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fatehbaz · 3 years

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“Being a bad biocitizen.”

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Marlene Feenstra (née McCorrister), my grandmother, was a Cree woman from Peguis First Nation. Peguis, our nation, is nestled among the ancestral lands and shared territories of the Cree, Anishinabeg, Assiniboine, and Métis peoples -- our homelands that sprawl out from the forks of the Red and Assiniboine Rivers in what is now Winnipeg, Manitoba, Canada. [...] Gram [was] born in 1936 [...]. She attended residential school [...], and then, as an adult, she was legally denied residence on her reserve due to her marriage to a non-Indian [...]. Yet, despite these and other experiences, and like many Indigenous people, my grandmother never thought of herself as being colonized. [...]

Three years ago, when my grandma passed away, I spent a few days going through the old photographs, newspaper clippings, calendars, and notes she had archived for over sixty years. [...] I was glad, on that cold Winnipeg afternoon, to appreciate her taste in interesting imagery. Their combined content lays out a scene ripe for analysis: One card depicts what it called the “Discovery of Canada”: Jacques Cartier presenting the “weird apparition” of an Indian Chief to the king and queen of France in 1536. A postcard named the “Canadian Rockies” displays a scene of Alexander Mackenzie, Simon Fraser, and La Verendrye: on the back, the card describes them as “great explorers who played stupendous and courageous roles in western development.” Another postcard features the nineteenth-century Métis leader Louis Riel, sitting inside a prison cell awaiting his federally sanctioned execution. Finally, at first glance out of place in this set, is a postcard with the name “Science and Invention” and an image of a basement laboratory peopled by Albert Einstein, Thomas Edison, Alexander Graham Bell, and Frederick Banting.

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It is difficult to say whether Gram chose these cards for how, taken together, they illustrate the curious relationships between colonial expansion, the confinement of Indigenous peoples, and scientific inquiry. If she did conceive of the reciprocal relationships connecting the logics of exploration, discovery, and innovation with histories of colonialism, then she was in good company.

Historians of colonial science, for example, have shown that there is a historical relationship between the development of what is now considered modern science, the technoscientific advances indelibly marking Western civilization, and European imperialisms and colonialisms. Further, Indigenous studies scholars have located modern science within an ongoing colonial system that, working in tandem (and, at times, in tension) with other institutionalized fields, overwrites Indigenous peoples’ knowledges of their existence as peoples in terms of the logics of citizenship, rights, sovereignty, and capital. [...]

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Advances in genomic knowledge are both intriguing and frightening given that the “gift” and “weight” of science and technology fields have always been simultaneously present for Indigenous peoples.

When I was invited to speak at “The Gift and Weight of Genomic Knowledge: In Search of the Good Biocitizen,” out of which this special report evolved, I was enthused by the rich conference rationale provided by organizers Joel Reynolds and Erik Parens. Consistent with Foucauldian scholarship such as that of Nikolas Rose, Carlos Novas, and Dorothy Roberts, the conference framed biocitizenship in relation to that shift provoked by increasing amounts of biological, and especially genomic, knowledge and data that are changing the ways that citizenship is being imagined. Civic responsibility in the age of biocitizenship, Reynolds and Parens observed, encompasses being and remaining healthy for the sake of ourselves and for the greater good of human populations: biometrically monitoring one's physical activity, seeking out direct-to-consumer genetic tests, coughing into the inside of one's elbow, employing barrier methods during sexual intercourse, and on and on are all examples of good bio-practice. In this spirit, biocitizenship -- the emphasis on the human population as biological -- has been endowed with the capacity to reconcile historic wrongs. The conference and this special report, as I understand them, are challenging us all to take pause amidst the accelerating pace of biomedical and genomic data generation and to critically reflect on the seemingly simple yet hugely difficult questions, what is a “good” biocitizen, and how do we become one?

I propose that one analytical pathway leading to said aspirational goodness might be found in its reverse: that is, in badness.

Following bell hooks's description of politicized looking relations, I am establishing these provocations to reorient, from my explicit vantage point, the set of concepts and real-world problems that this special report explores. As examined by hooks, in resistance struggle, the power of the dominated to assert agency by claiming and cultivating “awareness” politicizes looking relations -- one learns to look a certain way in order to resist. Reframing the terms of the discussion is a critical practice in also restructuring the power dynamics that shape common-sense ideas about what it means to be good. The exogenous generation of genomic knowledge about indigeneity, for example, exerts a scientific claim that one can see indigeneity in a way that actually matters. Seeing indigeneity through the prism of genomic knowledge is shaped by colonial lenses insofar as it is based on an understanding of indigeneity as primarily real, genetically. Academic and other ways of thinking that try to make sense of and represent genomic realities of the present are also structured by colonial looking relations. [...]

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Over twenty years ago, among the formative scholarship of early Indigenous studies, Vine Deloria Jr. published Red Earth, White Lies: Native Americans and the Myth of Scientific Fact (1995). Through this book and his other works, Deloria locates modern science within a colonial matrix that seeks to secure itself as a panacea of truthful knowledge creation at the expense of Indigenous sovereignties. [...] Fields, including scientific fields, that attempt to externally translate Indigenous peoples’ self-conceptions into a categorical or taxonomical language are interfering with their sovereign way of being.

Since the publication of Red Earth, White Lies, others have considered what the complicated entanglements of Indigenous knowledges are as they exist in relationship to science and technology fields. In Braiding Sweetgrass: Indigenous Wisdom, Scientific Knowledge, and the Teachings of Plants (2013), Robin Wall Kimmerer, for instance, provides a textually melodic illustration of the complementarities between botany, Potawatomi ecology, and the human and nonhuman relations that sustain her everyday experience. Noenoe Silva's Aloha Betrayed: Native Hawaiian Resistance to American Colonialism (2004) similarly considers how Kanaka Maoli have leveraged modern technological advancements in press and printing to oppose the illegal annexation of their territories. These works and others like them have unlocked methodological potential that is not premised on orthodox cultural expectations by framing the use and formation of twentieth- and twenty-first-century sciences and technologies as being instead Indigenous. These novel works set a stage for elaborate consideration of how engagement with technosciences on Indigenous peoples’ own terms might support their local governance systems: their ways of relating in and with localities of misewa (all that exists). [...]

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Fundamental to colonial civilizing missions were the so-called gifts of science and technology that Western imperial powers gave to their colonies and subjects.

Through the rhetorical prism of gifting, scientific claims to the “greater good” have been an enduring logic justifying scientific pursuits, while the collateral damage characteristic of incremental and experimental scientific methods have been disproportionately felt by Indigenous peoples as well as all other bodies deemed unreasoned (including human and nonhuman). [...]

Although there are now many versions of justice in concept and practice, many if not all of them are shaped through the presumed possibility that a normative good exists and that the journey of becoming good is, in itself, good. [...]

I charge non-Indigenous and Indigenous peoples alike to be bad: unpack and undermine the investments they have in propertied [...] state-based sovereignty and nationalism, capitalist cultures of consumption, and settler fantasies of being rightful and good.

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Jessica Kolopenuk. “Provoking Bad Biocitizenship.” Hastings Center Report Vol. 50 Issue S1. June 2020.

#Kim TallBear #Robin Wall Kimmerer

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magnoliabloomfield · 3 years

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The Reason Part 7- Daisy

Gally sat at a table with Newt and Chuck, the latest greenie. Chuck had been following Nikola like a second shadow which meant he'd been around Gally plenty as well and had kind of idolized him, making the builder quite uneasy. Nikola had been working in the kitchen that day and finally came out with her own dish when they were practically finished eating already. She untied her hair from the top knot she put it in to keep hair out of the food, her long locks unwinding and falling down her back in soft waves as she sat down. And words were suddenly spilling out of Newt's mouth.

"You know, you're so beautiful, Nikola," Newt said with a hint of reverence in his voice.

She looked at him in shock as a blush crept up her neck.

"Oh, come on," She waved him off after an awkward pause. "I'm just the only girl you've ever seen." She chuckled nervously, her shoulders starting to hunch up. "One day we'll either have more girls here, or we'll get out and you'll find a whole world full of them and realize I'm not that great."

"No, there's no chance of that happening," Newt assured her with a small smile, his gaze on her was intense and she found herself struggling to look him in the eye for the first time.

Gally was so confused at what was going on, his eyes flicking between Newt and Nikola. Was Nikola blushing because she liked Newt, or was she just embarrassed? Since when did Newt say stuff like that? He glanced at Chuck to gauge his reaction to this strange exchange but the kid was blissfully ignorant to the awkwardness around him.

"Come on Newt," Zart called after him. "Back to work."

"See ya," Newt sighed before getting up and leaving.

Gally watched Nikola bite her lips, a worried look crossing her face before she ran her hands over it. He felt like asking what the heck that was or asking if she was ok, but the whole thing had struck him dumb and he didn't know what to say.

"You are very pretty," Chuck agreed nonchalantly as if he just caught up with the conversation. "Just like I bet my mom is."

Gally was so lost in thought later as he was working; he nearly smashed his thumb with a hammer. As much as Newt's sudden confession had bothered him, there was something Nikola had said that didn't sit right with him either. It took him a good portion of the afternoon and a few near misses for him to finally figure it out.

Nikola sat on the counter of the kitchen, something Frypan frowned heavily upon but he wasn't around to scold her, as she dried dishes from lunch. There was a thud behind her and a hand came into her field of vison, reaching from behind her and holding a single daisy. She recognized the hand, finger nails bitten to the quick and couldn't help the small smile that tugged at her lips. She turned to see Gally sitting on the counter behind her, his ears bright red as he looked out at the glade instead of at her. Gently she took the small flower from him, her fingertips brushing his.

"Do you think it's pretty?" he asked, still looking at anything but her.

"Yes?" She answered with a hint of confusion as she twirled the stem between her finger and thumb.

Finally, he looked her dead in the eyes, not wavering a bit. "Did you have to see every other flower to decide that one is pretty?"

Her jaw dropped slightly, surprised by how well he illustrated that. She didn't know what to say to it, but somehow she liked it a lot better than what Newt had told her in the first place. She figured most of the boys liked her simply because she was all they had and all they knew. She didn't think any of them would pick her if they had more options. After a moment or two of her stunned silence Gally gave a slight smile before he slid off the counter and got back to work. She stared after him, wondering what he meant by that. Was he trying to help Newt? Or was he trying to tell her that he thought she was pretty?

She put the flower in her hair and wore it there the rest of the day, noticing when it would catch Gally's eye and he would almost smile.

Masterlist

@frequentlychangingfandoms @quackquackbi @poulterjonas @crazysheeplyca @pre-google @gladerscake @neilox @thesuitkovian @carp3d1em @cottoncandy-dreamxd @emilyhadenbaker

#gally #tmr gally #maze runner gally #gally imagine #gally fanfic #tmr #maze runner #will poulter protection squad

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ricard-blythe-ffxiv · 2 years

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Rampage, Comfort food, Illusion

The illusion of power - in his line of work he dealt with it on almost a daily basis. Individuals who thought the world revolved around them, that no one would dare to even consider crossing them, that they were out of reach...untouchable. But no one was untouchable...not if one knew the right questions to ask and the right people to talk to.

Luckily for him, he had a knack for finding those questions and those people - which was what brought him to the Drowning Wench on this particularly afternoon.

