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measuringbliss · 1 year ago

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Spider-Man Read-Through 022: The Master Plan of the Molten Man... and Dracula is also there (ASM 132-133, GSSM 1)

MASTERPOST

In this duo, we see an old friend... or two. And then, we meet a vampire. OoOoOh~!

I really enjoy the Molten Man's new design! Gorgeous cover.

It may be January in the Marvel-verse, but we're in May 74, publication-wise!

Liz is back! Hasn't been seen since issue 30, which explains why I keep mistaking Betty and her.

I don't know why, but I remembered this specific (and very ugly) maid. Poor lady.

Anyway, Raxton is hot, there I said it, we can get on.

When I first saw those panels, I thought it was exactly like how Romita would draw Liz... then I checked the credits again... and it's him! His soapy style is gorgeous as ever. Peter says she never got on with MJ, but given that MJ appeared for the first real time in #42... I don't know what he's on. The art of the retcon!

Ned, who's investigating the maid's intel on Raxton, almost dies as Raxton (actually the Molten Man) makes his room explode. I like that Ned (and the rest of the cast) are more involved! I miss them.

The Molten Man has apparently not been seen since #35, which checks out. It's the occasion for the artists to put gold, which is a shade we don't see so much.

Look, is this a safe space? Can I say what's on my mind?

The feet are really nice. I'm not particularly into feet (I know, TMI) but I'm really impressed by how it looks good. And the rest of Raxton's body is obviously quite well-done too. I'm not saying that Spider-Man comics made me gay, but they sure aren't beating the allegations.

Ned is very badly aged, but I like the damsel in distress look.

Raxton's radiation has a bad influence on Peter's metabolism, and he might very well die by the next issue...

Oh, who are we kidding?

In the readers' letters, it seems like Gwen's death has now mostly been forgiven, and someone is praising MJ--and she deserves it!

Even men want to see more of Peter! I'm afraid the situation isn't exactly adapted, however.

As a matter of fact, Spidey has already planned to party in a sauna with another man. Better luck next time!

(I love those smoke effects.)

Liz reveals that Raxton is her brother, which I completely forgot about.

We rarely see that kind of comedy, hahaha.

So. Um. It's a classic story of Spidey kind of being a jerk. Um. So Liz's brother is dead. For now. Maybe. Oof.

In the comments, there's also people talking about Russia's attack on Ukraine. Gerry Conway's run is really provocative, huh! I'm kind of loving it. His shaking of the status quo, not the attack.

I wonder if we'll get to see Liz's reaction :(

I'll do Giant-Size 1 later, it's currently more than 3 am. Hey, do you know what we'll get next time? A big batch... and Harry's big moment as, you know, the, the...!

Oh, you'll just have to wait!

______________________________________________________________

And here's the late addendum of Giant-Size Spider-Man #1!

I'm into that, actually!

So May's dying again (isn't she always?) and Peter needs to get her a vaccine. Ross Andru thus entertains us with a brilliant perspective shot.

Their homoeroticism never fails. Reading the summary of Marvel Team-Up 23 actually was a treat, because I finally got the answer to a years-old question of mine: did Iceman really rob a bank in the first few pages of this issue?

No, he didn't, folks!

Yes, you're getting a ton of screenshots for this part, since I know there's no more issue in this batch after this one.

Anyway, Dracula... Could you please breed me?

To me, Peter and Dracula crossing paths was like, an interplanetary event. It gave me chills. In fact, it still does and I think I should write Peter/Dracula smut now so thank you to the whole team, you've made a mess out of my brain, ARE YOU HAPPY?!? (It is 3 am.)

At least three factions are out there to find Maxfield, either to kill him (Dracula), use him for bartering (the Whisperer and Simian), and naturally Peter just wants to heal his aunt.

I remember that exact cosplay!!!! Funny what the brain remembers and doesn't. Sir, if you thirst so much, maybe I could come to your aide. You just need to ask. Okay, that's actually optional.

The Whisperer's men have a run in with Dracula and think he's Maxfield, which totally offends Dracula. As revenge, he decides to homosexualize his assailants.

Muahahaha.

The writing team then attempts to gaslight me into thinking Dracula isn't hot as fuck.

They're not doing a good job, I can tell you.

A woman is attacked by Dracula, Peter hears her, alerts the captain, who makes Dr. Maxfield come... and Simian follows them.

The fake Hawkgirl attacks one of them and is knocked unconscious. They escape with the man, Peter escapes too...

I'm all giddy!!!!!! Don't know why, but I love that "oh it's not the end yet... or rather, at all! I'm loving this romp. It's a complete joy.

In a great feat of misdirection, Simian and his men find Spider-Man... but actually, he's just a rando in a costume! That's funny and foreshadowed (given that everyone's in a costume anyway). And if I remember, this isn't the only misdirection...

The guy on the right is a fun one.

Meanwhile, Dracula is just as uncomfortable watching Babylon's first 10 minutes as I was. (It's a great movie, go watch it.)

Great mise-en-scène! The Whisperer has trapped the guy, but a bat follows... and hits Simian with its gay ray. Hurray!

Gosh, Dracula is such a girlboss. "I have been harassed--attacked--INSULTED..." Iconic.

Dracula eventually escapes, convinced that he just threw Maxfield overboard... but Spidey caught fake Robin Hood!

And thus, the biggest twist arises!

What a girlboss too.

And that's how it ends. A stellar issue! Loved it.

#spider-man #comic books #comics #the molten man #spideytorch #dracula #dracula/peter

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ollieofthebeholder · 1 year ago

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to find promise of peace (and the solace of rest): a TMA fanfic

<< Beginning < Prev. || AO3

Chapter 32: October 2016

“I think we’ve doubled back on ourselves again.” Jon wedged his torch under his chin to try and get it to point at the paper in his hands.

Martin, as he usually did, neatly relieved him of the torch and pointed it at the paper, and Jon once again wondered why he didn’t just ask Martin to hold it in the first place. “I don’t see any of our arrows.”

“I’m not altogether convinced someone hasn’t been moving them.”

“Okay, Sarah, you check your map and I’ll keep an eye out for the Cleaners.”

Jon considered Martin’s statement for a moment, map temporarily forgotten. “I have no idea what that’s referencing.”

Martin snorted softly. “Labyrinth. It’s a movie. We’ll have to watch it some night, you’ll probably love it. It’s one of Neenie’s favorites.”

Jon had been intrigued, and slightly suspicious, when he’d returned to work and Martin had produced the key to the tunnels with the information that Elias had essentially given them carte blanche to explore them. He’d at first thought to explore them on his own, but Martin had been waiting for him the first time he tried, and he’d given in fairly readily.

Actually, he found the experience was a lot more…enjoyable wasn’t the word. It was still oppressive, eerie, and at times terrifying to wander around the tunnels where Jane Prentiss had made a home, and where Gertrude Robinson had been brutally murdered by a man they all had to pretend they didn’t know had done it. But having Martin with him made it better, at least. He knew there was somebody there to catch him if he fell, to remind him to eat or drink water, to reassure him when he heard an odd noise or even to validate his fears if he noticed something off and doubted his own mind.

Also, he was enjoying spending time with Martin. They’d grown closer in the weeks they’d spent above Cinnamon Rose Books, but that had always been with someone else present—usually Gerry, often Melanie as well. Their efforts to map the tunnels were just the two of them. While they tried to focus on the route, and limited their discussion while walking to the tunnels themselves and speculation about where Gertrude might have been, they had opportunities to rest.

Well, opportunities was probably not the right word for it. More like forced stops.

As Jon studied the map he’d been drawing, he noticed the beam of light was shaking slightly. He looked up at Martin, concerned. “Are you all right?”

“Fine,” Martin said, completely unconvincingly. At Jon’s raised eyebrow, he relented. “Bit tired, I guess. How long have we been wandering around down here?”

Jon tilted his wrist to get his watch face into view. As soon as he saw the time, he did a double-take. “Good Lord.”

Martin huffed out a laugh. “I’m guessing it’s been a bit.”

“Nearly three hours, and we’ve been going this entire time. Martin, why didn’t you tell me you were getting tired?”

“It’s no big deal. I’ve dealt with worse.” Martin studied Jon sharply. “How are you feeling?”

“I could do with a rest,” Jon admitted.

Martin pointed the torch’s light ahead of them. “Look—that’s either a room without a door, or it’s a stairwell. Either way, should be a decent enough place for a sit.”

It was only a few yards away, but Martin stumbled and had to lean against the wall at one point. Jon tried to steady him and help him over to what turned out to be the top of a flight of steps. They sank down onto the top step together. By unspoken agreement, they both turned themselves sideways so that their backs were against the walls, letting them see down the stairs—to a point—as well as the way they’d come from.

Jon balanced the torch on its end, giving them a decent spread of light—at least enough to see one another and their immediate environs—then dug through the satchel he’d brought with him. He came up with two bottles of water and two protein bars, then handed one of each to Martin. Martin twisted the top of the water bottle open, then saluted him with it. “Na zdrowie.”

“Likewise.” Jon raised his own glass. “Is that…Russian?”

“Polish. It means ‘to your health’.”

“You really do speak Polish?” Jon blurted, then bit his lip, slightly embarrassed. He knew Martin had listened to at least some of the tapes and knew some of the things Jon had said about him, but…

Thankfully, Martin didn’t seem offended. He merely nodded before taking a deep drink of water. “My grandfather taught me.”

It seemed like a good opening to a conversation. Jon carefully peeled away the wrapper of the protein bar. His hands were a bit shaky, too—since moving back to his own flat after his shoulder healed, he wasn’t always as good about remembering to eat breakfast as he’d been when he’d stumbled out in the morning to find Martin or Gerry presiding over the frying pan, so his blood sugar was probably low—but he managed it before asking, “Are you…fluent?”

