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ieattaperecorders · 3 years

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Something's Different About You Lately - Chapter 14: After the Fire

Jon has some visitors.

Note: This chapter contains a few small instances of well-meaning people touching a blind person without warning in a way that startles them.

Read on Ao3

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He knew that he was in a hospital before he was fully awake. The texture of the stiff sheets and gown, the antiseptic smell, some indistinctly medical quality to the air filled him with the memory of wandering through distant dreams, of emerging into a cold and brightly-lit room. He came to himself gradually, slowly growing aware of an uncomfortable heaviness, of something wrapped around his face and something else restricting movement on his right side. He shifted experimentally and felt a twinge. Quietly, he groaned.

"Hey," came a voice from nearby. "You actually awake, boss? Or is this another false alarm?"

I'm not your boss anymore, Tim, he thought. Then he thought, wait a minute.

"Tim . . . ?" his voice came out hoarse and thick with grogginess. "Where – augh . . . ."

Pain shot through Jon's body as he tried to lift himself into a sitting position. He heard Tim get up and felt a careful hand on his left shoulder, guiding him back down.

"Oooh, don't do that. They've got you on the good stuff, but you're still a mess on that side. Don't be such an impatient patient."

"Where's Martin? Is he –"

"Relax, Martin's fine. Well, not fine, he's been shot, but he's doing a lot better than you. Bullet glanced off your shoulder before hitting him, tore up some muscle and fat but didn't get anything vital. He was awake before you were even out of surgery."

The hand stayed on Jon until it was clear he was going to remain still, then came away. There was an audible scrape as a chair was pulled closer, and Tim sat down again.

"We're all fine too, by the way," he added, as if offended he hadn't asked. "Just so you know."

"And . . . Jonah?"

Tim was quiet for a moment. When he spoke again, his voice was subdued.

"Didn't check if he was breathing when we left him, but he wasn't getting up," he said. "And I can't see anything coming out of that fire."

Jon lay still and tried to process it all. He wasn't sure what he should feel. What he did feel was a distant sort of unsteadiness, whether it was shock or whatever painkillers were coursing through his system, he didn't know.

"Have you been sitting up with me?" he asked.

"Don't get too big a head about it," Tim smirked. "I've only been here a bit. Sasha's come by to peek in as well, and we've visited Martin too. I was just lucky enough to be the one to see your grumpy little face when you woke up."

"Huh." Surprise and a strange melancholy rose in Jon at the thought. He smiled wryly, "and for my part, the first thing I hear on regaining consciousness is Tim Stoker's terrible puns."

"Excuse you, I am a delight to be around and my puns are charming."

Jon laughed softly, lapsing back into silence. The quiet stretched on for a while, solemnity beginning to creep in at the edges again. Then Tim spoke.

". . . You think he's actually dead?"

"Jonah? I think so. Avatars can be hard to kill, but he was very afraid of death." Jon tapped his less encumbered hand against the mattress, considering. "I think . . . if he had reached to the Eye in his last moments, it would have simply watched as his life faded away, doing what it does. Drinking in his fear."

"Couldn't have happened to a nicer guy," Tim muttered, something unsettled in his tone. "What about the circus?"

". . . Depends what you mean, I suppose." Jon tried to choose his words carefully. "I'm not the Archivist anymore, so I don't think they'd have any interest in me now. We're not protected from them, but I don't think they'd have reason to come after any of us. Unless, of course," he added pointedly. "Someone draws their interest by going after them."

"Even if we get away, they're still out there," Tim pushed, something limping in his voice, "Doing what they do to people. Am I supposed to just be okay with that?"

Jon was quiet for a while.

"If you could destroy the circus," he said softly, "which is a big ‘if', but if you could, the Stranger would continue manifesting in other forms. Possibly even as a circus again. You can't keep fear from the world, you'd only be changing details. In the end I don't know if it would save anyone."

"It would hurt those things, though. Wouldn't it?"

"Maybe," Jon said. "Maybe not. Certainly not as much as it would hurt anyone who cared about you."

It was Tim's turn to be quiet. He let out a long, frustrated sigh. "Not sure I like this new, future-memories version of you Jon," he said. "He's kind of a know-it-all."

"You should have seen me when I was literally all-knowing."

"Nightmare. Don't know how Martin put up with you."

"Neither do I." Jon smiled, warmth running through him at the thought. He took a long, slow breath. ". . . You died hating me, you know. In that other life."

"Yeah?" Tim didn't sound very surprised. "What'd you do?"

"Plenty," Jon laughed mirthlessly. "Though by the end I'm not even sure how much it had to do with me. We were lost, hurt, broken people, lashing out in fear and pain."

"Yeah. Starting to think that the Magnus Institute didn't exactly facilitate a healthy work environment."

"No . . . ."

He heard a soft, electronic tapping in the pause that followed. Maybe Tim was texting the others, letting them know Jon was awake? He couldn't tell. A gentle shove hit his uninjured shoulder, making him flinch.

"Well. Let's try not to fuck it up this time around, huh?" Tim said. "I'm gonna go get a nurse and tell them you're up, they'll probably want to check your vitals or rotate your tires or something."

"Right. Uh, right . . ." Jon stammered, "thank you."

The footsteps faded, and Jon let his head sink back onto the pillow. He felt . . . adrift. More so than he had in a while.

He'd been confused and frightened through all of this, half the time he hadn't even known what he was looking for, but at least he'd known he was looking. Even in the long, terrible walk across the nightmare domains, the constant pull of their destination had given him purpose. He'd known what he was hoping for.

And there had been Martin there. Of course.

For better or worse now, Jonah was dead and he was alive. He was severed from the Eye, the others were freed, and dark and terrible powers still lurked beyond the edge of human perception, waiting to Become.

Jon wasn't sure what he was hoping for now. He lay back and waited for the nurse to arrive.

* * *

Time passed in a haze. He had little sense of how much he slept, and the divide between sleep and waking blurred together.

Sometimes he had visitors. Georgie came in not long after Tim, having gotten a very incomplete version of events through Melanie. He hadn't exactly intended to tell her anything when she sat down, but somehow after a few confused inquiries, and a gentle "try me" or two, he found himself spilling everything. It was far more disjointed and emotional than his recounting in the tunnels, but the bulk of it seemed to get across.

When it was over, she just said, "sounds like you've had a hell of a time."

It was the calmness as much as the sympathy that affected Jon. As if he'd just told her about a bad relationship he'd gotten out of, rather than his place in the universe's nightmare cosmology and the end of the world.

He didn't know what to say to it, really, and frankly saying anything at all risked letting the tightness inside his chest come spilling out - the pressure bandage would hide any tears, but Georgie would be able to tell. She saved him by breaking the silence, asking if he had any stock tips or winning lottery numbers from the future to share.

Melanie's visits were less steadying, twice devolving into arguments. It seemed to be a constant between them, that no matter what happened or what forces were acting on either of them, their ability to rile each other was inevitable. She was also insistent that he explain every detail he remembered about what she'd begun calling the "dark timeline." When he complained that framing it as an alternate timeline was likely inaccurate and, frankly, horrifying in its implications, she threw a pen at him.

Still, she came back again afterwards. And still, he was glad that she did.

Sasha reported that her hand was healing, though when pressed admitted he'd been right about her range of motion not returning. She also helped him set the voice assistant up on his phone, which was a great relief. Though it was a bit embarrassing to reveal how little he knew about his own device's functions.

"Honestly Jon, you're only thirty-one," she said, going through some final setup that he'd already forgotten her explanation of. "You've got no excuse at all to be so tech-illiterate."

"Yes, yes. I've had other priorities lately."

"I don't mind you asking for help, understand. But what are you going to do if I get eaten by another evil table someday?"

He felt a stab of shock at the blazingly conversational reference to it. Something must have shown on his face because he heard her pause..

"Sorry. Too soon?"

"Ah. . . depends on your perspective of time, I suppose," Jon said, trying and failing to make it sound like a joke.

"Right. You know, it's all a little distant for me. Unsettling, sure, but on my end it's really just a story. . . ." she trailed off. "Hey, what were you doing in Hainault?"

"Gertrude's storage locker was there -- are you going through my location history?"

"Just the more recent stuff," she made it sound as if he was the strange one for asking, and he grunted with annoyed resignation.

"You should be careful about that."

"About what?"

"Prying into other people. Invading their privacy," he lay his head back against the pillow. "Don't forget that you were part of a temple to the Eye until very recently. You're free of the Institute now, but the power behind it might not be through with you."

She was quiet for a while. Whether it meant she was contemplating what he said or ignoring him so that she could continue digging through his phone, he couldn't say.

"All I'm saying is that it can be addicting," he continued. "That urge to push past the boundaries that people raise against you. Trust me when I say that I know."

"I'd imagine you would." She paused. ". . . What was it like?"

"What was what like?"

"Being all knowing?"

". . . Hard to describe."

There was a pause, and when it became clear he wasn't going to continue, Sasha pushed out an annoyed breath and said "well you could give it more of a shot than that."

"I don't know. Overwhelming," Jon said. "In the most complete sense of the word. Sometimes I had answers, but so few of them were helpful in the end. And the things I saw, the nightmares, the pain of everyone trapped in them. Having to watch that sort of thing, all the time . . . either it destroys you, or you learn to distance yourself. At least a little. If only to keep from breaking down. Neither is very good, but one lets you survive."

Sasha made a thoughtful humming noise.

"It isn't anything you want. Believe me," he said softly. "Even if the world hadn't ended, if I'd just been another avatar . . . any rewards aren't worth the price that others have to pay."

"Yeah," she sighed heavily. "Sounds about right."

Jon relaxed, some tension he'd been carrying in him slowly unlocking. Sasha continued.

"Well. Talking about privacy, while I'm here let me at least show you how to stop broadcasting your location to anyone and everyone," she tsked and scooted her chair closer. "Honestly. No wonder you got kidnapped all the time."

"I don't really think supernatural manifestations of fears needed GPS to find me."

"Couldn't have helped though, could it?"

"Probably not," Jon smiled sadly. "Should've had you around."

"Yeah. Can't imagine how any of you managed."

* * *

Even with his visitors, there were long stretches of time Jon spent entirely alone. Laying in the dark and the quiet, his thoughts shifting like a tide. Sometimes he'd drift back to those first years at the Institute, or the time-beyond-time after the change. Other days he'd lay contemplating the past few months, all the things that he'd re-written and the worries he still had.

Mostly he thought of very little, the twin sophorics of boredom and pain medication fogging his mind into an uncomfortable stasis.

When the knock came, he'd been listening to the soft, white noise of the air conditioning and thinking of how much it resembled distant waves, putting him in mind of a cold and empty shore. Then he heard two soft taps against the door, along with a familiar voice.

"Knock, knock," Martin said.

It was the first time he'd heard his voice since the fire, since the two of them were falling to the ground together. Without really thinking he asked, "who's there?"

"Oh! Right –" he sounded embarrassed. "Sorry, it's Martin."

"Yes, I -- ah, yes." Jon sounded pitifully eager, he knew, but he couldn't bring himself to care. "C-come in. Please."

* * *

If Jon was asleep, Martin decided, then he'd come back later. He probably needed the rest -- had needed it a good long while before they'd both been shot. Really, Martin ought to be at home resting as well. But when he knocked softly on the half open door, Jon turned in his direction, wide awake.

"Who's there?" he asked.

"Oh! Right –" stupid, he can't see you. Going to have to remember that. "Sorry, it's Martin."

Jon nodded, inviting him in and slowly shifting into a seated position as Martin pulled a chair up to his bedside.

He could see the edge of a dressing covering the bullet's exit wound, just peeking up from under Jon's collar. The bandages had been removed from his eyes, and the area around them was still a little bruised and swollen. He looked wrung out, small and tired. But then, Martin supposed, everyone looks small and tired in a hospital bed.

"How are you doing?" Jon asked, "they told me you've been recovering as well . . . ."

"Yeah, just got released this morning." He stretched, rubbing over the bandage that was hidden below his shirt and jacket. "Went home, had a shower, then came right back to the hospital."

"Sounds like an exciting day."

"What about you?"

"Mmm, still looking forward to a few days here, at least. They don't think I'll be needing more surgery, fortunately, and they're weaning me onto less intense painkillers. It's a little exhausting, but apparently I'm recovering well."

"Considering you took a bullet for me," Martin muttered.

A startled-sounding laugh came from Jon. "I'm not really sure that's what happened. More like we both got shot at the same time?"

"Suppose so," Martin said. Didn't quite feel that way, though. "Honestly, I don't even know if he was trying to shoot us at the end, or if the gun just went off when they tackled him."

"Neither would surprise me."

"But then I didn't even think he had a gun, let alone murdered people with it."

"I suspect he was desperate. He probably only resorts -- resorted to things like that when some disaster crept up on him. Like us, or like Gertrude. He wasn't the hands-on type. Which came back to bite him with the ritual. In a way it's the reason I'm here -- or, the memories are, I suppose."

"Right . . . ."

Martin had plenty of time to think about it all, laid up in his own bed on another floor of the same building. About all that happened, about the things Jon told them in the tunnels. More than anything else, it just made him feel foolish. Like he'd been left out of a conversation that had been going on behind his back, and now everyone was looking at him and expecting him to catch up.

Which was pretty foolish itself, of course. Jon hadn't told anyone the whole story -- there'd been no conversation, no loop he was kept out of. It wasn't as if ‘post apocalyptic time-traveling memories' was a conclusion he could have somehow come to if he'd just paid closer attention. It was a ridiculous way to feel.

Sasha had told him, between games of dominoes, that she was glad he'd been there that night because she didn't think anyone else could have talked Jon out of his plan. Which was a lot to unpack, but didn't help with the sense of being out of the loop. Not if it was that obvious. Of course, she might have just been trying to make him feel useful. The way he saw it, he hadn't done much that evening except quietly panic, shout a bit and get held at gunpoint. And get shot. And get Jon shot with him, because he'd stood in front of him.

"I'm sorry . . . ." Martin said, softly.

". . . For what?"