The man he was looking for wasn't difficult to find - not with how loud he was being. The poor waitstaff.

Ricard cleared his throat as he approached the man's table, offering the poor waitress a grin and a wink as he sat down.

"Problems Nicky?"

'Nicky' snarled as he looked across the table, eyes narrowing. "Damn right there are problems - where the fuck have you been?"

"Me?" Ricard tilted his head as he set a small box on the table, leaning back with an easy smile. "Oh, you know, here and there - took a little detour on the way here. Didn't think you'd mind."

He wasn't lying - he had taken a little detour, first to the man's office to have a chat with his staff - which had been very enlightening - and then to the Bismarck to pick up a little...something.

"Mind!? You didn't think I'd MIND!? You dare to think you're worth wasting MY TIME on you little...."

Ricard had already zoned out - having been forewarned that this was likely going to happen...

"He...does this thing, if he feels like he's been slighted - I kid you not, goes off on this rampage, you'd think you were talking to a child."

Ricard leaned forward, elbow resting on the desk and his chin resting in his hand. "You're kidding, and you have to work with that everyday..."

The woman - Nikolas's business partner - sighed, "I wish I was kidding. The worst part? The fastest way to get him out of it isn't talking to him, it's offering him a damn cookie..."

"...a cookie?"

"Mmhm - something about his mother used to give him one to stop his ramblings when he was younger, I don't know - all I know is that it works."

Nikolas slammed his fist on the table, shaking Ricard from his thoughts.

"You done with the hissy fit yet?"

"Hiss - you little -"

"Nicky, take a deep breath before you run off the table next to us, huh? Besides, you'll like what I took my little detour to get..." He opened the box, offering one of the cookies to the older man with a grin. "Cookie?"

The older man blinked before taking the offered confection and sitting back taking a bite as he started to relax - much to the relief of the staff.

Now - did he need to know that Ricard's detour also involved a momentary stop at his office where he'd chatted up his business partner and gotten access to a few files - Nope.

He had his comfort food, and Ricard had what he wanted - information and a way to poke holes in that illusion of power that the man clung to.

Now it was just a matter of waiting for an opportunity to use the information...and to be entertained in the meantime.

Thanks @theash-hatrukoth!

#asks #and answered #the perceptive smartass #ffxiv edition #it's somethin'#not my best

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thekisforkeats · 3 years

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Martin’s Pinned Post

Now with more links!

My AO3: Most of the below fic is there, except the TMA Changeling AU and the prompt fics. There’s some old Mass Effect stuff there, too, which may or may not get updated eventually.

Canon-compliant Magnus Archives stuff:

Three Little Words: Pre-canon. Deals with Sasha and Tim’s relationship after the “ill-advised hookup.” Sasha, an aromantic, goes to Jon (the asexual) for advice on how to deal with Tim admitting Feelings. It turns out better than she expects. (Written for Week 1 of Archival Pride Month, prompts “Friendship,” “Pre-Canon,” and “Affirmation.”) The Way You Say My Name: Directly post-MAG 22. Jon apologizes for his treatment of Martin over the past few months. Or tries to, anyway. It's hard to apologize to someone when you don't understand exactly what it is you've done to upset them. Love Languages: Post-MAG 22 with a post-MAG 159 coda. Martin goes nonverbal, Jon goes out of his way to help. Those acts of service spark revelations for Martin. Shy Kiss Prompt: Short thing set in the Scottish safehouse period, about Martin and Jon heading to the village and sharing a kiss in a shop.

The Last Rose of Summer:

My Beauty and the Beast AU for the Summer in the Archives event. Jon gets trapped in the Archive, a magical castle owned by a Fae Lord. Martin gets trapped there too. They escape together.

Chapter 1: Be Our Guest Chapter 2: Belle Chapter 3: Belle (Reprise)

TMA D&D AU:

Let All the Broken Pieces Shine: After MAG 200, Jon and Martin wind up in Faerun as a warlock and a bard, and run into other very familiar people...

Chapter 1: Killing Care and Grief of Heart Chapter 2: A Song of Praise Upon Your Lips Chapter 3: An Avatar No More Chapter 4: In the Hall of the Raven Queen Chapter 5: Where You Go, I Go Chapter 6: Neverwinter Afternoon

TMA Changeling AU:

What if the Magnus Archives took place in the Changeling: the Lost setting?

#tma changeling au: The general tag for all my thoughts about this idea. Setting Overview: The London freehold. The Courts: The Seasonal Courts and their Monarchs, plus Dusk. Information on Elias Bouchard, Peter Lukas, Nikola Orsinov, Agnes Montague, and Gertrude Robinson along with a smattering of others.

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splendiferous-bitch · 1 month

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filed my taxes 🫡 (good job me!!) but now i have to either download pics/videos offa my phone OR start packing 😫

#i feel like i already did my share today but #the grind has to continue smh #nikola's afternoon thoughts

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deathmetalunicorn1 · 6 months

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Leonidas, Buddha, and Tesla

When they meet and talk to Medusa about how she destroyed an empire and they just said " I pray to the wrong gods, then I pray to the existence of nothing of the Void who answered"

-You didn’t have too many guests, or at least it was like that before Ragnarok, because after Ragnarok you had many, people who were curious, wanting to know more about your tale and how you destroyed an empire.

-Most were polite, asking questions and you answered them, while others came to you, wanting to test their strength against your own, and you indulged a few- you were very sore after Lu Bu visited your home, wanting a fight, but he felt the same way as you didn’t hold back.

-It was a quiet day when three men came to your home, initially you thought they wanted a fight, at least one of them, Leonidas, but you were surprised when they wanted to know about your past, wanting to know how you took down an empire in less than a night.

-You invited them, Nikola Tesla, Leonidas, and Buddha, into your home, preparing tea and snacks, something Buddha cheered for, which made you grin, before you joined them and they started their questions.

-They learned, when you were changed into the Gorgon before them, you became immortal, so you lived long beyond what you should have, and with that time, you gained experience, as many tried to come and kill the monster known by many as Medusa.

-Nikola was concerned for you, “But it was the gods who made you like that- did they not have any sympathy?”

-Leonidas was the one to snort, holding an unlit cigar in his mouth, “The gods taught humans to be afraid of the unknown, to fear what is different, and with fear comes hatred, and a lust to stamp out that which is different.”

-You nodded, agreeing and Buddha agreed, leaning back in his chair, “That’s why I hate most gods- they treated humans like playthings.” Despite being a god now himself, Buddha still didn’t care for most of the gods, still finding many of them selfish.

-Nikola then spoke, asking another question, “I know back in your time, it was normal to pray to the gods? Didn’t you pray to them in your time of need?”

-You smiled, but there was no amusement behind it, “A god raped me and another god turned me into this, as if it were my fault that I couldn’t fight back against a god. Why would I pray to those who wouldn’t listen when I needed them the most?”

-They all stared, stunned by your words, before you smirked softly, “That’s why I prayed to nothing- I relied on my own power, and with that power, I made the empire crumble at my feet. Sometimes that’s all one needs- is the power you hold within you.”

-Leonidas grinned, impressed with your words, you were one hell of a woman.

-Buddha couldn’t help but laugh, knowing that this was true, as this was something he had taught his followers, that you’ve got to make yourself happy.

-Nikola was in awe of you- to hear the hardships you went through, to hear how you were treated, but still stood strong- he didn’t know strength until meeting you.

-Your afternoon with them ended with Nikola and Buddha cheering for you after Leonidas asked for a fight, one you were willing to give him, feeling happy to know there were good people in this world.

#record of ragnarok #ror x reader #ror leonidas #ror buddha #ror nikola tesla

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stargnusxcarter · 3 years

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I mean if I found that fic ask thing XD. How about 19 for Teslen?

things you said when we were the happiest we ever were

That one's a tough one. I will admit I wasn't sure when to set it or where. But then, where's the fun if we have to be strictly in-canon, right ? So, I thought about it, and here you go: Victorian!Teslen before the Five, and slightly AU.

"Miss Magnus, may I have this dance?" The warm voice resonated near her ear, making her shiver. Helen turned around and flashed a soft smile at the man who had just invited her.

"You may, Mister Tesla." She chuckled, sliding her hand in his as he led them to the waltzing crowd.

"You look ravishing tonight, Helen." Nikola tenderly whispered as they danced around the room. Helen knew her cheeks had probably grown reddish but couldn't care less when he was looking at her with such love and admiration twinkling in his blue eyes.

"Thank you, Nikola. You look good yourself." She replied, winking discreetly. They fell into silence again, simply enjoying each other's presence. His hand on her waist, her hand on his shoulder, their hands linked as he led the dance.

Who could've thought he had learned that waltz only 5 days ago ? Certainly not Helen herself, and she had been the one to teach him. Well, her and one of her maids. After he had built up the nerve to ask if she had already some company for the party.

The ring of the bell startled them both as Helen and Gregory were leaving the breakfast table. Who on Earth would come so early in the morning? They immediately thought about an emergency.

"Doctor Magnus, Miss Magnus," announced the butler as he stepped into the dining room, "Mister Tesla requested a talk with you both."

Father and daughter shared the same puzzled look before Gregory motioned for the old man to introduce their impromptu guest. Nikola barely entered the room, fidgeting with the stem of a single peachy rose he was holding.

"Good morning. I apologize to arrive unannounced and so early, Doctor Magnus, and I promise I won't bother you long."

Gregory dismissed the speech with a wave of the hand and an indulgent smile.

"There's nothing to concern you about, young lad. Perhaps we would be more comfortable in the study."

"Of course. I didn't realize I was interrupting your meal."

"Nonsense, Nikola." Helen chuckled. "We had just finished."

The Magnus joined Nikola at the door, who was still nervously fidgeting the stem of the rose.

"Maybe you would stop torment that poor flower and do what you intended to do with it in the first place, Nikola?"

The question, asked with a fond smile from Magnus senior snapped the young Serbian out of his anxiety and he smiled sheepishly as he offered the flower to Helen.

"It is beautiful. Thank you, Nikola." She whispered, her eyes twinkling. Gregory led the way to the study as Helen slid her hand in the crook of Nikola's elbow.

Once they were seated, Nikola found himself unable to formulate the object of his visit, despite his attempts.

"Nikola, what is the matter?" Helen asked, quite concerned.

"Mayiaccompanyyoutotheballnextsaturday?" He asked in a breath. The two others stared at him with a blank expression.

"Would you mind telling it again but a tad slower, maybe?"

"Doctor Magnus." Nikola inhaled. "I came to request your permission to escort Helen to the ball next Saturday if she accepts my company." He managed to intelligibly say. Silence fell upon the room, until Helen hopefully glanced at her father.

"Well... It seems I wouldn't have a saying in the matter in any case, so, you may go to the ball together, but Nikola will see you home before midnight Helen." The blonde reluctantly agreed to her father's terms, the prospect of spending the evening with Nikola too appealing to refuse it.

"I shall fetch you at 7 sharp on Saturday if it suits you, then?"

"Perfect. That is arranged." Gregory clapped his hand before standing to leave. Taking it as his cue to take his leave too, Nikola bowed to Helen and grazed his lips over her knuckles.

"I'll see you on Monday at Oxford, Helen."

