#and actually there was no indication of that in the episode itself. only after 160 is it possible for it to make sense

[worldwright]

Hm.

Me and my magnus archives excel spreadsheet were keeping track of which episodes Jon got his marks in.

*enhance*

HM.

It sure is, buddy.

[haberdashing]

No Puppet Strings Can Hold Me Down (16/17)

The Magnus Archives fanfic. An AU that diverges from canon between episodes 159 and 160, in which Peter Lukas’ statement that “he got you” takes on a different meaning.

on AO3

Not everything, though, went smoothly after that point, and not just because Jon was still trapped in his own body, unable to act of his own accord. There were incidents that reminded him of the true gravity of the situation, how one wrong move could lead to consequences much graver than his current imprisonment.

The first incident started with Jonah Magnus writing something down, though Jon hadn’t thought much of it at first; he’d peeked at a few words during the writing, as it wasn’t as if he could look away, but upon grasping that it looked to be a missive every bit as pretentious as he would have expected from Jonah, Jon let his mind wander, focused more on how Jonah Magnus’ handwriting both did and did not resemble his own (it was formal-looking handwriting, filled with dramatic loops and whorls, but still slightly different than what he’d seen Elias write before) than the actual contents of what was being written. Whether it was some sort of bragging or a suicide note or somewhere in between, Jon figured that what mattered was the action that accompanied it, not the letter itself.

Jon had barely noticed that said letter was still in his pocket as the day went on, and as his body entered the bathroom, his mind was more preoccupied with Knowing the sort of thing Daisy had used that bathtub to clean up and how inadequate her cleaning efforts really were on a biological level than with how Jonah had preoccupied himself writing something earlier in the day.

Jon only focused again on the scene in front of him when, after locking the door behind them, Jonah took out the letter and thrust it in his face while making no effort to actually attend to business there.

Read this, Jon.

Jon hadn’t planned on doing so any more than he had when the same words had been in front of him before, but his eyes instinctively looked to the top of the page--and, Jon noticed, his field of vision moved with them, his head tilting ever so slightly upwards.

He could move again, then--and yet, though he hadn’t planned to read whatever Jonah had written out loud, his voice rose to do just that, its tone calm and clinical even as Jon’s hands shook.

“Stateme-”

Jon closed his eyes, closed his mouth, gritted his teeth together to stop the words from flowing up, because he recognized the pattern now. He recognized the pattern, but he’d read just enough before to know that what Jonah wanted to share with him wasn’t a statement--not a regular one, at least, not some brief anecdote about the supernatural. It was... bigger than that. It was something more.

It was, at any rate, very much not something Jon wanted to read out loud, especially after being prompted to by his captor.

(The phrase Free will is a funny old thing, isn’t it Jon? floated into Jon’s head, and he felt bile rise in his throat at the thought of it.)

Part of him wanted to read it, though, and not just the part of him that was starting to feel resigned to whatever it was Jonah had planned for his captivity here. Part of him wanted to see what Jonah thought was so important, wanted to learn why he’d requested that Jon read it, wanted to know what this was all about, wanted to Know-

Jon pulled his hands into fists, crinkling the paper in the process.

It wasn’t a statement. That was what mattered here, right? He could feed off statements, but if this wasn’t one--and it didn’t look the part, exactly, scrawled hastily onto paper that wasn’t even official Institute stock--then that didn’t matter. If he could- could justify in his mind it being something else, that would change things, right? Dream logic, and all that?

It wasn’t a statement. It couldn’t be. He wouldn’t let it be.

Jon hadn’t noticed that he was hyperventilating until his vision began to dim.

Do calm down, Jon. Panicking won’t get you anywhere.

“I’m not going to- to calm down!” Now Jon’s voice shook as much as his hands, but there was a strange sort of comfort to that, to knowing that his voice was his own again, panic and all. “If anything, maybe I’ll just panic louder. Martin’s out there, you know, he’ll-”

He’ll what? Think that I’m throwing a hissy fit and do his best to ignore it? Or did you think he would somehow know better?

“I...” Jon reached for the door, but as he went to unlock it he felt his body freeze up on him again, watched Jonah Magnus back away from the door and into the filthy bathtub--Jon noticed, distantly, that he could tell when his body was his own again because the shaking started up as soon as he regained control.

There was a tape recorder on the bathroom sink now, one that definitely had not been there when Jon entered the room.

Jon’s skin was crawling as he planned his next move.

“I’m not reading this.” Jon tried to sound more sure of that than he felt.

Then we’ll see how long you last in here. There’s plenty of fresh water, so it could be weeks before you succumb to hunger. Do you really think your curiosity can stay sated for that long?

“That’s your master plan? Lock me in a bathroom and hope I get bored before I die?” Jon raised his voice as he spoke, hoping that Martin might be able to overhear, might be able to put together the pieces--the mental image of Martin kicking in the door suddenly popped into Jon’s mind, and he did his best to focus on that.

You might get bored. You will get hungry. One way or another.