"I saw what was happening, just before the gun went off. I could have pulled you away if I was faster, or thrown us to the ground, or done something. Instead I just froze."

"Martin . . ." Jon tilted his head in his direction. "Even assuming you could have been fast enough, most people freeze up when a gun is pointed at them. I did the same the first few times."

". . . First few times." Martin repeated flatly. "Jesus, Jon."

"I know. It's been a difficult few years."

"I didn't even know . . . ."

"I didn't want you to know," Jon said. "I couldn't tell any of you, Martin, not until everything was ready. You saw how close things came as it was, if he'd gotten wind of things sooner . . . ."

"Right . . . of course."

The two of them fell into an uncertain silence. Jon's hand worried at a thread on the edge of the bedsheet, twisting and twirling it between his fingers. Martin thought about that hand moving slowly and smoothly over his own, about the sorrow on Jon's face when he'd pulled away. Doubt anyone else could've talked him out of it, Sasha's voice repeated in his mind.

"About what you said. In the tunnels . . . ."

Jon visibly tensed, the edge of the sheet twisting in his fingers. "Er . . . which part?"

"The part about me," Martin said, praying that would be enough, that Jon wasn't going to make him actually repeat the words. "About us?"

"Ah. Right," he smiled weakly. "Funny how much easier it is to say these things when you think you're not going to be alive much longer."

"You were really going to tell me that and then go off to die a minute later, weren't you?" There was something quiet in Martin's voice as he spoke. Calm. Like the eye of a hurricane.

"I . . ." Jon hesitated, then nodded. "Yes."

"Bit rude."

". . . Suppose it was."

Martin went quiet. What could he say to that, to any of it? It wasn't as if he didn't get it, insecurity only goes so far when there's a declaration that explicit. He knew what I love you meant, he just . . . felt like he'd only now joined the conversation.

Before the silence could grow too powerful, Jon spoke again.

"We were together. In that other life. By the end of it, at least. I --" he laughed softly. "It took me too damned long to even realize my own feelings, let alone imagine that -- but we were together."

I can't watch that happen again, he'd said. Martin had more or less guessed that was the situation, but it was still strange to hear it confirmed. Surreal to think that Jon had a history with him, or a version of him, that he wasn't a part of.

"Were we happy?"

Jon was quiet for a while before answering. "I -- I'd like to say we were. I don't know if happy is a word I can use. At first we were in hiding, and then after the Change it was . . . well, it was a nightmare. But we had each other, and that made all the difference. And --"

He took an unsteady breath. "I think I was happier in those desperate weeks we had before the world ended than I'd honestly been in years? And there were times I'd see you in that cabin, and you'd be complaining about something, or humming while we cleaned and laughing to yourself. And you'd look different somehow, and it felt like -- there was a part of you that had been tucked away in all the time I'd known you, that was letting itself breathe again, and I was so lucky to be allowed to see it," he laughed lowly. "Or maybe all that was me projecting. Maybe I was the fool who should have paid better attention before. I don't know."

Martin tried to picture himself tucked into some remote hideaway, hiding from sinister supernatural monsters but relaxed enough to be humming and laughing while they tidied up. Tried to imagine what Jon could be referring to, how he'd been different and whether that was a good or bad thing, even. He found that he couldn't do either.

"What was he like?" he asked. "That other me."

A soft smile spread through Jon. "He was like you, Martin. A little older . . . a great deal more tired. More short-tempered, or maybe just more vocal about it," he added with fondness. "He was brave, and frustrating, and . . . and wonderful. Just wonderful."

". . . Sounds like quite a guy." Martin managed.

Jon nodded. Then the smile slipped from him, and his hands came together in his lap,

"I know that you aren't him. That is -- you are, in a sense you're the same person, but you also aren't?" he gestured outward. "Our experiences, they shape who we are, they change us. I know that."

". . . Right."

A part of him had suspected something like this might be coming, and he shouldn't have gotten his hopes up. It still hurt, and he felt guiltily relieved that Jon couldn't see his face just now.

"I just . . ." Jon continued, "I don't want you to think, ah, that I expect anything--"

"No, I get it." Martin tried to smile, tried to sound like every word wasn't twisting in him. "I probably remind you of him? And -- heat of the moment, you thought you were gonna die. I get it. I don't expect anything either."

Jon frowned, looking momentarily confused.

"I know I'm not him, like, it's not the same," Martin continued, clearing his throat. "It doesn't have to be a thing, you know, if you don't want--"

"Martin." Jon cut him off. "I meant every word I said down there. I still do."

The words dried up in Martin's throat as Jon continued.

“I love you. Just as much as I always have. I still want to have a life with you, and I’m still terrified of that life being torn from us. And I don’t know how you feel about me, but I know -- even if any, ah, feelings are returned, I--” He took a deep breath, “What I feel for you, it’s, well, it’s a lot? There are so many things I’ve been through with you that you haven’t been through with me, and that’s good, I’m glad you haven’t been through them because they were mostly horrible. But I can’t deny that many of them brought us closer --”

“Jon . . . .”

“And -- and I don’t want to scare you off with the -- the intensity of my feelings but I’d understand and I wouldn’t blame you --”

Martin reached out and put a hand on Jon’s arm. The flurry of movement and talk came to a sharp standstill.

“Jon,” he said again.

“Oh. Um,” Jon’s voice was small and quiet. “Oh.”

". . . I don’t know how I’m different from the Martin you remember. And I don’t know how he felt about you, or how what I feel is different,” he said slowly. “All I know is that when you said you were going to go off to find a quiet corner and kill yourself, it felt like the whole world was falling apart.”

Jon was still under his hand, barely breathing.

“Don’t do it again.”

Quietly, Jon nodded. Martin pulled his hand away, settling back into the chair. For a while neither of them said anything,

“I mean, listen . . .” Martin finally broke the silence, shrugging uncertainly. “I’m willing to give it a try if you are?”

An unsteady sound came out of Jon, his hand flew up to cover his mouth and when he pulled it away he was smiling. "I -- I'd like that. Very much," he said.

"Okay." Martin smiled back, feeling airy, lightheaded. "Cool." He laughed. "Getting shot together'll make a hell of a first date."

"Wh-- that was not a first date!" Jon protested, his own laugh coming out sharp and startled, "that was a -- a terrifying escape from our sinister employer."

"Kind of romantic though, right?" Martin teased, "in a bad action movie sort of way."

"Everything else aside, I refuse to entertain the idea that our first date involved Jonah Magnus in any respect," he shuddered, shaking his head. "Though it -- it honestly may be a while before I'm up for anything much better. I'll still be in the hospital a bit, and afterwards . . . well, I know there's a lot I'm going to have to adjust to."

Martin felt a twinge at Jon's voice, at the anxiety creeping back into it. ". . . You won't have to do it alone," he said.

Smiling weakly, Jon reached a hand over the hard plastic rail meant to keep patients from falling out of bed. Martin took it and squeezed. Jon nodded and let go, settling back.

"There's still so much . . ." he said. "So much you don't even know . . . about us, and about other things."

"You could tell me now, you know. If you wanted."

Jon paused, looking uncertain. "Are you sure you want to hear it? I don't know what you're expecting but it's not going to be some sort of --- pleasant office romance. It's just a series of horrible, traumatic experiences, one after another."

It was a fair question, really, and Martin thought about it before answering.

"I want to hear it," he said. "If you're okay talking about it, that is. I want to know what you've been living with all these months. And . . . I want to know more about that other life. Even if it's all just awful."

Slowly, Jon nodded. "All right . . ." he said, "but it really is a very long story. It's going to take a while."

"I don't have anything on today," Martin smiled, standing up. "I'll go and get us some tea."

#tma fanfic #tma #sdayl #man it's almost done wild

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bubonickitten · 4 years

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Relistening to TMA yet again (new hyperfixation, what can I say), and I can’t emphasize enough how much these early episodes kill me.

Because for a long time, Jon doesn’t realize what he’s becoming. And yeah, that’s obvious -- but it’s even more heartbreaking on a relisten, because he senses that something is off, but from his perspective the changes are so incremental that he doesn’t realize how much he’s changing until he’s in too deep.

He finds himself getting attached to this tape recorder (even when he initially hated it), but tries not to think too hard about that. He’s becoming obsessed with recording everything, and tells himself that he’s doing it for posterity’s sake. Jon is adept at using outward denial to hide his inner, nonstop, overthinking doubt. (Eventually it escalates to full-blown paranoid information gathering, which I think is where the Eye’s influence really starts to show, but more on that later.)

At first, it’s a safe half-lie (or at least not full-truth) to tell himself. He’s an academic, a researcher. He no doubt has a deep appreciation for the preservation of history, for the documentation of human experience -- that part is probably true. It’s how he makes sense of the world (and that started when he was a child, when the main way he interacted with the world was through books). And let’s be honest, the man is a nerd, and (I say this lovingly and with a tendency to infodump myself) he was probably prone to infodumping long before he became the Archivist. (Giving a Wikipedia summary of emulsifiers at a coworker’s birthday party, anyone?)

But beneath all that, Jon is just... scared. And Jonathan Sims comes to fear a lot of things, but one of his first fears was being forgotten. So it’s no wonder he takes so well to the compulsion to record, document, archive.

Makes sense; he was, by his own admission, emotionally neglected as a child. And sometimes harassed. He chalked it up to being “a deeply annoying child,” which -- oof, no wonder he acts like an ass sometimes. Even if he was adept at social interaction (which he’s not), keeping people at arm’s length can feel a lot safer than letting them close and risking rejection when they decide you’re too much to handle.

Point is, being ignored or ostracized was already painful, but it became his normal. Being forgotten, though, would be a existentially terrifying step beyond that.

All of this is put into even starker relief after “A Guest For Mr. Spider.” At 8 years old he witnessed someone get snatched from the world without a trace – someone ten years his senior, who died because he made the choice to torment Jon and just did so at the exact wrong moment (or perhaps right? Maybe the Web decided that early that Jon was more useful alive). But despite the fact that it was his bully, Jon has survivor’s guilt over it. He feels responsible. He admits that it’s illogical for him to think he could have done anything differently—he was eight—but he still comes out of that experience with the fundamental belief that being forgotten would be a unique kind of punishment that he believes even his bully didn’t deserve.

It’s such a raw, vulnerable moment when he finally admits it out loud: “Because I’m scared, Martin!” All that denial was external, and so fragile that it took one panicked moment for him to drop the veneer. But internally? Jokes about his obliviousness aside -- and, yes, in a lot of ways, Jon is that smart dumbass -- he’s got some self-awareness. He’s put two and two together, realized that the “real” statements don’t record digitally. He’s seen the artifact storage. He’s had a Leitner-based trauma, like so many statement givers. He’s just scared and he Does. Not. Want. To. Talk. About. It.

He tries to hide it early on behind a cold, stoic academic demeanor, but that… doesn’t last long, and once that veneer drops, he absolutely spirals into open paranoia and fear. And going forward, he really doesn’t hide his terror much. When he’s threatened, we hear him beg for his life. Even when he thinks the world might be better off without him, he still doesn’t want to die. He’s afraid of death, and after S1, he doesn’t try to pretend otherwise. (I really appreciate a horror protagonist who shows fear even when they’re trying to be brave.)

So, by the end of S1, we get to see him start to admit that his new obsessive behavior is not just a detached academic interest, or his workaholic urge to do his job well. It’s because he’s scared. But beyond that, through S2 and into S3, he starts to admit that beneath that, there’s something else going on. His rapidly escalating paranoia spiral is due to trauma, as well as the realization that Gertrude was murdered, as well as the general sense of uneasiness and distrusts that permeates the Institute (the Eye loves that shit), but also, honestly?? I think this is where the Eye starts to really get a grip on him. The Ceaseless Watcher, the fear of, in Gerry’s words, “needing to know, even if your discoveries might destroy you. The feeling that something, somewhere, is letting you suffer, just so it can watch.”

Beyond the tape recorder obsession, Jon doesn’t seem to notice early on that when he reads statements, it’s almost like he’s in a trance. (I think one of the first episodes where he starts to notice this is actually in MAG 32, when he’s reading Jane Prentiss’ statement. His introduction to the statement is shaky, stilted, like he’s dreading it; when he’s reading Jane Prentiss’ words, it’s like he’s channeling her tone and delivery in a far more extreme way than he has before; and when he’s done, he’s clearly unsettled by the experience.)

(Another thing that stands out to me on a relisten is his tone shift when talking to Elias in MAG 40 -- he has an almost dreamy, trancelike delivery of the line: “Tens of thousands of... things without mouths screaming as one.” Like he’s reliving a flashback, yes, but there’s something else in his delivery of that line that continues to show up in his later spooky-Archivist-powers moments. And Elias pauses, and I can only imagine him thinking in that moment, all smug and conniving, Good. Jon is starting to become The Archivist.)

And, of course, Jon also doesn’t notice when he starts being able to compel statements--which is kind of funny, because my first thought when listening to early statements was, “How are all these statements so detailed and coherent? Did all these statement givers take creative writing classes or something?” But Jon doesn’t really seem to question that at first. It becomes more clear when the archive assistants try to take statements -- the statement givers can’t stay on topic, can’t remember details, can’t relive the moment in the same way they can if they’re forced to through compulsion. Adelard Dekker mentions that in one of his letters to Gertrude, too. It’s also sad, though, because he kept getting accused of forcing people to answer questions when he didn’t realize he was doing it (e.g. his interviews with Basira, Daisy, and Jude).

It’s just... such a gradual downward spiral. And yeah, there’s something tragic about that--and it isn’t going to end well; this is a horror-tragedy story after all--but one of the things I like about Jon is that he works so, so hard to change and become a better person in spite of what the Beholding is trying to turn him into.

I’m getting way off-topic. Basically, Jonny Sims is... very good at character development, and it’s fun to relisten and start to pick out the moments when things start to go wrong, the little details that maybe didn’t stand out so much on my first listen. Admittedly I, much like Jon Sims, have my own little conspiracy corkboard flavor of overthinking, so some of this might just be me reading too far into it. But still, I like all the layers going on here.

