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ollieofthebeholder · 46 minutes ago

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I did a report on book banning once.

Actually, I did reports on book banning three separate times with three separate teachers, with three separate sets of parameters so I was able to write about the same topic in different ways, but this is specifically about the report I did in university. The actual specs for the report included that we were supposed to complete some kind of study or poll (this was not a science class). I put the questions out on a couple of forums I belonged to at the time and asked a few IRL friends as well. A lot of the questions were standard for this sort of thing, I think - were you ever assigned to read a banned book, did you ever read banned books on your own, did you read/were you assigned them BECAUSE they were banned or did you find out about them being banned later, what's your opinion on banning books, etc.

But there was one question I asked that ended up reshaping the entire thrust of my presentation: "Are there any books that you think SHOULD be banned, and if so, why?"

Here's the thing. Most of the forums I was posting on were fan spaces for a book series that, at the time, was one of the most banned/challenged books out there. It's a fandom that I have since entirely distanced myself from, that I one hundred percent do not recommend to anyone, that I will actively attempt to dissuade people from reading or talking about, and that I would like to not be popular anymore. I'm sure most of you reading this can guess which one I'm talking about (I won't name it or go into specifics because I don't want to trip any filters unnecessarily). But it was KNOWN that these books were banned in a lot of places. A lot of people wore the "I read banned books" badge with pride. I fully expected that the answer to that question would be a resounding "no" from the forums, and that I'd maybe get a few affirmative answers from one of the other spaces.

I was shocked. Not only did a lot of people come back with either "not exactly but I think we should keep [author] or [book] out of the hands of children" or "yes, [book]/anything by [author] should be banned because XYZPDQ", but not a single person who responded gave me the same answer. The only one I remember - keep in mind it's been almost twenty years - was that one person specifically said The Bone Collector, and for the "why do you think it should be banned" question, they only said, "No. I'm not explaining it. It's too horrible to even think about. Just believe me when I say nobody should ever be allowed to read this book."

I highlighted that last comment in my presentation, along with several other of my "favorite" official reasons for banning books - the Alabama school board that banned The Diary of Anne Frank in 1984 because it was "a real downer", the district that removed A Raisin in the Sun because it was "pornographic", the library that took Charlie and the Chocolate Factory out of circulation because it "might be hurtful to children without parents", and things of that nature - and pointed out that all of these were the same thing. This was somebody saying "I don't like this, therefore nobody should read it, and I shouldn't have to explain why." I also pointed out that if you can't give a good reason, the whole thing falls apart, and then I quoted "Smut" by Tom Lehrer:

All books can be indecent books, Though recent books are bolder, For filth, I'm glad to say, Is in the mind of the beholder. When correctly viewed, Everything is lewd. I can tell you things about Peter Pan And the Wizard of Oz - THERE'S a dirty old man...

Go back to that paragraph I mentioned earlier, about those books that I no longer recommend to anyone. Notice how I phrased that. I don't recommend them. I will tell you all the reasons why I don't think you should buy them. I will tell you all the problems with the author, with the franchise, with the writing. I wish they were out of print, I wish they were deeply unpopular, I wish nobody would ever read them again.

But I still won't advocate for banning them.

It's so easy to twist a justification. Look at what I quoted up there! A Raisin in the Sun was banned for being "pornographic". One of the websites I used as a source responded to that accusation with "Did they read the same play I did?" At the time, I thought the comment was funny. Now, twenty years later, I realize: It was a buzzword. It was a convenient label. At the time of the challenge, just saying "it's pornographic" was enough. Obviously you're not some kind of sicko who wants to hear about all the pornographic details, are you? Freak! That's pornography! And they're teaching it in schools! We should get rid of it!

A Raisin in the Sun, for anyone who didn't study it at any point or read it (or watch the movie, which was very good), is a play/movie about a black family in Chicago in the 1960s. The family matriarch has been in domestic service for years, but she's just received a very large insurance payment from her husband's death and is retiring. Wanting to give her family, especially her young grandson, a better life, she goes out and buys a house...in an otherwise exclusively white neighborhood. The head of the homeowner's association (essentially) comes to visit them and offers to pay them a substantial amount of money to not move into the neighborhood, because segregation isn't officially a thing and they can't legally stop them from moving in, but they don't want them there. There's a lot more that goes on in the play, and I highly recommend you go and read it, but the point is that there is nothing sexual or titillating in the entire thing. The closest we get is a scene where the daughter (Beneatha, a college student) is gifted a traditional African dress from her boyfriend, who's Nigerian, and he shows her how to put it on over the clothes she's already wearing, and maybe the scene where the daughter-in-law (Ruth, a laundress) accidentally reveals that, having found out she's pregnant, she's planning to have an abortion rather than bring another child into the world/have another mouth to feed.