Jon let out a long sigh, then ran for the bathroom door, willing to fling himself into it if that was easier than unlocking the damn thing, only to have his body forced back again before he could make contact.

Don’t you want to know what’s in there? It really is fascinating work, if I do say so myself.

Jon did want to know, he did, the yearning for knowledge burned within him-

The toilet seat was up, and that gave Jon an idea.

Slowly, carefully, Jon made his way forward again, directing his gaze between the tape recorder on the sink and his own face in the mirror. (It’d been a while since Jon had gotten a good look at himself. He didn’t look well, and not just because of the scars that dotted his body now.)

“...it was always leading up to this, wasn’t it?”

More than you know.

Jon nodded, trying his best to look resigned, crouching down as he looked over at the papers still clutched in his hand... and shoved them into the water of the toilet bowl.

The paper was already starting to break apart, the ink bleeding from the pages, before Jon flushed them down to the sewers below.

Jon wasn’t surprised to find that his body was taken over again as the papers circled the drain. It didn’t matter, not really. What mattered was that whatever Jonah Magnus had written was gone now, never to return, at least not in that same form.

...this isn’t over, you know.

Jon would have laughed, if he could.

I’m pretty sure it is, actually.

The second incident came a couple days later and started as innocuously as the one before, with Martin making two cups of tea.

(Martin insisted on making meals and snacks and tea for both himself and Jonah in Jon’s body, even after showing that he knew of Jonah’s presence, and Jon did his best to determine why.

Was it simply a matter of utility, of it being almost as easy to make food for two as for one? Was Martin thinking of Jon when he did it, knowing that Jon would taste what Martin prepared for him even if he wasn’t actually the one eating it? Did Martin just not trust Jonah Magnus to fend for himself with such things?

Whatever the true reason, Jon appreciated the gesture all the same, though he was in no position to indicate as much.)

The cups were both steaming hot as Martin brought them to the table that afternoon, and Martin didn’t hesitate to take a sip of his own, but Jon’s just sat there, with Jonah making no move to drink any.

After a minute or two of this, Martin finally looked up and asked, “Aren’t you going to have some tea? I made it fresh for you, you know.”

“No, I don’t think I will.” Jonah looked at Martin for a long moment before adding, “Did you know that ingesting methanol can be deadly?”

“What?” Martin’s face, pale and panicked, showed all the confusion that Jon felt but couldn’t express.

“It’s true. Though it looks and smells much like ethanol, ingesting as little as fifteen milliliters of methanol can be fatal.”

“I... wait, are...” Martin was growing paler by the second now. “Are you trying to threaten me?”

Jon’s body shook as Jonah let out a huff of amusement. “Quite the contrary, actually. I just wonder whether you know for certain whether you put more or less than fifteen milliliters of methanol in this cup of tea.”

Martin slouched down a bit in his seat, and as he did, Jon considered the implications of what had been said. Jonah Magnus seemed to be accusing Martin of trying to poison him, potentially fatally, and Martin wasn’t denying the accusation, either... but why?

Jon’s finger circled the brim of the tea cup absentmindedly. “Perhaps you’ve changed your mind about wanting to hurt Jon to get to me. That does make the game more interesting, though I would remind you that while I can find a new body if I need to, whatever you do to Jon would prove a bit more... permanent.”

“No, I- I know how that all works. Making you find a new host isn’t worth the price of losing Jon forever.”

“Well then.” Jon’s finger slid off the top of the tea cup, down its smooth surface and onto the saucer below. “If you aren’t looking to kill Jon, I believe it would be in your best interests to dispose of this cup of tea and prepare another one, one that hasn’t been adulterated in the same way.”

“Right. Of course.”

Martin took Jon’s tea cup and began emptying it out into the sink as Jon’s mind reeled.

To borrow Jonah’s metaphor, what kind of game was Martin playing here? Why would Martin try to- not to kill him, it didn’t sound like, but to poison him to some other effect? Methanol being the poison of choice, apparently, but what was so special about methanol...?

“It’s probably a good idea to use a different cup if you’re going to make a fresh batch.”

“Yes, I got that, thank you, I’m not stupid you know-”

“I am well aware of that much.”

Suddenly the information flowed into Jon’s head, everything he had been wondering and more answered in an instant.

He learned how methanol was called wood alcohol because it was once produced by distilling wood. He learned that it was often used to denature ethanol, but that some would drink the resulting mixture anyway despite its toxic properties, either not understanding the risks or being desperate enough for alcohol that they didn’t care. He learned that drinking contaminated alcohol, through this and other methods, had led to thousands of cases of methanol poisoning over the years, hundreds dying in disgrace and pain, while even the survivors often suffered long-term effects that left their lives in shambles, including-

Oh.

That was it, then, wasn’t it? That was Martin’s plan? For once the Beholding’s bank of infinite knowledge proved actually useful for something...

As Jon put together the pieces, realized why Martin had considered that particular poison to slip into his tea, for the first time in longer than Jon would care to consider, he felt something a little bit like hope.