#tma meta #the magnus archives #tma #jonathan sims #jon sims #tma spoilers #long post #also. in s2. jonathan sims has never had a paranoid episode before and IT SHOWS. he is Not Prepared #don't get me started on neurodivergent jon sims but like. dang. that paranoia spiral #big relatable mood

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galadrieljones · 3 years

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I started watching Fear the Walking Dead...

I started watching Fear the Walking Dead last night, and I fully expected it to be a letdown, but the first two episodes were VERY GOOD. It is extremely different from The Walking Dead, which is something I did not expect.

Here are my first impressions, a few episodes in, comparing to TWD, and comparing the two heroes, Rick and Maddy:

Prior to the outbreak, Rick lives in bucolic, fictional King County where he is a Sheriff’s deputy. He is shot on the job, a “local hero,” and wakes up from a coma after the outbreak has already decimated much of civilization. He SLEEPS THROUGH the end of the world, causing him to greatly underestimate its devastating effects for a LONG TIME, fostering within him a deep, unsettled naivete. The world he knew, which was idyllic in many ways on the surface is GONE. His pretty wife and his son are GONE. Everything he thought he knew is SHATTERED, and he must be rescued almost IMMEDIATELY. As a sheriff this is ironic, since he is used to being the classic hero, the one who rescues. His initial journey then revolves around learning to adapt to a malfunctioning, broken world, all whilst struggling to protect and preserve his FAILING FAMILY. Rick’s personal life FALLS APART when the world goes to shit, and it’s actually NOT because of the apocalypse. We see how idealized relationships can become, and how extra pressures can fully crumble a seemingly stable foundation with even small cracks in the surface.

Meanwhile:

Maddy is already part of a malfunctioning, broken world, hence the setting of LA. Los Angeles, in every facet of its existence, from the freeways to public health to law enforcement and public education, is a HOUSE OF CARDS that collapses at the slightest disturbance, and its residents KNOW IT, which is why they think nothing of what’s going on with increased police shootings in the city. Maddy’s life is likewise far from idealized, but in stark opposition to Rick’s, while it may appear shabby on the surface and in desperate need of maintenance, it is built upon a STRONG FOUNDATION OF LOVE AND LOYALTY. She has two fully grown children, one of whom struggles with a heroin addiction, and the other of which, while a star student, struggles with her own kind of youthful rebellion and ennuis. Maddy’s family is shockingly FUNCTIONAL and LOVING in its core, shown especially by Alicia’s actioned devotion to her brother, even as she openly proclaims that she “hates” him. Despite being “broken” per society’s standards, Maddy’s life is FUNCTIONAL. Travis is EXCEEDINGLY STRONG and supports her and her children, providing Maddy with a needed sense of perspective on her life. Maddy does not believe her son when he explains what he saw in the church, but Travis DOES, and it is because of Travis that Maddy eventually finds a way to believe Nick, which leads to them being OUT AHEAD of the pandemic, and able to secure their children out of harm’s way before it’s too late.

I like that Maddy and Travis were public school faculty, a highly mundane but also harrowing existence in Los Angeles. I’m not sure where they are supposed to be in the city, but maybe near Venice Beach, as that is where Alicia goes to meet her boyfriend. That can mean a lot of different things, but no matter what, the thing about LA is even if you live in a lovely little neighborhood like Maddy, you are never far from the bigness of it all, because there are literally just PEOPLE EVERYWHERE at ALL TIMES, like there will be random gridlock on the 10 on a Saturday afternoon. Even if you live in Belair you are, to some extent, TRAPPED. Unless you own a yacht in Malibu and can promptly sail away at a moment’s notice and self-sustain for a while, you are NOT SAFE from a public health emergency, or the effects of some other disaster situation, like a major earthquake. So while The Walking Dead is, in many ways, about safety in nature, and most of the settings take place in rural places, Fear the Walking Dead, at least in its first episodes, is TRAPPING US IN THE CITY. And the thing about LA is that, you are trapped within layers and layers and layers of humans and dense urban infrastructure on three sides, and the DEADLY MAW OF THE PACIFIC on the fourth.

So anyway, while I know the trajectory of the show will change in three seasons, and I’m only a few episodes in, I am actually super surprised by how good Fear the Walking Dead actually is in the beginning. It is so different from the original, taking on entirely new themes and problems, and yet its characters are all VERY SYMPATHETIC, and I already care about them a lot. The actor who plays Nick is also VERY AWESOME, like a 90s era Johnny Depp, and I am so glad to see his form of method acting, as reminiscent of Jon Bernthal’s in The Walking Dead as a hardcore anchor for the show. The suspense and how hard the spin-off riffs on dramatic irony is also super well-utilized, ie: they do not waste the fact that we already know what’s going to happen, and they capitalize on it in unexpected ways. For example, the fact that the burgeoning pandemic situation is off-set by public distrust in law enforcement, feels way too timely, ie: we can’t trust the cops, and we have no way of knowing whether they’re acting in our best interest or the villains.

The cops stashing gallons of water and seeming to have some sort of insider knowledge also draws a strong connection back to “Slabtown,” and I think it can’t be a coincidence that Fear chooses to focus on the broken, corrupt state of law enforcement in its beginnings, not even a full season after what happens at Grady.

#the walking dead #fear the walking dead #ANYWAY

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jothowrote · 4 years

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Faulty mechanism (warm-up)

(I wrote this unfinished TMA/Mechanisms crossover as a warm-up for Nano two and a half years ago and just found it again on an old hard drive - it’s set around season 2 TMA. I thought I’d let it see the light of day, since we live in interesting times and it hopefully might distract people for a time, like it did me.)

Faulty mechanism (warm-up)

The Jon that walked into work on Monday was not the same Jon that had been left working late in the archives on Friday night. Martin was pretty sure that anyone with eyes could see it – and perhaps eyes were not even necessary, what with the pungent aroma of tobacco and alcohol that hung around this ‘other’ Jon like a haze. Not to mention he was smiling.

Martin immediately suspected foul play. If you had read the kind of statements he had, then it wasn’t completely unusual for people to vanish and be replaced, although usually the changeling made a bit more effort to blend in.

The Monday morning had begun strangely anyway, as Martin had been surprised to find himself the first at work. Jon had become more or less of a permanent fixture at the archives, working so late and arriving so early that one could almost assume that he simply didn’t go home. The small cot bed remained untouched, however – Martin had checked. And so, on coming in to work and finding Jon’s office empty, Martin had decided to take advantage of that fact and hang around outside it, hoping to catch Jon before he mired himself in work and stage a sort-of intervention. He’d even tried to recruit Tim and Sasha to his cause as they both arrived at the institute for the morning. Sasha had said something about being too busy and slipped off – Tim had snorted and said some very rude things about Jon before vanishing into the tiny kitchenette for his morning coffee.

Not one to be deterred by something so insignificant as no back-up, Martin had squared his shoulders and continued to lurk outside Jon’s empty office. As the morning ticked by, and there was still no sign of Jon, he had grown steadily more anxious.

`He’s probably just having a breakdown at home,’ Tim said, on his way past with his third coffee of the morning. `Makes a nice change from him having it here. Just leave it – I’m not doing your work too.’

Martin decided to give it until lunch.

At one minute to twelve, the door by the stairs swung open wildly – startling Martin, who had been staring unfocused in the opposite direction at the lift doors in steadily decreasing expectation – and Jon sauntered through.

It was only `Jon’ in the loosest sense of the word. As Martin watched, the Jon-impersonator swaggered up the corridor with no limp to speak of, a bottle of something smelling strong as petrol sloshing in one hand. The other hand, Martin couldn’t help but notice, was hovering over a gun in a hip holster.

Martin was frozen in confusion and perhaps a little fear as the stranger-Jon walked right up to him and paused in front of the office door. When he made as if to open the door, Martin let out a small squeak of indignation. He was promptly engulfed in thick tobacco smoke.

Coughing, his eyes watering, Martin did nothing but watch as the stranger winked at him and went straight into the Head Archivist’s office, slamming the door behind him.

`You’re telling me that Jon’s been replaced by some kind of steampunk cowboy that looks exactly like him?’

Tim, on his fourth coffee, looked unimpressed.

`We’ve been attacked by flesh-eating worms, but this is where you draw the line?’

`Are you sure it isn’t actually Jon just having a midlife crisis?’

`It may have looked like Jon superficially, but apart from that he’s a completely different person.’

Tim squinted at Martin, and reached forward as though to feel his forehead.

`Are you feeling ok?’

Martin slapped his hand away irritably.

`I’m not hallucinating Jon dressed as a steampunk cowboy, that would be really weird.’

`And yet would explain so much. Are you sure it’s not just –‘

The door to the kitchenette slammed open and fake-Jon strolled in.

`Is that coffee I smell?’

He pushed past Tim and Tim’s gaping mouth and poured the rest of the pot into a mug. To Martin’s annoyance, it was his mug.

Fake-Jon swigged at the coffee – Tim’s thick black tar that Martin avoided – and sighed.

`Anything stronger? Only I’m out of whiskey.’

`Who the fuck are you?’ Tim said, finally getting over his shock as he watched the rest of his precious coffee quickly vanish down the stranger’s gullet. `You’re not Jon.’

`Well, I am Jon – Jonny d’Ville, to be exact.’

`You’re not our Jon,’ Martin said, his voice going embarrassingly squeaky again. Jonny d’Ville grinned, and it was a violent grin.

`Ah, sweet. Your Jon isn’t here at the moment – I’m afraid I’m what’s here instead.’

Elias, apparently disturbed by Tim’s indignant shouting, chose that moment to poke his head around the door to the tiny kitchen with a supremely disapproving expression.

`Don’t you all have work to do?’

Martin opened his mouth, but all he managed was another squeak. Tim, who had gone back to gawping, said nothing.

`Oh, and by the way, Jon – you really need to start being a little more considerate with the people who come in to give their statements. I’ve been getting more complaints.’

Then Elias paused, and looked Jonny up and down.

`And is that get-up really suitable for work?’ he sniffed.

Martin saw Jonny’s hand twitch towards the gun in his hip holster, and had a sudden moment of complete dread, but Elias had already let the door swing shut behind him.

`That’s the big boss man, then?’ Jonny asked, his grin starting up. `Isn’t he a ray of sunshine.’

He turned to Tim and Martin, his grin wide and dark. It was unsettling to see such a look on Jon’s usually sour bur harmless face.

`So,’ he said, twirling the gun in his hand, `what is it you do for fun around here?’

Martin had been summarily dispatched to the nearest off-license in order to provide his new boss with more whiskey, and Sasha caught him in the corridor on his way back to the archives, clutching the plastic bags and wincing every time they made incriminating clinking noises.

`What’s with the Jon look-a-like?’ she asked in a whisper.

`He wouldn’t say until he had more whiskey,’ Martin said dejectedly.

`Makes a bit of a change from the old Jon, though,’ Sasha said, grinning. `Even though they look exactly the same, this one somehow manages to look kind of hot.’

`Eww, Sasha.’

`What?’ she shrugged. `Everyone likes a bad boy, Martin.’

`He looks deranged,’ Martin hissed.

`Yeah, that too. Maybe it’s the crazy eyes, maybe it’s the leather, maybe it’s the eyeliner. Maybe it’s that he’s not stalking us all and watching our houses at night.’

`Jon’s having a hard time right now-‘

‘Oh, please don’t start with all that shit, Martin. I don’t know why you’re so desperate to make allowances for him – I mean, I know you bonded or whatever,’ Sasha made sarcastic air quotes around the word, `when Prentiss attacked us, but honestly, even you must be able to see that he’s going completely off his rocker.’

`I just… he means well…’

`He treats us all like shit, Martin. You can’t keep defending him if you value yourself at all.’

Martin gave a deep sigh. The bags clinked.

`To be honest, it’ll be nice having a break from Jon. And this Jonny guy sounds like he has loads of great stories.’

`Oh, I do,’ said a strange parody of Jon’s voice from behind them, making Martin jump. `And you can hear them, just as soon as I get a drink or four. Is that my whiskey?’

Martin nodded, and Jonny’s smile grew wider.

`Well then, let’s get this party started.’

It ended up being Martin, Tim, and the new weird Jon in the Head Archivist’s office, as Sasha – who had been very distant lately – had pushed off to see her new boyfriend. Elias remained completely oblivious to the change in Jon, and probably assumed they were hard at work.

Jonny poured them each a whiskey and downed almost a full bottle by himself. Then he settled back in Jon’s chair, put his feet up on the desk, and sighed.

`So, where would you like me to start?’

Tim opened his mouth, eyes wide, but Martin got there first.

`Where’s our Jon? Is he ok? Is he going to come back?’

Jonny grinned.

`Your Jon is most likely on my ship right now. No doubt my crew are… looking after him, in their own way. He’ll be back. Eventually.’

`Does he have to come back?’ Tim muttered. Martin elbowed him. `Ouch,’ he grumped. `Your elbows are really sharp.’

`Why is he on your ship? Where is your ship? Why do you look exactly the same?’

Jonny laughed, and drank some more.

`Aren’t you full of questions? I should perhaps clarify that my ship, Aurora, is a starship – and it’s not so much a question of `where’ as `when’.’

`A starship,’ Tim said, blankly.

`As for the resemblance – well, I’m only making a guess here, as I’m stuck with you and not on the Aurora – but it’s a very well-educated guess. I can only assume that when space-time tends towards infinity in universes like ours that these strange resemblances do occur simply due to statistics. And for some reason, your Jon and I have swapped places.’

`It might be something Jon touched in artefact storage,’ Martin said, biting his lip anxiously. `God knows there’s enough weirdness in there to cause something like this.’

`Why should we believe you?’ Tim asked. Jonny laughed.

`Why would I lie?’

Tim shot Martin a look. Martin shrugged.

`Good point,’ he said, taking a swig of his whiskey and resigning himself to the complete mess his life had become. `Carry on.’

Jon had for once made it back to his flat rather than just collapsing into the airbed in the archives, but it was late and he barely had time to register the dust and neglect before collapsing onto his bed and passing out.

