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yikes-strikes-again · 4 years

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rating: gen word count: 2271 tags: angst, hurt/comfort, light on the comfort part, canon compliant, the slaughter, the corruption, season 5 spoilers, episode: e163, spoilers for episode: e163, spooky eye powers summary: Martin learns exactly what happens if Jon doesn't give his statements. Inspired by a line from episode 177. Takes place between episodes 163 and 164.

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Buried in the wreckage of the blasted wasteland, a typewriter began clicking rapidly.

With soles caked in mud, they crunched through what must have been leagues of the trenches - though, obviously, there was no way to tell. No way to tell how far they had traveled or how far they had yet to go. The Panopticon-Institute remained on the horizon, ever-distant and always looming.

The sounds of war were not far away. Once in a while, artillery fire would tear the silence apart, ripping through the walls of bunkers and causing a throbbing, painful ringing in the ears. Jon and Martin would hold onto each other for support, though often they would still fall into the wet and sloshing ground, caking their clothing in another layer of grime. But here, the danger was less immediate than it was miles ago. Slower, in wounds rather than weapons.

Countless soldiers nursed the bandaged stumps of lost limbs, ones either amputated or blown off. In the case of the former, the procedure rarely prevented infection from spreading through the victim’s veins with each beat of their heart, or cleanly excised the deepest strains of necrotized tissue. They knew this, of course. They knew that they would only get sicker, and the knowledge terrorized them even more than the certain death that lay not a meter above.

Clouds of flies thicker than pudding swarmed around the dead. Well, one hoped they were dead. It was hard to tell when everyone seemed to be on the verge of permanent collapse, either from mortal injury, illness, or an overdose of grief. It didn’t matter why - when someone laid down in this place, they never got up again.

It was calmer on this side of the trenches. Quieter. But in the quelling of the chaos, it gave Martin a chance to process how awful it all was, and that was worse.

He looked at Jon. If he had to guess, he’d say that Jon was faring worse than Martin was. There was a hard set to his shoulders, and he spoke little save to warn Martin of danger or obstacles. When he did speak, his voice was terse and irritable. Martin rarely got a glimpse of his eyes, but when he did, he saw that Jon’s pupils were erratic and searching.

Both of them had been quiet for days, weeks perhaps, ever since Jon had ranted like a madman in that bunker, surrounded by all those catatonic people. Martin didn’t understand why he had to do that, why he was compelled to speak of all the awful things that were already upon them, only that something bad would happen if he didn’t. He had made it clear that Jon would find no audience for his ramblings in Martin, and Jon had accommodated that thus far.

Martin stopped at the turn of the trench, finding a more gentle slope of the wall to rest his shoulder upon, though the soil was damp and rancid-smelling. He didn't feel fatigue, but his shoes were not meant for hiking, and they were uncomfortable. He was soaked to the bone, filthy, and freezing cold, and he really wanted to know when he could stop being that way.

Jon stopped so suddenly that his boots skidded on the mud and he had to sway to keep his balance.

“What is it now, Martin?”

There was no resignation to his voice, no apathy or even frustration, unlike before. Just pure, stifled anger, and the cryptic storm brewing from behind his eyes.

Martin looked at him pleadingly. “Can’t you tell me anything about how long we’ve still got to walk? At least until we get out of… this place.”

Jon sighed the sigh of a parent who had been asked “Are we there yet?” by their impatient child one too many times. “Like I said the first two thousand times, time and space do not exist in the way they once did. When the world was whole and there existed minds who knew not of terror.” He cringed almost imperceptibly, and scrubbed at his temples with his palms. “As much as I hate to hear the phrase myself, we will get there when we get there.”

It felt silly to complain about someone’s bad attitude when they were in a literal hellscape, but Martin didn’t like the way he’d started speaking through gritted teeth. He wanted respite from this particular nightmare, yes, but he also wanted to know why Jon was so angry.

Martin didn’t get the sense that it would do any good to ask him, though.

He sighed. “It’s been so long. What if we never get there? Just wandering in circles in a never-ending trench.”

