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istumpysk · 1 year

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Operation Stumpy Re-Read

ADWD: The Windblown (Quentyn II) [Chapter 25]

She is coming. Her host is on the march. She is racing south to Yunkai, to put the city to the torch and its people to the sword, and we are going north to meet her.

Frog had it from Dick Straw who had it from Old Bill Bone who had it from a Pentoshi named Myrio Myrakis, who had a cousin who served as cupbearer to the Tattered Prince. "Coz heard it in the command tent, from Caggo's own lips," Dick Straw insisted. "We'll march before the day is out, see if we don't."

+.+.+

"We'll get provisions in Yunkai, maybe fresh horses, then it will be on to Meereen to dance with the dragon queen. So hop quick, Frog, and put a nice edge on your master's sword. Might be he'll need it soon."

In Dorne Quentyn Martell had been a prince, in Volantis a merchant's man, but on the shores of Slaver's Bay he was only Frog, squire to the big bald Dornish knight the sellswords called Greenguts. The men of the Windblown used what names they would, and changed them at a whim. They'd fastened Frog on him because he hopped so fast when the big man shouted a command.

Frog prince, she's not going to kiss you, please go home.

He refers to himself as Frog throughout this chapter. Oh, Quentyn.

+.+.+

The Windblown went back thirty years, and had known but one commander, the soft-spoken, sad-eyed Pentoshi nobleman called the Tattered Prince. His hair and mail were silver-grey, but his ragged cloak was made of twists of cloth of many colors, blue and grey and purple, red and gold and green, magenta and vermilion and cerulean, all faded by the sun. When the Tattered Prince was three-and-twenty, as Dick Straw told the story, the magisters of Pentos had chosen him to be their new prince, hours after beheading their old prince. Instead he'd buckled on a sword, mounted his favorite horse, and fled to the Disputed Lands, never to return. He had ridden with the Second Sons, the Iron Shields, and the Maiden's Men, then joined with five brothers-in-arms to form the Windblown. Of those six founders, only he survived.

[...]

An old man he was, past sixty, yet he still sat straight and tall in the high saddle, and his voice was strong enough to carry to every corner of the field.

There are old sellswords and bold sellswords, but no old bold sellswords. - Daenerys V, ASOS

The Tattered Prince was selected to be Prince of Pentos, and refused. It's giving Jon Snow.

For those thinking that might also be hinting at a volunteered exile, we'll later learn the Tattered Prince does want Pentos. So no, I don't think so.

"What I want," said the Tattered Prince, "is Pentos." - The Spurned Suitor, ADWD

+.+.+

But Gerris had the right of it; he and Arch were here to protect Quentyn, and that meant keeping him by the big man's side. "Arch is the best fighter of the three of us," Drinkwater had pointed out, "but only you can hope to wed the dragon queen."

Wed her or fight her; either way, I will face her soon.

Boy, you don't know how right you are.

+.+.+

The more Quentyn heard of Daenerys Targaryen, the more he feared that meeting.

[...]

And Books, the clever Volantene swordsman who always seemed to have his nose poked in some crumbly scroll, thought the dragon queen both murderous and mad. "Her khal killed her brother to make her queen. Then she killed her khal to make herself khaleesi. She practices blood sacrifice, lies as easily as she breathes, turns against her own on a whim. She's broken truces, tortured envoys … her father was mad too. It runs in the blood."

And the best lies contain within them nuggets of truth, enough to give a listener pause. - Tyrion III, ACOK

+.+.+

It runs in the blood. King Aerys II had been mad, all of Westeros knew that. He had exiled two of his Hands and burned a third. If Daenerys is as murderous as her father, must I still marry her? Prince Doran had never spoken of that possibility.

That's the problem with marriage pacts, you might get a Viserys or Daenerys.

He had exiled two of his Hands and burned a third.

I never considered this might be foreshadowing. She exiles Jorah.

+.+.+

Frog would be glad to put Astapor behind him. The Red City was the closest thing to hell he ever hoped to know. The Yunkai'i had sealed the broken gates to keep the dead and dying inside the city, but the sights that he had seen riding down those red brick streets would haunt Quentyn Martell forever. A river choked with corpses. The priestess in her torn robes, impaled upon a stake and attended by a cloud of glistening green flies. Dying men staggering through the streets, bloody and befouled. Children fighting over half-cooked puppies. The last free king of Astapor, screaming naked in the pit as he was set on by a score of starving dogs. And fires, fires everywhere. He could close his eyes and see them still: flames whirling from brick pyramids larger than any castle he had ever seen, plumes of greasy smoke coiling upward like great black snakes.

Good lord.

"What's the point of Quentyn Martell's POV?" This. This is the point. POVs in Slaver's Bay that aren't Daenerys.

+.+.+

When the wind blew from the south, the air smelled of smoke even here, three miles from the city. Behind its crumbling red brick walls, Astapor was still asmolder, though by now most of the great fires had burned out. Ashes floated lazy on the breeze like fat grey snowflakes.

+.+.+

The Yunkai'i did not lack for commanders. An old hero named Yurkhaz zo Yunzak had the supreme command, though the men of the Windblown glimpsed him only at a distance, coming and going in a palanquin so huge it required forty slaves to carry it.

They could not help but see his underlings, however. The Yunkish lordlings scuttled everywhere, like roaches. Half of them seemed to be named Ghazdan, Grazdan, Mazdhan, or Ghaznak; telling one Ghiscari name from another was an art few of the Windblown had mastered, so they gave them mocking styles of their own devising.

Ha ha, funny author. Almost as funny as introducing three new characters, then changing their names the next chapter.

Yurkhaz zo Yunzak will be an important character, but I don't remember enough to have an opinion of him.

+.+.+

Foremost amongst them was the Yellow Whale, an obscenely fat man who always wore yellow silk tokars with golden fringes. Too heavy even to stand unassisted, he could not hold his water, so he always smelled of piss, a stench so sharp that even heavy perfumes could not conceal it. But he was said to be the richest man in Yunkai, and he had a passion for grotesques; his slaves included a boy with the legs and hooves of a goat, a bearded woman, a two-headed monster from Mantarys, and a hermaphrodite who warmed his bed at night. "Cock and cunny both," Dick Straw told them. "The Whale used to own a giant too, liked to watch him fuck his slave girls. Then he died. I hear the Whale'd give a sack o' gold for a new one."

Guess who buys Tyrion in a slave market.

Is every character morbidly obese in this book? He's probably supposed to remind me of Illyrio. Couldn't tell you why.

+.+.+

Then there was the Girl General, who rode about on a white horse with a red mane and commanded a hundred strapping slave soldiers that she had bred and trained herself, all of them young, lean, rippling with muscle, and naked but for breechclouts, yellow cloaks, and long bronze shields with erotic inlays. Their mistress could not have been more than sixteen and fancied herself Yunkai's own Daenerys Targaryen.

Is the horse named Drogal? Does she call her slaves freedmen?

+.+.+

The Little Pigeon was not quite a dwarf, but he might have passed for one in a bad light. Yet he strutted about as if he were a giant, with his plump little legs spread wide and his plump little chest puffed out. His soldiers were the tallest that any of the Windblown had ever seen; the shortest stood seven feet tall, the tallest close to eight. All were long-faced and long-legged, and the stilts built into the legs of their ornate armor made them longer still. Pink-enameled scales covered their torsos; on their heads were perched elongated helms complete with pointed steel beaks and crests of bobbing pink feathers. Each man wore a long curved sword upon his hip, and each clasped a spear as tall as he was, with a leaf-shaped blade at either end.

"The Little Pigeon breeds them," Dick Straw informed them. "He buys tall slaves from all over the world, mates the men to the women, and keeps their tallest offspring for the Herons. One day he hopes to be able to dispense with the stilts."

The giant dwarf is a nod to Tyrion, but I don't know what the hell the rest of it means.

+.+.+

"Some say that herons are majestic," said Old Bill Bone.

"If your king eats frogs while standing on one leg."

"Herons are craven," the big man put in. "One time me and Drink and Cletus were hunting, and we came on these herons wading in the shallows, feasting on tadpoles and small fish. They made a pretty sight, aye, but then a hawk passed overhead, and they all took to the wing like they'd seen a dragon. Kicked up so much wind it blew me off my horse, but Cletus nocked an arrow to his string and brought one down. Tasted like duck, but not so greasy."

We've got an arrow taking down a massive bird, but it's the hawk that's the dragon in this scenario.

Herons fleeing once they see a dragon is probably a sign of things to come.

+.+.+

The last time the slave soldiers of Yunkai'i had faced the dragon queen's Unsullied, they broke and ran. The Clanker Lords had devised a stratagem to prevent that; they chained their troops together in groups of ten, wrist to wrist and ankle to ankle. "None of the poor bastards can run unless they all run," Dick Straw explained, laughing. "And if they do all run, they won't run very fast."

Something to keep in mind when Daenerys returns to Meereen in TWOW, and decimates the Yunkish slave army.

Game of Thrones didn't do a great job at conveying those were slaves she was burning.

+.+.+

"A pack of stinking yellow fools," Beans complained. "They still ain't managed to puzzle out why the Stormcrows and the Second Sons went over to the dragon queen."

"For gold, they believe," said Books. "Why do you think they're paying us so well?"

"Gold is sweet, but life is sweeter," said Beans. "We were dancing with cripples at Astapor. Do you want to face real Unsullied with that lot on your side?"

Daenerys better not lose battles in Westeros.

+.+.+

A real fight, thought Frog. The words stuck in his craw. The fight beneath the walls of Astapor had seemed real enough to him, though he knew the sellswords felt otherwise. "That was butchery, not battle," the warrior bard Denzo D'han had been heard to declare afterward.

[...]

Dead or alive, the Butcher King still took the Wise Masters unawares. The Yunkishmen were still running about in fluttering tokars trying to get their half-trained slave soldiers into some semblance of order as Unsullied spears came crashing through their siege lines. If not for their allies and their despised hirelings they might well have been overwhelmed, but the Windblown and the Company of the Cat were ahorse in minutes and came thundering down on the Astapori flanks even as a legion from New Ghis pushed through the Yunkish camp from the other side and met the Unsullied spear to spear and shield to shield.

A whole chapter dedicated to telling me Yunkai doesn't have a hope in hell.

+.+.+

The rest was butchery, but this time it was the Butcher King on the wrong end of the cleaver. Caggo was the one who finally cut him down, fighting through the king's protectors on his monstrous warhorse and opening Cleon the Great from shoulder to hip with one blow of his curved Valyrian arakh. Frog did not see it, but those who did claimed Cleon's copper armor rent like silk, and from within came an awful stench and a hundred wriggling grave worms. Cleon had been dead after all. The desperate Astapori had pulled him from his tomb, clapped him into armor, and tied him onto a horse in hopes of giving heart to their Unsullied.

Dead Cleon's fall wrote an end to that. The new Unsullied threw down their spears and shields and ran, only to find the gates of Astapor shut behind them.

What the hell?

I'm instantly reminded of Roose Bolton's decoy, but I doubt he'll be a dead guy.

+.+.+

Yet that was no real fight, he thought. The real fight will be on us soon, and we must be away before it comes, or we'll find ourselves fighting on the wrong side.

[...]

Those were hardships to be endured, the stuff of all adventures.

But what must come next was plain betrayal. The Yunkai'i had brought them from Old Volantis to fight for the Yellow City, but now the Dornishmen meant to turn their cloaks and go over to the other side. That meant abandoning their new brothers-in-arms as well. The Windblown were not the sort of companions Quentyn would have chosen, but he had crossed the sea with them, shared their meat and mead, fought beside them, traded tales with those few whose talk he understood.

Aww, he's made wildling friends.

Nice for the sellswords, but I wish more Yunkai were humanized. We're getting nothing but evil one-dimensional caricatures right now.

Oops, sorry, am I being a slavery apologist again?

+.+.+

It was the Tattered Prince himself who did the speaking. "Orders have come down from Yurkhaz," he said. "What Astapori still survive have come creeping from their hidey-holes, it seems. There's nothing left in Astapor but corpses, so they're pouring out into the countryside, hundreds of them, maybe thousands, all starved and sick. The Yunkai'i don't want them near their Yellow City. We've been commanded to hunt them down and turn them, drive them back to Astapor or north to Meereen. If the dragon queen wants to take them in, she's welcome to them. Half of them have the bloody flux, and even the healthy ones are mouths to feed."

And it begins.

Just when she thinks Astapor is behind her, someone rides in on a pale mare.

+.+.+

"A fair question. You're to ride east, deep into the hills, then swing wide about Yunkai, making for Meereen. Should you come on any Astapori, drive them north or kill them … but know that is not the purpose of your mission. Beyond the Yellow City, you're like to come up against the dragon queen's patrols. Second Sons or Stormcrows. Either will serve. Go over to them."

"Go over to them?" said the bastard knight, Ser Orson Stone. "You'd have us turn our cloaks?"

"I would," said the Tattered Prince.

Quentyn Martell almost laughed aloud. The gods are mad.

Now he doesn't have to defect! This is like the only good thing to ever happen to Quentyn Martell.

+.+.+

Hugh Hungerford frowned. "You think Queen Daenerys will take us in …"

"I do."

"… but if she does, what then? Are we spies? Assassins? Envoys? Are you thinking to change sides?"

[...]

"Let us be frank," said Denzo D'han, the warrior bard. "The Yunkai'i do not inspire confidence. Whatever the outcome of this war, the Windblown should share in the spoils of victory. Our prince is wise to keep all roads open."

Hedging his bets. Now we know how he made it to sixty.

I'm a little cloudy on the details, but I believe Daenerys doesn't take the Windblown sellswords in at first, because she doesn't trust them. Then Barristan Selmy is put in charge, and agrees to do business. Is that correct?

More relying on the wrong people basically.

+.+.+

"Every one of you has ample reason for wanting to abandon me. And Daenerys Targaryen knows that sellswords are a fickle lot. Her own Second Sons and Stormcrows took Yunkish gold but did not hesitate to join her when the tide of battle began to flow her way."

It only now occurred to me that Taena Merryweather and Daario Naharis might be playing the same role in each queen's story. Other than the sexual attraction, I mean.

Cersei knows Taena is playing both sides, but seems to forget that as the story develops. Daenerys knows she shouldn't trust sellswords, but. . .

+.+.+

The three Dornishmen were silent as they left the command tent. Twenty riders, all speaking the Common Tongue, thought Quentyn. Whispering has just gotten a deal more dangerous.

The big man slapped him hard across the back. "So. This is sweet, Frog. A dragon hunt."

A dragon hunt?

Final thoughts:

That was one of the hardest chapters to read in the entire series. Not gruesome, I mean I didn't understand anything.

-> return to menu <-

#operation stumpy re-read #adwd #the windblown #quentyn ii

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tired-fandom-ndn · 2 years

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Some time ago you posted about all the TMA avatars going on a big event (aka, Peter/Elias wedding) and I kept thinking about it, so here.

They asked Annabelle to be their party planner.

"Aren't you worried the Web will try something?"

"Don't worry, apparently our wedding is already part of the plan, so it should be fine."

Hunt and Slaughter avatars are put in buddy systems with other fears to avoid Problems. Melanie is doing fine with Helen ("I'm so angry, I'll go inside Helen so I can be less angry." "Literally! She calms down in the hallway!" "Yup, it's nice and quiet." "And then she bangs my brains out!" "HELEN."). John Amherst and Jane Prentiss made Trevor and Julia sick enough not to try shit. Daisy tried to escape the buddy system by claiming Jon as her buddy, which no one bought and instead stuck her with Nicola ("You can use me as a chew toy!" "I'm not a dog." "Just a bitch?" "I'll shoot you."). Annabelle doesn't bother to put the Desolation on the buddy system, she just pulls some strings and...

Agnes is very excited about making new friends! And everyone is nice to her because nobody wants to deal with the Desolation. Eventually Agnes settles down... with Natalie Ennis, who is happy to compare cults and tell Agnes about her pre-avatar life. They both have enough rank to tell everyone to play nice, so the Lightless Flame and the Divine Host enter a truce that Somehow Works. Jude and Manuela end up having an one-night stand that they both refuse to ever bring up again. Rayne and Arthur Nolan have an one-night stand that they bring up constantly. All according to the Web's plan.

Callum, meanwhile, is bored of the cult talk and somehow bonds with Simon. Vast avatars have so many games on their phones.

Michael stole Gerry's book and they may or may not be trying to ruin the wedding. Either way, Salesa has been paid a pretty penny to keep them entertrained.

Not-Sasha tries to avoid Jon and Daisy the whole time that she's there. Can't let them know she's an avatar.

Literally not a single Lonely avatar bothered to show up aside from Peter, just like he wanted.

Jon has mixed feelings about the whole thing. Mister Spider is there. Should he say hi? Should he awkwardly avoid Mister Spider? Oh, look, Oliver and Georgie are chatting about being avatars of The End, he will just stay with them until he can go home.

The wedding is huge and there's an awesome party and everyone agrees to get together again for their divorce.

anon, I am in love with you

#Anonymous #tma #the magnus archives #domestic avatars au #i am kissing you on the mouth

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raccoonwarlock · 11 months

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BIG TMA idea:

Bring Trevor Herbert & Julia Montauk into the show during S2 because they're Hunting the Not!Sasha!

They fill in the place of Basira & Daisy in the Archives, & those 2 stay on the side of antagonists. Also, they'd def keep tabs on Callum after his time with the Church of the Divine Host & sniff him out as Dark-aligned. Not really having many options, they take the kid to the Archives & now the team has Bratty Teenage Boy.

Gertrude keeps Gerry's page & it ends up in police lock-up so. Mini heist arc. Julia still protects Jon in America & on the way back to the Institute is when she gives Jon her statement from 109, which she's been evasive about since. It's about the Divine Host & Callum's still around. Basira, who's been suspicious of Elias & the Institute, is the one who arrests him in Martin's plan.

Now, the plan to stop the Unknowing stays mostly unchanged, but Daisy, who's been stalking the team for being fucking suspicious, blow their cover & that kicks off that shitshow.Trevor & Julia get seperated, but Julia (who's secretly been worried about the damn kid for hitting too close to home for her) is fiercely protective of Callum & the 2 stick together.

Until Daisy + Breekon & Hope show up

3-way fight ends with Hope dead & Callum thrown into the Coffin. So Jon & Julia go in the Coffin to save him in S4.

