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#also I was thinking again about how incredible it is that somehow tma was exactly the story I needed to hear at this point in my life
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every day I wake up and I'm overwhelmingly grateful Martin Blackwood is not lonely anymore and I think that's valid
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irradiatedsnakes · 3 years
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[ID: 7 drawings of monster!mechanisms designs. they are as follows: 1. a colored drawing of ivy alexandria that has been partially passed through the deep dream generator neural network, giving parts of the image a swirling, surreal appearance, often resembling eyes. 2. a digtal sketch of nastya as a ghost. her eyes are obscured by her glasses shine and she is covered in blue wisps, and dripping blue from her mouth and hands.  3. a digital sketch of drumbot brian as a centaur sitting down. his horse half is also mechanical and resembles a clydesdale. he also has horse-ish ears. 4. a sketchy bust of vampire marius. he looks smug, and looks to the side with a fanged smile. 5. digital sketch of partially-transformed werewolf gunpowder tim with doglike ears, claws, and a tail. he says "ok why did getting turned into that somehow give you a pitchfork." with a quizzical expression. 6. digital sketch of jonny d'ville as a devil or demon, with horns, pointy ears, cartoony wings, and a thin tail with a heart-shaped tip. he's holding a hellish pitchfork, looking confused and says "what? i already owned this.” 7. a traditional sketch of harpy/siren raphaella. she holds here feathery winged arms out, while her mechanical bat wings are unfurled behind her. her lower half is that of a bird. end ID]
ok ill post a couuuple. self indulgence machine go brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr
ok so u know like back in the gravity falls fandom there was that really popular au called monster falls where everybody got turned into some sort of monster/mythological creature? i fucking love that scenario and have been making my own little “everybody gets cursed by a witch or something so now i get to draw these fun designs” aus for like everything i like (never did it w tma oddly enough? good inspo just never struck.) so here.......is..........this. not everybodys pictured here but go under the cut for a list of what everybody is plus some extra notes and stuff
lets just goooooo alphabetical order
ashes - OKAY HONESTLY STILL NOT 100% ON ASHES im THINKING half-dragon. yes i know i already went dragon for them in the furry au its just a good fit and also looks Cool, but also waiting out to see if i can think of anything better
brian - CENTAURRRR also again. yes. i know i went 4 horse for him in the furry au. its just good and has fun brian vibes. wanting to draw centaur brian was the thing that led to this au happening
ivy - ELDRITCH SOMETHIN OR OTHER...idk what youd call that exactly. but you get the gist. cosmic horror, eyes, unfathomable patterns and things. doing the deep dream stuff for her in that picture was very fun and im very happy w how it came out...definitely something to revisit in the future. not sure how i wanna draw her when...not doing a whole colored digital thing, but well cross that bridge when i can draw again
jonny - he’s. he’s a devil? a little demon guy? like. yeah. of course. this guy was fucking meant to have little wings horns and a cute little demon heart tail. he has somehow become MORE bastardly
marius - VAMPIRE MARIUS ONCE AGAIN HES JUST FUN. hes just fun and the aesthetic suits him. i cant wait to draw him in a fun little cape with one of those big dramatic collars you know the ones. vampire marius is of course @ alientoastt’s idea!!
nastya - BANSHEE...or ghost in general but there some banshee stuff i feel could be fun to integrate. apparently in some tellings banshees can turn into crows? i love that very much. but anyways hmm..some notes abt the design in thsi post shes not quite where i want her to be. this was done on that collab canvas the other day and like...was mostly noodling things out having fun, those flamey looking bits are a very nice motion very fun to do but NOT wwhat i want for ghostya. i want her to be more. drippy. very drowned person vibes. fire and upward-floating motif not what i want. but it was fun to draw. also i think theres some potential comedy in there with “person who predicts deaths” among crew who habitually murder each other
raphaella - SOMEWHERE BTWN HARPY & SIREN (the bird kind not the mermaid kind) very excited abt her. lots of fun potential poses here. doing her design was a bit tricky- sirens tend to be just like- big birds with human heads? but i didt wanna do just that that takes away too much of her design recognizbility yknow to Just have her head. so she has a people torso, bird from the waist down, plus her arms are wings. which means she has Two pairs of wings. which i for one think is incredibly fun like you remember in httyd2 valka’s dragon w the four wings? yeah. also avent figured what bird in particular shell be based on- for the ufrry au i went w african grey parrot but dont feel like that here. ill think on it
tim - WEREWOLF TIM DUH. DUH. also i think werewolves are especially funny in scenarios like thse cus like- okay everybody suddenly ahhh cursed ahh monster whatever. but then tims just there like. i mean i feel fine lol and u get to have the fun surprise of Oh Suddenly Werewolf. also the question of how exactly werewolves who change based on the moon function in a. spaceship. i like to think its entirely fucking random i think thats funny
TS - ANIMATED SUIT OF ARMOR!! I DONT HAVE MUCH MORE TO SAY ON THSI BUT I LOVE . THIS IDEA. and i will never draw it. because fuck drawing and designing armor oh my god
anyways i think thats??? all i have to say on this??? agdvjdkb. if you wanna talk about this at all (or if u wanna see more doodles...) im totally open to that. ill be real i get weirdly embarrassed about specifically this kind of au (like. monster stuff in general especially werewolf/vampire stuff i could not fucking tell you why. gotten better abt it over time though hey im actually postin this shit!) so im just happy i posted it afhcgvjdkvdg .
as for story type things like how. this happens. frankly i dont know thats not my forte. but the little bit of whatever ive got going on my head has the Terrific Trio of ivy marius & raphaella doing Research Science Whatever down on a planet somewhere get into contact with a Cursed Artifact or whatever the fuck and eventually get back to the aurora like. oh. uh. it happened to you guys too, huh. but thats like whatever honestly im not in it for the writing im here to draw fun centaur man etc.
if you made it to the bottom of this winding fucking ramble know that i love you. mwah. that was fun to write out i like thought barfing about stuff like maybe 3 people will care about
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nyctolovian · 3 years
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this ship will carry our bodies safe to shore
This was written for @tma-safehouse-fest day 3-5 prompt (pining). But its sorta a dedication to the way the romance is written cos jon and martin legit try so hard to make things work :’ Please enjoy it!!