“Pretty much, yeah. Granddad was trilingual and used to switch back and forth all the time, and since I spent a lot of time with him when I was a kid, I did too. I learned pretty quick not to do that at school, though, or I’d just get made fun of.” Martin took a bite of his own protein bar.

Jon was intrigued. “So what languages do you know?”

Martin stared blankly at the wall over Jon’s head as he chewed, then swallowed. “Polish. Russian. French, some—I took a couple advanced courses when I was still in school, and Gerry used to help me practice. Yiddish, a little bit—I understand it better than I speak it. Same with Irish and Romanian. I can read Sanskrit and ancient Greek, but I can’t pronounce them properly. I know a little bit of Chinese—Cantonese, not Mandarin—but I’m not going to be having in-depth conversations, and don’t ask me to read it. I learned BSL as part of an after-school thing, but I’m rusty.” His lips twitched upwards in a smile as he returned his gaze to Jon. “And I know how to say ‘can I pet your dog’ in twenty-seven other languages.”

Jon laughed. “Of course you do. I should learn how to say ‘can I pet your cat’.” He tilted his head at Martin. “That’s…quite an impressive list. I had no idea you were such a polyglot.”

“Yeah, well, how many of those languages have come across our desks since we came down to the Archives? Other than a word in Polish or Russian here or there. Wasn’t like you were going to respond favorably if I told you, ‘No, I don’t actually speak Latin unless you count memorizing seven different choral arrangements with ‘Ave’ in the title, but if you can give me a Sanskrit passage I’ll tell you what it says.’”

“No, I suppose not.” Jon took a sip of water to cover his embarrassment.

Martin tilted his head at him. “What about you? What languages do you know?”

“Ah—not that many. Latin, obviously, and I actually studied ancient Greek, too. And I know a little Urdu, but not much.” Jon winced. “My grandmother didn’t—she wasn’t like your grandfather, I suppose. She was…very determined that I not get my languages confused. We only spoke English at home. I finally convinced her to start teaching me, but I was in university at that point, so it only happened when I was home on breaks. And I didn’t…practice as much as I should have when we were apart.” He considered for a moment. “I don’t think she minded all that much, to be honest.”

“Mum won’t let me talk to her in anything but English, either. Old prejudices die hard, I guess.” Martin’s eyes softened. “Granddad’s parents came over when they were newlyweds, just after the first World War. He said they never did learn to speak English very well. They died long before I was born, so I never met them, but he used to tell me stories.”

Jon smiled. “What about your grandmother?”

“I never met her, either. Mum refused to talk about her—all she ever said was that she’d abandoned her and wasn’t worth her time. Granddad never really talked about her, either, except to say I had her courage.” Martin sipped pensively at his water. “And I never met my dad’s family. I barely remember my dad…what about you? Was it just you and your grandmother?”

“Yes, my extended family wasn’t…close. I-I don’t really remember my parents either,” Jon confessed. “My father died when I was two, from an accidental fall, and my mother died from surgery complications a couple of years later. It was just me left, and I think most of my relatives had gone overseas, so my grandmother wound up being the one raising me.” He hesitated, then added in a low voice, “She never quite hid that she resented that.”

Martin’s eyes radiated with a sympathy so sincere it hurt, and Jon had to look away. He didn’t resist when Martin took his hands, though. “It’s not your fault. You know that, right? No child asks to be born, and certainly no child ever seriously asks to be orphaned. You needed someone, and it’s not your fault that it was her.”

Jon tried to laugh, but it came out sort of strangled. “You sound almost like you’re talking from experience.”

Martin was silent for a long moment before he said softly, “You remember that day I snapped at you about Ex Altiora?”

“Yes, I—I remember you telling Melanie and Gerry that was your mother’s birthday.” Jon still couldn’t look at Martin.

“Right, and I called her to wish her a happy birthday.” Jon nodded. “She wouldn’t take my call. I don’t know why I even bothered trying, honestly, because she always refuses my call. She hasn’t spoken to me in seven years. In my entire life, I’ve heard her say something kind about me once, and that was the first time I found a Leitner.” Martin squeezed Jon’s hands gently. “I’m lucky in that I had Granddad, and then Roger and Melanie—and Gerry, even if he’s not legally family—but I at least know a little bit of what you had to deal with. And I’m so sorry, Jon. Nobody deserves that.”

“I—I know she did her best. And at least I remember enough about my parents to know they loved me.” Jon tried to wipe at his eyes with his shoulder so he wouldn’t have to let go of Martin’s hands, then gave it up and looked up at Martin, blinking heavily to try and clear them. “And—and I’m not alone now. I have Tim and Sasha, and Gerry and Melanie…and you.”

“You have me,” Martin agreed softly. He let go of one of Jon’s hands, then reached forward to carefully cup his chin and wipe the tears away with a gentle caress of his thumb. It was a gesture of such tenderness that Jon wasn’t sure he could stand it without breaking apart. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so…cherished. As if he was something worth caring for, caring about.

Jon found himself wanting to close the gap between them, to…he didn’t know what. Possibly curl against Martin’s side and hold him until both of them forgot every person who should have loved them but didn’t. That was a slightly disconcerting feeling in and of itself, but it was also disconcerting that he didn’t want it to go away. Six months ago he likely would have ignored it, or at least tried to bury it, but after everything they’d been through, he leaned into Martin’s hand and tried to work up the courage to slide to the other side of the stairwell.

A sudden sound came from below them on the stairwell, making both of them jump. Martin’s hand fell away from Jon’s face, and he immediately missed the contact. He gripped Martin’s other hand tightly to keep him from letting go as they peered into the darkness.

“That—what was that?” Jon automatically dropped his voice to a whisper.

“I don’t know,” Martin murmured. “It didn’t sound like a worm. Or a spider. But it didn’t sound like a rat, either.”

“I haven’t seen any evidence of rats down here.”

“Me, either, which should probably be worrying this close to the river, but…” Martin trailed off. “We should get back to the Archives.”

“Yes. We should.” Jon peered into the darkness, then looked up at Martin again. “We’re not going to, are we.”

It wasn’t a question, and Martin didn’t answer it. Instead, he handed Jon his rubbish, then picked up the torch and pulled him to his feet. Jon laced their fingers together, and they made their way carefully down the stairs.

The stairs were narrow, and Jon kept a tight hold of Martin’s hand; the second he got stuck, or couldn’t go any further, they would turn back. Jon was not going on alone. Quietly, he asked, “Did Tim mention stairs at any point?”

“Just the ones we came out of up into the Archives, so Gertrude was up there somewhere,” Martin replied. “But I think that stopped being what we were looking for a while ago.”

“You’re not wrong.” They came to a landing, and Jon paused, peering into the darkened archway leading to the next level down. “Do we check this level or keep going down?”

Martin appeared to be weighing their options. Finally he said, “I don’t hear anything. Whatever made that noise, it isn’t on this floor. Let’s keep going. Carefully.”

Jon appreciated that addition.

It was another two flights down before Martin stopped dead, hissing for Jon to be quiet. Jon held his breath, and then he heard it, too—a rattling noise, like someone had tripped over a rock. He looked up at Martin, saw that he was game, and led him onto the level.

This one felt different, somehow. The air was faintly damp and tasted of rot and decay. The ceiling seemed just a little bit lower, the tunnels just a little bit narrower, and it felt like it should have been cold enough to see their breath steam ahead of them, but luckily wasn’t. Jon was thankful he’d worn Martin’s now-mended jumper, but he still stepped just a bit closer to Martin’s side as they traversed the tunnels on this floor. There was no dust—of course there wasn’t, this wasn’t that kind of a place—but it still felt as though this was a place that hadn’t been traversed by humans in ages, if ever.

“Jon.” Martin’s voice was a mere thread. “Look.”

Jon looked where the beam of light from the torch was pointed and inhaled sharply. As if in mockery of his thoughts a moment ago, there lay a crumpled packet of some kind, dark green and yellow.

Without letting go of Martin’s hand, as impractical as that was, Jon bent down and reached for it with trembling fingers. It had once held biscuits, an imported variety Jon had never particularly cared for, but now only crumbs remained. He turned it over to find the sell-by date. “This can’t have been down here long. A year at most.”

“I don’t think it’s been down here that long,” Martin said slowly. “That’s…not a bad thing, actually.”

“It’s not?”

“It means that whatever—whoever is down here still has to eat regular food. They’re not as far gone as Prentiss was.”

Jon hadn’t considered that, but it made sense. As he straightened up, a thought occurred to him. “That means Gerry isn’t that far gone, right? Since he still eats regular food?”

Martin was silent for a long moment, which told Jon he wasn’t going to like the answer. “He chooses to eat regular food, but it doesn’t really…do anything for him. If he tried to live off of just that, he’d fade pretty quickly.”

“I didn’t know he could die.”

“I never said he would die. I said he would fade. He’d be weak and helpless and—” Martin stumbled, nearly dropping the torch as he tried to balance himself against the wall. “Christ, what did I trip over this time?”

Jon took the torch from him and angled it at the ground. If he was being honest with himself, he didn’t expect to find anything—Martin was probably more worn out by their long journey than he was willing to admit, that was a lot of stairs—but to his surprise, there was a glass bottle lying on its side, still rocking slightly from being kicked. “It looks like a wine bottle.”

“Hang on.” Martin handed the torch back to Jon and knelt down this time, prodding the bottle lightly until the label faced upwards. “Jesus, this stuff runs at least a hundred pounds a bottle.”

“You’re sure?” Jon leaned over to get a closer look.