"I will expect to see you first thing at the gates!" She replied with a tender smile. He nodded, smiling too, bowed his head to Gregory, and let the butler escort him to the door.

"Where were you?" He asked when her gaze seemed less distant, despite the fact that her movements were as fluid as usual while she followed his lead effortlessly.

"What do you mean? I am right here with you, Nikola." She gently mocked, knowing what he was asking.

"I was lost in my memories. Last week. Hadn't I teach you, I wouldn't have guessed you didn't know that waltz until 5 days ago."

"Well, I had the best teacher." He winked at her and she chuckled.

They both felt the weight of the disapproving looks on them, but they couldn't care less. Not when it was so natural to be in each other's company, swinging and swirling in harmony with the other and the music. The world had faded away, to leave them in their bubble of joy.

"Nikola, what is wrong?" Helen asked as they were working on a new experiment, and she could tell something was buggering him.

"Nothing, Helen. Don't concern yourself further." He absentmindedly replied.

"Nikola! I can see something is bothering you, and the closer we get to the ball, the lesser you can hide it. Do you... Do you not wish to attend the Ball with me anymore?" She finally asked, ignoring the slight shake in her voice. Nikola dropped everything in an instant and stood by her side, clasping her hand between his.

"Of course not, Helen. I am really looking forward to spend the evening in your company."

"Then why do you seem so tense?"

"I... It is silly, really..." his accent was thicker as insecurity crept its way into his voice.

"Nikola, just tell me, please."

"There will probably be at least a waltz at this ball but... I don't know how to dance waltz." He admitted, dropping his gaze. The laugh he was expecting never came, and when he looked up, he met the softest blue eyes he had ever seen.

"This is not silly, Nikola. And if you don't know the waltz, then I will teach you."

And with that they arranged a meeting every afternoon after classes, and she would teach him the ins and outs of the waltz, from the posture to the way he had to hold her, from the leading to the swirls.

"Helen, I have to ask you something."

"Pray tell?"

"You already know that when we met, I had just arrived in England. I knew no one, and you are the first person who offered me help without expecting anything in return. And for that I am grateful." He swirled her again. "You are the closest friend I ever had, and may I say, the only true friend."

The music stopped before he could speak more and the dancers parted, clapping and bowing. Nikola spotted the doors, wide open, leading to the gardens, and offered his arm to Helen. She took it with a soft smile and they headed outside, sitting on a bench nearby.

"Somehow... Somewhere between your smiles, your courage, your wit, and your eyes, I fell in love with you." Nikola confessed before he could second guess himself. "Helen Magnus, will you accept to be courted by a young Serbian genuinely and completely under your spell?"

Helen stared at him, eyes wide, lips parted, as if she wasn't sure she had heard him correctly.

"Nikola... Are you... Are you asking for my permission to court me?"

"W-well, given we are the only ones on this bench, I would say so, yes." He grinned. "I could always ask the pigeons, but there are none around us."

Helen blinked before laughing at his antics. Of course she should have expected him to use his snark at some point.

"Well then, Nikola Tesla, I will gladly let you court me. But I must warn you, my heart has already fallen for someone."

At that, his smile flattered, his eyes lost their spark of joy and mischief, but he remained still, and put his mask on so fast Helen would have missed the hurt in his look if she didn't know him better.

"Oh, well, I hope he knows his luck and isn't jealous, then." He winked, smiling.

"Well, I'm certain he does. As for the jealousy, I'm not sure we had an occasion to test that theory, but I would say he probably isn't." She replied, playing along. Just to see how long it would take her sweet idiot of a friend to figure out who she was talking about.

"Oh. Someone I know?"

"I'd think, yes."

She took pity on him when he nodded without a word and looked away. Silently, Helen reached for his jaw and turned his face toward her.

"Nikola, the man I'm talking about has the bluest eyes I've ever seen, undisciplined hair, until recently he wore an horrible mustache, and he is the best friend I could ever had. And he just asked to court me and confessed his genuine and complete fall under my spell."

She saw the way his eyes lit up throughout her description, how his lips trembled in a smile he tried to repress, until he was practically beaming at her.

"I fell in love with you, Nikola, and I wouldn't want any other man to court me."

He kissed her knuckles, their eyes locked, before clasping a stray lock behind her ear.

They could've been that happy all along... But a few months later, entered on stage John Druitt, and with him, Nikola lost all his chances of being the one Helen Magnus would choose to share her life...

#teslen #sanctuary #fic ask game #helen magnus #nikola tesla #victorian!Teslen #bad ending #blame it on canon

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draken-rotzi · 3 years

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Bug Man x Reader Part One*

Read on AO3

SO, wanted to write something of this topic bc we all need some more Musical!BJ in our lives, it’s a nice comfort ngl, I enjoyed writing it and hope you do too c:

(Got carried away so here's the first half while I edit the second one in the meantime, it takes a bit to get to the main part we all want to read forgive mE it's better in th next one believeme)

I'd love some feedback since I haven't written anything since 2019 ;v; some wordings might seem odd since my brain speaks spanish first english second

Summary; Old boring university life and a broken but hopeful heart meet the supernatural and whacky demon/ghost with the most, reader-chan needs to get out from a toxic relationship and what's a better help than a magic dead man? Cutting ties might seem easier when someone else arrives and flips your world upside down with no warning.

Mostly fluff, bits of angst l8r

Female reader, but tried to not give any other specifics to the character themselves, OCs appear

It was a fresh autumn afternoon, birds still chirped before migrating to warmer areas for the winter, the wind was cold but nice, not yet freezing but enough for people to wear light coats. You sit on a school desk, a class about taxes and fees, you drift off a bit looking at the window while half-listening.

You lived in a medium but popular city, it was a great place, with nice, kind people for the most part, huge malls, restaurants and lots of places to go out with friends or alone.

...

"Miss ___? Care to answer this equation here for the class?" The teacher asks, a tall, slender woman that radiated authority, it made some students shiver in times like this with a direct question.

"Oh? Yeah- sure miss Adams" You replied, while trying not to look confused since you just missed the topic, hopefully you remembered from the last lesson by the time you walked up to the blackboard and took the marker to write.

...

After class, you were walking with your friends to the cafeteria next to the main exit to wait for an uber to arrive; your side job as a freelance wasn't good enough yet to afford a car, but it helped pay the bills and to have enough for a bit more more than the basic needs.

Your two best friends at college were Itai and Rob. Itai was a funny dude, with a darker tone on his skin, not so tall and full of charisma. Rob was a bit more collected, but still a lot of fun to be around, being the voice of reason for you three most of the time, emphasis in most, because sometimes he got carried away too.

"Man I hate that class, I don't understand a thing! Why do we even need math?" Itai tells the group, sounding annoyed as usual, he was a simple guy, but simple guys need a degree too, to secure a better job.

"Well if you paid attention instead of eating that cold baguette in class you won't be that confused my man" Rob replies, laughing a bit at the end

"At least you weren't asked to do math in front of the class" You sigh, putting down your backpack and sitting on a table next to the building's exit, looking at your phone to know how much time was left for the driver to arrive, around 10 minutes.

"Yeah everyone felt so bad for you, but hey, if you’ll be daydreaming at least look at the front instead of the window next time, it might help you" Rob said while opening a bottle of apple juice, his favorite, he wouldn't drink any other thing, he was probably 60% apple juice after years of drinking it that often.

A few minutes passed by, the three friends chatting about the day's events, their plans for the weekend, and how to get the next assignment done. A figure appeared behind you putting a hand on your shoulders.

"Well hello ladies!" A man chirped, you turned around laughing softly

"Hey yourself!" you replied "Already off?"

"Yeah I've got the last hour free so I'm gonna head out to Kris' place, we'll play some games and work on that big project I told you the other day"

"Great, have fun! You say hi to Kris from me yeah?"

"Sure thing, see you later!" He says with a squeeze of his hand on your shoulder, then a quick pat on the head, turning around to leave.

"Bye, take care Nick!" you say as the man walks out of the cafeteria's door waving a hand.

Silence lingers for a bit until Itai breaks it

"Hey so, you're still going out with him?" He says with a crooked smile and a nervous look, Rob has a similar expression

"Yeeeah... it's been okay for some time now, you know? Hah" You look down for a second, pondering "Maybe this time is the good run?" Uncertainty fills the question, but you still smile to your friends.

Nikolas wasn't the model boyfriend, at least not for your friends; he was full of sweet words, hugs and kisses, only in private places though. When it came to the campus he treated you just like any other friend.

There was a small reason, according to him, he wanted to wait a bit more to make it public, get to know each other better, just to be certain from both sides.

That was the excuse a year ago.

It wasn't like he was out and flirting with other people, not at all, but one could expect to be treated like a love partner after so much time and moments together, you’ve gone to the movies, to dinner, to each other's houses, hell your families knew you two were dating, it just wasn't more than the bare minimum from him, seemed more like a thing someone does if they have free time, not make time for that thing, the thing being the relationship.

It seemed to be only a problem of neglect and apathy, probably, though you were so dumbly in love with him at first, you have been hoping and asking for a change since the relationship escalated to more than just holding hands and light kisses.

"I don't think anything's gonna change, he's been stalling for a whole year now" Itai mumbled, looking at Rob, he nodded in agreement

"Yeah, just dump him already, you deserve way better, you give him everything you got and he just throws the leftovers at you."

"I guess, but we're going out this weekend! You know he doesn't like going out often"

"With you" Rob adds

You hesitate a reply, it was true, most of the times you asked him to go out for a change, he was either too busy or decided to change the event the same day, turning it into a make out session in his house every time. Even though you saw each other 2 days every week, you have seen him go out with his friends more often, on actual enrichment outside activities.

"I know..." you sigh " I'll think about it, I'll try to talk with him about it next time”

Both of your friends let out a small groan of annoyance, they knew you weren't gonna do it, or that he'll just brush it off as always, between the lines of 'oh you're overreacting'

"Ah my ride's here!" You got up from the table and grabbed your backpack, tossing it over one shoulder.

"See he can't even give you a lift to your place!" Itai teased, they knew how you felt about the whole situation, but joking around sometimes made it a bit less bitter.

"Ha-ha, you know we live in opposite ends of the city! Besides none of you give me a ride either" you said while sticking a tongue out on your way outside the cafeteria

"Yeah because you live at the ends of the earth for some weird reason!" Rob joked back

Everyone said their quick goodbyes, and after a calm ride back home you remembered something just as you were locking the door, tossing your backpack into the living room’s couch you walked over to your room.

You flopped onto the bed, looking at your phone you opened some pending messages on the family group chat, apparently a distant relative of yours had died, and the family was gonna hold a small funeral tomorrow morning on the local cemetery, you didn’t enjoy those kind of events since you’d get really emotional, but since it was something really small, no more than 20 people, it was private and most likely no strangers would see you cry over someone you barely knew.

Tomorrow was saturday so it was okay to spend one free morning humoring your family.

After some mindless browsing on your phone, it was already 12:30am, you haven’t even got off your sneakers since you got home, you did a quick self-cleanup in the bathroom, tossing today’s clothes to the side to change into an oversized shirt with no pants as a makeup pijamas, it got a bit warmer in the afternoon so you wanted to enjoy wearing something light before winter fully arrived, getting under the sheets and you were out fast, maybe from all the overthinking of what’d tomorrow might bring, you’ve forgotten what are funerals like.

