#the day i get back into tma full force is the day i will force elias bouchard into an au like this

[bee-ina-boat]

There's something about villains being stripped of their power and then being forced to deal with their own issues and traumas and actions and then becoming a pathetic sad idiot going through a painfully slow redemption arc that just. MmMMMMMmMMMMMMMMMmmm

Yes

[wouldtheybecomeafearavatar]

Can I ask—what’s the difference between “by coercion” and “unawareness/conditioning”?

Yeah, sometimes I wonder if the wording is a bit confusing. As it's put in the intro post:

Yes, by coercion: they would go through with it, but only if threatened with a loved one's life or something along those lines.

Yes, by unawareness or conditioning: they wouldn't realize until it's too late or would be raised to be an avatar, unaware their way of existence is not normal.

To explain a bit further (spoilers for several character arcs in TMA):

Coercion means the character would be forced or manipulated into it by someone or something. It requires a degree of awareness of what is happening (otherwise they'd go under unawareness).

Robert Montauk being forced to work for The People's Church of the Divine Host to get his wife back could be an example, though I'm not sure he ever achieved full Dark avatar status.

Basira would have ended up in this category if she'd continued to work for the institute long enough to become an Eye avatar, as Elias forced her to sign the contract under threat of Daisy's life.

I'd probably put Martin in the coercion category too, since he was going along with Peter Lukas and The Lonely to potentially save Jon.

Conditioning means that the character was groomed into it by someone from a young age, or born to be an avatar. It should be noted that this only applies to people or beings who under other circumstances could have made a different choice. A being that came into existence as an expression of a Fear would be manifestation instead.

Agnes Montague is kind of the defining example of this category, though members of the Lukas family being raised into it also count.

I think Gerry Keay could be another example of this. Eye avatarhood specifically wasn't a foregone conclusion for him, but he never really had a chance at a normal life. Willingly may be more accurate; he didn't choose to get involved with the Fears, but he did choose The Eye.

Unawareness is pretty self-explanatory, though I would point out this doesn't mean that the character never realises they are transforming. That (strictly speaking) wouldn't actually work, since becoming an avatar does require an active choice at some point. In this case it's more that the character doesn't realise until they're at the point of no return and the choice they are making is between death or becoming an avatar. If they refuse once they realise it'd be "go along but stop before transformation".

Jon is an example. Coercion could also be argued, given that Elias was definitely pushing him to go further and further using the (false) threat of the Unknowing, but I think Jon was too unaware of how he was being manipulated to go in coercion.

I think Michael Shelley would also go into this category. He was manipulated into it by Gertrude, but he had no idea what was going to happen. His case is a bit of a strange one in general though, I'm not sure he even had any affinity for The Distortion to start with.

At the end of the day, these are just my opinions and you can vote however you want, but I hope this helps answer your question! (Sorry for the essay)

[cirrus-grey]

Hi! While listening to TMA and slowly going through some episode tags, I found your blog! I really like your TMA takes, and since some other people's posts from back when the episodes were airing surprised me, I was wondering if it's okay to ask you for your opinion on something 4 years late.

I just got to what looks like the end of a longer subplot - Jon and Martin talked at the end of episode 174 about how Jon feels like killing people makes him worse. While going through the tags of the previous episodes, I was pretty surprised at how divisive episode 169 was. I definitely didn't expect people to read Jon as forcing Martin to go with him into the burning building or disregarding his wishes; I wasn't expecting people to read Martin as manipulative either. It felt like they communicated as well as they could while not being in a good place, mentally speaking (and, well, physically too). Still, I feel like it was easier for me to put myself into Martin's headspace, and even though I know Jon doesn't like admitting to wanting to hurt anyone because he feels guilty (which is good of course, that he lets himself feel conflicted, and pretty expected that he doesn't like broadcasting wanting to kill someone), his level of evasiveness surprised me, especially with how long he didn't admit there was another way to go. There are a lot of things in his head happening simultaneously (not wanting Martin to be in distress, wanting to kill Jude, trying to communicate, being aware he should have communicated sooner) that I can't seem to make sense of, and I wanted to ask you about your thoughts on this, if you feel like sharing!

Hello and welcome! I’m always down to offer my opinions on TMA. Sorry this one took a few days to answer - I wanted to check a few details in the transcript and I haven’t had a chance to sit down with it until today. That being said, one major caveat before I start: I haven’t listened to this season in a while, so I may be missing some extra context from conversations that surround this episode. Take what I say with a grain of salt!

Most importantly: Jon does not realize his actions are causing Martin undue distress until the tape turns on and the episode starts. Martin hasn’t voiced any particular dislike of fire until then, and Jon has promised not to read his mind. He’s keeping that promise, so when he makes the decision to go after Jude he doesn’t see any reason why it should be different than smiting Not!Sasha, or going after Oliver. (There’s also something to be said here about the fact that Jon is so used to physical pain at this point that he doesn’t realize Martin sees it as a reason to avoid an area, but that gets into a different sort of character analysis.) As far as Jon is concerned, going after Jude is no more unpleasant an experience than crossing any other domain, so he doesn’t see a need to give Martin advance warning. It’s a failure of communication on both sides, but an understandable one.

As you say, he’s hesitant to admit he wants to kill Jude… but I think there’s also a level of assuming that Martin will be absolutely onboard with it. So far, he killed Not!Sasha and Martin proposed going full Kill Bill, he didn’t kill Oliver and Martin was disappointed… surely this is just getting back on track, right? Martin’s the one that really wanted to kill avatars, surely he won’t object to Jon picking which avatars they kill, right? (“It’s just – when you said –” “You said you were onboard.”)

All of which is to say, I don’t think he sees it as hiding something from Martin, or needing to ‘admit’ that there’s another way to go. He genuinely doesn’t realize that Martin might want to find another way to go until he asks (“You’re sure there isn’t another way?”) and then literally the first thing Jon says is “I’m sorry,” because it doesn’t hit him until that moment that he’s just assumed Martin’s willingness the entire way without asking him. As soon as he realizes Martin might not be willing, he tries his best to let him make the choice. (“Alright. If you really don’t want to do this, w-we can go another way.” “I should have told you before, so – I leave the decision to you.”)

…Which is, I think, the part of the episode that most people were arguing about after it dropped.

Martin throwing the choice right back at Jon… it isn’t deliberately manipulative, but he’s definitely making an opening for Jon to step in with the chivalrous boyfriend ‘I’d never put you in harm’s way, let’s turn around!’ thing. He’s assuming that Jon knows how he really feels (‘please let’s not go through the fire’), and is using that to avoid having to disappoint Jon by asking to find another way. He’s the one who proposed Kill Bill - he doesn’t want to be the one to call it off now, certainly not when Jon seems to have his heart set on it.

Jon, of course, takes his “It’s your revenge; your choice, not mine,” at face value and decides to go in. I’ve never seen it as forcing Martin to go in, it’s just… trusting that Martin is being honest with him when he says he wants Jon to make the decision. Jon said he wanted to go through, Martin said it’s his decision, surely Martin must know that means they’re going through. Yes, he’s failing to read Martin’s subtext, but… Jon has struggled with paranoia for a long time. He had to make a deliberate choice to trust people (end of season 3) and in many ways trust is still a deliberate choice. That includes trusting your boyfriend when he says “it’s your choice.” Jon’s not about to start listening to that nagging little voice in the back of his head saying ‘maybe he doesn’t mean that’ because it’s the same nagging little voice that used to say ‘maybe he’s trying to kill you.’ By now he knows that Martin will be distressed by going through, but Martin has told him that he’s willing to undergo that distress for the sake of Jon’s revenge, so it's okay. (He doesn’t and can’t know that Jude will take so long to die and make it that much more distressing in the process; I think both of them would have handled this whole conversation differently if they’d known they were going to end up in the middle of an inferno.)

Phew! That got long. Tl;dr, it’s communication problems on both sides (it always is with these two), not anything deliberately malicious. Jon’s not forcing Martin, he’s just making assumptions; Martin’s not manipulating Jon, he’s just being conflict-avoidant. Under any normal circumstances it wouldn't be a big deal (“You said you were okay with me painting the living room!” “I didn't think you meant purple, Jon!” “Okay, okay, if it bothers you that much we can pick a different color.” “No, no, it's your project; your choice.” “Purple, then.” “Oh.”), they just have the misfortune of being in the middle of the apocalypse, which blows all those normal couple problems way out of proportion.

[fluentmoviequoter]

Midnight Mistletoe

Day 1 of 12 Days of Ficmas

Pairing: Dalton Lambert x fem!reader

Summary: After Chris convinces Dalton to decorate his dorm, complete with mistletoe, you show up in the middle of the night to check on him.

Word Count: 1.5k+ words

Warnings: a ton of fluff, Christmas decorations?, references the event of The Red Door but takes place after.

Masterlist Directory | Dalton Lambert Masterlist | Request Info

“What are you doing?” Dalton asks as Chris walks into his dorm. “I thought I told you to give the key back.”

“You did,” Chris says, smiling as she sets several bags on Dalton’s bed. “But this place needs a little holiday cheer, and we both know you won’t do it. So, your Chris-tmas helper is here. Get it? Chris?”

Dalton sighs as he stands, running his hand through his hair before answering, “Yeah, I get it. Hilarious. You’re decorating my dorm for Christmas? Immediately after Thanksgiving?”

“Calm down, Scrooge.”

Dalton shakes his head and looks in one of the bags. There’s a miniature tree, lights, a Christmas countdown, and a bundle of green leaves.

“What is this?” he asks, pulling the bundle out.

“Ah, that is the key to my long-term sanity,” Chris jokes. At Dalton’s unimpressed look, she rolls her eyes and adds, “Mistletoe.”

“Why are you putting up mistletoe in my dorm?”

“Because she’s always here, and you need to make a move. I’m just nudging you in the right direction.”

“You’re meddling.”

“Call it what you want, as long as it works.”

Chris presses a button on her phone, and Christmas music fills the dorm. Dalton agrees to help her put the decorations up and, within a few minutes, is enjoying himself. When the bags are empty, and only the mistletoe remains, Chris holds it up and asks where he wants it. He looks around, and instead of making the anticipated joke or saying nowhere, he says, “Above the door.”

✯✯✯✯✯

Your dorm is full of Christmas music, the smell of cinnamon, and a skinny Christmas tree covered in ornaments. When Chris asked you to go shopping with her for Christmas decorations for the dorms, you went a little overboard. She invited you to help decorate Dalton’s, but you thought she was kidding, so when she sends you a picture of the finished product, you can’t help but laugh into your festive room.

The sun has set, and you invite Chris and Dalton over for hot chocolate, cookies, and a new Christmas movie, an invitation which they accept quickly. During previous movie nights, Dalton always sat on the floor while you and Chris sat on your bed, so when Chris shows up with her own blanket and gets comfortable on your rug, you’re more than a little confused. She winks at you, making you sigh as you realize she’s back to her meddling ways.

“Uh, Dalton, make yourself comfortable. I need to finish the hot chocolate first,” you say before returning to your mini-fridge and microwave.

Once the mugs are made to everyone’s preferences, you hand Chris and Dalton theirs before grabbing your own and sitting beside Dalton on your bed.

“Do you want me to move?” Dalton asks as you shift your leg.

“No, no, I just didn’t want to be in your space,” you explain with a forced laugh.

“I don’t mind,” Dalton promises.

You nod and let your leg fall back to its original position, your knee brushing Dalton’s thigh. The movie begins, but you are more interested in Dalton sitting beside you.

“Your decorations look great,” Dalton whispers during a snowball fight montage.

“Thanks! Yours do too,” you respond. “Chris sent me a picture.”

“Chris did most of it.”

“But you let her, and you came here, so you’re getting in the Christmas spirit whether you want to or not.”

“Christmas just hasn’t been the same since… since I started projecting I guess.”

“Well,” you begin, placing a hand on his arm, “we’ll make this the first of many good Christmases.”

“Thanks.”

Dalton starts to lean in, but the scene changes, and Chris makes a comment that draws him out of the moment. He smiles at you and turns back to the screen, laying his hand over yours as he does. You’re pretty sure he was going to kiss you, and his hand on yours gives you more than enough promise that when the time is right, he will. The only concern is whether or not the time will ever be right; Dalton has been through a lot, and there’s no guarantee the Further won’t attack again if the door opens. For now, though, the Christmas season and Dalton’s company make everything seem like it will be okay… good even.

✯✯✯✯✯

Chris and Dalton leave, engaged in a heated debate over who would win a snowball fight. You laugh as you close your door, leaning against it and flexing your hand. You can still feel the warmth from Dalton’s skin on yours. Recently, the world has felt like a never-ending winter, but his warmth is your hope.

“Look at my arms, Chris, I can throw harder than you. I would obliterate you,” Dalton’s voice floats through your door before they turn the corner.

“Should have kissed him when you had the chance,” you whisper to yourself before cleaning up.

✯✯✯✯✯

“What happened?” Chris asks. Dalton furrows his brows, and she clarifies, “I gave you two the bed. What happened? Did you finally kiss?”

“I thought that’s what the mistletoe was for.”

“I don’t care where you do it, Dolphin, I care that it happens.”

“We didn’t. I was going to, then I backed out.”

“Why?”

“The moment ended? I don’t know. What if you’re wrong and she doesn’t want it?”

“Dolphin,” Chris says as she makes Dalton stop walking. “I shouldn’t tell you this, but that night at the beginning of the year, when you were trapped in the Further with your dad? She confessed a bunch of stuff while you were gone. And was ready to sacrifice herself if it brought you back. I’m not just telling you what you want to hear; she feels the same and you need to make a move before it’s too late.”

Dalton stares at her as she walks away, his mind flashing images of you, scared and alone, while he is trying to close the door and get back to you. He has a list of things he wants to tell you, and part of him wishes he had heard what you said that night. After returning to his dorm, he tries to sleep but can’t stop wondering what Chris meant by saying that you would sacrifice yourself for him.

✯✯✯✯✯

After an hour of tossing and turning and only getting more upset and anxious, Dalton texts you and asks if you’re awake. You don’t answer, and after a few minutes, he turns his phone off and lays back down. Just as his head hits the pillow, someone knocks on his door. He stretches while walking across the room, opening the door to see you looking up at him with pinched brows and your phone gripped tightly in your hand. You’re wearing the same pajama set from earlier, but your hair is pulled away from your face.

“Are you okay?” you ask, stepping closer to him.

“Yeah, I’m fine. What are you doing here?” Dalton responds, letting you inside before closing the door.

“You sent me a message and I just assumed… sorry.”

“No, don’t apologize. Um, I just wanted to talk to you.”

“Oh, okay.” 

You release a sigh, and your shoulders drop. Dalton watches, enamored with how much you care about him while growing concerned about your worry for him. 

“Do you- why are you still awake?” Dalton asks, avoiding his real questions, ‘Do you always worry about me this much?’