In Panopticon, Basira & Daisy show up in the Institute because they want Elias back, & with the Not!Sasha free from the tunnels, Callum gives himself to the Dark in a desperate bid to protect his new family, leaving Trevor & Julia looking for him in S5

So Barisa & Daisy's S5 arc stays intact, but Jon is somehow even more pointed in his criticism. Julia & Trevor, found during that arc, choose to stay with Callum in his Domain (which appears later on in the series), & Trevor is the one who boats Jon across the lake & they get to muse a li'l about turning towards the powers from their childhood loss.

Thoughts?

#the magnus archives #au merchant #warlock's spells

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spacehorrors · 2 years

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tma review aka I'm off the deep end this time.

you guys know where the other reviews are. if you don't drop me an ask. let's get rolling.

also I've had to adjust the structure of my normal reviews a bit because I am experiencing so many things.

idk where to start. actually yes I do I eagerly await elias' long and painful death.

top five episodes:.

E111 Family Business - immediately my favourite episode I loved it I loved hearing about Gerry and the impact the obsession with those books have on people. like the way he was marked by them right from the beginning and didn't really have a chance. excellent times.

E101 Another Twist - MICHAEEELLL I miss him so much I was actually devastated when he died he scared the shit out of me so much. just an epic character and his use of architecture to supplement his power is excellent.

E103 Cruelty Free - THAT PIG??? ough I love the Slaughter and the Hunt stuff it's so fucked up I love it so much nothing will top the first one they did but this was excellent. scary shit.

E107 Third Degree - what can I say I love trains and fucked up train stations and fire and heat. epic episode hit all my favourite things on the head.

E117 Testament - sorry this was really vying for its spot with the next episode I just had such a sense of dread listening to them.

characters thoughts

elias please die <3 slowly and painfully I hate you so much. that's it. explode and die.

jon. where do I start. I'm enjoying very much his powers and how he's using them and what an effect it's having on his sense of self. keep it up but stop getting kidnapping and being dumb god bless.

tim..... daisy...... I'm upset. I saw it coming and I thought they'd be the ones to die but I'm also caught up more in the reactions of the people they were close to. basira...... hope she's ok. tim's "I don't forgive you" line.....

martin. oh dear. um. I absolutely adored his scene with elias. yknow THAT one. was it emotionally harrowing? yes. did it create my favourite quote "I can't hear you elias there's a door in the way!" also yes. I'm enjoying his arc keep at it my guy keep with the tea!

MELANIE PLEASE MARRY ME. I am free every day of the week for you I love you I'm writing our initials in heart shaped glittery pens etc. in all seriousness she's one of my favourite characters and I hope they do more with her.

GEORGIE. another loml. as well as basira who I want to know more!! basira and daisy.... gah I'm inconsolable.

sighs. where do I start. where do I start so much has happened.

so these are my general thoughts

ok so first thing is all the different phobia things. ok when I tell you days before I had made a list of phobias to make short stories of and then I find out that that's the case for these avatars my mind was blown. it's very clever. makes a lot of sense and I love the idea of feeding them.

top ten unlikely team ups is julia and trevor damn nice!! they're hanging out and killing monsters!! um. yeah fascinating hope we find out more about julia....

I'M STILL DEVASTATED ABOUT MICHAEL. AND GERRY. MY PALS. my weird guys!! I literally miss michael so much.

tbh I have just been having a great time. just been enjoying episode after episode.

THE SENTIENT TAPE RECORDER fascinates and compels me so much I love thinking about it.

love the new focus on death and dying and zombies etc I've found that cool. 10/10 like what does it mean to build a body very epic.

my predictions

OK NO.1 PREDICTION IS THAT more of the gang are going to become hosts/avatars of the different fears. like I've got my bets on basira becoming a patron of the vast. I think they're all slowly going to see the impacts of living under the conditions of the archives soon.

dreams..... will become significant I am sensing perhaps they will all start having one collective dream.

think jon is going to be faced with a die to save the world moment. but like a proper one. a proper this is the end of the line only to be yanked back moment.

more trapped in the web moments pls.

ngl I think the next villain might be a proper serial killer. like yes most of them are but I mean hunting people down style.

this is not going to end well. like I think it will end very very tragically at this point.

episode 120

ok so I don't have the time nor the energy to dissect it but it did rule. tying together a bunch of statements and just being weird yknow. I just felt I had to acknowledge it. so glad I didn't get it and then nothing else I'm sorry to the people who did lol I would've lost my mind.

feels a bit shorter this time round but honestly I'm just tired and don't know what more to say! feel free to ask me questions about things I love answering questions <33 can be anything at all as long as no spoilers ofc!

#tma review #dont look at what time it is here lol

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dickwheelie · 3 years

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soooooooo. jongerrymartin star trek au. how about it. have a ridiculously long bulletpoint fic.

most of the jon/gerry stuff from this au is cribbed directly from the adira/grey storyline from disco so I can't take any credit there, the rest is somewhat original though

Jon is a human working in starfleet as a communications officer, though not on a starship; he doesn't seem like the type to enjoy flying, or dangerous missions, so he works at a station on Earth where he was born

he meets Gerry, a Trill bonded to a symbiont, who comes to Jon looking for communications information to do with his dead father

side note: I'm not entirely sure who Gerry's symbiont should be. I don't want it to be Gertrude or his mom or anything. maybe Tim and/or Sasha? unfortunately there aren't a ton of positive role models in TMA associated with Gerry, so this is something I'm open to suggestions on.

Jon is able to help Gerry track down info that basically proves his mom killed his dad. throughout this emotional process they grow closer and eventually fall in love, as you do

sometime later Gerry gets into a horrible accident. (maybe orchestrated by his mother?) Jon finds him barely holding on and, wanting to save Gerry and his symbiont, he becomes their new host, even though he's human. Gerry dies in his arms soon after.

in this act Jon loses his memories of Gerry and the events surrounding his death. he also isn't aware he's hosting Gerry and the symbiont, and continues on with his life as normal, though of course things get a little weird sometimes. he's sometimes struck with random bouts of strong emotions, negative and positive, which seem unfamiliar to him somehow, as though they're being experienced by someone else. he also gets flashes of unfamiliar memories - both his and Gerry's, and the symbiont's.

as Jon continues working at starfleet, he encounters Martin, another human who also works in communications, in a lower-level job. Jon isn't his boss but they do work in close quarters, and Jon often gets irritated with him for not putting things back in exactly the right spot or being too chatty instead of getting work done.

little does Jon know that Martin has never gone to starfleet academy but has managed to squeeze his way into this (for him) cushy office job. he's really worried this uptight Jon guy is going to find out he doesn't know what he's doing and blow his cover.

but to Martin's surprise, when Jon eventually finds out, he's relieved, because technically Jon isn't really qualified for his communications officer position either. he got his degree at starfleet academy in xenocultural literature, but somehow managed to land this high-level position that he feels completely unqualified for.

he and Martin bond over their mutual imposter syndrome, and, shocker, they fall in love too

of course, Jon doesn't remember Gerry at all, so he has no qualms about dating Martin at this point

here's where things start to get interesting

Jon's mood swings and emotional episodes get more frequent and more intense, and eventually he has some kind of breakthrough where he realizes that he's a human somehow hosting a symbiont.

Martin takes him to a Trill who explains to him what's going on and helps Jon connect with his symbiont. Jon meditates as instructed and meets the all the past Trill that he's hosting, going back centuries. finally, Gerry comes forward, approaching him almost cautiously and asks, maybe not sure of the answer, "do you remember me?"

it all comes rushing back to Jon. he remembers Gerry, and all the time they spent together, his death, the reason Jon became a host, how much he loves him. it's all so much, and tears spring to Jon's eyes, both in his mind and back in the real world, and he falls forward into Gerry's arms.

after their tearful reunion Gerry tells Jon he and the other hosts have to go, but he'll be with him from now on. with Jon's memories returned, he'll be able to communicate with Gerry, and all the past hosts through him, if their wisdom is ever needed. right before he disappears, Gerry whispers to Jon that he loves him, and Jon doesn't have to think about saying it back.

Jon wakes up in Martin's arms, who is worried because Jon is still tearful and a little disoriented. Jon tells Martin about Gerry and the past hosts and his memories returning, but leaves out the part about his and Gerry's relationship. he doesn't know how to tell Martin that now that he's remembered Gerry, he's found that he still loves him. how can you say that to another person you also very much love?

that night, back at their home with Martin asleep, Jon is supposed to be resting but can't sleep. he feels unbelievably guilty and torn. he loves Gerry so, so much, but he loves Martin just as much, and he doesn't know how to reconcile those two facts. he hates hiding his feelings for Gerry from Martin, and since Gerry is a part of him now, he already knows how Jon feels about Martin. he probably hates me, Jon thinks. I forgot about him and went off with someone else. and if I tell Martin, he'll probably think I don't need him anymore, because I have my first boyfriend back now after all these years, miraculously alive.

Jon has no idea what to do, except to confess the truth to Martin and ruin everything in the process. at one point during his sleepless night Gerry appears (as a projection, not a literal ghost), and Jon tearfully explains that he's sorry, but he doesn't want to let either of them go. he loves Martin too, but he still wants Gerry in his life, and he doesn't know how to fix this mess he's put them all in.

Gerry, very pragmatically, suggests he just tell Martin the truth and see how it goes. "you . . . don't mind?" says Jon. "you love Martin," Gerry says, with a shrug. "and you love me. both things can be true."

"but . . . but aren't you jealous?" Jon says. Gerry laughs. Jon has missed that laughter so much. "I think we're long past jealousy at this point," Gerry says. "these are . . . unusual circumstances. but if I'm honest, I think even if the three of us were just normal people, I still wouldn't be jealous of Martin. you love us both. I'm okay with that." Gerry grins. "remember, I'm in your mind, Jon. I can feel how much you love us. if you're not careful, I'll end up falling for Martin too."

Jon is still skeptical and anxious about telling Martin, but Gerry reminds him he'll be with him the whole time, if he needs him. Jon manages to get a bit of restless sleep, and the following morning, he gets up early. he sits impatiently on their living room sofa, bouncing his leg, as Gerry's projection leans against the wall in the corner. I'll have to get an armchair for him, Jon thinks. if Martin doesn't leave, that is. the thought sends another jolt of anxiety lacing through him.

eventually Martin wanders in sleepily from the bedroom, ready to chastise Jon for not sleeping in and getting his rest, but is surprised by Jon sitting waiting for him, his face clouded. Martin gets the distinct feeling they're about to have a tough conversation.

"are you alright?" Martin says at once, sitting down on the sofa next to him. he's careful to give Jon some space. "I'm . . ." Jon is about to say he's fine, but he won't condescend to Martin. "I'm awful, to be honest." "because of the Trill stuff yesterday?" "yes. well--yes and no. just--" Jon takes a deep breath. "there's something I didn't tell you."

haltingly, staring resolutely at a spot on the carpet, Jon explains everything to Martin. about Gerry, about their romantic relationship, his death, and his return. "I . . . I love him, Martin," Jon concludes, still avoiding Martin's gaze. "I loved him, and I still do. but--I love you, too, I love you so much, Martin, a-and I . . . I don't want to let either of you go. I know that's--selfish of me. I understand if you don't . . . if you're angry, or upset, or just don't . . . want to deal with all of this. Gerry is stuck with me, but you have the choice to leave, i-if you want." the words stick painfully in Jon's throat. he desperately doesn't want Martin to go. "I'm sorry. I wish . . . I wish I could fix all this, somehow. I just want you and Gerry to be happy. but I . . . I don't know how." he feels pulled, in two different directions, by the past and the present. by Gerry and Martin. perhaps it would be best for all of them if Gerry disappeared again, or if Martin walked out. less heartbreak, less pain, less--

he is surprised by a warm hand on his own. Jon looks up and sees Martin, leaning across the sofa, his face close to his. his expression is surprisingly serene. "you love us?" Martin asks gently.

"yes," Jon says at once. for a moment his eyes dart over to meet Gerry's, who smiles at him. "yes, I love you both, just the same."

"and you want both of us to stay?"

"yes," Jon murmurs.

"then I don't see a problem," Martin says. " 'cause I wanna stay, too." he leans forward and kisses Jon's cheek, and wraps him in a tight hug. Jon slumps against him, drained and relieved, not quite believing that Martin is still here, that he hasn't walked out, that he's okay with all of this.

a moment later, Jon opens his eyes and sees Gerry has come over, his projection sitting on the coffee table a few feet away with his elbows on his knees, a grin on his face. "see?" he says to Jon. "I told you so."

"yes, yes, no need to rub it in," Jon says, his voice muffled against Martin's jumper.

"what was that?" Martin says, pulling back. he doesn't see or hear Gerry, of course, and stares at Jon, eyes wide. "were you talking to . . . to Gerry just now?"

Jon nods. "he's . . . sitting on the coffee table next to you. being a little shit." he shoots Gerry a playful glare.

Martin starts, and whirls to face the table, searching for some sign of a person. he doesn't quite look in the right spot, but Gerry adjusts to face him. "Gerry?" Martin tries, speaking into open air. "are you . . . are you there?"

"I'm here," Gerry says, smiling at him bemusedly.

"he . . . he says he's there," Jon relays.

"oh! um, hi. hello. I'm, uh, I'm Martin. you probably, ah, know that. already." Martin clears his throat. "this is, um. this is weird."

Gerry barks a laugh. "you can say that again."

that seems to clear the air a bit, and with Jon as their go-between, Gerry and Martin get to know one another. surprisingly enough, they find they have more in common than just being with Jon; they both like cheesy horror movies, and even though Gerry's a Trill, he spent some time in his youth on Earth in northern England, where Martin grew up.

as they talk, and he translates, Jon feels his heart get lighter and lighter. never in a thousand years would he have expected this to go so well, and for Gerry and Martin to be getting along like this . . . he can't believe his luck.

eventually the conversation comes back around to Jon, and their unusual situation. "I . . . I think this could work," Martin says to Gerry. "I want this to work. for you, and for Jon."

"believe me, I feel the same way," Gerry says. he turns away from Martin, making eye contact with Jon and smiling. "he deserves at least that much."

Jon stammers as he translates. he wants to hug them both close, to let them know how much they both mean to him, how miraculous it is that they have both chosen to stay, that they love him enough to try this. he settles for hugging Martin and reaching out a hand to Gerry, who carefully places an incorporeal hand over his. seeing this, Martin reaches out a hand in Gerry's direction too, and Gerry laughs, and holds his hand as well.

they have more stuff to figure out down the line, of course. Gerry, being only visible to Jon, has to reconcile with his new existence as little more than a ghost. Martin has to figure out his feelings about Jon being technically closer to Gerry, and having more history with him. and Jon of course still has some residual guilt about forgetting Gerry. but they all try to make it work, and to bridge the gaps between them.

I'm not sure if it's part of star trek canon that a symbiont would be able to "take over" their host if allowed? like if Gerry would be able to speak or act through Jon's body if he let him. if that's possible I like to think that Jon trusts Gerry with his life, so he'd be willing to let him take the driver's seat for a little bit to get to talk to Martin while Jon was absent. that way Jon could give them some privacy.

and in the future, I think they could probably use a portable holoemitter, like the EMH used in Voyager, for Gerry so he could move around and interact with the world. since Grey from disco can exist in a holodeck, that seems to me the best way to go about giving Gerry some agency and independence apart from Jon.

anyway those are my thoughts on this AU, I don't think I'll ever turn it into a full fic so I wanted to share what I had. hope this was somewhat fun to read and that I didn't mess up the lore too badly!

#tma #the magnus archives #jongerrymartin #gerry keay #martin blackwood #jonathan sims #star trek

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trensu · 3 years

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Masterpost: Jon's Creeping Terror Fun Fact Corner

I have decided to collect all parts of this little make-believe terrifying kids show in one post bc sometimes i can be organized! So here we have it, Jon the Kid-Approved, Parent-Hated show host of nightmares!! A big thanks to @lemonisinplay for enabling me with her frankly genius ideas :D

---

The Original Post - featuring the Vast (Simon Fairchild), the Lonely (Peter Lukas), the Corruption (no guest appearance bc the corruption is a big NOPE), the Hunt (Daisy Tonner), the Flesh (no guest appearance bc Jared Hopworth is not suitable for children), and the Stranger (no guest appearance bc Nikola technically wasn't invited and yet she's here anyway)!

The Desolation Episode - aka, book burning is a fun activity for all ages!

Tim Stoker, PR Extraordinaire - Tim loves his job, actually

The Terminus Episode - Oliver Banks is too hot (hot damn). And unfortunately not great with children

The Beholding Episode - aka everyone hates Elias bc who likes their boss, really?

Special Segment: Get Crafty with Gertrude! - Good Old Gertie out there protecting children...with knives

The Great Leitner Burning Fundraiser - in which we once again promote book burning!

Gerry-Ghost Gets Fanmail - what it says on the tin.

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pitviperofdoom · 3 years

Text

TMA Fantasy Week, Day 2

Prompt: Fae

Summary: A faerie imprisoned by hunters receives a strange visitor. (Pre JonGerry)

Warnings: Imprisonment, forced obedience.

Part of a larger story I’m working on. I’ll be posting it on AO3 when I’m finished.

***

He smelled the she-wolf before he saw her.

When the door to his little chamber opened, he kept his eyes shut, as always. Why bother opening them? The hounds had become tiresome to look at of his own accord. If they needed him, then they could bark his Name and be done with it.

And so he smelled her first—fresh blood and grave dirt clinging to her fur—and heard her claws click on the cold stone floor, until the sound softened as heavy paws became lighter feet.

It was a shoe that nudged him, none too gently, before she spoke in a voice laced with a low growl. “Get up, Keay.”

He rose because he could not do otherwise, even with only a fragment of his Name in her teeth. Reluctantly he opened his eyes to find the she-wolf standing before him, windblown and bloodstained from a recent and successful chase.

That was odd. The hounds rarely hunted without consulting him first, wringing answers from his unwilling lips until they were satisfied that they knew their prey. But here she was, eyes bright and hunger sated, without his help.

“What do you want?” he asked.

“Shut up,” she snapped, and his jaw clicked obediently shut. Satisfied, Julia looked over her shoulder and called out. “Bring ‘em in, Trev.”

