eyes

careless whispering?

no,

ceaseless watching

Our Angel of Brahma, pt. ix

Travelers. Friends. Mutuals. @ceaseless-watchers-special-girl @ananxiousgenz @the-private-eye @demonic-panini @gwenlena

SOUND: COMMS BEEPS. RECORDING BEGINS. MOTHERLY VOICE: I finally got a moment to myself thanks to Eber and Camilla… Thank the Goddess… I don’t know what I would be doing without them. (THE PERSON SIGHS) Where do I begin? I guess… my name would be a good start.  (CLEARING THEIR THROAT) My name is Eevee Bell, and I am one of three to four dozen Dome Wardens on Brahma. Our duty is to perform routine maintenance on the planet’s Dome, track incoming and outgoing shuttles and ships, and monitor Brahma’s severe weather outside the Dome. I love my job. I think I do my job very well. From what I’ve heard about other planets, they have robotics and computers to do this job now. Artificial intelligence that the Solar Planets spent a fortune to perfect. Of course just like with everything else though, Brahma gets left behind in the dust. (EEVEE CHUCKLES UNDER HER BREATH) EEVEE: Goddess bless our savior New Kinshasa. (EEVEE LAUGHS A BIT HARSHER) EEVEE: What happened to us though has been brewing under their noses for some time now. I guess it was only a matter of time before… something was done.  To be honest I’m still not entirely sure what did happen. I know that our alarms went off when the Reactor Core was removed, and I know they stopped going off when the Core was put back. I know that the Chief Constable called all of our stations, and ordered us to go home. I know that we have not gone back to our stations for nearly ten days. I know that if we don’t accept any imports within the next seven days Brahma will begin to suffer. And if we fall, New Kinshasa falls with us.  Cyrus called me while I was rushing to get home to Baird. He asked me how much I knew and after I told him, I asked how much he knew. He said it would be better if he came to speak to me in person. He lives across town with Iris. I told him it wouldn’t be wise to meet up so late, especially with a curfew in place. He disagreed, but I talked enough sense into him that he waited until morning to catch a tram over here to the apartments.  Baird was not enthused to see him. He was rather… indifferent, actually. I know it hurt Cyrus’ feelings, I do plan on talking about it with Baird when I can, but it’s so hard to talk about anything seriously right now. I’d rather keep things as light-hearted as possible.  I sent Baird over to Camilla and Eber’s apartment while I had tea with Cyrus. He looked so worried. He asked me if I saw the Chief Constable’s broadcast about the Revolutionary, Peter Nureyev. I have. I watched it with Baird the night before after I got home from my post. Cyrus said that he doesn’t know of any Peter Nureyevs in any of his revolution circles.  He surprised me by asking me for my thoughts about the Constable they allegedly found murdered by the Revolutionary. I didn’t at the time, and I still don’t now. Cyrus said that he has reason to believe that part was a lie. He doesn’t believe the Revolutionary killed a Constable. He thinks it might be an elaborate lie or cover-up for some more vain truth. (EEVEE INHALES SHARPLY) The revolutionaries are holding a meeting tonight. Cyrus invited me to come. He wants me there. I don’t want to get in trouble, but… I need to keep Cyrus and Baird safe. And by extension, it’s my job to keep Brahma safe.  SOUND: COMMS BEEPS. RECORDING ENDS.

SOUND: COMMS BEEPS AGAIN. NEW RECORDING BEGINS: EEVEE:  What the fuck! NEW VOICE:  What are you doing? EEVEE:  What am I doing I’m recording you idiot! Cyrus, don’t you see? If what was discussed tonight has any truth to it, New Kinshasa isn’t going to let any of this get out. More than– I bet you my next paycheck that Dark Matters is going to play a role in covering it all up! (CYRUS TRIES TO SHUSH EEVEE) CYRUS:  Alright, alright– you have a point. Keep your voice down alright the streets have ears… You really hope your little comms though is going to play a role in– This? EEVEE: Mark my word, I think my little comms will outlive both of us. If Baird’s lucky it will outlive them.  (CYRUS GROANS. EEVEE GIGGLES) Okay, okay… I attended the meeting– CYRUS: The book club. We went to a late-night book club meeting. What? Don’t give me that look. Plausible deniability, Eve. EEVEE:  Right. The Book Club. We attended Book Club and talked about the climax of a war story. In the story, the main character kills a man with radical ideas to overthrow their government. The man he killed was not popular amongst the rebels. In theory, they should have agreed with him. CYRUS: In practice, however, the rebels do not condone murdering hundreds of thousands of people. Thus the whole unpopular amongst the rebels.  EEVEE:  Of course, word got out about the man’s death, and to cover it up, the government claimed him as an Enforcer. And they were getting away with it because the last clothes the man was found in was a stolen Enforcer uniform.  I don’t know if I believe the rebel or the government’s of the story– CYRUS: Eve– EEVEE: But! But. But I do believe that it was the right call for the rebels to sit back and wait for information to trickle out to them slowly… I think I’ll need to attend the next meeting to really make sure I understand what I’m getting myself into. Oh– I’m so tired. Can we discuss all this in the morning? With hopefully less ears listening in? (CYRUS HUMS AFFIRMATIVELY) CYRUS: I’ll even let you sleep in if you let me crash on your couch.  EEVEE: Of course, I wouldn’t make you walk across town while already breaking our curfew.  CYRUS: Thanks, Eve.  (LONG PAUSE) Baird’s not going to be mad to see me, is he? EEVEE: This late at night? I doubt it. If anything he’s staying over at that Spade’s apartment probably fast asleep with Charlie. Oh, they’re so sweet together. I went to say good night to them one evening and I couldn’t kiss Baird’s head because Charlie had a death grip on his shoulders. He's always polite and entertains all of Baird’s whims… I wish you were around more to see it happen. CYRUS:  You and I both know why that can’t happen.  (BOTH OF THEM SIGH) EEVEE: You know he’s only so pouty around you because you and I split up, right? He just wants us all together again. Like a proper family. CYRUS: We are a proper family. Mom who works too hard, dad who left to get milk and never came back– see? Proper family. (EEVEE LAUGHS CAUSING CYRUS TO LAUGH) UNFAMILIAR VOICE: Hey, state your business and show your credentials. CYRUS: Shit, Constables. Run Eve! SOUND: COMMS BEEPS. RECORDING ENDS. 

SOUND: COMMS BEEPS AGAIN. RECORDING BEGINS.  (EEVEE WHISPERS) EEVEE: Cyrus and I got away from the Constables last week perfectly fine. This week on Brahma: we went to another revolution meeting. A few old timers took roll call and one of them said he had reason to believe that the person the Angel of Brahma killed was one of theirs. A man who wasn’t the least bit popular in any particular revolutionary circle. Apparently, he wanted to drop New Kinshasa out of the sky and saw it perfectly fit to kill all of Brahma in the process.  (EEVEE SCOFFS) The nerve of some people. No one at the meeting could remember his name though, and no one still knows who Peter Nureyev is outside of the photos projected on every billboard on the planet now. He looks so young. Those dark and haunting eyes and sharp teeth. I find it hard to believe that he’s just a teenager. But– he is.  I’m trying to keep my voice down right now because Baird is asleep. The meeting was held before curfew this time so Cyrus went home to Iris and I walked alone back to the apartment. Eber was waiting for me just outside and before I could say hello he was dragging me down the halls to Hank’s apartment. His dog Missy was sprawled out on the sofa but Hank, Camilla, and Josie were all gathered around the dinner table. Mrs. Darius was upstairs with Talia, Charlie, and Baird. I sat down and told them everything I could.  The revolutionaries wouldn’t let me record anything with my comms during the meeting, but there wasn’t much that I think needed to be recorded. Just talk about who was storing what, who was leaving their doors open to help others. There was a lot of talk about going on strike. Either food or labor. They want to send a message to New Kinshasa. I don’t think I can afford to do much of anything. Me and the other Dome Wardens just went back to work two days ago, we are working through a backlog of off-planet imports and exports still. If I strike alone I’ll just be fired. If all the Wardens strike, then the Constables will take over and that will lead to certain catastrophe. And if I stop eating then Baird will stop eating and he’s already so… short.  Oh– I wish I got a chance to talk to Cyrus before we went our separate ways. He’d help me think of some way I can help. Better yet, he’d probably be able to give the others here at the apartments the answers they wanted from me. Hank didn’t say anything other than telling us to get out. Eber, Camilla, Josie, and I were silent on the walk upstairs. The kids were delighted to see us. Eber walked Talia back down to Hank, Josie was trying to fill in Mrs. Darius, and Camilla and I watched the boys play some sort of game where they kept pinching each other and trying to not shriek? I think that was the objective? Children’s games used to be much less violent when I was that age. I remember when– BAIRD (FUTURE REVOLUTIONARY): Memma? EEVEE: Bairdy! What are you doing awake? BAIRD (FUTURE REVOLUTIONARY): I couldn’t sleep. You were being too loud.  (EEVEE TSKS) EEVEE: Then let’s put you back to bed alright baby? C’mon. I’ll even sing for you if you’d like.  SOUND: COMMS BEEPS. RECORDING ENDS.