Summary: A study of Jon's love for Martin and why he kept it. (set in S4)
link to AO3
Jon knew exactly what this was—pining. Very useless and painful pining.
He was surprised by how quickly he recognised it. Less emotionally constipated people have taken longer to notice their romantic feelings for another. It was all rather strange and hilarious, if you asked him. (But he’d heard plenty of people criticise his sense of humour so he suggested you take this opinion with a pinch of salt.)
During the first few months in the hospital, despite his coma, he heard Martin—sensed him even. He noticed Martin not in words, though Jon knew he was being spoken to, but in presence and genuineness. And he came often, and would always be exuding tender care. Then, his presence began to dwindle with each passing visit, before it dropped off altogether.
Jon didn't (or couldn't, given his unconscious state) think much of it. Then, while asking Basira about what happened in the Unknowing, he was abruptly reminded of him—Martin, where was he? How was he?
Then, came the first thing he would Know after becoming an Avatar. Jon was overwhelmed with the somehow already deep-seated knowledge that he had feelings for Martin, something that had apparently been left brewing like wine in his chest during his Not-Death.
Almost immediately after he came to this realisation however, he was also struck with the fact that he hadn't been visiting lately. Not within the last month. Suddenly, cold dread that Martin didn't care about Jon anymore thrummed in his chest. Had their affections missed each other? Like two fleeting trains on opposite sides glancing off one another?
No, Jon was to learn that it was much worse. Martin was working for the Lonely.
Jon's chest tightened with worry at the thought. What was he doing? Didn't he know working for any of the Fears was bad news? Jon didn't want Martin to be put in danger like this. He didn't want Martin to become… like him, whatever that meant—not human, trying hard to be not-monster…
The dread expanded in his chest when he finally saw Martin. The sheer relief he had felt when he first set his eyes upon Martin could easily set him afloat. He had lost a little weight and grown slightly pale, but he was still alive and well nonetheless, cupping a mug of tea and wearing his usual large faded sweaters.
Jon, on the other hand, must have looked awful with his coma-induced haggardness and messy bun.
When Jon called out to Martin, a look of shock passed over his face at the sight of the man. His eyes darted down to Jon's outfit.
Self-consciously, Jon fiddled with the sides of his ankle-length skirt. His usual clothes had been more or less destroyed by his numerous kidnappings and near-deaths so he had to get new ones. He had made the decision to ditch professionalism entirely and gone for 100% comfort as a petty rebellion against the institution he was trapped within. Unfortunately, his outfits of choice resembled that of a little old Grandma, he belatedly realised.
When he glanced back up nervously, Martin's initial shock was already plastered over with composure. Cheekily, however, the Eye had let Jon Know that Martin's glances were rather appreciative ones and that sent his heart fluttering uselessly.
This short interaction replayed in Jon's mind for days and days, and he found himself drenching in mortification. Every interaction after that too. He would find himself thinking back to it and regretting his every word and twitch. (Not seeking Martin though. He never regretted seeking him.) And after the first sting of embarrassment subsided, he was left with the gentle aftertaste of his pining. To be frank, it was a bitter thing, as expected of something left brewing as long as it had.
He often found himself lying in bed, bolster held tightly against his chest, imagining Martin in his arms. And he'd feel a pang of pain. One that could only be relieved by the warmth of another.
Pining was not something Jon was familiar with. He was not the type to develop crushes to begin with. On the off chance he did, however, he had always been quick to stamp out the first flames of affection, with Georgie as the only other exception. Thus, the pain of yearning for someone you could only watch and think about from afar was incredibly foreign to Jon.
It was pathetic. It was embarrassing. It was unbearable.
But he cradled it in his palms, gently cherishing, refusing to let drop. Anyone who so much as implied that this feeling was something he couldn’t help would be dead wrong.
Jon chose Martin.
He had decided for himself—vowed it to whatever sick god that was watching him—that he was going to love Martin. He found the nascent affection growing in his chest and chose to keep it, let it bloom, chose to foster it even. He saw the red string of fate on his pinky and stubbornly wound it around his wrist, twice, thrice, over and over, tethering himself to this stupid love against all rationality.
He wasn't letting go.
He wasn't letting go of Martin.
Because everyone seemed to think he was gone, lost to doing the Lonely’s bidding. Not Jon. When Martin reassured him that he was doing everything for their sake, to protect them, Jon wholeheartedly believed those words. Martin wouldn’t do anything to hurt them. He didn’t just Know this; Jon trusted him.
But if Martin kept giving and giving, what would be left of him by the end? Surely somebody had to give something back. Jon couldn’t just watch him wither away into nothingness under the aegis of the Lonely.
Who was going to pull Martin out of the Lonely when it's time for him to return? (Surely he would come back. He'd come back when this was all over. He had to.)
Jon knew it had to be himself. Because Jon loved Martin, and loving him was the most natural thing to do. And, by god, Jon was fighting tooth and nail till his body fell apart to protect this.
If he had to die to keep his love, he would.
***
“Uh,” Martin muttered. “Jon, I, uh, I appreciate this but um…”
Jon looked down at their interlocked hands, not quite registering.
“I have to open the door.”
“Oh.” Jon’s face heated. “Oh. Yes, of course.” Reluctantly, he released Martin’s right hand, shivering as he did so. This was the first brush of cool air against his now-sweaty palms in hours.
He hadn’t noticed how long they had their hands linked like this. They must have been holding hands since their reunion inside the Lonely’s realm. He had been so petrified of losing Martin again that he had clasped his hand in an almost-death grip while he navigated through the mists and fogs.
