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ollieofthebeholder · 2 months

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to find promise of peace (and the solace of rest): a TMA fanfic

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Chapter 99: February 2018

“Hello?”

Normally, nothing good followed someone yelling Hello into a seemingly empty room, especially something like, say, an archive in the basement of a two hundred year old building housing an institution devoted to the study of the paranormal and the supernatural. Conversely, nothing good ever came of answering a greeting cried into an otherwise empty room. Sasha had never forgotten the ancient American grandmother of one of her foster parents leaning down to peer at her through those gigantic coke-bottle glasses and impart a bit of wisdom to her: If you’re in the woods at night and you hear something call your name, no you didn’t. But the voice was Tim’s and he sounded panicked, and he would wake Melanie up if he kept shouting, so she at least needed to shut the door. Jon or Martin could tell him where she was and what was going on.

When she got up, though, and peeked through the glass window out of habit, she had a moment of panic. Tim was standing in exactly the same spot he’d stood to pick up the dropped tape recorder the day Jane Prentiss attacked, bending over in the exact same way, and for just a moment, the wild thought struck her: He didn’t see her! You have to save him!

Without thinking, she burst out the door of Document Storage and barely stopped herself from slamming it as she ran across the floor. “Tim!”

Tim looked up, and over his face spread a look of unalloyed relief. “Sash! Jesus, where is everyone? I thought…” He waved a hand at what was next to him.

Sasha’s brain caught up with the present. No attack, or at least not a new one. Tim wasn’t in danger. He’d thought she was, and the others, which was probably a reasonable assumption to make since none of them were present. As she got closer, she realized he was standing directly next to where they had done the impromptu surgery on Melanie.

“Melanie’s asleep in Document Storage,” she said slowly. “Mostly asleep. Jon and Martin are—actually, I’m not sure where they are. Probably doing first aid. Martin kind of got stabbed.”

“What? Christ Almighty.” Tim turned pale again. “I have to—are they in the office?”

“Maybe?” Sasha frowned, but Tim wasn’t even waiting for an answer. He was already striding across the floor, reaching for the door of the office—

“Tim, stop!”

Tim froze, hand outstretched. Sasha whirled around to see Jon rushing through the door connecting the Archives to the rest of the Institute. From the fact that he held two cups of tea, he’d obviously been in the break room; how he was managing to run without spilling it was beyond her.

She relieved him of Martin’s mug and set it on the desk. “What’s in there?”

“Where’s Martin?” Tim demanded, turning away from the office door.

“Back corner.” Jon closed his eyes and took a deep, shaking breath. “Tim, I’m—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to do that, I—”

“Jon, it’s okay, I get it. You’re under stress, it’s harder to control.” Tim held out a hand and took a couple breaths himself. “Can someone please tell me what the fuck is going on?”

“Melanie stabbed Martin,” Jon blurted out before Sasha could say anything. “She had a bullet from the ghost that shot her in India in her leg, it was poisoning her—he cut it out, but then Breekon o-or Hope, one of the two, turned up and delivered the coffin.”

“The Buried is in there?” Tim’s voice jumped an octave.

“Why only one of them?” Sasha asked at the same time.

“Yes, it—we, we got out of there, but…” Jon closed his eyes and clutched his mug of tea tightly, probably to stop his hands from shaking. “I—think Daisy killed the other one. That’s what Martin said. I—I was having a hard time following…i-it said something about paying our respects, and then said we might want to join our friend, and I—I panicked. I thought it was you. You weren’t here and—”

Sasha’s stomach twisted. Hadn’t she just believed the same thing—that Tim was in danger? God, what was it about today that they were both convinced they were going to lose him, be too late to save him?

Tim’s face creased in sympathy, and he crossed over to Jon, holding out his arms for a hug. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you—I overslept a bit, and I texted Martin as soon as I could, but—”

Jon set down the mug of tea and accepted the hug with a fierceness that belied the stoic, prickly exterior he’d tried to put on when he’d first joined the Institute. Sasha came over and joined them both, sensing all of them needed it. She also took the opportunity to subtly steer them a little further from the Archivist’s office. “Are you saying—what are you saying? Someone—something—is in there?”

“Daisy.” Jon’s voice was slightly muffled by Tim’s bicep. “Martin—he, he got its statement, sort of…e-extracted it, I guess? I don’t know how to describe it. He just…Looked at it, and kept—there was the static, and…” He took a breath and pulled back. “He’s, um, writing it down now. I think.”

“Just finished.” Martin’s voice from behind them made all three of them jump, and Sasha turned to see Martin coming towards them, a sheaf of statement forms in one hand and the patchwork cardigan he rarely wore dangling from the other. His shirt was torn and bloodied like Captain Kirk’s on an away mission, but much like Kirk, the wound appeared to be healed over already; unlike on Star Trek, though, Sasha didn’t think it was anything to do with the magic of television. There was a weariness in his eyes, but it didn’t seem like it was because he’d spent too much energy—more like he was just over everything right about now. “Tim, are you okay?”

“I’m—yeah. I didn’t mean to scare you all.” Tim glanced at the door of Document Storage. “I was coming to…Jon said Melanie stabbed you?”

“Tensions were…a bit high this morning. Yesterday, too, I think, but I wasn’t there for that one. Sasha had told me she stormed out in a huff after a fight yesterday afternoon, and she didn’t have her phone…I was getting ready to, um, use the Eye to find her when she showed up. I made the mistake of—no.” Martin shook his head firmly. “No, it wasn’t a mistake, she deserved to know I was going to do that, I can’t—anyway, she didn’t react well to me telling her what I’d been about to do. Everything escalated and I still don’t know where she found the knife, actually, but she ended up impaling me.” He gestured vaguely at the rent in his shirt. “To her credit, that did seem to shock her out of her rage. Long enough for Sasha to chloroform her, at any rate, so we could take a proper look at what was going on. It was the bullet in her leg, from when she got shot in India.”

“I thought she said there wasn’t one!”

“She said the doctors didn’t find one. I’m not entirely sure they could have found it to begin with. It was…I mean, it was real enough, I managed to get it out, but it was deep, close to the bone, and it definitely, um, had a somewhat complicated relationship with reality. We got it out.” Martin nudged the tray on the floor with his foot. “Probably ought to burn it later, if we can. It’s the Slaughter clear enough. She’d already been Marked by her encounter with whatever Sarah Baldwin stirred up at Cambridge Military Hospital, but—”

“Um—about that.” Tim held up a finger. Somehow he managed to look both sheepish and distressed, which was truly an expression only Timothy Stoker could pull off. “She was probably Marked a lot earlier than that.”

Martin stared at Tim. “What do you mean?”

Tim hesitated. “Gerry’s told you about his flashbacks, right?”

“Yeah,” Martin said slowly. Jon nodded, too.

Sasha shrugged. “He hasn’t, but Melanie did once, in one of her rants. They’re not just dreams, right? He’s reliving the moment?”

“Right. Well…they’re not always his, either. He doesn’t usually know—it’s a bit complicated, you’ll have to ask him to explain. But he had one yesterday, a really bad one, and it wasn’t his…moment he flashed back to, it was Melanie’s. She was at a…a lion dance, I think? Something like that? Anyway, one of the…lions…was attacking the musicians, and they called her for help and gave her a knife and she killed it. There’s probably more detail, but…” Tim took a deep breath. “It was before her mother died.”

“Jesus. She was seven.” Martin turned pale. “She was Marked that young? No wonder that bullet took hold so fast.”

“So fast? It’s been a year,” Sasha pointed out.

“And she hasn’t been feeding it constantly. Not really. If I’d known it was in there I never would have let her help fight the attacks off, but even with that the infection shouldn’t have spread that far that quickly.” Martin stared down at the sheaf of papers in his hand. “God, I should’ve Looked at all three of us for Marks years ago, but I just—I-I assumed I knew all the encounters we’d had. Gerry never really…got that close, before he had us in tow, and Melanie never talked about it, so I just…”

“It’s not your fault,” Jon protested. “Anyway, even if you’d known, what could you have done? You were children, Martin.”

Tim nodded. “If anyone should be apologizing, it should be me. I should have just called and told you what was going on, but…”

“I was already getting out the first aid kit when you texted.”

“Still. I should’ve reached out sooner, maybe I could’ve stopped this.”

Sasha raised an eyebrow. “How?”

“See, Gerry finally realized this morning there’s kind of a pattern to his flashbacks,” Tim explained. “Every time one comes up, especially one that’s not his originally, it’s usually been something that’s been a problem not long after. Like, right before you got kidnapped by Trevor and Julia, Martin? Gerry had a flashback to Daisy knocking someone out outside a bar and dragging him to a remote clearing to murder him, or, well, take him out, I guess, because he definitely belonged to the Slaughter. And he told me after you got back that he’d had a flashback about coming home himself just before you and Daisy turned up. So when he…woke up or came back to the present or whatever you want to call it, he realized there was…probably something Slaughter-related going to happen today. He had an appointment with someone about some books that he couldn’t cancel, so I said I’d handle it.” He looked down at his shoes. “Guess I handled it badly.”

“You didn’t,” Sasha argued. “You texted as soon as you woke up, didn’t you? Even if you’d called, it would have been too late at that point. You couldn’t possibly have got here any faster than you did, and it was all over by then. If something had been planning to attack us, or intending to attack us or whatever, you’d have made it in time to help us fight it off, I’m sure—certainly enough time to warn us about it—but how could any of us have known it would actually come from Melanie?”

“For her, maybe,” Jon said softly. “Even if you’d called and told us about the…flashback or whatever in time to give us warning, we’d have just been more worried about Melanie and she might have done worse.”

“Like stabbing someone out on the street,” Martin added. “Someone who wouldn’t heal so quickly. And if you’d just texted me with ‘The Slaughter is coming’ or something, I’d have panicked about what was going on with you two. They’re right, Tim. You did everything you could possibly have done. This isn’t your fault, or Gerry’s.”

Tim didn’t look convinced, but he did at least drop the subject. “And what were you saying about the coffin? Breekon and—or Hope? Not both?”

Martin shook his head. “Daisy killed one of them. I—I don’t know how much they really think—thought—of themselves as separate, they were always Breekon and Hope, a unit, even before they called themselves that—they were always one being in two, rather than two in one. But the surviving one is the one that usually spoke first, so I guess he’s Breekon.”

“And Daisy killed Hope. Fitting,” Sasha said under her breath.

Not under her breath enough, because Martin turned an extremely sharp look on her. His eyes flashed briefly, but his voice was mild as he corrected her, “Daisy killed the thing that was pretending to be Hope. That was never what he really was. Only what he called himself.”

Sasha held up her hands. “Fair enough. But…Breekon…delivered the coffin…to you?”

“Yeah. Probably hoping to get revenge by convincing me to go in there to rescue Daisy,” Martin said, sounding and looking tired once again. “I mean, it’s my fault she’s in there in the first place—”

“It is not,” Jon, Tim, and Sasha all said at once.

“I’m not going to argue with you about this.” Martin looked as though he very much would like to do exactly that, though. “Point is, it’s probably meant as a combination temptation and threat. Breekon is pretty much the strongest surviving aspect of the Stranger right about now, and he’s missing half of himself—you could hear when he was talking to us that he’s still expecting someone else to say the next sentence—which is probably why it’s taken him seven months to be strong enough to get through the Institute’s defenses and into the office. But he’s still making the effort to threaten us—me—and probably figured I wouldn’t be able to resist the urge to go into the pit after her.”

Sasha didn’t bother asking if Breekon was right. From the look of pure, abject fear that flitted through Jon’s eyes, there and gone in a second, she knew it was—that the second Martin had unfettered access to that office, he was going to attempt to sacrifice himself for Daisy, because that was what he always did and it was worse now that he thought it was his job.

“So which one of you made Breekon go away?” Tim asked, obviously thinking the same thing and knowing not to poke at it.

“Martin did,” Jon said. “I tried to, but…i-it didn’t work, any more than it worked at the House of Wax. I, I’d hoped…I don’t know.”

Now it was Martin’s turn to have fear run across his face. “Don’t lean into that, Jon. Please. I—I don’t want to risk losing you, too.”

Jon bit his lip and shot a guilty look at the door to Document Storage. Sasha’s stomach twisted unpleasantly again as she realized how close she had come to losing Melanie to the Slaughter. Well, not losing, necessarily; Martin was still Martin despite being an avatar of the Beholding, and Gerry was still Gerry despite being an avatar of the End, so the likelihood that Melanie would still be Melanie after becoming an avatar of the Slaughter was…okay, lower than if she’d been falling to a less destructive power, but still a possibility. Still, if she’d leaned into it without them noticing, without anyone to check her…

“Martin,” she said suddenly. “Melanie ought to be waking up soon. Why don’t you go in and sit with her while you record that statement you…extracted? That way you can get some privacy, somewhere that isn’t the tunnels and making you weak, and when she comes round she can see for herself you’re okay and you two can…talk or whatever.”

Martin stared at her. Sasha stared back at him, keeping her expression as blank and innocent as possible and hoping the lack of static meant he wasn’t looking into her head. After a too-long moment, he nodded. “You’ve…got a good point. Will you three be all right?”

“We’ll be fine,” Tim assured him. “And if Gerry gets here before you come out, we’ll clue him in and send him in too. This seems like a day for sibling time.”

His voice cracked slightly on the last words, and Martin’s forehead creased in obvious sympathy. He reached over and gave Tim a tight hug, then kissed Jon’s cheek and headed back into Document Storage.

The moment the door clicked shut behind him, Jon turned to Sasha. “All right, despite your…recommendation, I have to ask. Why did you just happen to have chloroform on hand to take Melanie down? And isn’t it illegal to purchase or sell?”

Sasha thought about lying, or avoiding the question, but something about Jon’s expression said he already had an idea. “Second question first, absolutely, and no, I’m not telling you where I got it. And as to your first question…it wasn’t for Melanie. Not originally, anyway. It was for Martin.” She dropped her eyes and held up a hand to forestall his reaction. “It’s for his own good. I just—I got worried about him, and I worried that he might…go too far. I talked it over with Tim, one day when you two were out somewhere, and we both agreed that we needed to have a backup plan to, well, take him down if he got dangerous. So I, um, did some research that probably got me put on several international watch lists.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Any watch list that would have put you on, you’ve probably been on since before I met you.” Jon sighed heavily. “I won’t pretend I’m happy about it…but I won’t pretend I don’t blame you, either. You’re right. Precautions are…smart. And I’m pretty sure Martin will feel the same.”

“You’d know.” Tim rubbed his hand over his face and glanced at the door to the Archivist’s office. “New question…what are we going to do about that? We can’t just leave it in there.”

Jon hesitated. “Martin suggested maybe taking it up to Artifact Storage, but…”

“Nope,” Sasha said with a shake of her head. “Last memo from Peter Lukas’s office, remember? ‘If resources are needed from another department, send the request in a memo and it will be sent to you if deemed necessary.’ No visiting around. We can’t just take things up there. And I don’t think putting a blatant artifact of the Buried up there would be ‘necessary’ in his opinion.”

“We could always just take it up to Basira’s office,” Tim mumbled. “She’s the only one that wants Daisy back so bad.”

“Tim!” Sasha said reproachfully.

“What? I’m just saying, She got all pissy about her being left behind, even if she did the leaving too.”

“Yeah, but—” Sasha and Jon said in unison. They looked at one another, and Sasha realized—to her surprise—that they were probably thinking the same thing. She gestured for Jon to go ahead.

Jon nodded, then turned to Tim. “She won’t go in after her. She prides herself so much on being logical and calculating…she won’t consider it worth the risk. She probably wouldn’t believe Daisy was still alive in there, let alone that anyone could safely get in and out. And if she climbs in, she won’t have anything to help her climb out again.”

Tim looked back and forth between Jon and Sasha, then evidently decided not to ask questions. “Fine, but…we have to do something to keep the others away from it. Martin thinks part of his duties as Archivist is to take all the danger on himself, no matter what that means, in the slim hope it might make things a little safer for any one of us, and he’s still blaming himself for Daisy whatever he said. Melanie will probably feel so guilty about Marking Martin and being…you know, all Slaughtered up for months on end that she’ll try and atone by going after Daisy, and Gerry feels like he has to protect his younger siblings, which right now includes you two. And if any of them go down there, you know they won’t be coming back up. It won’t let them go.”

“You’re right.” Jon stared at the door to the Archivist’s office.

Sasha definitely did not like that look on his face. “Jon. What are you planning?”

“No,” Tim said, voice full of foreboding. “No, absolutely not, no way in hell. You are not—”

“I have to,” Jon insisted. “If Daisy is still in there, still alive—she doesn’t deserve that, nobody does, Tim. I’ve been Marked by the Hunt—”

“By Daisy herself!”

“Which means it should be easier for me to find her,” Jon pointed out. “You two don’t have that.”

“And how do you plan to find your way back out again?” Tim demanded.

Sasha’s mind raced. It was a bad idea, of course it was, but Jon was right—someone was eventually going to go down there, someone had to go down there, and logically, it being Jon made the most sense. On the other hand, Martin would absolutely throw himself into the coffin after him if anything happened…

Martin. That was it.

“Martin,” she said out loud. “You two have been saying it for ages—you ground each other, you anchor each other. He’s got part of your heart and you have part of his—maybe not literally, but fuck it, these things are more than half metaphor anyway, right? Once you find Daisy, all you have to do is remember Martin and you’ll be out in no time.”

Jon straightened and smiled a little, the way he frequently did around Martin in their saner, less stressful moments. Tim looked unhappy. “You don’t know it’s going to work.”

“It’s the best chance we’ve got,” Sasha said. “Not like he can leave a literal part of his body out here as an anchor. Can’t cut off a finger or toe or whatever.”

Obviously picking up on where she was going with that, Jon gave a thoughtful shrug. “I suppose I could ask…try to get hold of Michael and see if he’ll let me talk to Jared Hopworth. I don’t think he killed him, so if he’s trapped down there, maybe he could, I don’t know, pull out a rib for me to use as an anchor. If you think me having something physical will be better.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you two?” Tim scowled. “Trusting the Distortion or the Boneturner would be the height of stupidity, trusting both of them is so far above stupid it’s bordering on insanity, and it’s not like you just know where your bones are even when they’re not part of your body, or kids would know what happens to their teeth when they fall out.”

Jon crossed his arms over his chest. “Then you agree. Martin as my anchor is the best bet.”

“Obviously that’s the best bet.”

“Good, it’s settled then.” Jon opened a desk drawer and pulled out two things—a small tape recorder and a strip of pictures from one of those photo booth things you sometimes saw at carnivals or in shopping arcades. He tucked the photo strip into his pocket and gripped the recorder, then looked at Tim and Sasha. “Tell him where I’ve gone, and that I love him. I’ll be back soon. I hope we both will.”

“Be careful, Jon.” Sasha hugged him.

Jon hugged her back, then turned to the Archivist’s office and walked up to the door. He squared his shoulders, took a deep breath, and pulled the door open, then closed it firmly behind himself and was gone.

Tim blinked hard, then looked at Sasha. “What the hell did I just agree to?”

Sasha should probably feel guilty about the way she and Jon had manipulated Tim into acquiescing to the scheme, impromptu though it was, but she didn’t. It was their only option, and they’d had to get him on board with it somehow. “The only chance we’ve got to make this right.”

Tim swallowed and turned to look at the closed office door. “Hope you’re right, Sasha. I really hope you’re right.”

#ollie writes fanfic #tma fanfic #the magnus archives #to find promise of peace (and the solace of rest)#sasha james #tim stoker #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #panic #blood mention #stabbing mention #manipulation #guilt #mention of non-consentual medical intervention

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d-lissa · 10 months

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Liveblogging TMA - Season 3 - MAG 118-120

"Just because you don’t understand doesn’t mean it’s a lie."

SEASON THREE FINALE

In three parts this time !

Have I mentionned just how much I hate this podcast ? Because I do. Just. Fuck this story. Can't stop pulling at my heartstrings.

At least, this time around I saw most of that coming, so it didn't panick me as much as the last two finales but WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN JONATHAN DREAMS OF THE STATEMENTS HE RECEIVED EXCUSE ME-

I just. We just can't let this man not be traumatized for five minutes, can we ? No wonder the man can't fucking sleep if he always dream of the people he received the statements of dying miserably every night. Is that what the people who gave the statements dream of too ? Or, since everyone mentions feeling better, did he, like, eat the fears they talked about ?

You know what ? I don't know how much The Institute pays its workers, but the man ain't paid enough for this bullshit.

Here's to hoping Peter will propose that therapy thing to him as well whenever he wakes up, if he isn't in on probably sacrificing Jon to the Eye for the Watcher's Crown, that is.

At this point, you know the deal.

THE MASQUERADE :

"Sorry, Elias. I can’t hear you. There’s – a door in the way."

Pfft. I have to say, I was confused for a bit, but I found that beginning extremely funny.

And so we start with Martin burning statements. Probably to make sure that Elias is occupied and can't go magically snooping around. Of course, we know it ends badly for Martin, but man was that moment cathartic. Martin should act up more often, actually.

Meanwhile, at the wax museum, Jon is a worried mess and the canddle work is sloppy. Man, the Stranger could've tried harder at least.

