#smallsays

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I don’t think we’ve heard Jon this viscerally, physically upset since the beginning of the apocalypse.

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Martin Blackwood only listens to The Magnus Archives for the romance, he’s not really a big fan of the horror parts.

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My Soul to Keep

“You know you shouldn’t stay,” said Jon. Callum Brody slouched resolutely before him in the middle of Night Street. His arms were wrapped around his middle, and his face was dominated by a truly world-class pout. Jon knelt down in spite of his protesting knees. “The Dark will have to chase something. As soon as we leave, you’re all it has left.”

“Don’t think so,” said Callum. His eyes fixed on a nearby stub of grass that had grown all the way up through the concrete only to wither in the darkness. “You’ve been out there, yeah? Past the end of the street? There’s still people, right? I can use them.”

“There are,” said Jon. “Some might even consider it a welcome distraction.”

“Long as it’s not me, that’s fine,” Callum shrugged. “Maybe fun, even. This place was getting boring.”

Jon studied him for a long moment. He’d expected him to be angry when they started their work. He had been fully prepared to fend off a supernatural tantrum. Instead, Callum had gone immediately to sulking. Jon could Know why, of course, if he really wanted to.

But it never hurt to ask, first.

“Do you think you’ll be alright?”

Callum finally met his gaze. He finally looked upset, and frightened and hurt, and all of the other things that he’d managed not to be in front of the other children. “Are you stupid? No. Nothing’s alright. Not anymore.”

“I know that,” Jon said softly. “I just… You shouldn’t have to do this alone. If there’s any way we can help, I-”

“Get out.”

Jon made no move to get up.

“I said get out, we’re done here,” Callum repeated, louder, as if perhaps Jon hadn’t heard. “I’m not coming with you. You want to help, let me have this. It’s all I’ve got.”

“Alright.” Jon stood slowly. “Alright. I wish I could promise that we were coming back,” he said.

Callum’s expression softened. It occurred to Jon that he probably hadn’t considered his unlikely guests being in danger; either because he didn’t care, or because he tried not to think of the world outside of his domain.

“Thanks,” said Callum. To Jon’s surprise, it sounded like he meant it. “Um. Don’t die, I guess. Or, whatever happens to people now.”

Jon laughed slightly. “You too. I guess.”

They both turned on their heels and paced back to their respective parties. Callum went into the darkness, unflinching at the hungry shadows that followed him. Jon retreated into the light.

“Did he change his mind?” asked Martin. He took a second to shift the weight of the bodies in his arms. Marnie had gone sleepily boneless in the soft expanse of his jumper, but Gavin still clung to his shoulder like an especially squirmy bandolier.

“No,” said Jon. He glanced down in surprise as little Jeremy took his hand, but didn’t pull away. “No, this… It’s best for all of them, him included. He understood that.”

“D’you think he wanted to come?” Martin asked.

“I don’t know,” said Jon, “I don’t think he would have admitted it. I certainly wasn’t about to make him tell me.”

Martin nodded, running a hand over Gavin’s back idly. “Kay. So, what now?”

“Now, we go back,” said Jon, loud enough so that some of the crowd around them could hear. “Back to the Lonely. I can get us there faster, now that we’ve already been. If that makes sense?”

“Nope!” Martin said brightly. “Never does. I’m dead certain you’re just making this stuff up half the time. But if it works, does it reeeeally matter?”

“I suppose not,” said Jon.

“What’s the Lonely?” asked a small voice from his side. He looked down to see Katya keeping pace with Jeremy, still eyeing Jon suspiciously. She wasn’t in the business of trusting strange adults.

“It’s like a big, awful haunted house,” Martin explained. “But instead of fun and cool, it’s sad and the worst. There’s still fog, though, so it’s got that in common.”

“Is my mum there?” asked Kayla.

“Yes,” Jon assured her, “In fact, I think… both of them, yes. That’s why we’re going. There are a lot of mums there, and I expect they’re missing you very badly right now.”

The first thing they’d learned about Night Street was that none of the parents were real. Their fear was far too valuable to let them waste away here until their children were of age.  Instead, the houses were populated with crude fabrications, stitched together from flickering television light and the muffled vibrations of shouting behind closed doors. They just needed to be hostile and sharp enough to drive “their” children away, into the arms of the Dark. Nothing more complicated or less horrible than that.

Accordingly, that was the first thing they’d explained to Michelle when they finally caught her. She was not easy to catch. She was faster than should have been possible, and ran from what she thought were two new spectors sent to torment her. Her downfall was that she preferred to hide. Not even the Dark could keep her from the Archivist’s sight. Unlike the shadows that prowled her house, Jon and Martin had every intention of actually catching her, not just letting her run and find a new place to simmer in her fear. When she darted to avoid Martin, she was caught up in the tangle of Jon’s arms, and the constant, quiet stream of words that spilled from him the moment he held her.

It’s alright. This is safe. They won’t get you. They can’t hurt you with me here.

Michelle screamed and cried and begged to be let go, but with each word, she knew more closely that he wasn’t lying.