“It’s what they served at Mum and Roger’s wedding. I remember because Aunt Mary told us if we so much as looked at a single bottle of it too hard, there wouldn’t be enough of us left to put in the Book.” Martin got to his feet with a bit of effort. “And this is the same vintage. Unless our mystery basement dweller has had it sitting around for twenty years, it didn’t come cheap.”

“So a squatter with at least moderately expensive tastes.” Jon watched the bottle spin for a moment, then aimed the torch in the direction the neck was pointing. There was a turn off the corridor just there. “That way?”

“Hold still.” Martin reached across Jon’s body to dig into the bag, then pulled out the chalk they’d been using to mark the walls. He drew an arrow pointing back the way they’d come on the wall facing the corridor. He clearly found it awkward to hold the chalk, and seemed to be having difficulty drawing.

“Martin, are you sure you’re all right?” Jon asked, concerned.

“Fine. I’m left-handed, that’s all. Never really practiced with my right,” Martin admitted.

“Next time, we’ll hold hands the other way round,” Jon said without really thinking. As soon as his brain caught up to what he’d just let his tongue get away with, his face caught fire, but he decided he wasn’t going to apologize or take it back, because he actually meant it.

Martin paused in his work and gave him a crooked, almost shy smile before back to finish the arrow.

“There,” he said at last, stepping back to study the mark. “Good enough?”

Jon squeezed Martin’s hand. “It’s perfect.”

Martin laughed and turned—then froze, the smile dropping off his face instantly. “What the—?”

“What?” Jon turned to see what Martin was looking at, what might be coming down the corridor—and felt his blood run cold.

The corridor was gone.

Frantically, Jon shone the torch along the wall, but it was solid, unbroken stone. “It—I swear there was a passage there a moment ago, I—”

“There was. But there’s not now,” Martin murmured. He reached out hesitantly with his free hand and touched the wall. “I-it’s not a door, it’s…that should not be possible.”

“I didn’t hear anything,” Jon said in a low voice. “Did you?”

“No. No, I didn’t.” Martin took a deep breath. “Right. I guess we keep going straight then.”

“Yes.” Jon turned to face the way they were headed and found he was standing closer to Martin than before. It didn’t really surprise him—he felt very strongly that he needed the comfort—but then Martin cursed quietly and Jon looked up at him. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, just—banged my shoulder on the wall, that’s all. Sorry, would you—can we get more to the middle of the tunnel?”

“Of course,” Jon said immediately, taking a step to the left…or trying to. His foot knocked against the wall, and he turned to regard it sharply, then looked back at Martin. The panic was starting to make itself known. “Are…are these tunnels getting narrower?”

“No,” Martin said under his breath. Jon thought it was an answer, until he caught the note of panic in his voice. “No, no, no…”

“Martin? Martin.” Jon squeezed Martin’s hand tightly, then moved closer to him with the thought of wrapping his arms around him to calm his panic.

Martin yanked his glasses off with an almost violent movement. Jon felt more than heard the static gathering, slowly increasing at first, then faster and faster, rising to an almost fever pitch, painful even though it wasn’t directed at him. He let out a strangled cry and did the only thing he could think of—pinched a bit of Martin’s skin sharply between two fingernails. Martin gasped hard, but the static died instantly, making both of them slump.

From the darkness, a voice spoke, a single word, said without inflection or intonation, just a simple command. “Leave.”

Jon didn’t wait to be told twice. He began backing up, eyes fixed on the darkness ahead of them, still holding Martin’s hand so tightly it had to be hurting both of them. Then again, Martin was gripping him just as tightly.

They had to go single file before they got back to the stairwell. Jon didn’t like that and held onto Martin tighter, determined that he would not leave without him; if the halls got too narrow, if Martin were trapped, Jon would stay with him and damn the consequences. Luckily, they made it without too much difficulty, although it was a tight squeeze for Martin at the very end. The second there was space for them to turn around, they did, pelting up the stairs as fast as either of them could go.

Despite how far down they’d descended, and how far they must have explored overall, Jon didn’t think it was more than ten minutes before they were pushing up the trapdoor and emerging into the Archives, both of them collapsing to their knees at the top, gasping for breath. Jon’s face felt sticky and wet, and when managed to glance at Martin, he saw that he was pale as a sheet.

A shadow loomed over them, almost sending Jon into a panicked tumble back down the steps before Tim said, “Are you two all right?”

“Fine,” Martin and Jon said in unison.

Tim did not look remotely convinced, but he didn’t call them on it, either. “You guys were down there a hell of a long time. Find anything?”

“Maybe.” Jon didn’t know what they had found, only that it didn’t want them down there, and he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to go back yet, either. His heart was finally beginning to slow down, and he managed to look properly at Tim, who was holding something in his hand. “Is everything…all right?”

“Nothing major.” Tim waved the piece of paper he was holding. “I was just getting ready to come looking for you. Rosie just called down—a woman phoned the Institute, said she’s coming by to give a statement. She’ll be here in about twenty minutes.”

“Thank you.” Jon took the paper from Tim and was acutely aware that his hand was shaking. “Where’s Sasha?”

“Lunch. I was going to go out myself once you two got up.”

“Take the afternoon. Both of you. We…made you do the work all morning.” Jon took a deep, steadying breath. “But maybe…help us cover up this trapdoor first?”

Thank God, Tim didn’t ask questions. Probably he didn’t want to know. He shoved one of the disused desks over so that one set of legs rested on the now-closed trapdoor, then waved to them both and headed out. Jon watched him go, then turned to Martin, who had made them both very strong cups of tea and was seated at his desk. “How are you feeling?”

“Tired,” Martin admitted. “I shouldn’t have tried to Look that deep, but…I was panicking, I admit it. I’m sorry, Jon.”

“It’s not your fault. I was panicking, too.” Jon reached out and gingerly touched Martin’s cheek. “Was it…what was it?”

“I’m pretty sure it was the Buried.” Martin’s voice was barely above a whisper. “But it wasn’t…it wasn’t right. Not strong, not enough to…hurt us? Not enough to Mark you, anyway. It felt…controlled somehow.” He took a deep breath and added, “And I’ve heard that voice before. Somewhere. I just—I can’t remember where.”

Upset, Jon took Martin’s face in both hands and pressed their foreheads together. “Martin. Martin, please don’t hurt yourself trying to…we can stay out of the tunnels. We don’t need to go down there, not—not now. Not for a while. Promise me you’ll be careful.”

“I will. I will.” Martin covered Jon’s hands with his own. “You be careful, too. Please.”

“I will. I won’t go down without you.” Jon took a deep breath, inhaling the faint scents of mint and cherries that always seemed to cling to Martin, then reluctantly eased back. “If—if you need to take the rest of the day, too…”

“I’ll stay. Until you leave.” Martin managed a small smile. “Don’t know how much use I’ll be, really, but I’m not leaving you to it alone.”

Jon laughed. It came out a little broken, but it was genuine. “Tell you what. How about I take this statement that’s coming in, and then we can call it a day, too? We’ll, I’ll make it up to Tim and Sasha later.”

Martin’s smile broadened. “Sounds good. I’ll see what I can do in the meantime.”

“Good.”

“Excuse me?”

At the sound of the voice, both of them turned to see a woman approaching them, clutching a cape around her shoulders and looking agitated. Jon hoped he didn’t look as ruffled as he felt. “Yes, can we help you?”

“I—I’m here to—” The woman broke off, looking confused. “They told me—”

“Yes, Rosie called and said you’d be coming to make your statement,” Jon said, as kindly as he could. “Step into my office and we’ll get set up. Right this way, Ms.”—he surreptitiously checked the paper Tim had handed him—“Richardson.”

#ollie writes fanfic #to find promise of peace (and the solace of rest)#tma fanfic #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #claustrophobia tw #mention of childhood trauma #slight misuse of beholding powers

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werewolfwriter323 · 1 year ago

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Hello! I don't usually post any of my shit online, but I am tired of all my writing and drawings just sitting on my computer, so I figured I'd just dump it on here.

I'll start with my TMA AUs, just cause I've got a lot of those, lolz.

(Also please note that none of these are finished writing, just the ideas that I had at the time.)

WerewolfWriter323's The Magnus Archives AUS

Mashups with other media

The Magnus Archives X Fullmetal Alchemist Brotherhood

This is going to be a Mashup of the two worlds, and it will follow a similar storyline with Fullmetal Alchemist Brotherhood.

The Fullmetal Archivist?

Fears and Their Avatars/Alchemists

Envy- The Stranger

Lust- The Web

Gluttony- The Flesh

Wrath-The Hunt

Greed- The Corruption

Sloth-The Buried

Pride-The Dark

The Slaughter- Kimblee

The Eye-Father (Also Hohenheim and later Edward)

The Desolation- Roy

The Vast- Mei

The Spiral- Olivier Mira Armstrong

The Lonely- Alphonse

The End- Scar

The basic plot follows Edward as the head archivist of the Archives in the basement of central command. I will post a more detailed layout and stuff in a separate post.

Mother May I (An AU inspired by Ella Enchanted)

So in this AU Martin is the one cursed to obey.

The story goes as follows, one day when he was a preteen. Martin was taking care of his mother and happened across a Spider that was an agent of the Web. While taking it outside, he wished to himself that he could just do better and actually obey what she tells him to do. The Web grants his wish, and now Martin is Marked and bound by the web. He now has to follow any direct command that someone gives him, he can try to disobey, but if he does, webs will appear and start to tear into him, until he does what he was commanded.

The story then skips to him as an archival assistant, we learn that Martin is still bound by the web, but he had seemingly been learning to live with it. Also a side note, we learn that Martin has the free will to tell others about being "cursed" by the web, but he chooses not to, fearing that someone might either use it against him or not believe him.

