#unless it's Martin Blackwood then yes I would kill to be Jon

[lonelyslutavatar]

I think some people need to understand that someone being aro/ace doesn't necessarily reflect what media they like to create/consume. I like to draw nsfw, I love raunchy romcom, I like to revolve fictional relationships in my head. Do I want to be put in that situation? No. Some might but that's the thing, fiction doesn't equate reality. It's all theoretical.

[localspaceangel]

[SPOILERS FOR THE NEW TMA]

rest in piss jude perry, u funky scary fire lesbian

[bifrostarchivist]

tma fic recs

hi i’ve been been going through my bookmarks so here’s a list of some of my favorite tma fics! a lot of these are pretty angsty though so you should heed the trigger warnings!

jon-centric fics

Farewell Wanderlust by CombatBootsAndDreams

Jonathan Sims never had enough time. It was always slipping through his fingers like sand through an hourglass. He could see it passing but could do nothing as it took more and more things from him. So he learned to measure everything in actions instead of seconds.

Or: The many moments used to measure the life of one Jonathan Sims, The Archivist.

i love this one it hurts me real bad!

the bell tolls by softlyblue

Jon knows about death, and he knows about dying. He tries to plan around his own.

this one also really hurts me!

Touch Me, Even it Hurts by AuralQueer

People don't really touch Jonathan Sims unless they want to hurt him. That's mostly fine. Jon has never been a tactile person, and he doesn't need anyone but himself.

Except the world is falling down around him, and loneliness aches, and sometimes he'll take anything - even cruelty - just to feel human again.

*A story set between s1 and s4, looking at Jon's relationship with touch, friendship, and his own humanity.

i cried over this one a lot yesterday! it’s wonderful and so fucking sad

jonmartin fics

the garden of forking paths by bibliocratic

Whatever he had predicted might happen, Jon wasn't expecting to survive upon demolishing the Panopticon. He certainly wasn't expecting to be rescued.

Instead, he wakes up in an alternative universe where he's never been the Archivist, and Martin Blackwood doesn't exist.

Martin Blackwood wakes up somewhere else entirely.

i love this one a lot! made me really fucking emotional

The Power of Self-Respect by IceEckos12 & PitViperOfDoom

Jon's life has never been easy, but he's now in a place where he has friends, his job isn't wretched, and best of all, he's dating Martin Blackwood. Things are finally starting to turn around for him, so of course that's when he learns that he must defeat Martin's seven exes in order to stay with him.

There's something fishy about this whole thing, Jon is sure of it. But the only way to find out what is to throw down the gauntlet and fight for his love.

the scout pilgrim au i never knew i needed! i went into this expecting crack but now every time it gets updated it’s all i can think about for the rest of the day and it is very painful. it’s so good.

Desperate Measures by quantumducky

Helen offers to help, and Jon is just tired and miserable enough to accept. Turns out her idea of "helping" is to turn his brain into confused mush and then make that Martin's problem. Somehow, it all works out.

this one! fuck! i love it. made me so sad. but also. a happy ending! i miss helen.

See the Line, where the Sky meets to Sea by The_Floating_World

When Jon is a child he looks into the infinite abyss of space. The Vast looks back into him.

also has some jon/oliver! some found family! vast!jon my beloved...

jongerry fics

Til Death, Parted by Hecatetheviolet

“But, yes, if you all really must know, I married Gerard Keay in Las Vegas.” The total stillness at the table would have better suited a painting than a group of very confused archival assistants. A blob of ketchup falls from the chip frozen halfway to Melanie’s mouth.

“You… married a ghost,” says Melanie, eventually, in a stilted, leading tone.

“Mhm,” says Jon.

A ghost story is something that can be so matrimonial, actually. Too bad Jon and Gerry didn't find that out until the wedding.

I ADORE THIS FIC. U KNOW THAT ONE JONGERRY LAS VEGAS WEDDING SHITPOST? IT’S THAT BUT SO MUCH MORE. GOD IT’S SO FUCKING HEARTBREAKING BUT ALSO HAS LIKE THESE COMEDIC MOMENTS THAT ARE JUST SO FUCKING GOOD. THE WAY THE WRITER WRITES THE JONGERRY DYNAMIC IS JUST. FUCK. IT’S AMAZING.

eager eye and willing ear by graveExcitement

Gerry investigates a paranormal mirror and is pulled into another universe, one where Jon has just burned his page.

i just. love this one. 

jongerrymartin

Ghosts without Graves by Ostentenacity

“I’m already dead, after all.” Gerry smiles, a mirthless flash of teeth. “If I pop out of existence tomorrow, fine. If I stick around for a while, well—at least now I’ve got someone to talk to.” His tone of voice is still blasé, but his gaze falls heavily on Jon, as though asking, Right?

“Yes,” says Jon. “Yes, of course.”

---

When Jon wakes up from his coma, he finds that while Gerry may still be dead, he’s not exactly gone.

i love this one so much. made me happy. made me sad. it’s just wonderful. 

jontim fics

Between Sleeping and Waking by voiceless_terror

So they curl up in his bed, an arm slung across Jon’s waist, his back to Tim’s chest. There are no spiders here, not in this bed that smells of dryer sheets and detergent and Tim. He’s almost asleep when the arm around his waist tightens suddenly.

“My brother always said the pressure helped. When he had bad dreams.”

Jon has nightmares and Tim attempts to chase them away. In the process, they learn a few things about each other.

the comfort. the understanding. it’s just so nice.

enemy of my enemy by beeclaws

Jon comes back from his time with the Circus a little worse for wear. Tim has some feelings about that.

it hurts so bad. but. fuck. the tim & jon somewhat fixing their relationship fic that i just really needed.

Tear Out All Your Tenderness by With_the_Wolves

"He’s been doing such a good job of ignoring it, up until now, pretending he didn’t know how he survived the Unknowing. Pretending he didn’t hear the constant rhythm of hunt hunt kill kill rushing through his veins in time with his blood. He didn’t used to be able to smell fear.

In the aftermath of the Coffin, Tim decides that he's going to be there for Jon. But Jon's fear is intoxicating.

THIS FIC! THIS FIC! JESUS CHRIST IT’S SO FUCKING PAINFUL. JUST. HOLY SHIT.

jonmartim fics

beautiful and annihilating by advantagetexas

But reality was a lot harsher than dreams. He admitted that to himself now, as he gently moved a piece of hair from Jon’s unblinking eye. Daisy Tonner was dead. Sasha James was dead. Daniel Stoker was still dead, or disappeared, or whatever woe begotten fate had befallen him at the hands of that wretched circus.

And here was Tim. Alive. And forced to deal with the fallout.

this fic <3 i love it very much. it’s updates are the highlight of my day. really fucks with my emotions. it’s just great.

[sam-roulette]

tonight’s writing process is trying to figure out a simple question:

What does The Magnus Archives look like without Martin Blackwood?

I don’t mean this as in “what if Martin had a slightly different personality” or “what if Martin was more of a minor character” or even “what if Martin died early”- I mean, what does TMA look like if you completely removed Martin’s very existence from the plot? No character to replace him, so Jon only ever has two assistants in s1. No character that has a storyline similar to his even as a statement. A world where Martin Blackwood just does not exist as a tangible person. Someone who’s never been born.

tl;dr: without Martin, there is no hope. 

Let’s take it season by season.

Season 1: The absence of Martin means that there is no dog incident in the Archives, which is a tragedy in and of itself. It also means that although Jon feels pressure in his job, he doesn’t have an apparent and possible spy sent by Elias looking over his shoulder, and no one to take his frustrations about being wholly incompetent at his job out on. Most likely, Tim, Sasha, and Jon would all work exceedingly well together, truth be told- they all knew each other beforehand, and even if Tim and Sasha are still a little resentful of Jon taking a promotion that he should have recognized more rightfully belonged to Sasha, it’s not as though either of them have archival experience either.

No one bothers to go through the special extended follow up on Carlos Vittery that had [REDACTED] trapped for 2 weeks in his flat. Sasha is, therefore, still skeptical as to how dangerous Jane Prentiss really is, as she only really begins to believe after [REDACTED] begins staying in the Archives. This may make her less inclined to believe Michael, or give Michael less incentive to warn the Archives. For the sake of giving our heroes their best shot, let’s say that Michael still shows her. 

End of Season 1 occurs. Sasha figures out the corkscrew method and helps unworm Jon. Ultimately she still leaves Jon in document storage to warn Tim, and Jon must sit, alone, waiting. Without [REDACTED] there is no stash of CO2 in the office, meaning that unless Sasha acts quick enough, Tim is almost certainly doomed. Sasha is still taken by the not!them. Elias has mercy on our erstwhile heroes and turns on the system early, killing Jane Prentiss. Tim Stoker just barely survives by the skin of his teeth. 

Gertrude’s body is never found.

Season 2: Jon begins to have an extended breakdown about the existence of tunnels under the institute and all the horrors therein. Tim is out of the Archives for months afterward, needing to be hospitalized for the amount of flesh those worms managed to chew through and Not!Sasha makes sure to tell Jon all about how very wormy the tunnels are, and yes she’s been exploring, and oh no Jon don’t exert yourself, just rely on Reliable Ol Sasha. 

When Tim comes back, he’s very much not right. Far more jumpy than he had been previously, sometimes searching for shadows that aren’t there. He tries to lean on Jon’s shoulder, but Jon’s been equally as uneasy and there’s no outlet for it. He begins having doubts about “Sasha” and Tim, who could be argued to be as “changed” by the trauma as Not!Sasha, defends her passionately, all the while “Sasha” seems to be drawing away from the both of them and Jon begins to feel alienated from Tim continuing to take Sasha’s side. By the time Melanie King breezes through and confirms that there’s something off about “Sasha”, Tim is feeling so isolated that even in rooms where he once shone as the center of attention, it’s easy to miss him. There always seems to be a heavy fog curling at his ankles.

Michael still stabs Jon, giving him the spiral mark. Not!Sasha attempts to make her move, marking Jon with the Stranger, and Jon manages to get her trapped in the tunnels by Jurgen. Jurgen attempts to explain and, when Jon goes to smoke, is bonked. Jon is not only blamed for the murder of Jurgen Leitner- when Elias says he “found” secret tunnels and, with officer Daisy Tonner, now partnerless due to a tragic incident in which many officer lives were lost at the site of (now-Dark Avatar host) Callum Brodie’s kidnapping, they manage to find the body of Gertrude Robinson. Jon flees into hiding. 

Tim is alone in the Archives. Jon so far has been marked by: Web, Stranger, Spiral, Eye, and Corruption.

Season 3 - The Jon marking gets underway with many of the old beats and some newer ones, such as Karolina Gorka, take the place of marks that otherwise would have been handled in s4. Tim is slowly and steadily deteriorating. Melanie King arrives for her first day of work to an empty Archive with what appears to be the AC turned on just a little too high and absolutely no one to tell her what in the hell she’s even supposed to do, despite Elias’s insistence that Tim is still there. Basira Hussain remains deceased. Jon gains the following marks: Vast, Hunt, Desolation, Buried.

Elias admits to the murders after Jon finally marches back in to him, but no one can do a damn thing about it, and no one can pin the blame on him. No one can find evidence linking him to the murder and [REDACTED] can’t act as a distraction to let someone else find it. Elias will continue to pull the strings tighter and ever tighter. Daisy is no longer able to be blackmailed with Basira, but she is still able to be blackmailed by her considerable record of brutality and murder, and thus becomes Archival Assistant Number 3. Or it would be 3, if anyone could find Tim. 

Jon is still kidnapped by the Stranger, but in the end that ritual is left to implode in on itself as Gertrude’s tapes were never recovered. Jon attempts, instead, to pull Tim, his last and final connection to those he knew, out of the lonely. Tim, hollowed out after the deaths of all those he loved and seeing Jon slowly slide toward monsterhood, disappears into the mists and is never seen again. 

Jon leaves the lonely without Tim and Tim Stoker is, inevitably, found dead. It was a pathetic existence. He is marked by the Lonely.

Elias takes a nice vacation and lets Peter take the reins of the Institute

Season 4 - The psychological damage and the remnants of the Lonely are so great that Jon falls into an unresponsive state for months, which isn’t helped by proximity to Peter after his failed attempt. Oliver seals his fate with an end mark. The last remaining markings are gotten as usual, with Jon receiving the flesh mark after he manages to make it just in time for that time all that Flesh stormed the Archives. Melanie and Daisy manage to hold it all off with Helen’s help and business goes on as usual, with Melanie getting the ghost bullet cut out of her and giving Jon his slaughter mark before finding a way to quit the institute. Daisy becomes Jon’s sole assistant, and without the joining variable of the Coffin, they never get along.

Jon gains the following marks: Dark, slaughter, flesh, end.

Elias gives Jon the incantation himself and watches Jon end the world.

In the end, Jon never had a choice in the matter. No matter how futilely he tried to stop reading, he couldn’t. And as the Panopticon rose around him and he was left with no anchor to speak of, Jon must dully take on the mantle of the Archive, and tend to his very own ruined world.

I definitely do want to stipulate that I don’t think events would definitely and 100% play out this way without Martin, and there are other things that could substitute Jon’s anchors- if Tim followed up on Vittery, if Basira still lived, or if Melanie never left and instead she and he reconciled, or even the presence of Georgie staying because she knows Jon has no one else. But even in all those scenarios, you’d have to do a lot of work to fill the Martin shaped hole in the center of it all, and that was kind of what this was kinda meant to show vfjhbkjvf

In conclusion: Martin is, himself, a personification of all hope in the series. and that makes his fate a very, very frightening thing indeed.

[bibliocratic]

post-160, spoilers ahoy, Martin/Jon - Martin tries to rescue Jon from Elias

(This is an obligatory fix-it sequel to one of my earlier angst fics but you don’t need to read that first)

[CLICK]

JONAH MAGNUS [mid-conversation] …. rather find they show up by themselves. A curious if harmless side effect, I wouldn't pay them much mind. Unless you'd rather this little interruption was kept from him...?

MARTIN [shortly] I don't really care.

JONAH MAGNUS How boorish. Peter didn't do much in the way of teaching you any manners.

MARTIN He didn't teach anything worth listening to.

JONAH MAGNUS Oh, you were already an adept student of the Lonely before Peter decided to make you part of our wager. [as though noticing something] Forgive me. Would you like to sit down? Plenty of room at the table as you can see.  I was just finished eating.

MARTIN No.

JONAH MAGNUS Pity. I do relish the opportunity of a good conversationalist. My present company... as you can see, he's not exactly been up for chatting recently.

MARTIN [ignoring him, the steady tread of footsteps closer]

JONAH MAGNUS If you aren't going to be a hospitable guest, I think that's close enough. I'm sure you understand.

MARTIN [stops walking]  You're not surprised I take it?

JONAH MAGNUS To see you here? Not especially. I knew you'd end up here eventually. All brash, full of foolish righteous anger masquerading as justice, bolstered up on thoughts of my murder.

MARTIN Read my mind, did you?

JONAH MAGNUS Oh, I didn't think I needed to for that one. You can be very possessive about what you consider yours.

MARTIN Jon's not mine. He's not yours, he's not anybody's.

JONAH MAGNUS Jon hasn't been his own man for such a long time.

MARTIN You're wrong.

[a lull in the conversation, an impasse both are too proud to cross]

JONAH MAGNUS [deliberately, aiming to hurt] …. You can look at him, you know. See him alive, whole. But you won't, will you, or can't. Too many eyes in his head and none of them the ones you hoped you'd see.

[proud] I've moulded him. Shaped his becoming. And I watch my ruined world thanks to the words I pull from his dutiful throat.

MARTIN You stole him.

JONAH MAGNUS It was a fair trade. I took nothing that wasn't offered. And he pleaded ever so movingly for your life.

MARTIN [biting] And you're such the bleeding heart.

JONAH MAGNUS It was a business transaction. A life for a life.

MARTIN This?! T-this is no life!

JONAH MAGNUS Not as you would understand it. Oh, but, look.  Look at him, Martin. Isn't he magnificent?

[a roiling rumbling background sound of static]

MARTIN [whispered, almost fearful] Yes.

JONAH MAGNUS My Archives.

MARTIN [rallying, shaken] I – Jon – Is.... is he gone?

JONAH MAGNUS By which you mean, have I killed him?

MARTIN You know what I'm asking.

JONAH MAGNUS And yet I rather think you've not quite considered how much of a question it is.

MARTIN [sarcastic] Why don't you enlighten me if you're in sharing mood?

JONAH MAGNUS The Archivist has been dead before, has he not? You held his hand and said your little prayers over him as machines kept his body breathing, but I'm sure we can both agree that's not really a life. Jon was offered a choice, and he chose to embrace what he was becoming over death.

But the Jon who woke up is not the one who signed the contract to become my head archivist. Nor was that Jon the one who dragged himself and Ms Tonner out of the Buried. Nor, indeed, did any of those bear resemblance to the Jon who tore Peter Lukas apart to retrieve you from the Lonely. So many Jons, and maybe none of them still alive, none of them the man you want to find. Does that bother you?

MARTIN I don't.... I'm not here to discuss the bloody specifics of being a person. I want to know if he's still in there. His... I don't know, his choice, his emotions, his feelings.

JONAH MAGNUS Are you hoping to appeal to his better nature? How quaint. But to set your mind at ease, let me clarify that the role of Archivist would be poorly served by an unfeeling watcher. Jon's always had to, how did he put it, 'sit in his feelings'.

No, Martin, he feels everything. My Archive is a repository of knowledge. A catalogue of horrors I can collect and sample and observe and store, and they are kept perfectly preserved for me.

[a lip-curling smile obvious in his voice] Shall I have him tell you a story?

[the sound rises to audible, as though it's been playing the entire time but the volume has been turned down to a murmur.  An inflectionless rote recitation, tinged with someone else's voice overlapping like twisted signals interjecting over a radio broadcast]

THE ARCHIVES … and I was sure I'd told her to leave, and I turned around, ready to shout at her, to say anything if it got her to run, but the doorway grew toothed and grinning before my eyes and there was something broken-backed and crooked in that space where nothing should have been...

MARTIN [interrupting] Don't make him do that.