It's not pornographic. But someone didn't want it taught in schools, so they called it that to get it banned.

It's so easy to twist labels. If you, a liberal, agree that books with X trait are okay to ban, the people who don't want books to exist will find a way to say they have X trait, and then what are you going to do, admit that you like that sort of thing? Sicko! Freak! Pervert!

You don't have to like the book, or the author, or the topic. But if you're advocating for banning them entirely, you're functionally a conservative.

“Authors should not be ALLOWED to write about–” you are an anti-intellectual and functionally a conservative

“This book should be taken off of shelves for featuring–” you are an anti-intellectual and functionally a conservative

“Schools shouldn’t teach this book in class because–” you are an anti-intellectual and functionally a conservative

“Nobody actually likes or wants to read classics because they’re–” you are an anti-intellectual and an idiot

“I only read YA fantasy books because every classic novel or work of literary fiction is problematic and features–” you are an anti-intellectual and you are robbing yourself of the full richness of the human experience.

#book banning #ollie rants #sorry this got a bit out of hand

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ollieofthebeholder · 3 days ago

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And If Thou Wilt, Forget: a TMA fanfic

Read from the beginning on Tumblr || AO3 || My Website

Chapter 46: Exceeding comfortless, and worn, and old

Gerry had seen a lot of strange, unusual, and inexplicable things in his life. He’d encountered beings that didn’t seem to actually fit in the space they occupied, men with smiles that extended beyond their own faces, and women with hairstyles that rearranged themselves with fleshy coils. He’d seen books that shed bones, books that warped reality, and books that contained the souls of actual human beings scratched into pages made of their own skin. He’d seen sentient darknesses, walking fires, and things that he couldn’t remember clearly but that still sometimes made him wake up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat.

But waterproof snow boots for dogs? That was new.

Rowlf stood patiently, his tail wagging gently with excitement the only motion about him, as Tim adjusted the fit of the bright purple covering on his off hind foot, then released it and patted his head before tugging up the hood of the jacket over the dog’s head and ears. He got to his feet and nodded to Gerry. “Ready?”

“Ready. Although I wish to state for the record that this is ridiculous.” Gerry gestured emphatically at the getup Tim had bundled Rowlf into. “He’s a dog. Aren’t they supposed to be used to…weather?”

“He’s a spaniel,” Tim reminded him. “And we live in London. There is snow on the ground, we’re not going to be on established sidewalks or super populated areas, and it is literally freezing out there. He’s not any more used to this than you are. And we can’t leave him here.” He adjusted the fit of his gloves and looped the leash over his fingers. “If I’d known it was going to be this complicated, I’d have suggested we just kennel him while we were gone.”

“No, you were right.” Gerry sighed. “It’ll sell your point a lot better that we didn’t leave him behind. Kenneling the dog implies we intended to come back. I just didn’t expect us to end up in Siberia.”

Tim snorted. “If it helps, I also didn’t expect us to end up in Siberia.” He flexed his hand briefly, then nodded. “He’s still not paying attention. Come on, let’s go before the wind kicks up.”

“Should we be doing this at four in the morning?”

“Frankly, we shouldn’t be doing this at high noon,” Tim admitted. “But at least this way there won’t be anyone to see us do it.”

It was admittedly a pretty brilliant plan, or at least Gerry thought so once Tim explained it to him, which had been a couple of days. They had parted ways at Paddington Station with a very public and dramatic kiss, Tim heading for Gatwick and a plane while Gerry and Rowlf hopped on the first of the trains that would land them them, eventually, in Çukurova. Since they’d left their phones at home, he’d expected to have an anxious few days of not knowing where Tim was or if he was all right, but instead he had presented himself at the door of their room in the one temporary lodging that accepted dogs less than an hour after he checked in with an apology and an explanation.