“I cleaned my dorm and then was thinking and couldn’t go to sleep,” you answer, looking down at the floor.

“Thinking about what?” Dalton presses.

“You,” you whisper, glancing up at him. “And what almost happened earlier.”

“I was too.”

You smile and tilt your chin back to look at Dalton. When you lean back to look at the ceiling, Dalton says your name, concern lacing his voice at the sudden movement. 

“What is that?” you ask, still looking at the ceiling. 

Dalton doesn’t have to look up to answer, “Mistletoe. Chris’s idea, not mine.”

You look at Dalton, smiling as you tease, “You couldn’t kiss me in my dorm but you could text me at midnight to get me under the mistletoe in yours?”

“That wasn’t my idea, I…” Dalton trails off as he realizes you’re kidding. “Very funny. Besides, I told Chris the mistletoe was a stupid idea.”

“Why?”

“Does anybody actually honor that tradition? Because most guys I knew in high school who got a girl under the mistletoe got one of two things: a kiss on the cheek or slapped in the face.”

“Well, which would you prefer? Since you have me here after all?”

You don’t let Dalton answer, raising your hands to his cheeks as you kiss him, leaning against him as he pulls you closer, his lips moving against yours. 

When you pull back, you answer his unasked question. “I worry about you, Dalton, but I’ll always be here.”

“Right here?” Dalton asks, raising his eyebrows as he looks at the mistletoe.

“As long as you want me.”

“Midnight, tonight, and every midnight after,” he whispers, kissing you again as he starts a new Christmas tradition.

[itsclydebitches]

I haven’t read a whole lot of TMA fic, so I’m sure this already exists somewhere, but I really want a time travel fic where Jon goes back to Gertrude’s era.

So it’s 2007-ish, before his younger counterpart has started working at the Institute, but years into Elias and Gertrude’s tenure. They’re having a normal day serving the semi-omniscient fear god when a fucking full-fledged avatar of the Beholding - complete with a small mountain of tapes - falls through a rift in space-time and crash lands on Gertrude’s desk.

(Season 5 Jon might have decided not to kill Helen and instead used her to get here. If he ever sees her again they’re going to have A Talk™ about her choice of transportation.)

For the record, a hot mess of a man falling from the sky indoors is only like... the eighth most interesting thing to happen to Gertrude this week. Still, it’s clear he’s not entirely human - one gets a sense for these things, even without a giant eyeball’s help - and she’s got a knife on him faster than you can say “Statement.” This doesn’t seem to faze the man.

That annoys the fuck out of Gertrude.

Meanwhile, Elias has nearly passed out from the supernatural alarm bells going off in his head because the Ceaseless Watcher’s special little boy is here!!! What does that mean? Hell if he knows, but this man is ALIGHT with the Entities’ marks, just dripping with the power of the Eye, and Elias finds he has the sudden urge to drop to his knees before this stranger, something he’s only ever done post-Watcher’s Crown.

(This might be a Jonlias fic, whoops.)

Elias, seeing The Archivist for the first time: 😍😍😍😍😍

Gertrude, seeing The Archivist for the first time: 🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪

So after introductions Jon is all, “Yes, I’m an eldritch monster that’s forced to feed off the trauma of others, but I’m your eldritch monster. Please, Gertrude, I’d like nothing more than to carve out Magnus’ heart with you so he can’t destroy the whole fucking world.”

Elias, suddenly experiencing true fear for the first time in decades, feeding the Eye and being fed in turn and basically entering a feedback loop where this powerful stranger threatening to murder him is the hottest thing he’s ever Seen: !!!!! 💖💞😱!!!!!🤩😊💚!!!!!

And at first Gertrude’s like hell no, not having any more goddamn avatars in my archives thank you, but then the trio passes young intern Sasha James (shhh don’t worry if that fits the timeline) and Jon looses it. The hold that the Stranger had on him in his original timeline has broken and he’s able to recognize this as the real Sasha - her face, her voice, her very panicked looks towards her bosses as this random man sobs into her shoulder. And Gertrude’s like dammit, clearly The Archivist still has some of his humanity left. No true Fear monster would ever willingly be that embarrassing.

After prying Jon away from Sasha and promising her a raise to avoid any HR reports, they get the whole long, traumatic story out of him, but any plans to just permanently kill Elias kinda... sputter out. It’s a little bit of a Web thing, a little bit of a time travel thing, and a little bit of Jon just feeling... wrong when he considers it, no matter what he’s told Gertrude. It’s similar to when he let Annabelle live, though Elias has done absolutely fuck-all to earn his mercy. This confuses Jon, though it’s pretty far down on his list of worries.

The good news is that Jon’s mere presence puts a permanent wrench in Elias’ plans. He’s never going to repeat the ritual to open the door, obviously, and good fucking luck marking another archivist while he’s Watching. Given Jon’s suspicions that he became semi-immortal after waking from his coma, he’ll be Watching a damn long time, you megalomaniacal bastard.

The bad news is that since Elias can no longer plot an intricate manipulation, he’s decided that the next best thing is to just convince Jon to bring about the end of the world willingly.

By wooing him.

Elias: “We can be Kings of a ruined world together, Jon~”

Gertrude: “I am not paid enough for this.”

So begins the office romance comedy of Jon’s nightmares, where instead of hating him for ruining his world domination plans, Elias is smitten - in a suave, very creepy kinda way - and has decided that he’ll simply wait Jon out, wearing him down until the inevitable day when he realizes that they were meant to be. A full-fledged Archivist was dropped into his lap, ranting about how he out-foxed a future version of Elias, tormented by his own monstrosity, and people expected his narcissistic ass to not fall head over heels with his own creation?? As if.

Jon is Not Having A Good Time.

Originally when he landed here he was all, “Where is my Martin whom I love so dearly? Where is the support and companionship that I crave?” But after ‘bumping into’ him a few times outside the Institute, Jon comes to the bitter conclusion that whatever connection they had is gone. He recalls Martin’s firm belief that they never would have become a couple without all the trauma they’d been through and though this time around Jon definitely doesn’t hate him... he doesn’t love him either. Oh, he loves that he exists, seeing Martin whole and blissfully ignorant of the Fears helps heal something in Jon, but it takes him a very long time to admit that he’s too nice. Too caring. Too tentative in his insecurity. Jon grinds his teeth and admits in the privacy of his own thoughts that he was attracted to a bastard version of Martin, one who showed off a little bit of his own monstrosity, was connected to his own domain, could cut just as cruelly with his words as Jon could with his powers... Meeting with him now over coffee, inches away, Jon has never felt farther from him. This Martin simply isn’t a part of the world that created Jon.

Good, he decides and firmly steers Martin away from the Institute. Thanks to some blackmail and Peter Lukas’s money, Martin finds himself with a caretaker for his mom and the promise of a full ride through whatever creative writing program he can get into.

Meanwhile, Elias is of course stalking and spying on Jon whenever he can, doing the metaphorical equivalent of doodling hearts in his notebook whenever he catches a glimpse of why Jon no longer connects with Martin. He’s a bastard avatar with shitty morals and, frankly, far better taste in poetry. Open your third eyes, Jon!!

Gertrude, who avoided sacrificing Michael after a stern talking to from Jon: “You sure you don’t want the Spiral to eat you, kid? Anything’s better than watching this clusterfuck.”

Michael: 🙃🙃🙃

After a while the Institute settles into a new kind of normal. Jon, Gertrude, and Michael defend the archives from the slew of enemies they’ve both amassed, stopping the occasional ritual in their free time. Jon has long come to the conclusion that the Fears couldn’t have originated here - not with the Eye being unable to see its own creation - so starving them in this reality at the expense of their world wouldn’t serve the greater good. The best they can do is continually contain them - which they’ve gotten real good at. Elias continues to bother Jon with a fervor that’s almost admirable (he can see how this guy managed plans for upwards of 200 years) and waffles between playing the Mysterious Boss archetype that he’d used on Jon the first time around, and just giving in to the utter adoration he feels whenever Jon is in the room. It’s clear he’s long since started worshiping Jon rather than the Eye and the Eye is... totally fine with that?

Gertrude: “How did you get the Ceaseless Watcher to treat you like a favored child?”

Jon: Trauma?? 🤷‍♂️🤷‍♂️🤷‍♂️

After seeing how much happier Martin is, Jon guides the rest of his former assistants away from the Institute, Sasha included. It helps, a little, but it also makes him even more isolated than he was the first time around.

Gertrude realizes this, so when Elias’ flirting - “I’ve found a fresh statement for you, Jon. Oh do stop glaring, it’s just a bit of chloroform. She’ll wake up soon. You can’t be satisfied with stale writings for forever” - starts inducing more fond annoyance than fear or horror, she becomes #Concerned.

Gertrude: “You realize that desensitizing you to his actions was the point all along, right?”

Jon: “Mmhm. But is it still manipulation if I know it’s manipulation?”

Gertrude: “You cannot possibly be considering this.”

Jon: “Would it help if I admitted that dating Elias wouldn’t be the worst decision I’ve ever made?”

Gertrude: “NO.”

The thing is, Jon liked Elias before he revealed himself to be an immortal body-snatcher hell-bent on creating... well, hell on Earth. He liked the soft academic exterior, his careful words, love of organization and attention to detail, the dry humor, cutting intellect, those suits that likely cost more than three months of his salary combined... In fact, Jon is now in a place to vividly remember the embarrassment he felt while interviewing for the archivist’s position, too busy avoiding looking at Elias’ lips to catch the hungry glint in his eye.

Of course, that Elias only exists as a veneer... though what was Jon’s “I’m just a normal man going grocery shopping, please ignore my scars and aborted grab as I resist demanding a statement from you” if not a veneer of its own? Where did their ‘real’ selves begin and their conscious choices end? The most awful thing about all this is that Elias is right. Oh, not about them being Kings of a ruined world, but about how no one but another avatar can truly understand an avatar. By this point Jon is years past his coma, fully at peace - or at least, as at peace as he’ll ever get - with the fact that he chose to live as a monster rather than die as a human. That means Knowing things at his leisure... though he tries not to catch anything private. It means Compelling others to provide him with more knowledge... though he’s careful with his questions around friends. It means Feeding off of others’ worst moments in life... though Jon restricts himself to statements that Gertrude has collected first, so that he never haunts anyone’s dreams. And it means spending the majority of his time with other monsters and monster-aligned allies... though Jon plants his feet firmly in his human morals and refuses to budge.

If he can navigate all that, why not this too?

Elias has said more than once that he would make Jon the worst version of himself - said with such glee and promise as to almost, almost sound like something Jon wants. Jon figures that the worst version of Elias, from his perspective, would be to look a bit more human.

“We can bring out the worst in each other,” he agrees one day, followed by a shark-like grin.

Elias hasn’t the faintest idea what he’s just gotten himself into.

And that feels wonderful. Manipulating him into being a marginally better person who doesn’t bring about the apocalypse might actually be more satisfying than stabbing him. The Elias of Jon's original timeline would have HATED this and that makes Jon do a happy little wiggle whenever he thinks about it.

Gertrude: “You’re leashing a fucking dragon, Sims.”

Jon: “Better than letting it roam free.”

Gertrude: “Just so long as he doesn’t chew through the reins.”

Jon: “Yeah well, I’ll be the first one burned if that happens” and he holds up his charred hand with a shrug.

So begins the most messed up courting ritual the world has ever seen. Do they work as a couple? Oddly enough, yes. Amazingly well, in fact. Is it a healthy relationship? LOL yeah right. But then that’s rather the point. Jon gave up on that the day he acknowledged that, yes, a part of him liked being the most powerful being roaming a hellish landscape - liked not being vulnerable for once. Back when he’d first joined the Institute, post-breakup with Georgie, Jon couldn’t even imagine someone liking him enough to grab a drink after work. He’s past pretending that having the cult-like devotion of a lover, the favor of a Fear god, and the grudging respect of everything else that goes bump in the night isn’t really fucking nice.

Sometimes Elias plays the part of a compassionate human for Jon, as a treat. Sometimes Jon let’s Elias bask in another’s terror, as a treat. Sometimes Jon is Jonathan Sims and sometimes he’s The Archivist. “Let’s rule a burned-out world together” becomes a staple request in their relationship, with Jon always giving Elias the equivalent of a pat on the head and a, “Sure, honey. Maybe next week.” They find something like balance that way.

Plus there’s Gertrude, perpetually in the shadows with an arsenal of weaponry and the promise to obliterate them both if they ever go too far. She reminds Jon of his grandmother when she threatens to fuck them up in the afterlife if they ever make her kill them.

Something, something, dysfunctional eldritch found families are beautiful?

Jon and Elias have achieved something akin to an uncanny, domestic bliss when Elias points out that this body won’t last forever...

Jon Does Not Like the idea of Elias kidnapping another innocent.

However...

Jon: “You know Jurgen Leitner is living in the Institute’s tunnels, right?”

And they lived ever after. The “happily” is highly subjective.

Bonus:

Post-apocalypse!Jon meeting with Original!Jon to warn him away from the Institute, painfully thin ever since his coma, hip-length hair streaked unnaturally white, a slew of scars covering every available bit of skin, the slightest green glow behind his eyes, somehow looking supremely confident and powerful while also embodying the most Awkward Academic you’ve ever seen: Hey.

Og!Jon: G-good lord!

Jon: It’s okay. You can say ‘fuck.’ Please say ‘fuck,’ Jon. We deserve it.

