#I had to call him Magnus even though I used last names for everyone else (except Dundy TooManyNames)

[charlesemersonwinchesteriii]

Kept thinking about the decline in popularity of Christmas caroling from the 1800s to now and came to the following conclusions:

Would not go caroling in any time period:

Hickey

Gibson

Golding

Wall

Des Voeux

Fairholme

Crispe

Collins (would like to, but is too shy)

Would go caroling in the 1800s but not in a modern AU:

Goodsir

Hartnell Bros

Diggle

Morfin

Weekes

Hoar

Tozer

Dundy

Crozier (coerced into it by Fitzjames)

Jopson (moral support for Crozier)

Would go caroling no matter the time period:

The Franklins

Gore

Magnus

Lane

Fitzjames

MacDonald

Irving

Hodgson

Little (coerced into it by the former two)

(List not meant to be exhaustive. I left out anyone I was undecided on. Additions and edits welcome!)

[bamfdaddio]

X-Men Abridged: 1981

The X-Men, those back-to-the-future mutants that have sworn to protect a world that hates and fears them, are a cultural juggernaut with a long, tangled history. Want to unravel this tapestry? Then read the Abridged X-Men!

(Uncanny X-Men 141 - 152) - by Chris Claremont and John Byrne, Brent Anderson, Dave Cockrum, Jim Sherman, Bob McLeod and Josef Rubinstein

While I also committed various fashion atrocities at the age of 14 (tye-die and fauxhawks, oh my), even Liberace would find Kitty’s outfits too much. (Uncanny X-Men 149; Uncanny X-Men Annual ‘81)

We dial back from the v. epic scope of the last few arcs. Instead, 1981 is just a lot of fun! We get:

Storm and Emma doing a Freaky Friday!

the X-Men vs. Magneto (again!)

A surprisingly effective Alien rip-off

An dystopian future! (OoOoOoOo)

Last year was the year of the Dark Phoenix, this is the year of Kitty Pryde. That’s not to say Jean’s death is swept under the rug: all throughout, we see her friends mourning her loss or remembering her fondly. (Scott even gets to have a demonic adventure about it.) But in general, Claremont puts Kitty in the forefront, fleshing out his YA-addition to the team. And what would a YA heroine be without a grim dystopia? Roll out the iconic Days of Future Past!

To be fair, 2013 was a dark time for all of us: What Does the Fox Say somehow got to the top of the charts and I was still watching Glee. (Uncanny X-Men 141)

How cool would it have been to see a name like Jonothon Starsmore or Eva Bell on those tombstones?

Anyway, that’s Kate. Kate’s had it rough. Mutants are at the bottom of the foodchain, most X-Men are dead and only a small cadre of resistance fighters remain, Sentinels dominate, and while she is married to Piotr, her children have been murdered. Bleak. Luckily, the rebellion has concocted the plan to shunt Kate’s spirit back in time to prevent this awful future from happening. (You’ve seen Days of Future Past, the last passably good X-Men film, you know what’s up.)

Let’s do the time warp again! 1981!Kitty’s mind gets taken over by 2013!Kitty, who promptly tries to convince the X-Men that a new Brotherhood of v. Evil Mutants will try to kill Senator Kelly, a presidential candidate who tries to put the mutant menace on the agenda. (Mutants tend to blow stuff up when he’s around.) Since the X-Men recently took a literal trip to Dante’s Infero and also befriended a cosmic world-ending entity, they basically shrug and go: “Yeah, this checks out.”

Off to Washington they go (zoommm) and there, they happen upon the Baddest Bitches in Herstory:

“How dare you hate mutants, senator Kelly! We’ll fix that by killing you!” (Uncanny X-Men 141)

This All-New, All-Different Brotherhood consists out of:

Destiny, a blind woman who can see the future. Definitely the eeriest member of this group. Badass lesbian, though that won´t be canon for years.

Avalanche. Greek who makes things shake. Is a long-standing member of the X-Men Rogue’s gallery, but rarely features in the spotlight. I think he got more characterization in four years of X-Men Evolution than he ever did in the comics.

Mystique. Shapeshifter. Ruthless and unhinged, the Cersei Lannister of the X-Men universe. Absolute legend, secretly the wife of Destiny, currently not as unhinged as she’ll be later. Immediately implied to be related to Nightcrawler: it’s the yellow-eyes-blue-skin-combo.

Pyro. Can manipulate fire, not create it. Absolute pillock, in all the best ways of the word. Originally intended as gay, but they decided to make him Australian instead. (?!)

Blob. Big, strong, immovable. We’ve seen him before.

One of the details in this fight I enjoy is that Storm is still struggling with her leadership, although she has a better grip on things than Cyclops:

Wolverine then proceeds to use those iconic but deadly claws about twice per issue for the next, oh, forty years. (Uncanny X-Men 142)

While the X-Men fight the Brotherhood in the present, we cut back and forth to the future. There, the X-Men consist out of some familiar faces - Storm, Colossus, Wolverine - and some surprises: Magneto (in a wheelchair), Franklin Richards (son of) and an unfamiliar ginger girl called Rachel. (She’ll be important later.) We even learn (one of) Magneto’s names: this is the first time he’s canonically called Magnus.

One of the strengths of Days of Future Past lies in its brevity, the way it tantalizingly taunts us with a brutal but familiar future without giving away too much. It’s single-handedly responsible for all those dark future timelines the X-lines are so fond of which will eventually culminate in time-displaced grandsons from alternative dimensions and the impossibility of a succinct answer to the question: “Who’s Cable?” Too much of a good thing and all that.

Still, what Days of Future Past does so successfully is:

Put the idea of the mutant menace back at the forefront, hammering home the metaphor of mutants being a minority. Mutants being put in camps and being forbidden to breed should - regretfully - make us think of all too many real life equivalents. (Specifically, all of the imagery harkens back to the Holocaust.)

It starkly shows what happens should the X-Men lose, reminding everyone of the stakes. The X-Men are here for a reason: bridging the gap between mutants and humankind. If they fuck up, we end up with mutant concentration camps.

It helps that the X-Men in the future almost all die horribly: Franklin is incinerated, Storm is impaled… It's brutal stuff. The only one to survive is Rachel, who wonders if their plan actually changed the future or if they created an alternative timeline. (It did the latter, sorry ‘bout it, Rachel.)

In the present, Kate chases after Destiny, who trains a gun on senator Kelly. I always wondered how this works: if Destiny saw the future, she knew that killing Kelly would trigger a terrifying future. What in the current Marvel timeline made her decide that the Days of Future Past was better? Did she see her own death? Did she see the Onslaught-crossover coming? The Chuck Austen run? What was it?

In any case, time-anomalous Kate stops Destiny from killing Kelly and the future is safe! For now. Kate disappears, Kitty returns to her body and some of the Brotherhood are apprehended. All is well, for now.

After being a key figure in DoFP, Kitty is also the main character in the Christmas special, which is basically a straight up horror and a pastiche of the Alien-movie.

Seriously, John Byrne still isn’t sure why he wasn’t sued by Ridley Scott for this. (Uncanny X-Men 143)

If you love Kitty Pryde? Read this issue. If you’re not convinced you like 80’s Kitty? Read this issue. It’s not continuity relevant and it’s basically Kitty playing the part of a Final Girl in a horror where she’s being chased by a demon, but it’s so good. It showcases all her strengths and her foibles. Kitty’s intelligent, cute (sometimes preciously so) and brave, but she’s also young, self-conscious and hot-headed. And it's not as if the other X-Men automatically adore her: Storm berates her all the time, she’s afraid of Kurt because of the way he looks (though she grows out of that) and she fights with Professor Xavier a lot. Moreover, she has a clever power-set for a young superhero who faces menaces on a daily basis: a thirteen year old who can go intangible is far less likely to have reality ensue on her and be dramatically offed because she's better at protecting herself.

I’m sure there are people who thought Sprite was hogging the spotlight, but I, for one, say she brings more to the table than, say, Angel. She’s not the Dawn Summers of this franchise.

Scott also gets a side quest. Poor guy can’t catch a break: first the love of his life dies, so he quits the X-Men, then he realizes he can’t do much else than be a superhero. He becomes a sailor on the ship of spunky captain Lee Forrester, is drawn into the sadistic plans of a demon unironically named D’Spayre and then shipwrecks in Bermuda with Lee.

The X-Men, meanwhile, are tormented by a team-up of Doom (who’s currently Latverialess and working on a comeback) and Arcade, that annoying crony. Locke, Arcade’s dom, has kidnapped the loved ones of the X-Men (Moira MacTaggart, Jean Grey’s parents, Illyana Rasputin and Amanda Sefton) in order to blackmail them into getting Doom to free Arcade. Apparently, Arcade accidentally insulted Doom and DOOM DOES NOT FORGIVE THAT FOLLY.

While the B-Squad (Polaris, Havok, Banshee and Iceman) goes to save Arcade’s hostages, the X-Men sneak into Doom’s castle. Well, except for Storm, who doesn’t give a single fuck and simply flies up to Doom, demanding an audience. Doom likes the cut of her jib and invites her to have dinner. (This is pre-Tinder, so this is a legit way of scoring a date.)

If Storm has a flaw (I said if!), it’s got to be her atrocious taste in men. (Uncanny X-Men 145)

The X-Men find Arcade’s cell empty, while Arcade casually saunters up to Storm and says hi. Storm realizes too late that this is a trap: while the X-Men are all trapped in Saw-like traps, Storm is encased in ‘living chrome’.

If you remember she’s claustrophobic, you know why this is a bad move.

While the X-Men free themselves from their traps - Polaris hilariously has to deal with a murderous merry-go-round - Storm is slowly driven mad in her prison, triggering a worldwide tempest. (She causes Lee and Scott to shipwreck.) Under the threat of Wolverine’s claws, Doom releases Storm - or rather, unleashes her.

“Instead of a Dark Lord, you would have a queen, not dark but beautiful and terrible as the dawn! Tempestuous as the sea, and stronger than the foundations of the earth! All shall love me and despair!” (Uncanny X-Men 147)

The memory of Jean brings Ororo back to herself and she starts undoing the superstorm she created. (If only climate change were reversed that easily.) Their confrontation ends by Storm easily forgiving Doom, because she apparently trespassed on his grounds without adequate cause.

Mkay.

All of Arcade’s hostages return to their homesteads, except for Illyana Rasputin, Piotr’s sister: she’s staying at the mansion for a while. Angel, who’s sort of been a part of the team since the Phoenix thing, has had it with Wolverine and his ‘tude, and decides to quit the X-Men : he doesn’t want to be a part of an outfit that has a killer like Wolverine on it. (Or maybe he’s just mad Claremont didn’t give him any storylines: his presence has been mostly pointless.) It’s too bad he left before Kitty started experimenting with her outfits: I bet he would have loved her ugly-ass costumes.

Equally inconsequential is the introduction of a brand new character, who then proceeds to disappear from the narrative for the rest of the year:

Black Tom has tried to kill you at least twice, but him sending you a long-lost daughter doesn’t give you pause? Ugh, Sean, you deserve Moira. (Uncanny X-Men 148)

Intrigued by Theresa? TOO BAD, WON’T SEE HER AGAIN ANYTIME SOON.

Another new character is the lonely, decidedly mutant looking Caliban, who can sense “people like him” and is on the lookout for companions. Like many lonely people who try and grasp at friendship, he decides to overshoot his shot and ruin the night of Storm, Kitty and Jessica Drew at a Dazzler concert. Because he tries to kidnap Kitty, the girls react a trifle aggressively. When they realize their mistake - the eerily pale Caliban is a simpleton rather than a menace - he’s already fled. No mention is made of the Morlocks yet!

There’s also another dull annual where the X-Men team up with the Fantastic Four to save Arkon’s dimension from the Badoon and yaaaaawn. Far more interesting is the landmark issue #150. Slowly, through the adventures of Scott and Lee Forrester, Claremont has been setting things up for the return of a favorite villain. While the X-Men investigate Magneto’s old base in Antarctica on a hunch of Professor X and tangle with Garruk, Scott and Lee survive Storm’s tempest, only to wake up next to a strange island that seems to have been raised from the ocean.

It’s apparently some ancient citadel from a long forgotten civilization with a fondness for squid statues. (I don’t know man, I’ve never been to the Bermuda Triangle, maybe this is just super-accurate.)The tentacles make Lee Forrester feel very amorous, but before Scott can tell her he is way too repressed to just have sex with an attractive someone he’s known intimately for a month or two, Magneto saves his ass by revealing he, in fact, raised this island from the seafloor.

Oh, Magneto. So extra.

My ambitious little mutant demagogue then proceeds to take the entire world hostage, showing how much he’s grown from the pompous, raving madman from the sixties. (Sure, Magneto is still a bit of a madman, but increasingly, he starts being on the right side of history.)

“I’m trying to make Magneto more sympathetic.”

“Just put him on a page with some bigger villains who are less noble, like the Vanisher, Count Nefaria, or…”

“Reagan, Thatcher and Brezhnov?”

“Er.” (Uncanny X-Men 150)

It’s obvious Magneto is being pivoted as a more noble villain, codified into the well-intentioned extremist we know and love today. Not only do we get the first hints at his past, fleshing out his motivations, he’s also not wrong. Humans are historically not great at taking care of the planet or each other.

When the Russians call his bluff and launch nukes at Magneto’s new island, he quickly disarms them. His retribution is swift and ferocious: the entire citadel is a machine that massively amplifies his powers. He sinks the submarine that launched the missiles, condemning the entire crew to death, and he casually erects a vulcano in a Russian city in Siberia.

Damn. Not messing around this time.

Despite his good intentions, Magneto is still definitely in the wrong: not only because of his methods, but as Scott points out: if Magneto unifies the world under his kind of benevolent dictatorship, all of that will simply fall apart as soon as Magnus dies.

In a way, Magneto is just as big a dreamer as Charles is: Charles believes in peace and integration, whereas Magneto believes his iron fist will be enough to make a perfect world happen. Both of them ignore the reality that acceptance is difficult and messy, because you’re trying to change essential human nature: the fear of the other. Magneto believes in big, sweeping gestures that will fix the world in move, while changing the world is also boring, hard work. One step forward, two steps back. Magneto just wants to leapfrog to his ultimate goal.

The X-Men fly over the citadel, returning from Antarctica, and their plane crashes into the ocean. (Magneto does not brook planes over his territory, humans!) The Professor is also nearby, looking for Scott with Moira, Peter Corbeau and Carol Danvers. The X-Men sneak onto the island, but to their horror, their powers are nullified by some machine of Magneto. They reunite with Scott, who formulates a plan to thwart the would-be ruler of the world.

While the rest of the X-Men go to trash the machine, Storm, Kitty and Lee infiltrate the control chamber where Storm finds a sleeping, shirtless Magneto. Once again showing her terrible taste in men, she is not weak in the knees at the sight of a sleeping Magnus: instead, she contemplates killing him.

Storm knows how dangerous he is, but she also knows that he’s a great man who’s fighting for ideals, no matter how misguided. She hesitates too long: Magneto stirs, suspects an attack and tosses her out of the window, to her death.

Magneto quickly undoes the sabotage the other X-Men have wrought to his machine. A fight erupts. Storm, meanwhile, has managed to grab hold of a ledge. She crawls back up and smashes an important-looking computer, restoring everyone’s powers.

The battle turns grim, but Scott sends Kitty away to wreck Magneto’s machinery. She sneaks off, following Scott’s orders and destroying both Magneto's power-up device and all of his plans by phasing though the computer circuitry. Magneto senses this and furiously gives chase. Overcome by rage, he attacks Kitty and disrupts her phasing power with a magnetic bolt, seemingly killing her?

Everything about this story beat is great: mama bear!Ororo, mournful Magnus and even the fact that Kitty’s godawful outfit serves a narrative function: highlighting to us (and Magneto) just how young she is. The fact that Kitty’s Jewish is just icing on the cake. (Uncanny X-Men 150)

And thus, the softening of Magneto commences. 1981 might be a year with wildly varying narratives, but it has given us at least three enduring legacies to the X-Mythos: a new kind of Magneto, a fondness for dystopian futures and the character of Kitty Pryde, who's really come into her own this year.

Ugliest Costume: Kitty! Purposefully, but still. Best costume, by the way, goes to Destiny, with her creepy, creepy golden mask. Just imagine this lady casually strolling across a battlefield, eerily calm and collected, dodging everything you throw at her. Awesome design.

Best new character: I usually pick one character - what good is having a shared award when declaring the best of anything? - but this year, it’s going to one of my favorite couples: Mystique and Destiny. Can’t wait to see more of them.

Most audacious retcon: Blob somehow retroactively becomes a member of the original Brotherhood, which is not what happened. Ever weirder is Xavier pondering that he never met Magneto before his attack in X-Men #1, while their cordially adversarial relationship rooted in a youthful friendship would soon become a cornerstone of the X-Men.

What to read: Uncanny X-Men 141 - 143 and 150 - 152

[khaleesiofalicante]

MALEC WEEK - POWER COUPLE

Alec ran, no – sprinted – through the narrow alley.

Please be okay, he prayed to himself. Please be okay.

He slashed every demon in sight, arrows flying of their volition. Alec has fought before – but never like this.

He had never fought with no regard for the consequences. He had no fear and was absolutely terrified at the same time.

His feet came to a sudden halt. Jace was standing in the alley.

“What am I afraid of?” Alec demanded.

“What?” the blonde man blinked.

“What am I afraid of?” Alec asked again, this time his voice steady.

Jace’s eyes frowned in concentration and then he looked at Alec. “Losing Magnus. You’re always worried about-”

Alec drove his seraph blade through the other man’s black t-shirt and liquid poured out like a disgusting ichor fountain.

“Sure,” Alec told the shapeshifter. “But Jace would have gone with spiders first.”

He continued to run down the path – destroying three more shapeshifters. Izzy. Maia.

One dumb demon had even taken the shape of his father who was long dead. Demons didn’t care much for research he supposed.

Shapeshifters never really appeared in hoards. But someone had messed up. Some warlock had dabbled with powers he couldn’t comprehend. Silas. 

And now New York was overrun with shapeshifting demons.

They had to destroy every single one or the consequences would be severe. Jace had split them up into teams to take care of the problem.

Alec had been gearing up to assist Clary when he had gotten the message.

Please be okay, he prayed again as he ran faster. Please be okay.  

He took care of another one – Julian – when he ran into a face was that familiar than most.

This face he knew.

This face he would never forget.

This face he could find among a hundred demons.

Alec wanted to leap forward and embrace the man. But Magnus was more cautious.

“What’s our wifi password?”

“Magnus, it’s me-”

“What’s our wifi password?” Magnus snapped.

“We don’t have one,” Alec rolled his eyes. “We steal the neighbor’s because he once called your fedora tacky.”

Magnus leaped now and put his arms around Alec.

“The kids,” he breathed into his neck.

“We’ll find them,” Alec promised, pulling back. “We’re gonna find them.”

“I tracked them here,” Magnus showed Rafael’s tiny shoe.

“Me too,” Alec showed Max’s little truck.

“So, they must be her-”

They heard someone running towards them and turned around immediately. Alec’s bow ready and Magnus’s hands glowing.

“Jeez, it’s me!” Izzy put up her hands.

“Prove it,” Magnus said. They are not going to take chances today.

“Alec, your brown sweater didn’t get lost in the laundry,” Izzy rolled her eyes. “Magnus portalled it to a dumpster. Or hell. Either way, good riddance.”

“You did what?” Alec whirled on Magnus.

“Not the time!” Magnus hissed at them and then glared at Isabelle. “You could have just said the name of his childhood crush.”

“Yeah, I don’t think you want to know about that,” Isabelle giggled.”

“Wait. What do you mean?” Magnus asked. “Who is-”

“Not the time!” Alec hissed. “Izzy, go east. Magnus and I will follow the tracker.”

Izzy gave a single nod and vanished.

Before Magnus could discover about Alec’s childhood crush and probably have an aneurism, a sound pierced through the air.

A sound of laughter. An annoying, annoying laughter. Max had the most awful taste in dolls. But he was good at naming them though.

“Miss Ducklington!” they both said and ran towards the sound.

They reached the end of the alley when they saw them. An audible breath of relief left Magnus and Alec literally felt his stomach unclench.

Max and Rafe were on the floor sitting next to each other. There were surrounded by a bunch of demons. But they didn’t seem to be afraid.

Max was curiously looking at each one talking to them about his toys. Rafe had a protective arm around his brother, but otherwise looked bored.

They know. They know their daddy and bapa would come for them.

“I’m going to burn him to the ground,” Magnus muttered under his breath.

Alec held him back. “No.”

“I know he is a warlock,” Magnus said in frustration. “But he hurt innocent people. He hurt kids. He tried to hurt our chil-”

“We need him alive,” Alec explained patiently. “We need to question why he raised the shapeshifters. We must find out if there is someone behind this.”

Magnus gave him a begrudging nod. “But secure the kids first.”

Alec gave a firm nod. There was no doubt about that.

“Silas!” Magnus yelled.

The kids both stood up at the sound and the dozen demons hissed. Max blew a raspberry at one of them.

“Let the kids go,” Alec commanded.

“No,” the warlock shook his head, his scaled skin glistening in darkness. “I want the elder scrolls first.”

“What is it with our people and ancient books!” Magnus put his hands up in the air. “Just google stuff like everyone else.”

“I know you have it, Magnus,” Silas hissed. “Give me the sacred texts. I need it.”

“For what?” Alec asked carefully.

“None of your business,” the warlock snapped.

“Alright,” Magnus said. “Give us the kids and I’ll think about it.”