Yet, Jon found himself missing the contact already. It hadn’t even been three seconds and already Jon was longing for Martin’s touch like a needy child. His fingers were growing cold and his heart was palpitating with the ferocious urge to just grasp Martin’s hand and superglue it to his. Never in his life had he ever felt this possessive but he really couldn’t be blamed after losing so much.
As soon as Martin got his front door to open though, he turned to look at Jon with the most tender smile, and held his left hand towards him. “How about we switch hands? My other one’s gotten quite moist.”
The warmth that swelled in Jon’s chest was a ridiculous thing but he quickly snatched up that offered hand anyway.
It was stupid, trying to pack clothes into a suitcase with two hands of two different people, but they somehow made it work. And when it was Jon’s turn to pack his bag, they allowed the same silly process to repeat itself. And if they shared a hug in the middle of the living room, no one would ever know.
Jon wasn’t letting go.
And Martin wasn’t letting go either.
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depressed-sock · 4 years
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Monster of the Week 1
Words: 4k
This work is entirely a self-indulgent throw a bunch of Oc's at the TMA world and see what happens lmao
Tw: dark and lonely fears, abandoning someone in the dark, brief mention of binge drinking, talk about feeling watched
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Click.
“Investigation of The Woods that Whisper brought to the Archives attention by a woman named Lilith Kingson on August 4th, 1950. Investigation begins on an unspecified date in 2014 because I’d rather not tell my boss exactly when I’m not in the Archives.”
“Certainly not because she’d prefer her precious Psychic-”
“Don’t Jordan.” They throw a glare at him as they let the branch they were holding for him go. Unfortunately, it misses its mark as he ducks out of the way responding back with a smirk and a shrug. “Anyway... Investigation done by archival assistant’s Corwin Night and Jordan L. of the Magnus Institute, American Branch. And yes I do mean the whole American Branch because really who needs funding, Right? Just put everything into one place that is definitely not falling into decay and hope for the best!"
"Do you have to complain about this every time? At least we don't have to investigate from there," Jordan shivers as he finally catches up to them, rubbing his arms as if to brush away a chill that clings to him despite the sweltering heat of the day.
They snort in response, ducking under a low hanging branch while letting out a huff of laughter as Jordan doesn’t correct fast enough and instead runs into it. The hiking path they had found was much smaller than they’d have liked but with the woods almost seeming to be unnaturally overgrown it was really the only choice. "Oh no, we just have to go out and find the monsters instead of waiting for them to find us."
There’s a muttered curse behind them, “Technically you don’t have to Corwin. Remember you're our special little psychic.”
Somewhere in the back of Corwin's mind, they know Jordan's making faces at them behind their back as he says it. And right next to that place in their mind there are thoughts about how much they want him to trip and roll back down the hill. Both thoughts aren't helpful to the investigation, so they sigh and push them away.
“First of all," they stop turning fully back towards him with their arms crossed, "it's just a really shitty version of clairvoyance where I get a sense of danger and a flash of something that never makes sense. Second of all," they throw one more glare at him before turning back around, "my 'psychic powers' as you like to call them, are beyond useless with me just sitting still. Especially there.”
“Because it always feels like you're in danger there?”
They look back over their shoulder at him with a raised eyebrow. A silent question of, do you feel like that? Jordan just shrugs again in response but this time looks anywhere but at them. He's already looking like a mess of nerves and exhaustion. Like they've both been hiking for miles even though they've barely gone half a mile. Half a mile uphill, but still, they really need to get him out of the Archives more. Especially if he doesn't feel safe there.
They take a minute to really think about the question. Do they feel unsafe there? Honestly, not really. “I’d say it's more like I’ve never been able to shake the feeling of being watched.” Even being this far from the building, there’s still that feeling right on the back of their neck. Like someone’s been following the both of them. Watching from the shadows.
The accompanying silence speaks more than words ever could. Of course, they both know exactly why that watching feeling is there. Unintentionally joining a cult for a fear god had not been on either of theirs bucket lists and yet it had somehow ended up that way anyway.
At least their boss had been upfront about it. Gwendalyn had even warned them both that they might not be able to quit if they became archival assistants. Turns out that as long as there's not an Archivist in their specific archive, there was no real need to worry. Corwin had personally watched many people come and go as archival assistants. With only a few who ever came back to the position permanently until they either died or just mysteriously vanished.
Without an Archivist though, no one really focuses on bothering to keep the Archives organized. A pain for anyone actually searching for information or references but a blessing for those absolutely bored out of their minds. It’s become a game of pick a statement, figure out the fear, and if possible figure out a way to either beat it or save the people affected by it. Something that Gwen has actively encouraged everyone in the Institute to do even if they weren’t working in the archives. She'd even begrudgingly encouraged Corwin to do the same.
Corwin’s still not even sure what her interest in keeping them safe is. Everyone else says it's their abilities but they personally suspect that Gwen is setting them up for some kind of promotion. One which they'll politely decline in the end.
No monster hood for them thank you very much.
“So The Woods that Whisper." Jordan's voice cuts through their thoughts, "Such a spooky name that it almost seems too cliche. Is that what the witness called it or what the previous Archivist put it as?”
“Don’t know,” they shrug, “My bet would be the Archivist considering how many files are all sorted with weird names like that. I guess in the end it doesn’t really matter though, does it? Not like we’ve had an actual archivist in the last 60 years to explain it.”
“I heard it was longer than 60 years, which doesn’t explain why we’re investigating an incredibly cold case. You do realize we still get statements from this time period right?”
“It wasn’t that long ago.”
“It’s literally from a time when the Institute used to have an Archivist.”
They can feel him glaring at their back. So maybe it's a cold case that has no actual chance of repeating again. It could happen... In a one and a million chances. So maybe it's instead an excuse to be anywhere else while Gwen starts her monthly annual week of binge drinking and cursing out the London Branch and ‘that slimy bastard Elias'.
