#tma physics engine

[captain-lonagan]

in magnus archives episode 65 the difference between binary and analog is discussed. the spooky spooky guy that provokes the statement says that existing in binary code cuts his mind, traps his thoughts. we also know that binary or digital recordings of supernatural occurrences get corrupted, as this is the reason jon starts recording statements on magnetic tape (an analog recording method).

not only are the tapes able to record supernatural happenings, they pick up distortions and irregularities caused by supernatural events that the regular human senses might not. think the static that happens when jon uses archivist powers. we also know that analog instant cameras (for example some models of polaroids) are immune to the tampering of the NotThem.

therefore analog technology can be used to record and measure the Fears. my theory is binary recordings fail due to that issue in mag 65 of how the complexities of the mind cannot be broken down into 1’s and 0’s and if the Fears are hell on a human mind’s comprehension then they’re fucking devastating to binary tech. anyway. let me into artifact storage with a bunch of analog tools to measure and record the artifacts during testing. Let Me In

[hairasuntouchedaspartoftheamazon]

@surreal-static I’m thinking about it now, you know you fully learned how to abuse the tma physics engine. Smirke. That man was weird as shit and probably sucked but he understood how to make the weird shit work for him in terms of architecture and freaky basements like that’s the methodology we need to work with here

[chntfessions]

Heya!

This is the new chnt confessions blog because the other one quit. This is a collab, we are all minors, dont be weird. proshippers and j*y defenders dni

Intro 1. I'm sydney,(he/it) I love chnt sm and despite the fandom rn I'm willing to do anything related to it! 🪱

intro two: hey!! just call me mod 🎀 for now (she/any), don't wanna state my identity right now due to all the issues in the fandom rn (once things get better i'll give a name reveal!). i love chnt a lot, but some of my other interests are tma(gp), cats, and vocaloid! :33

Intro three:Im Rowan/Jedidiah, i looove chnt and idk how to do an intro sorry!! Oh also I use he/it!! I sign off with 🦨

intro 4 : hi , just call me mod 🫁. i love chnt and im emo (this gives it away doesnt it). use he / xe for me.

intro 5: haii im mod 💣!! or otherwise known as kaz. chnt is my special interest (or one of them, jhariah being the other!) i use he/she/it/clock/clockworks with a huge preference for he, PLEASE dont use they.

intro 6: HELLO HI im phobos !!!!!!!!! waves hi hello,, anyways chnt has been one of my special interests since july of last year!! i also like chonny jash a lot and some other stuffs,,but those two are my main ones :o) oh ya i use any pronouns and my sign off is 🐟

intro seven: HEYHEYHEYY YALL!! it's YOURS TRULY, the ONE and ONLY NEW and DISPROVED (hopefully) FAVORITE mod, mod ☢️🐦‍⬛!!!!!! whom you may know as corvidae. hehe. i use they/he/she pronouns with a preference for they/them and androgynous terms, and my special interest is nuclear physics, engineering, and chemistry, so basically ALL THINGS RADIATION!!! i'm god's most kafkaesque radiation freak. i would know, he told me so. :)

WE DO HCS TOO NOW !!!!! -🪱

[sapphicthunderhead]

TMA SPOILERS AHEAD:

I think it’s time for an Annabelle Cane retrospective because I will. Never. Be over her.

She is the neglected (Jon parallel) youngest child of a large family. She ran away (Jon parallel) in a bid for attention. Mother of Puppets marked her (Jon parallel) through an incident involving an old woman, a place she wasn’t meant to be, and a giant motherfucking spider (Jon parallel).

Years later, she’s at Surrey University. She’s probably a psych major, probably nice to janitors, definitely has an eccentric sense of style. (I heard her character description for the first time— heard “vintage clothing store exploded on her”— and that, I think, is when I began to fall for her.)

She volunteers to participate in a crackpot experiment, the details of which she knows very little. (Was there a control group mentioned? No. There never is when it comes to testing “psychic abilities.” Were the other participants made to sign NDAs so they couldn’t disclose details of their part of the so-called experiment to the public or to Annabelle, leaving her suggestible, and thus making the whole enterprise susceptible to producing skewed results? Evidently not.)

Through this “experiment,” she becomes a receptacle for fear, a vessel for the essence of the Web. Of course she does! She has some severe mommy issues, as established in the statement she left in the house on Hilltop Road, and the Mother of Puppets has decided to treat her like the favorite daughter she always wanted to be. It is an ideal arrangement for both parties.

Now she feeds. She nearly dies. Her apotheosis is a resurrection. She is full of spiderweb. She escapes; she disappears.

Onto the creation of Chelicerae. She functionally becomes a serial killer. She fills people up with spiders.

She finds her brother in the ranks of the Mother of Puppets’ forces, Neil Lagorio, and catalyzes his final transformation into the spider monster in Creature Feature. (That’s either him or the director, but I lean towards the former.)

She uses every means available— the internet, entertainment industry, her own skill at interpersonal manipulation— to instill the fear of helplessness, of futility, of autonomy being denied or never having existed in the first place, in the hearts and minds of mankind. She does all this in order to engineer an end that benefits her. She becomes the epitome of selfishness and of cruelty, but also of cunning and resourcefulness. She possesses a foresight of such clarity it seems as if she’s become the Web’s prophet. She possesses qualities of a folk hero, a demigod, a biblical figure. (I am as in awe of her as I am delightfully frightened.)

When the end comes, she is prepared. She has accounted for all possible outcomes. Only one variable remains independent: the plus-one to her parallel— the one card she was never able to play, the piece she could never take for herself. That’s because Martin Blackwood is an active participant, not a pawn. By the time they finally confront one another face-to-face, he knows the rules of the game almost as well as she does. Both he and Annabelle have always moved in the shadows, but his intent was to be underestimated and hers was to inspire fear, and he does not fear her (not like he feared his mother, or being unloved, and he has conquered both of these).

So she doesn’t fill him with spiders. She grows, she changes, she adapts. She becomes truly monstrous; her physical form at last reflects her inner self. She places her bets, plays the last card up her sleeve, and waits for her opponent to make his move.

And she wins.

(Marry me marry me marry me you can have my heart I would treat you so well Annabelle pretty please marry me marry me—)

[neatoburrito12threeto]

TMA Team Shooter

What if you played as the various Entities in a TF2/Overwatch-esque shooter? (a lot of these are inspired by my picks in my Team Magnus 2 post.)

The Buried: Despite being a relatively direct fear, I can see the Buried being, like the Engineer, a character based around setting up physical objects, in its case, traps. Might also have a burrowing option. Though I can't see it being particularly fast.

Corruption: Definitely based around damage-over-time/poison effects. Might also be the healer, if there is one.

Dark: Probably the tank/straightforward tough/strong type. Might also be able to inflict some kind of blinded condition.

Desolation: Fire damage. Probably does a lot of area attacks and might be able to destroy structures.

End: I'm thinking the End's gimmick would actually being to do with the respawn mechanic, having the ability to set it's own spawn points. Basically places down Minecraft beds, and "sleeps" in them and then, bam, you can't get the End out of your front lines.

Eye: Definitely an information gathering type, maybe even has a map or something unique to it. Probably has some kind of powerful attack that needs charging up. When you're up against an Eye, it's gonna be over quick, one way or another.

Flesh: Another potential healer. Probably pretty melee focused, might be able to eat somehow, to grow stronger over time. Regen could make sense too.

Hunt: Glass cannon type, fast and hard-hitting. Able to ignore any form of Armor or regen.

Lonely: Probably pretty indirect. Likely gets power from being isolated from the team. Might even be the sniper character, and/or a debuff focused build.

Slaughter: Another damage focused build, likely very built around positioning and specific circumstances, to reflect the Slaughter's usually weak, but occasionally quite strong, nature.

Spiral: Annoying as hell. Few straight damage options, but a teleport (taking the form of opening a door, and hence readable and cancellable.) and able to make illusions of teammates that aren't there. The illusions are generally pretty easy to see through if you focus on them long enough, as they only idle, but during the heat of combat they might be mistaken.

Stranger: Basically Spy TF2. Might in addition have the ability to mimic it's own teammates even those classes that aren't there, to, say, sew paranoia by appearing to be a Spiral.

