

  “Does he look like he needs a sedative?”

  Basira, Jon recognizes.

  “We – we should really do some – some tests…” The first voice trails off uncertainly. A nurse, Jon assumes. He can feel the apprehension coming off them in waves. 

  No one knows what to do with him. There is no standard of care for a patient who spent the last six months as a seeming corpse with frantic brain activity as its only signs of life.

  A zombie, Jon recalls wryly. The statement calls to him from within Basira’s bag: a taunt, a balm, and a poison all at once. He pushes the thought of it away.

  None of the hospital staff like entering his room, he Knows. They certainly don’t want to deal with him now he’s awake. His circumstances present a medical marvel – the kind of mystery that most researchers would kill for a chance to study – but their curiosity was tempered by that overpowering sense of wrongness emanating from him. They were wisely dissuaded by the sheer dread of coming close to something so unquestionably inhuman. 

  Most people aren’t so curious that they would run headlong towards an ominous fate like the first person to die in a horror film, he supposes. It’s just one more way in which Jon was – is – such an easy target for someone like Jonah Magnus.   

  Distantly, Jon can feel himself start to shiver.

  There’s movement to his right as Georgie sits on the edge of the bed, within arm’s reach but careful to leave a buffer of empty space between them. She tells him that he’s safe – he’s not, and neither is anyone else while he still exists in the world – and that she’s here – for now, but once she realizes how far gone he is, she’ll leave again – and that they’ll sort it all out – yes, and when they do, they’ll never stop looking at him like he’s a monster, and isn’t he?

  The door closes behind the nurse, but the fear lingers for several minutes afterwards, like blood diffusing through water.  

  “Jon,” Basira begins, her tone resolute and impersonal.

  “Give him a minute,” Georgie says.

  “He’s had a minute. He’s had six months.” There is no malice in her voice, only a bone-deep exhaustion. Basira has been carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders since the Unknowing. She’s barely had a chance to mourn Daisy; she’s wound tight from hypervigilance, made worse by the Flesh’s attack; she’s had to put practicality above all else, because sentimentality is a luxury that has long since been stolen from her. “He needs to answer some questions.” 

  Georgie huffs and turns back to Jon.

  “Jon, can you hear me?”

  He nods without looking up.

  “Are you nonverbal?”

  Jon can feel a faraway part of himself balk at the clinical flavor of the word. Georgie was always direct like this. Intellectually, Jon can appreciate having a term to summarize nebulous human experiences like this. Emotionally, he still has difficulty tolerating how exposed the practical application of those terms makes him feel.

  Besides, the word doesn’t really apply to this situation, does it? Not in the traditional sense, at least. Not completely. So he shakes his head no.

  He takes a deep breath and reluctantly looks inward to the Archive. There’s a spark of excitement, or relief, or maybe smug vindication from that alien part of himself when he finally gives in to the need, and he tries his best to ignore it and get it over with. He doesn’t delve too deeply, instead settling on the first thing that might work.

  “I’m sorry, it won’t let me say the words,” he says, voice strained and raspy with months of neglect.

  “O…kay,” Georgie says. “I guess that’s a no?”

  “Hmm.” Basira doesn’t say anything else.

  Jon starts picking through his library again, but nothing jumps out at him. His thoughts still feel sluggish, his mind packed with cotton. Or cobweb. Usually he’d shudder at that thought, but right now, he’s just too tired for that familiar fear to actually reach him through all the fog. He’s just spent months literally sleeping like the dead; why is he so tired?

  When a full minute passes without a reply, Basira turns to Georgie. 

  “Could you give us some time alone?”

  “No.” The immediacy of the refusal surprises him. He feels Georgie’s eyes on him, and he tenses. “I’m staying, Jon.”

  “I need to talk to him.”

  “Then talk to him.”

  “I thought you didn’t want to be involved in Institute business.”

  Georgie hesitates, and Jon finally looks up at her. He’s careful not to make eye contact. It’s alright, he wants to say, you don’t have to stay – but he can’t.

  “…anyone who doesn’t want to be a part of it, they can…” Jon says instead, faltering when he can’t find a good way to express the rest.

  Back to the charades, I suppose, he thinks sullenly. He holds one hand out and walks the middle and index finger of his other hand across his upturned palm.

  “Jon, why are you –” Georgie cuts herself off with a short exhale. “Do you want me to stay?”

  Jon bites his lip. “Probably putting you in danger.”  

  “Yeah, probably, but that’s not the question I asked.” She sighs when she sees Jon’s puzzled expression. “Look, the only way I can think to approach all of… this is to break it into smaller pieces. It doesn’t mean I’m committing to anything else, it doesn’t mean that I can’t change my mind, it doesn’t mean that I can’t walk away later or set more boundaries. I’m not asking whether I should stay, and I’m not offering to get involved indefinitely or unconditionally. Right this moment, all I’m asking is whether you want me to physically leave this room for now and come back later.”

  For a few minutes, Jon says nothing. If the question had been whether it’s safe to be near him, she already knows that his answer would be an emphatic no. Unlike him, Georgie knows when to cut her losses and leave. It would be condescending to assume that she needs him to protect her from her own choices, especially considering how, of the two of them, she’s the one who actually has a self-preservation instinct. She doesn’t have a choice, really. She can’t feel fear – one of the most basic survival tools – and as a result, she has to evaluate her circumstances much more constantly and painstakingly than others.

  It must be exhausting, Jon thinks to himself. He knows what hypervigilance is like. Even if Georgie can’t experience the fear that goes along with it, it probably still saps her energy in much the same way.

  He tries to force himself back on track. The question: Does he want her to physically leave in this moment? 

  No. He really, really doesn’t.

  Jon closes his eyes, and Naomi’s statement is the first thing his mind touches: “Could you stay please?”  

  “Okay.” Georgie looks at Basira. “I’m staying.”

  Jon feels some of the tension leave his shoulders, but he can’t help feeling selfish.

  “Are you really okay with that?” Basira says, eyeing Jon. He can detect the unspoken question: You know what I’m going to ask. Do you really want her to hear the answer?

  He does. Georgie deserves to know. They all do. What he doesn’t want is to hear what she has to say to him after the truth comes out.

  But he nods anyway.

  “Fine. What are you?” Basira says without preamble.

  “’Are you secretly a monster?’ probably would have been a great opener,” Jon says acidly.

  He flinches as the words leave his mouth. They were Sasha’s once – the real Sasha – said with a hint of playfulness, but now they just sound bitter. He’s fully aware that he has an overflowing stock of resentment bottled up inside him, hidden somewhere deep underneath all the layers of guilt and grief and self-loathing, but he wasn’t expecting the vitriol to slip out quite so easily. And he really, really can’t afford to start burning bridges, especially so early on.   

  But Basira seems unruffled.

  “Alright,” she says with a shrug. “Are you?”

  It’s complicated, he does not say.

  When he reaches up to run a hand through his hair, the movement jostles the hospital bracelet affixed to it, catching his eye. He brings his hand back down and stares at it, hanging loosely from his wrist. He’s always been scrawny, but his arms look thinner than usual. Fragile. With a pang, he notices the scarring on his wrists, left there from where the ropes cut into him during his month in captivity with the Circus. By the time the world ended, they had faded somewhat. As they are now, they’re impossible to miss.

  SIMS, JONATHAN, the wristband reads. Date of birth. Sex. Blood type. Patient identification number. Barcode. An allergy alert: amoxicillin.

  Is he even still human enough for an allergic reaction to pose a threat? He could Know, he supposes, but –

  “Jon?” Basira prompts.

  He sighs, closes his eyes, and consults the Archive once again. 

  “It seemed almost human, from a distance, but as it got closer, I saw that it was –”  

  Jon quickly skims through statements looking for an appropriate fragment.

  “…some newly-birthed monster,” he settles on. It’s blunt, and a bit petulant, but he may as well be honest. He resigns himself to whatever comes next.

  Martin would have hated to hear him think like this.

  Martin’s not here, some destructive, cruel part of his mind supplies.

  “Why are you talking like that?” There’s the faintest tinge of aggravation in Basira’s tone now. 

  Before Jon can answer, Georgie gives him a skeptical, almost chiding look. “I doubt it's that simple, Jon. Why don’t you try that again?”

  “I could see myself becoming one of those people and I fought very hard against the feeling of wrongness that seemed to be trying to worm itself into my mind,” he amends. Better. Probably more accurate, if he’s being kind to himself. (He’s rarely kind to himself.)

  “That sounds more constructive than just giving up and deciding you’re a monster,” Georgie says.

  She still seems baffled by the unusual quality of his speech, but he can tell she’s trying not to draw attention to it. Probably thinks it’s some neurological aftereffect of the coma. Not-coma. Whatever.

  Who is he kidding? Georgie is sharp. She knows this is some supernatural nonsense – and there’s a simple, straightforward way to confirm it for her.

  “I don’t think I’ll ever be the same person I was before.”  

  “I think that could be said of anyone. We all change from moment to moment, and – wait.” Georgie gives him a shrewd look as she registers the cadence with which he speaks. It’s undeniably familiar, but it’s not him. It’s his voice, but those aren’t his words. “Jon, was that my…”

  “Statement – regarding the last words of a possible corpse,” Jon says wearily.

  “Jon,” Basira says, her eyes widening just barely, “are you quoting statements?”  

  “The words repeated, as though on a recorded loop.”  He gives an affirmative nod, just in case the words are unclear – which is often the case. 

  “Care to explain why?”

  “I started to say something – but my voice died in my throat,” he says.

  Then, changing tack: “…but it – it didn’t seem to be working right; all I could hear from it was the – faint noise of static, and…”  

  They probably don’t care how it feels, though, do they? They just want to know what it makes him now. His hands flutter in agitation as he tries to redirect, mind racing to find another statement.  

  “Okay, alright, I get the gist,” Basira says. There is a long, considering pause. “Can you just… write it down?”