“You give me the scrolls fir-”

“This isn’t a negotiation,” Magnus voice cut through, sharper than any blade the iron sisters could make. “Give me my children.”

The shapeshifters moved closer in a circle, surrounding the kids.

Max’s blue eyes turned wider, but they seemed more curious than scared. Rafe’s hand still gripped his brother – his hand firm and sure.

They know. They know we will protect them.

Alec stepped forward.

“You won’t hurt me, shadowhunter,” the warlock laughed. “You need me for your interrogation.”

“That doesn’t mean I won’t kick your ass before taking you into custody,” Alec pointed out. “Let the kids go, Silas.”

“I don’t think so,” the warlock grinned.

Alec looked at Magnus. He felt it before he saw it.

He could feel Magnus’ magic around him – everywhere. It was desperate to break free.

“I won’t ask again,” Alec said.

Silas moved closer towards Rafael and Alec nodded.

It felt like being crashed by a wave.

Even for Alec, who had only ever found Magnus’ magic to be warm and welcoming.

Silas was on the floor, squirming and panting. The shapeshifters screeched in pain. Some even got obliterated on spot.

Not for the first time, Alec was thankful for never getting on Magnus’ bad side.

He bolted towards the kids. Magnus’ magic was surrounding them like a hurricane, a blue hurricane of fire and water and wind. He grabbed one in each arm. Max only yelled ‘wheeeee’ in glee.

“Magnus!” he yelled.

His warlock opened a portal with one arm and Alec moved closer.

“Jace!” he yelled this time.

A blonde man stared at him through the portal.

“It’s me!” he said, but Alec knew already. It was his Jace. “You think Magnus’ bread pudding is disgusting.”

“I heard that!” Magnus yelled amidst all the chaos.

“Grab the kids!” Alec yelled.

“Do you need backup?” Jace asked, as the kids ran towards him.

But the portal already closed.

“How,” the Silas choked on Magnus’ magic. “How did you-”

“Never underestimate my husband,” Alec pointed out proudly.

“Or mine!” Magnus chimed in, taking control over his magic.

On cue, Alec left four arrows fly killing off three different shapeshifters.

There were only a couple standing. And Silas of course.

“Just come with us,” Alec sighed.

“Yes, we have a dinner reservation at seven, you selfish jerk!” Magnus called, taking care of another shapeshifter.

“Never,” the warlock tried to get on his feet but was pushed to the floor by Magnus’ magic again. “I will never comply. I will never surrender. Not to you, shadowhunter.”

“How about me?” Magnus batted his eyes.

“Nephilim bootlicker,” the warlock spat. “I hope you die before him. I hope whatever demon gave you life will be the one to take it away. Or I will do it myse-”

Alec fingers curled around the man’s red hair and pulled him up. Silas left out a sharp hiss of pain.

It hurt.

Good.

“Threaten my husband again and I will rip off your arm,” Alec whispered a promise. “And beat you to death with it.”

“Darling, you are ruining my appetite,” Magnus chided. “Besides, my father has much more impo-”

Magnus groaned and his magic slipped.

He is draining, the thought occurred to Alec. His magic is draining.

Warlocks, many Nephilim didn’t realize or bothered to learn, did not have an infinite source of power. They had to rest. Rehabilitate. Renew.

And Magnus had used a gigantic amount of power tonight.

The tracking. The portals. The fighting.

And whatever crazy magic blizzard storm thing he had unleased earlier. He probably didn’t have to go this hard. But he had anyway.

But it wasn’t just a show of magic. It was a message.

The entire alley was surrounded in demon ichor and filth.

It was a message to anyone who tried to hurt his family.

There was one shapeshifter still left standing – right in front of Magnus, who was kneeling on the floor.

Silas laughed. It was an ugly, ugly sound.

“You’re all out of tricks, Bane,” he crowed and then said something in a demonic language to the shapeshifter. “Kill him!”

Alec could have pulled out his bow and shot the demon – and Silas. Two for one.

But he didn’t.

This was a show of power.

This was a message.

Alec threw a seraph blade towards the demon and Magnus, who was kneeling gripped the hilt without looking.

“You can’t use a seraph blade,” the warlock sneered. “You’re just a warlock.”

“I’m not just anything,” Magnus stood up and the seraph blade light up in red, the color of blood.

The color of hell.

“I’m a Lightwood-Bane,” Magnus grinned and drove the seraph blade through the last shape shifter.

The warlock’s mouth opened in awe – and fear. And then disgust.

“You abomination!” he yelled. “You are a disgrace to all warl-”

Alec kneed him right in the face and Silas passed out. “He talks too much.”

“A side effect of immortality,” Magnus shrugged.

Alec looked around them.

It was a disaster alright. But it was worth it.

Because the message was clear.

You don’t mess with the Lightwood-Banes.

[thelightofthebane]

(right from the start you would be) My Light in The Dark

Pairing: Malec

Rating: M

Summary: What if Magnus couldn’t forgive Alec for breaking his heart after the deal with Asmodeus? What if Magnus left New York and never looked back? What if Clary never got her memories back? What if the parabatai duo was so broken for their lost loves, they couldn’t function anymore? What if broken hearts led to broken souls? What if one left and the other disappeared? What if Magnus came back to a New York where Alec Lightwood vanished a century ago? What if What if What if

Or, Second chances might take longer. But they always seem to find their way back to each other.

This fic was created for the Shadowhunters Reverse Bang 2022: Presented by the @malecdiscordserver Art by the lovely @hopesilverheart

Chapter 5 - We went from strangers to lovers to strangers in a lifetime

||| Then |||

“Nephilim love once, fiercely.”

“And when you find the one, that’s it.”

“Mr. Alec, we found it!”

Alec closed his fist tightly and pulled hard, causing the worm-like demons to implode. His magic was already dangerously low, but he couldn’t stop until the source of all that demonic power was destroyed. He knew how lately the gates for all realms had been opening and closing without control, and this one  was one of the most affected. But this offensive in specific wasn’t normal.

For starters, the number of demons was much higher than  usual. Most often than not, the demons barely paid attention to them – they were only crossing between a realm to the other, and as long as everyone stayed hidden under layers upon layers of wards, they wouldn’t have casualties. But this time they were aggressive, their focus on causing havoc and death.

Alec, his pupils and other volunteers were giving their best to keep them at bay, either destroying them or sending them towards a portal to limbo, but more and more kept coming.

To make matters worse, the ley lines were going haywire, gradually being engulfed in dark magic. To have such power, it could only mean one thing.

“You were right,” Yrviss snarled, impaling a flying demon that dove towards them. “It’s a Greater Demon.”

“Which one?” Alec looked around, conjuring and sending fireballs one after the other.

“That’s the thing. It doesn’t have a form, but I heard a group of shapeshifters calling him Asmodeus.”

Alec faltered, his fire ball hitting a tree instead – and making it explode.

“What did you say?!” He practically growled, his eyes gaining a darker shade of blue and silver as  his magic changed to a dark red. “Where?”

“Near your cottage. It’s– Mr. Alec? Mr. Alec!”

But Alec was already running, not caring about anything else. How was it possible? Magnus had sent him to limbo. Had he gained enough power to access one of the in-between realms to get back to Edom? If that was the case, Alec wouldn’t let him.

Even if that was the last thing he would ever do.

~*~

Asmodeus wasn’t in his complete form. It was just a figment, a shadow that slipped through time and dimensions, and got there. Still, he recognized Alec, and taunted him until the former Shadowhunter lashed out in rage with all the magic he still possessed, not caring if that would kill him.

It didn’t kill him – though he could already anticipate the magical hangover it would give him the next day –, but killed that part of Asmodeus, sending it back to the void.

Not before using the last of its magic to curse Alec, who was already vulnerable.

Alec fell.

For the next few days, everyone tried to help him somehow. Warlocks with healing spells, fairies with herbs and enchanted flowers, werewolves with artificial medicine.

Nothing.

Alec was dying and the community was already mourning their guardian.

When even his pupils were about to lose hope, they heard a name.

During one of the many episodes of delirium due to a high fever, Alec would mumble one name and only one name: Magnus. They didn’t know who Magnus was, but he clearly meant something special to their dear protector.

It was only when they were able to get a second name – Bane – that they had enough to seek help outside of their jurisdiction. Taking advantage of a new opening in the veil, Magi traveled to the Spiral Labyrinth. Once there, they found out who Magnus Bane was rather quickly – fortunately, a warlock too – and pleaded for one of the Elders to ask for Magnus’ assistance.

Magnus Bane was Alec’s only hope.

They could only pray that he would come.

||| Now |||

Magnus wasn’t supposed to stay.

Actually, his first instinct was to run away. To leave that realm and never look back.

But Alec was still very weak, and Magnus had to make daily scans to make sure the curse wouldn’t come back. Furthermore, the entire realm was locked again, and he had to wait until a new veil grew thin enough to open a portal.

So, although neither had consciously planned it, they ended up spending a lot of time together.

They talked. A lot.

About nothing. About everything.

On days when Alec felt strong enough to go for a walk, they would stroll around Alec’s cottage and sometimes at a nearby lake.

The silence wasn’t uncomfortable anymore, but they still didn’t know how to properly react at closer proximity. The lead-up to their breakup was also a sore topic that they avoided like the plague.

“Did you meet any of my siblings’ descendants?” Alec asked once when they were basking in the sunlight on the lake’s shore.

“No. I went back to New York for the first time days before coming here. I learned some things with the Head of the Institute and Simon, but it was just that.”

Alec hummed. “Sometimes someone from here goes there for a reason or another, and they always bring me news of them. For the first decades, I didn’t want to hear anything about that life I left behind, but it became easier. I’ve made peace with that by now.”

“For someone born mortal, it takes time to get used to eternity. I think you’re doing pretty well.”

Alec gave him a sad smile. To think they had argued about Magnus’ immortality once…

No, it was useless to think about this now. The life they shared once was long gone.

There wasn’t a comeback.

And yet…

Alec’s heart stuttered, and he dared to be brave.

His glamor dropped, revealing silver eyes with a tint of blue, and he opened his palm. Silver sparkles arose and swirled in the air, shaping themselves into a small cat. It ran to Magnus, brushing on his ankles and emitting a static-like purr.

Magnus’ face softened at once and his own magic responded to it, creating a similar cat but in blue. The cats played around on the grass and above the water for a while until they disappeared in a beautiful shower of sparkles.

“You’re a natural.” Magnus’ smile was reflected on Alec, and for a moment the latter’s eyes landed on the former’s lips.

Noticing that, Magnus turned his face slightly to gaze at the lake.

“Magi told me the Veil is going to thin in a few days, so I’ll be able to go back home.”

Wherever home was now.

Alec clenched his jaw, but nodded in acknowledgment. “Is there someone…” He paused for a moment to clear his throat. “Waiting for you?”

Are you seeing someone now? was the real question.

Magnus raised an eyebrow, giving him an unimpressed look.

For some reason, perhaps for having been caught so easily, Alec blushed brightly and averted his gaze.

 Magnus decided to not call him out on it, and just shrugged, going for honesty.

“No. Not that I didn’t try, but I guess you truly ruined me for everyone.”

“What?” Alec gasped softly and turned to him with big bambi eyes.

“You might’ve broken my heart, but you never gave the pieces back, Alexander.”

Alexander.

Alec never thought he would ever hear Magnus calling him like that again.

“Do you?”

Alec blinked in confusion, not getting Magnus’ question at first. Then, it clicked.

“When I accepted the deal with your father, I knew I was condemning myself to a lonely life. Because there would never be another person for me, Magnus. Nephilim love once, and that never changed for me, even as this odd hybrid I am now.”

Magnus tried to swallow the lump in his throat.

So much heartache.

A whole century of it.

“I’m sorry. I was cruel and unfair to you. You are nothing like Camille. Or any other love I’ve ever had. You– You’re so selfless, so kind. Stubborn as hell and an asshole, but really, you’re so many good things, Alexander Lightwood. You are the one who makes me believe that kind-hearted angels exist.”

Alec’s jaw dropped, not expecting that confession.

He couldn’t think.

He couldn’t breathe.

He couldn’t hold himself anymore.

He dove in, taking Magnus’ lips with his own and putting everything he had and felt into that kiss.

Magnus gasped in surprise at first, but soon responded to Alec. One of his hands cupped Alec’s face while the other rested on his neck, his fingers tangling in Alec’s hair.

They kissed and kissed and kissed.

It was a hello and a goodbye.

A welcome home and a farewell.

When they finally stopped, they didn’t back away. They simply rested their foreheads and breathed the other.

“This doesn’t change anything.” Magnus whispered.

“I know.”

“I still haven’t forgiven you.”

“I know.”

Alec glided his lips on Magnus’ once more, very slowly, very gently.

Then…

“I’m scared.”

They both opened their eyes, not daring to look away. Their souls were there, bared.

Molten gold and blueish silver.

“I know.”

[lilblog-asatreat]

ooh maybe "Um excuse me? This is a library. Can you and your noisey friends stop coming in everyday just to be a disturbance?" with taakitz ?

Edit: Oh shit, I forgot to add a link to the song I found that I based Kravitz's performance on! I just searched violin music and this was one of the first things that popped up, and it's really good!!!

The doors to the library burst open with a loud bang, and Kravitz hits his face in the book he has laid out on the table and sighs in irritation. He hears four pairs of footsteps run past him as their owners whoop and holler, and the students sitting at other tables around this section of the library cheer.

"Are you all ready to see the best show you will ever see in your fuckin lives?" The beautiful male elf yells, as usual.

The audience cheers again and Kravitz groans. Every fucking day. He supposes he can just get up and find a quieter part of the library or just go back to his dorm to study, but he shouldn't have to be the one to leave because a group of people decided to be as obnoxious as possible in a place meant for studying.

"Lup! Set these clubs on fire!" The human man says.

Kravitz looks up with horror as the female elf points a wand at the clubs the human man is already juggling, and she manages to set them ablaze without injuring him or setting anything else on fire. It doesn't throw off his juggling in the slightest. The audience goes wild which attracts the attention of a few other students who make their way over to see the spectacle.

This is beyond the point that Kravitz would normally leave, but fear paralyzes him when the human starts getting wilder and wilder with his throws, barely catching the flaming clubs before throwing them higher and higher into the air.

"Careful Maggie, you might set this whole building on fire," the male dwarf chuckles.

"You're absolutely right, Merle, but oh no! They got away from me!" Maggie exclaims as he throws all of them up into the air and steps to the side.

The audience gasps, and Kravitz stands and scoops up his books and violin case, getting ready to sprint out of there. But then Merle points his holy symbol at the falling clubs, and a huge vine comes up out of the ground and grabs them before throwing them back up toward the elves. The male elf points his wand at the clubs, and they explode in a spectacular display of fireworks.

The audience gives a standing ovation as they all take a bow. Kravitz sets his books back down on the table, breathing deeply to try and calm his heart rate. He looks back up at the male elf who is smiling brightly with one arm around his sister. There are still some smoldering embers in the air popping off smaller fireworks, and Kravitz watches as each one lights up his face, making his freckled skin glow briefly with flashes of rainbow light.

Kravitz stands so transfixed by how pretty he looks and his joyous laughter that he almost misses Lup saying, "Who wants to watch my brother fly through an obstacle course of different projectiles?"

Kravitz shakes his head and looks around at the books and bookshelves that start levitating and moving around to different positions in the air. He looks back at the male elf's devious smile before he shrinks into a small dove and takes to the air.

Kravitz has to stop this chicanery before someone gets hurt.

He pushes past some of the students that gathered from other parts of the library until he's standing up front and center. "Um, excuse me? Can you all, like, not do this? Someone is going to end up getting hurt."

They all snort, and the books and bookshelves slowly make their way back to where they belong. Lup steps forward with her hands on her hips and a devious smile on her face. "Don't worry, dude. No one's going to get hurt. We're professionals; we've practiced this routine many times before doing it here."

Maggie and Merle snicker behind their hands.

"Somehow I highly doubt that," Kravitz says, eyes narrowed. "You're students here just like the rest of us, and you're just here to show off, and I don't appreciate you doing that here, in a library, of all places where you're just being a disturbance for people who are trying to study."

The three of them laugh as the crowd around them starts booing at him, and Kravitz feels his cheeks heat up in annoyance and embarrassment. The dove flies down and morphs back into his elf form as he steps closer to Kravitz.

"It's ok everyone, calm down. It just sounds like someone's jealous that he doesn't have as high of a performance skill as yours truly." The male elf says with a smile and a wink.

The audience laughs, and Kravitz's cheeks burn.

"I'm not jealous!" Kravitz splutters. "I can out perform you any day! I just think that it's really inconsiderate of you four to be doing this here instead of out on the quad or something especially if you're going to be playing with fire!"

Lup laughs. "Here that, Magnus? Merle? He thinks he can out perform us!"

Kravitz crosses his arms and opens his mouth to say something, but the male elf cuts him off. "Prove it, hot stuff. Right now, and if you're good enough, we'll consider moving our act somewhere else."

Kravitz's heart pounds in his chest. Sure, he's studying to be a bard and a conductor, but that doesn't mean he likes being put on the spot. Plus, does that damned beautiful elf actually think he's hot?

"Fine." The crowd parts as Kravitz walks back to his table and pulls out his violin case before opening it and pulling out the instrument. He pauses for a moment considering an idea that pops into his head. He feels like if he follows through with it, it would be cheating, but he really wants to win this and to impress the elf.

He makes up his mind, closes his eyes, and starts to play. It's a fast paced and intense song that's full of rivalry and challenge. He knows he's good at what he does, and this song is going to prove it. This song is going to make them dance.

The audience starts clapping in time with the rhythm, and Kravitz opens his eyes and smirks at the look of surprised awe on the elf's face. He can already see him and the other three struggling to not tap their feet in time with the rhythm, and he hasn't even worked in his magic yet. Perfect.

He takes a breath before murmuring an incantation. Instantly, Magnus, Merle, Lup, and the unnamed elf start dancing in place with a yelp of surprise. The audience laughs and starts dancing too, though no magic spell had been cast on them. Kravitz's music catches the attention of more students who are just walking into the library, and they join the crowd to listen too.

Kravitz closes his eyes again and starts moving to the music. He plays through short staccato eighth notes and runs through sixteenth notes and dramatically pulls through the longer notes and gets totally immersed in the song.

At the last few bars, he opens his eyes again and stares directly into the elf's sparkling brown eyes before finishing the song with a dramatic push of the bow. He ends the spell on the four performers, and they collapse in a heap on the ground as the rest of the students clap, cheer, and laugh. Kravitz takes an over dramatic bow and laughs.

Magnus, Merle, and Lup get up from the floor, grumbling slightly and fighting back amused smiles while the unnamed elf gets up, brushes himself off, and walks until he's just a foot away from Kravitz. Up close, Kravitz can count the freckles splashed across his nose and cheek bones. He wonders if his hair is as soft as it looks, glinting in the overhead lights.

"Well, that was quite the performance, handsome, but I have to say, that's cheating." The elf pokes him in the chest, and Kravitz laughs, a blush creeping up his face. "But you did get everyone else dancing and attracted a bigger crowd, so fair's fair. I only have one condition though before we take our performance somewhere else."

"Oh? And what's that?" Kravitz asks with a smirk.

The elf sticks out his hand for a handshake. "The name's Taako, and I need your stone of farspeach frequency."

Kravitz laughs before taking his hand and shaking it. "I'm Kravitz, and here." He pulls out his stone from within his pocket. "We can get it tuned in right now."

Kravitz and Taako tune each other's stones as the crowd of students disperses. They say goodbye and promise to call each other later that evening, and as Kravitz walks back to his table to put away his books, he smiles giddily and feels lighter than air.

[pastelpaperplanes]

Part 5

Optimus had never worn as little as he was in that moment, and considering the situation, he would normally be a lot more anxious about it, but when you're suspended this high off the ground with only two thin strips of fabric holding you up, that was the least of your worries at the moment.

Jadarite, Eion and Calipso were all on the ground, calling up words of encouragement to him as he managed to get the wrap around his torso properly. 

Unverlo was up in the rigging alongside some of the workers who maintained said rigging, mostly there to let him know if something got tangled and they’d have to drop him onto the massive padded mat directly under him on the stage.

He took a moment before he began the next stunt to question how Jadarite had even got him into this.

Something about his upper frame physique and how the crowd would love it?

After that thought was done, he let himself go, letting the flow of the fabrics let him spin around and around and around.

Just as he was about to hit the mat, he shifted, and the roll stopped, leaving a perilous amount of fabric left underneath him and his optics having to recalibrate to adjust to the sudden change in depth.

There was a round of applause from those around him as he put his servos and knees to the mat and untangled himself from the fabrics.

Once they were free hanging again, Unverlo and the mechs up in the rigging started to pull it all back up for storage, that had been the last trick he had wanted to get right, so the session was over.

Jadarite offered her servo to him, which he took as she helped him off the mat. “You’re a natural Pax, the crowds gonna love you even more when you get up the confidence to do it in front of them.” She praised, shifting to walk with him off the stage and down to where the tables and chairs were for the guests, a servo resting on his opposite shoulder as the predominantly white femme led him down and around to the doors that led to the network of workers only corridors that would in turn lead to the dressing rooms. 

He chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck. “You sure Boss? I’m still feeling pretty wobbly.”

Jadarite chuckled with a lot more conviction than his own. “How many times do I have to tell you I’ve got an optic for talent Pax? Everyone is wobbly to start with! Why when I was at your level of experience I ran face first into a pole in the middle of a performance and knocked myself out!” She exclaimed, whacking her forehelm with her palm to emphasise the incident. 