182 Days Later (A 28 Days Later AU)

So this is an AU set after Jon wakes up from his 6 month coma. Before he woke up a ritual was attempted by the Slaughter and The Corruption at the same time, and while it technically failed, it released a blood borne virus that causes people to infect others with the slaughter, this allowed it to start quickly becoming widespread all over the UK. When he is woken up by Oliver Banks, the virus is in full swing, and he now has to try and survive and find Martin, who left him a note that gave him very little information about where to go, or what was happening.

Jon tries to Know where he is, along with Georgie. But because Martin is heavily marked by the lonely at this point, and Georgie not having any fear, he isn’t able to see either of them. He also tries to Know more about what’s going on outside, but when he Sees, it’s all chaos and rampant infection killing each other in a rage. It quickly becomes overwhelming, and Jon decides to just go out and look for himself. After he goes outside, he ends up getting attacked by a few rage-infected people, as he is running away he gets saved by Georgie. She has the admiral with her and she is trying to find Meline.

The plot would then follow Jon and Georgie as they try to find Martin and the rest of the Archival crew.

Branching from the original universe.

TMA Private I/Eye AU

The basic idea that I had for this AU is that Jon still manages to get beholding powers, but has started his own Private Investigator agency, and uses his beholding powers to solve crimes and the like. Sasha is the head archivist at the Magnus Institute, and her two assistants are Tim and Gerry. She occasionally goes to Jon for help if she wants to actually do something more with the statements, then just organize them.

Martin becomes Jon's assistant/secretary after he comes upon his hiring sign on his way home from grocery shopping.

Furry/Anthropomorphic AU

Archivist +Archival Assistants

Jon-Havana Brown Cat

Martin-Highland Cow

Tim-Golden Retriever

Sasha-Roe Deer

Melanie- Egyptian Goose

Brashira-Though/draft breed horse

Daisy-German Shepherd

Avatars

Elias- Short Eared Owl

Jane Prentiss-Sheep

Peter Lukas-Ringed Seal

Not-Sasha-Baboon

Micheal Shelly-Blue Ring Octopus

Helen Richardson-Platypus

Jude Perry-Camael

Julia Montauk- Beagle

Trevor Herbert-English Foxhound

Nikolia Orisinov- Chimp

Oliver Banks-Crow

Simon Fairchild- White-throated Needletail

Mike Crew-Buzzard

Annabelle Cane-Pipistrelles Bat

Statement Players

Gertrude-Red Fox

Jurgen Litner-Mountain Hare

Gerry Keay-European Polecat

Breekon & Hope- Siberian Huskies or Altai Horses

Agnes Montague- Common European Adder

Others

Georgie-Borzoi (Black furred)

So that's the basics of them for now. I am going to be posting more about them soon, and I'll individualize and tag the posts accordingly.

Please feel free to ask any questions or anything about my thought process and stuff.

#the magnus archives #tma #tma au #tma aus #fullmetal alchimist brotherhood #werewolfwriter does stuff #werewolfwriter writes

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awellboiledicicle · 2 years ago

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i was listening to “Greatest Show Unearthed” and wanted to draw Homer around the time of the Unknowing and one fighting with april, but then i realized/......

thats just two different dudes i gotta design and that’s assuming Nikola doesn’t destroy him ahead of the unknowing for being an insufferable fuckhead that pissed off the Web by getting a hate hard on for their precious little weirdo when he SHOULD HAVE been looking for the ancient skin.

Which, honestly he might only survive because he doesn’t show his face around the archive until Jon’s already been taken because he wants to use April’s skin. And by survive i mean “April, who has just been taunted by Bingo re: where Jon is, is going to rip this monster apart with their bare hands and is gonna encase the mangled metal frame left over into concrete to make a tasteful--if small-- bird bath for the back garden”

Also because Homer does not have the braincell when he does this, might have Gerry there to help because the other option is Tim and-- ok no, Tim helping destroy a not-person is apt and i like that idea.

#eldritch bingo au

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shoggoth-the-bitch · 3 months ago

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I haven't listened to many podcasts but this seems fun.

RT Podcast/the Drunktank

The Adventure Zone

Khoshekh

Malevolent

Welcome to Night Vale

I think Martin would get along with Carlos and Oskar. They all seem chill, at least at first.

So many people would hate Jon! Like it's fun to picture him meeting Cecil and Arthur, because eye motif but he can be such a prick. And Cecil would just call him rude to his face and Arthur might even fight him, given his feelings on cults and monsters. Still love him though.

Early first season of TMA I couldn't tell Elias and Tim's voice apart for some reason. Got easier as time went on though.

Malevolent. Arthur literally whimpers and does the whole ragged breathing so often.

The Magnus Archives, probably. I was on pain meds when I first started listening to it and I sometimes think I didn't totally absorb all of it.

In full? None. But I have relistened to certain episodes for all I've listed.

Probably Malevolent. I really like Lovecraftian horror and the fandom seems so nice.

Draw, play games, scroll tumblr, live blog, look up words the podcast men say because I've never even kinda heard them before. Really whatever my ADHD so desires.

So, so many! Like, are you asking who I love most? Because I'm not totally sure. Maybe Michael or Nikola or Martin? Hard to pick between the three. One's a big, fucked up guy and one's a fucked up clown and one just desperately needs a hug.

Kevin. He hurt the weird floating kitty!

Nikola Orsinov/Fun House by Pink, for admitted obvious reasons.

TMA. But to be fair, I'm working on a fic for that one.

Rooster Teeth Podcast, mostly due to the hindsight that so many of the people on the show were just really bad to their staff.

Canon couple? Cecil and Carlos, they're actually healthy together which I can't say for most of the others. Non-canon? Arthur and John all the way! Those two are disasters and I love that for them.

Gerry Keay! Man had the punk/goth aesthetic of my dreams! I want what that man had.

Podcast themed ask game cause I’m bored!

1.) what’s the first podcast you listened to?

2.) what’s a podcast you’ve cried over?

3.) Favorite podcast pet? (Idk if that’s worded weird but like if one of the characters has a cat or smth)

4.) what podcast has the best soundtrack/music?

5.) what’s a podcast that you really like but find it kinda hard to follow the plot?

6.) what characters from different podcasts do you think would be friends?

7.) what characters from different podcasts do you think would hate each other?

8.) what’s a podcast where you mix up the characters voices?

9.) what’s a podcast that you know the characters so well you can recognize their breathing?

10.) what’s a podcast that you wish you could listen to again for the first time?

11.) what’s a podcast you’ve listened to more than once?

12.) what’s a podcast you wish more people listened to?

13.) what do you like to do while listening to a podcast?

14.) who is a podcast character that you love?

15.) who is a podcast character you can’t stand?

16.) what songs do you associate with a certain character/ podcast?

17.) what’s a podcast that you can’t stop thinking about?

18.) are their any podcasts that you regret listening to?

19.) whose your favorite podcast couple?

20.) whose a podcast character that you think would dress really cool?

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kieran-the-writer · 1 month ago

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Statement of Salome Lukas

X. To Defy the Lonely

CW: Self-harm scars

9th July 2007

On the walk to the karaoke bar, Gerard suddenly stopped and grabbed Salome’s shoulder to stop her. His blue eyes scanned her face before taking her arm and pushed up her sleeve. He saw a few new scars littering her inner arm. He glanced over at Michael, who had stopped beside them and was looking at them in confusion and concern.

“Uh, could you give us a minute?” Gerard asked, jerking his head. Michael hesitated for a moment before catching the hint and giving Gerard and Salome some space. When Gerard looked at Salome again, her head was down but she was looking at Michael in her peripheral. Gerard gave Salome a slight shake to bring her attention back to him. “You haven’t been feeding it again,” he said. It was a statement, not a question or an accusation. “The only times you get so stuck in your head that you do this”—He lifted her arm.—“is when you haven’t fed it in a while. It’s killing you, Salome.”

Salome pulled her arm away and rubbed her other arm. It was the arm with the tattoos. “It’s not that easy…”

“I know.” Gerard sighed and crossed his arms. “But you can’t just neglect the—” He glanced over at Michael again, standing near enough that Gerry could see the concern on his face but not so close that he would easily overhear. “The you-know-what. I…” Gerard’s shoulders slumped as he put his hands on Salome’s shoulders again. “You’re always there to listen when my mum's being awful. You’re like a sister to me. I care about you, and so does blondie over there. Look at him. He looks like a golden retriever who’s worried about his owner.”

He paused, Salome rested her fingers lightly on her forehead with a sigh, then Gerard said, “That’s not the best comparison, but you know what I mean. Feed it, Salome. Tonight.”

Salome shook her head. She didn’t like feeding the Lonely, no matter how awful it made her feel to go too long without. “But I’m fine,” she said.

Gerard cut her off with a shake of the head. “Yeah, for now. What if you’re up there on stage, and you collapse? Sal, please, just sing something that draws it out in people. Something to tide you over until you can get a proper meal.”

Salome almost smiled. “You really shouldn’t be encouraging me to eat people.”

“If it’s a choice between losing you and having you around, I’ll always take having you, squirt.”

Salome nudged Gerry with her elbow as he ruffled her hair. “I’m only two months younger than you,” she said.

“But about five years shorter,” he joked; that was true enough. Salome was over a foot shorter than him. Gerard turned serious again. “But seriously, promise me you’ll at least find some way to feed it passively until you can sneak away for a while and get something more substantial.”

Salome sighed and finally gave in. She nodded and nudged him with her elbow again. “All right.”