But there was certainly no way you’d know what would happen at all the next day

...

The event was simple, thankfully there was not much crying, seemed like everyone accepted already what had happened, some kind of illness you heard, at least they weren’t suffering anymore and they’ve come to terms with everyone close to them, that was nice you thought, it sure felt a bit heavy in there, as usual for funerals. After the ceremony, the family offered a barbeque in the departed’s honor to bright up the mood a bit; right at the cementery, maybe it was cheaper than renting a place for it.

Free tasty food was something only an idiot would decline, so you spent some time doing small talk with the relatives you knew best, but still you mostly just listened and ate in silence.

You saw a glimpse of color and movement out of the corner of your eye, since everyone was wearing dark tones it stood out, turning your head there was just an empty plastic table with some half-full plates and glasses, still, you felt a shiver up your spine, it was probably the weather.

When you looked back at your phone's clock it was already 6 pm, guess dad jokes and food made time fly, you said your goodbyes and condolences to everyone and headed out, you were still at the cemetery, so you had to call a ride back home, the driver dropped you near a convenience store just around the corner of your apartment, since you needed to buy a snack for dinner, on sundays you usually had takeout, so no need to worry much about it right now.

_______________________________________________________

“I know I didn’t imagine anything, that breather saw me at the cemetery! we even locked eyes for a second! It may work this time, just gotta get closer while they're alone”

_______________________________________________________

…

Walking down the street, humming a bit to some music and a bag of snacks in hand, dusk started to set, some stars could be seen and the sky was a beautiful fuchsia tone with oranges and purples mixed in the clouds. On instinct, you took your phone out of your jeans pocket to take a picture of the cute sky.

Just as you took a couple of pictures, to make sure at least one was good to share, something caught your attention out of the corner of your eye again

You felt a shiver like a cold wind out of nowhere, similar as to when a car drives a bit too close to someone on winter, but there was not even one driving car on the street.

"Oof, should get back now, it's getting colder" picking up the peace to get home faster-

A piece of paper slapped you in the face

“EW- wind trash” you muttered while grabbing what seemed to be a flyer, and it flew indeed.

You naturally took a closer look at it when you took it into your hands and out of your face, it was a very faded print, with an image of an… insect? man? holding a hammer over a small house and people, you chuckled, it was a funny irony cartoon, a bug crushing people.

Half of the flyer was unreadable because of some liquid or dirt, already dry but you couldn’t read what was supposed to be, written under the drawing was the end of an ad;

“Ghostly services one name away!

RESIDENTIAL - INDUSTRIAL - COMMERCIAL

Call BETELGEUSE

BETELGEUSE

BETELGEUSE!”

“Betelgeuse? ...Like that one star?” There was that shiver again, Halloween was a week ago, so this kind of paper seemed normal to be hanging around with the wind.

As you walked down the street, some lights started flickering, the cold wind seemed stronger and the sky was a deep dark purple now, strange, it was supposed to be clear dark blue by now, fall nights came quickly this time of the year, still it didn't feel like the usual night. You were just around the corner of your street when the closest light bulb exploded and zapped with a loud 'CRASH', making you stop for a second cowering from the shards

"What the-!? No one told me we'd be getting winter thunderstorms sooner what the eff" muttering swears you made a run to your apartment, scurrying for the door keys in the process, lights kept flashing and the wind made windows sing a high 'oooo' noise, you have seen this kind of weather before but no one would like to be outside when it happened, nervously and quickly you finally fit the key in the lock and opened the door, hurrying inside and closing it behind, a loud bang thundered through the silent room, the unexpected storm slamming against the walls and windows, you left the lights on before going out.

After a minute it seemed to calm down, wind turning into a breeze and the sky now it's usual black, no stars in the sky.

You let out a sigh and walked to the counter to drop your keys, the phone and your purse, you had to make sure all the windows were closed for the night, luckily it was Saturday, so no need to go out tomorrow on that crazy weather.

Windows secured, you changed into your winter pajamas, a gray pair of pants with a pattern of a cat on toast and eggs, with a pastel blue loose shirt. Making your way to the kitchen you decided a light snack would be enough for tonight, after that run and emotion on the way back home you had no energy to cook a proper dinner, not even microwave, it was also too late for it anyways you thought.

You put the snack bowl and a cup of water on the kitchen counter, looking to grab your phone. You noticed you still had the dirty flyer, forgot to drop it between the commotion maybe?

Placing it aside and unlocking your phone screen, you opened the ‘best friend's’ chat group

You. 'Hey guys, did you get any of that weird winter storm action today after school?'

Rob. 'Nah, it was a clear sky for me'

Itai. 'Same, also I was asleep all afternoon'

You. 'Strange, I got caught on this whirlwind on my way back home from the store, just my luck I guess >:('

Both of the boys. 'Lol yea'

Putting the phone down and chomping on some of the snacks, you thought about the events, it was indeed a clear sky earlier, only a couple of common clouds you took pictures of before it. You grabbed the phone again, quickly to see if any of the photos looked good.

"Pleasepleaseplease" you muttered in excitement, it was a very cute view, hopefully one picture captured it nicely.

And they did, a couple looked stunning, you smiled, thinking at least it was worth getting your hair all messed up by the wind, you were about to delete one picture it since it was blurry when you noticed a different kind of blur, it was gray with splashes of green in the corner, similar to what you saw at the funeral.

"There was nothing green on the other pictures, was it?" you looked through the other photos and they were pretty normal, full of pink, purple and blue from the sunset.

You looked back at the flyer

"Betelgeuse, betelgeuse, betelgeuse huh" You said in a playful tone, grabbing the torn paper from the counter, you felt a shiver, a strong one this time, well that was the opposite of a calming experience, but still the word felt strange when you said it, it wasn't like you hadn't said before, Orion was a popular constellation, and the Betelgeuse star was on it; but this time the air inside had a tense feeling.

All the lights went off after a second "Now a blackout? What's with today ugh" picking up your phone to use as a flashlight, after a couple of seconds before you could turn it on, all the lights came back again, but you almost had a heart attack when you saw someone standing in the center of the living room, enveloped in a green mist.

"FUCK wh- WHO THE FUCK-" you stuttered before turning around and grabbing the closest thing to use as a weapon, a wooden spoon used for beating eggs this morning "WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING HERE? WHO ARE YOU? GET OUT!"

The figure was a man, taller than you, dressed in a striped black and white suit, dark hair with green tints at the end, a wicked smile plastered on his face, he took a look around, then back to you, endless chills went down your spine when you met his eyes, you could feel the tense aura from before growing stronger, anticipating, colder.

"Well who might I be? You should know, you called my name baby! Glad to make some business with you tonight!" He said as he extended a hand and walked, floated? quickly towards a paralized you, frozen in place, you only managed to put the spoon up in self defense from whomever this man could be, the lights were out for just a few seconds, was he inside the apartment all this time?

"S-stop right there you!" tried to threaten the man with the wooden tool, he didn't seem to notice nor care, wrapping an arm around your shoulders, then placing a sloppy kiss in your face, petrified, you shivered and gripped the spoon harder, he felt oddly cold.

...Did he just kiss you? Who does he think he is??

"No no, no stopping now! We just got started cakes, and now that you said my name three times, I can finally interact with you and everything here in the world of the living! Gotta say thanks it's been real boring being invisible for so long lemme tell ya-"

*WHACK*

You hit the man in the head with the wooden spoon as hard as you could.

...the spoon broke.

The man's smile grew wider

#hope it's o k a y #I'll reblob this tomorrow with tags it's 2am help me #fanfic #fanfiction #beetlejuice #betelgeuse #beetlejuice x reader #beetlejuice x you #musical beetlejuice #draft #female reader #could be both Blum or Alex I love them both sm #or any other that u seem fit #I need a name for this jhfdsdfj #is 'whack' the correct sound?#sorry for the cliff #might edit later

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trashcreatyre · 3 years

Text

I'm gonna explain one of my TMA playlists bc I've been wanting to do that for several months, and how else am I supposed to procrastinate my animatic project at one in the morning?

(here's the link to the playlist bc I think its pretty slappin')

General:

Body Terror Song By AJJ-

I know that it could technically be a flesh song, but I feel like its a bit more vague than that? if that makes sense?

The Afternoon By Lemon Demon-

there's gonna be a lot of Lemon Demon songs in this lol- This one is also pretty vague, but for some reason it kinda reminds me of Michael specifically? I don't 100% know how to describe it.

thrifted youth By dalynn-

Most of the descriptions/reasonings in the general section are pretty simplistic and vague huh? I guess it just kinda fits the vibe? I might be saying that for a lot of the general ones-

Aurora Borealis By Lemon Demon-

this one reminds me of the season five, kinda feels like a jmart song. (also you'll probably notice that there's not much in the ship theme in this playlist. I like to keep my ship playlists separate from my more general ones, don't know why.)

Under My Skin By Jukebox The Ghost-

just kinda fits the vibe y'know? other than that I don't really know.

Turn the Lights Off By Tally Hall-

i can't actually remember why I put this one specifically- that's a bit unfortunate-

When He Died By Lemon Demon-

This one mostly just fits the vibe, makes me think about the really old Victorian era statements.

Ancient Aliens By Lemon Demon-

again, fits the vibe.

She Doesn't Sleep By Anthony Amorim-

Feels like a random statement tbh. also reminds me of Not!Sasha too.

Nightmare Fuel By Lemon Demon-

funky song- fits the vibe- I don't know what more I can say-

Everybody Loves Me by OneRepublic-

I don't remember actually???? I think It was an Elias one??? but thinking about it now that doesn't really make much sense???? I'm gonna keep it tho, fits the vibe, at least it does to me.

Bloody Nose By Jack Conte-

fits the vibe :)

Christmas Kids By Roar-

I think I saw an animatic to this one time? now I can only think of the season one archival staff,,,, my beloveds,,,,

La nuit en matin By OH MU-

imma be honest, I have no idea what this one's actually about, but It lowkey reminds me of the intro music during end of season three- y'know, the clown vibes :D

9 to 5 By Dolly Parton-

Archival staff moment

American Healthcare By Penelope Scott-

I guess it could technically be seen as an End themed one? but I put it on bc I felt like it fit the vibes (are you getting sick of reading vibes? i'm getting sick of typing it)

Butch 4 Butch By Rio Romeo-

mostly just the rat filled piano line,,,,,, and also it fits the vibes to me.

Oblivion By Grimes-

Kinda feels like a statement?? In a way?

Murders By Miracle Musical-

the vibes. hopefully thats the last time i type that for this-

oh yeah woo yeah, we're onto the specific Entities now B) lets start with the one that probably has the most, if not, it sure feels like it-

The Spiral:

Spiral Eyes By Rewenge-

yeahhhh,,,, I know it doesn't really fit the vibes all that well, But the title fits and I like it so-

The Distortionist By Ghost and Pals-

this one is SUPER obvious, but it fits REALLY well in my mind.

Out of Her Head (Outerlude) [From The Film Possibly in Michigan] By Korban Baxter-

I can literally picture this one- I lowkey wanna do an animatic of this one one day.

