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ollieofthebeholder · 4 years

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Lovely, Dark, and Deep: A TMA Fanfic (Whumptober 2020)

Also on AO3. S5 spoilers - this is Episode 170 from Jon’s POV.

No.8: Isolation

“I think we’re almost out,” Jon said, glancing around him. It was hard to tell for sure by the appearance of the realms—that was the point of them, after all, to seem infinite—but the sense that had guided them thus far told Jon they didn’t have much farther to go. “It’s amazing. I haven’t felt that need to make a statement about this one. I wonder if it’s because there’s no avatar here? Or at least because I took one out prior to...all of this?”

He glanced over his shoulder to solicit Martin’s thoughts on the matter and felt his blood run ice cold.

Martin wasn’t there.

“Martin?” he called sharply, stopping and turning around. There were dozens—hundreds—of people around him, all of them fading through various shades of grey, all of them seeming to ignore one another, and all of them looking lost and bewildered and upset. But nowhere in the room could Jon see the tall, broad-shouldered teddy bear of a man who should have been following him.

He paused for a moment, closed his eyes, and took a few deep, slow breaths. He knew what Martin looked like, of course he did. He held the image in his mind for a second: the mop of curly hair now streaked with white, the round glasses, the jumper he favored particularly because Jon had once offhandedly complimented it (and then spent the next several hours hiding in his office panicking that he’d said too much). The vibrant colors that made up the man. He even flipped through several possible facial expressions he could be making—exasperation at Jon’s pace or forced politeness at wading through people who didn’t notice him or (hopefully) mild panic. Dismissing that as an unimportant detail, he opened his eyes and looked around.

Nothing.

“Martin!” Jon called again. No response. There was nothing for it; he’d have to retrace his steps. Hopefully Martin had had the sense to stay put wherever he was when they got separated—how had they gotten separated? Martin had been right behind him the whole time, when he wasn’t right beside him. A crowd must have pushed between them. Jon must have just been going too fast to notice. That had to be it. It had to have been a crowd. He’d find Martin in one of the rooms, sitting on one of the probably-uncomfortable chairs, waiting for Jon to come back.

He wouldn’t have kept moving, Jon told himself as he started back the way he’d come, looking frantically around him. He’d have stayed. If he didn’t know where Jon had gone, he’d have stayed in the last room he was in, waiting for him, and Jon could just...retrace the route. Simple.

The problem with this place was that every room was exactly like every other room. Indistinguishable, unremarkable, impersonal. Short of marking the walls, there was no way to be absolutely certain what rooms he’d passed through and what rooms he hadn’t. And the route he Knew, he realized as he started backwards, was the route forward. They’d committed to this course, to heading to London and the Panopticon and the Eye and Elias, and he Knew where they were going. He didn’t Know where they’d been, except in the vaguest and most general of senses. They’d been through six nightmare realms so far, this being the seventh. But he couldn’t say for certain where exactly they’d been. This place was deliberately meant to be obfuscating, to keep you in a perpetual state of...not confusion, that was the Spiral’s bailiwick, but...

Isolation, his brain supplied helpfully, and Jon cursed at it. He did not need the reminder of which domain they were in. Which domain he’d thought, mercifully, he would escape without the need to make a statement about it. He did not want to think about this domain, this entity, at all. There was nothing, no one, here for him to take revenge on—he’d already done that—but, God, did he want to tear this house to pieces, brick by brick. He wanted to grab each person he passed by the shoulders and say I see you, I know you, there are others here, you are not alone—but he couldn’t. He couldn’t interfere in another entity’s domain, couldn’t free any of these people from their nightmares.

Couldn’t...oh, God. Isolation. Nightmares. Martin.

“Martin!” Jon bellowed, a little louder. He strained to hear. There was no sound but the faint susurration of the whispers of the people trapped here. There were so many of them, but each one thought they were alone. The ones that were talking—the ones that were still strong enough to talk to themselves, to make themselves feel a little less...no. Even them he couldn’t hear clearly, even when he strained to do it.

They were so convinced no one was listening that the one person who was listening couldn’t hear them. Martin. No. No, Martin had to know he was there, had to know he was coming. He couldn’t have forgotten. He couldn’t have...given up.

Unbidden, the thought of the last time he’d been in...this entity’s domain came to his mind. The fog, God, the ever-present fog. Calling desperately. The smarmy, taunting voice telling him He doesn’t want to see you. He’d known that was a lie then, known it with a desperate certainty. Peter Lukas had worked on Martin, eroded away at him for months, whittled him down until he was—until he thought he was nothing, less than nothing. Until he’d been willing to stay, thought he deserved it.

Jon had never told Martin, but he’d come close to succumbing, too. It wasn’t like he’d never been l—solitary before. He’d spent most of his strange, unhappy childhood with nothing but books for company, and it had almost been too late when he’d learned to make friends. He’d tried too hard to be professional his first year as Archivist and only hadn’t managed to isolate himself completely because all of his assistants, in their own way, had insisted on remaining or becoming a part of his life. And then after the worms, after the discovery of Gertrude Robinson’s body, when Jon had let his paranoia get the better of him and sealed himself away from everyone...only Martin hadn’t let him, even then, had fought to keep him present. And it would have been worse after Leitner’s murder and he’d gone on the run if Georgie hadn’t taken him in, at least at first. He’d certainly felt it then. He knew what it felt like. He’d almost given in to the fog.

But he’d held on, held onto the fact that Martin was in the fog somewhere. He wasn’t alone—neither of them were alone, because Martin had been there and so had Jon and even if they couldn’t see one another yet, they were both there. So he’d called Martin’s name, and then he’d found Peter Lukas and fought him and won, which he never would have been able to do if Martin hadn’t already fought him and won. And then he’d found Martin again, and Martin had seen him, and they’d come out of the fog together.

They’d done it once. They could do it again. Jon just had to find him before...no.

“Martin!” he called again, somewhere between a shout and a sob. This wasn’t happening, this couldn’t be happening. He couldn’t have been so feeble, so stupid as to lose sight of Martin in a place like this. A place that had almost taken him once.

Desperate, almost frantic, he wandered through room after room, searching, calling. Martin had to be here somewhere. God, how many rooms did this damned house have?

It didn’t matter, he realized. The realm was as infinite as it needed to be, and also as limited. Every room was different, but every room was the same. It could hold thousands of people, but each one would assume that they were the only one.

That they had always been the only one.

Jon fought down the panic and tried to think. Martin had to be in here somewhere. It was a feature of the domain. There was no way out beyond death, and it was too...early? Was that the word? The entities weren’t ready to relinquish their victims just yet. Death wouldn’t be able to start feeding off the other realms until it had completely depleted its own store. There was no way to leave, ergo, Martin had not left. The only one who knew the way out was Jon, and Jon was not with Martin; therefore, Martin had not found the way out. He must be somewhere in this house.

Yes, all right, that was perfectly logical and all that nonsense. But “somewhere” covered a lot of ground. And Jon didn’t know where he’d let Martin slip away.

Know. Discomfort fluttered through Jon’s stomach. He’d been trying very hard to find Martin the traditional way, not to use his abilities. He’d promised to stay out of Martin’s head, and he had. Martin was the most important thing in the universe to him, even before he’d become the only real thing he had left, and he wouldn’t do anything to ruin that. Including, and especially, betray his trust.

But...this was different. Martin was lost somewhere...no, not lost, just...missing. This realm was near-infinite. Jon could wander forever and not find him, and although time wasn’t really a factor anymore per se, he was desperately afraid that if he took too long finding Martin, Martin would succumb. Maybe...think he’d been abandoned on purpose. That Jon saw him as a burden, a drag on his mission, or worse—that Jon had been humoring him up to this point, that he’d never intended to do what he could to fix the mess he’d been used to cause, and that he’d abandoned him at the first possible opportunity so he could...enjoy the apocalypse.

No. No, Martin had to know Jon wasn’t like that. Jon loved Martin, had loved him for longer than he’d been willing to admit, would love him until the end of the universe. And Martin loved him, had loved him even when he’d been doing his best to push him away, would love him as long as he had the capacity. He’d said as much, so many times, and Jon believed him without even needing his powers. He saw it in his eyes, heard it in his voice, felt it in his touch. Martin had to know that Jon felt the same way. It wasn’t like he was subtle about it, for God’s sake.

Martin hadn’t left Jon, even after he’d accidentally ended the world. He had to know that went both ways. He had to.

Jon took a deep breath. He was starting to spiral. It wasn’t the first panic attack he’d ever had in his life, but it was definitely on its way to being one of the worst. That wouldn’t help him. Or Martin. He had to hold on to that. Martin needs you. Keep it together. You have to find Martin. You can’t fall apart in a nightmare.

Right. So. He’d promised not to pry into Martin’s head. But it was the only way Jon could guarantee he’d find him. Surely Martin would forgive him, if—when—he knew. Because Jon would tell him, as soon as he found him. They were trying to be honest with one another, about what they did, how they felt. They were trying to communicate. Jon wasn’t particularly good at it, but he was trying. So he would Look, he would Know where Martin was, and he would find him and apologize and they would get the hell out of there.

He took another deep breath and concentrated on the question: Where is Martin?

A beat passed, another. Jon strained as hard as he could. He could...he could feel Martin’s mind out there, somewhere, in a room. Feel something about him. He was...talking. To someone? Most likely to himself. Jon couldn’t pick up the words. Everything was...muffled. Muted.

Faded.

No.

He had to have hope. The ones who were still talking were the ones who hadn’t given up yet. They talked because the sound of their voice made them feel less alone. If Martin was talking...that meant he was still holding on. It was when he stopped...Jon could feel the pauses in his words, and every time he stopped talking, he could feel him slipping a little farther away.

“Martin!” Jon shouted, his voice cracking with desperation and fear. “Martin, please answer me, please.”

Just like that, he heard his name, or maybe felt it. For a moment, there was a bright flare, almost of light, like a beacon, and Jon rushed towards it desperately. He went through a door, though, and the light was gone, leaving him even more lost than before.

No. Not lost. He wasn’t lost, and neither was Martin. They were...separated. It was just temporary. They would find one another. There was no way they would be trapped forever in this hellscape.

Well. Jon wouldn’t be trapped forever. He was too much the Eye’s creature to be trapped anywhere. These nightmares, as he’d told Martin repeatedly, weren’t for him—for them. This one was just trying to take Martin because he’d been Marked by the Lonely.

There.

He’d thought it.

This was the Lonely.

And it was trying to take Martin away from him.

No.

Martin was his anchor—had been a lot longer than he’d admitted it, even to himself. He’d wondered, once or twice, distantly, what would have happened if he’d realized that before going into the Buried after Daisy, if he’d realized a body part wouldn’t be his best choice for an anchor and used something else, like one of the recordings Martin had made of his poems while he’d been trapped in the Archives. If Martin’s voice wouldn’t have brought him safely out of the coffin sooner, and forced Elias—Jonah—to scramble for another way to have the Flesh mark him. If they’d have been able to suss out Jonah’s plan and foil it before it could fully realize. He couldn’t Know the future, even hypotheticals, but he’d still gone over it time and again. He’d never mentioned it to Martin, figuring his boyfriend had enough to worry about. But whenever he got a quiet moment to himself, he thought about it. And now Martin wasn’t there to keep him steady.

For a moment, Jon was tempted to give in to despair, the despair he’d been fighting since he’d woken on the floor of the cabin in Martin’s arms and heard the roar from outside and known, even more than Known, what it meant. He couldn’t get through this on his own. Even if he believed they were doing any good, even if he thought there was a chance that Gertrude was wrong and he could fix the apocalypse, he knew he couldn’t do it without Martin there to ground him, to give him a reason to go on. He did think those things, but...but it was Martin that made him believe that, Martin’s quiet strength and gentle guidance and above all the feel of his fingers laced through Jon’s when they strode through the more difficult terrain.

God, why hadn’t Jon held his hand? He’d known this would be a tricky one, but stupidly, he’d thought they would be okay. He’d thought that, because the floors were even and the path was regular and the people were...only barely there and not enough to really affect them physically, that they didn’t need to help each other walk. He was such an idiot. He always had been, really. He’d thought the end of the world would be enough of a monument to stupidity, assumed that there really couldn’t be more evidence that he made decisions that were both moronic and outright bad than the fact that he’d earnestly believed he was saving the people he loved, and the entire world, but was in fact taking gigantic leaps and bounds towards destroying them all.

He’d been wrong, because now his idiocy had cost him the one thing the apocalypse had spared him. It had cost him Martin.

No. No! Jon couldn’t let himself believe that. He couldn’t believe that this was it. Martin was still out there, he was still talking, and Jon would find him and once he did he would never let him go again. Martin was damn well going to have to listen to the next statement Jon had to make, because Jon was scared, damn it, and he was going to hold on to Martin as long as he could. Maybe even longer.

He felt something again, all at once. Something in his heart getting warmer, a strengthening of his willpower and determination, a grounding. He felt as if his foundations had been reinforced, all of a sudden. He could almost hear a voice thrumming through his chest, a steady, rhythmic chant, panic slowly easing out of the voice as it grew stronger and stronger—

Wait. He could hear a voice.

“Martin!” he shouted, putting every last bit of love and desperation and need in his body into his voice to give it as much volume as he could.

He heard his name, faintly, in reply, and his head snapped around. He practically ran, his steps taking him faster and farther than he’d thought possible. “Martin! Martin?”

“Jon! Jon, over here!”

Martin’s voice was the most wonderful thing Jon had ever heard. Jon gasped out in relief as he focused his knowledge on Martin’s whereabouts. “Martin, hold on, I—I’m coming, I just—”

And then he burst through the next doorway and there Martin was, on his feet, face pale and eyes wet, clutching something tightly in one hand and head turned towards Jon. Relief flooded through Jon’s entire body and he almost collapsed before he made it to Martin’s side. “Oh, Martin, thank God, I—I was—”

He broke off, unable to finish the sentence, and simply wrapped his arms around Martin tightly. Martin was cold, so very cold, as cold as he’d been the last time the Lonely had almost taken him away, but he was solid and real and his heart thudded strongly in his chest, and his arms as they went around Jon were just as firm as always. He was alive. He was safe. He was here.

“I—I thought you were behind me,” Jon managed.

Martin let out a soft breath—and then uttered the words that almost broke Jon completely. “I thought you’d left me behind. Gone on without me.”

“No, never. N-never, I—I just—” Jon pulled back from the hug and looked up at Martin, and the words tumbled out of him in a panicked rush. “I—I didn’t want to—Look too h—I, I-I promised I wouldn’t Know you, and with the fog, and—and all the rooms, I—I just—I lost you...” He managed to draw a breath, hoping it would steady him a little. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Martin replied immediately, and God, how had Jon managed to get so lucky?

It took him a couple breaths—both of them needed a couple breaths—before Jon managed to speak again. “No, I—I tried to use the—” He sighed, remembering he’d promised himself to be honest, and continued, “—to Know where you were, but it was—you—you were faint. It was so strange...it took me so long to find you.”

Martin squared his shoulders and straightened, rubbing at the back of his neck with his free hand. “Jon, it’s—okay, I promise it’s okay. This place tried, it really did, and honestly, I—” He sucked in a breath. “I wanted to believe it.” Before Jon could panic, he added, “But I didn’t.”

“This place, i-it—” Jon began. Before he could finish his sentence, his eyes lit on the object in Martin’s hand. A tape recorder.

The familiar static filled Jon’s head, and he suddenly Knew what was on that recorder. The statement filled his mind, telling him every word Martin had spoken into the device, every thought his boyfriend had had while struggling desperately to remember who he was, who Jon was. His self-deprecating jokes and his pathetic wistfulness, his smallness, his fear. Everything Peter Lukas had tried to make of him...except now Jon could hear that stretching back years, long before Martin had ever come to the Institute. Lukas had only built on what was already there.

“My God,” he whispered. The recorder was still whirring away, but Jon had heard the entire playback in a matter of seconds.

“Yeah,” Martin agreed.

Jon swallowed hard. What he was about to say went against every instinct he had...but he loved Martin, he had to give him a choice. Had to make sure he knew this wasn’t a forced death march or anything.

“M-Martin—if you—did,” he began. “I-if you wanted to forget a-all of it, stay here...” He closed his eyes for a brief second, fighting to get the words out. “I—I would understand.”

Time had no meaning in this place, in this post-apocalyptic world, so it was entirely possible that there was an actual eternity in the heartbeat of silence after Jon’s words, who was to say?

“N-no,” Martin said finally, and Jon felt relief crash down on him like a physical force. “It’s comforting here, leaving all those—painful memories, behind, but—it’s not a good comfort, it’s—i-it’s the kind that makes you fade, makes you dim and...distant.”

“Okay,” Jon whispered. He licked his lips, then said in a more normal tone of voice, “Okay, good. I—” He took a deep breath to steady himself. “I wanted to make sure you knew what this place was.”

“It’s the Lonely, Jon.” Martin’s voice, his eyes, were sad, almost resigned. “It’s me.”

The words pierced Jon through the heart. He pulled Martin back into a hug, even tighter than before. “Not anymore,” he said forcefully.

Martin gave a soft laugh that warmed Jon to his toes. He returned the embrace. “No,” he agreed. He let out all the air in his lungs in a long, deep rush. “No, not anymore.”

The sudden click made both of them jump. Jon realized it was the tape recorder, still dangling from Martin’s hand, evidently deciding that whatever it needed to record was over. Martin pulled back and looked at the recorder. He began trembling, ever so faintly.

Gently, Jon took the device from him and stowed it in his bag. It was difficult, with only one hand, but he kept his other arm wrapped around Martin’s waist as he did so. He needed the comfort, the contact, probably as much as his boyfriend did. He wasn’t ready to relinquish that just yet. It would turn out to be two more nightmare hellscapes and a small but intense fight before Jon would let go of Martin again, even for a moment, but there was no way to Know the future. All he knew, or Knew, was that right now he needed to hold on to Martin, to be sure he wouldn’t be taken away again.

“Let’s get out of here,” he said. “Quickly.”

Martin’s smile seemed to melt away some of the fog. “Lead on, then.”

