#praemetuere

[leavyes-a]

@praemetuere​ / martin.

“This is. Um.” He bit his lower lip and sucked his cheeks in, trying with all his might not to spit the tea out across his desk. It wasn’t that he disliked tea -- far from it; he had been delighted to find that ‘tea time’ was, in fact, something that was observed in academic institutions in London, and had a membership card at the local bubble tea place. The issue was that he hated lapsang souchong, and had since high school. But his new coworker had made this for him, and if he didn’t drink it, he would come across as rude. “Strong taste!” he managed, and, knowing it wouldn’t help at all, added, “Do you have any milk?”

[shcwstcpper]

@praemetuere liked (for helen!)

Nikola did not like the Spiral, too many similarities between them and all,  but she was nothing if not a business-oriented clown and had a proposition. She tented her fingers in front of her chest and peered at Helen with blue eyes. “So, I’m sure you’re wondering why I’ve asked you here today.”

[aequimanvs]

@praemetuere​.  /  tma verse starters. 

“ ... oh. ” martin’s gentle smile was as unexpected as the cup of tea he’d just set down in front of quincey. jonathan, while not outright unpleasant, had been exceedingly curt and businesslike throughout the first half of his interview with quincey, and as a result, quincey had not exactly seen much reason to expect any measure of kindness from anyone here. hesitantly, he reached out to curl the fingers of his right hand around the handle of the mug. “ uh, thanks. i appreciate it, man, seriously. you one of the archivists, too? ”

[wormscarred]

@praemetuere​ asked: yearning  meme�� from  martin  because  he  is  85%  yearning  at  any  given  time:  "stay."

tim’s  lips  part  and  he  lets  out  a  breath,  staring  down  at  martin.  they’re  in  his  little  room,  soundproofed,  sealed,  safe.  the  remains  of  several  drinks  surround  them,  smuggled  in  by  tim,  and  he’s  still  feeling  a  little  drifty,  light  and  pleased  and  more  agreeable  than  usual.  there’s  a  slightly�� desperate  look  on  martin’s  face  and  tim  finds  himself  helpless  to  resist  it.  his  own  expression  goes  soft,  achingly  fond,  and  he  sinks  back  to  the  floor.  legs  crossed,  he  extends  one  hand  to  martin,  palm  up,  elbow  on  his  knee.  

❛  okay,  ❜  he  murmurs  into  the  space  between  them.  he  nods,  smiling.  ❛  okay,  i’ll  stay.  though  your  cot  might  be  a  bit  small  for  the  two  of  us.  ❜  he  winks,  smile  morphing  into  a  flirtatious  grin.  his  heart  thumps  in  his  chest  and  he  bites  his  cheek.  it  feels  different  here,  somehow.  more  intimate.  more  real.  his  eyes  catch  on  martin’s  and  he  can’t  look  away,  breath  catching  in  his  throat  as  he  waits,  frozen. 

[healieas]

@praemetuere​ / melanie.

       “Ah, Melanie. I know that John is... away... but surely Martin or Tim could give you some guidance as to how to spend your time in the archives? I will remind you that devising new and interesting ways to kill me was not part of your job description, and while I try to be lenient with ‘extracurricular activities’, so to speak, if they get in the way of your work, I am going to have to put a stop to them, and I don’t think either of us would like that. Would we?”

[portraiyal]

@praemetuere sent: a platonic yearning meme from martin: "i care about you. a lot."

          sincerity was one of the things sasha appreciated most about martin. even if he didn’t have a background in libraries or archives, he’d always been willing to listen to the help she offered which was more than she could say for jon sometimes. and after the kind of night she’d had, running all the way from the worm-infested corpse of timothy hodge to the institute, he was certainly the person she’d wanted to see.

          giving her statement made her feel a little hollower, but it was good to get it out of her system. now she just felt exhausted, drained of any and all adrenaline. she’d probably ask tim for a ride home, but for now she was just looking for whatever comfort she could get.