SOUND: COMMS BEEPS AGAIN. NEW RECORDING BEGINS. EEVEE: I have either made the best decision of the revolution that will turn the tides in favor of Brahma, or the worst mistake of my life.  I told the old-timers at this past meeting that I work as a Dome Warden, and that a few of my colleagues seemed interested in joining the rebellion but were uncertain on how to go about it. The old-timers were delighted for a number of reasons and had drawn the same conclusion that I had a few weeks ago when a labor strike was first brought up. They think it would be very good if I was able to get some of the other Wardens on board with the revolution.  Cyrus was very quiet during the meeting. I asked him before we left if he had any opinions he was holding back, and all he said was to trust my gut. So… I trusted my gut. I told the other Wardens at my post about the meetings. I told them about going on strike. A few seemed skeptical. Others wanted to know when the next meeting was. I’m going to contact Cyrus and get him to help me get the others to the next meeting.  I hope… this wasn’t a mistake. I guess time will only tell. SOUND: COMMS BEEPS. RECORDING ENDS.

SOUND: COMMS BEEPS AGAIN. NEW RECORDING BEGINS. EEVEE: –you turned it on. Good job, baby. BAIRD (FUTURE REVOLUTIONARY): Mom, why are you showing me how to use your comms? Is something going to happen to us? Is something bad going to happen to you?  EEVEE: What? Oh no, baby. Nothing is going to happen to me. I just think you would find more use out of my comms than I would. Look, since you got it to record you can start recording all those little songs you like to sing. Or maybe you can get Charlie to record a story for you.  BAIRD (FUTURE REVOLUTIONARY): But Mom, I like your singing and your stories more. Will you sing for me? And tell me a story tonight? EEVEE: Absolutely not. You get one or the other. Take your pick. And whatever you don’t choose, you have to give to me.  (BAIRD POUTS) BAIRD (FUTURE REVOLUTIONARY): Fine… I want a story from you, and then I’ll give you a song. EEVEE:  Good choice, Bairdy. What kind of story would you like? (BAIRD HUMS) BAIRD (FUTURE REVOLUTIONARY): I want a story about Brahma.  EEVEE: A story about Brahma? Well… there once was a boy born on Brahma with nothing. Not even a name. He grew up just like everyone else, hungry for more. More food, more freedom, more time. The boy followed a man who dreamed of dropping the New Kinshasa on top of the planet.  The boy was very tired. Tired of being poor, tired of being hungry, tired of being alone. But he knew, that if he let that man drop New Kinshasa out of the sky, he would never be able to forgive himself. Brahma is his home. He looked down at Brahma from up high, and saw them: his people.  Starving young faces just like his looked up to the sky and stared back at the city as it trembled. The boy had the power at his fingertips to stop a tragedy.  This is it. The people thought. This is how we go out. Not with the big bang, but crushed under the heel of our jailor.  The boy heard their thoughts. He felt a rush of adrenaline and stopped the man from getting away. The city of New Kinshasa never fell out of the sky that day. The people were ordered to retreat to their homes. But that evening, everyone heard about the great threat against the Guardian Angel System. And everyone learned the name Peter Nureyev. And for the first time in the last half-century, hope bloomed on Brahma. The Boy, The Legend, The Angel of Brahma.  BAIRD (FUTURE REVOLUTIONARY): That’s not a story Memma, that’s history.  EEVEE: And what is history but a story we have to learn from? Now, I believe you owe me a song. (BAIRD GROANS AND HUFFS) BAIRD (FUTURE REVOLUTIONARY): Fine… (BAIRD TAKES A DEEP BREATH AND HUMS. THE SOUND GETS CLEARER LIKE HE’S BROUGHT THE COMMS CLOSER) My angel, I must ask you keep singing for me.  How sweet your tune, like a songbird at noon.  What a lovely trill, it makes me feel ill. O’ My heart overflows, I could never let go.  Like chimes in the wind, it must be destined.  I’ll find my way home, with your voice I’ll never be alone. Happy? (EEVEE SNIFFLES) EEVEE: Very. Thank you, Baird. That was beautiful.  (FABRIC RUSTLES, BOTH BAIRD AND EEVEE HUM) Promise me you’ll never stop singing baby. BAIRD (FUTURE REVOLUTIONARY): Of course, Memma. I don’t think I could even if I tried.  EEVEE: Good. Now– (EEVEE PRESSES A KISS TO BAIRD’S HEAD) Get some sleep. Okay? We have a long day tomorrow. And Bairdy? BAIRD (FUTURE REVOLUTIONARY): Yes, Mom? EEVEE: You know that I love you, right? BAIRD (FUTURE REVOLUTIONARY): To the moons and back, yeah… Mom you promised nothing bad was going to happen to you.  EEVEE:  And nothing will. Good night, Baird.  BAIRD (FUTURE REVOLUTIONARY): Night Mom.  SOUND: DOOR CLOSING. BAIRD (FUTURE REVOLUTIONARY): Which button was it to end the recording? Was it this o– SOUND: COMMS BEEPS. RECORDING ENDS. 

- EEVEE BELL. BAIRD BELL. must contact Frannie’s friend about both of those names. - Dome Wardens are indeed an old, out of date job. Eve is right, they’ve been replaced with robots. It’s actually kinda scary how right she was about things. About that, about Dark Matters probably covering everything up with New Kinshasa. - Cyrus and Eve sound so fun together. I can see why they got married and had a kid together. - Bairdy and Memma… right up there with Charls and Dearest. - Oh Baird, he was 12 when these recordings were made. 12. Just almost a teenager, not quite. Almost too old to be called a baby. - Eve loved Baird so much. She reminds me of my mother a bit. And she knew exactly what she was doing tucking Baird into bed that final time. There’s no doubt in my mind this is the last recording with her in it. She was taken away after this and never came back. The Dome Wardens did go on strike at some point according to Baird in other recordings, so did someone snitch to a Constable? Did she the Constable that almost caught her and Cyrus track her down? - I think that’s the most frustrating part of my job. No matter how much I dig and research, there are some things that will be lost to me forever.

It's time, y'all!! The penultimate episode of season 4!! Jmart!!!

Uh, didn't draw anything again, but whatever. I mean. I dunno. Shrug.

it's time, now. episode 159. this is going to make me feel emotions.

this is mostly rambling.

@a-mag-a-day

CW for unreality; discussion of free will; second person POV (i keep doing it); potentially anxiety inducing rambling (don't know how this happened, related to the "you don't know the people you love" thing);

The title "The Last" could either a nod to Peter's line "You're the last one standing" or it could be... well... the last mark.

Hated it when I figured that out. Absolutely despised it.

ARCHIVIST (Calling) Martin! (Calling) Martin!

I'm sorry we're like five second in and it's just like hhh, he's in love, he's looking for Martin, love is real and Jon has it! It just makes me so abnormal when it's like, he's not even saying anything it's just! Aaa!! *points frantically*

PETER It’s odd, really. You each think you’re so focused on the other. But how much do you really know each other? How much time have you spent together when not working, or bickering, or fleeing from that latest thing that wants to kill you? So what are you seeking? The image you’ve each created of the other? The people you think you love don’t exist, not really. And that’s a very lonely place to be. ARCHIVIST (Vicious) Shut up. (calling) Martin!

Firstly, yeah, I feel that. I mean like, don't want to overshare or anything, but yeah.

You know how your head's always like "but they wouldn't like me if they knew the real me!" Mate, there is no real you. Like Sasha said, right, it's all just people playing characters. And sometimes those characters feel like you, but they're all made up of things in your head and memories you've had and at the end of the day, are we all not puppets pulled along by circumstance, fooling ourselves into thinking we have choices and identities. I think I need to put a CW on this-

I mean, that's attempted optimistic nihilism. What about... if you do a good job keeping up the charade, they'll never find out it's not the real you, but you will never be truly loved.

Wow, that helps less. Do not come here for advice.

ARCHIVIST (Mean) Make me. (considering) Unless you can’t. The Lonely and the Eye aren’t too far apart, are they? Not really. What good’s being alone if you don’t know how alone you truly are. Which means… Well, I think you’re worried. You know I’ll find him eventually and you know I can find you. (Beat) Hm. Thought so.

Damn, judgmental. Just the note "mean". I- rude??

Also, secondly, I'm saying this as someone with social anxiety and consequent... isolationist tendencies (read: I didn't talk to anyone for a whole summer) but the Ceaseless Watcher and The One Alone have always felt really... connected to me.

I mean, what better way to feel alone than to be convinced everyone's judging you. You convince yourself everyone wants you gone, you just barely hear them say your name as you leave the room.

Everyone's looking at you, you can't go in now, so better to remain unnoticed. Better to not go at all. Better to hide yourself away and never be seen under gazes that make want to tear your skin off.

Social Anxiety: the fear entity

I mean like, just like take MAG 188 and make it a little more also about how achingly lonely you feel but opening yourself up is hard and evil and people will look at you and perceive you and judge you and you've got both The Eye and The Lonely combined and my personal hell. Maybe throw in a bit of Corruption there, for the whole "woe upon woe, if they could see my rotten inner core full of being mean to people then they would hate me even more."

The Corruption is so cool, you guys, but you wouldn't get it, you wouldn't get how cool it is (I mean, you might, please talk to me about the corruption /genuine)

ARCHIVIST Martin. MARTIN (Flat) Jon? ARCHIVIST I-I’m here. I-I came for you. MARTIN Why? ARCHIVIST …I thought you might be lost.

AAAAAAAAA

The way Jon says "Martin," he sounds so relieved, hnhnrhnhrnhrr <3

HHHHHh!!!!

THE WAY JON SAYS THE LAST LINE IS SO SOFT IT SHOULD BE ILLEGAL TO BE THIS SOFT ISTG <33333

MARTIN Are you real?