“Good.” Gerard poked Salome’s forehead, gestured Michael back over, and crossed laced his fingers behind his head. “Lead the way, Salome.”

Salome made a quiet huffing sound that might have been a laugh. “Will you ever stop rhyming my name with things?”

“Never.” Gerard looked Michael over as he joined the two friends again, from his curly blonde hair to his flared jeans. “You’re tall,” he said. He looked down at Salome, whose head didn’t even come up to Michael’s shoulders. “Where did you say you found him? Top of an overgrown beanstalk?”

Underneath the jokes and the teasing, Gerard couldn’t help wondering: Was Salome meeting Michael all part of her uncle’s plan for her, whatever it was? Or he simply an unaccounted-for variable? The latter seemed more likely. Peter probably couldn’t have fathomed that Salome might develop a crush, and a crush on a member of the Magnus Institute archives, on top of that. Salome had said it herself: Peter Lukas wouldn’t be happy to learn she had a crush on one of Elias’s people.

But encouraging Salome’s crush on Michael wouldn’t be Gerard’s first act of defiance to an authority figure. So, he carried on. He knew Salome, steeped as she was in the Lonely, needed more connections, more ties to humanity. He wasn’t about to talk her out of getting to know Michael Shelley.

Masterlist

#statement of salome lukas #tma oc #tma fanfic #cw sh mention

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magnetarmadda · 11 months ago

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WIP Wednesday Thursday because time is fake lol, thanks @blasphemous-lies-and-deceit for tagging me! I’m not tagging anyone since it’s not Wednesday anymore, but for all my writer friends, if you’ve got a wip you wanna share, consider yourself tagged

I’ve been finding writing very hard lately (anything, not just fic, which is rough because my job right now is all about writing research proposals and reports and articles), so this is a piece of what I’ve got for the next chapter of Love Like Gravity, which I will finish someday

The kitchenette is quiet at half seven, just Jon and the sound of the kettle to fill the small space. He's only half paying attention to the motions of his hands as they prepare his mug, a worn blue one Gerry gave him years ago when Jon started grad school. It lived on his student desk and has followed him ever since.

He's probably mostly awake by now, but it's hard to be sure. As the newest junior faculty member, Jon, of course, is teaching an 8 AM, and he's considering switching to coffee to get him through. This level of exhaustion on the everyday? It might kill him.

The click of the kettle draws his focus from daydreaming about his soft bed, and he pours hot water over the tea bag. He stirs in sugar and then pulls the mug close, the scent of the steeping tea a poor substitute for the caffeine, but he knows he'll be grumpy for hours if he drinks weak tea.

Jon turns to head back to his office and is startled by a colleague opening the door. He hasn't yet learned everyone's names, but he does recognize the man who gives a quick wave hello—Jon saw him speak at a conference a few years ago about developments in dark energy research.

"Jon, right?" he asks, his hand pausing between them as he spots Jon's mug.

Jon feels himself flush a bit. "Ah, y-yes," he says, half-grimacing. "Jon Sims. You're Oliver Banks, right? I saw your talk on—"

"—dark energy and the modifications of gravity. Yeah, one of my more popular ones," Oliver says, grinning. "Big mistake, giving the plenary at an international conference. People keep recognizing me."

"O-oh," Jon replies, his stomach sinking at his accidental faux-pas. "I'm s—"

Oliver raises his hands and makes quick calming motions. "Sorry, sorry," he says gently, like Jon's a spooked cat. "I forget most people aren't aware of my sense of humor. No, it's nice to meet you, and I'm glad you remember my talk."

Jon offers his best attempt at a polite smile, his tired brain struggling to figure out what to say next. "What brings you in so early?" he finally lands on, shifting his mug to one hand.

"Conference call with a couple of colleagues in other timezones," Oliver shrugs. "India, Japan, Germany—getting us all for an hour each week meant some sacrifices."

Jon snorts, thinking of a colleague he's trying to finish a paper with who moved home to Russia a few months ago. "I can sympathize," he says.

"Meetings for you as well?" Oliver asks, now moving to the kettle to refill it. Jon shift his body, following Oliver as they talk.

Jon laughs now. "I wish," he admits, shrugging. "I was assigned the 8 AM first year astronomy course."

"Ouch," Oliver replies, also laughing. "I wish I understood why someone decided astronomy should be taught in the morning. I spent years pushing to move it to the evening."

Jon nods, thinking of the conversation he had last week with Elias asking for the same thing.

"Maybe we should start a petition," Oliver adds. "Get enough faculty on it, maybe we can convince someone."

Before he can answer, Jon's phone buzzes in his pocket. He pulls it out and sees his calendar reminder. He grimaces as he dismisses it. "Speaking of," he says, waving his phone half-heartedly as Oliver looks over at him. "I have to go unlock the door."

With a matching grimace, Oliver wishes him luck, and Jon hurries to his office for his bag and the file folder of freshly printed problem sets.

#my writing #my fic #wip game #tag game #the magnus archives

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nerdypixel · 8 months ago

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Okay I think you have a point. The women in tma don't get enough attention.

And this might be due to sexism, but I think there are more factors at play, especially if you consider that (from what I've seen so far at least) the women in the Magnus protocol get much more love and attention than the men.

I think it is a difference in who is at the center of the story.

Jon and Martin are the main characters. Elias/Jonah is the main antagonist. It makes sense that most stories include these three.

I also think that it is logical that most mlm fanfiction is about Jon and Martin, especially since the fandom is exploring a lot of different relationship things with these two characters specifically.

Jon's in cannon asexuality is explored and discussed in all the different forms it can take and this is a huge and important part of the fandom, as good ace representation is still rare to come by. Martin is a great exploration of depression and parental dynamics and insecurities in relationships. They are undeniably the main characters, so much of the fandom is latching onto them and dissecting them from many different angles.

The relationship between Georgie and Melanie just doesn't get as much screen time. It is established in a somewhat awkward, short scene in between major plot points, so it doesn't get focused on as nearly as much as Jon and Martins relationship.

Furthermore, it seems to be an overall healthy relationship, so there is no easy drama to write. (if you compare them to the other in cannon established relationships) So I think more inexperienced writers shy away from them a bit, because they have to do a lot more ground work to get a good story. Also I didn't know that their relationship tag was this, as someone who joined the fandom just last year. I agree they do need more love, as I think they ARE overall interesting characters, but I also struggle to include them in the fanfic I'm currently writing, because they get to live in the end. (I will include them in different AUs though)

Regarding ground work in setting a story... With Jon and Martin it is enough to say "this is set at point x in plot" and then just write a one shot set in the Archives. You don't have to set up anything.

Another thing to consider is that there are a lot of one shots out there. A general rule in writing is: The more characters you include, the longer the story will be!

This is because you need words to describe what each character is doing. So a lot of one shots only feature two characters at most. In case of this fandom, the two characters in question are most likely Jon and Martin, as they are the main characters and the main relationship, explaining part of why there are so much more mlm fanfiction.

Also... Peter and Elias do have this weird relationship with each other and that gets featured a lot, as well as the weird dynamic between Jon and Elias. Hot, somewhat creepy villains are just fun to explore.

Now regarding specific characters.

I think that Sasha gets less attention then Tim for example, is because she died so early. Don't get me wrong, I love her a lot, but she is not nearly as fleshed out as Tim and her dynamic with the others is not as well developed. Wich means there is a lot more potential there, but it also means, that as a writer, I'm scratching my head a lot, trying to get her characterization right.

As an artist I have a different problem. That is finding a good design for her. Somehow she always looks wrong, when I try to draw or picture her, wich is kind of in cannon, but it also means, it's a lot of frustration. Frustration I don't necessarily have with drawing Jon or Martin or even Gerry for that matter.

When you compare Gerry and Georgie, then you are right that Georgie gets more of a speaking role and I do think she is crucial to the plot, because she took Jon in and his relationship dynamic with her is important characterization for him. She is also super important for the whole later part of the story.

However, it would be unfair to reduce Gerry to only his speaking role (wich was phenomenal). First you have to acknowledge that his speaking role was plot deciding. He was the one to really explain things and make sense of things and helped Jon a lot with his statement, moving the plot forward big time.

He is also a really tragic character. And gets a lot more characterization (and a cannon design) through the statements. He is in a lot of them, doing badass, mysterious stuff. His first introduction is as early as episode 4. We don't get to hear Martin until Episode 22. Gerry sets a lot of things in motion. His relationships to Gertrude and Mary are interesting to speculate and talk about. You can analyze a lot of stuff there.

Also Jon pronouncing his name as Jared and the confusion that lead to is at least part of the tags.

The difference between Helen and Michael might be because Helen gets more depth.

Michael is mostly fun and his laugh is iconic. His relationship to Gertrude is an interesting factor the parts of the fandom I've seen want to explore more. Personally I find Michael more fun to draw, because he is described in a way, that burned itself into my head. I'm also friends with some people who go absolutely feral about Doorkeay (Gerry x Michael) so that's part what influences me as well.

Helen is more fleshed out and definitely interesting and I will draw her more soon, but I also don't like her as much. She is a really good character, but not as likable, because we see more of how she affects people. With her the manipulation and lies are much more clear and while Jon regarded Michael with neutral suspicion and caution, his relationship with Helen is more complicated, leading to him killing her in the end. Because we see the story mostly through Jons eyes, our feelings towards the matter get influenced by his, if that makes sense. So, I don't think she gets hated, but she is just not as likable.

That's another problem I see with Georgie as well. She gets hated, because we see how Jon gets hurt by her not helping him, when he would need her the most. She is making a completely rational decision, setting a boundarie and enforcing it at that point in the story, but because we are seeing it through Jons eyes, we only get the hurt and little to none of the rationality and many fans can't separate this.