[himedanshicult]

I'm going to try and explain to you, as a trans woman myself, why you're wrong about transandrophobia advocates. I've never once seen a single one of them, and I've interacted with many over a long period of time nearly every day now, claim that transmascs cannot be transmisogynyistic, and I feel you're very deliberately conflating that with "transmascs don't have structural power over transfems", which IS true. They don't have power over us. They can be transmisogynistic but that doesn't mean it's systemic on their part. If anything, we have power over them, because transmascs are constantly shut out of queer spaces, taunted, told they should all die, have jokes made about them being forcibly impregnated, and harassed in attempts to force them back into the closet because everyone thinks transitioning to "man" is a morally bankrupt political choice. When they try to complain about these things, they're told to shut up and stop deprioritizing the real victims. They're told they have to consider themselves transmisogyny exempt - which is truly, I mean truly just a euphemism for hating on them regardless of if it's /supposed/ to include cis people - but when they try to come up with their own word, that's also wrong. And everyone is just...fine with "TMEs" who buy into that nonsense practically worshipping transfems to a degree I find skin-crawling. It's a bad situation.

if it seems like I'm conflating the two, well, that's because I am. i don't think it's a meaningful difference. simply saying that transmascs are capable of prejudice is an empty admission when you follow that with "but they can hold no meaningful power over trans women nor can they benefit from or weaponize systemic transmisogyny". not even getting into how these admissions often coexist with attempts to redefine transmisogyny into a "transphobia + misogyny" that can be experienced by trans men and women alike, emptying it further of credibility. the moment you start arguing that trans men have no power in the relation, you are downplaying the violence and exploitation that trans men exact upon trans women, particularly within transgender and queer spaces (which is funnily enough, what you are trying to do in this very ask!) and at that point, you might as well be denying trans mens capability of transmisogyny wholesale. at least, it would be more open and honest about what is being accomplished.

and like girl, im not even gonna touch the rest of this ask because I'd need to write a full essay just to drive home how wrong you are, like you are fucking conflating forced impregnation of trans men with tme/tma signifiers, like think abt that for a minute. there are cities whose entire lgbt scenes consist of large numbers of trans guys, but like 1 or 2 trans women- are those cities just barren of trannies, or is something else going on here? how does the average queer space or feminist org react to a rape accusation by a trans girl against a trans guy vs the other way around? for that matter, how does the legal system react to it? how did michfest treat trans guys and how did they trans lesbians? is every trans girl who talks about their local feminist or lgbt scene embracing trans guys while shunning them just lying out their ass? more to the point, why are these men you associate with hellbent on convincing you, a trans woman, that not only do they possess no systemic power over you but that you have systemic power over them? trying to ingrain into your mind that you are by default the aggressor? like, doesn't that strike you as a little akin to male/female socialization, especially since a lot of popular bloggers in this sphere openly espouse that concept?

for fear of getting my words twisted, let me be clear that i detest transphobia against trans men, and especially the proliferation of demonization towards testosterone hrt and phalloplasty thts spread like wildfire in lgbt spaces. trans men are subjected to a lot of horrific bullshit and there are trans girls who actively participate in that. im not opposed to that oppression being given a name. but none of that justifies this outright rejection of their capacity to perpetuate societal transmisogyny to their benefit that is championed in transandrophobia spaces. that only serves to allow trans men to turn a blindside on their own ability to hurt and oppress trans women and to obfuscate their actions when they do so. there are a ton of trans guys who hate transandrophobia bloggers for precisely that reason and feel deeply uncomfortable with their oppression being used to downplay and obfuscate transmisogyny

[late-to-the-magnus-archives]

Corrupted snippet (TMA x Malevolent)

- In which Elias has adjusted his plan to the new situation

- Yellow is acting a little jealous

- Possibly because Tim has adopted a wet cat

———-

It’s Jon.

Jon, who looks like a gray ghost, who holds out a key and a post-it note with a six-digit code, and who looks smaller than usual, as if whatever Bouchard said to him has compressed him right down.

“Oh, thanks.” Tim takes them. “Hey - you okay?” he says, softly, trying not to further spook the obviously spooked man.

Jon stares at him. “Did you know there are things?” he says.

“So that’s a nope,” says Tim, who has decided to adopt Jon whether Jon knows it or not, and takes his arm to gently lead him in. “Sit down, already, before you pass out?”

“I am not going to pass out,” says researcher-Jon, who has bristled like an irate hedgehog.

Tim sits him down, anyway, right on the cot.

It squeaks.

Tim plops onto a box labeled PAPER, which, as he’d hoped, is quite sturdy enough to support him. “You okay?” he says again.

“There are… there are things.”

Yellow finds Jon’s distress funny.

The chuckle is soft, dark, cruel; it makes Tim very angry.

Who the fuck does Yellow think he is, laughing at some poor guy for being scared?

He’s pretty sure this anger is his, not some stupid Desolation’s. Still, he takes a moment to force it down. “Yeah. I did know, little buddy, but only for about… two days? Or so? I’m losing track.”

“Oh,” says Jon. 

What the hell had Bouchard done up there? “I’m guessing your boss filled you in.”

Jon looks forlorn. “One of them’s got me already, apparently?”

“He just went full info-dump, didn’t he?” says Tim, who feels utterly justified in disliking that guy. “I’m sorry. I’m still wrestling with it all myself.”

“He says one of them’s got you, too,” says Jon. “And I am… I’m to go with you to your apartment, where we will obtain what is necessary from your belongings, and then retreat back to the Institute as quickly as possible.”

TIm blinks slowly. “He’s sending you?”

Jon reddens. “Yes. He says I… he says. I…”

Like a sopping wet cat, Tim thinks. “Might help to talk it out, yeah? Why don’t you start at the beginning? Was it Elias?”

“Oh, gods, yes it was Elias.” Jon puts his face in his hands. 

Tim, we don’t have time to play therapist.

Tim doesn’t have time to tell Yellow off, either, so he ignores him. “What happened, Jon?”

“I tried to quit to prove him wrong,” says Jon. “I couldn’t.”

“Okay,” says Tim.

“I wouldn’t have believed him except he knew about Mister Spider,” says Jon.

“Okay?” says Tim.

Jon stares. “Can we go? I… I don’t think I can sit here and think too much about this right now.”

“Sure, all right. We can talk later,” says Tim in his most soothe-the-spooked-cat voice. “But - no offense - why is he sending you?”

“Oh. Because I saw who was following you this morning.”

Tim blinks. “You did?”

“Three of them. Two looked quite ill, but one just looked… angry. They all made me nervous; I’d assumed you knew, but Elias said you didn’t.”

Well, I suppose he has that much going for him, says Yellow, dismissively. He truly is in tune with the Beholding.

“I didn’t see anybody,” says Tim. “I really need the extra set of eyes. We’re… I’m a bit of trouble, you know?”

“That’s what he said.” Jon stands (and the cot squeaks). “He’s called us a car.”

“Then is all this… necessary?” says Tim. 

“Elias says it is, and I’m really not in a place to argue using rational concepts at the moment.”

Time snorts. “Yeah, it is a lot, right? Well, let’s go, then.” Tim guides him out the door.

Jon is shaking. His slightly oversized sweater-vest nearly hides it, but he is.

Pathetic, says Yellow, as if trying to rile.

And suddenly, Tim is completely sure he’s doing it to get Tim’s attention for himself.

Why? 

Jon gives Gertrude and absolutely wild look as they pass. If there were a window down here, Tim thinks Jon might leap for it.

Gertrude is unreadable. She glances once at Jon, then focuses on Tim again. “I’m watching you.”

“There’s a queue for that,” says Tim, and hurries Jon out.

“She’s odd,” says Jon as they take the stairs.

“Yeah?”

“Could’ve sworn she had blood all over her for a moment.”

Wait, says Yellow. Give me eye contact. Now.

After that rudeness? Tim sighs.“Don’t suppose Elias told you why I’m in trouble,” he says.

“No. He said that was your purview, should I earn your trust.”

Tim considers. Considers the shittiness of that statement, the subtle cutting-down of Jon, the implication that he wasn’t already worth trust. “So he’s really a dickhead, isn’t he?”

Jon sputters. “He’s… I don’t know! He’s just Elias! I’ve barely noticed him in the past three years. Once my interview was done, we’ve hardly interacted!”

Tim. I know you can hear me. Stop ignoring me, Tim.

Tim wonders what will happen if he does.

Is this really the place to push? How?

Oh, he’s tempted. 

But… poor researcher Jon would have to deal with the fallout, and that doesn’t seem fair. “Right,” he says. “So… the things Elias told you about? Something like that jumped out of the book I brought in. It’s in my head right now, whining for attention.”

Maybe he’d push a little.

Jon gawks.

Yellow’s ire (which Tim can feel) is only matched by his shock. The combination is silent.

Ha, Tim thinks.

Jon is taking this very seriously. “Really?”

“Really. Talks all the time. Shares an eye.” Tim taps his right cheek. “He’s looking at you through this one. He asked if you’d pause a moment while he checks you out.”

“Checks me out?” blurts Jon, stopping before the final stair. “For what? A new host?”

Hardly. That would not be worth my time, Yellow drawls, and now Tim is sure they’re in some kind of weird wit battle.

He doesn’t know the rules. Wasn’t told them. Figures that gives him the right to make them up. “Naw,” he says. “He’s not a swinger. He just wants to see, is all.”

Jon’s eyes seem take up half his face. “What?” he says.

“You know, because he’s in me already?”

This has gone right over Jon’s head. He stares at Tim as though he’s speaking Sanskrit.

Wet paper bag of a man, Tim thinks with growing fondness, and has mercy. “Never mind. Let’s go see that car he called for us, yeah?”

He’s an idiot, Yellow declares. Mentally deficient.

Tim rolls his eyes.

Apparently, Jon likes having something concrete to do, because he’a up that final stair and across the lobby at a significantly faster pace.

[ollieofthebeholder]

to find promise of peace (and the solace of rest): a TMA fanfic

<< Beginning < Prev. || AO3

Chapter 25: July 2016

Sasha was not an older sister. Or a younger sister. At least, not as far as she knew. She had in fact grown up as yet another unwanted child lost in the foster care system, shunted from home to home without time to put down roots or even really form proper friendships, which meant that by the time she’d got to uni and a more settled life she’d lost the knack. She cared about Tim and Jon and Martin, of course she did, but up until a couple of days ago, she would have laughed at the very idea that she cared about any of them more than she cared about herself.

So she hadn’t been prepared for the surge of emotions she felt every time Martin opened his mouth. What she’d thought would be a simple, academic, satisfy-my-curiosity-and-get-some-goddamned-answers conversation had rapidly turned into a series of revelations that smacked her upside the head and left her breathless and nauseous.

She’d told Jon when she made her statement that she didn’t consider Martin to have the best self-preservation instincts in the world. Obviously she’d been wrong. He’d been embroiled in this…bullshit…since he was a small child, going on twenty years now, and he’d survived. Not only survived but thrived, and he’d apparently been quietly protecting all of them this entire time. But he shouldn’t have had to, and she was taken aback by the intensity of that conviction.

Maybe it was just that she’d only really had Tim as an example of a protective instinct, or thought she had. Now, though, she could see that it came in all sorts of styles. Tim’s protectiveness was a warm blanket and a hug, but Martin’s was a quietly-built fortress wall you never thought about being there or even really noticed until someone knocked one of the stones out on top of you, and Melanie’s was a barricade of cannons and barbed wire and flame. Sasha wasn’t entirely sure what hers was like, mostly because she hadn’t realized she had it before today, but she suspected it was somewhat akin to the way Gerry—Gerard—she wasn’t sure where she fell on the spectrum of being allowed to call him Gerry—was protective of Melanie and Martin.

Whatever it was, the look on Jon’s face when Gerard made his announcement brought it out full force.

“Elaborate,” she said, a bit more sharply than she meant to, because Jon looked absolutely terrified and she didn’t know if it was at the idea of the rituals themselves or the idea of an Avatar being a key component. “What rituals? What do they do?”

“It’s…different for each one. Probably. Look, it’s not like there’s a manual for this or anything.” Gerard sighed heavily. “Gertrude was trying to stop them. She’d dedicated most of her career as Archivist to it, or so she told me once. She could’ve been lying, I dunno. But we were…the one we were specifically trying to stop was the Unknowing.”

“Which sounds like a Stranger ritual,” Tim said slowly. Gerard nodded. “Did you manage it?”

“Dunno. Hadn’t by the time I died. I kind of assume she did, or we wouldn’t be here talking, but…well, I dunno,” Gerard repeated. “Maybe it’s not ready yet. Takes centuries to build up the power, and if it fails, it’s back to square one. Could be the Stranger is still building up.”

Sasha picked up her notebook and flipped back to her list, tallying up quickly. “I think you’re right. Look, out of all the statements we’ve done, the real ones I mean—well, take away Father Burroughs’ statement and the one where you found the book at the nexus of all the fears, and the two we’ve had the most about have been the Stranger and the Flesh, tied with five each. And the anatomy class one was a live statement—that can’t be a coincidence, right? You said they were trying to learn to—to imitate humanity better. Is that part of this…Unknowing thing?”

Gerard sighed. “Maybe the build-up to it. I-I mean, if they’re recruiting people, luring them in, they want to be as…convincing as possible. Could also just be they were tormenting the professor. The actual Unknowing, though, doesn’t really matter how human they look, I reckon.”

Melanie squinted up at Martin’s face, her nose scrunched in worry, then turned to Gerard. “Okay, cards on the table. What is the Unknowing? Specifically.”

“I don’t have a play-by-play, if that’s what you’re asking. Not even sure Gertrude did. I just know the basics.” Gerard took a deep breath. “It’s a dance of some kind. Not—like a ballet, I guess, you know? And it centers around, well, the Dancer. Which, I think, is something mechanical, something made. Like a robot or a doll, maybe. Gertrude said something about a ‘mechanical Turk’ once, but—”

A chill ran up Sasha’s spine as she remembered one of the conversations she’d once had with Gertrude. “That was destroyed.”

All the heads in the room turned to look at her in varying degrees of shock and concern, except for Martin’s, which was perfectly blank and honestly scared her more than the others. It was Jon who spoke. “Sasha, you’ve heard of this?”

“Did a paper on it back in university. Wolfgang von Kempelen’s Mechanical Turk was—well, it was widely believed to have been a hoax, and I guess in the early days it was. It was supposed to be a chess-playing automaton that beat some of the best minds in Europe in its day, but years later it came out that there was a space under the table and a person hidden under it who actually controlled the Turk and played the game. Still a marvel of engineering, but not self-powered.” Sasha hesitated. “Supposedly it got sold to another man after Kempelen’s death and kept touring until 1854 when it was destroyed by fire, but I think that was a replica of the original. Gertrude let me read something once that she said she thought I’d find interesting—a journal entry from the first man who’d played the Turk, detailing an…incident in 1787. I didn’t believe it at the time, figured it was just the usual…sorry, Jon, but the usual spooky bullshit we have to sift through. After all, I had the papers to prove the Mechanical Turk was still touring for another sixty years, why would I believe some crackpot who saw it come to life only to get blown away by blind soldiers with a cannon?”

Gerard nodded slowly. “That explains a lot. Gertrude thought the only way to stop it, to really stop it, would be once it was underway. Anything you do to it ahead of time can be fixed, but if you disrupt it at the high point of the whole thing it should put it out of commission for centuries.”

“When was the last time the Eye tried a ritual?” Martin’s voice was extremely quiet, but in a way that sent another chill down Sasha’s spine.

Gerard swallowed hard. He looked like he was about to be sick, but he met Martin’s eyes without flinching. “Dunno. But Gertrude reckoned it was coming up.” He held out a hand to Melanie. “I swear I didn’t know last time I was home. I’d have told you then and there if I had. She’d told me about the Unknowing but not the Watcher’s Crown, not until we were in America, and I didn’t want to bring it up on a call or in a letter.”

“That should have come up last night, don’t you think?” Melanie sounded both angry and scared. “Like as soon as you had the opportunity? Don’t you think that’s something we needed to know? Jesus fuck, is that why you didn’t get in touch with us like you promised?”

“I—yes.” Gerard’s shoulders slumped, and he broke eye contact and looked away, picking at a frayed spot on his jeans. “I’m not going to pretend it isn’t. I—I got scared. She didn’t tell me much about it, just kind of mentioned it offhand and said she’d already made plans to avoid having to play a part in it, but…you know, I didn’t know if she’d—I didn’t know what she’d do if—I didn’t want her to meet you. Not until I told you.”