[there's the harsh horrifying sound of a jaw clacking shut, and it mimics the snap of a pause button]

JONAH MAGNUS You always liked listening to his voice. When it was the two of you in the Archives, all those late nights, you could hear him through his office door, and it would make you feel like you weren't so alone. We'll listen in on another one, shall we?

[a faint choking jerk, like a leash being pulled too tight, another snap of a play button, the dialogue restarting]

THE ARCHIVES [reciting flatly] … I had the oddest thought then and even as I backed away towards the stairs, I started to get my phone out. The daft thing was...

MARTIN [recognising, voice gone sharp] Stop it.

THE ARCHIVES … I wasn't even going to call anyone for help, I just wanted to take a picture of the thing. To prove to you that it happened – you're always so quick to dismiss these statements and I wanted proof for you....

MARTIN You've made your point.

JONAH MAGNUS Hm, I think so. And, remind me, what was my point?

[silence except for Jon's now-muttered static. Careful listening and it's not static at all, but an unceasing recital of horror, statement after statement pouring from his mouth]

JONAH MAGNUS You come into my home clutching that knife with such intentions of bravado. I imagine you wanted to swoop in, rescue him. But I possess him in all the ways that matter. And you know, surely, that you aren't going to be enough to save him.

[Martin's breathing is harder]

I wasn't lying before. I have truly enjoyed your visit, you can be quite distracting company. That's been the whole point of this, hasn't it?

MARTIN Wh – ?

JONAH MAGNUS [interrupting] Who is in the house, Jon?

THE ARCHIVES Martin Blackwood is in the dining room.

JONAH MAGNUS [indulgently, playing for effect] Who else is in the house, Jon?

THE ARCHIVES [a whirring, like the tape's stuck, the first sounds garbled, before a return to normal] Basira Hussain and Melanie King are approaching the east wing. Alice Tonner is patrolling the grounds of the estate.

JONAH MAGNUS You see? All the fear in this world and he can see all of it, every trembling terrified beat of a heart. You think they could approach unseen, hide when he can sense every firing neuron of their fear, the pulse and jump of their nerves? No one is fearless, not in my brave new world, and so he sees them all.

I underestimated you once, Martin. I don't make a habit of repeating my mistakes.

MARTIN I disagree.

JONAH MAGNUS [dismissive] Oh do tell why.

MARTIN Why do you think I came here? Huh? Flimsy knife in hand, having to listen to your gloating.

JONAH MAGNUS Likely a poor attempt at trying to draw my attention.

MARTIN And why do you think Basira, Melanie and Daisy came here?

JONAH MAGNUS To kill me, I should imagine.

MARTIN No.

JONAH MAGNUS No?

MARTIN All those eyes of yours, and they're always too busy focusing on what they shouldn't.

JONAH MAGNUS Tell. Me.

MARTIN No.

JONAH MAGNUS I had thought to spare you further indignities...

MARTIN [almost scoffing] Yeah, this sounds familiar.

JONAH MAGNUS Mart –

MARTIN How about no. H-how about not this time, how about you shut up for a moment?

[huffing sound, almost a disbelieving laugh] It's just so – so easy to distract you.

JONAH MAGNUS Not much of a distraction if I know you're coming.

MARTIN Who said I was the only distraction?

JONAH MAGNUS I –

[a small patter of careful footsteps across marble flooring, and then a grunt, a wet slicing noise that sickeningly sounds like metal through meat]

[Magnus howls in agony. His voice echoing like a wind tunnel, a guttural gusty howling of static, the scrape of a chair shoved back, cutlery and tableware disturbed and smashing]

[another grunt of exertion and someone hitting the table, silverware clattering, before a heavier slump of a body hitting the floor]

MARTIN You have to...!

GEORGIE I know! Just –

[sounds of a tussle for a few seconds, then a deep stabbing puncture, the noise like a punch. Magnus stops screaming]

GEORGIE Now. Now it's done.

MARTIN That is... eurgh, that's so nasty.

GEORGIE Let me have this triumphant moment, huh?

MARTIN Yeah. Sorry. When you said what you were planning, I thought.... it was a bit more  like popping a tomato than expected.

[pause, adrenaline fast breathing, the Archives' static]

He's... he's gone. Elias is really gone.

GEORGIE Finally.

Now, where's...? Holy f – Christ, Jon. Jon? Martin, is – that's not....?

MARTIN What Elias left of him.

GEORGIE What's –  What's he doing?

MARTIN [darkly] What he was made for. There's so many more statements to archive now. He's being kept busy.

GEORGIE [hand over mouth] God, that's... Christ. [despairingly angry] I thought –  I thought that would do it. That was the whole point of this, to get him back.

MARTIN The point was to kill Elias. He's.... Jon's not tied to Elias, he's tied to the Eye.

[creak of a door hinge, footsteps]

BASIRA [getting closer, echoing slightly in the space] He fell for it then?

GEORGIE [pulling herself back to the moment at hand] Yeah. Too busy monologuing at Martin.

BASIRA [creeping closer, sucking air through her teeth] Aim was perfect.

MELANIE She got him? Right across his eyes?

[Georgie makes a 'squish' noise as an affirmative]

Good. Fucker got what was coming.

BASIRA There's still the matter of Jon to deal with.

... Martin, you sure about this?

MARTIN [deep breath] As sure as I can be.

GEORGIE Can he... can Jon hear us?

BASIRA The rest of us, more than likely.

MARTIN [an agreeing 'hm'] He knew you were coming.

BASIRA I'd accounted for that. But being to all intents and purposes 'fearless'? Your invisibility cloak worked on Magnus. As to Jon, no idea.

MELANIE Look, we should hurry. Go, bring him back, Martin.

BASIRA And if you can't...

MARTIN [sharper] That's my call to make, not yours. We agreed.

BASIRA [a heavy pause] Just don't stay in there too long.

MARTIN Right. I'd... I'd stand back.

[there is a creaking static, like muted sound, a whip of rising wind. Martin makes a grunt of effort. Fading in to mix with the static is the rhythmic slosh of tide, the empty drone of wind over empty landscape.]

[a release of held breath]

MARTIN [almost wistful] Back again.

[footsteps digging into sand]

Jon? J-jon, we've... you're ok, Elias, he's....  I know this won't, it won't disconnect you from the Eye or anything, but you told me, you told me it was muted here.

Give you some space, s-so you can come back. I know – I know you're in there

[a crunching chewing sound like a tape spool caught]

[a manic and aggressive fast-forward]

MARTIN Come on, that's it. T-Try and talk to me.

THE ARCHIVES … she had shattered the glass of the horrid thing, its spindling legs made into a constellation of shards on the kitchen floor, but I couldn't move, I couldn't believe that it was over, not until there was a knock at the door. The police, finally. And even then she had to coax me to move, saying that it was finished, it was dead.... [cut off]

MARTIN He – he's gone, Jon. Really gone, he can't... you don't have to fight him any more. [a hopeful gasping exhale] Yeah, that's... that's it... yeah I know it's hard. [ harsh buzz of tape] Look at me, come on, yeah, good, you're doing it. You're out, you're... you're free.

THE ARCHIVES [a crunching whirr, then intoning, tainted with the over-lay of Magnus' intonation, smug and congratulatory] You do not administer and preserve the records of fear, Jon, you are a record of fear... [a sickening buzzing,  the sound of a tape recorder being forwarded] ... could be turned into a conduit for the coming of this – nightmare kingdom. Don't you see where I'm going...?

MARTIN I – Jon, I don't understand.

[garbling rewind]

THE ARCHIVES ...A conduit for the coming of this nightmare kingdom.

MARTIN [softer, sounding closer] He did that to you. He forced you to say those words. That wasn't... that wasn't you, that's not your fault.

Look, we – that's why we need you back. We can, Jon, we can stop this – we've... well, Basira's got a plan, and it's a small chance, but we could, with you and Georgie, we could change something. But we need you.

[empty static]

MARTIN [quieter] And I need you. I need you to come back.

THE ARCHIVES [wrenching, cracking, choked] Mar –

[buzz, like a fucked up tape that goes on for several seconds] …  I tried to explain, but all I could manage to say to get through the shaking sobs was 'I love you'.

MARTIN [throat tight] Jon, fight this, you can, come on...

THE ARCHIVES [a different recording tugged from his throat, a replication of Martin's own voice, shatter-hearted and Lonely, the faint echo of a hospital monitor] … but we need you, Jon. Please – just. Please.

MARTIN That's –  Don't, Jon. Don't use my voice like that.

I'm here. We weren't just going to leave you to him. So how can I... How can I stop this, how can I help you?

THE ARCHIVES [rewind] Please.

MARTIN I don't understand– I'm trying but... no, no, no, come on Jon, eyes on me, yeah, look back up, not....

[ripped and ripe with comprehension] Oh.

THE ARCHIVES Please [rewind]. Please [rewind]. Please.

MARTIN I can't. Jon, I –

THE ARCHIVES [more insistent] Please [rewind]. Please.

MARTIN [forcefully] I won't be your murderer, Jon!

I won't. I'm sorry, but – [makes a deprecating noise] It's not even sharp. It was for show, all part of the act.

[moves in closer, tread of feet in sand] Listen to me, Jon. I know. Sweetheart, I know. I know you're tired. I know everything, everything's wrong, it's been all wrong for so long, and there's only so much hope we can all bear.

 [quieter, almost ashamed] And we could stay here. It would be so so easy. Sit down together on the shoreline, let the fog take us.

I've been thinking, you know. [huff] Yeah, dangerous habit. I've had a lot of... I've had a lot of time to think, about Magnus and his 'grand plan' or whatever. He chose you, and let every horrible thing out there have their own pound of flesh from you. And the statements, they feed on you too, don't they? You live this sick repetition of other people's horrors, and that feeds the Eye, but it's too much for you to bear. And Elias, or bloody, Jonah or whoever, even he wasn't sure you'd survive, even before all this mess happened. He wanted you hurt, and scared but he couldn't be sure it wouldn't kill you outright.

[static, unbroken]

I read the statements too. Elias was very keen on giving me [dark laugh] well, professional development while you were away. And if that wasn't... wasn't enough –

[pause]

Jane Prentiss trapped and terrorised me in my home, and after that, Christ, all that time ago,  it all just kept happening.  The whatever-it-was that called itself Michael, I was in those corridors with Tim for weeks, and I've been, huh – if being pinballed between working for some – some evil eyeball and Peter Lukas doesn't count, I don't know what does.

[a low breath, gearing up. The static continues, an intent and intense sedateness]

I've got all of them now,  isn't that right, Jon? Whether it's the statements, or workplace collateral, or even just living in this horrifying hellscape of a world. That's all of them, leaving their mark. And Elias, I think you knew, [wry chuff] or Knew probably, that he would have made me Archivist. If you didn't make it. 's why he agreed to let me stay behind, while you all went to stop the Circus.

S-so my point is. I – I know. I know you're tired, I know you want this to stop. But we could end this, together. It's too much for you to take alone, s-so why don't you share it?

[gentler] You don't – You've never had to do this on your own. An Archivist always had Assistants, remember.

THE ARCHIVES [a break in the static, like signal breaking in and out, a furious dip and rise of disparate statements] – And I told her no –  […] He knew he could never ask that of – […] Please, please – [….] Martin – […]  – through the shaking sobs was 'I love you' – […...]

MARTIN You're not alone. Not now, not before. If we're to have any chance at all, you have to let me help.

[a staticky buzzing, low breathing, the distant call of gulls]

Look at me, Jon. Yeah, all those eyes of yours.

What do you See?

[the static rises like a wind swell]

[Martin gives an airless grunt]

MARTIN  That's it.... [gasp] Come on, Jon, let me in.

[Martin lets out a gasp that chokes into a clenched cry. He gags and swallows the sound, and it is dry and painful and crunching. The static over-washes the sound of the shore, and Martin starts making bitten-off hurt sounds, that soon devolve into screaming. This goes on for a long time.]

[He stops. The static stops]

[The loud sound of something heavy hitting the floor, Jon's breathing suddenly audible, mixed with Martin's panting. The scrape of sand, someone moving]

JONATHAN SIMS, THE ARCHIVIST [slurring and mumbled, his tongue numb and awkward] Martin... Martin... are you...?

MARTIN BLACKWOOD, THE ARCHIVIST [sucking in a harsh breath] Jon. [muffled, like he's embracing someone, or being embraced] Christ, thank god, Jon, you're ok, you're here, you're back.

[even more muffled] God, I thought I was too late.

ARCHIVIST Are you – Martin, tell me please, are you...?

ARCHIVIST I'm fine, I'm just... [wincing groan] It's just a lot.

ARCHIVIST R-right. Breathe through it. Look... look at me, that's it. The rest of it, a-all the noise, it's background. That's all. It doesn't have to drown you.

[For several long moments, they breathe in tandem as Martin calms]

ARCHIVIST I could hear you. B-back with Jonah. It was all so loud but I could hear you.

Thank you. F-for coming to get me.

ARCHIVIST Well, Basira gave me two options so it was that or murder [clearly responding to some visual expression] I'm – I'm kidding. Of course I wasn't going to just leave you.

[a surprised noise] Jon. Your eye.

ARCHIVIST What...?

ARCHIVIST The left one, it's not... It's different, it's not like – it's blue, it's blue, did something go wrong, is it...

ARCHIVIST [ever so softly, clearly a page ahead] Yours has changed too. Brown suits you.

ARCHIVIST I – Oh. Right.

So we've both.... Yours and mine....

ARCHIVIST I think so.

ARCHIVIST That's.... that's crazy.

ARCHIVIST Hmm.

[…]

[thoughtful] I forgot how quiet it was, here.

You really think we can stop this?

ARCHIVIST Basira seems to have a plan. You and Georgie, your abilities. And well, me to some extent now, I guess.  It could change everything back to the way it was, now Elias has gone.

ARCHIVIST What do you think?

ARCHIVIST I think we can stop this.

ARCHIVIST Then I believe you.

Martin, what you did –

ARCHIVIST Let's – We'll talk about it later. I promise. Once we're out of here. I'm... Today's been a lot.

ARCHIVIST OK. That's – OK. You should rest, when we get out of here. It's – it'll take a lot out of you, in the beginning.

ARCHIVIST I'm sure Elias wouldn't mind lending us his rooms. Not like he can complain.

ARCHIVIST We're in Jonah's house?

ARCHIVIST Well. More mansion. It's so ostentatiously gaudy, you'd hate it. Bet he has four poster beds and framed paintings of himself all over the place.

ARCHIVIST How charming.

ARCHIVIST Hmm. Melanie's probably started on slashing up the fixtures.

[quieter] Come on, then. Let's get out of here. I know the way back.

ARCHIVIST  [ever so softly] I've never doubted it.

[CLICK]

[haberdashing]

i want you to straighten out my tomorrow (3/?)

The last thing Jon remembers is working into the night in the Archives in early 2016. Now he’s in a cabin in the middle of nowhere, Scotland, with Martin Blackwood as his only companion. Obviously Jon’s missed something along the way here…

Inspired by beloved of jon, though it can be read separately.

Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3

on AO3

Martin took a deep breath and released it slowly before speaking again.

“So.” Martin tapped his fork against his plate, which made a noise that got on Jon’s nerves a bit, but he’d just taken a big bite of his pancake to show his following through on his part of their makeshift deal so he couldn’t exactly complain about it. “I guess I’ll start from here, and from what brought us here, and sort of, er, work backwards? I mean, I imagine you’ve got enough questions about what’s going on now without me bringing up a load of other weird things for you to wonder about.”

Jon nodded silently. Martin certainly wasn’t wrong about that bit; Jon had plenty of questions waiting to be asked already.

“Daisy didn’t actually give us the key to this place; I suppose that’s as good a place to start as any. There were hunters at the Institute when we left, and she was busy, er, fighting them off, so we didn’t get to say goodbye or anything--though I don’t know if I would have, I never really knew Daisy that well. But Basira--she works for the Institute now too, but before all that she and Daisy were cops together, they’re, they’re close--she was able to give us the keys, said she thought Daisy would approve.”

There was a lot to process there, unsurprisingly. Now there were two Institute employees Martin had brought up that Jon didn’t know rather than just one; the use of “hunters” seemed a bit odd, made Jon wonder what they were hunting for, whether Hunt was a fear to be capitalized like Eye and Web; all sorts of interpersonal relationship stuff could be teased out there, if one had a mind to do so, which Jon didn’t especially at the moment.

What was at the front of Jon’s mind, though, was that evidently there had been some danger at the Institute, whether because of these “hunters” (”Hunters”?) or for some other reason, and of the three other people working there that Jon cared about, the only one whose safety was assured was the one sitting in front of him.

(Elias didn’t count. Jon tolerated Elias well enough, and he was glad the man had trusted him with an opportunity by promoting him to Head Archivist even if he felt like he was just flailing around playing pretend half the time, but he didn’t care about Elias, not like he did about the rest of his crew.)

Jon swallowed the last of his current bite of food before Martin could start up again. “What about Tim and Sasha?”

Martin furrowed his brow, confusion evident on his face--the word “adorable” sprung to Jon’s mind, unbidden--so Jon elaborated further.

“You haven’t mentioned what happened to Tim and Sasha during all of this. Are they alright?”

And then Jon watched Martin’s face slowly fall, could practically see the gears turning as Martin tried to figure out a tactful response, and he wasn’t the best at reading facial expressions but figuring out this one wasn’t exactly rocket science.

“Were they together in the end, at least?”

Martin shook his head, loose curls flying everywhere as he did so, one of them settling in between his eyes in a place that didn’t look like it’d be comfortable or even easy to ignore, but Martin made no attempt to brush it away. “Sorry?”

“I just... they were always so close to each other. If they’re... gone... I just hope they were side by side when their time came.”

“Oh.” Martin bit his lip for a moment. “No, uh, they- it wasn’t just now, during that attack on the Institute--we lost Tim a little over a year ago, now, and Sasha... was about a year before that.”

Jon let out a long breath as he felt his insides turn cold. Two of his closest companions were dead and gone, and he didn’t even remember it happening.

“Actually, this- this may sound weird, but can you... describe Sasha for me?”