  The simple answer is no, but the easiest way to make them understand is with a demonstration. He holds one palm flat and with the other hand mimics writing on it. 

  Reaching into her bag, Basira produces a small notepad with a pen stuffed into the wire spiral binding. Jon pulls the pen out, rips the cap off with his teeth, and –

  “Seriously, Jon?” Basira complains.

  “Honestly, Basira, what did you expect?” Georgie snorts. “You can’t tell me Jon’s desk isn’t a graveyard of gnawed-up pens.”

  Jon manages a tiny smirk at that. Most people were well-acquainted with his treatment of writing utensils after the first week of working alongside him. It had quickly become an office joke. About a month into his tenure as Head Archivist, he’d managed to chomp down on an exploded ballpoint pen. Tim had found him at the bathroom sink twenty minutes later, still trying to get the ink off his face and hands – and, of course, never let him live it down.

  Well, until Jon burned the bridge between them, anyway. The good-humored ribbing and inside jokes gradually dwindled away, only to be replaced with corrosive distrust and resentment.

  Jon’s smile fades just as rapidly as it had appeared. He flips to an empty page of the notebook.

  He sets out with the intention to write a sentence of his own: Regardless of the mode of communication – verbal, written, sign – I can only borrow from statements.

  It sounds too stiff, too academic, but it doesn’t matter. The moment the tip of the pen touches paper, Jon’s hand seizes. The tape recorder underneath the bed emits a brief crackle. When Jon tries to press down and begin writing, his fingers and wrist start convulsively twitching. A scalding pain starts to seep through his fingers and crawl up his arm, the recorder’s static oscillating along in time with the throbbing. When it upsweeps into a shrill screech, Georgie starts.

  “Jon –”

  Picking the pen up off the page, Jon holds up one trembling finger: Wait.

  With a pained hiss, he shakes his hand out until the ache recedes. When he starts writing this time, it’s with the intention of reproducing a verbatim line from the statement of Jane Prentiss, regarding a wasps’ nest in her attic: I have tried to write it down, to put it into terms and words you could understand.  

  The words flow easily. The handwriting is a nearly illegible scrawl, but that has nothing to do with the Archive. Jon has always had poor handwriting, and it’s only gotten worse since his encounter with Jude. While his dominant hand is still usable, the burn scar contracture still affects his mobility and coordination to some extent.

  He’s tried grabbing individual words from statements to piece together a novel sentence before, but just like speaking a single word in isolation replays every instance of it recorded in the Archive and leaves him reeling in the aftermath, trying to write a standalone word is risky. When he writes a word with the express intention of removing it from the context of a statement, every occurrence of the word floods him all at once. The force of it always overwhelms him before he can even start on the next word in his intended sentence. Usually he ends up dropping his writing utensil. Sometimes he passes out. Always it’s unpleasant. 

  It’s as if whatever power is enforcing the rules knows when he’s trying to bend them. Or Knows, more likely. Assuming he can assign self-awareness to the Ceaseless Watcher, that is.

  Stop, he tells his wayward brain. Stay on task.   

  He shoves the pen back into the notebook’s spiral binding and hands it back to Basira, who returns it to her bag. The cap he keeps for himself, rolling it between his fingers now.

  “What about BSL?” Georgie suggests.

  Jon shakes his head no.

  “How do you know?” Basira asks.

  There are two answers to that. The first is that he just Knows. The second is that he’s tried. Martin knows a limited amount of signs, but Jon’s hands never cooperated when he tried to copy Martin’s motions. His fingers never wanted to curl into the correct shapes, his joints would lock up, and subtle movements would turn into violent tremors. Once, in a fit of stubborn frustration, he kept pushing back against the thing controlling his body. His arms went limp and numb, and he couldn’t use them for hours after.

  Simple nonverbal signals – nodding, shaking his head, giving a thumbs up – seem to be, for the most part, whitelisted. Most charades and expressionistic gestures will also pass through the Archive’s filter. Formalized signing, though, is usually blocked.

  The deciding factors seem to be intentionality and whether or not an attempt at communication is deemed to fit the definition of formal language. Sign languages, systems of writing, spoken words – all off-limits unless being used to reproduce the Archive’s existing records. The more imprecise and abstract the attempted communication, though, the more likely it is to escape the Archive’s strict conceptualization of language.

  He and Martin experimented a bit with illustration and found mixed success. It was difficult to ascertain any concrete limits. The more abstract the intended drawing, the more likely Jon was to be able to produce it – though it tended to leave him drained and with a splitting headache regardless of how successful the attempt was.  It did seem as though the intent mattered more than the result – which was probably for the best. Jon was no more of an artist than he was a poet, and it showed.  

  Any time Jon tried to ask the Beholding for clarification on the rules governing his new-and-impaired communication abilities, it gave him nothing but static in return. They had to find things out mostly by trial-and-error.

  Luckily for Jon, Martin is observant and intuitive when it comes to reading people, and he’s a poet with a mind for the abstract. He was usually able to interpret Jon’s meaning with alarming speed and precision, and whenever Jon grew frustrated with his inability to express himself in a way that felt right, Martin would pose yes-or-no questions to try to help him narrow it down. He would always keep going until Jon was satisfied that he was understood. Even when they were in disagreement. 

  But Martin isn’t here, Jon’s treacherous brain reminds him again.

  “Let me guess,” Basira sighs. “You just know.”

  Jon gives a tired shrug. Even if he could use his own words, he may have had the same response. He’s never managed to have a conversation about his ability to Know that didn’t leave him feeling defeated. Sometimes it doesn’t seem worth trying to explain.

  “Alright,” Basira mutters to herself, rubbing her temples now. “This makes things more complicated.”

  You think? Jon wants to snap, and he’s thankful that he can’t. It isn’t Basira’s fault; she doesn’t deserve his ire.

  “So, what does this mean?”  she continues.

  “I often find myself locked in a sense of esoteric paralysis on how to proceed,” Jon quips, borrowing from Adelard Dekker this time. He wonders if Dekker would have tried to kill him on the spot. He wonders whether he would have been right to do so.

  Georgie stifles a laugh. Jon can hear the relief coloring it, and one corner of his mouth twitches into a smile again. She’s intimately familiar with his ill-timed gallows humor, and the fact that he can still draw on it so readily is a good sign. Another small piece of evidence added to the Jonathan-Sims-isn’t-too-far-gone column. She wants to believe it’s still him, he Knows, and wants to believe that he can get better – but there’s still a tiny, nagging ghost of doubt somewhere deep in her mind. He doesn’t blame her for that. 

  Basira isn’t as amused.

  “Jon,” she groans, “please be serious.”

  “It was definitely human once I could see, as it grasped desperately” – a skip ahead – “it was trying to say: ‘I’m sorry.’”  

  “It’s fine, just…” She sighs. “Try to answer the question.”

  Jon closes his eyes again, brow furrowing in concentration.

  “…so aware of the position I’m in, and keen to use that power to actually help people.” Referencing Tova McHugh’s statement makes him nauseous – the hatred and disgust he felt the first time he read it was directed at himself as much as it was at her. But it’s a fair comparison, considering what he was doing back then. “I’m trying to do good,” he adds, and hopes it sounds more sincere than Tova’s flimsy rationalizations ever did. 

  As expected, Basira looks unconvinced.

  “Look, Jon, a lot has happened –”

  “He already knows,” Georgie interrupts. “We talked – in the dreams, you know.” Basira does know. “About Tim and Daisy and Martin. And… and Melanie. He’s the one who told me about the bullet.”

  “I thought Melanie figured it out on her own.” Basira’s eyes narrow as she looks at Jon. “How did you –”

  “He said he knows things because of the Eye.” Georgie gives him a look that he can’t quite parse. Sympathetic, maybe? An undercurrent of disappointment, but without accusation. Frustration, but not directed at him – rather, it’s for him, on his behalf. “And he said that when he woke up, he would explain everything where Elias couldn’t overhear, but…”

  “Maybe somewhere in your library are the words to explain what happened,” Jon says, unable to mask his dejection. “I suppose I’ll just have to try.”  

  “Still want to wait and do it in the tunnels?” Georgie waits for Jon’s affirmative. “Fair enough. I brought you a change of clothes.” Jon gives her a questioning look. “I’ve, ah, been bringing a bag each time I visit for the last couple weeks, in case you woke up. Just some things you left at my flat. I couldn’t find any trousers, so I just grabbed a pair of my joggers – which are definitely too big for you, but it should be better than a hospital gown, at least.”

  Jon feels a grateful smile tug at his lips. He didn’t expect this level of consideration, doesn’t deserve –

  “We should probably wait until a doctor signs off on your release, though.” Georgie stands and starts to move towards the door. “I’ll go to the nurse’s station, and –”

  Jon shakes his head. “I cannot imagine what they would have thought of a person who could not die.”  

  “Well, you can’t just walk out of here. I don’t care how inhuman you think you are, you still need to be cleared for discharge.”

  “I’ve no interest in becoming a resident medical marvel.”  

  It’s a hollow excuse. The first time around, the hospital staff couldn’t wait to rush him out the door. He doubts they’d ever processed a discharge so quickly before or since.

  “Just stay here.” He’s halfway to ripping off his ECG sensors when she shoots him a stern warning glare. “Leave them.”

  Jon responds with a peevish huff. Those sensors haven’t been connected to anything since the first week he was here. No one wanted to hear the incessant flatline, and –

  Suddenly, he Knows all about the heated argument that was had regarding his DNR status. He had no next-of-kin to consult, so they were hesitant to mark him as DNR in advance. That meant that, since he was unresponsive – and his case was so unprecedented as to make any speculation regarding an outcome impossible – they should have been trying to resuscitate him. But they’d already tried that, and the consensus was that he should have been declared dead by the first responders. (Rumor was that his boss of all people had managed to convince them to bring him to the hospital for treatment instead.)