“Told us what?” Melanie demanded. “Because you didn’t. Is it somehow less dangerous now that she’s dead?”

“Yes,” Sasha said, understanding sinking into her heart and dropping it into the pit of her stomach with the weight of certainty. She looked up at Gerard, who had turned to her in obvious surprise. “I’m right, aren’t I? You weren’t worried about her trying to recruit them or whatever. It was that she would have recognized Martin as someone who’d been touched enough by the Eye to maybe be viable to a ritual, and she’d have killed him.”

Tim’s head shot up; Jon sucked in a sharp breath and turned ashen. Gerard nodded slowly. “That was my worry. She was…look, there were rumors, all right? Not by name, but there were a lot of whispers about the Archivist. I just thought it was part of the job description until I met her, but no, she was just a stone-cold bitch. Not the sort to hesitate when it came to…using people, or sacrificing them. And okay, maybe there was a bit of worry that she’d do to you two what she did to me—just use you up and discard you the second you weren’t of use anymore—but the bigger fear was that she’d just kill you, straight out.”

Sasha didn’t speak whatever language Melanie used for the next five minutes, but it definitely sounded profane. So did Tim, although she was at least able to identify that as Italian. Jon looked incredibly shaken. “Would—good Lord, do you think she really would have done that?”

Martin shook his head, not in negation, Sasha thought, just some sort of indefinable emotion. He was surprisingly calm when he spoke. “Like Gerry said, there were rumors—we all heard them. Honestly, it’s probably a big part of the reason Jane Prentiss was so interested in attacking the Archives—that she believed, or maybe even the Corruption itself believed, that that was part of the Archivist’s job description. You don’t hear too much about people being too tightly tied up in the Ceaseless Watcher who don’t find their way to the Institute, one way or another, so maybe it didn’t ever occur to me that she might kill me if we ever met, but if she thought there was a risk of it, she might’ve. Or at least she might’ve tried.”

That surprised Sasha, enough that she blurted out, “You don’t think she’d have managed it?”

Martin actually cracked a smile at that. He tilted his head in Melanie’s direction. “She’d have had to be very fast.”

“Damn right,” Melanie snarled. Martin freed an arm from the blanket still wrapped around him and hugged her; she resisted for a minute, then sighed and slumped against him.

Tim studied Martin. “You don’t seem particularly worried about the possibility.”

“Of her trying to kill me?”

“Of being used in a ritual.”

“Oh. I’m not.” Martin shrugged when all of them stared at him in surprise. “I’ve got five different Marks—well, six now. No matter how strong my connection is to the Eye, it’s not enough to wipe the others out, so I don’t reckon I’d be all that useful in a ritual to bring a single fear into this universe. I-I mean, it’s like, like forging a sword or something. If your ore has impurities and other…bits mixed in with it, your steel is going to turn out crummy and fall apart the first time you swing it, no matter how well you crafted it. Even assuming there is someone out there trying to put together a ritual—and I’ve got a pretty good idea who it might be if there is—they’re not going to use someone like me as the linchpin, the whole thing would just fall apart.”

There was a brief silence as all of them contemplated that. Sasha picked at the argument from all sides, but she couldn’t see a flaw in it. “So you’re saying the more Marks we all collect, the safer we are. From being used in a ritual, at least.”

Martin nodded. “I’m definitely not saying ‘let’s go out and stir up hornets’ nests to accumulate as many Marks as we can,’ because there’s always a chance something will kill us eventually, but in this case, what doesn’t kill us might actually make us stronger.”

Gerard took a breath. “I—I never thought of it before, but you’re right.”

“Does that mean you can’t be used in a Terminus ritual?” Sasha asked him. “Because you have—had—other Marks? Or does he?” she added, glancing at Martin.

“He does,” Martin confirmed. “The Eye and the Buried. They’re harder to see than the End’s Mark, but they’re still there.”

“Also,” Gerard said, “I don’t think there is a ritual for the End. After all, Death is inevitable—why would he need to hasten that? He’s probably the most patient of the Fourteen.”

“Still.” Martin took a deep breath. “I can’t say I’m unhappy it wouldn’t work with you if there was one.”

Melanie rested her chin on Martin’s chest and looked up at him. “You realize that means I’m going to ask you again to tell me what I got Marked by, if I got Marked, at Cambridge Military Hospital. I’m assuming I’ve got the Buried too, but…”

“Actually,” Tim said quietly, “I’d like to know, too. As far as I know, I’ve just been Marked by the Eye because I work for the Institute. Not that I think I’m all that important, but just in case, I’d like to have some idea, you know?”

Sasha felt something twist in her stomach. “Me, too. I mean, does meeting Michael technically count as a Mark or not?”

“I—I don’t know.” Martin hesitated, then sighed. “Okay. Okay.”

He leaned forward and set his cup on the table, then stood, the throw slipping off his shoulders as he stretched and straightened. He nodded at the sofa. “Anyone who wants to know, sit over there. I’ll sit on the chair right there and I’ll only look there, so if anyone doesn’t want to me to See, I won’t.”

“Why wouldn’t we?” Tim frowned as he stood and moved towards the sofa.

“I told you last night. It’s not just a matter of ‘oh, I got a bit spooked by a shadow in the window,’ it’s something that hit you hard. And I’m not going to lie to you—if I don’t already know how you got whatever Mark you might have, I’m going to be curious. I won’t ask you about it today—I won’t do that to you, to any of you—but, well, at its core, the Eye is all about knowledge, about exposing secrets.” Martin grimaced. “And you heard what I did earlier. I didn’t even know I could do that. There’s every chance that this…thing…will get bad enough, sooner or later, that it won’t be enough for me to See, I’ll have to Know. The last thing I want is to force something out of you because I know you have it.”

Jon slid over on the couch closer to Melanie, looking up at Martin seriously. “I’d rather you ask me than pounce some random person on the street.”

“Yeah, same.” Tim settled next to him and glanced at Sasha.

She didn’t need any further prompting. It was the work of no more than a second to step around the coffee table and join the others. Gerard stayed in the armchair.

Martin sat down across from them. He closed his eyes, inhaled deeply, and let it out in a slow, even breath. As he did so, he slid his glasses off his face and lowered his hands, his shoulders relaxing and his body seeming to sink slightly.

His eyes opened.

Static filled the room, the same static Sasha had noticed when Martin spoke about Michael and when he’d Looked at Gerard, and for the first time she realized it was the same static she’d heard on the tape when he took off his glasses to Look at Jane Prentiss. It started off soft at first, then built gradually until it drowned out the sound of her own breathing. Behind Martin, the candle she presumed to be warding against the Beholder glowed brighter, not a sudden flare but a steadily building glow. Martin’s eyes had gone eerily blank and still, as though they’d been replaced with pictures or glass models, and yet she could feel his regard passing from one to the other. Prickles danced across her skin in odd patterns—spiraling around her arms, sparking against her shoulder, tickling her throat—quickly passing from disconcerting to unpleasant to painful. She clenched her hands tightly and determined to bear up.

Out of the corner of her eyes, she watched the others. Tim was pressing a hand to his chest, grimacing; Melanie sat ramrod straight, arms folded tightly across her chest and a scowl deepening on her face; Jon’s hands bunched up his borrowed trousers as he kept his eyes fixed on Martin, his expression one between worry and anguish. She could tell he was clenching his teeth and trembling slightly.

The static grew louder and louder, the sensations more and more unbearable. Sasha wanted to ask what was taking so long, to demand Martin tell them what he Saw, but her jaw seemed fused shut. He still sat with that same blank expression, perfectly still and seemingly immobile, and yet the scrutiny got more and more intense. At last, after what seemed simultaneously like mere seconds and an eternity, Jon made a small noise of pain and flinched, his eyes squinching shut.

Instantly, the static stopped. Sasha’s skin settled back to its normal state, still tingling slightly but more in a remembered sensation than active discomfort, and she rubbed her arms without conscious thought to make it stop. Martin gave a great, shuddering gasp, his whole body going rigid for a moment before he doubled over slightly, squeezing his eyes shut tightly and burying his face in his hands, heedless of his glasses still in his left one. He was breathing heavily as if he’d been running.

“Martin! O-oh, God.” Jon was up in an instant, Melanie a half second behind him, and starting towards Martin, but Gerard got to his feet and threw out an arm to stop them.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” Martin panted, his voice choked with tears. “I-I didn’t—I’m sorry. I c-couldn’t stop, I couldn’t—”

“It’s o—it’s not your fault,” Sasha said. It wasn’t okay, not by a long chalk, but Martin hadn’t done it on purpose.

Martin fumbled and managed to shove his glasses back onto his face, then straightened up, looking miserable. The bandages on his face were discolored with bright red, and at first Sasha thought he’d reopened the wounds beneath them, but then she realized the fresh stains were on the wrong side and way too thin to be from a wormhole.

“Are you—were you crying blood?” she asked, getting to her feet as well.

“Okay, no more of that,” Tim said firmly, getting up and stepping over the coffee table like it wasn’t even there. Jon and Melanie ducked under Gerard’s arm, and Sasha rushed around the other end of the coffee table to drop to her knees and join the others in hugging Martin tightly. “That’s—that was way too much for you. You’re hurt, you don’t need to do that again.”

“Yeah,” Martin mumbled from somewhere in the center of the pile of humanity that was his friends. “I’m—I’m sorry. I should have known something like that would happen.”

“How?” Sasha demanded. “Has that ever happened before?”

“N-no, but—”

“But nothing,” Jon said firmly. “We never should have made you look at all of us at once, Martin. Tim’s right, that was far too much.” He hesitated, then swiped at one of the trickles of blood on Martin’s skin. “Are you better now?”

“A bit,” Martin said, not entirely convincingly. Sasha took the hint and eased back a little. “Christ, that—yeah, I’ve never had it that bad before.”

Tim sat on the coffee table, his hands still hovering around Martin’s knees. “Did you at least get the answers you wanted? You know, so we don’t have to do that again?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I did.” Martin took a deep, steadying breath and straightened. Melanie rocked back to kneel at his feet, resting her folded arms on his leg; Jon simply stood next to the armchair, hovering anxiously. Gerard, whom Sasha just realized hadn’t been part of the hug, came a little closer. “Okay. So, um, all of you have the Eye on you, obviously. That’s, that was a given. Tim, you’ve got the—you’ve got one Mark beyond that. Jon, Sash, you’ve, um, you’ve each got two more—n-not the same ones. You’ve actually got four, Neens.”

Melanie swore again. “The Eye, the Buried…the Stranger, I guess?” Martin nodded. “What’s the other one? This is me asking and wanting them to know. It relates to a statement, after all.”

Martin swallowed. “The Slaughter.”

“Fuck,” Melanie said softly.

Sasha hesitated. She didn’t want to hurt Martin—or Tim or Jon, for that matter—any more than they already had been, but it occurred to her that if she asked, if she made it her choice, it might be better for Martin than if he knew he risked exposing them.

“What about me?” she asked. “What were my other two?”

“The Spiral and the Web,” Martin answered. “Bit of a surprise there. I’d have thought the Corruption, but I guess meeting Timothy Hodges wasn’t enough to Mark you. They’re both faint—fainter than the Eye, anyway—but they’re definitely there.”

“And mine?” Tim asked softly. Sasha looked at him. Something in his eyes told her he already knew, or at least that he’d guessed.

“The Stranger.” The pain in Martin’s eyes was palpable, and he pressed his lips together tightly; Sasha guessed there was something he was trying his hardest not to say.

Thankfully, Jon seemed to figure that out, too. He touched Martin’s shoulder gently. “You said I had three as well. I know one is the Eye and the other is the Corruption…obviously. What’s the third?”

“The Web, and it’s almost as strong a Mark on you as the Eye is.” Martin looked up at Jon, guilt all over his face. “I—I kind of knew that already. I—when you asked me to look into Carlos Vittery, I—you just, you looked scared and I just—I didn’t, I know I shouldn’t have, but—”

“It’s all right.” Jon swallowed hard, although he looked stricken. “I-I probably would have done something stupid like go to investigate it myself if you hadn’t, so it’s for the best, really.”

“I think this is all enough for one day,” Gerard said firmly. “You both need rest before you get into this any further.”

Sasha nodded, pushing herself properly to her feet. “We can talk about it tomorrow. Or in a couple of days.”

“Or when we’re back to work,” Jon said. “It’s—it’s going to be a few days, but—”

“It’s going to be more than that,” Tim said sternly. “You two aren’t in any shape to be back at the Institute just yet. I’m sure you’ll need to see a doctor and get a note before you can go back, and honestly, there’s going to be a lot of healing you both need to do first. But I agree with Jon. We can—this isn’t time-sensitive, right? We can wait to talk about it until then.”

Martin took another deep breath and closed his eyes, then nodded slowly. “Okay,” he said softly. “Okay.”

Sasha looked at Jon. He nodded, too, but she could see the look on his face and inwardly resigned herself. They were definitely going to have a fight on their hands.

[shadow-the-artist-idiot]

Immediately after sending that last post, i realized yall have no idea who the FUCK Dimension Traveler Shadow is. SO . ANOTHER YAP SESH YIPPEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!

Basically, i have this silly quirky little issue where every single time i hyperfixate on something, i want to make an oc for it. Its annoying. SO, to FIX that issue, awhile ago i starting writing a story. Thingy. Idk.

Its an AU of Shadow(I dont have her full lore explained. Mostly because im still fixing it. But i did make a post about her awhile back, so feel free to check that out if you want), where she gets kicked out of her own universe and into various other multiverses.

The canon reason for this is because, and i kid you not, "I said so." Uh. TL;DR, my Narrater is a character, and he does my bidding, and he punted Shadow into the multiverse because i told him to.

ANYWAYS.

The point is, shes trying to both survive, and find a way home. In the mean time, shes bouncing from universe to universe, randomly getting yanked to the next with no warning. So far, I've thrown her at Deltarune(only chapter one, im waiting for the hyperfixation to come back to perhaps add a chapter 2), The Magnus Archives(a VERY large chunk of what i have written. 90% of the close to 50k words. Still not finished. Ive gotten to around the start of season 4), and i just started Gravity Falls since that hyperfixation came back.

Im intentionally leaving the TMA bit unfinished for now, because i want to enjoy writing this stuff, and i enjoy writing a lot more if its about something im hyperfixating on. Hence the Gravity Falls bit rn.

Im also considering chucking her at a few other universes, however im still iffy on them. Wodhkebdkwbsoq

I love Dimension Traveler!Shadow sm. I heightened her identity issues a bit, and it spiraled really badly(for her, not me, im giggling and twirling my hair)

She was forced to grow up so fast, forced to act like what she thought was an adult so she would be taken seriously. So terrified that if she genuinely connects with someone, that theyll be taken from her. Caring so much about everything, to the point where she opens her doors to anyone who needs a place to stay, regardless of what they are. Acting like such an asshole so people don't get too close, clinging to it like a lifeline. People getting close anyway.

