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squeeneyart · 3 years

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Breathe in the Salt - Chapter 24

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Beta reader as always is @thesnadger!

Keeping busy makes the day go by.

Martin and Jon discuss household chores.

Martin took great care to not make too much noise as he walked down the stairs. He still avoided the creakiest steps, and down he went as quiet as the house would allow.

He didn’t wonder whether the night before had been a dream. His dreams weren’t like that, so vivid and specific. They weren’t narratives he could make sense of, if he remembered them at all. On waking, he was usually left with the anxious certainty that he had made a horrible mistake or had forgotten to do something important. But that night had been real.

Still, when he made it to the ground floor he peeked in the downstairs toilet to make sure Jon’s clothes were hanging on the shower rod along with the small bag he’d been carrying. Those items were present. What he didn’t find was the seal skin.

Martin continued to the living room door. Curled up into a tight ball, Jon remained buried in the blanket and couch cushions. Martin let loose the breath he’d been holding. He continued on to the kitchen to make his breakfast in silence.

It was nothing to dwell on. Jon must’ve stowed the coat somewhere while Martin was asleep. They hadn’t known each other that long, so it wouldn’t do to keep something so important openly hanging in the shower when Jon had had such a scare with the thing. He’d trusted Martin enough to tell him the truth. It didn’t matter that Jon had squirreled the skin away in the dead of night.

Had Jon believed what he’d said about his mother leaving? Was it suspicious that she was gone?

Toast popped up hot and ready, making him jump. He looked back into the living room, checking if the noise had been enough to wake Jon, but the man was sound asleep in his little cocoon. Perhaps all of the caution wasn’t necessary with someone who was sleeping well for the first time in weeks. Longer, if his habit of calling without any thought to the time was any indication.

He should’ve checked on Jon. Even if he hadn’t had reason to suspect anything it’s what he would’ve appreciated in Jon’s place. Just because he hadn’t felt like making the effort-

Would it have helped, though, if Tim and Sasha were ready to cover things up? What excuse could they have given except that Jon had lost his mobile or switched numbers and hadn’t given out his new one yet? He hadn’t had a real reason to pry into Jon’s business. A barely established friendship didn’t count.

He could have tried anyway. Hopefully letting Jon stay would make up for it, even if there was no bed to offer.

While he wasn’t against letting him use his own bed in theory, Martin knew he was too bloody tall to sleep comfortably on the old couch all night. If things went on long enough it could be discussed, but it was better for both of them to get sleep.

Hers didn’t count.

Thinking that far ahead wouldn’t do any good, so he pushed his mess of thoughts to one side and focused on eating breakfast and scribbling onto a small piece of paper.

‘Jon,

Help yourself to food. Be back in the evening.

-Martin’

Martin considered the note for a moment, then scribbled his number at the bottom.

‘For emergencies.’

What emergencies he could help with he couldn’t say, but he left his number all the same. The chance of Jon having it memorized was slim to none and it wouldn’t have been fair to keep Jon with no contact at all. It was the best excuse Martin could hope for.

He gently laid his plate in the sink in one final attempt to keep the silence, and got ready to leave.

Jon didn’t call him at any point that day. And rightly so, following prior agreements of safety and secrecy. It was fine, no calls meant no emergencies, but as the hours passed it was easy to forget the outside world and its greater goings-on. The window on the front door wasn’t much of a reminder, not with how tiny and far away it was, and not with the crappy weather blocking any light other than what could seep through the endless grey.

The wall clock was placed in an awkward location from where he sat, so timekeeping felt like guesswork. He’d stopped checking the clock often to avoid the disappointment of finding himself only five minutes closer to leaving. It could be any day of the week if he kept his mobile out of sight.

But he could feel lunch time. He could feel when he was to climb the stairs and complete his tasks by muscle memory. And he knew in his bones when he was meant to leave.

In the dark of the evening the timelessness clung to him. It wasn’t until he got to the bottom of the cliffs and saw the windows lit up from the inside of his home that he felt himself settle back into the present. There was a person in his house, and for a while he stood back by the forest path and stared at the little square of light that was his kitchen window.

He felt like an intruder, a spy peering in through his own kitchen window from afar, and it took a particularly large gust of rain-splattering wind in his face to get him moving again.

It was his house. There was just a person in it other than himself.

The smell of cooked food was the first thing he noticed when he walked inside, even before he saw the small and scuffed brown shoes on the rug, or the thin jacket on the end hook he normally used. Something was being cooked, fried, and he spent a minute on the front rug not knowing how to proceed.

From the kitchen, he heard a tentative, “Martin? Is that you?”

“Oh! Yeah, it’s me.” Finally placing the damned coat somewhere, he slipped off his shoes and walked toward the kitchen.

Jon peeked his head through the kitchen doorway, wariness falling from his face as he saw Martin for himself. “Barely heard the door open over the wind outside. How were things today?”

“Fine, I guess? What’s-” Martin looked over Jon’s head and saw a pan hissing on the stove, alongside a boiling pot of water. “What’re you making?”

“Something easy and not made of fish,” Jon replied, heading toward the stove top. “Hope you don’t mind, I used some of the chicken in the freezer and box pasta. Should be enough for the both of us.”

Head running on empty, Martin could only nod and take a seat at the kitchen table, threading and unthreading his fingers in front of him. It felt wrong to be sitting there in his own kitchen without a task, but Jon had already put in the time and effort to make dinner. Still, his hands were painfully idle in his lap.

He said quietly, “Smells good.”

From the stove, Jon raised an eyebrow but kept his eyes on the pan in front of him. “I’d hope so. Can’t go much more basic than this.” He lifted the pan to show breaded chicken frying away.

“Still, it’s nice of you. Thanks.”

“Mm.” He flipped the stove off and went to strain the noodles. “Anyway, now that I’m awake, thank you for letting me stay the night. Hopefully this helps make up for my sudden appearance.”

“It’s no trouble. Would’ve liked more warning, though.”

Jon frowned. “Well… I would’ve called if I could.”

It didn’t feel like a purposeful accusation, but it stung anyway. “Can’t change things now. Speaking of calling, though… Did you want me to get in touch with Tim or Sasha about this? I know you said you wanted to wait until they were here, but I don’t know when that’ll be.”

“No, not yet.” Jon placed a strainer full of noodles back over the pot and leaned against the counter. “Call me over-cautious, but I don’t trust anything traceable right now. I’d considered calling Georgie over your phone line to pass on a message, but I don’t think her going in a second time would fly under the radar.”

Chewing the inside of his cheek, Martin said, “So until they get here…”

“Until then, I’d like to stay here. We can explain things to Tim and Sasha, figure out your situation, and then-” His face fell. “I’m not sure what comes after that.”

In the silence that followed, Jon busied himself with assembling two plates of food, turned in such a way that Martin couldn’t see his expression. It was an uncomfortable quiet that ate away at the composure he’d managed to pull together throughout the work day.

When Jon set the plate down in front of him, he jumped in his seat.

Jon’s brows scrunched together. “Are you all right?”

“Just… tired, is all.”

“Right. So-” Jon set his own plate down and sat on the other side of the table, a perfectly natural choice of seating. “We didn’t talk for long last night. I know part of what you’re going through isn’t- it’s not by business, but if I’m going to help then I need to know if you’ve noticed any changes, with the lighthouse or with- with other things.”

Martin stared down at his dinner. It was plain, breaded chicken with noodles. Smelled a bit of lemon and garlic.

“Everything’s fine. Nothing’s changed besides what you already know.”

It was fine. The taste was about what he would’ve expected from the smell, and it was better than anything he’d been planning to make with his remaining energy. It was a nice thing for Jon to do. He forced each bite down through the sting of his throat.

“It tastes all right?” Jon asked casually.

Martin nodded with a raise of his eyebrows, taking another bite of chicken.

“Good. I’m not out of practice.”

After that, the only sounds remaining were those of clinking silverware and the beating of rain on the kitchen window.

It should’ve been nice, but as Martin ate the pain in his throat only grew, spreading through his head and upper chest. It was nice that Jon had made dinner, and he’d kept it simple enough that even Martin could pay it back in the future. Something as tiny as this shouldn’t have made him feel anything other than full. Instead his head pounded behind his eyes.

“You… You don’t have to eat it,” Jon said. When Martin looked up he was met with an expression of mild exasperation. “It’s fine if you don’t like it. I’m not holding you at gunpoint. Though if I’m going to be living here we should probably settle what we each don’t like.”

“What?” God, that wasn’t a pleasant sound, especially with food still in his mouth. Martin swallowed down hard, realized he had nothing to drink, and stood up. “I need some water. You?”

Thrown off somewhat, Jon sputtered, “N- Well, yes, but-”

“Great.” Martin strode across the kitchen and grabbed two glasses from the cabinet to fill in the sink. As he held one under the faucet, he noticed there were no dirty dishes underneath.

From behind he could hear Jon shift in his chair. “It’s really not a big deal if you don’t like it.”

With two full glasses he returned to the table, taking a sip of his own and then setting them both down. “What is? No, right, yeah, dinner tastes fine. Don’t know what you’re on about.”

“Martin, that’s not very convincing when you were just staring at it like it was a lump of mud.”

“I wasn’t-” He took his seat and reached internally for some excuse with no luck. What kind of faces had he been making? Reaching for his fork, he said, “It’s fine. Good. It’s good.”

“There’s something else, then.”

“I… The food is good. It was very nice of you to make it.” His throat went tight and he said no more.

Frowning at his meal, Jon said defeatedly, “Okay. If you say so.”

The rest of the meal passed in silence. If he made any other sour faces then Jon ignored them, and Martin did his best to be more aware of what his eyes and mouth were doing while eating as quickly as he could manage.

It wasn’t soon enough, but he finally finished and put his plate in the sink. God, he’d barely gotten home and was ready to run upstairs and hide away for the night. Was eating dinner with someone always so exhausting? The answer came easily to mind, but this felt worse than meals spent with stubborn silence or bitter exchanges.

Jon had wanted to be nice, and-

“So, we should discuss… things. Not the food-” Jon said from directly behind him, dirty dishes in hand. He inched around Martin to place them in the sink. “-but we need to talk about how it’s going to work, me being here. I don’t want to be a nuisance.”

Martin cleared his throat, taking a step to the side to give Jon some room. “You’re not a nuisance. You didn’t have much of a choice in this, if any.”

“And you didn’t ask to have me knocking in your door. Here, let me-” Jon rolled up his sleeves and got to work scrubbing the dishes.

Martin bristled. “You don’t have to-”

“I’m the one who made dinner.”

Martin’s face scrunched. “I don’t think that’s how it works. You made dinner, so I should clean up.” He watched with some irritation as Jon continued his task.

“Next time, then. I already got a head start this morning.”

An even better reason for Martin to be the one to wash up after dinner, but that ship had sailed without him apparently.

“Look, I’m-” He pushed through the tightness in his chest. “I’m glad you’re here, all right? Better than you getting eaten by a shark or something.”

Jon squinted at him. “So… we’re fine?”

“What? Yeah, ‘course we’re fine!” In spite of everything, a laugh crept into Martin’s voice. “Why wouldn’t we be?”

A troubled look crossed Jon’s face. “No, you’re right. The last few weeks got to me I think, not seeing people.”

With some hesitation, Jon continued, “If it makes you feel better, I’m glad to have something to do.” He paused, sudsy glass in his hand. “Sitting around all day doesn’t come naturally to me, and I’ve been all but useless for weeks.”

Ah. Martin felt the indignation seep out of his jaw and shoulders, leaving him rather deflated all of a sudden. All that bristling on his part and Jon had only been bored to the point of doing chores.

“That’s... not your fault,” Martin replied quietly. He leaned back against the counter top and tapped his fingers on the rounded edges. “But okay. Sorry.”

Resuming the job at hand, Jon kept his eyes down and stayed quiet. There wasn’t much to wash off of the plates, but he was diligent in scrubbing down the frying pan until not a speck of grease remained. His fingertips began to prune.

Eventually, he spoke up. “As I was saying before, we should talk about me staying here because of situations like this. If you have… particularities with housekeeping, I should know.”

Martin rolled his eyes. “It’s not a- whatever, do what you like. I suppose it’s better to live with someone who keeps clean.”

“As much as the average person,” Jon said, rinsing off the last bit of soap from a plate. He reached out to grab a hand towel. “Don’t expect me to always be this eager for chores.”

“What, is the excitement wearing off already?” He’d been aiming for a light, teasing tone but ended with dry judgment.

“You know me, always looking for the next thrill,” he deadpanned.

Martin leaned back on the heels of his hands. “Jon, you’re a professional ghost hunter.”

Jon tossed the towel back onto the sink. “I am not. I research the paranormal and complete necessary field work.”

“By looking for static in recordings and breaking into buildings.”

“That’s not- your situation is a special case. I assure you, my regular days are based almost entirely around paperwork and fact-checking.” He walked into the living room and with a scowl plopped onto the couch. After a moment his mouth untwisted into a small frown. “They were, anyway.”

Martin followed behind and looked at him, looked at the lines on his forehead and under his eyes, at his bouncing knee. He looked better than he had the day before, but it would take more than a single good night to make up for weeks of wandering and disconnection. Another apology sat behind his own lips, but he let it die as the useless thing it was.

There was one thing he could help with. Walking over to the ancient desk in the corner, he picked up a bulky old laptop from the drawer and brought it over to the couch with him. “Probably should’ve mentioned it in the note, but I do have wi-fi. Technically.”

The laptop was old. He’d bought it for himself years back but with the weak signal he got it wasn’t easy to deal with, and in his mind the very concept of social media was never going to work for him. So, it was largely a clunky and underused alternative to his phone. It sat heavy on his lap and he remembered why he rarely bothered with it.

Jon’s eyebrows shot up, and he scooted closer on the seat. Voice dripping with relief, he said, “I’m shocked you can get a signal down here.”

The sudden proximity made Martin’s heart skip. He opened the computer on his lap and focused on the screen. “Mind you it’s not good wi-fi, but it should help pass the time. Still has a disc drive as well.”

It took far longer than he would’ve liked for the thing to boot up, but against all odds it reached the desktop with its default background and sparse folders. He really hadn’t done much with the thing, had he? Perhaps when everything was done with he could sell it.

For the time being, though, Jon was clearly itching to get his hands on it, so after a quick check that it still connected to the internet he passed it over.

It shouldn’t have been a surprise that he immediately hopped onto a site for sifting through journal articles, but Martin stifled a laugh. Whether pushed by professional diligence or personal interest, Jon was too engrossed to notice.

With a small sense of accomplishment, Martin pushed himself onto his feet and moved toward the hall. He made it halfway across the room before he was noticed.

“You’re not going to bed already.”

The tone of the sentence sat between incredulity and a statement of fact, and it gave Martin pause. When he glanced back, Jon was still looking at the laptop screen.

“I mean… no, I was just going to get into pyjamas?”

“Okay. There was a short documentary on architecture I found when I was still doing research at my flat. It might be helpful to our ends.” He typed something and made a face. “It might also be complete bunk, but I should be able to track it down while you’re upstairs.”

It was enough of a dismissal that Martin could only say, “Oh. Um, all right?” Then he left the room in a hurry, as he apparently had things to do that night.

Back upstairs he went with a new if unexpected purpose to change out of his work clothes, still skipping the loudest steps as best he could.

Around the time he’d managed to slip on some flannel pyjama pants and an old t-shirt, tears had leaked from his eyes and then ceased almost immediately. There were no sobs to choke back, just streaks of warmth on his cheeks that dried as quickly as they’d formed.

He rubbed his face with the back of his hand, grateful that his eyes wouldn’t be red and puffy, and then walked back downstairs.

#tma #the magnus archives #breathe in the salt #martin blackwood #jonathan sims #sasha james #timothy stoker #peter lukas #jonmartin

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notgonnarememberthis · 3 years

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Pillars

Surprise!!! I didn't have intention of publishing a oneshot but this popped into my mind a couple of hours ago and it was just too good to ignore. I don't write Ainsley much so it was a lovely change to have her voice in my mind for a change and it was really fun to explore a more vulnerable aspect of her. Especially since her weakness appears to be her family being in danger. It was really fun to write and I hope y'all enjoy this as much as I did

Ainsley wakes up to the sound of a scream. It’s so loud it pierces through the walls. She startles, feeling her heart pounding in her ears. It takes her a few seconds to realize it wasn’t from her dream. The scream is very much real. She’s never heard anything like it, so full of pain and terror. Then she realizes it sounds very familiar.

“Mom.”

The rate at which she’s on her feet and running is dizzying. She almost rips her phone from the wall it’s plugged into with her urgency to move. Her bare feet echo on the floors as she races down the hall. She curses her urgency for privacy from when she moved in almost a year ago, insisting that she’ll need her own space since she’s been used to living alone for so long.

Her mother’s scream still echoing in her head makes her hate every step that she was too far from helping.

Her fingers shake too much as she tries to work her phone. Dialing the number almost absentmindedly from memory as tears stream down her face, panicked breaths too short to fill her lungs.

She should call 911, there could be an intruder or a fire or. She should call 911.

“Malcolm Bright, leave your name and number and I’ll call you back.”

His voicemail taunts her as she tries to school her panic. She can’t call anyone but him. She needs Malcolm. He’d know what to do. He’d know how to save her. He’d get there faster than any cop would.

Except maybe Gil.

Finally she’s in front of her mother’s door. She doesn’t even bother knocking, instead reaching for and twisting the golden handle. Yet, it doesn’t budge in her grip. She tries again, then once more before the horror truly sets in. Her door is locked and Ainsley can’t hear anything coming from the inside.

Not that she can hear much over her own heartbeat.

“Mom!” She pounds on the door, tears flowing freely imagining everything horrific her mind has to offer. Her mother choking on blood, stabbed in the stomach collapsing just out of reach of the door, a gun trained on her temple if she tries to scream. Ainsley throws her weight against the door but it’s no use, the wood is expensive and she just bounces painfully off it. She ignores the flare of pain resorting to pounding again with her good arm when the door swings open.

She freezes when a very tired and very concerned looking Gil answers. She thought he’d come fast but this is ridiculous.

Her rational mind comes to as her panic ebbs momentarily. Gil had dinner with them last night, she retired for the night before he left. He had a few drinks, there was no way her mother would let him drive and insist that he stay.

“Ainsley? Is everything ok?” She glances over his shoulder not seeing her mother anywhere behind him. She must have slipped into the closet, probably sitting at the vanity.

“I heard-” She thinks for a moment. Was it all a dream? She could have sworn… It sounded so real. “I heard a scream.”

His shoulders drop, a soft look of understanding passes over the man’s features. “A nightmare.” He assures her.

“No. I know what I heard. I heard-”

“No, Ainsley.” He stops her with a had up. “Your mother had a nightmare.”

She tenses, confusion knotting her brows. She’s no stranger to someone waking up screaming in the night. Hell, she grew up familiar with the sound of Malcolm’s night terrors. A scream, the sound of running, a struggle, and then her mother’s gentle voice coaxing him awake again.

It was always Malcolm though. Never her.

“I don’t understand.”

“She just had a nightmare. I’ve got her, kid. Don’t worry.”

She almost scoffs at his words. Don’t worry? Not even when she was faced against a literal serial killer did she hear her mother make more than a yell. A challenge against her opponent. She always fought back. Always. How the hell would she be able to stop hearing that scream? She sounded so… helpless.

She’s never known her mother to be helpless.

“I can’t.”

“Ains.” She stops, only Malcolm calls her that but it’s enough to disrupt her thoughts. “She’s safe.”

Her face sinks with realization. “The pills.” Gil’s expression only confirms it. The sad almost guilt that passes over him, and she knows. Her mother had talked to her and Malcolm about it before. How she planned to get clean. No more relying on pills and booze to survive. She didn’t want to miss another moment. Those were her words.

Ainsley has had only a small peek at the bottles before when her mother was sulking over Malcolm’s treatment of her. Ones she expected, having seen from Malcolm were there. Valium, Ativan, Marplan. Yet the one bottle screams in her memory now.

The sleeping pills.

“She never…” Guilt clenches in her chest. “I didn’t know.”

“You couldn’t.” He assures her gently with a sad smile. “She would never have let you or Malcolm know.”

“Is she…”

“At the vanity.” He nods, understanding her question. Sitting at the vanity is almost never good. After moving in Ainsley often found her there, so locked in her own thoughts she didn’t hear or see her come in. She understands why, in a way. It gives her space to think, where the walls never feel too much like him. The closet was always her space. Ainsley remembers it almost looking the exact same as when she’d run in to play makeup with her.

She wonders if the familiarity is a comfort or a punishment.

“You want to see her?” Ainsley chews on her lip, thinking. Would her mother want her to see her like this? Probably not. Yet she had to have heard them talking. She doesn’t hear her protesting either. She would not be shy to request her time alone. She nods. “Come on.” Gil guides her into the room, softly knocking on the door before opening it just a little. “Jess, sweetheart. Someone wants to see you.”

No protest again. Ainsley shuffles forwards, suddenly feeling very much like the shy five year old who came to check on her older brother after he had a nightmare. She always had her favorite stuffed rabbit ready to share to keep away the bad dreams. She wishes she had the bunny right now. To wordlessly pass to her mother without needing the explanation. Without having to say what they both already know.

Her mother turns to her, eyes dark from lack of sleep. Ainsley wonders how long it took her to work up the courage to close her eyes. How long it took for them to fly back open in terror. They’re red rimmed too, from tears, she recognizes. She’s never seen her mother cry. The thought terrifies her.

Yet when her mother sees her, the expression changes. A soft look of guilt and understanding. “Oh baby,” She reaches out a hand and Ainsley goes to her. More tears she didn’t know she had left spilling down her cheeks. She rises from her seat meeting Ainsley in the embrace. She wraps her arms as tight as she can around her mother, her face burying into her shoulder. All the fear and sadness she felt melts out of her at once. The slow stream of tears turning into full body sobbing in the comforting touch. Fingers comb at her tangled blonde curls, separating the knots from her own restless sleep. “I’m so sorry I scared you sweetheart.” She whispers in her ear.

She shakes her head trying to reject the apology. Yet the crashing realization that her mother isn’t this pillar of strength and bravery weighs heavily on her. She wonders if Malcolm even knows.

Oh god, she’s going to have to explain her crying voicemail to Malcolm.

“Are you ok?” She finally asks when she has the strength to talk.

“Oh my sweet girl.” She breathes, pulling away just to trace her jaw. “I’ve got you right here, I’m more than ok.” She places a kiss on her hairline enveloping her in a hug again. “It was just a nightmare. I’m ok.” Ainsley bites her tongue at the thought of what her nightmares could possibly look like. Malcolm’s were terrifying to hear about and he has suppressed memories.

Her mother knows every face, every name. Every single image.

Gil’s knock interrupted her second wave of panic. “I talked to Malcolm. Figured he might see Ainsley called and panicked when he woke up.” She feels her mother nod in understanding.

“He’s not coming, is he?”

“No. I managed to convince him everything was ok.”

“Good.” She pulls away from the hug, though her fingers still linger on his arms. “Do you want to sleep with me tonight?” Ainsley looks between her and Gil. A selfish part of her wants to nod, curl up next to her mother and keep her safe from the nightmares just like she did for her after the memories of Endicott started resurfacing.

“It’s ok kid. I’ll sleep in a guest room tonight.”

“Nonsense.” She scoffs. “The bed could easily fit all three of us plus Malcolm. That is, if you’re ok with it.” Ainsley realizes she’s talking to her and nods. Gil had always felt like a father to her, even when his focus was on Malcolm. He always asked if she’d like to tag along to a baseball game or a trip to the planetarium. Anything to make them feel like normal kids.

She still has the stuffed astronaut he bought her.

“Is that ok with you?” Ainsley asks Gil and he smiles, wide and warm. Nothing like Martin’s.

“I’d like that.”

They fit comfortably back in the bed. With Ainsley hugging her mother close to her. She’s more than used to the octopus grip and settles in, manicured fingers scratching her back in smooth lulling patterns. Gil takes place behind her mother, safely cushioning her between the two of them. This way she’s protected from both sides. Ainsley smiles at the image but it does calm her when she sees him offer his arm to lay on to her mother.

They both fall asleep before she does. Neither stir while she listens to the soft noises of the quiet slumber. She hopes, against everything that has happened, that they get to keep this soft moment. After everything that’s happened her mother deserves to be happy. She thinks with him, she could be.

Maybe they all could be.

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kenanda · 3 years

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Love your lonelyeyes fics!! I'm waiting for the sequel you mentioned and the abo one.

If you want to, no pressure, for the kissing prompt whichever you want to pick 11, 23 or 62 would be amazing. Have a lovely day !!!

Hello! I'm so humbled that you enjoy my fics, thank you so much! I'm a bit swamped atm, but I have those fics all outlined. I still plan on writing them, so bear with me!

Also, thank you for your patience, I know this took a while xD I've come back (sorta) after a week of being ill to commit more LonelyEyes crimes. I hope y'all are ready for some tooth-rotting fluff!

Since I'm still a bit under the weather, I decided to do what I never do and pick only one prompt (oh noes!). But here it goes:

Kissing prompt 23 - Exhausted parents kiss

Rating: PG-13 Words: 1,2k Pairing: LonelyEyes Characters: Jonah Magnus!Elias Bouchard; Peter Lukas; Martin Blackwood; Tim Stoker Tags: Established Relationship; Parenthood; Gentle Kissing; Fluff; No Hurt Only Comfort; Parents!Lonelyeyes; Domestic (like VERY); Doting Parents LonelyEyes; yeah Tim and Martin are their kids in this one; Prompt Fill

Disclaimer: None of these characters belong to me. They are the property of Rusty Quill's The Magnus Archives.

Warning: If you're squicked by any of this, back out. Don't read. Thanks!

After nine years of being a parent, Elias had learned to recognise the shy knocking on his and Peter's door for what it really was. The day and hour — just a little past 11PM on a Sunday — were also a hint. Tim was supposed to be in bed by ten, and yet here he was, a small figure standing awkwardly on the threshold.

Elias lowered his reading glasses and elbowed Peter in the ribs when he failed to turn off the TV.

Peter jolted awake, having been on the brink of sleep. "Tim- Timothy? What's wrong?" Peter grumbled.

Between the two of them, Martin let out a tiny sound in his slumber.

Tim rubbed the back of his leg with a foot. "I just remembered… I have schoolwork… For tomorrow..."

Elias sighed, wondering why in the deepest part of his heart. But what could he do except help his forgetful child?

"I'll go get the cardboard and old magazines," he said and got up, careful not to jostle Martin.

Tim smiled. "Thank you, Daddy."

Unfortunately for him, Elias was rather weak to his child's eyes. Something about them reminded him of Peter; an acquired trait, maybe? Elias knew he was doomed the moment he saw the same little wrinkles appear on the sides of Tim’s eyes. Alas, he would die for this child — the love blooming in his chest upon noticing that their boy looked more and more like them was evidence enough.

Elias picked Tim up on the way out. Just as he was about to leave, he noticed that Peter hadn't moved an inch.

"Ahem.”

Peter wiggled out of bed with many a groan.

"Keep an eye on Martin while I help Tim," Elias told him.

Their youngest had just turned two; they were having some trouble getting him to fall asleep in his own bedroom. Martin was adamant in sleeping between his dads, even with the TV and the lights on.

Since Martin was out like a light, Peter picked him up and carried him to his bedroom.

Elias and Tim got to work in the kitchen. Elias should have known better than to not check Tim's assignments, but he believed it was good that their oldest had some responsibilities.

Elias also believed in dealing with the aftermath of one's own actions, but he wasn't a cruel parent. When the yawning and eye-rubbing became too much, Elias gently patted Tim on the back.

Wordlessly, Tim crawled into his arms. Elias could finish this alone. He would wake up exhausted the next day and have a busy day of meetings at work, but he at least could drink coffee.

Just as he was putting Tim to bed, he heard a yelp followed by a wail from Martin's bedroom. His heart raced, but hopefully it would be just another nightmare. If Peter had dropped their kid...

He strode over to find Martin plastered against Peter's chest, tiny arms wound too-tight around his neck. Peter gave Elias a look and a shrug.

"Stepped on a god forsaken Lego on my way out and let out a cry. Woke him up."

Elias relaxed. He could empathise, having been on the receiving end of a painful Lego-stepping more than once. It hadn't been pretty.

Peter sat on the blue armchair near the curtains, the one that was too small for him. Elias pulled up a chair next to them and gently helped rock Martin to sleep. Their baby boy was sniffling, so Peter started humming an old shanty that both Martin and Elias loved.

Elias was ready to sleep right there when Peter nudged him. Martin's arms had gone lax.

Elias removed him with a care that one would only employ to defuse a bomb, but managed to tuck him in bed.

They tiptoed out and heaved another tired sigh upon checking the hour. Way past midnight.

"I've still got Tim's assignment," Elias whined. It sounded almost like a cry.

"Come.” Peter encouraged, gently pushing Elias towards the kitchen “Four hands work faster."

By the time they were done, it was almost one in the morning. Peter would be able to sleep in on Monday (he was only needed at the harbour by noon), but Elias would have to be up in five hours.

