Uhh umm does anyone else think that - maybe - Jon might have a hard time adjusting to life Somewhere Else? 😥
Text pulled / adjusted from ep 199
Hopefully tumblr doesn't scrungle the quality but y'all know how it is. Id below the cut
A three-page digital comic of Jon Sims from the Magnus Archives, done in muddy green and yellow tones.
Page 1:
Panel 1: Jon is sitting on public transport, looking down out the window with a distracted expression. He is a slim, medium-skinned, dark-haired man with slight pockmark scarring on his face and hands. His hair is cut short and has prominent grey streaks. he is wearing a brown calf-length coat, dark turtleneck, and dark pants. He has a dark shoulder bag on the seat next to him.
Panel 2: Jon looks up out the window with an expression like he's trying not to cry.
Panel 3: Jon looks away from the window and down, with an exhausted expression. The text box reads "It's a matter of guilt."
Panel 4: From Jon's pov, looking down at his own hands. His left holds his right and massages the burn scar with a thumb.
Panel 5: A low view of strangers sitting on a bench in the metro car. Only their feet and lower torsos are shown. Under the bench is darkness. One individual has purple shoelaces. The text boxes read: "It's like it was before." "Fear lurking at the edges."
Panel 6: A view from below of a young asian woman holding onto a handrail, with a cup of coffee in her other hand. She has long, pointed nails painted dark green. The text box reads: "It's not like bad stuff wasn't happening already."
Panel 7: Two young people are asleep in their seat. The man is black with bleached short dreads, and he is resting his cheek on his girlfriend's hair. The woman is white with light hair, dyed brighter green at the tips. She has facial piercings. She is leaning fully back on her boyfriend. His arm is around her, holding her in place. The text boxes read: "We can't take responsibility" "For the hypothetical actions" "Of hypothetical people."
Page 2:
Panel 1: A white man sits on a metro seat holding a bottle of dark soda. He is wearing a beanie and large headphones, and a pale jacket with a big furry collar. His wedding ring is purple. The text boxes read: "We all lived with monsters in the shadows" "And just got on with it."
Panel 2: Jon, viewed from the side. He has leaned his head back against the seat and is staring at the ceiling, with his hands in his lap. In this position, a scar is visible across his throat. The text box reads: "Until we didn't."
Panel 3: A young white girl is twisting around in her seat to look back at the viewer, at Jon. The text boxes read: "There has to be a chance" "It won't happen at all," "Right?"
Panel 4: The viewer is now in the pov of the girl, and Jon is staring directly back at her. His expression is distant and unhappy. The text box reads: "There's got to be a chance."
Panel 5: Jon is standing up to get off the train. He has slung his bag over his shoulder. He is still staring at the girl. The text box reads: "That they'll figure out something we didn't."
Panel 6: A view from above with Jon exiting the train. A few people are waiting for him to get off, their faces are not really visible. One man has gotten off before him and walks away. Jon looks up towards the viewer. Extending from a pillar next to the viewer's pov is a security camera, pointed at Jon, with a purple power cord. On the side of the metro traincar is a logo reading "Citi Web Transport" and an icon of an arrow-shaped web design. The border of the logo and the nodes at the web's connections are purple. The text box reads: "You've got to hope."
Page 3:
Panel 1: Jon's feet as he ascends a set of stairs. The text boxes read: "You can't let anyone else feel that." "That helpless, enormous guilt."
Panel 2: Jon leans against a wall outside the subway entrance. His eyes are closed and his hands are drawn up to his mouth to light a cigarette. The entrance to the subway is partially visible, with a tall streetlamp at the corner of the stairwell. The streetlamp has a narrow pole and wide, flat lantern. The lantern's windows are split into 8 segments, and the one nearest to Jon is purple, taking on the vague shape of an eye looking down at him. The text box reads: "You've got to hope."
Panels 3-6 are arranged as four quarters of a square, and have nearly identical images.
Panel 3: A closeup of the bottom of Jon's face and his hands. He has a cigarette in his mouth and is trying and failing to light a green lighter. The cigarette has a purple stylized eye design as the logo. The lighter goes -click- with purple sparks. The text box reads: "You can't"
Panel 4: The background is slightly paler. Jon's face is more in view. His eye is nearly closed and he looks distressed. The lighter goes -click- -click- with more purple sparks. The text box reads: "Let anyone else"
Panel 5: The background is slightly paler. The lighter goes -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- with more purple sparks. The text boxes read: "Feel that helpless-" "Enormous-"
Panel 6: The background is very dark. The lighter has a flame with a small -fssh-. The core of the flame is purple, as is the ember of the cigarette. The text box reads: "You've got to hope."