Adopting a daughter, finally hoping that everything will be okay. Even passing the throne down to her.

Then she starts losing people, and her lifelines shatter. Her best friend, her anchor, her everything, goes missing. For months and months, she searches. Then, to put a nice little cherry on top, the abnormal gets exposed to the entire world, and she has to protect Her People. She has to. She may be cursed with life, but Her People weren't so lucky, and she needed to keep them safe. And she did. An entire illusion dome, cloaking them from outside eyes, draining her far too little energy. It would hold for days when fully recharged, and she just needed a break from the noise.

She could just..."pay a visit" to Trius, and come back, and everything would be fine.

Thats where it diverges from the normal timeline. For OG!Shadow(do note, while OG!Shadow is TECHNICALLY the first version, her story is very prone to change due to myself trying to. Seperate myself from the server she was created for.), she dies, spends a few hours with Trius while she repairs her body, then goes back. The world forgets the existence of the Abnormal, and Winter, her best friend, comes back.

However, for Dimension Traveler!Shadow, this is when shit hits the fan, and she gets sent into the multiverse. Completely alone. She desperately wants to go home, but what does she even have waiting? The people at the House probably didn't even need her! She was constantly trying to protect everyone, failing so many times, and look where that got her. She had nothing. What was the point?

It wasn't like anything she did MATTERED, after all. These worlds weren't her own. Her actions didn't matter. Her People were gone, and she had nothing to protect. She was worthless. Nothing. Broken.

Might aswell go batshit.

Her mindset changes quite drastically. When she gets thrown into deltarune, shes still clinging to the idea of being a protector. Its a shitty situation, but they were just kids, and she NEEDED to protect them. They did nothing wrong. For the entirety of deltarune, she tries her best to be the responsible adult.

When she gets to The Magnus Archives, however, it changes. Shes there for FAR longer. She was only in Deltarune for a day, meanwhile shes in TMA for multiple years. She has time to connect. She has time to forge more friendships. She finally had Her People again. Its not her original group- they were dead. Winter was dead. There was no point in hoping- but they were HERS.

And then the events of the season 3 finale happens, and she goes a LITTLE batshit. Her people were GONE. JON, TIM, SASHA. THEY WERE FUCKING GONE. She has a bit of a mental break, i guess you could put it. Because of her species, shes naturally a very emotional creature.

80% Living Shadow, 20% Shadow Demon. Shadow demons were basically pure rage. So, when she decides to cling to anger instead of grief...shit is no longer hitting the fan, its hitting the sun. Shes lashing out, trying to kill anyone who nears her. They manage to contain her, but its not going well(blame peter lukas).

I dont have the rest of the TMA arc written out, as i said, but i have the beginning bit of Gravity Falls written out, so ill move on to that.

She gets sent to gravity falls after the Eyepocalypse(by the end, shes most certainly an avatar, so shes trapped in her own domain, torturing god knows how many, and enjoying it, and oh god why is she enjoying this-), and has a BIT of a breakdown. Shes hurt so many, shes a fucking MONSTER. Whats the point in trying, when the guilt of hurting so many people will forever hang over her head. No. Shut up brain!!! Shut up reasonable trauma response!!!! She just needs to survive in this universe for a bit, and figure out how to go home. Then, she can properly deal with the guilt. Until then, into the pile with the rest of the Later emotions!

Huh, whats this silly little book?

Oh, some stupid old guy warning her not to read. A weird little triangle talking about starting the apocalypse. Huh.

The only reason she keeps reading TBoB is because Bill's humor matches her own VERY well. Hes a chaotic bastard, and she vibes with that. She only fully registers what Bill has done upon reaching the lost pages of the journals. Only then does she actually realize what Bill is capable of.

Once she reaches the end, the plan all laid out infront of her in writing, she finds herself actually considering it. Shes fully aware that she would be starting the apocalypse. SO many would die. The world would end, and it would be her fault.

But...she was already a monster. She was already a horrible person, so what was the point in pretending she wasn't? She'd played the role of hero for so long, tried her hardest to remain on the "good side."

...why not try being a villain for a change? Her actions here didn't matter. She had nothing to protect, she had NO ONE. Might aswell try...right? Besides, this Bill Cipher fellow might be able to help her home.

So, she agrees. With one small change to the deal, of course. Instead of Bill controlling her body 24/7 until the portal is up and running, she gets the option of 1 hour of control every day. Its not like shes doing anything, she just wants insurance that she can control her own body if she needs to.

And so, she shakes the statues hand.

Annnd thats all ive got so far. Shes really struggling with morality rn, and TBoB caught her in a vulnerable state of mind, sooo... TBF, shes failed so many times at protecting her loved ones. She was already such a shitty protector. It wouldn't make a difference if she switched sides, just this once. She was so tired, after all. She just needed to stop getting hurt for a bit.

Honestly, villain Shadow sounds fucking terrifying. Dimension Traveler!Shadow isn't going to stay on the bad side, but shes definitely going to be on the more insane side later on.

I desperately want to make an rp/in character blog for her, aswell as the rest of the Shadow aus. I think it would be so silly. Augh. Taking psychic damage from The Urge™️

[beanyboi173thegoober]

Here's a self-insert/OC TMA drabble I thought of. I just kinda wanted to write it out.

TWs// General Magnus Archives horror-type content, TMA spoilers, mentions of death, blood, insects, centipedes, darkness, claustrophobia, entomophobia, nyctophobia, scolopendrphobia

"I want to make a statement," He said aloud to the darkness. He felt the crawling bodies separate from over his mouth, his nose, his ears, and the pressure to speak intensely laid upon him.

"I knew this would happen. I predicted that I would be punished. I just didn't expect to be placed in a personalised hell for my transgressions. Though, I suppose, I should have thought of such.

I had joined the institute knowing what would occur. I remember my interview. Magnus seemed so pissed that he couldn't read me, couldn't see what I was thinking, and I laughed at it. He asked me what I was most afraid of, intending to make me answer, and I told him to at least take me out to dinner first.

I got the job in the end, which I assume was because someone whom The Eye could not see into was an asset that needed to be surveyed at all times. I was just happy to be able to read horror stories for a living, I suppose. At first, that is what I did, feeding into The Eye via tape recorder day after day, sorting through the mess which was the archives.

Then, Martin came in, having been terrorized by The Hive for a week. I knew I had to act. Knowing the future to some extent has perks, but it has many drawbacks. In this case, the drawback was that trying to help too much would result in far more casualties than if I left things well enough alone. I did what I could here and there, telling Sasha to watch out for artefact storage, and telling Martin about the CO2 canisters, but I couldn't do much of anything to truly help. I hated it.

Prentiss attacked, Sasha was gone, and Magnus' plan was truly underway. Jon's paranoia kicked up full swing, and I did my best to clue him into the true issue without being caught by the thing that wasn't Sasha. I also took some time to explore the tunnels, trying to memorize them for future usage.

I had stayed away from Tim. I knew he'd probably be a very good friend, but I didn't want to get attached to someone who would die horribly. I made friends with Martin. We bonded over our mutual urge to make tea when people were upset and laughed off work stress. He even showed me some of his poetry, which was very nice.

Magnus beat Leitner to death, Jon ran off, the thing that wasn't Sasha was trapped, the cops kept coming around, and Melanie joined our payroll. I stayed decently idle during these days, keeping myself occupied with job-related busywork. It was tough, keeping myself constantly working to prevent any attempts to help with what I knew was happening, but I carried on.

When Jon returned with Basira and Daisy in tow, I followed them to Magnus' office. I sat through the whole villain spiel, but when Magnus asked for all but Jon to leave, I refused. He tried to shoo me off and glared at me with the full force of his backing patron, but I remained, and he was forced to monologue with an audience of two.

Hop, skip, and a jump later, and Tim is dead, Daisy's stuck being half-crushed alive, Basira's pissy, Melanie is untrusting, The Distortion is 'helping', and Jon's stuck pining and going through his 'I'm a monster' phase. Before then, I was just inserting myself to lessen blows where I could, but now I was fully risking things. I helped as Martin piled recorders onto the coffin, but I didn't outwardly acknowledge him, lest he disappear. I helped Jon and Daisy recover from their atrophy as best I could manage.

When Jon and Martin were going to Daisy's safehouse, I asked to come with. They were surprised since I had no real reason to come along to their knowledge. I did have a reason, though. A very, very important reason.

I needed to let them rest. At least for as long as they could.

When Martin whipped out the statements that Basira gave him, I swooped in, picking through them to find the Statement of Hazel Rutter. Jon had been appalled and asked what the hell I was doing. I informed the both of them that this statement specifically would be extremely fucking bad, and would put an end to any possible comfort. I told Jon that he would have to read it eventually, but not right then.

The stasis lasted about a month. Jon clearly was having issues, being drawn to the statement in my pocket to the point of losing sleep over it. I gave it to him, and Martin and I stayed in the next room over as Jon was pulled through the ritual. I held Martin's hand as we felt the world around us change.

And now I'm here. The Ceaseless Watcher seems to be really fucking pissed at me for butting in on its ascent, judging by my current predicament. A private hellish domain, filled with my specific fears.

Even as I'm talking, the air in this small space grows stale with reuse, the darkness invades my sight, and the thousands of long limbs tapping over my skin seem to be growing restless.

I used to like centipedes, despite how much they scared me. I wanted a tattoo of one. A really large thing, greyscale, spanning my entire left arm. I hated the things, but their visage was so interesting that I wanted one permanently on my skin.

Now, that same interesting appearance is multiplied to the point where I can't even count the number of legs, and they're all crawling over me. Their mandibles lightly scratch along me, and with each passing minute, their scrapes and nips get more intense. They want to burrow into me. I feel it. But I cannot see it. It is far too dark.

As soon as my statement is over, I know they will encase my head again. I was only allowed such freedom so I could spew my own fear coherently....

I may sound calm, but I am terrified. My voice is warbling, and I want to flail my limbs to shake the pests off of me, but I know from experience that if I do so, they will bite hard to stay put. I am bleeding quite a lot already. I smell the iron of my blood mixed with the dust and that coriander-like scent the centipedes release.

I feel them growing irritated. I know no one will come for me. I will end my statement now, since I don't want a worse punishment than the one I'm receiving. But first, I have one last question.

How does it feel, Magnus? To finally know what I'm most afraid of?"

His statement ends, and the centipedes crawl over his face once more.

From where he and all others are being observed, a reply comes in the form of mirthful yet sinister laughter.

[lyrebright]

I mentioned in my last TMA post that I wasn't sure if I wanted to take a break or go charging on ahead--well, the answer was both, apparently, because I did go charging on ahead, but then I hit MAG030 and halfway through had to take a break. I don't think I like the meat episodes.

I am jumping ahead here a bit but I just needed to get that out!! I was cooking beef mince for dinner while I was listening to that episode and it made me unbelievably queasy!! No Thank You!!

Jon's closing statement for it did get a chuckle out of me though. Yes, precisely, my thoughts too, my guy.

MAG027: I actually have immense paranoia about being alone at night so this one Got Me. Outside of the "oh I can relate to that" vibes though I honestly didn't find it very...visceral? I get the vibe from the writing style that the horror in TMA doesn't come so much from making you afraid as it does just simply making you feel, and this one was like. Too generic spoopy horror story to carry that through?

MAG028: another live statement! It's cool to get some further fleshing out to the worldbuilding; this is someone from an established YouTube channel, and also apparently the Magnus Institute has an established reputation, which. Hmm. Interesting.

I liked both the focus of the statement this time and Melanie King. Since the only other live statement givers we've had so far are the...first one? And two 'recurring' characters I wonder if that means they're all like...important? I'll have to to back to the first statement giver and remind myself of her name so I can keep an ear out for it in case she turns up again.

I hope Melanie turns up again too I like her and I wanna know more about her IRL spooky YouTube happenings.

In the first live statement I actually did feel like Jon was trying to be tactful in his words to the woman at the end and she simply took them the wrong way, but oh no the bitch energy came out full force for Melanie (she gave as good as she got though!)

OH I am looking through the episode transcripts as I write these to remind myself of what went on in them so I know what points I wanted to ramble about and that's right. Jon said something in the closing statement about Sarah Baldwin being a familiar name Hang On.

Yes I Am Going To Go Backread The Prior Transcripts What Of It

Oh I did. Not have to dig too deep I was just going to skim through them from episode one and There She Is.

Hmm.

Much to think about.

MAG029: this was an episode I listened to the same night as MAG030 and it was ALSO not a pleasant one to cook dinner to.

At least I wasn't cooking meat at the time? I was frying onions.

I don't have much to say about this one other than that I am Updating my Worldbuilding Databank.

MAG031: I actually just finished this one today (I also finished MAG030 today and it's still BLEGH) so it's a lot fresher in my mind. Also I was doing the dishes while listening, not cooking, so it made me feel MUCH less queasy.

Oh my god I know Jon like gets really into delivering those statements but the like. The poshness he slips into for this one had me cracking up.

Sounds like something that would happen in America, yeah.

The whistling hovered between sinister and taking me out of it entirely tbh. I do not think it would have felt nearly as cringe if Jon did not sing along at that part in the statement.

Like I dig the commitment but Come On. He was totally a theatre kid.

Closing statement was the most interesting part once more.

So it's been two months since Martin endured a worm siege and he's just living at work? That poor man.

Jon's work/home balance sounds atrocious and he does NOT have the excuse of living at his workplace get some sleep???

He sounds so like...exhausted ): and the worms keep just turning up...sounds like some psychological warfare to me!

Wormfare, even,

Does make you wonder though. Jon aren't you meant to just be archiving these? Digitizing these historical records? Jon won't people listen back to these for study one day and hear all the personal shit you are saying?

Imagine being a uni student in like. Current day listening through some tapes for, idk, your thesis or whatever (I have no idea how higher education works) and you get taken through this wholeass journey of this man being snide to his coworkers before worms and you are just. I am just l. I am just listening here.

I'm pretty close to the season one finale now!! I'm excited!! Worms!!

[pitviperofdoom]

TMA Fantasy Week, Day 2

Prompt: Fae

Summary: A faerie imprisoned by hunters receives a strange visitor. (Pre JonGerry)

Warnings: Imprisonment, forced obedience.

Part of a larger story I’m working on. I’ll be posting it on AO3 when I’m finished.

***

He smelled the she-wolf before he saw her.

When the door to his little chamber opened, he kept his eyes shut, as always. Why bother opening them? The hounds had become tiresome to look at of his own accord. If they needed him, then they could bark his Name and be done with it.

And so he smelled her first—fresh blood and grave dirt clinging to her fur—and heard her claws click on the cold stone floor, until the sound softened as heavy paws became lighter feet.

It was a shoe that nudged him, none too gently, before she spoke in a voice laced with a low growl. “Get up, Keay.”