Under normal circumstances they would have declared time of death several times over by now and moved him to the morgue – except that brain death hadn’t occurred, and it didn’t seem like the absence of a pulse or respiration was having any effect on that in the slightest. Didn’t that render the entire discussion altogether moot?

  And then Jon Knows how the only reason he was admitted in the first place is because Elias had a brief chat with the director of the hospital. He was, as always, very persuasive.    

  “I don’t want to hear it,” Georgie says when she hears Jon sigh. She stops at the threshold and looks back at him again just as he starts fiddling with IV cannula in the crook of his arm. He freezes and folds his hands in his lap, like a toddler caught reaching for the cookie jar. “Jonathan Sims, you’d better still be in bed when I come back.”

  Jon rolls his eyes, but stays put. As Georgie leaves the room, Basira lets out a soft chuckle.

  “No wonder she and Melanie get along so well.”

  Jon refocuses at the mention of Melanie’s name. He makes a circular motion with one hand: Go on. When Basira gives him a blank look, he has a quick rummage through his catalog.

  “– see any obvious signs of previous slaughter.” Trevor Herbert’s statement leaves a nasty taste in his mouth, but given Basira’s expression, it seems to have gotten his point across.  

  “Oh, the bullet?” Jon gives an enthusiastic nod. “Yeah, we, uh… we removed it. Melanie was reluctant at first, but I guess Georgie won her over. She’s… recovering. Physically, at least. She’s still angry, but not like before. Mostly, she just seems lost. And…”

  Basira hesitates.

  “…whatever protection it might have afforded you is severed.”  

  “Don’t read my mind, Jon,” Basira snaps.

  Jon shakes his head: I didn’t.  

  “Whatever.” She drops into the chair next to his bed. He can see the fatigue in the way her shoulders slump. Basira has always had excellent posture, but right now, she looks ready to crumple. “Brought you a statement, by the way. If you want a fix before we leave.”

  Something famished and greedy rears up inside him. It’s only with some difficulty that he manages to force it back. He can feel Basira watching him intently, and he avoids meeting her gaze.

  “Well? Do you want it or not? You have that hungry look to you.”

  Involuntarily, Jon’s eyes flick to Basira’s bag. He squeezes them shut again, shaking his head.

  “Hm.”

  Jon opens one eye and chances a glimpse of Basira. Her poker face is as flawless as always.

  It’s stale anyway, he tells the persistent thing inside him. You’ve already got that one. Just pull it up and reread it if you want it so badly.  

  It continues scratching at the door.

  Can’t you just be satisfied with Oliver’s statement and go back to lurking?

  He isn’t sure why he’s acting like the craving belongs to something other. The Archivist, the Archive – they’re both him, even if they feel distinct from the human he used to be. It just helps sometimes, to talk to those parts of himself as if they’re backseat drivers. He used to do the same thing to his intrusive thoughts, back when he was still his own person. It wasn’t difficult to adapt his inner monologue to apply it to the Eye’s influence, even if it is ultimately a self-delusion.

  The door opens and Georgie is back. The nurse trailing behind her looks like she would rather be literally anywhere else.  

  Here we go, Jon thinks sourly.

      The hospital staff are clearly out of their depth. As it turns out, a rotating cast of specialists have been overseeing his case through the months, but it seems each of them did so for only as long as it took to hand him off to the next unlucky person in line.

  Once he’s disconnected from all the (mostly inoperative) sensors and monitors, a nurse – he drew the short straw, Jon Knows – goes through the motions of taking his vitals a final time. Jon does him the courtesy of keeping his eyes lowered and tries to ignore the way the man avoids turning his back. He does not speak except to give short instructions – sit up, lay back, hold your arm out straight, take a deep breath – and Jon obeys without saying anything in return.

  The current attending physician on duty makes only a cursory show of evaluating his condition. During the brief neurological assessment, she makes no comment on the fact that Jon hasn’t verbally answered any questions or even said a word. She’s barely there for twenty minutes before announcing that she should go work on his discharge papers. 

  “Shouldn’t he have a treatment plan?” Georgie tries. “Or – or referrals for follow-up, or something?”

  “I, ah, have to discuss things with his treatment team,” the doctor says, already halfway out the door.

  She doesn’t, Jon Knows. He hasn’t had a treatment team since the first month he was admitted.

  “This is ridiculous,” Georgie mutters as the door closes.

  Jon reaches out to touch her arm, and shakes his head when she looks at him.

  “It is. It’s unprofessional.”

  “Understandably, I think – it was entirely my own fault.”  

  “Stop that. You’re still a patient, you deserve some sort of – continuity of care.” When Jon chuckles, Georgie shoots him an indignant look. “What? You do.”

  Now that there are no lines restricting his movement, he’s finally able to stretch properly. Doing so yields a series of devastating cracks and pops from his joints, and Georgie gives him a horrified look. He just raises his eyebrows at her: What?

  When he sidles to the edge of the bed and puts his feet on the floor, Georgie stops him with a hand on his shoulder. “Are you sure you’re going to be able to stand?”

  No, he’s not, but if he has to sit here a moment longer he’s going to lose his goddamn mind.

  Predictably enough, he does have trouble standing on his own at first, but Georgie has no problem supporting his weight. Even when they were dating, she probably could have picked him up if he’d let her, and he weighs even less now. The bathroom is small, and he waves her off when she offers to help him dress. She hasn’t seen the extent of the scarring on his body, and he’d rather her not. Once he demonstrates his ability to stand using the handrail, she agrees to wait outside, but she stands near the door just in case.

  Jon shouldn’t be able to stand at all, this soon after waking up from a six-month coma. He should have more muscle atrophy. He should need extensive physical rehab. He should still be in bed. Hell, he should probably be in some research facility somewhere, being poked and prodded and tested every which way.

  He keeps waiting for the moment Georgie decides it’s all too much, tells him to take care of himself, and leaves.   

  Although he’s been here before and he knows what to expect, he still has to brace himself before looking at his reflection in the mirror. He’s haggard. Gaunt. His hair isn’t as long as it was where – when – he came from, only barely touching his shoulders now. It needs a wash. The burn on his hand is mostly but not yet fully healed. Same familiar dark circles under his eyes, same familiar speckling of shiny, pockmarked worm scars. His ribs are visible, and – he’s hit with a bolt of panic in the split second before he remembers that, yes, twelve pairs of ribs is the normal amount that he should have. Hopefully this time he can keep all of them.   

  The eyes staring back at him – only two – are still his own for now, back to the deep brown they’d been for most of his life before the Archive claimed its place. But he can see something sinister skulking behind them even now, and he knows that everyone else will be able to see it, too.

  When he emerges from the bathroom dressed in a What the Ghost hoodie two sizes too big and practically swimming in a pair of Georgie’s joggers, he’s surprised to see that she’s still here. That she hasn’t changed her mind and written him off yet.

  “Better?” she asks, and he nods appreciatively, if a bit timidly. “Sorry it’s not more your size.”

  Jon doesn’t care. He hasn’t been this comfortable in… well, he doesn’t feel like calculating the time frame of the apocalypse. He doesn’t wait for the Beholding’s disapproval to hit him before he sends it a silent rebuff. At this point, it’s just reflex.

  “I found you a wheelchair,” Basira says from across the room. “Just in case you need it.”

  As she gives him a measured look, he feels like he’s being tested. It makes sense. The speedier his recovery, the less human he seems. But he isn’t going to feign infirmity. They deserve the truth from him.

  There is a familiar dull ache in his bad leg, though. He could do with a cane, but his should be in his office about this time, and he doesn’t want Georgie to have to support half his weight until he has a chance to retrieve it. 

  “Well?”

  He wavers a moment longer, then nods an affirmative and has a seat.

  Just then, the door opens and a nurse enters, a new one this time. Jon makes the mistake of looking up, and when their eyes meet, he Knows that she has a statement for him.

  The sound he makes as he claps his hands over his eyes is something like a strangled, panicked whimper.

  “Jon?” Georgie places a hand on his shoulder.

  “Oh, um… sorry if I startled you, uh – Mr. Sims. I have some paperwork here, we just need some signatures before you –”

  When she was nine years old, she was playing with friends in a drainage ditch. It was nearly dusk when they dared her to enter the tunnel, but she always was the bravest of them. She –

  Jon digs the heels of his palms into his eyes until he sees sparks, rocking back and forth slightly to distract himself from the compulsion snaking its roots through his thoughts.

  – spent days wandering the gloom, and all the while, the frantic calls of the search parties echoed off the walls. Whenever she tried to call out a response, it would tighten its grip on her ankle: that warbling, mangled, broken-jawed thing with the –

  “Leave them here,” Basira says curtly, crossing the room in a few long strides. “I’ll bring them to you when we’re finished.”

  Jon can see the shape of the statement in her thoughts, but it’s not enough. He needs her story. She needs to tell it in her own words. She has to walk through that tunnel again, relive every twist and turn and shade of terror, and he has to experience it alongside her, all eyes –

  “O-okay,” the nurse stammers, “I just – I thought I saw –”

  – a second shadow, starkly visible even in the deepest dark, all dislocated joints and distorted –

  Basira shuts the door on her mid-sentence and turns to face Jon.

  “Jon. What was that?”

  “…you’re not going to give the Watcher a statement,” he says, panting shallowly, hands still pressed to his eyelids. “You’re better than that.”  

  He isn’t sure whether he’s saying it for himself or for Basira. Both, maybe.

  “She… has a statement?” Jon nods. “And you could tell just by looking at her?” Another nod. “That’s… hmm.”

  “I could hear in her voice that she was afraid of him.” His elbows dig bruises into his thighs as he leans forward and draws his shoulders in tighter. “I was, too.”  

  “Does covering your eyes actually help?” Georgie asks, giving his shoulder a light squeeze. An attempt at grounding him. It helps.