That they were starting in Çukurova in order to pick up the trail they’d abandoned two years before was obvious. What Gerry hadn’t understood was the side trip to Malaysia, or why Tim had insisted on withdrawing as much cash as he could from their bank account, or why they’d brought Rowlf along. Tim’s logic, though, was impeccable. Malaysia, or at least the part of it he’d proposed “they” run off to, was a largely cash economy, so if they were seen—or perceived—to have taken out a bunch of money and headed that way, it would make sense. Gerry hated flying and transporting a pet by air was expensive, so it would also make sense for Tim to go ahead of them, secure a place for them to stay, and be waiting when they arrived. And as he’d said, if they were really running away and never coming back, they wouldn’t have left the dog behind, certainly not somewhere they had to pay for him to stay.

Of course, they weren’t actually running away. Tim knew he was bound to the Archivist, that he could no more quit than Jon—or Elias, for that matter—could fire him, and more importantly he knew that if he was away for too long, he would start to get ill. But they were banking on two things. The first was that, since he hadn’t ever grown ill while they were on the trail the first time, there was a good chance that the same thing would happen this time.

The second, which wouldn’t come into play until later, was that Jonah Magnus didn’t know that Tim hadn’t actually tried to run.

The lodgings they were staying in were…not official, exactly. Tim had pulled out his charisma again and, through a friend of a friend of a friend, had managed to secure them the rights to squat in a hunting lodge just outside the nearest populated area to their actual destination. It was usually used only in the summer, so perhaps slightly less well stocked than it could have been, but at least it was dry and out of the elements and, more importantly, private and therefore not observed. They’d covered the few hunting trophies on the walls with spare blankets, which had the dual effect of ensuring they couldn’t be spied on even accidentally and making the room a bit warmer, but they weren’t planning to be there long. The best part was that it had a straight shot to the first part of their destination, only a couple of miles away.

The worst part was that said “miles” were through a snow-filled forest, downhill most of the way—which meant it would be uphill getting back—and it was, while not pitch black, still darker than was necessarily optimal.

“Are you sure this lead is going to pan out?” Gerry asked finally. “What if it’s a dead end?”

“It’s not,” Tim said unhesitatingly. “The trail’s been good so far. Everything we’ve found has been useful, or at least has led us to something useful. It’s all actually connected to the Stranger, to the Unknowing.”

Gerry stepped over a chunk of snow, having learned the hard way that what looked like something he could trail his boots through was often a solid chunk of ice or possibly a tree root. “How do you know that?”

“Because I’m not getting too weak to function.” Tim paused for Rowlf to sniff at the base of a tree and looked up at Gerry. “You remember last year when I was worried about Jon starting to slide into the Archivist role, and I made a comment to you about how maybe I was getting energy from statements?”

“Yeah?”

“Well, I’m not. They don’t really do anything for me. I don’t even really get worn out when I’m reading them aloud these days, but I don’t get energy from them either. What I do get energy from—and I can’t believe it took me this long to realize—is the research. Especially when it’s something I haven’t specifically set out to find, or something unexpected but vital that turns up while I’m looking into it. Not following the trail, but finding the answers.”

Gerry picked at that for a few minutes, turning it over in his mind. It certainly made sense. Tim had always picked up facts and tidbits of trivia like seashells on the beach, and he was always quick to share them when they were relevant. They referred to the being he was bound to as the Eye, the Beholding, the Ceaseless Watcher, and all of those were accurate, but the one they always forgot about was It Knows You—or, rather, It Knows. There were people who feared not only being observed, but their secrets being uncovered or facts they found…inconvenient being unearthed. Truths you thought were long buried, questions you believed would forever be unanswered, facts you thought would be only known to those long dead—all of those could inspire fear just as easily.

“So you’re saying you get energy from…uncovering secrets,” he said finally. “You should set up shop as a private detective.”

Tim snorted. “Yeah, except I wouldn’t be established enough to be able to turn away clients that don’t intrigue me, so I’d end up wasting a lot of time taking pictures for divorce cases and the like. Things that aren’t exactly hidden, just that people don’t have the time or energy to get proof of themselves. What gives me energy is finding things that not only aren’t common knowledge, but that the few people who do know them don’t want to be known. Working out how to activate the Device washed out of the Cavern of the Kings. Digging out the wicked spell causing the hearts of the bewitched warren to go dark and tharn. That kind of thing.”

“So now you’re Rabscuttle and Vimes in one messed up, traumatized package.” Gerry paused. “Actually, that’s not a terrible comparison.”

“Thanks. I think.” Tim reached up to adjust his hat. “Think I’ll stick with being Bigwig, though.”