"When you were, um, kidnapped, did you leave a tape recorder here?"

And of course, a tape recorder appeared out of fucking nowhere. I am not even surprised at this point. Might as well, you know ? Thank you The Web, for giving us listeners an opportunity to see this mess happen in real time.

"Oh, so that’s it, isn’t it. Martin’s just acting out. I mean, Daisy’s a “rabid dog,” and Melanie’s a potential killer, Tim’s a – a rogue element, but Martin, oh Martin’s just acting out. He’ll have a cry, and a lie down, and feel much better."

Oof.

I mean, to be fair, his actions does look like more of a temper tantrum than anything else. Like, I know it's a plot and all, but also, compared to our previous resident arsonist, I can't say that Martin is being very intimidating here.

Which is fair, it's not the point, but it's not like he's lying here either, is he ? He wants to be taken seriously. I kind of feel bad for him.

And of course, the entire mom backstory only worsened that feeling. I will not quote it, because I am hurt enough as is, but Jesus fucking Christ, it explains so much about Martin's behaviour and how he interacts with others.

Sorry Martin, I know you love your mother very much, but man what a bitch.

Back at the unknowing, the wax work isn't actually wax work, and Jon is ... Strangely appreciative of the setting ?

"Yes. I suppose it is."

Like, what do you mean, you suppose it is "holy", Jon ? I mean, I guess seeing something so uncomprehensible for the first time would be quite an experience, and to be fair, I myself am quite curious about, but "holy" ?

Terrific, horrific, nauseating. Jon, I feel like you're being too admirative here. It is profane, and something that should scare you. Though, I suppose it does ?

It scares him and he finds it beautiful anyway, or maybe even because of how terrible it is ? Jon, you're still trying to sell the fact that you have some common sense left, don't go full tortured artist on the things that are actively out to get you.

My God, his head must be such a traumatized mess.

Guess he really makes a good Archivist. Always seeking knowledge and reveling in it, despite ... Everything surrounding it. God knows that outside the context, I too would be mesmerized by it all. It sounds like a fucking trip.

"And I guess you don’t need skin to sing. To join the choir."

God, this is messed up, I love it so much. The imagery in this podcast is out of this world.

Speaking of messed up, more Elias scheming his way into being number one hated character of all time and being quite succesful at it.

But before that, a well earned rant from Martin. God, nobody can catch a fucking break in this story.

"Well, I hope you’ve got something better than that pathetic dig at my feelings for Jon."

I really love how the story is so overt about this, about how Martin very much has feelings for Jon and that they very much are romantic. I wonder how they've come to pass.

Still, I'd hardly say that the way Jon treats Martin is that bad. It's not perfect, obviously, and Jon is kind of a bitch, especially in the first season, but he was also overworked taking over a job he had no qualifications in with a member of his staff that had even less qualifications.

And he was hardly needlessly cruel, just cutting with his words, but still willing to help out how he could when Martin needed help.

I just don't think me and the people in this story have the same definition of "treating someone very badly", not going to lie.

But gosh, the sobs did hurt me.

"Tim, contrary to what you think, I did not bring you here to indulge your death wish."

Except that Tim very much came to do just that. The man wanted to go out swinging, with a bang.

At least he got his wish.

But Jon must feel so hurt seeing someone he cares about so ready to give away his life like that.

STRANGER AND STRANGER :

Man, this entire episode is a fucking trip.

In the most litteral of senses.

"Of course you don’t. You can’t. Not anymore."

Jon is confused and lost and doesn't remember anything ever. The way this is all told through an audio format is so amazing, I am genuinely impressed. I feel like if this had an actual visual support, it'd be less impactful than having to use my imagination to feel how things must be like there.

Love how Nikola is passing herself as Tim and how Jon feels better thinking that he's with his friend, even if he is so confused by everything. Nikola doesn't have mind reading abilities, does she ?

Did Jon talk to her about him when he was being kidnapped ? Talked about the people close to him in some delirious moments of fear or pain ? About Sasha and how he can't remember her because of Nikola's ilk ?

"No, you’re not. Because nothing is anything. Leave."

I also love how everyone has a different way of dealing with the situation. Jon is trying to understand, and to do what he is supposed to do, even if he can't remember what it was, because that's just who he is. He always needs to understand. And he is trying to trust his friends, to trust Tim, because he said he would trust the people around him.

Meanwhile, Daisy is focusing on herself, not believing anything and not trying to understand, just pushing everything away until there is nothing but rage and violence. She can't think, she can't differenciate things, but she doesn't need to, she just needs to listen to herself and the blood guiding her. And she loses herself to it.

"I said get away!"

Tim is just as distrustful as Daisy, just as angry, but he doesn't have the blood, he is just bitter and angry and he cannot trust. He is scared and confused, and so he isolates himself because others only always hurt.

And finally, Basira is just as confused. Like Jon, she wants to understand things, but she is trying to rationalize everything because she is less emotional and attached than he is. She can think but can't understand, but she doesn't need to understand because there's no stakes for her here. She came to help, but can't remember that, so the best way is to listen to herself and not listen to anything else, because she is right and the world is wrong. All she needs to do is get away.

Of course, Jon never would've done that, because he needs to stay and understand and help.

"Don’t be obtuse, Jon. I’m here because you failed."

Oof. Man, Nikola is good at making people doubt themselves.

Anyway, after the "I'm your friend" angle stopped working, Nikola starts gaslighting Jon through Gertrude and Leitner, two people he respects very little but who's disappointment would sting like hell.

And Nikola just knows where to hit, it's impressive.

And Jon listens, Jon feels like everything she is saying is the truth, and he is so sorry about it, oh my fucking god. He just wants to make everything better, but he doesn't know how, and he isn't allowed to think for himself, forced to be overwhelmed by the situation, not understanding anything until he is reminded of what he is.

"I see you."

The Archivist.

"Shame you don’t know your own coffin. But you will."

Daisy, half feral, killed Hope, and for that she is stuck into the coffin. Wherever that leads her, I don't think she's dead, but she will suffer. For a long, long time.

And meanwhile, Basira managed to logic her way out of the Unknowing. Impressive, even if it makes me wonder what she was supposed to achieve here. Did Daisy become like that because Basira wasn't here for her ? Basira is her partner, the one grounding her, so it makes sense that if Daisy loses her, then she loses herself.

It is good that Basira managed to get away, but she didn't do anything to help the situation, did she ? I can't imagine she will feel good about herself once she realize that she's left everyone behind.

"I see the sad clown, bitter and hateful. I see him finding his way into the circus where nobody knew him. I see him torn apart, becoming the mask, remade by a cruel ringmaster. Sometimes a doll, sometimes a mannequin, always hiding in somebody else’s skin. Somebody else’s name."

That little speech was kind of cathartic, even if what it means for Jon is kind of gruesome. But I also am so tired of monsters condescending the hell out of him.

"Jon. I don’t know if you can hear me, but if you can… then I don’t forgive you. But thank you for this."

... I mean, really, Jon didn't do anything warranting the need for Tim's forgiveness, outside of maybe the stalking. But I don't think that's what was on Tim's mind when he said this. Sounds more like even in the end, he blames Jon for everything that happened, as if Jon himself wasn't just as much a victim.

But.

I get it.

No matter how much it hurts me to think about.

"I know."

And so, on a joke that doesn't stick its landing, the bitter existence of Timothy Stoker comes to an end in a blaze of glory, taking with him the Circus, avenging his brother.

Oh, and also Jon, who definitely got killed by the blast for this one.

... Except that it is, unfortunately for Jon, not the case.

EYE CONTACT :

Honnestly, I considered just writing "What the fuck" repeatedly for this entire episode because what the actual HELL-

But, I figure this'd be taking the easy way out.

"Statement of Elias Bouchard, regarding the dreams of Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, currently unresponsive. Details pulled directly from subject."

Ok, but seriously, WHAT is Elias ? How does he have the powers to take the statements from others ? Like, he is worshipping The Eye as well, obviously, but I thought this power over statements and such would be the Archivist's, you know ? It just sounds like those powers would be more useful to them rather than Elias who isn't an Archivist.

But he still has all the powers of one ! And more, even. Will Jon get on his level one day then ? But how did Elias manage to get all these powers when Jon got them all through BEING The Archivist ?

Urgh.

"The Archivist does not know where he is, and in many ways that is correct, for to say that he was anywhere would be an error. He has no conception of his body, lying on that gray hospital bed, perplexing the doctors. Heart unbeating, lungs unmoving, but mind and nerves alive and firing wildly: everything but brain-dead."

God, this is fucked up. This is so fucked up, what the heeeeell.

I will not quote the dream sequence, because just thinking about it makes me ill and sorry for Jon, he's just. Stuck there. Repeating over and over again the doom of everyone that has ever confided in him. And they see him too, and they judge him, and they think him responsible, which he IS because they wouldn't even have those dreams for every remaining nights of their life and I am SAD about it, ok ?

What happens when the victims are awake ? Does Jon just not dream ? Please tell me he isn't constantly being mentally tortured with the death and suffering of other people without being able to move a finger and forced to relish in their fear and constatntly watched. I thought giving statements was supposed to feel GOOD. Why are they like this ?

Fuck.

Anyway, the people he sees in his dreams. In order, we have :

Lionel Elliot, statement giver of "Anatomy Class"

Tessa Winters, statement giver of "Binary"

This would be the place of Daisy's statement from "Hard Shoulder", were she not stuck in the coffin. (Also, the fact that he hopes to see her, it hurts me, he just wants to be reassured that the psycho murder cop is ok, I can't.)

Karolina Gorka, statement giver of "Underground". I guess sje isn't dead as I first assumed, as there are no dreams from the statements of now dead people. Honnestly, I wonder what Jon thought when Sasha's statement disappeared. Did it not and just changed to show Not-Sasha instead ? And I wonder what happened to Helen's when she was trapped in the Soiral corridors but before becoming The Distortion.

After, it should be either Helen Richardon's statement from "The New Door", or Michael Shelley's/The Distortion's statement from "Another Twist". Jon is affraid to know what is behind the door, and I have to say, so am I. It is fitting that The Distortion is the thing we understand the least here, considering what it is, the confusion it creates. I wonder if it has anything to do with how The Distorion itself works. What would happen if the door were to be opened ?

Jordan Kennedy, statement giver of "Pest Control".

At first, I thought it was Jude Perry, as this was the only person we've heard of setting herself on fire, statement giver of "Twice As Bright". I had wondered what the avatars thinks of Jon giving them those nightmares and watching them. However, after actually paying attention, I found my answer and avatars can apparently avoid having those dreams ? Which is nice ? Does this mean that even if Mike Crew were alive, he'd be able to hide his dream ? But then, who's statement is it ? Obviously, the figure burning and filled with holes is Jane Prentiss, but from what statement is she from ? Not her own, obviously. I don't think she gave a statement while her worms were eating Jon and Tim, and written statements don't COUNT. So is it from Jordan's statement, despite him barely mentionning her compared to the landlord guy that was probably of The Lightless Flame ? I am just confused on this one. Also, where the fuck is Martin's statement ? He's not dead, obviously, and the only others that can avoifd the dreams are avatars apparently, right ?

Trevor Herbert and Julia Montauk, statement givers of "Nightfall". Since those dreams are here, then I guess they weren't avatars of the hunt, and simply influenced/markes by it, like Daisy is, which is not enough to avoid the Eye. Do the written statements really not count ? I'd assume not, otherwise Jon would've even worse things to see and watch, but then the line "He recognizes that look from the other hunter, whose dreams he has watched for so long." kind of implies the opposite. Also, why are THEIR nightmare not their cruel and painful death, but rather them hunting for Jon himself ? Is that their "bad end", rather than death ? Does Becoming count as worse than the end ?

Naomi Herne, statement giver of "Alone". Which, considering that this is "the oldest of the dreams", then that means that written statements definitely don't count ! Then I guess earlier was just an allusion to Daisy, he recognize their look from her, who's nightmare he did use to suffer.

Georgina Barker, statement giver of "Dead Woman Walking". Guess her lack of fear keeps her from actually feeling affected by the dream, even if she still has it ?

Ok, I am guessing that the statements from "Human Remains" didn't count, though it would've been pretty funny if Jon just found Elias in his nightmares. It would've been fitting.

Jurgen Leitner is dead, and so can't haunt Jon's dreams, and same thing for Gerry Keay and Mike Crew.

As for Melanie, Martin and Basira's, I just remembered that anyone affiliated to the Institute is free from those dreams ! Stupid memory, I legit totally forgot about that one, despite Basira and Daisy mentionning it before. Which explains why the ones from "Human Remains" can't count, because all the subjects were of the Institue, except for Not-Sasha.

I wonder how many of those does Elias have.

"The Ceaseless Watcher of all that is, and all that was; the voracious, infinite hunger the tears at his soul, invoking him to discover, to observe, to experience all, and everything, and forever."

At this point, you could've just titled the episode "The Ominous Episode" and it would've done the job, honnestly. Jesus fucking Christ. Why FOREVER anyway ? Surely it can get new puppets ! Leave Jon aloooooone, damn it !

(I mean, I am actually kind of freaking out about the relationship between an avatar and their Fear, and the "love" they have for one another, but that morbidity is also battling against my hard earned instincts of wanting Jon to be ALRIGHT AND HAPPY, DAMN IT !)

Anyway, heartbraking statement over, I am getting a little treat in hearing Elias get beat up for a bit, which is nice.

You will not be missed, you beautiful bastard.

I know that he's going to come back later, because he literally has dirt on every one of the people who will guard him, and that he'll probably have a very cosy stay in prison all things considered up until he decides he just don't feel like playing along anymore as he has done, but a nice little break from him.

Maybe being away will stop him from ruining Jon's life ?

That'd be nice.

"You didn’t tell her. Worried she might create too much of a scene? I understand. I just hope she… doesn’t hold it against you."

I uh ... Wouldn't hold my breath for that. Especially considering that objectively, killing Elias would be for the best, even if it doomed everyone at the institute to die a painful death.

Not that Melanie has been very considering of other factors that aren't immediate satisfaction at watching that bastard suffocate with his neck in her hands. Which is fair, but also, she really should do something about that. Tunnel vision is understandable, but do try to think of others outside yourself, please.

All of that being said ?

Good on Martin, honnestly. He did something, outsmarted the mastermind, kept his cool and managed to trick him. He's probably feeling absolutely awful about Jon's situation, and Tim's too, even with their strained relationship by the end, but I guess a win is a win.

Even if it probably feels hollow when compared to all the losses.

He did good. He should have some rest.

"To be honest with you, Martin, I didn’t expect to be taking over the place so soon, or in quite such a state of disarray. But I’ll do my best to keep the place afloat."

... Though it doesn't look like Peter will let that happen.

We just never can have nice things, can we ?

But hey, this time around there will be less murders ! And also ... Therapy ? Damn that's nice, definitely need that here. For literally everyone.

"I think we’re going to great things, Martin. Great. Things."

... You don't say.

Oh, it is going to be a fucking mess next season, huh ?

OVERALL :

Amazing season, definitely my favourite so far, it was SO good. I am HERE for the character driven story and the overarching plot, as you may have noticed through all of my ramblings.

I can't wait to see what's next to come !

You know, other than pain and misery and wretchedness and torment and grief and heartache and sorrow and-

Well. You get the idea, right ?

Is it too much to ask for Jon to be ok ? I just don't want him in pain, that's all. Maybe that now that Elias is in jail it could happen ?

... Yes, I am in denial, shush. I am emulating my inner Jon, ok ?

I feel like I have made the point all throughout the season, so I don't really have anything to clear up at the end, do I ? Or maybe I do but just can't think of one.

That being said, I do want to think of what kind of avatars the cast would be !

Honnestly, for Jon, I legitimately can't accept anything other than The Eye. The guys isn't a good enough liar or interested into manipulating others or anything of the sort to belong to The Web, he's just a curious little guy ! He wants to know stuff, ALL the stuff, all the time and frankly ? I relate man. That being said, considering just how many times he has been the victim of another fear already, and I am assuming that they feed more strongly on the people they've marked, I like to think that he is also feeding them a little, from time to time. And that they'd like him, maybe ? I mean, as much as they can "like" anything, I guess. A little snack !

Martin, I say, got big The Web vibes, in the pathetic sad little guy kind of way. This guy could probably stage an entire murder and let proofs that it was him all over the place and he'd still manage to cute his way out of it. That being said, I don't want him filled with spiders, thank you very much, so if not The Web, then The Lonely ! That guy just cannot be the priority of anyone ever, can he ? RIP.

Tim would absolutely despise having anything to do with The Stranger, obviously, and would probably have a really fun burning them to the ground. Honnestly, while I know he isn't exactly horny for the fire and the pain and stuff, I do think he'd make an interesting avatar of The Desolation. If not, then senseless rage aiming to destroy everything around him also suits, so at least a Slaughter one.

Sasha was really curious too, though I do feel like it was in a different way than Jon, and she was a researcher. I think she'd have made an adequate servant of The Eye ? But I just don't know enough about her to give more thought to it, and what we got is very basic. Honnestly, if I had only season 1 Tim or Martin I would've said they were good for The Eye too, even though in retrospect they very much weren't, just because of their job ! And Sasha wasn't really exactly here just for the knowledge. Headcanon time, I think The End would've worked ? She was pragmatic and (very much) not scared of death, considering her ... Everything, she seems to be the kind to look it dead in the eyes as it comes to take her.

Melanie, considering her whole anger and murderous urges of the season, I'd say an avatar of The Slaughter. Maybe even Desolation ? But, no, she's not in the business of destroying lives, and dance on the ashes, more blind rage and anger with no filter. If not The Slaughter, then maybe The Stranger ? She sometimes speaks as if she can't recognize herself anymore, as if she was a stranger in her own skin. I think it fits, somewhat ? Or that could also be The Flesh, now that I think about it.

Basira, honnestly, The Spiral. Just. Straight up. Just how crazy do you gotta be to make sense of what doesn't have any ? She wouldn't fall victim to it, as she is always so sure of herself and her decisions, a total rock in the midst of chaos, being the one to know and leave others to their doubts. Plus, I think she'd be able to make someone doubt themselves, to be honnest. So, either The Spiral or The Web. She's got a controlling streak, I feel.

Daisy, well, obviously it's The Hunt. She has already been affected by it the entire time we've known her, there's nothing to her character that isn't tailored for The Hunt. That being said, this is the boring answer, and considering how she is, I'd say she'd make good work serving The Lonely. No violence there, obviously, only that insidious knowledge that you are alone and always will be and that, maybe, it'd be better for you. For everyone else. Were she to suddenly gain awareness of who she is, I think she'd feel pretty lonely in general. i think she already does somewhat, considering just how much she and Basira clings to each other.

Georgie is marked by The End, of course, but that's not something she'd end up serving, is it ? Real talk here, I feel like she'd be pretty suited for The Vast. Of course, she's not affraid of heights or anything, since she can't feel fear at all, and actually that would definitely keep her from even being an avatar, but that's not the point. Just, that feeling of insignificance, of powerlessness, that no matter what you do, you can't ever matter, you can't ever change anything, I think that this is something she might be able to relate to, considering her past eperiences. And honnestly, I feel like she is the type of person who would make you confront that feeling heads on, whether you wanted it or not.

Elias is obviously serving The Eye, and I don't see him ever even consider any of the others, but if he had to, then The Spiral would fit, I think. You just know that this gaslighting king looooves drive others crazy for his own entertainment. That would also be the results I would give to Jonah Magnus, to be honnest.

Gertrude was, obviously, never really Beholding material considering her everything. However, she was a seasoned arsonist with no scrupules to making others suffer, so The Desolation it is ! Not even because of Agnes, she'd just have got it on her own. If not that, then The Hunt, maybe ?

The Admiral would, obviously, serve The End, I mean, it's a CAT. Of course it is planning your doom while hiding behind a harmless exterior. But it wouldn't chase you, nooooo, it'd just act cute and you'd just follow it towards your end. Fool.

Hm. Did I miss anyone important ? I feel like I missed some important people. Boo.

Oh well, if I did, just tell me, I'll add them ! It was fun to do !

The quote of the post will be :

"There is nowhere in this universe that it would not blot out the sky."

End Liveblogging.

#tma #the magnus archive #liveblogging #liveblog-tma

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chaoticpinetree · 1 year

Text

So I had a flight today, it was an hour late which was annoying because you know, well, over an hour more at the airport, but I listened to. So many TMA episodes before, during and after the flight. Except the start because I slept through that, like half an hour, then woke up in the air. And I had a brief moment of looking out of the window and gasping like wow... I can see the constellations... And then they turned the lights back on in the plane :C

Anyway so TMA!

So let me start by saying that the fact that Jon tried cutting his own finger off is absolutely deranged, so is the fact that he goes oh well Boneturner would be useful I guess and Melanie goes hah funny thing about that— And then it turns out that Helen is just hanging out around still. I still think that Jon is taking the whole 'being Helen except not' thing too personally.

"If I'm an it, Archivist, what does that make you?" exactly

So! Jon got Daisy out! And if Elias is to be believed (obviously he's a lying bastard who can't be trusted but you know, I guess sometimes he tells the truth) he's the first person ever to do so, which is... Quite impressive. What's slightly terrifying though is that The Buried is just absolutely filled with these tormented people who can just... Never die. Just... Jesus. Literally hell?