He sounds so bitter when he says that, like he's mocking the idea that Jon could be real. Oh my god.

MARTIN This is where I should be. It feels right. ARCHIVIST Martin don’t say that. MARTIN Nothing hurts here. It’s just quiet. Even the fear is gentle here.

MARTIN NO

I get it though, you know, when being alone is the lesser of two evils. Like, what is it out there? Just more pain and fear and loss when it's so much easier to just stay there and fade away and never move and never get out of your room, and never talk to anyone and it's just so much easier, right. When it feels like it's a physical effort to drag yourself everywhere? When it's oh, so comfortable, out there in the cold.

You know, to me loneliness isn't fog or anything. To me it's around noon. The sky is mostly clear, the grass is slightly itchy, you're squinting against the glare of the sun. It's silent, bar the wind and the birds and your breathing. And then you suddenly realise you're alone. And there's no one there. And the warmth is making you tired. And sometimes you can say it's nice, lying on the ground under the sun like a lizard. And sometimes it just feels sad.

I like that the lonely is at the sea. The ocean just makes me feel strange emotions that I can't explain. Nice aesthetic too, fog and sea, lighter colours, blues and greys.

But I like my lonely quite a bit. It just feels... it feels like the lonely to me. Idk.

MARTIN It is, though. I really loved you, you know?

LOVE WINS????

PETER I tried to tell you. He’s gone. He made his choice. And it wasn’t you. ARCHIVIST It was for me, though. I’m the reason he— I did this to him as much as you.

Nononononono jon mr. jarchivist sims. NO! Alright, you know what, bringing in my brain here. No! Nooo! Alright, sure, you dying may have made him lonely, but you can't seriously blame yourself for dying - I know he blames himself for dying - and like coming back to life and stuff? He may have done it for Jon, but that doesn't put the blame on Jon. It puts the blame on... I don't know! Death! The world! Peter Lukas, but I'm loathe to blame him for anything because I really like his voice.

I have other things to say about this but tbh, I just think I have problems, and I've already shared so much absolutely terrible advice earlier, so I'm not going to perpetuate my probably harmful (in like a... this is a thought your brain could have! think about it! wow, doesn't it suck! this will stay here tho! way) thoughts, sooo.

PETER Where are your friends, Archivist? ARCHIVIST Tim and Sasha are dead. PETER Yes? ARCHIVIST Daisy and Basira are, probably dead. PETER Because. Of. You. ARCHIVIST Georgie and Melanie have left me. PETER And? ARCHIVIST Martin’s gone. PETER You’re alone, Archivist. The last one standing.

Got distracted playing piano, uh, :( this just makes me really sad. guy's literally living out my worst nightmare (all your friends either dying or leaving you, some telling you they'd literally rather you be dead, like god that hurts).

I just want him to get a hug :(

PETER After all, you can’t hurt anyone in here. ARCHIVIST …Yes… PETER Yes.

That would've probably worked had he not... yk, been there for Martin? And like, sort of... as he was trying to get into Jon's head sort of... revealing what he was?

Hmm

ARCHIVIST I wouldn’t try to leave if I were you. I can see you now. I can find you wherever you go.

Kinda... uh... hmm... hhnnmmm

Hot jon rights

My crew is out there waiting for a call I think I am now unlikely ever to give them.

Oh, right, because of the imminent eyepocolypse. I thought it was because he thought he'd die to jon

My instinct was much like the others, I thought that if I could complete my ritual first, then the potential birth of the dreadful change would be meaningless.

reminds me of

Smirke was still so obsessed with his ideas on balance, even as our fellows began to experiment and fall to the service of their patrons. I began to worry that if one of them successfully attempted their ritual, then I would be as much a victim as any, trapped in the nightmare landscape of a twisted world. At first, I attempted prevention, but the cause seemed hopeless. The only way to ensure I did not suffer the tribulations of what I believed to be an inevitable transformation was to bring it about myself.

(MAG 160)

So, it's like a rerun of all those rituals, but 1900s and 2000s edition, instead of 1800s.

On Peter's ritual... it's not all Lonely, right? Could be Vast. Buried, maybe? What with the whole "you can never escape your work."

Also, it sounds... terrifying.

If I could convince one of his staff to willingly pledge themselves to the Lonely, it was all mine. He even let me pick the victim. He was so sure the prize of the Institute, the Panopticon, and a willing vessel to use it would be just too much for me to resist. And he was right. Just didn't go quite as I'd hoped.

What is it with these evil old men and using people as poker chips! Like, why!

ARCHIVIST And what was his prize? What did he get if you lost? PETER Oh, he got you.

Like, if making a bet where you win this freshly traumatised by the lonely guy isn't the worst thing that elias has done - and somehow it fucking isn't - then you know that like, very evil. and awful. like. kinda dehuminising don't you think? kinda fucked. what the fuck.

ARCHIVIST Tell me.

The way he says it is interesting. Just... flatly, not even a demand, just... "tell me."

I like it. I think it's neat.

PETER (Fighting) I’m… not saying… another… word. ARCHIVIST Tell me or I will rip it out of you! [Both statics keep increasing in volume] PETER No! ARCHIVIST (With all his power) ANSWER MY QUESTION! PETER NO!! LEAVE! ME! (Echoing) ALONE! ARCHIVIST TELL ME! [The statics crescendo; there is the sound of electric tearing and Peter screams as he is conceptually ripped apart]

HOT JON RIGHTS!!! YEAH!!!! WOOOH!!! KILL HIM!!!!

I THINK THAT PART IS VERY COOL! FUCK YEAH DUDE, RIP SOMEONE APART WITH YOUR EVIL POWERS!!

ARCHIVIST Listen, I know you think you want to be here. I know you think it’s safer, and… well maybe it is. But we need you. I need you.

MARTIN We – I need you.

(MAG 120.2)

HHHHH THEY KEEP REPEATING EACH OTEHRS WORDS AND MAKING ME WANT TO CRY!!!

ARCHIVIST Martin. Martin look at me. (compelling) Look at me and tell me what you see. [Hissing static starts] MARTIN I see… I see you, Jon. (Small disbelieving laugh from Martin) (Martin’s voice stops shifting side to side, and no longer echoes) MARTIN (CONT’D) I see you.

THIS- THIS IS IT! THIS IS THE MOMENT

chills, literal chills. fuckin' love it so much, you don't even know

im just gonna. im just gonna be here crying it such a good

[ID: Drawing of a person sitting at a computer, crying. /End ID]

ARCHIVIST Not anymore. Come on. Let’s go home. MARTIN How? ARCHIVIST Don’t worry. I know the way.

ITS SO SOFT ITS SO SOFT ITS SO FUCKING SOFT I LOVE THIS EPISODE I LOVE THE MAGNUS ARCHIVES "Don't worry. I know the way." ITS SO SOFT THE WAY HE SAYS IT IM GOING TO CRY IM GOING TO CURL UP INTO A LITTLE BALL AND CRY YOUR HONOUR THEYRE IN LOVE YOUR HONOUR THEIR LOVE GOT THEM OUT OF THE LONELY LOVE WINS YAY IM GONNA GO CRY NOW SLASH POS

this is over. im not crying but dear god is it close. look forward to tomorrow where i'll do more than ramble. i love jmart so much you guys i love them so much they love each other so much <3

recently i saw something that annoyed me, and it was a bunch of people calling ep 200 of tma “mid” or “anti-climactic” and i just had to take several steps back and go…. what.

as someone who just finished my 3rd relisten, i think that the final episode was as perfect as it could be. i also remember jonny writerman sims talking about how he disliked the sort of crescendo grand endings, that there was something pretentious or performative about them and i deeply agree with that.

sometimes the world really does just end (or restart) not with a bang, but with a whimper. there is no need for a grand face-off, these characters spent 5 seasons battling the impossible power of the entities, and having it all come to a head with jonah magnus begging for his life just is Right Somehow. he helped create the archivist, the person that jon became. he sharpened the very tool that came to end him.

not to mention, the final confrontation between martin and jon before martin stabs him is the most gut-wrenching, angered plea i have ever heard. all martin’s hopes and dreams for a future come crumbling down around him as his worst fear realises. the betrayal he saw coming but didn’t want to believe in. the overwhelming love that he still feels, the love that kept jon from completely surrendering his soul to the ceaseless watcher — and for what? for both of them to die. its painful and it’s heartbreaking and it shakes me to my core every time.

the fact that basirah, melanie and georgie all survive i think is very apt. we are left wondering how the world looks like post-apocalypse, because we will never truly know. and it’s a culmination of what we knew already, that we as the listeners have been acting as ceaseless watchers, we are part of the web’s design. it’s… ugh it’s just wonderful.

i think that with any Big Media that comes to an end, you will inevitably have people who feel let down by the ending, because they don’t want a whimper. they want a bang. but i think that the magnus archives never needed that escalation, and that the ending was exactly what it needed to be.

something something ceaseless watcher core something

The Ceaseless Watcher | Forsaken

The Falling Titan | The Dark

ID: upon a dark-purple background, there are four digitally drawn abstract paintings. The first two, arranged in a row, represent the Eye and the Lonely. The other two are for the Vast and the End.

The one for the Eye has a muddy background (cloud-like, in different shades of purple, white and black); at the center of the piece there is a white bright circle surrounded by a purple lining.

The one for the Lonely has a grey, also cloud-like background. Upon that, vaguely drawn in light shades of purple, fuchsia and blue, there are a couple of shapes that seem to resemble hills.