Bleary-eyed, Elias put the finished work aside. Peter massaged his shoulders and nuzzled his hair, offering him some tea. They could certainly do with a cuppa, but all they needed right now was sleep — though not before one last check

Peter poked a head into Tim’s bedroom and Elias into Martin’s. The kids were fast asleep and thankfully it seemed like no more trouble would arise that night.

The pair crawled into bed and only whispered a tired good-night before turning off the bedside table lamps and immediately falling asleep.

***

Getting the kids out of bed the next day was torture. Martin was throwing a tantrum for having woken up yet again somewhere other than his parents' beds, and Tim was cranky due to the lack of sleep.

Elias could relate, but he still roused them with a smile and a kiss.

While Elias dressed Tim, Peter prepared Martin's food. Elias was in charge of dropping Tim off today. Peter would stay in with Martin until the minder arrived — a lovely young one called Sasha.

"Don't forget your assignment!" Elias told Tim as they were getting ready to go. Tim ran to get it. And to the pair of scoundrels he was leaving behind: "You two, no biscuits before lunch! I mean it. And don't forget to put away the laundry, I left it running last night."

"Will do. You take care as well!"

Martin was currently too entertained by his food to co-sign. Also, he was only two.

As they were about to leave, Elias remembered something. He did a little sprint to the kitchen and gave Peter a kiss.

Peter smiled (as he always did) and kissed him back. It lingered.

They had no idea what awaited them when they'd first decided to move in together. Even less so when after a few years, they had come to the conclusion that there were too many empty rooms in that house.

Elias had never once pictured himself as paternal and frankly, neither did Peter. But now, with way more grey hairs than when they started and many stories to tell, both agreed that it had been their best idea.

"Love you," Elias told him.

"Eww," Tim exclaimed. "That's gross, Daddy!"

"Come now, we don't talk like that about your Father. He has feelings, you know."

"Hey!"

Peter gave him a reprimanding pat on the bum.

Martin giggled at Elias's yelp with a face covered in carrot porridge.

"See you in a few," Elias said, ignoring Tim's now sudden protests that they were going to be late.

This was their life now — from sleepless nights in the ER to the swelling pride at school events; to the chaotic rush of mornings and relying on each other more than they ever had before.

Peter may be all smiles today, but Elias knew that he was just as tired. He also knew that neither would trade this for anything in the world. They were in this together.

"Miss you," Peter said.

"You won't have time for that." Elias looked pointedly at Martin, who was now making a sculpture of sorts out of his food.

"Yeah, you're probably right..."

"Appreciate the sentiment, though."

"Dad!" Tim warned.

"Right. Coming!"

Peter waved them away and blew a small kiss in Elias' direction. Elias caught it in mid-air and put it in his pocket, then blew one of his own. Peter held it in his hand.

#my fics #nanda's ramblings #lonelyeyes #lonelyeyes fic #lonelyeyes fanfiction #jonah magnus #elias bouchard #peter lukas #martin blackwood #tim stoker #tma fic #prompt fill #thank you!#i'm not fully back yet but i'm happy to share this small piece with you all!#hope yall like it :)#my fic

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euphoriclove777 · 4 years

Text

Bloom

Pairings: Fezco X Reader

Rating: pure fluff! Omg I had the best time writing this!

Request by @ateliefloresdaprimavera : Fez has a special place in my heart 😍I'd like to request an imagine where yn is his gf and they have been together since kids. she's a nurse and his rock. she loves Ash like a brother and he feels the same. when Rue and her friends met her from the first time they're amazed by how different she is to Fez, but they complement each other and are just super sweet♥️ what do you think?

The color yellow was always an everlasting treasure between you and your beloved, Fezco. In the first grade when you met him, you had on an adorable yellow dress with white frills and bumblebees scattered across the front and back. And your beautiful luscious hair has been pulled into two pigtail braids with yellow scrunchies securing it at the base. Your mother, Lydia, always had a habit of making you look as sweet as honey for all the others to follow, especially when you were new. You had moved a total of 27 times but this time, like she always says, “We are here to stay for good Y/N! Isn’t it exciting?!” But it was never exciting. It had been all the same of towns with cardboard shape houses and buildings and people being so fragile and stuck together like paper dolls.

Except for him.

He had on a red t-shirt which complimented his sea glass blue eyes and his curly ginger hair. He wore horned rim glasses which he took off to wipe the dirt off his lenses to get a crystal clear view of you.

You were the object of his attention as he played kickball and ran across the field to the farthest base just to look at you from afar. “Mysterious...mysterious angel.” he thought to himself as he watched you giggle while two caterpillars crawled on your dress and you set a leaf for them to eat in your lap. He smiled at your laughter revealing his gapped teeth. Just as you looked up to watch the game, Fez blushed bright red and waved at you shyly. You squinted your eyes to see what exactly it was he was doing and smiled, waving back slowly. Confidence arose inside of him and he smiled all goofy to himself.

“Sweet” you thought to yourself, giggling as well. All was well until the cherry red kickball flew and met Fez’s face, giving his mouth a very unwanted and painful kiss. Everyone laughed as he fell to the grown but you quickly got up, removed the caterpillars from your dress and ran over to him. His glasses made a scar on his nose that was bleeding and his mouth leaked out blood.

Naturally you came and sat down on the grass next to him and removed his glasses gently. Taking a napkin from your dress pocket, you dabbed his mouth, wiping away the blood from his mouth. His beautiful blue eyes snapped open and looked at you. He eased into your touch, wincing as you wiped away at a cut.

“Are you okay?” you asked in a sweet voice. If Fez could replay how your words sounded in his head, he’d listen to it all day if he could.

“Uh yeah...yeah I’m...I’m fine...McDaniel's has always had it out for me,” he said slowly, sitting up and rubbing his head. You giggled softly at the bruise forming on his face and stood up, holding out your hand.

Gingerly, he took it and you led him to the swing set where you could properly look at his face.

“Are you feeling dizzy? Sleepy? Confused?” you said while looking into his eyes and wiping his mouth completely free of blood. “Should we go to the nurse?”

He just looked in a daze at you, taking every detail in. The way your smile looked, how your voice had the perfect amounts of care and concern, and especially the way your Y/H/C hair shined in the sun.

“Yes....No...wait I’m okay! I promise! I’m great!” He said, flashing his most dazzling pearly white smile at you.

Your face dropped immediately with concern.

“What?” he said, confused and a bit nervous of rejection. “Had some broccoli been left on my teeth from the Alfredo grandma made?” he thought to himself.

“ Uhhhh...were you missing a tooth before?” you said hesitantly, ogling at his bloody mouth and the freshly formed space from his right tooth. Fez’s heart dropped to his stomach as he felt around in his mouth at the new space in his mouth. His eyes watered and he panicked.

“No! Oh no I think I swallowed it!” he said with fear in his voice and he covered his face with both hands, crying softly.

You squatted in front of him and touched his arm, caressing it softly. “Hey...hey it's okay! It's perfectly normal for us to lose teeth, I pinky promise! See look at mine!” You smiled really hard showing that your bottom tooth on the right had been missing.

His watery ocean eyes crinkled as he laughed with you about teeth. You wiped his eyes away. “I’m Y/N....I’m new here,” you said shyly.

He smiled up at you and stood up holding out his hand. “I’m Fezco but people just call me Fez around here,” he said confidently.

At the end of the day he held your books and walked you home discussing cartoons and homework.At nap time Fez dreamed of being married to you and creating a family...but that would be so long. It was only first grade.

That sweet little sensitive boy you knew and loved from first sight there on that playground was yours since that day and yours only...except for that one time in sixth grade. It was the spring fling dance. You and Fez danced all night. He loved the way that your blush pink dress complimented the daisies your mother stuck into your bun. His white button down shirt, black bow tie, black slacks, and shining black shoes cost a fortune. His mom had been out of work for some time and hadn’t been home in days. Thank god his grandma was willing to take him to the store and buy him all that he needed so that he could impress you.

Much like middle school, the Spring Fling dance had been filled with drama, tears, and laughter. This was the night Fez was going to finally tell you how he felt about you...how he wanted you to be his girlfriend. But some outlying factors seemed to corrupt his plans.

“Gee it's hot in here! I’ll be right back, I’m gonna go to the restroom!” you said to Fez over the loud music. He nodded and smiled at you and went over to the punch bowl, pouring you a cup, instinctively knowing that right after you used the bathroom you wanted to drink something cold or have something cold to hold. He smiled at himself thinking about how excited he would be to finally call you his and get all the other creeps away from you. A tap on his shoulder awoke Fez from his thoughts of you.

Tammy Martin, the snob and queen bee of sixth grade flashed a smile at him. “Hey Fezzy!” she said with a high pitched tone. He cringed subtly “Hey Tammy...what’s up?” he said slowly.

“Nothing...just...I really like you Fezco! So I’m gonna...I’m gonna kiss you!!!” she said nervously. “Wait wha-”

Tammy pressed her bubble gum pink lips to Fezcos without warning. His eyes widened in shock and pure horror as he a) had no feelings for Tammy whatsoever and b) saw your smiling face approaching him and the way it dropped shattered his heart into a million pieces.

Fez pulled away quickly with embarrassment and disgust. “Tammy! I’m not interested in you...sorry. I gotta go!”

As you sobbed on the staircase outside of the school, the sunlight set the scene. It was so romantic yet you were so heartbroken.

“Y/N I am so sorry...she came onto me, I would never-”

“No! It's fine Fez. You want her, take her! It's completely fine! I-”

“Y/N STOP! I do NOT like Tammy.” he visibly shuddered and sat next to you, wiping the tears off of your face.He held both of your hands and looked deep into your eyes.

“Y/N....I...I’m in love with you. The way you talk...the way you smile...the way you are just here with me through the messed up shit my life is in. I love you and I have loved you since the day I laid my eyes on you.” He said fearful of rejection and wholeheartedly.

Tears threatened to spill out of your eyes at that moment and you kissed him. You kissed him with the passion of a million suns. Fireworks exploded within you and him. He held you close to him and kissed back.

As you now look outside of the window at the hospital where you work, seeing so many people going by that were once rude or bullies before, you laughed to yourself. none of them could ever say that they had the pleasure of being with their lover since elementary school.

Tired as always when you made your way back to the quiet and quaint suburban home that you and Fezco now share, you found the tranquility of love and being with Fez.

The boy that once sold so much crack and LSD to highschoolers had saved up his money properly and invested in different things that wouldn’t bring damage to the ones he loves.

You and him finally made a nest in the suburban home that you two envied growing up with the difficult situations. As you opened up the white door to your loving home, the scent of apple pie, your favorite, was wafting through the air. It was suspicious however, seeing as all the lights are off and-

“SURPRISE!!!!”

Behind the grey curtains was Fez with the sweet goofy smile on his face. He was laughing especially hard due to the reaction of you jumping like a cat in the air.

“Fez! Stopppp!” you said pouting at him and flopping onto the sofa. He kissed your forehead and pulled off your black crocs from your feet. “You’re home late” he murmured as he gently massaged your foot and kissed your leg.

The Fezco that everyone knew was slow speaking, in a daze, and willing to protect what's his- whether it be you, Rue, Ash, and his family. The Fezco before you however was not as furocious and masculine. He softened for you. This was the Fez that came knocking on your window at 2 AM breathing heavily and in tears from his Mother attempting to kill him in an unsettled state from all the heroin she had been taking. This was the Fez who held you so tight at night and with any sudden sound he would awaken and grab his gun willing to do anything to protect you. This was the Fez who surprised you at work with roses and daisies sitting at your counter or would leave a gift wrapped in the prettiest wrapping paper he could find. And this was especially the Fez who would stay at the corner

This Fezco, your teddy bear, was who you came home to every night and woke up to every morning. He does everything he can to spoil you rotten. Each night before bed you would hear him whisper in your ear “You deserve the world my princess and anything you want, imma give it to you.” Sometimes you would wake up to necklaces around your neck or a cartier bracelet that he made you promise to never take off. A new lavish breakfast everyday before work and a delicious dinner after work. Bubble baths were something you both indulged in doing together. He always knew how to get the water just right so it felt like slipping into a warm bed. He would massage your shoulders and let you vent about how some of the patients were intolerable and how the doctors often treated you with limited respect. And once you two got out, you would lotion him slowly massaging his muscles and letting him discuss whatever affairs had been occuring in his life.

People honestly were the most confused at the looks of you two together. Rue, being like Fez’s little sister, questioned it once she first met you. But now she truly believes that “Y’all are the only fucking soulmates on the planet”. She comes over often with Jules and Lex and you’ll find your time giving them advice about whatever is going on in their lives. All while watching reality TV and baking cakes.

And Ashtray, that little rascal. He knew you since the day he was born and imprinted on you easily. He always came to you for advice. Or if Fez broke your heart from something stupid, Ash was the middle man and always made sure that you two made up.

As you relaxed into Fezs touch you laughed to yourself. “What you laughing at little mama?” he said slowly, focusing and perfecting his massage. “It's just...we’ve come so far. Since first grade! We’ve been together.” you sat up and stared at him smiling. “Fez I really do love you. Thank you for being here with me and staying with me.”

He stared at you for a minute and blushed and got up very fidgety and nervous. “Y/N baby...do you...do you want more...more with me?”

You laughed softly and got off of the sofa and onto your tippy toes to kiss his nose gently. “Of course I do silly,” you said smiling and looking into his eyes. “I want you and only you for the rest of my days Fez. Even if it includes your hot ass morning breath burning off my eyebrows every morning!” you giggled throughout the last statement, especially because Fez pulled you in and started to tickle you.

You laughed as he got down on his knee before you. “Baby, what are you doing?” you said gently and played with his hair. And those pure sea glass eyes looked up at you with every wonder in the world.

He held both of your hands. “Y/N M/N L/N...I can’t describe you using simple adjectives and shit but you are the love of my life. I’d give anything and everything to be here with you and protect you and hold you down when shit gets rough. You’ve had my back for almost 15 years babe. Do you know how much that is? 15 years, 180 months, 5475 days, 131400 hours, and 473040000 seconds of your love and joy. I wanna be with you on the good days and bad days. Y/N you got me out of so much fucked up shit. You’ve been a real big sis to my brother and looking out for him, making sure his grades are straight and shit. You look out for my grandma with me. She told me that if I ever let you go, it would be the worst mistake of my life. And guess what baby? I’m not making that mistake. I refuse to go another second more without asking you to be mine and mine only for the rest of our days.”

Your eyes watered and pooled with tears threatening to spill out. You smiled down at him as a tear fell out.

“Will you marry me?” he said, pulling out a beautiful lotus flower diamond ring. It wasn’t traditional but it was so beautiful.

“YES! A MILLION TIMES YES!” you yelled and kissed him, almost knocking him over on the floor. He laughed along with you and kissed you back and wiped away your tears. His smile was ear to ear as he slipped the ring on your finger. “I know you’re mad curious about why I chose a flower ring but...a lotus flower grows through the mud. Once it comes out of the mud it is so beautiful and perfect. We have gotten through so much mud in our lives baby and I wanna finally bloom with you and only you.”

“I love you Fez” you said, your eyes slowly dropping out tears one at a time.

“I love you always and forever Y/N” he said and kissed you once again.

#fez x reader #fezco #fez euphoria #fezco euphoria #euphoria hbo fanfic #euphoria hbo #fezco fluff #euphoriasmut #rue euphoria #Lessons #jules euphoria #jules vaughn #maddy perez #maddy euphoria #kat euphoria

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haunted-by-catholic-guilt · 3 years

Note

tma prompt- Jon yearning

I Love You, Don't You Know?

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this has been in my inbox for ages omg

its bad and likely ooc

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Jon heard the coughing as soon as Martin got into work.

Jon wasn’t as oblivious as people thought him to be, he was at least able to tell that martin had looked more and more worn down every single day for the past three weeks, he didn’t know much, not really having any personal interactions with the other man, but he had heard Martin mention his mum being ill and having to take care of her.

The answer was clear, the weeks of little sleep and worry caught up to the man.

He didn’t care, not really, not more then a boss should, he cared that the work got done and that the others didn’t get sick.

That is all.

He didn’t care that Martin was ill.

Why should he?

Martin was slow, and his handwriting was atrocious, he constantly made mistakes, and spent the whole day making tea.

Good tea.

Damnit.

Jon groaned, just as the door opened.

“Uhh you alright, Boss?”

Jon looked at the door to see Tim, leaning against the frame with files in his hand.

“Yes, yes, I’m fine... Just… a lot of work.”

Tim didn’t seem inclined to believe him, but he nodded.

“Alright, let us know if you need any help, yeah? It’s what we’re here for.”

Jon nodded and buried his face into his work again, and stayed like that until Martin knocked on the door.

“Uh- hey Jon, I uh- I brought you some tea and this follow up you had me do.”

“Ah, thank you, Martin- uh- are you alright? I heard you coughing earlier and- well- if you wanted the day off, to uh, recover.”

Jon started awkwardly at Martin and fought the urge to hide, and it looked like Martin was doing the same, his whole frame went rigid and his face paled, cheeks blushing a dark pink.

“Oh- uh- sorry, no, I’m fine, but-but thank you!”

Martin then quickly left his office and left Jon in his wake, defeated, with a small twinge in his heart.

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It was late, Jon knew that.

He had gotten sucked into another statement and now the office was quiet, a sign that work was done and he needed to go home.

He emerged from his office, the bonk sound being the tap of his cane against the floor when he noticed a small light coming from inside the assistant’s office.

No one should be here...

Jon stepped slowly to the door, the statements must’ve been getting to him saying how scared he felt, but when he stepped into the dimly lit room, he was greeted with nothing.

Except for one assistant passed out on his desk, an oversized hoodie wrapped around him.

Damnit.

He crept over to Martins sleeping form and tapped his shoulder gently.

“Martin, uh- wake up.”

Martin didn’t budge, so Jon shook him a little bit, and when he felt the heat coming off Martin’s body he winced.

“Martin! You gotta wake up.”

He was shouting now, kinda, he felt bad but he knew he had to be loud, and Martin shot up, immediately breaking into a coughing fit.

“Ah shit.”

Jon awkwardly rubbed circles onto Martin’s back while the other man desperately tried to catch his breath.

“You’re alright, man, just catch your breath.”

After a minute, martin did, and he looked around, face painted with confusion, before his dark eyes focused onto Jon’s concerned face.

“Oh- uh- sorry Jon, I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

Martin was panicking, and Jon did everything in his power not to panic too.

“You’re alright Martin”

Martin dropped his gaze, and Jon took in his frame, shaking and pale.

“You’re sick, why’d you come in today?”

Martin huffed out a laugh and buried his head in his hands.

“Couldn’t afford to take the day off, ‘nd needed to finish things.”

Jon’s heart wanted to break, so he quickly gathered his thoughts and made an impulse decision.

“Do you want to come to my place for the night? I know it’s closer than yours and I actually do have some medicine and such.”

Martin looked shocked and slightly scared by the offer, and he quickly shook his head.

“Jon, no I couldn’t, I can just head home.”

The panic Martin must’ve felt triggered another coughing fit in him, and he was doubled over in his chair, Jon awkwardly rubbing his back.

“Please, Martin? You’ve helped me out quite often, I would like to repay you.”

Martin still refused, reassuring Jon he could sleep it off, and so Jon let him go.

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Jon wasn’t sure what came over him at the office the night prior, but the next he got the text morning only reinforced the feeling.

It was a string of letters, something that could’ve been interpreted as words but were not actually words, save for the word sorry at the end, figures to be the one word he can still spell.

Jon’s heart froze when the message came in, and the same urge to take care of him arose again, and before he knew it, he was on his way to Martin’s apartment.

He knocked on Martin’s door, before realizing that the door was unlocked, and he carefully pushed it open.

Martin was passed out on the couch, still in his clothing from yesterday, and it didn’t look like he’d taken anything or had anything to drink.

Jon sighed, he wasn’t the caretaking type so why he kept offering was beyond him, he didn’t even like the man!

He didn’t understand why whenever Martin’s hand brushed his he felt his heart skip a beat, or why when Martin spoke to him, voice not coated in fear, he felt chills run down his spine.

He stepped silently into the kitchen, grabbing a glass of water from the tap, and looking around to see, alarmingly, no food.

He sighed, and sent off a text to Tim, being sure it sounded as…. professional as he could while asking for him to bring things to take care of his archival assistant.

Whom he did not like.

Tim shot back a “sure, boss ;)” and Jon groaned, making his way to the couch and gently shaking Martin awake.

“Martin, you gotta wake up.”

The sleeping man groaned and pried open tired eyes, which were foggy and confused until he registered who was standing over him.

“J’n? What’re you doin?”

He tried to push himself up, but Jon set his hand on his shoulder gently, pushing him back down.

“You’re ill, Martin, here, drink.”

He held the water to the other man’s lips and he reluctantly took a sip, before settling back down when Jon let him.

Just then, Tim knocked on the door and came in with a bag of sick person food, and Jon quickly excused himself.

He leaned against the wall outside Martin’s building.

God.

He hated Martin.

#the magnus archives #tma #sickfic #martin blackwood #jonathan sims

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janekfan · 4 years

Text

Acceptance

https://archiveofourown.org/works/26163367

“Jon’s hiding something.”

“Tim.” Martin was tired. And sad. And worried. Because he had the very same thought every time he caught a glimpse of the Archivist slipping between shadows in the stacks; furtive, haunted, hunted.

“You know I’m right.” He didn’t look up from the worn surface of his desk, tracing a stray mark with the pad of his finger, not even expending energy enough to pretend he had any interest in working. “He’s. He’s a monster, Martin.”

“Tim!”

“You know it, well as I do. This is all his fault.” His voice was made of raw edges, filled with grief and pain and sorrow. “Stay. Martin, promise me.” Eyes hollow in his scarred, handsome face, he looked up at Martin through dark lashes. “Promise me you’ll stay away from him.”

“You know I can’t do that.” Martin had to look away, the weight of Tim’s gaze smothering and awful and full of hurt and anger and barely simmering rage. “He’s our friend. Even if he’s. Forgotten it a little.” Tim went back to his aimless pattern making.

“You’re making a mistake.”

Martin made sure to knock and knock gently. The few times he’d gotten even a partially clear look at his face it had been lined in pain, lips pressed into a thin, controlled line. It was clear he was purposely avoiding his eyes.

“Tea, Jon?” He heard him shift, a weary scraping of his soles sliding on the dusty floor, the light from the tiny desk lamp barely illuminating the space around it, let alone the rest of the office.

“Ah, y’yes. Pl’please.” Shaking hands materialized out of the dim, gripping the mug and holding it like a lifeline, flinching when the hot liquid sloshed over his fingers. “Thank you, Martin.” Thin and thready, Jon sounded exhausted and knowing he slept poorly at even the best of times, must have been getting even less sleep since the Prentiss incident.

“Jon?” Martin smiled a bit when he heard the sounds of him sipping the tea, a sigh of some unidentifiable emotion but he wanted to believe there was warmth in it. “When’s the last time you went home?”

Jon had taken his mandatory time off.

He had.

Thirty days of leave.

But it did not stop him from exploring the tunnels beneath the archives, even though exploring was a generous term for it. Wandering was more apt a description, and he’d paid something of a price, as fate would have it, because his hip ached badly where the worms had burrowed so deep and no amount of stretching or physical therapy or pain medication seemed able to touch it. He winced inwardly at Martin’s open worry and trepidation. He’s not been kind to any of his assistants, certainly didn’t deserve this attention or care when he was barely able to look after himself. At the Institute he’s kept how much the pain is affecting him as hidden as possible, mostly by avoiding everyone which he knew made him look more suspicious. Tim already made it clear that he wanted nothing to do with him or his histrionics and no good would come from trying to gain sympathy for something that was his fault to begin with. He was already a nuisance forced upon them, been so from day one. But if he could pretend to be normal, just. Go back to that normal because right now the tightening in his chest, the embarrassment, the urge to hide away, was only making things worse.

He was making things worse.

He didn’t mention the aching loneliness or the fear. How he jumped at every shadow and woke from the screams of his coworkers he failed over and over again to protect in his nightmares. Or how he kept a CO2 canister by the bed just in case. Even if they were gone. Just in case. Jon didn’t talk about his nightly excursions in that twisting, winding, changing place because he would have to admit that despite how it hurt, he had to push himself to the point of breaking to get his overactive mind to quiet even the smallest amount. Grant him even the smallest respite.

So, no. He didn’t want Martin’s concern except that he very much did, felt like he was starving for someone to notice him, how much he hurt, how much he was struggling to keep his unraveling threads together.

“Jon?” Worry. And the sense of shame he felt at hiding how much he’s healed wrong or scarred too deep or how the phantom sensation of the worms kept him awake. And how could he tell him that he feared to sleep alone? That his flat was both too familiar and horribly alien all at once, full of shadows coiling, branching, twining, crawling, spiraling.

The safest thing to do for all of them was to push him away.

“I was home for nearly a month, Martin.” Dry. Sardonic. It was easy to act irritated and tired and bothered even when his heart was pounding a too-fast tattoo against his breastbone, surely leaving bruises behind. If Martin came any closer he would hear it.

Martin saw straight through his poor attempt at deflection, saw the same pain echoed just behind his eyes that he saw in Tim. This would either go well or he would never be able to show his face again but he needed to try, Jon deserved that much.

“How can I help?” As soft as he could make it, sitting down on a box crammed full of statements so Jon didn’t have to crane his neck, so he didn’t seem so intimidating. “I want to help.” He smiled, hands relaxed on his knees and watched as Jon turned his face up to meet him like a withered plant kept too long in the dark when it reencountered the sun, hungry and reaching. Undone by a few kind words, before his expression closed off. As if he remembered this was something he wasn’t supposed to have.

Point of no return.

“Would you. Would you consider coming home with me?” Jon inhaled a sharp, short breath. Held it. “Just for a night! Just so. I’d like to help if I can, somehow.” He chuckled, trying to ease the tension practically thrumming through the man’s bones like an audible hum of electricity. “I’m a decent cook?” Jon exhaled slowly. Want, exhausting and desperate, in the way his eyes glistened with unshed tears.

“Yes.” Bare more than a ragged fragment of a whisper and before he could rescind that delicate consent, Martin was rambling about how lovely it would be to have company. Just nonsense, in the hope that Jon wouldn’t realize what he’d done and change his mind. It was already far beyond quitting time and Martin said he’d return to collect him once he’d gotten his coat, allowing him a little space to gather his thoughts, securing a nod of assent before heading quickly off.

Jon was standing when he returned, thin jacket hardly enough to protect him from the damp chill outside, and Martin wrapped his own scarf around his neck, heart melting when his lashes fluttered in contentment as he buried his nose into the well worn yarn. Swaying and unsteady on his feet, his stiff posture would be night imperceptible if you weren’t watching for it. But Martin was always watching. Knew his injuries were bothering him and that, at this point, whatever pain he had was most likely permanent.

He wondered if he had a cane. It would certainly help.

Jon stopped short before he left his office and Martin worried he was changing his mind, watching him tilt his head like a bird, listening, breath even and slow and quiet.

“Has.” He wet his lips as the word caught in his throat. “Tim?” Ah, that was the hangup, then.

“Gone home long before us.” He felt for him, for that fear and worry of facing down his past mistakes. He’d made himself a convenient target with his suspicions of them and the anxiety blooming in him cut deep.

He stood as close to Martin without touching him as he could, blaming the number of other patrons riding the train at this hour though truthfully they were nowhere near them. He had no choice, that’s all. He could stand even if he wanted desperately to sit down and rest his aching leg, refusing to even glance at the empty priority seating so close to him and instead burying his face in Martin’s scarf, closing his eyes and breathing through the hot flash that often accompanied these spells, the almost feverish chills. When the train lurched to a stop he stumbled into Martin, who caught him with an inquiring look.

“Just tired.” He offered up what he hoped was a reassuring smile before leading the way through the doors, holding himself stiff in an attempt to keep the pain at bay.

Martin was a good cook.

“Since I was mainly existing on take away and cup noodles, it’s been nice to make my own meals again.” He said by way of explanation, dishing up a healthy portion for Jon who tried not to worry about finishing it, not having had much of an appetite lately. But it’s good, and warm, and Martin doesn’t say anything about what he had to leave behind, passing him a cup of tea prepared just the way he liked it.

It warmed him up from the inside out.

It made him want to cook for Martin sometime.

“Is there anything else I can get you?” Jon was on the couch with numerous blankets and pillows, dressed in Martin’s spare sleepwear, an oversized and soft tee that hung off his shoulder and drawstring pajama pants.

“This is perfect, Martin. Thank you.” He wished he could convey the true depth of it with just that, and as always, found himself sorely lacking but Martin just smiled bright, instructing him to wake him if he needed anything before bidding him good night. Surprisingly, Jon was already having trouble staying awake once he was settled into the cushions despite the overall ache. If he breathed slow and focused on the breath cycling through his body, into his blood, traveling along roadways mapped with veins and arteries and--

Agony.

Oh god, where was he? And why did it hurt?

All up his back and down his leg, his leg. Burning, blazing, blistering. Incandescent and stealing. Stealing.

Stealing.

Dark. Pitch black. Like the tunnels.

Be quiet, be quiet, be quiet or they'll hear you, see you, get you, take you and make you Not.

Winding, weaving, wandering. Lost, lost, lost.

