Jonathan 'Eyebags' Sims (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
beholding_archivist) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
revivalproject2021-05-11 11:00 am
beholding_archivist) wrote in revivalproject2021-05-11 11:00 am
(Not) Everyone’s A Hero
WHO: Jon & YOU
WHERE: Billy's fantasy city
WHAT: Supervillain Time! - Includes a 'Beat Up Some Nasty Monsters' sort-of mingl-y option?
WHEN: May
WARNINGS: E Y E S - Also low amount of Zalgo text.
While not as imposing as some of the skyscrapers surrounding it, the building of the Magnus Institute is not one easy to ignore. It has the weight of age and knowledge to it, easily looking way older than the city itself and yet no one can truly say just how long the Institute has existed.
No one but Jonathan Sims, head of said Institute despite his little habit of referring to himself as The Archivist. And maybe he does fulfill that role. Maybe he doesn't. The Archives are about as off-limit as the research lab, the artifact storage and the man's very private library. Both sit way beneath the Institute and are places he won't even bring his mothcats into. He rather lets them roam the city while he busies himself down there, keeping their eyes on heroes, villains and pedestrians while their master contemplates his most recent acquisitions.
It's an odd collection: A tape recorder, a golden lighter with a spider web design and a framed artwork of an eye that he can't help but feel very much observed by. Despite wearing thick gloves, Jon feels reluctant to touch either of these items even though he desperately wants to.
Is that eye drawn out of hundreds if not thousands of smaller eyes?
Jon shudders slightly and pulls his hand back upon realizing he has been reaching for the drawing again, but he remains unable to shake off that growing sensation of wrongness. Of having forgotten something. Of buried knowledge pressing its way back forward, trying to make itself known again.
Hundreds tiny eyes focus on him and he can feel their gaze, feel them attempting to inflict their knowledge on him and he winces, remembering. "...no."
The Tower
The sky darkens. It's a gradual effect beginning above the Institute and spreading outward from there. But what blocks out the sun aren't clouds, it's pure darkness. And as the city is swallowed by it, the Institute's building shifts and warps, reshaping itself into a massive, dominating tower, swallowing structures and skyscrapers around it as magical reality gets challenged by eldritch magic.
These two powers colliding is hardly a competition. It's a struggle of each power attempting to swallow the other, magic crackling and clashing and illuminating the dark sky above.
Down below at the steps of what used to be the Institute, the Archivist staggers outside, grimacing against the throbbing pain in his head and struggling to close bright green glowing eyes. But he can't. He has to see.
He has to see everything.
The Eye [ Jon won't react to this option. But go wild beating things up or borrow them for other prompts. ]
The sky blinks open above the city and its massive pupil focuses on literally everyone.
Everyone already adept at sensing magic will notice a much darker flow within the magic present in the city. It pulses with a need. A mindless hunger. And it gets stronger the closer one gets to the dark, now looming tower. But that isn't the only thing increasing the closer one gets to the tower. Flying monsters the size of small cars and looking like giant eyeballs with further eyeballs sprouting from them roam the streets and places around the tower.
These Beholders will stare straight into a person's very being and draw out what they fear the most to drink in that terror. If threatened, they will fire beams of twisted reality from those smaller eyeballs connected to them.
Another type of monster lurking especially around the base of the tower is more human-shaped, and, in fact, they may have been humans at some point. They appear like slouched-over figures wearing dark robes and will lie unmoving on the ground unless they detect nearby movement. Which is when these Servitors will rise and reveal that underneath the hood of their robes is nothing but a single eyeball, a little larger than a human head would be. They don't pursue as actively as the Beholders, but they will grab and hold a person daring to come too close to the tower, seeking to extract what secrets and vulnerabilities the potential intruder might have.
And then there are the cameras. Large creatures that venture even farther than the Beholders and made entirely of eyeballs of different sizes. They? Will only watch. But they will do so relentlessly.
The Archivist
He isn't touching the ground. He simply has decided that he doesn't need to and so he doesn't touch the ground. Because reality is what he makes of it.
The chuckle escaping Jon's throat is discordant, his voice shifting with a variety of distortions. He hasn't decided what his voice should be just yet. But he will figure it out. But until he has made that decision, Jon will make a few others. Important decisions such as that certain buildings in his way simply shouldn't exist. That the terrified screams of those that have just lost their homes are really just shades of purple. That this rental car over there is better off flattened for no particular reason.
Unless terror is a reason, of course. For he finds himself at the receiving end of the most wonderful dread, both due to his own actions and the creatures he has inflicted upon what reality used to be.
But just as he sets his mind on a new target, Jon spots something else. A person. One of those- Heroes?
"I̻̎ s̙̝͆̽e̼͔ͨ͆ͥẽ̟̩̰ͥ́.̫͋͐"
The Wildcard
[[ Anything else and stuff goes here. ]]
WHERE: Billy's fantasy city
WHAT: Supervillain Time! - Includes a 'Beat Up Some Nasty Monsters' sort-of mingl-y option?