  “…it was enough to ease the relentless pressure,” he says, “if only a little bit.”  

  Jon pauses for a moment as he selects another statement.

  “…wear a cloth across his face – hold my hand in front of my eyes –”

  “Oh,” Georgie says, understanding. “Hang on.”

  She withdraws her hand, but Jon can still feel her standing over him. A few moments later something is being lowered over his face and he goes rigid.

  “It’s just my scarf, Jon. I thought we could use it as a blindfold.” Jon signals assent. “Okay. You can put your hands down now. Just keep your eyes closed.”

  He waits patiently while she ties the scarf off at the back of his head and adjusts it, ensuring that it covers his eyes completely.

  “Better?”

  Jon lets out a shaky breath and nods. It’s a lengthy scarf and one end sits in his lap. He takes it in his hands and runs his fingers over the fabric: a nice texture, soft and warm and comforting. He wonders if – no, Knows now – Georgie knitted it herself.

  For a few moments the room is quiet but for the scratching of pen on paper as Basira forges Jon’s signature on the paperwork.      

  “I’ll go hand this over and then we can get out of here,” she says brusquely. “Don’t take off the blindfold until we’re back in the Archives.”  

  Jon wasn’t planning on it.

      End Notes:

Finished this chapter earlier than I expected. Not sure when the next one will be ready, hopefully sometime next weekend.

SO. A lot of exposition in this one, but I wanted to try to give a general outline of how Jon's statement-speak works, what limitations he's working with, and what loopholes he's already tried (and failed) to exploit.

Jon's verbal dialogue in this chapter was taken from statements in the following episodes, in order: MAG 019; 141; 112; 013; 026; 047; 115; 054; 094 (x2); 036; 054; 125; 032 (written not verbal); 156; 123; 155; 021; 064; 029; 010; 139; 042; 151; 125; 097; 099.

I realize that's... a lot of citations, so if you don't feel like scrolling and counting but you want to know what episode a specific line comes from, feel free to ask and I can tell you, lol.

[savrenim]

okay so looking at tma fic in general and tma time-travel fic and the various ways they decide to resolve things has given me an idea for a time travel fix-it fic premise that, like, I almost certainly will never write because way too many writing projects but it is Haunting me so I need to blab about it somewhere 

so clearly the way that the ‘time travel’ / ‘knowledge of the future’ bit works is that Jon stumbles across a book that he assumes is a Leitner but then there’s no name in the front cover so he opens it proper and oooh this is weird but it’s too late the compulsion has set hold and and reads it, oops

the experience of reading it is the experience of fuck-it-feels-like living the entire timeline of the show up through the end of episode 160

(actually all the way through When Jon Finally Dies if he ever does but the important bit is he gets that knowledge of the timeline)

(the book is channeling the power of the Ceaseless Watcher, it’s all about knowledge, although very specifically in my brain this book is something that future!Jon and future!Martin constructed and sent back, which still tracks because hey Archivist is an Avatar of the Watcher. it’s just important to me that this is active action as an attempt to prevent the apocalypse and not dumb luck)

so Jonathan Sims now knows his future and because I have strong opinions about memory/ personality/ what makes a person, has arguably just been replaced with his future self.

‘oh fuck’ Jon says 

‘I ended the world so I gotta fix this’

but how does he fix this, because oops Elias is still stupidly powerful and is going to notice if anything is up so he can’t act weird 

but he can’t bring anyone else in on this because he doesn’t want to Curse Them with such Angsty Knowledge 

he is acting a little bit weird, Martin notices that he’s acting weird because he is now being nice to Martin 

‘this cannot be how the universe exists, Jon is always mean to me,’ Martin goes. ‘like I want the universe to exist this way but Something Is Up With Jon and it would be selfish of me not to investigate just because Jon is actually being nice to me’

Martin stumbles across the book and reads it too

‘oh fuck’ Martin says and immediately goes and talks to Jon and Jon has terrible selfish mixed feelings because he missed his Martin but also didn’t want Martin to have to go through everything he went through but also now Jon is not alone in trying to figure out how to alter this timeline without Elias noticing 

(’wait what gave me away,’ Jon goes)

(’you were being nice to me,’ Martin goes)

(’fuck I really do need to be meaner to everyone don’t I,’ Jon goes. ‘it’s just really hard I’ve had Character Growth and I don’t want to be an asshole again’)

(’well suck it up you’re going to blow our cover,’ Martin goes. ‘maybe you should have thought of that before Being An Asshole.’ he immediately feels bad at Jon’s Very Sad Face. ‘you weren’t actually that much of an asshole you were just under stress and prickly and didn’t realize that the people you weren’t appreciating could be people that you would lose and now you do and that’s fine but you gotta still treat them like you’re an Asshole.’)

(’fine,’ Jon goes.)

so now they’re trying to figure out how to stop Elias 

but also their main priority is to stop Tim and Sasha from dying at this point and they kind of figure that Elias doesn’t know the timeline and as long as he’s getting what he wants which is naive Jon stumbling through interactions with Entities and getting marked but not killed, he won’t suspect anything, and he doesn’t know Tim and Sasha are going to die so that at least is something immediate they can fix 

‘I want to murder Jonah,’ goes Martin 

‘you are super valid but also Gertrude tried that and was 1000% more badass than any of us and she ended up dead so maybe we should concentrate on saving our friends like we’ve got a few years to figure out how to do that,’ goes Jon 

‘fine,’ goes Martin 

Tim and Sasha notice that something is up, OBVIOUSLY, because Jon was weird-nice for like a week and a half then is weird-mean like he’s actually trying to be mean and hates it, and has gone from brushing off Martin all the time to pretending to brush Martin off but obviously secretly pining 

he also gives off feral apocalypse energy

Martin meanwhile is pulling this all off perfectly 

he fooled Elias and Peter and everyone else back when he was faking out the Lonely, he can handle this

Elias does notice Jon acting weird and thinks this is a soap opera workplace romance gone wrong but because he hasn’t seen all of it as Jon and Martin have been very careful to be using Martin’s Lonely powers when they want to Actually Talk and make it look like they’ve just casually wandered off when Elias isn’t paying attention to them so Elias doesn’t actually look like anything is up, he calls Jon in for a ‘performance review’ to make sure 

(Martin has Lonely powers and Jon has Archivist powers from the future and they can both feed off of the long terrible fears that they remember from the horrible horrible lives and deaths they and the entire world had in their own timeline, just give me this I need a plot device that can explain why they can Actually Talk to each other while not being able to use the tunnels) 

anyways Elias starts his performance review and pokes about Martin

‘um yeah,’ Jon confesses. ‘I um had a very awkward conversation with Martin because it seemed like he was being nice to me and I asked him about his feelings and he Confessed to me that he Liked me and I was caught by surprise and was thinking about it for a few days because idk nobody ever Likes me but then came to my senses and um but also it’s totally inappropriate because I’m his boss and I told him and we’re trying to forget that the conversation ever happened and just go back to concentrating on the statements’

‘you seem very nervous right now,’ Elias goes 

‘please do not report me to HR,’ Jon goes looking appropriately mortified and trying to remember everything Martin has been coaching him about lying by telling people what they want to hear. ‘I know I should have rejected him immediately it just caught my by surprise that he would actually Say It To My Face people have been saying a lot of honest things to my face it’s very weird and I know that I shouldn’t have run away from that conversation and acted Weird for a few days but I did come to the Correct Conclusion I am very devoted to this job and don’t want to do anything but this job and didn’t do anything with Martin we just had a conversation and I’m really trying to do a good job here and please don’t fire me’

‘nope you’re good that’s fine concentrate on your job,’ Elias says, quite satisfied that his Archivist is developing truth powers very quickly 

Tim and Sasha are not so easy to fool

Tim and Sasha find the book

Sasha, who worked in Artifact Storage, is Actually Smart and goes ‘dON’T READ THAT’

Tim reads it anyways

‘oh fuck I die stopping the apocalypse’ 

Tim doesn’t seem to die from reading the book and doesn’t seem to change except for being given this foreknowledge but Sasha is Smart so she doesn’t read it. Tim does fill her in on her future.

‘oh fuck I die when a weird worm-lady attacks? and don’t even get to help with the apocalypse? that’s bullshit.’

they start their own little huddle conspiracy 

which Martin immediately finds

‘nO YOU GUYS YOU GOTTA BE MORE CAREFUL TALKING ABOUT THIS STUFF’ Martin explains the future and methods of communicating without Elias watching, which is mostly him subtly hiding them in the Lonely

(’why do you and Jon have secret special powers that’s not fair,’ Tim goes)

(’because we went through literal hell??? and also didn’t die??? idk maybe if we keep you from dying you will also get special powers but seriously Tim they are very evil these are Evil Powers we don’t want them they just kind of happened to us in the process of trying to survive,’ Martin goes.)

‘so what is the plan,’ Sasha goes. ‘like besides us not dying how are you actually going to deal with the real apocalypse’ 

‘well we want to kill Elias but we haven’t figured that out yet because he’s watching our every move perfectly and if we’re not acting like he think we should act he’ll dispose of us and start again with a new Archivist,’ Martin goes. 

‘okay but like in your story there is a part where Peter Lukas personally escorts you to the panopticon and tells you to kill Elias/Jonas and you go no and Elias wins the bet,’ Sasha says. ‘what if you just murder him then, he says he wasn’t going to stop you and if he tries you’ve got another Avatar backing you up’

‘huh we didn’t think of that,’ Martin goes. ‘why didn’t we think of that. I swear there is a Very Good Reason we didn’t think of that. um. uh. there’s also the problem anyone working in the Archives will die if he dies unless they are powerfully enough connected the Ceaseless Watcher which is like. MAYBE Jon.’