The worms. Thoughts clicking into place when he managed to claw his way back to the surface of this roiling ocean of misery. Arm flailing to the side where he kept the canister but it wasn’t there. It wasn’t there and somebody must have taken it.

And his hip. Pulsing, throbbing, pounding through the whole of him and he had to be dying. Trapped in the tunnels and being eaten by worms.

He very nearly screams when something touches his arm, eyes flying open to realize that he can see. See. Shapes. Colors. Coalescing into Martin’s familiar face, worry splashed over it like his perfect freckles.

“Jon?” His voice is trembling, hand on his shoulder, gentle, a touchstone. “Jon, what’s wrong?” And stupid, stupid, stupid him clenches his teeth and grinds out a denial.

“N’nothing.” The fingers against his skin, his skin, Martin is touching his skin and he can’t focus. They tremble. Because he’s lying. Because Jon has always been and always will be a liar and all he wants to be is normal.

“Jon, is it.” His wide eyed stare flicks down and back to his. “Is it your leg?” How does he know. Of course he knows. Sometimes he thinks Martin knows him better than he’s ever known himself. That he might be the only person who ever has and he realizes he has a white knuckle grip on his thigh, trying to claw his way inside and rip out the hurting, as if it could ever be that simple. It’s spasming, twisted, he can’t stretch out the muscle and it’s so very painful and instinctively he knows it’s from the train and the walk, all longer than he was used to. And why does he keep doing this to himself?

He can’t slow his breathing, almost hyperventilating, chest heaving, eyes limned in tears and he thought he could pretend it didn’t hurt as much as it really did. That he was being dramatic and he didn’t want Martin to see how much of a wreck he is and regret inviting him into his home, sharing it with a nuisance, a burden, a bother.

“Jon.” There’s sorrow there. Pity. He’s pitying him and that’s the final straw that makes the tears fall hard and fast and Martin offers his hand and he grabs it like it’s his last connection to this physical realm because it hurts so badly he can’t barely breathe. “Can I help?” But there is no help. He’s beyond all and any and to let someone help him is to be vulnerable and Jon doesn’t like to be vulnerable, he can’t be.

But he hurts so badly and he wants to trust Martin, believe that he can make this awful reality even the tiniest bit better. And he wants him to know it.

So he nods. Almost hysterically because it feels like losing his mind and Martin’s hand in his is the only thing keeping him here.

“P’please.” A gasping whisper, begging. And Martin, beautiful, kind, patient Martin, cups his face and thumbs away his tears, palm so cool against his feverish skin.

“Okay, you are okay. I’m going to help.” Jon closes his eyes against a promise too good to be true. And when Martin removes his hands, his connection, he sobs and Martin soothes, digging his strong fingers into the rigid block of agony. “Hush, shh, I’ve got you, this will help, I promise.” Jon latches onto his words, tries to lose himself in them, clasping his own hands over his mouth to stifle his whining. When Martin straightens his leg it’s like a hot poker is jammed into his hip socket and he can’t help the low groan at the back of his throat. He’s never hurt like this, he’s sure. He’d have remembered. “Good, good. You’re doing so well, Jon. Breathe, shh, just like that.” Jon soaks up the praise like parched earth, and winds his fingers into the blankets at his side, as everything begins to relax, as Martin smooths warmth along the worst of the ache. Just an ache. Bearable now. Bearable. Just an ache and he sobs in relief. Martin disappears and reappears in the same moment, a bottle of paracetamol in his hand and a half glass of water. To appease, Jon takes a double dose even though they pale in comparison to the complete prescription of muscle relaxers minus one he had in his medicine cabinet at home and watched Martin keep his worry to himself.

“M’sorry. Martin.” He’s out of breath. Panting like he’d run a marathon and every part of him resonating with the aftermath of pushing himself too far. He studied Martin’s face. Waiting for derision or contempt or more pity to show itself. For him to say he needs to quit the job even though he’s quite sure he actually can’t.

“Nothing to be sorry for, Jon.” Calm and quiet and he passes him a cool flannel so he can wash his face and it is blissful. “I promise, nothing at all.” That can’t possibly be true. “I’m sorry I didn’t think about the walk.”

“It wasn’t that far.” Martin didn’t argue and Jon was grateful, refolding the cloth so he could press it against his eyes and let it absorb his tears of frustration and shame.

“I’ve got some dry clothes you can change into.” He heard Martin get up, calling from the other room. “The bed is big enough for two, if you don’t mind, I don’t.” Jon sat up, shaky, lightheaded, keeping his bad leg purposefully straight because he was afraid of what would happen if he bent it again. And Martin handed him another set of soft things, gathering up the spare bedclothes and spiriting them away while he changed. God he was dizzy. “Bed?” He blinked slowly, tired, certain he couldn’t stand on his own, and swallowed around the clot of emotion in his throat.

“Would y’you.” He looked down at his trembling hands, clasped them together in an attempt to stop them. “I don’t. C’can’t. Stand.” He could barely hear himself. Humiliation, hot and coursing through his blood. This was foolish. Couldn’t even--

“Of course.” Easy as that. As though it was that simple. And he supposed it was. When he let himself think about it. Martin took most of his weight, could’ve probably carried him outright, but as it was, just supported him as he hobbled forward, going so far as to lift his leg into the bed before flopping onto his side of the mattress and turning over to face him.

“I had. A. It was a nightmare.”

“The worms?”

“How did you know?” Martin shrugged.

“I have them too.” Jon chuffed a laugh in commiseration and saw Martin return it in a grin before letting himself fall back into the dark.

Martin watched as Jon slept deeply, breath even and slow and so peaceful in the early morning sunlight streaming in through the window. Lips slightly parted and fingers curled loosely against his throat, the lines of pain usually carving their jagged way down his face had smoothed out and his cheek was so humanly smushed into Martin’s extra pillow.

“Mmmorning.” The way he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes with the heel of an uncoordinated hand made his heart beat faster. And when his tired brown eyes rolled back beneath those dark fluttering lashes, black as ink, Martin remembered just how smitten he truly was. Deciding to let Jon get a few more moments of hardwon rest, he eased out of bed to go start breakfast, tucking the quilt over narrow shoulders.

Just when Martin was wondering if Jon might need some help maneuvering out of bed, quiet, uneven steps and the squeak of a chair moving across the floor drew his attention. A low, drawn out groan drifted from where his head was pillowed on folded arms and it seemed that one Jonathan Sims, was not a morning person. Still dressed in Martin’s oversized clothes, he could see the smooth skin of a shoulder blade when he placed his tea next to him, interpreting the grumbling as a garbled thank you. Two slices of toast with marmalade later and halfway through a second cup of strong tea, Jon seemed at least aware, sitting up and sipping on his mug.

“How’re you feeling?”

“Good. Pretty good.” He glanced shyly over the rim and back down again. “Thank you, Martin.” So soft, and Martin felt himself blush.

“You’re welcome, Jon.” Anytime. Always.

Jon was adjusting his collar and examining the purple bruises under his eyes in the hall mirror when Marin cleared his throat behind him.

“It was. Uh, my mum’s.” He held it out, worried he was overstepping in offering up a cane, not to mention one decorated in muted autumnal flowers. They were nearly the same height, in that Jon was a head shorter than Martin. For a full count he was stunned and Martin feared he’d made a grave miscalculation, pushed too hard, too soon. But Jon reached back, curling his fingers around the handle and taking a deep breath.

“Lovely pattern.” Martin grinned and Jon took an experimental step forward, steadier than he’d been since before Prentiss. “Shall we?”

#TMAHCWeek #TMAHC #Jonmartin #pining #ableism #internalized ableism #self worth issues #Hurt/comfort #exhaustion #chronic pain #cane user jon sims #the magnus archives #tma #jon sims #martin blackwood

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ollieofthebeholder · 3 years

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leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall): a TMA fanfic

Read from the beginning on Tumblr || Also on AO3

Chapter 48: Sasha

“Yes, of course. I’ll—I’ll be there as soon as I can.” Sasha disconnects the call and stares at her cell phone for a long moment. She’s worked at the Magnus Institute for almost seven years now, been in the Archives for almost two. She honestly thought she’d lost the ability to be afraid of anything the mundane world could dish up anymore.

But that phone call…

“You okay, Sash?” Melanie’s voice seems to be coming from a long distance away.

With difficulty, Sasha pulls herself together and looks up. It’s just the two of them in the Archives right now, since Martin and Tim are both at lunch; Melanie’s already taken hers, and Sasha will go as soon as one of the others gets back. She’s not really hungry anymore, though.

“I’m fine,” she lies, then stops. They’re trying, they’re all making the effort not to lie to one another or downplay when things are bad. Tim and Martin both know her well enough to call her on it when she does it, and they’re also connected to the Eye well enough to be able to at least get a sense when she does. Melanie doesn’t and isn’t, and it’s not fair to her to keep her in the dark. “It’s my uncle.”

Something in Melanie’s face shifts, and she half-closes her laptop. “Is he sick?”

“No—I don’t know. He just said he has something he needs to talk to me about in person. They’re making an exception for me to come see him today.” Sasha rubs her forehead. “That’s not normal, Mel.”

“O…kay,” Melanie says slowly. “You usually…can’t visit him whenever you want? What, is it a prison or something?”

Sasha winces, remembering that Melanie wasn’t part of the team when she told them. “Yes, actually. He’s in HMP Pentonville.”

Melanie covers her mouth with a hand. “Oh, God, Sasha, why didn’t you shut me up? My big mouth—”

“It’s fine. You didn’t know.” Sasha manages a smile. “But yeah. I don’t know what he’s in for, but if he wants to see me today, and they’re letting me…whatever’s going on can’t be good.”

“Can you, like—” Melanie wiggles her fingers in the universal gesture of mystical bullshit. “—Know what it is?”

“I mean…maybe? I’m trying really hard not to use that outside of…you know, work. I don’t want to risk falling too deeply into it, or—or hurting myself, or someone else.” Sasha sighs. “I think it might be too far away, though. Honestly, I think the only way to find out what’s going on is to go out there myself.”

“Go out where?”

The voice makes both Sasha and Melanie jump. She looks up quickly to see Martin coming towards them, a bag of leftovers dangling from one hand. He looks about like he’s looked since Jon left—tired, worried, and faintly stressed. “Martin, Jesus. Heard from Jon yet?”

“Yeah, did you not see the text?” Martin frowns at her slightly. “I thought he sent it to the group chat.”

Now that she thinks about it, Sasha remembers hearing a slight beep while she was on her phone call, but she didn’t think about it twice. She checks her phone and sees two new texts—one from Jon saying he was changing buses, one from Tim asking what he was changing them into. Rolling her eyes fondly, she sets it down. “No, I—I was on the phone. My uncle called. He wants to see me today.”

“Oh.” Martin’s expression is one of mingled sympathy and concern. “Is everything okay?”

“I don’t know. That’s what we were talking about. I don’t know what’s going on and I don’t want to…you know.” Sasha makes the same gesture Melanie made a few moments ago.

Martin nods in understanding. “Did you have anything time-sensitive you were doing today?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Then I don’t think Jon would mind you taking the rest of the day off. I know you won’t be able to get to Pentonville and back in the span of your lunch break, and this seems…kind of important.” Martin reaches over and squeezes Sasha’s hand gently. “Let us know if you need anything.”

Sasha smiles and squeezes back. “Thanks, Martin. I’ll keep you all posted.”

An hour later, she’s seated in a room at the prison, jiggling her foot nervously and waiting. It’s one of the small, private rooms usually set aside for attorneys to consult with their clients, which is unusual; normally she has to conduct her visits in a loud, noisy room with a Plexiglas divider between them. A private conversation, on a weekday, out of the clear blue sky? Either something has gone terribly wrong or she’s been lied to.

There’s a familiar whirring sound, and Sasha reaches into her pocket to pull out the tape recorder. She very most definitely did not have this with her when she left; she shut it in her desk drawer before heading out, and it hadn’t been in her pocket when they searched her. She hopes she won’t get in trouble for having it.

As the thought crosses her mind, the door opens and, with a clank of chains, a figure is escorted in. A gruff voice instructs her to buzz for help if there’s an issue, and then the door closes and leaves the two of them alone together.

There’s another clank as the man leans forward, smiling hopefully. “Sasha.”

Sasha smiles back, genuinely pleased but worried at the same time. “Hello, Uncle Wade.”

The family resemblance between them is obvious. Both of them have the same facial structure, the same shape to their eyes, the same skin tone. They’d looked enough alike once to switch places, when Sasha was eighteen and going through a phase and shaved her head. Now, though, after almost a decade in prison, Wade Copper looks old enough to be her father—gaunt, thin, his once-dark hair almost solid grey despite the fact that he’s only in his mid-forties. Every time she’s seen him, he’s tried to smile for her, tried to stay cheerful as he asks about her work, tried to convince her things aren’t so bad for him, but she knows. She can see the weight of imprisonment bearing him down.

Today, though, is different. Today his eyes are sparkling, his smile seems real, and he seems to be barely keeping something contained. She has no idea what it is, but it seems like he’s…excited.

Sudden panic strikes her, and she very quickly throws up those mental blocks Jon Prime has been teaching them. The absolute last thing she wants is to take the surprise away from the man who’s had so few to give her over the years.

“Is everything okay?” she asks instead. “You said we needed to talk and—”

“No, no, everything’s fine. Everything’s fine,” Wade assures her. “I’m sorry, I didn’t—I wasn’t trying to scare you. I just had some news for you. It could have—are you on your lunch break? Do we need to—”

“I took the afternoon off. My boss is out of town at the moment, so the three—well, the four of us, we’ve got a new coworker—we’re sort of running things ourselves. When the others found out you wanted to talk to me, they suggested I just call it a day. We’ve got all the time in the world.” Sasha smiles. “What’s going on?”

Wade’s smile broadens. “I’m coming home.”

It takes Sasha a second to process that, and then she sits up straighter. “You’re getting released?”

“I heard back from the parole board this morning. I didn’t tell you I was going up because I didn’t want to get your hopes up, but I had the hearing a few weeks ago. Today I got word that they’ve decided I’m a good candidate for release.”

“That’s—that’s wonderful!” Sasha says.

Wade’s smile slips, just a little. “You don’t sound so sure about that. What’s the matter, Puddle-Duck?”

It’s been forever and a day since he called her that—an old family nickname bestowed on her after her favorite bedtime story, the one she used to beg to be read over and over. She’d trailed after her Uncle Wade “like a little duckling” from the time she could walk, and the “duckling” nickname had eventually morphed into Puddle-Duck. He hasn’t used it since she was about twelve, though, and hearing it now almost makes her cry.

“Nothing,” she says, unconvincingly. “It’s just—there’s a lot going on. That’s all.”

“I won’t be an imposition,” Wade says earnestly. “I’ve managed to save up a bit while I’ve been in here from the work I’ve been doing in the prison library. I should be able to get a place. I won’t be in your way—”

“No, it’s not that at all!” Sasha feels horribly guilty. “I’d be happy to have you stay with me. Of course I would. I’ve got loads of space and—and I’ve missed you so much. It’s just that…”

It’s just that the world might end in a year if they can’t stop it. It’s just that she’s trying to figure out a way to pretend to stop a ritual that she knows won’t succeed even if they do nothing without letting the man who does have a ritual that will work know she knows it. It’s just that she’s developing incredibly invasive psychic powers and doesn’t know if she can live with another person who doesn’t know about it. It’s just that the world is objectively terrifying and she doesn’t know if she can lie about it to the only family she has left or let him believe he’s safe.

“It’s just that there’s been a lot going on in the world since you’ve been in here,” she finally says. “I—I worry that you might—that it might be a lot for you to adjust to.”

“Hey, I raised you, didn’t I?” Wade teases. “If I can handle losing my sister and my parents in one fell swoop, especially to…that, and then turn a six-year-old into a relatively functional adult despite barely having passed my A-levels when I started, I think I can handle anything the world thinks it can throw at me. Bring it on.”

Sasha’s whole body tingles. She clasps her hands together tightly to hide the shaking and focuses very hard on that mental block. There’s something there. A secret. A story. Something in the way he said that has the Eye’s attention and it wants to use her. She can’t let it, she can’t…

“Sasha? Sasha, what’s wrong? Are you—Christ, I’m sorry.” Wade reaches for her hands, manacles jangling, then grunts as the chain binding him to the table stops them halfway. “I shouldn’t have brought that up, I shouldn’t have—are you still having that nightmare?”

Sasha can’t help the slightly brittle laugh that escapes her lips. “I don’t have room for my own nightmares anymore, Uncle Wade. Especially ones in red-on-black binary.”

Wade frowns at her in evident confusion. “What do you mean? Who else’s nightmares would you have?”

Shit, Sasha thinks. “It’s a long story. And I don’t think you’d believe it.”

“It’s you, Sash. I’d believe you if you said the sky was green. Anyway, after what I’ve seen, trust me, there’s not much that’s unbelievable.”

Sasha looks hard at her uncle, then glances at the recorder, spinning away. She should have known. Should have realized that if it’s turning on, there’s something he’s seen. He’s been touched by one of the Fears. And she can’t—she can’t—

“It’s got to do with work,” she finally says. “Part of the Archive job—when I, when I listen to people tell me about something they’ve encountered or seen or, or done, if it’s something that really happened…I end up dreaming about it. I’ve only got a couple, but…it does mean I haven’t had any dreams of my own since I started doing that.”

Wade blinks at her. Softly, he says, “So it is real. I knew it.”

“What, the paranormal?”

“Not just that.” Wade hesitates. “I never—I never told you how I wound up here, did I?”

“No, just—you said it was something to do with you hacking into something you shouldn’t have,” Sasha says slowly. “You never explained.”

“Truthfully, I never fully understood it much beyond what I told you. I don’t even know exactly what I did hack into,” Wade says, a bit ruefully. “I suppose it was the culmination of a project, in a sense, but—it wasn’t intentional.”

“What do you mean?”

Wade takes a deep breath. “The short version? I was hunting a computer virus, trying to trace where it came from. I suppose the path led through something I shouldn’t have been looking at and I got arrested. It fell enough under the Official Secrets Act that they could justify locking me up for it. But I swear, Sash, just like I’ve been telling everyone for years, I wasn’t hacking for secrets. I was trying to save lives.”

“I believe you,” Sasha says, because she does. If there’s anyone in the world she trusts completely, it’s her uncle. And really, this is the most mundane thing she’s been asked to believe in ages. “I just don’t—I don’t understand how tracing a computer virus can save lives. Unless it was infecting hospital computers or something like that.”

“No, that would have made sense.” Wade sighs. “Computer viruses aren’t supposed to be able to infect humans, but…this one did. O-or something like that. I honestly don’t know how to explain it, but…well, if working at that institute of yours is giving you other people’s nightmares, maybe you’ll know better than I do.” He ponders for a moment. “That’s probably a big part of why I got locked up, honestly. I couldn’t explain why I was hunting the computer virus without sounding insane, so I didn’t try. I mean, what was I supposed to say? ‘Yes, Your Honor, I wasn’t even aware of what system I was in, I was just looking for the origin of a bit of coding that killed my entire family’?”

Sasha freezes. The static in her mind gets louder and more insistent. “I don’t understand,” she says with difficulty, rather afraid that she does. He’s right, computer viruses aren’t supposed to infect humans, so if one did…it must belong to one of the Fears. She just can’t imagine which one.

Wade hesitates. “I—I don’t—Sasha, Puddle-Duck, if you don’t—you don’t remember what happened, do you?”

“To Mum and Dad? No.” The doctor said it was to be expected; she was six years old at the time, and it had been a rough experience. She had blacked out most of it, and honestly a lot of her memories from before that point as well. She remembers huddling in a closet with her teddy bear clutched tightly to her chest, hearing her uncle screaming her name, clinging to him tightly after he found her, both of them sobbing as he promised over and over that he would protect her, that he would never leave her, but for the life of her, she can’t remember what she was hiding from. The nightmare she had for years, one that made her wake up screaming almost until she left for uni, hadn’t been specific. She just remembers strings of ones and zeros in constantly shifting columns, blood-red on a black background, scrolling past her vision, but something in the code is terrifying and wrong…

“I don’t want you to have those nightmares.” Wade reaches for her hands again, looking conflicted. “You deserve to know, but…but if your job means that if people tell you those stories, you’ll dream about them too—I’ve had to train myself out of waking up screaming. It’s bad. I don’t want to do that to you, too.”

“It’s not—it’s not exactly like that.” Sasha wonders how to phrase it, then decides, to hell with it. He says he’ll believe her. She might as well tell the truth. It’s not like they’re being recorded by anything other than the spooling tapes, and there aren’t exactly eyes around for Elias to watch through, as far as she knows. She takes her uncle’s hands. “There’s a being…a thing that thrives on fear. I mean, there are a lot of them, but there’s one in particular that lives off of the fear of—of knowledge and secrets being exposed and being watched and all that.”

Wade gives a bitter laugh. “It must love prisons then.”

“In fact, the Institute is built over the remains of the old Millbank Prison, probably right where Smirke was testing out the panopticon design. And that’s the thing. The Institute…kind of belongs to that being. Which means I do, too.” Sasha takes a deep breath. “Sometimes I can—I can tell secrets without trying. I’m not right now,” she adds hastily. “I’ve been working on not…accidentally reading people’s minds or whatever. But the other part of it is the statements. When people tell us their stories and we dream about them? We’re not taking the place of the person dreaming about them. We’re…watching, I guess. Observing. We’re just…there.” She squeezes Wade’s hands. “So if you tell me, Uncle Wade, and I do end up sharing your nightmares, maybe it’ll be better. Because then you won’t have to look at them alone.”

Wade stares at her for a long moment, then nods slowly. “Okay,” he whispers. “Okay. I’ll tell you. You need to know, anyway.”

Sasha smiles, as reassuringly as she can, and glances at the tape recorder. “Do you want to make this…official? I can do, um, I can do the whole spiel we do at the Institute. Put it on the record. We can do some research, maybe.”

“Will it help?”

“It might.”

“Then…okay. Lay it on me.”

Sasha puts the tape recorder between them and takes her uncle’s hands again. Clearly, she says, “Statement of Wade Copper, regarding a murderous computer virus. Recorded direct from subject, twenty-first March, 2017.” She nods at her uncle. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Wade swallows. “Right. Well, you know I’ve always been into computers. I loved coding and programming and seeing what I could do. One of my favorite things to code up were the games, especially interactive fiction. I subscribed to a couple magazines where people would publish the codes for games they’d developed, and I would put them in and play them. I owned a couple that I bought commercially, too. One of the ones I had that I was most excited about was The Hound of Shadows. The story sounded right up my alley—a proper creepy one—but it turned out to have one of the worst parsers I’ve ever seen, and I struggled to finish it. I was crushed.

“I was looking around for something that was like that but…better? Tried my hand at coding it myself, but you know me, I’ve never been all that at coming up with a story of my own. Did a couple reasonably decent games based on a few of the stories I liked, but it wasn’t the same. Around the time I was finishing up my A-levels, some classmates and I were talking about interactive fiction, and I was complaining about Hound. That’s when one of my mates told me about a game he’d recently come across. He said he couldn’t finish it because it was too scary for him, but he thought I’d like it. It was called The Conqueror Worm.”

As he talks, Wade’s eyes go vacant and his shoulders slack; it’s like the words are pouring out of him independent of his will. Sasha never takes her eyes off him. The story fills her the same way Basira’s did, the same way Tim and Martin’s tale of the Not-Them did, the same way that man with the dog’s story did last week. She’s just aware enough of the situation to feel guilty about it, but she can’t stop him now if she tries.

“I managed to get my hands on a copy,” Wade continues. “As soon as I’d finished my exams, but while I was still waiting for the results to come back, I loaded it up on our computer. My friend was right—it was exactly what I was looking for. Interactive fiction. According to the cover, it was ‘loosely’ based on the Edgar Allan Poe poem, which I’d never heard at that point, but if it was Poe I knew it’d be spooky. The story was wonderful, the parser was the best I’d ever seen. Sometimes it was like talking to a real person—like that one Sergey Ushanka bot you and I spent the evening with when you were eight, you remember?” Sasha nods. “Anyway, I was really into it. The idea was that you were the manager of a theater that was putting on a new play, but something was trying to sabotage it, something inhuman and unholy. Started off normal enough, got creepy right fast. I had this constant sense of creeping dread. I loved it.

“The weird thing about this one, though, was that every so often you’d start to do something and suddenly three pixels would turn red. Always three, two in one row and one in between them in the row immediately above or below, and then they’d switch places a few times before disappearing. At first I thought it was a glitch. Then I realized it was intentional, that it was something to do with commands. I finally figured out that if the pixels appeared, you’d done something right.

“I started tracking the commands and decisions that got the wiggling pixels to appear, then started doing them more. Better. Started getting two, three, four at a time. I was sure it meant I was going to win. By the time I got to ‘opening night’ of the play, I could generally make upwards of ten appear every time I made the right choices. The thing is that ‘opening night’ was the big climax of the game, and there was only one command you could type: ‘The Show Must Go On’. Once you typed that, the play started and you watched to see if you got it right. You wanted to see the ‘play’, but I knew it was a horror game, so I told you to let me watch it first, and if it wasn’t too scary, you and I would play on Saturday. You pretended to accept that, but I knew you were angry. I could hear you yelling halfway across the house. At the time, I kind of thought it was funny, actually.”

Sasha vaguely remembers this now. She was bitterly disappointed—Uncle Wade always let her “help” with his games—so she waited until she was out of the room, then stomped off to the living room where her parents and grandparents were playing a card game and loudly declared that he was the meanest meanie to ever mean. Her mother laughed and said he was always like that, and her grandfather swept her onto his lap and offered to let her be his partner, until…

“What happened then?” she asks.

Wade takes a deep, shuddering breath. “I typed in the command, and I watched. The ‘play’ started, and…there was a voice. Reciting a poem. I guess it was the Poe poem. The ‘actors’ were performing along to the words, but then I noticed the wiggling pixels. One by one, slowly at first, then more and more. They started in the corners, then gradually started moving inwards. But see, amid the mimic rout, a crawling shape intrude. While I was watching, the wiggling pixels crept in an ever-increasing wave towards the ‘stage.’ That’s when I realized it was all the ones I’d been rewarded with for making the right choices. The voice got louder and more desperate-sounding, and then the pixels—I finally realized they were supposed to be worms—swarmed the ‘actors’ and…the screen went red, and then it went black. All the while the voice was still talking. And then it was just the black screen, with the text in blood red, appearing as the voice spoke the words.”

He swallows hard. “I—I looked up the poem. Later. It’s a real poem, ‘The Conqueror Worm’. The plot does follow the…events of the final scene of the game, up to a point. It’s a play, and then a worm—or in the game’s case, many worms—shows up and eats all the actors. The last four lines are…chilling.” He closes his eyes and recites, “And the angels, all pallid and wan, / Uprising, unveiling, affirm / That the play is the tragedy ‘Man,’ / And its hero the Conqueror Worm.”

A chill runs up Sasha’s spine. “I know that poem. He used it in ‘Ligeia’.”

“Maybe. But what got me…what really spooked me at the time, was that the words on the screen weren’t…right. I didn’t know that at the time. I thought it odd. But the voice spoke them, exactly as they appeared on the screen. Instead of ‘The play is the tragedy “Man”’…it said, ‘The play is the tragedy “Guy Copper.”’ The voice even said Dad’s name. I remember thinking that was a creepy coincidence. And then…” Wade takes another deep breath, and there are tears in his eyes. “I heard a noise from another room, like someone shouting. I turned to look, and when I turned back, the words were changing, morphing almost. Computers didn’t work like that back then, Sash, the graphics weren’t—I know you know that. But it was like the name blurred. And then the voice said those four lines again, but with the new name. And the angels, all pallid and wan, / Uprising, unveiling, affirm / That the play is the tragedy ‘Mary Copper,’ / And its hero the Conqueror Worm.”

The memories are starting to come back. A red wash fills her mind, then the screaming, then her mother pushing her away…oh, God. “And the next name—the next name was ‘Marjorie James’?”

“Yes,” Wade whispers. “And that’s when the screaming started. I was screaming, too. I was—I was convinced it was the game, that it was—I kept hitting keys, backspacing over and over, typing EXIT and hitting the Escape key and—nothing worked. It shifted from Margie’s name to Hugh’s, and…I thought about how many worms had been on the screen, how many ‘successes’ I thought I’d had, and I was suddenly terrified. It started to change again, and I—I dove under the table and I pulled the plug. The sound died. The light died. The screaming stopped, all at once.

“I went running and—and I found them. Mum and Dad, Margie and Hugh, all sprawled around the card table. They were all dead. They were—they were full of worms, Sasha. Blood-red ones. I didn’t know if they’d been red before they…” Wade inhales shakily and looks away. The tears are rolling down his face now. “I called 999, I was trying to tell them what had happened, but—but then I realized I couldn’t find you. I shouted at the poor woman to hurry and I dropped the phone and went looking for you. I was terrified that I’d been too late…but there you were, hiding in my closet with your teddy bear. You had blood on your arms and chest, but you weren’t hurt, and I—oh, God, Sasha. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” Sasha whispers. “It’s not. I wish—I’m so sorry, Uncle Wade.”