The other hound entered, though he stayed back by the door. And then, a moment later, a third figure crept cautiously through the doorway, skirting Trevor before coming to a halt at a respectful distance from Julia. In an instant, their eyes were on him.

They were small, though anyone would look small while standing near the hounds. They were nearly plain as well, but for a few flashes of beauty. Dark brown eyes, deep and sharp with curiosity. Dark hair that brushed their shoulders, shot through with silver. Slender hands on delicate wrists, that would have been graceful if they weren’t trembling so. It only took a glance to know why—their skin was darker than his, but he could still see the familiar bruises that marked their wrists. The wolves had been rough with them—another prisoner to share his cage?

No—they would never bother keeping a human. What good was a human to them, when they had him instead?

Only… someone must have aided in their hunt.

“Here you are, then,” said Julia, with a dismissive flick of her hand. “You want a story? He’s got plenty.” The human’s eyes narrowed at this—not angry, merely thoughtful. “Don’t look at me like that. We’ve heard what you do with stories.”

(His ears pricked at that—a human with sharp and curious eyes, aiding hunters and asking for stories in return. That could mean nothing, or it could mean everything.)

“Count yourself lucky we didn’t just rip your throat out too,” Julia growled. “Save everyone else the trouble.”

The human carefully shifted their shaking hands behind their back. “That won’t be necessary,” was their polite reply.

“Good.” Julia nodded shortly. “That’s our end of the deal, then.” She shouldered roughly past them, knocking them neatly out of her way as she rejoined Trevor. From some hidden pocket within her coat, she drew out a familiar slip of old, weathered sheepskin between her fingers and showed it off with a careless wave. “Give us a shout if he gets mouthy, and we’ll set him right.”

“You’re not staying?” the human asked.

“Trevor hates being around him too long,” Julia replied.

“Gives me the creeps.” Trevor’s lip curled past the tips of his teeth. “Looks human but ain’t. If it wasn’t so useful, we’d have killed it ages ago.”

“Door’s unlocked, so come out when you’re done,” said Julia. “Don’t worry about him escaping—he knows better.”

As the wolves left the dark chamber and closed the door behind them, not once did he take his eyes from the scrap in Julia’s hand.

The moment they were gone, he sat down again, and with a rustle of fabric his visitor joined him at a distance. Their eyes never left his face, even as he refused to meet them.

“You want a story,” he said. It was not a question.

“I don’t know if ‘want’ is the right word,” the human replied.

“You’re the Archivist.” The words slip easily off his tongue—the truth, then. “Why are you here?”

The Archivist was silent for a moment. “I led prey to them,” they replied. “I helped them hunt. I asked for a story in return, but they didn’t want to give one, so they brought me to you instead.”

He smiled at that, wide and angry in the dark, clenching his teeth until he could imagine the taste of blood. “Did they, now.”

“Will you tell me one?” the Archivist asked.

It was a question, not a command, and even if it were otherwise, without his Name in their hand it would have no teeth. “No,” he replied, savoring the taste of the word like fine wine.

It was not freedom that he felt in refusing, but if he closed his eyes and imagined, it felt close. It was his favorite word, if only because he so rarely got to say it. Sometimes it felt as if gold would fall from his lips when he did.

It was worth the pain that always followed.

The Archivist looked confused, but not quite surprised. “No…?”

“Their debt is not mine to pay.”

“I suppose it isn’t.” The Archivist regarded him thoughtfully, curiously. Their lips pressed together firmly, as if holding back a deluge of questions.

He waited for his visitor to rise back up, call for their hosts and demand they make good on their deal by forcing a story from him. There wasn’t much he could do to defy the wolves that held his Name, but defiance still tasted sweet in the moment.

But the Archivist remained where they were. Either they thought they could cajole or force him themself, or they simply hadn’t thought of it yet. If that was the case, then he wasn’t about to remind them.

“Then we’re at an impasse, I suppose,” they said after a moment. “Unless there’s something I can offer you?”

He bared his teeth in a smile. “Your name, if you don’t mind?”

“I do mind,” the Archivist replied without batting an eye. “You may not have my Name. But if you like, you may call me Jon.”

He spread his hands wide. “Then we are at an impasse,” he replied. “Jon.” A simple name, but it sat nicely on the tongue.

“I suppose we are,” said Jon. They glanced at the door, but made no move to approach it.

Perhaps they were simply stupid. Rather unfortunate, for someone so significant to the Court of the Eye. Then again, it didn’t take much in the way of cleverness to collect stories.

“Was there something else you wanted?” he asked.

Jon shrugged. “It hasn’t been enough time for a story yet,” he said. “If I leave now, they might wonder why.”

That was not the answer that he was expecting. “And?”

Jon raised an eyebrow at him. “Do you want them to rip one out of you against your will?”

He stiffened. “No,” he admitted, almost petulantly. Not stupid after all, then. “Don’t you?”

He didn’t like the way Jon looked at him after that, measuring him with a glance. “Not particularly,” they replied. “They’re the ones indebted to me, so they should be the ones to pay, not you.”

“Oh.”

From the other side of the room, the Archivist’s eyes remained fixed on him. “They have more than just your name,” they said, and though their voice didn’t rise at the end of it, he knew it for the question it was. “You’re a full faerie, or as near as you can be.”

He nodded. “Only half of one, by blood,” he replied. “But these things don’t really care much about blood.”

“Except vampires.”

“Obviously except vampires,” he snapped. The Archivist cringed at his tone, drawing in their shoulders to make themself even smaller. “What matters is power. And, for the Court of the Eye, knowledge. But I’m sure you already know that.”

“Yes,” Jon replied, a little hoarsely.

“Knowledge matters here, as well,” he went on. “That’s why they keep me.”

“They showed me that scrap she had,” said Jon. “They said it had your Name written on it. I thought it was awfully risky, showing me something like that when they want to keep you.” Their eyes narrowed in thought. “I’ll bet, if I called it right now without that slip in my hand, it wouldn’t work for me.”

It was not a question. In fact, the Archivist sounded like they were trying very hard to keep it from being one.

“What of it.”

Jon studied him for a moment longer. “Just curious,” he said. “In the meantime, is there something I can call you?”

The question puzzled him, though he didn’t show it. “You know my Name already.”

Their face spoke volumes—a tightening around the lips, to hold back something more telling. “I don’t think I’d like it if people used my Name, even if it was useless to them,” they said. “Is there something that you’d like to be called?”

The question tugged a “Yes” from him, though no more than that. He could have kept silent, and in spite of everything he knew about the world, he suspected that Jon would even let him. In the end, he replied, “Gerry.”

They smiled. He wasn’t sure what to make of that. “It’s a pleasure, Gerry.”

“No it isn’t,” he said, and the smile slipped from their face.

“No, I suppose it isn’t. I don’t suppose… is there anything I can do?”

“Steal my Name back from the wolves, and deliver it to me,” he replied. “You’d get a story from me then.”

He’d meant it as a joke, an impossible task posed to flaunt what little power he had. And yet the Archivist looked thoughtful, as if they were genuinely considering it.

“They’d rip you to shreds before you got close,” he said.

“Yes,” Jon mused. “I suppose they would. Considering how they’re trying to repay my favor, they don’t strike me as particularly fair.”

“Yeah, they’re big on foisting debts on others.”

“Sounds like you speak from experience,” Jon replied, and barely flinched when he showed his teeth. “From what I’ve seen, I doubt they won your name fairly in the first place.”

He ground his teeth. “I think it’s been enough time, don’t you?”

“Not really,” Jon sighed, but got up anyway. At the door, he paused and looked back. “One more question, if you want to answer.”

“What now?”

“Do you know if someone’s looking for you?” they asked. “Anyone you’d like to send word to? Anyone wondering where you are?”

“There’s no one.” Nothing was pulling the truth out of him this time, but it still poured hot and foul from his throat. “No one but the one who gave out my Name in the first place. My mother is gone, and my father died so long ago that I never even learned his name.”

Something sparked in the Archivist’s eyes. Not just emotion, but power—the very power revered in the Court of the Eye. He hadn’t expected that, and he couldn’t help wonder what his honesty had wrought.

The moment passed, and without warning, the Archivist smiled again. “Thank you, Gerry.”

They said it precisely and clearly, with obvious intention. It made him balk; the Courts worked in deals and trades and favors, and words of gratitude came with the risk of accepting a debt. He had to wonder once more if the Archivist was stupid.

But he wasn’t going to get an answer. Jon knocked on the door, and moments later Julia opened it.

“All done?” she asked gruffly.

He sat back, tired and vaguely curious. The Archivist was odd, odd enough to reawaken his own curiosity, long since buried after the wolves took his Name. It was a shame to see him leave so soon.

“Not quite,” Jon replied, startling him. “I have business with the Court and I have to leave, and I was only able to hear a piece of his story. I’ll be back later for the rest.”

What?

Irritation flashed in Julia’s eyes, but she stood to the side with an impatient huff. “Fine then. Guess the quarry you found us was worth a lot.”

The Archivist glanced over their shoulder before they left, briefly meeting his eyes. That strange light still shone in Jon’s gaze, steady and curious and otherwise unreadable. They were gone before he could properly decipher it.

Julia barely spared him a second glance before shutting the door on him and leaving him in the dark. He sat back with a sigh, thoughts running through his head with frantic energy. Had he caught the attention of the Eye? Had Jon caused it, or was he merely a symptom of that attention? Perhaps he would find out, the next time the Archivist came to visit him.

It was an odd feeling, to have something to look forward to again.

#TMAFantasyWeek #the magnus archives #jongerry #fanfiction #tales from the pit

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thoriffix · 3 years

Note

hows the tma entity survey going?

oh yeah! i might as well post the results now (if anyone hasnt taken it and fancies it its here (hope that link works))

it was genuinely really interesting to see! maybe im just a nerd but i like seeing where the spread is

this was the first question which the spiral won! not by much, the eye isnt far behind it, but it kinda makes sense, everyone here is mentally ill or simps for the distortion

the hunt, the dark and the extinction didnt get a single answer for this! i expected that w the extinction and also w the dark to an extent but the hunt is kinda surprising :0

second one was a MUCH bigger lead for the winners lol but the spiral wins out again! the stranger was winning for a while (thats my answer too) and it didnt end up far behind

but even more interestingly (to me at least) nobody answered the corruption, the dark or the desolation :0 fukcin rip jane prentiss no one wants to hear her 😔 /j

i think this one is the only graph where every single entity got an answer, and ironically corruption won out (maybe it scares people too much to enjoy hearing the statements lmao), followed closely by lonely and flesh! tbh i expected this one to be pretty varied, but its still fun to see!

the next one was the avatar popularity polls, and google displays the answers very poorly, so i decided to just tally up the most common answers myself

so in keeping with the spiral popularity, michael and helen absolutely shot ahead, followed by jon and oliver! there were loads of answers for this one: jude perry, manuela dominguez, gerry keay, mike crew, generally just a pretty big range of avatars which again i was pretty much expecting theres a lot to choose from lol (also shoutout to the person who called trevor herbert a gilf)

the next one was abt favourite statement! there didn't seem to be any standout winners, but i did notice peoples favs tended to be either very early on (like the first half of s1), or in season 5, which was a fun pattern - also just like, plot heavy/important eps? (another shoutout to the person who said desecrated host was several entities gangbanging a priest. thanks)

the next one was about reasoning, which im not gonna share bc there were a lot of them and they were all different and im tired, but there were a lot of interesting ones! personal favourite was "i love big pig" i hope big pig person is doing well

and then, the most important question

whoever said no, im coming to eat you /j

so that was the poll! if i get enough answers to change it dramatically ill probably post it again but for now thats the results

conclusion: spiral is the most popular by a long shot but its not actually the scariest, i think everyone just simps for the distortion and/or relates to it. i expected more martin kinnies. nobody likes the dark and like one person is scared of it. some people here are cowards who wouldn't punch elias. and most of all: i love big pig

#this was a lotta fun! maybe ill do more polls in the future #tma #the magnus archives #tma entities #asks

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agerefandom · 3 years

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Magnus Archives Regression Headcanons

requested by @cathasdepression about a century ago, sorry for the delay! I decided I had to relisten to the podcast before I made this post >-<

Jonathan Sims

involuntary regressor

owns a fair amount of regression gear and keeps it hidden

needs to take better care of himself

only cries when he’s regressed, and tends to cry a lot

jumpy as heck

regresses out of exhaustion, fear, or sensory overload

he’s good at hiding his regression, but only by getting super stiff and distant: anyone who knows him well can tell when he’s pretending to be big

regresses to infant age, but still has a lot of verbal ability

does a lot better when he’s volunarily regressing on the regular, but can’t voluntarily regress without a caregiver usually

Martin Blackwood

mainly a caregiver

enjoys babysitting kiddos online

but he really thrives on being able to touch, dress, and cradle a regressor: to witness the concrete effects of his love and care

has hard limits and things that remind him of his mother: helping with baths, for example, is a trigger for him

overall, though, caregiving is a way for Martin to feel valued (rather than his mother who took his aid for granted)

silly caregiver, lots of boops and silly nicknames and tickles

gets very excited at the zoo

(regresses once in a blue moon, usually with tantrums: Martin’s regression happens when he’s pushed to his limits and needs emotional release. he crashes hard after the tantrum and needs a few days to build himself back up.)

Sasha James

full headcanon set can be found here!

a responsible regressor who knows her limits: takes care of herself with voluntary regression, but also fields involuntary regression on her bad days

Georgie Barker

an enthusiastic caregiver

she doesn’t seek out regressors to take care of, but she learned about regression through Jon and really valued that part of their relationship

when Jon moves in with her, she automatically falls into caregiving patterns, but Jon asks her to please back off and she listens (even though she’s worried about him)

enjoys cooking for people

big on communication and having conversations

gives the Best Hugs

Melanie King

she does not like regressing

it makes her feel out of control, but it’s just one of her natural defense mechanisms

very protective of her regression and doesn’t talk about it with people

she was planning to bring it up in therapy

Georgie helps her figure it out and feel more comfortable about it

(Under the cut: headcanons for Gerard Keay, Michael Shelley, Jane Prentiss, Peter Lukas, and Simon Fairchild)

Gerard Keay

teen/big kid regressor

mostly a voluntary regressor, but sometimes he regresses by accident and then pretends he meant to

insists he can’t read when he’s regressed (he’s lying)

externally doesn’t change much when he regresses: more accepting of and seeking physical contact

Gerry uses all of his ‘weird stuff’ as defense mechanisms, and regression is no different; he pushes his gender nonconformity, his queerness, his stims, and his regression in people’s faces to test them or to make them uncomfortable

enjoys settling in with a handheld game console from before they all had cameras (before they were always Watching)

definitely runs a 2000s web nostalgia blog on tumblr

Michael Shelley

was a regressor before he was Distorted

the Spiral just made it worse: Shelley was a toddler-age regressor, but now he can’t remember what ages are supposed to feel like

Michael is a mirror: he enjoys spending time around children, taking on their innocence and their form, but he doesn’t relish the effects he has on the minds of children

regressors touched by other Entities are the safest spaces for Michael to experience age: regression isn’t a linear experience, so it isn’t antithetical to the Spiral. (and their patron Entities will protect them from the worst effects of Michael’s presence while they’re vulnerable... unless it serves them otherwise)

children don’t worry about reality, or identity, or anything like that. they’re blindly accepting of Michael, and in regression Michael can blindly accept himself in a way that his (adult?) mind cannot

Jane Prentiss

full headcanons can be found here (in story form)

was a regressor before she became a host for the Corruption

doesn’t have enough personhood left to regress, but part of her feels small and loved in the community of the Hive that consumes her

Peter Lukas

Peter will swear up and down that the Lonely is a blessing, that he never wants to be anywhere else

but sometimes the fog twists into the rooms of his childhood home

sometimes the blankness of the crowd around him reminds him that any one of them could be his mother, whose face he’s forgotten

sometimes Peter remembers his childhood days, how no one his parents hired would look at him, how he would stare into the mirror and try to imagine a face other than his own

(the Lonely has given Peter many gifts, but it is still hungry)

sometimes Peter is a boy who does not understand why no one can see him

sometimes Peter will cry, and the taste of the tears will turn into the saltwater of the sea spray at the docks, and he knows it’s time to take the Tundra out again

Simon Fairchild

quite enjoys finger painting

goes on rollarcoasters (and tends to be the only person who survives the ride)

absolutely loves throwing people to the Vast when he’s regressed, just runs around pushing people off rooves with reckless abandon and glee

have you ever seen a very old man dressed in yellow overalls perform a triple backflip? then you haven’t seen Simon Fairchild regress

pops in to annoy other Avatars by standing on their heads or shoulders

#agere headcanons #tma agere #magnus archives agere #fandom agere #just a wild spread of headcanons here folks #the last two are especially funny back to back #i had so much fun writing this but oh my god i'm never doing an entire fandom of headcanons again #got a question about why i didn't include a character? feel free to ask!#the magnus archives #tma

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thelowlysatsuma · 4 years

Text

alright, fuckers. it’s au time

tma taskmaster au

for those who don’t know, taskmaster is a british panel (game) show hosted by greg davies and alex horne wherein every season, five comedians compete and complete ridiculous tasks at the behest of the taskmaster (greg) for the honour of wining the taskmaster grand prize: a golden trophy of greg’s head. it’s stupid, it’s wild, and it’s hilarious. everyone on board? great. okay, now make it tma.

there are two (equally valid) ways to do this. i shall enumerate these ways below.

option one: an au of taskmaster season one, and season one only. starring

getrude as the taskmaster. she’s clever, she’s in control, and she quite frankly doesn’t much care what happens to her cohost/assistant during the run of the show

michael as poor alex horne. yeah, michael’s getting tossed to the wolves just like usual in this version. being the taskmaster’s assistant is a thankless task, as not only does he host the show alongside getrude, he’s present In Person for the completion of each of the tasks by the competing comedians, and acts as their referee, assistant, and, quite often, fall guy

now, onto the comedians. we have

jonathan sims as frank skinner. the “oldest” of the competitors and frequently subject to jokes regarding his age. everyone is aware that this man is actually one of the younger contestants, but does gertrude care? of course she doesn’t.

martin k. blackwood as josh widdicombe. the inverse of jon in that this man is absolutely plighted with babyface, abd is subsequently absolutely mocked for it. other notable features include kind, stubborn, and oh yeah, winning the season.

tim stoker as roisin conaty. ridiculous, charming, and, as he’s somehow friends with the taskmaster, is made fun of in sometimes absurdly personal detail.

daisy tonner as romesh ranganathan. often lovingly referred to as “the angry one”. honestly y’all she just has those vibes.

gerry keay as tim key. he brings in a deer skull at the beginning of the first episode. this is absolutely a man who would beat up jurgen le*tner.

then, of course, there’s the other way to do this au, which means:

s5 martin “king” blackwood as the taskmaster. he’s a bitch and we love him SO much. lovingly insults everyone on the show. is often overcome with giggles bc of how bloody wild the contestants are. sits in a gilded throne, and goddamn does he look good.

s5 jon “loves his bf” sims as alex horne. quieter than martin, yes, but just as fucking weird in his own way. very deadpan sense of humour, and can and will escalate banter to ridiculous levels with a perfect poker face. affectionate on main and martin loves him for it. does his best to make martin crack up.

now, this version of the au really works with any season, but if you’d like a particular example of it, please imagine it with this moment from season three, featuring michaelen as rob beckett (blonde guy, before picking up the cup he’s michael and afterwards he’s helen), oliver banks as paul chowdhry (dark hair beard dude), daisy tonner as sarah pascoe (literally The Only Girl), annabelle cane as dave gorman (plaid shirt dude), and elias bouchard as al murray (beret guy).

anyways, come yell at me about this cursed, cursed au. i’ll love you forever.