He gave her an awkward chuckle. “Hopefully I don’t do that…”

She went to reply back when the ships intercom came to life, and one of the Captains, it wasn’t easy to tell which with just the voice, started to speak. ::Attention all Passengers and Crew, we will soon be arriving at the Intergalactic Port, Galvara-5, if this is your departure call, please make sure you have everything you have brought with you packed away, as we will not be turning around for an errant data pad. For those who are not departing us at Galvara-5, we will be docked for two cycles, if you are not back on the ship exactly two cycles after we arrive, we will leave without you.::

He made a face. “That’s a bit harsh…”

Jadarite shrugged. “Think of it from their perspective, The Polaris is a literal city, does a city stop for one data pad?”

“No?”

“No, plus, being blunt about this and having it as part of the policy prevents grounds for lawsuits… it’s been company policy since the time of their Grandsire being in charge of the fleet.” She explained. 

Optimus nodded. “That makes sense… so… Galvara-5? What’s it like? I’ve never been off Cybertron before.” He explained. 

“Oh it’s hectic, because The Polaris and the rest of the fleet have it as their first docking spot after Cybertron, there’s always at least ten companies fighting and throwing money to have their cargo to get the fast track treatment.” She explained. “That’s something the Captains handle though, everyone else gets two cycles to hit up the clubs and tourist traps that have sprung up since the Fleet started using this place, before the Fleet took it as their first landing spot, it was apparently a pretty standard space port, now, it’s supersized and handles everything coming through this Quadrant, The Polaris is still the largest docking ship by leagues, of course.” She puffed up a bit as she stated that.

That was something he noticed, all the mechs and femmes who worked on this ship seemed to hold a great deal of pride, especially those like Jadarite, who felt like someone who knew the ins and outs of the ship better than she knew how to dance, which was saying something, he’d seen her during some of the shows, she could cut a rug and make artwork out of it.

“So, want to see Galvara-5 for yourself?” Jadarite offered. “We don’t have to put on shows during docking periods, it’s expected most bots will get off to take in the scenes and sights instead.” 

He shrugged. “If that’s the case I certainly don’t mind.” 

Jadarite beamed. “Wonderful, we can all go as a group and do a bar crawl! How does that sound?”

He chuckled. “Sounds good… so long as I’m not the only one carrying everyone’s drunk afts back to the ship. Especially Drakus, I don’t know about you, but I might need to go see Dust for a thrown out back strut if I tried to carry him!”

Drakus was the ‘big mech’ of the entertainment department, and was apparently very good at tossing the smaller bots into the air for more dramatic stunts, luckily Optimus was just above the weight that Dust allowed the mech to toss. 

Jadarite chuckled in turn. “Ah’ll remember that kiddo! Now how about you go and get changed out of that get up? Hmm? Before a lost passenger sees you and catches feelings!” She jested, nudging him ahead of her and into the changing rooms. 

Suddenly reminded of just how little he was wearing, Optimus yelped and tried to cover himself up, earning another truly raucous laugh from Jadarite. 

Cybertron

Megatron had to admit, he was having a hard time paying attention to what he was doing. 

He had the star map for the Trans Galactic fleet folded up on one side of his desk, if the Polaris was making good time, they’d be arriving at Galvara-5 soon, and hopefully one of his friends would have the chance to give him a call. 

He was itching to hear about Orion, make sure the dancer was doing alright. 

He’d sprung the change of employers so quickly on the mech, he’d wanted to give him time to pack and the like, but his concerns over Shockwave pulling something had overruled that wish. 

A knock at his door drew his attention away from the paper work he’d been looking at without actually reading. “Come in.” He spoke. 

The door opened and he would admit to himself, he was surprised to see who walked in. “Blackarachnia?” He asked in surprise as the femme walked in. 

The femme, known infamously as the Queen of the Insecticons, looked murderous, melt a poor soul into the sidewalk for being within her vicinity murderous, he was surprised Lugnut let her reach his office with that expression. He might need to go and check for his body...

“What. The frag did you do?” The femme hissed out. 

“You know full well your going to have to be more specific than that.”

“Optimus. What the fuck did you do to him!” She snapped, lips pulled back in a snarl. 

“Who?” He asked, he’d never heard of a mech called ‘Optimus’. He had a feeling BlackArachnia was misplacing her anger. “BlackArachnia, if one of your… associates has gone missing, I am not the one responsible.”

She blinked at him dumbstruck for a moment before snarling again. “Don’t pull that slag with me! You’re in deep slag you idiot! The Elite Guard’s started a murder investigation on you!” She snapped out. 

His optic ridges shot up. “...What…”

She nodded. “You killed their informant. I knew him… he… he used to be my friend… before… this…” She gestured to herself. “Words spreading fast… surprised you didn’t hear about it before me… So… what the frag… did you do… to Optimus?”

He shook his helm. “I’ve never met a mech by the designation ‘Optimus’.” He tried to explain. 

She sighed. “Baby blue face, bright blue helm piece with finals, waist that should not be supporting a chassis as broad as his?” She began to list off. 

That was all he needed to hear for his attention to go to a black and white photo on his desk, framed in a quaint wood frame, he slowly turned it to face her. “Your… Your describing Orion.” 

“Orion? Frag… he used a cover name… wait… you didn’t know he was an informant?”

Megatron felt something in his spark drop. “No… I didn’t…”

She looked at him confused. “Then… why did you kill him?”

“I didn’t!” He exclaimed, affronted at the very idea of him being responsible for Orion… Optimus… Orion’s death. “He’s not dead!”

“Then where is he?! He was Magnus’ favourite once upon a time! And he’s using the fact that he’s not been seen in weeks to build a murder case on you! They’ve had ships trawl the docks for his body!”

He froze then. “What… wait… the docks?”

She nodded. “Yes! Everyone knows you took him to the docks with Lugnut and Shockwave! Everyone… came to the conclusion you… put him in the Docks… you didn’t… put him in the docks…” 

He shook his helm. “No… I had his contract changed from being in my name, to the name of an old friend. He’s on their ship as we speak.” 

BlackArachnia’s shoulders dropped in relief. “He’s not dead…” 

He nodded, but his expression soured. “Now that we’ve established that… what’s this about him being an informant?”

BlackArachnia made a face. “That I don’t know much about… but what I do know is… it’s a scandal in the Elite Guard… Magnus apparently never cleared this… Sentinel Prime went behind his back and made Optimus work as an informant for him… Optimus wasn’t part of the Guard… he was a civilian… that it seems… Sentinel strong armed into getting information on you for him… That’s all that’s gotten out into the rumour mill so far…” She explained. 

He hummed and intertwined his digits. “The ship with… Optimus… on it… is soon to arrive on Galvara-5… I will address the Captains and see about getting proof that he is alive and well on the ship… that will hopefully enough to clear me of murder when a trial comes… Thank you BlackArachnia… for bringing this all to my attention… Now I know to be prepared...” 

BlackArachnia nodded and took that as her que to leave. 

It would seem, it was more than just Sol and Neb that he would need to speak with on the Polaris… directly. 

The Polaris Bridge.

Nebularburst yawned as she watched the bid prices roll in, Solarstorm was handling the auction itself in Galvara-5’s trading hall, everytime they flew through here, wealthier and wealthier companies and syndicates were throwing more money at them to get their stuff along the flight path they had. 

A chipper autotone voice pipped up from the main console. “Tired Pilot?”

Nebular snorted. “Me? Tired? Child who do you think you are suggesting that?”

The voice snickered through the speakers. “This child~ Who knows you haven’t recharged in four cycles.”

“You’ve been using the security cameras in our quarters to spy on me again… haven’t you?”

“........... Fraggit…”

“POLS!”

“Sorry! Sorry! Sorry!” The voice yipped.

Nebularburst sighed, rubbed the sides of her helm. “No… no… I’m sorry… I know it’s pointless thinking we can have you keep some of your innocence… what with what we have you do on the outer rim…”

“What I do on the outer rim is my duty… I’ve known my duty since the cycle you brought me online… I should still try not to swear like those who work in my engines...”

She patted the console gently. “It’s okay… HOLY FPPPFTTT…” She suddenly exclaimed, puffing out her cheeks to stop herself from cursing as she pointed at the sudden spike from the Auction count. “Someone just bet a brand new mining colony filled with rare ores!” 

“WHAT?!”

“... Looks like we’re going to be even more busy now…”

“Think there will be useful stuff to be found?”

“I don’t know… but it looks like that plus a whole warehouse full of credits is the winning bid… the others are declining raising the stakes… Looks like the Prince of the Empire of Falgranum… Wonder what he wants us to ship for that much…” She mumbled. 

She didn’t get anymore time to ponder as the bridges com-link was pinged by a familiar number. 

Nbbularburst beamed. “It’s Megzy!” And sent the clearance for the call to go through. 

:We need to talk.:

Her optic ridges shot up. That didn’t sound good. 

[staysaneathome]

This Was Not A Dare, Reigen

Jon glares at each of the— the suspects traitors in front of him, tape recorder clutched tight in one hand.

Martin, wringing his hands uselessly, eyes wide and beseeching. Tim, fists clenched hard enough for his knuckles to go white and returning his gaze with a death stare of his own. Sasha, arms folded to form a barrier between Jon and herself, expression a perfect mask of concern. Reigen, radiating disappointment in every one of his gestures and quips. Elias, eyes weary, fingers rubbing the bridge of his nose.

Some intervention this is turning out to be.

Jon wants to scream. Wants to reach out and shake someone, anyone, until they admit he’s making sense and it’s the rest of the world that’s gone mad.

Every single one of them (except Martin) could’ve killed Gertrude. He knows he has no proof that they did, but he has no proof that they didn’t either, can’t they see that? If they don’t want him to suspect them, it should be easy for them to actually give him proof of their innocence (like Martin did), instead of just repeating platitudes of “you know this isn’t acceptable adult behavior, Jon” and “you’re better than this, Jon”.

Who cares about knowing better or acceptable behavior when it’s your very life on the line? He’s half tempted to throttle the con artist, see how dignified or adult he is when he’s the one with a murderer on his tail!

…Not that Jon is a murderer. It’s just the principle of the thing, is all.

“Jon,” Elias says, tone soothing in all the ways he doesn’t want it to be. “This is absurd. This goes far beyond an unhealthy work environment. I’ll admit it’s partly my fault for letting it get this bad, I should have intervened earlier.”

Reigen cuts in with a hand gesture that is as effusive as it is dismissive. “That doesn’t make his behavior okay, Bouchard-san. It may be bad here, but Jon chose to follow me, Tim and Sasha, and yell at Martin, rather than going to the police or paying a detective, like Herlock Sholmes or something.”

Jon sputters. “Wh- It’s Sherlock Holmes, not—and he’s fictional!”

Reigen blinks sleepily, one eyebrow raised. “Oh? That doesn’t sound right. Are you sure?”

“Yes!” Jon all but shouts, rapidly reconsidering his stance on braining the sardonic little git with his tape recorder. “Don’t you even—an-and you’re deflecting again! Just like with your ridiculous ‘haunted gun’ nonsense!”

“I’m not!” Reigen says, clearly deflecting. “I’ve seen this kind of thing loads of times as the number one psychic. When a weapon kills lots of people over 100 years, the bad energy gets bigger and bigger until the gun grows an evil spirit and is hungry—”

“I refuse to believe Gertrude Robinson was murdered by a sentient blunderbuss!!”

“Be that as it may,” Elias interrupts, shooting them both a stern frown. “This is exactly the kind of thing I was talking about, Jon. Given how badly it’s affected your work ethic, I will be taking direct action to ensure it does not continue.”

Jon can feel his shoulders hunch almost against his will, dread pooling in his stomach at the thought of whatever punishment is about to be unjustly inflicted on him.

Only Martin looks half as worried as he feels, glancing between him and Elias nervously. By contrast, Tim looks downright triumphant, smirk nasty and vindictive. Sasha’s somewhere between those two, not openly celebrating his soon-to-be-downfall, but not acting like she’d lift a finger on his behalf either, though he’s unsure why that feels like it should surprise him. She’s always been as neutral as Switzerland.

Reigen, oddly enough, has more in common with Martin than with Tim. He’s staring at Elias like he’s waiting for a bit of news he knows he won’t like.

Jon thinks he’d appreciate that more if he wasn’t about to be unfairly lambasted simply for trying to stop a murderer and bring justice for an old woman who probably died frightened and alone. Much like Jon probably will once he’s been hobbled by whatever Elias is about to say next.

“Such as by restricting access to the archives from members of the public who are ultimately doing you more harm than good.”

…Wait.

What?

“What?!” Tim, Martin, and Sasha echo.

Reigen glances between them all, blinking in confusion.

Jon shares the sentiment entirely. His punishment is…for someone else to be removed from the archives? Someone he doesn’t employ or even like that much, no less?

He must have misheard, surely.

Though maybe not, given how Tim looks aghast, glancing between Elias and Reigen. “Okay, no, Reigen’s clearly not the problem here—”

“I’m very sorry, Tim, but Jon has made several remarks about the disruptive nature of Mr. Arataka’s presence in the archives.” Elias sighs. “From the arguments like the one we just witnessed to the nonsensical purchases of oddities inspired by his presence, such as Duolingo subscriptions,” Meaningful glare at Jon who resists the urge to clutch his phone guiltily, “That are now billed on the Archives’ expenses, it unfortunately seems as though he is dragging down productivity for all of you as an active stressor.”

“But we’re much better equipped to take statements from people who don’t speak English because of that!” Martin protests, stepping forward. “Isn’t it an advantage to have a more, more international perspective for our work?”

“One positive in a sea of negatives does not an advantage make.” Elias says, sounding infuriatingly like he’s misquoting something. “And really Martin, how realistic is it that this would help in more than a few isolated cases? I expected better from you.”

Martin’s face crumples, and his shoulders hunch, making himself smaller.

Jon finds his own mouth opening to—what? Say something? What would he even say?

Luckily, Sasha intervenes before he can dig his own grave further. “That’s as may be, but he’s a wonder for morale. He and Jon are funny, not anything serious, and I don’t think we’d have come to you about Jon‘s behavior unless he encouraged us to—”

“Which only fits into the delusion where Jon feels an outsider is rallying his subordinates against him, which is not good for his paranoid outlook.” Elias replies calmly. “And it’s never a healthy work environment when one employee feels the others are making them the butt of a joke.”

“I’d say that’s not as bad as when the boss feels he has the right to violate everyone’s privacy whenever he wants to just ’cause he’s feeling sad!” Tim growls.

Elias begins to answer, before Reigen finally speaks up.

“Sorry,” The con artist says carefully. “But you are…«I know this one…» banning me from the Archives? Yes?”

“That is the long and short of it, yes.” Elias says, grudgingly

“Why?” Reigen challenges, eyes hard and searching. “What have I, personally, done that’s wrong here? What behavior do I need to correct?”

There’s a moment of silence. The whirring of the tape recorder sounds uncomfortably loud.

“Mr. Arataka, are you currently under the employ of the Magnus Institute?” Elias asks, brow furrowed.

“Ah, no, no, but—”

“Are you looking to become employed by the Institute at this point in time, as a prospective member of the Archival Staff?” He fires off rapidly.

“Su-Sorry, but if you could just go a little slower—”

“Then I am afraid that unless you’re looking to fill out an employment contract or a Statement form, we cannot help you, Mr. Arataka.” Elias spreads his hands wide. “We are an academic institution, a place of research and learning. The Institute cannot allow for social dalliances on company time, especially not when those visits are negatively contributing to the work environment and the wellbeing of our staff.”

Tim throws up his hands, “I-I cannot believe this!”

Reigen’s mouth works soundlessly for a moment.

“Arataka is my…what do you call it? First name?” He says, at last. “Using it in this context is…inappropriate. Please call me Reigen, if you would, Bouchard-san.”

“Of course. My mistake, Mr. Reigen.” Elias does have the decency to look somewhat abashed. “Though, regrettably, I am going to have to ask you to leave the premises within the next twenty minutes, or I will be forced to call security.”

Reigen nods, jerkily, hands stuffed in his pockets.

Jon almost wants to call out to the fraud as he turns to go, grab him by the shoulder, pick another argument, something. He knows he should be happy, be glad that this thorn in his side will finally stop bothering him, but instead he just feels—befuddled. Off-kilter.

What happened to the man who once spent three hours arguing for the “spiritual effectiveness” of entirely performative and useless rituals, saying that ensuring his clients left his office fooled and contented was better than actually uncovering genuine supernatural forces and learning all there was to know about them? Why is he going so-so easily now, when he’s made Jon fight tooth and nail in every debate he’s had with the so-called psychic?

At the door, the con man pauses.

“Bouchard-san. You said I could come back if I had a statement to give?”

Elias shifts in his seat, looking bemused. “W-well, yes. That is a service we do provide. Of course, the statement would have to be genuine, and verifiable as such before we let you back into the Archives.”

“We don’t even do that for most of the rubbish we do take,” Tim mutters under his breath, and though Jon is glad he’s not the one being shot a quelling look, he does have to agree.

The con man turns back.

He’s got that smirk on his face that immediately puts Jon’s hackles up on instinct, prepared to argue against whatever inane point he’s come up with now to defend his phony psychic title.

“Gotcha.” Reigen says, far too cheerfully. «Ja ne.»

Then he strolls out of the office, as cool as a cucumber.

Jon could even swear he hears him whistling as he makes his way down the stairs.

There’s a moment of stunned silence.

“I’d do him.” Sasha pipes up, unhelpfully.

“Sasha!” Martin hisses, scandalized. “D-don’t you have a, a—”

“Oh, I don’t have to worry about that.” She remarks, far too blasé for someone in a newly committed relationship. “Tom’s heard about him too, and he agreed he’s just our type.”

“And I’m not?” Tim jokes, but there’s a hard edge to it that Jon’s found himself increasingly familiar with in the past few weeks.

Sasha shrugs with a mischievous little smile, as if that mattered very little to her.

Elias coughs. “Right. Well. Whatever your relations to Mr. Reigen are, please try to limit them to outside the workplace in future.”

The rest of the intervention is surprisingly subdued. Elias gives Jon access to the footage from the cameras in the rest of the Institute, and Tim bodychecks him on the way out of the office, muttering about how nice it must be to never face any consequences for his actions. Sasha follows, the way she won’t meet his eyes a condemnation in its own right.

Even Martin doesn’t say anything to him, just bites his lip and hurries past back down to the Archives. It doesn’t sting. It doesn’t.

Even as he settles in to watch and rewatch the CCTV records of Gertrude’s last week alive, Jon can’t shake the ridiculous feeling of foreboding that’s dogged him since Reigen left.

Most of him wants to say it comes from the fact that despite the fact that Reigen has not appeared in any of the camera records for the Magnus Institute before he started his term as Head Archivist in 2016, isn’t banning him from the Archives just letting the con man run around London with impunity, with no way for Jon to ascertain his movements or motives? That instead of solving a problem, Elias has just given a potential murderer free reign to escape?

But a small part of Jon, one that never could deny the sensation of being watched, that is frozen in second-hand terror whenever he reads a Statement, knows, Knows that it this stems more from the idea that the fraud will actually accomplish what Elias has unwittingly challenged him to do.

The illogical but pervasive surety that he will do so.

Jon’s not sure if he’s more afraid that Reigen Arataka will vanish entirely, another unfortunate victim become an unsolved mystery.

Or that he’ll come back, and bring whatever he’s managed to unearth on his insane quest with him.

[wordsintimeandspace]

All That Haunts Us (1/14)

Jon and Tim have seen their fair share of strange things while working in Research at the Magnus Institute. They still didn’t quite expect to rescue Martin, who has been missing for a year, from a supernatural encounter during one of their investigations. Together, the three of them hunt for answers and try to find a way forward, but they all have things that haunt them.

Meanwhile, Elias sees the perfect opportunity to set his devious plan into motion...

Jon/Martin/Tim, rated T, ~2500 words for this chapter. Read on AO3!

Tim plumps down onto the corner of Jon’s desk without much warning. After months of being friends with Tim Jon supposes he should be used to it by now, but he still startles a little, eyes shooting up from the book he’s been engrossed in for who knows how long. Tim sits there with his arms crossed over his chest, smiling down at him like he’s exactly where he belongs.

“Can I help you?” Jon finally asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, I hope so,” Tim says lightly. “But first, I brought lunch.”

He sets a sandwich down in front of Jon. Jon blinks in surprise, and only now notices the rumbling of his stomach and the empty desks around him as everyone else in his shared office has gone out for lunch. “Oh. Sorry, we had planned to meet up, hadn’t we?”

“It’s fine. I don’t mind eating here.” Tim takes a bite of his own sandwich, as if to demonstrate. Jon wrinkles his nose as he continues talking, mouth half full. “Reading anything interesting?”

For a second Jon hesitates - out of all the people in the Research Department, Tim might be the only one to agree with him that ‘The Architecture of Cathedrals in the 15th Century’ is actually interesting. But based on the look in his eyes, Jon suspects he has something more pressing to talk about. “Nothing too important,” he finally says, carefully prying the wrapper away from his food. “What did you need help with?”

“I’ve been working on a case.”

Jon looks up from his sandwich - spicy chicken and cucumber, just what he prefers - and frowns. “The one with the cat, right?”

Tim heaves a melodramatic sigh. “Yes, the one with the lady who claims her cat got eaten by, let me quote, ‘a six foot tall monster with too many legs and teeth’. As if that’s the only logical explanation for an outdoor cat to go missing in London. Never mind, oh, I don’t know, cars and foxes and all that.”

Even as he tries to suppress it, Jon can’t quite help the grin tugging at the corners of his lips. “You sound like you had a bit of a week.”

“Oh, you have no idea. I called every vet and the animal shelter if they’ve seen any unusual injuries. And then I’ve knocked on every door in the area that has a cat flap and asked them if their cat has gone missing in the last year, and I scoured every possible missing pet portal on the entire internet.”