He rose because he could not do otherwise, even with only a fragment of his Name in her teeth. Reluctantly he opened his eyes to find the she-wolf standing before him, windblown and bloodstained from a recent and successful chase.

That was odd. The hounds rarely hunted without consulting him first, wringing answers from his unwilling lips until they were satisfied that they knew their prey. But here she was, eyes bright and hunger sated, without his help.

“What do you want?” he asked.

“Shut up,” she snapped, and his jaw clicked obediently shut. Satisfied, Julia looked over her shoulder and called out. “Bring ‘em in, Trev.”

The other hound entered, though he stayed back by the door. And then, a moment later, a third figure crept cautiously through the doorway, skirting Trevor before coming to a halt at a respectful distance from Julia. In an instant, their eyes were on him.

They were small, though anyone would look small while standing near the hounds. They were nearly plain as well, but for a few flashes of beauty. Dark brown eyes, deep and sharp with curiosity. Dark hair that brushed their shoulders, shot through with silver. Slender hands on delicate wrists, that would have been graceful if they weren’t trembling so. It only took a glance to know why—their skin was darker than his, but he could still see the familiar bruises that marked their wrists. The wolves had been rough with them—another prisoner to share his cage?

No—they would never bother keeping a human. What good was a human to them, when they had him instead?

Only… someone must have aided in their hunt.

“Here you are, then,” said Julia, with a dismissive flick of her hand. “You want a story? He’s got plenty.” The human’s eyes narrowed at this—not angry, merely thoughtful. “Don’t look at me like that. We’ve heard what you do with stories.”

(His ears pricked at that—a human with sharp and curious eyes, aiding hunters and asking for stories in return. That could mean nothing, or it could mean everything.)

“Count yourself lucky we didn’t just rip your throat out too,” Julia growled. “Save everyone else the trouble.”

The human carefully shifted their shaking hands behind their back. “That won’t be necessary,” was their polite reply.

“Good.” Julia nodded shortly. “That’s our end of the deal, then.” She shouldered roughly past them, knocking them neatly out of her way as she rejoined Trevor. From some hidden pocket within her coat, she drew out a familiar slip of old, weathered sheepskin between her fingers and showed it off with a careless wave. “Give us a shout if he gets mouthy, and we’ll set him right.”

“You’re not staying?” the human asked.

“Trevor hates being around him too long,” Julia replied.

“Gives me the creeps.” Trevor’s lip curled past the tips of his teeth. “Looks human but ain’t. If it wasn’t so useful, we’d have killed it ages ago.”

“Door’s unlocked, so come out when you’re done,” said Julia. “Don’t worry about him escaping—he knows better.”

As the wolves left the dark chamber and closed the door behind them, not once did he take his eyes from the scrap in Julia’s hand.

The moment they were gone, he sat down again, and with a rustle of fabric his visitor joined him at a distance. Their eyes never left his face, even as he refused to meet them.

“You want a story,” he said. It was not a question.

“I don’t know if ‘want’ is the right word,” the human replied.

“You’re the Archivist.” The words slip easily off his tongue—the truth, then. “Why are you here?”

The Archivist was silent for a moment. “I led prey to them,” they replied. “I helped them hunt. I asked for a story in return, but they didn’t want to give one, so they brought me to you instead.”

He smiled at that, wide and angry in the dark, clenching his teeth until he could imagine the taste of blood. “Did they, now.”

“Will you tell me one?” the Archivist asked.

It was a question, not a command, and even if it were otherwise, without his Name in their hand it would have no teeth. “No,” he replied, savoring the taste of the word like fine wine.

It was not freedom that he felt in refusing, but if he closed his eyes and imagined, it felt close. It was his favorite word, if only because he so rarely got to say it. Sometimes it felt as if gold would fall from his lips when he did.

It was worth the pain that always followed.

The Archivist looked confused, but not quite surprised. “No…?”

“Their debt is not mine to pay.”

“I suppose it isn’t.” The Archivist regarded him thoughtfully, curiously. Their lips pressed together firmly, as if holding back a deluge of questions.

He waited for his visitor to rise back up, call for their hosts and demand they make good on their deal by forcing a story from him. There wasn’t much he could do to defy the wolves that held his Name, but defiance still tasted sweet in the moment.

But the Archivist remained where they were. Either they thought they could cajole or force him themself, or they simply hadn’t thought of it yet. If that was the case, then he wasn’t about to remind them.

“Then we’re at an impasse, I suppose,” they said after a moment. “Unless there’s something I can offer you?”

He bared his teeth in a smile. “Your name, if you don’t mind?”

“I do mind,” the Archivist replied without batting an eye. “You may not have my Name. But if you like, you may call me Jon.”

He spread his hands wide. “Then we are at an impasse,” he replied. “Jon.” A simple name, but it sat nicely on the tongue.

“I suppose we are,” said Jon. They glanced at the door, but made no move to approach it.

Perhaps they were simply stupid. Rather unfortunate, for someone so significant to the Court of the Eye. Then again, it didn’t take much in the way of cleverness to collect stories.

“Was there something else you wanted?” he asked.

Jon shrugged. “It hasn’t been enough time for a story yet,” he said. “If I leave now, they might wonder why.”

That was not the answer that he was expecting. “And?”

Jon raised an eyebrow at him. “Do you want them to rip one out of you against your will?”

He stiffened. “No,” he admitted, almost petulantly. Not stupid after all, then. “Don’t you?”

He didn’t like the way Jon looked at him after that, measuring him with a glance. “Not particularly,” they replied. “They’re the ones indebted to me, so they should be the ones to pay, not you.”

“Oh.”

From the other side of the room, the Archivist’s eyes remained fixed on him. “They have more than just your name,” they said, and though their voice didn’t rise at the end of it, he knew it for the question it was. “You’re a full faerie, or as near as you can be.”

He nodded. “Only half of one, by blood,” he replied. “But these things don’t really care much about blood.”

“Except vampires.”

“Obviously except vampires,” he snapped. The Archivist cringed at his tone, drawing in their shoulders to make themself even smaller. “What matters is power. And, for the Court of the Eye, knowledge. But I’m sure you already know that.”

“Yes,” Jon replied, a little hoarsely.

“Knowledge matters here, as well,” he went on. “That’s why they keep me.”

“They showed me that scrap she had,” said Jon. “They said it had your Name written on it. I thought it was awfully risky, showing me something like that when they want to keep you.” Their eyes narrowed in thought. “I’ll bet, if I called it right now without that slip in my hand, it wouldn’t work for me.”

It was not a question. In fact, the Archivist sounded like they were trying very hard to keep it from being one.

“What of it.”

Jon studied him for a moment longer. “Just curious,” he said. “In the meantime, is there something I can call you?”

The question puzzled him, though he didn’t show it. “You know my Name already.”

Their face spoke volumes—a tightening around the lips, to hold back something more telling. “I don’t think I’d like it if people used my Name, even if it was useless to them,” they said. “Is there something that you’d like to be called?”

The question tugged a “Yes” from him, though no more than that. He could have kept silent, and in spite of everything he knew about the world, he suspected that Jon would even let him. In the end, he replied, “Gerry.”

They smiled. He wasn’t sure what to make of that. “It’s a pleasure, Gerry.”

“No it isn’t,” he said, and the smile slipped from their face.

“No, I suppose it isn’t. I don’t suppose… is there anything I can do?”

“Steal my Name back from the wolves, and deliver it to me,” he replied. “You’d get a story from me then.”

He’d meant it as a joke, an impossible task posed to flaunt what little power he had. And yet the Archivist looked thoughtful, as if they were genuinely considering it.

“They’d rip you to shreds before you got close,” he said.

“Yes,” Jon mused. “I suppose they would. Considering how they’re trying to repay my favor, they don’t strike me as particularly fair.”

“Yeah, they’re big on foisting debts on others.”

“Sounds like you speak from experience,” Jon replied, and barely flinched when he showed his teeth. “From what I’ve seen, I doubt they won your name fairly in the first place.”

He ground his teeth. “I think it’s been enough time, don’t you?”

“Not really,” Jon sighed, but got up anyway. At the door, he paused and looked back. “One more question, if you want to answer.”

“What now?”

“Do you know if someone’s looking for you?” they asked. “Anyone you’d like to send word to? Anyone wondering where you are?”

“There’s no one.” Nothing was pulling the truth out of him this time, but it still poured hot and foul from his throat. “No one but the one who gave out my Name in the first place. My mother is gone, and my father died so long ago that I never even learned his name.”

Something sparked in the Archivist’s eyes. Not just emotion, but power—the very power revered in the Court of the Eye. He hadn’t expected that, and he couldn’t help wonder what his honesty had wrought.

The moment passed, and without warning, the Archivist smiled again. “Thank you, Gerry.”

They said it precisely and clearly, with obvious intention. It made him balk; the Courts worked in deals and trades and favors, and words of gratitude came with the risk of accepting a debt. He had to wonder once more if the Archivist was stupid.

But he wasn’t going to get an answer. Jon knocked on the door, and moments later Julia opened it.

“All done?” she asked gruffly.

He sat back, tired and vaguely curious. The Archivist was odd, odd enough to reawaken his own curiosity, long since buried after the wolves took his Name. It was a shame to see him leave so soon.

“Not quite,” Jon replied, startling him. “I have business with the Court and I have to leave, and I was only able to hear a piece of his story. I’ll be back later for the rest.”

What?

Irritation flashed in Julia’s eyes, but she stood to the side with an impatient huff. “Fine then. Guess the quarry you found us was worth a lot.”

The Archivist glanced over their shoulder before they left, briefly meeting his eyes. That strange light still shone in Jon’s gaze, steady and curious and otherwise unreadable. They were gone before he could properly decipher it.

Julia barely spared him a second glance before shutting the door on him and leaving him in the dark. He sat back with a sigh, thoughts running through his head with frantic energy. Had he caught the attention of the Eye? Had Jon caused it, or was he merely a symptom of that attention? Perhaps he would find out, the next time the Archivist came to visit him.

It was an odd feeling, to have something to look forward to again.

[coulson-is-an-avenger]

Good evening tma fans I’m back with more ace jonmartin content (that is also posted to AO3). Set during the safehouse because it’s good for Conversations. Have at thee:

Jon loves Martin. He has for so long now that it feels like it’s always been the truth, like if you were to go back to the start of the world, there would lie a stone with two names carved side by side, belonging there even millennia before their existence. It feels like a fact etched into his very bones, so deeply grounding that the force of it alone was enough to tear through the veil of fog and supernatural loneliness and bring him out unscathed, and with his prize. Orpheus reversed. A love stronger than Loneliness. A truth imprinted on his heart. Jon loves Martin.

And Martin knows, too. He saw the way Jon felt about him, the way he knew him with such love, the way he remembered him so thoroughly it was able to bring him back to himself after months of nothingness. He knows the curtain of the Lonely doesn’t part for just anyone. And then, of course, Jon has taken his hand and held it to his chest and wept his affections not a day later, when the tide finally broke and all of his despair and trust came tumbling out at once, and Martin’s still fog-rimmed eyes spilled over with tears and they held each other as confession after confession poured from each of them. Jon had told Martin he loved him so many times his throat had hurt, and Martin had held him so tightly his arms had shaken. Jon loves Martin, and Martin loves him in return, just as fiercely. Being loved is slowly starting to come naturally to Martin again.

The point is, though, that Jon loves Martin. And Martin knows. Which means at some point, they are going to have to talk about It.

Jon has avoided talking about It for years. He talked about it with Georgie, of course. She had been the one to help him gather more words to describe it. Asexual, sex repulsed, uninterested, etc.

It hadn’t always mattered, though. Not everyone was willing to care about something they saw as trivial, something he was still desperately trying to convince himself wasn’t trivial. And there were always the rare few who saw it as a challenge. Some days, the hope that he would be fully respected and loved for who he was seemed like a lost cause.

But he knows better now. He knows himself well enough to be certain, even these days, when grasping onto his very humanity feels like trying to drink from a mirage. He is certain about this, though. This has been long, long something he’s known about himself; a truth that he will acknowledge as nothing but the truth. A part of him. It is something to be proud of. Something he deserves to be loved for. And it is also something he very much so needs to communicate with Martin.

It hasn’t really come up yet, not since their frantic packing and desperate drive all the way to Scotland, Jon clinging onto the passenger assist grip as Martin does his best to get them there quickly, and then their exhausted unpacking in the safehouse, and the emotionally draining last few days they’ve had. It’s overwhelming, being in each other’s constant company, in a way that largely feels utterly mundane.

They gather groceries together at the shop, brush hands over plates at the sink, curl up together to ward off the nightmares in bed, do their best to clean every inch of the house they can reach, and try to acclimatize to each other as the days continue. Martin is still breaking himself into connection; sometimes halting too sharply in his words, sometimes forgetting to speak for hours at a time, shifting invisible when he gets distracted enough, and Jon is still hesitant, not quite sure what to do to make it better, not quite sure if a false step will make it worse. He’d go back into the Lonely for Martin a thousand times if it meant saving him, but he doesn’t want Martin to lose himself again. Most times, Martin is as vibrant as his early days at the institute, but on others Jon still catches whiffs of the sterilized smell of the Lonely in Martin’s wake. Those times, his hands always linger on Martin’s as they brush. Every moment has been full of comfort, of the reassurance that they are both still there, of light topics, and of forgiveness when it is needed.

Jon loves Martin. He wants Martin to know. There just hasn’t been the right chance for it yet.

He’s convinced himself to just let it come up naturally whenever Martin is free enough of the fog to let himself sink into open affection, but, as it turns out, he needn’t have agonized about it.

It’s a good day for Martin, today. He’s been talkative, warm, and his eyes are shining with that look that’s so hopelessly earnest and alive it makes Jon’s heart want to beat entirely out of his chest. They’ve taken the day to trade questions and answers over cooking and cleaning and relaxing, and now, as Martin slides tonight’s meal into the oven, he decides the questions aren’t quite over. 

“So, Jon,” Martin begins from the kitchen, in a tone that’s so genuinely casual it's almost surprising. “What are your thoughts on sex?”

Jon blinks in utter surprise, torn away from his book with a start as the words register in his head. His traitorous stomach drops out of habit. Oh, Christ. Is this it? Are they doing this now? Is he ready for this? His hands hesitate over the page he’s bookmarked with his thumb, not sure if this is just going to be a simple answer, or if Martin means this as a gateway to a full conversation about the topic. “L-Like, in general?”

“I mean, there was gossip at the Institute,” Martin offers apologetically, ducking his head and wiping his hands on a towel. He looks slightly sheepish from where Jon can see him. “Some talk about you and Basira awhile back, for a bit, and later Melanie mentioned something about you just not, but both of those were, y’know, gossip, and I just realized I’ve never actually asked you personally what your feelings were on the matter, so… yeah. In general.” As he rambles, he makes his way over to the couch where Jon is sitting, bending down to rest his arms on the back of it. His face is open and curious, but not oppressively so. Jon has to fight the familiar urge to set all thought and action aside to simply stare at him. 