‘W H Y did you not lead with that,’ Tim goes

‘yeah I really agree you should have led with that,’ Sasha goes 

‘this has been a very stressful time and we have been doing our best and right also everyone can quit they just need to blind themselves to do it,’ Martin goes. ‘or I guess pledge allegiance to a different evil god but that is really unpleasant you have to sacrifice fear to it or you starve’

(’okay why did you not lead with--’ Sasha goes. ‘I’m starting to really see some benefits for being an evil fear-monster,’ Tim goes. ‘Like we could be ethical evil fear-monsters. like ethical vampires. only scare really shitty terrible people who deserve it and, like, scare but not kill.’)

(Martin looks like he is about to cry.)

(’okay maybe not p l e a s e stop making that face I cannot stand your puppy-dog-but-also-on-the-verge-of-tears eyes,’ Tim goes)

(Sasha stops death-glaring at him as Martin looks slightly less like he is about to cry.)

‘so everyone loves rituals what if we, like. construct a secret ritual. that you’re saying Jon is dumb powerful chosen one Avatar right so let’s just, like. switch over being the ‘Heart of the Institute’ from Jonah to him. big proper paperwork ritual passing on of ownership claiming his position as Jonah’s heir or something,’ Sasha says 

‘that seems like just the sort of bullshit that might actually work. Sasha you are the smartest person in the world and I’m pretty sure the apocalypse wouldn’t have happened if you had survived the Prentiss attack,’ Martin says 

‘actually honestly Gertrude wanted you as her replacement that sounds very true and is probably why Elias didn’t choose you,’ Jon says. he has entered the room at this point as he was curious where literally all of his assistants had wandered off to. he does actually have work to get done the Archives are A Mess and Martin has been gone at this point for far longer than it takes to Make Tea so he figured something might be up and if there’s one thing he’s good at, it’s finding Martin in the Lonely

‘real rude to not let us in on this,’ Tim goes. ‘also are you SURE this is not a weird Leitner fucking with you’

‘we’ve obsessively kept track of the things that are supposed to be happening and they’re all happening on the right days and stuff,’ Jon goes. 

‘okay so let’s stop like two apocalypses and not die,’ Sasha goes. 

the rest of the fic is everyone subtly not-so-subtly trying to recreate the exact timeline while also making events Less Terrible while also trying to seem Not Too Competent 

because this is a fic there’s gotta be adorable ridiculous fluff so everyone decides that the Cover Story in case Elias thinks people are acting weird has got to be Jon and Martin starting to secretly date 

(Jon and Martin are in absolute h e l l over this and it is a hilarious comedy of errors because they didn’t tell everyone else that they got together they both decided that was too private so everyone else is aggressively trying to actually matchmake them through this all and they’re now too embarrassed to drop the act because Sasha has been giving them hell every time they have accidentally withheld information from her so it’s like. three layers of fake dating.) 

(Elias decides all this drama is simultaneously the funniest thing he’s ever seen but also kind of a Bad Distraction and is subtly trying to break them up but doesn’t want to mess with things too much because he is Very Impressed with all the ‘progress’ Jon is making)

(Jon who is a complete badass and is mostly desperately attempting not to reveal all his powers)

(there are also a lot of different things that can go various ways. like do Basira and Melaine still join the Institute? I think they all read the book and make Informed Decisions about their futures but I have not decided yet what those Informed Decisions are. Daisy learns how to control Hunt powers without it overwhelming her, because Tim is totally right about it being possible to be an ethical fear-monster although as Jon and Martin can draw from the fear of the apocalypse-world they don’t really need it so it’s just a question of whether or not I want to give everyone else cool powers. we’re in a fix-it fic everyone gets cool powers without terrible consequences Because I Say So)

(Elias doesn’t give them trouble over this because he is delighted that he’s kind of collecting avatars of other Entities because it makes it really easy to make sure Jon has marks and he thinks this is his genius plan going even better than expected) 

we get to episode 158 

Martin really wants to dramatically kill Elias i m m e d i a t e l y but is waiting for a walkie-talkie signal that the ritual above is going as planned so he stumbles through all of the dialogue the same 

“Then do it. Kill him and help me save the world.” Peter goes 

Martin pauses in silence because oops there’s really not that much more Avoiding he can do

“No” Martin says.

Elias starts to laugh. 

The Signal Comes Through

‘fUCK YEAH,’ Martin says. ‘F I N A L L Y. I am murdering him and I’m saving the world but this isn’t for you, asshole, and Imma deal with you next.’

stabbity stab 

it’s very satisfying 

‘okay but what do you mean it’s not for me, you’re supposed to sit in the chair and help me look for the Extinction?’ Peter goes 

‘nah fuck that I’m from the future and I do what I want that was me stopping the Jonah Magnus’s final ritual,’ Martin goes. ‘you really think I fell for that Extinction bullshit you aren’t nearly as good a liar as you think you are, you stay right there and we’ll decide what to do with you when everyone gets down here it’s Jon’s Institute now and we’re both very pissed at you’

Peter tries to escape into the Lonely 

it Does Not Work as Martin has More Angst than Peter to draw from so is Way More Powerful 

everyone gets down there 

ritual worked nobody died!

‘okay but why DON’T we try to look for the Extinction.’ Sasha says. ‘that seems to be a pretty important thing to stop.’

at this point everyone agrees Sasha has the best ideas 

have I mentioned that every single female character is very gay for Sasha

quite frankly maybe Tim too

Sasha is a Badass and this fic portrays her as Gertrude Robinson’s Rightful Heir 

she Deserves Good Things

and she is Gonna Stop All Future Apocalypses so actually going through with Peter’s plan is maybe not a terrible idea 

they do the thing but in a careful way that traps no one in the chair and get the info

the Extinction is still very stoppable 

there are lots of ways but honestly the best way to do it is to manipulate humanity into actually Being Better and not being on the brink of extinction 

‘this is my Institute now let’s use it to fucking save the world,’ Jon goes 

and they use all their knowledge and power to go from being a massive conspiracy about causing the apocalypse to being a massive conspiracy about bringing kindness and preventing wars and stopping the rise of fascism in politics and poking humanity from behind the scenes into something Better that can Rise Above its fears 

and everyone lives happily ever after 

but yeah this entire fic is around the premise of ‘what if the actual fix-it isn’t Change Everything To Stop Bad Things From Happening it’s Keep Everything The Same Until We’re Handed The Opportunity To Stab Jonah On A Silver Platter And Then Take It’ which I have yet to see a fic do and oops that kind of grew away from me there but anyways that’s it that’s the fic

[j-whirl44]

5 Times Jonathan Sims was Adorable

how about that new episode huh! Everything is fun and great! It’s fine!

I wrote a fic playing off a convo from last week but hey

inspiration struck from this weeks episode so. I need some soft Jon. As a treat.

Reminder i’m doing a fic each week bc i’m annoying, mostly: here it is on AO3 (x)

Title kinda explains it all: Late Season 4, Early Season 5 spoilers somewhat.

Enjoy!

~

Jonathan Sims watches his mother dance around the room as she cleans the floors and sings along badly to the radio. Jon can’t comprehend much about his mother except the fact that he thinks she’s very pretty. Her long dark hair is usually tied up into a bun and she wears ripped jeans and an old shirt far too big for her slender frame. It was his father’s, but Jon doesn’t realize that. Currently he sits at the table in their kitchen. Paper in front of him and crayon in hand. He’s making a card for his mother. She’s going in for surgery to get her wisdom teeth removed tomorrow morning. Jon wants to make sure the card is perfect. His mother tries to sneak a peek at what he’s making but Jon pushes her away with all the might a toddler can muster. She can’t see it yet. “It’s for recovery,” he says. His mother laughs, “My darling I’ll be fine, but I can’t wait to see it,” she replies with a mock salute as she goes back to her cleaning. Jon smiles, satisfied with negotiations. His mother beams at him. Of course she never does see the card, but it’s a nice moment.

~~

Jonathan Sims doesn’t have many friends. He goes to school and comes home to his grandmother’s where he does his work and not much else. He doesn’t read much these days, not since the last time. So he tried desperately to find other ways to pass the time. The backyard isn’t big, but it’s enough. He starts stealing cardboard boxes out of the trash on his way home and secretly puts together a pirate ship. Or is it more of a spaceship? Jon oscillates between the two depending on where he wants to escape to that day. He creates adventures in his mind of far off places where he’s popular and dashing and he nearly escapes death and saves everyone in the end. Sometimes when he can't sleep because images of Mr. Spider crawl into his brain, he goes out there. Swinging his sword he made of aluminum foil and defeating the wretched creature. His grandmother watches sometimes as he screams and performs absurd sea shanties like he’s a pirate on the seven seas. She thinks it’s nice he gets to be a child sometimes. Even if it’s not for long.

~~~

Georgie Barker looks at Jon like he’s grown another head. He just blushes and shrugs under her gaze. She grabs his hands and gets him onto the carousel. “I can’t believe you’ve never ridden one before,” she says. It’s their first date and Jon is too full of nerves to focus on much. He’s just let her take the lead because it’s much simpler that way. The carousel starts to move and Jon is thrown by how fast it seems to go. Georgie is laughing next to him as their horses rise up and down. Down and up. The ride’s over quickly and they hop back down to solid ground. Jon still has a smile on his face, which Georgie returns. Jon’s never felt this light. He’s almost embarrassed. Things are going well. He feels good. This time he reaches his hand for Georgie’s and she accepts it. They head off to the next zoo exhibit. The blush doesn’t leave Jon’s cheeks the rest of the day. When they leave they ride it again, racing their stationary horses, Jon still lets Georgie win.