[theuniversitychallengereview]

Episode 12 - St Andrews vs St John’s, Cam

If someone were to write an epic novel about historical saints doing battle it would only seem to make sense that they fought in a manner belying their transcendent nobility. You can’t really see Francis of Assisi and Joan of Arc getting involved in an intoxicated Wednesday morning scuffle post-Wetherspoons. Not to belittle boozy punch ups, just to note instead that maybe these two would have settled their differences over a coffee and a game of chess (though I remain unsure who would win)

In the spirit of this hypothetical and temporally dubious board game, another pair of Saints have assembled to face off in a similarly acceptable manner. St Andrews are from Scotland and have no apostrophe in their name. St John’s are from Cambridge, and do.

St John’s is also the name of a college at Oxford, because there are so many colleges named after saints that at one point they had to start doubling up. Annoyingly the two aren’t paired with each other. Whats even more annoying is that I hadn’t read the team names properly for this episode so had thought it was the Oxford St John’s who’d be on tonight.

They’d have been far easier to write about, because they’ve reached the final on no less than three occasions in the Paxman era, each of which they have lost, including a spectacular capitulation against the brilliance of Teddy Hapax where they posted the second lowest score in the shows history. I had a lovely bit planned in my head about their glorious failures, where I would postulate about their mental strength as a college. Had they been unlucky or were they just bottling it on the biggest stage of them all? Did they, like Andy Murray, need to bring in a scary looking man in sunglasses to bark them over the final hurdle? But instead we’d got poxy St John’s, Cambridge, who have only ever made it to the semi finals (like Tim Henman), so I couldn’t use any of it.

Their skipper, James Devine-Stoneman, has a cool name and is studying superconducting spintronics, which I can confirm is a real thing, although it is very slightly too niche to have a dedicated Wikipedia (instead contenting itself with a mention on the regular spintronics page), so I’ll let them off. As is well known, traditional studies that combine spintronics and superconductivity have mainly focused on the injection of spin-polarized quasiparticles into superconducting materials, but I’m not sure if Mr Sublime-Pebbleguy is interested in that too.

I might be an idiot, but it only just occurred to me that when Paxman reads out the rules at the start, it is for the benefit of the audience watching at home, not for the teams to which he addresses them. I was always like ‘um, pretty sure they know the rules, mate, they haven’t just wandered into a TV studio’, but he’s not actually speaking to the contestants. If this loses me the shred of credibility I have left then no be it, I got into a lovely stream of consciousness there and I’m not going to cut it.

Having recently learned how many points he would get for a starter, it is Jim Heavenly-Rockdude who buzzes ominously early to take the first question of the night, and they scoop all three bonuses (at five points a pop) to complete the perfect opening.

John-Clark Levin, with his double barrel in the irregular position, took a second for St John’s, who missed just one of the three on Islamic Arts to go forty five points clear. I went to an Islamic Arts museum last month but was unable to answer any of them, though they also had a bunch of cool swords so how was I supposed to learn anything?

St Andrews captain George Davies, a cuddly round bear in contrast to the sharp edges of his opposite number Beatific-Boulderbloke, grabs a biology starter to get the Scots off the mark. His Faraway teammate Grant claimed the next, and it was to he whom (he who? him whom? him who??) the other three turned, in sync, when Pax announced the bonus set was on women buried in a particular Parisian cemetery. I know not what this is indicative of, but it can’t be good.

Davies takes the picture starter and St Andrews move ahead with two of the bonuses, but as we witnessed on Sunday night, a Scottish side going in front doesn’t mean all that much in the grand scheme of things. I don’t know if Gordon Strachan was managing the St As quartet, but they seemed to decide at this stage that they didn’t want to win after all and the Cantabrigians won the race on eight of the following nine starters to end the match as a contest at 205 to 65.

It was Hazell who got the first of these Tens for John’s, though had this been the Apprentice he’d probably have been docked five points for giving ‘Sir Alan', rather than ‘Lord’, Sugar, as is preferred by the grouchy beardo himself. He took his second of the evening with a stupendous buzz on alphabetized numbers, befuddling both himself and the Pax in the process

St Andrews realised when they finally made it to a hundred and forty behind that they would likely lose if they carried on sitting there doing nothing, and mounted a spirited comeback that would ultimately lead to nothing, similar to events in Ljubliana a few days ago (if you don’t get the football analogies just ignore them, they’re not that profound) This was very much a game of three halves:

St Andrews 50 - 45 St John’s

St Andrews 15 - 160 St John’s

St Andrews 55 - 50 St John’s

So they dropped off a little bit in the middle there, I don’t know if you can really tell from those figures, and it is St John’s (of Cambridge not Oxford) who advance impressively to the second round

Final Score (for those who can’t add): St Andrews 120 - 255 St John’s

You feel like there are a number of teams St Andrews would have comfortably beaten, so they can count themselves very unlucky to not have even managed to make the play-off stage. St John’s however, dominated a match which was the highest scoring of the series by fifty points, and look fearsome going forward.

Please send me your favourite ‘divine’ and ‘stone’ synonyms for St John’s next appearance