A Crow's Trial By Vane Lily-

OKAY- so this last one is because it's the song from an absolutely GORGEOUS animation/animatic by Akidachi on YouTube, I ADORE this animation. please watch it omg-

again, I'm like, 90% sure that The Spiral has the most songs on this playlist, definitely not a bias or anything. next up is the mf uhhhh-

The Corruption:

Spiral of Ants By Lemon Demon-

no explanation needed.

Maggot By Slutever-

Mostly just the name, but it's a good song too so-

Sick On Seventh Street By Sarah and the Safe Word-

fits the vibe title and actual song wise.

in retrospect under my skin probably could be here-

The Web:

Redesign Your Logo (Bonus Track) By Lemon Demon-

Feels like a very web song,,,

Boris The Spider By The Who-

Spider,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

Spider Dance By Toby Fox-

Yes,,, like from undertale,,,,,,,

i think thats it for the web (i swore there were more,,,,)

The Lonely:

Nobody By Mitski-

C'mon, you didn't think I WOULDN'T put this one on, did you?

This December By Ricky Montgomery-

idk what it is exactly about this one, just,,,, feels correct?

Blue Jay Way By The Beatles-

MANNNNNNN- i love this song, my mom hates it- that's unrelated- but I always just feel like there's fog or like, an eerie sea, or something- while listening to it. it feels very lonely-

I'm a Member of the Midnight Crew (1909) By Eddie Morton-

I have no idea why spotify suggested this song to me, but I will never not find it funny. Anyway- reminds me of the crew on Peter's ship :)

The Stranger:

Rattlesnake By Kabaret Sybarit-

Idk, feels like smth Nikola would sing at jon- idk how else to explain it-

A Mask of My Own Face By Lemon Demon-

pretty self explanatory lolll

The Slaughter:

War Pigs By Black Sabbath-

war.

The Hunt:

The Hunter By Slaves-

maybe this one is because it's because it's litterally called the hunter, and that they say hunter a bunch, but it is fun to listen to-

Teeth By 8 Graves-

I cannot remember my reasoning at this current moment-

The Flesh:

Body By Mother Mother-

the lyrics do be fittin doe

The Dark:

Everything Goes Dark By The Hoosiers-

i mean- everything goes dark- what more do you want me to say-

Dr.Sunshine Is Dead By Will Wood and the Tapeworms-

i think its mostly the song's vibe and the title.

The End:

The Trick to life By The Hoosiers-

the trick to life is not to get too attached to it.

Memento Mori: the most important thing in the world By Will Wood-

remember death.

YOOO OKAY NOW WE'RE ON THE ONES THAT I HAVE ACTUAL THINGS TO SAY ABOUT NOW- at least for the most part-

Characters:

i think i'm gonna go from least to most for this- (spoilers, Jon has the most ones because I care him)

Cryptid Hunt- Demo By Averno, Sushi Soucy-

this one makes me think of the WTGFs,,,,,

You're at the Party (Bonus Track) By Lemon Demon-

makes me think about Micheal Shelley,,,,,,,

Saint Bernard By Lincoln-

Alice "daisy" Toner moment-

Mary By The Happy Fits-

mary keay,,,,,,

there used to be a gerry one too, but the more I heard it in the context of the playlist and him, It just didn't fit,,,,,

Ew it's Elias/jonah time-

The Fine Print By The Stupendium-

capitalism- jk- kinda- Idk, just feels like it fits because he really just kinda,,, doesn't care about his employees-

How Bad Can I Be? from the lorax-

I had to-

Boss 3 from the terraria soundtrack-

Listen- I don't know why- but- it has elias/jonah vibes- the vibes are fowl, but the song is good.

Ruler of Everything By Tally Hill-

Panopticon/eyepocolypes time-

Ayooo it's jon time- I really hope I can write out my thoughts in a way that makes any kind of sense- /foreshadowing

A Sadness Runs Through Him By The Hoosiers-

Goddddd,,,,, he's just kinda filled with sadness and survivors guilt, just like, all the time huh?

Home By Cavetown-

the lyrics are just- very him- like- I just gjbdjgsflkjns-

Broken Crown By Mumford & Sons-

frick- the foreshadowing was accurate- the best I can describe it is that the lyrics just???? y'know??? hhh why am I like this sometimes-

Sweet HIbiscus Tea By Penelope Scott-

i'm willing to bet that he never wanted to be the main character-

Honey I'm Home By Ghost and Pals-

I saw a Jon centric animatic to this one time- I can't for the life of me remember who by, But everytime I hear the moth lines, my brain goes ":0" Because I remember there was a time when people kept drawing moth jon- I don't know where that came from but I thought it was very cool.

Who Are You, Really? By Mikky Ekko-

I'm like- actually starting to get frustrated with how poorly im articulating my thoughts right now- this just isn't funny anymore-

Sleep By My Chemical Romance-

I'm not actually sure why for this one- I just remeber putting on my black parade CD, hearing this, and being like, "damn, that do kinda be jon tho-"

I hope you enjoyed my ramblings- tbh, all this sounded and read out better in my head. My words might not make sense, but I do like how the playlist is. also im very tired, maybe this would've been written better if I wasn't struggling to keep my eyes open lol. I'm gonna fall asleep now- or maybe i'll post a spiral themed doodle dump again, who knows. I don't know.

#tma #oh god im literally too tired to put so many tags #i just cant #the magnus archives #playlist #spotify #spotify playlist #my brain actually hurts #im so tired

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hallowgracie · 2 years

Text

Manuscript Search Game

Thank you to @no-book-left-behind for tagging me! We’re looking for the words sleep, bored, hold, complex, and attract for my most current wip, Villain Story.

I hope to post more about this story soon, so thanks for reminding me to share about this!

sleep

But I wasn’t the one she needed to worry about all along.

I remember washing out my tank top, switching into pajamas, how I passed into such a deep sleep, the rest of the night only felt like a second passed.

When I woke up the next morning, I’d gotten dressed and headed over to the Faradays’ house, rang the doorbell and everything.

Mrs. Faraday cracked open the door, with circles under her eyes and wearing her favorite old pink bathrobe.

That’s when I knew, before she even put it to words.

“Nikola never made it home last night.”

bored

Of course the heroes didn’t actually capture the villains. They just stopped whatever stupid scheme they were up to now. Because supervillains seemed to have the same perfectionist mentality of the straight-A valedictorian candidates in the AP class circuit in my high school, they always fled the scene after their plans were blown out of the water.

It made you wonder if they ever got bored with all of this—the heroes and the villains.

hold

I looked to the nightstand—-I’d placed the photograph of Nikola there last afternoon, before I’d gone to dinner. I had not thought of it in the hours since. Yet now his eyes seemed to pierce my own soul. Despite the boyish grin in the picture, I could feel the weight of his accusations.

I could hardly stand it anymore, so I flipped his picture down, severing the hold he had on me.

Complex and attract were not found in my book unfortunately.

new words: bog, time, glass, meadow, twist

Everyone is invited to play who wants to!

#tag games #writing games

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ollieofthebeholder · 3 years

Text

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

Tumblr tag || Also on AO3.

Chapter 39: Tim

Of course they don’t believe it. Of course they don’t. Setting aside the fact that Elias Bouchard is a rat bastard who lies like a cheap rug, never mind that Sasha’s attempt to call failed (and it’s not just hers, or just a one-off thing; Martin and Tim both try. Twice), they don’t believe the message because both Tim and Martin know, with a certainty that has nothing to do with the Eye and everything to do with the last several months, that Jon would never go out of town on an errand without letting them know first. He would at least call them to say he was leaving.

Jon Prime assures them that it’s probably fine. Well, maybe assures is the wrong word. He tells them that it’s probably fine, but he sounds uncertain and Tim doesn’t believe him either. They don’t ask what could be going on, not at first; as Martin Prime said, this isn’t the Primes’ story anymore and asking what happened to you is unproductive. The best they can do is put their heads down, plunge ahead with work, and hope.

That lasts about three days.

On Friday afternoon, Sasha comes back from lunch with a funny look on her face and something cradled in her hands, which she sets wordlessly on Tim’s desk. It’s a phone, cracked and battered, looking like it’s been dropped and run over a couple of times. Martin manages to turn it on, and they’re greeted with a cracked, warped picture of two men and a little boy staring raptly at the sky, all three of them utterly content despite everything life has thrown at them. They stare at it for a couple seconds before the phone fizzles and shuts off with a final-sounding pop.

Hope dies with Jon’s phone, and Tim shuts down a little. He spends the rest of the day looking at Gertrude’s tapes, squinting fiercely at them, drawing on every scrap of power he can, trying desperately to see through the green to the colors beneath. The best he’s able to do is sort them into piles that are sort of the same color blend, and it leaves him shaky, drained, and irritable. That night he sits up at the kitchen table with the box of Gertrude’s books they’ve never actually gone through and carefully, methodically, sorts them out. He tries to look at them, too, the way he did the tapes, but either he’s too tired or they don’t actually have anything of any of the powers on them. Instead, he begins going through them, one at a time, notebook and tape recorder set up in front of him as he jots down observations, notes, anything that might be helpful.

He doesn’t know what he’s looking for, other than the generic “answers”. Something that might provide a lead to where Jon is, he guesses, even though in the back of his mind he can’t imagine why something like that would be in something belonging to Gertrude Robinson. Maybe there’s a part of him that suspects Jon is off on some madcap adventure, that he dropped his phone like Tim forgot his, and that if they can only find a clue to where he is they’ll be able to find him and get him home.

He’s at it all weekend, and by Monday, he’s frustrated and angry about the lack of answers. When Sasha asks him why there are fifteen piles of tapes instead of only fourteen, he snaps at her and can’t bring himself to apologize for his tone as he tells her that the fifteenth is the ones he isn’t sure about, the ones he can’t tell the underneath color of.

Sasha doesn’t react to his tone. She simply shrugs, points at the Document Storage room, and tells him to go listen to some of them then.

Tim is annoyed with her, at first, but three tapes later he realizes he’s stopped shaking. He’s still upset, but he’s not so angry, and he’s definitely feeling a bit stronger than before. It’s only then that it occurs to him how much energy he’s been using. And it’s not until he comes out, ready to apologize for his temper, that he realizes how pale and drawn Martin looks and it occurs to him that he hasn’t slept since Friday. Which, apparently, means Martin hasn’t either.

Martin confirms as much that night, while he’s making tea for them both (Tim only realizes then he’s been drinking Martin’s tea all weekend without even noticing). He says he’s tried, a couple of times, but he can’t seem to rest for worrying, both about Jon and about Tim, which makes him feel horrible. Tim actually goes to bed that night instead of working himself to exhaustion over the books, and he and Martin both manage to get some rest even though they’re both horribly conscious of the fact that there’s something—someone—missing from their bed.

It’s not until almost lunchtime on Tuesday that the little voice in the back of Tim’s brain asks him when it became their bed rather than his bed.

After that, he tries to get back to work, tries to buckle down to doing their duty—Jon will be back, he tells himself, and they’ve got to keep things moving for him—but he’s distracted, and from the way Martin’s eyes keep drifting to Jon’s closed office door, he knows Martin feels the same. And while they’re trying to talk about it, they’re both still tense.

By the time Jon’s been gone almost two full weeks, Tim decides he’s had enough. He glances at the clock on the corner of his laptop, then shuts it with a snap that startles the other two and pushes back from his desk.

“I can’t stand this,” he says, barely controlling his tone. “I’m going to run this down.”