They gripped one another’s hands tight enough to hurt, but Jon didn’t care. The pain was welcome if it meant knowing where Martin was. Jon tried to slow his pace a bit so Martin could keep up, but actually, he seemed to be moving along just fine. The fog had been what slowed him down before, and it didn’t seem to have any hold on him anymore.

At last, they emerged out the front door of the house and stood on a road leading between some barren fields. The Panopticon glowed in the distance, still watching over everything, and Jon Knew which way they had to go in order to reach their next stop. He even Knew which domain it was they would be passing through...which avatar they would meet when they did.

He stopped anyway.

He stopped and turned to Martin and looked up at him, intending to drink in the sight of him, to memorize the way his face looked in the sunlight, to map out the constellations in his freckles and navigate the topography of his curls. Instead, his eyes locked onto Martin’s and he was overcome, suddenly, by the powerful and crushing realization of how close they had come. He’d promised Martin nothing would hurt them. He’d promised he wouldn’t allow anything to harm Martin. And then he hadn’t been strong enough to hold on. He’d almost let Martin be taken, and in the end, he hadn’t even been the one to save Martin. Martin had saved himself.

Jon let out a ragged gasp of mingled pain and relief. He grabbed Martin’s face, pulled him down, and kissed him, desperate and hard and messy.

Martin made a muffled noise of surprise, as well he might. In the entire time they’d been together, Jon had initiated a lot of physical contact—hugs, hand-holding, spooning gently on the couch, twining together in bed—but while this wasn’t their first kiss by any means, Martin had always been the one to initiate them before, usually proceeded with a gentle brush to his cheek and a soft can I, Jon? Jon always acquiesced, of course. Martin’s kisses made him feel safe and warm in a way nothing ever had before. But he’d never been the one to go first. Jon’s attitude towards kissing was...weird, he supposed was the best way of putting it. He’d never been quite sure how he felt about it, and actually, he still wasn’t sure how he felt about the idea in general. But he loved Martin, and he loved Martin’s kisses. He’d just never been quite sure how to go about starting it exactly. Here and now, though, nothing in him said to do anything different but grab Martin and try to convey without words all the emotions roiling through him.

Thankfully, Martin’s surprise lasted no more than a split second before he was returning the kiss, pulling Jon close as he did so. Jon relaxed into Martin’s arms. He’d come a long way since he’d told Martin not to put his trust in comfort anymore; he’d learned that, in this post-apocalyptic nightmare world he’d brought about, you had to take whatever comfort you could get. If you lost sight of even the smallest things, you were lost.

And Martin was far from a small thing.

“Jon?” Martin sounded worried. He swiped his thumb across Jon’s cheek, and that’s when Jon realized he was crying.

“I thought I lost you,” he whispered.

“But you didn’t.” Martin rested his forehead against Jon’s. “I’m not going anywhere, Jon. I promise. Wherever we end up, whatever we have to go through...we will go through it. Together. I won’t leave you. I promised you that from the beginning.”

He sounded so strong, so determined. Jon wondered if Martin knew that he fell a little more in love with him every time he spoke. And he was right. If Jon was going to get through this, the only way it would happen would be with Martin at his side.

“I love you,” he murmured.

“I love you, too, Jon,” Martin replied. “More than anything.”

Jon held them together for a few moments more, soaking in Martin’s nearness, then nodded a couple of times and tilted his head back to kiss Martin again.

“Come on,” he said hoarsely, turning back to the path without letting go. “Miles to go before we sleep.”

#whumptober2020 #no.8 #isolation #the magnus archives #writing #jonmartin #spoilers for s5 #Episode 170 spoilers #The Lonely #in which I project my own Asexual Experience onto Jonathan Sims #ollie writes fanfic

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thehopefulsnowflake · 3 years

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Even more theories and opinions about the magnus archives from my brother, up to episode 110.

Michael and Gertrude did not have a fling

Did Michael know Helen would take over?

Was he trying to get Helen through his halls

Is that how the twisting Deceit carries on

Whatever the sprial Avatars say is untrustworthy

Michael changing into Helen is kind of like Doctor who's regeneration

Gertrude was up to shenanigans

Is Gertrude not actually good?

Gertrude found out what happened to the library of alexandria and that's her motive

Gerad ain't dead

Melanies obsession with being free is the reason she's trying to kill Elias

The only important part of nesting instinct was that Jon could now read French

The pig reminded him of Meat

Everyone who dies, dies in a mundane way

Elias is spying on them through the tape recorder

He can probably just see in the tunnels

The archive is the tape recorder

Gérard had suggested countless other things before Gertrude just said they should use Cement to kill the pig

Tim met the Phantom of the opera

The phantom was a clown

Tim should be used as a sacrificial lamb

The whole archive has a voice

The archive will give their Avatars Visions in the form of voices

Elias is actually against the Archive and Gertrude was trying to help the archive by burning it down to get rid of Elias

Tim should just sort himself out before the Beholding does

Martin is a badass

Melanie's severe, surprise bouts of homicidal intent are sus

Basira is very introspective and philosophical

Daisy is happy because she has a free pass to kill people

He thinks that he hates Tim because of how quickly his personality changed

The buried was the Maine entity in Total War

Hasn't heard enough about the death cult to know if they're a full on entity

Then went off on a tangent about historical accuracy...

The desolation is the most brutal entity

Jan Kilbride was too pessimistic, that's why they were never selected for space missions before

Because sound doesn't travel in the space, the daedalus was just shaken around

The isolation experiment was from the Lukas'

The next one will be Rayner

This one was just classic Fairchild

Elias is still the best character despite implanting the memories in Melanie's head

He says that he would trust almost anyone else over Melanie

He thinks Melanie deserved it

Elias is the best because he's dealing with people

Elias is the only one holding himself together

If Elias wasnt there it would be anarchy

Elias is the only thing keeping Jon alive

Elias is at least helping

Basira is cool

Everyone cared about Tim but he is just horrible and didn't want to see it

Martin will be the emotional anchor for everyone

They would probably be able to deal with their issues if they were stable people

Elias is the only nice person

Elias is the only stable person

Melanie should seek therapy

When Tim left the only reason he felt ill was because he caught the flu

Elias feels pressured because he's trying to prevent the end of the world

He is so happy Trevor is back

Just the London underground, no wait the desolation, no wait Michael, he's confused

Trevor is the only other character who is in anyway competent

Did Trevor discover an elixir of life or something

The London underground isn't going to be that big, he keeps calling the Buried the London underground.

Unless Melanie stops trying to kill Elias she's going to be worse than Tim

Thought that Adonis biros had something to do with the stranger or The desolation

Was he acting out a play from a leitner

The cloaked figure was of the stranger

It's unlikely that there is another faction thats going to be introduced at this point so it's likely the stranger

Peter Lukas is chill

He doesn't think Peter Lukas had any part to play in Adonis Biros statement

Julia first encountered the people's Church

That sect died out after they killed the leader

Thinks that everyone in the archive is going to try some shit

Thinks that they're all being daft because they think Elias is always lying

They have no reason to be so murderous

They're as bad as the monsters and have no right to try and kill Elias

Thinks Jon should stop them

Melanie is a serial killer

Unless she was possessed by the Ghost that shot her

Daisy would make better decisions

Michael would have made better decisions

Thinks that everyone is just disregarding Elias warning

Thinks Elias is telling the truth

Why wouldn't Elias' threat be real

Unless it's because there is no successor available, and if there was everyone would live

Which of course would be Martin because he is the spirit of the archive

When they go down into the tunnel's and not-Sasha gets them he is going to laugh his ass off

Is sure he's going to be proven right

Elias is either canny and knows how to manipulate people

Or he is telling the truth and they all die and the world gets fucked

They've had no proof that Elias' lies

Thinks Martin and Melanie will die at the end of this season

Not-Sasha is going to get one of them

Thinks that they have been given more reasons to trust Elias than not

They have no reasons to doubt him, at all

Thinks that the only motive now is just to kill Elias, which there is no motive behind

Melanie's life hasn't changed all that much

Melanie could just leave

Martin is becoming an equivalent archivest

Tim has just decided that the circus is his life goal

Peter is going to tell Elias that he is an Arse

There is no rationale behind killing Elias, he keeps repeating this

At the moment Tim and Martin are the most stable

If people actually did their jobs they'd actually be able to think of actual plans, yes he used that many actuallys

Melanie is being possessed by a murder ghost

Martin and Basira won't be able to get rid of Elias

#He's just so cruel to Tim and Melanie #the magnus archives #the magnus archives spoilers #tma #tma spoilers #The magnus archives theories

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haberdashing · 3 years

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No Puppet Strings Can Hold Me Down (14/?)

The Magnus Archives fanfic. An AU that diverges from canon between episodes 159 and 160, in which Peter Lukas’ statement that “he got you” takes on a different meaning.

on AO3

Jon looked back up at Martin, whose eyes were wide and staring right back into his own. (A small part of him was reassured upon seeing that Martin’s eyes were the same as always, that they hadn’t been replaced by Jonah’s in turn.)

“J-Jon? Is it really you?”

Jon nodded, trying to ignore the lump in his throat as he spoke; he’d expected his voice to sound hoarse or raspy, but it wasn’t, presumably since it had in fact been used this whole time, just not by himself. “I-I’m not sure if I can prove it, or, or what I can say that he wouldn’t know, that would prove I’m myself again and not him-”

Jon’s mind swam with half-formed ideas about things Jonah Magnus would never say--not something he wouldn’t know, helpful though that might be if his possessor was anyone but the nigh-omniscient head of the Magnus Institute, because that was doomed to futility--or just ways to get the conversation started regardless, perhaps turn things away from the information he hadn’t meant to leak to his possessor, the confession he hadn’t meant to give secondhand...

“...I can sleep on the couch from now on, if you’d like.” The words escaped him before he could second-guess them any further, though Martin’s look of bafflement almost made him wish he could take them back.

Martin shook his head and blinked rapidly before eking out a “What?”

“I, I know that’s probably not- not the highest priority at the moment, but it’s been on my mind all this time. You deserve the bed, deserve to sleep somewhere where you actually fit--I’ve slept worse places than the couch here before, I, I used to sleep on that ratty old cot back in the Archives-”

“So did I!”

“You did it because you were afraid of being eaten by worms if you left. I did it because I couldn’t be bothered to take the bus back that late at night. It’s not the same.”

Martin looked like he was going to protest again, but before he could Jon took another deep breath and held up a finger before adding, “And you know Jonah Magnus is too egotistical to even think of offering something like that, so it must actually be me talking.”

Jon half-expected to hear Jonah Magnus’ voice echoing through his head in protest, had spoken the words as much for Jonah’s benefit as for Martin’s, but the only response Jon got was Martin looking at him as if he’d grown a second head for a long moment before letting out a short, shaky laugh.

“Well, you’re not wrong. I do believe you... though, uh, it helps that your eyes changed back too. Always did like how dark they are.”

Jon raised a hand up to his face as if to examine his eyes before remembering when Jonah had made a show of performing that same examination and returning his hand to his side with a shudder.

“Are... are you alright, Jon?”

“I mean, given the circumstances...” Jon tried to laugh, but the noise he actually made fell pretty far from the mark; a strand of hair fell onto his face, and Jon felt a strange, simple pleasure as he brushed it back out of the way with little effort. “Could be worse?”

“Right, right... stupid question, I suppose...”

Jon shook his head, stifling a laugh as much of his hair fell onto his face and he had to pull it away again. “No, no, it makes sense, I appreciate you asking...”

“Was- was Elias telling the truth?”

Jon blinked a few times. “Sorry?”

“Er, Jonah Magnus, really, I guess. What he said about you just now. Was he telling the truth?”

Jon could feel his face turn warm, wondered distantly if Jonah could still feel the heat of it from wherever he’d gone off to now. “I, uh, I mean... yes, it’s true, but I hadn’t meant for him to hear, I hadn’t- hadn’t intended my thoughts on the matter to be available for Jonah Magnus’ personal consumption... though I suppose there are, er, bigger issues at the moment..."

Martin blinked a few times before letting out a snort of laughter, the sound of it enough to make Jon’s heart race. “I understand, Jon, and we can talk about that too--though I assume we don’t have all day here?”

Jon hesitated, waiting for Jonah Magnus’ voice in his head to smugly inform him of how much longer he would allow this to go on, before giving a small shrug when no such voice came. “Your guess is as good as mine, but I’d imagine not.”

“Right. Well, I do want to have that conversation eventually, but I was actually talking about the whole you feeling everything even when he’s in control thing.”

“Oh.” Jon let out a low breath, felt his face heat up again for a different reason. “Right, that. He wasn’t lying about that either, no, I’m still along for the ride the whole time...”

Martin’s face fell as Jon spoke, and Jon rushed to do what he could to fix it, or at least to do damage control.

“But it hasn’t been too bad so far, and the one time it was was my own fault, so...”

“What d’you mean?”

“That time I passed out mid-statement? I tried to Know something and I knew that could happen, but I figured it was worth the risk. Didn’t help much, but I imagine Jonah felt as bad as I did at least.” Jon shrugged again--a small movement, but one he treasured now, enjoying his freedom of motion while it lasted.

“But if...” Martin bit his lip for a moment before continuing. “He’s right then. If I try to stop him, I’ll just be hurting you, won’t I?”

“You’ll be hurting both of us, and Martin, listen to me--I don’t know exactly what Jonah Magnus is planning, but...” Jon hesitated for a moment, all too aware that any word he spoke could be his last, that at any moment his freedom might be stripped away from him again if he dared go too far. “I think he’s trying to end the world, or, or change it at least. And if you’re going to stop that, you shouldn’t let one person’s feelings get in the way.”

Martin made a noise that was somewhere in between a huff and a sigh. “I’m not going to hurt you, Jon.”

“If it’s between that or the world ending, by all means, do whatever you need to do.”

“Jon-”

“I’m serious. If it means hurting me, or knocking me out, or... or whatever it takes, if it’ll stop his plans, just go for it when you have the chance. You have my permission--my blessing, even.”

Martin opened his mouth for a moment and then closed it again before speaking up. “...if you say so.”

Jon locked eyes with Martin, forcing what intensity he could into his gaze. “I do.”

Martin nodded, a strange solemnity in the gesture. “What do you know about what he’s planning, then? What should I be looking out for?”

“Well, from what he’s tried already, I believe it’s another r-”

And then Jon found himself cut off from speaking, from moving, felt that strange shift inside his mind once again before his own voice spoke up without his willing it.

“I think that’s quite enough of that. You wanted proof that Jon was still in here, that it’s not just his body you’d be preserving, and I daresay you’ve gotten it.”

Martin broke away from Jon’s gaze, still locked on Martin’s face as he looked back down at the floor. “Yes, I... I suppose I have.”

“I trust that’s enough to prevent you from doing anything stupid without my having to resort to more... drastic measures.”

“No, no... I don’t want to hurt Jon, even if it’d mean hurting you too. You’re both safe for now.”

Jon wanted to yell, to scream, to beg Martin to stop Jonah Magnus by whatever means necessary, to explain that he hadn’t valued his life much even before it’d been reduced to this sort of half-existence, to quote the old saying about the needs of the many trumping the needs of the few... but instead he felt himself just nod silently and turn away.

#tma #tma au #tma fic #tma fanfic #the magnus archives #the magnus archives au #the magnus archives fic #the magnus archives fanfic #personal #my writing #jonmartin #jmart

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that-one-girl-behind-you · 4 years

Text

Illicio 7/?

Chapter 6

"Hm. Melanie's worried about you," Helen says. Her eyes are swirling as she runs them over Gerry's hunched form, and her lips curl with distaste. "You don't look good."

Gerry laughs, or he tries to, before it devolves into a wet cough that leaves droplets of ink sprinkled all over the desk. "That tracks. I have never felt so far from good in my life."

"What about when you were a book?"

"When I was a book I didn't have to worry about a man that seems to be actively trying to run face first into any entity he can find," Gerry sighs.

There's people around him, that much Jon knows. He hears them trying to move, trying to dig not even to escape, but just to carve a pocket of air big enough to pull in a mouthful of air before everything closes down again. They don't know and they don't care, that the pressure around them is not always dirt or water. Sometimes it's sadness. Guilt. The Buried has no qualms against using the memories of those you left behind to drag you in further.

He knows the way to Daisy, but only barely. The only hint he has as to her whereabouts is the dull ache of the scar across his throat, and Jon Knows with a feeling of grim satisfaction that the only reason he's able to even feel that much is because made sure to feed beforehand. Still, a single thought plays through his mind on repeat, the only thing that keeps him moving forward anymore.

He doesn't know the way back.

The rib stopped calling to him as soon as the lid slammed shut above his head, and Jon has the bitter thought that he could've skipped the encounter with Hopworth, for all the good it did to him.

Jon's next step sinks up to his ankle, as his thoughts turn dark. Why did he think he could save anyone? When has that ever worked? This was nothing but his arrogance. Another failure at helping what he broke. Gertrude stopped dozens of rituals on her own, but Jon had to bring an entire team into the Unknowing, and make everyone but him pay for his incompetence. Gerry was right, this was a mistake and-

Gerry.

The name has his stomach constricting with guilt, and the Buried clings to it like a ravenous dog; the thick mud he's wading through swallows him up to his thighs in a single motion. Gerry's going to die, or- or worse. Without Jon's voice to feed him he's going to waste away, trapped forever in his own body because Jon made a stupid choice for them both. Gerry- Jon was supposed to make things right for him. Jon was- Gerry has done nothing but be nice and patient to him, and Jon left him alone.

Was this the Eye's plan? To tie him to someone as intrinsically good as Gerry, so that Jon would think it twice before throwing himself into danger again? Gerry's playful, easy kindness has made Jon feel... wanted. He knows he doesn't deserve it; that the warmth in his stomach when he looks up from his reading to find Gerry's face relaxed in his sleep is dangerous.

Jon's affection is poisonous, and one needs only to look at how it's killing Martin to confirm it.