The one for the Vast has a light-purple background. In the bottom-left corner, a purple circle, resembling a planet, hovers in the air. Around it, you can see shapes that look like Saturn’s rings.

The one for the End has a black stain at the center. The colour inordinately fades away around the core, till it disappears in white.

/end ID

Magnus Archives - First Impressions (151-175)

We’re almost there, gang. Out of the Lonely and into the Eyepocalypse we go! Blah blah I had 75% of the series spoiled and am jotting down my thoughts, you know the drill.

EP 151 (Big Picture): - OH SIMON??? - okay okay Simon's kinda funny, you go you funky little sky grandpa - Martin Tell Her The TRUTH EP 152 (A Gravedigger's Envy): - oooh another ancient one - hey that's terrifying wtf - can someone please comfort jonny boy good lord EP 153 (Love Bombing): - Idk why the cult ones freak me out, maybe because cults are real? - oh god what's gonna happen to that dog - I literally just made my dinner with white wine vinegar that's a little old are you sHITTING ME - GIRL GET OUT OF THERE WHILE YOU HAVE A CHANCE YOU KNOW SOMETHING'S OFF - AYYY THE HUNTIN' GANG - tbh it was weird that they helped him even though they knew he wasn't human actually - DAISY!!!!! - Jon can you chill w/ the sass if you're not gonna help - Okay I'm gay but Daisy Growl Hot - Two dying monsters trying to reconcile their humanity, this is sad I hate it here EP 154 (Bloody Mary): - oh god it's This Episode I've been dreading it poor Eric - g o d Gertrude sounds so upset - I would die for Eric - "Eric I'm gonna count to ten and you're gonna tELL ME HOW YOU QUIT" - I'm already crying good god - "he needed me" o w - MARTIN GOT TO SAY FUCK!!!!! - O U C H - i am so upset FUCK this podcast - the catalogue of the dead is just the Delano-Keay family album EP 155 (Cost of Living): - CALL HER OUT JON - Tova, to this doctor's heart: it's free real estate - A FUCKING C H I L D?????? - ah yes, some more DIY surgery, who needs doctors when you have knives? EP 156 (Reflection): - ayyyy adelard how are ya - oh fun flesh time - oh? extinction? - also that was gross what the fuck - M A R T I N EP 157 (Rotten Core): - go save Martin before I cry - ADELARD!!! - ah no, I'm gonna miss this dude he was kinda cool - this hits different in corona times - okay this is actually pretty gross wtf - Martin's lonely because he chose to be, Jon is lonely because everyone hates him, poetic cinema EP 158 (Panopticon): - Ah Shit Here We Fucking Go - OH WHAT THE FUCK NOT!SASHA???? - AYYYYY THERE'S JONAH MAGNUS WELCOME HOME RAT BASTARD - uh oh bye bye Gertrude Time - mom and dad are fighting to be Martin's favorite parent lmao - no not the promise :C - Martin is the brain cell, he really just played both these men like kazoos - gdi Peter give me my boy back EP 159 (The Last): - hi I am Sad - Marto blease just go with the tired eyeball man - "i see you" MY B O Y S EP 160 (The Eye Opens) - oh lord here we go - at least we get some Jonmartin conversation - Monologue Time! - Jon: can I just say, from the bottom of my heart...my bad EP 161 (Dwelling): - welcome to the apocalypse bitches - FINALLY i've been waiting for these tapes for my entire life - TIMMMMMM! SASHAAAAA! - Elias being a normal person is unsettling - ALL THE EYE JOKES gdi I refuse to simp for eyeball man - THE JARRING "ARCHIVIST" I SWEAR TO FUCKING GOD - "If I wish for all of you to go away do you think it'll work?" well it worked on Tim and Sasha - Elias: I'm a cool boss, I can drink wine - the image of Jon just huddled on the couch with a bag of tapes and listening to them over and over is so sad - sorry Gertrude no Sasha, just a sad little man - thank u for the powerpoint Gertrude - JON DON'T SNAP - i love them so much your honor EP 162 (Cosy Cabin): - GERRY GERRY GERRY - okay Gertrude and Gerry are adorable I love goth boy and his badass grandma - Gerry, ever the pragmatist: but what about TAXES gertrude - Tim and Sasha interacting is the sweetest thing ;_; - oh this is AFTER the hookup lmao - OH WAIT Sasha canonically knew about Danny??? I didn't know that oof - Oh Jon's getting a phone call I suppose - Jon's trying so hard to be dramatic and Martin's like "okay bitch grab ur backpack and lets go" EP 163 (In The Trenches): - "Tell everybooooody I'm ooon my waaay, new frieeends and new plaaaaces to seeeee" - YESSS LET MARTIN CURSE OVER THE GUNSHOTS AND BAGPIPES - "Martin can you stand over there and cover your ears while I cast Eldritch Ramble" EP 164 (The Sick Village): - another one that hits different in corona times - I hate the word soupy - what in the midsommar - if you can't find your own statements, DIY your own - Martin: fuck u Jon, Helen's my friend now - Martin: can I get an Uber, can I PLEASE get an Uber EP 165 (Revolutions): - this is my friend's favorite episode so I'm excited - oh circus music gross - THE RHYMINGGGGG OH I LOVE THIS - my arms are sore from happy stimming at this audio oh my god - SHUT UP JON IT WAS A GOOD POEM - GET HER ASS JON - is that our first "Ceaseless Watcher"?? I think it was! - Jon: Level Up! - Martin: that's hot EP 166 (The Worms): - HELL YES JON SAID FUCK - oh worm? - Martin answer your damn phone - awww Martin don't doubt yourself :C EP 167 (Curiousity): - Fiona: lmao watch this -passes out- - oh I didn't realize Eric was one of the OGs, their conversations make more sense now - Michael :c - Gertrude you got played like a fiddle damn EP 168 (Roots): - jealous Martin lmao - Jon just tell him why you woke up that would probably solve this - As someone who also freaks out about every little twinge this episode felt targeted EP 169 (Fire Escape): - desolation time? desolation time. can't wait to walk through hell - so aside from Smirke's 14 we have the 3 additional fears: the Extinction, the Scotland, and the Landlord - oh this one is terrifiyng i love it - OOOOH the "jons" slowly fading in was really clever - G O D martin sounds so defeated poor boy EP 170 (Recollection): - Martin finding tape recorders is the cutest thing - Oh fuck are we in the Lonely oh shit - this is so disconcerting i love it - someone get this man a better chair EP 171 (The Gardener): - Martin: damn that's a lot of bones - oh not THIS dude again I can barely understand him oh my GOD - well that was interesting EP 172 (Strung Out): - oh web? - oh this is sad shit - I think this is one of the worst domains yet for me personally this sounds like hell - g o d the web makes my brain hurt blease Jonny I'm stupid EP 173 (Night Night): - oh dark? - oh so the darkness is just the apocalypse daycare? nice - oh and this tween runs it, nice - Jon: are you SURE you want me to kill this middle schooler? - wow this is depressing EP 174 (The Great Beast): - oh hunt? - oh vast? lmao that's what i get for assumptions - Martin just wants to kill a man is that too much to ask someone give him a gun EP 175 (Epoch): - ex...tinct...ion? - “Peter was right” no FUCK YOU I refuse to give Peter any credit LOOK ADELARD WAS RIGHT, Adelard Decker laid the BLUEPRINT - poor Jon he's gettin these hard-hitting google searches - Basira and Daisy?????? OH WAIT THAT MEANS OH NO

> -- You hunger. It boils and bubbles in your pit. You wish to devour, someone, something. Entire histories, locations, beings - the purpleblood had seen it in your eyes, in the beast you summoned only for a moment.

It is you.

Equius, why are you so fixated on the mortals, the ghosts? The things that seek to and have brought you pain. Hooked up on yourself, and the piety of suffering. You want everything that you cannot have.

You miss Porrim's affections, you want Scully's shoulders in your palms, you crave how solid Dhanus felt as you succumbed in is arms. You miss your body, you want to create and consume, you crave the creeping touch of death around your throat and the ecstasy it promises every time.

There is something inside of you, that you cannot file. Could not since your inception. No matter how extreme, it is never good enough. The yawning maw of your core is going to begin eating itself.

It was when you ripped a lock of hair out in anger, that you realized your powers have shifted. Before, you thought them unusable.

When you tied the ends together, compelled, you focused. Absence flooded the room from the newly made portal, opaque washes of ink and sand buried you and everything you called home.

Yet you cannot drown. You cannot choke, suffocate. You wish to. The burn of oxygen dissolving in your lungs is what you miss the most. The white of your eyes when existence was simple.

When you mattered even less than you do now.

Amidst the back, an eye opens up to you. Your insides writhe under its gaze, everything pushing out at once. Blood, half digested food, the brunt of your length, the blue innards that could all but fail and you'd still thrive.

What is it, that keeps you going, if not any of this? On your knees, covered in bile, beheld by the ceaseless watcher -

In its eyes; you. One in the same.

And it clicks.

You are one of them.

Horns grow back into an arch, thin thoracic arms sprout into full limbs, catching you as you fall forward. Your own two hands rake back your hair, eyes peering into the endless reflection the glass floor provides. It ripples like greywater, your vomit and slurry dissolving as it sinks lower. Tears are the next thing to hit the ground, and you look up.

The beast is you.

Like a mirror, so real and broken. There are no cracks, but something does not sit right. You don’t have that many eyes- that many arms, so many mouths along your scars, horns and bone protruding from soft flesh. Thick exoskeleton makes them bulkier as you stare. The soft meat of their hip bone stabs through the skin, folding over into a protective shell that you should have fortified long ago.