~~~~

Jonathan Sims has never been the best sleeper, and that’s been growing truer since starting his new position at theThe Magnus Institute. He’s been staying later and later, using the cot more and more. Or at least he did, before offering it to Martin. Now most nights, when it’s well after normal closing, it’s just them. At first they tried to ignore each other the best they could, but for Jon, the statements have been getting harder, more intense. The looming presence of Jane was something he felt like he couldn’t shake. Plus, he wouldn’t admit it out loud but he was just genuinely worried about Martin. They weren’t great friends really at this point, but nevertheless Jon found himself in the small office kitchen making two cups of tea. He’s not even aware of the time but when he walks up to the door there’s light coming through that lets him know Martin’s still awake. He knocks and is met with a surprised face. He reaches out the tea to Martin, who takes it with a smile and offers for Jon to come in. Jon wants to, but he doesn’t. Something too personal about it still, maybe one day though.

~~~~~ Jonathan Sims doesn’t know what to do once he pulls Martin out of The Lonely except to just grip his hand tight so they don’t get separated. Basira finds them quickly and tells them to run. Then before Jon can register anything, they’re pushed off to Scotland together. Jon really doesn’t want to let go of Martin’s hand. Martin hasn’t spoken at all yet, so Jon just blabbers on about nothing, hoping some of it gets through. He talks about the smells that make him think briefly of his mother in passing moments. He talks about the cardboard pirate/space ship he made in his backyard. His favorite parts of the London Zoo. Until he’s finally just listing off different brands of tea as if Martin didn’t already know most of them. Martin eases into Jon during it all, his head falling on The Archivist’s shoulder. Their hands still together as they head towards an unknown address in an unknown land. Martin finally joins in on the conversation when he looks out the window and comments on the highland cows he can see outside. Jon smiles and nods as he lets out a small breath.

[centaurianthropology]

The Magnus Archives ‘Zombie’ (S04E02) Analysis

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

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

It’s been six months.

Shit’s gone sideways.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Conclusions

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

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

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

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

[backofthebookshelf]

Your favourite TMA theory (either confirmed or so far unconfirmed) and your favourite crack theory (or make one up)?

Ooh, I’m gonna split that first one up. Fave confirmed theory - Gertrude is secretly a badass. It took about two instances of Jonathan Sims, Head Clueless Archivist dragging her and everything she stood for for me to decide she had to be smarter than that. She recommended encasing a man-eating pig in concrete! You gotta respect that woman.

Fave unconfirmed theory - the fourteen entities aren’t actually fourteen separate things and in the face of the Extinction they’re merging to consolidate power. Vast/Dark/Lonely, Beholding/Web, maybe Desolation/Stranger?

Fave crack theory - it’s gotta be Peter and Elias’s ongoing relationship drama being the driving force behind everything. Either that or they successfully defeat all the fear gods and Jon and Martin get married and live happily ever after.

[briteboy]

stealing @bratsims format because i need a less ugly way to mass answer your messages which will hopefully motivate me to stay on top of this! at least i can say i tried

so if you sent me an anon message in the past...idk MONTH (i’m bad i know) it might be here. (older ones are near the bottom) if not, check my faq because it’s probably answered there. (and if you’re the person/people who sent the twin flame & 7th house asks, i plan to answer those separately because i have a LOT to say. get ready)

game of thrones, nuclear war, real life santis, lou theories, i’m evil, HERE WE GO!! i literally had to cut it off at the last one because it was just too much for now. i’ll try to answer some more later ok

we’re starting off on a great note

Anonymous said: gaddamn rooney's tiddies lookin' hella ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

STOP!!!!!!!!!!! THAT’S MY CHILD soaidfnjds she’s supposed to have like b/c cups (goals for me tbh, the big boob life is not fun) and sims 4 pregnancies just fuckin make them...NYOOM i’m mad you can’t edit sims’ bodies during pregnancy even with cas.fulleditmode on -___- so i let her live with her giant preggo tiddies for now

Ngl I want a kiss between Santi and Gianni (I'm sorry I'm literally trash)

then i’m here to satisfy your desires: they do kiss periodically because gianni is one of those people who’s like “why shouldn’t you kiss your friends?” free love 4 everyone

IM SCREAING AT UR YOUTUBE CHANNEL OK!!!! I LOVEEE IT, WOW

DON’T IT’S UGLY EXCEPT FOR LIKE TWO VIDEOS

hey this is kinda random but i thought joe seaward from glass animals looked kinda like santi? he has quite a weird face too lmao

oMG i actually love that, i know what you mean. that dude reminds me of a bull terrier lmao i actually saw glass animals like two weeks ago!! i didn’t really get a good look at the drummer but now i wish i did. missed connection

i just finished reading santi's story and ugh it almost had me in tears! beautiful, your story telling skills and editing skills are perfection!

ahhhhsdkgkds thank you so much ;____; that means the world to me <333

Unpopular opinion: im so done with game of thrones tbh. It's not even good anymore :/ I liked the first season but since then i've skipped through episodes because they are just sooo fucking boring and dragged out!

see like the first three seasons were pretty good because they stayed true to the books. (actually that’s a lie, littlefinger’s chaos speech in the s3 finale was real fuckin bad because guess what: it was original material LMAO) the fourth season was where it started to get messy and then the fifth season was a fucking shitshow because they completely IGNORED the fourth book and cherrypicked all the “good” parts out of it (read: the most action-y parts, while ignoring all the most important pieces of character development) and they botched the dorne storyline, oh and who could forget the iconic moment of throwing in a rape (THAT DIDN’T HAPPEN IN THE BOOKS) just for fun :) love it! but anyway if you think the show is boring i probably wouldn’t recommend the books, they’re even slower getting through them lmao. but it’s worth it in my opinion. there’s so much they don’t include in the show and it makes me Angery

Okay, game of thrones fan here, I haven't read the books (yet at least, I bought book 1) but I feel like dany is going to practically turn into her father, this season she is already showing traits like his.......

OH YEAH i definitely feel like they’re moving in that direction in the process of revealing jon as the “true” king of westeros and it’s so bad lmfao. the thing is, like...cersei is already mad king 2.0? why do we need another one?????? the entire point of dany’s arc is that she’s constantly trying to deviate AWAY from the way her father ruled, demonstrated by the fact that she freed the slaves (whereas all the targaryens before were slave owners), the fact that she’s not perpetuating the whole incest thing (LMAO GUESS AGAIN BECAUSE JONERYS HAS TO HAPPEN FOR SOME FCKING REASON), the fact that she has dragons which haven’t existed in how many years...like, if she ever ends up being like her father in the books, it’s NOT gonna fucking happen like this. but i don’t think she will anyway, george rr martin has been pretty clear about her trajectory thus far. anyway this show is so ugly, next question

rooney's eye are so BIG

just like her tiddies lmao i kno sometimes i forget how big they are and then she does one of those silly endearing animations and i’m like o ;-; hello big dumb baby cow eyes

Cows? Are you secretly Matthew Daddario?

WHO i had to google him lmao i was about to say “oh the teen wolf guy” but jk @ myself u idiot it’s shadowhunters damn i literally googled “matthew daddario cows” and

tru

I love how fragile Lou looks like but the truth is that she is strong af and you can't play with her bruh

SHE IS ;-; and that’s a huge theme in her story, i’m excited <3

ima leave ur blog and come bk and spam you so you will finally notice me

im part of this online forum of girls that talks about our period and weather or not one of us might be pregnant and once this girl posted saying that her husband invited his mom without telling her to thier honeymoon and she didnt find out until they arrived at the hotel and she was already there. the most recent part reminded me of it. but long story short, her dad moved all her stuff out of his house and her friend came to pick her up and they got a divorce.

OISOJDFAKNLJSD WHAT!!! i’m guessing you sent this because of that thing i said about the reddit post lmfaooo imagine your mom on your honeymoon. why. that’s soooooooooo good 4 her u know. u don’t need to be married to his mom as well

thanks 4 trusting my love santi. he's beautiful

thank u he thinks ur beautiful too 💘

do you have any tips for runing game in good quality and fast?

euhhhhh the only tips i have for you are to merge your cc, close all other programs while you play your game, maybe invest in a cooling pad uhhhhhh yeah idk any other tips you can probably find on google

You told that thing about unfollowing people and I thought you unfollowed me, but then I checked and you didn't and I'm crying omg

lmao omg ;-; i literally cut my following list in half, it was so chaotic and it was making me anxious. so if ever unfollow any of you please don’t take it personally (i know it’s a stupid thing to say, and it’s a lot easier said than done) it’s just my brain explodes when there’s too much going on at once and some content blends into others, i’m trying to only follow people who i’m genuinely interested in enough to keep up with their posts from now on

I haven't been able to sleep in over 72 hours thanks to the constant fear over the looming world war. I'm fine. Completely fine

Oh shit, have you noticed that the media has been putting out more 'what to do during a nuclear attack' kinda articles? This world is slowly going to shit, for real. I'm not even near any of the danger really, but it still absolutely terrifies me to see all of that bc it could very well go wrong and hit my place as well yknow? I have no idea why i send this to you but you seem chill and calm so thanks for reading my freakout askfjsls

YEP it’s pretty terrifying. but at the same time don’t let fear overwhelm you, fearmongering is an ugly, ugly thing and you don’t want to live your life constantly worrying. so just prepare yourself for what might come, but at the same time, just spend as much time with your loved ones as you can, do all the things you’ve ever wanted to do, and then if it doesn’t turn out as bad as we thought it would, you *tim mcgraw voice* lived like u were dyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyin’

@ Jesus anon: I really don't think it's the right time to complain about "using the lord name in vain" when there are people terrified of leaving their homes bc they are afraid to get killed (aka that poor, poor Jewish anon in charlottesville)