Jon let out a huff. “You work more closely with her than I do.”

“Humor me, please?”

Martin’s request did sound weird, but... but not as weird as Jon would have expected, when he thought about it. It was a piece of this massive puzzle, that much was clear, and Jon had a feeling that somewhere, just out of his reach, was the rest of it, and he’d be able to put all the pieces together eventually.

“She’s... short. Shorter than me. Blonde hair, usually in a bob, sometimes with a headband. Has a thing for costume jewelry...”

Martin let out a soft sigh and shook his head again, though that one strand of curly hair remained in place between his eyes. (Some distant part of Jon wanted to reach out and brush it away; the more rational part of Jon didn’t dare, wouldn’t even mention the loose curl unless it came up naturally.) “Yeah, that’s, that’s about what I figured... still, it was worth a shot.”

“What was worth a shot?”

Martin bit down on his bottom lip again, hard, enough that Jon wondered if it would leave a mark.

“Why did you ask about Sasha? Were you hoping I’d say something different?”

“I... yes, I did, it’s just... Jon, eat.”

Jon stared down at his half-full plate, huffing a little before going along with Martin’s request and having another bite.

“Okay, so, with Sasha... when she died-” And Martin paused for a brief moment there, looking away from Jon, and his voice sounded a little shakier when he started up again. “She was, was replaced by the thing that killed her. It took her place and changed all of our memories so we thought she was always like that, that nothing was wrong. I thought maybe since you forgot all that, your memories might still be of the real Sasha, but... no, that’s the one I remember too, and that’s not her. That’s the thing that took her place.”

“It changed our memories, and we couldn’t even tell.” Jon’s voice was calm, but his mind was anything but as he contemplated the implications of that statement.

“Yeah, we didn’t even know she was dead until- until the thing that replaced her went after you. I still don’t know what she actually looked like. I think Melanie remembered the real Sasha, but we never really got a chance to sit down and talk about it...”

A third name Jon didn’t recognize there--good Lord, how much turnover did Institute staff have these days?--but that wasn’t what caught Jon’s attention most.

“So there’s no way to know if our memories are real or just, just changed or made up by supernatural beings messing with us?”

“Well, apparently tape recorders are just old enough that they don’t change, something about the difference between analog and digital? Think that’s why the statements record fine on them, too. The, the real ones, I mean.”

Jon let out a long sight. “And I don’t suppose you’ve got tape recording of all or... any of the things you’ve been talking about?”

“No, Jon, I wasn’t exactly able to bring the whole Archives with us when we went on the run, sorry.”

The phrase “on the run” caught Jon attention briefly--that sounded like it was more than two hunters they had to worry about, like they were hiding from the authorities on top of all that--but again, Jon’s thoughts drifted elsewhere.

“So there’s no proof. No proof of any of this, even the parts I think I remember. We can’t prove that you’re who you say you are-”

Jon gestured with his butter knife at Martin, and Martin threw his hands up in mock surrender in response. “H-hang on now-”

“Or, or even that I’m who I think I am. For all I know I’m not even Jonathan Sims, for all I know my, my whole life never happened and I just had fake memories that it did implanted because that’s what some supernatural creature wanted-”

Jon’s rambling only trailed off when he noticed that Martin was quietly giggling to himself.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing, really, I- sorry, I shouldn’t be laughing, I know this is serious-”

“It is, yes.”

“It’s just- I don’t think this is the first time you’ve had this particular existential crisis before? I, uh, I think the way you put it in one of your tapes was ‘How do you know that you’re the same person who went to sleep?’“

Martin’s impression of Jon’s voice was more accurate than Jon would have expected, though he wasn’t going to actually comment as much out loud.

“Something I said on a tape that I don’t have, that I don’t remember ever making... forgive me if I’m not terribly reassured.”

“A-alright, fair enough. Maybe just- just think of it this way. How much does all of this actually change?”

Jon wrinkled his brow. “I don’t think I follow.”

“Look, I know you know your philosophy well enough. Losing memories of a chunk of your life, finding out that the supernatural can mess with your mind... it’s horrible, I know, believe me, but it doesn’t really open up any new possibilities about the state of the world. It was always possible that- that the world was just some elaborate simulation, or that life just started five seconds ago and all your memories before then are fake, or that everybody besides you is just an object pretending to be a person, or whatever. If you didn’t buy into that kind of thing before, why does this change all that?”

That... was actually a good point, now that Martin brought it up, and Jon thought about it for a moment in silence.

“Please don’t tell me you do buy into that kind of thing regardless-”

“Not particularly, no.”

“Good.”

“So, will you at least try to take the world at face value for a bit unless you’ve got an actual reason to do otherwise?”

“Except for Sasha, of course.”

“Yeah, except for Sasha, I suppose, though I don’t know that she’d come up that much anyway, it’s...” Martin let out a soft sigh. “It’s been a while.”

“...fine. Alright. Until I’ve got a reason to do otherwise, I’ll...” Jon massaged his temple with one hand. “Try to trust my own mind, at least.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” The smile on Martin’s face looked a bit thin, a bit forced, but it was better than nothing, Jon supposed.

“So if that’s what happened to Sasha, what about Tim? Please don’t tell me I’m remembering him wrong, too...”

“No, it wasn’t that. The, the not-Sasha thing went missing around when you went on the run for murder, only popped up again just before we came here.”

“So what happened to Tim, then?”

“Oh, he, uh, blew up a circus to stop it from ending the world.”

Taking a sip of tea while waiting for Martin to respond had definitely been a mistake. Jon gulped his mouthful of tea down fast, the heat making his throat ache, but at least he could respond, and better drinking too fast than choking on the stuff.

“What, and the circus killed him for doing it?”

“No, he... he was inside it when he blew it up.”

Jon didn’t know what to say to that, so he just took another bite of now-lukewarm pancake and let Martin keep speaking.

“You were too, actually. It’s a- it’s complicated, I think I get how you came out the other side now, but I’m surprised you don’t have more scars from that at least...”

“Speaking of which. Where did all these scars come from?”

“Well. Er.” Martin set his silverware aside and scooted his chair closer in to Jon. “A bunch of places, really, but I can go over them one by one...”

First, Martin gestured broadly across Jon’s whole body. “The little- the worm scars. That’s what those are, all over. That’s... Jane Prentiss attacked the Institute--you do know that name, at least?”

“I’m familiar with the files on her, yes.”

“I wish all I knew about her was from those files...” Martin let out a soft but surprisingly sharp laugh before continuing. “So, the worms got to you- you and Tim both, actually. We got rid of them, but not before they dug in enough to leave those scars on the two of you.”

Jon still didn’t remember the incident in question, but even that vague description of it was enough to make him shudder a bit. Worms had dug into his skin. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected to hear, but it... it hadn’t been that, certainly. “What about you? Obviously you didn’t get the same scars...”

“No, I, I got lost in the tunnels when they attacked-”

“The tunnels?”

“Yeah, there’s a whole secret maze of tunnels under the Institute, turns out. That’s where, uh, I found Gertrude’s body. And Michael. And you found Leitner in there, I think? And the, the Panopticon is down there too.”

...there were entirely too many things going on in that statement for Jon to be able to process them all at once. His predecessor’s body, another name he didn’t recognize, a name he knew all too well, and something he knew best as a philosophical concept but apparently was in fact a physical thing somewhere under the Institute?

Jon took a deep breath and slowly let it out before speaking again.

“Alright, that’s one scar then. The hand--you said I ‘sort of’ stuck it in a fireplace?”

“Well it’s, it’s not an entirely accurate description, but...” Martin’s arm darted out, hovering over the scarred hand in question before slowly falling back to his side; Jon’s heartbeat raced as he watched Martin’s arm approach his, and he wasn’t sure if it was out of fear or anxiety or something else. “I wasn’t there for this one but you apparently, uh, shook hands with someone in with the Lightless Flame, someone who’s basically made of molten wax. Jude Perry, is the name.”

The name meant nothing to Jon, but he vaguely remembered reading something about the Lightless Flame before, and he wrinkled his brow in confusion. “Why would I do that?”

Martin’s laugh was a bit fuller this time, less bitter and more genuine. “That is an excellent question."

“...so you don’t know, then.”

“No, but- it’s hard to see, but there’s actually another scar on that same hand? At the time you told us some ridiculous story about cutting yourself on a bread knife, but I heard the truth later. That, that Michael I mentioned, he stabbed you. Didn’t like that you tried to stop him from taking Helen, I think.”

“This being the same Michael that you found in the tunnels.” Jon had half-assumed this Michael was one of the apparently ever-changing archival staff in the Institute that he didn’t remember, but evidently that assumption was a faulty one.

“Yeah, but he’s not just in the tunnels, that time he was in your office--he could go anywhere, just pop out of a yellow door. Still can, sort of, but it’s not Michael now, it’s Helen.”

“The same Helen I tried to stop this Michael from taking?”

“Yeah... well, yes and no. Helen’s not exactly the same as she was...”

Jon sighed. “Alright. Moving on, then. Shoulder scar?” Jon tugged his oversized shirt down a bit, made it so the scar would poke out a bit more.

“Oh that, uh, that was Melanie’s doing-”

“The, the Melanie who remembered the real Sasha?”

“Yeah, that’s the one!”

Jon pinched the bridge of his nose. Either he really needed to stop assuming every name Martin dropped was an Institute employee, or Institute employees seemed to have a nasty habit of injuring him badly enough to give him scars. Or both. With his luck, probably both.

“So what exactly did Melanie do?”

“She stabbed you with, with a scalpel? See, you and Basira were doing surgery on her-”

“I thought you said Basira used to be a cop.” Jon considered adding and not a doctor out loud, but he figured the implication was clear enough.

“Yeah, that’s right. Why?”

“...so, I was doing surgery on Melanie, with a former cop as my assistant-”

“Yeah, to get a ghost bullet out of her leg. But she woke up and freaked out and stabbed you with a nearby scalpel. Honestly, I don’t entirely blame her for that bit, though she definitely took it too far.”

If Martin was telling the truth, he’d been doing amateur surgery, with a fellow non-surgeon as his only assistant, to retrieve a “ghost bullet,” whatever that was... and the patient had woken up mid-surgery and stabbed him?

He’d known these scars would have stories of some kind behind them, but that... God, what could he even say to that?

Well. Only one scar that he knew of left. Might as well wrap things up, see if that left him with any more pieces with which to put together this very strange puzzle.

“So that just leaves the scar on my throat, then, I believe.”

“Er. Right.” Martin looked down at his plate of food; a quick glance revealed that he’d actually eaten less than Jon had at this point, though Jon certainly wasn’t going to nag him about it. “About that.”

“Yes?”

“Just, uh, don’t take this the wrong way...”

“Did you stab me, too?”

“What? No!” Martin’s face flushed at the accusation. “Jesus, Jon, no, I would never...”

“Then who... or what... did?”

“...Daisy did. I don’t know all the details, I don’t think I want to, but I know she brought you somewhere to kill you, and while she obviously didn’t do that, she got far enough to leave that on your neck.”

“...the Daisy whose house we’re staying in.”

“This is one of her safehouses, yeah. I think Basira said she’s got a few of them?”

“And you’re sure we’re safe here.” Half statement, half question.

“...I really hope we’re safe here. Can’t honestly say I’m sure about that, though...”

Jon dropped his silverware, letting it clatter against the plate and the table as he covered his head in his hands.

“Wonderful. Just... just wonderful.”

[ajcrawly]

Should you fight this character (Archive Squad Edition)

Jonathan Sims: Well, everyone else has. And I can see why you’d want to! He’s a small, prickly man with a small, prickly face and he will absolutely insult you ten times before breakfast before asking for favours or deep dark secrets from you, so I understand the compulsion to ‘do a bit of a Mike Crew’. On the other hand, these days he’s a little less prickly and a little more Apocalyptically Terrifying and so unless you actually want the world to know about your hideously embarrassing vore kink or your AO3 search history or That Thing You Did When You Were Seventeen it’s probably not worth the satisfaction of a quick punch in the kisser. Ask yourself: will it make you feel special? Will it fill the void in your heart to punch a man so thoroughly beaten-down by the world? Will it be worth the Liam Neeson style revenge of one Martin Blackwood? 5/10, initially satisfying, fundamentally not worth it. 

Martin Blackwood: Take a seat. Look at your life. Look at your choices. Look at this jumpered man who is shaped like a friend. Could you fight him? Sure, you could try, but he’ll probably just hug your arms to your sides and talk to you about your problems a bit and you’ll end up feeling better, but empty inside. Maybe he’ll just cry. Maybe he’ll - worse still - just take the punch and say he deserves it. You can’t fight a man who is so absolutely centred on fighting himself. Do you think Martin cares about your violence? Against him? Fighting Martin isn’t worth it because Martin would fight himself if he had the opportunity because he thinks he deserves it (and also because it unquestionably makes you a very, very bad person, you monster) 1/10 because why would you? 

Timothy Stoker: Tim Stoker knows no fear. In the three seconds after you throwing your first punch he will have ascertained your relative strength, whether there’s a chance of this just being foreplay, and your absolute greatest weakness. He’ll spike you through the solar plexus and heelie away without a care. He probably won’t even stop smiling. “Oh, hey, how’s it going - wow, bitey aren’t you, let’s just knock you out there, great chat byeeee!” Now I’m not saying it’s not feasible that you could get the drop on him, and he’s a bit of a bastard sometimes anyway so you might even want to, but Tim stands a better chance of trying to pick somebody up on the dancefloor, slipping on a patch of jaegerbomb and knocking himself out than he does of being knocked out by you. Still. Shoot your shot, I guess - that’s the advice he’d give you. 7/10 depending on sympathetic you are about his backstory. 

Sasha James: Now, look, it’s not that Sasha James is exceptionally strong or exceptionally fast and if you really, really wanted to fight her, you’d probably win. You would! You’d win. Well done you. Off home for a victory march you go. Now watch as your credit-card information disappears and your bank accounts drain overnight. Your broadband bill has tripled but you somehow don’t have any of the packages you want. Your wi-fi has stopped working and your printer keeps printing things that you’re pretty sure you never asked it to print (it’s mainly memes, and that’s Tim’s influence). Sasha will wreck your entire life in an afternoon. And also - why would you want to fight her in the first place? Sasha James has never done anything wrong in her entire life, ever. 3/10, yes you could fight her, but at what cost?

Melanie King: Do Not. Even if you get a few good licks in she will bite off your ears and use your skull as a colander. 0/10

Basira Hussain: You could. But consider for a moment Basira’s absolute ruthless pragmatism. If you pose a danger - to her, to those she holds dear - she will have precisely zero hesitation about burying you twenty foot deep after killing you in a distractingly thorough and practical fashion (can’t come back as an undead monster if she’s buried your lungs in Swindon and your feet in Bournemouth, probably). It probably won’t even ruin her day. You can fight her, die, and it won’t even ruin her day. It might even improve it. It’s nice to get something productive done in the morning while you still feel fresh. 2/10 if Basira doesn’t kill you Daisy sure will.  

Daisy Tonner: There’s a lot of arguments for fighting Daisy (remember that time she stabbed Jon in the throat and made him bury a man lol wild) but the only time you stand a chance of fighting her is when she’s fresh out of the Buried and God, talk about kicking somebody when they’re down. That’s on fighting-Martin level of monstrous, tbh, and you’re bad for thinking about it. The only exception to this rule is if you’re Into being Torn Apart in a Sexy Way and honestly, you might get more than you fucking bargain for. 3/10 sure can understand your motivations, chief, but have you considered maybe not 

Peter Lukas: Ooooh, I’m a big Avatar of the Lonely, I have a ship and a hat and a whistle and I can feed people to my eldritch god oooooh. Peter big (this we know). But Peter doesn’t like confrontation. Peter will not know how to respond to a flurry of fists and fury that isn’t Elias and there’s a pretty good chance that he’ll just run away. Still, if you can corner him, you should absolutely fight him, because Peter needs to be taken down a peg. Sure, you’ll feel like a bit of a bastard because he’ll keep trying to smile that cheerful smile and complimenting your technique as you break his jaw, but you’ve got to look past that and remember what a monster he is. 10/10 fight him and push down your own inevitable guilt. 

Elias Bouchard: Does this even need a score? If there is anybody in the entire Archives you should be fighting, it is this mean. Sure, it’ll cost you some resurfacing of your deep-seated trauma but that’s a small price to pay for the satisfaction of clocking him in the skull with a stapler and hanging him by his silk underwear on a flagpole somewhere. It’s What He Deserves. 99999999/10 this bastard rat man absolutely deserves to be fought. He’ll make out like he’s pleased by this, or that he’s enjoying it, or that it’s all part of his Grand Plan. It isn’t. It is your moral duty to fight Elias and frankly if you’re not already on your way to the Institute I’m shaking my head. 

[eldritchteaparty]

Chapters: 2/? Fandom: The Magnus Archives (Podcast) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist Characters: Martin Blackwood, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives), Sasha James, Rosie Zampano Additional Tags: Post-Canon, Fix-It, Post-Canon Fix-It, Scars, Eventual Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, I'll add characters and tags as they come up, Reference to injuries and blood

Chapter Summary:  Jon and Martin have somehow found themselves back at the Magnus Institute, with Tim and Sasha and some complications.

Read at AO3 above or read here below the cut!

Chapter 1 on Tumblr here.

“Martin.” Jon’s whispered caution was unnecessary; Martin realized right after he did it that saying Tim’s name might not have been the best idea. They really knew nothing about this place, or who this man actually was. It didn’t seem to have fazed the man that looked like Tim, though. Or maybe he just hadn’t heard it.

“Where have you two been? And why are you out here? And… fuck, that’s a lot of blood.” The color drained from his face. “Is it—is it your blood? Oh shit. I’m—I’m calling an ambulance.”

He grabbed his phone.

“No.” Jon managed to push past Martin to sit up for the first time since they’d been here. “No. We’re fine.”

“Jesus, I don’t know how you could be unless—unless it’s not your blood?” The man who was maybe Tim didn’t seem particularly ready to put his phone away. “Please tell me you didn’t kill someone.”

“No.” Jon shot a warning glance at Martin, who hadn’t actually considered arguing semantics at that moment. “It—it is mine. And… a bit of his.”

