#Archivist to the Ivory Archives

[mrsthunderkin]

"Are you getting in, or are you content to stare, amore?"

Scrub-adub-dub-one wizard in a tub~

Uncropped version on my Twitter if you're feeling it

[compass-needle]

Uniform redesign i was bored after losing motivation on the last drawing.

Also some other hc like the robes are made out of rayon or smth lightweight n cheap idk

[skyeoak]

Tmagp 29 thoughts

Late on the post, I am now edentulous in the far back and had a packed week because of it. Here we go:

Consistently good decision maker, Samama Khalid, here to make another important decision based on what he feels is happening. But before that, a case file!

I. Liked. This story.

It really reminds me plot-wise of a Man Called Ove, if it careened off the rails and became a horror.

I don’t super love the prose here as much as in other cases—mostly a personal preference, it uses repetition in a way that felt too hand-of-the-author to me. Not as egregious as the repetition in The Blade Itself’s prose, though.

The initial diary entries did a great job of setting up the scene and the characters, while also making me wonder when the other shoe would drop. And it did!

The bridge was definitely where I realized this cute marriage was about to get fucked up. But my “don’t go in there” moment was them walking down below the bridge. For some reason that description got me, probably because… WATER. WATER IS BELOW THE BRIDGE (another water-based spook, actually?)

Even their bumbling tourist attitude in getting into the lock museum was great. As was Viola’s cognitive dissonance as she describes and redescribes what happened, not quite wanting to admit that she left her husband to die.

And uh. Locke darling can you tell me where exactly that crack in the wall you unlocked was? Because I’ll bet £100 that I know where it was and the street name started with a Hill and ended in Top. Also who has the ivory key now.

But ~paraphrasing~ “How horrible to be locked together for fifty years?” “I abandoned him to save myself”? Chester u good?

Also love the flavor of Chester just starting to talk on his own while Gwen is alone in the office. I’m sure this is not setup for the finale in anyway and will in fact work out fine and not make Gwen feel any emotions about any of her previous actions!

It’s on the train 🥲 oh god, the helplessness Alice must be feeling right now. I really want to see what she does. Takes the next train to a crime scene? Takes an uber and arrives at Hilltop first? Some other third option? I have a bad feeling the archivist might statement Celia to death in the meantime.

Very much looking forward to the season finale. I think it’s fun how the archivist has ended up being the initial threat of TMAGP, considering how much of a foil Archives Jon was to Jane Prentiss by the end of TMA.

[endrinstone]

Hey! I'm from the Ivorycello discord server lore channel and we've recently been talking about Showtime lore. I reblogged two of your posts from that time about the scenes where Ivory glitches out and was wondering if you happened to remember anything else from that stream. (This is assuming you're not Linden on discord bc that would be funny)

A couple of questions:

-Did it seem like Ebony was taking over/possessing Ivory? Do you now remember the phrase she was repeating? (I realize that you probably don't bc you didn't remember it when writing the post, dw if you don't lol). Do you remember any common themes/ideas of the things Ebony said?

-Do you remember what exactly happened during the scene that mirrored the Cavenoise video? Did she mention any trees in particular? Was she definitively talking to Ebony, or could it have been someone else?

If you don't remember any of this, absolutely no worries, I realize it was a while ago. And once again, thank you so much for your archivism of other Showtime VODs!! Archivists are incredible.

Hi, thanks for reaching out to me. Unfortunately, I don't remember any more than Linden on discord does, because that is indeed me lol. I can ask other showtime fans what they remember, because this scene is absolutely haunting me.

I can comment on two of these questions futher:

"Did it seem like Ebony was taking over/possessing Ivory?" the answer is yes, with a big disclaimer. It's unclear if that was intended to be canon, or if it was just a technical limitation (Ebony was not physically there due to this being live improv.)

"Was she definitively talking to Ebony, or could it have been someone else?" Technically the name Ebony was never said out loud, if I remember correctly. But considering the direct reference to the cavenoise video, and the fact that there's no other chracter this could possibly have been (it doesn't match up with the behaviour of any of the Showtime deities), I'm pretty confident it was Ebony.

Thank you for enjoying those two posts. You've reminded me that there's one Vi vod that ivory appeared in that I forgot to add the list.

[alchemistoftheend]

TMA: Season 1

Anglerfish (Case #0122204)

Pre-Statement

Jonathan Sims introduces himself, as the New Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London

Gertrude is dead 🪦 (apparently~)

Magnus is an organisation dedicated to academic research into the esoteric and the paranormal

Elias Bouchard is Head of the Institute

hired Jon for the position

the Institute was founded in 1818

“the Institute prefers the ivory tower of pure academia to the complicated work of dealing with statements or recent experiences and you have the recipe for an impeccably organised library and an absolute mess of an archive” (this feels important 🧐)

Jon plans to reorganize the almost 200 files scattered around the archives

He’ll have the help of Tim Stoker and Sasha James, and Martin Blackwood who’ll be doing supplementary investigation to see what details may be missing from what we have

Statement

At the time of the incident, he was out at a pub celebrating his friend’s acceptance into a Masters Program

He was violently ill around midnight, and decided to walk home via Old Fishmarket Close

About halfway down the street he drunkenly takes a tumble on one of the steeper hills

Rattled, he rolled a cigarette to calm himself, when he hears a voice asking, “Can I have a cigarette?”

Speaking was a figure in an alleyway across the street

their voice was masculine

no intonation

they seemed to sway ever do slightly

Nat offered a rolled-up but the figure was unmoving and simply asks the question again

“I stared at the stranger” 🤔

Their face appeared blank, expressionless, and their skin seemed damp and slightly sunken, like they had a bad fever

reminded him of an anglerfish

this swaying got more pronounced

They asks a 3 time “Can I have a cigarette?” and Nat realizes

Its mouth hadn’t opened once and it’s feet weren’t quite touching the ground

The stranger’s form was being lifted, ever so slightly, and moved gently from side to side

The figure disappeared, sort of folding at the waist and vanished back into the darkness, as if a string had gone taut and pulled it back

The next day, Nat returned to the scene to discover nothing, but but an unsmoked Marlboro Red cigarette

Few days later, a missing appeal goes up for another student, John Fellowes, who was at that same party.

