#aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaughhhhhh
unsurprisingly atm feeling incredibly emotional about Jonathan Sims Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute London I–
he tried so hard! he tried so hard all the damn time! in the face of things much bigger than he was that he could not possibly begin to understand, struggling against something that set him up for failure from the very beginning and laughed at his worst fear realised, confronted with something that seeked to eradicate everything human in him, he just kept trying.
and he made choices and sometimes they were bad but they were the best he could possibly do with what he had. he did his best.
he was always expected both by himself and others to give out so much of himself, to carve out so much of himself and repent bloody and kneeling for things that weren’t his fault, and he did, constantly attempting to make up for everything, even if it wasn’t his burden to carry in the first place. and he just kept splintering under the weight of it with scarcely a kind word in return, constantly eyed with distrust and hatred and resentment when he was just scared too. he was scared.
he was so scared.
barely a word of understanding for so long, so little effort to ever reach out to comfort him at his lowest, and the whole time he was so alone and he was soscared.
do you have any idea what it does to me that the last thing he ever got to hear was that he was loved?
right there at the end, when all the threads had finally converged and all the cards were drawn, and he thought he had finally given in completely to the monstruous part of him, I love you was the last thing he ever heard.
and the pain was sweet with it, and the knife was held as gently as it could have been. and the very last thing he ever knew was that he was loved.