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thehopefulsnowflake · 3 years

Text

And again here are more theories and opinions about the magnus archives from my brother

The corruption is one of the "four horsemen"

War and conquest are the military ghosts, and the desolation

Famine and pestilence is the buggy bois

Death is the end, duh

The corruption is colonisation basically

Elias is against having a cat, because they are too powerful, he was very serious about this

Centipedes have a masochistic foot fetish, millipedes have a normal one, don't ask

The woman in Dead Woman Walking is just a Zombie

Is the Woman a victim of the Book of Death from MAG 70

Georgie is a ghosty hunty person

Georgie and Melanie don't seem to be afraid of anything

The Italian mountain troops would have known they were being fucked with

More undead

Reminded him sort of the Meat Men

Also reminded him of the buried on the London underground

The mysterious firing squad intrigued him, did all the men that went up the mountain come back to kill him?

Basira is Drax from gotg

She'll randomly appear and no one will know she's there until she speaks

The chuckle brothers origin story, he means Breekon and Hope

Didn't think the circus had anything to do with the stranger

Breekon and Hope are taxidermy

So they're with the stranger

The Stranger is just everything that doesn't fall under something else

The circus was it's own thing

The cult of the lightless flame is it's own thing

The people's Church of the devine host is it's own thing

The circus is just full of people who you don't know, if you do know them that's sad... He was kinda rambling at this point

Is Sarah Baldwin capable of being bored

Why was she working with Melanie?

Do you just take a liking to ghost people

Did you take them over before of after they were eaten.

The Buried is called The London underground

Is it the Fairchild's? Thinks they're about isolation

Thinks it might be a book

The pit could be an Antlion

Thought that the young woman who was eaten by the pit turned into Gertrude

The young man could be, Gerry, Martin, Salesa, young Jon, Elias.

Thinks The stranger is vanilla in terms of gods and monsters.

The stranger is the least interesting.

Thinks all the Stranger wants to do is just summon a god

For some reason he thinks the Dark should be doing more to stop them, because Rayner wouldn't want that to happen

Martin will rap battle the archive to victory, via poetry from Leitners books

The stranger could just be Lego

He's horny for Rayner, his words not mine

Mr. Sandman brought him a dream

Thinks that the Dark at least can get to their gods dimension but choose not to.

If you make everywhere dark does their god appear?

He asked what would happen if two factions tried to summon their god at the same time what would happen

Thinks that all the Avatars /Entities do the same thing.

Breekon and hope have never killed anyone

Maxwell Rayner is a time travelling shadow demon

Mr sandman is like an angry sandy from Rotg

He made this episode unnecessarily kinky

They're just summoning gods

The stranger is remarkably being left alone

Thinks there is no fighting between factions

If anything they're aided

Is the Fairchild's entity already here

Are they working with the other factions

Says he knows whats going to happen because he "knows how these things go"

The Beholding is already on this side and if another God is summoned then it will be booted

Elias killed Gertrude because she was trying to defeat the Beholding and if it was defeated he would turn into the same thing as below the Library in Alexandria

There were three versions of the unknowing that he thought of

Destroying the concept of identity, the unknowing destroys the concept of personality, individuality, and identity. Turning them into Stranger worshipping entities

The angler fish was the thing in the basement at the Taxidermy shop

Stranger just means it couldn't get any stranger

Or it's deliberate parodies of humans

Breekon and Hope were normal people

Salesa, the chuckle brothers, the meat man, the skin walkers, the taxidermist, the manquien, Not-Sasha, the architects, the circus and to some extent the witches are part of the stranger

Magnus is a stranger that took over Elias

He also thinks Elias is just Magnus who found out how to stick around for a while

But Elias isn't the archive god like he first thought

The twisted detergent is Michael's new entity

Michael is like Loki if he didn't have a brother

The stranger is the big bad

Jon is an idiot, he's a bit slow

His second theory for the unknowing is that It's just going to destroy all knowledge revolving the Elder gods, hence the unknowing, the one he thought the least likely

And third, It somehow increases their powers so that the few people that would recognise them, no longer do. Levelling up in short. Thinks it would work for every entity

Doesn't think The Unknowing would be that big of a shift

The circus and the stranger were different because the Circus dealt with the "Freak show"

Thinks Rayner isn't dead

Dust devils

Dirt zombies

Has only made the connection between the Underground, the pit and the dust storm

Was the kid in the car Michael

Was Michael always the Spiral but just really liked working with Gertrude

Michael is the Spiral, he doesn't worship anything

Elias took Gertrude from him, now he's after revenge

Jon should go chill with everyone at the Archive

Jon should have a sword

While you were busy not having a paranoid breakdown I studied the blade

Michael has a crush on Gertrude

He has a granny kink, he is obsessed with making it all kink related

Michael originally gave his powers away to be with Gertrude

Michael took on this form because he could blend in or brag

He's a monster with a thing for Gertrude

Michael wasn't the same Michael as in the tape

Just trying to trick everyone

Lynne Hammond was lying, goes in line with the church of the lightless flame but it didn't happen

Maybe she heard something similar but it didn't actually happen to her, she was just trying to get some money

He actually feels bad for Tim

Tim should run

John Smith was half telling the truth.

People are in the tunnel's but it's not a government conspiracy

Tim doesn't deserve this

You can tell Basira is used to dealing with idiots

Liked that it cut out when Robin Lennox said let me start again, it's like the archive was trying to make it stop

Thinks the archive doesn't care what is being read to it, someone should read it the Lord of the Ringd

The archive is recording the tape recorders not Elias

Get the dog out

Michael was the crying man, he wanted the dog out

He doesn't want to hurt the dog

"Gertrude why did you leave me? I'll get you one day Elias" based on his Michael granny kink theory

Brian Finlinson was the most coherent in terms of links

Thinks that the spiders were actually there, hiding whenever anyone came around

Lynne is lying, John Smith is half telling the truth, Robin Lennox saw Michael having a breakdown, Brian Finlinson was telling the truth

He didn't remember Peter Lukas ever being mentioned before

Already shipping Peter and Elias

Michael is very sensitive

The Fairchild's and the Lukas' are working together

They don't seem to have an interest in the conflict going on between everyone else

The Fairchild's were in aerospace and Lukas was the ships

Still cthulhu

Even space had a cthulhu vibe

The depth of the ocean or the isolation of space

The Lukas and the archive are working together

There are some of these guys that don't want the entities on this side

Likes the power, doesn't want the full on entities here

The Lukas and the Fairchild's are the cthulhus

They're somewhat working with the archive/the beholding

Is Elias actually a Lukas? Decided yes because he and Peter are married

How much do the Lukas have to do with the Beholding

What sort of arrangement do they have?

Nikola was supposed to be part of the circus but there is a difference between the facimalies and the circus

Thinks that the archive burning down would have no downsides for the Beholding.

They'll summon a god and gazing upon it will kill everyone, everyone dies.

As he was now halfway through the series he explained who he thought was in each of these factions

The beholding, Elias, Martin, Tim, basira, daisy, sims, melanie, sasha, Rosie, Gertrude, leitner. Sasha is caught in a time loop...

The stranger, everyone, has no limits, The maniquein, the taxidermy, the circus, skin walkers, grifters bone, breekon and Hope, angler fish

The desolation, the cult of the lightless flame, Jims pims aka Jude Perry, Agnes,

People's Church of the divine host, Rayner, Rayner have something to do with the German crypt, Rayner Is also not dead

The diggy boys, the buried, Maggie and Gordon from the dump, dig dude from Dig, whatever was going on with the pit, and the dust storm.

Meat, no recurring. The haans that's it.

Buggy boys, spiders, Jane prentiss

Michael, the twisting deceit, the twisting deceit just is Michael, didn't exist before him

The leitners, the witches are using the books, Gérard, Mike crew,

Cthulhu collective, the lukas', the Fairchild's. Both are just isolation, the Fairchild's are all about being alone, the only time the Lukas have turned up are being alone either in space or at sea

The witches, Mary Keay, puzzle witch, have big crossover with the Leitners, they just have some of leitners books

Trevor is his own entity, is he part of the desease and corruption group

The architects, smirke, smirkes apprentice.

Jared is his own thing. Just found a self help book

It's a giant celestial orgy!

Also Came up with a random spinoff comedy again

Slowly the archive collects strange people

Michael, who is mourning Gertrude... Loudly

They found a worm in the tunnel left over from Prentiss

The worm loves gooseberries

That's Elias, we're not sure what he is

Thats the Admiral, it is a cat.... It runs the place

Rayner is sat in the corner giggling

Leitner started a microbrewery in the basement

Serves bud leitner, you can't get leitner than this

#He keeps coming up with sitcom ideas #the magnus archives #the magnus archives spoilers #tma #tma spoilers #The magnus archives theories

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arce-elliot · 3 years

Text

Magnus Archives - First Impressions (Ep. 1-25)

I’ve been messaging my friend (who has listened to TMA) with little short impressions after I finish each episode. I find them funny so I’m just gonna collect them all in one place.

For context, I knew a good amount about the podcast already and had been spoiled for most major characters/plot points through TikTok.

Under a read more cause it’s long as shit

EP 1 (Anglerfish): Jon: the first ten minutes is going to be exposition My ADHD ass: fucking uGGHHHHHH CAN SOMEONE GET MURDERED PLEASE

EP 2 (Do Not Open): - Hold up hold up is this coffin in episode two THE coffin??? - Like the one someone gets stuck in after the Unknowing??? I want to say Daisy but I might be wrong. - Because if so that continuity is -chefs kiss-

EP 3 (Across the Street): - But wait if he has to watch the table why the fuck is he taking night classes

EP 4 (Page Turner): Statement Giver: I found a book Me: okay so this is the Leitner origin episode okay Ep 4: my friend Michael Crew Me, literally almost spitting out my water: LIGHTNING MAN???? Ep 4: Mary Keay- Me: AND THE KEAYS?????

EP 5 (Thrown Away): love how this dude had his buddy vanish and all he found was a metal heart with his name carved on it and was just like "eh I'll give it to my pal that can access a furnace so they can just melt it" like HUH

EP 6 (Squirm): - this dude is a sleazeball i hope he gets eaten by worms - "This story is concerning" YEAH NO SHIT, JON - Oh Shit Jane Prentiss name drop

Ep 7 (The Piper): - music means you die got it - ngl i forgot what happened in this one i wrote nothing for it lmao there is a War

EP 8 (Burned Out): - HILLTOP ROAD HILLTOP ROAD THAT'S IMPORTANT RIGHT - "all the bones are in his hands" michael??? with him weird yaoi hands??? - AGNES - oh shit is this the box that fits in the table

EP 9 (A Father's Love): - i know julia kidnaps jon eventually and she's bad HOWEVER she's baby - "hey dad sorry to interrupt your weird ritual or whatever but a monster just broke the front door"

EP 10 (Vampire Killer): - OH TREVOR SWEET - wow he really just walked into this building and was like "i killed five people lmao" - oh awesome! we love describing tongues! disgusting! - !!! elias namedrop - wait he died isn’t he alive later

EP 11 (Dreamer): - oh gertrude?

EP 12 (First Aid): - "he had long black hair" You again? Gerry please take a nap or something - Gerry gives off strong "this may as well happen" energy - Just the image of this goth man covered in burns just waking up, walking to a closet, grabbing a scalpel, stabbing a man who turns to ash and then going back to sleep is quite literally THE funniest thing ever

EP 13 (Alone): me: okay time for episode 13 a new person: speaks me: what the fuck

statement giver: evan LUKAS me, a dumbass: okay me, later: alone lukas alone lukas WAIT

EP 14 (Piecemeal): - this dude is so mean and for what - bye bye fingies

EP 15 (Lost John's Cave): - caving diving ep fucked me uppppp - shit is terrifying

EP 16 (Arachnophobia): - @ Jon how is being covered in spider webs after ONE WEEK a normal occurance

EP 17 (The Boneturner's Tale): - Mike Crew Name drop #2 AND Elias speaking? Damn - Ah shit Leitner Alert - oh shit this dude just broke into the library rude

EP 18 (The Man Upstairs): - Hey! Meat episode! Fucking! Unnecessary!

EP 19+20 (Confession I + Desecrated Host II): - i could hear my brain trying to keep all the shit in these episodes straight - not my fave y’all too many places hurt my brain

EP 21 (Freefall): - Simon Fairchild Time I guess - was there a single fact about this story that was real lmaoooo - WORM TIME WORM TIME

EP 22 (Colony): - M A R T I N my poor baby

EP 23 (Schwartzwald): - Gerard really got to stick himself in every story huh smh main character looking ass

EP 24 (Strange Music):

Statement Giver: I'm not scared of clowns Me: here we go Statement Giver: Nikolai- Me: YUP, HERE WE GO

EP 25 (Growing Dark): - if it's a dark episode without my queen julia I don't want it

#magnus archives #the magnus archives

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schmokschmok · 3 years

Text

everything changes, nothing perishes

Fandom: The Magnus Archives

Relationship: Jon Sims x Martin K. Blackwood

Characters: Jonathan Sims, Martin K. Blackwood, Gerry Delano, Georgie Barker, Melanie King, Tim Stoker, Sasha James

Wordcount: 10.000

Freeform:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Alternate Universe - College/University

Romantic & Platonic Soulmates

Brief Georgie/Jon

Amicable Breakups

Trans Melanie King & Martin Blackwood

He/Him & They/Them Pronouns For Asexual, Nonbinary Royalty Jon Sims

HOH Tim Stoker

The Mechanisms Are The Archivist’s College Band

Summary

It’s just like Martin to get a soulmate who’s already bound to someone else.

A "the first words your soulmate says to you are written on your skin"-au but the twist is only a twist if you haven't read the first installment of the series (which is not necessary but appreciated).

Read on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28395876

Complimentary Georgie/Melanie Fic: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25056415

CN: Alcohol (mentioned), Canon-/Fanon-typical Martin Loneliness, Food (mentioned), Toxic Parent-Child Relationship (Martin’s mother)

Just got drunk and walked in.

It’s kind of a funny story, Martin supposes, what with the admission of alcohol being the catalysator and the cocky confidence of the script. When he was young, he thought about this sentence a lot, even though his idea of ‘getting drunk’ didn’t correspond to reality. (He still thinks a lot about it, but it’s not as rose-tinted anymore. Or at least he likes to think it isn’t.)

He never pictured a face or an actual voice to accommodate the words. But he thought about the tone, and the inflection, the way someone might say it with anger or arrogance or the intensity of a really great punchline.

The stories he made up were full of bravery and heroism, of drunk shenanigans and questionable decisions, of happy accidents and laughter. Fantastical in places, but realistic most of the time.

On better days he imagines a whole group of people close to him – friends – waiting for him in their favourite pub or on a patch of grass in front of the college he’s going to attend soon or in the flat of one of them. He imagines them chatting and retelling stories animatedly, laughing and talking over each other in enthusiasm and comradery. And one day there would be someone new, someone Martin would not have seen before. And in the moment, Martin would get into earshot, they would say it: Just got drunk and walked in. And it would be the start of a story about the lack of courage and the finding of it on the bottom of a bottle. Or the beginning of a tale about someone trying to do good, being all on their own, however. Or it would be the end of an adventure of nerves and worry.

Martin can see himself with someone equally as anxious as him. But he can also see himself with someone cockily declaring that they drunkenly walked into a place they shouldn’t have been in as well.

On worse days he imagines hearing the words in a crowd, only in bypassing, the source of countless daydreams and nightmares swallowed by the masses of people going on about their day without ever realising he was there in the first place.

One thing stays the same though in all of his imaginations and phantasies. In every single version Martin can think of, he falls in love with the voice before seeing their face first. It doesn’t matter if the words are yelled in arrogance and vanity or muttered self-consciously and kind of self-deprecatingly or hesitantly contemplated. He falls in love so fast and hard he stops breathing for a second then and there.

He had years upon years to build up enough expectations to know it only needs a little shove to snowball all of his fluttering endearment into the devastating, all-consuming love he was always destined to feel.

Martin is a romantic at heart and it doesn’t matter that all of his what ifs are futile and unrealistic, he’s in love with the idea of having a fairy-tale romance and that’s enough as it is. With all its daydreams and the gentle warmth in his stomach.

He doesn’t want to be lonely, really, he tries his best not to be. But it’s hard and he doesn’t know how to change it. When he still lived with his mother, she complained a lot about him being home all the time when he wasn’t working. (He shouldn’t think too much about it, she also complained a lot about him being away too much – no matter if he was out working or meeting up with somebody who could turn into a friend.)

The first two years in college didn’t change that fact at all. He was friendly with most of the people he met in his department and at the events he attended. But he wasn’t friends with them by any means. And that had always been the problem, hadn’t it? They thought he was a good lad, a nice chap, a dapper mate, a “we should hang out sometime!” and an “it’s lovely seeing you here!” but he’s not interesting to talk to. People don’t remember him because: While he can hold small talk relatively well, conversations with him tend to be one-sided. He asks the right questions, listens and reacts appropriately to the things people tell him, but he doesn’t reciprocate, can’t counter a story with a story because they’re either too personal or too embarrassing or don’t exist at all.