His missing photos shows the same brand of cig sticking out of his pocket

Post-Statement/Thoughts

Sasha looked into police reports between 2005-10, and there had been 6 disappearance in the area

Before Dobson’s disappearance, she had sent a photo to her sister captioned “check out this drunk creeper lol”

The picture matched the Nate’s description of the alleyway

No one appears to be in the photograph

Sasha did some work on the photo, and by increasing the contrast, was able to make out the outline of a long, thin hand, roughly waist level on a male of average height

the stranger was mentioned multiple times and well

the imagery of long, thin hand and a blank face perhaps alluding to what stranger looks like

tbh my smart brain doesn’t have any more thoughts 😐🤷‍♀️

[a-shade-of-blue]

Learning Resources on Palestine

I've compiled a list of learning resources on Palestine. These are either resources I have used and found useful, or have been recommended to me by other people. Please check them out and share if it is something you find useful.

The Palestine Academy: https://www.thepalestineacademy.com/ (information and resources for learning what is happening in Palestine and how to support the cause)

The Palestine Directory: https://thepalestinedirectory.carrd.co/ (A directory of links and free-to-access resources from and about Palestine)

Palestine Literature Reading List: Click here. 

My personal book recommendations

Minor Detail by Adania Shibli

Towers of Ivory and Steel by Maya Wind

Verso free ebooks on Palestine, mass protests, and student rebellions: https://www.versobooks.com/en-gb/blogs/news/in-solidarity-with-the-students#:~:text=In%20solidarity%20with%20these%20students,also%20still%20available%20for%20free.

More free ebooks on Palestine/Israel: https://x.com/scottlong1980/status/1717757783141949864?s=46&t=0jrq_Y4gCfqf2OSCJc2Czw

Laughing at power: Humor, transgression, and the politics of refusal in Palestine: https://journals.sagepub.com/doi/full/10.1177/2399654419874368

This is a free access academic paper by Lisa Bhungalia

I read this for a political violence class, in which my professor showed us a photo of a Palestinian student smiling at the camera as he was being arrested. I just think about that photo from time to time. I think that image and this paper have helped lead me to where I am today, writing this

This is the first thing I read about Palestine, and I think it has shaped me that the first thing I read about Palestine focuses not on the oppression of Palestinians, but Palestinian resistance, how they use laughter as a resistance

Resources on Palestine for Anthropologists: 

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1vZm0KXAD8eWHzxZlxcOrqtzEIWH0mRrnXeoJgpE3Ylo/edit?usp=sharing

This is a list of resources compiled by my anthropology professors

The Great Book Robbery Documentary: 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GdtCrCsKlw0&t=1s

(Documentary on the stealing, destruction, and appropriation of Palestinian books by the Israeli State, and how they twist it to serve the Israeli’s State’s narrative, e.g. how they are ‘saving’ the books by stealing them.)

Librarians and Archivists with Palestine: https://librarianswithpalestine.org/gaza-report-2024/ (on the destruction or libraries and archives in Palestine)

[the-magnus-archives-daily]

Day 3

MAG001 - #0122204 - Anglerfish - March 23, 2016

Archivist: Combine that with the fact that most of the Institute prefers the ivory tower of pure academia to the complicated work of dealing with statements or recent experiences and you have the recipe for an impeccably organised library and an absolute mess of an archive. 

[human-adjacent]

episode 101 - another twist

- fair warning this is my favorite episode and also my least favorite episode and i am not okay. this post is mostly for myself

- intentionally listened to this on april fools day so i could pretend that michaels death was just a silly little prank

- i love all of nikolas lines she’s so cute. her little “hellooooo!!” to elias in the beginning, the way she keeps going “can i call u elias?” and says that she’s his good friend, her constantly insulting jon and saying that he’s rude and that he has bad skin, “ah, it’s downright uncanny!” “out with the old, in with… well, in with the you!” she’s such a good character

- MICHAEL☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️ i love him sm and all of his lines are also so good. even tho the main reason i liked him initially was because of his voice he’s also just so fascinating and his, as jon would call it, “identity issues” are so interesting. i love how even after all this time and all that the distortion has done there still is some humanity left inside of it, some semblance of the original michael shelley still fighting to exist. i know he’s here to literally murder jon but the fact that michael willingly gave jon a statement despite it going against his nature and entire existence really just shows that he is not a complete monster. the distortion desires to kill but as a past institute employee michael understands jon’s desire for knowledge, and even though he wants to take his revenge on the archives, i also think he has some empathy for jon. michael was killed because of his own ignorance and naivety, and i think he can see himself in jon, who’s also suffering because of his own ignorance, being pushed around and manipulated by his boss just like michael was. the distortion wants to kill, but no matter how angry or upset he is, michael shelley does not, and unfortunately for jon the distortion is just the more powerful force in this conflict

- i have nooo idea what i just typed sorry i didn’t mean to ramble but michael makes me very insane. dont u dare reblog and try to disagree with me bc that was not a coherent thought to provoke discussion that was just me grieving

- en e way here’s a list of quotes from this episode that i just really enjoy (woah i just figured out how to make a bulleted list that’s crazy)

“The Eye watches, and the Stranger conceals, but me… I lie, Archivist.”

“I am the throat of delusion incarnate.”

“Being Michael stole the only purpose I have ever known.”

“The cramped casket sings loud, but not loud enough to drown out screaming.” (the cramped casket is a beautiful way to describe a coffin)

“How do you define the start of your being when in some ways you have always been?”

“the Magnus Institute – that ivory tower, keeping its prisoners ignorant in pursuit of… knowledge. [Giggles] A dungeon full of idiot watchers.” (giggles🤭)

“Am I evil, Archivist? Is a thing evil when it simply obeys its own nature?”

“The mind does not shatter, Archivist. It is soft and malleable. It bends and twists and returns to what it was, though what you see and feel may leave their mark upon it.”

“I cannot tell you the existential joys of truly… becoming. Of an entireness finally crossing the threshold into your self.”

“Even sharper than the joy of becoming is the agony of being opened and remade. To have your who torn bloody from your what, and another crudely lashed into its place.”

“My very existence tied to my pointlessness. Wearing my failure as the very fabric of my being.”

“He got… distracted. Let feelings that shouldn’t have been his overwhelm me.” ☹️

- ok i held a grudge against helen last time for killing michael but i will admit i think she’s cool😔 also i would’ve loved to see michael distortion in the early days of his uh transformation because i would assume he also felt lost and confused like helen did and i’m curious what he would’ve done

- don’t talk to me for at least 3-5 business days i need to mentally recover

[thatmoththoth]

A fanfic for this Jon!distortion AU inspired by @jimsandfruit . This is just the prologue and I plan on adding more too this. Feedback and questions are greatly appreciated.