But Jon and Daisy are out! And Martin was the one who left the tapes! I wonder if they actually helped. They must've done something. But Jon's rib couldn't've been meaningless either, I think.

Well anyway they're out so that's good, Daisy is now traumatised which is slightly less good, but at least she doesn't want to kill Jon anymore and so Jon has someone around who doesn't want him dead, so that's something!

And Peter Lukas is being shady (or, hehe, foggy) and manipulating Martin while Martin knows... I wonder how that'll go. I mean probably pretty badly, the comics from the Lonely angst were some of the ones that convinced me to listen to TMA lmao

ALSO the fact that Daisy figured well, Basira is trapped here anyway, so she broke into Peter's office, stole an employment contract and signed one for herself queen

But yeah. Anyway and also this exchange?

Daisy: You need to stop moping. Jon: I what? Daisy: You need to stop swanning around, being all sad. Jon: I, I’m not swanning around Daisy: "Boo hoo I am so alone and a monster” Jon: I am alone. Martin is— Daisy: Busy doing paperwork. Not like he’s dead. Besides, he’s not the only other person here, you know. There’s me, Melanie, Basira— Jon: Traumatised, traumatised, and paranoid because of me.

10/10 brilliant lmao. There's so much here. The fact that Daisy can pinpoint Jon's issues and make fun of them in such a perfect and accurate way. The fact that Jon only focused on the fact that Martin is gone (well also Tim and Sasha) and Daisy's like dude we're still here. Well obviously a lot can be unpacked, one would argue that two traumatised people who also both tried to kill Jon in the past + one paranoid person who does not trust Jon at all, maaaaybe aren't the best company. But hey.

Anyway also this exchange between Elias and Martin: Martin: You love manipulating people. Elias: That makes two of us. Like bitch what? Martin? I mean sure he's got an inner bastard but come on, Elias. Come on. We all know you're a bigger one.

And I also listened to 141 which is pretty neat because Jon forces a statement out of someone and I'm just like *sees a monstrous trait out in the daylight* *screams from excitement* and I think the short argument between Jon and Basira after that was... Interesting.

Basira comes off as a hypocrite this season, because like, she wants Jon to be more cold and ruthless like Gertrude was, but whenever he displays any trait that could count as such, whenever he shows his inhuman side more, she's unhappy about that. Meanwhile Jon is indeed, as Daisy said, moping, and the thing is that he can't be like Gertrude. Because he does not see people as tools to be used and discarded, sacrificed to stop any apocalypse. He specifically said multiple times that he does not want to lose anyone else. That he went to the Buried himself because he didn't want to risk anybody else's life and he figured if he fails, worst case scenario is the world simply loses another monster. Which, like, damn, dark much, but well it kind of shows that Jon, if he was ever to become like Gertrude, would need a lot of character development—or, well, character corruption I guess—and I don't think that's going to happen because he's just so far from that kind of person that it wouldn't be feasible, especially since we've only got 1,5 season left now.

Well anyway so I don't get Basira because she's like 'yea ruthlessness to save the world' but when Jon forces a statement out of a random guy she's like 'oh :/ but he's gonna have nightmares until the end of his life now :/' like well yes but he's unharmed and alive?

EXCEPT I also agree with Basira on the detail that she thought Jon should care about this. Because he should. Except part of me is also not surprised that after not being trusted, after Basira wanting to use him, after she told him to be more like Gertrude and to be stronger because well she needs him to be, why should he be blamed for finally listening? But well.

Well it's all a very messy situation honestly and I understand why it's hard for everyone I'm just. Rambling a lot of my observations.

ALSO THIS

Basira: Have you got a pen? Jon: Uhh – Yeah, i-in the drawer. Basira: *opens the drawer* Ah, John. What’s this? Jon: Hm? Oh. That’s… I, th, uh – that’s my rib. Basira: *short silence* Right. Jon: Yep. Basira: And… the jar of ashes. Jon: Not – not, m,mine – I mean, it belongs to me, I, I, I guess, but it’s not – stationery is in the, uh, other drawer. PLEASE lmao 10/10 too

Anyway the description of the next episode left me SO excited so I'm gonna go listen to that now :3

#tma #tma reactions #the magnus archives #mag 131 #mag 132 #mag 133 #mag 134 #mag 135 #mag 136 #mag 138 #mag 140 #mag 141

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bibatbrat · 1 year

Text

TMA Season 3

Okay so somehow I’m almost done w Season 4 and I forgot to post my notes for Season 3. Whoops.

A Guest for Mister Spider pops off so hard. The Web serves cunt and that’s all it ever does.

Elias is a bitch and I like him so much

His Daisy voice is so infuriatingly hilarious

Drawing a Blank v good and also proposes the hypothesis that all good retail managers die grisly deaths, which I think might be worth looking into

Melanie said this place needs some GIRL POWER and she’s fucking right!!!!

Upon the Stairs slaps and it’s such an angsty, juicy look at what Jon might deal with as his humanity slips away

Tim asking Melanie about the two Sashas... Jesus Christ

THE BLANKET NEVER DID ANYTHING

The plumber guy who gets called to the Stranger camp in Gwydir Forest is so fucking funny... learn what flensing is, my guy

D-I-G

Nooooo they lost the calliope!

Jude Perry... hot ;)

“I lied.” *sound of screaming* YESSSSSSSS

Tim jetting off to fucking Malaysia... my man is going through it

Michael Crew is really just some guy huh

Also him window-shopping for an Entity is so fucking funny.

Aww just some guy who got merc’d :(

Scary Daisy my beloved

Elias calling the police like, “Hello, I am going to get my ass beat in 15min so please send help then.”

One big happy (hostage) work family <3

Containment fucks me up so fucking bad. The horror aspect of it with the Corruption is already freaky, but the angst is more upsetting tbh. The image of the father-in-law looking at Lester with the purple mold creeping into his eye veins is haunting

Jon spends the entire first season bitching about Martin not knowing what he’s doing and everyone being unprofessional af and now Georgie’s like, “Bitch name one single qualification you have for being head archivist”

The moment you die will feel exactly the same as this one :)

Fellas... is it gay to give your homie a kiss before leaping to your death after a week-long hunt for a supernatural deserter?

Basira is so fucking funny. Queen of reading.

There being a Breekon and no Hope gets me. He wanted to call it Breekon and Sons!!!

Just. The image of Jan Kilbride sitting all by himself in the car in front of the pit, crying, right before Gertrude kills and dismembers him to stop the Sunken Sky is so fucked up. God.

Tim and Jon are fightinggggg

Also it’s so interesting how Tim and Melanie are the only ones who ever bring up that the Institute is obviously evil and doing what it wants makes them evil. Everyone else just buried that shit and then one day they’ll die.

Elias said Melanie please get better at attempting murder or knock it the fuck off :/

Michael archives assistant!!!

Beholding Avatar powers include being soooo good at getting kidnapped

Martin really paid that bitch his own money for her shitty ghost story huh

Tim getting the paranoid urban explorer guy is especially hurtful and that man is lowkey lucky to be alive

Peter Lukas is so fucking funny. He banished that guy to the Lonely for the crimes of a) not knowing where Elias’s office is and b) being kind of annoying

Another Twist is so fucking gooooood. Nikola talking to Elias through the recorder is very camp and then just everything with Michael.

HE. TRUSTED. HER.

The door just. Not opening when Jon tries it is so fucking funny

HELEN TO THE RESCUE(ish)!!!!!!!

Oh my god he was gone for a fucking month

Elias is like, “Unfortunately, sometimes you have to beat a man to death with a pipe.”

idk a Frenchmen totally ignoring his hygiene to become a broodmother to a giant monster scarab doesn’t seem that supernatural to me?

I need you all to know that since middle school I have been a vocal proponent of the viewpoint that pigs are monsters that would eat a person given the chance, to the point where it’s become an inside joke w my close friends and family... the monster pig episode was validating af

But also imagine looking for evidence of the supernatural circus skinning people and stealing it for their dark rituals and instead you get Monster Pig Eats Clown

Jon using his powers to compel people to give him blackmail material lmao

Tim :(

God I love the “the person you were trying to rescue was dead before you even started looking for them” trope

Elias eavesdropping on Tim’s tragic backstory and then immediately running downstairs to be like, “please god do not fuck this up for us”

And Tim says, “You will have to literally kill me to stop me from fucking this up.”

We better get some more info on Danny, I s2g

ngl, the floating away from the space station with nothing but your tether connecting you to anything sounds kinda awesome... the galaxy-spanning monster less so

Basira and Melanie gossiping about their coworkers

It be that old, “Yeah, sure. They died peacefully.” lie

Elias offering Melanie the rest of the day off after irreparably scarring her psyche akljdaskdsjd he really is that bitch

Gertrude did a lot of fucked up shit, but the most fucked up shit she ever did (imo) was putting Gerard in the book knowing how fucking awful it would be for him.

Imagine being a badass, goth, globe-trotting monster hunter and then you just fucking die of brain cancer in fucking Pittsburgh.

The scary Desolation cop statement is so good. It’s fucking chilling when the cop asks Ewing what he loves most in the world and he says his father. And it’s Johnny Sims doing both fucking voices!!!

But wait! It’s Trevor the Vampire Hunter, jumping out of the trunk w a steel chair!

We did the Seven Ages of Man monologue as my high-school theater initiation and Monologue gave me war flashbacks

Martin and Peter’s awkward smalltalk lol

Jon asking Trevor and Julia what they do for money is so funny. Pragmatic, nosy bitch.

Creature Feature good

GERRYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY

Gerry’s last thoughts being that he wants his mom, and him using his last bit of strength to fucking stamp that thought down.... hghhhhhh

King of having boundaries! Hell no are you gonna help save the world when you’ve spent the last several years imprisoned in a fucking book!!!

The Keays are my favorite fucked up family <3

Gerry trying to run away and just being totally unprepared and bored by the normal world... gifted kid problems...

It took three and a half seasons, but we finally got that sweet, sweet rundown of the Entities.

Thrill of the Chase is very good, and also makes the very accurate point that true crime junkies are sociopaths

Adelard and Gertrude’s relationship is very intriguing

Tim and Jon.... could-have-been-something-but-now-hate-each-other is one of my favorite relationship dynamics

Love the fuckiness of “you’re not human anymore so I can trust that you haven’t been body-snatched” being a lowkey comforting vibe

The Stranger taking Gertrude and Leitner’s skins for the Unknowing... big money moves

Michael Salesea being a Leitner assistant that got away makes so much fucking sense lol

Helen talking to Jon bc talking to him made the real Helen feel better...

Melanie saying that she hopes Jon wins but she hopes that it hurts... Jesus take me now

Tim knowing it’s a suicide mission, Tim *wanting* a suicide mission. Tim wanting so badly to tell/show the Entities how much he fucking hates them and wanting to hurt. Tim hoping that Jon can pull the trigger. God.

Martin has such a fun time being a little agent of chaos

....until he doesn’t

Okay arguably no one knows what the fuck they’re doing during the Unknowing, but the subtext still gets me. Jon trusting Tim enough to hand him the detonator, even if he doesn’t remember exactly what it is. Daisy killing Hope after he pretends to be Basira. Basira trying to be the calming presence and Tim trying to fight.

The Gertrude and Leitner apparations aghhhhhhh

SMOKING KILLS!!!!!

Basira fucking THINKING her way out of the fucking UNKNOWING.... QUEEN SHIT!!!!

Jon using his powers to make Tim see things clearly again... Jon getting swept away and Tim being the only one who can do what needs to be done

The way Nikola says, “That’s not funny!” makes me wonder if Tim did some kind of clown microaggression.

But in all seriousness, yeah, of course it’s not funny! Tim gets his revenge, but he’s going to fucking die for it. Tim gets his revenge, but it won’t bring Danny (or Sasha) back. It might look like Tim gets to go out a hero w a cool one-liner, but he knows that it’s really just a stalling tactic, a grain of defiance against Entities that can’t ever truly been stopped.

Elias said I am going to tell Jon a spooky bedtime story to help him in his coma :)

I want some messy reunification in Season 4 goddamn

#tma #j listens to tma #live blogging

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royalydamned · 1 year

Note

salty ask list

1, 4, 5

have a great day/night bub!

I found this in my drafts from idk when oops. I'll do it in general for every fandom cause why not.

1. What OTPs in your fandom(s) do you just not get?

If you know me, you know about Wolfstar, but I could add many HP ships (almost all) especially the now popular ones: Jily, Jegulus, like almost all canon ships. HP really fell flat on relationships.

But wait, there's more. One of the oldest pairings that are the reoccurence of me just not getting fan favorite ships is for example FitzSimmons from Agents of SHIELD series. You know that pairing that's writers' favorite and you just know they were meant to be perfect and full of dynamics and everything but they just fall flat because it's obvious and there's too much forced drama around them just for the sake of it and ughh. They should have just put Gemma with Daisy. Then there's Catradora. Enough said. The fans just completely ruined it for me.

Also since I came back to GOT recently, I have never understood will I never understand the hype of Brienne/Tormund. They seem so popular simply because Tormund finds her attractive, but I find his behavior towards her disgusting, to the point of harassment. The only way he talks about her is in a sexual sense and about the children they would make, he doesn't respect her, she's a borderline fetish for him. The fact that I've seen people say *he* would treat her right is laughable. While we're at GOT the whole Targaryen incest thing, I will never understand. Jon/Daenerys, Rhaenerys/Daemon, their popularity unsettles me. Jon and Daenerys were at least close in age, even thought they had the most bland chemistry on screen, at least it wasn't predatory, but Daemon and Rheanyra is just something I'm horrified that it's popular. Confirms once again that if fans find the people attractive they don't hold the characters to the same standards.

In Marvel I don't get most of the ships, I don't know if someone people are just desperate to see certain things that are just not there or...the first thing I think about is Stucky, Stony, Thor/Bruce etc. Even the canon ones are very meh, good thing I don't watch the MCU for romance. It sucks.

4. Do you have a NOTP in your fandom? Are they a popular OTP?

Brienne/Tormund, Rhaenyra/Daemon, Catradora, Wolfstar. Almost all are pretty big which like...why...

5. Has fandom ever ruined a pairing for you?

You have not seen fucking insane until you saw Wolfstar and Catradora fans. Those people need fucking therapy and monitored screen time so they can go outside every day because Jesus christ. Chronically online.

#ask #HOW OLD IS THIS LIKE A YEAR #2 YEARS???#I'M SORRY #I think this was pre Destiel drama ohmygod

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girlwholovesturtles · 3 months

Text

Wonderland

I highly doubt this place is gonna be very wonderful...

Jon, have you considered you should have mentioned that you can track Daisy several hours ago.

Alright, Basira, damn. Right to it then. I mean, if you did kill him from the start Magnus would have just replaced him. It would have been an unending cycle, really.

I mean, isn't the thing with Trevor kind of obvious? Nope, never mind. Little more complicated than I thought.

Jon! Communication! You are so bad at this relationship stuff!

OH!!! A "mental heath facility." So what you're saying is this is a Spiral domain?! Alright, where's Helen? I've kinda missed her nonsense.

Martin and Basira are go- London is still there? Like properly still there? Weird.

You know what, fair question. If I heard one of my friends killed a kid, I would have one less friend in the world.

Basira is very pessimistic today...

Yeah, I figured this was gonna come up. This is gonna be a bunch mental health stuff and I'm not gonna respond well to it, I'm guessing. I'm gonna get a drink and I guess take my meds before a tackle this...

Oh, Basira's gonna stay? That'll be fun?

Footsteps? Oh! Oh, I don't like that! Dr. David needs to back up off the mic. I did not come here for ASMR.

I feel like Basira is being oddly silent here. I would not be so quiet in response to this...

Oh. I don't like this. I know that's the point but god.

"Meaningless little brat." Jesus! I do not like Dr. David.

Do not go into a loop like in the Lonely! This is really upsetting.

I need it to be understood that this episode is making me take a lot of breaks. This part I'm on where Dr. David is doubting that a patient actually needs medical attention is just too real for me.

Jesus! I hate this! Wow that laugh was awful!

"Hysterical little creep." Wow! That's awful! This is all so awful!

Thank god that's over. Screw Dr. David, I hate him more than I hate the old men!

Basira is not gonna like this when he comes down.

I was right...

Was wondering where Martin was. He was too quiet for a second.

Jon, please!

What? Oh! So Daisy is just hunting people she failed to bring in?

Yeah, I was wondering how the man got here. Presumably he was unwell and police do as they are often want to do.

Jon, you can't say "Not now Helen." every time she shows up. There has to eventually be a "Hi Helen, hows it going." Otherwise you just seem rude.

What do you want in return, Helen? NO! I can not stress enough what a bad idea going through her hallways would be!

"Basira is a strong, independent woman..." She is but I don't know if that's a good thing at this point.

Basira! You are too smart for this!

Don't talk about Tim! Or Michael for that matter. I'm still too emotionally attached to the both of them.

Oh thank god! Basira, you truly are so much smarter than most of the people in the apocalypse.

Is Helen getting more chummy? I honestly think she's getting more mean.

You know, I can't stop thinking about the nature of the Spiral, actually. Like, Helen and Michael aren't/weren't avatars. They were fused with the very being that was the Spiral. Even now, in this apocalyptic hellscape, none of the fears have actually spoken or revealed themselves in a way that is perceivable, unless you count the avatars themselves. Maybe the problem with Helen and by extension the Spiral is that it still has a human mind attached to it and it doesn't know what to do with itself? So Helen, the confusing part that is still very much a person, is trying to reach out to Jon and company because being just the Spiral is, by it very nature, maddening?

#the magnus archives #tma #live blogging #episode 177

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catfishofoldin99colours · 3 months

Note

Daisira and Scarian (god i hope i got that right?) for the ship ask game 👀

Clair I love you SO much 💜💜💜 (and YES you got that right!!)

Ok SO

Daisira: SHIP IT

What made me ship it: big scary murder werewolf has one (1) person she is weak and will bend for, what the fuck is NOT to ship

Ok but fr I saw most of the daisira ship on Tumblr as I was getting into tma more and before I really got to the end of S3 and it just looked kinda cool, I think what really made me take off with it is that I just fell head over heels for daisy herself and went 'oh no I can also put blorbo in Situations with Feelings attached' and well it was all downhill from there

But since then I have thought more about them and I do really find daisira interesting as a duo, they're fun to pick apart in how they connect and what connects them and how much they know about each other and interact and why and what they're willing to reveal to the other and how much of their relationship can be inferred from really very limited interactions with each other in the podcast itself vs what they say to other characters

They're fun! They're interesting!! I also like comparing their relationship with their relationships with the other characters too - like how daisy perceives basiras attention and approval vs how she interacts with jon, and how basira's relationship with Melanie and Martin differs to her relationship to daisy and so on.

That also answers the question about what are my favourite things about it (aside from the fact that they make for good smut scenarios lol) so;

Is there an unpopular opinion you have on your ship?

I seen to be in the minority of people who hc daisy as taller than 5 feet sjdjsjajaj so that's probably it??

I mean I also hc daisy as transfemme which various parts of the fandom seem to disagree with a lot but. I do what I want and I'm not hcing her as that because she's aggressive and brutal like come on I know better than that jesus christ

Anyway! Onwards

Scarian: SHIP IT

what made me ship it: 3rd life. Not much else to say djsjja

What's my favourite thing about it: oh man, they're just Not Normal about each other no matter what you do - grians always dancing around scar like a pigeon on cocaine and whether it's in exasperation or excitement it's always just absolutely nuts to watch

And scar is just also not normal, I mean he's not normal in most scenarios and about most of his hermit friends but there's something about how he interacts with grian, either in hermitcraft or the life series, and they're just. God.

They just love each other a lot and it's so obvious how they're such great friends and how much they do love each other and I'm talking about irl interactions mostly but in lots of fic and art and au stuff they're just kind of insane to look at and the fact that they are so Not Normal in irl interactions they make for such interesting dynamics to play with in au stuff, it's FUN. God I love them so much

Is there an unpopular opinion I have about my ship?

Don't fucking get me started ohmygod - there's so much angst already and I actually don't mind that, angst is so good when done well and to their credit, most angsty fics I've read do a great job of balancing it with appropriate levels of fluff and emotional care and healing between them

It's just. There's part of the fandom. That. Idk. Babies both of them??? In the sense of 'grian can do no wrong' which sometimes also goes in hand with 'scar is a victim and unable to stand up for himself' (which is also especially egregious when the actual Minecraft youtuber is physically disabled and has been for almost his entire life like. Just say you think physically disabled people need to be infantalised) and it's just like. Shut up.

What I love about scarian is that they're BOTH terrible and complex and weird and yeah they have bad traumas (depending on what mcyt lore you choose to engage with for them both) that certainly can exist as explanations for their behaviours and attitudes but personally I find it more fun if they're also just Like That and just fucking weird about each other and kind of fucked up??