           ‘ i know. i really appreciate it, martin. ‘ she murmured, managing a smile. ‘ you guys are the best. ‘

[eyefreaked]

@praemetuere ❤︎ for a lyric starter - For Martin

“Listen, don’t take this the wrong way,” Gerry winced at the tape recorder between them. Never was he one to hold back an opinion, but this guy seemed awfully nice and maybe a little sensitive. The little cushioning was the best Martin would get. “But if this is how you folks make art, it's fucking depressing.”

[tablefractal-blog]

@praemetuere

Sasha put the tupperware down in front of Martin with a pleased look, taking a seat at his side. “I thought since you’ve practically moved in it’s probably been a minute since you’ve had any good food--” it’s an easy joke she taps the top of the box with her knuckles a few times. “Granted, it’s nothing special, just some left over stir fry, but I thought you’d like it nonetheless” Sasha adds as she props her head up on a closed fist.

“What are you even eating being locked in this place?” she wondered.

[millionwoes]

starter call. → @praemetuere​ → helen.

she keeps changing his things—

no, that’s not right.

no, she keeps changing him, and that’s what he does, that’s what they do, the both of them, the one of them, they change and twist and spin but this change feels wrong, is wrong, is not him it’s her it’s them, they’re a we now and it’s wrong.

he should like it but he doesn’t because it’s not them, it’s her, encroaching on him like the center of the spiral, but they don’t have a center to begin with and it grates him like an itch, something stuck in his throat that he can’t quite spit out.

so he’s sharp fingers against the wallpaper, shredding it, melting it, ripping the color off of it and replacing it with his own like ink tainting water. it comes off in thick globs of brick and wood and plaster and is made anew, veering off into a different direction than it was before. the colors replaced, the carpet along with them, rearranged into him again like setting a bone back into its socket. comfortable, in its own uncomfortable way.

“i do wish you’d stop this meddling,” they’re not really words, not really a language, just static curling his hair and lips into a grimace, and she’s not there to hear, but she’ll hear it like a brain hears what ears do. “i don’t like how these colors feel.”

[bookburnt]

@praemetuere says:

‘ my friend janna used to talk to the dead. ’ – melanie

[  through the woods  |  accepting!  ]

       “Yeah?”  He takes a drag of his cigarette, humming on the exhale.  “So did I.  Never enjoyed our conversations much, though.”

[skyaches-aa]

@praemetuere

CONT.

He HEARD the pounding of feet before he saw their owner. He laughs and turns to watch Martin barrel into the room , laughing AGAIN at the panic on his face. ❝ You really gotta watch where you hide your shit , man. It was so easy to — ❞ Wait. His eyes were not darting about the room , looking for whoever had left his private poetry for everyone to hear. He was looking RIGHT AT HIM. BJ leaps from the table to land directly in front of Martin. He was never a fan of personal space.

❝ Hey , you can see me ! Guess this place is a little weird after all. ❞ The demon tosses an arm around him , waving the tape recorder in front of his nose. ❝ For real though , Martin , you need a way better hiding spot if you don’t want anyone to find them. Society does NOT look kindly upon sensitive guys like you and me. ❞

[leavyes-a]

@praemetuere​ / m̷a̸r̷t̵i̷n̵

The Panopticon, for being the center of the world, was almost barren. What need did it have for toys in cells to torture for the thrill of watching, or artificial dramas played out again and again by actors removed from organic stimuli by iron bars? It had an entire planet of real, living terror, and it could See it all without its having to be dragged before it. So the muddy, ruined cells of Millbank Prison stood empty, circling round and round the central tower in a cement-studded coronet. Its king was at the top, but first one had to walk there. Past the ruins of the Magnus Institute, and Smirke’s tunnels, and the halls and too-small rooms of a jail destroyed long before the rest of London. The rest of everything.

       One empty cell, then another, then a square of grey floor with light spilling onto it. Chk-chk-whrr, whispered a camera as it reset for the ( first? tenth? hundredth? thousandth? ) time that ( day? month? year? infinity? ), blinking white before settling back onto a washed out sepia. Well, I don’t really know where he - / We’ll just leave it with you. / Be sure he gets it. / Okay, I will, but you really have to actually - / ‘course. Much obliged. / Stay safe. / …I’ll try? That was innumerable lifetimes ago, but it was preserved in such loving detail by the thing that sat in the one occupied cell, slumped forwards with its vacant eyes spinning. What had once been Levi Talbot, the Conservator, now useless to Beholding who could See All in Every Iteration without the need for reruns or reviews.