(Seriously tho this concept has so much potential)

Trigger Warning: the following story contains derealisation, dissasociation and a whole bunch of mental fuckery

Spoiler warning: potential spoilers for season 1-3 of the magnus archives. (And a lot of speculation and headcannons concerning the contents of the stated seasons)

Prologue

Jonathan Sims had just finished taking the poor disoriented Helen’s statement, and she was about to leave. Jon noticed that the door she was about to leave through was not always there. It was painted an ivory colour with a round purple doorknob which contrasted starkly with the dark stained wooden doors with silver handle knobs of the archive. “W-wait Helen!” he cried out, but it was too late, she had already gone through the door, and with hesitation, she turned her head to look at him thick with dread before the door slammed shut with a thud. For a long moment all he could do was stare at the door in disbelief. He needed to save her.

He stood up out of his chair and ran through the door to try and save her. Suddenly there was a strange headache inducing laughter echoing behind him before the door shut behind him.

He didn’t look back to see if the door was still there. Knowing what he knew from Helen’s statement about this place he was sure that he needn’t bother. Besides, he had to find her and couldn’t afford to waste any time. He ran through the hallways looking for her, seeking any trace of her, trying to get to her before this “micheal ” got to her first. There was no sign of her anywhere. He hadn’t run into a single other person in these halls despite having been here searching for hours. Still, like the stubborn fool he was, he pushed forwards.

He saw movement from the corner of his eye. Was it Helen, had he finally found her? He whipped around to look behind him but was instead greeted by that awful laughter.

Micheal.

“Oh Archivist… you really shouldn’t have come here.” that stupid grin was plastered on his stupid face.

“Where is she, Micheal!” he yelled with frustration, gritting his teeth as Micheals name was ushered from his lips. Jon didn’t have time for Micheals games.

“She is somewhere. Archivist, she's already long gone as far as it concerns you or I” laughter echoed through the twisted hallways. “It's already quite impossible for you two to ever reach, I’ve made quite sure of that.'' The contorted, twisting movements of Micheals body gave Jon a splitting headache.

“I wouldn't be too sure of that.” Jon responded with a spiteful tone, and Micheal laughed like it was some sort of joke. The laughter faded, and just like that he was gone. With much frustration Jon slammed his fist against the blue wallpaper, which was yellow before but was now red. His eye caught a piece of paper on the floor. It was yellow with age and had clearly seen quite a large amount of abuse. He walked to it and picked it up. He smoothed out the scrunched up paper and looked at the squiggly nonsensical lines that made perfect sense within these halls. It was a map. He had to follow it. Even if he wasn't sure where it led, there was still a certain air of importance in following it. It was the only sliver of hope he had left in finding Helen.

His eyes had a glint of hope as he began to follow the map. He wasn’t quite sure how he knew that it was taking him to some final destination, or that it was supposed to take him anywhere at all, but in these contorted and twisted halls it seemed to be the only tangible thing he had. He hoped the destination it led to was Helen, but deep inside his heart he knew that wasn’t true.

How long had he been here now? His mouth felt dry, from not drinking anything for who knows how long. Even so, something inside him knew this place wouldn’t let him die of natural causes. Fuzz began to creep into the corners of his mind.

To distract himself he started to say the directions out loud to no one in particular. For how long he did this he did not know.

“Left, left, Left, straight, through the window, break the mirror, down the stairs, right, right right……” the words were beginning to melt together as he spoke. He came to a realisation that he didn’t fully have the energy to comprehend the weight of. He couldn’t for the life of him remember his own name. Was it Charles? Wait no it started with J. James? Jack? Jonathan? Jim? They all seemed completely foreign to him. He couldn’t remember.

His eyes were zoned out, no longer frantically looking for answers like they almost always did. He was lost in his own head. He looked back at the map, it didn’t feel real as he held it in his hands. It was his only anchor in this messed up place, and even that couldn’t keep him grounded against the strong currents of the Sea of Dissociation, where each wave brought foreign things from another beyond onto his ship.

—-- He had aimlessly followed the map without thought for what felt like weeks. Finally it seemed he had reached his destination, the path had ended. All that lay in front of him was a mirror, he picked it up off the wall and looked into it. He recognised the face, it was supposed to be him, Jon. That was his name, right? But it wasn’t him. It was an eerie feeling looking into that mirror. Like looking at a doppelganger. He looked at where the mirror once was. There was a hole that stretched on for what felt like forever. He looked into the tunnel and saw something at the end. It was too far away to make out.

So he, like one did before, crawled through that tunnel. With each passing moment as he made it through that tunnel he could feel himself moving back further and further into his own head. Time faded away and became all but an illusion. As he got closer a sound got louder. It was like that of a beating heart. When he was almost to the end the sound was almost deafening, but still he pushed through. It was far too late to turn back now. When the end was finally reached he saw it in all its clarity.

It was the beating heart of the distortion. It sang to him, it called for him. He reached out and held it. It was a strange feeling to be holding such an impossible object. It was like every paradox was solved within it with yet another paradox. It didn’t look like a heart, not really, but he just knew in that dream-like manner of knowing, that it was the heart, the centre of it all.

He felt a tearing sense of agony go through him as his who was torn completely from his what. It was like he was torn apart and reassembled over and over again. He let out a pained cry of sheer and utter pain despite having no physical ability to scream as his body was forcefully twisted and contorted. His scream, and one other, could be heard all throughout the hallways. The distortion became Jon, and Jonanthan Sims became the distortion.

It was then that he remembered something he had all but forgotten. Helen. He needed to save helen. He ran through a door that was not there before. Jon called out for Helen and he heard her call back. He let out a sigh of relief. When he turned a corner he felt something run into him. It was Helen.

“Oh good heavens! Are you alright Helen?” Jon said worriedly..

“M-Michael? Get away from me!” she exclaimed, looking up at him with fright, not seeming to register the distortion's new identity.

“I’m not Micheal. It’s me, Jon” the mention of his own name felt wrong on his tongue.

Helen’s eyes cleared enough for her to fully take in what she was seeing. “J-Jon? But how? Why are you that… thing…?” her breathing slowly began to steady.

“I’ll explain when we get out here. This place isn’t good for you Helen.“ A door appeared next to them, and Jon picked Helen up with an ease he was not used to. When they were out of the room and back into Jon’s office he set her down. His office looked different from when he was here last. Dust had thickly layered on every surface it could, and everything had been put neatly away.

“... so are you going to tell me what happened Jon?” Helen’s tone was confused yet stern.