Now I think there is the same problem with the Archival Assistants overall in the later part of tma. They are largely antagonistic towards Jon throughout season 4, wich is good writing and completely understandable and human of them, considering the circumstances, but that paints them in kind of a negative light when you are rooting for the wet cat Archivist.

I think overall the women in tma are just too capable, competent and badass to make fun off or put in silly situations, so they get featured in more serious stories. When I see them included in stuff, it is usually the more time intensive and well thought out variety.

And another point I haven't mentioned... Most of the women are not in the podcast from the beginning. That's a main difference I see with the Magnus protocol for example. In tma we get Jon for the most part of season one, a little bit of Sasha, then Tim, Martin and Elias. Melanie, Georgie, Basira and Daisy are established later, so they appear more as side characters, regardless of how important they are to the story.

Most stories that are set in season 1 will naturally feature more men, based of how tma is structured. With the Magnus protocol, we have a lot of badass (and wet cat) women from the start, so that might explain the difference there.

The focus is also different. There are many more dynamics established at the same time and even though Sam is one important main character, we also get to follow Gwen and Alice and Celia. There is not one or two main characters, but 4, three of wich are women.

Lena is also a really important part, similar to Elias.

So to conclude, this might not be a sexism issue, but an issue about who is at the center of the story. How is the plot framed. And wich characters are we supposed to be rooting for. I will not deny that sexism might play a role as well. I will not deny that the women in tma absolutely need more love and attention, but I will not put the sexism stamp on the entire fandom, when there are much more factors to consider.

It is more complex than just sexism.

Most fans are lovely people, who are obsessing over a handful characters out of a HUGE pool of them and yes some things come down to preference.

Tma has so many niches and so many characters to choose from. It is impossible to put the same attention and care to all of them.

Ok putting serious thought into this

SEXISM IN THE TMA FANDOM

[pt: sexism in the tma fandom]

There are a lot of female characters in tma, all very complex. Yet they dont get a lot of attention in the fandom, which I am going over

Ao3 is a good for this actually. This is the tma tag without any filter

The top character tag consists of 6 male characters and 4 female characters, with sasha barely being in the top 5. Hell GERARD KEAY a character who had a speaking role in ONE EPISODE has more fics than daisy, a character whos been in a large large amount of episodes. Georgie, someone who was in the majority of season 3 and parts of season 4 and 5, isnt even in the top 10

Along with that the top 10 male characters that have been tagged on fics a total of 51041 times, with top 10 female characters at only a mere 12199 times. The difference between those is 38842

The top ships tags has mlm at 15588 fics tagged as such with wlm ships being at 1830. That is a difference of 13728 fics.

And lets check tumblr

Here are 4 female characters in tma and their follower tags on tumblr

See thats all good now lets look at them men!

oh. well then

Shipping is not much better:

Jonmartin is so much more popular than wtgfs. And before someone says 'Well wtgfs dont get much in canon' there should be some people who actually acknowledge them

A more clear example is pitting Helen and Michael against eachother. Helen undeniably has more screentime, while Michael has around 4 episodes total? So lets see the results

And as expected it is again, much higher in the male category regardless of how much screentime he actually gets

Lets do another one, a male character that is barely in the series vs a female character that is in the series a lot

And theres so so much more, such as how all the women get demonized while the men get praised, Im just pointing out the clear unavoidable facts

So all in all even if the women DO get attention they still are horrifically overshadowed by the men. Hope you all had fun, please fix this the girls dont deserve it

Also I swear if one person goes 'The men are just more interesting' or 'I just have a preference theres nothing wrong with that' you are entirely missing the point. Having a preference towards men is sexism plain and simple, look at yourself and fix it

#tma #the magnus archives #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #georgie barker #gerry keay #michael distortion #helen distortion #wtgfs #jonmartin #daisy tonner #sasha james #melanie king #basira hussain #timothy stoker #elias bouchard

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phocids · 4 years ago

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I am thinking about Eric Delano :(

#listening to bloodwater ballad..#i might draw him and gerry if i get time to #im helping move my uncles stuff tho :/#the magnus archives

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distortionenby · 3 years ago

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Michael Distortion and DoorKeay headcanons

Ok, some might seem repeated or similar to other people's but these thoughts got reinforced when I read other people's HCs and I'm itching to write the list.

Also, everyone's alive and happy in the Archives. AND post-apocalypse.

Michael can play music out of thin air. However, all of the songs seem to "hiccups" besides the static intervention.

Surprisingly, now everyone in the archives seems to prefer the "new" Dolly Parton song 9 to 9 to 9 to fi-five.

Keeping a human-looking shape feels straining, like an old rubber band being stretched to the point of slightly tearing.

It unfurls when relaxed, depending on how tired it is, different bits and pieces distort more than others (for example, the legs will sprawl like never ending noodles, but other times the hair will just POOF in a funny way).

When it needs to be around people, it wears extremely oversized clothes in order to relax without occupying the whole place. Think of it becoming some sort of mountain of yarn held together by a massive t-shirt. We're talking Jared Hopworth's sizes of clothes.

You know those mesh bags that go in the back of plane seats or car seats? You know how sometimes your nails have like, a spiky bit, like a broken tiny bit and you can't usually see it but if you drag your nails onto a fabric it "scratches" or gets like, stuck??? Michael's whole being goes through that with those mesh bag things. And any other object with that material.

It needs socks to feel safe. Really bad. But either those that are very short, or those that get up until right below the knee. Other socks just... feel?

Michael has sensory issues. It hates touching other "static-y" textures. It feels weird when something that feels just like itself touches it.

Michael is AMAB enby, don't come for me.

It knows how to use a smartphone but the tactile screen cannot read its fingers so it uses one of those mini-keyboards and a stylus bc otherwise it would never be able to play games on the Archivists phone.

It asks Jon if he has any games on his phone. Constantly. Just because it thinks it's funny when throughout a statement there's a sudden door slam and a very weird voice just going "Archivist, do you have games in that?"

Michael carries all the groceries in one hand, in one trip. Strong noodle buddy.

However it can't hold stuff like cups or bottles. Has the grasp strength of a claw machine, and also its fingers can't let it use the handles of mugs or teacups. Sad noodle buddy :'(

Gerry holds its finger when it feels upset. He respects that Michael needs space but he knows it also craves a slight squeeze for grounding so when he sees its finger slowly stretching and tapping next to him softly, he holds it until it retracts.

Gerry and Michael sleep bunk-bed style when Michael is too tired to keep a regular human shape or when they don't have a place to sleep comfortably. Basically it puts a door on the wall almost touching the ceiling and drops its hands to make a hammock-like bed for Gerry.

Gerry once asked if he could draw a thing on Michael's door. It got offended but dropped a few washable markers onto the floor and then left to its hallways.

When Gerard started drawing, the door giggled and rattled a bit. He took this as an interesting challenge and ended up drawing a whole landscape that seemed to be on a TV with bad signal. Michael was amused by this, somehow.

Both DESPISE being cold. Michael for obvious trauma reasons and Gerard because he's too used to being near fire or wearing super thick clothes so whenever they go on vacation they head to arid places.

They visited the Atacama desert once and some nearby areas, and they thought Mike Crew was there because the air feels so fucking non-existent there omg?

They also thought they would be hot all the time but were so confused by the air thing that they forgot desert climates go on subzero temperatures during the night. Top 10 anime betrayals.

Gerard finds out Michael can do the :3 face and shows everyone. Tim loses it. Martin asks for more character-made emojis.

Gerard knows how to navigate the halls and is one of the few who has been able to partially draw a map of them.

Jon is constantly worried about Michael being able to "fit itself" in the Archives comfortably, telling everyone to keep an eye (no pun intended) on whether rooms start looking wobbly. They have to tell Gerard immediately.

Gerry will take Michael to its hallways and coax it into unfurling itself so it can "stretch" properly and without limits.

Michael is not allowed to boop anyone or anything.

The two went to South America again and an old lady asked for help and called Michael "papito"* as an endearment term and Gerry spent the rest of the day in confusion and shock.

Michael knows Spanish and several dialects so it didn't mind being called that.

Gerry knows German, Swedish, Italian and Russian.

Michael knew so many languages before the Spiral, and now he can also mimic the pronunciation/accent for most of them perfectly.

*Explanation: "papito" translates literally to "daddy". However, many people in Latinamerica say it as an endearment term in the same vein of how black grandmas call people "baby". So, being called "papito" in a completely innocent way is not uncommon. (I've heard my own uncle call his actual baby son "papito", some people call their small, spoiled dogs "papito", etc)

Also, Note: I've seen many others with the headcanon that Michael is on the autism spectrum, but I am not comfortable writing that someone is autistic because I do not know in depth of the subject and since everyone is different, I don't want to proclaim that someone is autistic just because they share some things with what we think is "the norm" for autistic people. So yeah, I will have some HCs that could be interpreted as autism characteristics if you want to, but they could also just be related to other conditions, or just be stand-alone characteristics. I'm no one to say what you can or can't headcanon, just my personal boundaries of what I think is okay. Sorry if this sounds blunt, I'm not a native English speaker and sometimes my way of saying things can seem cold, but I don't mean it!