Ajdhjajaja that post that's like 'gay sex would make this situation worse but we should give it a shot anyway' AND that post that's like 'things that would be deeply unhealthy for any other ship but given its these two its Actually the best case scenario' like THESE TWO ARE JUST SO FUCKED AND WEIRD AND INSANE ABOUT EACH OTHER LETS LEAN INTO THAT and stop infantalising scar while we're at it and also stop making him just take shit from grian because he doesn't and he shouldn't and it makes me personally offended when I see people making scar just take shit from grian in fic and art and stuff

Anyway! There's my thoughts, thank you for asking ^^

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madmaudlingoes · 3 years

Text

God Speed Your Love to Me

For @jonmartinweek Day 4, prompt: “Tea.” Set in mid-S4, feature Jon & Daisy friendship and Big Pining. Title by the Righteous Brothers.

It wasn’t that Jon couldn’t make his own tea. He’d been doing so quite competently for over twenty years: boil water, insert leaves. His grandmother used to re-use the same tea bag two or three times, until the resulting drink could hardly even be called tea, but Jon had somehow swung the opposite direction. He liked his tea strong and black (or, according to certain people, oversteeped and bitter — Georgie had done a spit take the first time he made her a cuppa).

Jon’s tea was practical. It fulfilled all the functions tea was meant for. It was fine.

He set the mug down within Daisy’s reach, near the corner of the tunnels she’d claimed. She was sat leaning against the wall, one earbud in, though the volume was too low for Jon to make out what she was listening to. (He knew anyway. The Archers. Trying to catch up on all the episodes she’d missed.)

Daisy stared at him blankly for a moment, and then at the mug; she thumbed her phone to stop the episode. “What’s this?” she asked, sounding more confused than suspicious.

“Surely I’m not that bad at making tea,” Jon said, but clearly the joke fell flat. He cleared his throat awkwardly. “I, er. It’s still quite cold down here, so I thought — obviously you’re not obligated to, to take it, I’ll just drink it myself —”

Daisy’s arm shook a little as she pulled the mug to her, and she needed both hands to raise it to her mouth. “Tastes like shit,” she declared, but kept on drinking anyway.

“Well, you’re welcome,” Jon said, letting his annoyance slip, but Daisy just gave him half a smile in return. She always had found it funny when he lost his temper; at the time, he’d assumed it was because of how utterly unthreatening he was, compared to her. A wolf watching a Pomeranian snap and snarl.

Of course, she’d known he was a threat anyway. Had been planning to kill him for it. And now she was smirking at him from a nest of blankets instead.

“I’ll just — I’ll be in my office. If you, ah, need anything,” Jon said, for lack of anything else to do.

As he was walking away, he heard Daisy murmur, “Thanks.”

XXX

“Why do you keep making all this tea?”

Daisy had been listening to him record, again, though it wasn’t a statement she had any particular insight into. Perhaps she was just all caught up on the Archers. Jon looked down at the mug in his hand, and then at the — ah — three occupying various bits of his desk. Two of them were still almost full.

“Habit, I suppose,” Jon said, finding a convenient spot to nestle mug #4. “Martin use to —” No. He wasn’t going to talk about him in the past tense. He wasn’t dead. “Martin’s usually in here a few times a day with tea, if I haven’t made any for myself, and I suppose I got used to it.”

“His tea taste like boiled socks too?” Daisy asked.

“My tea tastes fine,” Jon said, “as proven by how much of it you drink.”

“Well, you don’t,” she pointed out. “No sense wasting it.”

Jon maintained eye contact with her while taking a deep drink from mug #4, and she rolled her eyes at him.

XXX

Jon slunk back to his office after the intervention, as much from shame as fear. Basira had looked truly furious enough to kill him, and he wasn’t entirely sure she was wrong.

But at least she and Melanie were here to glare at him. Martin apparently couldn’t even stand the sight of him.

He started when the door opened, bracing himself for another argument; but it was Daisy, who had been so much quieter than the others. She snagged the other office chair with one foot and pushed a mug of tea in Jon’s direction, even though by this point it was probably close to two in the morning. “You want to talk about it?” she asked.

“I’m not up for another argument,” Jon grumbled.

“Not what I asked.” Daisy had him fixed in a piercing stare. A predatory stare. “Remember, I’ve done at lot worse than steal someone’s story.”

Right. Jon involuntarily touched his throat, remembering the feeling of her grip crushing his windpipe. “I suppose so.”

“So if you want to talk about it,” Daisy continued. “We can talk. Monster to monster.”

Jon snorted. He probably should talk to someone, and it wasn’t as there were twelve-step programs for avatars. “Not right now, I think,” he said. “I’m ... I need a moment.”

Daisy nodded, and nudged the mug of tea closer to him. “Fine. Drink up, then.”

Jon’s stomach rebelled at the thought. Not just because he knew it wouldn’t satisfy him — not properly, not in the way he craved. But also ... did he even deserve the comfort?

Had Martin made tea for Jess Tyrell?

“I’m not thirsty,” he muttered, and pushed the mug back at her.

Daisy didn’t argue. Just studied him for a bit. “I know you and Martin were close,” she said, as if she’d read his mind.

“I ... yes. I suppose we were.” Were being the operative word here, apparently. “Not through any fault of mine, of course. He’s the one who made it work.”

“By bringing you tea?”

Jon sighed. “And taking me to lunch, and reminding me to take my medication... not that I deserved any of it.”

“Pretty low bar to deserve to eat,” Daisy observed.

He shook his head. “That’s not what I meant. I ... after we found Gertrude’s body, I was ... I took it badly. In hindsight, I’m not sure how much it was a trauma response and how much was the Eye beginning to take hold of me. But I was seeing murderers around every corner, and I ... I took it out on everyone else around me, in the worst ways. But for some reason, Martin kept reaching out, kept ... being there, even when I was awful to him. If it hadn’t been for him—”

Jon clenched his hands, imagining for a moment that it was Martin bringing him tea now; Martin saying you can talk to me, you know; Martin present, physically and mentally, the way he’d been when Jon’s paranoia was at its worst. He’d never thanked him for it, not properly. He’d thought there would be more time—

Well. Martin had had time, while Jon lay in his coma. And he’d used it to put as much distance as possible between them, just when Jon was finally brave enough to reach back.

Daisy tilted her head like she was slotting something together. “Isn’t that what he’s doing now? Trying to help?”

“Sure, when he’s not off doing god-know-what with Lukas...” Jon muttered.

“I meant with the tape,” Daisy clarified. “He could’ve kept it. Kept your secret. But he cared enough to tell us. Cared enough to stop you.”

Not enough to come in person, though. Jon managed not to blurt that out, but only barely. “He’s made his choice and it’s not me,” was what he did say. “And I can’t even blame him for it. Although why he’d turn around and take up with Lukas if he finds it so objectionable down here...”

Daisy raised an eyebrow. “Are you jealous, Sims?”

“No,” Jon said immediately. “Of course not. I’m just ... I’m tired.”

Daisy took the hint, and stood. She didn’t remove the tea, however. “For what it’s worth, I think there’s something more going on with Martin than it seems. He’s playing his own game. I just can’t work out what it is.”

“If you do, let me know, because the Eye gives me nothing,” Jon told her morosely.

“Get some sleep,” Daisy said, and slipped out of his office.

Jon stared into the rapidly cooling tea. He wanted to trust Martin. He did trust Martin. But he also missed him, desperately, or at least the version of him from a year ago who never condoned Jon’s terrible behavior but nevertheless still cared — still treated him as someone worthy of care. He’d been such a lifeline then, but now Jon needed him more than ever and Martin had left him —

Ah. Yes. Lonely.

Come back, Jon thought, but even alone in his office he couldn’t bear to voice it. Finish whatever it is you’re up to and come back to me.

He tried to drink some of the tea, since it was there. It was exactly as bitter as he liked it.

#jonmartinweek2021 #prompt: tea #the love is stored in the tea #(actually it is stored in the martin)#(jon's hoping for a placebo effect)#jon & daisy are so good jesus #IT'S STILL THURSDAY SOMEWHERE

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ghostbustermelanieking · 3 years

Note

11, “drastic,” for the microfics! :)

thank you for giving me the excuse to write this!! i've been waiting for a good opportunity. this is a mag 154 au; warning as such for discussion of blinding oneself (not actually depicted), and for canon-typical s4 jon self loathing.

to clarify: this is a fix it au. jon will be able to blind himself and he will be able to live without the eye bc it's my au and i said so.

11. drastic

"I should've known," says Martin, "that it would be something like this." He laughs a little, bitterly. "Nothing simple, right? No easy way out?"

"That's never been how anything is for us," says Jon. "You know that." He laughs hollowly, too; his head thunks softly against the stone wall of the tunnels. "If it were easy, we all would've left a long time ago." (He tells himself, sternly, that this is true.)

They've been down here nearly an hour; no chance of Elias seeing them down here. (One of the recorders is running, has been since just before Jon heard the pound of footsteps heading down the hall into the Archives. He'd known immediately that something had to be happening; Melanie had left for the night, Daisy and Basira had gone out, so it'd just been Jon in the Archives, for once, a rare enough occurrence. He thought maybe one of them came back, but he wasn't sure why the tapes would want to hear that. And then Martin had burst through the door, panting and ashy, his eyes fixing directly on Jon, and he'd said, Yes.

Jon, barely daring to believe it, had said, Yes? and Martin said, Yes, said, Christ—yes, Jon, I'll do it, I'll go with you, staring at Jon almost like he expected Jon to take the offer back, to say he hadn't really meant it. Jon had strode across the room instead, moving to embrace Martin in a desperate hug—tight enough to make Jon question the status of his remaining ribs. And when Martin had sagged into the embrace, limp like a puppet with cut strings, Jon knew that he had meant his answer.)

They're here in the tunnels, now, sitting with their backs against the wall, passing a bottle of rum Daisy stashed under the cots back and forth. They're supposed to be discussing strategy, how they're going to blind themselves (where they'll go, what they'll do after), but they've mostly just been talking in circles. Stuck in the quiet awe of what they're about to do, and the fact that they're doing it together—this is the most Jon has talked to Martin since he woke up, and the reality of that is overwhelming.

"I think Melanie is going to do it," says Jon, just for something to say—and because it is the truth. "So… we'll have some company, I suppose." He issues a weak little laugh. "If… if she even wants to see us after this." He has his doubts. He knows Melanie has a lot of anger towards him, and he knows the majority of it is earned.

"I… I haven't even talked to Melanie since… before you woke up," Martin says softly. "Jesus. It's… it's been that long."

"She deserves to get out," says Jon. "I… I hope this is a way for her, too."

Martin makes a loud sniffling sound, and Jon turns abruptly to see him wiping his eyes. "I… I think Tim would've done it. If he'd know," he says, voice thick with tears that haven't fallen yet. "I… I wish… I wish we'd found out about this sooner. Given him a way out, too."

Jon's throat closes up a little at the mention of Tim—he's barely been able to think of Tim at all over these past six months. Unable to make it past the reality that Tim is dead because of him, because he brought him to the Archives… this just feels like another way he's failed Tim, in the end. He nods a little, looking back out at the tunnels, says, "Yes, I—I wish that, too," and is unable to go any further, his voice breaking into pieces. Tim, Sasha—both are dead because of him, because he couldn't save them. At least now he's found something that might save Melanie and Martin—that might even save him, even though he doesn't deserve it.

Martin makes a sound of dissension, almost like he knows what Jon is thinking, and scoots closer until their shoulders are pressed together. "We… we can live in my flat," he says, his voice still thick. "If you want. I-it's gotten worse, since… I-I mean, it isn't in the best shape, a-and there's only the one bedroom, b-but…" He offers another little laugh—gallows humor. "I can promise you that there aren't any worms."

"Oh," says Jon, biting back laughter of his own. "Oh, well—good. That—that sounds lovely, Martin."

There's a moment of silence then, a long moment of just the wet, eerie sounds of the tunnels, and of Martin's soft arm against his. Jon swallows and adds, "W-we'll be all right, Martin. We will. O-once the pain and the healing has passed, we… I really think we'll be all right." Happy, a part of his mind suggests, daringly. Maybe they will be able to be happy.

"Do you really believe that?" Martin says—and there's an edge there, something sanded off by the Lonely, remnants that haven't left yet—but there's also something genuine. A real question.

"I do," says Jon. He doesn't Know—he can't Know, his mind takes a sharp swerve every time he broaches the subject—but he has a feeling. Something almost like hope. "I really do."

Martin must lean a little, because their shoulders press together; he says, "N-not to rehash wh-what we said… earlier… but… why me, Jon? W-why not Basira and Daisy, o-or… we haven't talked in months, just… why me?"

Jon could say any number of things. Daisy and Basira didn't want to do it, or There's no one else who would WANT to run away with me, I can't think of a single other person, or I'm in love with you, I should've told you sooner, I'm so sorry. But he doesn't say any of those things. He says, "M-Martin, there isn't…" He takes a deep breath. Presses his head back against the wall and shuts his eyes. "There isn't a… a single other person I would want to do this with," he says quietly. "It's… it's just you. Only you."

Martin makes a small sound, somewhere between a gasp and a squeak, and it is so Martin, so familiar in a way Jon hasn't seen since he woke up, that his chest seizes a little. "Okay," he says, "okay." He reaches down between them and, tentatively, takes Jon's hand.

#tma fic #jonmartin #the magnus archives #mag 154 #eye gouging tw #i wrote this #microfics

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go-to-the-mirror · 1 year

Text

This is MAG 131 - Flesh. God, I'm not okay. I'm gonna try have good words today.

@a-mag-a-day hi howdy im sooo normal about this episode.

CWs for canon-atypical discussions of canon-typical self-harm & suicidal ideation.

Canon-atypical bc Jon's like "hey" *does really fucked up thing to himself* "anyway"

I'm swearing as little as I possibly can while discussing this episode /hj.

Anyway, the analysis part is at the end, but I say good words in the rambles.

[Tape clicks on.] (There’s a deep breath. The breathing intensifies, before a determined exhalation.) [Thunk.] (There’s a whimper.) [A wet ripping, as of extracting a blade from flesh.] (The Archivist makes a pained noise. Then grumbles as his breathing evens.) [The tape crackles.] (The Archivist clears his throat as a second cleaving is attempted.) [Thunk] (The Archivist whimpers again.) [Fleshy extraction and tape crackling again]

JESUS CHRIST WHY DOES IT SOUND SO LIKE- GOOD??? HEARTWRENCHING??? Well done to the editors of this episode, and Jonny for the... pained whimpers -- jesus christ -- but my heart, my soul, how am I meant to emotionally recover from that, good lord Jon put the fucking knife down.

ARCHIVIST (Pained frustration) Oh, come on… Everyone else can carve up the Archivist, but when he actually needs it…

This line this fucking line. Oh my god I love this line, I hate this line, this line lives in my brain rent free, this line is the worst and best thing to ever happen to me, this fucking line, oh my god.

Something about the lack of control, mayhaps. Like, he can be hurt by others, he's hurt by other's plenty, but he can't hurt himself, he can't cut off his own finger, he can't make his informed decision that throwing himself into the Buried with only his severed finger is better than staying above and being a monster.

MELANIE (Charged tones) Yes, the bullet was bad, right, but it didn’t make me angry. Anger is… Anger’s been all I’ve had for a very long time. Years. Maybe since… oh, I, I don’t know. But everything I’ve done, everything I pushed for was because I was angry. Angry at being passed over, being disrespected, ignored. That sort of anger, it-it powers you. Right up until it slips out and hurts someone. I hurt someone. And then one day, I suddenly have this thing that takes all that rage, and it holds it, tells me it’s right, that it’s me. It didn’t stay in my leg because of some ghostly masterplan. It stayed because I wanted it.

Right, so, I really like this line because I used to be angry all the time, because of Personal Reasons, and like... that line. Just strikes me right to me core. Anger that becomes you, or maybe you become it. Anger that you love because you love yourself (right?), but you hate because you hate yourself. Anger that feels justified, was justified, but now you're just hurting people.

...

God, I love this show.

ARCHIVIST Oh, th-the blade keeps going in. And… it hurts. Hurts plenty. But then it heals up. Pretty much the moment I take it out. No wound, no scar, nothing.

Jonnnn stop trying to cut your finger off to save the life of someone who you don't even like and who tried to kill you because you think it'll make Basira think you're useful, and Melanie think that you didn't deserve to die with Tim and Daisy, and Martin stop being so distant. Or just so you'll die, or something close.

God, Jon, like I get why he's doing this, and he's not an idiot but I just want... headinhands.

ARCHIVIST I mean, you'd think I'd have a better idea how to do it. All these… all these statements and… (Small laugh) You know who I need? I need the Boneturner. (Sighs) Just reach in and grab a rib. Job done.

I like how he says it, he's very funny, I like him. :3 (no way??? kris likes jon??? crazyyyy)

ARCHIVIST You’re still wearing her face.

yeah um so like Jon sort of watched helen die (?). what's this, 5 people he feels responsible for the death (?) of? christ, no fucking wonder, no fucking wonder he's like this.

ARCHIVIST We’re not people, though, are we? Not anymore.

headinhands. sure, maybe he's a monster now, an Avatar, maybe he's hurting innocent people but christ... Tim's not his fault, Daisy's not his fault, Helen's not his fault, Sasha's not his fault, the fucking bully's not his fault. Some things are his fault, yeah! He doesn't deserve to die for them! Sure, maybe you're not a person, Mr. Sims, but you're an alright monster, you're a fucking alright monster who's going above and beyond for someone who tried to kill you and you don't have to to prove to yourself and Basira and Melanie and Martin that you deserve to live.

I care him.

JARED That’s what it says on me licence. Mind you, the picture’s a bit out of date.

Every day I remember that Alex voiced Jared.

ARCHIVIST Right. But… you know if you do, you're never getting out of this place.

*guy who's only read PJO* I'm getting serious PJO vibes from this.

Like, idk? For some reason my brain thinks "Annabeth" when I hear that line.

ARCHIVIST Take something out. A bone. A rib, probably. S-Something I won’t miss.

JON YOU FUCKING NEED THOSE.

Jon... Jon... those are IMPORTANT. oh my godd "something i won't miss" ah yes compromise the structural integrity of your skeleton before jumping in the Crush-You-To-Death dimension. Such a good idea /s

Where do you want me to start? Growing up? My folks? How ‘bout that growth spurt when I was nine? It left me taller than all the other kids. I hated them, the way they stared.

I'm actually fairly broad shouldered, and somehow taller than a lot of people, despite being pretty average height, and it always makes me feel really weird when I'm around people who're shorter and/or smaller than me. Like I'm looming over them or something. Bodies are weird. I like being tall though, it annoys my middlest sister <3

But it talked to me about bones and flesh and muscle and blood; the bits of myself I actually knew and liked.

Can't relate (transgender)

Some of my mates, the ones I helped find their proper bodies, they listened, and went to feed the hunger.

The... things in MAG 130 reminded me a lot of Jared's victims from the gym, so maybe those were his "mates."

I don’t blame people for thinking that all bones are the same, most people don’t have much experience, but it’s not true. There are good bones, and there are bad bones, and Regan Hasnain had some very good bones in her. They were solid, healthy, and they jumped at my touch. I didn’t doubt the letters again.

How the fuck did Elias know what bones were good and bad- I mean yeah probably spooky eye nonsense, but still? Asjdfsahf

ARCHIVIST That’s it? (He snorts) Hardly worth a rib.

Sorry, mate, we're doing body horror this episode, but like not in the statement... oooh sorry you had to find out this wayyyy, yeaahhhh

(The Archivist makes noises of pain.) [Extended sounds of meat and bone movement]

Here's a moment where the unofficial transcripts are absolutely superior, also here's a moment where I'm like what the hell? The sounds are so??? Disgusting?? /pos. The editors did a fantastic job on this one. And Jonny's quite good at uh... strangled sounds of pain. Jesus, Jon. oh god. it's so. YEA. /pos

Yeah. This episode right? Oh god, Jonny why. Jonny why. Like than you, yk, like 10/10, I like my fictional characters emotionally and physically damaged, but ALSO those noises of pain. They sounded. 10 out of fucking 10.

Anyway, onto the speaking with good words part.

I think a lot about Jon's Flesh mark, and The Flesh in general, because it's one of my absolute favourites of the Fears, and my favourite mark that Jon got, hands down. Because, it's not only got the surface-level, face-value, Flesh thing. You take out the ribs! That's horrifying, Jared reaching into Jon and pulling out his ribs in isolation is horrifying, but it's not in isolation. This happened with Jon's need to prove himself as useful, his belief -- that is supported by the people around him -- that his life is only worth something if he's useful.

ARCHIVIST Fine. I don’t care if you trust me, but I think I’ve proven at the very least that I’m useful. So, use me.

(MAG 133 - Dead Horse).

And The Flesh mark? He got Jared to take out his rib, he asked Jared to do grievous bodily harm to him, because he thinks his life is only worth something, that he should only be allowed to live, if he's useful. If he can "right his wrongs", if he can save Daisy.

The Flesh mark wasn't just the rib, it was his need to prove himself as useful, made manifest. And in the end, the rib didn't even work. "There wasn’t single suitable cut." He 'made himself useful' by saving Daisy, but the rib was useless. He put himself through that for nothing except serving someone else's purpose. Something to be used and ultimately to discard.