“Well, Martin, we will never get there if we keep stopping to burrow a nightmare and ceaseless frenzy.”

He paused to consider that. He figured he’d heard wrong - his hearing was still a bit muted from the gunfire. “What?”

“I said, we’ll never get there if gangrene blisters or sanguine bagpipes.”

“What? What the hell does that mean?”

Jon made an irritated noise, then spoke slowly as if talking to someone who was very stupid. “Agony bore a bloody sickle for crushing the sleepless.”

Martin stared at him, and narrowed his eyes, gripped by a dawning horror that had nothing to do with the disease and death that surrounded him. “Jon, you’re not making any sense.”

Some of the anger faded from Jon’s expression. Then, suddenly, he clutched at his head with both hands as if in pain. His eyes widened, focusing briefly on Martin before returning to the million things that only he could see.

“Sever,” he said pointedly. And, as if spurred on by something, he continued, both voice and body shaking with intensity. “Limbs metallic see bloated warhead and vicious gas spitting cauterize through. Spleen pale cannon warhead bile where tetanus sinews. And gore and ring and soldier visceral from bodies brother teeth for rancid crimson darkness.” He spoke with such terrible certainty, as if he fully expected Martin to comprehend the meaning of every word.

The corners of Martin’s mouth became taut, but since smiling requires the pretense of happiness, he did not smile. “Listen, Jon, I know we’re both under a lot of stress, but this is a really bad way to try and lighten the mood, okay? It’s not funny. You’re scaring me.” He drew a sharp and shaking breath and released it in a hollow imitation of laughter. “What’s the matter with you, anyway? Are you just taking something out on m—”

“Chaotic laughter and screeching god.” Jon’s eyes were on him, but they weren’t looking at him. They were wild, desperate. Something awful was happening to him, something that caused him to forget how to stand, that ceaselessly filled his mind with secondhand terrors, that stole his voice and gave it to the neverending flood of words that rose like bile from his throat. “Iron hands, jettison liver, with heroic terror bullets and mottled rage buzzing, burning and lungs gone. Necrotized gurney which hell hath nuclear rot aching, whose shivering eye orders and despairs, immobile river filth screaming for prison and tear—”

“Jon, stop!” Martin pushed off the wall and stumbled over to where Jon had slipped onto the filthy earth. He shook him. “Snap out of it!”

“— off running, smoke and cloth the bacteria acrid, with hungry singing comrade forever hidden. Writhing from crater, sobbing but the fever moans flaking to clinging, melting daggers. Helpless pathway churning through exploding infinity—”

Martin was nearing his wits’ end. He dragged Jon, who went limp, into a nearby dugout, so tiny that sunlight still shone across most of its floor. He tried to block out the onslaught of babbled nonsense that somehow evoked a thousand nightmarish images as clear as day, but Jon’s voice had taken on that quality that made it impossible not to listen. He continued to shake him with repetitive, mechanical regularity, but as the words bore into his brain Martin’s movements grew weak and yielding.

Jon lay on Martin’s lap, staring far beyond the dirt ceiling. “Gorging jaws of metal death surround your blood-borne reach towards distant jargon, but surreal enemy adrenaline has harrowed pathological exaltations. Barbed manslaughter. Feeding warfare. Stinging trigger…”

His eyes fell to him for a split second. “Martin,” he said, and Martin remembered to breathe. But the moment was gone as quick as it had come, and Jon was launched into another disjointed tirade.

If the hands of his watch spun as reliably as they once had, Martin might have found that he sat crouched in that dugout for exactly six hours and thirty-four minutes, keeping Jon’s back out of the mud. But, for what it was worth, it felt like years. Jon continued his nonsensical ranting, scarcely stopping to breathe, and from the way he desperately spat the words one got the feeling that he wished he didn’t have to. His voice rose and fell at random, reaching sudden and unpredictable climaxes of raving and shouting before settling back into a listless murmur. Trying to ignore him was an exercise in futility. Every few words a new, terrible image would implant itself into Martin’s mind, and then another, and another, together weaving a tapestry of terror from the thread of Jon’s omnipotent train of thought. He couldn’t stop listening, and Jon couldn’t stop talking, so whenever Martin’s thoughts weren’t drowned out by the bile of the Beholding they were filled with despair.