The pressure is up to his waist now, and the memory of Martin's gray eyes only pulls him deeper. The Eye should've chosen a less selfish Archivist, because these two men tried their hardest to keep him safe, and Jon was still ungrateful enough to throw it all away, just to try and earn back a little bit of worth in his own eyes. To be a savior for once, instead of a monster.

Jon closes his eyes, as the heavy pressure of dirt or water or guilt closes up over his head.

--------------------------------------------------------------------

Martin looks away from the bright screen, and slides a hand under his glasses to rub at his closed eyes. It's been three hours, but he's finally finished putting this month's payroll in order. He will definitely not need to lie about his capabilities on his next job interview. Or he wouldn't, if he were actually able to just walk away from this mess.

A single, dormant tape recorder rests next to the keyboard, and Martin gives it a sad look. It appeared on his desk yesterday, about five minutes before Gerard started banging against the door and, if he had to guess, at around the last second before Jon stepped inside the coffin, because the entities have that kind of humor.

The button clicks when he presses it, and the tape begins to move as usual, but it lacks the feeling of life the recorders usually have when they turn up around Martin. This may have been one of Jon's tapes, but whatever part of him that was inside it is long gone.

"Statement of Martin Blackwood, regarding... a lost Archivist," Martin sees the fog encroaching the office as he speaks, and he sighs. "What were you thinking, Jon? Actually, scratch that. I think I can guess exactly what you were thinking," Martin feels the pinch of resentment and anger burning in his stomach. The fog around him recedes for a moment. "Some weird combination of 'this was all my fault, and I have to set it right if it kills me', and 'It's not that bad if it kills me, because I'm a monster anyways'. Sometimes I don't know if- are you ever going to stop trying to hurt yourself?"

His eyes burn, and Martin yanks his glasses off his face and all but throws them on the desk to bury his face in his hands. This is ridiculous. Jon is- this is how he is, Martin knew it from the start, when he stopped daydreaming about the smooth voice and hypnotic dark eyes and started noticing the many subtle ways Jon neglected himself, and it drew Martin like a moth to a flame.

The broken ones are the safest, because he can tell himself that they'll love him when he fixes them, all the while being blissfully aware that he can't. The openly relieved, almost adoring look on Jon's face the first time they ran into each other after Jon came back was the most terrifying thing Martin had ever faced. And now here he is, selling himself over to try and protect a man he forgot he can't protect from himself.

"You're coming back, aren't you? You have to. You can't do this to me again Jon, I can't-" Martin doesn't even care that his voice sounds slightly wet. He feels suspiciously like himself, all this emotion is not something he's used to anymore. "End recording."

Martin takes in a deep, strained breath. That's- it's alright. He still has a purpose. Melanie's still here, and Basira. There's people to look after. There's work to do and-

"Are you done with that?" Martin's head whips up, and his hands scramble over the desk to find his glasses and jam them back on his face just in time to see Helen reaching for the tape recorder. The door to Elias' stationary cabinet is no longer obscenely expensive mahogany, but a gaudy yellow material instead.

"What?"

Helen shrugs at an angle that shoulders should never move, and Martin averts his eyes before he can get a headache. "I usually grab them when you leave but you didn't seem like you were going anywhere now."

Martin blinks. "I- that's not- why do you want my tape? Have you been stealing my tapes?"

"Only some of them. The ones that don't go back to Jon immediately. Also it's not stealing if you leave them behind. Finder's keepers."

"Finder- why do you want my tapes?" Martin wishes his face didn't feel so hot. One would think being halfway into the Lonely already would spare him from being embarrassed over this, but there's clearly something still very human in him that's mortified at Helen hearing his sad tea parties with the tapes. This might just be enough to kill it. "What are you doing with them?"

"Not much. You don't take very good care of them, but he can't come into my hallways."

"He- do you mean Peter?"

Helen blinks once, her eyelids moving horizontally. "Can I have it now?"

"I- uhm. That's- that's actually very nice of you," Martin frowns. It's difficult to discern sometimes, if Helen is actually on anyone's side or just enjoys puzzling them. "Thank you?"

"So can I ha-"

"Yes, you can have it." Martin rolls his eyes, and Helen's fingers wrap many times around the tape recorder. "Please don't show them to any-" the yellow door closes, before Martin can finish, and he darts a look around the office.

It would be just his luck if Peter stepped out of the Lonely right now, but there's barely any fog left in the office. Martin sighs. He needs to call it back, or it'll look suspicious.

Martin closes his eyes, and thinks of his mother.

--------------------------------------------------------------------

"I'm just really glad you're keeping up with therapy. I know it made you very antsy at first," Georgie smiles behind her coffee cup. Melanie's brain goes blank for a couple seconds. She loves Georgie's smiles, her dark lipstick contrasting starkly with the white of her teeth when her full lips part just the slightest bit.

"It's- I feel better," Melanie says once she's regained her faculties. Then she adds, "but I think my favorite part of going is that I get to be with you," because she's a tiger, not a kitten.

"Are we doing this?" Georgie laughs, and her cheeks darken a little. Melanie doesn't think her heartbeat was this intense during even the worst episodes of the Slaughter.

"I could do this. If you wanted to," Melanie reaches out slowly and rests her hand palm up on the table. It's a hand that has slashed and maimed and killed, but it's trembling somewhat as it waits on the wooden surface.

Georgie's big dark eyes glint with amusement, and the warmth in Melanie's chest is enough that she forgets about everything else for a moment. The Institute, the fears, nothing is as important as the curve of Georgie's smile.

"I'd like to do this. If you're feeling better," and she lays her hand on Melanie's, giving it a little squeeze.

"I do. I feel amazing, I'm cured. It's a miracle," Melanie blurts out, and Georgie laughs animatedly, before leaning over the table to plant a kiss on Melanie's forehead. "Thank you."

The world could end tomorrow, Melanie thinks; all the fears out there can't touch them inside the little restaurant.

"I'm here for you." Georgie nuzzles her nose against Melanie's. "You're... very brave, Melanie."

-------

Melanie's still floating a little by the time Georgie drops her off at the Institute. With all that's happened lately in her life, this feels a little too good to be true. Of course, reality crashes back down on her soon enough.

"How are you holding up?" Melanie pushes open the door to Jon's office, the man's recorded voice reaching her immediately "...oh"

Gerry's asleep on the desk, a hand clenched tight around a playing tape recording, and he looks terrible. The injuries on his face haven't healed at all; listening to the tapes slows the bleeding, but Melanie knows if she were to press stop on the tape, the papery white flesh under Gerry's skin would seep with dark ink again.

Melanie sighs, and walks up to him to see how much longer the recording has left. Jon's talking about worms and fire extinguishers, and the spool is almost empty of tape. She reaches over to the pile of unlistened tapes by the desk, and selects one at random. There's an empty recorder on one of the bookshelves, and she crams the tape inside it and presses play before dropping it next to Gerry. This should last until he wakes up at least.

She doesn't want to think of what they'll do when they run out of tapes.

"At least he's alive," Helen observes, coming out of a door that should've led to the break room. "Or not. Existing, I guess."

"That would be a way of putting it," Melanie purses her lips in a tight line. "I- this is sort of my fault I guess. I shouldn't have taken him with Hopworth."

"He would've known eventually. Like with your bullet," Helen says, shrugging. "He might still come back."

"I don't care-" Melanie starts, then stops and sighs. "I do want him to come back. For them. I still haven't told Georgie because I don't want her to be sad, I think Jon pestering him was the only thing still keeping Martin from whatever stupid plan he's attempting, and it's only been two days but Gerry's already dying." She huffs. It was a lot easier when all she could feel was rage.

"I wouldn't worry about Martin," Helen says simply, and Melanie snorts.

"You're lucky I like your cryptic bullshit." Melanie looks towards the closed door of Jon's office, and the weight on her shoulders intensifies. "I should call Basira."

"Good luck with that"

--------------------------------------------------------------------

Jon doesn't dream like before, in here. Or rather he does, and he's just not used to the way humans dream anymore, all wishful thinking and nonsensical thoughts strung together.

Tim looks down at him and says he forgives him, before pressing down on the detonator. Sometimes he even climbs out of the rubble cackling like a madman and declaring they're all going for drinks because they stopped the apocalypse and they deserve it, and he throws an arm over Jon's shoulders like he used to do before the Archives.

He walks into his office and Sasha -the real one, he knows, even though he cannot remember her face- is sitting at his desk, merrily going through his emails with a smug grin.

Georgie picks up his calls. She tells him about her life, and she says she doesn't like that he's accepted this, but she knows he didn't choose it.

Martin's eyes are green and bright. They're sitting at a coffee shop and Jon's hand is free of scars -burns or worms- where his fingers slot perfectly between Martin's, and they're joking about how Martin ordered tea despite his unreachable tea standards.

Gerry's napping on his sofa because he wants to, not because he doesn't have anywhere else to go, and Jon sits on the floor next to him just to be able to hear him breathe. He's suddenly enveloped in a warm, tight embrace, and all around him it smells like peroxide and lavender. The mix should be jarring but it's not because it means he's safe, and he's home. Wherever that is.

Jon opens his eyes to darkness, and a single, muted click from somewhere on his body.

"I've been... sleeping, I think," he says, because he remembered he's supposed to speak when the tape recorder turns on. "Or I've been dreaming, at least. When I- I'm deeper in, every time I wake up, as if allowing my mind a momentary escape from the reality I find myself in only serves to condemn me even further. I suppose I could stop sleeping, it's not like I need to anymore, but- I don't think I want to."

Jon heaves a sigh that tastes like moist dirt and desperation, before he starts dragging himself forward. If he's awake, he should be moving at least, because the Buried presses on closer the longer he stays still.

"How long have I been here for? It feels like weeks. Months, maybe. By this point I have already accepted I'm not going to find what I came looking for, so why shouldn't I give myself the respite of my dreamscape? It doesn't really matter how much deeper I get dragged in. I don't Know the way back." The dull ache in his throat remains; a bitter reminder of- of what? "...What did I come here for? I- I had a reason, I'm sure. Was it... did I lose something here?"

He can feel the knowledge dancing just at the edge of his mind, and his throat throbs harder the more he thinks about it. The path before him -if there even is something that could be called a "path", here at this pit that feeds on despair- gets rougher. Jon feels rocks and roots dig against his arms, slicing at the skin in places as he moves.

"I don't- I can't remember what I lost," he mumbles to himself. The pain in his throat intensifies, and so does the pressure around his body. He goes to move again, but- but he can't. "I'm- I'm stuck. I can't-" he pulls and pushes,and he hears his bones creak and the dirt around him shift, but the Buried doesn't want to let him go.

If that weren't enough, the pain in his throat keeps growing more and more intense. Did he cut himself on a rock while he slept? It's- no, he... he had it before coming here and- the Buried presses down harder on him, but he Knows this, the scar on his neck, the sound of a gunshot-

"Daisy?" Jon calls out with his last breath, and the Buried crumbles over him. Sharp rocks dig into him, and the weight is too much to breathe. His open mouth fills with dirt so tightly packed around him he can't even lift his eyelids-

"Jon?!"

--------------------------------------------------------------------

"-made the mistake of spending an entire night outside my safehouses. I was almost beaten to death by an angry goth."

"That would be our Gerard."

Gerry pauses the tape again, and rewinds it the past couple seconds before going to rub at his temples. It doesn't help with the throbbing headache -nothing has, and he suspects nothing will unless- until Jon comes back- but it's what one does when one has a headache, and it does make him feel better, somehow.

Did Martin know what was in the tapes he left behind before taking off with the rest? Gerry's heard every recording that mentions him in passing, even the one in which his page gets destroyed. It was... nice, to hear Jon shake off the Beholding's barbed grasp to keep his promise to him. The pained grunts and gasps as the page burned away in the background were decidedly less so.

Click. "-almost beaten to death by an angry goth-". Click.

Logically, Gerry knows it wouldn't have solved anything or helped anyone. But after listening to Jon's little adventure with the spider book, he wishes harder than ever that he'd finished the job.

Leitner had had all the damned books in his possession once. He could've destroyed them, instead of just writing his name on them and stashing them on a shelf. A Guest For Mister Spider had been clearly meant to emulate a children's book, was Leitner too much of an idiot to figure out how that would end up?

Gerry has seen the result, and it's a man who walks into eternal torture because he lives in a constant state of survivor guilt.

"Are you still listening to that one?" Helen's echo-y voice asks by his elbow. Gerry looks down to find she's turned the bottom of an open desk drawer into her door. Gerry can only see about half of her face, but he has no doubt she'd be able to push herself through and unfold to her full size.

"It's just..." Gerry shrugs. He needs to keep playing tapes, and listening to the same ones again and again renders them less effective each time. But he can't bring himself to push the one with Leitner's questioning away. It's something about the circumstances of the two men involved; one with all his knowledge, hiding like a coward for decades, while the other one, so terribly scared, braves the unknown just to learn. Of course the Beholding wanted him. "It's hard to explain."

Click. The low chuckle sends a jolt of something straight to Gerry's stomach. "That would be our Gerard.". Click.

It really is hard to explain. When did this happen?

"Hm. Melanie's worried about you," Helen says. Her eyes are swirling as she runs them over Gerry's hunched form, and her lips curl with distaste. "You don't look good."

Gerry laughs, or he tries to, before it devolves into a wet cough that leaves droplets of ink sprinkled all over the desk. "That tracks. I have never felt so far from good in my life."

"What about when you were a book?"

"When I was a book I didn't have to worry about a man that seems to be actively trying to run face first into any entity he can find," Gerry sighs. "Did he- do you think you could have stopped him?" He asks. The thought has been plaguing him nonstop over the past two days. Jon knew going into the coffin meant death, Gerry made that very clear that day at the flat. Jon is also extremely depressed and lacks a self preservation instinct at the best of times. "I know you were there when he went in."

"If you couldn't do it, what makes you think I would've had better chances?"

And isn't that another fun little link in the blame chain? Gerry had thought making it about Martin would be enough, that Jon's love for the man would outweigh his hatred for himself. Now he's paying for the mistake.

"What did Martin do in there?" Gerry asks instead of responding. Martin had locked the door behind him after coming out, and handed Helen the key before going back to Elias' office. A smart move, Gerry has to admit. The Distortion is the only one inhuman enough to not be lured in by the unchained coffin.

"He placed the tapes around it," Helen's voice resonates even more oddly than usual inside the small drawer. "They've been playing. They rewind on their own." Which is a good sign, all things considered, but Gerry's mind latches on to one detail only.

"He didn't even try," he spits out. He'd also thought, hoped really, that what Martin felt for Jon would be strong enough to call him back. Martin doesn't think the same, clearly, and Gerry can't help but to feel a little bitter about it. "I told Jon he could do better."

"I'm going to leave now," is all Helen says. Nice, not even the monsters want to hear Gerry mope around over a man in love with someone who doesn't deserve him. He goes to close the drawer after Helen's door disappears, and stops when he notices the tapes at the bottom. Were they there before? He doesn't think so.

Whatever, they're the closest within hand's reach, and Gerry can already feel cut at his forehead welling with inky black blood.

Click. "Hello there." Martin's voice coming out of the tape instead of Jon's feels like a slap to the face. "Not doing anything really interesting right now, but you can stay if you want." Gerry clicks the tape off with a huff.

It clicks back on right away.

"Really?" Gerry glares at the tape, because it's the best substitute he has for Jon. In the background, Martin complains about Peter Lukas being exhausting, which Gerry guesses is true but also probably the least remarkable thing to complain about Peter Lukas. "You're trapped in another dimension and you're still going to defend him?"

Gerry clicks the tape off again just to be contrary, right as Martin mentions something going extinct. He can almost picture the stubborn curve to Jon's lips as the button clicks back on.

"Ugh. Fine, fine." Gerry reaches for a tissue to wipe at the ink on his forehead. "I'm going to listen to it, but just this one, or I'm going to bleed all over your office, and I'm not in the mood to clean that up."

--------------------------------------------------------------------

Elias knows the value of waiting.

He's learned through trial and error the importance of good timing, and how moving a piece a second too soon can change the entire board so irreversibly that it leaves you no choice but to start over.

Gertrude, for example, had only been the latest failure in a long line of unrealized Archivists, though she was by far the most remarkable out of them all. Elias is ashamed to admit he ruined her for himself; if he'd been more careful about what he pushed her to discover, perhaps she wouldn't have noticed her transformation until it was too late. A pity, but of course it had been her discoveries that sparked the idea of the Watcher's Crown, so not a total loss.

There's not much to do at jail except for waiting and watching anyways. Waiting for meals, for breaks, for Peter, for Basira, for the time to walk out of this gray, boring confinement.

For now, Elias Watches his Archivist.

There are certain places where even the Pupil is blind, but the Buried does not care that you see how trapped you are, and it leaves itself open to being Known.

Jon has just found Daisy, and they cling to each other like twins in the womb, the only thing they know and love in this world of darkness and pressure that has claimed them for itself. Elias is not above being surprised -his current domicile can attest to that-, but he can't deny his stubborn, raggedy Archivist has once again proved more resilient than he expected.

Elias really hopes he makes it out of the coffin, because it would mean he has a real possibility of escaping the Lonely when the time comes. The Forsaken and the Buried have so many things in common.

Also, because it would be a real shame to lose him so close to the end, and he doubts he could find someone else with the sheer luck -or the blessing of the Web- needed to survive these many marks.

He tries calling him one more time, but while the Buried doesn't seem to care that Elias looks inside it, it's not about to give up two victims. Pity. Jon's on his own it seems.

There's a knock at his door, three single, evenly spaced hits Elias recognizes immediately.

"How unexpected," he calls out as he pushes his hair back and straightens his shirt. A wasted effort on his future visitor, but it's the principle of the thing. "Please do come in, Peter."

--------------------------------------------------------------------

In the years since she’s been trapped in the coffin, Daisy has begun to wonder if she actually knows anything about herself. How much of what she considered her personality was actually just the beast boiling just beneath her skin, waiting for the right moment to pounce?