“... and? Did you find anything?” Jon asks when Tim doesn’t continue.

Tim throws his hands up, exasperated. “Of course I found something. Do you have any idea how many cats go missing every year in a city like this, entirely due to natural causes?”

Jon nods. “Okay, I get your point. This still doesn’t answer the question of what you need help with though.”

“Look, I just thought... if there is a monster like that - and I’m not saying there is - it’s big enough to harm more than cats, right? So I looked for missing dogs as well. And then, while I was on a roll and because I was terribly bored, I looked for missing persons.”

At that, Jon raises an eyebrow. He knows Tim is an excellent researcher, thorough in everything he does, but that seems to go even beyond his usual rigour. “You can’t possibly tell me you found an account of a person being eaten by a monster like that. Surely we would have heard of it by now.”

“No, ‘course not.” Tim rolls his eyes, taking another bite of his sandwich before he continues. “This has nothing to do with that. But what I did find was a missing person’s report from about a year ago, and several accounts from the last few months that the building where he used to live is haunted.”

Jon stills, looking at Tim with a frown. “That rather sounds like someone is making a crude joke.”

“At first I thought so too,” Tim says. “But the reports on the hauntings didn’t mention that a person went missing there. And the guy’s address isn’t even public. They couldn’t have known. I had Sasha dig that up for me, along with other details on the case. You know Sasha, right?”

Jon nods - he doesn’t think he’s ever talked to her, but even he can’t escape the Institute gossip when someone transfers from Artifact Storage to another department. And he’s seen her around Research by now, in the last few weeks. “I- yes. But… what kind of ‘haunting’ are we talking about here?”

Tim shrugs. “There seems to be a bunch of evidence. Recordings of hushed voices and weird noises, something like rustling? Blurry figures in the shadows. Cold spots.”

“I’m not sure I would count that as evidence.”

Tim lets out a long sigh. “Don’t be such a sceptic.”

Jon frowns. “It is our job to be sceptical.”

“Yeah, sure, but you have to admit it’s a weird coincidence, right? That this building where one person disappeared is supposedly haunted since then?”

Jon bites his lip. He trusts Tim’s instincts. And he can’t deny that there’s something off about this whole thing, even if he can’t put his finger on it. It happens sometimes, that a case just feels… wrong, he supposes. That it comes with a prickle of unease and a shiver down his spine, in a way that is too familiar to ignore. He wonders if Tim feels it as well, or if he just - for some unfathomable reason - wants to get out of interviewing even more cat owners.

“What do you want to do about this, then?” he finally asks, and Tim’s face immediately brightens.

“I want to go view the flat. There’s a rent advertisement online. Perfect opportunity for a bit of snooping.”

“Okay. And you need me for… what, exactly?”

At this Tim smiles - a bit mischievous, which is his usual expression, but also a bit bashful, which is a rare sight for someone as self-assured as Tim. Jon can’t help but feel a bit nervous about that, and reaches for his long cold mug of tea.

“I need you to pose as my boyfriend,” Tim says calmly, and Jon promptly chokes as he takes a sip.

“What?” he finally manages to get out as soon as he can breathe again. His cheeks are burning, but Tim just gives him a sympathetic smile and a pat on the back.

“You heard me. Come on, help me out there buddy.”

“But… why?”

Tim lets out a long sigh. “Look, I first tried to be honest, but when I called the landlord and mentioned the Magnus Institute he swore at me and hung up. The rent advertisement is just the backup plan. I need you to be with me and take over the speaking to make sure he doesn’t recognize me.”

For a moment, Jon can only stare at him. “I still don’t understand why I’d have to be your boyfriend. Can’t I be your flatmate?”

“It’s a one bedroom apartment. He’s not going to believe we’re flatmates.”

“What about Sasha? Can’t you ask her?” Jon asks, a bit helplessly.

Tim gives him a long look. “Jon, I’m trying very hard not to be offended that you really don’t want to fake date me, but you’re not making it easy.”

“I- I’m not-” Jon splutters before heaving a sigh. “I- fine. Fine. I’ll do it.”

Tim cheers, even as Jon glowers at him. “Oh, this is fantastic,” he says, rubbing his hands together. “I’ve always wanted to do something like this. Can I call you a pet name?”

Heat rises in Jon’s cheeks. He tries his best to glare even as his stomach swoops at the idea, for reasons he resolutely does not want to examine. “Absolutely not.”

“Hold your hand?”

“No.”

Tim lets out a sigh, crossing his arms over his chest. “You’re no fun.”

“This is supposed to be work, not fun.”

“I can multitask and do both at once, Jon.”

Suppressing a groan, Jon rolls his eyes at him, and decides to just move on. “When do you want to do this?”

“Okay, so, I need you to call to set up an appointment. We can-”

Abruptly, Tim stops. He goes still, the excited grin slipping off his lips. He’s not looking at Jon anymore, his eyes instead fixed on something behind him.

Jon whirls around in his chair, and startles when his gaze falls on Elias Bouchard, head of the Magnus Institute, standing in the doorway to his office. As usual, he is wearing an impeccable grey suit and a smile that never quite matches the piercing look in his eyes. Somehow, there’s always something unnerving about him, although Jon can’t put his finger on it.

“Um. Hello, Mr. Bouchard,” he starts slowly.

Elias’ smile widens just a little bit. “Jonathan. I’ve told you before, call me Elias,” he says smoothly. “And Timothy. Just the man I wanted to speak to.”

Tim winces and sits up a little straighter. “Of course. What can I help you with?”

Elias fixes Tim with a long stare that makes Jon squirm in his seat. “I had a rather unpleasant call with one Mr. Abbott earlier,” Elias finally says, raising a perfectly manicured eyebrow. “He complained that someone from the Magnus Institute asked to see one of his rental properties to investigate a case.”

“I’m just doing some regular follow-up, Sir,” Tim says, a bit defensively. Jon finally looks away from Elias towards Tim, and watches the crease between his brows deepen as Elias continues.

“Of course. I’m sure you were perfectly polite, Timothy. Mr. Abbott, however, was quite clear that he believes an investigation like this will hurt his carefully crafted image. And I just couldn’t help but wonder why you were contacting him when you were supposed to work on the… what was it, the case of Mrs. Mitchell, I believe? Regarding the disappearance of her cat?”

“Err. Yes, I-”

“Are the cases connected?” Elias asks, a sudden sharpness in his voice that makes Jon flinch. Tim’s mouth twists, as if he’s trying hard to suppress a grimace.

“I don’t believe so, no,” Tim says hesitantly. “I just thought-”

“In that case, I would advise you to focus on the work you were assigned, Mr. Stoker.” The tone in Elias’ voice makes it very clear that he won’t accept any objections. Nevertheless, the smile on his lips doesn’t falter. “We wouldn’t want to get any more complaints, would we?”

“I-” Tim stops himself, letting out a sigh. “Of course, Sir.”

“Since it seems you might have gotten bored with the Mitchell case, I’m sure you have already conducted all necessary research and can deliver the report to my desk by this evening. Or am I mistaken?”

Tim’s frown deepens, but he doesn’t protest. “Sure,” he grumbles.

“Excellent,” Elias says, the sudden sharpness in his voice gone as quickly as it came. He gives them both a short nod. “Have a good day, gentlemen.”

With that, Elias turns on his heels and walks away. He’s out of sight as soon as he turns a corner down the corridor, but still, Jon can’t help but stare after him. Beside him, Tim lets out a pitiful groan.

“This evening?” Tim buries his face in his hands. “I had until next week to do the report. I haven’t even started it.”

“I’m sorry,” Jon says with a wince. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Nah. Don’t think so. But thank you.” Tim looks up with a small smile and stands, wrapping up the remains of his sandwich. “I’ll best get back to work if I want to have this done by five.”

Jon lets out a small hum, but he’s still distracted by what just happened. Again, he stares down the corridor, as if Elias might reappear any second. He can’t shake the feeling of his eyes on him.

“Are you alright?” Tim asks. Jon startles a little and looks back at him. Tim is watching him with a quizzical expression on his face.

“Yes,” Jon says hesitantly, chewing on his bottom lip. “It’s just… that was strange, wasn’t it?”

Tim shrugs. “Yeah. But everything about Bouchard is strange.”

“I suppose. But this was...” Jon hesitates. This was more than strange, he wants to say. This feels like Elias doesn’t want us to investigate whatever is going on in that haunted flat. But that’s a silly thought, isn’t it? Jon shakes his head. “Nevermind. Good luck with the report.”

Tim gives him a pained smile. “Thanks,” he says miserably, and finally shuffles back towards his office.

That afternoon, as much as Jon tries to go back to his book, he can’t quite stop thinking. He can’t shake the feeling that something is wrong, in a way that makes him jittery and anxious and makes it impossible to focus on the words in front of him. He stays late to make up for it, and when he finally calls it a day, the other researchers that share his office have already left. Jon puts on his coat and grabs his bag, and goes to check on Tim.

The door to Tim’s office is still open, although all the desks are currently unoccupied. Tim’s desk is a bit of a mess, filled with piled up papers and books and too many empty cups of tea. With their earlier conversation about the case still on the forefront of his mind, Jon gives in to the temptation to step closer and skim through the texts scattered on the desk.

It doesn’t take long until his gaze falls onto what looks like the copy of a police report. Carefully, he pulls the paper out from underneath a book. It’s undoubtedly the missing person’s report Tim has mentioned. The address fits to the area of the case he was working on. Jon starts reading, and immediately stills.

It hits him suddenly that Tim had never mentioned the name of the missing person. Sometimes, it’s easy to forget that there are actual people behind the cases they’re researching. But there’s the name, right next to a photograph.

In the photo, Martin Blackwood is looking directly at the camera, a small smile on his lips. Jon takes a moment to take him in - the pudgy cheeks covered in freckles, the sad eyes, the light brown hair falling in soft curls around his face. An actual person, with a life and friends and family who must wonder what has happened to him after he disappeared a year ago. Who maybe still have hope that one day, he will come back.

So far, Jon was only a little irritated that Elias intervened in their investigation. Now, he’s suddenly furious.

Before he knows what he’s doing, Jon pulls out his phone and takes a photograph of the report. He places it back on Tim’s desk and leaves.

As he walks to the tube station, he pulls up the address on his phone. He takes the train that goes in the opposite direction of where he lives, changes trains twice, and finally, half an hour later, steps out into the chill September air. By now, it’s already getting dark. Jon pulls up the collar of his coat to protect himself against the cold, and begins to walk towards the haunted flat where Martin Blackwood disappeared.

[thechangeling]

Say my name or I won't survive

This is an extension of my headcannon for non binary Kit. He uses he/they pronouns. Kit comes out to Jessa as nonbinary.

Tw: mentions of transphobia/enbyphobia

A lot had happened since that conversation with Magnus. Kit usually didn't like to make a habit out of breaking down in people's arms. But it had become clear in that moment that they needed to talk to someone. That they needed to face the things they had been pushing down, trying to avoid.

Kit was currently standing in front of the mirror in his bedroom. Magnus had let them take some clothes that had been magically altered to fit Kit. Just so he could experiment with wearing them.

So far he hadn't made it out of his room wearing a dress or a skirt, but Kit was trying to take baby steps. Well mostly they were just scared. Scared of what Jem and Tessa would say.

Scared of what everyone would say. Like what if he was just making everything up? Or maybe he was just confused? Shadowhunters were big on tradition. Asking people to use different pronouns for Kit and stop using his full name might be a challenge for some people.

Like Jace, their brain supplied.

Kit stared at their reflection on the mirror. Magnus had started teaching them how to apply makeup and experiment with it. Kit confessed that when they were younger they used to steal eyeliner and lipstick from drug stores and put it on when Johnny was otherwise occupied. Kit was still no where near Magnus's level of talent but they were pretty good.

Kit had done simple makeup today, not looking for anything too crazy, just a little mascara to make his eyes pop and concealer to cover his light bruising from training. He hadn't wanted to look too girly during this conversation, he figured it was better to ease Tessa and Jem into this whole thing.

Also Kit didn't always feel like looking too girly, even though as Magnus constantly reminded them, clothes and makeup didnt have a gender. They liked playing around with different concepts, different styles. The societal ideas of femininity and masculinity were just that, ideas. There were no real rules, not when Kit stopped playing the game.

They stared at themself in the vanity mirror, trying to think of exactly what Kit was going to say to Jem and Tessa. Just saying the words, "I'm nonbinary" didn't seem good enough. They felt like they needed to give a proper explanation of their feelings and experiences or else they would be accused of faking it.

The urge to prove ones validly, the need to make sure people knew he was real and he wasnt crazy, it was more importent then anything. It was infuriating. Knowing that his experiences could be so easily dismissed as delusional feelings.

Not trans enough. Not cis enough. Not gay enough. Not straight enough. Kit's mere existence was a controversy on it's own. It was exhausting enough to make Kit want to abandon the whole idea of coming out again all together. Maybe it was easier just to smile and nod everytime someone misgendered them. Ignore the clenching of their stomach and the punch to the chest that came with it.

Smile and nod and be the man he was meant to be. But he had been doing that for 18 years and he couldn't survive it much longer. Kit needed to come out. People needed to acknowledge his reality and use the proper pronouns for him.

Or else Kit was going to wither away, shrivel up into something unrecognizable. A shell of their former self. They were going to die if they had to hear "Christopher" one more time.

The only time it was tolerable was when Ty said it. Kit could almost pretend that he could be the person Ty thought he was, if it would make Ty happy. He used to think that he could let himself wither away and die as long as Ty was ok. As long as Ty was safe and happy.

But that wasnt ok. That wasnt fair. Kit deserved to be safe and happy as well. One of the things they had learned with Jem and Tessa was that Kit deserved to put themself first sometimes. Kit deserved good things despite what Johnny Rook had made them believe. Kit wanted Ty to be ok. They wanted Ty in general.

But Kit needed this.

He took a deep breath and exited his room, heading downstairs to the kitchen where Jem was cooking breakfast and Tessa was trying to get Mina to settle down. Everyone looked up as soon as Kit entered the room.

"Kitty!!!" Mina screamed excitedly, waving her arms around. Tessa shushed her fondly, scolding her for yelling.

"Good morning Christopher," Jem said with kind a smile. "How did you sleep?"

Kit tried to ignore the way their stomach clenched at the sound of their birth name. Dead name, their brain supplied. They needed to tell Tessa and Jem. Kit slid into a nearby chair with a heavy sigh.

"I need to talk to you guys about something," he muttered, trying not to sound too nervous or dejected. Tessa and Jem shared a worried glance.

"Is everything alright Kit?" Tessa asked sparing Mina a glance, probably wondering if she should be removing her from this conversation. Kit shut his eyes briefly and took a breath.

"Yeah I hope so. I just need to tell you something," Kit ran their fingers through their curls. Jem and Tessa watched them, waiting patiently. Kit tried to ignore the shakiness of their breath and the way their palms.

"Here's the thing," Kit began. "You might not get it but I need to ask you to respect it ok?

He didn't wait for their responses. "I'm nonbinary. Which basically means that I'm neither male nor female. I'm something else, something seperate. I don't know I guess I just think of myself as a person who doesn't really have much of a gender," he was staring at the tabletop refusing to make eye contact. "It's just sort of like, if you think of the colour spectrum as gender, I would be a blurry watercolour. A mixture if all kinds of different things and sometimes some colours are more vibrant then others. And then sometimes it's just gray."

Kit wasnt sure if any of this was really making any sense but they knew they had to try. Jem and Tessa were both still silent. Mina was happily chomping down on her breakfast and ignoring all of them. Kit took this as a sign to continue.

"I don't exactly know why I'm like this or how I know. But maybe there are some things that you just can't explain. You just know. Like I know that the sun will set and then rise again tommorow and I know that I love you guys," Kit voice faltered at the last part. He looked up at Tessa and Jem, panicked over seeing their reactions.

But they were both just staring at Kit with huge, loving smiles on their faces. Kit's breathing slowly began to return to normal but their hands were still shaking. Tessa csne towards them slowly, grasping Kit's hand in hers.

"Baby it's ok," she cooed. "You have nothing to be ashamed of. It's just like we told you when you first came out as bisexual, we will always love you no matter what." Jem nodded.

"I have admit this whole thing is rather fascinating," Jem chimed in with a smile. "I've never heard the term before." Kit fought the urge to remind him that two weeks ago he had never heard of playstation, but decided against it.

Mina was paying attention to them now and she was smiling at Kit. "No bany!" She cried excitedly. Kit couldn't help it, he through his head back and laughed. Mina scowled at him slightly. "Not quite Min-Min," Kit told her playfully.

"Do you have different pronouns that you would like us to use?" Tessa asked. Kit's heart fluttered at the question. They didn't actually think either Tessa or Jem would think to ask.

Kit cleared their throat. "Yeah do you think you guys could use alternating he/they pronouns for me? Like use he in one sentence and then use they?" Kit instantly felt kind of guilty for complicating things further. "I'm sorry I know that's kind of confusing."

Jem shook his head, "no it's fine! We just want you to feel comfortable." Tessa nodded in agreement. "Is there anything else?" Kit pulled Mina's hands off of their shirt. She had begun to tug and pull out of boredom.

Kit nodded. "Yeah do you think you could stop calling me Christopher please?" He hoped he didn't sound to harsh. There was something so guilt inducing about having to ask for these things. It felt like Kit was making unneccessary demands. But he wasn't. He had every right to.

Jem instantly looked sheepish. "I'm so sorry Kit," he said softly. Tessa looked guilty too. Kit shook their head.

"Its ok. You didn't know. Just don't do it anymore ok?" Kit felt significantly lighter, like a giant weight had been lifted off of their shoulders. They slid out of their stool to walk around to the other side of the kitchen island and hug both Jem and Tessa.

Kit knew it wouldn't always be this easy. He knew that this life would be complicated and difficult, but it would also be full of exploration and freedom.

Kit would always have a place he belonged.

"I am also a we."

- Sense 8

Tag list you know the drill, let me know if you want on or off: @scrat-is-god @playwithravenclaw @lavender-scented-rat @knifescythe @ti-bae-rius @dianasarrow @doitforthecarstairs @jazzkaurtheglorious @waterlillies @zfoxdraws @julieandthefandoms @older-brother-kit @ilikebooks8 @nott-the-best @stxr-thxif @magnus-the-fabulous-entp-bane @autumnangel20 @hufflepuffyskam

[pronouncingitwang]

jon, melanie, and georgie friendship | 1.5K words | basically just. how jon finds out melanie’s bi | for the @jonsimsbipride prompt “solidarity”

“Martin? Are you still there?” Georgie calls from the couch at a volume that makes Jon wince.

Martin’s fallen asleep on the loveseat, his face smushed into the arm of the chair as he snores. For the last few minutes, Jon has been looking at the rise and fall of his chest with something resembling awe. Even a year after the world began again, Jon finds it difficult to believe that they’re safe, that he can just watch Martin without needing to watch over him.

“Pretty sure those are his snores I’m hearing right now,” says Melanie, and Georgie whispers a quick apology.

Recovery has been hard, but being roommates with the Qing-Barkers helps, at least sometimes. Georgie described their shared living situation as “living in group therapy” on more than one occasion, which is true on hard days. Melanie described it as “being back in uni again, but mostly in a good way?” which is true on better days. Martin maintains that it’s worth it for The Admiral and Melanie’s service dog, Mothman, alone, which is true on every day.

Today is a good day. There’s been a lot of laughter, from when Georgie and Melanie had met him and Martin at the airport to telling them honeymoon stories over dinner to now, when they’re all lying around doing nothing, and jet lag has rendered Jon too tired to drag himself to bed.

“Come and cuddle with us instead, Jon,” Melanie stage-whispers from beside Georgie. After checking that Martin is comfortable one more time, Jon agrees.

Melanie is snuggled under a blanket with a pink, purple, and blue yarn mix. Martin had gifted the blanket to Georgie for her birthday, even though Jon, I swear everyone gives their friends pride stuff when they don’t know what else to get them; are you sure it’s not obvious that I didn’t have a better idea? It's warm and soft, and by now, practically a household staple.

Jon sits down on the couch and, after checking that she’s okay with it, rests his cheek against Melanie’s shoulder. At first contact, Melanie lets out a small noise of surprise. “You shaved,” she says. “Georgie, you’re supposed to tell me about major life changes like this! How stupid does he look?”

Georgie hums. “Not too bad. I’d say… no more stupid than usual?”

“Damn,” Melanie says. “Why the smooth face, Jon?”

Georgie opens her mouth, but stops herself to let Jon explain.

“Oh,” he shrugs, “I just tend to shave whenever I have to deal with airport security. Less likely to be stopped for suspected terrorism and all.”

“Ah.” Melanie clicks her tongue. “Makes sense. Sucks, though.” She shifts, resting her head on top of Jon’s. “I guess it’s a good thing that Big Heathrow”—Georgie giggles from the other side of the couch—“doesn’t know how the apocalypse came about, then.”

Jon laughs. The part of his mind that wonders if going along with this particular joke about the apocalypse is a sign of developing emotional distance or just a coping mechanism perks its ears up, but he ignores it. “No, I’d imagine the Daily Mail would have a field day with that one.”

“I wonder how they’d spin your evil boss’s involvement,” Georgie, who steadfastly refuses to use Elias’s name, muses. “Innocent bystander? Secret lover?”

Melanie makes a retching sound, which Jon makes back at her. Melanie repeats it at a slightly higher pitch. This continues for at least a minute, before they lapse back into laughter. It really is like uni again.