The first person talking often enough to Martin to make him share a few selected stories here and there is Gerry Delano. They share a single class and find themselves sitting next to each other, sharing and comparing the notes they made during the lecture. They haven’t met up outside of their shared class before, so Martin’s pleasantly surprised when Gerry asks him to come see his band the up-coming weekend.

He’s late. Because of course he is. One time. One single time he gets invited to something, so naturally he has to put in overtime. He’s at least an hour late, maybe even a little bit more. The text he shot Gerry to let him know that he’s late sits unread and unanswered in their chat and Martin feels awful.

Eventually, he reaches The Anglerfish, the small student bar just off the campus that hosts open mic nights and concerts for student bands. Gerry’s band is supposed to play tonight as the closing act; the after-act for a bigger student band Martin’s never heard of – The Mechanics? The Mech– something something. Apparently, they have a longer set than the other bands so Martin could be lucky to only have miss one or two songs of Gerry’s band.

Martin hasn’t listened to a single song of any of the bands that play tonight, so he’s not sure what to expect from the evening. Muffled music spills out of the slightly ajar windows, but he can’t make out a genre or any specific instruments, so he reaches for the handle of the door and takes a deep breath, for the last time relatively alone, then he opens the door and goes into the dimly lit entry way.

The first thing he hears are the chattering voices of people standing off to the bar and sitting at tables lining the walls, but when he dives into the crowd, simultaneously scanning it for Gerry’s lanky figure, he hears it.

“Just got drunk and walked in,” declares a voice loudly and with a manic kind of arrogance. Martin freezes in place. This is all wrong.

But he doesn’t get the chance to dwell on the fact that he heard the phrase etched into his upper thigh verbatim from someone he can’t even see, because the crowd doesn’t stop moving. Despite Martin’s need for the whole world to take a fucking breather, the people behind him shove him into the room and he tries to get air into his lungs again, but he only manages a few shallow breaths before the voice carries on and Martin realises that it has to be the singer on stage who said the most fateful words of Martin’s life.

The voice is gruff now, deeper and drunkenly confident.

Careful not to bump into too many people, Martin navigates through the crowd, trying to catch a look at the stage. In spite of his height it proves difficult and he goes further into the bar, diving into the crowd, while absolutely forgetting why he came in the first time: To meet Gerry who wanted to see the band Martin’s currently enraptured by, before playing with his band.

Finally, he manages to find a place at the far-right side of the publicum – close enough to see the stage but far enough to not stand in the way of the fans that came specifically for the band.

The song’s still going, and Martin scans the stage briefly. The band’s bigger than he expected and if it weren’t for the sheer presence of the person standing front centre stage, clutching the retro silver microphone with only one hand, Martin’s sure he’d have to look at every member of the band to determine who he’s looking for.

Adjusting his glasses, he attempts to take in every detail he can but he’s pretty far off and he can’t see everything he wants to. The things he can see are their long brown hair, dishevelled and laced with braids to keep it from falling into their face, goggles perched on their head like a headband; the dark brown skin of their face and hands and the lower half of their left arm; the black paint around their eyes, rampant like ivy roots; the black nail polish on the hand holding the microphone; the white linen shirt underneath the muddy brown waist coat, a dip hem skirt in the same soily brown over fishnet stockings and heavy brown boots with at least four or five centimetres of heel.

Their voice sounds like it’s made to narrate and yell and sing and– well, talk, actually. It sounds like a voice Martin would love to talk to and listen to and wake up to and– shit. This is bad and, did he mention, this is all wrong.

A narration begins and Martin realises all of a sudden that it took one measly song for him to lose all dignity and sense of appropriateness and instead win all of the love at first sight he dreamt of but didn’t anticipate to, well, suck so much.

He can’t have a crush on someone like, like that! Someone beautiful who carries themselves with ease and swagger and confidence. Until now he thought he could do this, you know, meeting his soulmate and instantly falling in love and maybe even talk to them like a civilised human being. But he was wrong, god was he wrong! He can’t talk to that ethereal being in fishnets. This is, wow, this is so far out of his comfort zone, he involuntarily takes a step back.

The only reasonable explanation is that he must have misheard the narration, must have missed a quintessential detail of what happened. Or it’s a very strange coincidence, his soulmark isn’t the most non-sensical sentence, there’s probably plenty people out there being able to say the exact same sentence. He just hasn’t met them yet.

Still, he can’t avert his eyes, he’s transfixed on the stage, listening to the, to be embarrassingly frank, horribly hot voice laying down the events leading to Oedipus’ Trial of Wits. Everything except the stage steps back and Martin’s brain singles out the band. The elbows touching him and the feet stepping on his don’t feel as real anymore, or maybe he’s less real in this weird interspace of knowing your soulmate or crushing on a complete stranger with the intensity of a thousand burning suns.

But there is no way to know, is it? He can’t go back and enter the bar again, consciously heeding the sentence that caused his distress. The only things he can think of doing are either getting to know the singer, who introduces himself as Jonny d’Ville just a few songs later, which is pretty creepy and Martin doesn’t want to do that – or he has to attend the next concert (or next concerts?) to determine if he merely misheard which doesn’t seem like a better alternative, if Martin’s honest.

So, still unsure what he should do next, he focuses on Jonny d’Ville and the way he gestures while narrating and singing like he’s winding his thoughts forth; the way he sits down during the songs he’s not involved in; the way he can’t hold back when Marius von Raum sings the part of Herakles and he mouths the words excitedly before jumping back to the microphone to sing the part of Zeus; the way he uses a single drumstick to beat the drum and holds the harmonica; the way he draws a steam punky gun and flourishes it like a natural extension of his arm.

“I’ve been looking for you!”

Gerry’s voice is so close to his ear, that the sudden proximity startles him more than the actual talking to him, or at least that’s what he tells himself. He’s not far gone enough to admit, even if it’s just to himself, that he was captivated by the band so much that he didn’t even realise that they neared the end of their act.

“D-Didn’t you get my text?” Martin yells back, leaning back, out of Gerry’s personal space. “Had to put in overtime and when I got here, I couldn’t find you.”

Gerry waves dismissively and shouts back: “Well, I found you at last, we’re up next!” He grins self-consciously and nods towards the stage. “Don’t really wanna get up after them but the crowd’s hyped up so maybe they’ll accept us as one of them.”

Even though his gaze flickers to the stage multiple times, Martin succeeds in looking at Gerry and smiling encouragingly. Then he says: “You’ll do amazing, Gerry. Don’t worry.”

While Gerry opens his mouth, the last notes of Elysian Fields carry through the bar and applause rings out. Jonny d’Ville takes a step forward, basking in the applause of the crowd and chugging water from a half litre bottle. As the applause dies down a bit, he lifts the microphone up again and exclaims: “Thank you! Thank you! Now, we are aiming to put that on CD, ehh, sometime around July. It won’t be exactly the show that you saw, this is, well, this is the debut. This’ll be refined and processed, et cetera, et cetera.” He bows outlandishly. “But if you want to help with that occurring – and you know you do – there is a crowdfunding, an indiegogo page, uhm, for this, uh, CD, there’s lots of,” he fumbles for words, “lovely perks from dice to patches and all sorts of brilliant things. So, go there, give us all your money.” The crowd laughs. “And then we will make a CD and we will send you the CD and you can listen to this to your heart’s content, uhh,” the crowd cheers again, “but thank you so much for coming!” He gives a few more thanks, then he says. “We’re going to, well, we’re going to leave you, uhm, with one quick final song and I think you probably know which one. So, sing along if you know the words.”

And the crowd knows the words.

Involuntarily, Martin steps back, overwhelmed by the sheer energy that erupts because of the people around him jumping up and down, yelling the lyrics to Drunk Space Pirate.

After that, it doesn’t take too long for The Mechanisms to clear the stage off their instruments and The Black Eyed Keays to set up their own act. Gerry comes out, hand gripping the neck of his electric guitar harder than necessary, knuckles lighter than the rest of his tan hand. His band is composed of five members including him, Martin’s yet to meet them.

Before he can start really looking at the other four musicians, he can see Ashes o’Reilly coming through the makeshift curtain separating the backstage area from the public. They goe straight to a woman standing off to the side, while politely dismissing people congratulating them and trying to involve them into conversation. As Martin averts his eyes because it seems like a private moment, he sees Jonny d’Ville leaving the backstage area, pulled through the curtain by Raphaella, their hands intertwined.

Something in Martin halts, something that had been on edge for the last hour or so, something that seemed to only be satisfied by the crushing reality of his potential soulmate holding the hand of someone other than him. (They could be friends, Martin knows that, he’s not that dense to think that everyone holding hands has to be romantically involved with each other. But it doesn’t stop him in the slightest of thinking that he wants to be in the place of holding Jonny d’Ville’s hand. He doesn’t even know the real name of the guy and already wants to hold his hand. Pathetic. And definitively creepy.)

Shaking his head to remind himself that he’s here for Gerry and The Black Eyed Keays, he turns away from Jonny d’Ville and Raphaella stopping at the bar, but out of the corner of his eyes he catches sight of Raphaella wrapping her arms around Jonny d’Ville’s waist.

As far as Martin can tell, it’s going well for him, wonderful even, just perfectly fine. He realised today that he hadn’t spent too much time wondering about The Mechanisms or Jonny d’Ville in the past few months and he’s rather proud of himself for not obsessing. His shift ended a tad early today, he didn’t have any costumers that grinded his nerves, the night provided him with a good eight-hour long sleep, and he didn’t even have nightmares.

This is the literal incorporation of a good day. Martin doesn’t have too many of them, so he tries to really bask in the feeling, who knows how long it’s going to last.

On the way out of the Ceaseless Watcher, he picks up two cups – one filled with black coffee and one with a herbal-fruit tea blend – and starts walking to the patch of grass in front of the Jonah Magnus’ University where he’s supposed to meet Gerry. Careful not to spill coffee or tea or burn himself, he clenches one of the cups between his forearm and his chest, while he fumbles for the phone in his pocket.

For a second, he contemplates coming to a halt to text Gerry that he’s on his way, but he doesn’t want to stop, being in the momentum already. While concentrating on proper (or at least somewhat comprehensible) grammar and typing the right letters, he’s paying a little less attention to the way as he should. Of course, he notices the change of underground from the hard-stomped way underneath the trees to the openness and softness of the grassy patch. But, actually, that’s about it. It’s not too crowded because it starts to be too cold outside to properly hang out, so he doesn’t even have to navigate through groups of students.

The thing is: Martin doesn’t really think something (or someone) could cross his way, so he doesn’t even try to pay attention to the area around him. And that’s why he doesn’t reckon with the incredibly inauspicious sounding crinkling when he steps on something that is decidedly not lawn.

Martin stops dead in his track, draws a shaky breath and wants to say anything (like an apology probably), but the only words leaving his mouth are a softly whispered: “Oh no.”

The words of apology are stuck in his throat and he doesn’t dare look up from the sketchpad he stepped on unintentionally. Right on top of a study of the two statues in front of the academic museum of arts is a rather perfect imprint of the sole of his boot. Martin swallows.

“You cannot be serious,” drawls a voice that makes heat rise in Martin’s cheeks – out of shame and recognition all the same.

As if the voice had snapped Martin out of a stupor, he rushes to say: “Oh, god, I am so sorry.” Shoving his phone into his coat pocket and setting down the two cups, he crouches and starts to wipe at the now slightly damp paper, more apologies tumbling from his lips.

“Alright!” The voice cuts him short, impatiently. “Stop it. It’s alright. Don’t bother.”

Two hands reach for the sketchpad, taking it out of Martin’s hands without further ado.

“I’m really sorry,” Martin says again, still not daring to look into the face of the person he just ruined the day for. Instead, he’s looking at their hands – one of them pulling the sleeve of a jumper or hoodie out of the sleeve of their coat and over their other hand to gently dab at the paper that already starts to get wavy where Martin’s boot hit it.

The person who is definitely not Jonny d’Ville (because Jonny d’Ville is a stage name and Martin doesn’t know who the human being in front of him is) retorts curtly: “I gathered as much.”

“Is it …”, Martin interrupts himself, shifting his weight so that he’s sitting on his heels instead of the balls of his feet. “Was it important?” He scrunches his nose. “I mean, I didn’t– didn’t destroy, like, a project for a course you’ve been working on for months, did I?”

“No,” they reply but their tone suggests otherwise. “It’s not … It’s nothing.”

They stop dabbing at the paper and Martin realises that they’re looking at him now and that it would be the polite thing to look back. It costs him approximately a metric shit ton of effort to lift his eyes and meet theirs. But he manages. (Just about.)

Martin regrets his decision to meet their eyes at approximately the same time that he can start making out the details of their face that he hadn’t been able to see in the dim light of The Anglerfish and the distance between him and the stage. It’s the exact same moment that Martin realises that they are as beautiful as Martin thought they would be. In a more reigned in and moderated kind of way – their hair confined in a bun, their face not painted with ivy roots but dotted with circular scars, and their outfit more suitable for daily use – but nonetheless beautiful.

“It doesn’t look like it’s nothing,” Martin says softly, and he doesn’t know where he’s getting the courage from. (Probably nowhere, he’s not exactly thinking as it is. And ‘not thinking’ is not the same thing as conjuring up courage.)

A scoff slips past their lips and they reply: “It is, though. And even if it wasn’t: I don’t see how this could be of any concern to you.”

Martin averts his eyes and looks down at the two cups he placed next to the place where the sketchpad had previously lain. The shock of already having his foot in his mouth is probably the reason why Martin just goes on: “If I want to make it up to you, I need to know just how bad my clanger was.”

His gaze flickers back to their face and takes in the steep corrugation between their drawn together brows.

Slowly, they say: “You don’t have to make it up to me.” They look almost appalled at the thought, and Martin’s not sure if he should be offended on his behalf or theirs. (Does he look like someone who ruins peoples work and then walks away? Or did nobody ever thought about righting their wrong when interacting with them?)

“I know I don’t have to,” Martin retorts, then he backpaddles and tries to correct himself: “I mean, you don’t seem like someone who’d enforce rectification but … I want to.” He swallows around the lump in his throat. “Make it up to you, that is.”

“Oh,” they say softly, and Martin thinks that they seem like they didn’t even notice they said anything at all. Absentmindedly, their left hand fiddles with the hem of the maybe-sweater-maybe-hoodie sleeve still pulled over their right hand.

“This was absolutely and entirely my fault,” Martin says when they don’t speak up again. “So, if it would be alright with you, I would like to, I don’t know, buy you a coffee?” The blush on his cheeks intensifies because he knows what this could look like. But someone like them would never even consider that someone like Martin could hit on them, so he tries not to dwell on that thought for too long. “I work at the Ceaseless Watcher, so, you could drop by and get a coffee on the house?”

Martin attempts a smile but it’s a rather weak one. The palms of his hands are clammy and a little numb, but he doesn’t dare wiping them on his trousers to get rid of the feeling.

“Are you working on Thursday?”

In all honesty, Martin didn’t reckon they would actually agree. Much less on the first go. (Such things don’t happen to Martin. He is never lucky enough that things just work out.)

“I– uh, yes,” Martin rushes to say before they can think about changing their mind. “Five to eleven.” An owlish blink in Martin’s direction. “P.M.”

“Good,” they say, both hands now lying flat on their sketchpad. “Then I will see you on Thursday.”

Martin takes this as his cue to stand up and leave, and it takes him almost ten whole minutes until he realises that he doesn’t even know the name of the person he had just met. And it takes him almost five more minutes of self-loathing and -pity until he remembers that they will see each other again. Next Thursday.

Maybe one time everything can work out for Martin. Just one time.

It doesn’t work out for Martin.

It doesn’t work out for Martin, so obviously and severely, that Martin genuinely thinks about hiding in the employee’s bathroom so that Jane can take over the register and deal with the slowly trickling in students of the Jonah Magnus Institute.

Jon (that’s his name, Jon without an H, it’s short for Jonathan, narrowed eyes at Martin’s name tag, Martin) has a girlfriend that is beautiful like a flower meadow in full bloom underneath the blue open sky. But they don’t just look great together (and they do, Martin’s perfectly and painfully aware of that fact), they seem to get along greatly, too. (Which is good! It’s not like Martin’s begrudging someone’s happy relationship or anything. It’s more like … he envies it? Envies the apparent ease and comfortability that come with knowing someone intimately for a long time. Envies the way they lean into each other and share private smiles. Envies the look of contentedness and trust when they look at each other. – Or maybe he’s overanalysing things he has never been part of. Eternally condemned to an etic approach to romantic relationships.)

Today, however, Martin wants to flee the scene because Jon looks livid and Georgie’s attempts to calm him down seem rather futile. They’re barely in earshot when Jon hisses: “I still don’t understand why you invited her along.”

“It’s not every day that you meet your soulmate,” Georgie replies soft spoken and with an exasperation that implies that it’s not the first time she has said this sentence to him. “And I won’t let you antagonise her just for the sake of it. At least get to know her. If she’s as bad as you think she is, you get to tell me that you told me so and I’ll back off.” She smiles at him. “Deal?”

But she doesn’t wait for him to answer, instead she turns to the counter where Martin’s been standing the whole time, trying to look like he hasn’t been eavesdropping, and greets him: “Hey, Martin.”

“Hi.” Martin tries to smile through the awkward glances Jon shoots him. “What can I do for you?”

“Two latte macchiatos, one decaf, one regular, and one white coffee,” she replies. While he’s ringing up her order, she continues: “And maybe if you could answer me this: Do you think Jon’s approachable?”

Martin stops dead in his tracks and Jon splutters: “Georgie!”

“What?” Her gaze flickers between an indignant Jon and the redder and redder growing face of Martin. She tilts her head in confusion and furrows her brows.

Jon hisses: “You can’t rope Martin into your schemes, you wretched thing!”

“Why not?”, Georgie questions before Martin gets to have a word in this. (Not that Martin would actively try to intervene when they’re obviously fighting about something important. Something Martin doesn’t want to think about while they’re still standing right in front of him.)