Vast: Likely long range, tanky, with a flying movement option.

Web: Could be able to actually control other players' movement, but that seems too straightforward. I was actually thinking being able to set up structures and perhaps minions.

Extinction: Saxton Hale style asymmetrical boss, but much more ranged and indirect.

Anyone who knows more about game balance and design should feel free to give suggestions

[thebabycage]

Intro post time!

General stuff:

Hi I’m The Baby Cage aka Thomas! I’m like a court jester except I’m also attracted a little too much by bones.

You will often see me reblogging cool stuff, ranting about strange things, or getting much too invested in random posts. I don’t like to participate in many controversies or extreme beliefs and even if I did I will likely not post about it.

Fun facts:

I am a Bisexual/Pan-questioning, Grey-Ace male with he/him/they/them pronouns

I speak English and Mongolian, am learning Japanese and Korean, and know a small amount of Russian and Spanish

I play the piano (quite badly mind you)

Despite spending the majority of my life in none of these countries, I speak with a mix of Californian, British, and Irish accents

My dream pet animal is a monitor lizard who I’d let roam around the house like one might with a dog

I have audhd, and probably other undiagnosed stuff

Warnings/non-fun facts:

I am extremely queer and proud about it

I (though you likely won’t see much posting about it) sh and have an ed

I have an ed, sh, and several anxiety issues so please tag gore/sh/ed/su1c1d3 related content and use tone indicators!!!

I don’t have OSDD, but function in a similar manner (if you really must know dm and I can explain)

I am very defensive of my moots and will not tolerate any hate towards them

Dni:

Nsfw and porn accounts (though I can forgive posting about it I won’t interact with accounts solely centred around it)

Transphobes, homophobes, TERFs, racists, queerphobes, and any other uncool people

Adults in dms

Interests:

I dibble and dabble I’m several fields of study, such as physics, both quantum and applied, engineering (though one could argue that’s just really applied physics), chemistry, medicine, psychology, biology, and many more.

I love learning about new strange things so feel free to send me just cool stuff you find out about. I also have an extensive collection of useless or obscure information you’ll likely never need.

Music taste:

I love almost any genre, but my favourite musicians are as follows in no particular order:

Will Wood, IDKHBTFM, Waitress, Liability Luke, Changeline, Machinery of the Human Heart, Issbrokie/Shteppie, Lightnin’ Luke, Kendrick Lamar, Femtanyl, That Handsome Devil, Shayfer James, Isiah Rashad, Dib Dooley, Teddy Hyde, Bear Ghost, and Aaron May.

There are much more mind you these are just my most prominent listens (pls feel free to dm me for music recommendations).

Hobbies:

Music writing

Piano & singing

Reading

Cooking

Brazilian Jiu Jitsu

Writing

Drawing

Fandoms:

I consume podcast dramas at a voracious pace but if I could name my favourites it would be TMA/TMagP, The Silt Verses, Hymns for the Road, Midnight Burger, Malevolent, and Ch&T

Other fandoms include: Rick Riordan books, Good Omens, Doctor Who, Arcane, Pokemon, Devil May Cry, Good Omens, etc

Why The Baby Cage?:

I really like old strange things. When I heard about the unfortunate invention that hung children out of window sills (tragically around the same time people began placing lead in gasoline) I decided that it would be a funny name for a Tumblr account. I’ll probably change it, but idk.

I am collecting user boxes and will add them soon enough

[thegreatgaydragon]

pride-dragon42 -> thegreatgaydragon

Hey! I’m Dragon and I use he/they/it/ke pronouns.

Please don’t ask me for financial aid, I cannot help you and I will assume it is a scam. You will be blocked.

Bands and punk sideblog: @the-writing-writer-iv

Mechanisms sideblog: @allthedoorsareopennow

TMA, TMAGP and other podcasts sideblog: @badgrav-31

Legend of Zelda and other videogames sideblog (inconsistently used): @shard-of-farosh-fang

Fanfiction and AU sideblog: @myhandisfatemywordislaw

RP blogs:

Marius von Raum (The Mechanisms): @doctorbaronmariusvonraum

Jonny d’Ville (The Mechanisms): @captainjonnydville

Nastya Rasputina (The Mechanisms): @engineer-nastya

Fandoms I am sometimes active in:

Doctor Who

Stranger Things

Good Omens

The Sandman

Saw

The Magnus Archives/The Magnus Protocol (@badgrav-31 )

Star Wars

Spider-Man

Legend of Zelda (@shard-of-farosh-fang)

Favourite bands: (@the-writing-writer-iv)

Ice Nine Kills

Coheed and Cambria

Metallica

Alestorm

NOFX

Dog park dissidents

Bellowhead

The Mechanisms (on @allthedoorsareopennow )

I try my best to ensure my blog is a safe space for people, including but not limited to:

Queer people and the varied identities that entails, including aromantics, asexuals, xenogenders, neopronouns, confusing/conflicting identities, and questioning people

POC

Neurodivergent people, including personality disorders, mental illness, systems, and addiction

Physically disabled people

I hope you understand this will be sufficient such that I am not required to reblog the stupid ‘reblog or you’re HOMOPHOBIC and everyone hates you’ reblog bait posts. Thank you.

I try to use the #unreality tag where necessary. You may wish to block the tag #horror if you want to avoid mildly gory images/art/gifs, e.g. from the saw franchise.

[gitanjalithoratsblog]

Delayed Homecoming: Sunita Williams' Continued Journey in Space

Astronaut Sunita Williams is currently making headlines as she extends her stay aboard the International Space Station. Initially scheduled to return to Earth in a week, Williams and her crewmate Butch Wilmore are facing a delayed homecoming due to technical issues with the Starliner spacecraft.

Who is Sunita williams?

Sunita Williams is a Indian born American naval officer and NASA astronaut. She holds several records for her accomplishments in space exploration. She was born on September 19, 1965, in Euclid, Ohio, to Indian-American parents.she graduated from the United States Naval Academy in 1987 with a degree in physical science. Williams served as a test pilot in the US Navy before being selected as a NASA astronaut candidate in 1998.

Space Missions :

Sunita Williams' first space mission was STS-116, launched on December 9, 2006, aboard the Space Shuttle Discovery. She spent 195 days aboard the International Space Station (ISS) as a flight engineer, marking the beginning of her remarkable spaceflight career. Instead of returning to Earth, Williams stayed on the ISS and joined the mission, STS-117, which launched on June 8, 2007. She finally returned to Earth on June 22, 2007, after an extended stay in space. This continuous 322-day stay in space set the stage for her future records and achievements."

Sunita Williams' second space mission was Expedition 32/33, which launched on July 15, 2012, aboard the Russian spacecraft Soyuz TMA-05M. During this mission, she spent 127 days aboard the International Space Station (ISS) as a flight engineer and later became the commander of the ISS. She was return to earth on November 19, 2012.

Sunita Williams is currently on the International Space Station (ISS) as part of the Boeing Crew Flight Test mission . This mission launched on June 5, 2024, and was expected to return after eight days, but technical issues with the Boeing Starliner's return module have delayed her return indefinitely.NASA has been considering alternate options for their safe return. NASA is conducting multiple checks and testing to insure the starliner's safety before returning to earth.

Health Concern:

Prolonged space travel can pose several health concerns for astronauts such as Radiation exposure, Increased risk of cancer,Muscle and bone loss,vision problems and eye damage,Sleep disturbances,increase risk of cardiac problems,Increased risk of infections.

Reportedly, Sunita Williams is experiencing Spaceflight Associated Neuro-ocular Syndrome (SANS) a condition observed in astronauts that affects the eyes and brain during and after extended space missions. It is characterized by changes in vision, increased intracranial pressure, and structural changes in the eyes.

As Sunita Williams continues her extraordinary journey in space, we pray for her safe return and marvel at her remarkable achievements, inspiring generations to reach for the stars.

Jai Hind🇮🇳🇮🇳🇮🇳

Gitanjali Thorat (Press Article Blogger)

22/08/2024

[deathsbecome]

things to know about the muse

NAME. Addison Marie Blackwood

NICKNAME(S). Addy, Ads (by Matthew only), Stargirl/Spacegirl (specifically I've referenced this being used by Ruby, but if anyone ships with Addy I think you should use it too)

TITLE. none

P E R S O N A L .