Why do you want, that which you cannot have.

You miss your dead moirail, you want Tavros to hold you just a little tighter, you crave the endless annihilation that can only be brought by your hand.

Wings.

You grow wings, and they rip through your clothing, furled and wet like autumn leaves. Blood pools from the lacerations, and you tire. You fall to your side, and the other stares.

"Voidloom." He says. Equius, is that you? He looks like you used to, before the curves came in, before your lips and lashes darkened. "It is too late, to go back." He strokes your sweat-slicked hair.

"Would it be worth it, anyway?" In the same breath, she is changing. Her breasts are full, lashes long, hair cropped short and wrapped up in ribbon. She wears a godtier garb, "You are not who you should be." Her smile is tired like yours. "We're not meant to be anyone, can't you see?"

"So we are nothing." They are you. All of them. "So much potential for becoming, you've doomed us all. You have to keep going. Feed, feed child." They hold your cheeks, fingers turning to tendrils, turning to large trunks that swallow you whole in their size.

Their lips lock to yours, they pop like a balloon, and the smoke fills your lungs so violently and fast that you fear you may finally vanish.

Coughing, you fall forward, nothing strong enough to hold you up this time. The shudders won't stop, you leak at every orifice. The beasts no longer watch over you - they are inside you.

They are you.

Becoming, becoming, undoing.

Entropy is all that is left for this universe. Does it makes sense for you, to have a place beyond it? You will truly exist forever. It settles in your bones. You wouldn't wish this on anyone. And yet.

Mind races. Like a parasite, you seek to attach, claim, assimilate.

Is it destruction, if the materials are used for greater ends?

Your stomach splits. Acid spills from your mouth.

Fists clench, you push your messy husk up.

How much time have you already wasted?

Rose Puppetry Ch5: Caught in the Web of Mr. Spider

Summary:

A century ago or so, Atlas set out to conquer the world.  Penny was built to be a spy, an infiltrator meant to find weaknesses in Vale’s defenses before the invasion.

She did.  Then she fell in love.  And rebelled against the kingdom that had created her.

Ch1.  Ch2.  Ch3.  Ch4.

Chapter Content Notes: graphic imagery of spiders, violence, character death, attempted murder, stabbing, references to actual character murder, mind control/possession, comas

I would like to take a moment and remind everyone that this fic is roughly inspired by the Mechanism’s album Once Upon A Time (In Space) and that that narrative’s climax is rather gruesome.  Additionally, this chapter especially was influenced by the Magnus Archives, which is a horror podcast.

Please take those facts into consideration prior to reading.

I would also like to remind you all that there is one more chapter after this one, and thus the fic does not conclude here.

“Ruby?”

Penny speaks her beloved’s name over and over again.  Her voice, a cracking repetition of a broken, almost hopeless recording caught on a looping tape.  The mechanical girl who had come and fought so hard can do nothing but stare.  She hopes the sight before her isn’t real, that she’s mistaken, that this isn’t how their story ends.

Some history books will say it is.  They will narrate the story of a miserable failure of a military project.  One who rebelled against her creators, her masters, and cost not only herself, but the one she loved her life.  These history books will be produced in the harsh, cold printing presses that remain loyal to the faltering Atlesian throne.  A desperate attempt to rewrite history in their favor, but not much more than that really.

Other books, ones with a bit more accuracy, will know better.  For even if there is a ‘happily ever after’ or a ‘the end’ to a story, there’s always a moment after that.  Something that happens next.  Right up until the final end of death comes for the characters.

And neither Penny nor Ruby are quite dead yet.

So it really would be a sad, sorry tale that reaches its conclusion here, wouldn’t it?

The rebels infiltrate the menacing fortress to save the innocent girl and are felled by her hand, now corrupted by the darkness that had ensnared her.  No hope of a happy tomorrow.  Simply a brutal, violent end and a laboratory awash in blood.

For that’s what happens when you wander into a spider’s web.  You tend to get caught by the spider.  And, you know, eaten.

The thing, the crucial detail, that must be taken into account about this tale, though.  The one thing those Atlesian history books will try to wipe away and conceal and keep the public from knowing.  The little detail that keeps this ending from being the true ending of the story.

It’s simply that Ruby Rose is not the spider.

Of course, she is something, and historians (and, after them, archivists) will have quite a wondrous time debating amongst themselves what exactly she is.  But, what she is not, is the spider.  The hungry arachnid who waits so long for its prey to come, who binds its meal tightly in silky thread for later consumption.

Some, and they will have fairly strong evidence for their cause, will argue Ruby was simply the first caught in the spider’s web.  Those ones have a valid, if not entirely understanding of the circumstances as a whole, point.

A spider’s web is a sticky, tricky thing.  When you’re all alone in it, you may see little hope of escape, of anything but the spider’s looming, menacing legs, its snapping jaws, or its eight dark, beady eyes.  But that’s only if and when the spider chooses to focus on you.  They are, after all, creatures that can be distracted.  Ones that can decide to eat something—someone—else.  So, maybe Ruby was the spider’s first chosen meal, but she was one left unfinished due to the arrival of an enticing, delectable follow up.

A spider’s web also happens to be a delicate thing and, if put under too much weight, may potentially collapse.

Let us now return to the scene and become observers, ceaseless watchers, to what happens when this particular web takes on quite a bit of weight.

Are you scared yet?  You’re probably wondering if you should be.  It’s natural, of course.  Debating whether or not you should trust the words you read.  Should you stop here?  What if it gets worse?  But, it’s pretty bad here.  Do you really want this ending to be the ending?

What happens when you don’t stop, though?  When you continue reading the words, bringing them into the reality of being Known?  Didn’t expect to be trapped reading a tale without recourse on how to know if the true end is horrible or not without going along with it until it reaches it’s natural conclusion, did you?

Have you considered that, perhaps, it is you who is trapped in the spider’s web?

So, tell me, how much do you really want to know?  You’re curious, aren’t you?  Driven.  Eager to witness all that happens here.  Why would you remain otherwise?

Let’s see how it goes, shall we?

Our story, our statement, resumes.

Ever so slowly, Ruby turns her head and looks at Penny.  There is no recognition, no emotion of any kind on her face.  Ruby blinks, or, rather, she closes her eyelids and opens them again in a movement that could be perceived as a blink.  A movement that makes her a stranger to Penny.

“Ruby,” Penny repeats, as if the simple utterance of the name will break the spell.  No such enchantment that can be so easily undone exists.  Not here.  Not now.

“Remarkable, isn’t it?”

New footsteps echo through the laboratory.  Penny spins around.  Dr. Watts makes his way over from the door.  Each step he takes is measured and calculated.  His past projects, those horrible menaces whispered about in fear, file into the room behind him.

Cinder looks at the scene laid out before her and smirks.  Tyrian laughs.  Hazel blocks the doorway with his bulk.

“For a super weapon, I expected you to be smarter than to simply walk into what was so obvious a trap.”  Dr. Watts chuckles at Penny.  “Foolish of me to underestimate the weakness of love, I suppose.”

“Let.  Ruby.  Go.”  Penny clenches her fists.  She raises her daggers.  She doesn’t have the advantage here, but that won’t stop her.

“If you insist.”  Watts waves a dismissive hand.  With his other, he takes a remote out from his pocket and clicks a button on it.  The clasps around Ruby’s wrists and ankles snap open.  He turns to walk away, but pauses before he exits the laboratory.  “Do try to leave at least some of them intact,” he tells Cinder, Tyrian, and Hazel.  “It would be a pity for so many good bodies to go to waste.”  He exits.

Penny turns to Ruby one last time.  “Ruby…”  This time it’s a begging sob that escapes her lips.  “Please, no.”

Ruby stands.  She reaches around herself, to the sheath attached to her belt.  Her fingers wrap around the hilt of the blade there.  Ruby withdraws the weapon.  There’s no sign she recognizes the desperate plea in Penny’s eyes.

The sword slashes through the air.

Penny dodges.  She retreats away from Ruby’s attack.  Her daggers hover around her.  She can’t bring herself to command them to retaliate.

“Ruby, please, it’s me, it’s Penny!  You have to recognize me!”

Ruby draws back.  For a brief, hopeful second, Penny thinks she’s gotten through to her love.  A small smile appears on Penny’s lips.  It almost immediately falls away.

Ruby lifts her hand not holding the sword.  Around it, thick, black sludge forms.  It branches out into a limb all of its own.  Bleached white claws emerge at its tips, like grotesque fingers.  There’s a second where the Grimm arm moves and shifts, as if adjusting to its own weight.  A twisted smirk appears on Ruby’s face.  She looks between her new appendage and Penny.

Penny’s daggers come to bear a defensive position in front of her without her telling them to.  The Grimm arm tries to dart around them, but the daggers cut through it like butter.  It disintegrates into dust.  Ruby screams.  Her voice is loud, hoarse, and pained.  Penny hesitates, doesn’t take the opening.  She can’t… she doesn’t…she needs to…but it’s Ruby!  RUBY!

She can’t just kill her.  Penny glances behind her, at where she knows her team is, but there is no aid to be found there.  Cinder, Tyrian, and Hazel are on the attack.  The less said about that carnage, the better.  Penny is on her own.  She turns back to Ruby and, with every fiber of her being protesting, she prepares to fight.