They both cling to each other’s hands for a moment, crying silently. Finally, Wade takes a deep breath and frees one hand to wipe his eyes. “Anyway, that’s…I couldn’t really explain it to people when they showed up. Just that I’d heard screaming and…the worms were gone by then, but it was obvious. I told a few lies about how old I was and managed to get them to let me take care of you instead of putting you in a home, and for a while everything was fine. Then…just after you left for uni, I was debugging a computer for someone who’d downloaded a game off an FTP server and picked up some sort of virus. When I went into the code, I discovered a secondary virus underneath the main one and went to dig it out. I thought it was a dead-man switch of some kind—you know, remove the main virus, trigger the second one—so I was going to take that one out first. But then I realized it was just some metadata. I would have just deleted it without a second thought, except that I recognized the words. It was those same four lines, the last lines of ‘The Conqueror Worm’, except that it had a name I didn’t know as the name of the ‘play’.”

Another chill runs up Sasha’s spine. “You’re sure you didn’t know it?”

“I didn’t, but my client did. I asked him about it when I gave him his computer back, and he said it was his girlfriend’s name, she was out of town on a trip. I told him to give her a call, and he looked at me kind of funny, but said he would.” Wade sighs. “I looked her up a couple times. Two days later her obituary popped up.”

“You’re saying—”

“I’m saying that once is happenstance, twice is coincidence. But I kept my eyes open, and a few months later, I saw the words again. Different computer, different name, same results,” Wade tells her. “I started tracing it. It’s a—well, it’s a worm, in the truest sense of the word, but I was sure if I could trace its path, figure out where it came from, I could stop it from spreading. Seven or eight years ago, though, I…guess I went through something I wasn’t supposed to, got caught, and wound up here.” He sighs heavily and sits back, blinking. “And…that’s it. I still call it the Conqueror Worm, but…I couldn’t stop it. It’s still out there.”

“I don’t think you can stop it,” Sasha says slowly. Several things slot into place in her mind. When Tim looked at all of them and described the colors he saw on them, he’d mentioned that Sasha had the same sick yellow-green as Martin and Jon Prime faintly woven over her upper torso, but she had just assumed it was from her encounter with Timothy Hodge, the first night she met Michael. Now she realizes the mark he described is too big to be from a single worm, and that the Corruption marked her much more thoroughly than that. She might have to get Tim to take a look at the tape now that she’s made it, but…she’s pretty sure she’s right. “I think this thing came from—from one of the other fear beings. I’d have to look in the Archives to see if there’s a way to destroy it. There might be, I don’t know. But I do know that you wouldn’t have been able to destroy it on your own. Not without succumbing to the power that it fuels.”

“Sash.” Wade grips her hand tightly. “Are you in danger? If you…belong to one of these powers. Will it hurt you?”

“Maybe. Probably,” Sasha admits. “Someday. I don’t know. It’s—it’s all a bit complicated. I don’t know for sure.” She pauses and reconsiders. “I don’t think it will actively hurt me. But I don’t think it cares if I live or die, in the long run.”

Wade’s face was a study in fear and sorrow. “And it’s from working at the Magnus Institute,” he says. It’s not really a question. “You never would have done that if it wasn’t for me. I’m so sorry.”

“I don’t know about that,” Sasha says. “Maybe. Maybe not. My project with the EPCC was shutting down anyway, so I don’t know where I would have ended up, but the Magnus Institute was hiring. Maybe I wouldn’t have stayed as long as I did, maybe I’d have looked for another job outside of London eventually, but…honestly, Uncle Wade, as much as I’ve always loved snooping and ferreting out secrets? I think I would have ended up bound to it anyway. At least this way I kind of know what’s going on enough to mitigate the damage.”

Wade shakes his head slowly. “I just…don’t want to lose you.”

“You won’t,” Sasha promises, even though she knows she can’t really promise that. But he’s all the family she has left, he gave up his future so that she could have one, and she’ll do anything she can to make sure she doesn’t waste that. “I’ll tell you everything when you come home. When will that be?”

“Two weeks. The first of April. Is that enough time for—I mean, will you be okay if I—”

“Yes,” Sasha interrupts him. “Of course. Tell me what you need and I’ll get it all set up.”

Wade smiles slowly, the hopeful look back in his eyes. He laces his fingers through hers and squeezes.

“We’ll be all right,” he tells her. “Family looks out for each other. I promise, Puddle-Duck, I will do anything I can to protect you.”

Sasha smiles back and returns the squeeze. She doesn’t tell her uncle that she’s grown up a little beyond his ability to protect her, or that she might need to be the one protecting him. Right about now, she really wants to let him wrap her in a blanket and a hug and promise her that everything will be all right again.

She might even let herself believe him.

#leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall)#ollie writes fanfic #tma #the magnus archives #Sasha James #gore tw #worms tw #prison tw #death tw #slight misuse of beholding powers

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disaster-fruit · 3 years

Note

could you tell us more about the brarg family au with the 3 babies and trans luci?

I definitely can! This au has been living rent free in my head since i started that drawing and I was actually sketching more stuff for the AU right before I got this ask so- I definitely can ramble more about it

This was supposed to be just a collection of a few hcs and now it’s a multi-pages word document the size of a fanfic so – Im really sorry.

I didn’t think a lot about their backstories tbh, though I have it in my mind that Luciano transition in his late teens and that he and martin either met after that or knew each other before luciano came out, lost all contact, and then met again after (and you can blame oxiosas fic for that yeah im not even subtle)

But I imagine them having some sort of meet cute and kinda progressing really fast in their relationship without realizing – yk, its just a fling, no big deal, yeah ive met his parents, yes I basically spend every weekend in his apartment, yeah I have a spare key now, ops I guess we’re adopting dogs and plants together- oh I think we’re married. Yeah. We’re married.

Ok but for real Luci does the proper proposal-with-a-ring-and-knelt-down-on-a-special-day thing and Martin is just bright red saying yes over and over again

It is Afonso (port) the first to be all WHERE ARE MY GRANDCHILDREN like… the night of their wedding.

They live in a house in a not too big city with two dogs, one cat, one parrot and all the birds that Luciano feeds and names that aren’t actually theirs. Still, they choose the house with two spare rooms because they always talked about having two kids.

In this AU they can buy a nice house and don’t have to worry about money and can raise kids like the world isn’t ending.

I think right after they got married they got in line for adoption. However, everything indicated that it would take a long long time so they started talking about the possibility of trying to have a biological kid. I think luci was the one to suggest it when he noticed martin had been thinking about it but not saying anything for a while.

Lots of boring doctor visits and confused doctors looking at luciano and trying to process it like the dumb cishets they are. Boring exams and all that, but everything is on track eventually, luci pauses his hrt and keeps his jockstrap on the drawer and they’re googling the best positions for fertility on those weird cishet sites and doing it like bunnies etc etc

Getting pregnant the natural way after years of testosterone is not the easiest thing in the world, so it takes a while. But eventually it works.

Both of them are kinda freaking out with this whole first pregnancy thing. Martin is the ultimate protective husband, and spends way too much time on the internet finding out what luciano can and can’t eat, what exercises he should do, and going to every single doctor visit. He’s very committed to it.

Luciano has to drink non-alcoholic beer and hates life. There’s a single teardrop shed every time he buys it. And drinks a lot of lemonade like it’s the same as caipirinha. Poor guy. Martin doesn’t help on that, life isn’t fair, he buys his own beer.

But he also has to drive absurd lengths to find the weirdest fruit or make the most hideous, blasphemous pizza toppings because Luciano is constantly craving absurd shit. But poor baby actually really NEEDS that chicken M&M pizza at 8am.

They’re super proud daddies though, and both their instagrams at this point are just baby belly pictures. Luci had top surgery on this au on my hc so also. Lots of shirtless pics. He looks like an old uncle with a beer belly and he’s PROUD. Just. Baby bellies all over.

Martin picks the entire baby layette. Because of course he does.

Their baby shower is a huge deal though. Their dads are there, Antonio brings an entire trunk filled with diapers and tells everyone how many tincho used to need when he was a baby, Afonso is cooking for everyone and talking about how he’s gonna be a grandfather (!!!). Iracema (pindorama) is scolding Luci about his bad habits while also quietly being a super proud grandma. Zola (angola) bought toys because she knows that’s what kids actually like, Samero (Mozão) keeps asking if they installed all the necessary security stuff in their house – we will, chill, we still have some months to go – Vera (Tomé) is teasing Simão (Timor) about him no longer being the family baby, Fatima (g.bissau) is another one who bought a huge amount of diapers, Rosinha (cabo verde) is taking pictures of everyone and everything, Sebas and Dani are discussing if the kid should speak Portuguese or Spanish, Maria brought a huge pink plushy as a gift, it’s quite a party.

Once they’re late in the pregnancy, Luciano mostly spends his time on Martin’s oversized t-shirts asking for foot rubs and not getting much sleep because the baby keeps moving. Martin on the other hand is a little nervous about being a dad, but absolutely loves feeling the little kicks and talking to the baby all the time, except when its 3am and he wants to sleep but Luci cant because of it so he just does his best to keep him company. He mostly ends up falling asleep on his chest though and doesn’t help much

I wrote all of this but I still don’t have a name for the girl lol Anyway, she’s finally born, and if martin was overprotective when Luciano was pregnant, he’s ten times more with his baby girl. Tbh theyre both kinda going crazy with this whole parenting thing, both are overprotective, tired, and have no idea what theyre doing.

Zola and Sebastian are the girl’s godparents. Sebastian isn’t very good with kids so when he takes care of his niece he either puts on a tv show and lets her eat whatever crap she wants, or relies on Daniel to do the actual taking care, since he is good with kids.

Luciano and Martin are very much neurotic first-timers and have all this schedule of what their girl can eat and when and when she has to sleep etc etc.

When Zola takes care of her, she just ignores it and does it her way. She helped raised Luci since he was a baby anyway, he survived just fine and even married and reproduced, she knows what to do better than both the dumbasses, and they never even find out.

Afonso on the other had follows everything when he’s with his granddaughter, determined to be a better grandfather than he was a father, and the baby loves him so he’s doing a good job.

They’re a very cute family yes yes

She grows up well and happy, a bit shy maybe but very smart and sweet, loves the dogs and her aunts and uncles and granddads (afonso more than antonio though)

By the way, Iracema is soft like butter with her granddaughter.

When she’s about four or five years old they start talking about having a second one, considering the age difference and all. So back to doctors, Luci stops the hrt again and they go back to trying, but again it’s not the easiest thing in the world to do it naturally after years of hrt.

But god listens to the prayers of such good catholic family, and right after they start thinking about a second child, they receive the news they will finally get to adopt a baby.

Luciano is the one to receive the news, he’s working at home when the social worker comes to tell him they can finally adopt. He’s extremely happy, he hugs the poor lady and is barely able to concentrate as she explains the paperwork that is left and the details of it because he can’t stop smiling.

He immediately texts martin saying something like “CALL ME RIGHT NOW WE NEED TO TALK” and it’s in happy caps but martin understands it wrong and thinks someone is dying or dead but then his phone is what dies so he gets home as fast as he can thinking all the worst scenarios just to find luciano jumping on him with a smile for ear to ear. It’s such a shock he takes a while to react but when he does you have two idiots so happy they can’t function.

It’s another girl, she has big brown eyes like her sister and it’s a few months old.

They quickly reassemble the crib and paint the second room to get everything ready in time to take her home, and the next week or so it’s nothing but all the family visiting to meet their new baby.

Since they managed to adopt, they decided to stop trying to have another kid. Luciano goes back to the doctor do some routine exams so that he can go back to testosterone and the doctor just awkwardly explains that, well, that won’t be exactly possible. Not for the next eight months, at least.

He’s quite shocked at that, and takes him a while to tell martin. They just got a new baby and do they even have space to raise three kids? Eventually it just escapes from him and martin is shocked as well, but ultimately both of them are just worried about their place being too small, and once they relax about that they can’t shut up about having another baby on the way to anyone.

Still, it’s not easy to manage, martin is just as worried as he was with their eldest, except that this time he’s simultaneously worried about their new baby and about Luci’s pregnancy. Poor dude needs a break asap. So he’s trying to do most of the work of caring for a little baby to spare luciano from the stress, while also taking care of him as well as he did the other time.

Luci is more chill about being pregnant, he’s done this before, he’s fine. He’s even a little too chill about it, as shown in the art, he still wants to carry their kid on his shoulder and having a few sips of martin’s beer is no big deal and honestly he’s fine, he can help with the baby, and Tincho just needs to relax and it will all be fine.

Again, poor tincho needs a break.

Some things don’t change though. Them being super proud daddies who do nothing but take pictures of their kids and Luci’s belly every chance they get. And they’re really happy and excited to have their house full and this big family.

Just a good cute family AU where nothing bad ever happens thank you very much. Yet it took me almost 2k words to say it. I have no self control and I’m very sorry. However, if anyone has their own hcs to add about this whole au, I will be more than happy to hear and talk about this AU even more than I’ve already done.

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fandomrewrites · 4 years

Text

Season 2; Episode 10: Fury

Hello all! Once again there is unfortunately no Isaac in this chapter, but he is mentioned. This chapter is very important for (y/n) so I hope you enjoy! As always constructive criticism is appreciated.

Season 2; Episode 10: Fury

Pairings: Scott McCall x Twin Sister, Lydia Martin x Best Friend, Isaac Lahey x Reader

Warnings: Mention of death, near death, violence

Word Count: 3,240

Season 2 Masterlist

Stiles, Scott, and I are sitting with Sheriff Stilinski - or I guess it's just Mr. Stilinski until he gets his badge back. We have a yearbook open, explaining to him that Matt is the killer he's looking for.

"Matthew Daehler?" Mr. Stilinski asks.

"Yes." Stiles confirms.

"This kid's the real killer?"

"Yes."

"No." Mr. Stilinski says, not believing his son.

"Yes."

"No."

"Dad, everyone knows the police look for ways to connect victims in a murder. All he had to do was go through their transcripts and find out which class they all attended."

"Except for the rave promoter, Kara. She wasn't in Harris's class."

"Oh yeah, that's right. So I guess they're dropping the charges against him?"

The two Stilinski's glare at each other before Mr. Stilinski replies, "No, they're not dropping the charges. Which doesn't prove anything. Scott, (Y/N), do you believe this?"

"It's not easy to explain how we know, but if you can just trust us. We know it's Matt." Scott says.

"Plus if you can't get him for murder, I think I have something else you can get him for." I hesitantly speak up.

All three heads turn to me with confusion. "I saw his camera." I pause taking a breath. "He has a lot of pictures of me. Pictures I don't know how he even took. I'm pretty sure he's stalking me."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Scott asks, eyes wide.

I shrug, "I thought I could handle it. But either way, can we go back to the murder thing? Since that's what we really want to get him arrested for. I mean murder is worse then stalking."

Mr. Stilinski looks like he wants to ask me more about the stalking but before he can Stiles speaks up, "Right, the murders. Matt took Harris's car. He knew if the cops found tire tracks at one of the murders and that if enough of the victims were in Harris's class, he'd be arrested."

"Fine. I'll allow the remote possibility. But give me a motive. Why would this kid want most of the 2006 swim team and its coach dead? And (Y/N), I want to talk to you about the stalking after."

I nod then Stiles speaks trying to give his dad a motive, "Isn't it obvious? Our swim team sucks! They haven't won in years." We all turn to Stiles with questioning looks, "Okay, we don't exactly have a motive yet. But then again, does Harris?"

The two boys and I watch Mr. Stilinski struggle over the question. Finally, he sighs, "What do you want me to do?"

"We need to look at the rest of the evidence."

"That's all back at the station. Where I no longer work."

"Trust me, they'll let you in."

"Trust you?"

"Trust... (Y/N)? I mean she actually has some sort of proof that Matt is a whack job."

Mr. Stilinski nods and points at me, "(Y/N) I trust."

*_*_*_*_*_*

When we get to the station it's two in the morning. Mr. Stilinski walks up to the front desk to speak with the officer as Stiles, Scott and I stay behind.

"We look at the hospital stuff first, okay?" Stiles whispers to us.

"Why?" Scott asks.

"Because all of the murders were committed by Jackson except for one, remember?"

"The pregnant girl. Jessica."

"Since Matt had to kill her himself, someone at the hospital could have seen him."

"Kids." Mr. Stilinski's voice breaks us from the whispered conversation. He waves us over as the officer buzzes us in.

Once in the office Mr. Stilinski brings up the security footage from the hospital. As he's clicking through it Stiles, Scott, and I stand behind him looking over his shoulder.

"I don't know, guys. Look at this. There was a six car pile-up that night. The hospital was jammed." Mr. Stilinski speaks, uncertain that we will find anything.

"Just keep going. He'd have to pass one of the cameras on that floor to get to Jessica. He's got to be on the footage somewhere--" Stiles encourages his dad.

Scott cuts him off though, "Hold on, stop. Did you see that? Scroll back."

Mr. Stilinski does as Scott says. He pauses on the image of a young man walking down the corridor.

"That's Matt." I say.

"All I see is the back of someone's head." Mr. Stilinski says.

Stiles agrees with me, "Matt's head. I sit behind him in History. He has a very distinct cranium."

I furrow my eyebrows as Mr. Stilinski asks his son, "Are you crazy?"

"Fine, then look at his jacket. How many people wear black leather jackets?"

"Millions. Literally."

"Can you scroll forward?" Scott asks, stopping an argument, "There has to be a shot of him coming at one of the cameras, right?"

So Mr. Stilinski presses a button to watch more of the video. "Stop! There he is again." I exclaim, pointing him out on the screen.

"You mean there's the back of his head again." Mr. Stilinski sighs.

"But look. He's talking to someone." Stiles says. We all lean slightly closer to try and get a better view.

"He's talking to our mom." Scott says.

*_*_*_*_*_*

Scott takes out his phone to call our mom at the hospital. He's asking her about Matt, but she doesn't seem to recall if she spoke to him. We decide to send her a picture of him to see if it jogs her memory.

"Did you get it?" Scott asks. There's a pause before Scott asks another question, "You recognize him? Did you see him?"

Scott pulls the phone slightly away from his ear, bringing his attention to me, Stiles and Mr. Stilinski. "He was tracking mud through the hospital."

Mr. Stilinski replies, "We have shoe prints alongside the tire tracks at the trailer site."

Stiles then excitedly says, "If they match that puts Matt at the scene of three murders. The trailer, the hospital and the rave."

Mr. Stilinski then looked up from the computer, "Actually, four. A credit card receipt for an oil change was signed by Matt at the garage where the mechanic was killed."

"When?"

"A few hours before you two got there." Mr. Stilinski says looking between his son and me.

"Dad, if one's an incident, two's a coincidence, three's a pattern, what's four?"

"Enough to get a warrant. Scott, ask your mom how fast she can get here."

"Now?" My brother asks, eyebrows raised.

"Right now. An official ID will get me a search warrant. Stiles, tell the front desk to let their mom in when she gets here."

Scott brings the phone to his ear again as Stiles moves to the door.

*_*_*_*_*_*

Mr. Stilinski and I are still behind his desk as we watch the door. Stiles walks in, behind him Matt has a gun pressed to the boys back. "She's on her way here. Sheriff? (Y/N)?" Scott says, not noticing his best friend and Matt.

He finally turns to face the door, seeing what caught our attention.

Breaking the silence, Mr. Stilinski speaks calmly, "Matt, whatever's going on, I guarantee there's a solution that doesn't involve a gun."

"Funny you say that. Because I don't think you're aware of just how right you are." Matt answers.

"I know you don't want to hurt people."

"Actually, I want to hurt a lot of people. You four weren't on my list, especially you, (Y/N), but I could be persuaded. One way is to try calling someone with your phone in your pocket like McCall's doing. That could definitely get someone hurt."

Matt stares at Scott, waiting for him to set his phone down on the desk. "Everyone." He encourages the rest of us to do the same.

We all remove our phones, placing them on the desk beside Scott's.

Matt takes the four of us into the cell block, making Stiles handcuff his dad to the wall outside of the holding cells. "Tighter." Matt snaps.

Stiles glares but his dad speaks up, trying to diffuse the situation, "Do what he says."

Reluctantly, Stiles listens and tightens the cuffs around him. Matt then motions for us to follow him once more. We make our way to the front of the station, Scott and Stiles in front and the gun trained on them. Matt has a tight grip on my right arm.

Heavy breathing stops us from continuing. We glance down the adjacent hallway locking eyes with a paralyzed deputy being dragged into a room by a clawed hand. "Are you going to kill everyone in here?" Scott asks.

"No. That's what Jackson's for. All I have to do is think about killing them. He does the rest." Matt casually answers.

*_*_*_*_*_*

Back at the office Matt forces Scott and Stiles to shred all of the evidence we have against him. Finally Scott raises the empty folders to show him that there are no more papers left.

At the same time Stiles starts speaking, "And we're done. So, Matt, since all the people you brutally murdered deserved it because they killed you first - whatever that means - I think we're pretty much good here. Right? I'll get my dad and we'll go. You continue with the vengeance thing. Enjoy the Kanima."

The sound of an engine can be heard from outside. Matt holds still, listening to the sound, "Sounds like your mom's here." He says looking over at me and Scott.

"Please don't do anything to her, Matt." I beg.

"Matt, don't do this. When she comes to the door, I'll just tell her to leave, okay? I'll say we didn't find anything. Please." Scott says right after.

Matt shakes his head, waving us over to the door. Scott hesitates, making Matt say, "If you don't move right now, I'm going to kill Stiles first. Then your mom."

We step outside the office and make our way through the building to the front desk. "Open it."

"Matt, please." Scott tries once more.

Matt responds by pressing the gun to the back of Stiles' head, "Open the door."

Scott turns the door knob, slowly opening the door. But instead of seeing our mom like we expected, Derek Hale is standing there. "Oh, thank God." Scott sighs.

But before we can get too thankful Derek sinks to his knees, paralyzed. Jackson is right behind him.

*_*_*_*_*_*

Jackson drags a paralyzed Derek into the Sheriff's office. Scott, Stiles and I following closely behind with Matt still keeping the gun on us. "This is the one in control? This kid?" Derek asks, laying on his back looking up at us.

"Well, Derek, not everyone's lucky enough to be a big bad werewolf." Matt then turns to the rest of us, "Yeah, that's right. I've learned a few things lately. Werewolves, hunters, Kanimas. It's like a fricken' Halloween party every full moon. Except for Stiles. What the hell do you turn into?"

"Abominable snowman. But it's mostly a winter time thing. Seasonal." I snap my head in Stiles direction, glaring. Usually I find his sarcastic remarks funny but now is really not the time.

Matt, clearly not amused, nods at Jackson. Not having a chance to protest, Jackson cuts Stiles neck. Stiles staggers, limbs going stiff and falls on top of Derek, "Bitch." Stiles mutters out.

"Get him off me." Derek speaks through clenched teeth.

Matt kneels beside Derek's head as Derek once again spits out, "Get him off me."

"I don't know, Derek. I think you two make a pretty good pair. It must kind of suck, though, to have all that power taken away with one little cut to the back of your neck? I bet you're not used to feeling this helpless." Matt smugly says to the Alpha.

"I've still got teeth. Why don't you come a little closer and we find out how helpless I am."

Before Matt can respond, headlights fill the room. "Is that her?" He asks looking towards Scott.

Scott looks outside, his look of despair confirms that it is in fact our mom. "Do what I say and I won't hurt her. I won't even let Jackson near her."

"Don't trust him." Stiles says.

With a look of rage that I have never seen, Matt brutally kicks Stiles off of Derek. He then places his foot on Stiles' throat. "This work better for you?" He questions.

"Stop! Matt just stop!" I scream out, tears threatening to spill.

He stops applying pressure but doesn't move his foot. He looks at me with a look I couldn't quite place. "You know, (Y/N). We could make one hell of a power couple but I noticed you have something going on with Isaac."

This statement causes Scott to look at me with raised eyebrows. I lick my lips, not taking my eyes off of Matt. "I told you before that I wasn't the guy who would say something like if I can't have her, no one can? Well, it wasn't totally true. Because, (Y/N), if I can't have you, no one can."

Before giving Scott the chance to react he raises the gun and shoots. A gasp leaves my mouth as I stumble back in shock. My hands raise to my abdomen, blood gushing through my fingertips. The minute the gun fires I can hear Mr. Stilinski yelling from the other room.

"(Y/N)!" Scott screams, trying to rush to me. Matt stops him, gun raising to level with Stiles head.

"She's not dead yet and if you don't do what I say, I'll kill your mom and Stiles too."

"Go, I'll be fine." I say through clenched teeth. Matt and Scott move out of the room. Jackson stays guarding me, Derek, and Stiles.

With my adrenaline pumping, I slowly move to the desk chair to sit down. One hand clutches the gunshot wound while the other uses the wall and desk as support, blood smearing wherever my hand was placed. Once I'm sat down I take off my jacket, applying pressure to the wound.

*_*_*_*_*_*

I gasp out in pain as I apply pressure to the wound, "(Y/N)! Are you okay? Please talk to me." Stiles speaks from the floor, voice trembling slightly.

"I'm fine, it's not like I'm bleeding out or anything."

"Do you have anything to try and stop the bleeding?"

I pause taking a breath, "I'm one step ahead of you. I'm using my jacket."

"Good. Whatever you do, don't close your eyes or fall asleep."

"Damn, really? I thought now would be a great time for a nap."

"I'm going to ignore those sarcastic remarks solely because it means that you're alright."

"Yeah well, I hate to burst your optimistic bubble but I don't know how long I'm going to last without medical attention."

Rather than answering Stiles asks Derek, "You know what's happening to Matt?" Referring to the scales that are appearing on Matt's side, which he showed us a few minutes beforehand.

"I know the book isn't going to help him. You can't just break the rules. Not like this." Derek answers.

"What do you mean?"

"The universe balances things out. It always does."

"Because he's using Jackson to kill people who don't deserve it?"

"And killing people himself."

I keep trying to focus on the conversation but I can tell my breathing is becoming shakier, "So if Matt breaks the rules of the Kanima, he becomes the Kanima?" Stiles asks the Alpha.

"Balance." Derek confirms.

"You think he'd believe us if we told him?"

"Not likely. You still alright (Y/N)?"

"Peachy." I shakily reply.

"(Y/N/N)? Your breathing is getting heavier. You have to stay awake. Keep talking." Stiles says, panic evident in his voice.

I reply, though my voice is now breathy and quieter, "I'm fine. I'll be fine. I-I don't know... I don't know how long I'll be okay though. If the paralysis wears off, your first goal has to be to help Scott and my mom."

There's silence, "Please, you both have to promise me. You'll help Scott and my mom as soon as you can." Tears start to fall down my face at the thought of Scott and my mom being hurt because the two people who could possibly help are too focused on me.

"(Y/N) we can't make that promise." Stiles chokes out.

"You have to. Remember your dad is out there too."

"If we don't help you first, you'll die." Derek bluntly states.

"Then so be it." I gasp, "The only way I'll survive is if I make it to a hospital. By the time you guys will be able to move it will be too late for me anyway. So don't waste your time."

"I can give you the bite. You'll heal and be fine."

"No. I don't want to be a werewolf. Just-just leave me and help the others." I pause for a minute, coughing, “Please.”

At this point my eyes keep flickering shut. My breathing is raspy and I can't focus on the things around me, though I know Derek and Stiles are talking. Suddenly all around me goes dark.

At first, I think I finally slipped into unconsciousness, but when I blink I realize that the power at the station has gone out.

I can hear multiple gunshots but it sounds muffled. Slowly I let my eyes shut, the hands that were once pressing tightly to the gunshot wound, now lay gently across my stomach.

*_*_*_*_*_*

Third Person P.O.V

At the same time the gunfire stops, Derek and Stiles can feel the paralysis finally start to wear off. They both shakily get to their feet, with the Alpha helping the human. They make their way to (Y/N), ignoring her earlier protests.

Derek uses his hearing to see if she is still alive, "She was right. She's not going to make it to a hospital."

"Then bite her." Stiles glares.

"She said no, or do you not remember that?"

"I don't care what she said, we're running out of time. Bite her. Scott and Melissa can't lose her." Stiles eyes glisten with tears as he looks down at the unconscious girl.

Derek looks at Stiles then glances at the teenager in front of him. Reluctantly Derek twists his head, now in his werewolf form he reaches down grabbing a hold of the girls arm. He bites down, leaving a bleeding bite mark.

"Get her out of here. Take her to Deaton. I'll cover you." Derek says as he reaches down picking the girl up and passing her to Stiles.

Stiles nods, his shirt now coated in Scarlett's warm blood.

Making it out of the station and quickly placing the unconscious girl in the passenger seat. He drives as fast as he can to the vet clinic in search of Deaton.

"What happened to her?" Deaton asks once he sees (Y/N) in the boy's arms.

"She got shot. Derek had to bite her for her to survive."

Deaton nods, removing (Y/N)’s jean jacket and slightly moving her black crop top to clean and stitch the wound. "This will help the healing process go faster. She's going to need a lot of rest."

Stiles nods, "Scott doesn't know that Derek bit her. And Mrs. McCall doesn't even know that she was shot."

"She'll be alright. It looks like the wound may already be healing."