EDIT: Hi, yeah, future me here, turns out I do have autism and I was taking from my own experience on several of these thingS, take the disclaimer at the end with a grain of salt ❤️

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ollieofthebeholder · 1 year ago

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to find promise of peace (and the solace of rest): a TMA fanfic

<< Beginning < Prev. || AO3 || My Website

The valentine on Jon’s desk had Martin written all over it, in every way but literal. It was done in an elaborate old-fashioned style, fitting with that retro aesthetic he liked, huge and dark red and trimmed in a delicate white lace shot through with silver. Across the front in gold ink was a syrupy love poem praising Jon’s eyes, hair, voice, and general sense of style, using a few rather forced rhymes and clearly patterned on Keats, and written in a delicate, ornate script. It was signed “Your Secret Admirer”, but the I had been replaced with a drawing of an actual eye, winking flirtatiously. It had also been taped to a tin of chocolate-covered biscuits specially manufactured for Valentine’s Day. In short, it was a grand, over-the-top gesture designed to either make Jon swoon or die of embarrassment, with the additional risk that he might explode with rage.

Jon set it on the edge of his desk and tried to ignore it, waiting for the person who’d put it there to come back and see how he was taking it.

Soon enough, the door creaked open. “Hey, I—what the fuck is that?”

“A llama,” Jon said, as calmly and dryly as he could, without looking up from the tapes scattered over his desk.

“You’re an ass.” There was no real heat in Melanie’s voice, though, as she shut the door and pulled up the chair opposite him, then reached for the valentine. “Oh, God, did you make this?”

“No, it was on my desk when I came in this morning.” Jon glanced at the clock on his laptop. “Bit surprised nobody’s come in to ask about it.”

Melanie’s face screwed up into something indescribable as she read the poem. It was like she wasn’t sure if she should laugh or throw up. “Why did you let me see this?”

Jon raised an eyebrow at her. “In the first place, I didn’t know you were coming. But now you have, I’m hoping you can help me come up with a suitable way to get back at Tim for this, since I can’t fire him.”

Melanie burst out laughing, setting down the valentine. “Oh, thank God, I was afraid I was going to have to shove Martin into the Thames.”

“Yes, well, Tim obviously meant for me to think this was from Martin, but the handwriting slants in the wrong direction,” Jon pointed out. “This was clearly done with a fountain pen. Martin couldn’t have written like this without dragging his hand or sleeve through the wet ink and smearing the whole thing. Also, he knows I’m not overly fond of this brand of biscuits.”

“You should bring it to the bookshop after work today. Get the rest to go with you. Give it to G—to the proprietor in front of everyone and tell him Tim was too shy to deliver it himself. Then do me a favor and take a picture of his face so I can see it later.”

At that, Jon couldn’t help but start laughing too. “You won’t be coming?”

Instantly, Melanie sobered. “That’s what I came to talk to you about, actually. I, um—I think the time has come for me to make a statement about…you know. Our research.”

Jon became serious as well and reached for the tape recorder. He knew Melanie wasn’t talking about the Unknowing.

In the time between Melanie getting off the phone with Martin and Jon being discharged from the hospital up Sheffield way, they’d come to a mutual understanding regarding what had happened at the scrap yard. Namely, that despite the fact that both of them knew the risks—Melanie perhaps more than Jon, although he’d always been a quick study—they were going to keep investigating. At first they’d said, or maybe just pretended, it was because of the possibility that the Slaughter was preparing for a ritual, but since Gerry said they didn’t have to worry about it, it was harder to admit they really believed that. The trouble was that they were both…fascinated. Curious. It might have been the Eye, it might have been the Slaughter trying to lure them both in, it might just have been that they were drawn to a challenge and a good mystery, but whatever it was, they hadn’t been able to leave it alone.

“Hypothetically speaking, how much trouble am I going to get in if Martin gets hold of this tape?” he asked as he hit RECORD. No sense in even making a pretense at using the laptop.

Melanie snorted. “Not nearly as much as I am. I mean, you’re still relatively new to all this. I’ve been dealing with this bullshit since I was eight. I should know better. And here I led you right into it.”

“It didn’t take all that much leading, to be honest,” Jon admitted. “Right, let’s—let’s get this started. Statement of Melanie King, regarding her further researches into war ghosts. Recorded direct from subject, fourteenth February, 2017.” He nodded at her. “Statement begins.”

Melanie took a deep breath. “Ghost Hunt UK struggled after Aldershot. I was honestly not in the best place in the world at the time to begin with—I’d just lost my oldest brother a couple months before, and I was ‘dealing’ with that by bottling it up and ignoring it, but I was distracted more than I wanted to admit. Sarah Baldwin disappeared. I spent a while trying to track her down, but nothing led anywhere, and I was afraid to push too hard. I think I knew there was something…off about her, and I had a guess as to what it was, so I was admittedly a lot more fixated on the ghost. It wouldn’t go on the recording, that’s what hit me. Things that won’t record properly are always dangerous. I didn’t dig into it too much at the time either, because a part of me wondered if Sarah was what made it go wonky, but it stuck with me.

“The others were dealing with their own stuff. We struggled along for another year, but it wasn’t the same. Toni was the worst. She just got harder and harder to pin down, and when she moved to Bristol in the end, she didn’t even tell me. I had to hear it from Pete, who told me at the same time that he was thinking of leaving, too. That’s about when I came to make my statement, and truthfully…I didn’t actually intend to make it about the incident at the CMH. I was going to…I don’t know, give you something you could have proved was false? It was just an excuse, really. I wanted—needed—to talk to Martin, and I had to say something to get past the harridan at the front desk, so I said I was coming to make a statement. But after it came out…I realized how it sounded, and I just couldn’t let it go. That helped when Andy decided to take what he called ‘a bit of a holiday’ and moved out of the house. As far as Ghost Hunt UK is concerned, he’s still on holiday, and it’s just me.”

She kept going, detailing the paths she’d followed, the research she’d poked into, the way she’d been subtly or not-so-subtly warned off by the few contacts she’d had left in the ghost-hunting world. Jon had heard most of this before, on the trip north to visit her family, but he listened intently anyway, especially when she got into how she’d found out about the scrap yard and made arrangements to stay with her great-aunt.

“That’s when I brought you in,” she said. “When I first got started with Ghost Hunt UK, I promised my brothers that if I ever ran into anything like that, I’d tell them right away, that I wouldn’t go into situations like that without backup. But Martin was still recovering from the attack on the Institute—maybe not physically, but mentally. If he gets too close to this sort of thing too soon after a major incident, he’s more…vulnerable to it, and I was scared to death of losing him. And I trusted you—not just to have my back if things went south, but to, you know, understand what we were doing. Maybe there was also a little bit of knowing you wouldn’t stop me from investigating further. Martin would have gone into big brother mode, and honestly he would have been right to, but I just…I had to know.”

“I know what that’s like,” Jon admitted.

“I know you do.” Melanie gave him a quick smile. “I don’t think I need to go into detail about what we went through at that scrap yard, since you were with me. And thank God you were, because I was…I was fascinated by that ghost we saw, the one with the scalpel. I wouldn’t have gotten away in time if you hadn’t pushed me out of the way, and I almost certainly would have been caught by security. I didn’t want you to get hurt in my place, but…I’m glad you were there.” She took a deep breath. “Anyway. Once we got back to London and…things settled down a bit, I took that serial number you found on the car and looked it up. It was from World War II, you were right. The Eleventh US Army Hospital train, operating in the European theater from August 1944. The train crew was even commended for their service.”

“But…” Jon prompted.

“It crashed in April 1945. Derailed, killed five crew and seriously injured fourteen more. There weren’t any patients on board at the time—at least, not officially. We both know how that goes,” Melanie added, her eyes darkening slightly. Jon winced in sympathy. “There was only one steel car that avoided derailment.”

“The one in Rotherham.”

“Exactly. There’s not a lot of information on it, though, and I’ve no idea how it ended up there. So that’s when I asked you to get me into the library.”

Jon blinked. “I—I didn’t think of that, actually. Our library is extensive, but it’s hardly focused on the Second World War.”

Melanie grinned. “No, but the most detailed description of the crash came from a man named William W. Hay. And later in life, William Hay…”

“Became a noted occultist,” Jon completed, feeling a grin split his own face, “whose memoirs and researches were only ever published in a heavily edited form. And we have original copies.”

“Exactly.”

“What did you find?”

“Plenty. He served on the Eleventh Hospital Train as an engineer, and there was a lot he had to say about it. They even let me make a photocopy.” Melanie handed Jon a sheet of paper that felt far too flimsy for the weight it undoubtedly bore.

He read it out loud, slowly and distinctly. It wasn’t much, just a brief description of atrocities committed that had left Hay wholly sympathetic to the train’s derailment, but at the end, it also included a cryptic reference to an incident at the infirmary at Amritsar. Jon knew where that was, more or less—he wasn’t intimately familiar with Indian geography, but it was at least the same end of the country that his grandmother’s people had come from, so he’d done some studying of the region. And he certainly knew who the Ghurkhas were. The passage, short as it was, chilled him to the bone.

“I see,” he said, lowering the paper. “So does this mean…?”

“Yes,” Melanie said with a nod. “And I’ve already got my plane ticket to India booked.”

A spike of alarm, mingled with curiosity, shot through Jon. He scanned her face a bit anxiously. “Are you certain that’s wise?”

“Probably not,” Melanie replied honestly. “But I’ve got to go. I can’t let this go. You know that.”

“I know.” Jon shot a glance at his laptop. If he could justify this to Elias…“Perhaps it would be safer if I went with you.”

Melanie winced. “Under any other circumstances, I’d jump on that, honestly, but—no, I don’t think so. Not with that scar on your shoulder. This…whatever it is, it’s made a much deeper impression on you than it has on me. I might get lucky and be able to escape it. Worst-case scenario, I’ll probably just end up with a nasty injury that lays me up for a few days. If you come along, I think it’ll stir up worse and increase the risk that neither of us make it out alive. So, thanks, but no. I’ve got to do this on my own.”