Martin seems to understand. He closes his own laptop. “I’m coming with you.”

“Martin—”

“No. I’ve been—I need to know, too. And I need to hear it directly, I think. Otherwise—” Martin shakes his head.

Tim thinks he understands what Martin isn’t saying. “Sasha, can you hold things down up here?”

Sasha nods, her eyes sympathetic. Tim manages a half-smile, then heads over to the trapdoor.

The Primes are in the middle of eating—probably breakfast, given their odd sleep schedule—but Jon Prime looks up when the light of Martin’s torch plays through the door and sets aside his plate. “Tim. Martin. Any word?”

“No. Nothing.” Tim hesitates, trying to figure out how to phrase it, or even what it is he’s there to ask.

Martin beats him to it. “We were hoping you could tell us where he is.”

“I don’t—I can’t be sure,” Jon Prime says gently. “Things aren’t—”

“No, we’re not asking where you were this time around,” Martin says, unusually to the point for once, which either shows how comfortable he’s grown with them all or how absolutely stressed and terrified he is. “We’re asking if you can—Know where he is.”

“Oh,” Jon Prime says softly.

Martin keeps talking, words tumbling out almost desperately. “We’ve been—we were trying to figure it out, if, if he left on his own after all and just dropped his phone, maybe if there was some clue. But there’s nothing. Sasha tried to Know—”

“When?” Tim asks, surprised.

“Yesterday, when you were picking up lunch. But she couldn’t find him. She’s not sure if it’s just because it’s the wrong kind of Knowing or if it’s because she’s not strong enough or what, but—” Martin gestures helplessly with both hands, making the torchlight bob about. “It’s been two weeks. And we can’t—we need to know if he’s okay.”

Martin Prime touches Jon Prime’s shoulder gently. “I think he’ll forgive you for looking, Jon. I know you’re trying not to, but…if it was me, I’d want to know you were okay. Remember…” His face darkens slightly.

Jon Prime turns and hugs Martin Prime tightly, and Tim’s stomach lurches. He remembers the day after Jane Prentiss’ attack, when the Primes gave them the basic rundown of everything that happened to them—remembers Jon Prime mentioning being kidnapped and held prisoner by Nikola Orsinov. Could that…? No. No, he can’t let himself imagine…

Oh, God, Jon’s been kidnapped.

The thought must hit Martin at the same time, because he reaches over and grips Tim’s hand tightly. Tim squeezes back as hard as he can. It seems like an eternity before Jon Prime whispers, “All right. All right.”

He eases back from Martin Prime, straightens up, closes his eyes, and takes a deep breath. Static fills the little room, softly at first, then louder and louder. Tim isn’t trying to look, he isn’t, but apparently the Eye’s power is too strong with Jon Prime calling on it like this, because he sees the glow, Jon Prime’s closed eyes and a third eye on his forehead and another on the back of each hand, all glowing green, faintly at first, then a bit stronger. Not as strong as Tim might have expected if he’d been expecting it at all, but bright anyway.

Jon Prime’s eyebrows knit in a frown. The static fizzles out, the glow fades, and when Jon Prime opens his eyes, they’re perfectly normal, if worried. “I can’t See him.”

“The tunnels—” Martin Prime begins, his own expression worried.

“Make it more difficult, but not impossible. And I’m a bit…hungry, I suppose, so that might—but I should at least be able to see something.” Jon Prime looks up at Tim and Martin. “He’s not dead. I’d Know that. But—but I don’t have anything more than that. I’m sorry.”

Martin makes a small sound of distress, then screws his face up tightly for a moment before huffing out a sigh and squaring his shoulders. His eyes are wet when he opens them. “But you know—he’s been kidnapped, hasn’t he. Orsinov’s got him.” It’s not a question.

“I—I don’t know that for sure,” Jon Prime stammers. “I—it’s possible, but I—but we can’t know that for sure. Not right now.”

“F-fine. Fine! We don’t know, but we’re pretty sure, right? So—so where would she be holding him?”

“I told you, I can’t—”

“I’m not asking you to use the Eye! I’m asking where she was holding you.”

Jon Prime inhales sharply, but Martin Prime wraps an arm around his shoulder and pulls him close and answers first. “What could you do with that knowledge, Martin? The police aren’t going to do a raid based on your say-so. Not so soon after the Brodie operation, not with so little to go on. Not for a missing adult. Especially if Elias has a good story to spin them about where he is.”

Martin sputters. Tim clenches his jaw. “Yeah, but we can go after him.”

“No!” the Primes shout in near-unison. Tim and Martin both jerk back in surprise.

“First of all, we don’t know for sure that’s where he is, or who has him,” Jon Prime says, a bit more calmly. “If you walk into the Stranger’s domain and he’s not there, what then? You’ve tipped your hand, again, that you know where they are. The Unknowing isn’t going to be ready for another five months, and where I was held was where they planned to do it. Gertrude had a—a reputation for stopping rituals, by the end, so the Stranger might move the site to somewhere else, and it might be harder to find.”

“And that’s assuming,” Martin Prime adds sharply, “that they let you leave at all. You’ve managed to escape them twice, Tim, there’s no way they’ll let you walk away a third time unchallenged. And if the Not-Diana left the memory of the original Diana in your mind, Martin, you’re marked by the Stranger, too. It’s going to be that much harder for you to get in unnoticed, let alone get out unnoticed, especially not with the Archivist. If he’s there.”

“We’ve got to try,” Martin says angrily. “We can’t just let him suffer because—”

“You think he’ll suffer less if you get hurt? Or killed?” Martin Prime interrupts. “And—okay, fine, say you don’t. Say you get in and out unscathed. If he’s not there, you really think they’ll risk holding him for another five months? They’ll kill him then and there rather than risk you finding him and disrupting her plans for the Unknowing.”

“Martin,” Jon Prime says, sounding pained. He lays a hand on Martin Prime’s arm, but Martin Prime shrugs him off.

“Do you honestly think I don’t know how much it hurts?” Martin Prime’s voice cracks at that. “What it’s like not knowing where he is but knowing he’s probably in danger and you can’t do anything about it? You think I wouldn’t have given everything to know where to find him? But if you’re wrong and he dies, I know what it’ll do to you.”

Jon Prime wraps his arms around Martin Prime; Martin Prime resists for a moment, then slumps and clings to Jon Prime in return. Tim, slightly numb and feeling like the bottom has dropped out of his stomach, sees a few tears squeeze their way out of the corners of Martin Prime’s eyes.

He’s not wrong, that’s the hell of it. As badly as Tim wants to storm…wherever it is, as much as he desperately wants Jon to come home, he knows Martin Prime is right. They can’t risk putting Jon in danger by going to the wrong place to rescue him, and the Stranger is probably almost as bad as the Spiral about misdirection and concealment. Until they’re sure, or as close to sure as they can be, they can’t chance it. And more than that, Tim knows he can’t risk putting Martin in danger. He hadn’t thought about Martin being marked by the Stranger, but now that the thought’s in his mind…he refuses to lose anyone else to that thing. Refuses. Scylla and Charybdis for sure.

“At least wait until we’re sure,” Jon Prime says. He looks over at Tim and Martin, and Tim can see how much pain he’s in, how utterly scared he is. He knows, more than the rest of them, what Jon might be going through and he probably feels it down to his toes, as much as he feels their pain. And that’s assuming the Eye isn’t channeling all their fear through him also. “Once the Institute is closed for the weekend. Maybe I can get better…reception aboveground, in the Archives, closer to the Eye. Consume a statement or two or something, but—please. Don’t risk it until we know exactly where he is.”

Tim looks over at Martin, sees the conflicted look and the suspiciously wet brightness in his eyes, his lips pressed tightly together in an evident bid to stop them from shaking. He’s going to follow Martin’s lead on this one. Martin stares at the Primes for a long moment, then nods once and hisses out a single word. “Fine.”

“Okay,” Jon Prime says softly. “Okay.” He closes his eyes and drops his head onto Martin Prime’s shoulder.

“We’ll see you after hours then,” Tim manages. He reaches for Martin’s arm, but Martin jerks away and simply leads the way out of the tunnels without speaking. He’s pale and shaking and way more upset than even Tim would expect, even knowing how Martin feels about Jon, and he doesn’t know what to do about it.

Sasha looks up when they come out of the trapdoor, but evidently they don’t need to say anything, because a series of emotions plays over her face and her shoulders slump. Tim shakes his head anyway. Martin stops at his desk long enough to set the heavy-duty torch on it. “I need to—I’ll be back.”

“Martin—” Tim’s heart seizes. He grabs Martin’s arm, fear coursing through him. He let Jon go out alone and Jon—

“I’m not leaving the building, Tim, I just—I need to walk for a minute.” Martin looks at him and his face softens. He squeezes Tim’s arm with his other hand before removing it from his own. “I promise. Not going outside.”

“Okay,” Tim says softly. “I’ll wait for you.”

As soon as Martin leaves, Tim drops to his seat and sighs. “They’re not sure where he is. Jon Prime said he’d come up after we close and see what he can do.”

Sasha glances at her computer. “That won’t be long.”

The door to the Archives opens, and Tim looks up, preparing to try and tease Martin about his short walk. It’s not Martin who comes in, though, but Basira. She raises an eyebrow at Sasha. “Hey. What’s with your friend?”

“Martin? He’s…it’s a long story.” Sasha gestures at Jon’s closed office door. “Jon’s been missing for a couple weeks now.”

“Hm. Wouldn’t have figured him for the flaky type.” Basira slips her hands into her pockets. “Came to see if you wanted to grab a drink. Been a hell of a week.”

“You, too, huh?” Sasha glances hesitantly at Tim. “I’d love to, but you mind waiting a bit? We’re technically here another twenty minutes.”

“Nah, you go ahead,” Tim tells her. “Martin and I can close down here. Take some time. You deserve it.”

Basira grunts. “You think he’ll be back in time? Where’s he heading?”

Tim rubs his forehead. “Probably up to the library to torture himself by dealing with the Not-Diana. I love him, but he’s so damn prone to punishing himself for things he doesn’t need to.”

Sasha gives Tim a funny look that he’s too tired and stressed to really parse out, but only says, “If you’re sure. Might want to make sure those kids are out of here by closing time if the others are coming up.”

“What—oh, right.” Tim honestly forgot about the pair of students back in the stacks doing research for some joint project. They first came the day before, but several of the cases they need are on tape and one or two of them are live statements; Tim keeps meaning to do transcripts of those, but hasn’t got around to it yet. They’ve been so quiet he honestly hasn’t thought about them since they walked in earlier that afternoon. “Didn’t realize they were still here, but yeah, don’t worry. Have fun.”

“Sure. Have a good weekend, Tim.” Sasha pats his shoulder, shrugs into her jacket, and heads out the door with Basira. Tim watches them go, glad Sasha has a friend, then heads back into the shelves looking for the students.

They’re not hard to find, seated at one of the tables tucked in an odd bend in the Archives, which is scattered with books, papers, and a small stack of cassette tapes. Sitting on the table between them is a battered white plastic tape player that looks exactly like the one Tim had when he was three—rounded at the edges, with a soft rubber grip at the handle, brightly-colored buttons on top, and two tiny microphones with coiled cords, one on either side. Plugged into the headphone jack is an adapter, then a splitter, then two pairs of headphones leading to the two students, who are listening intently and alternately scribbling in a notebook they’re passing back and forth.