“Well, I went in after you, and I uh… ended up taking a shift in identity. Micheal is gone. permanently. I was him, but now I’m Jon, The Distortion.” Helen gave him a confused glare. “I’m not making sense am I?” Helen shook her head. “Well it makes perfect sense to me.” he mumbled, folding his arms and looking to the side with mild defiance. He couldn’t seem to explain it in words people could understand. “I’m sorry it took so long to save you.” He let out a exhausted sigh. -”I-I just don’t know where to go from here.” he sat in his chair, struggling to fit in it comfortably. “You should just go home and try to forget this all ever happened Helen. One more thing, please don’t tell anyone about what happened to me, or mention that I was ever in there. It’ll be what’s best for both of us.”

“Ok… Goodbye Jon…” Helen said, very confused but feeling as if she now owed something to Jon for saving her. Helen left the room and Jon was left to ponder.

What was he going to do now? He couldn’t just continue work as normal, no not when he’s been missing for who knows how long and and especially not when he looked like this. How were Tim, Sasha, and Martin going to react? Sasha… he remembered something, something from before he was Jon and from when he was Micheal. The real Sasha was dead. His friend was gone. Did the others know that she had been replaced? A pang of sadness washed over him. She had died and he hadn’t even noticed. He began to feel sorry for Tim for putting him at the top of his suspect list.

Suddenly his phone rang. He debated on whether or not to answer it, before eventually hitting the answer button and holding it to his ear with long fingers.. “Hello?”

“Jon, we need to talk.” It was Elias. He didn’t sound too pleased.

“Hello Elias…” he paused, remembering from michaels past what his boss was. “You want to talk to me about my recent… changes… yes?” there was a slight shakiness to his voice

Elias let out a sigh. “Come to my office. Now.” there was a certain finality to his voice. Jon thought for a moment.

“Why should I?”

“I had a feeling you would be difficult. Let me phrase it differently. Come to my office, or I kill Tim.” that shut Jon up very quickly. There was a beep as he hung up the phone. The time was long after hours. He put his phone in his pocket before he cautiously made his way to Elias��s office. Jon took a deep breath before going through the door of his boss’s office.

“So, what do you want from me Elias?”

“You have no idea how much your little show of heroics has cost me, Jon. I can’t get a new Archivist because you're still alive… and still the Archivist.”

“So what do you want from me then?” Even though he could now easily overpower Elias if it came down to it, at least physically, he was still terrified of the man, even more so now that he remembers what he did to Gertrude.

“I want you to keep working in the archive as normal. I told everyone you had gone missing and were presumed dead, assuming you wouldn’t end up returning. I’ll tell them you had a bad encounter with the paranormal, and that they shouldn’t pester you about it. Please just try your best to act relatively normal or so help me.”

“I suppose I could do that.” he didn’t want to, but it wasn’t like Elias was giving him much choice in the matter.

“Great, now please leave my office. you're giving me a headache.” He said in annoyed tone as he gestured towards the door

“Gladly.” Jon responded spitefully, before leaving, and heading back to his house.

Elias’s plans had been shattered, leaving him to put the pieces back together as best he could.

[miblife]

The Wanderings Of A Bird Outside Its Nest Chapter 6

An interview of Ivory Cello, regarding herself and her actions as an Avatar. Interview conducted by Grian Watcher, Head Archivist of the V.O.I.D. Institute, London, 7th October, 2022.

[sixteenth-days]

From the Archives Masterpost: Updated AGAIN

so yeah it's been a BIT since i made a new masterpost, and there has been so much since then. so let's do this again from the top!

The art masterpost is now here, I had to put it in a Google Doc because it hit a limit for links.

THE MAIN FIC SERIES:

Test Recording: One, Two, Three: The newly hired Archivist familiarizes himself with his office.

The Statue Garden: Statement of Cleo, regarding a book of statuary.

Werewolf Games: Statement of Scott, regarding a camping trip and a disappearance.

End Condition: Statement of Scar, regarding his death.

Elephant's Foot: Statement of Zedaph(?), regarding a mousehole in the wall of his lab.

Stargazer: Statement of Pearl, regarding her dreams.

The Anniversary: Statement of Lizzie, regarding a wolf in the woods.

Blight: Statement of Shubble, regarding a disease in her family's crops.

The Not Deer: Statement of False, regarding the disappearance of her roommate, Gem.

The Joe Hills Podcast: Statement of Joe Hills, regarding his own backstory.

Slumber Party: Statement of the collected Archival staff, regarding a night spent in the Archives.

Supplemental: Moonsick: Supplemental audio to Slumber Party, recorded by Pearl, never archived.

The Art of Escape: Statement of Ivory, regarding an escape from solitary confinement.

Red Light, Green Light: Statement of Grian, regarding the deaths of twelve people in an incident that never happened.

Skittering Things: Statement of Stress, regarding a bug.

Assorted Supplemental Recordings: A collection of bonus recordings appended to formal statement files.

Research Questions: Statement of Impulse, regarding an encounter with the entity known as Zedaph.

Immersive Storytelling: Statement of Ren, regarding an ARG.

The Wastes: Statement of Cub, regarding a book of poetry.

Golden Eagle: Statement of HBomb, regarding the actions of his friend False during a group tag game.

Ornithology: Statement of Grian, regarding... feathers.

Supplemental: PTO: Supplemental audio to Ornithology, recorded by nobody in particular, never archived.

Camera Obscura: Statement of Martyn, regarding something that was watching him.

Concerns from the Academic Record of Mr. Tango Tek: Statement of a professor of architectural design, regarding his concerns about a particular student.

Freezing Point: Statement of Scott, regarding a problem with his house's heating.

Gelatinization: Statement of Jevin, regarding a cookbook.

The Vigil: Statement of an unknown traveler, regarding a monument in the desert.

The Vital Importance of a Good Night's Sleep: Statement of Bdubs, regarding his problems sleeping.

Deckbuilding Basics: Statement of unnamed, regarding an encounter with Beef, a trading card collector.

Ad Astra: Statement of Grian, regarding a visit to a certain library.

OTHER FICS NOT IN THE MAIN SERIES:

Interlude from Another Reality: Taxidermy: A pair of scenes in a timeline where Joe's the Archivist, and everybody else is shuffled around too.

mouse hole/black hole: A character study of AU Zedaph, making heavy use of formatting fuckery.

Beautiful Things: Likewise, a character study of AU Stress.