He woke up with his face pressed to cold metal, which was ever so gently vibrating. He flung out an arm to feel around for the light switch, and the resultant crash woke him fully.

It transpired that he’d inadvertently upset a precarious pile of bottles, all empty and smelling strongly of old alcohol. They’d rolled across the floor, clanking and crashing as they did so, and Jon looked properly at his surroundings.

The small room, which had metal walls and apparently the entire contents of a bottle bank, was neither his bedroom nor the archives.

Jon looked around, blinked a few times, and really wished the bottles weren’t all empty.

It took him a while to get to the door without his walking stick, but using the wall to prop himself and sheer determination, he made it and began to hobble down the corridor beyond.

The background humming – along with the gentle vibration of the walls he clung to and the floor beneath his socked feet – made him feel faintly queasy. This was not helped by the panic rising up in his throat.

Something small, many-legged, furry, and glowing green dropped from somewhere above him. Jon screamed.

The small green thing squealed back and shot off in the opposite direction.

`For fuck’s sake, Jonny,’ someone said behind him, in a thick Russian accent. `Do you have to keep shooting them?’

Jon turned rapidly and lost his balance, only just catching himself on a nearby bit of pipe. The newcomer squinted at him from underneath a furrowed brow and a pissed expression.

`Just how drunk are you?’ she asked, incredulously.

Jon pulled his body, his dignity and his bravery up.

`Who are you, and why do you know my name?’ he demanded, his voice suitably strong, albeit a little squeaker than he might have liked. `And where the hell am I?’

The woman just stared at him.

`Jonny – just what have you been drinking?’ she asked. `Or – wait – did you eat that reconstituted spinach I left around the mess? I told you it killed an octokitten!’

Jon felt overwhelmed but pushed on. The woman was strange – hell, the whole situation was absolutely mental – but there were no flesh-eating bugs in sight, and that meant he wasn’t having a nightmare, at least.

Although if this was a fever dream, maybe he should go to the doctors when he woke up.

`I’m sorry,’ he said, snippily, `but do I know you?’

The woman just stared at him.

Another gently glowing creature dropped down from the ceiling, screamed at the sight of him, and skittered away down the corridor.

The woman sighed, deeply.

`You’re not Jonny, are you,’ she said, finally.

`My name is Jonathan Sims,’ Jon said.

`Hmm. Well, this is a strange day. I’ll get the others together – come with me, not-Jonny.’

The `others’ consisted of a motley selection of people in various strange outfits, some of whom were more metal than flesh.

Jon was feeling more and more out of his depth, and sure that his imagination was not so good as to dream this up.

`So, this isn’t Jonny?’ asked one.

`Isn’t it obvious?’ said another. `He’s clearly a completely different person.’

`Looks exactly the same to me,’ the woman Jon had met first, whose name turned out to be Nastya, said. `Even scared the octokittens away.’

`Are you kidding?’ said the one who’d introduced themselves as Ashes O’Reilly, quartermaster. None of the others had given their names. `He hasn’t shot any of us since we came in here.’

There was a chorus of agreement.

`Good point,’ said man who was more brass than skin. `Can we keep this Jonny? He seems a lot nicer than ours.’

`We should probably try and work out what happened,’ Ashes said, although they made no move to do so and looked distinctly bored by the proceedings.

Jon’s leg finally gave way on him, and he sagged, defeated, onto a nearby bench.

`Look,’ he said, head in his hands, `I don’t know who any of you are. I don’t know who this `Jonny’ is who you all know, but he’s not me. I just… I need to get back home. To the archives.’

They all looked at each other.

`This is definitely not our Jonny,’ said Nastya. `So what do we do now?’

Jonny toyed with his gun, bored out of his mind. For an archive full of creepy stories, he was disappointed in the lack of things to shoot. He supposed, if he could be bothered, he could poke about in the dreaded `Artefact storage’ the two research assistants had spoken about in such grim tones, but he didn’t think their uppity boss would appreciate him shooting up a priceless antique. Although maybe then he could shoot the boss… he hadn’t liked the look of him.

Martin – the one who seemed most upset by his supplanting the `real’ Jonathan, had talked a bit about the time they’d been overrun by flesh-eating worms, which sounded like a lot of fun – sadly, it had apparently been sorted out long before Jonny arrived.

He clicked his safety on and off, sighing. There weren’t even octokittens to terrorize. He didn’t think he’d ever actually miss the blasted creatures.

And yet here he was, pining for his ship, surrounded by dust and paper and fear. There was a story here, somewhere, but they already had a way to tell it – they didn’t need the help of the Mechanisms.

He pulled his harmonica out of his waistcoat, played a little tune. His go-to currently was the anthem of General Snow’s resistance. He felt attached to the defiant tune – he had been there just before Jack had gone down in battle, seen the kid sink his last drink.

Jack the giant killer hadn’t wanted to be made into a hero in a story he didn’t deserve, but he got made into one anyway. It made Jonny feel a little nostalgic for that bloody war, in all honestly. There hadn’t been a good war like that in a while.

The best wars were always when the two sides became mirror images to one another, in the end.

A hesitant knock snapped him out of his reminiscing. Martin poked his head around the door, his face falling almost comically.

`Oh,’ he said. `It’s you.’

`Sorry,’ Jonny grinned. `Still the wrong Jon, I’m afraid.’

Martin looked at the harmonica.

`You play that?’

`No – I keep it around for decoration. Yes, I fucking play it,’ Jonny said. `It’s something to do with my hands that isn’t shooting people.’

`Oh, good,’ said Martin, squeakily. `That’s… that’s good.’

`Anything interesting happening?’

`Not much – although Elias will probably be along soon, so you might want to… I don’t know... pretend to be more like Jon?’

`What does your Jon do all day?’

`Well, record statements, mostly.’

`On this?’ Jonny dangled the tape recorder between two of his fingers, looking at it distastefully.

`Careful!’ Martin lunged for it, knocking over a pile of statements and tripping over some dusty boxes. Empty CO2 canisters clanked around his feet. Jonny laughed.

At that moment, the ajar door opened farther, and Elias Bouchard walked into the room. He was greeted by the sight of Jonny cackling, feet still up on the desk, tape recorder still dangling from his hands, Martin on the floor and surrounded by old yellowing statements and empty fire extinguishers.

`I thought I heard you… laughing,’ Elias said, slowly. Jonny met his gaze with a violent grin.

`I tripped,’ Martin said, breathless, scrambling to his feet. `You know me, so clumsy.’ He tried for a laugh, but it sounded a little panicked.

`Hmm,’ said Elias, still locked in eye-contact with Jonny. `Well… as long as there’s not a problem.’

`Nope,’ Jonny said, still grinning.

Elias shut the door behind him.

`He knows,’ Jonny said, smile abruptly dropping as he turned to Martin.

`He knows?’

`That I’m not your Jon.’

`We all know that, though,’ Martin said, shrugging. `It’s not exactly hard to tell.’

`No – he knows. I don’t think he knows what I am, exactly, but he knows more than he’s letting on.’

`But it’s just Elias,’ Martin said, as he attempted to gather together the spilt statements. `Oh god, Jon is going to kill me – I’ve probably ruined his system…’

`To be honest,’ said Jonny, `I think he’ll be so relieved to be back that he won’t care.’

`That doesn’t sound like Jon,’ Martin said, still manically trying to make some order out of the chaos his flailing limbs had created. `He’s been struggling lately – I don’t know what this will do to him but it’s not going to be good…’

‘Well, you get on with that, then,’ Jonny said as he swung his legs to the floor, spurs clacking.

‘Where are you going?’ Martin called after him, as he swaggered to the door.

‘I’m going to look for something to shoot,’ Jonny said, winking, as he disappeared out of the office.

‘You can’t just… leave!’ Martin said, but Jonny had already gone.

#the magnus archives #The Mechanisms #tma #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #jonny d'ville #tim stoker #fanfiction #crossover

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goodluckdetective · 5 years

Text

A PROPER SLEEPOVER

Post Magnus Archives 159. Written entirely on my phone so forgive my formatting mess. Sometimes a girl has to write soft stuff.

Ship: Jon/Martin.

Rating: PG-13 for mentions of blood and past spooks

Summary: In a world where there is a calm before the storm, the Archives team has a moment to rest. And talk. Just a little.

A PROPER SLEEPOVER

In a different world, one where Elias is not waiting for them outside the Lonely but biding his time to seize his crown, Jon and Martin end up in Panopticon.

Magnus is still there, the all seeing eye, but Martin pulls Jon’s hand away from his side as he reaches for the pocket knife he keeps in his belt.

“If you kill him, you become him,” Martin whispers. It isn’t due to a fear of being overheard. The Lonely takes your voice over time, making you smaller, less intrusive. Martin isn’t sure he could scream even if he tried. Jon stares at the body of Magnus and then back at Martin.

“Later,” Jon says to Magnus, an empty shell of many eyes. He looks back to Martin. His gaze is piercing, unsettling, but somehow Martin finds it a comfort. He’d rather be seen than invisible. “Let’s go upstairs.”

They do. The offices are a mess but Not!Sasha is gone and so are Julia and her fellow hunter. There are no bodies but plenty of blood, and Martin feels a pang of concern that he hasn’t let himself feel in months. They run through the halls, Martin following Jon who somehow knows the way. When they get to the end, Basira and Daisy are there. Alive.

But not well, Martin realizes with a start. Basira is covered in blood but not hurt. In her arms is Daisy, who also looks mostly uninjured. But Daisy is different. Her nails are now claws that scrape against the floor. As she breathes heavily on her hands and knees, Martin can see her teeth are now pointed. When she looks up her eyes are that of a cat.

Martin watches Daisy’s gaze go right to Jon’s throat and he steps in front of him without thinking. Basira grabs Daisy’s elbow, whispering in her ear. Daisy’s blood soaked hair drips droplets onto the floor.

“Looks like we’re both monsters now, Archivist.” There is a growl to Daisy’s words but Martin is relieved to find her no longer looking at Jon’s throat. Jon moves in front of Martin, his hand on Martin’s shoulder.

“Maybe for now,” Jon says. “But perhaps not forever. If we're lucky.”

Daisy looks at him for a long moment then makes a noise that could almost be close to a laugh. Basira pulls her close and that same noise morphs into something loosely resembling a sob.

After that, after checking that all current threats aren’t at their doorstep still, they mobilize. They don’t bother to clean up the blood, but Basira and Daisy head to the bathroom to at least wash it off themselves. Martin begins to head to his own office but he is stopped by Jon seizing his wrist with a strength that’s surprisingly strong from such a lean man. When Martin turns back to look at him, his gesture loosens but he doesn’t let go.

“I-um,” Jon says. For a man who knows so much, he never seems to know what to say, Martin realizes with a start. “Sorry, but if you are heading somewhere, can I come with? Probably not best to be alone.”

Martin realizes with a start that he’s probably right. He’s so used to being alone at this point that it’s almost his default state, the comforting blanket of loneliness a shield. That shield won’t protect him if the hunters decide to come back.

If he’s not careful that shield may smother him too. That’s what Jon is worried of, Martin thinks, given his almost frantic expression.

“He actually missed me,” Martin thinks. And isn’t that a revelation through all the static still in his head.

He lets Jon come with him and he collects some of his things. His business cards say “Assistant to Peter Lukas” and Martin doesn’t miss Jon picking one up, scowling and then throwing them all in the recycle. After he has his files about the Extinction and his favorite poetry journal, he looks up to find Jon texting.

“Basira says we should all sleep in the same room tonight,” Jon says without looking up. “Safer. So we can keep an eye out for intruders and also each other.”

“So we’re having a proper sleepover then?”

Jon scoffs. “Technically we’ve been having a proper one for months.”

They pick one of the conference rooms for the “sleepover” though when Martin calls it in front of Daisy, she gives him a look that makes him almost vanish on instinct. They do a little planning, but everyone is exhausted and Martin soon finds himself drifting off. The Lonely, he thinks, takes a lot out of a person. Perhaps it is because exhaustion is something that so easily isolated people.

When he wakes, it is dark inside the conference room. Basira and Daisy are curled up next to one another, holding hands tight. Both of their weapons are at their respective sides. The Guardian and the Hunter, both taking respite where they can.

Martin himself is asleep next to Jon, his head next to Jon’s thigh. There is a hand softly brushing through his hair and Martin doesn’t have to look up to know who’s hand it is. Months ago, the thought of this situation would have turned Martin into a stuttering, embarrassed, mess. Now, he is too tired to feel anything but content.

John is reading through his files from the sound of the papers ruffling, his phone’s flashlight providing the sole illumination. Martin closes his eyes as he hears Jon turn another page. Like this, he can almost pretend it is like the old days when he thought of the Archives as a quiet place where papers were filed and statements were taken. Not the world where you cannot remember your co-worker’s true face or your boss rips out the worst truth you’ve ever suspected and read it to you out loud.

“My notes are on the back of each folder,” Martin says. Jon doesn’t seem surprised by his voice; he likely already knew Martin was awake.

“I saw them. They’re comprehensive.”

“Not bad for a fake master’s degree.”

“Quite.”

There is more silence. It isn’t like the silence of the lonely, the sound of paper and the other’s breathing filling up the small space. Martin can still hear static but it is faint, held at bay by friends and a warm hand in his hair.

“Martin,” Jon says, his voice soft like it was in the Lonely. “I thought you might be lost ,” he had said to Martin within that endless fog. And in many ways, Martin was. Lost upon a journey he had chosen but lost none-the-less. “Peter said something to me in the Lonely.”

The static in Martin’s ears grows louder.

“He said we barely knew each other,” Jon continues. “And I…I would like to prove him wrong.”

The static lessens. “Hm?”

“I am a monster,” Jon says, voice a different kind of soft now. The kind of soft when one feels all too human. “I crave other’s terror, I haunt others' dreams, and I am worried I will keep getting worse until I stop caring about getting worse. But-“ There is a deep breath. “I don’t want to be. A monster that is. Not forever.”

Martin turns now to look up at Jon. He’s looking down at him, his eyes lined with dark circles, his expression pinched with anxiety. Martin wants to wipe it all away. He knows he can't, he is not an idiot, but he still wants to try. “And?”