MORALITY. lawful/ neutral / chaotic / good / grey / evil

RELIGIOUS BELIEF. atheist, generally is more focused on a scientific approach to things even in more supernatural settings

SINS. lust  / greed / gluttony / sloth / pride / envy / wrath

VIRTUES. chastity / charity / diligence / humility / kindness / patience / justice

PRIMARY GOAL IN LIFE. to learn as much as possible and do something notable with that knowledge (i.e. spaceships. she wants to make spaceships)

LANGUAGES KNOWN. English, Spanish, some Latin (verse dependent, tends to know some Mandarin in adult verses and in DC verse she knows bits and pieces of. A lot.)

QUIRKS. gestures with hands a lot (particularly when enthused), miscellaneous stimming (foot bouncing, tapping fingers against thumb, soft clicks with tongue, etc) tendency to speak fast

SAVVIES. astrology, piano, guitar, singing, biology, dance, tumbling/acrobatics (due to dance), chemistry, engineering, physics (supers verse: knife)

P H Y S I C A L .

BUILD. slender/ fit / athletic / curvy / herculean / babyfat / pudgy / obese / other

HEIGHT. 5'11 until i make 6'0 addy real

WEIGHT. idk im not looking that shit up for exact numbers. also she's dead so like that complicates things. normal weight for a fairly athletic (primarily cardio/stamina based) woman of her height. a little on the lighter side in some cases (dc verse when she's younger, tua, thg pre and during games) due to malnutrition

SCARS/BIRTHMARKS. scar on bottom lip, rest are verse dependent (marks around head, Achilles heel, and neck in tma/cfp verses and just. many scars in thg and dc verses—notable for dc, scars resembling autopsy incisions, two scars from gunshot wounds, scar along back of neck near spine and hairline)

ABILITIES/POWERS. human: intelligence, general athleticism, stealth. ghost: that + reality manipulation to seem alive, if she knows she's a ghost, typical ghost stuff. tua/marvel: human abilities + reality manipulation. dc: intelligence, enhanced strength/reflexes/stamina/senses/pain tolerance, knows how to use many weapons and most fighting styles

F A V O U R I T E S .

FAVOURITE FOOD. pancakes

FAVOURITE DRINK. iced tea

TOPPING. depends

FAVOURITE COLOUR. red

FAVOURITE MUSIC GENRE. folk, musical theater

FAVOURITE BOOK GENRE. anything as long as it's done in a way she likes. probably fantasy and nonfiction (science/nature, psychology being bigger ones) are her most preferred, if really being pressed for an answer

FAVOURITE MOVIE GENRE. documentaries (nerd)

FAVOURITE SEASON. spring

FAVOURTE CURSE WORD. shit

FAVOURITE SCENT. rain

F U N   S T U F F .

LOUD BURPER OR SOFT BURPER. soft

SINGING IN THE SHOWER. hums on occasion

LIKES BAD PUNS. bad puns? no. well executed ones? absolutely

THEIR OPINION ON THE MUN. "unambitious"

[pedulum-chronometry]

Yes please! Where is Martin? Is he CMO? Bc I would adore! *think longingly about grumpy chief engineer Gertrude who keeps everything running and her young emo apprentice Gerard*

star trek au anyone? anyone?

[saintbleeding]

sooo id love to see you dance your way around trying to give archivist sasha >:) context but actually. id also love to hear u publicly gush about flooflufloof my beloved since I have permission to ask after my favourite godchild 😇💖✨

oh well that’s very simple archivist sasha >:) is my codename for that chronic non fatal hanahaki jmart i mentioned a while back thank u for enquiring with saintbleeding industries :)

OKAY NO BUT-

so

my friend who is a fluff peddler (it’s. it’s you that friend is you)

was bemoaning the tragic lack of fluffy coffeeshop aus in tma and specifically jmart

around this time i happened to be in a fluffy mood on account of how much angst/canon-compliant fic i write because generally that’s more what i’m in the mood to write

SO. to indulge the fluffy mood i was like. hm. the take that martin would be a barista, and a good one, is extremely powerful, valid, and good, and i love it very much

but what i love even more is jon working as the manager at a cafe (He Does Not Work In Customer Service Thank You Very Much) and getting roasted and antagonised by his underlings for having such a clear and present crush on the [i have it as physics now but i may have to switch to engineering because that fits better but. something in STEM] uni lecturer who’s started coming in weekly

this fic is the most self-indulgent shippy silly nonsense and it is my beloved, i cherish it, it is EVERYTHING to me

i will now include an excerpt as a treat for u my dear sweet friend

It’s on his way back into the office fifteen minutes after the stranger leaves that Sasha seizes his arm with such ferocity he’s concerned she’s torn a hole in his sleeve.

He makes a frankly quite undignified sound of protest as she pulls him bodily into the fridge and closes the door behind them.

“What the hell-”

“I am sick to death of your- bloody-” she interrupts herself with a groan, pushing at his shoulder.

“You’re very lucky I’m the whole HR department, you know,” Jon says, crossing his arms and taking a frankly menaced step back. 

“If you don’t introduce yourself to him the next time he comes in I am going to- to- bite you, or something, okay-”

“Christ, Sasha, what?”

“You know, Jon, for someone as smart as you are, you’re dreadfully fond of playing dumb.”

He pauses for a moment, his cheeks warming. “I don’t see why this matters.”

She rolls her eyes so aggressively he worries one might plop out. “Everyone can see the- fucking- Jupiter-sized crush you have on him. If you don’t say something, I- no, no, actually- Tim will.”

“It’s true!” chirps an infuriatingly delighted voice from outside the heavy door.

“You two do realise this is literally entrapment, don’t you? You literally have me trapped.”

“And when we let you out we’ll still know where you work,” Sasha says, her voice low, her right forefinger shoved into his sternum. “Don’t test me.”

“Jesus. Fine. Can I please leave the enclosed space now?”

[captain-lonagan]

it’s a shame sasha had a bad time in artifact storage because i tell ya. you break into artifact storage once to gear the fuck up and Team Archives becomes a hell of a lot more formidable. “oh avatars are unkillable” there’s a fucking gun in artifact storage that’s got Slaughter powers and you can dodge most if not all effects of using it if you wear a fucking glove to fire it. there’s a stone eye that disables all video cameras in proximity to it. there’s a fucking wardrobe in there that no light is able to enter, it’s pitch Dark, and i want to throw elias in there and see what happens to him. can i just lock him in there? would that fuck him up?

also salesa? hello? apparently at one point he had a carpet that either was or contained a Spiral thing and if you interacted with it in a certain way the pattern on it would fucking attack you and rip you apart. catch me deploying that rug like a fucking trap card at the front door of my hideout. who needs a ring camera doorbell when you can just roll out a fucking demon rug. sadly salesa threw the rug into the ocean but i’m surprised no gertrude or dekker types ever hit him up like “mikaele i need a sewing needle that can send a man to hell, what’s the cost” because he probably has one in stock or could locate one

[ollieofthebeholder]

leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall): a TMA fanfic

Tumblr tag || Also on AO3

Chapter 25: Martin Prime

“Well, she was right about one thing,” Jon said dryly, a moment or two after they pulled away from the curb. “I definitely don’t care much for the original Helen Richardson.”

Martin forced a smile, although he knew his heart wasn’t in it. “Our Helen said that, did she?”

“When I was in her domain. Or, well, when I was on her doorstep, anyway. She told me I wouldn’t have—how did she put it? I wouldn’t have liked ‘Helen Classic’ all that much.” Jon sighed. “I’ll give the Distortion credit for that much, anyway. She—it—never really lied to us.”

Martin hummed and turned his face in the direction of the window. “She didn’t need to. Why lie when the truth would disorientate just as well?”

“That’s a fair point. God knows our world was confusing enough as it was. It was never very hard to get us—well, me, I suppose—turned around just by presenting me with a truth I’d never considered before.” Jon went quiet, but it was the sort of quiet he usually got when there was something he wasn’t saying and really ought to.