[aleximedicusa]

@praemetuere​.  /  𝚂𝙼𝙰𝙻𝙻 𝚂𝚃𝙰𝚁𝚃𝙴𝚁.

          lewis anwyl had never been the sort of man to keep quiet when he had an opinion to give, even at the best of times. he was not, in general, keen on intruding in personal affairs, but given the obvious discomfort on the face of the woman nearby, he could hardly maintain a clear conscience by saying nothing. “ —pardon me, madam, but is this gentleman here giving you trouble? ”

[aequimanvs]

@praemetuere.  /  tma verse starters (ernest) 

ernest had not stopped pacing since melanie had pressed the start button on her tape recorder. the whirring of that wretched device was burrowing its way into his brain, and no effort of his could force the incessant sound out of his thoughts — as much as he tried desperately to force his focus onto the consistent thud of his footsteps across the carpet, the whirring drowned those sounds thoroughly out. weakly, with trembling hands, he shoved his fingers through his hair and let the movement thrust his head back so far that it almost began to hurt the muscles of his neck. 

“ why do you make me come here? ” if the words came out blisteringly harsh, he did not care. perhaps a part of him even hoped that melanie would throw him out for rudeness. “ you have walton’s statement, hm? you think i can— i can— fuck. i want a translator. english is stupid. ”

[wormscarred]

@praemetuere \\ martin

even  for  tim,  this  is  disgustingly  early.  3:45  am  with  two  coffees  and  assorted  muffins  in  his  little  car,  backpack  in  the  back  seat.  but  there’s  little  he  won’t  suffer  for  this.  the  forecast  says  partly  cloudy,  which  in  tim’s  opinion  is  perfect.  bleary  excitement  trickles  through  him  as  he  pulls  onto  the  street  outside  martin’s  place.  it’s  chilly  but  not  cold,  a  pleasant  morning  promising  a  hot  afternoon.  but  they’ll  be  long  back  by  then  so  tim  isn’t  too  worried,  dressed  in  a  light  jacket  and  jeans.  

[  text-  ☕  ❤️  ]  i’m  outside  ^.^ [  text-  ☕  ❤️  ]  whenever  you’re  ready  

he  drums  his  fingers  on  the  steering  wheel  while  he  waits,  anxious  for  reasons  he  can’t  quite  name.  maybe  its  because  this  just  isn’t  something  he  shares  with  people.  it  feels  incredibly  private,  his  hiking.  like  its  a  part  of  himself  he  wants  to  keep  hidden  and  safe.  but  he  likes  martin,  maybe  more  than  he  should.  and  he  wants  to  share  this  with  him.  he  doesn’t  know  if  martin  understands  the  gravity  of  it  (  he  seemed  to.  tim  hopes  he  does.  )  but  tim  isn’t  the  best  at  saying  emotional  things  outright.  at  admitting  emotional  things.  he  lets  out  a  sigh  and  drops  his  head  to  rest  against  the  steering  wheel. 

[eatspages-a]

@praemetuere / melanie.

---------

Graham doesn’t like taking statements directly, preferring to take them second-hand from paper and ink where the feeding doesn’t directly affect those who gave their experience to the Institute. He’d always offer, instead, to have them write it down, even those who had no real statement to offer just for the sake of consistency. But Naomi before had insisted, and he couldn’t scrounge up an accepted reason to just refuse. He regrets it now, horrified, regrets not being firm about it.

He doesn’t want to dream of Miss King, either.

“Are you sure you don’t want to write it down, instead? Committing to audio recording off the bat isn’t always the smoothest, which I’m sure you already know, and you can take as much time as you need with-- with writing it down.” He doesn’t even pay any attention to the fact that his laptop had started fritzing when Melanie first tried to give her statement, nor the way she’d scoffed at it. If anything, he hopes it’d convince her to just write it down instead. She’d appreciate this offer if she knew.