One of them looks up and spots Tim coming closer, then pokes the other and points at him. The other sees Tim and hits the big red button on top of the recorder, stopping the playback with a loud CLUNK.

“Getting close to closing time, guys,” Tim says.

“Aww, it’s just getting to the good part,” one of them complains with a humorous texture to her voice. Tim’s pretty sure she introduced herself as Helena.

The other one gives him pleading puppy dog eyes. “Can we just finish listening to this tape? I don’t know how much we have left in it, but it’s the last one that—um, Martin—pulled for us. We’re almost done. Please?”

Jaz, Tim remembers. With one Z. He’ll be the first to admit he was a hair distracted when they turned up yesterday, but Jaz is a distinct enough name that it’s stuck in his mind. “Sure, no problem. We can wait around until you’re finished.”

“Thanks.” Jaz flashes him a grin and returns to the notebook. Helena pushes the bright green PLAY button and they go back to listening.

As Tim turns away, he happens to catch a glimpse of the last note in the shared notebook—judging by the color of the ink, Jaz is the one who wrote it. Bet this guy’s as hot as his voice.

He suppresses a smile, even as his heart aches, as he heads back to his desk.

Martin’s still not back, and Sasha didn’t finish putting her files away before she left, so Tim busies himself for a minute neatening everyone’s stacks. After a moment’s thought, he tucks the files into their drawers. It will make things easier in the long run. He hopes.

He packs up his laptop and is about to start on Martin’s when something…twists. It’s the best way he can phrase it. It’s like the worst tinnitus he’s ever had, but outside his head rather than inside his ear, and it makes his head pound. He looks up in time to see a glowing yellow door in the wall suddenly open and Martin comes stumbling out, chased by warped, weirdly echoing laughter that makes the headache worse.

“Tim. Run,” Martin gasps. “We have to—go.”

“Why? What’s going on?” Tim’s stomach lurches, even as his headache subsides.

“The Not-Diana. It’s coming, Tim.”

“This way.” Tim grabs Martin’s arm and starts towards the door leading directly to the grounds, then pulls up short. “Shit. Those kids.”

“Wh—oh, God.” Martin turns pale. “They’re still here?”

Tim takes off in the direction of the two students, Martin hard on his heels. “Jaz! Helena!”

They don’t answer, but Tim rounds the corner just as their tape player shuts off. Jaz pulls off their headphones and looks up. “Oh, hey, we just finished—”

“Time to go,” Tim cuts them off.

“Yeah, just let us pack up—”

“No, now. You can come back and get all this later, but right now, we’ve got to evacuate.”

Helena’s eyebrows go up. “Is there a fire? I didn’t hear the alarm.”

“No, just—” Tim begins.

“Maaaaaaaaaaaaaaartiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiin…”

The voice from the direction of the stairs sounds like Diana’s—or at least the Diana Tim remembers, which means it’s the Not-Diana—but distorted, warped. Martin turns, somehow, even paler.

Jaz’s eyes widen. “What the fuck?”

“Yeah, going. Going sounds good.” Helena starts to push back from the table, then stops and mutters something that sounds very much like “Horror Movie 101” before slithering out of her seat and sliding under the table.

“Good girl,” Tim mutters. “Let’s go. Quietly.”

Jaz grabs Helena’s arm as she crawls out from under the table. Tim leads them as quickly and quietly as he can towards the exit. They can probably get there, and if they’re outside, they’ve got a better chance, but down here without cameras, he doesn’t want to risk whatever might happen.

“Maaaaaartiiiiiiiiin,” the Not-Diana sings out again. “Come out, come out, wherever you are…I just want to thank you, that’s all.”

There’s a rustle from up ahead. Tim checks and shoos the others in a different direction, which means Martin is leading now, the two students still between them. Maybe they’ve got a better chance with Martin in the lead, him having lived in the Archives for so long…Tim sincerely hopes that Martin’s still got his mental map of escape routes. Surely he has one.

“It’s okay, Martin, it’s just Diana,” the Not-Diana calls, voice gooey with insincere reassurance. “Kind old Diana. Nothing to be afraid of.”

Helena is muttering under her breath, something Tim can’t quite catch or understand, but it’s probably a mantra or a prayer given the panicked look in her eyes. Martin halts at a gap in the shelves, looks both ways, then indicates for the others to come with him.

“You seem tense, dear.” The Not-Diana’s voice is impossibly close, coming from absolutely the wrong direction to have been where it was before. “You should have a nice cup of tea. You like tea, don’t you? Always the tea.”

They’re at one of the intersections where the shelves branch off, the gap between the nineteenth and twentieth century statements. Martin glances over his shoulder, then points to the left. “Go. That way. Should be able to get out. I’ll draw it off, it’s me it wants—”

“Absolutely not!” Tim hisses through clenched teeth. “I’m not leaving you to that thing—”

“I’m going to wear you, Martin,” the Not Diana calls. Ice water runs down Tim’s spine. “I’m going to wear everything you are. Like you never existed. Nobody will even know. And it will hurt, oh, yes. It hurt Diana.”

“What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck,” Jaz whispers, clutching Helena’s arm hard enough it has to hurt.

“Yeah, definitely not leaving you to it now. Come on.” Tim grabs Martin’s arm and drags him with them to the left.

A tall, twisted figure suddenly looms up at the end of the row they’re running down. To Tim’s eyes, it’s bathed in a glow of indigo light, almost bright enough to drown out the green on the shelves around it. “There you are. And you brought friends.”

Helena screams. Tim skids to a halt, pivots, and shoves the other three ahead of him. “Run, run, run!”

Menacing laughter follows them as they try to flee. Tim’s mind whirls as they stumble desperately towards what he hopes is freedom. Diana never comes down to the Archives, unless the Not-Them has been exploring when nobody else is around. It might be at a disadvantage, not knowing the place like they do. Or maybe not. Beholder versus Stranger, the known versus the unknown…something with centuries of experience versus two people with eight months’ worth of knowledge and two university kids who’ve barely scratched the surface of all of this. He honestly can’t say which way this is going to go.

“I’m glad we’re getting to run, Martin,” the Not-Diana says. “It makes this so much more…satisfying.”

Document Storage is up ahead, but Tim’s not about to lead them in there; if that thing follows them, they’ll be trapped in there, and it kills Martin. Of course, it’s perfectly possible, even logical, that it will kill Tim and the two students too, but he’s not sure if it would feel worse to have to watch it tear Martin to pieces and then live with that for the rest of his life. Actually, screw that, he knows that will be infinitely worse and he isn’t going to risk it. Instead, he steers them towards the steps. It’s not optimal, he really doesn’t want to lead this thing up to the main floor if people are still up there, especially since he has no idea how this thing got past them all (oh, God, he hopes it was too intent on going after Martin to worry about anyone else), but it’s better than nothing.

Except there’s an open expanse between the end of the shelves and the steps, no cover, and Tim hesitates three rows back, not sure if they can make it.

“I knew it would be you, in the end.” The Not-Diana sounds satisfied and delighted, its voice somewhat distant, and Tim fervently hopes it stays away. “Always so helpful, always so eager. Anything to get approval, to show you deserve to be there…”

“Shut up,” Tim grinds out. Martin shushes him.

“It’s a shame you’ll miss the Unknowing,” the Not-Diana says. “You would have loved to see it. But oh, maybe you will be there after all. Won’t you be a lovely partner for the Dance?”

Anything is better than nothing. Tim gets the other three moving again.

“And I can wear you to find your Archivist.” The Not-Diana laughs, cruel and malicious. “Oh, yes, I know where he is, and of course he hopes for a rescue. Won’t he be surprised when kind, helpful Martin is the one to skin him in the end?”

Martin lets out a frightened half-gasp, half-sob. Jaz’s chest heaves with panicked, stuttering breaths. Fear and fury mingle in Tim’s chest and he starts wishing he had a weapon of some kind, but he’ll tear this thing apart with his bare hands if he has to. For right now, though, his primary focus is on getting Martin, Helena, and Jaz away.

“Tunnels,” he gasps to Martin. It’s their last hope. Not a great one, but it’s better than nothing.

They break from the shelves and dash for the trapdoor. Martin flings it open and shoos the others down it; Tim grabs his arm as he passes, forcing him to come with. “Not leaving you behind,” he grinds out.

Their terrified breathing echoes in the tight confines of the stairwell, and somebody swears in what Tim thinks might be Portuguese as they evidently miss their step. He fumbles for his phone, thinking any light is better than nothing, when a torchlight beam suddenly sweeps the ground in front of them. Helena screams, louder this time.

“Tim? Martin? What’s going on?” Jon Prime sounds concerned.

“You can’t escape me now.” Not-Diana’s voice floats down from behind them. Tim throws a frightened glance over his shoulder and sees the shaft of light from the Archives, blocked by a shadow, spill down the steps; the light abruptly vanishes. “Nowhere left to hide.”

“Shit,” Martin Prime hisses.

“Get behind me, all of you.” Jon Prime strides past Tim, sounding determined.

Tim grabs Martin and drags him forward, then finds the two students and pulls them all into a tight huddle. He and Martin do their best to shield Jaz and Helena from the Not-Diana, and Tim can only hope it will be enough.

“I see you,” the Not-Diana sing-songs, then hisses. “You!”

“Leave them alone.” Jon Prime’s voice is low and laden with menace, the way it was when Breekon and Hope first came to the Archives.

“What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be—” The Not-Diana sucks in a breath. “You’re not Jon. What are you? What have you done?”

“Feel the pain of your victims.” Static builds as Jon Prime speaks, and the green glow builds. Like before, it starts with eyes, but not just Jon’s real ones, not just two or three extra ones—eye upon eye, popping into existence around him, all glowing brighter and brighter green and staring directly at the Not-Diana with an intensity that makes Tim’s entire being hurt. He squeezes his eyes shut and holds onto Martin and the students tighter.

“No, please,” the Not-Diana begs. “I’m sorry—”

“Understand it,” Jon Prime continues. The static is growing in intensity. “You have drawn out so much despair, and now, finally, it is your turn.”

“Don’t—I’m sorry,” the Not-Diana says. Then its voice changes, something higher, softer-pitched, with a roll to the R’s. “Please—don’t hurt me, please!”

Martin gasps again, and Tim realizes it’s the original Diana’s voice. The thing that stole her life is using her last words to plead for mercy, or perhaps to get one last taste of fear from them. It fills him with rage, and he guesses, from the intensity of Jon Prime’s next words that he’s thinking the same. “You have never truly understood. So much more suffering than you have ever known, and now—you will know. Ceaseless Watcher, turn your gaze upon this wretched thing.”

There’s a loud, high-pitched, discordant squeal that Tim can feel in his teeth. The green glow is so bright, so intense, that Tim can see it in detail even with his eyes—his real eyes, anyway—closed: hundreds of eyes forming the shape of a person, some floating around the head like a crown, others hovering around it like an arch, and one huge one appearing from behind, like a giant peering through the window of a house, and in between them, stretching and shifting and twisting into all sorts of humanoid shapes, a rapidly dimming glow of indigo. A roar mingled with a scream echoes through the tunnels, and then—

Silence. Darkness. Nothing but the ringing in Tim’s ears and someone hyperventilating.