They made their way through the forest until they finally emerged at a small clearing that sloped down to a railroad track. Gerry balked, but Tim tugged his hand. “Come on. Don’t you think I already checked this part out? It only runs on Saturdays. We just need to get to the other side.”

Gerry wasn’t sure if he was making the conscious choice to believe Tim had done the research ahead of time and didn’t just Know that or if he’d just stopped caring one way or another, but either way, he took Rowlf’s leash from Tim’s hand and followed him over the tracks. The light-colored stones shifted under their feet as they hurried across. Gerry almost slipped once, but with Tim’s supportive hand he found his footing and made it safely to the other side. There was a bit more slope, and then a road—which they did have to hurry across—and then a few more trees before they finally emerged into a place with no more obstacles ahead of them.

The sun still hadn’t risen, and wouldn’t be up for a couple more hours; Gerry’s eyes weren’t as good in the dark as Tim’s, so he couldn’t exactly see where they were. It was a clear night, though, and the stars overhead were breathtaking, which meant they were a decent enough distance from a populated area that the night sky was visible. It also, thankfully, meant that the Dark itself was less of a worry, although Gerry had some concerns about the Vast. He stared up at the sky for a few moments, then turned to look at Tim. “Okay. I assume that was part one. How about part two?”

Tim pursed his lips. “It’s…a bit farther. I’m not sure exactly how far, but we’ll know it when we see it.”

“Great,” Gerry said. He sort of meant it, too; the potential drawbacks of walking into the unknown were definitely outweighed by the fact that the Ceaseless Watcher hadn’t just given Tim that information. Then again, the nature of what they were looking for meant that wouldn’t exactly be easy. “So how do we get there?”

“Do you trust me?”

“Why do I feel like I’m going to regret saying yes?”

“You don’t have to come.” Tim stopped, turned fully to face Gerry, and took both of his gloved hands in his own. “I mean that genuinely, not in an ‘if you’re going to be a pussy about it you might as well chicken out now’ way. You absolutely don’t have to do this with me. But I have to go. I have to…I don’t know if there are answers waiting for me there, or if I’m going to like the answers I get, but I think this might be the end of this part of the trail. I don’t want to put you in danger for it, though. So you can…I dunno. Wait here for me. Or go back to the cabin. But I’ll understand if this is too far.”

Gerry stared into Tim’s face for a long moment, probably longer than they had. Finally, he freed one hand and cupped Tim’s face.

“Tim,” he said, quietly and sincerely. “I would follow you to the ends of the Earth, to the gates of hell, to the very fires of Mordor. I would go with you if you told me we were going to be crossing through a range of active, erupting volcanoes by jumping from rock to rock or walking across the surface of a supposedly frozen lake to an island in the center. I’m with you.”

Tim winced. “What if the island’s not necessarily exactly in the center?”

Gerry blinked. “Sorry, what?”

“I mean, it’s closer to this side than the other. I think. But…yeah. You’re not wrong about the ice. It should still be frozen, it’s usually frozen until at least the middle of May, but, you know, when has our luck ever been that good?”

Gerry sighed. “Hopefully today. Me and my big mouth…well, an oath is an oath. Lead the way, Thlayli-rah.”

Tim smiled. “I’ve got a couple sets of crampons for us. Rowlf’s boots should help here, too, even if we didn’t bring . But, uh…stay away from the holes.”

“Yeah, I don’t particularly want to fall through the ice.”

“It’s not just that.” Tim led Gerry forward. Luckily there didn’t seem to be much of a slope at this point. “The holes are quite likely to be air holes for the seals. They’re not endangered or anything, but I still don’t want Rowlf to get into a fight with one.”

Gerry shook his head. “I thought this was a freshwater lake?”

“It is. Baikal seals are the only species of seal with an exclusively freshwater population. Mind your step.”

It was a whole new reason to be thankful they’d gone skating in Chicago and New York City. At least Gerry had a better sense of how to keep his balance than he would have otherwise. And the ice wasn’t terribly slick, so they weren’t sliding around quite as much as he might have feared, especially with the weird metal chains with spikes on them Tim had brought to slip over their shoes. The ominous cracking every time he took a step, though…that was less than fun. Especially since it didn’t just crack. Every step sent out a faint but unmistakable sound like something out of a science fiction film, as though lasers were firing under his feet.

“How deep is this lake?” he asked, trying to keep the nervousness out of his voice.