Jon closes his eyes. When he opens them, they seem to lack the weight of the Beholding, if only for a second. They look...soft. “I’d like to try. To be someone worth knowing. Worth...loving. If you’d still like me to be.”

Martin processes that. The words, the inflection, the meaning underneath. Even with the weight of the Lonely fresh, he can feel longing and hope and love bubble up in his chest. Maybe enough to make him smile for the first time in weeks.

“Yeah,” Martin says, throat dry. “I think I would.”

The smile that appears on Jon’s face is soft and relieved and excited all at the same time. Martin wonders how long it will take him to get back to holding all those emotions at once again.

“I’ll need time,” Martin says. “To remember what it’s like to be-“ To be what? Around people? To express feelings? To stop pretending he is nothing but lonely? He can't find the words so he waves his hand, hoping Jon’s knowing powers get the point across. Given Jon’s nod, they seem to.

“I can wait. Sleep. You’re tired.”

Martin does. As he drifts off, Jon’s hand still in his hair, he hears him speak one more time. Jon's voice is quiet but firm.

“I love you as well. Don’t vanish on me.”

“I won’t,” is the last thing Martin says before he drifts off to a static-free slumber.

#tma #the magnus archives #tma spoilers #jonmartin #martin blackwood #iz writes

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lostjonscave · 5 years

Text

well! it’s world autism acceptance day today and also someone asked ( @backofthebookshelf ) so! i’m gonna share some thoughts and headcanons for fun re: autistic jon archivist, mostly centered on stims and physicality since i didn’t get to talk about that much in my last post and i have. so many thoughts on it! please enjoy :0 (content warning for a mild ableism mention but i definitely wanted to keep it light for this one)

jon is generally predisposed to be very... clumsy. forgets he’s holding things and straight up drops them all the time. he’s only vaguely aware of the objects occupying space around him, not to mention how much space his own body takes up. he used to run into things or people and trip over stuff constantly, but by reaching adulthood he’s developed more of a fluid course-correction strategy; so he’ll be walking straight at a desk or a person and then sort of swerve to evade them at the last second, twisting sideways to let someone pass or doing a funny sort of spin to avoid knocking into the edge of a desk.

he used to walk on his toes extensively at a younger age, and still does it at home in his sockfeet. he finds it harder to balance flat-footed and has to use staircases very carefully. when standing if possible he will tuck one foot up like a flamingo, against a wall or the side of one knee if he’s got no shoes on.

jon used to flap all the time as a younger kid, especially when excited, but was calmly convinced as a teenager by dear old gran that such behavior was perhaps less than dignified, so he doesn’t really do it anymore and definitely not in public. plus circumstantially he just doesn’t... get that happy very often (wheeze). but when he and georgie were together in uni he used to take her hands and shake them if something particularly exciting was going on.

of course if something is really funny he’ll laugh out loud, but more often he sways or taps a surface vigorously if someone cracks a good joke. he has a Public Smile that sort of lists to one side, a little wry, and then another that is almost completely involuntary. it’s a scrunched up toothy smile that only happens when he’s very positively overwhelmed, usually accompanied by rocking or tapping, which only people like georgie really get to see. maybe martin has seen it once or twice, depending on how well you think those lunch dates they used to go on went!

edit for clarity: in general jon just does not tend to outwardly express positive emotions because he’s very self-conscious of the way he does express them and boy that’s a downer but bear with me because i absolutely maintain that he cares less and less about this as things like the end of the world begins to take precedence and starts just taking little joys when and wherever possible.

jon chews on every single pen anyone’s ever leant him and is baffled by the fact that nobody ever wants it back.

he’s moderately expanded his list of acceptable food to eat since uni but the more tired he is the less... complicated a meal needs to be in order for him to be able to eat it. if it’s been a long day sometimes it’s just gotta be like, bread, or some nuts. strong individual flavors are nice, but if something has too many conflicting textures or flavors it can easily become too much. he also hates it when two different food servings on a plate touch each other. now they’re contaminated

he isn’t particularly light-sensitive (most of the time) but noise is a big thing, fire alarms/sirens/any kind of construction in the vicinity is absolute hell and he has to wear headphones or something on the tube. the fluorescents at the institute hum constantly too and sometimes if he can get away with it he just. turns them off for a minute and sits in the dark.

in his opinion any kind of gritty, dusty, powdery texture is absolute hell (a very special middle finger to the buried). comfort sensations include running water, rubbing the fabric of his clothes or deep, heavy pressure. light pressure is a mixed bag; sometimes a brushing sensation can be relaxing, but if it’s repeated over and over in the same area it gets overwhelming to the point of pain.

something that is distinctly affectionate for him is parroting back nonverbal noises that others make, or phrases/sentences if they have a good... auditory rhythm? the problem is nobody really knows this is an affectionate thing and often comes off as kind of patronizing :,) if a phrase in a statement Sounds Good like that though he’ll occasionally repeat it for the next couple days.

jon makes quite sparing eye contact because if he tries it’s hard to focus on anything else but timing the eye contact appropriately. upon his transition into The Archivist this actually reverses and he makes very intense eye contact to the point of making everyone a little unsettled.

this post is getting a little long but here’s one more thing that is actually part of canon and has confused multiple other characters; jon reacting to something really tragic or upsetting by laughing about it, like going “and tim and daisy are both dead, which is... at least, ha, easy to keep track of!” like god that’s so... oof. oof

WOW ok i have to stop there or this is gonna turn into a book. it took me a while to get into the groove and write this but now i can’t shut up... this post is literally SO LONG, yet i still somehow have MORE THOUGHTS (on basira too as well as jon) so uh. let me know! if there’s interest! and man, if you read this whole thing ilysm. <3 stay gold y’all

#the magnus archives #tma #autistic headcanon #jon archivist #jonathan sims #it licherally took me so long to start this and now its like BOOK LENGTH #i'd put it under a readmore but then im concerned it may not actually get... read so uhh lmk if you think it really needs one or sth #this is also at special behest of:#backof thebookshelf #thank you for your encouragement!!#and thank everyone else who supports this kinda content from me rly #it makes me so happy being part of this big ole podcast community srsly #im happy flappin

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kikiofthevast · 5 years

Text

"Let It Out" Lyric Analysis(?)

(I might do one of every song, but I'm at least starting with my favorite.)

Spoilers for TGWDLM

---

Mr. Davidson: What's in your soul? Is your heart so damp and bleak, that you won't give us a peek of your soul?

This first line grouping is sort of similar to "What Do You Want Paul?" just with a different tone. Basically just asking Paul what he wants, despite the method of doing so being much more forceful and unsettling.

It's also worth noting that the aliens are touching Paul. Running their hands over his body in a way that he is visibly uncomfortable with. Especially since he doesn't know most of these people very well (with the exceptions of Bill and Ted) and they are invading his personal bubble.

Nora: Just let it out. There's a voice inside of you, on the edge of comin' through, what's it about?

This line is indirectly telling the viewer/audience about Paul's pre-existing internal conflict. These creatures, despite being creepy, hivemind aliens, are telling him that they value what he wants. What does he want?

He wants a relationship with Emma. It doesn't seem like a big deal, but considering the things that other characters wanted, with examples being Ted wanting to be rescued and Bill wanting to rescue his daughter, it really does matter.

It is worth noting that Paul has been present for every song that we see occur (with the exception of the opening number, "You Tied Up My Heart", and "Show Stoppin' Number"), and we saw the effect that "You Tied Up My Heart" had on Charlotte, she started dancing to the tune as part of her own internal conflict. Being present and exposed to the hive so much had to awaken something inside Paul's musical-disliking brain.

Whether he wanted it to or not.

Hidgens: And I know it's a singular voice, Paul, you've just got to give up the choice.

It's kind of implied that the residue/spores from the meteor have been taken in by Paul by now, as the hive has some loose connection to him, able to see in his head to an extent. Everything that they are saying is very personal and directed solely at him.

"Give up the choice" is a unique choice of words, and I believe that it's essentially telling Paul to stop thinking. Just accept the hive and give up your free will, and you can be happy.

This is also the hive's only line where it refers to itself as I. Either it reinforces that the hive is one entity as Hidgens said earlier on, or it suggests that each person still has some independence, which I personally don't believe is the case.

Ensemble: Just let it out! Let it out! Let it out!

This is where things start to get exciting. Paul is trying to reject the things being said to him, the voice in his head telling him to give up, but it isn't working. His body is responding to the music around him, like Charlotte as I mentioned earlier, but unlike Charlotte it is completely against his will.

Paul looks confused and a bit frightened and I really have to give credit to Jon Matteson because he fricking nailed the part. I would understand that Paul is a bit afraid that he's dancing without his consent.

Ensemble: Let it out! Let it out! Let it out!

See previous paragraph. More non-con dancing and Paul being scared and uncomfortable.

Ensemble: Just let it out! Let it out! Let it out!

Blah blah blah, moving on.

Ensemble: Let it out, let it out!

Paul: Never!

Jon Matteson has an impressive vocal range, I must say. Paul has begun to succumb to the hive, not entirely of his own free will, more as if his free will is being manipulated into joining the hive.

Hidgens *spoken*: It's your proximity to the meteor, Paul. The air in here is thick with its spores! Feel your apotheosis begin as they take root in your mind! Did you really think we'd let you kill us? You'll be one of us before you can pull that pin!

Okay, so here we have the root of the problem. Paul is being turned into a slave of the hive, really against his will. The hive was confident that this would happen. Paul would be caught inhaling countless spores with every breath and quickly being overtaken by the hive.

Paul: What was that?

GPG: You let it out.

GPG (Greenpeace Girl) sounds very satisfied here. Paul is being taken over, and there isn't really anything that he can do about it.

Paul: Was that a note? Or just a sound? Am I finally comin' round to a rhyming scheme! Oh god! Just stop it!

Once again, I cannot fricking praise Jon Matteson enough. This is exactly the amount of emotion and power that should be encapsulated in this moment, and he nails it again.

This is a very powerful sequence. Paul is half-infected, half-not. The infected half of him is kind of a twisted Patton Sanders-esque character, bubbly and happy, but something sinister underlaying that personality.

I'm just gushing about Matteson now. Don't mind me.

Paul: I'm split in two. Is this me? Or is this you? Am I dead? I'm comin' apart at the seams!

Basically directly telling the audience exactly what's happening. Nothing much else to say except that I love the stark difference in facial expressions here.

Paul: La da da da da da da da da no! No no no no no no no!

Paul is clearly fighting an uphill battle here. His mind is succumbing, whether he likes it or not, and whatever he tries to do doesn't stop him from singing.

Also, he claps his hands over his mouth, which I thought was a nice touch.

Ensemble: Just let it out, let it out, let it out!

Paul dry retches during this "chorus" and he tries a last-ditch effort to get rid of the spores, but they're permanently embedded in him now. He can't stop the apotheosis.

Ensemble: Let it out, let it out, let it out! Just let it out, let it out, let it out! Let it out, let it out, let it.

The shift in music here is very clear, and the way Paul's hand tightens in a fist is indicative of his thoughts and internal conflict.

Paul: I've never been happy. Wouldn't that be nice? Is this the secret? Singing and dancing through life? Is my integrity worth anything at all? But happiness can't come before its fall.

Here we see Paul's resolve start to waver. He knows he can't win. It isn't possible, and he's just in too deep. Blah blah blah internal conflict blah blah blah Jon Matteson blah blah blah. The line about integrity may seem out of place, but Paul is talking about the silent promise he made to Emma about never being in a musical.

Also, this isn't just Infected!Paul singing, this is Human!Paul singing too. Which is a big thing. Considering that he was out of tune singing Moana earlier in the show (but that might just have been because he was put on the spot).

Paul: Am I crazy? Maybe I've always been. Become what I've hated. Or maybe I never did. It's awful freeing now, to share the hate I felt. But what will I let in if I let it out?

Ensemble: Let it out. Let it out.

Paul is questioning himself. Is being part of the hive really that bad? He's being swayed, thinking twice and contradicting himself, doubting his own beliefs.

Then he even admits it. It feels good to be connected to it, and since he already has the hive in his head, all it needs to do is convince Paul that it's the best thing. And the thing is, it's working.

Paul: Am I crazy? I don't think so.

Ensemble: Let it out! Let it out! Let it out!

Paul: Maybe I've always been.

This is actually the only full line that Infected!Paul has. This is also a rehash of the bridge of the song earlier on. Not much more to say here.

Ensemble: Just let it out! Let it out! Let it out!

Paul: God help me out!

Ensemble: Let it out, let it out!

Paul: If I let it out!

That last sustained note sounds like a fire siren, I'm not kidding. But Paul is able to push past the hive in his head, and pull the pin. Supposedly, blowing up the meteor.

Although, he likely didn't succeed...

...but that's a song for another day.

It's also worth noting that Paul's "I don't like musicals!" just before he throws the grenade is very clearly desperate and strained. The hive is still eating away at him, eating away at what he wants.

---

Until next time.

#not ts #tgwdlm spoilers #tgwdlm #paul tgwdlm #let it out

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him-e · 7 years

Note

In the interview in wich grrm talks about the unkiss , he says it is to prepare the stage for a more important memory gap what was he refering to ?

The relevant quotes:

“Well, not every inconsistency is a mistake, actually. Some are quite intentional. File this one under “unreliable narrator” and feel free to ponder its meaning…” (The Citadel, So Spake Martin, Sansa’s memory)

“The Lion’s Paw / Lion’s Tooth business, on the other hand, is intentional. A small touch of the unreliable narrator. I was trying to establish that the memories of my viewpoint characters are not infallible. Sansa is simply remembering it wrong. A very minor thing (you are the only one to catch it to date), but it was meant to set the stage for a much more important lapse in memory. You will see, in A STORM OF SWORDS and later volumes, that Sansa remembers the Hound kissing her the night he came to her bedroom… but if you look at the scene, he never does. That will eventually mean something, but just now it’s a subtle touch, something most of the readers may not even pick up on. (The Citadel, So Spake Martin, SF, Targaryens, Valyria, Sansa, Martells, and more)

Note that George has Sansa mixed up with Arya in the second quote, because it’s Arya, and not Sansa, who misemembers the name of Joffrey’s sword. So George, too, is an unreliable narrator!