#sister mccall imagine #isaac lahey imagine #lydia martin imagine #teen wolf imagine #series rewrite

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simpirals · 3 years

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Down The Tunnels

(Read on AO3) So this is another collab with my very cool friend @stellarwhaleshark in which we wrote about Not!Sasha chasing Jon down the tunnels, ending it completely differently from canon. (Jon doesnt die dw) If you liked it,please let us know in the comments! ❤️ Reblogs are encouraged ! ❤️ Characters: Not!Sasha/ Not Them, Jonathan Sims (mentions of Timothy Stoker,Sasha James and Martin Blackwood) Warnings: body horror, stabbing, axe violence, generally spooky atmosphere Jon scrambled down the dark halls. Dark, unkempt hair with streaks of grey frame his face, which scans every nook and cranny in the impossible labyrinth before him. His breathing is ragged, and as he clutches his axe in sweaty hands, a laugh echoes out in the stale air. He is utterly terrified. And he had all the reasons in the world to be so. Something that wasn't his friend wore a face he used to deem as familiar, and that very same thing was out to hunt him down.

"Jooooonnn..." An uncanny voice echoes through the tunnels, reaching out to the man fleeing for his life. "Jooonnn… Why don't you stop running so we have a nice, friendly chat? With your Sasha?" Noises that weren't footsteps reverberated through the tunnels.

"Isn't it what friends do, Jon? Sit down and talk things out together? I promise you this won't take long."

The creature's voice lowered in a dangerous growl.

Jon's heart leapt in his throat as he desperately tried to find an escape from the thing chasing him. He didn't dare respond, fearing that if he focused on anything else except running, he would be caught. Despite the nagging in the back of his mind that told him that losing it was impossible, Jon forced himself to believe that somehow, some way, he could shake the impostor from his trail. But as far as he could see, the path only continued straight. Something scratched along the walls behind him, sending his feet into a more frantic pace. "Shit, shit!"

Having no other option but to continue forward, the Archivist wills himself to move as fast as he can to avoid falling victim to Sas- no, not Sasha. Whatever was chasing him was definitely not who it claimed to be, and that voice that taunted him was certainly not his coworker's... despite how familiar it sounded.

Jon had no time to turn around and watch his pursuer. But he didn't need to do that to guess that it had picked up its pace. It was coming, and it was coming fast.

"Jooooonnnnnnn !"

Its limbs scratch at the concrete walls as it advances rapidly.

"You'll just tire yourself out eventually, silly! What do you think will happen when you collapse on the ground, exhausted and vulnerable?"

Jon's paranoia makes him feel like something was breathing down his neck. But it was just the coldness of the air.

"I'll catch you. And then we'll be able to properly chat. Like friends! Friends do that all the time, don't they? Why are you doing this, Jon? Am I not a good friend to you? Isn't Sasha someone you can trust? You truly wound me, Jon!"

It almost sounded like it was trying to feign… sadness.

But Jon knew better than to listen to it.

He itched to scream back at it. To tell it that he knew it wasn't her, that it could never be Sasha. But instead, Jon grit his teeth and pushed onward. Then, to his left, he saw a dark patch in the wall. As he got closer, he noticed that it was an opening - another corridor. If he was fast enough, Jon could catch it off guard and use the weaving halls to his advantage. Jon let himself slow down a bit, and he could hear what wasn't Sasha gaining on him. Timing his movement just right, Jon skids over into the opening, turning his attention behind him to see the thing dash past with a growl of irritation.

Huffing a small laugh of victory, Jon turned around to gather his bearings of the new hall, but rather than seeing branching pathways, he instead saw concrete walls encasing him.

"Oh, no... no, no no--"

The monster slammed its claws down on the cold ground with satisfaction, cutting off the path to Jon's only escape.

"Found you, Jon."

There was a sickeningly triumphant grin to its voice as it slowly neared Jon, as if it had all the time in the world, its prey standing right before it.

"How about you face me properly, Jon? Come on, turn around. It would be boring if the last thing you ever saw was a wall, wouldn't you agree?" It sang, and this time, the cold breath creeping against Jon's nape was not his imagination.

His whole body shook, and his breathing became so fast that his vision began to blur. This was... god, this wasn't good at all. Jon's thoughts were a jumbled mess, and it was so hard to focus. He was going to die, he was sure of it. How could he be so stupid? Of course he wouldn't be able to outrun that thing. If it wasn't for him breaking that table--

The table. He still had the axe with him, didn't he? Jon gripped the handle tighter into his fists, knuckles turning white. The whole point of getting it was to make that thing hurt, right?

Well, hopefully it'll actually serve its purpose.

Slowly, Jon turned around, having to crane his head to meet the gaze of the monster that stared back with a dangerous glint in its eyes.

The being that wasn't Sasha stared right at him as he looked straight into its fake, glassy eyes.

"Good." It says, with a satisfied tone, lifting its hand- no, not a hand; this was far too big and sharp to be called one- from the ground, raising it to Jon's eye level.

"Remember when I told you I'd make this quick earlier?" It cackles, with that voice that did not belong to it. "I'm afraid Good old Sasha lied!"

It's going to strike.

"You. Are. Not. HER!"

One quick swing, and Jon manages to axe the beast's right limb. The force sends it slamming against a nearby wall and the thing shrieks with multiple voices at once, stumbling back.

"You...YOU!!!" It had not expected Jon to still be able to inflict any sort of damage on its body.

Clutching its wound, it emits a furious roar, and Jon swears his eardrums are about to pop.

He just has enough time to turn around and start running again before the creature tries to catch him, and it trips on itself.

No matter how far away Jon was getting, screams of anguish still rattled off of the walls around him. It sent a chill down his spine, and as he spotted a fork in the catacombs, a screech of muddled voices startled him. "GET BACK HERE, YOU LITTLE RAT!" It yells out, and the sound of it getting back onto what Jon supposed could be feet made its way down the hall.

As far as he was concerned, remembering how to navigate his way back out of the tunnels was the least of his problems. So Jon ducks and weaves through halls of all sizes, hoping that he'll eventually become so lost that not even the monster at his heels would be able to find him.

Not!Sasha wants to hunt him down to the ends of the Earth.

But first it needed to get its arm back. It quickly grabbed it and pressed the area that was freshly cut against its shoulder and the porcelain colored flesh melted, fusing the missing piece against its body.

It clutched its limb and stretched out its claws, briefly studying itself to see if that puny human caused any further damage.

It seemed satisfied.

It quickly looked at the direction where Jon had fled and it screeched again, getting back on all fours and rushing out, leaving the dead end behind.

" JON! " It howled like a dying animal.

" I WILL FIND YOU AND I WILL DEVOUR YOUR ARM! THAT'S A PROMISE! "

It galloped through the halls, absolutely seething, scanning each nook and corners that could lead it to Jon's location.

" WHERE ARE YOU?! "

Its screams of rage had encouraged Jon to avoid staying in one place for too long. So he continues to let himself wander, some turns echoing the voice louder than others. He's not quite sure how long he's been running, but the aching in his legs is beginning to slow him down. "Come on, keep going...!" Jon grunts to himself as he tries to fight through the pain, but it's becoming apparent that he has to find somewhere to rest soon.

" Jooooonnnn.... " It hissed through gritted fangs, "If you show yourself now, maybe I won't tear you limb from limb. Come on, be a good friend and come out, won't you?" As the monster began to speak aloud again, Jon rounded a corner and pressed himself against the cold wall. Every bone within him shook, and it took everything in him to not slide down to the floor.

The creature snarled, still very much enraged by her previous wound. Even a monster of the Stranger can still feel pain, after all. And having to push its fake bones back into place wasn't exactly pleasant.

Seeing that Jon was still nowhere close to her, it halted for a brief instant. "Alright, I may have gotten a little bit angry earlier. But could you blame me? You literally cut my arm off! That's not a very nice thing to do to your friend, is it, Jon?"

Naturally, she knew this wasn't going to entice him to come to her. But it was fun to toy with him.

"You know," It says, "I wonder how your screams would sound like once I get you to the circus... Taking you apart pieces by pieces, to reshape you afterward… Kinda like Sasha, actually! Oh, you should have seen her! She did such a wonderful performance too, squirming under my claws.'' It chuckles, dragging on the last words of her sentence painfully. No matter how hard Jon tried to ignore the taunts of the beast, its words sank in deep. The second that it began to describe Sasha's body being torn apart and put together, he felt himself heave a bit. And yet they continued on, finding humor in how his dear friend suffered.

"She writhed and squirmed when I gave her new joints, too. Human bones are tough, that’s obvious, but they can always be upgraded to better material. No one would see the difference anyway! Especially not you, Jon."

It chuckled eerily.

"Oh, you should have heard her too! She kept on screaming at you and your acolytes' names, too! It was delightful to hear! Actually, why don't you listen to it yourself? You love to listen, don't you?" Jon's breathing began to pick up again until it became quick gasps of air. He did his best to get it under control, but then.

The sound Jon heard was the exact replica of Sasha's voice. He could hear the terror and the agonizing pain in her tone.

"Jon, Martin! Anyone! help, it-it hurts so much! Please, someone, get me out of here! Please! PLEASE, JON! HELP ME! "

It spoke like Sasha. The real Sasha. The begging and pleading that called out into the halls belonged to someone he couldn't recognize. But he knew without a doubt that it was her. "Oh, Christ... Sasha, s-she was--"

How long was she tormented? Ripped apart and reconstructed like some sort of sick puzzle?

" PLEASE, JON! HELP ME! "

"I-I'm so sorry, Sasha..!" Jon whimpered out, clamping a free hand to his mouth to stop a sob bubbling up his throat. The whole time, Sasha was alive, and they did nothing to help her.

The realization hit Jon with such an intensity that he collapsed down the wall with a pathetic thud. The axe followed shortly after, the metal clattering to the stone floor and ringing out beyond where the Archivist could see. He stiffened, eyes widening in horror and darting down to his weapon he had dropped on the floor.

Jon made a huge mistake.

The creature halted its grim imitation suddenly, turning its head sharply toward the direction of the noise she just heard.

Oh, that was too easy.

She did not need to look any longer, she knew exactly where her prey was now.

Not Sasha suddenly appeared right before him.

"There you are."

Jon barely had the time to get up and made another foolish attempt to flee. The monster had already seized his ankle with her inhumanly big, sharp hand, forcing the man to collide brutally against the hard floor beneath him. Jon gasped in pain at the force of the impact.

"Oh, no no, I’m not letting you go anywhere anytime soon!"

Jon uselessly thrashed and scraped his nails on the stone covered ground as Not Sasha simply dragged Jon back to her, flipping him unceremoniously on his back, so he could see her in her full glory, her entire body looming over him, caging him.

"No-- No, no no no--"

Jon's desperate pleas were cut off as the thing that wasn't his Sasha suddenly slammed her other hand against Jon's body, effectively pinning him down under its weight as its dangerous claws were big enough to cover and seize his body.

"Now… What am I going to do with you…?" It said, absolutely relishing the way Jon stared back at her with terrified eyes.

Oh, how much she loved to taste the fear of her prey. This was delightful.

"Hmm... I could do the same thing you did to me... But using that little axe of yours may make it too easy. I think cutting through you myself would be much more fun!" She spoke idly, biting back a laugh when their suggestion only caused the Archivist to squirm more.

"Oh, but I know how much you care about your old Sasha! Maybe taking you to see her one last time, broken and wrong would be more painful!" Jon managed to wriggle an arm out from its grasp, and attempted to punch their long fingers.

It didn't even phase them. "And if you're good, Jon," Not Sasha's face leered down to meet his own, her sharp grin reflecting in the glasses that framed Jon's panicked eyes.

"Maybe I'll tear you apart just like how I did her."

Jon felt his breath snag in his lungs. If being torn apart would be his reward for being "good" Then what would it be if he tried to actually fight back? Probably something worse than death itself.

He wasn't about to find out.

"Just- please, just let me go, I don't-"

"Ah, ah, ah! I didn't chase you through these tunnels all this time just to let you run again, you silly. No, no, I exactly know what I'm going to do with you."

Not Sasha grabbed Jon's wrist between the edge of its claws, observing it.

"Such a frail little limb. Wonder how long it'll take to break."

"Wait--"

Before Jon could utter another useless plea, the monster unhinged its jaws,and violently sank her teeth into his right shoulder, mirroring the damage that Jon did to her just before. The second her horribly sharp teeth punctured into his skin, Jon began to spiral into hysterics. His instincts told him to do something, anything, but the pain clouded his mind to the point where he wasn't able to focus on anything else. Jon screamed.

Not Sasha pulled and pulled on his arm, and a sickening squelch could be heard as her fangs kept digging deeper and deeper inside his shoulder.

As soon as he felt his shoulder about to give out under that thing's fangs, she suddenly released him, pulling her head back to reveal her freshly bloodstained face. It casually wiped the blood that dribbled down its chin, eyeing its work.

"...Actually, I just remembered that Nikola doesn't really like being handed broken playthings. I guess you get to keep your arm this time. Lucky you! ...But then again, I could always replace your arm with something different. I wonder if Nikola would mind… Hmmm."

She tapped her chin, seeming to seriously ponder that option.

“Oh, I sure hope she won't be mad at me for damaging you a bit.”

She looked almost worried, but more for the fact that she could get in trouble for harming Jon rather than being concerned about his well being.

The Not Them had briefly released Jon, as she was too busy trying to shred his shoulder into bits previously. The Archivist stumbled backwards in hopes of gaining some distance between them. But it took nothing more than a tug at his ankle to drag him back.

Hm, she must have tired him out. Good.

"Well, I suppose I'll just have to wait until I hear back from Nikola. In that case," Not Sasha grabbed hold of Jon's torso with one of its large disfigured hands, gripping tightly.

She hummed in satisfaction when she was able to feel the Archivist's heart hammering against her palm.

"It seems like you'll be coming with me." It squeezed him a bit tighter, chuckling as Jon screwed his eyes shut in agony. "N- no! I'll never- AH-!"

A claw prodded in one of the gory punctures on his arm. "Now, now. I was generous enough with letting you keep your arm... don't push it." They dug the finger in deeper to emphasize their point.

For the fun of it, Not Sasha left her claw in the wound, enjoying the sight of her prey writhing in pain. But soon enough, Jon tired himself out, slowly falling limp and shaking with exhaustion. "Someone, p-please...!" He begged. A last ditch effort on his behalf, Not Sasha was sure of it.

"Oh, come now, Jon, no one can hear you. I thought you knew that these tunnels keep things rather well hidden. If none of your friends were able to hear your screams, what makes you think they'll hear your pathetic whimpering?"

He went quiet at that.

"Good. Now, shall we go?"

"Martin, Tim, please...." Jon mumbled to himself, feeling himself close to passing out from the pain.

"I'll take that as a yes." ———————————————- Please let us know if you enjoyed that fic so we can be motivated to write more ❤️

#tma #the magnus archives #jonathan sims #magpodfic #not!sasha #not!them #the stranger #Its Strange serie #body horror #stabbing #generally creepy #simpirals #taikeero-lecoredier #the not them #tai's stories

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soveryanon · 3 years

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Reviewing time for MAG191!

- Martin and Jon were sleeping together, or close to each other… Not a surprise, but eh, it’s the first time we heard them sleep!

(Sound-wise, I heard the bag jostle on multiple occasions when Martin was moving – including when he jolted awake. Does it mean he was sleeping with the bag on, ready to run away with Jon in case of sudden danger…?)

- Sobbing a bit about Martin’s bad dreams – he also had those back at the Cabin, at the beginning of the season, and Jon had pointed out, back then, that he couldn’t really sleep:

(MAG161) MARTIN: You should get some sleep. [CREAKING SOUND] ARCHIVIST: I… [SIGH] can’t. I–I–I can’t, I–I don’t think I do anymore… “Sleep”. [EXHALE] How long’s it been, now? MARTIN: I don’t know. It’s not like there are days to count anymore. All the clocks have stopped, and… [DISTANT HOWL] ARCHIVIST: Well, I haven’t yet. I get… tired, but it doesn’t feel the same. [WOODEN CREAKING SOUND] Probably for the best. Sleep doesn’t look… pleasant. MARTIN: Nnno, it’s… it’s not. ARCHIVIST: I couldn’t wake you. […] MARTIN: Well, just as well I don’t remember my dreams. ARCHIVIST: I do. MARTIN: Uh– What? ARCHIVIST: They… I see most of the suffering around here. When it’s quiet, it just… it’s like… I can see it, like I’m watching all of it.

(MAG191) [SOME AGITATION MOVEMENTS, AND MARTIN AWAKES WITH A START] MARTIN: … eh, eh, EH! Eh! [BAG JOSTLING] … Wh… [LOUD BREATHS] … Jon? [TURNS OVER TO CHECK] [SURPRISED] Ah, argh! Stop it! Jon! [THE ARCHIVIST WAKES UP] ARCHIVIST: [MUZZILY] Mm, what? What? […] Bad dream? MARTIN: Is there any other kind? ARCHIVIST: Fair.

That was a bittersweet throwback… Is it because of the overall anxiety? Is it because it’s another way the Fears prey on people? Jon introduced the domains as “nightmares”, at first – it’s quite interesting that actual nightmares still exist in a place that is semi-protected from the rest of the world.

With the parallel with the Cabin, I’m once again wondering whether the tunnels are a kind of domain on their own, and feeding from people in a different way…? We seem to be getting the same situation of Martin suffering from nightmares while Jon doesn’t sleep normally, and back then, they hadn’t been aware (at first) that the Cabin was actually trapping them and preying on them…

- First time Martin mentioned that he’s aware of Jon’s dreams, I think?

(MAG191) MARTIN: Speaking of, how are your dreams? [INHALE] I know they used to be… y’know, complicated. ARCHIVIST: I don’t know. I don’t really remember them anymore. Honestly, it’s not… really even sleep these days? I can only do it when I’m disconnected from… well, everything, and i–it’s more like… You know that feeling when you’re right on the edge of falling asleep? Not quite dreaming but not aware of stuff either? MARTIN: Huh! So, like, standby mode then? ARCHIVIST: [SOFT LAUGH] I suppose!

He was aware that Jess Tyrell was seeing Jon in her dreams, but I don’t recall any mention of Jon’s own dreams – Daisy and Jon had discussed about it and Basira knew it would happen with Floyd, but Martin hadn’t been around in season 4. Did Jon explain it to him when they eloped to Scotland (or at some point during season 5), or did Martin listen to Elias’s tape from MAG120 describing Jon’s dreams?

I had wondered about Jon’s victims and dreams in season 5, too! We’ve seen with Jordan that having given Jon a statement didn’t give them a special status in the apocalypse, nor did it get them stuck all together in a specific domain – Jordan was stuck in a Corruption one, for example. (Is it because technically, in the apocalypse, everyone is beheld by Jon in a way?)

- Rare confirmation of something being visibly off with Jon and having to do with eyes!

(MAG191) MARTIN: It’s fine, I was… I was just startled. ARCHIVIST: Hm…? MARTIN: We’ve not been many places you can sleep, so I– ARCHIVIST: So, what? MARTIN: You were sleeping with your eyes open again. ARCHIVIST: Ah… Right. MARTIN: [SIGH] J–just… took me by surprise. […] Oh, you’d… just completely conk out. Eyes open, obviously, ‘cos god forbid the creepy ever stops entirely, heh! But– ARCHIVIST: Thank you. MARTIN: –you’d… just be dead to the world. I actually got a bit worried, once or twice, but… you always woke up fine. … You said you didn’t dream. You sounded pretty happy about it too. ARCHIVIST: I imagine I was…!

So, Jon keeps his eyes open when sleeping, used to also do that at Salesa’s… so even with his connection with The Eye cut, a few oddities remain.

The description of Jon as in “standby” with his eyes open is a tinyyy bit terrifying indeed (doll just waiting to move again?), and probably very sad for Martin… after Jon’s “coma” following season 3, when his heart wasn’t beating. Since we’ve heard Martin beg for Jon to wake up (and he did admit that he felt like he had lost “everything” back then), there is something absolutely heartwrenching in the idea of Martin seeing Jon unmoving, and probably thinking Jon has died or is gone in a way, again…? (We’ve heard with the beginning of the episode that Martin’s reaction was to panic over it, indeed ;;)

- Aaah, Jon asking again about details of what happened at Upton House was so precious and sad…

(MAG181) [STATIC RISES] ARCHIVIST: Ah… Pity. MARTIN: What? ARCHIVIST: It’s, uh… It’s going away. That… peace; the, the safety, the memory of ignorance… MARTIN: That’s… [INHALE] Yeah, I guess that makes sense. [STATIC FADES] Do you… remember any of it? Wha–what Salesa said? Annabelle? ARCHIVIST: Some. I–I think. It’s, uh… Do you mind filling me in? MARTIN: Wait, you need me to tell you something for once? ARCHIVIST: I guess so! It’s, uh… It’s gone. Like a dream. … What was it like? MARTIN: … [SIGH] Nice. It was… It was really nice.

(MAG191) ARCHIVIST: … What was I like at Salesa’s?

And it’s nice that Jon asked Martin information about Upton to be able to make the comparison with the tunnels. There is a form of trust, asking Martin to recall those things?

- And the concept of ~remembering~ was Martin’s cue to confirm that Celia was indeed Lynne!

(MAG191) MARTIN: [FAINT CHUCKLE] … Hey, I… [BAG JOSTLING] I meant to ask. Do you recognise that woman, Celia? ARCHIVIST: Hum… no, I, I don’t… think so – why? MARTIN: I… I’d swear she gave a statement once. ARCHIVIST: What statement? I don’t… remember anything. Wh… Not down here at least.

Later, the episode answered a question I got at this point: given Jon’s inability to remember Lynne at all, did it mean that Jon hadn’t listened to her statement, or that he had trouble remembering because of the tunnels interfering with his connection with The Eye? But later, Jon did remember about MAG053’s statement, so it really does sound like he hadn’t listened to Lynne’s statement at all and couldn’t remember it through mundane means (while he might have been able to “know” about her if he had been outside, without the tunnels’ protection). It’s curious, since season 3 had made a point that Jon was listening to “all he tapes” including recordings by the other assistants:

(MAG113) MARTIN: I mean… it wasn’t actually paranoia, though, was it? Because, they were out to get you. ARCHIVIST: I suppose that they were. MELANIE: Wasn’t a great time back here, either. ARCHIVIST: Oh, god, Melanie, of course. I’m… I’m sorry. If I’d known that Ivy Meadows was– MELANIE: What?! You’d have told me? Let me learn from one of your statements instead of from Elias? I don’t see that changing anything. ARCHIVIST: Even so, I… am… I’m sorry.

(MAG114) TIM: … You listened to it, then? My statement. ARCHIVIST: I listened to all the tapes. I, I had no idea how much of a… a mess I left this place in, I–I–I’m sorry. TIM: Bit of an invasion of privacy. ARCHIVIST: I assume that’s a joke?

(MAG117) ARCHIVIST: I’m making a decision. I trust them. All of them. E–except Elias, obviously, that’s not–, I mean… I’ve listened to the tapes. [DRY CHUCKLE] I’ve listened to the tape! I–I know what they talk about behind my back, how much they’ve… suffered, because of… [INHALE] this place… because of me. … God. Poor Melanie…

Was it because Lynne’s tape was mislabelled (since Martin thought it was probably a fake story)? Was it because something hid that specific tape from Jon…?

Additional detail: at that point in time (MAG100), it means that Martin couldn’t tell whether live statements were true or not! Sasha hadn’t sounded surprised when Jon had told her he could feel whether some were “real” ones or not, back in MAG039, but it’s interesting that in season 3, Elias had basically given over the statements-reading over to the assistants “to make up for the shortfall”, and yet they were apparently still unable to evaluate whether it was a real statement or not. (They did feel the consequences, however! Martin and Melanie commented about the toll it took on them.)

- Martin’s summary of Lynne’s statement, though.

(MAG191) MARTIN: It was… [MUMBLES SOMETHING SOFTLY] … I thought she was making stuff up! Heh! I gave her some money. ARCHIVIST: Why? MARTIN: Sh–she asked. ARCHIVIST: R–right.

We know, Martin. We know, it was so painful to listen to.

(MAG100) LYNNE: I mean, just, just, my friend Gav said that, y’know, you guys… you need stories, and you need people to come forward, so… MARTIN: Yeah, yeah… LYNNE: And you… kind of… You pay up people for their ghost stories, so… MARTIN: Oh! Er, ah… [NERVOUS CHUCKLE] I, I think there might be a bit of a, er, er, mis–miscommunication here– LYNNE: Oh! Oh, right, okay. MARTIN: Yeah. Yeah… We don’t actually, um… er, we don’t pay for, pay for statements. LYNNE: Right. MARTIN: This is, this is more, a, er, documenting process than… er, we don’t use these for, um, for stuff outside of– LYNNE: Okay. MARTIN: –r–r–records. Ahh. I’m really sorry. Er… LYNNE: Oh. I mean, I mean, that’s why I– Er, no, y’know, okay, but that’s fine. [MOMENTS OF EMBARRASSED MUMBLINGS] MARTIN: Er… Um… Y’know what… Sorry. Um. Let’s see what I’ve got… [MOURNFUL SOUNDS OF MARTIN’S LOOSE CHANGE] I mean, I’ve got… I mean… get a coffee, I… LYNNE: Y’know what? You’re, you’re all right. MARTIN: No, no, please, please? I… LYNNE: Oh, all right. MARTIN: Y’know, er… LYNNE: Thanks, thanks. MARTIN: … like, like a macchiato, or… LYNNE: Mm. MARTIN: I mean, maybe not that much. LYNNE: Okay, so, um… Just the way out… [TRANSFER OF COINS] MARTIN: Yeah. LYNNE: … The way I came in? MARTIN: Yeah, please. If that’s… yeah.

I love that Jon sounded at an absolute loss about Martin’s summary of the situation. (Also, Martin: she didn’t really ask. You were made aware of the misunderstanding, and you offered the money to make up for it.)

- Indeed, Celia/Lynne has lost her memory and didn’t sound like she had recognised Martin:

(MAG190) CELIA: Sorry. We haven’t been introduced. You are…? GEORGIE: Oh, hum, of course. Sorry. This is… ARCHIVIST: Jonathan. Jon. Sims. MARTIN: Uh, Martin. Hello, eh! GEORGIE: And… this is Laverne. LAVERNE: Good to meet you. GEORGIE: And Celia. MARTIN: [PUZZLED] “Celia”? CELIA: Probably. The, hum… place I was trapped in, they took my name, I never got it back. But, I like Celia, so… yeah! Celia it is. MARTIN: Uh… H–hello… Celia…!

(MAG191) ARCHIVIST: … Do you think she remembers? MARTIN: I, I mean… she doesn’t seem to remember her own name, so… I’m guessing… no? ARCHIVIST: You could ask! MARTIN: Well, no, that’d just be weird, I mean– [SOFT WOODEN KNOCKING ON A DOOR, TWO KNOCKS] Hello?

And I can’t pinpoint whether that will lead to something more or not! Is it just a point that domains can impact people even after they’ve been liberated from them? Is it because her tape will resurface? Is it because Lynne’s statement was especially plot-relevant somehow? (The fire ghost woman she had spotted obviously put Agnes to mind… except Agnes didn’t die and never lived (as far as we know) in Clapton, where Lynne had spotted the ghost – and she wasn’t pursued by said ghost after moving out, so it sounded like it was tied to her old flat…)

- There has been so much knocking since Jon&Martin joined the tunnels! It feels a bit like it’s compensating for the rest of season 5 – previously, most of the episodes were taking place in Jon’s office, so there was knocking here and there… but not that much in season 5, except with Helen.

On the one hand: it’s ~polite to knock~. On the other hand: it’s a bit anxiety-inducing, both because knocking around Jon is a perpetual reminder of Mr Spider and because it feels like it would be soooo easy for one of the others to eavesdrop on Jon&Martin’s conversations, and what would they think of it? Would they deem Jon&Martin dangerous?

- Speaking of survivors having been deeply affected by the domains… ouft, Unnamed.

(MAG191) MARTIN: I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Martin, this is Jon. [RUSTLING AND SOUNDS OF BAG OPENING AS THEY START MOVING AROUND] ARCHIVIST: Hello. UNNAMED: [SUSPICIOUS] Right… MARTIN: And you are…? UNNAMED: [FIRMLY] No! MARTIN: “No”? A–as in your name’s No? UNNAMED: No, as in “you don’t get to know my name”. I’m not stupid. ARCHIVIST: Is that so? UNNAMED: Names are how they see you. They’re how they find you in the files. You can hide all you want, but if they know your name… they can see you. And take you away. ARCHIVIST: I see. UNNAMED: I tell people my name, then maybe they learn it. Then they come for all of us. You shouldn’t have told me yours, I keep telling the others! Only the prophet names are safe.

So: still applying the logic of the domains she had been trapped in to the rest of the world. I’ve seen a lot of speculation about it, but I don’t feel like her description matched the Archives that much – it could be anything else, really? Her description was a bit reminiscent of Spiral stuff (MAG065: “The angles cut me when I try to think.”) and, overall, the Archives never seemed to have a huge focus on “names” as instruments of power over people (+ Laverne has been the oldest of the survivors: if the others who had been lost had indeed been taken back through their names, she would have exerted caution too)… So mostly, I saw Unnamed’s story and behaviour as another demonstration of how the survivors cope, after these traumatic events – in this case, still applying the logic of her domain, even after escaping it, to the point of hiding parts of herself to others.