Martin started.

“You haven’t seen yourself,” Jon said quietly.

I guess not.

Maybe-Tim finally decided that he wasn’t going to call anyone, at least for the moment. “Can you—can you get up? I mean—you should—you should probably come inside, at least.”

With a small nod from Jon, Martin accepted help standing up, and found he was much steadier on his feet than he would have guessed.

As he helped Jon up in turn, Jon leaned into him. “Don’t say anything you don’t have to. I know—I know how this feels, but—”

“Yeah, I got it,” Martin answered. “I’m sorry I—”

“It’s all right.”

Maybe-Tim didn’t even notice their exchange; his attention was on his phone again. “I’m messaging Sasha. I’m… I don’t even know what to tell her. I’m just telling her to meet me in her office. Are you—are you really sure you don’t need to go to the hospital?”

He definitely just said he was messaging Sasha.

“Jon—"

“It’s fine.” Martin couldn’t tell if Jon was responding to him or simply answering the question, but it sufficed for both. “Let’s go.”

***

Walking into the Magnus Institute was unnerving in a way that Martin wasn’t prepared for. Yes, he had just lived through a fear apocalypse, but that was part of the issue. Every domain they had encountered had been its own nightmare, in one sense or another. Fears had been isolated and then amplified, exaggerated to the point where they couldn’t be mistaken for anything other than what they were: pieces of a literal hellscape. He had grown accustomed to knowing that no matter what unimaginably terrifying thing he had just seen, the next thing would be worse.

Here, there was just something off, something subtle, and subtlety wasn’t his specialty right now. This, well, it was the Institute, and also it wasn’t. Sure, there were some physical differences—a paint color that didn’t seem quite right, a sign indicating that the Office of Research was located on the third floor instead of the second—but those things didn’t make it not the Institute. Martin had worked there for enough of his life to see those kinds of things change before. That wasn’t what was getting to him.

It was the feel of the place. The feel was different somehow, but he couldn’t sort out in his own head exactly what he meant by that—he couldn’t even be sure it was true, or if it was maybe how it had been in their world too, and it was merely his memory of it that had been rewritten.

They followed Tim down the stairs to the archive. Martin had given up trying to think of him as anyone other than Tim. It wasn’t just his face, or his voice as he rambled about what a mess they were; it was the way he walked, what he did with his hands as he talked, his whole demeanor.

As they entered the reception area, Martin heard another familiar voice—he recognized Rosie’s practiced, cheery-but-professional tone immediately. He’d been overhearing it for years; it had become part of the general background noise of working in the archive for him. There was even something uplifting about it, given that the last time he’d seen her was passing her on the stairs on his way up that tower, with that ever-sinking feeling in his gut. She’d seen him too; they hadn’t spoken to each other.

Unfortunately, the feeling wasn’t mutual. She was startled enough when she saw them that the handset she was speaking into clattered to the desk.

“Oh.” She stood up. “Is—is everything ok? Do you need me to call someone?”

“I guess not,” Tim answered. “Look, we’re going to talk to Sasha and then—I don’t know.”

“Oh. Well… Ms. James is in her office. Please let me know if I can do anything?” Rosie seemed more upset than Tim, and Martin started to really understand what he and Jon must look like to—well, people. He had to admit, Jon did look pretty bad, and he had no idea what state he was in. He didn’t realize he had stopped walking until he felt Jon tug at his arm.

“S—sorry.” He couldn’t help but apologize to Rosie, who continued to stare after them as they entered the archival assistants’ office.

Martin was again struck by that peculiar mixture of recognition and unfamiliarity. So much in this office felt like he remembered it—his desk even had the same odd-colored back leg it always had. He recognized Tim’s desk too, almost exactly like it used to be, before Peter Lukas insisted Martin clean it out himself. It had been a relatively successful tactic for making sure he never wanted to go in there again.

And then there was Jon’s desk.

A wave of vertigo hit him, strong enough that he had to squeeze his eyes shut to fight it. Of course, Jon’s desk had not been in the assistants’ office—that was a simple fact—yet somewhere in his mind, it was almost like he remembered this version of things too, that this was the way it had always been.

When he was able to open his eyes again, he found that both Tim and Jon had stopped to look at him.

“Sorry. Something just—never mind. I’m fine.”

He looked at the head archivist’s office, which stood at the other end of this one, and the name painted across the frosted glass very clearly read Sasha James.

***

The four of them sat around the circular desk in the assistants’ office in an uncomfortable silence. After Sasha’s initial shock had worn off, and Jon had insisted yet again that they did not need to go to the hospital, she had asked Rosie to make them tea. That was the one positive point; at that moment, it felt like maybe the best tea Martin had ever had.

Tim finally spoke. “So… any chance of you telling us what the hell is going on?”

“Tim,” Sasha scolded. “Clearly, whatever happened, it’s not easy for them to talk about.”

“Well, it’s not easy for me to not talk about.”

Martin felt bad. “Sorry, it’s just—”

“It’s complicated.” Jon cut him off again.

“And are we also not going to talk about this?” Tim motioned toward their hands, which they held together on the table without thinking. Martin immediately moved to pull his hand away, but Jon tightened his grip with a firm never mind.

He left his hand where it was.

“Tim.” Sasha turned to face him. “They disappear for two months, we can’t find any trace of them, they turn up covered in blood and—well, not to mention all of the—the weirdness that’s been happening in the meantime, and that’s what you want to talk about? Really.”

Martin glanced sideways at Jon. Gone for two months—what did that mean?

“Yes! Yes, it is. You can’t tell me you don’t want to know.”

“Tim, I just think—” Sasha sighed and shook her head before turning back to Jon and Martin. “Are you really sure you’re ok? I mean, we—looked for you, we tried reporting you missing. We even had an officer come out here—what was her name, Tim? You had her card last.”

“Alice Tonner,” Tim replied.

Martin squeezed Jon’s hand.

“Right, her partner called her something else, though… Anyway, the thing is, they didn’t seem very interested. Like… she asked if we’d been in touch with your families or anything, and well, obviously we hadn’t, and she just said something about people picking up and moving all the time, and—well, I don’t think they even bothered filing an official report. They said they’d check in again, but we never heard from them. We even tried calling them a couple of times, I left messages, but they never got back to us. I mean, I’m sure they’ve been busy, but—”

“What do you mean, they’ve been busy?” Jon asked. Martin was surprised Jon would venture a question.

“Well…” Sasha seemed to consider whether she should continue, but she did. “The thing is, since you’ve been gone, some odd things have been happening. Not like, on the news or anything, just to people. We’ve even had a few come here, to the Institute, wanting to talk to someone about—well, what they think has happened to them. I guess we have a kind of reputation. But of course, no one knows what to do with them, so they send them down to the archives—and I mean, I do talk to them, I guess? Take some notes? But that’s not really—”

In the middle of her explanation, Martin suddenly noticed how tired he had become; he was exhausted. Interestingly, it wasn’t entirely unfamiliar, because it was the exact thing he and Jon had experienced when they first arrived at Upton House. It made sense, he supposed—after all, they hadn’t really been sleeping, however long they had been here—but the fact that it made sense didn’t help him go back and prepare for it.

He heard a commotion, the sound of chairs being shoved from the table, felt hands and arms helping him to lie down on something. Somewhere, amid the rest of the noise, just before he lost consciousness, he heard Jon insisting again that they were ok, that Martin just needed sleep. He knew Jon wasn’t talking to him, but it helped.

***

Hours later, Martin woke. He was still horribly tired, he could barely open his eyes, but once he realized Jon wasn’t nearby he wouldn’t let himself go back to sleep.

As he forced himself into wakefulness, the first thing that really came into focus was the sofa. He had been sleeping on a sofa, which hadn’t been a fixture in the assistants’ office where they came from—yet he remembered it had been in that office, briefly. Tim had brought it in with a friend one day, early on, claiming they needed somewhere a bit more “welcoming” when patrons came to visit the archive. Frankly, Martin had agreed with him, although he wasn’t sure he’d wanted to know all of Tim’s plans for it. The chairs in the office were particularly stiff, and although it wasn’t exactly Tim’s point, he could have used a comfortable spot to take the occasional break. Of course, Jon had immediately insisted it was unprofessional, and when Elias—Jonah—had backed him up, Tim and his friend had grudgingly hauled it back out again a few days later.

Here, though, Sasha had approved, with the caveat that it needed a new cover. Tim had happily obliged, and of course, Jon had ended up using it more than anyone, thanks to his insistence on keeping late hours when—

Wait, what?

He tried to remember more, but Martin now found it impossible to recall. It was strange, just moments ago he’d had such a clear picture of Jon—

Jon.

He sat up to find Tim at his desk, already looking at him.

“You all right?” Tim asked.

“I’m—yeah, I think so. Just tired.”

“I really can’t believe we haven’t called someone, Martin, you two—”

“Where’s Jon?”

“What?”

Where’s Jon?”

Tim gave him an odd look. “He’s in Sasha’s office. As soon as we got you on the couch he passed out. We managed to haul him in there and bring in that old cot from the back room.”

“Can I see him?”

Tim shrugged. “I suppose.”

Martin was relieved to find Jon sleeping peacefully on the cot when they entered, quiet, still. Breathing. His eyes were closed for the first time since—well, since the first few nights they had spent together in Scotland.

“Has he… has he been sleeping like this?” he asked, glancing as Sasha.

“Like what?” she asked.

“Like… normal.”

“I think so,” she said. “I haven’t noticed anything.”

Martin nodded, fighting a sudden surge of emotions too complicated to identify.

“Are you all right?” Sasha asked.

“Yeah, I’m all right,” Martin lied, before thinking of a second, slightly more truthful answer. “Actually I’m—I’m kind of hungry.”

Fortunately, Sasha kept extra food in her office, just in case she had to stay late; unfortunately, at the moment it just happened to be canned peaches. Martin briefly considered holding out for something else, but the empty pit in his stomach disagreed with that idea. Instead, he went with option two, getting it over with—and by the time Sasha had found a spoon for him he’d already downed half the can.

“Well,” said Tim, “that looked extremely unpleasant. In several ways, actually.”

“Sorry.”

Martin was just starting to worry about what he was going to say to fill the time when Jon stirred on the cot behind him. Martin wordlessly handed him what was left of the can of peaches. Jon was obviously disoriented, but ate readily enough after Martin got the spoon from Sasha for him. They watched him in silence for a moment, until Tim snapped his fingers suddenly enough to make Martin jump.

“I forgot, I—hang on.” He disappeared into the assistants’ office, and came back with a couple heavy plastic bags looped over his arms. “We’ve been keeping these in the back. It’s the clothes you left here. The police weren’t interested in them. Thought maybe you’d want to change? You do look a bit…”

Martin knew he was pushing it a little bit, but he asked anyway. “What do you mean, the clothes we left here?”

“They were just… there,” Tim answered. “On the floor in the office. Thought maybe you were pulling some sort of prank for a bit, but then of course you didn’t turn up.”

Martin looked at Jon, who paused mid-mouthful. He’d forgotten about that little complication, the Jon and Martin who had apparently disappeared from this place. The longer he thought about it, the more uncomfortable it made him. Jon swallowed and set down the can, which Martin noticed he hadn’t finished. “I think… I think we will get changed.”

Tim handed them the bags and waved toward the empty assistants’ office. “All yours.”

As they dumped the clothes out on the floor, they could hear Tim and Sasha speaking in low voices next door. Martin couldn’t make out what they were saying, although it was clear Tim was very unhappy—but at least it seemed reasonable to assume no one would be able to hear them, either.

“Jon,” Martin said after a moment, “do you think we—I mean, the Jon and Martin that—”

“Don’t think about it.” Jon was already halfway out of the clothes he’d been wearing. “Not yet. We need to get out of here. I need to—I need time. To think. And we need more rest. But not here.”

Martin couldn’t argue with that, but he also had no idea where to go. He sighed, and turned to the clothes that had been in the bag. Although he couldn’t recall if he’d owned that exact jumper, he would never have bet he didn’t. And as it turned out, the trousers fit him perfectly—he didn’t know why it surprised him. At his height, and well—general size—he’d always had a bit of trouble finding clothes that fit, so he supposed it was mostly that he didn’t want to accept they had belonged to him. A different him, that maybe no longer existed.

He sighed and turned back to Jon, half wondering why he hadn’t been hurrying him along—and found him frozen with an expression on his face that Martin would have placed somewhere between worry and surprise.

“Jon?”

“I’m—” Jon started to answer, but then stopped.

“Jon?” he prompted again.

“Look.” Jon held out his hand toward Martin, and he realized it held a set of keys.

“Are those—yours? Um, his?”

“They were in the trousers. A phone, too. But I—” Jon stopped again.

“Jon, are you—”

“I touched them and—Martin, I know where he lives.”

“What, like, know?” Martin pointed upward, a gesture he’d adopted a long time ago when referring to the Eye.

“Not like that. It’s different.”

As soon as Jon said it, Martin recalled the experience he’d had when they’d entered the assistants’ office, and also when he’d woken up on the sofa—memories from a place and time that he shouldn’t have had. “Oh.”

“We need to leave.” Jon was starting to sound a slight bit panicked, and Martin knew they really would need to find a way out soon.

“Ok, ok, but… where do we go?”

“Here,” Jon said, holding up the keys.

“Oh, Jon.” Martin felt a little sick. Those peaches weren’t sitting well.

“I know—just—don’t think about it.”

“Look, are you sure we can even get in? I mean, if they’ve been gone for two months—”

“Tim and Sasha don’t even think there was an official police report. I’ve always had my rent… I’m—I’m sure he…” Jon trailed off.

Martin didn’t like it, but Jon wasn’t looking good. He gathered up their discarded clothes and packed them into the bags, not wanting to leave anything behind. “All right. Let’s just… tell them we’re leaving, I guess.”

It went over about as well as he expected. Tim simply threw up his arms, and even Sasha lost her composure a bit. “Are you sure? I mean—you don’t seem—even if you don’t want to talk to us, you probably should really at least go see a doctor. Can we take you?”

“I’m sorry,” Martin said. “I know—I know this has been—”

“It’s been absolutely ridiculous!” Tim cut him off. “You haven’t told us anything. What were you even doing outside in the first place? Where have you been? What happened?”

“I’m—I’m really sorry,” Martin stammered.

Sasha sighed. “What should we tell Elias?”

Martin wasn’t even touching Jon, and he still felt his body go rigid behind him. Oh god.

“Please, we’ll—we’ll check in.” He had no idea if they actually would, but it was the only thing he could think of to say. His available hand found Jon without turning around as he started to back out.

“We’ll check in,” Sasha said, as Tim continued to protest.

“Are you really just going to let them—”

Martin had an arm fully around Jon now, guiding him back out of the office.

“Tim, I really don’t know what you’d have me do here. Call the police again?”

He didn’t hear Tim’s reply, and was only vaguely aware of Rosie’s concerned stare as they made their way out.

***

They were a few blocks away when Jon nearly collapsed; Martin immediately dropped the bags of clothing he was carrying to help support him.

“Hey. Hey, look at me.” Thankfully, Jon did. “You ok?”

“Martin, I don’t—I don’t think it’s Jonah.”

“Um—ok,” Martin answered.

“I don’t see how it could be. There was no—there was no mechanism here, without—it wouldn’t have worked.”

“Ok,” Martin answered again.

“But also—” Jon drew a shaky breath. “You feel it, right? That it’s—not him?”

Martin didn’t bother asking for clarification; he knew what Jon meant, although he hadn’t felt it. “I don’t know. I think—it only happens when I’m not trying.”

“Hm.” Jon was drifting again.

“Wait—wait,” Martin said. “Are you saying—are you saying actual Elias Bouchard runs the Magnus Institute?”

“Yes, I—I think so.”

“How? Why?”

“Because—because he did in our world. Sort of.”

“What does that—”

“I can’t explain it right now. I can’t—I need time. I need…” His breathing, which had slowed, was starting to pick up again.

“Ok, ok—it’s fine. Jon—you’re ok.”

“Am I?” Jon asked.

“Yes—Jon, it’s all right. Look—just get us where we’re going and I’ll—I’ll take care of you.” He shifted his grip and ran his thumb over Jon’s cheek, trying to keep him there. “I’ll take care of you. I’ll take care of you until…”

“Until what?”

“Until—until you feel better. I’ll take care of you until you feel better.”

“And what if I don’t? What if I never do? What if—”

Martin didn’t know what else to do; all he wanted right then was for some of the worry to leave Jon’s eyes. He pulled Jon close and pressed their mouths together; he held him there until he felt some of the tension leave his body. It wasn’t an answer; he knew Jon had only given up struggling against their situation for the moment, but that would have to be enough. That would have to get him to whatever was next.

“You will.”

[hoardcloneheadcanons]

The Season 1 Villain: Mr. Blackwood

Summary [ A time travelling Martin Blackwood accidentally bullies his past counterpart and a young Jonathan Sims into getting together in order to gang-up on him]

 Yesterday Is Here is a time-travel fix-it fic of the Magnus Archives by CirrusGrey found on AO3 that I highly recommend. It helps emotionally cope with the tragedy of the actual series and it’s very well written.

I have my own ideas on what would happen in the fic if the time travel went slightly different and Martin showed up first, which now lives rent-free in my head as an AU to an AU. I’m hoping by writing it down I can free myself of it’s grip over me. If you don’t want spoilers for the fic, or seasons 1-4 of the Magnus Archives, stop here.

 In the fic Jon and Martin from the Archives have been married and survived the apocalypse together. Both use the Helen’s doors to travel back in time to season 1 of the Magnus Archives and prevent most of the tragedies from happening. Jon uses his spooky Archivist Powers to threaten Elias, extorting him for money and preventing the appocolypse. And both Martin and Jon dispose of the main villains of season 1 and 2.

But some shenanigans happened in Helen’s doors that make it so Jon shows up first and Martin doesn’t show up until two months later. Here’s my idea of what would happen if those positons got reversed.

-The Archival Staff call Future Martin Mr. Blackwood to differentiate him from their present-day Martin. I will also be doing so, from here on out.