I’ll make it quick, Penny tells Ruby in her head.  You don’t deserve this suffering.  I’m sorry.  I’m so, so sorry.

Penny ducks Ruby’s sword, and feigns to the left.

I’m sorry that this is how it ends.

Penny commands her daggers to cut through the Grimm limbs Ruby keeps painfully forming and sending at her.  She refuses to allow herself to wince at the agonizing screams.

I’m sorry you didn’t get to live a long and happy life.

Penny sees her opening.  Ruby has faltered.  Penny allows herself a second to take a breath, and then she lunges.  Her daggers all are pointed forward, ready to complete the death blow.

I’m sorry you ever had the misfortune of knowing me.

Penny’s killing blow doesn’t make its target.  Ruby faked her out.  Midway into Penny’s attack, she dodges.  Penny has no time to change course.  Her eyes widen.  Ruby’s Grimm limbs surround Penny, grab her, hold her.

Horror takes over Penny’s face.  She knows what’s going to happen right before the final Grimm arm makes the plunge into her chest.  Her mind goes blank with the pain.  Whether or not she’s screaming, Penny has no idea.

Ruby’s darkness, her corruption, seeps into Penny, worming its way to the mechanical girl’s heart, her core.  For Penny can only be destroyed if it is.  The Annihilation reaches its target.  It circles its prey, completely surrounding it.  It surges in for the kill.

In that dreadful moment, Death doesn’t come.  It was never going to.  It has, shall we say, a feel, for these things.  It knew, all throughout this battle, how it would end.  Death knew it would not be necessary to send its Reaper here.

The Silver Eye, which had protecting Ruby’s soul and had waited and waited and watched for its opportunity finally found its chance.  When the Grimm entombing it reached out to destroy the one its guardian loved, the Silver Eye, for the first time in its existence, felt something.

Remember, the Eye, on its own, had never been a whole.  It was forged, by the King of Vale, out of the remaining half of the Staff of Creation.  Though it could exist on its own, it never truly stopped longing to find its missing, stolen part.  And, when its prison made that final, almost deadly attack, through those dark tendrils ensnaring it, the Silver Eye finally felt that echo, that reverberation, that it had ached for for so very long.

In that moment, it wakes up and reaches.

Blinding silver light shines out through the laboratory.  Every vestige of Annihilation’s power, every bit of Grimm, inside a person or out, is disintegrated.  For those who have long since opened their arms to Destruction and allowed its influence into themselves, this means Death finally comes for its dues.  For Ruby, who the Silver Eye loves and cherishes, this means purification from her corruption.  For Penny, this means her life is spared and, from within her, the Silver Eye is answered.

Once upon a time, the General King of Atlas found the blueprints for an old inventor’s creation.  He saw it as a grand opportunity to build a great weapon for the glory of his kingdom.  To fuel it, he saw no better resource than his kingdom’s relic itself.  He split the Staff of Creation in half, stored one part away for later use and fashioned the other into a core for the new automaton.

Unbeknownst to him, in doing this, the General King created a mirror to the Silver Eye; the Winter Soul.  A new entity all of its own, it was.  One curious, fascinated about the world around it, and ever so willing to learn.

Is it such a shock then, that was built to be a weapon of immeasurable power turned its back to this objective and instead chose to attempt to understand and love the world it found itself in?  Is it such a shock that it came to love one who would be later chosen to preserve life itself?

Much has been written and recorded about the Fall of Atlas.  There are numerous accounts of the sudden surge of blinding light that shone across the kingdom.  Many theorize, but they do not know the truth of its source.  What they do know is that it wiped out the city’s mainframe and, for the first time in history, Atlas was left vulnerable.  It didn’t take long for the Rebellion’s ships to rise from Mantle and begin that final, gruesome attack after that.

Later, the Rebellion’s charge into Atlas Academy, of their slaughter of the robotic forces of the Atlesian Military, will be dramatized into something far more glorious and far less bloody than it was.  The retellings will focus on the storming of the throne room, of the General King being forced to his knees in surrender, the capture of the notorious Dr. Watts.  They will applaud the victories of the day, and blatantly ignore the executions of the weeks to follow.

And so, Atlas’s web of power collapses, crumpling into a thousand twisting, tangled threads.  The spider, the warmonger, who sat at its center, weaving and warping the world into something that suited him and only him, and growing fat off the results, is squashed.

Those two who were responsible, who gave the world the chance it needed to rid itself of the boot pressing down upon its throat, they were never known.

For Ruby, now saved from the Grimm but forever scarred by it, looks down upon the sleeping form of her fallen beloved, sees the full extent of Penny’s injuries, gathers her up in her arms, and steals her away to where she can be repaired.

In peace.

honestly id love to see you write jon's teen years i think you'd do a great job

The Avatars are stronger when they have a core of fear still within themselves regarding their patron. Shy teenage Jon who’s voice is cracking and doesn’t want to be looked at because he’s pretty sure he’s got a pimple goes to do an in-class presentation and immediately levels up so hard the Ceaseless Watcher spontaneously manifests in the middle of London.

Most rituals can only hold their patron for a few brief moments, but when Jon goes to meet a date’s parents for the first time the Ceaseless Watcher manifests for a week.

hi hi i'm back with more questions! (i'll probs send u some ask meme questions later as well hfgjdhf). so yunno how ppl will depict jon with funky/extra eyes, sometimes when he's specifically doing the whole "ceaseless watcher" thing? if nhthcth!jon were to have that, what would they look like?

Hi!

That’s a good question! If he had the extra eyes thing, I like the idea of them being sort of sunken in his skin? Like they’re peaking through slits that are almost jagged.

I don’t really imagine them as like, some sort of glowing spooky facsimile of an eye. They’re real eyes, deep-set in his skin, riddling all over his body. They should be disturbing to look at. His Becoming was a deeply unpleasant, deeply violent thing that affected him to the core of his being, and the eyes reflect that.

Our Angel of Brahma, pt. i

I rewrote the original piece that started this au. There are some new details added in and some grammar mistakes finally corrected. @ceaseless-watchers-special-girl @ananxiousgenz @gwenlena @demonic-panini @the-private-eye

SOUND: COMMS BEEPS. RECORDING BEGINS.  TIRED VOICE: Some say, that the Legend isn't true. Some say that it's a bedtime story that a mother made up to put her children to sleep so they would be less distressed in the morning when she didn't come home. At least one person believes that he built the Hanataba Clinic.  We don’t know everything. But here is what we do know: SOUND: PAPER SHUFFLING ACROSS TILE FLOOR. TIRED VOICE: A young revolutionary infiltrated New Kinshasa and got to the Reactor Core of the floating city and the Guardian Angel System. He pulled the Reactor and started a ten-minute countdown destabilizing the city's gravity field. A lone constable arrived first on the scene and fought revolutionary. He was stabbed to death. The revolutionary then put the Reactor back in place, restabilizing New Kinshasa, putting the Guardian Angel System back online, and was stormed by several more Constables. He made a speech to the city and to the planet of Brahma. Promising that if he came this close to knocking the city out of the sky, then he would someday come back to finish the job.  (DEEP SIGH) New Kinshasa never fell on us that day. A curfew was instilled and one by one, friends and family members were dragged out of their beds, lined up shoulder to shoulder, and killed in the dead of night. We never see them again. We don't get to bury our dead.  The Guardian Angel System is meant to protect them from us. It is meant to teach us a lesson. It is meant to be the key to preventing another Galactic Civil War. There are whispers that the Solar Planets call it a war crime.  There is only person who stood up and threatened to end it all. Only one person who dared defy New Kinshasa. Our Angel of Brahma. He gave us hope. And we soared with him, we rallied in the streets, we rioted for days, we starved ourselves in protest. The Dome Wardens stopped showing up to their shifts, forcing the Constables to stretch themselves so thin to monitor Brahma’s storms. People like my father were organizing how to get aid to those who would need it most in case things turned further South. We were in it for the long haul. We sat outside the shuttle station heading to New Kinshasa and body blocked the Constables from leaving. And we waited. And waited. And waited. And he never came back. Vanished, like the mother who tucked her children into bed a final time and waited outside their home to be taken away. Like the husband who pressed a bruising kiss against his spouse's mouth a final time as they were pried apart. Our Angel vanished. Twenty years have passed. No one dares to breathe the name in public or else the System will shoot you down on the spot. The historians have already started to erase our revolution. The Constables say that they caught him ages ago and locked him up somewhere off-planet where no one will ever find him. Dark Matters classified all of Brahman and New Kinshasan history before the War, and slapped the label "Class-X Radical" on everything that came after it. They all want us to forgive, and forget.  But I refuse. I refuse to let go. And I refuse to believe any of that. Our Angel would not abandon us so quickly. I choose to believe that he is alive, that Peter Nureyev is alive. I choose to believe that he will come back to us and either liberate Brahma or obliterate us trying like he swore he would. I choose to believe that they never caught him, and they never will, and he will return. I choose to believe... (DEEP BREATH) I just hope that whoever this recording reaches, it isn't too late. And if he's out there... Peter Nureyev, whoever you may be, wherever you are, I believe in you. Don't give up hope in us, please. SOUND: COMMS BEEPS. RECORDING ENDS. 