It’s okay. You don’t have to be scared. We won’t hurt you, and neither will anything else, I won’t let them.

Michelle cried more softly, and pleaded for him not to leave.

I’m right here. You’re alright.

We’re not leaving without you.

Michelle knew that they wouldn’t.

She asked if they could help wake her father. Every now and then, she was able to dart across the house into his bedroom while the monsters weren’t looking, but he never gave her more than a mumble of annoyance for her efforts. Jon told her that no, that wasn’t her father at all- he could even show her the empty bed, the supposed bulge under the covers just a trick of the light, the muttering a creak of the floorboards. Her father was somewhere else entirely. (Jon had to look first, because he wasn’t sure if he was going to be able to tell her what he found). He was in the Lonely. He was there because he was looking for her.

This discovery brought a new layer into their plan. In some ways, it actually made things simpler. The proof of concept was the important bit - if they could rescue one child, it was theoretically possible for them to rescue the rest, that was just maths and a matter of time, so very much time - but they had always gotten stuck on what to do with them. They couldn't take them all the way to the tower. The other Fear domains were arguably much more dangerous. Jon could keep a watchful eye on them all, but protecting them was another matter. Using the children to rescue their parents didn’t just free more people. It would provide shepherds who were uniquely willing and able to care for their newly acquired flock. Some children had parents in other domains. Some didn’t have parents left to find at all. But the overwhelming majority were in the Lonely, and it was such a number that all of them combined could hang on to the lost children until a more permanent solution was found.

So they told Michelle that they would get her to her parents.

Then, they told Sam.

And Chris.

And Briana.

And they did not stop until there was no one left to tell.

“I miss my mum,” said Ron, who was trailing close behind Martin. He yawned over an envious look up at Marnie. “When can I have a turn?”

“Ten minutes,” Martin said sternly, “That’s what we negotiated. Except that time doesn’t work, so, um, whenever Mr. Sims says so.”

“Excu- don’t bring me into this,” said Jon. “I will not be made into a hug trafficker.”

“I thought you were Mr. Sims,” Ron said faintly to Martin. Martin went very red, and Jon arched an eyebrow.

“Is that so?” asked Jon.

“Hmm,” Martin made an interested noise, like Ron had just shared a new and exciting fact about an obscure topic. What he did not do was offer any correction to Ron’s statement. Jon raised the other eyebrow to match.

“I wonder where you got that idea?” Jon pressed.

“Julia said that Mark said that you two kissed,” said Ron.

“Gross,” Jeremy commented. “Kisses are gross.”

“It wasn’t a gross kiss, it was nice,” Ron argued. “Like on the cheek, and then the other person smiles a lot.”

“All kisses are gross,” Jeremy repeated adamantly.

“Here, I’ll show you-”

“Ah-ah-ah, absolutely no kissing without permission,” Martin yelped. “Here. Jon?”

“I mean, as long as it’s not gross,” said Jon, struggling very hard to keep a straight face. Martin rolled his eyes.

He kissed Jon on the cheek.

Jon smiled quite a lot.

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me: Man, this season of Magnus is going to be so different; so many of the previous statements were rooted in a context slightly removed from our own, making the horror easier to distance from. I can't wait to see how season 5 deals with bringing the Fears real-time into the present day.

Season 5: how about war? how about war as a tool for capitalism and xenophobia? how about war that's been going on for the entire lives of the youngest generation? how about drones that can be anywhere silently and without warning and are absolutely 100% real? how about we literally rip someone's heart out in front of you? bitch?

me: 

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Jared Hopworth, seeing the true face of his god and understanding that it will be the last thing he ever knows:

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Think of how deep that statement goes for Jon, though,

"I can't save anyone."

How constantly he must be reminded that there is no place to rescue anyone to. There is nowhere that Sam or Maeve or Sabina can go where they will not be tormented. That alone is enough to make him lose hope, but it's more than that.

From the very beginning of the season, Jon has been utterly unwilling to even try and help anyone. I think part of it is also trying to cope with how much guilt and responsibility he already feels, and his inability to comprehend having even more of either. Because if he saves someone, anyone, then he has to cope with the millions of people trapped behind them, and he has to be responsible for deciding which one to save. It becomes a choice, not a circumstance that he has no control over. That can't becomes a didn't.

"I didn't save everyone. I chose not to."

And maybe, he will always have in the back of his mind, maybe he could have. But he didn't.

I don't think Jon left the cottage really believing they were going to save anything. Least of all not the whole world.

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Basira: wait I get it now. The Stranger is a metaphor for losing your identity to unrealistic and constantly changing standards of what you should be. We need to 'defeat' it by not compromising our selves or our morals in the pursuit of our goals.

Martin: Basira, for the last time, it's a real army of evil clowns and they have Jon

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Prediction for Episode 164

Martin acquires a spray bottle labeled Spooky Bastard Juice for when Jon starts accidentally monologuing. By the time it is mentioned in the podcast, it has successfully fended off several other non-Jon-related entities.