All joking aside, it’s clear that with the Unkiss and with other instances (such as Sansa not remembering correctly the events of the Trident), Martin is trying to establish Sansa as a particularly unreliable narrator: her mind tends to rewrite reality to make it fit into familiar patterns, the ones she learned from the songs, where knights steal kisses from their ladies rather than threatening them with a dagger, pretty princes generally tend to be good and villains are always easy to identify. And if there’s something that deeply unsettles her, and that she isn’t ready to deal with yet, it gets swept under the rug… until either she is ready, or reality hits her like a ton of bricks (which happened with Joffrey and Cersei).

This rewriting/erasure is not a conscious choice on Sansa’s part—in other words, she isn’t aware at all that her brain does this. The Unkiss is the most evident example of this mechanism: there’s no real reason for Sansa to fabricate (not just fantasize about) a false memory of a kiss that never happened, other than the fact that she has no idea how to cope with Sandor’s simultaneously assaulting her and pleading to let him rescue her AND she can’t deal with her own feelings for him, so she rewrites the whole incident into something in which the implied (Sandor’s fixation on her, his instinct to both scare and protect her) becomes explicit, but normalized into a more chaste narrative (a “romantic” kiss).

Now, the big blind spot in Sansa’s narrative—the one that could potentially have huge repercussions on the overall plot—is Littlefinger. Sansa, VERY deep inside, knows something really important about him:

“Tears, tears, tears,” she sobbed hysterically. “No need for tears… but that’s not what you said in King’s Landing. You told me to put the tears in Jon’s wine, and I did. For Robert, and for us! And I wrote Catelyn and told her the Lannisters had killed my lord husband, just as you said. That was so clever… you were always clever, I told Father that, I said Petyr’s so clever, he’ll rise high, he will, he will, and he’s sweet and gentle and I have his little baby in my belly… Why did you kiss her? Why? We’re together now, we’re together after so long, so very long, why would you want to kiss herrrrrr?”

Sansa’s heard Lysa’s last words which revealed Littlefinger as the mastermind behind Jon Arryn’s murder and the Stark/Lannister conflict… yet, her pov shows no traces that she’s aware of this. It’s like she never registered what she heard, and imo the problem isn’t that she didn’t “understand”—I think Sansa is very intelligent and perfectly capable of putting 2 and 2 together and realize what kind of “tears” Lysa put in Jon’s wine and why did LF ask Lysa to lie to Catelyn—but that that information was too overwhelming for her in that specific moment, so she put it aside; and now that she’s completely reliant on Littlefinger, that knowledge is like the skeleton in the closet that her brain is too terrified to revisit. So she just ignores it and keeps going. It’s the only way she knows how to function. And this isn’t the first time that Sansa acquires and immediately shelves away vital information about Littlefinger:

Queen Cersei looked at each of the councillors in turn. “I won’t have Sansa fretting needlessly. What shall we do with this little friend of hers, my lords?” Lord Petyr leaned forward. “I’ll find a place for her.” “Not in the city,” said the queen. “Do you take me for a fool?” The queen ignored that. “Ser Boros, escort this girl to Lord Petyr’s apartments and instruct his people to keep her there until he comes for her. Tell her that Littlefinger will be taking her to see her father, that ought to calm her down. I want her gone before Sansa returns to her chamber.”

This is shortly after Ned’s arrest (AGOT, Sansa IV). Under Sansa’s eyes, Cersei tasks Littlefinger with disposing of Jeyne Poole, Sansa’s best friend. Who we know was put in LF’s brothel where she was raped and abused horrifically only to be sold to the Boltons as Ramsay’s token “Stark” wife. Yet it never occurs to Sansa to investigate on this, and she doesn’t even seem to remember the fact that Littlefinger is probably the person to ask in the first place (we learn later that Sansa did not know what had happened to Jeyne, who had disappeared from her rooms afterward, never to be mentioned again). Another buried/rewritten memory waiting to resurface?

Oh yeah and there’s also this:

As he led her below, he said, “Tell me of the feast. The queen took such pains. The singers, the jugglers, the dancing bear… did your little lord husband enjoy my jousting dwarfs?” “Yours?” “I had to send to Braavos for them and hide them away in a brothel until the wedding. The expense was exceeded only by the bother. It is surprisingly difficult to hide a dwarf, and Joffrey… you can lead a king to water, but with Joff one had to splash it about before he realized he could drink it. When I told him about my little surprise, His Grace said, ‘Why would I want some ugly dwarfs at my feast? I hate dwarfs.’ I had to take him by the shoulder and whisper, ‘Not as much as your uncle will.’ ” The deck rocked beneath her feet, and Sansa felt as if the world itself had grown unsteady. “They think Tyrion poisoned Joffrey. Ser Dontos said they seized him.” Littlefinger smiled. “Widowhood will become you, Sansa.”

The above (ASOS, Sansa V) proves that Littlefinger manipulated both Joffrey and Tyrion—he brought jousting dwarves so that Joffrey could publicly humiliate Tyrion, and give him a “reason” to “murder” him that everyone could see, so to seal Tyrion’s culpability in Joffrey’s assassination. If Sansa considered this through, she’d probably realize that it wasn’t the first time Littlefinger manipulated Joffrey… that maybe he also whispered in the little king’s ear to convince him to behead Ned. But she doesn’t. Yet.

And of course, there is her inability to see/acknowledge/admit that Littlefinger is slowly poisoning Sweetrobin to death. Though she doesn’t have enough knowledge of poisons to understand that a slightly higher dose of sweetsleep can be fatal, she saw Maester Colemon’s anxiety and reluctance to give it to Sweetrobin too often, but, again, she doesn’t seem to register it as a red flag.

It’s possible that Sweetrobin’s death (or finding out what happened to Jeyne) is the eye opener, the triggering event that unlocks Sansa’s ability to remember correctly what she’s always known, connect the dots between the hairnet, Sweetrobin’s poisoning, Littlefinger’s behind the scenes manipulation of the Purple wedding and Jon Arryn’s death via Lysa’s “tears”, and finally see the bigger picture in Littlefinger’s modus operandi and uncover his role in causing the war of the five kings and her own house’s downfall. (yes, I totally think that Sansa will be LF’s undoing in the books like she was in the show, and that she will ~finish what her father started~ and I mean her REAL father, who died investigating on Jon Arryn’s murder, but could never get as physically close to the truth as Sansa eventually got).

The other instance in which I can see Sansa’s altered memories come into play in a big way is her recollection of the events leading to Ned’s arrest and death, specifically the fact that she mindlessly revealed critical information to Cersei which resulted in her father eventually losing his head. It’s interesting that Sansa rarely ruminates about this in her pov. I think this is one of the memories that cause her the most excruciating pain, so her brain keeps it on a leash, and might have rewritten the entire sequence of events to make her subconscious guilt less unbearable. It’s possible that at some point in her future narrative someone (likely Arya, sort of like what happened in the show) discovers what she did and questions her about that, causing a major crisis in Sansa’s psychological balance (which isn’t necessarily a bad thing).

There might be something even bigger than that coming up (and it’s also possible that Sansa’s memory lapses are preparing the reader for another character’s memory lapse, even), but these are my top guesses at the moment.

#anon #asks #got asks #sansa**#asoiaf spec #the unkiss #sansan for ts #sansa and lf for ts #sansa's memory #grrm #quotes #rape tw #jeyne poole #sweetrobin #unreliable narrators

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junker-town · 3 years

Text

20020: Questions and answers

The world of 20020 is a very strange one, and people are right to have questions. Jon answers some of them here.

I don’t know if I’ve ever had more fun working on a project than I did with 20020. It was a long time in the making, as was this website, Secret Base. We intend this to be a place where we tell stories, whether they happened last night, a hundred years ago, 18,000 years from now, or some nightmarish video game realm that exists outside of time. In that sense, 20020 doesn’t define this place. Secret Base is the place where something like 20020 can actually live. I don’t want to get too overdramatic; Secret Base is a website where me and a bunch of of other jerks make shit we hope you’ll like. It’s a place I love nonetheless.

I started planning 20020 about three years ago, and I wanted to make sure I wasn’t just writing a sequel to 17776 for its own sake. This time I wanted to piece together a single, cohesive story, rather than a series of loose vignettes. I also wanted to explore certain themes more specifically. What happens to the concept of time if time becomes infinite? What defines a “good game,” and can it be laid out completely by accident? Who are Americans – specifically, these Americans, us? What the Hell is this place, and what was it? What would we do with ourselves if we actually got everything we wanted?

I tried to make something bigger and better than 17776, rather than just bolting on another installment. Personally, I feel like I did, but ultimately, those of you who have read it can be the judge of that. At any rate, thank you so much for reading. I know it was a big ask of you – not only is it roughly as long as a book, it’s a mashup of two things that typically don’t go together. A lot of you came in with zero interest in American football, and a lot of you came in without any particular inclination to read a work of science fiction where humankind never explored space because it was too boring.

A couple of people deserve an extra-special thanks here. Graham MacAree edited the piece from start to finish, and help me close as many logical loopholes as we could, picking out every time a player broke a rule, or one rule was inconsistent with another rule. Throughout the whole process, Graham was totally bought in, and was always in favor of making it more weird over less weird.

Meanwhile, Frank Bi engineered the entire thing so it could actually exist on the Internet. I’m still amazed that some of these pages weigh upwards of 50 megabytes, and yet they scroll completely smoothly without glitching out and slowing down. Frank also built an app on the back end that allowed us to easily format things like dialogue.

Anyway. Earlier this week, I solicited any questions you might have had about 20020 – why I made it, how I made it, how the game works, or literally anything else about it. I received a few hundred of those, and while I couldn’t get to all of them, I’ve answered as many as I could. Thanks so much for sending them in.

* * *

I haven’t read it yet - is it good?

– Anonymous

yeah

20020 feels a lot lighter than 17776. Why did you decide to go with that tone?

– hali

It’s interesting to me that it struck that tone with you, and I’m actually glad it did, because at some points the story actually felt slightly darker to me than 17776 did. I had a couple of priorities this time around.

The first was to continue to avoid what I hopefully avoided in 17776, which was writing some kind of morality play. I am tired of reading stories and watching shows that are trying to teach me some kind of lesson. I’m a grown adult! You’re a television, I don’t want to learn concepts like “right and wrong” from you! Fuck off, loser!

Instead, I mean 17776 and 20020 as open-ended explorations of themes and concepts. It’s so great to see people walk away from them with different ideas. Some people see this post-scarcity eternal playpen as Heaven, some see it as a completely nightmarish existence, and some see it as a sometimes-promising, sometimes-unsettling in-between. Far be it from me to call it one way or the other.

when designing The Bowl Game, how bogged down did you get in rules/technicalities? a game of this scale seems so hard to effectively govern, and many readers seemed to get stuck on rules technicalities that didn’t affect the plot much. i guess a better way to phrase this question is: did you develop the rules of the game first and then write a plot around them, or did the rules emerge naturally as you wrote?

– Victoria (@dirtbagqueer)

This was by far the toughest part of the whole thing. The field itself actually inspired the entire story.

Early in 2018, a few months after finishing 17776, I had a little bit of time in between major projects, and that’s when I started drawing up the fields. The geometry and weird aesthetic of it fascinated me. At the same time, I had absolutely no fucking idea what to do with it. I wanted it to make some sort of sense somehow. I wanted to design actual good, solid gameplay within it, but I just could not figure out how to do it. Over the course of two years, I would occasionally open it up and stare at it, practically begging for some kind of solution to present itself.

It never did, and my stupid ass finally got the point: this thing is a tribute to chaotic, senseless institutions. It’s a monument of the absolute nonsense that spews forth from ostensibly rational architecture. Like, imagine the most grating, insulting, senseless corporate drivel you’ve ever heard. To me, this that in the form of a football field.

It all clicked from there. Who would come up with such a bewildering and obnoxious thing? Obviously, Juice would. He’s amused by the literal interpretations of things and he delights in inanity and chaos. I needed Ten to hibernate, because she loves well-considered, intelligent gameplay, and she would have shot him down at every opportunity.

From there, I just wrote the rules in accordance with what I felt would be the most interesting story. After looking at San Diego State’s sad little field, I realized I wanted them to star in the A-plot, and I’ll admit to writing some of the rules in service of their story.

Chapter 4’s Georgia Quarterback is introduced to us by screaming into a phone for a pizza that never gets to him. It’s the funniest thing I’ve read in a long time and I have to know, was there something or some things that inspired it?

– @Kay_N_B

That guy’s ripped straight out of real life. I used to work at a call center doing tech support for an Internet service provider. Legend has it that if you simply yell REPRESENTATIVE or SUPERVISOR to an automated system enough times, it will get you off hold and talking to someone more quickly. This was definitely not true, but it didn’t stop people from trying.

On one occasion, I picked up the phone to a woman yelling SUPERVISOR! SUPERVISOR! SUPERVISOR! SUPERVISOR! over and over and over. She was yelling it so loud that she couldn’t hear me. Or, more likely, she was just holding the receiver to her mouth without actually holding the speaker to her ear. At any rate, I just could not get through to her. After about two minutes of that, I hung up. Sometimes I wonder how much longer she sat there yelling like that.

Is Lori from the Illinois chess chapter the same Lori who talked to the Durabos in the Koy Detmer chapter in 17776?

– Ale

She is! Not for any particular reason, other than that I liked the idea of bringing someone back. She’s named after my fourth-grade teacher and ninth-grade science teacher.

Why do trains still run on diesel fuel and how does this not affect the climate/environment?

– Vince

In this universe, humans have learned how to perfectly synthesize fossil fuels that are environmentally harmless. (That’s why I was fine with Nick just carelessly pouring gallons of diesel fuel on the ground while he was fueling the train.) In my optimistic view of the real-life future, I’m sure we’ll opt to solar power or some other environmentally benign solution, but these peoples’ insistence on fossil fuels reflects what does and doesn’t change about you if you live for thousands of years. If there are no coming generations to prod you along and find solutions of their own, how much would we really be compelled to change?