Ordinarily, Martin would have pried at him, tried to prod him to open up and just be honest, but right about then, he was just too tired. Not physically, mentally. Partly it was the edge of navigating a new place while blind. He’d been at one time intimately familiar with the Archives, and he’d had at least passing familiarity with both Tim’s house and the tunnels, back before. But he’d never been to the house they’d just toured before, had no frame of reference, and he’d decided to go without the cane despite Jon’s objections—he was still sort of learning how to use it properly, since it was mostly trial-and-error on his part, and he’d also got it in his head that Helen would probably be the sort of person to look down on someone visibly disabled like that. The fact that he strongly suspected he was right wasn’t helping his mental energy levels. He’d spent the last—God, four months? Had it actually been that long?—surrounded by people he knew, trusted, and loved, for varying definitions of love, and who reciprocated those feelings. Helen Richardson was the first person he’d interacted with outside of the Archival team, and he hadn’t been prepared for the way she’d acted around him. Around them, really, and he wasn’t sure if it was Jon’s appearance or the fact that they were two men in a relationship or both. That, at least, was something he was well used to—he’d been out since he was fourteen and Jon was by no means his first boyfriend, although he hadn’t really dated much since starting to work at the Institute—but it didn’t make it any less upsetting, or exhausting.

And despite that, despite the fact that she was objectively not a particularly nice person, Martin felt a weariness settle over him as he realized they probably weren’t going to be able to save her. They’d known they probably couldn’t prevent every horrible thing that had happened to the people they knew, of course, but both Jon and Martin were determined to do what they could. And since Helen’s initial statement had been rather…imprecise about how long after her experience it had been before she decided (or, as they’d later learned, was pushed) to come to the Institute and give her statement, they’d decided to see what they could do to warn her, as best they could. It probably wasn’t a surprise that it hadn’t worked. Martin didn’t need any special powers, or indeed the ability to see her face, to know that she’d been deeply skeptical of Jon’s questions about the door. He believed her when she said she hadn’t seen it—Jon had said from the beginning that the Distortion had been lucky to grab her on the first go—but he’d kind of hoped she would at least be on the alert for it, and he somehow didn’t think that was going to be the case. The Spiral was going to target her, and now Martin wondered if they’d inadvertently drawn its attention to her. God knew they’d accelerated enough other things in the timeline.

There was also something else preying on his mind, something fairly major, but he knew better than to bring it up.

Finally, Jon spoke again, in a voice so soft Martin almost couldn’t hear it over the engine. “She was selective about what truths she told me, though. It was easier to remember that when I wasn’t alone.”

Even though he knew it wasn’t meant to be a censure of him, Martin felt a stabbing of guilt in his stomach, and he had to swallow hard before he could answer. “You know I wouldn’t have—”

“I know,” Jon said immediately. Martin felt his touch on the back of his hand and instinctively laced their fingers together. “I could have…I’m not blaming you. I didn’t even realize how hard it was until I was in her domain.”

“Alone,” Martin reminded him. That was the sticking point. Jon wouldn’t have been alone when he faced down Helen if he hadn’t realized how badly Martin didn’t want him to see what his domain was like…or more accurately, what Martin in his domain was like.

“I could have waited for you. I could have gone into your domain and tried to find you. I could have taken the path that avoided Helen entirely and dealt with the spiders. I had options, Martin, and I chose to take the option that led me through Helen’s domain alone. That’s not on you.” Jon forestalled any reply Martin might have had by lifting their joined hands and kissing the back of Martin’s gently. “I don’t care what your mother said to you. You don’t bear the responsibility for anyone but yourself.”

Martin managed a smile. “I love you, you know that?”

“I know.” The smile in Jon’s voice was audible. “I love you, too.”

They lapsed into silence for a while. Martin almost thought that was the end of it, until Jon spoke up again. “Your turn.”

“My turn?” Martin repeated, although he was pretty sure he knew what Jon meant.

“Martin. I don’t need the Eye’s power to know that there’s something on your mind.”

Martin considered denying it, but in his heart of hearts he knew he wasn’t going to do that. They were trying so hard to communicate, and they’d been doing really well at it. He wasn’t going to break that now. Best to just say it and get it over with.

“That took a bit more out of me than I thought it would,” he admitted. “Not just dealing with—pre-Distortion Helen, or, you know, trying to maneuver around a space I didn’t know without being able to see it—”

“I told you to bring your cane.”

“I know, but she was having enough trouble being civil to us as it was. Why make it worse? Not like it would have helped all that much.” Martin sighed. “That’s really only part of it, though. Not even the most significant part, if I’m being honest.” He bit his lip. “I just…I didn’t realize how much I wanted that.”

There was a short pause before Jon spoke, sounding confused. “The house? I-I mean, we can probably buy it, if you really want to.”

This time, Martin’s smile was at least genuine, if small. “Look, Peter Lukas might be a bit oblivious when it comes to technology, and he might have more money than he’ll spend in a lifetime, but even he’d notice a sudden payout of two and a half million pounds to a real estate firm.”

Jon snorted with obvious amusement. “Probably closer to three by the time Helen was done working us over.”

“Point still stands. Anyway, it’s not the house I’m talking about.”

“Then what is it?”

Martin took a deep breath. “It’s just—I never thought about a future for us. I mean, yes, of course I knew by the time we’d been in Scotland for a couple weeks that we were going to spend the rest of our lives together. I-it’s just, well, once the world ended? I never really thought about the rest of our lives actually being that long. Yeah, we had the plan to stop Jonah Magnus and save the world and turn things back the way they were, but—let’s be realistic, Jon, I think we both had it in the back of our minds that we were both going to die. I guess I just never considered the possibility of a future beyond that, because I figured we didn’t have one. I figured the best I could hope for was dying with you and there being a life after death we could spend together. Even when we came back here to fix everything, I—I didn’t really think beyond immediate goals. Stop Jonah, save Tim, save Sasha, save the world. I didn’t think about what might be ahead for us. But then we were in there talking to Helen, and I was listening to you spin that story for her, and—and something just clicked, you know? I suddenly…it suddenly hit me how much I really wanted all of that. How much I want to have that—that future. That life together. A home. A cat.” He swallowed hard. “Kids.”

Jon didn’t say anything for a long moment, and Martin closed his eyes and lowered his head. He shouldn’t have said all that. He should have just left it at wanting them to have a future. He shouldn’t have mentioned how right everything Jon had lied to Helen about felt. It was too much pressure, and God knew Jon probably didn’t want it, didn’t want to risk…now Jon was going to think he had to let Martin down gently. Hell, there was no guarantee Jon even wanted this to be forever. Martin knew he loved Jon, would love him until there was nothing left of either one of them to love, but what if Jon didn’t feel the same way? Especially since most of their relationship had developed while slogging through a literal hellscape. Could they even survive a future free of conflict? But he was trying to get better about not assuming, so he pressed his lips together to keep from saying anything else and tried to fight back the tears.

At last, Jon spoke. “Do you remember the first person who came to give a live statement when we started working in the Archives?”

Leave it to Jon to change the subject rather than break his heart. And of course Martin remembered Naomi Hearn, but—wait. “Right, the—the civil engineer?” He didn’t trust himself to say much beyond that, still trying to get his emotions under control, but he remembered now. The man had found a book he thought might have been deeply cursed and been sent down to the Archives to give his statement. They’d eventually found out that the leather-bound book with its holographic, eerily styled illustrations and weird stains and symbols scattered throughout it was part of an ill-conceived but ultimately harmless viral marketing scheme for an independent horror movie that tanked at the box office and bankrupted the filmmakers.

“Mm-hmm. He brought his daughter with him, and when I came out to give him space to make his statement privately, you were keeping an eye on her for him. I don’t think you saw me—or Tim, for that matter, when he got back in—but I was…captivated. Didn’t know why then, but I just stood there watching you pacing around the Archives singing nonsense songs.”

“Polish,” Martin said softly. Jon was right—he hadn’t seen anyone else there. He’d offered to watch the little girl so she didn’t interfere with the recordings, or get scared, and he honestly hadn’t noticed another soul until the man came back for her. God, he didn’t even remember the man’s name. The girl’s name was Juliana, though. He remembered that mostly because of the children’s song he’d sung at her that had her name in it.