Panel 7: Four nearly identical images of Jon's hand holding the cigarette. The descend through the panel from top left to bottom right. His skin tone is adjusted to contrast to the background color, which is a swirl of grey-green that is pale in the center and dark at the corners. The cigarette is burning away and ash is building into a longer and longer tail. The ember is purple. The final hand holds a cigarette that is nearly all ash hanging off the end. The text boxes read: "It's a matter of guilt." "You didn't fix it." "You just passed it on."
Warnings - Canon typical mentions of blood and death, slow-burn yet also pining
Word Count - 1598 words
Description - All the years you'd known Altair, you'd certainly never expected to tolerate him. Yet now that time has passed and he's a different man than the one you'd known, you can no longer ignore that maybe, just maybe, you might've fallen for him. (or a more in-depth look at the moment reader and altair realize they love each other, based off this headcanon)
Authors Notes - This is a request from @axxaxxinx! I've been meaning to write this since I'd gotten your ask, it's something I'd been thinking about nonstop. I hope you like this, and it somewhat fits what you'd asked for. Thank you so much for your request, and for the love you've given this blog throughout the years <3 mwah ella :) p.s. happy pi day
A warm summer breeze drifts in through the opening of the building, the promise of a hot day just beginning. You were up earlier than normal, just getting back from a mission that went well, at least in your opinion. There was already a buzz outside, distinct chatter of recruits who had hopes of extra training and ambitious personalities. It wasn't uncommon, and there was a familiar sense of nostalgia as you reminisced doing the same when you were in their shoes.
There was no denying though that you'd much rather look back on rising early to get ahead in ranks than the actuality of doing it. Lost in thought as you compared the aches of traveling to the burning stretches of training your limbs to move just so, you hardly noticed the master assassin make his way next to you. Amber eyes trained on you, he scraped his foot against the ground to indicate his arrival. Instinctively, your eyes shot towards the offending noise. A warmth rose to your cheeks, despite the months since Al Mualim's betrayal and subsequent death you'd been coming to know him, part of you still wondered if he did things to test your abilities as an assassin.
Accepting that he trusted you had been one of the harder lessons you'd had to learn over the years, but as you procured the feather you'd assumed he'd come to you for, you'd known without a doubt it was not a test. A somewhat shocked look fell over his face, but he recovered before you'd had time to analyze it. With a nimbleness, he took it quickly, examining it quietly.
You stretched, eyes roaming towards a particularly rowdy bunch roved past the pair of you. There was a moment of hesitancy that was entirely readable on Altair - part of him wanting to scold the bunch and the other to stay here. The latter part won, and your eyes widened in shock as you nearly gaped at him.
A moment passed, and then another of silence. Finally, Altair just shook his head towards you, uttering an almost innocent-sounding, "what?"
You sputtered, a scoff leaving your lungs as you pointed at the group that had almost disappeared completely from your view. It took another moment before Altair frowned, fingers twirling the blood-covered feather between his fingers - the action almost bringing you to life.
"You've gone soft," you said seriously, the corners of your lips twitching involuntarily at the very end of the sentence, just as his turned into a scowl. It was his turn to sputter, his deep look of offense only making you grin wider. There was a tinge of pink flooding straight to his ears, then as if a curtain fell over him, he morphed back into the Altair he'd always been - cool, and eerily collected.
There was a hint of warning in his eyes, but you couldn't place what it was trying to tell. Only that you didn't mind the chill up your spine that followed despite the heat that was already persisting.
"I've not," he said lowly, eyes falling forward as the group's chatter dissipated into nothing but the breeze once more. Briefly, you wondered how long you could test your luck. Teasing him was new territory but one you certainly hadn't minded. Albeit pleased with the discovery of your new abilities, you would take the image of his pinkened ears as a win for the day. Your eyes followed his suit, facing forward with a smirk that could rival his own.
You nodded, not noticing his eyes watching you carefully, "of course not, then. My mistake."
"Clearly," Altair said firmly, taking a step forward and for a moment your stomach twists at the thought of him leaving you alone there, "and since I'm not soft, I would never allow you to rest after a mission. No, I'll need the report right away. Priorities."