That’s a foundational theory of this story, however right or wrong: change happens generationally far more than it does internally. Once we grow up, the cake’s baked. With no generations to come, there are no more agents of change, and we’re the same old slobs. I’m going to want to smell gasoline when I mow the lawn.

What would happen if a team relocated its stadium? Or repainted the field within their existing stadium at a slight angle?

– Dave

Another fundamental theme of this story is that humanity, or at least America, is very, very preservationist. Architecturally, very little has changed, because there’s a sense that if things change, they’ll never truly get back what they once had. Whether or not that’s healthy is entirely up for debate.

Someone in the 20020 thread (apologies, can’t find the comment and don’t remember who it was!) had the idea of one school building an apparatus underneath their field that would allow it to rotate. This would be both fascinating and an absolute nightmare to calculate/write, but I loved that.

How did you create the animations and videos and such with Google Earth?

– @xyleb_

Google Earth allows you to import image overlays and slap them over the terrain. It took me a long time to figure out how to get 111 image files to stretch all across the country without the frame rate slowing to like three frames per second. In the end, it was a matter of making the field image files just about as small as possible (20x1 pixels) and stretching them from coast to coast. Given that Google Earth was never intended to do anything like this, I’m kind of stunned by how well it worked.

How do you choose the names for the players? Are they based off people you know or do you just make up names you think sound cool?

– Arp1033

When it comes to naming characters, my biggest screwup was naming the Georgia Tech quarterback Connor O’Malley. Conner is a very, very college football quarterback name, so I just bullshitted a last name that I thought would fit. Not only is Connor O’Malley an actual public figure, he’s actually a guy I’m a fan of and have been aware of for some time, and yet I somehow never connected those dots until a reader pointed it out.

I tried to give lot of consideration to the naming of characters. Since I prioritized representation, I did want to signal that certain characters were Black, or Hispanic, or Asian. Sometimes this was because I felt it was essential to their character, and sometimes it was just for the sake of representation.

In a couple of circumstances, such as the UAB Steamroller poster in which I named literally 125 characters, I partially relied on name generators. Even with those, you have to be careful. At first, I used one that allowed you to generate names that are traditionally women’s names, or more typically Black names, or Asian names. So I was like, all right, give me 50 women’s names, and it returned a bunch of names like Heather and Sally and et cetera. Yes, of course there are Black women named Sally and Asian women named Heather, but if they all have such names, that doesn’t feel entirely representative. So I requested 20 typically Black women’s names, and like six of them were Keisha. All right, cool, thanks! In that case and a few others, I just ditched name generators entirely and took first names from people I’ve known personally.

If I recall correctly, in the 17776 q+a, you talked about Nines identity a little bit and how you wanted to include an NB character in your stories. In this story, is Nine using they/them pronouns a decision they have made to identify as NB?

– Anonymous

Yep, Nine is non-binary. In 17776, Nine was non-binary simply by virtue of only having been conscious for a few days and not even having the time to examine or consider it. But now it’s been a while, and they actively identify as NB.

do you plan on bringing back any other space probes, like hubble in ‘76?

– scotty

Yes! I’ll spill the beans on that now. Hubble was originally going to appear in 20020, but there was just too much other stuff to get to. He’ll be seen in 20021.

how do you manage to find the “non-dull” part of each of the stories you write? like how do you find the newspaper clippings, names, etc?

– Carter Briggs (@carter1137)

Before I started writing, I spent two whole months just scrolling across every single field. If I hit a town, a lake, a mountain, or even a road with a weird name, I’d stop and search the newspaper archives to see if I could find anything interesting. This was definitely a test of Nancy’s sentiment in 17776 that you can’t walk ten feet in American without running into a story.

Technically speaking, it turns out that this is more or less true, but the vast majority of these stories are UNBELIEVABLY FUCKING BORING. As far as a lot of town are concerned, if anything interesting ever happened there, it sure as Hell didn’t make the papers. I’d say a good 10 percent of old newspapers are just, “Mrs. Hubbard took a trip here to visit her sons.” Just a 19th-century proto-Facebook check-in app. But one time out of a hundred, I’d find out about the James gang’s forgotten stash, or the Stannard Rock Lighthouse, or the escapes of Eugene Jennings, and it was all worth it.

I feel really, really gratified by those. I’m not so sure anyone has explored American history the way I did – by literally drawing lines across it and following those lines. It’s a very silly, stupid way to do it, but if I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have found some of these things that would otherwise have been lost to history.

What do the probe’s voices sound like over the phone? Synthesized? Uncannily human? Like a Siri kind of thing?

– Anonymous

They sound human, yeah. How exactly they sound, I can’t say, but I can kinda hear Juice. Despite being French, I hear him as a fast-talking, hyper-charismatic, high-energy Southern dude, like some guys I grew up around. Think some weird amalgamation that’s reminiscent of Matthew McConaughey and Chris Tucker.

what is the answer to nines postscript(what happens when a ball is on a intersection)

– Anonymous

So when a ball is on Field A, and it crosses Field B at an intersection, the scoreboard doesn’t change. It still belongs to Field A, and only transfers to Field B if the player makes a turn.

What do video games look like in the year 20020? Do they still make new games or do they just kind of permanently update the old ones, like an MMO or something?

– Ben

This is not necessarily canon, and is just my real-world feeling on the matter seeping out: the real frontiers in gaming aren’t about graphics or technical ability or anything like that, they’re about creativity and art. Like, Breath of the Wild? That plays at 720p on my Switch, and while it’s artistically breathtaking, I think that strictly from a technical perspective, it could have been made 10 or 15 years ago. And yet it’s probably the greatest video game ever made.

Was there always an intention to do multiple parts (17776, 20020, 20021), or did that evolve as you wrote? What does the idea generation stage look like for a story as massive and out there as this one?

– @stxnmxn

When I finished 17776, I knew I wanted to write a sequel at some point, but didn’t always imagine it in two parts. As recently as this summer, I’d planned on writing it all at once before Graham and I decided to break it up. I’d just found too much stuff to condense it into one thing.

Did you have fun writing it?

– benfrosh

yeah

ballground & ballplay — how did you think to link them to this story? were you looking for them? when did you make the connection to the fields?

– @heysihui

That was an unbelievable coincidence! Clemson’s field just ran across both of them. I knew for sure I wanted to talk some about indigenous peoples, and I’ve long been fascinated with the seemingly far-flung concept of replacing war with sports. It was just the perfect opportunity.

I loved how in 20020 there are so many smaller stories being retold, some of which even affect the larger story. Of all the places big and small visited over the course of 20020, which location had your favorite historical event? I think mine was the 1910 Emory Gap runaway train.

– @jj_jjjjj_jjjjjj

The story of Eugene Jennings takes it for me. I was so profoundly touched by the story of a guy who had an incredible gift for escaping. He wasn’t an evil person, he was just born into a world he wasn’t compatible with. I think lots and lots of people like him have lived and died, and I hope we don’t forget them. You can barely find anything about Jennings on the Internet; his story could only be found in old newspapers. I’m honored I got to tell his story. I sure as Hell won’t ever forget him.

first of all, thanks for making an explicitly lgbt couple, one where the romance is directly shown, part of your main cast for 20020. did you really give much thought to it, or was it a decision that felt natural?

– jijo, @optikalcrow

Part of the reason I wrote 17776 in the first place was to take football, which I view to be this spectacular, fascinating thing, and imagine a world where it’s opened up to every single type of person. A long while back, a friend and I were talking about football. He’s gay, and he supposed that while football seemed like the sort of thing he’d like, he never got into it growing up because he “never got the invite.”

So I did that as a means of sending an invite. More generally, I really liked the idea of making a gay couple the main characters because I almost never see that anywhere, and if I do, it’s probably a story about them being gay.

As I did last time, I wanted to represent people completely matter-of-factly. I don’t delve into the experience of being gay, because I don’t have valuable perspective to offer there, but I did want to establish Nick and Manny as fleshed-out, imperfect, warts-and-all human beings. Sometimes they argue, sometimes they make a bad call, sometimes they say stupid things, and sometimes they’re unsure of themselves, just like everybody else.

who is your favorite character to write for?

– @mwuffie

It was a lot of fun writing Nick and Manny’s pointless arguments. Mimi was great too, since she was inspired by a few people who are very close to me. But Bryce, the new Troy recruit from Chapter 10, might be my favorite.

I grew up around so many guys exactly like Bryce. A young guy who’s not sad, really, just mopey. He’s an asshole in a mostly benign way. He seems to want to do nothing but just sit in a parking lot smoking menthols and leaning against his Nissan, and mumble something about wanting to challenge someone to a street race but never, ever actually doing it. He doesn’t seem to actually like or dislike or want anything. You have absolutely no clue what makes him tick or what ever motivates him to do anything, or whether he likes you. He’s just kinda there, but you get the sense that he’s perfectly content. He fucking rules.

I also enjoyed hate-writing Chess Guy. I never bothered to give him a name because he didn’t deserve one. When Graham first read that chapter, the first thing he told me was, “I fucking hate chess guy.” Mission accomplished.

juice mentions in ch 7 that he worked with indigenous tribes to get permission for fields/players to cross native land (which, of course, all of america is native land). some tribes said no — are these tribal lands OOB and/or handled in the rules?

– lily b.

Yep, for the indigenous peoples who did not grant permission, those portions of the field are out of bounds. Some also have special conditions – for instance, a limit on how many players can be on the field at the same time. These changes aren’t reflected visually on the map for two reasons: first, I couldn’t quite figure out how to do it from a technical sense, and second, I didn’t think it was particularly important or appropriate for me to guess which tribes would and wouldn’t grant permission.

Why hasn’t technology really developed that much? Besides the nanobots, there really isn’t anything else. They still watch/follow games through normal tv’s/radios. Just wondering how boring this must be for anyone not involved in the football games.

– permian triassic extinction event

I think old people just like what they like and don’t need much more, and these are the oldest people in history. Just like folks from decades ago were perfectly fine with their three TV channels and crossword puzzle, I think we’d be okay with an eternity of, I don’t know, online gaming.

Not to be a downer but at times I felt almost guilty about this future with nothing left that needs to be done while we live in this society that’s a total hell-hole for so many. Did you have any feelings like that while writing? Is there a message here linking our harsh reality with the immortal 20020 world that went over my head?

– Anonymous

These times are full of struggle and defeat. The thing I want most and believe in most for this country and this world are things I might never get to see for myself. But god damn it, I will imagine them. It’s practice for the real thing. I believe that one day we’ll actually have the world we want, and we’d better have a plan when that day comes. What are we gonna do with it?

Is it pronounced 20020 or 20020

– Mylograms

20020, yeah.

Any other questions? Graham and I will be hanging out in the comments sections for a while, so feel free to yell at us down there.

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thisiswhatwereupagainst · 7 years

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“Mutant Empire: Siege” Ch 5 & 6

Okay guys, here's my notes for Chapter Five and Six of “Siege” the first book in the “Mutant Empire” triology! We get some interesting Charles/Erik debate stuff, reflection on the reality of how relationships are basically all sacrified for the X-Men, some Acolytes team dynamics, and MILAN!

MILAN IS SO ADORABLE OMFG I LOVE HIM SO MUCH especially because the way he acts with Magneto is the way I've always written Anne Marie with Magneto? I want to put him with the first-gen Acolytes so he can fanboy with Anne Marie about THEIR LORD AND SAVIOR MAGNETO and so Delgado can protect him <3 This is SUPER LONG so it’s under a cut

CHAPTER FIVE This chapter is about the X-Men, not the Acolytes, so no Magneto or Milan, but here's a few bits I thought worth noting

“Where Dr. Henry P. McCoy could forget, just for a moment, that he was a member of that elite race known as homo sapiens superior.” Elite race seems a....poor word choice. But this kinda comes back to what I talked to you two about before, about how I think certain forms of bigotry are actually MORE likely among mutants (ableism, scientific racism, etc.) because so much of mutant identity and the way mutants are understood both by society and themselves is based around being the “next step of human evolution” and being able to do things other people can't, etc.

“Finally, Bobby looked over at him, raised eyebrows in place of an actual shrug. His body had filled out from the time he'd joined the X-Men as a teenager. These days he was muscular and fit. But Hank figured that tousled brown hair and open, genuinely handsome features would make him look like a college boy forever.” Is...is Hank kinda gay for Bobby here? I didn't think straight guys thought about other guys bodies filling out with muscle or having handsome features. But then again, straight girls get to straight up compliment other girls on their boobs and it's not gay, so maybe I'm just falling victim to the homophobic mindset that guys can never ever EVER notice anything attractive about another guy or it's TOTALLY HOMO which is not something I support. Normalize bros saying their bros look nice today! You go novel! Anyway, Bobby has pointed out that they're fighting for their future and their children and all that, but the reality is that none of them except Jean and Scott have been able to have a consistent relationship that lasts more than a year, so most likely none of them actually will ever have children. Deep, man. I mean, I guess if you wanted to go all selfless hero you could say “yeah but other children still matter!” but the fact is, they have basically given up their lives for this. Wolverine tells Storm he wants to be on her X-team and not Scott's because Scott at least sort of expects Wolverine to call him boss, whereas being called “boss” surprises Storm every time. Okay, I'm calling bullshit, no way SCOTT would expect LOGAN to call him boss, whereas Storm is THE BOSS OF ALL BOSSES ok, this queen led a team of X-Men at the same time she was leader of the Morlocks at the same time she was White KING of the Hellfire Club. And this is when SHE DIDN'T HAVE HER POWERS. She is THE boss. I am just gonna say Logan is trying to suck up to her. BECAUSE SHE'S THE BOSS! “Attention X-Men. This is Colonel Tomko, United States Army. You are trespassing at a top-secret federal facility. Throw down your weapons and surrender or you will be fired upon.” “Seem a little anxious to shoot a couple mutants, don't they?” Uh, no, Wolverine, I think it's that you're a group of known vigilantes with a history of leaving a whole lot of destruction, trespassing at a top-secret government facility, and carrying A HUGE PLASMA RIFLE. Like I feel like the fact they are giving the X-Men warning here proves they'd rather NOT open fire, because like...look what happens to actual minorities when they encounter racist government authorities while NOT trespassing and NOT carrying weapons and NOT known criminals? Like I feel like this warning would have been just as easily issued to a bunch of humans, especially if said humans were a vigilante group commonly believed to be terrorists by the public and also toting A BIG FUCKING GUN like sell me on this 'feared and hated' thing a bit better please. I...have a hunch this writer might be a white dude, if he thinks this is what constitutes super-obvious out-of-bounds bigotry from government authority towards a minority seen as dangerous.