“Because,” Jon starts to say, but Georgie’s bulldozing on: “Martin is the newest addition to our squad and you brought him in, so, if anyone knows if you’re approachable or not, it’s him.”

“Martin is not a part of our friend group,” Jon says bewildered, then the realisation that Martin’s right in front of them sinks in. But the words are out in the open and the damage is already done.

“Jon!” Georgie exclaims, her voice filled with outrage (or at least something that comes close to outrage).

Martin smiles weakly and says: “It’s okay, Jon’s right. We’re not friends, or anything.”

It’s true, even though Martin had hoped that they could become friends. Or at least acquainted. Sometime in the future. (But Martin has to admit that Georgie thinking that Martin belongs to them in any kind of way – it felt nice. Nicer and bigger than it should probably have.)

“Oh,” Georgie says, brows even more furrowed than before, and a look of contemplation on her face that Martin can’t decipher. Then she shakes her head and Jane calls out for Jon and Georgie to collect their drinks.

They continue their argument while walking away, and Georgie sends him a soft smile and a wave over her shoulder before they grab their coffees and head for a table near the front of the café.

Martin tries not to look at them too much, or at all even, but he must have failed embarrassingly, because he notices Jon’s displeased face before he realises that someone has entered the café and beelines for the table Georgie and Jon sit at.

And that’s the moment Georgie’s and Jon’s conversation hits him full force. Jon’s soulmate has come into their life. Jon‘s soulmate has come into their life and the soulmate in question has just entered The Ceaseless Watcher. Which means one thing: Martin is not Jon’s soulmate.

Martin laughs lowly and self-deprecatingly and thinks: It’s just like him to get a soulmate who’s already bound to someone else. If he’d tell his mother, she’d probably tell him he had it coming without ever specifying why.

“Sounds exhausting,” Gerry says, both arms on the counter and more slumped against it than standing upright.

Martin shrugs his shoulders and says: “That’s just uni life.”

“It’s not,” Gerry retorts, pulling a face. “I’ve been lying on my bed the whole weekend, working on a few new songs. What you’re doing is the Martin way of life and, no offence, but it sounds exhausting. Three out of ten, wouldn’t recommend.”

“I kinda … take offence?” Martin’s voice goes up way too much at the end of the sentence, and Gerry waves his hand dismissively. “Did you just come by to insult me?”

Gerry grins and extends his arm to ruffle Martin’s hair (which is not something Martin expects other people to do and that’s why he doesn’t really know how to react to it), before he says: “Nah. Don’t. If it’s working for you, go ahead. – I’m here because my roommate and their girlfriend broke up, so I’m waiting for them to, I don’t know, cheer them up, I guess.”

“Oh,” Martin says eloquently. “I’m sorry?”

Gerry shrugs. “It’s alright, I think. They didn’t sound too upset on the phone.” Then his gaze falls on the giant clock on the wall behind the counter. “Should be here soon. Could you please ring up one regular latte macchiato and one decaf?”

Nodding, Martin punches the order into the register and Gerry reaches for his wallet. Then Martin steps over to the coffee machine to prepare the two different shots of espresso and heat and foam the soy-oat milk blend.

They exchange a few more quips while Gerry carries the hot beverages to a table next to the wall and gets back to the counter because they don’t want to disturb the other patrons by talking too loudly.

Gerry’s about to go on a tangent about the breaking of his G and B strings, when the bell above the door chimes and someone enters The Ceaseless Watcher.

Without intent or his own volition, a bright smile plasters itself onto Martin’s face, before he even turns towards the door – pavloved into customer friendliness – and sees Jon walk into the café. His smile falters a bit, but he manages to uphold it and greets: “Hey, Jon.”

Jon nods in reciprocation and says: “Martin, Gerry.”

“Oh, you know each other?” Martin asks, already one finger on the register to punch in Jon’s order, but Gerry’s hand makes an abortive gesture.

“Jon’s my roommate,” Gerry explains with another gesture towards the table where the two latte macchiatos wait for them. “Didn’t know you were acquainted.”

A blush creeps up Martin’s neck and he forces an embarrassed groan back down his throat. He’s torn between processing the information that Jon and Georgie broke up (apparently) and the realisation that Gerry used they/them pronouns for Jon.

“Well, we are,” Jon replies curtly and frees Martin from saying anything at all. Jon already turns to leave the counter when Martin squeezes out: “Jon, could I– would you– just a moment?”

Jon nods and Gerry walks to their table to give them a moment of privacy. But Martin doesn’t continue, because the questions that pile up in his mouth and block the way for the thing he actually planned to ask try to fight their way over his lips. Did Georgie and you really break up? Is it because of your soulmate? Are you alright? Is Georgie alright?

“Yes, Martin?” Jon looks vaguely annoyed. (Or maybe Jon looks obviously annoyed, but Martin doesn’t want to accept it because he’s a hopeless romantic and thinks that even if he is not Jon’s soulmate, Jon is still his and that must mean something, right? The universe wouldn’t be as cruel as to present Martin his soulmate only to make them hate him, right? – Yes, of course, Martin knows that soulmates don’t have to be romantic or even platonic, that a shared soulmark only means this person will have an impact on your life and that it is on them to find out what kind of impact that is. But Martin wants it to be positive. He desperately craves for it to be positive force in his life. And he doesn’t know what he’s going to do if this thing ends up being a giant fluke.)

Martin clears his throat and tries to ignore the burning behind his eyes.

“Just,” Martin swallows down everything that doesn’t have any place being in his mouth, “Gerry used they/them pronouns for you and … I don’t want to misgender you?”

Jon’s face doesn’t tell Martin anything. If Jon is pleased knowing that Gerry uses the right pronouns; if Jon is annoyed that Gerry made a capital t Thing out of Jon by using gender-neutral language; if Jon doesn’t really care either way. Jon just looks at him. It’s a bit unsettling.

“If you don’t want to talk to me about this, I get it,” Martin continues softly when Jon doesn’t say a thing and only studies Martin’s face. “You don’t have to. But I would like to, you know, respect it if you preferred a specific set of pronouns.”

Martin shrugs to shove the weight off his shoulders, but Jon’s stare turns disconcerting. Uncertainty making its way into Martin’s chest, until Jon says slowly: “I use he/him and they/them pronouns. At the moment it’s the latter.”

A nod in acknowledgment earns Martin something akin to a smile, the smallest of uplifts of the corners of Jon’s lips, and warmth spreads through Martin’s cheeks and chest.

They lift their hand in a wave goodbye until they seem to realise that they’re not actually leaving but rather sitting down at the table Gerry’s still waiting at, and duck their head in something Martin wants to call embarrassment.

For a few minutes while nobody walks up to the counter and everyone seems to be busy except Martin, Martin takes a plate out of one of the cupboards and places two pastries on it. Then, after a few pacing steps forward and back again and too much hesitation, he walks over to Gerry and Jon and places the plate on the table.

Jon opens their mouth to say something and Martin can see the questioning look on Gerry’s face. But he cuts the discussion short by blurting out: “On the house.”

In an attempt to mask the anxiety already spreading through him, Martin smiles his brightest smile, turns around and walks away. (Which: Who does something like that? Jon must suspect that Gerry has told Martin something Martin shouldn’t know about. Or they must think that Martin is an absolute court jester. And given Gerry’s face, at least Gerry suspects that Martin is not acting out of sheer courtesy.)

(Martin desperately wishes for the ground to open up and swallow him whole.)

Georgie and Jon are broken up for good, or that’s at least what Jon says to Martin. This is remarkable because of two things: First of all because it means that Jon is actually talking to Martin except for, you know, ordering coffee or awkward small talk while Martin prepares the beverage. And secondly because Martin didn’t think their split would actually last. Georgie and Jon are, even if it sounds impossible, the perfect pair and Martin isn’t sure how they managed to not be soulmates.

Since Martin tried to clarify Jon’s use of pronouns, Jon has significantly warmed up to Martin and Martin isn’t sure if it’s because of this or because Jon can’t spend as much time with Georgie anymore. (It’s not like they actually take a break from seeing each other. Gerry told Martin that Jon and Georgie went to an outing together on the same night they broke up.) Either way, Martin’s suddenly confronted with a Jon who asks him low-voiced how he’s doing and who hesitantly wants him to have a good day.

“He/him day,” Jon says instead of a greeting. He wipes sweat from his forehead and tries to tug every stray strand and wisp of hair behind his ears or underneath his hair tie – rather unsuccessfully.

Martin throws a glance behind Jon to assess the situation in the café and if he can risk leaving the counter for a moment. When he deems it safe, Martin says: “This reminds me … Wait a moment, I …”

He doesn’t finish his sentence, but instead walks into the little storage room in the back of the shop to fish a little box out of his bag and come back to the front of the café. A small blush blooming on his cheeks, Martin smiles at Jon and says: “Hey, Jon.”

Jon furrows his brow as if he hadn’t realised that he skipped an essential part of the conversation, then replies dutifully: “Hello, Martin.”

“So,” Martin begins, “I’ve been thinking. We’ve been talking about your pronouns and …” Martin trails off and presents the little box he retrieved from his bag. He opens it and showcases two braided bracelets, one in salmon pink and one in teal. “I heard about pronoun pins and bracelets? Had some yarn laying around and thought … if you want to, you could use them to indicate your preferred pronouns?”

At the end, Martin’s voice trails off and he sounds a lot less sure about his idea. His uncertainty is a mix out of ‘did I overstep’ and ‘am I too much’, but the way Jon’s furrowed brows melt into something entirely else lets Martin think that he’s not as much a burden as he feared.

Cautiously, Jon reaches for the bracelets, stopping mid-air to throw another glance at Martin who can’t stop himself from making a weird combination of nodding and shrugging.

Jon takes the two bracelets out of their box and Martin throws the empty box into a drawer underneath the counter. He runs them through his fingers, feeling the texture of the yarn and the structure of the fish braid pattern. Pocketing the salmon pink bracelet, he extends his right arm with the teal-coloured one towards Martin, asking: “Could you tie it?”

The uncoiling of the knot right underneath Martin’s midriff makes Martin smile and he takes the bracelet out of Jon’s hand to tie it around Jon’s wrist. He miscalculated quite a bit with his own wrist as reference, but he is able to comfortably wrap the bracelet around Jon’s wrist two times, before he ties it into a loose knot. The colour looks nice against the warm undertone of Jon’s skin and up-close Martin can see the smaller and bigger moles scattered across his lower arm.

Martin’s not sure if it is he who lets go of Jon’s arm first or Jon who takes his arm back, but he knows that he looks up from where he held Jon’s wrist just a few seconds ago and catches sight of Jon looking at him. It’s not a look Martin can decipher. As so often, Jon looks like he’s trying to make sense out of something Martin has said or done. (Or maybe he’s trying to make sense out of Martin as a whole. The same way Martin is still trying to grasp the essence of Jon.)

“This is really nice,” Jon says, and it sounds more like he’s turning every word three or four times before releasing it into the air between them; like he’s somehow forcing the words out after analysing and approving them, because they don’t want to be heard. But the way he cradles his wrist and the bracelet with such great care and a little disbelief shows clearly that he’s serious. Jon’s eyes snap upwards to look at Martin again, and Jon adds: “Thank you, Martin. That’s really,” he draws in a breath, “considerate.”

Not sure if he should dismiss Jon’s words or not, Martin ducks his head and turns towards the register: “Decaf or Regular?”

“Surprise me,” Jon replies with a shrug of his shoulders. Martin tilts his head in confusion and Jon clarifies: “Gerry and Georgie think I drink too much coffee, but I don’t necessarily like them interfering with my life choices, so we made the deal that every time we drink coffee together, we order one decaf and one regular and it’s a surprise who gets to drink the decaf.”

Chuckling lowly, Martin retorts: “That’s a nice tradition.”

Jon pays for his coffee and Martin turns around, reaching for the decaf beans, safely out of Jon’s sight. For the taste, he adds much more ground coffee than Elias normally allows him to use and sprinkles a bit of cocoa powder on top of the milk foam. Then he hands Jon the final product and smiles.

Their fingers almost touch when Jon takes the mug out of Martin’s hands and he starts to walk away for two and a half steps, before he turns back again and asks: “When does your shift end?”

“Oh,” Martin throws a glance at the clock behind him, “in about an hour? Why?”

Jon shifts his weight and replies: “I thought I could use a walk, and that, maybe, you could use a walk, too?”

This seems to cost even more surmounting than thanking Martin, but it fills Martin with warmth and the hope that Jon doesn’t hate him. (He should know by now that Jon doesn’t hate him, they’ve been friendly for quite a time now, but the fear that Jon [or anyone, really] could suddenly decide that Martin is too much and too overbearing is prevalent.)

He swallows all that down and says: “Yes, I’d like that.”

When Melanie and Georgie get together, Martin’s not entirely surprised. Actually, he’s not surprised at all because Jon himself has told Martin that Melanie had asked him about his feelings for Georgie. (I don’t get it, Martin, do I look like I would begrudge them their relationship? Do I look like a fragile thing that needs to be coddled? No, Gerry, shut it.) But part of Martin wonders if Jon’s really as alright with the situation as he makes it out to be. As far as Martin knows, Jon and Georgie had been dating for quite a while, and Melanie is Jon’s soulmate. It must be a horribly awkward situation to be in.

Somehow this hasn’t kept them from hanging out as a group, though. Melanie and Georgie are lying in the shadow of a tree, while Sasha and Tim rampage through the water, and Jon and Martin, they sit on the small landing stage, their feet dangling in the water.

Jon’s hand is resting right next to Martin’s and it would be so easy to reach out and grab it, to intertwine their fingers and just enjoy the weight of Jon’s hand in his. But they have never done something like this, Jon is an untouchable entity in the night sky, beautiful like the milky way but foreign and unjudgeable with his disconcerting stares and assessing questions and brutally honest words. And a mere mortal like Martin can’t just reach for the hand of a natural phenomenon like Jon Sims.

So, he takes his hands into his lap instead to keep himself from doing something ill-considered like taking Jon’s hand anyways.

For a moment, they watch Sasha and Tim, but when they head back to the picknick blanket Georgie and Jon had brought and where Georgie and Melanie are leisurely sitting, Jon indicates that they could go back to the others, too. So, they get up and walk back to the others. (Martin’s hand twitching to reach for Jon’s.)

“No way! You’re lying!” Tim’s voice is barely more than a whisper, while he’s scrubbing his hair as dry as possible with a towel.

Sasha’s hand reaches out for Tim’s ankle to direct his attention to her, and she says while signing simultaneously: “Nobody can hear shit of what you’re saying.”

“Louder?” Tim asks and it’s obvious that he tries to adjust his volume. But Sasha shakes her head. “Louder?” Sasha shakes her head again and Tim waves dismissively, before he continues to towel dry his hair.

“What’s going on?” Martin says, sitting down next to Sasha, quietly marvelling at the fact that Jon sits down next to him even though the space doesn’t necessarily allow it.

Melanie’s cheeks redden (a foreign and unsettling sight, if Martin is honest), and she seems to think about her answer for a moment, before she finally extends her legs, showcasing multiple sets of names written on her skin. Sasha’s, Tim’s, Georgie’s and Martin’s. But most prominently right in the middle Jonathan Sims in the same curvy scripture as the rest, but instead of a felt tip marker, it seems to come from under Melanie’s skin.

“Oh,” Jon says right next to Martin and Martin thinks: Oh, indeed.

That is, however, where the similarities between Jon and Martin end, because while Martin starts to panic at the obvious evidence of Melanie’s and Jon’s soulbond, Jon says: “Georgie, this is your handwriting.”

“Yes, it is,” Georgie replies cheerily, before pointing at the crook of her arm. “And you know what? That’s Melanie’s handwriting.”

“Congratulations,” Jon deadpans, but Martin can feel the rigid line of Jon’s shoulders relax.

Just for a moment, though, because Georgie says: “And you know what that means, Jon! There’s still someone out there waiting to be found by you!” And Jon is as tense as before.

“I hope not,” Jon replies, and Martin can’t help himself hoping that Jon is right. Because Melanie turning out not to be Jon’s soulmate doesn’t automatically turn Martin into Jon’s soulmate. Martin doesn’t even know what’s written on Jon’s body, and even if he knew he’s not sure he could remember the first thing he ever said to Jon.

Georgie only smiles, used to Jon’s antiques and clearly mentally occupied.

“You’re making such a big deal out of it,” Tim says while turning his C.I. back on. The volume of his voice adjusting to an appropriate level when he’s finally able to hear himself again. “Out of anything, really. Why don’t you just enjoy the knowledge that somewhere out there is someone who enjoys talking to you, like, without any obligation.”

Out of Jon’s sight, Georgie starts a countdown (three – two – one!) with her fingers, and as if she had given Jon a sign, he goes on a tangent about determinism. Martin has never been as in love with Jon.

Oh.

MartiniKolada: sos

MyKeaymicalRomance: what did you do?

MartiniKolada: i had an oh. oh. moment MartiniKolada: you know where you think oh. and then it hits you like oh. but it’s italic and the italicity of the moment hits you right in the face??

MyKeaymicalRomance: i don’t think italicity is a real word

MartiniKolada: italicness then??

MyKeaymicalRomance: maybe italicisation?

MartiniKolada: does it really matter???

MyKeaymicalRomance: probably not lol

MartiniKolada: as i was saying MartiniKolada: i just had the mortifying realisation that i think i love jon?? like, not likelike but lovelove?? and idk what to do, like, what WILL i do next? burst into a song or into tears??

MyKeaymicalRomance: oh, well, i think it’s probably too early to tell him

MartiniKolada: “probably” he says

MyKeaymicalRomance: well, what do you want me to say?

MartiniKolada: idk???

MyKeaymicalRomance: do you want me to come over after my class?

MartiniKolada: yes pls ))):

MyKeaymicalromance: k

#10

It’s October, and their semester break is over in two weeks. Martin’s already dreading having to go back to courses and classes because he’s not sure if the last few weeks of seeing Jon almost every day are over if they both have to pick up work again. (The good thing is that the others will come back from their visits home. Martin doesn’t know how it happened, but he’s grown close to Gerry and Jon’s squad and actually misses them.)