Would this never end? Were they doomed to rot in this place, their minds slowly unraveled by the power of the Eye filtered only by Jon’s droning voice? Would they never move again, like all the rest in this awful place, locked in a stony embrace like some warped parody of The Pietà?

Martin couldn’t know. But in between terrors, it was all he could imagine as tears ran down his face.

It was a small mercy that this particular fear of Martin’s wasn't due to come about just yet. The first clue was that the flood of words had slowed to a trickle. The second was that when Jon paused for breath, it was deeper and less hurried than before. His voice had lost its former vigor, and it was all Martin could hope that he had finally started to exhaust himself.

“... never respite from wretched hope… singe a coagulated daylight swarm… justice not for careening wails… farewell… slaughter,” he paused, panting. “Finished” was too hopeful a word, and his voice carried no note of finality.

But there was a blessed silence. Martin expected it to end at any moment, but it stretched on as the seconds passed. There were distant cries of war, and the sound of Jon trying to make up for the breath he’d lost, but it all faded into nothing in the presence of the euphoric silence.

Several minutes passed this way, and it was only then that Martin dared to speak with the expectation that he’d get a response.

“Jon,” he began, finally daring to make eye contact - his otherworldly gaze had been far too intense to meet, before - and found that Jon was seeing him again. “What… happened?”

He blinked at Martin. There was another silence, shorter and more deliberate than the last, but less comfortable. “I—” He cleared his throat. “I think… I just…” He grabbed his temples with both hands and winced, and Martin pulled them both out of the light.

A moment’s migraine, and Jon collected himself. “There’s just… so much. Fear. Everywhere we go, from everyone in the world. I see it all. I feel it all.” Martin listened passively, despair replaced by a deep frustration. He knew this, and Jon knew how he felt about being his… receptacle for it all. But he didn’t interrupt.

“We have been through a domain of The Slaughter, and are now passing into one of The Corruption. I’ve been… accumulating more and more of The Slaughter’s fear all this time, and now that we’re leaving it… I suppose it wanted me to let it out. Now or never.” He paused. “And... I have to let it out, willingly, or else…”

“This happens.”

Jon sighed. “Apparently.”

Martin considered this, wondering if Jon could see the tear tracks that had left clean paths down his otherwise dirty face.

“Why didn’t you just give a statement? You know… before it was forced out of you?”

Jon looked at his hands for a long time. Then, in a small, guilty voice, he said, “I was trying to keep it inside.”

“Keep it inside? Why? ”

“I thought…” He covered his mouth in the gesture of one whose face burned with shame. “I thought I could control it, if I just willed it hard enough. These trenches… too long. Too narrow. There was nowhere for you to go. I didn’t want to stop, and I didn’t want to leave you.”

Martin stopped, and he softened. “Jon.” He sighed through his nose, and placed his hand on the back of Jon’s head. Then he brought him up into an embrace. “This was worse.”

“I know. I’m sorry,” he murmured into Martin’s neck.

“... I’m just glad you’re okay.”

They stayed like that for an undefinable amount of time, relishing the only avenue of comfort available to them anymore. Then, with Jon clinging to Martin for support, they climbed to their feet, and set out under the sky again, which had at some point shifted from violent red to a sickly yellow. A new understanding dawned on them both, mostly Martin, who resolved to allow Jon his space when he needed to… vent.

He only wished the knowledge hadn’t had to come from personal experience.

Something lurking in the ruins ripped the page off the typewriter, and its keys never made a noise again.

#the magnus archives #tma #jonmartin #fanfiction #horror #angst #h/c #tma season 5 spoilers #yikes original tag #yikes tma tag

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asroarke · 6 years

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Another Taggy Tag Thing

Answer these then tag 10 followers you’d like to get to know better! I was tagged by @it-just-makes-sensee a looong time ago but better late than never. (it’s a long one fyi)

• 1. have you ever been in love? Yeah, dude. It was wild.