“Hey, Jon,” Georgie ventures after a spot of silence, mischief coloring her voice, “Kiss, marry, kill: Big Heathrow, Daily Mail, evil boss.”

“Georgina.” It’s difficult to have a staring contest with Georgie’s body pillow in the way, but Jon manages to aim his glare right at the space between Georgie’s eyes. Georgie doesn’t back down, just smiles sweetly and raises an eyebrow.

“Yes, Jonathan?”

“Fine,” he sighs, resting his head back down onto Melanie’s shoulder. “Fine. Kill Elias again. Marry… marry Heathrow? I think it would have a tolerable personality. Which leaves…” he sighs again, “kissing the Daily Mail. Christ.”

“Bad choice,” Melanie says. “They’re basically the definition of kiss and tell. Imagine the scandal!”

“Alright, fine.” Jon says, not awake enough to debate but curious enough to challenge. “Same options. What would you pick?”

“Easy,” Melanie says. “First, obviously, I’m stabbing Elias to death. Second, I’m pretty sure Heathrow sells toothpaste, so it would be the least unpleasant to kiss. Third, and most importantly, I’m going to use my marriage to the Daily Mail to edit the articles it publishes and slowly radicalize the old white women of the UK.”

Georgie gives a few snaps of approval, and even Jon has to admit she has some points.

“There aren’t many situations where I’d divorce you willingly, Melanie,” Georgie says, “but if it was for this, I would understand.”

Melanie laughs. “I appreciate your support, babe. Your turn.”

Georgie deliberates for a while, then winces. “Sorry, Melanie. I’m going to have to go with Jon on this one.”

“Ha!” Jon says.

“I just don’t think I could deal with being married to the Daily Mail.”

“Cowards, both of you!” Melanie exclaims loudly, but is quickly shushed by both Jon and Georgie with a “Martin!” She continues in a quieter voice, “And before you say anything, Georgie, I know that’s not actually possible for you, but I’m sticking by my words.” She shakes her head. “I can’t believe this. The heartbreak. The betrayal. From my own wife, and right after she said she would willingly divorce me…”

“Stop taking my words out of context!”

“Can’t, my new spouse Mx. Mail is a bad influence”(—“Which is exactly why it's better to marry Heathrow instead,” Georgie interjects—)“but at least it’d side with me against Jon.”

Jon grins. “It’s the biromanticism, Melanie. It gives me and Georgie the same taste.”

At this, Melanie sputters. “Nuh-uh. No way. Absolutely no way. Your bad choices are the results of your own bad opinions. Don’t bring me into it.”

Melanie continues to speak, but Jon is no longer listening. He feels, suddenly, like he’s missing something important. “What?” he asks, causing Melanie to pause. “How have I brought you into it?”

“Well… you said being bi makes you choose the worse option,” Melanie says, which just confuses Jon more. Then, “Wait, Jon, you do know I’m bisexual, right?”

Ah. That would do it.

“Not… not quite.”

“Oh my god,” Georgie says. “Seriously?”

“You—I’ve only ever heard you call yourself gay!” Jon cries, giving Melanie and Georgie the chance to shush him with “Martin!”

Melanie shakes her head mournfully. “I’ve been your friend—okay, not quite that, but I’ve known you—for years!”

“I was trying to save the world during most of those years!”

“You also had spooky all-knowing powers,” Georgie adds.

Jon feels his leg begin to bounce. “Well, yes, but I was actively trying not to use them on people. Checking someone’s sexuality would be a gross violation of—”

“It’s okay, Jon,” Melanie says soothingly, “I know you wouldn’t do that.” There is quiet for a few seconds as Jon takes a few deep breaths. Then, Melanie says in a wryer tone, “Jon. One of my sets of prosthetic eyes is literally the bi pride flag. I know I don’t wear it that often, but…”

“I’ve only seen it once, in bad lighting, and… I don't know, I thought maybe you were just being supportive!”

“Oh my god,” Georgie says again, her voice muffled by the pillow she’s buried her face in. Jon feels like burying his face into a pillow himself.

“This is awful,” Jon groans.

“Stop being biphobic, Jon,” Melanie says.

“Stop being bi-aced, Jon,” Georgie says, which is unfortunately quite good.

“Fine,” Jon says. “This isn’t awful. It is, instead, wonderful.” He means the last sentence to come out begrudging, but it sounds more sincere than anything else. Jon blames his emotions. Now that the initial surprise has worn off, warmth is beginning to replace it. It’s not that he’s particularly starved for bi friends, but it’s nice, having one more thing that ties him and Melanie together.

“Thank you.” Melanie gives Jon a haughty sniff, but she smiles as she does it.

Jon’s neck is beginning to strain, but Melanie is still resting her head on top of his, and he doesn’t want to bother her. He closes his eyes and tries to focus his attention elsewhere. He can take a few minutes more.

“I just realized something,” Melanie says. “Jon, I’m literally under a bi pride blanket right now.” Georgie starts to giggle again.

“I’m asleep,” says Jon.

“Yeah, under a bi pride blanket that I, too, am currently under. Because I’m bi.”

“I’m double asleep,” says Jon.

“And I’m bi,” says Melanie.

“I know it’s useless to ask, but is there any chance we can forget about this and pretend I’ve known all along?”

“No,” Melanie and Georgie say in unison.

“Great,” Jon replies, and hides his smile in his bisexual friend’s shoulder.

[rosy-cheekx]

Gone to Plan

(Thanks @janekfan for the inspo and encouragement!) 

https://archiveofourown.org/works/27754072

Jon hates taking days off. The archive’s been in chaos since he took over but not for lack of trying. But he’s in charge, he’s The Archivist, and he needs to prove to Elias that he’s qualified for the job, that his offhand comments and glances when he thinks Jon can’t see are wrong. He’s good enough. He has to be.

So that’s why he’s not called off. He can’t miss a day, even if the thermometer hovered around a high 38 last night. There’s too much work to do and too much to prove to himself to Elias. Jon’s not stupid though, he’s got his scarf wound around his face as not to spread his germs to Rosie as he passes her, or his assistants. (Thank the powers that be that it’s January, and his scarf, gloves, and bundled torso blend in with the other Londoners hustling through the streets.) Jon’ll get there early and leave late so he can minimize the contact he has with everyone else. He doesn’t think he’s contagious, but he plans to lock himself in his office and record statements all day, just in case.

But when have things ever gone to plan?

So here he is, the January chill a welcome relief to his feverish skin as he travels the short block into the Magnus Institute from his usual bus stop. Its not yet 8, and the sun is finally cresting the skyline, a watery grey light reminding the weary man of just how early it is. With shaking hands, he unlocks the glass doors of the humble building with the key Elias had given him all those weeks ago (“I noticed you’ve seemed rather overwhelmed during work hours. If you think coming in early or leaving late will help you do your job better, who am I to stop you?”) and hurries his way into the building and down into the archives, burying a cough into his scarf as he locks himself into his dark office.

It’ll be fine. You’ll be fine. Jon reckons he can go a day without seeing his assistants; Tim and Sasha are happy to occupy themselves without his direction and Martin—well, with any luck he’ll be too intimidated preoccupied with his work to bother him after Jon rejects his first offer of tea. Tea would be nice though, Jon thinks as he closes his office door and surveys the piles of paperwork and manila folders haphazardly covering and lining the area around his desk.  He falls into his chair, the metal legs screeching against the cement in a way that has him seeing stars. Jon hadn’t realized his head was pounding, but god he was sorely aware of it now. He rattles a cough into his elbow that lasted a full thirty seconds; the effort of it left him sweating and he peels off a few layers of his ensemble rapidly, discarding scarf, gloves, overcoat, and two oversized sweaters (one being a What The Ghost sweater he’d stolen from Georgie and had consequently “lost”).

Jon rakes a hand through his curls, grossly aware of the thin sheen of sweat on his scalp and opens the first of the manila folders piled high on his desk, just about eye-level. He leaves his fingers tangled in his curls, tugging slightly, hoping the pressure will help him stay focused, and stares at the words on the page. Reading has been a cornerstone of Jon’s personality, but looking at the page now, he wasn’t sure he had ever been literate. The letters swirled and morphed on the page, pulsing slightly to the beat of his pounding head.

He’s not sure how long he’s been staring at the page, this same page of the same folder, the statement of…someone…when he hears a cacophony of familiar laughter outside his door, in the bullpen where the three other desks and three other chairs resided. Sasha is laughing, likely at something Tim had said. Normally, he finds the laughter of his friends coworkers delightful, even calming, but the pitch of Sasha’s voice feels unbearable today, too high and just sharp enough to send a shiver of irritation down his spine. Or was he just cold? God, he’s freezing. He looks around desperately for his discarded sweaters and pulled them back over his head, just managing to pull the second sweater over his torso before an onslaught of shaking takes over his body and he’s quaking uncontrollably in his seat until the shivers die down. His jaw aches from the chattering of his teeth and he kneads it with his thumbs while trying to massage his temples with his other fingers. Jon ignores the knock on the door to his office, choosing on a whim to let them believe he wasn’t here at all, while booting up his laptop. Maybe reading the statement aloud will help him comprehend it.

-

“Jesus—fuck!” He had made his way, painfully, through the whole statement, pausing through bouts of chills and hot flashes, taking almost an hour to record what would usually take twenty minutes. It had seemed to record on his laptop just fine, but now that he was trying to listen back to it, the audio was nothing but static, though the wavelengths in the audio file would suppose otherwise. How the hell was he supposed to do his job if he couldn’t even trust his equipment to hold up its end of the bargain? Jon slammed his hands against the desk in frustration as he cursed his laptop, cursed Elias, cursed this stupid fucking job, completely forgetting he had decided to pretend not to be here. The low murmur of conversation that had been floating from the bullpen pauses for a moment, before becoming quieter and more intense. Goddamn it, now they would be worrying about him and asking questions and wasting their time and his time and god his head hurt and he was shaking he was cold hewashotandcoldandmiserable-

“…Jon?” Comes a hesitant voice from the other side of the door, mercifully without a knock. “Are-are you in there? Are you alright?”

“’course I’m alright, Martin,” he spat the name like it burnt him to say it. “I’m a grown man, I don’t need babysitting.”

“You sure about that, boss?” Tim. Goddamn. They had the entire cavalry outside his office. “None of us saw you come in and Sash and I were here before nine, which mean you either spent the night or were here way too early, which I’m pretty sure violates Archive rules.”

Jon opens his mouth to respond but his words are buffeted back by a coughing fit that rattles his chest and leaves his throat raw. “Quite sure, thank you. Just—” Another fit, mercifully shorter. “—a little under the weather today.”

“Can you just open the door?” Ever the diplomat, Sasha’s voice was plaintive and serious. “That sounds serious, Jon. We can make you some tea or get you some cough suppressant-“

“I did just buy a lemon tea that’s s’posed to be great for a cough,” Martin adds, voice pitching up eagerly for a moment.

Jon hopes his silence speaks for him as another wave of chills rips through his spine, leaving his entire body aching with the tremors.

“Sims, here’s the deal.” Tim’s voice was serious now, the playful banter gone. “We are trying to be respectful, but the door isn’t locked. We can come in if we need to.”

Jon wants to be angry with them. He feels angry, how dare they not trust him to know his own limits, to treat him like a child, to care for him and love him like family. He opens his mouth to tell them off, but of course, his body betrays him. A cough rattles through him so hard that he bends over involuntarily, doubled over by the force of his lungs trying to eject themselves from his ribcage, and slams his head on the edge of the desk in the process. He groans, the blow doing nothing to ease his headache, quite the contrary, and he knows he’s lost all hope of his assistants leaving him alone.

A chorus of “Jon!” and “are you alright?” come from the other side of the door before he hears a mumbled “fuck it” and hears the door swing open and the cacophony of shoes on his cement floor.

“Jesus, Jonathan Sims.” The archivist’s eyes are squeezed tight, pain and fever overwhelming his senses, hands balled in fists held against to his chest, trying to fight the tremors wracking his body. Jon feels cool hands against his forehead and cheeks. “You’re burning up. Sasha, grab the first aid kit, will you?” They shouldn’t be doing this; they have more important things to right now. They have leads to chase and statements to file and he can deal with this himself he’ll be fine. He opens his eyes, ready to tell the trio off and make a curt rejection of their help, calm and composed, but his vision is swirling now just like the statement was earlier; he can’t seem to focus on any of the faces in front of him. He feels the tremors ease slightly as his body turns hot now, feels his face flush and skin prickle with sweat, and suddenly he needs to be on the floor. The cement is cool and dry and it’ll make him feel better-

“Woah-hey! Jon! Tim-help me…” “We got you, boss man, stay upright for now, yeah? Let’s set him down gently, ready?”

“Thermometer says 39—Jesus. I grabbed some water. Should we call 999?”

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what, Jon? Call the ambulance?”

“Don’t…call me Jonathan…”

-

Jon’s eyes open, wincing, to the harsh ceiling lights of the document storage room. He feels weighted down, limbs heavy, and as he adjusts to the room he certainly wasn’t in earlier, he looks down to see a mountain of fabric covering his body. Sweaters, coats, blankets, scarves, hats, shrugs, every scrap of cloth in the entire institute must be piled on him right now. No wonder he can barely move his arms.

“Oh, hey, Jon.” A cool, soft hand passes over his scalp and smooths out his curls, and Sasha comes into view, hair swinging over her shoulders, expression soft. “You scared us a bit there.”

Jon blinks for a moment, mouth open as he tries to find words and croaks out a cracked, “Sorry.”

Her soft laugh, tinkling like a bell, sounds calming again. “Don’t worry about it. It’s a good day for the archives if the scariest thing is a bit of a fever. Here.” She holds out a water bottle, and he squirms his hands out of his cocoon of layers to accept it, not realizing how thirsty he was until the cool liquid passes his cracked lips. “How does your head feel?”

Jon presses a hand to his forehead lightly, feeling a small square of gauze at his hairline. He frowns slightly, searching his fever-addled memory for what caused it. Right, the coughing fit. “I’ve been better,” he mumbles diplomatically. “Headaches mostly gone, though.” It was a dull throb now that his neck was constantly tensing against the shivers that had wracked his thin frame.

“You can thank Martin for that, actually. Apparently he’s a pro in head and neck messages. Who would’ve guessed, right?” Tim’s voice calls, just out of sight, and Jon sits up on his elbows to see the rest of his staff, sitting on the floor, surrounded by files, laptops illuminating their faces. Martin shrugs shyly, gaze flicking between Jon and his laptop like he wasn’t sure where to look, mumbling something about migraines, or maybe his mum. “We should start a side business. Been trying to think of good names all afternoon.”

“Afternoon?” Jon croaks, glancing fervently for the clock he knew wasn’t in the document storage room. “How long-“

“Like four or five hours. You woke up a couple times to drink some water and take some paracetamol and fever reducers, which is the only reason you’re not in your own private ward at St. August’s.”

Jon frowns to himself. Four or five hours? He’s wasted a whole day, not only for himself but for his staff too. “Right well, thank you all for watching after me, but I feel fine now. You’re all welcome to return to your desks.”

Martin huffs out a laugh this time, something of pure incredulity. “Right, like we’re going to pretend you didn’t pass out with a fever of 39 into my arms and weren’t shaking like a leaf and sweating and coughing so hard you nearly gave yourself a concussion-“ Tim presses a hand to the other man’s shoulder firmly and he cuts himself off.

“Alright. Point made.” Jon’s voice wavered more than he likes, and he watches the two men rise to stand behind either side of Sasha.

“Jon,” Sasha’s voice is soft. “We were worried about you. You’re our boss and our friend, and we don’t want anything bad to happen to you.”

“Especially since you control our pay raises.”

“Tim!” A swat to his chest from two hands, one small and dark, the other larger and pale.

“Why did you even come in today?” Martin’s eyes are softer now, the bite that was in them earlier replaced with compassion. Compassion for Jon.

“I-I really don’t. But…thank you. I see your point.” Jon sits up now, watching the top few layers of bundling tumble off him in a small avalanche, but pulls as much of the fabric as he can over his form to shield himself from his own admissions. No use in putting up a front now. “I suppose I’ve been feeling overwhelmed. Overworked, even. I was worried about the consequences of being behind with all—all the statements and write-ups and supp-supplementals and figured I could get through a day without incident and take the weekend to recover. I was wrong, clearly.”

In lieu of harassing him over being wrong, Tim chews his lip thoughtfully for a moment. “You know, we’re your assistants for a reason. We saw how much you have on your plate right now.” He gestured to the little castle of manila he and Martin had been sitting in. “Half of that is stuff you could have given to us. But, either way, the Archive won’t crumble if Jonathan Sims takes a sick day. Hell, I’ll bet you a round of drinks at Molly’s it’ll still be standing after a sick week.” His eyebrow is cocked playfully, but the impact of his words is not lost.

Jon rubs a hand against the nape of his neck, the miraculous lack of tension reminding him of Martin massaged his head and the thought is so intimate he blushes and suddenly can’t meet the eyes of his assistants. He wishes he could remember it. Perish the thought.

“A compromise,” Jon offers, finally focusing his fever-addled mind. “Two rounds if you trust me to come back when the fever’s gone.”

“Sounds like a deal.” Tim’s hand is the one he shakes, half in jest and half deadly serious, but it’s Martin’s eyes he can’t tear his gaze from.

[ollieofthebeholder]

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

Read from the beginning on Tumblr | Also on AO3

Epilogue: Martin Prime

“…see it into a new era. Please join me in welcoming to the podium the Head of the Magnus Institute of London, Dr. Walter…Kos-ki-e-wicz.”

“Fifteen months and he still can’t pronounce it properly,” Jon whispered under the cover of the applause that followed the introduction.

“He’s better than he used to be,” Martin whispered back, squeezing Jon’s hand gently. “Go make nice.”

Jon lifted Martin’s fingers to his lips and pressed a soft, gentle kiss to the knuckles before pushing back from the long table and getting to his feet. Martin turned his head towards where the podium ought to be, thankful they’d been able to come in early and get the layout of the room so he didn’t look like a complete tit staring off into the wrong direction, as the clapping gradually tapered off into an expectant silence.

“Thank you, Mr. Campbell.” Jon popped the normally silent P with a dry, pointed humor Martin knew well. When the laughter had died down, he continued in the deep, rolling affectation he had begun adopting when he needed to act as the face of the Institute. “Friends, colleagues, distinguished guests. I stand before you tonight with the awesome and humbling privilege of thanking you all for coming to celebrate two hundred years of the Magnus Institute.”

Martin, who had listened to Jon practice this speech in the comfort of their living room at least twenty times in the last two weeks, let it fade into the background and settled back into his seat. Not being able to scan the assembled gathering was annoying, but while this might have been the largest event they had attended in the past year, it was by no means the first. He was used to having to fold his hands over his stomach, or the end of his cane, and imagine what everyone’s faces were doing.

A familiar whirring started up from the space Jon had vacated, and Martin smiled and laid his fingers on the tape recorder as it buzzed away. Somehow, it was comforting to know she was still listening, even now.

It hadn’t been easy getting to this point. Martin had never really actually expected killing Jonah Magnus to instantly make everything sunshine and roses again, but he definitely hadn’t expected the attempt to drain Jon so badly that he collapsed in his arms. Nor had he expected that it would take three days for him to open his eyes again. (Melanie had teased Jon a bit about “taking this whole Messiah Complex to extremes”, but even she’d been strained.) And the news from Great Yarmouth hadn’t helped matters. Martin was still kind of thankful that he hadn’t been able to see Sasha’s face when she got off the phone with Basira and reported what little she knew. Or the look on his counterpart’s face when he called and filled in the gaps thirty-six hours later. Martin had hoped they’d get out of the building before blowing it up, but at least they hadn’t gone into the Unknowing itself.

It had still been touch and go, though, and Tim was still adjusting to his new reality, but thankfully he had plenty of support. Martin could hear in their voices when they spoke that they were happy, in a way he was only just learning himself that he could be.

Jon made a surprisingly good Institute Head. It hadn’t necessarily been something he’d planned on, but when they got back from taking Charlie to see Present Jon and Present Martin—who refused to leave the hospital until Tim was awake and ready to come home himself—and Melanie informed him about the new temporary head, Jon had almost literally hit the roof and stormed the Institute himself. It had taken him two days to manage to get an audience with Peter Lukas, but in the end, he’d stood before him and informed him that he had a choice: Vacate his position and leave the Institute alone, or be destroyed utterly.

Peter Lukas, unsurprisingly, had chosen poorly.

For Jon to subsequently take control of the Institute had been Sasha’s idea, and her points—that Jon was bound to the Institute and would need a reason to stay close to it, that he was the only person who knew enough to keep it running and keep it safe, that anyone else would either make things worse or become corrupted by the Beholder—had been valid. She’d crafted an entire identity for both Jon and Martin and somehow managed to have Dr. Walter Koskiewicz declared Elias Bouchard’s sole heir. Publicly, that was who he was and who he remained, but on the day he’d assumed the position of Institute Head, he had called a meeting of all the department heads and bluntly, concisely, and completely told them the entire truth. He had left it up to each head whether or not to tell their staff everything—although he was emphatic that they be told about the Eye, at least to some extent—and had made it clear that anyone who wanted to quit would be more than welcome to do so, with full severance; he wouldn’t hold it against anyone who chose to leave. But, as he had told Martin that night when he got back from the Institute, he didn’t want anyone else feeling trapped, or to not know they were working for, essentially, a fear god. He’d been far more surprised than Martin when, out of eighty-seven employees, only three had chosen to leave and one had asked for their job back a week later.