- Found recording of a tired middle-aged Revolutionary who hasn't given up hope yet. The abandoned storage unit the recording was found in was full of mostly junk. The unit belonged to an art collector, but why would they have owned so much junk? And where/when did they come into possession of the comms? I found the comms in a shoe box wrapped up in paper with a note, written in a language (?) or code (?) I do not recognize. Filling the empty space of the box were pamphlets again, written in some code I can’t decipher. Along with this recording (found on an old model comms) was a second recording of the same tired-voiced Revolutionary singing a song. When the comms was rewound back to the earliest recording it crashed. TO DO LIST: 1) Find someone to refurbish the comms, 2) who is the Revolutionary in the recordings?, 3) WHO IS PETER NUREYEV?

Calypso scribbles her final notes down before tossing her pen aside. She leans back in her office chair and massages her neck. After several dry months of no current events and no interesting enough historical columns picked up by any Solar Newspaper, she was running out of options. 

She scrapped together whatever creds she could spare and bought an abandoned storage unit on Mars hoping that it would turn up something good enough. According to the company selling it, the original owner was an art collector who traveled the galaxy far and wide. They used the unit to store things that were important to them, and planned on selling off someday. The collector never got around to any of this though having died six months back from a sudden heart attack. Goddess rest their soul, Calypso placed a bid, and thought at the time she scored big. 

Turns out, most of the paintings they were withholding were either fakes or reproductions. Many of the cardboard boxes that she was promised would be chock-full of ancient artifacts were stuffed full of ancient Earthen crystal glass swans. So many swans. So many, Calypso didn’t know what a swan was until she did, and quite frankly wished she could go back to a time BS– Before Swans. 

After opening the seventh box of glass swans (who in right their mind needs that many swans?), she had concluded this “investment” to be a bust. 

She still had that standing offer from Mercury Spectacular Sci-Fi Publishing. Calypso didn’t write fiction, but she did write a more thoughtful article on Mister Mercury’s mansion above Mars than the last five. Color the man easy to impress because he coaxed her to give it a shot. Contact my agent in a week with whatever you got. And she tried, she really tried this time, but the best she came up with started with It was a dark and stormy night and ended with Their deaths were estimated to have occurred around three in the morning. Mister Mercury’s publishing agency did respond back to her email, and they did start off with a compliment, but that was already more than enough to convince Calypso that she did not need to be a fiction writer. She closed the email and hasn’t opened it since. Ignorance is bliss they always say. Maybe if she groveled enough they would reconsider and give her a second shot. Maybe her writing was bad enough that they took pity on her and offered her a chance to join them and she was the idiot to not keep reading. 

That’s when she opened the eighth box. A shoebox for old work boots. Inside were pamphlets written in code and a note wrapped around an old comms. Which brings everything back up to now. 

New Kinshasa. Brahma. Guardian Angel System. Reactor core. 

The Angel of Brahma.

“Peter Nureyev…” She grows incredibly tense waiting for something terrible to happen. Maybe the G.A.S. would strike her down just like the Revolutionary said it would. Nothing happens. And nothing will. The Solar Planets do call the G.A.S. a war crime. They do detest it and they do not condone its use. But no one’s done anything about it. No one except Peter Nureyev. 

Calypso chews on her thumb while tapping a finger against her notes. 3) Who is Peter Nureyev? She knows just about as much about Brahma and New Kinshasa as the average person. Which is virtually nothing. But if this recording is real, and the Revolutionary real, and Peter Nureyev real, then she now knows a lot more than the average person. 

“Fuck.” With no better story to tell, and no better history to research, Calypso leans back over her desk and jots down everything she thought she knew about Brahma.

a rose by any other name would smell as sweet

Part 23 of Whumptober 2020

Fandom: The Magnus Archives Characters: Jonathan Sims, Martin Blackwood Tags: Whump, Hurt/Comfort, Very Very Long Naps

Read on Ao3

Martin remembers what it had been like, vaguely—to step over the threshold of Upton House and feel months of sleeplessness and hunger and thirst and filth accumulate on and within him all at once. He’d almost forgotten what it felt like—being exhausted to your very core, being startlingly mortal in your physical needs. Being human. He’d reveled in it, just for a moment, as his mind recognized his body’s old habits and sighed with a sort of content.

 Then, weakness and fatigue had crushed him with the weight of a thousand sufferings, and he’d collapsed. For 71 hours, apparently. He supposes when they say you can’t catch up on sleep, they don’t count on you staying awake for a literally uncountable amount of days.

 Now, as he watches the last eye overhead blink out of existence, its gaze burning through him until the very end, he feels that same crushing exhaustion return tenfold, nearly collapsing him on the spot, as the world lets out a collective sigh and mortality makes itself known once more. His hand tightens around Jon’s as he feels his knees weaken and his mind begin to turn fuzzy and blurred, and he knows that Jon’s feeling the same by the way he sways slightly, bumping into Martin’s side.

 “That’s… that’s it then?” Martin manages to say, tongue heavy with sleep that longs to claim it. “We… we fixed everything?”

 “I…” Jon trails off, and Martin thinks it’s just the exhaustion catching up to him, but when he glances over with blurry eyes, he sees that Jon’s forehead is knit in confusion. “I don’t know,” he says quietly.

 “You… you don’t…” Martin frowns, but the words slip from his tongue like water on wax and his mind can’t quite catch them.

 “I… I can’t…” Jon slumps fully into Martin’s side, the sharp angle of his elbow pressing into Martin’s stomach. “Too many… threads…”

 He sways, just once, and then collapses against Martin. And when darkness comes to claim Martin as well, he can do nothing but let it.

.

When Martin finally feels sleep release him, it does so to bright yellow light streaming in through a dusty window and a scratchy woven comforter slung over him that’s just a bit too hot. He groans and shifts, and his elbow comes into contact with something soft and pliant.

 He looks over, and a vibrant warmth curls within his chest.

 Jon’s next to him, still asleep and relaxed in a way Martin hasn’t seen him in months—hell, maybe in years. The persistent dark smudges under his eyes have faded into the barest hint of grey, and the lack of tension in his body makes Martin realize with a start that he’s actually sleeping, all of himself contained within his own mind, no parts stretched to touch the minds of others, to consume their suffering even under the guise of rest.

 He feels so unbelievably, uncontrollably happy, just for a moment, as peace finally begins to make its home in his chest.

 Then, he remembers what had come after the peace and happiness—the blank stares, the lost trains of thought and memories that slipped through fingers like water, the lack of Jon Martin saw when he looked into Jon’s eyes as they stepped back over the threshold and into the thrumming fear that called to them—and he’s seized by an all-too familiar terror.

 He reaches for Jon, but his hand stills just shy of his shoulder. He hesitates, just a moment, before his fingers curl back in toward his palm and he slowly retracts his hand. It might be the same as before, he thinks with a twisting sensation deep within him. It might not. Either way, he just- he can’t interrupt what little true peace Jon may have left. Not over a fear that can be dealt with in its own time. If it need be dealt with at all.

 Besides, his stomach is currently doing its very best to consume itself, and his tongue is dry and sticky with thirst, so he carefully extracts himself from the bed and moves to the door of the bedroom. It hasn’t escaped his notice that this is not the safehouse, nor is it anywhere that strikes a sense of familiarity within Martin. His hand closes on the door handle, and he offers a quick prayer to a God he has long since stopped believing in that this safety has been offered by genuine hands.

 He opens the door and steps out.

 He’s alone. Perhaps that should be a relief, to not have fallen into yet another trap with no escape. Perhaps he should be disappointed, to not see a familiar face—though there had been so few left at the end.

 He just feels tired again. So, with a sigh and weary steps, he makes his way to the kitchen to put the kettle on.

.

Upon the fridge, adhered with a magnet of a black-and-white cartoon spider:

 Martin,

 I do hope you and Jon are doing well. I suppose congratulations are in order—it couldn’t have been easy, bringing the world back into balance. Of course, now that the Ceaseless Watcher has—well, has ceased watching, I suppose—there’s a gap to fill, but don’t concern yourselves with that. We have it quite covered. Just rest now—you’ve earned it.

 As for the house—it’s yours. Call it a thank-you gift for all you’ve done these past few years. You’ll find the cabinets well-stocked, and there’s a university nearby with two staff openings that I believe you’ll find suit your needs exactly. It really is a lovely little town—quite similar to that Scottish one you both seemed so fond of. That one’s gone now, of course, remade in this world’s recreation, so this will have to do. But don’t worry—you’ll like it here.

 Also, please do let Jon know that should he need anything—anything at all—all he has to do is ask. After all, this is a wonderful new world that we live in—I think he’ll find that it will suit him quite nicely. Do make sure he remembers that.

 Annabelle Cane

 In the other room, Jon blinks awake.

.

They’re sitting in one of the green spaces of the university, on a wooden bench shadowed by a spiraling tree that looms just a bit too tall overhead. The birds that chirp from its branches are slightly too low-pitched, just a bit too harsh. Though they’re the only ones who notice. Who know. Who, when the world had been flipped on its axis, had been fortunate enough to Watch.

 Jon stares at the employee badge in his hand, proudly proclaiming him a new professor of information and library science, with a detached look in his eyes. “I… I just asked for it, Martin,” he says, running the pad of his thumb over the block letters that spell out his name: Dr. Jonathan Blackwood-Sims. “He… when he handed it to me, he said, ‘Welcome aboard,’ but his eyes, they were… I don’t think he actually saw me.”

 Martin fiddles with his own employee badge, labeling him Admissions Coordinator like that’s something he’s even remotely qualified for, and remembers with an unsettling twist of his stomach the way the man who handed him his badge had looked as he moved, his motions just a bit too stilted to be quite his own. He thinks of the note, left pinned to the fridge, and Jon’s maintained coherency, and the gap to be filled, and doesn’t particularly like the picture it paints. “Maybe he was just… tired,” Martin says, knowing it’s a bad excuse but letting it blanket them anyway. “And… thought you were someone else.”