Jon wasn’t entirely sure he agreed with that last part, but he did have to admit she was probably right about not taking him. “One more question, then. Have you told…ah…anyone other than me that you’re going?” They were careful not to mention Gerry anywhere Elias might overhear, at least not by name, but the specter of Melanie’s brothers hung between them as though they were right there.

“I told my boss at the bookstore,” Melanie said with the briefest of flickers in her eyes. “Or at least I told him I was going out of town. Didn’t tell him the specifics. And…well, Martin was at lunch when I got here, but I’ve got time before I need to get to Gatwick, especially since I’m not bringing any luggage, so I figure I’ll wait a bit and say goodbye before I go. Uh, I’m—not going to tell him what I’m heading to research, either.”

Jon shouldn’t be encouraging that level of concealment, but, he rationalized, Martin likely wouldn’t be able to go with her if he did know, and he’d just worry excessively. Maybe he would let him listen to the tape once Melanie was well on her way.

He would undoubtedly kill both of them, but at the same time, they had to know.

“I understand,” he said finally. “Thank you, Melanie.”

“Yeah,” Melanie said softly. She stood up and held out her arms.

Jon got up as well and hugged her fiercely. He didn’t need any kind of supernatural ability to know that she was more afraid than she was letting on. The thrill of the research, the curiosity about what they had seen and felt and discovered, may have driven her to this point, but she had a healthy respect for, if not fear of, death, and she knew what she was risking. He knew it, too, but he also knew that wasn’t going to stop either of them. His warnings were on the record, and he had to admit that if their positions were reversed, he wouldn’t have hesitated in going either, frightened or not.

“Please be careful,” he implored her. “You know what it would do to Martin if he lost you.” He tried for a laugh. “And I’ve grown to rather like having you around myself.”

Melanie managed a laugh, too. “I’ll be as careful as I can, mate.” She squeezed him extra hard for a moment, then eased back—reluctantly, it seemed to Jon. He, too, let go slowly. “Shouldn’t be more than a couple weeks. Three at the most. I’ve got the automatic feeder set up, but if you could maybe pop in and make sure there’s water if you get the chance…”

“Of course.”

“Thanks.” Melanie smiled. “And, uh, I’ll turn in that library pass on my way out. Do I have to go back and leave it with Diana?”

“No, you can leave it with Rosie. She honestly handles most of the paperwork for the Institute.”

“Which one’s Rosie?” Melanie flushed slightly under Jon’s raised eyebrows. “I, uh, don’t talk to a lot of people Upstairs if I can help it. I only know Diana because you introduced me, really. It’s not like everyone else walks around with name tags or anything.”

“True,” Jon admitted. “Rosie is Elias’ personal assistant-cum-secretary. She’s also the, ah, front of house, I suppose, for the Institute. Normally when we have people come to give us statements, she’s the one who calls down to tell us.” He paused. “In point of fact, she called to tell me you were coming, the first time you came to give your statement.”

“Oh, yeah, her, okay.” Melanie pursed her lips slightly. “I haven’t seen her around since then, actually. Where does she sit?”

“More or less right in front as you walk in. She’s just outside Elias’ office.” Which made sense, if she was Elias’ personal assistant, but also gave her way too much knowledge about the comings and goings of the Institute. Jon had long ago told Melanie to use the side door when she came in, so it wasn’t unreasonable that she’d found one of the back stairs to avoid having to go past Rosie’s desk on her way to the library. Frankly, Jon avoided her as much as he could, which wasn’t much, since he was constantly in and out of Elias’ office for meetings and whatnot. She was sweet enough, but…

“Huh.” Melanie’s frown deepened. “Is she out sick?”

“What?” Jon blinked at Melanie. “No, she—she should be in. I saw her this morning.”

“Who covers her breaks, then?”

“I—I don’t know that she takes them, actually. Why?”

Melanie shrugged. “Didn’t recognize the woman at the desk, that’s all.”

Jon thought back to the last time Melanie had been in. “Ah. Maybe she had her back to you? She’s dyed her hair again. I swear she does it at least once a month. It was, um, chestnut last time, wasn’t it? Last week she went to a kind of blue-black.”

It was Melanie’s turn to blink at him. “Yeah, that’s the woman I saw today. Didn’t have her back to me, though, we talked—she was as sweet as anything. Who was that?”

“Rosie,” Jon said, a bit exasperated.

“Then who the hell called me down the first time I was here?” Melanie said, sounding equally exasperated. “That woman was at least a foot taller, thin face, long pointed nose, straight grey hair. Seemed offended by my existence, which is why I had to think so fast to give her an excuse to get down to the Archives. I watched her make the call—you’re telling me that wasn’t Rosie?”

“I—what?” Jon’s stomach churned with unease, and he couldn’t really say why.

Melanie started to answer, then cocked her head towards the door. “I hear Martin. I should probably go say goodbye before I lose my chance and then get going.” She gave Jon another quick hug. “Be careful while I’m gone, yeah? Martin won’t want to lose you either.”

Jon hugged her back and resolved to sort through the conflicting roil of emotions he was currently feeling once she was gone. “I will. Safe travels, Melanie. Call if you need anything.”

“Sure.” Melanie gave him a wavering smile, then turned and stepped out of the office. “Martin, hey!”

The door closed behind her, and Jon sank into his chair, then glanced at the tape, which he belated realized was still running. “Uh. End recording.” He pressed the STOP button, and the tape shut off with a sharp snap.

If he was being honest, and he was trying very hard to be, the only part of Melanie’s statement that had actually shaken him was that last bit. He knew Rosie. Of course he knew Rosie. She’d been a fixture at the Institute since long before he’d come to work there—probably since before Martin had come to work there. She was always cheery and kind to everyone, but seemed to have a special smile for Martin. Always greeted Jon warmly when he came in, asked after his health when he came back from physical therapy, warned him if the reason he was being called to Elias’ office was a transgression or a praise. He knew her almost better than he knew anyone else outside the Archives.

Right?

What was it Michael—no, not Michael, the Distortion—what had it said after he got done calling up to Rosie when Helen Richardson finished her statement? Do you even know they’re lying to you? He hadn’t thought anything of it at the time, hadn’t been able to focus on the words over his sudden surge of fear, and afterwards, back in his flat with Martin fussing over him and time to think clearly, he’d just assumed it was calculated to make him paranoid. After all, the Distortion hadn’t specified who “they” were.

But now…

Jon looked back at the tapes on his desk. Basira had brought them just that Friday, really to Martin, but they had all sort of communally agreed to store them in Jon’s office. He’d been sifting through them, looking for where to start. And now…he had an idea.

He skimmed the labels, looking for the one he’d noticed earlier. Like most of Gertrude’s tapes, the labels made little sense until you actually listened to them, and not all of them had corresponding file numbers written on the fronts. The one Jon was looking for had, but what had caught his attention was the title written above it…

Ah. There it was. Jon reached over and plucked up the tape with a single word written across its front: Changeling.

Before he could change his mind, he took the tape he’d used to record Melanie out and put Gertrude’s in, then hit PLAY.

The details of the statement may not have been what he expected, insofar as he’d expected anything at all, but the sum and substance was exactly what he’d feared. A woman had gone to her parents’ home only to find a woman everyone else seemed to believe was her mother, but the woman she remembered had been vastly different, in appearance and personality. Only the woman who’d given the statement seemed to remember her real mother. In her summing-up, Gertrude noted that the being—she called it a Not-Them—had left for good after the father’s death two days after the statement was given. She seemed remarkably blasé about the whole thing, really, and Jon wanted to be annoyed with her about that. What caught his attention, though, was her casual statement: Personally, I suspect it to be an aspect of the Stranger, though that’s entirely conjecture at this point.

The tape clicked off. Jon barely noticed it.

He thought back to the morning after the attack on the Institute, the conversation they’d had, first around Melanie’s kitchen table and then in her living room, about the statements they’d researched and the Fears they related to. Amy Patel’s statement, and the thing that was obviously not her friend Graham. The thing that isn’t Graham is the Stranger. Martin, at least, had sounded so sure…

Well. Jon trusted Martin far more than he trusted Gertrude Robinson. If the thing that had pretended to be Graham Folger and the thing that had pretended to be Rose Cooper were the same thing, then they were both of the Stranger. And…oh, God. The table. Was it tied to the table somehow? Lucy Cooper hadn’t mentioned one in her statement, but—it had to be, it just had to.

There was one more clue. Gertrude had mentioned a previous statement from this Adelard Dekker character—maybe Martin would know that name as well, although he seemed older, so who knew—and if Jon could find that, if he could read it…he wouldn’t trust the tapes, so few of them were correctly labeled, but the nineties were a bit more organized than they had been. He ought to be able to find it. And then…and then he would know.

No, he was stalling. He knew now. Breekon and Hope had delivered that damned table to the Institute. Rosie had signed for it—cheerfully, wanting to help, not wanting to bother him—or, no, was that just the Rosie he remembered? The Rosie whose memories had replaced the real ones? From Melanie’s description, maybe she had been annoyed, maybe she’d signed for it because she thought it would be easier—that didn’t matter. What mattered was that Rosie had signed for it. It was in Artifact Storage. Rosie must have gone to have another look at it, sometime after the attack…

Jon took a deep, steadying breath and got up. A plan was beginning to form in his mind. It was about time for his lunch break anyway. He would go out and—and get the supplies he would need, and then he would come back and find that statement, just to confirm what he already knew. And then…and then he would do what he could.

He suspected he wouldn’t be able to bring Rosie back. But he could make the thing that had taken her place pay for it.

#ollie writes fanfic #to find promise of peace (and the solace of rest)#tma fanfic #jonathan sims #melanie king #unreality #medical mention #train crash mention #valentine's day #lying/manipulation

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