He opens his eyes and eases up his grip on the others. Jon Prime stands where he was, unmoving, shoulders stiff, staring at the spot where—Tim assumes—the Not-Diana was a moment before.

“What,” Jaz says, voice shaking, “and I cannot stress this enough, the fuck.”

“We’re alive, we’re alive, oh, my God, we’re alive, I thought we were dead,” Helena whispers.

Jon Prime relaxes, at least marginally, and turns around to look at them. He seems…normal is the best way Tim can think of it. There’s nothing in his eyes but concern. “Is everyone all right?”

“I think so,” Tim says, uncertainly. His body aches like he’s been kayaking all day, and he’s still definitely more than a little terrified. The mental image of Jon being skinned alive by something pretending to be Martin isn’t going to leave his mind for a good long while. But, as Helena said, they’re alive. And nobody appears to be injured.

“Is it, um, is it safe to get our stuff and go now?” Jaz asks.

“Yes,” Jon Prime says without hesitation. “There’s nothing else out there. Not now.”

“Um. Good? Thank you?”

Jon Prime leads them out of the tunnels; Martin Prime brings up the rear. Once they’ve all emerged into the Archives, Helena turns to Tim and Martin, looking a bit hesitant. “I…think we got everything we need? We’ll, um, we’ll be back to let you know how the project goes, if that’s okay.”

“That’s fine,” Martin says softly. “We’d like to hear about it.”

“Okay. Cool. We’ll just—get our stuff and go then.” Helena pauses. “We didn’t rewind the last tape, but—”

Tim can’t help the bark of laughter that slips out. “We’ll take care of it. Don’t worry.”

Helena nods and turns away. Jaz starts to follow, then stops and looks back. “Thank you. For saving us.”

“Of course,” Jon Prime says quietly.

The two students head back into the shelves to get their things. As they go, Tim hears Helena whisper, “You were right, he is hot.”

“Oh, my God, Helena, shut up,” Jaz hisses, elbowing Helena sharply.

None of them speak, or indeed move, except for Martin Prime stepping over and resting his hand on Jon Prime’s back. Once the door closes behind the two students, though, Jon Prime whirls on Tim and Martin. “What did you do?”

Tim is about to deny that he did anything, then decides to accept blame; after all, it’s logical that it would be him, and while he doesn’t know what precipitated all of this, it can’t be that bad. Before he can, Martin speaks up in a small voice. “It wasn’t Tim. It was me.”

“Martin?” Jon Prime says in amazement, turning to look at him.

Martin crosses his arms over his chest. “It just—I know I shouldn’t have, I know what you said, but I was just—I was so angry. I felt so helpless. Knowing Jon’s in danger and we can’t do anything about it, a-and just, just the not knowing, it’s getting to me. And all I could think about was just—everything the Stranger’s done. What it did to Tim, what it’s doing to Jon, what it did to your Sasha—what it did to you. It just all boiled up. I-I went up to Artifact Storage and…and the table was there, and…”

“We told you what happened when I destroyed it,” Jon Prime says.

“I know! I just—I thought maybe if I did something different, it would…” Martin takes a deep breath. “I had Jon’s lighter, the one with the spiderweb design on it, I-I don’t know how it got in my pocket, but it was there. I thought it was a recorder at first. Then I pulled it out and—and I lit it and…it went up so fast. It was weird, it just—it caught and it burned and I had to jump back, and I was just thinking God, that was stupid when the fire went out and it was just a pile of ash and…”

“Martin.”

“I know. I know. It was stupid. You should be angry.” Martin isn’t looking at Jon Prime, though. He’s looking at Tim.

And he’s right, Tim should be angry. He wants to be angry. Martin’s expression says he wants Tim to be angry, too—no, he expects Tim to be angry.

Instead of yelling, Tim steps forward and pulls Martin into a hug.

Martin clings to him tightly, burying his face in Tim’s shoulder. Tim feels hot tears soaking into his shirt as Martin cries silently and gathers him closer, one hand cupping the back of his head and the other at the small of his back. He starts crying, too, as it finally sinks in how close a call it was. How close they both came to dying—worse, how close Martin came to dying.

“Non posso perderti anche io,” he whispers. “Please, Martin.”

“Sorry. I’m sorry,” Martin half-sobs, half-gasps. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t—I’m sorry.”

Martin doesn’t speak Italian, but he probably doesn’t need to. And Tim doesn’t say it’s okay, because it isn’t. It isn’t and they both know it. But what he does say, and what is equally true, is, “I forgive you.”

After a few minutes, they pull themselves together and separate. Tim’s face feels sticky and hot, and Martin’s is still blotchy, but they’re mostly okay. Martin snags a couple tissues off his desk and tentatively offers one to Tim, who accepts and turns to see the Primes holding one another, their foreheads resting together. Jon Prime looks…conflicted is the best way Tim can think of to phrase it. He guesses it has to do with Martin having destroyed the table and unthinkingly freed the Not-Them.

Martin evidently thinks the same thing, because he clears his throat. “I’m—I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” Jon Prime murmurs. He takes a deep breath and opens his eyes. “Well…maybe it is. This time. But I’m starting to think a lot more things are inevitable than we previously thought. Someone would have let it out eventually.” He lets his hands slide off Martin Prime’s shoulders and takes a half-step back.

Martin Prime lets him go with obvious reluctance. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine, Martin. Honest.” Jon Prime gives him a fond smile, then squares his shoulders. “Right. Let’s see about finding your Jon now.”

A guilty look crosses Martin’s face. “You don’t—I mean, after—you’re not tired or—or drained?”

“No,” Jon Prime says quietly. “I’m feeling rather…full, actually.”

“You—oh.” Tim swallows. “That was, ah—that was pretty—it was a lot. Did you know you could do that?”

“Yes and no. I’ve done it before, just…not here. The first time was Peter Lukas, and it was actually in the Lonely’s domain rather than, well, the real world. All the other times I’ve done that were after the world ended.” Jon Prime huffs. “To be honest, I wasn’t entirely sure it would work. Especially down in the tunnels, even with the trapdoor still open.”

“It was looking over the Not-Diana’s shoulder,” Tim says slowly, remembering the light show. “It was—it Saw, all right.”

Martin touches Tim’s shoulder softly, almost hesitantly; Tim reaches up to grab it and holds on tight. Martin Prime’s lips are in a flat line. “What would you have done if it hadn’t worked, Jon?”

“Tried to lure it deeper into the tunnels,” Jon Prime says, obviously trying for casual, but there’s a worried look in his eyes again, like he knows Martin Prime isn’t going to like his answer, which he probably isn’t. “Draw it away from all of you, give you a chance to escape. Leitner’s still down there somewhere with that damned book of his, he’d—probably have trapped it in the end. It would have been all right.”

Martin shivers. “She—it said it was going to wear me for the Dance.”

“It said what?” Jon Prime growls.

Tim hesitates. “Do—actually, do you want our statements?”

For a second, Jon Prime looks like he’s considering that, then shakes his head. “No. No, not right now. I don’t want to overdo it, and that was…a lot, considering I’m not quite as close to the Eye as I was. I at least need to siphon off a bit of power first. Let me take a look for your Jon.”

He rolls his head from one side to another, squares his shoulders, and takes another deep breath, closing his eyes. Again there’s the rush of static, again the glow, sudden, swift, and bright. Tim tries to stop himself from seeing it, but it’s too much and he’s too tired, and then it’s not just the Eye glowing on Jon Prime but all his other marks as well, some barely visible beneath the green and others impossible to miss. Faint hints of old marks still cling to Martin Prime, and Tim doesn’t want to look at Martin, doesn’t want to expose his trauma, but Martin wraps his arms around Tim from behind like he knows Tim’s about to collapse, which he probably does because it’s Martin, and Tim clings to his arms and closes his eyes tightly, but he can still see the green…

And then the static rushes out, as suddenly as it came, and the glow fades. Tim gasps as the last of his energy drains away, and he sags against Martin’s chest. God, he’s worn out.

“So?” he says tiredly. “Where is he?”

The look in Jon Prime’s eyes—mingled sympathy and fear—tells Tim the answer, even before he says, “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know,” Tim repeats. “After all that—you still don’t know?”

“I’m not omnipotent, Tim. I never was, even after the world ended. There will always be things that are beyond my knowledge, things I can’t just see. Blind spots.” Jon Prime hesitates. “I can—there are four that I can see. He’s in one of them, I can guess that much, I just—don’t know which one. He might be at the Waxworks, the one I was held at. He might also be in the Trophy Room—it’s shielded from the Eye, they’re still using it. They may have only stopped in our time because I questioned Sarah Baldwin directly. He might be in Wales—the Gwydir Forest—h-have you listened to that tape yet?”

“No,” Tim and Martin say in unison.

“I suppose it’s in the ones Basira gave you. Somewhere. Or Elias may have had it, I suppose, he’s the one who sent it to me, but…anyway. That’s a blind spot as well. I-I thought it had burned to the ground, but evidently something survived.”

Tim waits for a moment for him to continue, then prompts, “And?”

“Hmm?”

“You said there were four you could see. Or—not see. Where’s the fourth?”

Jon Prime winces. “You won’t like it.”

The bottom drops out of Tim’s stomach, and he’s even more thankful for Martin holding him up. “Covent Garden Theater.”

“Yes. It—th-they must still be using it, Tim. I’m so sorry.”

Martin’s arms tighten around Tim, and he gives a ragged sigh. “We—we can’t. It’s too dangerous, you’re right. W-we can’t take the risk. If we pick the wrong one…either he dies, or we do.”

Tim closes his eyes for a moment. He wonders how he has any tears left after the evening he’s just had. “But you can’t—is he okay?”

“He’s…alive.” Jon Prime inhales quickly. “Scared. M-maybe not the most scared he’s ever been, but definitely in the top five. I know what they did to me, but I can’t tell you for sure if that’s what they’re doing to him. It’s too…muted. Hidden. I have a strong suspicion that the only reason I can see as much as I can is because in some ways, he is still me. We’ve still got some connection, so it’s like looking for a part of myself. But I can tell you he’s alive.”

“I guess that’ll have to do,” Tim mutters.

“At least for the weekend,” Martin says. “We—we can regroup on Monday. Ask Sasha—oh, God, Sasha—”

“Left just after you did,” Tim assures him. “Basira invited her out for drinks.”

Martin Prime, who’s been unusually silent, gives a small laugh. “I always kind of wondered if they’d have been friends.”

Tim tries to stand on his own, but his knees buckle and Martin catches him. “Ugh. Think we can take one of those unmarked tapes home?”

“Yeah, sit down and I’ll grab a couple.” Martin eases Tim into his chair and brushes a light kiss against his forehead, seemingly without noticing, before heading over to the neatly sorted piles of tapes. A moment later he comes back and offers Tim his hand like nothing happened. “Come on. Let’s go home. You need food, a statement, and bed, not necessarily in that order.”

“No, that order sounds perfect, actually,” Tim mumbles. He lets Martin pull him to his feet and leans against him heavily, then looks at the Primes. “Thank you, by the way. For…everything.”

Jon Prime gives him a look of understanding. “I only wish it could have been more.”

#ollie writes fanfic #leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall)#tma #the magnus archives #canon typical stranger content #arguments tw #threats tw #oops forgot to post this one last night

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