yeah idk like i want to respect everyone but it seemed to be in poor taste to bring that up at a time like that lmao. and also i’ve literally never in my entire life met someone who actually takes “don’t say the lord’s name in vain” seriously. 

I asked about the poses and HOLY CRAP THANK YOU SO MUCH! I finally have good poses to use for story telling. Thank you soo so so so sooooo much!

YAY i’m glad you found some good stuff <3 and honestly just going through lana’s blog you’ll find a ton of good poses, it’s a gold mine

Idk how much tv you watch, but have you've ever come across a tv show that used music from The Sim? Because once in a while I'll hear Sims 3 build/buy music on some random show and I'll get a lil shook because I find it so weird that the generic music they're using comes from a major game title.

OMG LMAO NO what i wish i’d come across that tho. one time i used sims 1 music in a video i made for school and someone recognized it

I love your stories gosh I check your page "it's everyday bro with femmesim flow" Lol sorry for that awkward Jake Paul "poop" ❤️

lmao thank u i had no idea who jake paul was until my friends started talking about him

yo, I also remember once in french class real life santi asked me what videos games I like to play. When I told him the sims, he looked at me for a while and shaked his head. He was like, "why do you want to watch your sims use the toilet?"

WHY DO YOU WANT TO WATCH YOUR SIMS USE THE TOILET SAME that’s all i care about when i play

that rooney face in the 5 facts is so iconic, its my fave picture of her. You should blow it up and frame it

i should tbh. i should print it out and put it in my wallet to show everyone because she is my child

sorry the bother you, merging cc makes your game smoother? can you explain to me please?

boop

hi i love you ♡ pass it on

I LOVE U

Can I say that hearing a MacBooks fans screaming for dear life as they try to cool down when playing the sims has actually started to haunt my nightmares

SAME my macbook is actually doing it right now for no reason. thanks laptop

Maybe Santi should go to therapy to talk out his issues.

maybe he should 🤔  but tbh he’s already talked out everything, there’s nothing really more to talk out. he just has to cope with it. he’s treated lou like his therapist thus far and that’s not okay

i love ur story and omg i totally get where lou is coming from with being tired of being compared to molly by santi, thatd hurt so much esp with how much she cares about him

thank youuu ;-; i’m glad you understand, this was a part i’d wanted to get out for a loooong time now, and i know you guys were always like “um why does she put up with this” lmao. she just loves him, that’s why. but you’re right, it does hurt.

My theory is very similar to the other anons in that Fiona's dad/Lou's ex had a mental illness (schizophrenia, depression, what have you) but he actually did kill himself and that's why she's not completely losing it on Santi because I feel like most people in that situation would have not handled it as well as Lou did

🤔 you’re right about the last part, and there’s a reason she has so much patience, das all i’m sayin

i started your story from the beginning last night and i am in awe. Its amazing. It inspired me to put a little more effort in learning to edit and write. It was like reading screen caps from a movie! I didn't want to stop reading. Anyway thing was a super sappy ask, but i appreciate your stuff. And i'm bad at putting my thoughts into words.

omg ;__________; when people tell me i inspired them it means the most to me, my brain just can’t process it lmao. so thank you so so much ;-; <333 THE MOVIE THING ESPECIALLY GOT ME IN THE HEART because i feel like that’s my aesthetic with most things i create because i’m such a film person lol. don’t worry i love super sappy, and you did a good job of wording everything because it got me right in the feels <33

Okay I've been snickering for about 43 minutes bc SANTI GOT THAT GRU CHINNN

WOT is that i googled it and the only thing that came up was the dad from despicable me lmfaosdkjfs but ok

Please, please do punk edits of your some of your characters! I'd die.

WHAT DOES THIS MEANNN do you mean like. those 2010 tumblr edits of punk disney characters and then the joker from suicide squad looked like one of them. do u want santi to be the joker. because my boyfriend already relates him to suicide squad joker because of his face tatt lmao

You love to make me cry

i do i’m sorry. if it makes you feel any better i love to make myself cry too. but my biceps grow stronger with every tear

I reeeally dont think those chancla comments were offensive??? Why would they be?? I'm hispanic (born and raised in the sunny Dominican Republic, received a fair amount of chancletazos myself) and I laughed out loud when i read them 😂😂

I JUST WANT U TO KNOW I SHOWED @ichosim THIS MESSAGE AND SHE LAUGHED FOR 12 HOURS AT “CHANCLETAZOS”

whATT my little brothers name is santiago n we call him santi for short!! guess it's not rly that uncommon but we live in a small country and he's also 4 so like,, no other santiagos!! idk why im saying this its completely irrelevant just kinda surprised me :'))

OMG wow hell yeah another real life santi...santi acts like a 4 yr old so he might as well be your brother

Just curious.. Do you play sims or just use it for storytelling? Sorry if thats weird haha

well my recent gameplay pics should answer your question lmao. i do like to play but i don’t have enough time to both play and pose scenes so i mostly just pose scenes for now. :[ i am gonna be off work for like two weeks tho so hell yeah gameplay here i come!!

I'm starting a Fiona appreciation movement because she is the real star of santis story RT and i love her and she is way underappreciated and I love her KThxBi

SHE IS THE REAL STAR!!!!!!!!!!!!!! i’ve said this before but santi’s relationship with her is the most important to me, out of every relationship he has in this story. i’m so glad you love her so much, sorry about what’s about to come in the next few scenes tho

Oh my heart, Santi is alive, god exist

I have a pretty hard time understanding Santi's story mostly because I'm not English but I'm sure I'll figure it out:)

ahh oh no D: i’m sorry i wish i spoke every language in the world lmao. if you want, you can message me off anon and i’ll help you understand it!!

Lou is an angel honestly

“there are worse things than seeing an angel before you die”

what tablet do you use? or how do you draw hair? it looks so pretty.

omg haha i don’t have one! i wish i did tho. all of the brushes i got from deviantart, i’m trying to find the specific ones but they’re all elusive wtf. i’ll post them when i find them! for now, here’s a good guide to drawing hair, by airi <3

Nah nah I always knew you'd save him.....eheheeh.....THANK YOU FOR NOT KILLING BABBY SANTEEEEEEEEE DNDDNSKANW YOU WOULD HAVE HAD SO MUCH BLOOD ON UR HANDS AS ALL UR FOLLOWERS COLLECTIVELY DIE FROM A BROKEN HEART BUT DW WE DIDNT BECAUSE UR QN ANGEL....but I toooootally knew you'd save him... /sweats/

I’M GLAD U HAD FAITH <3 i know omfg i would’ve expected a mob at my house if i’d actually killed him. if i ever killed him i would just lay down somewhere and die. that’s it for me

Lou & molly almost always have teeth showing, do you draw them on each pic?x

no, only sometimes i’ve drawn them when i felt like their mouths weren’t matching the expression i wanted. but most of the time it’s just the pose.

is it too late to send 16k dollars to guarantee santi's inclusion in a loving home with loving friends

it is absolutely never too late to send me 16k i promise you that

I just bought school books for $550 who knew studying marine biology could be so fuckING EXPENSIVE

EWW WTF...i’ve been lucky and haven’t had to spend a ton on books in my college career (one time i even went to such lengths that i got access to free trial version of one of my school books in a pdf, screencapped EVERY SINGLE PAGE, which was more than 400 pages, just so i wouldn’t have to spend $70 on it. i love cheating the system)

waIT i never saw ur selfie where is it, must see

u could probably just search “selfie” on my blog and find it, or enjoy the ugly closeup drunk snap i posted last night

Hey guys I'm a happy trans man that has no mental illnesses. I'm fucking pissed about Trump's ban. And to any one that says it's logical FUCK YOU! I'm having flashbacks to don't ask, don't tell because this is the same fucking wacked up logic. I'm so angry, like I'm a human, yes I may require testosterone shots once a month but that's it, I even administer them to myself. I pay for them with my own god damn money so fuck you transphobic bigots who say this law is fair. It's not. WE ARE HUMAN TOO Also same anon that ranted. Sorry about that I'm just really pissed and I love and thank you for sticking up for the community. We love you and I love you. And you're right not all trans people transition. We all do what we want to. Some start on T or E and have the full surgery. Some just have top surgery. Some just do testosterone or estrogen. Some never do anything. We're all still trans and we're all valid.

YES ALL OF THIS, sorry i didn’t answer this when it was all happening. but askdkjfas thank you for this message, I LOVE YOU TOO, SO MUCH <333 and i’m glad you feel comfortable enough to voice this in my inbox. yes every trans person is valid no matter what they decide to do with their bodies <3

One of those old hot topic shirts that said " if Darryl dies we riot " but with santi instead of Darryl.

OMG LMAOOOOO NOW THAT’S A CONCEPT who’s making these i want one

your use of references and reaction pics and gifs fucken KILLS ME

Crystal anon here. I googled around my area to find there are none of those y'know, crystal, candle, incense, magic type shops. I have panic attacks when I go outside and I wanted to look into alternative stuff since I'm on meds and w/e. I wanted to know if you or friends had any experience or recommendations for buying crystals online like on etsy or amazon. How can you tell if they're real?x

ooooh ok. usually there are shops like those in cities or even in towns with like kitschy little promenades with independent shops. (i know there’s one around the town over from mine, which is so random lmao) i do have friends that have crystals but i think they mostly just collect them for the ~good vibez~ and don’t really look too far into the healing aspects of them. i would say first go with the one that coincides with your birth because those are the ones that are like specifically catered to you and strengthen your being. as for buying online, hmmmmm i mean i don’t really know any specific trustworthy sellers because i don’t have much experience with this, but definitely read the reviews! those will help you a lot <3

Hello could you please tell us how you edited the pic of rooney in that one post that the anon asked for the unedited version?

i honestly didn’t do much of anything that differs from my usual editing process! i made her eyes a bit bigger by using the clone tool, cloning the top of her eye and applying it a little bit farther up...if that makes sense. it’s hard to explain how to use that tool lmao. and i think i used the liquify tool to bring part of her eyebrow down to look more worried.

there's still a part of me that says she ain't dead and molly is just in a coma lmao end mE

OMFLDKGKJS yeah she’s not dead surprise. i WILL say there is still flashback stuff that will be revealed. well not “revealed” like molly’s death was revealed, like i just still have to showcase some things that happened afterward. because it doesn’t just end with molly’s death, there’s stuff after that as well :~}