“I should have known. Still…my point stands. It’s…it’s a memory that’s stuck with me.” Jon exhaled. “You’d make an excellent father, Martin. I think I’d like to see that.”

A sudden weight lifted off of Martin’s chest, and he drew what felt like the first free breath he’d drawn in ages, even though it had really only been a few minutes. “Yeah?”

“Very much so,” Jon replied. “I…you’re right. I never let myself consider the future beyond…well, beyond stopping the Apocalypse. But you deserve so much more. We deserve it. So yes, Martin. To all of it. If—when we survive this, I’d like to have that future with you.”

Their fingers were still laced together. Martin turned his hand over and squeezed Jon’s tightly. “You know, that…was not how I imagined proposing to you.”

Jon’s laugh was a balm on the raw edges of Martin’s nerves—warm, affectionate, and maybe a little surprised. “Technically, you didn’t actually propose. You mentioned a lot of things you wanted, but—”

“Fine, you overly-precise bastard.” Martin laughed, too, then turned his head and hoped like hell he was actually looking at Jon. “Jonathan Sims, will you marry me?”

Jon’s hand tightened around Martin’s, and Martin could have sworn there was a hitch in his voice as he replied, “Yes, Martin Blackwood, I will.”

Martin wasn’t sure he’d ever stop smiling, even if his face hurt. “Sorry I don’t have a ring to give you, but…”

“I think I’ll survive,” Jon said dryly. He was audibly smiling, too. “I love you. So very much.”

“I love you, too. More than anything.”

For a moment, Martin let himself be content. They’d had more and more moments of happiness and comfort since coming back in time, and even in the short month they’d been living in the tunnels, emerging at night to let Jon feed off of statements and try to figure out what to do with the table in Artifact Storage without getting caught by Jonah, there were periods of time where they were almost as happy as they’d been in Scotland. But this moment right here? Sitting in a car with his boyfriend—his fiancé—and talking about a future Martin couldn’t have even imagined was possible even a year ago? This was the closest thing to heaven he thought he’d known since the first time Jon said I love you.

So, naturally, it all went to hell almost immediately.

Martin couldn’t even really say for sure what happened. He just felt the sudden waves of tension coming off of Jon. Jon’s fingers clenched briefly around Martin’s, then slowly relaxed and slid away. It was all done carefully and naturally, but Martin knew something was wrong. He fought down the instinct to apologize—the lingering remnants of his mother’s conditioning. It wasn’t always his fault and he knew that. He knew he hadn’t done anything wrong. Which meant that whatever was upsetting Jon was something external.

“Jon?” he asked carefully, worried and maybe a little afraid. “What’s wrong?”

Jon took a slow, even breath, which told Martin he’d maybe considered saying nothing before remembering that they were being honest with each other. “We’re being followed.”

“Oh.” Martin rested his hands on his lap and tried to resist the urge to bunch his trousers up in his hands. “By who?”

“It’s a police car. Which I know isn’t all that helpful, all things considered, but I’m reluctant to use the Beholding’s power more than I have to, so I don’t know who’s in it. It could be just a regular police officer on patrol who thinks we’re out of place in the area. It could be a complete coincidence. But it’s beginning to get dark and this isn’t a well-populated area.”

Martin swallowed. “So what are you going to do?”

Jon took another deep breath. “I am going to obey the exact speed limit and—”

The single whoop of the siren made Martin jump, and Jon sighed. “Shit.”

“They want us to pull over, whoever they are,” Martin guessed.

“I am pulling over.” Jon paused. “Martin, just—please let me handle this. Promise me you won’t—just, please.”

Martin fought back his instinctive response and nodded. “Okay, Jon. I promise.”

“Thank you,” Jon said softly.

Martin forced himself to sit still and stare straight ahead, even as he heard the faint squeaking of the window rolling down and Jon’s voice of forced calm. “Good evening, Officer.”

“License and registration,” a voice said. Martin bit back the gasp that instinctively rose in his throat. He knew that voice, even though he hadn’t heard it in a while—low and faintly menacing, unmistakably one Detective Alice “Daisy” Tonner, still part of both the police force and the Hunt.

There was a sound of fumbling, and then a short pause before Daisy said, “Know why I pulled you over?”

Martin could guess, but he’d promised to keep his mouth shut, and he knew why Jon had asked—begged, really. Even with a regular police officer, if Martin mouthed off to them, Jon would likely take the brunt of it. And with Daisy, that would be worse. Jon was likely hoping to protect Martin, but Martin would do whatever he had to in order to keep Jon safe, too.

“I’m afraid I don’t.” Jon was still keeping his voice even, but Martin could hear that it was shaking, just a little.

“Step out of the car.”

Martin stiffened as fear shot through him. This isn’t a well-populated area. Was it secluded enough, abandoned enough, that Daisy might do something to Jon? Even with him sitting right there? Quickly, he chastised himself. That wasn’t the Hunt, that would be the Slaughter—purposeless violence, violence for violence’s sake. The Hunt was about the chase, the tracking and following. Prey that did what you wanted it to wasn’t very interesting, and even if Daisy had sensed Jon wasn’t fully human, she wouldn’t hurt him the first time she met him. She would threaten him, let him know she was on to him…

He had to try very hard to keep his breathing even and keep from climbing out of the car himself when he heard Jon’s door shut. The window was still down, so he could hear Jon’s voice, a bit fainter but still audible. ��What is this about, D—Officer?”

“You really can’t guess?” Martin had to strain hard to hear Daisy, and he tried to breathe as lightly as possible so he wouldn’t miss anything. “Let’s start with what you’re doing in this neighborhood.”

“We had an appointment to view a house.”

“That I’m sure you can’t afford. Doubt the Magnus Institute pays that well.” There was a faint hint of malicious satisfaction in Daisy’s voice, Martin thought, and she probably had that sharp, smug little smile of hers.

“There’s no law against looking, even if we won’t be able to buy,” Jon said. “A-and there’s always a chance we could manage it together. There’s—there’s a lot we can do together.”

Martin noticed then that Jon was putting slight stress on we. Like he was reminding Daisy that he wasn’t alone. He clenched his hands into fists to stop them from shaking as he listened. The knowledge that Daisy was the only person who’d tried to help Jon when Martin couldn’t had made him try to trust her, and he’d thought a lot over the last however long it had been about her lowering her gun and letting Elias live rather than risk Basira dying, but try as he might, he could never shake the memory of Jon standing in that office, disheveled, frightened, and neck still tacky with blood. This Daisy wasn’t their Daisy, the one who’d forced Jon to listen to The Archers to ground him to humanity or asked Basira to find her and kill her once she’d saved the Institute. This was the one who would shoot Jon, or slit his throat, and not lose a moment’s sleep over it. God only knew what she’d do to Martin, even though he was—in theory anyway—human.

“Mm-hmm. Of course,” Daisy replied. “And you certainly didn’t have any…designs on anyone in the neighborhood.”

“I don’t mean harm to anyone.”

“Sure you don’t. Does the real Jonathan Sims know you have his car?”

Martin’s body ran cold. He knew Daisy hadn’t met Jon this quickly after Basira’s first visit to the Archives—she’d come with the third tape—so there was no way she knew the Jon in this timeline either. She couldn’t possibly. How could she know—?

“I am Jonathan Sims,” Jon insisted.

“Uh-huh. And who’s in the car with you?”

“My fiancé.” The pride in Jon’s voice overrode his fear, just for a moment, and Martin’s lips twitched involuntarily. Jon had always taken an inordinate amount of delight in claiming Martin as his boyfriend, regardless of the tone whoever they encountered addressed them in; he should have known Jon would be even more thrilled to tell people they were engaged. Fleetingly, he wondered what the Archival team would think of it, or if they were going to mention it before everything was over. He didn’t think Jon would manage to keep it a secret.

“He have a name?”

“Of course he does.”

A faint growl came from somewhere, and the hair on the back of Martin’s neck stood up. There had been a time when he would have considered his inner animal or daemon or Patronus or whatever you wanted to call it to be some sort of small squeaky mammal, because growing up, whenever he came up against a choice between fight, flight, or freeze, his body inevitably chose to freeze, or more accurately to curl in on itself and fight the urge to cry because that made things worse. Since escaping his mother’s clutches, and even more since becoming part of the Archives, he’d drifted towards a weird blend of fight and freeze that usually manifested in him getting angry and doing something stupid. That growl, though, made him want to hunker down in the grass and pray not to be seen. Not even metaphorically. He shrank back against the seat and swallowed hard, willing Jon with all his heart to get back in the damn car already.