-Jon is, of course, skeptical, and keeps insisting that this must be some long lost brother of Martin’s who is trying to scam them (Or even his father, despite Mr. Blackwood not looking much older than Martin). Mr. Blackwood proceeds to list small intimate details about each of them (how they take their tea, things that happened their last birthday. Stuff that would be very essentially Martin to know) but also sounds very impatient the entire time. He does not have time for Jon’s feigned skepticism and denial and does not hide it.

-It becomes clear very quickly to the Archival staff that Mr. Blackwood is a lot meaner than Martin. He doesn’t make tea for people unless he’s trying to corner them to talk to them, He’s willing to kill spiders rather than release them. Murder doesn’t seem that out of the question for him. And while both Martin and Blackwood are big people, Matrin Hunches and keeps his voice soft and tries to seem smaller. Blackwood does none of that and will push his way through people and/or loom sometimes.

-As a result Tim starts jokingly referring to him as the Anti-Martin. When Mr. Blackwood starts mentioning that there should be a Mr. Sims showing up, Tim insists on making a list of traits that he bets  Mr. Sims will have based on him being an “Anti-Jon”. The traits include: Wearing only bright colors, not-giving a fig about archive policy, believing all the statements (even the dumb ones), smiling, being nice to Martin, being social and (on a day where Jon was being particularly annoying) being cool.

-A few of them are totally off the mark, but many of them are actually frighteningly close to the truth.

-He ropes Sasha into it too. They decide together that Sims and Blackwood have a one-sided relationship where Sims is absolutely besotted and Blackwood either barely tollerates him or is seducing him for his Head Archivist pay.

(It’s funny because Jon isn’t making much more than any of the Archival Staff)

-Blackwood is fairly nice to Sasha who is reasonable and listens to relevant threats. Tim appreciates him for confirming and advancing the research he’s done on Robert Smirke and the Circus. But Martin and Jon hate him. He bullies them both in different ways.

-Blackwood keeps trying to convince his younger self to grow a spine, make some boundaries. He keeps trying to tell him that he can’t fix things by being nice to everyone. Martin does not appreciate it.

-Mr. Blackwood will occasionally talk like Martin’s Mum and it makes it hurt more. Not exact sentiments or sentiments but familiar phrasing and tones. Blackwood doesn’t know he’s doing it.

-Meanwhile Blackwood takes away all the “real” statements from Jon (the ones that won’t record on the computer) and spreading them out amongst the archive staff. He insists that reading them will turn Jon into an eldritch creature that feeds on human trauma and gives people nightmares. Jon thinks this is a load of absolute bull. (If you must read them, Jon, at least don’t read them outloud. Type them up or something. Don’t be stupid.)

-Jon’s the type of person who needs to know and asks all the uncomfortable questions, so having someone take away the only real information bothers him. Even if Tim, Sasha and Martin have the information it still bothers him to not know.

-Jon is also really insecure about deserving his job, and desperately trying to prove himself. So having a man burst in and tell him how to do his job stings.

-Mr. Blackwood also isn’t delicate when pointing out Jon’s skepticism is dumb. He says all the things Martin thinks but is too polite to say.

(”I’m sure there’s a very natural reason for Carlos Vittery to be wrapped up in spider webs upon his death”

“Are you serious? Jon, if you keep up this ridiculous denial you’re going to walk yourself right into something’s mouth just to prove a point. Or worse, send someone else into it. And you of all people should know supernatural spiders are dangerous.

“What do you mean, I of all people?”

“I think you know what I mean, Jon.”)

-Jon and Martin actually end up hanging out because they bond over their mutual dislike of Mr. Blackwood.

-Jon defends Martin agains Mr. Blackwood and vice-versa.

-The first time it happens, it’s Jon defending Martin and Mr. Blackwood acts surprised.

-(I don’t know why we should trust you. Even if all this supernatural nonsense is true there’s no reason we should take you’re word on how it works! You barge into the archives telling everyone what to do, fear mongering with tales of secret societies trying to cause the apocalypse, you upset Martin all the time “for his own good, you-”

“-wait, wait wait- Martin?” “When did you start caring about Martin?”

“What do you mean? He’s one of my archival assistants, of course I care about him.”

“Jon, you bully him more often than I do.”

“I-No I don’t.”

“You make it very clear what you think of his work and competence, Jon. And you send him to all the worst assignments. He let’s it happen because he knows he’s not the best at research, and he knows you’re under pressure from Elias, and he really tries not to take it personally, but it hurts him Jon. It builds up and it hurts him, even if he never says it does. So yes, forgive me if I think you’re being a bit hypocritical.”)

-Jon apologizes to Martin after that and really tries to be nicer because he does not like the idea that he’s as bad as Mr. Blackwood. He watches what he says around Martin a lot more closely after that, and keeps an eye on Martin’s reactions.

-Jon will tell Martin that he thinks he’s nothing he’s like Mr. Blackwood. He doesn’t see how they could be the same person. Martin is so caring, and helpful, and kind, and warm, and Blackwood isn’t. Jon is so wrapped up in his frustration that he does not know Martin is blushing as he says this. Martin suddenly has to go make a cup of tea. Right then.

-The next time it’s Martin defending Jon against Blackwood. Blackwood is happy that Martin is starting to assert himself but is exasperated that it’s only occuring because of his own failed attempts to get the archive staff to trust him. He suddenly wants his own Jon to come back so badly so he can tell him how ridiculous this entire situation is. So they can laugh together at how Blackwood advanced their younger counterparts’ relationship progress by at least 3 years by accidentally becoming the villain of their story, so Jon can tease him about it.

-The third time it’s Jon once again defending Martin, saying that Blackwood went too far, that he sounds like Martin’s mother and he made him cry. Mr. Blackwood realizes that, yeah he does absolutely sound like his mum and he has to leave and reasses his actions. He hadn’t realized he was picking up her specific way of critisizing-well-himself. It’s just how he talked to himself in his own head- which- well- which wasn’t great.

-Jon is so surprised that he managed to actually get one-up on Mr. Blackwood that he takes everyone out for drinks and insists on paying. Which is a nice distraction for Martin. 

-It also, Blackwood notices, means Jon is getting closer to his archive staff and hanging out with them. It gives him a bittersweet hapiness. He’s so happy that they’re all closer in this timeline, that he managed to force Jon into socializing and Martin and Jon to get close. But he realizes he did it by being the outsider and interloper that they’re defending against, and he’s not quite part of this new group of the archive staff. He’s happy for them, just lonely. Even Sasha and Tim, who he gets along with more than Jon or Martin, are wary to trust him. He’s not telling them everything. He has to fight against Elias without the aid of spooky Eye powers and he’s unsure of when Elias is listening, so he’s not mentioning everything. He’s not telling them who killed Gertrude Robinson. He’s being evasive on the reasons he does not trust Elias, and about what power succeded at causing the apocalypse.

-As the days go by with no sign of His Jon/ Mr. Sim’s coming back his old connection to The Lonely intensifies and he becomes able to turn invisible and go by unnoticed again. The archive staff notice that he becomes spookier and sadder and- slightly less human and it decreases their trust in him.

[Check My Blog for a Part 2. I am writing this in one sitting, but this particular document has become long enough.]

[squeeneyart]

Breathe in the Salt - Chapter 3

AO3

Martin tells the researchers about his experience with the lighthouse.

Sound travels far.

Martin managed to convince the others that perhaps waiting until the rain let up a bit would be best before taking them to the other side of town. They might want to take notes, he had suggested, and maybe it would be better to wait until the end of their work day, since they would have to head to the local inn, anyway?

They conceded, though Sasha seemed antsy after her apparent discovery. Martin couldn’t deny that the questions she had had about the windows bothered him in the same way, but talking about it with no expertise seemed like it would invite something unpleasant. Instead, he led the way back down. Tim kept to the side from the beginning this time, firmly holding the handrail, and when the vertigo hit, he asked the group to stop for a moment before continuing down to the ground floor. At the back of the group, Jon was a different sort of quiet from before. Was he more irritated than before, Martin wondered, or was he taking this as seriously as Sasha? Maybe both. The guy seemed like he could hold a lot of irritation in him. Okay, that was mean, Martin thought. It wasn’t as if there wasn’t at least one thing to be rightfully irritated by.

When they reached the bottom, Martin shook off the thought and went back to his desk in the corner to gather his things. He would be ready the moment it was time to leave. The rain was still pounding against the outer walls of the lighthouse, so he was, for the moment, stuck. Once he finished packing up, he headed toward the kitchen to wait the rest of the day out.

Before he could make it there, Sasha said, “Martin, can you bring your chair over here? We have some more questions for you.” Martin shut his eyes tight, opened them, and turned right back around, plastering a sheepish smile to his face.

“Oh, sure. Don’t think I have much else to say, though?”

“That’s fine,” Tim said, taking his own seat. “At this point we’re just killing time.” Sasha shushed him halfheartedly and motioned at the small open space between Tim and Jon. Catching Martin’s concerned look, Jon rolled his eyes and scooted his chair over to make room, causing the knot in Martin’s stomach to tighten. Martin carried his chair over and willed himself to be just a bit smaller to no avail.

“So, Martin, how long have you lived in the area?” Sasha asked, settling her notebook in front of her, tapping the open page with her pen.

“Gosh, since I was born? Never really been anywhere else unless you count the town over, and only a few times,” he replied, picking at the sleeve of his shirt, holding himself back from looking at any of them. All those years all spent in this dreary town, they must’ve been thinking, what a bunch of nothing. He wouldn’t disagree.

“Okay, great,” Sasha said. “How long have you worked in this building? And how did you come to work for Mr. Lukas?”

“Just a few months now. I had been working some smaller jobs when an opening came up here and Peter picked me. He’s supplied the town with a lot of work the last few years since the fishing’s been not so great. Don’t tell anyone I said that, though!” He added the last bit quickly and then coughed. “People get defensive about it? Like-”

Jon interjected, “Yes, I’m sure there are many opinions on the subject of the local economy, but these details are unnecessary.” Martin flinched.

“Right, sorry. Um, yeah, I applied for the job and I guess it was a good fit. Kept me on this long, right?”

“Right,” Sasha said, her mouth twitching a bit as she gave Jon a look. Martin felt very much like there was a silent conversation happening that he was not privy to. “All right, next. Martin, if we could get an official statement regarding the… strange attributes of the lighthouse, that would be very helpful. Just something quick so we can get an outside description.”

“Yeah, yeah, I can do that.” Martin adjusted himself in his chair as Jon dug out an old tape recorder. “Wow, that’s-”

“Very old, yes, we know,” Jon said, his tired voice echoing a sentiment they must’ve received a thousand times. “Speak into this part here. Statement of Martin Blackwood, regarding the old lighthouse where he works. Statement taken by Jonathan Sims, further questions by Sasha James. Statement begins.”

“R-Right okay, well. The first time I noticed it, I was still quite young, maybe nine or ten? Somewhere around there. Anyway, I had walked up to grab something for- yeah, it was when I started grabbing groceries for my mum. I had walked up the hill and made it to the top, at which point I see, as usual, the big old lighthouse on the other side of town. A really easy landmark for me to follow. I walked down the street as usual, but this time around, I watched the lighthouse as I went. And just like I told you before, as I walked, it began to get bigger somehow. Not like a normal amount, but as if the thing was growing with my steps, and before I could even make it to the shop, I suddenly got hit with this dizziness, and next thing I know, I’m on the ground, being roused by the local florist.”

“And this had never happened before?”

Martin shook his head. “No, not that I remember.”

“And it’s happened ever since?”

“Yeah, though after a while I learned to just… stop looking? I knew it would make me sick, so why look?”

“And the weather discrepancy at the top of the building, was this something you’d ever noticed?”

“No, not really. I was always busy with work and for the most part the view tended to be pretty much the same. Staring out to sea loses its charm pretty quick, especially since by the time I get up there, the dizziness would set in hard.” Martin looked at Tim who nodded sympathetically. “But it’s weird, yeah, once you pointed it out.”

“Okay, great. One more thing: Are there any other strange occurrences, related or not to this building, that you know of in this town?” Sasha stared at him hard. The hairs on the back of his neck begin to prickle at the intensity.

“Not personally, no,” he said easily. “Lots of the older folks around town could probably be helpful, though, with stories they like to tell. There are some I could point you towards if you’d like.”

“That would be great, yeah.” Sasha looked at her notebook, tapped the pen twice on the page, and then closed it. “That’s all the questions I have. Jon, Tim?” Tim shrugged and Jon shook his head. “Okay then. Statement ends.” Sasha nodded at Jon who clicked off the recorder and left it on the table. “Now we wait for either the weather or the day to end, I suppose.” Martin nodded and stood up, finally able to escape to the kitchen.

He had barely managed to get the kettle back on the stove before he heard what seemed to be Sasha’s attempt at a whisper in a place that wouldn’t allow for it.

“Are you really going to pout about an accident this whole week? It’s not like we’ll have to work with him that long.” Martin, who had been about to tell the others about how easily sound traveled, froze.

“We’ve been here less than a day and he’s made it very clear that he’ll be of little help to us,” Jon whispered back, though not as quiet as Sasha was trying to be. “I’ll go along with him leading us to nothing to get it out of the way, but I think it’ll be best if we leave him out of the work otherwise.”

“Elias clearly wants us to check out this place or else he wouldn’t have wanted us working here. Sure, the guy seems pretty simple, but that’s no reason to be rude. Besides, he’s worked here for months. There may be other things he’s forgotten.”

“Yes, ‘forgotten’. He seems to do that a lot, like when I asked him to print something off earlier and he just ‘forgot’. It’s not my fault he’s either forgetful or just plain lazy. I don’t believe for a minute he managed to finish all of his work so early. He might even be making up this extra thing to seem important. We’ve seen the type before.”

Martin didn’t make a sound, electing to pick his nails and keep his eyes on the stove. He knew he had missed something, hadn’t he? Of course it was something Jon had asked for.

“It’s not like he’s our office assistant,” Tim said pointedly. “He seems nice enough. Not his fault we came in here and took the place over.”

“Either way,” Sasha said, “just cool it a bit? He helps us out when he can, we collect some information, and then we’ll be done. We might even get the go-ahead to leave by next Friday if we work at it, and after that you can get back to whatever it is you’re so anxious to get back to. But honestly, I’m going to enjoy doing field research without Elias breathing down my neck.” There was a grumble.

“Fine. But this still feels like a waste of time. All of it.” Footsteps echoed and Jon appeared in the kitchen, making a beeline for his jacket without making eye contact. Martin acted as if he were considering the different tea options and didn’t let up the charade until he heard the front entrance open and shut. He breathed out and then jumped as the kettle brought his full attention back to itself.

He could try harder, really. It’s the least he could do.

-

Martin knew the nerves were plain on his face as he reached the end of the road. Tim whistled.

“So, that climb doesn’t do anything to you?” Tim asked, hands in his pockets, staring down the steep path leading home.

“Never. Just makes the mornings a little harder than they need to be,” Martin said in a tone he hoped was lighter than he felt. Sasha and Jon had their gazes set on the lighthouse.

“Okay, I’ve got the camera running,” Sasha said, holding up an old camcorder. They really didn’t have the latest tech, wherever it was they worked. Not that Martin judged too harshly. He wondered if the recording would feel like a home movie when they finished. “Let’s see for ourselves, shall we?” She said, and began to walk with Jon and Tim close behind and Martin waiting at the start.

“I definitely don’t feel anything,” Jon said, his tone curt and arms crossed. Martin’s stomach churned as he waited for the three to turn and look at him in disappointment. He had wasted their time, of course, with his own stupid-

“Oh,” Tim said, beginning to wobble. “Oh that’s fucking weird.” Sasha and Jon looked at him in confusion and annoyance respectively. Tim stopped, walked himself back a few steps, and then walked forward again, doing his best to consistently look at the lighthouse. “You weren’t lying, Martin, that thing is growing.” Jon snorted disparagingly.

“Tim, please don’t make jokes-”

“I’m not! It’s the same as before, on the stairs! My head feels like it’s, I dunno-”

“Full of fog?” Martin said weakly, still standing back where the others had left him. Tim turned to nod at him in encouragement, and Martin continued, turning his eyes up to the lighthouse briefly before flitting them between the ground and Tim for support. “You stare up at it, but your head can’t make sense of what’s going on, and then you can’t focus at all, and it’s like your stomach is dropping out of you. At least, if you do it for too long.” Sasha and Jon looked at the two of them, and Sasha stopped recording to look back at the video.

“Oh, shit,” she whispered, pressing a few buttons before handing it to Jon.

“You’re kidding,” Jon said quietly. All Martin could tell from a distance was that, when Jon pressed play and turned the volume up, the only thing coming from the camcorder was a horrible static.

[somuchbetterthanthat]

Look at me unable to shut up about soulmates. Like, literally. This is so long it should probably be on ao3 but also? i started on tumblr so you’ll get all the typos, sorry not sorry.

Jonah appears on Jon’s throat when he is eight years old; he probably wouldn’t have noticed, if his grandmother hadn’t raised his chin and frowned in a quiet, pensive way and asked: “Is that why you’ve been so agitated, Jonathan? Have you met him?” 

Jon has no idea what she’s talking about until he’s staring at the elegant, old-fashioned name on his skin in a mirror. He thinks of Mr Spider, and a cold, terrified chill runs down his spine. Can monsters have a first name? Is this a promise or a threat? Is it even linked at all? 

His body shakes badly, and in an unusual display of affection for both of them, his grandma pats his hair and sits him up her lap. 

“There there,” she says, and her voice is gentle. “No need to fuss, Jon. Whoever Jonah is, he’ll be good to you. Soulmates always are.”

*

Georgie appears barely two months after they’ve met; he wakes up one morning and it’s right there, on his hipbone. Maybe it was here before. Jon doesn’t spend a lot of time inspecting his body. 

The next time he sees her, Georgie’s grin is wide and warm and she hugs him just a bit tighter than she usually does. “Oh,” he says, and she laughs and says “Oh, indeed. Guess we’re stuck together, eh?”

Jon’s heart is hammering in his chest. He hugs Georgie a bit tighter, too, feeling overwhelmed and quite stupid. “What a bother,” he says dryly, and it means the world that Georgie just laughs harder and doesn’t let go. 