I'm Mexican, have lived around Mexicans, have been to Mexico multiple times growing up, just came back from a family trip at practically the border between Mexico and Guatemala and never in my life have I ever heard the word "joder" i had to look it up xD (not hating or anything I just thought I'd mention it cuz I found it funny...lol) k bye...

OK NOT SURE IF the ppl you’ve been around just don’t curse or whatever but...joder is DEFINITELY something i’ve heard mexican people say before lmao

Okay so this is random, but i was telling my sister the name of one your characters in ur story (santi) and she kinda just starts singing his name, and she said "santi high, santi low, santi go." And im just sitting there, like woah.

LMFAO WHATKNJDSKJGD “woah” same

u gonna incorporate fis hat into a really like emotional sad thing in her story huh

oMG i wasn’t planning on it but hmm 🤔

Why no el chingo? NO ME GUSTA (I'm joking btw ily)

LMFAOOOO because i didn’t wanna have to defile my son by downloading the penis mod RIP

let santi grow out dem eyebrows 2kforever

omg he does let them grow out except for the little line he shaved in when he was 14 that never grew back RIP

in ur bio it says "kt" and i know why,, it means killing them as in killing off ur characters slowly i see u gurl

i bet this story was just an excuse for you to see the world burn. well done.

OMG i mean, that was definitely one of the side effects of it all. but really it was just that i NEEDED to get this story out after it had lived in my brain for so long.

ur dead 2 me

I... just.... can't... too much pain Y U DO DIS 2 UZ?!?!!!

[centaurianthropology]

The Magnus Archives ‘The Uncanny Valley’ (S03E07) Analysis

And to round out our narrator bonanza, who should return, but GERTRUDE!!  Whoo!  I had honestly worried that we might not be hearing more from her after Basira stopped passing Jon tapes, but I really should have known that Elias, in his horrifying fairy godmother fashion, would deliver.  And damn, did he deliver.  Because this episode is dense with information, and the stakes for the series just shot sky-high.  Come on in to hear what I think of ‘The Uncanny Valley’.

One, I love how Gertrude actually took on an ever-so-slight Welsh lilt for the duration of the narration.  Seriously, Jonny’s mother is a damn talented actress and I’m always over the moon when she comes on to do a narration.  Secondly, this story was hilarious!  Sebastian the utterly oblivious plumber just joined my top narrators of all times so easily by how obtuse he was.  Here’s this horrific drain full of offal and blood, and he’s just like, “Yep, that sure looks clogged.  Let me get that for you.”  Megan spends her time threatening to strip the flesh and fat from his body, and he’s just working away saying things like, “Uh-huh, that’s nice.”  He walks by faceless plastic beings stripping the flesh off the faces of disembodied human heads?  Eh. Nothing out of the ordinary there.

Megan must have thought she’d hired the single most hardcore plumber in all of Wales.  I’m deeply sad they dragged him back to meet their ‘boss’, You-Do-Not-Know-Me (some aspect of the Stranger, most likely).  I’m especially sad that it sounds like Sebastian died shortly after the statement was given.  Seriously, the most oblivious plumber in Wales has to hang out with Trevor the Vampire Slayer and defeat monsters by ignoring them to death.

On a more plot-rich note, wow was this dense.  We’ve been introduced to several major players, and we got a lot more information about the Unknowing.  What I thought was essentially a pissing match between the Stranger and the Beholding with the Institute hanging in the balance now seems a lot more … apocalyptic in nature.  

Gertrude mentions a ‘world Orsinov hopes to bring about’.  The Unknowing is perhaps not the destruction of an Archive as much as it is a radical shift in supernatural power that upsets everything.  Maybe even enough that everyone notices all the forces they’ve been ignoring or not noticing.  Right now, humanity is protected specifically because all the Great Old Ones are equally powerful, and locked in a stalemate.  They have their chosen pawns and allies, but most people aren’t a part of that.  But the Unknowing?  What might well be the death of the Beholding and the ascendancy of the Stranger?  That would change the entire tone of the world.

And the players in the Unknowing are also getting clearer.  I wouldn’t have guessed that the Circus of the Other was at the heart of it, but they do seem to be.  Gertrude states that someone named Orsinov and her ilk searching for their skin, and given the Russian name, and the almost-clown outfit that Megan was wearing, I think we can take it that this was either the Circus of the Other, or a branch thereof.  Orsinov, must have been the person who took over the Circus after Nikolai Denikin left. Although, knowing that the Circus are some sort of plastic beings that coat themselves in skin, I now have some major questions regarding Mr Denikin.  I had thought the doll in ‘Strange Music’ was a generic ‘creepy doll’ thing, but now that we have this information about the Circus, could that doll have actually been Nikolai Denikin?  Gertrude had previously stated that Denikin was one of the most dangerous members of the Circus.  Can a plastic being actually die?

And for that matter, can a plastic being covered in skin somehow have children and grandchildren? Because it certainly seems that Mr Denikin did.  Can such beings inhabit a skin so long it becomes them?  Can a being like that retire?  Denikin seems to have loved his granddaughter and cared for her up until his death.  What happened to bridge between a faceless plastic figure and a loving grandfather with a dark secret and a terrifying calliope?

We also know that Gertrude was directly acting against the Stranger by 2015.  She got in a proper scrap with the Circus, which injured her to the point she could barely stand.  But somehow she was victorious.  She managed to strip them of their skin so severely they all had to replace it. How?  I have to believe that she had come into at least a good part of the Archivist’s powers by then, but what were they?

It seems that at 2015, Gertrude was running out of time. The Circus were only a few years away from performing the Unknowing (or dancing the Unknowing, which is a particularly delightful touch).  Her attack on them was a direct attempt to prevent that, and she failed.  Which means that, most likely, they are still approaching that countdown, but without a fully-charged-up Archivist to combat it. Gertrude’s ‘alternative plans’ to prevent the Unknowing may well have been the destruction of the Institute with Leitner.  It’s hard to say at this point whether or not this was the moment she decided to destroy her life’s work.  If so, how would destroying the Institute prevent the Unknowing?  Is the Institute some key component of it somehow, and by destroying the Institue you scupper the plans?  Was the Library of Alexandria burned not as a part of a previous Unknowing, but as a way to prevent it?

If so, that’s not good, because that’s one step that Elias is not going to let anyone take.  He clearly wants to stop the Unknowing.  But he doesn’t want to lose the Institute to do it. He requires that there be another way, and he was willing to murder Gertrude and slot a completely inexperienced Archivist into her spot only a few years before the Unknowing to see that other way through.

And that means that Elias must be secretly shitting himself.  He’s trying to mold an Archivist not only to his specifications, but powerful enough to stop this Unknowing, and he’s having to do it within a few years.  Sims doesn’t have the luxury of time that Gertrude did to settle into his role.  No wonder she seemed so much saner than he is. She was given decades to come into her power and understand her role in everything.  He’s had a few months, and Elias is unlikely to let up on the pressure. He can’t.  Because Sims either fails or he dies, and he needs to do one or the other soon enough that Elias could slot in Sims’ replacement for the final fight. I think that’s also why Elias seems to be encouraging Martin and the other assistants to record.  If Jon fails, it would likely be one of them who would have to step into the role.

Things are looking dire, and I think that Sims might have been starting to get that by the end of the episode.  Although his reaction to the news that the end might be very seriously nigh was far more tempered than I might have expected, his near-panic-attack hearing the calliope music tells me that at least part of him knows things are going wrong in a hurry, and that there are monsters out there that are closing in on him.

But perhaps he has a lead. Jude Perry seems to be a high ranking member of the Lightless Flame, and was present at the abbatoir during this story. Gertrude mentions that, after the loss of Agnes, the group might have been trying to curry favor with the Stranger, but they seem chaotic.  Their alliances are unstable and their loyalties fickle.  They honestly seem a little like supernatural arsonists, who sort of just want to burn everything without much political agenda.  Or at least, that was Gertrude’s take.  Either way, Sims has decided that Jude is his best bet for tracking down some answers, and he’s going to try and set Melanie on the task.  That seems inadvisable to me, given how burn-happy the Lightless Flame seem to be. Especially since Georgie is wisely insisting that Sims get his creepy tapes out of her house (she actually insisted he stop listening or taping, but we and Sims both know that’s not going to happen), he’s going to have time to do some legwork.  I hope he’s smart enough to have Melanie do some research (and maybe get Martin in on it too, please?), and then go in a group to meet Jude. Any one person is essentially asking to get turned crispy.

Conclusions

So now the Circus has arrived in London, with a drift of calliope music.  Coincidence?  I doubt it. Elias is arming Sims, whether Sims realizes it or not.  He’s given Sims Jude Perry, and he’s warned him about the skin-stealing Circus of the Other and a woman named Orsinov, who seems to lie at the heart of the Unknowing.

Sims has better information and an avenue of investigation.  But he seriously needs his allies for this.  If things are going to start feeling particularly apocalyptic, and if Sims is now being pursued by both Daisy and by the Circus of the Other, now is the time to pull out all the stops.  Melanie is a good ally, but so is Martin, and they’re in this whether or not they want to be.  Having them be close allies isn’t actually any more dangerous than simply working at the Institute, and the information they might get from working with Sims could protect them.

And while I’m glad Sims is now digging into the supernatural community of London, I seriously hope he gets better allies than the Lightless Flame.  If there’s any possible way he could get Gerard Kaey (why yes, I do hold out hope he’s somehow not dead) and Trevor the Vampire Slayer on his side, I’d feel more comfortable.  And they may be scary as shit, but the Lukas family are not only stupidly old and stupidly wealthy, but they’re loyal to the Beholding.

Things are heating up, and getting more and more interesting.  Groups that seemed peripheral are stepping to the center stage, and now we know that we’re looking at a few years for Sims to catch up to the point that he can prevent a dance to end the world as we know it.  That’s a hell of a thing.