Now, however, he concentrates on the fact that Jon asked if he would like to stay overnight because Gerry’s away and he doesn’t want to be alone tonight. He said It’s eerily quiet and Martin didn’t need more to say Yes, I mean, yeah, no problem, I’d love to. Because: It’s not like Martin regrets agreeing to Jon’s request, it’s more that Martin’s utterly overwhelmed with the thought that he is going to spend time sleeping in the same room as Jon. (Embarrassing, right?)

“You seem distracted,” Jon states and reaches for the mousepad to pause the film they’re watching. Or in Martin’s case: attempt to watch.

It’s not a new development that Jon and Martin sit on Jon’s bed, huddled close together, to watch a movie or play a two-player game Jon has found on his hard drive. But it being old news doesn’t prevent Martin from marvelling at the way Jon’s thin frame fits in neatly with the curve of Martin’s fat stomach and thigh. And the way Jon seems to melt into Martin over the course of one evening, almost liquified at the end, nestled into Martin in a manner that Martin couldn’t recreate if he tried to; absolutely unretractable when Martin tries to reconstruct how he could find himself in a situation like this.

“A bit,” Martin agrees, studying the cursor now resting on the nose of the protagonist. “It’s nothing.”

“If you don’t want to watch a film, we don’t have to,” Jon says and it’s only because they’ve been spending so much time together that Martin recognises the defensive tone of Jon’s voice as concern. (A few months back he would have definitively thought that he had done something wrong and that Jon is annoyed with him. And the knowledge that the anxiety coiling underneath his midriff is with great certainty unfounded and only fabricated by his own brain makes warmth spread through his whole chest.)

“No, it’s alright, really, it’s nothing,” Martin repeats placatingly, already reaching for the mousepad to unpause the film.

But Jon catches his wrist mid-air and says lowly: “I hate when you do that.”

“What?” Martin’s hand sinks until it hits his stomach, but Jon’s hand remains wrapped around Martin’s wrist as if he needed to keep Martin by his side; as if Martin could somehow muster up the volition to get up and go.

Jon’s gaze is entirely on the junction of their skin, probably focusing on the way Martin’s skin tone clashes with the salmon pink of one of the two bracelets Jon’s wearing tonight. (Or probably not because Jon doesn’t really care for things like that.)

“Well,” Jon says to Martin’s wrist, “when you say it’s nothing even though it’s clearly something.”

Self-consciously, Martin contemplates for a hot second telling Jon the truth. That he just likes being with him even though Jon doesn’t feel the same way as Martin. That he likes how they fit together like matching salt and pepper shakers. That he likes the firmness of Jon’s hand around his when Jon excitedly grabs Martin’s hand and forgets to let go again. That he likes Jon’s distracted (and to be honest distracting) soliloquies and overexcited monologues.

Being honest, however, isn’t worth the awkwardness that will most likely be the result of confessing his feelings, so Martin deflects: “That implies that you’re always telling me right away when something’s bothering you. But that’s not what you do, is it?”

Jon pulls a face. “No.” He sighs. “No, it’s not.”

Without thinking, Jon shifts the weight of Martin’s wrist in his as if he’s trying to feel for Martin’s pulse. For a moment, they’re both silent, dwelling on thoughts they’re not ready to share, yet. Or maybe only Martin’s not ready to share, yet, because Jon concedes softly: “You’re right. So, if I were to share a matter that has been on my mind lately, would it be more encouraging or pressuring for you to hear about it?”

Martin weighs both options, partially occupied with the way Jon’s still holding onto his pulse. Then he concludes: “Both, probably? I mean, it could be both.”

“Do you want me to tell you anyway?” Jon asks, lifting his gaze and focusing on Martin’s face. (Jon has this incredibly unsettling habit of looking at people at precisely those moments it’s the most disconcerting, gaze unwavering and the only thing betraying his own nervousness is the way he fiddles with the hem of his sleeves or the jittery tapping of his fingers against the fabric of his trousers.)

And since Martin can’t refuse Jon anything, he nods.

“You know, this is probably ridiculous and you’re going to make fun of me, endlessly,” Jon says, a barely visible crinkle appearing between his brows, “but Georgie said that she doesn’t understand why we haven’t kissed, yet. And it’s been on my mind ever since. Should we be kissing, Martin?”

Martin almost chokes on air. “What?” He must have misheard. Or misunderstood. Because it’s absolutely impossible that Jon said this particular string of words without any hesitation.

“Well,” Jon says, obviously growing uncomfortable, “I told her that she should stop being presumptuous, because if you would want to kiss me you would say as much. But Georgie said she wouldn’t be surprised if you were to think that I’m kiss averse as some asexual people are and that you were ‘too bashful’ to ask for clarification.” Jon breathes in and out, once, then twice. Martin’s trying hard not to mcfucking lose it. “We’ve been dating for quite some time now and I hope you’d feel comfortable enough to ask me things like that instead of assuming my stance. However, I do see now that I should put my own house in order first rather than waiting for you to say something.” The crinkle between his brows smooths out. “So, the quintessence is that I would like to kiss you, Martin, and that I would like to know if you were amenable to this idea.”

Owlishly blinking, Martin tries to make sense of all the admittedly beautiful but absolutely impossible words that Jon has said just now. He’s not sure which part he should be concentrating on and his thoughts crash into each other, tumbling onto his tongue, only to get buried underneath a new load of thoughts just a nanosecond later.

The thing that actually makes it past Martin’s stupor is: “We’ve been what?”

Jon furrows his brows again and replies slowly: “Dating.”

“And you didn’t think I needed to know that??” Martin’s voice cracks, eyes wide and cheeks reddened. The pressure of Jon’s fingers around his wrist loosens and Martin wants nothing more than to hold on dearly, but at the moment he can’t do anything but stare at Jon’s face that shifts slowly into a look of embarrassment.

“Well, I thought– I didn’t,” he groans lowly. “I thought you knew.”

“How should I have known?” Martin doesn’t really want to argue about this, but the words tumble out of his mouth, absolutely unstoppable. “Did you send me a formal enquiry? Ask me to be your boyfriend while we were doing incredibly romantic things like shopping groceries? I would have said yes, don’t get me wrong, this is not a ‘I don’t want to be dating you’ because I do very much want to date you.”

Martin’s breath goes hard, and he attempts to focus on the blush that bloomed on Jon’s cheeks sometime around the mention of Martin calling himself Jon’s boyfriend and that deepened further when Martin stressed that he wanted to be Jon’s boyfriend as well. But then Jon’s smiling. Not a barely visible lift of the corners of his lips but a genuine smile that crinkles the corners of his eyes.

“I think,” Jon says, shifting the weight of Martin’s wrist again, so he can intertwine their fingers completely, “that everything we do together is inherently very romantic. Even grocery shopping.”

“Oh, my god,” Martin tries to hold back a giggle and fails, “you’re a sap! This is unbelievable. This should be illegal.” He wriggles his other hand out of the almost non-existing space between them and cups Jon’s hand in both of his. “You can’t just spring the fact on me that we’re dating, only to change your behaviour a hundred and eighty degrees and say things like, things like that!”

“I’m only adapting,” Jon replies, lifting Martin’s hands and pulling them in close. “I thought we were taking it slow because you never made a first move, and I didn’t want to be too much.”

“Then we’re in the same boat, huh,” Martin says while he’s watching Jon pressing small kisses on Martin’s knuckles. “So, what do we learn from this, Jon? Don’t talk to Georgie about those things, come talk to me.”

Jon snorts. “You’re one to talk. I can’t count the times Gerry told me to ‘go get my man he’s pining again.’ It was embarrassing.”

“Imagine how embarrassing that is for me?! I was literally gay on main while he thought we were already dating?!” Martin makes a suffering noise at the back of his throat, but Jon doesn’t stop pressing small kisses into his knuckles, so it’s not as bad as it could be. “We need to cut ties with Gerry but that shouldn’t be a problem, right?”

“No, that’s feasible,” Jon replies. “Very sensible.” He puts down their intertwined hands. “A thing that would be very sensible, too, is telling me about the reason you were distracted earlier.”

“It seems ridiculous now,” Martin says, but Jon nudges him with his shoulder to prompt him to go on. “I just thought about how hard it is to sit next to you and not kiss you.”

Jon lifts himself up on his elbow and murmurs: “That is a lie, Martin K. Blackwood.”

“Only half of it,” Martin replies softly, before he closes the gap between them and kisses Jon with as much care as he can conjure.

(The light shove Martin gets when he asks “so, we’re boyfriends now, huh?” is definitely deserved.)

#the magnus archives #fanfiction #jonmartin #jon sims x martin blackwood #wtgfs on the side #dating without knowing #softness #pure and unadultered softness #college au #schmok writes #i forgot to post this back in the day but since tma ends today #FLUFF for all of you!!

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that-one-girl-behind-you · 3 years

Text

Illicio 17/?

Part 16

CW for: -self harm -mentions (implications) of police brutality -whatever the hell kind of self hatred Tim has going on

"Daisy, you're dying."

"I know. I've known for a while." Daisy's too-bony hand comes to rest against Basira's cheek, and she almost flinches at how cold it feels. "I thought you knew too."

"I'm- I was looking for a way to stop it. I thought you wanted to stop it!" It takes everything in her to not shake Daisy up, because this sounds like- "I didn't know you'd just given up."

"I haven't. I win, like this. I die as myself." Daisy gives her a weak smile. -everything in her looks weak, and Basira wants to scream.

Getting Daisy back was already not a part of the plan, but losing her again is- "Dying is not winning, Daisy."

XVII

"That was a nasty one," Gerry says, running a hand through his hair a couple times. An understandable reaction, given that the floorboards of the attic they were trying to bust open to reach the Corruption book ended up collapsing on him in a shower of termites.

Still, Melanie rolls her eyes, and her lips curl into a smirk as she comes to bump his arm with her shoulder. "No creepy crawlies, you're still pretty."

"Well, obviously." Gerry flips his hair back into place, and Melanie tugs on it, when a couple locks whip -on purpose, she's sure- against her face. "Whose turn is it to pick dinner?"

"You don't even need to eat!" Melanie groans, which is a pretty solid response to his question.

"It's about the bonding, firecracker." Gerry's voice is a slow, conciliatory tone carefully designed to rile her up, she knows from his teasing grin. "The human experience."

Melanie blinks. He blinks back.

"You're not hum-"

"What's that food your girlfriend loves and you hate?" He speaks over her, and she laughs. Definitely not her standard response to men interrupting her, but she'll let this one slip, she decides. "Hungarian? Yes. That's what I'm craving."

"You're an asshole, did you know that?"

They don't get Hungarian, in the end.

Instead, they stop by an ice-cream shop, which Melanie thinks is oddly fitting. It's what they got the first time they went out together; it only makes sense it's what they get on their last.

"You're quiet." Gerry sits next to her as she digs into her pint of caramel. She barely even gives him a glance, scrolling through pictures of herself and Georgie in her phone. "Are you okay?"

"I talked to Georgie," Melanie blurts out, because tact has never been her strong suit.

"...Oh." Gerry's heavy hand comes to rest at her shoulder, and Melanie reflects for a second on how casually he touches her, and how comfortable she is with it. "Uh- everything alright?"

She scoops another spoonful of ice cream into her mouth. It's- as alright as it's ever going to get, she supposes. Georgie didn't like it, but she understood. She even offered to do it, but Melanie didn't want that to be something she associated with her.

Gerry's hand squeezes her shoulder, and she turns to look at him. He looks... incredibly dumb, looking at her with concern in his eyes and his mouth stained red, his cheek still stained with soot from the book they just burned.

This is- it's the face of a friend. One she made herself, all her own.

"You look like an extra in a cheap vampire movie." She smiles. It feels a bit weaker than she meant it, but... but she's maybe feeling a bit smaller than she planned. And maybe that's not a bad thing, to ask for help. To let herself be helped. "It'll be alright."

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

Basira's not blind to how Hunt-like her connection to the Eye is. She doesn't like it, but it's fitting, she thinks grimly as the trail before her lights up in a warm yellow hue that reminds her of her favorite hijab, of the smell of freshly baked bread, of the soft sandy hue of Daisy's hair.

Daisy's been hiding a lot lately, but it's of no use; Basira could find her at the end of the world if needed, even without- she hesitates calling them 'powers', because that feels like giving in, like accepting this metamorphosis that has been thrust upon her without so much as a by your leave. Still, they are there and they are hers, and she can follow the trail down into the tunnels, and around a couple bends.

It leads straight into a dead end, where Daisy sits balled up against a corner, like a sickly dog that crawled down here to die. She looks... small. Emaciated even, Basira's old t-shirt hanging loosely off of shoulders that used to be tight with well-marked muscle.

Basira stiffens when the Knowledge slams into her, clenching her fists by her sides. She won't be scared, she won't give it the satisfaction.

"You're dying." The truth slips easily past her lips, and Basira hates it, hates it like the world that gave her Daisy only to tear them apart again and again.

It takes a moment, but Daisy stirs and sits up to look at her with bloodshot eyes. "I have been for a while already. It's alright."

"It's not." Basira steps forward, coming to crouch before her. "I thought signing the contract had helped?"

"It slowed it down." Daisy leans back on the wall, her head dropping against her shoulder like her neck isn't strong enough to hold it. "But it would never have stopped it, I'm- I'm not you, or Jon. Beholding was never for me."

Basira crouches before her, and her shoulders feel even thinner than they looked, when she lays her hands on them. "Then you have to hunt."

Daisy's warm brown eyes fix on her, and Basira can read her next words in the slight furrow of her brow.

"I don't want to."

"Daisy, you're dying."

"I know. I've known for a while." Daisy's too-bony hand comes to rest against Basira's cheek, and she almost flinches at how cold it feels. "I thought you knew too."

"I'm- I was looking for a way to stop it. I thought you wanted to stop it!" It takes everything in her to not shake Daisy up, because this sounds like- "I didn't know you'd just given up."

"I haven't. I win, like this. I die as myself." Daisy gives her a weak smile. -everything in her looks weak, and Basira wants to scream.

Getting Daisy back was already not a part of the plan, but losing her again is- "Dying is not winning, Daisy."

"Isn't it what I deserve, though?"

"What?"

"You know," Daisy says, and Basira isn't sure whether or not she means it as Capital 'K' know, but she knows perfectly well what she's referring to.

"That wasn't yo-"

"Don't say that. Don't- don't try to make me a victim, Basira I- I hurt people. I wanted to. The Hunt only gave me the tools, but-"

"Well, I knew." Basira snaps. "I knew all that time, and I didn't do anything. Doesn't that mean I'm just as bad?!"

Daisy's warm, brown eyes pin her in place, full of love and resignation in equal measure. "Well... yes."

And maybe she's right, Basira thinks. Maybe this is penance, for all the bad they've done. Maybe they're just lucky it took so long to catch up to them.

"I'm- no. Fuck that." She grits her teeth. "You- you can spend the rest of your life paying for it, but you can't die. How is this justice? How-"

"It's not meant to be fair, I think." Daisy grunts a little as she sits up straighter. "But I get to die as myself. Not- not the thing I chose to be, the thing I let hurt so many people. I get to die choosing not to hurt anyon-"

"Well- hunt monsters then! Pay it back stopping them, don't-" Basira stops abruptly, when she feels her throat tighten. If she keeps talking, her voice will break, and she doesn't want-

She'd been so angry at Jon for feeding, but here she is begging Daisy to do the same like a hypocrite. Isn't that what has always boiled down to? Her morals unshakeable, until they come to this woman?

"Basira." Daisy pulls her down delicately, and Basira comes. "I want it this way."

"Don't hide from me," Basira whispers into her hair, holding her close to her chest.

"I didn't want you to see me like this."

"I will find you. Always."

"I know." Daisy chuckles. Basira is aware this is the slightest bit selfish. Daisy won't die in her arms, so maybe as long as she never lets go... "I'm sorry."

"Don't." Basira squeezes her harder. "I'm- I get it. But I don't have to like it."

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

"Are you sure you want this?" Gerry asks for what feels like the umpteenth time, and he's more than aware that he's doing it only to buy himself more time.

The entire scene is almost too relaxed; the two of them sitting on the floor next to Melanie's cot -a monstrosity of pillows and quilt that Gerry's willing to bet hosts at least one or two knives-, a tub of half-demolished caramel ice cream between them. Just two friends having a chat.

Gerry's life has never been that simple, sadly. The awl sits deceptively light on his hand, belying the weight of the request.

"I do. It's- I want out. Of the Institute, at least." Melanie's knuckles whiten as her fists clench over the dark fabric of her jeans. "If I'm going to keep helping, then I want it to be my choice."

"If you do this, I'd much rather you stay out of this for good." Gerry's voice is dry, because if he lets any emotion in it, it will probably be despair.

"That's nice, but you don't tell me what to do." Melanie shakes her head with a roll of her eyes. "Besides, you're going to need someone who's free of all this, if the Eye won't let us look into your boyfriend's marks."

"Melanie-"

Her grim smile is determined, and Gerry feels a fierce rush of protectiveness burn in his chest. For a moment he misses the dull pain of his existence in the skin book, because at least back then that was all he could feel.

It was a stupid oversight on his part, to think he would ever get to have something normal. Something for him, untainted by the world he was born in.

"Well... alright, then."

There's disbelief and gratefulness in Melanie's eyes, like she recognizes the hesitation was for himself, and not a way to try and change her mind.

"You'll do it?"

"What are friends for?" Gerry's smile feels stiff and foreign in his face. "Gouge your eyes out, call you an ambulance right after."

"Your typical sleepover." The edges of Melanie's grin are strained. For the briefest of moments, he thinks she might hug him. She doesn't, and he's both relieved and disappointed. Is their friendship even theirs, if it was born out of hatred for these things that took their will away? "Should I lay down?"

"...I guess so, yes." He sighs. "Don't you want to finish the ice cream?"

"Not really." Determination or not, Melanie's starting to look a bit green. "I'm... okay, let's do it."

She turns around so her back is facing him, before laying down so her head rests on his crossed calves. It's... Gerry had never considered her eyes, but now it's all he can pay attention to. Almond-shaped and perfectly contoured with eyeliner, her irises a darker brown than Jon's, so deep it's almost black.

They're good eyes; they've kept watch for him during their hunts, caught sight of monsters just on the nick of time. They watched over him while Jon was in the Buried. The eyes of a friend.

She deserves this, the choice, the freedom; he won't keep them from her, not even for his own peace of mind.