The sudden sharp rap on the window right next to Martin’s ear made him almost jump out of his skin, and he couldn’t stop his frightened gasp this time. It took him a second to realize he was probably expected to put down his window. He fumbled for the crank and managed to wind it down.

“Step out of the car,” Daisy’s voice ordered.

Martin scrambled to get the safety belt undone, then reached for the car door to open it. He gave a fleeting thought to his cane, but he couldn’t quite remember if he’d brought it with him or left it at Tim’s house when they’d borrowed Past Jon’s car and he didn’t think he had the time to ask. The door suddenly jerked from his hand, nearly sending him tumbling to the ground. He only barely managed to keep himself steady and get out without falling.

Keep your mouth shut, keep your mouth shut, he chanted to himself as he braced himself against the roof of the car. This could still go badly for Jon—for both of them, really, but if Martin mouthed off Daisy was likely to take it out on Jon.

“On the curb,” Daisy ordered.

Martin nodded, making what he hoped were being taken as noises of agreement, and started around the car, keeping one hand on it to make sure he didn’t wander off into the street and get run over. Jon had mentioned it was starting to get dark. Besides, the last thing he wanted was Daisy to think he was trying to run.

“Leave him out of this.” Jon sounded more scared than Martin thought he’d heard him since they’d been separated in the Lonely house. “He hasn’t done—”

“Shut up,” Daisy growled. She—or something, anyway—prodded Martin sharply between the shoulder blades. “Hurry up.”

Martin’s hip slammed into the side of the car. He bit back a grunt of pain and tried to pick up the pace, but moving faster meant he didn’t have time to figure out what was ahead of him and he almost tripped over the curb when he finally reached it. The slap of his hand on the car’s hood echoed loudly—which was good, he supposed, it meant there was something for the sound to echo off of, which meant they weren’t in a completely isolated area—and he pulled himself onto the sidewalk and edged around the car. He bumped into the mirror and stopped moving. Daisy would tell him if she wanted him somewhere else. He hoped.

“Jon?” he whispered as loud as he dared. Hopefully he was still quiet enough to cover the thin edge of panic.

“I’m here, Martin,” Jon whispered back. It wasn’t soft enough to cover his panic, or maybe Martin just knew him well enough to hear it. He doubted that, though. Jon had admitted, simultaneously not long ago and forever ago, that what Daisy had put him through was still one of the most terrifying things he’d experienced, and even though they’d later become friends, it was hard to forget what she’d nearly done. And this was the Daisy who would do that. Add in the fact that Martin was here, and far more vulnerable than Jon was, and it was going to terrify him.

Martin took a deep, steadying breath. He had to hold it together. He had to. If Jon was that scared, the last thing he needed was to know how scared Martin was.

“What’s your name?” Daisy demanded.

“Martin Blackwood,” Martin answered, managing to keep his voice even.

“Oh, interesting. I don’t suppose you’ve got any ID on you to prove that.”

Martin pressed his lips together hard for a moment. He might, actually; his wallet was somewhere in one of their bags, unless he’d lost it slogging through the Apocalypse, and they’d made sure to bring everything out of the tunnels with them, just in case Leitner went snooping around and tried to do something. But there would be a lot of digging around involved in that. “Not handy, sorry.”

Daisy’s snort was close enough that the air from it curled against Martin’s cheek, and he flinched. He hadn’t realized she was so nearby. “Of course not. That would be easy, wouldn’t it?”

Martin swallowed back his instinctive response and kept as still as he could. He strained his every sense to listen, but apart from the usual sounds of a late summer evening, he couldn’t hear anything. Daisy could be right next to him, or right in front of him, or right in front of Jon. She could be anywhere, doing anything, and it set his every nerve on edge.

“So,” Daisy said finally. It sounded like she’d moved, but Martin couldn’t quite tell where she was. “The two of you are claiming to be half the staff from the Archives at the Magnus Institute. You’re driving around a tony neighborhood where neither you nor the people you’re pretending to be belong. And you’ve stolen car and ID. If I were to call the Magnus Institute, I wonder what I would learn?”

“Likely nothing. I-it’s well past closing time,” Jon answered. He sounded a little breathless. Something brushed against Martin’s hand, and he almost jumped before his mind registered the familiar feel of the roughness and slight ridges of Jon’s worm-scarred hand. He flexed his fingers slightly, and Jon gripped him like a dying man might grasp a lifeline. Martin rubbed his thumb over the back of Jon’s hand as gently as he could, hoping to give him at least a little comfort.

“Hmm. Then maybe I should reach out directly. Or maybe…” Daisy’s voice shifted slightly, and Jon gave a small, frightened gasp and tightened his grip on Martin’s hand, which set Martin’s heart rate kicking into overdrive. “Maybe I should just handle things now.”

“Y-you wouldn’t.” Jon was obviously trying to sound confident, but the fear overrode everything. “Not here. N-not so close to—people. Whatever I am, Martin isn’t—”

“What gave you that scar?” Daisy demanded.

“I—I have—”

“That one,” Daisy growled, and Jon let out a choked gurgle that told Martin she’d probably jabbed a finger into his throat. “Looks like something already tried to shut you up.”

“You did,” Jon gasped.

There was a long pause, and Martin heard a faint crunching noise, like Daisy had taken a step back. “What?” she said in a low, dangerous voice.

“Not now.” Jon’s breath was coming in short, panting gasps, like he’d been running—or like when they’d been in Scotland, when he’d woken from the worst of the nightmares. Martin wanted to wrap him up and soothe him, but he couldn’t, not here, not now. “We’re—we’re from the future. We’re here to—to stop something awful from happening.”

“Oh, what, the end of the world?” Was there maybe a little bit of uncertainty in Daisy’s voice?

“Yes. Actually. The world ends and—and so many people died. You died. You—we were friends. Later.” Jon sounded a little desperate. “I-I know you don’t believe me, but it’s true, Daisy, I swear it.”

Daisy inhaled sharply. “What did you just call me?”

“D—oh, shit.” If Jon squeezed Martin’s hand any harder, he was going to break Martin’s fingers or his own or both. “I—look, I told you, we knew each other in our timeline. Your name is Detective Alice Tonner, but everyone calls you Daisy. You don’t really tell people why, but i-it’s because of the scar on your back. I—we know you. We’re here to save you. You, and Basira, and—and everyone else.”

The silence stretched on so long that Martin wanted to scream—anything to fill it. He wanted to bundle Jon back into the car and get out of there. He wished, more strongly than he’d wished in ages, that he could see, so he could see to get them away, to know if they were safe, to make them safe. He didn’t know what Daisy was about to do and he couldn’t anticipate it without being able to see her. And of course the Hunt would keep her hidden from anyone who couldn’t see her, so he couldn’t even hear where she might be.

Finally, Daisy growled, “Whoever you are—whatever you are—I’ll let you go. This time. But if we ever cross paths again, monster…you’re mine.”

A door slammed, making Martin jump again. An engine revved, tires squealed, and then it was just the sounds of a summer night and Jon’s desperate bid for air.

“Jon?” Martin managed to maneuver around the mirror and reach for Jon with his free hand.

Jon latched onto Martin even more tightly than he had during the thunderstorm, his arms wrapped around Martin’s neck and his face buried in his chest and his body pressed so close to him it almost hurt. Martin wrapped him up securely in a hug and rocked him back and forth, trying to murmur soothing words, but they got stuck in his throat. He was only just realizing how scared he’d actually been.

“Jon, I’m here, I’m here,” he said instead, clinging to his boyfriend—his fiancé—to reassure himself that he was still there. It had been one thing to hear Jon tell him later about Daisy holding a knife to his throat in the woods, another to see that portrait of her menacing him, but living the moment they’d just lived through…

Martin realized that he’d never truly been afraid of Daisy. Not really. He’d had a hard time trusting her, he’d been angry about what she’d done, or nearly done, to Jon, but he’d never actually been afraid to be in a room with her, even when she’d been in full cop mode all but accusing him of being an accessory after the fact to murder. This was probably the first time Martin really, truly realized how close Jon had come to dying in that forest. How scared he must have been. How hard it must have been to trust her after that, to call her a friend. It was sobering. And humbling. And terrifying as fuck.