• 2. who is your favorite artist? Franz Kline

• 3. what is your favorite music genre? It shifts back and forth between things I would write angsty poetry to in middle school and symphony music that I can bang my head to.

• 4. have you ever had a penpal? In a way, aren’t all of you my penpals now? But yeah, I had one named Brandi who I wrote a total of one letter to and then was swiftly over it because coming up with enough to say in one letter was taxing enough.

• 5. are you single or in a relationship? Single and too socially anxious to mingle

• 6. what color are your eyes? Blue

• 7. what is your favorite word? Y’all, I really like the word dapper and I don’t think our culture uses it enough.

• 8. do you play any instruments? I played a mean recorder back in elementary school. Everybody gets all hot and bothered when I crank out that hot cross buns, you feel me?

• 9. what is your favorite color? Blue

• 10. do you have any nicknames? I mean, Alex is a nickname for Alexandra. Al. Sven. Svennie. Dr. Pepper. Little Evelyn (Evelyn is my mother)

• 11. what is your favorite flower? Yellow Tulips

• 12. what qualities do you find attractive in a person? Efficient communication.

• 13. do you have any pets? Yes, a dog, Daisy, and a cat, Ferrari.

• 14. have you ever traveled outside of your home country? Turkey, Italy, Mexico, Haiti, and a few places I don’t remember because I was just a small child at the time.

• 15. what language(s) do you speak? Fluent? Just English and Spanish. I studied several languages while I was a teenager so I’ve retained a lot of it, but I’m not fluent in any of them.

• 16. who was your first crush? Oh God, this is really awkward. But there was this kid who I would hang out with all the time when I was three. He was two years older than me, and I was like high key in love. Anyway, a few years later, his mom married someone in my family and long story short he’s my cousin now.

• 17. do you wear glasses? Yes

• 18. what is your favorite pastry? Apple crunch muffins from Panera

• 19. do you prefer swimming in a pool or in the ocean? I mean, I only just learned how to swim so I do not currently have a preference. Both stress me the fuck out.

• 20. bright, dark, or pastel colors? Dark

• 21. what is your favorite social media app? Tumblr

• 22. what is your sexuality? I think I’m bi but I’m currently revisiting that. I read something recently that kind of made me question everything I understand about myself, so I’ll keep y’all updated.

• 23. do you have any siblings? A sister

• 24. what is your favorite scent? That new car smell

• 25. where do you want to travel to? NORWAY

• 26. what is your favorite film? Singin’ in the Rain

• 27. who do people say you look like? My mother. When I was younger, Emma Watson.

• 28. who is your best friend? Honestly, my mom.

• 29. what is your dream job? An author.

• 30. do you know how to drive? Yes

• 31. who is/was your favorite teacher? My professor/advisor in my communication studies major

• 32. are you a feminist? Obvi

• 33. what is your zodiac sign? Leo af

• 34. do you enjoy reading? Yes

• 35. do you have any hidden talents? I mean, I think most people who know me irl would say that writing is a hidden talent of mine.

• 36. have you ever dyed your hair? Yes. It was a disaster.

• 37. what is your favorite thing in your bedroom? Right now? My Dr. Pepper because it’s the only think keeping me awake right now.

• 38. what is your biggest fear? Getting scurvy. I don’t know why.

• 39. can you whistle? Nah that’s witchcraft

• 40. do you make your bed every day? WHAT IS THE POINT I’M JUST GOING TO MESS IT UP AGAIN???

• 41. do you have any tattoos and/or piercings? Nope and nope.

• 42. have you ever been on a roller coaster? Yes, and I hate them.

• 43. surfing or skateboarding? I think sitting is fun

• 44. are you a dog or a cat person? Don’t make me pick. I have both for a reason.

• 45. what is your favorite animal? Giraffe

• 46. do you have a skincare routine? I wash it and I put on moisturizer. Every once in a while I get wine drunk and give myself a facial

• 47. what time do you typically go to bed at and what time do you wake up at? I mean, I get in bed at 11, but I don’t sleep until 1 usually. I wake up at seven each day.