Daisy doesn’t consider herself to be a particularly difficult woman to understand. She’s unpredictable, a creature of emotion; she loves and she hates with the same fierce passion that called the Hunt to her, and her loyalty’s hard to win and harder still to lose, the driving force that calls her back whenever she’s too lost in the sound of her own blood. She’s ran into a few of her kind before, and she knows this is a shared trait between those who serve the Hunt. A bit of a bad joke, really, that all hunters instinctively seek a pack. She mentioned it once to Basira, but she didn’t seem to find it funny -Daisy always did have a weird sense of humor-, and it had made that odd underlying tension in their every interaction even heavier.

She wonders now, which part of her it was that saw Jonathan Sims and disliked him immediately, and she hopes it was the hunter rather than the woman, because she has come to the conclusion that she has never misjudged a person this badly in her life.

“I’m sorry, Daisy.” Jon says again. He apologizes a lot. Daisy thinks she had noticed this before, but she just didn’t care back then. “I thought- I’m sorry I can’t pull us out.”

“It’s not- you still- you found me,” Daisy says. It’s difficult to form thoughts in here, but her words have been coming back slowly ever since Jon’s hand found hers in the dark. Whether it’s whatever remains of his powers, or just Daisy remembering how to be a person again is really anyone’s guess. “We’re together.”

“Yes, we- is that better?” Jon’s left hand tightens in the fabric of her shirt, and his right twitches as it tries to do the same. It’s burned, Daisy remembers suddenly, and she has the briefest flash of rage, the urge to find Jude Perry and kill. The Buried presses harder around her, quelling the sound of her blood. “Daisy?” Jon’s voice pulls her back, something to focus on other than the feeling of dust in her throat.

“I think- y- yes,” she says after a moment, the thought sudden but hard to get out. “Yes. I- it’s much better. Th- Jon, thank you.” She clings to him a bit tighter, when the dirt around them shifts and tries to get between them. The Buried can try all it wants, but Jon is hers now, and it won’t take him from her, the same way it couldn’t take away the memory of Basira’s firm, grounding voice.

“Good, I- that’s good.” Jon’s head rests on her shoulder, and Daisy’s chest tightens impossibly, the feeling completely different to the pressure of the entity around her. Whatever happens now, she’s not alone.

----

Airports are odd places to be at. There's something strange about a space that was designed to be just comfortable enough that you can stand to wait until you're finally allowed to leave it. A tired man with a crying baby in his arms pulls his suitcase out of the luggage belt and turns to leave. Basira feels something in her rear up like a snake in the grass; this man has some kind of information for Jon, and as he walks towards the automated doors he seems to leave behind a trail of fluorescent footsteps, visible only to her but so easy to follow, if she needed to find him.

Her phone rings in her pocket, and Basira shakes her head. The trail goes cold and fades from her mind as she pulls the device out and brings it to her ear.

"It's me. What now?" Basira says into the speaker as soon as the call connects. It's been a while since she's had friends who call only to catch up, and she doubts Melanie's one of those.

Melanie's voice sounds odd through the line. Nervous, somehow.

"I did, some things." Basira sighs. "Melanie did you kill Jon?"

An elderly woman waiting next to her shoots her an alarmed stare, and Basira gives her a little wave and a shake of her head. The woman sighs and seems to relax a little as Melanie speaks some more.

"What do you mean 'not just me'? Melanie did someone kill Jon?"

The woman moves further away to keep waiting for her suitcase.

"I'm- what? Why did you- Melanie I told you to be nicer to him, not help him kill himself." Basira can feel a migraine starting to bloom behind her eyes. "Yes of course Keay's dying he- yes I knew, Elias told- I forgot to tell you okay? I had more important things to do."

She spots her suitcase a few pieces away on the belt and shoves her way to it, yanking it to the floor with a sharp tug and walking off in the gap the other travelers have opened for her.

"I'm on my way. Don't do anything."

#jongerrymartin #jonathan sims #gerry keay #martin blackwood #j/g/m #vit writes

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bubonickitten · 4 years

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Summary: Jon goes back to before the world ended and tries to forge a different path.

Chapter 4 is up!

Previous chapter: tumblr // AO3

Full text & content warnings below the cut.

CWs for Chapter 4: description of a panic attack; blood & injury (within a dream); canon-typical worms; canon-typical horror/nightmare imagery (think MAG 121: Far Away). Also, some canon-typical scopophobia in the form of the continued presence of some unwanted and very rude eldritch tagalongs.

Chapter 4: Interlude

Calm down, Jon tells himself, quaking with panic. Breathe. Four seconds in, hold seven seconds, eight seconds out. Just –

Wait. He has no body. He has no lungs. How – how is he supposed to breathe with no lungs? He can’t – he can’t –

Stop, stop, stop – shut up and think about it, he reprimands himself.

No lungs means he’s not hyperventilating. No heart means there are no palpitations. He still has a body, he’s just – disconnected from it right now. And even if he wasn’t, during his first coma he had no pulse or respiration, so – so there’s no way he’s experiencing the physical symptoms of a panic attack right now. He’s imagining it.

Forget about breathing for now. Think about – think about the positives –

His plan worked. Sort of. Yes, he’d hoped the rift would take him back to the very beginning – before he started reading statements to that damn tape recorder, before he’d started compelling answers without even realizing he was doing it, before Prentiss and paranoia and burned bridges and the Circus and Sasha and Tim –

Oh, God. If he could have showed up just a few months earlier, he could have stopped –

Stop, he thinks, imagining Martin talking him through his racing thoughts, like he used to do whenever Jon got like this. Think about what you can change.

This is still an improvement on the future he left behind. The world hasn’t ended yet, and now he has an advantage that he didn’t have last time. He knows who Elias really is, what his plans are, and all the little traps that he set along the path.

Jon can still stop the Grand Ritual.

Okay. What else?

He might not have been able to prevent Daisy from ending up in the Buried, but he can still save her, just like he did before.

And he knows more about Peter’s intentions this time, knows about the Extinction and the extent to which Peter might be exaggerating its imminent threat. He… he can keep Martin from succumbing to the Lonely.

…can’t he?

Yes. Yes, he can. He won’t entertain any alternative. He knows Martin much more intimately now, knows himself more intimately. The first time around, it took Jon far too long to identify how he felt about Martin, to find the right word for it, to admit it to himself – and then, it took him even longer to confess it out loud. He was almost too late.

There is the pressing question of how to approach Martin now. It depends on how soon Jon can wake up and how much of a stranglehold the Lonely has on Martin by then. Lonely or not, though, he probably won't be receptive to a love confession at this point in their timeline. From Martin's perspective, it would seem to come from nowhere. He wouldn't believe it. As difficult as it is to accept, Jon knows that he can't corner Martin with a declaration of love and expect to pick up where they left off.

But Jon also knows what words used to comfort Martin and how he liked to be held and where his boundaries lay. Jon had painstakingly learned the best gestures to convey his affection – how best to help Martin believe that he is loved, that he deserves to be cared for, that he doesn’t have to be lonely. Hopefully it will be enough. Hopefully those things are still true, present tense. And if they aren’t, Jon will unlearn it all and relearn how best to be there for Martin here in the past – present, now.

Jon is feeling calmer already. Okay, good. Go on.

This is before he started to actively hunt for statements. It’s too late for him to save the ones who came before – and even though they came to the Institute willingly, and even though he didn’t know at the time he took their statements that the nightmares were real, he still feels guilty about the nightmares – but now he knows better, and he knows he can stop.

He will not take live statements this time. He won’t. It doesn’t matter what it does to him, he just – he won’t do it.

Keep going. What about the others?

Jon isn’t sure exactly what the date is, but based on Martin’s visit just now - his last visit, Jon thinks with a pang - Jon is definitely too late to warn them about the Flesh attack. That means the Slaughter likely has a strong hold on Melanie by now - but if Jon can wake up earlier than he did before, maybe he can save her before she gets any worse. Maybe this time he can find a better way to approach the bullet situation. Maybe. She probably still hates him, but it’s worth a try.

He can warn Basira about the true motives behind Elias' false leads. Last time, Basira felt like she had to carry everything on her shoulders, but maybe this time, he can give her the support she needs - if she lets him. Maybe this time he can earn her trust again. Maybe this time he’ll even deserve to be trusted.

And maybe… maybe he can even salvage his relationship with Georgie – if she’s amenable, that is.

All of that is bound to be easier said than done, but at least it’s a starting point.

Now if only he can figure out how to wake up.

Time has even less meaning here than it did in the apocalypse. Jon can’t Know or even guess at the passing of time as he drifts aimless in the void. He splits his time evenly between panicking, talking himself down from the panic, planning, and sleeping. Or – something like sleep, anyway. It’s more like his mind just goes blank, and it’s – rather nice, actually. It’s the first dreamless rest he’s gotten in years, even if it is under such grim circumstances.

It doesn’t last, though. One moment he is nothing and nowhere at all, and the next he’s in a very familiar graveyard surrounded by very, very familiar fog.

So much for dreamless sleep, he thinks. A moment later, the muffled sound of crying reaches him through the mist.

He waits, then, to be overtaken by the nauseating sensation of being puppeted. It was a familiar routine. The dream would string him along, stopping him before each victim in turn. He would be compelled to behold their torment, unable to flee or speak or even close his eyes. It never got any easier, but at some point it had become his new normal, and during his previous coma, after six months of the same endlessly looping nightmares, he did start to feel numb to it all.

During the apocalypse, though, he didn’t sleep. He didn’t dream. There was no need, not when the nightmare was all around him and he could See all of it at every moment. A creeping sense of dread washes over him at the prospect of returning to this again every time he tries to sleep, and he realizes that the old numbness has worn off. He isn’t looking forward to cultivating it all over again – and he doesn’t know if he can take months of this nonstop a second time.

As he stands there lost in his own head, time ticks by second by second until finally he notices that he’s waiting for a compulsion that… doesn’t seem to come. It never takes this long for the dream to commandeer his body.

Jon decides to take a step forward, and his legs surprise him by obeying. That’s new. He stares blankly at his feet until another choked sob, louder this time, cuts through the fog. He cautiously takes a step toward the sound, and then another, and another, expecting the entire time for the dream to rip his agency away from him again. It doesn’t. He finds himself at the lip of the grave, as usual – but for the first time, he came here of his own volition.

When he looks down, he sees her sprawled at the bottom of her lonely plot, one hand scrabbling weakly against the earthen wall. The skin on her arms is pallid and covered in gooseflesh; her face is covered in dirt, but where her tears have eroded watery tracks down her cheeks, the skin underneath is ashen. She looks… grey, colorless, as washed out as the mist clinging to her. The moment she sees him, a soft, broken wail clambers up her throat.

Naomi Herne.

“Why are you doing this?” Naomi croaks weakly. It’s a refrain that Jon has heard time and time again, and he feels his heart clench painfully in his chest – or at least, a convincing psychosomatic simulation of it. “Why won’t you just leave me alone?”

“I’m so sorry, Naomi,” Jon whispers.

They both flinch simultaneously. Naomi flings herself bodily against the wall and Jon jolts backward into thin air so abruptly that he loses his balance and ends up in a heap on the muddy ground.

He’s never, ever been allowed to speak in this place. Years of apologies have sat heavily on his tongue, piling up and crowding his throat with every live statement he consumed, and never once has he been able to let them out. And more than that, it’s – it’s his voice. It’s not the Archive, it’s just… it’s just Jon. Staring ahead in stunned silence, he brings one hand to his throat and lets it rest there.

“I… I…” Naomi’s hoarse voice drifts up into the fog, confused and frightened.

Limbs still trembling, Jon crawls over to the edge of the grave and looks down again. Naomi watches him, her eyes wide and pale and wet.

“You… you spoke to me.”

“I…” Jon clears his throat uncertainly. “I – yes, I – I suppose I did.”

“You’ve never spoken to me.”

“Yes,” Jon murmurs, massaging his throat again.

“Why?” When Jon doesn’t reply, Naomi smacks her palm against the muddy wall of her plot and raises her voice. “Why?”

“I –” Jon shakes his head and tries to corral his thoughts into some semblance of order. The fog in his brain just might be as thick as the haze choking the cemetery. “This is the first time I’ve been allowed to speak.”

“That’s not good enough!” Naomi shouts, rising to her knees now. “Do you realize – do you know how long it’s been, how many times I’ve been forced to sit here, watching you just stare down at me with… and – and how many times have I asked, how many times have I begged for you to just – just say something, or look away, or do anything else other than – than watch me?”

“I…” Jon clears his throat again. “You gave me your statement on 13 January, 2016. I’m not sure what the exact date is right now, but – I think it’s December? 2017.”

“Almost two years!” Naomi’s voice cracks. “I can count in double digits the number of decent nights’ sleep I’ve gotten in two years.”

“I know,” Jon says quietly. “I know, and I’m – I’m so, so sorry.”

Naomi looks like she wants to rail against him some more, but she seems speechless.

The apologies are throwing her off. She wants to scream at a monster, and you’re robbing her of the opportunity –

Jon had forgotten how strong the Knowing is in this place. He swats at the nearest group of eyes hovering around him, and the influx of information is interrupted as they scatter and fade out. Whether he successfully distracted the Eye or simply redirected his own attention, he doesn’t know, but either way, he finds the quiet – at least for the moment.

Naomi watches the movement with utter bemusement, then schools her expression back into defiance and suspicion. “So what changed?”

“I’m… not sure, exactly. This is the first time this has happened, and…” Jon pauses, suddenly feeling self-conscious staring down at Naomi from six feet above. “Do you want –” He cuts himself off. He’s going to have to get used to dancing around questions again. “I can help you out of there. If – if you’d like.”

“Why?” She sounds less incensed now, but fire still simmers just below the surface of the word.

“I’ve – I’ve wanted to this entire time,” Jon says haltingly. “I did try, at first, when all of this started. I tried to reach down to you, but I – the dream has never let me move or talk or – or blink before.”

Naomi stares at him with narrowed eyes, arms crossed over her chest defensively. “I don’t trust you.”

“I… yes, I suppose that’s fair.”

Naomi falls silent. Jon watches her gaze flit nervously from eye to eye to eye as they blink open in the open air out of nothing and then pop out of existence again like soap bubbles, an endless shuffle of Watchers of varying sizes. The light they emit bounces off the water molecules in the air around them, illuminating the fog and bathing the entire area in a sickening greenish glow.

“Here, let me try…” Jon trails off, closes his human eyes and focuses on shutting the others, hoping to make himself appear just a little less monstrous. At one point he manages to pare their numbers down to just a couple dozen before all at once several dozen more blink open again, every one of them immediately swiveling to fix him with a reproachful stare.

He’s so preoccupied with glaring back at each of them in turn that he jerks when a hysterical giggle bubbles up out of Naomi’s throat. Now it’s Jon’s turn to look bemused. When his human eyes meet Naomi’s, she laughs harder. She still sounds tear-choked, but Jon can feel the fright draining away from her.

“Naomi…?” Jon tilts his head slightly, brow furrowing in consternation.

Naomi wipes tears from the corners of her eyes as she tries to catch her breath. “It’s – nothing, nothing. You just… you looked so put out, and it’s just – it’s hard to feel intimidated by a monster when it’s pouting like a toddler chasing peas around a plate with a fork.”

Jon feels his face heat, and then suddenly a quiet, involuntary chuckle is clawing its way up and out of his throat as well. It’s just – the tenor of her teasing is so, so reminiscent of Martin.

“Sure,” he says, his voice taking on the same teary-and-tickled tinge, “bully the penitent monster.”

Naomi stifles another giggle and doubles over, shivering with the surreal hilarity of it all. Both of them stay like that for a long moment, fighting back the bizarre combination of tears and laughter. Jon can’t remember the last time he’s laughed like this, and the realization brings another swell of tears to his eyes.

Eventually, Naomi stands on wobbly legs and rubs her eyes, carelessly smearing the moisture and dirt on her cheeks into a thin paste.

“Well?” She stands on tiptoe and stretches one hand up toward him. “Are you going to help me out of here?”

With a surge of gratitude – he’s being allowed to help someone for once – Jon stretches out flat against the ground and reaches down. A single eye sprouts uninvited on his palm and he scowls at it until it melts into his skin and out of existence. He looks back at Naomi, expecting fear and disgust, but she just looks fascinated and more than a little amused. When he extends his hand again, she reaches back. Their fingertips just barely brush and he scoots closer, head and shoulders leaning over the edge until Naomi’s clammy hand is clutched firmly in his.

“Are you actually going to be able to pull me out? You don’t look like you have any upper body strength.”

“Every day with the schoolyard bullying,” Jon sighs, reaching out a second hand to grip her wrist more firmly. She takes his cue and does the same, clasping his wrist with her other hand until it aches. “It’s a dream, Naomi. I don’t think physical laws matter much.”

She begins to pull herself up, her bare toes digging into the wall as she clambers up. She slips a few times, and Jon grimaces as he takes more of her weight.

“Seems like the dream’s decided your noodle arms are just as useless here as they are in the real world,” Naomi says with a strained grunt.

“Watch it, I might just drop you.” Jon panics as the retort leaves his mouth and he hastens to add, “I’m – I’m kidding, I wouldn’t – that was in poor taste, I’m sorry –”

“I know,” Naomi says with a breathless laugh. “Are you always this awkward?”

With one final burst of energy, she heaves herself upward and Jon shuffles back, pulling her over the edge until she has enough leverage to drag herself up the rest of the way. They both lay there for a few minutes, waiting for the adrenaline to fade.

“Thank you,” Naomi murmurs shakily.

“The least I can do, right?”

“The absolute least.”

Jon lets out a tired chuckle. When he realizes that one hand is still linked with one of Naomi’s, he starts to pull away, but she tightens her grasp and the look in her eyes turns panicked.

“Please,” she blurts out and then looks away, embarrassed. “I’m – I’m not trying to make it weird, I just –”

“It’s okay,” Jon says quietly, and gives her hand a reassuring squeeze. “I understand. We can stay like this for now.”

Naomi nods gratefully. She still looks a bit mortified – the color is returning to her cheeks, Jon notes – but more than anything else, she seems relieved. They spend the next few minutes in a slightly awkward but mostly companionable silence.