#mag 131 #tma #the magnus archives #tma meta #a mag a day #jonathan sims #mag 133 #mag 178 #the flesh #anyway flesh jon rights fr fr #tma spoilers #landscaping-your-mind-chapter-one #cw self harm #tw self harm #cw suicide #tw suicide

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yellowocaballero · 3 years

Text

The Crow’s Funeral Snippet: Jon Gets Involved In Local Politics, Regrets It

Annabelle, of course, was standing on the other side of the door.

Slightly less obviously, she was dressed in a finely tailored suit, complete with high heels and a gorgeous dripping silver chain-link necklace. Her hair was tied up in an up-do of braids piled neatly on top of her head, and there was even a briefcase.

She looked Jon up and down critically. He was wearing sweatpants and a holey shirt.

“You forgot,” she condemned, “didn’t you?”

“No I didn’t,” Jon said reflexively. He paused. “Forgot what?”

Annabelle pinched the bridge of her nose. Jon noticed that she was even wearing her usual all-black lipstick and winged eyeliner. “The council committee for London I planned for today. Remember? The one with a representative for each Entity?” Jon stared blankly at her. “There was an invite?”

“Oh, that. I don’t check my mail.” Jon looked at Daisy, who was now pressing aggressively against Jon. “Did you open up any mail recently?” Daisy barked. Jon looked back at Annabelle. “She ate it.”

“...of course she did.” Written for no real reason besides for the fact that I know too much about my own AU and I care about Annabelle. This story takes place both pre- and post- story: six months after Jon enters London, and six months after the events of the story. We talk about childhood/adulthood, stagnancy/growth, good/evil, and the inherent metaphor of a Nintendo DS. Sometimes...found family...is bad. Rest under the cut.

In the third month, boiling and bubbling over, someone knocked at Jon’s door.

Not the door to his office. The door to his flat, which had a very large ‘EMPLOYEES ONLY’ sign on it, and was always locked. The employees were, granted, Jon and Daisy, but the message was conveyed. Jon saw the sign in stores and copied it, as he copied many aspects of business models. Jon didn’t quite understand how to run a business, but he had read both ‘What they teach you in Harvard Business School’ - whatever a Harvard was - and ‘What they don’t teach you in Harvard Business School’, so he figured he was set. Daisy had also grabbed him a Girl Scout book on starting your own lemonade stand, which helped more than the other two books combined. Harvard Business School could take notes.

Jon rolled off the bed, where he had been downloading knowledge of string games and trying to figure out how to do them. Omniscence was closer to reading an instruction manual than actually knowing how to do something, but at least that left Jon with plenty of time to learn skills. Even if it wasn’t necessarily his favorite activity - he was bad at a lot of them, which would frustrate him and make him wreck the craft. Daisy kept on saying he needed a hobby other than reading but what did she know, anyway -

Daisy, from where she had been sleeping at the foot of the bed, lifted her head and barked sleepily.

“I’ll get them to go away,” Jon promised. Or eat them. Maybe just eat them.

But when Daisy bristled and jumped off the bed, barking heavily, he knew who it was. Jon sighed, hastily shoving a shirt over his head, and undid the three deadbolts before unlocking the door.

Annabelle, of course, was standing on the other side. Slightly less obviously, she was dressed in a finely tailored suit, complete with high heels and a gorgeous dripping silver chain-link necklace. Her hair was tied up in an up-do of braids piled neatly on top of her head, and there was even a briefcase.

She looked Jon up and down critically. He was wearing sweatpants and a holey shirt.

“You forgot,” she condemned, “didn’t you?”

“No I didn’t,” Jon said reflexively. He paused. “Forgot what?”

Jon stared blankly at her.

“There was an invite?”

“...of course she did.” Annabelle glanced down at Daisy, whose fur was standing on end as she growled lowly. “Have you had any success?”

“You would have noticed if I did,” Jon said shortly.

“Have you tried talking to -”

“Yes,” Jon snapped, “but apparently some of us have better things to do than attend meetings and cure dogs.”

Annabelle intelligently dropped the matter, instead frowning at Jon. He crossed his arms, fighting the urge to hunch over away from her dark and perceptive stare. But instead of pushing him, she said, “Go get dressed in something a little appropriate, please. You look like you crawled out of the Buried.” Daisy barked, which Annabelle ignored. “What are you doing to your hair?”

Jon hunched defensively. It was a little matted and frizzy, but who was counting? “Daisy can’t exactly shave it anymore, and I don’t really...know what to do with it...am I doing something wrong? I bathe.”

It was very important to Daisy that he bathe and brush his teeth. Jon didn’t know what the big deal was, but if it was important to her then he did it.

Annabelle just pinched the bridge of her nose again, checking her wrist-watch. “Buzzing your hair is a crime against God, and letting your hair look like that is a crime against me. I’ll take care of this later. Just get ready in the next five minutes, or I’m filling your fridge with spiders again.”

Jon got ready in four. Annabelle didn’t joke around with that stuff.

He didn’t really know what a council committee was. He didn’t know why he had to go to one either, seeing as Jon only tended to concern himself with Daisy. Daisy had been taking up a lot of his concern lately. Then his mood had plummeted again, and in the last month they’ve both been recalcitrant to leave the flat for anything but eating, and he was capable of noticing when he was hunting a little vindictively, and - anyway.

He downloaded the knowledge, and then made a face when it didn’t really help. One of those nasty little political things. What was with his fellow Avatars and politics? Just torture anyone who bothers you. If they were one of those freaks who liked being tortured, then just smite them. Life was easy and very simple once you remembered that basic rule.

But Annabelle was really into it - she kept on saying something about ‘order’ and ‘regulation’ and ‘first dibs’ - and she tended to drag him along into these things. She thought it was ‘important’ that Jon ‘know what was going on’ or something. Jon liked Knowing things, but once you know everything you realize that some things aren’t really interesting enough to know.

When he asked Daisy if she wanted to go with, she feigned sleep. She had been hyperactive lately, compensating for her months of starvation with unbridled and frantic Hunting. Jon had taken her to one of those little pockets where people were running around and screaming all the time, and let her run wild in the rainforest for a while. It was the kind of fun bonding experience they hadn’t had in ages, and Jon had the opportunity to pluck his own grapes from the vine too.

There had been an old man who really hadn’t been happy to see Jon, which had freaked him out a bit. He had started going on a little bit about how Jon had ruined his life, but he only got a few sentences in before a giant, carnivorous plant had eaten him. That was lucky.

Jon had ripped the dimension apart as he left. Nasty little place. Nothing good there.

So Jon left the house without Daisy for the first time since she had been well enough to move around, and with Annabelle. Daisy had been waiting at the door with a rucksack packed with his favorite book and his Nintendo DS, which made Annabelle ask her where the juicebox was. Daisy tried to bite her again. Jon didn’t know why everybody couldn’t just get along.

There was a cab waiting outside, driven by another skeleton, and Annabelle quickly bundled him into it. Jon slouched in the corner and started playing WarioWare as Annabelle leafed through typewritten documents, lips pursing and making notes on the margins of each one with a red pen. She was muttering to herself, somewhat entertainingly.

“My fourth arm for a computer, I swear to Jesus. My fourth and fifth arms. My sixth arm for a computer…”

“Are those the internet machines you told me about?” Jon asked, scribbling his stylus on the screen. Ashley cheered him on. He loved Ashley. “Do council committees need the internet?”

“The internet’s for a lot more than council committees Jon,” Annabelle said tightly. “They’re for video games. Ememoharepeegees -”

“Gesundheit.”

“ - bitcoin mining, instant messaging, online dating, freaking Google Docs -”

“Do you want it back?” Jon asked, bored. “I can make you the internet.”

Annabelle’s pen froze on the paper, hovering over a bullet-point list. “The entire internet? You can just do that?”

“Yeah, sure, whatever.” Jon poked his tongue out his mouth in concentration as he pressed the monkeys in a rhythmic order. Rhythm games were his jam. “That’s, like, the pocket nightmare dimension from Tron, right? I can do that. Addictions are easy. Put people inside, trap them inside a video or something. It’d be mostly for torture but you could probably use it normally.”

Annabelle stared at him, expression blank, for so long it made Jon a little uncomfortable and defensive. What had he said wrong? Daisy was usually good at interpreting these things for him, although sometimes when people went on about ‘violence’ she was just as confused as him. Finally, she said, “No, that’s alright. I always hated Black Mirror anyway.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s a telly - never mind. I don’t want you getting any more ideas.”

***

The council committee was held in the stupidest building Jon had ever seen in his entire life. And he had been in London for six months. He knew stupid buildings.

‘London City Hall’ or whatever was this awful giant, lopsided, obloid monstrosity. All glass and windows, with nary a brick in sight, Jon hated it instantly and severely. He was immediately filled with the urge to turn to somebody and commiserate with them about shitty architecture, but there was nobody else in the cab but Annabelle - and, well, she seemed to have other things on her mind.

The neighborhood around it was filled with a mix of equally stupid buildings and perfectly respectable buildings that looked as if they had been made a long time ago. The sidewalks were relatively abandoned, and the streets were empty of everything but the endless rotation of tourist double-decker busses. Jon knew that this wasn’t one of those districts where people actually lived and roamed - instead, it was one of those business districts that people only stepped inside for work or city business. Like that silly little Palace of Westminster building that Annabelle had taken him to months ago when she was showing him the city.

That building Annabelle had especially loved. It was filled with old white men with sagging jowls and liver spots, looping in endless routines and miniature atrocities. Annabelle had asked him to take as many Statements as possible, and Jon had needed no encouraging.

That had been a strange trip. Normally people found his little monologues boring, because they were idiots with no taste, but Annabelle had listened to every single one. She had been enraptured, excited and triumphant. She had dragged him into some “Lord’s Chamber” or something and posed on the throne as Jon obediently took polaroids. Well, so long as she was happy.

Jon was already seeing that London City Hall was no better. Annabelle dragged him through it, anxiously checking and re-checking her files, as they effortlessly weaved between shambling zombies of old white men in suits. Jon tasted the ripe air of trauma from them - a similar taste to that spiralling academic building, but rather a little more tart - but Annabelle dragged him away before he could stop and eat them.

There were parts of London that were safe. Maybe even most of London - although nowhere was truly safe, not really, not every location was absolutely haunted. The grocer’s was the grocer’s; the chemist still sold your medication. Not that you really needed it anymore, but habit was habit.

But some buildings, which were entrenched so firmly in hundreds of years of evil, could not be dissuaded from their nightmares. In that respect, the safest city in the United Kingdom became the most dangerous. Some buildings had been nightmares even before the end of the world.

Jon, of course, gave very little shits about this beyond in the academic sense. Annabelle refused to let him duck out of her meeting to go snack, and she ended up dragging him in front of what looked like a smallish conference room.

Annabelle stopped in front of it, taking a second to breathe in and out and check her makeup. She seemed to be hyping herself up for it, shaking out her arms loosely. Jon slouched behind her, hands jammed in his trenchcoat pockets. Annabelle had asked him to put on a less raggedy suit, but - well, he sometimes had nicer suits, but they got raggedy very quickly. She had also asked him to leave the trenchcoat at home, but no way. It was part of his Look.

“You’re frightened,” Jon noted with interest. Annabelle was scared of less than he was, and she had much less of a reason. “What about this room scares you?”

“It’s not the people in the room,” Annabelle snapped, flashing her compact shut. “It’s what I’m trying to do. If this world’s going to last more than a few years before it devolves into fuckin’ Mad Max we need leadership. I didn’t put all of this work in just to -” At Jon’s blank look, she sighed. “Never mind. You don’t care. Just - try to trust me, Jon.”

“Of course I trust you,” Jon said, baffled. “Why wouldn’t I?”

She stared at him, expression inscrutable, for a long moment, before opening the door and pulling him in.

It was a nice conference room, all wood panelling and that specific green shade you only saw in lawyer’s offices. There was a large rectangular table in the center, and more than a dozen luxurious chairs arranged around it. There was a big pull-down screen on the far wall. Jon didn’t know what it was for, but he knew that if he downloaded the information it wouldn’t help. Omniscence was so useless.

In a move that horrified Annabelle, most of the attendees seemed to be there. They had been chatting - talking, actually, quite loudly - before Annabelle strode in and Jon slumped in after her. But in the second that they both stepped in, an abrupt hush swept the room, and every eye swiveled to them.

If Jon was honest with himself, he’d say that they didn’t quiet when Annabelle stepped in. He’d say that they quieted when Jon stepped in. That it was Jon who they were looking at.

But Jon didn’t particularly feel like engaging with that. He didn’t like being stared at by people he didn’t know, and he didn’t like being out in public with people he didn’t know. He didn’t enjoy being in buildings or meeting new people, much less going to boring meetings. Jon decided all of this instantaneously, as every eye swiveled to him.

Rooms full of humans were fine. It was just humans. Nothing even vaguely intimidating about that, unless the humans were teenage girls. But these were Avatars - Jon could taste their nature in the air, a sharp and electric tingle - and when they stared at Jon he felt something heavier in their gaze. Oh, lord. There was a teenage girl here.

Jon tried slumping to the back chair, but Annabelle grabbed his collar and dumped him in a comfortable chair to her right. Jon saw a little placard in front of it that read ‘THE BEHOLDING’. Great.

“Thank you all for coming today,” Annabelle said crisply, and suddenly every worry was gone. She was calm, poised, confident, and professional. A perfect imitation of the officials and politicians who once really walked these halls, who passed laws and rubber-stamped policies. She could have passed for an assistant or junior staff member, bright and intrepid and ready to climb her way up the ladder. “Are we all accounted for?”

It seemed so. Every chair but one was filled. When Jon peered around at the placards, he saw that each one had a different Entity on it. One of the seats had no placard, and was occupied by said teenage girl. Four were unoccupied: the Spiral, the Slaughter, the Hunt and the Extinction.

Annabelle sat down in the head chair, which seemed just a little fancier. She put her folder in front of her, eyes flickering down the room. “It seems that Helen couldn’t make it. The Hunt duo seem to have...recently met unfortunate ends. The Slaughter Avatar called ahead to say that they couldn’t make it - it was high school picture day? And...I suppose the Extinction Avatar still doesn’t exist.”

She glanced at Jon, who shook his head. “Do you want one?” Jon asked. “I can go find a climate change denier in this building and make one for you.”

That also disturbed Annabelle, as well as everyone else. Jon abruptly felt awkward, and hunched in his seat. He defensively pulled out his DS, his plans to fall asleep in the back of the room already foiled.

Above him, Annabelle continued droning. “Still, I appreciate you all coming. I know that we haven’t all gathered since a bit after the apocalypse began -” Wait, they had? Since when? “ - but I hope we can agree that further coordination is necessary. We’ve already begun having serious territory and jurisdiction disputes, and it’s best that they’re resolved sooner rather than later.” Nobody looked very impressed, but Annabelle looked seriously at them all anyway. “I want us all to have an equal voice at this table. Save the fighting for another time. And please try to keep your powers out of here. I’ve already sworn to avoid using any of my Mother’s gifts in this room, and I hope you all can do the same.”

“Yeah?” A woman drawled. She was unfamiliar to Jon, like most people in the room, but she had a teenage girl sitting next to her who seemed to be paying rapt attention to Annabelle. “How are you going to enforce that?”

Annabelle stared at him for some reason. Jon jabbed at his DS and won the Mona minigame. Nothing more was said.

“Alright, then. I’ve already collected motions from all of you prior to this meeting.” Motions? Annabelle hadn’t said anything like that. Maybe it was on the invitation Daisy ate, but somehow he doubted it. Annabelle looked down and traced her finger down to her first point. “Many of you suggested this, so I would like to introduce it as a general discussion. Territory disputes, apparently, are a point of contention between many of us.” She opened her briefcase and pulled out a large map, and if Jon looked over the top of his DS he could see that it was a map of London. She also pulled out a red marker, uncapping it. The sheet was laminated, and there were already circles and markings all over it. “We’ll go one at a time. Amherst, you’ve motioned that the Stranger is intruding within Camden.”

A foppish looking man on a dumb little top hat scowled, as the young woman sitting behind the Strange placard looked annoyed. “It is gentrification. Every apartment complex occupied by artist studios are stealing food from the plate of my insects.”

“You haven’t had Camden for a decade,” the Stranger woman said, rolling her eyes. The Omniscience informed Jon that her name was Sarah Baldwin. Vaguely familiar - had he seen her at a cafe? “Nobody lives in those rat-infested tenements anymore. Now all the rats are performance art. Which is us. Get over it.”

“What is performance art -”

“Motion for no more Avatars over the age of 40,” Sarah Baldwin said. “I hate how Amherst and Wakely are in this room.”

“I wish I could second that,” Annabelle said, to the great affront of two grimy old men, “but unfortunately we do have to deal with this. Amherst, I’ve heard several complaints from other council members that you’re infiltrating their territory.”

“I am made of bugs -”

Jon checked out after that.

Instead, he surveyed the room a bit. Nobody in it was really interesting, just a meaningless collection of self-important people. The only person in the room other than Annabelle who he recognized was Oliver, who was sitting at the very back doing his best to fall asleep. When Jon Stared at him a bit he took notice and subtly waved. Jon shyly waved back. Jon liked Oliver.

Oliver mouthed something adjacent to ‘what is wrong with your hair’, offending Jon grievously. He didn’t look that bad, did he?

He glanced to his left, then down, to ask Daisy’s opinion, but he realized too late that she hadn’t come with him. Stupid. She could have come as part of the Hunt - they didn’t have anybody, it wasn’t as if they could complain. Not to Jon, anyway.

But she wouldn’t have wanted to. Daisy hated being an Avatar, for reasons that Jon had just never understood. She tried explaining it to him a long time ago, trying to talk about how guilty it made her and how much harm she had done, but it had just confused him more. She had tried to explain up until the end, as Jon had grown more and more angry at her for her refusal. He had never understood.

She had stopped talking about it lately, though. Which was good. Jon didn’t know what he’d do if she starved herself twice. He wouldn’t have tolerated it.

Daisy had told him that the most important thing in the world was to make your own choices. So he let her make hers. No matter how much he hated it.

The others weren’t familiar at all. There was a woman with wild dark hair sitting behind the Dark placard, which confused Jon slightly until he decided that they likely hadn’t wanted to send the thirteen year old. There was this really wrinkly and gross old man for the Vast, a younger looking but older feeling man for the Buried, a deathly pale woman for the Lonely, the muscular woman and the teenager for the Desolation...why did they have two…

The teenager was staring at Jon. She had intense orange eyes, the kind that bored into you and never blinked. She looked away every few seconds, as if she was being subtle, but when her gaze drifted back to him again he met her eyes with an unimpressed stare. She squeaked and looked away firmly, hiding behind her curtain of long red hair.

Okay. Whatever. Kids were weird. Jon was glad he had never been one.

Jon swapped out WarioWare for Pokemon SoulSilver, opening back up where he left off catching another MissingNo. His entire team was full of the things. He wanted a Mareep, damn it.

Finally, Annabelle rapped the table sharply and said, “It’s agreed, then. Everybody submit specific written documentation of your territory by city block, and fax it to me by our next meeting. Please abide by the resolutions to the conflicts we discussed here. Any objections to moving onto our next order of business?”

“I have an objection to the Dark’s questionable behavior,” the Buried guy rumbled. He was dripping dirt everywhere. Why didn’t anybody complain to him about his hygiene? “In the words of the lad Brody, they are kill stealing. If they do not withdraw their nightmares from our embrace of the Earth, we will unleash retribution with extreme prejudice. The dirt is a holy place, and we will not be polluted by -”

“Oh, stick your shovel up your fat ass, Wakely,” the woman with wild black hair said. “People aren’t afraid of the fucking dirt, they’re afraid of the darkness in the tombs. Walk into a mausoleum sometime.”

“You poach the End’s territory now too, wench?”

“Please leave me out of this,” Oliver said.

“If you call me wench one more time, you’ll be watching the back of your eye sockets for eternity,” the woman said pleasantly, “so royally fuck you.”

“Um, not to interrupt, but that’s not really how it works,” the teenager said, and the death glares between the two turned on her. She hunched her shoulders, but her expression stayed firm. “The terror is going to overlap. That’s just how it is. The Buried and the Dark are not entirely...separate things, they’re gradients that overlap. If you get all finicky about what belongs to who, then you’re just going in circles…”

“The last thing we need is the coward Messiah of the Eternal Flame telling me how to worship my god,” the woman snapped.

“Watch your fucking mouth, Manuela,” the muscular woman said flatly.

Then they were glaring, and Wakely was saying something else snide, and Manuela was making another dig at the teenager as the muscular woman bitched, and Jon abruptly wanted them all to shut up.

“You’re being too loud,” Jon said.

The entire room shut up immediately. The teenager opened her mouth, but the pale woman caught her eye and shook her head.

Annabelle clapped her hands in the silence. “Onto the second motion, then! Infrastructure! Right now we are sorely missing a great deal of essential city infrastructure, and it’s becoming a huge problem. We’re still figuring out what’s mystically maintained, and what’s just being maintained because the humans haven’t figured out how to stop doing it yet, but there’s some work that’s being neglected. The Vast has motioned to reinstate the postal system.”