;; Still worried about the cultist bits towards Georgie&Melanie: everyone seems to be projecting what they want and hope for from them… and it’s clearly unsustainable.

- Unnamed and Jon snapping at each other about their understanding of how things work huuuurt, but was also scratching an itch:

(MAG191) ARCHIVIST: That’s not how it works! MARTIN: [WARNING] Jon… ARCHIVIST: What? She’s talking complete rubbish! UNNAMED: Have you been there, then? Have you fled through the endless cabinets, the… the labels that cut you? The things that “put you in your place”? ARCHIVIST: No… UNNAMED: So you don’t know! ARCHIVIST: But I’ve seen it! I know it. UNNAMED: Oh, you “know it”, do you? Did it bleed you? ARCHIVIST: No, but that’s not actually– UNNAMED: Then you don’t know it. And you’re not getting my name. ARCHIVIST: … Fine. … Sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.

It was very “early series Jon” to argue like this! The difference between Jon being able to “see” and “know”… but Unnamed accusing him of not truly understanding it, because he had not experienced it like she did, was a nice touch? We’re used to seeing Jon as the Archivist, who goes through other people’s experiences and experiences their fears, but I’m not sure it’s still something he fundamentally does in season 5; he witnesses, he understands, he feeds from the pain, but is it a terror he experiences as such, does Beholding still feeds from Jon’s vicarious process? Is it the same understanding and experience, between Jon who knows and feeds from it, and from someone who was actively tortured by it and still has to suffer from the effects of it? And regardless of the answers: I do understand Unnamed’s annoyance that someone who admitted he had not been trapped in her domain would know about how bad it was, when she still had to deal with the consequences and lasting ptsd afterwards.

- I love how Unnamed was a bit brusque, refused the social niceties of exchanging names… and wasn’t especially mean overall. It was just one thing she feared, and one thing to respect about her. She offered food and explained how things worked!

(MAG191) UNNAMED: [SIGH] Would you like some food? We have… tins. And biscuits. Although the biscuits are really old. MARTIN: What’s in the “tins”? UNNAMED: Food. MARTIN: [IRRITATED] What food? UNNAMED: Depends. Most of the labels are gone! Yesterday, I got black beans. MARTIN: Oh, right. And that’s… good? UNNAMED: Mm–hmm! […] Are you coming? MARTIN: Yes, yes! Lead the way… you? UNNAMED: Of course.

And she warned them about the biscuits. Those ones were from Leitner’s stash, probably?

- The little panic when Jon heard that Georgie&Melanie were “gone”… Though it had already been pointed out that they tended to isolate for a while.

(MAG190) CELIA: [SIGH] [ANXIOUS] I don’t like it. They’ve been gone too long. LAVERNE: They’re fine. Sometimes they take a while. It’s hardly the longest they’ve been gone, is it? […] Besides! You know that they sometimes go to a side tunnel for “private contemplation”. I think it’s sweet. CELIA: [PETULANT] They can contemplate privately here…! LAVERNE: Can they? There’s not exactly many doors down here. CELIA: No, I guess… […] MELANIE: [SIGH] It’s why we head out so much. Sometimes we actually are scouting, or gathering, but half the time… I just need to get away. [INHALE] If I didn’t have Georgie, I think I might just snap and beat them all to death…

(MAG191) ARCHIVIST: [INHALE] So… Georgie and Melanie, a–are they…? UNNAMED: They’re gone. ARCHIVIST: Wh…? UNNAMED: Out. They, they often go out. Sometimes they bring people back, but usually they just… go, for a while.

Melanie needing her Alone Time, uh.

- Still with that vocabulary of Georgie&Melanie having their own “path”…

(Season 5 Act III Trailer) UNNAMED: They haven’t been gone long. ARUN: You know they walk the path. No harm can come to them. CELIA: I know, I just… I…! [FRUSTRATED SIGH]

(MAG190) LAVERNE: Celia… just trust them. “They walk this world above the nightmare. It will not take them.”

(MAG191) MARTIN: O…kay, eh! Do you know when they’ll be back? UNNAMED: No. They walk their own path.

- I wonder what is up with Jon…

(MAG189) ARCHIVIST: [BROKENLY] I do not, I– … I’m just feeling a little bit woozy, all right? I–I can’t quite think straight, like at, hum… Oh, M–Martin, y–you remember?

(MAG190) GEORGIE: Martin said you knew everything now. ARCHIVIST: Not everything. [INHALE] Between the tunnels, and your and Melanie’s… position relative to The Eye… I’m a bit in the dark, here. […] GEORGIE: Look. We’re all tired, and you still seem a little… disoriented by the tunnels. Let’s get some rest. We can talk about next moves tomorrow.

(MAG191) ARCHIVIST: Any chance you could bring me something back? I’m… feeling a little bit shaky. MARTIN: Do you need to make a statement? ARCHIVIST: Actually… no, I… I haven’t since we got down here…! I suppose it must be the tunnels. Nice to be a bit more… in control, although… it does feel… odd.

Was Martin’s question about the need to “make a statement” the right one? In season 5, Jon “makes statement” indeed: they pour out like an excess, because he’s surrounded by suffering and has to do this to not be overwhelmed. But Jon saying he feels “shaky”, being weak and tired… actually sounds like his old withdrawal symptoms when he needed to read or take a statement – not “make”. Is it what he would theoretically need, right now…? Or will the mundane food do the trick…? I’m still wondering whether he’s actually feeding from people’s fears of being thrown back into their domains, at the moment…

It’s also the second time that Jon mentioned feeling more “in control”, although in an absolutely different situation:

(MAG164) MARTIN: You’ve been knowing a lot lately. ARCHIVIST: … Yes. MARTIN: A lot more than you used to. ARCHIVIST: Y… [SIGH] Yeah. And it, it feels more… deliberate. L–like I have more control now.

Back at the start of the season, because he was more powerful; right now, because he has less access to his powers.

- Progress! Martin accepted the likelihood of beans, this time.

(MAG190) MARTIN: Oh, food, eh! What’s on the menu? LAVERNE: Cold baked beans. MARTIN: … Maybe later.

(MAG191) UNNAMED: Depends. Most of the labels are gone! Yesterday, I got black beans. MARTIN: Oh, right. And that’s… good? UNNAMED: Mm–hmm!

- I’m DELIGHTED that Arun and Martin met alone, what a DISASTER! Also, another tape recorder spawning and clicking on on its own, and it was explicitly said that Arun was bringing that one with him (it’s sometimes unclear who is carrying them). It was kinda cute that Arun identified the strange new object as potentially belonging to the strange newcomers.

That whole exchange *screams*

(MAG191) ARUN: [INHALE] Uh… Martin? MARTIN: Yeah? Oh, s–sorry, I, I… didn’t catch you name. ARUN: Arun. MARTIN: Hi, Arun. What’s up? ARUN: Sorry, ju–, hum, just, hum… did you lose a tape recorder? I found this… Oh… Huh. MARTIN: Yeah, it wasn’t on when you found it, right? ARUN: No, uh… MARTIN: [SLIGHT CHUCKLE] ARUN: Is it yours? I haven’t seen it before, I thought it might be. MARTIN: Kind of, I guess? They follow us around a bit. ARUN: … Really? MARTIN: Oh, y–you don’t need to worry! It’s been happening for ages, b–before the world changed, even. You can just ignore them. ARUN: Since before the end? MARTIN: Yeah, it’s… it’s kind of a long story.

Big reminder that the tape recorders have been following Jon&Martin around for a while, that it’s not normal (although they’ve long got used to it). With this scene, and Jon pointing out to Georgie that yes, the tape recorders were mostly invested in him and Martin last episode, it feels like we’re getting close to an answer about what they are and why they record some things and not others?

- I like how, yeah, Arun was plain annoying from the start and clearly the most vocal about the cult aspect… but also not stupid:

(MAG191) MARTIN: Yeah, it’s… it’s kind of a long story. Ask the prophets, if you want, they’ll explain. [MARTIN TURNS AND STEPS AWAY] ARUN: You don’t believe in them, do you? In their power? MARTIN: I… knew them in the old days. ARUN: So did Laverne…! MARTIN: Yeah, I, I realise that, just– … Look, it’s complicated, okay? It’s just a big pile of stuff that no-one understands. ARUN: [POINTEDLY] I understand they are able to walk through this world without fear or danger. MARTIN: [EXHALES HIS IRRITATION] ARUN: I understand they saved us.

He did pick up on Martin not being convinced, and as Laverne had pointed out… the cult seems to be a way to make sense of the world; their only personal gain, with it, is to not give up to despair. Obvious, it’s bad to project and to pour their hopes into Melanie&Georgie, to delude themselves about their powers and pseudo-significance! But fundamentally, it’s about hurt and broken people trying to cling to something that gives them hope, and which is constructed on a few lies. It’s just sad.

- Kudos to Martin for sensing that anything he could say would potentially backfire, though.

(MAG191) MARTIN: Ask the prophets, if you want, they’ll explain. […] Look, you, you should really talk to them about it, okay? I… don’t want to say the wrong thing.

But really, that was the WORST possible interaction ever.

(MAG191) MARTIN: [NOISES OF DISBELIEF] Okay! Well… You’re rude. ARUN: I’m a poet. I speak the truth! MARTIN: Yeah? Well… your truth is rude!

Martin, until now identified as ~the poet~, and likely not ever thinking he was saying the truth. (I do wonder whether Arun was absolutely serious about it… or actually playful about it?)

Overall, it was awful, I loved it, and it also hurt since Arun was insufferable and at the same time kiiiinda made a few potentially accurate points about Jon&Martin – from their behaviour, it does sound like they’ve been looking down on the survivors for their beliefs:

(MAG190) MELANIE: [INHALE] If I didn’t have Georgie, I think I might just snap and beat them all to death… MARTIN: Sounds like they’d probably thank you for your wisdom, if you did that. MELANIE: [CHUCKLE] … Stop. We shouldn’t talk about them like this, they, they are good people. MARTIN: Sure. MELANIE: It’s just… hard not to look down on people when they put you up on a pedestal like that!

(MAG191) ARUN: I know you look at us like we’re idiots. MARTIN: [SNORT] ARUN: You pity us…! MARTIN: That’s not true. ARUN: Liar!

Plainly, because Jon&Martin didn’t like it. And it’s understandable! But still. It’s just people who’ve been hurt, all around.

- At the very least, Arun had a point when he questioned what Jon&Martin were, why they had come, why the tape recorders were specifically following them:

(MAG191) ARUN: Liar! [RAISED VOICE] Who are you? MARTIN: [EXASPERATED SIGH] ARUN: Just appearing from nowhere with… phantom tape recorders just scuttling in your wake? Why are you here?

I’m eyeing a LOT that description of the tape recorders as “scuttling”, which has been a very spidery term in the series………………… (Ghost spiders, ghost spiders.)

- Congrats to Martin for getting another tape recorder.

(MAG191) MARTIN: [AGITATED] We’re here to save the world! Okay? Right? If you want more than that… go ask your prophets, okay? Now just… give me that…! [GRABS RECORDER] [CLICK.]

Accumulating a collection by himself, uh?

- I don’t know what to expect from the cultists/survivors! I feel like right now, they do fulfil a clear role and make a few points: they show us how the domains impacted and wounded normal people, and how these traumatised people interact with the world afterwards. Some have lost parts of themselves and are constantly anxious (Celia). Some are a bit paranoid, still apply the logic of domains to the world even if it means hiding parts of themselves from others (Unnamed). Some resort to religious beliefs, trying to find meaning and leaders afterwards (Arun). It wouldn’t have been this powerful if Jon had described these reactions as hypotheticals, or if Melanie&Georgie had described the people they had saved – we indeed needed to see the survivors themselves, a few of their own thoughts and behaviours, to truly appreciate it.

It could be serving as a glimpse at what would/will happen to the world if Jon&Martin manage to banish the Fears – it wouldn’t be a reset, people would still remember and feel the consequences of the terrible things they have suffered from. It could also be preparing something on a lower scale, the survivors panicking and turning on Jon&Martin, taking a risk and actually dooming them all… but I don’t know, I’m feeling that one less and less? I do feel the tension, it sure feels like something is ready to snap, but the tension itself serves a few purposes already (showing how Jon&Martin have some trouble interacting with other people, how it’s hard for everyone since they’re all carrying heavy baggage). What I’m expecting is that Melanie&Georgie might finally admit that they lied about the vision, but I’m not even sure that this would lead to something absolutely awful? (Outside of the survivors being crushed.)

(- What I’m especially curious about, re:Arun… is that he’s the only one of the four from the trailer who hasn’t spilled anything about the kind of place he was trapped in. Celia had her name taken from her (and apparently a few bits of herself); Laverne was in a Spiral maze; Unnamed was in a place that was forcing her to try and fit where she couldn’t fit. But as of now, we know nothing about Arun’s experience: it’s also why I’m pretty willing to give him the benefits of the doubt, and not expect something actively malicious or sinister from him – mostly expecting him to be another wounded person trying to cope.)

- Martin brought back “TinsTM” /o/ Martin immediately summarising the general feeling:

(MAG191) (MAG191) [DOOR OPENS] ARCHIVIST: Any sign of them? [TINS ARE PLACED DOWN] MARTIN: No, but… the others say it’s pretty normal for them to be gone this long. ARCHIVIST: Right… [CUTLERY SOUNDS] MARTIN: That said, the, uh… “locals” are getting restless. ARCHIVIST: Mm. MARTIN: I–I get the impression our welcome isn’t exactly… unconditional.

… was giving the impression that yep, next episode, they’ll try to leave already, that they can’t really stay any longer.

- Worried about Jon’s state, since he was already feeling fuzzy although they had juuuust arrived. Martin found that it was comparatively better than at Salesa’s, but at the same time, they have just arrived in the tunnels…

(MAG191) MARTIN: How’s the, uh… fuzziness? ARCHIVIST: … It’s alright. Comes and goes. MARTIN: Yeah, you don’t seem as bad as you were at Salesa’s. Hopefully you won’t forget everything as soon as you leave the tunnels…! ARCHIVIST: I don’t… think I will, it was worse there. Though, you know, obviously… MARTIN: You– ARCHIVIST: I– MARTIN&ARCHIVIST: –don’t remember…! [SILENCE]

Jon&Martin being intimate and ending the sentence, almost like it’s a joke… ;w;

- That’s indeed a lot of pressure:

(MAG191) ARCHIVIST: So, what do you think? You reckon they’re going to help? MARTIN: [INHALE] I mean… they’ve got to, right? You, you’re basically humanity’s only hope! [CHUCKLE] ARCHIVIST: Oh, I mean… Okay, hum… [NERVOUS CHUCKLE] I hadn’t really… MARTIN: Oh, so–sorry! That’s probably a bit too much pressure, yeah? ARCHIVIST: A, a bit?

And SOB, because it reminded me of The Unknowing and the subsequent crushing realisations:

(MAG093) GEORGIE: Jonathan Sims, are you trying to save the world? ARCHIVIST: I… Yeah. I… I guess I am.

(MAG117) ARCHIVIST: So, I–I guess… some time in the next few days, I go on a… [NERVOUS CHUCKLE] commando mission to blow up a wax museum. … It’s not exactly what I was expecting. Fro–from an archiving job.

(MAG126) ARCHIVIST: … I remembered Gertrude’s notebook; we found it alongside the plastic explosives, but it rather got lost amongst the business of… [SIGH] saving the world at the cost of two lives…

(MAG150) ARCHIVIST: What about The Unknowing? We, we saved the world! MELANIE: Did we? I… I mean, I–I think it was the right thing to do, but how many people were killed to do it? We, we weren’t even a neutral party; we did it as agents of The Eye, because Elias told us to.

The last few times Jon had thought he was the only one able to save the world, it turned out that the world wouldn’t have been destroyed in the first place – the rituals wouldn’t have worked. It might still be a bit hard to even try to believe that they can save the world, now…

- Aouch that in the middle of uncertainties, Jon was at least sure of Georgie’s thought-process:

(MAG191) ARCHIVIST: I don’t know. [INHALE] I know how Georgie gets about people in her care. If she thinks helping us will endanger them… MARTIN: [INHALE] Yeah. Melanie too. ARCHIVIST: Mm.

… because he was familiar with both sides of it. Georgie had been ride-or-die with him when she sheltered him in season 3, protecting him from the police; she also rejected him when she identified him as a potential danger. And right now, Jon isn’t in her care anymore, unlike the survivors, so… he can guess whom she would prioritise.

- So the tunnels have changed again!

(MAG191) MARTIN: … And you’re sure we can’t… find the way up on our own? ARCHIVIST: Probably not. [INHALE] I’m cut off down here, and the layout seems… different to before.

Jon had mentioned multiple times that he had trouble orientating himself in the tunnels, that his connection was dimmed:

(MAG114) BASIRA: Don’t think either of us like it down here. ARCHIVIST: Uh, well, no, me neither. Feels… DAISY: Empty. ARCHIVIST: Yeah.

(MAG152) ARCHIVIST: … I’ve been wondering what they were doing down here. Though they must have been down here for… weeks, months maybe; spreading, growing. They could have spread all the way through these tunnels, but they didn’t. They didn’t find Leitner down here, didn’t find… Gertrude’s body. Didn’t find… whatever else is here. HELEN: It is a maze. One of the reasons I like it. ARCHIVIST: Mm. [SILENCE] … I can’t see things properly here. I thought it was just me, something interfering with my connection to The Eye, but… I’m wondering. Maybe it affects everything else. Like this place is some kind of… “universal blind spot”. Everyone gets lost, down here.

So it’s not a surprise that it’s still the case.

- YIKES about the fact that The Eye had been calling for Jon?!

(MAG191) MARTIN: The Eye isn’t, like… calling you, or something? ARCHIVIST: Oh, no i–it is. But I can’t get a… clear reading on it down here, i–it’s kind of maddening, actually? Like… being on a street you almost remember but… can’t find on a map.

Jon, you hadn’t said!! Was it a thing since MAG162, when Jon decided to leave the cabin?

(MAG162) ARCHIVIST: “This place wishes to be our tomb. But The Eye does not wish that. No. [STATIC RISES] The Eye wishes instead that it be my chrysalis. [WOODEN CREAKING SOUND] It is time that I emerge…” […] No, no, lo–look… I, I–I was listening, and I–I was filled with this… hatred. This anger; I–I wanted to leave, and hunt down Elias, a–and…! MARTIN: W–wow, okay… ARCHIVIST: But, when I thought it… the–there was… [WOODEN CREAKING SOUND] There was something else. Th–this place, it… it didn’t want me, it… [WOODEN CREAKING SOUND] didn’t want us to go.

I’m having feelings over Jon exposing it as a very background thing, that he’s apparently been fighting/resisting without making it obvious. Jon…

(And: is it The Eye? Or is it……… Elias……………… since he had “called” for Jon to allow him to reach the Panopticon………. and Fanshawe’s letter had also “called” to Jon in MAG127………)

- So Jon&Martin need a guide in the tunnels; Laverne already had gone to have a look at the “stairs” according to the trailer (and Melanie&Georgie will decide to help at the end of the episode)… I wonder who will guide them, since there are multiple candidates?

- Screaming in Archivists.

(MAG191) ARCHIVIST: Yeah, but… [SIGH] Without a guide, we could be wandering a long time. And apparently, there are things wandering about there as well that… might put up some resistance. MARTIN: Yeah. Laverne mentioned. Do you know what they are? ARCHIVIST: Yep! [INHALE] They’re, hum… They’re Archivists. MARTIN: … Come again?

* GODSDAMNIT.

* Zombies. We’re getting basically zombies in the tunnels.

* Martin’s reaction was Me.

* I’m not absolutely sure that the Archivists = Watchers mentioned in the trailer? The way they had been introduced, the Watchers sounded more like guardians, or at least stationary:

(Season 5 Act III Trailer) LAVERNE: No. But… there were more watchers. CELIA: What do you mean “more”? There’s two, one each side! LAVERNE: Not anymore. I didn’t get a good look, but… there must have been four, or five.

But here Jon describes the Archivists as “wandering”. Have they begun to move around with his arrival, or are those two different things?

- The lore!! We’re getting lore!!

(MAG191) ARCHIVIST: Did you ever listen to Gertrude’s interview with, uh, Sergeant Heller? MARTIN: Oh, pff…! That’s a blast from the past. Uh… I think so? Uh… World War Two, right? Under Alexandria? Saw some monster with a wei– … ARCHIVIST: Mm–hmm. MARTIN: … eye. Right. ARCHIVIST: I’m not the first Archivist. Not by a long way. Most of the others died like Gertrude, but some… lingered. And, well… let’s just say I’m not the only one that feels the Panopticon calling.

* It’s interesting that Martin could remember this tape since… it was one from Jon’s hidden stash in season 2 (since he was hiding from his “official” tapes that he had a deal with Basira and was investigating Gertrude’s murder through her, and later Daisy). It’s not new, since Martin had told Daisy in MAG142 that he had listened to her statement about her colleague who disappeared into the Coffin (MAG061’s), and that one had been given when Daisy brought one of Gertrude’s tapes to Jon – so that recording would have gone in the secret stash too. Still, interesting to hear that Martin did get his hands on all these unofficial tapes at some point? Jon, you didn’t hide them well.

* Martin, you have a good memory!

* ;; So Gertrude had been right about the creature being an old Archivist…

(MAG053) GERTRUDE: Regardless, I have further follow-up of my own to do. My biggest concern right now is whatever creature Mr Heller encountered down there. It was… 56 years ago. But if it’s still alive, I should be careful. What was it? A guardian of some sort or perhaps… perhaps it too was… once an Archivist.

* Gertrude had blown that place up:

(MAG053) GERTRUDE: And… did you replace the grate? WALTER: The– The– The– the what? GERTRUDE: The bronze grate, over the entrance to the Archive. Did you replace it when you fled? WALTER: Oh, yeah, yes… Yes, I think I did. […] GERTRUDE: Thank you, Walter. Now. Uh, I– I need to check some maps with you, but I don’t think we need that on tape. Are you all right here for now? […] ARCHIVIST: Mr Heller died from a stroke in 2004, making follow-up on this tape… difficult. I’ve found a news article from March 1998, six months after this statement was taken. It reports an explosion in Alexandria, which destroyed several buildings in the vicinity of Pompey’s Pillar, and killed 17 people. Official investigation determined it to be a gas mains explosion, but… I wonder. Gertrude Robinson is not who I thought she was.

So unless that “only” sealed the creature into its underground hideout, that one Archivist from Alexandria was likely killed/destroyed and not part of the party here. (Think about it, you linger for centuries and centuries, and you fail to survive for the last twenty years before the apocalypse. Close call!)

* I wonder if the guardian of Johann von Würtemberg’s tomb also came to the Institute, or if it had been neutralised…

* Jonah had mentioned that the “Archivist” role was an old one…

(MAG160, Jonah Magnus) “You see, the role of Archivist has been part of The Beholding for as far back as my research can go. This isn’t uncommon for the Powers: most of the beliefs around them are guesswork and fallible human interpretation, but there are certain… throughlines and consistencies that can be spotted, regardless of the trappings.”

And I still wonder: how come this one is working roughly the same? With the avatars we’ve met, their powers manifested mostly how they felt they should; but Jon didn’t know anything about it, and yet ended up with the same powers as Gertrude (compulsion, the dreams) as part of the function, and that’s something rather unique? Elias’s Beholding powers are extremely different, and were tailored to his own experience with the Panopticon, for example; avatars of The Eye are not fundamentally Archivists. How does one become an “Archivist”?

- I can’t believe that YET AGAIN, these lines from Elias found a way to feel even crueller:

(MAG092) ELIAS: … You’re worried about ending up like that thing, lurking in the dirt under the streets of Alexandria? Don’t be. Just do what you need to do, and you’ll be fine. Understood?

Because: as an Archivist, barring premature death, Jon would have absolutely ended up like that creature. But the point was for Jon to not be like the other ones – and to indeed be Elias’s “Archives”, serving for his ritual… and thus leading to Jon’s different status in the apocalypse.

- I think this is the first time since MAG160 that Jon has identified himself as an “Archivist”? In season 4, he was using the title when introducing the statement (“Jonathan Sims, the Archivist.”) but, due to the nature of the statements in season 5, it’s not something we’ve been hearing anymore. He’s been called various titles by other avatars, but didn’t use it himself… and it’s a bit reassuring that he’s still including himself amongst the “Archivists”, and NOT presenting himself as an “Archive” – like Jonah had described him in his letter. (MAG160: “Because the thing about the Archivist is that… well: it’s a bit of a misnomer. It might, perhaps, be better named “the Archive”. Because you do not administer and preserve the records of fear, Jon – you are a record of fear. Both in mind, as you walk the shuddering dread of each statement; and in body, as the Powers each leave their mark upon you. You are a living chronicle of terror.”)

- é_è Martin finally asking the question that he had begun to ask at Upton House…

(MAG181) MARTIN: Yeah, but if… [INHALE] If you’re that connected, that… dependent, what happens if we actually, y’know, do manage to– ARCHIVIST: We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. For now, I just need us to be moving on. MARTIN: Hm…

(MAG186) ALSO MARTIN: I’m saying there aren’t any easy solutions. We have no idea what’s going to happen. Even if we make it to the tower, we don’t know there’ll be a fix. And if by some miracle there is, we both know the price will be awful. […] Jon’s as bad as we are. He wouldn’t let it happen. MARTIN: It’s not his decision. ALSO MARTIN: Fine. So flip that round, then. What are you going to do when he tries to sacrifice himself, because you know he’s going to try? MARTIN: I don’t know all right? [SIGH] I don’t know. ALSO MARTIN: And that’s okay for now, but I just want us to have thought about this stuff properly before it comes up. Because even if that’s not it, chances are it’ll be something else you don’t want to do, and we need to make a proper choice. We can’t just react out of shame or fear or whatever.

(MAG191) MARTIN: … Jon. If… When we defeat The Eye, the Fears… What happens to you? [SILENCE] ARCHIVIST: Nothing good. I think it depends on what actually happens. If we figure out a way to defeat them, banish them somehow, kick them out of our reality and back to where they came from, I might… survive? I think I’d stay more or less like this; w–weaker, but fundamentally… still an avatar in a world where the Fears are… once again lurking on the edges. MARTIN: … But I assume that’s the best case scenario? ARCHIVIST: Depends on your point of view, I guess. In the long term all we’d have done is… bought some more time. … If, however, we… find a way to destroy or, uh… eliminate the Powers… I’m not going to be okay. There’s… too much of me that’s part of The Eye now. I don’t… know what would be left of me without it. Maybe I just… die. Maybe I survive, but I–I lose… something. My identity? My mind? My… memories? I don’t know.

* I like that Jon still pointed out to Martin that what he wanted to label as the “best case scenario” (where Jon could still manage through statements like before) would still be horrible depending on the person answering: Jon had just exposed that it would be a world like before… so still a world with people getting hurt and losing loved ones. (And it would also be a world where the apocalypse already happened once: there could be other Jonahs ready to pursue it again.)

* I would eliminate this possibility from the get-go since Jon had already pointed out at the start of the season that the place where the Fears came from didn’t exist anymore:

(MAG164) MARTIN: Can we turn the world back? [STATIC RISES, STRONG] ARCHIVIST: Wow! Hum… I–if the Fears are removed, yes; but they–they can’t be destroyed while there are still… people to fear them; th–then they can’t be banished back to the space where they came from, it’s not… there anymore, I… Oh! Uh…

So. Aouch. Not getting that.

* Jon admitting for the first time that successfully dealing with the Fears will cause his degradation/disappearance huuuurt but I’m glad he has said it and shared the thought T___T We were suspecting that it could happen, I mostly wanted Jon&Martin to communicate about it and not be taken by surprise if it were to happen…

* I’m especially glad, in a way, that Jon has thought about what he could lose and reached the conclusion that it would probably affect what makes him “him”, and especially his memories. It’s something he might have been wondering about since Upton House? (I sure have been wondering about it since Upton House, so I’m glad that he also thought about it, although it’s heartbreaking…)

- So much fabric rustling this episode, so many hugs…

(MAG191) [FABRIC RUSTLES AS THEY EMBRACE] MARTIN: [LONG EXHALE]

- Cries again for Jon having understood that there was a risk that Martin would want to preserve Jon even to the point of keeping the world doomed…

(MAG191) ARCHIVIST: Martin, when the time comes, I need you to promise me that you won’t try to stop me. MARTIN: … I promise. I love you, Jon. ARCHIVIST: [FOND HUFF] I love you too. MARTIN: But I’m not going to doom the world over it. ARCHIVIST: … Thank you.

And I’m not 100% sure whether or not Martin was absolutely sincere. Technically, he did point out that his own limit would be specifically drawing the line at having to pull the trigger:

(MAG186) MARTIN: [GRIMLY] Tea. Please. [FLASK IS UNSCREWED AGAIN] [TEA SOUNDS ENSUE] So. This price. What do you think? Are we going to have to kill Jon? ALSO MARTIN: … I don’t know, because you don’t know. But… it seems like something we should at least consider. MARTIN: … I… have thought about it, and… I won’t. I, I don’t think I could…! ALSO MARTIN: Mmhmm. MARTIN: But anything else? Any other price? I’ll pay it. ALSO MARTIN: Even dying? MARTIN: Yeah! ALSO MARTIN: Jon’s as bad as we are. He wouldn’t let it happen.