CHAPTER SIX Ok, here's where we get Magneto and Milan and the Acolytes! It starts out with some stuff about Charles and Erik, and I know you guys are hella down for that, so here's the bigass quote because I love you enough to type it all out: “Xavier would see the light at last. That was important to Magneto. Once, they had been the best of friends, but their divergent dreams tore them apart. Ever the idealist, Charles would argue with him hour after hour, day after day, until finally Magneto realized he must act to make his dream real, rather than simply debate its finer points. The last time they had parted as friends, at peace with one another, the argument had reached new heights. In the heat of the Israeli summer, desert sand flying in the sweltering wind, bodies baking inside uncomfortable clothing as their Jeep bounced on rutted unpaved roads, their already-tattered friendship was torn asunder. Finally, Magneto had insisted that Charles recognized the primary flaw in his philosophy. “And what might that be?” Charles asked, eyes narrowing at this new approach to the debate. “It's so obvious, Charles,” Magneto had answered, “You see it around you every day, in every newspaper, in every city. It's something I learned in war that you have yet to accept. Human society needs someone to hate. There must be a bottom rung on the ladder. Right now, mutants are it, and I don't see anyone else climbing up after us. Therefore, as long as mutant society exists in its current form, humans will hate and fear mutants.” Charles was quiet for a long time after that, his face darkened by the shadow of his consternation. When he met Magneto's gaze again, he seemed unsettled, yet determined. “There are certainly humans who need to hate,” Charles began, “But I do not believe that is true of humanity as a whole. Humans and mutants can live in peace, Magnus. I will never believe otherwise. Never.” That stubborn quality had blinded Charles from the beginning, and Magneto believed that it still did. But not for long. In one day, he would teach Charles Xavier what he not been able to in all the long years since they had first met. Today.” I think this is really interesting for two reason. The minor reason is that the “humans need someone to hate” isn't something I've seen Magneto say before (though that could be because I've read far less of him than you, Hex) Like I feel like he's said things that are CLOSE but not this specific. The bigger thing, though, is that this points out what a lot of people miss in fandom in my opinion, that Charles is as adamant in his stance as Magneto is in his. He gets painted a lot as the soft and yielding one who compromises, but he's NOT. He does NOT compromise with Magneto one little bit, he is NOT open to Magneto's ideas, and you know what, GOOD, he shouldn't be. But I feel like that tends to get forgotten and Magneto is the only one people talk about as being hubristic in his belief he's absolutely right, even though Xavier is doing the same thing. Also, even though I really like this, I have to point out that at this point in the timeline...the claim that mutants are the bottom rung really would not apply? Mutants were NOT really cropping up enough to be noticed by the public at that point in time, Magneto and Xavier were the first of their kind each other had met, the whole “mutants as a persecuted minority” thing didn't start till the 1980s. Magneto's belief back then, if I recall right, is supposed to be that mutants will BECOME treated like other minorities, not that they already ARE. Now on to Milan, my favorite part/person. He's still mentally hooked up to a computer to broadcast a jamming signal so the US military's radios don't work (Magneto and the Acolytes have taken over the military base where the Sentinels are kept) while Magneto's magnetic force shield (MAGNETS ARE MAGIC I GUESS) keeps them out. Milan's consciousness is “completely integrated into the computer core” and the poor baby is totally slumped over like a corpse. We get a POV switch to Amelia Voght. In case you don't know who that is, Jon, she's a mutant woman (a teleporter, precisely) who is not only an Acolyte, but was Xavier's girlfriend when he founded the X-Men. But she considered that to be “asking for trouble” and wanted to live a normal life, so she left him (and he tried to MIND-CONTROL HER INTO STOPPING) It's not clear exactly what happened in her life later, but apparently she lost her family and everything else to humans, according to her, and she decided that, also according to her, since every decision she made was bad, she'd let someone else do it. But she was always one of the questioning, less hateful Acolytes despite this claim she WANTED someone else to think for her. Oh, and she's the poor lady that Fabian tried to shove in his would-be harem. I would like to note he's still dead at the time this novel takes place, and while I would like to see him, I am glad for Amelia's sake that his skeevy self isn't around. Anyway, we get this infodump on her past, and this interesting bit gets said: “When he began to build the foundations for the X-Men, their relationship became...well, competition was the only word she could think of. If she had wanted to continue her relationship with Xavier, she would have had to throw herself wholly into his dreams for the X-Men.” I guess this is something I technically knew, but never thought about: That anyone romantically involved with Xavier basically has to be involved with his dream too. They're inseparable. I'd say the same is true of Magneto too except he does end up having a tryst or two where that doesn't apply, like with Lee Forrester, but then again I think that was when he wasn't a villain? I can't remember. But I think this also goes back to what Bobby and Beast were talking about, about how they probably won't ever have kids and a family and all. And canon reflects this. Not only do a lot of superhero relationships not last, but if one of the parties is NOT a superhero, they usually DIE. I guess this doesn't really come up in RP a lot because everybody is playing a member of the X-Men or Brotherhood or similar, no civilians, but, yeah. (Or civilians who can just...somehow be buddy-pals with bad guys and never had it affect them or think twice about these people being CRIMINALS >>) Also just because Amelia questions the violence and methods of the anti-human Acolytes, we're reminded she also thinks that the X-Men are “hopeless fools all, seduced by romanticism and wallowing in ignorance” and that she will be “happy to teach them the error of their ways.” Magneto tells Amelia to watch her back in battle around Carmella Unuscione, and Amelia thinks how she expects that from Unuscione but is surprised Magneto would “deign” to mention it. For some reason, this makes her worry he has romantic interest in her. I don't pretend to understand the leap that she's making here. She then wonders if he's trying to manipulate a confrontation between her and Unuscione, which makes slightly more sense at least. Just slightly. As for what Magneto is thinking, we get back to his POV, and it's neither. He is confident that Amelia can handle herself against Carmella, but he believes the women are on a “collision course” for each other's throats and he doesn't want to see their conflict undermine the “Empire Agenda” which is what his plot is called. We never see any sign of this dymanic between Amelia and Carmella in the comics, nor any backstabbing traits from Carmella, which is why I really enjoy these novels---the comics don't have time to give a lot of development to the personalities and team dynamics to the bad guys, it's hard enough working that in with the good guys in a 25-page issue, but the novels frequently take time to develop this stuff even for the baddies that don't usually get it. Milan 'wakes up' to tell Magneto that “We're ready, My Lord” and Magneto thinks he looks like he's dying and he's all sweaty but he seems super pleased at Doing A Good and dgkgksfkg I JUST LOVE HIM SO MUUUUCH and he says all that's needed to reprogram the Sentinels now is to enter Magneto's password. “For a moment, Magneto wished he did not have to disappoint one of his most faithful Acolytes, but there was no avoiding it.” Oh no! What is Magneto about to do?! Magneto: “I'm sorry, Milan, but I must take over from here.” Milan: “My Lord? Have I offended you somehow, Lord? What may I do to salve whatever wrong I have produced. Surely, there must be...” Magneto: “Please, Milan, be still. You have done no wrong.” OH NO, THIS PRECIOUS ANXIOUS NERD HE THINKS HE DID A BAD BECAUSE MAGNETO IS TAKING OVER THE REST OF THE JOB

LOVE HIIIIM Anyway, Mags puts in his password (“Empire”) and identifies himself as “Erik Magnus Lehnsherr, called Magneto, White King of the Hellfire Club” and we learn that Shaw programmed this all in for him while he was with the Hellfire Club in the 1980s. So Magneto not only KNEW that Shaw had Sentinels, Shaw set things up for Magneto to use them! Holy shit, HOW GOOD WAS THE MAGNET DICK, SHAW?! Magneto has to put his fingers down to scan for fingerprints and cut off a swatch of skin for genetic analysis to confirm it's him (smart move, Shaw, that keeps out shapeshifters) and when it does, Magneto winces, and: “My Lord, you are in pain,” Milan said, and Magneto almost laughed at the childlike wonder in the man. Though it was possible devout piety and childlike wonder were too often confused.” OH MY GOD HE -IS- ANNE MARIE ANNE MARIE IS THE GIRL JOCK, MILAN IS THE BOY NERD, THEY ARE THE RULE 63 VERSIONS OF EACH OTHER CLEARLY SRSLY THIS IS JUST LIKE HOW I WRITE ANNE MARIE WITH MAGS AND IT MAKES ME LOVE HIM I WOULD LOVE HIM ANYWAY ALL THE LOVE FOR MILAN

Cut to some government people. Specifically Valerie Cooper and Henry Gyrich. These are long-standing canon characters, and long story short, Cooper is on the side of mutants and Gyrich is not. But bigot though he might be, GYRICH IS CLEARLY SMART because I don't think ANYONE else has thought of this in the X-series before: “Then we can only assume, as I have long believed that Professor Xavier is directly tied to the X-Men.”

GASP! Val Cooper, who knows that's indeed the case, tells Gyrich basically pssh no, we just know that Xavier is friendly with the Beast (whose identity is apparently public? I guess because he was a member of the Avengers and Defenders for awhile) and Beast has been seen with the X-Men before, so probably Xavier passed on such and so info to Beast who passed it on to the X-Men. ...I feel like this is MORE support for Gyrich's guess, not less. But she continues she finds even this idea unlikely because Xavier has too much to lose in terms of support for mutant rights if he did something to make himself so unfavorable to the current administration. Yup, that's Professor Xavier, never puts a toe out of line, perfectly respectable law-abiding human guy! ;)

Surprisingly, Gyrich agrees with her, but now he thinks it's the X-Men who took over the facility (the one Magneto has taken over) Whoops. Back to Milan and beating himself up immediately when Magneto says he needs to take over, this reminds me of when he does that in the comics too. Like when he couldn’t get everything from Moira’s head that they needed all at once when he was trying to digitally reroute her memories on to the computer to get info they needed, he said that he felt like he had failed his brethren. Amazingly, it was FABIAN who comforted him, saying that,“You’ve done nothing wrong, Milan. The task you set yourself up for was monumental. Using your mutant ability to psionically transfer mental impulses into electromagnetic video impulses is difficult to apply under the best of circumstances. Having to fight this human’s formidable will makes it nearly impossible. I am confident that wherever Magnus is, our true lord and master has blessed you for your efforts.” AW, FABIAN Seriously, I really love this moment, not because I think Fabian has a secret soft side or something but because showing him being kind and encouraging to the Acolytes makes his manipulation and control of them more believable. If an abusive person is abusive and awful 24/7 all the time, nobody would get near them, but true abusers know how to balance the carrot with the stick. It’s ESPECIALLY common with cult leaders; they recruit with the carrot, and once you’re deep in and dependent on them, they can bring out the stick over and over, but the carrot still makes an appearance now and then so you have REASON to try and want to please them. Fabian showing that he values and appreciates the gifts and efforts of his Acolytes (or rather, acting like he does) is probably something they needed tremendously in their lives when he first approaches them, as likely no one else saw anything good about them being mutants, and that’s what enabled him to get them to stay around long enough for him to start showing his tyrannical dickbag side. Sure, he might be awful—but if they left him, they would be going to an even worse world, one that was ALWAYS awful to them, unlike Fabian, who, clearly, was not. I also notice that when he’s harsh on the Acolytes, it’s usually only on an individual to individual basis, when he’s alone with just one of them, so they probably don’t realize they’re ALL being abused, versus that they alone are being singled out like they probably think, so they’re less likely to think there’s a chance of uniting against him. But anyway, I’m getting off-topic, this is about MILAN, not Fabian. And Milan clearly wants to be useful SO BAD and he beats himself up over minor things/acts like he failed just because he didn’t 100% flawlessly succeed, and I just AW BABY especially since we see his teammates being jerks to him too. For instance, when the Acolytes were looking for Cable in the comics, Milan said that the base they were searching for him in was jamming his power, so he couldn’t use it to pick up any signs of Cable, and his teammate Javitz said “So you’re even more useless than usual.” SO MEAN, JAVITZ! WE CAN’T ALL BE TEN FEET TALL! So yeah, he gets ribbed, his powers aren’t good for fighting, maybe that’s why he stays buff, so he won’t be the scrawny nerd cliche (yes, I’m reaching to explain 90s-art anatomy, because this dork child is drawn all big and buff like every man in the 1990s) But I would just like to point out that he clearly has other talents! Milan, along with Joanna “Frenzy” Cargill and Carmella Unuscione, were the ones who found Simon “Neophyte” Hall, a young mutant who had holed himself up in a church, and they spent two days talking him out. This is just a hunch, but given the aggressive, downright mean personalities of Frenzy and Carmella, I suspect that it was Milan who did a lot of the actual coaxing, with the ladies just there to protect him in case this young mutant had dangerous abilities. Likewise, this is also just a hunch, but given how upset Milan was at Neophyte “betraying” the Acolytes later, I also wonder if he didn’t bond with him afterward, maybe feel responsible for him. It would make sense, with Neophyte being younger and someone he had personally brought into the fold at such a vulnerable point in the boy’s life. I like to imagine that Neophyte looked up these three Acolytes, seeing Frenzy and Carmella as the terrifying badasses they are, and Milan more as a kindred spirit cool big brother. Which would also be nice for Milan, since, again, it seems like the more aggressively-powered Acolytes looked down on him. I love Milan guys I love him so much ;A;

#xmen #x men #X men novels #francisco milan #mutant empire

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