He’ll be good to you. Soulmates always are, had said his grandmother. Jon barely thinks of Jonah, these days. But now he’s got Georgie, and he thinks he definitely wants to be good to her. 

*

Well. He tries, at least. 

He’s pretty sure he does. 

When she says, “please Jon” tired and angry, he realizes that, maybe, being good to Georgie means stepping out of her life for good, and does just that, telling himself it doesn’t feel like losing a part of himself. 

*

“Did you know,” Elias Bouchard says slowly, at the end of Jon’s job interview, “that the Institute was founded by Jonah Magnus?”

Jon feels a speck of irritation cross his mind; of course he’s known. He read everything  he could about the Institute before applying here. Anybody googling the Magnus Institute would know, it’s one of the first line of its wikipedia page. 

“Yes, of course I do,” he says, and it comes out rude and disdainful; he winces, but Elias Bouchard only looks amused. 

“I didn’t mean to offend,” he says with the shadow of a smile. “I think that you’re going to fit just fine in our Institute, Jon. May I call you Jon?”

“I, er -- yes,” Jon blinks, startled. His past interviews have never left him with the impression that it should be so easy. “Does that mean --”

“The job is yours, if you want it,” Elias nods. “I can have your contract ready for next week.”

“Ah, uh -- good,” Jon says dumbly. “I mean -- Thank you, Mr Bouchard --”

“Oh, please,” Elias waves his hand; “Do call me Elias. Everybody does.”

“Right,” says Jon. “Elias.” 

(It feels -- odd in his mouth. Elias’ smile stays bland and polite, but his eyes fall on Jon’s throat, just for a second, before moving back up; they look piercing and hungry and pleased, and Jon leaves as fast as he can, his skin itching.)

*

Jonah Magnus being his soulmate becomes an office joke the moment his colleagues spot the name on his throat. It’s hilarious, you see, because Jonathan Sims never seems to leave the Magnus Institute, married to his work and to the place. Jon rolls his eyes and lets people talk. As far as teasing go, this one is mild enough not to be too bothersome and, besides, it’s not like he’s actually ever met his Jonah. (Not like he really wants to, when he thinks of what happened with Georgie.)

(And if, sometimes, he grows curious and look up as much as he can from the elusive Jonah Magnus, well.) (It’s not like anybody can see him do so.)

*

“So, are we going to talk about it or --” Tim says, staring quite obviously at the name on Jon’s wrist. 

Jon hates the way his cheeks flush. “I’m sure there are plenty of Gerard out there, Tim,” he says primly. “Besides, I don’t think chatting about soulmates is any way relevant to a good work environment --”

“I mean, it is sort of work related if your soulmate is Gerard Keay from the statements,” Sasha points out, and Jon stares at her like she’s thoroughly betrayed him as Tim laughs. 

She gives him a sheepish grin but still high-fives Tim when he holds his hand up. Jon scoffs. 

“We don’t have to talk about it if Jon doesn’t want to,” Martin snaps behind him. 

His tone is unusually biting and Jon is taken aback for a moment. He really didn’t think Martin of all people would defend him on this particular subject. The man is probably the sort of sappy and romantic person that thinks finding his soulmates means a happy ending. Jon, of course, knows better. Still.

“Right,” he says. “Thank you, Martin.” 

Sasha and Tim exchange a glance; now they’re looking properly chastised. Jon brush his fingers against Gerard’s name, and pretends he isn’t just a bit hopeful that this is Gerard Keay, and that somehow, it means he’s not as dead as his research has led him to believe.

*

“Jon,” says Martin in a rush when they scramble up to move far away from the wall which is starting to break right in front of their eyes. “There’s -- there’s something I think I should definitely tell you, I think, before --”

He doesn’t have time to finish his sentence. In the midst of everything else, Jon quite forgets it too.

*

It takes him three weeks of forced bedrest to realize there is a new name just above his heart; he stares at it for a very long time in the mirror, unable to think of what to do about the familiar, terrible handwriting of Martin Blackwood scribbled on his chest. 

*

Jon is still laughing, stupidely relieved, when Martin says: “Also you’re my soulmate. And I know I’m not yours, but I mean, since you want honesty --”

Jon’s laughter dies in a cough. Martin stares at him with wide eyes like he can’t believe he’s just said that, cheeks flushed bright red and chin  stubbornly up, and Jon opens his mouth, closes it back, and then he says “oh.”

“Yeah, so, I’ll just. Be. Going back to work, now,” Martin mutters. “Unless you want to, to accuse me of anything else or --”

“Martin,” says Jon, a bit helplessly. 

It would be so easy, to say, you’re my soulmate too. But he watches Martin’s tense posture, the way he’s looking at everything but Jon, and he remembers Georgie. The words die in his mouth, and Martin says, voice too high: “it’s alright, Jon.” and flees the room before Jon can figure out what to do. 

*

Jon tells himself it’s best not to tell Martin. Martin deserves someone who can be good to him, and that’s certainly not Jon, especially not -- now. 

Martin thinks that it’s alright to bully Jon into going for lunch now that Jon knows about the whole soulmate thing. 

Jon keeps agreeing, and Martin keeps smiling, and sometimes, Jon’s almost able to forget how hellish everything else in his life has become. 

*

He calls Martin first. He calls Martin first as he flees, and Martin doesn’t answer. 

Fair enough, he thinks, a bit hysterically. Jon messed up everything the second he didn’t tell him, anyway, and, and just because they’re soulmates --

*

“Hey,” he says numbly to Georgie when she opens the door. 

Georgie stares at him for a long time. “Jesus Christ, Jon.”

His hip itches. Jon makes a joke he doesn’t recall afterwards. Georgie lets him in, and hugs him tightly. It feels like coming home. 

*

“Is there anything else?” Elias asks. 

Jon stares at him for a very long time. “Are you still lying to me?” he asks; now that he knows what to look for, it’s like he can feel the power tingling in his throat. Elias’ eyes flutter and his mouth curls into a slow, intensely pleased smile. 

“Lying can have very many different meanings,” he tells Jon. “There are, indeed, a great deal of things I don’t intend to tell you until you figure them out. I don’t personnally consider it lying, though you might.”

“I --” 

“Go clean yourself up, Jon,” Elias continues. He sounds almost gentle, and Jon wants to rip his throat out. “We can discuss more about what will need to be done once you’re feeling a little bit less -- shaken up.”

“Fuck you,” says Jon.

Elias’ lips twitch again. 

*

Nikola caresses Jon’s hip; Jon’s wrist; Jon’s heart; she cooes at each name, teases Jon with every single one of them. She lets her thumb lingers on Jonah the longest. 

“Isn’t it quaint,” she laughs. “Do you think he’s listening?”

Jon makes a noise; she laughs harder. “Of course I’m sure he’d like to watch, but he can’t, can he? Oh, but we’ll find a way to talk to him, won’t we?”

Jon doesn’t know when the tape recorder appears; he merely knows he feels faintly relieved when Nikola grabs it and stops touching him, winking at him conspirationally instead. “Elias?” she preens into the recorder. “Can I call you Elias?”

*

“You’re mine, too,” Jon blurts out awkwardly.

Martin slowly blinks. “... What?” he asks.. 

He sounds like he’s been punched right into the stomach, high and breathless, but he’s still holding Jon to dear life, and Jon hides his face deeper into his shoulder, breathing in deeply, and he says, his voice hoarse: “You’re my soulmate too.”

“Oh.” Martin’s voice is small. “Oh. I mean did you -- is that -- where -- I --”

“I’m very bad at being a soulmate,” Jon cuts him off. He’s aware he’s gripping Martin’s too tight. “And I think I’m turning into something dangerous, and there are people out there who wants to kill me, and I need you safe -- Nikola saw -- she saw your name, and I don’t want her to --”

“You’ve -- got my name,” Martin merely says. 

“I -- yes, I’ve had for a -- it doesn’t matter, I’m saying you’re in danger --”

“You’ve got my name,” Martin repeats. 

It’s definitely giddy, now. Jon refuses to be endeared. “Martin -”

“No, no, I get it, danger and all -- but I mean, I mean, it’s been years Jon, literal years --”

Jon never asked Martin about it before; he doesn’t get to ask much more right then. Martin takes a step back, and he’s grinning wide and stupid, and Jon feels his own treacherous lips curl up in answer. It’s not exactly a surprise, when Martin bends down and presses his mouth against his. It’s a terrible idea, an absolutely horrendeous, awful idea, of course, but not a surprise. Jon lets himself be kissed and closes his eyes all the same. 

*

So Gerard is dead.

He’s no less impressive, and Jon feels awkward and eager and flushed. 

“Oh no, I’m er - Jonathan Sims? I’m with the Magnus Institute --”

Gerard stiffens. “Jonathan?” he repeats. 

Jon’s mouth runs dry. He carefully raises his left hand, and the name written on it. “Hi,” he says. 

Gerard looked at it for a long time, and then he huffs a laugh. “God, figure.”

His ghostly fingers meet Jon’s, cool and so light Jon barely feels them. On his right wrist, Jon’s name is written in his terrible, rushed handwritting. Jon’s heart skips a bit.

“Figure,” he agrees, and they both smile dryly at each other.

*

“Be careful,” says Georgie on the phone, soft and tired.  

“Please, don’t die,” Martin murmurs against his lips, terrified and hopeful all at once. 

“Thank you, Jon,” had merely said Gerry, when Jon had agreed to burn his page.

*

Elias stares right into his eyes, and his hand smooths over Jon’s collar; his thumb lingers on Jon’s neck, and Jon feels -- something.

“Good luck,” he tells him. 

“Do you have a back-up plan if I die?” Jon can’t help but ask. 

“You’ve been quite successful so far,” Elias tells him. “I’m sure you’ll be just as efficient tomorrow.”

“I’m glad one of us is feeling confident,” Jon mutters sarcastically. 

“Always, Jon,” Elias smiles, and Jon thoroughly wished it didn’t appease him as much as it does. 

*

Jon dies. 

Jon comes back.

Jon’s alone. 

It’s fitting, of course; Jon’s always been alone, apart for a few years, thanks to Georgie mostly, and he exhausted her into leaving, eventually -- not only once but twice, which has to be a rare enough feat to be mentionned. Nobody likes to speak about unhealhty soulmates, but Jon’s aware that it’s exactly what he is.

Four soulmates, and one of them is dead, the second knows better than to stay, the third is -- the third is so deep into danger than Jon has no idea if any of his words will ever bring him back, and the last never had the decency to show up.

Jon can’t think of Gerry, or Georgie, or, god, Martin;

So he stares at his throat, and looks over Jonah’s name. His oldest soulmate. He idly thinks that maybe they were all right, the ones who spent years joking about Jon being bounded to the Institute, to a man dead for centuries, the one who’d started it all, the one who was probably as much a monster as Jon has become --

Can monsters have first names? 

Jon does. He caresses Jonah’s name and thinks there’s something familiar in the pretentious and graceful way the ‘J’ is written. It’s right there, he muses. At the edge of his mind. The mysterious Jonah --

“Jon?” calls Daisy from behind him. 

“Mmmh?”

“You okay? Basira said -- I mean, you’re getting pretty intense here.”

“Oh,” he says, letting his hand fall at his side again. “Sorry, I -- sorry.”

Daisy looks at him up and down. She looks as tired as he feels. “C’mon,” she says. “I’ve found board games we haven’t played yet.”

*

Jon looks at Georgie and Melanie from afar. He’d never realized, before, what it truly meant to be envious. Jealous. He turns away with damp eyes.

*

“Look, I know we can’t talk,” Jon manages to say. “But something’s real wrong and I just wanted to make sure --”

Martin sighs. He feels so distant Jon’s heart is growing cold just looking at him. “I’m fine, Jon; I’m handling it. Just - trust me, alright?”

“You know I do,” Jon says numbly. 

Martin’s kiss on his cheek is icy. “Thank you,” he whispers. And then, with a little itch breath he adds: “I love you.”

He’s gone before Jon gets a chance to say “me too.”

*

Jon stares at his throat every day, now. He feels restless and ravenous, pulled by something bigger than him, and he knows, deep in his bones, that he won’t be able to resist its call. He’s never been able to. 

“You’re losing it, Jon,” Basira says quietly. Dangerously.

“So are you,” Jon says. He doesn’t need to look at her to see her tense. He is still staring at his throat. “We need to go see Elias.”

“No, we’re not. He’s well proven by now he’s utterly useless --”

“I’m sorry,” says Jon calmly. “I didn’t say it right. I’m going to see Elias, and I don’t bloody care what you or him think about it.”

*

Elias smiles, when he sees him; of course he does. The prison suit doesn’t hide his throat like his pressed collars and ties used to, and Jon reads his own name on his skin without any surprise at all.

“Jonah,” he breathes out, and Elias’ smiles gets brigther, his thoughts melting gently into Jon’s. 

“Hello, Jon,” he says fondly. “Is it time?”

Jon has no idea what he’s talking about.

(Jon knows exactly what he’s talking about)

Yes, he thinks.

Marvellous, Jonah thinks back. We’re going to be so good to each other, Jon. Just wait and see. 

[bluejayblueskies]

closing circles, shutting doors

Part 31 of Whumptober 2020

Fandom: The Magnus Archives Characters: Jonathan Sims, Martin Blackwood, Annabelle Cane Tags: Whump, Angst, Major Character Death, Bittersweet Ending, Manipulation

Read on Ao3

“Jon, no.”

 Jon looks pointedly at the collapsed stone that had once been the Panopticon; deep, buried beneath layers of rock and shattered glass, lies a man who had been far, far too easy to kill. “Martin, we don’t really have many other options at the moment.”

 Martin doesn’t look impressed. “Can’t you just- just know our path? You were able to get us here just fine.”

 “Because we had a goal, a- a direction. Now…” Jon tries to Know—what they need to do to fix the world, what domains they’ll have to cross, what burdens they’ll have to bear. The Eye looks back, and gives him nothing in return. Perhaps it isn’t keen to relinquish a world built for its benefit and remade in its name. Or perhaps it, too, simply does not know how to cause its own demise. “… I- I can’t Know where to go if we don’t have a destination.”

 “Perhaps then you would be keen to hear what I have to offer,” Annabelle says benignly, the webs laced over one side of her head just visible beneath the brim of a deep purple cloche hat with a tiny woven spider on the side. “Unless, of course, you would prefer to simply… wander.”

 Martin’s glare could freeze the ocean. “Don’t pretend like you actually want to help.”

 “I am not pretending.” Annabelle’s light smile morphs into mild annoyance. “If I wanted to hurt you, I could have done it in Salesa’s little oasis when you were cut off from your patron. Believe me when I say that there is only one way that this story ends, and it is with my help.”

 “Martin,” Jon says, with no small amount of reluctance, “I believe her.”

 Martin’s mouth opens, clearly ready to fire off another protest, but then he meets Jon’s eyes and apparently sees something genuine in them because he pauses and, slowly, begrudgingly, says, “Fine. Fine, let’s- let’s just get on with it then. The sooner we do this, the sooner the world goes back to normal.”

 Annabelle smiles tightly, with no remaining humor. “Excellent. Then follow me.”

.

There isn’t a basement at Hilltop Road anymore—not really. Now, there’s just the crack—that tear in reality, one that itches at the back of Jon’s mind as he stands just at the edge of it, staring in with eyes that search the darkness for any semblance of order and Eyes that cannot see past a world that they have claimed as their own.

 “Careful,” Annabelle says, her voice smooth and controlled and just a bit teasing. “Get too close, and you’ll fall in.”

 “Isn’t that rather the point?” Jon says quietly, not looking away from the yawning pit of unknown quantities in front of him. He feels that tug, one he hasn’t felt in so, so long. To learn. To know. To take a mystery in front of him apart bit by bit, removing what has been hidden and laying it bare.

 It’s been such a long time since he’s been able to be so purely, deeply curious. And he’s missed it like a drowning man misses air.

 “Quite,” Annabelle says with a smile that feels the opposite of friendly. “But there are so many paths to take—would you know which to choose, Archivist? Which threads to pull?”

 “And you would?” Martin says. He’s stood further back than Jon, halfway back up the stairs to the main part of the house; his face is shadowed, but Jon can still see the sour expression on it.

 “Yes. That is what I specialize in, after all. And this is still quite a significant place of power for the Mother of Puppets, despite the… influence of other forces. Though, we’re not so different, are we, Jon? A Spider has so many eyes, after all. So many events, so many paths, so many different ways to traverse a web—and only one Eye. Choose one route and you can see everything, yes, but choose the wrong one?”

 Annabelle snaps her fingers, a crisp sound that echoes through the basement for far longer than it should. “So, will you follow the path I choose for you, Jon? Or will you choose your own and hope it doesn’t condemn you?”

 Martin’s mouth is pressed in a flat, nervous line. “Jon, you can’t possibly be considering going through with this. It- it’s the Web, for Christ’s sake. Jon?”

 Jon’s still looking down, and down, and down. He thinks… he thinks there’s something there, just out of sight. And he so, so desperately wants to see. “I… I have made so many choices,” he says slowly, not taking his eyes away from the swirling depths below. “Some made in ignorance, some in fear, and some… some in anger. But none of them mattered, in the end.” He blinks, and he sees Tim, eyes ablaze with determination born of pain and loss as he holds a detonator aloft amidst glitching colors and nameless things of skin and wood. He sees Sasha—or, rather, the thing that had consumed and replaced her, leaving him with only false memories and a deep, itching paranoia. He sees Daisy, lost to that which she tried so desperately to resist, and Basira, left with nothing else to do but fulfill a final promise. And it aches, to think of loss, and to suffer the guilt that accompanies it even now, when he’s finally admitted to himself that choice is not so important as consequence. So, he knows that he means it when he says, “There’s never really been a choice, has there? I- I broke the world, and so I need to be the one to fix it. Whichever path that takes me down—that’s the one I choose.”

 “What?” Martin’s voice is shrill with disbelief. “How- how do you even know that she’s- she’s not just going to- to send you down the wrong one, to let the world stay this way? Not every avatar is as- as keen to see the world back to how it was as you are, Jon.”