Her words, not theirs.
“You’re telling me the free trip back to California isn’t enough to satisfy you?” Their laugh strained as they stop to take in the view of the valley that stretches out from the cliff on their right side. “Oh wait, I forgot you just hate nature.”
He huffs a bit, breathing heavily as he comes to a stop next to them, “I wouldn’t say hate. Just respect for the fact that I was not made for hiking.”
They roll their eyes in response, passing a water bottle to him as they continue to take in their surroundings. The area looks nothing like how it was described in the statement but that was to be expected. Too many years in between then and their current investigation. It’s only the fact that the area feels like the statement that even tells them they’re in the right area. “We should make camp here. Supposedly we should start hearing it just as it hits nightfall.”
“Wait. Nightfall?” He stares at them, distress suddenly clinging to his words, “Please tell me we’re not staying here all night.”
“Okay, I won’t tell you.” They shrug off their backpack. Kneeling down to start double-checking their supplies and making sure they have enough flashlights and glowsticks. Getting caught in the Dark once was already one too many times for them.
“Corry please for the love of god tell me we are not staying here all night,” Jordan practically begs as he looks back towards the way they had come. His stance suddenly turning nervous, his feet shifting uneasily as he stands in place.
“I mean if you really want to try and navigate back in the dark?” they look up at him from their crouch over their bag.
He winces, gaze now eyeing the nearby cliff with trepidation. “Fuck.”
“Seriously, I’ve got enough flashlights to light our way back. We should be fine if you really want to.”
“Do you think it’s that... Whatever it’s called, Dark fear? Or something else?”
“Honestly? It’s got elements of it but I think it feels more like the Lonely one. You’ve felt it since we got here, right? That bone-chilling cold that's more inside you than outside?”
“Was kinda hoping I had been imagining it but I guess I’d take that over the Dark,” he sighs, finally setting his own bag down with a heavy thump.
“Are you ever going to tell me that one? You don’t seem especially afraid of the dark.” They still haven’t found the glow sticks as they search through their bag. They know they’d packed it. Canteen check, energy bars check, where is it?
“It’s… not so much about being afraid of the dark, as it is a fear of not knowing what's in the dark." He rubs the back of his neck as he sits down on a nearby rock. “Listen, I know it’s stupid so let’s forget I said anything.”
"It's not stupid. Fear is fear and we don't really get a say in what we’re afraid of. Also, if I'm wrong and it is the Dark I brought a bunch of glow sticks." There it is. They dig out a baggie of glow sticks from their bag, carefully handing the bundle to Jordan, "Not as powerful as a flashlight but less chance of it supernaturally going out."
Probably. They’re not going to tell him that though considering how tight he clings the glow sticks to his chest, shooting them a thankful smile.
"And if it's the Lonely instead, think happy thoughts?" He tries to laugh his nerves away but falters as he looks back towards the edge.
"No, I think it's more: think about someone or something you love." They sit back, looking up towards the sky while shielding their eyes. The clouds are already taking on a dangerous grey hue. Maybe they should have chosen a place with more stable weather.
“Okay I can do that,” he nods his head before another smirk makes its way across his lips, “Can you though?”
They give him a look of mock anger, hand coming to their chest, “Jordan how could you say that! Of course my vindictiveness and hatred is enough to bring me back to annoy all of you. How could you ever doubt that?”
His snort of laughter is quickly covered by his hand, “I thought you said love brings you out of the lonely?”
“I mean yeah, but it turns out wanting revenge on your evil coworkers works too.”
“Oh, we’re all evil now? And have you even tested this theory?” He raises an eyebrow looking at them with knowing skepticism.
Just because of that One time… okay maybe it was a little more than Ten times but still it’s not like they have any safe way to put theories to the test.
“Not exactly. It’s been years since we’ve encountered the lonely so no real chance for me to test it. But I did dig around and find a statement about a guy who was so pissed off that he was missing a chance to rub something in his coworker’s face that he literally just walked back out of the lonely.”
“And was this statement real? Or did you not bother to even check?”
“Really who has time to check things like that?”
“Corry.”
“Jordan.”
He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose with a barely held back snort. “You know sometimes I wonder how these fears have any kind of power compared to the power of your vindictiveness.”
“I mean I’m just special like that. For everyone else though? There is a reason why there's what... 14? 16?” They pause quickly counting on their fingers before looking back up to him with a nod, “I think it’s 16 fear gods. A special flavor for just about everyone, and usually it’ll mix in other emotions to make the fear that much worse.” They lightly tap their chin for a second, “Or maybe it’s better to say that much tastier?”
“Right, ew. Also, I’m pretty sure it was 14, where’d you get the extra two?”
“Uhm, That one fear that mixes and matches all of the other ones together. Never got a name for it but I know it exists. Not entirely sure about the other one, just have a weird feeling about it. I don’t think it’s a normal fear anyway so maybe I shouldn’t count it.”
They lean back a bit farther, staring up into the sky as they try to remember why they counted it in the first place. Or even what it was. Maybe they had really just miscounted. It’s not long before they give up with a shrug.
“Well,” Jordan looks up at the clouded sun before looking back at his watch, “it’s only four o’clock and we’ve got till seven before the sun starts to set. Should we go over the statement again?”
“Depends… are we actually Reading it or just reading it?” They scrunch their nose in distaste as they even start to think about it. Either way it wasn’t going to be pleasant but actually Reading it was always the worst choice.
“I mean you did get a dusty old tape recorder out for this adventure, may as well Read it.”
“Too bad I didn’t bring the statement then.”
“Good thing I did though.” Jordan reaches for his bag, unzipping it and immediately pulling out a manila envelope.