… not necessarily at the whole concept of Jon having to die. So, Martin wasn’t contradicting what he had previously said, technically.

It was also good that Martin got to check about Jon’s intentions, since he had been explained, at some point, how Jon tends to do risky “heroic” things as a form of self-harm:

(MAG142) DAISY: And of course, for Jon, there’s survivor’s guilt in there, too. He thinks he’s not human. Makes him very… self-destructive. MARTIN: Yeah, well. We’ve all had trauma. DAISY: And everyone’s changed.

(MAG191) MARTIN: [INHALE] And you have to promise me that you’re going to do everything in your power to live. That you’re not going to… sacrifice yourself at the first opportunity, just because you feel guilty about what happened. ARCHIVIST: [BREATH] … I promise. MARTIN: [EXHALE] Good.

So it was extremely valid of Martin to make sure that Jon wouldn’t try to sacrifice himself as a punishment – not anymore.

(I’m noting that they haven’t discussed the possibility where they wouldn’t manage anything. We know that Martin made his decision in MAG186, that he would ask Jon to kill him, to stop feeding from people in his domain. But he’s yet to talk to Jon about that…)

- THAT WAS INDEED SUPER HEAVY…

(MAG191) MARTIN: … God, I hate these conversations. ARCHIVIST: Yeah…! [INHALE] Heavy stuff. [LONG EXHALE] MARTIN: I miss small talk. ARCHIVIST: We could talk about the weather for a bit, i–if you like? MARTIN: [SNORT] Bit difficult underground. ARCHIVIST: True. In that case I might… see if I can get a bit more sleep. Rest up a bit before, uh… you know. MARTIN: Sure. ARCHIVIST: Wake me if they get back? MARTIN: Of course.

Please, go back to talking about poetry or something too ;w;

So, as we left them in the episode: Jon was gathering his strength… and for once, Martin was watching over him.

I’M IN PRE-EMPTIVE PAIN. I know it’s going to end horribly, but aaaaaah ;; Jon laying down the futures he has envisioned for himself, and none of them being good… Jon having to think about the possibility that he could be wasting away and losing himself… it was just incredibly sad? ;;

- Fourth sequence, and given how the dialogue sound level was consistent: it sounded like the tape recorder was physically on Melanie or Georgie, not on the bench itself? There was no variation from the moment they were walking to the moment they sat. It’s interesting that, now, the tape recorders are able to spy on them – even though this is far from the first time they go outside, yet the recorders hadn’t listened in on them for the entire season until now…

- Apocalyptic London soundscaping! It had felt like a while – we only heard it in MAG188 and MAG189, but that was two months ago. I like when some places become immediately recognisable through the sound effects, like Beholding!London or the tunnels’ echo? Back in the days, I was extremely fond of the clock ticking in the background indicating Elias’s office.

(MAG191) [CLICK–] [FOOTSTEPS AND CANE TAPS AS MELANIE AND GEORGIE ARE ABOVE GROUND; URBAN DRONE SOUNDS ABOUND] MELANIE: I do wonder how healthy it is. Going to see him like that. GEORGIE: I know, but… it helps me. I think. MELANIE: It certainly sounded pretty nasty. GEORGIE: Well, it didn’t look too much better.

When Melanie&Georgie were mentioned to be out, I had not thought it would be for the Admiral ;; I had assumed it was to get some Alone Time and discuss the recent changes with Jon&Martin’s arrival, or to stock up on supplies since the group has become bigger – though in this case, their little trip outside served multiple purposes. Somehow, I had assumed that the Admiral’s domain would be a bit hard to access or even removed from London, since Georgie had mentioned she only went to see him occasionally (MAG190: “I go to see him sometimes. I think he’s happy, in his way. But, hum… It’s hard to see him like that. He didn’t even know I was there.”), but on the other hand, Jon had pointed out that there were micro-domains in London that weren’t pure Beholding (MAG188: “It’s the seat of The Eye…! The other powers have small enclaves within in, but… it’s going to be a lot.”). There is something very touching in the fact that Jon&Martin brought change (their mere presence, the fact that they have powers and are on a quest to try to stop this, the tape recorders following them) and Georgie went to see the Admiral again, as if clinging to a companion, a familiar presence… even though he has also changed a great deal?

- I love that Melanie asked the right questions about the bench.

(MAG191) GEORGIE: Uh, there’s a, a bench here, to your left. Do you mind? [DRONE FLYING] MELANIE: Unoccupied? GEORGIE: For now. Come on. MELANIE: Sure.

Big Extinction Couch flashbacks.

(MAG175) MARTIN: You know what? [FOOTSTEPS STOP] I am sitting down. ARCHIVIST: [CHUCKLE] Are you… sure, that thing is… That’s not in great shape. MARTIN: Neither am I. I have been on my feet for a literally uncountable amount of time. [FOOTSTEPS] [BAG JOSTLING] [SHUFFLING] [CREAKING, WITH DAMP SPLOSHES] MARTIN: Mmhph… ARCHIVIST: [CLIPPED] How is it? MARTIN: … Great…! It’s great. [WET SQUEAK] Lovely couch.

^We know how awful places to sit can be since the Change.

- Apart from the brief moment Melanie found Georgie at the end of MAG149, this was the first time we hear them talk by themselves and for themselves, and I’m grateful for that! It helped to see how they normally interact: asking questions about themselves and their own actions and situations, expressing their own thoughts aloud, bouncing ideas and feelings around… And I love that we can feel that they indeed know each other well at this point, with Melanie picking up right away on the fact that Georgie was actually upset:

(MAG191) MELANIE: Everything’s a bit… shit. Isn’t it? GEORGIE: Not everything. [DRONE FLYING] MELANIE: … How did he look? GEORGIE: He’s happy, I think. Does that… Does that make him evil? MELANIE: It makes him a cat. GEORGIE: And, I mean… sure it’s not a great look for Battersea but, watching it… it’s just the gorier bits of a nature documentary on repeat. MELANIE: There’s nothing natural about this, though. GEORGIE: … No. [SILENCE] MELANIE: We could still pull him out. Y’know, like, like the others. GEORGIE: No, no… It… it hurts to see him like that, but… he’s safer there. If we took him, we’d just be putting him in danger. We might even be putting the others in danger from him.

* Melanie going straight at it with the Admiral – because “not everything” being shit still means, in their situation, that most things are, and they had just gone out to allow Georgie to take a look at her fluffball.

* Georgie’s question about whether the Admiral was “evil” was a bit heartwrenching… because it’s how she had referred to an End avatar with Oliver:

(MAG121) OLIVER: Oh…. Uh, right. H–have I upset you, miss? GEORGIE: [INTERRUPTING] No, you just remind me of someone. OLIVER: Aaah, I’m sorry. Were they– GEORGIE: Evil. Yes.

Georgie having a black and white view of morality and trouble cataloguing the Admiral within that system…

* I like how Melanie’s overall dryness also allows her to be firm and rational about a few things? It’s a case where we can understand why Georgie is upset (her companion is terrorising others and feeding from their fears, while he used to be her domesticated pet), but Melanie’s reminder is also noteworthy – is the Admiral even able of moral reasoning? Listen to Season 4’s Q&A for Jonny’s stance on the subject.

* (And I love that it settles on: he’s still a cat, acting as a cat, and enjoying being a predator. Doesn’t make him evil. But the circumstances in themselves have “nothing natural” about them, and that’s still their main problem.)

* ;; That was a nice echo to Jon mentioning earlier in the episode how Georgie is with “people in her care”: right now, there is still the group of predators to protect, so as much Georgie might love the Admiral… still a risk. Same thing as with Jon before, and Georgie trying to get him out in order to protect Melanie.

- Was that a frigging reference to the Giant Crab That Lives Under The Archives meme.

(MAG191) MELANIE: [SIGH] You’re not still going on about that… dream of a giant, murderous tunnel-cat, are you? GEORGIE: [CHUCKLE] MELANIE: You know you’re not actually a prophet, hon?

Because it sure sounded like it. (Also, Georgie’s dreams are cool.)

Once again, I’m super happy that we heard Georgie and Melanie interact mundanely!! Because they sound like an old married couple, too, now! The little endearing “hon” and tender needling while reminding Georgie that no, her dreams are not prophetic and they don’t know what would truly happen if they brought the Admiral back with them. I also like that it wasn’t one-sided and that both were able to contextualise in order to comfort the other at different point:

(MAG191) GEORGIE: And it’s not like the tunnels have gotten any safer with them hanging around. MELANIE: It just feels crap, you know? Doing nothing. GEORGIE: We’re surviving. And… trying to help others do the same. That’s not nothing. MELANIE: True. Even if it feels like it sometimes.

Melanie reminding Georgie that the Admiral is a cat by nature, Georgie reminding Melanie that “surviving” is still something (and a lot, given the current world). It was also a nice view of their respective personal weak spots – Georgie, the companion she lost; Melanie, her frustration at perceiving herself as useless and static at the moment.

- Loving the transition from the Admiral to Jon.

(MAG191) GEORGIE: [SIGH] I still care about him, you know. But… getting involved will only make things worse. MELANIE: We’d better still be talking about the Admiral. GEORGIE: [INHALE] Jon’s… doing his best.

Jon Is A Cat. (And Melanie absolutely understands that, since she understood the transition.)

- I love that both Melanie and Georgie are absolutely aware that no, Jon didn’t want the apocalypse to happen and shouldn’t be held responsible for it…

(MAG190) GEORGIE: … Melanie reckons you’re the reason… all this happened, whole apocalypse thing. ARCHIVIST: [INHALE] She’s… not wrong. GEORGIE: [LONG EXHALATION] ARCHIVIST: I was… the catalyst, I–I didn’t… Elias– Jonah Magnus used me. GEORGIE: Well, obviously. Even Melanie doesn’t think you’d have been stupid enough to do this on purpose.

(MAG191) GEORGIE: It’s not his fault…! It’s not like he wanted it to happen. [DRONE FLYING] MELANIE: I know that! Right? I know. I know, but the… the truth is, I just don’t like him. I never have, and I am sick of people acting like I should feel so super-sympathetic towards him, just because he’s had a rough time of it. I’ve had a rough time of it from the second I met him! We all have! And he doesn’t– GEORGIE: Oh, honey… [SIGH] MELANIE: … Okay. I can still hate him, even if I don’t, y’know, blame him but… [FRUSTRATED EXHALE]

But also!! That Melanie!! Doesn’t like him! That Melanie is allowed to dislike him for her own reasons! I love that she’s allowed to feel that, to remind us that things also went downhill for her, and that she’s not presenting it as a competition in misery? Jon is our main character, we’ve witnessed his hurdles and only got a glimpse of the others’, so I appreciate the reminders that they’re the main characters of their own stories.

Still! My heart sobs a bit because I also like the concept of Melanie&Jon as potential friends (they were absolute nerds together in MAG076), and Melanie had offered the possibility at the end of season 4 (MAG157: “It’s, it’s okay. He’s… welcome. As a friend. But that’s it.”)… but once again, circumstances aren’t ideal and it’s a bit of a “things could have been different” in another universe, probably? Or even in this one, if Melanie had a chance to keep working on herself and her self-hate? (And, for little details as to why she could be annoyed at Jon at the moment: Jon haaaas been kind of an ass around her since they reunited – teasing about the cult while it was an obvious tender spot for Melanie wasn’t super sensitive of him. It’s Jon’s sense of humour! But it doesn’t have to work with everyone.)

- Aouch, I had mused and joked about Jon&Melanie’s common points (matching shoulder scars! Dating Georgie! Very passionate in their own fields about the supernatural! Jon pointing out that he also knew how it is to be looked down on by peers! Both tending to go it alone and to rely on themselves, having a hard time trusting, clamming up when they’re hurt!), but Melanie’s acknowledgement of it was heartbreaking:

(MAG191) GEORGIE: You know… you’re actually quite similar. MELANIE: Well, then at least I hate consistently. GEORGIE: … You should really talk to Laverne about that. MELANIE: Oh, trust me, it came up. Day one, I think. GEORGIE: [SAD SOUND OF UNDERSTANDING]

MELANIE ;___; It breaks my heart but also wow, I’m grateful for that punch, and super happy that she is aware of it, of how she works, that it ALREADY came up in therapy, right away… (I wonder if Melanie’s self-hatred came up in therapy right away, or specifically the fact that she was projecting her self-hatred on Jon. I’m cackling again at Laverne suddenly realising that Jon was “the” Jon Sims, as in Melanie’s old boss.)

- I LOVE MELANIE!! I love how she made it clear that 1°) yes, she’s aware that Jon didn’t doom the world on purpose or willingly, 2°) no, she still doesn’t like him, 3°) yes, she still thinks it would be the right thing to help him and offer him support. She’s allowed to have her personal feelings, to stick to them, but also to be rational about it and see that they need to collaborate if they hope to achieve something. And I love how it evolves into a conversation about what they could offer, concretely?

(MAG191) MELANIE: But all that said… we should still help them. GEORGIE: What could we even do for them if Jon’s some kind of… all-knowing demigod? MELANIE: Not down there. Martin says they can’t find a way up into the Institute. GEORGIE: Too risky. I told you about the things down near the stairs, right? MELANIE: I, uh, yeah.

Melanie is already aware of Jon’s weak spot, that he can’t know in the tunnels, and that they need help to reach the Institute!

I’mmm a bit curious about the logistics of things: first, it’s likely but not absolutely confirmed that the “Watchers” guarding the stairs are the Archivists Jon mentioned (notably, the first were described as if they are static, while Jon mentioned that the Archivists move around); second, I’m a bit curious about which stairs are the stairs that are alluded to (and where they lead):

(Season 5 Act III trailer) LAVERNE: I, uh… I got a bit too close to the stairs, yesterday.

(MAG191) GEORGIE: Too risky. I told you about the things down near the stairs, right?

It’s “down”: does that mean the Watchers are stationed at the bottom of the stairs, and the stairs are going up? It feels like the option that makes the most sense considering they are in the tunnels – and we know that the trapdoor in the Archives leading down to the tunnels was hiding stairs (Jon described them as such in MAG041). So it could be that set of stairs, leading up to the Archives. Another tiny possibility is that those stairs… are actually going down, deeper into the tunnels: towards where the Panopticon used to be? (It’s mostly that I tend to automatically picture said stairs as going “up”, back to the Institute/what is now the Panopstitute… but technically, this hasn’t been said any of the multiple times these stairs were mentioned. And we know that the tunnels had multiple levels, going deeper and deeper.)

… Whether the Watchers are the Archivists or those are two different things, though, I feel like Georgie’s wording was indeed reenforcing the idea that the Watchers were what caught and snatched back the survivors they had managed to free:

(Season 5 Act III trailer) LAVERNE: I, uh… I got a bit too close to the stairs, yesterday. [ANXIOUS NOISES] UNNAMED: [SHARPLY] Seriously? Did they see you? LAVERNE: No. But… there were more watchers. CELIA: What do you mean “more”? There’s two, one each side! LAVERNE: Not anymore. I didn’t get a good look, but… there must have been four, or five. […] ARUN: Have faith! The prophets shall protect us. UNNAMED: [SNORT] Like they protected Song and Christopher? LAVERNE: Hm. ARUN: That was our fault! UNNAMED: Uh–huh! ARUN: We became arrogant, attracted attention. They’re the Chosen, they’re not all-powerful.

(MAG190) GEORGIE: … There are seven with us now. [SIGH] It used to be more. A lot more. But, hum… we got greedy. Pulled too many out. We… attracted attention. And… well, now there are seven.

(MAG191) GEORGIE: Too risky. I told you about the things down near the stairs, right? MELANIE: I, uh, yeah. GEORGIE: We can’t afford to attract their attention.

They lost people because they “attracted attention”…

- I! love! Melanie!

(MAG191) GEORGIE: We can’t afford to attract their attention. MELANIE: … You’re doing it again. GEORGIE: [FRUSTRATED] Argh! MELANIE: Look, you–you’ve been doing so much better recently. I, I know it’s really hard to judge risk without a, a sense of fear– GEORGIE: But I am still… overcompensating. MELANIE: Well, I mean, not, not necessarily? It is dangerous. But…

I love that she bluntly pointed out to Georgie that she was “overcompensating” again, and given Georgie’s reaction, that she’s aware that she tends to do that, that she agrees about it, that she knows it’s not a good thing, and that she’s trying to work on it! Once again, it was really super cool to see Melanie&Georgie interact like this, because we could see they were familiar with each other’s way of thinking, of their own potential spirals, and are able to quickly put a stop to them.

And it makes so much sense for Georgie! It’s not a big reveal, it’s something we could feel: we knew she couldn’t feel fear, she had pointed out herself that she tended to be cautious to make up for her lack of fear:

(MAG094) GEORGIE: Since that day, I’ve never been able to feel afraid. My fear’s just… gone. I’m not foolhardy. I can still recognise danger, and I understand the likelihood of harm, but actual fear? Simply not something I experience anymore. And I’ve never been able to figure out if it was cauterised, or… if it was stolen.

But it’s so nice to see it acknowledged as a fallible adaptive strategy, still potentially hurtful for Georgie and the people around her. It also adds some flavour to how she behaved with Jon in season 4, trying to rationalise why she wanted to cut ties with him after having tangible proof that he was entangled with and surrounded by danger?

- I love Melanie ;___;

(MAG191) MELANIE: But… I, I don’t see another way out of this? And, and I don’t intend to spend the rest of eternity sleeping in a tunnel playing “mystery tin”…! GEORGIE: … Not even if it was just the two of us? MELANIE: [SIGH] Oh, okay… Y–yes. Well… maybe… [INHALE] I, I could handle that for a bit. But if there’s even a small chance we could put things back?

It was such a contrast with Salesa: Melanie unhappy with her situation, agreeing that it could easily be more agreeable (if she were to be alone with Georgie)… but also firm on the fact that their current life (and their options for how to lead it) is not enough. Salesa chose to keep living in his own little bubble, protected and safe, even if it’s a solitary life and has its shares of misery (Salesa probably wouldn’t be drinking alone in the morning if he was as happy as he claimed, and he knew his future, at some point, would be to die, either at Annabelle’s hands or by ending his life himself). Melanie and Georgie have the same kind of security, are more or less in the same situation (they could keep going like this, sheltered from most of the horrors), but are taking an absolutely different stance.

- I also like the tiny note about the fact they have “always” been involved…

(MAG191) GEORGIE: … [INHALE] You’re right. I know you’re right. I just hate getting involved…! MELANIE: We’ve always been involved. Right? GEORGIE: Yeah…

Because: on a personal level, they did encounter the Fears even before meeting Jon (Georgie in her first year of uni, Melanie during one of her recordings). They were both marked by Fears before any dealing with the Institute. And even before that, well… the Fears were already around? Have been around for centuries, maybe the beginning of times? And right now, it’s more explicitly everyone’s problem.

- Feelings about Melanie and agency…

(MAG106) ELIAS: Whatever I’m planning needs to be stopped! Even if it costs a few lives. Including your own. MELANIE: Well, that’s n–not even– ELIAS: A rationalisation, of course. A lie, about your own selfishness, that you would rather be dead than trapped without the self-determination you prize so highly.

(MAG117) MELANIE: But I’m still fighting. [SCOFF] For all the good it’s done me! Still stuck, still miserable, still… angry. [CHUCKLE] New traumas, but they hurt just like the old ones…!

(MAG150) MELANIE: I didn’t say I was going to quit. I said: I’m not going to do my job. No researching; no filing; no… field trips. Nothing that is going to help the Institute in any way. I’ll still be around, I just…

(MAG155) MELANIE: No, Jon. I’m going to do it. [BREATH] I’m quitting.

(MAG191) MELANIE: A–a–at least now it’s on our terms! This way, you can get back to podcasting about monsters… GEORGIE: [CHUCKLE] MELANIE: … rather than hiding from them.

It had been pointed out multiple times that Melanie valued her agency! I’m so glad that she’s conscious that this is her way to take it back, while the Change had once again dispossessed her of it ;w;

- GEORGIE, I CARE YOU.

(MAG191) GEORGIE: Urgh! Don’t. I was just… thinking about that yesterday. How much I legitimately miss those shitty ad reads. You know, everything happened just as I was recording one? MELANIE: Oh, god, yeah! Hum, what was it, uh… GEORGIE: [PODCASTER VOICE] “Slaughterville…” MELANIE: [HAPPILY] Yes! GEORGIE: “The Town of a Thousand Corpses”! MELANIE: [CHUCKLES] GEORGIE: Some god-awful true crime thing based in a, a Colorado town where there were meant to be like… three serial killers or something. MELANIE: Jesus. GEORGIE: I was so proud of the script I did for it as well! I thought I’d really nailed that schlocky pulp vibe without it being super obvious that I was making fun of them.

That’s indeed a thought: what were you doing when the world ended? At least, we know for Georgie, and it’s hilarious =D I love how she acknowledges her shitty ads – and that she makes them sound terrible on purpose.

(What’s with Georgie and Slaughter-related content, though? The WTG episode that had been released had already been Slaughter-y, given Jon’s comment in MAG125…)

(Genuine avatars sending their ads to Georgie to advertise their activities, and Georgie finding the stuff they do ridiculous…)

- That’s a lot of people Doing Things For An Audience, recently. Arun reading books or his own creations; Georgie reminiscing about her podcast and toying with the possibility of performing in front of the others; the tape recorders spying on everyone…

- Harsh return to reality with Arun’s creations, but also, very valid reminder and concern:

(MAG191) MELANIE: … Come on. We’d better head back. It’s… probably not a great idea leaving that lot with Jon and Martin unsupervised.

Indeed, the other survivors are nooot meshing super-well with Jon&Martin. (But Melanie&Georgie being in the mix is not a guarantee that things will calm down ;;)

- And so, we got their final decision!

(MAG191) MELANIE: So… we help them? GEORGIE: Well… We’re not going up the tower, but… yeah. I want my cat back. [CANE TAPPING AS THEY WALK OFF]

Indeed helping/providing assistance, but not going with them! And Georgie’s conclusion was BADASS and VALID – that’s indeed the only way for her to get the right conditions to get the Admiral back.

Given that they mentioned it, I’m assuming that they will bring Jon&Martin to the stairs with the Watchers? Or perhaps Laverne will? Would they work as a distraction, would they be even noticed by the Watchers…?

- General musing:

* She’s not joined with the group yet, but as an alternative to enter the Panopstitute… there might be Basira, too? She was inside of the building when the Change happened, and left without any problem. Jon said that right now, she had inherited Daisy’s ability to ~carve her way~ through others’ domains: would it allow her to enter the Panopstitute in the same way?

* We still don’t know what is Jon’s domain exactly – only that Jon&Martin were heading to it during their journey. Is it the Panopstitute? The Archives? Beholding itself at this point?

* I really wonder how Jon will interact with other Archivists… would they feel like he’s just one of them? Would they feel like he’s special even amongst them? Would they attack him because he’s full of stories (and akin to an “Archive”)? … How are they currently fed, exactly? Do they observe the domains outside, or do they have to rip stories out of people? Was it what happened to the survivors that Melanie&Georgie lost…?

Nine episodes left ;_;

MAG192’s title makes me think of two Big Meanings that could allude to various things. Domains’ rulers (Basira?), “Archivist” lore, statement from an Archivist? Elias, Rosie? Or something that is already slated to be happening (Annabelle implied to Martin they would see each other again soon-ish, when they left Upton house)? It’s been two episodes in a row without a “statement” in some form (which only happened as part of the climax in previous seasons), it feels so strange, too…

#tma liveblog #mag191 #tma season 5 #tma spoilers/#long post/#the magnus archives

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zalrb · 3 years

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What were your favourite childhood movies? I was rewatching the karate kid movies and the newest version is nowhere as good as the old one.

This list is kind of all over the place, haha, because some movies are movies I grew up with meant for my age group at the time and a lot of them aren’t because I was exposed to a lot of media as a kid, haha. I’m also jumping around in time

Lion King --- I had Just Can’t Wait To Be King on repeat, I’d rewind it again and again and just sing it until I had to go to my room because my mother had enough

Aladdin --- apparently I just went around going, “I’m not a prize to be won!”

Land Before Time --- this movie is so fucking depressing but I really liked Ducky --- like to the point that the reason why I go “yepyep” is because Ducky goes “yepyepyep” and I remember when I realized that, I was like holy shit is that why all these years I go “yep yep” and my family was like, lol yes. But then as an adult I found out what happened to that child actress and that just made the movie all the more depressing

The Breakfast Club --- I explained this yesterday I believe

Grease --- so my mother loved/loves Grease, she knows all the songs, can play most of them on the piano and we used to live across the street from this movie theatre that played old movies and Grease was a regular so we watched it a lot

Sixteen Candles --- I remember thinking this was so romantic as a kid. Super problematic movie tho

Titanic - ah yes, Titanic, Leonardo DiCaprio, my first celebrity love. Oh, I can’t stand this movie now, lmao

Lord of the Rings trilogy --- lmao so when the first movie came out, I was obsessed with the elves and Rivendell and I used to write my homework with swirly letters to look like elvish and my teachers complained so I had to get a talking to about it

Love and Basketball --- first Black love story I ever saw.

Back To The Future 1 and 2, lmao as John Mulaney pointed out, the first movie anyway is actually REALLY weird when you think about it

Bad Boys --- I mean Martin Lawrence and Will Smith were the shit back then so I just liked watching them in a movie together

The Best Man --- THIS is funny so the 90s and early 00s saw a lot of African American movies and my mother was all about getting me to see Black people onscreen as much as I could so she took me to these movies even if it wasn’t exactly kid appropriate, she would just make sure to have a conversation with me about the movie when it ended, anyway, so when I was a kid, I didn’t really get a lot of the nuances of The Best Man but when it came out on VHS and when the soundtrack came out we got it so we watched it a lot and there’s a song by The Roots that I really like and one day I was like, I don’t know why I like this song so much and my mom was like because they play that song when you see Morris Chestnut for the first time and I think you went through puberty in the theatre when you saw him and I just diiiiiiiiiiiiiiied

As an adult, The Best Man is fucked up and I would’ve kicked Harper’s ass as well but only because what he did as a writer was a fucking dick move.

Pretty Woman --- it took me a while to realize that she was a sex worker

You’ve Got Mail --- I remember watching this in the theatre with my mom and being SO FRUSTRATED because I just didn’t understand why Tom Hanks couldn’t tell Meg Ryan the truth.

Liar Liar --- I related to having an absentee dad who never made good on his promises but I also liked Jim Carey’s exaggerative facial expressions but I remember there’s this joke, so the whole premise is that Jim Carey didn’t show up to his son’s birthday when he said he would (relatable!) and his son was so tired of him breaking promises, he wishes that his father will never lie again but Jim Carey is a lawyer so that causes issues, lmfao, but anyway so Jim Carey can’t lie and he has sex with I think it’s his boss, I forget, but he has sex with someone and she’s like how was it? and he goes “I’ve had better” and every time that joke came on my family would CRACK UP so I kept being like “better what? GUYS WHAT DID HE HAVE BETTER OF? I DON’T GET IT” then my mom and I had a conversation, lmfao.

Goodfellas --- I remember my cousins watching this movie in the living room and I saw the scene of the gif I posted below and was like OH WHAT’S THIS and then they told me to go into the bedroom because it was too grown but it’s like they forgot there was a TV in the bedroom and I just turned it to the channel and watched it there. And the movie came on a lot on TV so I just watched it a lot by myself, lmfao.

Twin Warriors aka Tai Chi Master --- probably my favourite martial arts movie. I know there are better ones but I really resonated with this as a kid. Jet Li was a legend with my cousins.

Fist of Legend

Once Upon A Time in China

Romeo Must Die --- omg I played this movie ALL. THE. TIME.

Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon

Boyz N The Hood --- a really important movie in my household to the point that I was excited to be able to write a paper on it in the same Popular Cinema from the 70s to the Present class I did my Breakfast Club paper for

same with Do The Right Thing

Jumanji -- I fucking love how mean-spirited this movie is and I did appreciate it as a child too although it freaked me the fuck out

Clueless

Home Alone - god, Kevin’s family was terrible

Home Alone 2 --- ah the movie/scene that changed my life

House Party --- to this day I haven’t been to a house party as live as this one

Malcolm X --- another extremely important movie in my household

Hook --- ooooh I still love this movie so much!

Scream --- I remember when this movie was THE. SHIT. Scared the fuck out of me.

Hero --- this movie was so gorgeous

Rush Hour --- I would probably hate Rush Hour now tbh but whenever I hear “Fantasy” by Mariah Carey I think of the opening scene because I was Soo Young belting to Mariah Carey in the car, it was the best part of the movie for me as a kid because I was like I DO THAT TOO but then she gets kidnapped, so....