“I really am sorry, Naomi –”

“You said.”

“– but I don’t know how to stop this from happening.” When Naomi doesn’t reply, Jon continues: “I – I promise that if I find out, I’ll do whatever I can to stop it. I just – I wanted to say that, if this is a fluke – if next time we find ourselves here, I’m back to…” Jon hesitates for a moment. “Remember your anchor.”

“My… anchor?”

“The first time you got lost in the fog – think about how you found your way out.”

“Evan,” Naomi whispers, and Jon nods.

“Next time you find yourself here, if you’re alone, or – or if I’m… unresponsive, remember your anchor. And - and it doesn't have to be Evan, it can be anyone or anything that tethers you to the world you came from. I don’t know if it will lead you out of the fog in a dream – it might not even allow you to leave the grave – but it should… it should help you remember that you're not lost. That this is a dream, and you will wake up from it.” He swallows and closes his human eyes. “That the fog doesn’t actually go on forever, even if… even if sometimes it might seem like it.”

Naomi is silent for a long moment before she speaks again.

“Will you stay with me until I wake up?”

“I – I – yes?” Jon stammers, taken aback by the idea that she’d want to willingly pass the time in his company. “Yes, if you – if that’s what you want.”

“I wouldn’t have asked otherwise,” Naomi says. She rolls her eyes, but it comes off more as indulgent than annoyed. “Keep talking?”

Jon opens his mouth and closes it again. He’s never been a great conversationalist, especially with people he doesn’t know well, and it’s not like he’s had much chance to practice for… a long time. Not since he lost Martin. There was Helen, of course, but their chats were seldom rewarding, even before Jon was reduced to speaking in statements.

Apparently Naomi senses his struggle, because she fills the silence for him. “Do you have an anchor?”

Jon is glad of the assistance. Answering questions – that’s something he can handle.

“Yes,” he responds, just a bit dreamily, fighting back a smitten half-smile. “Yes, I do.”

Naomi raises an eyebrow.

“I… can tell you about him, if you’d like?”

“Sure, why not?”

“Alright then.” Jon fidgets nervously; being open about this sort of thing doesn't come naturally to him. “Statement of Jonathan Sims, regarding his anchor, and all the intricacies of being Seen.”

“Wow,” Naomi says flatly. “I take it he’s the one responsible for changing you from an arrogant prick to a besotted puppy?”

“He… may have had something to do with it,” Jon says, simultaneously fond and abashed. “He’s a poet and a hopeless romantic, and it may or may not have rubbed off on me. Now, do you want to hear this story or not?”

“Definitely, but I reserve the right to make fun of you when you’re done.”

“That seems like a fair deal, considering the past couple years.”

“I think so.” Naomi gives him an expectant look. “Well? Go on.”

“His name is Martin K. Blackwood.” Jon doesn’t bother holding back his smile this time. “The ‘K’ doesn’t actually stand for anything – he just, and I quote, ‘liked the way it looked’…”

It doesn't take much prompting for Jon to start rambling about Martin, and it takes him a few minutes to remember that Jonah might be listening in. He hadn’t been planning on mentioning the apocalypse to Naomi, but he reminds himself to be careful not to mention any major events that haven’t happened yet, anything that might hint at his foreknowledge of Jonah’s plans.

There is a risk of raising suspicion just by talking about Martin in such affectionate terms. At this point in his timeline the first time around, Jon was fully occupied with regularly having his life threatened – and then routinely, studiously refusing to process that ongoing complex trauma in any remotely healthy way. He didn’t exactly have the time or breathing room or emotional capacity to examine his developing feelings for Martin, and even if he had, he wouldn’t have been able to tolerate the vulnerability of admitting it to himself, let alone to Martin.

But Jonah can’t always be watching them; he has to assume that he misses out on things from time to time. He probably won’t think too hard on mundane slice-of-life moments involving tea and poetry and debates about what criteria should be used to identify a good cow, as long Jon is vague about the time frame and contextual details of each story. He avoids explicitly putting a label on the nature of their relationship and tones down any particularly romantic interactions. In the end, he succeeds in sounding like he has a not-so-subtle crush on a coworker and is both too emotionally repressed to acknowledge it and too unobservant to realize that it’s reciprocated. (It’s… not a difficult act to pull off.)

Jon manages to get through several non-incriminating anecdotes like that before Naomi wakes up. He hopes he’ll still have his voice the next time he sees her. It’s… nice, to talk to another person after so long with only the Distortion to keep him company.

He stands and brushes himself off as well as he can, which isn’t much. Resigning himself to the drying mud clinging to him, he steels himself and prepares to continue his well-traveled tour of the dreamscape.

Jon’s first stop is Dr. Lionel Elliott’s anatomy lab. Jon manages to snatch the apple away from him before either of them have to catch a glimpse of the molars hidden inside it, but it doesn’t stave off the bone-crunching contortions that always dominate this part of the dream. It takes Jon some very long, very painful minutes to talk Elliott down from his fear long enough to redirect the dream’s trajectory, and even longer to convince the man that he means him no harm.

Jon does eventually manage to coax him out of the dissection lab and into the hall – (“I think sitting on the floor out there is preferable to staying in here with all the…” – and here, Jon gestures at the nearest blood-spurting heart) – but they don’t get very far into their conversation before Elliott wakes up.

They’ll have to see each other again the next time Elliott sleeps, though. Jon can try again.

Next up is Tessa Winters, sat at her computer. She nearly has the keyboard to her lips before Jon manages to reach her. In his haste to stop the dream sequence, he overturns the table and sends the entire setup crashing to the floor, yanking the keyboard away from her for good measure. Tessa promptly drops to the ground and makes a grab for the nearest shard of glass from the broken monitor.

Unable to control her own body, she shoves the glass between her lips and crunches down on it before Jon can wrest it from her. When it slices into the roof of her mouth, an identical gash opens up in Jon’s, and soon both of them have blood running down their throats. As Tessa reaches out a shaky hand to snatch up another piece, Jon catches her wrist.

“Tessa, listen to me – you don’t have to do this anymore.”

The look she gives him is a perfect mix of enraged and terrified, and she tries desperately to pull away.

“Tessa – Tessa!”

Shaking her head frantically, she shuts her eyes tight, sending tears streaming down her cheeks. Jon chokes a bit on the blood still pouring freely out of the cut in his mouth. He can only imagine what a sight he must be right now: covered in mud, teeth stained red, all those hungry eyes looking on. He’s loathe to use compulsion, but…

“Tessa, look at me.”

She abruptly stops struggling and a glimmer of cognizance flares in her eyes. A moment later, she rips her hand away from his grip and backhands him across the face.

I probably deserved that, Jon thinks. He puts both of his hands up in a nonthreatening gesture and leans away from her, giving her space.

“What is wrong with you?” Tessa seethes. She spits blood onto the ground through her teeth, never once breaking eye contact with Jon. With his human eyes, he notes. “I’ve been having this dream for nearly a year and – and…”

“You… know that this isn’t just a dream.” It isn’t a question; Jon already Knows the answer.

“It’s a very lucid dream.” She’s clearly aiming for decisive, but Jon can detect the waver of uncertainty concealed underneath. Tessa looks away and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, leaving a crimson streak painted across her skin.

“You don’t really think that, though,” Jon says gently. He could tell from the first time he met Tessa in her nightmares that she knew there was an element of the supernatural at play.

“Then what? You’re – you’re secretly a monster in disguise, siphoning off people’s ghost stories? Feeding on nightmares like some kind of – what, dream vampire?”

“I…” Jon frowns. “I’ve never heard it phrased that way, but I suppose? Sort of? I mean I was – I was human once. When you first gave your statement, I hadn’t realized what I was becoming just yet. I was having nightmares like this, but back then I still thought they were just… bad dreams.”

“So why are you suddenly talking to me now?”

“The dream has never let me talk before. Usually I don’t have control of my body, I just get piloted around and made to… well, Watch.”

“And what, I’m supposed to feel sorry for you?”

“No, I – not at all, I just –” Jon sighs. “I’m answering your question. The reason I’m just now speaking to you is because this is the first chance I’ve gotten to do so. I don’t intentionally bring you here and I wish it would all just stop. But…” He falters, struggling to get the words out. “But it is because of me that you’re brought here, and so I – I owe you an apology.”

“Why?” Jon looks at her questioningly. “You’re saying you don’t bring me here, and that you didn’t know what would happen when you took my statement. So, what are you actually apologizing for? Because you feel guilty, and you think saying sorry will make you feel better? That’s not an apology, that’s a cop-out.”

Jon’s first impulse is to deny it, but he stops himself, because that is the impression he’s giving, isn’t it?

“I do feel guilty,” he admits, “but apologizing isn’t going to make me feel better, trust me. I’m sorry because… like I said, even if I didn’t expect or intend this specific outcome, it’s still because of me that you’re here. I need to take responsibility for that.”

Jon gnaws on the inside of his cheek nervously, trying to organize his thoughts. Taking Tessa Winters’ statement was, in retrospect, a watershed moment for him. He had taken several live statements by that point, but all the earlier statement givers had made their way to the Institute independently. (Well, except Helen – Jonah had confessed that he was the one to lead her to the Institute – but Jon didn’t know that at the time.) Tessa was the first time Jon actively and knowingly brought someone to him – and he did it under false pretenses.

It’s been eating away at him ever since that first nightmare they shared.

“The forum post that drew you to me,” he says in a rush, “asking for statements.”

“What about it?”

“I’d never solicited statements before then. People would just come to the Institute on their own.”

“And?” Tessa fixes him with an intense look. “What changed?”

“Well, I… I had an ulterior motive in posting on tech savvy message boards specifically.” Jon picks at his cuticles, human eyes carefully averted from Tessa’s. “The laptop you helped me with, it belonged to my predecessor. I didn’t learn until after I was selected to replace her that she was murdered. It was an unsolved case, and I… I needed to know why. I thought, if I could get access to her computer, maybe there would be a clue somewhere.”

“And if it wasn’t for that post…”

“You would never have come to the Institute. You wouldn’t be here now.”

A full minute passes before Tessa speaks.

“Did it even help?”

“Not as much as I would have liked, no,” Jon says with a short, humorless laugh.

Tessa’s lips move wordlessly for a few seconds before she eventually snaps, “Why the hell did you feel like it was your job to solve a murder, anyway?”

“It seemed unlikely that it would ever be solved – the police certainly didn’t seem invested in it – and I was worried that I would be next.” Jon rubs the back of his neck for a few seconds before twirling a lock of hair around his finger, tugging gently. What does it say about his life that he misses when things were as simple as a workplace murder? “There’s more to the story, but – suffice it to say, I was paranoid and stubborn and - and unstable, and people got hurt because of it.”

The silence stretches between them for several minutes this time before Tessa speaks again.

“I don’t forgive you.” Jon winces before he can think better of it, and Tessa continues: “But your apology is accepted.”

Jon gives her a baffled look. “I… I don’t understand.”

“I can appreciate a genuine apology, and you seem sincere enough.” Tessa shrugs. “Sounds like you acted out of disregard for others, rather than out of malicious intent. Still not great, but I don’t think one action defines a person.” Her expression hardens and her voice turns firm. “But that doesn’t mean I have to forgive the action. And I’m not ready to forgive, not when I’m still living through the consequences. Maybe not ever.”

“That’s fair,” Jon says, and he means it. “Especially since – well, I don’t know how to stop the dreams. If I find a way, I’ll do it, absolutely, but for now… I can’t promise an end to this.”

Tessa makes a noncommittal noise.

“I am hoping that I’ll maintain basic bodily autonomy going forward. That way, I can – I can try to intervene again, the next time you get trapped in the loop. I’ve done this a couple times now, with other dreams. So far, it seems that if the script gets interrupted, we can ride out the rest of the dream without the nightmare component.”

“And if you go back to how you were before?”

“Then I’m forced back into the role of Watcher, I suppose.” The thought of it fills him with dread, but he isn’t about to make Tessa process that with him, so he quickly moves on. “But – but I think maybe you don’t need me to break the script? It might be enough to just… memorize how you feel right now.”

“What do you mean?”

“This is the first time you’ve been here and still had control of your own actions. The moment you’re sat in front of that computer, you become a passenger in your own body.” Jon gives his hair another gentle tug as he hunts for the right phrasing. “Find something – a word, a gesture, a memory, anything – that you can associate with how you feel right here, right now. Something sensory, or at least simple enough that you can remember even when – when your thoughts start to disintegrate.”

“'The angles cut me when I try to think,'” Tessa recites quietly. It sends a shiver up Jon’s spine, and he Knows it does the same for her.

“It’s an accurate description, isn’t it?”

Tessa gives him a suspicious look. “You can feel it?”

“Yes.” Jon shifts uncomfortably at the memory of it. “Like having your consciousness shredded until everything is sharp edges and… and noise.”

Jon can feel Tessa’s anger soften a bit, and he Knows that it’s not out of forgiveness. It’s because she feels vindicated, knowing that the one responsible for her suffering is at least facing the same torture as she is. She feels a twinge of shame over that feeling, he Knows, but even if she didn’t, he wouldn’t hold it against her. Honestly, he isn’t ready to be forgiven any more than Tessa is ready to forgive him.

“Anyway,” he says, unceremoniously shoving the Knowing away, “breaking the association between the computer and the loss of control might be enough to snap you out of the usual dream sequence.”

“Trick my brain with a bit of classical conditioning?” Tessa snorts. “That’s your advice?”

“Just a suggestion.” Jon shrugs. “I’ve found it helpful from time to time.”

“Alright then, Pavlov’s monster.”

Jon gives an awkward little laugh. “Never heard that one before, either.”

“I’m sure I can come up with more,” she says, and graces him with a very small, very tentative smirk. It feels remarkably like an olive branch – or maybe just the ghost of one. He doesn’t feel like he deserves even that.

Tessa refuses Jon’s offer to stay with her until she wakes up, so he stands and takes his leave.

Jon isn’t walking for long when the dreamscape shifts around him again. Rain patters down on the asphalt of a lonely road, stretching onward and outward with no end in sight. The harsh police lights refract off of the rain and the mist, the incessant bright flash sending a stabbing pain right to his temples.

He drifts towards the coffin on autopilot, never once breaking his stride, and he throws the chains aside. Before he can think twice about it, he walks down those familiar steps, taking two at a time in his haste to get through this segment of the dream as quickly as possible.

The instant the soil closes in around him, he reflexively calls Daisy’s name. It takes him three desperate shouts before he remembers with a sinking feeling that he won’t find her here. The coffin doesn’t allow for sleeping or dreaming, and it will be another few months before Jon can go in after her.

As soon as he resigns himself to that realization, the earth falls away and he’s standing in a coffin of a different sort, watching Karolina Górka from across a sweltering, buckling train car. All around them, the twisted metal groans and strains under unimaginable pressure. Karolina does not respond to his explanations, his apologies, his offers to help, his questions. She simply watches him, as he used to watch her, and smiles, until the train car collapses in on her and the scenery fades.

Next time, he tells himself, fighting back nausea and guilt. There has to be some way to reach her, and he has plenty of time to figure it out. Next time.

When Jon finds himself in front of Helen’s door, standing solitary in open air, he’s half-tempted to fling it open, finally see where it leads in this place. He has to force himself to turn away –

Which, as expected, gives him a full view of the undulating carpet of ants. He scans the swarm diligently, watching it writhe and twist until he catches sight of a hand reaching out to him, and he lunges to grab hold of it. As soon as Jordan is free of the horde, he shrinks away in terror, and Jon can feel the way his emotions vacillate: gratitude, confusion, fear, suspicion.

“This way,” Jon says urgently, trying to keep his mounting fear out of his tone and waving Jordan forward. Jordan looks hesitant until the incinerator door materializes beside them, heralding the appearance of Jane Prentiss. “Keep walking.” Jon's voice is definitely taking on a panicked edge now, despite his best efforts. “Don’t look at her.”

Much to Jon’s relief, Jordan listens and hastens after him. In this part of the dream, Jordan has always stood there frozen, eyes darting between the Archivist and the hive, unable to decide which was the lesser of two evils. This time – for now, at least – Jordan seems willing to take his chances with Jon.

Jon, of course, can’t fully avert his gaze. Even as he walks away, a few mutinous eyes watch behind him, captivated by Jane and the simmering worms wriggling and tunneling through her flesh. Jane’s burning stare burrows into him like larvae, and he fights the urge to scratch.

“Cover your ears.” Jon is careful to keep the compulsion out of his voice. Luckily, Jordan complies of his own volition – and not a moment too soon, as the hive begins to screech out its death knell only seconds after the words leave Jon’s mouth. He watches as Jane’s eyes liquefy and run down her cheeks. All the while, she screams and screams and screams until finally her throat crumbles to ash along with the rest of her.

Jon stops then, bending over with his hands on his knees, trying to quell his trembling. Jordan nearly runs right into him, throwing himself backward at the last moment and hitting the ground with a grunt. He takes one look at Jon and begins to scramble away. Now that Jane Prentiss is gone, all of his terror can be directed at the sole remaining monster.

“W-wait,” Jon says, voice raspy. “I – I don’t want to hurt you.”

Jordan stops moving, but continues to stare with wide, terrified eyes.

“I know what I look like, and I’m – I’m sorry about that, I don’t have control over them.” Jon gestures half-heartedly at the eyes phasing in and out in the air around him. Their focus darts about in all directions, greedy and possessive and eager to See everything there is to See. Even just a momentary glance of their restless movements elicits a burst of annoyance, and he can’t resist once again striking out at the nearest grouping of them. They instantly dissipate and Jon turns his human eyes back to Jordan. “But I want to help.”

“You’ve never helped before.”

“I know. The dream wouldn’t let me.”

“But now suddenly it will?”

“Yes, and I’m hoping it stays that way. But – but if it doesn’t –”

Before he can finish, Jordan flickers out of sight as his real body wakes. Jon groans in frustration. He would have liked to outline a contingency plan in the same way that he did with Naomi and Tessa, but… hopefully the next time Jordan sleeps, Jon can continue the discussion.

The eyes that he had previously banished pop back into existence one by one to his left.