Getting the rest of Elias’s estate had taken longer. Obviously there was no body, so what they technically had was a missing person. Surprisingly, it was Daisy who’d pushed that forward by manufacturing proof that he’d been killed in the explosion at Great Yarmouth, claiming she’d followed him there as part of her hunt for Gertrude Robinson’s murderer. When Tim, freshly back in the Archives, looked over the assortment of tapes that had previously been in the tunnels and unerringly plucked the one with Gertrude’s death on it, Daisy’s superiors decided that he was responsible for the House of Wax as well, closed both files, and declared him officially dead.

Jon told Martin that Jonah Magnus had terrible taste in interior decorating. Martin told him he would just have to take his word for it.

Martin tuned back into Jon’s speech as he caught the words that meant he was winding down. He’d been reluctant to agree to this event, especially given what today was, but it was expected, so he’d caved, with a few stipulations. The speech, unfortunately for Jon, was non-negotiable, but at least he was able to keep it fairly short.

“And so, as we move into our third century, I leave you with a few carefully chosen words,” Jon said. “To our Institute donors, I give these words: Thank you for your support of the Magnus Institute over the years, and I hope that you will continue to support us throughout the changes to come. To those who come to the Institute to study and learn, I give these words: Your work furthers ours as much as ours furthers yours, and we look forward to working with you and developing that relationship, now and well into the future. And to you, the Institute employees, those who make this Institute what it is, I give these words…” He paused for a moment, letting the suspense build, and Martin licked the corner of his mouth to hide his smirk. It was obvious from Jon’s voice, though, that he wasn’t bothering to hide his own. “Three-day weekend. See you all on Monday.”

The cheers, applause, and laughter nearly drowned out Jon’s “Thank you”, and Martin let his grin escape as he joined in the applause. He heard the rustling of fabric and guessed what was happening a split-second before Wade’s tap to his elbow told him for sure they were giving Jon a standing ovation.

It went on for nearly a minute solid before it started to die down, and as Martin slowly sank back into his seat, he felt Jon’s gloved fingers tangle in his.

“Almost done,” Martin murmured, knowing Jon was close to his breaking point but would never admit it.

There were a few closing remarks, and then footsteps came over to them. “All right, if you’ll just stand over this way and greet a few people…”

“No more than half an hour. I mean it, Harrison,” Jon warned.

“I know, Mr.—I mean Dr.—uh, sir,” Harrison stammered. “I promise.”

“Mister Doctor Sir?” Martin teased Jon as Harrison walked away. “Sounds like something you’d name a character in Spire.”

“That’s Mister Doctor Director Sir to you.”

They shared a laugh before Martin took a half-step back, cane folded up in one hand and his other resting discreetly against the small of Jon’s back. Jon took a deep breath and straightened himself up, but didn’t move away from the point of contact. They’d learned their lesson one of the first times Jon had had to do an official event. Martin did some of the bookkeeping and budgeting for the Institute—God knew he’d picked up enough being Peter Lukas’s assistant, and Jon knew bugger all about the business side of things—but for the most part, he wasn’t an employee and certainly wasn’t who the more important guests at these events wanted to talk to, so he’d stepped back and stayed quietly in the background. Unfortunately, the Lukases were still Institute donors, and even if they avoided Jon beyond the bare minimum that politeness dictated, the presence of even one was still enough for Martin to slip back into old habits. Thank God the bond Annabelle had put on them was still extant and he’d been able to pull himself back, but it had still been a scary few minutes for both of them.

Most of the donors who spoke to Jon—briefly, Harrison was being as good as his word about limiting the official greetings—either ignored Martin or only acknowledged him with a silent nod, which amounted to the same thing. For the most part, Martin didn’t mind, but he could tell it was getting to Jon long before the fifteen-minute mark.

“Last one, sir, I promise,” Harrison whispered at last.

“Harrison, I have told you about the ‘sir’ thing,” Jon muttered. Martin hastily turned his laugh into a cough.

“Dr. Koskiewicz, so good to see you again.” Martin couldn’t place the speaker’s voice except that it was posh, which meant it was an Institute donor, and loud. Probably belonged to a large man, almost certainly an older one.

“It’s an honor to have you here, Sir Henry,” Jon replied, his voice slightly strained. Martin guessed that the man had a very firm handshake; an ordinary hand would be swollen and sore after half an hour of shaking, but the scarring on Jon’s made it far worse. “And you as well, Lady Vane-Tempest.”

“Lovely party, darling, so kind of you to invite us,” Lady Vane-Tempest said. Her voice, at least, Martin couldn’t forget—well-bred, but harsh and grating at the same time. He’d met the Vane-Tempests at the Christmas “party” he’d been forced to run on behalf of Peter Lukas and had not enjoyed the experience. “Congratulations on two hundred years. Obviously you haven’t been here the whole time, of course!” She trilled with laughter.

Martin felt Jon stiffen, and then he said with forced politeness, “Thank whatever gods you believe in that I haven’t, madam.”

“Looking forward to touring the building,” Sir Henry said. “Understand you’ve got some new interesting new acquisitions in your Artifact Storage. Love to see them.”

“We’re not doing tours this evening, I’m afraid,” Jon said. “That was the end of the gala, but it’s good of you to come. If you’ll get in touch with Ms. Zampano, I’m sure we can arrange a suitable time for you to see the building.”

“Oh, come now, darling, surely you can spare some time now,” Lady Vane-Tempest coaxed. If Martin was any judge, she’d been imbibing freely of the champagne, enough to get at least slightly tipsy. “We’re so looking forward to it.”

“I do apologize, but I have another commitment this evening.” Martin was a bit startled when Jon’s arm slid around his waist, but he willingly shifted his own position to return the gesture. The smile in Jon’s voice was obvious; he’d never been very good at hiding his pride and delight in anything to do with their relationship. “It’s our first wedding anniversary, you see.”

The Vane-Tempests mumbled polite congratulations, wished Jon a good night, and moved away. Jon let out a sigh that seemed to come from the depths of his toes and sagged against Martin. “Thank God that’s over with.”

“That’s the last one,” Harrison promised. “I’ll just go say a few words to the press. Have a good weekend and—um—happy anniversary?”

“Thank you,” Jon and Martin said in unison. Martin unfolded his cane, and they walked out of the Institute the same way they had since escaping Peter Lukas in their own time—arm in arm.

Ninety minutes later and Martin, wearing his most comfortable sweater and a soft, threadbare pair of jeans, walked into the room they had designated as the “living room” with two mugs of tea and set them on the heavy, solid coffee table. “How’s the hand?”

“Still a bit sore, but I’ll recover.” Jon’s voice sounded slightly muffled. Martin wasn’t sure why until he heard the soft crackle of burning wood, and then Jon was right next to him and pulling him down for a kiss. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Martin murmured, brushing his nose against Jon’s. As he pulled back, he added, “By the way, there was a message from the agency. They’re coming by for another assessment tomorrow, around noon.”

“Good thing I gave everyone the day off, then. Did she say anything about how the application is looking?”

“I don’t know that they’d tell us that on a message. We can ask when she gets here.”

The doorbell rang with the deep, sonorous tones Martin still privately felt belonged in a Gothic soap opera, and Jon sighed and slid out of Martin’s arms. “Bets on who got here first?”

“Not against you,” Martin informed him. Jon’s snickers followed him out of the room.

After more than a year of living in the house, Martin knew his way around by heart, especially after they redid the flooring so that he could tell by the texture beneath his feet which way he was heading. He made it to the front door without bumping into anything, made sure the chain was still secure, and pulled the door open to the length of the chain. “Who goes there?”

“Just the usual suspects,” Tim’s voice said. “We even found a Sasha rattling around in the gutters.”

“Shut up, Tim,” Sasha said, a bit grouchily.

Martin chuckled and closed the door enough that he could undo the chain, then pulled the door open. “Come on in. There’s a fire going.”

Each one of them gave him a hug as they came in, prefaced by a greeting so he’d know who he was hugging. He was pleasantly surprised when, after a fierce hug from Melanie, he heard a higher voice say, “It’s Georgie. Will you accept one from me?”

“Oh, sure, of course.” Martin hadn’t worried about any of Jon’s exes, or anyone who might possibly catch his interest and remind him that he could do better, since—well, actually, since they’d been reunited after traveling back in time, but the weight of the ring on his left hand and the memory of the tremble in Jon’s voice as he’d promised ‘til death comes for us both had finally quieted the last of his doubts. And Georgie did give good hugs. “Glad you could make it, Georgie. Anyone else?”

“No, Basira pulled a night shift tonight, I think. Here, let me get that.” Georgie—or someone, anyway—pulled the heavy door shut and slid the chain into place. “Hope we’re not too early.”

Martin shook his head. “You’re fine. Not like we’re doing anything particularly exciting.”

It took a few minutes of arranging, playful debates, and mostly-joking grumblings about getting those disgusting socks away from the food, Timothy Stoker, but soon everyone was settled down with something to drink and a baked good from the basket the others had brought with them. Jon sighed with obvious pleasure and curled up against Martin’s side; Martin wrapped an arm around him and held him close.

“Where’s Charlie tonight?” he asked.

“Late rehearsal, and Sasha’s uncle offered to pick him up and watch him after,” Present Jon answered. “We’d have brought him along, but he’s got a maths exam tomorrow and I know he’s not ready for it.”

Tim laughed. “Come on, Jon, cut him some slack. He’s doing much better this term than he did in the spring.”

“To be fair,” Melanie pointed out, “there was kind of a lot going on in the spring.”

There was a hum of agreement before Georgie added, “From everything you lot told me, I didn’t expect that grandmother of his to fight you so hard on custody.”

Present Martin sighed heavily. “I did. I mean, the last thing she wanted was for people to think she was a terrible guardian, you know? Even if Children’s Services didn’t get involved and take him away, the very fact that someone else dared ask to take him—and the fact that Charlie wanted to go…”

“And the fact that you kept insisting on referring to him as him, despite the fact that she has consistently and for his entire life refused to accept that he’s a boy,” Sasha put in. “She’s a poisonous old witch and he’s lucky to be shed of her. But yeah, between that and the fact that he got anxious and panicky and afraid to let any of you out of his sight—you know, at the beginning of April—it’s no wonder he came close to failing the spring term.”

There was a short pause before Present Martin asked carefully, “Did he tell you that, or…?”

“Oh, goddammit,” Sasha sighed. “He didn’t say anything to any of you about that, did he?”

“No, but we should have noticed,” Present Jon said quietly.

Melanie snorted. “I’m not sure how you would have, considering how clingy the three of you were being.”

Martin tightened his arms around Jon as the Archives crew began bickering, mostly lightheartedly but with an undercurrent of seriousness. During their first time experiencing…well, everything they had experienced…he and Jon had never really had a chance to stop and consider anniversaries. The one-year anniversary of Jane Prentiss attacking the Institute had fallen while they were trying to get ready for the Unknowing; the one-year anniversary of that had been while Martin was still having to avoid Jon, but he remembered staring at his reflection in the mirror and wondering if he would be better off calling out of work or if he should go in and lurk in the shadows of the Archives to reassure himself that Jon was actually still there. Passing the anniversaries—or, for that matter, the dates themselves—in a timeline where they didn’t technically happen hadn’t made things significantly better, so he could definitely understand why the present crew had been reluctant to be far from each other a year after so nearly losing one another, and more particularly nearly losing Tim.

Jon sank against him, also clinging tightly, and let the banter go on for a bit before he broke in. “Have you told Charlie about the trip?”

“We’re going to surprise him after school tomorrow,” Tim said, and Martin was pretty sure he could hear the relief in it. “Hope he likes the plan. He’s been asking to come with us the next time we go out of town since Jon got back from Jonah’s little hell-quest, and I don’t think he’s ever been out of London.”

“Well…you weren’t conscious at the time, but they did bring him to visit while you were…” Present Jon’s voice trailed off.

Martin was about to say something when something solid and heavy hit his leg on four tiny pressure points and screamed. Only six months of practice enabled him not to jump completely out of his skin. “Hello, Duchess.”

“Oh, damn, I didn’t feed them before the gala.” Jon carefully disentangled himself from Martin and removed the solid iron weight masquerading as a ball of fur from his lap. “Come along, Your Grace. What have you done with your sister?”

Martin couldn’t help the soft smile that touched his lips as he stared off in the direction Jon had gone. Hearing him talk to the cats in that tone of voice always did something funny to his insides.

The smirk in Melanie’s voice was obvious. “I genuinely can’t decide which one of you is going to be the bigger pushover when you get approved to adopt.”

“Have you heard anything yet?” Present Martin asked.

“There’s another visit scheduled tomorrow. We’re almost four months into this part of the process. I’m hoping we’ll have an answer soon.” Martin picked up his mug of tea and took a sip. It had started to cool a bit, but it was still drinkable. “Not that we’re in a hurry or anything, but it’d be nice to know, you know?”

“I could probably poke at your social worker’s mind and see if they have an answer,” Sasha offered. “It’d be easy.”

“Sasha, we’ve talked about this,” Present Jon said with an audible frown.

“Yeah, if I can manage to keep myself under control…” Tim trailed off. “Sorry, Georgie. I know you’d rather we didn’t talk about it.”

“It’s fine,” Georgie said with a sigh. “I’m getting used to it. It’s not like any of you can just…stop being what you are. Did—um—did your Georgie have a problem with it?”

It was the first time she’d asked about her past self since being introduced to Jon and Martin over a year ago, and Martin couldn’t explain why it felt so weird. “She did. At first, anyway. But I think it was less the whole…supernatural fear thing and more the fact that we—and particularly Jon—kept acting like nothing was wrong.”

“Yeah. At least you lot admit this is messed up.”

“Not so much the admitting it’s messed up as trying from the get-go not to play into it,” Jon’s voice said from the direction of the kitchen. The loveseat bounced slightly—very slightly—as he sat down, leaned into Martin’s side, and kissed his cheek. “Your cat is a menace.”

“Why is she only my cat when she’s misbehaving?” Martin teased, turning his head to capture Jon’s lips with his own before they moved away. “What’s Cosmic done now?”

“Just the fact that you know it was Cosmic Creepers—”

“The Duchess has made it very clear that she’s your cat.”

Sasha gave a mock-groan. “You two as actual parents are going to be insufferable.”

Melanie’s snort was practically elephantine. “Like you don’t have the three of these with Charlie as evidence for that.”

Martin sensed the remark calculated to cause maximum chaos coming before Tim opened his mouth, but there was nothing he could do to head him off. “So, Melanie, when are you and Georgie going to add a bundle of joy to your family?”

The resultant storm of profanity and invective directed at Tim sent Jon into paroxysms of laughter, and from the sound of it, Present Jon as well. Martin could imagine Tim’s triumphant, shit-eating grin. Even Sasha was giggling.

“Seriously. I don’t even want more than one cat,” Georgie finally said when the chaos wound down. “Children have never been in my plans. Not even remotely.”

“Have you ever thought about fostering?” Present Martin asked. “Teens, maybe? I bet you’d be good at it.”

A short silence followed the question, and when Melanie answered, there was a note of surprise in her voice. “Maybe. Not right now, though.”

“I guess my question is—and please, none of you take this the wrong way—why would you want to involve a child in the…life you’re all leading?” Georgie asked. “Isn’t that dangerous?”

“No more than being a child is dangerous anyway,” Jon said. “Most of the fears don’t…a child’s fear isn’t fully formed, so it’s not as satisfying, but that doesn’t mean they don’t pay attention. I was marked young. So was Annabelle Cane. Callum Brodie was on the Dark’s radar long before Rayner chose him as a vessel. A-apparently the End was paying attention to all of us before my father died. A child being taken care of by someone who knows what’s out there, and isn’t…enamored with it, I suppose, stands a better chance than a child wholly unprepared.”

Martin rubbed Jon’s arm. “Besides. The more connections you have outside the Archives, the harder it is for the Fears to…use you. I guess. Even besides the Lonely, the more isolated you are, the easier you are to hurt.”

“I never thought of it that way,” Present Jon said, sounding like he was talking half to himself. “But it does make sense why Jonah tried so hard to pit us against one another. A person with no support is far more vulnerable. Far easier to use and manipulate.”

“And that’s what beat him in the end,” Melanie said. “Good riddance to bad rubbish.”

“Hear, hear.” Martin raised his mug in salute. Someone clinked a mug or glass against it, and the conversation drifted to other, less volatile topics.

They’d done this a lot over the last year. Ever since Jon, or his alter ego, had officially inherited the estate, they spent more evenings and weekends here than they did in Tim, Present Martin, and Present Jon’s house. First there’d been the intense repainting and redecorating period, during which Martin had offered deadpan commentary on color choices until Jon threatened to paint his mouth shut and Tim had unearthed more than a few artifacts belonging to other entities in various nooks and crannies. Once they were settled in, there had been pizza and pasta-making parties, movie marathons, drinks after hard weeks, and game nights. They’d come over to wrestle the garden into submission in the spring, helped decorate the house for Christmas, and watched fireworks on New Year’s from the widow’s walk on the roof. Jon had even organized an Easter Egg hunt for the neighborhood children, which had been when Martin had finally broached the idea of reaching out to the local authority about beginning the adoption process.

And exactly one year ago tonight, they had stood in the drawing room they never otherwise used and finally, finally made the bond between them a legal one.

“I can’t believe you two are spending your anniversary like this,” Sasha said, and if Martin didn’t know for a fact that she couldn’t read his mind beyond finding a back door into his dreams when Jon’s lay alongside her, he’d have told her off for it. “You’re such hopeless romantics, I expected you to go out for a candlelit dinner somewhere. Moonlit stroll in the park. Kissing under the stars.”

“It’s Thursday,” Martin reminded her.

“We’re going to Scotland for the weekend,” Jon said. “That’s part of the reason I gave everyone a three-day weekend, so we could get an early start and make the most of it.”

“I accuse you of abusing your position for your own gain,” Georgie said, but she was laughing as she did so.

“I’ll confess to that,” Jon replied immediately. Martin couldn’t help but laugh. “But seriously, we—it’s going to be a nice, relaxing weekend, but we thought spending the evening with our family would be a good start.”

Something thumped down on the coffee table. Martin guessed it was Melanie’s glass. “You know what I can’t believe? That you picked the eighteenth of October to get married. I mean, you know literally everything in the world, and certainly everything about the Institute. You had to know that was the day the Institute was founded. And then you had to spend your first anniversary making nice with the donors. Why would you do that?”

Martin looked in Jon’s direction. “You want to tell them, or shall I?”

Jon sighed heavily and dropped his head to Martin’s shoulder. “You go ahead. I’d rather not say it out loud.”

“Uh-oh.” Tim sounded worried. “This is…what happened on the eighteenth of October, 2017 in your timeline?”

“Bugger all,” Martin replied. “It was today. In our original timeline, this was when Jonah slipped his ritual into a statement and fed it to Jon against his will. Eighteenth October, 2018.” He ran his hand through Jon’s hair, which had fallen out of its braid. “We didn’t want to wait until this year to get married, but we’d already agreed that we wanted it to be the eighteenth. We wanted to take back the day Jonah Magnus tried to ruin and make it ours.”

“To replace the memories,” Present Martin said softly.

“Exactly. He’s taken too damn much from us already. We’re not letting him have everything.” Martin pressed a kiss to the top of Jon’s head.

“So where in Scotland are you going?” Present Jon asked.

“John O’Groats. It’s—Daisy used to have a safehouse up there,” Jon explained. “Well, she still has the house, but she’s just renting it out to vacationers these days. She told us we could use it for free a couple times a year as a thank-you for helping her get the Hunt under control.”

“Yeah, Basira says she’s a lot more relaxed than she was when she was a cop,” Sasha said. “If you can believe it. Is that where you two stayed…um, up until the eighteenth of October?”

“Yep.” Martin popped the P in a method that, he hoped, would indicate the subject is closed and you should not push further, Sasha James.

Thankfully, it seemed to work. Georgie was the next to speak up. “What about you three? Do you have plans for your trip to America or is it just more of a ramble?”

“We were planning to visit Boston,” Present Martin answered. “Lots of history, lots of walking trails, lots of potentially haunted stuff. But…well, Jon changed things around a couple weeks ago and he’s been vague about what we’re doing now.”

“Oh.” Present Jon sounded both embarrassed and excited. “I—ah—I’m sorry, I got so…I completely forgot I hadn’t told you. I managed to track down my cousin. You know, the one I stayed with for a bit before starting uni? He moved to a new town about the time I started at the Institute, actually. Apparently he’s married now. His husband sounds…um, interesting. And he wants to meet you two—and Charlie, too. I actually managed to get us tickets out there. I—I hope you don’t mind.”

“Mind getting the chance to meet a relative that not only doesn’t hate you, but doesn’t care you’re in a relationship with two other men and is excited about the idea of meeting us? Of course we do, it sounds horrific, why would you do something like that,” Tim said flatly. “Don’t be ridiculous, Jon, we’d love to meet your cousin.”

“It’ll be fun,” Present Martin agreed. “Did you ever…I mean, have you met him?”

It took Martin a second to realize the question was directed at him. “Honestly, until you all started talking about him, I didn’t even know Jon had a cousin.”

“I’d love to see him again,” Jon said, a bit wistfully. “I do miss him. I suppose asking you to pass on my best wishes would be a little much, but…”

“I’m going to tell him,” Present Jon said softly. “About all of this. I think he deserves to know, and…I think he can handle it.”

“Well. Give me a call if you get the chance. I’d love to talk to him.”

“Of course.” Present Jon hesitated. “I—um, I think he might have a couple…statements. Something about the way he said ‘scientifically interesting’ when talking about the town. I’m going to tell him about…this, and us, and what we can do. Let him decide if he wants to share.”

Jon made a slightly pained noise, but Martin rubbed his arm soothingly and said, “You’ll probably need something. At least Tim will. That’s—you’ll be too far from the Institute for too long not to take a statement or two. Better if it’s someone willing, wouldn’t you say?”