[mrsthunderkin]

Also heres that without all the words

[radiosandrecordings]

'Cause here’s the thing To know how it ends And still begin to sing it again As if it might turn out this time

Transcript under the cut

(Lyrics from Road to Hell (Reprise) Hadestown are layered over audio from TMA 200. The first segment is:) 

[HERMES]

A'ight It’s an old song It's an old tale from way back when It's an old song (spoken) And that is how it ends (sung)That’s how it goes

Don't ask why, brother, don't ask how He could have come so close The song was written long ago (spoken) And that is how it goes

(sung) It's a sad song It's a sad tale (spoken) It's a tragedy (sung) It's a sad song (spoken) But we sing it anyway

'Cause here’s the thing To know how it ends And still begin to sing it again As if it might turn out this time I learned that from a friend of mine

Overlaid over this is the TMA dialogue: 

ARCHIVIST: [Gasping] I… I can’t. Martin, I’m part of this place.

[STATIC SCREECH AND HE WINCES AUDIBLY]

MARTIN: Goddamn it, John!

ARCHIVIST: [Enduring] Aaaaaaargh! I can… withstand it. I just need to hold... on...

[EXPLOSION RESOUNDS]

MARTIN: [Gritted teeth] Come on, John! Come on!

[THE ARCHIVIST’S VOICE DISTORTS AS BUILDING AND REALITY START CRACKING, WITH STATIC SCREECHING AND SQUEALING THROUGHOUT]

ARCHIVIST: [Struggling] No! I can feel the pull… The web, the tapes, it wants— No! I won’t let it!

MARTIN: For god’s sake, John, move!

ARCHIVIST: I can’t! Martin get out of here! What’s going to be left of me after this, you can’t see that.

MARTIN: No!

ARCHIVIST: I can’t protect you from this. Go!

MARTIN: I’m not leaving you trapped here killing the world while I watch!

ARCHIVIST: If you stay, you’ll die!

MARTIN: Then I’ll die!

ARCHIVIST: No!

[CRUMBLING STONE AND MARTIN CRIES OUT AS IF STRUCK BY SOMETHING, STARTS SOBBING]

ARCHIVIST: Martin please! I can’t lose you. Not like this…

MARTIN: Tough! Okay? Where you go, I go!

ARCHIVIST: That’s the deal...

[PANOPTICON CONTINUES TO COLLAPSE AS A SHARP STATIC WHINE RINGS OUT]

Okay.

MARTIN: What?

ARCHIVIST: Do it! The knife’s just there. Let them go.

MARTIN: [Tearful] I’m not going to kill you!

ARCHIVIST: Cut the tether. Send them away. Maybe we both die. Probably. But maybe not. Maybe, maybe everything works out, and we end up somewhere else.

MARTIN: Together?

ARCHIVIST: One way or another. Together.

[METALLIC CLINK]

MARTIN: I don’t think I can...

ARCHIVIST: It has to be you. The Eye won’t let me do it.

MARTIN: [Sobbing] Are you sure about this?

ARCHIVIST: No. But I love you.

MARTIN: I love you too.

[KISS]

[MARTIN STABS DEEPLY; THERE IS A SINGLE GASP]

[PAINED SOB]

[DISTORTED SCREECH, WITH SOUND LIKE TAPE RAPIDLY UNSPOOLING AMIDST A RISING CRESCENDO OF STATIC]

(After this, there is a cut to an instrumental version of Road to Hell Reprise, in which audio from episode 1 of TMA comes in.) 

[CLICK]

ARCHIVIST Test… Test… Test… 1, 2, 3… Right.

[COUGH]

My name is Jonathan Sims. I work for the Magnus Institute, London, an organisation dedicated to academic research into the esoteric and the paranormal. The head of the Institute, Mr. Elias Bouchard, has employed me to replace the previous Head Archivist, one Gertrude Robinson, who has recently passed away.

I have been working as a researcher at the Institute for four years now and am familiar with most of our more significant contracts and projects. Most reach dead ends, predictably enough, as incidents of the supernatural, such as they are – and I always emphasise there are very few genuine cases – tend to resist easy conclusions. When an investigation has gone as far as it can, it is transferred to the Archives.

(Here the Hadestown audio once again comes in, and continues over Jon’s dialogue, which fades out as he continues talking as the song ends) 

ARCHIVIST: Now, the Institute was founded in 1818, which means that the Archive contains almost 200 years of case files at this point. Combine that with the fact that most of the Institute prefers the ivory tower of pure academia to the complicated work of dealing with statements or recent experiences and you have the recipe for an impeccably organised library and an absolute mess of an archive. This isn’t necessarily a problem – modern filing and indexing systems are a real wonder, and all it would need is a half-decent archivist to keep it in order. Gertrude Robinson was apparently not that archivist.

From where I am sitting, I can see thousands of files. Many spread loosely around the place, others crushed into unmarked boxes. A few have dates on them or helpful labels such as 86-91 G/H. Not only that, but most of these appear to be handwritten or produced on a typewriter with no accompanying digital or audio versions of any sort. In fact, I believe the first computer to ever enter this room is the laptop that I brought in today. More importantly, it seems as though little of the actual investigations have been stored in the Archives, so the only thing in most of the files are the statements themselves.

It is going to take me a long, long time to organise this mess.

[HERMES] Everybody looked and everybody saw That spring had come again With a love song

[PERSEPHONE] With a love song [COMPANY] With a love song [HERMES] With a tale of a love from long ago [HERMES] It's a sad song [COMPANY] It’s a sad song [PERSEPHONE] It's a sad song

[HERMES] But we keep singin' even so It's an old song [EURYDICE] It’s an old song [ORPHEUS] It's an old song [COMPANY] It's an old song [HERMES] It's an old tale from way back when And we're gonna sing it again and again We're gonna sing, we're gonna sing [ALL] It's a love song It's a tale of a love from long again It's a sad song We keep singing even so It's an old song It's an old tale from way back when And we're gonna sing it again and again [HERMES] We're gonna sing it again

[buttercups-song]

MAG 1 Anglerfish (contains spoilers for the whole series so beware)

I completely forgot how short this episode was and how... idk weirdly baby Jon's voice was? Not child-like, but like... unformed? Obviously it was probably one of the first things Jonny recorded as Jon and he didn't have the hang of it yet but it's so weird to hear after 200 episodes. On a meta level, Jon is probably trying to sound professional and older, which makes him sound like he's faking his own accent.

I love the double/triple meaning of the title: the "anglerfish" luring it's victims in the statement, the first episode of the series luring the audience, Jon's first real statement sealing his fate as the archivist.