“I really, really hate you, you know that?”

In unison, they all blink and reopen, slow and purposeful. He tries not to assign personality to them, but he can't help thinking that they look amused.

Jon swears, turns away from them, and kicks the ground uselessly. Hopefully Jonah isn’t watching this impotent little outburst, but just in case, Jon takes the time to glower up at the Eye looking down on him before he stalks off. It definitely makes him look even more like a petulant child, but at the moment, he can’t bring himself to care.

Jon paces feverishly in front of the door to the dissection lab, scratching absently at the back of his burned hand as he tries to calm his nerves. In one fluid motion, he reaches out to grab the door handle, then shrinks back again and runs his fingers through his hair with an agitated sigh. At this rate, she’ll wake up before he works up the courage to go in there.

He reaches toward the handle again, but stops at the last moment and raps his knuckles lightly against the door instead. Knock-knock, his mind supplies, sending a chill down his spine.

Even though he’s expecting it, he still starts at the answering, “Hello?”

Jon steels himself and opens the door, and suddenly he’s eyes-to-eyes with –

“Georgie…”

The customary sadness and pity in her expression fade away, replaced by faint surprise.

“Jon?”

End Notes:

- JON GETS TO USE HIS WORDS AGAIN! Finally. (There will still be some more Archive-speak peppered in throughout later chapters, though.)

- I took some liberties with Naomi's and Tessa's characterization, since we only got an episode each of them + some glimpses of their nightmares in MAG 121, and Naomi was in the middle of grieving during her episode. Hopefully they don't come off as too OOC, but either way, I was having fun writing their dialogue like this, so I just kinda ran with it.

- The scene with Georgie was running long, so I decided to end it there and pick it up in the next chapter. (Chapter 5 should be ready by this weekend, hopefully.)

- Btw, it was very tempting to title this chapter “How Am I Gonna Be an Optimist About This?” because Bastille’s “Pompeii” has been stuck in my head for days now and honestly?? It's probably not a bad song choice for these first four chapters.

#the magnus archives #tma #tma fic #jonathan sims #tma spoilers #long post

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soveryanon · 5 years

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Reviewing time for MAG129 /o/

- Overall, I’m… so, so proud of Jon since the season has begun? He’s trying! Trying so much and so hard! And it’s still the same Jon who is prone to outbursts, who can say mean things… but now, he’s also learned that his actions and his words can be destructive, that they can hurt people, that he can hurt people he cares about simply because he voiced what he felt! It’s not so much that his snappiness disappeared; it’s more that he’s now able to quickly understand that it can have consequences and wound even when he didn’t mean to?

(MAG129) ARCHIVIST: No, it’s fine, I know you’ve got… whatever this is, I’m not going to question you. MARTIN: Thank you. ARCHIVIST: [SPITTING] Even if it looks like you’re doing something really stupid. [SILENCE] … Sorry. MARTIN: It’s okay. I get it. ARCHIVIST: I just– I worry. […] [SIGHS] I suppo– … I miss you.

I mean!! Look at him!! He could compulse, has decided not to, and reassures that he won’t; he still snaps, but understand when he went too far and was actually demeaning; he explains his reasoning instead of clamming up! He caught himself when spurting one of his “I suppose”s and openly admitted something meaningful instead! Yes, alright, that should be basic, but that’s still a lot of progress and very impressive for someone who regularly fails to understand people around him, has trust issues, and used to go on the offensive when feeling cornered or criticised. (Would season1!Jon have behaved this way, uh?)

I’m also so fond of the way that Jon is once again… trying to make Martin talk? Restarting the conversation when the silences stretch out, talking about Martin? It’s horribly sad, but… the aesthetic of Jon trying to reach Martin feels so satisfying at the same time…

- I’m, however, a bit tad worried about how Jon sometimes flirts with becoming a The Eye apologist. 1°) He has been casually dropping a bit of an “us vs. them” mentality, lately, and it isn’t clear if it’s pure pragmatism (because they’re chained to the Institute) or Something Deeper:

(MAG123) BASIRA: [SIGHS] Alright. Best I can understand it, Beholding, or The Eye or… whatever you want to call it, we’re one of the only powers that hasn’t actually taken a shot at our ritual. Yet. And everything out there knows it. ARCHIVIST: … No, I mean, we… we can’t be the only ones, surely? BASIRA: I don’t know. Probably not. But we made a big noise with The Unknowing and… other stuff, and… now they’ve taken notice.

(MAG129) ARCHIVIST: You’re working for someone… really bad! MARTIN: Yes, I’m not an idiot, Jon, but it’s no… worse than working for something really bad, so… ARCHIVIST: At least The Eye hasn’t gone after our own. Lukas has vanished two people!

“we”, “our own” can be neutral and coming from an objective fact (the Institute is still their workplace, it’s about their colleagues!), or from a strategic point of view, or… a deeper feeling of belonging. I’m not sure. I hope that Jon is aware of what he’s saying and that it’s not the latter option ;;

2°) Jonathan “The Eye Did Nothing Wrong” Sims, DO WE TALK ABOUT IT. Elias killed Gertrude and Leitner! He allowed Sasha to die! He manipulated and chained them to the Archives! He traumatized Melanie! Jon should know that even without knowing that he also traumatized Martin (which… yeah, is only one of the things Elias has done in a long list, but in this particular case, especially horrible: Jon telling MARTIN, of all people, that The Eye ISN’T HURTING THEIR OWN…). That’s a lot of harm against its own people, even without taking into consideration the few Beholding statements that have popped up, including Albrecht’s death two episodes ago? What the heck, Jon? (Melanie would stab you again for this.)

It actually sounds like, overall, Jon is equating Peter’s actions with the Lonely, while at the same time… totally separating Elias’s from Beholding? I don’t know if it’s Jon being casually hypocritical, personally biased, or if there is something behind that (Elias not being Beholding’s Best Avatar, after all?).

- I don’t know if Martin realizes how much what he says makes it sound like he’s being coerced into avoiding everyone in exchange for Peter not harming the staff any further, and like there is no bigger plan beyond that – like Martin is just a victim with everyone else being used as hostages?

(MAG129) MARTIN: Oh… … Okay? W–well, sorry, but I’ve… I, hum… ARCHIVIST: You have to leave. Suddenly. […] Lukas has vanished two people! MARTIN: Yeah, and if it wasn’t for me, it would’ve been a lot more. [SILENCE] This isn’t helping anything. […] ARCHIVIST: If–if you do need to talk, I– MARTIN: I can’t. ARCHIVIST: No. No, o–of course. [INHALE] Listen, Martin, you should know– MARTIN: Jon– ARCHIVIST: –Daisy might be alive, Basira is– MARTIN: Stop. Stop, please, I–I shouldn’t know any of this, I… [PACKING UP] I–I–I really need to go, I–I’m…

It’s never “I’m not interested” or “I don’t want to” – it’s always how about Martin can’t by obligation. However, the way Peter presented it in MAG126, Martin’s “isolation” is not the main goal: it’s a means to an end, since Martin agreed to all of this in order to stop the New Threat that Adelard was investigating. We know this. But from an external point of view, with just the glimpses of conversations Jon has had with Martin… Jon would have many reasons to think that there is no plan, no further motive for Martin, and that Peter is simply forcing Martin to do things while threatening everyone else? That… could actually make Jon worry even deeper, if Jon ends up thinking that Martin is not even working on something, but only coerced into not having any contact with the others because Peter is messing with him?

(It’s possible, and even likely, that Peter’s agenda actually involves a lot more than what he’s told Martin: that this is also a way to separate the team that had managed to defeat Elias, and/or to give Jon a taste of the Lonely, and/or to deprive Jon of potential anchors, and/or to keep using Elias’s “learn to fly by falling” approach to force him to develop his powers in a semi-hostile territory, and/or to prevent Martin and the assistants from meddling with The Lonely’s or Beholding’s plans… But I’m still a bit hopeful that Peter didn’t completely bullshit Martin about the New Threat as a cover for other reasons – that it’s still, indeed, an actual thing that will need taking care of? Martin is wary of him, that’s good; I don’t think that he sees Peter as trustworthy, and he’s probably expecting backstabbing or a twist before the end. But there would be something… really pathetic if there was actually no New Threat and that Martin had been roped into a series of lies, without managing to achieve anything. So many things have already been pathetic in Martin’s life (his one-sided crush, the fact that he doesn’t seem to be close to a lot of people even outside of the Institute since nobody had checked on him during the Prentiss siege, the fact that he sacrificed his whole life for a mother who hates him because he physically looks like his father), it would be… very heartbreaking to add more to the list with this;;

- I’m so relieved that Martin is aware of and acknowledging Peter’s sketchiness very naturally ;; 1°) And on the subject of Beholding being no better than a Lukas: Martin is not wrong, technically? Beholding is one of the Fears – it’s not a ~good~ option either, it has never been? The fact that they used to accumulate, read/record and archive statements can’t be good on the long run if it’s serving It? Maybe even preparing The Watcher’s Crown? Martin himself used to be a bit complacent about the work in the Archives (even post-reveal in MAG092), while Tim was the one to constantly remind the others that the Institute was bad, too:

(MAG098) MARTIN: [Elias] did suggest I try to get you involved and– TIM: And I suggest that he not be a scary, magic psychopath. … Whoops! Too late. MARTIN: … Yeah. TIM: [SIGHS] Sorry. MARTIN: No, I– I get it. Heh. They’re not exactly much fun. TIM: Look, it’s not that. I… [SIGHS] This place is evil, Martin. And I think doing what It wants? Probably makes us evil. And It wants those things to be read. I mean, I’m not going to stop you, but, at the same time… MARTIN: I– I get it.

Martin never really fought or tried to escape the archival work, but he’s aware enough to point out that it’s not a Good Option vs. A New Bad Option (which would be Peter); they’re all… bad.

2°) First there was Martin’s stern “Peter.” in MAG126 that just made Peter stop trash-talking Jon, now the mention that Martin is ensuring that no more staff members get wooshed into the Lonely… Martin has an iron grip on Peter, uh.

3°) Martin feared that he could be perceived and described as “Martin Blackwood: he was always scared, then he died. The end.” BUT SERIOUSLY. If he dies (and if there is a body), put “I’m not an idiot, Jon.” on his gravestone.

(- I’m ;; still hoping that those two researchers are aliiiive and that they’ll be able to get out from the Lonely. I mean. They resisted against the shady new management and against orders from a boss who 1°) is apparently incompetent at the job since he delegates all his tasks to an assistant, 2°) was probably chosen for reasons having to do with his privileged background, 3°) didn’t allow them to see him even once since he arrived, and yet had Ideas about how to rule the place. You’re brave, researchers! Fight against the system!! You don’t deserve to die for this!!)

-When listening to MAG129’s statement, I was a bit lost and went back and forth between many guesses as to which power was at work. I was expecting a Buried one from the title, but then, discovering to the statement itself, I kept wondering if it wasn’t something else: Corruption, since there was the sense of decay and the disgust when Kulbir went to the firm’s building? Dark, with the lights slowly fading out? Lonely, since everyone seemed to have disappeared? Vast, with the sky joining in that mess? Still Buried, since the firm used awful puns that sounded very Buried? I think I was just a bit surprised to see the Buried associated with water, of all things, despite the fact that it was nothing new in (what-we-assume-to-be-)Buried statements: MAG015 (cave diving), MAG088 (with the “DIG” book found on the beach)… Which makes sense considering what drowning is about? But because of MAG051 (“High Pressure”; hi Simon), I had come to naturally associate water=ocean=Vast, which I feel a bit stupid about since it’s obviously not how The Fears work; it’s not about elements or symbols but what they do to you. Still: I had that moment of “Oh? … Oh, right!!” during MAG129. It’s… a bit more obvious when relistening, given Kulbir’s main concerns and how the world shifted around him:

(MAG129, Kulbir Shakya) “but by that point, I was already too deep in debt and there was just… no way I was going to be able to stay. […] I felt… disgust rise in my throat, the awful, humid air of the waterlogged place sitting heavy in my lungs. […] The water was warm, and after the heat of the summer’s day, I breathed in, expecting the smell of petrichor. But the scent of the rain was something else – something earthy and cloying I couldn’t quite place. […] I tried to relax, to let the rhythmic tapping of the rain lull me off to sleep, like it always had when I was a boy. But I could find no comfort in it. It sounded too much like it wanted to get in. […] I was tired, I was hungry and, without the motion of the rain, the air had become intolerably humid. Every breath I took filled my lungs with that thick, wet scent, and it felt like I could barely get enough oxygen to think. The walls of my house were slick with moisture now, and there was nowhere I could go to be dry, no way out of this oppressive, cloying damp. […] Inch by inch, foot by foot, everything was descending into the water’s embrace. It would wrap itself around me, reach down my throat and fill me with its choking darkness. There was nothing I could do.

Aaaand obviously, given the many double-entendre opportunities revolving around “crushing debts”, of course The Buried would be targeting poor people feeling ~pressured~, anxious about their situation.

(MAG129, Kulbir Shakya) “The first words did nothing to dissuade me from my assumption it was junk mail: “Drowning in debts? We can help!” in big friendly text that seemed at odds with the pseudo-respectable image the rest of it seemed to be striving for. […] At the bottom, in that same friendly typeface, it assured me: “We can help with the pressure.” I don’t know what I expected. I really don’t.”

(It feels, more and more, like Puns are a way to get More Powerful when you’re serving an evil power. Only One True Fear: Puns.) Interestingly: it was also the case for Jackson Ellis in MAG097… but his dire situation got alleviated a bit after he had moved in in Bucoda:

(MAG097, Jackson Ellis) “My parents were dirt poor themselves, and couldn’t help. […] The forest pressed in on all sides, like it did everywhere in the Pacific Northwest, I suppose, but it was an effect I was struggling to get used to. […] As it turned out my situation wasn’t quite as dreadful as I thought. I discovered the next day that my work had actually paid me a small amount. It wasn’t clear whether it was meant to be salary or severance, and I couldn’t get through to anyone who might have been able to explain it, but it was enough to ease the relentless pressure, if only a little bit.”

Was it thanks to the fact that his situation got better than Jackson wasn’t entranced by The Pit like all the other residents?

- This wasn’t the first time that people escape through a near-death (or death?) experience: Antonia Hayley (MAG051, Vast), Carter Chilcott (MAG057, Lonely) were prime examples:

(MAG051, Antonia Hayley) “I should be dead, really. It’s a weird feeling. You ever had a near-death experience? I’ve had a few – they’re not uncommon in my line of work, but this… it feels different. It’s not like I put myself in danger and managed not to die; I should be dead. Decompression sickness that severe is almost never survivable, and I should have had an embolism. The fact that I didn’t… blind luck. It’s hard to reconcile yourself with avoiding of a death you feel… should have been yours.”

(MAG057, Carter Chilcott) “[…] I began to very seriously consider the idea… that I had died, and this was hell. Given that worry, the way I finally escaped could be considered ironic: I starved myself to death. Well, not to death, I suppose, given I’m alive enough to talk to you, but close enough. […] After everything else, I had no guarantee it was even possible for me to die, but I had to try. When I finally faded from consciousness, for what I hoped was the last time, it was the greatest relief I have ever felt. … I don’t… know exactly when I realized I wasn’t dead. There were various moments I… faded back into consciousness, and I know that I felt the re-entry, very hard, but it’s difficult to pin down clear thoughts before the hospital.”

(MAG129, Kulbir Shakya) “I don’t know if you’ve ever drowned, but it’s the most painful thing I’ve ever experienced. I tried to remain calm, to think of my grandfather and his firm, stony face […] My lungs spasmed painfully, desperately trying to wring air out of the warm, rancid water that filled them. And as I felt the water embrace me, fully pressing in on all sides… I gripped the last connection I had to the world I knew. The last thing I was conscious of… was the water getting colder. I don’t… remember them fishing me out of Regent’s Canal. Or most of my treatment, to be honest. At a certain point it all blurs together. I’m alive. And that’s what matters.”

I remember that Jonny more or less said that it’s impossible to truly understand how the Fears operate, given how they’ll always escape our rationalizations – but anyway: I get the impression that when they’re going all out, they kind of trap people in a reflected reality, and when people manage to escape them, they get spat out and back into our world? We had multiple witnesses whose testimonies didn’t match the official findings of later investigations, and it’s hard to tell who is lying and who is telling the truth: is the Police twisting some information in their official records since they’re alluding to Section’d events? Are the witnesses mixing up some details because their memory is at fault? When spook happens, there often seems to be two realities: and sometimes, there is no difference between the two; sometimes… something happened in one and had other consequences in the other (I mostly remember how the guy in MAG072 got his fingers cut yet they were still on his hand when everything stopped, though he saw his fingers cut with his ring on one of them, ring that he didn’t have on “his” finger anymore).

Here, Kulbir both got to “die” (or almost? or died for real?) and to hold on to an anchor (an item symbolizing someone that he loved):

(MAG129, Kulbir Shakya) “I could feel that warm, grasping water cover my feet, my ankles, slowly working its way up my calves, but at that moment, all I could think about… was my grandfather. And how he had looked when they had given him his diagnosis, calm and solid. […] He had always endured his problems, never tried to squirm out of things he felt he had to face. I gripped the sheath in both my hands and waded to the window. Corpses floated by, slowly waving at me gently, their lifeless hands grey and bloated. I ignored them. And stepped out into the water. […] I gripped the last connection I had to the world I knew.”

Which is something we’ve mostly seen in statements dealing with the Lonely, I felt? Naomi Herne heard her dead fiancé’s voice leading her out in MAG013, and Gerry had advised Andrea Nunis to think about her mother in MAG048 (which indeed allowed her to escape the anonymous crowd).

- Regarding Kulbir’s grandfather: I wonder if he had a tie with something that was mentioned in MAG076, amongst the reports of William W. Hay about World War 2 dug up by Melanie?

(MAG076) “what I saw in the infirmary at Amritsar. Two dozen Ghurkhas tearing each other to pieces, consumed by the terrible butchery they had inflicted. Such things are not to be dwelt on, but serve to illustrate my proposition that violence, inflicted, received or even just witnessed, can not only deal injury to the body or the mind, but to the soul itself.”