Tim took a deep breath. “Does it ever get any easier? Needing to—sensing in your case, or seeing in mine, that someone has a statement, and needing it so badly?”

“Not really,” Jon admitted. “It’s why I don’t go out alone so often. The trouble is that sometimes it helps them and sometimes it…doesn’t, and you can never tell before they tell their stories whether it will or not. The Eye likes it better when it’s…forced, but the Eye can honestly get stuffed. We’re doing this on our terms.”

“Hell yeah,” Tim said with a laugh. Jon leaned forward at Martin’s side, and from the sounds, he guessed they were bumping their fists together.

They spent about another hour together, talking and laughing and generally relaxing. Finally, though, Present Martin asked, “How early were you two planning to head out?”

“Not until early afternoon. The social worker is coming, remember?” Martin shrugged. “But if you lot want to get going…”

“Yes, we—we should probably make sure Charlie’s in bed, and I’m sure Wade is ready to be released,” Present Jon said. There were a number of rustles and creaks as everyone got to their feet, and Martin stood, too, stretching out his spine. “Call us when you get there.”

“We will. Let us know when you get to America,” Jon replied.

“Are you taking the cats, or do you want us to stop by and look after them?” Melanie asked.

Martin paused and looked in Jon’s direction. He could practically feel his thoughts flowing between them, running through the bond Annabelle had put on them like a telegraph wire. “Well, we were going to take them, but…actually, would you mind?”

“Of course not. We’d be delighted,” Georgie said.

Jon squeezed Martin’s waist, then slid away. “Come here, then, let me show you where we keep the food.”

Martin saw the others to the door and handed out another round of hugs. Jon arrived with Georgie just before they pulled away, so was at least able to wave, and he hugged both Georgie and Melanie and thanked them again. And then it was just the two of them, alone in their house, and together.

Jon shut and latched the door, then took Martin’s hand. “I have a surprise for you.”

“Oh?”

“Mm-hmm. Close your eyes and follow me.”

Martin smiled more broadly, but he did as Jon asked. Jon led him through the house and up three flights of stairs. It somehow didn’t surprise Martin when Jon pushed open a final door and he heard the soft sounds of an autumn evening.

“Stargazing?” he teased.

“It is a good night for it,” Jon said, not rising to the bait. “But no, not what I had in mind.” He tugged Martin forward a few feet, then added, “You can open your eyes now.”

Martin didn’t point out that it wouldn’t do any good; he simply opened his eyes. He could smell roses and peonies, he thought—the same flowers they’d decorated the drawing room with for their wedding. There was a soft click, and a tape recorder began playing—which made him smile—and then Jon was there and holding his hands. “Can I have this dance?”

Martin’s smile broadened as he recognized the song. “For the rest of your life.”

Martin let Jon lead him, singing quietly along with the music as he did so. He was still barefoot and it was a bit cold on the widow’s walk for that, but he didn’t care. It was the song they’d chosen as their first dance at their wedding, something of a fast waltz, but the lyrics had struck both of them as being so very them. As soon as Martin realized that, he also realized that this was probably the tape Tim had made for them to play at their wedding. It had been their way of ensuring that Annabelle, if she was still listening, would be able to be a part of things, too.

They still made a point of shooing out spiders and cleaning out cobwebs, but the tapes? Those could stay.

When the first song was over, rather than let Jon go, Martin simply shifted his grip and took the lead for the second song on the tape—the first song they had ever danced to, in Tim and Present Martin and Present Jon’s kitchen the night they’d moved in. He pulled Jon closer, letting their foreheads touch, and sang along to that one as well. He could feel Jon shiver in his arms and knew, knew, it wasn’t the cold that was doing it.

They slowed to a stop just before the song ended. Jon slid his arms around Martin’s neck and simply held him; Martin wrapped his around Jon’s waist and pulled him even closer until their bodies were flush, until they were practically fused into a single person.

“I love you,” he murmured.

“I love you, too,” Jon whispered back. “Happy anniversary, Martin.”

“Happy anniversary.” Martin leaned forward and kissed him thoroughly.

Jon kissed him back, deeply and intensely and with all the emotions they had built up between them over the years: loneliness and desperation and fear, love and tenderness and hope. They had fought their damnedest for a moment they thought would never come, and now that it had, Martin was going to savor it. This and every other moment that ever could be.

At last, the need for air forced them to separate, and Jon laughed quietly. “You know what I didn’t think through about this?”

“We’re still barefoot?” Martin guessed.

“We are still barefoot,” Jon agreed. “And I’m still rather…worn out from the day. What do you say we go inside, shut the cats in their room for the night, and make use of that oversized tub in the downstairs bath?”

“I think that sounds like an excellent idea,” Martin said. He kissed Jon again, very softly, and then stepped back. “Lead on, Mr. Blackwood-Sims.”

“Why, thank you, Mr. Blackwood-Sims,” Jon drawled. He stopped the tape with a gentle click, then laced his fingers through Martin’s, the metal of his wedding band smooth and cool against his fingers as it rolled over the webbing between them. “Come on, my love.”

Hand-in-hand, Martin and Jon, the man he’d loved for years, the man he’d fought for, fought with, the reason he had survived apocalypse after apocalypse, his anchor—his husband—turned away from the world they had somehow managed to save and into their home, into the future they had made.

Together.

[iknikblackstonevarrick]

Red Lightning (Part 2)

(Part 1)

---

Honestly, this one was on The Director.

Lup doesn’t know what she was expecting when she told Lup’s brother and friends she had been sent on a secret mission without notice in the dead of night, but Lup could have told her it’d end with something like this.

This being Taako Magnus and Merle set up in the three cells on the wall across from Lup and Pringles after a botched jailbreak attempt, and the Director standing in the hall between them, a look of deep disappointment on her face.

“I really don’t know what I’m going to do with the four of you,” The Director said, looking between the former Reclaimers gravely.

“You could start by letting us out of the pokey?” Taako said like it was obvious.

“And telling us what the hell is going on,” Lup added, glaring at her.

“You- None of you understand the gravity of this situation.”

“Because you haven’t fucking told us the gravity of the situation!” Lup said, exasperated. “You can’t keep going on about how we can’t comprehend your dark purposes or whatever when you haven’t even tried to explain!”

“You want to know what’s going on?” The Director asked, her not-mad-just-disappointed facade cracking into what looked suspiciously like panic. “The- The Grand Relics have the power to destroy the entire world as we know it, and I have been working non-stop for a very long time to make the world safe from -them once and for all. I was so close, and now the only people in the entire world who can help me have decided they’d rather play spy and search for clues than deal with the impending apocalypse!”

“Whoa, whoa,” Magnus said, holding up his hands. “I know the Relics are really devastatingly powerful and all, but no one said anything about the apocalypse.”

“No one’s said a lot of things, lately,” Taako said.

The Director choked on a laugh. Then, she took a deep breath, and straightened herself.

“You’re right,” she started. “This… is one of the several things I have been hiding from you and the other fine people of this organization, for your own good. But if you must know, we have less than a year.”

Even Pringles, sitting in the corner of his cell trying to mind his own business, was left agape at that one.

“The four of you are the only ones in the world who can help me,” The Director continued when she was met with only stunned silence. “If we collect and destroy the three remaining relics before the Midsummer Festival next year, then the world will be safe. Please, whatever you think of me, this world needs your help. I implore you to consider it.”

“Director, that’s real flattering and all, but…” Merle glanced away from her then looked back. “I think you’re giving the other people in the world too little credit!”

“I tried for years to make any of the Reclaimers I sent out work,” she replied, shaking her head, “Nobody could do it. Nobody except the four of you. This is the only option.”

“If I may, Madam Director, I think he means keeping all these secrets,” Magnus chimed in. “We’re great and all, but you’ve gotta admit your sample size is really tiny. Maybe if you let the people of the world know the kind of danger they were in, they would step up to help!”

��You saw what happened when the people of this world knew the danger they were in,” The Director said, turning on him. “They made it worse. They let their hunger for power consume them until there was almost nothing left. No one in the world can be trusted, Magnus. I have to do this by myself.”

“Then do it by yourself,” Taako said, leaning up against his cell wall and checking his nails. “We’re not gonna do your goddamn dirty work for you while you sit up here all high-and-mighty thinking about how you’re the only one who’s good enough to handle the truth.”

The Director’s shoulders fell. He didn’t meet her eyes. She looked from him, back to Magnus, then to Merle, not seeing what she wanted in any of them.

“Lup?” The Director asked, a sliver of hope in her voice.

Lup looked into the Director’s eyes, her face not revealing anything.

“Four.”

The Director blinked, looking behind herself and then back at Lup.

“Forgive me?” The Director prompted. Lup laughed.

“You said there were three relics left to retrieve,” she said, “But there are four. We’ve collected three so far, and we started out with seven, so there’s four.”

“Of course,” The Director said. “I misspoke. You’ll forgive me for getting my numbers off, I’ve had a pretty long day today.”

Lup nodded along as The Director spoke, stopping only when she stopped. She looked her dead in the eye for a long moment. “Unless.”

“Unless…?” The boys spoke in perfect unison.

“There really are only three grand relics left to retrieve, because you have the last one right there!”

She motioned with her eyes to the staff The Director held in her hands. “These shields you keep putting up are pretty impressive. Stupid powerful. I’ve never seen-” she cut herself off and gasped dramatically. “Oh wait, I have seen something like this before!” She rolled her eyes.

“Oh shit,” Magnus said.

“You’re kidding me,” Taako said, narrowing his eyes at The Director.

“How- how dare you,” The Director said, clutching her white oak staff even harder.

“Oh, give me a break,” Lup said, “You go on and on about how people need to resist the temptation of the relics or they need to be erased from existence, but you’ve been using one the entire goddamn time!” She laughed humorlessly. “The audacity. Of you standing there when we gave you the Oculus talking about how ‘relics can’t be used for good’. What is it then? Can the Relics be good, or are you evil?”

The Director stood staring at her with wide eyes, so she continued, “You haven’t even been destroying the relics, have you? You think you’re the only person in the world who can handle their power. I bet you’ve just been fucking stockpiling them while you trick everyone else here into doing exactly what you want. Well not me, Madam Director. Not anymore. ‘Apocalypse’? My ass. I don’t trust a word you say. I don’t see why anyone would.”

And just like that, Lucretia knew she had lost.

Hours later she was in her office, writing. Paving the way for what would be her most excruciating redaction yet. Her hand pulled across the paper as she laid out the lives of two of her best friends, her family, before her.

They haven’t left me any choice, she insisted to herself, but the feeling of dread still welled up in her chest. Magnus and Merle were capable adventurers, but sending them after the final relics alone- into Wonderland, and everything in between then and now- she wanted to have faith in them, but she’s braved that place with only one person by her side, and that person will never see the light of day again.

But I don’t have a choice. The twins were the inciting factor in this pointless revolt. Without them, Magnus and Merle would have no reason to question her story. If it weren’t for the fact Taako knew his sister so well, she might’ve kept all three of them on her side.

Lucretia’s pen stilled. She looked down at the paper- two lives woven so irrevocably in tandem. She reached down and tore it in half.

“So what’s the big plan this time, Ocean?” Taako called out. “Bagging the boys outside sure did turn out great!”

“Hey, I figured out she was in here!” Magnus said. “You wanted to go straight to the Director’s office!”

“We do need to go to the Director’s office,” Lup cut in. “I- I can’t know the specifics, but that’s where she keeps all her secret shit, in a back room off of there. Isn’t that right, Robbie?”

Pringles looked up. He was swaying back and forth, looking at the four of them woozily.

“Does he still have the goods in here?” Merle asked.

"Hey, are you okay?" Lup said, craning her head to look at him even though their cells were next to each other. "Is it- you guys have gotta tell me, is it the Red-Robe-guy again? Does he looks possessed?"

"Don't sound too excited," Taako said.

"I don't want him to be possessed I just- I need to find-" What? "Wait. Where are we?"

"What?" Magnus said.

"Where- I needed to-- I need to find someone, right, that's what I was... thinking... what did I do? Why am I-?"

Lup felt like she was losing her mind, in the most literal sense, her thoughts, her memories, but not her feelings, and this feeling was frustrating and terrifying but above all else, familiar.

"Fuck!" She clutched the sides of her head. More and more of her thoughts were consumed by the static until it felt like it was down to what it was every night, the same vision of blue sky and cracked glass and blood, "No- Please-!"

Something inside her knew this feeling and it was clawing at the inside of her soul trying to stop it from happening.

"Whoa there sparky! I don't think that's safe with your hands on your head," Merle said as the red sparks flew from her hands, arcs of it crackling just above her face, but she was well past recognizing his voice. He was well past remembering her name.

“Taako, what’s going on, is this- this isn’t normal, is it?” Magnus asked, watching the blank look on his face.

“What, being in jail?” Taako shrugged. “Eh.”

Magnus furrowed his brow. “No, Taako, your-” he stopped. “Your….” He looked between the two of them frantically, mirror images with one coming apart at the seams and one completely blank-faced, trying to find the word. “She’s….” These people were his friends. They were friends. They were….

“She’s going to be fine, Magnus.”

His eyes lazily found the figure of a short human woman in an imposing blue-and-white robe. The Director? Yes, that was the Director of the Bureau of Balance, that was his boss.

"You- who..." Lup's eyes narrowed on the other woman.

"It will be easier soon," she said to Lup. "You should lie down." She tapped the white oak staff she held towering above her three times, and the cells holding Magnus, Merle, and Taako swung open.

"You," Lup said through grit teeth, confused and in pain. Her legs gave out after that, but she refused to crawl over to the prison bed.

“Follow me, boys,” The Director said. Taako swept up to her without hesitation, and Merle waddled behind. It was only Magnus who paused, holding his head in his hand.

“I-” He shook his head, looking from Lup’s prone form to the Director. “Help her.”

“I will.”

She took Magnus’s arm, and lead the three of them carefully back to the surface.

[voiceless-terror]

Going Back (The Magnus Archives)

Whumptober 2020 Day Thirty: Wound Reveal

Fandom: The Magnus Archives

Characters: Jonathan Sims, Tim Stoker, Martin Blackwood

Summary:

“I can’t even feel it anymore, really. She just liked to see what colors she could make me turn.”

Martin could’ve thrown up.

Jon returns from the Circus through Helen’s hallways. Martin and Tim see the aftermath.

The room wouldn’t stop spinning.

He kept it together just long enough to get Melanie out of Elias’s office. Jonathan Sims, Human Shield. Who would’ve thought it?

But now, stumbling down to the Archives, he wasn’t so sure. Everything was scrambled, neither here nor there. His arm throbbed and the hallway tilted, or perhaps he tilted. Wouldn’t that be funny? Just walking sideways down the hall while everyone stared. Don’t mind me! He let out an involuntary giggle- did it echo? Like Helen’s voice echoed? Like poor Michael’s? No, not ‘poor Michael.’ He tried to kill you!

Right, right. 

He was getting some looks. Jon was starting to get used to this whole ‘pariah’ business. He was never the most social person, but people would still greet him in the hallways. Now, though. Now they just stared and whispered. It’s not their fault, of course. He knows he doesn’t look good. Jon hadn’t seen a mirror in a good long while, but he certainly wasn’t feeling good, The Circus had done a number on him and it’s not like he had time to make himself presentable before going back to the office. The Distortion wouldn’t have allowed them to make pit stops. Be funny if it did, though.

He laughed again, stumbling into a wall. A woman looked as if she wanted to help, reaching out an arm that was slapped away by her companion. “Leave him,” the man whispered. He was right to. Jon was starting to think this whole avatar business was contagious. 

“Don’t worry,” he whispered back in an attempt to be reassuring. It probably would have come off better if his voice didn’t have the consistency of sandpaper. “I’ll be gone soon enough!” He smiled and they scurried off, looking horrified. Huh.

He didn’t know what he meant by ‘gone.’ Out of their hair, back in the Archives, dead in a hole somewhere. It was all the same to him. 

There was a song playing in his mind, an incessant, repetitive tune that should be cheerful but it was not. He hummed along with it.

Ten minutes or two days later, he stumbled through the door to the Archives, tripping down the stairs at a rate more like falling. No one was there to greet him, perhaps it was lunch time? Jon was very hungry. But that wasn’t a good indicator of time- Jon was always hungry now. For answers, for food, for someone to look at him without anger. Hungry hungry hungry.

Someone must have left a thing or two in the break room. Martin always had snacks lying about. Maybe he could have one of Tim’s protein bars? Melanie’s Gatorades? So many choices it almost made him weep. 

Elias was always saying he chose this. He’s starting to agree. He always wanted more- more answers, more information. The choice was always easy then- go wherever the knowledge takes you. So why was this one so goddamn hard? Just pick some food, any fucking food you’re so hungry-

It would be nice if someone picked for him. He hadn’t had to choose his own food for a while, but now the options were just overwhelming. Just let him have one more thing out of his control. He wasn’t ready to go back to normal, not just yet.

But they had to move forward, he knew that. Jon wanted answers and so did the rest of them. They never liked the answers he gave them. Is that Jon’s fault, really? Maybe. Everyone else seemed to think so. Elias didn’t tell them he’d been kidnapped, but he’d been gone all the same. It’s sad isn’t it, when you become a person no one will miss? Jon missed them. Jon missed everything that was real, flesh and blood and warm. Jon was selfish that way.

But now he had an answer. Something good that came out of all of this, a lead. Tim would be happy. He might even thank him.

The world tilted and Jon tilted with it.

________

“Hang on-is that Jon?”

Martin peered into the break room on his return from lunch; he wasn’t expecting anyone else to be here. But there was a small figure there in the dark, swaying on their feet. He rushed over and flicked on the light switch- it was Jon! His excitement was dampened, however, when he got a good look at the man.

Jon looked bad. Martin didn’t think he could possibly look worse than he did after Daisy brought him back but no, this was definitely worse. At least then he’d been angry, rushing around and demanding answers from Elias. Now though, he was just...swaying, his eyes distant and cloudy, not even noticing the other occupant in the room. His hair was tangled and long, his face was gaunt. He was drowning in his clothes- clothes that were dirty and blood stained and torn as if he spent the last month living in the woods. “Jon?” he asked hesitantly, inching forward in the room like he was approaching a spooked animal. “Jon, are you alright?”

No answer. Jon was humming, a strange, childish tune like something from a music box or an ice cream truck. Tim was silent and still behind him; Martin wasn’t surprised he was unwilling to help. It was a horrifying picture, after all, and he and Jon weren’t on the best of terms. Martin managed to get close enough to venture a hand on Jon’s shoulder.

This seemingly broke him out of his fog and stopped that god-awful hum. His eyes cleared as he turned to Martin and smiled- Martin had always wanted Jon to smile at him but not like this, never like this. Happy and dreamy yet somehow manic. “Oh!” he croaked; he sounded as if his voice hadn’t been used in days. “M-Martin, you’re here!”

“Yes, I am,” he explained slowly, trying to match his smile if only to put him at ease. “Are- are you alright, Jon? We haven’t seen you for a while, and you look- well, not great.” That was an understatement. There was a strange, glowing sheen on his otherwise unhealthy frame, like a doll that’d been covered in greasepaint. It was unnerving, to say the least.

“Yes!” Jon said excitedly, grabbing at his arm with thin, spindly fingers. There was a desperate strength behind it. “Now that you’re here. Where’s Tim? I have to- I need to find Tim!”

That was not a good idea. “Erm, are you sure?” he hedged, trying to usher him into a seat but Jon was having none of it and pulling at his arm insistently. “Jon, I really think you should get to a doctor, I mean look at you-”

“Tim!” Jon called in that croaking, animated voice. The man in question looked irritated at first, and then clearly disturbed by the man in front of him. “Tim, I have news.”

Tim backed up as Jon approached and leaned forward on his desk as if imparting a secret. ‘I know where it’s going to be. The Unknowing.” Martin watched as Tim’s eyes lit up unwillingly and he grabbed at Jon, pushing him into his own desk chair. Easy, Martin wanted to chide, though he knew Tim wouldn’t heed it. He had a one-track mind when it came to dealing with the Circus.

“Where?” Tim asked urgently, his hands on Jon’s shoulders as if ready to shake him lest he gave the wrong answer. Martin noticed the way Jon leaned into the touch, threatening as it was. “Where?”

“A wax museum!” The words were...delighted. Jon was smiling like a child giving a teacher the correct answer and that strange, clouded look was coming back into his eyes. “I don’t know which one, though. They didn’t tell me that.” Who?

“Who?” Tim echoed his thoughts and pushed Jon up straight as he listed to the side. “Was this- was this one of your powers? How long have you known?”

“No, not this time,” Jon patiently explained. “I was there. I’ve known for- hm, Elias said - about a month!” What? Tim’s eyes narrowed and his hands gripped harder. Jon didn’t seem to notice. “I would’ve told you, but I was all tied up!” He reached his hands up imploringly, sleeves slipping down his arms to reveal wrists rubbed raw, clearly infected. Martin gasped and even Tim let up, looking nauseated. 

“Jon,” Martin kneeled by the chair, trying to meet his eyes. “Jon, what happened? Who did this to you?”

Without Tim’s help, Jon fell to the side of the chair, only supported by it’s arm. His shirt, worryingly baggy, slipped off his shoulder to reveal deeply bruised skin, blooming a purple and green that seemed to extend beyond what they could see. Jon must have noticed their horrified stares, for he rushed to reassure them. 

“I can’t even feel it anymore, really. She just liked to see what colors she could make me turn.”

Martin could’ve thrown up.