“Vetoed,” the Lonely woman said.

“You can’t do that,” Annabelle said blankly. “We need to vote.”

“I’d like to make an argument for the motion, dear,” the Vast man said, making Annabelle’s eye twitch. “My argument is this: Amazon Prime is so convenient!”

“We have every Amazon warehouse under our control,” the representative from the Flesh said. He was...very fleshy. “It’d be no issue to go back to production.”

“Jared has a point. The Eye’s been feeding through Amazon for years,” Annabelle said thoughtfully. The mention of the Eye piqued Jon’s attention, but then he finally ran into a Mareep and he stopped paying attention again. “We can tap into the people who are living 1984 and get them back in industry.”

“Can we begin producing again?” the Desolation woman asked, interested. “We have all these people miserable at work, but nothing’s actually being made. If we let a little reality break into the nightmares…”

“Wouldn’t that be dangerous?” the Lonely woman asked sharply. “It’ll make it easier for them to escape.”

“They all escape eventually,” Sarah Baldwin said. “They all break out in days to months. We can afford a little more permeability if we actually get things working again.”

Then conversation was off and running about something that Jon didn’t really care about, so he checked out again. He didn’t know what all of this production and infrastructure stuff meant. Going Postal meant that he had a very good understanding of a mail system, but he didn’t have a personal interest. Who he would send letters to?

Jon quickly downloaded what Amazon was. Oh, that would be useful. Wait, he could get any book delivered to his door? Without having to go out hunting for it? How would this work without the internet - a catalogue?

Everybody seemed invested in getting the internet back up, except for the two hundred year olds. Jared kept saying something about porn, whatever that was. If enough people felt like Annabelle, then maybe they would make it a priority. Jon didn’t know how he felt about that.

He didn’t know how he felt about the fact that it was impossible.

But everybody - or most people - genuinely seemed excited about it. They even seemed to be working together, intent on the same goal.

Sarah Baldwin wanted to know if we have enough people constantly under camera to have footage for television. Maybe we could get cable back up? DVDs were a lost cause, but if we could just start airing the VHS tapes…

Annabelle had a look of hook-ups (literally) in the film industry, maybe they could do something like that?

The Hahns are highly involved in production and distribution, Jared pointed out. There was no need to produce food, but if we wanted to increase access to goods it might be possible.

Why? Why did they care? This world provided them everything they needed.

For some reason, Jon felt a little defensive. What did they need all of these things for, anyway? All of this entertainment - cable and movies and internet. The world had books. What was so wrong with books? There were even old VHS tapes liberated from charity stores if you really wanted to get fancy. The most high-tech electronic Jon had ever found was the DS in his hands and a couple of games, which Salasea had given to him as an exotic artifact. Only Salasea owned these things now: trinkets and curiosities, hallmarks of an antiquated time.

What was the point of these supply lines? People didn’t need to eat or shop or consume. Nightmares provided the facsimile, and since they got a little crazy if they never ate they were provided the security of food. Buying towels and shoes and toys...it was a waste of time. People had towels. Nobody outgrew their shoes or wore them out. Children’s toys didn’t break, and anything that made happiness a little easier to come by was discouraged.

Nothing was ever subtracted. Nothing was added. The world was frozen, captured in the amber of time, and it would never move backwards and forwards.

They knew this. Didn’t they?

“We have to make this place livable for us,” Annabelle was saying. She spoke oddly intensely, with a fervor that Jon had seen in her a few times before. Annabelle didn’t like to give off the impression that she cared about things, but once you knew her it was hard to miss. “It’s easier than ever to stay powerful and feed our Forces, but that doesn’t mean we can grow complacent. We have to work together to eat sustainably. To live sustainably. If we don’t try to rebuild, at least enough to get the world moving again, then we’re sentencing ourselves to a boring and decrepit eternity in a world we will all see die within our immortal lifetimes.”

Everyone at the table was nodding. They looked determined. United. Almost...they held an expression that Jon just couldn’t name. An emotion he didn’t understand.

He had seen it in Daisy, once. She had called it hope. He hadn’t understood back then. He still didn’t.

“Liar,” Jon said, as his minigame timed out and the game over music tinkled across the tinny speakers.

Annabelle looked at him, expression inscrutable. “These problems are legitimate, Archivist. The writing’s clearly on the wall, and -”

“You’re all so stupid,” Jon complained, and Annabelle abruptly stopped talking to glare at him. Whatever. Jon had lost all patience. He closed his DS and dropped it on the table, resigning himself to talking. Jon hated public speaking, especially in front of so many people he didn’t know and, frankly, creeped him out. “You can’t build anything in this world. If you try to impose a cute little government then it’ll break down into cannibalism or something.”

“Would you know, Archivist?” Jared asked evenly.

“Jonah didn’t enact this world through myself for living,” Jon said, bored, and everybody stared at him with wide eyes. “We created it for suffering. Suffering isn’t living.”

“One might say the opposite,” the Vast man said, somehow twinkingly. “Suffering is an unavoidable side effect of living, isn’t it?”

“Is that philosophy? I don’t understand philosophy.” Jon wasn’t very good with anything that required extensive and complex thought. Which made sense - Jonah hadn’t exactly created him to think. “Humanity has clouded your minds. Makes all of you irrational and sentimental. Release your attachment to the old world. Just accept the way things are now.” Jon shrugged. “It’s not as if you can do anything about it.”

“Nobody in this room is exactly human, Jon,” Oliver pointed out placidly.

Jon snorted. “Wanting free porn back? You’re all dripping with it.” It was honestly a little sad. “The only ones in this world free of that weakness are Jonah and I. And he’s the only one who could do any of this.”

“Then where is he?” the Desolation woman snapped. She leaned forward, hands gripping the table in anger. The teenager watched her anxiously. “Why doesn’t he come on down from his high tower and explain what’s going on? We’re in the fucking dark here!”

“I’m sorry,” Jon said coldly, “who are you?”

He rubbed his bad hand. For some reason, everybody watched him do so. He stopped, self-conscious.

“Prejudiced remarks aside,” Manuela said. She had been hostile all day, but she now spoke cautiously. “Jonah Magnus needs to take responsibility for this. We don’t even know how the world ended.”

Several people glanced at Annabelle, whose lips thinned. “I shouldn’t say.”

Of course she knew. And of course she wasn’t about to tell him. Whatever. Jon didn’t care. Past was the past.

He found his hand clenching. There was a strange tension in his throat. He didn’t care. He didn’t. Rehashing the worst pain he had ever felt in his life, even now, wasn’t really worth the time or energy. He didn’t care.

“No use crying over spilled milk,” the Vast guy said lightly. “But it is a relevant question. Jonah frequently spoke of his plans, and I realize now that he had never truly shown all of his cards. But he had always held an intention to...well, rule. It’s only in this moment of his victory that he shows no interest.”

“Jonah’s busy,” Jon snapped. “Trust me, you don’t want that arse around. He never even gives me directions, and I’m his right hand.”

“Or his puppet,” Sarah Baldwin muttered.

It was fair. Probably even true. So why did an intense and burning fury shoot through Jon?

“What gives this child the right to dictate us?” Wakely demanded. Jon’s hands clenched on the table until his knuckles turned white. “What gives Jonah Magnus the right to rule us?”

“He’s not much of a ruler,” Amherst grunted. “My vote’s that we rule this world in a council.”

“Administration is important,” Annabelle said, impossibly terse, “but unless anyone here actually has the means to seize control, then there’s no use voting on it.”

“There’s only one Avatar here who has those means,” Manuela said darkly, crossing her arms and looking straight at Jon. “So why doesn’t he do anything?”

They were feeding on each other. They wouldn’t have said these - these treasonous things by themselves. But when one person spoke up, the next felt empowered, and they felt as if they outnumbered him. Jonah Magnus was hardly there to press him into obedience - why buckle under his oppressive gaze? What could he do?

The stupidest people in this world all gathered in one room. It took a special level of arrogance, pride, and stupidity to assume that one was more powerful than Jonah Magnus.

“I’m not in charge of anything,” Jon said tersely. “I don’t even have a domain. I’m just trying to live my life.”

The Desolation woman snorted. “Typical. You’re rolling over for Jonah.”

Jon’s eyes widened - not in surprise, but in anger.

The teenager seemed a little uncomfortable. “Jude,” she hissed, “I don’t think -”

“Jude,” Jon breathed. “So that’s your name.”

He was standing up. Jon didn’t remember standing up. Everybody was leaning away, their own eyes wide. Some just looked confused, slightly perturbed - Wakely, Amherst. Others looked ready to bolt - Manuela, the old man from the Vast. Jon knew, in a flash of insight that grew hotter and hotter, that he preferred to be called Simon.

“Sit down, Jon,” Annabelle said, as authoritative and no-nonsense as ever. Normally he’d listen to her, respecting that she usually knew what was going on far better than he ever did. But the words barely reached him, drowned out by the rushing in his ears. “Look, we can talk about this rationally, alright?”

“Oh, fuck off,” Jude said. She snorted, burning red eyes never leaving Jon’s. “As if I’m scared of this baby prick.”

“Maybe we can move on from Jonah Magnus,” Simon said quickly. “A discussion of airspace rights, perhaps -”

“Jon,” Oliver said, voice creased in worry, “are you okay?”

“This is the all-powerful demigod you all warned me about?” Amherst said. He was dripping with condescension, just like - just like everyone else - “He’s little more than a child.”

“Guys!” the teenager’s voice rang through the room, close to scared. “The walls are melting!”

So they were. It was as if the stone and wood was made of wax, sent guttering by a sputtering candle. Wood and finish were already pooling on the floor, melting the rolling wheel of Jared’s chair and forcing him to jump up from it.

“Jon!” Annabelle said sharply. “Don’t throw a tantr -”

The table cracked sharply. It was warping, twisting in on itself as if it was a wrung towel. Jon realized, too late to care, that his hair was rising. He knew his eyes were spinning, an eternal churning wheel.

“Fuck this, meeting adjourned.” Manuela stood up sharply, pushing her chair back into a melting bubble. The floor was beginning to bubble and warp. “See you all next month.”

“I’ll walk you out,” Simon said quickly, standing up too.

“You have two minutes,” Jon said, voice heavy with static. “Don’t bother me about this shit again.”

The signal was clear enough. Jude rose from her chair, grabbing her teenager’s elbow and pushing her out the door. The others followed in their wake, expressions carefully neutral. It was useless: Jon could taste their fear, their trepidation. Even better: their anger, barely brindled fury, and disgust.

They couldn’t do anything about it, Jon thought giddily. No matter how much they hated or were scared of him, they couldn’t do anything about it. Jon was powerful. Jon couldn’t be hurt. Jon couldn’t -

Jon couldn’t reign this in.

Before he knew it, the conference room was empty. Only two other people remained: Annabelle, expression as inscrutable as ever, and an uncomfortable Oliver. His hands were stuck in the pockets of his pea coat, and he was looking around with disaffected interest - as if he was standing in line at a Starbucks in rush hour instead of in the epicenter of a melting building.

Jon knew. The entire building was dissolving. It was teeming with humans, lost and trapped and defenseless. He didn’t want to kill them. Jon didn’t like hurting people. He heard a voice speak in his head, foreign and familiar. Bring it in, Jon.

But he couldn’t. His hair would fall back around his shoulders, and the static rushing through his ears just wouldn’t abate. It felt like everything was pouring out of him, a relentless faucet that wouldn’t stop churning out thick streams of putrid water.

Jon fisted his hands in his hair, groaning. “Where’s -”

“She’s at your flat,” Annabelle said calmly. “Do you want me to get her?”

No. No, this was too embarrassing. He was an adult, he could handle this. Jon groaned again and sank into his seat, saved from the toxic waste of glass and brick. “No. Focus on getting the humans out of here.”

“What do you care?” Oliver asked, vaguely curious. “You don’t seem that fond of humanity.”

“Just do it!” Jon snapped, instead of admitting that he didn’t know either.

Eventually, the room stopped melting. Jon didn’t even want to think about how difficult it would be to leave the building. He could probably straighten out the hallways just enough to help Annabelle and Oliver get out.

Ugh. This place had sunk straight into Helen’s domain. He could taste it in the air: any future human who wandered in would be stuck in an endless spiral of twisted, melted hallways. Probably flavored with...powerlessness and fear. Feeling very small, as someone very large loomed down on you. Tories.

At least he hadn’t sucked flattened the building into one plane again, robbing it of all spiritual and metaphysical dimensions. Jon had done that to a graveyard once. The place was putrid now. He had accidentally fallen into a grave and panicked and - anyway.

He rested his forehead on the warped and splintered conference table, waiting for his throat to open back up and the rushing in his ears to die down. Finally, after what felt like forever, his hair floated back down and he felt his eyes resume their normal shape.

Awkward silence loomed. Jon sighed. “Sorry.”

“I worked hard to arrange this, you know,” Annabelle said.

“Yeah.”

“I am not happy with you, Jon,” Annabelle said.

“Sorry,” Jon said miserably. “I didn’t mean to.”

“I mean,” Oliver said, after a beat, “that’s kind of terrifying. That you can melt a building on accident. Like, what would happen if you got really pissed at Manchester or something?”

“Goodbye, Manchester,” Annabelle muttered.

Jon lifted his head, glaring blearily at Oliver. “If you think that’s crazy, you should have been there the one time I opened up an extradimensional gate and unleashed nightmare terrors into the world, rendering all of humanity immortal and eternally trapped in endless infernal hellscapes.”

Oliver shrugged, conceding the point.

But Annabelle just looked thoughtful. Probably reworking five billion plans, knowing her. Jon didn’t want to know, because he didn’t care. Let her do whatever she wanted. None of his business. Hopefully, after this disaster, she’d keep it out of his business.

Finally, she asked, “Was that true? That there’s no moving us forward?”

Jon sighed. He really didn’t want to talk about this anymore. But if he didn’t tell her then she’d just bug him about it later, or find some way to get the information out of him that would be both convoluted and unpleasant. “I’m not saying that people can’t...live their lives. They’re obviously still going to work and typing in every digit of pi into their spreadsheets for eight hours and then going home to stare, hypnotized, into cable television. But I am saying that there’s no achieving more than that. There’s no going backwards, and there’s no going forwards. The past is closed to us, and so is the future.” He eyed her warily. “If you have any cute time travel ideas, forget it.”

“I would never,” Annabelle said innocently.

Yeah, sure. Liar. Jon scowled. “You’re all hampered by your humanity.” When Oliver opened his mouth, Jon just shook his head. “Even Avatars are still people. We’re all conduits for eldritch Forces, hollowed out to serve as a live wire for their power, but we - you all remember a human life. You care about things. You have relationships. You love. It makes you weak. Some of you don’t even like your lot in life - some part of you aching for something familiar, when you felt genuine happiness instead of the cheap facsimile induced by causing pain.” Jon looked down at his hands, reflexively picking at one of his many scars. “You should be more like me. You’d be more focused.”

“Are you capable of...changing, Jon?” Oliver asked curiously. “Or will you be this way forever?”

“Most of Annabelle’s plans hinge on that not happening,” Jon said, not even aware it was true until he said it, “so I suppose we’ll find out.”

Of course, Jon knew what Oliver had tactfully not said. He had wanted to know if Jon would ever grow up. They all thought he was a child, even Annabelle. Jon had the feeling even Daisy did, sometimes.

It was stupid and they were wrong. Child would imply adult, would imply birthday parties and learning to talk and learning geography. Jon didn’t have to learn geography. He knew geography. He didn’t age. He was born being able to talk. Jon was above all of these things. He was mature. And even if he wasn’t, who cared?

But Annabelle just smiled at Jon, a polite mask. Annabelle hadn’t made a genuine facial expression in - well, longer than Jon’s memory. Or maybe that was the wrong way to put it. Maybe it was more accurate that she never expressed an emotion that she didn’t mean to. “Well! That wasn’t entirely a disaster, was it? I think next time could go really well. Don’t worry, Jon, I won’t drag you out of bed again.” She propped her hands on her hips. “Now, the three of us are going back to your flat and doing something about your awful rat’s nest.”

Oh, lord. This was going to be terrible. “Do we have to?” Jon whined.

Annabelle smiled again, but this time it was so dangerous that Jon couldn’t help but quail. “My spiders are collecting the avocado oil and coconut oil now. My best friend in secondary had 3C hair too, I think I know what to do. Oliver, bring the buzzer, scissors, and satin wraps.”

“Three cee?” Jon asked, confused. “What’s that?”

Oliver grimaced. “Why am I involved in this?”

“Because I don’t know what to do with a guy’s hair, and you’re probably the only guy I’ve ever met who knows what to do with hair? Keep up.”

“I’m feeling pigeonholed, but fine. But we are not buzzing that hair. It’s a crime against god.” Oliver looked thoughtful for a second. “I think Jon would do a nice, loose afro. I think I still have some hair masks and vinegar rinse -”

“Why is this so complicated?” Jon asked, completely freaked out. “What are these things?”

But Annabelle just smiled sweetly at him, reaching out and squeezing his shoulder. “Don’t worry, Jon. I’ll teach you what you need to know.”

Well. It seemed easier than figuring things out for himself. Jon didn’t like responsibility. Today was his first taste of responsibility in ages, and he had already decided that it sucked. Better to let somebody who actually cared take care of it.

That way, he didn’t have to be powerful. Didn’t have to be anybody’s demigod on Earth, capable of murdering whoever he liked. He could just be Jon, Private Detective, Archivist. He could have fun. Just live. Didn’t he deserve that, despite everything?

He stood up too, summoning a shaky smile for Annabelle. “So you aren’t mad about me ruining your meeting, then?”

“Water under the bridge,” Annabelle said. “Now come on, we have to stop by the chemist’s and pick up a decent hairbrush.”

Hairbrush? What was that for?

****

Six months after time resumed its course

Jon opened his mailbox, only to find mail.

Suspicion immediately loomed. Jon didn’t get mail. Not due to any kind of impossibility, but just because he didn’t pay bills and none of the mimic junk mail was brave enough to try their luck with him. Maybe invoices, sometimes, but mostly those were dropped off in person. The invoices were scarier than the finger-biting mimics: he still didn’t quite know how they worked. Sasha kept insisting they were important, but Sasha also insisted face masks were important. She didn’t know everything. That was Jon’s job.

He grabbed the singular envelope anyway, elbowing his door back open as he inspected the envelope. Thick, rich, and creamy, it reminded Jon uncomfortably of Annabelle’s party invite from a while ago. In the front, he saw that it was addressed to...Agnes?

The living room was noisy and busy, entirely due to the recipient of the letter and her brother. They were playing Mario Kart on the Wii, and apparently disowning each other. Jon watched Agnes hit Gerry with a blue shell, slightly bemused, and saw Dry Bones spin out into the center and make a pitiful noise. Baby Peach loomed supreme.

Jon almost felt bad interrupting. An opened bag of chips scattered dust around Gerry, and Agnes had a half-empty pack of uncooked hot dogs next to her. They had both been at this for a while. “Agnes, you got a letter. And try to keep it down, Sasha’s working and Daisy’s sleeping.”

Agnes turned around, half a hot dog hanging out of her mouth like a cigar. She swallowed it quickly, holding out one hand and letting Jon give her the letter. She frowned down at the front, ignoring the way Gerry craned his head to take a look, and when she checked the back she frowned deeper. There was a wax seal, its details out of sight to Jon.

“Is it that time already?” Agnes muttered, putting her controller down and letting the parade lap on the screen continue.

Gerry frowned too as Agnes carefully broke the seal. “Is that from…?”

“Yeah. Weird, though. Guess it’s about time for the follow-up to the emergency meeting.” She pulled a letter out of the envelope, embossed on creamy paper. She scanned it quickly. “Downing street this time…”

“Are you going to go?”

“Well, it’s not as if Jude can,” Agnes said diplomatically, refolding the paper.

Jon cleared his throat, making the kids jump. They had half-forgotten he was there. Far too late, Agnes hid the invite behind her back. “Care to explain?”

“Oh, you know,” Agnes said vaguely, casually tossing the invite behind her shoulder and letting Gerry snatch it out of midair. “It’s the invite to the Avatar council meetings. I think they’re held once every three months, but since months are a theoretical concept it’s occasionally hard to tell..”

“Not these days,” Gerry said excitedly. “It’s cold! The leaves fell!”

“The leaf thing is dope,” Agnes agreed. “Anyway, I should go. I have, like, serious words. I already submitted ten motions. I want to run for Treasurer, but Jared keeps saying that anybody who isn’t old enough to open her own bank account shouldn’t be treasurer.”

“What on Earth are you talking about?” Jon asked blankly. Was this some kind of youth league? Baseball? Was this baseball?

Abruptly, Agnes looked very sketchy. “I...it’s really nothing you’d be interested in.”

“I am interested in everything,” Jon said. He was offended beyond all belief. “Don’t keep secrets!”

“Jon’s not a big fan of secrets,” Gerry stage-whispered. “Did Annabelle say that we shouldn’t tell him or did she just say not to bother him about it?”

Agnes abruptly started sweating wax. “I can’t remember.”