“Ugh, fine.” They snatch it out of his hand. Bringing out the lamented pages and quickly readjusting the order. “Statement of Lilith Kingson, regarding The loss of her brother on a camping trip. Original statement given August 4th 1950. Audio recording by Corwin Night, Archival assistant of the Magnus Institute, America. Statement begins: …”
They’d like to say that they are trying to read it, that the words are just a bit too cursivy to understand. But that would be a gigantic lie because in all honesty they’d rather just set the statement on fire, “And yeah nope I changed my mind I already hate this.”
Jordan laughs, “You didn’t even read the first line!”
“Listen this shit feels weird enough reading it in my head. I don’t need to read it out loud to know that the experience was that.”
“Oh my god. Give it here, I’ll read it.”
“Alright, your funeral.” They pass it back, or maybe it’s better to say they throw it back trying to rid themself of the pages as fast as possible. Unintentionally causing the pages to scatter to the ground.
Jordan shoots them an unimpressed look before picking them back up, “No matter how paranoid you are Corwin, reading the statements out loud does not kill anyone.”
“That we know of,” their voice a bit too high pitched as they shot finger guns at him.
Which Jordan only acknowledges back with an eye roll. “Supplemental. Audio recording now by Jordan L. because Corry hates you personally eye god of the tapes.”
“Don’t call it that, you’ll inflate its ego.”
“Yes, I’ll inflate the ego of a massive entity we can’t even begin to understand. Of course. What on earth was I thinking?” The sarcasm drips heavily from his voice.
“Oh fuck you, just get it over with.”
“Fine. Statement Begins: ”
I didn’t know it would happen. It was just supposed to be a prank, a bit of sibling rivalry. It was just something we did. Alex would put salt in my drink when I’d complain it was too sweet and I’d get him back by throwing gum in his hair because he kept complaining about needing a haircut. Pranks. That’s all it was. Just a way to get back at each other when we got frustrated with how our lives were going.
It was never meant to be harmful. But, admittedly, sometimes it did get out of hand.
I just wanted to get back at him for locking me in the basement. It had been so dark, and I had been so terrified. It was like the walls had been closing in on me, and there was nothing I could do about it. Not even scream.
He didn’t even apologize to me when he finally opened the door to find me broken down and crying. Wouldn’t even acknowledge it was him who had locked me down there. So I decided he needed a taste of it himself.
It took almost a year of planning, but I’d finally had everything ready by the time of our annual camping trip. He didn’t even bat an eye when I changed the location and date. Just shrugged and said the view should be nicer from there. I almost wish he’d put up more of a fight against it.
We’d arrived just before dark, with enough extra time to find the spot and set up camp. The spot had been well worn from previous travelers and right next to the cliff, looking out across the valley. A nice view but also one I knew for sure wouldn’t have the lights from any houses or other camps.
Didn’t take us long to set up camp but the entire time something had felt… off. I’m not sure how exactly to describe it, it just was an overwhelming feeling that we were probably the only people on the entire mountain. It almost felt stupid to even feel that way because we had definitely passed other campsites on the drive up. Seen houses lit up and filled with families.
We weren’t alone. But at the same time, I guess we truly were. After all, it’s why I picked the spot.
It was nearing night and I’d finally grown uneasy enough that I decided to just put my plan into action. I told him I’d be just a second, that I had forgotten something in the car. And I left without even looking back.
He didn’t even offer to come with me. But he’d also been in a strange mood all day. Looking more distant and less chatty than usual. I shrugged it off, thinking the drive up might have tired him.
And anyway it wouldn’t matter. He’d wake up soon enough to realize I’d taken off with all the lights. Including the matches. He wouldn’t have been able to go after me once he’d realized what I’d done. It was a new moon that night, it would have been too dark to safely navigate the path. He would have to sit there in the dark, all alone, and wait for me to come back.
I’d promised myself that if he started yelling, or panicking I’d make my way back. I just wanted him to stew in that feeling of being alone and helpless. Make him see what he’d put me through. So I waited.
And waited.
Until I was starting to finally feel that uneasiness creep back into my spine. Being alone for that long was too much for me to handle, so it had to have been too much for him to handle too, right? So I started making my way back, even when a sudden fog started to settle over the path.
I should have stayed in the car. I knew better than to go wandering like that but I just wanted to see him again. To make sure he really was alright. I hadn’t heard anything from him, even though I expected to at least hear him cursing me out for taking the lights. Actually, if I really think about it, I didn’t hear anything. No bugs, no animals, not even the sound of my own footsteps crunching through the brush.
I tried to keep on the path, walked slowly to make sure it was still underfoot and I hadn’t somehow gone off track because of the fog. I must have though. Because I kept walking and walking and I still hadn’t found our camp yet. It shouldn’t have been taking that long. We didn’t hike that far away from the road.
I tried calling out for Alex but… It wasn’t him that answered. All around me I could hear people talking. It was like a crowd of people all mumbling at once in my ears and when I looked up from the path I couldn’t see them. There were shapes moving in the fog but I couldn’t make them out. They were just dark shadows against the white. It was around then I slowly began to realize it should have been too dark to see the fog like that. Even with my light.
It was like the fog itself was just naturally that bright.
It didn’t even dawn on me at the time that the shadows, the whispers could have been ghosts. I was just so desperate not to be alone. I called out again but none of them would ever get closer or acknowledge I was there. Just shadows talking in low murmured tones I had no hope of understanding. It was all words that weren’t really words. And I don't mean like another language either.
“Jordan.”
It was… It sounded like English but it just didn’t form the words right. And it hurt to think too hard on trying to make them into words I could understand. I tried running at the shadows, tried to catch up to them but they always seemed to get further and further away. I’d finally gotten to the point that I didn’t even care about the path anymore, I barely even remembered where I was or what I was doing.
“Jordan, stop I think I heard something.”
I don’t remember exactly what it was that broke me from the trance I seemed to have lulled into. I just remember the sudden feeling of missing my brother. I almost thought I could hear him yelling my name-
“Jordan!”