“Who’s she?” Tim stuttered out, horror rooting him in place though his hands twitched in what look liked an urge to help.

“The clown. Nikola. Needed- needed my skin for the dance. She couldn’t cut me up yet. I was almost-” Jon was no longer there with them, not anymore. “I was almost ready.” He pitched forward, eyes rolling back in his head and Martin rushed to grab him but Tim got there first, sweeping an arm under his chest and pulling him back up on the chair. There was a feral, unhinged look in the man’s eyes- anger, fear, and something he couldn’t name making his arms shake even as they kept Jon in a tight grip. 

“Should- should we get him to the hospital? This is bad, Tim.”

“No!” Jon shot up in the seat, arms flailing in a sudden panic. “No more- no more strange hands! I don’t w-want them touching me, please Martin, I don’t want to I don’t want to-”

“Shh,” it was Tim who hushed him, leaning Jon into his side and taking most of his weight. He was completely attentive now in an entirely different way- Martin would say it was protective if he didn’t know the man’s real feelings. “We won’t. How about we take you to the cot, have a rest, yeah?”

“Tim…” Shouldn’t they be doing more? A nap wouldn’t cure him- he needed real medical attention.

“Just for now,” he said and his tone didn’t leave room for any arguments. “He doesn’t want it. Not right now.” Martin wondered what made him suddenly attuned to Jon’s needs- as if a switch had been flipped at the mention of a clown. He followed behind like a lost puppy, watching as Tim took a still-murmuring Jon into Document Storage.

“Their hands, Tim. I don’t- too much touching-”

“I’ll let go of you as soon as you’re settled,” Tim promised, laying him down with the utmost care as Martin watched from the doorway. “I’m sorry-”

But Jon’s arm shot out and grabbed at Tim’s as he tried to walk away. “Not- not yours. I-I didn’t mean yours.”

And to Martin’s surprise Tim sat down, leaning back against the cot and entwining his hand with Jon’s. His eyes held that same far-away look as Jon’s, as if he were trapped in a memory and seeing something else entirely. Martin suddenly feels like he’s intruding.

He shuts the door and lets them be.

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27285688

[allavengedromance]

A compilation of interactions between Jon and Helen from beginning to end because they had the best dynamic

Transcript under the cut

[MAG 47]

[CLICK] [SOUND OF PEN SCRATCHING AGAINST PAPER IN SHARP, FRUSTRATED MOVEMENTS]

ARCHIVIST

Statement of Helen Richardson, regarding, uh… how would you describe it?

[PEN SCRATCHING CONTINUES]

ARCHIVIST

…Miss Richardson?

[PEN SCRATCHING CONTINUES]

HELEN

– uh, what?

[PEN SCRATCHING CONTINUES]

ARCHIVIST

Your experience, how would you summarize it?

[PEN SCRATCHING CONTINUES]

HELEN

Um, well, I’ve been, I’ve been trying to draw you a map, but, it doesn’t, it doesn’t work.

[PEN SCRATCHING CONTINUES; HELEN CAN NOW BE HEARD BREATHING HARD AS THE ARCHIVIST SPEAKS]

ARCHIVIST

– Right. Statement of Helen Richardson, regarding a new door in the house she was selling. Statement recorded direct from subject, 2nd October, 2016. Statement begins.

[MAG 101]

HELEN

Do you want to come in?

ARCHIVIST

Wh… Helen? H-Helen Richardson? But… But y– Michael…

HELEN

Michael isn’t me. Not now.

ARCHIVIST

What happened?

HELEN

He got… distracted. Let feelings that shouldn’t have been his overwhelm me.

Lost my way.

ARCHIVIST

And now? Y-__you’re__ Helen?

[MAG 115]

[KNOCK, KNOCK]

[Calls] Come i–

[KNOCK, KNOCK]

[More sombrely] Come in.

[A NEW DOOR CREAKS OPEN]

[Sharply] What do you want?

HELEN

Not sure. To talk.

ARCHIVIST

You’re keeping her face, then.

HELEN

I am Helen.

ARCHIVIST

Don’t pretend to be people I know. Knew.

HELEN

I’m not pretending.

ARCHIVIST

You’re not Helen Richardson.

[MAG 115]

HELEN

Before, talking to you made Helen feel better.

ARCHIVIST

You’re not that Helen!

HELEN

I just want… I just want to feel better.

ARCHIVIST

…

I don’t believe you.

HELEN

You don’t?

ARCHIVIST

Wh-what? Why should I believe… a-a-any of this? You’ve told me over and over that you’re… what was the phrase? The ‘throat of delusion’? All of this is –

HELEN

I have never told you a lie, Archivist. I wouldn’t dare. I, I just thought you might understand.

ARCHIVIST

Uh… How could I possibly…

HELEN

We’re both changing, Archivist. I had hoped, that together –

ARCHIVIST

[Furious] Get out.

[MAG 131]

[MELANIE SIGHS, KNOCKS ON THE DOOR] MELANIE

She’s been helping us.

ARCHIVIST

[Sharply] It has never helped anyone. Not without a cost.

[THE DOOR CREAKS OPEN] HELEN

If I am an “it”, Archivist, then what does that make you?

[THE DOOR CREAKS CLOSED] MELANIE

Hi, Helen.

ARCHIVIST

[Coldly] I have been told you can help.

HELEN

I have been trying to. But the last time you were very rude to me.

ARCHIVIST

You’re still wearing her face.

HELEN

Not this again. I’m not “wearing” anything, Archivist. I am at least as much ‘Helen Richardson’ as you are the ‘Jonathan Sims’ that first joined this Institute.

[MAG 143]

ARCHIVIST

Why are you here?

HELEN

I told you! I’ve decided to help. I thought you might like a way home?

ARCHIVIST

Another door?

HELEN

If you want it. (short pause) How was it?

ARCHIVIST

Hm?

HELEN

Looking upon the Dark.

ARCHIVIST

I thought I was going to die.

HELEN

You seem to think that a lot.

[MAG 152]

HELEN

(“delicately” hinting) Although – some of us are always lost, in a sense.

ARCHIVIST

Wait, are you saying you can navigate it?

HELEN

Not exactly, but my door has been part of these tunnels for some time now.

ARCHIVIST

Wh – (frustrated sputtering) – what’s it hiding, wh-what’s in the middle?

HELEN

(suppressed laughter) A delightful surprise…!

[HE SIGHS. SHE LAUGHS, OVERLAPPING HIM AND HERSELF, SEEMINGLY OUT OF SEVERAL THROATS AT ONCE, AND WITH A DRAINED, SLEEPY QUALITY TO IT WHEN SHE FINDS THAT SHE HAS LAUGHED TOO LONG, AND MUST STOP TO INHALE. HER LAUGHTER, IN SHORT, NOW SOUNDS EXACTLY LIKE MICHAEL’S. THE ARCHIVIST SIGHS AGAIN, RESIGNED TO HER.]

[MAG 152]

HELEN

Hungry, are we?

ARCHIVIST

(angrily) That’s not –

– I haven’t done anything –

HELEN

– yet.

ARCHIVIST

(roughly) I feel like if I don’t… I might die. Fade away into nothing.

HELEN

…

Do you… Know that?

ARCHIVIST

No. But I… (frustrated noise) I can’t die. They need me.

HELEN

Come on, John, no excuses.

[HE SIGHS AS SHE SPEAKS.]

They don’t need your protection.

[MAG 152]

HELEN

Helen was like you, at first.

[HE CAN BE HEARD INHALING UNHAPPILY IN THE BACKGROUND.]

She felt such guilt over taking people. Until one day she realized she wasn’t going to stop doing it. So she chose to stop feeling guilty.

ARCHIVIST

Fine. I get it.

[MAG 157]

[CLICK] [HEAVY KNOCKING ON A DOOR. IT SWINGS OPEN.] ARCHIVIST

Helen.

HELEN

Jonathan.

ARCHIVIST

I need – you said before you knew the tunnels, right? That you’d been a… part of them?

HELEN

Not my exact words, but close enough.

ARCHIVIST

I need to know what’s in there. What’s at the center? (urgently) I-it’s important, Martin – I need to know.

HELEN

(cheerfully) That’s a shame, because I’m afraid I’m not going to tell you!

ARCHIVIST

(aghast) What? Why not?

HELEN

Because I have a good enough sense of what’s going on to know that it will be much more fun without my involvement! (begins laughing)

ARCHIVIST

What? You – you said you were going to help!

HELEN

I am.

ARCHIVIST

I don’t have time for this.

[164]

HELEN

Remember? And please – my name is Helen.

ARCHIVIST

Like you said, I can know everything now, including how much of a lie that really is.

HELEN

Don’t mistake complication for falsehood, dear Archivist. And remember, that knowledge is not the same thing as understanding!

ARCHIVIST

What do you want.

HELEN

To say hello! And check up on the happy couple.

[She laughs again.]

[166]

ARCHIVIST

Hello, Helen.

HELEN

Oh, hello! In a better mood, are we?

(lower, teasing) Feeling more secure now you’ve learned how to kill?

[As she speaks, a shimmery, high-pitched sound starts to layer over the background.] ARCHIVIST

(inhale) Something like that.

MARTIN

Will you tell me how he did it?

ARCHIVIST

Martin…

MARTIN

He just keeps going all vague about it.

HELEN

Oh, goodness. You see what you’ve done to the poor boy, John? He’s coming to me for clear answers.

[She snorts, and it turns into her trademark laugh.]

ARCHIVIST

Shut up.

[177]

HELEN

Oh, John? Not to sound like a squeaky hinge, but do try to lighten up. Don’t get me wrong, the brooding thing’s a good look on you, but it is starting to get a bit tired. Especially now you’ve got someone else to do the intense, driven thing. I think you might need to get a new schtick.

ARCHIVIST

[Sarcastic] Thank you for the feedback. I’ll try to bear it in mind.

[183]

ARCHIVIST

What we want doesn’t matter much these days.

[HELEN MAKES A RASPBERRY NOISE]

HELEN

Oh nonsense. What we want is the only thing that matters these days. And Basira wanted to join Daisy.

ARCHIVIST

She made her choice.

HELEN

With your assistance.

ARCHIVIST

It was still her choice.

HELEN

[Sighing] What a waste.

ARCHIVIST

No.

It wasn’t.

[MAG 187]

HELEN

You really don’t like me, do you?

ARCHIVIST

No.

HELEN

And you never have.

ARCHIVIST

Not really.

HELEN

Even though I saved you from Michael.

ARCHIVIST

You were Michael.

HELEN

Argh. I’m The Distortion, as was Michael, but I am not him, and never have been. Surely you know all this by now, what with your shiny new eye powers?

ARCHIVIST

It’s not about what I know. It’s about what I feel.

HELEN

[Disparagingly] Oh, what do you feel?

ARCHIVIST

I liked Helen.

HELEN

I am Helen.

ARCHIVIST

The real one.

HELEN

…

Helen-Classic.

ARCHIVIST

Sure.

HELEN

But that doesn’t make any sense. You barely met her. You had half an hour together, and she spent most of that ranting about mazes! She was positively delirious with paranoia!

ARCHIVIST

True. But as you’ll recall, I was pretty paranoid myself at that point.

[MAG 187]

ARCHIVIST

I got you rattled.

HELEN

I’m not scared of you.

ARCHIVIST

Helen… Was that… a lie?

HELEN

[Too quickly] No!

ARCHIVIST

A lie. A genuine untruth. Like a little bit of loose thread, flitting in the breeze.

HELEN

Fine. You can go.

[SHIFTING, AND A NEW DOOR OPENS]

There’s the door. Just go!

ARCHIVIST

Ceaseless Watcher!

HELEN

No!

[THROUGH THE INCANTATION, THE HARSH BUZZ OF STATIC MINGLES WITH CREAKING WOODWORK AND CRUMBLING CRICK]

ARCHIVIST

See this lie, this golden strand of falsehood. Take it in your gaze and pull it, follow through its curves and twists and knots as it unravels all before you.

HELEN (BACKGROUND)

No. No! No! No, Archivist! Stop! John, it’s me, it’s Helen. It’s me. I’ve always been your friend. Don’t do this to me. I have always helped you. I have always helped you and lent you doors. Think of all that I have done for you. If you do this, everyone inside me is dead!

ARCHIVIST

Unweave it now, its fear and its falsehood, its hidden teeth and the ones it wears so proudly.

HELEN (BACKGROUND)

You’re no different – You are no different from me! You can’t save anyone!

ARCHIVIST

Take all that it is and all that it has. It is yours!

HELEN

No! NOOOOOO!

[HELEN’S VOICE IS STRETCHED AND VANISHED] [EXTENDED SOUNDS OF DISTORTED DEMOLITION]

[MAG 47]

HELEN

Finally, [suppressing tears] after the latest bout of nightmares, I decided to come to you and tell you my story. Maybe you can make some sense of this.

ARCHIVIST

…Perhaps. Leave it with us. We’ll… do some digging and see what we can find.

HELEN

[tearful] You believe me, then?

ARCHIVIST

I… yes. Yes, I think I do.

[thanksjro]

More Than Meets the Eye #28- I Sure Hope Y’all Like Megatron

“Dark Cybertron” is finally over! Woohoo!

Who’s ready for a return to hijinks and mild peril?

I know this guy is!

Hold on a second-

We start our foray into Season 2 of MTMTE with a little meta-humor-

-and then it’s right into the swing of things, as Brainstorm uses the thin, fragile wine glass of faction-based morality to hold his personal need to make instruments of violence. Nautica disapproves, but then why wouldn’t she? She’s not been steeped in the militant ideologies of the Autobots for millions of years.

It’s six months after the convoluted events of “Dark Cybertron”, and our beloved ship, the Lost Light, is back on track for the Knight Quest. Nautica’s joined the crew, which is neat, but there are far more interesting things going on.

Like Rung actually doing his fucking job for once.

Wow, look at that little creamsicle man go.

It would seem that in the last half-year (by Earth standards) Megatron’s somehow gotten himself into the esteemed position of Captain of the Lost Light. This likely means that Rodimus has been defeated in battle, or perhaps fucked off on yet another space yacht to run away from his responsibilities. I suppose the narrative will have to fill us in on just what exactly happened.

Or, at least, I hope it does. Wouldn’t be a terribly good story if I had to guess on how exactly this dude’s in charge of a whole-ass Autobot crew.

Yes, yes, I know he switched sides, but goddammit, it takes a little more than saying sorry and changing your wardrobe to excuse the murder of half of NYC.

I mean, we can do both. Both is an option. I’ll break out The Communist Manifesto right now, let’s fuckin’ gooooooooo-

Six months prior to Megatron’s therapy appointment, Rodimus is ready to high-tail it off of Cybertron yet again. This is because, as established in previous posts, Cybertron kinda sucks butt. He bursts into the meeting Optimus Prime called- even though he’s really not leader of anything anymore, Starscream is- bids everyone farewell, and is about to run back out of the room when he’s stopped.

Turns out that the populace of Cybertron want Megatron to stand trial. That makes sense, given what all he’s done. Of course, the Autobot pals we’ve got in the room want to skip due process and go straight to the part where Megatron pays through the nose for the last four million years.

Which doesn’t feel terribly heroic or good guy-ish, but I think by this point you’ve probably caught on to the fact that everyone in IDW Transformers is morally gray at BEST.

Because Megatron’s had a rough time the last few years, in relation to his bodily integrity, spark extraction- that thing that High Command lied about in relation to Overlord- isn’t an option. It would just kill him dead.

Uh, excuse me? Optimus Prime, sir? Monsieur Premier?

Guess Optimus hasn’t been keeping up with exRiD.

Anyway, yeah, since Tyrest fucked off in “The Sound of Breaking Glass” and also tried to commit a genocide, we’re gonna need someone to cast judgement.

Course, a military trial isn’t exactly ideal, but as long as it’s open to the public, it should be fine.

Probably.

Anyway, Prowl’s also going to help. Ultra Magnus has been assigned the task of representing Megatron in court, a job which he’s positively delighted to have, if his face is any indication.

The gang breaks for lunch, and Rodimus and Optimus touch base on how the Knight Quest is going.

Because Rodimus’ half of the Matrix had the map for finding the Knights of Cybertron in it, they’re gonna have to go with Plan B.

Oh fuck yes, I love Plan B!

Unfortunately, finding the ideal romantic partner for all Cybertronians is going to have to wait until after the trial, because Optimus really wants Rodimus here for this. Though perhaps there’s a way to make things move a little faster…

Back in the present, Megatron’s had just about enough of Rung being a psychiatry joke, and is about to walk out of his appointment. Ravage is here, which is neat. Rung asks Megatron about the three most important people in his life, and how he met them. One of these people is, funnily enough, Rung.

Rung, if you’ll recall, was thrown into Megatron and Impactor’s table at Maccadams waaaaaay back in The Transformers #22, the first issue of the IDW run that Roberts wrote solo. It would seem that getting arrested and subjected to police brutality ruined his once-idealistic worldview. This is just a lightning-round recap of the events of the “Chaos Theory” storyline.

Being reminded of how hard he got dunked on makes Rung break out his copy of Megatron’s autobiography, Towards Peace. Of course, Megatron has to be “that guy”, and makes it out to be far more than it actually is. My dude, you used your writing to tell all your proto-Decepticon buddies to go beat up Whirl in prison. Let’s not make things sound more grandiose than they are.

Anyway, it turns out that Rung is actually just as much a nerd as he looks, as he reveals that he’s in possession of one of the only few copies of the original version of Towards Peace. And then he takes off his glasses and the fans go bonkers, even though he’s just got that Milne Same-Face going on, just like everyone else.

There you are, you animals.

Rung discusses Revisionism, I’m reminded that the first publication of Eugenesis had a dedication to Roberts’ son of all people, and we get the question of who Terminus is to Megatron.

But alas! The X-ray vision’s been turned on, and it’s time to see… nude robots? An in-depth anatomy lesson?

Robots are confusing sometimes. Anyways, major props to Milne for drawing all that detail. Dude does the technical stuff with a ferocity that must be awe-inspiring to behold.

Megatron’s decided that it’s time for lunch, and then he’s going to do captain stuff.

Because he’s captain of the Lost Light.

I’m convinced Rodimus is dead. That’s the only way this is happening.

Six months ago, Swerve was being awful Swerve-like, with his new buddy Crosscut- guess he finally learned the guy’s name- and Riptide, who we’ll get to a little later on. These three wonderful lads are holding a sort of “crew try-outs”, and it looks like the requirements needed for entry on Megatron’s Lost Light are stiff.

Still, maybe our new friend Nautica will make the cut.

Oh, you are simply delightful!

Despite Nautica having interest in nearly every topic in the universe, on top of having impeccable taste in booze, she just misses the cut. It’s at this point that Nightbeat bursts into the room to stop this farce from going any further. The fact that nobody mentioned anything prior to this is surprising, given that portmanteaus don’t really seem the type of thing Ultra Magnus would approve of.

Back six months ago, we see what Optimus Prime’s super great idea was to expedite the judicial process- Chromedome. It’s always Chromedome. He’s gonna do that thing he promised his late husband he’d stop doing. I suppose it’s a good thing- for Rewind, anyway- that Megatron is wholly against the idea of having his memories torn out of his head. Guess we’re gonna have to do the trial the normal, non brain-pokey way.

Optimus leaves the cell, because I suppose he’s remembered that there’s a conflict of interests here, but Rodimus stays behind to let Megatron know he deserves everything that’s coming his way.

Then Megatron breaks out the puzzle-box from Hellraiser.

In the present, Chromedome isn’t so much spiraling in his depression as he is circling the drain. Nightbeat doesn’t give a shit about that though- he’s more concerned with the fact that one of the numbers on the door to Chromedome’s room is missing. But I’m sure it’s fine.

It’s fiiiiiiiiiiine.

While Nightbeat’s busy being insensitive to his fellow man’s distress, Megatron’s arrived to his room to find his door’s been vandalized by a bunch of idiots who must have just discovered what a thesaurus is. Then he gets shot in the fucking hand with an arrow.

As you do.

Whirl’s gotten ahold of a bow, and he fully intends to use it for Megatron-directed violence. And also his fists. His very pointy fists. He punches Megatron through the fucking floor into the fuel furnace, and they fall what’s probably a good 200 feet to the ground below. Whirl yells about evening the score between the two of them, and then knees Megatron in the dick.

Turns out, Megatron remembers Whirl even better than originally thought, having gone so far as to order his forces to not kill Whirl, because, in a way, he was grateful for the lesson he learned back before the war in Rodion.

Oh man, I hope Rung’s somehow listening in on this. Like, eavesdropping is obviously bad medicine, but we’ve already established that he sucks as a professional, and he needs what few advantages he can get.

Whirl, enraged by the implication that he’s been fighting fixed battles for the last four million years, punches Megatron in the gut… and his arm gets swallowed up by an errant portal leftover from all of Shockwave’s tampering. Since you can’t really fight with only one arm, Megatron wanders off to do captainy things.

Walking back the timeline slightly, we revisit Megatron leaving Rung’s office, and the idea of personal revisionism, the conversation becoming parallel with the strange happenings going on within the ship, as Rewind’s final message is altered so as not to end with “I love you” but instead a blood-curdling scream. Chromedome is, understandably, upset by this turn of events.

Over with Whirl, it’s revealed that the little fight we saw was intentionally set up. For what purpose, or by whom, is left a mystery.

Please see a doctor.

One last flashback to the trial, as Prowl lists off everything that’s standing in the way of our Sympathetic Megatron Redemption Arc.

Good fuckin’ luck, James.

Back in the present, Megatron’s slapped a bandaid on the hole in his torso, as he checks to see what’s happening on the bridge. It would appear there’s a coffin floating around in space.

Pretty fucked up.