Ah, Jon pretending not to believe in the paranormal my beloved (also already bitching about Gertrude keeping the archives as disorganised as possible - if only he knew)

I deeply enjoy that Jonny started the series already going for the throat and shitting on academia ("Combine that with the fact that most of the Institute prefers the ivory tower of pure academia to the complicated work of dealing with statements or recent experiences and you have the recipe for an impeccably organised library and an absolute mess of an archive")

screaming crying vomiting shaking

Jon hating on Martin in the first episode is both extremely funny and absolutely heartbreaking. In the end Martin contributed so much, his existence is literally why Jon wasn't alone on his odyssey through the fearscapes, why his descent into monsterhood didn't mean losing his humanity, he was The Reason. He also created the delay (on purpose, on purpose) that sealed his and Jon's (and the world's fate).

Jon obviously means future normal researchers just doing their jobs, he has no idea what the tapes are, what the archive is, he has no clue what he's doing. But even though he doesn't know it he's also apologising to the people who will find the tapes in whatever universe they were sent to. To the next archivist who will try to understand, who will perhaps be sceptical, who might attempt to save their own world using the files.

god i hate it here

time is a circle

the story is over the moment it begins

you sure did stare at the Stranger my dude

also we should talk about this guy (alongside the coffin dude, the lady in the tube and the guy who was late for dinner) more. He used his braincell and survived because he didn't go into the creepy alleyway to give a creepy person a cigarette. Be like Nathan Watts! Don't get skinned by the Stranger!

[galaxyofender]

galaxyofender's aus masterpost!

i realize i should probably make a masterpost for my aus so, yeah let me do that!

blood angel

entity red king, but make it ivorycello! it's more "ivory is influencing ren and martyn with bloodlust" than "ivory is possessing ren" but uh fuck it close enough to an entity red king au (3rd life smp, contains shipping because ren and martyn are Like That)

glitch of malice

what if martyn joined c.h.e.s.t.? both him and doc have a bad time and also. um this au ended up gayer than intended (martyn's vtuber lore/the datastream, contains shipping)

hermit's valley

if you mixed up abdillustrates's heartless and the movie encanto, you get this au. hermits and friends are witches with magical powers! this is mostly silly and fluffy (hermitcraft/life series/empires, doesn't really have shipping)

traffic in empires

what if the members of the life series were in empires s1? mostly centers around tango and jimmy, but i'll get to the rest of the lifers eventually (empires/life series, shipping centric)

fic series here

red spring

what if martyn had been the king of spring with ren as his hand? (3rd life smp, shipping centric)

red spring (written by giddyfenix, not by me but please read it)

the eclipse archives

my own take on a tma x mcyt au! because galaxy has A Favorite, we are following the archivist martyn and his assistants ren, lizzie and bigb

fic series here

[bibliocratic]

I come bearing a sort-of fic idea! (Only if you feel inspired to use it, of course 😊) Back in ep 101, Martin figures out that/where the Stranger has taken Jon, and goes all BAMF to save him, using either Web powers or his developing Backup Archivist powers to do it. (Dealer's choice) Some of that sweet sweet emotional h/c...

Dearest anon, this fic has been so long in the writing, and it’s only distantly related to what you asked for. Hope you like it regardless. :)

Set in an S3 AU, implied JonMartin. Tim-centric.

Content warnings for strongly implied graphic violence, canonical S3 captivity and imprisonment, hospitals and hospitalisation.  Rated T for language and implied violence

Jon’s skittering, sprawl-legged slam against the archive door startles Tim from the shadowed walkways of his reveries.

The tilted legs of his chair thump back in a slap to the floor. Almost physically wrenched into the now, there’s a snapback to Tim’s spine, a vice-clench knot tightening in his jaw. His mood cranking up from frosty to furious.

“The fuck?” he barks at the intrusion. His snarling primed with teeth, his temper clawed to rend. He’s up and standing, whereas Jon’s practically handing off the door handle, the impact of his arrival almost knocking his legs out like ten pins from under him. An ugly, airless heaving of his chest. His eyes bloodshot, wild. In the weeks since Tim saw him, his hair has grown out unwashed and limp. His skin shimmering wrong in the light in a way that’s oddly greasy.

He’s a shattering mannequin of a man tending to ruin but Tim’s long pared down his own capacity for compassion. He loads up his questions in their chambers, and he knows where to place emphasis, where to press at the bruising, the soft-tissue targets; where the hell have you been, oh wait, don’t fucking bother, why would you even tell us anything anyway huh, because you don’t even trust us. So why the bloody hell should we care where you go galivanting off to for weeks without a word, fine by us, just fucking peachy.

“Martin,” Jon rasps out finally. His words floundering beached in his mouth, and Tim has never seen this particular mania, this bruise-sick shade of pathetic desperation. “T-tim, please, help, please, god, i-i-it’s Martin.”

Jon’s spasming, quivering hands are staining brown with blood.

-

“He wouldn’t have just left! Not – not like – like this!”

“You mean without saying anything. Not sharing with the class. I dunno, Martin, sounds exactly like something he’d have done. Classic Jon.”

“I’m telling you, something’s wrong!”

“Ha – everything’s wrong. Narrow it down.”

“You know what I mean! Something’s… He should be here, is all I’m saying, and Elias, well he’s useless but he – he knows something, I’m sure of it. We have to do something.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know! Find him!”

“Maybe he doesn’t want to be found. Huh, what about that? Maybe he’s finally managed to fuck off and leave here, legged it and left the rest of us to rot.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“I do.”

“We should – ”

“No. No, listen, Martin. This isn’t a team sport. Jon made his choice to go this alone. If he’s gone off somewhere, then that’s on him. There’s no ‘we’.”

“There used to be.”

-

Martin didn’t come in for work, and Tim assumed he’d left. Just like Jon.

He’d stewed in that betrayal, pacing lupine and furious, bricking up the walls of himself with his self-righteous anger. Because he’d been right, hadn’t he, he’d been vindicated in his bitterness, because of course Martin had left scurrying after Jon, of course there was never any loyalty to Tim despite his pretensions to their friendship. Of course, Martin hadn’t fucking stayed, and Tim was glad he was gone, free of his nagging and needling and whining.

Tim was acquitted in all his furies, every one of his poisonous doubts. The rose-thorns of his betrayals tore deeper, and he let the wounds fester.

-

Elias arrives in the aftermath.