It's the shaking that finally makes him realize that Corwin's in front of him, shouting his name while desperately looking back and forth between him and the forest behind them. His brain feels like it’s working through a fog. Trying to focus on the present, on Corwin’s panicked expression…
He’s never seen Corwin panic before. Not in all the years they’ve worked together. Not even after the doppelganger incident.
It’s that realization that finally that lets him focus a bit back on the present. On Corwin’s hands firmly gripping his shoulder, shaking him slightly back and forth.
“Oh… Uh, What’s wrong?” he tries to sound concerned, but it comes out more as a mumble of confusion. He blinks again, trying to will away the sudden haze from his mind but it’s still there. That need to finish reading the statement. How had he forgotten this feeling? It's only been a few months since he recorded one.
“Focus Jordan. I heard something out in the woods.” They turn again, looking behind themself nervously, before turning back to him, “I’m getting a bad feeling, I think we should leave.”
“What? But-” he looks around then, coming to the sudden realization that it's now night. A very dark night. “I thought you said it wasn't the Dark fear?!" His voice squeaks out, fear already starting to clutch at his throat.
“It’s not that kind of Dark don’t worry. I just didn’t realize it was a new moon tonight. We’ll be able to use the flashlights just fine but I think we should-”
The sound cuts them off. A low deep rumble that suddenly turns into a vicious snarl accompanied by sounds of something in the brush growing closer.
Corwin's face grows a shade lighter before forcing him to stand with them. A single command forced out through gritted teeth, “Run.”
Click.
.
.
.
Click.
(The sound of a car door slamming and heavy breathing fill the empty space until finally the car ignition is started.)
(A man's voice starts to talk, wheezing heavily as if out of breath.) “Oh don’t worry it’s just the Lonely! That was definitely not the fucking Lonely Corwin.”
“To be fair the statement is definitely the Lonely. And anyway, how was I supposed to know that a Hunter was stalking this area?”
“What, you’re power didn’t give you a heads up?!”
“I already told you a million times that it was a shitty power and besides I don't think we were the prey it was after so we're fine.”
"Really?! Because it sounded really fucking close to gutting us."
"If it wanted us dead we'd be dead."
(A distant scream pierces the air. Causing a pause in the conversation.)
“...I can’t believe this, just… just fucking drive and get us out of here. And this fucking recorder is still on?!”
“What are you talking about? I don’t even have it anymore, I dropped it when we were running…That. That’s not the same one. I swear I only brought the one.”
“Right… Right, I’m just… going to go ahead and turn it off.”
Click.
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hello tma fandom, as I was saying I made myself sad (again) by getting feelings about desolation!Tim (again), would you like to hear some Thoughts about that ✨
... what a question of course you do, you're all my unwilling prisoners, listening to me monologue like I’m a villain pacing in her evil lair
now, picture this.
s3!Tim, but he survives the Unknowing and is then thrust into a position in which he has, somehow, even less to lose than he felt he had before it. he's still trapped, Sasha is still gone, Jon is functionally dead and can't exactly be a convenient catch-all scapegoat, and now the Circus is gone as well, which takes away from him even the questionable satisfaction of vengeance. he wakes up in a hospital bed, and he knows he should have never survived the explosion. and he's. still. angry.
(and let me stop you there no, even if at first it might seem like it fits, I don't think it'd be the Slaughter to get him. mostly because
1) by that point he would have been touched by fire already and
2) I feel like Tim's anger was always more focused on the complete annihilation of the object of it. unlike Melanie's (and unlike the Slaughter in general), which was a generalised, all-consuming hatred towards anything and anyone, Tim's was always focused on something specific. be it the Circus or the Stranger itself, or even Jon at some point, it had a defining limit and its sole purpose was to destroy it - by physical means or by severing relationships. literally and not-literally burning bridges.)
part of me likes to think that if he had survived, maybe, in a better world, Jon's coma/death would have been a catalyst for him to let go of the anger somehow. realise and admit to himself he had been an unwilling victim as much as all of them, go to therapy and find some not-quite-as-self-destructive coping mechanisms, kind of like Melanie eventually did. this, however, is not that better universe.
and honestly, for the situation he was in by the time the Unknowing rolled around I don't think it could have worked anyways. his anger, at that point, was the only thing keeping him together - even if he had survived, without being able to distance himself from all the rest, and above all (in this hypothetical) after realising he had changed into something other than human, he would have not been able to let go of it without letting go of himself entirely and utterly, completely breaking down.
now, onto season 4.
with the Circus gone, all the energy he had been pouring into getting revenge on them would, most likely, I think, be redirected towards the Institute itself again. for more than one reason.
there’s the usual and obvious, of course - namely, he’s still stuck there and now he also has to deal with the whole “become the thing you hate” thing - but there is also the fact it’s very clearly ensaring Martin more deeply than advisable, which he wouldn’t be thrilled about.
despite that, I doubt Tim would be in any position to keep him from the Lonely. he’d be too caught up in and isolated by his own resentment and anger - it had already been happening, on a smaller scale, but it would be a situation only exasperated by their respective tendencies. he’d fight back against Martin’s open grief, unwilling and/or unable to admit to himself he’s also grieving, and take refuge in the anger instead because it’s a much, much easier emotion to feel.
he would also tend to distance himself further from the others, too - both because I think he might feel some kind of, you know... barrier or separation, being the only one left in the Archives proper from before. also not sure how well it would go down having Melanie there as well.
all of which in turn would play nicely into Peter’s plans.