• 48. what is your favorite memory? I once played Nick Bottom in A Midsomer Night’s Dream, and I walked into the bathroom afterwards and there were all these little girls giggling and imitating my performance and then freaked the hell out when they saw me come in because I was their favorite part of the whole thing.

• 49. how tall are you? 5′4

• 50. what is the best gift you’ve ever received? I was having a spiritual crisis, and one of my soccer teammates got me my first ever Bible and I broke down sobbing. I have my problems with the church given some of the ways I was brought up, but it meant the world to me that she gave me that gift.

• 51. do you have a garden? That would require me to go outside

• 52. do you like bugs? Do gummy worms count?

• 53. what is your natural hair color? Dirty blonde

• 54. what is your favorite food and drink? Dr. Pepper and chicken tenders

• 55. do you want kids? I think so, though I doubt my ability to be a good parent. We’ll see.

• 56. what is/was your favorite class? My first amendment law class

• 57. what color shirt are you wearing? Pink

• 58. if you could time travel, what year would you go to and why? 1981 because I have QUESTIONS about how Cats the Musical came about

• 59. what is your skin color? Pale af.

• 60. hugs or kisses? Hugs

• 61. have you ever drank alcohol? Yes

• 62. have you ever done drugs? Yes

• 63. netflix or youtube? Netflix

• 64. ice cream or frozen yogurt? Ice cream. Frozen yogurt is canonically in the bad place for a reason

• 65. succulents or flowers? Flowers

Tagging @youleftme-clarke @bellarkes-hope @cloakedtandy @the-most-beautiful-broom @blueshirtbell @cloakedaggers @talistheintrovert @tackmins @camhumphrey @octannibal-blake

#tag games #taggy tag things #man this was longer than i thought

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askdawnandvern · 6 years

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"I want to live again! I want to live again!" The stallion nickered, clasping his hooves together tightly as he leaned them on the guardrail of the snow-encrusted bridge. His clasped hooves trembled as he begged the mercy of the gods who had answered his foolish cry just hours before to undo his terrible mistake. With the last of his will seemingly spent, the horse's head sagged into his hooves."I want to live again...please gods, let me live again..." The horse began to quietly sob to himself.

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*crunch* The sudden jarring sound drew the drowsy wolf from his partial slumber. Vernon craned his head up with a start, giving it a brisk shake as he turned his attention to the TV. "It's a Wonderful Life" was still playing along on the screen, George Nieghly's pleading to return to his former life now coming to a close as the snow began to fall softly on his crumpled form. It was clear the film Vernon had fallen asleep half-listening to hadn't been the source of the sudden, jarring sound.

*crunch* Came another loud, obnoxious chomp to Vernon's right. Now fully awake, the sound had proven easy to track, and soon Vernon found his bleary eyes now fixated on Val. The vixen was seated across from the slumbering couple, sprawled out on large sofa and making herself quite comfortable as she loudly chewed away at the cookies Vernon had left out for Santa Claws.

"VAL!" Vernon barked, his brow furrowing as he glared at the oblivious vixen. The fox let out a yawn, tilting her head back in a half-hearted attempt to make eye-contact with the annoyed wolf with the least amount of effort. The vixen smirked slightly as she eyed the wolf from an upside-down angle.

"What?" Val asked, seemingly genuinely curious as to the reason for Vernon's irritated tone.

"W-What!?" Vernon snorted, the wolf was having a hard time finding his words as he struggled to process why Val was sitting in his apartment on Yule’s Eve of all nights. "What are you doing here!?"

Val scooped another cookie into her paw from the nearby plate, chomping down loudly on the snack in an obnoxious manner as she turned her attention back to the television.

"I 'unno..." Val mumbled through her crumb filled maw. " 'Uss felt like it..."

Vernon ran a paw through the fur on his scalp, his piercing and irritated glare remaining fixed on the lazy vixen still sprawled on his couch.