How does one go about destroying someone's eyes permanently? Just jam it in and swirl it around, try to cause as much damage as possible? The Beholding is of course not volunteering any tips; instead showing him in excruciating clarity the agony it will provoke.

He sees it like a movie, like a nightmare; Melanie screaming, her blood dripping down his hands. Is this how his father felt, did he try to fight the Watcher with thoughts of his infant son?

'No,' the Eye whispers in his mind. 'This is what your mother saw, when your father laid to sleep for the last time. Trusting, loving. Like her.'

The awl drops from his shaky hands, missing her face by mere inches as Gerry throws himself back.

"Melanie, I can't."

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

"Been a while since I've been here" Tim mumbles, giving a look around the office.

It becomes clear to Jon then that he's not the only one that's nervous, although he can't for the life of him figure out why Tim would be.

Why is he nervous, even? Does he fear Tim's barbed jabs or the dull ache of guilt? Or is it just that Tim is a loose cannon, an open flame in the Archives that- oh. Of course.

"The Eye doesn't want you here." Jon smiles tiredly as he says it, and to both his surprise and relief, Tim mirrors the gesture.

"That's just mean. It was so adamant on not letting me go before..." Tim taps his fingers in the desk, leaving little scorched marks on the wood after every touch. "Well, it's going to have to suck it up."

Jon nods. "A pity. I suppose there is a reason you're here, though."

"You know? It used to make me mad, when you did that." Tim shrugs. "Well, everything you did made me mad, but that most of all."

"The..." Jon lets the word hang in the air, arching an eyebrow.

Tim scoffs. A puff of white vapor erupts from his lips and dissipates towards the ceiling.

"The whole 'not asking questions' thing." He doesn't look at Jon as he says it, and Jon tries to focus on something that is not him, because if Tim wants to tell him this, he deserves not having it revealed beforehand. He ends up Knowing the names of every single carpenter that worked on making his desk, but at least it takes long enough for Tim to gather his thoughts. "It felt- it was a reminder of what you had become. What we were all becoming."

Jon frowns, confused. "You weren't an avatar of the Desolation back-"

"Are we sure of that? I'm- I had been- I wanted destruction since long before the Unknowing. Elias', the Archives'-" Tim's eyes meet his, and it's only then that Jon realizes how long it's been since that has happened. They're their usual dark brown, no dangerous orange glow, thankfully. Jon has- he's missed them. "Yours."

"Ah." Jon sighs. This is how it is now, isn't it? How it's always going to be.

"Yeah."

Silence falls over them again, heavy like a wet towel. Jon doesn't ask why Tim is here again; he's aware enough to recognize the diverting from before, and where it brought them.

"I'm- thank you for-" Jon starts, stops, clears his throat. "You know. Gerry. The hunters. Watching out for him when Melanie's not around."

Tim looks about as uncomfortable as Jon feels, so at least they're on equal -if uneven- footing.

"It's- Martin wanted me to." Tim crosses his arms over his chest, averting his gaze. "What- is that a thing? Those two?"

Jon sighs. "Martin is this close to becoming a Lonely avatar, Tim." Who said Tim was the only one who knew how to divert from uncomfortable lines of questioning?

Tim's face whips back to him at that, scowling fiercely. "He is, isn't he? Why is that? Why the fuck didn't you stop that when it started happening, Jon?"

"I tried my best, but I was in a comma," Jon says dryly, his words followed by a tense, thick silence.

The snort that escapes Tim's lips surprises Jon as much as it does Tim himself, apparently. "Nice to know I did fuck you up."

"For a while, yes." Jon shakes his head a little, the corner of his lips curling up in a resigned smile. "I'm- I suppose Martin hasn't told you, then."

"I suppose not," Tim repeats in an affected mockery of his voice. It's something he used to do before, Jon realizes with a start. "About what?"

And really, it feels like a pity to weigh down the first civil conversation they've had in two years by bringing it up, but it's- Tim has a right to know. He deserves it.

"About the Extinction."

"Hm. Was that meant to sound as ominous as it did?" Tim arches an eyebrow, and Jon shrugs.

"I mean, it is called the Extinction; I doubt there's any way to give that title any levity." Jon sighs. This too feels like before, and it hurts just as much as the hostility. Maybe more. "Peter Lukas believes it's a fifteenth entity in the process of forming. The fear of humanity towards eradication at our own hands, towards dying out as a species, rather than individuals. The realization that we have brought on our own demise, and it's too late to change it now."

"And is it?"

"...Excuse me?" Jon frowns.

"Well, yes. If anyone could know, wouldn't that be you?" Tim asks again.

Oh. Right, of course.

Jon sighs. "It has been brought to my attention recently that there are some things the Beholder won't tell me about."

"Like your marks?"

"I'm- how do you know about that?" Jon frowns. Just how many people know about this thing the Eye is so adamant on not letting him see?

"I asked Martin about your safeword when he asked me to stick with your boyfriend." Tim shrugs. "Then I just did a quick head count. You're just missing one, aren't you?"

"The Lonely, yes."

"How convenient isn't it? Martin's sudden promotion." Tim mutters to himself, and Jon purses his lips.

"I'm well aware it's my fault, Tim, thank you."

Tim neither confirms nor denies it. He fidgets with his hands a little, squeezing his pinky finger flat between the pointer and thumb of his free hand, then rolling it back into shape.

"So he's trying to get information?" He asks quietly after a couple minutes.

"I- at first." Jon sighs. Isn't this the truth he's been trying to ignore for the past months, even though he Knows it's irrefutable? "It has him now, though. He- he just needs to choose."

"I hope you're right."

"Hm?" Jon looks up, but Tim's still not looking at him, instead focused on the scorch marks on the desk.

"If he can choose, he will choose you." When Tim's eyes raise to him, there's the slightest spark of orange in their depths.

"I'm- Tim, I don't know if that's an option anymore." The thought has been on his mind for weeks now, since Martin turned him away.

"He always finds a way to choose you, anyways."

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

"That's- that's something." Melanie exhales softly through her parted lips. They're back to leaning on her cot, and she's pressed tight to Gerry's side; not holding him by any means, but close enough that she can feel it when his breathing finally starts slowing down. "I didn't know."

It rains on her then just how painfully little she knows about him. They know each other like penitent ghosts, no past and no future, just a present, and a sum of festering wounds far too painful to look at.

Gerry's startled cackle is dry and pained, and it draws Melanie out of her contemplations. "I think that's the point."

"I-"

"I'm sorry I couldn't do it." He lets his head fall back against the cot, groaning. "I'm not being very useful lately."

It's a very stupid thought, but it does sound like something Gerry would believe of himself. Lives his entire life trying to save people from the entities, gets right back into it as soon as he's raised from the dead. Melanie sort of knew already that he measured his value on how much he could help others, but this is a very clear indicator.

Melanie sighs. "Don't. It's- I just wanted it to be you because- I trust you, I guess." She turns her head, even though Gerry's not looking at her.

"I- thank you, firecracker." It's such a dumb nickname, but it feels so different from stupid, stupid Mel. "Should- I can call Helen, if you want?"

"It's alright. I don't think she liked that I'm quitting; she seemed a bit sad when I told her. I'll- I'll do it myself." The awl feels foreign in her shaky hand, but she grips it firmly. "You should get out, probably."

He lets out a long exhale, almost sagging against her side. "I'm- I'll stay," he says in the end.

"Are you sure? I'll- you can just go outside and call the ambulance after."

"No." Gerry brings a hand up to pinch at the bridge of his nose. "No, I- I prefer to stay. In case you need help."

"Yeah, that's- I might." Melanie takes a deep, wet breath to calm her speeding heart. He doesn't respond. When she looks at him out the corner of her eye, he's staring straight ahead, his lips pressed white in a thin line and a muscle twitching at his jaw. "Thank you."

A large, warm hand comes to wrap itself around her free one, and Melanie squeezes back as hard as she can. She's as afraid of the pain as she is of the prospect of freedom, but this at least is her choice, not Elias' trickery, not something feeding on her to turn her into something else. She won't be anyone's pawn anymore.

She thinks of the Admiral's orange fur. The bright yellow of Helen's door. Gerry's stupid lovesick faces. The curve of Georgie's lips when she smiles, and the dimple on her right cheek.

Melanie strikes.

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Truth is, Tim should've left a while ago, after he got the confirmation he was looking for. That Martin isn't just another victim, that his efforts to bring him back haven't worked not because Tim himself isn't enough, but because Martin has a reason and a purpose to stay Lonely.

That said purpose isn't just the undeserving idiot before him.

It's- the familiarity's the worst part, in his opinion. Tim's stomach still burns whenever he looks at Jon and he's able to tell what he's thinking of just by the furrowing of his brow.

It reminds him of stolen glances and hugs that lingered for just a second too long. Of dragging his new boss out of the Archives for a drink, just like he dragged him out of Research every Friday. Of reluctant smiles and bitten off chuckles after Tim's jokes. Of being asked to check on a statement and knowing immediately that Jon was nervous, and that he would do whatever it took to assuage it.

"Jon?" He asks, and the way the name rolls out of his mouth leaves behind an aftertastes of bitter ashes. "Could I have found Oliver Banks?"

The green glow starts slowly, just a spark of neon in the depths of Jon's dark eyes, burning brighter and brighter until it's taken over his gaze completely.

"I- no. There- there were a lot of threads pulling you away from any real information about him." Jon sighs. He closes his eyes and rests his elbows on the desk, rubbing at his temples. "It makes sense, I suppose."

It does. Tim doesn't hold any love in his heart for the Desolation, but the fact that it has loosened the Spider's grip on him is most definitely something to be thankful for. It's ridiculous, that they live the kind of lives in which they have to be thankful for an entity at least being upfront about consuming their very being.

He... he often wonders if it might have been different, had he managed to find him. If they would've at least had a chance with some more information before everything went to shit. If maybe he's not as much to blame as-

"You aren't." Jon's voice pours over him like cold water over a fire, so abrupt that Tim flinches before looking back at him, and finding the green eyes fixed to his face with almost eerie focus.

It takes him a moment to figure out just what the hell he's walking about, and when he finally does Tim knows he should be enraged at the violation, but all he can bring himself to feel is exhaustion.

"I didn't know you could do that," he says, and every word bears the weight of the past four years.

"I'm sorry," Jon responds. Tim believes him. It doesn't matter. It hasn't mattered for a while.

The Desolation feeds on sorrow and loss as much as it does on rage, and there's plenty of both to go around in this office.

"I- Jon?" Tim frowns. Jon's warm brown skin has gone ashen, the scars in stark contrast to it. His eyes are still green and focused on something Tim can't see, and his entire frame shakes, his knuckles white around the edge of the desk. "Jon what-"

"Melanie, it's- she's-" Jon flinches and curls into himself, his face contorted into a rictus of pain that has Tim's stomach churning. "You have to go-" Jon's voice is strained now, like every word is being ripped out of him.

"Jon-" Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. The lights in the office are flickering and Tim feels watched by a hundred thousand eyes, here in this place that despises him for coming back after he served his purpose. Static sings in the air around them, and Tim may not have the Sight for these things, but he can recognize an avatar about to lose control. What's- what's that shit he and Daisy tell each other? What- "Jon, the- listen to the quiet, listen to-"

A lightning-sharp pain pierces into his brain-

Danny's on the armchair- no, not him- was there ever really a Danny? And if so, isn't this him? Why are you so scared, Tim? It's just your little brother, aren't you just thrilled to see him?! Look at how well his skin fits him!

Look at how wide he's smiling -don't try to count his teeth-, he's just so happy to have you back! Why didn't you go see his performance at the theater? He was so excited to introduce you to all of his new friends, to show you just how it felt when his skin burst open at the seams-

Jon's eyes are lit up like searchlights now, no pupil and no sclera, just green fire at their depths, and the depths of all the other eyes boiling open like blisters along his arms, his neck, his cheeks.

"What are you doing? Cut it out!"

Jon opens his mouth, but it's the Archivist's voice that comes out.

"Isn't she beautiful? You've thought so from the time you first laid eyes on her. Her smiling lips, her knowing eyes, her face that fits just well on her skull. Her long, long, long fingers on your scalp as you tell her of all that makes you afraid, all that makes you Tim.

You love her in any and all ways she'll let you, what does she look like? What does she sound like? It surely doesn't matter as much as the fact that she loves you back, doesn't it? She lets you stay by her side, she listens to your woes, your suspicions. You mention the circus and she nods in understanding, but in her mind she's laughing, laughing, laughing. Do you hear it? Do you feel the caress of too long fingers as you lay your head on her chest? She was thinking of taking your skin nex-"

The door flies open, and Tim throws himself over the desk to keep Jon's eyes -all of them- on him when Basira appears at the threshold.

"What the hell is going on?! I- he's in my hea-"

"Get out!" Tim shouts "Find Melanie! Make sure she's done!" Basira whips around immediately, disappearing down the corridor. "Jon, calm down!"

He orders you to look- you're so angry, you hate him with the same fierce devotion you had for him. His face is an anchor amongst the chaos around you, you recognize those eyes, that nose, those furrowed brows and that mouth twisting around a plea.

This is his fault. He brought you here, he pushed you away when you needed him, when your fear burned like a furnace in your chest and you didn't know what you were becoming. Now he's here, and he has the gall to demand even more from you. What else could he take? Is there anything left of you? The worst part, you think, is that his face is his in a way hers and Danny's weren't. This is him -you can count the teeth if you want- and you were doomed to die here surrounded in boiling wax, from the moment you first laid eyes on this calamity of a man.

"Stop it!" he screams. His whole skin hurts, every inch alight in a flare of pain As it's torn from his body, and he can't- he can't remember his name, he- what does he look like? It hurts, everything- there's fire licking at his skin -his skin is not there- and he knows that shouldn't hurt anymore but it does and he can't remember his name. "Jon, snap out of it!"

Manuela Dominguez burns, and you were the one to set her aflame. You feel her pain, you revel on it, the taste of her terror finer than a five course meal. This is what you are now. You're destruction, you're pain, you're nothing but the fear you can cause. She would be disgusted at what you have become, and Danny would too. How could you ever think you could save Martin, when all you can do is hurt? Look at yourself -whoever that is, without your skin, without your name-, what have you got to offer? What-

"Jon!" he clings tightly to the monster -the man- thrashing so wildly in his grip that they both topple to the floor. The Beholding still spears at his mind, and he doesn't- what should he do?! Will they be able to get him back, if Jon loses control?

You do not care about that. All you are is pain, all you are is hatred, all-

"Come back, you idiot!" Tim shakes him. His hands are smoking, and so is the wooden floor around them, and Jon's skin boils with eyes and blisters in equal measure. "I will burn the place down! I will kill us both again!"

He can't- he can't let him go, he- Sasha's gone, and Martin's leaving, and- Tim can't be the last one standing, he just can't.

"Don't-" Tim From Before could've reached Jon, he has no doubt. The Tim that wasn't just pain, that loved, that laughed, that wanted to comfort rather than hurt; but that Tim is gone forever, and he can't reach him. "Jon please-"

"...Tim?" The quiet voice is barely audible over the roaring of the flames, and Tim flinches back like his name had been a blow. Jon's irises are dark again, and the dozens of eyes that opened along every inch of exposed skin are slowly, reluctantly closing. "Tim, what-"

He doesn't hear much more, as he rushes out if the office and slams the door shut behind him.

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

Melanie looks almost impossibly tiny as the paramedics wheel her away from Gerry and Basira, and up into the ambulance. Even from this far up, watching from the safety of his- of Peter's- of Elias' office, Martin can see two things.

The first is the carnage that's all that's left of her eyes, the blood strikingly bright where it's splashed across her face like a mask.

The second is the pained smile in her face, and Martin feels a stir of envy at his chest. She's free. There was still enough human left in her to walk away from this nightmare, from all of them.

Martin feels the Lonely before he hears the static of Peter stepping out of it. The fog curls around his ankles like a cat looking for attention, and isn't that funny, the Lonely wanting to be noticed?

It probably isn't.

"Looking a bit grim there, aren't you?" Peter asks. Martin merely inclines his head in acknowledgement, because he knows the man will only become more insistent if he doesn't answer. "Did you feel any of that?"

"Her leaving?" Martin asks

"And the Archivist losing control. He was trying to reign her back in, to heal her eyes before she could destroy them enough." Peter's gaze is heavy on his face, and he seems pleased that he can't find what he's looking for. "Your friend Timothy got quite reckless at the Archives, but in the end he managed to calm him down."

"Hm." What else is he supposed to say? Of course Tim was able to anchor Jon. They've always been close, even when they don't trust each other. Tim can pretend to despise Jon all he wants, but Martin knows him far too well. Both of them, actually. "Did you need anything?"

He feels Peter's smile more than he sees it, the man's smugness coming off of him in waves. "I was only curious as to whether or not you'd been affected, I suppose."

Martin shrugs. "I wasn't. I was recording a statement, the one with the mirror house." The tape recorder is still on his desk, the tape whirring softly inside.

"That's wonderful news, actually. It means we're ready."

He does turn to Peter at that. "Already?"

"Correct. We just need- I'm getting a map made for us right as we speak." Again, Peter's smug smile is palpable in his voice. "The tunnels are a bit of a mess, aren't they?"

"There's nothing in the tunnels. Jon searched them all." Martin arches an eyebrow, but Peter merely smiles wider.

"He didn't know much back then, did he?" He asks. "The device we need is at the center of the maze. You can't reach it unless you know where you're going."

"And you do?"

"I will. And you will too."

"...Will I be coming back?" Martin asks, almost as an afterthought. Down at the street Gerry has taken a seat on the Institute's front steps, and he too looks almost tiny in his exhaustion, his head hanging low and his shoulders hunched.

"Does it matter?"

Basira hesitates by his side for a moment, before she too sits down, and Gerry's head tilts a little towards her.

"I guess it doesn't."

"Excellent."

Martin waits until Peter has stepped back into the Lonely, until he can no longer feel his presence even when he reaches in with a tendril of fog.

The last statement of Adelard Dekker -a part of him aches in sympathy at the fact that Gertrude never got to say goodbye properly- looks almost innocuous when he pulls it out of the locked drawer and folds it carefully under the tape recorder.

He stares at the device for a couple seconds, trying to figure out what would be a good end to a story. To his story.

"Goodbye."

Click.

#illicio #vit writes #jgm #jongerrymartin

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