(for your consideration: in Italian we say “scorch the earth around someone” to mean “burn one’s bridges”, and I wouldn’t have brought it up except the mental image it conjures up every time is so incredibly vivid for me that I can’t help but think there’s a whole other reflection somewhere in here on how closely related/connected the Desolation and the One Alone are to each other but it’s. for another time to elaborate on.)
however. there is much potential for a dynamic in which he and Jon are somehow learning what it means to be... monstruous, along each other.
in canon we have, from MAG132 onwards at least, the parallel with Daisy and how they are both trying to fight their patron, finding ways to hold on to their humanity against the Hunt and the Eye calling to them.
even so, Jon is left alone figuring out what it actually means being an avatar and coming to terms with it before that. from when he wakes up, he is unmoored and terrified by what is happening to him - the hunger, the fear of losing yourself or of having lost yourself already to the thing now pulling you in - with no real comparison to base himself on.
in this scenario, Tim would be the only one almost as far along as he is - I’d wager he had already been marked by the Desolation for a while, and the deal would have been sealed after the explosion of the Wax Museum itself. which means they could stand to do some self-recognition through the other as well - namely because he ought to have made the same choice Jon ends up doing when he wakes up, at some point, and having to live with the consequences of that.
which in turn might make it... not easier, exactly, but it could give him some perspective on the whole thing. the Desolation is not the Slaughter - the anger is not such to override everything else so completely, and while he’d still be furious, of course, maybe it wouldn’t exactly be, not completely, at Jon anymore. it would feel too much like hypocrisy, when they both made the same choice and they are both experiencing, now, the same things.
is it wishful thinking? perhaps. but I love the idea of Tim going to find him after the Live Statement Incident, terrified because soon, most likely, burning little trinkets of some emotional value isn’t going to cut it anymore and terrified, even more, by the lack of horror the idea of ruining someone’s life in order to feed inspires.
by the delight it incenses in him, that spark of something bright and dangerous giving him some clarity for the first time in months, burning, and by how good it feels to let it.
I imagine it’d be a difficult conversation to have. he’d be scared, but admitting it to Jon would be... hard. too much like showing vulnerability. and yet, he’d be the only one to really understand what it means - he’d see how the conversation with the others went down, and know how hard it is to resist the pull of it, and it’d feel like something too close to be ignored.
it would take time, and it would never be the same as it was before, but I think he might, begrudgingly, manage to let go of at least some of his resentment towards him. all the while being really aggressive about it, in an abrasive, difficult way, but nonetheless being kind of another support peg, in the way Daisy was. but. louder.
ALSO.
the Desolation is, in some way, antagonistic to the Web.
which means it would give me immense personal satisfaction if, as the whole MAG158-MAG159 shitshow went on, Tim’s role was just to send up in flames the whole damned Institute from the foundations. and he would have managed that’s why we couldn’t have it.
they were evacuating it already. and. most of all.
he wouldn’t need the fucking lighter.
that fucking lighter jesus christ.
finally. and yes I’m just going to end it here because this is already more than enough only-kind-of-coherent rambling for one evening.
please consider.
he’d literally be the hot one.
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nyctolovian · 3 years
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Welcome to the Queer Beer Frontier
This is an incredibly self-indulgent word vomit of my sexuality/gender headcanons for TMA S1 Archival Gang. 
Summary: The S1 Archival Gang are all not cishet. That's the whole fic. 
Link to AO3
"Am I right, Jon?"
With eyes glazed over with intoxication, he looked up from his glass. "Huh?"
"Keira Knightley," Tim said, raising an eyebrow. "You're the only person I can turn to for this. The other two are useless in this regard."
"I don't… I don't get…" Jon frowned and glanced towards the other two at the table. Neither was of any help though, because Sasha merely stared at him silently with amusement twinkling in her eyes while Martin busied himself with… something under the table. "What are you talking about?"
"Aww... Doesn't he look adorable when he's confused?" Sasha said, turning to Martin, who sputtered and glared indignantly back at her.
Before Jon could even begin to decipher what just transpired, Tim threw his head back and groaned so loudly a giggly group of girls at the other table peered at him curiously. In a futile attempt to avoid any association to this scene, Jon scrunched his body to hide behind his (conveniently) bigger friends.
His escape attempt proved futile, however, when Tim threw an arm around Jon and tugged him closer. "We didn't invite you to drink with us just so you can sit there looking pretty, boss," he said.
"Wh—" Jon grunted affrontedly, brows furrowing. He rubbed his eye with the heel of his hand and tried to blink through his drowsy alcohol-induced haze. "I really don't—"
"I said, Keira Knightley is the very definition of hot," Tim drawled. "Don't you agree?"
Confusion crossed over Jon's features. "I suppose so."
"You suppose so?" Tim scoffed. "Alright, alright. Maybe she isn't your type. How about Tessa Thompson?"
Jon let out a non-committal noise as he pressed the rim of his glass against his lips. When no liquid hit his tongue, he blinked and looked into the cup.
Empty.
"Lucy Liu?"
Jon lifted his glass and looked around dazedly. "Does anyone—"
"What about Lucy Liu?"
"I really don't— My glass is empty?"
"Oh, sorry. Got distracted," Martin said, rubbing the back of his neck and slowly sliding out of his chair. "It's my round."
"I, well, yes, that'd be—"
Tim barged in with another question. "Okay, then, what about Anna Kendrick?"
"Not really."
"Not really?!" Tim yelled. "Alright, what about—"
"For god's sake, Tim, stop asking me these questions!" Jon groaned. "I'm too bloody ace for this."
Martin blinked at him, eyes owlishly wide with curiosity. "What do you mean?" he asked in a half-squat above his chair.
Jon's initially liquor-tinged face blanched. Suddenly it was show-and-tell in Year 2 all over again, eyes fixated upon him, as he struggled not to cry from stage fright. Except the topic today was far less innocuous than 'My Favourite Animal'. He ran a hand over his face.
Jon wished he could time-travel two hours back to throttle himself for accepting Sasha's invitation to drink. He should have gone home and taken a good long nap.
Unfortunately for him, he was stuck in this crap-hill of a situation. Jon gulped, looking everywhere but at his friends, as he tried to push Tim away. The silence was suffocating and he was pressured to fill it. "Fuck. I didn't mean to…"
Sasha leaned across the table. "Wait, you said you're ace? As in asexual?"