A look of faux annoyance crosses your face, eyebrows pinched slightly. He grins cheekily at you, a prideful look on his. Another two steps forward, Altair looks back at you, the mask of the old him just barely there. The only indication that he's still the man you can make blush is in the nod of his head, the wordless phrase that just barely says come with me. Your feet follow before your brain can process, and the butterfly feeling left in your stomach doesn't leave as he waits for you to walk at his side.
You sat crossed-legged on the floor of the Bureau, Altair nosing through papers and muttering indistinctly. The job you held today was trying to help him, but he was one of the more stubborn men you'd known. He'd known perfectly well you were capable, yet preferred to do some of the work on his own. Which was fine, if you could leave whenever you pleased instead of sitting silently next to him. Still, if you hadn't been so fond of him, you might've been annoyed. Even more so, since this was supposed to be a one-time occurrence.
You weren't sure if he enjoyed your company, or valued your insight, but both thoughts of valuable praise made you nearly dizzy. The tasks he'd assigned you had already been done, sitting in a neat pile on the desk. Light flicked from the recently lit wicks, and you watched the flame dance in an attempt to avoid watching the master assassin. It must've been somewhere around then that he'd gotten distracted, your frame stretching, almost mimicking the movements of the candle.
"Finished, then," he mumbled, voice somewhat hoarse from lack of use. The interruption of silence caught your attention, your eyes meeting his. Sheepishly, you nodded.
There was no indication of annoyance at your dawdling in his composure. Instead, he simply nodded once more to you, and you wondered if you should've left once you'd finished. You never were quite sure if your presence was welcomed or tolerated, but it seemed one of Altair's favorite things was to surprise you.
"Good," his voice rumbled from his chest, and instead of dismissal, he held out a scroll to you. "Perhaps you can explain what this means."
From your place on the floor, you stood slowly, making your way towards him. From his extended hand, you took the paper, eyes tracing the words another assassin had written. With your focus on the content of the paper, Altair took a moment to take in your form. If you had seen, it might've made you blush, how carefully he was inventorying you.
"I can't," you shook your head, bringing the paper closer to your face and pulling it away in one swift motion, "I can't make out what it says here."
Altair stood, his arm flush against yours as he peered over. Quietly, he shook his head, "that's where I was lost as well. It almost looks like... foreground?"
A breathy laugh escaped your lips, desperately trying to focus on the words. It was no easy task, with his voice in your ear and the warmth of his body next to yours.
"Maybe," you said, eyebrows furrowed, "but that wouldn't make sense. Bring him in to clarify, or get him a scribe. Or both."
His deep chuckle surprised you, your eyes darting towards his. In the months you'd spent coming to know this very different Altair, you'd uncovered different layers. Long gone was the man who was nothing but arrogant and spiteful - there was a warmer man, one who was able to recognize the mistakes he'd made and change for the better.
To say you'd enjoyed his company now would be an understatement. To say you'd wanted more than his company would've sent a younger you into a spiral. For years you'd spent avoiding his gaze, now you basked under it. Selfishly, you wanted to stay in this moment. Reasonably, you knew you should hand back the paper and cross back into the territory you were familiar with. The unknown was tempting, and the amber in his eyes was filled with an emotion you were unfamiliar with.
By the time your brain communicated properly to your hands, several moments had passed. Altair's eye contact broken, his fingers moved, carefully plucking the offering from your own.
"Clarification and a scribe, then," he said quietly, hums of approval coming from behind a smirk. When he'd moved away from you, placing the paper on the desk, you were both grateful for the opportunity to breathe normally again and wishing he'd stayed put.
You nodded, caught between catching your breath and thinking of something witty to say, he stunned you once more.
"Thank you."
Even despite the time that had passed, you'd never heard those words directed at you. You gaped openly, his soft, genuine smile had you snapping your mouth shut.
"For that," you waved him off, trying to appear nonchalant though he knew you were anything other than, "I'm sure you would've figured that out eventually."
Instead of explaining, he shook his head slightly, though a small smile was still toying at his lips. He'd known that you knew he meant it for more than the simple task you'd helped him with, there was no point in clarifying it further. Although you did wish he'd explain the sudden sentimentality, something he'd rarely if ever showed.
"I will see you tomorrow, then," he nodded calmly towards you, not turning from you till you had left his view.
You returned the expression, heart racing fast with no explanation or at least none that you were ready to find yet, "tomorrow."