 “No,” Jon agrees, finally looking away from the open doorway whose threshold he is stood upon. “But the Web was never going to settle for second place, was it? I can’t imagine a puppeteer enjoys having its strings pulled by another.”

 Annabelle’s smile is thin. “It has been lovely, getting a chance to talk again, Jon. But I’m growing impatient. Will you or will you not do what I ask? The choice is, of course, yours.”

 “No,” Jon says. “It’s not. But I will.”

 Martin looks stricken. Annabelle just looks pleased. She tells him the way in crisp words that leave no room for discussion—an instruction. Something to find. Something to bring back. Something to ‘close the circle’ she says, with a small smile akin to that of someone who’s just told a joke and finds themself very funny indeed. Something that can only be done alone.

 The door opens, and Jon steps through.

.

He can’t breathe.

 There’s no fear here, no Sight, no Eyes upon his back, and he can’t breathe.

 The door is shut, and refuses to open.

 Jon sits in a basement, faintly illuminated by sunlight that filters in through a small window near the ceiling, on a floor that is just a floor and against a wall that is just a wall, and feels the first parts of himself begin to slip away.

.

Jon is swallowed by the dark in a shuddering, twisting sensation that makes Martin dizzyingly nauseous, and his eyes squeeze shut in an instinctual effort to relieve some of the pressure.

 When he opens them again, it’s… it’s wrong. It must be, because there’s no pulsating darkness, no crack running through a concrete floor—just a floor, and just that musty darkness that one finds in the basement of a home that has not been inhabited for a very, very long time. Martin blinks, once, then again, like that might bring it back—that fractured reality, through which Jon had slipped in search of an answer, through which he was meant to return—

 “What,” he says in a voice pushed almost to the edge of breaking, “did you do?”

 Because Annabelle’s still standing in the corner, her eyes fixed on the floor with something close to remorse but missing the mark in every way that matters. She’s there, and Martin’s here, and Jon isn’t.

 She looks at him, one corner of her mouth slanted downward, and Martin snaps.

 “What did you do?” He takes a few angry steps closer, stops, and tries desperately to calm his increasingly rapid breathing. “Where- where did it go? How- how is Jon supposed to come back if there’s- if there’s no door, how can he- how, how can he… what have you done?”

 In a voice carefully neutral, Annabelle says, “What I had to. There has only ever been one way to rewind the clock, Martin. One way to set things back on the correct path. And it can’t happen in a world where there’s still an Archivist.”

 “What?” Martin takes a small, stumbling step backward; his foot catches on the corner of the stair, and he barely catches himself on the handrail. His wrist bends painfully, but he barely notices. “You… you knew he wouldn’t be able to…?” His mind is a swirling mess of terror and anger and agony, a million different words battling for dominance. All he manages to say, after a few moments of failed efforts, is: “You- you’ve killed him.”

 “No. I’ve removed him.” Annabelle’s face is twisted into something resembling pity, but like that of someone who’s only heard it spoken of in hushed, disbelieving whispers. It’s an ugly thing; Martin wants to rip it from her. “Living or dead, Jon would still serve his purpose in maintaining this world as it is. An Archive’s heart need not beat, after all. Were he to die, he just would have been reborn anew as the Eye saw fit. The only way to restore order to the world was to remove him completely.”

 “No,” Martin says, barely a whisper. “No, no, no.” Then, louder: “Bring- bring him back. I- I don’t care if things don’t change, just- just bring him back!”

 It feels terrible to say—that he’d rather see the world continue to writhe in agony than lose Jon before he’d even known to say goodbye. But it’s how he feels all the same. That small spark of hope, just before Jon had stepped over the precipice and fallen in, that there might actually be a way to fix things just makes the hurt that much deeper.

 “I can’t.” Annabelle turns away from the floor, away from Martin, toward the stairs. “That’s not how this works. This place has always been a one-way journey, Martin. There is no reopening a door that has been closed—not here.”

 She begins to cross the room, to ascend the stairs, and no, no, this can’t be it, this can’t be all that Martin gets. He reaches out and grabs at her wrist with a sudden rage. “Don’t you fucking look at me with- with whatever you’re calling pity and tell me that you can’t bring him back! You did this, you- you have to fix it!”

 Annabelle’s eyes are cold as she affixes them to him, in a way that freezes his muscles and arrests his motions beyond that of the rise and fall of his chest and the rapid-fire beating of his heart. She removes her wrist from his stiff hand with ease and says, flatly, “No, Martin. I don’t. I’ve done what I had to, and Jon has done the same. There’s nothing left to do but wait for the world to fix itself.”

 And then she’s gone. Martin’s not sure how long it is before he can move again; he only knows that one moment he’s frozen, and the next he’s outside Hilltop Road, staring up at a sky that’s folding in on itself as eyes wink out one by one and hearing the dying screams of a world that has no place left in which to store its terror.

 The world crumbles, and Martin crumbles alongside it.

 The world begins to rebuild. Martin does not.

.

Martin’s writing poetry again.

 His therapist would be proud, he thinks with a wry smile as he sits against the base of a tree in that park he likes that overlooks the pond, a notebook that’s gone neglected for years propped up on his knees. The letters are shaky and hesitant, his words rusty and out of practice, but he manages to get a few lines down. They’re about the feel of the grass beneath his hands, and the little blue beetle that’s currently making its way up his trouser leg, and the way the wind brings with it the smell of rain. Right now, though, the sun is shining brightly, making it just warm enough to sit outside despite the rapidly declining temperatures as the end of October approaches. It refracts off the leaves above Martin, sending dappled light onto the pages of his notebook, and it’s all so beautiful it hurts.

 Jon would like this, he thinks offhandedly. He’d never gotten enough sunlight with all those hours spent in the Archives, but in Scotland they’d gone on walks through the rolling hills, and Jon had admitted that he’d always loved the feeling of the sun on his face, had missed sitting outside for lunch like he did in uni. Scotland doesn’t really exist anymore; the lines have all blurred now, the memory of a life of pure fear erasing the need for a lot of things that had seemed essential before. But the sentiment is the same.

 Martin tries to write, thinking about how the sunlight would illuminate the grey streaks in Jon’s hair, but the words won’t come. It’s been years, and the words still won’t come.

 He allows himself to think, just for a moment, that it’s not fair. That the world has gotten the chance to regrow, in bursts of greens and pinks and yellows and vibrant life, and that he has been allowed to regrow alongside it, and that Jon hasn’t. That Jon had been taken from him, and that he hadn’t gotten the chance to say goodbye, and that he still can’t shake himself free from guilt and heartbreak and mourning.

 Somewhere in the distance, there’s a burst of laughter, cutting through birdsong and chittering insects, and Martin pulls himself free from his thoughts. He’s run through them again and again, in the bright daylight of the early morning and in the indigo hues of twilight and in the shadowed black of night where it seemed like he was the only one awake, shaking with sobs as he sat in a bed that felt so very, very empty. It doesn’t make anything any better, to linger on them. It doesn’t change anything.

 Jon is still gone. And Martin is still here. Alone, but not lonely. Never again lonely—not when he’s surrounded by so much life, so much light and growth and happiness, even if it still feels like it’s not meant for him.

 He knows he’ll get used to it here. He just wishes…

 No. There’s really no point in wishing anymore, is there? There’s only this.

 Martin looks out over the pond, at the way the wind sends shivering ripples over the water, interrupted only by the gentle glide of ducks and the splash of skipping stones thrown by children who remember the dark but embrace the light all the same. Then, he puts pen to paper, and begins to write.

[owl630]

Jon Gets A Hug From All Of Team Archives Because He Really Deserves One

I'm late to this party but my son deserves better. Also this is an unedited mess, but I'm tired so I'm not going to fix it.

Daisy prided herself on being able to get a read on people fairly quickly. Not as fast as Basira, but she had her own methods. From felons to monsters to coworkers, everyone could be figured out eventually. They all had something they were hunting for. Which made Jon an interesting case, as she couldn't figure out what exactly he wanted.

Jon was... odd. He kept to himself unless someone approached him first, but he always seemed like he was happy when someone did. He never went out of his way to interact with people, had a prickly personality, and didn't seem to have any close friends, but the moment someone was hurt he would rush in to try and help. Key word was try, but lately his efforts were more appreciated. He was grounding, a weird yet comforting presence whenever she needed to not be alone. Or when Melanie needed someome to vent about her day to. He made a truly awful cup of tea for Basira after she had stumbled into the archives after a long day of chasing dead ends, and seemed to be the only person who asked if Helen needed anything if he saw her. He clearly kept an eye out for Martin, even though the rest of them were sure that wherever he was, he wasn't coming back any time soon, and kept his favorite mug in the archive's kitchen instead of throwing it out to make room for other stuff.

In short, Jon was starting to become a friend. To all of them, although Daisy knew she was probably the closest approximation to one he had in the archives. He seemed like he had kept a distance between himself and the others, but also seemed like he was starting to let the others a bit closer. He was still a bit of a prick at times, but no one could deny he was softer around the edges now.

So when Martin Blackwood had stumbled into the archives half asleep, probably out of habit, and had passed out at his old desk before anyone could stop him Jon's reaction was a bit of a surprise. Jon had looked like he'd seen a ghost when he walked out of his office and realized he was there. He stopped and stared, eyes wide and jaw slack.

"Martin." He said softly. He blinked then turned to Daisy who had been chatting to Melanie before Martin had showed up. She was surprised to see his expression. It looked almost... hopeful. "Daisy can you watch him for a second? Just... make sure he doesn't go anywhere."

She nodded, raising an eyebrow. He seemed like he was over reacting a bit over someone who got transferred to another job, but then again she hadn't really gotten a chance to get to know Martin very well before he left. Jon was back in less than a minute, carrying a blanket and pillow from the archive's cot. Without a word he put the blanket over Martin's shoulders and the pillow under his head, then with a satisfied nod walked back to his office to record a statement.

After a few moments Daisy shrugged and had gone back to asking Melanie how Helen was doing. Basira kept reading nearby, occasionally stopping to ask for some more gossip on the latest office romance. It was nice. With Martin at his desk to keep Jon from worrying, and as she was gossiping with her coworkers, she could almost pretend they all had normal jobs. She cracked a smile as Basira started telling Melanie one of her cop stories, and sunk into her chair, feeling more at peace then she had in months.

Then the door to the archives opened and Peter Lukas, the man who was apparently her boss although this was the first time she had seen the guy, came in. He barely spared her a second glance, instead going directly towards where Martin had been sleeping, although the moment Lukas entered he jerked awake as if he had been shocked looking around in confusion.

Now, Daisy may not have known the guy but she did know that getting woken up from a well earned workplace nap was something no one should deal with. So she stepped between them, crossing her arms and staring him down. Meanwhile Melanie had the same idea and within seconds had a knife in her hand and had jumped over the desk to place herself next to her. Basira looked over her book at Lukas, thinly veiled disgust apparent on her face.

"Can we help you?" She asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes, I'm here to collect my employee." Lukas said, brushing an invisible speck of dust off his shirt with a cold smile. "He seems to have wandered off, and I can't afford to waste any more time."

"Well, Martin can afford to take a nap for a few hours." Melanie replied with a glare.

Lukas raised an eyebrow. "A nice thought, but Martin is helping me with an important project and he needs to be away from distractions."

"You can come back later." Daisy said coldly.

"And yet I'm here now." Lukas replied.

Martin rolled his eyes and got up from the desk. "I'll be there in a minute Peter. Must have forgotten I'd changed desks."

Lukas fixed his stare at Martin instead. "Did it slip your mind how important this is?"

Martin flinched slightly and started forward, but Daisy put a hand out and stopped him in his tracks. "He's not going anywhere until someone explains what the Hell is going on." She growled. "You've been avoiding our questions. Blackwood here finally showed up, and now you're suddenly here in person. So I'll ask you again. What are you planning?"

Lukas narrowed his eyes his smile fixed firmly in place.

"Please don't make this difficult Ms. Tonner. You may have a short leash on your temper, but Martin is my employee and he needs to get back to work."

Melanie narrowed her eyes and glared at him her grip on her knife tightening.

"Answer the question Lukas." She growled.

"No I don't think I will." He replied. "Now move and let Martin past."

Martin shook his head. "Just let me leave. I'm doing this for a reason, you just have to trust me." He said quietly, staring at the floor.

"Martin don't be an idiot." Said Basira. "He's using you."

Daisy nodded and took a step forward. "Leave Martin alone." She growled.

Lukas sighed looking disinterested, then with a smooth movement grabbed her upper arm. As he did so the sound of static filled her ears and an overwhelming feeling of loneliness rose up in her. It was like the coffin all over again. Distantly she heard the sound of voices, but they were too far away and fog obscured her vision.

She was alone again. No one was coming to save her. She couldn't fight and she'd never see Basira again. The static grew louder and she realized she had fallen to her knees.

And then the feeling vanished as she heard a door slam open.

The fog cleared and she noticed several things at once. First was that she was on the ground and Basira was holding her looking worried. Second was that Jon had come out of his office and was standing between them and Lukas. Third was that his eyes were glowing and there was the overwhelming feeling of something watching her.

"Get out of my archives." He growled.

His voice was distorted as static and the sound of a tape recorder running filled the air. "If you ever come near any of my assistants again I'll kill you myself, consequences be damned."

Lukas raised an eyebrow. "Hello Jon. Martin and I were just leaving."

"I said any of them." He replied with a glare. "Martin is my... he's still one of my assistants. You cannot keep him isolated anymore Lukas."

"But it's Martin's choice Jon." Lukas said with a smile.

"I may trust Martin but I don't trust you." He snapped. "So you have ten seconds to leave before I make you."

"Now now Jon, don't make things difficult." Lukas replied, grabbing onto Martin's arm and pulling him away. Martin flinched slightly with the movement. Daisy got to her feet and Melanie moved forward but they weren't fast enough. Jon grabbed Martin's hand and turned him around so he was face to face with him.

"Do you want to stay here?" He snapped.

"Yes." Martin said quickly, then covered his mouth realizing what he had said. Jon's eyes went wide as he realized what he had done. He dropped Martin's hand quickly, which was when the rest of them acted.

"You heard the man, now go." Melanie growled pushing Lukas back. A conveniently placed door swung open as he fell, and clicked closed behind him. Helen waved at them, and then she and the door disappeared.

Daisy took a deep breath and leaned on Basira. Melanie had a self satisfied smile on her face which fell once they realized Jon had curled in on himself.

"I'm sorry." He said quietly, his eyes squeezed shut. "I'm so sorry Martin I know you said to stop finding you and I tried but I was being selfish and it got Daisy hurt. I'm as bad as he is and I'm so, so-"

He was cut off by Martin pulling him into a hug. Daisy stumbled over and wrapped her arms around him too. Melanie and Basira joined them quickly, in what was an awkward but genuine group hug.

Jon stiffened. "Why... why are you hugging me?" He asked softly.

"You're nothing like Lukas." She said forcefully. "You're our friend Jon."

"Damn right." Melanie muttered.

Basira laughed slightly. "You're a pain sometimes and don't know when to shut up, but you're a good person."

He shuddered. "I'm not even human anymore" He said quietly. "I'm a monster-"

Martin shifted and hugged him more. "No Jon, you're not a monster." He said. "You're you."

Jon let out a shakey laugh as he leaned against them more. "I missed you." He said softly.

"I missed you too."

[centaurianthropology]

The Magnus Archives ‘Tucked In’ (S03E06) Analysis

The newest episode of ‘The Magnus Archives’ comes with a new perspective, a new narrator, and a new variation on an old entity.  The combination of a nicely disquieting story and some good information about two of our characters rounds out a solid entry.  Come on in to hear what I think about ‘Tucked In’.

First off, let’s talk about the story.  Melanie took over the heavy lifting this week for a very nicely narrated, spooky story.  I have to give Jonny Sims some kudos on his description of the body in the blankets, as that is pretty much what a 2-week-old body wrapped in blankets does look like.  As for what it smells like … yeah, I could tell you that too, if you were interested.  But for the sake of readers who don’t want to know what two weeks of hard decomposition smells like, I’ll give it a pass for now.  Suffice to say, research for this show continues to be top-notch.  

I have to wonder if the monster this week is related to Mr Pitch, the being that was worshipped by the People’s Church of the Divine Host.  Certainly it seems related to the dark and to fear, both of which were the focuses of the People’s Church.  If it wasn’t Mr Pitch itself, I imagine it to be another aspect to the Darkness.  One that won’t actually strike until the fear fades, and it’s done having its fun.

It’s interesting that so far most of the aspects of the Darkness tend to speak.  There’s chanting, and words, and whispers.  The Darkness, despite being vast and hollow, isn’t silent.  It’s alive with noises and movement.  I don’t know if that fact is relevant to anything, but I did find it interesting.

As well as elaborating on the aspects of the Darkness, we got some good information about both Melanie and Tim.  Tim continues to dodge actually doing narration duty.  At this point, I have to wonder if this is some sort of instinctual fight against the influence of the Archive.  After all, those who have narrated seem far more deeply enmeshed in the Archivist than he does.  Could it be that some part of him knows that actually narrating a statement and giving the Archivist that foothold in him would be to truly give up the fight against where he is and what he’s becoming? 

Tim is falling apart now as badly as Sims did last season. His despair and his anger are preventing him from doing … anything apparently.  He’s choked by it, trapped by it, and utterly defeated by it. Everything we hear from him points to a man who can’t see a way out of his situation and hates it more and more.

If Sims’ character arc last season was all about how his paranoia was detonating his life, I get the feeling we’re going to be seeing a parallel story this season about Tim’s anger. The problem is that both the paranoia and the anger were rooted in totally justifiable places, but both rapidly spiraled out of control and into something that was indiscriminately destructive.   So Tim is managing to both keep himself free of the tangles of the Archive by sheer force of will, while also potentially hurting those around him.  