“Now you have to tell me,” Jon said flatly.

They gave up very quickly. Teenagers loved hiding things, but they also loved drama and spilling secrets. “It’s the Avatar council meeting thing,” Gerry said eagerly. “You know, where you guys all get together and re-enact the British empire by making government decisions and imposing made-up laws on the people you’ve conquered and are currently subjugating under your big stompy boots?”

“I’m changing the system from the inside,” Agnes said proudly.

Gerry shot her an unimpressed look. “Okay. Yeah. Sure. Because that’s a thing that makes sense in an inherently corrupt system with an inherently unethical existence that exists to be profitable at the expense of the marginalized.”

“I don’t understand anything children these days even talk about,” Jon said.

“I’m surprised you don’t remember it,” Agnes said to Jon. But she had a strange expression on her face, one hard to decipher. “It’s where we met.”

Jon stared at her blankly. “I don’t remember talking to you.”

“I was sitting next to Jude?” Agnes hinted. “Teenager? Red hair?”

Wait. Jon snapped his fingers. “Annabelle’s idiot thing! Right! Right, of course, Oliver made me sit still for five hours afterwards, it was insufferable.”

Wait. Jon abruptly remembered the rest of that day. It seemed like so long ago, even though it was probably objectively only about three years. It must have been about...yes, a few months after Daisy had gotten stuck...

He barely remembered those tepid and awful months. He had been on a bit of a hair trigger back then. It had been really tough, with Daisy leaving and his terrifying encounter with Jonah. He remembered everybody had been annoying and mean and made him feel bad…

“First time I ever remember feeling fear, honestly,” Agnes said to Gerry. “Scariest moment of my life. Remember when we first met Jon? All I could think about was that he was going to melt us like he melted that building.”

Hot shame flared in Jon’s gut. Right. Other people were real, and existed, and were probably more important than his...what had he even been upset about? He didn’t remember.

He melted a building and he didn’t even remember why.

“I’m going too,” Jon said, and both kids startled. “I’m coming with you.”

Agnes and Gerry stared at each other with wide eyes.

“Uh,” Agnes said finally, hesitant, “there’s about a 50/50 chance Annabelle said not to tell you about this, and you definitely didn’t get an invite, so statistically you probably aren’t -”

“She can’t exactly stop me from coming,” Jon said, and both kids quieted.

Power-tripping had lost all appeal for Jon - assuming role as a conduit for global and absolute power did that to you - but he couldn’t deny it was useful sometimes. The world probably could have stood a little more power-tripping from him, actually. At least, it would have been helpful if he had ever done anything helpful with it. But he had never really bothered.

But Agnes still looked perturbed, almost worried. “Annabelle’s like one of two people you used to ever listen to, so if you don’t really care what she thinks anymore -”

“I think Annnabelle knows better than to complain these days,” Jon said.

It probably was for the best that Jon didn’t listen much to Annabelle anymore.

****

Jon hadn’t really told the others about Annabelle’s worse-than-murder attempt.

It didn’t really seem like any of their business, and he had spinned a vague explanation of how the situation happened. He didn’t lie, just - withheld information.

For the first time, the truth didn’t seem so important. He had the feeling it would have just upset them. It wasn’t as if he would take revenge against Annabelle. The world needed her, and Jon was a little tired of murdering everyone who upset him. The others (Daisy) would insist on the little murder attempts if they knew, but that was probably part of why he didn’t tell them. If they never knew about the one unselfish thing he had done in his life - well, one unselfish thing didn’t make up for three years of selfishness, so there was very little point.

Martin suspected. Actually, Martin seemed to know, which terrified Jon slightly. It was impossible to get anything past Martin. Jon was deeply intimidated by the man. Sasha laughed very long and hard when he told her that, for unknown reasons.

Besides, it wasn’t as if he felt betrayed. Even if the last time he had attended one of Annabelle’s little council meetings he still trusted her, that had faded quickly in favor of complete apathy. Even then, as young as he was, he had never expected the truth from her. Just friendship. Whatever she was doing, it probably wouldn’t affect him, so there was no use in worrying. Even if Annabelle slightly terrorized every other person in the United Kingdom - well, Jon was fine, so what did it matter.

Jon couldn’t decide if he was stupid or naive. Or, even worse - if he was just lazy.

Jon didn’t listen to Annabelle anymore.

Unfortunately, he still listened to Sasha James.

Two weeks later, the date of the actual meeting, Jon was stuck explaining himself to his entire house, who doubted all of his decisions. Which was just unfair. Jon made good decisions! He had made tons of good decisions, like -

Anyway!

“I think it’s a great idea,” Sasha said, freaking out Jon. “Displaying interest in your local government’s fantastic! Did you do any research on the relevant issues?”

Jon, in the middle of pulling on his trenchcoat, started sweating. “I was just planning on showing up.”

Agnes, who was wearing a gauzy skirt and blouse as Daisy helped a whining Gerry with his court buttons, gave Sasha the thumbs up. “I’m going to propose motions and Jon’s going to say ‘yeah what she said’ and it’ll be great.”

Jon let Agnes believe that.

“Well, you’ll have to share Jon’s political weight,” Sasha said cheerfully. She was in sweatpants and one of Jon’s pilfered t-shirts again. She had recently designated herself a writer, and had joined some sort of recent artist and activist collective where they did mysterious things that Jon didn’t understand. There’s a zine involved? Jon didn’t know what a zine was and he was scared to ask.

Georgie and Melanie had spent a week teaching Jon in laborious detail what exactly the internet was - information Jon could have just downloaded, but they had been intent in their mission of creating ‘the perfect internet’ and had gone through great effort in teaching him what the ‘good’ internet was (Ravelry, Spotify, r/HobbyDrama, YouTubers but only a very specific list) and what the ‘bad’ internet was (social media, the rest of Reddit, every other YouTuber). Jon wasn’t sure if the new internet was to their specifications, and he hadn’t quite been able to avoid parts of it spiralling into nightmare dimensions and hellish breeding grounds for violence and trauma, but Melanie assured him that Twitter had always been like that.

Jon also secretly added a nightmare filter to Melanie’s screen reader, after he made sure every inch of it was accessible, after he roughly recreated screen readers. Melanie said that the voice sounded uncannily like the aunt she had hated, but that it was no big deal.

Anyway, Sasha was a blogger now. After a few meltdowns to Sasha’s computer he had to install a nightmare filter for her too, which made her complain about feeling like an old woman whose grandson had to install AdBlock on her browser. Jon was a little scared of the whole blogging thing, but everybody seemed much happier, so maybe that was the important thing.

“Wait,” Jon said, finally recognizing what Sasha said. “Share with who?”

There was a knock on the door. Jon felt intense fear.

“She’s here!” Sasha said cheerfully. “Come in!”

Jon watched in horror as Basira Hussain casually strode into her house. He knew he couldn’t stop her. She had a key to the place, because Jon had no control of his life.

“Hey honey,” Basira said, intimately.

“Hey honey,” Daisy said lovingly, releasing Gerry from her clutches.

They stared at each other, as if this was any kind of greeting whatsoever, before ignoring each other. Jon did not understand so many things.

Basira, terrifyingly, was dressed like she was about to go defend her client in court. She had a briefcase, and Jon recognized her most important looking crimson hijab. Very abruptly, Jon had a flashback to the way Annabelle had dressed when she had picked him up in his old office. They even had the same expression: determined and resolute, in a way that Jon could never understand.

Basira nodded at Jon. “Hey. Sasha invited me to this thing. She told you I was coming, right.”

“She did not.”

“Whatever. Are we going to get going? We’re going to be late.”

Jon looked at Sasha pleadingly. Cold and resolute stone, Sasha showed no mercy. She smiled brightly, giving Agnes a final hug and pushing her forward. “You kids have a great time! Terrorize the bourgeoisie!”

“I am the bourgeoisie,” Jon said blankly, but the situation had already spiraled out of his control. Agnes and Basira were already comparing lists of notes, seriously discussing the motions Agnes had raised and how she was going to help Basira.

That was it – how Agnes could help Basira. How Agnes, and the role she had in the council hall, could help Basira and the people Jon knew that she intended on representing today.

They hadn’t even looped him in. Had they assumed that he wouldn’t care? That he wouldn’t help? Agnes hadn’t even wanted him there. Only Sasha -

He felt a cool, small hand grab his arm, and he turned around to see Daisy. Gerry was already enthusiastically capturing Sasha about the concert he and Agnes were going to later, and Jon knew that they weren’t listening. Daisy’s expression was somber, her body tense. Daisy wasn’t one for facial expressions at the best of times – not even a new development – but something about this…

“I should go with you,” Daisy said.

“I already told you no,” Jon said, miffed. “I can handle this by myself.”

“I shouldn’t have let you go by yourself last time,” Daisy said. Jon could admit that things probably wouldn’t have spiraled out of control if she had been there, but that didn’t mean – “Don’t terrify yourself just because you feel guilty.”

Daisy hadn’t aged any more than the rest of the world had. As an Avatar, she likely never would. She even looked young for her mid-forties, with her short stature and broad, unlined face. Sasha had assured him that she was ‘Kristen Bell-ish’, whatever that meant. But she always seemed so old to him: larger than life and not even reaching his shoulders. Wise and world-weary even when, as Jon was beginning to see, she didn’t know what she was doing any more than the rest of them did.

It scared Jon, almost: if Daisy wasn’t the person who could swoop in and make it all better, then who could?

If Jonah wasn’t the omnipresent god, then who was the most powerful person in the world?

Jon shook her off, fighting the pull in his gut. “I’m not scared of them anymore.”

She didn’t look impressed. “You’re always scared.”

“Look at the time, going to be late, gotta go!”

He still couldn’t win an argument against her.

They took a taxi there, as Jon had cheerfully informed them that the Tube was delayed due to infernal leaves on the line (Work-from-home was the hot new thing these days). Basira was clearly on edge, tense and constantly keeping an eye on the taxi driver (a friendly skeleton) and the street. Agnes wasn’t any more relaxed, reading her notes over and over.

Jon leaned back in his plush seat, closing his eyes. What would Martin say? He would probably be cuttingly pointing out how Jon was in denial over how he really was secretly afraid of the Avatars and now it was even more dangerous because he was much more willing to power-trip.

Forget about what Jon wanted. Forget about his fear, his insecurities, and every rationale he had constructed for himself as to why Jon deserved a life free of these worries.

Jon was above politics. The Avatar with no need to defend their territory, who held no fear of death or failure, had no need. Jon could not lose the affection of his patron. His domain was the world, and it could not be attacked no matter how hard he tried. Jon was not a politician, so of course that meant he could not be manipulated by politicians -

“What’s your plan,” Jon asked, without opening his eyes.

They told him. Basira was clinical; Agnes excited. Jon didn’t say anything about it, and let the conversation die down until the taxi was rolling in front of 10 Downing Street. Didn’t the prime minister live here? Boris...something? Jon quickly downloaded the information, before he found that Boris Johnson had been the world’s most convoluted psy-op by Annabelle and had never exactly existed. Thank goodness.

Right as the taxi idled in front of the building, Jon opened his eyes. He let them flare up, an intimidating spark of toxic green. “You two follow my lead.”

“Excuse me,” Basira said flatly, as Jon waved at the driver in lieu of payment. He hadn’t found out that you were supposed to pay taxi drivers until...a few months ago. In his defense, they never asked. “This is our operation.”

Jon glanced at her, and something relaxed around the corners of her eyes. He wondered if his expression was familiar to her. He couldn’t help but smile weakly, and that softened her expression even more. “Will you trust me?”

Basira stared at him for one long beat, then two, before grimacing. “Don’t make me regret this.”

“Do I usually make you regret it?”

“Literally, every single time,” Basira said.

“Then it’s a pretty stupid decision to trust me again,” Jon pointed out. “You don’t seem the type to make stupid decisions.”

Basira stared at him for a long moment, before leaving the car.

Jon and Agnes silently watched her leave, before glancing at each other.

“And I thought you ran from your feelings,” Agnes said finally, before following her.

Jon, left with nothing else to do, followed Agnes.

10 Downing Street, Jon quickly found, was just like every other pretentious old British home. With lots of grandiose rooms with furniture shoved into corners so everybody could appreciate the gold-plated tile, or sitting rooms with the most uncomfortable places to sit Jon had ever seen. Each wall hosted gigantic portraits of famous British figures, who were all so ugly that Agnes incinerated one for fun. Jon respected her choices: he had been wearing a stupid wig.

Jon, unfortunately instinctively aware of the layout and history of this sordid place, led them through the halls. He opened his mouth, instinctively about to funnel a Statement regarding the decades of human suffering and imperialism, before forcing his mouth closed. Basira wouldn’t appreciate it. Besides, the Statements had been easier to ignore lately - like curious dogs nosing at his hands rather than insistent children demanding to be fed.

Instead, he settled on casually updating them on the choice of location. “A year ago, this location wouldn’t have been safe for Basira at all. This building was a nightmare pit of despair.” He led them up the ridiculous flights of stairs watching carefully as Agnes jumped up them. Trick steps, you know. Basira proceeded far more cautiously. “It’s...no less a nightmare pit, but like the rest of London it’s now safe to navigate. I’d keep clear of the residential rooms, however. The Prime Minister and his family haven’t escaped their nightmares since the apocalypse, and they never will.”

Basira’s eyebrows skyrocketed up. “David Cameron’s stuck in hell? No surprise there. What’s he having a nightmare about?”

“Well, there’s this pig, right, and you’ll never guess what he’s doing -”

“Never mind,” Basira said quickly. “Not interested.”

“I’m interested,” Agnes said.

“I’d rather you weren’t.”

Jon, who also wished he didn’t know this information, quickly directed them towards the conference room.

But he found himself stopping in front of the intricately carved oak double doors. The wrought golden handles were grimy and dull with dust, but Agnes and Basira did not hesitate to open the door and walk in. They didn’t hesitate; they weren’t frightened. Or, if they were, they didn’t let it stop them.

But Jon stopped. He felt like Annabelle, in that moment. Annabelle, standing in front of that conference room door so long ago, unable to admit that she felt any fear at all.

She had been desperate. Jon saw that now. Only a desperate person would have ever concocted that plan against Jon. He was the sole person capable of murder in this world, and the sole person who was so vindictive and petty that he would kill anybody who said something that he didn’t like.

Annabelle was arrogant. She thought herself the most intelligent person in every room. She was petty, manipulative, and power-hungry. She thought that the world was so broken that somebody had to fix it, and that she was the only one who could. She was desperate.

Jon didn’t particularly want to do this. But Jon really, really had to grow up.

Jon opened the door.

It was a far cry from the nice, professional conference room in City Hall. The floor was some ugly light brown hardwood color, and the walls were tudor-like and panelled. Old man ribboned curtains, an intricate rug woven from human rights abuses, and a claw-foot long conference table with an array of chairs made up an incredibly ‘antique’ room. The British found ‘antique’ and ‘wealth signalling’ to be the same thing. It made for some very ugly buildings and very uncomfortable chairs.

Nobody else had entered yet. Jon checked the time with his extradimensional psychic powers and realized that Sasha had hustled them out the door fifteen minutes earlier than necessary. She was so intelligent.

Agnes was already moving to her uncomfortable seat, and Jon tapped Basira on the arm and silently pointed to the seat with the ‘EXTINCTION’ placard. She raised an eyebrow at him, but followed his direction. Maybe that was what her trust looked like.

There was a placard stamped ‘BEHOLDING’ in big letters. Gone unoccupied since the last time Jon had been here.

He ignored it, and sat down at the head of the table. Likely where Annabelle usually sat, as director of the meetings. Historically, where the leader of Britain had once sat and directed the affairs of the country.

Jon kicked up his heels on the polished antique wood, pulling up an episode of The Twilight Zone in his brain. He identified with Rod Serling.

The other Avatars filtered in, one by one. All of their eyes widened when they saw Jon, but none of them said anything. Jon wondered what had filtered through the Avatar grapevine. They always knew all of the gossip on each other. It was impossible to miss the Earth’s paradigm shift, and Agnes mentioned that they had convened an emergency meeting on it. Doubtlessly, his name had come up. They likely knew he was the instigator. Who else could?

Annabelle was the fourth in, as fashionably on time as usual. She was the only one who stopped in her tracks when she saw Jon. A surprise, to a woman unused to surprises. Jon’s house didn’t have insect problems.

Her eyes widened. Her jaw clenched. That was all it took. And Jon Knew, in the way that he Knew things, that she was wondering if this was when he finally killed her.

She didn’t know why she was still alive. It was stressing her out. It was a move that made no sense - an unforeseen reaction. Jon was predictable. When Jon wasn’t predictable, and when Jon’s actions weren’t being very precisely controlled, then she was left with a vindictive and irreverent steam train on her hands. She hadn’t predicted his presence here.

Jon was also sitting in her chair. Scuffing the wood. Leaning back in the chair, and definitely scuffing the floor too.

He pointed to the chair at his right, with a placard that now read ‘WEB’. Annabelle sat down in it. Everybody noticed.

Everybody also noticed Basira. She was receiving some glares, or some pointedly unwelcome expressions. But Basira’s glares and unwelcome expressions were more powerful than any demon could ever offer, and one by one each Avatar looked away in shame.

Only Oliver actually talked to him. Which made sense, as Oliver feared neither life nor death. When he walked in he was just as surprised to see Jon as everyone else, but he offered Jon a smile too. Jon smiled back, which made several of the other Avatars lean back.

“Hey, Archivist. I thought you hated these things.”

“I do!” Jon said cheerfully. “I wasn’t even invited.”

Annabelle busied herself with her notes and agenda.

As usual, Helen didn’t show up. Jon waited patiently for everybody to filter in. Sarah Baldwin didn’t show up either, and Jon searched for the information before realizing that he really didn’t want to know. He saw some other new faces, as well as some faintly familiar ones. It wasn’t that strange: no position of absolute power was forever. Where was that bloke Wakely?

Wait. He was the Avatar who had talked for too long about burying people alive at a party in a ridiculous skyscraper. He had upset Daisy. Jon had seen red and lost his temper. Jon had...tossed him over the side of the roof. Let him keep falling. Left him to waste away. He was probably gone now.

The entire room had been at that party. Whoops.

Now uncomfortably reminded that Jon had murdered two people at this table, that everybody was aware of that, and that Jon had completely forgotten about one of the semi-accidental murders because, in Sasha’s words, he was “a bit of a psychopath, what the hell”.

This distressed her, because apparently Jonathan Sims had always been a “sensitive boy” with a “tender heart”. Daisy had said that he was still a sensitive boy, just prone to power-tripping. Sasha said that this was also very consistent behavior. Martin said -

Martin said that Jonathan Sims had been a good person. And, more importantly, that Jonathan Sims had wanted to be a good person. That was one thing that Jon didn’t want to change.

Who just buried people alive -

Jon waited until everyone was settled down. Nobody was chatting or talking to each other: just sitting silently, avoiding eye contact.

He could see Annabelle preparing herself to say something. Better get this ball rolling, then.

“Jonah Magnus is dead.”

The silence suddenly became oppressive.

Jon didn’t stop to savor the looks on their faces. That wasn’t the point. Enjoying this wasn’t the point. Jon had all the power he wanted and - and he didn’t want it at all. He hoped that nobody here would make him have to prove it.

Jon did not want to melt anyone. He wasn’t going to melt anyone. Life had started feeling a little valuable lately. These people, the soulless demons surrounding him, weren’t any different than he was. Humans with delusions of grandeur. Infighting and power plays weren’t going to fix it.

But Annabelle had been right, as she always was. Jon couldn’t keep ignoring this. If he could do something, he had to. Even if it was something he didn’t like doing.

Or something he hated that he enjoyed doing.

“Jonah Magnus is dead,” Jon repeated pleasantly. “The world has changed. These two events are related, of course.”

He didn’t elaborate. Jon didn’t lie, but he didn’t have to say everything.

“The chains which bind this Earth have loosened,” Jon continued. He folded his hands over his stomach, relaxed and casual. “We now exist in the third age of life. I ask that you do not resist.

“The seasons have begun to change, our eternal placid summer ripening into fall and sinking into winter. Our world turns yet again. Babies are born, grow old, and die. The apocalypse as we’ve always known was rooted in its stagnancy. Life and growth has bloomed, and will continue to subsist. Change is once again thriving, and we must adapt with it.

“You’ve noticed that your power has weakened. You will have to fight harder than ever to maintain your food supplies. What was once a conquest is now a battleground. The playing field is far from even, but the enemy and harvest now have a fighting chance.” Jon smiled brightly. “Of course, I’m sure that this was all discussed during your emergency meeting. Great job with your repeated warfare attempts against humanity during the last six months, by the way. How’s that working out for us?”

Silence loomed. Of course, their repeated attempts to quash the new human uprising had not gone very well. At the end of the day, for every one Avatar there were thousands of humans.

“You are no longer strong enough to allow these divides into factions,” Jon continued. “We must present a united front if we’re going to maintain the ground we have. We can’t continue on the way we have. And I’ve realized…” Jon glanced at Annabelle, catching her eye. “I’ve realized that I haven’t been helping the situation. There’s more I can do. That’s why Annabelle has handed over moderation of these meetings to me.”