Jon collapsed not too long ago. Shock and dehydration and whatever the hell happened to him threaded through him like blood poisoning. He’d babbled to the ambulance crews, his tongue a senseless oracle of clowns and skin and blood. They’d given him a shock blanket, the foil treating the light around them erratically, but he kept shaking it off and trying to stand, dressed in grubby boxers, an overlong coat, the fabric worn to grey at the pockets and stretched to billowing at the chest, clearly belonging to Martin.

It was hard for Tim to hate him like that, even as he’d barked at Jon to stay down. Jon’s face a theatre mask of ghoulish blood, begging the paramedics to help Martin, manic and spiralling.

The old bastard had had a heart after all.

There’s a bank of chairs outside the part of the ward where they’re keeping Jon. He’s pin-cushioned with IV’s, a set of machines monitoring his vitals. He wakes fitfully, and every waking is a pitiful confusion before he sinks back under.

Martin’s still in surgery.

Elias, deigning to leave his ivory tower, his face formed in an impeccable replica of concern. He wants to speak to Jon. To have, as he put it, ‘a private word’. He talks a precisely ordered stream of bullshit in his infuriatingly reasonable tone, about all this being such a terrible tragedy, such a blow to their little family, if only they’d known. Poor Martin, of course, what a horrible ordeal, we’ll naturally help him with recovery, cover any time off, no expense considered.

Tim watches his mouth move, and knows in his gut that Elias could have stopped all this.

That he chose not to.

Elias doesn’t get within a hundred feet of Jon. Tim makes sure of it.

-

Jon does not speak for days. Delirious and distraught. Martin’s condition worsens, then stabilises, then lingers at critical. There are several more operations, and Tim does not know what they are doing, only that they are reforming a heap of blood and bone back into a person.

Tim wants to know what happened. Where Jon went, where Martin found him, who he needs to hate.

Tim learns to temper his frustration, the desire for knowing that curls at the bottom of his stomach. It is not a natural wanting, and it’s a spiteful, gleeful action, to deny that rot within him.

-

“Tim?”

“Stay still, boss,” Tim says. “You’ll pull everything out.”

Jon doesn’t say anything more for a long while. Tim shifts uneasy on the chair provided, thinking, hoping that Jon might have sunk back into sleep, when:

“Martin? Is he…?”

Jon turns his head to look at him. His eyes wide, beseeching, wet with fear. Wanting Tim to make this all ok.

Jon’s eyes in this light are a lot like Danny’s. Tim sucks back a hard breath, and doesn’t meet his gaze, and he knows that only distresses Jon further, who will take the avoidance as a death knell, as a punishment he is expecting to have earned.

“He’s alive, boss,” Tim says eventually. The words hard won. “He’s… he’ll be alright.”

That could be a lie. He doesn’t know much these days.

-

“Th-there was a room,” Jon stammers one day. He’s sat up, pillows stuffed behind his back. Tim’s bought him an apple juice carton like you buy for children, and he hasn’t touched it, even to push the plastic straw through the top.

His fingers at his lap twist, twist, twist.

“It must have been a … a factory floor, or something. One of those old textile mills or something, up near Manchester. It used to have those big machines for spinning cotton, there were big, discoloured spaces on the boards where they would have sat. There were columns, load-bearing, every fifty feet or so, and t-the chair that they – they had me tied to was anchored against one of those s-so it didn’t – so I couldn’t move it, or knock it over. I-I don’t know how long I was… I.” Jon stops, out of breath. “I don’t even know the date.”

Tim tells him. Jon blinks, and murmurs ‘oh’ like it’s not what he was expecting. His hands are shaking. Tim should reach out, shouldn’t he, it should not be this difficult to provide comfort.

His hands have forgotten how easily reassurance used to come to him.

“Th-they didn’t, they didn’t hurt me. Not, well, not exactly, I-I-I mean, it wasn’t – they wanted me unharmed.” Jon’s voice has crept small and crouched, words tuck under his tongue. “They were waiting. For the right time. They were going to t-take my, um, my skin. For their – for the ritual.”

“Christ.” Tim hisses out, because that is fucked, this whole thing is fucked. How the hell is this the way their lives have turned.

Only Jon’s fingers, his restless hands make noise for the next minute.

“I don’t know how Martin found me,” Jon says.

Tim has a creeping suspicion. It’s the same thing that helps Tim spits out exactly the right seeds to allow hurt to take root. What told Martin that there was something wrong. He could call it intuition, but that’s not how their world works.

Gifts, of a sort. For their faithful service at the temple of their all-seeing god.

“He tried to get me out. Snuck in somehow, cut the ropes with this – huh, this battered old kitchen knife. But I couldn’t… they’d had me tied to the chair for so long that standing up was… I couldn’t walk, and it’s my fault, he was half-carrying me but – I slowed him down, a-and then Nikola came back. And I couldn’t do, I couldn’t do anything, there’s never anything I can do, and they pulled me away and I. I tried, Tim, I-I tried, and I wasn’t… please, Tim, you’ve got to believe I tried to stop them.”

Jon’s fingers are moving to fist in his hair, yanking, tugging, his spine moving to fold himself over.

“Stop,” Tim says sharply. Trying to loosen Jon’s clenched hold.

“I tried, I tried – everything, I offered them anything they wanted, and they just kept – I-I-I tried, Tim.”

“I know,” Tim replies. Quieter. Softer. Separating Jon’s hands from his hair, pressing them back down to his lap, his burnt one held over the other pocked with worm scars. Tim doesn’t move his own away from the fragile tower they’ve made. “I – I know, Jon.”

“Martin – there was more of them. It was easy for them, to hurt him until he stopped struggling. They didn’t tie him up, they knew they didn’t need to. A-and Nikola, she was… she s-s-smiled as they pushed him over onto his back. She – she kept smiling. And she said they didn’t need the two of us. That they could have a bit of fun, a bit of – ” Jon’s voice chokes horrified. “A bit of practise. And wouldn’t I like that. To watch. To give the Eye something to look at.”

Jon crumples into tears then. In on himself like a disintegrating star. Tim feels cold and distant for a moment as he watches this shipwreck as though through the porthole of another boat. Listening to Jon’s hitching sobbing from elsewhere.

The rage is burning off him to reveal something plain and hideous in its humanity, and Tim hates it.

Jon falls apart, and Tim stays.

-

“You know your Archivist killed them all? He’s got a bit of a temper on him after all. Must be all that repression.”

The newest form of the Distortion still smiles like a headache. Her fingers curve corkscrewing. Tim, who is trying to get a Snickers from the vending machine two wards along from Jon, whips his head around to glower at the unwelcome visitor.

“What do you want?”