I think a big part of this stems from Tim’s background, and how it shapes how he views his situation.  We certainly don’t have a lot of information about Tim prior to the Institute, but we do know that he came out of a good job that had a lot of professional promise.  His only apparent prior connection to the supernatural was a fascination with Robert Smirke, but we don’t know if it was that which prompted his move out of publishing and into research.   So unless there was some spectacular failure on his part that forced him out, he chose to move to the Magnus Institute to follow another interest.  Out of all of them, really, he had the most choice when it came to working there.  He’s the only one with consistent outside connections, and potential for a ton of other jobs, wheras both Melanie and Martin were more or less railroaded by the Beholding and circumstance into their current employment.  But Tim had friends.  Tim had opportunities.  Tim had an active social life throughout season 1, though it’s unclear if he’s up to dating right now.  But he was clearly a guy a lot of people got on well with.  He was a good guy with a dorky sense of humor, and life was fairly excellent for Tim.

So imagine going from that to realizing you’re in a job that will likely kill you, and you can’t quit. Imaging being a guy who has defined himself by his independence, suddenly being very effectively caged.  Imagine mourning a friend (while your coworker is stubbornly clinging to the idea that she’s still alive) you can’t even properly remember.  

Tim fell hard and fast, and he hates it.  He hates the helplessness of it, the fact that his ability to leave was taken from him, and because of that, he hates everything and everyone associated with the Institute.  For a while I thought it was just Sims he was mad at, but hearing him talk about Martin? It’s everyone there, no matter if they deserve his anger or not.  

Contrast this to Melanie, who is rapidly becoming a pragmatic highlight of the team.  It turns out that, yeah, Martin did try to belatedly warn her about the Archives (Tim instantly jumped to him omitting that, pointing to yet more resentment from Tim regarding everyone around him), and she doesn’t particularly care.  And you know what?  I completely understand her perspective. Their world is dangerous for anyone who stumbles into the dark.  Melanie got shot by a ghost in India, and bankrupted herself doing it.  She only had this one way out.  One job that would dig her out of being broke and friendless, and you know what?  Being weirdly protected by an otherworldly horror as she does exactly what she had been doing before isn’t the worst thing in the world.  It’s certainly no more dangerous than what she had been doing when she was independent. It’s steady, it’s a job, and she’s investigating the supernatural with way more resources at her disposal than she ever has before.

I that, I actually think Melanie and Martin have a lot in common.  They both came from places of desperation when the Institute took them in. This job is, in many ways, exactly what they want.  Martin understands it’s not for everyone, which was why I think he did try to warn Melanie.  After all, Tim loathes being trapped in the Archives, and the last thing Martin needs is another miserable soul moping around the stacks when he’s barely holding the department together as is.  And even though he doesn’t know her, he doesn’t want Melanie killed by some otherworldly horror, either.  All the rest of the Archival staff is trying to protect her, and I don’t know if she hasn’t really understood how dangerous the Archives can be yet, or if she genuinely thinks that this is about equal to what she was facing before.  I suppose the info-dump she’s about to receive from Sims might clarify that a bit for her.

But I think, even with the new information, she’s not going to shrink from this.  Melanie isn’t miserable, and she isn’t helpless, and she needed this job.  In spite of her new coworkers fearing for her safety, she’s actually handling integration into what the Archives does and what it is surprisingly well.  She reacted to the statement in a similar manner to early-season-1 Sims: disbelief, but instinctual caution.  And she might be far more practical and far less blustery than he was.  

If she and Martin ever seriously talk, I think they’ll find that their attitudes regarding their situation are quite similar.  The job isn’t the best, but then what is?  Yes, they may well die doing it, but they could die for any reason at any time. Martin’s found something almost like a family in the Archival staff (or at least something close enough to a family that he’s willing to drag them the rest of the way to that concept), and Melanie can pursue a sense of purpose.  Even assisting Sims gives her more information, and more direction for her own investigations into war ghosts.

The funny thing is, thinking about it, Sims is this odd bridge between Martin and Melanie on the one hand, and Tim on the other.  Sims didn’t come from anywhere to miss.  His life is marked by a lack of connection, and researching the paranormal was his only goal since the Mr Spider incident.  So he came into the job like Melanie or like Martin.  But he also resents and wants to quit the job, like Tim, since he’s seen how bad it can get.  

But the thing is that, unlike Tim, that passion for research is still there, twisted into the addiction of the Archivist.  He has to search and find information, yes, but he also loves it, even as he’s terrified by it.  Of all of them, Jon has the most complicated relationship with his role and with the Institute, and if all of them were to ever really sit down and hash some things out, he might well be the best bridge between all their goals and desires.  

By the end of the episode, of course, he did start reaching out.  He was even practical about it.  Reaching out to Melanie really does make the most sense.  Tim loathes Sims enough to tell Daisy about him, Elias is pretty much 100% a murderer, and Martin ‘the closest one to Jonathan Sims’ Blackwood is definitely being surveilled by Daisy in hopes of finding Sims. I hope Melanie fills Martin in at least, and gets his cooperation.  Sims is going to need more than one person on his side in the Institute, and Martin could be a great help.  If Melanie could convince him it wasn’t safe to go and see Sims himself.

Conclusions

A solid horror story couched in getting to know Melanie a little better, and also getting a closer look into Tim’s mental state.  Melanie continues to be acerbic and pragmatic, which makes me continue to really like her. Tim’s anger and frustration run very deep, and both are currently paralyzing him.  I both look forward to and dread what happens when he finally finds an outlet for that anger.  If it’s some sort of research in trying to find a way out of his contract, that might be hugely useful, but I worry that it’s going to be Daisy Tonner instead.  I worry that, by the end of the season, Tim’s anger is going to get A LOT of people hurt.  He and Sims really need to have a chat about unhealthy coping mechanisms. Melanie and Martin need to bond over still sort of enjoying their jobs.  And Martin at least needs to know Sims is okay, if nothing more.  Let him send Melanie with a sandwich or something.

[haberdashing]

I Am Destruction, Decay, And Desire (2/?)

Martin finds out that Jon’s going to meet with Jude Perry and acts to intervene. It goes… poorly.

Chapter 1 / Chapter 2

on AO3

Martin wasn’t quite sure where to focus his attention: on Jude, who had just addressed him directly, her eyebrows raised as she continued to grin, or on Jon, whose face was still filled with horror, as if he were still watching Martin burn alive.

Martin paused to consider the heat that now coursed through him--not the tepid warmth of body heat, but something much stronger, a fire raging beneath his skin--and wondered how close to the mark that really was.

He wasn’t dead, though. He was still here, still present in this world, burning or no burning. Wasn’t that what should matter most?

Martin focused his gaze on Jon, but he knew he was leaving the conversation open to both parties when he said, “What the hell was that?”

(If anything, the words were probably geared more towards Jude, but the fact that he was saying them in the first place was making a statement in and of itself: Hey, not dead here, you can stop looking so glum any time now, Jon, it’s not like you were the one who just got burned alive!)

“Something most people don’t survive.” Jude responded. “I guess you’re just  special.”

“...I suppose so.” Martin gulped nervously, noticing as he did that his throat felt like it was made of sandpaper and ash.

“And now you’re halfway to my ‘solution’, without me telling you the whole story first. Real time-saver right there.”

“They, uh, they do say ‘show, don’t tell’...”

Martin’s voice trailed off as he realized that he had managed to get drawn into a conversation with the woman who had- had tried to kill him just now, and even if it didn’t quite take that didn’t really make the attempt itself any more forgivable, and meanwhile Jon was still just standing there, silent, his wide eyes filled with horror...

Martin hadn’t seen Jon looked quite so freaked out since... well, since Prentiss happened to the Archives, with them both inside.

Oh God, did he think Martin was like Prentiss now?

Martin turned his whole body towards Jon before speaking, hoping to make it clear who his intended audience was. “So, we’ve established I survived... that, so you can stop staring at me like I’m going to keel over or something any second now.”

Jon blinked a few times before saying, “I wasn’t staring.”

Martin tried and mostly succeeded in suppressing his laughter, but before he could decide on how to word his response, Jude Perry chimed in. “You totally were. Not that I expected anything different myself.”

Martin briefly considered thanking Jude for backing him up on this one before thinking better of it and remaining silent.

“...alright, maybe I was staring, but can you blame me? It’s not every day you see someone you know burn from head to toe and then get back up again after!”

Only then did Martin consider how strange it all must have looked from the outside, seen with a clarity that Martin himself was sorely lacking at the time, too overcome with pain and lightless flame to take in much else.

Martin glanced down at his arm and noticed that it didn’t look burned--not that he even knew what a burn of that magnitude normally looked like, but his arm looked, well, almost normal. Almost. The flesh of his arm hadn’t sunk quite that far into the holes between the metal of the table before, though.

Also, the tea he’d been nursing for well over an hour was visibly steaming, though Martin had no intention of touching it again regardless of its current temperature.

Martin could see Jon noticing many of the same things he was now and using that evidence to reach all the wrong conclusions.

“Look, Jon, it’s still me, alright? Maybe some things changed just now-” Jude let out an audible snort of amusement, and Martin did his best to ignore it. “-but I’m still the same- the same incompetent idiot you know, not some, some monster. I’m not going to hurt you, Jon.”

Martin stood up, one hand reaching towards Jon even though he wasn’t sure what he was going to do with it from there; mostly he was just watching to see if Jon flinched, if Jon recoiled, if Jon saw him as a threat rather than a friend.

Before Martin could get too close, though, Jude spoke up again. “Careful now, I wouldn’t touch him unless you want him to be like us--and I’m not sure that’d even work on him, though I’m not opposed to finding out the hard way.”

There was a lot going on in that sentence, but Martin’s attention was focused on one word of it, a word he echoed numbly as he pondered its implications. “Us.”

“Oh, don’t tell me you haven’t figured that out yet! We’re both servants of the Desolation now. Only way to survive burning like that.”

Martin slowly let his hand drop back down to his side, trying not to look too closely at the expression on Jon’s face as he did so. “No, you’re- you’re lying.”

“I think you know better than that. Go on, tell me you don’t feel it. Just tell me you don’t feel the burning, the fire within you practically begging to be unleashed.”

Martin hesitated for long enough that his hesitation itself became enough of a response, and Jude Perry just laughed and laughed.

Jon, however, responded in a fashion that involved using actual words, though it took him a long moment after training his eyes on Martin before those words actually emerged. “...how does it feel?”

Martin wasn’t sure how much he really wanted to share, whether keeping Jon in the loop was worth potentially losing his trust in the process, but the words spilled out of him just the same.

“It’s like the heat from before never really went away, like it just stopped hurting all of the sudden but it’s still there deep down, still ready to ignite any second now--but also like it’s part of me, that the heat is me somehow, and I just know it’s not going to turn on me like that again.”

Jude slammed her hand onto the table, which might have been a more effective gesture if the sound that it caused was more of a loud bang and less of an awkward squelch. “Don’t do that!”

“Do what?” Martin said. “Ask me things?”

“Yes! It’s awfully rude, at least in my book.”

“I mean, it is my job.” Jon protested.

“Well, who asked you to-”

Martin suddenly heard police sirens ringing out in the distance, and he evidently wasn’t the only one, as Jude stood up abruptly and Jon’s eyes managed to grow even wider.

“Suppose that’s what I get for giving you time to scream.” Jude said with a pointed look at Martin. “Another time, maybe.”

“Tomorrow.” Martin replied, trying to sound more authoritative and confident than he felt. “We’re discussing things here this time tomorrow.” Martin glanced at his wrist, since he’d long since lost track of what time it was; he was half-expecting his wristwatch to be burned to a crisp, but it was still there, still intact, practically untouched.

“We?” Jon asked.

“Yes, we.” Martin put his hands on his hips. “You’re coming back too.”

“Ordering people around already? You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you, Martin Blackwood?”

“I...”

And with that, Jude Perry ran off until she mingled with the crowd that surrounded them.

“Jon?”

“I’d better get moving.” Jon started walking away briskly, but not so fast that Martin couldn’t keep up with him with a little effort.

“Jon, we- we need to talk, don’t just run away from me the first chance you get-”

“Did you forget that that the police are on their way, or that I’m currently wanted for murder?” Jon said in something between a whisper and a hiss, hopefully quiet enough that nobody nearby would overhear.

“Did you forget that you just watched me get murdered?” Martin wasn’t quite as careful about the volume of his voice, and he winced a little thinking of what any passersby must think of such a statement, though nobody reacted to it as far as he could tell--in fact, when Martin looked around, those near them on the street seemed to be making an effort not to notice the pair of them.

“...does it still count as murder when you kept going afterwards?”

Martin pressed one hand against his temple as he tried not to sigh, unsure whether he was more uncomfortable with how Jon was apparently seeing what had happened to him as- as a subject for academic debate, of all things, or the awkward way he referred to Martin’s existence afterwards, how he seemed to go out of his way to avoid describing Martin’s current state of being as “living.” “I don’t know, alright? But I hardly think the legal implications are the most important thing right now-”

An ambulance zipped by, though it thankfully didn’t stop upon seeing the two of them, presumably headed to the scene of Martin’s... transformation rather than on the lookout for a still-ambulatory victim.

A hint of a smile, or perhaps a smirk, appeared on Jon’s face as he retorted, “I think the police would disagree on that one.”

“Well, I’m not talking to them, now, am I?”

Jon let out a soft sigh. “Are you going to follow me all the way back to where I’m staying?”

“If that’s what it takes for you to actually give me the time of day here, then yes!”

“Fine. Alright.” Jon slowed to a halt. Martin realized as Jon did so that he wasn’t nearly as certain of where he was now than he had been before accompanying Jon on that impromptu walk, though Martin was pretty sure he could figure it out easily enough. “Say your piece, then.”

Martin opened his mouth, realized he didn’t actually know exactly what he wanted to say just yet, and then closed his mouth again, a long moment passing before he managed to line up his words the way he wanted them.

“Don’t... don’t be weird about this, alright?”

There had to be better words than that, but if they existed they were slipping through Martin’s fingers, or perhaps hiding beyond his grasp, either way unable to be wrangled into submission when he needed them most.

“I just saw you get set on fire right in front of me, probably because of me, and you want me to not ‘be weird about this.’“ Jon said it more as a statement than as a question, though the disbelief still shone through all too clearly.

“Yes! I mean... please?” Martin ran his hand through his hair nervously; was his hair oddly sticky to the touch now, or was that just a combination of his imagination going wild and his hair being covered in almost-summer sweat? “Just... I don’t get all this any more than you do, alright? I get what’s going on here probably less than you do, honestly, even now. Don’t go... I don’t know, thinking I hold the secrets of the universe now, or seeing me as some sort of science project, or, or anything like that. This hasn’t changed anything. I’m still me, Jon.”

“But with the heat of the fire that burned you alive still raging within you.” Jon turned away from Martin, presumably about to walk away again.

“Look, if you think that makes me some kind of monster now, what does that say about you?”

Martin regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth, even before he watched Jon’s eyes shift from being filled with a soft, wary curiosity to a dark steel.

“I’m leaving. Don’t follow me.” True to his word, Jon began to walk away, his pace even swifter than before.

“Jon- Jon, I didn’t mean it, you’re not a monster- and this isn’t your fault, either, if you really think that-” Martin tried to keep up with Jon, but unlike before, Jon didn’t even turn to look at Martin when he spoke, didn’t slow down even the slightest bit, didn’t acknowledge his presence in the slightest.

“Jon, I’m sorry.” Martin reached out with one hand; he knew Jon didn’t like being touched, sure, but it was at least one surefire way to make him pay attention, maybe make him pause for long enough to actually consider Martin’s words. “Please just listen, I-”

Martin’s hand brushed against Jon’s shoulder, against both the fabric of his fluffy pink jacket (which was every bit as soft as Martin had imagined) and against his bare skin poking out from underneath, and Jon winced and let out a short cry, and-

And Martin put together the pieces a moment too late.

Even as Martin pulled his hand away (with small bits remaining, pale pieces of himself sticking to the bright fur of Jon’s jacket) he could see his handiwork, the price of his touch that Jon would now have to bear. The skin was visibly discolored in a matter of seconds. Martin had wondered, idly, how a bad burn like the one he had received would normally look; well, now he was pretty sure he knew the answer.

Martin couldn’t help but glance between his own hand, which by all rights should be horribly disfigured now but seemed as good as new, and the burn on Jon’s shoulder, which looked almost as bad as Martin’s own burn had felt.

“Jon, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

Jon didn’t say a word as he ran away, ran from Martin and his burning touch, and that in and of itself said far too much.

[somuchbetterthanthat]

EPISODE 37 - Burnt Offering

This episode is really sad. The desolation doesn’t exactly scare me like other fears, but it is terrible and ravaging and... sad. Also, it really show you how useless the Institute actually is when it comes to help people (which, d u h, not actually their purpose uh) but that sentence really got to me: 

“Even if you had the power to do something, would you? Or would you rather watch my son burn so you can take notes.“ Well, my good sir, they probably would. 

I AM SCREAMING THO: “We are not in the business of destroying knowledge” oh my god, Jon, the day Elias hired you he must have had STARS in his eyes from how perfect you were for the position he wanted you in. Oh my god. 

Jon: [talking about what Rosie said about B&H]: “...Useless...”

Martin: [Who seemed quite annoyed before at having to repeat, for what i assumed for a hundred time, the same thing but now more softly] Sorry... 

[...]

Martin: Can I go now?

Jon: Yes, go on.

Martin: Thank you... Look you need to get some sleep... I’ll see you later. 

SUPPLEMENT:

- They both sound soft, and tired, at the end of their conversation. I assume it’s very late at this point. 

- Martin is like “we should destroy the table” which, like, OK, he doesn’t know what it might do, so, fair. BUT ELIAS TOO? “Yes, destroy the table, Jon, just some advice, might be nice to free the raging monster tied to it” UNLESS, Elias saw what was going to happen to Sasha if the table wasn’t destroyed? “Elias can be protective of his people” = Maybe Elias really liked Sasha. She did some have good qualities for the Eye, in my opinion. 

 - Martin “take care of yourself Jon” Blackwood: get some sleep

- Jon “what is self-care” Sims: Right, definitely time to make another statement.

... I love them, I love them, and it’s the first time, I think, we get a gentle nudge of Martin caring for Jon. (and not just “I WANT TO IMPRESS U and also show you you’re wrong about the supernatural”) 

jon’s!soft!tired!voice!kills!me!