Jon instead puts his book off to the side and inhales. This is a conversation that deserves his full attention.

“Well,” he fumbles for a place to start. He hasn’t perfected a speech, doesn’t have all the proper sources planned, but he might as well start by giving Martin the honesty he deserves; the kind Jon has been preparing for. “I… suppose generally opposed? I-I mean, not for-“ He bites back the word “normal” as he stutters over his explanation, trying not to feel like he’s pulling his own teeth as he speaks. His own words feel somehow foreign to him, even more so these days, but for Martin, he’s trying. “Not for other people, I mean, but for me? I’m really just not interested. Too much …touching and exposure and- and noises? Not to mention all the expectations it comes with. Honestly, it… sounds kind of dreadful.”

Martin makes a small noise of attentiveness. “Never tried it, then?”

Jon goes sort of cold, all over, a bone deep chill curling deep inside his gut, and he has to manually force himself to unfreeze and choose his words carefully. “I have not. And I can’t quite say I’d have any interest in doing so.” His tone is clipped, defensive, and cold. He tries to keep himself from glaring out of habit.

“Why do you sound so—“ Martin’s tone starts teasing, and then breaks off as he catches a glance of Jon’s terrified expression and his eyes widen. “OH!! Oh, no, I wasn’t- sorry, that came out wrong. I was just curious to sort of… compare experiences, I wasn’t implying any sort of… no.” He waves a hand as if to physically dismiss Jon’s anxiety. “Never having tried it is fine. Good, even! Good on you for knowing your boundaries. I’m happy for that.” He rambles. “That’s wonderful. Sorry.”

Jon flushes slightly in embarrassment that he misread the tone, but his chest loosens a bit. No one has ever told him that before, and it feels… nothing short of radical. Safe. “It’s- it’s alright, Martin.” Jon drums his fingers against the book cover resting against his belly for a moment, his thoughts shifting to wonder what the point to the conversation is if not to… well… he shoos away theories. This is Martin, he can just ask. “What do you mean ‘compare experiences’?” He sits up more, now curious himself. “Martin, do you… what are your thoughts on it? Sex, I mean. In general.” It always comes out sounding much more academic than he intends, and he pursues his lips against his own pronunciation, even though Martin doesn’t seem to notice. 

Martin blinks a bit. “Oh! Hm. Well, it’s— I suppose a bit complicated? I dunno.” He rubs a hand over the back of his head, brushing through the regrowing hair at the nape of his neck. “If it makes the other person happy then, yeah I’m all for it, but it’s more of just… an activity to me, I guess? Never really been quite my favorite one either, to be perfectly honest.” The chuckle he gives sounds just shy of self-depreciating, and Jon finds himself reaching a hand up to catch Martin’s for reassurance. Martin takes it, gives a slight squeeze. “That’s not to say that I’ve had a bad experience, necessarily? I just… I’d rather be closer in other ways.” He shrugs, and his eyes drop. “Feels kind of weird, honestly. Knowing I’ve done it. I mean, I always figured I’m not really the kind of person you’d assume to be having it, and I’m fine with that. I dunno.”

The loosening thing in Jon’s chest unfurls completely, melting into affection. “Oh, Martin.” He hesitates, thinking, before looking up and giving Martin a very curious look. “You’re… like me, aren’t you?”

Martin looks up and meets his eyes dead on, as a small, shy smile pulls at his lips, his eyes going warm and soft before he ducks away, somewhat hiding his face. “Yeah, I think so.”

Jon loves Martin.

“What’s…” Jon’s face flushes, but he’s already spoken the first word aloud, and he doubts his curiosity will allow him to back out, so he clears his throat and continues on. “You said you’d rather be closer to people in o-other ways?” He fidgets with the hem of his shirt. “What might those be?”

Martin squishes his face in that adorable way he does when he’s thinking, lips pressing together in a little motion that Jon can’t help but find hopelessly endearing. “I guess… doing things for people? Something to let them know that you really see them,” his eyes dart to Jon for a half a moment as he says that, before continuing on. “or… I dunno. Activities together? Spending time with someone is always nice. And…hugs, honestly.” He laughs at himself, but Jon is listening intently. “I know that sounds kind of silly, I know, but…”

“It’s not silly,” Jon interrupts, pushing himself up into a standing position, a look of softness coming across his face as he latches onto an idea and softens with everything in him. “In that case, Martin, can I…?” He’s standing up from the couch, and walking around to the back, arms opening in a hesitant invitation. Martin’s eyes widen, and then soften.

“Oh, sure. Yeah, of course.”

Jon loves Martin. He wants to show him in all the ways he can, and so Jon wraps his arms around Martin, one hand reaching up to stroke through his hair, fingers catching on his curls, while the other pulls his chest tight with Jon’s, heartbeats resonating in sync. Martin’s hands come to rest on the small of Jon’s back, and, despite his height, he exhales slowly in relaxation.

He fidgets after a second, signaling the polite time for an embrace to end, but Jon just wraps his arms around him tighter, pressing his nose into Martin’s neck, and running his hand through his hair until Martin finally stops waiting for it to end, and lets himself relax into it. His arms loosen around Jon’s waist, but he drops his head against Jon’s shoulder, and Jon does everything he can to make Martin feel wrapped up in the enormity of his own affection. Martin lets out a sigh into his shoulder, and Jon’s heart swells in its lopsided rib cage. He wishes he could replace the missing ribs with Martin, to keep him closer to his heart, or better yet, to do away with the whole thing altogether, and simply trust Martin to take his chest in his hands.

Safe. He wants to keep Martin safe. And he trusts Martin to keep him safe as well. He drags a hand over his back, trying to fit as much protectiveness he can into the gesture. You are so loved, he wants it to say. Nothing can hurt you. There’s no expectations in the embrace, no pressure or next step. It’s just this moment, just heartbeats, just Jon making space for Martin in his arms. It’s perfect.

“This is nice.” Martin murmurs, nothing more than a soft exhale, and Jon loves him more than he knows how to understand.

[iceeckos12]

tma fic recs

I’ve seen a couple of fic rec posts floating around. since ive been reading so many excellent fic recently, i thought that id make one as well! please note this list is going to be 99% jonmartin. also buckle up, because this is going to get long.

Completed

the umbrella by Wildehack (tyleet)

"And to think—all of Jonah Magnus’ carefully laid plans, the centuries of scheming, the murders, the sacrifices, all of that work could have been completely undone if Martin Blackwood had gone back for an umbrella" - holdthosebees

Notes: This is probably my go-to fic if i want an apocalypse never happened scenario. The jonmartin is wonderful, as is the h/c.

Diary and Prenon-nous la main by luftballoons99

Diary summary:

Not for the first time since they ran away together, a camera reel of all the things they don't know about one another whirs behind Martin's eyes, and he can't help but look at all the sprawling magnetic tape and wonder if they’re going to wind up a romance or a tragedy.

or: Office parties, garage bands, and the joy of being known.

Prenon-nous la main summary:

They still haven't talked about it, any of it, not even to pass the time on the long train ride to Scotland. Instead, Martin fell asleep in the seat next to him, pressed into his side from shoulder to knee, and Jon thought about love confessions and verb tense and how the two fit together when you think you're dying.

or: Good cows, mediocre poetry, and other crucial topics of discussion.

Notes: Do you love impeccable safehouse jonmartin characterization? do you love characters grappling with the mortifying ordeal of being known? do you love softness so tender that it makes you want to weep? please read these fic. im begging you.

i’ll tell you about all the times i’ve smiled because of you by cryptidkidprem

Summary:

Martin thinks about their shoes, sitting beside each other on the floor by the bed. Thinks of the way Jon wears Martin’s cardigans more often than he wears his own, the way Martin’s started keeping elastics around his wrist because Jon always forgets his own when they go out.

He thinks about all the gentle touches and fussing over each other they’ve done, and how much is still to come over the next… however long Jon will have him.

They have a long way to go, an entire life to build out of the wreckage Jonah Magnus and Peter Lukas left them, but laying together in a comfortable, sleepy quiet, Martin thinks they’ve got a good start going.

Or, Jon quits the Institute, saves the world, and it turns out to be exactly what he needs in order to heal and start moving forward towards building a life with Martin.

Notes: how many times have i reread this fic? more than i can count. jon quits the institute and it’s just full of soft jonmartins. they get married! god i love them.

go softly by doomcountry

Summary:

And there is nothing else besides this.

Notes: every time i remember this fic i reread it. please heed the tags because martin is blinding jon, but he’s like. blinding jon in the most heartbreaking way possible. idk how the author made this so tender but i know i was certainly crying so!

The Reverb in These Holy Halls by  Wolftraps (AlwaysBoth)

Summary:

Undoing the apocalypse would have been enough for Jon, if all his people survived. Without them, Jon's only recourse is making it so it never happened in the first place. He's going to do better this time.

Notes: Do you like time travel fixits? i sure like time travel fixits. reverb is an excellent one. heavy on the h/c, I wanted to hug jon so so badly. 

Yesterday is Here by  CirrusGrey

Summary:

"Who the hell are you?" Jon could feel his hands shaking. The man laughed, taking a step forward and raising a hand to point at him. "I'm you, from the future!" he said, then swayed, eyes going unfocused, and collapsed to the floor in a dead faint. -------- Post-season-four Jon and Martin time travel back to the season one Archives.

Notes: Yet another time travel fixit! also excellent. the teasing was HYSTERICAL. also Im just going to say this now - CirrusGrey in general writes incredible tma fic. You can’t really go wrong.

unassigned supplementals by  bibliocratic 

Notes: I won’t put in a summary just because it’s a long series of oneshots, but bibliocratic’s writing is amazing. Again, you can’t really go wrong with one of their fic!

let the soft animal of your body by autoclaves

Summary:

Standing in the warm kitchen, slats of sepia light filtering through onto the counter in front of him, Martin doesn’t know what to do with his hands. He half expects them to go through the countertop entirely, glossy and solid as it is. He isn’t used to any of it, yet. The safehouse. Jon. Beams of sun pouring into his hands. After being deprived of everything of significance for so long, the longing that crashes over him is almost painful in its tangibility. He wants to laugh, to sob, to scream and hear it echoed back against the neat, square walls of the safehouse.

In the end, he doesn’t do any of these things. He makes eggs instead. He can do that, can’t he? Use his hands for something simple and plain and good.

(Or: In the safehouse after it all, Martin starts cooking.)

Notes: this fic really speaks to me a) because i project on martin like crazy and b) because food is also my love language. this fic is incredibly soft and it’s all about cooking!

“Have you tried turning it on and off again?” by shinyopals

Summary:

I hope you find your new role as Head of the Institute as rewarding as captaining the Tundra, wrote Elias Bouchard, to Peter Lukas. There are so many people working there: all with their own interesting lives, and all desiring your attention and support. I'm sure you will relish the challenge it will bring and enjoy every moment spent with the fine men and women of the Institute. In time I'm confident they'll become like a family to you.

The Magnus Institute has a new boss. The Magnus Institute also has a new tech support technician. These two facts are unrelated, except they both happen at the same time.

Meanwhile Jon's woken up from being dead for six months and for once he's trying his best. He just wishes Martin would stop avoiding him and answer his messages...

Notes: if you’re looking for a good laugh, this fic is SO SO SO FUNNY. i was dying. basically the magnus institute being an absolute bureaucratic nightmare.

hello my old heart  by  firebirdsuite

Summary:

Peter’s wrong, of course. When it’s all over, Martin does still want to tell Jon everything. It’s just—well, there’s a few things they need to work through first before they can get there.

Martin and Jon find each other again in Scotland.

Notes: it’s all about the yearning. and trust me, the yearning in this fic? im just. i sure do love jonmartin, and this is such soft, loving jonmartin it just makes you want to cry

two ships passing by pyrites

Summary:

Gerard Keay is 10 years old the very first time he tries to run away from home, right around the time that Jonathan Sims has just come into possession of his first Leitner.

Or: One dropped stone can change the way the whole ocean moves.

Notes: again, JONGERRY. MY GOODNESS. this fic is beautiful, the writing is absolutely breathtaking and it owns my heart. im so in love with it. the author said you’re going to have emotions about jon and gerry and jongerry and i said OKAY

Terminal Sight by viv_is_spooky

Summary:

Spider silk weaves through the visions of two Seers. Monstrosity is dawning on them both.

Notes: I’d never read a gerryoliver fic before this, but the execution is EXCELLENT and now im sold on the ship forever. This fic has wonderful prose and great characterization and i love it a whole lot.

Incomplete

assistant archivist au by  PitViperOfDoom

Notes: I won’t put a summary since I’m reccing an entire series, but. it is absolutely no secret that i adore jongerry. pit’s assistant archivist au slapped me over the head with some gorgeous jongerry oneshots and then gave me the gift of the main fic (which is still in progress) about head archivist martin. i love this au so so much

dustsceawung by  callmearcturus

Summary:

Martin had always been favored by the summer courts, and moving up north to the little village of Lacuna is a difficult adjustment. It's rainy and lonely and everyone seems to have a strange, distant relationship with the local faerie court.

However: there is a strange man in a cloak who walks past Martin's remote little cottage every few days.

However: there is a moth that keeps getting stuck in Martin's house during the rain.

These events are not as disconnected as they first appear.

Notes: you ever just read a fic that you didn’t know that you needed until after you read it? yeah. featuring the fae and moth jon and excellent characterization.

Illicio by ThatOneGirlBehindYou

As the new Archivist debates between life and death, the Eye ponders on what to offer him in order to avoid an encore of the unfortunate situation with his predecessor.

-----

Gerard Keay opens his eyes at what feels like fuck-ass in the morning, inside a room with far too little space and far too much dust.

Notes: This is also the moment where I reveal that im a sucker for jongerrymartin. please read this fic. gerry is brought back from the dead in s4 and everyone is far better off for it.

where there’s a will, we make a way by bubonickitten

Summary:

"So, what does happen if an Eye learns to See within itself?

What happens is this: the Archive Beholds the Watcher – and the Watcher blinks first."

________________________

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

Notes: this time travel fixit is shaping up to be an absolutely incredible read. i love the way this author writes jon so so much, and the characterization is spot on. this whole fic just satisfies some little part of me. god. also!! bubonickitten’s writing in general? beautiful. please check out their other works.

The Timeline of Theseus by Applea

Jon tries to force the Spiral to send him back, but the Sprial's corridors never twist things quite the way you want them to. Back in 1996, Elias has no idea why or how the Eye made such a powerful Avatar out of an 8 year old, especially when said 8 year old doesn't actually know he has any powers at all. Clearly such a child cannot be left outside the Institute's care. 