"I mean..." Vernon said, the wolf lowering his voice in an effort to keep his cool. Val’s usual shtick was already wearing thin, and it was taking all the strength he had to keep from shouting. But despite his efforts, his response was terse, his words emphasized sharply with ire despite the lower octave.

"How did you get in?" The wolf demanded an answer.

Val smirked. "You gave Gus a key remember?” The vixen replied matter-of-factly.

"I gave GUS a key!" Vernon reiterated Val’s careless explanation. "Not you!"

"What's happening?" Came a quiet, sleepy sounding mumble from somewhere closer to the wolf. Vernon glanced back toward his lap to find Dawn had begun to stir, the tiny ewe rubbing her eyes in an effort to chase away the lingering sleep. "Vernon?"

"Sorry Honey Lamb, I didn't mean to wake ya'll up." Vernon replied, giving the ewe's head poof a soft tussle before turning his attention back to Val. "We just got an uninvited guest is all."

"I copied Gus' key when he had me take his key-ring down to the hardware store to make back-up copies for the store." Val shrugged. "I figured it'd be handy to make myself a copy."

Vernon pinched the bridge of his muzzle, letting out an annoyed sigh.

"Is that Val?" The question came from Dawn, followed by a long and tired sounding yawn. The ewe had now pushed herself off the wolf slightly, propping herself up on her elbow as she turned her attention toward the vixen.

"Right, so ya'll stole a copy of Gus's key so you could...what...steal our food?" Vernon asked.

The vixen rolled her eyes. "Well if you're just going to leave out free food, why can't I have any?"

"Those were fer Santa Claws!" Vernon snapped back. The wolf’s lips curled around his bared teeth as he stared daggers at the clearly unimpressed vixen. Val chuckled, a wide and mischievous grin crawling across her muzzle as she cocked her head in Vernon's direction.

"You still believe in Santa Claws?" Val asked, quirking an eyebrow. "Really?"

Vernon went mute, his features dropping almost immediately from ire into something more akin to embarrassment and fear. Vernon’s eyes had opened wide, and his iris’ darted from side to side as he attempted to look anywhere but in Val's direction.

"N-No!" Vernon snapped back, his voice shaking with uncertainty despite his attempt to remain firm. The wolf knew Santa Claws was fake, at least the adult in him reaffirmed so. However, there was always that lingering Pup in him that seemingly refused to accept such a notion. The Pup that was certain magic existed and there for everything was possible even if you couldn’t explain or prove it. And somehow, Val’s remark had managed to drag that Puppy up to the surface long enough to make Vernon feel even more a fool than her essentially ‘breaking and entering’ to scroundge for food had.

"Oh Puppy, don't listen to her." The ewe tutted, gently patting his chest reassuringly before resuming her previous snuggly position balled up against his chest. The ewe let out a pleasant sigh. "Santa Cloves is real, she's just mad because she probably only ever got coal."

Vernon knew there was no Santa Claws, he kept repeating it to himself in his mind again and again. But despite that, the ewe’s words were...oddly reassuring.

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Closing out the year with a Christmas farewell before I go into hibernation till like Mid-January. Yep, closin' the blog and pretty much everything else outside of the Patreon/Streams and writing for the year in order to enjoy the holiday. I hope you all have a great Holiday, see you in 2018!

Story blurb was written in haste...one shot...so it ain't up to my full quality credentials. But eh, it's non-canon as it is...probably...maybe.

Just some extra notes, please do not ‘message’ me via tumblr messenger with asks. If the links on the ask page aren’t there, it means asks are closed. So that means I can’t take any in at the moment. Any future asks submitted that way will be deleted. Not trying to single anyone out here, but i feel the need to mention the person who sent me the Dawn Yule Childhood question, that was fine. The reason being because I totally forgot Dawn in the ask about Yule childhood stories from the Hunters and Hunter gals. So it was to remind me more or less that I missed that. Sorry.

#Zootopia #dawn bellwether #Assistant Mayor Bellwether #fan character #furry #ask blog #wasted time #christmas #holiday

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