 The dry look Jon shoots Martin matches that of the picture on his employee badge, and Martin gives up. “Yeah, okay, fine. Point taken.” They sit in silence for a few moments, letting the sounds of wind through the leaves and the gentle murmur of students passing by numb them to the growing unease within. Then, quietly, Martin says, “So that’s what Annabelle meant, then? When she said to- to ask.”

 Jon stares at the ground. “I don’t know.”

 “Because I would have thought that with the Eye gone, you’d be- I don’t know, released or something, not just pawned off to the closest available fear—”

 “I don’t know, Martin!” Jon’s eyes are alight with a raw desperation as he turns them from the ground to Martin. “I- I don’t know. I don’t feel different, but- but I also don’t feel like I’m fading, like I’m losing myself like I did before. I don’t know if that means that I’m- I’m just severed completely, if that’s even possible, or if I’m tied to the Web now, or if it’s something new entirely, something in between the Eye and the Web, or if it’s none of those things! I can’t know anymore.” Jon’s hand grips the badge so tightly Martin can see it cutting red lines into the flesh of his hand, and a subtle terror begins to creep in behind the desperation in Jon’s eyes. “I can’t See anything, but apparently I can Ask, and I don’t know which is worse.”

 “Oh, Jon,” Martin says softly, and he puts his arm around Jon’s shoulders and pulls him tightly to his side. Some of the tension bleeds out of Jon as Martin presses a gentle kiss to his temple. “I’m sorry.”

 “It’s.” Jon pauses, his breath hitching slightly. “It’s fine. It’s… whatever this is, I don’t think it’s something I can get rid of. Not… not like before. I’m… I’m stuck. Trapped.” Jon lets out a short, bitter laugh. “Though I suppose that’s rather the point, isn’t it?”

 “Maybe.” Martin glances out over the green, at the flowers coming into full bloom in the warm early summer air and the stone pavers that carve their way across the grass. It’s so alive, in a way that fills him with so much love and longing and joy it hurts him to contain it all, and he gets to share it with Jon. Jon, who he loves, who he married as soon as he possibly could because he couldn’t bear to lose his chance again. Jon, who he’d longed for for so long, through the Archives and the fears and the terrifying moments in that destroyed world when Martin thought he would lose him. Jon, who is his joy, chasing away the tendrils of fog that once curled around his heart and that still nip at his heels when he isn’t paying close enough attention. He can think of a thousand different words to describe what this world is to him, and what this world is to Jon, but trapped is not one of them.

 The Web doesn’t do favors, and it doesn’t offer kindness without expecting something in return. But this, Martin thinks, feels less like a kindness or a favor, and feels more like a thank you. And when faced with the scale of human suffering, a thank you feels quite all right.

 “It could be worse,” is all he says in the end, because he knows that Jon doesn’t want to hear another placation about how it’ll all be fine. Then, with a small smile, he adds, “After all, we have jobs now, and there’s a Sun in the sky again, and I love you.”

 There’s still uncertainty and distrust brimming in Jon’s eyes, undercut with something Martin thinks might be curiosity, but he lets himself relax into Martin’s side with a sigh. “I… suppose.” His hand finds Martin’s, and he threads their fingers together and squeezes, just once. “I love you too.”

 The wind blows through Martin’s curls, bringing with it the scent of cut grass and far-off rain, and he lets it soothe the last vestiges of nervousness that linger at the back of his mind, telling him that though this is a world that has righted itself, it has not quite given them the courtesy of being free.

hnghgh could i possibly ask for michael flirting with his oblivious crush?

Michael flirting with someone Oblivious

It was a long process for him to untangle what his feelings for you were. He’s still untangling, his heart is nothing asides from different colored yarns wrapped up in thoughts about you, but he knows what he wants. He wants you. He wants commitment. He wants the human sensation of holding someone close and saying your heart has been eaten whole by them and- oh, that one isn’t very human, so Helen says. It’s still human to tell people how you feel, and historically, the feelings of love and hunger are mixed so it isn’t far off.

Getting you to understand him... IS far off. It isn’t any fault of yours, of course. Michael just hasn’t found the right words that are both honest (in how he feels) and understandable (to you, who’s mind works so different from his.) His first failure was asking the Archivist and his friends. Well, Martin helped more than the rest of them, but that was only because what he said was “Just be honest.” But honesty is hard when one is a creature of lies, but he tries for you.

Michael's attempts at pick-up lines don’t exactly work. Did it hurt when you squirmed into his thoughts, never to leave him a moments unhappy respite? You said that sounds like that would hurt him more instead. The compliments are always well received, but not understood how they were meant. Your eyes are windows he could never dare open, leading to a soul etched with stories he would do anything to read. You smile sweetly, used to his strange words, and even though Michael aches with strange sensations unnameable, your smile will never fail to cover the longing.

Tomorrow, he’s going to end this. The hand of the Twisting Deceit has better to do than partake in the Everchase, and he is going to sit you down and tell you everything. No pretty words, no allegories and allusions, just directness that cuts him to his core and makes him feel like he’s the Michael working for the Ceaseless Watcher again. He loves you. He wants to be with you as a partner. His feelings for you are deep and unending and maddening. Tomorrow, poppet. Be ready for him.

10 characters

Thank you for tagging me, @mygeekcorner

Rules: make a new post, name 10 characters from 10 different fandoms that you like, then tag 10 people.

Bungou Stray Dogs: If it were just aesthetics, Chuuya would be my number one. The red hair, blue eyes, tiny stature, choker & vest & glove combo is divine, especially when that’s contrasted to the absolute chaos that is his ability. But I am most in awe of Dazai’s character. His silly antics cover a deeply troubled and dark core, and I’m fascinated by his fraught relationship to morality and goodness. I love the theory that Dazai is the old Mafia boss’s son, and I love the fact that the manga is his messy redemption arc.

Yuri on Ice: While I vibe with Yuuri Katsuki on a deeply personal level, I have to give the nod to the tiny gremlin Yuri Plisetsky. He’s a ceaseless whirlwind of rage and spite most of the time, but there are small glimpses of more going on beneath the surface, usually in response to Yuuri.

Ouran High School Host Club: I don’t think I would have been able to get through the anime (or be reading the manga) without Haruhi’s dry and often weary reactions to the Host Club, yet Tamaki is my fave. He is the ultimate himbo: rich, pretty, kind, sensitive, ditzy, dramatic, and deeply in love with a young woman who regularly says “fuck gender norms.”

Fruits Basket: I am fascinated by Tohru Honda. When I first started watching the remake, I wasn’t sure I was going to like her. She’s super feminine, super selfless, super positive, super emotional, and she does domestic work joyfully. As soon as I realized that this was a role that she clung to in order to deal with her trauma, I was all in. Her arc in the manga involves accepting that it’s okay to be selfish sometimes, to want things, which isn’t something girls always hear.

Demon Slayer: I love Giyuu and am looking forward to finally being able to read the manga that explores his past with Sabito, but Zenitsu is number one for me. I completely understand why watchers of the anime find Zenitsu to be exasperating and annoying, but his fear is beyond understandable and his backstory with Gramps is absolutely touching. 

Avatar: Zuko is best boy. His character arc is the most dynamic and the most dramatic. There’s a reason why it’s often cited as one of the best redemption arcs of all time. Yet it’s not really redemption. As many more eloquent than me have pointed out, Zuko doesn’t really change. He’s not evil. He is a lost boy, clinging desperately to old beliefs, and what he learns on his journey widens his knowledge, deepens his understanding, and changes his perspective. Plus, Zutara forever.

Fullmetal Alchemist: I give nods to Ling and Roy, but Ed is my favorite. He is a dazzling creation. I absolutely love his arc, transitioning from an angry, arrogant, and somewhat isolated pipsqueak to a somewhat less angry, much more humble man who is overflowing with friends and loved ones. Never has there been a conclusion more satisfying than what Hiromu Arakawa whipped up for Ed getting Al’s body back. 

My Hero Academia: Most days it’s a toss up between Todoroki and Bakugou. Like for many other characters in this post, they’ve had the most dynamic character arcs out of everyone in the manga/anime so far. Bakugou particularly has undergone a remarkable transformation, part Zuko perspective shift and part Ed arrogance squashing. But I’m most invested in Todoroki right now because he’s more enmeshed in bigger story arcs: his conflicting feelings regarding his father and the bombshell that is Dabi (is a Todoroki). 

Final Fantasy 15: Prompto Argentum. No question. Noctis is a fantastic protagonist, I love his mix of OP and sleepy, but Prompto’s story is the most emotional and the most dramatic. From the anime, to the main game, and to his DLC, his growth from shy and lonely boy to confident and capable man, all the while maintaining his tender heart, is so fulfilling.

Persona 5: I’m eager to get to the new semester in Royal and unlock even more of the new Akechi content. However, Ryuji and Yusuke will forever be my Best Boys. I am forever bitter about the fact that I cannot romance either of them (sure, Atlus, it’s okay for a high school boy to have a romantic relationship with adult women, but it’s not okay for him to kiss another boy).

I tag the first 10 peeps on my activity feed: @growth-and-destruction, @counting-dollars-counting-stars, @clairemassey, @puppet2041, @lunaray6, @quietgirl1998, @ladyfandom, @life-is-nofairytale, @bookgroper, and @silvermorningglory