Nobody looked impressed.

He could see it: the way Jon had become an unpredictable, dangerous nuisance towards them. Almost everyone in this room would be much happier if Jon dropped dead. Nobody had really liked him because nobody had ever felt safe around him. Only Annabelle and Oliver - the person who had nothing to fear from him and the other person who did not feel fear - called themselves his friends.

But they would have preferred it if Jon was hostile or dangerous. If he had even admitted his power. But Jon play-acted at harmlessness, unwilling and afraid to make enemies, and in that way he became a nuisance rather than an enemy. He couldn’t even pretend that it wasn’t on purpose. No matter how many Avatars brushed him off or ignored him, it was better than feeling their eyes on him. Or feeling the fear rich on their tongues.

“Also I invited a human to work with us on human affairs,” Jon said cheerfully. “Diversity hire! Any questions?”

There were a lot of questions. Basira didn’t look very pleased at his remark, either.

Simon leaned forward first, pale and watery eyes intent for the first time. “What happened to Jonah Magnus?”

“Natural causes,” Jon said cheerfully. “Next?”

“What does this mean for us?” the Lukas matriarch said. Her eyes skittered away from him. “Are we in danger?”

Jon shrugged. “Only if you’re incompetent at feeding.”

“What caused this?” Manuela demanded. “The children are running wild, we can’t control them. We’ve lost a major food source.”

Jon scratched his temples. “What caused it...sustainability efforts.” He sobered abruptly. “You could never control the children, anyway. This is the generation of the apocalypse. You’ll find that very little frightens them now.”

“Does this have to do with those humans you’ve been running around with?” Jared asked, scratching his chin as Manuela’s expression contorted in rage.

As usual, a frighteningly insightful observation from such a brute. “It is actually directly their fault!”

Everybody turned to look at Basira, who was completely unapologetic. She crossed her arms. “Don’t ask me. First I’m hearing about this too.”

“Did you kill Jonah Magnus?” Oliver asked, morbidly fascinated. “How?”

“We humans didn’t kill him. We showed up at the Panopticon to kill him, only to find Jon there and Jonah Magnus already dead.” Basira scowled as Jon and Annabelle glanced at each other. Jon subtly shook his head. Annabelle’s lips thinned. “It looked like he’d been dead for years.”

An unfamiliar young man with a thick mop of clumped black hair peered at Jon, expression contorted in grotesque interest. He was one of the Avatars who had been born in the Apocalypse, who were all recognizably weird. His name was - right, Geoff Anjou. Some French man who had made his mark in the Parisian Underground before moving to London and conquering his next terrain. A Parisian to the bone - or, a great deal of bones, as the case may be. So many bones. Jon had always meant to take Daisy to that wonderful little nightmare and let her run loose. Chase people through the tunnels. Munch bones. Perfect vacation.

“So did the Archivist kill him?” Geoff asked, in the same way you would ask who won the World Cup. “Steal his Watcher’s Crown or whatever?”

“Are you the new queen bee?” a young woman asked Jon. The new Slaughter Avatar, Henrietta Something-or-another. A Cambridge legacy college student, Annabelle had intoned, and Jon had been afraid to inquire further. She was cyberbullying someone on her mobile, which seemed to be bleeding. “Cuz, like, you don’t seem qualified.”

“I did not kill Jonah Magnus,” Jon said, for the five hundreth time in the last six months. “And I’m uninterested in filling his shoes. That’s enough questions, I think.”

“Are you as weakened as the rest of us?” Amherst demanded. “Surely this destruction has affected you worst of all.”

“He probably ate Jonah Magnus,” Henrietta said. “The Archivist’s probably god now.”

Geoff snorted. “No way. He brought a human as back-up.”

“Why is there a human?” Another woman asked, with long brown hair and a broad face. Something about her was unquestionably severe, from her bulging muscles to her incredible height. Jon had never seen her before in his life. Her name was Julia Montauk. Something about her stank of life and undeath, same as Amherst. “We can’t exactly work with the prey, here.”

“I’m proposing an emergency motion,” Amherst said suddenly, shutting up the rapidly overlapping voices. “I vote that a leader is elected democratically. And that representatives are limited towards loyal patrons of the Forces.”

“I second that motion,” Geoff said immediately. “We can’t afford a chaotic uprising in our government right now -”

“This really isn’t a vote,” Jon said.

“Isn’t this a democracy?” Henrietta asked, with the self-righteous assurance of a twenty year old. “We vote on things in a democracy. And leaders.”

“Annabelle was voted in last spring,” Julia agreed. “No reason to change things.”

Well. Basira said that she trusted him. He’d have to rely on that.

Jon pressed down.

It felt just like that: pressing down. Reaching out a hand and squashing. Sometimes it was like ripping someone into shreds, and other times it was like plunging your hand into their chest and ripping out their heart. But this was just a press: a heavy static, bearing down over your shoulders like a ten ton weight. A sight so horrible that it was too eldritch to even look at. The realization that the hideous sight was you, and that it was all you would ever be.

Some - Geoff, Amherst - gasped, as if they were choking. Others - Lukas, Henrietta - gasped at their hearts, as if they were having heart attacks. Jon carefully kept it off Oliver, Annabelle, Basira, and Agnes. He couldn’t help but remember what she had said a few weeks ago, about being so frightened -

But Basira winced anyway, clutching her temples, and Jon carefully released the static until the inhabitants of the room could breathe again. His eyes did not stop glowing, and Jon didn’t bother to turn off the light show.

Jon put his feet down on the floor and rested his elbows on the table, leaning forward. As everyone shuddered and gasped, he spoke slowly and pointedly. “This is not a democracy. It never was. It is a monarchy, and the line of succession is clear.”

Annabelle’s eyes widened, and she abruptly clenched her fists before loosening them. An uncharacteristic show of emotion from her.

“This coalition has never been a democracy,” Jon said severely. “This is a house of lords. You are uninterested in representing any needs but your own, and I know Jared failed level eight government, but I’m sure all of you know that democracy represents elected officials. Nobody here has ever lived in a true democracy, and in your human fallibility you have recreated the only system you have ever known. The seats at this table are determined by power - all of you, the most powerful conduits for your Entity. I am the inevitable consequence of this system. I am your natural disaster. All of you bought me. Now you have me. And you are no longer powerful enough to make me leave.”

Agnes’ hand was covering her mouth. Jon dearly hoped Basira was holding onto that trust. He dearly hoped that he wasn’t speaking from anger.

But he couldn’t stop. It boiled and bubbled. It was an anger and a powerlessness that had subjugated him for thirty two years of his life. It had served as the cloud hanging over his head for three more.

“If you want someone to blame for the Archivist who now moderates this meeting,” Jon said, his voice the thin lid over this boiling pot of hurt and anger, “I now know their names. Jonah Magnus. Jude Perry. Nikola Orsinov. Twice. Breekon and Hope’s coffin. Peter Lukas. Jane Prentiss. Maxwell Raynor. A strategic book.” Jon tilted his head, having effectively made his point. There were others, but he had forgiven Daisy and Melanie a long time ago. And Jared had been polite about it. “Bring up your complaints with them. Good luck with that.”

Jon clapped his hands, closing the lid on those memories. Maybe one day the pain would leech from them like a sun-bleached painting, but that day hadn’t come yet. “Now! If you have any further complaints about my position here, or if you want to continue debating political theory, feel free to stand up and tell me so. We’re all interested in you regurgitating your life story until you die. Anyone?” Crickets. Jon leaned back in his chair, making himself comfortable. “Can we go onto the motions now? Ms. Hussain first, then clockwise from her.”

As if they had planned this, with the air of a well-choreographed actress, Basira stood up and spread out her papers in front of her. “The human contingency requests neutral zones in essential areas. Maternal wards in hospitals are highly vulnerable locations, and when assaulted by parasites the mortality rate of children is very high. If you want a self-replenishing food source, you have to allocate space for safe living. The next essential zone is a daycare and a school for children -”

And she was off. Jon had nothing to say, nor was anything necessary. Raging debate sparked after she finished speaking, and Basira effectively crushed the opposition. Agnes spoke up in her defense, and to Jon’s surprise even Manuela contributed a solid understanding of the necessity of children. When the debate started spiraling in an unhelpful direction Jon cut in and shut it down, before forcing the vote.

It did not pass, obviously.

“By the way,” Jon said. “Ms. Hussain proposed five different motions today. At least two of them have to pass. This debate is about picking which two you want.”

Then that started up all over again, and Jon tried not to fall asleep.

Moderating was hard. He actually had to pay attention and focus, and he hated focusing. He was effective enough at shutting down conversations, but sometimes shutting down conversations wasn’t helpful - he just needed to steer them in a more productive conversation. And Agnes’ political theory and Basira’s almost-definitely-made-up statistics started flying so thick and fast above his head that Jon was starting to almost completely lose the plot.

Jon chose his moment as the Lukas woman was complaining extensively about how Henrietta’s digital bullying was intruding upon the Loneliness of her adherents. Henrietta had argued that social media made people more lonely. Jon was afraid that Henrietta was his fault. Maybe the Eye’s fault, holistically. Jared wanted to be friends with Henrietta and co-host Instagram events, which Jon enthusiastically supported despite Basira’s glares.

He leaned over to his right, gesturing slightly at Annabelle so she would lean in closer. She raised an eyebrow at him. Annabelle’s eyebrows were crushing.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” Jon whispered to her, as quietly as possible.

Annabelle mouthed very clearly at him, ‘Wow, really? Shock!’.

“I was making a point,” Jon hissed. “An important point. But I don’t - I still -” Jon faltered, uncertain, as Henrietta began sneering something about Lukas’ hairdo. Finally, he weakly said, “You care. They need you.”

Annabelle stared at him for a long, silent moment, before turning away from him.

For the first time that day, she spoke to the room. “Let’s keep ad hominem attacks out of this,” she said sharply. “Madame Lukas, if you’ll make your closing remarks we can bring this to a vote.”

She really was good at it. Just like she had always wanted. She had never directly admitted it, but Annabelle had always wanted to be the kind of person in rooms like this.

A politician sitting in an uncomfortable chair at 10 Downing Street. Rich, successful, important. Powerful and respected. Back then, she had wanted to be famous. Now, she was content to be controlling famous people. A dream out of her reach in life; laughably attainable in this stagnant after-afterlife.

The dream had crippled her. In her search for a functional world, one that achieved and grew and provided a comfortable world, she had ended up recreating a world that hadn’t been functional at all. A world that was slow to change, and seemingly impossible to improve. A world passed down from the hands of the greedy and bloodthirsty into the hands of the uncaring and apathetic.

The apocalypse had been inevitable. Humans driving themselves to extinction. And Avatars, possessed of human weakness, had been eager to do the same. Just a pathetic room of sour and bitter people power-tripping.

For all that Sasha calls us bougie, Jon thought, we’re such deeply unhappy people.

There had once been a young man, desperate for attention and acknowledgement. Dreaming of importance. He would stay up late at night, planning out his life as a famous researcher and well-respected philosopher. Everyone would tell him how smart he was. He would prove it all - with a scholarship to Oxford, with a sneer and a haughty air, with a boss who said that he had so much promise, here’s a job that will let you realize your potential.

I deserve this job -

Something in Jon’s mind flared, a hot poker rammed behind his eye sockets. Jon hissed, one hand reaching unconsciously to his temple, and Annabelle glanced at him in alarm. She had - Jon had been thinking about her, and - what had he been -

Together, they managed to wrangle the meeting into something half-way productive. Most importantly, Basira had gotten three of her proposals passed, and Agnes’ arguments were stirring the other Avatars into serious discussion. Conversation itself would be stilted by his sheer presence, and they weren’t quite all working together yet, but they would.

It was really all the same to Jon if the Avatars or humans won the war. He should care a bit more than he did, so he didn’t vocalize this to the others. But this conflict sparked life, a strange and frantic energy. Experiences and growth. That was what Jon had always fed on.

It seemed that Jon’s skill at prioritizing himself over all others was as sharp as ever.

Eventually the two hours wrapped up, and the other Avatars were eager to leave. Jon waved them off cheerily.

“Meeting adjourned. Try not to do anything stupid until next time. And if any of you break the boundaries of the human safe zones, I’ll know! Annabelle, will you stay behind?”

The others filtered out quickly, uncharacteristically unwilling to see whatever carnage would be wrought. Agnes and Basira lingered.

“That went so well!” Agnes shouted, the minute the last Avatar left. The room was now empty save for Agnes, Basira, Annabelle, and - Oliver, who was leaning against the doorframe. “I can’t believe you actually did something useful!”

“Ouch,” Oliver said.

It was fair, though. Jon smiled weakly at her. “Hopefully I can help out a little more often going forward. But I’m not going to give any favoritism to you, Agnes. I’ll intervene to give humans a fair shot, but I really don’t want to be...king of a ruined world or whatever.”

“I know,” Agnes said firmly. She reached out and squeezed his arm, round and gentle face creased in determination. “You’d be terrible at it. So just be you, okay?”

Jon saluted her, before gesturing to the door. “Will you steal a historical British artifact from this garbage building for me? Daisy needs more targets to shoot.”

Agnes nodded eagerly and ran off. Jon silently hoped Basira would follow her, if also out of interest for also seeing British things destroyed, but she just looked at Jon intensely instead. Not quite a glare - just a searching, intense look, as if she was finding her own Statement from deep within him. It had always been disconcerting. Jon was still convinced she hated him.

“It’s not as if I knew you very well before we rescued you from the Panopticon,” Basira said crisply, pressing a folder to her chest, “but you’ve changed. What happened? What did Annabelle have to do with it?”

Jon and Annabelle glanced at each other. Oliver lifted an eyebrow.

“Basira -”

“Don’t ask me to trust you.”

“I didn’t betray that,” Jon asked, “did I?”

Her expression didn’t soften. “You didn’t. We’re going to continue needing your help. But an ally with inscrutable motivations who does everything on a whim is a bad ally to have.”

“I’m trying, Basira,” Jon said, impossibly exhausted and just a little disappointed. “Please be patient.”

“I’ve been patient for three years,” Basira said, before forcibly cutting herself short from whatever emotion she was about to display. “What happened?”

A phantom pain pieced Jon’s arms, like chains threaded through bone. Jon fought the urge to wince, unconsciously reaching up to rub at a spot on his forearm. Everyone noticed. “It’s...family business…”

“Did you kill Jonah Magnus?”

“Jonah Magnus killed me,” Jon snapped, far louder than he intended, “so he would have deserved it, wouldn’t he!”

He felt a little lightheaded, more than he intended. It felt like a hand was clenching inside his chest, more than he wanted. No, Basira is fragile, you can’t just - no, Agnes is a kid, Daisy said that we can’t -

“Basira Hussain,” Annabelle said, hands folded tightly in her lap, eyes serious and intent. Jon started, surprised to hear her speak again. “You should go catch up with Agnes.”

Basira stared at Annabelle for a long moment, lips thin, before she abruptly whirled on her heel and stalked out. Jon watched her go, exhausted. He waited for her heels to click down the hall, far away enough that he knew she wasn’t eavesdropping, before groaning and dropping his head down onto his desk.

“They hate me.”

“They’re scared of you,” Annabelle pointed out. She leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. “Frankly, Basira could stand to be a little more afraid of you. She’s going to get herself in trouble one of these days.”

“She’s practically my sister in law, I’m not going to hurt her,” Jon snapped. “Your stupid plan relied on me never hurting people I love.”

“Sorry,” Oliver said pleasantly, “is anyone ever going to tell me what’s going on? I feel like an NPC in Jon’s Dungeons & Dragons game.”

“You want to be an NPC, I found you working at Taco Bell.” God, whatever. Jon could tell Oliver. He wouldn’t give a shit. Jon sighed, lifting his head to twist around and look at Oliver instead. “You remember when I was asking around after Sasha James? Annabelle had put me up to it.”

“Obviously. And then Sasha James started following you around? You terrorized Annabelle’s party again?”

“Yeah, it was this whole big thing.” Jon waved a hand expressively. “Anyway, then Annabelle tried to trap me in an eternal limbo that would shred me from inside out so I could act as purveyor of the world, and probably also use her connection with me so she could take over affairs here, and probably either nudge me into shaping the world back into order or into sinking it deeper into hell. I broke out and now I’m mad at her.”

“I had at least twenty other reasons,” Annabelle said, “but that’s the gist.”

Oliver stared at them.

They all sat in awkward silence. Jon found himself winding a finger around a stray coil of hair and letting it spring back into place. He had kept it the same the last three years, never bothering to change the style. A loose and bouncy cloud of hair, sometimes brushing against his shoulders until Annabelle kidnapped him to cut it again - him, as much as the trenchcoat was. So much as anything had ever been ‘him’.

“Well,” Oliver said diplomatically, “I see that you skipped a lot of steps there. So why are you here, then?”

Was it just to spite Annabelle? Screw her out of her work? Did Jon genuinely care? Did he want to organize the other Avatars, get them mobilized and going? Did he want to protect the humans?

Did he really only care about himself, and the people he called his friends and family? Did he really only care about himself, and those he possessed?

“There’s a person I want to be,” Jon said quietly, “but I don’t know how to be him.”

Annabelle stared at him, with dark and glittering eyes, expression as implacable as always. For a sudden, stupid, intense moment, Jon wanted to know if she cared about him. If one of the few people who had always helped him, who was always in his corner, had seen him as anything more than a tool.

Like Basira, who didn’t like him as a person, but found him too valuable to alienate. But Basira was - she was deeply good, if not always kind, and Jon had the sense that she had fought to turn herself into that good person. It was something she chose. She was trying to push Jon into making that same choice.

Jon clenched his hands in his lap, his fingernails digging into his palm. “There’s people I respect, and who I want to respect me. This person I want to be...I’m worried that I only want this because that’s what they want. They’ll deny it, but they want my power. Everybody just makes me into whoever they want. Whatever’s useful to them.” Jon’s gaze snapped to Annabelle, and he fought hard to keep the compulsion from his voice. It was difficult, when he wanted to know so badly, but - “The kind of person I used to be. That person I’m ashamed of. Is that the person who was useful to you?”

He didn’t want to force the answer from her. He wanted her to choose to say it.

Annabelle didn’t react. She didn’t show anything on her face. Much less what Jon wanted from her. She just tilted her head, one of the few unafraid to meet his eyes. “I never made you be anyone, Jon. All I ever did was put you in the right place at the right time.”

“That wasn’t my question,” Jon said, and this time he couldn’t help the static creeping into his voice. “Answer me.”

Annabelle sighed. “Of course it was useful. Is that what you wanted me to voluntarily say, Jon? I didn’t bring you to the first meeting because I thought it would be educational for you. I needed your power to keep the others in line. I needed everyone else to see that I controlled your power. That’s the only reason why any of this worked. We both got something out of it. Don’t pretend that you weren’t happy with the arrangement.”

It...it wasn’t a surprise, but…

“So that’s why you didn’t bring him to any of the other meetings,” Oliver mused. “He wasn’t as controllable as you liked, not when there’s more than ten other idiots around needling him. There’s never been anybody who can always predict when Jon’s going to lose his shit. Besides the biggie, I guess.”

The biggie, which was his past.

No wonder he had stayed so childlike, innocent, and cruel for so long. Jon took responsibility for his own laziness, but - but he had been most useful that way. Annabelle had liked him best that way.

Daisy had liked him best that way too. That cruel child - Daisy had wanted him, because he made her feel needed. Annabelle was just the same.

Everyone had liked him best that way. And if Jon became the kind of person who he wanted to be, nobody would like him at all.

“If you’re going to kill me,” Annabelle said, exhaustion seeping in through her voice, “just do it.”

Jon closed his eyes. He could feel it - Annabelle’s exhaustion, the way that she had just been waiting for him to do this. Everything she knew about Jon led towards an obvious course of action. Even though you nobody knew everything that set Jon off, certain things were pretty guaranteed that he wouldn’t forgive.

Annabelle had never accounted for Sasha. She had brought Sasha into his life, and she had no idea the effect she would have on it. Sasha, who had been the first to tell Jon that she chose to care about him for him. For a brief, hot flash, Jon was jealous. He wanted to be someone unpredictably kind.

If he only wanted that because he had found yet another person to give his wind-up key, then…

“You won, Annabelle,” Jon said finally, and he only knew it as he said it. “Congratulations. You played the perfect manipulation. You took a vulnerable, afraid man, who had been violated in the worst possible way and left to die.” He stood up, already uncomfortable with what he was about to say. “And you arranged him so that he loved you. I chose to love you. I’m making the choice never to hurt you, because I still love you. ”

He left the room. Oliver stood aside just in time, letting Jon brush by.

As Jon met up with Agnes and Basira, summoning a smile and a wave for them, he felt uncomfortably as if he had grown up.

He wasn’t sure that he liked it.

#tma #the magnus archives #my writing #tma fanfic #jonathan sims #annabelle cane #oliver banks #basira hussain #agnes montague #and a ton more #tcf was about deciding to change #and this story kind of hits at how difficult it is deciding who to change into #and how difficult it is to trust your own decisions when you've been manipulated since the second you were 'born'#jon and his choices and agency is becoming a big thing for me!

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