The grandfather was specifically said to be a Ghurkha and brought back his weapon from it…

(MAG129, Kulbir Shakya) “We actually got into a… blazing row over his old kukri. He had been a Gorkhali, serving in the Fifth Gurkha Rifles during the Second World War. I have… complicated feelings on his military history, of course, but… he had always been fiercely proud of it. And that old knife had been one of his most treasured possessions. I didn’t keep it polished like he had, even at… ninety years old, but it reminded me of him. I could see his calloused hands on its hilt, as he meticulously, almost mechanically, cleaned it. Humming a tune the name of which I never learned.”

(Could have been Slaughter-infused, but I’m really not sure that it was even relevant here? What mattered was apparently the emotional connection.)

- ;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;; So that’s what happened to Jan Kilbride in the end (take that, myself, for sometimes daring to hope that he could have still been alive). We had heard Gertrude mentioning that she had Plans revolving around him back in MAG099 (recording from September 2nd, 2007):

(MAG099) GERTRUDE: […] For the Buried, however, I do have what I believe might be quite an effective plan forming – assuming, of course, that my suspicions about Jan Kilbride are correct, and that’s something that should be easy enough to determine once he’s back on Earth. Considering what’s probably happened to him up there already, I feel almost… bad, but there’s ten years yet before I can afford a conscience.

And Melanie had read Jan’s statement in MAG106 (left on February 10th, 2008) observing that the statement ended quite abruptly, and that Jan himself had disappeared from public views or records since coming back to Earth:

(MAG106) MELANIE: […] Also I, hum… I can’t find Jan Kilbride. He definitely returned. I’ve got more than one photograph of the trio’s arrival back on Earth, Carter Chilcott being attended by medical personnel, and the other two looking tired… but alive. There are also a couple of short newspapers stories mentioning their safe return. But it seems as though Kilbride made his way over to the Institute, a few weeks after touchdown, made his statement, and then… nothing. I can’t find any sign of him. And neither can Basira or Martin. Not on Earth, at least. I really don’t want to say he vanished into thin air but… he’s vanished into something.

Did Jan live in the tunnels for a while or something? He apparently managed to totally vanish from official records, and we know from MAG097 that the Buried’s “Sunken Sky” took place (or at least attempted to) on June 17th, 2008 – in Bucoda, America:

(MAG097, Jackson Ellis) “[…] [The pit] was bigger. And the road had swelled, to encompass it. There was someone else looking at it, though. An elderly woman, face pinched and thoughtful, stood at the edge looking down. I didn’t recognise her, or the car she stood next to. She definitely wasn’t from Bucoda. Sat in the car next to her, I could see a young man who had clearly been crying. I couldn’t get over how blue his eyes were… The old woman caught my eye, and looked from me, to the pit, and back again. I thought about saying something when she gestured for me to leave. And I did. I decided that I was no part of whatever was happening. So I drove away and didn’t look back. That night, the earthquake struck that destroyed Bucoda entirely, so I guess I’ll never know what was going on.”

Given that Jon mentioned that:

(MAG129) ARCHIVIST: […] But I don’t want it. I don’t want to know. … I don’t want to see. … No more than I wanted to see how Gertrude stopped The Buried and their ritual, but that came to me as well. [HUFFS] They called it “Sunken Sky”! And she calculated, correctly, that casting a void-touched body down The Pit at the right time would be enough to disrupt it. Something she found in… Jan Kilbride. … But Gertrude also realized that the body need not be alive. Or in one piece. She thought it was a mercy. It wasn’t.

(Tim’s voice from MAG086: “Regarding a… blanket. Dead friend. Monster. Regarding his unavoidable and gruesome end. How he tried to hide. He couldn’t.”)

… it was apparently a gruesome end, and the tears might indicate that Jan knew what was coming. Gosh, the way Jon mentioned that it wasn’t a mercy… He got too much information about it, uh é_è

- *cough*

(MAG129) ARCHIVIST: One thing that always strikes me when I read statements like this is… the bias of survivorship. With one or two notable exceptions, the only statements the Institute receives are those where the witness has… successfully escaped whatever terrible place or being has marked them for a victim. … I wonder how many don’t make it out. How many of those shapes in the water were once just like Mr Shakya. Hm.

1°) Yeah, without even counting the survivors describing how they witnessed someone dying or disappearing, we got a few statement-givers who flirted a bit too heavily with death (Nathaniel Thorp in MAG029), or were on the verge of turning into something else (Jane Prentiss in MAG033), or should be dead (Trevor), indeed. It happens. Also, Jon could add himself on the list, maybe, since he hasn’t managed to escape the Institute.

2°) I’m still so relieved every time Jon uses keywords indicating that he’s not perceiving the events these people go through neutrally – “terrible place or being” and “victim”. We saw a few monsters/avatars torturing people like it’s a game, but it is definitely not Jon’s case, and that’s a relief…

3°) ;; And it’s indeed a sad reminder that the only stories we get are from people who managed to get out (even if some of them met a gruesome end shortly after giving their statements, as we learn through the follow-ups), and that we can’t hear about the ones who were consumed/eaten alive/killed with no surviving witnesses… (Do you sometimes think about the fact that Jon gave that role to the tape recorder, in season 1 already? That he wanted to use it to chronicle what was happening in the Archives, to not become “another goddamn mystery”, because he didn’t want to end up like Gertrude or statement-givers? I wonder if Jon still thinks of a life after him and after the assistants, by now – if he still thinks it’s possible that maybe someone, one day, could find the tapes they left behind and reconstruct what they experienced. It doesn’t seem like the tape recorders are cooperating lately, though; they come and… go, and don’t allow people to hear what was said elsewhere.)

- I’m… intrigued by the fact that, so far, all of the things that Jon has suddenly Known (the leaks through the door) were information that had not been recorded on tapes – or, more precisely, that he hasn’t got any random outburst of Knowledge about things that have been recorded. Jon hasn’t mentioned anything about knowing that Basira had visited Elias (MAG127), nor about Martin’s conversation with Peter (MAG126), and we still haven’t heard any hint about whether or not he has listened to MAG118 and MAG120’s tapes; given how he gave his condolences to Martin about his mother, it’s more likely that he indeed still hasn’t been able to access MAG118’s. Are the tape recorders and the Spooky Magical Knowledge complementary things, or… actually competing against each other? (=> Does conversations getting recorded make them unavailable for Jon’s Spooky Powers?)

- Anyway: The Tape Recorder either liked Martin again, either knew that Jon was coming, since it clicked on in the room Martin was in before Jon entered.

- Where is MAG118’s taaaaape ;___; I’m pretty sure that Jon hasn’t consulted it since:

(MAG129) ARCHIVIST: I, er… I heard about your mother. MARTIN: … Yeah. ARCHIVIST: I am… so sorry. [SILENCE] MARTIN: Thank you. [INHALE] It’s… [SHAKY EXHALE] It’s better, this way. ARCHIVIST: If–if you do need to talk, I– MARTIN: I can’t. ARCHIVIST: No. No, o–of course.

I feel like Jon would have said something… more, here, if he had heard that one? Giving his condolences neutrally like this feels like he still only knows Martin’s mother from what he learned in season 2: that Martin sends letters to her, that Martin dropped out of school when he was seventeen because he had to care for her and to sustain them since she got terribly sick. (And Martin’s “It’s better, this way” makes me hate Elias even more, since… it can mean that Martin thinks that it’s better if she’s not suffering anymore? Or… that he thinks that it’s pulling him out of an unhealthy situation, since she hated him anyway and he had built so much of his life around being able to support her – sacrificing his education, having to lie to get hired somewhere, getting hired in Spooky Dangerous Institute to get a salary. If Elias hadn’t said anything, Martin might have been able to keep deluding himself into thinking that she wasn’t good with him because of the sickness, because it can make people meaner to close ones witnessing their decay…? But no, Martin Knew The Truth when she died. Did Elias know, in MAG118, that she wouldn’t be living for much longer…?)

And am I a puddle on the floor at the fact that JON TOLD MARTIN THAT HE WAS THERE IF MARTIN NEEDED TO TALK ABOUT IT? Yes, I am a puddle of whimpering feelings on the floor. It’s… something that I would have never expected Jon to say. He usually offers his presences for spooky stories, not for… emotional support.

Jon

told martin

he would be there

for emotional support

I still have trouble letting that sink in.

- And!!!

(MAG129) ARCHIVIST: … What happened, Martin? [SILENCE] MARTIN: You died. ARCHIVIST: I came back. MARTIN: Yeah. [OPENS DOOR] I’m not gonna let it happen again. ARCHIVIST: … wait… Wait! W– [DOOR CLOSES] [SIGHS]

1°) Is this the first time that Jon has acknowledged (implicitly, since he rolled with the mention) that his “coma” wasn’t exactly a coma? Unless he took that “You died” as an exaggeration. So far, it had been euphemisms (“dreaming” in MAG122, “coma” in MAG123, “when I was… away” in MAG126), so! Does he know that it wasn’t a normal coma by now? Or is he still unaware of it?

2°) Martin’s answer… ;__; Not “my mother died”, not “Tim died”, uh. We did hear Martin begging for Jon in the season teaser, and it didn’t sound like it was only because of his crush – they objectively needed help and the fact that Jon wasn’t there forced them to find alternative ways to deal with what they were facing (Melanie&Basira holed themselves up in the tunnels, Melanie defended the Archives against the Flesh attack, Martin reached an agreement with Peter to help him against a new issue). The fact that Jon “died” changed things, logistically. But it also sounds so personal, in Martin’s mouth (a bit bitter?), and once again, I’m remembering how he had lost all his deepest connections at that point: Sasha, Tim, Jon, his mother… and yet, he took the decision to work for Peter, and we know from the trailer that he checked if “they” (Basira and Melanie, and probably the Institute’s staff) would be safe. Martin ;__;

(Okay, I freaked out at first with Martin’s answer, because… “I’m not gonna let it happen again.”: was he referencing Jon COMING BACK FROM THE DEAD? But it was probably about Jon ~dying~ in the first place. Or about Jon finding him a third time. I hope so?!)

- I wonder if… if the situation had been different, if it had been Tim inside of the coffin, if there had been a chance to save him, and not Daisy… Would Martin have reacted differently?

(MAG129) ARCHIVIST: No. No, o–of course. [INHALE] Listen, Martin, you should know– MARTIN: Jon– ARCHIVIST: –Daisy might be alive, Basira is– MARTIN: Stop. Stop, please, I–I shouldn’t know any of this, I… [PACKING UP] I–I–I really need to go, I–I’m… ARCHIVIST: Right. … right.

Martin didn’t like her much, but Tim… Tim was another story. Maybe that would have been enough to shatter the fragile equilibrium and to make him try to help with it, even while still working with Peter.

Even outside of “what if”… It’s ironic, because Jon tried to reach out by talking about people around them – barely mentioning himself (except when it came to his feelings over Martin’s work and busy state, and the quick mention of his powers at the beginning of the exchange): “Basira is off doing… God-knows-what, and I can’t talk to Melanie.”, “I, er… I heard about your mother.”, “If–if you do need to talk, I–”, “–Daisy might be alive, Basira is–” “What happened, Martin?”. And right now… it might actually have been more effective if Jon had behaved a bit more self-centred? Breekon sneaked into the Institute and could have harmed them: meaning that Peter won’t raise a finger if they’re attacked and that they’re probably more vulnerable than Martin thought. Jon’s powers are growing, now with an additional invasive dimension, and there is the risk of his inner door opening (and of him drowning). Even Melanie’s surgery: Jon was hurt! Mentioning that would have been enough for Martin to freak out, usually!

Conveying that Jon is at risk, that Jon could become a risk, could have made Martin reevaluate his priorities? Martin’s deal with Peter is based on the assumption that Jon and the others would be safe at the end; if they’re harmed and snatched by something else beforehand… it changes the configuration a bit.

(- BUT JON CHOSE TO PRIORITISE WHAT WAS HAPPENING TO THE OTHERS!!! HE TRIED TO INFODUMP TO MARTIN WHEN HE HIMSELF IS DEPRIVED OF ANY INFORMATION, BECAUSE MELANIE DOESN’T WANT TO TALK TO HIM, BASIRA IS FORBIDDING HIM TO “KNOW” ANYTHING ABOUT WHAT SHE’S DOING, AND MARTIN REFUSES TO SHARE ABOUT HIS OWN AGENDA WITH PETER!!!

I don’t know why, but this is… one of the aspects that punch my feelings the deepest? That Jon is desperately trying to share what is happening around him, to rebuild bridges, to avoid miscommunication or leaving others in ignorance? Because he has known first-hand, since the beginning of season 4, what it is like when nobody wants to share their plans with you? Because obviously, obviously we’re heading towards a Disaster if they don’t manage to unite what they’re doing and what they’re thinking, when there is so much at stake and when they have multiple potential ends of the world to thwart?)

- MAG126 confirmed that Martin is Concealing and very much feeling; that he’s forcing himself to pretend indifference. And yet, he still slipped from that self-inflicted behaviour at the beginning? (Highlighting that Peter is not his first evil boss?) And sounded like he panicked when Jon began infodumping?

;; I would like to be able to feel GLAD that Martin is showing some determination in the path he chose; he’s clearly not fine but also firmer and… hanging on to what he planned. And it surely feels, already, that he’s barreling head first towards complete disaster. Jon and Martin feel more and more that they will compete for the role of Most Self-Sacrificing Idiot in order to protect everyone, instead of working together…

- Given Peter’s reaction after Martin had barely talked with Jon:

(MAG126) PETER: You talked to him. MARTIN: I… I, I tried not to, I–I, I didn’t mean to… PETER: You talked to him. And that’s understandable, Martin, of course it is! Please don’t think I’m upset, it’s just… not ideal. Shows how much work we still have ahead of us. […] I had hoped that all this time apart would have given you the space you needed, but… MARTIN: … You said he’d probably never wake up. PETER: And he beat the odds. Which is good. But it does make things more complicated. It doesn’t… actually change… anything. MARTIN: A–a simple “hello” isn’t going to make any difference to– PETER: We’ve been over this. The sort of power you’re going to need relies on your– MARTIN: [SULKY] Obedience. PETER: Isolation. It needs to be you, Martin. You’re the only one who could possibly balance between the two.

… yeah, I’m not eager to hear what Peter thought about Martin and Jon talking again this time. I hope that Peter won’t ~generously offer~ a way for Martin to be completely out of Jon’ reach ;;

At the same time: really not sure that Peter’s (official) plan is working and that Martin is doing much progress? Yeah, he had it audibly rough, sounded bitterer and drier. But he doesn’t sound hollow or indifferent? He doesn’t sound like he’s in his natural state when forcing himself to be isolated? And after this conversation, I’m not sure that Martin will be able to do any progress Lonely-wise: I mean, if he had a crush on Jon back in season 1 already, when Jon was… like that, HOW could his heart remain still with current!Jon? When Jon is trying hard to share things and moments with him, when it’s Jon who seeks him out and wants to know what is happening in Martin’s life, when Jon apologizes spontaneously, when Jon is showing that Martin not being around him is hurting him? When Jon is showing so hard that he cares about him? I hope that Martin gets to stock up on these feelings to fight off the Lonely’s influence :|

- *crawls on the floor* everything hurts and I hate it and I’m loving it at the same time hhhhh…

(MAG053) MARTIN: [SIGHS] I just worry. You needed five stitches after you “accidentally” stabbed yourself with a breadknife. If you’re still claiming that’s what happened. ARCHIVIST: I am. MARTIN: Then you’ll forgive me for worrying when you use sharp knives.

(MAG129) ARCHIVIST: Even if it looks like you’re doing something really stupid. [SILENCE] … Sorry. MARTIN: It’s okay. I get it. ARCHIVIST: I just– I worry. You’re working for someone… really bad!

OOOOOOH

(MAG126) MARTIN: … It’s because he’s back, isn’t it. [SIGHS] He’s back, so now you’re going to be… around, again. Listening in. Mff. You missed him, didn’t you. … Yeah. … [VERY SHARP SQUEAL OF DISTORTION] Yeah, me too.

(MAG129) ARCHIVIST: [SIGHS] I suppo– … I miss you. MARTIN: [SNORT] ARCHIVIST: I’m just… MARTIN: Lonely. ARCHIVIST: [SIGHS] Yeah.

DID THE DYNAMIC

(MAG102) MARTIN: […] Look I’m, I’m so sorry, Jon, I– Elias didn’t even tell any of us that you’d been kidnapped– ARCHIVIST: Oh. MARTIN: –I didn’t know– ARCHIVIST: Hey– MARTIN: No-one else was telling me– ARCHIVIST: Hey, hey, hey… MARTIN: And there wasn’t any— ARCHIVIST: It’s alright, it’s alright. Elias didn’t tell anyone, there was, there was no way you could have known. I-I mean, I wasn’t exactly here before. MARTIN: No, you weren’t. … But I am sure that if you could have been, you would have.

(MAG129) ARCHIVIST: I, er… I heard about your mother. MARTIN: … Yeah. ARCHIVIST: I am… so sorry. [SILENCE] MARTIN: Thank you.

FLIP AROUND…

Martin used to be the one worrying for Jon!! To think about Jon when he wasn’t there!!! To feel like he had let Jon down!!!! (When he apologized in MAG040 for leaving Jon and Tim behind, too… ;;) There are many reasons for Martin to be one of Jon’s concerns, indeed: concern, because he hasn’t been there for the past months. Guilt, because Martin is the last of the original assistants left alive. Worry, because the Lukases are not known to be harmless people. Defamiliarization, because Martin used to seek his presence rather than avoid him.

But Jon also sounds so sad, trying to connect with Martin again… His voice was still dragging and a bit brooding when he introduced the statement right after – Martin’s behaviour is leaving him miserable, uh…

- Jon agreed to not try to see Melanie, and sticks to it. He also accepted to try to not Know about Basira’s errands, and… unless he’s dissimulating it from the tape recorders, it looks like it has worked so far? (He hasn’t even opened the coffin!) (Yet.)