The Distortion, who has previously called themselves Michael, and is now still Michael but not entirely, whose face has refracted into a different form – there’s been a sort of change in management, if you like, except, well, that’s not really it at all, but do feel free to call me Helen.

“I was hoping for a teeny bit of gratitude. I was the gallant rescue, after that assistant of yours blundered in and made such a pig’s ear of it.”

Tim snarls. The Distortion’s expression wavers displeased.

“Ooh, touchy, alright. Calm down, firecracker. I bought them both back breathing for you. Your Archivist would be still strapped to a chair in Stockport if it wasn’t for me, to say nothing of that woebegone assistant. Blood all over my carpets.”

Tim ignores her. The glint in her eyes suggests she’s disappointed not to have riled him up.

“What now then?”

“Well, you won’t have to worry about the Circus for a while! Dear Jonathan’s seen to that quite splendidly. Knew he had it in him. Although, I suspect, even he didn’t know he could. The Circus was always good at pushing too far.”

“And you. What about you?”

The Distortion’s smile reflects a hundred alternatives.

“Oh, I’m just waiting to see what happens next.”

-

Tim’s thoughts have been straying to Danny a lot. Naturally, all things considered, his trauma’s head reared high and made horrifically manifest.

Jon is not like Danny was, too stiff and self-conscious in his own bones. But Danny’s skin had been lit up with that same live-wire intensity that last night, smeared in shadows and exhaustion and tears that shone foreign on his cheeks. Tim had not recognised the crying, silent, shaking stranger in his room, just as he barely recognises Jon.

Watching him finally fall apart holds no victory for any of them.

Martin is not like Danny was. Taller, for one, wound-up over tight in his own clockwork of fears. He’d be about Danny’s age though. Maybe.

Danny went back to the Covent Garden Theatre, alone, and the being that had then gone by the name of Joseph Grimaldi had torn off his skin as easily as wrapping paper.

Martin went alone. He didn’t ask Tim for help, because he knew Tim would have said no, and there’s an ashy shame coating his tongue, knowing it would have been true.

It’s powerlessness that’s snarled him up in barbed wire, toothless and immobile. Tim’s felt powerless for a long time. That is not going to stop.

But his anger hasn’t protected him. Hasn’t protected Jon. Certainly hasn’t protected Martin.

Jon is not in bed when Tim goes back during visiting hours. The nurse directs him to another ward, indicating in few words that this jaunt was neither encouraged nor advised, but the patient was not one to be dissuaded.

Sounds like Jon.

The man himself has dressed erratically in the spares Tim bought. A t-shirt that is divorced from his own style, the colouring drawing him over-sallow, the jeans too short and trailing above his ankle. He’s squashed himself into a chair, his back folded like a shepherd’s crook, his scatter-shot energy spent into exhaustion. His hand in Martin’s wrapped one.

Martin’s awake. The ministrations of the Circus left his face mostly alone, clear enough for tubing to be threaded into his nostrils and down his throat but the bandaging is extensive. Tim would have thought he’d be away with the fairies on morphine by now, and rightly so, but his jaw sets imperious when he sees Tim. He doesn’t let go of Jon’s hand.

“You doing alright there, Marto?” Tim asks. There is another chair nearby that’s been left by a visitor long gone, and he drags it over. Tim chooses to keep his voice low, chooses to squash the anger that sparks up in him at the violence done to Martin’s body.

“What does it look like?” Martin replies. Not snapping, no wisp of anger there, but there’s a pained whipcord strain to his response, a forced pace to his breathing.

“I thought they’d have you on the good stuff,” Tim says after a moment.

Martin gestures with imprecise movements at a remote off to his right, a grey blocky shape with buttons, hooked up to some sort of patient-controlled analgesia machine.

“You not taken any?”

Martin, as best as he can, shakes his head.

“Why?”

“I just don’t want to, alright?”

Tim doesn’t push. The silence between the two of them is protracted, uncomfortable, but Tim can stand to learn some patience.

Martin’s eyes are watery, clearly trying to push through the pain. Jon sleeps on.

“He won’t tell me,” Martin says. “But it’s bad. I know it’s bad. Right?”

“Yes.”

Martin deserves his honesty. Tim doesn’t know how long Martin suffered on that factory floor until Jon ripped the Circus’ sawdust out with his fury. Long enough for the bandages to coat his arms and legs and back like lacquer, changed multiple times a day to make sure the skin grafts take, and the stitching holds.

Tim should have been there. Like he should have been there for Danny.

“God, Martin,” he says, and he’s surprised to find his throat has clenched tight. “It’s… I’m so sorry.”

“What are you sorry for? I went and got myself…” Martin trails off, swallows with difficulty. “I did this, it was all, all me. Fat lot of good it did.”

“You don’t know that…” Tim starts, but Martin looks at him and he seethes without raising his voice.

“What good’s come out of this then? Go on, Tim, tell me. I’m a – I’m a mess, and what the fuck do I have to show for it. What the fuck have any of us gained from this? I just fucked up, and it – I thought I was going to die. And worse, I thought they mightn’t let me, that they might take what they left as scraps a-a-and – ” Martin’s jaw clacks shut as he pushes down his distress.

“You saved Jon.”

“I didn’t though. The bloody – the bloody door monster showed up and did that simply fine without my help!”

“You don’t know that. You don’t know what you changed. God, Martin, this whole, this entire thing is all so, it’s fucked, right, it’s…” Tim’s voice wobbles, cracks. “But you tried to do something. You tried to help. And I’m – I’m so sorry you did it alone.”

Martin doesn’t leap to forgiveness. But he nods and Tim puts his hand on the wrappings up his arm and he doesn’t move away.

“What now?” he asks after a moment.

“I don’t know.”

Martin closes his eyes.

“I’m tired,” he confesses. “I’m just so tired of all… all this.”

“We’ll think of something,” Tim says. Finding that he means it. It’s not a promise, but it’s as good as he’s able to offer these days. “You should take some of that morphine. It’ll… it’ll help.”

“It makes me feel out of it. Like, sluggish. And everything’s far away.”

“That means it’s working, Marto,” Tim says, trying for light-hearted, but Martin’s shaking his head, and the shivering is back in his hands. A wide and trembling glaze to his expression.

“If they come back…”

He doesn’t finish his sentence.

“I’ll stay,” Tim says. Pats Martin’s arm in a way he hopes conveys reassurance.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Martin nods. Tim helps him grasp the grey remote, push down the button. It’s not long before Martin’s drifted off.

Tim sits there for a long while, thinking about the future.