“Eight hundred ninety-eight fathoms at its deepest point,” Tim replied, in a tone of voice that implied the answer was more than half automatic.

“And a fathom is…?”

“Six feet.”

“So you’re telling me that if one of these cracks opens up fully underneath of us, we’re going to drop into water a mile deep? In the middle of winter?” Gerry’s voice rose involuntarily.

Tim squeezed his hand comfortingly. “We’ll be okay, Ger. At its thinnest point, the ice is still half a meter thick. People drive cars on it, at least on part of it. There’s a whole tourism industry around this.”

“Yes, but we’re crossing to something tied to one of the Fourteen,” Gerry pointed out. “Why wouldn’t it take us?”

“Because it’s the Stranger. If anything related to this lake is going to be of the Stranger, one of the seals is going to pull itself out of a breathing hole, stand on its hind flippers, and speak backwards.”

“Oh, thank you so much for that mental image. I may never close my eyes again.”

In the faint light, Gerry saw Tim cross himself, then heard him begin murmuring a prayer in Latin. The words were new, but the cadence was familiar, one of the novenas to the saints Tim often pulled out when they were going into dangerous situations. He thought he might have gone through two or three saints, actually. After a few moments, he recognized the prayer to Saint Anthony and found himself joining in on the syllables he now knew almost by heart.

“We’ll make a Catholic of you yet,” Tim said when they finished.

“Bite your tongue, Stoker,” Gerry muttered. He had to admit—if only to himself—that the prayers made him feel a little better, a little bit of comfort, but he wasn’t sure if it was because he thought there was anyone listening or just because it comforted him to know Tim still thought there was despite…well, everything. “Who were the other saints you were praying to? I only know Saint Anthony because you say it all the time.”

“Adjutor, Sebaldus, and Lucy. Adjutor is the saint against drowning, Sebaldus is against cold or cold weather, and Lucy to guide my sight. Anthony because we’re trying to find something lost, and also because ignoring your patron when you’re asking that many saints for intercession is kind of a dick move.” Tim paused briefly, then adjusted his trajectory and kept going. “And maybe so we actually make it back to shore.”

“I realize we’re trying to go under the radar here, but maybe we should have brought a guide or something with us.”

“Any guide who knows where the thing we’re looking for is isn’t someone I want to trust. Or who would trust us in return. Step lively.”

There was only so lively they could step, not without falling, but they at least made steady progress. Still, the nights were getting shorter—they were only a few days off from the equinox—and the sky was gradually lightening around them. It was possibly a bit eerie and possibly a bit unnerving that there was still no one to be seen, but then, it was still early. Sensible tourists waited until after sunrise to venture out onto the lake. And as the sky grew lighter, it was clear to Gerry that there was nothing around them worth looking at—nothing except a dark mass ahead of them that he at first took for a rather tall ice formation before he realized it was a rock.

“I take it that’s where we’re heading,” he said to Tim.

Tim nodded once. “Yeah. Not surprised they picked here for this.”

Gerry nodded in reply. “Isolated.”

“Protected.”

“Hard to access.”

“Looks disconcertingly like a face.”

“Oh, did you have to mention that part?” Gerry groaned.

The first rays of the sun pierced the horizon just as they reached the island, which did indeed resemble a face…or most of one. Unfortunately, it looked like a face that had half risen from the water and was attempting to drink—or consume—the lake, with great white icicles like rows of needle sharp teeth clinging to the roof. The sunlight hit it just right and made it look like the eyes were glowing with unearthly light.

Rowlf whined unhappily. Gerry tightened his grip on the lead. “I don’t blame you, boy. Tim, it sees us.”

“It can’t see us,” Tim assured him. “We’ll be in and out of there before it knows.”

“How can you be sure of that? The Eye can’t see the future.”

“No, but it needs us alive. At least one of us, anyway, and I’m not leaving you to die any more than you’re leaving me. I can’t promise we’ll leave in the best of shape, but we’ll be able to get out of here.”

“It doesn’t—wait, what? Why?”

For an answer, Tim patted his chest—where he’d always kept the leather folio Gertrude had given him on their travels. “It’s all here, Ger. Every bit of knowledge Gertrude collected, and we’ve collected. Everything needed to stop the Unknowing and keep the Archivist hale and whole. If we die, that information dies with us, and Jon’s not strong enough to just get it yet. Maybe not ever. Gertrude never was, or she wouldn’t have had to go looking for it.”

