end of year WIP meme! Send me a 👀 and i’ll post a snippet of art/writing that i never got around to finishing this year (r.i.p) (Accepting!)
Fandom: The Magnus ArchivesCharacters: Jonathan Sims, Helen Richardson (a.k.a. The Distortion)Words: 500
For you, my dear beloved big sister Mutie, I’ll give you some Helen content! This is an excerpt from my very good very fun TMA JonMartin reincarnation fic: Love will not break your Heart (but dismiss your Fears), written out of order for an as-of-yet unknown chapter, during NaNoWriMo. Scene very subject to change
Jon has been hard at work filing papers away and reading the shelves to check their order when the voice rings out, startling him out of his reverie. He flinches and turns to face the newcomer, seeing them–her?–stepping out of a door that did not exist before.
“What–? Who–? Wha—?” He flounders staring. “How do you know me? Who are you? How the hell did you get in here? Where did that door come from?”
The person smiles, flickering on the edges, blurry, or distorted? It almost hurts to look at, and the hands are the worst. Normal, then long and sharp on all edges. “Oh how quick you are to forget me, Archivist! I’m almost saddened by this! Whatever happened to the fun times we had?”
“I have never met you before in my life.” he states, deadpan as he stares. He wants answers.
She curls her fingers, inspecting the… nails? As she replies, a wry grin on her face. “Not in this life, maybe. You humans are all so particular about that, aren’t you? I remember being confined to a mortal life, but well–Now I’m not! And it’s all thanks to you, Jonathan Sims.”
“My last name isn’t Sims. Now, can you answer my questions, please?” he hisses through his teeth.
“Where would the fun be in that?” she laughs, leaning against one of the shelves and idly flipping through the pages of a book.
“Don’t touch those!” He’s quick on his feet, and snatches the book out of her hand, placing it back on the shelf, where it belongs. Not in the grasp of some–some oddity, some unknown entity.
“Oh, boring. Just like you, though. I don’t know why—- I never would expect anything different from my favorite Archivist. Settle down, and I’ll spill some secrets. Sure, why not! It’s not like you can’t just Know them, silly boy.”
The way she looks at him sets his teeth on edge, hairs standing up on the back of his neck. Adrenaline pumping into his bloodstream, fear, readying to fight or flee. Flee, from this distorted image of a human being. But there’s nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, he can feel it burning him up inside.
“My name is Helen,” she begins. “I used to be Michael, and now I’m Helen, and I’ve never been Michael. I’m not Helen though either, it’s a wondrous twisted maze of my world. You are not meant to comprehend it, don’t worry.” Helen pats his head, the lightest of touches, and he flinches away.
“Don’t touch me, Helen.” It comes out more command than plea, for which he is proud of.
“Ah, still persnickety about that? Only makes sense, wanting to keep this pretty face of yours unscarred this time around.” She graciously retreats a few steps, and starts to twirl her impossible hair around her more-impossible fingers. “I’m the Distortion. Oh, would you look at that? A simple and clear answer! You won’t get many of those, Archivist!”