The Mummy --- CLASSIC

Gremlins

Hercules - DUH

The Godfather --- I rarely talk about my dad but he was very much into mob movies because he liked the way they dressed and carriedt themselves in these movies, especially in The Godfather so whenever I was with him, The Godfather was on a lot

He was also very much into comics, particularly Batman, so even though I don’t really care for DCU/MCU or comics, I’m more likely to go to a theatre (well pre-Covid) and pay to watch a Batman movie over any other comic movie - except Black Panther which is a huge exception because these Batman movies were a pat of my childhood

yes, even Batman and Robin, I even had the soundtrack, listening to Bone Thugs N Harmony on my bunk bed and shit.

Space Jam --- I recently watched the Movie Pitch for this and it had me hollering

Lean On Me --- I have complicated feelings about this movie now but I grew up watching it and I really liked it and the older I got the more I understood what the movie was actually about

Practical Magic --- I wanted to live in that house

Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone --- because it was real finally!

Armageddon -- I still love this horrible, nonsensical, illogical, terrible movie because it’s utterly fantastic and hilarious. As a child I didn’t understand this moment and why it was such a huge ask, as an adult I’m like YES. IF I SURVIVE SAVING THE WORLD I’M NOT DOING THIS, THE FUCK I LOOK LIKE?

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idkthisisjustforfanfic · 4 years

Photo

two years too late, chapter t w e l v e

If there was anything in this moment that you hated more than Harry, it was the fact that you’d navigated all the way out to JFK in the rain to accompany your friends back into the city.

Getting there was no easy feat in sunshine--but when the weather picked up and you made the trek on public transit, it seemed a bit too friendly for your current state of mind. Sure--they’d never been here before and maybe the subway system was a bit different from the tube or anything else they’d ridden overseas (rats eating pizza wasn’t unheard of, after all), but it still felt like a lot of effort to bring them all the way back over the bridge and part ways to avoid Harry altogether.

You knew you’d have to see him at some point, but a Friday night after a full week of work left you too tired to deal--especially when you spent the day before (the 14h day of February) using all of your power to not sucker punch any single person who even mentioned love or relationships or any type of positivity whatsoever.

Alyssa and Owen were the only exception--partially. She’d claimed it was too soon to do anything with him, but her tune changed when he happened to have tickets to a comedy show. She flew out the door with a scarf around her neck, promising to bring you any leftovers from dinner before she kissed you on the head.

Everyone else was excited for the wonderful week ahead. Jessie had texted a selfie of the four of them--cheeks pressed together in first class before take off--you responded before you realized Harry was in the chat. Alyssa was begging to see them tonight instead of tomorrow morning, seeing as she’d had many FaceTime encounters but never the real thing! But when Jake informed you only thirty minutes ago that they’d landed, you knew it’d be a while before they got through customs and made their way to you.

So you sighed, shoved your hands in your pockets and tried to ignore the echoing overhead voice of an airport worker. American Airlines Flight 1290 from Madrid: now at baggage claim 7.

But then there was a voice, a tap on your shoulder and you swiveled quickly, a pair of blue eyes and a five o’clock shadow smiled down at you. “Hi--sorry to bother you--are you Y/N L/N?”

A nod--you tried to find words, but confusion took over your tongue. You were used to being stopped by girls your own age--people who read your work or followed you on twitter. Every once in a while it happened to be a guy, but it had yet to be one as attractive as the blond head of hair in front of you. Adidas sweatpants, a backwards baseball hat on his head.

“Yeah, hi--” you pulled a hand from your pocket and offered it towards him. “Nice to meet you!”

“I’m Patrick Martin, I work for Digitize--we’re a social media firm over in Long Island City--I thought I recognized you from your picture on The Scoop.”

“Oh god,” you scrunched your nose, an immediate flood of embarrassment through your bones. “I did not know it was staff picture day and I never wear my hair like that--”

“It’s a beautiful picture,” he laughed, “really.” An awkward beat. “But I just wanted to say hi. We’ve done some stuff with Whitney Hall--d’you know her?”

“Oh yeah, she’s my editor! She’s fantastic.”

“Yeah!” He adjusted the shoulder strap of a duffle bag he carried. “She’s great--I didn’t mean to bother you but I’ll give you this,” he fiddled with his wallet, produced a small black card that had his name, email, and phone number. “If you’re ever interested in growing your online presence independently of a media outlet, we’re here for that.”

You took it in your hands and flipped it over. “Thank you--yeah, I’ll uh, I’ll be in touch.”

“I’d love to take you for coffee or something sometime.”

“Incoming!” A crash to your side, arms wrapped around you before a gap tooth smile was in front of your face, freckled cheeks red from the running she’d done to leave the others behind.

“We’ll get in touch online,” Patrick smiled, his eyes scanning over Jessie as she adjusted the jacket she wore.

“Sorry,” she laughed. “Didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“All good,” he said, his accent American and stark in contrast to Jessie’s. “Nice to meet you.”

“You too,” you offered a hand again, another smile when he turned and waved goodbye, a nod to your friends who’d undoubtedly cut him short.

When you turned to see them, a grin stretching towards your ears, Jake opened his arms. “Smalls in the flesh--in America--how cool is this?”

“Pretty fucking cool,” Adam answered, shoving past Jessie to wrap his arms around you. “Happy almost birthday!”

“Another two days of being twenty-three!” Bryn took her turn enveloping, she reached a hand up to smooth your hair from Jessie’s crash landing. “Gettin’ old, yeah?”

You rolled your eyes. “Feels that way! You all got through customs that easily?”

“For fuck’s sake, Smalls, don’t say it like they should search us again,” Jake looked over his shoulder, hoping no one would decide to give them a harder time than they’d apparently gotten.

“M’not! M’not, I was just prepared to wait a lot longer.”

“Well we’ve got to get our bags and then we’re all yours!” Jessie offered another grin, taking a few steps towards the carousel that would soon spit out their belongings.

“All Harry’s tonight, actually.”

“Oh god,” she let out a groan, her arms crossed over her chest quickly. “Is this some type of split custody thing? Mom and dad fighting again?”

“Very funny,” you made a face at her, “you’re staying at his cause I don’t have the room--and I’m tired. Worked a whole week, you know. Big story on my hands.”

They didn’t ask, luckily. A shrill noise came from the carousel, it started moving and soon delivered all seven items they’d been waiting for. Four suitcases, two duffle bags. Jake and Adam lugged them off one by one, dropping them by their feet until Bryn pointed to each one. “That’s all of them!”

“Alright,” you said, pulling out your phone. You figured that it’d be easiest to just take the AirTrain over towards the A Train--right up through Brooklyn and home by 9pm. “We’ll take the shuttle thing over here,” you pointed in the direction of the doors, leading them out to a concourse where cars had already lined up for their arriving passengers.

When you crossed the threshold, Adam pointed towards a man with a sign. “Think that’s for us?”

Jessie, Jake, Bryn, Adam, Y/N--a big white board in Roger’s hands.

“Oh thank god!” Jessie immediately moved towards the big SUV--windows so dark you couldn’t see inside.

“What are you doing here?” You tried to hide the disappointment--and anger--in your voice.

Roger offered a smile, clearly unaware of the recent developments. “He said it might be a tough trip back with all of these,” a gesture to the bags by your feet as he started to push them into the open trunk.

“No--we’re taking the subway!” Your feet were planted on the gum-stained cement, hands back in your pockets to protect from the unforgiving wind.

“Not if we have this option we’re not,” Bryn smiled over her shoulder, a look in her eyes pleaded with you to just roll with it. You stood, still, watching as they climbed one by one into the waiting vehicle.

“S’fine--he’s just being nice,” Jake came and tugged at your arm, his voice low enough so the others wouldn’t hear.

“Headed to yours or to Harry’s?” Roger asked, the last of the bag fitting perfectly against the others--Roger had apparently played airport Tetris before.

“Harry’s please!” Jake answered quickly, giving you a gentle shove towards the back row of seats. You did it begrudgingly. You settled in between he and Bryn--too stubborn to admit that the subway would have sucked.

So you listened to them laugh about the fancy toilets in first class--Bryn had tried to eat her weight in peanuts and Adam was asleep before they even taxied the runway. Jessie listed off the things she wanted to do and Jake begged for dinner as soon as you crossed over the Manhattan bridge.

When Roger pulled up to the big glass doors on Greenwich St, you climbed out alongside them, arms crossed as you watched them all try to pull their suitcases from the mountain Roger had built.

“Good?” Jake reached up to shut the trunk after taking one last look. Jessie moved towards the entrance, the doors parting to reveal a hooded Harry, he didn’t even look at you.

“Hi lovie!” Jessie wrapped her arms around his neck, Roger offered a wave before climbing back into the car, promising to see you soon while Harry offered hugs.

“Coming inside?” Adam turned to watch you over his shoulder, a gust of wind blew hair in front of your face.

“M’exhausted--breakfast in the morning?”

“Y/N are you serious? We just flew ourselves all the way over the ocean to see you and you’re going to sleep?”

“What? I just--I worked, I dunno.”

“Come up for tea, at least,” his voice was smaller than the others, a shrug of his shoulders, his hands hidden in the middle pocket of his jumper. Fleeting eye contact, another gust of wind that seemed to kickstart Adam into motion.

“Yeah, tea, Smallsy, come on,” he was the first to make a move, he picked up his luggage and headed for the door, Harry’s eyes still on you.

If Roger hadn’t already driven away--his assumption that you’d also be staying the night only spoke to how out of the loop he was--you wouldn’t have followed them in past Mark, offering a wave before Harry swiped into the elevator.

“This is so fucking fancy,” Jessie giggled, her face only a few inches from yours.

You reached for your phone in your pocket, composing a desperate plea to Alyssa as the lift rose up to Harry’s floor.

Come to Harry’s--stuck here for a while. Pls!!!!

They did the same oohing and aahing that you had done--wide eyes tracing circles around the room. The high ceilings, the hardwood floor, the art on the walls and the rug on the floor.

Harry headed for the stove to put on a kettle, he told you to show them the two extra bedrooms.

“This one has a king so--if Jake and Adam are going to be weird about being in one bed and wanting to build a pillow wall between them, this should be theirs.”

“We already decided to alternate each night between the bed and the couch,” Jake laughed, earning an eye roll from Bryn.

“You’re both fucking wankers--you’re not going to accidentally touch willies in the middle of the night.”

“Girls down here,” you ignored their bickering, flipping on the lights in the farthest bedroom, navy walls and a white duvet.

“M’gonna change really quick!” Jessie dropped a duffle onto the bed, unzipping it when Jake spoke from the doorway behind you.

“Yeah I’ve gotta wee!”

They all seemed to disappear into their rooms, changing, using the loo, inconveniently leaving you to walk back to the living room alone, a message on your phone informed that Alyssa was on her way.

“Milk?”

“Hmm?” You looked up from your phone, swallowed down the anxiety when you realized it was just the two of you.

“In your tea--milk?”

“Yeah.”

He already had six cups out--each with a tea bag resting inside. He rested his hands on the counter, lips parted as if he was about to speak, when the kettle whistled.

“Much better!” Jessie appeared in sweatpants, her hair up on top of her head. “I smell like airplane, but I'll live.”

Harry pushed a teacup towards you on the counter, lips in a thin line when you picked it up and locked eyes with him.

“You alright?” Jessie watched him closely, he cleared his throat when he realized she was referring to the way he was looking at you.

“Yeah--just, uh, tired. Had a bunch of meetings today.”

You had no clue if that was true or not--it’d been a week since you’d last seen him, a week since you knew what he was doing or where he was. A week since you’d stood in his living room with tears on your cheeks and anger in your veins.

“Both of you, Jesus. Want us to fly home?”

“No,” you said. “We’re fine. So tell me about the meeting you had with the programme director. You like him?”

“I mean,” Jessie let out a laugh, reaching for her own cup before walking to join you on the couch. “He’s a total babe. Terribly smart, I think, too.”

“Most important part is that he’s single and his last wife died--” Bryn emerged from the loo, her face a mix of amusement and mockery.

“Well if he was divorced that would be a red flag,” Jessie tried to reason.

“But you’re excited to start?” Harry came around to the living room, he sat in a chair opposite you, his eyes on Jessie has if nothing happened. It almost felt like you were back at square one--back to a time where your feelings were a secret and like you’d never even dream of being honest with him.

July 2014

“I can’t believe he made us come all the way down to London when they played in Manchester the other night,” Jessie looked at herself in her front camera, using the pad of her forefinger to wipe lipstick from her teeth. When she looked up at you, her eyebrows furrowed. “Can’t believe you’re not mad at him, honestly.”

“Oh relax,” you said, a strange energy seemed to spread through you, starting in your core and out towards your fingers when you reached down to pat her on the shoulder.

She was seated on a couch--one in a green room somewhere inside the winding corridors of London’s O2 Area--Bryn was too busy trying to flirt with someone’s sister. Cool air blew through the overhead vents--a steady hum that did a good job of masking the buzzing in your veins.

You’d all done the math in the car on the trip down, a whole six months since you’d seen him in passing over Christmas. A quick hello at Annie’s--his last day in town before he was heading on vacation with his mum.

Sure--maybe your friends expected you to be less than thrilled to see the boy you once dreamed about, but things felt different. Mature and grown up and far removed from the sad 15-year-old he’d left behind.

And besides, there was Charlie.

“We just found a signed picture of Jennifer Lopez in the hallway,” Jake’s voice was low and measured, as if he expected you to be just as excited as they were. Charlie and Adam nodded beside him, their eyes wide with excitement.

“She’s so hot,” the words fell out of Charlie’s mouth without much thought, clearly.

“Right,” you said, a quick nod as if it didn’t sting--as if you didn’t practice calling Harry three times in Bryn’s bedroom to ask for another ticket for your boyfriend.

Is it serious--like, you really like him? Harry’d asked on the phone like it was any of his business.

Super serious, you’d said, as if alliteration had your back. He might be the one.

So he tagged along, given a fair warning at your parents’ house that morning that he wasn’t allowed to take the piss or give Harry an ounce of shit--after all, Charlie wasn’t the biggest fan of boy bands. He’d made that clear the minute he found out that your heart held a special place for the five-piece group.

There was commotion from the other side of the room--people stirring when a door opened, Jessie stood from the couch.

His hair was long--longer than the last time you’d seen him, part of it pulled up on top in an elastic as he locked eyes with Jake. A black silk shirt, unbuttoned low enough to see a bit too much of his chest--especially if you were running with the whole no feelings whatsoever idea.

“Hey man,” he pulled Adam in for a hug, both their hands patting the other on the back before releasing Harry to greet the rest of you. He made his rounds, finding you and Charlie last. One hand in his pocket before sticking out the right one for him to shake. “Nice to meet you,” he said. “M’Harry.”

“Charlie,” he nodded. “Thanks for having us.”

He brought his eyes to you, lips curled into a small smirk, dimpled cheeks. “Smalls,” he opened his arms, letting you get a good whiff of whatever cologne he now wore.

“How was the drive down?”

“Terribly long,” Jessie complained, her shoulders slumping. “Why couldn’t we come to Manchester?”

“Because--I told you--this is the better show to come to. Everyone brings friends in London. Better after parties, too,” he let an arm snake around Jessie’s shoulders, smiling down at her with raised brows.

“Like--with famous people?”

“If you’re lucky--heard Ed Sheeran might come say hello at some point. David Beckham, too.”

“Fine,” Jessie said quickly, not missing a beat. “That would be cool.”

“Always so composed, Jess,” Jake teased.

Harry’s assistant--he had his own now, not just one he shared with the other boys--offered cocktails, something to hold in hand while you made smalltalk with the friends of the other boys. The kids who grew up next door to Niall, Louis’ siblings and Liam’s best friend from college.

It was nice to be in a room with other people who knew what it felt like to be left behind. Maybe they didn’t all label it like that, but you knew that they understood what it was like to wonder about the next time you’d see your friend.

You reached for another drink the second Harry got you alone, a question about how you met Charlie.

“Lived on my floor during my first year. We were friends for a while--or, in the same friend group, I guess.”

He nodded, he elbow resting on top of a water cooler he made a face before letting words slip from between his lips slowly. “He seems...nice.”

“What?” You laughed, “what is it? How could you not like him when you’ve spoken like ten words to him all night?”

“I never said that!” He smiled, raising a hand in the air in defense. “Just--dunno--hope he’s not a tosser.”

You let out a small laugh, a space filler while you tried to gather your thoughts, or rather, your emotions. The idea that Harry cared about who you dated sent a spark through your system, but the rationalizing that soon kicked in--it’s because you’re friends, he’s just being nice--seemed to put out whatever fire had been momentarily ignited.

After a while he was pulled away by someone whose job it was to manage his time--warm ups in another room and maybe one last puff of hairspray. You were left with the others to consume more alcohol, eventually led to your seats by men in bright yellow shirts with flashlights.

Charlie was entertained enough--he laughed with Jake and Adam and clapped for the opening act. He made a face at the screams when the lights went down again, but even Jessie typically pulled something similar.

Ten songs, three more drinks, and a small bladder eventually had you wandering the corridors alone, tracing your way back to the room with the oriental rug and comfy couches. When you found the peaceful quiet of bottled waters and granola bars on the counter, you found yourself taking your time--staring at yourself in the mirror when you washed your hands.

“Hi,” Bryn’s voice sounded from behind you. “Y’alright?”

“Yeah,” you said, a solemn nod. “Just--kind of weird, you know, to have them in the same place.”

She hummed, coming to rest a head on your shoulders. “I figured.”

“I really like him, you know?”

“Harry?”

“Charlie!” You rolled your eyes, but a piece of you knew that Bryn’s words weren’t false. You turned around to lean against the counter. “He’s great--he’s funny. I just--I dunno. I hope at some point I stop wondering about the what ifs.”

There were tears in your eyes--a small enough amount that you could claim it was an eyelash or a yawn, but with Bryn, you didn’t feel the need to. “You will,” she reassured.

“And besides--s’a pretty good way to make them both jealous. Bring your new boyfriend to the concert of your friend who’s a rockstar? If Harry has half a mind, it’ll make both of them pretty antsy.”

You laughed, unsure of if inspiring jealousy was what you were going for. If anything, at this point, you wanted peace. Maybe things with Harry would never happen--after four years, it was safe to say that he’d moved on from your small town. Maybe another four years and you’d never see him again, save for tabloid covers in Sainsbury’s.

“What’s up?” Jessie asked, leaning against the door from the greenroom. The bass line thumped through the cement wall--you were sure your eyeliner was smudged.

“Just realizing she’s still not over Harry,” Bryn said quickly, no emotion in her words--as if it was as simple as discussing the weather.

“Bryn!”

“Y/N,” Jessie seemed to laugh a little, coming over to brush your hair with her fingers. “Charlie’s great--he’s funny and he’s handsome and he’s--”

“Not Harry,” Bryn said, a shrug of her shoulders when you looked up at her with narrowed eyes.

“He’s great though, she’s right,” you said, enough conviction to convince yourself that you actually believed it. “Who cares if he’s not the one--he can be fun for now, yeah?”

“Yeah,” they said.

Locked arms when you went back to your seats, wristbands granting you access to the floor with ease. When you found Charlie you let him wrap his arms around you, hoping that one day, he’d be enough to erase the memories of the boy on stage.

“Thank god you’re here,” you greeted Alyssa right in front of the lift, voice low enough so the others couldn’t hear you.

She shrugged off her jacket and made a face. “That bad?”

“Hi Lyss,” Harry’s voice echoed over Bryn’s laughter--they all turned their attention towards your roommate as she smoothed out her blouse.

“Hi,” she said. “Nice to finally meet you all!”

“Welcome, welcome,” Jessie laughed. “Many a FaceTime call!”

Harry seemed to watch in silence as you took your place back on the couch--Alyssa settling onto the carpet before looking up at him, a closed lip smile was the only interaction between the two.

It didn’t feel as bad as you thought it would--or maybe it was the glass of wine that Bryn poured you an hour later. That paired with the laughter that laced itself through conversation left your heartbeat steady, easily ignoring the fact that Harry’s eyes would linger a second too long every time you spoke.

Jake went off to bed first--claiming dramatically that his body really thought the sun should be rising. Adam made him promise to construct a sturdy enough pillow wall--Bryn once again pointed out their subtle homophobia with a raise of her wine glass. Twats, she said, once Adam left the room.

But she was next to fall, slumping down the hallway while Jessie sang along to whatever song Alyssa played from her phone. So once you’d decided it was time to head out, Jessie disappeared into a dark bedroom and Alyssa used the toilet--leaving you to trail behind Harry as you brought tea cups and wine glasses back to the sink.

“I hope it’s okay that they’re here.”

“Them?” You threw a thumb over your shoulder--reality setting in when you realized you’d yet to actually communicate with him about the birthday surprise. Anger fought its way up your throat. “S’fine--they’re my best friends.”

“Yeah,” he said, the next words came lazily out of his mouth like an afterthought. “Mine too.”

Back to the living room to get your coat, pulling it over your shoulders as if he hadn’t followed behind you, watching quietly when you scooped your hair out from the jacket.

“Maybe we can talk in a few days. I know they’re here, but, you didn’t even hear me out.”

“Hear you out? You were seeing two girls at once and you want me to hear you out?”

The door to the loo shut--Alyssa appeared in the hallway but faltered when both you and Harry took a step back from each other.

“Relax,” she said, her eyes wide for a second as she came to meet you near the door. “S’just me. I know you broke up.”

You rolled your eyes at that--Harry’s expression was calm. “I’ll see you in the morning?” His voice was hopeful--his eyes watched yours for any sign of emotion.

“Maybe--Jessie wants to do Times Square so I doubt you can come. And besides, we still need to minimize the amount we’re seen together. If people see you with them and then me with them they’ll start to put things together before--you know.”

“Before what?”

“Before I can figure out the story and telling Whitney, alright? If we have to be sneaky about this so people don’t know that I’ve known you forever--I vote that you’re the one to hide.”

His head tilted to the side, as if you’d started speaking a foreign language. “Hide?”

Alyssa slung her purse over her shoulder.

“Yes, hide. You can hang out with us but you’re on your own for making sure you don’t draw attention to us. This is my birthday gift, yeah?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, a sigh from between his lips when he looked to Alyssa. “Thanks for coming.”

She offered an awkward smile--you wondered what she’d say to him if you weren’t there, how they’d interact just the two of them.

“See ya,” you tugged Alyssa by the coat sleeve into the lift. You pressed a button and shut the door between you, welcoming the bitter air on the sidewalk. Quiet on the walk home--you would have taken the subway or called a car, but Alyssa probably knew you needed the silence.

A direct message on twitter that night when you climbed into bed. You didn’t even know Pat--his name sounded familiar and you trusted that he had to be decent at his job if Whitney had worked with him, but when you agreed to meet him for coffee next week, you wondered what it would feel like to love someone that wasn’t Harry.

You hoped one day you’d know.

The neon glow of Times Square was much more impressive at night, so the five of you stood in the center of a cement island, taxis and buses honking beside you as Jessie and Adam stared up with open mouths.

“S’brighter than I imagined,” Jake said, pulling the hood of his jacket up over his ears. “So much electricity.”

“S’beautiful,” Jessie cooed, the reflection of the lights bounced off her irises. When she turned to look at you, she wrapped an arm around yours. “Thanks for taking us.”

“My pleasure,” you laughed. “You come less and less to touristy things when you live here. S’like how we stopped doing the Eye or riding the double deckers.”

“Right,” Bryn laughed, a shopping bag in her right hand. “Or how we wouldn’t let Jake take any more pictures with the guards at Buckingham Palace.”

“They’re funny,” he defended, shooting Bryn a look of anger before resting an arm on her shoulders.

Adam looked around the group of you, a smile on his face when his eyes landed on yours. “Glad we’re here, Smalls.”

“Yeah,” Jessie said. “I can see why you like it so much.”

“Can see why you don’t want to come home,” Bryn added, another sweeping gaze of the billboards above. She counted the colors, pinks, blues, greens, yellows, reds. A cup of coffee sitting on the red chairs scattered about, laughing at costumes and watching the people who’d pass by.

After a good hour and a half you navigated over to Hell’s Kitchen, walking through side streets to find the restaurant that Harry had chosen.

Don’t see why he gets to choose, s’my birthday dinner, you complained as your boots shuffled along the sidewalk.

He’s paying, Bryn reminded. That’s why.

You were sat in a back room, wine was poured before Harry appeared in the doorway, shrugging out of his jacket before placing it on the seat across from you.

“Sorry,” he said, “had a meeting. Happy birthday.”

“S’not my birthday yet,” you sipped at the Cabernet that’d been offered, setting it on the table before giving him a challenging glare.

“S’your birthday dinner, though. A day and a half early, if you can forgive me,” a hand to his heart before Bryn raised a glass.

“Here’s to Y/N--kicking ass in New York City and carving out an amazing career for herself.”

“You’re probably the coolest person who lives in New York, Smalls,” Jake lifted his glass and let it hit yours, a scowl came across Harry’s face as he held his wine in the air.

“Was I even up for consideration?” He asked, a playful frown on his face.

Jake tilted his head. “Of coolest people who live in New York?”

You rolled your eyes--now wasn’t the time for his sensitivity. “M’the one who actually lives here, Harry.”

“Is the rent I pay not enough to convince you that I live here too?”

“Not when you jet set off to LA or London for a week just because you feel like it.”

“So business travel? That automatically disqualifies someone from considering themselves a resident just because they travel for business? Probably disqualifies half the population then.”

Adam tensed beside you, an awkward sip of his cocktail when he looked at Jessie to say something.

“What type of visa do you have?” You asked, leaning forward to rest your elbows on the table.

“What? I don’t know--my manager handles that for me.”

“I have an H1B, extendable to six years,” you said matter-of-factly. Jessie’s eyes were wide as she sucked some sangria through a straw.

“Alright,” Bryn tried to hold up a hand, unable to steer you down the right path.

“Well I don’t think the American government is going to kick me out any time soon.”

“They will if you lie to them,” you narrowed your eyes, a bit too much emotion in your voice.

“Do you need us to leave?” Bryn’s voice was quiet but snarky, Harry’s head snapped over to her and he picked up his wine, leaning back in his chair.

“No,” you both said at the same time--but you pushed back from the table and cleared your throat. “I’m using the loo.”

You heard Jessie say something about going after you, Harry’s voice stopped her, I’ll go.

You walked straight into the single bathroom in the back, shoes clicking on the shiny floor. A waterfall sink and polished copper faucet reminded you of the caliber of restaurant this was. Too fancy of a bathroom to cry in.

There was a knock on the door. “Let me in, Y/N, let me talk to you.”

You opened the door quickly, pushing your head through the crack to see him waiting in the dimly lit hallway. “No--I’m not doing this here.”

“You don’t want to do it anywhere, apparently.”

“Exactly,” you went to shut the door, his hand reached up to stop you from shutting it, fingers gripped around the oak.

“Two minutes,” he said. “Just give me two minutes to explain something to you.”

You let out a sigh, hoping to calm your pulse before you pulled open the door and let him take two steps inside. He shut it behind him.

“Go.”

“I just--I was seeing her, casually, yes. But the only reason I saw her after we got back here was to say I couldn’t see her again. I told her it was done.”

You pushed out your lips in thought, a head tilt to show him you meant business. “Did you sleep with her?”

“No.”

“Did you talk to her all the time?”

“No, Y/N. We had dinner and hung out with some friends and sure we kind of hooked up but we didn’t have sex.”

“Did she keep a deodorant in your bathroom?”

“What? No,” he laughed, a step towards you, hand on your arm. “I saw her maybe five times--I don’t know, it wasn’t--it wasn’t anything serious.” A pause, shifted weight on his feet.

“We’re not--we can’t do this Harry,” you said, kicking a boot against the black marble floor. “This never should have happened.”

“How do you figure that?”

“Because it would have worked by now if it was supposed to! It would have happened a long time ago! I was in love with you. I waited for you to come home and I hoped that one day you’d love me back. But it’s too late. I was here living my life on my own and you don’t get to just pop in and out whenever you please.”

He watched you, almost as if you’d laugh and say you were only kidding. Like a simple smile or a joke could take all of it back, wash it clean, and restart.

“So what, then?”

“So what? So nothing. I shouldn’t have slept with you--it was...unprofessional.”

His chest deflated, a huff of air through his lips when he scratched at the back of his neck, tired and confused. The door swung open and Jake stood, blond quiff of hair reflecting the overhead light, eyes glancing between the two of you.

“You’re lucky I fought Jessie off to come back here because they’re all bloody suspicious. So if you’re still keen on keeping this a secret,” a finger waved in the air between you, “you should get back to the table.”

“You know?” Harry’s head swiveled around, eyes locking on Jake’s.

“Of course I know--I’m surprised they’re all daft enough to not know, really.”

You rolled your eyes, giving Harry a shove out of your way before passing between them, wiping beneath your eyes to hide any evidence of emotion. Bryn’s posture straightened when you got back to the table, her voice a quiet whisper so Harry wouldn’t hear.

“Are you alright? What on earth is going on between you two?”

“Nothing,” you said, pulling your napkin back onto your lap. “He’s just a twat--you know how it is.”

Her eyes narrowed, Jessie listened--uncharacteristically quiet. Adam typed away on his phone, as if the entire scene hadn’t just come to close with Harry and Jake back at the table, slumping in their chairs when the server asked if another round was needed.

“Yes,” all six of you said in unison.

come talk to me about tytl

read the other parts here

AN: again this is kind of short but I wanted to update for y’all!!!!

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