“You’re saying Gertrude wouldn’t have died if we hadn’t known all this stuff?” Gerry challenged.

“No, I’m not,” Tim said calmly. “But we don’t have copies of this. It’s all here. If we drown, or…get buried in a collapsed cave or whatever, the folio won’t survive that, which means all the information vanishes.” He pulled Gerry close and rested their foreheads together. “This isn’t Efrafa. It’s barely Nuthanger Farm. We can be in and out before anyone knows we’re here. You said you trusted me. Did you mean that?”

“I did. I do.” Gerry closed his eyes and nodded, taking a deep breath. “Okay. Let’s do this.”

He still had to hold his breath when they walked carefully over to the island, the ice cracking and pinging beneath them, but the icicles didn’t so much as twitch as they walked under them. It was, admittedly, beautiful, but it was still cold and deadly. He tightened his grip on both the lead and Tim’s hand and kept going.

Tim stopped and peered up at what Gerry at first thought was a crack in the rock until he realized it was a tunnel—a narrow, sloping tunnel covered with ice that seemed to spiral tightly upward. He sighed. “We need to go up there, don’t we?”

“Yeah.” Tim turned to look at Gerry. “Either one of us is going to have to wait down here, or we’re going to have to carry the dog.”

Gerry squatted down, hoisted Rowlf—who whined and wriggled for a moment before settling—and lifted him over his shoulders to make the carrying easier. “I told you, I’m not leaving you. Further up and further in.”

“I’m shocked you’ve read those books.” Nevertheless, Tim gave Gerry a warm smile and a quick kiss before turning and starting the ascent.

Amazingly, it wasn’t nearly as hard as Gerry had feared, even if he couldn’t use his hands easily. They only had a few dozen feet to climb before Tim indicated a side passage and headed into the center of the rock. Their crampons scraped more loudly up here, but they walked well enough, and the passage was level enough that Gerry let Rowlf down and allowed him to walk alongside them. Finally, they emerged into a small cavern that had to be the heart of the island, and Gerry couldn’t hold back a gasp.

It was enormous, probably fifty feet across and equally high, with a domed ceiling. The walls glittered with thousands of tiny crystals of a pale, faintly luminescent green, but the floor was smooth, a solid sheet of ice. In the center was a shockingly regular lump of stone.

“Is that…?” He gestured at the stone. It seemed natural to drop his voice to the same hushed tones he’d used the few times he’d gone to mass with Tim.

“Must be.” Tim spoke in an equally low voice. He crossed the floor, a faint chime sounding with every step, and stopped next to the stone, then brushed the top. His lips moved briefly as he read. “Oh…not good. Definitely not good.”

“What?” Gerry’s stomach dropped. He made his way over to Tim’s side and peered at the Cyrillic letters graven into the square stone, like a tiny crypt, perched on a pedestal of ice. “Is it not what we’re looking for?”

“No, it is. This bottom line—Zdes' pokoitsya pamyat' o Gregore Orsionve—that’s ‘Here lies the memory of Gregor Orsinov’—”

“’Here lies the memory’?” Gerry repeated. “Not ‘sacred to the memory’? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Probably that there’s nothing actually buried here, it’s just a memorial stone. But this line…” Tim tapped the top line. “This is the problem.”

“Tim, I don’t read Russian. What does it say? What does it mean?”

“Inspektor manezha, Predvestnik, Otets,” Tim recited. Gerry felt the temperature drop with every word, even before Tim looked up at him. The fear in his eyes was almost palpable. ‘Ringmaster, Harbinger…Father.’ Father, Gerry.”

Gerry’s stomach lurched, and he stared at the sharp black lines. He could almost hear them laughing at him, lifting their heads and chattering like weasels, just like in the book. “He had an offspring. There’s someone else carrying on his legacy. Wait…no. No—fuck. The Dancer. Gertrude mentioned a Dancer. Orsinov created the Dancer.”

“Which means it exists. Which means it’s out there.” Tim swallowed hard. “Which means it’s probably alive, and the one who placed this stone here. We’re running out of time. We’ve got to get serious about the Unknowing and narrow down where it would be, fast.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “I just hope Gertrude left us something helpful on her tapes.”

#ollie writes fanfic #tma fanfic #the magnus archives #and if thou wilt forget #tim stoker #gerard keay #cold #secrecy #canon-typical Beholding powers #darkness #depth #scopophobia #peril #gratuitous Watership Down references

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