"I… uh, yes?" Jon shrunk into himself. "So what?" he hissed defensively.
Hands shooting up defensively, Sasha shook her head. "Oh, it's not like that! I'm also—"
Tim interrupted her with a whoop so loud that Jon had to yank himself out of his chokehold lest his eardrums burst. Martin had to leap off his chair and cover a hand over Tim's mouth to stop the hollering. Even then, he still did a whole lot of muffled yelling. "We're in public, Tim!" Martin chastised.
Tim tried to pull Martin's hand off, but to no avail.
"I'll take it off if you promise to stop yelling."
He rolled his eyes and nodded. As soon as Martin let go of Tim, however, he flashed the smuggest smirk and said, "So archiving is a gays-only event."
Martin let out a groan and Jon frowned in confusion. "What?"
"We honestly thought all this while you were homophobic," Tim said. "But turns out you're one of us."
Sasha raised her hand. "Disclaimer: I didn't think you were homophobic. Just uptight."
"But I..." Jon muttered, rubbing his eyes. "Wait, so you're all gay?"
"Alright, fellas," Sasha said, clapping her hands. "From the top! I'm aromantic heterosexual."
Tim dramatically placed a hand upon his chest. "And I'm the neighbourhood Bi-con!"
Nervously, Martin said, "Uh, no labels. But not straight."
Invitingly, Sasha gestured towards Jon.
He blinked. "Oh. Uh. Panromantic asexual. Um, and also nonbinary."
"Niiice," Tim said, patting his back hard. "I can't believe we took this long to figure this all out."
"I don't like assuming," Jon admitted.
"But I thought we were being incredibly obvious. Well, me and Martin were at least. We just thought you never mentioned because you were ignoring all of it on purpose."
Jon hummed. He had caught Tim flirting with a couple dudes who came to the archives before. Somehow, however, he had never registered those incidents properly and the idea that Tim wasn't straight had sailed past him entirely. He felt a bit stupid, thinking back right now.
He tried to recall an instance for Martin but drew absolutely nothing, however. "Was Martin very obvious?"
"Oh!" Sasha wheezed, grinning like a Cheshire cat. "Martin here is–" she slapped his back "— painfully obvious."
"Huh," Jon muttered. "I really never noticed."
"You really should," Tim said. "Oh, right. Isn't it your turn to buy us a round, Martin? Do you want to get some right now? While we talk to Jon."
The flush that overtook Martin's face made his freckles darken as he resolutely sat in his seat, beside himself with distraught.
"Alright, alright. Enough teasing," Sasha said to Tim. "Martin, I promise I will keep him in his place so just get us the round already."
After Martin's eyes darted from Sasha to Tim to Jon, then back to Sasha, he shot up from his seat with a huff. "I trust you, okay?" Then, he made a beeline for the bartender.
"Am I missing something?" Jon asked. "I feel like I am."
Sasha shook her head. "We're just all feeling pretty excited is all. It's not every day the notorious Jonathan Sims would come out to people."
"Notorious?" Jon wrinkled his nose. "From what I'm gathering, I'm not very welcome in this archival team. First, I'm homophobic and now notorious."
"Hey," Tim said, "you can't blame me for thinking you might be a homophobe. You don't exactly give off queer vibes."
"Aspec people like us don't really get much opportunity to be overtly queer," Sasha muttered, leaning back. "We're a low-lying bunch."
"Hey! But I could tell that you weren't straight. But Jon flew right under my gay-dar. And I'm usually really good at detecting comrades."
"Time to send that radar for repairs then," Jon replied with a smirk.
"You're not much better!"
"I never claimed to be good at detecting comrades."
Just then, Martin came back, and Jon was pleased to finally get more alcohol. With how much he'd been blabbing already, it felt like that kind of night.
After a while, Jon's head started spinning in what felt like cartwheels and somersaults. Drowsily, he placed his head on the regrettably grimy table. He watched the other three's back-and-forth for a while before suddenly stepping in. "Why no labels?" he asked Martin. "Just curious."
"Hm?" He straightened up. "Oh. Just… not too fond of being put into labels. None of the terms ever sit quite right with me for some reason."
"Fair enough," Jon muttered, voice thick with exhaustion. "I took ages before finding what felt right for me."
"How did you realise you were ace then?" Tim asked.
"Don't know. Just sort of always knew but didn't have a word for it. So when the word asexuality came along…" He waved his hand as though to say, "And the rest was history."
"Is it not liking sex?" Sasha asked. "I personally never really got what's so good about romance. I think it's just messy stuff if you ask me."
"Sex is… It's fine?" Jon winced. "I don't hold any strong opinions on the matter although I do sometimes find it quite fascinating."
"Jesus Christ. It's sex, Jon. Not some academic discussion," Tim scoffed.
He pouted.
"Then, how did you figure it out?" Martin asked.
"Oh. I, uh… It just felt like there was something everyone else seemed to have no trouble getting that I couldn't. Turns out that thing was sexual attraction." He shrugged. His eyelids were growing rather heavy. "I quite like being ace, you know that? I've never told that to anyone else," he slurred the admission.
"Are you tired, Jon?" Martin asked.
"Mhm."
"Do you want to take a nap?"
He nodded, rubbing his face against the wooden table. Sasha ran her fingers through his hair and he hummed, eyelids sliding shut.
Jon remembered how frustrated he used to be when he was younger. Curious and stubborn since he could remember, there was no way he would let this thing he couldn't understand simply slide under the rug. He remembered thinking he might be pansexual, but that didn't sit right in his chest. It took years of hunting down a proper answer and a couple more to acknowledge it.
Sometimes, Jon would mourn over the fact that he would never understand what on earth this "sexual attraction" thing was. Most of the time, however, he found himself quite comfortable in his own skin, finally able to categorise his experience. Now, asexuality was a label he embraced.
And it felt good knowing there were people close by who accepted him.
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