WHEN: May
WARNINGS: E Y E S - Also low amount of Zalgo text.
While not as imposing as some of the skyscrapers surrounding it, the building of the Magnus Institute is not one easy to ignore. It has the weight of age and knowledge to it, easily looking way older than the city itself and yet no one can truly say just how long the Institute has existed.
No one but Jonathan Sims, head of said Institute despite his little habit of referring to himself as The Archivist. And maybe he does fulfill that role. Maybe he doesn't. The Archives are about as off-limit as the research lab, the artifact storage and the man's very private library. Both sit way beneath the Institute and are places he won't even bring his mothcats into. He rather lets them roam the city while he busies himself down there, keeping their eyes on heroes, villains and pedestrians while their master contemplates his most recent acquisitions.
It's an odd collection: A tape recorder, a golden lighter with a spider web design and a framed artwork of an eye that he can't help but feel very much observed by. Despite wearing thick gloves, Jon feels reluctant to touch either of these items even though he desperately wants to.
Is that eye drawn out of hundreds if not thousands of smaller eyes?
Jon shudders slightly and pulls his hand back upon realizing he has been reaching for the drawing again, but he remains unable to shake off that growing sensation of wrongness. Of having forgotten something. Of buried knowledge pressing its way back forward, trying to make itself known again.
Hundreds tiny eyes focus on him and he can feel their gaze, feel them attempting to inflict their knowledge on him and he winces, remembering. "...no."
The Tower
These two powers colliding is hardly a competition. It's a struggle of each power attempting to swallow the other, magic crackling and clashing and illuminating the dark sky above.
Down below at the steps of what used to be the Institute, the Archivist staggers outside, grimacing against the throbbing pain in his head and struggling to close bright green glowing eyes. But he can't. He has to see.
He has to see everything.
The Eye [ Jon won't react to this option. But go wild beating things up or borrow them for other prompts. ]
Everyone already adept at sensing magic will notice a much darker flow within the magic present in the city. It pulses with a need. A mindless hunger. And it gets stronger the closer one gets to the dark, now looming tower. But that isn't the only thing increasing the closer one gets to the tower. Flying monsters the size of small cars and looking like giant eyeballs with further eyeballs sprouting from them roam the streets and places around the tower.
These Beholders will stare straight into a person's very being and draw out what they fear the most to drink in that terror. If threatened, they will fire beams of twisted reality from those smaller eyeballs connected to them.
Another type of monster lurking especially around the base of the tower is more human-shaped, and, in fact, they may have been humans at some point. They appear like slouched-over figures wearing dark robes and will lie unmoving on the ground unless they detect nearby movement. Which is when these Servitors will rise and reveal that underneath the hood of their robes is nothing but a single eyeball, a little larger than a human head would be. They don't pursue as actively as the Beholders, but they will grab and hold a person daring to come too close to the tower, seeking to extract what secrets and vulnerabilities the potential intruder might have.
And then there are the cameras. Large creatures that venture even farther than the Beholders and made entirely of eyeballs of different sizes. They? Will only watch. But they will do so relentlessly.
The Archivist
The chuckle escaping Jon's throat is discordant, his voice shifting with a variety of distortions. He hasn't decided what his voice should be just yet. But he will figure it out. But until he has made that decision, Jon will make a few others. Important decisions such as that certain buildings in his way simply shouldn't exist. That the terrified screams of those that have just lost their homes are really just shades of purple. That this rental car over there is better off flattened for no particular reason.
Unless terror is a reason, of course. For he finds himself at the receiving end of the most wonderful dread, both due to his own actions and the creatures he has inflicted upon what reality used to be.
But just as he sets his mind on a new target, Jon spots something else. A person. One of those- Heroes?
"I̻̎ s̙̝͆̽e̼͔ͨ͆ͥẽ̟̩̰ͥ́.̫͋͐"
The Wildcard
no subject
He fumbles for his phone as he tries to flee. Tommy can get him out of here. Or Mom. God, what's happening?!
no subject
"I̵ k̕n̴o̴w͠ w͠h͏a͏t̶ y͞ǫu͞ ąr͢e͜ t̷r̸y̕i͝n͜g̷.̧" The Archivist says calmly, the twitching in his face evening out as the fog has reached a density the boy won't be able to simply walk out of. Billy's calls for help from his phone? Will only result in notices of having been blocked.
"N̵o͞ o͡ńe̷ w͟íl̸l҉ çǫm̷e̵ f͢o͢r̸ y͏o̶u͠.̢"
no subject
The fog feels like it's suffocating him, and Billy shakes his head, trying to shut out those words.
"Stop it-" he pleads.
no subject
The Archivist's eyes remain on Billy as the realization settles in the boy's mind: He is alone. Truly alone in this reality that is still just being created.