“She still scares me,” Jon whispered into Martin’s shoulder. “I meant what I said, we were friends, I cared about her. I did. I trusted her. But…”

“But she was the only person who could hurt you after the Apocalypse for a reason,” Martin murmured.

“Not the only one. Just the only one who would.”

Martin blinked hard, then decided to unpack that later. “We’re—we’re safe now. For now. We’re safe for now. It’s okay, Jon, we’re both here. We’re here. She won’t—she didn’t—” He pressed a kiss to the top of Jon’s head and tried not to cry.

He couldn’t fall apart. He had to be the strong one. He was good at that, at pushing down his emotions and being the steady one. The hardest part of being with Jon had been learning to lean on Jon too, to let himself have emotions and weaknesses and moments where he was the one being held and comforted. And this was a situation, a tiny part of his brain clinging to rationality told him, where they could, and probably should, lean on each other. They both needed comfort, they both needed reassurance. But Martin had been pushed too far in his fear, and when he went this far, he defaulted into caretaker mode. He could fall apart later, when he was alone and had the time, even though he knew he would never be alone, Mum would make sure of that, and even if he was alone he’d have so much he had to do, there would never be time…

“Let’s get out of here,” Jon choked out.

Martin didn’t want to let go of him, but he eased back anyway. Jon didn’t let go of his hand, either, instead leading him around the car and opening the door for him. Even then, he didn’t let go of Martin’s hand, but climbed into the passenger seat.

“Jon, I cannot drive us,” Martin protested, even though instinct was telling him to do exactly that. Jon’s upset, he won’t be able to concentrate, you need to get us home safe…no, he needed to remember that he was blind and that, even in the throes of a panic attack, Jon would get them back to Tim’s safer than Martin would.

“No, I just—come on.” Jon tugged on Martin’s hand, which he hadn’t let go of, and as Martin ducked under the roof of the car, he heard grunts and rustling noises and realized what was going on. Jon had climbed over the center console from the passenger’s seat rather than let go of Martin’s hand for an instant.

Neither of them bothered with the safety belts, and Jon kept a tight hold of Martin’s hand even as he managed to put the car into gear. They didn’t speak the rest of the drive. Martin couldn’t tell how fast they were going, but it hardly seemed like they’d been driving any time at all before the engine cut out, and then Jon was crawling back across the console and into Martin’s lap.

They clung to each other tightly. Martin could feel Jon shaking, and honestly he wasn’t doing much better himself. He tried to hold back the tears—he didn’t have the right to be scared, not like Jon did, she hadn’t really been threatening him—but then Jon whispered brokenly, “I thought I was going to lose you,” and Martin’s control shattered.

“You thought—Jon, I thought she was going to—” Martin choked off the words and tightened his arms around Jon, hoping he’d tell him if he was hurting him. “You were—she could have—a-and I couldn’t see her, I didn’t know where she was, I—God, Jon, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”

“Are you okay?” Jon parried. “I-I couldn’t—when she told you to get out of the car, I—I didn’t want to—I was afraid to Know anything about her, I didn’t want her to sense it and—I know you couldn’t, not really, b-but she’s part of the Hunt and her whole thing is hunting monsters and—oh, God. I was afraid she was going to hurt you to punish me and—a-are you okay?”

Martin tried to figure out how to answer that question and finally said, “She didn’t hurt me. And I asked you first.”

Jon made a noise somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “I don’t know. I asked how you were because I—I can’t be okay if you’re not okay.”

“Yeah, that goes both ways,” Martin said. He managed a shaky laugh and added, “Weirdly, despite the fact that I’m an absolute mess over here, I’m feeling better than I did before.”

“I-I know. You…you don’t let yourself…” Jon broke off. “I know.”

A long silence settled between them, broken only by Jon’s choked, stuttered breathing as he tried not to burst into tears. Martin could feel the panicked flutter of Jon’s heart in his chest, and he knew he was crying too, but them being together and alive and safe, or at least relatively safe, went a long way towards calming him. He rubbed Jon’s back, grimacing at the unfamiliar feel of thin silk barely masking the ridged scars that still mottled Jon’s back.

“You don’t feel right,” he said without really thinking about it.

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he realized how they sounded, but before he could take them back, Jon huffed lightly. “Neither do you. L-let’s—if they’re home, m-maybe Tim will let us change back into our regular clothes before we head back. I—I’d rather wear your sweater. I-it makes me feel safe.”

God, how was it possible to love this man any more than he already did? Martin pressed his lips to the top of Jon’s head, then nodded. “Yeah, okay.”

It took a bit of awkward gymnastics for them to get out of the car without letting go of one another, or falling to the ground, and Jon wrapped his arm around Martin’s waist as soon as they were both standing upright. He fished one of their bags out of the backseat—Martin presumed—and the two of them shuffled up to the house like some sort of odd four-legged creature. Their height difference made it hard, but Martin understood. He didn’t want Jon that far away from him, either.

He’d thought they probably still looked fairly presentable, but that idea was dispelled when they stumbled into the kitchen to be greeted by Tim’s shocked and horrified shout of “Jesus Christ!”

“Are you all right? What happened?” The only reason Martin knew it was Past Jon asking and not his Jon was because it was coming from the wrong direction.

“Here, sit down,” Past Martin added. “Let me—um, I can get some tea—”

“It’s fine. We’re fine,” Jon said, despite all evidence. “Just—we’re fine. Tim, can we—borrow your room to change?”

It was probably a mark of how worried Tim was that he didn’t reply with something along the lines of No, you have to strip right here in the kitchen. “Sure. You know where it is. We’ll—go get comfortable.”

“Thanks, Tim,” Martin said softly as he and Jon headed through the kitchen.

They made it to Tim’s room without too much difficulty, and by the time they reached it, Martin guessed they’d both calmed down enough that they didn’t have to be attached completely—which was good, since that would have made getting changed awkward. That didn’t mean they wanted to be far away from each other, though. Martin sat on the edge of Tim’s bed and listened to Jon rummaging around in the bag for clothes while he undid the first couple of buttons on his too-stiff shirt, then paused. An idea began to form in his head.

When Jon came over and draped a sweater in his lap, Martin reached out and caught Jon’s wrist gently before he could move back. “Will you let me help you?”

He would have given almost anything to be able to see how Jon was looking at him just then. Was it confusion or resignation or annoyance? When Jon spoke, though, it was in a voice that was soft and laden with affection. “Only if you let me help you in return.”

Martin nodded. “I’d like that.”

There was a bit of fumbling and murmured apologizing, but they managed to arrange things so that Martin could undo the buttons on Jon’s shirt while Jon unbuttoned Martin’s. It was something they’d done before, although not since coming back to the past, but Martin remembered the first week they’d been in Scotland when he’d managed to convince Jon to come on a walk with him and they’d been caught in a sudden rainstorm. They’d run back to the safe house breathless and dripping, both of them fussing at the other to get out of their wet clothes before they got pneumonia, and they’d both moved in to help each other at the same time. By the end of it, their cheeks had hurt from laughter and Martin’s shirt was missing two buttons, but since it had been the shirt he’d worn to work the day everything happened—just like the shirt Jon had been wearing had been—they’d agreed it was no great loss.

This felt different. Well, it was different. That had been two men just starting to feel out the edges of their relationship, coming out of a time of stress and uncertainty and into what they’d thought would be a time of peace, struggling to find their place in the world and how they fit in around each other. This was…well, it was two men who’d been through literal hell together and come out the other side, who knew what they were to each other. It was about taking care of each other, but it was also about reassuring themselves that the other was there and whole and well. They took a little more care with getting each other’s shirts off, partly out of respect for the quality of the shirts—although Martin was already silently wagering with himself about whether they’d ever be able to wear them without thinking about Daisy threatening them—and partly because they were both still more scared than they were willing to admit. Martin could tell exactly how scared Jon was when he stepped forward and silently embraced Martin instead of getting dressed again once their button-downs were off.