Notes: This fic is legitimately brilliant. The author manages to capture the big ADHD mood and the precociousness of baby Jon while managing to write a wonderful storyline. Time travel! Elderly lesbians! A Jonah who is wildly in over his head but was walloped over the head with paternal instinct! Baby Gerry! What more could you possibly ask for?

rooms full of people who do not love each other yet by seaer

Summary:

“Wanted to ask about a book.” The boy has his hand on the counter, and he leans into it, nonchalant. The library is air-conditioned, but by no means frigid, and Jon can’t help but feel sweaty just looking at the layers he’s wearing; what looks like old leather over an olive-green Magnus pullover over his school shirt. “Do you have A Journal of the Plague Year?”

Jon says, tetchily, “We’re about to close.”

“I know. Do you have A Journal of the Plague Year?”

Notes: I am so in love with this author’s writing style and the way they write the characters!! The jon and gerry friendship is PERFECT and the character interactions are all darling.

if you read these fics please send the authors some love, they definitely deserve it!! 

[mimosaeyes]

This is a dream, then. A fantasy conjured by the last firing of his synapses in the moment before death. Martin silently thanks his subconscious for it. He’s never had faith the way his mother did, but if there is a heaven for him, he’s quite sure it would have Jon in it.

Post-200. Jon and Martin wake up somewhere else. 2.2k, fix-it but not really.

In case this turns out to be the last fic I finish in this fandom, I want to especially thank my beta @emberidzae for introducing me to TMA. Or, at least, for talking about it enough in my general proximity that eventually I got curious.

Someone is cradling Martin’s head on their lap, and running their fingers through his hair. Jon, he thinks absently. He’d know him anywhere, even by such tiny details as the shape of his calluses where he grips a pen, and the texture of his burn-scarred skin.

But that can’t be right. Jon is dead. He’d killed him in the Panopticon, hands shaking until the instant before the knife had plunged in. The only way he could force himself to do it was to make it as quick and painless as possible. He couldn’t falter and draw out Jon’s suffering, not when it was already such a torment to hear him groan and scream as the building began to crumble around them. Or to see the look in his eyes, the utter trust and love warring against the Beholding’s hold on him.

This is a dream, then. A fantasy conjured by the last firing of his synapses in the moment before death. Martin silently thanks his subconscious for it. He’s never had faith the way his mother did, but if there is a heaven for him, he’s quite sure it would have Jon in it.

He breathes, even and steady like he’s trying to fall more deeply asleep. If these are his last seconds of awareness, he wants to spend them just like this.

Then he hears Jon quietly ask, “Are you awake?”

Martin opens his eyes. Jon is peering down at him, his expression tender and tentative. In the weak sunlight, he looks washed out, his features rendered nearly in greyscale. There’s no trace of the bright red from when Martin had lifted a bloody hand to cup his face. The only indication of everything that’s happened is a faint mistiness about Jon’s eyes.

Furrowing his brow, Martin reaches up and touches his cheek. It’s wet; he leaves behind a fine dusting of black sand that has stuck to his fingers. “Are you crying?” he murmurs, almost confused. Surely, if this is all in his imagination, he’d have made Jon happy.

Jon surprises him with a soft laugh. “Tears of relief, Martin. Look around.”

Reluctantly, still half-convinced none of this is really happening, Martin rolls to one side and sits up. Jon scoots over a little for him, even though there’s plenty of space. The shore is completely deserted apart from them, and silent but for the gently lapping water.

“Is this...?”

At Martin’s questioning look, a smile slowly spreads across Jon’s face. It’s a complicated one, balanced between joy and disbelief, sadness and resignation. “Somewhere else,” he affirms.

“But I—” Martin stares at Jon. There’s no blood on him, no wound; only a tell-tale rip in his shirt where the knife had gone in. “I killed you.”

“I told you to,” Jon objects. His hands come up as if to touch Martin, who rocks back on his haunches.

“I killed you,” he repeats, this time in a whisper.

Jon watches him for a moment. His shoulders lift in a helpless sort of shrug. “Or maybe,” he says, “you killed everything that wasn’t me. Everything tethering them there.”

Martin can feel tears welling up in his eyes. He’s shaking his head slowly, but he doesn’t know why. It’s not like he can deny the physical fact of Jon, here with him, miraculously unharmed and apparently, entirely human. It’s not like he wants to, either. He just hadn’t been expecting to wake up again — in a world he may have helped to doom, next to a boyfriend he was supposed to have died with.

It’s a lot to process.

A single sob escapes Martin, and at once Jon is hushing him, almost vaulting forward in his rush to pull him into a hug. They meet awkwardly halfway, in a tangle of clumsy limbs and warmth. 

With Jon’s arms around him, Martin lets himself just cry for a while.

It feels long overdue. The back of Martin’s throat has felt tight and strained since the moment he woke up to find Jon gone. He’d rushed to find Georgie, Melanie, and Basira, and then he’d rushed up the countless flights of stairs in the Panopticon, not daring to stop and catch his breath for fear he’d be too late. He was, anyway, and the moment Jon had turned around to face him, voice crackling with static and eyes illuminated as if from within, it had all come crashing over Martin: Jon had left him behind after all. He’d broken his promise, been so willing to die in some perverse kind of atonement that he hadn’t even waited to say goodbye.

Martin hardly dares to believe he’s here now, rubbing soothing circles over his back and murmuring, “It’s okay. Shh. I’ve got you.”

It takes some time, but eventually Martin subsides. The trembling stops and his breathing slows. Mildly embarrassed, he pulls back from the embrace. “Don’t ever,” he says wetly, poking Jon in the chest, “do that to me again.”

“I won’t,” Jon says softly. He waits until Martin has settled back on the sand, then takes his hand and interlaces their fingers. 

For a while, they both stare out at the water, the way the seafoam stands out against the dark beach.

“Any idea where this is?” Martin asks.

Jon shakes his head. “I think Iceland has black sand beaches, but... you know. That’s back in our reality.”

Martin lets out a long breath. “It worked, then.” His voice is muted with weariness. “We saved the world.”

“And doomed every other one.” Without letting go of Martin’s hand, Jon pulls his knees up to his chest and rests his chin on them.

“Not everything is your fault, Jon. We all agreed on the plan.” 

He waits, but Jon gives no sign of having even heard the words. He watches him for a long moment, biting his lip. Then he clambers to his feet and pulls on their linked hands. “Come on.”

Jon blinks up at him. “Where are we going?”

“On a walk,” Martin tells him.

The beach looks the same in either direction, and a steep wall of volcanic rock prevents them from going farther inland. Undaunted, Martin starts off towards the left. Jon follows, possibly from force of habit. They’d gone on many such walks together, in the halcyon days at the safehouse before the world ended. 

Normally, Martin would point things out as they passed them by — good cows being a bonus, of course — but this place seems eerily devoid of life. There aren’t even any seashells or bits of driftwood. The air is still. The fog sits in heavy reams.

He’s just wondering if he should bring it up when Jon abruptly starts talking. He’d given one last statement, he admits, up in the Panopticon before Martin arrived. Becoming the pupil of the Eye had given him answers, at long last, about how the entities came to be. 

Jon’s train of thought is uncertain, and he frowns a lot as he rambles. Sometimes he stops and gazes out across the water, the look in his eyes vacant. It’s probably just a side effect of his being ripped away from the Ceaseless Watcher, Martin tells himself. Probably.

“We created monsters,” Jon says at last, “and then I set them loose on the whole universe.” He stops walking and hunches his shoulders. “What does that make me?”

Martin closes his eyes for a moment. “Jonathan Sims, you are not a monster.”

Beside him, Jon’s breathing goes shaky. “But I told you—”

“That I wouldn’t want to see what was left of you?” Martin interrupts. He hasn’t forgotten the desperate look on Jon’s face in that moment, when he’d first refused to leave him. “I’m looking at you right now, Jon, and you know what I see?”

Illogically, he’s almost angry at him; that’s how frustrated he is that the man he loves cannot seem to stop blaming himself for everything. “I see someone who has given everything to make things right. Who chose kindness, even though he’d been marked and manipulated. Even though he kept getting kidnapped and hunted and hurt and — and used.”

Jon is staring at him now, wide-eyed. Martin thinks about the way he’d looked in what he thought were their last moments together. Beautiful and beatific. He touches two fingers to Jon’s chin, tilting it up. “It’s not monstrous to protect the people you love,” he says. “It’s human.”

With his free hand, Jon swipes at a tear that’s running down his cheek.

“Okay?” Martin presses, but gently.

Jon sniffs. “Has anyone ever told you,” he says, “that your pep talks can be rather aggressive?”

He’s deflecting, but Martin decides to let him get away with it. He’s pushed hard enough for now. In any case, he thinks his words have hit home, at least to some extent. There’s still guilt in Jon’s eyes, but although it runs deep, Martin thinks it looks a little less sharp.

Pulling back and turning to resume their walk, he says, “They have to be, to get through your thick head.”

A corner of Jon’s lips quirks up. “That sounds like something Basira would say.”

“Is she alright, do you think? And Georgie and Melanie?”

Jon waves a hand. “I’m sure they’re fine. They’re probably putting the world back together already.”

“Probably make it better,” Martin muses. He sighs. “They’ll have their work cut out for them.”

A beat. “And what about us?” Jon asks quietly. “What do we do now?”

They fall silent, each contemplating the question. 

If they’ve ended up in the same world as the entities, Martin figures, at some point they’ll probably have to start seeking out organisations like the Magnus Institute, working out who the next Archivist is. And if they somehow stop the apocalypse from happening, it’ll only be for a while. There will always be another attempt to foil. 

By some miracle, they’ve made it here. Maybe they’ll be able to build a life together, and enjoy it for a while. But mostly, the future Martin sees stretching ahead of them is just full of more danger and guilt and sacrifice. 

Jon must be thinking along the same lines, because he sighs and says, “Do you know what this reminds me of? It’s like I thought the play was over, but it turns out it’s only the intermission.”

“What did you want it to be?”

For the space of several breaths, Jon is silent. “A good epilogue,” he says at last. “I’d like to think we deserve that much.”

Martin swallows past a sudden lump in his throat. There isn’t really anything he can say to that, so instead he gives Jon a little nudge, and keeps walking.

When he next looks up, his eye snags on a shape on the shoreline ahead of them. It’s the first thing they’ve come across since they woke up here and started walking. In tacit agreement, they both wander over to get a closer look. 

It’s a small boat, complete with a set of oars. The wood has only the faintest suggestion of brown. It’s been bleached to a light grey, though how long that would have taken, Martin can’t guess. 

He clears his throat. “Is anything about all this just a little bit on the nose to you?”

“What?” Jon asks, still peering at the boat. Then: “Oh.”

This looks more like an ocean than a river, Styx or otherwise, but Martin can’t deny that there’s something ethereal about this place. Interstitial. Plus, there’s the otherwise inexplicable fact that Jon’s wound is gone. Honestly, he should have put it together sooner.

He notices Jon watching him then, his head canted and his expression fond. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” Jon says. “You’re just... taking the possibility that you’re dead very well.”

“So are you,” Martin points out.

Jon shrugs. “I’ve had time to get used to the idea. Besides, you’re here.”

His smile, at that moment, is a brittle thing. Martin finds he has to look away from it.

They never seem to get enough time, do they? The cottage in Scotland. That week at Upton House. And now this. Part of Martin is tempted to try and stay here, in this final pocket of respite. He knows that’s irrational, though. 

Maybe this is just a very dramatic-looking beach, and they’ll feel very silly when they wash ashore. Or maybe they’re right. Maybe they’ll get in that boat and... pass on, head towards the light — any one of the phrases people have invented to give shape to the undiscovered country from whose bourn no traveller returns.

Either way, Martin realises, they have to find out. And at least they’ll find out together. Subconsciously, he tightens his grip on Jon’s hand.

“What are you thinking?” Jon asks softly.

Martin looks at him for a long moment. “I did want to take you rowing.” Such light words for the weight of what they imply.

“Where you go,” Jon says, “I go.”

Martin smiles. “That’s the deal.”

It takes them a while to get a rhythm going after they push off from the shore. Martin rows, and after a while, to his mild delight, Jon starts singing a sea shanty under his breath, keeping time to the beat of the oars. 

And as the shore disappears behind the fog, Martin is surprised to find that colours start to filter back into the world. Pinks and yellows, the likes of which the sky above his head hasn’t contained in so long.

He looks at Jon, who looks back at him and nods. 

They meet the sunrise. They leave the world behind.

[also available on AO3 here]

[my TMA fic on AO3]

[suttttton]

Groundhog Day (my beloved) and Stardew Valley 👀👀👀

Groundhog Day!!! (for those of you who are new, groundhog day is about elias gets trapped in a time loop between the unknowing and the eyepocalypse and it forces him to have a redemption arc) i'm currently working on outlining the second draft, which is a VERY big process considering the first draft is 60k words and A Gigantic Mess and also time loop stories are COMPLICATED. important recent updates include: elias thinks jon is So Fucking Annoying in the early loops (which sucks for him because loops 2 and 3 both involve jon fully moving in with elias for like a year), elias takes tim on several bonding(?) road trips for... somewhat complicated reasons, and martin no longer survives to the end of loop #15 (RIP, Martin now dies in a full 50% of the loops, which is more than any of the other main characters except Tim) anyway here's another excerpt, something a little different this time:

Jon curls his hands into Martin’s shirt, sobbing. Martin just holds him, firm but cold. Distantly, he hopes Jon will be alright, even as he shifts with discomfort at having Jon so close. “Jon,” Martin says eventually. “It’s alright.” Jon just shakes his head, curling tighter against Martin. “Oh, Jon,” Martin rumbles, stroking a hand through his hair. He still knows how to perform the gestures of caring, even if the touch itself now repels him. He does care about Jon. He wants to care about Jon, at least. “It was always going to happen this way. The Lonely has always had me. I just didn’t know how deep it went, until…” “I need you,” Jon pleads, squeezing tighter into him, trying to work the Eye into his fog, to See him. “Jon.” Martin’s voice is suddenly stern, and the fog increases. “Don’t.” Jon gasps at the sudden blindness, then hitches another sob into Martin’s chest. Quietly, he says, “I’m sorry.” Martin sighs, and starts rubbing circles into Jon’s back. “I’m still here,” he says. “At least as much as you are. You don’t have to look for me.” Jon thinks about Martin’s warmth, his bright smile whenever he brings Jon tea, the soft press of his lips and the salty taste of the tears dripping from his cheeks as they said goodbye, I promise I’ll see you soon. He barely contains another sob. So many good, important things about Martin, eroded away by sand and fog.

(this is from loop #4, aka the Monster Boyfriends one)

Stardew Valley is a series of vignettes based on the TMA-themed farm @this-is-such-a-bad-decision play together (i play as jon and she plays as martin and we defend each other from all the fucking monsters on our farm it's very wholesome). it doesn't exist much beyond outline form right now, but if you want a sneak peek there's this very fluffy vignette i quietly posted like two years ago about jon and chickens