"Y̛o̡ư m͡ád͡e̵ t͘h̷įs͞ p̴ĺa҉c͜e͏.̕ Ąn̕d̀ n̛o͡w͏ I͏ a͜m͝ m͝a̴k̢i͞n̶g͏ i͢t͠ m̨i̧n̡e͝.͠"
no subject
That empty piece inside that constant threatens to swallow him up seems to grow by leagues, dimming the ones he holds dear until he can scarcely conjure them in his mind, feeling utterly trapped by the heavy weight of that emptiness.
"I didn't- I don't-" he chokes out, panic threatening to over take him, and he struggles for breath, squeezing his eyes shut and shaking his head.
"Stop." And whether he's aware of it or not, whatever control Billy still has over this world tries to push back against The Archivist with those words.
no subject
"N̼̈́͝o̢̺͌.̴̦̋" He snarls, pushing back against Billy's influence once more. The result is a mix of crackling sparks and arching beams of similar, yet contradicting power bursting down the street, up some nearby buildings and into the air.
no subject
He feels a sense of loss he can't quite place, a deep sorrow with no root, and he blinks back stinging tears, resistance growing weaker.
no subject
"I̧t͜'҉s̨ ̀d̶r̢e͜a͢d͘f̵u̕l҉ ̵b̵ęi̶n̨g͠ ̧àl͏òn̵e͡.̶" He says, letting his hands drop again as two beholders appear next to him, hovering over his shoulders and staring at Billy in their very own disconcerting way.
"G̨e̶t̵ ̵u͞s͘e͟d̸ ̸t̛o̵ ̕ít͜.҉"
no subject
Billy tries to scramble back, but he doesn't get far before pulling his knees to his chest and squeezing his eyes shut tight, shaking his head to try and banish...whatever all this was, hating the feeling of those eyes on him.
There's another wave of that painful yearning, for some thing or person he can't even remember, but their absence feels like such a crushing weight.
"Please-"
no subject
Quite unlike this shivering boy. This boy has... Power. Some sort of power even the Archivist struggles to understand. The summoned creatures hover closer to Billy, circling him as they keep staring at him. Neutralizing this potential threat may be his best choice right about now.
"Į ͞h͞a͢v͏e̕ ͝t͡o͟ ̵r͢e͡m̵ǫv͏e̡ ͝y̧o͘u̷.̢"
~*superhero theme music*~
"Low point for you, Archivist. You want to walk away," he instructed. That was going to be the end of the negotiations.
my hero!
"Holy shit," he murmurs, scooting back shakily.
no subject
Wait. Where did that thought come from? This isn't Stark, it's his- oh.
Oh.
The Archivist remains silent as he watches the armored hero take care of his underlings, not moving an inch himself until he nods thoughtfully. "...Į ̸s̢e̡e͞.̷.͘.͟" Following those two simple words are several more servitors and beholders grow out of the ground around both Billy as well as Iron Man. They all turn their eyes on the two, yet for the moment refrain from lunging forward.
"C҉o̵n̶s̢i̧d͝e͡r͜ ́y͡o͝u҉r͞ ̡ác͟t̕i҉o͠n̴s̶,҉ ̛I̴r͡òn͝ ̡M͡àn̶.͡" The Archivist suggests.
no subject
"Way ahead of you," Iron Man replied, shifting his protective arm to scoop around the innocent party with only the briefest, 'hang on', of warning before they were jetting straight up and out of the closing ranks of gross eyeball creatures, spattering them with the remains of their crushed comrade.
no subject
"Oh- wow this is high," he murmurs, hiding his face a moment to try and quell that fear.
no subject
Though he isn't necessarily looking to fight Stark's alleged bodyguard. No. Physical conflicts have never been his way of dealing with- Well. Anything, really. But he can taste the kid's fear, and even the man within the armor isn't devoid of it. But what's even more important is that he sees him. That he understands who and what he is looking at.
While the beholders won't be actively stopping Iron Man from leaving along with Billy, the Archivist leaves the hero with a little parting gift: The certain knowledge that he has been seen. How he interprets that knowledge is left up to him.
no subject
By Billy's ear, Iron Man made a sound of a distorted, rattling breath as he tried to course correct in shock, squeezing the kid tighter while he flipped his armored back toward the wall to take the impact where he couldn't redirect the momentum fast enough. They skimmed the wall, sending a shower of broken brick down onto the street below that Tony didn't look back at as he darted them away from those watchful eyes as quickly as he could carry them.
What happened to Jon's voice?
At the fringes of the encroaching darkness, Iron Man finally slowed and swooped down toward the ground, coming to a slightly stumbling landing as he came in faster than he should have to land on his feet with the kid kept upright. It left him pacing, carrying the motion through, no longer squeezing the kid but cradling his head carefully against his shoulder as Tony tried to breathe through the panic, reassuring himself that this one was okay.
no subject
"..." Breathing heavily, Billy needed a moment of his own, but it didn't take long before he shifted a little in Iron Man's arms, glancing towards the ground, and easing up on his own iron fast grip.
"...I think we're okay-"
no subject