(MAG127) ARCHIVIST: I, er, I should probably… talk to h– BASIRA: You should probably stay as far away as possible. She doesn’t want to see you. ARCHIVIST: No. No, o–o–of course.

(MAG128) BASIRA: Right. [SILENCE] [INHALES] Right. Keep it safe, I’ll be gone a few days. I have some leads I need to follow up. ARCHIVIST: Sorry…?! BASIRA: You heard me. Don’t ask about them, and don’t know about them either. ARCHIVIST: I can’t exactly control that! BASIRA: Learn. […] I’ll try and be back in a week or two. Don’t think about me. ARCHIVIST: Right. BASIRA: And don’t open the coffin.

(MAG129) ARCHIVIST: […] I haven’t heard from Basira, since she left on whatever secret errand, and I feel like I’m no closer to understanding any of this.

… I wonder if Jon will try to do what Martin asked of him:

(MAG129) MARTIN: Stop. Stop, please, I–I shouldn’t know any of this, I… [PACKING UP] I–I–I really need to go, I–I’m… ARCHIVIST: Right. … right. MARTIN: Please, stop finding me.

… or if, precisely, he’ll keep trying to see him. (Or if he will Know and… pretend he doesn’t.)

- Meanwhile, Jon’s powers are getting a bit out of control, uh… It’s, I think, the first time that Jon has expressed disgust at the idea of seeing/knowing things?

(MAG129) ARCHIVIST: […] Or perhaps I shouldn’t wonder. [HUFFS] Even as I say it, I can feel the knowledge, pushing in my mind. Eager to find a way in. But I don’t want it. I don’t want to know. … I don’t want to see. … No more than I wanted to see how Gertrude stopped The Buried and their ritual, but that came to me as well. […] I don’t like this. I don’t like… not being sure what’s going to be in my mind. What thoughts are mine and what are from… elsewhere. Why I just know some statements are what I should be reading.

Jon’s complaint is the complete opposite of how Elias had described the Beholding folks! (MAG092: “We thrive on ceaseless watching, on knowing too much. What we face is the hidden, the uncanny, and the unknown.”) It looks like the knowledge of what happened to Jan Kilbride shook him pretty badly (it sounded… especially gruesome), and… indeed, Jon would fear losing himself with what is happening.

… So I’m really Not Impressed at him for suddenly forgetting his recriminations when he got the Knowledge of what he was supposed to understand from this statement. Is Beholding trying to appeal to Jon? Jon’s anxiousness and irritation totally disappeared right after he got the Additional Knowledge, so if it was the case… it worked. Jon, don’t be so easy!! It’s not because you’re getting the information you’d like to that it’s a good thing… ;;

- Okay, I’m probably granting too much consciousness and purpose to something that is supposedly (re)acting on instinct (“like a muscle spasming on reflex”, Jon had offered in MAG080) but.

(MAG129) ARCHIVIST: […] I don’t like this. I don’t like… not being sure what’s going to be in my mind. What thoughts are mine and what are from… elsewhere. Why I just know some statements are what I should be reading. I assume this one is related to the coffin. To Daisy. … I haven’t heard from Basira, since she left on whatever secret errand, and I feel like I’m no closer to understanding any of this. … [SIGHS] I suppose if this one managed to free himself from The Buried or, to find a way out of… whatever part of Choke embraces drowning, I… [STATIC] I need an anchor.

It really sounded like Jon: i don’t know what to doooo, i have no direction, no idea… Beholding: *sends Jon towards a Relevant Statement* (●♡∀♡))ヾ☆*。 Jon: k thanks that’s a buried one, what’s the point of it then ¯\_ಠ_ಠ_/¯ Beholding: (ilu but you’re so slow, do I have to SPELL IT OUT) Σ(￣ロ￣lll) *sends static-y additional knowledge* Jon: oh– OOOOOOH.

To be fair with Jon, there were multiple things that I thought about when assuming that Jon had been directed towards this one (which was then implied to indeed be the case during his post-statement)?

* First: it’s a bit surprising that Jon is learning so much about the rituals that Gertrude managed to counter, considering Beholding’s is coming close? It’s like Jon is being given tips about how to possibly… ensure that Beholding’s won’t happen. We saw in MAG126 how Gertrude learned the location and some elements involved in the Spiral’s Great Twisting; and Jon apparently saw/felt/got first-hand knowledge about Gertrude’s reasoning, and what she did with (/to) Jan Kilbride in order to stop The Buried’s Sunken Sky ritual. I don’t know if there is a sort of intention in Jon’s outbursts of knowledge: if Beholding is simply answering Jon’s curiosity calls, or if it’s able to select what to give and hide from Jon. Giving information about Gertrude’s counter-rituals feels a bit dangerous considering how Jon’s loyalty to his patron isn’t… well, we’re still not 100% sure that Jon would be down for the Watcher’s Crown since he hasn’t specified anything in that regard (I mean, it seems obvious that Jon doesn’t want it to happen! And he’s probably remaining silent about it because it’s not safe to be a bit too openly antagonistic to your own patron in its place of power? But at the same time, Jon Made His Choice to be able to wake up, and we still don’t know what happened exactly.) On the other hand, there is… something to be said about how the two last Archivists weren’t exactly super into their own patron: Gertrude was actively working against it, Jon is maybe a bit more ambiguous (or at least passive) at the moment… is ot a Beholding thing to shoot yourself in the foot just to see what happens?!

* When I wondered about how this statement could tie in with the coffin, I thought about the rain, actually!

(MAG002, Joshua Gillespie) “It was a hard, heavy rain, the sort that falls straight down with no wind to disturb it, until everything is dark and wet. It was barely past midday, but I remember the sky was so overcast and gloomy that I had to get up to turn on the light. And that was when I heard it. […] It was almost… melodious. It sounded almost like singing, if it was muffled by twenty feet of hard-packed soil.

(MAG129, Kulbir Shakya) It started raining on the walk home. … When would you start to worry about the rain? I don’t mean about it ruining your day or wrecking an event you’re planning, but at what point does it stop being normal, and start to alarm you?

I thought it might be because reaching The Buried (or allowing The Buried to reach you) might be easier when it’s raining, or something of the sort?

* Orrr if the point might have been to tell Jon to ~dig~ into the “[Eberhart?] and Strauss” firm. (Not sure about the name, it was never mentioned before? One “Harry Eisenhard” had disappeared in MAG099’s statement, which was a Buried one, but it’s clearly not pronounced the same.)

* Or if it wasn’t something about needing to Face The Fears in order to find a way out.

* Or maybe it was Beholding telling Jon (to open the door and) to allow himself to get drowned, because it’s Inevitable anyway. (The whole anchor thing would be even more relevant given Jon’s situation! Give him reasons to care, give him safeguards able to tell him off if he slips!)

* tl;dr Can’t blame Jon for being too oblivious about what was supposed to be “the clue” in that statement, since I… didn’t bat an eye about “anchors” either – I mostly perceived them as a way to escape the Lonely specifically until now >>

- I’m!!! so happy that

(MAG099) ARCHIVIST: Is it… Why are you so insistent on keeping me around? GEORGIE: Because you’re trying to cut yourself off, and that’s… that’s really bad! Look, when’s the last time you spoke to someone who wasn’t me? ARCHIVIST: That’s… I… I–I talked to Martin a, a… a… a few weeks ago…? GEORGIE: Did you talk to him? Or did he talk to you, while you tried to find a way to escape? ARCHIVIST: I… uh… GEORGIE: Look, you’re worried. I get it. But if you really think you’re turning into something… inhuman, you need people around you. You need anchors. ARCHIVIST: All my “anchors” are just as deep in this as me. GEORGIE: Well, you still need them. ARCHIVIST: [SIGHS] Maybe you’re right. I… I’ll talk to the others. […]

Even if she’s not there, Georgie was right! “Anchor” was the word she used! ;w; (She was also the one to coin “avatar” before we learned that Gertrude also used it! Georgie is good at finding the right word when people are describing concepts!)

… Though it’s not a matter of stopping Jon from turning “inhuman” now ;; Elias had told Jon it was an irrelevant distinction back in MAG092 (“Jon, what does human even mean? I mean, really? You still bleed, you can still die. And your will is still your own, mostly. That’s more than can be said for a lot of the ‘real’ humans out there.”), Jon mentioned that he didn’t feel as heartless as he expected to with that development (MAG126: “I thought… moving away from my humanity would have made that seem more acceptable. That sort of sacrifice… but it just makes me sad…”), and it indeed feel like it’s not at the top of Jon’s fears anymore? (But he would still need anchors for this precise reason, probably ;;)

- Jonathan “I need an anchor!” Sims, why are you so relieved about that fact as if it were a helpful indication; must I remind you that

(MAG122) ARCHIVIST: Georgie, I– GEORGIE: Jon. If this really is a second chance… please, try to take it. But I don’t think that it is. ARCHIVIST: Georgie, I don’t und– GEORGIE: Take care of yourself.

nobody

(MAG127) ARCHIVIST: How’s Melanie? BASIRA: How do you think? ARCHIVIST: I, er, I should probably… talk to h– BASIRA: You should probably stay as far away as possible. She doesn’t want to see you. ARCHIVIST: No. No, o–o–of course.

currently

(MAG128) BASIRA: I’ll try and be back in a week or two. Don’t think about me. ARCHIVIST: Right.

wants

(MAG129) MARTIN: Stop. Stop, please, I–I shouldn’t know any of this, I… [PACKING UP] I–I–I really need to go, I–I’m… ARCHIVIST: Right. … right. MARTIN: Please, stop finding me.

to see or talk to you. I mean. Even friggin’ Elias, of all people, doesn’t want Jon to see him (for nebulous reasons):

(MAG127) BASIRA: [SIGHS] Fine. So you won’t see him, but you’re happy for him to hear our conversations. ELIAS: He can listen all he wants, but he’s at a very delicate stage right now, and I… fear my presence would be a… a distraction. I’ve made it clear my cooperation’s contingent on his not seeing me, and my terms have been accepted thus far.

Well. To be fair, Jon didn’t present it as the Solution – it’s a lead:

(MAG129) ARCHIVIST: […] I need an anchor. I… I could go in… myself, I, I could find her. And… then, I just need to get out. I need something out here. Something I can know the way back to. I, I don’t know what. But… [HUFFS] It’s a start.

I don’t know what or whom he would be choose, though? Georgie elected to leave him to his own devices at the beginning of this season; Basira has repeatedly mentioned that she doesn’t trust him; Melanie is currently healing and not fine (and she didn’t like Jon even before getting tied down to the Institute). Even worse, for Basira: Elias made it pretty clear in MAG092 that if anyone is Daisy’s anchor, it’s Basira. And Basira presented Daisy in a similar way, too:

(MAG092) ELIAS: […] Should I, or the Institute, be destroyed, you will all, unfortunately, follow suit. […] And it would not be a pleasant death. DAISY: Bullshit! ELIAS: Then shoot me. Just squeeze the trigger, and watch the only person you care about die screaming. Your last connection to humanity. Do it. BASIRA: Daisy…

(MAG117) BASIRA: […] But at least Daisy’s coming along. I mean… I know she’s… difficult. Everything they say about her, it’s true, it’s fair. But… she’s solid. She’s a fixed point. And if she’s there, I know exactly where I stand, exactly what I’m doing relative to her. She has no doubts. […] Despite everything she’s done, she’s… she’s still the best partner I ever had.

(MMMMM, Elias’s line to Daisy is very close to Kulbir’s “I gripped the last connection I had to the world I knew”, isn’t it?)

Given Daisy and Basira’s relationship, and given how Jon presented the “anchor” as something that would help you to get out, it kind of excludes right away that Basira could potentially go inside to rescue Daisy; she would need her to remain outside of it in order to find her way back to her? Though, with how Basira managed to escape The Unknowing by herself in MAG119, and how she mentioned the events in MAG128, maybe she would be able to find her own way out of this one by herself, too (is she her own anchor, after all?) – but Daisy would probably not be able to leave the coffin if they’re both inside of it.

* Regarding Jon: I wish that Martin could turn out to be his anchor, because this season is breaking my heart, but I feel like their exchange at the beginning of the episode was kind of… making it clear that it couldn’t be him, that he wouldn’t agree to it (or then, Jon would have to push for it, and maybe push too far). On the one hand, Jon has been able to find him twice (MAG124, MAG129) thanks to Spooky Powers, when Martin wasn’t expecting Jon to be able to; on the other hand… they have never been especially close – mostly because Jon isn’t especially close to anyone. They used to look a bit closer from the outside, but I felt it was mostly because Martin hadn’t given up on Jon in season 2 (unlike Tim)? Jon trusted him in season 3, Jon tried to talk to him in MAG102, Jon is currently missing him and worried for him and trying to talk and reach for him (AND I LOVE IT, OKAY), but Jon barely knows Martin and I wouldn’t say there is a deep, stable emotional connection between them at the moment? If it had to be someone, I would be leaning towards Georgie.

* (Or The Admiral, but I doubt that Jon would be willing to involve him. Though: I have trouble picturing him making Georgie come to the Institute, too… He didn’t want to involve her much, making her enter The Eye’s temple would sound very risky in that regard, especially with Peter Lukas currently running it?)

* (I keep thinking about Helen because of the doors and because LISTEN… listen…

(MAG127) BASIRA: And don’t open the coffin. ARCHIVIST: [HUMOROUS EXHALES] It is addressed to me! [SILENCE] … Yes, alright. … Alright. [CLICK.]

=> if you get inside the coffin through another door, you don’t need to open the coffin! No breaking (implicit) promises! >:D)

* There is still the possibility of Jon’s grandmother, but I didn’t get the feeling that they were especially close when Jon recalled his childhood with her in MAG081…?

* If the “anchor” is an item: there are the tape recorders, though it’s mostly them who seem to find their ways to Jon, these days. There is also the Web lighter, the status of which is currently unknown: did Jon still have it on him during the Unknowing, or had Martin borrowed it to burn statements in MAG118? What happened to it during Jon’s coma? Same as the tape recorders, though: is it the lighter that follows Jon, or Jon who is drawn to it?

(MAG111) GERRY: […] Nice lighter. You a spider freak, then? ARCHIVIST: What? Oh! Er, n–no. I–I, I never really, uh… I never really thought of it.

* Other contender: the Archives themselves, or the Institute overall?

(I regret even deeper that Basira hasn’t apparently shared with Jon her discussion with Elias, because it implied that Elias still has plans regarding Jon… so if Jon really can’t make it out alone, I wonder whether someone would bulge to save him this time, if things were to derail horrendously. If past experiences are any indication: no, nobody would help him, especially not Elias since Jon was kidnapped for a whole month outside of The Eye’s reach and he only got saved because “Michael” went to finish him, even when The Unknowing was coming up. But. Still.)

Anyway! The lighter made me think again about how it’s not exactly that, but I feel like there is a bit of “Ariadne’s thread helping you through the maze” imagery in the idea of descending into the coffin? Not exactly since it doesn’t seem to be about marking the way back but having something to go back to, but! As I said, a bit. (Fun fact apparently, web strings used by spiders when they go from one place to another can be called “Ariadne’s threads” in French. The more you know.)

- I Can’t Expect Things To Go Greatly In This Series, so: I wonder if even Jon manages to get in and to find Daisy… either she will be either far too gone already and they’ll have to confine her somewhere instead, either Jon will make a mistake resulting in her death – while Basira was working on her way to get her out of it alive. In the latter case, it would definitely cement the fracture between Basira and Jon in such a way that they would both be at fault: Jon would have tried to help but would have broken the interdiction of not opening the coffin; Basira would have wanted to save Daisy but, by refusing to share what she was doing, only nurtured Jon’s eagerness to try to fix things. So yeah. There are many ways it could go very bad, and I have had too many moments of “actually, things are only getting worse, I miss the time when they were less Worse” to hope for how the situation could improve :|

(But maybe it could not be a disaster. Maybe Jon could wait for Basira to come back before trying anything; maybe they would manage to save Daisy; maybe Basira would come back with Simon Fairchild on Elias’s recommendation because he still has a terrible sense of humour, and Jon could take example on how Gertrude stopped the Sunken Sky by throwing Simon into the coffin, neutralizing two threats at the same time. Would make him (rightfully) lose humanity points in Basira’s eyes, though.)

(- Melanie’s bullet was removed, tho!! Which is definitely an improvement, even if she’s currently a wreck.

First was Melanie, now is Daisy… even if the Mission To Rescue Daisy ends in a disaster, maybe trying to get Martin back will come after. Even though we know that Martin has an agenda.)

- If Jon does end up going down into the coffin: I wonder if we will hear him live? Or if he’ll describe what happened afterwards? …………….. or if the scene would switch to Elias describing the events for us. :|||||

- CHEERS!! The Pit (MAG097) had teeth inside and a tongue, so we know that Buried things can bite. That leaves plenty of opportunities for Jon, who *gasps* is still missing a Buried scar, to get it from there.

The Dark also had the creature that can wreck you. The Flesh has plenty of ways to twist you a bit. As for the Lonely:

(MAG125) ARCHIVIST: […] It’s… frustrating, to be honest. I finally feel myself, I feel… focused, and ready – and I find myself basically alone.

(MAG129) ARCHIVIST: [SIGHS] I suppo– … I miss you. MARTIN: [SNERK] ARCHIVIST: I’m just… MARTIN: Lonely. ARCHIVIST: [SIGHS] Yeah.

Whether it’s part of Elias&Peter’s plan or a nice bonus snack for Peter: the Lonely is already affecting Jon. Slowly completing the “collection”, uh.

MAG130’s title is already out, and MMMMMMM. Biggest plot-twist would be if The Flesh wasn’t involved, uh. (Can we have Melanie back a bit? ;w; Maybe giving a statement about how The Flesh attacked two months ago? ;w;)

#the magnus archives #mag129 #tma liveblog #long post/#tma spoilers/#tma season 4 #*mag097!jon's voice*#'Is he trying to warn me not to ignore my own metaphorical pit; because if so: what *is* my metaphorical pit?'

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