“Are you all right?” he asked again. His voice was soft and raw.

Martin hugged Jon back, pressing their foreheads together and soaking in the calm that Jon’s presence could always draw in him, no matter the circumstances. He nodded slowly. “Getting there. You?”

“I will be.” Jon shifted the angle and kissed Martin, warmly and tenderly, then pulled back with a small sigh. “Let’s finish getting dressed and go…I don’t know, apologize?”

“I don’t think they’ll let us, but we should probably at least warn them,” Martin said slowly. He was reluctant to let go of Jon, even though they’d both at least stopped shaking. “You know, in case Daisy thinks we’re…actually them?”

“I—I don’t think she does, but you’re right, we should.”

It was probably too warm for sweaters, but the tunnels were underground and made of stone, so they stayed cool year-round. Besides, as Jon had said, the weight was comforting. Martin pulled on the sweater and changed his trousers, then waited while Jon repacked their bag. They were still wrapped around each other when they headed back to meet the others, but at least they were a bit steadier.

That was always the way, though. They were partners; they held one another up, supported one another, steadied and anchored one another. No matter how bad or scary things got, there was nothing they couldn’t face if they held onto one another and stayed together.

[the-eldritch-it-gay]

Suppose I should make an updated intro post huh!

Hey, I’m Salamatullah (Suh-luh-muh-two-luh), I also go by Ciarán (pron. keer-ahn) or Eldritch. My portfolios always say I’m a Twin-Cities-Based freelance artist and writer but most of the time I’m just a random internet person with a tumblr. I’m bisexual and nb/genderfluid, I use they pronouns mainly but he is also acceptable. I’m Muslim (maybe you can tell from the icon) and a niqabi (probably can also tell from the icon too lmao). I’m physically disabled (cane/wheelchair user), Chronically Ill, HoH, Autistic, and have PTSD. I’m also mixed, latine (Mexican) and speak Spanish. Unfortunately American, though no one irl thinks so. I’m in my last half of university, majoring in software engineering and minoring in linguistics. I love fantasy, sci fi, linguistics, magic, worldbuilding, (eldritch) horror, and Islam.

While I am a writer I also do struggle a lot with language in general, so apologies ahead of time for any of my posts that have errors (especially with tenses, plurals, and conjugations). I also do a lot of art, especially of characters of mine. I may be opening commissions soon.

I love and also bitter despise Dragon Age, I have an overview of my DA charas here, I also do a lot of commentary (and meta, I suppose, I’m not entirely certain what qualifies as meta) of the Dragon Age games, especially with regards to Islamaphobia. I have a vague list of some of the things I’ve written about here, and I also do genuinely welcome any asks about my opinions on anything Dragon Age, I really love yelling about it.

I am also a large TMA fan, and have an OC who I rp on twitter and write about, but because of my health and life events its difficult to keep up with them at the moment. Safaa’ Medina-Luna is my OC, I have plenty of things about them here or on their partially active twitter

I have a Twitter i sometimes use as well, EldritchNiqabi. I also have a pinterest with a lot of boards, esp OC related.

For reference, any post on my blog is okay to reblog unless I state otherwise, though if you’re worried feel free to ask me, I don’t mind letting people know óvò

I think that covers most things, but feel free to ask me stuff if you want, I really love talking about things.

(updated 08/20/2020)

[infinitelydiverse]

still have tma brain rot and i’m thinking about miles’ tma au.

the walrider itself is an entity of the slaughter in the same way that the distortion is an entity of the spiral. it is completely removed from humanity and concerned with nothing but violence and bloodshed. the walrider is somewhat different from the distortion in two key ways:

1. the walrider is only semi-sentient. it’s less of an intelligence and more an impulse. 2. while not strictly needed, the walrider functions better with a host. it can’t be just anyone though. it has to be someone claimed by the slaughter, ideally who’s already deeply angry.

which leads me to the two hosts we see for the walrider: billy hope and miles. billy was forcibly marked by the fears via the morphogenic engine, but he was never fully an avatar of the slaughter. because of that, he was never able to become a full host of the walrider and relied on the engine to keep that connection to it.

then miles came along and killed billy hope. miles was already a deeply angry person and directed it towards exposing injustices he saw. it’s why he ended up becoming an investigative reporter in the first place. his anger never manifested as physical aggression though. even in mount massive, he avoided as much fighting as he could and only ever defended himself. (or others, as miles used the walrider to kill jeremy blaire after he stabbed waylon.) his time at mount massive marked him by the slaughter. that, along with his already present anger, made him an ideal host.

after becoming the host, miles’ temper is on a hair trigger. he’s much more prone to lashing out, whether it’s from the walrider’s influence or the effects of the massive trauma. for this reason (and because murkoff is still seeking him out, since perfecting a host for the walrider was a very resource-intensive process), miles has a tendency to avoid most people when he can. he might be marked by the slaughter, but he’s not an avatar of it. he doesn’t want to hurt anyone except the people behind mount massive. (whether for revenge for himself or justice for the patients is up for debate.) he doesn’t want to think himself capable of violence for the sake of it, especially after everything he saw.

(my hc is, in any verse, the walrider is semi-sentient and will always act to defend its host from threats, real or imagined. miles suffers from severe ptsd and experiences flashbacks of his time at mount massive, which triggers the walrider’s defensiveness.)

all that being said, miles also has strong ties to the hunt. miles has always been hunting for something: reasons, the next story, justice for the wronged, revenge.

[kaaramel]

Johnathan Sims, the Archivist

this is a build for johnny archivesman as a miraculous-level Chuubo’s Marvelous Wish-Granting Engine PC. because i can. contains TMA spoilers up to ep.160

it’s not quite playable as-is, mostly an outline with the power customization sketched out; if someone gets interested in these i’d be more than happy to work with ya to make it complete.

an index of other characters i gave this treatment to can be found here

Skills

Paranormal Researcher 2. Didn’t ask for this.

Dramatic Readings 2. He gets really into character.

Survive 2. So far. 

Library Science 1. He didn’t actually get hired for his filing skills, it turns out.

Pop Culture 1. He knows what a meme is. 

Paranoia -1. His paranoid streak actively makes things worse. 

Arcs

Wounded Angel 2

Dramatic: Shows up in the nightmares of statement-givers.

Devices: Cultivates relevant statements, records, and recordings as Tools which enhance the Paranormal Researcher skill.

Cage for a Blasphemy: If defeated by losing his last health level, the world will be reshaped to empower all 14 fear entities, with the Eye watching over it all.

Divine Health: +3 bonus Divine Health Levels; two are occupied by Empowered Wounds, below. Empowered Wounds: Ritually bind a wound to a Divine Health Level and gain 2-3 thematically related miraculous powers. Recover: Stop empowering a wound at any time (losing the associated powers) and it becomes curable.

Wound powers: Interrogator. He needs to know more. He needs answers. Miracle: Compel subject to answer questions. Affliction: A tape recorder must always be present to record important events. Cthonic: Statements given by Archive visitors when John is present are told as clear, skillfully crafted narratives.

Feed the Eye. The position of Archivist is inextricably linked to the primal fear of being watched, and the nourishment thus derived flows both ways. Miracle: Heal remarkably fast from physical damage. Affliction: Physically weakened if prevented from reading or gathering statements.

Spiritual 2

Estate: Statements fed to the Eye.

Elemental Warning: Knows when the Eye is being threatened by rival entities.

Illusions: Create a phantasmagorical sense of being watched.

Spirit-Sense: Know trivia without being told, translate a statement written in another language, and other small, automatic freebies related to gathering knowledge in the Eye’s name. Spirit-Speaker: Speak directly to statements and tapes, which respond in limited, animistic ways; for example, statements the Eye judges he needs to know things from put themselves forward.

Spirit-Boost: Spend a bit of personal energy to empower the Eye and, for example, ‘see’ something that would have been protected or hidden.

Divine Mantle: Gives Edge to miracles he performs for the rest of the scene, represented by a palpable ‘aura’ of Beholding-flavored energy.

Spirit-Shaper: Pull a full statement out of a person who doesn’t intend to give it.

Summons: Get a statement sent to him when out of town or find someone to feed upon, when needed.